There are a number of myths floating around about what happened at the Council of Nicaea in 325 CE. Hopefully some of those will be dispelled here. It was a significant event, but not for the reasons most people believe.
As noted elsewhere in this site, Christology, or study of the nature of Christ, had given rise to a number of controversies in early Christianity. At first these weren’t significant, even if they triggered an occasional argument or two.
As time went on, though, many Christian thinkers, especially in the east, began to take this issue very seriously and they attempted to resolve it. Most wound up asserting that Christ was divine, but had only appeared to be a man, and was not actually under the limitations of being fully human. Paul of Samosata, patriarch of Antioch, however, in the late 3rd century, took a different stance. He insisted that, in order for His life as a man — and his death — to have any meaning, Christ must have been fully human. Therefore he was different in substance from God. He was, instead, a created Being, separate from God. He may have been divine in part, but was not fully God.
Initially, this issue remained a largely theological one, however, and as such did not have a great impact on the Church as a whole. Eventually, though, Paul was driven from his post as bishop and subsequently out of Antioch entirely. But within a couple of decades, another Christian leader, Arius of Alexandria, had taken up his standard, and did so far more eloquently and by building a loyal following.
By the start of the 4th century, Gnosticism had become widespread in the east. In fact, some scholars believe there were more Gnostics than there were “literalist” Christians in that region.
Early on, as in by the middle of the 2nd century, the young, predominantly-Literalist Church condemned Gnosticism as heresy. While a few prominent Church figures were Gnostics, the various Gnostic Christian sects tended to stay “below the radar” of the rest of the Church, if you will.
Still, “literalist” Christians were aware of the Gnostic sects, and hated them. They were particularly incensed at what they viewed as Gnostics’ elitism. At the same time, however, they didn’t really understand Gnostics or their beliefs. They simply knew them to be objectionable. So as much as they may have liked to go after Gnostic Christians, they don’t appear to have done much to them. Partly this is because they had little ability to do so, their own religion being frowned upon by the Empire, up until 313 CE.
Arius and his followers were in the minority among Literalist Christians of Alexandria but only by a slim margin. Alexander, patriarch of Alexandria, in 323 and 324 hosted local synods (or councils) of bishops from across northern Africa, which denounced Arius and his doctrine. Arius ultimately fled to Palestine, where he was sheltered by another presbyter who had sided with him. A competing synod in Palestine reinstated Arius and invalidated the decision of the Alexandrian synods.
In the meantime, the streets of Alexandria were home to the occasional riot or two — which typically broke out when followers of Arius began singing the little ditties Arius had written to convey his doctrine in a simple, catchy way. Invariably, a “loyal, literalist” clergyman would hear this and rally followers of Patriarch Alexander against them.
Yes, there was fighting in the streets over this. Not much of it, but there was some.
The Roman Emperor Constantine, sometimes surnamed “the Great,” had (along with his co-ruler Licinius) declared Christianity an acceptable religion, in the Edict of Milan (313). His motives in doing so aren’t clear. He claimed to have had a vision of a cross in the heavens, prior to a battle he fought against another imperial contender (i.e. he heard a voice telling him to win in the name of the Christian God). As it turned out, he was victorious. He saw this as a good omen and a sign of his favor with the Christian God.
It may have happened this way, however, Constantine likely had less supernatural motives for permitting Christian belief. Christianity was an eastern-urban faith; in spite of three centuries of sporadic persecution, in many of the larger towns and cities (such as Antioch and Alexandria), it was the prevailing religion. By ending persecution of Christians, Constantine hoped to win over the urban populations, and with their support, he could enhance his own prestige and authority as Emperor. This was made all the more important due to a plague which had swept the western Empire during the reign of his predecessor, Emperor Diocletian. Any hope of rebuilding the west depended on the economically-thriving east.
By the early 320’s, Constantine had made himself the sole Emperor, having defeated his last rival. Aware of some of the theological contention in the Church, especially in Alexandria, Constantine was concerned that the Church might fracture, and thus dilute its support for him. Not fully understanding the issues at stake, he invited the bishops and patriarchs to meet at Nicaea, to resolve their differences, suggesting that it was merely a semantic matter, of no real importance.
Constantine couldn’t possibly have been more wrong. The matter was considered gravely important by leading Churchmen; they didn’t consider it just a semantic distinction. What the Emperor had planned as a meeting to set aside differences and create unity, proved to be anything but.
Direct records from the First Council of Nicaea haven’t survived, so we don’t know precisely what happened. But it appears that both sides set out their doctrines: Athanasius of Alexandria (a protege of Patriarch Alexander) argued in favor of orthodoxy; Arius argued in favor of the Samosatene doctrine. A small cadre of bishops attempted to reconcile them; in particular, these were Palestinian churchmen who'd taken Arius in, offered a compromise, which was worded in such a way as to be satisfactory to both sides (the wording was a little vague, and could be interpreted in two ways).
While some found this compromise position agreeable, it wasn’t acceptable to the hardliners on either side, so it was turned down. Instead, the majority sided with Athanasius and Alexander, and the Council voted to denounce Arius and his doctrine.
In the decades after Nicaea, in an effort to prove themselves right and their theological opponents wrong, Athanasius and others would lay the foundation for the notion of the Trinity, in order to explain the apparent differentiation seen in God (as the Father, as the Son, and as the Holy Spirit). These three Beings are separate, yet one. Each is fully divine and unbegotten, but in action, each is distinct. More specifically, Jesus Christ was both fully divine and fully human. (This brief statement about the Trinity probably does it a disservice, and most likely would not pass muster by the standards of most Churches; however, I only have just so much space, and not a lot of theological expertise, so it will have to do, for the purposes of this essay.)
In any event, the Trinity could not have been decided at Nicaea, since the Arian controversy was solely Christological in nature and did not involve the third person of the Godhead (i.e. the Holy Spirit). As noted, the Holy Spirit only came into play later, as both sides hardened and bolstered their positions.
Although the Arian “heresy” occupied much of the time spent by the Council, other matters were addressed. One was the dating of Easter, which the Council ultimately decided to detach from the dating of the Jews’ Passover.
Another matter was Melitius Bishop of Lycopolis and the schism he’d kicked up in Egypt. His group was similar to the Donatists to the west, in that they believed lapsed clergy had lost their ordinations and were ineligible for the clergy. Melitius was, figuratively speaking, placed under house arrest. Although he wasn’t stripped of his title, he wasn’t allowed to leave his home city (so he couldn’t recruit others to his “cause”) and was forbidden to ordain anyone. Alexander (his metropolitan) would have to re-ordain everyone Melitius had ordained.
The Council had intended this to be a kind of compromise which allowed Melitius to keep his dignity, yet made clear he’d gone wayward (as had Donatus to the west). The Melitian schism persisted after this, however, although their “sect” shrank and became mostly monastic in nature, eventually dying out completely in the 8th century.
A number of other, smaller matters were discussed and decided, mostly having to do with the protocols surrounding clergy, suitability to be ordained, how lapsed clergy were to be allowed back, how to handle repentant heretics, and some liturgical concerns.
While the Melitian schism was addressed by the Council, the Donatist schism wasn’t. In hindsight this seems like a major omission, since the Donatist controversy proved to have much greater weight and led to a much longer-lasting rift within Christendom. This is likely because of the figures who were central to the Council and had been expected to lead it — the highest-ranking patriarchs in the region (Alexander of Alexandria and Eustathius of Antioch), the hosting metropolitan Eusebius of Nicomedia, and Constantine’s secretary, Eusebius of Caesarea. It’s possible the shenanigans playing out in the Carthaginian church were known to them, but the Melitian schism hit much closer to home. So that got the Council’s attention.
Another concern not on the agenda was Gnosticism. It appears not to have been discussed at the Council. It’s likely no Gnostics were among the 1,800 churchmen who were invited, mostly because there were no Gnostic bishops (that we know of). It’s possible that, somewhere within Christendom, there was a senior Gnostic believer who might have been thought of as a bishop or of importance enough to get an invitation, but if so, we have no record of it.
At any rate, it simply wasn’t something the Council addressed. While that might seem to have gotten Gnostic Christians off the hook, ultimately, it didn’t. That they didn’t attend and weren’t even mentioned essentially froze them out of any discussions about how the Church should conduct itself. As far as “organized” Christianity saw it, Gnostic Christians more or less ceased to exist.
While the majority of churchmen in attendance were satisfied with the results of the Council of Nicaea, Arius and his followers were angry, and so was the Emperor. He had not wished either party to be denounced; his goal had been to unify, not divide, and the Council had not lived up to this. Constantine tried in vain after the Council to reconcile the two parties.
Eventually he would give up trying to reconcile them and instead punished them. Some, he exiled; others he ordered out of their offices. Initially he’d been furious with Arius as well as Alexander, having believed they — as leaders of their respective groups — should have been willing to have earnest discussion and ought to have been open to some kind of accord.
Ultimately, Constantine never got over the results of the Council he, himself, had called. Most of those involved, on all sides, would never again regain his favor. Perhaps the only one who did so was Eusebius of Nicomedia; they were accorded within a few years, and Eusebius was the one who reportedly baptized the Emperor on his deathbed.
In the years following the Council, strife within the Church grew, rather than waning. Arius fled to Illyria, in the western end of the Balkan peninsula, which at the time was something of a hinterland, perhaps the only place in the Empire he was safe. Many of his followers either joined him there, or abandoned the Arianist heresy, or simply maintained a low profile, not making an issue out of their doctrine. Even so, books and documents supporting Arius were burned, and many who were suspected of being his partisans were persecuted in a variety of ways.
The situation again became problematic, when some Arianists took refuge with Emperor Constantine, and he even accepted a few as advisors. Christians holding to the orthodox view (which a few generations later became the Trinity), were horrified. Once again, Constantine appears to have underestimated the stakes. Arianists were persecuted more intensely. Arius, already elderly by the time his teachings had become cause for conflict, died, though others carried on his teachings.
After Constantine, Arianism retained imperial favor, under Constantine II and Valens. Neither of them dealt with this divide successfully, though; the Church was left to muddle through the controversy on its own. The first truly orthodox (i.e. non-Arian) emperor was Theodosius I, and he went a long way toward encouraging Romans to drop Arianism. Even then, it took another couple centuries to die out in the west, especially since Arianism had favor among the barbarian kingdoms that succeeded Rome, especially among the Visigoths (of modern Spain) and the Vandals (of north-western Africa). Arianism did not die out until those two Germanic kingdoms were finally overwhelmed, centuries later.
Many people believe that the Church as an organization was founded by Constantine at this Council. That is not true. The Church organization existed prior to the Council. In fact, if not for the existence of a hierarchy of bishops and patriarchs, the Council would not even have been possible! (Otherwise, thousands of clerics across the Mediterranean would have to have somehow been assembled — all but impossible at that time.)
Neither did Constantine declare Christianity the “state religion” of Rome, at Nicaea. In fact, he never did so in his life — and for that matter, no other Roman Emperor ever did! The closest any of them came to doing so was when, around 390, Theodosius I outlawed nearly all pagan rites, leaving Christianity the only viable choice of religion for most people.
The concept of the Trinity was not decided at Nicaea. What was decided, was a position which would, eventually, lead to the Trinity doctrine (eventually decided upon at later Councils). The so-called “Nicene Creed” was not authored at Nicaea; it’s only called that because the foundation of some of its contents, was decided there.
Constantine did not make any of the Council’s decisions, nor did he order the assembled bishops to do anything. He couldn’t have, since its outcome was quite different from what he’d wanted! If Constantine had actually controlled the proceedings, a single unified Christianity would probably have emerged from it, rather than the fractious arrangement that resulted.
The Biblical canon was not decided at Nicaea. In fact, it was never formally declared until the Council of Trent in the 16th century (following the beginning of the Reformation). Yes, some localized or plenary councils and synods discussed it, such as III Carthage in 397, but Nicaea had nothing whatever to do with the Biblical canon.
The Church was not unified, in any way, at Nicaea. Quite the opposite — it was split into three major distinct camps (and many other, much smaller ones). Nicaea in fact permanently ended any hope of reconciliation among them; prior to that, accommodations had been possible, but the strict lines of demarcation declared at Nicaea rendered that impossible.
Nicaea did not end theological conflict within the Church. If anything, it deepened and spread it, since it drew distinct battle-lines which had not existed before. The Arian heresy spilled out of the east (it had been restricted mainly to Syria, Palestina, and northern Egypt); even though it was often in the minority, Arianism gained further geographical reach than possibly could have happened without Nicaea.
Gnosticism, as noted, was frozen out of the rest of the body of Christians, and never again would have much to do with it. As such, this represented the beginning of the end for them, especially when later emperors like Theodosius began taking sides among all the rifts that surged through the ranks of Christendom and “literalist” hierarchs had the power to pursue their vendettas against Gnostic “heretics.”
“Orthodox” Christianity, which ostensibly was victorious, having defeated the Arianists, would end up being riven apart over the next few centuries by multiple waves of additional Christological differences. Nicaea opened doors to multiple controversies and contests that might never have come about, otherwise.
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