Justinian

the West his authority as Pope would disappear, he managed to persuade the imperial couple that his signed statement should remain secret until he, Vigilius, had had time to hold a final enquiry into the views expressed in the Three Chapters. Breathing a huge sigh of relief at obtaining this all-important concession, Vigilius set about preparing his case against the moment of truth when he must reveal his stance regarding the Three Chapters — whatever that stance should turn out to be.

In his luxurious suite in Constantinople’s Palace of Placidia, Vigilius stared at his reflection in the looking- glass. What had happened, he wondered, to that sleek young deacon who, eleven years before, had — thanks to Theodora and Antonina — found himself the occupant of Peter’s Throne? That his promotion had involved the deposition and subsequent ‘disappearance’ of Pope Silverius had not cost the ambitious cleric any sleep; climbing the ladder of success necessarily involved stamping on others’ fingers on the rungs. What had put lines on those once-smooth cheeks and thinned a luxurious mop to a few greying strands on a balding pate, was the strain of constantly having to maintain a precarious balance between fobbing off Theodora and keeping up a pro-Chalcedonian front for the benefit of Western bishops.

In practice, what this had entailed was endless procrastination regarding his promise to Theodora, involving the fabrication of convincing reasons as to why it was never quite the right time to keep his side of the bargain. For let the clergy and people of Italy once suspect him of compromising with what they saw as heresy, the ensuing uproar could bring about his downfall. And that, he was determined, he would never allow to happen. He relished the feel of the pallium about his shoulders far too much to let another take it from him.

Yet there was a very real and present risk of precisely that happening. Time had finally run out for Vigilius. For today he must address the synod formally convoked to enquire into the views expressed in the Three Chapters. And, in addressing the synod, composed of seventy bishops from the West, he must finally reveal that he had signed that statement condemning the Three Chapters — news that would be as welcome to the bishops, as a side of bacon in a synagogue. It would take all of his negotiating skills to tread a safe path through the maze of theological pitfalls that awaited him.

‘. . and after diligently perusing the aforementioned Chapters of Theodore, Theoderet, and Ibas, and carefully weighing up the views expressed therein, I came to the conclusion — a surprising one to me, I must confess — that these were in fact extremely dangerous men whose ideas, unless anathematized, could lead men into heresy. Consider this, my friends.’ Looking round the seventy attentive faces in the audience chamber, Vigilius assumed an expression of meekness and humility, then went on, ‘Nestorius, whose views these men subscribed to, held that the Virgin Mary was not the Theotokos or Mother of God, but the mother of the man Jesus only, not of the divine Christ. I ask you, as a humble seeker after truth, can such a view be tenable?’ (In fact, Vigilius hadn’t the faintest idea if it was tenable or otherwise. He had never read the works of Theodore et al., and was simply parroting the words of the ecclesiastic assigned by Justinian to ‘enlighten’ him.)

From the speculative murmur that broke out following his question, Vigilius felt that he had at least sown a seed of doubt in the minds of his hearers. He sensed that the atmosphere in the chamber had subtly changed from suspicion verging on hostility at the inception of the meeting, to one of interest that was not unsympathetic. Their entrenched opposition to condemning the Three Chapters was perhaps beginning to erode. Sufficiently, at least, to allow his own position in the matter (or rather the position he had been forced to adopt) to be accorded a fair hearing. Vigilius began to entertain the hope that he might even win them round. A hope, however, that was destined to be dashed.

A hand was raised, and on Vigilius’ nod a huge figure rose — Facundus, bishop of Hermiane in Africa and a famous scholar. Outstanding in appearance on account of his great size and coal-black skin, Facundus seemed to radiate an indefinable air of presence and personal magnetism. Most African Romans were of Berber or Italian stock, the latter mainly descended from settlers who had arrived following Rome’s victory against Carthage in the Punic Wars. But a few hailed from Africa the continent, rather than the diocese: from Nubia or Axum, even from beyond the Great Sand Sea. Such a Roman citizen was Tertius Facundus.

‘My thanks, Your Holiness, for granting me permission to speak in this august assembly,’ acknowledged Facundus, speaking in a richly booming rumble that someone had once described as ‘like thunder laced with cream’. Smiling, he addressed his audience. ‘Vigilius, with admirable clarity, has summarized the stance taken by Nestorius regarding the relation of the Virgin Mary to the Son. Was she Theotokos, the Mother of God, or simply the mother of Jesus the man? If the latter, then His Divinity must have been conferred by God alone.’ The bishop paused, then lowering his voice, went on, ‘No doubt what I now have to say will sound to some of you controversial, nay, heretical even. But I put it to you: does this issue of the status of the Virgin Mary really matter? To my mind, it seems in essence a distraction, an irrelevance which obscures what we should chiefly be concerned about: the true nature of the Christ himself. Of infinitely greater importance in the teaching of Nestorius has to be the fact that he acknowledges the dual nature of Christ — that He was both human and divine. Which is the very essence of our Chalcedonian creed — something that Ibas of Edessa in especial, homes in on in his Chapter, a Chapter to which the Council of Chalcedon itself gave its approval.’

A tense and prickling silence reigned throughout the chamber as Facundus surveyed his rapt audience. ‘Wake up, my friends!’ he declared in ringing tones. ‘This Edict is nothing but a shabby cover-up. If we condemn the Three Chapters, we condemn the very faith which every one of us holds dear — Chalcedonian Orthodoxy!’

All over the great room bishops leapt excitedly to their feet, shouting their approval of Facundus’ words: ‘Down with the Edict!. . Down with Justinian!. . Up with the Three Chapters!. . Long live Facundus!. . Shame on you, Vigilius!. .’

With a surge of panic, Vigilius realized that any hope he might have entertained of persuading the bishops to condemn the Chapters was now dead beyond recovery. Obeying his instinct to play for time, he declared the meeting at an end — a statement greeted with noisy resentment. Raising his voice to be heard above the hubbub, he cried, ‘Fellow bishops, you have made your feelings plain. Rest assured, I shall take due cognizance of this when, in due course, I announce my verdict. Depart in peace, my friends, and may Christ’s blessing be upon you all.’

The bishops departed — not in peace, but in a bitter mood of fury and frustration.

In his official judgement or Judicatum,* Vigilius (as, under pressure from Justinian, he was bound to do) roundly condemned the Three Chapters. But, in a desperate attempt to salvage some scraps of credibility with the Western clergy, he included in the document an addendum avowing his unshakeable attachment to the findings of the Council of Chalcedon — the very assembly which, as Facundus had pointed out, had stated its approval of those selfsame Chapters! Vigilius’ attempt to square this particular circle met with utter failure. Throughout the West, outraged clergy demanded the withdrawal of the Judicatum, the General Synod of African Bishops going so far as to break completely from communion with the Pope until he should agree to do this.

Far from establishing the unity that Justinian desired, his Edict, in combination with the Synod, then the Judicatum, had created a yawning gulf between the Churches of the East and West that now seemed nigh unbridgeable.

‘Well, we did our best, Serenity,’ said Ascidas to Justinian in conciliatory tones, ‘But we failed. It seems there are some battles we are destined not to win, however hard we try. Best perhaps that we accept that, and move on.’ The two men were once again inside Saint Irene’s, a venue that, for some reason, Justinian found soothing to his troubled state of mind.

‘I hear what you say, Ascidas,’ replied the emperor. ‘But in this matter, failure cannot be allowed to be an option. The Three Chapters must be universally condemned.’

‘Even now, Serenity,’ said the cleric gently, ‘after the Western bishops have forced Vigilius to withdraw his Judicatum?’

‘You don’t understand!’ cried the emperor, a note of desperation entering his voice. ‘As Christ’s vicegerent upon earth, it is my duty not only to reunite the Roman Empire, but to ensure unity of faith within that Empire. To achieve the first without the second would be a meaningless accomplishment.’ He stared intently at the other. ‘You can understand that, can’t you? Vigilius must not become a broken reed. I have made him swear an oath, backed up by a signed statement, that he will revisit this whole matter of the Three Chapters with a view to ensuring their condemnation. As a concession to religious sensitivities, however, I have given my permission for the oath to remain secret — for the time being.’

At that moment, a man attired in palace livery burst into the church. ‘Serenity,’ the official blurted out, ‘the physician urges that you come immediately to the Palace. The Augusta has been taken gravely sick!’