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The Merovingian Kingdoms and the Monothelete Controversy

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  28 January 2020

SIHONG LIN
SIHONG LIN*
Affiliation:
University CollegeDublin
*
E-mail: sihong.lin28@gmail.com
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Abstract

The Monothelete controversy, a Christological dispute that seemingly consumed the Eastern Roman Empire in the seventh century, also left its mark in Latin texts composed in Merovingian Gaul. By integrating the western evidence and recent revisions to the controversy's history, this study presents a new overview of how Frankish observers viewed the eastern ‘heresy’ and papal efforts to condemn the doctrine in 649. Though negative on the surface, western attitudes towards this Christological debate in the 650s are much more mixed and new evidence can be adduced for the continuation of positive exchanges between the empire and the Franks.

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Type
Research Article
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The Journal of Ecclesiastical History , Volume 71 , Issue 2 , April 2020 , pp. 235 - 252
Copyright
Copyright © Cambridge University Press 2020

The seventh century is often seen as a transformative period in late Roman history. Shaken by the ‘last great war of antiquity’ against Persia and then the Arab Conquests, the empire is said to have lost interest in or become less able to influence the post-Roman West.Footnote 1 Alongside these military crises, the Romans were also consumed by a new doctrinal dispute, the debate over first Monenergism and then Monotheletism. The latter is the focus of this article, but both Christological controversies have a particularly poor reputation. Framed as ‘artificial’ compromises, these doctrines are still frequently deemed to be ‘heretical’ innovations doomed to failure.Footnote 2 Recent analyses of these debates, however, have challenged the traditional narrative. No longer can the Monothelete ‘heresy’ be seen solely as an invented doctrine imposed from above, for it was instead a formula with its own intellectual foundation and loyal adherents.Footnote 3 The same revisions can also affect interpretations of the empire's engagement with the ‘barbarian’ kingdoms, thus providing a unique opportunity to bring together ecclesiastical histories of both East and West.

Monotheletism's western legacy, especially among the Merovingian Franks, has already received some attention. Nevertheless, there remains a lacuna in the historiography for a survey that fully incorporates new interpretations offered by Byzantinists. In recent work on this controversy, two contrasting perspectives are presented: one reaffirms the lack of Frankish involvement in this doctrinal struggle, while the other suggests that there was significant western enthusiasm for the papacy's anti-Monothelete activism.Footnote 4 But in both cases Monotheletism appears to be treated as a ‘heresy’ contrary to western sensibilities, with the assumption that if the Franks were aware of the dispute, they must have stood against it in favour of the ‘orthodox’ Dyothelete doctrine. This is a tempting perspective given the mass of later sources condemning Monotheletism, but this was not necessarily the position taken by contemporaries.

Within the empire, it is now clear that advocates of Monotheletism can be found in both North Africa and imperial territories in Italy, provinces long seen as bastions of ‘orthodox’ Chalcedonianism.Footnote 5 This more critical perspective can be extended into the Merovingian kingdoms of Austrasia and Neustria-Burgundy, for their understanding of eastern events (or lack thereof) can also be problematised by questioning the underlying dichotomy between ‘orthodoxy’ and ‘heresy’. By surveying anew the Latin evidence for the controversy up to the 650s, this paper argues for a more ambiguous interpretation of Frankish responses to Monotheletism, noting in particular the possibility that some Franks responded favourably to eastern edicts. The same analysis then raises new questions as to the extent of cross-cultural contact in the mid-seventh century, for it suggests that the imperial court retained some influence among the Franks and so allows us to catch glimpses of a still-interconnected Mediterranean.

Aftershocks of 649

Monotheletism, the doctrine that Christ possessed one will, was coined in 634/5 and was quickly adopted in Constantinople as the accepted Christological formulation.Footnote 6 This doctrine proved to be anathema to certain groups within the empire and organised dissent against it became increasingly prominent in the 640s. The papacy and a group of eastern Chalcedonian monks dwelling in Rome and North Africa emerged as particularly vehement opponents of Monotheletism.Footnote 7 Their efforts culminated in the Lateran synod of 649, a defiant council convened by Pope Martin i to condemn the ‘heresies’ emanating from the imperial court.Footnote 8

This campaign also extended to appealing for support from Gaul. We are fortunate to possess a letter from Martin to Bishop Amandus of Maastricht, which outlined the pope's priorities after the Lateran synod. Martin asked for a council to be convened by the Frankish bishops to ratify the papacy's position and for Sigibert iii of Austrasia to send a delegation to Rome and then onwards to Constantinople.Footnote 9 For some scholars, this letter is the sole indication of the papacy's ineffectual attempt to rally support for anti-Monotheletism in the West.Footnote 10 It is clear, after all, that this particular letter was in response to a missive from Amandus requesting papal permission for his abdication and seeking relics and manuscripts from Rome.Footnote 11 Martin was therefore replying to a messenger who was conveniently already in the city and did not write to the Frankish bishop on his own initiative. Moreover, Amandus’ two pilgrimages to Rome previously had, perhaps, made him familiar to the papacy, making him the prime (and possibly only available) Austrasian candidate to contact in 649.Footnote 12 Finally, although Amandus certainly received the letter and the attached Acts of the Lateran synod, there is no indication that he or the Austrasian Franks ever convened a council in support of the papacy.Footnote 13 On its own, this letter is therefore indicative of contact only at an individual, not an institutional level, between Austrasia and Rome.Footnote 14

Recent reassessments of western involvement in the Monothelete controversy, however, have highlighted a number of other potential links. The Life of Eligius of Noyon provides the most explicit evidence. The first version was completed by Eligius’ friend, Bishop Audoin of Rouen, shortly after Eligius’ death in 660, though the final form is Carolingian.Footnote 15 Just prior to a remarkable narrative of Pope Martin's later sufferings, the text noted that a papal letter was sent after the 649 council to seek Frankish support against Monotheletism. While Eligius had wished to join the fight against the ‘heresy’ with an unnamed companion, he was mysteriously prevented from doing so for an unspecified reason.Footnote 16 Although it has been deemed previously to be a later interpolation, Clemens Bayer has convincingly argued for this section being a genuine Merovingian digression written by Audoin, making it possible to explore the Frankish response to Monotheletism through this narrative.Footnote 17

Although the Life is not explicit on this point, noting only that the pope requested aid in suppressing this ‘heresy’, studies of Eligius’ involvement have also argued that the Council of Chalon-sur-Saône, held on 24 October at some point between 647 and 653 and attended by bishops of Neustria-Burgundy, was connected to Martin's campaign.Footnote 18 None of its decrees mentioned Monotheletism, but its first canon, which reaffirmed the professions of faiths of the Ecumenical Councils of Nicaea and Chalcedon, has been read as an implicit reference to the controversy.Footnote 19 Proponents highlight, in particular, the rarity of such declarations of faith in Frankish councils.Footnote 20 Only the first canon of the Council of Orléans, in 549, provides a comparable example, as it condemned specifically the Eutychian and Nestorian ‘heresies’, respectively the focus of the Ecumenical Councils of Chalcedon and Ephesus.Footnote 21 While these anathematisations are not explicit references to the contemporary Three Chapters controversy, there is evidence that some individuals in the Merovingian kingdoms, primarily King Childebert i of Paris and Bishop Aurelian of Arles, took an interest in the dispute, resulting in one Frankish delegation arriving in Constantinople in July 549 and another setting off in about 552.Footnote 22 As Childebert had allegedly convened the Orléans council, it seems plausible to link the topical condemnations of Christological ‘heresies’ with the ongoing doctrinal furore within the empire.Footnote 23 Given the timing of Chalon-sur-Saône a century later amidst similar divisions between Rome and Constantinople, the emphasis on the professions of faith at Nicaea and Chalcedon may then likewise have had some connection with the Monothelete controversy.Footnote 24

This interpretation, however, remains debatable, as supporters of Monotheletism would have found the formulation expressed by Frankish bishops to be perfectly acceptable given their shared Chalcedonian inheritance. Elphège Vacandard already noticed this discrepancy in 1902 in his discussion of Duchesne's analysis, and so argued that the first canon of Chalon-sur-Saône was not a reference to the Lateran synod, therefore dating the council to 647–9, before anyone in Gaul could have received Martin's missives.Footnote 25 André Borias likewise acknowledged that the canon did not discuss Monotheletism, but countered this by asserting first the Franks’ lack of knowledge about the specifics of eastern Christological disputes, and then suggesting that it would have been inappropriate for the council to mention explicitly the Lateran synod when its conclusions had not been ratified by the emperor.Footnote 26 The former point is not convincing, as Amandus of Maastricht in Austrasia had received the Latin text of the Lateran synod from Rome, which outlined precisely what was at stake – the Ekthesis and the Typos, the two edicts that represented the imperial position – along with a shorter précis of the controversy in Martin's letter.Footnote 27 If Eligius and his comrades had also received a papal letter and had taken the request from Rome at all seriously, they would surely have known to be more specific about these doctrinal matters.

The latter suggestion from Borias only raises further questions, as it would indicate that the Franks were not unthinking partisans of the papacy, since they also had to consider the views of the emperor, a striking possibility that he unfortunately does not discuss in more detail. Yet the same train of thought can be taken much further than in the brief account offered by Borias, as a more positive reading of Frankish attitudes towards imperial doctrines can be reconstructed from the same sources. This is because the allegedly anti-Monothelete canon from Chalon-sur-Saône can also be interpreted to mean the very opposite: that it is evidence of the Neustro-Burgundian council being entirely in line with imperial ‘orthodoxy’. The Typos, issued in 647/8 and the most up-to-date imperial pronouncement on Christology, had not sought to impose Monotheletism at all, but aimed rather to silence the debate by barring any discussion of the number of wills and operations possessed by Christ. Instead, it urged the audience to follow the Scriptures, the teachings of the ecumenical councils and that of the approved Church Fathers.Footnote 28 The position ordered by the Typos is therefore entirely compatible, almost suspiciously so, with that mandated by the first canon of the Council of Chalon-sur-Saône, which highlighted both the professions of faith at Nicaea and Chalcedon and the contribution of the Church Fathers.Footnote 29

Judging by Martin's letters, the condemnation or acceptance of the Typos (and, to a lesser extent, the now superseded Ekthesis) was the defining issue separating ‘orthodoxy’ and ‘heresy’ for the rebellious pope.Footnote 30 The same is true in accounts of the anti-Monotheletes’ later tribulations, for even when on trial they highlighted the Typos as the crucial barrier to reconciliation with Constantinople.Footnote 31 Imperial attempts at compromise with the arch-dissident Maximus the Confessor likewise involved offering to annul the Typos or persuading the Palestinian monk to agree to the document's terms.Footnote 32 The only documentary evidence of the Franks’ knowledge of this affair, Martin's letter to Amandus, was no different and described the Typos as a document of ‘total infidelity’ and the root cause of the Lateran synod.Footnote 33 Chalcedon, on the other hand, was not mentioned at all. If the Neustro-Burgundian bishops were gathered in support of the papacy, then one would surely expect an allusion to the Typos, for otherwise they would have been indistinguishable from the ‘heretics’ whom they were supposed to be condemning. Indeed, had the declaration made by the gathered bishops then been sent on to Rome, it is difficult to imagine anything but a hostile reception from the pope, for the statement offered by the Franks mirrored what the Lateran synod had so recently anathematised. Tellingly, Chalon-sur-Saône even compares poorly to other western interventions into imperial doctrinal disputes. The Lateran synod, for instance, was given a ringing endorsement at the Anglo-Saxon Council of Hatfield in 679, while the anathematisation of the Eutychian and Nestorian ‘heresies’ in 549 were at least allusions to the contemporary debate over the Three Chapters.Footnote 34

The often-cited first canon from Chalon-sur-Saône therefore leaves much to be desired for proponents of an anti-Monothelete Francia, particularly as the following canons dealt instead with issues of jurisdiction and clerical discipline.Footnote 35 Perhaps the council was held between 647 and 649, as Vacandard suggests, or it was convened later with full knowledge of the Lateran synod, but no explicit reference was made to the Monothelete controversy for now-lost reasons. Last but not least, some consideration ought to be given to the ‘heretical’, pro-Typos alternative: that the bishops gathered at Chalon-sur-Saône had implicitly recognised the theological position (or, perhaps more accurately, the lack of position) mandated by the emperor.

This ‘heretical’ interpretation has the added value of providing a plausible explanation for an otherwise puzzling part of Eligius’ Life – despite the bishop's desire to support the papacy, Eligius was curiously prevented from doing so.Footnote 36 If this council were adhering to the Typos instead of the Lateran synod, or was at least not explicitly anti-Monothelete in nature, then it is tempting to wonder whether Eligius’ colleagues had been more reluctant than the bishop of Noyon to commit to an anti-Monothelete agenda. Or, as Borias himself suggests, it is possible that Clovis ii (or Erchinoald, the mayor of the palace) did not wish Eligius to proceed further.Footnote 37 Such a reading of the council would also indicate that Eligius had succumbed to this pressure, for he subscribed to the canons issued at Chalon-sur-Saône, alongside Audoin, his friend and eventual hagiographer.Footnote 38 Given his own involvement at Chalon-sur-Saône and their circle's generally pro-papal sentiments, Audoin would therefore have had an excellent reason to obfuscate the cause for Eligius’ inaction, despite a papal request, in the celebration of his friend's sanctity.Footnote 39

If a neutral or ‘heretical’ stance towards the Typos was adopted at Chalon-sur-Saône, then it would also provide a plausible background for a papal confirmation of privileges granted to the monastery of Saint-Maurice d'Agaune in Clovis's kingdom. Although this document was augmented later in the Middle Ages, an authentic seventh-century core was deemed likely by Hans Hubert Anton.Footnote 40 It is then notable that this text was issued by Eugenius, Martin's successor after the anti-Monothelete pope was arrested, who pursued a rather different road regarding doctrine. As highlighted recently by Marek Jankowiak, there was a conspicuous absence of Roman clerics at the Lateran synod in 649 and signs of doubt even among Martin's own legates.Footnote 41 Together with Martin's dashed hope that no successor would be chosen while he still lived and his lament for the lack of supply sent from Rome to support him in his exile, one can surmise that not all of Rome supported the pope's anti-Monothelete policy and that the opposing faction was now on the rise.Footnote 42 Furthermore, the gap between Martin's arrest in June 653 and Eugenius’ consecration in August 654 should be interpreted as a return to the status quo of popes-elect seeking imperial approval (as opposed to the rebellious Martin, who did not). The fact that the emperor's consent was secured therefore suggests that Rome eventually met Constantinople's terms, or at least that the imperial court saw reconciliation as on the horizon, since an anti-Typos candidate could hardly have been tolerated so soon after Martin's arrest by imperial forces.Footnote 43

Events associated with the new pope's tenure confirm this interpretation. According to the Liber pontificalis, a crowd was incensed by the synodical letter of Patriarch Peter of Constantinople (654‒6) and would not let Eugenius finish celebrating mass until the pope promised never to accept the ‘heretical’ letter.Footnote 44 Eugenius’ personal response to Peter's letter is unknown, but there is perhaps a hint of reproach in the Liber pontificalis, as the narrative emphasised the role of the disruptive crowd – an ‘orthodox’ protagonist would have surely rejected such ‘heresy’ without prompting. This affair can be dated to late 654 or early 655, for the sending of a letter to other patriarchs was the norm upon the accession of a new candidate. It is then intriguing that from an account of Maximus the Confessor's trial in 655, we learn that papal apocrisiarii were on the cusp of sharing communion with the Constantinopolitan patriarch, but did not bring the required letter to Peter (presumably the customary reply to the patriarch's synodical letter), an awkward state of affairs that no doubt reflected Eugenius’ delicate domestic situation. The available evidence for Eugenius’ attitudes in 654/5 therefore suggests that he was, at the very least, seen as someone who was amenable to the Typos.

It is then significant that Eugenius is described by the Frankish text as an ‘electus’, thus dating the privilege to before the pope's consecration in August 654, and that it was supposedly granted after a request from Clovis.Footnote 45 As the Council of Chalon-sur-Saône did not explicitly condemn the Typos, it would certainly be rather fitting for an equally compromised pope-elect to issue this confirmation to a king whose bishops had similarly ignored Martin's pleas. Even if Monotheletism had been implicitly critiqued at Chalon-sur-Saône, the Neustro-Burgundian Franks were evidently still content to secure a monastic privilege from a far more Typos-friendly Rome mere years, or possibly months, afterwards.Footnote 46

Taking a broader perspective, it is remarkable how other suggested instances of western involvement with the papacy also remain ambiguous. In Austrasia Amandus resigned his see in about 650, despite a request by Martin not to do so, and there are no hints that any Austrasian council was convened to support Rome either.Footnote 47 Stefan Esders further argues that a letter written by Sigibert, which forbade his bishops from attending a council organised by their Neustrian metropolitan, can be directly linked to the king's indifference towards Monotheletism.Footnote 48 In Visigothic Spain, Bishop Eugenius ii of Toledo's treatise on the Trinity, also suggested as linked to the Christological furore within the empire, was meanwhile conveniently stopped by a storm, thus preventing his audience in North Africa and the ‘East’ from reading his intervention.Footnote 49 Finally, we can return to the Frankish response to the sixth-century controversy over the Three Chapters, which resulted in two attested Frankish delegations travelling to Constantinople and a vitriolic letter from Bishop Nicetius of Trier addressed to Justinian himself.Footnote 50 Yet in the seventh century, not even allusions to similar responses can be detected. Despite Monotheletism's reputation as a failed ‘heresy’, the campaign to vanquish it therefore does not appear to have gathered any tangible momentum outside the empire, even after Martin had sent letters westwards in 649.

Monotheletes abroad

With this more ambiguous picture in mind, another curious episode from the Life of Eligius may be considered. Immediately after the Life’s digression on Monotheletism, the narrative moves to the arrival of a foreign ‘heretic’ in Autun from ‘across the sea’, who was then naturally defeated by a bishop named Falvius and a council at Orléans instigated by Eligius and Audoin before the two friends became bishops in 641.Footnote 51 Doubts concerning the historicity of this anecdote can be allayed somewhat by another reference in a ninth-century Life of Sigiramn to a Bishop Falvius, who allegedly inspired the seventh-century Sigiramn to journey to Rome, which suggests that Falvius was a historical figure, active at this time, who had indeed admired Rome.Footnote 52 In any case, given this story's position in the earlier Life of Eligius, it remains tempting to argue that this ‘heretic’ was someone preaching Monotheletism, particularly given Bayer's persuasive argument that this chapter is thematically linked to the preceding pro-Martin section.Footnote 53 More, however, can be made of the Council of Orléans, generally dated to about 639‒41.Footnote 54

This incident, for instance, can be interpreted as evidence that the shockwaves resulting from the Monothelete controversy had already reached Gaul before the Lateran synod. It may also, more intriguingly, bolster the ‘heretical’ argument, outlined above, that Chalon-sur-Saône was a pro-Typos council, for the existence of this foreign preacher could imply that Monotheletes were already seeking the support of non-imperials a decade before 649. Monotheletism and its predecessor Monenergism had, after all, been an ongoing issue since 628 and it would surely be a more unlikely scenario that no news from the empire had spread to Frankish shores in the meantime. The imperial Church had actively developed links with East Syrian Christians in Sasanian Persia during this controversy and the Constantinopolitan Council in Trullo in 692 had even produced a specific canon aimed at the western ‘barbarians’.Footnote 55 With Monenergism and Monotheletism having, at various points, been accepted by Chalcedonian and non-Chalcedonian church leaders in Egypt, the Levant and even Persia, why would Constantinople not also turn its eyes to Chalcedonians in the post-Roman West?Footnote 56

Indeed, concurrently with these doctrinal negotiations, Heraclius had urged Dagobert i to forcibly convert Jews in his (temporarily united) Frankish kingdom, an order that the Merovingian king did indeed carry out.Footnote 57 Pope Honorius, the very man who first coined the Monothelete formula, had also written to the Visigoths in 638 out of concern for their allegedly lax attitudes towards Jews.Footnote 58 As finding a resolution to the renewed Christological debate of the 630s was the other item on the imperial Church's agenda, it stands to reason that a similar attempt at western outreach would not have been out of character. Unfortunately, little is known about Frankish-Roman contacts following the alliance forged between Heraclius and Dagobert. Aside from the vague report of ‘Roman, Italian, or Gothic legates’ who allegedly met Eligius from his time at court (i.e. before 641) and a newly-detected influx of imperial gold into Gaul some time before 640, there is no evidence for any official contact between the empire and the Franks in the decade before 649.Footnote 59

Yet Eligius and Audoin's alleged campaign against a ‘heretic’ finds a remarkable parallel in Martin's letter to Amandus. The pope had noted that the bishop of Maastricht was already aware of the imperial controversy, for the Frank knew of Patriarch Sergius of Constantinople's ‘heretical’ actions fifteen years earlier – a reference surely to Sergius’ doctrinal manoeuvrings around 633.Footnote 60 Amandus may have acquired this knowledge in Rome, but it is also possible that information from the empire had filtered into Gaul independently of Amandus’ pilgrimages.Footnote 61 Given that the papacy did not turn against Monotheletism until 640/1, it is plausible that news of the patriarch's ‘heresy’ only reached Amandus after this point; when Amandus was in Rome in the 630s, the papacy had instead been rather more accommodating towards Sergius’ project.Footnote 62 At the very least, Martin's allusion to Amandus’ knowledge does give credence to the view that some Franks had already heard news of the controversy, and that Martin had taken this background knowledge into account when gathering support in 649. There is then a plausible explanation for Amandus and Eligius being drawn into the aftermath of the Lateran synod: both had already proved their dedication to Rome and appear to have had some knowledge of the doctrinal issues involved.

Another possible report of imperial forces seeking foreign support for Constantinopolitan ‘orthodoxy’ survives in the Liber pontificalis. According to the biography of Pope Martin, a new exarch, Olympius, was sent by Constans ii in 649 to ensure Rome's adherence to the Typos, with a mandate to enforce subscription to this document by bishops, church officials and ‘peregros [peregrinos]’.Footnote 63 The latter ‘foreigners’ have been interpreted by Jankowiak and Booth to mean the eastern Chalcedonian monks then living in Rome, an entirely sensible position due to their prominent role in opposing the Typos.Footnote 64 Given the word's usage in the West to refer to pilgrims, however, one wonders if it was used here too as a reference to non-imperial visitors to Rome, whom Constans had wanted Olympius to coerce as well. This possibility becomes all the more important since this report of the exarch's orders is probably a Latin translation, more or less, of the Greek original, as both Duchesne and Jankowiak suggest based on the peculiar use of language.Footnote 65 There is still a need for caution, particularly as it is not possible to ascertain who these ‘foreigners’ actually were, nor to determine the extent of interpolation by the anonymous authors of the Liber pontificalis, but given the ambiguous Merovingian reception of Martin's words, this possibility cannot be dismissed out of hand.Footnote 66

There is otherwise no explicit hint in the sources that Monotheletes (or the pro-Typos faction) ever extended their reach abroad, but it would be misleading to take this at face value. Even though the surviving Monothelete corpus is minuscule and only survives in Syriac or as quotations in anti-Monothelete documents, the same cannot have been the case in the mid-seventh century, before the condemnation and destruction of ‘heretical’ literature.Footnote 67 The silence in the surviving sources cannot be interpreted as representative of contemporary views, but instead should be approached as a narrow snapshot, one that is largely anti-Monothelete in opinion. The fact that there are (admittedly ambiguous) clues to a more complex reality in the Life of Eligius and the Liber pontificalis, two very different sources, is therefore an important signal that an alternative interpretation should still be considered.

Imperial restoration

Constans's order to Olympius is also a reminder that the doctrinal dispute surveyed here was a very political one. Not only was ‘orthodoxy’ a cornerstone of imperial legitimacy, but the anti-Monotheletes had likewise conceived their project as one aimed at restoring the empire's fortunes, for the military defeats plaguing the Romans were evidently the result of divine displeasure.Footnote 68 The same follows for the Merovingian reception of Monotheletism, as the attitudes of Frankish bishops need to be analysed alongside the larger history of diplomacy between Gaul and Constantinople. In this final section, this article will briefly consider two additional factors that further bolster the case for a mixed Frankish response towards this supposed ‘heresy’.

Despite attempting to fulfil his orders, Olympius quickly became reconciled with the pope and, if the polemical account of Martin's trial is to be believed, declared himself emperor.Footnote 69 There remains a debate on this report's veracity and the goals of the rebellion but, as Booth astutely notes, this revolt would have been seen by the imperial court as the action of a usurper, regardless of the exarch's precise aims.Footnote 70 This was then the backdrop for Martin's missives to Amandus and Eligius. He was no doubt quite confident that papal partisans would join his anti-Monothelete campaign, but it surely would have been much more difficult to persuade others to commit to a papacy linked to a revolt against the reigning emperor. Given the role of Frankish kings and their mayors of the palace in convening councils, the challenge of making an explicitly anti-Monothelete statement must have been greater still, for secular authorities had to be convinced of Martin and Olympius’ righteousness as well.Footnote 71 The death of Olympius at some point in 651/2 after a failed attack on Sicily degraded further the legitimacy and military capability of the anti-Monothelete regime, and this decline is amply visible in June 653, when a new exarch arrived in Rome and seized Martin.Footnote 72 While the future prospects of the anti-Monotheletes may have looked promising in 649, within a year or two the situation had changed radically. Not only was the Olympius-papal regime opposed to the legitimate emperor, it was a failing one.

The decline of the rebellion's fortunes was matched by the revival of Constans's, as 650–3 was a time when the emperor stabilised the ship of state. As a result of imperial weakness in the face of the Arab caliphate, a truce was negotiated, probably in late 650, one that lasted until the summer of 653.Footnote 73 This gave the empire vital breathing space, as seen in Constans's actions in these years: a purge of disloyal generals in Constantinople (c. 651), the reassertion of authority in the Caucasus (653) and the dispatch of an experienced ex-exarch to restore the status quo in Italy (653).Footnote 74 This period thus marks the beginning of an imperial resurgence under Constans, when attention could be safely directed westwards.Footnote 75

The empire's recovery would not, of course, have had an impact on the Franks’ decision-making if they did not know about it. While there are no explicit sources for imperial diplomacy towards the West in the early 650s, there is evidence that the Monothelete controversy did not affect the overall relationship between the Franks and the empire in the following years. Most important, although the Chronicle attributed to Fredegar ended in about 642, the anonymous author, writing in Burgundy in around 660, knew rather more. Having first described the empire's disastrous state at the beginning of Constans's reign as well as the tribute paid to the Arabs, the chronicler then went on to say that Constans gradually restored his power and so refused to pay tribute, which is precisely the same recovery noted here.Footnote 76 Moreover, although the anonymous author criticised Heraclius’ ‘heresy’, Constans's religious policy, both much more recent and persecutory, was entirely ignored.Footnote 77

This positive view of the empire is not only representative of how one Frankish chronicler perceived Constans, but it has also been understood in recent analyses to be signs of further contact between Neustria-Burgundy and Constantinople.Footnote 78 More obliquely, two undated journeys into Gaul undertaken by the abbot Hadrian before 668, which have been interpreted on occasion as imperial embassies on Constans's behalf, may also be considered.Footnote 79 These missions, whether those alluded to by Fredegar or by Bede, may even have had tangible military consequences, for Paul the Deacon noted that a Frankish army attacked northern Italy in 660–3 in a campaign that aligned well with imperial interests and so was perhaps the result of a renewed Roman-Frankish alliance.Footnote 80

Even if the situation in the early 650s remains unknowable, there are some indications that by the late 650s there was a rapprochement (if the relationship had frayed at all) between the empire and at least the Neustro-Burgundian Franks. This is key for understanding the western impact of the Monothelete controversy, for by 658 the Constantinopolitan Church had returned to professing an altered Monothelete Christology, one mockingly termed ‘tritheletism’ by its opponents.Footnote 81 Yet this period is precisely when signs of possible diplomatic contact between Gaul and the empire can be detected. For some Franks then, a ‘heretical’ empire was a reality that they could accept.

As Robin Whelan recently argued for the Vandal kingdom in North Africa, being a Nicene Christian in a Homoian kingdom ‘was not a problem unless it was made into one’.Footnote 82 The same approach is applicable to the Chalcedonian Merovingians and their engagement with the empire, for while doctrinal issues were important, domestic and international politics had their places too. Many Frankish bishops no doubt sympathised with Martin's project, but Christology cannot have been the Franks’ only concern when dealing with the premier Christian power in the Mediterranean. This is all the more to be expected in the late 650s, since Rome too had accepted the ambiguous stance mandated by the Typos in 657.Footnote 83 Indeed, Jankowiak has even raised the extraordinary possibility – based on a quotation from the Constantinopolitan patriarch's letter to Rome – that the new pope, Vitalian, had perhaps concurred with the ‘trithelete’ doctrine.Footnote 84 In either case, Christological strife no longer divided the Chalcedonian patriarchs and it would surely have been more unusual for the Frankish Church to remain obstinate in their opposition, even if they had ever adopted such an anti-imperial stance in the first place. Again, the Three Chapters controversy provides a helpful comparison. Despite the concern displayed by Childebert i and Nicetius of Trier for imperial and papal ‘orthodoxy’, and the simple fact that the condemnation of the Three Chapters remained the imperial position throughout this period, both men remained open to diplomatic overtures from the empire.Footnote 85

Combined with the argument earlier for a nebulous Neustro-Burgundian response to Monotheletism, first the unclear canon of Chalon-sur-Saône and then Clovis ii’s successful request for a confirmation of monastic privileges from Eugenius, there certainly does appear to have been a persistent institutional ambivalence among the Franks about decrying Constantinopolitan ‘heresy’. If we also keep in mind clues from the Life of Eligius and the Liber pontificalis that Monotheletism and the Typos had a potential audience beyond the empire, then together we can construct a very different picture of the western reception of this controversy. Though often deemed to be a hopeless ‘heresy’, the ambiguous attitude shown by the Merovingians towards Monotheletism (and indeed their possible acceptance of the imperial Typos) is rather evidence that there were still constructive exchanges between the empire and Gaul, both in spite of and because of Monotheletism.

It remains impossible to determine in detail how the Merovingians responded to the Monothelete controversy, but this synthesis is a first step towards a more inclusive narrative of the debate among Chalcedonians both within the empire and without. By questioning the assumption that Monotheletism must have had a negative reception, this article highlights the ambiguities in the available Frankish evidence and situates the attitudes found in the sources within their precise eastern context. Around 650, when the Franks received Martin's letters, the empire no longer enforced Monotheletism and sought instead to end the dispute by ignoring Christology altogether. The palpable silence in Latin texts therefore aligned perfectly with imperial interests, if the sources are approached in the same way as contemporaries would have done. Since Monotheletism and the Typos had found supporters in Chalcedonian Italy and North Africa, there is no reason why the same could not also have been the case among the Franks, particularly since seventh-century observers would not have known of Monotheletism's eventual repudiation.

The Frankish response to the controversy can then be made much more nuanced. While Amandus and Eligius were probably sympathetic to Martin's project, their campaigns would have relied on persuading other sections of the Merovingian aristocracy to break openly with the empire. Martin's attempt to rally western anti-Monotheletism had also occurred at an inopportune moment. The empire was on the cusp of restoring its fortunes under Constans, while Martin's own association with a usurper cannot have helped the papal cause. In this light, a neat division between the imperial East and the post-Roman West is surely a problematic framing of this debate. Instead, doctrinal loyalties should be seen as contingent and rather flexible through the different phases of this (occasionally tortuous) dispute. The Franks, in this interpretation, do not emerge as firm supporters of the papacy, nor imperial foreign policy as an increasingly insular one. The final late-antique debate over Christology was no less multifaceted than its predecessors and Christians beyond the empire were still drawn into the story, even kings and bishops from the Merovingian kingdoms.

Footnotes

I would like to thank Paul Fouracre, Chris Wickham and Laury Sarti for their helpful comments, as well as Katy Cubitt for sending me her work prior to publication.

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