Theodoric

APPENDIX II

The Laurentian Schism

Like the Schleswig-Holstein Question, or Fermat’s Last Theorem, the Laurentian Schism has caused strong men to weep in the attempt to unravel its complexities. It came about for the following reasons. After the death of Pope Anastasius on 17 November 498, two men were simultaneously ordained Bishop of Rome, the deacon Symmachus and the archpriest Laurentius. Theoderic’s finding in favour of Symmachus, however, failed to resolve the controversy. Laurentius’ supporters brought a number of grave charges against his rival, the main ones being: that he had miscalculated the date of Easter; that he consorted with disreputable women; that he had squandered the wealth of the Church; and that he had produced forged documents to support his claim. Theoderic accordingly ordered that a synod be held in Rome to settle the matter by giving judgement concerning these charges against Symmachus. However, as Symmachus was proceeding to the basilica of Santa Croce in Rome, where the synod was to be held, he was roughed up in a clash (in which several priests were killed) between the rivals’ followers. Subsequently, he declared his refusal to be judged by the bishops making up the synod, claiming that, as Pope, he was [conveniently] above jurisdiction. The bishops, uncertain as to their powers to proceed in judgement, dithered; but Theoderic finally unblocked the logjam by ordering that the churches of Rome be handed over to Symmachus, and that Laurentius go into compulsory retirement on an estate belonging to his patron, Festus.

The schism had wide ramifications, especially concerning senatorial families whose estates had suffered losses because of barbarian invasions, and confiscations to reward the followers of Odovacar, then of Theoderic. One result of Theoderic’s fiat in favour of Symmachus was that lands previously granted to the Church by senatorial families should remain in the pontiff’s possession. Despite doubts as to the strict legality of some of these grants or whether they had been gifted in perpetuity, alienation of land to the Church was allowed to stand — much to the dissatisfaction of most Roman senators. At the other end of the social scale, the plebs were assiduously wooed by Symmachus (quite possibly in a cynical move to reinforce his power base), who made available generous supplies of free food in a series of lean times, a stance with parallels to that of Caius Sempronius Gracchus regarding the poor of Rome, in Republican times.

As an Arian and an outsider, Theoderic was well placed to take a detached and impartial view when it came to ruling on the controversy. This was no doubt on the whole a good thing, as neither side could accuse him of bias. However, one drawback was that Theoderic’s likely impatience with the minutiae of the schism’s implications may have led him to overlook the problems arising from the disposition of Church lands. His fiat on the matter must have cost him the support of many distressed senators anxious to claw back some of the property their ancestors had gifted to the Church prior to the barbarian invasions.

The points covered by the above are what we may call the social and political aspects of the Schism — all pretty clear and straightforward. But when we turn to the theological issues behind the rift (which is ultimately linked to relations with the Eastern Empire) things become impenetrably obscure and complex. A brief passage from the Liber pontificalis gives a hint of what anyone brave enough to try to make sense of these issues is up against: ‘Many clergy. . separated themselves from communion with him [Pope Anastasius] because, without consulting the. . clergy of the whole Catholic Church, he had entered into communion with a deacon of Thessalonica named Photinus who had been in communion with Acacius,* and because he secretly wished to call back Acacius and was not able. This man was struck down by the Will of God.’ In contrast to Moorhead, who struggles manfully in his Theoderic in Italy to explain the religious issues behind the schism, Gibbon’s disdain for Christological hair-splitting allows him to dismiss the controversy in the following delicious put-down: ‘without condescending to balance the subtle arguments of theological metaphysics. . his [Theoderic’s] external reverence for a superstition he despised may have nourished in his mind the salutary indifference of a statesman or philosopher.’ (You know you’re trawling in deep waters when Moorhead summons a word like ‘eirenic’ to comment on theological niceties!)

Peeling back several layers of theological onion skins, we come at last to the religious nub at the heart of the Acacian and Laurentian schisms: the Henotikon. This was the Edict of Union issued in 482 by Zeno to the Churches of both East and West, intended to resolve a dispute which had broken out subsequent to the Council of Chalcedon of 451. That Council had decreed that Christ had two natures, human and divine (una persona, duae naturae), a doctrine fiercely opposed by the monophysites (strongest in the Eastern sees of Jerusalem, Antioch and Alexandria), i.e., those who believed that Christ had only one nature (divine), but happily accepted by most Western bishops; after all, the Chalcedonian formula had been devised by none other than Pope Leo in his famous Tome. The dispute (with strident personalities such as Timothy ‘the Weasel’ and Timothy ‘the White Hat’ throwing oil on the flames) flared up again when one Peter Mongus, an opponent of Chalcedon, gained control of the See of Alexandria and began to correspond with Acacius, the new philo-monophysite Bishop of Constantinople, who devised the wording of the Henotikon. In the West, the Henotikon (full of crafty circumlocution surely designed to obscure the fact that it was pro-monophysite) was seen as a fudge, hostile to Chalcedon, and as a result rejected wholesale. Then Pope Anastasius (496-98), at first cool towards the Henotikon, seemed — in a volte-face which cost him the allegiance of many Western clergy — to be veering towards acceptance of it by the time Festus returned from his mission to Emperor Anastasius.* (Pay attention!) As part of Festus’ mission was to secure acceptance of the Henotikon by the West, and as Festus was Laurentius’ patron, it can be assumed that Laurentius was pro-Henotikon, an assumption reinforced by passages in the Liber pontificalis which state that Laurentius’ supporters favoured Pope Anastasius when he wavered towards acceptance of the Henotikon. The same source is uncompromisingly hostile to Pope Anastasius (‘struck down by the Will of God’), but extremely favourable to Pope Symmachus. The clear implication is this: Laurentius was pro-Henotikon and therefore anti-Chalcedon, Symmachus the opposite; thus, by a process of theological osmosis, the Acacian Schism was incorporated into, and continued by, the Laurentian Schism.

In practical terms the effect of the Acacian/Laurentian Schism was to create a rift between Rome and Constantinople, which was not healed until the death of Anastasius (the emperor, not the Pope) in the latter part of Theoderic’s reign. Also, it enabled both Odovacar and Theoderic to establish their regimes largely free of pressure from the East. However, with the formal resolution of the Schism in 519 came reconciliation between Rome and Constantinople. (The new emperor, Justin, aided by his nephew, Justinian — both were rigorous Chalcedonians — established an entente cordiale with Pope Hormisdas, resulting in the absolute condemnation of Acacius, and even of the emperors Zeno and Anastasius, as fellow travellers.) Peace having broken out between the two capitals (theologically speaking), forces inimical to Theoderic began to emerge from the shadows throughout the Roman world. The Ostrogothic occupation became increasingly viewed as an unwelcome interlude, its unwitting function to provide a caretaker government for Italy against that country’s reincorporation into the Roman Empire.

The above resume, stripped of all finer points of theology (which, I confess, defeat my comprehension), presents the bare facts of the Laurentian Schism. The omission of theological minutiae hardly matters, I think, as it was the Schism’s effect, rather than its religious content, that had a bearing on Theoderic’s career.

* The subject of yet another division in the Church, the Acacian Schism, the progenitor of the Laurentian Schism.

* On 17 November 498, the very day Pope Anastasius died.