Pinpointing the Great Schism

If there’s anything I hope to have conveyed via the handful of articles that I’ve written on the subject, it’s that no definitive rupture occurred, or was perceived to have occurred, between the Greek and Latin churches in the year 1054. Indeed, I don’t know of any historian or theologian over the last hundred years or so who’d be willing to defend that year as the date of the Great Schism. So why does it persist in popular historical accounts of the split? In part, I think that there’s no denying the dramatic image of a cardinal of the Roman Church marching into the great cathedral of Hagia Sophia and slapping a bull of excommunication on the altar. In part, the weight of much older, Western historiography gives gravitas to the date. But I think that most of the reason we continue to use 1054 as a point of reference is that we simply haven’t come up with anything better. So, if not then, when?

Of course, assigning a date to the schism demands a more precise definition of what a schism is. Broadly speaking, it might generally be taken to signify a breakdown in liturgical concelebration, particularly of the Eucharist, but even this is subject to a wide variety of interpretations, and therefore, of dates. For Anton Michel, one of the great scholars of 11th-century, Eucharistic unity was symbolized by the inclusion of the pope’s name in the diptychs, a set of tablets in which were inscribed the names of the various patriarchs with whom the Church of Constantinople was in communion [1]. These names would have been read aloud following the Great Entrance during the celebration of the Eucharistic service, serving as a very public statement of intercommunion [2]. But even if we’re to look only at the diptychs of Constantinople (ignoring the other patriarchal sees of the East), we already run into problems of communication breakdowns, occasional lapses into heresy (on both sides: Iconoclasm, Monothelitism, Nestorianism, etc.), and interference from political authorities, none of which can be taken to indicate a break between the churches as a whole. Indeed, the last mention of a Roman pontiff in the diptychs of Constantinople occurred sometime around the year 1009. If the documents of 1054 so clearly indicate the absence of a generally-felt schism, it certainly can’t be dated to before then.

Conversely, it’s become more popular over the last few decades to point to the year 1204 and the sack of Constantinople by the Fourth Crusade as the point of definitive rupture. Defenders of this view typically acknowledge that some level of division existed beforehand, but maintain that the final nail in the coffin, as it were, was the considerable (and justified) animosity generated against the Latins by their behavior during the crusade. I think that this appeal to what we assume was popular sentiment still misses the mark: there is good evidence from the time that the churches already considered themselves in a state of schism, and the barbarity of the Latin army might be better explained as result rather than cause.  It was this longstanding “disobedience” on the part of the Greeks that motivated Pope Innocent III eventually to accept the results of the crusade, in hopes of returning Constantinople to obedience to Rome [3]. If we can say, then, that no schism yet existed in 1054, but that it already existed by 1204, that leaves us a 150-year window to search for something that can be defended as a point of definite rupture.

My own preferred date for the Great Schism is the year 1099. Before discussing the events of that year, though, we need to explore a little bit of canonical history, that is, the development of the laws that guided the internal functioning of the church. The canons promulgated by the ecumenical and regional councils during the first few hundred years of Christianity have generally been understood to indicate a principle of one bishop per city or diocese. This rule was applied even to the point that bishops were prohibited from performing ordinations, liturgical functions, teaching, or even sometimes traveling in another diocese without the express permission of the local hierarch [4]. It is also the violation of this rule, in which two different members of the clergy claimed the same episcopal see, that defined schisms in the early church. To take a particularly well-known example, the Christian community in Rome during the middle of the third century was divided in its support for Novatian, on the one hand, who held that Christians who had sacrificed to idols during periods of persecution could not be readmitted to the community, and Cornelius, who took a more lenient view. Both men were proclaimed as the bishop of Rome by their supporters, and therefore, by virtue of the fact that it was impossible for there to be two bishops of the same diocese, each was compelled to deny the validity of the other. It was only after Cornelius had secured more support (particularly from the influential Cyprian of Carthage), that he could retroactively have been seen to have secured the episcopal office.

Returning to the end of the eleventh century, we find the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem, established by the military success of the First Crusade [5]. The (Greek) Patriarch of Jerusalem, Symeon II, who had represented the Chalcedonian Christian community, had been compelled by the Artuqids to live in exile some years before. Although he had been in communication with the Latin military leadership prior to their capture of the city โ€” indeed, even supportive of their cause (presumably with the expectation that he would be restored to his cathedral in the event of their success) โ€” the Crusaders immediately elected Arnulf of Chocques as the Patriarch of Jerusalem. Something analogous happened in the city of Antioch the following year. Antioch had been captured by the Crusaders from the Seljuk Turks in 1098. The city had previously been under the control of the Eastern Roman Empire (until 1084), and so the population was heavily Greek and Greek-speaking, including John Oxeites, the Patriarch of Antioch. Initially tolerated by the Crusader authorities, he was eventually compelled to flee the city, and, in his absence, the Crusaders nominated and had consecrated a second Patriarch of Antioch, Bernard of Valence, in 1100.

The election of Arnulf of Chocques as Patriarch of Jerusalem. Paris, Bibliothรจque nationale de France, Franรงais 9084 fol. 101r (13th c.). Open license.

In both cases, the Latins attempted to replace the Chalcedonian patriarchs, whom they had previously recognized as holding legitimate office, with prelates of their own choosing, thereby setting up parallel hierarchies. This, as we can see in the history of the early church, is the very definition of schism. Moreover, this state of affairs persisted: the Greek community continued to choose Greek successors for these patriarchates, although they typically resided in Constantinople while the Crusaders controlled their sees, and the Latins maintained their own patriarchal structure, which relocated to Rome after the fall of the Crusader states. The Latin church retained a titular Patriarch of Antioch until the middle of the 20th century; it retains a titular Patriarch of Jerusalem to the present day. And if, as the tradition holds, the one church cannot have two bishops in the same episcopal see, then the presence of two bishops necessarily indicates that there are two, and separated, churches.

Nick Kamas

PhD in Medieval Studies

University of Notre Dame

  1. Anton Michel, Humbert und Kerullarios, vol. 1, Quellen und Forschungen 21 (Paderborn: Ferdinand Schรถningh, 1924), 20โ€“24.
  2. Robert Taft, The Great Entrance: A History of the Transfer of Gifts and other Preanaphoral Rites of the Liturgy of St. John Chrysostom, Orientalia Christiana Analecta 200 (Rome: Pont. Institutum Studiorum Orientalium, 1975): 227โ€“228.
  3. Innocent III, Registrorum Lib VIII, Ep. 274. PL 215.636โ€“7.
  4. See Canon 8 of the First Ecumenical Council (Nicaea, 325), Canon 2 of the Second (Constantinople, 381), Canon 12 of the Fourth (Chalcedon, 451), and Canon 20 of the Sixth (Constantinople, 680โ€“1), among others. The Rudder, edited and translated by Ralph J Masterjohn (West Brookfield, MA: The Orthodox Christian Educational Society, 2005), 438โ€“9, 509โ€“10, 608โ€“9, 701.
  5. Bernard Hamilton, The Latin Church in the Crusader States (London: Routledge, 1980), 12โ€“17.

Uncovering Bede’s Theory of Everything with Michelle P. Brown

A few years ago, Ben and Will sat down to chat with Dr. Michelle P. Brown, Professor Emerita of Medieval Manuscript Studies at the School of Advanced Study, University of London and the previous Curator of Illuminated Manuscripts at the British Library. She has published numerous books, key among which are works on Bede, the Lindisfarne Gospels, and the Luttrell Psalter. Their conversation with Dr. Brown was so rich that it was deemed worthy of two whole episodes!

The focus of their conversation was Bede the Venerable, especially in relation to Dr. Brown’s then-forthcoming book, Bede and the Theory of Everything. Bede was a Benedictine monk of the twin monastery Monkwearmouthโ€“Jarrow in Northumbria, England. He is famous for his work Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum (Ecclesiastical History of the English People), a work that proved central to the formation of the English identity, and which has, over time, earned Bede the title, “Father of English History.”

Dr. Brown is a well of information on the life and writings of Bede, but she is equally full of insight intoโ€”what is, for herโ€”the vocation of medieval studies. She speaks of moving into the world of Bede, coming to see every individual artifactโ€”no matter how mundane it may at first appearโ€”as an “individual witness” with its own biography. For her, “every pot shard matters.” Every shred of history is irreducibly unique and, in that way, a clue to the whole.

The Tragic Geology of the Byzantine City of Tralleis โ€œAndronikopolisโ€

The curious story of the re-founding of the city of Tralleis into Andronikopolis by the soon-to-be-emperor Andronikos II Palaiologos and its quick demise at the hands of the Turkish founder of the MeneteลŸe Beylik contains a bit of Byzantine speculation on a geological process: the movement of groundwater.[1]ย  The citizens of the rebuilt city, once besieged, found themselves unable to draw water from wells.ย  The source of this story, George Pachymeres, offers a naturalistic explanation for why the city could be so easily driven to thirst (Chronicle I.191, starting with โ€œThe cause, I think, was the porous nature of the plainโ€ฆโ€):

To summarize his explanation, Pachymeres images an entire underground water cycle, whose movement was a geological game of โ€œkeep awayโ€ from the depths, where it was needed to pool before being drawn by the thirsty people of Tralleis (see Fig. 1, Right).  It is an elegant and sophisticated natural explanation for a writer who did not benefit from the advances in geological scientific thinking since the thirteenth century.  The explanation has interesting interactions with modern geological explanations for groundwater movement through aquifers.  An aquifer is a body of saturated rock or sediment through which water can move easily.  Moreover, Pachymeres is really describing an unconfined shallow alluvial aquifer.  Unconfined aquifers โ€“ named so because no layer of impermeable material stood between the aquifer and the surface – were dependent upon the level of water in the water table (Fig. 1, Left).  Such aquifers are common in river environments in the alluvial soil deposited by the river itself.  The Byzantines themselves called alluvial soil โ€œyellowโ€ or โ€œriverineโ€ in the Geoponika (a Byzantine treatise on agriculture written entirely from older texts)[2] and in land survey manuals used by bureaucrats to calculate tax and lease rates.[3]

Figure 1 Conceptual Ground-water Flow Diagrams.ย  Left, by the USGS (https://www.usgs.gov/media/images/conceptual-groundwater-flow-diagram).ย  Right, edited by myself, following Pachymeres.

Aquifers are defined by permeability and porosity.  Porosity is how much water a portion of rock or sediment can hold.  Loose gravel has high porosity while solid granite has low porosity.  Permeability on the other hand is how easily water can move through that same aquifer.  For instance, caves in limestone are very porous, but too permeable to hold water for long.  Pachymeres is specifically describing the Maeander valleyโ€™s alluvial soil as highly permeable (ฮผแฝด ฯƒฯ„ฮตฮณฮฑฮฝแฝธฮฝ, โ€œnot water-tightโ€ or literally โ€œunroofedโ€).  While permeability can vary among alluvial soil, based on the amount gravel, sand, or clay, such aquifers can be depleted quickly by many factors, including evaporation โ€“ even if Pachymeresโ€™ image of ground water movement via evaporation appears too much like the siphon effect.  Either way, these aquifers were not reliable in the summer.  Still, Pachymeres appears to invert the water table.  Water can only be found in the shallowest places, because he needs to explain why citizens of Tralleis cannot draw water but their crops flourished (Fig. 1, Right).

Figure 2 Map of Geological Features in the Region Around Tralleis (Map made by Author in QGIS).

However, Pachymeresโ€™ vision of groundwater movement is complicated by the fact that the alluvial plain and the land underneath Tralleis are not the same (Fig. 2).  The location of the city is known from archaeological work in the nineteenth century,[4] while Tralleis has been subject to more continuous excavation since 1996 under a series of directors from Adnan Menderes University.  The ground of both locations was formed by alluvial processes tied, not to the river itself, but to the mountain streams flowing down from the mountain of Messogis (modern Aydฤฑn DaฤŸlar).  These streams deposited their dissolved soil at the base of the mountain creating what is called an alluvial fan.  The numerous fans on the southern slopes of Messogis blend together into a singular strip stretching from Tralleis to the Maeander River (Fig 2, diagonal hatched lines).  The fundamental difference between the ground upon which Tralleis sits and the alluvial plain is when it was formed by an alluvial fan.  The conglomerate rock upon which the entire city stood (Fig. 2, crossed hatched lines) was formed by alluvial forces 400,000 years ago in the late Pleistocene, i.e., when woolly mammoths still walked the earth.[5]  In fact, the alluvial fans that formed this conglomerate are so old that seismic forces have shifted them upwards in the landscape since then.  The Eudonos Stream (modern Tabakhane ร‡ayฤฑ) actually cuts a canyon through it.  One can productively compare the geological situation at Tralleis with the city of Sardis in the Hermus river valley to the north.  The acropolis of Sardis was built upon the โ€œSart formation,โ€ another bit of Pleistocene, alluvially-formed conglomerate that was thrusted upward by seismic forces.[6] 

I do not compare this medieval explanation with modern geology to shame Pachymeres.ย  If anything, that such a deep dive into modern geology is required to understand the extent to which this explanation does error, should be seen as a sign of its elegance and sophistication.ย 

Tyler Wolford, PhD
Byzantine Studies Postdoctoral Fellowship
Medieval Institute
University of Notre Dame


[1] George Pachymeres, Chronikon I.191; Albert Failler, ed., George Pachymรฉrรจs Relations Historiques I. Livres I-III.  Paris, 1984, VI.20, pg. 595, line 12-29, pg. 597, lines 1-3, See also the discussion of this phenomenon in Peter Thonemann, The Maeander Valley: A Historical Geography from Antiquity to Byzantium. Cambridge, 2014, 1-4.

[2] Geoponika II.9.  For an English translation see Andrew Dalby, trans. Geoponika: Farm Work.  Prospect Books, 2011, 79.

[3] J. Lefort, R. Bondoux, J.-Cl. Cheynet, J.-P. Grรฉlois, V. Kravari, ed., Gรฉomรฉtries du fisc byzantin.  Rรฉalitรฉs byzantines 4. Paris, 1991, Paragraph 4, 8.  For more on the Byzantine tradition of land survey, see my earlier entry in the Medieval Instituteโ€™s blog: https://sites.nd.edu/manuscript-studies/2024/12/25/a-cord-laid-tight-loosens-discord-the-shifting-role-of-precision-in-the-byzantine-landsurvey-tradition/

[4] C. Humann and W. Doerfeld, โ€œAusgrabungen in Tralles,โ€ Mittheilungen des Kaiserlich Deutschen Archaeologischen Instituts. Athenische Abtheilung 18 (1893): 395-413.

[5] Emrah ร–zpolat, Cengiz Yฤฑldฤฑrฤฑm, and Tolga Gรถrรผm, โ€œThe Quaternary Landform of the Bรผyรผk Menderes Graben System: the Southern Menderes Massif, Western Anatolia, Turkey,โ€ Journal of Maps 16.2 (2020): 407-411.

[6] Gรผrol SeyitoฤŸlu, Nicholas D. Cahill, Veysel IลŸฤฑk, and Korhan Esat, โ€œMorphotectonics of the AlaลŸehir Graben with a Special Emphasis on the Landscape of the Ancient City of Sardis, Western Turkey,โ€ in Landscapes and Landforms of Turkey, ed. Catherine KuzucuoฤŸlu, Attila ร‡iner, and Nizamettin Kazancฤฑ.  Springer, 2019, 495-507.