Christianity - The First Three Thousand Years Part 8

ORTHODOX RENAISSANCE, OTTOMANS AND HESYCHASM TRIUMPHANT (1300-1400).

This complex of stories after 1204 amounts to a reconfiguration of Orthodoxy. Certainly the emperors restored to Byzantium in 1261 kept an immense prestige despite their increasing powerlessness, right down to their dismal last years in the fifteenth century. Paradoxically, this was especially so among Melchite (that is, 'imperial') Christians living under Islamic rule and thus beyond Constantinople's control: for them, the emperor was a symbol of an overarching timeless authority, as they believed that G.o.d had greater plans for his creation than seemed possible in the present situation.28 Nevertheless, Orthodox ident.i.ty was no longer so closely tied to the survival of a political empire, and it was increasingly a matter for the Church to sustain. The Oec.u.menical Patriarch had been responsible for lending the princely claimant from Nicaea enough legitimacy to claim the imperial throne; that same patriarch had been the source of sacred guarantee for the new ecclesiastical independence of Bulgaria and Serbia, and the patriarch continued to provide his seal of approval to new Christian dioceses expanding far to the north of the imperial borders along the Volga, around the Black Sea and in the Caucasus. By the end of the fourteenth century, Patriarch Philotheos could write to the princes of Russia in terms which would have made Pope Innocent III blanch, although it is unlikely that his words came to the ears of anyone in Rome: 'Since G.o.d has appointed Our Humility as leader of all Christians found anywhere on the inhabited earth, as solicitor and guardian of their souls, all of them depend on me, the father and teacher of them all.' Nevertheless, Orthodox ident.i.ty was no longer so closely tied to the survival of a political empire, and it was increasingly a matter for the Church to sustain. The Oec.u.menical Patriarch had been responsible for lending the princely claimant from Nicaea enough legitimacy to claim the imperial throne; that same patriarch had been the source of sacred guarantee for the new ecclesiastical independence of Bulgaria and Serbia, and the patriarch continued to provide his seal of approval to new Christian dioceses expanding far to the north of the imperial borders along the Volga, around the Black Sea and in the Caucasus. By the end of the fourteenth century, Patriarch Philotheos could write to the princes of Russia in terms which would have made Pope Innocent III blanch, although it is unlikely that his words came to the ears of anyone in Rome: 'Since G.o.d has appointed Our Humility as leader of all Christians found anywhere on the inhabited earth, as solicitor and guardian of their souls, all of them depend on me, the father and teacher of them all.'29 This was a strange reversal of fortunes for patriarch and emperor. The patriarch was bolstered by financial support from rulers beyond the old imperial frontiers who were impressed at least by the resonance of such claims. The magnificence and busy activity of the patriarchal household and the Great Church in Constantinople looked a good deal less threadbare than the increasingly curtailed ceremonial and financial embarra.s.sment of the imperial Court next door.30 Churches were lavishly redecorated or rebuilt, and they were hospitable to an adventurous renaissance in Byzantine art. Some of the most moving survivals are to be found in the church of Istanbul's Church of the Holy Redeemer in Chora, an exquisite monastic building lovingly restored from ruin after the expulsion of the Latins in 1261. Now its mosaics are exposed once more after their oblivion in the church's days as a mosque. Most are from the fourteenth century, and they bring a new quest to explore their subjects as human beings of pa.s.sion and compa.s.sion; even Christ and his mother are softened from the imperial figures of earlier Byzantine convention (see Plate 22). We glimpse at the Holy Redeemer in Chora how Byzantine artists might have continued to explore some of the directions which an artistic and cultural renaissance began to take in Latin Europe in the same era, if the politics of the eastern Mediterranean had not curtailed the urge or the opportunity to consider new possibilities for Orthodox culture. Churches were lavishly redecorated or rebuilt, and they were hospitable to an adventurous renaissance in Byzantine art. Some of the most moving survivals are to be found in the church of Istanbul's Church of the Holy Redeemer in Chora, an exquisite monastic building lovingly restored from ruin after the expulsion of the Latins in 1261. Now its mosaics are exposed once more after their oblivion in the church's days as a mosque. Most are from the fourteenth century, and they bring a new quest to explore their subjects as human beings of pa.s.sion and compa.s.sion; even Christ and his mother are softened from the imperial figures of earlier Byzantine convention (see Plate 22). We glimpse at the Holy Redeemer in Chora how Byzantine artists might have continued to explore some of the directions which an artistic and cultural renaissance began to take in Latin Europe in the same era, if the politics of the eastern Mediterranean had not curtailed the urge or the opportunity to consider new possibilities for Orthodox culture.

Over the early fourteenth century, the empire briefly revived after 1261 descended into renewed civil war and loss of territory, both in the west to the expansionist Orthodox monarchy in Serbia and in the east to a new branch of Turkish tribes who had carved out for themselves a princ.i.p.ality in north-west Asia Minor and who survived a determined effort by the Byzantines to dislodge them in a significant victory in 1301. Their warlord leader was called Osman, and they took their name of Ottomans from him. During the fourteenth century, the Ottomans extended their power through Asia Minor and the Balkans, overwhelming the Bulgarians and encircling Byzantine territory. More and more Orthodox Christians found themselves under Islamic rule, and in an atmosphere of increasing intolerance for their religion, which might be seen as part of a general cultural mood in fourteenth-century Asia, North Africa and Europe (see pp. 275-8). Already in the 1330s, the shift to Islamic dominance seemed so irreversible that the Patriarch of Constantinople issued informal advice to Christians in Asia Minor that it would not necessarily imperil their salvation if they did not openly profess their faith.31 As before in Byzantine history, when secular administration decayed, monasteries flourished. Mount Athos, now the most prominent survivor of the holy mountains, remained independent of Ottoman rule until as late as 1423, a.s.siduously cultivating the Muslim authorities which had by then encircled it for more than half a century. It is significant that, when given the choice in 1423, the Athonian monks preferred the Muslim overlordship of the sultan to a chance which they were offered of rule by the Venetians: the thought of Latin overlordship by the conquerors of 1204 was repulsive to them.32 By then, the emperor had long been only one patron-monarch among many for the Athonian monasteries. Sava's foundation on Mount Athos had been one indication that already in the twelfth century it was becoming a focus for multiple Orthodox ident.i.ties beyond its Greek origins. A proliferation of divinely sanctioned rulers were drawing their legitimacy from their Orthodox Churches, as far away as the Princ.i.p.ality of Kiev and the rulers in Muscovy. By then, the emperor had long been only one patron-monarch among many for the Athonian monasteries. Sava's foundation on Mount Athos had been one indication that already in the twelfth century it was becoming a focus for multiple Orthodox ident.i.ties beyond its Greek origins. A proliferation of divinely sanctioned rulers were drawing their legitimacy from their Orthodox Churches, as far away as the Princ.i.p.ality of Kiev and the rulers in Muscovy.

It was in this age that one of the most familiar features of the Orthodox church interior arrived at its developed form: the iconostasis iconostasis, a wall-like barrier veiling altar and sanctuary area from worshippers. The word means 'stand for images', because now the barrier is covered in pictures of saints and sacred subjects, in patterns which have become fixed in order and positioning. Customarily the wall does not reach the ceiling, so that the sound of the clergy's liturgical chanting at the altar can clearly be heard above it and through its set of doors. It took a long time for the iconostasis to achieve its modern form. Both in East and West in the first centuries of church-building, there were low part.i.tions inside churches to mark off the sanctuary area around the altar, and the different ways in which these part.i.tions were developed is instructive. Western Latin churches developed their own taller screens to separate off the entire area containing clergy and liturgical singers (the 'choir' or 'chancel', plus the sanctuary area), and this was also a late development, encouraged by the intensification of eucharistic devotion in the thirteenth century. But the screens in Latin churches were generally open above waist-height to afford views of the high altar; they rarely presented themselves as solid walls in the Eastern manner, except in monastic or cathedral churches where clergy were carrying out their own round of liturgy in an enclosed s.p.a.ce inside the church building. Universally, these new Western screens were a.s.sociated with and carried above them carved figures of Christ hanging on the Cross or 'Rood', flanked by his grieving mother, Mary, and the new son whom Christ had a.s.signed to her, John the Evangelist. Hence Western chancel screens are known as 'rood screens'.

The Orthodox development was entirely different, and it may be no coincidence that it happened in the same era, the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries, when Latin churches were completing the development of the rood screen. For Orthodox liturgy, the iconostasis encloses a set of actions rather than the whole area occupied by the clergy caste and a.s.sistants, although it does also mark a sanctuary area excluding laypeople without specific functions or permissions. It shelters and defines those liturgical actions only performed at the altar. When it first grew beyond the low barrier, it was known as a templon templon, and was enclosed only to waist-height, with open arcading above, so that the altar remained clearly visible to all at all times. What happened then was a gradual accretion of holy images which made a much more substantial solid screen. Some congregations concluded that it would be more reverent to veil the central parts of worship at the altar, and curtains filled the arcade s.p.a.ces, to be pulled across at particular times. In other churches, icons were hung from the arcade, or against the curtains if they were now in place, and the screen now took on its character of an 'icon stand'.

Yet even if this might seem a visual barrier far more formidable than the average Western rood screen, it is quite the reverse to the eye of faith. Any representations of the sacred or of saints which appear in the decoration of a Western rood screen are incidental to the screen's character, below the figures of the rood group which crown it, Christ, Mary and John. Icons, by contrast, are of the essence of an iconostasis. Because each icon in its theologically appointed place reveals and refracts the vision of Heaven, the iconostasis becomes not so much a visual obstruction in the fashion of the Western rood screen, but is actually transparent, a gateway to Heaven, like the altar beyond it. It aids the spiritual eye to see something more real than that which it conceals from the human eye. Moreover, in developed form, the iconostasis is the culmination of a set of steps which symbolize the ascent of the soul towards heavenly joy. Those steps lead to a shallow platform before the iconostasis, on which much of the liturgy takes place, but it is also available for the congregation, excluded from physical entrance to the sanctuary, to venerate the icons of the iconostasis.

A gateway needs doors. The doors of the iconostasis are important: basic to the structure is a central entrance - the 'Beautiful Gates' - which, when open, affords the sight of the altar, and which is flanked by smaller doors - again, of course, all appropriately bearing their icons. Outside the time of worship, the doors are closed. Open or closed, they mark punctuation points in the liturgy which retains the processional quality so important in Byzantine worship from the earliest days of New Rome. The Beautiful Gates are princ.i.p.ally reserved for the bishop, the side doors used liturgically by deacons (and therefore they often bear the images of sainted deacons such as the first martyr of the Christian faith, Stephen). Around the doors stand the other saints, prophets and festal scenes. These are dominated by images of Christ and his Mother, which may have their counterparts in different positions in the screen. The greatest development of the iconostasis and its structured decoration was to come in Russian Orthodoxy, but the overall concept and use were achieved in the empire before the fall of Constantinople.

It was a paradox of this age that despite all the wretchedness of the relationship between Latin and Greek Christianity in the wake of 1204, Latin and Orthodox cultures were now closer and more regularly in contact than they had been for half a millennium. Influences went in both directions, with Venice and its newly acquired colonies as one of the main conduits - literally in the case of a large number of art objects, which in Venice included not merely the famous four antique bronze horses stolen from Constantinople during the sack of the city, but a huge number of marble blocks and carvings which were shipped around the Greek coast and up the Adriatic to transform the exterior and interior of St Mark's Cathedral. Surprisingly in view of the distinctiveness of Orthodox worship, with its distinct liturgical models drawing on Eastern traditions attributed to St John Chrysostom, St Basil and St James, one of the greatest aspects of similarity remained in the liturgical chant which both Churches employed. In the charged atmosphere of the late twelfth or early thirteenth century, a Greek canon lawyer, John, Bishop of Kytros, could still say that the texts of chants and their melodies were common to East and West. In the next two centuries, Western musical innovations like polyphony could also be heard in Greek churches - indeed, Greek liturgical chant and Western plainsong probably did not sound especially different throughout the medieval period.33 The real separation came with the trauma of the complete Ottoman conquest in 1453, when a great divergence in musical practice began. In particular, the Orthodox were never seized by the enthusiasm for the pipe organ which, in the era of Constantinople's fall, began its long dominance of the musical imagination of Western Christians. The real separation came with the trauma of the complete Ottoman conquest in 1453, when a great divergence in musical practice began. In particular, the Orthodox were never seized by the enthusiasm for the pipe organ which, in the era of Constantinople's fall, began its long dominance of the musical imagination of Western Christians.

Above all, in the realm of ideas, the two worlds spoke much more frequently to each other, albeit not always harmoniously. It was the first era in centuries in which Greeks began to read Latin texts, though there had always been a good deal more traffic in the other direction. One of the catalysts for exchange was the ultimately futile sequence of negotiations for reunion of the Churches which preoccupied thirteenth-century popes: one of the many papal friar-negotiators sent east, the Dominican William of Moerbecke, was highly important in extending Western knowledge of ancient scholarship because he collected Greek ma.n.u.scripts and translated a variety of Greek authors, including Aristotle, into deliberately very literal Latin versions.34 A few Easterners became interested in Western theologians whom the East had previously ignored, including the most prominent Westerner of them all, Augustine of Hippo. One Court protege of Michael VIII Palaeologos, Manuel (monastic name Maximos) Planudes, translated Augustine's A few Easterners became interested in Western theologians whom the East had previously ignored, including the most prominent Westerner of them all, Augustine of Hippo. One Court protege of Michael VIII Palaeologos, Manuel (monastic name Maximos) Planudes, translated Augustine's De Trinitate De Trinitate for the first time into Greek, and persisted with his efforts even when the Emperor's successor abandoned the policy of dialogue with the papacy. Naturally, that meant that he translated Augustine's views on for the first time into Greek, and persisted with his efforts even when the Emperor's successor abandoned the policy of dialogue with the papacy. Naturally, that meant that he translated Augustine's views on Filioque Filioque, although in a puzzle which has not yet been resolved, he also wrote two treatises attacking the doctrine.35 The translation work of Planudes was not confined to theology; he ranged through Latin cla.s.sics then completely forgotten in the East, such as Cicero, Boethius and even the less racy parts of Ovid's poetry. He was followed by a number of scholars who widened the range of texts on offer, including an extraordinary gamble in contemporary translation by brothers Prochoros and Demetrios Kydones: among their many other imaginative projects in the mid-fourteenth century, Demetrios undertook Greek versions of Aquinas's Summa contra Gentiles Summa contra Gentiles and and Summa Theologiae Summa Theologiae. It was an acknowledgement unprecedented since the days of Justinian that other cultures could have major contributions to make to Byzantine society, but in many sections of the Church that was a deeply controversial and unacceptable idea.36 Amid the dismally deteriorating political situation in Constantinople, the Church was convulsed by a dispute about the validity of a style of mystical prayer known as Hesychasm. The princ.i.p.al combatants were Gregory Palamas, a monk of a community on Mount Athos who championed Hesychast spirituality, and Barlaam, an Orthodox monk from Calabria, the religious frontier land in Italy where Byzantine and Latin monasticism existed side by side. Hesychasm was only one of the issues which brought them into contention, but its results were the most far-reaching. The word 'Hesychasm' probably seems one of the more intimidating fragments of theological jargon to those first encountering it, but it simply comes from the Greek verb hsychaz hsychaz, 'to keep stillness' (or silence). Linked with the idea of stillness was the characteristic mystical idea of light as the vehicle of knowing G.o.d, or as a metaphor for the knowledge of G.o.d. Gregory Palamas maintained that in such practice of prayer, it is possible to reach a vision of divine light which reveals G.o.d's uncreated energy, which is the Holy Spirit. He pointed to the episode of transfiguration described in the Synoptic Gospels, where Jesus was with his disciples on Mount Tabor, and they could see that his face 'shone like the sun'.37 The Transfiguration, already commemorated with greater elaboration in Orthodoxy than in the Latin West, therefore became a favourite Hesychast choice of subject for icons (see Plate 56). The Transfiguration, already commemorated with greater elaboration in Orthodoxy than in the Latin West, therefore became a favourite Hesychast choice of subject for icons (see Plate 56).

Mystical themes have a habit of emerging in unpredictable circ.u.mstances as a counterpoint to various structured versions of Christian belief, so the Hesychast emphasis on silence and light is curiously reminiscent of a Christian movement remote in time and s.p.a.ce from fourteenth-century Byzantium: the Quakerism which emerged in England during its seventeenth-century civil wars (see p. 653). The sharp contrast with the Quakers is in the way in which Hesychasm is rooted in specified devotional practices. Apart from contemplation of the icon, there are practical ways to structure still or silent prayer: appropriate physical posture and correct breathing are important, and one characteristic practice is to repeat a single devotional phrase, the most common of which came to be 'Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living G.o.d, have mercy on me'. This phrase or variants on it became known as the 'Jesus Prayer'. Such set techniques are reminiscent of systematic Eastern approaches to prayer, from Buddhism to the Sufis of Islam, who themselves may have drawn on Indian spirituality. There may indeed be a direct relationship between the Hesychast approach and Sufism, though there remains controversy as to which way the influence travelled.38 Both the Hesychasts and their opponents appealed to the Orthodox past; in fact both were looking back to Maximus the Confessor, and beyond Maximus to that unknown writer who had borrowed the ident.i.ty of Dionysius the Areopagite to lend respectability to his ideas (see p. 439). Barlaam wanted to defend his own understanding of monastic spirituality as being true to Orthodox tradition. For him, the a.s.sertions of Palamas ran counter to the apophatic insistence in Pseudo-Dionysius that G.o.d was unknowable in his essence. If so, it was foolish to suppose that, simply by concentrating in prayer, an individual could perceive something which was part of G.o.d's essence, the Holy Spirit itself. To expect to achieve this was to confuse creator and creation. There was a real risk that Hesychasts would forget all the dangers to which Maximus had pointed long before, allowing mystical experience to run out of control, and even wholly rejecting the control of reason in their search for G.o.d. Such excesses would jettison a tradition of purposeful meditation which ran back all the way to Evagrius of Pontus in the fourth century, and which Orthodox mystics had treasured ever since, even when the memory of Evagrius himself had been blackened.

Barlaam raised the name of various heresies, Bogimilism among them, and implied, not without some justification, that the Hesychasts were in danger of falling into the same excessive rigour and rejection of Christianity's setting in a fallen world. In retaliation, Palamas and his admirers said that Barlaam was a mere rationalist who was reducing any talk of G.o.d to the human capacity to grasp only what G.o.d was not. Palamas sneered at Barlaam's a.s.sertion that the great theologians of the early Church had used 'light' as a metaphor for knowledge and, echoing Symeon the New Theologian's dismissal of philosophy, he went so far as to praise a lack of instructed knowledge as something good in the spiritual life - close, indeed, to a condition for salvation, a bizarre position for one who wrote at intricate length on his chosen theological themes.39 Yet amid the various debates between Palamas and Barlaam about their own tradition, the recent emergence of Western theology in Byzantium fuelled their debate in unexpected ways. Palamas plundered Planudes's Greek translation of Augustine to expound his own ideas of the Holy Spirit as the mutual love between Father and Son, a concept which he would not have otherwise found in Orthodox theology, and he also quoted Augustine (unacknowledged) in arguing that the Spirit was the energy of G.o.d, the way in which the G.o.d unknown in essence still makes himself known in his creation.40 These were tendentious borrowings for Palamas's own purposes. Augustine would have found bizarre the Palamite idea that an individual with bodily eyes can see the divine light on Mount Tabor. Augustine's own experience of the divine is witnessed by a famous description in his These were tendentious borrowings for Palamas's own purposes. Augustine would have found bizarre the Palamite idea that an individual with bodily eyes can see the divine light on Mount Tabor. Augustine's own experience of the divine is witnessed by a famous description in his Confessions Confessions of the moment when, in conversation with his mother in a garden in Rome's port of Ostia, they had together reached out 'in thought' and 'touched the eternal wisdom' - but for one moment only, and emphatically as the end result of loving thought and discussion. of the moment when, in conversation with his mother in a garden in Rome's port of Ostia, they had together reached out 'in thought' and 'touched the eternal wisdom' - but for one moment only, and emphatically as the end result of loving thought and discussion.41 Barlaam for his part read Thomas Aquinas as well as Pseudo-Dionysius, and because of his knowledge of Western theology, he was asked by the Patriarch of Constantinople to join in negotiations with papal delegates. In the course of these, Barlaam was prepared to affirm in the Western manner that it was permissible to speak of the Spirit proceeding from the Father and the Son, even though he loyally affirmed that the original version of the Creed of 381 should be recited without its Western addition.42 Unsurprisingly, Palamas criticized him for defending Orthodox Christianity by Western Latin means - an irony, considering the innovations which Gregory himself was introducing into Orthodoxy from the same source. The mood in which Augustine could be seen as an ally in Orthodox disputes proved indeed to be short-lived. When Prochoros Kydones, who was one of Palamas's admirers as well as a translator from Latin, tried to use Augustine to defend his deceased master's theology, he was put on trial for heresy and excommunicated, and henceforward Augustine resumed his role as a non-person in the theology of the East. Unsurprisingly, Palamas criticized him for defending Orthodox Christianity by Western Latin means - an irony, considering the innovations which Gregory himself was introducing into Orthodoxy from the same source. The mood in which Augustine could be seen as an ally in Orthodox disputes proved indeed to be short-lived. When Prochoros Kydones, who was one of Palamas's admirers as well as a translator from Latin, tried to use Augustine to defend his deceased master's theology, he was put on trial for heresy and excommunicated, and henceforward Augustine resumed his role as a non-person in the theology of the East.43 In the end, a Church council repeated previous vindications of Hesychasm in 1351, ten years after Barlaam had been condemned as a heretic. The condemnations of Barlaam became the last to be added to the anathemas or condemnations which are solemnly proclaimed in the Orthodox liturgy at the beginning of Lent. He ended his days in exile at the papal Court in Avignon, a convert to Western Latin Catholicism, and in his last years he performed a singular service to Western culture by teaching Greek to the great Italian poet Petrarch.44 By contrast, Gregory Palamas had left behind any official worries about the dangers implicit in his spiritual teaching when he became Archbishop of Thessalonica, as part of a successful reaffirmation of imperial authority there against a powerful local faction backed by the Serbs. By contrast, Gregory Palamas had left behind any official worries about the dangers implicit in his spiritual teaching when he became Archbishop of Thessalonica, as part of a successful reaffirmation of imperial authority there against a powerful local faction backed by the Serbs.45 In fact, in what might seem like overkill on the part of Palamas's supporters, the Patriarch of Constantinople canonized him in 1368, less than a decade after the Hesychast champion's death. Mount Athos had been a strong (though never unanimous) source of support for the Hesychasts, and the affirmation of Hesychasm brought Athos new prestige and a new wave of foundations there. Gradually the Holy Mountain was experiencing a rebalance of power and esteem with the patriarchate in the city. In fact, in what might seem like overkill on the part of Palamas's supporters, the Patriarch of Constantinople canonized him in 1368, less than a decade after the Hesychast champion's death. Mount Athos had been a strong (though never unanimous) source of support for the Hesychasts, and the affirmation of Hesychasm brought Athos new prestige and a new wave of foundations there. Gradually the Holy Mountain was experiencing a rebalance of power and esteem with the patriarchate in the city.

It is not difficult to see why Palamas and the Hesychast movement should have triumphed in this dispute. He offered definable procedures for approaching the divine. It would be easy to take comfort from such apparently straightforward ways of coming close to G.o.d in an age when the political inst.i.tutions of the Byzantine world presented a picture of decay and corruption, when all the known world faced the baffling terror of the Black Death (see pp. 552-4) and when Islam pressed ever closer. For their part, the Ottomans were well disposed to a movement which encouraged their new Christian subjects to introspection and political pa.s.sivity. A theology which a.s.serted that it was possible for Taborite divine light to be seen with bodily eyes appealed to a Church which had fought so fiercely to defend icons; icons had become precisely the vehicle for contemplation of divine light. Moreover, when Palamas and the Hesychasts discounted the place of reason in theology, they echoed prominent themes in the writings of Symeon the New Theologian, now widely respected in monastic circles.

Barlaam by contrast presented no more than many honest and clear-minded theologians have offered across centuries when confronted by populist movements in Christianity: an openness to alternative Christian points of view, qualification, critique and nuance. He could be caricatured as pro-Western, and his ultimate decision in frustration and desperation to submit to the pope lent plausibility to that accusation. Once his efforts to accommodate East and West and his accusations against Palamas were swept aside, the way was open for Hesychasm to become embedded in Orthodox tradition, and it is certainly the case that its techniques of meditation and prayer, particularly the Jesus Prayer at its heart, have nourished countless Christians in travail and in tranquillity ever since.

HOPES DESTROYED: CHURCH UNION, OTTOMAN CONQUEST (1400-1700).

Now 'the City' was shrunken and full of ruins, fields stretching between what had become villages sheltering within its ancient defences - though over all still loomed the Great Church and the ancient monuments of the New Rome. The last emperors of Constantinople survived as long as they did because of the strength of their city walls, and because between repeated Ottoman sieges, from the end of the fourteenth century, they had agreed to become va.s.sals of the Ottoman sultan. They seemed to have little choice in this humiliation: their efforts to enlist the West produced repeated failures, fiascos and rebuffs. One emperor, John V Palaeologos, whose mother was an Italian princess, had in desperation actually made a personal submission to the Roman Church in 1355, but he had done nothing to enforce the change on his Church. Then the fact that from the Great Papal Schism of 1378 there were first two, then three claimants for the papacy (see p. 560) for the time being ruined any credibility that reunion schemes might have possessed in the East.

With ill timing, Westerners were nevertheless beginning to come to the uneasy realization that the Ottoman Turks presented a threat not merely to schismatic Eastern Christians but to themselves, now that the Ottomans were pushing westwards into Greece, Serbia and Bulgaria. In the midst of the Great Schism, a major spasm of crusading zeal had a spectacularly wretched end. In 1396 there gathered what was possibly the largest crusader army ever, made up of knights from France, Germany and even remote England and Scotland, all led by the King of Hungary. It was soundly defeated while it was besieging the Danubian city of Nicopolis (Nikopol, in the modern Bulgaria); thousands were ma.s.sacred by the Turks. The disaster prompted the Emperor Manuel II Palaeologos to travel as far west as England appealing for renewed help; he got much sympathy and won much esteem for his dignity and courtliness, but no practical a.s.sistance.

It was only when the efforts of the Council of Konstanz had restored unity to the Church of the West in 1417 (see pp. 560-61) that it was possible once more to investigate whether a plan of union might bring any advantage to Constantinople. By the 1430s, with Byzantium's second city of Thessalonica newly in Ottoman hands, the search for a settlement took on fresh urgency. The Western Church was still split between the Pope and a continuing council of clergy meeting at Basel which was seeking to a.s.sert conciliar authority against the Vatican, and both sides earnestly wooed the Emperor for union negotiations, seeing how much prestige would follow for the party which constructed the long-lost unity. In 1437 two rival Latin fleets set out for Constantinople to pick up Byzantine delegates for a council rendezvous, and in this peculiar ecclesiastical naval race, the papal fleet sailed into port a month in advance of the Basel party.

The Byzantine delegates, sensing that the Pope's support was rather more broadly based than that of his opponents, accepted the papal invitation, and were brought to the Pope's council, reconvened first in Ferrara and then in Florence. They were very serious in their intentions: the party from Constantinople numbered seven hundred, and included both the Patriarch Joseph and the Emperor John VIII Palaeologos. In fact such a widespread representation of contemporary Christianity had not been seen since the Council of Chalcedon in 451, and would not be seen again until the ec.u.menical meetings of the twentieth century. Among the welter of Eastern guests seeking help in their troubles who appeared at various times before the council's final dissolution in 1445 were representatives of the Georgian Church and other Churches of both the Chalcedonian and non-Chalcedonian East, plus the Miaphysite Copts of Egypt - and to everyone's astonishment, even a couple of Ethiopians appeared (see p. 282).46 In the end the results for Byzantium were illusory. The problem throughout the council was not new: the Latins were not prepared to make any substantial concessions even on the limited range of issues debated - the Filioque Filioque clause (this simple Latin word or three Greek words occupied discussions for six months), Purgatory, the use of unleavened bread, the wording of the prayer of consecration in the Eucharist and the powers of the papacy. Nevertheless, the emperor, worn down by the incessant wrangling and isolated by the death of the much-respected patriarch during the council proceedings, agreed to a formula of union in 1439. When he returned to Constantinople the following year, it proved impossible to gain any unanimity as to whether the city would accept the deal. For many Byzantines, there seemed little point in accepting what looked like a fresh humiliation after yet another Western army gathered by the Pope went down to defeat at Varna on the Black Sea in 1444. clause (this simple Latin word or three Greek words occupied discussions for six months), Purgatory, the use of unleavened bread, the wording of the prayer of consecration in the Eucharist and the powers of the papacy. Nevertheless, the emperor, worn down by the incessant wrangling and isolated by the death of the much-respected patriarch during the council proceedings, agreed to a formula of union in 1439. When he returned to Constantinople the following year, it proved impossible to gain any unanimity as to whether the city would accept the deal. For many Byzantines, there seemed little point in accepting what looked like a fresh humiliation after yet another Western army gathered by the Pope went down to defeat at Varna on the Black Sea in 1444.

After that, there was little hope left for the survival of 'the City'. Yet still in 1452 the last emperor, Constantine XI Palaeologos, eventually decided publicly to proclaim the union in Hagia Sophia: the pope's name was now included in the diptychs, the official lists of those for whom the Church prayed, both living and dead. That only intensified the quarrels which had raged in the city over the previous twelve years, and the deal never gained any wider recognition in the East. Far to the north, Muscovy had already repudiated it, in a move of great significance for the future of Russian Orthodoxy (see p. 518). Now there were only months left before the Ottomans closed in on Constantinople. The Emperor Constantine had at best eight thousand soldiers to defend it against Sultan Mehmet II's besieging army of more than sixty thousand, backed by many more miscellaneous supporters.47 To call it a struggle of Muslims against Christians would ignore the fact that the majority of those fighting for the Sultan were Christian mercenaries. To call it a struggle of Muslims against Christians would ignore the fact that the majority of those fighting for the Sultan were Christian mercenaries.

The ancient walls were not breached. The crucial Ottoman breakthrough into the city was only possible because the Byzantines' Genoese general, Giovanni Giustiniani, badly wounded in fighting outside the city wall, insisted that one gate should be unlocked to let him back into the city and down to his ship. When an entrance had thus fatally been offered, the Ottoman forces poured in after his retreating party. The Emperor by contrast fought on until he was cut down - exactly how or where is uncertain, but the Ottomans made sure that they secured his corpse. The previous day, the packed congregation in Hagia Sophia had 'cried out . . . wailed and moaned' as the Emperor took his leave with due traditional ceremony from his last reception of the sacrament, before preparing himself for battle. On this final day, 29 May 1453, matins was still in progress in the Great Church at the summit of a city overwhelmed with murder, rape and looting, when the Ottoman soldiers battered down the ma.s.sive door reserved for imperial processions and overwhelmed the worshippers during their defiant last act of divine praise. The Emperor's head was stuffed with straw and paraded around the cities of the Muslim world; his dynasty was scattered from the city of Constantine.48 Just before the wreck of 1204, the Arab gazetteer Ali ibn Abi Bakr al-Harawi had commented admiringly and wistfully that Constantinople was a 'city greater than its name! May G.o.d make it [an abode] for Islam by His grace and generosity, G.o.d the exalted willing.'49 Now the Ottoman Sultan Mehmet had achieved that dream of Muslim conquerors since their first expansion out of Arabia. He had done what neither the Latin crusaders of 1204 nor the divided Greek successors to the shattered Komnenos inheritance had been able to do, and restore the boundaries of the Eastern Empire much as they had once been; there would be more Ottoman expansion to come. The shame and grief in Western Europe was immense and widespread, but despite the usual papal efforts to summon a crusade to attack the city, really there was nothing now to be done apart from mourn for the city and fight to stop the Ottomans moving any further west. So in 1455 the West's greatest living composer, Guillaume Dufay, far away in Italy in the service of the Duke of Savoy, composed four different polyphonic motets lamenting the end of Constantinople, to words which had been written in Naples. One of Dufay's motets dramatically reproaches G.o.d himself in the person of the Virgin Mary: Now the Ottoman Sultan Mehmet had achieved that dream of Muslim conquerors since their first expansion out of Arabia. He had done what neither the Latin crusaders of 1204 nor the divided Greek successors to the shattered Komnenos inheritance had been able to do, and restore the boundaries of the Eastern Empire much as they had once been; there would be more Ottoman expansion to come. The shame and grief in Western Europe was immense and widespread, but despite the usual papal efforts to summon a crusade to attack the city, really there was nothing now to be done apart from mourn for the city and fight to stop the Ottomans moving any further west. So in 1455 the West's greatest living composer, Guillaume Dufay, far away in Italy in the service of the Duke of Savoy, composed four different polyphonic motets lamenting the end of Constantinople, to words which had been written in Naples. One of Dufay's motets dramatically reproaches G.o.d himself in the person of the Virgin Mary: Most piteous one, O fountain of all hope, father of the son whose weeping mother I am, I come to lay my plaint before your sovereign court about your power and Human Nature, which have now allowed such grievous harm to be Inflicted on my son, who has done me such honour.

And weaving around that cry of pain in French is the sonorous accusatory voice from a tenor in Latin, applying the Prophet Jeremiah's words about fallen Jerusalem familiar in the ceremonies of Holy Week: 'All her friends have dealt treacherously with her: among all her beloved, she hath none to comfort her.'50 How did the Duke of Savoy react to this implicit reproach to himself alongside all other Western monarchs? It was the Serbian city of Belgrade, far to the west of Constantinople, which benefited from the wave of emotion generated by preachers and musical publicists like Dufay, for it was temporarily saved from Ottoman capture by desperate Western armies in a new expedition in 1456.51 By then there was nothing to be done for 'the City' itself. A century later, in 1557, a scholar-librarian in Augsburg, Hieronymus Wolf, invented the Latin word which I use freely throughout this book to describe the culture of the Greek Orthodox East: he took the old Greek name of the city By then there was nothing to be done for 'the City' itself. A century later, in 1557, a scholar-librarian in Augsburg, Hieronymus Wolf, invented the Latin word which I use freely throughout this book to describe the culture of the Greek Orthodox East: he took the old Greek name of the city Byzantion Byzantion to create the term to create the term Byzantium Byzantium.52 It took an external observer from the Renaissance West to formalize this description, with its resonances of a Christian culture whose roots were in the pre-Christian world - and for Wolf, the term referred to a culture, not an empire. By Wolf's time Byzantium had long ceased to be a living political reality, and it never would be again. It took an external observer from the Renaissance West to formalize this description, with its resonances of a Christian culture whose roots were in the pre-Christian world - and for Wolf, the term referred to a culture, not an empire. By Wolf's time Byzantium had long ceased to be a living political reality, and it never would be again.

The people of Constantinople who could not flee did indeed suffer the fate which Guillaume Dufay had recalled from Jeremiah: like the people of Jerusalem long before them, they were sent off into slavery. But the Sultan wanted his new imperial capital brought to life; he could not leave the city as a wasteland. Almost immediately he began bringing in new people, and the majority of them were once again Christian and Greek. The Sultan realized that a vital encouragement as earnest of his good intentions would be to restore the Oec.u.menical Patriarchate, and within less than a year after the capture, he was able to choose a distinguished clergyman, George Scholarios, who now as a monk took the name Gennadios. Scholarios had been a delegate at the Council of Florence while still a layperson, because of his familiarity with Western theology and scholastic method; but usefully for the Sultan, the experience had turned him against the West and against the union with Rome in particular (naturally, Gennadios now made sure that the union was repudiated). One of the first things which the new patriarch did was to burn one of the most important writings of fifteenth-century Byzantium's most distinguished philosopher, Georgios Gemistos (who wrote under the pseudonym Plethon, suggesting both 'fullness' and Plato). What he objected to was Plethon's impa.s.sioned advocacy of Plato's philosophy and even of pre-Christian Greek religion.

Such censorship was understandable in the Patriarch's own terms, but it was an important signal about the future direction of Greek Orthodoxy. This was a time when the Renaissance of the West was reaching the height of its rediscovery of and enthusiasm for Cla.s.sical literature and, through Plethon, Plato in particular (see p. 576); Plethon's surviving ma.n.u.scripts found a safe home and much esteem in Western libraries.53 As in literature, so in art. The growing naturalism of late Byzantine art, such as that wonderfully presented in the mosaics of the Holy Redeemer in Chora, was left behind. As significant as the fate of Plethon's ma.n.u.scripts was the strange career of one of the most brilliant and original artists in sixteenth-century Christendom, Domenikos Theotokopoulos (1541-1614). Born in Crete, Theotokopoulos trained on the island as an icon painter, but he exploited the fact that Crete was still a colonial possession of the Republic of Venice to travel west and establish a career first in Venice, then in Rome and finally in Spain - though there is little evidence that he ever paid more than lip service to Western Catholicism. As he travelled, his style became more and more individual, leaving behind the tranquillity of the icon for stormily dramatic effects, his pictures full of glancing, restless light and brooding shadow, the figures often ghostly and elongated. This suited the dramatic tastes of some Western patrons, but throughout his long life of artistic productivity, the painter continued to inspire as much bewilderment as admiration - indeed, he still does. The only way that the Italians and Spaniards could find Theotokopoulos a meaningful place in their culture was to emphasize his otherness: they simply called him 'the Greek'. El Greco's wanderings far from his birthplace are a symptom of the way in which Orthodox culture could not now harbour any radical innovation in artistic style: the West found him difficult enough. As in literature, so in art. The growing naturalism of late Byzantine art, such as that wonderfully presented in the mosaics of the Holy Redeemer in Chora, was left behind. As significant as the fate of Plethon's ma.n.u.scripts was the strange career of one of the most brilliant and original artists in sixteenth-century Christendom, Domenikos Theotokopoulos (1541-1614). Born in Crete, Theotokopoulos trained on the island as an icon painter, but he exploited the fact that Crete was still a colonial possession of the Republic of Venice to travel west and establish a career first in Venice, then in Rome and finally in Spain - though there is little evidence that he ever paid more than lip service to Western Catholicism. As he travelled, his style became more and more individual, leaving behind the tranquillity of the icon for stormily dramatic effects, his pictures full of glancing, restless light and brooding shadow, the figures often ghostly and elongated. This suited the dramatic tastes of some Western patrons, but throughout his long life of artistic productivity, the painter continued to inspire as much bewilderment as admiration - indeed, he still does. The only way that the Italians and Spaniards could find Theotokopoulos a meaningful place in their culture was to emphasize his otherness: they simply called him 'the Greek'. El Greco's wanderings far from his birthplace are a symptom of the way in which Orthodox culture could not now harbour any radical innovation in artistic style: the West found him difficult enough.

The Ottomans' treatment of Christian Constantinople followed patterns familiar since the earliest Arab conquests. A remorselessly increasing total of the main churches became mosques. Hagia Sophia was naturally among them, its domed skyline transformed by an unprecedented array of four minarets, and a century and a half after the conquest its magnificence inspired the then Sultan to build an equally gargantuan Islamic rival nearby, the Blue Mosque, deliberately built on the site of the old imperial palace and boasting even more minarets. Stretching away from this promontory of the city, a score of new mosques built over the following centuries paid their own architectural tribute to Eastern Christianity's lost and greatest church with their domes and semi-domes. The famous Stoudite monastery, with its venerable liturgical and musical tradition, was closed as soon as the city fell and nothing but the church building remained, turned like Hagia Sophia into a mosque; so now both the models for liturgical practice throughout the Orthodox world had vanished.54 Throughout former Byzantine territories, as in Constantinople itself, the churches left in the hands of the Christians had to be lower in external profile than any nearby mosques, and church bells or clappers to summon congregations to worship were banned. This was part of an inexorable transformation of the landscape. The towers and extrovert facades of Christian churches were gradually dismantled, while the public presence of icons in wall niches and shrines - the architectural small change of a Christian world - faded away from the roadsides. As the traveller approached communities from villages to cities, minarets now dominated the horizon of roofs, just as the sound of worship was now the muezzin's call rather than the Christian clanging summons to prayer. Throughout former Byzantine territories, as in Constantinople itself, the churches left in the hands of the Christians had to be lower in external profile than any nearby mosques, and church bells or clappers to summon congregations to worship were banned. This was part of an inexorable transformation of the landscape. The towers and extrovert facades of Christian churches were gradually dismantled, while the public presence of icons in wall niches and shrines - the architectural small change of a Christian world - faded away from the roadsides. As the traveller approached communities from villages to cities, minarets now dominated the horizon of roofs, just as the sound of worship was now the muezzin's call rather than the Christian clanging summons to prayer.55 As with landscape, so with people. The Christian population were given privileged but inferior and restricted dhimmi dhimmi status (see p. 262) as a status (see p. 262) as a millet millet (distinct community) with the Oec.u.menical Patriarch at their head, and soon they found themselves ranged in Constantinople, Greece and Asia Minor alongside another rapidly growing group under a (distinct community) with the Oec.u.menical Patriarch at their head, and soon they found themselves ranged in Constantinople, Greece and Asia Minor alongside another rapidly growing group under a dhimma dhimma, Jews from Western Europe. Jews arrived here in their thousands from the 1490s after the expulsions from Spain and Portugal (see pp. 586-7), and they were welcomed by the Muslim authorities precisely because of their oppression by Christians. In Thessalonica, Jews remained a majority of the population until the arrival of huge numbers of Greek refugees in the tragic events of 1922-3 (see pp. 924-5), prior to an even greater catastrophe at the hands of the n.a.z.is.56 As had been the case throughout the gradual and piecemeal formation of the Ottoman territories in Asia Minor, the Ottoman Empire retained an extraordinary variety of cultures and jurisdictions, with no attempt being made to impose sharia or the customary law codes of Islam as an overall system (although in legal disputes which involved one Muslim contender, Islamic law would apply to the case). As had been the case throughout the gradual and piecemeal formation of the Ottoman territories in Asia Minor, the Ottoman Empire retained an extraordinary variety of cultures and jurisdictions, with no attempt being made to impose sharia or the customary law codes of Islam as an overall system (although in legal disputes which involved one Muslim contender, Islamic law would apply to the case).

When the Sultan recognized the Oec.u.menical Patriarch as head of all Orthodox Christians in the empire, it was a huge theoretical boost to the patriarch's power. Alongside him, Greeks who had prospered once more in the capital formed an elite of power brokers with the Ottoman authorities, and from their residence in the Phanar quarter of the city around the patriarch's headquarters, they were known as Phanariots. Such a narrowly restricted group existing on terms dictated by the conquerors was easily led into corruption and selfish exploitation of its position, and the Phanariots' Greek culture and pride in their past were constant potential sources of irritation to Orthodox such as Serbs, Bulgars or Romanians, who were also placed under the ultimate jurisdiction of the patriarch. Meanwhile the patriarch's supposed authority was constantly undermined by the fact that he was at the mercy of the sultan. The Ottoman administration frequently removed and replaced patriarchs, partly to weaken them, but partly because a fee was payable on the accession of a new patriarch, plus bribes from rival contenders. So in the century after 1595, thirty-one clergy were involved in fifty-five changes of patriarch.57 By their unstinting cooperation with the conquerors, the patriarchs saved their community from the worst possibilities of oppression. A major threat loomed in the 1520s, when leading Islamic lawyers (the 'ulema 'ulema) tried to attack entrenched Christian privileges, arguing that because Constantinople had resisted attack by Mehmet and was then conquered, Christians were not ent.i.tled to their millet millet status. It took a great deal of secret negotiation between the Patriarch and the then Grand Vizier to Sultan Suleyman (reigned 1520-66), plus a great many bribes spread round the palace, to head off this threat. The Patriarch produced witnesses to the early days of the conquest, one of whom was 102 years old, and claimed to have been one of the soldiers in the siege. status. It took a great deal of secret negotiation between the Patriarch and the then Grand Vizier to Sultan Suleyman (reigned 1520-66), plus a great many bribes spread round the palace, to head off this threat. The Patriarch produced witnesses to the early days of the conquest, one of whom was 102 years old, and claimed to have been one of the soldiers in the siege.58 The The 'ulema 'ulema were nevertheless much more successful in persuading Sultan Selim II in 1568-9 into a radical confiscation of monastic estates, an action reminiscent of and perhaps influenced by the contemporary Protestant dissolutions of monasteries in Western Europe, and a deeply damaging blow to the life of monastic communities. Mount Athos was much affected and it survived largely on the generosity of Orthodox rulers from the north. were nevertheless much more successful in persuading Sultan Selim II in 1568-9 into a radical confiscation of monastic estates, an action reminiscent of and perhaps influenced by the contemporary Protestant dissolutions of monasteries in Western Europe, and a deeply damaging blow to the life of monastic communities. Mount Athos was much affected and it survived largely on the generosity of Orthodox rulers from the north.59 Within their community, the Orthodox authorities now had no very good means of exercising discipline apart from the punishment of excommunication. Between official prompting and popular opinion, excommunication gathered to it the power of folk disapproval; so that in Greek popular culture, with much informal encouragement from clerical writers, excommunicates were considered incapable of normal mortal decay at death. Instead, they became an undead creature called a tympaniaios tympaniaios, because the undecayed body of one of these unfortunates was said to become swollen until it was taut enough to be beaten like a drum. The only way of ridding the community of such a terrifying monster was by sprinkling the body or coffin with Orthodox holy water and a priestly rite of absolution. Thus did the clergy keep some control over their flocks, and demonstrate their power against both the local imam and interloping Roman Catholic missionaries.60 Yet there was little they could do if a Christian converted to Islam, except to point out that the penalty for a reconversion of a convert Muslim to Christianity was death, by publicizing the martyrdoms which resulted from such reconversions. Missionary work was impossible, and the efforts of the patriarchate to provide a proper range of theological studies in the Patriarchal Academy in Constantinople, to equal the sort of higher education available in Western Europe, were fitful and constrained. Yet there was little they could do if a Christian converted to Islam, except to point out that the penalty for a reconversion of a convert Muslim to Christianity was death, by publicizing the martyrdoms which resulted from such reconversions. Missionary work was impossible, and the efforts of the patriarchate to provide a proper range of theological studies in the Patriarchal Academy in Constantinople, to equal the sort of higher education available in Western Europe, were fitful and constrained.

The result was a slow decline in the proportion of Orthodox Christians in the empire, perceptible from the late sixteenth century. Some became crypto-Christians, and generations were able to sustain such a life for extraordinary lengths of time. On the island of Cyprus, finally captured from the Venetians by the Turks in 1570, a large proportion of those who converted to Islam were said to be like a cloth in which cotton was covered with linen, making it look different on either side, so they were known as 'linen cotton' (Linovamvakoi). Such double allegiance survived right up to 1878, when the British ended Ottoman power on the island. There are similar stories of generations of crypto-Christians from Asia Minor numbering tens of thousands; even priests who functioned outwardly as mullahs.61 Their pa.s.sive survival was symptomatic of the general ethos of Orthodoxy in its great captivity. The instinct after 1453 was to preserve what it was possible to preserve in the face of repression and relegation of Christians to second-cla.s.s status. The disaster only confirmed the end of the period of radical innovation in Orthodoxy, which had lasted from the iconoclast controversies of the eight and ninth centuries down to the affirmation of Hesychasm in 1351. It is worth speculating on how different the Orthodox mood might have been, how much openness to change and new theological speculation might have developed, if Byzantine Orthodoxy had not been so much on the defensive from the fourteenth century down to modern times. Their pa.s.sive survival was symptomatic of the general ethos of Orthodoxy in its great captivity. The instinct after 1453 was to preserve what it was possible to preserve in the face of repression and relegation of Christians to second-cla.s.s status. The disaster only confirmed the end of the period of radical innovation in Orthodoxy, which had lasted from the iconoclast controversies of the eight and ninth centuries down to the affirmation of Hesychasm in 1351. It is worth speculating on how different the Orthodox mood might have been, how much openness to change and new theological speculation might have developed, if Byzantine Orthodoxy had not been so much on the defensive from the fourteenth century down to modern times.

From the mid-sixteenth century, Western Christians - Protestants as well as Roman Catholics, thanks to the great split of the Reformation - interested themselves afresh in their afflicted co-religionists in the East. Both sides of the fractured Western Church were looking for allies among the Orthodox for their own purposes, and hard-pressed Easterners often eagerly sought out their help. But there were major barriers to understanding or reconciliation: the long memory of 1204 overshadowed contacts with Roman Catholics which did not result in full submission to the pope's authority, and Protestant detestation of images - even the nuanced position of the Lutherans (see pp. 619-20) - was deeply offensive to the iconophile Orthodox.62 The one moment when the Church of Constantinople did find a leader who tried to seize the initiative and seek creative change only ended up confirming Orthodox Christians in their determination to defend their past: this was the ultimately tragic career of Cyril Lucaris (1572-1638). One great scholar of Orthodoxy, himself a bishop in the Orthodox tradition, has said of him that he was 'possibly the most brilliant man to have held office as patriarch since the days of St Photius'.63 Lucaris was unusually cosmopolitan for a senior Orthodox churchman. He came from the island of Crete, then still ruled by the Venetians, and as a result he had access to Western higher education in the Republic of Venice's celebrated university at Padua. Padua was itself unusual in Western Europe because, despite the fierce Counter-Reformation Catholicism of the Italian peninsula, it was discreetly hospitable to Protestants; Lucaris gained further acquaintance with Protestantism as well as a different Orthodox world when he travelled far north to the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the 1590s. Here he witnessed the Ruthenian Orthodox Church submit to papal authority in the Union of Brest in 1596 (see pp. 534-5). The event appalled him, and he attributed it in part to the inferior education of Orthodox clergy, who were no match for the highly trained members of the Society of Jesus promoting the union. He began developing a sympathy for the Western Christians who also opposed the Roman Catholics, and in Poland that primarily meant Reformed (that is, non-Lutheran) Protestants. Lucaris was unusually cosmopolitan for a senior Orthodox churchman. He came from the island of Crete, then still ruled by the Venetians, and as a result he had access to Western higher education in the Republic of Venice's celebrated university at Padua. Padua was itself unusual in Western Europe because, despite the fierce Counter-Reformation Catholicism of the Italian peninsula, it was discreetly hospitable to Protestants; Lucaris gained further acquaintance with Protestantism as well as a different Orthodox world when he travelled far north to the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the 1590s. Here he witnessed the Ruthenian Orthodox Church submit to papal authority in the Union of Brest in 1596 (see pp. 534-5). The event appalled him, and he attributed it in part to the inferior education of Orthodox clergy, who were no match for the highly trained members of the Society of Jesus promoting the union. He began developing a sympathy for the Western Christians who also opposed the Roman Catholics, and in Poland that primarily meant Reformed (that is, non-Lutheran) Protestants.64 Back in the Mediterranean, in 1601 Lucaris was elected Patriarch of the small Melchite (Chalcedonian) Orthodox Church of Alexandria, an honour which a cousin of his had held before him, and in 1612 he was elected Oec.u.menical Patriarch in Constantinople, a tenure which was destined to be much interrupted and then brutally ended for political reasons. He became acquainted with a cultivated Dutch Reformed merchant and diplomat, Cornelius van Haga, and entered correspondence with one of the most respected leaders of international Reformed Protestantism, the Englishman George Abbot, Archbishop of Canterbury, whose family was much involved in the growing English trade with the Ottoman Empire. The two archbishops so far apart in geography and background saw a common interest: the fight against Roman Catholicism. They even considered the possibility of a Church reunited against the common enemy.

Abbot brought Lucaris to the attention of his king, James VI and I of Scotland and England, who with some justification regarded himself as an international Protestant statesman. King James was keenly interested in the reunion of Christendom, and back in his youth he had written and eventually published an epic poem celebrating the Christian naval victory over the Turks at the Battle of Lepanto in 1571.65 With James's enthusiastic backing, the English government actually paid for a couple of Greek scholars to come and study in England, and one of them, Nathaniel Konopios, a fellow Cretan of Lucaris and future Metropolitan of Smyrna, is said to have drunk the first cup of coffee ever witnessed in the University of Oxford. With James's ent