The Greek and Eastern Churches/Part 1/Division 2/Chapter 8
CHAPTER VIII
THE GREEK CHURCH AT THE FALL OF THE BYZANTINE EMPIRE
The decay of the Byzantine Empire involved the orthodox Church in two serious calamities. The Turkish victories brought disaster to those Christians who looked on Constantinople as the metropolis of their religion, over and above the ruin of the State of which the same city was the capital and at times almost the whole territory. That was bad enough. But the mischief was aggravated by the schism which divided the Eastern Church from the papal Church of the West. As we saw in the previous chapter, under these circumstances the advent of the Crusaders, who came as the rescuers of the East from the infidel, was regarded with very mixed feelings by the Christians on the spot. The Greeks hated the Latins at least as much as they feared the Turks. At times we find the emperor plotting with the sultan against his friends from the West. The conduct of the invading hosts intensified this antipathy.
The chronicles make it clear that this must have been the ease even before there was any outbreak of hostility between the two parties. Take, for instance, some of the occurrences in Syria and Palestine during the first Crusade. After achieving their stupendous task, a task worthy of a greater epic than Tasso's Jerusalem Delivered, in the successful siege of Antioch, the Crusaders proceeded to resume Christian worship in the city. In the churches they found icons with the eyes cut out, the noses scraped off, the whole smeared with filth. These they restored, putting the fabrics in good order. They settled salaries on the clergy and lavished on the churches gifts of gold and silver for crosses and chalices, and silk for vestments and altar cloths. They're-established the patriarch John with much honour and solemnity. They even set up bishops in cities that hitherto had not possessed them. So friendly was their attitude that when they left Antioch and were on their way to Jerusalem the Syrian Christians volunteered as guides. All this was very pleasant. But the schism!—what had become of the schism? That was in no way healed. Personal convenience on one side, and some sense of gratitude, not to say common decency, on the other, kept it in abeyance for the time being; but its re-emergence was inevitable, sooner or later. John of Antioch was in a very awkward position. He could not object to being restored to his rightful place, the patriarchal throne of Antioch; and he could not be otherwise than courteous to the deliverers from the West, through whose heroic valour and almost incredible toil this happy result had been brought about. Yet how could he fraternise with heretics—men who affirmed the double procession of the Holy Ghost, asserted the supremacy of the bishop of Eome, and worst of all, used unleavened bread at the communion? It was impossible. In this dilemma John chose the prudent if inglorious course of retreating. He went to Constantinople "of his good will," our chronicler is careful to say, "without any force or constraint."[1] The post being thus vacated, the Crusaders felt no scruple in appointing another patriarch, and accordingly they chose Bernard, whom they had previously made bishop of Tarsus; he was a native of Valence who had come from the West as chaplain to the bishop of Puy. Of course he was a priest of the Latin Church and subject to the pope. It was the same with Dagobert whom the Crusaders had made patriarch of Jerusalem. He was their patriarch; he was no patriarch of the indigenous Christians.
The situation at Constantinople was infinitely worse. It was a Christian city in the hands of -a Christian government when the Crusaders captured it. Therefore it had its patriarch at the time. This man was John Camaterus.[2] He fled to Didymotichum, but although he was no longer treated as the head of the Church, there was no disposition on the part of the Greeks to acknowledge the Latin usurper of his throne at St. Sophia. Two years later (a.d. 1205) Michael Antorianus was elected to the patriarchate by the Greeks of Nicæa with as much ceremony as if it had been at St. Sophia; and so the Greek Church went on in its independence notwithstanding the boasted union of East and West at Constantinople, for which Pope Innocent was grateful.
When we plant ourself in imagination among the Greeks, we see how ridiculous the very idea of a Latin Empire at Constantinople must have seemed to them. There never was any Latin Empire in the East. A huge band of brigands had seized the city; that was about all that had been done. Theoretically the barons divided out the territory of the Byzantine Empire. But they did not even know what that territory was, for in their distribution they included Assyria and Egypt and other parts of the Turkish dominions. Meanwhile they were actually only in possession of Constantinople and its immediate neighbourhood. Even here the "emperor" was little more than one of the barons who found it hard to maintain his authority over his turbulent fellow barons—like his contemporary King John in England. After reigning only one year the first "emperor" Baldwin was lost and probably killed among the Bulgarians. His brother Henry, who succeeded him and reigned for ten years, stayed the persecution of the Greeks and permitted them to practise their religious rites at Constantinople. Here was a gleam of hope for a settlement; but it vanished with the death of the liberal-minded "emperor." Peter, who followed, had only reigned for two years when he was lost among the mountains of Epirus, and nothing more was ever heard of him. Things went from bad to worse with the usurpation; a blight had seized it from the first; the doom of heaven was over it. The people fled from its hard taxation; fields were left untilled; trade died down; abject poverty was the fate of the city and its rulers. The barons tore the copper off the domes of the churches in order to coin money. They sold the most sacred relics, chief among which was the crown of thorns, which went to St. Louis of France. The last "emperor" even pawned his own brother to some Venetian nobles as a pledge for a loan. This pitiable pretender to the throne of the Cæsars spent most of his time in Europe, travelling from court to court and begging aid in money and men to defend his city.
Meanwhile the real empire was partially pulling itself together again. When the Crusaders took Constantinople they seized the head. The limbs then broke off and organised themselves as three separate governments at Trebizond, at Thessalonica, and at Nicæa. The latter was the chief centre, and by degrees it extended its power and territory, till at last most of the Byzantine Empire as this had existed when Constantinople fell had been gathered under its rule. At the same time the Greek Church in the provinces went on in its accustomed way as though there were no Latin Empire at Constantinople, no Latin patriarch, no union with the West, no submission to the papacy. These things were confined to the brigands who occupied the city; and those brigands, as we have seen, were being literally starved out.
Such was the condition of affairs when in the year 1261 some Greeks in the army of Michael Palæologus crept through a hole in the walls of the once impregnable city and quietly recovered Constantinople for its own people. But disappointment followed. The hopes kindled at Nicæa were not realised. It was impossible really to restore the Byzantine Empire. The so-called Crusaders—of the fourth Crusade—had done little good to themselves, and infinite harm to the empire. The wonderful system of Roman administration was broken beyond possibility of repair. Thus these pretended defenders of Christendom against Islam prepared the way for the final overthrow of Christian government in the East. If Constantinople had not been captured by Latin Christians in the thirteenth century, probably it would not have been besieged and taken by Ottoman Turks in the sixteenth. At the door of these professed Crusaders lies the awful guilt of the ruin of the city and the opening of the road for the advent of a Turkish Empire in Europe and all its attendant miseries.
The newly restored Greek government under Michael at Constantinople found itself opposed by two enemies—the Latin power in the West, coldly sympathetic with the exiled Baldwin, but more effectually energetic in response to the demands of the popes, and the Turkish power, growing and spreading like a fungus till it reached the very gates of the city. Thus once again the Byzantine Empire shrank to the limits of the walls of Constantinople.
It is worthy of notice that the Church did not decay with the empire. We have often had occasion to contrast the subserviency of the Greek clergy with the independence of the papacy. But we have met with many exceptions, and these are all the more remarkable from the fact that the patriarch of Constantinople never had the position held by the pope at Rome. If he resisted the government it was at his peril, for he was only a subject living under the shadow of the imperial palace—not an independent prince, sometimes the most powerful personage in Europe, able to play one kingdom off against another, as was the case with the great Innocent iii. and his able successors.
Michael Palæologus stained his succession to the throne of Constantinople with an abominable crime. He was the tutor and guardian of John, the heir to the throne, a child only eight years old. It was expected that he would only act as regent, or at most as co-emperor. Instead of doing so, he seized the position of sole emperor, and blinded the boy to render him incapable of ever taking over the government.[3] Indignant at the crime, the patriarch Arsenius summoned a synod of bishops, in which he formally excommunicated the emperor. Attention has been called to the fact that he did not go further and depose the criminal. But here we may note an important difference between the Eastern and the Western Churches. Popes deposed princes, because popes claimed for the Church supreme authority over the secular government. That claim was never put forth by the Greek Church. In the East the theory was that each had power over its own province, though in practice the secular interfered with the spiritual. This spiritual power was now a serious reality. Therefore Michael was thoroughly alarmed. He begged for penance to be substituted for excommunication. Arsenius replied that even if he were threatened with death he would never remove the excommunication. The emperor paid the patriarch a visit and asked if he desired his abdication, but when, as he was unbuckling his sword, the patriarch held out his hand as though to receive it, Michael drew back and did not complete the action. He even spoke among his friends about appealing to the pope. Some years passed. Again the emperor applied to the patriarch for absolution; and again the stern servant of the God of righteousness refused. Then Michael could endure the strain no longer. He brought a number of charges against Arsenius—that he had shortened the matin prayer for the emperor, ordered the omission of the Trisagion, treated the sultan of the Seljukian Turks in a friendly way, etc., and on these grounds induced an assembly of bishops to depose him.[4] We have an account of the synod's proceedings recorded by the clerk of the court. Arsenius was exiled, and his successor, Germanus, granted absolution to Michael, who however then persuaded him to retire, probably because he would not publish the fact. That was done by the next patriarch Joseph, a monk, who knew how to act the courtier. On the 2nd of February, a.d. 1267, there was a solemn function at St. Sophia, prepared for by a night spent in the church. The emperor cast himself on the ground before the patriarch, confessed his sin, and prayed for pardon. He remained prostrate while Joseph, in conjunction with the other bishops, read the absolution, after which he was admitted to the communion. Thus at last he had his wish. The whole story reveals surprising power in the Greek clergy, or rather, what is of more significance, a remarkable respect felt for religion and righteousness. It is not to be compared with Hildebrand's haughty conduct with the Emperor Henry; it is more like Ambrose's treatment of Theodosius at Milan, when he refused to admit the Roman emperor to the church with the stain of blood upon him. It was a moral protest, not an assertion of ecclesiastical arrogance.
During the whole period of the restored Byzantine Empire the chief matter of diplomacy with the emperors was their attempt to effect a union between the Eastern and Western Churches. This was purely a question of policy. There was no lofty quest for truth when dogma was under discussion, and no yearning of brotherly love when the attempt was to heal schism. The emperors, weak in arms and cramped for territory, desired in the first place to conciliate the popes; then by means of their influence to prevent the Western powers from instigating a new "Crusade" for the restoration of that floating shadow, "the Latin Empire of Constantinople"; and finally, to secure their aid in resisting the continual encroachments of the Turks. As early as a.d. 1262, the pope. Urban iv., had proclaimed a crusade against Michael as a usurper and a schismatic, and also against his friends the Genoese who had helped him. Urban had urged St. Louis to collect tithes for this object. Nothing had come of it, and a later pope, Gregory x., had replied to embassies from Michael that no time was so favourable as the present for putting an end to the Greek schism. Pachymer, the historian, our chief authority for this period, had joined the Latin Church. No doubt courtiers were ready to follow.
The popes appear to have been entirely ignorant of the real condition of the Greek Church. Throughout these negotiations and all that followed there was not the slightest disposition on the part of that body to make any concession or to take any steps towards union. The Greeks had suffered too much from the cruel invasion and tyrannical domination of the Latins to have the least desire for ecclesiastical union with these people. The efforts towards union on the Byzantine side came wholly from the government, not at all from the people, the Church, or the clergy. Michael tried his utmost to persuade the patriarch and the bishops to join in his negotiations. But he failed completely. Is that surprising? At this very time the Greeks heard that the Western powers were fitting out an expedition to restore the Latin Empire. To them reunion with the Western Church seemed to imply the restoration of an odious foreign tyranny. Therefore, when delegates from the pope visited Constantinople and tried to reason with the Greek bishops and persuade them to accept the obnoxious Filioque clause, they met with nothing but stubborn resistance. The bishops replied that whatever the emperor's threats might be, they would not consent to any alteration in the ancient formula. The patriarch put forward Veccus, a learned, eloquent man, to represent the Greek cause. After describing various kinds of people who might be regarded as heretics, Veccus came to the conclusion that the Latins were among those "who are not called, but who are heretics."
Still Michael laboured for union. In the year 1274 he induced some of the bishops to join him in sending delegates to Lyons with this end in view. Gregory x. accepted their visit as a sign that they admitted the Roman form of the creed and submitted to his supremacy. After the professions of the emperor and the bishops had been read by their envoys, a Te Deum was sung, and the union of the churches proclaimed. The patriarch Joseph declining to submit, he was promptly deposed, and his orator Veccus, who had gone over to the emperor's side, set in his place. Michael had his reward. The pope refused Charles of Angou permission to attack him. But when Martin iv. was pope he had sources of information or a keenness of perception that had been denied to Gregory. He was not to be hoodwinked by Michael's compliant professions, made with the sole object of securing his throne and empire, but not representing the thought and will of his Church, In the year 1281 Martin put an end to all negotiations for the time being by excommunicating Michael and the Greeks as schismatics. The next year the emperor died, and his son and successor, Andronicus ii., who reigned for forty-six years (a.d. 1282–1328), returned to the anti-papal policy. Veccus was forced to retire to a monastery and Joseph was restored to the patriarchate. Still being in danger both from the West, no longer restrained by the papacy, and also from the Turks, Andronicus accepted the aid of Spanish mercenaries, the "Catalans," whose advent was the beginning of grievous trouble. Taking an independent course, these Spaniards were the first to introduce the Turks into Europe by inviting them to an alliance against an opposing faction at Constantinople.
The chief ecclesiastical event of this long reign is the curious episode of the patriarch Athanasius and his anathemas. Next to the emperor, the patriarch was the most important personage in Constantinople. It was therefore a serious matter to have Athanasius revealing himself as a stern, implacable ecclesiastic, scattering anathemas right and left. He became so unpopular that he was deposed and sent to a convent. A few years later, some lads, climbing a ladder to the top of a pillar in the dome of St. Sophia in search of a pigeon's nest, found there an earthen pot containing anathemas of Athanasius against the emperor and the rest of his enemies. The sequel of this curious incident sheds some light on the religious ideas of the times. Andronicus was terrified, and he summoned a synod of bishops to consider his future prospects. The synod pronounced that only the man who had written the curse could withdraw it. So the emperor went on foot, accompanied by the bishops, to the cell of Athanasius, who was persuaded to absolve the imperial offender and resume his own position as patriarch.
Being in desperate straits, the next emperor, Andronicus iii. (a.d. 1328–1341), reopened negotiations with the papacy, and sent a message to Pope John xxii. conveying his desire for union by the hands of some Dominican missionaries who were returning from Tartary, The pope replied by remitting preachers to Constantinople and by promising to do all he could to further the emperor's pious wish. On the death of Andronicus soon afterwards, the dangerous heritage of the throne of Constantinople fell to his son, John Palæologus, a child nine years of age, whose mother, Anne of Savoy, consented to the appointment of Cantacuzenus as regent; the next year (a.d. 1342) he was proclaimed joint-emperor. Cantacuzenus was a theologically-minded emperor, who composed several controversial works of no weight or significance. He retired in the year 1355, and the junior emperor John held the reins of government for the following thirty-six years. This emperor signalised the individuality of his policy by reopening negotiations with the papacy, but they came to nothing. The last and most important of all the serious attempts to reconcile the two churches occurred in the reign of John v. (sometimes reckoned John vii.), who reigned during the years 1425–1448. He found his shrunken dominion in a desperate condition. The Turks, who were now established at Adrianople and other places in Europe, and who had actually besieged Constantinople three years before, though ineffectually, were continually threatening the very existence of the empire. In the year 1429, following the precedent set by Michael Palæologus, John sent to Pope Eugenius to reopen negotiations for union and asking to receive an envoy at Constantinople to arrange matters between the two parties. Two years later the council of Bâle met. Eugenius ordered the council to go to Bologna for the convenience of the Greeks who were to attend it. This the majority refused to do, denying the right of a pope to remove an œcumenical council, and alleging that the Bohemians, the followers of John Huss, had already been summoned to Bâle. No doubt on their own account they were unwilling to cross the Alps and bring themselves into the power of the pope. Eugenius denounced this council as a "synagogue of Satan," and then summoned his own council at Ferrara; it was subsequently removed to Florence on account of the plague.[5] In November 1437 the emperor set out with a large following. Joseph, the aged patriarch of Constantinople, though without entertaining any hope for a successful issue, was forced to accompany the party. One of the most important members of it was the famous preacher Sylvester Syropulus, who has left a valuable account of the expedition.[6] Eugenius received them courteously and did his utmost to smooth the way to union. Both the pope and the emperor appear to have been actuated by a true desire to put an end to the schism.
The visitors were struck with the splendour of Venice; but when they were shown the treasures of St. Mark's, they thought, as Syropulus says, "These were once our own. They are the plunder of the Hagia Sophia and our holy monasteries." When the council was opened, after much delay, which the Greeks felt to be very irksome, six theologians on each side were appointed to formulate the points for discussion. It was not till they had removed to Florence, however, much against the wish of the Greeks at being dragged so far across Italy, that the serious debates began.
There were two points to be considered with regard to the Filioque clause—(1) the question of the truth or error of it; (2) the right of the Latins to add it to their creed. With respect to the first point, the Greeks had several private conferences among themselves, by means of which they came to the conclusion that the Latins did not mean that the procession of the Holy Ghost was from "two principles," and on that understanding they decided that the language of the clause was not in conflict with the Greek doctrine that the procession is from the Father and through the Son. That is to say, they did not change their own position at all; they simply admitted that the Latin position was not inconsistent with it. To this statement the council agreed. Surely that was a most remarkable concession on the part of the papal party, and thus far the victory must be accorded to the Greeks. If ideas rather than words are the essentials, the Eastern bishops did not give up anything. On the other hand, the Western bishops tacitly admitted that their test phrase was susceptible of an interpretation harmonious with the Greek doctrine. What then had become of the Greek heresy, so often denounced by the popes? It was allowed by a papal council to be no heresy.
The second point was more difficult. The emperor was led to admit that the clause was in the creed of the seventh œcumenical council, the second council of Nicæa (a.d. 787); but the bishops knew better. Angry debates followed. At length, John, by the exertion of all his influence, brought his party round to allow that the phrase Filioque had been inserted into the creed lawfully and for a good reason. If the decision of the first point had been favourable to the Greeks, the pendulum had now swung in the opposite direction, and on the whole it must be admitted that the Latins had the advantage. It does not appear that the other matter of serious dispute—the question of papal supremacy—was ever discussed by the council, at all events, publicly. We may recognise the wisdom of Eugenius in the evasion of it, and also his sincere desire for peace and union. Here, and indeed all along, we see in these discussions the peculiar danger of the reconciler. He glides over the thin ice; but the deep waters lie beneath, and it will not be long before the ice breaks. There can be no solid union without a frank admission of differences. That was not seen at the time. It rarely is seen by amicable peace-makers. In July 1439, after twenty-six sessions of the council, the act of union of the Eastern and Western Churches was signed. In August it was published in the Duomo at Florence, and the Te Deum was sung in Greek.
It was not long before the futility of all these proceedings became apparent. The old patriarch had died just before the signing, and he was buried in the baptistery at Florence; so he had escaped from the dilemma. But the emperor's own brother, Demetrius, refused to sign the act of union. Neither Mark of Ephesus nor any of the bishops from Georgia would be present at the grand proclamation service. When at Venice, on his way home, the bishop of Heraclia was required to recite the creed in St. Mark's, he did so in the Greek form—without the Filioque clause. On returning to the East, John saw to his chagrin that all his efforts had been spent in vain. Mark of Ephesus led the opposition to union. The patriarchs of Antioch and Alexandria refused to sign it. The union was never really effected, and from this time the schism went on without any hope of healing.
The failure of the last important attempt to unite the Churches was inevitably followed by coolness on the part of the Western peoples towards the Greeks and indifference to their fate. This fact should be duly weighed when we are inclined to charge Europe with supine stupidity and heartless selfishness in permitting Constantinople to fall into the hands of the Turks. For generations that great city had been the bulwark of Europe, the one outstanding barrier against the rising tide of Asiatic barbarism, the only safeguard of civilisation against savagery, of Christianity against Islam. In the inception of the Crusades this had been perceived by the wiser men of the West. To their credit let it be said, the popes had seen it all along, and had consistently shaped their policy accordingly. Now the failure of the council of Florence finally broke the bonds of sympathy between the East and the West just when they seemed to be growing into some real strength, Constantinople was left to itself; the consequence was its doom.
When the war-cloud was threatening, although all hope of real reunion was now over, John's brother, Constantine, who had succeeded him, effected a nominal union. A united communion was held at St. Sophia on December 12, 1452, and the names of the Eastern and Western patriarchs were both mentioned in the prayers. But the people looked on with amazement and horror at the consecration of an unleavened wafer by the officiating Latin priest. Rushing out in wild excitement to the cell of Gennadius—who had been one of the promoters of union at Florence, but who now denounced it—they cried, "What occasion have we for succour, or union, or Latins? Far from us be the worship of the Azymites." The first minister of the empire was heard to declare that he would rather see in Constantinople Mohammed's turban than the pope's tiara or a cardinal's hat.
Under these circumstances the really surprising thing is that the city had held out so long. She had never recovered from the fatal blow that she had received in the conquest and ravages of the Latins. Her final struggle is a miracle of patriotic heroism. The end would have come much sooner than was the case if it had not been for a vast unforeseen movement arising in another part of the world. Timour, with his Tartar host, poured over the Turkish Empire, threatening to sweep it entirely away. Then, while engaged in a life and death struggle, the Turks were compelled to relinquish their encroachments on the Greeks and concentrate their attention on their own affairs. When the danger had passed they returned to their age-long policy of absorbing the civilisation of Eastern Europe. These Turks were of the Ottoman stock, directly connected with an earlier conqueror, Genghis Khan, who had devastated Western Asia, and therefore they must be distinguished from the Seljukian Turks whom the Crusaders had found in possession of Asia Minor and Syria. Their leader at the final scene was Mohammed ii., a man possessing a singular combination of qualities, showing at one time the student's thirst for learning and at another the most heartless cruelty.
The scene of the siege and fall of Constantinople in the year 1453 is brought vividly before us in Gibbon's famous description,[7] one of the most brilliant passages in English literature. But the journal of the besieged resident, Nicolo Barbaro, which was not known to Gibbon, has enabled Mr. Pears to supplement the great historian with many striking details. The vital character of the interests at stake and the wide range of the issues involved give a tragic grandeur to this event only comparable with the destruction of Jerusalem by Titus.
The hero of the siege is Constantine Palæologus, the last Roman emperor, a man worthy to sit on the throne of the greatest of his predecessors. By the aid of the General Justiniani, a Genoese noble, Constantine was able to organise a good defence, and he maintained it with almost incredible energy and courage.
When it became clear that there was no hope of deliverance, and that the end was approaching, there was no panic. A spirit of religious fervour took possession of the citizens. They formed a solemn procession in which orthodox Greeks and Catholics of the Roman communion united. All who were not fighting on the walls joined in the Kyrie Eleison, as they marched through the streets, and a great cry of a people in its agony went up to heaven. Icons and relics were fetched from the churches and conveyed to the places where the defences were weakest, in the pathetic hope that where natural means failed supernatural power might intervene. Constantine preached "the funeral oration of the empire"—to use Gibbon's phrase. At length the surging host of invaders broke Ihrough a weak place and poured into the city. Then, at the most critical moment, Justiniani the general was wounded. Soon after this final misfortune, seeing that all was lost, and refusing to survive his empire, Constantine dashed into the thick of the fight and perished amid the multitude of the slain.
Mohammed now gave the city up to plunder; but he ordered the buildings to be spared, reserving them for himself. St. Sophia was found to be crowded with fugitives, who had shut themselves up in their beloved cathedral, vainly expecting a miracle of deliverence to spring from its sanctity. They were caught in a trap. The barred door soon yielded to the battle-axes of the Turks. The old people were killed on the spot; the young men and women were led off in strings of captives for a worse fate. The Latins had wantonly hacked to pieces many a work of art; now the Turks destroyed much that they had left. It is a significant fact, however, that, as Critobulus tells us, many books were sold at low prices.[8] This suggests the hope that scattered treasures from the Constantinople libraries may yet be found in out of the way parts of the Turkish Empire.[9]
St. Sophia was now converted into a mosque. Mohammed called for an imaum, who ascended the pulpit and there recited the Mohammedan Creed. Still he did not desire the city to be deserted by the Greeks, and he invited them back, sanctioned their worship, and ordered them to elect a patriarch. Accordingly, a local synod was held, and George Scholarius—also known as Gennadius—was appointed to the unenviable post. The sultan received him at his seraglio and presented him with a pastoral cross of silver and gold, saying, "Be patriarch and be at peace. Count upon our friendship as long as thou desirest it, and thou shalt enjoy all the privileges of thy predecessors."
This investiture of the patriarch by the sultan is a sign that the destruction of the empire was not the destruction of the Church. That calamity to the State might even have been the salvation of the Church. During the first three centuries persecution had proved a wholesome discipline preserving the vigour of primitive Christianity. With Constantine the Great's patronage of the Church, worldliness invaded the whole body and degeneration followed. Now the fatal alliance was severed, and once again the Church was set apart from the State and made liable to persecution. But she could not recover her pristine vigour; she felt the east wind of adversity to be blighting, rather than bracing.
One of the most serious evils occasioned by the fall of Constantinople was the heavy blow that this disaster gave to Oriental learning. Many of the Greek scholars fled to Europe and there assisted the Renaissance. But contemporary with the revival of learning in the West was its decay in the East. The priesthood sank into insignificance and lost influence for lack of culture; preaching disappeared; the Church became intellectually stagnant. Still, there were not wanting proofs of fidelity to conscience. It has been said that the Church that can produce no martyrs is doomed. There have been martyrs in the Greek Church under Turkish dominance all down the centuries. Treated as rayahs, as mere cattle, with no civil rights, the Christians have always suffered from disabilities and the infliction of unchecked wrongs. Yet they have remained true to their faith; and thus their conduct has testified continuously to a fidelity for which their brethren in the West, who have not had to endure their age-long trials, have been too slow to give them credit.
- ↑ William of Tyre, c. 144.
- ↑ Le Quien, Oriens Christianus, vol. i. p. 276.
- ↑ Pachymer, iii. 10; Gregory, iv. 4.
- ↑ Pachymer, iv. 6.
- ↑ Following Belarmine and other Roman Catholic writers, Hefele reckons this to be an œcumenical council, Hist. Counc. vol. v.. Appendix, p. 413.
- ↑ Vera historia unionis non veræ inter Græcos et Latinos.
- ↑ Decline and Fall, chap. lxviii.
- ↑ Critobulus, xlii.
- ↑ It would be well if consuls, traders, missionaries, and travellers in Turkey would bear this in mind. They may yet discover Papias's "Exposition of the Oracles of the God," "The Gospel according to the Hebrews," or even Matthew's Logia.