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THEODORE OF STUDIUM
CHAPTER I.-
CHAPTER II.-
CHAPTER III.-
CHAPTER IV
PALACE REVOLUTIONS—THEODORE'S FIRST CONFLICT WITH THE CIVIL POWER
THE eight years following
the Council of Nicaea, stormy and disastrous for the Empire, were probably the
most quietly fruitful and entirely satisfactory of Theodore's life. Not that he
and the community to which he belonged were so remote from the Court as to be
kept in ignorance of the party distractions by which it was constantly
agitated. Nor yet that the external foes who were ever threatening even the
provinces nearest to the “queenly city” herself could be regarded from Bithynia
with indifference or contempt. But rather that the opportunities now enjoyed by
Plato and Theodore for defining the rules of their monastery and increasing its
numbers and its influence seemed to them to justify the suggestive name of the
lady to whom they owed this peace and leisure,—a name which has a strangely
ironical sound in the ear of the historian. Possibly the restoration of the
Church seemed to them the great work to be accomplished, whether the ruling
authority was to be designated as Irene and Constantine, as Constantine, as
Constantine and Irene, or as Irene alone. And the restoration of the Church was
to be achieved by means of the monks. If their view was limited we shall see
hereafter that it was not entirely fallacious. Here we may notice that, in the
course of a few years, the community of Saccudio had reached the number of one
hundred monks, living together in order and loyalty.
It was towards the end of
this period of repose that a decisive change was made in Theodore’s position.
Up to the age of thirty-five, for thirteen years since his first religious
profession, he had worked in all things with and under his uncle, the abbot
Plato. It is quite possible, as his biographers would have it, and as his own
writings suggest, that Plato was much more ambitious for him than he was for
himself. It was Plato who had insisted on his consecration as priest, and
later, in the year 794, it was Plato who brought about his appointment as abbot
of Saccudio, while he who had practically created the position, vacated it, and
became a private monk. The story of the transaction is not without
difficulties. One historian believes that Plato’s retirement from office was
the work of Irene, who wished for a more pliable person to support her schemes,
and who proved—not for the only time in her life—deficient in judgment of
character. Nor does the abdication seem to have involved anything like
diminution of dignity in the eyes of the world. To the chronicler Theophanes,
Plato is, after this date, still abbot of Saccudio. And to Theodore he is still
the Father,—not in a mere personal sense only, but as shepherd of the flock.
The most probable suggestion is that discerning troubles to come, Plato wished
to be assured of his successor, and followed the example of those Emperors who
had their sons crowned during their own lifetime. He had sufficient confidence
in the reverence and affection of his nephew to rest assured that should he
himself recover from the illness under which he suffered—and of which he did
not minimize the symptoms—the life restored would not be one of lessened
influence and prestige. Under these circumstances he summoned the brethren
around what he would have them believe to be his dying bed, and obtained a
unanimous declaration in favor of Theodore. The manner of choice can hardly be
called strictly legal or regular, especially as we have no mention of any
episcopal intervention or sanction, such as the legislation of Justinian
demanded. But it was not a time to wait for formalities, even if it had not
been the case—as we know it to have been from many contemporary documents—that
the wishes of a dying abbot had a good deal of weight in determining the choice
of his successor. In point of fact, Plato recovered, and for a period of
eighteen years uncle and nephew lived together as practically joint abbots,
first of Saccudio, later of Studium, in such harmonious co-operation that it is
difficult to see which was the prime mover in the several actions of their
common life. In the older man, the frank acceptance of technical subordination
did not imply any shrinking from responsibility. In the younger, a bold and
independent course of action was compatible with most dutiful reverence towards
the spiritual father from whom the most potent influences of his younger days
had been received. The spectacle they afford of mutual deference with conjoint
authority forms a striking contrast to the miserable strife for power between
the two imperial rulers.
The enterprises of Irene
against Lombards and Franks in the West had, as we have seen, met with nothing
but disaster, nor had her troops which encountered the Bulgarians to the North
obtained much better success. These facts, rather than wicked envy aroused by a
spectacle of superior piety—as an orthodox chronicler suggests—may account for
the state of friction in Court and army which favored an attempt on the part of
the young Emperor to emancipate himself from maternal control. He was now, in
790, twenty years old, and he had come of a capable and warlike stock. His
mother had consistently kept him in the background; she had broken off a
matrimonial alliance flattering to his imagination and his hopes; she had bound
him in wedlock to a woman for whom he felt no affection; of late she had
committed all affairs to her minister Stauracius, patrician and logothete, whose authority completely overshadowed, even in
appearance, that of young Constantine. Finally, misled, as it was reported, by
soothsayers, she was trying to secure the whole imperial power for herself. But
now at length her son showed some spirit. He formed a design, along with some
men of high birth and office, to capture the Empress and send her away to
Sicily. If they had succeeded, it is curious to think what new webs of intrigue
might have been spun. But Irene was beforehand with them, as she had been with
the uncles. An earthquake gave occasion for a migration from the city, and
this movement seems to have facilitated the capture of the conspirators. They
were seized, scourged, shorn, and exiled or confined. The Emperor himself was
beaten like a perverse child and kept in solitude at home. Meanwhile the
Empress continued to intrigue with the soldiers, and to impose an oath that
they would not acknowledge the authority of the Emperor so long as Irene lived.
But not all the military leaders had sunk to so low a point. The decisive
opposition came from the Theme of Armenia. There the demands of the Empress
were flatly refused, and the troops declared their loyalty to the Emperor, and
their determination to acknowledge the dignity of his mother only in the second
place. A certain Alexius, bearing the curious surname of Moslem, was sent to
pacify them, but instead of doing so, he allowed himself to be placed at their
head, while they imprisoned their previous governor and proclaimed Constantine
sole Emperor. They were speedily joined by other troops. Constantine was
restored to liberty and established on the throne. His partisans were
apparently recalled, and those of Irene, especially Stauracius, degraded and
exiled. Irene herself met with the mildest possible treatment, being suffered
to retire, with abundant wealth, to a palace which she had herself built. This
is reckoned the first year of Constantine VI.
If only Constantine had at
this juncture achieved some decided military success, his power might have been
permanently established. An expedition which he led against Cardom,
King of the Bulgarians, seems to have ended in panic and Right on both sides.
He next turned his arms against the Saracens who had attacked Cyprus the year
before, and were now threatening or ravaging Cilicia. But here again he met
with no success. Very soon after he showed his weak if amiable character by
yielding to the persuasions of his mother and her followers, and restoring her to
liberty and to some measure of authority, so that henceforth Constantine and
Irene became the objects of the people’s acclamations. A wretched time
followed. Alexius, the governor of the Armenian Theme, was suspected of
ambitious aims, scourged and degraded. An expedition against the Bulgarians
ended in failure and the loss of some valuable lives, as well as of much
wealth. Another insurrection in favor of the unhappy “uncles” was suppressed,
but with such barbarity as to do more harm than good to the reigning
sovereigns. Tonsured before, they were now subjected, one to blinding, the rest
to the loss of their tongues. Strange to say, a few years after they are again
in rebellion, and again captured, this time exiled. Five melancholy spectres they flit across the stage, with fresh loss of
dignity and some added disability after every failure, cleaving apparently to
one another as companions in misfortune. But probably a yet more disastrous
step was that by which the Emperor brought himself into conflict with the more
respectable and independent of the churchmen, in his repudiation of his wife
Maria, and his union with the lady of his choice, Theodote.
This step, we are told by
Theophanes, was taken by the express advice of Irene, who was desirous of
acquiring popularity by bringing her son into general hatred. If this were her
motive, she succeeded admirably, so far at least as the monks were concerned.
Certainly they do not seem to have suspected her of any share in the mischief.
Yet to Theophanes himself, after all her intrigues, treacheries, and unnatural
cruelties, she is still “pious and beloved of God”, and hence we can hardly
suspect him of maligning her. Constantine desired his wishes to be carried out
in a lawful manner. The unhappy Empress Maria was shorn and sent to a cloister,
and the Patriarch Tarasius was asked to perform the nuptial ceremony for the
Emperor and the court lady whom he was openly acknowledging as her successor.
Tarasius was again in a difficult
position, and like most weak characters, he endeavored to make a compromise
which brought him little favor in either quarter, though it enabled him to
retain his Patriarchate. He is said to have opposed the immoral and illegal
demand of the Emperor, but finding that his words were unavailing, to have
refused personally the performance of any marriage rite, though he gave a
passive sanction to the solemnization of Constantine s second marriage, with
the nuptial crowning, by a certain ecclesiastic named Joseph, abbot of the
monastery of the Kathari, and holding also the rank
of steward—possibly to the Patriarch. The coronation of Theodote as Augusta was
soon after performed by Constantine himself. In time she bore him a son who
received the name of Leo.
With the endeavor of
Constantine to obtain the blessing of the Church on his illegal union with
Theodote, we are again brought into connection with the history of Theodore. It
is not quite clear why the Emperor was anxious to be approved in Saccudio. The
relation (probably cousinship) of Theodote to Theodore may have counted for
something; or the somewhat strained relations between Tarasius and Plato owing
to the disaffection promoted by Sabas may have led
the Emperor to think whether it might be possible to obtain one clerical
influence in counterpoise to another. Or again there is the possibility,
suggested by Theophanes, that Irene was working underground to arouse a
monastic opposition to her son. Or Constantine may have wished to clear himself
from any imputation of a return to iconoclasm, with which he seems to have
threatened Tarasius, in order to ensure his pliancy. In any case, Constantine
tried hard to secure the support of Theodore and Plato. But they had already
broken off and separated themselves from communion with Tarasius and Joseph,
nor were any efforts, whether of persuasion or force, of the slightest avail to
turn them from their resolution.
The communications of the
Court with Theodore were made first through another abbot, Nicephorus by name,
one of Theodore’s kinsmen, and later by an imperial secretary, Stephen. The
beginnings of the negotiations with Nicephorus are not known, but we have a
letter of Theodore’s written in reply to one sent to him from Nicephorus
through a certain deacon. In it he deprecates any censoriousness or bitter
animosity, he only desires that he and those with him may be left in their
penitential seclusion, though he intimates that it is impossible for him to transgress
the law. He calls Heaven to witness that this controversy is not of his own
seeking. But his judgment is not rashly formed. He is but adhering to the
precepts of Scripture and the Fathers, and he dare not approve what is contrary
to their authority. “These things I have dared to open to you as to a father
and friend; since we, as God, who read the heart, knows, are making no
declaration—we are not in a position so to do—nor are we indulging in hatred.
But we cherish affection for the most pious Emperor, and for all my kinsfolk
[including Theodote?] as one who loves his own people, as you know, and we make
mention of him in the holy liturgy and pray for him in public and in private.
And we are in communion with the Church. May we never be separated from her!
Have pity upon me, a sinner and no more. I desired to mourn my offences in this
corner, not to be mixed up with the things of the world. What evil is there in
that? Allow me this boon, dearest kinsman; you can, I know. And let me dwell in
peace, apart from human affairs. By your kindness and skill straighten what is
crooked, and make the rough places plain. And be our mediator of peace, and our
champion for quiet; so that whatsoever is profitable for us in this matter may
be settled according to justice and reason”.
If Nicephorus undertook any
such mediatorial office he was not successful. In his
letter to the next negotiator, Stephen, Theodore feels called upon to justify
his position of critic or opponent of the higher powers by references to
instances in Scripture (David, Joab, Moses) and to
maxims from Basil. The Emperor and Empress were not unwilling to pardon, and
would even have consented to bribe, but the fact of the ecclesiastical
separation had become real, and the uncanonical act
of Joseph had not been punished. Harsh means were accordingly employed. Plato
was summoned to Constantinople, and confined in a cell within the Palace,
under the oversight of the offender Joseph himself. The monks of Saccudio were
scattered; those highest in dignity and position, after an ignominious
scourging, were sent into exile in Thessalonica, Theodore himself being of the
number.
To his uncle in prison,
Theodore wrote several letters, to keep up the old man’s courage and
cheerfulness and to describe his own fortunes. They are just what one might
expect from a younger to an elder, a man almost in loco filii to a parent, and at the same time from a superior to a subordinate. Along with
the superabundant expression of deferential affection, there runs through them
a vein of exhortation,—as he tries to counteract any tendency to weakness or
despondency that might have come over the sufferer in his present confinement
and loneliness. The letters bear testimony to the strong interest which the
monks and their persecutions excited among the people with whom they came in
contact. A portion of one of them may be roughly translated here.
“Since you ask me to relate
everything to you minutely, from the day of our sad separation,—our journey,
and all our fortunes—though unequal to the task, I must not hesitate to do as
you bid. On the day when you departed, Father, willing to follow even the way
of death, we also set forth on the way of exile, mounted on such beasts as were
to be procured. And at first, being unaccustomed to such experiences, we felt
somewhat uneasy. When we came to certain villages, we found that while those in
charge of us were loosing the beasts, resting, and
procuring necessaries, we were a spectacle to all sorts and conditions of men.
Our ears were besieged with noise and shoutings. This
kind of inconvenience became less troublesome when we were used to it. We were
more distressed by the sickness of our Father the Lord Deacon. Thus, in anxiety
and fatigue, we continued our way. Our course, with halting-places, was as
follows : from Cathara to Liviana;
thence to Leucas; and so on to Phyraeum.
There we had a sad adventure, which is worth relating: there came upon us
unawares nine of the foremost of our Brethren, surrounding us all in tears,—a
sight to break the heart. Our leader would not permit any conversation. We
looked sadly at one another, exchanged greetings, wept and parted. When we
stopped at Paula, we met your much honoured sister
[Theoctista] with my lord Sabas [abbot of Studium?]
and held a secret meeting with them, which lasted the whole night, with such
talk as you might expect, for we saluted one another as about to die, and
parted in sighs and sorrow. There was much strain and anguish, though nature
was finally overcome. Thence proceeding we halted at Lupadium,
where we were kindly received by the inn-keeper, who provided a bath to relieve
our blisters, some of which had become very troublesome. Thence we came to Tilis, where the abbot Zacharias and Pionius received us with warm sympathy, desiring to accompany us on our journey,
though that was not allowed. Thence to Alceriza, on to Anagegrammeni, Perperina, Parium. There we held communication with the bishops, and
modestly reminded them of their oaths. On to Hercus and Lampsacus, where we picked up some people from Heraclea, and waited three
days without being able to sail. Taking ship thence, we stopped at Abydos, and
were received with piety and compassion by the Governor; we stayed for a week,
and then sailed to Eleuntes. There we waited another
week, since the wind was contrary, and when it became favourable we reached Lemnos after a nine hours’ sail. I cannot
sufficiently praise the goodness of the bishop of these parts, who received us
with greater hospitality than had yet been shown to us, cheered our spirits,
and gave us supplies for our journey.
“Thence sailing in some
fear, for we mistrusted the natives of that shore, and the north wind was
blowing and whistling, in twelve hours we measured a course of a hundred and
fifty (Roman) miles, and anchored at Canastrum in the
neighbourhood of Thessalonica. Thence to Pallene, which lies near the Gulf; and
on into the Port. Mounting our beasts again, we entered, at the third hour,
into the City, it being Saturday, and the Feast of the Annunciation. And what
an entry we made! This too must not be omitted. The Prefect had dispatched a Captain
of the chief regiments with a military contingent to await us at the East Gate,
where they received us in silence, drawn up in line. And when we had entered,
having shut the gates, they led us through the market-place, escorting us in
sight of those who had come together for the purpose of seeing us, to the
presence of the Governor. What an excellent man was he! He showed us a friendly
countenance, and having made reverent salutation, spoke to us with kindly
words. When we had prayed in the Church of the Holy Wisdom, he sent us on to
the Archbishop. He, again, after prayer in his oratory, being a very holy man,
received and saluted us, conversed agreeably, and provided us with baths and
food. The next day we were led on, and taking us, as if to prayers, to the
Church of St. Demetrius, they separated us from one another, amid prayers and
embraces. Taking us two brothers [Theodore and Joseph?] to the place where I am
now, they separated us, in tears and embracings such
as moved the bystanders to pity. Thus are things with me, Father. And now I
wear on my sighing and sorrowful life. I have received the Sacred Bread from
your hand, as having in it the strength of the Holy Trinity. I keep it as a
safeguard against evil, and feast my eyes on it, as if I were kissing your
right hand. Again I weep, and my heart sinks within me ... But what has come
over me? I call to witness both men and heavenly powers that it is the law of
God which has separated you from me. His command is one and is eternal. Let it
resound under Heaven. I will rejoice and send forth the praises of God ... And
you, thrice-blessed Father, rejoice and be of good cheer ... Even the enemy, as
the great Gregory says, knows how to admire the courage of a good man; when
wrath shall cease, good deeds shall shine by their own light. Angels applaud
you, men call you blessed, Christ has received you and has opened to you for ever the gates of the Kingdom of Heaven”.
One may find some
overstrain in the general tone of this letter. The persecution had evidently
been comparatively light, the sympathy shown almost excessive. But we must
remember that the break-up of Saccudio must have seemed to Theodore and to
Plato to give the death-blow to their dearest hopes, that seclusion was hard to
a nature like Theodore’s, at once powerful and tender, and that Plato was
growing old and infirm. But what strikes us most is the futility of Constantine
s attempt to stop the spread of the schism. Not firm or not cruel enough to
strike with a merciless hand, he persecuted the monks just enough to give them
great consideration in the eyes of people generally, not with a sternness
sufficient to deter others from following in their steps. He gave to Theodore
that love of martyrdom which became almost a ruling passion in his life, and
stimulated all the recalcitrant elements that had already shown themselves in
Plato.
Nor did this persecution
make up by duration what it lacked in intensity. Irene, helped by her ally
Stauracius, again plotted against her son, and this time with final success.
While Constantine was in Constantinople, rejoicing in the advent of his son and
heir, his mother, whom he had quitted at Brousa,
began once more to tamper with the soldiers. In the spring of the next year
(797), Constantine again took the Reid against the Saracens. But the campaign
was rendered nugatory by a false report, spread by Stauracius, that the
Saracens had Red. The ignominy which his failure brought upon him, with the
death of his young son shortly after, made Constantine’s prospects dark, and
probably encouraged the inertia which hung upon him like a fate. About
midsummer, the final blow came. The conspiracy broke out while the Emperor was
staying in one of the suburbs. He tried to fly to Asia Minor. But there was now
no Alexius to take his part. With a refinement of treachery, Irene negotiated
with the few supporters of her son, offering to retire into private life, and
then threatened to betray these negotiations if her son were not speedily
delivered into her hands. She had her will. Constantine was captured, and in
August 797 he was blinded by Irene’s orders in the Purple Chamber in which he
had been born. He survived the mutilation but a few years.
There is hardly a more
pathetic figure in history than this of the last acknowledged ruler of the GraecoRoman world. It is he, rather than Romulus Augustulus, whom we naturally set up as a pendant to contrast
with the greatness of the Restorer of the Empire in the West. Constantine was
not without estimable qualities. He was strong in his affections, moderate even
in acts of resentment, soft-hearted to a fault. He seems, from his fitful
military enterprises, to have realized his responsibilities as defender of the
Empire against barbarism. But he was altogether wanting in determination, and
he did not know how to make the most of his opportunities. It is hard to see
that he inherited anything either from his Isaurian grandfather, or from his
Athenian mother. Had he been made of harder stuff, or had he acquired the
delicate art of intrigue, he might have acted a notable part, and the course of
the world’s history would have been different. Little pity has been wasted on
his wretched fate, which, after all, he had mainly brought upon himself. Yet
such pity as is due to unaggressive natures, all through life the prey of
jealous and malicious persons who ought to have been their guardians and
protectors, should be bestowed before all others on this unhappy prince, the
last of the great Isaurian dynasty.
With the triumph of Irene
came a monastic reaction, the liberation of Plato and the recall of Theodore,
first to Constantinople, then to his post as abbot of Saccudio. Those who feel
interested in Theodore may experience some regret that they find in his
writings no word to condemn the iniquitous acts which brought about his
restoration. How did he really feel towards Irene? Can it be that with his
readiness to suffer all things for conscience’ sake, to reprove wickedness in
high quarters, and to uphold at all costs the dignity of the moral law, he
should on this occasion have sunk to the position of a time-serving courtier,
and have lavished praises on the head of one whom he inwardly despised? Or is
it possible that, like some of his biographers, he should have been ignorant as
to Irene’s part in the palace tragedy? Or did he so completely identify his protectress with the cause he had at heart that he regarded
her crimes as something almost external to herself, a kind of Nemesis by which
she fulfilled the designs of Providence against wicked doers? Some such
attitude seems to have been taken by the chronicler Theophanes, himself a
sufferer for his faith, who acknowledged the horrors that had been
accomplished, and the share in them which was to be assigned to Irene herself,—who
tells of a seventeen days’ darkness after the event in the Purple Chamber—yet
to whom the Empress is God-beloved and pious to the end of the story. Let those
who feel sure that their own moral judgment—their sense of ethical proportion
in matters that closely concern their personal predilections or convictions,—is
never warped nor fluctuating, be the first to cast stones against these
suffering monks who saw in their persecution a temporary triumph of evil over
good, and in their restoration the beginnings of happier times.
CHAPTER V
FIRST YEARS AS ABBOT OF STUDIUM
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