The Donatist controversy is among the most serious and remarkable schisms in the history of Christianity. It concerned a single issue, not as much of a doctrinal point, but rather, more organizational than anything else. It resulted in two parallel Churches in northern Africa, a situation which endured for centuries.
In the first years of the 4th century CE, Emperor Diocletian and his co-rulers ordered persecutions of various groups they blamed for a wave of plagues and pestilences which had swept the western Empire and caused economic and social instability. The chief target-groups were (initially) Manichaeans, and later, Christians.
Diocletian’s persecutions were not carried out evenly through the Empire. In some provinces, Roman rulers and forces didn’t have the power or resources to carry them out. In others, particularly the large eastern cities, there were so many Christians that the authorities could not carry them out, aside perhaps from setting a few “examples.”
Often, Roman authorities settled on a kind of shortcut: They asked reported Christians to hand over, to be burned, any Christian writings they possessed. Because of this, Christians who had no such writings were generally spared. Those who did, however, had a choice to make: To let their sacred texts be burned, or refuse and risk punishment (which could mean imprisonment, exile, or execution).
This affected Christian clergy far more than the rest of the Church, since they were most likely to be literate and have such texts. Some preferred to save their own hides, and handed over either some or all of their Christian documents. These were known as traditores or “lapsed” Christians. Others, however, refused. They were typically imprisoned, and a significant number were martyred.
Northern Africa was home to the confluence of three factors: first, a strong Roman administrative and governing presence capable of carrying out Diocletian’s orders; second, a significant number of Manichaeans who’d initially been persecuted; and third, a significant number of Christians who became later targets. Such a combination of factors didn’t exist in most of the Empire; hence, the controversy to come was nearly (yet not totally) unique to northern Africa.
As noted, it was the clergy who were most affected by Diocletian’s campaign of suppression. Their numbers were decimated — because they fled, or were imprisoned or executed — and this affected the overall health of the Church, especially in northern Africa. Even faithful clergy who’d been imprisoned or exiled weren’t always in a position to resume their posts (in some cases, exiles were unable to return).
After the persecutions of Diocletian ended with his resignation, Christianity began to poke its head above ground once again. Churches were restored, where possible; clergy performed services again; and so on. Christians were, however, still cautious, afraid of invoking another persecution. Clergy were particularly cautious, due to their own vulnerability. When Diocletian’s successors Constantine and Licinius declared tolerance for Christianity in 313 CE, most of that fear went away.
In the interim, following Diocletian’s persecution, the Church in northern Africa had to settle for whichever clergy had survived and were willing to “return to the fold.” Some had never been caught by the Roman authorities, but others had renounced Christianity in order to stay alive. At first no one had much choice in the matter; too few clergy were available to take up the mantle. But as it became ever safer to be Christian, the problem came to a head. Many who recalled the martyrs found it upsetting that some of their new ore returned clergy had “made nice” with the enemy and had taken the cowardly route.
Many of these same North African Christians did not want to allow lapsed clergy (i.e. those who’d renounced their faith) to return. They considered it offensive to the memories of those who’d had the courage to become martyrs by not doing so. They might return to the Church as laymen — after an appropriate penance — but not as clergy ever again. Even prior to the Edict of Milan, this sentiment had been building; the open acceptance by Rome of Christianity merely caused the dam to break.
A cleric named Caecilian was elected Bishop of Carthage in 311, who’d been accused of being in the “Roman collaborator” camp. This incensed many, and they refused to accept his appointment. They based this on legalistic grounds: Reportedly, he’d been ordained by a bishop (Felix of Aptunga) who’d evaded the Roman persecution (possibly because of his amicable relations with local Roman officials in his city). Felix may or may not have been a true traditor, but many assumed he was — and that was enough for them. These “purists” elected, instead, a bishop of their own, Majorinus, one who denounced the “Roman collaborators” and refused to restore lapsed clergy.
When Majorinus died in 312, the purists elected Donatus, also known as Donatus Magnus. By the time the Edict of Milan was issued, Donatus was primate of northern Africa (outside of Egypt). Due to his long tenure as the purist Bishop of Carthage (from 312 to 355 despite an exile that began in 347), Donatus ended up being the primary spokesman, and namesake, for the movement. It bore his name, even though he did not kick it off (his predecessor Majorinus had done that).
Donatus and his faction declared the lapsed clergy ineligible to perform the sacraments, and any which they may have performed were invalid. Moreover, any sacraments they’d performed, even prior to becoming traditores, were invalidated. The opposing party declared, again, that lapsed clergy could be restored to full authority — including the performance of sacraments — after having done appropriate penance. They based this idea on the concept of forgiveness for all.
A synod of Italian, Gallic, and north African bishops was held at Arles (in what is now southern France) in 314, which considered the matter. Donatus and his party were denounced as heretics. This council decided that, while traditores could lose their offices, their actions prior to caving to the Romans remained valid. This was sort of a compromise position. As one might expect, it didn’t last, in the face of the passion held by both sides of the debate.
Each side in the conflict denounced the other in the harshest terms. The two bishops coexisted, with each being succeeded by another bishop of the same faction. Over time, each side built its own churches, some next door to each other (which only made the situation even more heated). Across northern Africa, there were essentially two overlapping churches; one Donatist, the other traditionalist.
At the start of this rift, both churches were more or less doctrinally identical; their prime difference was the matter of lapsed clergy. A few decades into the controversy, though, some liturgical and ritual differences emerged. For example, the Donatists’ services became charismatic in nature (not dissimilar to those of the Montanists, although the elevation of women as “prophets” was not a hallmark of Donatism). Also, the sacrament of confession became an individual one, private between priest and penitent, among the Catholics, but among Donatists, it was a public rite, in which the penitent confessed his/her sins before the entire congregation.
This schism endured long after the point was moot (after all, once the generation after the Edict of Milan had died out, the problem of what to do with lapsed clergy ceased to exist). With the passage of time, each side in the dispute became increasingly intransigent. Attempts to reconcile them, by a number of Popes as well as respected figures such as St Augustine, all failed. The compromise envisioned by the Council of Arles was relegated to the dustbin of Christian history.
Much of this time, the Donatists outnumbered the traditionalists (i.e. Catholic or Orthodox Christians). They acquired a reputation, possibly deserved but perhaps not, for having strange and wild liturgical services. Based on what’s been reported about them, they'd have felt at home during a typical American Pentecostal service.
The Donatists survived the Vandal invasion which began in 429 CE, and even the reconquest of the eastern Emperor Justinian beginning in 533. The Byzantine Church had condemned Donatists long before then, and harassed them when they were able to do so. Donatists’ fortunes dwindled after the reconquest, but they retained a presence in northern Africa despite the Byzatines’ efforts.
While the Donatist controversy raged through north-central Africa and led to a massive rift leaving two separate churches side-by-side, it was not the only place where this sort of purity-testing existed. Prior to the emergence of this schism in northern Africa, an earlier rift had opened within the See of Rome, triggered by the teachings of the priest Novatian. This was a precursor to the Donatist controversy, and led to a decades-long line of Novatianist antipopes to counter the bishops of Rome, aka popes. Ironically the Novatianist rift had petered out by the time the Edict of Milan was propounded. I’ve dedicated a page to this particular schism.
Other Donatist-like schisms emerged as localized phenomena in a small number of other regions. The most notable of those movements — because it was explicitly addressed by the Council of Nicaea in 327 — were the Melitians of Egypt. Their regional schism was named for one Bishop Melitius in Upper Egypt.
This particular schism predated the Edict of Milan (as had the Donatist schism, what with Caecilian’s election as bishop of Carthage in 311) by a few years. Even while the Roman persecution was still underway under Emperor Diocletian, Melitius had advocated for Christians to openly practice their faith, following a form of “passive resistance” of the Roman regime, and wiloingly embrace imprisonment or martyrdom, should it come. He and Peter, Patriarch of Alexandria, had both been imprisoned during Diocletian’s persecution. When that ended and both returned to their offices, Patriarch Peter allowed lapsed clergy to return after doing penance, but Melitius was offended by that and campaigned against him, including ordaining a number of additional clergy who held to his purist view.
As with Donatism, the result was two parallel lines of bishops and other clergy, some Melitian (a faction that Melitius himself called “the Church of the Martyrs”) and others traditionalist, belonging to the Patriarch’s faction. Over the following years, this schism reached the attention of the rest of eastern Christendom. This smaller-scale schism was addressed by the Council of Nicaea. During the Council, an accord was reached, allowing Melitians to return to orthodoxy, after a fashion.
A number of years later, though, this fell apart. Athanasius became Patriarch of Alexandria not long after the Council, and in the 330s he was deposed by a synod in Tyre, based on a number of accusations. This had been undertaken by the Church’s Arian faction, which survived the Council and later went after the man who’d been their chief accuser during the Council’s debates. For reasons that aren’t clear, Athanasius accused the Melitians of having assisted the Arians. This caused the Melitians and Arians to be viewed, together, as a single “heretical” faction, and Melitians were believed to have signed on with the Arians’ Christology.
Notably, there’s no evidence the Melitians actually held to any Arian doctrines, or partipated in the Arians’ takedown of Athanasius. But because Athanasius was so vocal about it, the schism resumed. Over time the Melitian faction (by now, viewed as a full-blown “heresy”) dwindled, but it lingered at least into the 8th century.
The Donatist controversy was never actually resolved. It remained a divisive point right up until the Muslim conquest of northern Africa in the 7th century when Christianity in the region was wiped out.
Of course, other (unaffected) parts of Christendom weighed in on the matter and came down generally against the Donatists. Forgiveness had to be extended to everyone. Penance was required, and there was no guarantee that any penance would be easy.
The Catholic/Orthodox underlying philosophy that any lapsed cleric can be returned to their sacred offices, no matter what they’ve done, has carried forward into contemporary times. It’s a principle that can’t be altered, because to do so could amount to an admission that the Donatists (and early Melitians) had been correct.
However, it’s had some unsavory ramifications, particularly in the case of the worldwide Catholic “priestly pedophilia” scandal. As a matter of policy — based on this philosophy — the Roman Catholic Church has generally not been willing to defrock (or in their own terminology, laicize) abusive priests. Again, the fear is that, if a priest can be defrocked for having abused a child, that could set a precedent implying that Majorinus, Donatus, Melitius, etc. may have had a valid point.
And the Church can’t go along with that, because since the early 4th century, it’s taught that the Donatists were wrong. In many ways, we’re left with a dysfunctional 21st century Roman Catholic Church because of decisions made 17 centuries ago.
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