Chapter 8: II Nicea
While all of these debates were going on in the East concerning the faith of the Church in Christ, other equally important events were taking place in the West. Apart from the Roman pontiffs, a number of Western bishops were involved in the doctrinal debates concerning Christ, but they did not play a dominant role in the entire proceedings. The West was beset by its own difficulties.
In the doctrinal field, there was a long debate that went on in the West that is scarcely mentioned in a history of the Councils: the heresy of the Pelagians and the semi-Pelagians, This was a heresy concerning grace and free will. In a way, it reflected the difference in mentality between the East and the West. The theologians in the East were especially concerned with God Himself, and centered their attention on problems of the Trinity and Christology; those in the West, following the more legal-minded spirit of Rome, developed a special concern for man and his relationship to God's grace.
Pelagius was a British monk who lived in the fifth century. He had spent some time in Rome where he was rather well received as a pious director of souls. After the sack of Rome in the year 410, however, he and his associate, Celestius, came to Carthage, the great see of northern Africa.
At that time, his error came to light and brought forth an immediate reaction on the part of the bishops. Pelagius had overemphasized the power of human nature, and claimed that fallen man could accomplish by his own free will whatever God expected of him. The sin of Adam had harmed him in no way; Adam had affected the rest of mankind only by his bad example. Whatever reward man merited from God, therefore, was in accordance with man's free will. If God gave man any special grace, it would only make it easier for man to accomplish the good; he was still capable of doing this, however, without grace.
What this amounted to, of course, was a denial of original sin and of the supernatural order. Man was supreme, and Cod did nothing more than inspect what man did, and reward him accordingly. Pelagius and his followers were immediately condemned for this teaching; the famous bishop of Hippo, St. Augustine, was their chief opponent. The Catholic Church insisted that man is entirely helpless in the supernatural order, and that, because of Adam's sin, man cannot keep even the requirements of the natural law for any length of time without God's special grace.
In his defense of grace, Augustine naturally stressed the helplessness of man; this brought forth a further reaction. A group of monks near Marseilles concluded that Augustine had not sufficiently safeguarded the free will of man; they at once began to attack his position. The Church also condemned their heresy, since in practice it amounted to almost the same teaching as that of Pelagius; hence today we refer to them as the Semi-Pelagians. They insisted that man could, by his own free will, perform at least the "first" act in the supernatural order, the very beginning of faith. After that, they admitted the need of grace; but they felt that to save free will, this first step must come from man. It was seen at once, however, that if, without God's grace, man could perform the first act in the way of salvation, it was really man who was saving himself; it was man who started the work of salvation, and what came afterward was secondary and nonessential.
As a result, while the Ecumenical Councils were being held in the East, two especially important local councils were held in the West: the sixteenth Council of Carthage in 418 (which condemned the Pelagians); and the second Council of Orange - in France -in 529 (which condemned the Semi-Pelagians). These were important Councils, not because they were ecumenical in nature, but because of the special approval of two Popes which gave their decrees the importance of dogmatic definitions. Pope Zosimus solemnly approved the decrees of Carthage, and Boniface II approved those of Orange.
These questions of grace were scarcely touched upon by the Ecumenical Councils. The Council of Ephesus briefly reaffirmed the condemnation of the Pelagians in the West. They were important, however, in the history of the times, and of extremely great importance in view of the doctrinal disputes that would arise in later centuries.
In addition to these doctrinal concerns in the West, there was also the problem of the barbarian invasions. The Goths, the Vandals, the Huns, and all such tribes became the special scourge of Europe. The Goths had settled along the shores of the Black Sea and the Danube River, and were perhaps the first to strike. By the beginning of the fourth century, they had already begun to invade their neighbors, and, while some of them had become Christian, they had embraced Arianism in large numbers after Nicea. In this way, the invasions became the means of furthering the error of Arius in Europe.
Some of the tribes passed over into Spain and Italy; others continued on to northern Africa, bringing new sorrows to the Church during the fifth and sixth centuries. While eventually the Church was to conquer these barbarian hordes by converting them to Catholicism, it would not be accomplished at once. Cities were sacked, monasteries were ruined, and the remains of ancient art and culture were destroyed before their savagery was tamed.
Even the center of Christianity, Rome itself, came under attack. While the Council of Chalcedon was getting under way, guided by the "Dogmatic Epistle" of Leo the Great, this same Pope had to turn his attention to the invasion of the Huns under Attila. Artists have portrayed ever since the picture of the stanch Leo coming forth to meet the invader and preserving Rome, at least temporarily.
About the year 600, Rome knew another Pope who ranks among the great men of history: Gregory the Great (590-604). He does not enter into the history of the Councils, but he is very important in the history of the Church. He came to a Rome that had been crushed by the barbarians and decimated by the plague. He set about reorganizing the papal court. He also concerned himself with the conversion of the barbarians who had brought such destruction; it was the Anglo-Saxons to whom he especially directed his attention. Also, Gregory did much to codify the laws of the Roman Liturgy, establishing the pattern we follow down to this very day.
It is interesting to note in passing another important event during these years. About 570 or 580, Mohammed was born at Mecca in Arabia; by 630 he had returned to capture his home town, and thus became the master of all central Arabia. The event was little noticed by many within the Church, but this far back the stage was set for greater problems in the future; those who embraced the Mohammedan faith were to offer great concern to the popes during the Middle Ages and after.
All of these varied circumstances contributed to bringing about a shift in the center of Christian life: the East now became the pivotal point. Rome as the great imperial city was fast fading. It was now the city of the popes, but it did not as yet have the color of the papal Rome of later centuries. While the triumph of Constantine in 312 had marked one big dividing point in the history of the Church, writers now search for the beginning of a new era. From this point on we face two new cultures: that of Byzantine Christianity in the East, and the start of the Middle Ages in the West. The year 527 - the advent of the Emperor Justinian - has been suggested by some as a convenient peg for the start of this new era; at any rate, the change was surely accomplished by the following century. From this period emerges the history of the Byzantine emperors, who certainly added a new and strikingly different chapter to the story of the Church's life.
With the rise of the Byzantine empire, a new heresy developed; it has come to be known as that of the "Iconoclasts," from the Greek word eikon which means "image," and klao meaning "to break." These were the destroyers of images. By the time that Leo III became the Eastern emperor in the year 717, the use of icons or images, both in the West and in the East, had long been a part of Christian life. There are traces of such practices as far back as the first century of the New Testament era. What arose now was the first large attack on the use of images. A similar attack would be repeated in the centuries that lay ahead, but in every instance the answer would be the same: the resounding response of II Nicea, defending the practice and explaining the proper use of images.
For some reason, the emperor, Leo III, developed a conviction that the use of images meant idolatry. It is difficult to single out the precise reason. Leo was, in general, a man who fancied himself a great "reformer" in all fields; this was one aspect of that mentality. The dispute, moreover, was not simply one of a doctrinal nature; it was surrounded by political overtones. The Byzantine emperors all tended to encroach upon the life of the Church. They wished to regulate not only civil matters, but religious questions as well. Thus this controversy was also part of a larger political struggle. This had been true since the days of Constantine himself, and the emperors of the East promoted and opposed heresy at will.
The attitude of Leo may also be a reflection of his earlier religious training. In one instance, he seems to have been associated with a group of Christians who were Manichaeans at heart, and who shared the Manichaean belief that material things were evil in themselves. Thus images would be wrong. His opinions may also be a result of association with the Monophysites. They, too, opposed the veneration of images, since for many of them the "one nature" of Christ was not a true human nature at all, but only some kind of nature that is part human and part divine. Thus an image of Christ would tend to obscure their teaching.
In 726, the Emperor, Leo III, issued the first edict against religious images. This began a long history of opposition to the imperial designs. By this time the practice was properly understood by the people, and it was a part of their Christian way of life. They were not going to cast it aside so easily. It was, of course, not simply a question of having images of Christ and the saints, but also of showing honor or worship of some sort to them. The faithful understood, however, that this was a "relative" honor: in other words, not directed to the images themselves, but ultimately to the person they represent.
In an age when idolatry had not ceased, it is easy to understand how some might confuse this practice with pagan worship. Undoubtedly there were abuses at the time of Leo III as there have been since. The Emperor, however, was not concerned with any abuses; it was the practice itself that he attacked, fearing idolatry.
For the idolater, the stone image is the ultimate thing worshiped; this is his god. The difference between this and the Christian practice lies in the purpose for the image. Thus in the Old Testament, the same God who said: "Do not make false gods for yourselves," also directed the Jews to fashion the Ark of the Covenant with two cherubim of beaten gold, with "their wings spread out above . . . with their faces looking toward the propitiatory." God had forbidden them to make other "gods" of gold and silver; these images, however, were not their gods.
In the sixteenth century, some of the Reformers revived this dislike of images. They have also come to be known by the same name as their eighth-century counterparts: "Iconoclasts." Zwingli managed to exclude images from the Protestantism of Zurich, on the grounds that they were unscriptural; he rejected organ music in churches for the same reason. Carlstadt adopted the same viewpoint in Germany, with the resulting attacks on statues and crucifixes, smashing them to the floor of the churches. In this, he was opposed by Luther, who was shocked by these proceedings. The Council of Trent was also concerned with the problem, and repeated the answer of II Nicea.
Under Emperor Leo III and his successors a violent desecration of images took place. The icons were broken up; illustrations of Christ and the saints were torn out of manuscripts; relics were cast into the sea. And when the people resisted these imperial moves, prison, exile, torture, and death followed. Much of the brutality and savagery associated with the Byzantine emperors has resulted from their activity in this matter.
Among those sent into exile for refusing to accept the imperial edict on images was Germanus, the patriarch of Constantinople. He was immediately replaced with a more agreeable bishop. With upsets at such a high level, the Pope was naturally involved in the situation, so that the Emperor was soon faced with the authority first of Gregory II, and then of Gregory III. Pope Gregory III (731-741) condemned iconoclasm and, like others before him, Leo made an attempt to kidnap the Pope in Rome and bring him forcibly to Constantinople. The Emperor failed in this, but did manage, by way of getting even, to seize some of the papal land in Sicily and Calabria.
In addition to the Pope, the Emperor was also faced with another great theological opponent, John Damascene. He represents the last of a long line of Greek minds dedicated to the defense of the Catholic faith in these early centuries. Despite his efforts, however, Leo's attitude did not change. Leo's successor, Constantine V, continued the persecution. He took a further step, and convoked a Council of Greek bishops in 753 at the imperial palace at Hieria. This ranks with the other pseudo-councils of history, since the Pope was not invited; nor, for that matter, were the other Oriental patriarchs. Nevertheless, over 300 bishops met and signed the imperial decree which condemned the use and the honoring of sacred images.
This Council brought a fresh impetus to the struggle between the opposing parties. The dispute was to be solved only through a General Council, held eventually at Nicea. Constantine V died in 775, thus opening the way for a settlement. His son, Leo IV, ruled only five years, and while he did not stop the movement, he did slow down the progress. When he died in 780, his wife, the Empress Irene, took over the government as the regent for her young son, Constantine VI. Irene was most favorable to the traditional Catholic faith, and at once set about restoring the ancient practices.
This chain of circumstances presents us with one of the unusual elements of II Nicea. What theologians today will call the "material convocation" was accomplished by a woman, the Empress Irene! She also presided at the final solemn session, and, as Eastern empress, signed the official document.
In December of 784, Irene named Tarasius as the new patriarch of Constantinople. Tarasius belonged to the group that favored the use of images, and on the very day of his election demanded publicly that Irene convoke a General Council to restore unity to the Church.
Pope Adrian I (772-795) was invited to attend the Council, and he agreed; he would send his legates to represent him. He set forth certain conditions, however, under which he would participate. Above all the Empress was to guarantee the freedom of the Council. In addition, the pseudo-council of Hieria must be condemned. These conditions were accepted and fulfilled. The Council was set for August, 786, at Constantinople.
The gathering got off to a bad start, however. The army turned against the Empress, and an uprising of the Iconoclasts got out of hand. The Council dissolved at once, and the papal legates set out for Rome. Irene purged the army of disloyal subjects, and thus assured that there would be no recurrence, the Council met a second time on September 24, 787. This time the meeting was held at Nicea, the city in which the very first General Council had taken place. Thus it became II Nicea.
About 300 bishops gathered in the Church of St. Sophia, including the papal legates and the representatives of the Empress. In addition, a large number of monks and clerics were also present. Tarasius, the patriarch of Constantinople, presided. The dominant role, however, was played by Pope Adrian I. Just as the "Dogmatic Epistle" of Pope Leo the Great dominated the scene when it was read at the Council of Chalcedon, so here did the Epistle of Pope Adrian set the tone of the gathering. At the first session his letter explaining the traditional faith of the Church was read aloud, and the bishops voted to accept the teaching of Adrian. For practical purposes, the doctrinal question was settled from that moment on.
There were in all eight sessions between September 24 and October 23, 787. The pseudo-council of Hieria was condemned; scriptural texts and statements from the Fathers were brought forth in evidence of the traditional practice; and finally a dogmatic decree was formulated stating precisely the Catholic teaching. All the bishops signed after the papal legates, as well as a number of the Iconoclast bishops who had been received back after a profession of faith.
The final session was held in Constantinople at the Magnaura Palace. The Empress presided, and her young son, Constantine, was also present. They both signed the official decree after it had been read. The Empress thus approved the decisions of the Council. Now only the Pope's acceptance was needed. Adrian approved of the solemn decree. But he did not send a letter to the Empress, as was usually the custom, since there was another matter that had not been solved at the Council. Adrian was conscious of that fact, and he had directed his legates to attend to it. The earlier emperors had taken over some of the papal lands, and, even more important, by doing this they had encroached upon the papal rights. Adrian had already experienced the problems associated with the Byzantine emperors. He did not want to give the impression, by a formal letter of approval, that he agreed with this challenge to the spiritual power of the popes, which underlay the imperial action. He did, however, approve of the doctrinal decree, and thus II Nicea ranks as an Ecumenical Council.
The honor given to images was settled once and for all. The Council was careful to add that it is quite proper to light vigil lights before statues of Christ and the saints, or to burn incense before them, and it explained the reason why:
"We define with all certainty and diligence that as the figure of the precious and life-giving Cross, so also the venerable and holy images, both painted and of stone and of other proper material, should be set up in the holy churches of God. . . . The more frequently they are seen by a pictorial representation, the more readily those who contemplate the images are aroused to a remembrance and desire of those they represent . . . and are aroused to bestow upon them a respectful devotion - not, however, true adoration (latria), which, according to our faith and as is becoming, is bestowed upon the divine nature alone."
Centuries later the Council of Trent would give the same answer to the Iconoclasts of the sixteenth century, recalling the words of II Nicea:
"The images of Christ, of the Virgin Mother of God, and of other saints are to be kept with honor in places of worship especially; and to them due honor and veneration is to be paid - not because it is believed that there is any divinity or power intrinsic to them for which they are reverenced, nor because it is from them that something is sought, nor that a blind trust is to be attached to images as it once was by the Gentiles who placed their hope in idols; but because the honor which is shown to them is referred to the proto-types which they represent."
After II Nicea, the heresy of the Iconoclasts lay dormant for the time. It was to arise again in 813 under Emperor Leo V. But in 842 another woman ruled in place of her infant son, this time Theodora. With the help of St. Methodius, who replaced the Iconoclast patriarch of Constantinople, she was able to give the decrees of II Nicea once again the respect due them as a Council of the Holy Spirit.
It seemed that finally peace would reign in the East. Almost continually since the time of Constantine there had been doctrinal problems tearing asunder that part of the Church; time and again there had been conflict between the emperors and the popes; the bishops had rejected the Supreme Pontiff and cast their lot with the king. All of this turmoil, however, was now about to boil over, worse than ever before. What had been brewing underneath, throughout all these other disputes, was a rejection of papal authority. This was now to come to the fore and eventually lead to a split in Christianity that has not been repaired to this day.