A Slow Unraveling: Rethinking 1054 & the East-West Schism
Revisiting the real moments that pulled Orthodox and Catholic Christians apart with a little help from Dr. Cyril Jenkins
The year is 1273, and the Byzantine emperor, Michael VIII Palaiologos, is exasperated to say the least. In an effort to force a reunion between Constantinople and Rome and save his empire from imminent invasion, he drags a prominent monk out of prison, wraps the poor man’s neck in sheep intestines, and has an “executioner” beat him over the head with a liver as he is paraded around the streets near Hagia Sophia.
When reflecting on the divide between the Orthodox and Catholic churches, people love to pinpoint a single year—usually 1054—as the definitive moment everything broke. But as my friend Dr. Gary Cyril Jenkins pointed out in a brilliant article for Touchstone magazine last year (“1054 & All That: Dating the Orthodox/Catholic Schism”), the fuller story is a tangled web of shifting loyalties, theological disputes, dramatic political interventions, and dashed hopes for unity.
The year 1054 is often blamed for a divorce it didn’t actually finalize. So, we’re going to look at the messy reality of the East-West Schism, define what a schism actually is, and see why the division took centuries of tragic missteps to become permanent.
Forced Unity and an Empire in Danger
As Jenkins explains, by the late 1200s, the Byzantine Empire faced existential threats, particularly from western powers. Desperate to stave off invasion, Emperor Michael sought reunion with Rome—perhaps less out of piety and more out of political necessity. Rome agreed, provided Michael could force his obstinate Church to fall in line.
He couldn’t. Jenkins elaborates:
When Michael VIII recaptured Constantinople in 1261, he opened probably the most bitter episode of the several attempts at healing the schism between the Catholics and the Orthodox, the Latins and the Greeks. Michael hoped that a union of the churches would spare his weak and feeble empire, and, under the sympathetic eye of Pope Gregory X, he agreed to such a union. Rome accepted that the emperor was able to control the Byzantine church, at least on some level, and expected Michael to enforce the union. But, as Michael informed Pope Gregory, the union enjoyed no popularity among the clergy or the people of Constantinople. The main defender of Michael’s position was the former cartophylax John Bekkos, who had been imprisoned at one point for his obstreperous resistance to the idea of the union. But fed a steady diet of Latin polemics, Bekkos eventually came to the Latin position on the key question of the procession of the Holy Spirit. However brilliant Bekkos was, the Synod of Constantinople dug in its heels.
The result? Harsh repression, public humiliations, and punishment for dissenters, which led to superficial acceptance among some bishops. Real popular support was a ghost. Even so, when a reunion council was summoned in Lyon in 1274, hardly any attended beyond diplomats and a former patriarch. Michael’s bid to enforce reconciliation ultimately failed.
He died excommunicated, his successors immediately reversed the union, and he left behind a bitter legacy of mistrust.
What Is a Schism, Really?
Many popular discussions of such schisms treat schism as a clean break—a document gets signed, someone storms out, and suddenly everyone is unchurched, rechurched, or in a different church. To make sense of this period, and of the nature of schism, Jenkins indicates that historians will draw a helpful distinction between material and formal schism.
Material schism refers to a real, practical division: when bishops no longer recognize one another, when liturgies are deliberately celebrated apart, and when theological understandings diverge so much that unity is no longer possible on the ground.
Formal schism, in contrast, is an open, official declaration that the churches are severed. In the aftermath of events such as Michael VIII’s failed policies and the repudiation of union in 1285, both types coexisted. Prior attempts to “heal the schism” were mostly acts of political theatre without true reconciliation in the pews.
The Myth of 1054
The year 1054 is routinely cited as the point of no return, but closer examination dispels this notion. That summer, papal legates excommunicated Patriarch Michael I of Constantinople, and he responded in kind. However, the main actors did not represent their entire churches, and the excommunications were limited in scope—naming individual clerics, not whole communions.
Furthermore, the papal legate’s authority had effectively expired with the pope’s death prior to the event, making the sanction ultimately invalid. Although tensions escalated and mutual suspicions grew, the emerging division at this stage remained more a matter of material strain—practical difficulties and strained relations—than a formal, irreversible schism.
Although tensions escalated and mutual suspicions grew, the emerging division at this stage remained more a matter of material strain—practical difficulties and strained relations—than a formal, irreversible schism.
Moments of Goodwill
Despite increasing friction, there were periods when the two sides treated each other with charity, even long after 1054. Latin and Greek churchmen debated theology openly and sometimes reached genuine understanding. Bishops like Peter of Antioch took a charitable view of the Latins, recognizing some differences but not outright separation.
Even in moments of fiery polemics flying back and forth, there were others who acted as a counterbalance—encouraging moderation, humility, and stressing Christian unity.
The Crusades: Widening the Gulf
The situation changed most decisively during the era of the Crusades. The First Crusade began with rhetoric of Christian brotherhood—and let’s not forget that the Crusades were begun with cries for help from the Orthodox East—but as Latin armies flooded the East, it is not surprising that tensions mounted. Crusader lords sometimes installed Latin bishops where Greek ones had served—certainly putting a strain in certain localities. Nonetheless, for decades, a semblance of cooperation and mutual tolerance endured—putting a kibosh on the neat and tidy 1054 narrative.
Everything changed in 1204. Crusaders, unable to reach their original goal, turned instead to attack Constantinople itself—talk about mission drift.
This event was catastrophic. Not only was a great Christian city looted and destroyed by fellow Christians, but the Greek population was subjected to terrible humiliation and violence. This trauma cemented, for many, the sense that the two churches were now truly and bitterly divided. Reconciliation efforts still occurred, but trust had collapsed.
Both material and formal schism became an undeniable reality.
Attempted Reunions and Final Separation
During the 13th and 14th centuries, Byzantine emperors continued to appeal to Rome, desperate for help against Ottoman advances, often dangling the carrot of reunion. Occasional councils were held and documents of union signed, such as the Council of Florence in 1438-1439. Many Greek bishops agreed, under immense pressure, to union with Rome—though some courageously refused to sign, most notably Saint Mark of Ephesus.
Upon returning home, however, most Orthodox clergy and laity flatly rejected the agreement, and the council’s decisions found very little real acceptance in the East. With the fall of Constantinople in 1453, any practical pretense of unity crumbled too. Successive Orthodox councils formally rejected the union, and contacts with Rome dwindled to almost nothing until the 20th century.
Rethinking the “Schism Date”
In light of these events, assigning a single date to the East-West Schism really muddies the waters and obscures its true nature and timing of the divide. Schism was never just a matter of a single excommunication or dispute, but the slow hardening of attitudes, fostered by war, politics, and theological divergence.
Some historians, therefore, place the “material schism” at the sack of Constantinople in 1204, with “formal schism” existing only after subsequent councils and official repudiations. This is certainly what I teach in our catechism classes at Saint Mark—we discuss the typical 1054 narrative, but not without reference to the material and formal schisms that occurred later and were far more definitive.
(And we haven’t even gotten into the particular issues of the East-West schism—which went beyond the filioque to include debates about Eucharistic bread, Papal jurisdiction and the Patriarchates, and more.)
Conclusion
The separation between Eastern Orthodoxy and Roman Catholicism grew gradually rather than erupting in a single moment. It emerged from centuries of theological debate, power struggles, and tragic missteps—reminding us that institutional Christianity unity, once lost, is not easily regained.
In this season of Lent, as we look to repent of our personal and abiding sins, we also remember the tragic cost of pride and forced unities in our history. The schism wasn’t created in a day, and our own relational divides usually aren’t either. It takes centuries to build a wall of political maneuvering and mutual excommunications, but it takes daily, humble faithfulness to begin tearing it down.
The memory of these centuries still shapes Orthodox life and theology today, not as a reason for animosity, but as a testimony to the importance of faithfulness, humility, and the work of true reconciliation.
To read Dr. Jenkins’s article, click here to subscribe to Touchstone. Gary Jenkins Ph.D., is the Van Gordon Professor in History (retired) at Eastern University in Pennsylvania, and the current director of the St. Basil Center for Orthodox Thought and Culture (also at EU).