Content:

1. The seventh-century watershed in the Byzantine Empire 2. The theological background to seventh-century monotheletism. 3. Monenergism and monotheletism against a background of imperial crisis. 4. The Quinisextum council (691-692) ³⁰

1. The North Syrian rulers: the first phase 726-787. The background to the eighth-century crisis. The opening conflict under Leo III. 2. The first restoration of the icons. The Empress Irene and the council of Nicaea (787). Conflicting currents 787-843. Irene and Constantine VI. Nicephorus I, Michael I, and the Patriarch Nicephorus (802-813). 3. The second phase of iconoclasm. 4. The restoration of orthodoxy in 843: the Synodicon. 5. The significance of the controversy over icons.

1. Patriarch Methodius (843-847): the first patriarchate of Ignatius (847-858). 2. Photius's first patriarchate (858-867). 3. Ignatius's second patriarchate (867-877): the council of Constantinople (869-870). 4. Photius's second patriarchate (877-886): the council of 879-880: the alleged second Photian schism. 5. Photius — churchman and humanist. 6. Byzantine missionary activities in the early middle ages.

1. Leo VI: the Emperor's fourth marriage. 2. Nicholas I's second patriarchate (912-925); the interdependence of church and state.

1. Cooperation and criticism 925-970. 2. The imperial advance in the East: the Muslims and the non- Chalcedonian Churches. 3. Caucasian and North Pontic regions: Russia. 4. Byzantium and South Italy.

1. Impending threats. 2. Patriarchs (1025-1081). 3. 1081: a new era or continuity? 4. Philosophers and theologians: individual heretics: ecclesiastical currents. 5. The dualist heresies. 6. Relations with the West.

1. The patriarchate of Constantinople 1204-1261: the Latins in occupation. 2. Ecclesiastical organization within the various Latin conquests. 3.Thirteenth century rival Byzantine churches: Nicaea and Epirus. 4. The Nicaean Empire and Rome.

1. Michael VIII Palaeologus and the papacy: Byzantine doubts concerning union 1258-1274. 2. Michael VIII and the council of Lyons II (1274). 3. Byzantine reaction to the union 1274-1282. 4. Andronicus II: internal problems: Josephites and Arsenites: repudiation of the union. 5. Patriarch Athanasius I and his immediate successors. 6. Renewed contacts with the West under Andronicus II and Andronicus III. 7. Palamite problems. 8. John V Palaeologus and John VI Cantacuzenus: Constantinople and the West. 9. Manuel II: the council of Ferrara-Florence and after. 10. The authority of the Byzantine Church in the later middle ages (c.1334-1453).

1. Collegiality: the emergence of the pentarchy; the position of Constantinople. 2. The patriarchate of Constantinople and the Emperor. 3. Canon law: the nomocanons. 4. The Notitiae Episcopatuum: the higher clergy and imperial ceremonial. 5. The Ecumenical Patriarch and his election. 6. Patriarchal administration: the major officials of the Great Church. 7. The patriarchal synod: the metropolitans. 8. Secular clergy in the provinces (eparchies) and in the dioceses ⁴⁶ 9. Monks and monasteries. 10. The spiritual life of the Orthodox in Byzantium.

General Works. Atlases, Geography and Topography. Reference Works. Glossary. Abbreviations

I SHOULD like to express my grateful thanks to the Trustees of the Leverhulme Foundation for the award of an Emeritus Research Fellowship and to the Trustees of the Bethune-Baker Fund for a grant towards the cost of typing. A good deal of the work for this book was done in the Gennadius Library and in the British School at Athens and more especially in the University of Cambridge Library where I have to thank hard-pressed assistants for their generous help.

This book is built on the work of past and present scholars too numerous to thank individually. But I should like to say in gratitude how much I owe to the late Norman Baynes who introduced me to the thought-world of East Rome. And it is a pleasure to acknowledge my special indebtedness over the years to three living scholars — Jean Darrouzès, Herbert Hunger, and Paul Lemerle -whose distinguished work has opened avenues leading to a more constructive view of an often changing Byzantine society. I am also most grateful to Julian Chrysostomides and Henry Chadwick both of whom read the typescript and made valuable suggestions.

IN accordance with the plan of this series this book deals with the Church of the Byzantine Empire from the re-shaping of the polity in the post-Justinianic period of the seventh century to the downfall of Byzantium in the fifteenth century. It was within this framework that one of the main branches of Orthodox Christianity developed and was enabled to give its religion to the neighbouring Slav peoples. When John Meyendorff published his Byzantine Theology in 1974 a reviewer took exception to his title on the ground that the truths of Orthodoxy were not related to any historical period. This may be so, but it is also a fact that Orthodox theology was Byzantine theology. Universal truths have to be articulated in a temporal milieu and this articulation however imperfect is that of its generation. The historian cannot therefore discard the world in which medieval eastern Orthodoxy developed, nor ignore the ecclesiastical framework of the Church, and indeed the spirituality of its people is often better understood in the light of the contemporary background.

In the present state of our knowledge a book on the Byzantine Church must necessarily be in the nature of an interim report since much pioneer work remains to be done. Probably the most significant result of the research of this generation is a change of emphasis. Byzantine life is now seen as marked by constant change though at the same time there was loyal adherence to certain traditions governing the outlook of both Church and Empire. It has also become increasingly clear that Byzantium had its own creative contribution to make not only in art (that at least had been allowed), but in other fields and most vital of all in its many-sided religious life. The Church was not a department of state. But it was closely integrated into the daily life of an empire which was regarded as being ideally the mimesis or copy of the heavenly kingdom. Yet in the last resort the Church maintained its own responsibility for the things which were not Caesar's.

This book is written primarily for the non-specialist layman wishing to know something of a Church which was one of the main vitalizing forces in the East Roman Empire. It attempts to trace the medieval history of Greek Orthodoxy in terms of challenge and response; to outline the organization of the Byzantine Church, indicating its essential role in the imperial polity and in Christendom; and finally to suggest that way in which its members tried to achieve what was, and still is, the heart of Orthodoxy, that is, the gradual theosis or deification of each individual Christian.

A recurrent challenge to the Greek Orthodox Church running through its medieval history and beyond came both from the western Latin Church and from the (all too often forgotten) eastern non-Chalcedonian Nestorian and monophysite Churches. This challenge largely turned on the interpretation of Trinitarian and Christological doctrine. In the case of the West it also concerned ecclesiastical authority because the eastern conception of the equality of all bishops and a collegial authority clashed with the Latin development of a single supreme bishop of Rome. The gap between Greek and Latin was there long before the aggravation of 1204. Primarily rooted in theological differences this gap was further widened by cultural, political, and linguistic problems, due in part — as far as Latins and Greeks were concerned — to the differing fortunes of the eastern and western halves of the Roman Empire. But as far as theology went it was also to be found within the eastern provinces and beyond, as the non-Chalcedonian Churches show.

Factual evidence reveals the increasing extent to which the differences between Greek and Latin contributed to a rift which became the concern of all circles in Byzantium, making increasing demands upon diplomats as well as churchmen. For in the later middle ages the restoration of union between the Greek and Latin Churches was closely linked to the pressing need for a united Christian front in the face of a rapidly advancing Islam. Neither Lyons II (1274) nor Ferrara-Florence (1438-9) could provide an acceptable solution. But failure does not mean that these abortive negotiations can for that reason be omitted or watered down. They were significant for various reasons. They underlined the tenacity with which the Orthodox Church maintained its doctrinal and ecclesiological traditions. And they throw light on many aspects of the Byzantine world particularly in the post-1204 years. Behind the more formal diplomatic exchanges many, often conflicting, crosscurrents can be discerned — the mediating Latin friars going backwards and forwards between the papal and imperial courts or on other missions, the dead weight of Greek anti-union opinion, the agony and frustration of Manuel II and his family, the false hopes of Patriarch Joseph and the Emperor John VIII — all this comes out and contributes to a picture of life balanced on a knife-edge, often perforce pessimistic and yet able to produce a Nicholas Cabasilas with his Life in Christ, or a Symeon of Thessalonica urging his people not to count economic gain as more important than supporting the Orthodox episcopate. And in the background the often unfortunate role of the monks in the capital must be balanced by the stabilizing influence of the widely scattered monastic foundations ranging at various times from the Studite house and Athos to the Meteora or the Patir of Rossano and St Saviour of Messina.

East-West ecclesiastical relations also reveal how little the Greeks knew of Latin theology (using 'theologia' in the western doctrinal sense, for to the Greeks it meant the spiritual contemplation of God). The Church, despite differences between its members, was regarded as being one, but it early ceased to draw on its common heritage, at least as far as the Greeks were concerned. The major Greek fathers of the fourth and fifth centuries were rapidly translated into Latin, as was the seventh-century Maximus the Confessor. But the Latin father Augustine of Hippo was not known in Greek until the late middle ages and then only in part, for instance the translation of the De trinitate by the fourteenth-century Manuel Calecas who also translated other later Latin works, as Boethius and Anselm of Canterbury, while his contemporaries the Cydones brothers made Aquinas available. Thus for most of the middle ages the Greeks knew little of the western tradition. It was partly that they had long tended to regard the Latins as 'barbarians' using a language which was in the Greek view ill-suited to express doctrinal truths. It was also partly due to a certain antagonistic undercurrent of political rivalry and hostility, for instance in the earlier period in Italy and the Balkans and then later on over the crusades. Further, the Greeks on the whole did not gravitate much to the West, though there were frequent contacts in Italy. But it was otherwise with the westerners who came East for various reasons. There was always the incentive of a pilgrimage to Jerusalem or the journey on crusade which could mean travelling through Byzantine lands, and finally there was the opportunity of actually settling in the conquered Aegean lands. It was only in the late middle ages that the Greeks were brought up against some of the more acceptable aspects of Latin culture (together it must be said with much which they disliked). It was then that the Latin theological works, such as Augustine or Aquinas, began to be translated, though not on a large scale. Much remained unknown and might indeed have been found to be out of line with Greek doctrinal teaching. The Greeks were also in disagreement with the western use of the scholastic method, as they showed when debates took place, particularly in the fourteenth-century disputes. They regarded logic as a useful, indeed an essential, tool, but considered that dialectic could not be applied to the mysteries of faith. Much as some Greeks in the later period might admire individual Latins whom they got to know, with few exceptions (as for instance Demetrius Cydones) they probably felt that their own rich patristic heritage provided for their doctrinal and spiritual needs and for the most part they had no desire to explore western thought.

Thus during the 800 years and more from Heraclius to the end of the Empire the Orthodox Church went its own way. Closely integrated with the daily life of the East Romans, it was able to perfect and adapt its central administration, to organize its provinces and dioceses to meet changing needs, and to introduce its religion and way of life to its Slav neighbours. Above all it deepened its spiritual life which was centred in a developing liturgical round, particularly in the eucharist. This service kept its original character and purpose, but during the course of the middle ages it was gradually enriched by additional actions, responses, hymns, and ceremonies. The Byzantines had a strong feeling for dignified ceremony and symbolism and this left its mark in ecclesiastical as well as imperial developments, bringing out and enhancing the meaning of the liturgy and indeed of the Christian faith. But it did not obscure the purpose of the sacramental life as is evidenced by the writings of the more spiritually minded members of the Church, often monks, but by no means always so.

The vigilance with which the Church guarded doctrinal belief was seen not only in its relations with the Latin Church but in its treatment of heresies which cropped up within the Empire, particularly adherence to ancient Greek thought conflicting with Christian teaching as well as various forms of widespread and recurrent dualism. Such challenges were brought to light and met in public trials and by synodal rulings. Then there was a whole range of dubious superstitions, belief in portents and wonders, demonology, magical practices, to be found at all levels of society. These were to some extent ingrained in human nature and were frequently pinpointed by official condemnation. But often there was a very thin line between superstition and more harmless folklore much of which has survived into modern times. Superstitions did not however make up the essential life of Greek Orthodoxy (or of any other Christian Church) and it is therefore not expatiated on here as in some more modern treatments of Byzantium. What mattered was the liturgical life and faithful adherence to the traditions of the Church.

THE emergence of the medieval Roman Empire is often placed in the fourth century AD. This is because the foundation of Constantinople as the capital of what was then the eastern — and senior — half of the Roman Empire and the acceptance of the Christian religion by the ruling dynasty shaped the destiny of East Rome throughout the middle ages. But from the political, and to some extent the ecclesiastical, point of view it was the seventh century which saw the two major changes which subsequently influenced the whole tenor of Byzantine life. The rise of Muhammad and the subsequent victories of the Muslims in the south and east brought a contraction of the physical boundaries of the Christian Empire and a religious challenge which was never fully met. At the same time the South Slavs were advancing into the Balkan provinces with in some ways more propitious results for Byzantium. It is true that this penetration eventually brought the establishment of independent, and on occasion menacing, principalities within the Roman provinces south of the Danube, but at the same time it provided a muchneeded infusion of fresh blood and manpower into the Byzantine polity for many Slavs settled within the Empire and became integrated into its multiracial society. In contrast to the Muslim Arab and Turkic invaders, the Slavs accepted Christianity and learnt much from Hellenic civilization and Graeco-Roman statecraft.

That this challenging situation was to some extent brought under control and the Empire thus spared complete disintegration was largely due to the quality of Byzantine rulers during both the seventh and eighth centuries. So in spite of mistakes in their religious policy they managed to halt the Muslim advance into Asia Minor, thus retaining the indispensable Asian core of Empire, and they appear to have set in motion far-reaching administrative and military reforms well suited to meet the needs of a rapidly changing situation. And, as will subsequently emerge, in their different ways both Slav and Muslim radically altered the ecclesiastical situation in the Christian world. Slav acceptance of Christianity brought an enlargement and enrichment of the Christian family, as well as welcome additional manpower to the East Roman Empire. Muslim domination of some of the oldest Christian regions meant a change of emphasis in the administrative framework of the Church. Alexandria and Antioch, formerly powerful advocates of their differing interpretations of Christian doctrine and leaders in the Christian world, were now in infidel territory, likewise Jerusalem which by reason of its associations had always been — and was to remain — a special centre of Christian devotion. This threw into high relief the claims of Rome long associated with St Peter and St Paul and of Constantinople, the New Rome, with its growing prestige as the imperial capital.

The theological problems of the seventh century did not mark the opening of any new era. Throughout the late Roman and early medieval periods the Church had been concerned with the gradual formulation of basic Christian doctrine. It was necessary to define its teaching on the Trinity and the Incarnation, on cosmology and soteriology, not only in order to instruct the faithful but to meet the challenge of successive heretical interpretations. The continuity and constructive nature of this work should be stressed and the Byzantines themselves frequently emphasised the extent to which they were carrying on the tradition of 'the Fathers'. This tradition was built up by men of vision who dominated the early centuries, but it did not end with the fourth-century Cappadocians or the first four general councils from Nicaea I (325) to Chalcedon (451). For instance, Chalcedon left problems only partly solved; certain of Origen's heretical views lingered on in the sixth century and beyond; and there was need to enlarge the Christian theological vocabulary in order to explain more clearly the full implications of the Incarnation, particularly in so far as this was related to man's place in the Divine economy.

Thus the seventh and eighth centuries saw the Church still concerned with Christological problems. It saw too the positive contribution of an outstanding Christian thinker, the seventhcentury Maximus the Confessor. All too often historians convey a negative impression of the work of the early Byzantine Church, implying that it was dominated by complicated conciliar arguments and fruitless attempts to placate dissident elements, such as the monophysites or the Nestorians, particularly in the sixth and seventh centuries. This is not really true, and the failure of apparent political aims should not obscure doctrinal achievement.

The seventh-century theological controversies can be traced back to the problems arising out of the council of Chalcedon (451). This council had stated that Christ had two natures, the divine and the human, but one person or hypostasis. Its definition that Christ is known 'in two natures' had tended to offend the Alexandrians and in particular the followers of Cyril, Patriarch of Alexandria (d. 444), and was regarded by some as having a pro-Nestorian bias in its treatment of the two natures of Christ. Its supporters were regarded as dyophysites in contrast to those who stressed a single nature, the monophysites.

As was the practice in the Byzantine Empire, Emperor and churchmen both took part in ecclesiastical affairs. The greater part of the sixth century was dominated by Justinian (527-65). Perhaps more than any other Byzantine Emperor he interpreted his imperial mandate as including theological as well as the administrative problems of the Church. He obviously desired to find some solution to current doctrinal controversy which would be acceptable to Rome and the West and would quiet the dissenting voices of monophysites and Nestorians. But it should be noted that the imperial provinces in which monophysite views predominated, Egypt and Syria for instance, were not at first hostile towards the central government and separatist in outlook. This only developed when they had abandoned hope (after Jacob Baradaeus had provided a rival episcopate) of gaining a monophysite Emperor, that is, until after Theodora's death. It was for reasons of prestige that Alexandria certainly resented the rise to power of Constantinople and the increasingly decisive part which the imperial capital took in ecclesiastical as well as secular affairs. But the political element should not obscure the primary importance of the theological problem.

The Alexandrians took their stand on Cyril of Alexandria's formula, 'one nature incarnate of God the Word'. Strict dyophysites, a minority, could not accept the implications of Cyril's teaching, but the majority of the Chalcedonians interpreted Cyril's word 'nature' (φϊσις) as the equivalent of 'hypostasis' (υπσσaσις) or 'person' (πΡσσωπο½), thus preserving the unity of the Persons in whom there were two natures each retaining its own special properties or characteristics. Thus it was possible for Cyrillian Chalcedonians to accept the theopaschite formula which arose as a subject of controversy when the Patriarch of Antioch, Peter the Fuller (d. 488), began to chant the Trisagion, the 'Thrice-holy' chant, addressing God the Son as 'Holy God, holy Mighty, holy Immortal', with the additional words 'who was crucified for us'. Extreme dyophysites maintained that the human Christ and not the Logos suffered on the cross, a view which would deny the unity of the two natures forming one person. At Constantinople the Trisagion was commonly understood as referring to the Trinity, in which case the addition was not orthodox. But the use of the phrase 'crucified for us' as applied to God the Son was vital. The Word, the Son of God, and not just the human Christ, had to suffer in the flesh if man was to fulfil his destiny in the divine economy through his deification. As Gregory of Nazianzus put it 'In order that we may live again, we need a God who was incarnate and suffered death.' ²

This question of the nature of the hypostatic union with the soteriological implications was faced in the sixth century. Justinian supported by his Patriarch and by the Fifth general council (Constantinople II, 553) drew out the intentions of Chalcedon in making it clear that the human Christ and the eternal Logos had a single hypostatic identity. Thus theopaschism was acceptable in the sense that one of the Trinity, the Son of God, was crucified and buried. At the same time certain teachings of the Nestorians were condemned in Justinian's censure of the Three Chapters (that is excerpts from Theodore of Mopsuestia, Theodoret, and Ibas of Edessa favouring a strongly two-nature Christology), which was confirmed by the council of 553 with the reluctant assent of the Pope Vigilius. Though the Edict of Union (the Henoticon), an attempt to compromise with the monophysites sponsored by the Emperors Zeno (476-91 and Anastaslus(491-518) had been repudiated under Justinian's uncle, Justin I (518-27), the recognition in 553 of the Cyrillian position, provided it was interpreted 'as the holy Fathers have taught', ³ should have gone some way towards winning over the monophysites. The standing council in Constantinople (synodos endemousa) had already condemned certain heretical views on the creation and on the nature of man deriving from Origen (d. c.254) and Evagrius of Pontus (d. 399) which were current in monastic circles. ⁴ This censure of Origenism was confirmed by the council of 553.

Though of first importance for Orthodox theology the strenuous efforts of Justinian and the Fifth general council (553) did not win over the monophysites. In the following century once again their differences with the Chalcedonians came to a head over the distinction or otherwise of the divine and human nature in Christ. Following Chalcedon it had been officially emphasized in 553 that there was a single person in two natures. The problem now centred in a question which had not yet been specifically dealt with by a general council, that is, whether there were one or two operations or activities and one or two wills in the incarnate Christ. It was therefore not clear whether it was possible to believe in two natures with a single activity (ἐνεργια) and a single will (θἐλημα). This question was vital to the controversy because to have agreed on one energeia or one will would have answered one of the principal monophysite objections to the Chalcedonian definition, and therefore should have gained monophysite support. But it should be recognized that in exploring this problem monothelites and monenergists remained Chalcedonians (and not compromising monophysites as was the case under Cyrus in Egypt for a short time).

This question of the human and divine natures of Christ would in any case have needed formal examination and pronouncement, but it unfortunately arose in the seventh century against a particularly disturbed background. The Empire was then facing a serious and prolonged crisis. The Italian lands were being eaten away by the Lombard invaders, though Ravenna and the South were still held and there was strong Greek influence within Rome itself. The Asian, Syrian, and Egyptian provinces were being attacked by Persia with considerable success and the loss of Jerusalem and the Holy Cross (614) was a blow to Christian and to imperial morale. The northern frontier seemed to be collapsing before the sustained Avar and Slav penetration. And at one point the Persians even encamped on the Asian shore of the Bosphorus, though their plan to capture Constantinople with Avar aid in 626 failed. It did however seem that the very existence of the Empire was being threatened. It was therefore all the more necessary to promote the traditional imperial policy of unity within the polity. Unfortunately there were now two main bodies of Christian dissidents — the monophysites whose strength lay in Egypt and Syria, and the Nestorians who had established their non-Chalcedonian Church on Persian territory. For their part, the Persians fully realized the advantages of favouring these separatists, whether within their Empire or in their newly-conquered regions, and the Chalcedonians suffered accordingly. In the Byzantine Empire there was a close alliance between the Emperor Heraclius and Sergius, the Patriarch of Constantinople, and they both realized that their position would be strengthened if they could win over at least the monophysites. Heraclius, a man of considerable military and administrative capability, succeeded in driving back the Persians and may have been responsible (though this is disputed) for inaugurating some kind of reorganization of the Asia Minor provinces into regions (themes) in which military needs were given precedence. The move to support him in the religious sphere seems to have come from the Patriarch Sergius of Constantinople (610-38) who, like the Emperor Heraclius, was greatly concerned to pacify the monophysites, particularly the Copts of Egypt and the Jacobites of Syria and the Armenian provinces. The Jacobites were so called from the monophysite bishop Jacob Baradaeus who had ensured the succession of the monophysite episcopate in Syria by his underground consecrations during Justinian's reign. The Nestorian Church in Persia did not pose so obvious a threat to Byzantine imperial recovery and in any case was now somewhat removed from its jurisdiction.

During the early years of his patriarchate Sergius sounded various ecclesiastics for their views on a single activity (ἐνεργεια) in Christ. Much of the evidence comes from references in Maximus the Confessor's dialogue with Pyrrhus (the Disputation). ⁵ Sergius saw good hope of reconciling the monophysite critics of Chalcedon's 'in two natures' by the formula 'one activity and one will'. From 618 he began to circulate a (forged) memorandum to Pope Vigilius ascribed to the Patriarch Menas of Constantinople in which this formula occurred and he asked for a verdict on its reconciling potentialities. The theologians he sounded included Theodore Bishop of Pharan in Sinai ⁶ who admired the recently published writings of Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite; a monophysite bishop called Paul the One-eyed; a half-hearted Chalcedonian at Alexandria named George Arsas ⁷ (whose zealously Chalcedonian bishop John the Almsgiver was furious when the secret correspondence with Sergius was disclosed); and above all Cyrus bishop of Phasis (Poti) in Lazica in the Caucasus, a region thrown into prominence by Heraclius' wars against Persia.

Approaches in the eastern provinces, Syria, Armenia, and Mesopotamia were made, partly through the mediation of the Emperor Heraclius who was engaged in re-establishing Byzantine authority in the lands recently occupied by the Persians. He hoped that the doctrine of a single activity would win over the strongly entrenched monophysites who had been so markedly favoured by the Persians and were largely in control of the Churches in these regions. Thus, with the assistance of Sergius, in 626 Heraclius discussed the question of the single activity with Cyrus of Phasis, and Sergius subsequently wrote to him defending a single activity in Christ. ⁸ The Emperor also attempted to promote monenergism in Armenia where Ezra had become Catholicos. Greek, Syrian, and Armenian sources vary in their accounts of relations between Byzantium and the Armenian Church but it is likely that Armenian opposition to Chalcedon arose not so much from doctrinal dissent from a council where they had not been present as from hostility towards the subordination of Armenia to the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of Constantinople. In Syria and Palestine Heraclius did rather better in getting support, and monotheletism was to survive under Muslim domination.

More tangible results were achieved in Egypt. Here there had been conflict between the Chalcedonian and monophysite parties. But in 631 Cyrus of Phasis was made Patriarch of Alexandria and the Coptic Patriarch Benjamin fled. Cyrus published his pact of union consisting of nine chapters or statements on the Christology which it was hoped would be acceptable to both Chalcedonians and monophysites under pain of anathema. The seventh attempt deals with the single activity of Christ by anathematizing those not confessing that 'this one and the same Christ and Son worked both the divine and human by one theandric activity as St Dionysius says'. ⁹ There seems to be a certain deliberate ambiguity in this formula and indeed, in trying to conciliate the monophysites without antagonizing the Chalcedonians, Cyrus spoke of having used 'a flexibility (oeconomia) pleasing to God' in the wording without in any way sacrificing orthodoxy. ¹⁰

The first significant opposition to the doctrine of monenergism came from Sophronius. He had been born in Damascus and was a Palestinian monk who had travelled widely. He knew the famous exponent of orthodoxy, Maximus the Confessor, who had acquired his title 'Confessor' as a result of his sufferings in the defence of Chalcedonian purity against monothelete compromises and had been head of the imperial chancery before becoming a monk and dedicating himself to the Chalcedonian cause. Sophronius was in Alexandria at the time of Cyrus' declaration and begged him to desist. A year later in 634, old as he was, he became Patriarch of Jerusalem (the Arab invasion of that year having removed Palestine from Byzantine control). In the customary systatic, or synodal, letter to the other patriarchs and the Pope announcing his enthronement Sophronius made clear his position by stressing the two natures of Christ, divine and human, and the two activities in a single person, asserting that a single activity would imply a single nature and would therefore be contrary to dyophysite belief. He also pointed out Cyrus' substitution of 'one' for 'new' in his use of the phrase from Pseudo-Dionysius which he quoted in support of his argument. ¹¹

Before his election as patriarch Sophronius had also visited Constantinople to remonstrate with the Patriarch Sergius, who tried to temporize by issuing an instruction (the Psephos, June 633) stating that the terms 'one activity' and 'two activities' were not to be used. The doctrinal position was elaborated by Sergius in a letter to Pope Honorius. He tended to minimize the whole controversy as an unnecessary dispute over words, ¹² though it seems that his own leaning was towards 'one activity'. The Latin original of Honorius' reply is not extant, but the Greek translation was used at the Sixth general council where Honorius was specifically condemned (with the then Pope's concurrence). In his letter he agreed with Sergius that the dispute was one of words and that it was wiser to avoid using the terms either one or two activities, but though he speaks of one will, 'We confess one will of our Lord Jesus Christ', it is in the sense of two wills in harmony, that is, he was apparently not a monothelete, though he has been criticized as such ¹³ and he was cited by the monotheletes in support of their cause.

Against the threat of further invasion and the knowledge that the enforced doctrinal unity in the eastern provinces was only too precarious, Heraclius, at the instigation of Sergius, took the controversy to its logical conclusion (as he saw it) by asserting that Christ had a single will, as was implied in monenergism. An Ecthesis or exposition of faith, based on Sergius Psephos was drawn up with the help of Pyrrhus (subsequently his successor) and was set up in the narthex of Hagia Sophia (autumn 638). This restated Chalcedonian teaching on the Trinity and Incarnation, forbade discussion concerning either one or two activities in the incarnate Saviour, and asserted that Christ had a single will but without confusion of his two natures, each keeping its own attributes in a single person, the Incarnate Logos. ¹⁴

Sergius died on 8 December 638 and Pyrrhus became Patriarch of Constantinople. At this stage Pyrrhus supported the monotheletes and in late 638 or early 639 the Ecthesis was approved by the standing synod in Constantinople. The next five years saw a confused political and ecclesiastical situation. The old Emperor Heraclius died in 641, having failed to drive back either the Arabs who were pouring into Syria, Palestine, and Egypt, or the Slavs crossing the Danube into the Balkans. He also left a succession complicated by rival family claims. Opposition to the official ecclesiastical policy was growing in both orthodox and monophysite circles. Anti-Chalcedonian Armenia and monophysite Egypt were almost ready to come to terms with their new Muslim masters. Orthodox opposition, centred in the person of Maximus the Confessor, was steadily growing in North Africa. In Rome Pope John IV (640-2) was also protesting against imperial policy. He tried to clear Honorius of any acquiescence in this and he anathematized monotheletism. The immediate successors of Heraclius, the Emperors Constantine III and then Constans II, seem to have been orthodox and the Ecthesis was said to have been removed, as Pope John had asked. Patriarch Pyrrhus who had been associated with the Ecthesis fled to Africa. Paul became Patriarch (641-53), though Pyrrhus had not been canonically deposed, as Pope Theodore (John IV's successor) was to point out in his answer to Paul's synodal letter to him announcing his consecration. Pyrrhus subsequently had a curious career which illustrates the uncertainty many felt concerning the controversy over monenergism and monotheletism. He went to North Africa and in July 645 held a public debate with the orthodox Maximus the Confessor in Carthage. ¹⁵ Pyrrhus pleaded for the use of either phrase — two wills, and one will, on the ground that since complete harmony existed between the two wills it was possible to speak of 'one common will consisting of two individual wills'. Maximus refuted this on the ground that there can be a composite person or hypostasis but not a composite single nature. Pyrrhus professed himself convinced. 'You have shown that we cannot properly speak of one activity in any way whatsoever.' ¹⁶ He then went to Rome where he was received by Pope Theodore and now recognized as the legitimate Patriarch of Constantinople, though subsequently he recanted, fled to Ravenna, and was then excommunicated by Theodore. Theodore had also written a letter of protest to Patriarch Paul which is no longer extant, but is known from Paul's reply, in which he defended 'a single will of our Lord, in order not to ascribe to the one Person a conflict or a difference of wills, so as not to be forced to admit two willers' ¹⁷ whereupon Paul was deposed by Theodore. An attempt to still the controversy was made in 648 by issuing the Type, or Rule of faith (Tvπος περι πιστεως). ¹⁸ Though in the form of an imperial edict, Paul was most probably behind this. It stated briefly the two sides of the controversy and then commanded the cessation of further discussion and the removal of the Ecthesis from Hagia Sophia. The faithful should henceforth follow 'the Holy Scriptures and the traditions of the five oecumenical councils and the utterances and confessions of the Fathers'. Penalties for infringement were appended. The defect in the eyes of the orthodox was the failure to come down in their favour by specifically denouncing the monotheletes. On the contrary, the Type laid down that none of those who had previously taught one will and one activity, or two wills and two activities, should . . . be exposed to blame or accusation.

If the Type was meant to appease papal opposition it failed. Pope Theodore had died on 14 May 649 and on 5 July 649 Martin I, who had been apocrisiarius in Constantinople, was consecrated without waiting for imperial approval which could have been given through the exarch of Ravenna. He immediately called a synod which met in the Lateran on 5 October 649. It was attended by some hundred bishops mainly from the West, Italy, Africa, though others such as Stephen of Dor in Palestine also took part, and there were as well refugee monks and clerics from the East in Rome (including Theodore of Tarsus). Maximus the Confessor was there, urging return to orthodoxy. The Type had been issued in the form of an imperial edict and the sanctions mentioned in its closing paragraph would have been implemented by imperial authority. But its critics put the onus for it squarely on Patriarch Paul of Constantinople and were careful not to criticize the Emperor. Perhaps they hoped to win him over, for it was clearly in imperial interests that harmony should be restored, since ecclesiastical discord could only weaken resistance to both internal revolts and increasing external pressures from Muslims and Slavs. The monotheletes tried to discredit the orthodoxy of Martin I and of the West by drawing attention to another issue, the addition of the filioque to the creed, the earliest instance of this accusation being brought against the West. ¹⁹

The Lateran synod in Rome was not an oecumenical council but one of the normal bi-annual provincial synods as visualized by Nicaea I (canon 5). As was customary when doctrinal problems were discussed, both the statements being questioned and the supporting evidence from the Bible and the fathers were read out by a notary, in this case the chief notary Theophylact. Both sides would usually prepare this material in the form of a florilegium or anthology of appropriate passages. Interventions were made by the various members of the synod, on this occasion chiefly by Pope Martin and Bishops Maximus of Aquileia and Deusdedit of Cagliari in Sardinia. As always, great stress was laid on fidelity to patristic tradition. The strong Greek element among the clergy of Rome may have had something to do with the fact that there was a Greek as well as a Latin version of the acta, ²⁰ both of which were authenticated by Pope Martin. The Greek was said to have been at the request of the Greek monks as it was intended that the proceedings should be digested by Greek-speaking regions. It would seem that Greek modes of thought naturally prevailed and Maximus the Confessor may have had a major hand in this. The greater part of the time was taken by the notarial reading of the evidence produced by both sides. The synod ended by affirming Chalcedon, with an addition on the two natures and aft elaboration in twenty canons dealing more explicitly with the controversial Christology, condemning by name Theodore of Pharan, Cyrus of Alexandria, Sergius of Constantinople, and his successors Pyrrhus and Paul, as well as the 'impiissimam Ecthesim' and 'scelerosum Typum', but carefully avoiding criticism of the Emperor. ²¹ Pope Martin evidently thought it proper that in matters of heresy he should take the lead. He sent an encyclical with the acta of the council to rulers and bishops of both East and West, including the patriarchates of Jerusalem and Antioch, despite the fact that they were the findings of a provincial, and not an oecumenical, council (as Maximus the Confessor would have liked to think). ²² Paul, Archbishop of Thessalonica (whose vicarate of Illyricum came under papal jurisdiction) was deposed and excommunicated until he should accept the acta. ²³

A special letter was also sent to the Emperor Constans from the Pope and synod with the Greek acta, asking for his support in rooting out heresy. Constans reacted with hostility to Martin's conciliar activities. He also took exception to Martin's failure to get imperial approval of his election from the exarch of Ravenna. Olympius, the exarch originally sent to Rome in 649 to call the Pope to account, himself rebelled and subsequently died in 652. It was not until June 653 that another exarch was able to act on his instructions and arrest Martin who was taken prisoner to Constantinople where he was tried, partly for an irregular election, but mainly for treason on the ground that he had supported the rebel Olympius, charges which he refuted, showing throughout both dignity and humility under cruel treatment. No discussion of what was ostensibly the real reason for his arrest, that is the religious controversy and the unilateral actions of the Lateran council of 649, was permitted during his interrogation. He was exiled to Cherson in March 654 and died on 16 September 655.

The monk Maximus the Confessor, a powerful force behind the orthodox position, was also arrested, probably in 654 though the exact date is uncertain. He was brought to Constantinople and imprisoned and tried on both political and religious grounds. At his first trial, probably in May 655, he was accused of treasonable activities in North Africa at the time of the exarch Gregory's revolt and the Arab invasion, and of holding heretical Origenist tenets. But the real charge against him was his support of the Lateran council of 649 and his refusal to recognize the Type. The Emperor shrewdly recognized the powerful influence of Maximus and attempted for several years to win him over by persuasive means. After his first trial he was exiled to Bizya in Thrace and there are extant accounts of his discussions with Theodosius, archbishop of Caesarea in Bithynia. ²⁴ Maximus maintained the validity of synodal rulings whether or not a synod had been called by the Emperor, and took his stand on the two wills and activities and the rulings of the Lateran council of 649. Finally, persuasion and clemency having failed, Maximus was retried in Constantinople in the spring of 662 and condemned to mutilation and banishment to the fortress of Schemarium in Caucasian Lazica, where he died on 13 August 662. Constans II had good reason to fear Maximus who was a far more able protagonist than anyone in the monothelete camps, and was indeed the outstanding theologian of the seventh century.

The condemnation and death of Pope Martin and Maximus the Confessor somewhat paradoxically saw the orthodox triumph. Martin's successors, Popes Eugenius (654-7) and Vitalian (657-72), were on better terms with the Emperor Constans, who was by now so heavily pressed by the Arabs and Slavs that he even thought of transferring his seat of Empire to Italy. In 663 he himself came first to Rome, and then to Sicily, where he made Syracuse his centre. When he visited Rome he was apparently on amicable terms with Vitalian. The religious controversy seemed to have been dropped, and indeed Constans must have realized the need for internal unity in view of the dangerous situation of the Empire.

After Constans II's assassination in 668, his son and successor Constantine IV began by devoting himself to countering the Arab and Avar attacks which culminated in a bid to take the City itself, effectively defeated in 677-8. This was certainly one of the decisive events in the long drawn-out struggle between Christendom and Islam. It was followed by a move towards peace in the Church when in 678 Constantine approached the Pope, asking him to send twelve bishops and representatives of the Greek monasteries in the West to Constantinople to discuss the doctrinal misunderstandings which had arisen. The Pope, then Agatho (678-81), consulted his bishops throughout the West, even as far distant as the aged Theodore of Tarsus, 'archbishop of the great island of Britain and philosopher', and then sent the Emperor Constantine a letter and a profession of faith condemning monotheletism. The delegates arrived in Constantinople on 10 September 680 and the Emperor gave orders to his Patriarch George to convoke his bishops, and likewise to the titular Macarius of Antioch, and the ecclesiastics of Alexandria and the patriarchal vicar of Jerusalem.

The proposed discussion thus turned into a general council, the Sixth, or Constantinople III (680-1), called by the Emperor, and presided over by him or his representatives (the Emperor himself was present for the first eleven sessions and for the last). The council held eighteen sessions, from 7 November 680 to 16 September 681. ²⁵

In the first session the papal legates, addressing the Emperor, asked who had introduced 'the new doctrine of one activity and one energy in the incarnate Lord Jesus Christ', and the Emperor invited the Patriarchs George of Constantinople and Macarius of Antioch and others to reply to the papal legates. Throughout it was really Macarius who was the defender of monotheletism and monenergism, attempting to base his defence on the tradition of the fathers and the five general councils, as well as the pronouncements of the Patriarchs of Constantinople Sergius, Pyrrhus, Paul, Peter, and also Pope Honorius of Rome and Patriarch Cyrus of Alexandria. Macarius, when in the second session he was confronted with Pope Leo's 'Agit enim utraque forma', maintained that Leo had not actually spoken of two activities and that he himself did not specify any number but simply followed Pseudo-Dionysius the Areopagite in speaking of 'theandric activity', moreover he refused to attempt to give any definition of 'theandric activity. ²⁶ But later at the eighth session he admitted that he spoke only of 'one will and a theandric activity', not two natural activities and two natural wills. ²⁷ The council in its various sessions considered the patristic and conciliar evidence collected by both sides and the dyothelite doctrine was accepted. Macarius was condemned in the ninth session and deposed 'from all priestly dignity and function', as was his follower Stephen. ²⁸ In succeeding sessions there was considerable discussion particularly concerning patriarchal and papal offenders. Attempts to soften any condemnation, or at least publicity, failed. After lengthy discussions and prolonged raking through the patriarchal archives for all available material, those, living or dead, who had supported the heretical doctrine on the single activity and the single will were anathematized and a statement was issued, thus summarizing Christological belief:

Completely preserving that which is without confusion or division we briefly state the whole; believing that after his incarnation our Lord Jesus Christ, our true God, is one of the Trinity, we state that he has two natures shining forth in his one hypostasis. In this, throughout the whole course of his incarnate life, he made manifest his sufferings and miracles, not simply in appearance but in reality. The difference of the natures is recognised in one and the same hypostasis because each nature wills and works what is proper to it in communion with the other. Thus we proclaim two natural wills and two natural activities working together for the salvation of the human race. ²⁹

The minutes of the sessions of the Sixth general council were prepared by hand of Agatho, the archivist or chartophylax of the Great Church and six copies were made (for the Emperor, the Pope, and the four patriarchs). They were read, approved, and signed by the Emperor and those present, and were received and accepted by Pope Conon in Rome (who before he became Pope had taken part in the council as a papal legate). Thus the re-establishment of orthodoxy and the rejection of monenergism and monotheletism had brought Constantinople and Rome together again. The attempt to meet the monophysites had failed, and, like the Nestorians, they were not reconciled to the main body of Christendom and continued to build up their separate Churches mainly in what were by now Muslim-dominated territories.

4. The Quinisextum council (691-692) ³⁰

Relations between Rome and Constantinople were soon disturbed again due to differences raised by the Quinisextum council, known as the council in Trullo because it was held in the domed hall of the imperial palace in Constantinople. This council was called as was customary by the Emperor (then Justinian II) but without consultation with Rome. It opened some time after I September 691. Neither the Fifth (553) nor the Sixth (680-1) general councils had passed disciplinary canons since they had concentrated on dogma, and after a span of more than two hundred years there were outstanding problems concerning discipline and morals, apart from the additional difficulties caused by Muslim and Slav incursions. In this, as in other respects, Justinian II may too have wished to emulate his more famous namesake in his care for the good ordering of the polity. At the council the opening address by the Emperor stated that the decay of general moral standards demanded urgent attention and stressed the need to eliminate Jewish and pagan elements. ³¹ The 102 canons are significant on various counts. A number deal with the old perennial problems of the early middle ages, such as clergy discipline and the difficulties caused by barbarian incursions. Clerics forced to leave their churches or unable to reach them because of invaders were to return as soon as political conditions allowed (can. 18) and in any case should avoid being absent for too long. The tendency to linger in the capital shown by all ranks was in fact by no means only due to enemy occupation, and was indeed found throughout the Byzantine period since a country appointment was often regarded as virtual exile. Bishops who could not even get to their sees because they were in enemy hands were urged to exercise the authority of their office from other bases (can. 37). As reflected in earlier councils, monastic life posed continual problems. Pseudo-hermits in black clothes and with long hair who lived a worldly city life were either to enter a cenobitic house or to be expelled to the desert (can. 42). Genuine hermits were first to spend three years probation in a monastery, submitting to the abbot's discipline, followed by a further year outside the monastery before final enclosure (can. 41). Women were not to wear a display of fine clothes and jewels when approaching the altar to be clothed (can. 45). Once they had committed themselves to the monastic life they were not to leave their house without the superior's consent and then only if accompanied by an elder nun (can. 46).

Certain popular pastimes were forbidden to lay and cleric alike under pain of excommunication or deposition respectively: gambling (can. 50), attending horse-racing, mimes and their presentation, or theatrical dances (can. 51). The consultation of soothsayers, use of incantations and amulets, so common in the late Roman Empire, were all prohibited (can. 61). Certain pagan festivities and survivals were to be rooted out from the life of the faithful, such as the festivals in honour of Pan (the Bota) and Bacchus (the Brumalia), public dancing, men dressed as women and vice versa, the use of the comic, satyrical, and tragic masks, the invocation of Bacchus at vintage time (can. 26), jumping over bonfires lit in front of houses and shows at new moon (can. 65). Such folk customs were however too deeply ingrained to be rooted out by conciliar decree and there is evidence that some of these long survived. Whenever possible folklore was incorporated into the life of the Church but it did not always lend itself to this, hence the prohibitions laid down in such canons as these. Various rulings also reflect on general everyday conduct, such as the canon against stabling animals in churches except in cases of dire need (can. 88); love-feasts in church were forbidden (can. 74), as also were pornographic pictures (c. 100), and abortions were condemned as murder (can. 91); those who had to sing the psalms were to do so in a proper manner without any noisy shouting (can. 75).

Wise care in regulating the normal daily life of lay and cleric was unlikely to offend the devout laity and clergy. There were however two groups of rulings to which exception was taken by Churches outside the patriarchate of Constantinople. The Armenians were called to order for using only wine at communion and not wine and water (can. 32), for appointing to clerical orders only from certain priestly families (regarded as a Jewish custom; can 33); and for not abstaining from eggs and cheese (that is animal produce) on Saturdays and Sundays in Lent (can. 56). The Armenian Church, always touchy in its relations with Constantinople, did not accept those canons in a co-operative spirit. Still more serious was the opposition from Rome which, like Armenia, was reproved for usages differing from those of Constantinople. The Quinisextum had followed up its opening affirmation of the first six general councils (can. 1) with a general statement of its belief in the 85 'Apostolic' canons, 'accepted by the Fathers and handed down in the name of the holy and glorious Apostles' (can. 2), thus ignoring the fact that Rome only recognized the first fifty of these latefourth-century canons, which had been translated by Dionysius Exiguus and were probably all his copy had. 'Traditional ecclesiastical observance' was also required which meant giving up fasting on Saturdays in Lent in accordance with 'apostolic' canon 65 (one of those not accepted by Rome) under pain of clerical deposition and excommunication for the laity (can. 55). Further, an important series of canons (especially 3, 6, 13) laid down rulings on clerical marriage which were at variance with the proclaimed (but at that time not always practised) Roman usage.

Another canon to which Rome took exception was a statement on the position of Constantinople in the ecclesiastical hierarchy. 'Renewing the rulings of the 150 Fathers assembled in the Godguarded and imperial city ³² and those of the 630 who met at Chalcedon ³³ we decree that the see of Constantinople shall have equal privileges to the see of Old Rome and shall enjoy equal esteem in ecclesiastical matters and shall be second after it (can. 36)', that is, Constantinople had equal privileges with Rome, and came after it only 'in time but not in honour'. ³⁴ Rome had not yet accepted Chalcedon canon 28, and primacy, and to a lesser extent, clerical marriage and fasting in Lent, were points of difference which continued to arise from time to time in polemic and which soured relations between Constantinople and Rome, particularly the question of primacy.

Justinian II obviously desired and expected the Pope to confirm the acta of the Trullan council which was regarded as a continuation of the Sixth general council, and therefore fully oecumenical, a view which continues to be held by the Orthodox Churches. Of the 228 fathers at the council (220 of whom signed acta), 10 came from eastern Illyricum, still under papal jurisdiction (1 from Hellas, 4 from Crete, 4 from Macedonia, and 1 from Epirus). The council was also attended by the resident papal apocrisiarius, Basil bishop of Gortyna in Crete, who signed the minutes. According to the Liber Pontificalis, the Pope subsequently disavowed the signatures of the Roman legates. ³⁵ The papal signature was however necessary in order to confer oecumenicity. A special place of honour in the copy of the acta was left for this purpose, as also for the signatures of the absent prelates of Ravenna, Thessalonica, and Corinth. Pope Sergius I (687-701) refused on the ground that he could not accept all the disciplinary rulings. The Byzantine protospathar Zacharias, sent soon after the council ³⁶ to fetch him to Constantinople, was himself attacked and ironically only escaped with the help of papal assistance, and even then the Roman army and populace thronged round the Lateran palace until he had left the City. Justinian II was at that time unable to pursue the matter, as he had to meet disaffection at home which shortly afterwards drove him from the throne in 695. When he returned from exile in 705 he took up the question of Roman recognition of the council in Trullo with the Pope, then John VII (705-7), and was milder in his demands. He sent two metropolitans to Rome suggesting that the Pope should call a council of bishops to look at the canons and draw up a list of those which were not acceptable to Rome. ³⁷ Apparently the Pope made no changes in the document and returned it to the Emperor, the Liber Pontificalis implying that he signed it. ³⁸ It was John's successor Pope Constantine I who was summoned to Constantinople in 710 ³⁹ and courageously went. After a journey by way of South Italy and Chios he was royally received in Constantinople, and then went to Nicomedia to meet the Emperor, returning in October 711 with an imperial renewal of the privileges of the Roman Church. ⁴⁰ The Liber Pontificalis, the only extant source, is brief on this episode, but appears to indicate that the Pope and the Emperor resolved their differences over the disputed canons.

The council in Trullo was a telling comment on seventh-century Christendom. The canons on the disrupted diocesan life, the monastic disorder, the pagan survivals, speak for themselves. The Emperor, in accordance with established tradition, regarded himself as responsible for the right ordering of Christian life and he naturally assumed that this task should be carried out in conciliar collaboration with the episcopate. He clearly wished to ensure uniformity in ecclesiastical usage, hence the comment in canon 56 on Armenian Lenten fasting. 'It therefore seems good that the whole Church of God, which is throughout the world, should follow the same rule.' His position had indeed been strengthened by the recent engulfing of the ancient patriarchates of Antioch and Alexandria in a Muslim sea. But though Constantinople, the imperial capital and bulwark of Christendom, had strengthened its already strong claims to leadership, its authority did not go unchallenged. The position of Rome was noticeably stronger vis-àvis Constantinople than it had been in the days of Justinian I, as is shown by its rejection of the imperial emissary Zacharias and its successful refusal to accept rulings at variance with its own usage. Medieval Christendom with its two great Christian centres of Constantinople and Rome was in process of emerging.

The position of Constantinople in Christendom was for a time weakened by its eighth and early ninth-century crisis concerning icons, ¹ in one sense a continuation of the Christological problem. The long drawn-out dispute in the Eastern Church over the use of icons had deep roots. The early Church avoided figural representation of Christ for various reasons. The second commandment (Exodus 20:4) forbade graven images and there was the strong desire to avoid any kind of idolatry such as was associated with the pagan world. Then both Old and New Testaments stressed that true worship was not concerned with material sacrifices but should be in spirit and in truth. And so in the catacombs Christ was portrayed by means of symbols. But by the fourth century it was clear that special material objects, such as the Cross and other holy relics, were being widely venerated. Gregory of Nyssa for instance extols the joy of those who touch the very relics of a martyr whom they address with a prayer of intercession just as though he were alive before them. At the same time the pagan cult of the imperial portrait was accepted and integrated into the normal practice of the Christian Empire. It was understandable that this was carried into the practice of the religious world. By the early fifth century the worship of religious images was being practised in the Church, as St Augustine noticed. It was opposed by Epiphanius of Salamis (d. 403) in Cyprus whose works were later cited by the iconoclasts. The authenticity of certain passages in his writings has been questioned by some scholars because of his refutation of a Christological argument which was thought to point to a later date. But there is in fact nothing unusual in such a point of view at this date (cf. Eusebius of Caesarea when dealing with the Empress Constantia's request for a picture of Christ), and opinion now favours the acceptance of these passages as genuine. ²

The late sixth and seventh centuries saw a marked intensification in the use of images. Such practices were not unchallenged, which perhaps accounts for the fact that those giving evidence about their use, pilgrims from the Holy Land for instance, seem to be somewhat on the defensive. Images now performed miracles, were worshipped and honoured, prayed to, set up as objects of devotion in private houses and workshops, as well as being used on public and official occasions. When in 656 a debate was held in Bithynian Bizna in an attempt to convert Maximus the Confessor to the officially supported monotheletism, the two protagonists were reported at its close to have kissed not only the Gospels and the Cross but also the icons of Christ and the Theotokos. ³ The image was regarded as being so closely connected with its prototype as to possess supernatural (some would say magic) efficacy. Hence the role of the icon in times of crisis, as at the Persian siege of Edessa in 544, though it has been pointed out that in the original account the use of the icon was not so much that of a palladium as a secretly worked miracle. ⁴ But in the minds of the Byzantines there was no doubt about the palladian qualities of the icon of St Demetrius of Thessalonica, or of the Mother of God in the various sieges of Constantinople. Thessalonica was never taken by the Slavs. The City beat off its attackers for nearly five hundred years.

The explanation of the growing cult of the icon in the late sixth and seventh centuries and the beginning of its firm rooting in the life of the Orthodox Church has been found in the need for additional security. It was a time when external forces seemed to be disrupting the life of the Empire, though in the end this time of crisis proved to be one of transformation rather than complete disruption. Justinian I's reconquest in North Africa and in Spain was lost to the Muslims, as were certain of the East Mediterranean provinces; part (but by no means all) of Italy went to the Lombards; Slavs and some of the Hunnic peoples spread through the Balkans, even into Greece. People living in the seventh century could not foresee Byzantium's remarkable recovery, ironically much of it to come under the able leadership of heretical iconoclast emperors. For them, the enemy was overrunning their countryside and pressing at the gates of their two finest cities, Constantinople and Thessalonica, and it was a life or death struggle in which the supernatural qualities of the holy icon could offer protection.

Thus the change in attitude to figural representation is understandable. To the unlettered peasant or soldier the icon simply seemed to afford protection in times of trouble, but the more articulate could go further and explain why it had such charismatic qualities. At a practical level it had also long been recognized that the picture was a means of educating the illiterate. The sixthcentury Hypatius of Ephesus, though not himself taking pleasure in icons, pointed out this use: 'We allow simpler and immature folk to have these as being fitted to their natural development, that they may learn through the eye by means adapted to their comprehension.' ⁵ But the icon was more than this because it could bring the beholder into contact with God. As the Pseudo-Dionysius visualized, it could lead the Christian through the various hierarchical stages to the Deity. Bishop Hypatius of Ephesus had also stressed this, 'some will thus be led to spiritual beauty'. ⁶ Then, in reverse, there was the relation of the icon, not to the beholder, but to its prototype. Since man was created in the image of God through the indwelling of the Holy Spirit, he had in him something of God, and this was reflected in his portrait, particularly that of the saint. And how much more of Christ, who, since he became man, could be portrayed. By the late seventh century Christian apologetic on this theme had reached the point of regarding it as a tenet of Orthodox teaching. At the Quinisextum council in Constantinople in 691-2 canon 82 stated: In certain paintings of holy icons a lamb is represented being pointed out by the figure of the Forerunner, a lamb which is the prefiguration of grace, prefiguring for us in the Law the true Lamb which is Christ our God. Though we venerate the old prefiguration and shadows as symbols and announcements of truth given to the Church we prefer the grace and the truth which we have received in fulfilment of the Law. And so in order that that which is perfect may be made clear to the eyes of all, even in paintings, we decree that in future instead of the ancient Lamb, 'he who taketh away the sin of the world', Christ our God, shall be portrayed on icons in human form. And by means of this we shall understand the depth of the humiliation of the Word of God and think on his life in the flesh and his passion and death for our salvation whence came the redemption of the world. ⁷

Opposition to figural portrayal came long before the bitter controversy of the eighth century. Within the Church many had doubts which grew with the spread of superstitious practices associated with icons. From the fourth century onwards various objections were voiced. The Spanish synod of Elvira in the early fourth century had urged caution in the use of icons lest they should be painted on the walls of churches. Doubts had been expressed, for instance by Eusebius of Caesarea and Epiphanius of Cyprus, and by a sect within the Armenian Church (the first group-protest the members of which eventually seceded to the heretical Paulicians), but contrary to the condemnation of the sixth-century Severus at the fifth session of Nicaea II there is evidence that the monophysites did use icons. ⁸ The opponents of icons in the pre-iconoclastic period usually derived support from the Mosaic prohibition against graven images (Exodus 20:4-5) and stressed the Christian emphasis on worship in spirit and in truth. Obviously use of material media could, and did, lead to idolatry, and the tenacious survival of pagan and non-Jewish practice is vividly illustrated by the golden bull set up and worshipped by a group of peasant monks in Egypt as late as the fourth century. But the Christological argument for and against icons was not really developed until the eighth century and then not in the opening stages of the conflict.

The reasons for the flare-up of the controversy in the eighth century are still disputed and to such an extent that assessments vary from considering it as the most significant event in Byzantine history to regarding it as of almost only peripheral importance. In examining the causes (and course) of the struggle interpretations to some extent seem to reflect the individual interests of scholars, the more secularminded historian regarding the movement as part of wider imperial policies while to the Orthodox the fight for icons was so closely related to the basic Christological position as to involve the presentation of an integral part of their belief. Lossky even went as far as to say that icons were the expression of Orthodoxy as such. Moreover it is difficult to get a fair picture of the iconoclasts partly because their writings were destroyed except in so far as extracts were preserved because refuted in Orthodox councils, and partly because they understandably had a bad press in Orthodox chronicles and histories, though surviving oriental sources have done something to correct the Greek bias. ⁹

In attempting to discover why the movement against icons took official form under the eighth-century North Syrian (mistakenly called Isaurian) Emperors, Leo III and his son Constantine V, scholars have noticed a similar tendency among Muslims whose power was increasing so rapidly at this time. The two religions, Islam and Christianity, were now face to face. To some extent they shared common ground and had common roots and their relations were marked by more than perpetual antagonism, as the fruitful cross-fertilization in the long history of Byzantino-Arab relations was to reveal. It is therefore necessary to consider contacts, and debts if any, between Byzantium and Islam in initiating the policy of banning the use of icons.

Leo III, originally called Conon, was himself of North Syrian origin, born at Germaniceia (Marash). Thus he began life in a Jacobite milieu, though he must later have professed himself a supporter of Chalcedon since he held official positions in Byzan tium. Armenian sources seem to show him as a protector of Chalcedonian Orthodoxy, something that iconophile Byzantine sources would hardly stress. ¹⁰ Whether or not he was transplanted to Mesembria in Thrace by Justinian II in the late seventh century, as the Greek chronicler Theophanes says, ¹¹ appears to be uncertain and is not supported in the Patriarch Nicephorus' writings or in the oriental sources. Germaniceia was the scene of Byzantino-Arab warfare and it is probable that in his early years Leo may have been open to Muslim influence and he probably spoke Arabic.

It has often been claimed that there is a more direct link than this rather general early influence and that when Leo III made his first open move against icons in 726 he was motivated by the example of the Muslim ruler Yazid (720-4). But in fact very little is known about the Muslim edict against images. Theophanes makes brief mention of an edict promulgated in the year in which Yazid died (that is, between the beginning of the year, 1 September 723 and his death on 27 January 724), and he then adds 'Most people had not heard of his devilish edict'. ¹² It is unlikely that this little-known edict sparked off the action of Leo III, though he was known to have had a renegade Syrian, Beser, as one of his advisers. Yazid seems to have been engaged in a 'smear campaign' against the Christians and was subsequently made a scapegoat for Byzantine iconoclasm, as shown by John of Jerusalem's somewhat exaggerated account of the iconoclast movement at the council of Nicaea II in 787. But in the early Syriac and Arabic sources Leo III is not linked with Yazid's policy. ¹³ There is in fact eighth and ninth-century evidence that the Byzantines attributed iconoclasm to Jewish rather than Muslim influence, and with a good deal of legendary accretion, such as the introduction of an odd figure called Tessaracontapechys (forty cubits). ¹⁴ The connection between the Old Testament prohibition and the Jewish religion was understandably stressed in iconophile polemic and is found in a work attributed to Germanus, ¹⁵ as also in John of Damascus. ¹⁶ In this connection a Jewish soothsayer was said to have promised Leo a long reign if he banned images. It is this Jewish theme which was elaborated in John of Jerusalem's Narratio which he produced at the fifth session of Nicaea II, ¹⁷ only here he specifically described the Jew as a magician from Tiberias called Tessaracontapechys who made the promise not to Leo but to Yazid, and who thus caused the heresy to arise whereby the pseudo-bishop of Nacoleia imitated the lawless Jews and the impious Arabs. This variation was in keeping with the understandable desire of the council of Nicaea to avoid casting any kind of official blame on Leo III, who was after all the founder of the reigning house and the great-grandfather of the young Constantine VI.

Even so, the legendary embroidery in iconodule literature was already obscuring the motives and influences behind the controversy, though some corrective of this can now be found in the less biased oriental sources which also do justice to the North Syrian rulers' military achievements, even representing them as defenders of the faith. Added to this, the comparative paucity of sources and the survival of iconoclast material only in an iconophile setting must inevitably increase the difficulties of fair appraisal. The possibility of cross-currents of general Semitic influence, particularly on the eastern borders, if not proven, at least cannot be ruled out. But there is no evidence of direct contact between Leo and Yazid. There is however sufficient internal evidence to account for the movement on two grounds: popular practice and imperial policy. The growing use of icons, and particularly its abuse, had increasingly concerned churchmen, as has already been shown, and is reflected in the measure of support which the iconoclasts Leo III and Constantine V received. And the imperial aspect of the policy is revealed in an analysis of the two main phases of the movement in the eighth century.

Some of the few surviving documents of the very early phase refer to disquiet in Asia Minor. Patriarch Germanus of Constantinople (715-30) wrote to three prelates, Metropolitan John of Synnada, Bishop Constantine of Nacoleia (both of Phrygia), and Bishop Thomas of Claudiopolis (one of Leo III's close advisers), reproaching them with iconoclast views and, in the case of Thomas, with the actual destruction of icons. ¹⁸ These bishops were known to have visited Constantinople but there is no evidence as to whether they did, or did not, discuss their problem with the Emperor. All that can be said is that certain churchmen in Asia Minor held iconoclastic views. In the De Haeresibus et Synodis attributed to Germanus the author makes Constantine of Nacoleia the main leader of those departing from the traditions of the Fathers. ¹⁹ He regards supporters of such views as undesirable innovators rather than heretics and there is no hint of any kind of doctrinal implication. Nor is there any assertion of ecclesiastical independence, or outspoken criticism of the Emperor, though there is a suggestion that certain people (unspecified) at court ²⁰ are also acting against the devout. This attitude may have been politic on the author's part and was later stressed at the council of Nicaea (787) by Patriarch Tarasius who also castigated Constantine of Nacoleia as the originator of the movement. Such writings and letters, whether by Germanus or not, certainly indicate that there was local iconoclast feeling and action in AsiaMinor, but the authoritative lead was to come from the Emperor.

Leo III's first dramatic action against icons was to order the removal of the mosaic image of Christ above the Chalce entrance to the complex of imperial palace buildings. This was in the early autumn of 726 after a volcanic eruption which threw up a small island off Thera (Santorin) and Therasia, an event regarded by some as an expression of divine displeasure (presumably at the use of icons). The chronicler Theophanes says that Leo had already begun to speak out against icons, ²¹ but just how far his iconoclast views had previously been publicized is unknown, or whether such pronouncements (if made) did in fact cause the rebellion in the Helladic theme and the Cyclades which some historians attribute to purely economic reasons. The Chalce episode of 726 certainly provoked violent opposition from the Constantinopolitans. It has been suggested that there is evidence that an edict was also issued in this year, ²² in which case the Patriarch Germanus presumably temporized from 726 to 730 (the year of his deposition), which might account for his being described as 'two-faced' by the iconoclast council of 754. But on the whole the consensus of opinion supports 730 as the date of the first formal edict. On 17 January a silentium or imperial council was held in the palace in the Hall of the Nineteen Divans and a decree issued for the destruction of the icons of the saints. Germanus, who had hoped to change Leo's views, refused to put his signature to any decree of this kind and he therefore had to retire from office and went to live on his private estates where he died in 733. He was succeeded by his syncellus, Anastasius (730-54) who supported Leo. Something of the ravages of the iconoclasts at this time is known from the De Haeresibus et Synodis. These despoilers not only broke up and burnt images but destroyed or removed altar furniture and cloths and stripped relics of their valuable reliquaries, all of which was later condemned and forbidden by the iconoclast council of 754, thus confirming the account in the tract. On the nature of persecution against iconophiles there is relatively little information for Leo III's reign, and also very little on early iconoclast tenets. The infringement of the second commandment, the cult of icons with burning of candles and incense, worship rather than veneration of the saints, were all condemned. Christ was to be represented not in human form but by the Cross, and it is possible that the series of short iambic poems on the Cross by iconoclasts, preserved because they were commented on by the iconophile Theodore Studites, can be dated to this early period. ²³

Under Leo III's son and successor Constantine V (741-75) the struggle was intensified both in action and in theory. Persecution if spasmodic, could be severe and the iconoclasts greatly widened their field of argument. No longer content with the charge of idolatry, they reinforced their position by developing a much more sophisticated theological approach recognizing that the relationship of icons to Christological teaching must be taken into account. The out standing champion of the iconophiles, John of Damascus (†749) had already launched a defence of icons on Christological grounds, though, writing as he did from Muslim territory, it is not clear whether his work was known to Constantine V, the theologian of the iconoclasts.

Constantin V was an able ruler who has been maligned in iconophile sources. Like his father he was a good general and administrator, but in temperament he was something of a contrast, passionately fond of horses (probably the origin of his nickname Copronymus rather than Germanus' murky baptismal story — he was also called Caballinus or 'Horsey'), much addicted to music and theatrical displays, more sophisticated and bolder in his metaphysical ventures than Leo had been, and opposed to monasticism as a way of life. In the early years of his reign he was faced with a major rebellion from his brother-in-law Artabasdus and he had to undertake continual campaigns against the advances of Muslim and Slav. It was understandable that he found it difficult to face additional commitments in Italy where both Pope and Byzantine governor were being pressed by the aggressive Lombards, hence the fateful papal request to the Franks for help in 753.

Thus the political pressures of his early years left Constantine little time for any iconoclast policy and there may even have been a temporary relaxation. Stephen the Younger's Life mentions confiscations and white-washed walls, but there was clearly nothing like the more severe persecution of the years after 754. Like his father, Constantine seems to have organized a certain amount of propaganda by holding meetings in the provinces and he got his episcopate to help him in looking out relevant iconoclast passages in patristic texts. But he took his father's work a stage further by attempting to get synodal approval for an iconoclast policy. A council was therefore summoned and it met in the imperial palace in Hieria on the Asian shore opposite Constantinople from 10 February to 8 August 754, and then on 8 August it moved to the church of the Blachernae in the capital for the final session. No patriarch was present until the last session. Anastasius, who had died early in 754 was only replaced on 8 August when ConstantineII (754-66) was installed; the three eastern patriarchs, all now living in Muslim territory, had been unable to send legates; nor had any come from the Pope, embroiled as he was with the Lombards and then forced to flee to Frankish territory. But 338 bishops were present so that it was hardly an unrepresentative assembly, though subsequent events seemed to indicate that a number of the bishops could scarcely have been dedicated iconoclasts and probably merely found it politic to conform. An avowed iconoclast, Theodosius, bishop of Ephesus, presided, assisted by two vice-presidents, Sisinnius, bishop of Perge in Pamphylia, and Basil, bishop of Pisidian Antioch.

The minutes of the council have not survived, though it is known that the three iconophiles specifically anathematized were Patriarch Germanus, 'the two-faced, the worshipper of wood', Mansur 'the Saracen-minded' (John of Damascus), and George of Cyprus (the author of the Nouthesia, or The admonition of an old man concerning the holy icons, written under Constantine V). ²⁴ The Definition (ӧροξ) can however be reconstructed as it was cited and refuted section by section in the sixth session of Nicaea II which restored Orthodoxy in 787. On that occasion each section was read out by Gregory, bishop of Caesarea and was then answered by Epiphanius, a patriarchal official, under the heading 'The refutation of the patched-up and falsely so-called Definition of the disorderly assembled crew of the Christianity-detractors.' ²⁵ .

The iconoclasts, who held that their council of 754 was the seventh oecumenical council, began with the traditional profession of belief in the apostolic and patristic traditions and in the preceding six general councils. The arguments of the iconoclasts, set out at length with supporting evidence and summed up at the end in the Anathemas, ²⁶ were directed against idolatry (condemned by the Bible and the fathers) and against the material nature of images. It was stressed that an image of Christ either circumscribed an uncircumscribable Godhead and confused the two natures (monophysite), or divided the human from the divine Person To the iconoclasts the only true image of Christ was the eucharist. They maintained that the true image of a saint was the reproduction of his virtue, that is, an ethical image within the believer and not any kind of material representation. ²⁷

In certain respects the council toned down Constantine V's more extreme views which were evident in his theological writings probably produced before the council met. Surviving evidence has had to be reconstructed from fragments cited in iconophile works refuting his views. ²⁸ Some of Constantine's wording on the two natures of Christ seems to indicate monophysite tendencies, and this gains support from Michael the Syrian's praise of him as 'orthodox' (that is, monophysite). Nor were his views on the Mother of God and the saints and relics those accepted by the six general councils. Hence explicit statements correcting these views in the definitions of the 754 council. For instance Definition 15 confessed Mary to be rightly and truly the Theotokos, our mediator with God. Constantine had not forbidden the cult of relics, though he was evidently opposed to this and was unwilling to use the title of 'saint' or 'holy', for instance thus speaking simply of the Church 'of the Apostles'.

In spite of the ruling in the council of 754 that forbade burning, looting, and misuse of sacred buildings, in the post-conciliar years these and other measures against icons and iconophiles were eventually stepped up. As a class the prelates were to some extent open to imperial pressure and on the whole they evidently gave support — at least outwardly — to official policy, and the measure of this is shown by the petitions for readmission to the Church from penitents on the restoration of icons, and by the difficulty of staffing the Church without the clergy whom the iconoclast bishops had ordained. In assessing the extent of the persecution and the distribution of the rival parties, whether on a geographical, a social, or ethnical basis, extreme caution is necessary because of the fragmentary nature of surviving evidence. The army was not predominantly iconoclast as such; most soldiers would be unlikely to be swayed by theological arguments, but on the other hand they would tend to support successful generals, such as the two first North Syrian rulers, and to that extent were iconoclast. There seems to be no evidence that Leo III deliberately won over Anatolian soldiery or appeased an Asian populace by an iconoclast policy. Regional support for iconoclasm is hard to identify and the old contention that the European provinces were for, the Asian against, icons breaks down before contradictory fragments of evidence. Perhaps the Life of Stephen the Younger gives some clue when the saint was reported as having advised his monks to disperse in view of imperial threats. He himself was imprisoned and his house on Mount Auxentius in Bithynia became virtually depopulated, and he suggested that his monks should seek a refuge in remote regions likely to be friendly, which he named as the maritime coasts of South Italy and the northern Black Sea or the southern coast of Asia Minor and Cyprus, that is, areas at a distance from Constantinople. But not all monasteries were iconophile as the change to non-figural decoration in some of the chapels in the Cappadocian rock monasteries shows. Some monks even held office as iconoclast prelates. Persecution or otherwise depended very much on the inclinations of the provincial governors.

With the formal ecclesiastical condemnation of the icons in 754 those refusing to abandon them could be punished as heretics, clerics degraded, monks and laity excommunicated. There were some spectacular instances of persecution going beyond the prescribed punishment, but these were spasmodic and were probably played up in the reports of iconodule literature. From 760 onwards Constantine's anger seems to have been directed against the monks. These had not, as often stated, been the object of iconoclast venom from the outset in Leo III's reign and the suggestion that they were persecuted for economic reasons or because they manufactured icons cannot be accepted. It is more probable that their obstinate refusal to abandon icons, together with a clash of outlook due to the secular-minded Constantine's failure to understand the ascetic way of life, accounts for the disbandment and appropriation of certain monasteries and the imprisonment or public ridicule of their inmates during the latter part of his reign. Under Leo III the movement in the Empire had only begun to get under way and there was relatively little persecution. It is true that what was to become the classic defence of icons was voiced by a monk, but it was from one living outside the Empire in Muslim territory — John of Damascus (the 'Saracen-minded Mansur' of the 754 anathemas).

From Constantine V's reign onwards the home ranks began to close. For instance the treatise Ad Constantinum Caballinum (wrongly attributed to John of Damascus and perhaps by John of Jerusalem) was a violent attack on the Emperor. ²⁹ In certain monastic centres opposition to iconoclasm was to harden. In particular the Studite house in Constantinople, led by its abbot Theodore, played an important role in the ninth century during the later stages of the controversy.

With the death of Constantine V in 755 iconoclasm died down, however long traces of it may have lingered, and the ninth-century revival was temporary and even at times somewhat half-hearted. In examining the causes for the eighth-century movement direct Jewish and Islamic influences must be rejected, though this is not to deny that they may have indirectly contributed to create the atmosphere which generated an iconoclast outlook. ³⁰ Within the Byzantine Empire there was an age-long undercurrent of anxiety concerning the growing popular use — and abuse — of icons and this was used to support what was essentially an imperial initiative owing its effectiveness to Leo III and Constantine V. It may have been for reasons of policy that the importance of Bishop Constantine of Nacoleia in the early stages of the movement was exaggerated both by the Second council of Nicaea and in early iconophile literature; he later peters out and is not found in the non-Greek sources. This is not to say that there was no genuine iconoclast feeling in the Asian provinces, but there seems to have been no systematic local organization of eighth-century iconoclasm (either then or subsequently), though there were cruel outbursts in some regions, as that promoted by Michael Lachanodracon, the governor of the Thracesian theme in western Asia Minor. It depended on the Emperor and it was he who initiated the prohibition, though it is true that Constantine V thought it desirable to get the backing of a church council and even had to suffer it to modify certain of his more radical views. In the legal code, the Ecloga, promulgated just before his iconoclast measures, Leo III made clear his views on his own position. He was acting in the Byzantine tradition as the Viceroy of God. He had been handed the power of sovereignty and had been commanded, in the words of St Peter, to 'tend the faithful flock'. This applied not only to the promotion of justice in the spirit of a Moses or a Solomon but equally to matters of faith, and Leo, like other Byzantine rulers, felt responsible for the good conduct of ecclesiastical as well as secular affairs. This Byzantine conception of the ruler's divinely appointed mission was further reinforced by the Graeco-Roman tradition of an Emperor cult which had been adapted within the Christian framework, again stressing the Emperor's direct relationship to God. It is unlikely that the icon with its charismatic powers was really seen as a serious challenge to the imperial portrait. Constantine, even more than his father, certainly committed himself to the removal of the image from religious life and it was he who reinforced his position by building up theological support for iconoclasm. His reign is the high watermark of the movement.

Leo IV (775-80) who succeded his father Constantine V was not an outstanding personality. He was also much more moderate than Constantine, even indifferent, and the more violent aspects of the iconoclast movement seem to have been suspended, evidence of the extent to which this depended on the ruler's outlook. It is true that iconoclasm itself was not repudiated, but the harshness of Constantine V's last years was greatly abated. Irene, the vigorous Athenian wife of Constantine's son and heir Leo, was herself known to be a supporter of icons. On Leo IV's death in 780 he left as successor his ten-year-old son Constantine VI and this gave Irene her opportunity. As well as being an ardent iconophile she was also an ambitious and forceful character. In the face of some opposition she asserted her right to act as regent for her son, who had been crowned Emperor during his father's lifetime. In certain respects she was to prove an unwise ruler, though not entirely so. ³¹ She managed to organize affairs so as to bring the restoration of icons, though this was not achieved in an instant, just as icons were not immediately thrown overboard at the onset of the attack on them. There must always have been a certain amount of overlap, even of turning a blind eye. After all both the Emperors Leo IV and Theophilus had iconophile wives.

The Patriarch of Constantinople, Paul IV (780-4), was old and infirm and apparently filled with remorse for his earlier iconoclast views when he had sworn to oppose icon veneration. Now after having urged the calling of a general council to reconcile the Byzantine Church with the rest of Christendom, he retired to a monastery and resigned. Tarasius (784-806), an able layman and administrator, the protoasecretis (first secretary), was elected Patriarch in his place and on this occasion, as earlier in the case of Patriarch Germanus, he was acclaimed by 'all the people' ³² of Constantinople who had been invited to the Magnaura palace for this purpose. He was consecrated on 25 December 784. This was open to criticism from Tarasius' enemies and others who objected to the uncanonically rapid promotion from lay status to the highest ecclesiastical office. It was however a judicious choice, as was shown by Tarasius' moderation towards repentant iconoclasts and his adroit handling of the Second council of Nicaea in 787. He only accepted office on condition that a general council should be called to annul the decrees of the Hieria council of 754, which had itself claimed to be the Seventh oecumenical council. When Tarasius harangued the crowd in the Magnaura in a speech reported in the acta of Nicaea, he stressed the pressing need for this general council, whatever might be the opposition.

The co-operation of the Pope was essential. The Empress Irene may already have written one letter to Hadrian I announcing the council and asking for his presence. ³³ After Tarasius' consecration he himself wrote to the Pope, as well as Irene in what was probably a second letter. He gave news of the patriarchal election and renewed the invitation to a general council. He also sent the usual synodica, or profession of faith (which went as well to the three oriental patriarchs), ³⁴ and he explained the reasons for his rapid elevation from lay status to the office of Patriarch. His profession of faith included an express statement of his adherence to icon veneration and to orthodox teaching on the Theotokos and saints. ³⁵ Pope Hadrian replied both to Irene and to Tarasius. As might be expected, he was critical of Tarasius' uncanonical elevation and also of his use of the title 'oecumenical'; but he applauded the projected council as a means of restoring orthodoxy and he agreed to send to Constantinople two legates, his oeconomus the arch-priest Peter and Abbot Peter of the Greek monastery of St Sabas in Rome, who were given wide powers. Further, a point which regularly reappeared in papal communications, he brought up the question of the restoration of papal patrimonies in the Byzantine Italian provinces and of the ecclesiastical jurisdiction over Sicily, Calabria, and Illyricum which had been transferred from the papacy to Constantinople in the mid-eighth century. ³⁶ This item and other unpalatable points in Hadrian's letter were suppressed in the Greek translation presented to the council of Nicaea and are only known from the Latin version of Anastasius the Librarian. Tarasius' letters sent to the three eastern patriarchs never got through to their recipients and the most that the couriers achieved was a meeting with certain eastern monks. As a result two monks, Thomas and John, the syncelli of Alexandria and Antioch, were sent to the council to explain the difficult situation of the Christian Church under Muslim rule; they were apparently not properly appointed legates. Jerusalem did not seem to have even this measure of representation, though in signing the acta Thomas was said to have represented the three patriarchates.

The council was convened by traditional imperial order and it met in August 786 ³⁷ in the church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople in the presence of Irene and Constantine. But the imminent restoration of the icons was obviously going to present a problem to the iconoclast bishops and those ordained by them, presumably by now the majority of the clergy. Tarasius had already been forced to forbid official meetings among iconoclast bishops which were being held without his knowledge and directed against him. There was also support for iconoclast policy in certain secular circles. This erupted in the opening sessions of the council when imperial guards burst in to stop proceedings and were supported by some of the bishops present. Tarasius was shouted down and the assembly dispersed. Irene then organized the re-posting of the suspect troops and brought in from Thrace others on whom she could rely. A second summons to a general council went out in May 787, this time to meet in nearby Nicaea in Bithynia which had venerable associations with Constantine the Great and in all probability would be freer from the tumults of the capital.

The council opened in the church of the Holy Wisdom on 24 September 787. Though the ruler or his representative was present, by tradition the presidency belonged to Rome, but on this occasion, at the request of the Sicilian bishops, Tarasius opened the council. From the outset the pressing problem which was to heighten the underlying antagonism between the moderates and the stricter monastic element was present. This turned on the treatment to be accorded to the iconoclast bishops and by implication involved the clergy whom they had ordained. In addition to the bishops, a number of distinguished monks were present at the council, such as Plato, abbot of Saccudium, and Nicephorus, later Patriarch, from Medicium. Moved by inflexible principles rather than by common sense, they were implacably opposed to any leniency. Many of the bishops present had obviously accepted the regime imposed at the imperial command and with the wind of change in 780 they had presumably returned to orthodoxy. A few had not done so, though they were now ready to express penitence and make their profession of faith. Three, Ancyra, Amorium, and Myra, were accepted on this basis. Seven others, including Nicaea, Rhodes, Iconium, and Pisidia, presented a more serious case as they had held illegal meetings and then joined the opposition when the earlier council of 786 was disrupted. After considerable discussion and prolonged reference to works of the fathers, and in the face of various monastic accusations, most of the penitents were received back by the council. It was agreed that the only exceptions would be those who had maltreated iconophiles and here proof, not mere accusation, was required. During these first sessions the correspondence between Tarasius, the Pope (whose letter was truncated by the Byzantines, as already mentioned), and the eastern patriarchates was read out and discussed, and general agreement expressed in the second session with Hadrian's statement concerning the difference between the veneration of the icons and the worship to be given to God alone.

A more prolonged discussion of the iconophile position and the refutation of iconoclast tenets took place in the fourth, fifth, and sixth sessions. The fathers of this council might well have been dismayed had they known that posterity was to some extent to regard as the most valuable part of these sessions, the contribution which their discussions preserved in the acta made towards an understanding of the iconoclast theology which was being refuted. And it must be admitted that the iconoclast Definition or Horos (ὅΠs) condemned by the council at least presented a well-reasoned point of view in contrast to the anecdotal ramblings of the iconophile members of the council. It is necessary to look elsewhere for any definitive and deeper elaboration of the iconophile position, such as is found in the writings of John of Damascus or Theodore Studites or the Patriarch Nicephorus. On the other hand Tarasius showed obvious diplomacy in allowing the iconophiles to indulge their reminiscences on the subject of icons, though this was probably not what Pope Hadrian had in mind when in his letter he hoped that all would speak out freely without fear. Nevertheless the Definition, drawn up presumably by Tarasius, was succinct and went to the heart of the matter. This was read by Bishop Theodore of Taurianum in the seventh session on 13 October 787. After the usual profession of faith in the creed and in the six general councils, it went on to decree that, following the traditions of the Church,

We define with all certainty and accuracy that just as the representation of the venerable and life-giving Cross, so the venerable and holy icons, in painting or mosaic or any other appropriate medium, should be set up in the holy churches of God, and on the sacred vessels and vestments, on walls and on panels, both in houses and by the way-side, and also the image of our Lord God and Saviour Jesus Christ, our undefiled Lady, the holy Theotokos, the angels worthy of honour and all holy and devout people. For the more often they are seen in figural representation, the more readily men are lifted up to remember their prototypes and long for them, and these should be given honourable veneration (πΠ○σɑὐvησs), but not that true worship (λατΠενα) of our faith which belongs to the Divine Nature alone. But we should offer them incense and candles, as we do to the representation of the venerable and life-giving Cross and to the books of the Gospels and to other holy objects, according to ancient custom. For the honour which is given to the icon passes to that which the icon represents, and in venerating the icon we venerate the prototype. ³⁸

In conclusion, anyone violating icons or relics or monasteries was condemned to degradation if a cleric, to excommunication if a layman or monk. Iconoclast writings were to be destroyed and their tenets were condemned as heretical.

For its eighth and final session at the imperial request the council moved from Nicaea to the Magnaura palace in Constantinople and on 23 October 787 the definition was read in the presence of Irene and Constantine and duly signed, the rulers being acclaimed as a new Helena and a new Constantine. In addition to the minutes and the Horos there were also twenty-two disciplinary canons, apparently drawn up in Constantinople and not at Nicaea. ³⁹ These dealt partly with specific problems arising out of the recent unhappy times, such as secular appropriation of ecclesiastical property.

After the close of the synod Tarasius sent a letter to the Pope giving a brief account of the proceedings, but it is not clear whether he asked for ratification. The full proceedings were taken back to Rome by the two Peters, the papal legates, but the Latin translation which was made was so poor that the Nicaean council almost seemed to have perpetrated those very errors which it sought to eradicate. It was in this inaccurate form that the conciliar acta reached Charlemagne and Frankish circles which perhaps gave Charlemagne his opportunity to assert himself vis-à-vis both Byzantium and the papacy. He got theologians to draw up a detailed refutation of both iconoclast and iconophile tenets, taking a midway stance on the theological issue. But his attitude was also certainly motivated by politics, and he may already have had in mind the coronation of 800. Constantinople was attacked in the Libri Carolini, Constantine V called merely a 'rex', Irene and Constantine VI regarded as blasphemous in claiming to rule with God, and it was stressed that a woman (Irene) had no place in a synod. ⁴⁰ These Libri Carolini, or the Capitulare de Imaginibus, went to Rome. Hadrian I (though he had his own points of disagreement with Constantinople) certainly supported Nicaea II. He sent a long letter to Charlemagne in which he stressed his own authority and defended the veneration of icons. ⁴¹ He did not however manage to prevent the rejection of Nicaea II by a council of Frankish clergy at Frankfurt in 784, though his own representatives were present. The papacy was in fact in an awkward situation in Italy. Since the mideighth century Byzantine occupation with troubles elsewhere had forced the Popes to rely on Carolingian help against the Lombard kingdom and the unruly Roman factions. Hence the embarrassment in which Hadrian I found himself on this occasion.

The restoration of icons under Irene in 787 did not immediately provide a universally acceptable solution to the controversy which had rent the East Roman Empire under the North Syrian rulers. Whether from conviction or expediency a number of churchmen had obviously accepted iconoclasm; many people had long felt that the popular use of icons was giving rise to much superstition; and above all the military successes of Leo III and Constantine V had endeared them to the army and indeed to the general public. The troubled years 787-843 saw an uneasy acceptance of orthodoxy followed by a short-lived and milder form of iconoclasm before the final restoration of the icons in 843. Throughout this period were to be seen the often conflicting currents which were to determine the future course of East Roman fortunes. Monasticism was eventually to grow in strength as foreshadowed by the activities of the intimidating Abbot Theodore Studites (759-826) who was sternly opposed to ecclesiastical moderation or imperial intervention in church affairs. Then relations with the West began to take a different turn and the emergence of a powerful Frankish kingdom was to pose a challenge to Byzantine imperial claims to universal supremacy in the Christian world. This vigorous western political growth affected papal relations with Constantinople and to some extent pointed the way to future misunderstandings between the two great Christian centres. Within the Byzantine Empire the very success of iconoclasm, though of a temporary nature, had shown the strength of the imperial authority which was able for a time to maintain this unorthodox policy fortified by the prestige engendered by effective leadership in the face of Arab and Bulgar attacks.

These conflicting tendencies can be seen during the reign of Irene and her immediate successors. The council of Nicaea II may have restored orthodoxy but there remained an undercurrent of iconoclasm ready to exploit for political purposes what was probably a family struggle for power. When the young Emperor Constantine VI attempted to oust his dominating mother, the Empress Irene, and assume control of the government it was the iconoclast party and the Asian troops who backed him, though he himself was not an iconoclast. But he lacked military ability and political adroitness and his mother returned to power. His second attempt to assert himself over the question of his marriage also failed and this time proved his final undoing. His divorce from his wife Mary the Paphlagonian and subsequent second marriage to Theodote in 795 created the so-called adultery, or 'moechian', controversy. The grounds for the divorce were debatable and in any case second marriages were frowned on in Byzantine canon law. The Patriarch Tarasius only penalized the priest Joseph who had been persuaded to perform the marriage, exercising oeconomia towards the Emperor. Both the offence and the temporizing patriarchal attitude gave the extreme monastic element grounds for opposition to Tarasius and the Emperor. But the loudly-voiced criticism of the monks only resulted in the exile of Abbot Plato of Saccudium (a house on Mount Olympus in Bithynia) and his followers, including Theodore (later of the Studite monastery in Constantinople). But their exile was short-lived, as in 797 the Emperor was blinded by his mother who recalled the monks. The priest Joseph's fortunes went up or down according to the imperial wish. He was excommunicated under Irene, reinstated by her opponent and successor Nicephorus I, and finally in 812 in response to Studite pressure was degraded under the pro-monastic Michael I. Oeconomia, even when prompted by humane motives, was outside the severe monastic code, an attitude which was to cause endless rifts between moderates and extremists throughout the history of Byzantium.

In the difficult post-787 period of readjustment an even more tricky problem than Constantine VI's second marriage was the question of the episcopate, since this affected the good government of the whole Byzantine Church. The extremists wished the Patriarch Tarasius to depose all iconoclast bishops, even if repentant, as well as those who had been guilty of any kind of simony, interpreting simony in an impossibly wide sense to include ordination fees and offerings normally made to a bishop. Patriarchal decrees witness to the prolonged struggle between Tarasius and the monks ⁴² during which there was even recourse to Pope Hadrian I, ⁴³ not that much satisfaction was obtained from papal sources. This split between extremists and moderates within the orthodox ranks inevitably weakened any concerted orthodox stand against lingering iconoclasm itself. It was moreover an indication of the growing strength of the monastic party that it was able to challenge patriarchal policy in this way. The final word however usually lay with the Emperor and when Tarasius died in 806 the monks did not on this occasion succeed in placing their nominee on the patriarchal throne.

Irene may have been orthodox in belief and instrumental in restoring the icons but in certain other respects her reign was disastrous. Apart from the uneasy ecclesiastical equilibrium as well as political opposition centred in her son Constantine VI, there was squandering of economic resources and repeated military failures against external enemies such as the Arabs and Bulgars. There was loss of prestige due to western territorial encroachment in Italy, followed by Charlemagne's imperial coronation in St Peter's in 800. Then Rome had realized that the Franks (though often overbearing, as in their attitude to Nicaea II) were likely to be more effective allies than the Byzantines and in any case the papacy was perpetually irritated by its failure to get back its ecclesiastical jurisdiction in southern Italy, Sicily, and Illyricum which had been transferred to Constantinople in the mid-eighth century. Irene was by no means unaware of the problems posed by Charlemagne and the papacy, but in the event these were left for her successors to deal with. Her over-ambition, arrogance, and on the whole poor statesmanship created such havoc in the Empire that in October 802 she was ousted without difficulty by Nicephorus, a former treasury official.

Nicephorus I (802-11) was a tough ruler. He had to restore an economy ruined by Irene's foolishly lavish grants and to secure the military defences in the Balkans and Asia Minor. He was orthodox, but evidently not pro-monastic. When the moderate Patriarch Tarasius died in 806, the Studite monks saw an opportunity for one of their own persuasion. Theodore Studites was their obvious candidate. Nicephorus I however secured the appointment of another Nicephorus. He came from an iconophile family and, like Tarasius, was a layman at the time of his election though by no means divorced from ecclesiastical affairs. ⁴⁴ He had worked under Tarasius in the imperial secretariat and in 787 he went with him to the council of Nicaea as an imperial official. He subsequently led a retired life near the Bosphorus and then at the imperial command he took charge of a large poorhouse in Constantinople. After hesitation he accepted imperial nomination and on 5 April became a monk. On 9 and 10 April he was ordained deacon and presbyter and was enthroned in Hagia Sophia on Easter Day 12 April. At this period he seemed to fall in with imperial policy. Apparently bowing to the wishes of the Emperor, who was furious at the papal coronation of Charlemagne, he did not send the Pope his customary synodical announcing his election and setting out his profession of faith. He also had to call a synod to reinstate Joseph the priest who had conducted Constantine VI's second marriage. ⁴⁵ This enraged the monastic party and Theodore Studites' vociferous opposition brought him another period of exile. ⁴⁶ At this time Theodore regarded the Patriarch Nicephorus as the betrayer of high ecclesiastical principles and was markedly hostile towards him, contemptuously describing him as 'Caesar's steward'. ⁴⁷

The Emperor Nicephorus I had shown no desire to reverse the moderate orthodox religious policy which had on the whole prevailed during Tarasius' patriarchate. But after his disastrous defeat and death in battle against the Bulgar Krum in 811 there were quick changes in policy varying from support for the extreme monastic party to the revival of iconoclasm. Nicephorus I's successor Michael I (811-13) was an ineffective ruler who did not continue the statesmanlike economic and military policies of his predecessor. The Studites were recalled from exile and their influence was reflected in Michael's religious outlook. The Patriarch Nicephorus was induced to reverse the reinstatement of the priest Joseph (812) ⁴⁸ and he stated moreover that his earlier action in 809 had been due to imperial pressure. ⁴⁹ This was in effect a victory for the Studites. Then the church authorities were urged to act against Manichaeans or Paulicians and other heretics. ⁵⁰ This was in contrast to the policy of Nicephorus; he had valued the fighting qualities of the Paulicians and had enrolled them in his army, promising them religious freedom. Relations with the papacy and the West also took a different turn. The Patriarch Nicephorus was now able to send his synodal letter to the Pope, Leo III, apologizing for the delay due to hindrance from 'the powers that be'. ⁵¹ The western imperial coronation, which had so infuriated the Emperor Nicephorus, was accepted by Michael I. He tried to stem Carolingian advance into Byzantine Adriatic territory by recognizing Charlemagne's title, though conceding only 'Emperor and Basileus', not 'Emperor of the Romans' which was reserved for East Roman rulers. Later Byzantine emperors did not accept this concession to the West and liked to taunt the German rulers by deliberately calling them 'rex' and not 'imperator'. Subsequent Byzantine repudiation could not however root out Germanic assumption of imperial authority which, though differing from the Byzantine conception, was nevertheless to constitute a continuing challenge to the universal claims of Constantinople. As far as Michael I was concerned renewed links with Rome and Aachen and strong monastic support at home could not compensate for his unstatesmanlike rule. Apparently relying on foolish advice given him by Theodore Studites, Michael was crushingly defeated by the Bulgars at Versinicia (813). In the face of the menacing Bulgarian advance on Constantinople hostility to the iconodules grew. The military failures of the Byzantines seemed to reflect divine displeasure at their iconophile religious policy. The tomb of the great general Constantine V was besieged by iconoclasts in the capital and they called on the dead ruler to arise and help them (June 813). Shortly afterwards, with the support of the army, Leo the Armenian, commander of the Anatolicon theme, gained the throne (10 July 813).

Leo V (813-20) hoped to emulate the military successes of the North Syrian iconoclast emperors whose memory was so revered in military circles and among many of the people. He kept the Bulgars at bay and was able to conclude a long-term treaty with them. He then set about reintroducing the religious policy which in the popular mind was closely linked with the victories of the eighthcentury iconoclast leaders. It was clear that the decisions of Nicaea II had by no means succeeded in rooting out the heresy. The efforts of the orthodox towards this end had indeed been weakened by schism within their ranks caused by the violent feuds of the monks with the Patriarch over his policy of compromise or oeconomia. Meanwhile the not inconsiderable party of iconoclasts were awaiting their opportunity. Their earlier attempts in the late eighth century to oust Irene with the help of the late Emperor Leo IV's brothers, and then the young Emperor Constantine VI, had failed. But now was their opportunity and in Leo V they had a leader of very different calibre.

Backed by the army and soon to be fortified by a comparatively successful foreign policy, Leo V intended to revert to the iconoclasm of the North Syrian emperors. Something of the strength of iconoclast support may have been suspected by the Patriarch Nicephorus who appears to have approached Leo in 813 before he was yet in the capital, asking him to affirm his orthodoxy. Leo, wishing to put no obstacle in the way of his coronation, evidently temporized. Nicephorus then seems to have drawn up a more detailed profession of faith which the Emperor, once crowned, did not sign. ⁵² In the following year 814 Leo set up a small commission of iconoclasts headed by John Hylilas (John the Grammarian). They worked in the imperial palace in over-luxurious conditions (so the anti-iconoclast press alleged) and their task was the compilation of a florilegium from biblical and patristic sources in order to refute the claims of the iconophiles. According to Nicephorus ⁵³ and the Scriptor Incertus de Leone Bardae Armenii filio ⁵⁴ their work was based on that of Constantine V and they used the acta of the iconoclast council of Hieria of 754 (not always identical with the more extreme views of Constantine V). At the same time Leo tried to win over the Patriarch Nicephorus. He pointed out that icon veneration was widely regarded as a reason for military disasters and indicated divine displeasure. He suggested that an acceptable solution would be to remove those icons which were hung low (and could therefore be venerated and kissed by the devout) while retaining those placed higher up but solely for purposes of edification and instruction.

Nicephorus rejected the Emperor's proposal and refused to enter into any discussion (though a number of bishops and abbots evidently did so). He gathered together his supporters to oppose the Emperor's designs and just before Christmas they all met in the patriarcheion. The iconoclast florilegium was read out and rejected and those present signed a promise to stand firm in their opposition. ⁵⁵ An all-night service was then held in Hagia Sophia. The Emperor countered this by summoning the Patriarch to the palace. At first they met alone and when the Emperor tried to convert Nicephorus to his point of view Nicephorus (according to his Vita) replied with a learned exposition of the iconophile theology. Then the Patriarch's party and the Emperor's armed supporters waiting in the wings were admitted and iconophile sources report strong words on either side. Aemilianus, the bishop of Cyzicus, stated that it was customary for ecclesiastical enquiries to be held in church and not in the imperial palace. Theodore Studites, like John of Damascus before him, denied the imperial right to intervene in ecclesiastical questions. 'Your responsibility, Emperor, is with affairs of state and military matters. Give your mind to these and leave the Church to its pastors and teachers.' ⁵⁶ Thus the monastic party challenged the traditional relationship between church and state in Byzantium.

At the Epiphany services Leo omitted the usual icon veneration. He had already succeeded in winning to his side many of the Patriarch's supporters and he openly demanded that Nicephorus should either agree to remove low-hanging icons or else resign. Nicephorus himself had also been trying to plead his cause in influential quarters by appealing to the Empress ⁵⁷ and to high officials. ⁵⁸ Though by now a sick man, he stood firm and refused to resign. ⁵⁹ Without his consent and while he was still ill and virtually under house arrest, the permanent (endemousa) synod of Constantinople met. It sent a deputation to Nicephorus to summon him to appear before it to answer for his crimes and urged him to accept iconoclasm. Nicephorus refused and evidently retaliated by condemning the bishops and clergy involved in this exercise. ⁶⁰ His name was then removed from the diptychs. Finally under pressure he resigned on or about 13 March and went into exile on the Asian side of the Bosphorus. Though an exponent of moderation, and where possible compromise (oeconomia), when his basic principles were opposed to those of the Emperor no one could taunt him with being 'Caesar's steward'.

On Easter Day (1 April 815) a new patriarch, Theodotus Mellissenus Cassiteras, was enthroned. He was reputed to be of some virtue though of unclerical habits, and he was inevitably an iconoclast. Leo would have liked to appoint John the Grammarian but was dissuaded on the grounds that he was not old enough nor of sufficiently distinguished lineage. Soon after Easter a synod was held in Hagia Sophia. The acta of this council were destroyed on the restoration of orthodoxy but something of the content can be gathered from the detailed refutation made by the Patriarch Nicephorus in his Refutatio et Eversio. ⁶¹ The synod reaffirmed the iconoclast council of Hieria-Blachernae (754) and annulled the act of Nicaea II (787) specifically censuring the folly of the Empress Irene and the Patriarch Tarasius. The florilegium of the iconoclast committee was read and accepted. The dogmatic Definition (Horos) drawn up by the council had a florilegium appended, but it is not clear whether this was identical with that of the committee. The Horos condemned the untraditional veneration and the unedifying manufacture of icons, but abstained from calling them idols, 'for there are many degrees of evil'.

This ninth-century revival of iconoclasm was in effect less harsh and uncompromising than that of Leo III and Constantine V. Unlike the council of 754 it did not introduce the argument from idolatry. But to judge from the content of Nicephorus's Refutatio the Christological implications raised by Constantine V were still important, since he deals with these at some length. The ninthcentury iconoclasts also set store by the 'ethical theory of icons' ⁶² linked with the 'argument from holiness', ⁶³ again not a new line of thought. It was maintained that the only real and living icon of the saint was the reproduction of his virtues in the soul of the individual, rather than some meaningless figure in material colours which could only express the mortal body and not the saint's real inner holiness. Dead matter could not reveal the glorious state of the saint enjoying eternal life with God. The revived iconoclasm may have provided more precise, or fuller, references for sources cited at the 754 council, but it was essentially based on the eighth-century movement. ⁶⁴

It is difficult to assess to what extent obstinate iconophiles suffered persecution in the ninth century because accounts of this derive from partisan and probably exaggerated sources, such as the Vita Nicephori or the letters of Theodore Studites. In the 815 council an attempt was made to win over certain orthodox bishops and when this failed they were then and there subjected to unseemly physical assault and then exiled. The ex-Patriarch Nicephorus persistently refused discussion with heretics and he remained across the Bosphorus in exile until he died in 828. He was comparatively unmolested. He stood his ground but was far less belligerent than Theodore Studites. Leo V had evidently hoped to inaugurate a policy which, though iconoclast, would make as few demands as possible upon its opponents. He did win over a substantial number of bishops, as well as abbots who were increasingly being appointed to bishoprics. Support for iconoclasm was not confined to Constantinople but ranged from Otranto in South Italy to the cities and monasteries of Asia Minor. The acceptance of iconoclasm by a number of monastic houses was in contrast to the earlier eighthcentury movement. There were instances of monasteries which defected in Constantinople, on Bithynian Mount Olympus, and among the Cappadocian rock pinnacles. This may have been due to the minimal nature of the demands made. Provided that they did not teach or assemble, and accepted the Patriarch Theodotus, the monks were unmolested.

But for Theodore Studites it was an obligation to proclaim orthodox views openly, loudly, and unceasingly. ⁶⁵ He and his hard core remained a constant source of irritation; hence the increasing severity of the conditions imposed on the Studite leader who was moved from prison to prison in Asia Minor. Theodore nevertheless managed to maintain an excellent system of underground communication. His letters show him encouraging his followers, lamenting desertions, rallying support from Palestinian monasteries and from the orthodox Patriarchs of Jerusalem and Alexandria (possibly also from Antioch though no letter has survived). He also did not hesitate to seek help from Rome. Here in the old capital there were Greek monasteries and Greek communities as well as a number of iconodule refugees, including the future Patriarch, Methodius. Theodore wrote both to the archimandrite of the Greek house of St Sabas and to the Pope asking for help. ⁶⁶ With his excellent intelligence service he was evidently aware of proposed missions to Rome from the capital, hence his hurried approach to the Pope putting his case and possibly hoping for a formal synodal condemnation of the heresy. The banning of icon veneration and the forced resignation of Patriarch Nicephorus had created a rift between Rome and Constantinople and in keeping with his desire for unity and reconciliation Leo V also tried to win over the Pope. An imperial embassy appears to have gone to Rome, probably with the other mission from Theodotus with the Patriarch's synodica. ⁶⁷ In Theodore's second letter to the Pope he praises him for refusing to receive the Patriarch's legates (apocrisiarii) and thanks him for meeting his own two envoys, who seem to have arrived soon after the iconoclast deputation. The Emperor evidently wished to maintain that he was essentially orthodox and that the use to which icons were put was not a cause for general discussion, but a matter for each church to decide for itself. He may also have made the point that the ex-Patriarch Nicephorus had resigned of his own free will. The embassy probably went some time after the death of Pope Leo III (16 June 816) since this Pope had recognized the Patriarch Nicephorus and the orthodox Byzantine predecessors of Leo V and would hardly be sympathetic to the intruded Patriarch Theodotus and the iconoclast Emperor. The most likely time would have been the late autumn of 816 or spring of 817, that is after Stephen's short pontificate and during Pascal I's time. It was Pascal who turned down Emperor Leo's overtures, as noted in Theodore's second letter to the Pope ⁶⁸ and in Pascal's own letter to Leo. He might refuse to meet the ecclesiastical envoys but he had to receive those from the Emperor, and it was to the Emperor and not to the Patriarch that a papal embassy was sent. The Patriarch Nicephorus described how the legates demanded the restoration of the icons and obstinately refused to eat at the imperial table since the heretical Byzantine churchmen were also invited. ⁶⁹ The firm papal stand did not succeed in altering Leo V's policy but it did give moral support to the iconophiles and dashed any hopes that Leo might have had of a general council which would set aside Nicaea II and propound a more flexible policy with regard to the use of icons.

Leo was murdered on Christmas Day 820. His successor, Michael was a vigorous but uneducated soldier from Amorium in Phrygia. He tried to eliminate dissension by forbidding discussion and adopting a policy of conciliation. He recalled the iconophile exiles. Led by Theodore Studites, they still protested vehemently.

When they approached Michael he made it clear that they could do what they liked provided that they were outside the capital, but he himself was not prepared to venerate icons and would leave the Church as he found it. Finally, since the Emperor would not make any further concessions or consider the reappointment of Nicephorus as patriarch, there was deadlock and all further discussion on icons was prohibited. ⁷⁰ As Theodore Studites remarked early on in Michael's reign, 'The winter is past, but spring has not yet come'. ⁷¹ When Theodotus died Michael chose as patriarch Antony Cassimatas (c. January 821) who as bishop of Syllaeum in Pamphylia had been a leading member of the commission which drew up the florilegium for the 815 synod of Hagia Sophia. The ex-Patriarch Nicephorus still stood firm or he might possibly have been reinstated as a conciliatory gesture. He won the grudging praise of his old enemy Theodore Studites and he died in exile in 828. He had made a twofold contribution to the Church, first by his moderate policy in the days of orthodoxy, and then by his steadfast opposition to heresy supported by his theological writings. ⁷² Theodore never really gave Nicephorus the credit due to him, whatever belated tributes he paid. He certainly recognized him as 'the true Patriarch' who had shown courageous resistance, ⁷³ but it was not in rallying round the ex-Patriarch that he thought peace and orthodoxy would be found, but rather through the action of the Elder Rome. The old lurking mistrust between Theodore the monk and the secular clergy seemed to poison relations even in adversity. The significance of Theodore's appeals to Rome has been much debated, but it was a move which did not necessarily imply any more than the recognition of the value of support from the see which had always been accorded primacy of honour. Pope Pascal I reacted to Michael II as he had to Leo V. He sent a document defining orthodox doctrine and asking for the restoration of the Patriarch Nicephorus and of orthodoxy. His demands were refused and his legate, the Greek iconodule Methodius, was imprisoned. ⁷⁴ Michael did however attempt to solicit the good offices of the western Emperor, Louis the Pious, explaining his views and asking Louis to support the Byzantine embassy which was going to Rome. ⁷⁵ Louis however merely took the view of Charlemagne and the council of Frankfurt which was no help to Michael. In any case Michael had other pressing problems and could not allow the question of the icons to over-dominate his programme. Early in his reign with Bulgarian help he had successfully foiled the dangerous revolt in Asia Minor led by Thomas the Slav, joined by many dissident elements. But he had been unable to prevent the strategic islands of Crete and Sicily from falling to Muslim forces from Africa and Spain.

Michael II died in 829 leaving as his successor his son Theophilus who had been associated with him as co-Emperor from 821. Theophilus was a contrast to his father. Educated by the learned John the Grammarian (who later became Patriarch in 837), he was a cultured man, greatly attracted to Muslim civilization. As an iconoclast and an Amorian he did not receive fair appraisal in proMacedonian sources. Theophilus was rather more extreme than his father in his support of iconoclasm and he inflicted some cruel and much publicized punishments. But in general iconophiles could go their own way outside Constantinople. It was however significant that icon veneration evidently went on unchecked within the imperial household. Theophilus was aware of his wife Theodora's proclivities but he seems to have taken no effective steps to counter such tendencies. This was symptomatic of the general weakening of the iconoclast movement and though traces of iconoclasm probably lingered for some time there was no obstinate or widespread resistance when the death of Theophilus in 842 left a minor and a regency headed by the iconodule Empress Theodora who was bent on the restoration of orthodoxy.

In directing the regency for the two-year-old Michael III (842-67) his mother Theodora was assisted by a small council of which Theoctistus, the logothete of the drome, was the most influential member. Theodora's personal religious views were well known, though possibly she may have hesitated to introduce any immediate reversal of her husband's policy. Iconoclasm seemed to have been accepted in a quiet way by the army and the civil service as well as by many bishops and some monasteries. The able Patriarch John the Grammarian was a dedicated iconoclast. On the other hand it was likely that many who had accepted iconoclasm under pressure as a matter of expediency, particularly in its more tolerant and modified form, would be ready to reverse their allegiance. As previously, the restoration of icons was strongly supported by outstanding and powerful monastic leaders, such as Joannices, doyen of the communities on Bithynian Mount Olympus, and though Theodore Studites had died in 826 the movement had not weakened. The steps whereby orthodoxy was restored are variously described in the different sources. ⁷⁶ There seemed to be two elements on the iconodule front — the regent's party and the monastic party. Theodora (no doubt fortified by Methodius) was supported by the logothete Theoctistus and possibly her uncle Manuel, her brothers Bardas and Petronas, and another relative, Sergius Nicetiates. ⁷⁷ But already there could be perceived that latent antagonism between Theoctistus and Bardas which was to erupt later in the reign. Personal and political ambitions were closely interwoven with religious policy, and the underlying rift between seculars and monks and their respective partisans long remained, despite the return to orthodoxy.

It was more than a year before orthodoxy was formally restored on the first Sunday of Lent 843, to be known in future as Orthodoxy Sunday. Unlike the restoration of 787 no general council was held. After preliminary discussions, a local ecclesiastical assembly having no claim to oecumenicity met in Constantinople. ⁷⁸ This took place in the Kanikleion, the palace of Theodora's minister Theoctistus. It appears to have been attended by clergy, monks, and laymen. John VII the Grammarian, who was then still Patriarch, was summoned, but refused to attend and remained entrenched in the patriarcheion. He was deposed on 3 March 843 and was only with difficulty dislodged from his apartments. His successor was Methodius (843-7), elected the next day and enthroned a week later on Sunday, 11 March 843. Methodius, for a time an iconodule refugee in Rome, had been imprisoned and ill-treated by Michael II, apparently because he happened to be the bearer of an unwelcome letter to the Emperor from Pope Pascal I. Theophilus later on had somewhat inconsistently restored him to favour, iconophile though he was. Theophilus admired his learning and allowed him to live in the imperial palace. ⁷⁹

There are few details on the procedure of the council of 843. The acta are not extant and it is doubtful whether documents can be assigned to this council. ⁸⁰ There appeared to be general agreement on the confirmation of Nicaea II and the restoration of the icons, and florilegia supporting the traditional veneration were at hand. The only obstacle, according to a persistent tradition, which may or may not be legendary, was the Empress Theodora's desire to avoid any slight on her husband's memory. Various devices to get round this problem are recorded, ranging from a supposed deathbed repentance to Theophilus' appearance in a dream to one Symeon appealing from the next world for mercy. If Theodora did press this point it is easy to appreciate at least one of her motives: she desired to remove any taint of heresy from the father of her son, the reigning Emperor. It may have been for this reason that, though in practice an iconodule, she was, as Bury thought, hesitant about overturning iconoclasm. Bury considered that the sources suggested Theoctistus, possibly with the magister Manuel, as the driving force. ⁸¹ In the event, there was no mention of Theophilus: the iconoclast councils were abrogated and Nicaea II restored.

The first formal celebration of the return to orthodoxy took place on the day of Methodius's enthronement, the first Sunday of Lent, 11 March 843, and there are varying accounts as to what happened on this occasion. In the tenth-century De Cerimoniis of Constantine VII protocol was described 'as it used to be', and then 'as it is now'. In the first part of the ceremony no change is noted and this account may well represent what actually occurred in 843. 'On the Saturday evening the Patriarch goes to the church of the all-holy Theotokos in Blachernae. And with him are the metropolitans, archbishops and bishops who happen to be in the City then, as well as the clergy of the Great Church and of the churches outside, together with all those leading the solitary monastic life within the God-guarded City, and all those who are to celebrate the mid-night office in the holy church.' The next day the Patriarch and all with him leave the church which was situated near the north-west land walls and process through the city to Hagia Sophia on the eastern side. There they would meet (on this first occasion) the Empress Theodora and the little Emperor and the court who enter the church from the palace. ⁸² Then the festival is celebrated, the statement read out with its anathemas and also its remembrances for the orthodox dead and its acclamations for the orthodox living. ⁸³ Afterwards Theodora gave a banquet, but, as the De Cerimoniis recounts, this subsequently became the privilege of the Patriarch.

The core of the Synodicon was probably written by Methodius for the first anniversary of the event. ⁸⁴ The commemoration appears to have taken definite shape by the last quarter of the ninth century at latest. It is attested for the year 899 in the Cletorologion of Philotheus and by then had become part of the annual liturgical cycle. Its place in the office varies: for instance, it might be proclaimed from the ambo before or after the Epistle during the Divine Liturgy, or during or after Orthros. ⁸⁵ As the festival of Orthodoxy took root throughout the Empire many variant practices arose and many different recensions, according to the individual needs of the Great Church in the capital or the smaller churches in the provinces. Further, as later generations met new problems of heresy, the original Synodicon had to be expanded to deal with these. So there came into existence the three main groups described as the Macedonian, the Comnenian, and the Palaeologan versions. ⁸⁶ In this way the Synodicon became a living witness to the orthodox life of the Church.

The controversy itself was by no means a frustrating waste of time. it did at least clarify certain issues and it stimulated lively discussion on a subject which was to be of importance in Orthodox church life. As the support for the icons moved from Germanus and John of Damascus's traditional defence to the Christological challenge of Constantine V's reign, and then to the more 'scholastic' approach of Theodore Studites and Patriarch Nicephorus, ⁸⁷ there was an increasing emphasis on the meaning of the Incarnation in relation to the Christian view of matter and it was not without a struggle that this was given its true value (monastic spirituality had to face the same problem). Moreover the quality of the protagonists, for instance men such as Theodore Studites or Nicephorus who had their roots in the eighth century, bore witness to the availability of educational opportunities at that time. ⁸⁸

It is often maintained that monastic opposition formed the backbone of the iconodule opposition and was henceforth a strong element in public life. It certainly had outspoken leadership and both Theodore Studites and John of Damascus protested against imperial interference in ecclesiastical affairs. Certain centres, notably the communities on Bithynian Mount Olympus and in the Studite house in Constantinople, offered recognized resistance. But some houses appear to have swum with the tide. The strengthening of widespread monastic influence on the actual policy of the Byzantine state really took place rather later, after the development of the powerful houses on Mount Athos and particularly as the state weakened after 1204. Probably the guidance of Theodore Studites in the conduct of monastic life was a more important factor in the development of monasticism than in the actual iconoclast controversy. This is not to deny the influence of the individual holy man at all times as a potent but occasional factor, or the temporary troubles caused by mobs of monks liable to gather in the capital and whip up trouble at times of crisis. Nor is it to detract from the varied contributions made by monastic houses in the daily life which went on after the controversy as it had done before: this was not an effect of iconoclasm. As far as the iconoclast controversy is concerned it is in fact almost impossible to identify classes or territorial regions which were consistently for or against. ⁸⁹ For the ordinary man much depended on the lead given by the ruling power of the moment, and for the soldier the success or otherwise of military leadership was the telling factor.

In matters concerning Rome and the West it was not iconoclasm which was the primary factor in loosening ties with the papacy or provoking the imperial pretensions of the Carolingian rulers. Here a far more important part was played by political factors, though an exception might be made for the transference of ecclesiastical jurisdiction over South Italy, Sicily, and part of the Balkans to the patriarchate of Constantinople in so far as it was provoked by religious difference between an iconoclast Emperor and an iconophile Rome. This action was certainly an abiding irritant in papal and Byzantine relations, but it was in no sense responsible for anything approaching a rift. This was yet to come.

The most important and permanent result of the controversy was the firm establishment of icons in the daily life of the orthodox. But at first it was only gradually that they were restored to full use in churches. On 29 May 867 when Photius preached in Hagia Sophia to inaugurate the mosaic of the Theotokos and Child he made it clear that this was the first icon to replace those which had been 'scraped off' the walls, though it is known that at least some had already been placed in certain imperial buildings. ⁹⁰ During the later ninth century literary evidence testifies to the splendour of the new figural decoration. An epigram in the Greek Anthology praises the glories of the figures in the Chrysotriclinus in the imperial palace. 'The ray of truth is radiant once more . . . For see how once again Christ in his icon shines above the ruler's thrones and drives out dark heresies. Above the entrance the Theotokos rises up like a divine gate and guardian. Near her are the ruler and the patriarch who with her help have put an end to heresy.' ⁹¹ The Empress Theodora was no longer in power and therefore did not stand with Michael III and Patriarch Methodius. Thus the iconophile victory certainly gave a stimulus to religious art, though it must be remembered that the iconoclast period was by no means devoid of art, but it made use of it in a different way and with a different purpose. ⁹² Now with Nicaea II icons became a regulated part of liturgical and architectural developments. So there came into being an accepted iconography which laid down the pattern of ecclesiastical representation (though not to the exclusion of other styles elsewhere, both classical and realist, and for different purposes). Such figural representation was usually either in mosaic, or, especially as expense became a factor, in fresco.

These icons in churches and monasteries, as well as those in private devotional use, had a sacramental value to the beholder. They were held to be possessed of special graces. Their presence stressed the strongly held belief in the sanctity of matter, a belief that found its fulfilment in theosis or the deification of human beings. In his three apologies on the divine icons John of Damascus wrote 'I worship the Creator of matter who became matter for my sake, who was willing to dwell in matter, who worked out my salvation through matter'; ⁹³ and 'Although the mind wears itself out with its efforts it can never cast away its bodily nature (πὰ*ατικα+́). ⁹⁴ This was a conception not unknown in the West (and found in writings ranging from St Augustine to Teilhard de Chardin), but in general it was not so much emphasized by western modes of thought. This may be one reason why icons never played so powerful a role in Latin worship as in that of the Orthodox Churches, nor was deification generally so stressed in the West.

Methodius was faced with the problem caused by those who had lapsed during the second period of iconoclasm. Here he began by acting with some severity. He deposed those bishops who had returned to iconoclasm under Leo the Armenian and his successors and likewise all who had been ordained by such bishops after their lapse. ¹ At the same time he had to provide the Church with an adequate episcopate in order to ensure the continuity of its daily life. He evidently had difficulty in finding sufficient candidates of moderate outlook who could satisfy all the canonical requirements and in some cases he appears to have relaxed these, thus incurring the criticism of his extremist opponents. A policy of this kind, regarded by Methodius as being in the best interests of the Church, inevitably roused the rigorist monastic element whose firm antagonism to any kind of oeconomia was accompanied by an equally firm conviction that they were called upon to play a leading, even a decisive, role in ecclesiastical affairs. They no doubt felt that they themselves could provide excellent candidates better fitted for episcopal office. The acute difficulties experienced by Methodius are reflected in his unhappy relations with the followers of Theodore Studites during the years 845-6. Certain bishops and abbots in the extremist party evidently voiced publicly their criticism of the Patriarch's appointments and were penalized for this. ² Methodius then asked the Studites to repudiate Theodore's writings against the Patriarchs Tarasius and Nicephorus and their policy of compromise, as indeed Theodore himself in the end seems to have done. They refused. They were therefore anathematized, and possibly cursed (the formal ecclesiastical katathema). It was pointed out that the fourth canon of Chalcedon required monks to live apart from the world and to refrain from meddling in ecclesiastical or temporal affairs. ³ A schism resulted.

This action was apparently still unresolved at Methodius's death, even though just before he died the Patriarch tried to make his peace with the recalcitrant monks. He explicitly stated in his testament that he forgave those who had flouted the patriarchal authority and he desired to receive them back into the Church, but again only on condition that they repudiated Theodore Studites' criticism of Tarasius and Niccphorus. ⁴ Methodius, like his more moderate predecessors, had had to face the growing challenge, not so much of the authority of the isolated holy man, but of an increasingly powerful monastic party. These monks regarded themselves as the guardians of the Orthodox faith and as watch-dogs to ensure the rigorous observance of canon law. This was an element that was to persist within the Byzantine polity. Originally led by the Studites, in the later middle ages this movement was to some extent centred in the monastic communities of Mount Athos. It was not always victorious, but it could certainly not be ignored.

On Methodius's death both the monastic party and their opponents had their candidates. The choice rested with the Empress Theodora who opted for Ignatius, a son of the Emperor Michael I Rangabe. From an early age Ignatius had been a monk and at the time of his election was abbot of a house on one of the Princes Islands. Theodora did not however observe the normal procedure of receiving from the synod three nominations from which to select and to this extent Ignatius's election might be considered irregular. Though a monk, Ignatius had not so far shown himself to be a strong Studite partisan and it might have been hoped that he would take a midway stance and conciliate the two opposing parties. But this was not so. Ignatius proved to be neither wise nor tactful. He was drawn into the monastic party and at the same time also became involved in imperial politics on the side of the Empress Theodora whose authority was being challenged by her brother Bardas and the young Emperor Michael III. Ignatius's anti-Methodian feelings were evidenced by his public and ill-judged antagonism towards the friend of Methodius, the Sicilian Gregory Asbestas, archbishop of Syracuse. Gregory had been accused of canonical irregularity in consecrating the bishop of Taormina and his case was still sub judice. It was possibly for this reason that Ignatius declared that his status was suspended, but this is not clear. ⁵ When Gregory took his place in the procession at the patriarchal enthronement in Hagia Sophia Ignatius told him that he had no right to be there and with such rudeness that Gregory flung out in a rage, declaring that the Church had been given a wolf instead of a pastor. He was followed by some of his supporters. Gregory and two of his friends were subsequently condemned, possibly for continued opposition to Ignatius, and they were deposed by the Constantinopolitan synod, ⁶ whereupon both sides appealed to Rome. Evidence on both the cause and the sequence of events in this episode seems conflicting, but there can be no doubt that the Methodians and the Ignatians were now bitterly opposed. ⁷

Ignatius's own downfall was closely related to the fate of his supporter, the Empress Theodora. In 856 she was displaced and her chief minister, the logothete Theoctistus, was assassinated. Her son, Michael III, was declared of age and her brother, the influential Bardas, took control. He was a cultivated, urbane, and ambitious man, the very antithesis of Ignatius, the monk who despised secular learning. Ignatius, no doubt aware of Bardas's scorn of him, unwisely tried to undermine his authority by bringing various apparently unproved charges against him, including incest. In late 857 or early 858 he forbade him to enter Hagia Sophia for the usual Epiphany services. ⁸ Further, he refused to support the Empress Theodora's forced entry into monastic life. In 858 it was said that he had been involved in an anti-Bardas plot. For this alleged treason he was exiled to Terebinthus, an island two miles east of Principo in the sea of Marmora.

Negotiations, and almost certainly some pressure, resulted in Ignatius's resignation, ⁹ but only on terms ¹⁰ which were interpreted by the Ignatians as implying that the new Patriarch would not repudiate any of Ignatius's patriarchal actions and would remain in communion with him. This would mean in practice the recognition of the legitimacy of Ignatius's ordinations, despite the irregularity of his election, and might be supposed to include approval of his promonastic policy, in so far as this had favoured the extremists. The new Patriarch, Photius, appears to have agreed to certain conditions and he was enthroned some time before 25 December 858.

The protoasecretis Photius was a layman and civil servant at the head of the imperial chancery. His father was related to Patriarch Tarasius and he himself may have been connected by marriage with the ruling house. He also had a well-founded reputation as one of the leading scholars of his day which was likely to commend him to Bardas. His lay status was not necessarily a bar to his rapid elevation to the patriarchate since there was precedent for ecclesiastical dispensation on this point, as in the earlier case of Tarasius. After being tonsured, Photius was quickly ordained reader, subdeacon, deacon, and priest, in time to be enthroned just before the Christmas festivities. He was certainly not the kind of man to be a puppet in the hands of the Ignatian party and at the outset he plainly indicated his attitude by appointing Gregory Asbestas to be one of his consecrating bishops, even though Gregory's case was still being considered by Rome (to whom he had appealed when he was condemned by the Ignatian synod). The Ignatians were clearly disappointed and friction was further aggravated by considerable misunderstanding as to the interpretation of the conditions agreed to by Photius in return for Ignatius's retirement. They evidently expected Photius to follow their line of policy and to do nothing which Ignatius (and by implication his followers) did not approve, treating Ignatius as if he was 'his own father'. ¹¹ They therefore claimed that Photius had broken his word. They were also proTheodora and hostile to the new regime which accounted for the severity (unjustly attributed to Photius) with which some of them were treated by the government. The refusal to acknowledge Photius soon came to a head when a meeting was held by the rebels in the church of St Irene. Here Photius was declared deposed and Ignatius restored as legitimate Patriarch. Shortly afterwards in the early spring of 859 Photius retaliated by calling a synod of bishops in the church of the Holy Apostles. In the presence of 170 bishops Ignatius was declared deposed. ¹² Certain of the extremist leaders, including Metrophanes of Smyrna and Antony of Cyzicus, were also removed from office, possibly at the same synod. ¹³

Photius then prepared to consolidate his position. He sent to Rome the customary letter announcing his enthronement and containing his profession of faith (his synodica). ¹⁴ This also went as usual to the eastern patriarchates of Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem. ¹⁵ In this he mentioned in discrete terms the 'retirement' or 'departure' of Ignatius, ¹⁶ and pointed out that he himself had been raised to his high office somewhat against his will. At the same time Michael III wrote to the Pope asking for legates to be sent to a council to be held in Constantinople, ostensibly to clear up iconoclasm but in reality to confirm Ignatius's deposition. In his reply to Michael III Pope Nicholas I stressed his surprise that he had not been consulted in the affair of the Patriarch Ignatius whom Michael had reported as having already given up his see of his own free will. He was therefore charging his legates, Radoald bishop of Porto and Zacharias bishop of Anagni, with the task of looking into, rather than merely confirming, Ignatius's resignation. The Pope added that his two legates were to make a careful enquiry in the synod which was to be held as to whether canonical procedure had been observed and were to report to him. He would then give his apostolic pronouncement as to the best course of action for the Church of Constantinople. This was an approach that was hardly likely to be acceptable to the Byzantines, implying as it did that the deposition of Ignatius was not necessarily valid. Further, Nicholas made what was by now becoming a perennial papal demand. He asked for the restoration of the lost papal jurisdiction in Illyricum (that is, most of the Balkans) with its vicariate in Thessalonica, as well as the return of its patrimonies in Sicily and Calabria. ¹⁷ This insistence on Rome's claim to jurisdiction in Illyricum was no doubt all the more urgent now in view of the growing rivalry between the Roman and Byzantine Churches over responsibility for the conversion to Christianity of the young Bulgarian principality. A letter was also sent to Photius in which the Pope reproached him for his rapid and uncanonical ascent through the clerical grades. For this reason he wrote that he could not at once confirm Photius's consecration as patriarch, but if his legates reported favourably on the ecclesiastical situation in Constantinople he hoped then to be able to honour him as befitted the prelate of so great a see. ¹⁸ Thus in this letter too Nicholas implied that he had the right to the final decision, though he carefully left his options open.

The papal legates duly reached Constantinople and the council, presided over by the Emperor in its first session, was held in the church of the Holy Apostles in April 861. The records of its proceedings are incomplete because the acta were destroyed by the pro-Ignatian council of 869-70 and what has survived comes from a Latin extract in the canonical collection of Cardinal Deusdedit. This can be supplemented by material from Ignatius's partisans even though this is rather one-sided and in any case probably represents 'Ignatian' policy rather than the views of Ignatius himself. At the council Ignatius was declared rightly deposed because he had been appointed by a secular ruler thus infringing 'Apostolic' canon 30 (= 29). ¹⁹ The Roman legates formally approved the deposition. This was not what Nicholas I had intended. The legates however were under considerable pressure in Constantinople and the Byzantines had indeed only agreed to bring up the case again on the understanding that a final decision would be given and the matter not referred back to the Pope for his ruling. But at least the legates had asserted the Roman right to intervene in a matter of this kind.

At some time after the deposition of Ignatius, the council of 861, at which the Roman legates were still present, registered its condemnation of the iconoclast heresy. This was a problem which had been specifically mentioned in the letters of Michael III and Photius to Nicholas I. Opinions vary on the importance which should be attached to this. It may have been a diversionary move by Photius, but even so it is reasonable to suppose with Dvornik that the heresy had not disappeared overnight in 843. ²⁰ Another topic considered before the legates left Constantinople in September 861 concerned monastic and episcopal abuses. These are dealt with in 17 disciplinary canons signed by 130 bishops. ²¹ They included a ruling which would make it impossible in future for a layman or monk to pass per saltum to the episcopacy, as Photius and others before him had done. ²²

After the council letters were sent to the Pope by Photius ²³ and by Michael III with the acta of the 861 council. ²⁴ Photius's apologia was a moving appeal for charity and understanding. He contrasted the idyllic tranquillity of his life as a scholar and tutor with the troubles which he knew would beset him if he became patriarch. Hence his reluctance to accept this office. He defended himself from the charge of having violated canonical procedure by his rapid ascent from lay status to the episcopate, since the canons of Sardica forbidding this were not recognized by the Byzantine Church. He pointed out that it was indeed quite legitimate for the two Churches to maintain traditions which differed in discipline and rite. He did however add that the 861 council had now decided that in future Constantinople would adopt the Roman usage on the particular point at issue. The problem of rooting out iconoclasm was referred to. Then — most important of all both to the papacy and to Byzantium — Photius broached the question of papal jurisdiction in Illyricum. He affirmed that he himself would willingly have acceded to Rome's demands, but ecclesiastical affairs involving imperial territory were matters of state outside his competence. Finally, the Pope was asked not to give credence to those who came from Constantinople without patriarchal letters of introduction, since under pretence of being on pilgrimage to Rome such people were in fact only interested in stirring up trouble. This last was an attempt to counter the intrigues of the Ignatians, notably abbot Theognostus who was only too likely to engage in anti-Photian propaganda in Rome.

However clearly he might profess his own willingness to meet Nicholas's demands, Photius knew very well that there was no possibility of imperial concessions in the question of papal authority in the Balkans. The Byzantine ambassador Leo who brought the imperial letter to Rome must have made this clear and it is probably the reason why Nicholas I changed his ground between the autumn of 861 and the spring of 862. Thus in letters of 18 March 862 to Photius ²⁵ and Michael III ²⁶ he repudiated his legates' action in deposing Ignatius at the council of 861 and he declared that the case was still open. Meanwhile in view of this he could not recognize Photius, though he did not rule out the possibility of this later on, should he find that Ignatius had been rightly condemned. At the same time he went even further in a letter to the three eastern patriarchs, Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem, ²⁷ calling Photius a most wicked intruder. He made it clear that by reason of his position in Christendom the final decision was his alone. As Photius had foreseen, the situation may well have been aggravated by the arrival in Rome of the pro-Ignatian abbot Theognostus to present a Libellus to the Pope on Ignatius's behalf, though at the council of 861 Ignatius himself had expressly refused to appeal to the papacy.

In the event, a council was held in Rome, either in April or possibly during the summer, 863. Ignatius was declared to be still the legitimate Patriarch and Photius was deprived of his title and degraded to lay status; Gregory Asbestas was likewise degraded. The papal legates were declared to have exceeded their mandate at the council of 861. The legate Zacharias of Anagni, who was at hand, was deposed and excommunicated. Radoald was out of reach in Frankish territory. Then there was a brief reference to the traditional use of icons, but no mention of the council of Nicaea II. It was made clear that the holy apostolic see reserved to itself the right of final judgement. ²⁸ Nicholas evidently expected that if he backed Ignatius he would in return get control over Bulgaria, as the papacy later admitted. ²⁹

But the Byzantines made no concessions to Rome. They went ahead with an attack on Bulgaria thus inducing the khan Boris to capitulate and receive baptism at the hands of the Greeks in 864. When Michael III did write to Nicholas I in the late summer of 865 he firmly denied Nicholas's right to intervene in the internal affairs of the Byzantine Church and he asked for the return of the proIgnatian monks who had given Rome such false information. He pointed out that the retrial of Ignatius by the papal legates in Constantinople had been (as was asserted at the time) merely out of courtesy to the Pope. This letter is not extant but it can be reconstructed from the Pope's answer. It evidently caused offence by its aggressive tone; Michael even attacked the Latin language as 'barbaram et scythicam'. ³⁰ Nicholas's reply (28 September 865) ³¹ defended the papal primacy, as Gelasius I and Leo I had done before him, stressing that Rome, unlike Constantinople, had an unassailable apostolic tradition. He even said that only the Pope could summon a council, which was against accepted Byzantine usage. Nevertheless, as a conciliatory gesture, Nicholas expressed his willingness to reconsider the rival claims of Ignatius and Photius and they were invited to come to Rome themselves, or to send proxies for this purpose.

While this letter was on its way to Constantinople the newly converted Bulgarian Boris (now baptized ' Michael', with Michael III as his godfather) was pressing Constantinople to grant him a patriarch for his Church. When he failed to get his way, he turned to Rome (August 866) and Nicholas seized the opportunity. He did not provide the desired Patriarch, but he dealt adroitly with Bulgarian religious problems in such a way as to belittle Byzantine ecclesiastical usage and status. ³² Consequently Boris then turned to the Latin Church.

Enraged by Nicholas's policy Photius and Michael III were in no mood to consider any of the Pope's proposals. Photius set about defending his Church's discipline and usage from the criticisms made by the Pope and by the western missionaries in Bulgaria. On one particular point he opened the way to future trouble in Byzantino-papal relations. Western Frankish missionaries in Bulgaria had introduced the creed with the addition of the filioque. This was a western innovation and was not sanctioned by any general council, nor was it at that time papal usage. It was attacked by Photius who went as far as to mention that it was heretical since to make the Holy Spirit proceed from both the Father and the Son was to admit of two principles. This was all set out at length in an encyclical to the eastern patriarchs. ³³ They were invited to send representatives to Constantinople to deal with the troubled situation. The detailed criticisms of Latin theology contained in this letter were to feature constantly in future polemic between Rome and Constantinople.

Photius then held a synod about which there is little detailed information. It is however clear that Nicholas I was deposed and anathematized. ³⁴ Both before and after the council Photius had approached the Frankish ruler Louis II and his wife asking for support against Nicholas ³⁵ and evidently their reward was to be Byzantine recognition of the western imperial title. In making this move, and indeed throughout, Photius must have had the support of Michael III and the issues were never purely ecclesiastical but had strong political undertones. The target was Pope Nicholas, not the Latin Church as a whole which Nicholas seemed to imply when he appealed to Hincmar of Rheims to mobilize western help against Byzantium. ³⁶ Nicholas himself died on 13 November 867 before the news of his deposition by the Byzantine synod reached Rome. In any case the deposition was an unwise move and one of Photius's few errors of judgement. It roused the enmity of Rome and made reconciliation more difficult. Of more immediate importance for Photius was the fact that it played into the hands of Basil the Macedonian, the favourite of Michael III and by now co-Emperor. He assassinated Michael on 23-4 September 867. Bardas, another of Photius's supporters had already been killed on 21 April 866. The new Emperor needed recognition and was ready to sacrifice Photius to the Ignatians and the papacy.

In Basil I's day (as indeed at other times) there was certainly a dividing line between the monastic point of view and the liberal and humanist outlook of a man such as Photius, but it is probably misleading to speak of an 'extremist' and a 'moderate' party. ³⁷ Much was determined by opportunist political aims and personal expediency, though not necessarily to the exclusion of the needs of the Byzantine Church. Basil, who had attained the throne through certainly one, and probably two murders, needed to strengthen his position. He was well aware that he had participated in the council of 867 which had taken the extreme step of deposing Pope Nicholas I. He therefore hastened to rectify this by denouncing Photius and recalling Ignatius who was reinstalled on 23 November 867. Imperial letters were promptly dispatched to Rome. The first letter appears to have been lost, but is referred to in the second letter of 11 December 867. ³⁸ In these letters Basil deplored the state of the Byzantine Church and explained that this was due to the iniquities of Photius. He asked the Pope to set matters right. He hoped for the recognition of Ignatius's legitimate claim to the patriarchate and for the repudiation of the 867 and certain earlier synods. In the case of Photius's ordinations, he made a special plea for leniency in dealing with clerics who had offended but later repented. Basil had no option but to replace Photius if he wanted papal support. But obviously he had no wish to perpetuate a discontented clerical party in opposition or to ignore the need for an adequate supply of clergy. At the same time Ignatius sent a letter to the Pope asking for a ruling on the pressing question of the Photian clergy. ³⁹ Both Ignatius and Photius also sent representatives to put their respective cases (as Nicholas I had already suggested), though in the case of Photius this could only be a formality. Basil asked in his letter that legates should be sent to Constantinople to report on the papal investigation, for he planned to hold a council there. In December 867 an invitation to attend was sent to Jerusalem. ⁴⁰ The locum tenens of Antioch was included in this letter, and presumably Alexandria was also informed since its representatives turned up in time for the ninth session.

Pope Nicholas I had been succeeded by the benevolent elderly Hadrian II (867-72). It was therefore under Hadrian that the enquiry took place at St Peter's in Rome on 10 June 869 when a synod was held which condemned the Photian council of 867. It deposed clergy ordained by Photius and would only recognize Ignatian bishops who had subsequently supported Photius if they signed a statement (Libellus satisfactionis) anathematizing all heresies, as well as Photius and his activities, and specifically recognizing the authority of the apostolic see ⁴¹

In the autumn of 869 the papal decisions and the Libellus were taken to Constantinople by the Roman legates, Donatus, bishop of Ostia, Stephen, bishop of Nepi, and the deacon Marinus. The council met in the spacious galleries of Hagia Sophia and was presided over by the imperial representative, the patrician Baanes, as custom demanded, not by the Roman legates as the Pope had intended. Significantly only five metropolitans and seven bishops came to the first session, and even by the tenth and last session there were only about 103 present. As the legates pressed home Hadrian's unpalatable demands, Basil's conciliatory attitude rapidly changed to hostility. He was supported by the clergy who found the contents of the Libellus very hard to swallow; some refused outright to sign and many boycotted the council.

The strong Photian party felt itself hardly done by; even if its members submitted and did penance they were then only to be admitted to communion as laity. Further their condemnation was presented by the papal legates as a fait accompli. Even Basil objected to this and insisted that Photius be heard. In fact Photius was given the opportunity of appearing before the council. He was pressed to do so and came reluctantly on 20 and 29 October ⁴² but he refused to plead saying that his kingdom was not of this world. He and his followers were formally excommunicated in the seventh session and the offending Photian acta were burnt in a copper bowl at the eighth session.

Between the eighth and last sessions there was a long and unexplained gap (5 November 869-12 February 870). Apart from the imposition of penalties in the Ignatian-Photian controversy, a number of other canons were drawn up and approved at the tenth and last session at which the Emperor presided. ⁴³ These mainly dealt with abuses of a disciplinary or administrative nature. There was also a clear statement on the inviolable position in the Church of the five patriarchates, the pentarchy of Rome, Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem, in that order, with primacy of honour to the Elder Rome (can. 21), and a warning about lay interference in higher ecclesiastical elections, though with a loophole making possible normal Byzantine procedure in this respect (can. 22).

Throughout this council the growing antagonism between Rome and Constantinople was very near the surface. The Libellus was particularly resented. An attempt was even made surreptitiously to get back the bishops' signed statements from the Roman legates' rooms in the capital. Possibly the noticeably high-handed behaviour of the legates was due to their fear of deviating in any way from papal instructions, mindful of the fate of the more pliable legates Radoald and Zacharias on an earlier occasion.

The situation could hardly have been eased by the arrival of a Bulgarian embassy during the last session of the council. The Bulgarian ruler Boris wished to bring up once more the question of his ecclesiastical allegiance — was it to Rome or to Constantinople? The immediate problem had arisen because Rome had refused to grant him the archbishop of his choice, namely, the Latin Formosus. This clearly created an opportunity for Constantinople. A separate meeting was held under the Emperor's chairmanship. The matter was to be decided by the oriental patriarchs, to the fury of the papal legates. As might have been foreseen, the verdict was in favour of the patriarchate of Constantinople. ⁴⁴ A momentous but not unreasonable decision. ⁴⁵ The Roman legates however then produced a papal letter to Ignatius forbidding him any share in Bulgarian ecclesiastical affairs. The papal claims were later emphasized by Pope John VIII in a letter to Boris, ⁴⁶ avowing that Bulgaria was within Roman ecclesiastical jurisdiction, threatening to excommunicate Ignatius if he persisted in intruding and implying that his recognition had been conditional on non-interference in Bulgaria.

During the years of Ignatius's second patriarchate relations between Rome and Constantinople were scarcely more harmonious than under Photius. Ignatius was in difficulties because of lack of clergy, since so many pro-Photians had been put out of action. Both Ignatius and Basil wrote to Hadrian asking for some relaxation of the penalties imposed on Photian clergy, but without success. ⁴⁷ Rivalry over the Bulgarian Church was proving a constant irritant and it was hardly edifying for the new converts to see Greek and Latin missionaries literally chasing each other out of the country. ⁴⁸ By reason of scarcity of approved men, Ignatius seemed to have been driven to send clergy ordained by Photius to Bulgaria, which was an added papal grievance against him. Both Hadrian II and John VIII (872-82) threatened Ignatius on this score and also complained to the Emperor and to Boris but without result. ⁴⁹ A further problem was posed within the Byzantine Empire by the strength of the pro-Photian party. It was clear that some modus vivendi must be devised in order to avoid a continuing split within the Greek Church. Following the council of 869-70 the offending clergy had had a hard time. Photius was exiled to a monastery near the Bosphorus where he lamented his difficulties and particularly the lack of access to his books. But gradually a blind eye was turned on the conciliar condemnation. Photius was recalled and became tutor to Basil's sons. His condemnation by Hadrian II and the 869-70 council was ignored, and in any case Ignatius himself was hardly on very good terms with Rome. Photius's reconciliation with Ignatius followed some time after 872, possibly in 876. There are various accounts of this, describing Photius's frequent visits to Ignatius who was now old and ill. In the funeral oration on his father Basil I, Leo VI emphasized the disastrous impact which the schism had made on the Church, and he even spoke of the whole Church being in exile with its archbishop before the recall of Photius and the end of dissension and the holy kiss of peace. ⁵⁰

It appeared to have been understood that when Ignatius died Photius would be reinstated as Patriarch. This inevitably involved a new council to revoke the former conciliar condemnations, and with this in mind Basil I wrote to Rome in 877 before the death of Ignatius. ⁵¹ As the papacy needed imperial help against the Saracens attacking Italy, the moment was propitious. The papal legates, Eugenius, bishop of Ostia, and Paul, bishop of Ancona, were dispatched to Constantinople. They travelled by way of Bulgaria and as they went exhorted the Bulgarians to expel 'the perfidious Greeks'. Ignatius was also threatened with excommunication and deposition. As it happened, Ignatius had died on 23 October 877 and on 26 October Photius reascended the patriarchal throne. Faced with this situation when they arrived in Constantinople, the legates were at a loss and felt that they could not act. Fresh letters were then sent to John VIII by Basil and Photius and the clergy of Constantinople. The Pope was asked to recognize Photius and to take part in a new council to annul anti-Photian measures. ⁵² If only for political reasons, the Pope did not wish to antagonize the Byzantine Emperor and he wisely recognized the strength of the support for Photius among the clergy. He discussed the problem with a small committee and then dispatched the cardinal-priest Peter to Constantinople with his terms. He also circularized all relevant parties -the Emperor and the Patriarch Photius, the oriental patriarchs and the clergy in Constantinople, particularly the small but hard-core group of pro-Ignatians. ⁵³ By reason of his position as head of the universal Church the Pope claimed the authority to release Photius and his clergy from penalties previously imposed. He would recognize Photius as Patriarch, but only on condition that he apologized for his earlier offences in the forthcoming council and refrained from any activity in Bulgaria. Photius's opponents were enjoined to recognize him and if they did so they were not to be further penalized. Thus unity was to be restored within the Byzantine Church and between Rome and Constantinople. It was emphasized that the Pope had the right to bind and to loose.

The Byzantines did not see it quite in this light and the Commonitoriumwhich the legates brought was somewhat altered in the Greek version which was read in the fourth session of the council and signed by those present. In the face of John VIII's firm assertion that Photius should not have reascended the patriarchal throne without papal permission, Photius consistently maintained that he had never been rightfully deposed. Further it was made clear to the legates that each of the patriarchates was accustomed to chose its patriarch without interference from another patriarchate (a hit at the papacy). Photius therefore naturally refused to offer any public apology and it was understandable that the papal demand for this did not appear in the Greek version of the Commonitorium. The Latin text is not extant, but Dvornik has shown that most of the Greek contents correspond to passages on the subject to be found in papal letters and that, apart from the apology and a watering down of the Bulgarian request, there appeared to be no drastic changes. It would therefore be unfair to charge Photius and his advisers with wholesale fabrication, as has been done in the past. ⁵⁴ The legates must have been aware that an exact translation had not been produced, but they had already been censured by John VIII for their lack of initiative on their arrival in Constantinople and they probably realized that inflexible opposition would only result in a further rift which was the last thing that the Pope desired.

The council opened in Hagia Sophia with 383 bishops present, a testimony to the strength of Photius's support. It met under the presidency of Photius, probably because Basil I was in mourning for the death of his son Constantine and therefore was not appearing in public. The choice of Photius, a former imperial official, as president was not unprecedented; Tarasius, also an ex-civil servant, had done the same at Nicaea II, on that occasion because the ruler was a woman. Acts against Photius, including the Roman council of 867 under Hadrian II and almost certainly the Ignatian council of 868-9 (Constantinople IV), were annulled. Nicaea II was declared a general council and reference was made to the use of icons and the elevation of laymen to the episcopate. One session, with a limited membership, was held in the imperial palace under the Emperor's presidency. As customary, a symbol of faith (Horos) was agreed on: and it was emphasized that there was to be no change in the tradition of the fathers or in the creed. On the filloque Rome and Constantinople still seemed to be at one: this had not yet been added to the creed in use in Rome, though it was found elsewhere in the West, notably in Spain and in the Carolingian Empire. The Horos, signed by the Emperor together with the acta was then presented at the last and full session of the council and accepted.

The question of Bulgaria had been raised when the pontifical letters were read in the second session. Here Photius pointed out that he had made no ecclesiastical appointments there since he had come to the patriarchal throne and he referred to his previous letter to Nicholas I where he had expressed his willingness to restore the sees claimed by Rome had this been within his power. It was however then, as previously, a matter for 'imperial decision and other canonical considerations', which really meant that any ecclesiastical readiness to compromise had to be endorsed by the Emperor, and it was suggested in the council that there might even be agreement in the Church over future diocesan redistribution. At this point the matter was however ruled out of order and promptly dropped. In fact Greek missionaries already in Bulgaria stayed there despite Basil's alleged willingness 'to allow St Peter to take possession again of the Bulgarian diocese' (according to John VIII's letter to Basil). ⁵⁵ In any case the Bulgarian ruler, anxious to establish an autonomous Church, made his own decision, which in the end favoured Constantinople and not Rome. ⁵⁶

John VIII did not react altogether favourably to the proceedings of the 879-80 council. In his reply to the Emperor he certainly expressed gratitude for the concession over the Bulgarian diocese and he hoped for continuing help in the defence of the Holy Roman Church. He did however add that though supporting Photius's reinstatement he could only approve his legates' actions as long as they were not against 'apostolic instructions'. ⁵⁷ To Photius he expressed astonishment that so much that he had expressly laid down had been altered and changed. ⁵⁸ But John VIII was sufficient of a diplomat and a realist to understand that Photius was firmly established with the Byzantine Church behind him. He may also have become aware of the misleading nature of the information fed to the papacy by dissidents such as Theognostus. In any case he did genuinely desire to promote church unity.

It was for long maintained that John VIII changed his mind and condemned Photius and that this second schism was continued by his successors, Marinus I (882-4), always hostile to Photius, Stephen VI (885-91), and Formosus (891-6), another enemy. But Dvornik has shown that the evidence found in the Anti-Photian Collection appended to the acts of the 869-70 council is unreliable and that in fact no second schism took place. ⁵⁹ This view did however become part of the gradual Latin build-up of the legend whereby Photius was regarded in the West as a schismatic villain and arch-heretic, though as early as the seventeenth century the protestants had their doubts about this. But the historical vindication of Photius really only took place during the last hundred years and it was the work of a number of scholars investigating independently. Of these, Dvornik in particular has greatly strengthened the case for Photius. ⁶⁰

Though it is now generally accepted that Photius's second term of office was not marked by schism with Rome, there still remained difficulties for him within the Byzantine Church. Led by Stylianus of Neocaesarea and Metrophanes of Smyrna, a small group of Ignatians obstinately refused to recognize him. It is not clear how far they were implicated in Photius's resignation (29 September 886). ⁶¹ It is more likely that political factors were involved, since the retirement, allegedly on the ground of old age and illness, coincided with the accession of Leo VI (30 August 886). The new Emperor had had an unhappy boyhood and he had reason to regard with suspicion Theodore Santabarenus, one of Photius's friends. He also wished to provide for his younger brother Stephen who was chosen by the standing synod of Constantinople to become the new Patriarch (18 December 886). Photius was exiled to a monastery. He died in communion with Rome.

As well as the controversies with the Ignatians and Rome there were certain other aspects of the work of Photius and his near contemporaries. Photius himself, like his friend Nicholas Mysticus, was active in the mission field, not only in Great Moravia where Byzantine and Frankish interests clashed, or in the Balkans where both Constantinople and Rome sought to win over Bulgaria, but also in the Black Sea and Caucasian regions where the Rus and the Khazars were involved. ⁶² The patriarchal duty in this respect was made clear in the Epanagoge, a document with which Photius was concerned, designed as an introduction to legal works, though never officially issued as such. ⁶³ Here the Patriarch was exhorted to win over all unbelievers. Apostolic activity of this kind was also in accordance with the Byzantine conception of its world role, a view which seemed all the more justified during the period of its triumphant expansion from the mid-ninth to the mid-eleventh centuries. Other specifically patriarchal duties laid down in the Epanagoge were the promotion of orthodoxy and the elimination of heresy. Photius himself never had to face the full flood of a major official confrontation with heresies such as monophysitism or iconoclasm, though his family suffered from the latter. But where there were differences of belief and custom, as with the Franks, he supported Orthodox doctrine and usage. In his encyclical to the three eastern patriarchs he strongly condemned certain Latin usages and particularly the Frankish insertion of the filioque into the creed. ⁶⁴ He set out Orthodox teaching on the filioque at length in his Mystagogia. This was not at the time a specific attack on Rome since the addition to the creed was not yet being used there. But the work was to provide material for future polemicists from the late twelfth century onwards when the filioque had become a burning issue between Rome and Constantinople. ⁶⁵ The question of different usages which arose in Photius's day in connection with rival activities in the mission field did not really spring into prominence again until the patriarchate of the pugnacious Cerularius. A more deep-rooted and persistent problem of heresy was that of dualism. Here Photius took a stand against the 'Manichaeans' who in various guises were insidiously infiltrating into the Church throughout its medieval life. ⁶⁶

Yet however excellently Photius fulfilled the many demands of his patriarchal office, there was quite another equally, if not more, important side to him. He was a scholar of far-ranging interests and considerable intellectual power, and he was a key figure in the history of classical studies in Byzantium. ⁶⁷ His philological bent was reflected in his Lexicon, a work which was used by later compilers and writers, as in the Suda, or by Eustathius of Thessalonica. He explored secular and religious topics alike, as can be seen from two of his major works, the Bibliotheca (Myriobiblon) and the Amphilochia.

The Bibliotheca is a remarkable literary history, the only one of its kind to be found in Byzantium. ⁶⁸ It was written at the request of his brother Tarasius who wanted to have notes on the books read by Photius while he was away. Photius said in his opening address to Tarasius that he was going on an embassy to the 'Assyrians' (Arabs). It has been suggested that this was in 838, but it is not clear where in Baghdad Photius would have found all the books commented on in the Bibliotheca; presumably he had access to them somewhere in Constantinople before 838. ⁶⁹ The 279 entries in the Bibliotheca vary from a few lines to a full-length study. The authors chosen are both pagan and Christian, ranging from Demosthenes and Plutarch to Eusebius and Chrysostom. In some cases, as the fifth-century historian Olympiodorus, Photius gives the only available information on an author now completely lost. His excellent judgement is shown by forthright and penetrating comment. His powers of criticism enabled him to detect spuria sheltering, as often happened, under some famous name, for instance that of Chrysostom. ⁷⁰ The Amphilochia, written later in life, was in the form of answers to questions apparently put by Photius's friend Amphilochius, metropolitan of Cyzicus. Here there were many religious topics and the answers often drew on Photius's powers as philologist and biblical exegete. But, as in his other works, he never discarded secular learning which in his view had its proper place as an aid to Christian understanding.

Photius's literary activities and his preferences witness to the availability of texts and the use which could be made of nonChristian material in a Christian society. With his lively intellectual curiosity, his critical sense and his use of so many classical authors, he may seem something of an innovator. He was certainly a prominent figure in promoting the humanist, and to some extent patristic and biblical, studies which were to characterize the posticonoclastic period — witness his Bibliotheca and Amphilochia and commentaries. ⁷¹ Like his near successor Nicholas Mysticus he did not share the more ascetic and detached attitude of the monastic world of his day towards scholarship in general and Hellenism in particular. He became a churchman against his inclination, though nevertheless retaining his humanist interests and independent outlook. But he was by no means the only scholar in the field.

Photius's career and writings underline two striking facts — the number of available texts, and the pleasure which people took in using them, as he himself stresses. His brother Tarasius is known because the Bibliotheca was written for him. But in assessing the intellectual climate of the day it is equally important to remember the unknown friends and younger men who enjoyed discussion with him and met in his house. In a letter to Nicholas Mysticus he describes how they eagerly awaited his return as he hurried back from his ministerial duties in the palace ⁷² — he did in fact for a time hold high government office as protoasecretis before he became patriarch. Though not a professional teacher at a patriarchal school as Dvornik suggested, he obviously gave freely of his spare time both to beginners and to the more advanced, all of whom remain anonymous.

But there are certain names besides that of Photius which come to mind — Leo the Mathematician, or Nicholas Mysticus. Then there was Photius's near contemporary Arethas, archbishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia, a cantankerous and difficult man, continually changing sides in the ecclesiastical controversies of his day. Arethas was a bibliophile with lively intellectual interests and is famed for the manuscripts which he copied or had copied. These embrace a wide range of works from the classical world and they have an added value in that Arethas liked to fill the wide margins on which he insisted with his own comments. Evidence still remains to be explored but enough has emerged to illuminate the work of the ninth and early tenth centuries of which Photius was a leading exponent. Ignatian and papal quarrels were of vital concern to their own day and have significance for later generations in that they heralded the course which the future would take. But it may be suggested that they have unfairly overshadowed more constructive interests and developments involving both churchmen and laity which resulted in what Paul Lemerle has called 'le premier humanisme byzantin'.

The adoption of Christianity by Constantine the Great and then towards the end of the fourth century the proscription of other religions within the Roman Empire led to that interdependence of church and state which was to characterize medieval Byzantium. This inevitably meant that missionary work would be closely associated with imperial diplomacy rather than individual effort as was more often the case in the Latin West. ⁷³ At first the Empire was necessarily occupied with its own internal religious problems and the conversion of neighbouring countries, such as Georgia, Armenia, or Ethiopia, was not the result of deliberate imperial policy. But by the end of the sixth century Constantinople had demonstrated its awareness of its responsibilities in the mission field, as well as the political advantages which such a policy could bring. ⁷⁴ But such advantages were by no means one-sided. Here Byzantium was heir to the traditions of Greece and Rome. The Empire was regarded as the repository of civilization in contrast to a 'barbarian' world beyond its frontiers. In East Roman eyes the gift of Christianity which they brought offered at the same time an introduction to a more highly developed way of life. Thus their converts integrated into the civilized oecumene and Byzantine statecraft and culture were introduced to young and vigorous societies who were able to combine what they had learnt from East Rome with their own native originality.

From the seventh century onwards the loss of Egypt and Syria to the Muslims and the failure to convert them and to bring them within the Byzantine orbit made it all the more vital to have some measure of understanding first with the Turkic peoples already established to the north-east of the Black Sea and in the northern Caucasus and then with the Bulgars and Slavs settling in the Balkans. Already before the seventh century there were longestablished links with the Crimea. As early as 325 there was a bishop of Bosphorus in the peninsula where the Goths were living. From this base contacts were made with the Hunnic — Turkic migrants in the area between the Danube and the Caucasus. Justinian I had won over the Lazi in the eastern Black Sea region. Likewise by the seventh century Abasgia was an ecclesiastical province. Thus Byzantium had established a foothold in the Caucasus. The Alans in the north-eastern Caucasus appear to have known Christianity early on, but evidence is scanty as to how they fared. By the late ninth century they were known to have renewed contacts under Patriarch Nicholas Mysticus and by the early tenth century a bishop travelled thence, though with some reluctance. Episcopal lists and archaeological finds suggest that missionary work was also active north of the Black Sea among the Turkic Bulgars, some of whom were to migrate to the Balkans when the Khazar expansion took place in the late seventh century. This work appeared to be done by non-resident missionary bishops as befitted those toiling among semi-nomadic peoples. Thus both the Bulgars settling in Bulgaria and the Magyars in Hungary would already have met Christianity and some of them would have been converted. ⁷⁵

This work included the powerful Khazar kingdom which by the eighth century was established to the north-east of the Black Sea. Khazaria was particularly important to Byzantium both for economic reasons (trade routes into Asia) and as a barrier to any advance through the Caucasus to the north. Justinian II, who took refuge in Khazaria during his exile, and Constantine V, son of the Emperor Leo III, both married Khazar princesses. Byzantium may at the time have had hopes of converting Khazaria and the Crimea had already proved itself an obvious base for work in this area. But any permanent development of this kind was halted by successful Jewish activities from the eighth century onwards and by the Khazar adoption of full Judaism in the course of the ninth century. Nevertheless the Byzantines usually had good relations with the Khazars and certainly attempted to put the case for Christianity. In 860 under Michael III a Byzantine diplomatic mission went to the Khan's residence at Samandar, for both powers then had a common problem of defence against 'barbarians', perhaps the Viking Rus, or Ros ('P ςω+̂) as they were known to the Greeks. The Khan had mentioned that he hoped that the embassy would include a Christian theologian among its diplomats. It was in fact headed by Constantine and Methodius, two brothers from Thessalonica, both distinguished in their different ways. ⁷⁶

Constantine (his later monastic name was Cyril) was an outstanding scholar, a philologist and linguist. He was a friend of Photius sharing with him that vigorous interest in intellectual pursuits which was a feature of ninth-century life in the capital. ⁷⁷ Constantine, who was called the 'Philosopher', benefited from the unofficial educational opportunities available at this time. He may also have been the patriarchal librarian. He was ordained deacon (not priest, nor was he later consecrated bishop as is sometimes asserted). ⁷⁸ In the 850s he may have been employed in an embassy to the Caliph Mutawakkil and taken part in debates with Muslim theologians. ⁷⁹ His brother Methodius had been for a time governor of a region near Thessalonica, perhaps Strymon. Then Methodius abandoned this post and entered one of the monasteries on Bithynian Mount Olympus near Brusa. When the question of the embassy to the Khazars arose (860), with the request for a theologian, Constantine was an obvious choice and his brother went with him. The mission travelled to Khazaria by way of the Crimea. While spending several months at Cherson Constantine learnt some Hebrew. This was likely to be useful since the Khazars were monotheists under Jewish influence and Hebrew was the language of the court. As so often in Byzantine diplomacy the mission had a double purpose. It was to strengthen the alliance between the Khazars and Constantinople against 'barbarian' attacks ⁸⁰ and at the same time it stressed the divine source of imperial claims to universal authority. ⁸¹ And then it was ready as always to present the case for Christianity, though on this occasion it was recognized that the Jewish faith was already firmly entrenched. But even at this late date the Khan appeared to take an interest in Christianity and in the Vita Constantini he did in fact say that he would turn to the Christian faith if a Byzantine theologian could refute the arguments of the Jews and the Muslims. ⁸² At the official opening banquet the Khan drank to the One God, Constantine to 'the Trinity whom the Christians glorify'. Then, according to the Vita Constantini, a series of theological debates on the Incarnation and Mosaic law followed, as well as discussions with the Muslim experts who were also courting the Khazars. ⁸³ But the Khazars were not won over, though the alliance was confirmed, and a certain number of Christian prisoners released. It is noticeable that Byzantine propaganda was entrusted to a professional and sophisticated advocate. This was normal practice and was essential when facing equally well-informed adversaries, as the Jews or the Arabs.

In their eastern missions Constantine and Methodius were not successful in converting their Khazar hosts to Christianity. Their major achievement was eventually to lie elsewhere among the Slavs. The movement of peoples in the early middle ages had brought the Slavs filtering across the Danube into the East Roman provinces in the Balkans and even as far as the Peloponnese. Some settled in eastern Europe and with the Scandinavian Vikings were to form the principality of Kiev. Other migrants were of Turkic origin, as the Magyars who were to move into central Europe in the early tenth century, breaking up Great Moravia to form the kingdom of Hungary. Then some of the Onogur Turks or Bulgars from Great Bulgaria on the Volga joined the Slavs south of the Danube to form the powerful kingdom of Bulgaria. In central Europe the Slavs set up the kingdoms of Great Moravia (Bohemia, Moravia, Slovakia, and part of later Hungary) and Pannonia. It was here that the main work of Constantine and Methodius themselves lay. ⁸⁴

In the ninth century Great Moravia had come up against the expanding East Frankish kingdom and had received its Christianity mainly from this source. It is true that the Vita Constantini speaks of the presence in Moravia of Italians and Greeks as well as Germans and according to archaeological evidence Irish monks may also have been active. ⁸⁵ But most of the work had been done by the East Franks (Germans) and technically Great Moravia was under the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the archbishop of Salzburg; certainly the Franks thought this to be the case. There was then no question of converting a pagan people. But the church services were in Latin and therefore unintelligible to the majority. At that time the Slavs had no written language. Even if they had, it was widely held that there were only three permissible liturgical languages — Hebrew, Greek, and Latin. But in 862 Rastislav, the ruler of Great Moravia, sent to Michael III asking him for 'a teacher capable of instructing us in the true Christian faith in our language'. ⁸⁶ He evidently knew that Constantinople had close contacts with the Slav world and had teachers who could speak his tongue. Whether he had in mind anything more than oral instruction is not clear. In fact the Vita Constantini spoke of a demand for a 'bishop' as well as a 'teacher', ⁸⁷ in which case Rastislav may have envisaged a Church under Constantinople rather than a Frankish archbishop. Politics must certainly also have concerned his embassy. At this time an understanding between Moravia and Byzantium would be to their mutual advantage in view of the alliance between the ambitious East Franks and an expanding Bulgaria. Moravia lay dangerously vulnerable between these two powers while Byzantium was only too aware of Bulgaria's growing strength. It would be a triumph as well as a safeguard for Constantinople if Moravia could be brought within the Orthodox orbit.

Rastislav's request was met by sending the best that Constantinople had — Constantine, a distinguished philologist and theologian (who was then probably a deacon), and Methodius, an experienced provincial administrator and then at the time of his departure to Moravia hegumenus of the monastery of Polychron. ⁸⁸ But no bishop. Coming as they did from Thessalonica, a city where Slavonic was spoken almost as often as Greek, situated in the neighbourhood of Slav settlers, the two bilingual brothers were admirably fitted to deal with Moravian needs. Constantine had already realized the futility of trying to lay any lasting foundations in working with the Slavs without a written language. It was his genius which invented a Slav alphabet based on the south Macedonian dialect with which he was familiar. It is generally agreed that this was the Glagolitic script, known as Old Church Slavonic. Later towards the end of the ninth century a second alphabet following Greek letters as far as possible was produced in Bulgaria. This was known as Cyrillic (though it was not the work of Constantine-Cyril). Eventually it was to replace Glagolitic nearly everywhere.

Constantine and Methodius went to Great Moravia in 863. Some translations had been made before they went, others were undertaken as time permitted in Moravia and after, particularly later on in Bulgaria. The liturgical offices — the divine liturgy and the hours, the psalter and those parts of the New Testament (Gospels, Acts, Epistles) which were used in the services, were basic essentials. There were a number of liturgical books used during the cycle of the Church's year and almost all these were to be found in Slavonic in the tenth century. Often they were not literal translations but were adapted for Slav use. The Latin mass which was already widely in use was also translated. The Byzantine liturgy which was translated was probably that of St John Chrysostom. ⁸⁹ Excerpts from the church fathers and various homilies were also made. At Rastislav's request a code of law, the Ecloga, was provided.

The Byzantines not unnaturally met with opposition from the Frankish clergy who regarded them as unauthorized intruders. But with Rastislav behind them they stood their ground and continued to train their followers for church work in the Slav tongue. They were at first supported by the papacy. When it became necessary to ordain some of their followers they could hardly approach any Frankish bishop so they travelled south. In Venice their use of the Slavonic tongue in the liturgy was sharply criticized by the Latin clergy there, the 'trilinguists', but it was defended by Constantine who pointed out the use made of the vernacular in church services in various, mostly eastern, churches. 'It is better', he said, 'to speak five words which can be understood than ten thousand in a foreign tongue.' ⁹⁰ The use of the vernacular by those 'orthodox in every respect' was even admitted later on in certain circumstances by the canonist Balsamon, provided that 'the holy prayers are accurately translated from a clearly written Greek text'. ⁹¹ But it was not normal Byzantine policy.

The two brothers had been invited to Rome by Nicholas I. They reached Rome probably in late December 867 or early 868 and were greeted by Nicholas's successor, Hadrian II. They were particularly welcome as the bearers of the alleged relics of Pope Clement I which they had found earlier on during their stay in Cherson while travelling to Khazaria. The use of Slavonic in the services was formally approved by papal bull and the liturgy celebrated in certain Roman churches in Slavonic. On the Pope's instructions some of the brothers' followers were ordained by Roman bishops. The papacy had its reasons for its policy. In this way it could support the young Slav Church in Moravia as a means of strengthening its authority in the face of Frankish encroachment. It would also have had in mind its constant concern to recover direct papal jurisdiction over Pannonia as well as the lands lost to Constantinople in the eighth century. It was still hoping to win back Bulgaria and here a Slavonic liturgy might be a useful enticement.

Constantine died while in Rome on 14 February 869 after entering a monastery and taking the name of Cyril. He expressly charged his brother not to return to his former monastic life in Byzantium but to go on with their work in Great Moravia. The papacy supported this and continued to promote these plans. Methodius was sent back to the rulers of Moravia and Pannonia to put forward the suggestion of a church hierarchy independent of the Franks. This was followed by the consecration of Methodius as bishop and his appointment — perhaps rather unwisely as it turned out — as archbishop of Pannonia with his see at Sirmium and as papal legate to the Slavs with jurisdiction over Moravia and Pannonia. This roused the Franks. Further, Rastislav was supplanted by the then pro-Frankish Svatopluk. With the support of the ruler withdrawn Methodius was easily attacked and tried by a Frankish synod. He was charged with encroachment on Frankish episcopal rights and also with not using the filioque in the creed as the Franks did. He was imprisoned, but in 873 was released at papal insistence. His title was then altered to archbishop of Moravia. He continued his work, training clergy and translating into Slavonic, but he was greatly harassed by the Frankish clergy and by the Moravian ruler Svatopluk. After his death in 885 his followers were driven out. Some managed to get into Bulgaria. Others, sold into slavery, were redeemed in Venice and went to Constantinople where they joined a group working for the Slav mission to the Balkans. At the opening of the tenth century Great Moravia itself was broken up by the Magyars, while the Germans steadily encroached eastwards throughout the middle ages.

But the Slavonic liturgy lingered on, certainly until the twelfth century in Bohemia, possibly in southern Poland, and it was long used in Dalmatia. In Hungary where there were close contacts with Constantinople Byzantine ecclesiastical influence was strong until the end of the twelfth century. Originally the migrant Magyars had met with Greek Christianity when moving north of the Black Sea. Once they settled within the Carpathian horseshoe they were open to influences from both east and west. The territories which they occupied at the end of the ninth century had long been subjected to Christian influences both from Rome and from Byzantium. During the tenth century they were brought into contact with Constantinople in various ways. Their raids left prisoners and hostages in the Empire who thus got to know Orthodox Christianity. Their ambassadors visited the capital and there are records of baptisms, all the more impressive since the converts would be given an imperial godparent. Byzantium never lost an opportunity for making its neighbours feel that they were being initiated into a splendid and powerful imperial world, taking their place in the illustrious 'family of kings' with the Emperor at its head. In the mid-tenth century the monk Hierotheus was consecrated bishop of Turkia (Hungary) by the Patriarch Theophylact. But Frankish missionaries were also at work and it was from this source that the ruler Géza and his son Stephen were baptized. In 1000 Stephen, who became the first king of Hungary, accepted his crown from Pope Sylvester II. But as Moravcsik has emphasized there was at this time no schism between the two Churches and, despite the formal strengthening of the Hungarian link with Rome, Byzantine influence remained throughout the eleventh and twelfth centuries. There were obvious geographical reasons for diplomatic ties between Constantinople and Hungary. In the twelfth century the Emperor Manuel I (himself half Hungarian) even thought for a time before his own son was born that a Hungarian prince might marry his daughter and succeed to the imperial throne. In addition to close political relations, architecture, archaeological remains, literary and documentary evidence all attest to the powerful influence of Byzantium in ecclesiastical and cultural spheres. It was from Hungary that the first Latin translation from the Greek of St John of Damascus was made. ⁹² But with the Fourth Crusade and the virtual break-up of the old medieval Byzantine Empire as well as the growing rift between the Orthodox and Latin Churches Hungary looked increasingly West and was encouraged to do so by Rome.

Thus plans for an Orthodox Church in central Europe ultimately failed. But the outstanding contribution of Constantine and Methodius to Europe remained. ⁹³ This was the creation of a literary language which opened to the southern and eastern Slavs the cultural and religious world of Byzantium and at the same time offered them an indispensable tool for their own creative output. The immediate effect of this was seen in Bulgaria where the ruler Boris welcomed some of Methodius's most experienced colleagues who had been expelled from Moravia, including Clement and Naum. After weighing up where the greatest political advantage lay Bulgaria had finally opted for Orthodox Christianity which meant throwing in its lot with the Byzantine world. So far this had meant for Bulgaria Greek clergy and the Greek liturgical language. But with the creation of written Slavonic and the arrival of men trained in the work of translation the situation changed, though not without protest from the Byzantine clergy already in Preslav and from some of the Turkic boyars there. Boris I's successor Symeon (893-927) had spent some years in Constantinople and had a strong appreciation of Byzantine culture. But despite his admiration for Greek letters he realized that Slavonic was the tongue of his people and he may have visualized a Slavonic hierarchy and liturgy as a means of unifying his kingdom with its two distinct ethnic elements Slav and Bulgar. In a sense this was running contrary to strongly held Byzantine views which a 'half-Greek' (as Symeon was known) with imperial pretensions might have been expected to uphold. In Byzantine eyes Greek was the language par excellence in the civilized world. When expedient a vernacular might be tolerated, but it was noticeable that the numerous Slavs settled in the Peloponnese were integrated into the Greek population and not encouraged to retain their native tongue. ⁹⁴

It was not so in the once-Roman Balkan provinces. With the support of the ruler, Clement and his fellow-workers settled in Bulgaria. Centres for training clergy and especially for continuing the works of translation were established at Ochrida in southern Macedonia and at Preslav in the north-east. Although missions from both Rome and Constantinople had been active in the country for some time, there still remained much need for pastoral work among the pagan population of the countryside. Here Clement took the lead in organizing both missionary and educational work. After he had become the first Slav bishop, Naum who had been at Preslav was sent to assist him in this work. Clement had done much to help his struggling Slav clergy by adapting and translating for them suitable material from Greek homilies and by continuing the translation of the liturgical book the Triodion. He himself composed hymns and prayers. Thus he laid the foundations for a religious and cultural centre which throughout the middle ages was to influence not only Bulgaria but neighbouring Slav countries as well as Mount Athos. Clement used the Glagolitic script of his master Constantine, but at the same time a simpler alphabet was developed in Preslav in eastern Bulgaria, the Cyrillic, based mainly on Greek letters, and it was this which for the most part eventually superseded the Glagolitic, both in the Church and at court and as the general literary language. The school of Preslav was responsible for a vast literary output geared mainly to the needs of religious life and drawing on Byzantine sources. ⁹⁵

The influence of this vernacular culture in Slavonic spread from Bulgaria to neighbouring regions, Serbia, Bosnia, Croatia —sometimes in Glagolitic as in Croatia. ⁹⁶ But its most significant beneficiary was Russia. ⁹⁷ It was through Bulgarian channels that the gift of a literary medium was passed to Kievan Russia. But Kiev also owed much to the direct interest of Byzantium whose missionary work here was closely linked to the need for political understanding with this powerful principality. The first Russian attack on Constantinople in 860 had alerted Constantinople to the danger. Following closely on this was the mention by Photius of a bishop sent to the Russians about 867. ⁹⁸ He was followed by an archbishop. ⁹⁹ There is no evidence as to whether they were to permit the use of Slavonic, or indeed as to what happened to them. It is known from a treaty of 944 that there were Christians in Russia. According to the Russian Primary Chronicle the princess Olga was baptized in 954 or 955 in Kiev, that is before her state visit to Constantinople in 957. ¹⁰⁰ The fact that she did not understand Greek may point to the use of Slavonic in the services in Kiev. This usage could have come from Moravia in the late ninth century, or more probably from Bulgaria which was enjoying the full benefit of the Moravian heritage. ¹⁰¹ But the real starting point is in 989 with the baptism of Vladimir, the only way in which he could get delivery of the imperial bride promised by Basil II as a reward for military help in a political crisis. This meant the official Kievan acceptance of Christianity and the establishment of an Orthodox Church under the jurisdiction of the Patriarch of Constantinople. Thus Russia was linked to the cultural and religious world of Byzantium and was eventually to regard itself as the heir of Constantinople.

During Photius's lifetime and throughout the tenth century Byzantine prestige steadily grew and the Empire became once more a dominating factor in Balkan and East Mediterranean politics, successfully meeting the challenge of the Slav world, and to some extent of the Muslims. The patriarchate, though on occasion its activities reflected Byzantine addiction to controversy, continued to promote the interests of Orthodoxy.

In the early years of Leo VI's reign the Church was occupied in allaying the opposition which still lingered after Photius's forced resignation and relegation to a monastery (he eventually came back to favour though not to office). The Ignatian party held that his ordinations were invalid and that he had not been recognized by Pope John VIII. But his second fall was really instigated by Leo's minister Stylianus Zaoutzes for political reasons. He was suspected of working against Leo VI during his father's lifetime. He may also have been considered too powerful a figure with unacceptable views on the authority of the Church (if the ideas of church and state expressed in the Epanagoge are his, perhaps significantly the Epanagoge did not become an official publication).

Photius was followed in the patriarchate by Stephen (18 December 886-17/18 May 893), presumably a more acceptable candidate since he was Leo VI's brother. But Stephen had been ordained to the diaconate by Photius and was therefore not recognized by the Ignatians led by Stylianus of Neocaesarea, though to their discomfiture he was recognized by Rome. After a brief and comparatively uneventful term of office Stephen was succeeded by Zaoutzes' candidate, Antony II Cauleas (August 893-12 February 981). He was a monk from Mount Olympus, a pro-Studite, who had been ordained by either Ignatius or Methodius and was therefore not suspect to the Ignatians. By now the opposition which

had had no support from Rome had virtually petered out ¹ and it was said that by his death in 901 Antony had achieved 'the union of the whole Church'. ² In any case it was to be swept into the background by the major internal controversy which arose over Leo's marriages in the early decades of the tenth century.

The brunt of this problem fell upon Antony Cauleas's successor in the patriarchate, Nicholas I Mysticus (1 March 901-February 907; 15 May 912-15 May 925) He had been private secretary to Leo VI. Like Photius he had an outstanding personality. He was one of the few Byzantine patriarchs to leave a full corpus of letters in which he is revealed not only in his better-known political activities but also as a much occupied churchman and pastor, yet with true and generous concern for supplicants and for his many personal friends. ³

Nicholas was inevitably closely involved in Leo's marriage problems and to a lesser extent so was the abbot Euthymius who for a time supplanted him in the patriarchate (February 907-15 May 912). The dispute, known as the affair of the tetragamy, arose when circumstances impelled the Emperor to override the canonical prohibitions against third and fourth marriages. The rulings of the state and of the Orthodox Church concerning marriage were well established and had indeed been reinforced by Leo VI himself. Second marriages were frowned on, third and fourth prohibited, and indeed fourth marriages were counted invalid and any offspring illegitimate. ⁴ Like the English Henry VIII, Leo VI (886-912) understandably wished for a legitimate male heir to succeed him. The controversy certainly illustrated the way in which Byzantines unhesitatingly used Rome if it suited them to do so. Leo VI was unlucky in his wives — hence his 'great matter'. His first wife, the devout Theophano died in 893 without giving him a male heir. In 898 he took a second wife, Zoe, the daughter of his minister Stylianus Zaoutzes, and she died in 899, also leaving no son. His third wife, the ravishing beauty Eudocia Baïane, died in childbirth (12 April 901). This third marriage had been tolerated, but only just. Leo then took a mistress, Zoe Carbonopsina, and it was in the palace itself that in 905 her son Constantine was born in the purple. To Leo it was vital that the infant should be legitimated and his position further strengthened by the marriage of his mother and father.

Rome might show a measure of economy over fourth marriages, but the Byzantine Church was horrified at such a suggestion which contravened all the canons. And after all, as one of the most violent leaders of the opposition, Arethas, said, God only thought it necessary to create one wife for Adam. ⁵ Still, it was recognized that Leo's desire for a son was only human, ⁶ but even so there was opposition to any ceremonial baptism of the child. The nearcontemporary life of Euthymius, the monk from Mount Olympus who became the friend of Leo VI and a familiar figure in Constantinopolitan circles, abounds in detail showing the Emperor's anxious efforts to solve the dilemma and further secure his dynasty. Apart from attempts to influence the Patriarch and bishops at imperial dinner parties, according to the Vita Euthymii and other sources Leo had some evidence that Nicholas had been engaged in treasonable activities connected with the rebellion of Andronicus Ducas and could therefore bring further pressure to bear on the Patriarch.

In the event Nicholas agreed to the imperial baptism of the baby, possibly to conciliate the Emperor. There was strong opposition from the metropolitans. The ceremony was performed by the Patriarch himself in the Great Church at Epiphany (6 January 906) with Euthymius's support. He acted as godfather, though he was too old and weak to carry the child. ⁷ Nicholas, in a letter to Pope Anastasius III setting out his position in the tetragamy, said that he only performed the baptism on condition that Leo immediately separated from his mistress Zoe Carbonopsina. But on the third day after the baptism 'the mother was introduced into the palace with an escort of imperial guards, just like an emperor's wife'. ⁸ Subsequently, probably around Easter 906, Leo and Zoe were married by the priest Thomas. She was crowned Augusta by the Emperor himself.

The Byzantine hierarchy stood united in condemnation. Leo was forbidden the usual ceremonial imperial entry to the Great Church through the royal gates and was only permitted to enter as far as the sacristy (metatorion) and then only by a side door. His wife was not proclaimed Empress in church, her name was not in the diptychs. In view of Byzantine ceremonial activities (apart from other considerations) this was an impossible situation. Leo appealed to Rome and the three eastern patriarchs ⁹ for a dispensation which he obtained. The papal legates came to Constantinople in early 907. But the Byzantine bishops, though willing to bless the child when he was brought in to them after the banquet in the palace on St Trypho's day, remained obdurate. Likewise the Patriarch after much vacillation. According to the Vita Euthymii Leo castigated Nicholas, once his fellow student, as an inveterate schemer. The metropolitans were then immediately exiled. Likewise Nicholas who was rushed off to his monastery in Galacrenae without even a shirt or a book, so he says. His letter to the Pope stating his view of the situation was aflame with indignation both at his own treatment and at the papal dispensation concerning the fourth marriage. ¹⁰

It was the abbot Euthymius who followed Nicholas as patriarch in February 907. He was the friend and confessor of Leo who had built him the monastery of Psamathia and had the habit of dropping in unexpectedly to visit the community. But Euthymius's close relations with the Emperor did not incline him to condone the fourth marriage. He deposed the priest who had performed the ceremony ¹¹ and the synod probably in 907 came out against the dispensation. ¹² Euthymius resolutely refused ever to proclaim the 'head-strong and high-handed' Empress Zoe in church or to put her name in the holy diptychs. ¹³ This attitude did nothing however to appease the deposed Patriarch Nicholas. The bitterness felt by Nicholas and his followers is reflected in the atrocious maltreatment given to Euthymius when on the death of Leo VI in 912 Nicholas returned to office under Leo's brother the Emperor Alexander. In the struggle to turn him out Euthymius lost two teeth and was pummelled into unconsciousness. ¹⁴ This vindictiveness even extended to his small foal which was to be drowned; in the end it was turned loose to die and was rescued by a wandering peasant who fled by night with the animal. Euthymius's nominees were ejected, his name was removed from the diptychs, and the Nicholaites restored. Once again the Byzantine Church was divided.

According to the Vita Euthymii, Nicholas and Euthymius were eventually reconciled before the latter died on 20 August 917. Some would have liked to have seen Euthymius back as patriarch but he resolutely refused to consider leaving his 'long-desired' way of life. ¹⁵ But as so often in Byzantium, underlying antagonisms lingered on. There were problems over Euthymius's burial. There was even strong feeling later in the century when Patriarch Polyeuctus restored his name to the diptychs.

With Nicholas's return to the patriarchate in 912, soon to be followed by the death in 913 of the ineffective Emperor Alexander, the situation changed. As the most powerful of the regents for the young Constantine VII Porphyrogenitus Nicholas's authority was in the ascendant, despite the antagonism of the Dowager Empress Zoe. She cast off the nun's habit forced on her by Nicholas and returned to the palace and her small son, claiming the regency and for a short term ousting Nicholas. But failure to deal with foreign policy, particularly the Bulgarian offensive, or to control those manŒuvring for power, brought her rule to a speedy end. Nicholas again took charge only to give way (to some extent) to the competent and ambitious Grand Admiral of the Fleet, Romanus Lecapenus. With the blessing of Nicholas he was crowned coEmperor as Romanus I (920-44) thus providing the strong secular control needed during the minority in the established dynasty.

Nicholas remained in the patriarchate until he died on 15 May 925. In the circumstances he was too useful (and perhaps too dominant) a figure to be relegated to the background by Romanus I.¹⁶ The difficulties caused by the fourth marriage and particularly by Rome's part in the affair were smoothed over early in Romanus's reign. The acquiescence of the three eastern patriarchs does not seem to have roused strong feeling in Constantinople. Rome was another matter as the vehement protest of Nicholas's letters show. In the event the legality of Leo VI's fourth marriage was tacitly accepted, if under protest. As Nicholas later wrote to Pope John X, 'It was done at that time out of regard for the imperial status, but it was improper and not in accord with the canons of the Church.' ¹⁷ The principles of the Orthodox Church were made clear in the Tome of Union of 9 July 920. Discreetly avoiding particular cases, a synodical ruling laid down the strictest penalties for third marriages (allowing that here there might just conceivably be mitigating circumstances), but for the future it utterly forbade fourth marriages. ¹⁸ Euthymians were to be reinstated in their sees if they wished, though understandably there were many problems in so doing, as Nicholas's later letters show.

Nicholas made a strong appeal to Rome to support the Constantinopolitan synod's ban on fourth marriages. He asked for legates to be sent to end the troubles which had arisen partly by reason of the attitude of the heads of the Roman Church. Thus schism would be eliminated and the normal commemoration of the Pope could be made in the diptychs. ¹⁹ Nicholas was writing after the Tome of Union and in the end Roman legates did arrive in the spring of 923 and some kind of peace between Rome and Constantinople seems to have been restored, though dissidents within the Byzantine Church continued until well towards the end of the tenth century. ²⁰ The position of Rome in the tetragamy dispute contrasts sharply with the attitude of the papacy towards Constantinople in the post-1204 period. In the late middle ages Rome was constantly exerting pressure on the Byzantine Church, assuming that it was the highest authority acting as of right. In the days of Patriarch Nicholas Constantinople certainly accorded primacy of honour to Rome. Both Leo VI and Nicholas had understandably been anxious to consult Rome (though for different reasons). But Constantinople tended to resent unilateral action by Rome. It clearly wished to act within the framework of the pentarchy and therefore thought it desirable to settle the principles involved in the tetragamy on the basis of the consensus of the five ancient patriarchates, which meant in practice by agreement with Rome after discussion as between equals. Leo VI had appealed to all four in order to strengthen his position. But the three eastern patriarchates did not carry the same weight as Rome. Hence Nicholas's pressing appeals to the papacy to support him in his stand against Leo.

The drama and the vital dynastic issues of the tetragamy so dominate the lively (if one-sided) Vita Euthymii that they tend to overshadow other aspects of Nicholas Mysticus's work. A man of dominating personality and great energy, fierce in defence of the Church, yet no less active in affairs of state, he was an admirable exponent of Byzantine tradition which stressed the interdependence of church and state, the two interdependent aspects of the polity. During the minority of Constantine VII Nicholas had acted as head of state except for the disastrous period when the jealous and aggressive Dowager Empress Zoe had managed to drive him out of the palace, advising him to confine himself to purely ecclesiastical matters. The emergence of Romanus Lecapenus, the Grand Admiral of the fleet, and his subsequent coronation as co-Emperor, still saw Nicholas as senior minister. His value was well demonstrated in the struggle with the ambitious Bulgarian ruler Symcon who had for some years resolutely refused to have any direct contact with the Byzantine Emperor himself.

The vigorous and expanding Bulgarian principality posed a major problem for Constantinople in the tenth century. During the regency before Romanus Lecapenus took control, Nicholas Mysticus had attempted to solve the problem by peaceful means. His opponent Symeon was no uncultured barbarian. He had been educated in Constantinople, he enjoyed Greek literature and was, so Nicholas himself says, 'a keen student and a reader of books', ²¹ and was even described as 'half-Greek'. ²² He had for a time been a monk but rejected this way of life for the throne. Nicholas may well have known him in Constantinople. So when in 913 after ill-judged provocation from the Byzantines Symeon advanced towards Constantinople Nicholas tried to stave off an attack on the Empire by negotiating. He met Symeon outside the city walls. He promised renewal of the customary tribute (payment of which was a wellknown Byzantine device) and offered the betrothal of the young Constantine VII to one of Symeon's daughters. Such a marriage would have given Symeon the position of authority in Constantinople which he coveted. It has been suggested that had Symeon taken control Bulgaria might possibly have been integrated into the Byzantine Empire, thus constituting a more effective barrier to invaders such as the Muslims and Franks than was possible when the recurrent resurgence of a hostile Bulgaria had to be coped with. It would also have ensured the dependence of the Bulgarian Church on Constantinople, an important consideration for the Patriarch of Constantinople. But whether Nicholas had in mind long-term policy of this kind is unknown. ²³ In any case his negotiations with Symeon were repudiated by Zoe when she temporarily ousted him from the regency. The Bulgarian affair was so mismanaged that Zoe brought about her own downfall and worse still provoked military retaliation from Symeon that continued until his death in 927.

Nicholas returned as regent, and then as Romanus I's adviser. But the harm had been done and Symeon was now set to realize his aims by force. Nicholas Mysticus's part in the affair was obviously not a military one. His letters on Bulgarian affairs, some quite lengthy, are mostly to Symeon. These reflect the moving concern of the ageing Patriarch for his spiritual son and they continually stress the common faith of the two nations, 'Romans and Bulgars are the Body of Christ', he wrote. ²⁴ But the letters also indicate the nature of Symeon's ambitions and provide the official response to his requests. Nicholas rejects Symeon's demand that Romanus I should abdicate in his favour. 'If God means you to sit on the Roman throne, then he will accomplish this, so desist from fighting and leave it to him.' ²⁵ He points out that Romanus would be willing to accept an alliance between his family and that of Symeon, which would in effect be an imperial marriage, since Romanus was by then co-Emperor. ²⁶ Eventually the old and ailing Patriarch wrote his last letter in 925 before his death on 15 May, reproaching Symeon for his broken promises (and his futile sarcasms), not knowing that the sudden death of the Bulgar in 927 was soon to afford *t least a temporary respite. Bulgaria may have been brought within the Byzantine orb, but it was by no means tamed as can be seen from Nicholas's flow of letters.

Major problems, as the tetragamy or Bulgaria, did not prevent Nicholas from dealing with innumerable diocesan and other matters, nor did he grudge advice to individuals in need. A number of short and mostly unrhetorical letters are full of beneficent advice or instruction for the alleviation of hardship (as in the case of obstreperous soldiers billeted on a defenceless widow). It is through the survival of collections of letters such as those of Nicholas Mysticus, or of the fourteenth-century Athanasius, that the patriarchal daily routine comes to life.

Perhaps Romanus I desired a respite from a dominating and outstanding Patriarch such as Nicholas I had been. He was known to have in mind the appointment of his eunuch son Theophylact who had been ordained deacon at an early age. When Nicholas I died the boy was probably too young ¹ for even Byzantine 'economy' to allow his promotion. Nicholas was therefore replaced, first by Stephen II of Amasea (29 June 925-18 July 928) and then by the monk Trypho (14 December 928-August 931). Neither could compare with Nicholas in ability or character. It was supposed to have been agreed that Trypho would resign when Theophylact was considered by Romanus I to be old enough to take his place. For some reason not clearly understood Trypho gave up, or was ousted from, his office in 931 when Theophylact was only fourteen years old. The youth was not however enthroned until 933, ² possibly because of controversy concerning the legality of a promotion contrary to canon law, and more probably to allow time for communication with Rome. However much Romanus I might emphasize that the patriarchal appointment was wholly the concern of the Byzantine Church, in this case it was evidently considered worth while getting papal legates to come to the consecration, as they did. ³ At this juncture it suited the tangled politics of the then dominant Crescentii family in Rome to be on good terms with the Byzantine Emperor, though (as was often stressed in the sources) Theophylact could hardly be regarded as an ideal candidate for the patriarchate. But his initial lack of experience and his continuing secular interests did not necessarily mean that ecclesiastical administration was neglected. His senior metropolitans, of Cyzicus and Heracleia, for instance, saw to that, in fact only too well if remarks about the dangers of encroachment on patriarchal authority are to be believed. ⁴

During the years between the accession to office of Theophylact (933) and Alexius Studites (1025) the Empire steadily met its challenges and its prestige was at its peak. The quality of its patriarchs may have varied but the Church gave to the Emperors co-operation and on occasion criticism. The patriarchal register—as far as it is possible to reconstruct this—gives at least a hint of the range of ecclesiastical activities.

Polyeuctus (3 April 956-5 February 970), though ageing, was a man of spirit and took his stand on matters of principle, but he left no corpus of letters to reveal the details of his personality as Nicholas Mysticus had done. It may have been a tribute to a too forceful character that during the early years of his patriarchate the Macedonian Constantine VII (sole Emperor from 944-59) tried to dislodge him and failed. ⁵ After the short reign of Romanus II (959-63) Constantine's two sons Basil II and Constantine VIII succeeded as minors. Guardianship and direction of policy were seized by members of powerful military families, who became successive co-Emperors, first Nicephorus II Phocas (963-9), and then John I Tzimisces (969-72). Both were men of authority and successful generals, but Polyeuctus did not hesitate to challenge what he regarded as imperial infringements of canon law and encroachments on the rights of the Church.

Since Nicephorus Phocas had acted as godparent to the imperial children he was regarded as a spiritual relative of Theophano the Dowager Empress and therefore canonically debarred from marrying her. This difficulty was surmounted, but Polyeuctus remained bitterly critical of the Emperor Nicephorus's ecclesiastical policy. Nicephorus was a devout and even austere man and had earlier on been inclined towards the monastic life. He was criticized when he abandoned this and chose instead the role of statesman and general. He had a keen eye to the needs of imperial defence. He even went as far as to declare that men who fell in battle against the Muslims should be counted as martyrs. This was categorically turned down by a synodal protest citing St Basil as the authority for rejecting such a pronouncement. ⁶ Though a friend of monks and patron of the recently founded Lavra on Mount Athos, Nicephorus unhesitatingly condemned the abuse of the monastic way of life, and he thought it right to limit the erection of new houses. ⁷ Here he had in mind not only the maintenance of standards but the financial and military needs of the state, since taxation suffered when land was donated to monasteries and then left uncultivated. The same restrictions were to apply to metropolitan and episcopal foundations. ⁸ He also emphasized his right to control episcopal appointments. ⁹ Polyeuctus disapproved of such encroachments on ecclesiastical freedom as he saw it, but was unable to effect any change during Nicephorus's short reign.

There had been continuing rivalry among the powerful families over the guardianship of the young princes and Nicephorus was assassinated in 969. Much of this intrigue was at the instigation of the powerful general John Tzimisces. He proposed to marry the fascinating and by now twice-widowed Empress Theophano, who had also been involved in the conspiracy, and he planned to become co-Emperor. In such a situation patriarchal support was important and this was Polyeuctus's opportunity. He laid down his terms for entry to Hagia Sophia and the imperial coronation. The Augusta Theophano was to be expelled from the palace (she was in fact dispatched to Prote, one of the Princes Islands in the sea of Marmora); the murderers of Nicephorus were to be punished; and measures against the freedom of the Church, described as Nicephorus's 'tome', were to be referred to the synod. ¹⁰ Tzimisces thought it wise to agree and he was then crowned as John I. He made an unexciting but acceptable marriage with Theodora, one of Constantine VII's daughters. These were politic concessions and did not necessarily mean that John I would grant a free hand to propertyowners, ecclesiastical or otherwise. It was in a way a reassertion of the Byzantine principle that church and state must work together in unity, though in matters affecting the temporal well-being of the state, the Emperor usually got his way. That is probably what is implied in Tzimisces' often-quoted statement on the priesthood and Empire rather than any implication that the priesthood had overruling control. 'I acknowledge two powers in this life: the priesthood and the empire. The Creator of the world has entrusted to the former the cure of souls and to the latter the care of bodies. If neither part is damaged, the well-being of the world is secure.' ¹¹ What is being emphasised in this passage is interdependence.

The close co-operation between church and state during the years 933-5 was in general exemplified in the frontier conquests though on occasion modified by political needs. In the east, it was a period of steady advance against the Muslims bringing the Christian forces into contact with various ecclesiastical problems. First the conversion of the Muslims and here Byzantium, in contrast to its work in other fields, ¹² had no real success. There were of course individual or group conversions but that could work both ways often as a matter of expediency. When Curcuas captured Melitene in 934 whole Muslim families turned Christian because they did not wish to be deported. There was inevitably considerable cross-fertilization in the eastern marcher lands. The fortunes and activities of the Christian marcher lords are well illustrated in the epic poem Digenis Acritas, the frontier warrior of 'dual origin', the son of a Christian mother and a converted Muslim emir father. But in general the failure of the Orthodox Church to make genuine conversions on any large scale among Muslims was a feature of Byzantine history (in contrast to its success with the South Slavs and Russia). On the contrary during the course of the middle ages the tenacity with which the Islamic world clung to its faith intensified. As it extended its conquests it continually drew the conquered native Christians into its fold, ¹³ though some (as the Church recognized) maintained a kind of crypto-Christianity beneath apparent acceptance of Islam.

The advance in the cast inevitably brought renewed contacts with the separated Christian monophysite Churches. The achievements of the Byzantines in extending the eastern frontiers into Mesopotamia, North Syria, and Armenia during the tenth and early eleventh centuries are much lauded. But ultimately disastrous consequences are scarcely recognized. ¹⁴ The fertile Mediterranean coastal strip with its citrus trees below the rugged Cilician Gates was ruthlessly devastated to facilitate the capture of Tarsus. This scorched earth policy applied everywhere, and together with the panic flight eastward of Muslims, and the forced transportation into slavery of captives, meant the depopulation of the frontier regions. To make good this situation the Syrian Jacobites (monophysites) were encouraged to expand into the newly instituted themes, and they overflowed into the regions around Melitene, Marash, and Edessa. This influx of wealthy Syrian families and merchants brought back prosperity to the devastated regions. The establishment of the separated non-Chalcedonian Jacobite Church was accompanied by the foundation of new bishoprics as well as monasteries which became flourishing centres of activity. The Syrian migration seems to have been buoyed up by a promise of religious toleration from Nicephorus II. Such an attitude towards heterodoxy was a matter of urgent political expediency. Even so, it was entirely contrary to the deep-rooted Byzantine conception of the Emperor as a pillar of orthodoxy. It roused continual opposition both from ecclesiastical circles in Constantinople and from the local Chalcedonian minorities. Nevertheless this policy was generally continued by Nicephorus's powerful successors John Tzimisces and Basil II († 1025). It was reversed by the weaker and less-able eleventh-century rulers from 1028 onwards with disastrous results. It was however noticeable that this tolerance was not uniformly applied. Again for political reasons, further south in the key city of Antioch orthodoxy was strictly enforced and the consequent diversion of Syrian Jacobites to northern regions was welcomed as reducing heretical influence in a particularly sensitive political area. ¹⁵

A migration similar to that of the Syrians took place among the Armenians. The eastward expansionist policy of Constantinople involved the gradual absorption of Armenia. Ani, the last independent region fell to Constantine IX in 1045. As various areas were conquered or acquired, leading families were offered privileges and estates in Cappadocia, or in south-east Asia Minor where in the later eleventh century the kingdom of Lesser Armenia was to emerge and become an important factor in crusader politics. This Armenian migration introduced a monophysite element into orthodox regions, though not in so powerful and compact a form as in the case of the Jacobite Church. But it meant friction. Though for centuries individual Armenians had held high positions in Byzantine service (presumably paying lip-service to orthodox belief), they were disliked by the Greeks. The presence of considerable numbers of monophysite Armenians in the Asia Minor themes was felt to be a challenge to the Byzantine Church and was to lead to an unwise religious policy in the critical years after 1025.

Rather more successful was the consolidating missionary work begun much earlier in the Caucasus and the North Pontic areas. ¹⁶ This had already been much in the mind of patriarchs such as Nicholas I Mysticus. He was particularly assiduous in supporting Peter the metropolitan of Alania in the central Caucasus, an area converted at the end of the ninth and beginning of the tenth centuries. Like many other metropolitans Peter felt keenly his isolation from the capital. The Patriarch wrote on his behalf to the ruler of Abasgia and also sent Peter a series of sympathetic but bracing letters assuring him that he was not forgotten but adding that he knew quite well that he had been sent not to luxury but to 'labours and tolls and difficulties'. ¹⁷ Problems concerning the outlying rights of the metropolitan of Alania continue to figure in the late tenth- and early eleventh-century registers of Sisinnius II and Eustathius. Metropolitan Nicholas of Alania had problems of maintenance when he was detained by stormy seas on returning to his diocese and had to put up for a time in Cherson seeking help from the monastery of the Holy Epiphany at Kerasontus. ¹⁸ During this period the area in and around the Crimea, long firmly committed to Christianity and to Byzantium, provided valuable bases from which missionaries could work and was too an important political asset in controlling changing factors on the northern borders. Here the Khazars (converted not to Christianity but to Judaism) had by the tenth century declined and the two rising powers were the nomadic Turkic Pechenegs and the principality of Kiev dominated by the Scandinavian Northmen or Rus. The Pecheneg tribes, who in the late ninth century were moving westward into the steppe lands north of the Black Sea, were courted by Byzantine diplomats and their value to the Empire is stressed in the mid-tenth-century handbook of the foreign office, the De Administrando of Constantine VII. But though they figure prominently in the tenth and eleventh-century Byzantine foreign policy they do not appear to have been converted to Christianity. Perhaps their mobility militated against ecclesiastical organization if any such attempts were made.

It was otherwise with Russia. Here as usually the case political and religious considerations were closely linked. During the ninth and early tenth centuries Constantinople had been made aware of new dangers which threatened from the north-east. Varangian desire for plunder and then for regular trade agreements and the growth of the Kievan principality had evoked diplomatic and ecclesiastical approaches from Emperor and Patriarch. But though by the midtenth century there were evidently Christians in Russia there was no established link with the Orthodox Church.

In 957 the Kievan princess Olga, regent for her son Svyatoslav, made a spectacular visit to Constantinople. Here she was accepted as the spiritual daughter of Constantine VII and his wife Helena and was accorded a spendid reception and received into intimate imperial circles. Whether she was baptized in Constantinople on this occasion or previously in Kiev in 955 seems undecided ¹⁹ but she certainly must have had Christian contact in Kiev before she came south. Her links with Constantinople did not however prevent her from turning to the German Otto I in 959 shortly after her return home asking him to send a bishop and priests to Kiev. This he apparently did though without permanent results. But once again rival claims of Christian power in East and West had demonstrated to central and east European rulers that they had a choice of alignment.

In the event the Rus remained on the whole pagan until towards the end of the tenth century until political events forced Constantinople to realize the urgent need to bring Kiev within the Christian 'family of kings'. The threat had arisen in connection with Bulgaria. With the death of the ambitious Symeon in 927 and the succession of a more compliant ruler Bulgaria had for a time been under Byzantine influence. But the atmosphere changed to one of hostility in the 950s. Nicephorus II unwisely provoked the Bulgarians further by refusing customary tribute. He then called on Svyatoslav to suppress their attacks, only to find that by 969 the Kievan ruler was exercising his own control over Bulgaria to the exclusion of Byzantium. This would have meant the presence on Constantinople's northern borders of an unacceptably powerful neighbour. Nicephorus's successor John I Tzimisces was left with the double task of expelling Syvatoslav and subduing Bulgaria. He incorporated Bulgaria into the Empire and put an end to the highly-prized independent Bulgarian patriarchate. In 971 his victory over Svyatoslav (who was to perish on his way home) was sealed by a treaty with Kiev which secured an ally and provided a valuable source of mercenaries.

Despite his mother's baptism Svyatoslav, like many of his subjects, had been pagan. The formal conversion of the Kievan ruler and his state was to come a few years later. In 988-9 Kievan military aid saved the situation for Basil II who was fighting for his throne against powerful rebels. Some of the Varangians stayed on to form the core of the imperial bodyguard. The Kievan ruler, Olga's grandson Vladimir, was rewarded for this aid with the Emperor's sister Anna as bride, a mark of great favour as imperial princesses 'born in the purple' were not at that time normally betrothed to foreigners. A condition of the marriage was the acceptance of Christianity by Vladimir and by his subjects. ²⁰ In fact Anna seems only to have arrived after Vladimir had threatened Constantinople by attacking Cherson, though the precise sequence of events seems uncertain. But it is clear that this time the acceptance of Christianity by the Kievan ruler meant that his state, and later on other Russian regions, were firmly linked to the Orthodox Church under the guidance of the patriarchate of Constantinople. This momentous decision was given prominence in the Russian Primary Chronicle where the Kievan ruler is described as weighing up the merits of various faiths — Muslim, Jewish, and Christian, both Roman and Greek. Finally he decided for the Greek Church after the deep impression made on his envoys by the splendid liturgical rites in Hagia Sophia where he felt that God surely dwelt among men. It is generally agreed that much of this is legendary, but even so there are strands of truth. The Kievan ruler was not alone in being impressed by the splendour of Orthodox worship. Nor was he unaware of the political strength afforded to the ruler of a polity based on such close interdependence of church and state as prevailed in Byzantium. Conversion also meant close relations with a Christian world which offered more than statecraft and economic advantages. It opened the gateway to the civilization of the Hellenic world whose scholars had already provided the linguistic means whereby liturgical and theological works in a Slav language could be made available. While preserving its own ethnic characteristics Russia could thus share in the cultural riches of the Byzantine world particularly its art and its theological literature, its chronicles and its legal works. ²¹ It meant moreover that when the Greek and Balkan Churches were submerged for three centuries and more beneath Muslim rule, Orthodoxy could serve as a 'universal' force outside the bounds of the old Byzantine Empire.

Byzantine extension of its influence in the north-east, the subjugation of Bulgaria begun by John I Tzimisces and completed by 1014 by Basil II, and the successful drive against the Muslims in the eastern reaches and in the Aegean all combined to give Constantinople a commanding position. The next step was to consolidate the Byzantine position in South Italy and to win back Sicily from the Muslims, and this was the intention of the last great Macedonian ruler Basil II († 1025). It is understandable that the attitude of Constantinople towards the western powers was one of disdain. The Byzantines were quite unaware of rising forces in the West which were eventually to contribute to the downfall of the East Roman Empire in the later middle ages. This is particularly true of the many-sided reform movement stirring within the tenth-century Latin Church, though as yet not touching papal personnel to any great extent. It was to be a contributory factor in stimulating an upsurge of devotion which was one of the forces behind the fatal crusading movement from the late eleventh century onwards.

In the tenth century on the whole Byzantium controlled its south Italian provinces, though Sicily was lost to the Muslims and the mainland was still troubled by them. The Greek Church was strong in the south and Greek monasticism deep-rooted there, particularly on the 'Holy Mountain' up in the hills above Rossano whence came St Nilus in 1004 to found the still active house of Grottaferrata near Rome. There were Greeks and Greek monastic houses in Rome itself. ²² Latin houses such as Monte Cassino drew freely on Byzantine expertise in matters of craftsmanship and in other fields, and there were political links between Constantinople and Italian principalities, as for instance Capua. ²³ In Rome itself the political and ecclesiastical situation in the second half of the tenth century reflected little credit on the papacy and afforded opportunity for outside interference. Leading families were struggling for control and for the appointment of their own nominee as Pope. The situation also posed a problem for Byzantium by reason of the ambitions of the Saxon ruler Otto I, a mere 'rex' in the eyes of Constantinople. Otto took over the North Italian Lombard kingdom which was being misgoverned by his vassal Berengar and he then adopted the imperial policy of the Carolinglans. In 962 he was crowned Emperor in Rome by Pope John XII. He allied with the house of Tusculum against the Roman family of the Crescentii and was to exercise far stricter control over Pope and City than Charlemagne had done. Further, Otto I had designs on Byzantine South Italian lands. Had he succeeded these regions would no doubt have been withdrawn from the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the Patriarch of Constantinople and returned to Rome. Though taken over at least 200 years earlier their transference to Constantinople had remained a permanent grievance with the Curia, as was evidenced in Liutprand's provocative anti-Byzantine propaganda piece, the Legatio. ²⁴

Otto I did attack South Italy, but with only temporary success. In 972 he achieved something of a truce by negotiating for his son Otto II, a Byzantine bride Theophano, not a 'born-in-the-purple' Macedonian princess as requested but probably a relative of the general and co-Emperor John I Tzimisces. Both Otto II and Otto III retained their interest in Italy as did their successors. The half Byzantine Otto III († 1002) even hoped to make Rome the centre of a western Empire in the East Roman tradition and he was betrothed to a genuine Byzantine princess, presumably Zoe, the niece of the powerful Emperor Basil II, but this came to nothing by reason of Otto's early death.

Intervention in Italian affairs and western imperial claims were from now onwards to be a permanent feature of German politics to the detriment of Byzantine interests. During the late tenth and first half of the eleventh centuries German attempts to control the papacy were resisted by the Roman Crescentii with whom the Byzantines had an understanding. From time to time 'Roman' popes dislodged by the German party appealed to Constantinople for help. Throughout this period Constantinople showed its determination to maintain its hold on South Italy. In 968 Patriarch Polyeuctus affirmed his right to control the South Italian Church when he elevated the archbishop of Otranto to the rank of metropolitan with one or more suffragans (the sources are not agreed as to the number). ²⁵ It is understandable that the see-saw of politics in Rome made it difficult for Constantinople always to be sure who was in possession of the papal throne at any given time and therefore there may have been gaps in the registration of the current papal name in the diptychs. This intermittent absence of the usual recognition was not necessarily an indication of formal schism and there is indeed no reason for thinking that any such state of affairs existed at this time. Polemic on the procession of the Holy Spirit attributed to Patriarch Sisinnius II has now been shown to belong to a later period. ²⁶ Likewise Sergius II's alleged use of Photius's encyclical against the Latin Church addressed to the eastern patriarchs and his supposed concern with the filioque and schism have been discounted. ²⁷

Far from being unduly troubled by the relations with the Latins, the Byzantines in 1025 could look with some satisfaction on the extent of their influence. In conquered Bulgaria the patriarchate had been suppressed and an archbishopric dependent on the Byzantine Emperor set up. The Kievan ruler and his subjects had been won for Orthodoxy and the higher ecclesiastics in Russia were Greek appointed, though the lower clergy were native using the Slavonic vernacular in their services. The conquests on the eastern borders had added to prestige but had also certainly created ecclesiastical problems by bringing closer contact with the separated monophysites, though there was also compensation in the restoration of Byzantine control over the deeply venerated Christian city of Antioch. Both within and without the Empire the Orthodox tradition was being greatly enriched by an upsurge of monastic foundations, particularly on Mount Athos, the Byzantine Holy Mountain. Confident in its widespread influence and growing prestige the Empire might well consider that it was equipped to extinguish heresies, such as the dualism deep-rooted in the newlyformed Bulgarian themes, or the tenacious monophysitism of the Armenian immigrants, or even to exact recognition of their position from Rome. It was reported by the western Rudolf Glaber that in 1024 the Emperor Basil II and the Patriarch Eustathius sent an embassy to Pope John XIX asking him to recognize the Church of Constantinople as universal in its own sphere (in suo orbe) as the Pope was in the world (in universo). ²⁸ Presumably the Byzantine 'sphere' would have included the disputed South Italian dioceses. To judge from sharp criticism of him from north of the Alps the Pope appeared to have considered granting the request, ²⁹ but nothing further seems to be known about this, except that it was wholly unpalatable to the western church reformers. It does however reflect the spirit of Constantinople at this time, confident, but mistakenly so.

The Byzantine Empire had weathered many crises ever since its inception in the fourth century. It had adequate military and naval defences; its reservoir of manpower was replenished by immigrant Slavs settling south of the Danube; and it produced a series of able leaders, either rulers usually from an established house or generals taking control as co-Emperors for minors or weaklings. During this time the Church, while maintaining its normal everyday life, had succeeded in overcoming challenges to its tradition and had moreover made a major contribution in bringing the South Slavs and the Russians within the orbit of the Orthodox Church and to some extent the Byzantine Empire. But with the eleventh century came the parting of the ways for Byzantium. During the later middle ages any pre-eminence in East Mediterranean politics was gradually lost until the Empire was finally submerged in a Muslim Ottoman world. The Orthodox Church on the contrary, not exclusively a Byzantine preserve, held its own and survived the political downfall.

When the powerful Macedonian ruler Basil II died in 1025 latent internal weaknesses and external pressures were not immediately apparent. But the kind of leadership which had previously served Byzantium so well was not forthcoming. The Macedonian successor was the Empress Zoe, a foolish elderly woman. The able and popular George Maniaces who might have been another Tzimisces was killed in 1043 while on his way to Constantinople to challenge the Emperor Constantine IX. For the rest, possible, though not outstanding, candidates, such as the Emperor Isaac Comnenus (1057-9) or Romanus Diogenes (1068-71) were pushed off the throne by cliques in Constantinople. The dominating feature of politics during the years 1025-81 was the constant manœuvring for the throne. The military claimants were from leading Byzantine families owning considerable estates in Asia Minor and in Europe. But they had to contend with rivals from a ministerial milieu who had gained the ear of the court. It was not until 1081 that a member of a military landed family, Alexius Comnenus, managed to outwit his rivals and to establish a dynasty which lasted a century, and rather belatedly gave some stability to the government. He was an able ruler, if also an adroit opportunist, but the odds were against him and his house.

In 1025 Byzantium may understandably have felt secure in its pre-eminence but relaxation in vigilance and changes in methods of defence were to prove fatal and demonstrated the weakness of its political system. Resting on the prestige and pre-eminence accruing from successful expansion during the years 843-1025, it was considered safe to replace the old system of military service by taxation (which was by no means always devoted to other methods of defence upkeep). Buffer states, such as Armenia, were taken into the Empire without establishing adequate frontier protection. Newly-acquired provinces, such as Bulgaria, were treated so unwisely that latent nationalism was fomented. The fleet was neglected (geography alone demanded adequate sea power) and reliance on Venice's naval resources was to exact a fatally high price in the form of trade concessions. Mercenaries, expensive and often unreliable, now formed the core of what had once been largely a force of native soldiers. And so Byzantium was at a loss when overtaken in the political field by circumstances unforeseen and beyond its control. ¹

For set against such inadequacies were dangerous outside pressures. In the East Turkish tribes were establishing themselves in Mesopotamia, North Syria, and the former Armenian Kingdoms, areas ill-disposed towards Constantinople, an attitude aggravated by an unwise religious policy. At intervals Turkish raiders were penetrating into Asia Minor strongholds. Some landed families at least were aware of the crisis in the east. Recently-acquired estates disappeared as the eastern frontier was breached. Military leaders protested at the central government's comparative unconcern with defence measures. But when from 1068-71 Romanus IV took control and went on campaign his efforts were treacherously undermined in Constantinople and he was deposed. The failure to drive back the Seljuk Turks resulted in the firm rooting of the Muslim kingdom of Iconium in central-southern Asia Minor.

There were further complications in the north and west. The Slavs under Byzantine rule were growing more restive. Independent principalities, such as Zeta or Croatia, were crystallizing. Though in fact most of the Balkans were firmly aligned to the Orthodox Church there was always readiness — as in the Bulgarian Boris's day — to play off Greek against Latin ecclesiastical authority. Discontent with both Byzantine overlordship and with the established Church was finding its outlet in the widespread dualist Bogomil heresy. Further threats came from across the Danube and north of the Black Sea where Turkic nomads, the Pechenegs and then the Cumans, were on the move. Beyond the Balkans in Hungary, now settled by the Magyars, a new political factor was emerging. Hungary was a country with obvious interests in the north-west Balkans and, though by no means immune from the influence of the Orthodox Church, it was however to throw in its lot with Latin Christianity and the West in spite of twelfth-century overtures from Constantinople where the Comneni recognized its value as an ally.

It was doubtful whether anyone in Byzantium really appreciated the changes taking place in the West, the Greek Church still less than the government. And yet it was from fellow Christians in the Latin world that one of Byzantium's greatest dangers, the crusading movement, was to come. The Byzantines had always rather looked down on the West, particularly its emperors who (despite the efforts of Charlemagne) were regarded as usurpers outside the genuine imperial tradition. The Pope, it is true, had always been accorded primacy of honour in Christendom but the rapid succession of popes and anti-popes in the tenth and first half of the eleventh centuries had hardly inspired respect. Further the attempt to control papal elections by the Germans, even if crowned as western emperors, only aroused suspicion in Byzantium, just as the efforts of Frankish missionaries had done earlier on in the Carolingian period. The mild contempt of Constantinople for the West came to the surface when the tenth-century Emperor Nicephorus II taunted the German Emperor's legate Liutprand of Cremona about the youthfulness and inexperience of the Saxon Church. And yet it was in Frankish and German lands that the pre-Gregorian reform movement was already under way, something undreamt of, and indeed never appreciated, in Constantinople.

In 1025 Byzantium still had two provinces in South Italy, Calabria and Apulia, which were under the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the Patriarch of Constantinople, though this was perpetually disputed by Rome. After Basil II's death his plans to strengthen the Byzantine position in Italy and to wrest Sicily from the Arabs never successfully materialized. The whole political situation was moreover radically altered by the infiltration of the Northmen into Italy and Sicily from the early eleventh century onwards. At first they were useful mercenaries in the service of both Latin and Byzantine, but they soon turned into aggressive and permanent settlers, first in South Italy and then in Sicily. The German Emperor, bent on controlling the papacy and Rome, was drawn into the struggle to evict them. The Byzantines were equally concerned, not only the Emperor but the patriarchate, since the loss of the South Italian provinces to the Normans would almost certainly mean the predominance of the Latin Church already strengthening its position in those regions. Nevertheless the dangers inherent in the impending conflict in Italy, the continuous losses in the east and rising nationalist feeling in the Balkans were hardly appreciated in ecclesiastical circles in Constantinople where unwise and intolerant policies, particularly towards the non-Chalcedonians, often aggravated an already threatening situation.

During the years 1025-81 none of the five patriarchs in office could be considered a nonentity. In their different ways they reflect something of the strength and weakness of Byzantine ecclesiastical life. Alexius Studites (12 December 1025-20 February 1043), ² the abbot of the Studite house in Constantinople, was appointed by Basil IIshortly before his death. Basil however did not observe the usual practice of asking the metropolitans for nominations from which to select a candidate. Later in 1037 when Alexius came up against the ambitions of the minister John the Orphanotrophus, the brother of the Emperor Michael IV the Paphlagonian, his election was declared invalid by a group of metropolitans mustered by John. Alexius adroitly foiled the plot by offering to resign provided that all his metropolitan ordinations were also declared invalid and anathemas pronounced against the emperors whom he had crowned. ³ Understandably Alexius was among the opponents of the Paphlagonian house and supported the Macedonian party who produced as Empress the reluctant Theodora, an elderly nun and the last of that dynasty. The patriarchal register though sparse indicates the range of Alexius's interests and activities. He was much concerned with settling individual marriage problems as well as with the general rules governing the complicated laws of kindred and affinity. But he was no Nicholas Mysticus. Despite his Studite upbringing and the canonical rulings his attitude to imperial infringements was somewhat flexible, though in the case of the old Empress Zoe's forbidden third marriage to Constantine IX Monomachus at least he himself did not perform the ceremony or give the blessing, but simply offered the kiss of peace after the marriage. It was one of those political dilemmas which constantly involved the Church and demanded the exercise of oeconomia or expediency. For Zoe had the disposition of a mule and was unlikely to be dissuaded from the marriage. It was also obvious that the Empire needed some kind of male guidance. As the contemporary historian Psellus cynically remarked 'It might be said that the Patriarch recognised the problem and accepted the will of God in the matter'. ⁴

Patriarch Alexius's rulings on matters of discipline concerning both lay and ecclesiastical circles point to old problems. He was much concerned with the misuse of monasteries and strict rules were laid down to prevent illegal hiring out or handing over to lay control either the house or its property. In a synodal ruling he attempted to provide means for regulating clerical disputes and eliminating uncanonical acts. In particular all clerics and monks were forbidden to resort to secular judges, evidently a frequent practice and already condemned before Alexius's day. ⁵

Most important of all was Alexius's attitude towards heresy. Here Alexius and his eleventh-century successors seemed obsessed with a desire to bring non-Chalcedonian Armenians and Jacobites into the Orthodox Church, unlike Basil II who had wisely allowed some latitude, certainly in Mesopotamia though not in Antioch. In 1029 the Jacobite Patriarch John VIII Bar Abdoun was called to Constantinople where he spent some months. But all attempts to convert him failed and he was excommunicated by the synod there and exiled. ⁶ Similarly charges were brought against Jacobites in the region of Melitene and the leaders of the heresy were questioned before the synod. Many members of the senate were also present for a drive against heresy in Byzantium was a combined operation of church and state. The Jacobite Patriarch was inflexible, but some bishops abjured their errors and were received back into office (with certain restrictions). ⁷ Evidently the non-Chalcedonians continued to prosper in Melitene and its environs. A few years later a number of synodal rulings were issued penalizing mixed marriages, debarring heretics from testifying against the Orthodox and limiting their right of inheritance. ⁸ The continued antagonism roused by such restrictions, even though they were clearly largely ineffective, did not make for loyalty towards Constantinople in the face of the Turkish advance. Thus for Byzantium the problem was not purely a religious one. The significant ethnic changes caused by the immigrant Syrians and Armenians affected the recently conquered eastern regions as well as eastern Asia Minor. These were the very provinces which were under attack in the eleventh century and it would have been politic to pursue a policy of religious toleration. As it was, religious dissidents must have felt that they were probably better off in the long run under Muslim than Orthodox rule. ⁹

Alexius Studites' successor was Michael Cerularius (25 March 1043-2 November 1058). ¹⁰ Apart from Photius he is probably (and undeservedly) the best known of the Byzantine patriarchs because he was associated by later generations with a supposed formal schism between Rome and Constantinople. He did not come from the learned circles then flourishing in the City, nor did he appear to have any genuine monastic vocation though he was a monk at the time of his enthronement. He had been involved in a conspiracy against Michael IV and may have become a monk to avoid paying the penalty for his treason. The Empress Zoe's third husband, Constantine IX Monomachus, had been a fellow conspirator and was his friend. After Constantine's marriage to Zoe, Cerularius was in favour at court and he became the Patriarch Alexius's protosyncellus. When Alexius died Constantine raised Cerularius to the patriarchal throne. If the Emperor thought that he now had a cooperative ally as patriarch he was mistaken. Throughout his long office under three Emperors and an Empress Cerularius proved arrogant and overbearing, though it should be said that in his private life he did at least show some better feelings and took care to arrange for the education of his two young nephews. He entrusted them to the scholar Michael Psellus, though even this was probably directed towards his own interests.

Michael Cerularius's patriarchal register shows the usual activities, such as dealing with the complicated rulings on marriage, with episcopal difficulties and disputes, and monastic problems as the reopening of Nea Mone, the house on Chios which had been temporarily closed by reason of alleged occult practices. Apart from such daily routine carried out by his secretariat, his patriarchate was characterized by his attempt to exalt the position of the Byzantine Church. Following his predecessor's policy he tried to bring the separated Churches of the monophysites under his control. He evidently considered that he was the superior of the three eastern patriarchates, Antioch, Alexandria, and Jerusalem. He regarded himself as the equal of the Pope and censured Latin practices where these differed from those of the Greek Church. Further, and Byzantine sources seem to regard this as his worst offence, he criticized imperial policy, stressing the superiority of his own position. All four rulers during his patriarchate, Constantine IX, Theodora, Michael VI, and Isaac I, found his attitude and many of his activities often disruptive and even intolerable.

With the annexation of Ani in 1045 the last remaining kingdom of Armenia had fallen to Byzantium. It no doubt seemed undesir able to Orthodoxy to have an independent non-Chalcedonian Church within the Empire and, however unwise from the political angle, Byzantine religious policy towards the Armenians was in accordance with usual practice. The Armenian Church did not recognize the council of Chalcedon, and many of its customs differed from those of Constantinople, such as its use of unleavened bread in the Divine Liturgy, or fasting on Saturdays. It was probably with conformity in mind that in 1048 Constantine IX invited Peter I, Catholicus of the Armenian Church, to Constantinople. ¹¹ The meeting in 1048 was amicable but negative in result and subsequent relations were to deteriorate as attacks on the monophysites were intensified later on during Constantine X's reign. The Armenian Church had always been the symbol of its people's nationalism. Annexation and dispersal could not extinguish this spirit, as the successful establishment of Lesser Armenia in south-east Asia Minor was soon to demonstrate. ¹² It was unfortunate that Byzantium's eleventh-century ecclesiastical policy towards Armenia should have exacerbated the long-standing antagonism between Greek and Armenian, provoking endless friction in Asia Minor just at a time when a united front against Turkic invaders was needed.

In their Armenian policy Constantine IX and Cerularius were at one. It was otherwise with western affairs. Throughout Constantine IX's reign the political situation in Italy presented increasing problems. Under the leadership of the Hauteville family the Normans were eating into the central Italian Lombard principalities as well as the remaining Byzantine provinces in South Italy. The Byzantine governor Argyrus had the strong support of Constantine. But he was a Lombard belonging to the Latin rite and was greatly disliked by Cerularius. Argyrus tried to strengthen his position by allying with Pope Leo IX who had been appointed in 1048 by the German Emperor Henry III. Leo was from Lorraine where the pre-Gregorian reformers had long been active. Though in a sense owing his position to Henry (who supported church reform) Leo quickly showed that the papacy was going to be independent of secular control. And the whole reform movement tended to exalt the position of the Pope, as Leo's friend Hildebrand made clear when he became Pope as Gregory VII in 1073. Leo was not the man to be browbeaten by an arrogant eastern Patriarch, and like his predecessors he never forgot the lost jurisdiction in South Italy and Illyricum and took every opportunity to encourage Latin churches in the disputed areas. But he was anxious to check the aggressive Normans and was willing to join forces with Argyrus. Both the Pope and the Byzantines also hoped for support from Henry III, but this did not effectively materialize. In the event Argyrus was defeated by the Normans in February 1053 and later in June Leo was captured by them. He was well treated and was able to continue to deal with ecclesiastical matters.

At this juncture when it was still hoped that a coalition between eastern and western powers might halt the Normans a provocative letter from Leo, archbishop of Ochrida, to John, the Greek bishop of Trani in Apulia, reached the Pope by hand of Humbert, cardinal bishop of Silva Candida, who had translated it into Latin. In the Latin version it purported to come from Michael, 'universalis patriarcha Novae Romae', as well as from Leo of Ochrida. ¹³ Whether the insertion of Michael's name was due to Humbert or not, the document certainly reflected the Patriarch's views and he no doubt stirred up Archbishop Leo to send it regardless of the difficult political situation. In this letter John of Trani was charged to see that it reached 'all Frankish bishops and priests and peoples and the most reverend Pope himself' so that they might correct their errors. The letter selected minor differences of usage, as rules for fasting in Lent, or the shaven versus the bearded face for clerics as well as the much disputed use of unleavened bread at mass. It was offensive and all the more so in that it followed on the closing of the Latin churches in Constantinople by Cerularius. The Pope responded, assisted by Humbert who was throughout most unconciliatory. But before his reply was sent off two letters from Constantinople reached him. One was from Constantine IX who had been informed of the worsening situation in Italy by John of Trani who came in person to see the Emperor. The other letter was from Michael Cerularius, evidently more conciliatory in tone but still unacceptable to Rome. These letters are known only from the papal replies. ¹⁴ To Constantine, 'his beloved son, the glorious and devout Emperor of New Rome', the Pope was graciously encouraging, hoping for action against the Normans from Argyrus and Henry III as well as from the Byzantine Emperor, but he strongly condemned Cerularius's recent activities. In contrast to his letter to Constantine there was a studied coldness in his reply to 'the archbishop of Constantinople' who was particularly admonished for his offer to see that the papal name was commemorated in all the churches 'in toto orbe terrarum' provided that his own name was equally recognized in the Roman Church. Evidently here Leo had misunderstood the use of 'oecumene' which to the Greeks meant only 'throughout the Empire'. In this and other correspondence it was made clear to the Greeks that the Roman Church was the 'caput et mater ecclesiarum'; there was no question of primus inter pares. Thus the views of the western reformed Church and those of the Byzantine Patriarch were diametrically opposed.

The two papal letters were taken to Constantinople by legates sent to deal with the political and ecclesiastical situation. This embassy was headed by Humbert who had played a major part in formulating the papal replies. He was a prominent leader in the campaign for purifying the Latin Church, particularly from simony, and was a staunch supporter of the papal claim to plenitude of power. He was as intolerant and overbearing as Cerularius and not the man to promote conciliation and understanding. The legates reached Constantinople in April 1054 and were well received by the Emperor but virtually boycotted by Cerularius. Evidently there was a public debate on the ecclesiastical points at issue. Nicetas, a Studite monk and disciple of the distinguished abbot Symeon the New Theologian, supported the Greek side, but was induced to withdraw his advocacy and his works were burnt. All this was under imperial, and not patriarchal, auspices.

Then, exasperated beyond bearing at the failure to draw Michael Cerularius and perhaps aware of the hostility of the clergy and populace of Constantinople, on 16 July Humbert took final action and excommunicated the Patriarch and his close associates in a bull which was left on the altar of the Great Church at the morning liturgy. A subdeacon tried to return the bull but it was flung to the ground and eventually reached the Patriarch. The legates left Constantinople on 18 July, parting on friendly terms with the Emperor. But they were recalled to the capital by Constantine that they might meet the synod to discuss the bull. The Emperor then discovered that he was not to be allowed to attend this meeting. He realized that Cerularius was fomenting popular fury at the excommunication and fearing for the safety of the legates he hurriedly sent them off again. When the synod met it drew up a statement refuting the charge of heresy brought against Cerularius and included in this an accurate Greek translation of the bull. ¹⁵ Cerularius argued that the legates were impostors and that the papal letters were forged by Humbert in consultation with the Patriarch's alleged enemy Argyrus. He pointed out that Humbert had visited Argyrus en route and that the seals of the letters had been tampered with. Thus the embassy ended leaving a seemingly triumphant Michael Cerularius and an unreconciled papacy. Leo IX had died on 19 April 1054 when the embassy had just reached Constantinople but the actions of his emissaries during the interregnum were probably valid. In any case they represented views acceptable in western ecclesiastical circles.

These contrasting points of view are to some extent reflected in the correspondence of the Pope and the Patriarch with Peter III, Patriarch of Antioch. Peter was on friendly terms with Pope Leo IX and had sent him the usual synodica announcing his appointment and containing his profession of faith. Leo reciprocated, ¹⁶ exhorting him to resist any encroachments on the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of Antioch, a reference to Michael Cerularius who had already had to apologize to Antioch for interfering in its affairs. ¹⁷ But, as in his letters to Constantinople, the Pope particularly emphasized the position of the apostolic see as head of all Churches, a view which ran counter to the eastern conception of ecclesiastical government through the pentarchy of the old patriarchates. For his part Cerularius was anxious to justify his actions to the eastern patriarchs. In two letters to Peter of Antioch he pressed his case too far and made false statements concerning the points at issue between Rome and Constantinople. ¹⁸ His accuracy was challenged by Peter. For instance, his assertion that the name of the Pope had been omitted from the diptychs since Justinian I's day was untrue. Peter himself had heard it commemorated in the liturgy when he was in Constantinople forty-five years earlier. Further Cerularius had unfairly implied that the bull had excommunicated the whole Orthodox Church. In fact both Humbert and Cerularius had been careful to limit their censures. Humbert praised the most Christian and Orthodox City, its rulers, clergy, senate, and people and specifically anathematized only Cerularius and his close associates. ¹⁹ Likewise the Patriarch hurled anathemas only against the authors of the impious bull and of the letters, which he believed to be a forgery concocted by impostors and not coming from the Pope. In fact since neither Church was attacked as such the way was open for reconciliation. Peter of Antioch, like Archbishop Theophylact of Bulgaria, was one of the more tolerant Greek ecclesiastics and he urged Cerularius to show forbearance and understanding. He stressed the relative unimportance of many of the differences. The filioque and unleavened bread he thought mattered, but, he said, if only Rome would omit the added filioque in the creed a blind eye might be turned to the rest, including the unleavened bread. ²⁰ But, tolerant as he was, like other eastern churchmen he stood by the traditional form of government through the pentarchy and general councils. ²¹

It was partly this fundamental conflict between the western view of the papacy and Byzantine tradition which contributed to the failure of the papal mission of 1054. No effective political alliance was formed. The Norman position in Italy was further consolidated when the papacy was forced to make the best bargain open to it and in 1059 had to recognize the new settlers as its vassals. In the papal view the Normans were at least of the Latin Church and to that extent strengthened the papal position at the expense of the Greek churches in Italy.

Viewed in their historical framework the events of 1054 have in a sense been magnified out of all proportion. It is true that at the time there was great strength of feeling on both sides. One only has to look at the documents to realize the deliberate provocation and discourtesy towards each other of both Humbert and Cerularius, as well as the insistence of the Pope on claims which seemed to go far beyond accepted tradition in the eastern Churches. Posterity has however read into this dramatic episode 'a formal schism' which did not then exist. What the quarrel did was to bring to the surface once again differences in doctrine and custom which had long been recognized and which were to be exaggerated and worked over in the bitter polemic of the later middle ages. But that time had not yet come. Once the Roman legates had left in July 1054 it was no doubt thought that normal relations between Constantinople and the curia would eventually resume — particularly vital at this time as the Pope could be an important factor in a difficult political situation. And this is in fact what happened. What Constantinople had not yet really grasped were the implications and problems inherent in the western concept of the Pope as caput et mater of all Churches. That was to come together with the intensified embitterment engendered by the Latin crusading movement and its culmination in 1204. That was when the real schism occurred. ²²

The Humbert — Cerularius quarrel made virtually no impact at the time on Byzantine society and gets hardly a mention in contemporary writings. Cerularius may well have been congratulating himself on his firm assertion of his position as leading churchman in the Aegean and Middle East. In fact his downfall was impending and for quite another reason.

Constantine IX died in 1055 soon after the affair with Humbert. Though he had originally been the friend of Michael Cerularius their relations had become strained. Succeeding rulers were to find the Patriarch's ambitions equally unacceptable. The old Empress Theodora, the last of the Macedonian dynasty, ruled from 1055-6. The contemporary historian Psellus, who was immersed in court activities, said that the Empress detested Cerularius once she came to power because he openly expressed his dislike of a woman on the throne. This may not be entirely unrelated to criticism of Cerularius's interest in a suspect prophetess who was exiled. Psellus hints that Theodora was preparing to depose him when she died. Theodora's successor was Michael VI, an indecisive elderly civilian. Cerularius and others intrigued against him and forced him to resign in favour of Isaac Comnenus who came from a prominent landed family, one of a group of military men concerned at the neglect of imperial defences. Isaac I (1057-9) needed money for defence purposes and the Church was not exempt. He was charged by Cerularius with ignoring the rights of church property and soon the two men came into open conflict. It is not clear exactly what authority Cerularius was claiming. Psellus, who was at the centre of the crisis, wrote to him 'You despise emperors and oppose all authority.' ²³ Another historian alleged that the Patriarch maintained that there was no difference between the priesthood and the Empire, or very little, and implied that the priesthood was the more important. ²⁴ Cerularius certainly wore the purple shoes then regarded as an imperial prerogative. This time he had gone too far. Isaac exiled him and called a synod to depose him. The chief charges against him were drawn up by Psellus in a document known as the Accusation. But the indictment remained undelivered because on 2 November 1058 the Patriarch suddenly died on his way to attend the synod, which had been summoned at a place well away from Constantinople for fear of popular support for him in the capital. Psellus Accusation is an informative document. ²⁵ The main charges were treason and heresy. Cerularius was accused of trying to supplant the Emperor, but it is not clear whether he meant to combine the imperial and patriarchal offices. If so, he was attacking the basic structure of the Empire and was unlikely to succeed. He evidently thought the priesthood superior to secular office and here again he was stressing something alien to the established interdependence of church and state each essential to the other and with different functions. Cerularius was also charged with heresy and accused of dabbling in occult mysteries and consulting unsavoury soothsayers whom he allowed into the Great Church. Many details bring to life his character and activities. For instance in his colourful arrogance he set up looms in the vaults of Hagia Sophia to spin the exclusive imperial gold cloth for his own use. Had he lived he would certainly have been deposed, though there was some risk in this because of his following in the capital and his links with the influential Ducas family to whom he was related by marriage. Isaac probably later paid the penalty for his attack on Cerularius which would certainly have roused the antipathy of the Ducas and may have contributed to his own somewhat sudden and unexplained abdication in 1059.

After such a firebrand as Cerularius the next two patriarchs must have proved a welcome relief. Constantine III Lichudes (2 February 1059-9/ 10 August 1063) had been a distinguished and valued minister, proedrus, and protovestiarius. He was one of several candidates and was chosen for his statesmanlike and virtuous qualities. Scylitzes Continuatus spoke of an election by 'clergy and people' as well as the synod, ²⁶ unusual if so, but perhaps a sop allowed by the Emperor to compensate for his unpopular attack on the late Patriarch. Before his ordination and enthronement were permitted the Emperor (always in financial difficulties) made him give up the administration (and revenues) of the Mangana which he had received from Constantine IX before he became patriarch. ²⁷ The most significant aspect of Lichudes' patriarchate was the continued persecution of the monophysites, all the more disastrous in view of defence problems and the possibility that if driven too far the Syrians and the Armenians would join, or at any rate tolerate, the Turkic invaders, which was in fact what happened. Michael the Syrian reported two edicts in Constantine Ducas's reign under an unnamed Patriarch whose sudden death he considered to be a sign of divine displeasure. This must have been Lichudes. All nonChalcedonians were to be evicted from Melitene and their sacred books burnt. ²⁸

John Xiphilinus (1 January 1064-2 August 1075), who followed Lichudes, belonged to the same circle of intellectuals as Psellus. ²⁹ He had been nomophylax in charge of the Law School set up by Constantine IX in 1045 and then later in the reign fell into disfavour at court, the victim of an intrigue. Like his friend Psellus he went into a monastery on Bithynian Mount Olympus. Unlike Psellus he found his vocation there, stayed on and became head of the house. With reluctance he agreed to take up the patriarchal office, in his eyes no promotion but a descent from a higher form of divine service. During the first year of Xiphilinus's patriarchate the drive against the monophysites continued. The Jacobite Patriarch Athanasius and some of his bishops were imprisoned for a time in the monastery of the Greek metropolitan of Melitene. Then they were summoned to Constantinople, as well as Ignatius, the Jacobite metropolitan of Melitene. Athanasius died en route but Ignatius arrived and was exiled by the synod to Mount Ganos in Gallipoli. ³⁰ Later in 1065 the Armenians, ecclesiastics and princes, were summoned to Constantinople and pressed to agree to ecclesiastical union but without success. Their hatred of the Greeks was only intensified and the Armenians living in Asia Minor vented their fury on their Greek neighbours. The Greek metropolitan of Caesarea was seized and cruelly killed by Kakig the ex-king of Ani. But this was not merely a religious problem; it reflected deeprooted racial antipathy of long standing which was only exacerbated by Constantinople's religious policy. As usually the case in Byzantium, orthodoxy was more important than political expediency and here Xiphilinus was in the normal Byzantine tradition. Xiphilinus's expertise as a jurist served him well in dealing with intricate marital problems of canon and civil law, as is seen in the synodal rulings of 1066 and 1067. ³¹ From Psellus's eulogy on him he is revealed as a man of compassion, aware of the needs of the poor, as in his organization of a daily distribution of bread behind the phiale of Hagia Sophia. ³² His attitude towards the state was firm rather than aggressive. He did not hesitate to uphold ecclesiastical prerogative against imperial claims, as for instance in his rejection of an imperial attempt to appoint a bishop in a way contrary to canon and civil law. ³³ Towards the end of his patriarchate he was closely involved in matters of state. Constantine X died in 1067 leaving three minors. It was Xiphilinus who acted with the senate in absolving their mother Eudocia from her promise to Constantine not to marry again. It was obviously in the interests of the Empire to have a military man in charge and in 1068 Eudocia chose as her second husband the general Romanus Diogenes (1068-71). Xiphilinus lived on into the succeeding reign of the young Ducas Michael VII (1071-8) and supported his attempt to ally with the Norman Robert Guiscard and to betroth his son Constantine to Guiscard's daughter Helen. ³⁴ Xiphilinus was the finest of the eleventh-century patriarchs, humane, a philosopher as well as a jurist, balanced in outlook, a spiritually-minded man with a strong sense of duty.

Cosmas I of Jerusalem (8 August 1075-8 August 1081) had a reputation for sanctity. His term of office covered the troubled period preceding Alexius Comnenus's successful coup of 1081. Michael VII had been deposed in 1078; he became a Studite monk and was subsequently elected by the synod to be metropolitan of Ephesus. ³⁵ Cosmas could not approve the third marriage of Michael's successor, Nicephorus III Botaneiates, to the Alan princess Maria, Michael's ex-wife, though he went no further than degrading the priest who married them. ³⁶ But Cosmas did successfully oppose Alexius Comnenus's attempt to repudiate his wife Irene Ducaena when he wanted to marry the fascinating already twicewed ex-Empress Maria Alania. Alexius even had himself crowned without Irene which alarmed the Ducas family. Alexius's mother, the redoubtable Anna Dalassena, hated Irene and the Ducas connection. Moreover she had in mind to replace Patriarch Cosmas (who was pro-Ducas) with her own favourite monk Eustratius Garidas. According to the historian Anna Comnena, Cosmas agreed to abdicate provided that he was first allowed to crown Irene Empress. This he did and then went. The most significant synodal act during his office was the condemnation of certain heretical views connected with the teaching of the scholar John Italus who was a friend of the Ducas family. This was during the period 1076-7. ³⁷ At this time the Ducas family were still in power. John Italus was not then mentioned by name and the more important sequel to this action took place in the succeeding reign of Alexius Comnenus, the rival of the Ducas family whose protégé the Emperor was not inclined to favour. Thus when Patriarch Cosmas departed from office the issue of the philosophers versus the theologians was left largely unresolved. This is only one of various pointers indicating that in many respects the year 1081 did not really mark a break in continuity for the Empire.

By April 1081 the Comnenian family in the person of Alexius I had secured the throne. For nearly a hundred years (1081-1180) three able rulers — Alexius I, his son John II, and his grandson Manuel I -gave an apparent measure of stability to Byzantium. They came from the military aristocracy whose previous attempts to take control, first by Isaac I Comnenus, then by Romanus IV Diogenes, had been short-lived. Now with the Comnenian dynasty the ascendancy of the civil aristocracy was overthrown. It was not until 1185 that the Comnenian dominance was ended, first by the brief minority of Manuel I's young son Alexius II (1180-3), and then by the unacceptable autocracy of Andronicus I the erratic and unstable cousin of Manuel, whose growing tyranny brought him a cruel death in 1185. The throne fell to the less competent Angeli family (1185-1204) and the way was open for an avaricious Venice bent on enlarging her economic empire and a Roman Church anxious to assert the overall supremacy of the papacy.

It is true that under the Comneni there were certain changes which contrast with the regime during the years 1025-81. Alexius I pursued a close-knit family or 'clan' policy where key (and other) positions were assigned to his relatives. Alterations in hierarchical arrangements and in administration strengthened the ruling house at the expense of the previously powerful civil bureaucracy. There are certainly also other contrasts. Dynastic continuity and the undoubted ability of the Comneni did bring about a consistent (if not always successful) stand against internal weakness and external pressures. Nevertheless all this only afforded a breathing space. Whether ruled by eleventh-century mediocrities or competent Comnenian diplomats, in both political and ecclesiastical fields often inseparable — the years 1025-1204 were characterized by certain trends spanning the two centuries and pointing to the future. The ambitions of the Normans occupying South Italy and Sicily and coveting Byzantium itself; the growing independence of the Balkan principalities who were also to stake a claim to Constantinople; the vigorous reform movements of the western Church and the claims of the papacy; the growing polemic on differing points of doctrine and discipline within the two Churches; the Latin concern over lack of access to the Holy Places; the building up of western crusading fervour and colonial ambitions; and above all the growth of flourishing communities in Italy, such as Venice and Genoa, with the drive to push their way still further into eastern markets thus eroding the Byzantine economy — all these factors were coming to the boil throughout the eleventh century, only to be intensified during the twelfth century as the West grew in strength and battened on an Empire fighting with inadequate weapons to keep back, or at least to come to terms with, the Turks, as well as having to deal with the aggressive Pecheneg and Cuman tribes on the north-cast frontiers.

Continuity is also found in certain more specifically internal developments, despite some change of emphasis. These were mainly intellectual and religious activities. For instance philosophical studies were vigorously pursued in both eleventh and twelfth centuries often leading, albeit inadvertently, to charges of heresy. Then on a rather different level there were various forms of dualist heresy, especially the widespread Bogomilism which also tended to be dangerous to the government since it readily led to attacks on the establishment. This popular movement was particularly active in both centuries, and indeed persisted in some form or other throughout the middle ages. Here as in many other ways the eleventh and twelfth centuries foreshadow the Palaeologan period.

Cosmas, the last of the five notable eleventh-century patriarchs, was succeeded by Eustratius Garidas (May 1081-July 1084), the candidate of Alexius Comnenus's formidable mother Anna Dalassena. His appointment may have been some compensation to her for having to swallow the Ducas connection forged by the marriage of Irene Ducaena to her son which Cosmas had so unaccommodatingly refused to sever. Eustratius seemed to have had none of the qualities of his immediate predecessors and the highlight of his brief and troubled patriarchate, the trial of John Italus and his followers, was not initiated by him and was an episode in which he played a comparatively minor role. It was in fact even thought that he was partial to the accused.

This first heresy trial in Alexius's reign was directed against a pupil of Michael Psellus. ³⁸ He was John Italus who had finally succeeded his master in the post of head (hypatus) of the philosophers. The attack must be viewed against the background of contemporary intellectual activity. The humanist approach with its interest in classical antiquity, an approach seen so clearly from the days of Photius onwards, ³⁹ continued in the eleventh century and was particularly reflected in an interest in philosophical studies. Here the lead was taken by Psellus. He was a remarkably vigorous and many-sided man, a scholar whose career included nearly forty years of usually successful intrigue at court as well as a major share in promoting higher education in Constantinople. He was particularly occupied with Plato and the neoplatonists and had a large, and according to him, international, following of students. The views of Plato and his interpreters, for instance Proclus, often differed from Christian teaching on certain subjects, as the origin of the world or the future of the soul, and it was therefore necessary for scholars to take great care to dissociate themselves from such teaching. Orthodoxy thus regarded pagan philosophy as an ancillary to theology which could be used only as long as it did not conflict with Christian doctrine. After all even the revered John of Damascus had extensively drawn on Aristotelian logic in the first part of his Fount of Knowledge. Evidently Psellus was suspected of going beyond the permitted bounds and of holding heretical views, but he refuted any suchcharge and defended himself in a short profession of faith. ⁴⁰ He did not have to face a trial, though he did absent himself from court for a while, entering a monastery in Bithynian Mount Olympus in Asia Minor which (as might be expected) he found highly uncongenial. The feeling which had been roused against him may have been reflected in his correspondence with John Xiphilinus, his old colleague. The two men had been engaged in teaching in the capital, Psellus more interested in rhetoric, philosophy, and the arts, Xiphilinus in law, though evidently in each case not exclusively so. To what extent they were rivals in the scholastic arena is not clear, ⁴¹ but they certainly did not agree in their philosophical priorities. Xiphilinus bitterly reproached Psellus for his championship of Plato. In his reply to Xiphilinus Psellus stressed that the church fathers had found much of value in the old philosophers and had used their methods. He passionately emphasized that much as he revered Plato, in the last resort his hope was in Christ. You say that Plato is mine, he wrote, but it is Christ who is mine. ⁴²

Criticism of Psellus did not prevent the continued study of the neoplatonists and the use of dialectic, as the career of John Italus showed. He went on lecturing and in the eyes of some authorities he was regarded as perverting his students. The fears of the conservative, and particularly the monastic, element came to a head in the heresy trial of 1076-7, renewed in 1082 under Alexius I. The first protest was during Michael VII's reign. At that time Italus had imperial support. He was a friend of the reigning Ducas family and certain of his discussions on philosophical and theological topics were dedicated to the Emperor Michael and his brother Andronicus. ⁴³ There was obviously general discussion about Italus's views and the matter came to the standing synod in Constantinople. Nine errors contrary to orthodoxy were condemned. These errors can be summed up as the use of human reason to explain divine mysteries such as the Incarnation and the hypostatic union, the acceptance of specific views contrary to Christian teaching, and the assumption that philosophy was a valid study and source of truth in its own right. The minutes of the trial have not survived but the errors are listed in the later 1082 trial and appear in the nine anathemas of the Synodicon which are read out on the first Sunday of Lent together with one or two further errors (tradition varies). ⁴⁴ On the occasion of the 1076-7 trial the synod compromised. Italus was not mentioned by name, but it must have been clear that the popular teacher with his crowded lecture room was the main objective. Italus protested his innocence and affirmed his Christian faith to Patriarch Cosmas asking for a full enquiry. Cosmas however let the matter drop and Italus continued his lecture courses, no doubt employing dialectic as before but without necessarily subscribing personally to unorthodox views.

With the accession of Alexius Comnenus in 1081 the situation changed. Genuine apprehension continued among the more conservative whose views on learning were certainly not the same as those who wished freely to explore the resources of philosophy and evidently did so. It was noticeable however that neither Patriarch Cosmas nor his successor Eustratius took the lead in the protest against the intellectuals. This was left to the Emperor Alexius. For on this occasion there was a significant political element involved and the offender was named. The fact was that John Italus, who had been suspect during Michael VII's reign, was himself a Latin from South Italy and probably of partly Norman blood. Moreover in 1077 he had acted as envoy to Robert Guiscard on behalf of Michael when it was hoped to come to an understanding between the Normans and the Byzantines. Now in 1081 a rival Byzantine dynasty was on the throne. Guiscard had become a dangerous enemy. In open alliance with the anti-Comnenian faction he was attacking Byzantine territory and challenging Alexius's authority. Italus was an obvious target. In defending himself he had none of Michael Psellus's elegance of style or adroitness of argument even though his bold dialectic had held his student audience. Anna Comnena gave Italus a bad press in her history. She significantly stressed that he was stirring up dangerous trouble, presumably of a political nature, a reference to the opposition to the accession of Alexius. She also deplored his clumsy use of the Greek tongue, a defect attested by others and a fault which may have led him inadvertently to make statements open to misinterpretation.

Probably with political motives in mind, it was Alexius rather than ecclesiastics who really took the initial move against Italus in 1082. ⁴⁵ A mixed court of laity and clergy summoned by the Emperor found him guilty on the charges already anonymously anathematized in 1077, with two other charges added. Italus had no chance of defending himself; at one point he was almost lynched by a threatening mob, perhaps stirred up by the monks. He disappeared into monastic life. But the study of philosophy and theological discussion did not cease.

It may however be no mere coincidence that at this time more formalized educational arrangements for the clergy emerged, though without creating an institution in the modern sense of the term. Alexius I himself paid considerable attention to the training of the clergy which he considered to be often wanting both in the capital and elsewhere. In his novel of 1107 he tried amongst other things to stimulate suitable clergy to teach by creating a special class or grade (with remuneration) for them and in this way he hoped to ensure that future clerks received a sound education and were fitted to undertake their pastoral responsibilities. ⁴⁶ Further there is evidence that schools or centres of education under patriarchal authority developed during the twelfth century. There were evidently certain leading teachers, one for the Gospels (also called 'oecumenical', an honorary title of secular origin) ⁴⁷ and two others for the Epistles (the 'Apostle') and the Psalter respectively, as well as a fourth, the Master of the Rhetoricians (the Rhetor). ⁴⁸

Care for teaching and pastoral work really lay with the Patriarch and episcopate, but Alexius never hesitated to intervene in ecclesiastical matters whether concerning heresy or church organization. His activities were not always well received. In fact general statements often made about Alexius's devotion to orthodoxy and the Church need some qualification. Anna Comnena's picture of her father as the popular protector of orthodoxy is no doubt true up to a point -this was in any case part of accepted imperial responsibility. But her description of her parents as the 'holy pair' poring over the works of the church fathers day and night gives only part of the story. Alexius was not the only Emperor to expound the truths of orthodoxy and to enjoy theological discussion. On the other hand he was no unfailingly benign friend of the clergy. He came from a military milieu whose ranks, unlike those of the civil aristocracy, did not proliferate high-ranking clerics or show any special partiality for ecclesiastical office. ⁴⁹ But his steps seemed dogged by disputes and problems linked to some doctrinal question or concerned with control of ecclesiastical administration.

Surviving evidence points to a conflict between the vested interests of Emperor and higher clergy, with the Patriarch and metropolitans opposing the Emperor and the high office-holders of the Great Church. According to the critic John Oxites there was little to choose between any of these and his outspoken views afford a salutary corrective to the uninhibited praise which Anna Comnena gives her father. John V Oxites, Patriarch of Antioch (1089-1100), was a friend of the Patriarch of Constantinople, Nicholas III. He left his see in 1098 after the conquest of Antioch by the Latin crusaders and came to Constantinople, the usual refuge of clergy in exile. In 1100 he resigned his patriarchate, pleading administrative difficulties, ill health (he had gout), old age, and a desire for quiet and opportunity for study. He retired to a monastery on the island of Oxeia in the sea of Marmora. He was a vigorous and forthright man and he left various writings, including anti-Latin polemic and suggestions for the reform of church administrations. Among his works, as well as a short advisory memorandum to the Emperor, there was an address to the Emperor Alexius in which he unleashed biting invective, hurling against the Emperor accusations of widespread ecclesiastical spoliation (not simply the affair of the church treasure), injustice, maladministration, oppression, and on the moral side he stressed the Emperor's lack of genuine repentance which had invoked divine displeasure resulting in disastrous attacks on the Empire. He also boldly referred to the illegal seizure of the throne. Added to this he linked with Alexius the higher clergy who were accused among other things of being as rapacious as 'the wolves of Arabia'. He added that instead of robbing churches the very wealthy might have been made to contribute to the needs of state. ⁵⁰ All this may have an element of exaggeration but on the whole it rings true and it reflects as it were the accumulative effect not only of a dangerous political situation but also of the various problems and clashes which make it difficult to ignore the underlying struggle between the Emperor and certain ecclesiastical elements.

Indeed throughout Alexius's reign underlying tension and conflicting interests came to the surface. Alexius offended the powerful clergy of the Great Church by his pointed edict on their need for reform; his upgrading of certain bishoprics was resented by the parent metropolitans; his confiscation of church treasure to deal with an acute crisis met with opposition within the synod and elsewhere (though there was precedent for such action). His views on relations with Rome seemed on occasion to conflict with those of his Patriarch as well as many of his subjects, a situation frequently repeated in the years to come. In fact within the polity there was increasing ecclesiastical tension. This gathered force during the later middle ages as political need for western help (to be bought only at the price of church union) intensified, while Orthodox tradition, pulling in a different direction, was tenaciously adhered to by most churchmen and laity. It was a tribute to Alexius's ability and determination that though he did not always get his way and had to face bitter criticism such as that of John Oxites, he did on the whole maintain some control over conflicting and constantly changing church affairs.

Alexius found that heretical issues were by no means settled with the condemnation of Italus and his followers (some of whom were deacons of the Great Church and were acquitted). He had to deal with other cases of alleged heresy, as well as the rathe⇒̃ different problem of the rapidly spreading popular dualist sects.

The case of Leo, the metropolitan of Chalcedon, plagued the early years of Alexius's reign and was closely linked to political opposition to the Comnenian regime. Leo had violently opposed the requisitioning of ecclesiastical treasure in late 1081 and early 1082. He was supported by the stricter clergy and by Italus and his followers (soon to be tried on different charges and known to be pro-Ducas). Leo also accused the Patriarch Eustratius of diverting part of the appropriated treasure to his own secular use, though he refused to bring positive written proof of this. Subsequently in 1086 under his successor NicholasIII by order of the Emperor the exPatriarch was cleared of this charge. ⁵¹ Leo was deposed from his bishopric, ⁵² but he went on agitating and he was exiled to Sozopolis on the Black Sea. ⁵³ This did not settle the controversy. Leo continued to develop his view that it was in effect iconoclastic to melt down and convert to secular use the precious metals to be found on the icon frames and perhaps (as later became the usage) on part of the actual icon itself. He maintained that this was to attack the sanctity of the icon. Nevertheless Alexius wished to heal the rift and to settle the troubled question of his seizure of church treasure. He made it clear that there would be no further such acts of appropriation. ⁵⁴ At a council convened at the Blachernae Palace in 1091 or 1092 it was pointed out that in accordance with the rulings of Nicaea II, which were read out at the meeting, relative veneration was given to the icon and only the prototype worshipped, while the relative veneration was not transferred to the actual material of the icon. Leo, who had been allowed to return to Constantinople, made his peace and accepted the decisions of Nicaea II on the right veneration of icons and was restored to his see. ⁵⁵ Though he was difficult and obstinate and, according to Anna Comnena, ⁵⁶ no canonist, a man with more zeal than knowledge, he was all the same a virtuous, courageous, and likeable person with a certain dry sense of humour and friends did not desert him. In the end Alexius won him over.

There were other problems of heresy during the reign of Alexius, some of which involved the monophysite Armenians many of whom were now within the Empire. Such was the affair of Nilus the Calabrian and his monastic associates. This followed closely on the trial of Italus and it concerned unorthodox teaching on the relation between the two natures of Christ, that is whether the assumed human nature of Christ was deified by nature (φ016Bσιη), or by participation or adoption (ϕἐση). Nilus thought that it was by nature. Nilus had a considerable following and the Emperor himself tried to reason with him but failed. In the early years of Nicholas III's patriarchate he was condemned and the hypostatic union reaffirmed. Anna Comnena considered that Nilus was simply a case of a well-meaning but ignorant monk who did not understand theological terms. But the episode was not without significance as Anna was quick to note, since the point at issue had a dangerous attraction for the Armenians who were thronging the capital. ⁵⁷

The Armenians were an ever-present concern to Emperor and Church. Alexius, always ready for theological disputation, set himself the task of winning them over while he was at Philippopolis in 1114 and he asked for the help of his friend Eustratius, metropolitan of Nicaea, who was with him. Alexius was in fact at that time dealing himself with dualist heretics but there were also a number of Armenians in the region. ⁵⁸ As Patriarch John IX was to point out in defence of Eustratius later on in 1117 it was all too easy to fall into doctrinal error. In addition Eustratius also appeared to have been caught up in cross-currents of jealousy and conflicting interests, while his friendship with Alexius was a hindrance rather than a help.

Eustratius had been a pupil of John Italus, but he had specifically dissociated himself from the heretical views ascribed to his master. But like Italus he used Proclus and the other neoplatonists. He was a commentator on Aristotle, on the Nicomachean Ethics and the second book of the Analytics. As a leading theologian with anti-Latin views he had taken part in discussions in Constantinople with the Italian Peter Grossolanus on the controversial topics of the filioque and azymes. In response to Alexius's request he set out to write on the two natures of Christ using dialectic — Anna remarked that he prided himself on his use of this method even more than those who had frequented the Stoa and Academy. In dealing with this sensitive issue he laid himself open to the charge of unorthodoxy — the Armenians as well as the Orthodox found his views unacceptable. Eustratius himself appeared to have said that his writings on this subject were circulated by his enemies in an unrevised draft unknown to him and he admitted that he had once been led astray by pseudo-Cyrillic work. The case against Eustratius was set out at length by Nicetas, metropolitan of Heracleia. ⁵⁹ Despite Alexius's efforts the charge was pressed and came before the synod in 1117. Opinions were divided and Eustratius's opponents only just got their condemnation through. A second session was held to discuss the appropriate penance. The Patriarch urged oeconomia and philanthropia and suggested the minimum, that is the retention of rank but suspension of office until the synod should decide otherwise. Considerable animosity was shown in the discussions which ensued, some urging the insertion of Eustratius's name in the Synodicon as a heretic, some even wishing to break off communion with the Patriarch and with those bishops who spoke on Eustratius's behalf. Contrary to the hopes of Alexius and the Patriarch those who vigorously opposed the use of dialectic in considering doctrinal questions won. Eustratius was suspended for life. ⁶⁰ It would appear that Eustratius's opponents were moved by animosity not only towards him, but towards his friend and champion the Emperor.

Throughout the twelfth century both Church and Emperor continued to keep a watchful eye for heretical slips. There were a number of trials of well-known personalities, often church officials and scholars of standing accused on a definite issue, usually Trinitarian or Christological. In contrast to the more intangible problem of eradicating the widespread popular dualist sects such cases were in a sense easier to deal with, though synodal condemnation did not always end controversy.

Manuel's reign was particularly noticeable for problems of heresy. Like his grandfather Alexius and other predecessors on the imperial throne, Manuel was always ready to plunge into doctrinal discussion. In the 1150s a dispute arose out of a debate among the deacons of Hagia Sophia and others concerning the interpretation of the words in the liturgy 'Thou art He Who offers and is offered and receives'. The men named in the synodal enquiry were the learned deacon Soterichus Panteugenes, Patriarch-elect of Antioch, Eustathius, metropolitan of Dyrrachium, with Michael of Thessalonica and Nicephorus Basilaces, both deacons at Hagia Sophia and theological teachers at the patriarchal school. The point at issue was whether the eucharistic sacrifice was offered to the Father or to all three Persons of the Trinity. In 1156 the synod confirmed the latter as orthodox teaching and the opposite view was condemned. ⁶¹ But the question continued to be much debated and in a written dialogue Soterichus put the case for offering to the Father alone. ⁶² After further discussion under the presidency of Manuel, in the following year the synod anathematized Soterichus. ⁶³ The anathema was formally entered in the Synodicon with the added statement that the Divine Liturgy was neither a mere memorial nor a distinct sacrifice but a daily renewal of the sacrifice on the Cross. Nicholas of c, who was fierce in defence of orthodoxy, wrote three tracts accusing Soterichus of Arianism and other heresies. ⁶⁴ Soterichus who had sat on the board of enquiry as a Patriarch-elect was inevitably deprived of all office.

Another dispute in the intellectual circles of the capital during Manuel's reign had links with similar debates going on in western countries. Demetrius from Phrygian Lampe, a would-be theologian and a frequent ambassador to the West, came back to Constantinople from Germany in 1160 with criticism of the Latin interpretation of Christ's words 'My Father is greater than I' (John 14:28). The Latins held that the Son was both less than, and equal to, the Father. This was an old problem involving the human and divine natures of Christ and the hypostatic union and in Constantinople there were varying shades of interpretation. Manuel supported the western point of view. He was strongly pro-Latin and at that time had Italians in his service. Hugh Etherianus of Pisa, a western adviser of Manuel, was involved in the dispute and in the ensuing debates he put the Latin view. Manuel sent for Demetrius of Lampe but failed to win him over. Demetrius, who had considerable support, attempted to counter Manuel's efforts by defiantly circulating a written defence of his position. The controversy roused much discussion among the theologians in the City and the majority, moved by anti-Latin feeling as well as by their doctrinal arguments, were opposed to the Emperor. Manuel himself then approached the divided episcopate and those bishops suspected of supporting Demetrius were summoned individually to private interviews with him but without result. Then hearing that the dissident bishops were banding together against him, he resorted to the synod. ⁶⁵

During 1166 several meetings of the synod were held. A statement confirming Manuel's position was drawn up and was inserted in the Synodicon. It was held that Christ's words referred to his human nature and it went on to anathematize those who maintained that Christ's suffering was only 'a fantasy'. It acclaimed those who held that the human nature of Christ by reason of the hypostatic union remained inseparable from God the Word and received like honour and adoration. ⁶⁶ The entry in the Synodicon was prefaced by a tribute to the initiative taken by 'the divinely crowned, the most powerful, the theologian, the victor, the mighty Emperor, our born-in-the-purple autocrator Manuel Comnenus'. There was no mention of any individual offender. Manuel had four special marble tablets made and on these was engraved a long statement giving the accepted view. The tablets were set up inside Hagia Sophia, but as the patriarchal register shows the controversy lingered on and continued to provoke lively discussion. Statements had to be drawn up to which the episcopate had to give formal acceptance. Later on in Manuel's reign Constantine, metropolitan of Corfu, and the abbot John Eirenicus were condemned for their views on this subject. ⁶⁷ Under the Angeli and even after 1204 the controversy went on and opinion seemed to swing against Manuel and the view he supported. Anti-Latin feeling was then growing even stronger than it had been in some quarters under the Comneni. As for Manuel himself there were many reasons why he should take a pro-Latin point of view. His personal preferences, his political ambitions, perhaps his western wife, his frequent contact with westerners living in his court or passing through Constantinople -these factors all enabled him to understand and develop a liking for a way of life that was rapidly becoming anathema to many of his subjects.

Towards the end of his reign Manuel went almost too far for his day, this time in another direction. Desiring to gain converts and perhaps moved by what for his generation was a rare understanding of the monotheism which Christianity and Islam held in common, he wished to omit the anathema against the God of Muhammad in the official abjuration required of converted Muslims. After fighting fiercely against tenacious opposition Manuel did manage to get some concession. ^67a In future Muslim converts were to abjure only Muhammad and his followers, but not his God.

Manuel's theological activities were in fact not always approved by his contemporaries. It was even thought (though not expressed until after his death) that he might have laid himself open to the charge of heresy over the Muslim abjuration. The historian Nicetas Choniates, who did not like Manuel, writing later on thought it safe to say then that the Emperor took too much upon himself, hating to take second place in the theological debates which were promoted so often, 'just as though he completely comprehended Christ himself and could therefore teach about Him more clearly and divinely'. ⁶⁸

Thus from the eleventh century onwards Byzantine intellectual life seemed to be characterized by an increasingly argumentative and less formal frame of mind. Perhaps the earlier period lacks evidence but it is undeniable that the attitude of a Leo VI, for instance, was very different from that of a Manuel I. In Byzantium there were always rhetorical and conventional pieces for special celebrations (as now on occasion in the Middle East). These are not entirely to western taste. But this difference of opinion should not obscure Byzantine achievement in both secular and religious spheres. Some years ago Herbert Hunger pointed out the vitality and variety of Comnenian literature. ⁶⁹ The humour and wit, the satire, the secular romance, as well as the liveliness of religious dialogue and the pursuit of Platonic and Aristotelian traditions, these all characterized the twelfth, and to some extent the eleventh, centuries ⁷⁰ and distinguished them from the earlier Byzantine world. It is hard to imagine a Nicetas of Nicomedia and Anselm of Havelberg publicly and courteously debating certain differences between the Churches of Rome and Constantinople in the atmosphere of acid superiority towards the West found in the tenth-century imperial court at the time of Liutprand's second visit.

Both eleventh and twelfth centuries saw men whose alertness and, in their own way, creativity, make it hard to see why it should ever have been suggested that the heresy trial of John Italus and others drove clerics, who were usually scholars as well, into a frame of mind described as 'elegant mandarinism'. Despite the example made of the philosopher John Italus and others, both philosophical studies and heresy trials continued throughout the Comnenian period. From time to time the study of philosophy seems to emerge, though with nothing like the brilliant and widespread reputation which it enjoyed in Psellus's day. Only twice do the actual names of the head or consul (hypatus) of the philosophers appear, Theodore of Smyrna who turns up in Hades in the satire Timarion, and Michael of Anchialus, later Patriarch Michael III (January 1170-March 1178). In his inaugural as hypatus, probably delivered in 1166 or 1167, Michael evidently thought it wise to make clear his views on philosophical studies. The errors of the philosophers, presumably the neoplatonists, had to be rejected, but he admitted that some of the ancient philosophers could be used to advantage. He himself meant to concentrate on Aristotle's study of the visible creation, believing that this could lead to knowledge of the invisible world. ⁷¹ Aristotle on the physical sciences was obviously safer than Plato. But the very fact of Michael of Anchialus's warning pointed to the continuing attraction of neoplatonism, especially Proclus. Nicholas of Methone (†c. 1165) thought it necessary to write a full-scale refutation of Proclus Elements of Theology, but evidently without much success. It was evident that whatever the official attitude the revival of neoplatonism by Psellus and his followers inaugurated a continuing (if prudently private) enjoyment of the officially suspect philosophers which continued to the days of Gemistus Plethon and beyond. ⁷² When Byzantines ran into doctrinal error because they applied syllogistic methods to religious mysteries, such as the Incarnation, it was understandable that they were condemned by the Church for spreading error and the root of the trouble was held to be the application of human reason to a supernatural mystery. Psellus would have said that the fault lay in the wrong use of human reasoning, for he maintained that its right use could only strengthen religious truth. It is true that the Byzantine Church never produced an Anselm of Canterbury, but its creative religious energy took other forms. It developed a theology and a spirituality in which there was place for a Gregory Palamas and a Nicholas Cabasilas, developing church doctrine and embracing the religious life of all — monks, clergy, and the everyday laity. ⁷³

Individual heretics who had fallen into Christological error, often without meaning to, could be challenged and put right. The allinvasive dualist sects were far more insidious and consequently difficult to grapple with. ⁷⁴ These sects were often particularly associated with Alexius I by reason of the confrontations during his reign so dramatically highlighted by Anna Comnena. But the dualist sects had a long history going back to the Gnostics and Marcionites in the early Christian Church and to the third-century Persian Mani and the Manichaeans. In the early middle ages a form of dualism was developed in the Armenian regions by a militant sect, the Paulicians. ⁷⁵ Their stronghold was Tephrice in western Armenia. They were aggressive and constantly raided over the border and they had spread into Asia Minor. The Byzantines tried to root them out in their drive eastward though not very successfully. In the eighth century these Paulicians had gained a foothold in Europe. Along with Armenian and Syrian monophysites they had been transplanted to Thrace by the Byzantine Emperors Constantine V and Leo IV, the imperial purpose being the acquisition of first-rate soldiers for use in the wars against the Bulgars. Transplantation of this kind was normal Byzantine policy. The Paulicians kept their identity and were not converted to orthodoxy. It was also easy for them to infiltrate across the frequently changing frontier marches into Bulgaria.

Something of the Paulicians in the ninth century is known from Peter of Sicily who had first-hand knowledge of the sect because in 869 he had been sent to Tephrice as imperial ambassador. He wrote an attack on these heretics calling his work a history of the Manichaeans, though it is clear that the two sects were not identical. The Byzantines often used the term 'Manichaean' as synonymous with 'Paulician'. Another source of information was the account of the 'recently revived' Manichaean heresy, a work attributed to 'Photius, the most holy archbishop of Constantinople'. ⁷⁶ The essence of the Paulician belief appears to have been a distinction between two principles of good and evil. Matter was regarded as evil and hence the fundamental Christian belief in the Incarnation was rejected together with the sacraments and the hierarchy. There were many variations for, as John of Damascus was driven to confess of these and similar heresies, 'they differ among each other in utter confusion for their false teaching is divided up into innumerable factions'. ⁷⁷ Some insight into what Paulicians thought — or rather what contemporary Byzantines believed them to think — is found in surviving forms of abjuration. ⁷⁸ One nondoctrinal characteristic certainly seems to have distinguished the Paulicians and to have remained unaltered, that is their aggressive militancy and the close-knit nature of their communities. The movement had been strengthened in the tenth century by a further transplantation when John I Tzimisces moved a batch of Paulicians to the regions around Philippopolis, again in the hope of getting good recruits. But whatever form it took, this heresy was not eliminated and was still found in the Comnenian period.

The problem was further complicated both for the Byzantine Empire and for Bulgaria by the rise of yet another version of dualism in the Balkans in the tenth century. ⁷⁹ This was Bogomilism, getting its name from its founder Bogomil ('loved of God') and closely linked to Messalianism. Mindful of the danger to orthodoxy (and to the establishment) the tenth-century Bulgarian tsar Peter (927-69) asked the Byzantine Patriach Theophylact (933-56) for advice in dealing with this form of what he described as 'Manichaeism mingled with Paulicianism'. Theophylact wrote two letters to him, one of which has survived. He laid down the ecclesiastical penalties for the different degrees of offence ranging from leaders (who if they repented had to be rebaptized) to the simple-minded who had no idea that they were participating in heresy. He pointed out that the civil penalty for obdurate heretics was death, but advised Peter to use persuasion and show clemency. The form of the anathema to be used set out the heretical doctrines under nine headings. ⁸⁰

This sect was attacked by a Bulgarian priest Cosmas in a treatise written in Old Church Slavonic. ⁸¹ He does not actually use the term Bogomil for the movement, this came later probably in the mid-eleventh century and was found Zigabenus Panoplia Dogmatica which he wrote at Alexius I's request. ⁸² Unlike the Paulicians the Bogomils did not believe in two equal principles of good and evil but they made the Devil the elder son of God and a lesser force, and his brother was the younger son, the Logos-Son. The Devil was the creator of the world and it therefore followed that all material things were evil, including the sacraments. The Church and the priesthood were rejected; marriage was condemned; meat and wine were renounced. Certainly in their early days and until well on into the twelfth century the Bogomils seem to have had no regular church organization of their own. They did have leaders called 'apostles' and they followed their own way of religious life, holding prayer-meetings, using only the Lord's prayer and adopting a strict rule of fasting. They were less active and more contemplative than the warlike Paulicians and to outward appearances they must often have seemed to be simply orthodox monks leading devout and ascetic lives.

The Bogomils at first appealed mainly to the lower classes, the poor and oppressed peasantry and also to the lower clergy. That they were justified in their criticism of the established Church is borne out by Cosmas's plea for a higher standard among clerics and particularly monks whose behaviour, he maintained, contributed towards the prevalence of the heresy of 'these wicked dogs'. ⁸³ Cosmas also stressed another danger. The Bogomils had no respect for the established temporal regime, indeed they even encouraged disobedience towards those in authority such as the tsar or the great landowners. In a polity like Bulgaria, modelled closely on that of Byzantium, church and state stood together and the teaching of the Bogomils, if carried to its logical conclusion, would have undermined both.

With the final conquest of the Bulgarian kingdom by Byzantium in the early eleventh century the danger was brought still nearer home. ⁸⁴ Already in the previous century the Bogomils had spread rapidly throughout the old Bulgaria, particularly in Macedonia. Then with the incorporation into the Byzantine Empire there was increased Hellenization of the unpopular upper hierarchy in the Bulgarian Church as well as the usual oppressive taxation and exacting landlords. This caused misery and discontent and on occasion revolt and the Bogomils, with their criticism of the establishment, understandably had a great appeal and gained many converts. Their influence was by no means confined to Bulgarian peasantry. It was entrenched in some of the other European provinces and reached the capital, while a form of the heresy was rampant in Asia Minor and in certain areas was found under the name of the Phundagiagitae. Contemporary concern is revealed in a letter of the monk Euthymius of the Peribleptos house in Constantinople written to fellow monks in Acmonia in Phrygia, a place which he himself knew personally. He was writing sometime after the year 1034. This letter contains valuable information on the teachings of the Bogomils at that time and brings out the heretics' emphasis on monastic life and their debt to neo-Messalianism. ⁸⁵ Another critic of the eleventh century heresies was the author of a dialogue on demonology in which he censured a number of heresies, grouped together under the name 'Euchitae' and marked by some of the characteristics of both Bogomils and Messalians together with a good deal else, particularly demonology. But the demonology as expounded in this work was not really part of Bogomil teaching, though the Bogomils, partly influenced by the Messalians, did lay special emphasis on the role of demons inhabiting human beings. ⁸⁶

By Alexius Comnenus's day in the late eleventh century it was evident that Paulicians, Bogomils, Messalians, and other variants of dualist sects were well entrenched and widespread throughout the European and Asian provinces. Alexius's attacks on the two main groups are known in some detail from Anna Comnena. The Paulicians in Thrace (called Manichaeans by Anna) were subjected to long discussions with the Emperor himself lasting all day and far into the night. Alexius was then staying at Philippopolis in 1114 awaiting a Cuman attack from the north and was possibly apprehensive that the Paulicians might join the Turkic raiders. The three Paulician leaders, who were named by Anna, were unmoved, tearing Alexius's argument to shreds as though with sharp boars' teeth, so Anna said. But many appeared to yield to imperial persuasion. These were rewarded, the more important by 'great gifts' (unspecified) and the rest, farmers and labourers, were given arable land and vineyards and farm stock (which may have influenced their decision) and they were settled near Philippopolis at Neocastrum. ⁸⁷

On different occasions the Messalians and the Bogomils were attacked though without much real success. Anna correctly described the Bogomil doctrine as a mixture of Manichaeism ('which we also call the Paulician heresy') and Messalianism. The Bogomils and Messalians were a more tricky proposition than the Paulicians in that they went about looking like devout monks though inwardly ravening wolves, and their hold on the unwary was the greater since they pretended to conform to the Orthodox Church though in fact holding quite different tenets. They had even penetrated into some of the most important households in Constantinople. There is in fact a suggestion in Armenian sources that the formidable mother of Alexius Comnenus had succumbed to heresy. The fullest statement is in Matthew of Edessa but it is confused in detail and not conclusive. If Anna Dalassena did fall into heresy it would be one explanation why she faded out of her grand daughter's history. ⁸⁸ If she did err she presumably repented; she retired to the monastery of Christ the All-seeing which she had founded in Constantinople. ⁸⁹

Quite early in his reign Alexius tried to win over a Messalian or Enthusiast, Theodore of Trebizond (Blachernites, he had been a priest at the church of the Blachernae). The Emperor failed and the man was handed over to the synod and condemned to perpetual anathema. ⁹⁰ Alexius's more spectacular effort was some time around 1110. He was evidently greatly stirred by the widespread notoriety and influence of the Bogomils. The leader of this sect, Basil, was invited to the imperial palace and under pretence of friendly discussion and possibly imperial conversion was induced to expound his heresy to the Emperor. The room was partitioned by a curtain and behind this was a secretary taking down the dialogue. The Senate, with military men and ecclesiastics, including the Patriarch Nicholas III, were also seated behind the curtain. Neither Basil nor his twelve 'apostles' could be won over either by persuasion or by imprisonment. Finally the synod decided that Basil, the chief heretic who remained defiantly unrepentant, should be burnt. This took place in the Hippodrome and is described by Anna Comnena in great detail and almost with relish. ⁹¹ It may have been at this time that the synod also drew up thirteen anathemas against the Bogomils and Messalians and heretics of a similar nature. ⁹²

But neither Alexius nor any other authority was successful in rooting out the heresy. In various forms the dualists persisted until the end of the middle ages. They turned up in widely separated regions of what had been the Byzantine Empire before 1204, and probably only a small proportion of those taken in by the heresy were detected. In the mid-twelfth century Michael Italicus, the archbishop of Philippopolis in Thrace, evidently complained to his old pupil Theodore Prodromus about heretics in his diocese and Theodore replied that they too had their troubles in Constantinople. ⁹³ At the end of John II Comnenus I's reign and the beginning of Manuel I's several cases came to trial in Constantinople. In 1140 the synod in the capital condemned the writings of Constantine Chrysomalus described perhaps unjustly as a mixture of Bogomilism and Messalianism. These works were apparently read with avidity by the monks of St Nicholas near the Hieron and were circulating in other monasteries. With Chrysomalus the monk Peter and the proedrus Pamphilus were named. Chrysomalus was anathematized and handed over to the civil authorities. The other two received only very light penalties as they admitted their error and said that they had not really understood the implications of the doctrines which they had accepted. The offending books were to be burnt. ⁹⁴ Other offenders detected came from a far distant part of the Empire in Cappadocia. The bishops Clement of Sasima and Leontius of Balbissa were denounced to the metropolitan of Tyana and he deposed them from episcopal office and sent the case to the synod in Constantinople. The synodal document (1 October 1143) listed various practices and beliefs known to be Bogomil, some of which the defendants denied despite written evidence and witnesses from their dioceses. This did not seem to be such a clear-cut case as some. In the end the synod resorted to the commonly used precaution of confinement in isolation to prevent the spread of heretical views. ⁹⁵ At the same time there was a case brought against a monk Niphon from Cappadocia who was accused of Bogomilism and pending investigation was kept in solitary confinement in the monastery of the Peribleptos. In 1144 he was condemned and excommunicated. In 1146 he was however let out of the monastery and leniently treated as a friend by the new Patriarch. This was Cosmas II Atticus (1146-7), described by the historian Cinnamus as a simple fellow whose indiscretion brought about his own deposition. ⁹⁶ In the Macedonian provinces the various forms of the dualist heresy continued to flourish during Manuel's reign. As in Alexius's day in Thrace there seemed to be a mixture of 'Manichaeans' (presumably Paulicians), Bogomils (which often included, or were synonymous with, Messalians), and Armenians (monophysites). Such is the information in the life of Hilarion, bishop of Moglena in Macedonia during Manuel Comnenus's reign. The Life hinted that Manuel himself was drawn towards the heresies, which might reasonably be taken as only indicating the interest which was to be expected from the theologically-minded Emperor. The Life then went on to recount how Manuel urged the bishop to follow up his conversion of the monophysites and 'Manichaeans' by similar work among the Bogomils. Hilarion was said to have been successful both with these and with the monophysites and 'Manichaeans', though this is hardly borne out by later events. ⁹⁷

After 1204 the dualist heresy continued to flourish in early thirteenth-century Bulgaria, by now an independent kingdom. The tsar Boril (1207-18) made efforts to suppress it, as his Synodicon of 1211 showed. But Bulgarian dualism was not eradicated. As late as the second half of the fourteenth century Theodosius of Trnovo, monk and promoter of hesychasm in his country, thought it essential to warn his fellow countrymen first against the Bogomil and Messalian heresies, and then only secondly against the antiPalamites. ⁹⁸

The dualist movement in the Second Bulgarian Empire had indeed from the outset repercussions because of Bulgaria's proximity to Thrace (and the newly formed Latin Empire and principalities). It was easy for the heresy to spread and even to become a pawn in the complicated political moves of that period. In what was left of the old Byzantine Empire dualism persisted, if it only occasionally came to the surface in the patriarchal registers or elsewhere. Patriarch Germanus II of Nicaea (1223-40) thought it necessary to send a warning to the inhabitants of Constantinople denouncing the Bogomils and Messalians and setting out the main points of their heresy; this letter was to be communicated to all the churches and read out on every Sunday and on each festival. ⁹⁹ There was at that time no Orthodox Patriarch in Constantinople (which was in Latin hands) and Germanus, though of necessity seated in Nicaea, regarded himself as the Patriarch of the lost capital. The dangers of heresy featured in other surviving works of Germanus, such as his sermon on Orthodoxy Sunday and his Contra Bogomilos. ¹⁰⁰

The most spectacular episode in anti-dualist activity in the later middle ages in the Orthodox Church was the accusation of Messalianism and Bogomilism brought against the monks of Mount Athos by Barlaam in the mid-fourteenth century. Mount Athos had become a centre of Orthodox spirituality and churchmen of influence, such as Gregory Palamas, had often been monks on the Holy Mountain for a time. The opportunity for attack arose because of the hesychast stress on a contemplative inner life and a spiritual experience leading to knowledge of God. This had always been part of the monastic tradition in the Orthodox Church, but it received special emphasis and development in the fourteenth century when the hesychasts claimed that their methods led to a vision of the light of Tabor. The movement became the concern of a wide circle outside Mount Athos. It was also caught up in the various political cross-currents and animosities associated with Palamism. ¹⁰¹ Barlaam's accusation of 1341 was refuted and in fact counter-charges of a different kind brought against him. ¹⁰² There was however probably some ground for his attack. When in 1350 the hieromonk Niphon of Mount Athos was wrongly accused of the heresy he was cleared by a special letter to him from the synod, but in this letter mention was made of monks tainted with Messalianism who had been chased from Mount Athos. ¹⁰³ It would appear that the heresy had penetrated the Holy Mountain. This was not unlikely in view of the comparative proximity of Thrace and Bulgaria, and if so it was a lapse which was evidently exploited by the anti-Palamites.

Thus the dualist heresy in all its variants was present in Byzantine life at every level. The Messalians and Bogomils were the most difficult to deal with because, unlike the militant and close-knit Paulician communities, they had perfected a technique of dissimulation. They also stressed an ascetic way of life which had on the surface some similarity with the contemplative practice of Orthodox monasticism. Amid concern with the pressures of external problems, and latterly of impending disaster, it is easy for the historian to overlook the insidious all-pervading nature of the dualist heresies. But occasional references in patriarchal registers and the sparse comments in other surviving sources reveal its prevalence and the rampant suspicions all too readily engendered, perhaps of a fellow monk or of a father or grandmother. ¹⁰⁴ The provincial synodica string together the usual lists of dualist doctrines to be anathematized, but something of the pressing nature of the practical problem is shown in the synodicon of an Athenian suffragan where appeal was made for deliverance from 'the present' invasion of towns, villages, and whole settlements by these proselytizers who were unceasingly prowling round clothed in a 'pseudo-monastic habit', calling themselves 'Christians' and 'fellow-citizens of Christ', mixing freely with the orthodox and taking in the more simple minded. ¹⁰⁵ It was easy for these false monks to pass from house to house, crossing frontiers in their peregrinations, perhaps even travelling westwards. ¹⁰⁶ It was not for nothing that Balsamon in the late twelfth century could speak of 'whole fortresses and Bogomil villages surrendered to the heretics to be led astray by them'. He was commenting on the limitations of a heretic's civil rights as defined in earlier legislation (general councils, Justinian, Basilics). ¹⁰⁷ Such legislation laid down standing penalties, for instance limiting rights of inheritance. In general with few exceptions the Byzantines in contrast to their contemporaries in the West, were comparatively lenient, usually resorting to excommunication, often with solitary confinement in a monastic house. Accusations, which were sometimes made out of malice, usually seem to have been fairly sorted out by the ecclesiastical authorities. It is possible that the synod under Patriarch Michael II Oxites had ordered Bogomils to be burnt but the only evidence seems to be Balsamon's criticism of this action with the comment that it was not within the competence of ecclesiastical tribunals to inflict any kind of physical punishment against heretics; this was the responsibility of the civil power (ὁπομἰτνσς νσμος). ¹⁰⁸

How sensitive the issue of the Bogomil and Messalian heresies had become in educated and monastic circles as early as the eleventh century is shown by the care with which the editor of Symeon the New Theologian's works tried to make sure that no taint of Messalianism attached to his master's words as when he substituted the harmless εἛɑτσθ)1F30τως for ɑἰσθητω+̑ (perceiving with the senses). ¹⁰⁹ In fact Symeon probably did mean to speak of an actual sensible experience of the Holy Spirit working within a man. But he was nevertheless orthodox, believing as he did in θDZ0ωσdz0ς and the sanctification of matter. Unfortunately a sensible perception of the Holy Spirit was also part of the Messalian religious experience though for very different reasons. It is noticeable that later on in 1140 one of the synod's charges against Constantine Chrysomalus's mixture of Messalianism and Bogomilism was his claim that during the charismatic experience it was necessary to feel the Holy Spirit within oneself. The word used in the Greek document was ἀἰσθε+́νετετ, precisely what the editor of Symeon had wished to avoid. ¹¹⁰

Thus, fragmentary as the evidence is, it suffices to indicate the elusive nature of this dualism and the ease with which it could be confused, at least on the surface, with orthodoxy. It was never completely rooted out during the middle ages, though with the political decline of the Empire in the face of the Ottoman advance and the submission of the Balkan principalities less is heard of it. Increasingly large tracts of once dualist strongholds fell into Muslim hands or became tributaries. Their believers probably merged into the world of Islam, leaving only the curious massive carved tombstones with their strange symbols standing scattered in the Bosnian countryside as witness to this medieval dualism.

The pattern of religious and political development in the twelfth and to some extent the eleventh centuries has been obscured by the overshadowing disaster of 1204. The setting up of the Latin Empire and principalities obviously introduced radical changes in the territorial extent of Byzantium as also in the ecclesiastical organization of the former Byzantine provinces. But changing relations between Franks and Greeks, between papacy and the Orthodox Church, were already apparent before the Fourth Crusade. From the mid-eleventh century onwards the pattern had been set which was to prevail until the final dissolution of the East Roman Empire. In fact in this respect the Comnenian and the Palaeologan periods are one.

Given the nature of the Byzantine polity with its accepted interdependence of church and state it was inevitable that politics should involve the Church. The situation was increasingly dominated by the relationship between the needs of the Empire and the attitude of the papacy. Ever since the inception of Constantinople, the New Rome, there had been recurrent friction between the papacy and the other patriarchates and as the authority of the three eastern patriarchs diminished under Muslim rule this meant Rome versus Constantinople. Usually differences had been resolved and Rome had always been given primacy of honour. But with the eleventh century increasing difficulties were encountered. Constantinople at first continued to act as it had done in the heyday of its tenth-century prestige, though in fact its political authority was being eroded both within and without. But in the western world the reformed papacy, supported by an upsurge of religious devotion finding its outlet both in monasticism and in the crusading movement, was gradually assuming an authority over the other four ancient patriarchates which was far removed from the primacy of honour which had been so willingly, and still was, accorded to Rome. Byzantium with its close association of Emperor and Church was all the more inclined to question papal claims in that up to the crusading movement Constantinople rather than Rome had in practice virtual control over the three eastern patriarchates then under Muslim rule. Its position and authority were very different from the fifth-century days when Antioch or Alexandria as well as Rome could stand up to the young patriarchate of New Rome. It continued to uphold traditional ecclesiastical government through the pentarchy and episcopal collegiality in the general council. But during the twelfth century Constantinople had to develop and defend its position in the face of a greatly strengthened papacy claiming universal authority and a very different situation in Syria and Palestine.

The hundred years spanning the first four crusades (1097-1204) proved to be a period of uneasy negotiation rather than the restoration of authority in Asia Minor, Syria, and Palestine which the Comneni had hoped for. As under the later Palaeologans, political and ecclesiastical relations between Constantinople and Rome were inextricably interwoven and characterized by a degree of urgency unknown in the earlier period. This was largely due to problems created by the western crusaders and by the ambitious Normans of South Italy. At the same time divergence in doctrine and discipline was constantly being brought to the fore in debate and in polemic, particularly as the reformed papacy continued to stress that the unity desired by Greek and Latin alike must be based on an acknowledgement of the papal claim to be the ecclesia universalis, the mater et caput of all Christian Churches. An analysis of relations between Byzantium and the West makes it clear that the Palaeologan period is simply the continuation of what had already begun under the Comneni and the Angeli, aggravated, as it were, by the results of the catastrophe of 1204. This is true in diplomacy, in polemic and in personal contacts between Greek and Latin.

It is against this background that Comnenian relations with the papacy must be seen. Alexius I, like Constantine IX before him, expected papal help against the Normans who were rapidly establishing themselves in the once Byzantine provinces in South Italy and were extending their ambitions to the Greek mainland. In his early days as Emperor Alexius had been excommunicated by the pro-Ducas Pope Gregory VII. But this ban was lifted by Urban II in 1089 and Alexius did not anticipate problems in ecclesiastical relations between Rome and Constantinople. When the papacy queried the omission of the Pope's name from the diptychs in 1089 Alexius and the Constantinopolitan standing synod invited Urban II to send his systatic letter and urged that papal representatives should then attend a council in Constantinople to dicuss any outstanding problems. In Alexius's eyes there should be no difficulty in commemorating the Pope in the liturgy provided normal procedure was followed. ¹¹¹ Such an attitude could hardly accord with the views of the reformed papacy which as mater et caput rather than primus inter pares had probably already given up the ancient custom of the systatic letter (synodica) announcing election and containing the customary profession of faith. ¹¹² Not unexpectedly Constantinople's suggestions to Urban II were not followed, but relations nevertheless were maintained and Alexius felt able to appeal to the West for help against the Turkic invaders then penetrating deep into Asia Minor. His plea for military aid to be under his control was answered in a quite different — and to Alexius unacceptable — fashion. Western concern at the increasing difficulty in gaining access to the Holy Places by pilgrims and growing devotion to the idea of a Holy War, ¹¹³ as well as economic motives, combined to channel towards Palestine a vast military undertaking bent on recapturing Jerusalem from the Muslims. This western crusading movement, though in part inspired by genuinely Christian ideals, was nevertheless motivated by certain political and personal ambitions and it changed the history of Byzantium. ¹¹⁴ From the start it ran counter to Byzantine needs and policy. Alexius and his immediate successors desired first to stem Turkic advances in Asia Minor and then gradually to push forward to regain their lost territory in Syria and Palestine, much of which, at least in Syria, had until recently been in Byzantine hands, including the key city of Antioch, the centre of an ancient patriarchate and only lost to the Muslims as late as 1084. In the event, the Byzantines found themselves fighting a losing battle, faced with the establishment (ineffective as it was to prove) of Latin crusader principalities in Syria and Palestine, and unjustly regarded by the West as traitors responsible for every Latin disaster. At the same time they were living under the shadow of a threatened western attack on their capital itself and were menaced by the almost continuous hostilities of the Normans of Sicily.

The papacy was in an almost equally troubled situation. The crusading movement in Syria and Palestine constantly evaded its control. Urban II's avowed desire to free 'the eastern churches' (that is the Orthodox patriarchates of Antioch, Jerusalem, and Alexandria) remained unfulfilled in any sense acceptable to the Greek authorities, though the Orthodox faithful in the eastern Orthodox patriarchates generally managed to achieve some kind of modus vivendi. ¹¹⁵ In Italy the Pope was embroiled in the complicated rivalries of Sicily, the western Emperor, and the Italian cities. Of these last Venice, secure in the economic privileges wrested from Byzantium, was powerful enough to assume the dominating role which it was able to reinforce by setting up in the post-1204 years what was virtually an overseas empire.

Alexius, like his son John II and his grandson Manuel I, attempted to maintain normal contact with the papacy through the exchange of official embassies. The unfortunate appeal to Urban II for military aid was followed by attempts to negotiate with his successor Pascal II. Alexius hoped for papal help in controlling the crusaders in Syria and Palestine and the aggressive Normans of South Italy. Pascal for his part needed support against the German Henry V. But his political needs took second place to the assertion of papal authority in the Church. He was less of a diplomat than Urban II. Towards the end of 1112 he pressed Alexius to see that the papal primacy was recognized by the Patriarch of Constantinople and this primacy was defined as control over 'all the churches of God throughout the world'. ¹¹⁶ In papal eyes this was an essential preliminary before any political understanding between Emperor and Pope could be reached. Such a stipulation was to dominate all subsequent relations between Byzantium and the papacy and was the real stumbling-block to the union of the Churches. It was accompanied by constant papal failure to realize that there were limits beyond which imperial authority could not effectively intervene or command in the Orthodox Church. Michael VIII might submit at the council of Lyons II in 1274, John VIII with his higher clergy did likewise at Florence in 1438-9, but this was of no effect when adamantly opposed in Byzantium by the majority of the secular clergy, the monastic world, and the laity.

During the twelfth century the gulf between the Churches of Rome and Constantinople was only gradually recognized and then only by some. The three Comneni rulers all wished for ecclesiastical union and regarded this as a practical possibility. They were also aware of its political value. Alexius I had shown this in 1086 and later. In letters to the Romans and the Abbot of Monte Cassino in 1112 he deplored the treatment of Pascal II by the 'king' Henry V and to the Romans he put himself forward as protector of the Church, suggesting the revival of the old single Roman Empire with himself crowned by the Pope. ¹¹⁷ This conception of a single Empire under the East Roman ruler with a united Church, unrealistic as it was, continued to run through the policies of John II and Manuel I despite intermittent alliances between Byzantium and the German emperors.

John II, a statesman of high order and a realist, was aware of Balkan and Hungarian problems and the growing menace of the Sicilian Roger II. He also knew that his effectiveness in western and papal politics would be enhanced by successes in the East. Here he defeated the Muslim Danishmends of Melitene, the Christians of Lesser Armenia in the Taurus region, and the Normans of Antioch. It was at this point towards the end of his reign that he sent two letters to Pope Innocent II in 1139 and 1141. ¹¹⁸ The first speaks of church unity. It was in the second letter that John put forward his view of the two powers, the spiritual and the temporal, symbolized by the two swords, each distinct yet working in harmony within the terrestrial polity. This polity was interpreted as the universal Roman Empire under Byzantine rule. Writing in 1139 and 1141 John might reasonably feel that he had been sufficiently successful to consider implementing such overall control. It was in some respects perhaps not entirely out of keeping with western thought as reflected in Peter the Venerable's letters to John II and to the Patriarch of Constantinople, particularly if these can be dated to 1138 when Lothair III was dead and Conrad III not yet crowned as western Emperor. Peter appeared to recognize Constantinople as the heir of the Old Roman Empire, though this may of course just have been a tactful preliminary to the specific favour which Peter begged of the Byzantine Emperor, that is, the restoration of the Cluniac house set up at Civetot at the time of the First Crusade. ¹¹⁹

Manuel I's imperial policy and attitude towards Rome went even further than that of his father John Comnenus. He made use of papal difficulties to try to get help against the Normans in South Italy and here he also had the support of the German Emperor Conrad III with whom he was on the most friendly terms. In general he liked westerners, though realizing the menace to Byzantium from Roger II's ambitions and also from the Normans of Antioch. In the 1150s he did establish control over parts of South Italy but not for long. But he never gave up his own imperial ambitions, though with Frederick I Barbarossa's accession he had a formidable enemy. Overtures to the Pope continued, always with the bait of church union. The unbridgeable gap between reality and Manuel's conception of church and state was demonstrated in the imperial proposals probably made in an embassy to Rome towards the end of 1167. Manuel suggested to Alexander III that he should be recognized as the only Roman Emperor and should take possession of the city of Rome. In return he offered the union of the two Churches of Rome and Constantinople, suggesting that the Pope should hold the see of Constantinople (which was then vacant) as well as that of Rome. Alexander temporized knowing that such matters were difficult and complex. It was clearly impossible to telescope two major sees in this way. He simply asked that Constantinople should accept Roman primacy, commemorate the Pope in the diptychs, and recognize the right of appeal to Rome. ¹²⁰ Such conditions were as unacceptable to Byzantium then as later on. But it is doubtful whether the opposition of the Patriach Michael of Anchialus was as violent as is often represented by some modern scholars. ¹²¹ They accept as genuine a colourful document attributed to Michael of Anchialus as well as an account of a synod in which the Emperor Manuel I was said to have agreed to a total repudiation of Roman demands. Furthermore it was implied that the Romans were heretics. The document took the form of a dialogue between Emperor and Patriarch in which the Patriarch declared that he would prefer to be subject to the Turk rather than the Pope since the one involved submission only in secular matters, the other separation from the Orthodox faith and from God. He then set out to attack papal claims to primacy and used the Photian council to refute the filioque addition. ¹²² As long ago as 1903 Norden threw doubt on the attribution of these documents ¹²³ and in 1965 they were rejected as apocryphal by Darrouzès. He maintained that George Tornices' letter of 1156 on the imperial behalf, ¹²⁴ the papal, imperial, and patriarchal correspondence of 1173, and the discourses of Eustathius of Thessalonica before 1175 all point to a courteous exchange of correspondence between Manuel I, the Pope, and the Patriarch Michael of Anchialus. For these and other reasons it would appear that the dramatic attack on the papacy, in content and presentation so like later affirmations, could more properly be assigned to the thirteenth century, possibly to the reign of Michael VIII. ¹²⁵

With Byzantine reverses towards the end of Manuel I's reign and during the troubled days of the Angeli imperial attempts at union tended to peter out. Throughout the Comnenian period the ecclesiastical situation had indeed been further complicated for Byzantine rulers by reason of the Frankish intrusion of Latin patriarchs in Antioch. In the crusader principalities the Franks had found both the Orthodox Church and the various separated eastern Churches, mainly Armenian and Jacobite with some Nestorians and the small Maronite Church in Lebanon. Latin relations with the separated Churches were friendly and tolerant. In the thirteenth century the Maronites did in fact join Rome, keeping their own hierarchy and many of their usages. Relations between the Armenian Church in Lesser Armenia in south-east Asia Minor were to some extent politically motivated, as was the rather lukewarm union with Rome at the end of the twelfth century. The Jacobites (monophysites) and Nestorians were generally on good terms with the Latins. By the time of the crusades they were found in practice to differ little from the westerner, in contrast to the Orthodox with their tenaciously held doctrinal and ecclesiological differences. As a thirteenth-century Dominican observed, the Jacobites and Nestorians might have been named after heretics but this by no means implied that these 'men of simple and devout life' still held to old errors and if there were fools among them, well, even the Church of Rome was not free from such. ¹²⁶ In fact relations between the separated eastern Churches and the Franks contrasted favourably with the injudicious and intolerant treatment which the former had often received from the Orthodox Church.

Relations between the Orthodox eastern patriarchates and the Latins varied and were on a rather different footing, since, unlike their separated neighbours, they were considered to be members of the same Christian Church as Rome, even though increasing doubts were felt about them as the century went on. Under Muslim rule from the seventh century onwards (except for the brief reoccupation of Antioch 974-1084) the three eastern patriarchates had given way to Constantinople in importance and were unable to play any major role in relations between Rome and Byzantium. Though subject to a non-Christian authority in secular matters, they had kept their hierarchy and in ecclesiastical matters were unmolested. This situation remained largely unchanged for the patriarchate of Alexandria since it did not come under the crusaders. It was otherwise with Jerusalem and Antioch. These came under the Franks who set up their own hierarchy and expected Greek ecclesiastics to recognize the authority of the Latin bishops. But Frankish rule did not greatly affect the middle and lower reaches. True they were ultimately under Latin ecclesiastical authority, but their faith and worship remained untouched, sometimes with Greek, more often with Syriac, as the liturgical language. In general tolerance was shown and there appear to have been no demands for specific submission to the papacy (though this was implied in recognition of Latin bishops). In any case there must have been a considerable language barrier between the Latins and the mostly Arabic-speaking Syrian Orthodox. They kept their churches, though not their cathedrals and they were for a time excluded from the greatly venerated Holy Sepulchre. In contrast to frequent practice in the thirteenth-century Latin Empire in the Aegean, the Greek monasteries in Syria and Palestine remained unmolested and continued to flourish, visited by Orthodox and Latin pilgrims alike. The kingdom of Jerusalem was on good terms with the Byzantines and Manuel I in particular gave generously to churches and monasteries there, even though some of the churches restored or embellished by him were in Frankish hands. The Latin church of the Holy Nativity in Bethlehem was even given mosaic decoration proclaiming the creed without the disputed filioque. ¹²⁷ In Jerusalem itself Latin patriarchs were understandably appointed — in any case there were no Greek hierarchs there when the crusaders took the city and the Orthodox Patriarch in exile died in 1099. There seems to have been a line of titular Orthodox patriarchs of Jerusalem resident in Constantinople, but the existence of these shadowy figure-heads in the background did not disturb the amicable modus vivendi generally prevailing in the kingdom.

It was not so with Antioch. Here the Byzantines were constantly manœuvring to regain possession of what had so recently been part of their Empire. Whatever may have happened at a lower level where the Latin bishops were accepted and Frankish tolerance usually prevailed, the reinstatement of an Orthodox patriarch remained a constant Byzantine desideratum figuring in any treaties which the Comneni made with the Norman rulers of the principality. The one occasion when political circumstances permitted Manuel I to restore an Orthodox patriarch to Antioch was hardly a success. Athanasius II came from Constantinople to his see in 1165, but was killed in an earthquake in 1170, after which the ousted Latin Patriarch of the city was able to return. As in the case of Jerusalem, titular Byzantine patriarchs of Antioch continued to be appointed, though they were of necessity almost always resident in Constantinople, the home of so many refugee prelates. This enforced exile did at least have the advantage of enabling them to take part in ecclesiastical matters under debate in the standing synod in the capital more easily than had been possible when they were resident in their eastern sees.

But apart from the sensitive problem of Antioch, the crusader ecclesiastical policy in the twelfth century seemed to have worked. It was not without significance that short-term western visitors to the Latin states sometimes considered the established Frankish colonists too tolerant and conciliatory towards the Muslim and non-Latin Christian population. For their part the Greeks too might well have taken exception to a modus vivendi in the Holy Land involving recognition of Latin bishops, a practice which was regarded as unacceptable by many Orthodox in Crete, Cyprus, and elsewhere during the following centuries.

Within the Empire many factors provided opportunity for greatly increased contact between Greek and Latin. It was not just the constant through traffic of pilgrims travelling to the Holy Places, or Franks going to join their families and try their luck in the crusader principalities, or members of various western religious orders going through to Syria, or the frequent embassies to Constantinople from the papal curia or some western court journeying along the Via Egnatia by way of Thessalonica. Western merchants were attracted by profitable economic openings in Constantinople and other imperial cities. The various trading quarters on the Golden Horn, ceded by treaty to the Venetians, the Pisans, and then the Genoese, also provided bases for Italian compatriots hoping for a career at the imperial court, or desiring to explore the intellectual resources of the Byzantine world. Thus the West flooded into the Empire in a way unknown to earlier generations.

This had particularly fruitful repercussions in the field of scholar ship, particularly so far as the West was concerned. Links between the Greek and Latin worlds had long existed. There were Greek communities in Rome and monasteries there. ¹²⁸ South Italy and Sicily had been Byzantine until the Arabs and Normans came and to some extent they retained both language and culture. There were many Greek monastic foundations on the 'Holy Mountain' in Calabria and elsewhere. ¹²⁹ Some, as S. Niccolò di Casole near Otranto, or S. Salvatore di Messina, had particularly rich libraries. The Sicilian court from the late eleventh century onwards was a meeting place for Greek and western, as well as Arab, scholars. In Calabria and Sicily there were still traces of the Greek rite in the late 1940s. Then the resources, particularly of North Italy, were the more easily thrown open to Byzantium by reason of the establishment of expanding trading quarters with their churches and hospices within the City itself. These afforded a base for scholars and for members of religious orders as well as for merchants. The Pisan privileges were first granted in 1111 and it was this quarter which became particularly known for its scholars who had a mastery of Greek. This was valuable for visiting embassies or pilgrims. It also provided an expertise used to translate Greek works, both secular and ecclesiastical. Thus the western world became acquainted with such authors as Aristotle and Plato (in part) or with Galen. Particularly important for ecclesiastical issues were the translations of the Greek church fathers, the Cappadocians, John Chrysostom and John of Damascus (used to effect by Peter Lombard), though some of these had long been known to the West. ¹³⁰ It surprised some of the Byzantine disputants that their Latin opponents could draw on what was the deeply valued heritage of the Orthodox Church. There was evidently a market for Latin translations of Greek works which in turn stimulated growing knowledge of the Greek language itself, though this did not come to any extent until after the twelfth century. But as early as the first half of the twelfth century Robert of Melun could bemoan the affectations of his western contemporaries who peppered their writings with Greek phrases and used Greek theological terms. ¹³¹

In Constantinople both the frequent western visitors and imperial inclination favoured the establishment of bilingual Italians at Manuel I's court. Two of his advisers were Pisan — the brothers Hugh Etherianus and Leo Tuscus. Both were scholars who could draw on the Greek patristic tradition. Hugh, 'imperialis aule interpres egregius', took part in a contemporary theological controversy, the Demetrius of Lampe affair. He was rushed to the palace and the matter was passionately debated until late in the night. On this occasion he supported the Latin side, as did the Emperor Manuel. He also wrote a work on the errors of the Greeks. His brother Leo (an interpreter in the imperial chancery) was able to satisfy the interests of those quite outside Byzantine theological circles. He translated the liturgy of St John Chrysostom for Raymond I of Tortosa, the seneschal of Barcelona who was in Constantinople on a mission and wanted to know more about the Greek rite. ¹³² Such men as these North Italian translators opened up to the West Greek patrology and Greek classics and much else while at the same time making available their expertise in Byzantium. But it was only later after 1204 that the Byzantines really got to know more of Latin classics and Latin theology.

The intense intellectual activity of the late eleventh and particularly the twelfth centuries and the presence of many westerners, both residents and visitors, favoured discussion of the differences between the two Churches. Both the political needs of the Empire for papal help and the reformed papacy's challenge to the East made these disputed theological issues of more than merely academic interest in intellectual circles. A few individual Byzantines were wise and tolerant. Such was the late eleventh-century Theophylact, archbishop of Ochrida. He thought that azymes could be allowed since the New Testament was not specific as to what was used at the Last Supper, and he maintained that divergence in custom and ritual was no cause for schism. He did consider the filioque to be a more serious problem, but he suggested that the unilateral western addition to the creed might possibly have been necessitated by the inadequacies of the Latin language. He did not however find that papal claims to primacy could justify ignoring patristic tradition and the seven general councils, though primacy of honour was certainly acknowledged. In Italy at about the same time the papacy held a council at Bari in 1098 at which Urban II showed a similar measure of tolerance towards the Greeks of South Italy and Sicily, now under Norman rule and Latin ecclesiastical jurisdiction. Anselm of Canterbury, then in exile and present at the council, like Theophylact, did realize that the filioque question raised serious difficulties but he did not speak of any schism, nor did Urban, and the South Italian Greeks kept their own ritual and usages, though now under Rome and not Constantinople, and there were only a few protests from higher clerics. Neither Theophylact nor Anselm of Canterbury had brought to the forefront the problem of primacy as now claimed by the reformed papacy. This was the real point at issue as subsequent discussions were to show.

In twelfth-century Byzantium there were notable debates between the two sides. ¹³³ In 1112 the displaced archbishop of Milan, Grossolanus, was passing through Constantinople on pilgrimage. He was just possibly an unofficial member of an embassy from the Pope. Pascal II in his letter to Constantinople had expressed views unpalatable to the Orthodox Church. The situation was evidently openly discussed in the capital where Grossolanus took issue with a Byzantine theologian. Alexius I, always alive to theological problems, thought that the Byzantines could present a more effective defence. He pressurized seven Orthodox theologians into drawing up a collective reply in which justice would be done to the Greek point of view. This was translated into Latin for the guests. This Byzantine refutation of azymes, the filioque, and papal claims was probably presented by John Phournes, protos of the house on Mount Ganos. He was supported both by laymen, as the theologian Nicetas of Seides in Iconium, and by churchmen, such as Eustratius of Nicaea and four others. There was no dearth of theologically-minded Byzantine scholars, or of Italians from the Pisan colony on the shores of the Bosphorus near the Golden Horn who could translate from Latin into Greek and vice versa. The debate was held in the presence of Alexius and the Patriarch with their lay and ecclesiastical officials.

One of the best-known public theological debates took place in John II's reign on the occasion of a German embassy to Constantinople when negotiations aimed at checking the South Italian Roger II were in process between Byzantium and the German Lothair III. On this occasion the ambassador Anselm, a Premonstratensian and bishop of Havelberg in north Germany, met Nicetas, metropolitan of Nicomedia. Nicetas had been one of the leading teachers of the patriarchal school and he was deputed to represent the Byzantine side. On arrival in Constantinople Anselm had already been questioned informally on many points before this public debate was suggested by the Emperor and Patriarch. Details of the two sessions have survived because when Anselm subsequently met Pope Eugenius III in Tusculum in 1144 he was asked to write a report on the debates. There is no independent account of the Greek side, but Anselm seems to represent the two points of view very fairly. He wrote three treatises of which the first (dealing with different views in the Church) does not concern the two actual debates. ¹³⁴ Books II and III give the dialogue of the two conferences. The first turned on the filioque, the second mainly discussed Roman primacy, with some comment on liturgical differences, particularly azymes. ¹³⁵

As in the case of Grossolanus, there was wide interest among educated circles in Constantinople. The debates attracted an illustrious audience including Emperor and Patriarch and 'many Latins' as well as Greeks. The first conference was held in the Pisan quarter with North Italian scholars ready to translate (Moses of Bergamo was unanimously chosen for this) and notaries present to take down the debate. A second meeting was held a week later, this time in the apse of the Great Church itself. Various points emerge, above all the willingness and desire to explore each other's arguments in humility and charity. Twelfth-century Latin knowledge of Greek patristic resources seemed to surprise Nicetas who found Anselm's 'truly catholic' outlook a contrast to the Latin arrogance which he had met. 'You cite our doctors, but as you are a Latin do you believe them?' he asked and Anselm replied tactfully but ambiguously 'I would not deny the gift of the Holy Spirit to any Christian whether Greek or Latin'. ¹³⁶ In the filioque discussion the two protagonists were very nearly in accord. Nicetas put forward the formula 'from (ἐK) the Father and through (δια+́) the Son' for the procession of the Holy Spirit as other Greeks, Theophylact of Ochrida for instance, had done. 'We really think the same,' conceded Nicetas. But he considered that the Latin 'from the Son' could not be introduced unless sanctioned by 'a general council of eastern and western churches under the authority of the Holy Roman pontiff with the consent of the most devout Emperors' called to discuss the point. And only if there were a common resolution could the filioque be publicly accepted. ¹³⁷

But the discussion on the primacy, however courteously conducted, failed to resolve the differences. The debate explored two lines of approach, first the contention that the transference of the capital to Constantinople had conferred on the patriarchate authority and autonomy as defined in canon 28 of Chalcedon (which canon Rome however had not yet recognized) and secondly the Petrine position in the light of certain New Testament passages. Did Christ's mandate confer overall authority to Peter (Matthew 16:18-9 and Luke 22:32), or was this to be shared by all the apostles (John 20:23 and Matthew 18:18)? ¹³⁸ The exegesis of these passages was to form a regular constituent of future polemic, including discussion of the claims of other apostles, John for instance, or other cities, such as Antioch or Jerusalem. Neither Anselm nor Nicetas conceded anything here, though courtesy may have to some extent concealed the gulf. But only a year after this in 1137 critical Greeks visiting Monte Cassino en route for Germany could declare to their hosts that the Roman bishop was in fact acting as an Emperor rather than a bishop. ¹³⁹ In later exchanges mutual antagonism was continually coming to the surface. In 1155 papal envoys returning from Constantinople presented Basil of Ochrida, metropolitan of Thessalonica, with a letter in which the Pope referred to the Greeks as 'the lost sheep' of the Gospel parable and made clear his claim to supreme authority in the Church. In replying to the Pope, Basil of Ochrida unequivocally rejected this. ¹⁴⁰ The issue was clearly monarchical rule versus collegiality, albeit with primacy of honour for Rome. For the Byzantines it was not a relationship of mother and daughter but of sister Churches under the one shepherd Christ. For the Latins the Pope was the Vicar of Christ, exercising a plenitudo potestatis over the universal Church. Peter the Venerable might laud the orthodoxy of Byzantine Emperor and Patriarch (after all he was a suppliant for the restoration of the Cluniac monastery at Civetot), or Nicetas of Nicomedia and Anselm of Havelberg find grounds for agreement, but it was the paradox of the twelfth century that increasing, and often friendly, contacts between Latins and Orthodox seemed to run side by side with growing misunderstanding and a hardening of the differences between the two Churches.

There was at the same time an unfortunate blackening of character on either side largely for political, and also economic, reasons. This is evident from the literary sources. From the midtwelfth century onwards Byzantine historians, Anna Comnena for instance or John Cinnamus, saw the Latin leaders as plundering barbarians. And it must be remembered that however excellent might be the relations between individual rulers, as Manuel I and Conrad III, the Empire had to suffer the passage of armies on the march to the Middle East as well as ruthless and often successful Norman raids on Byzantine provinces. For their part, the Latins, particularly the Normans, deliberately spread in the West a false story of Byzantine treachery in the early crusading cause, and later the French blamed the Greeks for the failure of the Second Crusade. The Byzantines knew quite well that the French, the Normans, the Germans, had come to consider the capture of Constantinople an essential preliminary to crusading success further East.

Thus during the twelfth century antagonisms and attendant polemic were building up in the political as well as the ecclesiastical field. But Greeks and Latins were not yet in schism, they did not normally regard each other as heretics. The double succession of patriarchs in the twelfth-century eastern churches in crusader principalities had little practical significance (except in so far as refugee prelates swelled the standing synod in Constantinople and could be used as pawns in ecclesiastical politics by Emperor or Patriarch). In the recurrent theological discussions either side seemed to hope that their own arguments might yet prevail. In the late twelfth century the soured and biased canonist Theodore Balsamon was much criticized in Constantinople and by other canonists for his fierce rigidity in insisting that captive Latins must formally accept Orthodox doctrine and usage before they could communicate in a Greek church, as well as for some of his other harsh rulings. It has been argued that the more significant antagonisms which inflamed Greek and Latin in the twelfth century arose out of political and economic pressures, perhaps provoked more by the West than by Byzantium. ¹⁴¹ The Latins desired increased trade and an enlarged market; they wanted more land which the western feudal system of primogeniture could not make available. Then on the Byzantine side there was the urgent need to come to terms with an impinging Muslim world (which was regarded as treachery by the West). It was almost as though religious problems only inflamed an already kindled fire. But this was not entirely true. The basic disagreement between the Latin and Orthodox Churches was present throughout, that is, the plenitudo potestatis versus collegiality and episcopal government. Byzantium kept to its age-long tradition and these religious issues were to take on a vital significance in the survival of Orthodoxy. No eirenic compromise could conceal the real implication of papal claims when after the catastrophe of the Fourth Crusade a Latin Patriarch and Latin bishops were appointed over the heads of the Byzantine hierarchy in Constantinople, as also in the conquered provinces. Thus the worst fears of a Balsamon or a John Camaterus were realized.