Chapter 9: IV Constantinople
The controversy with the Iconoclasts began to have a more far-reaching effect both in Rome and in Constantinople. The Eastern bishops had once again been cut off from Rome, both because of the persecution and because of their acceptance of heresy. This had only deepened the tendency to act independently of the Bishop of Rome. The popes, on the other hand, became increasingly distrustful of the East, and of the Eastern emperors especially. These rulers had often fostered heresy; some of them now played a major role in promoting a new error, and had at the same time begun to encroach upon the rights of the papacy.
As a result, the Roman pontiffs began to look elsewhere for support, and this time they chose a ruler of the West. The Byzantine kingdom would continue at least until the fall of Constantinople in 1453, but the close relationship with the papacy ceased after II Nicea. The new papal liberator was to be Charlemagne, and the year 800, when he was crowned Roman Emperor by Pope Leo III, marks a further dividing point in the history of the Church.
About the time of II Nicea and the Iconoclast heresy in the East, a struggle for power was continuing in the West between the Franks and the Lombards. In 768 Charlemagne had succeeded his father, Pepin, as leader of the Franks. By 773 he had invaded the Lombard kingdom and was prepared to secure Italy for himself. By the time Pope Leo III was elected in 795, Charlemagne was well on his way toward being an important man in Rome. Moreover, when the Pope ran into difficulties in Rome, he turned to the King of the Franks for assistance. This led, almost by necessity, to the final step: on Christmas day of the year 800, Charlemagne knelt before Pope Leo III in St. Peter's at Rome and was crowned Holy Roman Emperor.
While the papacy was cementing its ties more closely with the West, another situation was developing in the East which would lead to a final and lasting break with Rome. In 842 the Empress Theodora had come to power and had managed to overcome the last traces of the Iconoclast heresy. Methodius, the patriarch of Constantinople who had aided her in this move, died in 846; he was succeeded by Ignatius, a devout man in his own way, but one who seemed to make enemies easily. Theodora had now retired, and it was Bardas, her brother, who acted as regent for the young Emperor Michael III.
Bardas was far from a saintly man, and when he continued his scandalous way of life, Ignatius finally refused to permit him to receive Communion on the feast of the Epiphany, 857. Bardas was infuriated, and finally managed to banish Ignatius. The see of Constantinople was taken over by Photius in 858.
It is not easy to determine what sort of man Photius was. He may not have been the unscrupulous plotter some would have him; on the other hand, his wily ways could not all have been the result of pure chance. He was a layman, but apparently a devout person and a truly learned individual. Nevertheless his election was pushed through in no time at all, and contrary to the demands of Church law. For one thing, there had been force used in removing the former bishop; the prelate who consecrated Photius was under a cloud at Rome; and finally the entire move from layman to patriarch was accomplished in only six days.
In the following year, Photius sent a letter to Pope Nicholas I, asking for his approval, and remarking how this heavy burden had really been thrust upon him against his will. Rome, however, was perhaps universally suspicious of moves in the East by this time; experience had taught them to be cautious. As a result, before approving Photius, Nicholas decided to send two representatives to Constantinople to investigate. They were empowered to approve the new patriarch if all went well.
For whatever reasons given them, the two legates agreed to the deposition of Ignatius and the approval of Photius. In a gathering of over 300 bishops at Constantinople in the year 861, they signed the proper papers. It appeared later, however, that a large number of witnesses had been "bought" to testify against Ignatius at this meeting; this may well explain the error.
By this time, the friends of the ousted patriarch, Ignatius, who had been kept from reaching Rome, finally got to the Pope and told them his half of the story. The Pope thereupon refused to recognize the acts of this meeting of 861, or to ratify the decisions of his legates. In 863 he called a synod at Rome in which Photius was declared as stripped of all ecclesiastical dignity.
This made little difference to Photius. He supported his position by the actions of the papal legates, and even went a step further: he set out to attack the Pope directly. Photius decided to summon a council of his own which would depose Pope Nicholas I. He contacted the other Eastern patriarchs, writing a letter that violently accused the Western Church of heresy. As in all of the debates to follow, so now the attention was centered especially on disciplinary and liturgical matters. It was claimed that the Western Church looked down on married priests; it made use of unleavened bread; it advised fasting on Saturdays, and the like.
Among them was an accusation of heretical teaching that was to play a larger role in later Councils. The West had added the "Filioque" to the Creed: a Latin phrase meaning "and the Son." It was used to explain the relationship of the Holy Spirit to the other divine Persons. Thus the West now prayed: "We believe in the Holy Spirit . . . who proceeds from the Father and the Son." This phrase will concern us later on. It was Photius, however, who especially considered this heretical.
The other bishops failed to co-operate much in the Council of Photius. In the summer of 867 this meeting was held, and a decree deposing the Pope was signed by twenty-one others. Photius managed to forge another thousand names, however, and the document seemed quite formidable.
The scene then changed rapidly. In September of that same year, the history of assassinations that tends to make Byzantine history so colorful added the names of Bardas and his nephew, Michael III. The victor was Basil, who was now proclaimed emperor; he promptly took steps to get rid of the former favorites, including Photius.
Basil was especially interested in reuniting the clerics of his kingdom. They had now been separated into two groups for ten years: the Ignatians and the Photians. The Emperor immediately recalled Ignatius and cast out Photius; he then asked the Pope for a General Council. By the time his letters reached Rome, Nicholas I was dead and a new pope, Adrian II, received them. Adrian agreed to the Council, and as a preliminary held a synod at Rome in June, 869, in which Photius was condemned and the decrees of Ignatius confirmed. Basil accordingly convoked the Council to be held that year at Constantinople, known now as IV Constantinople.
The eighth General Council got under way on October 5, 869. The papal legates arrived in September with orders to receive signatures on the decree of the Roman synod, and to reinstate Ignatius. They could also receive back the schismatics who agreed to sign, but Photius himself was to be punished.
At the opening session there were only twelve bishops admitted to the Church of St. Sophia. In addition to these, there were the three papal legates, two delegates from the patriarchs of Jerusalem and Antioch, and Ignatius himself - a total of eighteen, plus the representatives of the Emperor. There were reasons for this, of course. After ten years, the number of bishops appointed by Ignatius had decreased, and the number of Photian bishops increased proportionately; but the Photian bishops had been automatically excluded. Among the others, there was the prerequisite of signing the decree of the Roman synod before entering the conclave, and some hesitated to do this. It is possibly indicative of the general spirit, however, that in 861 Photius had gathered together over 300 bishops to depose Ignatius, and now, eight years later, only 102 attended the papal conclave, and this at the final session.
There were eight sessions held between October 1 and November 5. The number of bishops grew each day as more and more signed. At the fifth session Photius himself was present, but refused to discuss the matter; when he did speak, it was generally in imitation of Scripture, adapting, for example, the words of Christ: "My justification is not of this world."
By request of the Emperor, who attended the sixth session, the Photian bishops were eventually allowed to enter. They heard the decrees and were given seven days to decide on their position. There was a three-month interval between the eighth session and the last two, which were held on February 12 and 28, 870. This was possibly done to allow time for some of the more distant bishops to arrive.
When the Council came to an end, the teaching of Photius had been condemned, and his writings burned; many of the bishops had been received back to union with the Pope; the false witnesses of the illegal council of Photius had been dealt with; and Photius himself had been sent into exile. At the final session, held in the presence of the Emperor, twenty-seven canons were issued, as well as a lengthy dogmatic decree. The work of IV Constantinople was over officially, but - as might be expected - the matter did not end there.
The papal legates finally managed to get back to Rome in December of 870, having fallen into the hands of pirates on the way. Pope Adrian II officially confirmed the Council in 871. But by 877 the characters in this drama had exchanged parts once again. Ignatius had apparently fallen into disfavor with the next pope, John VIII; this may possibly have been due to difficulties with the Bulgarian king. In the meantime, Photius had returned to favor with Basil, the emperor, and by 873 was back in the imperial palace. When Ignatius died in 877, Photius, strange to say, returned once again to the throne as patriarch of Constantinople!
It was not known in Rome that Ignatius had died, and John VIII had determined to take more harsh steps against him. Thus he threatened Ignatius that if he did not manage to settle affairs between the Greeks and the Bulgarians, he himself would be deposed; in April, 878, he sent his legates to Constantinople with this message.
The legates were quite astounded to find Photius as the patriarch; they had come to deal with Ignatius! They attempted to act in a most diplomatic manner, and neither condemned nor approved Photius; they referred the matter to John VIII. The Pope decided to recognize Photius, provided the patriarch publicly signified his change of attitude. This was accomplished at a synod at Constantinople in 879, where the difficult matters were at least sufficiently well mended to preserve peace for a time. Photius again fell into disfavor with the next emperor, Leo VI; thus he passes out of history in 886 when Leo became the ruler.
The entire history of Photius was but an episode; the actual separation between Constantinople and Rome was relatively short. But the case had extremely grave consequences. For one thing, it brought into the open the antagonisms against Rome that had been lurking beneath the surface of the Eastern mind. Even more to the point, however, it marked a change in attitudes. While earlier patriarchs and bishops had been concerned about defending the East against the "pretensions" of Rome, Photius had now directly attacked the papacy and accused the West of heresy.
Thus it was the "spirit" of Photius that was to dominate the Eastern Church in later centuries. While at the time of the break in the eleventh century, his name was scarcely mentioned, the seed of discord that he had sown came to full growth. As we may note later, in the discussions concerning the procession of the Holy Spirit at II Lyons and Florence, it was to Photius that the Greek theologians turned for support. His name became the rallying cry for those opposed to reunion.
The history of IV Constantinople and the later approval of Photius by John VIII indicate the vagaries of the time, and the tensions that abounded between the East and the West in the ninth century. This state of affairs continued throughout the next century, and led directly to the final break in the century following, the eleventh.
By the time that Michael Cerularius became the patriarch of Constantinople in 1043, there was practically no contact at all between Rome and the East. The situation has been best described as that intermediate stage between peace and war, marked by a break in diplomatic relations. It was to be Cerularius who would take the decisive step that would upset the balance and force open warfare.
Michael Cerularius tended to look upon himself as a most important man, and, to be truthful, he was. He easily stands out among the other personages of that period in the East. He had earlier had contact with the imperial court, but had entered a monastery from which his old friend, Constantine IX, summoned him when he became emperor.
About 1053, steps were taken to mend the political fences between the East and the West. Troubled by the invasion of the Normans, Pope Leo IX and the Western emperor, Henry III, were ready to form an alliance with Constantine IX. This was not particularly pleasing to Michael Cerularius, however. He fully realized that such political union among the princes would eventually mean giving up the religious independence that he enjoyed as patriarch of Constantinople. Cerularius, if he was anything, was ambitious. He dealt with the Emperor more as an equal power, collaborating in the achievement of a common goal. He rather entertained the hope of playing the same role in the East that the Pope enjoyed in the West.
Reading the signs of the time, Cerularius adopted the old principle that offense is the best defense. In order to preserve his power, it was necessary to attack. What appeared, then, was a famous letter, presumably written by Leo, the bishop of Achrida in Bulgaria. It was addressed to John, the bishop of Trani in Italy; but it was easily enough seen that Cerularius was behind the letter.
The bishop of Trani was a Latin, but the diocese was in Byzantine Italy; as such, he was a subject of the Byzantine Emperor. The letter speaks of the question of union between Rome and Constantinople; and it more or less takes for granted that there had been a break. It is careful to point out, however, that there are obstacles involved. The West has fallen into heresy - naming again the familiar themes already brought forth by Photius: the use of unleavened bread, the addition of the "Filioque" and so forth.
The letter ends with an exhortation to the bishop of Trani to correct his errors, noting that Christ wishes not the death of the sinner, but that he repent and live. The tone of condescension was apparent; it reflected the spirit of a superior speaking to a wayward subject. The letter was written in order to discuss the problem of reunion, but the tone made more than evident that just the opposite was desired. For a diplomatic note, it could not have been more tactless, and Cerularius was not the man to bungle in such a manner.
What was said, of course, was not intended just for the bishop of Trani. It was written especially for the eyes of Rome, and the letter soon arrived there. Cerularius knew the reaction that might be expected at Rome, and his expectations were fulfilled. In this way, he had managed to promote a definite break, but he had attempted to maneuver Rome into a position in which it would appear that Rome had caused the break. This diplomatic technique is recognized better today than in the eleventh century, despite all the intrigue of that period.
Correspondence between Rome and Constantinople followed quite naturally. The answer of Pope Leo IX was drafted by his chief adviser, Cardinal Humbert. Humbert was a true reformer, a very learned man, but absolutely no diplomat. He was content to state the truth bluntly, even dramatically, and ignore the obvious reactions. The Church, however, is a group of human beings, and even in stating the truth, this fact must be taken into consideration. There are more as well as less diplomatic ways of stating the same thing with equal force. Humbert usually managed to choose the less diplomatic means.
The turn in political and military fortunes of the Pope seemed to indicate to Constantine IX that reunion was advisable. The Normans had already imprisoned the Pope at Benevento, and there he received rather conciliatory letters from Constantinople. It was decided, therefore, to send on a papal legation, headed by Cardinal Humbert; the representatives were empowered to settle the case.
Again Humbert wrote two letters for the Pope, one to the Emperor and the other to Michael Cerularius, with the same lack of diplomatic skill. On the eve of a mission of reconciliation, these letters bitterly attacked the patriarch of Constantinople and his ambitious manners; they also undertook to defend the Western practices criticized by the East. Cerularius was simply told what he had to do, in the bluntest possible fashion. This was his duty to Rome. Should he refuse, he would be justly relegated to the realm of the heretics and the synagogue of Satan.
The tone of these letters alone would have doomed the mission, but Cerularius became even more incensed at the preliminary visit of the papal legates to Argyros, the chief Byzantine official in Italy. Cerularius was most hostile to Argyros, and had even excommunicated him. Hence he used this visit as an occasion to deny that the papal legates were the authentic representatives of the Pope. They were only the tools of Argyros.
The legates had determined to deal with the Emperor first, and when they arrived at Constantinople in the spring of 1054 they ignored Cerularius and he ignored them. Matters grew worse in April, when Pope Leo IX died; his successor was not elected until September, and did not take possession of the see of Rome until April of 1055. Thus Humbert and his two companions were on their own.
Not being able to negotiate with Cerularius, Humbert engaged in a learned dispute with a monk, Nicholas Stethatos, at the monastery of Studios. As usual, the debate was marked by the violent terms of the Cardinal. In June, a final dispute was held before the Emperor, and Nicholas submitted; his books were burned and he was reconciled to Rome.
During all these months, Cerularius continued to ignore the legates, consistently refusing to meet with them, despite the Emperor's pleas. The legates came to the conclusion that not even the Emperor could persuade the patriarch to change, so they decided to leave Constantinople. Before they left, however, Humbert had one more card to play. He wished to take his leave with a resounding crash, and he did.
On July 16, 1054, the papal legates went to the Church of St. Sophia at the hour of the solemn liturgy. They entered the building and publicly protested against the obstinacy of the patriarch. Then, in view of the clergy and people, they went to the principal altar and carefully laid upon it the bull of excommunication they had prepared. The bull included Cerularius and all who followed him. They then walked out of the great church, and left Constantinople two days later.
There was an attempt to recall them from the port, and they did return to Constantinople. They left again at once, however, perhaps with good reason. The city was incensed. Cerularius had made public the bull of excommunication, and once again Humbert had given vent to his sharp pen. He did state the dogmatic truths concerning the primacy of the Roman see, but he then went on in most virulent fashion to attribute practically every heresy of history to the Eastern Church.
The Emperor appeased the city by having the bull of excommunication burned. In July of that year a synod was called to condemn the acts of the Roman legates. In later discussions, not only Cardinal Humbert was attacked, but also the entire Western Church. The position of Cerularius was adopted universally. The Eastern Church had separated from Rome.
Some of the patriarchs of the other cities tried in vain to appease the wrath of Cerularius, but to no avail. By 1058, Michael Cerularius was dead, but he lived on as a symbol of the breach that continues to this day. The break had been developing for centuries; it might only have been expected. The patriarch of Constantinople, in 1054, however, took the decisive step, and because of this he became the hero of the East, and a patron saint of the Byzantine Church.
IV Constantinople had striven valiantly to defeat the process of separation, but God still permits human weakness to run its course. Nevertheless the Council did draw up the pattern of what can be accomplished. The solution to the briefer schism of Photius may yet point the way toward mending the break caused by Cerularius, which has already existed over 900 years too long.