Foundations of the Anglican Church XXIII The Ecumenical Impact of Crying Wolf

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Before we continue our story on the development of the Anglican Church and in particular deal with its parting of the ways with the Roman Communion, we need to look at the topic of “validity of orders” so that when we get to the second phase of the English Reformation we will be able to put the decisions of papal authorities about the “validity” of Anglican Orders into an intelligible context.  The issue of “validity of orders” did not arise with the Reformers of the sixteenth century but is rooted in the struggles of the “Great Church” with various sects in Christian antiquity. 
So what do we mean by “The Great Church?”   Historians use the term “Great Church” to speak of mainline Christianity (as distinguished from the heretical sects that separated before the East/West schism of the eleventh century split it into what we today call Catholicism and Orthodoxy. In antiquity there were many groups which separated from mainline Christianity over doctrinal questions—the Novatianists, the Montantists, the Donatists—and the separations were bitter events, marked by polemics on both sides.
They say that history is written by the winners.  There is truth to that. In the same way, Orthodoxy is defined by the winners, or at least by the survivors.  Today we look on groups such as the Donatists or the Collyridians or the Ophites as “heretical,” but in their day they were viable communities of men and women fighting for what they believed to be true doctrine.  No one is a heretic in his own understanding.  Some groups we define today as heretical—the Arians come to mind—came very close to winning the battle to claim orthodoxy. Politics, History, and Economics—as well as personalities—play a major role in defining religious orthodoxy.   
One of the strategies used in these contests for the faith of the masses was to deny the legitimacy of one’s opponent’s access to the Divine.  “God does not hear their prayers…”  Claims and counter claims were made by all parties regarding the legitimacy of the baptism, of the Eucharist, and of the sacramental orders of their rival groups.  These arguments were not made over any substantial defects such as “form” or “matter” that would be used in later and more sophisticated arguments.  It was simply asserted that since the “faith” held by the opposing party was “wrong,” obviously the life of grace had no hold on them and their sacraments were void of any effective means of God’s grace. 
Such arguments commit a sort of lèse majesté against God—presuming that we have the ability to turn the faucet of grace off and on according to our whims, but then Jesus did say that we what bind on earth is bound in heaven.  Nonetheless, the historian must look differently on this than the theologian and see the crudeness of the ruse such allegations employ to win adherents  by undermining the credibility of the ranks of one’s opponents. 
We have looked at the rival claims to the papacy in the late ninth and early tenth centuries.  (cf January 15, January 24, June 6, June 8, June 18, August 5, December 7, 2011;  February 14, 2013).  Here too the issue of “valid orders” came into play as various popes declared the ordinations performed by their predecessors “invalid” or “validated” the ordinations of earlier predecessors—all depending on which political alliances they represented.  Such declarations that “orders” were “invalid” removed all of one’s predecessor’s allies from positions of power—annulling cardinals and bishops and archdeacons and permitting the new pope to replace potential enemies with his own allies.  These claims were often used in the various anti-pope crises of the twelfth century but the introduction of the scholastic method of theology in the twelfth and thirteenth century demanded an explanation that was both more explicit and more rational than simply polemic rantings. 
Scholastic Theology and in particular the work of Thomas Aquinas gave those who held power in the Church the tools they needed to disempower those with whom they disagreed.  Thomas’ work neatly defined sacraments in categories of “matter” and “form” and spoke of the “intention” of the minister.  All the ducks had to be lined up in a row. The exactly right matter had to be employed.  There had to be bread, for example, for the Eucharist and it had to be wheat bread.  And there had to be grape wine.  For baptism there had to be water—not beer, nor wine, nor even iced tea—but water, pure and simple.  Confirmation required chrism.  Penance required a sinner with sins to be forgiven.  Matrimony required one man and one woman, neither of whom had been properly married before.  Ordination required man eligible for ordination. (Among other requirements, he had to have two intact hands and [at least] two intact testicles.  I am not sure why the later was an essential requirement but it did prevent the ordination of eunuchs.) 
One had to have the right minister for the sacrament.  While a priest or deacon was ordinary for baptism, anyone could do in an emergency.  (There was, at times, argument over this with some insisting that only an ordained priest or bishop could baptize.)  After 1215, the Church taught that only a priest or bishop could absolve sins.  Only a Bishop or Priest could preside at the Eucharist or anoint the sick.  In the Western Church it came to be held that the husband and wife ministered the sacrament to each other; in the East it required a priest or bishop to minister the sacrament.  It would be debated up until the Council of Trent—and even afterwards as not all theologians have agreed—that only a bishop could ordain another bishop, a priest, or a deacon.  There also has been disagreement over whether a priest can confirm or whether it requires a bishop—contemporary Catholic thought permits it to the priest under certain circumstances but this was not always the case in the sixteenth century.  In the Eastern Churches the priest is the ordinary minister of “chrismation” as the sacrament is often called. 
We need to consider all this background and debate because at the time of the Reformation the Catholic Church will begin to claim that the various groups that break from it have “invalid orders.”  They will give a rationale for that claim—a lack of form or matter or intention.  But the historian always looks at it a bit skeptically, hearing the little boy who cried wolf.      

Foundations of the Anglican Church IX

Dunstan of Canterbury,

Archbishop 960-988

In 735 Gregory III  sent the pallium to Egbert, thus raising the See of York to Metropolitan status—in recognition of the leadership the Bishops of York had exercised in the days of the first Christian communities in Roman Britain.  The Bishop of York had been one of the English bishops present at the synod of Arles in 314.  Making York an archdiocese divided the authority of the Archbishop of Canterbury by creating another metropolitan see and placing it over the northern dioceses.  Of course those were the dioceses which had long followed Celtic customs and were reluctant to accept the Roman style Christianity of Canterbury before the Syond of Whitby some sixty years before.   
In 747 the English bishops held a synod at the instance of Pope Zacharias and a second synod held forty years later was presided over by two papal legates.  That same year Pope Adrian elevated the See of Lichfield to Archiepiscopal status at the request of King Offa of Mercia.  This was a mistake however and Leo III, in 803, reduced Lichfield to the status of an ordinary diocese, leaving Canterbury and York as the only metropolitan sees.   We can see from this information that the English Church was not independent from Rome but neither should we attribute governing power over the English Church to Rome and the Papacy.  The Ecclesia Anglicana was in the Roman Patriarchiate and acknowledged the leadership of the Western Patriarch, but remained self-governing in internal affairs as did the other Churches of Western Europe. 
Alfred the Great, the King who drove out the Danish invaders and united the diverse Saxon kingdoms at the end of the ninth century had a strong devotion to the Church in his realm and supported the distribution of the Regula Pastoralis of Pope Saint Gregory the Great to his bishops for the formation of their clergy.  Alfred also restored the payment of the Peter’s Pence which had fallen into disuse during the instability of the Viking invasions.  Nevertheless, I think it is important to distinguish between the King’s support of the Church and his support of the papacy itself.  Alfred’s prime interest was in the reform of the Church in his kingdom, most notably in the restoration of the monasteries after the Danish invasion and in improving the education and morals of the clergy which he saw as vital to the educational and cultural improvements of his kingdom.  This was not a period in which the Roman See was able to offer reform to its own Church, much less to a Church at the far end of the then known world. 
Despite the corruption of the papacy at this time several Archbishops of Canterbury, most notably Wulfhelm, Aelfsige,  and St.Dunstan made the journey to Rome to receive their pallia personally.  The other Archbishops did not make the journey but had the pallium sent to them.    An interesting case right at the most intense period of the decay of Roman morals was that of Archbishop Plegmund (archbishop 890-923).  Pope Formosus had sent the pallium to Archbishop Plegmund And when Sergius III, for political reasons, annulled the ordinations and appointments of Formosus, Plegmund had to make the journey to Rome to beg its new grant. Sergius III was the pope whose mistress was Marozia during the so called pornocracy and Sergius was the father of John XI by Marozia.  Plegmund was not the only Archbishop of Cantrbury to be exposed to the moral sludge of the papal court.  Saint Dunstan journeyed to Rome in 960 and received the pallium from John XII—perhaps the most immoral man to have ever sat in the Chair of Peter.  John XII was the grandson of the aforementioned Marozia by her first husband, Alberic of Spoleto.  Luitprand of Cremona, the historian, alleges that John had turned the papal palace “into a whorehouse.”  John was to meet his end at the hands of a jealous husband—one of scores whom he had cuckolded.  In addition to his sexual proclivities, John was given to hunting, gambling, and drinking bouts while at the same time ignoring his sacred duties as Pope.  One can only wonder what men like Dunstan thought when they came to the papal court though it does permit us to see that the English were able to have a deep and lasting devotion to Saint Peter while distinguishing the Prince of the Apostles from his unholy successors.   
In 1015 the Danish Prince Canute invaded England and held the crown from 1016 until his death in 1035.  In 1018 he succeeded to the throne of Denmark and 1028 took the crown of Norway thus building for himself quite an empire.   He was a most fervent convert to Christianity and advanced the cause of the Church in all his realms.  In 1026 he made a pilgrimage to the Rome of John XIX.  He was crowned there as King of the English, Danes, Norwegians and “some of the Swedes.”  The purpose of his trip, other than to receive the papal blessing on his empire, was to negotiate with the Emperor about safe passage for English pilgrims going to Rome and to negotiate with the Pope about lowering the fees for which the English Archbishops had to pay to receive the pallium.  By the third decade of the eleventh century there was reform in the air in Rome—the Emperors Otto were doing their best to clean up the cesspool of the Roman pornacracy, but the Pope at the time of Canute’s visit was not a reform Pope but a member of that notorious family of the Counts of Tusculum.  John does not seem to have led a particularly scandalous life though he was far from pious but Canute would not have been one to scruple at the sexual idiosyncrasies of his peers, however, as he himself lived in open concubinage with several women while married to Emma of Normandy. 
I mentioned that during the notorious papacies of the tenth century, three English Archbishops actually travelled to Rome to receive their pallia from the Pope.  The pallium is a band of wool adorned with five crosses that an Archbishop wears over his Mass vestments to show that he is in communion with the Holy See.  I can’t help but wonder what these archbishops thought when they got to Rome and saw the state of the Church there?  I think particularly of Saint Dunstan who was a great reformer of the English Church and yet visited the court of John XII, one of the most depraved men to sit on the throne of Saint Peter.  Dunstan spent much of his time as first an abbot and the successively as Bishop of Worcester, Bishop of London and then Archbishop of Canterbury reforming the morals of the clergy and here he meets a pope who was a notorious adulterer and gambler, given to drinking bouts and hunting, not merely sloppy in his sacred duties but who openly mocked the sacred rites.  Dunstan looked to the popes as the successor Peter and the center of the Church’s unity but he did not take his cue as bishop from their leadership.  Under Dunstan the English Church was one of the brighter spots in the Christian west. 
The devotion of Dunstan and of the English in general was not to the person of the Pope as it has become in later history, but to Saint Peter  himself.  It was Peter’s relics, not the popes, that brought King Ine to Rome, that drew so many of the English to Rome in theAnglo-Saxon period and that evoked the annual tribute of the Peter’s Pence.  Perhaps one final aspect to look at in this devotion to the prince of the Apostles is the foundation of Westminster Abbey. 
The Abbey of Saint Peter at Westminster seems to date back to the early decades of the seventh century.  The Abbey supposedly was dedicated to Saint Peter because of a vision of the fisherman saint to a local fisherman, Aldrich, at the time when Saint Mellitus was Bishop of London.  At that time the City of London was somewhat downstream from the fledgling abbey which was out in the upriver fields and meadows.  Whatever the historicity of the vision, the story testifies to the devotion in which Saint Peter was held in Anglo-Saxon England and the mystique the Prince of the Apostles held over the English Church.  Saint Dunstan reformed the Abbey in the third quarter of the tenth century.  Saint Edward the Confessor, the last of the Anglo Saxon Kings (discounting Harold who was unable to maintain his throne to which he had a somewhat shaky claim in any event) began rebuilding the Abbey in 1042 as a site for his eventual burial.  The new church was consecrated on December 28^th 1065 and King Saint Edward died eight days later on January 5, 1066.  The struggle for the crown of the childless King led to the invasion of William the Conqueror who was crowned king in the abbey church on Christmas day, 1066.  The reign of William and the ascendancy of the Normans (and consequent eclipse of the Anglo-Saxons) would change the relationship between the Church of England and the Holy See.    

Papal Resignations! III

As I have written in other postings, I am reluctant to call the bishops of Rome “popes” until the beginning of the fifth century, not because I don’t think they exercised a leadership role that extended beyond the Church of which they were bishops, but for several reasons, not least of which is that the title “pope” was not used in its modern sense of the Universal Pastor of the Church at least until the time of Leo I.  The Roman Church—and its bishop—certainly had an influence that extended throughout the Christian communities of the vast Roman Empire from at least the end of the first century, but the word “pope” gets very much overloaded with significance and authority, and power that becomes part of that office only later is too often projected back upon the Roman bishops of the first centuries making them retroactively something that does not fit the historical facts.   This is a problem with those who do “Church history” which is a branch of apologetics rather than “history of the Church” which is held accountable to the same standards of factual accuracy as the history of any secular institution.  Nevertheless, if one is looking at the subject of papal resignations, we can certainly begin by looking at the resignation of Pontian who was the Roman bishop from 230 until 235. 
Pontian was Bishop of Rome during a time of relative peace for the Church during the reign of Alexander Severus.   He held a synod that condemned Origen though I am not sure on precisely which counts as much of Origen’s work survives in orthodoxy while some of his ideas are clearly heretical.  More to our point, at the death of Alexander Severus the new Emperor, Maximinus the Thracian, initiated a persecution of the Church and Pontian was deported to the mines of Sardinia. Rather than leave the Roman Church without a shepherd, Pontian resigned the See.  Anterus, a Greek freedman, was elected to replace him in Rome. Pontian was to die after only a month or so in the mines.  His remains were brought back to Rome by Fabian, his successor but one, two years after his death.    
A less noble figure to resign the papal See was Benedict IX.  He was young—barely 20 and maybe not even that, but he came from the family of the Counts of Tusculum—a noble family that dominated the papacy in much of the ninth and tenth centuries and put the porno into what is called the papal pornocracy. (See entries for Jan 15 and June 6 2011.)  Benedict’s father was Alberic III, Count of Tusculum and the great-grandson and great-great-grandson respectively of Marozia and Theodora, who were in their day each mistresses of various popes. Two uncles, brothers of his father, had been Popes Benedict VIII and John XIX.  Benedict VII and John XI were also apes in this family tree. Benedict was cut of a somewhat different bolt of cloth than his ancestors—not that he was virtuous but more that this preference in lovers ran to men rather than to the ladies and he delighted in having orgies in the Apostolic Palace.  He was forced from Rome in 1044 and Sylvester III was elected in his place.  There is no record of Benedict’s resignation at this point, yet Sylvester is recognized as Pope and not called an anti-pope by historians.  I am not sure why.  The following year, however, Benedict’s godfather, a pious man and a cardinal, John Gratian, persuaded Benedict to resign.  He gave Benedict a handsome endowment on which to live.  Gratian was then elected as Gregory VI. 
Gregory VI was soon to resign himself.  Benedict rethought his resignation and tried to reclaim the papal throne.  So now you have three men claiming to pope—Sylvester III, Benedict IX, and Gregory VI.  The Emperor, Henry III, convoked a council at Sutri which deposed Sylvester and Benedict.  Gregory was acknowledged as true pope but asked to resign because in providing the endowment for Benedict to live on in retirement, it appeared that he, Gregory, had “bought” the papacy—paid Benedict for it.  Gregory resigned the papacy and was taken to Germany by the Emperor to remove him from Rome and interfering with his successor, Clement II.

Cluny: Seedbed of Reformation

A model of the Third Abbey Church of Cluny, the

largest Christian Church ever constructed; except for

one tower and part of a transept it was destroyed

after the French Revolution. 

  Before we look at the Gregorian Reform, I want to take a look at the Abbey of Cluny which many historians credit with launching the Gregorian Reform.  Actually, while I am not so sure that I see the connection, at least a direct connection, between Cluny and the Gregorian Reform, I must admit that Cluny is too important to overlook in any event as it certainly set the “gold standard” for monastic life which in turn would inspire many of the Reformers of the eleventh century in their goal of purifying the Church from the decay it had fallen into.      
     Duke William of Aquitaine founded the Abbey on his Burgundy estates in 910, inviting  a monk named Berno to serve as abbot and—and this is remarkable for the period—giving the abbey independence from any civil or ecclesiastical oversight, making it answerable only to the pope.  This was not particularly auspicious as Sergius III, “possibly the only pope known to have ordered the murder of another pope and the only pope to have fathered an illegitimate son who later became pope (John XI)…”  was pope at the time of Cluny’s foundation.  Sergius’ mistress—and mother of John XI—was Marozia whom you may remember from our entries on the “pornacracy.” (See the entries for January 15, June 6, 9, 18.)  John XI himself when he came to the throne became a great benefactor of the Abbey during his papacy—though otherwise he was a pretty worthless pope.  He was bullied by his older brother, Alberic II, Duke of Spoleto, who used his younger brother’s papacy as an opportunity to control not only the Papal States but the Church itself to his own interests.   Nevertheless, bad people often do good things and John’s granting of so many privileges to Cluny was indeed a very good thing. 
      In any event, Berno had a history of reforming and founding abbeys and was a very capable administrator as well as a man of personal holiness.  He had a definite philosophy of monastic life, shaped by the ninth-century monastic regimen of Benedict of Aniane.  Berno saw the essence of the monastic life in the perfection of liturgical prayer and that the monastery, as a “heaven on earth” was to engage as far as possible in the laus perennis—the unceasing praise.  The ideal would be a continuous, never-ceasing, round of ceremonial worship that continued twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week—the monks working (that is to say, praying) in shifts.  Such an ideal would be all but impossible, of course, to realize but Cluny was to come close with its long and splendid ceremonials. 
       In his dependency on Benedict of Aniane for the monastic vision, Berno made Cluny a bridge spanning the Carolingian Reformation—of which Benedict of Aniane was a key player—the Ottonian (to which Cluny style monasticism would contribute Gerbert of Aurillac aka the reforming Pope Sylvester II)and leading to the Gregorian Reform which it was to inspire. (Just to be clear, Gerbert’s home monastery was not part of the Cluniac federation, but like many Benedictine houses of the time modeled its observance on the Cluniac practices.) 
      I must admit I have always had a weak spot for Cluny and its monks.  Regretfully I have yet to visit the site, perhaps someday.  But to return to our story—William’s endowment of his new Abbey was so generous that the monks were substantially freed of the need for any manual labor to support themselves and thus were free to give themselves almost entirely to the project of continuous worship.  The more they chanted psalms and processed around their church and burned incense and turned donations into chalices and chandeliers, the more donations poured into their coffers and vocations into the abbey.  And the  more monks and money, the more elaborate and all-consuming became the liturgy.  Benefactors would bequeath to the Abbey manors and farms, mills and tolls, weirs and orchards and vineyards.  Everything came with a price.  “Here is a manor, but we want a weekly mass said for the deceased of our family.”  “Here is an orchard, but you must have a procession each year on the anniversary of grandmama’s death.”   “Here is a toll on the Rhone bridge, but you must sing a Litany in honor of Saint Anne four times a year.”  Wealth piled up, ceremonies piled up.  Vocations piled up.  Cluny founded daughter houses, but unlike other Benedictine Abbeys never granted the daughter houses independence.  By keeping them subject to the Abbey of Cluny, the Abbot of Cluny had a right to come into each foundation and insure that they were not slacking on the monastic observance.  It was this innovation that created the modern concept of a religious order. 
      The Cluniac Order—for they were an Order and not merely a federation of independent monasteries—became famous throughout Europe for its high standards of monastic life and worship.  Cluny had a succession of phenomenal Abbots in leadership of the movement: Odo, Maiolus, Odilo, Hugh I, Hugh II, Peter the Venerable among them.  In a Church that was in great decay, Cluny set a standard for monastic life that was a beacon for reform.   Not all monasteries adopted the Cluniac program, but it did trigger a movement of monastic reforms that in turn would trigger a generation of monk reformers who brought the same enthusiasm for integrity and reform to the larger church.  
 

Roots of the Reformation XX: The Ottonian Reformation I

The Empire of Otto I
included modern Germany, Switzerland,
the Netherlands, Belgiumjparts of Austria,
France, and Italy as far south as Naples 

Well, I ended up taking a bit of a vacation from the blog—which I shouldn’t do as every time I skip just two days, the readership starts falling and it takes me a week to rebuild it.  So sorry folks for the interruption.  I do have a life—and even a day job—and this blog takes a considerable amount of time.  But I do enjoy it and what is more it is worth it if it encourages people to think, not a about the past, but about our Catholic Church today and some of the issues confronting it.

We had been talking about the problem of Reform of the Church—and who can reform it when the need for reform begins right at the top.  This has happened in the past with corrupt popes and papal administrations that forgot the gospel and became over invested in their own ambition for power, wealth, and pomp.  We saw how in his day Charlemagne had stepped in and set things right with Leo III (blog entry June 4, 2011).  Well after Leo things only got worse—and we saw what happened with Marozia, Theodora and the pornacracy (entries June 9, June 6, and January 15).   You may remember the Cadaver synod (entry, January 24, 2011).  These are all great stories.  Amazingly, as corrupt as the Borgias were—and as Showtime showed them, they were pretty corrupt—the tenth century papacies were even more wicked.  Who would set the Church back in order?

Charlemagne’s empire with its Renaissance and Reformation did not last.  The Emperor was succeeded by his son, Louis, who in turn was succeeded by his son Lothair.  But Lothair’s claims of Imperial supremacy were disputed by his half-brothers Louis the German and Charles the Bald  The two brothers were too strong for Lothair and after much warfare among the three, Lothair was left with the imperial title but with much of the realm taken by his brothers. Lothair himself, when dying, left the imperial title to his son Louis, but divided his remaining lands among Louis and his two brothers—Lothair II and Charles of Provence.  This was not an easy time for Europe—the Magyars were sweeping in from the east, the Vikings were ravaging the Atlantic and channel coasts and the Saracens were ravaging the Italian possessions of the Empire. There was a need for strong leadership to meet the challenges and there were plenty of strong leaders—but they kept fighting one another rather than the external enemies.   On his deathbed, Louis named his cousin Carloman, the son of his uncle Louis the German, to succeed him, but his other uncle, Charles the Bald—in connivance with Pope John VIII—seized the throne.  John, by the way, is a curious personage himself and was quite effeminate.  Patrick Madrid, an amateur historian (and the operative word here is amateur), suggests his effeminacy may have given rise to the Pope Joan legends.  That is a very complex topic and we will have fun someday soon looking at those stories.  However “light in his buskins” he may have been, John was a good pope; indeed a great pope.  Of course the competition at the time was not much.  John had a problem and that was the Saracen (Muslim) pirates who were raiding papal Italy and so the pope turned to the Carolingians for help just as Leo III had turned to Charlemagne and Pope Zachary had turned to Pepin in their respective political woes in the previous century.  They let him down—they were too divided among themselves for any sort of effective response—and, in the end, the popes had to pay tribute to the Saracens.

Speaking of the Carolingians,  Charles the Bald was succeeded in the Imperial title by his nephew, Charles the Fat.   Meanwhile in each of these successions various grandchildren and great grandchildren of Charlemagne kept dividing lands and squabbling with one another, each trying to expand his own power.  Most were not interested in the imperial title because it had become nothing more than that—a title.  Power was local and the central administration of Charlemagne had completely broken down.  In fact, with the death of Berengar of Friuli in 924 the throne and title themselves were empty and remained so for thirty-eight years.  All this at a time when Europe needed strong leadership—and when the Church needed a protector not only against Vikings and Saracens, but against some of the most unworthy men every to sit on the throne of Peter.   This was a time when popes obtained their office by cash, by murder and by adultery.  

In 962 the great-great-great-great-grandson of Charlemagne, through a predominately feminine line, took the throne and revived the empire.   His name was Otto.  He had become King of East Francia in 936, that part of Charlemagne’s empire that went to Louis the German and is what we call today Germany (West Francia, or West Frankreich being France, also known at this period as Neustria).  Otto arranged for his coronation at Charlemagne’s capital of Aachen and in Charlemagne’s cathedral where Charlemagne’s bones lie.  Now, just in case you’re missing this—he is trying from the beginning to establish a claim to Charlemagne’s title and realm. His intention is to refound Charlemagne’s “Roman Empire.”

In the early 960’s, the papal possessions in Italy—the Papal States—were overrun and conquered by Berengar II, the grandson of Berengar of Friuli who had been the last emperor, dying in 924.  Berengar II was a thug.  The Pope—John XII—was worse.  Nevertheless, when John asked the help of Otto in regaining his temporal possessions, Otto came down into Italy, defeated Berengar, restored the Pope to power.  The Pope, for his part, then crowned Otto as Emperor, restoring the lapsed imperium.  Pope and Emperor then established the Diploma Ottonianum, a treaty in which Otto and his successors would “protect” the papacy. 

This brings us back to the thorny issue of papal versus imperial power.  Charlemagne saw himself having supreme authority over the Church in the model that the Byzantine Emperors had exercised from the time of Justinian, and in fact from Constantine’s control over the Church.  Certainly Constantine met nothing but gratitude from Popes Miltiades and Sylvester.   Justinian, for his part, kept papal authority dependent on the Imperial exarch in Italy.  This was and would be a problem for Eastern (later specifically Orthodox) Christianity where the Emperors—first the Greek Emperor at Constantinople and later the Russian Emperors at Moscow and Saint Petersburg—firmly kept the Church under the imperial thumb and the Church thanked them for that.  So deeply ingrained was the Caesropapism in Orthodoxy that centuries later, even under the worst years of Communist oppression and persecution, the Russian Church was totally compliant with the Soviet government.  But, to be fair, that was its strategy for survival and in so far as it was a survival strategy, it worked. 

The Western Emperors saw their authority in the same way and for several centuries most popes agreed.  We saw (see blog entry of May 12, 2011) that Charlemagne altered the Creed of Nicea and, in direct contradiction to Leo III, insisted that this revised Creed be used in the liturgy)   In 824, Louis the Pious, his son and co-emperor, Lothair, and Pope Eugene II promulgated the Constitutio Romana, a protocol by which the Popes recognized, among other things, that the authority of the Emperor was supreme.  The Popes, for their part, were in a bind.  They needed the military protection from a series of foes—Lombards, Magyars, Saracens, and a host of Italian warrior-counts—to protect Rome and the papal territories.  Secondly they, like everyone else in Europe, were used to thinking of the Emperor as being supreme, indeed as being the Vicar of Christ which was a title the emperors (not the popes) had appropriated to themselves.  Finally, the popes had very little real power.  Bishops were elected locally, admittedly often under some royal or noble pressure.  Local Bishops, not popes, made decisions regarding liturgy and cult as well as Church discipline.  Papal authority was exercised more by encouragement and exhortation than by decree.  There was not much point into getting into “turf warfare” with the Emperor.  That would change, but for the time being, the popes were willing to let the issue slide.  And it was just as well—the Church needed the emperors to clean up a papacy that had become hopelessly corrupt.  I did a blog entry on what historians call The Pornacracy (cf. January 15 2011) which means the Rule (of the Church) by whores and refers to a period.  While you’re looking at that check out the January 24 2011 entry which is about the Cadaver Synod.  This might give you a picture of just how mad things were in the Church in the tenth century.     I think tomorrow we will talk about John XII—the pope who asks Otto for help.  It will show you why we need some outside authority to clean up the mess in Rome.  Just remember the old Italian axiom—il pesce puzza dalla testa—the fish rots from the head: it was coined about the papacy.