Abstract
This article presents the keynote address from the conference on Nicaea at Princeton Theological Seminary held on November 6, 2025.
I believe it is obvious to everyone that there is nothing more honourable to my sight than the fear of God. Though it was formerly agreed that a council of bishops should meet at Ancyra in Galatia, it seemed to us for many reasons that it would be better for the council to assemble at Nicaea, a city of Bithynia, because the bishops from Italy and the rest of the countries of Europe are coming, because of the excellent temperature of the air, and in order that I may be present as a spectator and participant in what will be done. Therefore I affirm for you, my beloved brothers, that you should all promptly assemble at the said city, that is, at Nicaea. 1
Preserved in Syriac, this letter records the summons of the Emperor Constantine to Christian bishops to attend the Council of Nicaea in 325. Following his experience at Milvian Bridge, Constantine showed considerable favor toward a faith that many of his predecessors had, at various times, zealously persecuted to the full extent of Roman law. That was to be halted by the Edict of Milan in 313. Nicaea was not the first council that Constantine had summoned. He had earlier stepped in to settle the Donatist schism in 314. Accounting for some 10 percent of the population of the Empire, Constantine viewed the pax ecclesiae as an important factor in the pax Romana. Constantine's motives and faith, and his relationship with the bishops of his empire, have been explored in some depth by H. A. Drake, and these are not our immediate concern. 2 We should note, though, from the letter summoning the council to Nicaea rather than Ancyra, that Constantine did so for his own imperial benefit rather than for the bishops, and with the intention of being more of a participatory judge than a mere spectator.
Although the Council which met in 325 considered several issues, its main purpose was to address the Christological dispute surrounding the presbyter, Arius, whose teaching subordinated the Son to the Father. The case of Arius seems to be an early example of a theologian taking human language literally rather than analogically, and pressing the human relationships implied in ‘father’ and ‘son’ beyond the space-time continuum, and subjecting eternity to the literal language of temporality. Arius was not unaware of the problem and believed he had solved it by not saying there was a time when the Son was not, but instead saying there was when the Son was not. His clever use of language, nevertheless, introduced a concept of temporality into eternity, and made God the Son's divinity less eternal than that of God the Father. A council had already been held at Antioch in the early weeks of 325, consisting of 59 bishops. At this council Arius was condemned, and three bishops were provisionally deposed, amongst whom was Eusebius of Caesarea. But as with the Donatist situation of 314, Constantine wished to give an imperial stamp to such decisions. So it was that after much argument, the term homoousios, of one substance or one in being with the Father, was pressed into use at Nicaea to ensure the full divinity and eternity of the Son, and the term was placed in the Creed. Eusebius of Caesarea was rehabilitated, and he wrote back to his churches explaining how he had presented his own local creed which was deemed to be orthodox. The resulting creed, although regarded as having Palestinian roots, was almost certainly not a reworking of the creed of Eusebius, as Eusebius's letter might have implied. 3 That, however, was not the end of the matter. Support for Arius was articulated by Asterius the Sophist, and this led to the Council of Rome 340/41. The letter of Marcellus of Ancyra to Julius of Rome was followed by the Council of Antioch 341, and Serdica 342. Private confessions of faith were produced at these councils. Jerome remarked that the world groaned to find itself Arian, with Eunomius leading the new charge. The Council of 381 seems to have settled the matter.
The 318 fathers present at the Council of Nicaea might have been surprised by the fact that their statement of belief came to be ratified and expanded at the council of Constantinople in 381, when God the Holy Spirit's identity and divinity was formalized, and they may have been equally surprised by that creed being mentioned at the Council of Ephesus 431 and cited at Chalcedon 451. As J. N. D. Kelly stated, prior to the beginning of the fourth century all creeds and summaries of faith were local in character. 4 And as C. H. Turner noted, “the old creeds were creeds for catechumens, the new Creed was a creed for bishops.” 5 However, as Kinzig and Vinzent have shown, the creeds for catechumens were short interrogatory formulae, whereas with both Nicaea and the old Roman Creed, the fourth century marks the emergence of declaratory creeds. 6
What would have further puzzled the 318 bishops was the fact that this expanded creed came to be included in the Divine Liturgy, the Holy Qurbana, Mass, or eucharistic liturgy. Rowan Williams has made the case that initially this was done by adding phraseology from these declaratory creeds into the pre-Sanctus of the eucharistic prayer, his example being that of the Byzantine version of the anaphora of St. Basil.
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Williams argued: It is not just that credal material is absorbed into liturgy; the credal material itself has a strongly doxological character, most evident in the 341 Antiochene text but by no means absent from the 325 statement of faith, which has a slightly perfunctory allusion to the biblical titles of the Logos.
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But how did the whole Creed in the 381 expansion come to find a place in the liturgy? In what follows I hope to trace how and where this came to be, and then to explore some of the implications for worship today.
Nicaea-Constantinople in the East
The novelist Jane Austen remarked about history: “I often think it odd that it should be so dull, for a great deal of it must be invention.” The tale of how the Creed came into worship is not an invention, and so, sadly, it is not full of drama and excitement. As with many elements in liturgy, the first use of the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed in the Eucharist happened without much notice or headline news—in other words, its first occurrence remains a mystery.
The Historia Ecclesiastica of Theodore the Lector c.528 claims that the miaphysite bishop Peter the Fuller introduced it at Antioch c.489, but this passage is considered an interpolation. The earliest undisputed reference occurs later in the same work, where Theodore records how another miaphysite bishop, Timothy of Constantinople (511–518), introduced the Creed of Nicaea into the divine liturgy of Hagia Sophia. Theodore wrote: Timothy ordered that the symbol of faith of the 318 fathers be recited at each synaxis out of disparagement for Macedonius, as if he did not accept the symbol. Formerly it was recited only once a year, on Good Friday, during the bishop's catechesis.
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This does not mean that Timothy was the first to introduce the Creed into the divine liturgy. He may well have known that some other miaphysite bishops were doing this, and it might be that this was done by Peter the Fuller at Antioch. 10 The Chalcedonian-miaphysite disagreement did not result in formal ecclesial separation until the 520s. The use of the Creed may have been a pot shot at Chalcedon where the Creed had been incorporated as part of the Christological definition. The use of the Creed by those who could not accept the language of the definition was a claim to orthodoxy and a hint that Chalcedon was unorthodox. Timothy's successor at Constantinople was a Chalcedonian, and it would have sent a strange message if he had removed the Creed from the liturgy—especially since the congregation insisted that he openly assent to the Chalcedonian statements of faith. This took place after the Liturgy of the Word, ‘after the doors had been closed and the holy doctrine (άγιον μάθημα, creed) having been recited according to custom.’ 11 Given the influence of the Great Church, its liturgical practices were borrowed and followed, and so once Constantinople had the Creed, most Eastern Churches would have quickly followed suit. Liturgical usage jumps across doctrinal chasms, and recitation of the Creed would become a testimony of orthodoxy.
Robert Taft drew attention to a reference of John of Biclaro's Chronicon, in which he claimed that it was, in fact, Justin II (565–578) who ordered the creed to be sung by the people in all churches before the Lord's Prayer. 12 Taft demonstrated the unreliability of that account.
The placement of the creed in most Eastern rites is prior to the peace and eucharistic prayer—the exception being the Armenian Orthodox Church which recites it after the Gospel. Though an Armenian claim says that this was its place throughout orthodoxy, the Armenian rite was influenced by the Roman rite, which may account for its position after the Gospel. As regards the general Eastern positioning, Dix commented: It was no longer to be only a test of belief for those entering the church from outside …. the creed was to be made a test for those already within the church, by solemn affirmation of which they might prove they believed what the church had always believed, and not some private invention of their own.
13
More recently Kinzig refers to the creed as a password or watchword that was known only to the initiated. 14
Some insight as to how the recitation was regarded is revealed by some of the homilies and commentaries on the liturgy that various theologians authored within the various traditions. In the Church of the East, or East Syrian tradition, the creed is mentioned in Homily 17 attributed to Narsai. The attribution has been challenged, and it is either later than Narsai, or a homily of Narsai has been interpolated to bring it into line with later developments. There is a lengthy paraphrase and exposition of the creed, after which the homily says: This did the 318 priests seal; and they proscribed and anathematized every one that confesses not according to their confession. The Church confesses according to the confession of the Fathers, and she employs their confession also at the time of the Mysteries. At the time of the Mysteries her children thunder forth their Faith, reciting it with mouth and heart, without doubting.
15
The early seventh-century commentator, Gabriel Qatraya, wrote: That when the priests enter the sanctuary, before everything they say the Faith, prescribed by our Fathers; this signifies that everyone that does not believe rightly in the Holy Trinity and in the dispensation perfected in Christ, is foreign to the truth and is deprived of the sweetness with Christ our Lord, who was sacrificed for the salvation of the world.
16
The early ninth-century Syrian Orthodox commentator, John of Dara, outlines a history of the creed, suggesting it replaced an earlier Trinitarian confession in response to the heresies of Arius, Sabellius and Nestorius. He then provides a lengthy explanation of the creed. Interestingly, he singles out specific individuals, but seems to have no knowledge of the tradition that the creed was a veiled attack on the Chalcedonians. 17 An even more imagined past was put forth by Moses bar Kepha, who believed that Nicaea itself had commanded the creed to be recited before the anaphora. 18 Bar Kepha gave three reasons for the faithful's recitation of the Creed: it lets them know that they believe and confess aright; to show unity of belief; and by it their minds and mouths may be hallowed. The same imagined history and rationale was repeated by Dionysius bar Salibi. 19
The commentaries on the Coptic rite are relatively late, but three major works have been translated by Arsenius Mikhail. The Lamp of Darkness merely mentions that the people recite the Creed entirely except in the liturgies of Covenant Thursday and Joyous Saturday. 20 The writer of the Precious Jewel simply notes that it comes after the Absolution of the Son, and he seems to connect the recitation to the process of absolution. 21 Gabriel V's Ritual Order simply mentions that it is recited and he gave no further explanation. 22
As regards the Byzantine understanding, St. Germanus of Constantinople taught that the divine symbol of faith prefigures the mystical thanksgiving of the future age because of the “wonderful words and ways of the providence of the allwise God for us.” 23 St. Symeon of Thessalonika explained that the kiss of peace occurs while the creed is being recited, “because through the right confession of the Trinity and the one of the Trinity who was incarnate, the union with us has occurred. It is this confession which has united us to the angels”; he connects it with purity. 24
Before leaving the East, mention must be made of the fact that the Ethiopian Church has an anaphora of three hundred, with the belief that it was authored by the Council of Nicaea. It begins with the profession of the Creed, in its 381 Constantinopolitan form (!) and then it has an extremely lengthy eucharistic prayer which expands the creed but interweaves the expansion with references to, for example, the creation of angels, of Adam, and imagined dialogues between Jesus and the disciples. After receiving communion, the priest prays, “But we, the 318 Orthodox, received him, we are the law givers of the holy church whose bridegroom is the Lord our God.” Suffice it to say that the claim that the anaphora was authored by the Council of Nicaea is an ecclesiastical fiction, but one that might have amused Jane Austen.
Other than the Armenian rite, the placing of the creed just prior to the eucharistic prayer with the peace suggests that these words bound together those gathered at the table—they were in communion with one another through the exchange of peace and the common confession of belief.
The West
The story in the West has both similarities and differences to that of the East. The introduction of the creed was the initiative of the Visigothic King Reccared. Formerly an Arian, the King accepted Nicene Orthodoxy and as a testimony at the third council of Toledo in 589 ordered the Creed to be recited every Sunday. The second canon of Toledo 589 reads: Out of reverence for the most holy faith and to strengthen the vacillating minds of men the holy synod was resolved, on the advice of the religious and glorious king Reccared, that in all the churches of Spain and Gaul the symbol of the council of Constantinople, that is, of the 150 bishops, shall be recited according to the use of the Eastern churches so that before the Lord's Prayer is said, the creed shall be chanted aloud by the congregation, testimony thereby being borne to the true faith and the people being enabled to draw near and partake of Christ's body and blood cleansed by the faith.
25
Interestingly, this was the position that John Biclaro claimed was the Constantinopolitan usage, which Josef Jungmann seems to accept as a position held “in passing.”
26
As there is no other evidence for such a placement in the Eastern traditions, it seems more likely that Biclaro was citing the use of the Spanish Church as being that of Constantinople. In the manuscripts of the Hispanic rite, there are two traditions: Type A which has the Creed after the fraction, and Type B which has it before the fraction. It could be that the difference reflects the fact that it may have been recited during the fraction, and hence the variable position in the manuscript tradition.
27
In his commentary on the Spanish mass, Isidore of Seville, who played an important role at the Council of Toledo, thus placed his comment on the Nicene Creed after his listing of the various prayers that made up the eucharistic prayer. Isidore explained its use as follows: The Symbol, which is proclaimed by the people at the time of sacrifice, was promulgated by the 318 holy fathers gathered at the synod of Nicaea. This rule of the true faith excels in mysteries of such great doctrine that it speaks above every part of the faith, and there is almost no heresy to which it does not respond through individual words or statements. It tramples on all the errors of impiety and blasphemies of faithlessness, and because of this it is proclaimed by the people in all the churches with equal confession.
28
Although Isidore cites the 318 fathers, the creed was that of Constantinople 381, but with what has become the unilateral Western addition of the filioque. Kelly pointed out that from the days of Tertullian, the theology of the Holy Spirit had been expressed as “From the Father through the Son,” and that formula is found in some of the Eastern fathers. However, by an extension of St. Augustine's Trinitarian theology, some Western theologians began to speak of procession from the Father and the Son, and Isidore and the Council of Toledo 589 promoted this new phrase. During the Council, King Reccared is recorded as stating: In equal degree must the Holy Spirit be confessed by us, and yet we must preach that He proceeds from the Father and the Son and is of one substance with the Father and the Son: moreover, that the Person of the Holy Spirit is the third in the Trinity, but that He nevertheless shares fully in the divine essence with the Father and the Son.
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The explanation was given that the double procession was to safeguard the divinity of the Son and so was an anti-Arian statement. Walter Cardinal Kasper pointed out that Cyril of Alexandria had used ekpoeuesthai for proceeding from the Father, and proienai for going forth from the Son. Latin did not make this fine distinction, and used procession for both, and so “and the Son” was a logical inference from the Latin, but a distortion of the Greek terminology. 30 Suffice it to say that the Spanish filioque began to spread in the West, and the inclusion of the Creed with that addition in the mass began to spread in Gallican lands, though its placement there was not that of the Spanish rite.
The Stowe Missal, which witnesses to Irish usage in the late eighth century—best described as Roman with Gallican characteristics—places the Creed between the Gospel and the offertory, which would become the preferred Western placement. It seems that the creed was being adopted in Gaul at this time in response to Spanish adoptionism. But more importantly, it was adopted by Charlemagne at the Royal Chapel of Aachen. Jungmann suggests that it came to Ireland from Spain, and then carried to the Anglo-Saxons via Alcuin of York, and thus to Aachen.
31
This is an attractive and plausible liturgical migration but one which cannot be verified. We do have important information by Walafrid Strabo, abbot of Reicheneu in the ninth century. He wrote: The symbol of the catholic faith is rightly rehearsed in the solemnities of the mass after the gospel, so that by means of the holy gospel we may believe with the heart unto righteousness, and by means of the creed confession may be made with the lips unto salvation. And it is worth noting that the reason why the Greeks transposed that creed (rather than another) which we, in imitation of them, have adopted in the mass into a musical chant, was because it was the peculiar confession of the council of Constantinople. Perhaps also it seemed more suitable for setting to music than the Nicene creed, which was prior in time. Furthermore, they wanted the piety of the faithful, at the celebration of the sacraments, to counter poisons of heretics with the medicine concocted in the imperial city itself. From there the usage is believed to have passed to the Romans. Among the Gauls and Germans, however, the same creed began to be repeated more widely and frequently in the eucharistic offices after the deposition of the heretic Felix, who was condemned in the reign of the glorious Charles, ruler of the Franks.
32
The appeal to Rome suggests that Walafrid was attempting to justify the Frankish use, but in fact, Rome was not itself using the Creed at mass at this time. It appears that Charlemagne did send delegates to Rome, but the purpose was to get authorization for the addition of the filioque, which the then Pope declined to do.
We do know that Charlemagne's usage in the royal chapels became a benchmark for his empire, and so the use of the Royal Chapel of Aachen was as influential in the West as Constantinopolitan usage was in the East. Rome was the exception. Abbot Berno of Reichenau recounted the visit of Emperor Henry II to Rome in 1014, for his coronation. He was not amused by the fact that the creed was not part of the mass. Abbot Berno wrote: If we as is often stated, are forbidden to sing the angelic hymn on feast-days because the Roman clergy do not sing it, we may in the like manner leave unsaid the creed after ths gospel, because the Romans never sang it even up to the time of the emperor Henry of blessed memory. But being asked by the said emperor in my presence why this was their practice, I heard them give an answer of this nature, that the Roman church had never been tainted with any dregs of heresy, but remained unshaken in the soundness of the Catholic faith according to the teaching of St. Peter and so it was more needful for the symbol to be sung frequently by those who might be sullied by any heresy.
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Apparently, Emperor Henry was not impressed by this, for Berno continues: But the Lord emperor did not desist until with general consent he persuaded the apostolic Lord Benedict that they should chant the symbol at the public mass.
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Rome therefore adopted the Creed after the Gospel in 1014, but it was limited to Sunday masses. Thus the influential commentary on the Roman mass of Amalar of Metz in the ninth century made no mention of the Creed, but the later and extremely popular thirteenth-century commentary of Durandus of Mende explained: After the Gospel is read, this Creed is immediately sung in a raised voice …. because: With the heart, we believe unto justice: but, with the mouth, confession is made unto salvation (Rom 10:10); therefore the Church immediately sings with her mouth the sign of her faith, so that she will show that she receives through faith and in her heart the words or preaching of the Gospel.
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Given that Reformation Churches had their liturgical origins and liturgical enemy in Western Catholicism, the reform of the mass was varied according to geography and the particular Reformation party, or parties. Luther, in his 1523 Latin Mass, stated that “The custom of singing the Nicene Creed is not displeasing,” and he allowed for the preparation of bread and wine during its singing. 36 No mention is made of it in the German Mass 1526. Martin Bucer's Strasbourg rite of 1539 retains the creed but allowed a psalm or hymn to be sung instead. 37 Oecolampadius's 1523 Basel rite and Zwingli's 1525 rite substitute the Apostles’ Creed, and William Whittingham and John Knox used the Apostles’ Creed in the 1556 Geneva Form of Prayers for the English-speaking congregation. The Nicene Creed was retained in the Church of England Prayer Book communion services of 1549, 1552, 1559 and 1662, and so remained in its Western form and in the Roman and Gallican position after the Gospel. In modern Anglican revisions it has been moved to come after the sermon or homily, as it does in the modern Roman rite.
And Today
This historical narrative of how the Nicene Creed developed through its 381 Constantinopolitan expansion and the Western Church’s unilateral addition of the filioque across various liturgical traditions is not an invention; however unexciting it may seem, it nonetheless raises important questions for contemporary worship.
It is certainly not an original element of eucharistic liturgy—it began only in some traditions in the sixth century. In considering its position in the Byzantine tradition, Taft remarked, “The eucharistic prayer itself, with its account of salvation history and its repetition of the banquet of the New Covenant is an entirely sufficient profession of faith.”
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He suggested if the Creed was to be part of the liturgy its logical place would be where it is found in the Roman rite, after the readings in the liturgy of the Word.
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The telling words here are, “If the creed is to be part of the mass,” with a hint that quite possibly it should not. This questioning was also echoed by the Anglican liturgist, David Holeton, who asserted that: The primary locus for the proclamation of the faith of the eucharistic assembly is the eucharistic prayer. … Today, the use of the creed, its place in the liturgy, and the postures that in many places accompany it (standing at attention, turning towards the east) give the creed a disproportunate weight that often appears to be pivotal in the shape of the liturgy as a whole. We must ask if this is appropriate when the eucharistic prayer is once again a primary focus for the proclamation of the assembly, and the new eucharistic prayers provide richly textured theological texts which clearly proclaim the faith of the church.
40
Here I think Holeton was expressing what Taft was more reticent about putting into words.
As much as I respect Robert Taft and David Holeton, I beg to dissent from their views, and I would urge that churches which recite this Creed in their eucharistic liturgies continue to do so, and those who do not, might seriously consider introducing it. So, why do I dissent from Taft and Holeton?
The recent liturgical theological study of the Nicene Creed by Enzo Lodi boldly asserts: the dogmatic formula does not generate the living dogma, but it is dogma as religious content that makes the formula come into being (Bulgakov). The liturgy re-places the notional dimension in the cultural realm (Andronikov), because the rationality of the dogmatic formula is related to the mystery-sacrament that, according to its theanthropic mode (the law of incarnation) and mystical-operative (metabolic), integrates and sublimates human speech (the Symbol proclaimed in the liturgy).
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Like so many statements made by liturgical theologians, I have absolutely no idea what this means. My reasons for dissenting from Taft and Holeton are less sophisticated but I hope may resonate with others. They come from reflection from my primary calling in life, which is as an ordained priest.
I have often joked, though sometimes with good reason, that it is necessary for we Anglicans to recite or sing the Nicene Creed after the homily because that clears up any heresy in the homily—though that actually seems to be the point that Isidore made even if for him the Creed came just before communion. In contemporary culture, a listener’s attention span to a speaker is estimated to last about 10–12 minutes. If this is taken seriously, and the homily lasts approximately ten minutes to unpack a reading or readings from the liturgy, then congregations receive only a small snippet of guidance on Christian belief and practice each week. It is not easy to put the whole message together. The Creed does exactly that. It always puts the immediate message of scripture into the narrative of salvation which the creed unfolds. It starts with Genesis and works its way through to the Book of Revelation. It gives lay people a structure—a narrative—into which to place their own experiences of the divine, and their own experiences of struggle and pain. It reminds them of the whole picture—the whole story—the Gospel in a CliffsNotes version. None of my congregation have either had the luxury (or the misfortune!) to study for an M.Div, and the theological and prayer vocabulary they have is mostly gleaned from the liturgy. With the Creed they are invited to say “I believe” or “We believe” and collectively use important theological vocabulary presented in narrative form, and which one hopes that from time to time, as occasion presents itself, pastors will touch on in the homily.
In a tongue-in-cheek article entitled “Liturgical Jellyfish,” John Sanders reminds us that the creed is anthropocentric, and he notes that if jellyfish worshipped God, their Nicene Creed would not say they “look” for the resurrection because their bodies lack fronts and backs. At the end of the article, he offers a version of the Creed suitable for jellyfish. 42 No doubt ultra-inclusive congregations might keep copies on file just in case jellyfish show up one Sunday, though that would assume that jellyfish can walk, hold a booklet, and understand human language, or that they would even want to be in that church!
However, more seriously, like in all worship, humanity voices confession of faith on behalf of the created order. Many eucharistic prayers give thanks for creation—often very fleetingly. To my knowledge it is only the Eucharistic Prayer of St. James which instead of giving thanks for creation, expresses the worship offered by the created order: Truly, it is meet and right and fitting and due to glorify you, to bless you, to praise you, to worship you and confess you, the maker of all creation visible and invisible. Whom the heaven of heavens glorify with all their hosts, the sun and the moon, and all the choir of the stars, earth, seas and all that are in them, the heavenly Jerusalem, the church of the first-born inscribed in heaven, angels, archangels, princedoms, authorities, thrones, dominions, powers which are above the world …
The servant role of the Church is to give voice to creation's praise of God, and, in the creed, it gives voice to the visible and invisible creation's acknowledgement of the creator, redeemer and sustainer of all that was, is and will be.
Next, it becomes the common confession of faith within a denomination and across the churches in the present and across the ages. It is an important ecumenical statement. Taft and Holeton point to the eucharistic prayer, but that raises the question of whose eucharistic prayers and which ones? We use different eucharistic prayers, and different nuances of offering and presence are articulated in those prayers. Over the centuries Christians have demonstrated time and again that we are a quarrelsome lot, and can easily fall out over words and definition of beliefs, and we then choose to stress the differences rather than the many things we hold in common. The Nicene Creed states what we share—and should be a constant reminder of the unity we have, and it should encourage those in ecclesiastical authority to press on to heal the rifts between churches. It seems much easier to fracture and separate than to heal and come together. The Nicene Creed should be foundational, in its weekly recitation by all believers.
We are celebrating the Creed of Nicaea, though the version used by most churches is the 381 Niceno-Constantinopolitan Creed. I recently attended the Societas Liturgica International Conference in Paris, and during at least one service the version of 325 was used. That was a nice gesture, but given how difficult it is for some churches to make any changes in the liturgy, it seems to me best to leave the 381 version in place and encourage its use, rather than use the 325 version or even the Apostles Creed. What we do have in common is best left in common.
What of the filioque? That, of course, is problematic. The more the West has tried to defend it, the more the Eastern Churches have rejected it. The Eastern Churches are quite correct to note that the addition was never sanctioned by an ecumenical council, and so it lacks conciliar legitimacy. The reason given in the sixth century was that it further excluded Arianism and subordination of the Son. Although Arianism seems to have diaappeared in the East, it had not in the West. The Arian Visigoths have been and gone, but the West is prone to outbreaks of Arianism under another name. The rationalists of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment saw a revival of Arianism in such intellectual clerics as William Whiston and Samuel Clarke in England, in the whole Unitarian movement of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and then quite separately, arising out of liberal protestant biblical criticism and the “Jesus of history” over against the “Christ of faith,” questioned the homoousios. The Jesus Seminar is a reminder that this is far from the past. Perhaps, therefore, the East might be generous and recognize that the West needs this interpolation for further insulation against flawed Christologies. In return the West should either place “filioque” in parentheses—as some Anglican Churches now do—or qualify the filioque by adding in parenthesis “(that is, through the Son),” declaring that it is not meant to depart from the older nuanced theological formulae found in Cyril of Alexandria. Of course, ecclesiastical stubbornness means that this is unlikely to happen and for the moment no lasting resolution seems to be in sight. In the meantime, we might ponder the fact that the Nicene Creed came into being through imperial pressure on the churches to find agreement. It is sad if the churches cannot do that simply on the deep prayer of their ultimate King and Lord, that they all might be one (John 17:21).