In their scholarship, Origen and Eusebius made revolutionary use of tabular organisation, a device little known in earlier Greek and Roman contexts. This usage is driven by a variety of ideological motives but likely enabled by physical features of their working environment. In the more specific case of his Hexapla, Origen drew on the already quasi-tabular form of bilingual texts previously used for language instruction. This has consequences for debates about the meaning of the ordering and function of the individual columns. It also suggests that the reader was to be interpellated as a (subordinate) student, whatever their actual relationship to Origen or his text was.

This chapter re-examines the image of a canopied building supported by columns that often appears as the concluding page to the prefatory paratext to the gospels known as the Canon Tables, which was devised by Eusebius of Caesarea in the early fourth century. A catalogue of surviving examples of the so-called tholos image is provided, followed by an argument that the image is underdetermined and polyvalent, and that it operates together with the rest of the Canon Tables decorative scheme to invite an imaginative response from the viewer. The latter half of the chapter turns to two texts in Eusebius’ corpus to elucidate the way in which he used sacred architecture as a means of mapping the theological truths and ritual activities associated with such spaces. The same approach can be applied to the architectural decorative scheme adorning the Canon Tables, including its richly symbolic tholos, which can be seen as a potent symbol that can be activated through a biblically inspired ekphrasis and used as a ‘cognitive machine’ to theorise Christian knowledge and practice.

Chapter 3 addresses the writings Julian composed during his sole rule (361–63) following Constantius’ sudden death. I suggest here that Julian’s mature output was grounded in the intuition that the challenge to Christian power had to be channelled into an attack on its identity as a superior interpretive system. The first section draws on a reading of key texts by Constantine and his supporters to contextualise Constantius’ intellectual self-image in the legacy of his father’s cultural policy. Constantine legitimised his subversive status as Christian emperor by projecting himself as the sublime exegete of divine providence. The second section illustrates the strategies Julian devised to deny the validity of Christianity’s hermeneutical claims, which he envisaged as prepared by Greek philosophical achievements and as being therefore derivative and unauthoritative. Julian’s critique was articulated through an attack on Christian exegesis (Against the Galileans) and on what Julian perceived as Christianity’s exploitative relationship with paideia (the School Ban). At the same time, Julian attempted to competitively rethink Greek allegoresis by renouncing the status of Homer as divine, enigmatic text and by composing hymns and writings constructing Greek religion as a ‘cult of culture’.

Constantine's role in calling the Council of Nicaea has long been recognized. But theological interests have overshadowed the political side of his decision-making. In the nineteenth century scholars coined the word “Caesaropapism” for imperial interference that they saw as a threat to the purity of the Church. But the ancient state operated on a different set of principles, and a political approach fills in important blanks in our understanding of the council. By the time Constantine took control of the eastern empire he had learned that the best way to deal with conflict in the Church was to assemble the largest number of bishops possible and have them settle the problem. This is the thinking behind his decision to ask all the bishops in the empire to settle the Arian question. This is why Nicaea became known as the first ecumenical (“world-wide”) council, though in reality almost all of the bishops present came from the East. Publicly, Constantine treated the bishops at Nicaea with respect and humility, but behind the scenes he worked to bring the opposing parties into agreement. The result was the Nicene Creed, still recited (in slightly different form) by Christians today.

The main acts of Nicaea were gradually reversed over the years 327-60. Constantine honored its name and canons throughout his life, but recalled Arius from exile, leaned on church leaders to restore him to communion, and sidelined Arius’s opponents. Constantius II flouted Nicaea’s canons and officially replaced its creed. Nonetheless, Nicaea’s pronouncements on the Son’s relationship to the ousia of the Father, including the term homoousios, which had been a response to Eusebius of Nicomedia’s Letter to Paulinus of Tyre, continued to be debated throughout this period in a succession of mutually allusive theological works. These include Eusebius of Caesarea’s Letter to his Church, Eustathius of Antioch’s Against the Arian Madness, Asterius the Sophist’s Defence of Eusebius of Nicomedia, Marcellus of Ancyra’s Against Asterius, Eusebius’s Against Marcellus and On Ecclesiastical Theology, Acacius of Caesarea’s Against Marcellus, Marcellus’ Letter to Julius of Rome, Athanasius’s Orations Against the Arians, the Profession of Faith of Sirmium 351, and Athanasius’s On the Decrees of Nicaea. The last of these, together with his formidable political skills, established the Nicene Creed against all the odds as the only formula which was able to command widespread support among bishops across the empire after the death of Constantius.

This chapter discusses the evidence for the existence of creeds before Nicaea and the purpose for which they might have been employed. The rival accounts of the origin of the Nicene formula are compared, together with the variants in the wording and the different accounts of its origin. The biblical texts that lie behind each verse of the creed are examined, and Beatrice’s argument for a pagan origin of the term homoousios is weighed against other theories. The anathemas require particular study, since the anathema on the term ktiston (“created”) is not preserved in all sources, but is crucial to the argumentation of Athanasius, who claims that it has the authority of Eusebius. The chapter then asks how the Nicene Creed was regarded after the end of the council, and whether subsequent creedal formulations were meant to reinforce or supersede it, and how it attained the form that is now regularly employed in churches.

The Council of Nicaea was a landmark event, yet uncertainty surrounds almost every aspect of the council and its proceedings. No Acts survive, the signatory lists are incomplete, and the organization of the council’s meetings and the identities and motivations of those who participated remain controversial. Rather than propose another hypothetical reconstruction, the aim of this chapter is to reconsider the different interpretations made possible by our limited evidence and the particular questions that have divided scholarly opinion. Who attended the council? Who took the leading roles in the council’s deliberations? And who proposed and supported the crucial decisions, such as the inclusion of the contested term homoousios into the Nicene Creed? Not only are such questions essential to understanding the council and its legacy, but our search for answers offers the opportunity to look beyond the emperor Constantine and the most famous episcopal protagonists, and consider the significance of Nicaea for some of the less prominent figures who contributed to the drama. While their voices are difficult to hear, these more humble individuals had their own parts to play and shared the contemporary awe at a spectacle that symbolized the changing status of Christianity within the fourth-century Roman empire.

During the formative period of disputation over the theology of Arius, the emperor Licinius ruled over the eastern Roman provinces. The emperor Constantine was directly involved in the doctrinal controversy only after his victory over Licinius in 324. But Constantine’s engagement in imperial politics had already shaped his thinking about theology. In imperial successions sons were sometimes promoted but also sometimes overlooked. Emperors introduced a new five-year cycle for calculating taxes and often held annual consulships. Emperors identified with deities such as Jupiter and Hercules. At the Council of Nicaea, Constantine was hence ready to debate with bishops over the theology of Father and Son, the annual date of Easter, and the simultaneous divinity and humanity of Jesus Christ. One bishop who attended the council was Eusebius of Caesarea, whose panegyric equated the emperor with the Son of God. Constantine himself strengthened the association by funding churches in honor of Jesus’s nativity and resurrection in the Holy Land and by publicizing a story about his own vision of a cross in the sky. The Council of Nicaea had been a crucible for the formation of both a theology of God and a political philosophy of a Christian emperor.