Tag: Church history

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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 — indeed, even supportive of their cause (presumably with the expectation that he would be restored to his cathedral in the event of their success) — 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, Bibliothèque nationale de France, Français 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 Schöningh, 1924), 20–24.
  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): 227–228.
  3. Innocent III, Registrorum Lib VIII, Ep. 274. PL 215.636–7.
  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, 680–1), among others. The Rudder, edited and translated by Ralph J Masterjohn (West Brookfield, MA: The Orthodox Christian Educational Society, 2005), 438–9, 509–10, 608–9, 701.
  5. Bernard Hamilton, The Latin Church in the Crusader States (London: Routledge, 1980), 12–17.
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Laycus of Amalfi on the Azymes

As a continuation of sorts to my last post, on Peter Damiani’s reaction to the events of 1054, I’ve decided to take a look at another churchman writing on the same topic a few years later, a certain Laycus of Amalfi, who undertook to compose a defense of the use of unleavened bread (azymes) in the Eucharist around the year 1070 [1]. His work took the form of a letter, addressed to Sergius, a Latin-rite abbot living in Constantinople. According to the text, Laycus had been motivated to write by reports from his correspondent and from other Latins that they had been completely surrounded by those who were trying to persuade them to abandon the Latin liturgical usage in favor of the Greek [2].

Other than his name, virtually nothing else is known about the author of the text. The sole surviving manuscript witness (Brussels, Bibliothèque royale 1360 / 9706-25, 116v-119r) gives only the identification “a letter of Laycus, cleric” (“epistola layci clerici”), a seeming contradiction in terms that leaves us with the assumption that “Laycus” is a given name. Anton Michel, who edited the text in 1939, notes further that monastics of the time tended to identify themselves as such: the absence of a word like “frater” in self-reference suggests that the author was not in monastic orders [3]. Even the origins of the author in the city of Amalfi are conjectural, and they are based more on his presumed links to Abbot Sergius, who was likely the leader of the monastery of St. Mary of the Amalfitans in Constantinople, an establishment attested by Peter Damiani around the same time[4].

The famous bronze doors of the Cathedral of St. Andrew in Amalfi, manufactured in Constantinople around the year 1060. Photo credits Berthold Werner, CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0, via Wikimedia Commons.

The manuscript that preserves this text is also one of the few early copies of the work of Humbert, Cardinal of Silva Candida, and, as it happens, it is from Humbert’s writings that our Laycus drew most of his arguments in favor of the azymes. The core argument, in Laycus as in Humbert, was an appeal to the example set by Christ at the institution of the Eucharist during the Last Supper. According to the argument, Christ, who came to fulfill the Law of Moses, would have used unleavened bread at the Last Supper since the synoptic Gospel accounts place the event on the first day of the celebration of Pascha (Pesach), when leavened bread was prohibited in observant Jewish households. This act of institution was reinforced during the supper at Emmaus, which likewise occurred during the days of Pascha and is regarded in the text as a celebration of the Eucharist [5]. This practice was preserved by the Roman Church, according to Laycus, who cited Popes Anacletus, Clemens, and Sylvester as uniquely instrumental in this effort [6].

Especially for the period of the pre-Gregorian Reform, the tone of the text is fairly mild. The introductory paragraphs make reference to the “most pious, holy, and wise fathers and doctors [of the Greeks]” who themselves used leavened bread in the Eucharist (but who didn’t, though, attack the Latin use) [7]. And the letter of Laycus appears all the more gentle in comparison with the source material: gone is the spirited, “listen up, stupid” (“audi, stulte”) style of invective found in Cardinal Humbert [8]. Instead, we find almost a plea to avoid rending the garment of Christ by provoking division between the two rites, coupled with an emphatic statement that the one faith could contain various customs within the churches [9].

Does the work of Laycus of Amalfi change our understanding of the azyme debate or the conflict between the Eastern and Western churches more broadly? In terms of theological content, to put it bluntly, not really. The arguments advanced by Laycus were the same as those put forward by Humbert some fifteen years prior, and, while the text written by Laycus was itself copied by Bruno of Segni in another epistle in the early twelfth century, this branch of the post-Humbertine literary tradition does not leave any substantial mark in the theological framework of the Latin church. On the other hand, the very existence of this letter, along with the fact that a Greek prelate took the time to respond to it, does indeed broaden our insight into the East-West conflict more generally [10]. It emphasizes, first of all, that the Humbertine legation in 1054 was not a one-off attempt to open lines of communication between the two churches. Rather, communication was happening, even without the intervention of popes and patriarchs, and it was based on pre-existing and well-established ties connecting East and West. A Latin-rite monastery in Constantinople, staffed by Amalfitans, would naturally be in contact with friends, relatives, and fellow clerics back home.

Second, to return to a point that I’ve made before, this letter makes clear that there was no general sense of schism between East and West in the aftermath of the 1054 legation. Indeed, as noted above, the tone of this letter is notably more civil than the polemics of Humbert. Although Laycus was certainly more of an azyme partisan than was Peter Damiani, the work and its date of composition points to an extended window in which ecumenical dialogue, in the sense that both sides still saw each other as part of the same community, was still possible.

Nick Kamas
PhD in Medieval Studies
University of Notre Dame

  1. Anton Michel has published the only substantial scholarly treatment of the material and the only edition of the text. Amalfi und Jerusalem im Griechischen Kirchenstreit (1054–1090): Kardinal Humbert, Laycus von Amalfi, Niketas Stethatos, Symeon II. von Jerusalem und Bruno von Segni über die Azymen (Rome: Pont. Institutum Orientalium Studiorum, 1939. See also a short summary in Jonathan Shepard, “Knowledge of the West in Byzantine Sources, c.900–c.1200” in A Companion to Byzantium and the West, 900-1204, ed. Nicolas Drocourt and Sebastian Kolditz (Leiden: Brill, 2021), 67.
  2. Laycus of Amalfi, c. 1, Michel, Amalfi und Jerusalem, 35.
  3. Michel, Amalfi und Jerusalem, 21.
  4. Peter Damani, Letter 131, trans. Owen J. Blum, The Letters of Peter Damian Peter Damian, Vol. 5, Letters 121–150, The Fathers of the Church: Medieval Continuation 6, (Washington, D.C.: Catholic University of America Press, 2004), 55. For an assessment on why this monastic house in particular, see Michel, Amalfi und Jerusalem, 18–19.
  5. Laycus of Amalfi, c. 5–11, Michel, Amalfi und Jerusalem, 37–42.
  6. Laycus of Amalfi, c. 14–15, Michel, Amalfi und Jerusalem, 44–45.
  7. Laycus of Amalfi, c. 2, Michel, Amalfi und Jerusalem, 36. “Licet illorum [Graecorum] religiosissimi, sanctissimi atque sapientissimi patres ac doctores fuerint et studuerint ex fermentato pane omnipotenti domino sacrificium offerre, tamen numquam invenimus illos nostram oblationem evacuantes aut deridentes […].”
  8. Humbert, Cardinal of Silva Candida, Responsio sive Contradictio adversus Nicetae Pectorati Libellum, cap. 13, edited in Cornelius Will, Acta et Scripta quae de controversiis ecclesiae graecae et latinae saeculo undecimo composita extant (Leipzig: N. G. Elwert, 1861), 141.
  9. Laycus of Amalfi, c. 3, Michel, 36–37. “Numquid divisus est dominus in corpore suo, ut alius sit Ihesus Christus in Romano sacrificio, alius in Constantinopolitano? Quis hoc orthodoxus dixerit nisi ille, qui dominicam non veretur scindere vestem? Nos veraciter tenemus, immo firmiter credimus, quia, quamvis diversi mores ęcclesiarum, una est tamen fides […].”
  10. Probably Symeon II of Jerusalem. Michel, Amalfi und Jerusalem, 25–28.
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(Pseudo-) Peter Damiani and the Reception of the Schism

In stark contrast to the almost non-reception of the events of 1054 in the literary Byzantine world, discussed here, on the Latin side of the equation, the report of the legation penned by Cardinal Humbert of Silva Candida quickly found its way into various historical chronicles and into theological literature. Two particularly fascinating examples that appear in Patrologia Latina 145 are both published under the name of Peter Damiani, who was, together with Humbert himself, one of the leading members of the papal curia in the mid-eleventh century. Although he would not be elevated to the cardinalate until 1057, under Pope Stephen IX, by the time of Humbert’s legation to Constantinople he was already active in attending various synods and had written the deeply influential Liber Gomorrhianus (addressed to Pope Leo IX). What makes these two works interesting, in light of their purported joint authorship, is that they take views of the azyme conflict (the use of unleavened bread in the celebration of the Eucharist) that are at odds both with each other and with the stance adopted by the Humbertine legation.

Photograph of a bust of Peter Damiani taken from the Florentine church of Santa Maria degli Angeli. Credit to Srnec at English Wikipedia. CC 2.5.

The first example is a letter fragment written by Peter Damiani to Henry, the Archbishop of Ravenna, most likely between 1052 and 1058 [1]. The text is eye-opening both for the historian and for the contemporary canonists, so I’ll cite the full text of Fr. Blum’s translation:

…Just as it makes little difference whether at Mass we offer wine or unfermented grape juice, so, it seems to me, it is all the same whether we offer leavened or unleavened bread. For that “living bread that came down from heaven,” just as he wished to manifest himself under the appearance of wheat, he did so also under the form of the vine. “Unless,” he said, “a grain of wheat falls into the ground and dies, it remains a solitary grain.” And again, “I am the real vine.” Therefore, it suffices for me to offer either whatever is made from grain or whatever is produced by the vine. Nor am I too careful to inquire whether the bread was preserved in an immature dough until it could ferment, or also whether the grape juice was kept in a vat until it could turn into what one calls wine. But since it is not my purpose here to discuss these matters, I leave them to be handled by others…. [2]

Peter Damiani here showed himself to be vastly more permissive than most of the mainstream Latin West when it comes to the correct materials for confecting the Eucharist, and even more tolerant than the legates to Constantinople. Humbert, while he tacitly acknowledged that the Greek practice of using leavened bread was permissible, also had a clear preference for the unleavened Latin host. Peter, interestingly, does not here even mention the Greek practice: his letter is entirely within the context of the Latin rite, addressed to an archbishop of an (admittedly Byzantine-influenced) Latin see. This text allows us to see an approach very different from the one that appears in the aforementioned Liber Gomorrhianus. Given the fact that this was a topic of considerable polemics when he wrote the letter, Peter Damiani appears as a moderating, or even progressive, voice in the conflict.

What a surprise, then, when we examine the second text, taken from the Expositio canonis missae. The work as a whole falls into the genre of Mass commentaries, theological treatises that explain the various ritual components of the eucharistic celebration with historical or scriptural parallels and allegory. Fairly early in this treatise, while discussing the phrase “He took bread” (“accepit panem”) the author complains:

Leavened bread should not be offered in the sacrifice, both by reason of deed and by reason of the mystery. As is read in Exodus: “Leaven signifies corruption”, and as the Apostle witnesses: “A little leaven corrupts the whole lump”. But the Greeks, persisting in their error, celebrate [the Eucharist] from leaven. [3]

Now present is a direct mention of the conflict with the Greeks, using scriptural references that were first applied to the debate by the Humbertine legation. And gone is the tolerance of the previous passage, in which the matter of the Eucharist – so long as it comes from grapes and wheat – is a matter of indifference. Instead, for the author, the use of leavened bread violates the spiritual message of the scriptures, signifying corruption, and is therefore wholly unsuitable for the celebration of the Eucharist. 

The wildly divergent views, of course, lead the reader to question the traditional attributions of authorship for one or both of the passages, and indeed, the Expositio canonis missae has caught the attention of several scholars for containing passages that seem out of place in the literary corpus of Peter Damiani. In particular, the text uses the word “transubstantiation” (“transubstantiatio”), which would be the first appearance of this terminology if it could, in fact, be dated to the middle of the eleventh century. It is this terminological incongruity that caused Joseph de Ghellinck to conduct a line-by-line comparison with other commentaries on the Mass and to conclude that the Expositio postdates not only the De sacramentis of Hugh of St. Victor (d. 1141) but also the De sacro altaris mysterio of Lothar of Segni (later Pope Innocent III), which was written in 1198 [4]. The true date of composition, then, would fall somewhere around the turn of the thirteenth century, about a hundred and fifty years after originally supposed.

When applied specifically to the passage about leavened bread, this reattribution to an anonymous author of the thirteenth century clears up a couple of difficulties. In the first place, the notion of the Greeks persisting “in their error” makes much more sense with the later dating. The use of un/leavened bread in the Eucharist didn’t arise as a point of contention until the 1050s, so the Greeks couldn’t have persisted in the error for very long if it had been Peter Damiani admonishing them. By the year 1200, of course, Latin polemicists could much more reasonably suppose that the Greeks had been given sufficient warning, and therefore that their continued use of leavened bread qualified them as “persisting” (“pertinaces”). Similarly, the hard-and-fast rule that “leavened bread should not be offered” is much more typical of the later period, in contrast with the more permissive attitude found in the eleventh century. We see, for example, an identical notion, in nearly identical phrasing expressed in Lothar’s De sacro altaris mysterio: “Not leavened bread, but rather unleavened, should be offered in the sacrifice, both by reason of deed and by reason of the mystery” [5].

But I want to conclude with an emphasis on the relative openness and permissiveness of the mid-eleventh century. Contrary to the reputation that the events of 1054 have developed in the centuries since, the Latin Christians at that time had only begun to develop their stance on the various points under discussion, un/leavened bread being maybe the most important among them. Had the more irenic figures like Peter Damiani (and even Humbert!) exercised a little more influence on this topic, the West might have maintained a more permissive tone by the time of the authorship of our Pseudo-Peter, and indeed, perhaps a different approach taken under the leadership of Innocent III, who had clearly been swayed by a century and a half of increasing aggressive liturgical polemics in his approach to the Greek rite. Whether openness to a variety of liturgical forms could have prevented the entirety of the calamity of the Fourth Crusade is doubtful, but it certainly couldn’t have hurt.

Nick Kamas
PhD in Medieval Studies
University of Notre Dame

  1. For the Latin text and date, see Kurt Reindel (ed.), Die Briefe des Petrus Damiani, MGG Briefe d. dt. Kaiserzeit 4.2, (München, 1988): 1–2.
  2. Owen Blum (trans.), Peter Damian, Letters 31–60, The Fathers of the Church: Medieval Continuation, (CUA Press, Washington, D.C., 1990): 215.
  3. (Ps.) Peter Damiani, Expositio canonis missae, PL 145.88. “Panis fermentatus non debet offerri in sacrificium, tum ratione facti, tum ratione mysterii. Sic legitur in Exodo. Fermentatum etiam corruptionem significat, teste Apostolo: modicum fermentum totam massam corrumpit. Graeci tamen in suo pertinaces errore de fermento conficiunt.”
  4. Joseph de Ghellinck, Le mouvement théologique du XIIe siècle: études, recherches et documents (Paris: Librairie Victor LeCoffre, 1914), 355–359.
  5. Lothar of Segni (Pope Innocent III), De sacro altaris mysterio, PL 217.854. “Panis autem non fermentatus, sed azymus debet offerri in sacrificium, tum ratione facti, tum etiam ratione mysterii.”