Summary
1 Conceptual Definition
2 Irreconcilable Paths
3 Us, Ours, and Them, the Heretics
4 Unveiling and Demonstrating Heresy
5 Heresy as a State Matter
1 Conceptual Definition
Heresy derives from hairesis [αጔÏΔÏÎčÏ], a Greek term originating from the verb hairĂ©o [αጱÏÎÏ], which has three main classes of meaning: the first indicates the action of taking, grabbing, holding; the second, of conquering and winning; and the third, of condemning and receiving a condemnation. Hairesis [αጔÏΔÏÎčÏ] entered the Latin lexicon as haeresis and, just like in Greek, it is used to name the operation of âselectingâ and âchoosingâ something, especially in the field of knowledge, and to designate the principles or theoretical and moral assumptions of a given school of thought, sect, or religious party. In Jewish Antiquities, by Flavius Josephus (1st century), we can read:
The Jews had, from the most ancient times, three haireseis [party, school, or sect]: that of the Essenes, that of the Sadducees, and, in third place, that of the so-called Pharisees. […] the Pharisees lead a frugal life, without the slightest concession to delicacy, and faithfully follow those principles that reason suggests and determines as good, since they consider that the observance of the principles that reason wants to exhibit to them is something worth fighting for. (Vara’s translation in JOSEPHUS, 1997, p. 1080, was compared and adapted from Whiston’s translation in JOSEPHUS, 1865, p. 58)
In the following century, Sextus Empiricus, in the Pyrrhonian Hypotyposes, goes in the same direction:
For if we understand that belonging to a school [hairesis] means adhering to a set of dogmas that depend on each other as well as on appearances, and if we say that âdogmaâ is assent to something non-evident, then we consider that the skeptic does not belong to any school. But if we understand by âschoolâ a procedure that, according to appearances, follows a certain line of argument showing how it is possible to live correctly […], in this case we say that the skeptic belongs to a school, since we consistently follow, according to appearances, a line of reasoning that indicates a way of life in accordance with traditional laws and customs and with our own feelings. (EMPIRICUS, 1997, p. 118)
Whether in Antiquities or in Hypotyposes, sect, party, or school present themselves as modes of community organization, lifestyle, doctrinal set, reasoning methods, and assumptions shared by adherents and/or disciples and, thus, have nothing negative or pejorative. However, this understanding would begin to change when the first Christians, challenged to overcome all kinds of social differences and build egalitarian missionary communities, began to suspect any attitude or reasoning that could generate divergence or particularism, which was decisive for heresy to take on very negative aspects and, as such, be regarded with fear and caution.
A first step in this direction is found in 1Cor 11:17-19:
Since I am giving recommendations, I cannot praise you; for you gather not for the better, but for the worse. First, I hear that, when you gather as a church, there have been dissensions (ÏÏ᜷ÏΌαÏα/schismata) among you. And, in part, I believe it. It is necessary that there be even divisions (αጱÏáœłÏΔÎčÏ/haireseis) among you, so that those who are approved among you may be recognized!
Like so many other churches of that time, the Corinthian assembly brought together rich and poor, slaves and free, men and women, an attitude that attracted much attention from pagan observers and certainly brought additional challenges to community life, as the cited passage denounces. The Christian congregations, in fact, sought to relativize social and economic differences in view of concord and spiritual fraternity, stemming from baptism, which does not mean they were always successful. Without denying that rich Christians could continue to live as rich, Paul, on the other hand, did not admit that they took advantage of the liturgical celebration to âdespise the church and shame the poorâ (1Cor 11:22). One thing was the social distinction, tolerated within certain limits, quite another was the dissension that the former could cause.
It is in this sense that the apostle conceives the difficult coexistence between rich and poor as a good opportunity for the community to test the quality of its congregation: those who knew how to renounce the outward signs of social superiority, in favor of a cohesive and inclusive assembly, these would be considered approved; those who could not act this way, disapproved. Despite this concession, ecclesial divisions (haireseis), which created the context for dissensions and disagreements, were far from being seen with the same naturalness with which Flavius Josephus spoke of parties within Judaism. Unity remained a non-negotiable value, a concrete expression of the communion realized in the âLordâs Supper,â which celebrated the memorial of Christâs sacrifice for all people, without distinction. Therefore, if Paul seems to condone division, it is in view of a greater unity.
However, unity came at a cost. If divisions and dissensions were a quality test, what would happen to those who failed? Under the form of anathema, the community began to use exclusion as a regulatory device of its own group identity, transforming heresy into a condemnatory verdict pronounced by those who felt approved and authentic against those who were seen as false brethren. Once again, this was the opposite of what occurred in Judaism or even in Hellenic philosophical schools, where the delineation of doctrinal sets was freely made by the parties or schools themselves, and it was from this that the adherents objectively established the characteristics of their association. Within the Christian movement, the meaning of heresy as a school is very rare, and when it appears, the authors who use it insist on not recognizing the legitimacy of those who thought differently; as a result, heresy, among Christians, is defined by those who condemn it, not by its adherents. These, when asked, respond that heretics are those who accuse them.
Letâs see some examples. The author of the Second Epistle of Peter discredits and degrades those Christians whom he calls âfalse teachers,â a probable reference to Gnostic preachers, âwho will secretly introduce destructive heresies, even denying the Sovereign who bought themâ (2Pet 2:1); the author of the Apocalypse of Peter, from the Gnostic library of Nag Hammadi, defends himself against the accusations of those âwho call themselves bishops and also deaconsâ (ROBINSON, 1990, p. 372), that is, the Catholic ministers, stating that they were the ones who were âcontaminatedâ and, therefore, âwill fall into a name of error, passing into the hands of an evil and cunning man, of multiform dogma, and will be governed hereticallyâ (ROBINSON, 1990, p. 375). And the Gnostics also accused each other: in the treatise The Testimony of Truth, also from the Nag Hammadi library, the author, who is clearly Gnostic, calls other Gnostics heretics, who did not think like him, for example, Basilides, Valentinus, and Isidore, mentioned by name as great deceivers (ROBINSON, 1990, p. 456).
When âhereticsâ accuse other âhereticsâ of heresy, it can be seen that the different interpreters of the legacy of Jesus of Nazareth did not admit the possibility that there could be more than one authentic interpretation of this legacy and that, paradoxically, what they called Christianity â a title each group reserved only for itself â was, in fact, a kaleidoscope of movements and parties, each defending the legitimacy of its own theology and the exclusive authority of its doctrine. From this point of view, it seems unproductive to define heresy as the denial of orthodoxy, since, in historical terms, orthodoxy resulted precisely from this long quarrel among Christian parties (haireseis), which was already present since the debate between Paul and the Judaizing Christians of Jerusalem (Gal 2; Acts 15), spanned the entire 2nd century, opposing Catholics and Gnostics, and reached the Council of Nicaea (325), which, far from putting an end to the dispute, elevated it to an unprecedented level.
2 Irreconcilable Paths
In the second half of the 2nd century, Celsus, a Greek writer, wrote a polemical work against Christians, which he named The True Discourse; this text did not survive in its entirety, and the little that we can read are the excerpts that Origen (d. 254) copied and commented on seventy years later in his reply titled Against Celsus. From Origen’s notes, it is possible to perceive that Celsus had a good knowledge of the diversity of Christianity and the intricate theological disputes that divided Christians into rival groups. Here is how he describes the situation:
Hardly have they propagated in large numbers, [Christians] divide and separate, and each one wants to have their own faction. Separated again because of their large number, they anathematize each other; they have nothing more in common, so to speak, except the name [of Christians], if they still have it! At least it is the only thing they have been ashamed to abandon; otherwise, each one has embraced a different sect. (ORIGEN, 2004, p. 213)
And it doesn’t stop there: â[…] these people unleash all possible horrors on each other, rebellious to the slightest concession to concord and animated by implacable hatredsâ (ORIGEN, 2004, p. 446). Celsus, in fact, detested Christianity and considered it a threat to civil order, but he did not lie in highlighting Christian factionalism and the resulting mutual accusations. Justin of Rome (First Apology), Irenaeus of Lyon (Against Heresies), Tertullian of Carthage (Prescription against Heresies), and Hippolytus of Rome (Refutation of All Heresies) also evidenced this antagonism: Hippolytus, for example, listed 33 different Christian systems, considering them all distortions of the right faith (ALTANER; STUIBER, 2004, p. 173).
Even if he sought to refute Celsus’ criticisms, Origen could not deny that the gentile was right, at least when he observed that the Christian movement was quite agitated. Hence, Origen, instead of denying that there were doctrinal divisions, preferred to recover the ancient meaning of heresy as a philosophical school: each faction pointed out by Celsus would actually represent a different Christian school. Thus, if the pagan wanted to criticize Christianity for being divided into so many schools, let him also criticize the ancient philosophers. Origen saw nothing wrong with that. After all, as he affirms, the âdifferent schools/sectsâ [haireseis diaforoi/αίÏÎÏΔÎčÏ ÎŽÎčÎŹÏÎżÏÎżÎč] of Christians never resulted âfrom rivalries and a spirit of dispute,â but from the fact that the Church welcomed, in its communities, many Greek sages, who brought their own philosophical demands into them (ORIGEN, 2004, p. 214).
That Christianity attracted people interested in philosophy, even professional philosophers, becomes evident, for example, in the famous case of the conversion of the philosopher Justin (d. 165); in his Dialogue with Trypho, Justin confesses to having sought the truth in various different philosophical systems until he discovered Christianity and embraced it as the true philosophy. In the Prescription against Heresies, written between 197-200, Tertullian of Carthage confirms that various learned Christians sought to reconcile the contents of revealed faith with the methods and assumptions of Hellenic philosophy, but for him, this was complete nonsense. Let us see his description:
The heresies themselves, in short, are equipped by philosophy. From there, Valentinus derived the aeons and countless forms and the triad of man: he was Platonic. From there came Marcion’s better god, who rests in so much tranquility: Marcion was Stoic. And when it is said that the soul is perishable, it is from Epicurus that one speaks. To deny the resurrection of the flesh, one can take lessons from all the schools of philosophers. Where matter is equated with God, there is the doctrine of Zeno. Where it is taught that God is fire, it is Heraclitus that is invoked. Heretics and philosophers deal with the same matter and are involved with the same subjects. (TERTULLIAN, 1957, p. 96-97).
Certainly Tertullian was not thinking of Justin when he stated that Jerusalem had nothing to do with Athens, nor the Academy with the Church (TERTULLIAN, 1957, p. 98), for Justin, who maintained that philosophy was a path to Christ, was also an opponent of heretical systems, to which he also gave the name of schools, like the âschool of Menander in Antiochâ (JUSTIN OF ROME, 1995, p. 42). Therefore, Origen had historical backing to compare Christian heresies to Hellenic philosophical schools, but he was dissembling by denying that there was a âspirit of disputeâ among the various trends. For example, Justin, in his First Apology (c. 140), does not hesitate to say that Simon the Samaritan (cf. Acts 8:9-24) and all the members of his school were possessed by the devil, as was Marcion (JUSTIN OF ROME, 1995, p. 42). And Irenaeus of Lyon is no more gentle when he compares the Barbelites to an infestation of fungi sprouting from the earth (IRENAEUS OF LYON, 1995, p. 112).
But if it was possible to treat Christian factions as doctrinal schools, why did Celsus avoid this comparison when criticizing the divisions within Christianity? Part of the answer lies in the very notion of a philosophical school, as we saw with Sextus Empiricus: philosophers grouped into schools to enable masters and disciples to better practice reflection according to their own methods and ways of life (HADOT, 2004, p. 150). Participants in a school could occasionally criticize the way of life of other schools, but they knew that their way of practicing philosophy was not the only possible one. Christians, on the other hand, thought quite the opposite.
Bishop Irenaeus of Lyon, who wrote Against Heresies at the same time that Celsus published his Discourse, opposes the apostolic doctrine he professed to what he called false gnosis, that is, the doctrines of Simon, Menander, Saturninus, Basilides, Marcion, Valentinus, Carpocrates, Cerinthus, and so many others: orthodox faith, based on the apostles’ teaching, transmitted by episcopal succession, and condensed in the so-called Rule of Faith, would constitute the true gnosis; any other Christian teaching that deviated from this standard would be nothing but a lie. Justin would have added âdiabolicalâ lie, for he believed that heretical teachings came to âdivideâ (diabolus as that which divides) those who invoke Christ as savior. Tertullian goes in the same direction: heresies, as parallel paths, divert the faithful from the simple faith of the Gospel:
where does the search end? Where is the abode of belief? Where do discoveries cease? With Marcion? But Valentinus also says: seek and you shall find. Then, with Valentinus? Now Apelles knocks at my door. Ebion, Simon, and all the others, one after the other, use the same artifice to insinuate themselves to me and attract me to them. As long as I hear from all sides seek and you shall find, I will never reach the end; it seems I have never learned what Christ taught, what is worth seeking, what is necessary to believe. (TERTULLIAN, 1957, p. 103-104)
The reluctance of Justin, Irenaeus, and Tertullian to admit that Marcion, Valentinus, or anyone else could be right about the legacy of Jesus stems exactly from the distrust they harbored towards philosophical schools: if each conceives truth in its own way, how can one find the Truth? The Church Fathers argued that Jesus of Nazareth, through his life and gospel, had revealed a public (exoteric) knowledge, directed to all men and women, regardless of being literate or illiterate; and they said that all people, through the simplicity of faith, could achieve perfect knowledge of the messiah. Gnostic masters, on the other hand, upheld an opposite premise; for them, it was necessary to distinguish the exoteric content of Jesus’ teaching from its esoteric content, that is, reserved and transmitted only within a special caste of disciples (the Gnostics), who were literate and endowed with superior knowledge and, therefore, felt they were the only ones capable of attaining perfect knowledge (PIĂERO, 2010, p. 197-198).
In light of this contrast, it seems that Celsus was more right than Origen: Christians did not form schools, such as philosophers, and, indeed, were divided into irreconcilable factions. The Fathers might claim that it was the Gnostics who separated from the one Church, but both groups were fighting for the same trophy. The Ebionites (Jewish-Christians) considered the apostle Paul a âlaw apostateâ (IRENAEUS OF LYON, 1995, p. 108), and the author of the Apocalypse of Peter was convinced that the Catholics had abandoned the righteous following of Jesus and Peter, and had become âpropagators of falsehoodâ (ROBINSON, 1990, p. 474). Celsus, observing everything from the outside, seems to have grasped the core of the matter, despite his disdain.
The churches that adhere to the great tradition of the ecumenical councils view heresy as the denial of the truths of faith and, buying into Tertullian’s argument, claim that orthodoxy is the first, while heresy is the second (DUBOIS, 2009, p. 47). In the theological debate and ecclesial experience of the first two centuries, this was not a secure evidence, at least not for the groups that then participated in the Christian movement (CHADWICK, 2001, p. 100).
3 Us, Ours, and Them, the Heretics
Much of the disagreements between the Church Fathers and the Gnostic masters stem from the fact that the latter, even claiming that only they had the perfect knowledge of Christ, remained within the Catholic communities, mingled with the common Christians. There, they saw themselves as a spiritual elite, a select group that distinguished itself from other Christians, including the clergy, because they boasted a refined philosophical education and practiced celibacy â the Gnostic masters abstained from marriage because they saw it as a concession to carnality, forbidden to the perfect. Irenaeus of Lyon called them encratites, and attributed the condemnation of marriage to a certain Tatian, a former student of Justin, in Rome (IRENAEUS OF LYON, 1995, p. 111). Would the Fathers have been less agitated with the Gnostics if they had left the churches and founded their own communities? It is a question for which there is no sure answer, but it seems legitimate.
In any case, the masters were not always at odds with their bishops; Tertullian, for example, highlights that Valentinus and Marcion âprofessed the Catholic doctrine within the church of the Romans, under the episcopate of Eleutherius [174-189],â and that they worked as ecclesiastical teachers; Valentinus, who boasted impressive intellectual and oratorical talents, almost became a bishop (TERTULLIAN, 1957, p. 126). In practice, the Gnostic masters acted like the Catholic Justin: they instructed the faithful who sought a more philosophically in-depth knowledge.
Eusebius of Caesarea (d. 339), in his Ecclesiastical History, offers us a good example of how these groups functioned within an urban church. In Rome, a handful of men interested in studying the Scriptures more intensely congregated around a tanner named Theodotus, during the pontificate of Victor (189-199). Besides studying the biblical texts, and occasionally correcting them, the group wrote their own commentaries and took charge of making many copies for distribution among the faithful. At no time does Eusebius show discomfort with the existence of this type of initiative. The problem lies, for him and for the other Fathers, in the content of these writings and the methods of these studies. For now, we highlight the dedication of these men who did not live off the church, although they sought to live for the church, albeit in their own way. One of the group’s members was a banker, who covered the expenses of the editorial and logistical process, providing employment to many scribes and collaborators (EUSEBIUS OF CAESAREA, 2000, p. 274-278).
Among Theodotus’s companions, Eusebius also adds other writers, such as Asclepiades, Hermophilus, and Apolloniades, to whom he also attributes the authorship of books on biblical exegesis and theology; obviously, they were not conventional Christians. They were literate, skilled in writing, and knowledgeable of Christian texts and those of the Hebrew Bible. A bishop would have reasons for joy in having such people in his church, because every ecclesial community is a reading and book-consuming community. These were part of ecclesial daily life and were everywhere, whether in liturgy, catechesis, or inter-church communications. The fact that there were illiterates among the faithful did not prevent the reach of books, for the communities, besides the bishop, priests, and deacons, counted on the ministry of readers, who were present at every liturgical act. Books were so constitutive of Christian identity that imperial governors, during the 3rd century, ordered the destruction of ecclesiastical books, knowing that liturgical assemblies depended on them. Destroying the book would hasten the end of the church itself.
However, since the generation of Ignatius of Antioch (d. 107), bishops understood themselves as âwatchmenâ of the flock and as âinspectorsâ of the doctrinal and moral quality of their community; this is what the term episkopos meant, one who observes the community, who watches over it with a view to its control. The doctrinal struggles arising from the 1st century had already taught the first bishops that they could not doze off. Heretical error sneaks in subtly. And since Paul of Tarsus, heresy is the teaching that diverges from the opinion of the president of a community. Irenaeus, for example, considered heretics those âwho speak like us [the bishops], but think differently from usâ and âteach in a manner different from oursâ (IRENAEUS OF LYON, 1995, p. 30); Tertullian, decades later, reminded that the apostles, in their epistles, had insisted âthat all speak the same thing and in the same way, and that there be no schisms and dissensions in the church, for whether Paul or the other apostles, all preached in the same wayâ (TERTULLIAN, 1957, p. 123). Unanimity in teaching and doctrine constituted one of the pillars of orthodoxy: it is a parameter that seeks to ensure the quality of the message, but also implies a profound distrust of pluralism.
This was the problem of Theodotus’s group in Rome; they produced many books, but each contained a different theology. Eusebius reports that if one compared the copies of Asclepiades with those of Theodotus, they would find nothing in common between them, which also applied to Hermophilus and Apolloniades. It is clear that the criterion of catholicity was quite active, here as before, in Irenaeus: if there is no unanimity in teaching, one is already a step away from heresy. Moreover, these authors liked to interpret the data of revelation supported by Hellenic philosophy and science, especially Aristotle, Euclid, Theophrastus, and even Galen, âwho is almost worshipped by some of themâ (EUSEBIUS OF CAESAREA, 2000, p. 277).
Christian distrust of philosophy was as old as the Letter to the Colossians (2:8), and even when men like Justin embraced the faith, they sought to be cautious: salvation occurs through the redemptive act of the messiah, not through an act of reason in search of truth. This distrust would diminish and even disappear, for a moment, during the 3rd century, in the generation of Clement of Alexandria and Origen. But in the 2nd century, philosophy still bothered, first because contemporary pagans easily took Christianity for a philosophy, and pastors wanted to avoid confusion. Secondly, because philosophy, as practiced at that time, presupposed communities of literates (the schools), which represented a small elitist minority, and the churches wanted to be open to all, literates and illiterates. The anonymous heresiologist whom Eusebius quotes regarding Theodotus insists on saying that these men preferred philosophers to the word of God, that is, that between the data of reason and revelation, it was always reason that predominated. The ecclesial communities refused to be philosophical schools: the faith that saves is simple, devoid of syllogistic reasoning, conceptual abstractions, and logical calculations. Tertullian may have been the most ardent opponent of philosophers, but he was not alone in the simplicity of faith.
But until then, the Gnostic masters still lived among common Christians. The problem became unsustainable when Theodotus, following the thought of a certain Artemon, denied the divinity of Christ and presented him as a mere man. He also added that the belief in Jesus’ divinity was, in fact, a recent invention, the result of an adulteration of apostolic faith by Pope Victor, and accepted as truth by his successor, Zephyrinus (199-217): it was no small matter. Theodotus accused the pope of corrupting the New Testament texts to make them testify that Jesus was God. But wasn’t this kind of accusation made precisely by the bishops â like Irenaeus â against the Gnostics? Irenaeus claimed that Marcion, for example, had eliminated the initial chapters of the Gospel of Luke, which deal with the miraculous birth of the messiah, and had interpolated all the passages where Jesus implied that his Father was the creator God of the world (whom Marcion denied being the supreme God) (IRENAEUS OF LYON, 1995, p. 109).
This episode, once again, shakes our modern essentialist convictions. Heresy was the losing side of a power struggle; Victor managed to win because Theodotus’s argument was weak. After all, as the heresiologist rightly reminded, anyone could consult the copies of the New Testament, scattered throughout the churches, or the older Christological treatises to verify that Victor could not have altered anything without other bishops noticing and without the acceptance of all of them. This was precisely the meaning of catholicity: sharing the same faith within a very extensive network of churches, a network that, in that century, spanned the extent of the Roman world, and already showed signs of transcending it. A single bishop did not make or destroy the faith. The Gnostics needed to remember that Catholic doctrine was consensus at least to achieve the maximum.
4 Unveiling and Demonstrating Heresy
Theodotus was a tanner, that is, a craftsman, and also an amateur philosopher; he was not a member of the hierarchy of the Roman church, and his excommunication did not shake the stability of the church or the authority of its bishop, on the contrary, it was an explicit lesson that it was not easy to accuse a bishop, even when one was quite popular. But what if a bishop, the guardian of the Catholic faith and head of a church, disobeyed the rule of faith? Who would accuse him of heresy? Who would condemn him?
The whole debate against the Gnostics reinforced, among the bishops, the awareness of inter-church communion and the principle of synodality. Authors like Irenaeus, Tertullian, Hilary, and Origen did not write for their local communities, but for the Great Church, a network of episcopal churches that, at the turn of the 3rd to the 4th century, did not have a single center, but at least two, Rome and Alexandria. It was expected that these two churches, or rather, their bishops, would lead the ecclesiastical processes that should warn and correct suspect bishops and punish condemned bishops.
At this moment, heresy gains a new connotation, for if before it was more or less easy to point out the heretic as a deviant from the rule of faith, it was very complicated to frame a bishop in these conditions. A bishop is more than a teacher who can be dismissed, he is the leader of an urban community, elected from an electoral base that could mean a small crowd of supporters, among whom were politically important people.
When it comes to members of the hierarchy, the discussion about heresy takes on an eminently political place, either because, with political support, a bishop can escape an ecclesiastical process, or because, without political support, a bishop can be accused of being a heretic simply as an excuse to remove him from command. This was what happened with a cleric named Paul of Samosata (d. 275), elected bishop of Antioch in 261 (CHADWICK, 2001, p. 166-169), about a year after the Roman emperor Valerian (253-260) had been defeated and captured by the Persian Empire in that same city. These were very difficult years.
With the Roman defeat, Syria became part of an independent kingdom based in Palmyra, whose queen, Zenobia (260-267), became the spearhead of an anti-Roman movement that initially seemed quite strong, with real chances of sweeping away imperial power from the Middle East, but which, in practice, lasted very little. This was the first mistake of Paul of Samosata: as soon as he was elected bishop, he decided to support an ephemeral queen, but who, at least for a time, rewarded him very well, giving him the title of ducenary and paying him a high salary.
The fact is that the bishops who formed the Christian catholicity, up to that moment, presided over churches located in cities belonging to the Roman Empire; in civil terms, the bishops were subjects of the Empire, and all of them considered that the Empire legitimately guaranteed social, institutional, and legal order, thanks to its state structures. It was not long ago that Nero had martyred a hundred or more Christians (the Roman protomartyrs), and Clement (d. c. 100), a presbyter of Rome, was convinced that this empire, a miniature of the universe, was the great reference for the churches, especially in terms of order, discipline, and hierarchy.
Antioch, for example, had been the capital of the Roman province of Syria until Zenobia took power. The city where the faithful were first called Christians (Acts 11:26) had passed into anti-Roman hands and, worse than that, had a declaredly anti-Roman bishop. It is difficult to understand Paul’s real position, for precisely because he politically diverged from his colleagues, and for receiving a salary from an enemy state, he was harshly criticized; Eusebius of Caesarea, who always supported the Roman Empire, spends many pages of his Ecclesiastical History reporting what happened, not without making it clear how much Paul of Samosata was, from the beginning, a corruptor of the episcopate and a danger to the Church.
In his opinion, Paul corrupted the episcopate because he used his position as a ducenary to display power: in an encyclical that the Syrian bishops sent to the bishops of Rome and Alexandria, it is said that Paul had himself carried in litters, that he introduced women into the episcopal residence, sat on a platform that more resembled the throne of a magistrate than the chair of a bishop, and worked as a usurer. And to make matters worse, Paul launched attacks against the Greek episcopal establishment, accusing it of condoning Origen, who, in his view, practiced poor biblical exegesis and wrongly explained the nature of the incarnate Word. In the legal process against Paul, it is impossible to know whether what most irritated the bishops was his princely way of life or the criticisms he made of the Greeks: the city of Samosata, by the Euphrates, had an Assyrian population.
4 Unveiling and Demonstrating Heresy
Theodotus was a tanner, that is, a craftsman, and also an amateur philosopher; he was not a member of the hierarchy of the Roman church, and his excommunication did not shake the stability of the church or the authority of its bishop, on the contrary, it was an explicit lesson that it was not easy to accuse a bishop, even when one was quite popular. But what if a bishop, the guardian of the Catholic faith and head of a church, disobeyed the rule of faith? Who would accuse him of heresy? Who would condemn him?
The whole debate against the Gnostics reinforced, among the bishops, the awareness of inter-church communion and the principle of synodality. Authors like Irenaeus, Tertullian, Hilary, and Origen did not write for their local communities, but for the Great Church, a network of episcopal churches that, at the turn of the 3rd to the 4th century, did not have a single center, but at least two, Rome and Alexandria. It was expected that these two churches, or rather, their bishops, would lead the ecclesiastical processes that should warn and correct suspect bishops and punish condemned bishops.
At this moment, heresy gains a new connotation, for if before it was more or less easy to point out the heretic as a deviant from the rule of faith, it was very complicated to frame a bishop in these conditions. A bishop is more than a teacher who can be dismissed, he is the leader of an urban community, elected from an electoral base that could mean a small crowd of supporters, among whom were politically important people.
When it comes to members of the hierarchy, the discussion about heresy takes on an eminently political place, either because, with political support, a bishop can escape an ecclesiastical process, or because, without political support, a bishop can be accused of being a heretic simply as an excuse to remove him from command. This was what happened with a cleric named Paul of Samosata (d. 275), elected bishop of Antioch in 261 (CHADWICK, 2001, p. 166-169), about a year after the Roman emperor Valerian (253-260) had been defeated and captured by the Persian Empire in that same city. These were very difficult years.
With the Roman defeat, Syria became part of an independent kingdom based in Palmyra, whose queen, Zenobia (260-267), became the spearhead of an anti-Roman movement that initially seemed quite strong, with real chances of sweeping away imperial power from the Middle East, but which, in practice, lasted very little. This was the first mistake of Paul of Samosata: as soon as he was elected bishop, he decided to support an ephemeral queen, but who, at least for a time, rewarded him very well, giving him the title of ducenary and paying him a high salary.
The fact is that the bishops who formed the Christian catholicity, up to that moment, presided over churches located in cities belonging to the Roman Empire; in civil terms, the bishops were subjects of the Empire, and all of them considered that the Empire legitimately guaranteed social, institutional, and legal order, thanks to its state structures. It was not long ago that Nero had martyred a hundred or more Christians (the Roman protomartyrs), and Clement (d. c. 100), a presbyter of Rome, was convinced that this empire, a miniature of the universe, was the great reference for the churches, especially in terms of order, discipline, and hierarchy.
Antioch, for example, had been the capital of the Roman province of Syria until Zenobia took power. The city where the faithful were first called Christians (Acts 11:26) had passed into anti-Roman hands and, worse than that, had a declaredly anti-Roman bishop. It is difficult to understand Paul’s real position, for precisely because he politically diverged from his colleagues, and for receiving a salary from an enemy state, he was harshly criticized; Eusebius of Caesarea, who always supported the Roman Empire, spends many pages of his Ecclesiastical History reporting what happened, not without making it clear how much Paul of Samosata was, from the beginning, a corruptor of the episcopate and a danger to the Church.
In his opinion, Paul corrupted the episcopate because he used his position as a ducenary to display power: in an encyclical that the Syrian bishops sent to the bishops of Rome and Alexandria, it is said that Paul had himself carried in litters, that he introduced women into the episcopal residence, sat on a platform that more resembled the throne of a magistrate than the chair of a bishop, and worked as a usurer. And to make matters worse, Paul launched attacks against the Greek episcopal establishment, accusing it of condoning Origen, who, in his view, practiced poor biblical exegesis and wrongly explained the nature of the incarnate Word. In the legal process against Paul, it is impossible to know whether what most irritated the bishops was his princely way of life or the criticisms he made of the Greeks: the city of Samosata, by the Euphrates, had an Assyrian population.
5 Heresy as a State Matter
As we have just seen, Eusebius of Caesarea was quite pleased with the outcome given by a pagan emperor to a purely ecclesiastical conflict, after all, as stated in Romans 13:4, the prince â regardless of his belief â is an instrument of God to punish those who do evil, and the heretic is one of these people. But it was Paul of Samosata who sought imperial arbitration, and he did so because he believed that the synodal decision that deposed him did not fully respect his rights. Paul’s initiative was fully supported by the law. In fact, there were two possible ways to resolve conflicts between civilians in the Roman Empire: extrajudicial arbitration, as long as it followed legal procedures, and the actual judicial process, which depended on the courts and public magistrates.
In extrajudicial arbitration, it was allowed for the mediator to take into account legislation, jurisprudence, and local customs, while the official judicial process had to strictly follow the decrees and decisions applicable throughout the empire. If we look closely, the Antiochene synod of 268 functioned as an unofficial arbitration, as can be deduced from this passage of Eusebius:
Who better convinced [Paul] of dissimulation, after examining his theories, was Malchion, an eloquent man, sophist and president of rhetoric teaching in the Hellenic schools in Antioch, besides being honored with the presbyterate in the community of this city, because of the extraordinary purity of his faith in Christ. He opened a dispute against Paul, while stenographers recorded it, and we know that the notes have reached us (…). (EUSEBIUS OF CAESAREA, 2000, p. 381-382)
As a sophist and orator, Malchion was a professional qualified to mediate a legal demand, and he followed the protocols: the accused and the accusers were heard, the testimonies were noted, the process was duly assembled. Under these conditions, Malchion could make his decision, which would be endorsed by the magistrates and would become legally valid. For an extrajudicial arbitration to be officially accepted, it was necessary that the involved parties agreed on the choice of the arbitrator: Malchion was a presbyter of the church where Paul was a bishop, and he enjoyed a good reputation. He met all the requirements for the role he played, and certainly, Paul trusted his capability. However, the verdict did not please the bishop. It was his right, as a citizen, to appeal to the formal court to see if in this other instance he could overturn the result. And that is what he did.
The particular case of Paul of Samosata points to an important turning point in the way churches began to handle heresies, that is, making them a judicial matter and, therefore, a state matter. This change brought about at least two significant shifts: the first is the increasing participation of forensic professionals, like Malchion, in debates about heresy, and thanks to these professionals, the juridical-rhetorical language became recurrent in the composition of accusation and defense texts, influencing theological vocabulary itself. The second change refers to the direct mediation of the state in doctrinal deliberation and in the conclusion of debates. Well, the public authority did not interfere in private matters unless requested, and since Paul of Samosata, bishops began to resort to this expedient, either to denounce heretics or to defend themselves against the accusation of heresy (HUMFRESS, 2007, p. 260-268).
The anti-heretical ardor we see in Irenaeus and Tertullian only changed place; in the eagerness to end heresy, the bishops opened the doors of their churches for the state to do what they themselves were not managing to solve. For the bishops, this was a price worth paying. It happens that the state does not function like a church, even though the church had clearly adopted state expressions since at least the 2nd century. For the public authority to act on ecclesial matters, clerics needed to adapt theological demands to legal procedures and allow the state to adapt theological language to legal categories. Heresy became a judicially imputable offense and, therefore, subject to coercive penalties. The bishops were pleased; for a moment it seemed they would have more resources to suppress heretics. It happens that, before a formal trial, no one can be considered guilty, and so the supposed heretics could also mobilize the civil courts against the orthodox. A long judicial struggle began, where heresy remained in suspense until the magistrate assigned it to one of the disputing parties.
In the year 313, the Donatist bishops of North Africa appealed to Emperor Constantine, asking him to review the decision of the council of Rome, which had condemned them. Constantine preferred to act like Aurelian and favored the opinion of the Catholic bishops, led by Pope Miltiades. Dissatisfied, the Donatists began a series of protests that forced the emperor to convene a synod of Western bishops, held in Arles in 314. The Donatist case made it clear to Constantine that a collective schism could mean civil disturbances that were difficult to control and costly to the public treasury; it was necessary to resolve the situation, and that was why the council was convened. In it, Donatism was formally condemned as heresy, and the result assumed legal force; based on this, Constantine, in 317, ordered the suppression of the Donatist Church, the confiscation of ecclesial properties, and the imprisonment of its bishops (IRVIN; SUNQUIST, 2004, 317).
However, what seemed to be the victory of catholicity proved to be much more fragile. The law may typify heresy as a crime, but the jurisprudential interpretation of the law, the speed of the processes, and the reach of the verdicts depend on the condition of the judicial system, the position of the magistrates, and the capacity for political pressure exerted by the parties. In other words, to make the process work, it was necessary for the public authorities to have the will to act. Augustine of Hippo (d. 354), who was actively involved in the Donatist debate, revealed in his writings how the judicialization of heresy could result in ineffective measures. Catholic bishops might occasionally be favored by imperial benevolence, but for how long? They quickly realized that a ruler’s benevolence could easily change direction. To keep it focused on themselves, the bishops had to learn to negotiate with the magistrates and public authorities like any other influential person.
If before it was necessary to convince heretics of their heresy, now the bishops also had to convince the magistrates, but in this case, pure argument was not always enough. Agreements and concessions were inevitable and had consequences. The Council of Nicaea, for example, defined Trinitarian orthodoxy, but what followed the council was a series of defeats for the orthodox and the rise of the heretics, who convinced Emperor Constantius II (337-361) to seek conciliation. When the state defines orthodoxy, the terms of faith become as much a matter of political negotiation as the text of the law. Doctrinal intransigence may continue to inflame certain bishops, but they know that without political compromise and a certain degree of flattery, heresy will continue to be an option for the discontented and dissenters.
As we have seen so far, the whole issue of heresy presents itself as a power struggle between disagreeing groups driven by the conviction that there can be no more than one true faith. The judicialization of heresy demonstrated to the state that these theological differences concealed social, cultural, and ethnic fissures that mirrored the Roman Empire itself, in its vast cultural plurality. Christians may argue that their doctrine is, in theory, universal, but their communities are cutouts of local populations, established in particular territories, where the past, language, and economic conditions become catalytic filters for the universal faith to take root there. Orthodoxy necessarily implies dialogue or debate with and among cultures in the same way that heresy can express xenophobia and racial prejudice. The invention of ecumenical councils as state policy demonstrates how fragile orthodoxy can be, as it results from the balance between regionalisms, whose political capital is always asymmetrical.
Since the Council of Nicaea in 325, heresy has been just one of the many weapons used by bishops in their incessant âwars for Jesusâ (JENKINS, 2013), wars fought by clerics but sponsored by the state. Emperors could indeed try to mediate conflicts between different churches, excluding heretics and promulgating orthodoxy. However, the quest for the correct faith was, in itself, an activity of silencing voices that did not interest power and amplifying voices that did. This is what happened, for example, at the Council of Chalcedon in 451: the defenders of the single nature of Christ, called miaphysites or monophysites, who were Egyptians, Syrians, Armenians, Mesopotamians, were simply ignored by the Greco-Latin episcopal mainstream, at that time represented by the Christology of Pope Leo the Great (440-461) and the bishops aligned with Empress Pulcheria (d. 453).
The disagreement of Chalcedon shows us how theological debates actually result from social, ethnic, and political problems. The Roman world could form a single empire, but it was never more than a kaleidoscope of differences that, in peaceful times, were easily managed, but in times of crisis, became very acute. The 5th century is famous for being the final moment of Roman unity: in 476 the last Roman emperor of the West disappeared, leaving behind hundreds of Catholic churches and dozens of Arian churches, as in Ravenna and Toledo. In the East, the empire remained firm but no longer with the same cohesion. Egypt and Syria, the economically most productive and therefore richest areas, housed the anti-Chalcedonian Christian populations, persecuted by the Roman, orthodox, and Chalcedonian state.
The persecution of the anti-Chalcedonian heretics was not a good state policy, as subjects who, because of heresy, feel diminished by the regime are not usually very loyal to it. When the Islamic Empire emerged in the Mediterranean, offering to protect those who signed peace treaties, the Syrian and Egyptian anti-Chalcedonians had no doubt that the time had come to take revenge on the Chalcedonian heretics. They accepted the Islamic caliphate to replace the heretic basileus and began to consider that the rise of Islam was a deserved divine punishment for Chalcedonian heresy. We return to Celsus. Historically, heresy is a device that demarcates the field of authority and justifies violence and intolerance against those who do not submit.
André Miatello. UFMG/FAJE (Brazil). Original text in Portuguese. Submitted: 08/20/2021. Approved: 10/25/2021. Published: 12/30/2021.
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