There is a long, venerable tradition of Christians making a big deal about theological and liturgical differences. But this usually raises the dilemma of distinguishing between essentials and nonessentials: just how important are these variations? Today anyway, most of us would like (ideally) to have meaningful, historically grounded church beliefs and practices of our own without thinking that everyone else who does things different is a heretic. Finding the line is hard though.
Maybe you suspect—as I have—that this problem is essentially a modern one: surely, ancient Christians always erred on the side of doctrinal and liturgical purity over against unity. Surely, we squishy post-Enlightenment Westerners are the ones who worry about making sufficient, charitable space for diversity over top of a deeper, more fundamental unity. That’s been my prejudice, anyway.
In reality, the effort to balance diversity and unity is a very old problem. The fifth-century ecclesiastical historian Sozomen was troubled by it, which leads him in one chapter to assert the universal church’s unity while highlighting the diversity that can be found within the bounds of catholicity.
He assumes, moreover, that this acceptable diversity even extends to some surprising places: prayers, psalmody, and even what books can be read publicly in church. He writes,
And it is even found that not all have used the same prayers and psalms or readings at the same time. Accordingly, I know the Apocalypse of Peter, considered completely illegitimate (ὡς νόθον) by the ancients, yet even now is read publicly once each year in certain churches in Palestine on the day of Preparation, when the whole assembly of the people fasts piously in remembrance of the savior’s suffering.
For Sozomen, who came from the Levant, the public reading of the Apocalypse of Peter was an example of tolerable liturgical diversity. In the same breath, Sozomen reminds his readers that this text was essentially ahistorical nonsense, a forgery. He continues,
And presently, very many monks praise the book reported as the Apocalypse of Paul, which none of the ancients knew. Some are insistent that this book was discovered in the reign of this emperor [Theodosius II, r. 408–450]. For they say that, by a divine epiphany, a marble case was found in Tarsus of Cilicia, below Paul’s house under the ground, and that this book was in it. And when I asked about this, a Cilician presbyter of Tarsus’ church said it was a forgery (ψεῦδος). His gray hair was in fact showing him to have been a man of many years, and he was saying that no such thing was known to have happened among them, and that he would be surprised if this wasn’t fabricated by heretics.[1]
Another apocalyptic forgery, that of Paul, had found a friendly readership with certain monks. A little sleuthing by Sozomen strongly suggested that the book was indeed a fake—maybe even the fabrication of heretics. But remember his larger point in this chapter is to highlight extreme examples of liturgical divergence that don’t overthrow orthodoxy. That is, just because some monks buy this forgery doesn’t put them outside the faith.
Of course, this is all Sozomen’s own opinion, and other Christians would draw the line elsewhere. Many Christians today would blanch at the thought of forged-and-likely-heretical books being read publicly at the church down the road. But Sozomen was no squish, and his writings show that he still had robust, late ancient notions of heresy. What it tells me, then, is that the modern angst about unity and diversity are basically not new. And I, for one, take some comfort in that.
7.19: My translation. καὶ εὐχαῖς δὲ καὶ ψαλμῳδίαις ταῖς αὐταῖς ἢ ἀναγνώσμασι κατὰ τὸν αὐτὸν καιρὸν οὐ πάντας εὑρεῖν ἔστι κεχρημένους. οὕτω γοῦν τὴν καλουμένην Ἀποκάλυψιν Πέτρου, ὡς νόθον παντελῶς πρὸς τῶν ἀρχαίων δοκιμασθεῖσαν, ἔν τισιν ἐκκλησίαις τῆς Παλαιστίνης εἰσέτι νῦν ἅπαξ ἑκάστου ἔτους ἀναγινωσκομένην ἔγνων ἐν τῇ ἡμέρᾳ τῆς παρασκευῆς, ἣν εὐλαβῶς ἅπας ὁ λαὸς νηστεύει ἐπὶ ἀναμνήσει τοῦ σωτηρίου πάθους. τὴν δὲ νῦν ὡς Ἀποκάλυψιν Παύλου τοῦ ἀποστόλου φερομένην, ἣν οὐδεὶς ἀρχαίων οἶδε, πλεῖστοι μοναχῶν ἐπαινοῦσιν. ἐπὶ ταύτης δὲ τῆς βασιλείας ἰσχυρίζονταί τινες ταύτην ηὑρῆσθαι τὴν βίβλον. λέγουσι γὰρ ἐκ θείας ἐπιφανείας ἐν Ταρσῷ τῆς Κιλικίας κατὰ τὴν οἰκίαν Παύλου μαρμαρίνην λάρνακα ὑπὸ γῆν εὑρεθῆναι καὶ ἐν αὐτῇ τὴν βίβλον εἶναι. ἐρομένῳ δέ μοι περὶ τούτου ψεῦδος ἔφησεν εἶναι Κίλιξ πρεσβύτερος τῆς ἐν Ταρσῷ ἐκκλησίας· γεγονέναι μὲν γὰρ πολλῶν ἐτῶν καὶ ἡ πολιὰ τὸν ἄνδρα ἐδείκνυ· ἔλεγε δὲ μηδὲν τοιοῦτον ἐπίστασθαι παρ’ αὐτοῖς συμβάν, θαυμάζειν τε εἰ μὴ τάδε πρὸς αἱρετικῶν ἀναπέπλασται.
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