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THEODORE OF STUDIUM
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
FIRST YEARS OF THEODORE'S MONASTIC LIFE—DISCIPLINE—THE SECOND COUNCIL OF
NICAEA AND ITS CONSEQUENCES—THEODORE ORDAINED PRIEST
THE time at which Theodore
forsook the world was one of great disorganization in Eastern monachism. There
was, however, much zeal for asceticism and a strong desire for a regulated
common life evident in many quarters, and wanting only the call of a leader and
the skill of an organizer to reconstruct the tottering fabric and make it far
more stable than it had been before. It was, perhaps, well for Theodore that
the first years of his profession were for him a period of quiet and seclusion.
The place to which he and his family had retired was a country estate called
Boscytium, not far from Saccudio, where Plato was abbot. It was in the form of
a crescent, well planted and breezy, with pleasant flowing water. Either here
or at Saccudio, under the direction of his uncle, Theodore superintended the
building or rebuilding of a church dedicated to St. John the Evangelist, both
the floor and the walls of which were adorned with rich mosaics. For a task of
this kind, his familiarity with the noble buildings of Constantinople must have
well fitted him. In the zeal for his newly adopted vocation, he was eager to
accomplish the very lowliest of monastic duties, such as digging in the garden,
helping the sick brethren in their labours, and
cleaning out the domestic buildings. But this work was not incompatible with
serious study, and in fact it was through reading the ascetic works of Basil
that Theodore became so active in both practising and
enforcing the rules as to labour, seclusion, and
regularity in prayer and in work, which were held to be binding on all monks.
This brings us to the
difficult question : under what kind of rule did the monks of the Eastern
monasteries live towards the end of the eighth century? If they had been asked,
they would doubtless have replied : “under that of the great Basil”. Yet in the
genuine works of Basil, and even in the spurious ones which were accepted as
his by Plato and Theodore, we fail to see anything like a rule such as those of
the great Western orders or like that which Theodore subsequently drew up for
Studium, and which, as we shall see, was copied by many other communities. What
Basil gave was mostly in the form of answers to questions, directions as to
the application of the fundamental principles of monachism to the needs of
social life. The principles are in great part taken as set forth in Scripture,
especially in the Gospels, and a large portion of his exhortations are equally
suitable to the laity and to professed monks. They are not delivered on
authority, but deduced from Scripture and reason, yet the principle of
authority is uttered with no uncertain sound. In fact, it might seem to some
devotees that the principles of authority and of asceticism were often at
variance, since excessive fasting, or the indulgence of individual leanings to
one or another kind of work or of discipline, was tightly controlled by the
application of the maxim that “We ought not to please ourselves”. The Basilian writings generally, though austere in parts,
breathe a spirit of what has been called “sanctified common sense”, and allow
scope in a wise leader to consider all the circumstances in cases where he has
to decide in apportioning works and penalties. Obedience, poverty, labour, devotion, and abstinence, except under strict
limitations, from female society, are rigorously insisted upon. But the rules
laid down are not very minute, and often allow for variety in following them
out.
Nevertheless this “rule of
Basil” was, and was rightly, regarded by the Eastern monks as their chief,
almost their sole authority. The other important sources of monastic law were
the decrees of Councils, necessarily varying in range and purport, and the
imperial legislation, especially that of Justinian. In the “Novels” we find
rules as to the appointment of abbots, the length of the novitiate, the dealing
with runaways, and similar matters which, as we have abundant evidence, were
not always scrupulously observed, but which helped to form the basis of
subsequent legislation. The matter need not be discussed further, till we come
to Theodore’s reforms and regulations in his later post as abbot of Studium.
Here we need only note that he was acting on received authority, when he either
stimulated or supported Plato in bringing the monks of Saccudio to consent to a
far more stringent rule than they had hitherto followed. Their asceticism, be
it observed, is of an active and social kind. Solitary life, however lofty in
its possibilities, had come to be regarded as so liable to abuse as to be only
tolerable in rare cases. Such a case, probably, was that of Theoctista, whom
Plato desired to live “cellular fashion”, probably because there was just then
no well-managed nunnery at hand.
Meantime, the united bonds
of affection and respect between uncle and nephew were ever becoming stronger.
They seem to have lived in constant intercourse, and Theodore must before long
have taken up his abode in Saccudio, for we hear no more of Boscytium after the
first. Here, however, a chronological difficulty meets us : in the Lives of
Theodore, it would seem as if he did not take up the monastic profession till
after the Second Council of Nicaea, and it would also seem that Plato became
abbot of Saccudio at the time of the family migration. We need not concern
ourselves to ask what had become of his previous monastery, that of the
Symbols. In those days, a small community of the kind might easily dwindle and
vanish. But the one statement we have as to Theodore’s age—that he was made
abbot at the age of thirty-five, having followed the life of a monk for
thirteen years—is difficult to reconcile with the supposition that he entered
monasticism only in 787. And again, in Theodore’s own Life of Plato, we are
told of Plato’s choice as abbot (though Saccudio is not named) before the
Council, of his refusal to take higher ecclesiastical offers subsequently made
to him, and of his return to his monastery after the Council. Again, among the
signatories to the resolutions passed at Nicaea, his name appears as Plato,
monk and abbot of Saccudio. Either hypothesis has its difficulties. According
to the generally received chronology, the family renunciation and migration
followed the return of Plato to Constantinople soon after the death of Leo, and
he must have left his little flock, probably under the superintendence of
Theodore, during his attendance at the Council of Nicaea. But whether Theodore
heard of the deliberations and resolutions of that Council before he left his
paternal home at Constantinople, or while he was undergoing his novitiate at
Saccudio, there is no doubt that he followed them with a deep interest, and
welcomed with delight the triumph of the icons and of the cause of the monks.
To us, looking back on the
struggle of conflicting forces during that critical period, it seems that
another and greater cause was at stake than either that of mosaics or that of
monasteries, that if Irene and Tarasius had known how to make the most of their
position, the breach between East and West might have been healed, and the
supremacy of one Empire and one Church established for the Middle Ages and
possibly for Modern Europe. For, as we have seen, it was the ecclesiastical
policy of the Isaurian Emperors that had served as pretext and as goad, if not
as original motive, for the successive acts of unfriendliness between Rome and
the East which were speedily ripening into hostility, and which bore the seeds
of permanent alienation. If then this Council, ecumenical or universal in
reality as in profession, had sought not only to assert the same standard of
faith and ritual for East and West, but also to adjust the rival claims of
patriarchal powers, and particularly to establish a modus vivendi with
the Papacy in Rome, and if at the same time the Imperial Court at Byzantium had
drawn nearer to the other great Court of Christendom, that of the Frankish
champions of Papal power, then we may fairly say that the unity of Christendom
would have been secured in ways passing the dreams of the most visionary Catholics
and cosmopolitans, Charles the Great would never have been crowned in Rome, the
Crusades would not have failed for want of unity and a policy in militant
Christendom, Greece would have continued to dominate the barbarian world, and
there would have been no Renaissance needed, for there would have been no death
or trance of ancient culture. But neither Empress nor Patriarch was equal to
the emergency—perhaps neither of them in any way discerned the greatness of the
issues of the moment. It seems hardly too much to say that if Theodore the
Studite had been ten years older at this time, in which case he would doubtless
have taken a leading part in what was done, the cause of unity, at least in the
ecclesiastical sphere, might have triumphed, since Theodore, as we shall see
hereafter, had no scruple against acknowledging the far-reaching claims of Old
Rome, and felt no remarkable deference to the See of Constantinople. And if
ecclesiastical unity had prevailed in East and West, imperial unity would have
had a longer and more vigorous life, there would have been no “Holy Roman
Empire” as a separate and Western institution, and the whole course of European
progress would have taken a different direction.
But after all, amid the
great complications of Eastern and Western affairs, it would have required
breadth of view, tenacity of purpose, and diplomatic skill in an unusually
happy combination to avert the great cleavage. In Italy, at that time, there
were at least three great powers or interests, besides many minor ones, the
conflicts and combinations among which claimed the attention of the Eastern
Church and Court. First there was Pope Hadrian I, irritated at the withdrawal
of ecclesiastical provinces formerly under his sway, and at the reduction of
power and revenues which he had suffered at the hands of the Greeks, or
subjects of the Empire, whom, till they had purged themselves of heresy, he
might vituperate as “unutterable”. He declared that they were in league with
the Lombards of the coast to carry off slaves, and he suspected them of various
machinations among the doubtfully loyal dukes and princes who ought to have
acknowledged the Papal authority. Then there was the great King of the Franks
himself, Charles, now also King of the Lombards, who had received, along with
the Lombard crown, a weight of cares in those Italian regions which had been
imperial, or ruled by semiindependent dukes or
princes, and endless opportunities of friction with the Papal power. For though
Hadrian was far too wise to be anything but polite—not to say adulatory—in
addressing his powerful protector, there was a pardonable querulousness in the
appeals he made for help in Italy to the hard-worked warrior who had to provide
against Saxons, Avars, and Saracens, not only against recalcitrant bishops of
Ravenna or an intriguing Duke of Spoleto. Again there were those lesser powers,
Lombard in origin, but never effectually controlled by the Lombard kings, of
which the most important just now was that of Beneventum under Arichis. This
Prince was an enlightened man, favorable to letters and to building. He was not
very loyal to Pope or King, and had been in communication with the late
emperors. His wife, Adelperga, was a daughter of the
last Lombard King, Desiderius, and her brother, Adelchis, had fled to the
Byzantine Court. But the policy of the Beneventines was not altogether
philhellene if, as the Pope believed, they were intriguing with a disloyal
governor of Sicily, whom Irene had to recall, but who subsequently found refuge
with the Saracens.
The wisest and broadest
policy for the Byzantine court, so far as we can judge, would have been first
to make sure of Charles, and secure such an amicable and intimate union with
him that the North-Italian question, as between the two great sovereigns of the
civilized world, might have been permanently settled; next, to obtain the
hearty cooperation of the Pope in the Conciliar Action now to be taken for the
restoration of the icons; and finally, to have mediated an agreement between
the Beneventines and their spiritual and secular superiors. Unfortunately none
of these lines of policy was effectually pursued. An abortive attempt at an
alliance with Charles proved worse than nugatory. The attempt to win over the
Pope was not sufficiently respectful of his dignity to make him a cordial
friend, however much he may have sympathized with the religious policy of the
Empress; and the Beneventines were allowed to slip away from Greek influence,
so that the later attempt to reinstate the Lombard prince was defeated by his
nearest kinsfolk.
At first, however, Irene
conceived a wise and bold project. This was to unite her son Constantine in
marriage with Rothrud, the eldest daughter of Charles and of his best-beloved
wife, Hildegard. The embassy sent with this object from Constantinople reached
Charles during his second visit to Rome, in 781. The arrangement was made and
confirmed by oath. We do not know the political conditions, but we are told
that a certain Greek eunuch named Eliseus was sent to
the Frankish Court to instruct Rothrud, or Eruthro,
as the Greeks called her, in Greek letters and speech, and in the ways of the
Roman Empire. It would be interesting to know how Eliseus fared. At the Court of Charles he would probably have found other pupils
besides Rothrud anxious for instruction in Greek, and if he had been a powerful
man, he would undoubtedly have made his mark. As the engagement lasted for six
years, Rothrud and probably her sisters and companions (for Charles cared much
for the education both of his sons and of his daughters) may have acquired
considerable knowledge of Greek literature, though probably it was in matters
of ceremonial that the courtier chiefly sought to instruct her. But at the end
of that time, the contract was broken off by Irene herself. Her motives are not
clear. It can hardly have been that she now felt so secure of the Pope as to
consider it safe to dispense with the King,—for the Papal assent to the Council
of Nicaea had not yet been obtained. Her action has with great probability been
attributed to mere personal jealousy. The advent of a daughter-in-law so
strangely connected and so differently brought up from the ladies of the Court
might have introduced a new and dangerous element into the Palace, and have
lessened the influence of the Queen-mother, whose love of power was undoubtedly
great. Be this as it may, Irene broke off the marriage alliance, and sought as
bride for Constantine an Armenian lady, Maria by name, a pious woman, but not
attractive to the young bridegroom, who seems to have set his heart on marrying
the Frankish princess. Charles was able to console himself so far as Rothrud
herself was concerned. He always preferred to keep his daughters with him, he
used to say. They followed him on horseback when he rode abroad, and studied
under his directions at home. But the rebuff which he had received from Irene colored
his views of the Eastern Court generally, and prevented him from acknowledging
the orthodoxy of the Greeks, even after it had been recognized by the Pope
himself.
Meanwhile Tarasius and
Irene had both written to Hadrian I announcing the change in the patriarchate
and in the attitude taken up by the Court towards the images; also their
intention of holding a Council for the purpose of correcting past errors. In
Irene’s letter (that of Tarasius has not survived) the Pope was asked either to
come himself or to send representatives, the charge both of mission and of
prospective arrangements being entrusted to the Governor of Sicily. The answers
sent by the Pope were friendly in the main, but cautious and not too yielding.
He approved the religious objects of the new rulers, but touched on sundry
grievances : the uncanonical appointment of a layman,
in the person of Tarasius, to the Patriarchate of Constantinople; the retention
by the Patriarch of the title ecumenical or universal, which had
caused offence since the days of John the Faster of Constantinople and Gregory
I of Rome, and which, even if softened in meaning, seemed to trench on the
prerogatives of the successor of St. Peter; and the provinces withdrawn from
Roman jurisdiction by Leo the Isaurian. The last point was naturally the most
important, and the only one, perhaps, that could effectually postpone a good
understanding. He sent with his letter to Irene two ecclesiastics, both named
Peter, an arch-presbyter and an abbot respectively. They were received as
mandatories sent by the Pope to represent him in the Council. But it was by no
means clear that they were technically authorized to assume any such position,
and at a later time, when, for a short period of his life, Theodore wished to minimize
the authority of the Seventh Council he could say that Rome had not sanctioned
its acts, since the messengers who had come thence and had taken part in its
deliberations and decisions, had really been sent for quite a different
purpose.
But there was a second
difficulty in the way of assembling a council. To be general, or ecumenical, a
council must be attended, personally or representatively, by the five
Patriarchs of Old and New Rome, Alexandria, Antioch, and Jerusalem. New Rome
was on the spot; Old Rome might be regarded as present in the person of the two
Peters; but Egypt, Syria, and Palestine were so hopelessly cut off from
Christendom and so entirely within the power of the Mohammedans, that even the
summons of Tarasius could not reach them. But the Court and Church were equal
to the emergency. The Patriarch of Jerusalem had lately declared himself in favor
of the icons. Antioch and Egypt were held to be represented by a certain John
and Thomas respectively, who were sent by certain oriental monks with letters
of credence to Tarasius and the Fathers in Council. Their names accordingly
appear among the first in all the lists of signatures to the decrees of the
Council.
But there was a third and
yet more dangerous hindrance in the way. We have seen that the iconoclastic
emperors possessed the confidence of the army. It does not seem probable that
the soldiery was more free from superstition than any other part of the nation,
but it was distinctly anti-clerical, and perhaps also opposed to female rule.
The first meeting of the assembled Fathers was to be held in the Church of the
Apostles at Constantinople. It was to be a solemn occasion ; the Patriarch, and
the orthodox and unorthodox bishops, with abbots and priests, were assembled in
the main part of the building, while the Empress and her son were in the
portion usually assigned to the catechumens. Suddenly there was a rush of armed
men into the church; the life of the Patriarch and of his partisans was
threatened. The household troops were called in, but could effect nothing. The iconoclastic captains prevailed, and the bishops of that party
raised a shout of triumph. The Patriarch and the orthodox escaped by flight,
and the Synod was temporarily dissolved. But Irene again showed herself not
easily to be beaten. She devised means by which, on pretence of a necessary expedition against the Arabs, the recalcitrant troops were
withdrawn from the city and replaced by others, drawn from the East, in whom
she could trust. Her chief agent in this matter was Stauracius, “patrician and logothete”, a correspondent of Theodore’s in later times.
When the Court had also withdrawn and the loyal troops had obtained possession
of Constantinople, the tumultuary bands were disarmed
and dismissed.
The way was at last clear.
But it seemed desirable that some other city should be chosen for the meeting
place of the Council. The place selected, from its convenient situation and its
halo of orthodox sanctity, was Nicaea in Bithynia. Here the Fathers met again,
under the presidency of Tarasius, rather more than a year after the abortive
attempt made at Constantinople.
The proceedings of this
Synod have been chronicled at great length. Only the more important of them
need concern us here. In the very first session, three notable iconoclastic
bishops read their recantation, and were not only pardoned but allowed to take
part in the Synod. When seven more followed their example, some remonstrance
was raised on behalf of ecclesiastical order, but whether from charity or from
fear, leniency prevailed, though the penitents were not allowed straightway to
resume their places. The question of image-worship was taken up and discussed
during several sessions. The letters from the Pope and from the East, already
referred to, were read; though the portion of Hadrian’s letter to Irene which
brought forward the Papal grievances was prudently omitted. Arguments from the
Scriptures and from the Fathers relating to images were read, with a summary of
the arguments used on the other side, and a lengthy refutation. These arguments
may be left till we come to consider the controversial works of Theodore. Here
we need only say that if, as is most probable, Plato had some hand in drawing
up the arguments and counter-arguments by order of Tarasius, it is not unlikely
that his nephew had a share in the work. Or if Theodore had not yet embarked on
polemics, he must have now become familiar with the theoretical ground of the
controversy, and with the authoritative passages of Scripture and of Patristic
literature which served as watchwords on either side.
Far the most important work of the Council was done in its seventh
session, when a decree was passed that holy pictures, of Christ, the Virgin,
angels, and saints, were to be portrayed on vessels, garments, and walls, for
salutation and honour. This honour,
however, was distinguished from the worship due to the Divinity only, in
words that cannot adequately be rendered in English, though perhaps adoration corresponds loosely to latria, reverence to proskinisis.
Such as it was, however, the distinction was already familiar, and it was to be
used a good deal hereafter. It need hardly be pointed out that no
representation of the Deity, in other form than that of the human Christ, was
in any way sanctioned or approved. We may observe in passing that as yet there
was no difference made between painting and sculpture, or representation in two
or three dimensions, such as came afterwards to be recognized in the Eastern
Church.
After the chief dogmatic
declarations of the Council had been made, with the customary anathemas of the
heretics on the other side, certain canons were passed, mostly relating to
monastic discipline. The last session was held at Constantinople. The Empress
and the young Emperor signed the decrees, the Fathers departed, and the work of
restoration, as regards cult and discipline, seemed to have been accomplished.
But there were threatening
clouds, some near at hand, others in the distant West. Certain of the most
zealous and uncompromising of the monks were disgusted at the lenity with which
former iconoclasts had received not merely absolution, but restoration to their
priestly functions. Chief of the recalcitrants were a
certain Theoctistus, and Sabas, whom we may probably
identify with the abbot of Studium of that name. Tarasius was in a difficult
position. On the one hand, the Empress was urgent for a policy of pacification.
On the other, amid so much shiftiness and want of principle, he could ill
afford to offend the most zealous of his allies. Then again the circumstances
of his own consecration were not such that he could pose as a consistent supporter
of the canons; while the charge of simony brought against his colleagues and
even against himself might be difficult to refute. Any hitch would cause an
alarm cry against the validity and the ecumenical character of the Council.
Tarasius seems to have hedged, to have denied his knowledge of inconvenient
facts and his responsibility for the very light penances inflicted. He is not
greatly to be blamed if there was, after all, no great principle at stake, and
if his diplomatic action prevented a schism. True, Sabas and Theoctistus continued to be alienated, but they seem to have been in a very
small minority. Even Plato continued on good terms, for the present, with the
Patriarch. Still, if Tarasius had been able to keep turncoats out of office, he
might have made a reactionary policy less easy than it proved in the sequel.
Meantime he professed great zeal in his efforts against simony, and on this
side he hoped for the support both of Pope and of monks.
Pope Hadrian, meantime,
withheld his sanction. He seems to have been ready to acknowledge the assembly
as a lawfully constituted local synod, but not as an ecumenical council.
Tarasius had made no concession about the withdrawn dioceses and patrimonies of
St. Peter, and again, if the Eastern Church had become orthodox as to images,
it still omitted the clause filoque in the
Nicene Creed. Hadrian seems to have hesitated till his death, which occurred in
795. Towards the East he was critical, perhaps querulous. But towards the West
he became almost an apologist for the policy of the Empire.
These curious fluctuations
and combinations are seen in the correspondence of Hadrian with Charles, King
of the Franks. In 790, a remarkable document was drawn up by the learned men of
Charles’s Court treating of the whole subject of the images and of the behavior
of the Byzantine rulers. Certain survivals of the theocratic idea,—expressions
of very exalted character applied to the Emperor and all that emanated from
the imperial person—were severely reprobated by that authority which, within
twelve years, was to assume distinctly theocratic pretensions on its own
behalf. The images were justified on what may be called common-sense grounds,
in virtue of their educative and stimulating effect on Christian devotion, not
by reason of intrinsic claims to adoration. This does not seem fundamentally
different from the distinction between proskinisis and latria, but the difference between a policy of tolerated diversity
and one of compulsion goes much deeper. Four years after, a Council was held at
Frankfort, which passed a decree the exact significance of which is very
difficult to determine. It condemned the action of the late Council held at
Constantinople, in that it had declared that honour and worship were to be paid to the icons just as to the Holy Trinity.
Overlooking the mistake as
to place, we can hardly say that the theological misrepresentation was the
result of the density of the Western mind compared with the subtlety of the
Eastern. It shows, not a failure to understand, but a culpable and voluntary
misunderstanding; not a confused impression of truth, but a clear statement of
its contrary. It is not too much to say that this has often been the attitude
of West to East.
Meantime, it may be that
the clash of arms, which has often drowned the voice of the laws, had also
extinguished that of theology. In 788 the Byzantine Court had actually taken
the field on behalf of the Lombard Pretender. The year before, Arichis of
Beneventum had been obliged to submit to Charles, after an invasion of his
principality, and a young Beneventine prince, who, on
the death of his elder brother, became his father s heir, had been carried off
as hostage. Soon after, Arichis himself died, and Charles adopted the
magnanimous and bold policy of sending young Grimwald back to rule over the Lombards in Beneventum. Grimwald,
for a time, remained loyal to his powerful patron, so that when his uncle (on
the mother’s side) Adelchis, with troops under the command of imperial
officials, landed in Calabria, they found no support, and were defeated in a
decisive battle. Adelchis returned to Constantinople, and Charles ruled as
undisputed King of the Lombards.
Meantime Theodore had
rejoiced in the triumph of the icons and was not, as yet, inclined to side with
the disaffected party of Sabas. His uncle was anxious
that he should receive priestly ordination at the hands of Tarasius, probably
with the view to his subsequent promotion, either as abbot or as bishop. In
later days, Theodore pleaded the duty of canonical obedience to justify his
action on this occasion, since Tarasius seemed to some of the monks to be still
under a cloud. But in all probability he felt no compunction at the time, and
looked forward to an active career in a church now restored to Catholic
orthodoxy, in intimate alliance with the secular authority, and in course, at
least, of justifying herself in the eyes of the whole world.
The study is a confusing
one. The most abstract of speculations on the relations of spirit and matter,
the most subtle distinctions in the possible attitudes of the human mind
towards the Divinity, were complicated with territorial disputes in distant
lands and palace intrigues at home. But for the present these were nothing to
Plato and Theodore, for the cause of the icons was, to them, the cause of Cod.
If questions of ecclesiastical policy and of the supreme political authorities
had been adequately considered at the time;—if the letters of the Greeks and
the usages of the Roman Empire, in which Eliseus instructed the Princess Rothrud, had, broadly understood, served as a basis for
the required harmony, possibly a more permanent settlement might have been
achieved. However, something had been done, in that thought and devotion had,
in some quarters at least, prevailed over physical force. And if the assertion
of principle against power should again be required, certain decisions had been
authoritatively affirmed that would justify resistance even unto death.
PALACE REVOLUTIONS—THEODORE'S FIRST CONFLICT WITH THE CIVIL POWER
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