The Age of the Great Schism and the Gregorian Reform
At the beginning of the eleventh century the increasing estrangement between the Latin- and Greek- speaking churches— the “mute schism”— allowed for the maintenance of a fragile peace despite the theological and disciplinary differences that had grown up between them. As it concerned the papacy, it was already clear that by this time each possessed their own interpretation of the biblical, patristic, and historical record, and that they were applying these understandings to the practical realities of a Christian world politically divided between two empires and two emperors. For the Byzantines, Rome was far enough away that they could easily ignore any claims the papacy might make, especially as the popes themselves were preoccupied dealing with more pressing local concerns. This situation changed dramatically in the middle of the eleventh century, when the reforming agenda of Popes Leo IX (1049–54) and Gregory VII (1073– 85) led Western theologians to stress the universal nature of the papal ministry, and the power the pope held over both ecclesiastical and secular authorities. Initially these claims were directed at those in the West who were perceived to be blocking efforts at reform (e.g., the Holy Roman Emperors). Increasingly, however, the reformers realized that upholding the pope’s universal authority meant nothing unless the principle was universally applied—there could be no geographic restrictions on the pope’s plentitude of power. Thus when the Byzantines began to attack Roman teaching and practice (e.g., the filioque and the use of azymes) it was immediately perceived as a direct challenge, not only to the pope’s orthodoxy but also to his authority. The excommunications of Cardinal Humbert and Patriarch Michael Cerularius, long used to date the “Great Schism” between East and West, was in reality little more than a personal dustup between two hot-headed clerics.
The excommunications themselves were quickly forgotten and it would be centuries before anyone thought of them as the beginning of a church- dividing schism. Yet 1054 was a significant marker in the relationship between Christian East and West, for it was during this period when Latins and Greeks came to see themselves as “different”—not yet as separate ecclesiological entities, but certainly as distinct. The crusades, inspired in part by the pope’s desire to improve relations with the Byzantine church, had quite the opposite effect, as increased contact between Latins and Greeks only highlighted their many liturgical, theological, and ecclesiological differences. At a time when political realities should have brought East and West closer together, divergent understandings of the primacy and the powers attached to it created a new and even more powerful obstacle to unity. The earlier disputes about the geographic or canonical limits of Roman authority in the East now morphed into something far more substantial—a debate about the primacy itself and whether the pope’s claims to power had scriptural, conciliar, or historical basis. It was during this period that Byzantine writers first advanced those arguments that formed the foundation of anti-papal polemics for centuries to come—the pentarchical nature of Church governance, the translation of the primacy to New Rome, the unique headship of Christ, and the universal (rather than particularly “Roman”) ministry of Peter. These arguments, fashioned in the twelfth century, reached maturity in the thirteenth after the Fourth Crusade, when the Greeks experienced the full force of the reformed papacy and gave it their full-throated condemnation. Yet it should be pointed out that even during this period, when theological discussion was largely replaced by polemics, there were figures on both sides of the East-West divide who tried their best to bridge the unbridgeable gap growing up between the churches. It is a sad reality that their voices were often drowned out by those whose views on papal power did not allow for compromise, but they continued to advocate for a formula or system that could keep the Church together. In that effort they would fail miserably.
Prelude to Schism It was shortly after the “schism between the two Sergii,”1 on February 14, 1014, that Benedict VIII (1012–24) finally took the step that the popes had resisted for over two centuries—bowing to imperial pressure, Benedict introduced the interpolated creed (i.e., with the filioque) as part of the Roman liturgy for Sundays and feasts.2 Although there is no record that this caused an immediate uproar in the East, the pope’s decision was significant because it had the effect of linking the filioque with his right to define the faith of the universal Church. Eastern attacks upon the use of the interpolated creed, which up to this point had been aimed at the Frankish and Ottonian churches, henceforth became de facto attacks upon the powers and orthodoxy of the pope. Perhaps as a way to ease the tensions caused by recent events, and to prepare the way for further Byzantine military action in Southern Italy, in 1024 Emperor Basil II and Patriarch Eustathius of Constantinople (1019–25) sent Pope John XIX (1024–32) a formula that they hoped would clarify the respective positions of Rome and Constantinople. They suggested that “the church of Constantinople might be called and regarded as universal in its own sphere (in suo orbe) just as Rome is throughout the world (in universo).”3 On one level this formula was a gift to Rome, as it was prepared to “recognize the supreme power of the Roman See over the whole church and even Constantinople. … reissuing the ordinances of Justinian II, of Phocas, and of Justinian I.”4 True, there was also the suggestion that administratively Constantinople “should be admitted to be self-sufficient and autonomous,” but given the relative impotence of the papacy at the time this was not an unreasonable request.5 John, who had no desire to continue the confrontational policies of his predecessors toward Byzantium, was apparently on the verge of accepting it, and might have done so had it not been for the opposition of reform-minded clerics like Abbott William of Saint Benignus (d. 1031).6 He admonished the pope with all due “filial care” that “although the power of the Roman Empire … is now divided in various areas under numerous scepters, the power of binding and loosing in heaven and on earth is attached by inviolable gift to the office of St. Peter.”7 The proposal was left to die, and the pope’s name remained stricken from the Constantinopolitan diptychs even though the patriarchates of Antioch and Jerusalem both continued to commemorate him. The schism, such as it was, was still very much a local matter—it was still a “schism at the top.” In Rome the papacy descended into chaos once again during the troubled reign of Benedict IX (d. 1056), a man whose reputation for debauchery “recalled to older members of his flock the worst days of the pornocracy.”8 Forced to abandon the city when Sylvester III (1045) claimed the papal throne, he returned shortly thereafter and effectively “sold” the papacy to his uncle, the reform-minded Gregory VI (1045–46), who offered him money in exchange for his resignation. Benedict then changed his mind, leading the German king Henry III (d. 1056) to call the Council of Sutri (1046) to sit in judgment on the respective claims of all three pontiffs—Benedict, Sylvester, and Gregory. The council deposed Benedict and Sylvester, and Gregory was forced to resign for the crime of simony. The new pope, Clement II (1046–47), immediately took the opportunity to place the imperial crown on the head of his patron, whose actions at the council were deemed to have saved the Church.9 Clement died only months later, and Henry’s next choice for pope, Damasus II (1048), lasted only twenty-four days before succumbing to malaria. Finally, in 1048, a council held at Worms chose a man whose saintliness was recognized even by animals10 and whose desire for reform was well-known—Bruno of Toul, who took the name Leo IX.
Leo “was determined to make the papacy an instrument of spiritual and moral rejuvenation both in Rome itself and throughout Europe.”11 Up to this point calls for Church reform had largely come from the monasteries (e.g., Cluny, Brogne, and Gorze), which were chiefly interested in renewing Benedictine spirituality and eliminating corruption. However, the success of the Cluniac reformers “provide[d]Rome with some of its own inspiration and drive” and their “support of papal authority, clerical celibacy, and ecclesiastical centralization … later prove[d] crucial to the papacy’s struggle for freedom.”12 There were other advocates for reform, including “the German emperors, Henry II (1014–24) and Henry III (1046–56) [whose] reliance on the imperial Church (Reichskirche) in the running of the empire gave them an interest in having a Church free from corruption.”13 Now the pope was fully behind them, allowing the reform movement to take hold and spread beyond the boundaries of its monastic origins. Leo’s desire to cleanse the church of simony, clerical concubinage, and other “degenerate practices”14 led him to re-shape the papacy itself, for in his mind the reform of the church demanded not only the pope’s personal sanctity (which Leo surely had), but also the authority to carry it out. According to Andrew Louth, the pope and his allies (e.g., Humbert, Peter Damian, Frederick of Lorraine, Hildebrand) actually “created the very notion of ‘the papacy’ … the term papatus in Latin, coined only then, … suggest[ing] an order of ministry in the Church that transcend[ed] the episcopate.”15 On one level these men were not introducing anything novel, as “the programme of the papacy as a governing institution had been maturing since the mid-fifth century,” and yet Leo and the reformers applied it with such “enthusiasm, audacity and zeal” that something genuinely new did emerge.16 Pope Leo and the reformers brought forward the encomiums by which Rome had been praised for centuries—“head and mother of the churches” (caput et mater ecclesiarum) and “hinge” (cardo) upon which all turned—and invested them with a new power. Peter Damian was among the most effusive, addressing the pope as “common father” (communis pater), “height and summit of the human race” (cacumen et vertex humani generis), and “sole ruler of the entire world” (unus omni mundo praesidens).17 He was “vicar of Christ”18 and was, in his person, “the apostolic see … [and] the Roman Church” enfleshed.19 Even titles that had been shunned by earlier popes, such as “universal bishop” (universalis episcopus) were now embraced with full vigor.20 Just as Peter “held a general apostolate for all believers … only his successor held a general care for all the churches,”21 which on a practical level granted the pope “immediate, not just appellate jurisdiction” in the Church, able to enforce his will wherever necessary.22 Of course, it should be noted that Leo’s intent was not to accumulate power for its own sake, but rather to use it for the reform of the Church—the guiding principle of his entire pontificate. This desire for reform led him to travel several times across the Alps to lead a series of local synods aimed at correcting abuses. In the words of Aristeides Papadakis, this level of personal intervention was “extraordinary … After all, the papacy until then really had no sense of itself as an international body with broad responsibilities for the world beyond the Alps, or for Christian Europe. … Rome until then had rarely interfered outside Italy. By contrast, in 1049 it was being extolled as the undisputed center of Latin Christendom—the supreme divinely ordained authority in the Church universal.”23 On matters of faith, to question the judgment of the pope was to question the judgment of Peter, upon whom the Church itself was built. For this reason Roman belief and practice were put forward as the norm from which no deviation could be permitted. In matters of faith, discipline, and liturgical practice, the Roman way was the correct way. It was this last belief that directly led to the “heresy of the fermentacei, which poured scorn on the holy Roman see, or rather the whole Latin and western church, for offering a living sacrifice to God in unleavened bread.”24
It began in Southern Italy, where relations between Greeks and Latins can best be described as “complex,” although by all accounts the two traditions coexisted in relative peace.25 In their conquest of Southern Italy the Normans generally left the Byzantines to their own rites provided the hierarchy submitted itself to the pope.26 Yet the fragile balance was upset—by whom it is still debated27—and at a time when their shared disdain of the Normans should have made Leo and the Byzantines natural allies,28 a new theological debate drove them even further apart. Among the first Eastern critiques of the Latin practice was that of Leo of Ohrid (d. 1056), who in his letter to John of Trani29 attacked the use of azymes as a Judaizing tendency shared by the monophysite Armenians.30 During this same period a treatise written by the Studite monk Niketas Stethatos (d. 1090) began to circulate, cataloguing the “horrible infirmities” of the Western Church—that is, their use of azymes, fasting practices, and clerical celibacy, describing the Latins themselves as “dogs, bad workmen, schismatics, hypocrites and liars.”31 What is important to note about both authors is what they did not say—neither attacked the pope personally (Leo referred to him at one point as “the venerable Pope” [τὸν αἰδεσιμώτατον Πάπαν]) nor the claims to primacy being made on his behalf. In fact, Tia Kolbaba has noted that few of the “Lists of Latin Errors” produced during this period mentioned papal primacy.32 According to John Erickson, “For most Byzantine churchmen of the eleventh and twelfth century, the principal point of disagreement with the Latins was not papal primacy or even the filioque, but rather the use of unleavened bread in the Eucharist.”33 This was certainly true in Antioch, where Patriarch Peter III (1052–56) continued to enjoy cordial relations with the pope, sending Leo the traditional synodica announcing his election and lamenting that “the great successor of St. Peter” had been for so long out of touch with the Eastern bishops.34 Yet despite the warmth of this relationship, on the matter of the azymes Peter stood firmly with the East, arguing in his letter to Dominic of Grado that tradition demanded the use of leavened bread, and that this position was upheld by four of the five patriarchates. Rome, as the “odd man out,” should conform itself to the teaching of the Church “for everyone knows that you are [otherwise] orthodox. … being lame in this one thing alone.”35 In a clear affirmation of the pentarchical principle, he told Dominic that “just as the human body is governed by one head … and regulated by the five senses … likewise the body of Christ … is fitted together from different members and is regulated by five senses,36 which are called the great sees, and is governed by one head, which is Christ. Thus just as there is no sense above the five senses, there is no patriarch admitted above the five patriarchs.”37 For Cardinal Humbert of Silva Candida (d. 1061), one of the leading lights of the reform movement, Leo of Ohrid’s letter constituted an intolerable attack upon the orthodoxy of the Roman See.38 Humbert composed a letter in the pope’s name to Leo and Patriarch Michael Cerularius (d. 1059) of Constantinople, outlining both the cause and nature of the Roman primacy, which, he believed, had been called into question by their attacks.39 He chided Michael and Leo for their “strange presumption and incredible boldness” in teaching the Roman Church how to celebrate the Lord’s Supper, as if the See of St. Peter were unaware of such matters.40 “Do you not see how impudent it is to say that the Heavenly Father has hidden from Peter, the Prince of apostles, the proper rite of the visible sacrifice?”41 Did they not know that the Roman See, where Peter remained present in his successors, had stood firm against the many heresies that emanated from the East, and most of them from Constantinople itself?42 Surely Michael and Leo, despite their “incautious reprehension and evil boasting” knew that the Council of Nicea had decreed that the supreme see could be judged by no-one (summa sedes a nemine judicetur).43 Christ himself established the spiritual authority of Rome, the ancient councils had confirmed it, and Constantine, out of love for the Apostolic See, had issued the Donation in order to add imperial dignity and earthly dominion to the heavenly power it already enjoyed.44 Humbert then reminded Cerularius that whatever dignity his see did possess—and it was not much—it owed solely to the benevolence of Rome. He wrote: Although the Church of Constantinople is by no divine or human privilege more honorable or glorious than other churches … nevertheless the pious mother, the Roman Church, anxious not to see her beloved daughter deprived of all honor … provided that, as long as the dignity of the principal and apostolic sees were fully respected, the Archbishop of Constantinople should be honored as bishop of the Imperial City … a dignity obtained through no prerogative or merit but only because the Church of Rome, out of love for venerable Constantine, paid it honor.45 It is unknown whether this letter was ever sent, since word was soon received from Emperor Constantine IX (1042–55) that he was taking steps to improve relations, although both ultimately proved counterproductive. First, Constantine appointed Argyrus, a Latin, as catepan (katepano) for Southern Italy, but this only led Cerularius to suspect that the pope was plotting against him since Argyrus was the patriarch’s bitter enemy. The emperor then persuaded Cerularius to write Leo a short yet friendly letter, but this too backfired when the patriarch suggested a quid pro quo—restoration of Leo’s name in the Constantinopolitan dyptichs in exchange for the commemoration of Cerularius in Rome.46 Leo’s response was scathing: You write to us that if we make your name honored in the Church of Rome you will make our name honored throughout the whole world. What monstrous idea is this dear brother? Does not the Roman Church, head and mother of all churches, have members and children? … So little does the Roman Church stand alone, as you seem to think, that in the whole world any nation that out of pride dissents from her is in no way a Church, but a council of heretics, and a synagogue of Satan.47 Leo sent this letter to Constantinople, along with a delegation led by Humbert, in the hopes of settling the dispute about the azymes and negotiating an anti-Norman alliance with the emperor. It has long been noted that Humbert was not temperamentally suited for such a delicate diplomatic mission, having been described by his contemporaries as a “foolish Burgandian”48 with an “intolerant and overbearing” character.49 As for the patriarch, modern historians describe him as “an ambitious man, fussy about secondary matters,”50 and possessing an “understanding of patriarchal power … not all that different from what the reform movement claimed about the papacy.”51 That an encounter between two such men ended badly is thus hardly surprising.
The Great Schism The events leading up to the mutual excommunications of Humbert and Cerularius actually had very little to do with the papacy or the contents of Pope Leo’s letters, especially as the patriarch was convinced that Leo did not write them.52 As was made clear in the excommunication itself, the patriarch believed that Humbert was conspiring with Argyrus and that the pope’s letters had been tampered with.53 During their stay in Constantinople the papal representatives dealt chiefly with the emperor, who arranged for Niketas Stethatos to come before Humbert and recant his earlier anti-Latin tract, anathematizing “all those who denied that the Roman Church was the first of all churches (primam omnium ecclesiarum) and who presumed to rebuke its ever-orthodox faith in any respect.”54 Humbert’s attitude was haughty, his language intemperate (e.g., he at one point characterized Niketas as a “pestiferous pimp”), and he compounded this by re-introducing the thorny issue of the filioque, claiming that the East’s omission of the word from the Nicene Creed had brought them into serious heresy.55 This opened the ancient debate, providing Cerularius with a powerful weapon able to unify the Eastern Church against the Latins. Yet it would be a mistake to blame the schism on the personality of one man. The real issue facing the East, behind the azymes and the filioque, was how to deal with the reformed papacy, for whom Humbert was merely a spokesman. In him and the pamphlets he circulated they encountered a different understanding of the papacy, for “up to this time that had not realized the changes that had taken place in the Roman Church. In all frankness, they simply did not understand them.”56 Perhaps, as Deno Geanakoplos observed, they had become too “accustomed to the low-prestige and corruption of the tenth century papacy” and thus “underestimated the growing strength of the papal reforming party.”57 On July 16 Humbert and his party entered Hagia Sophia just as the liturgy was to begin and placed the bull of excommunication against Patriarch Michael, Leo of Ohrid, and “all their followers in the aforesaid errors and presumptions” on the altar.58 The excommunication began with a re-statement of Roman primacy, writing that “the holy, first, and apostolic see of Rome, to which the care of all the churches most especially pertains as if to a head” (ad quam tanquam ad caput sollicitudo omnium ecclesiarum specialius pertinent), had sent delegates to Constantinople to investigate matters.59 These delegates found that “with respect to the pillars of the empire and its wise and honored citizens, the city is most Christian and orthodox,” but judged that “Michael, false neophyte patriarch” had committed “extremely wicked crimes” and that “although admonished by the letters of our lord Pope Leo, contemptuously refused to repent. … Indeed, so much that among his own children, he had anathematized the apostolic see and against it he still writes that he is the ecumenical patriarch.”60 Although the subdeacons made feverish attempts to return the bull to Humbert, in accordance with the biblical command he and companions “shook the dust from their feet” and left both the Church and the city before the emperor even knew what had occurred.61 Hopes of recalling them soon collapsed, and the emperor, now under pressure from both the clergy and the populace, abandoned his hoped-for alliance with Rome and gave the patriarch permission to respond accordingly. A synod was summoned, and a response to the excommunication was issued. The edict of the Synod described how these “impious men coming out of darkness” [i.e., Humbert and his companions], in attacking the doctrines of the Greek Church [e.g., the omission of the filioque], had demonstrated their own heterodox nature and were to be anathematized.62 Neither the pope nor any of claims made regarding his primacy were either mentioned or condemned.
The Gregorian Reform The reforming zeal that Pope Leo had brought to Rome continued under his successors, although the irregular election of the antipope Benedict X (1058–59) and the resulting schism briefly complicated matters.68 The interference of the secular powers in the affair reinforced the reformers’ belief that their success demanded the libertas ecclesiae (“Freedom of the Church”)—the power of the princes over the Church, and especially the papacy, had to kept in check. To increase their newfound sense of independence the papacy was happy to pit the secular powers one against the other, entering into alliances with the Normans under Robert Guiscard (d. 1085) in order check the ambitions of the Western Empire and guarantee papal possessions throughout Italy.69 Michael Cerularius, although later hailed as the champion of the Eastern Church against the pretentions of Rome, remained a controversial figure in the years following the excommunication of Humbert and was not much missed when he died in 1059.70 His successors had little desire to continue the feud with the West, and the ongoing Norman threat gave Emperor Constantine X (1059–67) a strong incentive to improve relations with the papacy. This may, in part, explain why Patriarch Constantine Lichoudes (1059– 63) wrote to Pope Alexander II (1061–73), allegedly requesting an explanation of the Latin teaching on the procession of the Holy Spirit. Peter Damian (d. 1073) responded on behalf of the pope, exalting the patriarch for his “laudable prudence … that in resolving this question about the Holy Spirit you came to not just anyone, but specifically to Peter, whom you undoubtedly recognize as having received the keys of heavenly wisdom and power.”71 Irenic in tone, the work was nevertheless a clear affirmation of the authority of him who “the Creator of the world chose … in preference to all other mortals on earth, and granted to him for all time the privilege of magisterial primacy within the Church … Why, therefore, should we wonder that a bishop, even though he is outstanding for holiness and thoroughly instructed in the Word of God, should approach the teaching authority of the prince of the apostles.”72 The fortunes of the Eastern Empire greatly waned in the decades after the so-called Great Schism. Robert Guiscard continued his campaigns against the Byzantines, and in 1071 finally succeeded in ejecting them from Southern Italy. That same year, at the Battle of Mazikert, the armies of Romanos IV (1068–71) suffered “the greatest disaster” in the Byzantine Empire’s “seven and a half centuries of existence,” quickly resulting in the loss of most of Asia Minor.73 The sad reign of Michael VII (1071–78) was characterized by economic troubles and internal strife. Caught between the Normans and the Seljuk Turks, increasingly the emperors turned to the pope for help, believing him the only force capable of keeping Guiscard at bay and unifying the West against the Muslim threat. A century earlier, when the empire was at its height and the pornocracy governed Rome, the Byzantines could afford to be haughty in their dealings with the papacy. Now they were supplicants, albeit proud ones, and the popes to whom they addressed their pleas happily received them as such. Much has been written about the pontificate of Gregory VII (1073–85), especially as it relates to his ongoing feud with the Western Emperor, Henry IV (d. 1106) over the power to appoint bishops (i.e., the Investiture Controversy).74 Gregory had long been one of the leading lights of the reforming movement, and believed “with the passionate zeal of the Old Testament prophets … [that] absolute obedience to God” was required in all things.75 God’s will, of course, was made known by the Church, whose governance had been entrusted to St. Peter and then passed on to his successors. Yet the pope was not simply Peter’s successor, but Peter redivivus, so much so that “papal actions [became] the direct actions of Peter himself.”76 The logic was therefore simple—disobedience to the pope equaled disobedience to Peter equaled disobedience to God.77 It is thus not surprising that the language of “obedience” and “disobedience” permeated the correspondence of Pope Gregory,78 and why questioning the teachings of the Roman Church was equated with becoming a heretic (haereticus esse constat, qui Romanae ecclesiae non concordat).79 Modern theologians, East and West, still differ in their views of whether Gregory and his allies actually created something “new” in constructing the outlines of the reformed papacy. Aristeides Papadakis was among those who maintained that it is impossible to escape the conclusion that many of the reformers’ claims (e.g., the power to depose emperors) “lacked historical precedent”80 and that even the term reform “is a serious understatement … [that] plays down the magnitude of the discontinuity between what had gone before and what came later.”81 These scholars contend that despite all pretense the medieval canonists made little effort to ground this “metamorphosis of the papacy” in Church tradition, simply creating or nullifying laws as needed, “declaring [previous] conciliar legislation invalid just because it contradicted papal decrees” (si decretis Romanorum pontificum non concordat).82 As Karl Morrison noted, the reformers’ “contempt for antiquity struck at the base of the idea of tradition” a fact noted by those (e.g., Godfrey of Vendôme, Sigebert of Gembloux, Ivo of Chartes) who opposed these so-called new traditions (novae traditiones) being invented by the pope.83 According to Hermann Pottmeyer there was some merit to this charge of “novelty,” “for under Gregory VII a break with the previous paradigm of church and primacy occurred that could hardly be described as a logical or organic development.”84 Yet if “to some [Gregory] was a revolutionary genius, fighting for a new, just world order while advocating the overthrow of the old. … to others he was a saint … [who] like all reformers insisted that his undertakings were firmly rooted in the pronouncements of the fathers.”85 As Walter Ullman wrote, “Repeatedly and, as can be proved, correctly, [Gregory] claimed that he was simply the executor of ancient decrees, laws, views, the one who considered it his mission to translate pure, abstract ideology into papal action … What appeared new in his pontificate was this impetuously pursued policy of application, but not the matter and programme that was applied.”86 Klaus Schatz agreed, arguing that the seeds of the reformed papacy “were certainly present in their initial stages in the work of Innocent I and Leo I, and more powerfully in that of Nicholas I, but now they were developed with a much greater consistency.”87 Gregory may have “reserved for himself the papal right to promulgate new laws, or alter old laws in accord with the needs of the present,” argued Uta-Renate Blumenthal, but “this prerogative had been part of canon law as far back as the early centuries of the Church.”88 Rome was not making radically new claims, but rather pressing its old claims in a manner that was genuinely new.
While debate about the relative novelty of the Gregorian reform still divides scholars, almost all agree that the reforms themselves were “directed at bettering a situation that was in dire need of improvement”89—that is, this was not about power sought for its own sake, but rather sprang from the conviction that “an independently powerful papacy exercising direct jurisdictional control over Christendom was an indispensable condition for renewal” in the Western Church.90 In achieving this control, the Dictatus Papae (1075), thought to be “the chapter headings of a now lost canonical collection,” was to become a powerful weapon that unambiguously asserted the powers of the pope over both the secular and ecclesiastical spheres.91 Among its claims: 1. That the Roman church was founded by God alone. 2. That the Roman pontiff alone can with right be called universal. 16. That no synod shall be called a general one without his order. 19. That he himself may be judged by no one. 22. That the Roman church has never erred; nor will it err to all eternity. 23. That the Roman pontiff, if he has been canonically ordained, is undoubtedly made a saint by the merits of St. Peter. 25. That he may depose and reinstate bishops without assembling a synod. 26. That he who is not at peace with the Roman church shall not be considered catholic.92 Of course most, if not all, of the assertions made in the Dictatus Papae were addressed to a Western audience, and in particular to those princes or powers who dared question the authority of the apostolic see as it carried out its program of reform.93 Yet the reformers’ universalist understanding of the papacy’s mission certainly meant that these claims equally applied to the East. In fact, it is possible that some of the propositions of the Dictatus Papae were aimed at the Byzantines, and that Gregory “may have had in mind certain pretensions of Byzantium” (e.g., the patriarch’s use of “universal bishop”) when he wrote it.94 However, John Meyendorff was probably correct when he suggested that the reformers’ attitude toward the East was not so much aggression as ignorance, and that the Eastern Church, along with its unique theology, ecclesiology, and discipline, rarely figured in their calculations.95 “Church” for the reformers, meant the Latin or Western Church, centered in Rome and governed by the dictates of Christ’s vicar, the pope. It was to Christ’s vicar that an embattled Emperor Michael VII addressed an embassy in 1073, professing both his love for the Roman Church and his desire for better relations. Michael did not necessarily “share or even understand the conception of the papacy cherished by Hildebrand … but he was shrewd enough to see that the restoration of a united Church, even at the expense of a few verbal concessions” was to his advantage.96 Inspired by the emperor’s goodwill, Gregory called for a crusade in order to assist “the Church of Constantinople, differing from us on the doctrine of the Holy Spirit, [which] is seeking the fellowship of the Apostolic See.”97 Unfortunately, Michael’s deposition in 1078 and Gregory’s ongoing struggles with Henry in the West kept matters from progressing beyond the planning stage.98
Two things are significant about this letter. First, it began an almost four- hundred-year pattern of ecclesiological negotiations with the West being conducted by the Constantinopolitan emperor rather than the patriarch, who often found himself marginalized in this so- called ecumenical dialogue. Second, Michael’s letter was the first time that “the emperor held out the bait of ecclesiastical reunion to the papacy as a means of eliciting material support. The offer was to become, with variations, a recognized move in the Byzantine diplomatic game for the next four centuries, culminating in the Council of Florence in 1439.”99 As history would demonstrate, these offers ultimately meant little without the support of the Byzantine populace, who viewed the betrayal of orthodoxy in exchange for political security an unacceptable trade-off. The Alexiad of Anna Comnena (d. 1153), although written much later, contains a rather intriguing character sketch of Pope Gregory and the way his papacy was remembered in Byzantium in the years following his death.100 Anna was apparently convinced by the rumor, spread by the pope’s enemies, that this “abominable pope” had committed some unspecified violation of Henry’s ambassadors, a tale the author “as a woman and a princess … cannot endure to disclose or describe,” although she spends a great deal of time alluding to it.101 She wrote how Gregory, “according to the claims and beliefs of the Latins—another example of their arrogance,” styled himself “supreme high priest, who presided over the whole inhabited world.”102 The truth, which everyone knew, was “that when power was transferred from Rome to our country and the Queen of Cities … the senior archbishopric was also transferred here. From the beginning the emperors have acknowledged the primacy of the Constantinopolitan bishop and the Council of Chalcedon especially raised that bishop to the place of highest honor and subordinated to him all the dioceses throughout the world.”103 The argument first encountered centuries earlier— that the translation of imperial authority (translatio imperii) transferred the primacy to Constantinople—was quickly gaining traction.104
Dialogue and Debate during the Crusading Era Gregory VII, the man who had done so much to raise the pope above the other powers of the world, died in exile in Salerno—the “height and summit of the human race” and “sole ruler of the entire world” forced from Rome itself while the anti-pope Clement III (1080–1100) ruled in his place.105 In order to bolster his claims for legitimacy, Clement looked not only to Emperor Henry but also to the East, where many bishops remained in communion with Rome despite the “creeping estrangement of the churches.”106 John II of Kiev wrote back to Clement, “most worthy of the apostolic throne and vocation” (τῆς ἀποστολικῆς ἄξιε καθέδρας καὶ κλήσεως), acknowledging the many points of concord between Greeks and Latins, including their shared reverence for the seven councils.107 It was when he turned to the issues that divided them (e.g., the use of azymes and the inclusion of the filioque) that the tone of the letter changed, John firmly, but respectfully, pointing out those areas where Roman teaching was at odds with Church tradition.108 He beseeched Clement to write “to the Patriarch of Constantinople, your spiritual brother, and to use all diligence to eliminate these scandals so that unity and harmony should reign between the churches.”109 John’s position was clear—the popes who had supported the councils were “worthy of the chair of St. Peter, because they agreed with us,” but the current pontiffs were in error and required fraternal correction.110 It is important to note that John “does not directly address the primacy of the pope … and it is not itself listed among the obstacles for the unity of the two churches.”111 Yet in challenging Roman teaching and suggesting that the pope required instruction/correction from “the Patriarch of Constantinople and his metropolitans who possess the Word of God and who illumine the world like resplendent lights,” John was effectively denying Rome’s claim to be “mother and teacher of all Christians.” It is a sign of the growing consensus in the East that Rome’s exalted status was contingent upon its continued orthodoxy, and if this was now in doubt, so too was the primacy.112 In 1089 Clement’s chief rival for the papal throne, Urban II (1088–99), also eager to have his claims legitimized by the East and apparently unaware of any “Great Schism,” wrote to Emperor Alexios I (1081–1118) in Constantinople asking why the pope’s name was not commemorated in the dyptichs.113 The emperor, in consultation with Patriarch Nicholas III (1084–1111) and a synod of bishops, responded that no reason could be found for the omission and that since “the Church of Rome is not separated from our communion by a synodal decision … [the pope’s name] must have been removed improperly.”114 Before restoring his name and “honoring him as in ancient times” the synod asked only that any canonical differences between the churches be resolved first, perhaps at a council to meet in Constantinople.115 Nicholas wrote to his “most blessed and reverend brother” in Rome informing him of the synod’s decision, asking Urban to revive the custom of sending a synodal letter, including his profession of faith, as had been done in times past.116 Urban never complied, nor did he ever accept the invitation to come to Constantinople, although “it seems clear that the Pope was quite ready to go … and that Roger I of Sicily (d. 1101) encouraged him in this intention.”117 The reason, Henry Chadwick speculated, is that the developing understanding of papal primacy in the West precluded such a letter, as it would have suggested the need for the pope to defend his orthodoxy before being recognized.118 For the post-Gregorian church, this was unthinkable. Urban was determined to achieve better relations with the East, and while continuing to press his claims for jurisdictional control in southern Italy, as a general policy he “left the Greek monasteries and many of the Greek churches unmolested.”119 It was Urban’s desire for better relations with the Eastern church that in large part explains his positive response to Emperor Alexios’s ambassadors at the Council of Piancenza in March of 1095120 and his call for a crusade at the Council of Clermont eight months later. Knowing that unity required more than just strained toleration, in 1098 the pope convoked a synod to meet at Bari so that representatives of both churches could discuss the disputed issues,121 although the primacy does not appear to have been among them. Unfortunately, despite Urban’s hopes that a crusade against a common foe would draw the Eastern and Western churches closer together, the resulting tensions only served to consummate the schism that had grown up between them.122 There were early signs that Latins and Byzantines could co-exist peacefully, but increased contact soon proved these hopes illusory. For example, in Antioch the crusaders initially hailed the Byzantine Patriarch John IV as a “confessor” for his courage during their siege of the city—the Seljuk governor had at one point hung him outside the walls in a cage—and while they allowed him to remain in office for two years after its capture, by 1100 an embittered John was in exile writing anti-Latin treatises.123 For their part the Latins increasingly came to despise the Greeks, who because of their heresies “concerning the treatment of the holy Eucharist and concerning the procession of the Holy Spirit … were judged not to be Christian.”124 The Byzantines felt very much the same about the “barbarian” Latins, allegedly rebaptizing Westerners who married Greek women and purifying any altar upon which a Latin mass had been celebrated “as if they had been defiled.”125 For many in the East the errors of the Latins were both odious and numerous, and thanks to the recent establishment of crusader states in formerly Byzantine territory, they were there for all to see. Yet not everyone was convinced by the arguments of the polemicists. One such figure was Archbishop Theophylact of Ohrid (d. 1107), who railed against those who “through unmeasured zeal … and lack of humility” accused the West of all sorts of heresies, despite the fact that many of the charges were based simply on small differences in custom.126 Like Peter of Antioch he believed the addition to the symbol was genuinely problematic, but even here he maintained that the West’s error was due “less to wickedness than to ignorance” since the poverty of the Latin language was unable to convey the necessary theological subtleties.127 As it concerned the primacy, Theophylact continued to praise the apostle Peter without reservation, writing “That the Lord entrusts to Peter the presidency over the sheep in the world, and nobody else but him.”128 Peter had been made chief (ἔξαρχος) of the disciples and thus Christ prayed that he would confirm his brothers, “being, after me, the rock and the foundation of the Church.”129 “If James received the throne of Jerusalem,” Theophylact wrote, “Peter was made teacher of the universe.”130 Such quotations were later used to great effect by Catholic apologists, as they allegedly witnessed to recognition of the pope’s universal petrine ministry. Yet it would be a mistake to assume that in his praise of Peter Theophylact was giving support to an all- powerful papacy. In fact, while never denying Rome’s primacy or the pope’s succession from St. Peter, Theophylact thought it ridiculous that the popes justified their erroneous teaching on the filioque by claiming to speak with Peter’s voice. Those who would refuse to reject and to correct this error would be unworthy of pardon even if they spoke from the height of the throne which they professed to be the highest of all and even if they should put forth the confession of Peter and the blessing which he received from Christ for it, even if they should shake before our eyes the keys of the kingdom. For in proportion that they pretend to honor Peter by these keys, they dishonor him if they destroy what he established, if they root up the foundations of the Church which he is supposed to support.131 In Rome, Urban’s successor Paschal II (1099–1118) continued to struggle for the libertas ecclesiae against the German King Henry V (d. 1125), who briefly imprisoned the pope for his intransigence. Pope Paschal wrote to Emperor Alexios in the hopes of using his support as leverage against the Germans, but made recognition of the primacy by the Constantinopolitan patriarch a precondition for future negotiation.132 He claimed that the patriarchs of Constantinople had once shown great devotion to Rome, but now they had withdrawn their obedience (obediencia subtraxerunt), even refusing to correspond with the pope or to receive his messengers.133 Before negotiations for a council could proceed, Paschal insisted that his “brother” (confrater) the patriarch first recognize the primacy and reverence owed to the apostolic see, privileges granted to it “by the religious prince Constantine and confirmed by the holy councils.”134 The patriarch’s reaction is unknown, and it is likely that the emperor never even broached the matter, knowing as he did that the pope’s demand was a “non-starter.” It was during these negotiations that Peter Grossolanus traveled to Constantinople, where in 1112 he engaged in a debate with Niketas Seides and other Byzantine churchmen.135 The encounter focused chiefly on the azymes and the filioque, although the issue of the primacy was briefly raised in the context of the pope’s authority to alter the creed.136 It was an early sign of what Donald Nicol called the emerging “papal scandal”—that is, “the growing feeling that the pope’s claim to primacy, or rather supremacy, over the whole church was being pressed to the point where it became a major obstacle [to unity].”137 Until the beginning of the twelfth century “the major causes of scandal … were [still] thought to be the Latin addition to the creed … and the use of unleavened bread in the sacrament.”138 Historically the Byzantines “had no difficulties in explicitly recognizing Rome’s presidency or primacy within the pentarchy of patriarchs. Its willingness to do so was well documented.”139 However, faced with the growing Latin presence in the Holy Land and the claims of the reformed papacy, the primacy itself was increasingly becoming an issue, which is why it was during this period that the first Byzantine attacks upon it began to appear. It was shortly after his debate with Grossolanus that Niketas Seides authored what Jannis Spiteris called “the first example of a [Byzantine] critique directed specifically against Roman claims of primacy,” and in particular the idea of a monarchical petrine office that exercised headship over the entire church.140 Seides questioned both the reasons and logic behind Rome’s claims, arguing, for example, that Jerusalem was better suited for the primacy since it was there that the “the Great High-Priest” (i.e., Christ) appointed James as high-priest long before Peter came to Rome.141 Rome was not, as it claimed to be, “mother” of all the churches and even if it had been so, mothers were only owed obedience if they were faithful to God, which (given its teachings on the procession and azymes) Rome was not.142 Rome’s primacy, such as it was, had been granted by the emperors and then transferred along with imperial authority to Constantinople, which truly was “New Rome” with all the political and religious implications that implied. As for headship in the Church, Rome’s claims to a monarchical office differed from Seides’s vision of a Church headed by the patriarchs, who like the five senses guided the body of Christ—Jerusalem representing vision, Antioch smell, Rome taste, Alexandria hearing, “and finally our New Rome clearly represents touch, the ultimate and universal sense.”143 Rome, he prayed, should thus return to the body from which it had separated herself, to be united with the other senses under the Church’s one true head, Jesus Christ. Several years later, in 1136, Emperor John II (“the Beautiful”; 1118–43) invited Bishop Anselm of Havelberg (d. 1158), who was in Constantinople on a diplomatic mission, to debate Niketas of Nicomedia on the three most controversial religious issues of the day: the use of unleavened bread, the procession of the Holy Spirit, and the primacy of Rome. The proceedings appear to have been carried out in an atmosphere of genuine ecumenical understanding, with each side manifesting a genuine willingness to avoid the “pride and eagerness for victory” that often characterized such encounters.144
After dealing with the filioque and azymes, Anselm asked Niketas why he continued to ignore “the laws of the sacrosanct Roman Church, which has primacy through God and from God and next after God in its authority in the universal church.”145 Anselm then cited a spurious canon from the Council of Nicea claiming that “the holy Roman Church stands above the decrees of any synod.”146 He cited Matthew 16:18–19, the mayrtyrdoms of Peter and Paul (“on the same day”), and the petrine ordering of the churches (Rome, Alexandria, Antioch) to bolster the claim that Rome was “set above the others … by the Lord himself … [so that] fortified against deceitful questions by the shield of divine wisdom” it may preserve “the integrity of the faith before all others … deservedly receiv[ing] the privilege of prelacy over all.”147 Anselm then recounted at some length the “innumerable heresies [that] have bubbled up in the Constantinopolitan Church” telling Niketas that if he wanted to account himself a “true son of church,” he could no longer despise the decrees of Rome, the “mother of all churches … [with whom] none should disagree.”148 Niketas listened patiently, and responded that indeed he never had “deni[ed] or reject[ed] the primacy of the Roman Church, whose place among the three patriarchal sees had long been recognized as it was “the preeminent seat of the empire. … It was named the first see, and there all the others made appeal in problematic ecclesiastical cases [i.e., the Sardican privilege].”149 Yet now the pope was demanding more, when in fact the pope has never been called “the ruler of priests, nor high priest, nor anything of the sort, rather only bishop of the first see.”150 He reminded Anselm that “God’s will transferred the empire to this royal city that it became premier in the orient” and that the Council of Constantinople decreed “that just as old Rome long ago held primacy in ecclesiastical cases … because of its imperial status, this younger and new Rome had primacy after it because of the dignity of empire.”151 Rome’s “primacy among the patriarchal sisters we [still] acknowledge” he claimed, for in Hagia Sophia were preserved the acts of the councils in which the authority of the Roman Church was proclaimed, including “the high role of presiding at a general council.”152 “We would be greatly embarrassed to deny what we have before our eyes as recorded by the fathers,”153 Niketas told Anselm, and thus grant with you that the Roman Church was worthy of veneration, “but do not, like you, follow it in all things nor do I consider that I must follow it in all things.”154 Rome had erred by seizing for itself “a monarchical rule that was not her office” and forcing the East to accept the decisions of western councils “written without our counsel, even without our knowledge.”155 This was unacceptable. If the Roman pontiff, sitting on high on the throne of his glory should wish to thunder at us or cast down his commands from on high, and if he might want to judge, rather to rule us and our churches as his own will pleases and without our counsel, what sort of brotherhood or fatherhood might this be? Who could endure this with equanimity? If we did then we would rightly be called—indeed we would be—slaves, not sons of the Church.156 Niketas argued that Peter’s authority was not given “to Peter only, but to all the apostles along with Peter … nor did the Holy Spirit sent from the Lord on Pentecost … descend on Peter alone. Rather he set them all afire together … We must not attribute to Peter alone the privilege that the Lord gave to all in common.”157 This is true, said Anslem, but it was to Peter alone that Christ gave the keys to the kingdom (Matt. 16:19) and the command to “feed my sheep” (John 20:23). “It befits none of the faithful at all to doubt that the Lord himself established Peter as ruler of the apostles … So [ just as] Christ, as head of the Church, granted his place on earth to Peter, foremost of the apostles … the Roman pontiffs in succession have held Christ’s place as head of the Church on earth as he is its head in heaven.”158 In their effort to claim a primacy equal to that of Rome, Anselm accused the Constantinopolitans of creating a two-headed monster, something “unseemly, unnatural, the opposite of perfection,” using human [i.e., conciliar] rather than divine judgment.”159 Anselm told Niketas: “Just as there is one church, so the church has one head, and this head is the Roman pontiff … [and] all who wish to be saved” must be obedient to him and conform to the model and customs of his church.160 After a further discussion of their ritual differences, both Anselm and Niketas joined in calling for a council so that “fraternal charity” might be restored and “Greeks and Latins may be made one people under their one Lord, Jesus Christ.”161 Fraternal charity was running thin, but hope for a conciliar resolution still remained. In 1143 Roger II of Sicily asked Nilos Doxapatres, a native Constantinopolitan serving in Sicily, to answer several questions about the church’s patriarchal structure.162 Doxapatres himself was a firm believer in the pentarchy, which he too likened to the five senses of the body,163 contending that the conciliar legislation establishing it may have been written by men, but at its heart was the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Doxapatres was not unfamiliar with the apostolic principle—he acknowledged the petrine origin of the first three patriarchates (Rome, Alexandria, Antioch), and cited the Andrew legend to support the apostolicity of Constantinople. Yet it was not apostolic pedigree that determined primacy for Doxapatres, but rather the imperial principle— that is, where the emperor goes, there too goes the primacy. You see how from the present canon [28 of Chalcedon] those who say that Rome should be honored on account of St Peter are clearly foolish in their argument. Look this canon of the holy synod says that Rome has honor on account of being the imperial city … And since it stopped being imperial through being captured by foreigners and barbarian Gothic tribes, and is now held by them, it has fallen from imperial dignity and thus also from its ecclesiastical preeminence.164 He held that when imperial authority was transferred to Constantinople ecclesiastical precedence was transferred along with it, granting the bishop of the capital the powers once held by Rome, including the so-called Sardican Privilege—that is, the right “of judging appeals from the other patriarchs and examining accusations over the three patriarchs [i.e., Alexandria, Antioch, Jerusalem].”165 Old Rome still retained the title of “ecumenical,” but more as a reminder of its former glory than a reflection of its present power.166 Another witness to the growing popularity of the translatio imperii theory was the Metropolitan of Ephesus, George Tornikes, who in a letter to Pope Hadrian IV (1154–59) on behalf of the emperor used it as his chief support for Constantinople’s primacy.167 He derided Rome’s claim to be the “mother and teacher of all the churches,” for this usurped the unique headship of Christ, “who alone is head of the mystical body, who alone is teacher.”168 It also usurped the role of the emperor, who in Christian society served as both “high priest and Βασιλεύς” in Christ’s place.169 A few years later his brother, Demetrios Tornikes, wrote two letters to the pope on behalf of both the emperor and the patriarch, each proclaiming the desire for unity.170 However, in his letters he took the opportunity to refute Rome’s petrine claims, repeating the argument that “It is thus not a result of a plan or arrangement of a spiritual nature that the thrones of the churches have acquired superiority or inferiority, but as a result of the order of preeminence and subordination of the principalities of this world. … For churches are not vested with supremacy because of the burial places of the apostles but because of the decisions taken by the holy ecumenical councils.”171 Besides, Tornikes contended that no church, with the possible exception of Jerusalem “sanctified by the saving work of the Lord’s death and resurrection,” could rightly claim to be the “mother of any other church.”172 In 1156 Pope Hadrian IV wrote to Basil of Ohrid (d. 1169) asking him to extend hospitality to his legates, who were then traveling in the East. In the letter the pope reminded Basil that “the holy fathers commanded that the holy Roman Church should obtain unconditionally the primacy of all the churches and they ordered that the judgment of all things should be referred to her decision.”173 He urged the Greeks to return to obedience so that, “like the lost sheep” from the gospel, they could return to “the ark of salvation” and be revived like Lazarus after his three days in the tomb.174 Basil responded with “almost exaggerated politeness,”175 firmly rejecting the pope’s analogy.176 In fact, he argued, the East had shown more reverence to Peter by keeping Peter’s faith inviolate, while the West, in introducing the filioque and the use of azymes, had become the true “lost sheep.”177 Still, he argued, the differences between the churches were not so great that a general council could not settle them, as long as “bishops under your [i.e., the pope’s] direction and those of us in the East who accept the splendor of the priesthood of the sublime throne of Constantinople” acted in a spirit of genuine goodwill.178 Emperor Manuel I (d. 1143–80) continued to negotiate with the papacy for better ecclesiastical and political relations, and his generally pro-western views gave him in this task a certain credibility.179 In theory both Pope Hadrian IV and his successor Alexander III (1159–81) were in favor of improving relations as it would have challenged Norman power in Southern Italy, which remained an ongoing problem. Yet the papal demand for Constantinople’s recognition of Rome’s jurisdictional primacy remained a stumbling block, for even if Manuel himself was willing to come to an accommodation, the Byzantine hierarchy and populace were not. In 1167 Manuel made his boldest proposal to date—he would travel to Rome and be crowned by the pope as sole Roman Emperor, thus delegitimizing the claim of Frederick Barbarossa (1155–90).180 In return the pope would take possession of the patriarchal throne of Constantinople, which had recently become vacant. Pope Alexander realized that Manuel’s proposal was “extremely complex and needed much consideration,”181 and instead suggested a simpler one—that the new patriarch, Michael III of Anchialus (1170–78), acknowledge the primacy, restore the pope’s name in the dyptichs, and recognize the right of appeal to Rome.
“Where does Christ in the gospels say that the Roman Church is the head, the universal and catholic mother of churches everywhere? …Which of the ecumenical councils formulated the doctrines you teach about your church?”214 Innocent boasted that he ruled over Peter’s see, but in doing so the pope actually diminished the dignity of the apostle by reducing his universal ministry to one city. Peter was commissioned to spread the gospel, forgive sins, and feed his flock throughout the world, a commission shared equally by all those to whom Christ gave the Spirit. The pope misunderstood Matthew 16:18–19 if he thought that Peter alone was named the foundation of the church since “we believe this [title] no less [applies] to the other apostles of Christ”215 who became the foundation stones upon which the household of God was built (Ephesians 2:20). What Christ gave to Peter he gave to all. That said, Kamateros freely acknowledged that Peter was indeed “set by Christ before the other disciples, and in honor preceded the others,”216 and yet the patriarch firmly believed that “the apostolic choir did not need to obey him as their chief and master, thus leaving to the Church of the Romans a similar universal primacy.”217 He then likened the Bishop of Rome’s position in the college of bishops to Peter’s place within the circle of apostles—that is, he was “first in rank and honor”218 among the bishops, but he did not have authority over them. Rome was not the mother of all churches, but rather “first among honored sisters” [i.e., the patriarchates] who “like fingers on the hand or strings on a lyre” act in harmony without one being more important than the others.219 For Kamateros the primacy had been granted to Rome “not because Peter was made [its] bishop … or because he died there. … Such honor has been granted because at the time it was exalted by the emperor and the senate, neither of which is found there any longer.”220 The source of Rome’s greatness was neither Christ nor Peter, but rather the canons of Chalcedon. According to Aristeides Papadakis, this dialogue between pope and patriarch is notable for two reasons. First, it took place “just a few years before the Fourth Crusade, when the breech between the two great churches was not yet final and rapprochement was not yet next door to impossible.”221 Second, in these letters one sees the archetype for all subsequent debate on the papacy, with Latin demands for obedience met by increasingly strident Byzantine refutations of Rome’s primacy and the reasons for it. The Fourth Crusade certainly increased the frequency and “heat” of these attacks, but “as a rule, new arguments against the Roman primacy were rare after 1200 [and] subsequent Byzantine assessments of the question were to build on the same solid foundation established by twelfth century polemicists.”222 Long before the crusader armies approached the walls of Constantinople in 1203, the battle lines were already clearly drawn.
1. It is unknown when or how this schism was ever resolved, Peter III of Antioch later claiming that he heard the pope’s name commemorated in Constantinople at some point in 1009, but this might have been before Patriarch Sergius acted to remove it.
7. Rudolf Glaber, Historiarum libri quinque 4.3; Critical edition and Eng. trans: Rodulfus Glaber, The Five Books of the Histories, 174–75. 8. Norwich, Absolute Monarchs: A History of the Papacy, 94. 9. Not everyone was pleased by the emperor’s actions. The anonymous tract De Ordinando Pontifice chided “the most-worthless Emperor” (imperator nequissimus) Henry for interfering in Church affairs and claimed that because of his actions the Council of Sutri was illegitimate. See Erwin Frauenknecht, ed., Der Traktat De ordinando pontifice (Hannover: Hahnsche Buchhandlung, 1992); Hans Hubert Anton, Der sogenannte Traktat “De ordinando pontifice”: ein Rechtsgutachten in Zusammenhang mit der Synode von Sutri (1046) (Bonn: L. Röhrscheid, 1982). 10. “It is scarcely remarkable that rational creatures sang his praises, when even irrational animals (wonderful to relate!) articulated human words to proclaim his name. For it is alleged by truthful reporters that in Benevento a cock frequently repeated his name and instead of uttering its natural sound loudly cried ‘Pope Leo!’ to the amazement of all.’” The Life of Pope Leo IX in The Papal Reform of the Eleventh Century: Lives of Pope Leo IX and Pope Gregory VII, Manchester Medieval Sources, ed. and trans. Ian Robinson (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2004), 135.
11. Papadakis, The Christian East and the Rise of the Papacy, 34. 12. Ibid., 30. 13. Louth, Greek East and Latin West, 297. 14. Peter Damian’s Liber Gomorrhianus, which condemned (in graphic detail) homosexual practices among the clergy, was addressed to Pope Leo. See Peter Damian, Book of Gomorrah: An Eleventh-century Treatise against Clerical Homosexual Practices, trans. Pierre J. Payer (Waterloo, Ont: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1982). 15. Louth, Greek East and Latin West, 298. 16. Ullmann, A Short History of the Papacy in the Middle Ages, 128.
25. On one hand “the ancient cultural feud between Latins and Greeks provided Southern Italy with a smoldering cinder-bed of misunderstanding and distrust” Mahlon Smith, And Taking Bread … Cerularius and the Azymite Controversy of 1054, Théologie Historique 47 (Paris: Beauchesne, 1978), 117. On the other, “the long-lived cooperation and coexistence of Latins and Greeks [also] provided Southern Italy with reserves of understanding, tolerance, and trust that could hold Rome and Constantinople together.” Tia Kolbaba, “The Virtues and Faults of the Latin Christians,” in Paul Stephenson, ed., The Byzantine World (New York: Routledge, 2010), 119. See also Jules Gay, D’Italie méridionale et l’empire Byzantin 867–1071 (Paris: Frontemoing, 1904); G. A. Loud, The Latin Church in Norman Italy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007); La chiesa greca in Italia dall’viii al xvi secolo. Atti del convegno storico interecclesiale (Bari, 30 Apr.–4. Magg. 1969), 3 vols. (Padova: Editrice Antenore, 1972–1973). 26. Leo had tried to exert his own influence there—in 1050 his reforming zeal had led him to call the Synod of Siponto, legislating in an area “long under Byzantine administration.” Smith, And Taking Bread, 79. 27. For different opinions see Judith Ryder, “Changing Perspectives on 1054,” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 35 (2011): 20–37; Tia Kolbaba, “1054 Revisited: Response to Ryder,” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 35 (2011): 38–44. See also Donald Nicol, “Byzantium and the Papacy in the Eleventh Century,” Journal of Ecclesiastical History 13 (1962): 1–20. 28. Despite their occasional usefulness, the pope had no great love for the Normans and was, in fact, their prisoner at Benevento for several months before his death. 29. Leo of Ohrid, Epistula ad Ioannem Episcopum Tranensem in Cornelius Will, ed., Acta et Scripta quae de controversiis ecclesiae graecae et latinae saeculo undecimo composite extant (Leipzig, 1861), 56–60. For more on this charge see Tia Kolbaba, “Byzantines, Armenians, and Latins: Unleavened Bread and Heresy in the Tenth Century,” in George Demacopoulos and Aristotle Papanikolaou, eds., Orthodox Constructions of the West (New York: Fordham University Press, 2013), 45–57. 30. John Erickson, “Leavened and Unleavened: Some Theological Implications of the Schism of 1054,” in The Challenge of Our Past (Crestwood: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1991), 137.
31. Niketas Stethatos, Libellus Contra Latinos, in Acta et Scripta, ed. Will, 126–36. 32. Tia Kolbaba, The Byzantine Lists: Errors of the Latins (Chicago: University of Illinois Press, 2000), 21–22. See also Kolbaba, “Byzantine Perceptions of Latin Religious ‘Errors’: Themes and Changes from 850 to 1350,” in The Crusades from the Perspective of Byzantium and the Muslim World, ed. Angeliki Laiou and Roy Parviz Mottahedeh (Washington DC: Dumbarton Oaks, 2001), 117–43. Kolbaba cites the earlier conclusions of Jean Darrouzès, “Les documents byzantins du XIIe siècle sur la primaute romaine,” Revue des études byzantines 23 (1965): 51–100. 33. Erickson, “Leavened and Unleavened,” 134. See also Michele Giuseppe D’Agostino, Il primato della sede di Roma in Leone IX (1049–1054), Studio dei testi latini nella controversia greco–romana nel periodo pregregoriano (Cinisello Balsamo: San Paolo, 2008). 34. The pope responded to his “most dear brother” (charissime frater) in Antioch, reminding him that Rome’s primacy had been “promulgated by all the venerable councils … and confirmed by the King of Kings and Lord of Lords.” Leo told him to resist the pretentions of Constantinople, for Antioch owed its dignity to its foundation by Peter, “the head and hinge of the apostles.” Leo IX, Epistola ad Petrum Episcopum Antiochenum, in Acta et Scripta, ed. Will, 168–71. 35. Peter III of Antioch, Epistola ad Dominicum Gradensem, in Acta et Scripta, ed. Will, 214.
45. Ibid., 80. 46. Cerularius compounded his error when he signed the letter as “ecumenical patriarch,” which Leo considered “a sacrilegious usurpation” of a title never granted by the holy fathers. Leo IX, Epistola ad Michaelem Constantinopolitanum Archiepiscoporum, in Acta et Scripta, ed. Will, 90. 47. Ibid., 91–92.
48. See Allan John Macdonald, Berengar and the Reform of Sacramental Doctrine (London: Longmans, 1930), 134. 49. J. M. Hussey, The Orthodox Church in the Byzantine Empire (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1986), 133. 50. Chadwick, East and West: The Making of a Rift in the Church, 210. 51. Louth, Greek East and Latin West, 309. A contemporary biography can be found in F. Tinnefeld, "Michael I. Kerullarios, Patriarch von Konstantinopel (1043– 1058) Kritische Überlegungen zu einer Biographie," Jahrbuch der österreichischen Byzantinistik 39 (1989): 95–127. 52. See Richard Mayne, “East and West in 1054,” Cambridge Historical Journal 11 (1954): 133– 48; Axel Bayer, Spaltung der Christenheit: Das sogenannte Morgenländische Schisma von 1054 (Cologne: Böhlau Vertag, 2002); Vitalien Laurent, “Le schisme de Michel Cérulaire,” Échos d’Orient 31 (1932): 97–110; Tia Kolbaba, “The Legacy of Humbert and Cerularius: Traditions of the Schism of 1054 in Byzantine Texts and Manuscripts of the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries,” in Porphyrogentia: Essays on the History and Literature of Byzantium and the Latin East in Honour of Julian Chrysostomides, ed. Jonathan Harris, Charalambos Dendrinos, and Judith Herrin (London: Ashgate, 2003), 47–62; Anton Michel, Humbert und Kerularios: Quellen und Studien zum Schisma des XI. Jahrhunderts 1 (Paderborn: Schöningh, 1924). 53. “But they come against us and against the orthodox church of God, not as from elder Rome but as from some other place … intrigu[ing] against the faithful and even ‘counterfeited’ their arrival with the pretext they came from Rome and pretending they were sent by the pope.” Excommunicatio qua feriuntur Michael Caerularius atque ejus sectatores, Acta et scripta, ed. Will, 153–54; Eng. trans: Deno John Geanakoplos, Byzantium: Church, Society and Civilization Seen through Contemporary Eyes (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984), 211.
68. Benedict X was elected contrary to the wishes of the late Pope Stephen IX (1057–58), who had made the cardinals swear a solemn oath that the election of his successor would not take place without the presence of Cardinal Hildebrand, who was at the time traveling in Germany. A second election therefore took place (with Hildebrand present), elevating Nicholas II to the papal throne. 69. Robert Guiscard swore an oath in 1059 to Nicholas promising (among other things) “to support the holy Roman Church in holding and acquiring the temporalities and possessions of St. Peter everywhere and against all men … to help you to hold the Roman papacy securely and honorably … [and] to put all churches in my lordship and their possessions under your power.” Eng. trans: Brian Tierney, ed., The Crisis of Church and State 1050–1300 (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1964), 44. 70. According to Michael Psellos, it was only Cerularius’s death that prevented his deposition by Isaac I on the charges of treason, heresy, and witchcraft. Michael Psellos, Fourteen Byzantine Rulers, trans by E. R. A. Sewter (London: Penguin Books, 1966), 269; Michael Psellos, Un discours inédit de Psellos: Accusation du patriarche Michel Cérulaire devant le synode (1059), ed. Louis Bréhier (Paris: E. Leroux, 1904).
59. Excommunicatio qua feriuntur Michael Caerularius atque ejus sectatores, Acta et scripta, ed. Will, 153. 60. Ibid. Among the patriarch’s crimes was the charge that Michael and his followers “like Pneumatomachians or Theoumachians have deleted from the creed the procession of the Holy Spirit from the Son.” Other charges included treating Latins as heretics (and subsequently re-baptizing them, like the Arians) and allowing priests to marry (like the Nicholaites). Cerularius was also accused of threatening to close the Latin churches in Constantinople unless they adopted the Greek rite, but this claim was recently challenged by Tia Kolbaba, “On the Closing of the Churches and the Rebaptism of Latins: Greek Perfidy or Latin Slander?” Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 29 (2005): 39–51. Humbert also made sure to note Michael’s personal rudeness to the pope’s representatives (e.g., forbidding use of a church in which to celebrate mass), demonstrating his insolence to the Holy See. 61. See Matt. 10:14–15, Mark 6:11, and Luke 9:5. 62. Edictum Synodi Constantinopolitanae, Acta et scripta, ed. Will, 155– 58 (Eng. trans: Geanakoplos, Byzantium, 209–12).
63. Michael Cerularius, Letter to Patriarch Peter III of Antioch, in Acta et scripta, ed. Will, 178. 64. Peter of Antioch to Michael Cerularius, in Acta et scripta, ed. Will, 190–91. 65. Ibid., 198. 66. Tia Kolbaba cautions us that in the eleventh century “the Latin West” was not yet viewed as a monolithic entity opposite “the Greek East” as if the two existed in a strictly bi-polar world. Peter of Antioch was fully aware that the Normans, Germans, Lombards, etc. were all distinct entities and that not all of them were on the best of terms with the pope. Kolbaba, “Byzantine Perceptions of Latin Religious ‘Errors,’” 117–43. 67. Ostrogorsky, History of the Byzantine State, 298.
75. Uta-Renate Blumenthal, The Investiture Controversy: Church and Monarchy from the Ninth to the Twelfth Century (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1988), 117. 76. Ibid. It was, for example, his “extreme and indeed bizarre interpretation” of the Petrusmystik (Papadakis, The Christian East and the Rise of the Papacy, 47) that led to Dictatus Papae 23. See Walter Ullman, “Romanus Pontifex indubitantur efficitur sanctus: Dictatus Papae 23 in Retrospect and Prospect,” Studi Gregoriani 6 (1959–61): 229–64. 77. For Klaus Schatz it was this mystical identification of the pope with Peter that “was the true kernel of Gregory’s notion of primacy.” Schatz, Papal Primacy, 85–86. 78. See Werner Goez, “Zur Persönlichkeit Gregors VII,” Römische Quartalschrift 73 (1978): 193–216. 79. This formula, found in Peter Damian, appeared in a slightly altered form in the Dictatus Papae: “That he who is not at peace with the Roman church shall not be considered catholic” (Quod catholicus non habeatur qui non concordat Romanae ecclesiae). Eng. trans: Ernest Henderson, ed., Select Historical Documents of the Middle Ages (London: George Bell and Sons, 1910), 366–67. See also Horst Fuhrmann, “‘Quod catholicus non habeatur, qui non concordat Romanae ecclesiae,’ Randnotizen zum Dictatus Papae,” in Festschrift für Helmut Beumann zum 65. Geburtstag, ed. Kurt-Ulrich Jäschke and Reinhard Wenskus (Thorbecke: Sigmaringen, 1977), 263–87. 80. Papadakis, The Christian East and the Rise of the Papacy, 53. 81. H. J. Berman, Law and Revolution: The Foundation of the Western Legal Tradition (Cambridge, MA, 1983), 87.
82. Papadakis, The Christian East and the Rise of the Papacy, 53. See especially Joseph J. Ryan, Saint Peter Damiani and his canonical sources; a preliminary study in the antecedents of the Gregorian reform (Toronto: Pontificium Institutum Studiorum Mediae Aetatis, 1956). 83. Morrison, Tradition and Authority in the Western Church, 346. 84. Hermann Pottmeyer, Towards a Papacy in Communion: Perspectives from Vatican Councils I & II (New York: Crossroad Publishing, 1998), 30. 85. Blumenthal, The Investiture Controversy, 118. 86. Ullmann, A Short History of the Papacy in the Middle Ages, 147–48. 87. Schatz, Papal Primacy, 86. 88. Blumenthal, The Investiture Controversy, 118.
207. Ibid. 208. Aristeides Papadakis and Alice Mary Talbot, eds., “John X Camaterus Confronts Innocent III: An Unpublished Correspondence,” Byzantinoslaoica 33 (1972): 34. 209. Ibid. 210. Innocent III, Register 2.211 (PL 214:771). 211. Innocent III, Register 2.209 (PL 214:764) Eng. trans: Gill, “Innocent III and the Greeks: Apostle or Aggressor,” 98. 212. Innocent III, Register 2.209 (PL 214:765). 213. Papadakis and Talbot, eds., “John X Camaterus Confronts Innocent III,” 31.
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