When I picked up Richard Rubenstein's When Jesus Became God: The Epic Fight over Christ's Divinity in the Last Days of Rome (Harcourt, Brace & Company, 1999), I was stirred wide awake and remained so from start to finish. This is an account of one of the greatest doctrinal battles of early Christianity, and Rubenstein's lively telling reads like a political thriller. My fascination with this book prompted me to interview the dis-tinguished professor from George Mason University. I wanted to know: How did a secular Jew, a sociologist by training, whose area of expertise centers on Conflict Resolution and Public Affairs, become embroiled in the internecine warfare of Christians in the Fourth Century of the Common Era?

Equipped to parse intricate social and political tensions, Dr. Rubenstein first called into question prevailing models of sociological analysis when he noted that among his colleagues the enduring power of religion had not figured prominently in their analysis of the Iranian Revolution. The ensuing eruptions in Algeria, Sri Lanka, the Middle East, and especially Bosnia confirmed Rubenstein's assessment: The modernist assumption that religion was in decline and no longer merited sustained and systematic attention has proven dead wrong. Suspecting that the American and European public also tended to view noxious outbursts of doctrinal fanaticism as alien to their own civilizations, Dr. Rubenstein decided to unearth and expose a theological division that helped define the religious and political core of Western culture.

The conflict at the center of Rubenstein's book is known as Arianism, a fourth-century movement that was eventually de-clared to be heretical. Arius, an Alexandrian priest from whom the movement derived its name, wanted above all to preserve an essential distinction between Jesus and God. In continuity with ancient Jewish belief, he taught that the chief charac-teristic of God is to be "unbegotten," that is, not created. In other words, there never was a time when God was not. Jesus, on the other hand, by virtue of his humanity, was be-gotten. There was a time when Jesus was not. For Arius and his followers, any other teaching would be contrary to monotheism.

At the same time, however, Arius acknowledged that Jesus Christ was truly Savior through the example of his life. Jesus achieved a level of moral and spiritual excellence so note-worthy that God adopted him as God's own Son. In virtue of this unique relationship, Jesus came to participate in the eternal life of God. Arianism held that Jesus provides humanity with a model of righteousness, and that those who faithfully follow Christ's example would also share in God's unending glory.

What became the normative (orthodox) position, led by Athanasius, Bishop of Alexandria from 328, found the teaching of Arius about Jesus and his relationship to God to be a dangerous assault on the divinity of Jesus. If Jesus Christ does not share the same nature as God, but rather achieves a unique relationship with God in virtue of his own moral rec-titude, then are not all human beings capable of exercising their wills to achieve a similar status? Put in other words, Arius greatly exaggerates the human capacity to achieve oneness with God, and thereby undermines the significance of Jesus Christ as savior of the world.

The divide between the followers of Arius and Athanasius split the Christian population into two demographically balanced factions. Polemical battles intensified, increasing the stakes in the conflict. Both the Arian Christians and the non-Arian (orthodox) Christians sought to enlist the Roman state to resolve the internal affairs of the church. According to Ruben-stein, this intermingling of "church and state" set in motion a pattern of entanglement that haunted Western lands for centuries thereafter.

The controversy and the significance of this doctrinal clash were inseparably bound to the spiritual and political turmoil generated by the conversion of Constantine and his ascent as the sole Roman emperor in 324 C.E. If Constantine championed Christianity because of lofty dreams that this religious tradition would unify the empire and check civil fragmentation, he soon found himself embroiled in technical theological debates that carried profound political and social ramifications.

So disruptive were the effects of Arianism to his empire that in 325 Constantine convened a Council in Nicea to settle the Arian Controversy. The assembled bishops taught that the Son was "begotten of the Father," and declared as heretical the teachings of Arius. The resolution of the debate thus eroded a middle ground which could support a variety of positions. Henceforth, ecclesiastical authorities enlisted heavy-handed methods of doctrinal legislation to regulate "the one, true faith."

Furthermore, Rubenstein indicates that the orthodox ranks practiced a more ruthless strategy of combat. Their refusal to accept theological compromise or even to allow for greater doctrinal ambiguity set the stage for the politics of intoler-ance. In short, Rubenstein suggests that the "winners" of this doctrinal struggle were those who utilized polemical excess most effectively. The victors' crown went to the most fanatical.

Underlying Rubenstein's presentation is a more sympathetic portrait of Arianism than the one most Christians encounter in the standard historical account. Rubenstein notes that the Arians upheld a more positive view of the human condition, and their adoptionist view of Jesus was far more compatible with the sensibilities of Judaism. The implication is that the history of Christian-Jewish relations would have been signifi-cantly better had the Arians prevailed.

While I question this inference, there is no doubt that Chris-tians of every stripe are challenged to develop a more open and tolerant theology. The reversal of an ancient hostility known as anti-Judaism requires that Christians probe the structural foundations of the church. They must learn to identify and struggle with those facets of the tradition that can engender contempt for others or indifference of them. Yet Christians and Jews cannot forge a more dynamic and creative partnership by smoothing over divergent religious beliefs and practices and by resting complacently on their similarities. Only when Christians and Jews discover that their differences and disagreements can serve as a basis of mutual blessing will there be a foundation of trust that honors the distinctiveness of each tradition.

This challenge places Christians today at a crossroads. How we Christians tell our story not only shapes the identity of Christians; our rendering of the "good news" (the gospel) will determine Christian perceptions of those who stand outside the sanctuary of the church. Christians today are struggling to connect the "orthodox" or traditional categories of the past with the unsettling realities of living in a religiously plural world. Can Christians develop a "Christology" that remains faithful to the tradition, yet honors the integrity of others? Rubenstein reminds us, Christians and Jews alike, that the future depends heavily on how we articulate and apply the revelatory truths passed from generation to generation.