Explainer
Creed
5 min read

Creator or creature – a centuries old question of identity

Why does a 1,700-year-old creed still matter?

Frances Young is Emeritus Professor of Theology at the University of Birmingham. 

An abstract depiction of The Creation shows an aperture in a cloud like formation over water.
The Creation, James Tissot.
James Tissot, Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.

2025 will be the 1,700th anniversary of the Nicaea Creed. In October 2024, Prof. Frances Young gave the inaugural lecture of the McDonald Agape Nicaea Project at St Mellitus College.

 

In the year 325CE the first ever “ecumenical” (= “worldwide”) council of bishops assembled at Nicaea near Constantinople (now Istanbul). It was summoned by Constantine, the first Roman Emperor to convert to Christianity and patronize the Church. Why does this seventeenth centenary of an obscure discussion around complex words matter to us today? 

The outcome of the Council was agreement to the text of a creed, and banishment of a pesky priest named Arius, whose bishop disapproved of his teaching. Unfortunately, some other bishops remained sympathetic to something like Arius’ viewpoint, and for political reasons Constantine was desperate for Church unity. Argument over the issues went on for half a century, until another Council in 381CE reaffirmed the position established in 325CE and agreed the version labelled “the Nicene Creed” and still used in Church liturgies across the world today. 

The controversy was basically about the identity of the pre-existent Word or Son of God incarnate in Jesus Christ. Nicaea established that the Son was “of one substance” (homoousios) with the Father – in other words, he was fully God in every sense of the word. But for many traditional believers at the time this was difficult to accept. 

The common sense of the culture thought in terms of a “chain of being.” Most people in the Roman Empire were polytheists – there were loads of gods: Mars, god of war, Nepture, god of the sea, and so on. Each city, each ethnic group, had its own god, as did every family, every interest group, every burial society – you name it. But generally there was a sense that above all these was the Supreme God, who was worshipped indirectly through worship of these lower gods, and below them were all sorts of nature spirits, daemons, benign and malign, then souls incarnate in human persons, then animals, even vegetables as living entities, and finally inert matter like earth and stones, at the bottom of the hierarchy or chain of being. 

Jews identified their God with the Supreme God and insisted the one God alone should be worshipped. But they also imagined a heavenly court of archangels and angels, then below that the souls of the righteous, and so on in a somewhat parallel hierarchy. No surprise then that Christians assumed a similar picture: God, then the Son of God, then the Holy Spirit, then archangels and angels, then souls, and so on in a hierarchical ladder. 

But in the second century Christians had argued their way to the idea of “creation out of nothing.” Many non-Jewish thinkers, including some early Christians, followed Plato, conceiving creation as the outcome of Mind (the Demiurge or Craftsman) shaping Matter into whatever Forms or Ideas were in mind. But other Christian thinkers argued that God was not a mere Craftsman who needed stone or wood to work on like a sculptor – God produced the Matter in the first place. This then triggered a full-blown critique: God did not create out of pre-existent Matter or there would be two first principles; God did not create from God’s own self or everything would be divine; so God must have created out of nothing. 

Now try to fit that to the chain of being: where do you draw the line between God the Creator and everything else made out of nothing? This was the issue which surfaced in the so-called Arian controversy. What we might call the “mainstream” remained wedded to the hierarchy, not least because of earlier controversies about God’s monarchia. The word did mean “monarchy” – single sovereignty; but arche could mean “rule” or “beginning,” so monarchia also referred to the single first principle of all that is. It was natural to attribute monarchia to God the Father, a view that worked OK with the hierarchy. But some had suggested that the one God 'changed mode', as it were, appearing now as Father, now as Son, now as Holy Spirit, taking different roles in the overarching scriptural story. This suggestion was mocked as all too similar to the pagan god, Proteus, who in mythology kept changing shape. It is even possible that that key word homoousios had been condemned along with this “Modalist” view.  

Traditionalists were suspicious. The first historian of the Church, Eusebius of Caesarea, was present at Nicaea, and wrote a somewhat embarrassed letter to his congregation explaining how he had come to agree to this formula. Even Athanasius - the one who would come to be regarded as the staunch defender of Nicaea - largely avoided the term for a quarter of a century, though that does not mean he did not identify the principal issue. He campaigned hard and ended up in exile five times over. The fundamental issue was whether Christ was God incarnate or some kind of divinised superman, or a semi-divine mediating figure, a created Creator. Arius is supposed to have said, “there was a when he was not,” even though he was “the first and greatest of the creatures” through whom God created everything else. 

So why does it still matter? Four simple reasons:

Because it was basically about identity, and the question of Christ’s identity still matters. 

Because we still find people treating Jesus Christ as superhuman – not really one of us, or semi-divine – not God in the same sense as the God the Father. If we are to be ecumenical, across different denominations today but also across time, we need to affirm that God’s Son and Spirit are truly of the one God. As early as the second century the first great Christian theologian, Irenaeus, characterized the Word and the Spirit as God’s two hands – we can imagine the Trinity reaching out first to create and then to embrace us with God’s redeeming love. 

Because it means we can look to Jesus and there catch a glimpse of God’s very own loving face - not just a dim image but the reality itself.

And because only God could recreate us in God’s own image and raise us to new life. 

  

To find out more about the McDonald Agape Nicaea Project being held by St. Mellitus College in London, come and join the public lectures, or look out for other Nicene celebrations in 2025. 

For more information or to register for these events, you can visit the Nicaea Project website  

Watch the lecture

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Awe and wonder
Christmas culture
Creed
Music
4 min read

Nine Lessons and Carols needs to be long

The carol service that take time to pull at the golden thread of Christmas.
Choristers stand and sing in choir stalls in a church
BBC.

I have decided that I will make it an annual ritual to grumpily defend a Christmas tradition that I love. Last year it was the traditional Nativity Play. This year it is the traditional carol service. For over a hundred years, at King’s College Chapel at least, the traditional Festival of Nine Lessons and Carols has borne witness to the very best of Anglican liturgy. The service combines candlelight, communal and choir carol singing, and lessons from Holy Scripture in a beautifully evocative manner. I adore the service, and it is very much a highlight of my Advent contemplation.

I am thrilled to say that carol services seem to be as popular as ever! I can hardly name a church that won’t be putting one on, either solo or uniting with other parishes. This warms my heart…and yet a shard of ice remains. A small, but very important gripe: editing. I notice that many services don’t follow the traditional pattern of nine lessons. Some have six. Some five. Some only a few, focusing as much as possible on the carol singing. I have a few clergy friends who enjoy giving me a gentle ribbing when I tell them my plans: “Oh you’re not doing ALL NINE are you!? Oh dear! It’ll be so long!” 

Brevity can be a virtue, and the Church hasn’t always cultivated it. I understand people have busy lives, and that very few of us want to be out late on a cold, wintry evening. I know that mince pies and mulled wine are as close to an irresistible temptation as there could be. I know that 30 to 45 minutes of hymn singing with a bit of Bible seems so lovely and compact. I understand all of this. 

However, I want to argue in favour of keeping all nine lessons: the length is the point! 

We end with a meditation on primordial concepts that cannot be truly comprehended by any mortal, and can only be put to paper in poetry. 

Some of the lessons are long (I’m looking at you Genesis!), and some a wonderfully pithy. It starts at the very beginning of the Bible and spends a good deal of time – nearly half of the readings – meditating on Genesis and Isaiah before we even begin to get to the baby Jesus, and the manger, and the shepherds, and the wise men. We seem to take ages not actually reading about the Story of Christmas…and this is VITAL! 

The traditional carol service concludes with the Prologue of John, that masterful exposition of the theology of the Incarnation, the perfect encapsulation of what a Christian believes is the truth, and the light, and the meaning of Jesus being born in a stable in Bethlehem. The service concludes with mention of the Word, of pre-existence, of Creation, of light defeating darkness, of salvation wrought through spirit and not flesh. We end with a meditation on primordial concepts that cannot be truly comprehended by any mortal, and can only be put to paper in poetry…and yet this is the true meaning of Christmas, and the true meaning of the Scriptures. Everything from Genesis 1.1 has been leading up to this, and everything written in Scripture only makes sense in light of these remarkable verses by John (or so Christians believe). 

When defending the traditional Nativity, I wrote about narrative and story and how they are fundamental to understanding our place in the world and the very meaning of our lives. The same can be said about the full nine lessons. Starting at the Fall of Mankind in the Garden of Eden, stopping to ponder the mercy and promise of God to Abraham and Isaac, being confronted with the wonderful Prophecies of Isaiah (the promise of peace and joy in the Kingdom of God), and then charting the story of the miraculous Birth of Christ, we see the underlying narrative thread of all Scripture: God loves His creation, God makes a promise to His creation, God keeps His promise and brings salvation and reconciliation to His creation. The Christmas story is wonderful and joyous, but it is an act in a larger drama, and we cannot truly understand it (or how it relates to the Prologue of John) if we don’t allow ourselves to encounter the whole story. 

Perhaps I’m putting too much emphasis and expectation on a single service in the year. Carol Services are celebratory, and anything that makes them accessible to as many people as possible is not something I want to malign…but…I pray that the full sweep of Scripture, the full and precious golden thread of the narrative of Scripture, is not lost. It is the meaning of Christmas, and it is the meaning of life, and it fills me with joy when it is celebrated with fellowship, singing, and worship. 

Anyway, grump over. I’m going to eat a mince pie.

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