Tia Kolbaba
The story of how Byzantine Christians related to western European Christians in the Middle Ages is never as straightforward as one would like. There was never a single Byzantine attitude toward westerners, nor did Byzantines see westerners as a mass; they had no idea of “the West” in our modern colonial or post-colonial terms. Bulgars might be a single ethnos, but western Europe was home to many ethne, and the Byzantines knew that. Moreover, Byzantine attitudes toward westerners changed throughout history, and the change was not merely a descent from friendly condescension to hate-filled fear and loathing. Detailed analysis of Byzantium and its western neighbors yields only the most useless of generalizations: different Byzantine people saw different westerners differently at different times, emphasizing sometimes their ethnic other-ness, sometimes their Christian brotherhood and adherence to the councils, and sometimes their religious “errors.” Only rather late in Byzantine history did some people develop something like a notion of “the West” as a tyrannical enemy. Finally, while in some groups friendly condescension gave way to fear and loathing, in others admiration and even emulation of western ways were common. Diplomats and merchants, emperors and courtiers, princesses and silk-weavers, rulers and ruled, went about their business – even their marriage alliances – conscious of ethnic differences without being ruled by them. This chapter will attempt merely to give an outline of the most crucial period for the separation of the Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholic Churches, the later period generally, but with emphasis on the twelfth century.
As did all sorts of other factors, religious differences and perception of religious differences changed over time. The early (c. 600–843) and middle (843-c. 1050) Byzantine periods are less crucial than the Komnenian (1081–1204) and Palaiologan (1204–1453), for it is the last two periods that see the final estrangement of the Churches of Rome and Constantinople, which is inextricably connected to a series of other changes: the Norman conquest of southern Italy, the papal reform movement, changing methods and emphases in Latin theology, an ever-increasing number of Latins in the empire, the Fourth Crusade and its sack of Constantinople, and persistent imperial attempts to reunite the Churches between 1204 and 1453. Nevertheless, three aspects of Byzantine interaction with the western Churches in the early and middle periods deserve discussion here because they lay the foundations for later phenomena. First, Byzantine respect for the popes in Rome was still high throughout the middle Byzantine period. Second, large parts of central and southern Italy were returned to Byzantine control in the ninth and tenth centuries. Third, Byzantine and western missionaries clashed in Moravia and Bulgaria with results that would resonate in later centuries.
The premier spiritual power in the West had emerged from the early Middle Ages with its reputation and prestige intact. During the struggles over icons, the papacy had defended the supporters of icons and welcomed them as refugees in Rome. As a result, the late eighth and early ninth centuries were periods of significant Greek presence and influence in the papal city.1 After the end of iconoclasm, the memory of papal support was incarnate in the monks who had sought shelter in Rome and then returned to Constantinople.2 To cite just one prominent example, Methodios I, who became the first patriarch of Constantinople after the Restoration of Orthodoxy in 843, had taken shelter in Rome after iconoclasm was revived in 815, and then returned to Constantinople in 821.3 The prestige accumulated by the early medieval papacy remained evident throughout the ninth and tenth centuries, as Constantinopolitan patriarchs and other Byzantine churchmen continued to acknowledge the pope’s orthodoxy and preeminent role in the universal church. While the patriarchs contested any Roman intervention in matters they considered to be in their own jurisdiction, they also expressed their admiration for St Peter and their continued commitment to ecumenical canons and imperial laws which made Rome the first of the patriarchates.4
In the ninth to eleventh centuries southern Italy was home to a uniquely mixed ecclesiastical and monastic culture that would provide, in later centuries, some of the strongest resisters to a separation of the Greek and Latin Churches. In southern Italy the leaders of churches and monasteries of the Greek rite might be attracted to both Rome and Constantinople and seem to have had little problem with their dual loyalties.5 Neilos of Rossano, a leader of Greek monasticism in southern Italy, founded the monastery of Grottaferrata and set it under papal authority, while the author of his Life also emphasizes the ways in which Neilos was oriented toward Constantinople and the ritual differences between Greeks and Latins. The Greek churches and monasteries of Italy would continue, throughout the history of Byzantium, to provide Greek leaders who worked to keep the Latin and Greek Churches together. Although both Byzantines and Latins would continually question the loyalties of these men who were, quite literally, caught in the middle, they were often influential.
Finally, there was one striking and infamous instance of conflict between Greek and Latin Christians in the middle Byzantine period. In the second half of the ninth century Frankish and Byzantine missionaries in Bulgaria competed for the allegiance of Bulgarian Christians – the Franks seeking to establish western customs, rites and doctrine, while various Byzantine missionaries sought to establish eastern ones. In the course of that competition, the Byzantine missionaries became aware of a number of problems, as they saw it, in the Frankish Church. Photios, patriarch of Constantinople (858–67, 877–86) reported a number of Frankish transgressions, the most important of which was their addition of a phrase to the creed: they were teaching the Bulgarians to recite “that the Holy Spirit proceeds not from the Father alone, but also from the Son.”6 Nevertheless, this conflict should not be overemphasized. It ended quickly, never involved the whole western Church and had little later impact. At no time during the conflict did the Byzantine critics attack the pope or imply that the entire western Church had fallen into error. In fact, the addition to the creed – the Filioque – was a Frankish custom that had not yet been accepted in Rome. Photios, who wrote at great length about the horrors of this addition, had sent his profession of faith to Pope Nicholas I (858–67), who had raised no objection to the absence of the Filioque.7 Given that the conflict was short-lived and, from the Byzantine perspective, regional, it is not surprising to find few echoes in the following centuries.8
In the eleventh century, however, as contact between Greeks and Latins grew, so did awareness of one another’s rituals and communication about the differences. In the Greek Church a spectrum of opinion about the Latin Church and its practices developed. On one end of the spectrum were those who believed that the Latins were at best schismatic – that is, violating disciplinary canons of the Church and not responding to admonition from other bishops about this – and at worst heretical. On the other hand, many Greek Christians, from southern Italy to Constantinople to Antioch, ridiculed such anti-Latin fervor and insisted that the Latins were Christian brothers, albeit brothers with some strange customs. The spectrum becomes clear if we begin with the anti-Latin polemicists involved in the “azyme” controversy and move on both to those writers who explicitly disagreed with these polemicists and to Greeks who displayed in various ways that they were in communion with Rome.
The Latin Church uses unleavened bread (azyma) in the Eucharist. Most of the eastern Churches, including the Greek Church, use leavened bread (enzyme).9 This might have remained a matter of indifference for all if the Greek Church of the early eleventh century had not been deeply concerned with non-Chalcedonian Armenians, who also used unleavened bread. The Greeks condemned this usage as a symbol both of the Armenian belief that Jesus Christ had only one nature and of the Armenian attachment to “Judaic” rites.10 We cannot know who first extended the quarrel about azymes to western Christians, but it is clear that the earliest polemic against the Latin use of unleavened bread is directly dependent upon earlier polemic against the Armenians.11
By around 1050 the growing presence of western merchants in Constantinople was having an impact on this debate. A substantial Latin Church with a monastic community of Benedictines attached was founded to serve the small community of Amalfitan merchants there. The earliest stages of the azyme controversy seem to revolve around this community.12 From other sources, too, we know that Byzantines and Latins in the capital had been arguing about unleavened bread for some time. Other factors tended to exacerbate this conflict. The Norman conquest of southern Italy had further muddled the already incomprehensible ecclesiastical hierarchy of the region, and after 1059 when the Normans allowed reformer popes into the lands to systematize and rationalize the hierarchy Greek bishops were caught in the middle. Even before 1059, however, bishops could have a confusing set of loyalties. John, bishop of Trani, was a Latin by language and rite, living in a region of Latin population, but nevertheless a supporter of Byzantine sovereignty and an opponent of the Normans. His loyalty to Byzantium earned him an honorary post in the Great Church of Constantinople.13 His loyalty to the Latin rite earned him the ire of a Greek churchman who thought such a servant of the patriarch in Constantinople should not be celebrating the Eucharist with unleavened bread. In the summer of 1053, Leo, archbishop of Ohrid (1037–56), wrote to John.14 After a long explanation of why the use of azymes in particular was a “Judaizing” practice, Leo exhorted John first to correct his own behavior, then to make many copies of the letter and send them to the pope and the other bishops in Italy.15 The first Latin to respond to Leo of Ohrid’s attack on the Latin Eucharist was Humbert of Silva Candida, one of Leo’s closest counselors. Humbert visited Trani shortly after the papal army’s defeat at Civitate, so John probably passed Leo of Ohrid’s letter on to him then.16 Angered by Leo’s criticism, which he saw as an attack on the Holy See, Humbert responded in the autumn of 1053. He wrote two texts: a letter to Patriarch Michael Keroularios in Leo IX’s name, which stressed papal primacy, and his Dialogues in defense of unleavened bread.17 No longer a matter only for popes, emperors and patriarch, differences in ritual or doctrine could now be observed and discussed by Latins in Byzantine service, by Byzantines in Bulgaria and by Latins who traveled to the East.
Meanwhile, the struggle against the Normans in Italy had led to the formation of a papal delegation that was to travel to Constantinople to discuss an alliance between the pope and the Byzantine emperor. There was nothing new in this. Pope Leo IX and the Byzantine representative in Italy had united their forces against the Normans in the spring of 1053, only to be resoundingly defeated in June of that year. The emperor and the patriarch had also recently written to the pope, declaring their desire for Christian unity and their interest in an alliance against the Normans.18 From a politico-diplomatic point of view, this alliance of the pope and the Byzantine emperor should have been relatively straightforward. For church history, though, the negotiations of 1053–4 were anything but straightforward in their impact. The azyme controversy was about to become crucial in relations between the papacy and the empire.
In the spring of 1054, Humbert of Silva Candida wrote in Leo IX’s name to Emperor Konstantinos IX Monomachos and Patriarch Michael Keroularios.19 These letters were carried to Constantinople by a papal legation led by Humbert himself.20 Humbert, arrogant as only the reformer convinced of the righteousness of his cause can be, was incensed at the very existence of Greek criticism of Latin practices, for Rome was the Mother Church and the bastion of orthodoxy, Constantinople the daughter who had often been saved from heresy only by Rome’s intervention.21 He considered it insufferable presumption for anyone “to pass judgment in anything concerning her [Rome’s] ever-orthodox faith.”22 The delegation set off for Constantinople by way of southern Italy, where they stopped to visit the Byzantine governor Argyrus. This had an unfortunate effect on the mission. Patriarch Michael Keroularios of Constantinople had once refused communion to Argyrus on the grounds that he was an azymite. Humbert learned of this treatment and became further convinced of Keroularios’ disrespect for Rome. On the other hand, when Keroularios later found out that the legates had visited Argyrus he decided that they had colluded with Argyrus to alter the papal letters.
So it happened that, although Humbert and Keroularios began with a common goal – to form an alliance of papacy and empire against the Normans – their clashing personalities instead exaggerated and escalated tensions between Rome and Constantinople.23 The embassy’s first visit to the patriarch in April 1054 ended in acrimony, with each side claiming that the other had neglected the appropriate courtesies. Keroularios was also appalled when he read the letters they had brought him. Having recently written a rather conciliatory letter to the pope, he had expected a reasonable reply. Instead, he was confronted with Humbert’s hectoring compositions. Unable or unwilling to believe that these letters had come from Leo, of whom he had heard good things, Keroularios examined the seals and decided that someone had tampered with the letters. Perhaps, he concluded, the legates were not from the pope at all. Perhaps Argyrus had sent them. After the first meeting, then, Keroularios refused to meet with the legates. In July, when Keroularios had still refused to admit them to his presence, the legates interrupted the afternoon liturgy in Hagia Sophia by walking in and depositing a bull of excommunication on the altar, on 16 July 1054. The bull did not excommunicate all members of the Greek Church, but only Keroularios and various other churchmen who had participated in the controversy. The grounds on which it condemned them were enumerated: they sold church offices, they defended clerical marriage, they rebaptized Latins, they had dropped the Filioque from the creed and so on.24 With this bull in hand as evidence of the papal legates’ aggression and heresy, it took only a week for Keroularios to bring the emperor and the synod over to his side. Around 24 July, he convened the standing synod to condemn these “impious and rejected men” who had come upon the church “like a wild boar,” spreading diabolical confusion and hatred.25
After the synod, Keroularios wrote a letter to Peter III of Antioch in which he presented himself as the victim in the whole affair.26 No more humble than his Latin adversary, fiercely protective of the prerogatives of his office and not one to let the facts get in the way of making a polemical point, Keroularious repeated his claim that the legates had been imposters and that they had tampered with or outright forged the papal letters with help from Argyrus. Moreover, while Peter had previously written that azymes were the only important issue dividing the Churches, Keroularios insisted that the Latins erred in many other ways, which he proceeded to detail in a list that equaled Humbert’s in its lack of discretion.27 Above all, he concluded, these Latins refused to discuss any of the differences between the Churches: “they will not travel here so that they might be taught or hold discussions, but rather for teaching and persuading us to hold their dogmas.”
The texts we have been discussing, from Leo of Ohrid’s letter against azymes to Keroularios’ letter to Peter of Antioch, have been put together to comprise a dossier for the schism of 1054, which for a long time was seen as the decisive break between the Churches of Rome and Constantinople.28 But it was not. Relations between the papacy, on the one hand, and the patriarchate and empire, on the other, show no serious break after 1054 and seem to have been barely influenced by the mutual recriminations of Humbert and Keroularios.29 All in all, “the schism of 1054” should not be called a schism at all; it was a quarrel between the legates and the patriarch, leading to excommunications and recriminations which neither side applied to all members of the other side and both sides were willing to forget rather soon thereafter.30
Still, the texts from 1053 and 1054 exemplify the Byzantine spectrum of opinion regarding the Latins. Keroularios, Stethatos, Leo of Ohrid and others thought the Latin use of azymes was crucial. Peter of Antioch did not, and others agreed with him. Around 1089, Theophylaktos, archbishop of Ohrid (1088/9-after 1126), received a letter which asked him “to refute, as briefly as possible, the errors of the Latins in ecclesiastical matters – errors which … are numerous and probably able to divide the churches.”31 Among the errors which some were saying the Latins committed, Theophylaktos listed the following: “offering azymes; fasting on the Sabbath; not reckoning the fast before the Passion as we do; forbidding the marriages of priests but allowing the marriages of the laity indiscriminately and without obstruction. Also – now, don’t laugh – both clerics and non-clerics shave their chins. The hands of their clerics glitter with rings, and their ecclesiastical vestments are woven of silk thread and multi-colored. Also, even their monks eat meat, and when they must worship the Lord they cleave to the ground.”32 Clearly lists of Latin errors, like the one Keroularios had included in his letter to Peter of Antioch, were circulating among the Byzantine clergy. Equally clearly, other Byzantine churchmen were reproaching such Church-dividing zeal.
In southern Italy, too, where contact between Greeks and Latins was more common than in the capital, there was a spectrum of opinion. On the one hand, there were real differences between the Greek and Latin Churches, which in a world where right ritual was crucial could be seen as cause for anathema. The azyme controversy had significant roots in Italy, as Leo of Ohrid’s letter to John of Trani indicates. So, too, the primary Constantinopolitan polemicist of 1053–4, Niketas Stethatos, claimed to be working from a dossier of materials compiled in Bari.33 One might, then, expect this region to be the place where conflicts between Greeks and Latins boiled over, only later spreading to Constantinople. Such conflict was, however, only half the story. The other half is that the popes and Latin bishops of southern Italy did not express contempt for Greek ritual and few Greeks found the Latin presence – even Latin sovereignty – unbearable. Even when the pope recognized Norman sovereignty in southern Italy and asserted his own patriarchal rights in the region, the Latins left the Greek monasteries and many of the Greek churches unmolested. The long-lived cooperation and coexistence of Latins and Greeks provided southern Italy with reserves of understanding, tolerance and trust that could hold Rome and Constantinople together. In the long run, the cultural feud would prevail, and the tolerance and trust disappear. But this had not yet happened in the eleventh century. In that century, many Greeks and Latins in southern Italy still thought that Christian unity transcended differences of rite. This can be seen in the ways that the Greek monasteries and Greek bishops of southern Italy reacted to Norman rule and a revived papal presence in their region.
While some monasteries were destroyed or deserted during the invasion of the “Franks,” this was not necessarily a matter of religious hostility. The Normans destroyed many things – not only Greek things and not only monasteries.34 What is surprising is how soon such destruction came to an end, to be replaced by at least tolerance and often generosity. Fortunately for the Greek monks, the strong tradition of coexistence in the region meshed with Norman political needs, especially in Sicily, but also on the continent. In Sicily and southern Calabria the early Norman rulers had a large Greek population to placate and often wished to avoid conflict with Constantinople. In general, therefore, the Normans who controlled southern Calabria left Greek monasteries unmolested. In fact, they often protected and patronized them.35 Further north, Robert Guiscard, working to consolidate his power in northern Calabria and Apulia, did not favor Greeks as much. With the exception of some cities, the population of the region was mostly Latin. Still, even Robert moderated his behavior as he prepared to attack Byzantium in 1081, seeking to convince Greeks in the western provinces of the empire that Norman rule would be not only bearable, but desirable.36 The combination, therefore, of regional traditions and Norman political needs meant that Greek monks in Sicily and southern Italy were usually free to walk a middle road: so long as they did not oppose the pope and their Norman lords, both pope and Normans went beyond tolerance to generosity. The Italo-Greek monks could continue their Greek rites and customs without interference and even benefit from papal and Norman patronage.37
The situation of the hierarchy of the Greek Church in southern Italy was fraught with more difficulties, for metropolitans, archbishops and bishops were more dependent upon patriarchs, popes and emperors, and therefore necessarily involved in politics in a way that monks need not be. Even before the coming of the Normans, the ecclesiastical provinces of southern Italy were a confused and confusing jumble of competing jurisdictions, which were loyal to the pope, Lombard dukes and the Byzantine emperor.38 After the Normans began to rule, the Greek hierarchy of southern Italy faced new challenges. Unlike the monks, the bishops could not simply continue their pre-Norman lives with only a nod in the direction of the pope, for both Norman rulers and popes needed episcopal conformity. Norman lords were accustomed to bishops who were also the secular lord’s efficient and trusted servants, and the reforming popes of the eleventh century sought a hierarchy which shared their reforming principles – including acceptance of papal primacy.
A straightforward narrative of what happened to Greek episcopal sees in southern Italy under the Normans is impossible unless we take a very long view. In that long view – which would have to be from the distance of the sixteenth century – all of these sees would become Latin. In the short run, however, the chronology of the transition varies greatly.39 Still, a few generalizations can be hazarded. First, in some strategic places, the Normans found it necessary to have Norman prelates in place immediately after the conquest.40 Second, in areas where the competing claims of popes, patriarchs, emperors and other secular rulers had led to disagreements about the boundaries of ecclesiastical provinces and the status of sees, the Norman conquest meant that the reformed papacy had a chance to rationalize the ecclesiastical structure and to do so in a way that maximized papal power. In doing so, it consistently acted against those bishops (many of them Latin) who had been loyal to the Byzantines.41 Third, in most areas with a population that was mostly Greek, and especially in southern Calabria, the Greek bishops were left in place so long as they were willing to submit to the pope.42 Thus Rossano and Santa Severina remained Greek, while Reggio di Calabria received a Latin bishop, although not enforcement of the Latin rite. The case of Reggio illustrates a final point: imposition of a Latin metropolitan, archbishop or bishop did not necessarily mean imposition of the Latin rite.
Although often seen as peripheral and sui generis, this situation in southern Italy is essential to our understanding of events in the empire. Although it was not only in southern Italy that each side recognized the differences between Greek and Latin rites and traditions, it was in southern Italy that the two communities lived very close together for a very long time. Italo-Greek monks and bishops were therefore often bilingual, often knowledgeable about the Latin Church, often visitors to Rome and even frequenters of the papal court, while they remained also Greek-speakers, frequenters of the patriarchal court and travelers to the East. All of this made the more flexible and talented of these men ideal intermediaries between Rome and Constantinople – a fact which popes, emperors and patriarchs all recognized. As intermediaries between the two patriarchal sees, these Italo-Greeks influenced Constantinopolitan ideas about Latins. And because the attitudes of the Italo-Greeks were far from uniform, that influence was not univocal.
We can see all of this concretely in the negotiations between Pope Urban II and Emperor Alexios I in 1088–9. In 1088, Urban wrote to Alexios and Patriarch Nikolaos III (1084–1111) to ask why the pope was no longer commemorated in the prayers of the liturgy in Constantinople. The pope’s letters were carried to Constantinople by Nikolaos, abbot of St Neilos’ monastery of Grottaferrata, and by a Roman cardinal-deacon.43 Nikolaos (abbot c. 1085–1122) is one of many men who left us no apology for his allegiance, but if we can judge from his actions alone he represents those Italo-Greek monks who combined in their lives and religious practice both Greek rite and papal authority. His monastery, eighty years after its foundation by Neilos of Rossano, was still a monastery of Greek rite and still directly dependent upon the Roman see. Its abbots were blessed by the popes, as Nikolaos was blessed by Gregory VII. Urban II must have trusted him implicitly to send him on such an important mission.44
The synodal and imperial responses to the pope’s query in Constantinople have been detailed elsewhere.45 In the end, the synod authorized Patriarch Nikolaos III to write to Urban.46 Nikolaos also chose two Italo-Greeks as his messengers: Romanos, archbishop of Rossano, and Basil, metropolitan of Reggio in Calabria.47 Unlike Romanos, however, Basil had no high opinion of Pope Urban.48 The Normans had taken Reggio in 1060 and left the Greek incumbent on the throne until he died in 1078 or 1079. In Constantinople, the patriarch consecrated his Greek successor, Basil, thereby maintaining both patriarchal and imperial claims to be the legitimate authorities in Calabria.49 But the Norman ruler of Reggio had his own candidate, and the man who actually took up the episcopal staff was a Norman named Arnulf. It is probable that Basil never entered Reggio; he remained metropolitan in name only, while Arnulf ruled in fact. When the see of Reggio again became vacant Basil appeared before Pope Urban at the Council of Melfi (1089) to ask the pope to uphold his rights.50 The pope’s reply was a mixture of intransigence and compromise. On the one hand, he absolutely asserted Rome’s right to jurisdiction in Calabria, and therefore denied that Basil had a right to the see because he had been ordained in Constantinople. On the other hand, he offered Basil and two other Greek bishops of Calabrian sees who were in the same situation – the aforementioned Romanos, archbishop of Rossano, and the unnamed metropolitan of Santa Severina – the following concession: if they would acknowledge papal jurisdiction, they could remain in their episcopal sees. That Urban saw this purely as a matter of asserting that southern Italy was in his patriarchate, not in Constantinople’s, is clear from the offer he made Basil after Basil refused to submit to the pope. He offered to write to the patriarch of Constantinople and ask him to appoint Basil to another see, within Constantinopolitan jurisdiction. Basil refused both offers, but Romanos of Rossano and the Greek claimant to Santa Severina accepted papal jurisdiction for their Greek-rite sees.51
We do not know where Basil went after the confrontation at Melfi. We know only that he was in Dyrrachion in December 1089, where he received envoys who informed him that he and Romanos of Rossano had been commissioned to go to Rome and discuss the unity of the Churches with Urban. Horrified, he wrote an embittered letter to Patriarch Nikolaos recounting the events of the Synod of Melfi and calling Urban a pseudo-pope, a creature of the “godless Franks,” and an Arian heretic. Perhaps, as Daniel Stiernon claims, Basil had a right to be bitter about the patriarch’s behavior as much as about the pope’s. When the patriarch of Constantinople had ordained Basil, with the Normans already in control of Reggio, the ordination had been a strong statement of the patriarch’s claim to Calabria. Basil may have understood himself to be holding the fort, keeping alive patriarchal claims in the area. To have the patriarch now send him to the pope with letters that implied a willingness to overlook the pope’s interventions in the Greek episcopates of southern Italy must have seemed a betrayal.52
This sequence of events encapsulates most of the important facets of the complex eleventh-century relationship between Byzantines and Latins, as well as the mixed sentiments of Byzantines regarding differences of ritual and custom. First, there is papal and imperial policy, that is, the role that high politics and diplomacy play in such matters. Alexios I and Urban II each had pressing political reasons to seek peace in 1089.53 Second, even among church hierarchs there were significant differences of opinion. Given Norman secular rule, and therefore papal ecclesiastical rule, of the provinces of southern Italy, Romanos of Rossano and others acquiesced in the transfer of their dioceses from the patriarchate of Constantinople to the patriarchate of Rome. If they saw the differences between their Greek churches and the Latin churches of the area as being merely differences of language and custom, with no theological import, their recognition of papal jurisdiction had no shame attached to it. They stayed to serve their flocks, providing them with services in their traditional rite and pastoral care in their own language. After Romanos of Rossano took an oath of obedience to the pope he and his successors continued to serve a Greek congregation with a Greek liturgy; Rossano had a Greek bishop until the middle of the twelfth century. The see of Santa Severina was Greek until the middle of the thirteenth century.54 Other Italo-Greek hierarchs disagreed and, like Basil of Reggio, remained in exile from their sees rather than accept papal jurisdiction. By making himself a martyr for patriarchal authority, Basil implied that the other Greek bishops had compromised with the devil. This intransigent position was costly for the Italo-Greeks of Reggio: in striking contrast to Rossano and Santa Severina, the see of Reggio moved permanently into Latin hands after Basil’s refusal to submit to the pope.
So by around 1090, those who thought the Latins were not in error in any heretical way were still the dominant party. Not unaware of the complications caused by Norman conquests and papal pretensions, these churchmen maintained nonetheless that the differences between the churches were not sufficient to divide Christ’s body. Does this mean that nothing had changed? On the contrary, the later eleventh century was pivotal for three major reasons. First, the increasing numbers of Latins within the empire changed relations between Greeks and Latins in many important ways. We have seen how the Latin Church in the capital became a place where Greeks and Latins argued about the Eucharistic bread. Latins within the empire could also be mediators. The Amalfitans, for example, played many roles.55 They founded a monastery on Mt Athos which followed customs that its Greek and Georgian neighbors admired and taught their Greek brothers about St Benedict and his Rule.56 The Benedictines in Constantinople not only argued about azymes; they also translated Greek texts into Latin, beginning the process by which the Latin world integrated works of the Greek Fathers into its theology. Meanwhile, some Amalfitan merchants, striving to prevent the Norman conquest of their city, were involved in various attempts to arrange alliances against the Normans.57 At the end of the century, the Amalfitans were joined, and would eventually be displaced, by the Venetians. Like Amalfi before it, Venice now had churches, houses, warehouses and wharves along the Golden Horn. More and more western merchants lived for long stretches of time in the capital.58 Nor were merchants the only westerners in the capital and elsewhere. The Byzantine army included contingents of “Franks,” while both Alexios’ inner circle of counselors and his wider circle of clients and allies encompassed refugees from Norman Italy and other westerners.59
Other Latins were simply passing through. For various reasons, pilgrimage from western Europe to the Holy Land gained popularity in the tenth and eleventh centuries. By the middle of the eleventh century, some pilgrimages contained thousands of people traveling the land route through Hungary to Constantinople where they stayed in hospices set up specifically for western travelers and viewed the great city’s astounding relic collection.60 If, in the earlier Middle Ages, Constantinople had been relatively inaccessible for westerners, it now “lay on the way to somewhere else.”61 The First Crusade, the formation of the Crusader states and subsequent Crusades would bring still more Latins into the empire and increase the number of Greeks who regularly came into contact with westerners. The atrocious behavior of some Crusaders would increase the number of Greeks who considered the Latins more enemies than brothers. The suspicious and unwelcoming attitudes of some Greeks would similarly increase Latin hostility.
The changes in southern Italy are the second reason that the eleventh century was pivotal. As we have seen, the Greeks of the liminal region of southern Italy were under increasing Latin pressure. If I have stressed the ease of the transition, it is still true that there was a transition. The Greek bishops and monks of this region had to accept papal jurisdiction and a kind of minority status within the Church. They remained intermediaries between Rome and Constantinople, but they become a rather different sort of intermediary. They were more likely, for example, to serve as ambassadors from the pope to the emperor than vice versa. Third, the number and influence of those Greeks who insisted that some Latin customs were abominable was increasing. Keroularios’ list of Latin errors may have been a radical departure from a traditional tolerance of customary differences; it was certainly a radical departure from Christian charity. Unfortunately, it also became the template for longer and longer lists of Latin errors and the rallying point for an ever-larger and more vocal party of anti-Latin clergy and monks.
In the twelfth century, awareness of religious differences between Greeks and Latins continued to grow. The strongest evidence of how concerned twelfth-century Byzantines were with Latin practices is the enormous number of anti-Latin treatises they produced.62 In constant contact with Latin Christians, Byzantine churchmen learned of Latin customs in a variety of ways and often at times that had nothing to do with imperial negotiations with the papacy. Their responses to this knowledge were varied and mutable. They argued not only with Latins but also with themselves and with one another about the relative importance of the differences. As numerous as the extant texts are, however, they are only the tip of the iceberg. Scattered references in all kinds of sources reveal a continuous murmur of conversation, debate and criticism. These glimpses seldom afford much detail, but they make us wonder how many other conversations left no written trace at all. So, for example, in 1112 the theologian Niketas Seides mentions that “ten or twelve years ago” a Latin, “one of your people, from among those you call cardinals,” was in Constantinople. Efforts to identify this mission have had some success, but must still be conjecture.63 For kings, princes and dukes from the West, it was natural to include bishops in delegations to Constantinople as, for example, the German emperor used Anselm of Havelberg in 1135. Educated in the cathedral school of Laon, Anselm was a theologian as well as a bishop. Although in Constantinople on an imperial mission, Anselm tells us that he “had many discussions and meetings – some private, some public, with Latins or with Greeks – about these doctrinal and ritual matters”64 and represented the Latin position in two public debates, one regarding the Filioque and the other regarding papal primacy and azymes.
It was not clear to everyone on either side that these differences were crucial. Take, for example, the biography of John of Antioch who had an illustrious career in Constantinople before he left to take up his office as patriarch of Antioch in 1091.65 From that time until the Crusaders took the city in June 1098, John served his flock in a city ruled by Turks. During the Crusader siege of the city (October 1097 to June 1098), the Turks tortured him, prompting the Latin historian William of Tyre to refer to him as a “true confessor of Christ.”66 After the Crusaders took control of the city, they confirmed him in his office. He remained in Antioch under Latin rule for about two years, consecrated the first Latin bishop in the region, and presided over a Church which now had both Greek and Latin clergy, churches and liturgies. In the autumn of 1100, however, he left the city. On his reasons, we have only Latin sources. Orderic Vitalis, who wrote considerably later and from a distance, reports that rumors were spreading that the patriarch was plotting to turn the city over to Alexios. Angry, whether because the rumors were true or because they were false, John fled to Constantinople.67 William of Tyre claims that the Greek patriarch left voluntarily, “realizing that he, as a Greek, could not effectively rule over Latins.”68 Back in Constantinople, John officially resigned the patriarchate in October 1100 and retired to the monastery of Oxeia.69 Probably around 1101 he wrote a treatise against the Latin use of azymes.
John’s knowledge of Latin usage probably preceded his time in Antioch, but he seems to have been unconcerned about it when he first welcomed the Crusaders into his city. His actions – he was in full communion with the Latins – seem to indicate that he thought azymes, the Filioque and other Latin variations insignificant. We will never know what changed his mind, but his biography exemplifies both the potential for Greek and Latin coexistence and the ways that churchmen might be persuaded that matters they had thought inconsequential were actually crucial. In some times and places, the potential for coexistence seems to have been realized more fully than it could be in the fraught situation that was Crusader Antioch. For example, some Greek bishops in the Holy Land accepted a compromise solution in which the Greek bishop was set up as a subordinate of the Latin bishop in the area. The Greek’s role, obviously, was to be the pastor of the Greek-speaking, Greek-rite Christians in the area.70 Like some of their brothers in southern Italy, these bishops seem to have had little trouble accepting Latin rule. Unlike those brothers, they were apparently not even required to explicitly acknowledge papal primacy.
From southern Italy to the Holy Land, then, Greeks and Latins, including clerics, were living side by side and noticing one another’s customs. Probably many people did not particularly care about those differences. Others did, especially the clergy, who were naturally the most invested in the ritual forms and doctrines of their churches and therefore more likely to discuss and debate the differences between the Latin Church and the Greek Church. Emperors sometimes encouraged such discussion and sometimes tried to suppress it. Regardless, the evidence concerning twelfth-century Byzantine responses to the Latins indicates a murmur of conversation and argument both between Greeks and Latins and among the Greeks themselves.
That murmur also changed over the course of the century in response to two Latin developments: the success of the reformed papacy and the intellectual ferment of what might still be called the “twelfth-century renaissance.” As Darrouzès has detailed, Byzantines only gradually came to understand the implications of the high-medieval papacy’s claims to plenitudo potestatis.71 As they did so, their reactions were predictable. Anselm of Havelberg reports that his interlocutor in a public debate in 1136 said:
If the Roman Pontiff, seated on the lofty throne of his glory, wishes to thunder at us and, so to speak, hurl his mandates at us from on high, and if he wishes to judge us and even to rule us and our Churches, not by taking counsel with us but at his own arbitrary pleasure, what kind of brotherhood, or even what kind of parenthood can this be? We should be the slaves, not the sons, of such a Church, and the Roman See would be not the pious mother of sons but a hard and imperious mistress of slaves.72
This clash of ecclesiologies was not to be resolved in the Middle Ages and it remains crucial in all later stages of the separation of the Greek and Latin Churches.
Meanwhile, Byzantines were also becoming aware of fundamental developments in Latin theology. Such awareness did not come all at once, and many books have been and will be written on the ambivalent and ambiguous nature of Byzantine responses. Still, one example may be emblematic of the kinds of problems these changes brought to the fore. In the 1160s, Hugo Eteriano, a Latin theologian who had studied the new theological methods in Paris, became one of the emperor Manuel I’s (1143–80) theological advisors. When a controversy imported from the West began to disturb the peace of the Church, Manuel intervened. There ensued several heated debates in the imperial palace. The controversy was about a Christological dispute in the West at the time: what did Jesus mean when he said, “The Father is greater than I” (John 14:28)? Seeking an explanation of the Latin position, Manuel summoned Hugo, whose explanation so pleased the emperor that he adopted it as his own. Nevertheless, the controversy continued to divide the clergy of the capital. In the end, Manuel persuaded, or perhaps coerced, the members of the Constantinopolitan synod to accept the theological resolution he preferred. He had the resolution inscribed on plaques and placed in a prominent position on the walls of Hagia Sophia, where a cast copy still hangs today, in the exonarthex. The emperor was happy with this solution; perhaps a silent majority in the Church were, too. But we hear soon and often from those in the Greek Church who felt that the emperor had adopted a Latin novelty and forced it on the Church. Ironically, Hugo was not satisfied either. For although the emperor had begun with Hugo’s fine-tuned, logical definition, he and his synod altered it to fit a Greek sense of theological language and tradition. In a letter to a western colleague, Hugo derided the state of Greek theological learning and condemned the synod’s decision.73
There are many facets of this story to explore. First, Hugo Eteriano was not a visiting bishop who happened to discuss theology with some Greeks. He was a resident of the imperial court and therefore the embodiment of the omnipresence of westerners in the empire during the reign of Manuel. Second, Hugo represents certain Latin intellectual developments. He had studied dialectic in Paris in the 1140s, and he grew frustrated with the Greek refusal to use logic in theology, especially with their fuzzy (from his perspective) definitions. Third, in another difference from earlier Latins, Hugo was able to read the Greek Fathers in their original language and to use their ideas with great sophistication. Finally, the theological issue at the heart of the debate came from the West. The issue caught the attention of a Greek ambassador in Germany not because of a disagreement between Greek and Latin doctrine – there was no such disagreement yet – but because the Latins were seeking a clearer definition of something the Greeks had never defined. Greeks were, then, becoming aware of and even embroiled in the theological controversies of the Latin world in the twelfth century.
But when this western controversy reached the East it entered a new intellectual context. Not only did the Greeks have a different set of patristic authorities, they had also gone a different direction in their use of ancient philosophy to investigate theological truth. In the eleventh century, at the very time when westerners had begun applying ancient philosophical principles to Christian theology, some Greeks had tried to do the same. In general, however, those Greek efforts had been rejected by their fellows. Greek theological speculation did not cease, but it took a vastly different form from western theology. The western quarrel about what it meant to say that the “Father is greater than the Son” was fundamentally a quarrel between two different attitudes toward the use of philosophy in theological matters and two different systems of philosophy. It was also part of a set of Christological controversies in the twelfth-century West that resulted from the exponential increase in theological speculation. The Greeks took this Latin philosophical-theological controversy and turned it into a debate about the patristic exegesis of a Scriptural phrase. It is impossible to explain briefly all the consequences of this profound difference, but it is clear that Hugo’s learned explanations, the sophistication of Latin theology and, perhaps most of all, the emperor’s support for the Latin position, caught many Greeks off-guard and put them on the defensive. More people now found Latin ideas threatening and were prepared to resist them at all cost. The Latins were “innovators” and the only defense was an utter rejection of their “innovations” and total reliance on the tradition of the Fathers. The Byzantines who rejected such Latin innovations may have had a point; perhaps too much logic in theology is a bad thing. Yet even at this point a few Byzantines did not reject the Latin changes outright. Some even thought the Latins were progressing while the Greeks were stagnating, clinging to inadequate definitions and fuzzy logic when they should be embracing the philosophical refinements offered by the Latins. Whichever view one prefers, it is clear that the intellectual traditions of Greeks and Latins were diverging in remarkable ways.
There is really only one way to end an account of the twelfth-century conversations and controversies: and then came the Fourth Crusade. After the Crusading army sacked Constantinople in 1204 and set its own Latin emperor and patriarch on the imperial and patriarchal thrones, there was no going back. Efforts to reunite the churches of Rome and Constantinople in the last centuries of the empire were, much more than in earlier centuries, largely politically motivated and led (or pushed) by emperors. Popular opposition to union was consistently strong and sometimes violent. While there are notable exceptions, including the initial response of some Constantinopolitan churchmen who tried to remain in the City under a Latin patriarch, they are anomalous and rare.74 It would still be a mistake to characterize the Palaiologan period as uninteresting in terms of Greco-Latin relations. Even the Greek empire of Nicaea, in exile from the capital which so defined the true “Emperor of the Romans,” had some intellectuals who argued that the differences between the churches were inconsequential and one emperor who promoted reunion of the Churches. Nevertheless, as a general rule, the moderate middle was silenced. In the aftermath of imperial efforts at union in the period surrounding the Second Council of Lyon (1274), Greeks who spent too much time with Latins were suspected of heresy and those who decided that the differences were inconsequential tended either to be exiled,75 or to convert to Roman Christianity.76 Whether Latin Scholasticism and the canonistic rigor of the twelfth-century canon lawyers in Bologna and Constantinople would have led to the irreparable schism that persists today is a moot point.77 The violence of 1204 and the papacy’s attempts to realize its plenitude of power in the Greek churches made few Greeks willing to contemplate reunion. Crucially, it made them certain that the western Christians were “them” and not “us.” When the imperial envoys who had agreed to church union at the Second Council of Lyon returned to Constantinople, they were greeted with cries of “You have become Franks!” It is safe to say that most Byzantines now conflated ethnic and religious identities – as indeed the Christian Roman Greek empire had always done to some extent – in a way that decisively made the “Franks” of the West both ethnically other and religiously heterodox.
1 Hamilton 1961; Sansterre 1983: 42–5, 47–8, 50.
2 Papal support for icons and the defenders of icons is remembered, for example, in the Life of Patriarch Nikephoros I of Constantinople; see Talbot 1998: 81, 110.
3 Talbot 1998: 199–200; Sansterre 1983: 43, 128–9; ODB: s.v. Methodios I.
4 Dvornik 1966.
5 However, see Rotman in this volume.
6 Laourdas and Westerink 1988: 42–3. On Photios’ other complaints see Kolbaba 2000: 34–5, 39–44, 174, 184. On problems related to the textual transmission of this letter see Kolbaba 2008: 57–75.
7 Dvornik 1948.
8 This is one of the themes of Dvornik 1948; see especially Part II, chs 5–6.
9 ODB: s.v. Azymes; Erickson 1970; Smith 1978. Any reader who seeks a deeper understanding of what happened between Humbert and Keroularios in 1054, the many contexts of these events and the subsequent historiography would do well to begin with Smith 1978.
10 For a summary of the theological implications of the use of azymes, as the Byzantines saw them, see Erickson 1970; Smith 1978. I am here describing how the Byzantines perceived Armenian theology and ritual, not the symbolic weight that the Armenians themselves gave to these usages.
11 Darrouzès 1990; Darrouzès 1967; Erickson 1970: 175; Smith 1978: 1–66, 128–35, 140–2, 152, 156, 173.
12 Michel 1939.
13 Gay 1904: 495–7, 516–17; Smith 1978: 82, 91, 115.
14 For the reconstruction of the dates of all of the treatises written in 1053 and 1054, see Smith 1978: 173. Leo of Ohrid’s letter, PG 120: 835–43.
15 Smith 1978: 174.
16 Gay 1904: 495; Runciman 1955a: 42.
17 Letter, PL 143: 744–69; Dialogues (“Adversus graecorum calumnias”), PL 143: 930–74.
18 Smith 1978: 92–4. The letters from Constantinople to Leo have not survived, but we know some of their content from the papal replies and from Keroularios’ letter to Peter of Antioch (discussed below).
19 PL 143: 773–7 (to Keroularios); PL 143: 777–81 (to Monomachos).
20 The following account of the events in Constantinople in 1054 combines information from the following primary sources: Humbert’s account, the Brevis et succincta commemoratio, which includes the Latin bull of excommunication, PL 143: 1001–4; Keroularios’ account in the second letter to Peter of Antioch, PG 120: 781–96; the proceedings of the Greek synod which condemned the legates, PG 120: 741–6; the Greek translation of the Latin bull, PG 120: 736–48.
21 E.g. see paras 21–3 of the first letter from Leo IX to Keroularios (PL 143: 759–60).
22 PL 143: 1001, trans. Smith 1978: 98 n. 75.
23 Some have claimed that Keroularios opposed his emperor’s plans to ally with the papacy from the start, either because he hated Argyrus so much or because he thought that alliance with the papacy would mean subordination of his see to that of Rome. Smith 1978: 84–99, has disproved this claim. Keroularios himself records that his first letter to Leo IX, which is not extant, sought to persuade the pope to join the emperor in an alliance against the Normans (in his letter to Peter of Antioch, PG 120: 784). There seems no reason to assume that he opposed the emperor’s rapprochement with Rome.
24 The Bull is quoted by Humbert in his “Brevis et succincta commemoratio eorum quae gesserunt apocrisarii sanctae Romanae et apostolicae sedis in regia urbe, et qualiter anathematizati sunt Michael cum sequacibus suis,” PL 143: 1004.
25 PG 120: 736–48.
26 PG 120: 781–96.
27 Full translation of Keroularios’ list of Latin errors in Kolbaba 2000: 23–4.
28 Details of how this dossier came to be compiled are in Smith 1978: 46–70.
29 On later Latin embassies, see Grumel 1942; Gay 1904: 512–14; Gautier 1980: 105–6; Leib 1924: 14–16; letter of Gregory VII in PL 148: 300–1. On the Greek reaction, see Kolbaba 2003.
30 Scholarly opinion is unanimous on this point, and has been so for nearly a century. E.g. Ostrogorsky 1969: 298: “The significance of this event [the mutual excommunications, etc.] was not realized until later, and at the time little notice was taken of it, a fact which throws considerable light on the relations between Rome and Byzantium during the previous years. Misunderstandings between the two ecclesiastical centres were all too common and no one was to guess that the quarrel of 1054 was of greater significance than earlier disputes, or that it marked a schism which was never again to be healed.” Yet this fact still has not received popular acceptance.
31 Theophylaktos, Proslalia tini ton autou omileton peri on egkalountai Latinoi, Gautier 1980: 247.
32 Gautier 1980: 249. On these Latin “errors,” see Kolbaba 2000: 34–5, 37–41, 44–8, 53–4, 56–7, 61–2.
33 Michel 1930: 320; Smith 1978: 64–5.
34 Loud 1988: 220–1; Morris 1995: 173–4. See Gay 1904: 481–2, for some examples of complaints of indigenous Latins about Norman atrocities.
35 Guillou 1980.
36 White 1938: 43–5.
37 Guillou 1963: 87–8, 92–95; Leib 1924: 106–42; Loud 1988: 218–20, 227–33; Morris 1995: 292–3; Russo 1982: 365–80; White 1938: 38–46. It should be noted that there is some disagreement on this point. L. R. Ménager 1958, 1959, argues that Normans on the continent did not patronize Greek monasteries, but instead forcibly Latinized them. There is some evidence to support this view, especially in the northernmost territories conquered by the Normans and especially in the first generation (i.e. under Robert Guiscard); see Russo 1982: 340–2, 349–50, 365. Still, it is important to distinguish (as Guillou 1963, Loud 1988 and others do) between the Latinizing of the hierarchy of the Church and Latinizing of the monasteries. Even the Latinizing of the hierarchy happened gradually (see discussion later in this chapter), while some monasteries remained Greek for centuries. Ménager’s picture of monasteries generally oppressed and forcibly Latinized cannot be sustained. For a succinct discussion of these issues, see Loud 1988: 227–33.
38 One has only to skim a collection such as Convegno storico interecclesiale 1973 to see that the bibliography on the Greek Church in Italy is immense and the stories immensely complicated. For fuller bibliographies on a given region or issue, the reader should consult that collection as well as other works cited here.
39 Girgensohn 1973; Loud 1988: 228–30; Russo 1973: 790–2; Laurent 1973: 14–17.
40 Girgensohn 1973: 39–40.
41 Gay 1904: 545–7; Loud 1988: 230.
42 See e.g. the case of Basil of Reggio, analyzed below. Herde 1973: 221–2; Girgensohn 1973: 41; Loud 1988: 229–30.
43 The delegation left Rome between March and August 1088, probably in early July; Stiernon 1964: 197–203.
44 Rocchi 1893: 22–3; Leib 1924: 105; ODB: s.v. Grottaferrata; Rocchi 1904: 27, 32; Tomassetti 1926: 300. Rocchi 1893: 23 says that Nikolaos may have been born in Constantinople, but I have not been able to find the source for this.
45 Most importantly, in Holtzmann 1928; see also Kolbaba 2006: 202–6.
46 Holtzmann 1928: doc. 3, 62–4.
47 Holtzmann 1928: 64.
48 This account is based primarily on Stiernon 1964, with additional notes from Erdmann 1977: 319 n. 42, 320 n. 46, 321 n. 48. Holtzmann 1928 found and edited the documents; Russo 1953 laid the groundwork for an understanding of Basil’s role; Stiernon 1964 offers indispensable refinements of the dates.
49 Consecration/ordination by patriarch of Constantinople: Laurent 1973 notes that the metropolitans of Reggio di Calabria and Santa Severina were “imports” from Constantinople. We know that Basil of Reggio was consecrated by the patriarch of Constantinople (probably in 1179), and Basil implies that his contemporaries in the sees of Rossano and Santa Severina were also consecrated by the eastern patriarch; see Holtzmann 1928: 65, ll. 5–8, 20–2, and discussion in Stiernon 1964: 193, 215.
50 For details about the synod of Melfi in 1089, see Holtzmann 1928: 53.
51 Most of this narrative is based on Basil’s letter, written in late February or March 1090, to Patriarch Nikolaos (Holtzmann 1928: doc. 4).
52 Stiernon 1964: 201.
53 Holtzmann 1928: 50–2.
54 Loud 1988: 233.
55 Balard 1976.
56 Lemerle 1953; Leroy 1953; Pertusi 1963; Pertusi 1953; Rousseau 1929.
57 Gay 1904: 528–32; Dölger 1925: no. 952.
58 Brown 1920.
59 Force 1936; Shepard 1996.
60 Runciman 1955b: 72–8.
61 Shepard 1992: 44, referring to Constantinople after the First Crusade, although I am sure that he would agree that the change begins well before the Crusade.
62 Even a brief look at the polemical works listed in Beck 1959: 609–29 gives the general idea.
63 Darrouzès 1965: 53.
64 Anselm, Dialogues, Prologue (Salet [ed.] 1966: 28; PL 188: 1140).
65 Gautier 1964: 131–2; ODB: s.v. John IV (V) Oxeites.
66 William of Tyre, Historia 6:23 in Recueil des historiens des Croisades 1844: 274; Babcock and Krey (trans.) 1943: 296–7.
67 Chibnall 1975: 356–7: “A Greek had held the patriarchate of Antioch under the Turkish rule, and had refused to adapt himself to the victorious Normans. They, after acquiring the principality, determined to enforce the Latin rites on clergy and people; these the Greeks, who had observed the earlier customs, presumptuously considered very unseemly. After Bohemond’s capture a rumour spread among the people that the bishop was preparing to betray Antioch to the Emperor. When he learned that such a report was current against him he was furious; whether outraged because of the purity of his clear conscience, or pricked by fear and the accusation of serious guilt I cannot say, but he abandoned his see, retired to a monastery and would never agree to return to those whose customs he detested.” One might note that Orderic is incorrect about the enforcement of Latin rites and seems not to know that the monastery where John retired was near Constantinople.
68 William of Tyre, Historia 6:23 in Recueil des historiens des Croisades 1844: 274; Babcock and Krey (trans.) 1943: 296–7.
69 Gautier 1964: 132.
70 Richard 1985. On the Orthodox Church, including its bishops, under Latin rule in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, see Hamilton 1980, ch. 7, “Relations with the Orthodox, 1098–1187.”
71 Darrouzès 1965.
72 PL 188: 1219; translated at Runciman 1955a: 116.
73 The Byzantine historians who report some version of these events are Niketas Choniates and John Kinnamos: Choniates in Magoulias 1984: 120–1 and van Dieten 1975: 211–13; Kinnamos 6:2 in Brand 1976: 189–93. Biographical details on Hugo can be found in Dondaine 1952; Dondaine 1958: 480–2. Details of the meetings of the synod in 1166 and its aftermath, including Hugo’s reaction: Classen 1955. The marble tablets: Mango 1963, with edition of the inscription 324–30.
74 Heisenberg 1922.
75 As were John Bekkos and George Metochites after repudiation of union in 1282.
76 As did Demetrios Kydones and Barlaam the Calabrian.
77 On the role of Scholasticism, Papadakis and Meyendorff 1994. On canon law, see Dennis 1986.