The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries

THE IMPLICATIONS OF LITERACY Wrillm LmgM/fgt an'MoJels of rnttrprttation in the Elwmlh ami Twelfth Cm/u,.ifS BlANK PA...

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THE IMPLICATIONS OF LITERACY

Wrillm LmgM/fgt an'MoJels of rnttrprttation in the Elwmlh ami Twelfth Cm/u,.ifS

BlANK PAGE

THE IMPLICATIONS

OF LITERACY

Wrium lAnguage tlnd Motkls 0/ inWjntllllion in the Elwmlh IInd Twtlfth CmluritJ

BRIA N STOCK

pa l NCETON UNIVERSITY ,"RUS

PII.INCETON, NEW JER SEY

CO PU. IG HT C

,,8, n

PRIHC!TOt< UtllVUSITY Puss

Publiobed by PrinC(1on UniYffsity Ptaa, 4' WilIlam So:fttt, Prinotton, New Jersey oIHO In the United Kingdom: Pri_pn Unl"" .. il1 Ptaa, Chicbco.ot, WO$< S........

A/J Rip,n &urwJ Library of o,nsrao Cawogins in Publication OaP will be round on the la.
This book has been compo!(d in U"""ron GlraDlOnd No. 1 Prinwon Uni-mlity Ptaa boob ~ primed on acid-frto! paper and meet the guiddi .... for pc:r ........ noo and durabiJiIy of the Committee on Pfoduaion Guiddines fot IIooI< Longevity of lb. Council on Uhral)' Rt:oou",..

Printed in the United Su.... of Arn~rica

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FOR My MOTHF-R

BLANK PAGE

PREFACE

TM pmb(mu n.ised by a study which attempts 10 cross the boundaries of several disciplines are never easy to solve. The strategy employed in the present volume is relatively straightforward. Throughout, In ..ffof[ hu been made to provide IlCC\l1'lICt working summaries of important hisforict.l, philosophicill, or theological tnts before an analysis is undertaken in relation 10 the book's tenulIl theme. This procedure has been adopted for a number of Tea$OIl$. It could not be assumed that even among medievalisu those who were knowledgeable in O~ field under investigation were widely read in others. n.c, inKcrssibility of ceruin works under discussion wa" another Dnor: the chronicles of the early Patari. arc not available in Ullll$btion, and the tCNtUn on the euchuist p~nt unusual problems of inretpteH.tion. As an alternative, ql1Olations could have been made in the originals, and, wherever warranted, this hll$ bc.-en done. However, a mass of evidence cited only in

Latin would have rendered the book incomprehensible to critical theorises, to social,Kiendsu, and ro non-medievalins in cultural history, on whose behalf in part it has been wriuen. As far as I am aw~, the: (eot..l argument of the: book is my own, and I alone &In responsible for the study's theoretical or practical limitations. Yet I ~ • large debt to a number of generous coJleag\1e$. Among rhose who read earlier drafts of various chapten, I especially thankJ, N. HiIlguth, B. W. Meuilees, Waiter H. Princi~, A. G. JUgs, and Professor Raoul Mil\seUi. CaroHne W. Bynum and John T. Gilchri,r read the entire manuscript in an earlier version and made many helpful susgestioru. Franz H. Bauml, Edward Pmn, and Heather Phillips kindly rtad rhe oompktcd dnaft, while Maruja Jackman brought to the di,$ClUSion the sorts of questions whi(h a medievalist might not normally have: asked. To Others [ owe more general debts: to ~rhart Ladncr, for his pioneering nudies of rhe idea of reform; to G«H-gn Duby, for his contributions to e1eventh-<entury _Witl; and 10 (inzio Violante, whose analysis of the tarly Patarene movement laid the foundation for all subsequent inquiry. Two good friends, John O'Neill .nd Natalie

PREPACE

Davis, hne for many years offered me tbe benefits of their insightS into cridal theory and anthropologial history respectively. Giles Constable and Roben L. BeIW)D made it po55ible for me to atteod and to comment on tbe important reassessments submitted to the colloquium on "the renaissance of tbe twelfth century," while MiltOD Yinger made a place for my views on chureh, sect, and group organization within the interdisciplinary panel of the meeting of the Amerirnl Sociologiclli Association in 1977. An invitation (rom Jacques Le Golf provided me with tbe occasion of lecturing on the book's subject at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes en ScielKes Socillies, Paris, during the spring of 1981. there is no adequate way I can thank my collNgue and friend fur the interest be has n:pressecI in pf'Oblerm of mutual concern since my own student sojourn in the former VIe Section. I IihouJd never have emb.rkod on a study of such compln:iry had I not bttn sustained by the unusual research environment ofcM Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval. Studies. 1 have received much elKOUfa8ement over the yearI (tom J. Ambrose Raftis and Michael M. Sheehan; and I owe a special debt to Leonard Boyle, who graciously read cM entire manuscript and gave me the benefit of his leamecl advice on paleography, diplomatia, and wider historical conCem5. I should also like to thank the librarian, Rev. D. A. Finiay, C.S.B., for granting many special requestS. Finally, I ,bouM like to npres.s my awedadon to R. Miriam Brokaw and the editors of the Prioceton Univeniry Prm fur the care they have taken in the production of this book. 1 am grareful to rhe former Canada Council fur a Senior Killam Fellowship during 1973-1974 and to the Social Sciences aDd. Humanities ~Kh Council of Canada for subsequent gDnts, without which the study could not have been completed. B.S.

viii

CONTENTS PreIKe

'",

Introduction

,

,

O R A L AND WRITTEN

",

<- Two Traditions

,.

,.

"<-

latin and ROll1llnce

'9

The Emergence of W ritten Culture

'0

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Writtm Traditio" ar.lily with;" Writtm r,..,di,ioll C,,1t1/l'W1 l.plicat;tr1/! T« PmpKtiJII

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TEXTUAL COIIIHUNITIES

"88

Literacy and Early Hemy

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Literacy and Rerorm: The Patarill br~iM

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Il l. T H E EUC HARIST AND NATURE

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Guibert and "Popular" Culture

'44

lmerprering the ElKhuist

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s.r.lpI{T..m &ri, Crilirinl H.,h I{ L.nrp'" D-u I{ T.... /'II L.tI-frwM G.ir.unul of A"""", 3. Nlture as Text IV . LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY

I . ANoelm of Canterbury

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TO. 'I'M, 11% iwily, _ RtfM.,. III oM I_Kt" GJI Ww V . R ITUALS, STJU OLS, AND hnelPIBTATIONS

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Bibliography

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THE IMPLICATIONS OF LITERACY

WrifJm u,ngJla~ and MlKills of /nltr/l"lalioll ill lhe Eltvmlh and Twtlfth Ctnlllrits

BLANK PAGE

INTRODUCTION

This W is a study of the rebirth of literacy and

0(

ilS effectS upon

the cultural life of the eleventh and twelfth centuries, Literacy itscl£ is the subj«t of Chapter One. The other rour ChilPten treat heresy and reform, the eucharistk conrrowrsy. lan,guage and theological reality, &nd ideas and society. No attempt is made to oversimplify the inrun&1 development of these historical problems for the sake of setting up .. unitary perspective. Yet the choice of topics as well as tbe manner of presentation are intended to lay the foundation for 11. bl'Olldet thesis linking literacy". rise to the emergence of similar modes of thought in different branches of che pcrioo's cu.ltural lik . These, I .rgue, may be described as literacy's implicatiOn!. The book's principal theomica1 tenets may be stated briefly as follows. Before the year looo----t.n admittedly arbitrary point in timrthere existed both onl! and written traditions in medieval culture, But throughout the eleventh and twelfth centuries an important transformation began to rake place. The written did nQC simply supersede the oral, although (hilt happened in large measure: a new type of interdependence abo Ill"(l$e between the twO. In other word!, oral di$COUf!e effe<:tively began to function within a universe of communicatiOI15 governed: by texts. On many occasioru actual tats were nQC present, but people often thought or behaved. :Ill if They were. Text! thereby emerged :Ill a reference ,yttem both.for everyday attivities and for giving shape to many larger vehicles of explanation. The effects on higher culrure were particularly noticeable. As methods of interpreration were incre:uingiy lubjected to systematic scrutiny, the models employed to give meaning to orherwise unrelated disciplines mo.re and more duste.red around the concept of writren langU2ge. Sranding, therefore, behind much of the ren&issaoce of inrell«"tual life is a set of as.sumptioo5 about IanaUR8e, texts, and mJ.ity. The rapprochement between the oral and the written consequently began to play a decilive role in the Of"ganization of experience. The .result! can be :seen in sets of dichotomies based upon linguistic con,ideratiollS which lie beneath the sumu of a numbet of the period·s 3

INTJ.ODUCTION

key cultwal issues. Onc of these was the reluiOfl of human action to the fomul wriuen models by which, it was thought, random events could be set in onkr. A diuinetion likewise arose between the content of what was perceived and the status in reality assigned ttI it by the process of sifting, cbssifying, and enroding. At a more abstract level, philoeopbm revived the oppcGition be~n what 'NU 'n.lly taking place when events were d Iilze! in worcb and what was UiCldy dnn,ght or said to be taking place. A barrier was also introduced be~n traditional accounts of how the universe worked and scientilic consttuCU, which were nonnally the bypnxluct of .. logically articulatt"d cosmic design. Sets of nUcs, that is, code! geoentt"d from written discount, were employed not ooly w pnxIu<:e new behavioural pat_ terns but w restructure existing 0110. l.i.tetaey thereby intenected the progress of rtfinm. At an iodiyiduaJ level, a change was brought .oo....t in the IJle&n$ by which one established personal. identity, both with respect ttI the inner self and w external forces. And tbe: writing down of t"\"Cnts, the editing so ro speO. of expetience, gave rise ttI IlDpnadented parallds between literature and life: for, as tats informed nperience, so men and women began w live tats. In sum, what evmtually came about was the simultaneOUS exisrence of different prorincn of met.ning blsed upon logical and linguistic consideratioos, tKh Myiog its own IlSS\.IlDptions about how knowledge ..... oommuniated. Mon:o~r, it was in the fundamcntt.l. process of categorization, rather than in the content of knowledge alone, that the Middle Agea broke innocably with the interpm:ive patterns of Iarer antiquity and m01'ed towards those of early modem Europe. 1bere bad of COI,lDC ~ widespread literacy in the classical WOI"Id and occasional revivals of !atinity in tbe period before the millennium, the DKlIt impressiTt: being ISSOCiatt"d with the CaroJingian reforll1l of speakiog and writing the ancient tOlJ8Ue. Although styles of script and methods of book procilKtion were in constant n-olution, t~ eleventh century·s rN.joI: ilUlOntioru did not take place in the techniques of r ding and wricing. The novelty arose frorn tbe tan8e, depth, and permanence of lireracy's irdiuence, which, over the course of time, was gradually brought to bear on a br.::.det field of activicy than eyer befoft, alKi from che altett"d status of oral discoune in relation to 151 or putacive cens. In fact, one of the demonstrable signs of. changed enyimlllQl'Pt .... the IIlIlbiva.lence with which many texcuaJ models were greett"d by the medievals themselves. The study of the cultwal context of cbe $poken word is of course DOt Dl'W. ID fact, it is widely recognized by historians, students of n

•

INTRODUCTION Iitera.tu~,

and social scientists th~t the appeaflluce of lite~y in il $OCiety formerly dependent on oral communication can contribute to the way in which individuals perceive issues, frame them in language, and evolve systems of interpretariQl\. But the procel$ by which this ukes place is as yet poorly understood, both within earlier phases of western civiliution and in contemporary communities which until recently had only a slight acquaintance with the written word. At first, historians focused. on proving the existence of literacy during the Middle Ages, on establilhing its alleg~ connections with economic development, and on abulating as best they could the nwnbers of readers and writers. However, it has become clear that, in a society, wbet~r past or p=t, in which the I'CK"lrcher·s assumpl:ions about the centralicy of the written word in culture an: not shared, mere statistics (an be mideading, especially if taken QUt of their social concut. During t~ medieval period the implanting of a society that acknowledged literate criteria in a wide variety of circutnlltances requited more than a simple inctH$c.' in the U$e of scrib&! techniques. A different style of reflection also had to question long-esrablished habits of thought, which, if not actually produced by Ota! tradition, were nonetheless maintained in the system of human interchange by means of the spoken word. The .ttempt to impose such a broad, if flexible, framework of analysis on a number of sepatate medieval cultural ilCtivities has some obvious Iimirations. Since tile early nineteenth century, when the study of the Middle Ages first entoifflf the secular universiry curriculum, the field has been confound~ from time ro time by large hypotheses, which only accounted fOf one aspect of development by neglecting othets. One has only to recall the various stage theories, the reduction of culture to an epiphenomenon of material change, or the still popul.r notion of periodic renaKences. The present volume offen no pa[lillriva £or those in search of ~t$implified pictureS of hisrotical growth, still less for those seeking to i!lusttat~ contemporary theories in the soc ial sciences through the anecdotal use of medieval d.ta. However, it does propose three perspectives on a seminal Century and a half, which, in the author's view at least, has too long suffered from the complemen tary deficiencies of ovcnpco:ialiution and undergeneraliution. TItc: lirst i5 the replacement of much linear, evolutionary thinking with a contl'Xtualist approach, which describes phases of an integrated cultural tunsfonn.tion happening at the same time. For ··humanity"· C. S. Lewis observed, "does not pass through phases as a tram passes through statioru: being alive, it has rhe privilege of

,

INTRODUCTION

always moving yet !leVer 1eavins Ilnythins behind. '" !be $eCond is the reaffirmation of. theory of the middle range,' which u bemr luired to the present, imperfect state of thinking in the cultural sciences than universal tenets. Finally, the book .nempu to pl&Ce tbe problem of language and culture .t the centre of the discunion. For, from purely &c;tual .11<1. hillocwithout luch • shift in emph2sis kal description, little progfCSS in unde~tal1
'_y

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Et"".

6

INTROOUCTION

modem literacy is a vdid dimension of the subject. But it is no substitute for rt(onstiruting aood~r society's system of eommuoiCII. . noo on liS own terms. The imprecision of the idea of liter&ey, !U well as the uneven state of the documentI.tion, rmkt it prcfenbLc in • medieval context to speak of the occasioned uses of tats. Distinguishing between literacy .nd tcnuality nil also help to iso]l.te wh.t was original in the medi~ll.Chi~ment.

Literacy is not tcxt\UIliry. Onc can be litente without the overt use of texts, and: onc can use texts extensively without evidencing genuine literacy. In fact, the assumptions shl.l"ed by those who el.n read and write often render the I.Ctual prcstnce of a tCl[t superlluous . And, if common agrttment obviI.tes the need for textS, disagr«mtnt or misunderstmding can make them indispensable. Texts, so utilized, may be symptomatic of the need for aplllJ\lltion md interpretation, even at timCl of functional illiteracy. If ancient, medieval, and early modern society sham!. similar bias towards lllitente official culture , the high Middl e Ag es diffi:rcd from periods before and after it in the complexity of its attitudes towards teus. In the dILSsical W()I:ld , as nowadays, one lIS$utnes a widespread l"«ognirion of liten.re norms in education and society, tvtn if in practice genuine literacy is 00t universal. Bur, down ro the thirteenth century, written traditioru were largely islands of higher culturt in m environment that was not so much illiterate as nonliterate. As a corucqueoce, tats served a broader range of purposes Ihm they do in a society in which Iirer&ey is the llXi. of educ.tional thcory md practice. On many occasions, texu mertly recorded oral transactions, telling \IS little of the culturd level of the participants other than that they employed. the services of a scribe. On others, they functioned as evidential documents, that is, lIS • socr of insuran~ policy in ca~ the oral record was forgotten or oblitented. On still others, they ~rved what diplomatics calls a dispositi~ role, which effectively superseded ani arnngemenu, even though the sigOlltories to ~ document may have pledged their faith by verbal, fOrmal, and. g~tural means. To investigate medieval IiceB(:y is accordingly tn inquire into the uses of texts, not only into the allegedly oml or written elements in thl:! works themstlv~, but, mort import.ntly, to inquire intn the audiences for which they were intended and the menrality in which they wert received. The StaCUS of texts, then, is one side of the problem of medieval liteB(:Y. The: other is the stat\lS of ond discount, or, more precisely, 7

INTRODUCTION

the manner in which its fuD(tions changed under the ("Burn«" of the written word. MC'di~ orality ha.!; gi'Vt'n rm to much scholarly controveny. As the ~m is employed in what follows, it reren to onc of two states of affairs. Very occasionally, mention is nade 0{ what may be oolecl. pute orality, the.t is, 'Vt',bal discourse uninftuen«
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INTRODUCTION

ingredient of modern communicatiolU syStemS, in which words and texts are normally inrerdqxndent, However, it IS important to note that the medieval version of this state of affaies came about by two different routcs. Orn' took place within written tradition itself and involved if! gllldu.al exTension into formerly onl 5e(tors of life and thought. The mlier rook place within oral tradition and involved an equally slow accultul1ltion' of the written mode. As an example, we may consider the influence of canonical penitential theol1' on unwritten Irish and A.nglo-Saxon legal codcs bctw~n the sixth and eighth centurics. From the canon lawyer's point of view, onl.! adapted to written law. But, from the viewpoint of the practitioner of oral law, writing first appeared u a foreign clement. 10 the second case, as long as law funcrioned orally, the pre~nce of writing alone wu not indic_ adve of literacy. Instead, there wu a complex process of lWimilation by a different mentality, in which states of rextudity, rather than the oral or the wriuen alone, comprised the operative element. Only when the undetlying iIOCial psychology had changed can we speak of a geouine shift to Kribai culture. The stages were C(Ullplinted and often impercepti ble, as histories of education oriented around the survival of the classical tradition do not suffiCiently emphasize. Thete is in fact no dear point of transition from a nonliterate to a literate society. For, even at the high point of oral usage, let us say, in the medieval context, continental Europe during the tenth century, writing was not by any means absent from everyday transactiolU; and, when literate norrru were firmly re-established in law and governmeot, that is, by the mid-twelfth, the spoken word did nol Cta$C to play a large rul!ural role. The change, as suggested, was not so much from oral t~ written u from an earlier state, predominaotly onI, to various combinations of oral and written. In some areas of human activity like property law, oraliry was very largely superseded; in others, oral and written (orms found their equilihrium with respect to each other, dividing responsibility $0 to speak for imponant institutions of culture, as was tbe ~ ror instance of oral confession within struCtured penitential theology. The balance betw~n 0011 and written modes of communication brought about during the Middle Ages penisted in ffi.lny areas long afterwards , Medi~I linguis{ic evolution thereby provides an example, rare in cultural """,!tun""" in hiMOri
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history, of la I~"gll' dute, & that is, of a relatively stable model adapted afterwuds to different times, placcs, and circumstanCeS. A study of medieval literacy's implications, then, cannot be elUded out as if society had dlndy adopted the notms and values which are in &et literacy'. byproducu. Further, merely s~ing the field, or limiting ODeJ('lf to statiSfics, beg, a JlI'ge question: why "Iitency" at all, aDd, more particularly, why the style of discourx in administration, the profn:liond life, and the quest for higher Icoowledge, which, Weber noted long ago,' is the hallmarlc of socially ~ful rationality? A su«essful treatment of the second theme requires that one take, so far as po$SihJe, a neutral positiori with respect to cultural change. In Other words, one must dissociate oneself ftom the modernist perspective, along with the bias towards one type of culture which it implies, and try to reach the underswnding of the issues in the minds of the original participants. fur the "first feudal agt'," as Marc Bloch called it, was above all a period of reawakening to modes of communication and to. sense of cultural discontinuity.- When ttns were introduced into communities hitherto unfamilill' with writing, they often gave rise to unpm:edented perceptual and cognitive possibHities: they promised, if they did not always deliver, • new technology of the mind. 9 How &.votably did penons at different levels of society respond to cbe widening of hOli~ns? What cracks appeared in the bedrock of long-unquestiooed attitudes? How did traditional values weather the storms of innovation? H a plausible connection is to be made between literacy and Other muu.dor» of culr\,lft', such questions must first be asked. As noted, rhis book mOftS from specific to mote general historical issues. Chapter One attempts to establish the central pmnise, namely that, after the year 1000, oral discourse increasingly functioned within a framework of legtl and institutional tCJ[cuality. OIapters Two to Five prest'nt a series of cut histotles, OIoCh of which is designed to • P. B....deI, "H;..om 1'''; } ' 1.0 GG/f, r- MO _ M.,.. kr<. T..., . . . - " nth",.", Otr i ' ' : " " " ; ' (Pati" '977), S'"ll , " ,...,;.. , Nu Wcb.r, """"""" .....t G_'.d./t, ' ''' , orDn, '!l69), ,..,........ "', ond '7 , .. i,h. blbliol"'pl.,. 'H·H·

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opo:n out ontO a bCOltdl'l" problem. Thete larger issues .. re (our in number: literacy ..nd 50Cial organization (Chapter Two), the criticism of ritual and the relat~ emc/gcII« of empirical attitudes (Chapter "f"hrl'.e), the philosophical question of language, texu, and re.lity (Chapter Four), and the broader interconnections between texts, ideu, and s0ciety (Chapter Five). The questions ttl'lllted in t~ book, I argue , were not only linked ar a purely historical level, the heretics, for instance, described in Chapter Two, facing some of the same dilemmas as the theom:iciam of Chapt"en Thrtt and Four. They also illustrate the manner in which the growth of literate culture found expression in different aspecu of medieval life and learning at !.>nce. In Olber words, tm-re i, both an external history, visible in events, debates, and leg islation, and an ioteC02I history, by which ,imilar problems and oriennIiom tum up in otherw~ unrelated areas of endeavour about the IIIlInl' time. For literacy, as it actually prnctrated medieval life and thought, bro\lBht about a tran,form.lion o( the ~ic skill, of rtading and writing imo instrumentS of analy,is and interpretation. It was, so to speak, the ontological cement binding the apparently isolate.l. activities. Accordingly, the book', proprr subject is not only a stt of intl'rrciated theIDl'$ in ekventh- and rwelfth-ccnrury history, but, viewed from the inside, the exploration of potential ]inJu between content and communicative form.

"

I. ORAL AND WRITTEN

TIM J/"'" of medieval

literacy's implications presuppasn an undersb.nding of the bro.der tr.nsition to • type: of society in which oral diK()uf$e exists largely within a framework of conventions deu:rmin«!. by tats. What follows is an introductory account of that
institutional ct.ngn. But thm! themes mentioned in tbe Introduction, which are of special relevance to rho: subsequent chapten, are also stfcUfd. Onc is • de--cmphasixing of the problem of origins and aloog with it a purely evolutiorwy penpective in favour of a function.a1 approach. What ~ ,..isb to know about 0".1 .nd written culture iD the Middle Ages is D()[ wben each component nme from, althoush that would be useful tOO, but ho .... tbe twO actually wot~

toget:het. To undenraoo these often complex relatiOll$, however, we mlDt maintain a loose distinction beucen habits of tho"sht end modes of «lmmunication. The one U D()[ • synonym for the orhe!. All noted,

.....ys of thinlcing •.nocia~ with oo!ity often survived in a ro;rllal environment; writing them down did not alwa)'li eliminate {heir links with oral exchange. The perliltence of orality, or ratIM:r its tnnsformation, raises in tutn tIM: questiON of 'lUChronism and of values. The rise of literacy IM:lped to re-introduce the notion of m:haism, and, more generally, the sepuation of cultUI"C into katned and popular sc<:ton. Oral tradition became identilKd with illiteracy. Such I.bels, of (Oune, ~re not est.blished by texts themselves bo"r by their human commenuton, .nd, by implication, through .ttitudes towards earlier model5 of interprnadQn. When major issues reg.t
"

•

ORAL ANO WRITTEN

I. Two TRADITIONS Let us begin with R fundamentl.l question: how useful is the distinction between "oraI" and "written" and how do the (ategorits il.

luminate the mediev:al tvideoce ? 1nere is, as noted, no hard and wt line between them. A text does not cease to be structured discourse, obedient to the laws of grammar and synt1llt, simply because it is spolcen I.loud. And oral exc:hangl', if rewroed, ml.y sti!! pt"t'$I'rve many of its original fel.tW"l'S, for inst1llKe, formulae, repetition, and encydopedism. Written texts are continually being re-performed, offering continuitil'S to human behaviour over time. Oral intl'rpolation may dl'rive from improvillation or from texts. Despitl' the untidiness of thl' terms, there all' practical In5()Il5 for ret&in ing them. Some are historical: men and women wefe' conscious of the diffi'ren«, especially after rhl' millennium, when writing and iu diverse functions began to undergo a sust1lined revival. Moreover, tbe tvidence, such as it is, suggtsts that at no point in the subsequent three tenturits was a significant percent"ige of laymen able to read and to write.' Medieval and early modern society hovered between the extremts: thefe' was a tiny minority who Wl'fe' truly li tl'ratc and a much iargl'r majority for whom communication could take p~ only by W(lro of mouth. Down to the age of print and in many regions long afterw..rds, literacy remain!'d the I'XCcption rather than thl' rule. Despite primary schools, cheap paper, spectadts, and the growing body of legal aoo administrative ml.tl'r;a], the masSl'$ of both rown and countryside as late as thl' Reformation remainC'd relatively indifferent to writing.' For this vast group, marginal to literacy, the graphk world represented only a corn pIa set of signs, frequently tied to re, Aft D<.IIe". r«a>I ............. of ooiden<. &om E.,lisII """""" iJ M . T. a...dIy, F_ <11-, .. Writ"" RAtoI, E",J.o.i, .<)/i6..'J"1 (1.ondDo. '!l1\l). ,8'-'0' . Euli<' ........,.. illdndt v. H . c.Jbn.;.h. '"Th< li.. " /l9n). 'OI-}8: J. w. n. '-""r.-, I i, C. M. Cipollo, Um.ry . - Dto.rl r rW ;. "" W'" (Hlt"""""'_, [91\9) •• ,.,. 's.. ill I"""BI N . Z. Do"" ""Pri",i., ..... ,h< J>.opI<," S""" ,,<>I . [, pp. " '-1 "

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briQlls of authodty.l There was no universal languagc. The majority of peoplc spoke a vcmacular dialccr whkh varied from place to plaa and whkh could clearly be distinguished even within ~gioIl$ from the more refined speech habits of the upper un.ta of society. ignon.nce of Latin was widespread, despite iu association with grammatical correo::tness .• Although 5Cribal pressUre5 rose from many directions and gathered momentum as the II8C of print neared, many peasants, burghers, and even aristocrats remained uscntially within ocaI-aun.l culture. The first reason, then, for maintaining a working dichocomy between oral and written communication i5 descriptive. Thc second is aplanatory . To the contcmporary mind the rise of tcxtw.lity is lil:lf-n-idcnt, whilc the pcnistence of orality is difficult to account for. But to the mcdicvals JUSt the opposite was trut'. Oral discourse, lIS a means of communicating and storing facu, was well suited to a society that was regionl.lizcd, highly particularized, and matt conscious of inherited stat\LII than of IKhievcment through pn.gmatic social roles. Oral culnue ~ its own chan.ctet:isdo, some of whkh havco bttn redi.scovcrcd through the study of contemporary rommunities that lack writing.' In aU suo;:h societies without texts language emu only in a mbal form. Thc fundamental categories of classification, thmush whkh, Durkheim argued, the world is interpreted, are handed down by word of mouth. Thc continuity of culture depends on individuals who vcorbilly trznsmit the bctirage from one generation to the next. The form and content of knowledge, whose logical properties are not differentiated as in textual. tradition, 6 are pined on in a series of face-ro-face

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encounteR. Such meetings are rich in gesture, ritual, and ceremony: Imn communicate nOt only by what t~y say but by how they behave. The human sensorium is orienttd around the ear.' The meaning of woNS is not generalized inro a seties of standard definitions which can then act lIS points of referelKe; conK<:[utntly, ··in an oral-aural culture one can ask about wmething but one cannot look up anything. '., Speech and action form .. cohesive whole: ··th<: meaning of ~ch word is n.tified in .. succession of concrete situations, accompanied. by vocal inflexions and physiclll gestum., all of which combine to particularize both its specific denotation and its ac«pred connotative usage. '" Meaning arises as a compromise between I standard set of rhetorical figut"l'$ and an individual imeuhange to which they all: adapted. ,0 The single great storehouse of meaning is memory. Tht mnemonic devices through which epic, legu, and religioU.'l information is ll:. clllled help to mucture the way in which the individual thinks about the facts rn.nsmitted." Of" COUR<', m.. mory is sel<'Ctivt. In any society, Freud noted, what peopl.. forget is as important as what they I'l:(all. In on! as in written cultur<", memory (ulKtions within th .. social group, which, with its particular conventions, traditions, and institutions, acts as a conceptual filt..! for image formation and r«Ol!<'Ction." But, in oral tradition, one canoot check what is rtCalled against a presumably "cotl'l:(r" ~1'$ion of events. Hence, the constitution of the social group, together with its "folk-memJII tit "}
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literal sense of the term. '4 It suin lI1U.ll, iilObted commuDities with a .tmRg network of kinship and group 5OI.iduity. The reaction to the· ounide world is frequmdy onc of fear and hostility. To put the matter another way: ir, u some argue, communications media arc among the chief building-blocks of civiliution," then oral culture is limited to particularist societies in which "tbe srructure of . .. Iinguisric matetial i$ iD90rably mixed up with, and dependent upon, the course of the activity in which tbe utterances are imbcdded. " I' In luch s0cieties, "the controil of action arc informal; they m;t on the tMitiona! ohligations of largely inherited statui, and are expressed in u1k and gCSture and in tbe ptttem. of redproeal actiOll. " '7 MedievaJ. society aftu tbe eleventh century was increasinsly oriented: towards the scribe, tbe written word, tbe literary tat, and the document. In Iuly and southern France, tbe tooition Roman legal and rbetoric::al srodies nevet' really disappeared. , I In the nonh, the spoken word played. predominant role in both administration and literary culture down to about [0, 0 . The Carolingian period was a midpoint. The clear, beautiful minuscule ref'twmcd the "oatiooal" Insular, Visigothic, and Benevenun hands, JUSt u Charlemagne's coronation on Chrisunu OIly, 800, creared a new empire out of formerly warrins principalities. But the written did not supersede tbe oral. 1hc concise enumeration of ecclesiutical holdings in InniDOn's polyptiquc of the abbey of St. Gctmain creates onc impression. The capitularies issued by tbe empcrcm in tbe eighth and ninth centuries create another. 1beR bodies of otdinances treat. wide variety of legislative marten in legal, ecclesiastical, military, administrative, and commercial ucu. But their fotmat varies little. They were "not usually drafted in official full tens by the royal chancery, but were notes royal commanc:lmenu or title tisn set down to rccal.1 the contcnu made orally. "'9 In their written rorm they often exist as verbal orders

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or prohibitions. There WI.5 no aucho/'iN.tive text becaWie the teX{ was Imt the .uthoriey: that earne from the tw",,_, the spolc:en word of the emperor. The cxtant sp«imens of Oltoni.n diplomas create a similar imprnsiOfl. They are magnificent reminden of the imperial presen~, nO! sub5titutes for it. The change to administrative activity involving scribe, took place betwt'efl the eleventh and thirteenth (enturies with rhe Norman kingdom, all Hukins emphasized, aning u a bridge. The contrast can be seen by comparing the diplomu of Robert the PiOU$ or Ht"tlry I w;ch those of Louis VI. The twdfth Century emerges u "dte period. in .....hich diplomatic script attained in. apogee."'" Of course, one ClnllOt judge rhe liferary OUtput of a whole nation by the activity of the royal chancery. But in the countryside the picture is not 50 diff~nt. After the brief Carolingian renaissance, wrimn records declined sharply in quantity and quality. From the tenth to rhe early twelfth century "social relations were once l8ain founded on spoken words, acts and (eremonies rather [han on written documents. . .. The rights and duties of each individual were laid down and maintained with some flexibility by custom and ancient usage."" From about 1150, records of all sorts become more plenriful. The information they provide is more ~ise. "A group of sprcwisu in administl'lltion emerges, whose particular te.:hnical cxpertise is based on the written word and on reckoning, and. who are occupied in registering, counting, valuing and surveying ..... The transfonnation dots not take place in all regioll$ at the $ame time. E«lesiastieal estates and. properties with cuh crops near marketing Centres precede the more outlying areas. The largcr villages and nascent toWns adopt literacy more rapidly than rhe countty$ide, where commercial ill$tinns are held in check by longcstabli$hed CUStom. The cursive reappears; one wrote more quickly, Pirenne noted, because commerdal occa
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the kw uni~mliling fol«S that tbe western Middle Ages knows as a whole. "Administration," wrote Hilary Jenkinson, "is founded on precedent, dw: is on memory; and it grows with the adoption for its own uses of artificial memory, that is of wriring ..... But not only the style of government is ,hanged. Other areas of $O('iety and ,ulture are also affected. Memory u oral-aura.! Illld visual at the same time; records are only visual. The change is [I()I: irrevenible, but Oil« it has taken place it en~ils other oonsequcnces. What begins lIS a pn.ctical necessity can easily finish lIS an altered $O('ial psychology. For the DeW use of texts U Dot merely "the graphic counterpart of sJ>eC('h .... , It has a structure and logial properties of it'S own. In societies functioning orally the ad~nt of the written word can disrupt previous patterns of thought and action, often permanently. Above all it transforms DliIn's con<:eption of himself in society. When written models for condu<:ting human affairs make theil 'ppearance, a DeW son of tell.lionship is set up between the guidelines and tHlities of behniour; the presentation of self is less of a lubjectively determined periOrrnante and more cL an objectified JWtCm within articulated norms. One no longer responds through inherited principles tywled down by wotd of mouth. The model i. now et:tedoriud. Individual et:petience still counu, but ita role is delimited; instead, loyalty and obedience are giY'ttl to a more or 1t55 naf)dudi~ set of rules whidt lie ouuide the sphere cL infiucnce of the person, the r.mily, or the oommuniry. Moreover, one need not be literate oneself in order to be -«ectcd by soch rules. A written ,ooe can be ~t up and interpr.:ted on behalf of unletTered nicmbers of society, the text acting '"' a medium for social integntion 01' alicl\iItion, depending on its use. Of course, the 1I.tc&S of life subject to tet:tual constraints in the Middle Ages ~~ modest by modern standards. 1bey ooveral. binh and dnth , bilptism and malTiage, initiations, terms of service, transfers of propeny, and a small number of issues in public and private I.w. And in most (UtI written documents were suffused with oral tradition. Often the record me~ly preserved what had ahn.ys been $lid and done . Bue the im. POlTll.f1t point is not the degree ro which writing penettated 0Illi cuI. ture: it was ill irrevocability. Up to the eleventh «ntut}', western Europe wuld have returned ro .n essentially otal dvilizuion. But by II OO the die was (:lISt .

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ORAL ANO WRJTTEN

2. LATIN AND ROMANCE

rise of literacy (l()( only ct"-ted a hiatus beCWffn oral and written tradition. It also brought to the su/"&(e and ga~ shape to the inherent duality of the western European languages. fm, long befu~ ora.! and written became tangible i5Slll'S, most spoken ;ond recorded languaga; had bifumated into popular and I""rned forms. It is tempt_ ing to think of the one L5 a virtual synonym (Of" the other. But in many ways they weCl.' diffeCl.'nt. In the "-rly Middle Ages "ora.!" 1IfllS 001: the equivalent of"popular." B_If, although J'C'rhaps composed and ceruinly deliVl'ttd OJlIlIy, was from the beginning a produce of higher culturl' and has come down to us as a complex text. Ora! culture acquiCl.'d popular associatiOIl5 only at the ti~ when cultural values were beginning to be associated with literacy. Bauml speaks of the aVl'nge man artn the millennium passing from '·pCl.'Jiteracy·· to "illiteracy." In the first phase writing played no very great roll' in legRi or irutitutional communication. In the: serond, it was a question of not being able to read and write in a society in whi ch legal and institutional communication illCrtasingly took place in writing; in short, it was the cultural state of the culturally disfavoured. >li No such precise distinctions can be made berw~n popular and literary elements in language. Certainly, writing helps to standardize language." But linguistic change iJ, affected hy much more than the mearu of preservation. Although the paucity of evidence obscures the actual mechanisms, it is clear that Latin, eatly Roman~ 1an8ua8l'S, and their written forms evolved by a process of continuous interchange. Not only wen: there "direct channels,'· Sabuini notes, btotwetn both 'aiten and readers as well as speakers and listeners. Then: were also "indirect channels,"' that is. either '·the registering of an oral discourse in a vulgarizing written language" or "the recitation of a vulgarizing tat in spoken forms. '." ~

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The duality of the R~ languages, tMir rough divisi6D into popular and literary forms, __ a legacy of tM history of Latin. The starting point ",. the importation into Rome of the speech and educational habits of a foreign people, the Greeks, through which an alien grammar, syntu, and rhetoric wen: imposed onto the paRtlCtic. vem...uy unsophisticated structuR: of early Latin. From Rome's earliest foreign conquests to the end of the Anronine period in A.D. 19', the linguistic expansion of Latin followed the political. Latin tine vanquished the other dialecu of the ltalillll peninsula. It then bec:aJm the ianguase of administration throushout the republic and llUer the empire, txeqIt in the Grttk-speaking tut. As Honce wryly noted, the conquest of G.ax:e had baclc6red.: the physical. submimon only speeded up Rome's auimilation into the ....ider (ramewot'k of Hellenistic culture, which became bilingual. In the pl\Xt$l, Latin underwent a tapid development, ofwhich d~ most imponant feature was the ap~ of a literary vehicle. Romans hac:I little or no native Iiterarurc of theil own; 50 tMy imported and adapted what they did not have. Linguists roughly date the earliest dUsimilaritiel between spoken and literary Latin &om tbe lleCond balf of the third centul)',>11 Not by accident, Livius Androllicus, a flCed Greek liave, began composing his plays and Latin o.wi4 about the same time. Livill5 was an archaiser, a conscious creator of poetic diction. JO Later autban, ....hile imiutin.g Greek modeh less crudely, followed his enmple. But the emulation went fat beyond languagetrainins and Iictratute: it "prepared the ....y for modern forms of bumanism. that arc ba,ed OD a second language, a cultural lingua (ranca which is used to uansmit a tnditioa generally recognized lIS having an essential superiority over all ochen, and therefocc to be imitated."" An identification was made between the cott«t attitude cowards rhe classical hl:ritage and thl: style of life considered approa< ObodwNQ&'. - ia H. Pi., [.Nidoen .. Ill.• ..... Otrd TI "1;". (0

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priacc for wucationally privilegw se(tors of society. This pattern, ooce esftblished, was adaprw to different linguistic situations. In the Middle Ages it drove a wedge not between Latin and Greek but betWeen the official culture, which W"iS in Latin, and the unofficial cultures which existed in vulgar Latin or early vernaculars. During the Renaissance a similar theory of high culture helped to legitimize literary Italian, French, aoo German. The early medieval phases of these compl icated transformations Oinnot be observw dire.::tly. Latin is grammatically inerc; thett is no substantial body of records delineating the spoken languages; and the manuscript tradition for both cursive and formal scriptS is at times fragmentary. Paleography, diplomatic', philology, and comparative linguistics have traditionally approachw the lacunae from twO directioos. One looks fucward from rhe ancient world and u basN. on the IlIeged ~ludon of popullr versus learnw Latin. Through In analysis of deviations from known c1auical norms, attempts have been made to describe how new words appeared, were anirniluw and passed through suga of technical, colloquial, savant, or literary usage. The other methoo works back from the known RomanCl: or Germanic languages. Through philological, etymological, and iyntactical =:onsrruction, together with the $Cudy of comparative phonology, hy_ potheses arc: offered about missing links. Both approaches have been aided by the scientific ch.ting of extant recotds aoo the historical anal. ysis of handwriting. In attempting to place chronological limits around the changes, attmtion has naruntlly shiittd to thoe Late Latin period, chat 1.\, roughly between A.O. l OO and 600. The first bounch.ry corresponds to the age of Tertullian aoo the early manyrologies, which, liifsted.t petsuasively argues, are as OJ.!.eful an indicator of linguistic shifts as the death of Tadrus around A.O. I ' 7, the ~nt normally taken to signal the cnd of the dassical ageY More importantly, the third century also saw the introciuniOfl of a new cursi~ which by 367 had ~Olm the "common script" everywhere excepr thoe im~rial .:hanccry. ll This 5rriJ1lll laljna fllllieA took its vocabulary from popular usage; it absotbed morphology and syntn, as well as tracn of phonology; and it adopted new gl'llphic signs to express the sounds actually spoken .... Many factors influenced the linguistiC and scribai changcs: the inttrplay of lIOCial classes and 1~ls of education; migration from the countryside " ~.

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ORAL AND WRITTI!N

to the toWns and from the peripheries of the contracting empi~ to tM metropolis; the conliict of different generuions, ethnic groups, and religions, through which the vuJgarisms of one period became the fashionable styles of the next; and above all political considerations like the C91/JtirMli~ Allu_i"itt"" of :tu, which bestowed Roman citizenship on all inhabitants of the empi~ ~gudless of origin." Among the: forea contributing to the growth of popvlu Latin in the later empi~ a special place is resetved for Christianity. Members of the new &.ith constituted vinually a "third race" after Romans and Jews, no 11:$5 marked than the [attet by tMit refu.ul to pmidpate in oflicial cults and by their 5erue of es:dusiveness.~ One of the cJeafl$t WllyS to delineate bourxlaties was through the $poken Ot wtitten word. What was Cmtted was "not qllitt • new lang1ll8e, but certainly new forms of es:prtSSion."" Whether in CTtrydiy, literary, Of liturgical Latin. Christians introdu«d word. aDd phrases drawn from ordinary speech and occasionally from Greek." The novelty arose both in Jang1ll8e and style. 1be Old Latin venions of the Bible. which d~ heavily on coUoquial \lUge. inliuenced. speech p,lUernS amotIg Chris· tian communities, and thi, linguistic phenomenon. refi<"(:cing in turn the often low social origirl$ of the converu. aUowed a measure of freedom within the restrictions of the literary langl1&ge. Notions of genre were similarly affected. Christian "literature," Auerbach 0bserved, that is. stwies from the Bible. dea.lt by and large with topics that did not fit into tbe classical oratorical divisiollll."' Their forms of apreuion were "humble" but their mlltter "sublime. " New caoocu of taste we~ obviously at work. The Bible, or its translations. attempted to make God'1 word lICCniIible to all, no matter what the 1~1 of education. It intermingled high and low in both audience and inner men-ge: the complaity depended not on d,~ro~ia.l figUl~C5~ "1'0< B,"",I .. ,it •• ol.ht _ .... w. -. W.m....B. 0;, &01= '0. W , ., • VII"', ~r>d od. (fGb; ....... . ",). end........ Hridrdhtrrr Ahh"i< drer Wj" • • bof."", ""il.·~"'. !Cl . • AbI>. J, '9"), 7~.· .. A. Hornodo. T .... Mu';' _ E.,IOu..
J-'.

0<1. J. -.:, ,.~. J. Pdibro (N. . York. '96')' "". '. " Lii6teclr, ~ !Mio, 68 .

an·n.

"1.'hude ... 10 Iociftitt -.w; _ . "Wia (ia tbc Cburd» . - Now c.sJ,Jir EZ) " ,. -. 8•• '3. Pot. bolon«d himriad ond «i,in! 01 tbc question, _ 1.6&.0<1., .,.-78. "Ii. A ..... "-:h, { 'r . ) ~_ _ ill Pdht io ~!M;' "'_if*iI1_io." M;,/JhA,os.

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.6.

ORAL AND WRITTEN

although th(,se, Augustine show.-d, were found in abundanct-but in t~ desi~ of Iht' faithfUl for spiriruaienlighlenmenr.· o The blending of classical stylistio and biblical themes grntly iniluenc.-d the d~l opment of mediev:al Latin and t~ Romance Jangu&ges. 1bc: gradual abandonmenr of d~ clauical curriculum in the schoob afler Jl1'Stinian could nor but promote t~ acceptance of spoken Larin, whose rhythms were now not far from those of the translated Bible itself. Religiol1'S forces C()JJtributcd to widening the gap bctwecn popular and literary Latin from within the empire. Political forces often came from ouuide. Chiefly they consisted of intrusioru into the Latin-sptaking world by linguistic fo~igncrs, which bcgan as early as the Roman defeat by Armenil1'S in A .D. 9, and cofltinue
,,,,",J.

o. w. D.

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'3

ORAL AND WRITTEN

and written languages but between spoken languages themselves, which in tum had begun to evolve distinctive written forms. But did speech inBuetl«" wtidng, as is usually lISSumed, or vice versa? The actual evolution of the spoken and the writren within l.aI:in and Romance forms is subject to diverse interpttt&tions. The traditional viewrwnely, that Latin and Rom..nce C(lC':I:isred III spoken languages from about the second century B.C., but had become mutua1ly unintelligible by the ninth-is certainly oversimplified. The implicit eltplanation of how people spoke is !:.sed in fact on how they wrote: die connection remains hyporbeticaI until we uD
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ORAL ANO WRITTEN lndtwiwll~

Vrronur, the "lAu,m Regiai' of Soissons, the Parw/y Dj JIM Lex Salira, tlK' GIOJJU of Rrichtrwll, the Glossary of KaJ/tl, the G~affiff ro_"~, and the Glouary of MMW.'· The tension b(tw~n

indude the

written and spoken lllnguages is also evident from a number of contemporary statemCnts, the wdl-known provision for vernacular preaching in the council of Tours of 813,,0 for instance, or tne mention in a Montee:asSino penitential of confession in ruJtica 1'tr6.I." Again, a tcnth_ or early elevcnth-cenrury tCIt from the kingdom of Leon ironically displl'l8es those who speak laJiIumr circa """"RfM"I before laymen, while nonetheless praising the use of (Otrt(t but ob$cutantist latin, even if undentood only by derie,. " The statement', ambivalence suggestS thlt the Romance llllguages would not have attained t~ognition had. classical, written Latin IIOt ~n tcUSerted. Paradoxically, Romania may in part have ~n a byproduct of the Carolingian "~lU1js.sance: · whose real educatiotul] aim was to ttform the standatds for t\'aChing, speaking, and writing utin." Wherever Latin improved, the spoken and grammatically writtcn languages grew farther apart. The period bctw~n the deventh and the thirt~nth centuties rnllIk,

,i.,.

.. for • ~ rniew . ... c. A. M.om< dol >«010 VIJ[," I ~,J!oooi J J f _ "" unI. Viii ($pok< /" ' i. d ... bl< (""" 11>< .... ri3hth Upi .... ~ d i Ve""'" (l'On..i ..... k M....-.biro):· ASI. ""in 7 •• ('9'4) •• 06; ,.,. philololi«J .nd liop;"i< dioeuo. 0« C. A. /oI .. ,,-olli ...r.·iodcM ....11o '"0' ",.:' A,. mm. IIot..u,ito ;wido , 8 ( 19H), '9<>':>0\>. n.. l-.Ja JI"i« ",i~in .... b, Pbil%rir 7l (0 9 19). "4. n.. porod, of.1>< Le< U1i<.> rotn<S from .1>< .... 'l""rt< .~h. ..nd . i... Schreibozl,;l13<:' ~. , 79 10 \>6,). ~--06. Tbo G/""" r( R."'...... .... b< r;~ I{ """" from Fulda ""....,n .1>< ' i&!IIII tt>d ninlll « • •",in; 1«. m.; ,I>< r;,.j}u ....... fn>m .1>< ~ISI < ni"'h; S.bottini, _ .m., , .... ,..1>< GIou.It) < ~". < " ,"h; 8. 8i1d H . G. 8td<, " 0... i.. lioniocf>."io11l< in MM .. :' in lfloJi_ A_ 11_.0_. f~fi" If_ Rhti,qJ14-. cd . H. !lihl...- tt>d A. Noye •• Weidn" (M""i(h. ,9'\,). I' . T_ , onno 81" NGH eoncm" A..,.i Kuo!i"; I , p. ,88, '"in ru"icam 11.,. ........,. !il\!:""" AUI Thioti",,,,,,. quo foci!iu. cuno;Ii poni'" intCIni.;o", "" mtIOCUW _NI\!: ..... M. link. /..0 ~ _~, 'Jot> (Pori ••• 1)66). 81·88. " Quottd ' ....... T. G . (;'-iffilll (I.<>ndoo.

*'

.. c_m..

,-w..'.......

.. _ ..

,966), 4' , " ~ ;n R. M, ... odo. Pidol. 0.';'- "" "I 41. ,td , .... (Madrid , '910), 4,..,.." '"Ill< ... .-;,upennd ... qu; !oqui= I.. tnum <;'" ~m • .-imt cor"", I...:. , it> quod ipoi met in«Ui&un< rol"", : « ill< ' " Io!>dot>d"" qui ",",pr< ioqui.Ul lotin"", obocw-<. ita quod nu)!.. i.«l)i6" ....., hi,i d •• ic; . . "a. H . LUdl«, "IN Eaatdtul\!: l'OfIWIiochllo, L. WoIlod'l. Ab;" 60
"

ORAL AND WRITTEN

the finaJ. Stages of this long proceu. 'I1Ie vernacular languages of continental Europe made their lint Ulbstantial -.ppcarance in tatual fixm. Owing to economic and demographic expansion, g~t numbers of hitherto "voicdl'SS" individuals wttc aba making their first acquaintance with culturt' in the formal sc:nse of an ongoing tradition dependent on the written WOJd. The rtlUlt was a profound intc1'llCtion be_ tween language, texts, and society. Glimpses of the change can be: caU8ht in literature. But, unlike the age of print, when secular letters tivalled theology as a vehicle for the discuuion of wlues, the period before I:lOO was inadequatcly provided with a lay reading pllhlic and literary genm 8.e:rible enough for t:rprcssing the full range and depth of its emotional life. Even Frcnch, which of all the Romance languages mosr accurately reproduced "the relative position of written and spoken Latin in the later days of the empire, "U gave little evidel'(e ofa reading as oPJXsd to a listening public. Genuine literacy remained largely a monopoly of ecclesiastical culture, which not only served as a repolirory for issues of dogma but IlCtN as a laboratory for npttimenting with new relations bc:tween oral and written, vemaculan and utin. Of course, the Romance and Germanic languages aisted in substance if not in grammatical form, am! each ,.,as selfconsciously developing a literary Yft'SUS a colloquial dimen5ion. But rompattd to Latin their norms wtte still relatively ftaible. Latin o-.ved its prestige and strength to rwo sourca. It was the only language in ,.,hich gnunmat could be taught. tbrrefore, anyone wishing ro learn to read and to write had to master the ancient tongue. Also, it wu the only written language widely known and undersrood. This tw0fold advantage, focusing on cr__tka and srriPta, was a powttful II5Set and, (rorn the eleventh cetltury at least, a source of profound confliCt." For the comprehension of Latin not only made possible an edOCl.(ion in formal disciplines like Romllll and caoon law, theology, and ftom about the time of Abelard, in philosophy, It also open«! the door to controlling fiscaJ, property, and more gmellll economic relations, which from the later t,.,e1fth century were increuingly written down. It is not surprising that iittrr"tlll, the normal term for describing

,,-,.,,;u

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c_u-n-"

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a c.

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,6

ORAL AND WRITTEN

someolH' ,..ho km:,.. how to read and to write. reft'rl't'd almost invariably to literacy in Latin. As tM norrru of Kribal cultu~ we~ gmdually adopted, the mention of litency. first by clerics and later although less frequently by laymen, becamc mo~ common. YCt. Grundmann noted. tM wic IMIlning changed littlc. 8et'wttn the clCVl:nth and fourc«nth ccnturies a literate was onc who could md. write, and perhaps alllO speak Latin."! ~ iIlirerate were knOtlo'n by a variety of tcrm$; illitltf'4ti, iNi«ti. or often simply as f.,iri. but perhaps the mon instructi~ were nutm and idi~, word$ which in. their philological setting convey the C1.lj . tural barriers whkh after 11 00 progressively scpante,j the lettered from the unlettered. Both terms C()nrain I double set of values, at once recognizing the cultunl norms anociated with literacy but justifying the sacred simplicity of the illitcntc. To take rusticity first: in c1an;cal antiquity I'1IJtirilas IMIlnt one of two things, either the ,....y of life of the C()untryside or the speech habits of the people who lived. there. In the elCVl:nth century, the C()ntrast matt often lay between the vernaculars or dialects of those who kl>l'W" no Latin and the written diKOu~, for the most parr in 4tin, of ecclesiastics and later of townsmen educated by them. The rllStifl/l was not only a sen. a viUdn, or simply a peasant; to speak fliJlifIJ 'IIOr'I WIliI to communiCllte in an unlearned tongue for which there was no written counterpart based on grammatical rules. The ancient distinction between !llrb4nilas and rllJtiritas, although occasionally involving orrhognphy and syntax, WIliI essentially one of pronunciationY It came about aftcr Rome had made a number of successful C()nquests and educated Romans were beginning to be embarrz"ed at their runl origins. Thc agnrian pa$t was deeply imprinted on early Latin: primitive law was that of the farmer; the religion WIiS rich in rural culn; and in contrast to Greek, with its

-u.,« on ,b< >POI<m .Ic _ _ undodintd iB obe dtfrn.itlort

.. H . GNndltWlB,

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J I;, ....,", in d>< I.... ,...u.t.-«ftIU'l' M4 _om.m-JH~ JPiM • • hich .... , ...... d .it""', 01_"", into ,b< intl""'tioI C.bJiroo J G ........i BoIbi " G<_. •Il",pk...d co . ..86: "u, ....."': ... ...t ]i,...... """ dici,u, illc q"; - . mul..,. libpr;' pot ... diei .....iq .... iu •• qIIio ..,iq.... hi_,", hober od ",.."",. Std jilt d;';,,,, 1 _ ....1 I;....... qui ...... de tudt - . "'it fottnu,: limao in diciooiburt er dicion
u,......

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H

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·"lociniw-Yrboni_R....i
/jftt,..m (hrio. I _I .• [.

'7

ORAL AND WRITTIIN

fteJ[ible verbal constructions so suitable for .bstr.ct thought, the conceptual vocabulary Hressa:i tbe concrete thing r.tbe, than the idea, tbe form, or inner reality." Roman authors were ambinlent toward, the nation's -srarian heritage. Cicero, Vergil, .00 Hon.ao all ma.k their carectS in the metl"tlpolis. but they Deftr til"td singing the praises of the country lik. Oratory and later rhetoric turned out to be the greatest enemies of Rome's former linguistic diversiry. Cicero ad-riscd JOWl8 OLiIlOlS "to avoid RI$tic abrasi;~n m and provincialllO\'elry"~ as well as archaism,60 while Quintilian suggested tcpe.tedly th.t ",IM"iw was preferable on mOSt occasions ill vtriis IIS_ 11 MSII. 6, Macrobius, writing as lare as the fifth century, could think no more mankind' l origins tban II appropriate metaphor for the bubarnm linguistic "roushness" that was simply an erudite version the same theme.6> But, by tbe time he w~, the standard was not spoken but written Latin. It was gnmmu in textual form, not speech habits, which henceforth iIolated the literate and by implication denoted the rustic. And cbe irony utw.ir::dyin,g the arlic!: disrinnioos t.ire erner~ in a new cootcrt. 1lIe simpliciry the countryside. was largely replated as • litcftry topes by that of the Bible. ~ Although Christian wthon from Augustiuc on studied and mutcl"td rhetoric, they wen: constantly reminded thar Jesus and the ap>stlcs spoke in the plain language of uncuItivued men. They were, as the New TelU.ment bore witness, itlifllM. This term, which 0CC\lC$ in Aca .nd Paul, h&cI a wide range of meaning in Greek; during the hellcnistic period tbe senses were gradually aoh.pted to the needs of Latin. In clas.sical .nd p.uisdc Greek, tbe tbutm,!; was the private person or the layman: the unskilled, unpr0fes5ionai, or uninitiated, as opposed. let us $I.y to tbe trained officer, physician, philO$opmr, or priest.'" In Latin, itliau came to mean $Omt'OllC who was igDOtaDt of a science, II docuiuc, or an area of study, and as a corollary one unpetkc::ted in II practical discipline." Vitruvius. for innanee, distinguished "between laymen and architectS. "66 Amons Christian-

or

or

or or

or

,. ItiJ., , .... .. Do 0 . - } . '~.,", 6 ("",_~ , Par '7:~ orw:I Sop ' 1,,6 (".,litJt:) . .. LidddI ond. S
.. f.,." ;,

u, .

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"

OIlAL ,0."10 WRITTEN

Lltin authors, who fnquently had in mind a Greek antecedent, it acquired the ~nse of one unskilled, poorly educated, or ignorant of religious teachings. It could aho refer ID a person reccntly con~rted but not: yet fully &«cpuble to thc community. In medieval Lldn the sense was refined further. The primary meaning of idiolll ~ an iIIitcrate. Thc secondary rangc induded various typn; of {Q>Wmi (who were of course often unlefCcred).~' But idiotA tOO was an ambivalent notion: it harboured within its range of meaning the idea of blessed simplicity which was clearly «posed in twO biblical t«rs .6lI In the one, at Acts 4. Peter and John. woo had just brought about the cure of a lame man, were attcsted by lhe religious authorities while ilddrcssing a large crowd. A{ter spend. ing the night in jail, they were summoned before the elders and II$ked by what power and in who$e name che miradc had. been performed. Peter replied txcitedly, and the interrogators rt1Ilized that the pair were si", filmS fI idiolM ..... 1bey expreuN admiration thlt sU(h do-qucnce could co~ from che mouths of the uncultivared. The other passage is found in hur, well-known praise of charity in l Corinthians. Paul asked which was the better of tWO gifu, the ability to speak mystcriously or to makc prophl'Cies. The man who speaks in mysteries, he reasoned, talks to God, not to other men. But the prophet speaks to men in ordcr "to build, to cxhort and to console." By speaking mysteries a man may strengthen his o.... n {aith, but by prophesying he strengthens the entire church. Of course, he continued, it would be otherwise if mystcries could be translilted into ordi{1llry languagc; but they can no fOOl'I: be rendered into everyday speech than the notes of a flure or a harp. The mC5Sagc may be profound, but it will DOt find an audience. So the man who has such a gift should pray for tne powet to interpret it for others. And this prayer, he adds, should be with both mind and spirit. For " if you pray with thc spi ri t. ha.... can one who takes his place among the uninstrucred (/rxltJ idiott>t) say Amen . . . . "7<> Paul does nDf cell us preci~ly who che idiDkU al'l:. In all probability they al'l: not yet full .. J. F. Nitt...,..r, lIIoJi. Uti';"';' .. Po< • full , .. k • • _

u.itoo 111;_ (l.
_'u

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'9

Of

ORAL AND WRITTEN

Christians; that is, although they take pm in the gatherings, they do not yet belong. 7' During tbe Middle Ages, the sense of idi~ lIS someone partiaUy excluded (rom pankipation in worship WIIS extended to monastic boy btethren7 ' and even occasionally to befl:tic:s." Not only wcre tbe uninstructed given mcmbership; .postolic poverty WIIS ertolled for ia own sakc. As l"c lIS 1440 c.pgrave wrotc in his Ufo ~f St. Kmhtriw: "Ryght lIS be twelue ydiotes, $ent Austyn seyth, hee mtDeth the q>OItelis, for rhei DOl: lerned wefl:."'7 . From the basic problem of onJ. .nd. written styles of communi,,tion, then, it is • short Step to the wider issue of spoken and written language, DOl: only to the separation of Latin and Romance but to tile onl and written foons of the vernacuJars themsel..es. In the cnd, rbe arbiter of. new syuem of values wu DOt langWlge but literacy, that is, the complex interpl.y of onlity with textual models for understanding .nd. transmitting the cultural heritage.

3. THE EMERGENCE OF WRITTEN CULTURE

In every revolution there are winners .nd los.en. TIle emergence of WritteD culture in the Middle Ages is DO differeDt. TIlefl: is only one officill version of the story i.l\d it is told by the written records them$elves: the est is very largely silence. The billS of preserved .records, to which we have pteViously alluded, has entailed two consequences. One is the overlooking of .reu of human experience foe which the-re is little Of no "literature," such as d>!' history of technology and the family. "Until recem centuries," Lyon White notes, "rechnology _ chielly the concern of groups which wrote little. " As • result, "the role which technological devel"G.,"',,-,-' ' . ".iD"' , ' .'7 .J.LN ' -'.-'-'•• ,~A. ,.",',~"" , ...,,~ ..... " dd"' , - ... '"._.-~,.. ' ........ _ , .....

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• . n, r_ L '44.'•r•. ,,~, --ur: ..........iJ1j«en< .. , .. "-H. E.•.• Gftpy VU, R". '. El. 76. Pt ,48.42, S. Poo- tIx".. tAth< "'''"I M .. _;a~ in a ,imilu mntcJa . . . . ".....bat .. Silo. c...dido., ~ S· : _ •.• " NGl-I Lil><W do U .. I, P. '7'. 1>-7; c. '-}O, itOJ.• '79. ,_ o . a. -JOId tAlaarccrrl>adr. AlG# b 1_. ".., MGH UboIli de lit< I, ~Io-I' . .. r..88;cp>ted iD OlD, .... in 00 l'modr, V .. u Jc..(., HI6, ......eeI;" TobItr_ '-""'-". AIIfi ............ti ..d . t (\lI'itrbkn. ,960). "',: "'Si "'" • Iui "''''' I Iottur< E ",,'u rn>cc ...;, n'"", cimn=.0.. ,he Id;';"" prd"t.....:< for ob< .poken. d. N. T. OaodIr, .,.08-'4. _ J'"'

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ORAL AND WRITTEN

opmrot plays io human ai&.irs has been negJened ..." A similar statement C1ln Ix made about the internal history of the family. The rdationships betw~ the members ue subje.:t to the dicta of kinship. which. as a rule, have no aniculated history. 7Ii But perhaps the most injurious ronsequen~ of medieval literacy was not the 5ubje.:ts it simply omitted. It was the notion that liter.cy is identical with rationality. By and large, literate cultu~ in the Mid dle Ages assumed that it was the standard by which all cultural achievement should be measum:!., not only in literature iuelf, but also in law, phiiosophy, theology, and science. Of course, this theory was just a reworking of the idea of high culture which originated in the West with the utin assimilation of the Guoek heritage. But there was an important difference. In the ancient world the literary language suitable for superior discourse renuined. in touch with on.lity, even when it was written down. Ouring the Middle Ages, when LatiD was increasingly a foreign tongue employed by a minority of c{".;,;, it bec~ largely identi6ed with written tradition. ~ ctiterion was not literacy but textuality. The study of medieval culture has no wholly adequate modd for intetp.teting these cb.nges, either from within the rontinuity of written traditioru and institutions alone or as an evolutionary transition from oral to written. The best-known approach through written tradition is the renaissance theory, which connects the risc of ··rational"· attitudes to the revival of ancient forms of high culture. Culture ;5 thereby assumed to have developed., jf not progressed, in a linl.'lU" whion through periodic rejuvenations of the literate disciplines themselves. The renaissance idea apttSSes a putial t.ruth. Mter all, the medievals reootded only what they kit deserved to survive, and this inevitably included biu and pitttl of the ancient hetinge. Moreover, whenever they looked back on an earlier ptriod, the degrtt to which they saw order and rohetence involved l"ttollllttuction through textual ptttcdenQ. And the mote chaotic were tm, times, the more they reoded to see reasonab!ell:tS$ in the past. Modem interpreten, fat their part, have perpetuated a different bue equally damaging son of bias. For bettet or worse, periodization did not comr to meditvt.l studies until the boundaries of classical antiquity and the RenaisH.n~ were laid down. TIle implicit equation of literacy, higher culture, and ration... MotIi..I TaJ 'Cl' _Sf
3'

OIlAL AND WlllTTI;N

ality ,pve rUe to the defensive posture which jU$ti6ed d~ study of the Middle Ages mainly as an incomplete revival of classical antiquity. The uodentanding of the later eJ~nth and O\"C:lfth centudes has both benefited and IIIIffi:red from this type of analysis. M a result of roughly • century of resean:h, few historians still look upnn "the Middle Ages" and "the ReNlissance" as radically npposed noonaJ .rtirudes 1'fOU1d seem to have ",puted with minor variations I !,meess that unfolded in the eastern Mediterranean centuries bcfure. M.rrou speaks of "the dark age" bd'ore Hesiod and of "the Homedc Middle Ages," in which the metaphor of darkness is largely jllStified by the lack of a wtitten tradition, Other parallels between the ancient world Ind the Middle Ages come to mind. Writing first developed in the Near East for the purpose of goverrunent; that is, it ~ "tIO( to fiI theological or metaphysical dogma . . . but for the practical needs of accountancy and .drninisuarion:"" Similarly, the utilitlrilin functions of writing, which included preserving and transmitting the cultural heritage. pft(eded dle rise of iDdividual medievaJ dis.ciplines, Again, in Homeric times, the use of the alphabet went hand in hand with a widespleld technical and commerdal revolution. "" In the West, from che eleventh century, innovations in Igriculture, warfare, and devices for tbe efficient use of water md .ir power helped to (teate the conditions of economic progress;"" and tbe rebinh of medievaJ literaCy coincided with the rt'monetiution of markets and c:xchange. Comparisons can abo be made in IitCtature. In Homer, U in B-'I, the Cbtnnl11l ik RiJl.tlUi, or the

Fa,......

." I'<>< • ",itw ,,( ,ho oId.er U - =. ... W . K . TIot 1I._w.- ;" Hu,., · ., T....... ,;., C'" ia I{I " ... (Ca.nbrid.p, Moa., '9-48). do&. , .,.,. • .. A Hu., <{u..... ;" ltoUpilJ. ni . "G. o,ado, r~ H III ' h H"*", , _ . (I'"',_''''-n.. ,960\). 1 ' . .. Se. in serw:nl L. WhIte Jr..... ,. uI T-' 'e - ' SfriJ C6 T , ancI, ....,... bti.tl,. B. S
Li,..

"

ORAL AND WRITTEN

NilNllmgmlitd, poetry is a major means of transmitting idea$, values, and information. "Metrical textbooks" a~ m emori~N\ and publicly recited in conjunction with other g""cure:$, rituals, and symbolk statemenrs. Finally, in both ancicnt and medieval accounrs of creation, pu~ narratives yicidN\ in comparable educational citcumstllr>Cn to stOO..., containing analytical and evt:n scientific cicmt'lln.·' The ideo. of a linear transition from oral [0 written tradition amtains a large degree of acc:uracy. Within the period under study, it is paralleled by such well-known developments as, in religion, the dedine of liturgical worship and the rise of theologiclll acholarship or. in politics, the shift from the priest-king, whose connections are with an oral, pinorial, jje5tural, and liturgical culture, to tlit desacraliud Jaw-king, whose links IU with the literate, the administrative, the insttumentllUy rational, aoo dx comticutionaL But, beyond such broad comparisons, the problem of communications in medieval culture is more complex than eidler the renaissance or the evolutionary theory al1ows. On tlit one hand, the spokcsmen on ~half of a prog~$$in modernity within ttH, Middle Ajje5 are not entirely to be trusted. The medievals believed thar they were tlit heirs to the Gretks, feting fanher, as Bemard of Chartres claimed, only because of the eminence to which earlier achie~ment had permitted them to rise.·' His point of view, like [hat of ~nth-anrury renai$ance throrisu, wa$ weighted in favour of learned rradition and in &vour of cultural diffusion, rhe laner being m~ helpful in accounting for the internal development of discipiin..., than why new attitudes or ways of thinkinjj came into ~ing. On the oth« hand, the th«is "from oral to wdtren" merely putS into new terminology tm, older 'ttge-rhcoty of culture, in which complelt communicative pnxCSSC"S are inevitably reduad ro adjuncts of material change. With teSpect to epic poetry, for insrance, we may ask what evidence there is fur a wholly "oral" state of mind. True, tbe /Ii",J and the Dlryss9. like medieval epics, are in J>IlI"t reposirori« of mo1'llls, customs, and other legal-religious material lodged in the collective memory. But 'epic poetry, it hlU long ~n known, also contains conceptualized texts, which [esemble written forlIl5 of record in the same way that the layoutJ of manuscript pages anticipated the first printed book,. They do not recall a living "o1'llI" iIOCiely but rather the conventions through which its lirerary stylists soujjhc ro render it for posterity .

1'<_ """'...

• , On ,.,. GtOdu . ... j. P. v...."., "0.. m",'" l" to;_ , 1.lI;..mat;.,n do" dons .. Grke >rrd. '9'91: 136, d"""-:d bcloo., C1t_ \. pp- \. J/I".

"

ORAL AND WRITTEN

A matt sophisdcatw. appro.c:h to tbe ptobl~m of communications IlIld cultural. translormuioru mUlt begin with the r«Ognition that, beyond tbe petspecti~ suppliw. by th~ period's witnesses, th~r~ are clearly both diachronic and sync::htonic relltionships to be in~ti_ glted. Moreover, there i, not one bu.r new many models, all moving It different velocitits and in different oroits. Above all, medinal UU$ of writins must not be conceivw. only lIS revivals of earlier w.ucational and behavioural patterns. Of coune, nowh~f'(' in the West wa5 writing actually reinvented; and, cvtn when Ibsent, it WlI5 so to speak present in its abentness, since IlIlcient mod~1s were oftcu recalled by m~moty IlIld imitated onUy. Also, there can be no denying thac later IlIldenc educt.tion provided the overall cultural '*ksround. Yet, the differences between the twO experiences are lIS notable u the similuities. In Gleece, the link betWeen litctaey and rationality is chiefly ISSQdate
of WriJInI

TraJilion

The c1e.tfat instances of literaey's continuous emplOYJJJCnt an: furnished by rhe papd chancety. royd chanceries, and the lay nOtariar~.

"

ORAL AND WRITTEN

Long before t~ EJiN of Mil4" 8uarant~ corporate freedom for the church, the popes had employed tIOOlrin of the city of Rome for collcctins the acts of tM martyrs, keeping t~ minutes of synods, and pI't'pUing transcripts of documentS. From a( least the tim.= of Ihma· sus I these records wcre kept in an archive over which presided tM chief scribe ~",iarilU IIl11ArirInIIJI), who was an influential member of tOr paprJ COUrt."' SucCCSlivc pontiffs had to find the man with the tight combiDllrion of "busiMSS uaining and experience"" to act at once as CUIUOf, administrator, and supervisor of the copying of letters. Until the pontificate of Innocent III (r r98-r2 r6), "there appears nOt to have ~n a consistent archival policy. "I, The lack of original registers makes the early history of the chancery difficult to reconstruct. Yet, a virtually unbroken series of scribes has been brought to Jight* and the practices of the variOU$ popes i;,e(ome drarer after papyrus was replaced by pudun~nt under Benedict Vlll;u:ound rOlo." 1he eJ~nth century witnrssed a gteat rise in the volume of transactions." In an incre;uingly litigiOU$ age , Ullmann notes, "the unparallded advanrage which the papacy had over any O£her institution wu its own storehouse of ideological memory, the papal archives. """ Between Bentdicr VIII .nd Innocent Ill, four particularly important changes ronk place in the manner in which the chancery handled the written word. The form of paprJ bulls was clarified; the offices of writing and daring were combined; the curial script was abandoned and along wilh it reliance on the Roman Jcri"iarii; and the rules for the amm were standardized. These changes did not Olke place at the $ame tim~ but they all moved in the same dire<:rion. First, the style of the privilege was modified. Formerly a cumbtrsome document btu suited to ~remonjal occasions, it was put into a format doser to the ordinary papal letter and thus made more suirable for everyday husinen. Tht letter in turn .. H_ B ... c.u. H •• g . . . U"a:Jw J _! , jt;, o.s~""

••

Iul"', ,nd «I. (Uipz;'. '9"),

M_ " p. 'l' , .. 11. . L. """" , Ut""" ", , . Hm.., t( ... P","" Cb.. ...., (Cambhdg<, '9' ,"~ I, . .. L. E. Borl<, iI. t( ... v....... 11"""" - ' it> Moh.l HoIJi"" ' 97'), 7 . .. L s.n.iftlIOl, ""Souio di uo.1
r....,

cr"""'to.

I·'

_ir.: .. doIl'initio .1)".."" l
E'8mrwJjJSbd. Hdi , 119"), 87.89. ":so. P. K<~ •• '"Soin,urn und ""'..,urn. 7_ GosdIi<~f< des pjp'dKbm IWu;ld. VI. Et~obd ('90' )' 7<>"' 12 . .. W . UU",""" , T. G-a 0{ p~ r;.,.. .. ;" to. MMJt.1Iz
.6• .

"

ORAL AND WRITTEN

had. its scope apanded: 110 that it covered Ill&uen hitbetto dealt with by privileges.'" n.e second cbanse, the uniting of the offi«s of J(rip1nl and tIMd, was completed by I '44. The third was the question of a ,ttncl'rd hand. The b.tde bttwem the Roman curial script and the Catoline minuscule ...as decided in fa'YOUt of the latter dut'ing the el~th century." By the twl'lfth, the acmplu of all future PIJ*l correspondence had emerged. FilWlly, the (iM1/S was sr.ndardized. The wk was begun under Urban 11 and completed during the pontificate of Gelasius II (1118-'9). This transition, although of'tton OTeflooked by the modem i deT, was particularly iodicati'n: of a DCW mmtality. The system mown as tbe fJlfflll CJIriM ; : ."'" had Ions been in use as a IItt of rules gOVttDit18 the balance and cadence of epistolary periods. Cllfflll now became identified with onc: of thtte invariable styles of endings for such senttDCtS, pt.",II1, 1tmiIn, and w/«.:. The .dopt:ion of lImll1 by the papal chancery was symptomatic of the final metamor· phosis of aocimt oratory into medieval rhetoric. Iu it was employed: £mm tbe twelfth century, tbe am., was not made up of Vo'Ot
,,'>I .

Noroou-..r.. · .AI 5 rS' f F;"J('n~), .. """ ,..,.... , •• itw, ay rum I..-.; ....... it. · A.'- fir '10_ 41 (.96)), ,6"20) ODd H. Puhrmaruo. ' 0.. I. .. ........... ,"'" """ dio J.~: I~J. Plo,' ",iq, od .. J-",.,$ji, nJ R . , w · fo<' 4 CSip>ori..,.,., 1~7)), ,8,'9" .. Soo G. B. I\ori,"", "1'_'1', ...... di lldr:bnI>do, " 5_ l' 4 ..... 1 (.9+8). ~6,.., ,6 . .. SooT. 5
N.,. 1

'1'7'1).

,:w,.,6.

,6

ORAL AND WRITTEN

birth to a Sl't of Il'uers and d~<:fffs which comprise the earliest sur· viving p&pal regisr~r that is com plete in in original form . Gregory saw reform in both moral and l~gal terms. He bdi~~ that writt~n law should constitute the basis of ecclesiastical adminis· tration and, more particularly, of "the translation of abstract princi. pies into concrete govcmml'ntlli IlCtioru. ''06 Yet his achievement can· not be viewed in isolation fmm the work of oliter deventh-<:I'ntury canonisu, who edited compilations and pl'nitentiais, O1'ganiU'd them undl'r specific tides, applied tesu of authenticity to earlier legislation, aoo established a common docuine for the church's increasingly wide· spread activities.'" Gregory, it turns OUt, was less influential himself on canon law than collections like the Stfltltty·FOllr 1';,/tJ of 1076, which was utilized among orhers by Anselm of Lucn, !vo of Chartrl'S, and Gratian.'" But Gregory remained the chief symbol of a slKitlal elm/tw"", in which legal p£inciples bound the spiritual to the rem· poral:" he insisted that It.w III opIX'Sl'd to custom was the equivalent of truth, the search for which would lead to the restoration or reiltw, ing of the authentic practices of the apostles and the primitive chlll'(h. ,.., Royal chance ries were slower than the pap3.(y in developing scribal techniques for administration. An office specifically rnervl'd for draft· ing documI'nts was not commonly called a ktlluf/"ia until wdl into the twelfth century. 'Q' But the function had «iste
of p~ Gm,

'"', ,6, .

a.

G . l.:>dn
I...,t"-..... (8o<\ft: .... V;""n.. I ~J61. ~~.,I. "s..: I., Kno:o:. "Pin:li"3 ,I:< Low. 0.,<10>,"''':<0 in

c.oon

I,a,.. d",i"3 the Gr
r."",. " 5"; ~ '('~7')' 4' ,.66 . .. J. T. Gikhd ,I:< ]ut ... i< So::w:t«o of ru. ~," S,... G"";,,,y 11 ( '967), ,.j8 O<>d "n.. Il«w ( • .,., J" ' 4<1:' ZRG KA " (''11 }l. "'77 .nd t. H4I. ot>d. fot • Lt' ... of -.jof Ii_ of in .. rp ....;on. O. eop;, ..... " EoiII< un' .... pr,.,nu.:'/ Con::id<".>oru ....1< .. ."Je".. di uno .",,~ .. &o medi .. i.,ia," RWiM Ji I ..... 1 "'if.... , (,,6,). 4'4·81. - G . J dM'. "Two Grc.oriu: l.ft, ... on tl:< Sowno u:oi N.",... of GtqoJy vIr. R
-4', Fo< Oil:tn:li. A. 1>0, 6 7. ... H. "' . Klntit:l. "'Cot:oI;'" ... m r6mit<J>. .. rnw:it
Grr,.,..,.·,

.,tIoor',

4<,.,,,,,,,,#

rh.

V.-

/1,,6).

C..,..,

lCon'i"ui,koy:oblt", ll." A .... I.. D-#

on/r. (.,,6),

"

"·H. 7'·H .

OR.4-L .4-ND WRITT!lN

mucted by the Vis(godu, by the Langobards, and, iI is thought, ,., by the Anglo-Suons. But the model later imitated ~Ioped out of the transition from the Merovingian to the Carolingian kings. Pippin, crowned at SoiS5OllJ in ni, abandoned the chaotic record-keeping of Childeric HI and adopted instead the somewhat more methodological system of the palace mayon. '''' The Carolingian challCery grtw in size with sU«e$Siv~ ~mperon, only to become fragmented with different parts of the empire afrer &jo. In the hue ninth and renth centuries, the royal chanceries of Pro~nce, Burgundy, and luly utilized the Carolingian style of dip]oml.. Similar traditions dominated the diplomnic services of the culy Ortos. 1bey ~n served as I. point. of departure for the modest writing service of HUSh Caper.'''' The chanceries of Hugh, Robert I, Henry I, and Philip J were no man: extensive than was necessary fur !'\Iling a kingdom cncompassill8 little man: than the lle-de·France. But, from the rime of Robert the Pious, a ~ of simplification wu di5Ccmible. The new charrer was smaller in dimensions and lacked many of the traditional furmulat. Eventually it was simply called IrriPI_, /WgilY, ()!" tIIf14, ,06 indicating that thc tat rather than its symbolic trappill8s constituted tbe mes.sage. The position of the uthchancdlot correspondingly lO$C in prestige. A c~ in point ""as Etittllle de GarbOOe. Archdeacon of Paris, he bcatne chancellor under Philip I in 110,-1106. He kept his office under Louil VI, aod, ~n aftcr his dismissal in 1127, remained an influential seneschaJ. "'/ But genuinely "administrative kingship" does not appear in Europe until thc acression of Hcnry I ODto the English throne in 1100. Henry centralized accounting and ttel.Sury procedures, improved the quality and quantity of records, and greatly increased the royal C1)Otrol of jUlltice.'" He cra.taI. a _gutit' Kl'iplllrii ""hose office: carried on its ",tivitia .... htther the king was prnmt or not.'op In order to fin.!. such a radical reform of ~rnment in France one must look forward to the reign ) .. 1V""" I ....... '~" j. - G. T ... iu, fX~ ' ,.. ..,. fo 'Of ,;.. (I'Jri •• ,96.). 40 .

'" Se< N . T. CIsn
"' IW., "9. "'.4-. Gi,." ~.I. 'jib 'it-, .od «I. (Pvio, '92,), H2 . - T...... . ,D: ' __ . ' ,',"' .n I . ,'3),

"" C. W. HoIlis<er and J. w. Bold,,;a,

''Tb< Ilioe ~ AoImini..... i.. /(jRftllip: Heft,., I and PhiUp A"' ....... ,- ",_ . ,. mu . r'R..... 8, ('978), 868. !'or th< eN,. : ''I!r ~
Bishop,

H'4" .. Rcis (ODood,

'96')' 4""

,s

OJlAL AND WRITTIlN

of Philip AugUSIUI after 1I79."o Throughout the twelfth century regional chancerje5 also sprang into existence in the north: in flandu$ from 1136, Hainault (rom 1180, Narnur from 1180-1190, and Brabant from 1199.'" Episcopal registen b«arne more abundant in the thirteenlh .... Between the laler Roman empin and the eleventh century the contjnuity of administrative literacy was mainraiDed by private and public scribes to whom nowadl!ys we give the 8eMric tide of notaries. However, Roman lIa""ii, either ilS Krill;g,;j or tlllUtJl4rii, were civil servants woo did not normally draw up or authenticate private acts. This Wik WlIS left to the ",kIJiMW, simple secretaries who were organjud as I guild . As they had no public Cllpacity, they were compelled to deposit acts in an appropriate branch of the imperial bureaucracy, the census, the judiciary, the municipal magisnacy, or the proviDeial prd'ecture. JU5tinian, who was emphatic on ;1I$;lIlI4tio, speci6cally excluded f4Mli_ from the p.b/KtS foiD. There were at lcut tWO reasons. The transfer of the empire's headquarters 10 the Greekspeaking world meant that le8islation regarding priVllte IICts intvirably had to take account of bilingualism. Also, increasing numbers of litigants were illiterate. The case which provided the instance for the lesislarion Dt lahelliOllibllI'" clearly indicztes the manner in which later imperial scribes acted all intermediaries IJ,c,tween oral and wtillen culture. In n6 an illiterate woman Cpm_ "'II/~ . . • uribmdi ig""''') had a document drawn up by a laMiio. Instead of witnessing it himself, he routinely alIsigned it to one of his assistants. Thc WQman latcr claimed that the doculJl(!nt did not state what six had said. As the 1.kllio Wall not the Kriplor doatmmti, he could hardly attest its veracity. (for, in Roman law, unless there was • witness, a judge could nO!: pronounce upon the: casc.) JU5tinian's I~gislation provided that henceforth a hIklli" had to IJ,c, present to witness a document, e5p«iaUy when those contracting an agtttment w~re illiterate (-.ui_ '1lh1l1tU lifl#'tIJ III"t igllor"./tJ q/li ha« ;1I;lIl1gllllt • • .). ". The link between t""timony and .. , Hallimt 1Nl Bo!dtoift.

_,tU., 89''90''

.. , w. Pt.,",,;,,. . . cboa«lloeho dn _ _ ok

Amd .. dons I< -';,,, (M.och....., "no).

Xli 'iklo, " BiN;"Up.. r&.lt" ... Sot io ..- ' C. R. o..""f, ' .2~.,.j dw. 2 ond •. '" N.."p" • I. ~ I"';' C;,.ilil.
" ,

ORAL AND WRITTEN

writing was reinfo«ed in N4VtIt.. H, which dealt with the .utbendcation cl docummlJ. Scribes, it md, ~ p.niculady irnlX"(litlt among those having DO formal education. Witoesses acquainted with the parties were esJefltia..l: l(lJJIe could write on behalf cl t~ with linle or 00 knowledge of Ieuen, while Others could attest to the veracity of the act. '" After tbe insmllation of Langobard rule, guilds of professional scribes sunived in regions under Roman law, although often in II degenerare form. IOCIIJ traditions proliferated. In Ra.~nllll, the noble INt.wii were $et apart from the simple drafters of private iIl!ltrumenll. ,,6 In Naples, where llOtuial traditions were Uf'Oll8, secuhu and ecclesiutical scribes formed a single body, the e.ri.tks, from the tenth cenrury, lI.fId authenticated acts written by tbeir apprentices, the JiJtipllii saipt_. H, Scribes were also active in G.em, Som:nto, Ama.lfi, and of COIlIR in Rome. Ho .. e¥er, decisive changes were introduced into the nouzillte by tbe Langobuds. Although their precise orisin rcJJlIins obscure, ". laJJ.&nbard NlMii had by the end of the ninth century acquired valfiog deg«es of tbe """,iu jiMt. They provided tbe essential link not only to Frankish notarial practicn, but mnrc importantly between the rudimentary private act of tbe early Mkld.le Ages and tbe authenticated public document which appeared with increasing freqUl:ncy in Italy from the eleventh cenrury.'" Early Ungobanflegislation did not speak of the "Mol ilU bur simply of the Jmfltl, the writer. A change of function can be discerned. in the legislation of Liutprand, who demanded of all who wtote doc;uments (q..i 4Jf1IIItu srrileu) that tbey be familiar with both l.angobard and Roman law, i.e., both unwritten and written tradition.'" SchilJMrclli diuinguisbcd tbe lIOIlIrii rrgiJ, who were cha.ocery officillls, from tbe lIOWrii rirliltlliJ and «rUsiA, •• , ." C. 8, iMI.. )6}-6.j. 1'«. "'kW .. tl:c ]»KiBia" '..;.le.;....... N . A
,,..6.

1... ' , ...... Jf_ WpJ """ C-;. I tu' Hm-y (OJood •• 966> .• ".,.s. u'See N . W. Soci,' yr. o.;pu """ 0." . r(" ." ' ' ; * lit R _ (S~ . . . . Ta;' ,. C ' ;"J. dioo. (Now Yad! Ua.i-.il)". ,n6). d ... ,-ti. '" See L Sdliopodli. "Note di~' . "Mid><...u. ea... ...... ~ dc. ' , 1 ...... ntIl·ii-.alii . ". For • diocuoMoo. .... I'ttno«i. 1'1_, 4"" ... Sot i ...., .... H. Do 'hi. H ' . ' . 1. ,8}-tin ondA. do 1IoIlord, _Jt~

,,,11), ,,-.8,

fi ;rH,,; , ... [ i

t

W .. f

c....-.ni.

!.1I.-r_,..(I'orio. '90481 •• " ..... ~

de .... XV. I" , VIII. MCH J..qn 4. , ... _~,.

40

;,..1._"" .........,

ORAL AND WRITTEN

t~

latter of whom, PetrU(( i maintains, were instrumental in providing saibaJ services for the newly established landed aristocracy. '" Charlemagne, far from innovating, attempted to geneo.lize the system throughout the empire, demanding in a well-known edict that every bishop, abbot, and «lunt retain a notary. ," He forbad priests from drafting private acts and had a list of notaries «Impiled fat the imperial period. When the empire fcagmented, notaries, particularly in Italy, becoune more and more identified with hig~r lay culture, often holding up the prestige of written law over ··fe\.ldal'· in<:ursiolU. In S8I, the (ount of luti, quoting a (hatter, declared that laW1 which were neither written down nor attested publicly by a notary were inadmissible as evide~.'" The lay notariate was reborn in Italy during the tenth aod eleventb centuries. An unbroken uadition of grammatical training, a preco(ious commncial development, and an early revival of Roman law combined to insure Italian preeminence. A large role was also played by the Gregorian Refurm, which n:iterated the Carolingian injunction against priests transacting secular business. The transformation, Alain de Boiind noted, was botb diplomatic and legal."· Above all, it required the prog~ive scribalization of hitherto 00.1 judiciary procedures. In a word, the IIfIt4.rillJ became ill.ux: the ((mitJsiu il'l jlM, when authenticated by a notary public, took the form of an autonomous legal institution. All that was ~lIy necessary was the agreement of both parties in a single written trallKriprion, which. if sworn brl"on: a notarial tribunal. became an illJtnmu1ltll1ll pllhli(JIm. The notary' $ register. which simply lecotded tne various irems of business which p...ei over his desk in no ap~rent order. acquired a value equal to tne original documents and testimonies. In principle there wen: twO registen, .. summary of the procis-1lfrlJal and a more extensive official record. The earliest extant register is that of the Genoese notary Giovanni Scriba, whose IIOtflf..rilll'll begins in I '~4. " j During the later twelfth and thirteenth centuries notatial cartularies became normal features of the administtation of lulian and southern French [owns. '" P-.
...

I~ .

[6J-4f.

'" H . VoI«lini. ""Di< imbrnio[w cl.. JohoBncs Scn"bo im S...tIOtchi .... GM .... - MIll(; ([9. 6 ).7[.

.

4'

~,

OIlAL AND 'ilI'RITTI!N

Prom about the middle of tile thirtttnth century notllries abo btpn ro appear in lands of CUStomary law. ,,.

Orality with;" WriJtl1I TriU/itiun The history of the p.paq, of chanceries, and of the norariate, together wilh the chief literary genre of institutional commWliurion, the rpiJtllU,,'" tells the Story of Iitency's rebirth lugely from the viewpoint of written uadidon. But the typical medieval and early modern state of affairs, as noted, is for oraiiry to retain in functions within a system of graphic ~resentation for lang\lllge, IllII for instance it does in the nowial tribunal, which, in superseding oral record, nonethrlns demand, "..rsonai InmdilKe and ~ba1 testimony. Whit distinguished medieval from ancient literacy, it is uguable, was not tbe presence of such roles. but their vuiery and abuncb.nce. The most instructive rumples Ire fouoo in diplornatics. medieval Ilw, Ind kudalism, to which we now rum. Sioce Brunner, it has been customary fM historilllS to differentilte roushly between the "dispositive" lOO "evidential" functions of writing in later Romln: and early rnedie'Vl! priVlte law.'" In Roman Ilw the jUl'idic act was sepanre from its proof. Throughout the republic no particulu impor_ u.nce was attached to the written IUts of private COntracts. By Justinilltl's rime, as the legislation De ftIIx/lioniI»4 IlU88"'tI, juu the opposite was true: in general, the proof of a contractual I8reement lrose in lugt' part from iu luthenticated transcript.·,. The emphasis on writ_ ... Par. bibl. . . .inl .. ,;'w, _ A. WOU(, "0.. 6ITendidoo _ . " in H. Cui"" od. , H , , . . . ~ . . . "'-.r.. '" _ i ··' ! Pri..".;Iw ,J......., ...... [(Wu<>kh, ·9U) . ,."..~. '" Par. full rni<..-, ... G, Conorobk, TlotLM"" " P_ "" V_rJk, ..... (~, Mao., '967)' 1-+4 (.... orali'1, pp. '1-.8). _ . /..#un 11ft! LM....vIJ.mns (Tlllnhwt, 1976), 0DId ..... d... dio,;1>Crion 1>« ...., on! ouod ...,;,_ foomo, J. ~, "Le!,,,,, de 5. B"".nI, b;..ol ..... !iutm..... " SIIJi "m,l; ,nlllft"in, "(>911). ,·11 (....;qui,,) and 11·17 ()I;.!dk

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li .....,... on do< Bnmn nI b,. I!rn.Iau. Ho" M i, n. 8".... ~ JUrW)'I 01"'" '1'[" 0' inllud< A. de -.I,~. It 4,·,0; H. s..u.dr..r," 'l"nditio canw' W>CI. ., Ni...w...." Ut P. Cl PIU, ni" Rd....... $drft ;. MitrW.J.... (Sip>o.,.6y. '0'>09; D. p, Bioi< •. '1.<0 """oIn de dton ......... doni In ann prim du hour N"" .....," MixrI~ N,n '" 'i- .. . J. P. NM_)# (G""';""". [g6-]), '7'''; otod P. T.... ! "', t.. "'........ r....j _ 'n", (11. ...... 191). I. 91'" •• ,. ' .. L. _ , "End< "'" 10 h"",,;"" deo.-_ por J"kriture dam I< cIrt;;, deo ton....Ie. d. V• .., Xli< hkl<," NRHD • [ (.88,), '49-68. ," TIlt .,Id
4'

ORAL AND WRITTfiN

ten records ...as oot of coune the byproduCt of more widespreiid eduClltion but of " leg21 illiteracy." Like language and culture, Roman leg21 traditiolU during the empire bifutOlted into ·'popular" and "learned" COInlX""Ienu. Bet .. un the third and the sixth centuries there arose a large number ol·'vulgar" pnctices in private law which Cllnl\Ot be tl"lCC The interpolations were publicly recognized ftom at least the time of Constantine, who, in mICtion against them, insuted that acts be dIllwn up not prilNl/im or (IaIIito but "with the knowlC
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VJ,... L-. n. '-- t{ '" I ,., (Philtdolphia, 19S'). p. 6 Tb< foIkro-i", -"""" ""'_ tnenti-o . udy. O. Leoy, 1V.,._doo V.I"" .... o.u ~;,.;.",.. ..... (Woim .... '9")6), , .", iJ., G" IJIJtSdri{"', 0. 'I' p, . . . "", v.n.:n. '49, 4K. uod ", F""" fJlriJ R_; .""",ti.;';, «I. S. Il;m,. ~, .. 01 . ('94hU) . ..,.. '. "'P .• S"fF.,.od 46so/1"·;.-«l by 0""1.01. -l'ortkb«o"1>II W_I .. . :. ,...

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ORAL AND WRITTEN JIK~, DOt

necessarily legally binding.'" One oral tradition appears to hav.: mdted into another. The Justinian compromise between the old and me new was an interim codification of lICtUmuJII.ted vetbaI practices. Germanic jurists, imitating. utbough!lOt always faithfully, their Roman predecessors, attempted to Set down for posterity their own hithcno unwritten customs. The link was not ooly between pe0ples but between two forms of oral culture at different stages of t9:tUl;liwion: the X".tilUlir4Jsprohl_, by implication, is also a problem of communication. ,,. The inoovatioos affected the law of property in particular. By the founh century the classical distinctioo bctwttn the right to control (JMj1li_, ~) and the fact of controlling (j¥Jstl1i" urMtllS, IIIIISfiwtllS) had broken down. Pwmio came to mean OWDel$hip; tJq",j"iMm Ind ~ were reduced to mere possession. In $Ol1le at'Ca! of family 1111', such IS divorce and inheritance, "-itIi_ _ funhel degfllded to mere IISlISfiwtllS. Form of owncnhip WlIS bound to function: in the ase of state-controlled trade guilds the public tax burden was trat!$£erred liong with propeny righu. Types of propeny holding were confused. Tbe difference between ..pbytlllIis and illS privatim evaporated; anyone who controlled land WIS Ible to keep it and to diJ:pose of it at will, provided that he satisfied the demands of the Iisc. !be. .:u of obligation and disposal coa1csccd.; "all the distance shrank between ownership and pos-ession . . . , so the transkr of ownership _ no longer accuratdy kqX" .p.n from the causal t~tion aimed at it."'·1 Sale became merely an exchange of goods for money, the cquiment, bidore pointed OUt, of tnode 01' barter (11 Mllt#tio _ _). ,,. n.e decline of such juridic nicetin placed new burdens on documentation. For, where the law was no longer uootl5toOd, it hlld to be 5pcIJed out, illustrated, and explained. The founh and fifth centurin saw the rise of leg.J instrwnents which clas.sical 1.11' had. con-

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1_.0. Tjid«. 0.;, "'!'h ..... I I.: " ! (Lw>d, I!»,l. '14-1'· ""Cf.H.Mitteio,o;,Rri<" L60:..J*:-P, "-.M · ., Kw ' . ,,,(Al:bond~... cIor o.u'-':'k ' ..... cIor W;I .I:ofr • I • - ' 1';" .. ailtt".;. {rIIIw Ni" ','w (M:micb. 197'). 1>fKI ........ bt ' i ~ Ut the oct........ p. Rkbo!.!' 0 ... _C-n- iJII. S "' .-1J'0#, ....... }. J. (',,/CoJumbio, S.C .• 'J76l.

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ORAL AND WRITTEN

sidered a.t best SUperflUOUS. These practices were taken over by Germanic cooi!iers, who ft«ly adapted them to their own I\C'cds. The new buyer, fur innance, was nOt content with an informal promise to deliver goods. He insisted on physica.l transfer, acwmpanied by witneues and a written conU&cL The general tendency was "to obviate the shortcomings through the use of documenu.'·'" It was supported by the inadequate legal education of the new citizens as well as the eastern habit of ffliucing legal tranuctions to writing . The ttend became $0 popular that after Constantine jurists took pains to point out rhat Ir;u/ilio did not require the drawing up of an instrumenL The transfer of the burden of taJ(.O.rion abo increased documen_ tation: "there can be no doubt ... that as in the East so in the West all major sales, not only of land but also of fo/oni, slaves, and other valuable objects were usually put inro writing. "' 40 As a consequeoce, only CKceptionally did ";u/ilio alone remain a basic element in the transfer of title. By the fifth cenrury sale Mrmally included a public performance of the act, either before witnesses or through registration, after which the proceedings were set down in writing. Similarly, Consrantine insisted that all gifts not among members of a family be ruorded and the property formally handed over. As in the Cll$!' of sale, it was performance, !lOI: promise or intention, that created the legal act. In other words, in all types of property transfer, more and more stress was laid on factual or physica.l ",aditio and •.nestation ' " ItgitifII4J script/mu. There was no t,aditio,," ca,klm alone; the delivery of the Srript/i'4 did not take the place of the thing being tn.nskrred (1r4Jitio ftI). in most instances the documen t merely sctved as a tranKrlpt. Oral tradition, as a consequence, played a dual rol e, equally evident in the new functions for texts and in the growing emphasis on perfonned transfer. Justinian's compromise was that contracts couid exist si", i" Jrripfis I;'" ,i", srriptir:'4' but this was a halfway-house between classica.l practice, which was already in decline , and medieval usage, which CKisred in substllnce if not in legal (orm. In cunfrast to Juninian's "renaissance, ,. the Germanic codes di~ not actempt ro restore classical norms in private law. ,., Oral tradition was rather mo~ su~ of itself, even when it was transmitted in written ... Lnjo. '''IHi.• .. ' IHi. .

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ORAL AND WRITTEN

form. T,.Miiti~ per tilrt4m appeared only in tbe: seventh century. '4' During the following four hundred years om! practices domill3.tcd private Jaw in regions of Europe influenced by Gerffillllic institution,. The (#!'fA was primarily a symbol of physical tr.ulil~, the lIOIitiA, lIS a Langobard clu.tter put it, a text "to be retained by memory fm future times. ", ... From about 1050 .mtraet juridic principles began Ilowly to reappear. But tbe: "accidental" rediscovery of the Di"" around 1070 W1L:i both a source and a symptom of a more general ra.mcning «inreret in the written 1IIOld. MOlW.ti, it is arsuablr r;ho:t, throushour the period of customary law, the operative distinction WIliI not between types of legal instrument and theit supposed Roman or Germanic origins, an issue thar has much preo«upicd legal hUtoty: it was simply whether the written te:l:t was acknowledged to be an objective criterion in contracrua.l agreements. The Germanic codes presented no uniform view of writing's llSC.'S. ,., The Alamans showed an interest in dating. ,"" The Uz RiAw4ri4 noted. the value of striptlll'lII'_ smu in such areas lIS dowries, freeing slaves and inheritance.'" In Bavarian la.. d~ buying or seUing of a man could be proved. either through witllCSSl'l or per ",""ft. ,...s Similar provisions were made by the Goths and the Burgundians. The dCllteSt influence of Jlome appeared in Visigothic law, in which provision was made for verifying subscriptions by a comparison of hands. '40 Even such reminiscenctl of Roman la.. were often "vulgu" in origin. The fifth-cenrury Cm Earin .... , was a case in point. It ~rted that vtNiiti6 or tIIIJIIi6 (meaning either sale or bamr) could be completed 16,.{;6; "" oh< _ " " ' .... oh< '""'" ....' -.....,. i. hi. Cn to; s"'/IH. I. >o,-6}, ..-d. f«t. """"""" cl !he """"""""'" bcIo '0 ..,d oh< .JOOd old 10.... up ... oI:oou< 800. _ R. Sj:" hi. P:tol ... " ""'"" R«htI ill> IiIil>
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ORAL AND WRITTEN

Pw Jmptlifal/l., or, "if a lexl were unanilable, rari6e.:! by wilnI.'SSe5.""" The text ··wu merely a matter of evidence and nOI relennt for the validity of Ihe sale,""" which was Jegaliztd by payment. A similar approach was taken in the Burgundian and Banrian Jaws, and in the sizth-century FmnllLu MtImi/fi. ,.' Such clear intrusions by oca.Jily rendered unworkable the {l()rmal terms of refc:rencc for contract law. In the CoJex Emiri.tnllJ, for ClUIJIIple, "considering that there might be no KriPtlff
z.wn.., MG H Lo... No< . G.rm . I. "

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47

ORAL AND WRITTEN

limited to tbe north; d!ey sptead southwards inw romarUzed Burgundy and the Midi, producil18, foe insWKe, the odd hybrid of • "dispositive" nvig sown to • "probative" text. I" The ~rsistmce of nral tnodition is oowhae better ilIustnted dWI in the ceremony of /~H UIdM. Befure the chuter wall writkn, tbe parchmmt, pen, .00 ink were plaad OD rbe land to be :sold. In tbe participilllu' miDds tbe instnmaents tbereby beome impregnated wid! ew:hly forces. When the act was "signed," it '\VU turned into a symbolic replica of tbe ritual by which the ach&nge was soltmniu.!. It was both a lega.i record and • quas.i-magical object.'~ Even a r",.,. SUN li,,.iJ carried weight. ,6, Anglo-Saxon uses of writins offer a number of parallel5. The earliest English chuten date from the seventb century; their form and style betray the attemptS of clerics to impress a few Roman lega.i ideas onto • society hitbetul isnorant of tbem. ,6> & in MetOYingian G.ui, the cbatten b8d 00 authenticity; the wi(('euc', instead of signins, were represented by • scribe who nonnaIly made • mark or cross. The text was not without value. It demonstrated tbe "need to communicate in wtiting . . . Of to P'CJUR in writil'l8 the memoty of a trans.ction or an event, formally or informally," as a donation of 0fFa put it in 78" "on a.ocount of tbe uncertain prusagc r:i future time, since, out of igllOfMCe or even deceit, it often happens that • denial of what truly took place arises ... ,6, The acculruruion of writing within oral tnadirion il well rttapitulated hr NIKJ in the history of tbe Anglo-Saxon will, of which IOnle fifty original5 survive. In HueJrine', Ticw, .. tbr: dispositive act ol giving ~iJ 00II. is an ora.! and formal act." When completed before witnesses, it "needs no documenration to mIke it valid and binding in tbe law." In other words, "the juristic act is complete without tbe writil18."'64 Altholl8h tbe Anglo-Suons used writing for other purposes, the recording of will5 Wti Chiefly the result of canonical influences. ,6, Even after wriring was introduced, the disnot

si....

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ORAL AND WRITTEN

po$1t1ve act remained an essentially oral contract. It was merely underpinnrd by a written trans(fipt. "To the proof of oral aclS furnished by transaction-witnesses; . . . thtre was now added the evidence of writings. ··,66 CwitU did not" originally mt&n puwit but "simply spc«h, discooISC, 4;(1l11li. "''''' The rbirogr""htt 01 ctlpies "were Il(){ dispositive CIIrhU, but merely memoranda, documents ",.h/wUzt '
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,.. H .... ltin<, '"CommcntJ,- Diy, «hoi"ll H . BNIIMt. Z". Rrit~ ... ''''h,l>o •• ..J ~ (I"""""'(B. L. A. Matlron (London. ,96.), I. nii·..i ; G. D.il>y. ·u ~ittl1J ............ i!t mt<: hI>dali.m tnd H,,,,,,i' M 0( M"'Kn.I Eorop<:' .01 ___.... 1/;, ,",,,,,,,1 R _ 79 ( '914). ,061-8$; W . U .. I. ""Obe, &n I.. ibo :ebrionlrup 01 , .." .... '0 ....Ii'!', R. Btenn
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ORAL AND WRITTEN

The metamorphosis was so complete that the feudin lawyers of the seventeenth century had. no (rouble in reconstructing the entire organism from its surviving legal remains. Feudal riteS were united by a number of common features: respeo;t fOl" the indiyidual and his wotd, the belief in the concrec:e over the abstract, the formalization of obligations thtoUlJh ritual and, just bt-neath the surface of many ceremonies, a SOlru'What nostalgic reson to the gestures of tribal warfare. , •• The whole operated as a symbolic s)'Jtem, whose efliaa.cy, Jacques u Goff observes, wall scdously impaired if any liingle element was omitted. '1J Like all onl ceremonial, feudal ritual was conservative. 1be«! is little difference between the rite of commendation in the Merovingim formularies IItId the investitures r(corded by Ga.lben of Bruges before William, the new count of Flanders, in 1127. ' 14 The texts almost innriably lack contemporary gJoeses or commentaries, an indication that the ritual itself nther than an inretpretarion based upon it comptised the conuactual bond. Once el)a(ud, (he relationship was in principle lifelong, in contrast to Other asrarian connacu, which were in theory at least reD!:wable. R.ati6cation sometimes took place by an achange of letters, but such simple forms of registntion wen: men:ly accessories after the fact.·n The ritual was the bood. Each of the ccnual cetemonies blended the spoken, the symbolic, and the perl"ormancc of rites. In homage, fat insWlce, the lotd and the vassal stood &cing each other. The vassal repeated a number of SCt pho.scs in mponsc to stlltemenu by the lord. He then ;oined his hands and placed them in the lord'l. The lotd closed his own tullWU ovrr those of the vusal. The physical gescures, wbich wen: sometimes concluded with .. kiss on the mouth, ". On spnboI.;"" ODd on! ll. H.......... A H;,u" 1'0 ; r " Uw, ,,.,.,. P. S. Philbrid< ~, '9.8), ,_.6. (Omiooed io.b< iq ,,,..... «>lite, .... of N. Tl>fvmin, T_ MMifi _ ictit_!riMs. JW/o,- _ fo;= [PW, .887l .) A l",id ~ioh """"'"'1 of ,he "";n pti"";p!1; • .-fuI «>I1m.... of ont. i. uonolotion. J.. Bcuon.:bt, ~ /f<J,Jid, YOl. I (Poli" .968). 13'-71;' ___ ",iew of .... "'lit", SiLO! J. i.< Go«. ""U ",...1 rymbo!iq ... cl. la ....,.[i~, - p _ _ _ fMy.xo .... tempo _-Guolit>~, I J",jbo; - . i JoII'E J ~-unI;"p. (Spcdoto, ,,,,I, ~n." G.u..h
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served as & symbolic ltatement of the I'l'lation. ,,. Homage was usually followed by the qu.asi-l'l'ligtous (eremony of fealty, in which Ihe vassal, placing his hands over the Bible or some I'l'lics, pledged (or I'l'pledged) his allegianc;e. The same union of the oral ant! the conCl'l'te occ\lt1'ed in other imporlant rit", such as marriage, which in ~r manic cusrom consisted of t&s/JD"Jdli~, Jolalio, and "adilio Jnu,lat. '" A good enmple is furnished by the (eremonies surrounding the il1l11Ul, which was both a physic:al obj~t, a rod, a wand, or, taler, mel'l'lya bie of tharch, and, as subseqlH'nt lexicographen summed it up, a ,ig"lllll tl sytrrhoIllIII lraJiriDlliJ .' )· In Salic law the ilJflK4 was either (el'l'moniaHy taken up or thrown down on the ground as bonds were reaffirmed or broken. A vassal appearing bdOl'l' his wunt's tribunal might bold the IM in his left hand while he held OUt his righe to swear an oath. He thereby symboliCally l'l'-cxpl'tS3ed both his devotion and fl'l'Cdom since, in ~rmanic society, juridic liberty _ i~para ble from the righe to take up arnu, which sel2ing the il1ll1ta recalled. Alternately, rheilJfllC4 was thrown down when legal conditiotu were not fuHilled, as for instan(C when, following a homicide, an appropriate wrrgdd was withheld. '79 Eventually the term n;flJfll(iI" came to mean I11pturing the bond of homage.'''' All such rituals had a corn moo base, rhe early medlC'VllI belief that exchange should take place ontlly, between men ~ to face and within the framework of the: gift. ,., The d~line of symboli( rites is one side cl feudalism'. larer evolution. The other il rhe tratuformation of personal into territorial law, whi(h suhscquently &vcloped written form, . ,., UDder tbe Carolingians ptivate law had an ambivalent $nrus. In

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' 9" -'4), And tht ilDpootlll' ", h im' of W. Sobli",. ''Tb< Spirir cl rh< Gift." i" 5_ A.r< \0>1<""". '97')' '4~J. For • tu ..., on;'" cl 'h< ...1, mtd~ "idrn<. .... G . DubJ. G .." .... d,..,_ VII·XII. , ;kU (Pu;'. 19B)'~ ' - Foll"w;", A. &m,;". C_ iI_"';" "" J..;s fr""flli>, 'J'~ M. (,..i,. '9'0), 77\)-8'/ ' .

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"

ORAL AND WRITTEN

genera.! it was personal and varied with the radal origin of the subject. Yet, in principle at least, it lieU within domain of written law. Whether the laws ori8inally descended from onl ~ written tradition, the judge, in rendering a verdict, was obliged to make rckrence to an official or authorized tat.'IJ Custom had DO official status; a point of law could be derived only from a written pttced.ent. With the decline of the Frankish monarchy, this situation gready changed. The penonaJ laws and tapitularies "l'rre used less and less; in their place arose a large number of territorial customs. Many forces were at work: economic, social, and politicaJ. Frankish personal la... implied two priOt conditions. The race of the defendant had. to be known and the judge had to undentand the law. With the intermingling of peoples, strict racial boundm:es evaporated; and, lIS Latin literacy declined, so did cho: a.pocity to interpret the kps. ' .. As a oonsequeoa:, the use of legal texts and with it tbe la ... of penonality gradually fell into neglect. In every region of the empire possessing geographical boundaries and a local character there IltOSe a set of customs that governed everyone lay and rdigiow within iu borden without distinction of r.ce.'" Naturally, the inheri~ kgts of the dominant group in e.:h region furnished the model. But the code. thcm.1Clycs were consulted less and less. And, lIS penonaI ooied to territorial law, the onl in genera.! replaced the written. The last vestiges of the Carolingi-.n censuses disappeueci in the eleventh century.'~ But, long bef(omplcrcness, .nd lack of cont&Ct with popular motes. ,.., Outside the chun;h they became lugely obsolete during t~ tenth and eleventh centuries. The disappearance of these: two forms of wri~tcn law meant that, for .. relatively brief period, custom reigned supreme in northwestern Europe, extending its jurUdiction equally into lands of~ manic and Roman lepl ~raditions. Although pm:tices varied from place to place, the custuma1s were

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'Inited by rhrtt gener.ol principles. ,M They wett load in jurisdiction. They wett pre
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"

OKAL AND WKITTEN

and eleventh centuries, '06 canon I.w emerged not only as the standard· bearer of the I.w of persons but of written legal traditiol1$ in gen· eral. ,,., From the tenth century in increased use at the local level may be attributed in large part to tilt- weakness of seigneurial justice. The feudal magnues never really replaced the .drninistrative authority of the central government. There was little commitment to univcnal jurisprudence.''''' Often. only a rough.md.ready system was main· tained to keep order and to derive profits from nnes and connse&tions. The tone of the courts wu caught by Bcrnard of Angen, who. speak. ing of a plea in 1007. remarked that "each person arguC!! his own case, rcsuItifl8 in a confused OUtcry of intermifl8IM voices in which it is difficult to judge the true from the false."'''' Ecclesiastic..l courts, whether they utilized collect~ons of canons, or, as was often tbe case, 1es:5 fOl'malized dircctivn, invariably followed procedu~ that We«' more erudite, reasonable, and objective. Germanic modes of proof of COUl$C found their way into the corpus. "'" But, from the Carolifl8i.n period, the duel wu forbidden, and other jlUikiA Dri were condemned progttSSivclyat the syDOds of Scligcnstadt (lOll). Geislcben (10l8), Burp (r077), and Toledo (1091)."" And their infiue~ wu slight ... On .IUO
t-. od. P. Wrimu 1Aoltn. '5169); p . w........ "DitIt.iItioch< Li"""",," ~.," in eo;".. H PO M • • • •!/-.60;....t, in ....1. "'" _ _ ....._ .. I., R_ MMii A .... .., 8.itS, ",itwod bt' K. NIirt, "0;. konoooi .. ;,m" L i _ , " in c...t"., H:'" " '10-18, o..d S. ICQ,.-. '-n.o .... i..J .. J~," j~ It. ~. 8<,n,....t G. C-obI<, «is., R-U_ _ t--.J is'''' T...q;.Io C • ) «=-bold&<, _., '98>). >'9!1-3'3 . ""'. rt.....bbIc ....dy .. ,ho moditnl .todi,iott .. on i.nI....... ol a>Jlei ..... ~i IRtdii.la>tia_ .ion ...... . . . . N .... In .. prin cc< .......1Ido mldtl". "......... '"""" .rnpt&." Cf. lI. 10, jj,iJ., O}A-31lB . ... 0.. ""' ...... tbt _ in~, _ ""'odmittodlr ...... ,OXo
R.... ' ,.. '"' - . '-\ '" X, "" XIII, Ji/do (J'aris, 'IN9). '77-89. - !Mw lfIj, . k _ $. P_ '." . od . A. _illo< (Patio. '897), ~J. - Fot. briof, .. it.· . ... P. L Gono/J, P..-.u'I_iotu N. L"", ~ YotIt. '910), 87..yj. - a. E. V_1dud, "L'E&~"" le> oodolioo." tJ.I.IJt ~j';'''II''';" '"

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ORAL ,!,NO WRITTEN

compared to canon In"s benefits. Emanating from a single body of doctrine, canon law offered an alternative to the often overlapping jurisdictions of customs.'''' It also provided a stepping-stone to higher Justice. from the local bishop a claimant could appeal to d~ archbishop, tho:: metropolitan, or even the pope. Claims could be lodSed directly with the papacy, a privileSe whose abuse by the mid_twelfth century incur:red the wn.th of St. Bern.ro. '"", But above all canon law wlIS attractive because it was liten.te. The canons were a set of organized texts, a model of early scholllStic riSour later iminted in philosophy and rheology; the bisbop or his ojfoialis- normally acted as judge; and canonists culminating in Gntian insisted on tne importanCe of writren evidence.'''' If tlM:re was any Aaw in the system, it was its overextension into secular affairs. Despite Gregotian legislation to the contrary, ecclesiastical courts after 1100 were asked to pass judgment on an cvtr-increasing number of manef"$ in private law. The coutt'J compt"tence came to depend les.s on the status of the defendanu than on riM: ratio mAtmM.'o(; In (){ner areas, canon law effectively led the way ro lay participation in justice. A good eumple is the pax Of 0.;. "" At lif"$t tne peace of God attempted to limit feuding and warfuc"only to those entitled to bear arms, protecting as it wcre those who "laboured or prayed."'''' But, by [041, the council of Narbonnc spoke of the pr.unpfltl1l Dtj and the ;l/.JfifllfirmtJ "osmu, qJlM . . . scribe""" SIl"I, _OIl that is, the texts to be recorded. Lay contact was al$O brought about by the episcopal investigation of heresy, the forerunner of tho:: Inquisition."o The legal renaissance undertaken from the later eleventh century eventually left continental Europe with thrff fields of literate juris-

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"

n..

ORAL AND WRITTBN

prudcnce, Roman 1-.11', (&DOn law, and the statutes of feudal 1-.11', which were codified from thc twelfth century. Traces of Roman 1.11' had De'Ye[ disappeared from I18rarian contracts'" and from the timc of Imcrius it inctcaSin&ly peuneated the cusromaries, just as, .t the otl~r clK! of thc social scalc, it affected s.Ii.\n and Staufcr CODCcptions of ' SO'.creignty.'" Thc codification of feudal law is ptthaps len 1l direct consequence of 1lom1lJl inBucDCeS than an aspeet of the more widespread transition to litctatc legal institutions.'" G,Jater, gcncral principle$ also emerged from collections of sentences from IlI'teSts and judgmentl, as well as from populu collections of juridic maxims and proverbs.) For, in the /'<111 tU «HIl_, common law was custom. Municipa!lt.tutn apart, wlinen tradition was resisted. Instead. the jurisdiction of customaries was expanded under the aegis of tribunals of appeal UIltil they embraced Iargc regions. I..oca.I variations, originally the backbone of the system, wcre cventually m:iucro to insignificance. The COIIt_m or L.Wrzt dl~ all embodied rhe sa.me principles.••~ Fint, the custom became immobilized in the tttt; once wlitten down. it could be modified only by a new redaction. 5«00011. the custom. if recorded. was assumed to haVC' exbted in that form foJ all time; the natunl evolution of customary law was theteby IlI'tnted. Thirdly, the inlluence of Roman law was curbed; once .. CUStom entered a code, it could be influenced only by interpmation. A still more signi6cant mutation lay in the ensuing philosophy of law itself. Editill8 customs eKectively m.oe them into written laws which from that point did not derive their authority from popular consent but from the power to decree~ Again. the influence of Roman n ...!itiOnJ was ambiVlllent. Estnein notes; "Roman law often appeared ... On 11", ........ dtbott StnoIot~ dttlt.rr.o:lIo£upu",ll,,'" iPII NlikhecI ....J ttau6ott.n. Zeitalta"," HiMii>< ... j,,1 ' • 9J (591), ~-)OO . ... An -ruo.. _ , ia Yiow of the _'1 of.1>< """'" ID . . . I>< modo ...ith COlI . . . . lOt N..""oad, bobc .... _" I.., of ...m......... 5" ,,; _1 . y ........ ""m ·lid iooti..... . cIudot ... N.........u.. " I N.. ui. ~ I.n ...._;" En 1'.tI'.. Lw (5poIeco. '!169). %99'"~; ....c. lOo Iht Scaodinooiut 10" " . G. Ha&tollm. '.0;. politio< in.~ of r.- 10....... 11. NoytUol. H~ 10 mn;"" _,I ... """'It rim '''' . . dtoi< ....,.;a ... F _ .... XlIt .. XIIIr Ukloo: N.~ et,' ... " (Erl'4)'.' .9011. '11-84 . • " Esmt;a. C.... , 8"4-'"

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,6

ORAL AND WRITTEN

as rati. JeripJa bm nOt always as jltl J(riptlllll. " .. , On the one hand, Roman irutruments for contractual obligations wete: almost uni~r_ sally adopted by the fourteenth Century. Yet, in many customaries, elements of on.! law ~re retained. A good. cxamplt is provided by the regional legislation of Normandy. The Latin venion of the Trb ",.mm CM/fllmitr, the earliest compilation to have survived, il datable between '199 and Il04 fur in lint plrr and between IllS .nd 1223 fur its sccond ... 6 Yet, even at such late darcs, it bears witness less to a po5icivc reinstatement of writttn law than to the written record necessitated by the setting up 0( the Norman stlltt.'" In the later thirrcenth<entuty Gra/Jd ClJllt"".itr, which su«euivc generations of historians have praised for in precise jurisprudence,'" the idea of proof" OOIH'theless involves both wuJial~ Itgh and /a:: it moves from a rolemn, ritual engagement, utilizing physiall symbols, to the admin _ istration of "the irutitutcs or laws through which disputes ate: terminated," in which, Besnier observes, one finds not an opposition between customary and written law but tlther throughout "a formalism dominated by a principle which make$ the rights of the parties dependent on the performance of external actions in which tbe judge does not cake part."· .. • In England, by compatiron, oral and written eltmenn combined in law in I diffetc:m way."o On the one hand, the development of the scaled writ, and, more importandy, of the royal courts, from which sprang other deputations such as the exchequer, the bench of common picas, and the itinerant justices, offered a precocious example oflitcrate b.w for which before the thirteenth century there was little •• , IMJ.• 19" ". R. iI. '9,,1. " . .. , N . do 8o. '9H), I, , ,·r • . ,,' £am.jn. C.",.. loo; C. H. Hook;",. N _ /.,,;"'_ (Cambri08<, W..... j8:

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pp. '1- ' .1·

ORAL AND WJlITTEN

equiwJcnc on the Continent outside Italy.'" A more instructive basis for oom~rison arises from the methods of pleading.·.. Up to tbe rnidtwelfth century complaints were delivered orally. They were not differentiated by tbe Ilat\ll'e r:i the claim; all consisted r:i the same narrative formula, which recited the breach of law and demanded compensation. The defendant replied, after which the local doorrutnan iruiiated the appropriate type 0( va.liC verdict WIU kss an indication of who ... right and wrong than a C(lmpromu<: betwttn plaintiff and deft:n.Ianc. 1be red function of the court, the juron, and tho: public was m«I.iation .... Ouring the twelfth century, wtitren dOCUlIlC'nts replaced oral testimony and an objective metbod 01 evaluating evi
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ognit;ons, that is, on /Qrmal ~plies to £actual inquiries'><\ which could simply supply the COUrt with information, or, as was mon often the cue. a(t both as a "mode of proof in litigation" and "an ,.djudication as well as a verdict. "m the latter iocorporlling the COUrt'S dedsion. As a subspecies of the itupluiria, the rKCg1Iiri~ was I privilege of Fn.nkish justice. Imponed to England after the Conquest, it may ""ve aml1gamated with Old English rewgnirions, which were a legacy of Scandinavian Jaw.'" The critical period of change was the ~i8n of Henry 1I from I rH 10 1189. during which the widespread use of the jury system resulted in "a rationalization and laicization of the judicial procCSII....• as pan of tbe growth of the royal couns and the use of the _led wtir. l"qltuili_ Ilnd n!fJg"itiQ1U$ once again combined the oral and the written. Early English rewgnitions were wholly oral. Mter the Conquest, i"qlluitiOfHJ begllll to Ippear more and more frequently in writill8. the m():I;t famous enmple being the DumtsJa, BiNJk, which is designated a dncripJiD. ,,., that is. the "tn.nscript of an official verbal investigation" concerning land holding. Other Juch request! for information occurred durin8 tbe twelfth century. helping to establish objective methods of collecting 100 evl1uatill8 evidence. They paralleled the Romln and canonical practice of having evidence weighed by I legally competent judge, who 11$0 pronounced on the guil! or innocence of the accused.

Just as in law and diplomatia, the cultural implications of literacy may be viewed from rwo vantage points. FlOm the one, writing reprfiCnU literacy; oral t~tiOJls in themselves have no legitimate 5tatus. From the other, writing is used chiefly ro record; it is ancillary to a reality conceived in physical, personal, and verbal terms. The clNrest conseq~nce of the rebirth of literacy it~Jf wu the ... 0.. '00' prdi...,..,. I« 11. a.w;... ~ ·1!"Iui,i';o"..· .. ·It....,.;,"""".· I.< IIOIl...U " • • ttm. dr. pm<.... i. I"ipoqu< .... Coummion notmando:' NUlD.m""; .. ,8 (,~~). IS}·

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187')' '9)'

OIl.AL AND WRITTEN

rn.wakening of a wide ranse of critioal methods for utilizing tens as evidence. -,. Among the various Jismfllilw wri tU faisi, diplom&tic eumination gmdlllllly became more frequent. The euliest example
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ORAL AND WRITTEN

tees or decrees which the sixth-century Lihir P()/fljfo:"fiJ stated well: mislaid or lost. His major sources well: the Bible, Roman 13110', recorded custum, opitularies, penitentiab, rrg"/a', patrisde writings, and ~lier ononkal collections like the spurious HisJ1d/la Gaflica AItgmrtNUt'/UJ/Sis.'" Plagiarizing hundredo>.lsi.x.... it;' wonh ..,.iOS. fO..bod ordi ... i.... to ,h.I1«,ion. m. roit;"" of J. GikhriK, ' I'

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ORAL AND WRITTEN

sometime later, did Eadmcr in defending Canterbury's claims over York.·40 Thc resulting for~ry displayed coruiderablc ingenuity, maintaining, Walter Goffan note!!, that ". ~ right ~tab lished by originality or antiquity of title was distinct from, and prevailed Oft!, tbe men: possession of land. "'i J The: attempt failed, but dcbares Oftt jllS and fJGJJISJ~ became more frequcnt from the clcventh century. 1bc wholc mutcr cntc~ a new phase with tbe rise of official chanccries and sealed charters. In developing methods foe detecting diplomlltic fl'l1ud the pilpacf took the lead. At first formularies wett employed in an effort ro il1$utt correctness of stylc. for, as Mabillon later observed. "diplomatic hu its own mode of expression, which dcpends less on grammatical rules than on usage ....... But formularies only served as guiCtion of seals, and strict control of authcntiation.'H The growth of expertise in diplomatits went hand in hand with other critical instincu. Men began [0 think of facts OOt as recorded by texts but as cmbodied in texts, a transition of mainr importanCe in the rise of systems of infocmation retrieval and classification. As fact and text moved closer togcttt«. "scarchahilicy" shifted "from memory to PIIge layout. " ... The culiest alphabetically arranged ref~nct' work was the E.J~ri_ Dodri_ E.rJtJi_t.", of Papias, whieb was complcted by l OB ....' Between loB} and loB1 Dcusdcdit compiled a topical subject-index to his collection of eleven hundred seventy-three nOOflS. Around the middlc of thc twclfth century GiIhert of Poiticrs improved upon Cassiodorus's thematic classification of - So. ... 'IV. Swth
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"

LnicoJra·

ORAL AND WRITTEN

the psa.lms by means of written symbols,·... Also, G ilbert and Stl'phl'n of ungton both critically aaminl'd the tn;tltl naptMJ of Paul's .-piJt1e$,'" Thl' great codifications of the period Peter Lombard's Smtmw, Abelan:l'J Sir tl N~", Gratnn's Drrrrlll"', and, towards the century's l'nd, Huguo::cio's MilgtWI Derivationu--wr:nt hand in hand wilh nl'W methods for organizing knowledgc. And t~ wc~ rdlected in «xlict'li, not only in cluity of i'ofm, ",pression, and genre, as well as dw. tepU&tion of tUt and CQIllmenraty, but also in the design and functionality of manuscripts themSl'lves. " . Richard and Mary RooK' notl': "IntlOntions in 1&)'1)111 of the- manuscript page are surely the most highly visible of all the rwelfth-centuty aids to study-such techniqUl'S lIS running headlines, chapter tides in red, alternaling red and blue initials and the grad.ation in size of initials, cross-references, and citl.tion of authors quoteQ.4-<)} • ... A . ~, ''Zur M..hocIo cia- biblio, .do .. Mc' ,,./ u.,. ... ~"" U -..., ~",.,."" " 11 . W. H_ (()xfcxd. '976). 'I(\.'~. - ~ 0P0I S..... ;"";..,- >01 · ... L. 'IV. 00l1. C_~ to _ HiJ., JI(. ipt -.... ...;.....d by •. E. ~ .. Id •• "Li'UiIi<>! S
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6,

OIl. ... L A.ND WIlITT!lN

culture more dim:tly supported by the spoken, the symbolic .nd by rituaJ. the picture chanaes. Good eumples are provided by relics, miracles, and the cult of local sainn.·" Rodulf Glaber drew the attention r:I his geuet"dOll to the p1etIun of holy objects found thfou&hout Europe OD the eve of the millcnniwn.·" But the .saints' pledges (s,I",I"..", pi,-,,), in his view. had to be underpinned. by written proofs (dMn"..", "rrllffltlllmnl ituikiII). As in formalist lraJiUD. the physical itself was !lOt quesrioned; documentary suppon was merely subjoined. The status of the written word _ lugely evidential. As it turns out, • study in depth of these issues was made JUSt after the turn of the century in a collection of the mi".cies of Sf. Foy, who was martyred at age rwelve in 303 and whose remains, taken to ~n by St. Dulcidius early in the fifth century. were seized. by the monk.s ofConques and forcibly translated sometime before 883.· ... Book.s one and two of the MirMltlt. were written by Bemard of Angen,'17 a sometime student at Chartres,''' who came to Conques after 10IC to beat witness himself to the prodigies of the child .saint. of whom Fulbert had given so eloquent.n account.'" On his fint of thlft visiu Bernud remained only twenty-five days.,60 sufficient time, however, to collect the most notable stories, which he later sifted. redrafted.. and dedicated to his former master. Bernard's insighu were unusuaJ for his time and deserve more than a brief summaty. The Mk. .'" were an immediate and lasting success .•6. Where they differ ftom other eleventh-centuty collections, like the Fleury continuation of the MitvatJII S" wai a..J«ti, is not in content, which records the usual intercasions, but in the point of view of the narntor, who, as both faithful Christian and IcrH.uliau. felt abILged to accept the marvels at their face value and, at the same time, to authenticue them

... a.. "" btIMf in rda . ... "'" ~tful r=orbolH . Pkbte..... "Zwn hliquiN_

eM Mi.'dol ..... " NRIG 60 (",al. 60069. n.o _ of ..,.;"",10 <011«...... Ioi.ohcal ha · .. iI diK rd b,- Io. C. pu-.n.. -n.. tiro Md Abuoo« Wtdit¥ool Witocleo." Ha..., 60( ' 91')' I_10. Cl. MM. M.WMt.-'pu,,;-U' h. 1971~ ." Hh, ; . ,.6.1,. rei. M. pP"., (P...... 1886). 68 . ... Po< .......,.' Y li,u m ... Kc P. Gc.tr. p_ S - (Pri _ _ • '978). 169--14• ." A. Bouillu. LiIor 0\1 ....1 _ s-r. P. . (hrio. '''n). om• ... Cl. .... 00naI . ". hI.. C' a= ... ..,... .... '" V. . . XVI. sik/I fChut .... 189,). im frO

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ORAL ANO WRITTEN

through the examination of witnesses, the comparison of accounts, and the organizalion of a co~rent narrative. In his dedicatory letter to Fulberr,,6. Btrnard teUs U$ how M came to coUect and tn wtite down tilt Mir4CItt.. While a student at lrucathedral school in Chanres, he was in the habit of visiting the church of St. Foy located just ounide the town walls, "either for praying or for writing." The miraculous stories often came to mind, u th~ had been a frequent topic of conversation between Fulbert and himstlf. But, M adds, since tru- eventS weU' highly unusual (iIlaItJila) and dilfused popWarly (flltlpri_ 1-), they had at that JOOim to be treated largely as fictional inventions (illa,,;r Ilthlt/t rommnrl4). Bernard was determined to visit the place of their origin. He noted the intention i" ""'fUlali (oJin/lo, a detail which rtvef.1s that his literary habits PU'ceded his interest in the saint. But only three years later, a stint o( teaching grammar in Angen, wu he able to journey to Conques. At fint he WillI ~"",helmed by the bulk of the material aoo the diversity of the accounts (141114 a Jivmis nt.lorihllJ). So he concentrated on the '"redaction" of a single miracle, the Story of Guiben, a priest whose eyes were unjustly torn our by his milllrer and restored by St. Foy. On the marvel', veracity all witnesses weU' agrttd. Guibert himstlf appeami, recounted the detllils, and displayed his scan. Btrnard related the> fitSt miracle u fully illI possible, as he pur it, 110" SOIIl1ll JmJllm , unslt, std tli4'" wrh_ t vtrho (not only the meaning from the stnse but even word for word). The others wen!' ~ on flO(es which he took down huti!y and revised after n!'Aection. Throughout, he focused On events from his own generation, which, he felt, "WeU' easiesr to verify. In most casts theU' were rwo teXIS, as called for by canonical proceduU', tM verbal transcript of the acrual testimonies and a later version (/Ktio), which he composed at leisuU' in Angen. He thought of himself as a r«order, not an embellisher, of events, admonishing Fulben on re«iving his collection to emend perhaps the manner of presentation but not the facts presented. For, although he was himself, or so he claimed, unskilled in rhetoric, he did nOt believe everyrhill8 he heard or for that mattet find many things related easy to believe. It was preferable, he argued, for the miracles to be published while his memory was fresh (IISlIK "",,,, 1S1n1 "MW If illadi4 . . . tr4ai litt".ir) rather than to wait indefinitely for the right spokesman. To facilitate matters, he organi~ tilt material not chronologically bur by the nature of the miracle (mirtKItllJf1lm .

amI

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'-,.

6,

ORAL AND WRITTEN

Ji.;UtlkiD). I( the incredulous did not believe him, thq

W!:rt

invited

w come w Conques and w make tbeir own inquiries. Bemard am be described lIS a systemuic ha&iographcr aod an anthropological fieldworkec· 6) at once. An early critic of oral history, he investigated popular belief not to discredit it through a foreign rationality, although skcptidsffi surfaces from time to time, but to ~r ify it, utiIiling the most convinCing modes of proof at hi.l disposal. From time to time he aho nude lenaling commentl about his own frame of mind. The ancients, be noted in miracle one,06< were his predecessors. But be did not on that account uoderrate his own achievement. Earlier authors told of marvels through a single witne» who was not always present at the event. What harm then could there be if a "modern" of admittedly lesser talent merely preserved for his own record what be saw taking place in the Auver,gne, the RoucrglX:, or the Toulowain? MIJI00fft, the essential isslX: III he saw it was not tbe oJd ~i5US the new but simply tbe abseil« of Iire~: what was lacking was not recordable activities but authors willing to PUt them iD writing, to ill$Cribe them, lIS be e1Kwhere put it, on the tablets of tbeir hearts. >6, If there WIIS a 8"101 ...:: tt!iau in the region, be speculated, be undoubtedly felt that tbe mysteries of St. Fay were beyond his powers of expression 01' simply unworthy of notice. Rather than be ,guilty of such ~glect Of audacity, Bernard felt obliged to put the notable eftntl of tbe dioceK "into letteil," lest someone coming dtctwards cast doUbt on their veracity. Moreover, be defended his methods, They were logical and systematic, endcavourill8 always to get at the ft; I'IriI4S through tI'l_I4, Aod they combined the oraJ IUld the written. Only om: miracle was heard. at a time, and a sa:ood marvel of a similar type Will taken to confirm the divine intention of the lint, >66 In addition to oaths taken in hi.l prtSeOCC' Of SwtlrD on the martyr's remains, he had the evidence of trial by fire and of physical signs, like the SClII5 around Guiben's eyes.>Ii, Finaily, after his brief sojourn at Cooq~, Bernaro left his manuscript with the local monks, forbidding them to tranllCribe it before miracles as yet unedirc.::\ were ... O. J. Vom.iDl, ON! T, "/;. ., ell . " pp. RoM;

t" ."

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66

ORAL AND WRITTEN

added or before the whole collection was read IInd corrected by a competent authority. Only then could the MirlWlla join the ranlu of ".thnuir.:u JCriptllt'/#_ Even the process of editing W?5 arduous. The DOteJ hastily scribbled before ertwitrle$SeS were taken to Angers, not, he reiterated, to add superftuous information, but to prune repetitions and to rework the whole into a more roncis.e, organized litcr&l)' prodUCt. & a consequencc, the reader had ~fOJe him not "the immense undigested library" of oral lecord but only the polished transcript of what was most memorable. ~ By adding the weight of literary authority to the miracles, Bernaro effectively raised a local hagiographic tradition to a highet and more univcrsaJ level of culture. By implication, he treated those who rcfused. to accept his version of events lIiI uncduated. He ciC"aIiy recognized himself to be a man of culture and Ic.tning in contrast to the lay society of Conques, lIiI WQ revealed in an anecdote inVQlving II du.nee meeting with an erudite abbot nllmed Peter, en route from Rome in 1020, who immediately noted his correct and cultivated ac~nt, >6t His individuality as an author abo spoke forrh in the tjJisto{". with which he concluded book onc. Unlike Sulpicius Severus, he asserted, he did not ~k anonymity, lest his tvMl{". tdili~ of the miracles be thought apocryphal. To his owo signarure, lIiI a sign of authenticity, he added the approbatioo of his monastic ((Jlljrlm, Reynold of Tours, who improved his style, WantcJme and Leowulf of Noyons, who erected a new church to the saint, IInd a ct:nain 'John Scat:' a relative of Reyoold's, who judged his work to be not inferior to the pristi Joa()ffJ.'.,o Bernard's mentalitr-t once critical of oral tradition yet seeking to verify it-is perhaps best revealed io his fictive debate with a heretic in Angers, who remained incredulous lit such unnatural acts as the restoration of a blind man's sight or the resurrection of a mule. There WlIiI, he asserted, no Platonic r"ti~ or lIKWitiJS; no one of 50Und judgment therefott ought to _re his time in such investigations. >J' Bernard's reply .... as characteristically ambivalent. ", Like the Jews, he argued, the skeptic would refllS( to trust even the resurrection of Laurus, He was the filil/.J di.lbo/i, the fIIil/ist" ""lichristi. He was lit once thereby il!jtetllr;e and dangerously learned: a mstic, devoid of all "'IMil., '-7, p. }O. ,.. /jji. , • . 8, p. - Hi< cum .Iiq..... """0'"'''' vi", in "' /MiI., ,.,., p. 86. '" /hiI. , <.7 . p.

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true knowledge-, totally unskilled in God's ways (natints, "b""",i Kinftill .Ju"IIJ, prPnllJ tMillJ Jwi1It IlirtllliJ i""'i,r111J), and, ....hR.t was wone, a traitorous soul, depn.vcd in mind, who h*
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68

O!l.AL ANO WRITTI;N

for wisdom, and the four precious stones ~otning her crown lhe cudinal virtues .•, 6 So evocative was the statue chac it frequently stood for the child saint in apparitions. m SI. Foy herself contributed to the interest in the physical, often demanding expensive gifrs IO be added to the reliquary. '" The common people responded: freed prisoners offlred their chains, which ~ tft"orged into
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ORA.L A.NO WRITTS,,",

the abbot maintained, but also offered herself as a med4tor bo:~n different levels of society. Sranwy fOt Bernatd wu a special case of symbolism, which he disc\lSud at length in book one, chapter thirteen. oM It was, he stated, a l1li111 NW and _till'" amJllelllao that throughout the southwest stltuC'S of local saints were fabricated OUt of gold or silver. OntO the statue was often placed the saint's skull, a part of the body, or a relic. How was an edua.ted person to look upon this practice? BeI'llJ.I'd's reaction was essentially !keptica!, but he also interpreted the popular attitude towards statuary by analogy with the role of evidence documents in wthl:nticating oral tradition. While on a vuit to the church of St. Gerard. at J\urillac, he stowd and conversed with his companion Bernier before the gem-studded starue of tbe saint in whose presence "several rustio" were dBplaying their uncultivated devotion. "What do you chink of the idol?" he asked. "WoWd it not be wonhy of Jupirer or Mars ?" Bemier I.ughed and agreed.. To both it seemed obvious cbat God hiLd no need of images in Itone, wood, Of metal, except, as was universally ackDOwledsed, for the crucifix. If one wished to recall a saint, ODe should be content with autboritative accounts (""';fo,. lifm scrJJ1II"II), or, if visual aids were required, with wall paintings {;""'filM ..MA. Of' aNlII'.tu ,,""ribla tkpku).·.., Although perhaps an immemorial pnKtice, the portrar-J of saints by mn.tu of Statues was in his view a custom born of ignorance (idi!!1ImItn WlUIU,1IIio), inadmissible to rn.son. Yet the fabit was so widespte.d, hi: added, that he dared nor speak out ag.itur it for feu of reprisals. A similar Wflversadon took place some three days later when the pair found themselves before the snltllt of St. For. Behind the backs of the kn~ling pv"'1U Bernard murmured derisively to himself: "St. Fay, whose relics are housed in this statlll:, succor me on the day of judsment!" The ~ir chuckled: to them, the devout crowd seemed "mute, ins.ensate and remote from reason." But Bemard, perl!ap5 as an afterthought, then cried to put himself in the peasants' place. Just as education natunlly led to a dilCtedirinB of symbolic $n.ruary, he maintained, 50 popular tradition could be justified by alg\llllents from higher culture. St. Foy'I statue, however it appeated to the literate, was not merely an oncle whlch ODe consulted blindly or an idol to which one made sacrifiU$. It was a likeness whose purpose was ro k~p alive tbe remembered record of a martyr (No I'l10:21''';'''' """'PI' rh ""M/. , 1. 1).

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... Cl. L Goupud. "M".. rr-!i ..."'·

11.""" ~. (19,0). 16$.71 . 7'

ORAl. AND WRITTEN

in that ~~ "eviden~," even though uninterpreted by populu culture. Adalgerius. dearon and later abbot, relared a miracle to support the point. A cleric called Odalric had also reviled St. Foy's physical image. But the saint appeued by night and struck him so hard that he hardly survi~ long enough to tell the tale. In Bemard's view, the litatue was thereby affirmed to be not & iPlll'rinimltm ido//#/II but rather a JdlKfl lIi'lj"is pia _ia. Bernard of Anger's position on oral and written (uirure touches upon a number of themet centnd to the st..diet in this volume: the plllCing of spoken tatimony within a legalistic framcwork determi~ by texts; the qucstioning of the formal validity of ritual and symool, together with a literate c(lC'Iaption of inner as genuine rttlity; the ~patation of subject and object, through which the dispassionate obs.etver of events u isolated from a mixture of e~ms and interpretations; and a linking of Htel'llCY with reform, by which the local, the particular, and the unwritten become elements in a programme of highet religious culture, a project which, Bernard reminds us, pardy motivated him to verify Fulbert's account of the miracles in the first place. Above all, it bears witnC$s to what, in a contempoNry example, has been called the "clusterul" and "discontinuous" nature of "human communication" in & region in which the link and great rdigiou$ traditions are beginning to overlap. ,l1li How characteristic is 8crnard's obviously precocious mentality of broader aspKts of eleventh- and twclfth-century religious change? In two areas at least he andcipated later developments. One, which ~ have noted, was the ~rsisten~ of the oni, the ritualistic, and the symbolic within an increasingly literate society. For literacy's rise did not automatically spell the demise of traditional anitudes and tastes, although, as in the MiraatL:., altered values red&ssified them &s "popular," maming unlerten:d. The O1:her area affected was communication itself. Older forms of life and thought, w~thet oral or written Ot a combination of the rwo, were given new life, either through simple preservation or through t~ creation of a genuinely literate context involving readers, writers, and an implied audience. The latter phenomenon deserves some attention, if only beaw.e it affected many departments of medieval cultural life at Oll(e. St. Foy herself providcs a convenient focal point. Hen was one of & large number of local culu which underwent a vogue during the

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" 7'

df:Vtnth century. the lliflll and Jiwri_ alternating between the spoken and the written as It::ssons for the office, in public oc priva.te ucli_, in serlDObS for saints' If Monastic communi tits generuly commemorated. sainu throughout the lirurgiCllI year; the rec_ ollection of tbe abbey's patron or protector fonned an integral part of the tI/1*I ~, EKh night bdOn: matins the monks circulated around tbe alta.r; sllth Thus, a monk of Stmay, which acquired the remains of St. Dagobert, was obliged to reDder a fotmerly oral account iD writing.'" When matins were firushed, the legendary was not shut; public reading was repeated in the cloister, the chapter, the rcfectoty, and "en during manual labour. This Udu was "DOt merely a sort of music required by ceremonial" but Wo served for instruction, ~riOD, and mediration. The presence of reH" and tbe regular observance of saiou' days also led to more serm..u hagiographic education, The subject of wccldy devotion from the lectionary was chosen by the librarian, wOO named tbe IIppIOpriate readen in tbe choir, the c","pm, and the refectory.- Finally, sainu'livcs were odapted to different audiences and occasioru, Homiletic versions furnished the Im.terial for hannguing pilgrim •. They ..ue simple in form, and normally preached in the

u,.·,. .............. '

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, ...

ORAL ANI) WRITTeN

vernacular. '9> In an effort eo accommodate ehemselves to an unsophistioted audience, de Glliffier remarl<$, they often "counted on the igoora.nce they proposed to remedy.'·',,6 Yet such ro\l8h-and-ready te:l[ts perhaps created the fine lay liseening audiences. From them ir was a shon seep to vernacular rranslaeions of laTin lives (at vice versa) aoo tbe reconstitution of the reading public tbrough bagiogt1lphy, chaWSQ'I de pt" romance, and lyric.'91' From the authors of saint$' lives it is a shon step to the eclectic reception of" wrinen tradirion by eleventh- &nd twelfth-century histotians. A new ment1llity emerge.!: for. whereas, for the oral historian, all ~nt$ had to be sto~ in t1~ human memory, the researcher with texts could. like Adso, omit ordinary infurmation because, as he put it, "it is found to this very day in our monastic archive:" ~ One also saw the beginnings (){ tt1lru.(riprs, editing, and stcretarial services. For ilUtance, Genrd of Cambrai, in writing the life 0( St. hutbert, fint had Fulben, his notary, draw the relevant facts from the iM"I'4' (l«f£fiM (411"/.'; rhen the bishop himself made his selection and drafted the final version.·.. The evanescence of oral 1U0ro was still evoked: Adam of Brcmen undertook his history of" the Hamburg diocese because, as he put it, the recollection of" events was dim and ",Jtflria '1fJ1f rst rr.dita/ifttris.''''' But more sophisriCllted approaches were frequent . Landulf Senior distinguished among his sources for the hutof)' of Milan, referring on one occasion to the libri varii and carl"'M from wh ich he took notes jQ ' and on another to his own "bies of parchment," drawn, he boasted, both from the ancients and "from digging OUt . . . all the books in it1llian towns. ",0' One of (he fullest brief statements of" method is found in the pre~ to ArnuJf of" Milan'$ own history of ehe city. Among God's gifts, Arnulf d«lared , literary ability was rare: the present age furniJhed much du.e was worth writing about but tOO few historians capable of" sej~if18 the opportunity. Th i), he added, was ... I;;J. • '~l'17' ''I;;J. , 1~4 , .., 0 _ M. D. 1.<81<, A"f/toN _ oJ s..c.-"; (Oxf<>rd. '96~). j-4. &no.! 'h< lifefl'.," ci~. HtJoi... i, is .....h toealli .... in ha >«ond IetW" ID AboWd •• pnko '" his 19n.""'P . .-tIiOtI.Iott<:t«Jpi.~ c. I. """"_. Ao.J.1,. /jf/I...u. ... 19

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73

OIlAL ANO WRITTEN

a pity, since an accurate record benenttcd both t~ more and. the less learned. for this rnson, ~ avoided t~ ,nares of philosophy and rhet. oric, preff:uing instead to set down in plain langlla8e what be had seen himself or had learned (rom eyewitncssc:s. Such a hinory wa:!I in his view .. sort of .. ttifid .. l memory, an archival storehowe on which future gcneradoru could draw.··· Rncien of Arnulrs Libtr Gt:Scor- RtJ(tt,ti_ may not 181ft with his claim to styli$Cic simplicity. In &cr, be""th such Jtatemenul.y what Haskins thought one of the pedo,fs best exampks of a renaWan« of litCTate po5turtS within classia.l genres."" Yet, as in law, hisroria.l writing also offered. vehicle for t~ transmission of a literary form whose mode of composition .nd inner logic retained strong links with the spoken woo:I. The line between historical Illld epic narrative was DOt sharply drawn; and, within histories, penonal accounu, dreanu, visions, prophecies, and poetic insights were all taken to be reliable witnesses to events ..... Onc may therefore kgirimatdy ask with La. croix wbet~r "any inrerptetation" of malieval historical writing "is nlid without undentanding the mechanwIIJ of transmission""'" of oral UWition. Reflecting OIl the problem of communk.tion, for in· stance, OMeric Vital;s noted that a gmlt deal depended on one's 1~1 of education. Events that seemed incredible to the eats of the ignorant (nkii_ ._), .nd even strange to one's contemporaries, were those which ~re mon in need of interpretation. Naturally, those unfamiliar with critical methods (iwexpmt) found them obscure, (Of the exploration of the dark places of the past wa:!I the proper work of the stOOiow and trained (shlliillJt)."" As. an example of the 110ft of inquiry he had in mind, OMeric described the activities of Ansold, the son of Petet of MI.ule: "He studied history as it was written in tbe lIIICient l«X1tds, thoughtNlly investigated what he rouJd discovtt from lealned rutrrators, and, once he had heard the lives o( the fathers, committed ""LiWOrA _ _ _ 1. 1, NGHSS 8. pp. 6-7,

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u,.

OR"L ANO WRiTTEN

them to his terw:ioU5 memory. He detested those who told inaccurate ruuratives or falsified the word of God or thinted fOf dishonest gains; and when he detected any dangerous sophistries, he refuted them publidy, SO that they should not mislead simple people.. ·"" Orderi,·, Hut"", which was begun in the late eleventh century, provides an inventory of new directions within an increasingly literate society. A Norman by persuasion if not by birth, Ot-detic was himself conscious of literaey', value, not only as an antkiote ru monastic Olilml , but also in contemporaties like Thierry of St. Evroul, who personally copied many andent tUtS and helped. to build up the monastic library.,'Q Like William of Malmesbury he W&$ offendcd by what he took to be .n indiffe~nce to letteC$ in his English countrymen.'" Notman nobles capable of drafting theit own chartcC$ and wills elicited his admiration;'" and we know from • smat~ring of surviving doo;uments, SIKh as the will of Foucher of Chatt~s, that he chccked his own f..eu with rncticuJoUll ca~. ·" He recorded for posterity in_ dividuals who, like his own teacher, John of Rcims, rose from hwnble station by scribal labours. '" Ht: also saw the tendent ious side of written archil'es .00 correspondence in the endless litigation of his own day, from which his less eduCII.ted fotbean had happily ~n spared. ' " On twO ocClliions in panicuiar he spoke with insight on the problems of oral record in his own time. One occurred in connection with Se. Wi!Jiam (d. 812), whose lJir.:. he wished to summarize for the abbey. No copy was to be found in the region. but, by chance. An_

.,. .i.

«Ii_.

... 'W.• bk. ,. w.i. ). po ,Bo: "I. .. &<>, .. P""" .... «>oIkibuo i .... _ ... n. • oIc>uo I"",;. i nl!ia"'........ _ · b,ll. « dot",.i ....... i...... ibuo moliao.i... i~ d«;p<-t<>01. , ( .9611)•• · "" ~. , bk. ,,>01 . ' . pp .•8. )0. '·· ' W .• ,.6: ··.40",100 ~ ...[" .. ,.... illi ......,. . .... , d . W illiorn '" Nairn,,""". Do Gill;' Ror- """ ........ od. 'ill. S01 . , (london. '889). J"-I . n.. I'"rio01 . ,. p. [11. '" ' W .• , . , S, pp. ,,[11". n.. ''';8;Il0l if. Al0 anecdote of. ';nNl """,k who ..... ...... on juds"",,' d., bo
Adtm..,.,. - .",.

.iN.; bII. , . p. ,0. '·,E .•.. , . [. p .•.

"

OIlAL AND WUTTIIN

tbony, a monk from Winchester, was pilSSins through and Iwd a ten in his russian. Anthony did not wish to ~main Ions at St. Evroul, and, in any case, the weather was toO cold for extensive copyin,g. Orderic .as compelled to mili a slIlJllm!f on wu tablets which was later transferred to parctunent.I.6 Commentin,g on the oral and written versions, he made the often-quoted ~mark that. while It popular song (r41IIilml) is nansrnittcd by .ionsleurs, it would he prefetable to have a ~Iiable account (rJ"tu. tUlUIIIiu), that is, ODe written by scholan which could be read aloud to all the monksY' He spoke of otal ~ in a broader COntext with rcfe~DCe to the life of St. Evroul, who died in 706. In a dramuic SUtement, he recalled tbat the 1Ii". ht.d p'md from written records UIlIkr the CMolins1ans to unwritten ones afterwattIs. His famous declatation may well have aaggerated the loss of contllCt with the put. but it summed up his age's value judgmenu against cuaI. tradition. The Carolingian 5OUIttS, be laid: "I have 5OtJ8ht out and taken from chronicles, briefly nodns them for the information of my ~en . . . . Now (be .dtled) I wiU turn b.ck and tty to ~late JOme thins. I have kamed not from written sources but &om the on.I traditions of old men. For during the terrible disturbances that accompanied the ravages of the Danes the records of former times pt'riilhed in the flames, alons with churches and other buildinss; and all the anent labour and. desire of latet !Dell hIlS beeP unavailing to resrore them. Some thipgs indeed, which ~te saved from the hands of the barbarians by the eve of out forJathen, have since perished (shameful to relate) by the abominable neglect of their descend'nu, who took no pains to pieKlVe the profound spiritual wisdom recotdcd in tbe writings of rhe fathen. With the Iou of books tbe deeds of old men pass into oblivion, and can ill no wise he rccove«d by those of our generation, for tbe admonitions of the ancients pass away from tbe memory of modem men with rbe chan.gios world, lIS bailor snow melt in the waters of a IWift river, swept away by the C\IlTeIlt never to rttum. "J'. Orderic was botn in 1075. He was jU$t old ellOU.8b ro recall the ,,, l/W. , 6." ..",. " p. ,,8; .... _ _ Chibadl, .... 6, pp. uB-l~n, . .. ' I/w.• ug. On ",. - ' "& . to of 00 J ::;,', .........., _ 0Ub
OllAl AND """ITTEN

time when evl:n literate derics "shnnk from bending their minds to rhe taSk uf romposing or writing down their tnditions.",,· The sentiment Wll$ typical: similar views were wicw in 1088 by Paul of Sc. Ph~ d~ Chartre$ when speaking nf thr n~glect of record-k~pillg by th~ l1\Qfla.$tery's 4"tiq"i 1Ir01WCbiY" A more $~ific example of lhe manner in which orality workw within a textual ft"llJl"lCWork is furnished by onl confession within stRlCturtd penitential thecllogy, which increll$ingly b«ame the norm after the mi!lennium.'" MOICQVer, it 'Nl1lI not only the 5aCtlIlI'lCnt wh ich was affectw, but also a group of penitential rites intenellting lay and ecclesiastical society, such as the pilgrimage, the religious with_ dnwal, and the crusade. In general, literate theology cry$tallized the distinction betw~n the in ternal and external as~[S of penilemial activity, th~reby providing a model for imerrelating theory and prac_ tice in such influential areu of lif~ as work, contemplation, and the search fOr salvation. ,,, Th~ most authoritative witness to the altered mentality i$ douhtless the COl hi/OI" sillf/ Mtdiul$ of Burchard of Worms from the years 1008 to l Oll, whose nineCfflnh book ~ffe(;[ively codifies previous Irish, English, and Carolingian doctrine on [he theology of penance and the tariffs for variOIlJ sins....' But the impact of literate sensibilities is ptrhap$ more sharply thrown into relief in a minor document, namely a lett~r written by an anonymous "A,"· who speaks of himself as an '·inhabin.nt" of Speier, to Hetibert, who b«arne archbishop of Cologne in mYo Although presenting himself as a layman (rhoiJ), the author reveals an insider·s undeutanding of pc:nitemial pnKticcs, re,··/OU.•

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• 8: " Utrum .""m ... , ... " .. ,bo/.i_ .... m (an ..). ' u' """,urn is''' tremo,o., ..... """'I""'" ocrip"<, oaihonun pmu";", minim< 000 .. · 0.. ,h< di .. pp<>rNIC< 01 '""''-<>IotK'! r«W
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,., for. full _ " ' oI,h< S"'W'h 01 E. Am ....... IJ. l..o p!ni"'""" ptioi< . . . ;. DTC ".', 84'""'1-48 .... j,h bibli"ll"'phy. 948: 11. I'oop. PI'. 11-1' • .,i,h • full b;b!iograph" ~. _i. A -"ul 0«0w"I' in Enjjli.b i, 11. l'oo
,96.4). '" for 1'""11<10 ift ,h. d<1><, Iidds .... 1.1. _0. ChMu. L·iMl dII W ~ J"". w rioiIi"';' .. 0;,,',.1, (101.,,, ....1 and p.m, 196\1). 17·77. ,. , G . L< 8'01. ··i'tsto.phy. Q-'7. ,., Ep;.-u.1 . Cm, S~, M Hmwt_ Co"""""",, ~"!4i"""'. in N ........ Dd D,,,,Dd. V_ ..,tj,,;.,. ColUttit (Poril, 17>4) ..... . " ')7·'9. «pr. pt

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77

ORAL AND WRITTEN

ferring on one occasion to the views of _MIIi fralnlm which in large part he: shares.!') At nrst reading, he would seem only IQ be echoing the objectioll$ to imported penitencials expreued as early as Charlemagne's synods at Toun, Chi/ans, and Reims in BI3Y' But the questions he raises eventually throw light on the entire issue of lia:racy, interiority, and private confes5ion. TIle leca:r's COntents may be summarized brie8.y. "A" aCt:use5 some of Heribert's parish priesrs of laxness in administering penanct'. Others, he adds, knClW better, but remain silent nonetheless. From the priest's side, the error arises from appropriating the power to forgive, which belongs only to God; from the people'I, it arises from cbe belief that 00 further confession is neceuary and that all sins sioce baptism aa: forgiven at once. But the real. purpose of penance, "/0." underlines, is to provide an eanhly tribunal for divine judgmem. Like a physician, the priest first leads the leper out of town; only ..... hen he is cleansed is he allowed back into the temple. 1bat, he adds, is rhe meaning ofChrisr's raising Lazarw from the deadYl Moreover, Gregory the GlUt srated that any priest who aerdses his office for his own inclinadons (JmJ JMU vo/MJrwibm) rather than the subject's merits (pro Id}«t1Wll1lf fMl'iriJ) is automatically dl'pri~ of the power to bind and ro looseY' " A" does not comem hinuelf wirh pointing OUt etl()C$ of O:xrrine. He also maintaill5 that the administration of the sacrament has gone astray. Penitential procedure, he insists, shwld be judicially COllect. Only afttr determining guilt and punishment should phraseJ like "Ego libi Jllllim/' be proDOuoced.. Some iruracrionl--tOOse, for instance, involving one's family or the priest hinuelf-may be handled with persona.! formulae such as "IJrJMlgwt fibi DvmiJr1/.S tt 'KO'" But DO mortal should ever declare publicly "1 pardoll yoo." Only God has such capacities, as th~ facben teach. By rt'reading their stl.teJl}ellts, "A" ooncludes, and, in particular, their interprttarioru of Scripture fur ordinary individWlls, one can avoid such misrepresenratiollS as the: " ne1V abtolurioM ... The letter dfectivdy ra.ises th~ question of litet"ll.cy at differt'nt levels. There i$ a generally US1,llll.ed difleren.ct' between the learned and ,., lhi., ,nB . ... 0.. wIPQ.n7C. ~6. Gt.,.,.,., I. E-.,.I" 1•. /1, H • . • 6.,.0. pt 76.12<>0-0' • ... 0.. "'" ",her _ ailll" ae
7'

ORAL ANO WRITTEN

the populat, that is, betw~n the wlldi,i, che "few .. . who ha~ some understanding of Scriptu~:· and tM impmla "'ultitu.k , the P'JPulariJ ilftr/ligr"till. Mo~ subtle distinctions a~ made on the basis of inter_ nality and externality. Heriberr"s priests are accused of formalism and heresy: their "absolution and ~mission·· is both a ··public deception·· and an error of doctrine, found«i on ··00 authority:· They are at once illiterate o..s regards the t~ sacrament and falsely erudite in speaking of their own ability to fwgive sins. But what then is penance? Oddly, in "A's' view, it involves the same dininctions in reverse. The print, in fact, don deal with the llisibilil JprcilJ, while truth is left for GOO. The priest is a mediator: puri6cation consistS of eurcisn per moJlllIf Irg#n".,r util/Mtil)lliJ, that is, ~ntially of fasting and prayer. God remains custodian of the Word; man, of the lerrer. The pries t's function i~ to administet, that is, to ad~re t(l the rrgu/iI SIIIKI,,",m patrltllf. But he is al$O an interpreter and communicator of Scripture. This is the point of "A's·' reconstruction of patristic methodology. In his opinion, the entire process led to inteJ!ect\lillization. n.e &then tmt«i (trillllm), then spoke (p/!«>tlio), adding inrerprmtion (aplttlltJlw). Only afterwards came confenion and penance. In sum, we .see in the anonymoU$ letter ftOm Speier a number of typically eleventh...;entury topics in penitential rheology: the rejection of SC'ncrlll absolutions, the limitation of the po""er of priests as indicat«i by Jerome and Gregory, and the return ro patristic authoriry accompanied by a dnire for increased rigour , ",tm a"li'l"i,uJ. But, above 1Ill, by considering oral confession within a hi8hiy textual theological frameworl<, the letter takes us to the heart of the discuuion of inrernality and externality, that is, to the distinction between "the attitude ri lepenting'· and "the expiation, which, among OIh/!r things, included conCn$ion and satisfaction:·'''' Still another branch of culture in which oral di~CQUl'$C began to operare within a textual environment during the eleventh century W1llI literature. However, in contrast to penitential theology, there are a far greater number of models, and, as a consequence, far less scope fOf gCfleraiization. Indeed, the term ··literature,'· when employed outside tbe field of Latin, begs as many quntions as it answers. Of course, no onc doubts the praence of the spoken clement as sue Norse skalds, Robertll. Frank notn , ··were essentially recorders of events, ildveniscts, men whose profcuion it was to Iix or stabilize memory in a brief statement that would outlast time.

79

ORAL AND WlllTTBN

The skaldic sranza used repeated p&mms of sound. and of images to impress discrete ICeIll.'3 from the put on the mind-. kind. of mnetnotechnics. The poem itself served ..,. reference library."'''' There Ill:'C numerous examples of the recording function: the tnalI:ims of Bt()-if .nd. GttUfis B served .n encyclopedic purpose;'" the Icelandic r..ws p.51.d in the codification of 1J17 "from otlIl preservation ro written presef\llltion. ")~ Yet, wherever tars appeared, they changed relations between aurbors, Iit.tet'lcrs, readers, and the real or imagined public.m Narrative material often shifred from oral [0 written form and back I.gain without leaving a trace. In the ClISe of the NibWmgmlied. the version [ecorded in Austria .round (:100 is "the written record of an oral pe[£orrn.nce" in which. considel1lble distance hu nonetheless arisen between the tVIO.'~ Also. while oral composition and delivery appear to be widespread, so Ill:'C the difkrcnt ways in which poets and &udiences interact, &5 the inVCItig&tion of contemporary oral literatures illustratcs.m Caution, therefore, must be ~rved in suggesting pu,.,. OU Non. c_ hIwJ, T" DeN'!: 7 S _ a,,,",,,,, '978). ", '" T, A. Shipp& i. Old EAalioh N........: Li......, An Of Troditionol Wiodomlin H. B+' ,·Nieloeo., ... "" , """ .• ONJ To 'U.... r ·,.." T, [0"... , ".)6. ". P. ......... 'OtoI tnd U.....,. Trodltiool", Eatl, Sncod;.._1.o..,}'4 C4 oJ. _I'tobk ... iMtI.• H. '" Thtte _ to be "" .. n.. ", on !his point ............. " •• oJ. di!rmo, btoachn 0( ...... dienlli....."... "'" wide ,..,... 0( wt.o.o ........ tsilROt be . "7,_1, ,.' I hote. 0.. earl, Itioh. "'" dilJotina poliO- at< ~>nl "" H.P.A. Oobmp. TIoo ), n·,,, ... AtoP .,_. PO< A. C. W_. T" /.yr<...J. 11-1 (N<-ooHnoB. ,969); on m. Nil I • 'w,~. H. BIumI. "Tho Unmolo~ 01 do< H-. 5om< Critiatl Implint;.." 0( the T............ from 0nJ ... Wrium Epic." im H , kboIlor, od., T" lfIi< ;"

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M s-o., '977), 86 89 ht!i<eJ. J.,d ... t . ~ C' "OM . . , . . . . EJ..i fif- Ms ;.,.'-' op<J Hill, .g6.); J. J. o..,g,.,.. TIoo S. . t/ #/.t...J."~ $",. """ ,.."id ........ in kboIlor, .,tiI., '}O77. For • linpitric ptl J"' ,i .. ... . 110 .... i~ MId .... P. Zumtbot. EJ..i .. p, (U ,~ (Parioo, '97'), ., ( al biblioItap/oi< .hit .. iadad< A. B. lad, "P ..... - In]. J. Ougsto, od .• Or-' [. . . , (~Ih ...J. l-conoIoot, '9n), . ,"4 "." "" ........................ "V ' , ._'r L " .. . H . "-I, _ U.. O
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80

OIlAL AND WIlITTEN

aJld, between thc evolution of litemturc md that of law, theology, or historical writing. Of cou~, literllturc did nQ! develop in complete isolation. But its conventions wcI"l! di/Tel"l!nt, and authors wel"l! often inclined to obey their own iru;tincu rather than general prn(riptioru;. In on.e sense, scribes ha.d. as much as style or gente to do .... ith the creation of mndern letters. But Iiteratul"l! .... as not 50 much determined as it ....., simply encirded by other textually oriented tyFC5 of discourse, mainly legal ~ administrative. No IC$S far-n'aching than in litenttun' wel"l! the o:fkcu ollitemcy on medieval art and architectun', to .... hich in a more general fashion .... e may briefly tUtl!. For, as note.!, oral and written tnaditiom made diffen'nt demands on the human senses. 1k one emphasize.! the ear, the ottH:r, the rye. The new complexity of the senSOf"ium eventually altered the form aoo function of the v;sUllI and plastic arts. Ju in literatun', the Middle 1I.8cs knew two imerdeptndent traditions. Classical n'prescmational art was dosely linke.! to the written n'xt. Northerly art .... as more primitive and absttaet. Were these the artistic equivalents of ora! laY' and epics' The styliStic connections an' difficult to prove: yet, it is sU8Sested that the rich, "interlaced" ornamentation of the brooches, pins, be lt-clasps, drinking horns, and sword-hilts are artifacts of a "heroic" society;,,6 it was the craftsmanship of migrlltory peoples, excelling not in sculpture or buildings but ;n portable objects such as jewellery, implements, ~ weapons. Ma8iOlI properties wel"l! cmphasized, the elaboratel y dccotate.! swords of 1I.n8lo-5axon and Old Norse poetry effectively rccapturin8 the sense of a.... e accompanying the discovery of metal-.... orkin8. Book$, tOO, .... hen introduce.!. by missionaries, _re seen as embodiments of divine power, in .... hich the interwoven text and deroralion achieve.! symbolic status. When Charlema8ne embarked on his ambitious scheme of imperial teviVllI, he also inau8urated a classical "I"l!naissance" whi ch consisted of imposin8 MNiiterran.-an canom of taSte on indigenous traditions. For, despite its intrinsic beauty, northern book art did not convey a specific religious mCS3a8C' it did nQ( tell a Story or iUwuate a moral. By C(lntrast, dl.$$ical desi8n affurded a convenient vehicle for inte8ntting text and picture. It also permitlNi Charlemagnc's scribes and arti stli to recreate classical civilization through their own cyes. Classical art serve.! as another reminder that the old and th e new Latin

..-n.. 'o,othoct Slru
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H ('9'67).

ORAL AND WRITTIlN

empires were indissolubly IinkeJ---..or so the imperial proJlll8andilU liked to believe. From tht later eleventh century the dominant mode of artistic Iq>tm'natiotl became the Romanesque chun:h, which provided an effective signpost of religious education and learning as well as of the p~mation in monumental form of traditional vaJuc:s. For the essential feature of the new style, Ernst Kitzinger remarks, was not only the attempt " to subordinate all partS of a building to a uniform system," but also to make of architetture "a frameworlc for the sculpture and .n integral part of the m~ it can:ic:s . . .. TM cathedral proclainu ... the Gospel in stone. "I" lbc: image is .Pt, uniting the respect for physical t,aditio with the beginnings of an in terpretive traditi on based on literate institutions. Moreover, the transition to Gothic in the I 130$ was similar to what took pl&Ce in law and liter. ature: the written no longer merely recorded but now d ictated the principles of coherence .nd 'inner meaning. "Two aspects of Gothic architecture . . . are wimout precedent or pan.nel: the use of light and the unique rel.tionship between structure .nd appearance. "!lol In both cuts we see a movement away from concrete symboJ illIl, to which textual evidence may be appended, and towards an order perct:ptible only to the mind. As Abbot Suger pointed out, the the!xy derived from prnious authorities like Augustine and the psrudo-Dmis. But the integtati()D of the visual with the idea of logical order could not have been achieved without the un
e"." ...

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OIl.AL AND WRITTEN

~n,

stating instead that "light issues in all dir«tions opposite a body that is illuminated ...... ..., Communicilted by il transpannt medium, the light makes an impression on rh<- eye, when~ a meuage is relayed to th<- brain. Alhuen's theory W2J introduced into th<- West by Grossetesre, Roger B:aron, John P~lu!.m, and Witelo. By tbe 1270S several Yf'rsions of his docuin.e ~tt' available along with scholastic commenraries.'" Of course, the new optics was neither a dir~t CilUSC nor il oonK'quence of Gothic archit~turc. The twO merely Hourishe.:l in the same mental dimate. Togerher with th<- growth of literacy, the optics acted 115 a scientific foundation fur a type of representational art which, although medieval in in roots , came to transcend all that medieval art slood for. This was achieved through the use of perspective: it di"Ktively combined classical representation, which was the illuuration of a tl'ltt, witl\ threc-dimensionality, a logical development of the emphasis on rh<- visual. ... If medieval In began with the importation of the written into a world in which theu was no implicit connection betwttn ornamentation and narrative, it finished by "purgating the lut traces of physical symbolism, cv('1l in their refmed Gothic tmns_ formati(Hl, from miniatures, lICulpture, and architecture. The grolllth in interest in the visual, the literal, and the mentally perttptible was panlleled by new senses of time. The great divide was the in~ntion of the mechanical dock with a verge escapement and foliot arouod 1270."') But, previous to this tt'VQlotionary device, a number of advancn in timc-~ping and related disciplines can be ttllCed to the eleventh century, if not to the tenth. Once Igain, both oral and written traditions were at work. Alexander Mutray n()tes: "Roman numerals manifested and partly occasioned the pamlysis of early medieval arithmetic .. .. If tht dead hand . . . was to lose its grip, . . . all that was needed was a displactmrnt of writing 115 a whole from itJ monopoly in this branch of science." Gerbl'rt, Richer, and others bear wimess to I "tendency away from writing and towards material .nd symbolic meatl$ of expression,"'" which naturally fa... D. tindbt'l;. "AI"",,,,,', Th;>801, ch. " pp. [" ' 2" : ''Tb< I'ffi 01 P<<<;"'1 Cl
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ORAL AND WRITTEN

voured tbe use of tbe abacus, a device probAbly imported. to medieval Europe from Otina. But interest in comput&tion also wrnt hand ;1'1 hand with the rise of grammar, logic, and tenual research."" Bed~ had simplified tbe proced~ fOl" lUing fast-days, and the c..rolingian inventories imin.ted Roman fiscal methods. After the millennium a number of new in5trument5 and calculllting techniques began to filter inro the West. The practical applica tions of the abacus were studied in Lotharingia and in Reims. Another novelty was the compurus, a technique fat fixing feast-days using Roman numerals, which was only later anti_ qUl.ted by the refined calculations of Ptolemaic astronomy. "'~ The astrolabe, .... hich allowed one to estimate the altitude and position of heavenly bodies, appeared about the same time via Arabic Spain."" The eleventh century saw the arrival of Hindu-Arabic numerals (minUl the zero)W' and the reintroduction of the CtJ7tI.S A.o;,iiiiMSOttmiI,"'· which gready aided l.nd meIl5urement. Practical needs !ay behind the SIK'Illed "Sranui Geonry:' which was attributed to Boethius but VI» actually tbe work of an devc:nth-<~ntury student so",""here in Lot· ra.ine.'~ To these imuuments must be odcJed the psychological change in internal time-keeping brought about by the ~;VaJ of monastic ism. ~ convent walls not only provided .. haven from doubt and insecurity; they imposed upon the changes of s."sons and climates. manmade SYStem of discipline and self-control.'" However different in origin and makeup, these forces all served a similar purpose. The importanCe did oot lie in accuracy of mcas~ment, altboush mathematization was increasingly an wue, but in interposing between men and events a system of temporal reckoning indepeooent of both. Time was externalized, offering a ~Iel to the amnac;t, depersonalbed, and apparently objenive WOfld of the text . .. ' L M . 0. llijO;, ~ ; ,oo",. DH ,;u (AMa:. 19,91. nij·Diii . 0:: t!::: 4ck of. link bot ....... lime 00100<;'. . ' ' M o.::d IUUttLLted t, 'Two F..,.. , ... t!::: s,mboIic Rc",,,.''''nioR ofTi_." ;a It.....;. "'.'': 1\1 ''Cl (Wo. cIoc:, ,966), ':>4·.8, I~'J6 . ... 0:: t!::: -:, o..d,,_. It< o:bo-oe.t!1 C. W . 1'-'-, &::tot 0,....
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... O. E. Smith o.::d L C. JWpimI::i, T_ Hn.J..A . . . N~ (Boomn., I,L11, 0)9 • ... P. T..,""'l', '"La ......""tri< ... XI. 1ikIt." M' . =~. cd. J.•L Htibtra ond M.oG. Zcut ...... -.cl. ,eT... ':"' ..., '9>2). n-'''', _101.1'<:1"",,'" '; ' "G ,ioll{Winbd,o:. '97<') ...• •. '" Cf. L Mom6::od, Td.i<s.6 CWiliMt;." (Nnt Ytil l, n· ,8.

"

ORAL ANO WR1TTF.N

W~re

these witural (hanges the concomitants of deeper mutations in eronomy ilSld society' A facile equation between material and noomatetial culture, as ooted, is inadmissible. And parallels, where they occur, cannot be separated from their historical contexts, which indude, of CO\ltSC, contemporary CKplanations for the chall8cs themselvtS. If a generalization is to be proposed, it would have to spNk of a new system of excha~ and communication, equally tffcctive in 1:<0nomic, social, and cultural relations. CoilIllge appea~ in quantity; markets surfaced in nascent commercial centres; prices began more and more to be determined. by supply and demand; and men gradually distinguished between inherited seams and contractual obligations. Money, in other words, or commoxlities with a lllOllCtary value, emccged as the chief force for objl: IQ M.u.,..-; ",If.!" . 'h. (SpoI<'o. ,96,); on _ i ..,;o" """ ;"",ll«tuaJ hiKoly. A. Mu",",. 1/...,.., M
'H·

fi
... W. M. Pootan • .".. 11.;.. 01. M-, lw". M~ Arn/''''' ~.,I(;-..I J', ".., t/ IN MtdiNJ u-, (Catnbtid$<. '9H). 18. ,,. K. l'oIon,i, .".. E<,"""" .. an lMliMed PI"OCftO,"· in K. PoI.n,i . C. M. A~,,",'1, o.nd H. W. l'ca! .... , «b . . TNJ. oN M.....w;., E4< .-I /io, .. S,,~ (Sc~"on, """" .• '#)' ,6-H . ... Cl. 11. . H..w"ll . TIIo Iwl. · f . or i. T.",JfiJ>-C"""'1 11.___ IN.... Ho.... '917). eh. , .

I_,

8,

ORAL AND WRITTEN

and sef"o'ice5. For the fint time since: antiquity Europe witncued the existence of • disinterested IDlIrket 0{ ideu, for which the essential pn:requisite was • system of communiClltion haud on texts. The 10SiClIl product of the literue orsaniution and classification of knowledge wu the scholastic system, just as the market was the natural instru_ ment for the distribution of commodities regul.ted by prices. 1be economic did not precede or underlie the cultUlllI trans!orm&tions. Both functioned side by lide, and the new was often «mooBaged in the VOClIbulary of tilt old. Absttact market telations ~re disguised as human relations; an archaic terminology of barter and gift was retain.ed in both feudalism and literature .))~ But, beneath the sul"faa, the value of goods was being determined increasinaly by the l.ws of supply and demand. E~n at tho: UpPfi end of tbe social scale, where the unlimited ClIpacity to consume was an important proof of membership, the "ccnsing" of the teS!:rvt, the appearance of "bannai" feudalism, and the disappearance of the nomadk way of life aradually eroded the economy of barter, aift, reciprocity, and redistribution. The old formulae retained their Ilppeal, but tbey leu and less acCIl_ rately dC5Ctibed everyday economic exchange. 1be economy, although nor recognized as such, became ODe of producen and consumen. Throush analoaow principles a new type of discourse evolved for communiCllting between individuals. Like the economy, it WIll governed by a set of alntra<:t rules, which, like prices, were largely independent of humlln control. Literacy, like the marker, insured that an entity aternal w the patties in a gi~n interChange-the teXt-would uldm.tely provide the criteria for an aa~ meaning. Just as the market c!nted • level of ".bstra« entides" .nd "model relations" between producer and consumer, literacy created. set of leJ[iClll and syntactical structures which made the pel'$Of\2 of the speaker iatgely irrelevant. Ju 11. result, a formerly qualitati~ly strucrured 50Ciety began to show signs of quantirati~ structuring. Monl, economic, and social decisions beaan to appear in separate contexu. The economy wa5 still very iatgtly a substanti~ process, but Cormalization could be felt just beneath the surface of the illCreasing leaalilm of property relations. Tht power over the concrete which abstra<:tion yields wa5 visible in the new optimism of "«mquering nature" as well as in t~ rise of loaico-<'mpirical rationalism in I.w, philosophy, and thcQloay. On the one hand, the fotCCS governing man'. liCe ~re no longet conceived in ... a. G_ o..t.,., uw:iIII_ XI. XlI,.. JnsJ. ..... "I 3-'18-(>,.

86

=_,•..iN. (Puis. 197')'

ORAL AND WRITTEN

purt'ly objective terms. Man, as I con$«jutnce, .... as I1()t the passive r«eptade of natural or d.ivine judgments; he could und.entaru:! and therefOte alter the everyday .... orld in .... hich he lived; the ....eight of decision-making was panly shiftf:
'7

II.

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

sro

Ee, quid dicam? Non id idioxae fachmt, doccoru Christionorum. m:tores plebium, tl; ira, quodurunodo obe ..,u; omnilltn ta
1'.1. '. Air i.;-ttlll1 CORSequen« of li~racy in any human oommunity ariscs -Abbo <£fItu.ry.

from tbe atea of social organization. Reb.cionships between the irulividual aod the family, the group, or the widM community are all inBuenced by the degree to which society acknowledges written principles of operation. Literacy also affecn the _y people conceptualize such relations, and these patterns of thousht i~itably feed. back int{) the n':l:1vork of real interdependencies. A branch of this general field of inquiry concuns the manner in which the rise of literacy inu...too hinOf"icalIy with tilt formation of

heretk:al or l(Mm;St rdigious groups. From the elevmch century such groups began to pb,y the role of laboratories of sociaJ organization, l.uemptill8 both to improve their own oommunities and to offer I. model of betterment to society at tuge. Hemia and reformers of coune diffem:l. in their utitudes to....ros authority and dlC' offi
's

sa

TEXTU~L

COMMUNITIES

ac Arru in I Ol5, and at Monfort~ in I Ol 8, as well as episodes 0( dissidence involving Leut'ard, a Mame ~nt, and Wazo of U~ge. The serund part of the chapter is concerned with a single reform movement, the early Pat'aria, as 5«11 through the eyes of Arnulf of Milan, Landulf Senior, and Andrew of Strumi. In order ro illustrate the thesis that literacy inftuenceJ group organization, it should be streua:l, the oamil\lltion of .... resy and reform is IlOl the only possi_ bility. Many otl~r movemenu present themselves, orthodox religious orders such as Cluny, for installtt, or the communal guilds of Italy and the ww Countries. Heretics and rdormt'B, however, provide particular advantages for this study. The tOtS are reasonable in length, and therefore the attitudes towards lirertCy can easily be compared. MOle importantly, tm, activistS raise: issues which are debated in other ~ of devcnth-<entury intellectual life. A oompariwn of methods is thereby sU88"ested ~n disciplines. In what follows, I have drawn liberally on the work of my predeCCUOI"S. However, I have also employed a tylX' of analYJis not uften used in the study of heresy and reform . This d~mands a word 0( oplanarion. In general , tbe accounts of early heresy and the Pataria are viewed simultaneously in an historical and a literary perspective. The normal historical approach is to compare differing versions of the same set of events in order to elicit a core of irrcfurable (an. The tot is thereby rt:garded as a 50urce of information. However, the acCOUntS an: alKl worb of narntive arc. In this opacity they opente on tWO levels: they tell us about the na,rator's point of view, and, if a movem ent is recorded in more than one place, they paint different pinures of how the individuals acrivating it looked upon each other. Of COOI5C, both historical and literary methods inform us about the U$t'S of literacy. But in at least twO rnpt
"

TJ3XTUAL COMMUN ITIES ~

COD(lusioru reached through this dual approach can be put quite simply. Eleventh-century dissenters may Il:Ot ha~ shared profound doctrinal similarities or common socillI origins, but they demonstrated a pIon.!lel use of rnu, both to structure the internal behav_ iour of the groups' membets and to provide solidatity against the outSide wodd. In this ~nse they were "textual communities." The term is used in a descripti~ rather than il technical ~nse; it is intended to convey not a new methodology but. more inrensi~ use of ttllditional methods, and, in particul.r, their use by groups hitherto dependent on oral participation in religion. What was essential to il tenual community was DOt a written version of a text, although that was sometimes plnent, but an individual, who, havins mastered ie, then utilixed it for refurmin,g il group's tbought and action. 1be texfs interpreter might, like St. Bemard, remain a charismatic figure in his own right, whose power to modn.te groups derived fmm his oratory, gestures, and physical presence. Yet tbe organizational principles of movements like the Cisterciaru were dearly band on texrs, which played a predominant mle in the internal and external relationships of the members. The outside world was looked upon as a universe beyond the re~latory mt; it represented a lower level of literacy and by impli_ ClItion of spitituality. Within the movement, texts were steps, so to speak, by which the individual climbed towards a perfection thought to .eptcxnt complete undem.nd.ing and dfortless communication with God. Also, if il reformist group Oi"gani~ed itxlf around a primitive text, let us say the words of Jesus or St. Pau.!, it could, by invoking precedent, demand that society as a whole abandon ··customary'· principles of moral conduct and adopt a more rigorously ascetic model. The inevitable mult was conllicr, either within religious communities or in sociery at large. How do the$e issues relaee to the broader questioo of literacy? In general, the chicf areas affected were orality, symbolism, and ritual. No heretiCllI or reform movement was ··popular'· in the sense of reflecting the orality which lilCfalCS associated with illiteracy. Heredes and refot-mers did not as I. rule come from the less educated secmrs of society and represent folk or cuStonu:ry pn.ctices. Heretics in panic_ ular provided a cutdng edge for literacy: their criticisms were directed towards the miraculous, the sacramental, and what they considered to be superstitious lore. Reformers, too, §ought a textual basis for relics, thc cults of saints, and liturgical pnlcticc. Although directed towards different objects, both crieiques held ramifications for symbolism .00

TJ;XTU,l.1,. COMMUNITIES

ritual. Physical symbolism of the type reprcstnted by feudal tr
9'

TBXTUAL COMMUNITIBS

thereby comprehend bow one set of moral pcinciples could logically supersede another. In a sense, it wa.s they rather than the spectacular leaden of mOVl:mc:ntl who were the rea1 avatars of change.

1. LITERACY AND EARLY HERESY

l,,'roallaion Before we turn to eleventh-century heresy .Dd. mOlm, something must be also said about the historiogl'i.phy of the field of mediew.1 dissidence. Theories of heresy's "origins" in p.nicular have been pare: of medieval studies for over. century. What an the study of literacy contribute to the deb&te? ~ tooitiond framework (or discussion orthodoxy venus beresj'-~ laid down in the Middle Ages itself, &long with subjective expianl.tions of heresy's beginnings which suniYC'd the mediew.1 period and resurfaced, little changed, in post-Reformation Catholic and Protestant tbought.' The growth of hiscory as. professional discipline in the nineteenth century brought with it the fint scientific investigatioo of the dorumentary IICl\ltnS for medieval settarianism. But tbe critical editing of old tenlI and the bringing to light of ne'llt ones did not make the origins of heresy any easier to decipher. They merely complicated msting explanations. shifting the energies of resean::hen .....y (rom the appat"Cndy intr.ctable problems of interpretation into the more malll.geable areas of dating. provenance, and institutional associ.tion. Over • hundred ran of continllOUS publication Ms sueaeded in delimiting the study ofheresy as .. field ofhistorica1 inquiry. within which the partkipann recognize established subspecialties and common internalist hypotheses.' But there have been some unwanted

._in .... >,

J. I...-U,

'" ,110 <m,w. '" ('91>)). On Caiborism lD portinolu.... A. fIotK, 0;. rN' • ISN ...... '9j}), ._, S. Non....- U _ ; , dior:uoood bJ 10(. lambett. M.iMw/ H-,. '.. •... rIf d .... fo- B H", (I , , ' •• 917). ,_,6. (In pu< on< '" ,bi.
• 1'
"1~.erpretJtiono

a6-".

,_if ..

, n.. Iima
rned;..aJ _ , is !or... and ..... cemp; can loo ..,..x to summori .. i. fu!l,. 110ft. Two tfftdldd 'hit •• '" ~ .. TT ' ~d'" wKb ~ bjbIio.,. . . . . . . J . -~ .. P'J"~';"" .. btrtola.u Xk .ikl< ... , ......;. R.w /HPd ipt"H (''In). H-

M..,..

76. and, 10< lraly, G. Oo<dory ...,..,. ;" H. Gnu.dmooln, BiW'·c'rfl·, _ KM.......... ., ,Ilist.!.'., ('90<'-,966) (I.om: •• 9671. lUJt>lomonnd bJ -N.... B:i"i,. •.., ~ dot .. ~iIio
"

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

byproducts. One is the complexity of the theories themselves. It is ~m05t as difficult ror the uninitiated to study interpretations of her_ esy·, oriSin, as to uudy heresy itself. Another problem has aris.tn from t~ failure (0 look critio.lly at the natun:' of the theories. from a philosophiaJ point of view many of them are dramatio.lly simple. lndted. although twentieth -untury 6ddwork has moved in the direction of an enlighrened eclec ticism . which employs ele~nts of earlier theories but does not acknowledge any of them as having a monopoly of truth, a single srand scheme remains the overtly Stated So;l.l of much study. The proliferation of books and art icles on tne subject has also earnouflaSed the fact that. broadly speaking. there have been only two major apptoach.-s over the yeats. One concerns the possible "social origins·· of medieval hemi o .l beliefs (and. by implication, of reform as well). "fho:, other deals with s«rarianism IS a phenomenon more or less limited [0 the 6eld of religion. The one is largely external;$! ;n orientation, the other internali,t. From time to time the tW(l have ~n intclliscntly mmbined. But 00 reworking of the debate on "origins" as a whole or mooographic study within it has succeeded in establishing a universa.lly acceptable cultural anthropology of dissidence. There are re~ly twO rorms of the thes is on the alleged social. ec0nomic, and political origins of heresy. although the distinction is not always t«ogn iud by rncdicvali5rs. A radical version. urged by Engds, Kautsky, and later Marxist writers. s«s heresy as an expression of the medieval da" StrUSHle which oppo$ed the feudal aristocracy, the nascent boucge-9'. Foo-",.,.. r«.,." " ooin ..... C. T. B<,\"", ondj. 8 . 110..... 11 . 1II...m...t Hms;". A iJ;61Hr'4i>J , 96<>·'9 19 (1".. ..><0, '!)8' I. o.b<. impon ............ , of ,ho ;..u.. ir>; J. B. Ru .... lI. DiM"" ~"" R(.",. i. ,'" Urly MNItih Iou> _8~"Vn

(B<.kdq. '9li, ). ' -H' w. L. wokt/itld ,no;! A. P. E,.", •.. " 1-1 ' _i",,1 f*«rt. of Mod;,..a! I'npolu Horni..-:. in H __ t( ... Hip MJIIJI, 10", (Now York, ,trbio <11 1..1;" du NOfd ,. Xl• • ifel.:· 10_"', E.5.C. , '9 (' 974). [»4· " . A biJhl, ;.8"",.,,1 M, .,"'........... thor q{ G. Volp<. MIA_i ~i ""kr,l ...Jiw.h ilo/M"" . wJi X/_X/V (I'Iorentr. ' 9"), OIP. pp. '-78. • F... , mu, ......... , ... E. W..... , &rH! M. Etboroau. ·"So:!;'I.,.liJi6!o _8u~ im Mj,tobIm-;· If'~do w",bi", _1;,1/..-" U_ 7 ( '9'7-)11). 1)7.$" G. Ko.fI ;. H. ) ....., , ($0"""«,,, ,idI .. do< IiIrboiocbon J.k.do:m .. dot Wi ... ,wlod, ........ Leip
"i,,,,,i , ,.,,,

r«
hi ... /Cl . • " 1. '. '9"7' ).

93

""'"

TI!XTUAL CO MM UN ITIES

lmte.d to situte dus CQnll(C't within .. wider spectrum of causal factors and to cuminc cac;h daim in the light of ..vallable evidencc. Yet, they have &.iled to give m adequace beuing to a more subtle argument , which, while not denying heresy's e:sstncially religious character, ~ social forces in a broader perspective either as contributing factors or as unintentional byproducts. The most inHucntial sucement of this vi"" was made by Gioacchino Volpe and was populuized out$ide July by Emu Troelc$Ch, who tunslatcd from early articles portions of Volpe's study of "religious J1\OVements md heretical seeD in medieval Italian society" fot his widely read SrriAJ TttIChilffS of l~ CbriJlialf Chtdrhts .• Troeltsch used Volpe's fCscan;h to build a bridge berwcen two different sorts of problems, one sociologieal and atlOlher historieal, which he effectively unitcd by spcakill8 on the one h:and of ·'orthodoxy" alld ··he~y·' .nd 011 the other of ··church·· and ~sect." TIte lac:tcr categOlies he bonowcd from h15 colJca&ue Mu Weber, whose "ideal types'· he rcduccd to much less flexible instrumena of analysis. Despite. somewhat anachronistic search fur the roou of Protestantism, Troeltsch laid down a numm 0( canonical distinctions ~ tWCCII church and s«r as categories of religiOlU gtOuping which have in onc form or another served as guideposts to ~rch ever since.' In h15 view, the pt:ir were bo!:h opposed and yet romplemcnwy, The church was hierarchic and conservative; it dominatcd the masses, usually in co-operarion with the "rcl.ing dams'· whose inte~ts it served. The scet was egalitarian and democratic; it was a smaller Ixldy, most ooen CQm!x;s!d 0( the socially and economically underprJvilegcd. It stressed "inward perfection" and "pcnonaJ fellowship," If the church aspircd to subdue the world alld ro use it to its ends, the sect lookcd upon the world with hostility, toler.mcc, or even indifference. The church. working downward from above, saw itself as ·'the objective otganitation of miraculous powcJ"." !be 5C'Ct, working from below, was a "voluntary association" based on the fIft adherence of its memben. A pcnon was born into a church, but he}oined a sect. A church, while approving of good wades, ultimately demandcd only that the _
• 0;. S.u..JIJow )8J~;

Enc·

Germar. .... idon, .96.). J?"lI" J . l ( f t _ .............. il>dudt J. P. a.,...,.., od .• T..JM nJ .... F_ .. nrdV G' boo, .~)....:I J.. IolorpD ono:! M. Pye ...... . E_ T, IV......" .. Th'", nJ Bm,;.. G-w... "1n). 0 .. _ _ , - ' · '""-, • '~~~." ... v~ rt' _ "'. . ' ·9 . pp. ,.....,.17; , ....... H'~l.

".n..

.1".

.~

"

TEXTUAL COMMUNIT!ES

individual ack!lOWled.g~ iu univ~rsal capacity for administering grace. The sect by contrast compdled. its members to tak~ an lL("tiv~ part in rommulllll religious life, which was rich in inte'l'<'fSOnai relations. TIte church ~mbodied. such rektionships in an ·'objenive'· framework which scrusW tf"insccndence from the impermanent conditions of the world. It thus placed. less weight on individual methods of puri6cation and more on the statUS or grad~ of the individual wilhin an e(:ciesi. asci",1 Otganiur;on. The whole secular order was in fact conceived as a metns of preparing (0£ the eternal life. The contrast, Troduch believed, (QUId easily be perceivt'd in the differing attitudes towards I5Ccticism. In the church·, view, llSaticism was JUSt om: of the facton; ap.ble of raising man upwards tOWtMs the divine. In the sect'S view, the individual could not achieve salVllcion withOllt withdtawing rom· pletdy from the world. The partially world-renouncing asceticism of the church IUlturally led to the institution of moruutidsm, whi[~ the uncompromising form ptacticed by the sect was directed. tOWtrds such antillOCial activities as refusing to obey laws, to swear oo.ths, to govern others, to own property, or to defend oneself by arms. Despite his emphasis on $OCial £acton, Troeltsch did not argue that heresies were $OCially determined. He maintained that they spn.ng into existence when $OCial and economic_conditions crnud the possibility. Their ultimate origins, like their objectives, were rdigious. 6 Troeltsch's views are taken seriously today only as part of the classical tbcory of chutt:h and stet.' Yet they possess onc advantage oyer many studies of heresy by better informed professional medievalists. Like Weber, Troeltsch admitted no arti6cial harrien; hctween "social" and ··rdigious" sph("tes of life, a position I"«("ntiy vindicated in a mnarkabl~ case-uudy by E. le Roy l.adutie.! Yet, this pcrspenive was not widely acknowledged by rarly critic$ of the thesis on h("mys alleged $OCial origins. As il consequence, the theory's afrerlife is mort complicated than it might orh("rwise ha\'(" been. On the 011(" hand, the initial insights W("re never fi..dly punued. What dev("loped ov("r dnte was an unofficial division of labour hctween historians of society and of religion. The latter concentrated (h("ir efforts on demolition: med.ieval dis~nten were shown to haY(" come from all stnca of society, • IhiJ.• )70; ,tan •. , Ht>. 'Cl. B. 11.. Wibocl, R"it;,., $.... .4. 5otiII
"

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

and their motives, when enmined in the light of their own statemenu, were fouoo to be overwhelmingly religious. Criticism of eIlrliet sociologied interpretations was synthesized in Herbert Grundmann's massive Rtligiis, BewtpIIgDI ;", Mittt14/tw (I93~), which WIll a wate"hed in the field·, burgeoning literature. Grundmann started from the position that "all religiow movements of the Middle AgCl wen: based on religious orders Of heretical se<:u. ''1> Despire an unparallo:led command of the primary SOUTCCs, hi: thereby teaSSf'rted the mditional division betwccn orthodoxy and heresy, DlCrely replacing an intellectual with an institutional centre of focus. He said nothing new about social organization as such. Sodo(ogicaUy inclined histo-rians, while Kapdng the critique of determinism. were reluc[lnt to yield to an intelle<:tualist position. But they had nothing to put in in place. The fate of the Troeltsch-Webcrian hypotheses was predicoole. At the first international congress devoted to heI"Qy after World Wu 11 (19,,), the thesis OD hemy's social origins WIll treated inconclusively.'o A similar iOOe<:isivc-nes.s emerged from the R.oyaumonc colloquiwn of 196~, which was specified!y conarned with "heraies and societies in preiOOustrial Europe betW«D the eleventh and eightccnth centuties. "" If we turn from these general approaches to the birth of sectarianism after the millenniUIll, the divisions of [he field can be brought into closer focus. When applied to the evidence, rhe theories have above all ehe attempted to 600 some sort of coherence in the ourbreak II1\d sprnd of beterodo. beliefl, Many methods of ofganiution have Mm tried: simple chronology Of geography, or, in more synthetic apptOllChes, comparisons of poinu of genesis, lines of communication, and intemllltionships on western soil. The IlCCOUOU of medieval chroniclers hue also been scrutinized fur srylistic similarities. Yet, in imitation of the wider~. two mans «givins shape [l) thl: meagre source material have generally been preferred above others. On the one hand, attemptS have been made to trace the social origins of the

• Rq.... &, . . . . . . MmJ.J",{!I
19)1), ,.

d_'" tIi Sn.:. $. . . ., R_, 4.1' 11# •• '9" . "" . J: JII '91')' , 01-)4'. " J. Le GoII", eel. , H .... " MriIIIt J.tu fe-,.~, " ... (Pouio and T"bt I-iqur. ,961). Pot· .hot aimilor .-:Iuo;w., a.mp.r. A. P. E..... , ."Soria! Asp9), ~: M. UmI>.

R,z.· . JIl X C C! • I

s......

pr, 0'100,,,",

,.,;;m,

TEXTU"'1. CO MMUNlTJES

dis.semers; on the other, common grooM hll$ b«n rought in th~;r beliefs, rites, and orher practices. Neither of these appn::w:hes, nor for that matter any combination o{ them, has won unanimous support. No one doubts the influence o{ lOCial factors in tbe broadest sense." The problems begin wben wC look (or the lOCial origins of the dissenters themsdves. If the early eleventh century is used u a laboratory, thc results confirm no single hypothesis. Many were peasants: Leutard wls a h<»ruJ pltbfiMJ, his con~rts, nlJ/ici.' ~ But othen were not . Vilgard was a student or teacher, possibly a grammafiCIIJ. '. His audience was composed of townsmcn in Ra~nna. We know little of W ccclino, who oonvcrttd to )udaism in 100" save that he was tducattd," and. even less of similar converts at Mainz in 10 1 a.'~ Adcmu of Chabannes mCf\tions neither the lOCial nor economic background of the Ma,,;,bti who were found in the Aquil1lnian countryside from 1017," JNiNcmltJ pllbm. Th~ brought to light at Toulouse in 1022 he labelled the "",,Ii; .... "Iidtrisli. '. The sevcral versions of the synod at Orleans tell us little more. Thc heretics came, John of Ripoll states, .It ,,"lioribJ ""iris JM.It mdiurihllJ /4iOJ .'9 The seWs ~re sown by Liso;s, a canon of the cathedral of Ste.·Croil[, and by Stepben, the superior of the college of St.-Picrrele-Puellier and confessor to quen Comeanee.'o The heresy was first 1lIJ(ictd by Arefiut, who _ descended from the dukes of Normandy, and it was brought into his house by a d"itllJ called Herbcn, who claimed to have b«n t.ught by Stephen and Lisois. " Even this level of inform.tion is exceptional. The heretics drawn to the attcntion of the bishop of Arras and umbrai in 102, were de· scribed only as vi";. Their trial wu conduned before a "multitude" of both cI"i and popllli." Their l~er, Gundulfo, was gi~n no social ,. Cf. R. M""hrn , " Prob! ........... J"on.i"" d< I"hk-bi< .... Moyrn All':· R"", H~... ))6 I'~). '0.

"RodWfGtabot. Hill.,;,..'·9 ·... od . M. p_. p. ~9· "lfflI.. ,.u .'}. p. ., AJp<mU , 0. D;-';,." T,,~, . ... <. "NGH ss 4, 7<>4; d . Jlui,., do Mil . ....

,0.

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('~7),

··IId., ,.w, p.• e,. "Vii. GM';;";. od. Il. H. Bout;.. and G. Ubo.y (Po,;, • • 96\1). ,80. Cl. C....." .. s. ,"', So "n. II.Hf , '0, "4; CbrMitws r_. ~.. '111 · • Glob<:, Hi"";'" 3.8.", p. n. " C-.r.m J. 7' J. _.n., J.

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}. p.

'09.

TEXTUAL CO MNUNITlES

dtDOmination. TIle hill-town vilited by Ariben of Milan in t01l8 was "fuU," GWx-r reports, "of people of the highest quality. "' j But Landulf Senior, who provides a more &CC\U'Ilte narrative of the events, is less willing to lump the heretics together in OtIC' social stl'lltum. ~r ard, their Spo!cesllUln, was said to bear himself "with the greatest ease or readiness ."'· But WIIS his con6.den~ a rellection of his social station or his rt"ligious ~nitude? Among the converts to th<- new faith was the 10Cll countess." But what of the ot hers? Theoduin of Li~ge is no more insttu.ctive. He complained in 1048 of bel:t"dcs whom he misrook for followers of BerellgU. They were apparently spreading erroneous views "ameng all the faithful commoners. -->6 But om: do not learn .hat $Of'( of persons tbey were. In short, lIS far as the l'Vide~ indicates, early eleventh-<entllty dissenters om:l'l' of both sexes and all social backgrounds. And tbey came from born near and afar. TIle question of a common doctrinal orientation is more difficult to unravel as it pmxcupied medievaJ commentators themselves. TIle coospiracy theory WQ popular, tben as 1lOW. Yet, most modern schol· an an disinclined to IIl'l' a lingle, pronounced dogllUltic thread run· ning through the -nous outb«aks rX hub)' between 910 and 1048." Certa.in ideas aoo practices were obviOlUly held in common: negation of the trinity (OrINm, Monforre); rt"ject:ion of tbe Old TesWllent ~tard, Arras); avenion to the cross (I=tard, Aquit'l.ine, Arras, Monforre); Ill'garion of boIpturn (Aquitaine, Orlkns, Arras) and of confeuion (Odkns, Arras); and ibJtention from mnt (Aquiuine, OrIkns, Monfone, Ch1l0tlS).·1 Chroniclers frequently speak of withdtaWll] from the institutionalized church and of disapproval of the ecclesiastical hierarchy. However, despite whatewt similarities exist, the instincts of dis· sent have more tha.n once been accurately assessed as "doctrinally idiosyncradc. "'"In panicular, it is increasingly difficult to make a case for tbe traditional notion of an intercommunicating network of dual· ism. In the heresies at ToulOUse, Gosbr, Ravenna, Venice, and Ve· ·' Hil......... , . ,_"' . .. H~ lrl~ ' .' 1, /oIGH

., IW. , 69 .

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ss 8,

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di. o . .. l.ooo!hon 1191')•• "

"

TEXTUAL COMMUNIT IES

rona, there is little or no indication of doctrinal on entation at all. ~ argument for or ag:linst eastern influena, and thertfu~, by implication, for a Theory of ideological diffusion, mu on the evidence of 011&.115 in 10 22, Arras in 10 24-1 0 2" :lOO Li~ge around 1048. Dondaine usumffi that the5e episodes delll()llsuvled the presence of a well-artiCulatffi Bogomilism on western $OiI,JO while Morghen and others mainttinffi that the don Tines had. DO dearcut pattern." In the words of H. C. Puech, ··neither taken by thenutlves, nor juxtaposed. in a somewhat artificial manic, do the tUtS of the first half of the eleventh century . . . imply "Without doubt thl! heterodox groups . . . we~ already infl~ncffi by Bogomilism."'· To take Orl6ins as 10 instance, hiuorians have concluded that the laying on of hands does not ntC~i1y point to the Cathar frJmalammrllm" and that the he/etia' terms of uCettllCt, as revealed by Palll of St.-P~~ de Clwtre, do no< suggest anything stronger than "rdigiow illuminism"·"" so-called eastern dualism of many elcvcnth-century hel"t't io may repment noching more dUIfl a tcviVllI of ideas from the New Testa_ ment." Of course, the introduction of tlUtern beliefs through Slav merchants or simply by word of mouth canDOt bc ruled OUt. Yet the "state of mind" of th-esc ascetic, world-renouncing heretics is essentially western.,6 Neither in thei r social origill5, then, nor thei r doctrinal orienta. tions, do early eleventh-century heretics appear ro form 10 organized netwOrk of bclief. We a~ thelefo~ entided to ask what they have in common besides proximity in time. The answer as suggested above is bound up "With the risc of a mote lite{3.te society." Literacy, it should be It~, should nOf be sct up as a new JniJ tx 111Mb;""" merely offering to the study of heresy and m'orm anothu oversimplified nolinic theory. Yet, in two areas, an examination of problems of communication can shed valuable light. 1bc lint (:oocctns learned venus popular culture. ~ advent of literacy in on.! culture undoubtedly changed the Iltmosphe~ of belief, .nd this was rellccled in new distinctions between religiOlU literues and nonlitcrates. The5e, in turn, implied a questioning of the SI_tus of popular culture. The notion of ··popular" culture is of course not

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,. Nor."*"

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TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

entirely satisfactory:" too often, popular is merely equated with lay belief, and there is an inevitable bias which arises from viC1ll'ing popuw piety through the lens of the official church, that is, in _in,g it as an essctItially passiYC Icceptade of leamed uadition. Given ~h pres"ppo!!itions, it il of cowtt legitimate to ask with Grundmann whetheJ den were any "popular" medicval bem:ics besides Peru Wa!do who IICt\IaJly inspired substantial tel.igious movements." But the problem C&DDOt be posed in these terms a10l1t, s.ince they make the consequences of scribal culture the origin of the communities which in turn depend upon it.¥' If one begins the: investigation &[ the point at which the fint so-aIled "popular helo!es" malc:e their appeacatlCt'-(hat is, shortly after the milltnniUlIl-.notber pcnpectiye is suggested. Bcfute literacy has made a IJsnifu:ant impact on everyday religioou ptatticet, there is little pUlpS" in mak:ins a distinction betwttn learned and popular at all, that is, ounide narrowly restricted, educated cin:ies. 1bc:.e arc no "suni'lllis" of popuIat c;u!ture, only

liying realities, which, like the "real ptesc:;xe" in the eucharist, arc accepted without COIDJUent or interpretation, their symbolic and ritualiltic .... pacity to convq meaning remainins intaCt. When literacy emergu as an issue, popu1ar religion aI$O surfaces, just as illiteracy is the invariable consequence ollittraCJ' inelf. The <:hangc is nor only in the Jtructute of beHefs but a1so in the manner in wbidl different indiyidua1s or groups ptKtive them to be communi....red. As the wlitten wool influences behaviour in geoeral, so it ttxtuaIly orients tbe content of wth. As a result, the "social" ta<:ror emerges in I. DCW context. 11lc traditional appt',*,h is to trace the bat:kground of tbe dissi
n..... .

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.. TEXTUAL COMMUN!TIES

enters a hetttjc~ cell and that his stnse of soliduity is bu«I upon a previously developed, commonly held need. HOWl'Vcr, membership in any group ptv«cds in Stages. The familial, institutional, intellectual, or "class" bonds of the individual before ioi ning are only the point of d~utt. In many cues d~ process of socialintion CQIltinues within the group and ar;$t$, as suggested, from patterns of interaction with the other members. This pttiod of t
Luttard One of the earliest episodes of dissidence in utin $Qurccs after the millennium foreshadows the use of tCXtS in Ilter heretical groups. There is only one account, and Lcutard, a peasant from Venus on the Mame, is described as acting alone. Let w first liummarizc Glaber's narrative,'" then analyse its details in depth. The story tuns as follows. Lcutll.rd, worn OUt from his labours, one day fell asleep in a field and drelllIlt that a swarm of bees, entering his body through his genitals, gtlldually made their Wily OUt through •. Hw..w.

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TIiXTUAL COMMUNITIES

his mouth. tormenting him all the while intern.ally with their stings. After a time it seemed that the bees were trying to tell him t{I perform am normally forbidden to b.ymen. Emotionally drained by the ex· peritDCe, Leutard returned home; then, as if possessed. he divot«d his wife, and, ptocccdill8 to the local church, ripped down the ctOSS and smashed the likeness of Chrisr. n.c onlookers, simple folk like himself. trembled with fear, thinking him mad. But he persuaded them he was IlCting in IICCOt:dance with God's revelation. He told them as well not to pay tithes, and dedated that in his view the biblical prophetS had inserted "falsehoods" among their "~ul statcmenrs." Within a short time his reputation had spread far and wide, fin.ally reachins the ean of Gebuin. the loaJ bishop. who had Lcutard brought before him. When interrogated, Leutard denied in particular that he had interpreted Scripture for himself. But Gebuin was not fooled and proDOUnced him a hemic. He then recalled Lcutard', followers from uror and re-established their faith. Deprived of his supporters, Leutard threw himself in a ,..ell and drowned. This episode. which has beeri panphrascd as far as possible in Gb. her's own words, has usually been intetpteted in one of two ways. either as an early instance of Cathar dualism" or as a sign of opposition to the nascent fcudJ.1 system." Neither reading does justice to the narrative's internal fct.tures. There is presumably a substratum of historical fact--the cenrn.! eventS, perhaps, and the gcognphical setting. But the ,tory. which is probably the revision of iUl on.!llCcoum, piOCccds wgdy in images and symboll. If it! mcanill8 il to be made clear, these must not be overlooked. The key lies in the swarm of bees. They ~ of course traditional: tbeir chastity is mentioned as cady as Vergil and PHny," and recurs frequently in pmistic writing." n.c notion passed into the fX1Iftd of the Easter Inas$. which perhaps provided the ItOry'S direct inlpira.. _

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TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

tion.o6 But, in addition, th\'fe is anocher S\'ns\' suggc-sral. by an earlier tale posS\'lsing similar contours. G~gory of Tours tells of a .... oodcut· ter who was likewiS\' surroundC!d, in his cue by a swarm of flies.'7 For twO years aflerwards he was mad; tben, donning animal skins, be: took up a hermit's life aoo began to deliver regular ·'proph\'Cies." Shortly thereafter he I\'ft his rerrut and, accompaniN by a "sis~r" whom he callN Mary , he went about the count~ide around Le Puy. 8\'for-c being murdered by a local pri"t h\' had CreatN a following of OVCJ" three thouund. Th\' rale is unlike Glaber's exC\'pr in ronn\'Cting physical symbols with tm, idea of large number. In rm, story of Leu· rani, the bees, IS" conseque nce , may ..t ono::e repl\'$Cnt (1) cha.stity, (~) diabolical instructions which enter the body b~ wa~ of its inferior paru and proceed to the micfOCO$m's cel"tial on", and (3) the futur\, riS\' of .. mass movement, base
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I«;,u ";16_ ..irtU I 'W "OMU"nd 001. (ikr;, [914), nonlo. On ,I>e ....... , ..... cl the J,.., 4i1 in tb< ..../ott roll> .... J. N . Pi".!]. "1..0 t..ndi«io 0101 E, "(Alknld",) . . . ut "pi> oooIul • .. .._ .... . . . On ~ and ........... " ... John .. So:. Ar .... lf. 11", cl John cl Gono. <. 80, PL 'll .,800. On.t.. be< ...., mbo! cl ,t........:I or cl di.... iliumi ... [..... ,t.. mod;""'1 ]»Si,;.., _ wt/I PU' by I:Iortwd .. Oait-no.m, $.. [ j~ 8.•. 6. """. od. J. u.:lrr<:q " 11.• vol. ,(R""",. '9)7). 19. 2._.6: "El, Spi,i".. q<>;pp< nr i",,'" .. ;_11....... ""i ins.., apia «
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TeXTUAL COMMUNITIES

at the on.! and written elements in the account, che one being a product of hcanay, tbe other Glabc:r's attempt to 6t the o:venu into a conventional f~k. The shoH t«t can in fact be divided into the tWO: the learned. version begins with the mention of the devil's legate (line 3), an obvious interpolation by the chronicler, and terminates with the epiiiC(lpd inquisition (line 26), details of which rc:quired at least .. rudimenrary knowledge of canon law. The popular account, which is sandwiched in the middle, sprab largely in met2phors and do:scribn the rapport between the (harismati( Leutard and his audimce (lines 5-24). Tht: twO levels of the narrative also correspond to twO interpretations of Leutard·s ac:riollS. In the learned version they are looked upon as doctrina.! aberrations. In the popular account they are setn largely lIiI behavioural, or, at the very least, as doctrines that issue in behaviour. A clue to the tar's ambivaleoce is p/'OVided by the notion of "insanity," which is used to do:scribe Leutard', activities on some four occasiolU. Glaber speaks at the outset of _tU., jJtrWwz.,. IUrrr Leutard's icol>OClum, even the local pc .. na think him "iou .... , which (the narrator adds) he was," Later, he is said to build up his following "as if through the mind of someone sane and rciigiow.·· Aod, 6na11y, Gebuin judges this "insane man" to be ". hemic" and "rtcalls the common people from the madness by which in part they were de-

ceived. " lilt us look more closely at rhis "insaniry. Within the story's Jeamai, interpretive apparatus there are rhree explanations. Although he n0where sayl so directly, Glabtt·s im.l8t'1 hint strongly at tbe obduracy of the Jews befurr the ( oming of Q,ristY If stubbornneu is not the answt'r, he adds, then Leutard is purely .nd simply "the devil's emissary," To these: intellectualiutions must be added a third set of ideas which do nOI in facl appear in the episode at all. Leutard's retrogressive behaviour is the last io a series of c:aiamides which Gl~r 5ees as threats to public order around the millennium, including omens, famine, and inswm:tion. Coming just ~ the signs of religious revival in book three, his vision is close to the turning point after which, following the pattern of Christ's life, the earthly world tries to set itself right . Leutard occupies a minor place in this penitential and historical scheme." But the popular elements in the accouot tell • different Story. To rerum to the bees: they are nOl primarily symbols of speci6c doctrines, H

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TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

even though Leutard counsels against the payment of tithes" and questions hiblical pr«epu. They also anticipate a number of ge$IUral actions, and the emphasis throughout this part of the Story is on textual versU$ verbal communication. The ben, for instance, are said to have caused him much pain aod su~riog," "lll1d when he had. ba-n rormcnted for some time by their stings, they seemed to be speakiog to him, ordering him to do many things impossible for (lay)men. ",6 In other words, their csswtial mnSl.ge was 10 proc~ from thought to actioo. Yet, the inUluctions rurn OUt to be StatementS normally derivable (rom a liural rnding of Scripture. I..eutard himself, although illit.. rare, thereby imitates behaviour patterned on textual mod.. ls. His activity amounts to a re-elUlCtment of apostolic illumination (as he understands it) in which he plays the role of i,,f.",1S bet .....een GQd and man, between word and act. As f.u as we know , then: is no actual text prtsl"ot when he preachn his sermon; his symbolic actions are only dramatiutions. But, as Glahcr makes clear, they depend on purttive t .. xts. Leuraro divorces his wife qlklJi ex /1ItctJ!IO rva"gdiro.!7 And throughout the sto ry Glaher ironically contrasts Ihe prope r and improper uses of the Word. For example, when Leutard has shaken off his &milial responsibilities and prepared himse lf for pun: fraternalism, he is !-aid to leave home and to proceed. to the local church "as if to pray." While the re, he destroys the atemal and, to his mind, ..mpty symbols of Chriu', presence, the crt»s Ind the image. He th en "persuades" his fellow villagers tha! he is acti ng t:< miriU"li Ifti r.vtlatiDfU. Again. in Glahet's distorted. view, the locals are uneducated nmiri, who vaci llate and an: slo .... -witt«i ("""re fAhiks).'· Leutard's cloquence is mere verbiage: thinking himself wise, he speaks with tl\(, proverbial tongue of fools. Above all he handles the literate t~hniques of interpretation ineptly. Glalxr states: "A profusion of words poured forth, totally lacking in utility or truth. He .... ished to appear as a teacher, but he succeeded in undoing the teachings of authority.·· .. Utility, truth. and authority: these constitute a summary of Gb.-

.. u....

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THXTUAL COMMUNITIHS

ber's understanding of the 4r1"Jj'IIlr"J rUKlom as a preface to interpreting Jivj"" jldgi"", By implication, Lrutard'l bermenrutic activity is ~n all • poor imitation of higher culture: "jUSt all other heretics, in order that they may more cleftrly deceive, cloak themselves in tbe sacred tars they wish to contradict, so this man said dw the pro~ts spoke of some useluI matten bur that on ochu subjects they were not to be ttweed. "60 Bur Leutard·s appeal to the common people had little or nothing to do with such amateur schola.sridsm. Nor was it a reintroduction of ancient heresy, or I. transform-.tion of religious activity into a concepwa.l form. It arose principally through I re-rirualization of religiow behaviour, using as modeb tbe early prophets aoo the apoul~. Gl ..ber sees no contradiction between his purely doctrinal interpret..tion of Leutard and cbe fact that his reputation 1./-) spread chidy tile poor and unJettu,d (IIItlgllJ). So, tOO, Gebuin interpretS his "insanity" u "ncresy," dw is, behaviour, including activity and belief. as doctrinal deviation alone:. Leutard·s real "insanity" ho.d other ruon, dir«dy related to his nodding acquaintance with letters. 6 , The source was the Word, which was internalized literally, but presumably by verbal means. His symbolic action resulred from his interpretation of its meanins. And his suicide resulted not so much from condemnation of his ideas as from loss of his popular following, that is, the audiell(:e with which be ha.d creared an informal bond of understanding.

amons

In 102 2, • clearer challenge to established eedesiastical I.utbocity was brought to light in Orlbns. The narratives of the episode, in particular the Gaf4 S,lWdi AIM/i..-is, provide what historil.llS are agrttd. in alling ""the first circumstantial description of popular heresy

<"dt"do.• .. Ordtri< Vit>l .. 'r'" _

bridly of. _ " . , . , . . j k;I •• or"" li-' ..... ,he ""'mio<; bermi, . of So. Jrodoc. willr _ _ <.... ';.n<. ,he KO!)' of Lo..,ud _1 he «>mpored . Around 997. he hod ........ 01 • ri<~1y dm.ood mono _ ho i~",p<<=d ... 'ia" drat he oto..ld Ieno hi, .. if< ."" drildr... "'" brttbno • _k. ,~i ... hio ..,,'" from "",iau 10 ,Wiau; Hilt. fIdoJ .. J • .vI. >. p. '18 . ..... ' .. i.. i.........d b,. ..... "',., io!u ... , . " ... obr fo.itlr 01 ado 01 a .... y ond Gntr. ... I'<w. mon: enodiu _ . _ Aoodm R' ,,. , . • .• _.,.
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TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

in the Middle Ag6. "6. But there &re scriou~ problems of interpreta_ tion. The accounts diffcr in length, emphasis, and accuracy. 6, Their tabulatioru of (n., heretical doctrines nry considerably. Attemp" have been made at distilling a residue of verifiable fact. '" But Other questions remain unanswered. The re.::oroers of the epi$Ode wet\' anything but impartial witnessts: what they said was influenad as much by the faCts on hand as by literary, religious, and even emoriolllll considerations. It is not possible fO draw a hard line between fact and inter_ prttltion, the observed (or ruoU«ted) and the ohK~rs. If wc cornptte rh<' [h~ lengthiest sources, the Gol", Ademar of Chabannes, and Rodulf GI.ber, it is Il(lt only the doctrinal orientation of the heretics which remains impredsc. We also find differing attitudes towards the IIIIture of the religious experience. The question then arises: what an' tM common factors, not only in the objective events, but in the subj«tive reactions towards them? The fullest account of the hert'Sy is found in tbe VtlllS "g..-"o of Paul of St. P~re de Chartres,6) who did Il(lt writc, it is worth noting, until some twO generations after the event, around 1078.6<5 His narrative runs as follows. In 1022, a nobleman called Arefast, who was a vassal of duke Richard 11, diKovered that Herhcrt, a domestic chaplain in his house near Chartres, had been attcnding the meetings of a sectarian group in Odo!&ns. He immediately informed his superior, asking him to pass the information on to Rober! the Pious. The king, some· what alarmed, invited AreCast to go to Orlbru and to invntigate the charge himself. On the advice of Evrard, Slcruran of the cathedral at Chartres, he journeyed to Orlb-m and posed as a convtrt to the secr. He also arranged for Robf,rr and Q1.1ecn Constance to come to the city .. W~ .nod E..... ( [9691, 74 . .. Por • ....,..... ",i.. o(tht ""'r<eI, ... R._H . Boufitt, "L'htriti< d"Orlh ..
'''''''''''''''It

ift ...Ie<....1 ... dI:bu< do XI. sitcle. ~. pI ,·!,i<\!l ,I>< diplom_ 0( RoI> (RHF 10 . 60,~). A <';,inJ di>oioo> '" rnojor is _loo prooidod '" lombm ( ' 977), AP!"ndi. A, pp. ",,·47. Cl. Nu., (1971), ,en, . .. &·'9; R"",,1l (1.,6,), ' 7·"; 0IId Bo .. ([9n), I'>-rn . Tb. _ibilil, 0( ..... U.. is ...;p.d trr N-. (' 970) •• ,.'8.

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TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

shortly afterwarc.l5. Before an assembly of l'ymen .Dd clerics in the chUKh of St. <:roil:; be revealed his true identity and dellOunced the he:retics brought there ror questioning. The sect, as it turned OUt, hlld at least fourteen members,67 both lay and clerical. Its origins (in Or· Ibm) went back.t least to IOI9.~ Prominent among the members weu Lisois,' well-edua.ted canon of St. Croix, and Stephen, a school· master and confessor to the queen.69 Artempu were made to persuade the heretics to recant, and Il nun and Il priest finaUy did. But the mt penisted in their belieD. As punishment, they were taken outside the toYo'n walls, where, to the delight of. large crowd, tbey were burDed dive. "Hinorians." Bautier temarles, "have situated the crisis at Orl&1l5 only within the COOtC"Xt of other heresies of the period. " 1<> But, as P.ul relateS the: events. they also have a political and a literary dimension. Arefast. who appears in • Norman privilege as early as 990 and is mentioned as • monk.t St. P~re in 1029 and 1033. dearly played a minor rolc in the early deventh-cenmry politico-ecclesiastica.l riva.lries at OtMaas, Chartres, Sms •• nd Fleury.J' As ror the literary aspect, the most oouble feature of Paul's account is the largc rolc given to this knight, Yo'ho is mentioned in DO other soun:e. the .Jo.
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of lay piety and penance, "worthy of being handed down to memory." He arrange-d the details so that the heretical movement b«ame a sort of stag~ for the pl;tying OUt of Arefau'S own religious development up to the time of his oonvenion to mOllUricism. Aref'ast was the perfe.::t hero for such a talc. He was well enough educated to be able to _igh the merits of orthodoxy and heresy (or himself A!5O, he was the model aristocrat in search of religious ideals. As Paul boaste-d, "He _ of the lineage of the dukes of Normandy, a man refin«! in speech, wise in counsel, blessed with good habits, . . . (and) well known for his services as an emissary to the French king and 10 great nobles ..." Other IOOrces suggest that Aref"ast may have been aJl these ;tnd more." But WIiS the romantic element not tOO good to be resisted? Arefast undoubtedly played some role in exposing the heretics at Orlb:ns. But the literary purpose of Pau!"s intermingling of real life and the_ torical ropoi was to prepare the way for his demonstration of "right rea5On, " in which secular classicism and Christian reform ideas happily coincide
.. s.. &.I..... h97SI. 68. 80-8, .

TEXTUAL COMMUNITII!S

cended the pinnacle of wisdom" on his own. Thus illum inated , be hastened back to cm.rues, whe~, with equally "subtle words, " he tttCmpted to persuade Arefut, to whom he was personally devoted, tUt Otlkru ounhone 1.11 other «ntres of In.rning in sap;"'t;" and hllKlit4J.1> But Arefut saw through this simple-minded cvanselism. In Paul's view, he had already set off on a jOUtney of I. different sort. He knew the vi" jllStiti,".~ What trW by heresy essentially did was to teach him the diffenn« betweelllppeatl.oce I.nd reality, which was requited ftX' the petfection of his intellectuall.nd mow faculties. This i, evident in the subsequmt KenH. Roben the Piow, widdy known for his reformist ideals, ordeted An:fut and Herixrt to go to Orlbns in person, and prommd his full support. But, at this point, Herixrt drops out of sight. The reason is evidem: in P.u1·s scheme, he had already served the purpcse of setting Arefut off on his quest after truth. Within the nattative then: was little ld't for him [0 do. Arrtsst turned [0 the bishop of Chartres for spititual guicbnce, but Fulbert had gone to Rome " to pray." Quin aside from loal political considerations, the detail is perbl.ps significant; ArdJ.st, who twI. won the support of the scrolu I.uthority, now sought it from the religious. Embodying the two, he became Paul's IIJikr (bristilll1UlJ. When Evrud, the s.cdstllD It Chl.rtres, leuned of the piu, M (niftily advised ArdJ.st what sort of arms to tl.ke into battle "against the many IltS of diabolical deception. " Evllltd', counsel tOO ~5 to Ix: scrntinbed, Besides the euchl.tist, it was devoid of memion of dogma. Instead, he tnld ArdJ.st to protect hirmelf with pnl~r, "to fortify himself with sacred conununion," and to shiek! hirmelf with the Ji"",,"'_ hllICla# m«i1. 71 It follows that Paul, who put these words in Evrard's mouth, sees heresy in luge pan as rnagic:al ritual. He even links it elsewhere to the otgiastic pr.:tices of lIDCient sects.'" But intermingled with these thooshts U aoo the kin. that the evil can be overoome by the educated inrelligence. '!bt is deuly indi~ted by the nett scene. Ard'Ut journqed co Otlbns. Paul ~Iates that, although informed (rd«tIlJ), he sought OUt scctI.t'ian tel.Ching (_ _ JonriIl4) ud, although littnlte, he acted like an untaught pupil VuJ ;JlJW, nuliJ tlimPIlIt),'" He tlK:n underwent tlK: normal initia.tion. Findill8 his ..... y to the meeting-place, he made ronm for himself in the last row of seats, at fint observing the group

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TEXTUAL COMMUNIT[U

wirhout participating in it, u.!~r, Paul adds, M: 1WS gLven instruction, fint by atmp14, that is, by stories with morals, and then by Jimififllliiws, by abstract ana10gin with other mora1 principles. Among these Paul recounts t~ allegory of the transplanted t!tt."" As a discipl~, Arefast was told, he was like a t!tt that had bttn taken from tM forest wilds to an on::hard. Fint it was watered and put down tootS; tM:n, pruned of thorns and dndwood, it was grafted onto a domestic speci" in order to beat fruit. Similarly, "reCast was trans _ ported from the sinful world at large to tM:ir roIkgi,,"f, and, refreshed with the water of wi!.dam, was being stripped of hi, intellectual thorns "by the sworn of God's word. " 1, Only aft er this initiation via moral experi~ntt was t~ sect's theology mad~ dear. As Paul putS it, when they were sure Atcfast was a sincere convert, they pt~nted as dogma what had hitherto bttn " cov~red" by allegory. Christ, th~y said, was no1: born of a virgin, did not suffer for humanity, was not buried, Ilnd did n(N: riSf: on the third day. Baptism did not wa!lh away ~'s sins . The consecration of bread and wine was not Il sacrament . And one's chances of being Sllved were not affected by entreati" to ffiIlttyn and confasor sainu." This adds up to a rationalistic interpretlltion of Scripture through an tlimination of its sacral, miraculcnu, and historical elementS. AreCast wa.s somewhat tak~n ab&ck: with many of his cherished beli~fs rejected, there wa!l littl~ left in which he could place faith . I , The heretics replied in illuministic fashion that, aft er tM: imposition of hands, he would receive an infusion of divillC' truth. H e MI5 nearing the summit; and, when tilt rimal was completed, he would be "filled with the gift of the boly spirit," whose charisma would reveal to him "the profundity of all scripturea and their ttue identity, without Il:se~." On this heavenly food he would be nourished; through this spiritual satiety he would be renewed. He would then experience an· g~lic visions, which would transport him anywh~re he wished; h~ WQuld lack nothing, "for the God of all men, in whom reaidcs th~ treasuries of wilkiom and riche'S," WQuld be: his liIithful companion."

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Dnpitc Paul's dispuaging asides, the programmc of the Orlbns sect $p""k. for itself. First, it shifted tbe weight of ~li8ious (Ommitment a_y from objective elements such as "tmition, priesthood and the sacramcnts"·, and onto the shoulders of ordinary beJicvrrs them selves. The priest', natura! «tension of the idea of iDCI.rnation was ~placed by tbe "pcrfotm-.nr;e of mom dcmands which, at bottom, was founded only upon tbe law and the example."· eithcr of Christ or the sect itself. 1bcse demands wen: largely expcrien«d 'ubjc<:tively, wheDCe Arefasc's alarm at the withdrawal of the standard suppotu for faith. MOI'COver. the change in cmphas is from the impersonal to the pcnonal aspects ofbelief nude itself felt ditren:ndy at the level of the individual and tbe group. In the onc, it resulted in mysticism; in tbe other, in (OlICCtive interaction around a ~It. Throughout, literacy played a large if somewhat diffuse role. The sect ~jected the writn:n rlltditions and dependent institutions of the official church. In their place it put a rationality based on simplified textual criticism and on onc', capacity for n:Aection. The impn.ntation of God's MlM in man W&$ n:plftCnted in mystical language. Wisdom, so to speak, merely descended when tbe time was right; but this time coincided with the moment when the n:cruit, havil18 absorl:oed scriptureS rltrough others' interpn:rarions, 'udcknly began to understand them for himself. He WIIlI then:by led upwards in tbe fashion of all mystics to_rds a selfless identification with God. But be and his brcthn:n can also be described as byproducu of a lay literacy detached from an institutional framework which would have tmded to desubjectivizc the experience. For it is eas.ier to believe that one's awareness of It text', inner meaning is divinely inspired among a group of penonaI dcvotCtS (han in a grammarian', crowded clas"oom. The sect tried to give its values a co~rent ,hape and some ptinciples of llCCOunubility. result was DOl a "religion": it was a morality, to which we~ added textual, visionary, and otherworldly elements. While Paul describes Areiast's initiation, t~ reader has at least a glimpse of the sect at Orlbns as an autonOmOUll n:ligious group. The remainder of tbe account deliberately contrasts (be dissenters' views with the position of the church. We ..:Imin' the (oUtage with which the heretics go to their doom. But emphasis shifts back ro the spir-

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itual reawakening of Arefasr. When he exposes the heretics I;.(,fore an assembly of his pet'rs, the reader is led, as he was, in gradual, didactic steps from "appearance" ro "reality." Arcfast is al$O taken one step farther along the I'1:Iad to what Paul considers to be an acaptable form of partidpttion in the religious lil't-. The manner in which the "inquisition" ptoctcdJ is insnucriwo. ROOm: and Constance nme to OrlH.1l$ on Christmas Eve. The heretics, Atefast among them, were brought before them in chailU. When Arefut protnted that he was acrually rhe VlISJaJ of rhe duke of N(H"mandy, Robert asked him whllt he was doing in Orltans. From these carefully planned sngc cun the drama of exposure then unfolded, In the first scene, Arefast, maintaining "appearances" for the m0ment, replied thllt he came to the scctarians 5e!'king sapitll/;a and ~igiu. " He wished to follow the ClUImple of their good worles and to Ifturn to Chartrn a better man. Al he describes ir, the pattern of participtrion was as follows: physical and spiritual exile (tk jJalrla IXi",), teaching by example (IX""phll,,/xmor.1fJ ~.",) together with doctrine (Joctri",,), and rerum as a renewed ~rson (ItI . . . IlUlirwalllJ rrdil't1n).8tJ A «Imparison is n-turaUy suggested between th=- classic gestures of reform, carefully implan ted by Paul, and the sect's actual performance. Arefast then asked them to disclose their teachings before the royal assembly in order that they be judged praiseworthy or meretricious, Their reluctance to do so marks the beginning of the SC«lnd scene. Arefast continued; they claimed, he said, to be teachers of truth, not uror. They would even go ro death for their beliefs. Yet, abandoning these lofty principln, rhey were apparently willins to let an innocw-t disciple like himself stand in their place. In contrast, he added, a forthright sratement by them would enable everyone present to undel'Stand what wilS "contrary to Christian piety." He «Included with mention of theit tWO chief tenets, denial of trn, 5aCrallH'na and of Chrisr's divinity. III But his appeal .... as irresistible for other than d(l(trinal reasons. For A.-ewe had effecriwoly chlllensed. che Sl:n's principles of unicy. The ilKetic purity of the high priests, he imp lied, would be sullied if a raw recruit, even a 6fth columnist, to whom they had pledged themselves, had. to bear che en tire burden of moral rcsponsiblity which was in their view a collective obligation. He did not question their idca.s; this ome later in the episcopal inquiry, He compelled them to reaf.. lM.";'.

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TEXTUAL CO MM UNITIES

firm the solidarity of thr bonds unidng them in the present, the "interaction rit\l8.l''90 whicb bound priest and believer together. The argument was all the more persuasive because it came fu).n an ideal convert . This fact, of course, WIIS not wasted on Paul, who arranged the .,;eDe to coincide with a stage in Arefasfs quest for penan<:e and ultimately the monasti<; tik. Stephen and Lisois then came forward and admitted to Guarin, the bishop of Beauvais, that Arefast'$ charges were subsrantidly correct. On further questioning they confessed to numerous doctrinl'l unacceptable to Christianity. An o:xample of tbe quality of their beliefs is plOvided by their reply to the prelate when he referred to Christ's virgin birth, incarnation, and murrection. We ourselves were not present, they IlIl5wered, and therefore cannot believe such events redly took place. g • A distinction was made, in otht! words, between the historical and theologkd understanding of biblical narratives. From their clerical education the pair clearly grasped the meaning of auctKlrity and of verification through turual prectdo:nts. 11>ey merely took these iclcas in a new direction, rejec:ting traditional inrerpreta_ tions, which they did not think out for themselvCl, in favour of I. truth born of ac:tual, histOrical, and thereby sensible redi ty. As lue1 and more significantly in Btrengar of Tours, their isolation of the observable was related ro their understanding of the relationship between tars and reality.9> 1neir sophisticated awa.teness of problettlll involving written tradition also influenced their other replies to the bishop. Guarin then asked: If you belif:ve in ordinary puc:ntbood, why c.n you not by an&Iogy .w:pt God's geheation of aootlw:r God, who needed no earthly mother?" To which they answered; What ""t~ denies is OUt of harmony with the emtor.... Natur.:, in theit view, 'NU I. system gr,.. vetned by laws, presumably written and andysable by 1'l'I.SOfI, with which the "word" DC God had. to '-Br«. Then Guarin asked: Befon: nature brought anything into being, did God not make everything through the Son? IlJc:ir answer raised the larger issue of divine iIIu· mination IlIId earthly understllIlding:. You, they said, can accwnt for these events in stories suited to termtrial wisdom and the fictions of Cilrnal men. Bur we have the holy spirit's law written inside us 1.00

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no oth.-r wisdom than lhat of God, who made all things. The~fo~, your arguments serve no purpose: they a~ unnecessary and inconsistent with divinity." This statement ntlltly pulled together tl'H:ir views on the uses of literacy. What they ~jected ~rt the "stori<'S," or, as _ should call them, tDc myths, whose: only SOUK<'S of vt'ri6cation WC~ unque5tioned. attretiolL'i of traditional lo~. In their ey<'S, this heritage, ,..hich was a mere record, had the StatuS of popular culture, even of superstition. In irs pliICe they preferred a form of the divine message which as they said was written in their heans by God. This was a tat with a maming immediately apprehensible ro the interior understanding, a byproduct, presumably, of study, diS(ussion, and meditacion. Traditional "lilency,"' or what they took it to t - the ink, glue, aoo parchment holding together the church', tCilChinglwas a symbol of alienation, due is, of an uncomprehended or incomprehensible tClCt imposed upon man from without. To summarize: Paul of St. Pe~ secs the outbreak of heresy in OrInns as p!LI"t ofa more general awakening of lay piety, to which local political rival!i<'S and. reformist insti ncts arc vaguely appended. oIi That is why the chief role in his compelling tale is played by a lay nobleman who eventually converts from the secular to the religious style of life. However, within Paul', account, wc learn much of the sce!"s principles of opetation. The central clement WitS a set of tClCts, which were used as organizational and. a5 tCilChing instruments by the higher priests and which were learned., 6rst in allegory and. later as dogma, by the converts. Dedu< <<<1Ii_I ...... : 0U«rft q~i I.,... '(li""", ... .,.".." i~ i.... riooi hami.,. • Spiritu So"""" « nichil oIiod """mw. aili quod. Dto, omnium «HKii
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theological apparatus of explanation to an oraJ. account of the events. Heresy is one threat among D4:hen to universalism, for which he is an IIni~ propasan0 longu

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be r«ondled With what one experienced ill 4,,"10, Ademar saw the same i"u~ in revelK. For him, the final irony cilIJle at the end of the anecdote. Believing in appearances, the he~dcs considered them5elves invulnerable to phySical harm. The illusion was shattered by their own burning Aesh. In sum, Ademar not only feared and distrusted the he~tics; he was al50 somewhat in awe of their rites. After thei r bodies we~ burnt, he notes, the~ ~~ no ash~ left. Were they taken back by the devil to be redistributed anew? Glaher's account of the same episode is a little more detailed but no mo~ substantial. Yet, more than Ademar, Glabcr is in 5Orne~ spectS the antith~is of Paul. The latter saw heresy primatily as a local affair. Although vaguely connened to manifestations of dissent elsewhere, it was Chiefly cxplainm a~inst the background of lay piety and monastic ~form in France and Normandy . For Glaber, by conIran, a particular heresy derived its importance from being part of a more widespread phenomenon. In a traditional metaphor , he likens it ro a diseaK spreading northwards through Gaul, or to seeds, which, having germinated secretly over a long period, suddenly bring forth evil fruit. '0' Iu in Ademar, its foreignness to established patterns of order is symbolized by its source, .n ouTSider, a vagabond. snd, what is wo~, a woman. Coming from Italy, he states, she was foil of the devil: she "5e
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TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

mental in nposing the sect. EmiS$ari~ frum Orlnru apparently approached him lIlI a potential convert, claiming that within a 'hOtt time the new £&jth WOI.Ild ~ embraced by all (lflI;Wl'Jlfl ~1I1MJ), It wlls the clear challenge to estllblishcd order which made him act. He told Richard 11, then Te$iding in Rouen, and through Richard won! reached the king . Robtrt , fC&J:ful for "the honH:land', ruin," hastened to OrInns, where a large body was a~mbled .nd a formal inquiry umkrtaken. 5tephen and Li$Ois, having long: concealed their views, now made them known to all, as if they we", only waiting for the right occasion. And once exposed, they repeated the "prophetic" message that was delivered in Rouen, a message whose apocalyptic overtones coincided happily with Glabc:r's millenarianism, Glaber then lists tMir erron: they viewed signs, prodigies and OtMr "witnesses" in the Bible as nonKnse; they thought the world eternal, OOt created in time by God; and, like the "Epicurearu, " they did not think fleshly siru warranted punishment. Christianity's work on behalf of piety and jU5tice was to their minds wasted effort.·., Glaber concluded with a lengthy deftnce of the Christian scheme. possibly dra.wn from AugU5tinc, Maximus, and Eriu&ena, '06 God, he argued, mindful of man' , falling away from the divine image, provided "signs" for his instruction and betterlMnt, His scmioric tntbook is the Bible: "lO.e whole book or wrinen text of divine matrers is the witness 01: documentary evidena of this fact. ,. There is a certain irony in the &et that the heTl:tics at Orlkll5 _Tl: burned on The fcast of the holy innoctnts, lOll. For, innocent they may _11 have been of devoting their major efforts to the formation of the type of sect of whkh tbey _n accused by most medieval and many modern commentators. The "seducti~ spirituality" of their "language of titual initiation ....,.' and tMir "Simple and holy life" ''''' h&~ been noted. But these factors h&~ been discwsed mainly as .n introduction to dogmas, beliefs, and ideas. Then is strong evidence within all tbne enmined accountS rn..t the gtoup also directed iu activities t0W2roS orher areas of experience, notably, for instance, natural philosophy. The summaries of doctrine presented by the: sources are about as broad a survey vi Indent he~sies as onc WQUld expect for the time: ~jcctjon of the mass, of the trinity, of the sacramenu, of confession and penance, of marriage, of ordination, of the saints, and ... lloiJ., J.8.26.'1. pp.

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TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

of divin~

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in fim~. ''''' We ,hall n~~r know how many of these were actually professed, nor in what combination. Moreov~r , what the variOl.!s tabulati()(l$ have in common are two featum which lie outside the field of doctrine itself. In most CIlt$, the heretia were said to deny the $lcral, miraculous, and histOrical elements in Christianity, along with the ecclesiastical hierarchy, which in their opinion was their logical outgrowth. What was similar in the reports was [\(lt the doctrine or practice being invalidated but the principle by which it was dont. This consisted of a highly developed if somewhat personal style of "rationality" which depended on rhe individual interpretation of theological tats. As a mult of his hermeneu tic and often mystical endeavours, the interpreter was "illumintd." "Q But the oolUt<J uencts were not only intdl~tu..l . An older ritualism, linked to oral culture, was replaced by rituals of humllll interaction. What ultimately held the stet tOgether, and, incidentally, broke it up, was the sel of bonds between the members themselves. The heresy, like the lay piety which grew up with it, was inseparable from the gradullI furmation of lit. tnLte and semi-literate communities after the millennium. Andr!! of Fltury is categorical on th is point: the $Cctariallll in his view were all "ed ucated in holy religion from childhood, imbued with divine as well as secular letters,"'" R~ognition of thest facrs leads us to look differently at the func_ tion of docttina! diKussiollll in the Oliginal sources. Ctttainly the heretics had specific beliefs, and these are partly revealed by the different accounts. But the careful arrangement of their ideas as the antithesis of ChriStianity within the wririnB' of Christians whose positiollll IlJ"l' clearly defined also sugg:ests that the references [0 doctrines have the status of evidence-documents in ora! culture: they are confirmations, inteq>retatiom, and conttxrualiutions. Like the pleasant narrative of Artfasfs quest, [hey attempt to fit a new, troubling exJ)C'rience, for which there is only a vtrbd re

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TEXTU,\l. COMMUNITIES

educated deries, could easily have historici1ed their position. It could also have taken shape &I rainane., w tMir mdeavour crysullixcd inw CM full-seal., J1t1'1mltlftio organi~ by Robert the Piow. But its chief source was undoubcrdly tM medieval commentators, woo believed, as ehey remind us, that "th.,re is nothinB covered that will not be uncovered, nothing hidden that will nO( be made kll(lllln. " ... For the hrtetics, cbe hidden meaning .,merged as they themse:l~ interp~ biblical tens, patrisdc writings, Ind their own muinu. FM the orthodox, the
1hr examined accounu of hrray It OrMans in 1022 provide insighu from meotially C'NO directiOO$, In the VItNJ Al-"'" wr learn a little about how the group acn.a.IIy functiooed. But in all three SOUrte!l consid.,ration mUSt also be given to the natl'1ltor's attitude and conarDS. 1hr ]accer indude the cultural level at which heresy is placed, the threat it posed to social and tcelesiastiClll polity, and how the heretics communicated their beliefs. The sam., may be said of the Ad4 Al1'r/¥tnuu, the unique source of infonnation about a K'Cwian. group active about the same time in the united diocese of Arras and Cambrai. '" The actual synod

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was held on the lOth or 17th January l 02 ~, ' " but the Ic:cO(d, which WIll later reyised by an. unknown third party, " I cons ists of C'NO plllU: the "u~, which U 11 brief !errer from Gemd I, hbhop of ArrasCambtai, to an. unPllllcd "R," and the Aa., which is 11 Icnsthy 1(-

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count of the allegt:d interrogation and convcrsion of the heretics. The A<1a" aLso romprUc- r!tree basic e~ments, a velhal intcrch~, in which the herelics defend their vicws; a. sermon by Gerard, which is intcndt:d to refme them; and a concludins sccne, in which the converts make a profession of faith .•• 6 HistOrical cvaluation of rhc Ar,... has been chieAy prroccupied w jrh rwo issues, the idenrity of " R:' together with questions of dating, and the possible links between the Arras sec t and orlter, cOll"ly elev. enth-«ntury dissidents.' ' 7 Little attention has been paid to ~rard', ··sermon." 8c<:ause his liSt of rhe MU'tics' errors differs on important pointS from their own account, ". the lo~t and most informative part of thc Acta has been dismissed as a "harangue" or an irU'levant "polemic.·"'9 Bm Gc.-r&rd', defence of the principles and practices of the church may contain the key to the meaning of the episode III a whol e, and, in particular, to the role heresy played as "popular culture" in galvan. izing a learned, historicist response to dissidcnce. As an histOrical rKord, its chief disadvantage , as noted, is that it was almost certainly written sometime after 102) . At the end of chapter one , which ronc1udes the debate with the heU'tics and the discussion of baptism, Gerard U'marks rhat much moll' could be said, but, as the day is declining, he must move on. Identical OOsc{"VOltionl occur in the lut chllpter, in which the heU't;c$ rKonvert.""" Clearly the sun set more than once on the synod: much material b(otween (hapten one and seventeen, as well, presumably, as the epiJlWt, W CU' written later, ei ther befOf"O' the death ofGc.-rard in 10,1, or, if he was the let ter', recipiem, thar of Roger I of Chilons-sur·Marne on ,rh November 10 4 2 .'" The U'vision WlIS undoubtedly intentional and served a number of literary purposes. It effect ively took sectarianism out of the: load realm and, by placing it in a broader rontel
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lar~r audience than thole actually pra.ent. Also, by echoing the pu~ly intellectual defenccs of orthodoxy by pauistic bishops, it pr0-

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vided an eloquent statement of Gerard's view, archaic, perhaps in his own day, that the ideals of universalism wcn achievable within the episcopal admininratiV1: unit, ... But, in order to broaden the epi. socIc', appeal, the reviser- had to sitU2te it within a recognizable the· ological framew()(k. His choice was the church's Icgitimacy and mon 'pecifically the validity of the sacrament!. The language and images of sacramental ism recur agilin and 18ain: in the epistot., which nfers to appearance and nality; in the disc:ussion ofbaptism. through which "visible" _tet demonstrates the holy spirit's "invisible" opetation; in the chapter DI Cwpott et Sl,,'glti~ OWl;lIi, which u a virtual textbook of eucharistic orthodoxy; in the tmtment of churches, altaH, incense, images of the cross, and eftn bells, which are viewed both as Jipu and S4n'4_~; and in the hentio' pro£ns.ion of faith, which, besides being a denial of their own views, is C1;Jncemed with acceptance of the "real J>l1=$Cnce." Of couest, this underlying unity may be accidental. But, if it is DOt, it sheds I\tVf light on the Ioaa, Gerard's "sennon" was not: di· rected mainly ap.inst the heretic, at AtOll. lbis 'NU menly its oc· casion. It reflected upon dissident theses in groups as widely dupclSed as the Orleans cell and the alle8ed followeR of Bercng:ar. It thereby opened a bro.dcr ecclesiastical, thtologic.1, .nd political debate. The literary ,tructure of the revised syoodal record may be mon dearly IUealed if we look ;n turn It the ,pistoJ." the ".,m.wr/t4I, the sennOfl, and the convcrsion seellt. The letter is I reproof. " I Considering " a's" intelligence and dis· cntion, Gerard writes, he is I f I Iou to explain how "impious men, spellbound by the spirit of error, conspired in such senseless, depnv«l teachill8" within his diocese. He iSn'en more shocked to learn that they were able to ronceal their tell motives and to deceive the local authorities. for, as he subsequently demonstrated, these same men had been living fot some time within "R's" jurisdiction, uncon· demned. Thus, they all the more easily enthralled the common ~ plc. Missionaries were sent to Iorras Ind, when they wen appre· hended, they too tried to dissimullte their intentions. No amount of torture could make them confess. Gcrard finally lesrned of their beliefs from parishioners to wnom they had apparently pres.ched but whom ." 0.. dUo ,homo, ... ill ,,'lffd G. I),oby, Us mU ....... f qituWr at '978). J~"

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they had not yet converted. Having bttn ~Iposed, the herttic~ then confesl«! to • number of abet-... nt Oocuines. Baprism, they maintained, was not a "mystery" and the eucm.rist not a "sac ... ment"'; penance and. marriage were .udess institutions, contributing nothing toward$ one', eventual salvation. Theil orller belid"s, Genml concludes, are outlined in the Ana, which he sends to "R" to prevent him from being misled further by their cunning and artifice. What do we actually leam from this lene r? First, it is a commu_ niClltion between tWO bishops, the one, Gerard, accusing a neighbour of ()()( effectively scamping our hemy in his own diocese, whence it spread to Arras-Cambrai. Gerard was the first to learn of the hereti cs· existence. He apparently informed "R," who Started an investigation. But the dissidents slipped through the latter's hllnds, and, hiving grown mort audacious, now posed I threat to the otherwise vigilant diocese of Gerard. Gerard, for his pilfI, Olkcs credit for baving discovered the evil foKe and for having exposed it for "R's" benefit. But he admits no responsibility for the unwanted consequences. The starement ClInnOt be accepted on its face value. The fir5t indi· cation of a distortion of the real events comes when wc compare ~r· ard's prd"atory account with what the heretics later teU us themselves. Gtrard usumes that heresy spread from one diocese to another by means of mini. "4 The heretics later testified that they were converted by a ceru-in Gundulfo, who came from Italy. Gundulfo presumably travelled abour and could have been active in Liege, Chilons-IurMame, and Arcas-Cambrai."! But he il m~n[iOlled nowhere dsc, and the heretics do not speak of links with groups outside Arras. In other wonh, despite local proselytizing, the SC(t secs itself IS i50la~. Again, Gerard claims that, fearing torture, the herttics lied to .oR" about their nue belieD. Yet, in his diocese tortutl' apparently had no effect on them ...6 He had to rely on the ability of his parishionen. to resist their entictmenn.. Gerard also prcstnts with in the letter somewhat different perspectives on the nature of their beliefs. In the opening lines he purs behaviour before doctrine. The heretics are virtually criminals (,"jar;; hom;,u:1), deluded by magic (magicall), conspiring together in folly (tinnntia). "I But toware» the end he speah of them in doctrinal terms. They are made to confess to specinc deviations on , .. /MJ.• I> 7<>B. Mi~

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penalla', marriage, and tm other 5aCl'J.I1Xnt.s, deriving t~i r alJ,c,rl'llllt ideas Q( tfltI_gd;c" 11 fI/KJItJ;c" d«tri1W ...• Such inconsistencies arc a clue to GttaM's mator intention, which is not only to cspost the heray but to reveal what was concealed from "R. " He dO<:ill not criticize his neighbour because deviations from orthodoxy arose in his diocese. He is more alarmed that "R"' did not recognize the evil for what it was. "R" himself wu misled by appearances. '''9 The herrtia ~re able without much eftOn to conaal their true identity. Gerard also drops the hint that "R's" inquisitots were not up to their taSk, for what eventually reached the un of the li.pikrJ was a mes.sage especially contrived for subvcning their innocent powers of reason. ' .. What was really needed was a higher state of ICUDlcn and training; one could not deal with heray effectively unless one had the requisite equipment. Funhcr, when the "missionaries"' came from "R's" diocese to Arras, they carried on the same sort of "dissembling:. " But they wctt' caught, exposed, and reconverted. ' 1' ID Arru, converts to heresy were not so easy to make; on interrogation, the wayward reaffirmed their faith. By implication, there was I. loftier level of spiritual life in the diocese. But, even if that had not !xen th!:: case, Genrd was rather better prepared than "R" to deal with [he problem. 'IlIe reasons, he implies, are contained in the Art.. : a transcript i.a: sent to "R" to prevent him from being funheJ: deluded by rhe belctics' fcisned de\'Orion V,-t.u Nigh) and artful language (wmpwu. vtr6.I). ,,, In sum, beneath a complaint about the spread of heresy, we find a comparison of the spiritual prq:.tal1"lC55 of twO dioctses. The idea most often mentioned in the lette[ is not heresy but diJJ;"IIt..UD;' )) th!:: central issue is how to distinguiSh betwet:n appearana and rea1ity. Concealment is linked to power over words, while ClIposure depends on law, scholarship, and procedutc. Indirectly, a lit~rate, higher uligious culrure is already advocated: for, just as illitency allows the innocent to be de«ivcd, so education prepares th~ laity m defend tm faith. But what is the preciJe nature of the sect? What arc its rea1 soun::cs of inspiration? We learn as muth as wc know of these matters fmm the fitst pamgraphs of the At""', in which the heretics answer Gerard's ,.. /1oiJ•• I>7<>B. '.. 11iJ., J.¥: -ood od j""".... ~m _ _

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(harges in their own words. let us fitst summarize the teXt,'H then approach Ihcsc qucstions. The synod, we all: toid., took pIKe sometime early in Janu&r)' tO~5. Iu was the custom in the joint diocese, t~ bishop c:clebrated Christmas and Epiphany in Cambrai and then spent several days in Arras. While performing his normal duties he was informed tbat ~n ftom Italy had formed a new SOrt of heretical association (qllauiam tIOVAe htnJw Jtchf).'" They apparently rejected ··evangclic and apostolic teaching" and prrferm:! what is ulled their own sort of ··jusrice,"·'16 through which, they claimed, and not through the $3.Craments, men could alone be cleansed.. ~rard ordered that they be brought before him. They tried to fie.: but were apprehended. ~rard was too busy ro ask them more than a few routine questions, but, rnli!ing that they harboured. dangerous ideas, he had them held for thre.: days, during .... hich time all local monks and clef;" wae asked ro fast in the hOJ><' of divine illuminarion. On the fullowing Sunday ~rard convened a synod in St. Marl's in Arras . The procession into the church was resplendent: Gtmrd look the lead, followed by his archdeacons, ~aring (t<J$SCS and Bibles, they ;n rurn followed by the lower clergy and rownsmen. They all sang the psalm "Let God arisc," after which tru, bishop, seated in his con· sistory, asked the offcnderl: "What is yout tC2Ching, law and observ· ance (dlX"trill4 vtSlr(l, It;>: (ltq'" ('111111'4), and who is its author (4I1Ctor)?'" n They were followeu, they rep lied, of a certain halian called Gundulfo, who had personally instructed them in the gaspers principles (m",· gtlittl _",Ja14). He enjoined them to iidhen: literally to this tUt (h.t« scriptllm) and to pracrice it in word.nd dm:i (~el DJm't tt7ln"t).,,1 But Othet be liefs , the narrator adds, had been drawn to ~rard's at· tention: rejection of baptism and the eucharist, denial of penance, of the church's authority, and of the utility of marriage, invalidation of CQnfcssion, and wnera.tion of no one save the apostles and the mll· tyrs. 'll' Mindful of these reports, ~rard then asked: How is it you say you follow biblical teachings but pttaCh JUSt the opposite? He cited the case of Nirodemus, who, converted by merr ··,igns and mil"ll(les," s,...,tl ... , {. I, PL ' 4' . I271~-7>C. ""J,J.. l'7' ~· ' '' 1.«.<#. '''lo;J. • "7'C. ·"I~.• U71C ··h, iU i l"dulli. mj ....... od 1<.1"", pottibuo Yiri, et ob <0 .... "!Id id. mlnd",is .. ipOIlOli
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was reminded by rhe Lord th2t no one enters the kingdom of heaven unless "he be born again through waler and spirit. " " ~ To accept the words of the gOll~1 is 10 admit "the mystery of regeneration." But the accused replied: If anyone carefully o:nmintS our law and conduct (la tI Jisci,lilW "llIt,..,), he will 5« th2t it contradicts neither "evangelical decrees" nor "apostolic sanctions ..... ' For it consists essentially of this: !O abandon the world, to refrain (rom carnal desiro, to earn our daily bread by the labour of our hands, to endeavour to harm no one, and to be charitable towards all who share our principles. This is the fulJ justification (or our activity:"> within its teaching one finds the entire range o( the Lord's pr«epts. Further, there is no need for CUlItoms like baptism, to which, as a sacrament, three arguments can be oppooed. Fint, the minister may be corrupt and the mystery thereby contaminated. Thcn, although sins are disavowed at the font, they are repeare
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nwnber of contradictions of Catholic teaching. But tile hemics mtr'ely claim (0 bC' following an llSCetic, world-denying way of life in a.crord with the gospels. At lnst, that is their interpretation of the New Teswnent. Clue$ to their guiding principles arc found later in the Aa..; on three occasions Gtrard tells us they call themselves follo~n of St. Paul.'~ But what does this mean? Literal adhe~nt5 to PauJine ~neu W{)Uld presumably hf.ve been in Gtrani"s camp. There is a suggestion in their own statemenn that they we~ obedient nOl: to the letter hut the spirit; in OI:her words, thar they derived from St. Pau!"s occasional Statemenn on interpreration the justifintion to glean meaningful precept$ from the gospel for themselves, ,.1 and, in the Pauline fashion, to p=h them to small groups in foreign places. This lay piety was neither superstition on the one hand nor a pointby-point rejection of orthodoxy, the two n:t~mes that GeranI's letter to "R" sUSSesn, It WII5 the expression, in thought and action, of what the heretics took to be a dittct acquaintance with the Word. I( JmplllrAfII St nripm). He also insisted that they implement Christ's moral prt«'pt5 "in word and deed." The ultimate obfective, in other words, was SlOr an intellectual system but an informed lay ethic, something which the adherents could take back with them and utilize in everyday life. T~, when questioned further, the heretics denied the tfflcacy of bapti5m, Calling intQ question by implication [he other sacraments. But they appear to have been provokct! by
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8Idd Up to an dterIWtive theology. In faCl, all tt=e eumples of invaJida.tion--the b.d priest, the unrepentant sinner, IiUld the un~illing Of uncompcehcnding child lien: ttbud to the $8!lle ide., the development of the il\flef moral conscience. In their vie~, one Wll5 personally rnponsible for one's sins, even onc's intentions. ' .. The precepu, moreover, ...en: met.nt to be practiced, IlOl:: JUSt thought about; tbey spoke of la and disripJi".. ADd. wh&t Gundulfo tl1USht did not in their eyes deny the chuteh's to Md Of JllJI£IU-S. It l1ugmented them by taking the members botck to the principles of primiti..e Chdstiotnity. Literalism ViCot hand in hand with 11 return to the sources.'" We may think of the cycle as follows; fint, the iotetpreration of biblical mw through 11 literate, cbuism&tic le..der; then. the formation of a soc.ial 100 religious associltion stressing the inlttu:tion of the iooividual memben; Ind, finally, the emergence of principles of "justification" which could be opposed to the esub.lished order. This Wt they c.!led jmlitkl (or, as is prm.hle •• vernacular equivalent). lbey meant IlOl:: only ethic.! justice but the principles of legitimate authority on which they rested their case. This jmlilu. was Ux, to distinguish it from IIIIII, the muteh's ceremonial accretions. -,With the "iJ/oi. and the hcmic's ~oob as preface, ViC may profitably turn ((l Gen.rd·s sermon, the longest section of the Act.r (elu. 1-17). 1u lIOI::ed, the tcJtt i5 a summary of Christian practices, ~ith the idea of the sacraments as I unifying principle. The range of topics covered is wide, touching in tum on baptism. the eucharist. chutehes. alws, iDCCtIIC, bells, Ofdinarion. burial, pcoancc. prayers fat the dead. marriage, confession, the office. the cross, holy image. and the D(){ion of justice. This is In impressive list for its period. npccillly as it is underpinned by I reasonably consi5tent tbeolDSic.! position. 11Je "sermon" may be described. in namttivc terms as the conclusion of the draml, of which the letter and the !'odJ-n",1 Ire: the beginDins and the middle. It i5 Ilso rhe ,seerion iD ~hich the third party who revised the: Att. most clearly reveals his perspective on the events. 11Jere are se\eral indications that the material has been reworked. The "sermon" is far roo long to have bcc:n read aloud ((l d}(l5e assembled and its learned references would h&ve me&nt little to the: lower clergy (X'the common people:. Iu for the: heretics, ViC are told th&t they were "stupefied" Ind "struck dumb" by Getmi·, eloquence, which they ... A....

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thought "divine. ' .' '1 But there is no evidence that they undersrood what he was saying. Even the simple Latin profession of faith at the Art/I·s end had to ~ uanslarM into French. '" Of course, there may wtll have been a shone! sermon preach~ in the ~rnacular. But the intended audience of the Latin ~rsion was not primarily the laymen and dergy &Ul'mbled It St. Mary's. It was a wider circle, pmsibly including others involvc<:l in the growing debate over reform. In order to 5erYe this purpose, the events of the episode had to be lransform~. This took place in tWO suges. The doctrinal iuues, somewhat amplified, were plac~ in a systematic framework, thereby allowing Gerard 10 m;pond in purely dogmatic terms. The behavioural primitivism of the heretics, that is, their allegro return to the: sources, was thus answered. by the literalism of the orthodox, both parties claiming affiliation with the gOllpel"s true spirit. If the heretics are portrayed as revi~rs of ancient cults, Gerard appears as a new Ambro5C nr Augus_ tine, a dassical bishop defending a highly rational faith against rival pagan daims. In this guise Geratd achieves the second broad aim of the Acta, which u to p~nt the Christianity of his own day within a continuum of higher religious culture. In order to accomplish this goal he ovcnyuematizes both the heretical and orthodox positions. Although mlny of the pracrices he describes depend on ritual, custom, Of the spoken word, they are all "justified·' by law, pr«edent, and Scripture. The pu~ is nor only to win an idrologiC"IJ victory but to fir both heresy and orthodoxy into an intellectualist mode of thought . . The heretks call themselves followeu of St. Paul, but he sees himself fulfilling the goals of the maxim O/HJrltl III hatroe5 IJJI. And, through the sermon, the Afta raises the general theological question of how God's word is to be legitimlrely communicated to man. Gerald's authority, then, like that of d~ heretics, is based on a concept of jllJlitiA: within this notion the bishop frames hi, defelKe of the sacrament;5 and ecciesilllltical practices uniting the popular and the learned. In hi, opening statement he attempts to establi,h univel"$alism through '·justice·'; in his conclusion he returns to. similar not ion by arguing that salvation depends not on one·, meritS but on God's "just"' grace. These ideas ~ worked out as the "sermon" proceeds. The heretics, Gerard states, claim to ~ following "evangelical and apostolic teaching." But they are really like rhose Jews of whom Paul

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50 eloquently spoke, who ,adhered to the ilIw's Icttcr nther dum to iu spirit. For there is Il diler=a between "ilIw" and "God's juniee, " He means, in effect, that onc must distinguish between unintcrprt"ted and interpreted law, the ilIttcr iucorpondng thc itl$titutional and intdlectuaJ development of tne church. God's justi~ , Ger&rd argues, through Jesus, is in all men who believe in him: all have sinned, all are without light, all uc justified through grace Illld redemption.'" In this sense 'Jesus alone is JUSt and justifies cverything."',Ii His justice did not arise from an external souttc; it resided by substance Illld necessity in him alonc. Hc did OOt panicipa:tc in justicc; hc WlIS justice. As James said, "All good giving and every perfect gift comes from above .... " ' " Thi. means that what descends from the father also descends from the $On. For "r Ilncl tne fathcr IItC onc," '" Jesus said. Such justicc cannot be incte&Sed, diminished, or compared to Ilnything clse. ,.9 Justice, theD, Ilnd not mere ilIw, is the justification for tne church's practices. Christ WlIS OOt bound. by tne old law, he represented a new beginning. Therefof/:, returning to the: text·, letter fails ro capture thc spirit which anim.a.ted it. In "justifying everything," Jesus opened the: door to thc founding of the institutional church &nd to the gtlLdua.1 evolution of iu tite. S.ptism provides a good example. When Jcsus came to John the Baptist in Galilee, John lil"!lt refused to baptize his lord. "On you come to me?" be asked. "I need fIlther to be bapti~ed by }'QU." But Jesus replied: ··It is fitting dIllt we fulfill every justice <__ jlf.Itilillm imp!".,):·,&, The question Gerard poses to the hcn:tics is: why did Christ. the incunation of justice, undetgo tbe justificatory rituaJ of baptism at all? The answer is that it was !lOt ~ntial for him but for us: he 5OI.Ight ··to implement" not his own justice but nun .• 6 , From the JII_ pl",illlrii"iJ-...s.n idea neady incorporating fw Gcrard both theoJosial and canonical ptecedelKe justice Rowed down to us. f or rhe restotation of mankind remain' forewr in God's inner thoughts. In classically sacramenta! term" Gerard states thllt this fu... 11. .... ) :,._ • • : Aa., <. ' . 1l7,c . •"1..«.",.: ~ mu"". sr&«d ...." •• 1.. d~ ..... """" ho L>m l"" ·1......;. __ Oti pno< fonIifi<--u. whi
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ture promi5e is held out "visibly" through the minister and "invIsi_ bly" through the holy spirit'1 operation. ,I\> These ideas are reiterated and amplified in Gerard's s«ond discussion of justice in chaptcr sineen, where, as notoed, thc question is whed~r grue or OIlt'S merits insurcs salvation. Oncc again he pU5Cnts a strong ClISe for thc tl'llditional. view, Ixginning with twO quotations, John said, "A man (tn receive n<)(hing but .... h ..t is given to him from he&ven, ",6, and Paul asked, "Miserable as I 9.JJl, who will libel'llte me from this body of death?" ' 6., To Gcrard the meaning of such declarations 15 clear: "In the disobedience of the 6rst man ~ lost our innocence and natural potcntia!; and no onc can lift himself up from the depths of ruin through his free will unless he is also raUtt furthcr our chanCe! for tc$coration to pamdi5e without God's help. ,66 Jv. John said, "Without me )'QU can do nothing."'61 Grace, morrover, Gerard argue!, 15 a kind of foreknowltdgc, which takes account of individual merit in advarKe, It does not" preclude leading .. holy, ascetic life, for the gospels explicitly state, " Forgo impiety Ind vain desire that we mly live soberly, justly, and piously in this workl.", 6I But, It the sune timc, Christians ought to recogni~e chit grace's source Jil'S "neither in DlIture's fol'CC$ nor in legal pt«epts but in the enlightening of the heut .. nd the freely offered gift of divine will."' ''' Therefore, in the last IDlIlysis, it is God himself who inspires us to "good works," which, to that extent, are a preparation for his judgement and for u.lvltion. '1" For "h~ proedestincd whit divine equity would give back, not what humin iniquity lost. "'?' In other words, he rndicd man fOl: I positive, not I negative, judgment. The heretics' justice in Genud's vicw turns its back on such pouibil_ itiC!;. Onc~ again he refers to St. Paul, speaking of those who, "' ig_ norant of God's justi~ , try to set up their own ... ."' ,. True justice, ttpt mtcd by Jesus's w(ml$, W8$ handed down [0 [he apostles, whence it sprea
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legitimK)'. The intenenins chaptml deal with t~ sacraments lIS underlying foundations for t~ churt"h ', practices. But the method of proceedins i. similar: first Gerard imputes to the heretics tbe ~jection of the institution in question, then he establishe:s itS "justke" through IICriptural. and patristic authority. The mules are thr«fold. Obviously, an ickal of the church is projected which is founded OD legislation and respect for pK«dent; in other woM', Gerard adopts tbe typicaJ. reformist iUlItegy of justifying CUStomary practices wherever necessary by written law. Ju a consequence, a distinction grows throughout the sermon between "popular" and "learned" traditions, which cutiously parallel. the thinking of tbe heretics themselves. Finally, the heretics are depdved of their group vitality and become identified only with disobedicna: and elTO(. This, in twn, is viem as a by-product of their theological illiteracy. The most imprcss.ive pieces of theological rcasonins are devoted to the sacraments of baptism and the eucharist. Like later defeoden of onhodoxy against Berengar, Gerard takes the All8usrinian view that in bal>fism one thins is n:perienccd through the scnRS but that another really takes pbce. '7< GI«k I.ptis! ! means latin /iMIN, throush which "man is changed through the spirit's gmcc into something better. . . . "'15 The mystery is called. "sacrament" from its ICCret or sacrecl powers, which, Gcrard adds, do mx depend for tbeir efficacy on the minister's mor;ol qualitio:l. ,,6 He can neither increase merit nor diminish vice: for tM gardener only plana and waten, while the creator makes thinss grow.'" The baptizins priest dOl'l not say, "I, omnipotent God ... bestow upon you the balm of eternal life.""" Otherwise we could not accept the baptism of a Judu. '19 Morrovet, «npbasiz.ins realism, Gerard insists that "the rDaterial water" baptizes, for the Lord decreed that invisible reality be meted out in a palpable form.'" As it washes the body, 110 it cleanses the mind: wilh tile invocation of God, mere watH i. sanctified and, like hcalins medicine, acquires the capacity for n:purgation . . . . '" In Pauline terms, the immersion is the death of tbe "old man" and tbe birth of the "new," thereby rc-cn.acting Quist's crucifixion and rcswrection. " Administerecl carnally, it works spiritually. "'f> Baptism's symbolic powers wen: ~ in Ge--si, wben "the spirit of God hovered over the lIiatml. ",a, It il also the starting point '" Aao, <. '. "HC. U740. ." I!M. • uno. ''''!iJ., 107,o-74A. "", Co< ' ''' i!iI.. 1274"," Aao, <. I, ·" I!M.. "14.\·8 . "'IJW., "140. ,.. I!M. • "7,.o."A. '''1101., "nB . .., Got> 1:2, HW. , "HB.

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of that earthly "j ustifiotion" which Matthew said his successors

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to acwmplish. ' .. Its legitimacy, moreover, i5 supported by many ans of Jesus and the aposties. ,8, But, Gerard emphasizes, the re3.1 source of mystery is divine. The living fountain of purification is God himself. Through him, the son of the devil n:-cmerges as the son of God, the son of prevarication, the son of reconciliation. In Eden rh\' first man was nourished dic«r1y by this founrtin . Had he not sinned, it would have made him immonal. For, from one and the $aIl1e fount of divine rnson (a ... fOlrtt rlivilrat ra/io,,;,), the 5llme spirit do:scended, both creating man capable of immortality and later ~forming him from his state of sin. ,..s True, al1 this might have been foreseen by God. But it was man himself who sinned, and, by a single act, trans_ mitted sin ro all of human posterity. ,.., Regeneration can IX" achicvtd through the Sa(fllmenrs, btginning with baptism. finally, to the heretics' .1Iegation that child~n cannot bt ~vcd through the sacraments, Gcrard replies thal sin is [he condition of all human beings, whether adult or child. ''''' In ~j«ting baptism, rhl'refOf"C, the dissidents are hardly following "evangelical and apostolic pc«epts. " '~ Gerard has similar thoughts on the eucharist, which he claims the heretics likewise n:ject. Human beings, he maintains, can no mo~ fathom its mysteries than un the senses understand the soul. Nor can it be ~ribed by hUf//ana faqmJ;.,. ''''' Once again, the sacrament unites ~iled man with his celestial homeland. '. ' The eucharistic sa(rifice' is literally a SMTum factI/m, which, through prayer, commemoflltcs the lord', passion . The bread and wine , although eart hly in appearance, arc sanctified and sacrament:ali~ed by the holy spirit's operation. The sacrament in turn is a viaticum co contemplating eternity.'?' What could serve the purpose bett~r than Chris!"s own body and blood~ Christ said, ' Take the bread .. . :.'" and added that the rite was to be perpetuated "in his mcmory.·' Of course, ob;ec tions can be fllised. For instance, onc un argue that, if Christ's body went cntin:ly to heaven, nothing would be left on earth to be eate n. But the mystery mu5t nOt be interpreted $0 "carnally:' Witho\1t his "nourishment,"' men live physically, IlO( spiritually, as numerous pauages of the Bible illustrate. ' ... In this vein Christ himself SIIid, "I am the living bread. ",,,, ... Att.o, c. ' . "ne.

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'33

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Again, one may argue that Christ's Anhly covering could not be broken up into little biu and dinribute<\. For this would amount ro «.nnibdism. That is to repeat the same error. Christ said, ''llIe sermon is difficult. "'" He meant that aperiencing the eu.charist required mem..t ennion. Grace "is perceived by the palate of the interior man, that is, by the mind's reason and inrellect."'" Therefore, paradoxically, while "Christ rose with his own body, he left lU the :J~_ of his own body."'" By tbe same mystery, be who eau of his Aesh will be raised up on the lut day. Finally, it is erl"One"O\U to argue that Christ was circumscribed at all. Only man is limited by the body and by time. God kooW$ no place or time: "just as his essence always exists, it always ailts everywhere."'" The defence of the sacraments lays the foundation for ~rard's descripcion of the utility of the chuKh's other practices. The heretics, he claims, assert that ChUKhes Ilt'C only heaps of srone and motur. One can as ClISily wOl"1hip in one's own house.'''' Gerard replit$ tbar a distinction must be made between the material out of which the church is made and the sacred rites wbich take place within its w.1b. Before Christ, men went into "churches" to learn about the law; after him, about gnce. 20 ' Moreover, the spiritual element the heretics fail to attribute to places of wonhip they &Iso deny to altars, incense, bells, penance, and marriage. The drar is the appointed place of sacrifice and sanctification, recalling the offering of the "true Jamb" and "holding out the im"-8e of Chri5t', body and sepulchre ...•.,. In incense, tOO, as Augustine I)(){CS, the visible oil il a dgn, the invisible a sacrament."" Bells recall the wunill8 at Jericho and foretell of the lut day ..... Churcba, moreover, need officials, woo must be cleady distinguished from laymen, .... a point which, Gerard holdl, the hetetics &Iso dismiss, maintllining, or $0 be says, that dI religious functions can be carried on in woods, in brief informal gatherings, aoo through simple incantation. - Nor do tbcy see any value in Christian burial, through which man normally proceeds from the temporal to tbe spiritual church,"" or in penance, which, like baptism, helps to hed the wounds of original sin. - ~y also reject marriage, even though the Bible indicates that men in lawful wedlock have no ImI a chanclt of "")1I6:6.,OHJ., 11790 . .., An.., c. " .. W. ," I/U. . uSoB. ... //U.• • d.A. -IWti. , <." •• f4C. - 11<#•• ,.WOC. - 11OJ., c. •• ,,87D. ~ '/jJ. . uiI9C. ... IWti. , <. I, ..,.A_B. .., I/oM. , e. 6, n~C . ... IAi., 12940. ... /"".• <. 1. ' 29SAoC. -IIOJ. , e. 8, I196J1-D.

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being saved.'" In each case their error in hi! view is the same: a failuro. to differentia", bctw«n the carnal, physical, and material, on the one hand, and the sacred, mmmemorat ivc, and spi ritual. For Gcrard, the legitimacy of these accumu lat ed customs is affitmtd by biblical tats. Written law as oppaed to custom is repeattdly invuktd as a sour« of authority. Anna, who never lcfi: t~ tcm_ plc, ClXie< tly pmphesied Christ's arrival a evangrlicA fKlUmt. "o Whenever Chrin c~ to a town, he entered the I<XllI church JK1I"thm (()1IJlJttlJ_ Ji_, '" but this custom bectmc an official rule. The Jevn fuquemtd t~ir places of wonhip IX an.riqtkl "aditio~, the Christians, tx Now Trstammto:'" both were tqually indebttd to written mrnmands. Ltviticus '"bore witnffil'" to the use of the altar by MO$e$ and God.'" We know that incense was used by the "old and new fathers ... on the authority of divine teaching."'''' The imposition of hands is an an.tiq1l4 i"-JtifMriO. '" To those who ro.jcct Christian burial, ~ .... rd el{dainu, "You, who arc ignorant of the law, why do you 001 study Scripture?""6 In some «sc$ he also distinguishn bctwet-n St~S of legal development. When the prodigal son murM
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the sermon between popular and learned religious cultUf'l'. For, in providing I. historicall£COUllt of why the institutions were adoptc
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the p~intiflg'$ delinntion. "'" Thus, artistic furm (iptriu) provides a means of u~riendll8 Christ's crucifixion.»! Similarly, "interpretation is pc'rmitred of saims· images,·· not for wonhipping likeneSSC$ but for arou.sill8 the inner man 10 imitate their WlIY of life.'~ Beginning then with mans of "justification·· and procttd.ing through a welter of ~clesiaslical pr&Ctices, the Krmon dT~tively changes tne dim:lion of the IWd. The he~tics· admission of their own beliefs, rogether with their infiltration into neighbouring dioceK:I, i5 replaced with a complex defeocc of t~ chuf\:h's control of ~l;gious literacy. This pc'rspecdve is confirmed in the final conversion ~ene. Needless to say, the overall impression the reader ukes away from the Atta is not altogether harmonious. Instead, it would appear that somewhat incompatible viewpoints are milintained at once. M noted, in the final episode, the heretics, who are, with respect to Latin at least, almost unlettered, aff made to acknowledge the persuasiveness of ~rard's "KtmOn," which they can hardly be expected to have understood. To round out this inconsistent picture, the bishop abo baRs their profession of fio.ith on sacramental rHlism. Those who rejKt all physical symbols.are therefore made to reaffirm the very rituals from which they derive their meaning. And, as the heretics are pushed toWllroS one end of literacy's scale, the orthodox position moves tOWllrds the other. Let us look a little more clO5Cly at the final scene. Tu these suppoKd followers of St. Paul, ~raro offers one final Pauline quotation, which is drawn from I Timothy. In the final days, Paul predicted, $Ome Christians would leave the faith under diabolical inAuence. They would preach lies tmd forget the obligations uf conscien«". They would forbid marriage and th!: tating of Oesh, even though God intended the filithful to profit from both.'" The h!:retic5, ate then said to be rendered speechless by Gerard·s cumulative wisdom, which comprisn a virtUllI ··summa of Christian saIVlltion:·· j6 Gerard invites them to denounce th~ir conspiracy: together the assembly rejects the heretics· ·'·10iJ.. {. ' •. 'lo6fl..(:: -Eo. ""1'0 O/i. b~j",,..io; .implkiores 'l"ipp< in «da;' .. iUi,.· ""i, q..od 1><,5ui"",... """ _"", i..... ri, hoc 1><' ~ pi<, ..... lin~n .. «>a pro,m;, p&li a """i ...tol,.·· fur ,imH.,. """, ..., t . Gou.!;oud. ··Mu," p,w;.:.,..,- , 6$-70 .

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beliefs on baptism, me eucharist, penance, the church, marriage, and allegations of widc:sptead simony and materialism Illll.ong ptic:sts.·" These denunciadons are backed up by quotations from the Bible, which summarize some of the sermon's main points."· The heretics, ie is important to reirerate, knowing no Latin, did not ffltirely unde~tand .... hat was being said, .nd. SO tMir eacommunication and profession of faith were translated into the vemu:uiar. Ho.... tv'er, they chose freely to reaffirm the faith and signed meir declat&l ions with. cross. ' .. Then, repentant , they returned to their homes. If we look more closely at this scene, its puzzlins features all appear to be related in some way to Gerard's ambivalclKt before the problem of litcracy. Bd'ore his sermon, the heretics thought themselves, Of so he says, illJlI/I",uiltJ wbo; they were unable to be constrained by any sort of language (11« wr!Ji rrIIIJfrillgJ).'oo Yet , to believe the Act.... they were srapped cold by tbe gravity of Gerard's ....ords and the power of God they evidently I'tpresented. The purpose of this statement in part is to sidestep an imponant issue in communications, namely the gap between the heretics' mode, .... hich was, although a bypmdUCt of literacy. and , vernacular, and unofficial. Ind the bishop's, .... hkh is textual, Latin, and instirutionalizcd. What the llaUlItOt is saying in effect is that the charisma which the heretics associated with Gundulfo has passed .... ithout mIKh explanation to the bishop, The lack of commentary underlines all the more emphatically the obvious similarities between the theoretical message of the sennon and the actual profession of faith. Like the biblical texts which Gerard cited, [he pro/tssi, was • written document which the dissidents were asked to sign."> The crosses which they wrote on tM patehmem constituted • legal witness which could pmunubly be prc:scnted in their case's f&vour on judgment day. In other WOl'dIi, as the An... has it, these virtuosi of otal culture. whn appear to have been unlettered, committed themselves to . written .uthority, The message was embodied in the text; the bimop was only its medium. The dcclantiou, moreover, ~ two paru, a list of actual (or putative) offtnses .nd a minor defence of orthodoxy. The proft.ui~'s stru<:tUrl: thereby repeated the order of the Aa.... which began with the pjtdJ_ Rrlwl and continued .... ith tbe "sermon"; that is, l ike them, it procccd.ed from words to texts. This. in turn. helped to systematize the

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rn,mics' beliefs, from which vantage poiot a whereoc rebuttal could be framed. Realism also played a role in undermining the function of literacy in the original group. In this scru;c" bolh sides UsN literacy to their own ends. Rational interprentcion of d~ gospels taught the heretics to ~t the ritu2l~tic, symbolic, and customary practices of the church. Ibeir hermeneutics resulted logically in • s)"tem of helief understandable at an intellec'tual level alone. The orthodox yiew was the other side of the coin. The heretio WeT!' first accused of the physicalism they abjured. They reaffirmN that churches, altars, bread, and wine wen' more than ··whac is seen by corporeal eyes." No one could be s.....ed but by "the water of rt"generation," which repte$ented forgiyeness and (mute grace. The euchariu was "the gage·· of our redemption and salVlltion, and 50 forth. The purpose of such statements is to suggest that the heretics' literacy was really. kind of illitency. This notion is effn supported by Ihe obvious runtndiction at .he Ar,..'s end: the heretia, understanding no Latin, make their choicc "" i"In-prtttflf _Ig",..".;'" it follows that they could hudly have repealcd thc profosio folD aloud with tbe "abbou, archdeacons, and ckrgy. "." What is perhap5 most remarhble about the Ao" is what it never says dj ~dy, namcly, that oral and wrirren, vt'rnaculat and Utin, have become $CriolU issues in religious wmmunic;ation.

Mrm/orlt The gap befW~n thc popular and learned intctpretations of heresy by wnremporary witnesses widens io the case of Monfime. The evcnts took place in Io~8'" not far from Turin. There are tW1) accounts, one by Rodulf Glaber, which is roughly contemporary , and another by Landulf Senior written some seventy-five ycats latcr. Historians have nied to rcoconcilc the twO, but this ha.s raised 11.$ many PtQblclll$ 11.$ it ha.s solved. '4' The Burgundian monk and the Lombard cleric have littlc in common. For Glaber, Monfortc is mx nnly an episode of heresy but abc a means by which Stoup wlidirity among Chris{ialU can be STrengthened after the millennium. Undulf rells us much about the group·s beliefs and principles of organization. But the story also plays. role in the historiogtflphy of Milan, as Aribert, The city's '" 1;iJ.• 'l',c . '" INJ.• Il"C. .. ' On ,h< dui"" _ llan .. d. Milaoo ( '9-47., 68n 11 , Bor .. (19H., 70<1 ', .... C. Violaftl<, ~ ~ ~ ""f~ I'. ,~. ,od N. (a..;. '9H). u o . ... E.J., It..,:"" d. MjJu.o (' ..... 7 •• 71, Viokr". (1914), >l,,", ..

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TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

renowned acchbishop, attempts to regain religious and political control over the ancient see of St. Ambrose. Once qain, '"" will SummariH the accounts before commentins on them. Gbbtt's tale>* has twO ,.,.tU, one historical, one moral. The first is dL':lllt with rather briefty. There _ , he relates, a cenain wtntw O1l1ed Monforte, located in lombardy, which was filled with heretics, many of nobk origins. Among other Pll8an practices they were saki to worship idols and to ensll8e in ceremonies remini$cent of Judailm. The heresy was 50 eooemic tbat on one OCClIIIion Manfnld, marcbese rL AAi, or ....iI ..ps his brother Alric, tbe pniClul, WlIlI obliged to invade the region. accompanied by other knights. They rounded up the heretia: and gave them the choice of recanting or of beins burned at tbe stake. The second part of Glaber's account COC\Ct'rllS a certain Hugh, a knight on his deathbed in a neighbouring, unheretical tOwn. When news of his iIlnts$ reached heretical circles, an attempt _ m.de to convert him before he died. The emisSU)' wu a woman who claimed to be Plying him only a customary goodwill visit. But disturbing apparitions llCCompanied her. HUSh saw her ,,"lye at (he bead of a sinister band, all of whose members were drud in black. She paned ber hand over HUSh's fOrebc.d, felt his pulse, and, after declaring that he would soon be well, took her leave. But the ominous band remained. A globe tben appeattd near the group's apparent leader, who iUked HUSh whet-bet he recognbed him. When HUSh replied negatively, the figure annouoced portentously that be was "the m(l$t pc.wclr"l of the powerful aoo the tichHt of the rich. "'<7 In veiled phrases be sugsested affiliations with Conrad I, the duke of Carinthi., whom, he maintained, was now emperor in the West, and Michacl N, who had succeeded Basil II (in reality Roman Ill) in the East.' " HUSh, he added, could regain his health if only be would make the sign of the CI'OSI in his p~nce. Frightened, Hugh did JUSt the 0pposite: he proksRd hu faith ill Christ and disaV{lwed "tbe fallacious devil." Then a voice _ heard saying, "I beseech you. do not raise your arm against me."· .... At [his divine siMn tbe tmifying band vanished. "No one doubu," GJaber adds moraiistially, "that the viskln was intended £or \U as well as fo!:' him. ".,.. But histOrians have paid little attention to this admonition, or, Cor that matter, to the charged lan... HiI,.,., • .• . ,. pp. 94"95 . ...tbdt I..........rio<. ""~., 9l .

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TI!XTUAL COMMUNiTII!S

guage of his account. There are some (our episodes of hertSy related in the Hislmtu, all of which play a part in his overall scheme of sin, ~nance, and millenarian renewal.'" In dlt case of Hugh, he effectively superimposes political /lllIterial onto an ami rtt:otd of 5Up"rnltural forces. He thereby unites popular and learned forms of progn05tication. The &Cts, it is worth noting, are hardly mentiontd. Man(~ and Alric an: mere names, II-S are the disrepurtble Conrad I and Mi_ chad IV. The two partS of the narrati~ are really brought together by the popular elements. The heretics, although noble, are ritualistic in rheir approach ID religion. They engage in external ceremonies murt pagalUltJlm or in ilff/J14 SlUTifiria in the manner of the Jews, for whom Glaher elsewhere voices his dislike .•" Hugh's ~male visitor gives the same impreuion. Her laying on of hands may weakly reflect dualistic origins, as some ha~ argued.'" But Glaber's setting for the interview is theologically unsophisricated. What Hugh witnesses on his deathbed is a simple contrast between God and the devil. Faith bo.ttles against the forces of darkneu. The dissembling of the female mission_ ary makes sense on ly within thi, stark fnm~work of imerprerarion. The focal point of the story is not the 5O[(CTes.s, but Hugh. He is the one who is tested. The moral purpose of the vision is to teinfo[(e lay piety (including the reader's). There is no evidence io the scene itself that the female heretic is aware of the presence of the ··numberless army.'· On the canttar}', what is invisible to her is visib!e to Hugh because of his faith, which, in p"rmitting the dying knight to ~ what is rtally present, _Iso provides a bridge to Glaber', JaCratmnral realism. In sum, aithough learned details crop up, tbey are not untral to what Glaber WlInts to say. He is opposing not theologies or political prophecies bu t last rites. The heretical female goes through the motions of a purificatory ritual; Hugh's rejection is a verbal profession of faith. The essential elements in the $Ce!le belong to a nonliterare world. The twenty-seventh chap4:cr of book t .... o of the Hllloria MtdiolalUlfill provides a rude contrast to Glaber's account. Landulf relates the same episode as (ollows.· .. Ariberr, who had visited almost all the suffragans of the a[(hdiocese of Milan, arrived at length in Turin, accompanied by a great many knights and clergy. Wh ile preaching there he heard of an unusual hetny in a t:asltfhtm abo~ a locality called Monfon e. H e asked that _ member of the sect be brought before him . •,. So« briow, Cb. , pp. 4,6-1' . .,. E., . . J.6 .• o; p. 69. 71. '" Violanr< ([974). "" bu< ... Bono: ( [9H). 7<'" [. '~Swnmui1i..,

Hun.;. 1>1. . . ...,;, '.' 7, MGH ss 8, p. 6" lin< ., to p. 66, liB<

'4 ,

,6.

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

The man who came was called Gerard, He bo~ himself well, seemed willing to answer questioru, and did not fear suffering or ~n death on behalf of his beliefs, Aribert questioned him on the way of life, religiolU customs, and faith of the S«tarians. Gen.rd, granted perminion to speak, made the following statement: "I thank the acher, the son and the holy spirit that you have tUcn pains to question me so thoroushly. May He, wha koew you in Adam's loins, gn.nr that you live with him, die with him and ~ign fOt:evcr .... ith him in glory! I shall set fonh the way of life and faith of my b~th~n in the same spirit in which you have made your inquiry, Wc ptide virginity above all else, although ~ have wives, He who is a virgin among UlI remains so; he who is corrupt, with the permission of an elder, remains chaste from that time on. Nooe of UlI enjoys his wife «rnally but cherishes her like a mothC£ Of sister. We never eat meat. We Wt and pn.y the other, 10 continually. Our elden pn.y day and night, one that prayer may never cease. We hold all ~ions in common. We believe in the father, the son, and the holy spirit, as ~lIas in those who have the power of binding and loosiD8. We follow the Old and the New Tenamenu, together with the sacred canons, .... hich 1ft read daily." Many .... ere amaud at these statements, but Aribert, recognizing an attempt at dissimulation, asked for further dlll'i6cation. In pacticular, he demanded that Geranf explain what the sect understood by "father, the son, and. t1v: boly spirit." Gerard replied cheerfully: ''TIle father is the eternal God, who elUted n>eryrhil1Jl' in the: beginning and in whom all things exist. The son is the spirit of man, belove:i by God. The holy spirit is tbe undentandiD8 of divine maClen, by which individual things are governed." Aribert uked I furthe:r question: "What do you say ofChri~t, the word of God, born of a virgin?" Gen.rd InS1ftred: "The Jesus of whom )'011 speak is the spirit, born sensibly fJnuIMlitrl') (rom the virgin, that is, from $lCred scripture. That same holy spirit is the undenunding of $lCred scriptu~." Aliben turned 10 another matter. "'Why," he asked, "does one have a wile a«pt to produce children?" Gerard replic.l: "If the entin: human ~ would unite in uncarnal unions, then it would npc::rien(~ procreation without sex like the bees." Aribert: "In ....hom lies tbe responsibility for absolving our sins, the: pope, the: bishop, or the priest?" Gerard: "We do not acknowledgt the Roman pontiff but another, who dail), visib. OIIr dispersed brethren throughout th~ WQfld. When God lOCO as minister through him, remission from our sins is devoutly gmnted." Aribert: "Is it true that )'OU end your lives violendyr' Gcrard: "If 1ft die through tbe torture of evil men, 1ft rejoi«"; but i(

meT

'4'

Tf!XTUAI. COMMUNITIES

nature bri ngs any of us neu death, his n.. ighbour kilb him bdOre h.. yields up his scul." Arib<"!1: mullaf ch,",," matt ..", ov"r. fi!18lly he asked {i.,rard wheth .. r h .. believaf in Cacholicism, the chureh, ~P"" rism, virgin binh, and th .. <"U(hari$t . {i.,rard r.-pliaf: " There is no prinr b.-yond our priest, a.Ithough he lacks tonsure and myJt .. ry.·· Aribert was now convinced thllc whac had been said about ch .. heretics of Monforre was corr«t. Soon afterwards he sent Iln armed fore .. to the locality and took everyone prisoner, including th<" ~., COUntess. Th<"n he brought them .11 to Milan, wm.r .. , with th<" aid of his d ..rgy, h.- art.. mpted to f<"(:OnRrt th .. m, Int the heresy spread to other parts of Italy. But wicked men, Landulf adds, who, unr«ogni!ed, had come to the region ftom ds.-where, ptO$<"lytited the humble folk who cam.. daily to rh.. ciry to see th ..m. When th.- el
_..,w.

'''''.'Olll

."
I,,,).

(' ~7 I)••

65.

T~";

('97. >. ,...,;", .

".'.4> ...,tt<> ,....

." To';"'; ('~H). t.. wu o,Imt... b", m.r. il .., ni6<<><< to ...._ It.. doin>. On ,bt d. lOt It.. "';0" '" P. l.i du IX. OIl XlI< 1ft).;. CO>! ) h96. ). 'n.$ •.

'43

TEXTUAL CO MMUNiTiE S

bue.·,. Also, he is lu:ppy to demonstrate his rheroric&l abilities for Aribctt. He fint pRises the bishop; tben, possibly in an effort at dissimulation,')9 fiu his deviant views into Illl apparently orrhodox framework, beginnins; with l lekteoce to Adam's sin aod redemption and ending with a commitment to the Old and New Testaments. Yet the manner in which he "declares" (tJiaJ) his beliefs is concise and moderately abstract, as if mcmori~ from a written summary. His f'][plalllltton of the sect's allegocie&l method confirms the irnp=sion of erudite infhkllCes. Seming artful dttt(Alon, Atibcrt asks Gcnrd to discuss in greater detail his conception of the trinity. Gcrani replies with an example of boI:h allegory and heuristic method. In his "iew, tbe father, the son, and the holy spirit ate not to be taken literally. God is ctetniry;o6o in. him &11 thinss ~St . The son is the ./limIts _iIIis,'" the spirit in man. n.c holy spirit VpirillU 160 which _"oh"", -llui..... Mu... ('941), 68-60;1; V;Mon .. ('9H), ' 7? ... Hit,.,.;., M, 1',' " 2. 27, p. 66, I' " "Quod. diIIi ",",mo.. 0..". ... """"".... .,..; ""'. .. ... ob in;';', .. in q"" omDit. WI rim, .. ," 0<> inI" ....... ioo. I JoIIow """",I. 1<9H) , ' 11 nll opi_ 11oriao .. Nu.... ('947). 69, .hhoorp .... _ od""" '""" -,bll""' . ... T ....... /ario,I . = . . ""rit 0I>d ..., .. ..w, __ viol ..... (1951). In ond wokritld ond E...... (I51'1'i9), 87-88; on d>o ~ r:i aD
to,. .·

"

- A dilfiod. """""", " ' ], p, 66, ,-4: "ImllJl OriKum...,.", d;cio <SI onim ............. li_ """"' ... N&I.. oirJi... , YidelK.. ""'" OK .. ITtII:I.>p1otion (In T ..... ('974), 1>17-18 ond below ..... 1; "",..,....t ;",......."'........ tht ...NI _"'""', r:iV_ (o 9H). ond W,L &cJd and E...... ('51'1'i9)' 669 9... Hu",w '.2], P. 66. •,, "Spiri .... FOZIm cum i .... l· 1<>rnII," _ d>o .... i,;..., r:i _,...., be >no! ",ith oio:b
_aJi", ...

... IHJ.• 66. "1' '"Q>od

'n

«-i"""

d;"j Spiri .................

dm-um tcimr: ....... iru.u..:-, . ....

noil ...., be !be eorI..., ........., r:i on i ..aus.i7lfl I,,;de •., in tl-c lote< . - t h o.nd . _ aruuric> .. _ _ m. haIJ api.it a 0 _ .... 001, r:i din ... uodetsnndl", but obo r:i m. """"'"' in >ohlch i, iI """""",kou!d. A mItUt)' 0IId . '-If lot .. m. ....;.", ......... ty rwnmed "p i •• CL",e;'" K" ..... "" one r:i SI. Bemord', r._m ".n.
holm +4 ." " "liq ... moo 0Il0Im0rr >cruor, 1;_ pmI.,..."io no <*l.-.. .d pOll .... S.,." pmno .oil l'oCi .......... """'" 1'00&«« . • . . Ptr_um .rip!<>rio
s......

'44

TEXTUhL COMMUNITIES

filithf"lIy adheres to iu mak~r's intentions to the d~8m: that it r~lics on biblical texu and UIlTi ",,,,,,,ts. Tn:ts arc the justification for elim_ inating any int ermed iary between God and man. Man achiCff$ salvation not through God's love, sacrifice, and goodwill but through reason, understanding, and illumination. >60 Rationuity, as ill5pired by litel'llte pursuits, is abo the foundation of the sect's world-denying way of life. ~ Its memlxrs gi~ up aU carnal relationships, whether through food, su, or possessions, for canu.lit}' is asJQCilted with the letter rather than with the spirit. Communication with "spirit" is maintained by com inual prayer. Natural death is looked upon as a contamination of the divine spirit in man; mortification of the flesh contributes towards ilS upward mOV1:ment back to God. All material generation and corrupt ion arc denied validity: if man hild not sinned, ~I'llrd reminds his listeners, he would still be able to procreate without $(Xual contaCt. The sect has no need of priests: the pondff who visiu the dispc:~ communities is none other than the spirit of interpretation itsclf. This ."jmMS, ""ing within mln, needs no tonsure or Bul'll of mystery. Ariben grasped immediately that the hcte$y at Monforrc was a h ighly intellectual affair: His method of combating the sect wlls accordingly based on theology and argument. But among the capitanei and vavasours of Milan it was und enitood either as I form of primitive superstition or as a politico-religious conspiracy. Possibly anticipating the Palaria, the ,m/id from the surrounding wumryside crowded into the episcopal court where the heretics were discussing their ideas, attracted, it would appear, as much by the doctrin.-s as the idea of interpreting &ripture for thcmselves.>6, To the lay nobility the her_ etics were therefore perceivcc:l as a threa.t to established authority. If they did not recant, they had to be destroyed.

The Making of "Henries" The period hetwO!Cn 1028 and 10 ,2 saw a number of recu rrences of heresy in the West. Although widely scattered in space and time, Spiri.u 5• .,«0 ! pro6c< ... .. , I'<rpm drb
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to.

'4)

TBXTUAL COMMUNITIIIS

the diuidents n:iterated. bdicfs dJZr wen: revealed. in the betn:e-known epOOdes ilt Orlhm, Arras, and Monfurre. 11tey were. ab.;, brought together by a billS in the $OUt(es in which they were des.;cibo:d. As the frequency of hCley incfCilSC'd, the conventions for ponraying it also became more filmiliar. They began to fit into a minor historiographical tradition of their own, in which, inw.riably, an attempt was made to see sectarianism in a coherent framework inrerrelatiD8 the pan and the present. The result was "the making of heresies," that is, the placing of relatively itolated events in • literary format of snared. usumpdons unong authors and. readen. This Ipproach confirmed the orthodox view that hemy was tomtthing well koown and therefore curable with ancient remedies. But it milit.ted .gilinst iln ana.I)'lIis of the principles of group organiution. The norion of heresy itself became mon: and more I term of interpretation. Bttwttn 1030 .nd 1046, for instance, Genre! of CsarWl wrote of dissidents in unchristianiud Hungary who reminded him of similar movements in France, Greece, and. Italy. He even spoke suggestively of thn:e towns, Verona, Ravenna, .00 Venice, which lilY on the trade routes between Byuntium and the West. · 61 The possibility of dwtlist influence should not be ruled out: Csanid, Ioc.ted roughly on • piLnllel with Venice .t I point midway between the Adriltic and the Black Sea, "Ibutted the cradle of Bogomilism in Bulg.ria. " .6\1 But what is most n:markable in the .nti-dialectica!·'" Gerani'l vague account is his u.se of 6.." .. 111 itself, which btinp together in his mind events and beliefs thilt wen: only loosely related. ~ perhaps not n:1ated at .11, A similar picture emerges from vmous centres in the notth. Around 1048, Ill! noted, Theoduin ofLi~ge consciously or unconSCiously confused the "popullr" heredes who refu5et council of R.einu of 1049 created.. litttary (Qnteu in a different way. ~ IX complained of many "illicit pnaiccs" by the 100lI clergy, among which he included. simony, lay priests, the misuse of chutches, ... Wn.bert (1977). AtI't j i1 A .•• p. 147. buN <1ft G. Silqi. U- " ' - "" "o./iW../iI '"1N T,;_ """ . ... ~ r;.n-I_ Cl"" (Munich • • \167). 97.,e. 0.. G«ud', ,_,.. tic oCrions .... J. L.d.lCq. "5. GkmI do c..n.d et le SliUIU _ l i u

H,_

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_i
,,',0.

... UftIben ('977). " . .... J. A. EadIn. P....""_ ... GM! 'b "" foi!- inUlwlidw Pl>ihufM (MiIBIm'. '9' ~). ".6.( . .... ~. _11 .. 7 FP ''Il00 ..... ; ••• PI. , .6"O~2C. dil("'I ! by.......,.1 (, \16,) • • '. ond O . Copi!mi . "s".di per lk=priO d i Tows." BlS 6g (z9HI... ".6. c... Jt ~. • PI. ' ••. n69ll-7<>C. .... ond dixl>ued by /01;7\11 __ (' 976) . .. ,.,8. p.,. • d;1< ,pm olll
a.

,,6

TIlXTUAl COMMUNITIF.S

incest, adul~ry, the abandonment of vows by monks and clerics, outrages against the poor, "and other heresies.·'''' He liller excommunicated those whom he oiled thc II9IIi ~/iri, who ~~ apparently spreading nefarious doctrines about France. m Similarly, the dissidents brought befon' Henry III at Coslae in 10~ I were hanged for their "Manichaean" beliefs.'" Such instances illustrate lhat the conspiracy theory died hard. and, once establish..o. by literary conventions, that it play..o. ,. cumulatively imponant role in subs.-quent diKu"ioru. The "new heretics·' were consistently viewed as revivers of older forms of disobedience. The a.ccounrs in turn were used as confirmations of the ancient origins of wer dissidents. And the contemporary cclcvance of the movements WlIS largely obliterat..o.. A good example of historiographicaltypologies with whkh we may conveniently bring this discussion of heresy ro a close is provided by an exchange of letters, as recorded by An 5l.'im of Li ~ge, betwtf:n Roge r 11 of Chilons-sue-Marne, and WIW, the rerormist bishop of Liege betwtf:n 1042 >lII
c..,.,

M .... ;, [9. H7 ' P. F.-.dI. [ (~, '9'4 ). " )· '4"2. ,.,....., d;/fo",,« ;n Ih< «}6 . •,. G_, <. 6" mJ., 1>7·,8.

'47

TEXTUAL COMNUNITU!S

net in which it conceives the problem. He questioned thc heretics' interpretation oC''Tbou shalt not kill." He .1Jo counK'lcd Roger not co resort to extremist methods. Bur, I.bove all he put the question of heresy on an entirt'ly intellectual plane. The errors. he Stated. arc not new: they were refuted long ago by the fathers, Appropriating the holy spirit to themsd,cs, the hcretiC$ merely misinterpret the troe meaning of the Biblc. The comm&nd· mettt "_ «CIdes ...·" he continued, dearly ,c(,rs tQ men &lone; other_ wiK', hunu.n beings would he forbidden the constructive use of grain. vegetablcs, I.nd wine. All things gtow to maturity from scecb;, but in otdc:r CO be useful to man. ccru.in pnncs and animals mU$( be cut off in their ptime. Christianity I.bhon such "Arian" sacrilcge; nonetheless. following Chrillt's aample, it must be endured with meekness and humility. As Grcgory says. Abel's grace rcqu.ired Caio's mali~: to produce wine, the grape must be trodden underfoot.'" In general. behaviour towards heretics ought to be guided by the puable of the wheat .nd the tart'$.'19 Who arc the "servanu" of whom the Lord spoke but preachers. whose task it is. so to spca.k. to winnow? Yet. I. distinction must be observed between preliminary sepan.donI.nd fiIII.i judgment. The Lord intended that the cbun;h be patient with chose woo have fallen into etf'Ot, for today's u.rn may be tomorrow', wheat. The spirit of the biblical tnt does not all for the death or suffering of sinners but for their conversion. He therefore advised RogCl not to invoke the sceuw ann. which would inevitably lead to violen«. Ansdm of Li~gc adds that Wazo reasoned through Christian taw. not itnltional.ly. as some have, in dealing with contemporaty dissi_ dents. The french, he .liegcs. wert' so bloodthirsty that they iudged and slaughtered heretics according to "the pallor of their skin." Those accu.sed .t GosJar fared no better. As Iiu as he could tell. their only crime Il.y in refusing to kill. chicken.t the order of the local. bi5hop. Thi5 anecdote from the Gu'" Epis~ l",,/itJISis illustrates the two sidn of heresy as intcrpn:ted by early elevcnth-ccntury commenCllton. In most respeCt. Roger's is the standard complaint: the dissidcnts IltC NIl/it;; they meet in secret (/Imw. tv1IfIfIIliaILr); they rt'Vive pagllD "",,cessn (MStio ipliJ ok""" d JKt. l.rpi4).· .. But, beneath such typical details. onc also perceives the emergwce of. tncuaJ community. The spin/m JIIIKJIU. chat is. the spirit in man through which divine wisdom is reflected, is tn.nsfccred by the imposition o( hands. on ...

Ps 77-"7. •.. ~No '.n. c;.".,. <. 6•• p. 226. H·)6.

." }jot, I).n·)?,

."

TEXTUAL CO MMUNITIE S

presumably after the novice has passed through the variou, stages of initiation. Mani, the iI<'(:{' S fuunder, rKei~ this same flltional spirit from God. Like other sectarians they are celibates and vegetarians. But what worries Roger most is their uncanny ability to propagate their ideas. So succtS5ful is their ilUtrunion, he mainnins, that idiotat and injMII"di become '·mo~ penuasive than the faithful. . . . ~ since~ eloquence of the wise 5eC1l1lI scarcely abl", to overcome me~ loquacity." >! ' The major danger, then, IlS Roger ~ it , i5 thl: ",fl\ocriveness I)f the he~tiQ' means of communication, espedally among rhe uninstructed. This point is hardly touched upon in Walo's ~p ly, which views the heresy from an es~ntia1ly scholarly standpoint . His letter is in~rted into the G~/tl betw~n tWO better-known as~rtions of a division of labour betw~n secular and ~ligioU$ authorities, both involving the refotm ideals of H",nry HI. ,0, His Statement is alsu part uf the picture of enlightened aofurmism p&inted by Ansclm of Li~ge. Bishop Notker, the author tells us, encounged the education of childaon and curtailed the activiti es of priests who were rlltUs It iffittrtlti. "" Wazo WIlS NO£ket's chaplain and later m.>g;J/t"f Kho/ttNlm in the cathedral Khool.' ~ WIUI'S approach therdU~ is Iutdly surprising. For him, heresy is a " manifest error· '; rhe "Arians··'''' must simply be ··refuted:· His d efence of legal prindpJes takes him in two diffeaont dirKtions. It in_ terrelarl!$ the noti ons of pr«cdent, reform, and innerworldly activity: within the overall plan of salvation. wc may ··Jicitly··,06 ufiJi u rhe beasts of the field, as witness officia! comments Vtrllu"illlll scripta ) on the commandment ··,",If orridlJ :· Also, the precedence unites the life of Chlist with the Contemporary function of the pratdiCalfJfJml (mh, to which he and Roger belong. That, in part, is the point of the panble of the wheat and the tues. True, heresy is ··d.iabolical fraud:·'" But .. . /htl.• ..6. 44-41 . ... 00 ... hi
a. L.

8<_.

Tk/J~flott .

.>I Std] i. Mt4iw.I £al<J;"~Of}a ( Ptioc< .

,968).20"/-0<). ", G",. , c . • 8 , iMJ., "", . ... /~.• <. 40. ",,., I . "'" ("""'" 01<,';11. le< E. ;104,), ..... . , J4-P; f. Amman. ··W_do ,","p:. on; " .', 3" "" 4 . '" ... fti8nuion< doll· ....... co,.,a; ·AniI .. H.,<si. ," •• BIS 68 (19,6), 'H·46;
Y. Conpr ... ·Ani.,.. .......;,. _

dtoi ~ .. ,ion

4' ('9S9). 449"6,· - GDw, c. 6" i!Ul.• " 1, I..... 11 .nd 18 . "'/IOJ.• '27 . 4'-4;.

'49

d. n.ro.n.nict.titrn< ... xn< ,ilx":· RSPT

TEXTUAL COM/IIUN1TIES

tne, role of the efkctive priest in WUO'$ view is nO( to deliver linal ji>dgment. He must nronvert thosc wno have been misled. To return to our point of departure:: we bo.gan by reaffirming the wdl-estabJisbed scholarly ronclusion that nrly heretics in the West did noc: ~ common social Of doctrinal origins. lbe search for "origins" mOm>Wr dim:ted mergics away from the analysis of heresy's func_ tional interdependency with the riSf of a more literate society. For, if the herctio came from different backgrounds, they nonetne,ln-s underwent a similar CIpericnce within the group. And, if the sects varied in actual bo.liefs. they employed comparable intellectual methods. The common dcnominatO£ was texts, and attirudes ro-rds tats provide a leitmotif which rum through the handful of case histories we have eumined. In uutard the rontaCt with literacy was indirect. His story's value is chiefly symbolic: it r«ounts the way in which man, by becoming the Word's interpreter, acquires a formerly divine charisma. Again, at Orli!ans in IO:Z2, the mainspring of heresy was the sti>dy of the Bible and of religiOUS maxims dirt(tiy or indim:tly derived from it. This W!lli aho true of Arras in 102:> and of Monfotte in 1028. In each case, the sacral, mystical, and miraculous accretions of older tradition were discarded. in favour of .. rationalistic ethic botscd on the principles of the New Testament. Rationality in turn was a byproduct of the Iircnlte mentdity, sin« the various interptehltioru of tell!S were subsequenrly codilled into I set of written rules governing conduct. These norms 51ructured the bo.haviou[ of the individual in dlt group and resulted in I set of intetaCtions between the members which were designed to break down the barriers between the literate and the nonliterate. The SoOWces a.dmittedly present different views of these isollted OUtbursts of heresy, and the bias of the narratoR must be taken into account. However, (he vuie.:! perspectives ofren amount to no more than dtered perctpt"iom of the membeR' status on the spectrum of popular and learned culture. For Ademat of ChIlb..nnes and Rodulf GJ..ber, heretio belonged to the world of pagan supentition and idolatry. But tht question of initlltion, educatlon, and theological discussion did noc esape the ..ttention of Paul of St. ~re or the aoonylllOWl miser of the GGI4 Sy-u A.rd'hiuir. In both, a group aperienct bu :d on the interpretation oftnu ..od organited 15 sectarian behaviour was framed within aia.rger political and theological debate. Heresy, so to spealr, was reinterprercd to 5Ctve the needs of monastic and episcopal rdOrm. At Mgnforte, the gap between popular and lCW>Cd perceptions was patent. There was no pl::zct for the astute, self-assured

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Gerard in Glabec's tale of the supernatural and of political pmphe<:y, e1emeots which, n.-edl~s to Siy, LmdulfSenior found superfluous. In the exchange of lctten between Wuo of Liege and Roger of Chilons we sce how far an imerpreti'ItC framework for understanding heresy had beeo built up by the middle of the elevenrh century. Ro~r was concerned about icinerant preachen who undermined the ministerial laboul'$ of t~ regular clergy. Wuo. in df~t, ignored trn, practical problem and limited himself to proving that the heretics' docuinrs were indeknsible. And thus movements and thcology parted ways,

2. LITERACY AND REFORM: THE PATARiA

Magna Ct modernis tcmporibw ill"uciin. confusiO r",ta rH It.Uu prop«t coniuratiol'CS. quas !'ettrar populw contra ptincipn. _ Wipo,

c ..'" C~"i n..p.n.,on" C.

14

/nlrodrm;(lfI

The cue histories of cull' deventh-antury heresy which we have examined present an unusuaHy clear pi cture of the interaction between literacy and group experience. By and large the dissident 5C:CtS were isollted, even though they occasionalIy saw themselves 115 pacts of larger rnOVC'ments and weft so regarded by their commentators. Whil e sharing in common a number of doctrines, each cell re-enacted the experience of interpretation Inew. In the period I[ter I050 this son of activity did nO{ diminish. But, in general, the social, political, Ind intell~tual comexr of both dissent and reform beclme more complex. Throtlghout the larer eleventh, twelfth, Ind even thirteenth centuries secH-riam continued to be found in small independent groups following charismatic lea.ders like Eon de I'Etoile. But more fm:Juent!y t~y belonged to religiow movements, that i5, to larger bodies which might be dispe~ over a wide geographical,area yet shared belief" practices, principles of organization, and above all common goals. Ju time ...ent on and, in p...-ricular, aftet the impetus of the Gregorian reforms waned, the church began to diStinguish more and more precis.eJy between such movement' Ind legitimate reJigious ordelS. Howl"ltCr, tbe legalism obscured the fact that , with respect to communications, "orthodox" and "heretical" 3$soci.arions often employed analogous rnrthods to achieve somewhat different ends. Bd'ote 1050, dissenters stand our in relief

., .

TBXTUAL COMMUNITlBS

against the background of a largely ilJUIlooile rtgulu dergy. For tWat (N5(ln, they provide a weathervant for reformist tendern:ies inside and. outside the church. Dwill8 t~ lattr elevmtb and twelfth cenmries, movements withi,. the chun;h became increasingly active: Cisterciaru, CarthusWu, Prtmonstcuensians, and Augustinian Cllnons all deIIIIUlded .. return to Christian roots. To what degree did the rise oia more literate society affect such rcfocm monllKnu? Were they, like the 0:#11' heresies, "cenual CQffimunilies" on a larger sede? And do fa.cton; of communication, if 5e(.>IllIItNi from , dogmatic contat, offer .. buis for rompan5Qtl brtween the internal organization of berttica1 and orthodox groups? Of coune, the twO sons of communities shared a nwnber of attitudes towards the uses of literacy. Tbe leaded engaged in interpretation, either of the Bible, the &'then, earlier legislation, or, in the case of heretics, tUt. (mm other 5I)Ul'CeS. Tbe groups' memben frequently had twO principles of organUatioo, a fonnaI, IIttkuIated "ruIe" and l1li, inner set of beliefs whkb, while not violating its dicta, nonetheless chanlKlINi energies towards certain aspects of the ascetic, medittdve, and otberworldly life. The associations were undetstood hy those participating in them to be authentic, even Iitenl ~nactmenu of o:#lier Christian or dualist communities. And, as time went on, there was an incteQing attempt by both hemi« ,nd orthodox to spread the wont along a continuum from literate to illiterate. Therefore, within each side, learned and popular sensibilities emerged. Even more than social organization, the rUe of a more licente socief:y influenced the bias of the sources. Commentttors, who had from the fint a tendtnq- to intell~u.diu di$lli
."

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

wherever the~ was a movement, the~ was also an attempt to inter_ pret it. Rmollffflnml- the n:tutn to the .soun::e$ Or the tediiICovery of one's alleged roon-.... as no longer an abstract (alegory: it became a functioning ittlity, intc'rrebting the .secrarims' subjective view of what they were doing with the larger field of hermeneulics. The putpO$e of this essay is ro examine one reform movement, the Milantsl" Pataria, and i[$ interpretive context . The CVen[$ surrounding the upheaval are I}()( al .... ays easy to follow; therefore, before we turn in detail to the thrtt main acCOUntS, a few words intmduction Ire required. We shall limit our diiICussion of the Piltaria to the Jiouse of Milan before the turn of the t ....elfth century. Although overflowing into politics, the movement wa.s essrntiillly religious; it ilIUSC among lilymen and the lower clergy and was directt:d BgainSt sirtJ(lny, nicolai tism, and the worldlin~s of the chut(h. Originating in Milan, it gradually spread to Cremonl, Piacenza, Lodi, and later to Brcscia. In Flol"l'nce, the similarly inspired ValIumbtO$ans under John Gualb.-rt opposed the simoniKal. bishop Peter Meuabt.rba.' PBtarenrs we~ still active in the twelfth Century, when they allied themselves with the an::hbisOOp and the promoters of the commune.' But the major po:riod of development was the hai£o«ntury aner 104', within which it is possible to diStinguish three successive phases: the beginnill8S, from i04' to l OH; a generation of a(:tivism arrer l O~H ; and the movement's de.::line following the death of its lay leader, Erlemhald, in

or

IOn·

The Pacaria was a perhaps inevitable consequence of social and religious pressures in Milan, under .... hose bcgertJ(lny Lomoordy had undergone a slow but steady renewal of rommerciaJ activity from as early a:5 the ninth century.' Prosperity and population grew in both

, s.. s. _

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V"'''' ...... ·• H;""'iM.M Zuudwift 111 ([ 910), ~-60. n.. ..".. ..... Ioot pun ,11< i _ in brood po_';",,;n •• I'>ufio""" Sb
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TIIXTUAl. CO MMUtHTlES

countryside and town. The abolition of heml.itary labour services, the fteeing of and «J/MJi, tIK- tnnsformation of leaseholds lnro private contmts, the breaking down of t~ lord', reserve into smaller tenures, and the lIucru.dng price of land all contributed to the rnicaliution of agrarian life. Trade in eJ:POru and imports quickened, and new wealth flowed into local market$. LoIl8-distance commerce, passing from bJamic lands via Byzantium, also increased the need for purtl/.J, xoaorlKhi4 (or travellen, and JIMt#, such a5 that granted 10 Venetian ~rchams in 840, permitting them "to CfQS$ land aod sea where they wished. ". Prokssiona! me«hants, documented from the eighth century, grew in numbers and wealth throughout the ninth. Unlike their notthern cou[lterplltu, dw:y began to acquire permanent pos5eSSions, usually in land, lIS, from the tenth century, did arrisalU. Such merchants, living in Milan and investing in the countryside around it, were different from the older mgoli4tons _jam, whose &tatus in public law was that of servants of seigneurial courts. Of course, bureaucrats of this type still existed in monasteries, bisboprics, and at tfw: royal court in Pavia. But the new breed were free agents whose contmtual obligations were private agreements. They WOtked not so much fot the lord', profit as for their own. Although still benHiciaries of feudal protection, they lar~ly obeyed the impersonal laws of supply and demand.' The inBUlI: of me«hanr:s, artisans, aoo nouuies ro Milan sUoC«eded in reconstituting a srable, urbani~ middle class for the fine time since the later empire. Following the lead of the moneyen, onc by one the arriving groups

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"")0; ra. bibliQ8raphy, ... p, ,14Jl9. om...,.,..w utid•• at no.. i.duclo A. &.Wo. - Po"1 ",iot .. ",icll< ~ --..le ia 1oIilono ... ~ onodi p;~ ~ _i," ASl ~ (,~,6), '0,·,6. U>d;M, "N~ prnhIemi. lNOIi ...Jl'oko mod ...... rniw..,. • lourbod<>, - ASt PPl ('9"1. ...0-11.; G. F.oIi, "1 iar,", drll< E.... - y .......j ., od i/lr,;rS..-.J·_~j'''''''''''''_'''.7(1960), 'iI9-m; ioIao. "G-. ........... et,....,....n& dam les -..""' .... ;,.;<11 .... cl.. Xk ... Xllk sjkk." in GM'''. " 1'"= put .. (lIr.-!a. I~), .746; G. PuoIi, 11.. ~Ii, U>d G. T,,,,",, ... to IflUIIU.. _i,'".idle dui ito!; .... do! V o! XII _ , " in T . ""'yet, eel., U--..". "" ,.,.4t/J"tft~ S""w" ..... tol'"". . . SI#iIf" is0; G, C. Mor •• 'Cw ....................... m !wie du VI .... Xlk ,ioklo," ,M"". IJ, K put;' ~h, '968), )9')·.'IJ; 0Rd H_ Kollft, -0.. Gmdoo_ in oI>M .. lieBiocheo ur>t __ 9. bi. I •• J"""""",",. - fJMoI'- _ Fa .. ' ;n _ ioJ.. " " """... ..,I SiJJw' ' • .f9 1<969), "7' , • MCH Cop •. llq-. fr&llC., """,, >. no. >H. pp. ,JOIl',: Viol", ... !..< _ 7 .....

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TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

became (if)tJ M.,{ioL.nnulJ. 6 But their MW pl"l'Stige and polit ical dout rose in the shadow of the chun:h. Religious institutions owned most laymen·s houset; within the waU, as well as {Ol"l'Sts and {umlands outside. Ecclesiastia WeN' also proprietors of the slttlionei which merdu.nu and aniSllIU N'nttd in the central market. ' The teal guarantor of the merchanu· rights was not the count but the archbishop, who, through infeudation, had usurped many of his PN'ro8ati~. For insranee, in l..andulf Senior·s words, archbishop Arihere was "the father of OrphalU, the dergy's ornament, and the protector of widoW$. paupers, and merchants.· .. By the Hotly eleventh (entury upW2rd mobility wu calUing particular difficulties for tWO dasses within the social hierarchy. the C2pitanei and the ,,*vasours. The ,apitand were nobles who5e tsralts lay in the countryside iust outside the dry. Vassab of the archbishop, they monopolized decision-making in Milan through an intricate n<.'1work of marriage:s, property transactions, and N'ligious alliances. Although claiming investituN' 1.$ ",i/JltS majlJrrS by arch _ bishop Landulf n in 98,.9 their group had in fact originated in the lesser nobility and wealthict merchants of the tenth century. '0 They were feudal cmtions of the aKhbishopric, upon whose srabiliry their real authority rested . The vavasouts were often self-made men whose chief responsibility was to organize and to run their estates. They in turn felt pl1'$.'iure from ordinary citizens and smaller leaseholders. At the top of the pyramid was the ~hbishop; all chang'" in StatuS among laymen were by implication new relationships with him. What went by the name of "feudalism·· in Milan was in fact the city·, ··normal social framework. "" Social and political tensions came to a head under archbi5hop Aribelt of Intimiano. The $On of wealthy parents in Como," h~ was • Y. Ileoouatd. LD ../k ( htio.

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A"'m.

TEXTUAL CO MMUNITI IiS

elected by the cardinal dergy, whkh the capiclMi dominated, on 18th March 10 18. He died a broken, disillusiooed man in his native city on J6th January 1045. His lIoChievemenu were prioc::ipa.lly threefold. He exteocied and coosolid&led the p&uimony of St. Ambrose, winning from Henty II the monaneries of St. Filinu.s and St. GtatilUl and from Conrad n the rich priu of Nonantula." He preventtd suc(e$lIive emperors fmm interfering in Milan's internal affairs. allying himKlf with Coorad between 10:<14 and tOH and frustmting his actemptS to crwh the city after 1037. His powerful leadership wail also capable of ovuridirl8 class tensions: when t1un.tened by Conrad, elves. WVJ$Oun, and capiunei momentarily buried their ditTereoces to face a oommon foe. But for these accomplishments Milan pilid a high price. Too many people were dependent on the archiepiscopal ser. 'fh(- more the church tightened its grip over renants demanding propeny rights and privileges, tbe more it ~snated itself in the net of simony and nicolaiti5ln, thus laying itself open to later charges of ecclesiastical abuse. Also. Ariben's 5U~ with imperial authority ~re more apparent than real. Up to t034, Conrad I"I(cded his support against the aristocratic lulian &m.ilies who preferred a French monarch. When Htnty n', confidant, Leo of Veralli, died in t026, Aribert became Conrtd·s chief apologist in Italy. In to;ll7, Leo's successor and Ariben', chos:n man, Arderic of Milan, presented Conrad for coronati()(l to the pope: to the chroniden it seemed that Milan had linally displaced Aquilda ....d Ra~na lIS the second see of Italy." And. in IOH, Ariben Itd Lombard troops alongside ~rmans in Conr~l"1 bid for the crown of Burgundy. But Aribert stayed in favour only lIS long as it suited the emperor's putt>"'*". Their lon,g-ran,ge gOOs "\Ir""CI"C opp<:IIkd. Both 'VlJght political control C1Ver northern Italy, Conrad by winning ovet the disgruntled vawsoUt5, Arihert by striking an a!!iance against them between the capital"l(i ....d the eives. When the vaVJ$OUt5 linally revolted in ro~" both parties appealed to Conrad. Tht substquent imprisonment and escape of Aribert and the "mimculoU$" deliVl:rance of Milan by Conracl', unexpected .lath during the siege of iO~9 did not erase the importanc gains made by the va~ur$ in the eMUli,.,i. tk FtIUiis promu.lgated by the emperor at Pavia in IOH." The tract not: only defendtd tbe right of vavasours ro inheril their fiefs. It also attempted

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,0-,'.""".

,,6

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

to "unitc" ana to "mobilizc" all ranks of lay socicty in thc im~dal cause. ,6 The compromise struck by Conrad was recognized by Henry II1I1M ratified by a rductant and increasingly isolarro Ariben on his return from !I~ coronation at Ingclheim in 1040. Even at a po:rsonal level, Ariberc's epiKopate is open to mi5interprtt1ltion. A resourceful and du.rismatic leadcr, he nonethe less suffered from stubbornness, a lack of diploma<:y, Il1d a hunger fur personal power. Historians havc viewro him from "'t~~ positions: thc cighteenrh century s.aw in him a champion of civil [ibereie!. the nincteenth, a feudal opponcnt of empire and papal ~form. " Yet, can Aribert really be judged outsidc the society which produced him? Hc was, as Violanre n(X('5, one of it$ "new mm,"" whose political stml8th dcriud in parr from Milan', sense of itself as IIn urban entity hut whose popularity was bound to wane whcn the bases of legitimatc authority began to shift from thc personal ID thc institutional sphcre. The decisive stage! took place after thc Burgundian campaign of lOp. Ariben's hithcrro univcrsal appeal dedioed: his formcr magnetism, iD Arnulfs words, began to be looked upon as egotism, ('Ven tyranny . '. In particular the political influencc of the capitanei, whom hc alone truly represtnte-d, was judged by all below them to be tOO great. It was they aftcr .1I who had arbitrarily sentenced and burned the heretics from Monforte. Ariben appeared to the capitanei as the saviour of the patrimony of St. Ambrose. But to thc vavuoul'$ he' was only thc defender of the $latus quo. By all a<:C(lunu the archbishop had tOO much ~rsonal powcr. After Conrad's death and the aC5truction by fire of the imperial pala<:e at Pavia, the ItWgimi of the corporations of skilled craftsmen like the mintcl'$ came to depend less on royal authurity and ffiOl'C' aM more on his patronage. Eveo the Vi5count beame a vassal of the Milanese church, as were the sixteen «;//; vir; who a<:ted as custodians of the cathe-dral.· o Yet, for aJJ that, Ariben did not re~nt a "feudal" reaction against "progl'l':$Sive" change. He was merely a p ivotal figure in the quicksand of Milanese social loyalties, in which the cia» structure of the prewmffiunal er-a was slowly but surely engulfed." Capitanei, vavuoun, and cives were in any case locked in c()flRic!. The predictable consequencc .• Cowd~. 10",#.; VioIant<. '.~I" . " ""'. ,,,W •• >« V;oIo_ •• 61·7 •. ··Iju.. '71"G,,~

~

..

' . 10. p. [4: 'uum bf>«, ~ ~ wildm, 'H.

'57

TEXTUAL COMM U N!T!ES

of Henry's ratification of the CflllJljlldi~ de FnuliJ was Il new allian« between the ",0 upPermost gtoups which permanently upset the del· iate balaoce that Aril;.ett had struck between the apiranei .nd the ch·es. Aribctt's power never rested OIl a firm juridic hue; the accession of a new group to official mrus could not help but erode it further. TIle eives too demanded greater freedom. Landulf Senior tomantially piCtuttd them as rerUlning to a lost s\::ate of /ikr/ISJ befu~ the api· tlnei's infeudation." But they had mo~ immediate concefllll. Lanzo, their leader, did not attempt like Aribctt to transcend his own class origins and to satisfy the nttd5 of all Milancsc. He ~presentcd the interests of only onc political faction. When in 1040 Atibcrt and the older nobiliry wr~ dri~n OUt of the city and Henry called upon to amitlllte, like Conrad the emperor pursued tbe traditional policy of pitting the lower orders against estlblished localllulhoriry.' j The CC'. sult _ a victory- for tbe dves. Yet, at Ihis point in time, their ranks wr~ less homogenous than the category suggests, and included many men;:hann, Irtil,ns, and farm labourers. Technically speaking, many of them were not eives It all, since they did not live j"fy.. !Jr1lT\lS." According to an assessment made in 1067, they really C{IJl1prised the rnil{JI.; left behind by the gradual legalization of other classes. ') Like them, they began their corporate exisunce with property but with no official position. Doubtless, class conBict played a large role in their growing Il'lf..coosciowness. But tbey were brought into being as part of a larger proeen by which all social groups began to be dC$ignated not by inherited status but thJUll8h law and social function . .After Aribert·s death the cardinal clergy lost its monopoly of the archiepiscopal election. A combination of laymen.od ecc1esiuticl presented four names to Henry. However, ron~n.ty to Milana;e CUStom, the emperor imlced hu own CUkiidate, Guido da Vela~. Henry was undoubtedly motivated by both political and religiOUS considerations. Milan was a more complex dry than in Contad.'s day. Henry could not hope to perpetU2te the imperial mat.,sy of controlling Italian cities through their bishops. But be could divide and ruk. TIle older dus divisions bcrwecn upitanei, vavasours, and cives had gi~n way " Uti.,

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TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

to a set of tensions between rown and country. As a rural dea(on, Guido rtptnenttd the interesu of lesser vassals, small proprietors, aod nt.Jliri against all those who lived in rhe city and who exploited holdings in the surrounding countryside.,6 MOtCOffr, in choosing Guido, Henry kePI all his oprions open. The new archbishop came from a family of vaVlSOUts and Wllll thereby linked to • risill8 stratum of society. But there was no danger of his bewming another Aribcrt, who might threaten imperial designs throughout the R~m 1J..li4,. The ch~ atmosphere could be felt IllI arly as September I04~. Adalbcn Azw, marchcse and count, ",'110 had been fun::ed to lice l.atuo, re-entered the city and established higher justice in the emperor's name. His judge, Arioaldo, even rook the ancient title of miJJlll damn; rrgil .•, Yet, the political IllIpcct! of the choice must be weig hed against Henry's religious motivations. Unlike Conrad , he was • serious reformer, who had conClKU with Cluny" and good rapport with such figUfC5 IllI Guido of Pomposa and Peter Oamian. >9 He disapproved of the I.ITCSt on purely political grounds of Atibert's supponers, the bishops of Vercdli, Crcmon., .nd Piacenza. '" But he was not .~ meddling in episcopal c1tetions when it suited his purposes: on Oamian's advice.nd over the protests of Wazo of Liege, he removed Widger of Ravenna. As a general policy he favoured monasteries .gainst their local bishops," granting an undcsignated Milancse house autonomy as eady J.$ February l045 Y Of course, Milan was not a typical dieceH'. In contrast to Ravenna and other north Italian towns , it had been virtually uninftuenccd by ouuide reformers, including ClunillO. H The patronage of monasti c houses depended on the archbishop: St. Celso was founded by Landulf IJ in 996, St. Victor by Arnulf 1I in 1004, aDd. St. Dionysius by Aribcrt in 1013. Und"'r Aribert, reform was limited to obliging ClInOnt (0 take meals togeth",r and tn prncnting the alienation r:i church ptopcny, particularly through the marriage of infwdarcd. clerics tn free women . ~ By contrasr, in

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.. Viob.n",. u. ,..,.,.... ont-. 6. ) 0. .. Viokn«. HAspnri dol .. polirka ;tJJimo d; Enoo. JJJ .. . :. '" ,. 1J.iJ., 278.

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TSXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Henry', eyes, monastic li'-t.r.s was a byproduct of ill1 rrpi, The ilppoinrment of Guido da Velilte ,.., pLtt of a bro.der tef"mm prostamme: it increased me emperor's real. inlluence in Italian ecdesiastial circles while reuining the ideologial advantage of his ··sacral." role in af'fain of church and nate." In lIIllIling GlUdo to the see of Milan, Henry thus funhered his own designs as well as il process of evolution which _ already at work in Aribert's time. The lowest echelons of society moved upwards, while the outsider effectively declam:! the fuedom of the Milanese church from ill internal hieran:hy. The Pararia, then, had its roots in the social conllich of pl"l'-COmmunal Milan as well as in the growiOS conteSt between empire and plpk}'. The election of Guido da Velate brough.: the illlUl'S into the open. The elves opposed him as just anoc:ket representative of tke capinlDei. The vavasoun and upper dergy disliked him because he had been chasm by the emperor over the people', will. A "reformist" alliance was struck berwem b.ymtll and the klwtr c1etg)': it was backed by a wealthy moneyer called Nau.rio ilOO led by thm: disenchanted clerics, the deacon Atiald. the notary Iandulf Cotta. and Ansdm of Baggio, an t.!.ucatcd canonin tmd the future pope Altnndcr U. Acquittt.!. of simony at the Roman synod of 10)0, Guido iltttmpted to re-establish calm by N.viOS Henry appoint Ansc:lm bishop of Lutea. But tbe l8itation concinued, even worsened. Ariald began preaching openly at Varese early in 10)7; !at« in tht same yeu he was ;oined in Milan by the more eloquent Landulf. Initially their words WCn' directed iLpinst deriat.l mutiage, but gradually their critidsm was extended to cover other by abuses of the sac~ntli, esp«ially simony. On lOth May 10'1 there was a riOt at the Roman (orum w~re the pair had come to preach. Mn'rwards, tbe MiJ_ rommoncn crowded into the ciry 'Quare and unanimously approved a set of canODS on the monJ obligiltions of tbe priesthood. Married priest-' and nobles began to leave the city, and, at tbe synod of Fontaneto in November I OH, tbe suHrasans of Guido da Vdut' declam:! themsclVt'J official enemies of the Parard. Ariald and Landulf wen' e:ro)mmunicatt'd. But the tWO journc:yt.!. to Rome, and, in response to tbeir appeal, Hildebrand and Ansc:lm of Baggio, then en route from Germany hack to Italy, wen: -enr to MilAn as plpa.llegates. The IJlPlUCnt "G. T.u...bo-7c: Vi<+ .... , HAopmi ... •H ')"Ha.o. '70-7': and. for. _ m:rn, " ••• of ""';.."",. O. Copiani, 1 ' , .1 d_'WN..J .n.*c_;" M •..... d•• " ......,' ......... " l:.... ~"....' d., ' · (SpoktO. ,966).a.· "l .

•60

TEXTUAL COlolMUN1T!ES

support of the papacy only further encoul'llgedtfrey. Henry IV named him arch.. So< C. Som;5li, ·"Son Pi«ro Duni.,.. • 1& P....ei. (RelWoni < om;";';"),·· oJ IX tt1I-';' MlII--. r l01i_191il. 0<11 . J «:.0<"" '97)). "n·oo6·

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~;"".

TEXTUAL COMMUNITII:5

bishop, but EdembLld once again directed his followers no< to I'Kogniu a 'imoniac. M papal gonfalon he seized the material goods of the church, while Godefrey, unable to enter the city, took up residence in nearby Castiglione Olona. Fearing that the impt'rial faction would be strengthened, Erlembald. &ttao;ked. The ensuing battle had no clear victor, and, to make mltrers wone, on 19th March J07) I huge fire devss(2ted the city. An immensc cll.lWd then acclaimed ErlembLld's candidate, Ano, bur I. group of noblcs, cleria, and civn nonetheless compelled him to dedillC. M Henry refused to abaudon Godefrey, the issue ~ed to be at an impsssc. Gregoty VII attempted to bring about a compromise at the Roman council of March 10 74. Goddrey rdused to atcend and WI.'II =:omrnunicated; Azzo WIll consequently recogni2.ed as legitimate head of the Milanese church. Emboldened by Gregory's strong stand on reform, Erlembald publicly crushed a chalice containing me chrism conscaated by Gockfrey: tben, on 28th June 1075, be led an ill-advised attack on rhe archbishop's noble supporters in which he met his death . His mncm.J. from the .scer>e brought the Patl. .... ~ movtment ro a standstill. From this point, the social and political issuts gravitated around the communal movement llDd the qu~l between ..mperor and pope took its plac.. in the larger conBict over investiture. By the first decade of the twdfth century a somewhat W<"akened uchbisboprk _ allied .... ith the papacy and rh.. commUDe against the intl"l1SiOfU of the G.-rman emperors, opposing Coorad rL Hoherutauf"en 1125 and Bart.rossa after 1152. Thete ~ thr.-e main accounts of rhe Pamr.-ne movement and the aa:omoanying civil distumclOca in IoWan during the third quart... of the ell'Venth century. The shortest and most autborimtive is the LikT Gn'''"'''' R~II. of Arnulf of Milan, cwnplcted by 1017, H which records events witncss.cd by the author after the accession of Ariben in I o r8.).II Lengthier, more colourful, and less accurate is the HilrqrW MtJif;J.rm#IIJu of Lt.ndulf Senior, .... ho WP born around 10 45 and was still .... riting p late as I TIO.'" 1lle third maior source is the Villi StllKIi Itr;""'i,'" an idealiud ..:count of the martyrdom of the moverncnr"s founder wriuen sometime larc in 1075 by Andrnr of Strumi. Amoog odJCr contctnpotary chronicles spccilJ mention should be made

me!"

"M.

Nuttius. ~ .J.4i,"""", I;,

.,Ii

'"'_ Nil" ........... J (l,(urum. " , , ). S<>7' ;,.!;..; ., ,8,-6, .

.,,; C. V _. *Amollo. " 01';-;' J.'., I .. Gel .. ' . ' , "" . " ".. ,..... ipa; .idcndo .... _i",w", adb...: ........ '" in ocaolis . .. :' .. M.rud.... .,.,;,.• " ". .. P. li.m..... ··A...t"" do ......... (do S""",;)," Oi, .

,6,

a. ,. ' 0 , p .• 8: """" l a ....no

;, ...• ,.

Ill.

TEXTUJ\L CObfbfUNlTlRS

of books si:l and ileven of Bonizo of Sutri's Lihw ad A.mirum, composed no later than l OS,," in .... hich one finds import'ant det'aib of the Milanne involvement in the controversy bet .... een Henry IV and Grcg . ory VII. Adhering to the fOrmat of pirt onc of this chaptcr, each of thc three main accounu is treated $Cpan.tely in what follows, despite the obvious sacrifice of economy entailed. A.s previously, this approach is intended to serve tWO broad purposes: it allows onc to i$Ol;tte thc relationship of IitctaCy to the in~r workings of the sect and it permits independent treatment of thJl.'e n.ther diffetcTlt perspectives on the evenu. Amulf, fur instanCe, saw the Pataria largely in historical r=, while Landulf enviu.ged it lIS a socio-rdigious movement, and Andrcw focused on its fOunder and iu canonical struCture . A lengthier analysis is abo desit'abJt for another reason. In the episodes of hcmy at Orlr. ans, Atl1lS, .. nd MonfOrce, rhe brevity of the sources and the relative autonomy of the secrs made the problem of literacy easy to pinpoint and to discuu. In the case of the Pataria, lIS in all latcr, better_ organized heretical and re{onoiSl Issociations, the social, political, and intellectual context is more diffuse." A balanted pictutc of rhe movement must be presented befOre the i$!lue of communicltions cln be arlllysed on its own, especially if the sectarian uses of literacy are to be compared, as subsequent chaptcn in tend, to pardlel developments in philosophy, theology, and other branches of interpretation.

IUlIIIfj of Milan In Arnulf of Milan, the point of view of the author and the inner workings of the sectarian community arc relativdy l'I.'iy to i$Olatc. Let us look at each in turn. Arnulf himself was the grand. nephew of Amulf I of Anago, who was archbishop from 970 to 974. He was born in the lire ICnth cmtury and came of age along with the emergent class of capitanci ro wh ich he N-Iongtd. His "history of recent events·· is largely the Story of the consolidltion of their interestS . His terse style is rich in biblical images of self-righteousness and fulfil~m." Books onc to th ree in particular defend the Milancsc nobility and higher clergy agalOst a

.. w. Iknchin,

.. on SI. r.-doIfi:> ...;.". d; Milano,.· u '''';'''''sfi. .I, -dh+ \SpoI«o, 197Q), ,6.j : .... ~.oI,'m ' . .. """"~, toll.· _

,-.,...

,6,

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

variety of perceived thnats to stability; simony, implying the alienation of church property, disotder, whnber proceeding from above as in rhe cue of landul{ II or from brlow in the Patlll'l'nes, and, Ihove all, the encroachment of l'Xtemai pt"iDCiples of wrirn:n kw upon dle customaly pri,.i1eges of the local church." Arnulfs ambivalence towards the present speaks OUt clearly throuSh the prd&ce's metoric and subsequent lesaJisml. He marvels that more authors do not ventun: into "tbe forest of the present age," wben: "the diverse leaves of novel l'VCnts" are buddinS.·' For so n:marb.ble never existed in the city's past, dther a period foe writing, he for rhe learned or the unleamed.<6 Although book one dffis with the period between 92' and 1018, whose evenu he knows only at second hand, he remains very much a psllWlltll scrip~ prtUJlllth,.." ThroughOUt, he ,.indicates the role of the capiranei, justifying their prerogatives through both ancient precedent and contempon.ty usage. When Hugh of Burgundy thouSht of appoimins a new archbishop in 92,. he rttOgniud Milan', pm", aJIISlI#tuitJ, by which the election was the responsibilily of the "'Muhs or wm""ri;." In 948, again , he describes the capiranei as the main instirutional bulwark against the ;-iriou uditH which pitted w;:hbisOOp Arderic against his rivals Man."" and AdeImann.·' And, after 9 79, when the count desetted the city in PnOtbet civil disturbance. hndulf II enfeofftd the nobility ..... ith church Iands. thereby. in his view, defeating the insurrection of the elves at Carbonari. and n:-at2blishing pax ;.:pellltt .... Amulfs unwavering commitment to the capitane; helps to explain his nuanced attitude towards Ariben:. He claims ooly to be narrating the events of his episcopate. not to be judging them.>' But he is too shrewd to be misled either by the archbishop's egocentrism or by allegedly reformist tendendes from below. Of COUnt he is proud of Atibctt'. positive achievements. espedally ..... hen they Im underpinned by lay authority. It was Comacl himself, he noteS with Sllelsfaction, who reproved the bishop of Ravenna for taking Milan's riShtful place in the coronation ptocession of 26th March 10 27. " And wben Conrad invaded Burgundy in 10}2, Ariben and Boniface ofTuKany rode side by side at the head of their troops, J/IfJ IInIIiIu rrp;."

_tt"

.. a . V_. u t " iN ""t-. .. ; H. ~ .J. Coadt'j, "1"bo ........,.
" ,W.. "'1>'"_

.. ~ ' . ' .)'P. 6-7· 7. "I. .. . I .B. p. •. .. , . ... I. ). p. 7· .. 'W.• I. ,. p. 8. .. ,.... 1. 10. p. 9. " I. .. , • . I , )'P. 'l"idftn outando. """; j ' p"'" 1UK
..,

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Yet Arnulf is equally scnsitive to the foll:es that brought about Ariberc's downfall. In part these wen: changes in the ItalM urf,is tl Kddiat which wert beyond hi5 romrol." But Aribert abo overstepped the functions of his office ill! conceived by the cardinal clergy. The turning point in his view Wtl$ Lodi, whose right to replace its deceased bishop was usurped with Coorad's $uppon. When the prople resisted, Aribert besieged the town .00 compelled them to accept an oath of fidelity. Hard feelings did not die: the Milanese continued to plunder tne vineyards and fields surrounding the town, and the men of Lodi, althougb fewer in number, stn:nuously resisted the intrusions into their civic affairs." Ariben, Arnulf notes, appeared mindles$ of the COSt: ·'Encouraged by his success (i. e. , in Ladi and Burgundy), our protector began to govern . . . immoderately, taking himself mainly into acrount, nOt othen.'·,6 Trouble It the top of Milanese society WllS soon matched by uprisings from helow. Fint the vavasours ·'con. spi~ seriously 19ainst him .. '" His IX'wer 'Na$ preserved by a mira-. elt-not, as the Milanese thought, by the sudden death of Conra.d in the winter of 1037 , bur, Sll one reads between tne lines, by the em· peror's improvident IttaCk on Milan, which served to rally the other· wise conflicting social classes around their all:hbishop &$ never before. BUl for the last time: Arihert's CAfflI«;g, the chariot symbolizing Mi· Ian', civic CClosciousness, not only provided a sttl5C.' of urban unity" before a common external foe. It was abo a monument to a waning institutional order. Arihert WSll partly motivated out of fear:'" ··whatever the battle's ou!rome," Arnulf noted, "the Milanese might derive a little comfort" ftom it. 60 The other attack on the archbishop's power WlU made by t~ civts. Aribert never rtally recove~ from anzo·s onslaught, and Amulf is at a loss to give a precise explanation why .. /hJ• •. ,8. p .• 6; ,. r. p. '7 . "I~.,

'.IO,p. '4 .

" 1_.

_ic"

,. A con..... , ... od . - om .... lLmbrooi.... ",,,,,,hi.. iOo. Ul in 1&0.. <»ho... po,,'''''' t\liu.. ;/uI". '110, .... rhis u • moniffttat;"" '" ..... ,..., ... _ _ :. - _ ' ... am< rhttori<.1K-wbct<, for <>&mpl •• whtn Aribor1 ... , ...... ao",i... by Conrod (> . u, p. ,, : ··k« NtdiQIo·

1'''''''

..,..;.....,.,1.. iot.orn>il .;oi,... _ i o .id..... doIoN .. 8''''''''' • pu, 107' . 7·' 4. "Gtl... , ' . 16. p. ,6: ··.,....idmo 'u«m aKhi
.. 1_.

,6,

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

th<: upti.ill8 took plllC~. H~ nib back. on copoi: th<: retutn of peace btOllght prosperity and, inevitably, iniquity; the Milancsc:, no longer beset by enemies on the outside, began to quarrel among themselvt1. The whole is.suc, he WO\lld Jwvc, us believe, boiled down to a squabble between a commoner and a knight. 6 ' In .um, th~ only dasil whose motivn Amulf comiden natural and legitimate ue the capitanCi. All other KJ(ia1 changes arc disruptions, or, as he terrru them, iUttlatiM. '" His principal. example is the Patllria, tM rivil, i"'fillllf to which he dcwm. book three. Whether the changes tbe movement brought about were "ror better or worse," h~ rellccts, "it is not necessary to say."' He would even ,·pttfcr nQt to know. """ But his account of the tumultuous years rollowing: the elcction of Guido cia Vel.ce leaves little doubt where his sympathies lay. Hi. analysis proceeds simultaneously a10ns three axes: lireracy vusus illireracy, precedent versus custom, .nd town versus country. 1bc Pararia in his vicw was chiclly brought about by the ejection of an uchhishQp who was "an illirerare coming: from the countryside (iJiOl4, 11 ".,., _iem). "64 When the IJlQVement came out intO the open, it attempted, in opposition to Guido's simoniaal practices, to imp<:l&C its own legal authority, which WII5 based on • literal readill8 of th~ Bible, over and above the inherited CUStoms of the Milancsc chuKh. This activity, Amulf concl<.>des, was instrumental in creating: a new form of religious sSS'x:iation. Two f~tun:-s 5and OUt in Amulf. ,~uent ILnII.lysis of the Pafaria. One is his conception of the movement as a classical sect; the Ofher is his sensitivity to the Patarene capacity to milt a following: through preaching. Amulf fint sketches rbe nternal events thar rook place before and during tbe agitlltions; then he focuses on the ffiOVtmtnC itlltlf. In appointins Guido, he ttIUOns, Henry HI was indifferent to the social station and collective wisdom of the cardinal dergy. He thcrr,by allied himself with th~ elves and the vavasoun against the C1Ipitan~i. Even so, Guido won acaptance only because of fear of the emperor and of internal dissmsion (3 .:1). Also, durins the fifties , the poJitiu.1 situation in Italy became increasingly compIicaltd.. Bonifa« of Tuscany diN (3.~); Henry was preoccupied on his astern front (3.6); and a ., /W., 2.,8. p. ,6.

"'W., •. "

po '3; '.''', p. '~ . Cf. 3"0, p. '), ,~.

" lW.• ) . 1. p. '1 .

"'W.• ). 2. p. 17. Cl. _ia> ols...ri, J..iI.,.J Aa- 6, MGM LibeUi do Lit. " '9" ~ , im_ .. , ..... bi ........ aboq ... uJlo ..........,jia IfllXXliecuo.-

TEXTUAl, COMMUNIT!ES

~w

force, the Normans, began to make its presence feh in Apulia (3.4). Papal reforms prugreue-d in fits and 'flirts (3.3-4). Wone of all, long-sflinding differences f>c,tw~n Milan and Pavia had bune into the open (3.7-8). ,1n these '·stormy times," wMn much that the ca_ piflinei had WQrked for was threatetted from ouuide, the very foun_ dations of the Ambrosian clergy were shaken frum below. The guilt was shared by rbe archbishop and the Patarcnes: both "sinM- But the chief blame for the insurrec_ tion lay with the rebels. Guido, he notes, lint bestowed favllUrs on their leader, Ariald. But his kindne5$ was answered by criticism of the established clergy. Along with Landulf Cotta, Ariald usurped "the office of preaching" from the ugular priests (3.10). The purpose of these chapters is to provide a wnte>« for the Pacaria, liut historically (3. [-9) and then culturally (3. 10). The sudden tran sitions of the opening episodes prepare the reader for what Arnulf describes in chapter ten as a honvr, that is, a tumbling, upsetting, or even 1CVersal oC the normal srate of affairs.6oIi In his view, the Pa. tarene disturbance had two chief characteristics, the interpretation of Scripture and pteaching the Word. In his own words, first, accepted doctrine was altered; then, spread about, it gave rise to error in many minds.'" For Arnulf there was. no scpouation of the social and cultural aspects of the problem: he speaks simultaneously of "the people, rising anew against the archbishop,"6I! and of the reading and preaching of the gospels. H e contrasts poplt/1Il and dn-m not only as lay and clerical but as unlettered and !eftered. 60 Ariald·s rebellion in his opinion was founded on scholutic legalism: "'Devoting himself ro the study of letteu (lirrn-4nnt1 ... JfItJi_), he became a most ~erc interpreter of divine law (Jivill4t Itgir ... i",.,prt:l) and subsequently pronounced harsh judgments (d,"" . .. iltJicitl) on clerics alone. · ' 70 His relationship [0 i..a.ndulf Cotta is also seen primarily in temu of eloquence and education. Playing ironically on [~ir diffe~m places in society, Arnulf says that tbe nohler Landulf nonetheless bea.me Ariald's mouth· piece and camp follower." Ariald was i"ftrprtJ, Landulf, dllX _bi." And together they preo.cbc."d & new onler, ("()tItr4 """"" tCdui4f.7l .. Ilom

'.'l .

.. c..... '.'0, p .• 8, ._

..; -..;. """"' ...

.. I.... , -V.rum tal iI M: hor .... mu''''
"I..,., ... . . .. c"", ,.

,6,

TilXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Amulf, then, does not ~ the Patari. lU • popular mm'Clncnl but as an aample of sectarianiMn. It _ only "popular" in its consequences, which permitted. new form of communication benvccn the lettered and the unlettered. If wc adopt his perspective, the diffi:~1ltt betwCCn tbe Pawi. and tbe SC(ts discv!s-d earlier in this chapter .riles chiclly from iu size, urban envi~nl, and mo~ extensive USl' of public p~ing. In dle hcmica1 groups at Od&ns, Arras, and Monforrc, interpretation of texts and communication among the members wc~ closely linked. In tbe Patari. a compe.rable J'e!;ult was achieved, but thr melhods employed weu DOt tbe same. 1hc~ was • division of 1abour bc:tween Urtu and pr.'lliiati~, which Amulf neatly recapitu~ by speaking of Ariald's charism. and Landulfs oratorical skill,'4 Intenction among tbe members, mOttOVel', 'WlIS .ugmented by a ulltionship, structured by lcvcb of literacy, betwern tbose inside and those ouuide the movement, In liurary terms the drri were the readers, me /l¥1I1i, the .udience. This type of orgllnization conferred • new flexibility onlO the Pararia. Although b...d like carlier SC(ts on written rules and norms for conduct, the movement 'WlIS able to give .t least. lupemcial collective unity 10' fa! largu number of members by mtl.DS of the spoken word. Arnulf provides us with .n illustration of how the relationship betwern d"j aDd pqp./i woric:ed through onc: of the scrmons which, he lIS ItS, Landulf daily preached "in plebeian cars." The teXt can be paraphrased as follows." Pint Landulf cuuscs his youth, inexpcrielltt, and unpolishcd speech. But God, be adds, often rcvcab to the humble what he denies to the great. Then he asks his listcnCtI to make I Yttbal pledge of &.ith to "the triple and single God." Some starlc biblic.l images come next.-.6 Delighted as he is by their piety, he fous£n Mib.n's imminent ruin. For tbe $lviout' has not walked in thrir midst for many a dlY. The Milanesc have hem wandering in error: no divine "footprint" shows them the ViIy. In place 0( light they have darkneu. ~ blind lead. the blind. laruIulf secs abuses cvcrywben: in the priesthood., but he speaks out most fiercely 'gIIinst simony and nico1aiti$III. If the MiI _ _ cherish aDy

wbon"" .. to.-mdi"jm .... ... "So, ....... >I.. p. '9, G. N;";,,Ij ... _ that th< . . _ _ ptObobIy Io..;"p.,. I>. _ dell>. l'!ltorio. miw-." In C..... 1'4= . O'lom><:<, '5166>. l~ l~' ''9 . \'or. _ ... ,..".,.. d' - ...... Ariold', ... AOW", ... bdow, pp. ~'7-'7 . ." I'or .. .".,... of AmWf. "'" hnduIf', ocripntnl ~ ..,.j thrir rellfiono to...-O:.I .............. O. Cop";. ~s< .. k."6.. ,,"'- ..... dPoror;n Zt-J_," '1.-6, ,.

,.u.

=,

• 68

TIlXTUO\l CO MMUNITIES ho~

of sal""r;on, they mus! rid themselves of corruption among the dergy. Today, the 5aCnments arc like dung, t~ churches like stables. Goods must be confiscated, evil works undone. NOt that he himself is frtt of sin: but Milan's church has committed unfurgivable ofknces Ilgllinst God himself. Landulf condudes by asking his auditors to iminte his ~formed. way of life. What can we learn from this sermon~ Amulf mllinrains that Landulfs pteaching was deliberately "arranged" for the pel"$uuion of the unsophisticated (,~ndoIUlIJlr i1l /JOPJllo)." While his point of view i5 undoubtedly biased, it canont be denied that the It'Xt, at least as he presenu it, exhibits careful organization. It contains thtee sections, an introductory sentence, a short exhortation to tn., audience, and a lengthier didactic message. Above all, his statement is personal, individualistic aoo affe
, .11,

p. " . .. IUtI.• '9: " ... ",n':'plum in cord. ..rtIIOO
TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

aided by the MStigiA tJtril4JiJ. In order to find the right pathway they rouse uke tbe le.
,,-iAu.

""-j." . p. .. IW.. 19'

"""""'. -

- ~n

'9-

... ;",;u,-. ..,.; ___ • catiooimi.

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et

itI In'bulau. oi
c.p;...., "Star",S'

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riIOnna dol .. dI .... ia Ir.lia

TEXTUAL COMMUN ITI 6S

up his own Irgu for the diocese, which were $ubsequendy enfo~ed by lay "igil.nres. 1I6 The ideological separation between derics and laymen was completed at Fontancto in November of the mne year. "TMre, Landu!f ,""iled tbe bishops, especially the archbishop of Milan; he raged furiously against the derics but wlllmly .ppr~ ofl.ymen as his brethren." Amulfs llltlguagc for describing tbf, huesy is remini5Ccnt of Gerard of Cambra.i: Landulf, in his view, was merely a mastcr of "simulation and dissimulation," adqlt at manipulating a popular crowd.. And the people responded by swn.ring "a common oath," which was later enjoin«! upon the entire lay and n:ligious community. From within the movement onc llso ftcIJ that boundaries ",me being fixed. For example, '"from that period a b.nd of men and women accompanied (l.andulO, stayed by him, and guarded him dRy and night . ..•, Arnulfs distaste for the lay clement resutf1.ced after Landulfs death, when admittedly Erlembald took up his brother's cause out of personal conviction and fraternal dCV4 He also th rusts onto laymen's shouldet$ the responsibility fur oppo$ing the ancient custom (prise" ((JIfJ~/lIdo) of the diocese.'" In other words, he justifies the status quo by transforming the CUStomary pri"ileges of rhe AmbtosilUl chu~h into a legal ideology. The capitlUlei, who wen: no ltu than the elves

I,.

1_. ..

.. 11oiJ. • ). p. '0. .. INJ. , ,.16, p .• !. .. IhNI. • ... .. E.,., in d>< riot ,. P.... ..,."., [066. '.'0. p .• " '"Sod mo .. ..., popul ... _

diu "",u

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.. E., .• J. n, p. 19: popul....mp" ..idus no.orum: , .6. P.lo: Suocepcuo ft, ( .. Go0; , ,'0, p. • "cf. • . [8, p. [6; ' . [9. p . [7' l .". p.• ,.

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n;

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2. ... p. I, .

[, p .•8. Mnul! ...... "i,h I&<.. ~ in dm';ns "PowU" ftom"'""" oope<. ,. ,t.. ];f. ,..t.. ......, <Won aI Niluo. F", • ! ......I ....;.w aI rII< ~ ..... ""'. 1ft C. ~Il"', - P.. ";ns,·· HMI;" .. ",, '1 " (It...... , '969). '004" ' . P... idic< is A. FN!""i. -Duo Khedo: ·P ... """" ,·P.....in"': " IllS 6, ( ' 9,,), "9'". 8 ......n
~.,

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'7'

T8XTU4L COMMUNITIIS

a byproduct of histOJ:ical evolution, an: looked upon as a bastion of petmant'nct in a __ of populist insttbility. This bias strongly (01001'$ his attitude towards rdWm. Simony, as a consequence, is less a genera.J e«lesiastkal abuse than a point of litigation opposaI factions, between old. and new. Change has the same Status as AriaJd's introduction of fUlVil4m into the liturgy.06 Amulfs analY1iis, then, opposes tradition to change. His overall penpecrive on the Fatuia il oat social but cultural and religious:97 this, in turn, has a large influence on how be vi~ the pl'OCaoS of social change throusbout the GnlA. Terms such as itliau, and r/mu recur again and _gain; but only as the stOf)' piCiCceds is Atnulfs idea of how Milanese society works clarified. Book one is almost devoid of tbe term #"/IIS." Evenn art' shaped by personalities. Even in chapter ten, in which archbishop LanduJf mfeoHs the c.pitanei in order to quell an ins~tion among the cives, the archbishop himself is pCiceived as the motintol' of chansc." Book two is similarly dominated by the pt'[I()M..\iry of Aribert. Pot instance, duting Connld's COl'Otl&tioo, be does not protnt his improper place in tbe proceuion "lest on a festive cky tbeft! be a popular uprising,"'" Again, at Lodi. the cives may be: identified as a group, but only in opposition to Aribert and his oamiUC'e, AmbrOK. In 10;\6, ",hen Conn.d uiumpliantly entc.ed Milan, tbe people as a wbole an: said to come to grut him, young aDd old f4 JII«" lIS'1*' td 1_);,0, and, when Aribert was obliged to dekod the ciry against the ~ emperor, tbe archbishop was said to levy his fom:s from rustic and knight, poor and rich (.I' r'JIJlkf IU4I1l td .ulit"", .b i"", lISipR td dinltlll). , .. Even the revolt of tbe vavasours can partly be undentood in ~ teCm.s.'OI Aribert, in other woids, is looked upon as both t~ leader and the father of his

ooween

'MJ,

"'1Nl.. ,.1 7. p. 22 .

"Rlipcu" <0 Copi"";'. "-..M." ..,... I" ..... _o1«i .. III ........... I~ Eotel ....; "'to, ...." ' - c ,'( , .. dtllo<*'_ IR I..... " p. ,60. Jwssioo. - 1".- is rcstricud IQ oh< """.... ~ _ .. ,.... La, P.9; ', '9. p. 11 . .. ,'".• 1.'0, P. 9: "1am ... 1m~ ... Go,e(,cdo ~ ...!Ut;' ........ q"; ......... ' . . . f ,......" . r pal .......... . ' :10: eo....... I.....t...o: ..."" · __ pon .... .. , ,7. " ...... 8' ..... ' .. J" I""'" ooIito, a.;""io oburi donoinMo." - IINI" '.}, p. u. - I,".• 2. 12. p. I,. - IIW., •. ,6. p. ,6. Par. d~. _ obuft. P. .6,.. ,8. "'IIW.• ','0. p. '4: "N""is;,;- p_,OIis M>« 11.. p',,1II Hoo-ilIonod ....... Ia_ poWWum
.. 1»

f

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'7'

TI!XTUAL COMMUN IT IES

diO(ue; in Amulrs dasli~ if somewhat ominous image, he is j>aITfl. UNfllle in "",nibJ, ''''' The citiunry is seen as an idallogical unit in rdation to individual authority. One secs rhe firsr signs of a different aldlude in the revolt of the cives under Lanzo in 1040 . Iu Amulf himself succinctly puts it: im1Qt;>11lS tst jl,lIJ1J ItrbiJ d tt:t/ts;.u. '''' The major shift, as noted, is from penonal (0 institutional forms of authority and govem~m, bringing in its WlIkt the notion of rule by written law as OPposffl to custom, as well as the nebulous byproduct of class conS(iousnICSS. 1bc civICS are now viewed as an autonomous group: the CSSiCntial conflict involves the common people moved against the knights {J1kbI fWlmfJ/a {()nlra lIIilim).'oIj Iusociation among the rebels first appears as "oaths";'''' only later, in the Parad., do the illrdmtlf/a crystallize into writ ten prtecpu. ,.,. The revolt ctoS$CS social boundaries: Lanzo, "a well-born knight of the city, nonetheless preferred the plebeian mob.""'. And, indignant .t his action,. the nobility became united as a knightly class . "~ The blood spilt on Mi lan's Stt~t corners and back lanes fore_ shadows the Pataeia, but by 1057, when Ariald begins preaching, the insurgents have anchored their aspintions in the firm brdrock of ec· c1esiastical reform. In book thm-, SKllrian rivalry based on articulated institulional diffiorences n:placc:s the cult of pc'nonality, only to be sUpc'ucded in books four and five by rhe legal authority of the papacy. Written legislation hall thereby worktd itS way up Amulr, historical S(ale from the lowest sO(ial to the higheSf ecclesiastical sphere. Individuals re· main importllnt: as Amulf 5<:iCS it, the PatateM agitation began with Henry m's wilful decision to appoint Guido .la Velat e fO the see of Milan over the head, of the cardinal clergy. But other conAicts an: just beneath the surfate. The pri11lllS MM of the clergy is dcs
- _at< ""'. . ,

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."

Tl!XTUM.. CONMUNITlfiS

tt., country and between the upper and lower cultural and social strata. ' " Amulf himself begins to distinguish between the aburaa civic virtue embod ied in AriNn and the UIISM rlWlfS,'" the opposed interesu of the capitanei , the vavasoun, and the cives. But he also recognizes that incl'\':Uingly the PataJtne and archiepiscopal factions ground tt.,ir claims to legitimacy in lu, the archbishop as upholder , the heretic as usur· per. Legal authority from Rome is similarly ErlembAld's basis for tak· ing up the lIfXilI_ sa1ffli Petri. '" It follows that fOr Arnulf Igiruion cln be brought to I permllM'nt halt only when I cultural equilibrium is lC-e5tabliilied between dentJ and popUIMS, In ideAl which he holds out It the GfSlIis end but which !left! emerges as a historical reality. After Erlembald's death in I On , he notes with some relief tha.t "the offices of c[erics and laymen were divided""· once agaln. The prestige formerly invested in Ariben and the capitanei is now associated with the purative alli • .w:e between the city's establishment and the papacy. '" Hild ebrand, as a consequence, whom Amulf criticized in book three for anti.Milanne ~ntiment, ,,6 is presented as a symbol of !Kder. Yet this "'turn to conventional pRttetn5 of intetpretarion leaves us in the end unsatisfied. Arnulfs genuine insightl are overshadowed by his ideological com.mitmenrs. His description of Patattne prnching takes the reader to the brink of I deeper undentanding of sectarian uses of literacy. But the threshold is not crossed.

Lall""'! Smiw Landulf Sc:nioc's HiJJon.. MlIiioItt/U1lIu is longer and more dettiled than Amulfs Gts14 .. The first book describes the fuunding of the Mil· anesc: church by St. Ambrose; the second follo ....s the stDI}' from the eady sixth century down to the death of Ariben; the third begins ....itb the pmoching of Anselm of Baggio and movt!I dramatically through the Patarene agitations, coocluding a decade after Erlembald's death. The intentions of the twO authors are also different. Arnulf. intctpre· tttion of the Pararia drvelops as he hiJ1i~I{ deepens the ~ial and ecclesiastical context. Only when these are established do we gain insigbcs into problems of communic¥tion . Landulf, by contrast, speaks to the reader on social and cultural levels at once. The problem of communication is placed at tbe centre of the stage ftom the ouuct. In comparison with Arnulf, Landul{ is less accutatC and objec· .. , ItiJ. , '.1" p. 16, , .• ~, p .• ~ . ," 1t<J., ,.8, p. lB. " I /W., '.'1, p. 21 . •., /W., ,.I~. p. 21 . '" IjOJ. • ' .1 . p.}O. "' IW. . l.'1. p. n.

'74

TEXTUAl,. CO MMUNI TIES

tiv~. ,,'

Also, if Arnulf defends th~ int~resu of a single class, undulf is committed to a sectarian position, nam~ly, the legitimacy of a muried clugy. NO( swprisins1y, hiKOl"ians sincc MUllltori's rim~ haVf' differed. widely in thrir estimates of the Hist~'s value. "a During t~ heated politiC1lI debates of the Risorgimento. Landulf was frequently portrayed as a defender of libellllism and democra<:y . Carlo Romussi, a Lombud archivist, saw him among Italian chroniclers as "tM first to ~ .. . the oppression of th~ capitanei and the vavasours"'" on the common people. H~ was even pictured as a "plebeiao" who had coutageously tlken up the C1Iuse of Milan's downtrodden m",". ''"'' No reader of the His/m" can doubt Landulfs sincell: intel"l:$t in the fate of the lower strata of Milane~ society during a period of politiC1lI and lI:ligious uphraval. '" But Landulf him$elf was no commoner. He was described in what is probably his will, dated 1073, as a cleric and notary of the higher Milanese clergy . ... He was married. and he wrote his Hist'"' in old age around It 10 as a last. somewhat despair. ing attempt to defend the vanishing nicoiairan pri esthood of Milan. Hili ~neral purpose was not to provid e In account of social conAicts but to (rame what he thought to be the dedioe of religious integ rity in his own time within the larger story of the Ambrosian church . In doing so, he wilfully distorted existing sources for the ci ty's early hutory and occuionally inventrd new ones'" in order to hold OUt to his age a personalized model of reform. " . Clues to the nature of this design art' found in the dediC1ltory Icuer to.n unnam. p. 4S: qoot
·.. '.m..... ,..,.; __

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)7

( ' 9",)' 140:

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

ilK'llpllble of conwying the sacramenu.'>6 R~'s ~rless.ness. or lack of resolve, only served to fuel the sectarian fires. For Landulf, then, there is not one K(;t by tWO, the Patarini and the Nicolaiti. And the church of Se Ambrose in hi, fanciful reconstruction hoven between being a "church" .nd a &.vorably dupes-d "sect:' Like a church, it has a hien.rchy, • fixed set of ecdHwtical institutions, and, within iu diocese, ir is the unique dispenser of grace; but, like a sect, it has a charismatic leader, an intense, inwat"dturning spirituality, and a disdain for outsiden. Landulf tailon his ponrait of Sr. Ambrose to lit rhis. dual perspective. The founder of the Milanese church i$ described both as a builder of institutions and as a dynamic teacher, "1 Mon to Landulfs point, he is the sort of leader who would naturally haV1: defended the right of Milanese priests to choose freely between celibacy .nd marriage. There are numerous imqes of sectarianism. For instance, while Ambrose's learning is stressed, he is aid to haV1: used p~hing all a means of transforming thought into action, nO thereby anticipating the Pawene debate over the control of literacy and the means of ecclHiatical communication. Honey, too, Bowed from Ambrose's lips; thereby the holy spirit descended:'''' like earlier heretia Landulf establishes a relationship bethetn the cognitive and txpit;lIi~ aspectS oC interpretation. Again, the bishop tended his Rock not under rompulsion but of his own free will, not for gain but out of devorion'tG-yinues which, if transposed in dme, neatly sum up Landulf5 ambivalence towards the established clergy and reform. As in orhet reli8ious movemenu, unity of purpose was achi~ by normative rules, whose chief monuments wete the church hierarchy and iu liturgy.'" These ~re directly inspired by God: similuly, Ambrose, granted: charisma, brought his talents to perfection through meditation, writing, reading, and preaching .• ,. He thus personified the original descent of wisdom from God through Chrin, a capacity, of course, claimed by many sectarian leaden. Not by accident, moteover, he decided to set up the church '''/iiJ.• li_ "-H . ... HisIwW N, UT' ;, 1.' . NGH ss 8, p. H. line "" ""ftNII " " , _ et do",or tcio. <\iYi,.. i .......... opjrifll ............... t .... • _ . • t.t, p.)7. w-n· '''IW.. liMI J8-Jp. •.. /j,iJ., -P-4~; , Pttri , .•. ' 1' 0.. the rite·. duel ' , "'''''. _ io ,....nJ P. Lejoy. ··Ambo. ;'0 (rltl.- DACI. l J7l'

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'.1'" ' .... _

........ .

,,6

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

of Milan on the day after he defeated the Arians. It was a li' eratc affair: first, he thoroughly stooied the writings of the patriarchs and the prophets in order to find a suitable model. Then he dKided to build,. church in fulfilment of David's prophecy. 'H The identification between the inspirl'"O '" In Landulrs mind, then, wc find a utopian woception of the early MiJanese chutch, against which jalsi j"41~ are a[{empting to er«t a new religious order. Both are pictured ill abstr4CIl1; they are models around which the His/on., is organized, providing, in part, a theore tical backdrop for the eventS of books two and thrtt. As a consequence, ,he rise of social and religious mnHic! is not ~n as a contest between '" tOil.• la. 8-. 6. ' .. L. A . F....... " J fon,; _ _ . •- IQ_II;;M. "(;Ii An .... li d; 00>;".; Pa'Il;ni : ' , .......

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,loo,

TEXTU"L COAlMUNJTU! 1l

literacy and illiteracy. ~ question for Landulf is: "'hose erudition Lt histotically justified, and for what end5? Two. 1lItSl' iuUl'l arc brought into focus in book tWO, which has tWO broad themes, the vicissitudes of the Milanese church in the early Middle Ages (ehs. r·r,) and the history of mon recent bishopria, culminating in Landulf II and Aribert (chs. 16-~,). lan· dulf ..bo rnovtS from folklon: to history. The early chapten, which intefmingle fact, legend, and popular tradition, arc almOSt enrirely his own invention. Yet, however untrustworthy in lCtUal d.en.il, they provide an lCCU/"ilte guide to Landulfs inner preoc<:uprltions. These resur&.ce litrle disgui.sed in his aplanation of events nearet in time. The early chapten in particular illustrate landulfs notion of the value of learned as opposed to popular cuJture. In his vi"" the MiI· an.ese church derived. large PI" of its prestige ftom its role as • centre for high religious thinking throughout the Dark Agl'I. One legend had. it that Charlemagne tried to stamp out the Ambrosian liturgy on returning from Rome after his successful campaign .g.inst Desiderius in 774. ,,. But bishop Eugnlius pleaded doq~ndy befoce pope Hadrian, and, when the liturgical wod:s of Ambro:se and GreS' ory the Great were placed beside each other on the altar of St. Peter's, they appucndy bunt their bindings and gave forth a terrifying JOund. Then, spre&d .part by God's linger. both opened in such a _y that the pages of the one CQuld ont be read in isolation from the other. '}II Throughout book rwo, miracles, legend5, and IictiYC documents rise to the defence of Milan's autonomy from Rome. LanduJf .... equally fet.rful len unruly monarchs and bishops up$l't the delicate balance of forces within the church itself. There arc as a consequence pointed references to the activity of laymen in religious affain. The ideological character of this material is"ll(l'1I exemplified by tile Story of H()tl()ntus and I..mbc:n, which rook place in the slIth cen· nuy.'"'" According to Landulf, during the episcoPlte of Hononotus, '"king lambert" usurped. the In.lian throne. Under R.ome, Milan had been wcll known for its theaues, baths, and public buildings. Lam· ben wanted this tich priu for himKlf, but as Hilduin, the load count, resi5(ed, he gathered. a force fX '"Suons, Norm.aru, and Teutons" and besieged the city for some ten years, although to no avail. Then, one d..y, with a '"rustic·' as intermediary, a treaty wu plOp
,,. (/OJ.• 2. 10. p. 49.

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- .• ' ·"·'l. pp. 49-- ,0·

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4"46.

TEXTU ... L COIolIolUNITlES

gat.., at will. ~ Milanese rc-adily Igrttd. But Lambert berrayc-d their trust: on the third night after signing the agrffm~nt, he entered th< city, overwhdmc-d its defell(es, and brought much destruCtion to life and property. The prayen of the unfurtunate Milan..,e were heard by their patron saint, woo appcued befo~ lambert on the feast of St. ~rus and told him that he would die miserably and leave no heir. Lambert ftc-d Milan in fear for Parml, raking with him Hilduin·, son, Azo, as honage. Some thrff y<:ats later dl,lt(ng a hl,lnt he found himself in a deep wood accompanied by only A~o and a servant. He suddenly felt dred and lay down in Aw·, lap. The boy, urged on by the servlUlt, slew his CIlptor with a sharp thorn and, mounting the royal steed, hastened back to Milan. Some thr~ days latcr Lambert's henchmcn found the remains of his body. The story of course is almost pu~ fiCtion. Honoratu5 was archbishop only from ,66 to ~68, .nd landulf confused the GQlhic invasion of B9 with the emptl"O£ lamber!"s strug,gle against the othcr_ wise unknown MaginfU<:lo in 896.'" YCt the manncr in which he tells the tale dearly reveals the issues wh ich he perccived as thrc-au to the intcgrity of thc Milancsc chl,lrch. Th~ episode takes place against the background of greater events, the p:iWing of the later empire and the amv,.] of the l.angobards, who compel Honoratus to ftee to Genoa with the chl,lrch's treasure.'" The Story contrasts the old and the young: thc ancient monl,lrnents of the church, the rcposilOtirs of tf"l.dition, are saved by Ato, who , although a jliVt/I(JII/IJ, is a loyal and COUf"l.gec>us defender of civic VlI.lucs. ~ tale involves twO deceptions. Lambert conquered Milan through treachery and was slain by Hilduin ', son as he slept, a symmetry rcinforced by the parallelism of ··thrff nights" and ··thr~ days. " Further, Lambert's invlI$ion and defeat are described in terms reminiscent of the formation of a sect. His effect on the city.is called I dalllkslina pGIU, that is, an unhealthy inftueoce from outSide. His entry into thc l,Itban !.all(tuaty Wa$ made possible by a ~/lJti(/IJ Ittqllissi1ll1l1 , through whose wicked mouth. landulf adds, tM devih"Vidently spoke. Finally, the nory juxtaposes not only t~ learned and the popular but also the bishopric, as the embodimcnt of the Word, .nd the uneducated world beyond. The essential contrast is not a$ in the ancients between {Own and country as interdependent opposites of • coherent world but more simply between town and (omt, that is, between civilization and chaos. The ." L ... .

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'19

TBXTUAL COMMUNITIES

seographinl and spatial metaphor ..Jso interrelates the old .nd new secular ol'den: the tIlIgIIJww mperlltonr are set apmt the barbrnOl.11i _Iti_; the cultivated leisure of the JiJ/II.J Mlliidll1li ag:ainsr the ag~ gressivity of the medieval hunt; the ancient ruins, with their noble remiD
"'I"., H. 'l-I, .

'" IW .

n , ,6..,.

TEXTUAL CO MM UN ITI ES

of arms·' but with "strength of mind." Uooer the p!"etCllt of ec;clesiasdcal busi~ss he journeyed over the Alps to Ono I to ask for help. But, even when the new alliance eme rges vi(!ori0U5, Landulf takes pains to emphasize the submission of the secular to the spiritual rorcn. Otto "was elec ted . . . by all with triumph." Yet, bcfott Walpcrt and his suffragans, he depositft;! on ,he altar of St. Ambrose "all his regalia. his lance, containing ,he Lord's key, ,he royal sword, his battle-all. his sword-belt, his imperial vest, and all other regal gar_ ments."'" Walpert even had the honour of presenting Ouo to the

,.,...

The portrait of Laooulf Il is mote nuanced. If under Walpert the ancient heritage of Sr. Ambrosc was thmtened by a lay lord, Laooulf WIL'!I the instrument by which the patrimony of ,he ?Iilanest: church kll irrevocably into ilC(ulu hands. The chronicl er had a difficult task: he had to n'tai n the dignity of the archbishop's offi,e while Cllpressing his disapproval of ,he alienation of the church's landed wealth. His panrai! of Landulf II is thererore $Omething of a com ptom ist. On the onc hand, the archbishop is described ILS i"iqltltJ W/IlI mwpi~;'" on the ocher, he enfcoffi the capitanei only after sober rtflec;tion, in which penonai ambition is weighed against larger C'thical issues_ ' •• Chapter st~ntCt:n, in whleh Landulf, career is outlincJ, also deals with twO scparate but intcrrcllled sets of events. Thc onc tmu the emergence of the a~hbishop's family into a prominent role among the nascent capitanei ."~ In this senllC it tells a small part of the Story of the rist of an agrarian nobility wh leh has as yet 00 urban jurisdic_ rion.'" The other concerns t...ndulf Il's negotiations with the cm _ peror,'" who was anxious to stabilize his authority in both countryside and town, .... well as with the existing urban nobility, who l'f$I:ntft;! the intrusion of rural landowners but welt helpless to prevent it. 'H The chronicler rakes the side of the older urban arilitocrats, The archbishop, in his view, acquired the sce through "the wicked designs of his father" and handed over the benefices of the clergy in turn to "wild and even savage laymen. "'~ And thus the scc-ds that eventually gn'w into the Fataria wete $Own, ." 10iJ.• H .•"4' · ''' It;J.• '·' 7. p. H. ~~·H · ' .. 10iJ.• p. ". ')-'4. ,,. I/.NI.. p. ,~, . ' -p. " . ~ . •,. C. V;.,l",«. L.."... ,.;~, ,~-JI6 . '" Hi1...u, • . ' 1, p. H •• - u . '" Viobn ... ,..,.:>-<}6 • .,.. H~ •. '7 . p_ H. )7-.0' "In;", '" on:h;q,;O«JpO''''''' q ..... ipo< dUli' ......... on-ibu, ""cri> oqui,ic,,', mi...m, ",,",",- «d.oiasticos """"'"'"""'" dj~"; ..... , quao ""';""' .... ptodi !oi
_i

..

,8,

TBXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Landulf perceptively distinguished betwten the economic and p0litical forces that brought about the ntW' order.'" Under Ouo I, Boniw, the archbiiOOp's father , governed Milan as ruthlessly "as a local roum overseeing a f4JtrMm." During the seventies of the tenth century there \VU a great penury of knigha or, for that matter, of wellqualified citizens, for military service owing to a wave of inmtinal disease. The poor rimes also saw inflation: wine, grain, wood, sheep, pigs, and sma.llcr animals rose in price "beyond what could be beIieved. " To make matten WOl$t, the good archbishop GOOdrey died on I9 September 979. Bonizo, who was, as he puts it, tlipildt1l/ll af/idini/IJIIJ, wasted no rime in installing his son in the archbishop's palace "against the will of every order of cleric. " Later, Bonizo WIll murdemi in bed by a slave and LanduIf \VU forced ro lI.ee to the coon of OttO He rem inded the cmperor that his father had bttn a fiJ.tinimllS ",ita and implored. him to help maintain order in the city. "Aroused. like a lion," the chroniclcr nOtes, Oun marched on Milan accompanied by Landulf and a large force "of barbarians. " On the l.'Yenins of their arrival the archbishop saw a vision of heavcn and hell. Tooched by the feat of God and by reverence for St. Am~, he dcremtineci to prevent a needless slaughtcr of the city's citizens. He met with a group of nobles ouaide the walls and promised them in return for their personal loyalty "all the common people, all benefices and hostcls" ' ''' which belonged to the ",.,ions M'(/ilUlrii and the primi",illS _____ . A secret a.th was sworn; when Ono heard of it, he relU(tantly agreed. Landulf rejoiced at the display of civic unity and the emperor, somewhat appcasc,J, withdrew w Liguria. The deuils of this cpisode, like those which precede it, ~ carefully arranged ro prodU(c the desimi dfctt. LanduIf Senior agreed with Arnulf in sceins the capitanei u • form of enemal authority forced onw the city in a time of need. Morcovtr, Doni%!), who procured the sce, was aided by other .utittl, "who, like him, in all probability came ftom the (Ountry5ide."'" But, asi<:le from the coerciv~ aspect,

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~

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

the tWO accounts differ in interpretation. Arnulf "cepts the arrival of the capitanei without trying very hard to explain it. He has nothing to gain from embarnossing deuils, which can only detracr from his image of stability imposed from above. He speaks of a divinely inspired P= Ptr/HlI/II, even taking pains to pnise the moderation of both sides .• ,8 In Landulfs eyes the conflict is mort profound, Dpp0i5ing town and country, emperor and citizenry .nd, indirectly, learned and popular culture. To his mind, Bonizo was given power, took over a defenceless cL ty, and procttded from protectioo to political wotroL The infeudation of the archbishopric and the establishment of d;rtrirr.s within Milan for the capitanei were corr«tly viewed as a wntim.lOUs process. '>9 Although conscious of per$Onal machinations, Landulf looks upon this development as a nttelSlllY evil, the better so to speak of !WtI potentially uO$3tisfanory (ounes for events, the destruction of the dty by Ouo or the wholesale loss of archiepi$l:opal authority. His Strongest resentment is re~rved once again for the violation of the Ambrosian church's andent StatlU, Milan, in his opinion, returned from civili~tion to savagery. A renowned ancient site and its historic traditions were handed over to barbarians. The ideological betrayal went band in band with physical degeneration: the miliftJ l1I4iom, now infeudated, despoiled tho: riches of the church. In this atmosphere of new socilll forces threatening older ideals, the rcad.er passes through the beneficent episcopate of Arnulf 11 and the untimely revolt of the C~ntii in Rome , arriving in chapter twenty at the ac~ion of Mibert. In an unabashedly biased portrait, Aribc:[[ is pictured as Striving ceaselessly to uphold the model of an amonomous church ,gainst his foes on the outside, the heretics from MO!lforte aoo Conrad. n, '!ld his rnemie5 from within, the vavasoun before 1037 and popular insurrection aftefWlltds. He entered the scene in sttength, Landulf reports, but even stronger, perhaps uncontrollable forus were pitted against him. Equally versed in divine and WQrldly affairs, he Strove "to tn!ore everything which the ~hbishopric had lost through Q(hers' wrongdoing."''''' In Landulfs eyes he Wl\S chiefly a reformer: the key descriptive terms from his early cal'ff[ are rtltil/ltlll, rrnjJa'D, aod rrJinltgl'll, together with adjectives such as viriliftr, aJsiw, aoo strolla. ,6, As in Arnulf, Arilxrt personifies Milln', urban unity and its sense of in past. His bad side

,,. c.... l. '0, p. ~ . ... H~

0. '7. p. ,..

~''''4, p. ". o-~ .

-1N.i.• 0.,0. 1'. n, }8-)9.

,., I..... ,., 0. pp. '1·,8 .

'"

TEXT U AL CO MM U NITIE S

is overlookai;,6> he il put not 50 much in a political as in a narrative and religious COQrext. "'Mulf wanted to reil a good story, whose monl is the successful fulhlment of spiritual ends through temporal means. This Wl.$ a message which acCOfikd well with his tolerance for other "ancient cwtOms." The groundworlt then is laid in the outline of Aribel't's early episcopate. He b said fint to have organized a war on poverty during a famine of IUIpiciously Ions duration, ,if compelling bakm to increase productivity, enjoining economies upon cooks and servanu, and even giving a...ay garmenu from his IUIfIptOOW wardrobe from time to time.'''- He then emerged 11$ the""," /Wtur _ mUImIIII. He .. ~ constituted" the archbishopric's Plopmkt and became the tflllted ally of twO emperon;'6, He reasserted Milan's independence from Pavia, turning away from her gates by both won! and sword all who were in his words ob/iti i«i.s ",11, "". ,601 Heresy iJ bandied in a limilar fuhion: it is not 50 much a threa.t to the faith IIlI to the archbidlOi>'1 jurisdic· don over if. !ne free-chinken at Monfotte ut' JOOlai out witb tbe help eX the local nobility and the .;Jius in Milan. '67 Yet these triumphs are minor in Landulfs eyes compared to Atiben's victory over Conrad 11. !ne romantic epiSlXle eX his escape from the hands of his enebriated "Teutonic" captors with the aid eX a faithful servant and the abbess eX St. SixtUI iJ calculated to portray him as tbe only figure C'poble of uniting the different political and religious fOi CI$ in the city. ,51 On his impt'isonment "aJl Milan's citiZll'n5, priesu, clerics, and even pious dames put off their finety and donned IIlIbes and sackcloth,"'" devoting long hours to fasts, pt.,tiS, and vigils. The tmnors of his revenal were £elt thJO\lgbwt ltaly;'JO and, on his escape, he returned to a tumultuous welcome Cn;Jffi all, III r' - d III /'OPII/O lI"i· __ . 'n Unlike Arnu!f, who saw Ariben 11$ the capicanei's express agent, I.aDlMf does DO( elaborate upon -tbe archbishop's ability to reanimate Milan', Sqsins civic etbol. Instead, be emphasizes Ariben', mental. agility in eluding his oafish jailors and thf- city', coutlI8C in forcing Conrad to a showdown. For, in Landulfs eyes, there was a good deal more than personal honour at stake, The CgffStit.ri, tk F-'iI oC fO H gave ecclesiastical benefices to all those who had simply claimed pos-

.,.i_

.,,. .6G.

' .. Cl. VD • • c, U -o.w e H " "'IIiJ.. ...a } . ... H _ ' _20. W. H -,8 . ... IIiJ., . ...., p . ,8 (~ n ond ' .02, P. 19 (Crn od ID. ,.. ,",,, " ' ), p. 60 ••6-48. "' I",., ' .31, p. _Zl . ... 'IiJ" ' ,' 7, 6,-66 . '" IIiJ.. '.2}, P. 60. 4'-.6. • '''> _ .. ' .". p . '9, '(-'1· . '.. "" _., p. '9, " -'4·

,8.

'l4

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

session of (i1lf'4Jtrllllt) chun::h property. first in Milan and larer in other parts of Italy. ' " It also ga~ ri$t' In a hoard of unbirious claimants who rushed to the (Qurt 11 Pavia ··like water into a bilge .. ·") Landulf took a certain satisfaction in th~ uner arbitrariness of Conrad·s judg_ ments. For the ~mperor was acting consistently against God and St. Ambr(l$t'. attempting to uprOOt the ancienr customs of the church lltllWm legm .. hlllll4lJalll. " . He too. therefo~. playt
,,'m

." I",",.. ~.n. p. )8 .• ' ·. 9· ." Ui/.• p. )9. I. ." I~.• p. ,8.• ). .., I~.• •.• 6. p. 6> . • 6-p. 6,. 6. •... 1"'"'.• p. 6,. 13: .... . muimi, """.. i honorib", . .".;q..-um et "'OR"" f'U'orum tn< ...... i..., obIi
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T!lXTU"-l. COMMUNITies

the "few o.pitanci" whom they had created. 11.5 the older ariStocnts still held the most influential consultative posts, the apitanci, wish. ing to st~ngthen their own authority, delegated re.sponsibilities in turn to the vavasoun, who could be counted on fot suppon. m Each new division of labour, Landulf argues, brought increasing hudship to the commoners. 1hcy fuund the govcmml'nt of their "fellow citi. zens mOle difficult to bear than that of their former lords." Matten came to a head dUling Ariben's episcopate. In order to escape from this "lordship" and to recover their lost "liberty," the fIDIIIli elected to take its chan(l'$ in open struggle. I)' Arihcn, after all, had sue· ~ed in bringing gteal princes, even the emperor, to heel; similarly, "the people battled agllill5t the nobJes in order to acquire the libeny which of old their ancestOn ... had los[. "'19 For Landulf, then, it was an economic, political, and religious tur· moilllt 01lCl'. 'k> The new mellllCl' to Ambrosilln polity was not a wilful individual but dass disharmony. Amulf saw divetSc social coalitions rising asainst an unquestio~ naodard; l.andulf looked upon all novo city lince the Otros 11$ a dedine from I Ion state of unity. By a curious ifOfJy the only group in society apable of usc:ning the pristine ideals WIS the proletariat, which, Landulf fl()(es romantically, found it "ps-cf. enble to die rather than to live in dishonour:"·' So they revolted , and, in doing so, provided Landulf with the OC(2Sion for introducing twO new considerations into the already heated debate on refotm, namely, the role of a semi-'ucatcd laity, and, with respecr to the Pararenes, the uses of literacy. Landulf's record of the St= fighting is among the most vivid of in kind in eicventh<enrury historical writing. ,I. TItc: capitanei and nvasours roamed the strects, butchering the /JOPllli at wm. Mustering their inadequate arms, the common people rttaliated .., best th~y could. Eventually outnumbered, t~ nobility abandoned their city dwellings and conducted fotllys frorn well·prot~ted fortifications OUt· side the walls. They tOnutcd capture !ibmo .. odo 'I""'" oIi'" ~ ......... j"' ..... """'in"", rvitattm .... ;,.,....,.. • .• -LM.riI.; cf.•. ' 7. p. ~4, 4,1r. ... JOiJ.••. ,6. p. 6, •• 6. ... The Ii>I\OW;"I summorl ... 2.,6. p. 6,. '4..,· 14. , .

• 86

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TEXTUAL COMMUNITlliS

urban area 'NU cut off from the surroundin8 countryside and iu food rt$OUrres dwindled. Landulf observes: "If you had ~n the city from within iu deserted ppIIII%%i and now fallen towers, you would have concluded that you were amidst the ruins of BabyJon, not Milan, that oIKe noble kingdom's seat. "' " The comparison was apt: for, in the chronicler's view, rhe MNli were superior both in arml and in mOI1lI+ ity. A k~ teTm is .u.:i«m: "Th~ thoug:ht it sweeter to face death than fO lead a long life wirh nothing bul shame. ", .. In ocher wonis, lhey had a growin8 sense of their collective worth, a sentiment which Undulf sums up in a single sentence whose multiple images seem to follow the formarion of rhe popular coalition itself. When the nables finally dtscntd the ciry, he relates, the oommon pt(lple $aW that thcir lives were largely in their own hands. SaIVllrion, if it were to come, would come from arms rather than from outsiders. Feelings ran high: night and day they were tormcmtd with thc desire for war and othcr invcntions of their minds. They wcre Strong in poverty, but $UongCI in rheir will 10 freedom, conccmed over thcir matcrial gooch, but more eager for li~rty . In such a ,nue of mind they took to battlc with every avu.ilable form of weapon, and became thN:lUgh thcir COUI+ age the mOllt fonnidable of enemies. '" This is the fiISt point in the Hisll1ri4 in which the pop.1i art characterized IlS a popular movement. 11ley are not merely deviants from a norm. IlS in Amulf: they Ihink, feel, and act on rhtir own. Th e movement docs nOt arise spontaneously; it i, a byproduct of the vacuum in leadership after Ihe nobility's departure. And thus [he people bt.::ome a new fluid force in the unruly sea of Milanes.e loyalties. What do they mUy represent for Landulf? They are • secular clement. foreshadowing the role the laity plays in rhe Pararia. ,t6 Also, at rh is poinr at least, they are an elect. They thereby embody the tcspe(tab!e traditions of thot Milan~ chun:h in bad times and reaffirm older values that were once the unique prerogat ivt' of the lay and ecclesiastical The role of the laity. now firmly establi5htd, is further emphasize
_i_.

'" IW. • p. <>.. l·7 . ... IW .• p. 63. '1 : " .. . duld .. iudiRno monem.id1$<";;' , n i _ <...... diu _tuq ",,!.l.....Ja tibe" ... ro,,;";m ... di.i,i;, ....;"'. O" '37. " 7 TEXTUAL CONNUNITlES in the remaining chlpters of book two, lirst in che.- contl'ilSt bet_n Lanzo and Al:ibert, tben in landulfl outline of the onIitwliotm of tbe Alnbrosi..a c1t'tgy in I045. Attention is drawn to Lanzo's leadership of the poJnIli, while Aribert teecdes into the realm ofhf.giognlphy. Lan!O is described as the peoplc:"s ihKtlJl' tdq1It . .. /'flKlor. ,., Yet, be does not: so much advocate the JMIPII',"s inten~sts, LS romantic historians mainrained, ,. as offer the SOrt oflcadenhip apccccd of a mmlber of the capitanci. When he negotiates with Henry Il1, he speaks Of) behalf of both sidn;'" and when he !ttums to Milan afteCWtids, he oft"crs tbe peace plan to tbe lfDhila before sourxling OUt the popMii.' 90 He appcatS to be a happy blend of ethical viltUC and practicality. For d>e people be is " provident in mind, strong in body, prudenc in com!.t," etC.'9' Yet, be is also a reflective leader, who is capable of remaining loyal to tbe p0pulist cause while recognizing che n.ecnsity of compromise. He has some of Aribcrt', charisma: supported by God and Sr. Ambrosc: , landulf boasts, and taking C1)UDSCl with his faithful vavasour, Aibcrius, he.- decides alone to undertake. peace mission to the imperial C1)Urt;'" and this IIIffiC vir twuri& dixnllIJ ICCtptS lhe: cm!XiCX'S ger.c.oos terms, conveying them personally to the em!'ttkd MiJanes.c nobility. '9' Meanwhile Aribert, aging and in ill hcallh, slips inlo the background, less and il'Sl an active thn:c-dimcnsional fisure. According co i.andulf, who naturally wisbed to put him above factional quarrels, "he neither aided the knighu who daily threw the city into turmoil nor attempted to harm the besieged citizem. ,., ... The remaining cpilOdes of his life natnlccd in book two arc carefully .rnlnged to present him once a,v.in as the ideal archbishop, who was prevcnccd from being .. typological fulfihnent of Ambrose himself by !:Vents beyond his control. The list of hil IlChievemcnl$ recapitulated from landulf il imprcuive. He fOUSht heresy;'" during famine he aided the poot;'o • ... ,,-" a.06, 1'. 64. " " 4· -11oiJ•• p. 6" ,4 . .. ' llliJ.• p. 64. , 0- <1. H. _ probobI, 1 - ' , IOr IIi> .i......... lOO Ni!on. AaIoc,, '<'>4-4, " .. cd .. 1 ia rbt SNri. D M.U-, ...z. J. p. '0,. -11IiJ.• p. 64. '4-.8. ' M JiiJ. , p. 6,. "'4. '''liiJ., p. 64. ' I>""H. 'M IW. . '.'1. pp. 6,46. ·"IMI.. 1.28. pp. 66-6,. '.. Jt;,/.• ' .3(1. p. 6"/. ,88 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES domestic stole it;',s and, on pauing away, h~ left most of his worldly goods to tM dergy. '99 Above aH, Landulf snesses, he WlU tM spiritual leader of men and women from different walks of life. The F.imine of the 1 0~0$ touched gmw "Olal tI ignolat; his charity was eJtt~nded ro DlllIID jitk/t1 tl injitk/ts. Well, the chronicler added. he merited chan· ceHOt Ubertus's parting words, which spoke of him on his deathbed, as noted, ItS the protector of orphans, clerio, priests, widows, mer· chants, and the poor .... ' Laooulf concluded book tWO with his weH·kllOwn description of the church of Milan at the time of Aribert·s death. His 6{lt literary purpose was undoubtedly to provide a S«Juel to the ecclesiastical sur· vey of book one. But he also wanted to pause momentarily and to review the Ambr05ian polity at a high point of development bcfo~ turning 10 the disruptive forces of the Parari •. For, he notes, had. the bishop returned to Milan, he would not tht:~fter have m:ogni~ his native clergy or his cicy. "''' Chapter thirty-6ve above aH reaffirms the special character of the Milanesc church in allowing for a high deg' ...... of lay participation in ecclesiastical affail"$ and in permitting a married clergy. In Landulrs view, the charismatic authority deKended through God, St. Ambrose, and later bishops, working its way through the centuries by m<'ans of both laYm<'n and derics. 'Q, The lay element is Stressed in the overall setup of the church as well as in obedience, self-discipline, and ~e ticism. Fot instance, if someone in the choir perform ed inadequately, he was invariably taken for correction to tht' archdeacon. "Nor did anyone date to snatch him fmm his hands, sinee this overseer was from the marcheses, counts, or capiuflei. "'" Similar lay support ran through the hieruchy of twenty-four high priests, seven deacons and suixleacons, notaries, lectors, aOO decumafl priestS . Religious discipline was enjoined upon all: no changes in grade were tolerated, no verbal irrelevance, no IIIUp/is ht.bilus in cap, vest, or shoes while in church. OQ, (These customs of /onga vrlllSlas, Landulf adds, were widdy known throughout France and Germany!}''''' The highest lay authority was the viscount, lai(lll IlIiros t/ ipsr ng.m ,"" who may have been ""/w.. ,.". pp. ,.,>. 67-68. '''/foJ.• pp. 68-69. - IW.. , .• 8. p. 66.~, and ~~"") . • , lid. >.j1, p. 6oJ. -I~. • 2.}. "- '7 . - !W. , p. 7<>. ~)-47 · -l~.. p. 7 1, '-4· - I~.• p . 7 1, 7-8. ,s. - /hJ. • p. 7<' • • ~H · TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES infcudued to tllt archbishop. ><>I ~ ""dve decWJ'\an d~con' _re Iliri botti tati_ii iNJlIMlllIt f-, - the ,ix(~n custodians, lNnIi Iliri 4C ill fIIfI"i~1IJ lUwiJutiriJ lIjJiciu fllri"liur Wluii,i." o Both, in other words, ~re drawn from the lay nobility. Abo, aging laywomen, ·'tram· formed" by religious dress, aided the un derics in tllt scJ4 u""i Atnlmuii,'" which, in all probability, had SKUJar _gulri'" and eel· \lCateel tbe som of tbe .same nobility. church·s hosrels admitted nox only wanderins clerics but .lso poorer women and orphans.'" pri",kwillJ was described as tk pq1/1h llatllJ.'" And many clerics were married. Prospective candidates for tbe priesthood, whether IIrlM"j or p/tks, wen: oamineel fOf thdr WKkntanding of the uffi~ .nd questionrel .. to their genellll morals. But th~ were also •.deed to remain virgi_ or ro become It,,illJ ItICom vin.'" 11Iose who through human frailty could not remain continent were forced to marry. For. while a cleric living in sin could not be promcned, a properly mattirel priest could berome an archbishop, a custom (mllJ), J...OOulf points out, practiced in both the Latin and Gi~k chUIChes."~ Owity llIlI through society and matt/lSes were faithful; Landulf roncludes by very nearly teConct'ivins the society before 1045 in the image of his i n.e nw: THRill!. The relevance of the Ambtooian ideal for Lan· dulfs historioglllphy beromes evm clearer as we pass from book two to th~. Broadly spaoking, the subject of book thr« is the Pararia bet ..·een the ele.:tion of Guido cia Velatt' and the d~th of Erlembdd. Yet , the book is also divisible into four thematic sections, each c1i· maxing in a mass demomtradon. Chapten one ro thirt~n deal with the formation of tbe movement and the early preaching of Anselm of BIIggio, Miald, and landulfCotta, culminating in the latter's impas· sioned .peech at the Roman thcatn. in 1057. ChaJK~n fourteen to eight~n turn to the eventli surrounding the council of Novara in November of the iIlIlTIe year, reaching their high point in the confron· tation between Guido and Erlemboild, which a.Iso rook plaa in the theatre bc:for.., 11 large crowd. In chapter nineteen we move: forward to the bishopric of Godefrey, the papacy of A1exandet 11 , and the reign BOOK - v_.., u.a.u Pi' ... )6. -H~""'a.". p. 7 1. ' 0> 11 . ' ~ IW, p. 7 1. "." . ." lieJ.• p. ,,. I~·I' . '" n.;. la ...,...... !or rh< /"on ,.... tbo ordlMhop .... " fOt • """ , j""," poicI ,horn • Itipmcl; ;jjJ., p. 1', "·I~.• p. 7'. )4"'. "·INI.. p. 70. 2<).' 3. '" 1Nl. , p. 7', .8-3' . _ . • p . 7<>. .., IMf.••. ".,t;. pp. "-n· 2,. .., "" , '.p . '90 TEXTUAL COMMUNITlF,S of H~nry Ill, a S«lion which condud" wilh a 6ctiv~ dramatization of sermons for and against reform all~gt '9' TE:KTUAL COMMUNITIES tion. But his centre of focus remained the ucbbisbop. During the 1040$, he reasoned, the ptJpllJi rehelled under Lamo chieBy hecalUe the nobility refused the responsibility of providing govcrnment. Similarly, after 104" the WlCtium of power was again a critical issue. True, the emperor bad gone back on his word: innead of choosing as Arihert's successor one of the £our recommended _iom wtihis l'iri he picked I man whose primary loyalty was to the imperial faCtion, ". proof enough, if the already insecure ~itanci needed it, tha.t HenI:}' would invtliably put his own interests before Milan's. The cardinal clergy hardly czpected their collective will to be so easily brushed aside.'>O Yet, in Landulfs eyes, Guido was nonetheless a reasonably good archbUhop. , .. He was IICquittcd of the charges brought against him It the luetin synod of April, 10,0. If he awola! late to the Pata~ challenge, he was nonetheless described by Landulf as "ruling the Ambrosian archicpiscopRte . .. with C'UC and devof:ion. " ... The rea.! problem was the murii: he was unable to Ippease their wrath; they in turn slandem:! him daily, though, foe fear of the pe0ple, in secret.'" On one occasion tbey cvcn left him alone aI: the altar during mass .... For Landulf this was too moch. Although perhaps indedsivc, Guido was legitimate vicar of Se Ambrosc. In czposing him to the people', SCOln and to the dcvil's rempcltioru, Landulf concluded, the capitanei well merited the anger of God. But punishment took an unpre«dcntcd form, namely, reformist preachinS, underpinntd by I conspil'llCy amotJg three members of the clersy. hndulf, reworking of these ctitical events, which occupies chaptets fift to seven, is ccboed in DO other ICCO\Ult . As I piece of fiction, it takes U$ to the heart of the chronicler's perception of the issues. Let us first su.rnmarite the Stoty,'" then discuss its meaning. In 10H, Landu1f n:.JlttCS, a priest named Anxlm eX Ba&gio, ,>6 whom Guido had only a short time bcfo~ ordained, demandcd "obedience" from both higher and lower orders of the MUlnese derBY for ilI_ defined reasons possibly coonccted to family interests. Guido took Ansclm to the emperor, who .settled the disaSret'tnent by aWllroing me _ .. ).), p. 7 4· '. '''> M' l~. , ).4, po _., ).), p. n, '.. '"'' "2. n. "".Iifti~d.--""i~, ... Y_,U~ .",•._ 118-'0' . .. , H........ ,." p. n. u .•,. '" IIWI.. p. n .• ,. '" I~.. p. n, '9-16. w, Swamotial.., ,." pp. 76-]9... r-.:t..1f r '""'" Anodnt', iD",uI~ ... "~.",, iD Iho _if;. Pot. NU of hi. euly yeon, ... T. Sdomldt. """,.1-11 .• .. , ,-67, ond, ..-. btic!!). C. VioIan ..... ~ 11." Vi.in ;, Mlr. "'P ;uJ;.,;, ...... " 'J6-lI,. ,,,it.. '" TEXTUAl- COMMUNITIES him the see of Lrn:;ca. Anselm, it turns out , was a highly articulate person, who occasionally pro:-ached. polished but forthright sermons in local churches. On his leaving, Guido appointed $<'Ven do:-acons to administer the diocese. Each Sunday o( Advent OIU' of them was called upon to preach a sermon in S. Maria Yemale. When word of their brilliance reached An.selm, he was apparently $peechJ~ with jealousy and rage . H e returned secretly to Milan on Christmall Day and, unobserved, found his way to the church, when: onc of the deacons, Ambrose Biffus....-so caHed because he was bijarillJ, that is, bilingual in Greek and Latin--was spo:aking with ··angelic eloquence.·' At the mass"s end Ansclm returned to his (amily home, angry, distraught, and confused. ~ clerics who ac(1)ml""nied him, ignorant of his state of mind, tormented him further with praise for the youthful priest. Anselm n:torttd angrily that, if the city', dergy, both high and low, had no women, no harm would come to the pursuit of their offices, especially preaching .... His companions protested, but to no avail. A11$elm, tin: '" TEXTUAL CO NN UN ITlIIS clerical ceHbal:y. TIle ~"ants were somewhat astonished, but, or SO we ate told, they reaffirmed the view that DO one ~ truly cbasre unless so creued by his maker. Then they banded togetbct with other outraged c1eria and laymen &ne! wenc to Guido as a group. The tKhbishop thereupon sumJnOned Landu.lf and Arillld and admonished them nor to nir up a sensdess mob. ancient customs of the AmbrosillIl chun:h, indetd those of Latin .00 Greek chrurendom, might be threatened. However, the pair remained adamant. Guido then pro. vided them with scriptural DitIII/JIA. A good Christim, be noted, should look after his own troubles before turning to those of his fellow men. But this tOO failed. If we recall once agtin that these chapten are almost entirely a literary fabrication, there are three ways in .....hich they may pro6tably be uooerstood. Landulfs own readins of even!! provides one logic. Another is suggested by outside witneues who do not share his point of view. A third impressiOll is crated DOt: so moch by the sequence of eventS as by d~ thematic arrangement of Landulfs inner concerns. On the surface, Landull presents the reader with a ronspiracy theory typical of many acCOunll of heresy's "Qligins." The: bearer of cvLl doctrines. altbough perhaps once IlII insider, comes from outside and let.ves when his per6dious work i5 done. He is a thinly disguised diabolical agent, and compels those under his influence w swear an oath of loyalty against their best interests. Landulf undoubtedly subscribed 10 the theory; for him, the "heresy" was clerical celibacy. But he adapted it to his own ends. Anse1m , U5ing his family's powerful conn.cu, he argUC$, tried w win the clergy', loyalty .......y from the tKhbi5hop , eng.ging "in mllIly evil acu aM. confrontations ...... The twubles, onc: SU5pe<:U, had gOM <.>tI for some time; they anted.ted his ordination, which probably took place in 10,6,'>9 and perhaps perpetuated factional rivalries follOWing Guioo', .ppointment. In Lindulfs view, such agitllrio," repre#flted another .ttempt by [he n0bility 10 seize control of the MilllIIcsc church: the Patari., in other words, like ClI.!'liCt revolts, had as its primary ( ..use nothing more or less than class ambitions. Even Anselm's promotion to the sec of Lucca i5 so construed. Landulf Cott •. who .Iso rose J, mag_ prwajlu,'''' "panted" similarly afrer Milan's episcopal seat.'" Ariald, a person of n.e , .. ftiJ. • ).,. p. 76. 1-4. ' '' v;"w,te.U~'';} T. [n-,.. . • ,. a . _i ..... 5utri. LdortJ " ' _ . c. 6. p. Yi, oubon ..... fiKundiaim ... . .. " .,. lIu_ N. p. 76. J6.-)S. ~9" "u....Iulfuo ..........."',.,.. .p;. on", . TEXTU",I. COMJ>lUNITIJ;S slight infiuence .... ithin the city walis, Ix«me rhe urban rebds' mourhpie« in the countryside, for Landulf the traditional stronghold of illegitimate disstnt. And so, in his vie .... , the stage was sec Is there any accuracy in this accoum? The His'","ia, il should be D\){m, virtually leaps from 104' to IOH: we learn linle of the rivalries of the intervening )'tan. Surely ecclesiastical politi" did not vanish. Landulf infanns U5 of the lingering resentment of the arr/iurii; one may assume thar sediliow thoughts also spread among the dis_ appointed capil'anei. foe, in place of a gentleman's agre.:ment with the emperor, the latter's e:rpres.s agem was installed in the chair of St. Ambrose. Yet Landulf goes too far in linking the failures of one generation', govt"rning class to the problmu of t~ next. Tirms had clwtged: Milan, like other north Italian towns, was increasingly exposed ro reformist in!l.uences from outside. An internalist reconstruction of its religious history WlL'i less and less plausible. Arnulf, for his part, does not associate Ansdm of Baggio with the founding of the Pat1lria; he is merely mentioned along with other promorers of new doctrines. He was undoubtedly among those Milanese clerics, whose numben included Godefrey, the future abbot of St. Dionysius, and Ansclm "the peripatetic," who had undertaken lilttr"ar"", Jllidi,. !l<)rrh of the Alps.'" His name is even associated, perhaps erroneously, with Lanfranc of Be<:. He WlL'i also for a time chaplain at the imperial court. In Ilny case, reformist idus were in the air: it would have been unusual if Ihe Milanese Palaria .... as motivated by fo«es radically different from thase bringing about similar agitations in FIQ(~nce, Piacenu, Cremonll., /!.sri, and Pavia, namely, a severer diKipline among the clergy, rhe elimination of simony and nicolaitisrn, and a restriction on lay interfeten'" in chu«h affairs, especially through in~titure. Laodulf, it would appear, was indulging hi, habit of pel!Onalizing the roon of change. But Anstlm was perhaps too obvious a target. His family may well have profited from the imperial connection. But it is more likely thsr hi, journey was in5erted in order to dramatize the external sou«cs of opposition to clerical marriage. With hindsight Landulf could $te the fUfU~ Alexander 1I in oDe of twO unpopular roles, either as an avarar of the papal cause or as a betrayer of Milan's e<:cJesiastical aut()fl()my. A quite different perspective emerges if .... e look III the text of >,- '" H< .. 6,., m 0Ii_. ' 0-" . Cowd....,.. ·"'.... '" Violo.rt!<. I...t ~ I)I '~ >: H. ~ .J . Im of _ .. """ Some NOrth·hli.. So;hoI .... of 11\< BI<w:t><~ C<'''uty,''}--.I t( &r"".."UI H~ 'J {'97'). ",. ". '" TEXTUAL COMMUN ITIE S m.pten fivoe and six in the light of their own thematic development. Fint, Laodulf has ~ in common with AmulC than their political ditttrenco would suggnt. Amulf, u noted, saw ArWd and Laodulf Cotta &I communicarors of false ideas. Landul( Senior's conception of All5elm il similar, but thetc is more emphuis on the means of communication. In the section of chapter five in which he fint appean there is an abrupt cbang<> of subject. After speaking of Anselm', dispute with Guido Oft!' jurisdicrioo, Landul( introduttS what would serm to be a ..,. stll[llintr. "For Ansclm," be adds, "was Il man powerful in speech, . . . who was in tbe habit ol delivetill8 polished 5I:ctnOtIJ pel$Onally. . . . "'" The conUUt in phtuing is instructive: on the ~ hand, Anselm 'U-itl the IIiJ ... lIb bnil p.rmt_ n J,u (his own and his family'. public ~f); on tbe otbet, he is described in the translated cllluse III ;,. JUiUJ1j, /'OU"r . . . UIIdII on _,,"';., ... t'II_-.iD. The sbift, in other -words, is from his social to his cultural function. An.!. the contrast is atended. When Ansc:lm left tOt Lucca, G\J.ido is said to have .ptXlinted seven de&tons of good &roily.a Dftu IllilWUrii !Ai n pr ,&,liMiJ. !bey enraged Ansclm by preaching brilliantly f,Ji"pu ... hltUiWiwI p"nia",.). Clearly, then. in lIoddition to the pmonal rivalry between Ansclm and Guido, there was also • conflict of principles. From this point, mtHwnf, LwcI.uIfs account brcomes more and mott CODCerned with the uses of Iirency, proatding alternately, as is his fashion, by imascs and direct JUtf!ments. Appropriately enough, Anselm', angu m.Ie him tongue-tied: ..."." _ ;IIIrIligiIJilu. /JIIMk/w1ll;')O and he tetutned to Milan, nol, one suspects, by accident, when the text of the Sunday sermon was 1" p';".iPi~ ".1 wrn.·,16 IncogDito, he cune r.te to &te with the gifted young preacher Ambrose Biffus. Again, LancluJrs symbolbm js ttamlpatent. Ambrose is • figure of renewal, whose name partly recalls the Milancse church's IOundct and partly suggestS Ct:H:!pmI.tlon with the Greek-speaking east. Biffus:, so to spn.k, repb.ced Anselm as official inte(}'rete[ ofScdpturc, "expoundifl8 the Greek of the gospel tests themselves in LatiD in patristic fashion." He reawned the church's .postolic and prophetic mission: "He did no!: so much discourse (1TMttf1J.,J) like. man all made ~ments (11.,,";",,",1) lil«: an .ngel. "m Anselm's It.Ck of clear tbousht and speech III this poinr contrasts sharply with Ambrose's: to the latter's rllliona and ",.pia he replies balbltlHtulo """ (with Stut- . ... H~ ~_" p.~. $.'0. p. ]6. ". ''''IOtI., p. J6, '1_,8 . - .• p. 1 . I~'~- .·,,'HIt., " ,.,. TEXTUAL l;OMMUN!TIES tering or incorrect spt«h}.• ,1 Landulf Coua provided a diabolical counlerpan to Ambrose·, cloqueOCt: ··Now pouring fonh a Swttt, now a bilter draught . . . he hardened the heans of his listeners like stone.""? Ariald was equally destructive, despite his lowly origins. Like Landul£, he lirst spread his ideas among scolarn."" But he also [urn~ towards the unlertertd, preaching at large to the p/tbD I'JISli(aw._m. With these: thoughts in mind, let us turn to chapters eight «> thil"tt'en, which take the Story from the episcopd palace through several St&ges of escdation to the audience of the ri",,1 (anions befo~ Srephen IX in 1057. '" Aria1d and landul( wen: unmoved by Guido·s words. They left the episcopal palac:e in a huff, the chronicler repons, and made their way back through the city, eOCountering en route a group of pious men and women celebrating the transiation of St. Na;r.arius. Words were exchanged: a priHt «lied Aoselm threatened Ariald and demanded to know whether what he had heard of him WI5 actual!y true. Ariald replied CN-t ic was: " Whal I have pid, I still say; what 1 say, I hold to be true; and what I hold I can prove wich argu~nts. " .... Anselm raised his hand as if ro scrike Ariald, but instead he made a lengthy speech, accusing the young preacher of quesdooing the v&!ue of the priesthood, of turning the common people against their pastOlS, and of placing himself above Old and New Testament prophets. It was not his place to reprimand priests publicly. Landulf Cotta was angered by the eu:hange and summoned a large crowd to the Roman theatre. where lirst Ari&!d and then he made lengthy, inAammatory speeches criticizing the clergy's laxity. The common people, &!ready miserable through poveny, were sufficiently stirred up by thei r rhetotic to plunder [he houses of many urban priests and to force them to give up chei r wivcs. Defenceless, the priHts submitted. The nobility for their pan either fled the city or laid low , awaicing che right mOment to scrike back. The rioting $OOn spread from MilllIl to nearby viii"" rasul/i, and larger towns. Fin&!ly, landulf report!, the question was taken to Rome, where each side put in case before pope Stephcn. A Roman pricst named Dionysius is alleged to han' made an impassioned spc«:h on behalf of the $ta[US quo. But the pope refused to r;akt a strong position ODe way or [he ... IftJ.• p. 76.• 6-}<>. ·" 'W.• p. 76. ~' ·H· ' .. l.u.. p. 76, ., or>d ' .. : _;I>IJ ,be "udon" i t ,be IooaI puM odIooI . "I Sum"",,;.ill$ chi. 8·'l, pp. 79·8 • . " J iliJ.. 309, p. 19. 37·38. '97 TI!XTUAL CONNUNITlli$ other. He sent Anselm of Bagsio and Hildebnnd to Milan TO arrange a SC1:dement. But they tOO were unsucceuful. Landulf greatly d~torted the events dncribed in these chaptets. All sourcn arl: agreed that matters came to a head on the feast of the uall$ladon of St. Nazarius, which took place in the Ambf'Osian calendar on loth Mly. But from that point accounts of Aridd's anivity differ widely. Andrrw of Strum; and Bonizo of Sutri place him in the country;"1 Arnulf credits him with instigating reformist preaching on h~ own. '44 Reports of tile intenoiew before Stephen IX rJso vary considenbly.'" But what most 5C1S Landulf apart from other witnesses to the early Pataria is the fictive presentation of opposite sides as an intellectual deb&tt. The speeches of Anseltn and Dionysius are found nowhere dsc:. Us.ing these orations as fixed points, Landulf oriented his venion of the fint signs of dissent not so much around the principles as around the communication of ideas of reform, thereby providing I thematic link ~ this S<"CtiOll and the earlier contl'l$t between Ambrose Biffus and Anselm of Baggio. Ariald and LandulC are once "8lin portnyed IS typical heretics, diabolically inspired by "some highly evil force, whose spirit . . . brought forth wicked words, . . ..., .. As in Arnulf, they represent calculated misinterpretation: in Landulfs words, they would not be silent as long IS their spirits breathed and their lips moved. Aiso, the Sfm':{ scme clearly set the stage f(K the p.pa1 audience, IS the chronicler', simplified images tenal. Ariald and Landulf an: oould lnlly Ix attributed tu him-incidentaHy inform ing the reader on the large role which hearsay pla~ in dloe controversy. True ro his heretA.;JJi, <. '. IoIGH ss }O. • • r. ,~o, IIonQo .., v... S. TEXTUAL COM M UNI TIES ieal stereotype, Ariald is said to have replird "Iik.. an insan .. man to an insan .. charge." In his own spttCh, AnS<"!m emphasized ch .. illicit s~ of hiS<" ideas. H .. accused Ariald of inciting the prople against the d ..rgy per IXKrahiltm p1, At the critical moment in the upri5ing, therefore, we find anorh .. r paradigm for communication bctw.... n lil/wal; and illifU"/'ari, Landulf d.-scribes the common people as bcwitch.-d (ja!u'IIlfl). Image follows image: rh .. rebcls brok<" over the dikes of reason like a nging sea; th .. y were "starved dogs," "mad bears in seatch of their cubs," "wolves ''',Ni., '.9, pp. 7\>,80. ' .. lNi.• p. &. '0-". ''" ,Ni.. So. ,8-22. '" 'W.• 3.'0. p. 80. )7',,' "'INi., So, 41-46. '99 '>"W. , So. }9-4" Tl!XTUAL COMMUNITIIIS daU8hlering calves." The resident dergy, relatively igoofVIt of what lad In.nspi~, was simply OVfiWbelmed. And the sudden mum to barbari$m, in Landulf, view, recalled earlier periom of Milan's history with good reason, for similar condirions now $eelD~ to mst. The nobiliry, when duurened, looked to its own interests as it had in tbe past, aoo left tbe endangered clergy to fend for inclf.·" The people, always .. volatile, irn.tional fottt, now abandon«! tbe Ambrosian ideall, jun as, in Lanzo's time, tht'y hI.d defeooed tbem without really knowing why. On this occasion Ltndulf finds few redeemill8 qualities, Forgetting. be nor;n caustically, who nourished and d()(hed them,'" the people turntd to mundane- n.ther than to spiritual pursuits, _ o.m. s«I "" ...imII_,uIl, 'I' The ttformen also ao::ted without proper authority. Their only "liccncc" 'NU "the words already ~p;$tn"'!7 by AriakI. landuIf was ~ lJ'I(X'C horrified rhat: they seemed. m take up arms J1Ir 1Ij1tJsIJ;,;.." linmi The priest Diooysius swruned up his own point of Yiew in his ficti~ address btfute pope Strphen. Ht de~ the i""rdi t4 /¥/tdM,'J9 Only Hr; illiiJwllli, be affirmed, pm'erred the sword and cudgel to patience .00 humility. The Patareues wt:re melely trying to put laymen above priests. Tht social consequtrKn vrou.ld be disastrous: dead children, murdered unbaptistd; and )'OWI8 men, forbidden man:iasc, seeking less IIlVOUry ouden fOt tbeir dnires; all, he added, in dear mntradiction ofMilanesc CUStom. Landulf Senior's position derived support from the fac:t that his eloqueocc was to no avail. Stcphen lilt Ob tbe ftrKc; Anselm of B,,"io and Hildebrand, "fearing tbe people', fury,"''" satisfied themselves by setting that pearls should 00l be thrown to J'Nine. The o.!culared etunt to popular cultule imum:i that the movement would prosper. In the third scene of book three, «IflIJ>rising chapten fourteen to eighteen, Landulf departs still further from the historio.! m:ord and n:arnnges e.>e1\D to suit his own namative pulJX*'S. In his time 11:, wc begin "about seven years" after the events of IOH, while in reality the principal cpisoob aft: (OmequetlCts of tbe synod of FoacanetO which Guido org~ited in NOVt'mber of the :same)'nl'. r...ndulf jumps from the syood to Alaandcr If, cuolinnation of Erlembald as ieCUlar leader of the Pataria sometime after 1061. We [hen turn to tbe showaown between Guido and Erlembald at dll: Roman theatre, following whkh m.'" 5"",,.. ... lMi., 81, ,.,. y"" ........ orm<>lobemaJo .., "", P. 81. '" /j,OJ.. 8 •• 6-7 . "'/Mi., I •• "d. 8" 7-1; 81, '4-" . ... /;;./. , ,.1 1, p. 8. , I', "'IMi., , .n, pp. 8.-1 •. ... lW" 1_1), p. 8., JJ.,6. ." Ij,OJ.. 8., .6_ TEXTUAL COMMUN IT IES the archbishop resigl15 in favour of Goddrq, anually sometime after 1067· Seven years passed, Laooulf states, in whi ch both factions knew success and adversity. Ariald and Landulf Cotta felt at length that they should appoint a temporal chid of the movement from among the capitanei or the vavasoucs. About this time, he continues, Landulfs brother, Erlembald, app<"2~ on the setne , lately returned from a pilgrimage to the holy land. Erlembald was not sure he wanted to be involved, and acrordingly sought advi ~ in Romc. Thc pope was indecisive: a formcr ally of Ariald and landulf, hc TI(lntthelcss hesitated to provoke further civil dismrbance. Ariald , the narnltor would have it, personally accompanied Erlembald !lOO persUilded Hildebrand [hat their ouse was JUSt. Hildebrand in turn won over Alennd er. Puhlidy cons«ratcd, the pair retumcU satis6cd to Milan. where, through a combination of bribery, cajoling, and promises, Erlembald finally organited a militia. Fwm that point there was no peace for the married clergy . Guido found his own position impossible: he had mused to aid his own priests; now he could hardly muste r the strength to defend himself. With papal permission he called a synod of his suffragans at Novara. The assembled bishops first heard the Milanesc dergy. Then they invited Ariald, Landulf, and Erlembald to meet with them in the hope of reaching a settlement. But the three greeted thei r overturc with derision. As a consequence, the synod had them excommuniClted. Next, Landulf relates, Leo of Vercclli made a lengthy speech in which he condemned the di~ntcrs' /al14 jllJliria. Guido, he pointed OUt, had (tied to recall them from elmr, but to no avail. His unpopularity was understandable, but the sce of Milan would un doubtedly survive:. Somewhat cnroumgcd, Guido returned home. But, when the Patarene leaders learned of their prOSCription, (hey decided to take matt ers into their own hands. They gathered a large, volatile crowd at the Roman theatre. Mt er much shouting of slogans, Guido himself made an app<"2rance. ErJembald gave the archbishop a simple choice: either to withdraw his sentence or to resign his office. Th e mob went wild; Guido 's vestments were literally torn from his back. The people (hen rushed through the Streets, crying out the ncws. The nobility wcre enraged. They were urged by the prominent Guido Landriancnsis either to avenge the archbishop's dishonour or to leave the city altogethet. Guido, perhaps ignorant of thei r suppon, re- .6. ,,, TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES tumed. disconsolate to hi!. palace. Soon aftttwlllds he handed. over his staff 1.00 rins to Godefrey in. private ceremony. 1hest dramatic chapten reiterate sOllle of the 5m'IC' distortions found earlier in book three. > Once again attention ftuctuata beli, cen sa;Ik!3 of mass violence and intellectual diilCUSSion. Fictive roles are also invented. Ltndulf Cotta died sometime in 1061. 06, Yet the chronicler has him on hand for all the signifiClnt CftnQ of the sinies. Leo of Verc:elli died in t 0 26; the s~h I.uribuccd. to him wu probably IItIide by .. 'UCCCSS01', the fervently anti.te{uiluist Gttgory..... Of course. Leo's ties with the empel'Ol' made it imperative in Landulfs .. ie,.. that he speak on behalf of the Milanesc. In WIltrut, Ansclm of Baggio, who beame Aicxander II in 1061, 'NI.5 ponrayed as the Pa(ll.~ne's firm .. Uy, even if, to reanimate his flagging reformist spirits, a per.\WIive nudge from Hildebrand 'NI.5 required. Finally, tbe synod of Fontl.lleto or Novara of November .0'1 wu projected to IlIl undefined tirm just bcfoJe Erlem/..ld·s confrontation with Guido ... a. u} .... ";1._. """"4 . ... Am..J{. G.s", }.16. p. n ; lMdulfs...; .. ,.09. p. 9S . "'llw..;", p. a.BI' ; cf. VioIao>«, U,......... _ ' - , ' 004 . "' 1/,;,/. • ,.1 • • p. 8 ••• ,~6. H .f.) . c.-drq. ''11>< ~. of>< htorcna t..d the Vio>bnte, CbutdI ofNiI .... * n. a. TEXTUAL CO MMUNITIES began actively to seek ~ular protection for thei r preaching.·6<; Erlembald was invited to change his StatUS from a JaKUli to a Vii 'I rlS/~/irM «r:lesUu millS;*' in Rome, Ariald asked the pop<: 10 provide the mo\'i:mem with a fmJItdor !Jut; Pet';, the bearer of' (he lJfXilll",. ,,;armlS" ,.;tO We also learn something of Erlembald, both his J1l(ltives and his manner of fuJ/illing his m:red duties. In Landulf Senior's view, he was an important figure in twO senses. He played a role in the Pataria analogous to that of Lanw in the time of Aribert; that is, he took over and beo.me responsible for religious burdens which ecclesiastical 6gures could no longer shou"'tr. But in this function he nonetheless "'pte#nted a role directly opposed to the chronicler's interestS. While p"nonifying lay participation, whi ch, in prirn:iple, Landulf approved of,'~ he was at the same time undermining the very order which allowed a healthy division of labour to exist. No wonder, then, that the portrait is somewhat IIJTIbiva1ent. On the one hand, Er!embald is a repository of ideal qualities: bearded, handsome, and coungeous, yet cautious, experienced in battle, and wise in coumel, he appears tu have ~n a happy union of natural aptitudes and MSM' aIJliqMJjJ ."" He reflened seriously 00 the consequences before joining the Paaria.'" Yet, he was also an embittered eOllven to religious purism who first turned to asceticism and reform and later to authoritarianism.''' According to Landulf, he hi!d recently tcturned from Jerusalem and chosen his bride. But, "on learning from irrefutable evidence that she had been dallying with a certaio deric: ''') he dropped the idea of muriage. The , hmnider nmher mainn.ins thar all Ihe Cona brothers were illegitimate. Ariberr, he alleges, tried in vain to :sepan.te their patents. Of- Both details may be apocryphal, but they suggest that emotional and familial quesriom may have play~d as large a part as religious idealism io Erlembald's decision 10 join the movement. "'""" ,. [4. p. • 1. ~1·4l> . ... l.u.. ,. [4, p . u . C. Ezdtnu,o. n. o.;p " tM ,. . "C,*,,",*. , ....... M. W . IWdwi~ ond w. Go/T&rt (!'riD<.- . '9 n ). '.'n8s. "'5"'" , .... uM.lf mi,k[ ""' ,...,.(,«1 [wo . . . . of in .... i..... in Of,," <0 ""in! 11. "" in ... li .. "i,k . h< ioltolOf!1 of ,h< fim er....d • . ~H·· Bu, _ 3,. ,[. ~.II..".,.". ... , of _ ohows on OC popol PO:OO;'' ' ' .. --s. . Of hi"",i"" of ,lot ,"",-".od~;' ... 11«., ,,'1. p. 8, . '9'4" . ... Cl. Vial..., ... "lloioi nd """';mrnlO pOtanno: ,64·61 , .,. H;""", , . [4. pp. 8.-8,. IliJ.. 8), [8.,,, . • " IliJ.• ,. '9 . p. 91; Cowd.., ..",. 1'Jpoo:,•• h< p".,..... on.d d .. Cbu«h of Mi!aa." 31; Vi","". Lt ~,,,,;• .u14 .... , [88. n, Hi> ...... j . ' 4. p . I) •• -,. ' .. I/WI .• 8,. 1'7. n ' '0' TI!XTUAI.. COMMUNITIIIS Landulfs description of his anivities on hi5 rrrum from Rome suppons this condusioa. "Sccmly, day and night, he had brought to him the city's youths, popular and noble; . . . enticing them with gifts and promiJes, he forced them. to take the same oath as AriaJd and landulf and to pledge faith to che Paraei. (pttt4liM pl«it_ tt.,.,). ...,., In OI:het words, be created the same son of feudal mtmttw or p.m__ t6 which booDd the capiraPd to the archbishop. Afret tbe $U«ess£u1 "reform," claims [0 property and to offices would presumably be honound. One regime would replace IIIlOther. In short, beneath the F-poJ 11Iiance, crusading metOl:ic, and reformist zea!, the OI:ber social tensions were resur&.cing. In liceru.ing a forma!, temporal fom" tbe Paraeia broke the dikes that had hitherto sep.rated. tbe teCUiar from religioWl interelts aod unleashed a tidewater it could not control. The next act of the drama deals with the synod of NOVlln, tbe 6ctive speech of Leo of VetulH, and rbe subsequenc confrontation bet"een the Puaria's leaders and Guido cia Velare at tbe Roman tbeatre. 1be evenb range widely, as noted, over tbe decade after 1057. But tbe contrasting scenes abo £ocus tbe narrative on dte growing hiatWl between tbe activist and intellectualist sides of tbe controversy. There was in df«t a split within each faction . Among dlC Parare~, chan~ had always been underpinned by caoonkal authority and WOt"ked out by I. h&r /hJ.• ... Du ,.1,. ,. 14. 11_1" a. • .... . plod""", Nn.;. " ". p. 19. >2 (o,oyum pla<jNm~ , ·29. p. 9' ••. "", _ cnmpI CatoF, GMt' . J.'O' p. 1\9, ': "10 dmoo in I......." 6, ,...., . .", Nu.;,. , . [,. p. &I •• 8. ... W_ ,.,6. "'a. Violontt.u~,·""'.' p. .,h-86. 84. , 0: a. vw._. u)=,-;. .it..-. 00,. "'4 • TEXTUAL COMMUNITI E S lectud debat e was carried on over the legality ",nd theollogical justifi. cation for the 50-called reforms. During the 1000s, and, in particular, after Erlemba.ld 's arrival, action and theolry moved. farther and farther apart. Emphasis among the Patarencs shifted in part from religious idealism to feudal allial1(:es; the pfOJXlnenu of the old order increasingly sought their r4iJInI .rim in custom, urban history, and arid thcologisms. In this perspective, it is instructive to contrast the WQrds put into the mouth of Uo of Vercelli with the violent degradation of Guido at the Roman theatre. Leo ~rn:d the paternity of the m:hbishop over the city's $«ular and religious affairs. ,80 Guido was i"'ttr 4malldt, the Milanesc church, a choruJ ... lillgllM u.tinal illJtrlKtlls. The revolt was a typi cal "Khism " in which j4iJ4 jllJlili4 was pitted against writ4J. Leo had "collKted from ancient volumes" many examples of $«ular assaults on the Milanese church, all of which wen: eventually quashed . Every attemJX should be made to rescue the heretics. In pardcular, Leo drew anention to the ne<:euity of correct canonical procedures for diKU$$ing Catholic doctrillC5 on simony.'" Yet, if one turns to the following scene, it was precisely the (411DlltJ (fJllJrriPli,$' from Noun which drew the Patarene intellectuals into the street. Landulf called the mob at the Roman theatre unaffectionately a Wllli tNrb4, a vulgar crowd " whose minds wen: moved like leavt'S by the: wind. "'" But how "vulgar" wen: they? True, a majority may have come from the lower orders. But the leaden as well IU 4liqll411ll1fi cltrici ' I Ja(trdmu were educated and possibly from better families ...• Erlembald'. militia, although unmentioned, must have been represented, and it moved 00 farther down the social scale than the capitanei and the vavasours, The meeting's " kind ling wood " Will Leoprand, an educaud. and recently ordained urban pries!. Finally, although the subject, c][com munication, had practical and popular conseq uences, it 100 framed I~ confl ict in int elle.::tual terms. In other W{lrds, while a plutlllity of the partidpants was plebeian in origin, the crowd constituted a vII/gm ( hiefly in being manipulated by Patarenc preaching. The vividness of the Kenes of violenc~rhe rending of Guido's vestmentS or the people careening through the StreelS "grunting" the news of his downfall- is apt to blind one to the imponancc of the episode in !tlInsferring the Pata~ne message from the mon: to the lt'Ss lettered. levels of the movement. The catalyst for the .., no. roIl.,...;o, .ummth ... I~., 8S, ".,6 ," I... . , .• 8. p. 116. ;0. ). '7 .,. ss · '" IW.. 86. 3'. 39"<10; p. 81.6. '0' '''1... , 116. 3'',6· TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES riot was "~Q! long speeches," which transformed the doctrines into • vehicle of soci.1 action. And thus the Pararia took on a new and uglier form. In the ~maining two thematic s«tions of book three, the gap between the theo~de&l .nd pra<:tica! issues widens. The events of ,hapten nineteen to thirty Call roughly in the siJ:ties and the early seventies. On« again, historia.1 accuracy is subordinated to polemics. Accordins to Landulf, about tWl'nty Pata~nes, allied with the heretks from Monfone, made. further visit to R.ome. They Wl'te prevented only by the influell(C of their most powerful patron, Hildebrand, from trying to unseat Aleunder II as a simoniac.'" Retumins to ,Milan, Ali.ld was overeome with the desire for penatKe and made a sp«<:h to the :wembled clergy in which he ~pudiatcd his erroneow ways. But his confession only served as • reminder of the injustices he h3d (Ommiued, and the twO sitks ~mained Canher apan than ever before.,16 Anselm, Milan's viscount,'lso went to see the pope, woo was by this time wnry of Patarene intrigues. As • consequence, landul{ :wetted, he dedattd. invalid the pkKit_ with the rebels which he h3d so imprudently Cl\"I:ted. ,., Finally, Erlembald, ignorant of Aleu.nder·s withdrawal of support, expelled the "'pitaDei from the city and ruthlessly stripped all unreforOKd priem of their wives, their offices, and their worldly goods.,as In this increasingly litigious atmosphere the reader urives at chapler twenty-twO and the series of sermons whkh brill8s [0 • head the intellectual side of the controversy over a married clergy. Although, in theoty, Erlembald is in charge of the puxeedings, it is Ali.ld and LanduIf woo are on the defensive throughout. ThEtt of the four spc«hes are made by the archbishop's men, the archdeacon Guihen, Ambrose Biffus, and a d«uman print named Andrew.'e, The debate's lirerary purpose is twofold. It gives Landulf Senior an opportunity to 5UJ1)marile the nrious ugwncnts asainst reform whkh he develop$ throughout the Hut"";". These reach their high point in the lengthy, eloquent statement of Andrew. 1be interchange also 0 hausrs the possibilities of n.tionaJ, tbtologiol, or canonka.lly approved methods fOf' dealing with the opposite side. When Ariakl, ... I"'., ,.,9, pp. 87·88. '"'I"'., l .20, p. 88. ... INtI. , pp. 88.80}. -IMti., ' .... 119 . ... liU., l .U, p. 119- laadull I "Gmi TEXTUAL COMMUN[TlES Landulf, and Erleml»ld meet {Mir rt$~ti..., fates shordy afterwards , IM Ambrosian church, in the chronicler's view, achieves another victory over lay and ecclesiastical for«S attempti ng to diven iu historic and apostolic course. The 5CrmOIl$ of Guibtn and Arnbrosc are a pasriche of quocations from SI, ArnbrO$C aUegMly supportiog the traditional state of affairs. Ariald and Landulf, by contrast, rely chiefly on pusages of the New Testarnmt, by and large unadult=ted by cvmrnemary. Andrew's speet:h rises considerably above the othtrs in passion and pc."rsuasiveness. H e seems to speak with tM voice of Landulf &nior hirn5<'lf. Dcspitt the reiteration of previous positions, the nctive confrontation is instructivt. Both sides lay claim to t~ usages of the pri",itiwt Kf/tsiA. But, whereas the Nicoia.itans think of themselves as part of an unbroken tradition going back to St. Ambrosc, the Pararcnes insist that the original purity of the church can be restored only whtn "old things have passed away and everything is made new. '"- Guibert and AmbrO$C Biffus present different sides of the same argument. Guiben strtS$C3 the naturalness of the boJ>d berwttn man and woman. As St. Ambrosc points OUt, in ctelItion, Adam and Evt were ill 111/.~ fIh'P~' tt ill 1I/f0 Ipirilll."" A layman does nor cease to be a good Christian by marrying; nor are priests intended fO be a caste apart. '" All laymen and clerics, to the degr~ that they arc the chun::h"s sons, are ifS priesTS ... Ambrosc adds that only God embodies perfect charity, chastity, and goodness. W e know, Paul said, that the law is spiritual but that wc arc not."" Marri"'8 e, far fl"1Jm inhibiting spiritual existence, prevents the occurrence of WCI~ sins. Not only, therefore. do the Patucnes erect rigid barriers betw~n lay and religi()IJs in the church. They also 'attempt to apply to this world standards evidently only intended for the next. Their only mcam o( achieving their ends is by (om:. Their p/Mitllllr is nO( with God but with other men. In their misused idealism they try to replace Sf. Ambrosc as the church of Milan's true "pastDim.·'" By implication, they usurp the lictlllid granted to bishops to interpret Scripture for ordinary be!ievers. '" The reply of Ariald and Landulf indicatcs t/tat these chargcs were ·9. -IIM., 89. ,8.40' -ArWdu< .. Loll ,.», , ....., ...... et p. unctis . 1; Ambto...l!x._ , .7. pt '4·,.,·,6. ... I" ,.. 9<>. 9 ' umeo !.ic; .. ,Ieric;. qui -om ... "7 TIlXTUAL COMMUNITIES partly rofrect. Real ch.rity, they argued, does not Ct'lnsi5t in .llowing ODe'S brethren to persist in erroz. UnrefOrmed priesu twi to be set stn.ight by their that is, tbeir rnding of .postoli( doctrine, whkh was elitist, hierarchk.l, and strtl5~d tbe separation of the lettered and tbe unlettcred. True, they gn.nttd, PlIul says that we cannot a.J.l perform all tasks. But some of us atI' singled out through our knowledgc of divine .00 human affi.irs to lead others through Sc:riptuft'S tortuous paths.· n JUSt III Christ bore the cross,'" we must bear the responsibility for interpretttion. The priest by definition WlU • member of • purist sec:t. His obligation was to fulfil! ascetic ideals unattainable by otdirwy mort.b. Neither lIUlCriage IKlC Ot"herworldly involvements were tolerable. Of COI:Int ~ul tells his Iistencn not to di5S0lve marri.ge needlessly nor to look needlessly for • wife. But it it abo wriuen that "no one fighting for Chtist ....iII involve himself in wwldly alhin."- The PlItueoe position Will summed up in • rephrasing of Pauline ideas: "Just as death awakens the $OuI from the Cl.l"nal sense, S(l charity brings it '-'k from tbe desim of the !lah. ",oo The Nkolaitln position, tben, as Landulf p~nts it, can be described as inregrationist. Religiow institutions I.l1d social Ot"g.niution are mutua.J.ly supportive, .postolica.l.ly sanc:tioned srruc:tllrtS, in whkh theory and practice are unitt ,.",i6,·'" "'1... , ) .• " p. 9[, 60 . .. ' I... , 11", [1>17 :". . . ord unuoq";IC(UC DOIttWII, am;'" 0.0. italri, • '_" , G.I 6: ' •. -I",.• 9'. '1-'9> I Cot 1:21. "'1"'. , 9', .6." . .. ' ,'''. , ) .• 6. p. 9' , ,.,., ,; hod H :t9. ''''''flU ............. - 100""' TEXTu.o.L COMMUNITIES spiritual responsibilities of {he clergy and the people?"" Mib.n had known peace and prosperity before they arrived on the scene. They fomented civil war, despite God's teiection of (1)4(/" lt11lit;"."" If rhey were nOt persuaded by words alone, a stronger argument arose from the homicidn, conspiracies, perjuries, and from rhe children who died unbapti~ed . Had rhey not Sttn rhe bodies of murdered infilnts in rhe theatre cistern or {he dry's :sewen?)OO Perhaps they cherished illusions about human nature: in forbidding one wife they created dozens of adullerers and prostitutes. "" Perhaps as well they misundersrood the nature of chastity, which, as Ambrose observed, is a Slate of the mind, not of the body. As such, it may be revealed either i" D/JWf or i" habitlt. "'" But, quite aside from social considerations, Andrrw believed that Patarene preaching was harmful, even corrupt: "You defany w and our order with bitten_ words both in Rome and in our home town in order to show off your .rid learning and verbosity, . , . Some of your number, avid for lucre, Sttk che wages of ruin: they commen:ializt' through speaking what ought to be cloorhed in silena:. Others, in order to appear to know much and to vaunt their learning, State openly what they ought to keep to thetrudvn, and, speaking without discretion, make statements whkh, once enunciated. cannot be recalled . . . ,""" As a consequence, the p.tarenes in his view justified themselves not before God but before Other men. "'" Yet, even God had not "comm iuioned them to bring everything to perfection""'" on their own. If they wished truly to imitate the Lord, they had to accept wl.'2ker men, not JUSt to consider themselves. They could not think themselves " juster than the apostle, holier than the prophets, purer than the patriarchs. " Men _re driven f!'(lm their lawful wives by the lance, the cudgel , and the fist., 'Q Was this the !aw~ To his mind [he Ier. Domjlli made ir deat that no man should separate those whom God had jOined. Th.t is what St. Ambrose meant when he spoke of God's law: namely, "[hat a man shall leave his father and mOth~r and live with his wife, .nd that [hey shall be two in one flesh." '" Is it fair to call th~ who have been lawfully ww. for twenty yea" "fornicators" and "adulteren"? P~rhaps , he added, [he Pararenes _re infected with ... I;M., 9', )4 . ,., /;M_. 92, ,6: Rom ' . '. . "' /;M,. 9'. ,8-60. ... /hJ .• Dt _ . 9,. ,.,: u_, ' ''' flU.. 93. J'-p . '" fhJ.. 93 . • ~., : cl. ' ,' 3. p.;' . • ~H . Gujbcn·, .."""'" io......! .. . m...,nn point by bofh A»d", ... »d .... i&l.l • .,.d by I.a»dul(; d. ~ . 2'. 9>, 911. TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES tne MOftwne heresy and believed that men should have no commerce with women at all y' But tne Lord said, " No one can be clean and holy, free from sin."'" A married priathood, therefore, is supponM by both reason and canonical authorityY· The speed~ had scarcely ended when landulf leapt to his feet in a wild rage and stormed out towar 91 . ''''): - I ...... fl ..kmboId .... q.JOOI """" od i odi<M.d_ ... <erdot ....... od ..... <e~ srn"". u"""" ..... iamquo ................... i.... di......iI ........ ' 'e'I . . . . " p. i.--_........ TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES fell ill, and died. He was buried like a ",mmon criminal, with his legs broken. Ariald's cnd was more painful, and gave Landulf an opportunity co explore the story's mythicallevds. Around. the cnd of May, I066, he was said to ha~ entered into a violent dispute with a number of clerics over whether St. Ambrose had JlipulatC TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES the capitanei. The nobiliry and their popular followers prepared without enthusiasm for another civil disturbance. Erlembald, ccmfident of" victory, promised. his supporters rich rewanb and ~ uropntly into b..ttle, bearing the stancb.ro of" St. Peter. But, on this occasion fortune turned the other _y, .nd he was killed in the first attack. The b..ttle wall won by the capitanei. Later, UopniM, who lwt curied the CfOS$ on his behalf, lwt his nose and ears cut off. Each of the three major laders of the PIt.,it. thus met. fale .ppropriate to his offence. Landulf died with hiJ ton,:ue hanging our. Ariald, who mused. to recogni&e the elened archbishop, was cruelly murdered by his nia:e. Erlembald was swn in battle on behalf of the J4lKti Pdrl, which, in the chronicler's view, he had usurped. The deaths of" Ari1lld md Landulf 1llso take the reader close ro his conception of" the PaUl;.'S teal offi:n«. In both cues he i tarw.h back momentarily fram the action and comments on their misdeeds.'" Both meet their ends aroond Easter and both .rtempt to interfere with the liturgy, which, in Landulfs opinion, is the most t.ngible link with the J?IISt of the Ambrosian church and ",ith the Word itself. Tiling Erlembald's case first: Landulf, QtJ hearing of the cnuhed chal· ice, contrutl the godless feuda.I union '114dt_ silH 0.,) with the divinely CODseCnlted sacrament VMr"_u.", ... JIff" Dti WlUttrtd_). - We tttutn, in othtt words, to twO rypes of onl discourse, one evil, the other good. Funher, the beneficent verbal union , underpinned by the .uthority of Ambrose, is linked rirually to the past. Erlcmbald's principal offence is to ha\'!: criminally inrerruptC _iIl_ i'tP'_ , .. I~., 1.Y>. p. 9'. ~7')6, and I" 97. 2· 10 . - 118.• 97. 2-.4. O . 8oni.... _ , LiWJ A-.... 1. NGH J.iIotIIl do 1.;.. I . ~ . ""'" ",,",ben: ............ "'" __" TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES ~ of Etlembald. At one l~l he attempted (nor altogether SU((ess· fully) tt> disprove Ariald·s allegations by quoting the gospel of I.uke and St. Ambrose's inscription on the gates o{MilanY' But it is dear from the style of Anald·s death that he had something el~ in mind. Like Landulf Cona, Ariald WaJ finally overcome by his misUS(" 0{ verbal cleverness. If we are to follow the chronicler·, interpretation, Ariald saw that the people had turned against him, not only for his present mischief" but a!.so for his for~r mi$&eds. He tOO had offended word and ritual with tatual legdisms. Landulf combined these themes with a typiC1lI STory of family veng ... nce. His C1Iprors were Guido's relatives; his tongue, the source of his '"("Vii," was ripped 00[, Yet the symbolism does nO( end there. His body was then taken to the apoth«a of St. Ambrose, where its continuing stench is a reminder that its message and inAuence had not yet died. Not by accident, the murderess is dCKribed i$ ·'stC'eped in almost all the magical an5, especially in [he an of incamation."'" She has the cellar filled up midway with water, sUp<"rficially, to drown the odour, but, at a more abstract level, as a typ<" of ritual purifiC1l' don, a coll$Cious or uncoll$Cious antidote to baptism. As in the death 0( Erlembald, Landulf sttS ooe type of oral discoul1/e bl-ing answered by another. The legates of the Pa~rene chief", who were ClImped ;n the Rho wlley, thought they heard an '·angelic voice . '").6 They rushed to the Ticino·s banks, where, aJ the narrat(){ puts it, Ariald was IT· pr_m/alldln"" There they found their hero·s body: cut up by Olive, it had roned for days in foul WlIter, and its $CXual members, signifi. cantly, were shrivelled up.'" Thus, it would appear, in Landulfs imagination, the verbal dta'ptions of Ariald were countered by th e black magic of Guido·$ nita': ("Vii for ("Vi i, man for woman. It was to his mind a fining end to a controversy which attempted ro drive lawfully wedded men and women apart. Landulf &niot's characteriz.atiOll of the Pataria i$ tOO complicated to be summed up in a few words. Unlike Arnulf, he did not look upon the movement as an unjustified reV{)lt from below against thc legitimate authority of the infeudated Milantse church. No single claJS held for him the position of Arnulfs capitanei. lrutead, he meas· ured all ~ial, political, and religious disruptions against an image of the pr;m;/i", tff/di 96. 1>-"'. on wick ~ ,he ,n,·' ""'n. p. '''''''·. 96. " . 9).,,>6->1 . ,.. L.r.tit . '" ".,~.• 9li. ' .... '9· TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES miaDO. This idealized church had much in common with SOCtUian movements, or, as he believed, with the individualized communities of t~ Greek Ease. If it lacked Othe!: sec~' voluntarism, it nonethch:u promoted. active lay participation in relision, a fOIIitivc rather tban • pauive role for women, .nd an inrellSC frarernalism interminsled in his case with civic nostalgia. Above all, it permitted, even encouraged, • married dergy. In his view, the Nicolaiti reprn-enred the traditional values of the Milanesc church. The Paracini were innovatOtS and misguided heretics. If tandulf was more conscious than Arnulf of the purely religious divisions, he .1$0 oifc,ed, despite occasional nlIggo:ration5, a more pelcep4:ive analysis of borh the social and cultural aspects of the conAict. He distill8uisbed between the mollS of the nobility of the 10}05 , the commonet5 of the 10405. and the reformers afrer 10:;7 . To his mind the rebellions had al least one common feature: given the opportunity, first the ca:pitallt"i and vavuours, then the cives or pop.li, and finaI[y the Patarcnes tried to destroy the Ambrosian idral, which he saw as the principal inSU1>ment of social cohesion. The most serious threat to order did not arise from class warfan:, which he nonetheless vividly portrayed. but from the series of dishonours suffered by the church of St. Ambrose. No hisrorian of the period has failed to be $truck by Landulrs characterization of the common people under tanzo·s leadership, preferring to die rather than to live di~nourab!y <_pr_i diligt1U '1_ m- i~lt).- But few have noted that he describes the capitanei in fOn in aIlDOSt the nme terms: jJtlrati ,.m '1__ i"lxnustl "wm.''''' The key concept is honour, which he sees as both a civic and a religious virtue. The relation between the social and. reformist components in his interpretation i, therefo.re not easy ro unravel. Filmilial and politiC*! rivalries, he thought, survived Guido's election and poisoned the atmosphere of the r",os iust as the reform platform was taking s~pe. But the Protari. WIll not only a social movement. The religious element was amalganuted onto the social, fotming a new alloy. The Patarroes CUt ilCtoiSiI older boundaries with • new culcuraJ ideal: both the pl'OCCS$ and the content were equatly unprecedented. When enthusiasm inevitably waned., older rivalries weti' quick to fClS5ett themselves. W~t 8.VC the movement iu strength and paradoxically made it 110 vulnerable was its use: of the , .. I.... 2.26 . ". 63. 26. !'or .....i.... of ...... ri,..dn of...-l ... h~ .... Yi.oJoa ... t.. ,.;W-•• 61-151 •••pod"L1y fo< .... poriod up '" ,loo .piocupo.. of Aribort. ""'. '" Iat .. ok", '"'W""..... Y. a..-N. Ut ,,;u.. JIWit. }98-.4" . ""* ... H;p.;. 3030. p. ,,,i..., 96. ~}O. ". TEXTU-,L CO MM U NITIE S letter and the word. The letter organized the ~ti te ; the word was communicatrd to the masS<"$. Within the Pat2I"ia's ranks the division between noble and commoroer was momentari ly suspendrd in favour of that of /illtrarllJ and iIIitrtralJl.J. AnJrtW of Slnlmi Landulf Senior does !1Q{ drKribe the inner workings of the early Patari. in detail . This task was left ro And~w of Strumi, who dird in 1I06. A devoted follower of Aria!d, Andrew left Milan sometime after 1067 to join the expanding Vallumbrosan Order, beKIi li.ria/Ji, written in tOn , and his Vi/a GII4/Nrii, in r092.H' In both, stress is laid on penance, uceticism, and t~ need fot Strong leadership among ~form communitiC$.m The Vi/a li.rialdi may be divided into three parts, the lirst dealing with the Pararia's early phases and with Ariald ', preaching (chi. I-r8), the second with the 5aint"s martyrdom, during which Andrtw was in Milan (chs. '9-2,), &nd the third with a ponibly apocryphal!'" exchan~ of letters betw«n Andrcw and a PatarnK' priest caned SirU5, who was, he claimed, an intimate of Aria!d's and the authQt of a Ion 1Iita ","i_.m Andrew begiru in a sense w~re Landulf Senior left off, namely, .,. On -'nod""'-, ,d """h;p ... i,h jokn, ... S. _ Goj....,. ··So",;' • "odilioM ../lom· t>n.o .... - 99"' " • """;.. "'nod"", I>«ttnt obbot of S. fod '96», >111-". .1\0, V.... p . '''47 . ~ Si",,', I...... "",riou>. /ot i!, ""-",,, or."", loo """how .,im" ,h<m «Odi", And",.', lit.: "F'«" ''''';. dolla P.... i. m; ........ - i" CIW<. , ' . .. : ..• • ,,,,",6. Viobn .. Ill... " ' _ 1\)1 ,hoi, ""Iv",",i,,, ""1 .,;ci ",I """,;mmm po ... i ...:· " oo" . '71, »\)-,1. fur • ..un, ~ .. of ch< mdoc ,,. 9)nl . ,~ B~"". of,,,, ,6. '''7>. <""." '· _i ......_ V'" $. A"yfJ;. <. 1'. N", t" bo «>nf.....t ... ;th .Iv ';'" 4'0;_ of , Iv ,....,Ifth Of ,hirt«ntlt. poorly odi"" by PutittUi .,6,91. For. tbo ,..., li....... C. "'U'pini. "",io: d, S. Arialdo:· ... ~ ,...;..1..... ,,1.. anno '7. 001 . I~ (I .,,00), '''9.,6. «>mpu'_ " '" TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES with Ariald's rnartyrdom.n6 Bur, whereas Landulf sought to ponray Ariald as the co-founder of a herttical sect, Andm.' is replere with hagiographic conventions. A happy combination of intelligence, disCipline, and austerity, Ariald i, Kid to have committed himself early to both celibacy and monastic rrtotm.m His followen were marked men: Landul( Cotta WIIS converted by his preaching;n' Nazario is compued to ComeliU5, who ~Irt'ted Peter.'" Erlembald _ "lately rttumed (tOm Jenua.lem" and "wished to B.~ the world. ",MO Seeking the pope's approval, he journeyed to Rome like a pilgrim, stopping at monasteries and hermitages on the way. He was given the "",i/l_ SAlfdi Pdri lIS an extirpator of heretia and II!I & potential martyr .... Ari&!d, like Christ, was h ,,. v.... ~, ]>. '049. ,n 11U., «. ,"", p. ' '''.. .,. IlK. , c. " p . •"". ,-" 11U. , c. 6, p. "'n; Arno.o ' 0. "'IIU.. c. •,. p. ''''9. '" L...#I. ... 11U.• c. 01 , p. ,067. >0, 11U., <. n , ]>. ,0066, H-H . "'/IU. , c. XI. p.•065. 20-2' ; N , ' .44 . .., 11U. , c. » , pp. 106869. ""IU., 'o6s> . .., I OU. , c. 21 , pp. '<>67-68. ... llU_ . c_ '}. p. '<>7<'. - I~. , '01' . 1" , . .. 6 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES Ariald, in mher words, is to Andrew what Aribert was to Landulf, a charismatic figure, apable, if only in dnth, of knitting the diverse social and religiOUS threads of Milan into a single fabric Yet, Andn:w almost never analyses rhe social background of the Pataria in depth. Even Guido's faKes an: w~ived as n~ry srages io the saint·, eventual martyrdom."o Andrew, unlike Amulf and Landulf, cannot tbo:rd"ore be o.lled a commentator on the politi(al asp«tS of the Pa_ taria. However, of the three, he is by far the most informative on the interior structure of the movement itself. His analysis begim in chapter four, which we may first swnmatizel>' and then diS(U$$. According to Andrew, the entire ,mk r«UsimtiCIIS was living ;0 error. SnKely a priest could be found in his proper functions. Some had taken up frivolities like hunting; others had bewme shopkeepers, bailiffs, or usurers. Many had wives, and all were ··implicsred·· in the buying and seUing of offices. Aria/d 0.111<" to Milan to expose vice , and pn:aIll A._ 7. p . 601: Cl",""" ~rlj",br.1do pm ... m;.. , ..... mon;.iluo .. . . '" ",., fOllow •..,. ~rulat .. Vi.. <.•• pp. IC, ' .p. ". Dour '9"': d . Arn.lr, G".. 3. ", p . '9. '" M, ",6. , .. J" 1>:>6. "7 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIJiS bu.t has failed. And so he Iw tumod directly to the people; "I shal! lead. you back or perish by the sword for your salw.tion.·' Despire its maightforwatd mffillge, the contat and meaning of Ariald's first sermon require reflection. Although appearill8 as a sepatate unit in the Vittl, it is in fact carefully integrated with Andrew·s own thoughu. 1berefore, Ont mUffin, it was not only tnuuhued from the vertI2CUiar but probably also reworked. The pair·s statements, more "",,001 ..-......, "" "ru. m ;" fumod br ..... den_ ........ ~ "'" /1(;""'" """ br ...nd...... p. to,'. I.'). "'" _ In tilt \ant, bol( at k;o """""'. p. IOS>. 17-46. ... 11<>: ·'Cuncti k<e." "'Ill pub!id, ......a.u. IM t, n·J.8: En ipoi, ... «n>.i';I, lieu, t.;c:; ""lutt .-.... ~, ArioId·, ""*"'........_ """-.. . ." '''I!iJ.• c. >6, p . IOn , >~. U. Booi..... Sulri. 1Aw.J .1._ 6. pp. 191, 196, who .... pMo; ... tbot AMId ,. • ..:hod ;" t<#fJo. '" 11;,/.• 10,1 •• 8-,2 . ,,' TEXTUAl. CO MM U NITIES and exist,,60 so suffered at milllkind', blindness and mi$ery that it sent not an angel but descended it$elf frum on high, assumed the lIesh. and. in oreer to expd dukness from man's heart, freely suffered death on the crms. From this metaphorical descent derive the tWO key elerotnrs in the $Crmon's subsequent development, the relation between the lettered and the unleuered and the imitation of the divine by earthly priesrs. Fint, the birth of Christ becnmes an allegory of the bi rth of interpretation. Light, which is the Word, descended itself. Then, Ariald adds: "In the days of his lIesh he el~ted as many men from the world as he foresaw to be necessary for uniVl'n&1 illumination before: the end of the world. Having driven &11 the shadows of fal$ehood from their hearts, he illuminated them with etermJ light and se nt them throughOUt the world; .nd he ordered the lig ht which they had m:eived to shine forth everywhere ilIld to return to the Father from whom it had come. This lofty, eternal, and living light left tWO means on eanh through which &11 who are to be enlightened soould be brought to its radiance and through which they should remain bright up ro the cnd of the world .. .. Do you wish to know what they were? The word of God (tMhllm Du) and the life of teachen (Joctllt7llfl vita) . . . . The same Lord plactd OJle of the$e before them, the other before you. But they to whom he gave the undentanding of Scripture and elec ted to his ministry in order that they might live etetnally for the lig ht of his transluccnt word were constituted and ordained so that thei r way of life might be a text (/ect;Q) ~ to you who arc ignorant of let_ rers. ",6, For Ati&1d, then, the PatarenC$ are contrasted to the archbis hop's clergy as a beneficial, even 11 prophetic .5«( to a f:o.JJen church. Th e genuine priesthood is an elect, whose act ivity of interpretation reiter_ ates the pla[oni~ desce nt of the W ord itself through Christ. The ... /""'.• ' ''' ' . ~.,, : ''Cui", =i",i .. mi",';" in un".m ... mm. I........'" (om_ ~" 1-9. ,~",; '"Qui in dOdo .. hDmi ..... I<>t do mundo «1<10 poll< pmoidi, . Q.- "",niboo &I ..,,,,, ,rni urni, ._ ".i __ "", V••l . . . . E. hi, i'*j'" u""" iddum . Io,i, . Ut od '" ..... " ..,b. ",i [ucjdj . i....n •• """".u;' ,n 1.«10. ~j d,'" oNi .... ;, :· .. u, eorum v.,. ..... ... [i".,.., ".. "9 '''''1><' TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES elect receive his charisma and deliver his message. The word is "the precept illuminating my tyeS";J6.0 the teachers should be "the light of the world. "". But the Mil.an~ clergy is far from such an ideal. As the~ is one wellspring of illumination, so there is one ;";,,,mu h".."i gtJ'"i./.J6.0 If the chosen priesrs lose their lighr, mankind falls back into darknl'Sll.'" In order tMt the enemy delude rhe unlettered, he takes on a "simiJirud.. of holiness. "J~ In thl' Iartl'l" baJ{ of th .. Sl'rDlOfl Arilld turns the images around one by one, painting I picture of cletiClll ignorance and bUndl)l'$5. The ,ilen« befure the coming of thl' Word il even Ii~ to the present educatiorw.l sute of tbe clergy: " .. . for, just as those .....ho were deceived by stones and bits of wood thought them gods, so you think your priests true when it is clear they are .....holly falsC'. ",6, But, in order to atrain salntion, thl' common people must fint be considered iUiten.tes. This somewhat startling conclusion anergn natuta1ly from barh Ariald's stltements and Amulfs and umdulfs comments on them. ThI' two chroniclers accused the young preacher of disturbing a custolllIU)' stat.. of affain, one in which relations between lay and clerical life-styles ..... ere harmoniow and in ..... hich communication bet.·een the: clergy and the laity pan.lleled other familial and dvic institutions. Ariald by C"OntI?St promises chlnge. His vehicle is not only I reform which be coruiden to be based on a literal return to first pdnciples. It also involves a ilCpantion between the elea, whoSe task it is to interpret God's word, and, by implication, a nonelea, who are "ignorant of letters." It thereby uanslotnu the distinc_ tion betw~ Io,y and clerical. into literate and illiterate. As I consequence, .....hat had up to now been primarily an institutional difference, in which laymen and clerics belonged to "orden," has a5 well be<:ome cultural. A paradoxical choice is therefore placed before tbe !.airy. It can panicip"t.. in a retlcwed church, but only by accepting a $triCt division of labour between interpreter and audience. laymen thus ba:.:;.rm part of I new learned culture by being reduced t(l a popular level within it. And this, as Amid', criticl pointed out, is sectarianism. A similar condu.sion results if ..... e enmine AriaM's idea of knowledge. The sermon, as noted, beghu with a dj,rinctioo between twO ltates of hWDlln understanding, which turn out to be enlightenment ... PI .8'9 , ... N. '''4. ... 1';", t. 4, p. '0,', '7. '9· ,., I/W. , ''"'9. ""/W.,O<).>I. "'//W.••,"7. TE:I(TUAL COMMUNITIES and ;gnoranc~. Enlightening knowl~g~ is of tWO type$: one is the libtralillfR ( tf) diviMnlm /ifl".a,."". . . . Jc;",f;a which Ariald acquirM in the S(:hQOls; the other is illumination. which passes from the word incarnate to the ch~n ~w ~nd via milliJlfi [0 the l~ity.,t.e From the outset. therefore, the latter an: both lower on the scale of liter2CY and, perhaps by implicat ion. of divine understBJIding. The sermon's paired metaphol"$ and their stark images underline these uncompromising positions. Further, a.s the ~rmon proceeo:l$, Anald refines his conception of enlightening knowledge until finally it comes w mellIl the undenmding of inner truth. For n:amplt. he speaks of the Mila~ dergy as wolves, not vrri P"JlfwtJ, wh~ perversity must be uncovered (titttgmd4),,69 just as true meaning is sought beneath a tat's allegt>ricaJ appearances. Again, Ariald's wisdom. like ~rard of Monfone's, derives dir«dy from God. the ha ttmJa. "through whom everything was made and in whom everything aists."'to No inttrmeo:l.iary (.:111gt/III) is placed bcrwecon the word and its interpreter.'" Christ's ministers. spread throughout the globe.'" all' empowerM [0 relieve Ihe j"JJilaliJ 1mb"" to defeat the enemy lurking beneath Ihe MIIClilatis sjmilillldo. Like Eriugena, with whose writings he may well have bec'n acquainted, Atiald scn knowledge arising from God, descending (JtJttndil) through Christ to man and returning (mEit) to the source whence it came.m irs appeara~ on earth is described in mystical ternu reminiscent of a thwphany: in the i«t(Jrlllll vifa. ··which ought 10 be light il~lf, Ihu very trulh (vtrifaJ) manifesrs ir~l( openly in its own words ... ,,. 1be circulariry of th~ word thus intersects th~ linear roUHC of human history in the sacred text. Howev~r, if divided by the written word, men Ill' Ilo~rrrcless reunited through the byproducrs of und~rstanding. which relat~ man's ... Cf. Mi«oIi• .."", I. >torio t..•••,,u Stn"" . I/i," 2.27. p . 66. _od aboo< p. ' 4-4",60. 4 . p. 10 " . },_,6; eJ. Undu.lf. I¥.t#.: 1',..... """".'" p",u;lia", noIO'" oIi", '<>1' . ~· Jl . U. ". Vn-.. t . P,,(u;hot. ,,- ViI.o. t. 4. p. '0,_. """,od obo.. p. "9<>. Cf. Londolf. ··PomilKcm hobcm ... noIO i ll"", X ...... kp<'_ ...no: . u"'. w.,it.: '0". 37 .t>d ,,,,,. , . 00. rh< ponibl< _ .. Eri_ by m. MonIOrt< h<.,cl", .... H . T.vi1ni . ··N.iftsnt:. d·"", ""mi • . ..• " ",2ff.. and "'l' dOllb... abo-vt. p. '44",,8. "The ...". ......... do no< appI, to th< Ill< of ,h< nintM. n'"" philoooph« by Atiald ••100 _ wdl od"""od . , .. V .... c. 4. p. ,,,,, . '1_ , >: " 0. .ita """ dom> ...... . qood .... _ I"". in w-rbi. ' ui. ViI.o. t. 4. r· ipOa por ....,;, .. "",It< mann... ..:· TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES intentions to the ;'lIil.lio Chrisli. Although trained in the schools, Ariakl nowhere .ckn to the accumulation of /acts. Por him. useful knowledge is a fora' influencing the minds and heans of men. ikfore Christ. men were: blind, _ o/is ~ljmiJ sui ~.'" God accordingly .stnt Christ to dispel rhe darkness "b cordibMs bo.illJt1ll. ,-,6 His mi1lis"; were: chosen "after all the shadows of falsehood were expelltd from their hearts. "117 The laity must follow them;'" but the reform movement consists DOl of theory but of individuah re-enacting the life of Christ under their guidlllltt. They must be pure not only in altril1ri !Jah;III ,m as the Milanest clergy pte$umably arc not, but also in inner contrilion.~ His thoughts can be summtd up in the notiOJl of vtrilllJ, which is repeated at key points.)" Andrew, as noted, complaincd that scarcely any of the regular dergy could be found ;" SIUJ IrK/} ""'(1(;/"'.'" Ariald said dwr he "truly believed" tbe populace knew all men were blind until the word', coming: " what was false they believed. truc. "~. Through Christ, " truth is openly manifested. ",.. The people, be argues, mUllI combat the devil, "who took holiness', truth from them. ")11, And he concludes with the admonition, "Return and take up truth and learn to repel falsehood.."~ Iu the word murns to God, the people mUllt 6nd tbeir way back to a reformed piety. Ariald's sermon, of course, was calculated to appeal to laymen dis$Itis6ed with the dergy', monl 'tate. But, as noted, it Iba 5C[ tbe lay community apan from the priesthood, both in tmIa and ~fftdll". Miccoli noro that the sprKh was full of good .stD$e. It invited men and women to think about the sac~n[s' meaning. '" It also emphasized moral as opposcd. to theological concerns. Ianduif Cotta romplimcnted the Sf E,hr. But an even more eloquent testimony came from Nazuio, whose way of life, Andtew noces, "was praiseworthy in all things, even though he was married. ".. If Ariald placed laymen '" IHJ., [0,1. l" ... 10;.1., '1. ' " 10;.1.. , Ol' . a·,. , .. IHJ., .,."" - 'Qu.I mi'" ministtu, me ............ (}D [ • .• 6). QIIod os< .,.,.. dUR: nemi ... .... ipp< mihi .. inis".."" Diu 010 eo, qui ",. _ i t ... " Spi""Ili, "11 . .,00.;" minisuriolr," 91"99. a. ,.. Vii.. c.•• 10,2.'0. ... IHJ., +0-41: -a.riotus ... Iem io oW • ....-.. miBistris Wlram lIIWM1iliuD queri ... n· _ . '" _ IOh... iII. ...., ................ O >«"" ... a. G. 00«0. -"'tu;.,.,., . _:. ,6,-'9. ... V;"', c. 4, p. [0,', '7 . "' IMJ., '" ". ... IMJ.. '0. ... IOJ.. O . ... Nio::o~, - ,.,. 10 _io del. l'au.rio ... ,,. vu.., c. 6, p. 10", '4 ' 'I,. ""10itI., ' " ',''' TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES in I. lower category of panicipation in divine mysrcrirs,'" NaUlrio expanded the characterization, drawing a{{ention nonetheless to the specific nttds and expectations of his own dass.''''' In his view, .... hat Ariald said was both "true and usefur'; it both revalidatro the sac:ra· ments and pJacro them in I. suirable moral framework. But he added: true and useful not only for the .... ise (!.apitntes) but also the roolish (~), that is, by analogy, to rh<M who had understanding and those .... ho did OOt.J9' Naurio then reiterated Ariald's Statement in his o .... n words. For .... ho, he asked, is so ignorant (imipinu) that he cannot dearly understand that those whom I personally C?JI to my rt'Sidence for blessings ought to be different from me and higher on the sale of perfection? But, at present, that is not the CtiC. The regular dergy is not purer (",,,Tlliiur) but less dean (surJidiur).}9' Aria.ld's acceptance of Naurio·, offer of hospi(l.lity fl(){ only Il!iter· ated Ne .... Testament events in Andrew·s eyes but also symbolically united laymen and clerio in a programme of Il!form. As Landulf Cotca observed, lay people were eager to become their followers.'~' Yet, as it gll! .... , the m~ment remaintd structured ber ....ttn an upper, liter· ate, priestly caste and a great many ordinary believers ..... Encounged by popular support, AIiald .nd Landulf began to preach more and more openly. Andrew records a second major sermon .... hich Ariald delivered around iOH. Its chief themrs, simony and nicolaitism,W' are the same as in the fitst. But he develops somewhat further his not:ion of "order"' and adds observations on the uses of li teracy. His bare thoughu may be summarized a$ follows :""'; "I.t-t us give thanks to God," he Soays, "(or the idea of reforming the dergy, which both you IInd He desire, and ....hich, therdore, we (arry out not by volition but necessity. For it is not only married priests whom we .,.•.. "'lo;J. , p. [0 , • • ~ 7 . ... a. 11. . s. Lopo •• * An A[i""',",", of MOOICf in m. &cly Middl< ,..... ," Sf«>II- .6 ( [9H), ... V;" , c. 6, p. ... lo;J.•• 6-11 . , o ~l , ., .• 6 . .., 10iJ. , c. ,. p. ' ( 1). 6-[ 1: "NUM ....... ~,.. AliUdoo Ita" ..i"",. qw. 0.; doo.", ,. ... V_. ,ho, .tot" . . . :. 11#. '" TEXTUAL COMMUNITlIIS rook wives? A far greater sin is committed by those who buy and K'll holy offices, as is well illustnted by the story of Simon Magus.m Peter fotgal'e tboK' who wronsed him 'seventy-fold: but be rook pUns to coodetnn Simon. For he .sinned not only -s~r man but also against God. The gospels el:plicidy srate that one must not traffic in God's gifts: 'Freely you reaim; fm:ly give.'-"" Mi:A:eotu, simony is not on.ly an exteIioe &ulr; it ~ at the heart of rbe inner purity with which we must appn:ach all the sacraments, as Ambrose Ind GJ'l:goJ'y bear wifness. Gtegorr indicaees that theJ'l: ought traditiOnally to be three orden continually combatting simony. A heavy burden in particular &.lIs upon prtaCnen, foe they mwt enlighten the uninsttllCted. Unless they do, nrhen will. And their words mU$t cut like sworcU, dividing the faithful from tbe oppo5t'. Who would care if hentia unfaithful. " 1lJC' impotrant clement io the K'tmon occurs in rhe final secdon. Hning spoken at length on the notions of .a", Dti, stirr, and n«.'U1iJ.u, which reiterate ideas from his fust $Crmon, Ariald then turns to the obligations of each class of Christians within & reformed church. His ..Oids are as follows:"" ''The J7l'lsage of Gregory's $Crmorl in which it i$ $C't down how each person should strive to combat simony with respect to his own station is perhapil unclear; the,cfurc, it is only fitting rh ..t a lucid explanation be provided for)'OUt bcnelit. In &Ct, the holy chllf'Ch has thre-e orders, one of preachers, a second of continents, and a third of those who are married. The first ought to be f'OI.dCCf against simony through tireless ... M. 10'& . . . • 0":'""', ",n" __ " -, _.i. . . . __ . ,. . . _. . . ,_. . . , . .. p" • • """".~ ,.""............" <=1\10 ..... 4 "un>. ...._..... """"I'" n~ dobn _ ... _ ~ ;,.ddT.... <:> _"1'" " ''"'4 '"'"''''' ' -_ _a.... ...:...- .,.;. '"> ", .. . ><-'4"" bio Itlbuo QRi; ........ _ 1J"k'fI_ ..... ~;o /UUi,'" ..;",. J>UVlO....n, ;.,...,. di :';i, quibua cs< "" .... .:. oI'5tiO>mqU< pmic&ndi cammi ....... , quolil>Orim, . - 001 ..... «>nti ................... prodi...;. _ ... _ old>« Libft;", et .....,ior, quit. ...... ob ...... 1t......Jari .",•• et _ qi, ......i........ ........ odoo:oi. _ ....... _, qui ..... id....... _i ..... "'...... ~Nt " " " " . . "oe '0"""", ODm""..n...... ...bA. "'j.... oaIerio. ;•• RaD "'" """"" 01> hoc IIOCjIIilio ) H,. ! bit debo!iI . Undo Domift ... dw<: 'Si h<m>i_ ........in., ...iNbet giodiWtl IUWII ........,,<1 hot . . 01> i" ... r",.ion<:..u... nequiN;moe bd..... - "4 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES exhortation and. the second through incclIlant prayer: but you, who are manied and who live from (he labour of your hands, ought 10 pursue the same end daily, eagerly, through works of alnu-giving, so that omnipotent God may repel this (heresy) and drive it OUt of the church. "On thal account, if any of the$e three ord~s refuses to fight ardently with the works of justice which are in accord with the sayings of the holy spirit put into the mouth of Gregory, he does not believe that Simon M"gus now suffers punishment . For, if they, 10 whom the knowled~ md office of preaching have b«n commined, rem.;1I ,i_ Lent, no mar;u,r what lhe ~. not only the comillent, whose preaching ought to be freer alld truer to the degree that they arc released from worldly cares and instructed through ceaseless meditatioll on sacred law, but even you, who are illiterate and ignorant of Scripture, ought to give each ocher ptOte<:tioll from this iniquity, as much as you can, through rach others" words. Whellce the Lord says, ·If mcn are silent, the waUs will speak. '... Does the prophet not add, 'Cursed be the one who keeps blood from hi, sword, .•~, that is, from the slaughter of this most wkked monster?" The implications of thu text are far-reaching. Ariald states that tm-re are three q,-JiIW, which he call, prtdif:4tlMJ, CtlfIti_t~, and CtlfIiM~tiY' Ea<:h order has a specific offoillm on the scale of C(>mmuni_ cation between mm and God, namely preaching, praying, and almsgiving. But, in intcrrdating order and function , Ariald brQaden$ the standard schema of the III""JiMJ, lhat is, of moolu, derics, and laymen, into a more general description of ways of life in which personal merit and individual moral commitment play a largc role. "'J He emphasileS the acrive side of each office: j"lkjdJa t:Chlll""tatj~, alSid",," q,-ati~, and ofwa dtmOJifWfllm. Even the continent arc involved: .., they are mo~ otherworldly, so their preaching ought ro be li/writll'it _aeiq,-. And, if those who possess the scimtia offoilllflq/lt proii(andi remain silent, others must spca.k our. Are th~ laymen? The role is callw for, even if it ;s not fulfilled . Ariald justifies his posidon as a member of the prophetic eie<:l, but, - o . Ut. '9 .• 0 . .. , ) •• 8 .• 0. - Thr .w.;"",;o. fin' ...... ;n G,.,.,.., ,..,~. If_"""'. i. e~_ Po."..... >. born. 4. {. I. PL 16.976A·B. "'" brief d;K...uom, ... H . .;. I.uboc. fJt4Iu dH~It, ..... 2 (/'aI; •• '959). H'·n ..-.d Y. Cr.,p' . .. f..<> Ioh .. 1".< d•• ;oIo,;" d< .... ,bIo>k>~j ..... d .. XI... XI!. ,;;.:Iot," I Witi odU ·soaa", ,~. dn ",,0# XI. XII , 97-98 . .., loIi«o1; • •."" I... on. do!" _n.:· 1>8. '~7 · ", TEXTUAL CO NMUNITIIlS more than in his first sermon, attempts to build a bridge OO'l\'ttn preacher and layman. He retains the traditional distinction between those who work with their hands and those who work with their minds. But he uniteS all the/WIG in one tJ/III.-' This moral obliption is underpinned by legal isms; Gregory's words were decreed fJwrripitllT); as a reflection of tne holy spirit they are ;1Il1;tiM 6jJtrll, and so fonh. And the legalism is linked to reform through images of active combf.t, even warfare. All orders are to fight (pl/g"""'); the laymen give abm ro repel (rtpllIwr) Ind to destroy (.4iJpngiiO) simony. In his quotation from Jeremiah, AriaId may ~ pttaIlej tM VOCIbulary of more famow $lItemenu by Gregory VIl.~ But these motifs an: abo woven into I pattern of communication from high to low. The prhtun _ is the preacJK'n; the ipotM iguriqw stripll/rM Itt";ve the mem:ge from above; or, if the preachers do not fulfiJl their proper function, they an: enjoined [0 diKUSS sacred matters with each other in ordinary langWl8e. In order for the Pataria to exist aJi a religious movement, in Andre"is ern, both sides an: dearly necessary. Through the roII;111111'-, active participation, themure, lay spirituality is dftCdvdy transformccl into a vehicle of religious and. social change. At this point it may be u.scful to reftec[ brielly on AriaId's intellectual techniques. What strikes one about all tbe descriptions of his activities is tbe new U2S to which he puts oral dilCOUrse, Of course, he widely utiliz.ed biblical and patristic tau and generally outshone his opponentS in erudition. Eumples include his contribution to the debate brtwccn tbe Patarini and tbe Nicolaiti in Landulf Senior, aJi well aJi the sermon he prnchcd asainn the observance of a thrre-day fast brfon- the Easter litanirs.oo(I But, on IDOSt occasions, it was his words n.ther tban his thoughtS which ripped the scales in his favour. Andrew, who was close to events, dates his influe~ 116 uorJiQ JIIIM pflw/illltioniJ . ...., Sirus similarly speaks of the im:sistible _M IItri /tt",*/i Cbrirti.+Oi In a brief riJJmi of his ptaehing style, Andrew states that he pet$Onl.lly never heard a more powerful speaker: more saintl' names dropped from Ariald's lips in a day than he ever read in lcatned tomes. Whenever he had to engage in a public dn.te, ~, - Cf. q . I. Pw ,be .... oI.}MkJ to,. Akunder ond .. , l&i n,'" Viola,,,., u , •. ,.... .n..-, It< '49 P. btIoi, "U totmi ... ·!idol;... · ...tl< 10"." di G, ..",;" vu:· j,Mi . '." -"', (,,..a). I~e. - Sce A. So:icklo:r, -n ',Iodilll' ...1 I ". ", TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES Ariald tOOk ca~ [0 discuss matters befurehand with hi, other brethren.- The three qualities which COtlK to light in this succinct portn.it--on.torieal ski!!, a prodigious memory, and intelleo::tual com_ rac\eship--are all related to oral discourse, and, pe1"~ not accidentally, recall the alleged virruQSity of the heretics at Orleans, Arras, and Monforte. Andrew adds ODe further instructive deu.i!. So humble was Aria.ld in the deploy~nt of his vast learning that "he put no greater store in his knowledge than iC he h&d nQt known a single letter.""~ The statement, although euggerated, unires pi rhing with poverty<" and humility, suggesting bet~ the lines that Ariald, as a country priest, avoided the pride traditionally associated with city erudition. A story with just such a meaning is told by Sirus and ~hocd by Landulf Senior.'" Sirus reports that when Ariald first addressed an "ordinllI}' group of clerics" at Varoe in iO~6 his listeners taunted him wilh the fullowing words: "You speak to us in this manner because you know ~ are uninncucted. If yOl.l wish your teaching to inspire true confidence, go and make the same statements in the c ity. ""l Arlald subsequently came to Milan: thus, symbolically, the countryside invaded the town; the simple, pure of heart overcame the sophisticated and hypocritical. But, at the same time , a new Corm of interpretation baSC [06,. 3 ['40. , ~ I. .. '" a. MicroU , ••"" I. ltOk plo« wben Ali,ld w.. -.odd ,u.... ro ,he church .. 11._. lii' fOlio-.. loot to, ~tlo:mbold • ..",«1 • ~,. bu, be held ,Mm bod:, rcc.o.Ili", ,,,", ,hey ohouW .• .,.. tl\rit .... mk<··' c. '0. p. ,06) . 1'0< otb<, ''''''1'1 .. af Aria! ,,,..-.I, ", TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES AndKW speaks of the (OmmOn people being a(dvarea by hearing a c:easeless repetition of basic priodplesY1 And when he looked back on a del:ade of sU(cessful reform in the diocese of Milan, he spoke of "so many benefits in both words aoo deeds, "•• f The same Wliting of learned .nd popular influcoces that one SCC$ at work in Adald'l :sermons aystallized at .n institutional level. At the learned end of the spectrum thcte were twO results, the sating up of the nl4 c:rrwnis in • (hun:h appropriately named. the Canonka and the winning of implidt papal .pproval under Hildebrand .nd Alexander It for the _ _ ita;" of Erlcmbald, At the populat eoo, Ariald gradually raised. the level of awareness of the less imtructed on rnatttts of reform, He abo insisted on a littral identification ben=n the viUt and pmsio of Christ, He and his followers mobilized support among the poorer masses by regularly visiting the chun:hes of the different Milancse saints for dcvotioru , The ri:se of the fokks as a cohesive movement went hand in haoo with tbe growing atttmpu of the Patuenes to dissociate themselves from simoniao and to expel them from the body of the chun:h. The fint IUBe of the villi "i!JiUiJlis was in fact enacted under the roof of Nazario. This was also the most primitive form of institutionalization of the bridge between tbe hierarchy and the laity whkh was • (haracrerisck feature of the matUle Pawi•. After Ariald's lint nip ro R.ome in the autumn of IOH, the struggle against tn.- married clergy war subordinated to effOru ro C(lfllbi.t the more serious "heresy" of simony. Popular 'wan!1ICSII of the iuues was ",isM; cxpecClltions were (l'CI.[ed. In a sense, Ariald', 1ItCtJsi/4J ha.d already OOJnC to mean ilU gWii,·'9 The absoluttncss of Perer's condemnation of Simon Magus gave him evangelical authocity to take an uncompromising n.nd. Even those not ditt'Ctiy implkated in the buying and selling of offices were now required. to fight actively lpinst siwrottu- Ni osis. The previously adumbrated ideas of canonical authority, personal mora1 oblipeion, ::.nd. election thl"OUgh purification oome together in chapter eleven immediately following Arillid's second scnnon. Ariald, Andrew reports, "divided" thefo/tUr from tn.- ;,'fokks "by lhe sword" of ~hich Christ spoke when he said, "I have oome not to bring peace but a sword. "4>0 M a consequence of his pre!lChing, every class of ~}7 . · " lfOJ., <. u. p_ 10 ,.s" . ". MioooJi, -1'II>r 10 otorio,- " 1; d . AM.t", '" "K", CoI_ C _ ' ).4, quoted f""" YSS by Nicod militont: N, 10."... ... /,;J. , '0" , ", TEXTUAL COMMUNITiES Milane$C socie ty Wa$ in theory at least mJuimi to make a choice. Guido da VeJate, the majority of cJer;C$ and knights, and many of the /'OPlIlo "';"11/0 saw the reformer a$ their mortal enemy. ··For what is our w:ay of life (t'iw)," they ask.-d, "if not church benefitn, which we continually buy and sdI?'" Narunlly, they pledged to die fighting against the IWVa rl«trilW. o" For $er;()U$ Christians of various backgrounds the choice was ~ difficult. Their priests might be Slmoniacs, but they did not wish to be deprived of the sacnments.·.. Ariald Wa$ JUSt a$ inflexible with them, demanding that they .. $egregate themselves completely from the company of fal$e priests ...... There could be no compromise: all simoniacs were "unclean. "0" The ramifications were felt at all levels. Men aoo women , Andrew OO'tes, were incited ro condemn the activities of simoniacal priests and t'Ven to avoid praying with them in the same oratory. The argument grew to heat.-d that the city was literall y divided into fohks and ;"fiJtIIS. "No wonder, since one house might be faithful, another unfaith_ ful. In nill another, the mOJher might be a believer (rrrJNlA) along wirh one son, the father an unbelit'Ver (i'l&fdllla) along with another.'·") Priests, as well, left the archbishop·s service and joined Ariald's ranks.u 6 But the culmination of his reform efforts was the setting up of a community of priests, laymen, and women living under one roof and a common rule, a move which co incided with the creation of houlCS of CllnoIU dKwhere in northwen !tidy.o" As to thei r Rill" Andtew provides a number of derails. The cloister, which Ariald apparendy paid for from family resources, was built next to a church later Clllled the Canonica. A wall ran around the <;;hoir. separating the clerical and lay sections, which communicated through a ... I"'., ''''7.-8. .. ' IHJ.• ". ' " .. No. n .. m. ""i. doti .. iani didmuf. aboq ... CM"i _..."...,." .iY<"f< nul · Iat."", .... rn\ ... Quod oi ob in. KI"'pS ." IkJ., ' 7·' " .. ki "'""'. ... IHJ.• "., ,, ··Si< .Nm .« iptum ..r: ·b i" do n>tdio """"' ....... ""'ini .. inmundum '" ~iptiri . ... 'So ",,;p;.m _ . di I~. , , 6-J' . '''IHJ.,c. ". p. ' OS7. »I." . .. ' c. v ",w... """ c . o . fonotp. ··In'rodu........110 "udio doli ..... ",..,.,icol. <1<1 ..,.. di""","· in ~ .. ,~ _ .", MI ,Wo, ..... I , '''''"''). On ,h< lOo>ndo,ioo, .... Ioiicrol i, ..1'« b. lion ... • I)6-n """ Vio!an, •• •• , '*"oi,.· ond ""'''. ,,6-00 "9 'l"EXTU.4.L COMMUNI'l"I.I;S 'mall door."· The brethren were ~uired to live togethet u....Jer a single roof and w take rmab in common. SecuJ,.r rales and idle conversation were nor permitted; instead, each dl.y I. diffi.renl person offered Jallfta flltio. Andrew adds that the recitat ion of the seven hours was parricl.llarly important. Oe$pite the image conveyed to the outside world, tnOl'eQver, the chapter appears to have enjoyed inner tranquillity. Atiald, Andrew states, was very happy to have found a pl~ where the reformers could "live in common." 'The foUks ~u: equally content to be "where they could hear the Lord's words with a free mind ...••, The college of canons established by Ariaki attr..ted men and women not only from rhe ciry iuelf but a1so from nearby villages and fllUt,l/j. The Canonica was filled to overflowing.'''' But the.p1MJ ffJalS, lIS Andrew called it. institutionalized the firm !C!panition of derics and lay_ men. This barrier, in turn. was the precondition of understanding between rh.. fittw.,; and the il/itt,"ti, not only through preaching, but, less obviously, through the daily ritual of the relOrm.. rs· lives. In num .. rous ways ch.. Pararini distinguished themselves from the regular dergy and by implicarion from rhe laymen who fulfilled priesrs' functions. They led lives of absolute poverty and renunciation. Ariald combined the hermit and the nnon: he had a church ix>ilt in St. lunb~'s honour at Nemus where he "Hed tbe people·, tumult" and carried on vigUs and m.-diradons; )'<"1, h.. insisted on the communal life for all his IOllowers, never dining without che company of 1¥IIPWU dtriri or leaving the cloister without his companions.H' The poorer muses cam.. into contact with the Paurenes' di$Cipline through the 'lirA A"imAnntI, which supplemented th .. po55ibly inadequate pastoral care of the archiepiscopal ckt8y.·I' Communication of a nonverbal kind also rook place through ritual, an aspect of Paurene activity to which Andrew turns in chapter eighteen. The subjr.;t is th.- manner in which rhe man eX God expl'<"Ssed his devotion to thl: saintS, which il conc..ived as iUlOtbfi facre of his srru88le on behalf of th.- vitA ~/~KA. He not only knew their lives wdl; he abo combined pious rem..mbrance with archaeological research, thereby authenticating the cults whik reviving liturgical ptac· ... On m;' ftot .... of nnoaOl r..""" .. _t«tut<. _]. Hobott. "la .., «>mm_ d< c! f...t.foioe:;.." M "-. - Vi". <. 12, p. ,,,,8; d . Il. c.._.. t.a ~kipo>io<>o ~ • " . .• _ . . . . •'"' " ' _ , " ''19"400· .,. l~. • 24-'6. ", I~. • c. '7. p. ,06,. ,"'4. Ialci 0110 lit"'..." , IMti _JL _ ,,0 Cl •.. ,w.. c. u. p. ,,,,8 . ..... 4· TEXTUAL I.:O MMUNITIES tias. on Andn:w has left us ;l bdef but vivid pi Paran:nes maT\:hed through the streets, patently united in spirit. Also, they provided visible and tang ible links with physical n:lics whose influence on the popular imaginatiun was mon: powerful than theological arguments. And they offered an outlet for sympathetic emotion, binding the sufferings of past martyrs to those of the prescnt.·.>6 Even, therefon:, 10 the uninstructe ConchlJ;()n: Preachtn , Hertt;cJ, and Re/ onntTJ TIle reader has had to work his way through lengthy discussions of the thret' major accounts of the early Pataria. He is therefore entitled to ask what n:lation they have to the issues raise of the ch2pter and in particular to the problem of textual communili..-s. At a general levd, many preachets, he retics, and reformers in the later eleventh and early twelfth ccnturics voiced concerns similar to those of tIN> Patarcnes. '" I~_, c. ,8, lS.~ ,_ .,. Surnmarili ll,l! c. ,8 , p. ">6,, 4,,",06~, '4. . " Cf. h "'7 . • ,. a . Si"'" V;.., c . ,6, p. '01), l""l " "Nom i" i.,.., ~ .. . nudi. ifl(no;' poxIi. !>W .. • :. Cl. Viola",., "I Wc; ,"' .. S.'9. '" TEXTUAL CO MMUNITIES Gerard II of Cambrai, for instance, who visited Lambres shordy after his election in 1076, was inform~ of t~ preaching of a certain Ramihrd in the nearby village of Scbere. Acrording t1l cbe Clmmir/, 0/ SI. A.Jri of CilStI'IJ, this layman had spread doctrines unacceptable to tbe faith and had alrtady drawn many disciples into the Ofbit of hi5 teaching. His following ronsist~ in the main of common ~le of both seus.... Virtually repeating the course of action of his illustrious pl"Cdeca.5OJ:, Gerard had Ramihrd taken to Cambrai for questioning by his abbots and " learn~ clerics ....... Ramihrd 5tat~, like fotmer heretics, that hi$ claim on truth was "$aoction~"; and, refusing to participate in the sacraments, he accused. tbe bishop and his party of committing simony t1lgcther with "ocher fonns of avarice. ".... The tone inevitably mount~: the bishop pronounced him tbe founder of. heterodo:.: $t:Ct; and, when d~ meeting was adj-ollrned., his COOOI"tI placed Ramihrd while he prayed in a small hut, which WIll then SCt on 6re. His followers, mainJy wc.vcrs, rollect~ his uhes and (arri~ on his work. - And Gregory VII 6rmly condemned the J~ 11 pttslrytwi I-k.toro who had among other thill8$ dared to pmer investiture of their bishop by the emperor rather than by the pope.'" Again, a generation later, between IIU and III4, Tan(heim was accused by the CllllOn5 ofUrrecht of spreading his "poi.oo" throughout tbe coastal regions of The Netherlands near An~rp . Preaching 6rst in secm: to small groups, aoo lacer openly and publicly, they claim~, he seduced. the common people, "as if he were rhe angel of God." Churches, he said, were brothels, priCSts wol"thlcss, .nd. the 5a<:1"11ments mere pDlhttil1lltS.'" like Geno.rd of Moufone, but pnhaps in • ... j. 11. __ r;..",.; C ,.Mi U. ). ) . NOH SS VII, p. )~ : "Ubi cum 0 bmilu ... [Wil. ·"/Wil. : "'Cun>qur od hue dooo.i»i ipoo epiocupo!>ox I< J><'«PIUlUm, quod OIl' .,,,,,,,",,, "" oJicuj ....... itioo """" od>triO), p. ,UI, H. ~'_'j. On .....ilotd ... ",0.",,,.... Romdl. 0;.., -.I R.p.., I". H "H, 'J~ 40. no. i~ ..A,,,Dtl. of in ...-ty rnmmo.o .... io ",;,oed "" lMrobe", MoIHtwI H".", )!>"·H· - ~ T'"i is Ea!ttiM M FiJ . wo Efi ./ • e,r,":;;:.;::- .. r-w-..1 "". t . 1. .v.ss JUI>O I. 8)%C-J>. "I. matiti"," piien<. in _iIoua am,," .... <.imunh multi ...d;,ti .... """inobo ,," ..". . . d_. "",,6~ I!.-u- _i" 7 . . t '3' TEXTUAL COMMUN IT IES mQ1e egocentr.c m:"lI'ler, he evidemly associated the holy spirit with a likeMss of divinity in himself.·.. ~ canons alleged that he decdvcd a witless populace through coerc ion, carnal displays, and empty a~monial. But their disparaging words have ~n variously inter_ prt:ted ...., On the one hand, reformist scotimentS possibly lay just beneath the surface: Tanchclm, in facl, aided by a defrocked prit'$1 named Evacrwachtr, perhaps tried to obtain for the G~gorian count Roben 11 of Flanders a parr of ,he bishopric of Utrecht, which was then in imperialist hands ....' On rhe other, even the exaggerat ions of the canons' accoum suggcst that accepted rituals were being challenge(!. ··6 Did Tanchelm really rej ect transubstantiation, or was he M' IJ,;J.• c. ·-r.libo,.o tltqo.i,iI.. '",,<eo,;"'" ",il. ~'Tb< in"!pf<'("ion ..... &nt ."U.. ,«I by H . Pi""n', '"T_hi« d< io«I ...., in pank.b,. 1I......t1. Di.-,.oJ Rtf_, ,6_68, ,67-68 . ... cr. W . Id""'. ·"1"..-.:lI<. ,,' On ,"" .."""" .• G. G. M.....,,,,,,,,•• ··£mni,i,,,,,,. p«di< .. _ do; >ii XI • XII (M,lan, IjI6,l, ,68-" ond E. Ot:!uut:II<. "Le. «rni, .. et I. opiri' .... litt J>OP<>W",- iJ.iJ.• ""17 · 00 I.\t,.,ud', i.iI"';' e",,.,,;. _ ,he .r>du,'''8 "vdy ol J. "'" W.I,er, Dj, ""'" .... 004 F...........,.. ~. r.iI. (u.;p>i~, '9<»), ~)-"; 0fI tb< .... - at pp. H-H · _io. '" .. }. 8J'~' ill"",. ro. • rh_"" H_" 0<"""""' .... Cout.""... '33 ""';p,- i,'''''""'' TEXTUAL COMMUNITtBS gO£}' like Ariald and ~ndulf COtta, Bernam rl:p!icd by retdling lhe biblica.l StOl)' 1)( SamSCIh and the 1.\$', jaw. The dead ass, he maintained, was the sj1lfPIIX pop/lllJI, the jaw in its head, the preacher, .... whl), by "chewill8 up" Scripture, rendered it palatable for the comml)n pt'!lple's "di~til)n ...... Like the Plotarene5, Btrnam moved from the rtCognilil)n <Jf vice to the ~ (1) s~ QUt publicly against it; bur be went beyond them in derivill8 the right or permission to preach from the spiritua.l integrity of the individual. 1(, he argued. the preacher "teaches wdl but liV"l'l badly,.· he dQe5 nOt ··instruct" but mel'tly ··corruptS." 1berefore. just as he distinguishes the historical, aUegorica.l, tropological, and anagogical senses, 50 hu awn spir_ itual development must proc~ from tASte through various modes of undetSranding ro the pursuit of eternal goals.". Moreover, if the Dlristian people, reprnentcd by the dead ass. ought to be dead to the world, how much more must be the preacher, the a.s.s·s ja.w. who, in Paul's words, ought to imitate the process of mortification unde!"gone by the Lord .... And, just as Christ was reviled by the multitude, s.o the preacher, who rejecu the world, is condemned. by the common people.'" Thus, he concluded. the licence to preach was rtaUy attained through the virtue derived. from his persoJIII commitment la I)therworldlineu.'" The Pataria, in shoer, looked back to smaller lay groups at Orlb-ns and Arras as well as to the conllias over the reform of monks, o.:anons, and bishoprics. But it also looked forward to a wide ranse of devdI)pmenll in the following century: the further struggle to apply the ideas of GregOf)' VII and contemporary nnonisa; the ilt(reasill8ly litig ious rivalries between empttOfS and popes over investiture; the rise of public preaching in such divenely motivated figures as Rl)bert of Arbris5tI, Pet... the Hermit, Henry fL Lau:sanne, and Perer of Bruys; tllt- gf{lwing involvement of the pll.pac}' in tbe propagation of holy wars and the crusadill8 ethos among the lay nobility; the intensive se.rch for individua.i salvuiuIl through monastic and canonical apressions fL the flil4 romt/Ut"iJ; the communal movement, which engulfed the Pataria in the twelfth century and led to the downfaIl of Amold I, •. , ... Vis< B..u B..... ,Ji .. . M r_ . . . ' w, GMfriM G ..... c. 6. ~._" . pt wIIO: " . . . .... 'n .. mon ..... ';mpli<<m popdum (....;I\at). ... MIBda...ta, ..... "'" r "";''''' & ... /MJ.• 1398C-99A. ... I,,",.. 6.,.. '399">-0 . ." I,,",. • ,~B . • " IHI.• ,,\>SIC: ••;..:10 ~ hoc .rohl<",. qo.><>d per .;,..... m mon;li<>I;"";' ....... ,;Iur od I"-iom.. I":.d.,...." '" TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES of Brescia, who was, as John of Salisbury llOteS, "eloquent in speech, and a ~hement p~cher against the vanities of this world," but also " f2ctious and a leader of s.chism, who wherever he liv«l pr~nnted the citiuns fmm ~ing at peace with the c1ergy;"')< and, finally, the demagogues, miJlenaristS, and false prophets, woo, like Raoul the Monk, whippe6, p . 'on. '6. . n /Out. . <• •• p. 'Dj' ..... ,.6. '" TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES "arousing the common people with tho: vile exprnsiolU of I'U3ti(:- . ''Y. ".,. Furthermono, it was borh nmm and ': :d'f'«l who went to Guido da Vdate for support. Guido in tul'n acruscd both Ariald and l.andulf not only of profeujDB erroneous docuines but of inciting the laity asainst the derBY. Landulf undoubtedly aaggerated. But we an: ill infonnc:cl on how many priests actually joined the movement. Neither Ariald noc Landulf Cotta wen' ordained at the outset. Peter Damian spoke of nro priests, Rodulf and ViuJe, amons tbr: more ad~ Milanese mormel$,09 and, after Ariald's death, the rKently ordained l.ei;;pnnd became Erlembald'l official voke. NOI:, among later followers, sbouId one forgn Andtt1Y of Strumi himself or the "_tal deria" who, on hearing Ariald preadl, left the rwuorli_ (~pa10:.:;1.<60> One such ptAst ~ 1 church la:ti:tiy acquired through simony and handcd it over ro Ariald for tho: founding ofhis chapter."" Other churches eventually nme into the fold."'" But, if deria led the movement, laymen made up the vast majority of the membenhip,oIi' and the Pawia a)u1d DOt have functioned witbout them. What was the social composirion of the Iairy? The three commcntaton arc 19reoed that the most volatile clement came from below, but each perceives the lower classes' functiOD difftn'ntly. /unulf thouSht them 1 rabble. Landulf tllWgniz«l their potential fat shaping events: under the edocated Lanzo', le.dership he saw in the HIli; a last refuge for the Ambrosian ideal.. He was less mthWlialtic .boot tbe "popular" following ofErlembald. For Andtew, in conrrasl. tcaI and voluntvy poverty 'WCre difficult to diltinsuish. Bonizo of Sutci similarly intermingled social and cthica1 categories. He des(tibed the Pt,tatelies as ,..,.n. ~ ~ Iktil Dnu III «IIIfltlld..l fonu, (especially the poor, whom God rlc«ed to ronfounc:l mighty fottcs).N But this was hardly. sociological cIlWification. A wcaJthy bourgeois like Nuatio was "eleocted" by his repudiation of tbe established clergy and its worldliness. Of coune, there is no doubt that the real poor were represented on ... H;n.,;", ~ . 6, P. 77, , • . ... l!i "I I. S• •~. PI. '40!.~; cf. "'Iai • v_. ..,a. ..p..._,,, u. a .• .,6 TEXTUAL COMM U NITIES both sides. Landulf is eloquo::nt On the f'allftm who swo::Jl ed the Pata_ ro::nes' ranks. But ho:: also mentions that Guido (Qunted for support on a part of the nobility and many of the common people r,pan IlNiilillm tK tk PfJPlllo /11.11111). <6, All thrtt narrators wero:: conscious of the fragility of popular loyalties. As Andro::w put it: P<JP"/"riJ tllr~ dto mlllAtllr tt ill Jivmis p.tnilllls {r(lilUllIIf (A popular mob is quickly aroused and easily 'hif~ in diffio~nt dir«tions).066 In other words, while thero:: Wa$ mass Ktion, it was only rarely if ever socially mO{ ival<:: mow ... HiJ,..;' , . 11, p. 81 , 16. ... Va.. . <. ". p . ,~. ".,>.ct. Am"'f. G_ }.><' . p. '}. ,8-'90: .'s..:I """" .... p<>po.iu> non .:Ii " 11"'" p ... a . Violatl«, '" laici," 169-10. and , ............ rally. E. W ..ner. P""""",, Cj"V,;. " , . " ~" .N, c. '0, p. 'OH. lO'}> . ... Vio/Q ..... , 'o;c. " 180-",.. ftelI> .1Int _ion, i" . .. ;1. '37 TflXT[}AL COMMUNITIES (Ion of the movement, .not~r .$et of rdation.ships romes to light. The Pauuenes effectively brought to maturity t~ type of religious movemenr we have described as a "textual community;' that is, a movement bued on a literate inner rore, a set of written IegisJarion, and a wider , unlettered membership united OOIl1y to the same norms, The leaden were educated: Atiald wu dnis iibwdt INIgimr, Landulf a I>Orary of the chuKh, and Ansdm of Baggio a student of canon law. Even ErJembaJd's intense piety reflected a possible ItCquainrance with mon.asric tCJ:ts, From the outset, moreover, the movement .... as rife with legal isms which each of the three rommentawrs emphasized in of the MiJancsc chun:h a diffetent way. Atnlllf record. that the opposed Ariald .... ith umu s"iplJmu and with s,,1Idio_ Cl'1I01lU:tu ••"" Ariald ~pond.ed. by drafting his phytllCillm tit. t:lUtitllt, Jtrn:I"a", .... hich cited a Justinian """,',, from the preface of the synod of Pavia of ut August 1022 to the efi'«:t that priests, deacons, 0< subdeacons who married after ordination were to be scripped of their offices and [Cduced w sm;i in the city', curia.'" The legally (flIined &nulf recognized this to be a "rcV'Olutionary" document and accuse _i_ ... c.... , .... p. on '9. H''''. "";oId i. mo:ntlontd i • ." ,Io.ro,h-<en d _ a •• ialm.. ,,( dnoKb diocipli ... ",""",,- DIi .i '. ~ .. A ... "'''''_ ...t, A. AmIxooiocIi, - JI pill di r:tUm "",Ko""'" ""i ".i.I....... ." ip"... n. ponkulot O. eop."'; .."Storio!I,o. • fifoxmo <10110. chieoa '" holio., - n~" . j." p. 71 , " . ." Vi<", <. 6. p. ,"'" 28. "'c.... p. For "lDil.. i'i .... i9, p. 9', >. ... H:-;" ,""7 . ,.1'. 20. ,8. ,,' j ••Ii.. ~ ""'~""".'" TEXTUAL COMMUNITlH canonical, partly moral responsibility_'" Fi,ulif,tJ W8~ the principle by which lay interferenQ ;n «cle$ia$ ticai aff...irs was juscified."~ BUI "faith" was abo a bridge ~rWffn tne unlcueral and rh< lettered, between clerk and layman. It bound the latter not to their masleu in I1:la_ tionships of ~t$OIl3l ~J"Yice but to a SCt of im~nonal . written prin _ ciples, equally applicable to all. In chief monument wa5 the reformed Rltle laid down at the C.anonicB.. Andrcw also poinred out that Ariald was juridically sophisticated in his conception of the various m/i"ts' obligations. This acquaintance with "dier tradition is equally 11:vca!ed in the intellectual debate through scrmons tC(orded in book three of the HiJtoriA. In general legalism was a potent fim:e; it gave the Pararia continuity and instirutional sha~, allowing it to develnp from a "sco-Iike" to B. "chut(h-like" Slructun'. Yet the movement never n'ally freed. itsclf from the charisma of ~l"$Onal leadel"1hip. After Ariald's death in 1066 it lost its spiritual direction. When Erl embald passed. from the scene in IOn, it ceased to ~ a substantial power in MiJanese ecdesiastical politics. But, if the Pataria did not CU'8te a lasting foundation. it ~nna_ nently altered th e ~rceprion of social and religious molities in Mi lan. The transition can ~ seen most vividly in comparing the movement to the civcs' revolt. The re~lIion against Aribcort was largely a byproduct of internal d"", tensions; it was an attempt on th e ordinary ci ti~ns' part 10 break down inherited tin and to ""hieve the same legally guaranteed StatUI as the capimnei and the vavuours. The Pararia by COntnst transcended clus relatioruhips and placeJ conOiet itself in the arena of uni~rvl mon-lity. Although it never entirely freed itself from the older social problems and was gradually engulfed by them after 1066, Ihe decade of Ariald's public preaching in Milan gready raised. the level of awaU'ons of moral questions and of their interdependence with other areas of life. It made public what had so long been private. It asked men of all backS rounds to abandon a lift. of darkness, blindness, and thoughtlcs.s routine and to carry a great deal of weight for ethical decisioru on their own should en. Ariald armed mea only wjth the "sword" of the Word. But that proved quite enough: as the word passed from the text via his lips to their waiting ears, it kindle ... a. Nk03-06. 'J9 ,- I " . TEXTUAL C OMMUNITIES lacked an appropria~ form. It was the biuh nor only of ··reform" but aI50 of a pragmatism which took it OUt of the sphere of theological abstrxtioa and reapplied it to real lik situations. Landulf Stnior spoke of the Jittrp'ias tI ~ who were roused as if they had Iol:d Pertr or Paul. He COhectly perceived the cf\Kible of the new form of communication to be the Roman theatre, the ancitnt seat of the communal parliament. Even ArnuJf gn.dsingly recognized the PataJ'tDtS' power 0VC't words. Andrew ....... the issue: in moce 51f'l1ighrforwaro, religious terms. For him , new life was suddenly breathed iota the gospels themselvcs. And perh&ps, fur & few brief moments, it wu. ,,0 Ill. THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE The riJt of ~retic.l and rdormist mOffmf:'nt$ went hand in hand with a nutI'l~r of purely ideological issues, such as simony, derkal marriage, and the meaning of the sacramems. No less than in group organization, the growth of a more literate society played a parr in the Timing of the debates, as well, iooirecdy. as tlu: evolution within them of parallel types of argument. The subject of this , hapter is the issue most consistently dealt with by a wide rIlngr of theoJogill/ls ~t~n tilt ninth and the twelfth ~nturies, namely, the nature of the eucharist. How~r, our internt is not limited to the discussiQn of one sacrament. As ofren happcll5 in the hiltory of thought, 11. sp«ific contr<weIlY gave rise to more gcocJal problems; methods d~loped for handling onc sel of questions eventually turned up in other areas of inquiry. The eucharistic debut in particular open~ tWO broad sub iec:ts to systematic study by medieval thinkers. One Wll5 the status of symbol and ritual in a theory of religilHl that was increasingly preoccupi<' The ~hariSt, the rebirth of in te!i«tualism, and the idea of nature are nOt normal ly looked upon as parrs of the same historical OlnVl$. The suggesrion that they are rela!~ therefuce demands a few words of prdace. To return to our point of departure: in tbe eucharistic debate, there did not atise, as was tbe CilSC in early m~ieval law, onc po$ition obviously indebted to oral culture, the O£hcr to wrinen. From the outset tbe discussion took on a predominantly theoretical character in which matters like spoken fites and even the liturgy ~re pushed to the background. After the initial exchange between PlKhasius 1Ud_ bertuS and RatramnlU of Corbie, the chief quntion in the participants" minds was whose interpcetarion of parr;sr;c teaching on the subi tet wu correct. As Other voices began to b<- heard , and, from the '4' THE llUCHARtST AND NATURE tenth century, as lines of division emerged berween two distinctive approaches, each side gradually assumro that it had a monopoly of truth. !be "uuc" meaning of the ~uchui$f bKame assodated in tUtn with the most erudite mpome to the issues, By implication, each group asserted that the other's ideas CO!l.5tituted a "popular" debasement of higher cultute. While there was much rhetoric inV1)lved in the mutUal acC\lU.rions, a dassie rift opened between an intellectualist position, which, of COUIK', both claimed to reprC$Cnt, and whit was as a consequence considerro to be erroneous, unrellective, or simply illiterate. Our roncern is nO( whether the shift in modes of understanding ilCtually illuminated the structum of medieval belieh it is arguable, in the light of recent anthropological research, that it did not '-but with the transformation of attitudes which it epitomized. The mult can be SUIted in general terms as a hisrorically cnllving distinction bttwem modernity and tradition. TIte ".'{;ni, that is, the more r«ent thinkers, began not only to perceive their own common assumptions but to look upon aspectS of contemporary religion as something inherited from a leu lettered society. Such attitudes inevitably called into q~tion all aspects of physical symbolism and ritual. The problem of nature evolved OUt of the same debate but developed along diff"eTenl lines. If a solution were to be found 11) rhe enigma of the eucharisl within the in[ell~tualist position, it had 10 involve logic, argument , and precedent. Yet, centn,! to the process of de $,., o(T__ 0( R.Jil _;' S.n.J A... ,hW (Cambrid$<, [91'6),...d s. F. loI-. and S. G . M,al>off, "Soco.Iu Rio.,.), """'" and loI.. i" .... ...". odi.,.... S«_ Rm..J (A,_, ''-'7), ,-,~, .,.i, h. bibtios- ni",. ..· nphr. '8'"9" '4' THE EUCHAJlIST AND NATU~F. $~t~matiud his thoughts on tne s.acram~ntS, divers.: inttrprentions were possibk The chi~f issue which $urfacN on bOlh sid~s of tht dd)03.te was lh~ meaning of "nature" and of "reality," and tM dtgrec to which such conc~PtS could ~ undet$tood using tools d~rivN from logicd and tI"Xnud restarch. Th~ various solutions ptClpO:$td wnstitute th~ 6nil !Iag" in th~ later mtdi~l aS$ociation of natur~ and ttxtS, which scholastic philosophy devdoped in a pro6tabl~ dirt-Ction for science, literature, and th<'Ology. Like IM resolution of th~ eucharin;c conrrovet$y, the naturalism of the later eleventh and twelfth c~nturies can be de-scribW as a compromise. As literate science was u-tstablishtd through the uivium and the qua THfi fiUCHAltlST AND NATURfi I_ GUIBERT AND "POPULAR" CULTURE At the centtt nf the ~mentioned issue' namely, the growth of religious intellectualiun and of scientific I1*turalism--one finds a single problem, the StatU5 of a physkd object having religious ass0ciations during an l18e of increasing literacy. Don it retain iu pteB, rerate symbolic status? Or does it no.., derive its meaning from being interpieted. through a [nd Some remukablc insights into these questions are ptm'ided. by Gui, ben of Nogen!'! D, Piporibu S./ICtqr."" which was completed by 11:15.' The treari~ was Guiben's last work, and was bailed by early histOfians as a synthe$is of "undiluted. skcpt"icism") in a unique "crit, ialand 5Cientific spirit,". which in' part it is. Yet, while discted.iting false relics , Guibert also ptupO$CI a set of 5tl1ndards fur RSJCS'ing their claims. This, in twn, inmlves a certain ambivalence towards tbe oral and the written. For, while relics are a«epted throughout as physical objects having Iymbolic content, tbeir validity is nonctbelcss jadged by a variety of tcxtual proofs. The telic in q~rion was the [OQcb of Christ claimed by the monks of St. M~ of Soissons. However, more gcncra.l matrers appear as early as the dedicatory letter to the erudite EOOts, abbot of St. Sym, phorien neat Beauvais. Several questions , Guiben states, were ad, dressed [0 him regarding the veDCtlIble tooth. But, as 50me ugued from popular llSSOCiatioos (1IIl/,lIIriltl'), he thought it worthwhile to put his thoughu io writing (jlr JittrriJ) and to explain (tJiart) what he kDew to be Olhets' well,meaning intentions.' The remainder of book _ton. ' } . F. SJj_.Js.a.t,;" Md' , ~._. TAr ....,' 0/ AWol G.n..-t o/ N_ YorIE, '910), .)8.-l9· 'A. Lcf"""" "le , ...tt .... 1ibm de ~ et Ir< rn.iquoo hi" ~iq ...... DIOJm ""' ... JiJii. J t;__ ChriI. El" -'__ ... '"..... .;.... - CN ... Mo_ loo ,¥). G.;w,,, ... ,.., ( , olj_",6J (...no. ' 905). l O• . l'o<. """,.-I. J. a-nnd. "1..r. tiooct de ]1UMoi.. deGuibm de NoIatt. " OCN 8(' 1)6,). 190-91 . Critial ...i....x. - . G\>ibm ... bridI, ....i<wed br Bt, • .", SJf -s.a.." 8-9. 0.. rile Ot 1ft J'C"Ii ~...;., '.= hi#l. ... " Rflir '97<'), P-IOl . ,Ot "ia _i'" S· ·; '., El. N •• g ".M, ( . I, .,6.6c1().c1jD. On G\>ibcn·• . ' f ' n ," • • • ~. pt ,ropho, _ M. ..c. C_n.d """ P. £,<1"""1 , "u. .......-n.. ""'....... de Gotibon de N _," Cl:"., ·,,,,1'1<91'). lI,_n """ M.-C. Gaoand. "Le oa;~ .. I...... de Gu.ib9. 1 "'31ft t ..... unohIo ... 100_ {""" ob< rn,icot ..., of MS II.N. .... %9CC - - ' br M.-O. NiltUl. ·"G.>ibm de Nopt, Of 10 am.,... do NI.. .... miqu Ll!JiMM (... ____ ",.,. ,0 " THE EUCHARIST AND NAT U RE one lransforms this statement into a confrontation bttween popular and iearnN culture. In sum, through a diversity of practices, Guibtrt maintains, the church nonetheless displays I unity of teachiog. 6 Baptism and the eucharist are pre<:onditions for the Christian life. But only faith is truly i!\dispensable. Other cUStoms, amoog them the cult of relics, an permiSSible. But they arc not n~C$$ary fOf salvation. How does Guibcrr reach the~ conclusions? He begins by distinguishing between practice and theory, that is, between the church', customs aod its tH-chings (q_ ecdesiaslicr alii tt>WltM~ ~Jlt dowItJlr). In his view, the two must be kept in harmony to prevent $Chism. Some types of wonhip a~ Ctllicd on but nor tlught, such as the CUStoms (C6I1JI#IMdiTlu) for fasting aod chanting psalms. Despire a "diversity of offices," the church attains a "similar faith. " Other devotions are both m~ntaincd and tlIught (q_ ttne1ltll~ et JquIJ/llr), chiefly the $IcramentS of baprism and the eucharin. In these ins(2nces, Guibert argues, the ~ exists throughout Christendom the same teaching (paris f-.u drx/~i _I, since what is spoken (or~t;o) conforms to insuuction's obj~tives (id dixmliMm), as the examples of ancient marryn and saints reveal. Similarly, one may distinguish from among the church's preceptS , The Bible occasionally suggestS that salvation cln be achieved by both faith and works. But this is only a figurative way of" speaking, Works normally lead to faith, in which theory is guided by practice and vice versa. Moreover, some practices, although useful guides in life, "are !lOt coumed," and, although ptuched in ch urch, are not among the essential preconditions of salvation . Such is the cult of saints' ~Iics. ' In such cases, the only criterion of validity is authenticated reasoo (sD/Q aIIlMllli", r~li~). This consists of reason based on texts: it is not hearsay (opillio), but the firm tradition of verified ancieot $OUtc("5 (w1/JIl4tis "MI Jtript(Jf1tlll l'tf4CiM," Ir"dilio arl4). For how can an individual be considered holy if no one recalls the basis for his claim vll/{"/(Jf;lalis IfJe",."i4)? Such a repuration is defended neither by texts (lift...a, ) nnr by the dear demonstration of miracles (~jNrl~ miraru/OfIIm txptrimlia). Even lcrters, he adds, are no absolute guarantee. For hagiography is not ycr • high art. Often, .saints' lives are mere rec itations (prw01lia), which damage mther tban uplift tM faith, At ot her times, even when the facts are correct, the style is so lackluSt te that tM livtS have little credibility. Such so-called lives ate ru11y JUSt trifles (,""ill). With such figmtlll~ he contrasts th e lIo1itiae of" the gospels. What, he asks, can be _._is • Cl. A"..!m. liIu't14 .s. o:tt., .... c. " od. f. S. (kom<. ,~o •. l~O. ti ...... 1,,"1, . • Dt pit,.;,-, I. '. p~ I)6 . ~,.c.'3D . !le""';". 0,.... 0-;.".01. 2 THE EUCHA\I.IST AND NATURE $aid on behalf of those who fonakc proper witl1eSleS, whose textS ob$cure the facts, and whose narratives have no beginning, middle, or end?' Not only must the written version be right. The d.im to holineu must also be examined. Errors .te Cl$ily made: Guibert ci tes the CllSI: of St. Pyron, revered under different names by both the French .nd the Bmons. After researching the matter, he discovered th.t the supposed holy man cnded his days by fidling drunk into a well. His condusion casts mother liha.dow over oral tradition: it is "profane" to worship a saint whose stuus is supported "by the memory of no one living." If a competent religious authority has not establishc:d the binhdatc, life and times, and stylc of death of the alleged saint, "the wind of vulgar rumocr" will continually circle around his unfortunate rorpR. For, lacking "testimonies," the credulous "srain him with false and sacrcligious words." A prelate is thc "protector of God's proplc" iruofar as he adjudicates such manen JtiCllNiIna J(iffltu,m, that is, according to fact. Moreover, if someone skilled in the art of interpntation disproves a case. what salvation can arise from actions .... hich "neither sight, hearing, te%ts, nor miracles affirm"?", Guihen's ambivalence extcnds to external signs. He does not doubt their efficacy: he himself, or so he mainuiru, witnessed tbe magic touch of Louis VI. Men can be used as "channels" for divine forces .... ithout implying particular merit on their part. Moreover, tbe varied nature of such signs--double meanings. forc\llfllrnings, J1nt"tJJtia, comets, prodigies. and prophecies divine or human--providcs examples in "modern" times of the conti nuity of God's activity. H e lisu them not for their "novelry," but to indicatc their different causes (pro (4l1S(JnIIII • • • Jiwnitatif ,ati~IIe).'" Such sigru can be corroborated by verbatim accounts and by ey~itnesscs. They cannot be rejected on purely factual grounds. Yet, he adds. word of mouth aIOM cannot be relied upon. H e gives the example of a boy bom to a well-conOCCTed knight in the Beauvaisis who died on holy Friday. Word of the event spread quickly amoos the pcaantry, who flocked to his gtave with candles and ofhrings. A monument was soon ete<:ted and pilgrimages begun; the local. monastery's abbot Mi5 seduced by the gifts and turned a blind eye to the fraud." In another instance, a vagabond proposed to Guihert that he had born witness penonally ' IW. , , IW .. 6"n.'~B . 6'.0-" .... ~ IW. ,I.',6"n.I.,.6,6C. '46 THE EUC, HAR IST ANn NATURE "in word and text" [0 pos$CS$ing a piece of bread IClually c~ by Christ ." Wha.[, [hen, of the real saints! Among their number, of (()UI"Se, Guibert includes the apostles and martyrs, whose ··texts"· were wr itten in blood. '. Yet, if the church is agrttd on a figure like St. Mar[in, what can be said on behalf of a putati ve holy man wh~ reputation ··mere tllmour has sp read from village to town··' H e is clearly a local invention, for ··nowhere do you find anything written about hi m but his name:· What is wors-e, if the clergy remai n si lent, ··old maids and simplemioded women'· will spin Out a (Onuive,c:.'4B. .• /HJ.• 6:»o.c. '47 THI! EUCHARIST AND NATUR,/i he is lUcinated by the possibility of a tangible link with the past. He participates in the fe'Cre3.tion of tradition which the writill8 down of oral sainu' lives represented. Moreover, he equates locsl and oral, universal and writren, thereby gi.,ing textual evidence and logical proof a position of prominence in his thoughtS. Like Rodulf Glabcr and Bcrnard of Angen, he also attests to the widespread devcmhcentury movement of religious archaeology, underpinDCcl by the recordill8 of spoken accounts. Yet he cannot" accept all that he obs.ervcs withont doubt. He is awatt of his period's distincrivenes.s (>mtfr ttmPill, >rMtra MIiIJ), " but he secs discontinuity as often as continuity in the rxnrIPUt ",om"w. '. He 5CpI.B.tn custom and law, tmm and docwr. Also, he secs in the modern' a ftequent disjunction between outer IICtion and inner motivation, and this in turn becomes a way of distinguishiI18 purely popular from factual support for a sail\[. The most obvious type of externality is the local habit of surrounding sainn' remains with precious objects. >0 More subtle is his rejection of many contemporary holy men wbos,e commitment amOUntffl only C"O formalism. In sU(h observations Guiben singles OUt the sp«ial capacity of his own generation, which he secs as nascent literary activity. Yet he stands, so to speak, above the fray and actemptS to transcend tbl: uneducated US!:" of letten. What is teIIlly new in the 0. Pip'lribliJ is 1\0( the manner in which the divine operates but the consciousoess with which its activities are inlerpretffl. The link between the put and the present is the physic..l, the tangible, aod the objo:ctive. Throughout book ooc Guibcu il1$isu on the physicality of saints' remains and of relics before turning to thci r mynical, spiritual, or divine qualities. Of course, the ooe leads C"O thc ()(her. Paul, Guibtrt I\O{CS, ~fc", to (hc holy spirit lIS pigllllJ" (gllgC), but means splrruior glon", or i_go Dti." The physinl is frequently ~fcrred. to as the spiritual"s "irariMJ.') He refen ro (he transformation which takes place after the spirit leaves the body (..fb i"ltg_"lo f(Wpor-U t::XMt# Jpiritlt)." Men pierce through (frl'lIJigrrr) C"O heaven;" .. pp:: coven (atIIlrgrrr, lYJegwt) It saint's remains .... 11tc relics, thercfo~ , while associ;ltffl spiritually through (he IelIUlTCCtion," retain their status as evidence; claims for and ag.inst vaJidiry are based on the equation between eQscing attu'W:tS and historicallitcraliml. Similarly, the water " /HJ., ~ . '. 6.6D. 6.BB. R lIIo . '. c. 4. I, 6.6.\.0. "/tw.. bk. 4, c. 1.4,668.1.. " £ph I: '4 . n $. '. 6098; He'" ,:" 1 eo. 4:> . " £M."'.; d . I>i<. >. c. ,.6",8: " .. . .;.;..w.. ido» ,., THE EUCIiAR I ST AND NATURE of baptism and tbe wine of the eucharist are physicli symbol" literal StKrtlmt"la. ,. His po$ition can N described a.'I a venion of Se. Paul adapted t() the m-ed$ of his own age . All earthly works are mere ltptesentatioru of"spirituaJ gifu ..... Pa:a Merely encnlll signs therefore cannot be relied upon a.'I evidence unless situated in a textual continuum relating the individual vita to larger theolog ical concerns . " And this ~uires an imerprt:ter. Th<1$, while acknowledging the outer realm of ca<1$ality, Guibert"s explanatOf)' me<:hanisms are inVllriably led towa rds the inner and reflective. The real purpose of telics, he notes in his dedicatory epistle to Eudes, is inter ior penance." As the letter leads to the spi rit, s.o the pig"'mf, rJiq,.ipt, and even 14(1"<,,,.,,,fa signify the ultimate ICturn of man from hi, present miserable state "of alienated conscience ..." Pbysicaliry, therefore, is ambivalent: popu lar cultulC utilizes physical symbolism without an interpretive context; sacnmemal theology places the SlIme tangible objects in a framework of learned culture. Guibcrt interprets rather than rejects the physical awareness of thins" which he himself associates with uneducated at ti tudes an ,.6[,8. M 11iJ. , [, 6[,C. .. (;p. l . 6 [0&" [.\, bk '. , . [. 6.,A-C; for a d;o""n .... me [} .•. ,,,6-H a<>:l G"'h. 'I .';' .• 77 · ,. IWi.• 6.(11.. "IWi.• c. •.•• 6[68 . "o. Pi~.bI<. ' . '. [.6[)C. ,. (;p. >, 6'00 . " 11iJ., 6,,1 . " IWi., [, 600;08 . '49 THII IIUCHARIST AND NATURII jeet of IUlturalinic aIJegory as both l8akri" l.ud and IfI4Ut' Q."j••. n Yec, as book onc p,oceeds, Guiberc gradully forms a pictUre which e<jutc$ the onl, the populu, the inauchentic, Ilnd the: disn:oputable. Good cwtomS do not: vary from the: sense of faith (Pfoki ItIU.);~ there is an identity bctweoen the spoken (tmftio) and the taught (dtxtriM).IO Texu, moreover, pa", from higher to lo~r cultura.llevcls. ErlebaJd, thought to be a holy man, gained credibility by prcachins ;u/ POP"bm. "" TextwU rectitude is associated with God', intentions (ur1itlldti foUt)," unrdiability with ntSOOWS , The popularly venerated son of the Dcauvaisis knight is described as alifllgllril His cult is spread by rusties dcsicow of novrlty (rwlid rmntI nwarIt. lllPitIJ). The local ab. bot, aithCJU8h "very wise," condones the "infected miracles," the 00.. gus pilgrimages, and the profane multitude.'> Similarly, merely local saints' lives an: d1005t which the popuhce Crc&!es in villages and towns.'l The body of St. Exup:rus WII.!i falsely diKOVcred by a fJUtiflU." In all such cases, Guihen argues, there is a replacement of common bones for holy relics (OJ./II Mllgllrill JWD StlMtonm pipKihJU).·' The theological framework for these observations is elaborated in book two.06 Christ's physical prcscnce and the sacraments were !:Xpt'rien«d "without any understanding ot: contemplation. "" Invisible mattets were thereby taught by visible signs, the objt('( (m) presental without aJlegot)'. C!i* typi.s, SW figllf"""'" ~i"jlnu).,1 On the other hand, Christ migrated wholly to heattn aftmvlltds, leaving no physical renuins on earth. The miiiJ0lI4 of which Paul spoke was not ItIJIIIISIit.u bur ;""IUrtulit.u." There wecc not tWO bo 'Mlr, "tIQ.• bk. I. c. 4. &..6C . .. t~. ,. I. 612D. " 'HI.• 61}A.I!. . j t;;'/', , . 1. 6.. C. ~ I~.• >'4. 619C.' I. ... ' .>. 6>4(' IW.. }.,. 6>,c.O. "'HI.. 6>6A. 4>/W.. '." 6>'AoB. ~ .. I'ar. diffomtt ,.;nr .... A. Lefn.n<, ... Grisri_. .. 0. , ;z-...... bk '. <. '.1. 6, .A. THE EUCHARIST ANO NATURE through t~ illumination of Ih~ im~rior man. "" This canOOI be done "d lilltr"".; that is, each of us cannot ""n!" all of him in any sens~. Each of us imbibes a little of this "manna" and shares the spiritual benefits, parI pe fr;l~. EJttrem~ lit~ralism, Guibert concludes, is 9. vice of the Iimplim." Onc does not "bdieve" ;0 "bn-ad": for, in such a miscon~ption, he asks, wh~re is the worshipper's int~ntion, the 1IU""""" lIt)tin.., or ...,tio of I~ holy~' In truth it lies beneath t~ ""shadow" of the bread and win~. ,. The tooth claimed by the monks of SI. Medard must therefore be fuse. If Christ is wholly risen, he reitenlles, he could not have left a tooth behind." The monks are j"lsArii:06 for Ih~ alleged tooth "is a thing about which one can ~ nowhere, a thing proven by no restimonies. "" What, he asks, is more infuriating than to have such noMtnsc "in the chuKh's et.rs."'" Who would beli~e il unles.s he ~te rude and untaughl ("isi r"dis ,t ill/li"s)?'9 Tht monk, argullknu amount to heanay evidence (opinio, IWtrtiQ), not rational thought (r" . tilrinAtio).'" Christ', only rttl souvenir WlIlI the ~ents of the lion supper, a ""mOfUJ kUT"l1WI/i which is "a figure to th~ wise man."6' No such profundity can be derived from m~re Ac-sh nr a tooth. 6• Failh, by implication, ought not to concern itself with txt~rnal rhings, but ought to be something ""subsranriv~," a grey matter so la speak within th~ mind (qUllli "liq"id IoJidllfll i"lr" I1WIlmz).6, If faith c:risrs in this spiritual realm, then the mal~rial pres.:nc~ of something promiled by God may be cOll5id.. red an aft~rthought or connrmation. 60 Tb .. inner life quite simply arises from the text: "On a giv~n page, ir On<" $L:Cks th .. d~per meaning, one rNds th .. letters containing t~ sense with on~ set of ey~s but on .. contemplates the reality pnxluced by reuon alone with aOO£hcr. "61 A spiritual sense, in oth~r words, i$ adaptable la all physical manifestations of divinity: to biblical visions, which are _igmal" Ot alltguriat/'" (0 rh~ !lCnsc of interior cont~mpl.ation in th.. g05pe-I$;61 and to th.- human pronounc..ment$ of the proph.-rs, which at<" mer~ly concessions to human communiClltion (rell/utllldo Jf>. ,. 1H6., • .•• 6,:0<:. ,. IW. , 6,:oC-O. " IJ<J.• 6HI!: -QIoo wl;;J .. J.,.6~C . "IOY., bk. " c. I.', 6"B.D. "1Nl., " I;;J. . '.4. ",4.... "IHJ.• '. ,. 6".... •, IINI.. •. ,. ",M. .. I~.. '.4. 6,61: . .. Ut.m. " 1Nl.• bIr. 4. <. '. ' . 66,B.C. .. IW.• M7A, AJ><>:" 1. '0. L" ". 6pC. "1,,.1., ""B. "1Nl., ' .1, 6nB . ·'IOiI., j.,. ",81! . "tOil.• ' .'. 66,[)..66C . THIi IlUCH"RIST "NO N"TU)tB atlilmiJ hlUlW".,e'/'" and to matter alrndy familiar to UlI (ill (/J''fIO".lis u 1/Q!triJ mihu f_ilkrritl). "> 2. INTERPRETING THE EUCHARIST Guibect atracked the uncritical ac«ptantt of relics from essenrially tWO dire«ions: the physical remains had to be authenticated, and the saint in question had to be guaran~ holy. Although refecting to the past, both ao::tivities involved the intcrprcring subject in the present. Like the transition from oral to writtcn tradition .., a whole, the change in mentdity shifted the criteria of belief from the community to the individual. ror, in the fllSt analysis, it was he who read, considered, and judged the probilrivc tat. But written culture did not rcplllCc the Onll. Unlike Rcfurmation critics of relic worship, Guibert did not reject all piP"'"" JalU;rhllf doog allegcdly rational grounds. His position involved the more typica.lly medieval lISSOCiation of orality with a written mode. While iICcepting physkal symbolism at face value, he tried to underpin its authority, where warn-nred, with textually established evidence. The oral clement thus survived the utiliution of writing and was itself transformed. For, as literate standards ~re applied to relics, the adjudicating prelate had. a simple choke. Eithet the concrete objcc:t was authenticated aod thereby assimilated. inro learned culture, or, with its validity questioned, it was ted.uced to the starns of popular hearsay. Guibert's mind shifted back and forth somewhat u~ily bctwl:'t"n two mentalities, which, for simplicity's sake, we may call the symbolic and the hcrmencutic. The achicvc:ment of phiJosophiC21 theology in the later dcvc:nth and twelfth centuries was to bring the two elcmenu together in harmonious union. The Dt Piporilnn $tllKtO, ..., applied to a new area a critica.l methodology observable in other religious conflicts of the period, namely simony, clerical celibacy, the eucharist, and investit\ll"C. It is not surprising therefOfC that Guibcn's commenu echo ideas which we have earlier discussed: cusrom VCrsU5 law; a diversity of spolcm furms within a unity of written doctri~; the equation oC truth, rationality, and textudity, supported by historiC2l and ardta.eoJogicaJ rt:Se\I.tCh; cbe distinguishing of the local ftom the univcrsal, the popular from the learned; and, above all, the association .. I"'. , •.•. 67oB. '" THE EUCHARIST ANO NAT U RE of reform , modernit y, and Cllnonica! corn'cmess with the document, the wriceen verification, and the edunted U$eS of literacy. Yet Guiben goe$ beyond his pn' .. n.. ",rm ··<mp;ri<"Ill·· .. O«>OiO ~IH ...d ;n m;' oooc,;"", or< not nocqo&ril, impl;.d . For . ro,,,... dilCU .. ion of d·.. id...... A. J. A,." n. F","""," 'l3 ,~o). ,S., l '· THE EUCHAIUST AND NATURE coin fined nearly into the presuppositions of tWO different mentalities. In the one, emphasis was placed. on the objectivity of the sacrament as a sacred sign, that is, a visible, tangible aflirmation of future grace. In the other, while the physicality of the sacrament was not denied, emphasis was placed. on interpretation. The sacrament became an object 0( thought, [he physical, as Guibert suggested, lcaciing to the spiritual. The fint notion had parallels in the process of acculturation which affected Other areas of on:l tradidoo, as for instance the ceremony of investiture, in whi ch objects physically represented the binding of the participants in a contractual agreement. The interpretive aspect of the eucharist was JUSt Il$ clearly a part of written tradition. Por, in order to interpret the cucharist or, for that matttr, Iny sacrament, one lch the realm of experience and entered that of the text. The preroooition of such acdvity was literacy. "Sacramentum" Before wc turn to the debare on the meaning of the eucharist, it may be useful to elaborate these distinctions a litde further. For a part of the problem as analysed by medieval theologians arose ftOm the muhiple sensn of Jll(rtUMJU1I11I itself. All students of the somewhat obscure early histOry of Christian usage of JM"f.lMlIt_ rtCOgnize twO distinct (althoug-h probibly interrelated) streams of meanins: (1) Jll(ramt>U1I11I in clauical Ladn, meaning an OI.th. a solemn engwment, the CIoution money pledged in support of a claim, Of" a civil suit itself; and (2) Jll(rll"""t_ as the translation of Greek ~uarl)~n.ov, meaning not only the modern "sacrament;' but any ritual ob$crvance of the church or, more generally, any spiritually significant object or action. " One of the unsolved and. perhaps insoluble problems in the word's history is the mllnnet in which the notion of verbal commitment became wedded to thllt of religious mystery. Early srodents of the qUC$rion provided an answc:r which stressed the continuities between pagan myJltrill and Christian S4CrtS/MIIlll. But in 19P. A.D. Nock, summarizing his own and others' investigations, reversed this trend and Stated cacl'gocically: "Any idea that what WC call the Christian "A ,h;nl pt.-....,. porbapo bt odcIod, non>tlr. tilt ..... ilUtion al. port al 'h< "i,inaJ ocal ~ do';..,. tilt R<1O<" ... ion. Pot 0 F. a.rl<, P ~o"ilk ~ _ tJ. Rq., "'" (t.ondoo., '960). On ..,1, acholurK ....,._1..., _ A. ~.J, - 0.. s.cram.,u"", "'' "<}'. _ i. VOtO ....... ftlibo '>4 7 (1'Iri>. 19,01. .... '. 97- '4); 10< ,10< Jaw- .. ,.."ro' ~ Jj .).,... .. ~ .If Iv THE EU C HARIST AND NATURIi sacraments Wf:re in th,e;r origin indebted to pagan mysteries or even to the metaphorical concepts ba5Cd on them shatters on the rock of linguistic evidenc e."" Similar condu5ions were reached by phi lologists. Hans von Soden acknowledged the important range of meanings attached to illtl'4mmlllm I j.&u .11....,_. "" H.IIrn;,,'" N,.. ...... oM a.,iN;.. Soc,.,.,."ra. " ~tlI So,i ... S ('liP). lOO. " "Muo::rtWuw uo.d _~I~", in ........... n rift fii< t& _",_,la. Wm.-IMf' >l ( '911). ,88->l7; ",m""';m:! by,. do GhI, I (R"..,.. '9S8). ' )1. 0.. _ ......JWOUO ."1'3......... in tl>e ~'" 1\0< «nt"';.. ..... a..;" . ... c, Copoll<. u _,,~ "" /,n.-. ,_It, wrno_ L'-a.,w;, It rqlu. ... ..,.. ~ ("",is, ~ For. dnru..ioot of (Nunid<. ' 976).600-97 . .. Ill· \16, I ~ .. ) . ~ ,.~. in JI.omm "'w, ... M. Karn. rhJ ...irdJ< Zm/jtoul_hl J. a. li&h'''"''. TI>o ....,..",i< p.,hm. ¥<>I . , . , (In<>don, pn . " Cl, Ttrtullian. ,y./. >. CCSL 1. pp. 87-9' . al. '55 ,~, ). S' .o.d ". THE EUCHAR.IST ANO NATUR.I! doned; .00 sactlJllent as an aspect of ~ligious cond ucr, either as a ri~ or • SllCrifice, was balanced, if not ovtrbalanced, by sacrament as • an obj«t of contempb,tion,71 Tertullian, who was convert«! in A,D, 195 or 196, udlited satr,,· _fIlM somewhat more often in the sense of oath than of ~Iigiow mymry (I~ examples \O'etSus 84),11 He spoke of the _ _1_ milit;', that is, the {onnul,. of response by soldien to the prMillrtllio read aloud by the head of each legion .~ Baptism was roncei'tl.'d as a type of milinry IICrvi~. He al$O caHed it a sig7UICIIllIlII juki, a physical lign of the faith which recalled the imperial ituipM and looked forward to the Christian vrxiIJ_, the Lord's banner.a. 5"""1IInIZM,,, thus b«ame a synonym for sig1l4Ol1"1II or sip"•. Commenting on I Corinthians ,. Tertu.llian refem!d. to the incestuous of Corinth as having been ~leased from their "sacnment," never again to ~rurn to the "camp" of the faithfuL" The notion of a legal pledge was eventually interrelated with other meanings, of which one of the mOiSt important was initiation. In parallel with !'UotT!QI.O'Y, satrll_t_ meant a PIIrticular rite or ini_ tiation itself, J4fflS/JIt!IJ!4, a whole group of initiations. I. thus came to mean _Ill, a sacted or consecrated thing, The initiated was JllCrtflllJ: he was both 5W{1m to obedience and introduced to religious S(CleU, I, Ten:ullian also used ~ in IT.oac gcn.e,al senstII, such as that of ~ligious devotion exprtued verblllly,~ It stood for vmltlJ, Jisrip/ilfII., ti«tri1M, or jiJD." Such matten could be communicat~ only to the initiat«!, usually throush revelation, porable. or in eO(l5y.M Again, ~/_ meant rite or sacrifice: Tertullian (on- 5""""",,,_ "Cl. H. do Luboc. c..",. /11",;-'. ,. ". ""'.,..b _ ,......JJr of ,............" of msAi"ll b .,.., ' and ...,. ..: ".I'..... port. Jo _ q... .. . ""'" _11<""", ri,woIlc .... ~Io. "', d· .... « PU!. 10. .... q ... ""'" qoJOlir.o.- do otrip''''';«,.,,«t>d&n< po.! ~ _0 J'llainu< <110-_ . ...w I< doma,ino-IliftI," 67. "Do ,.-.;,,- ' • . 17. CCSI. •• ,. '}OII. 67' 1" lIOn I,.' _•. = >.,. ',-,0. .. Do c.- ".,~. ,06:1. '"1->1 ODd lit 6. iIii.. I. , . 88. Foe- G.dOn: ,"" IOOnh "'''''','' ........ ",Iow.n.d lIi,ho" tMn 110 .... _ . ,. :t<>J . s.. do km, "T... noIli .... • _ >, pp. "'~" and, -.....-I;.,~. -U. .. Do '" 'iI6 .• • iIii.• p. >0]. "1. ,,6 ,ot"" THE EUCHARIST "ND NATUR.E ttaSted the sacrammtlll1J JillillOnlm of tit.: Christians with the iJo/lJfltm mysltria of the pagans. f, Of coune, (t is a short step from the symboli( OlSsociations of such meanings to symbolism itself. Terrullian US . p. >><>. '.~. OOlldoon., I"""'" 9."''', ild.• H, p . '}70. ' 45>"1" 'H'. ,6 , . .. !~.. ,~ . " .... ". ,}87.~-n . .. lIoW. ,If." ." ... 4. 40. "'. ;JiJ.• r. p. 6,). ,6-". 6,6. H. lid., '.4 . ~, p . 6B. ,}.,~ . .. do: lI..;k ... · "«,~IJ;'n:· 1>9. '.\04f. " 010 GbolJind, ilU .• J ' , . .. Don> 6 . 6o. ' }" So< L. r.."""I. ''0l>I0 .. <po d~ Ch"" ... , 1",.,,1 d'"", "';n, A",b,..;",:· R"J,mlxs" .* ~~ It odiIiltwk 9n). '07-24' on ,t.. ru .. >.(, ., 1'<0, .......1..;00. . . . C. lIu~\U,jn. ·· '1MI.t" .. r..,.."uritr ... ·Soo:BmmlU"'· .. ·JII)'>... ium· <10. .. r... uvt< dt ..in. in H . Rondt •• N . I< UndJoi., A. LaUl... ond C. eo..,,",i THI! EUCHARIST AND NATURI! He nowhere wrote a 'pedal ueatise on the subject. His usage must be pieced together from innumerable references scute~ throughout his works and embracing tbe entire range of his tbeology.96 Of seminal importance are twO letters written around 400 to a layman. Januarius, treating fasts, communion, the eucharist, and other topics conM'Cted with tbe Christu.n rite. Among otber thinp, AUSWlrine rook the occasion to say "many things about tbe u.craments." He stared that a 1«rammlllW was both a SK~ rite aoo a mystery at on.ce.91 In his view, Christ left as evidence of the fotthcomins age of """i JIopIlJi a group of observances, later sanctioned by the church, which were "f~ in number. CIlSy to follow, and rich in meanins ."~ Jbest, sacraments were equally part of action and of thousht. And while one could discuss the ultimate meanins ol any sacrament, one could not dispute the manner in which it was ro be carried out.'" Sacraments, in other ~rds, formed an I.'S5Cntial part of the Christian cult. but they (()Uld nonetheless be ur> _y. .. For. brid' "";.., 01 ottIr ".w... _ P.·Tb. Camclo<. - '50<..",.""",,: N.... de ,,,,,," Losit ............,..« .."....,;n.ittw. - R_ " Ita, ...........,. I "".. d... n. "a. I'.·n . Camdor. "K#liorn< Of ;,.. H ('9H). ~ ~}O""" .... on wt-..w. "",hui ;'''' ""'" .. du A"'....,;R." J.SI'T } I (' 947), }93. "£I.,.. I.Pl.n·_. .. £I. 6. PI. )} .• o•. - El· ,S·>, pt " . • a, . ,. , eo..n.Io<. - 'Socnmr<> ,,8 THE EUC H AI!!ST AND NATURE obscure, hidden, and often divinely inspired. ,0. The holy ,pirit, he maintained, guides the f:>.ithful from the visibk to the invisible, from the imitative to the genuine, from this wOfld to the next. S~4WN"tA are both the outward symbols of inner rn.li ty and the inner reality itKlf. They are given to us f1" alltglll'il:illll signijitali01ltm. '0, The link betw«n the oral and the written aspecu of S4rramnll"", is pn.wided by the performance of the sacramenf$ themsel~ : the essential d ement is the Word. '<>4 The priest is the JiJpt1IJ4/q/' _6; .1 J~alnmf;. '''> PaschaJillJ RatibertllJ and Raframnll! of Curbi. Four centuries Kparate Augustine (rom the revival of his views ttprtsenud by PllIchasiu, Rad~rtU$'5 ~ C~ .1 Sang"i," Dqm;ni, the fint version of which appe&red betwtcn 831 and 833. ,0() The sub· sequent controvcrsy over the mcaning of thc eucharist is usually di . vided into twO major phases. The first consists of Radbert"s trea tise and the reply of Ratramnus of Corbie, together with a number of disparate contributions from the later ninth and tenth centuries. The second begins in the cleventh century and is generally agreed to have !"ea(;hed a climax in the Roman council of i059. which condemned the docrrines of Berengar of Tours. The ttplies oflanfranc, Guitmund of Avena, and .hlge! o{ Liege effectively ende """kuo.. '"SI . A",USt'''' .... Si,,,,:' iR ll . A. M,do.",. «I .. A.,,,,Ii.. \N_ y.,..k, '97», ~'-9' ,od B. D. )0<"","" '"n.. Th . ,,-_.,...... ... , ' ... _"....n"""... . . - .~.. 4n : 44""4, · ... , Gor . : ,: AU8 " El. »8 . >. PL H · «"4; e_.-..s;' i. P~I_ "9.', Pt )7" 44': r:lot, 43601 ... B. P,u)",. «I ., Or c..,...." SMvo;. 0-;.;. CCOoI ,~. p.•;;; . •~ I'<Jt • "* (/>1_. ,96,)· '" THE EUCHARIST AND NATUIlE the formalistic surface. Iu noced, .... hat had been a set of distinCt"ions between the oral and the wriuen ~mergcd in .n inreU""tWllizc.d form. In Radben-, the id~ of henncIlWtics was introduced by accultundon. The c:enrnLl m~ning of the eu.charisr did not need intetpretation: it simply was. For Ratnmn and later symbolists. the physical element in rbe eucharist could only derive meaning from being siwat~ in an intcrprctiVl: framework. In other words. it ~ ro be allegorized. For them, to admit the existential dimension of the ceremony OD its own was to desccnd to popular cuJN", and to ritualism. This meetins of oppositCl, moreover, laid the groundW(lrk for the S«1)nd phase, in which CS5Cntially the same conflict was eJ<pr~ in more sophisticated terms. Beneath tbe .bstractions and logical exercises the old issues could easily be discerned. But now the entire question was intellectualized and tbe rival positions ....e"' dignifird by the participants and luer commentators lIS ""tealism"" and ··symbolism." The doctrine of tnnsubnantiation worked QUt in the twelfth cenwry .... as in &et .. compromise between the t .... o. Radbert therefore occupies a position in the euchariStk controversy similar to Guibert of Nogent on relics. He insiSts on the physical reality of the pigi'm or SMT"'IIlIItll1/l and makes .. litenl identification wich their antecedent historical events. Yet he deepens hum.n understanding of the ceremony in which the eucharistic mystery occun through Paulino: and Augustinian allegory. tu in Guiberr, che two sides of the question, the material. and che spiritual, form an unea.sy uOlon. His point of departure is not the eucharist itself but the principle of anglity by which its mysteriousness is aplaincd. There is no doubt, he Illgues, that the bread and wine are tbe true body and blood of Christ. For .ny Christian who believes that God created something OUt of n.othing should DOt be astOfli,bed if he merely cho.nged one thing jnm another, even "againse DZture. " 'OI For "narures" do not uist in themselves; nor do they truly give birth to what is produced from them. Their source is God', will: chis is che unique CAllS" rmt/IIJ. What appears to be in disaccord with nature may in f"acc be in harmony with his wishes. NO(hill8 lies beyond his power: in sum, "ihil air" Mt/ (II"Ir" IJ.j Mdk potut. '09 Accepted as fact, the eucbuist must, however, be explained. Although .ppc:atins "in the figure of bread. .00 wlOe," God arnngC$ - Do" , . ... S i.i. "'I~_, p. I,. 0-;,,; ( , 7"~ . ~,. I, o:cu ,6, p. I,. "7, • TI'IE EUCI'IAR I ST ANO NA.T U RE that "the~ is nothing at all after the consecration but the flesh and blood of Christ. " , 00 This same flesh w ".-'9. " · IOU. • p. [ I . [ -0 . " . 1;;.1.• [7, [00. '" 1;;.1 . • [7 . " ' /~. , ,8. [ ' 9-'4· ''' IOU.• ' 9 . 'H-.e. " ' IHJ. , [9.1 6,.66. " . 1;;.1.. <. 1. p . • ~, ' .j : -s..:nm-l .... io tradi''''. cum ... ,..." uisibili. ionJ!< Illi"" in";oibil< i MuJ quod """'" o op<"'''' ,,, r~.• " •• Cot '1. j'H. 'c. ,.7: aiJ.• ' ., [0-, •. ". 1;;.1., '., ' 9-. 0: - Elt OO ,6. pool <1<.:, ;""' .. pottium ...... un""l". THE SUCHARIST AND NATURII exteriorly through sight or iIOund. ",,0 StUT4/IU,mlM then is both G~k "mystery" and Latin "oath," the latter arising in Scripture whenever the "sacred spirit" works on JOmething from within by IllIIIfI5 of the speaking voice (Ioq_dtJj. '" And it follows, for Xadberr, in order f<) unite the fWl) ~n:leS, thar God', divine power is noc a teJO:t but I. word. Is rhl: eucharist, therefore, ftp,.orwNfaJ? Both. On the one hand, the Bible attnts that the bUIld Rnd wine are ··nothing but the true ftesh and blood," although understood mystically. On the ocher, if they are a "m ystical sacramen t,'· they must abo constiture a figure. ,,' But, if a figure, how can they really be true? The answer Radben proposes is not altogether satisfactory and provides a buis for his critics· a«.cks. He states that "every figure is the figure of some thing and invariably refers back to it." Of course, a figure may be only "the shadow of truth. ,. By implication, the bread and wine would have to be either reality itself or an imitation. But the eucharist, he adds, is nOt this sort of illusion. The bread and willl' appear to he a figure only when they ate broken up, that is, when in visible appeiinlnct they sttm to be something other than what the semes recognize as flesh and blood.'" But they are really a "sacrament of faith" : a truth, because the body and blood of Christ are made (4/i«rf) from the IUbsranee of bread and wine by the spiritual power of the word, and a ligute because the priest acts as if he were providing something ftom the outside in order to teCJ.1i sacred events. ". In ocher words, the l'Ucbarist is a ··figure·' or "mark'· (""'~...d ...) of truth b«ausc it is sellSC'd eJttcrioriy and truth itself by what is understood interiorJy or be· li~ed. H. This ;1 (he cue, moreover, with a number of biblical 6gUlft. When fur instance Paul .pok~ of d~ JPklulor glllriM Tt figlff" ,d,IPsf;"" ,,6 he meant the fiK'"" IItI rartKUr IdJIPsriM UJlJ, that is, tne "human narure" in which tne whole« divinity corporeally dwelt. " 7 $e1lleS . ''''#J., .~ •• $.)0. '" >~ - .. . • .• ,. H· "" ." 11iJ., <. 4, 'J, • .6. J.adben ,...............iaIlr ~.,8 "...... in hiI km' o£8,6 '" F,ed '8'''' o£s.. JJ.r.oio<. ,..,-. CCQf ,h< .. me ~ R, 9 pool,.,., rj iB '"I'i, KO P_ii MI f _ 9>.1"" ··N«~;"'" mihlllo.. oj fiamo. hoc m""";um i'>uio ."""'" ud ,6. p. , ~., """";; ~ &,un. dicinu, """,,,W, ;p...i, V...it .. (Hlw ,:> _ ~ , I'.ct< NlWD, """ tudmt 6,awos '''''Pi« lit.... _ U l . - H .... the ___ ion boo .. "a ,,..do, the 1.<1,... and ,boo physical •• mild",. . .,' I#J. . • 8. ;..1.,6. '" /HJ.• • 8. n"l· ." 10iJ. , >9. 0 ' 46. ,,. Hbt "l. '" Dt C..,.". '9. , • •". .. .. ,6, THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE The /ig'"" or {"'-(Ofl _ vinced. Why is this so? To answer the quenion, we must go brieAy beyond his actual words and examille the ·De Corporis intellectual context. A first conside13tton is the varying educational bockgrounds of the monk$ BC Corbie, where Radbert ""as abbot from 841 to 8B."" As part of his pacification programme for the &Xons, '''' Charlemagne relocated some of their unlettered soldiers at Corbie, where they were placed under Adalbert, the emperor's erudite cousin. Adalhert founded a sister house, Corvcy (Corkia Nova), in unsettled territory. The original monas tery was not a success, and with the ,id of Wala. his brother. he moved it to Illlore propitious site on the Wescr, some twenty-five miles from Paderborn, in 822 . In 826 he named as abbot Warin, who was also pan Frank and Suon. Radben was present at Corbie during the eventful years between 822 and 826. He authored the Vita Walae and dedicated both the De Curpot? and hi$ De Fitk. S~.t Canl '.. u. n·8 .. M. JOO«po>in. -IL )0. I): ~ « Soto8...... Oo.ruru do - . . . Ldh 8.-14. '.. s.. A. Iiaud:.. 1:"' ........'.0100 o-r~ (l.. L·~ """'i"l_ (I'>n.. '9 J1). '04"'~. ,88-90. •,. On " - «onn«tion> .... H. \Vi_,« •.. 1.0 fuo,d,.,iMo d< I·. u J«triu dIIl..,..",.;'- _"'~ i. P"""," R ...... R",,_ (P, · krmo. ,~ ~ ). 4. '" U. O . c.p;"ru • . "5<1><1; P<' iI<mlp ·"-H· THE EUClf.\\I.IST ,\"10 N.\TURe Radbm:'s consciousness cl w diffeltuce ~n popular and kamed c!'1ld.ition is more clearly revealed in the preface to the twelve books cl hill E:c;6titin ill MAtthtwt"., which W&$ compusnl during the 830$. On«' again the task was related to the needs of his own monks, who, dtspite their devotion to "the highest eloquence" in prayer, demanded of him an orderly exposition of the re>::t (1tJd1H NI"'4fiollu pw orm-) so as to put an end to disputes about its meaning. ')< He saw his role like Matthew's as spreAding the word to all; the gospel', aim was didaetic. Aware. perhaps, of his UnedUCIted auditn«', he both eI· cused hiJruclf for his lowly stylt and yet drew attention to its ibCIvan· tagf:! over "VergiliMn HaweD. " '!' He also ddimited the role of IJ,mwM WiD ; through "the simplicity of ignonnce" man rowd easily deceive himself with filiity, Yet he praised "the simple faith" of uncluttered minds; that, sutely. is the proper conre>::t of his "AnsdmilUl" state· ment of faith's ability to grasp where mt50n fails. ," In the preface to book thret. which was presumably written after the public-tion of rh!: fir~t version of the Or he ~rsed his ",rlier, tokr:ant views and took an uncompromising stand against the pagan dauics,'" speaking of "some of our number, who. because of inadeq\llltt under· sunding," turn to distortions: "Although their win eloquence is pol· ished . , , , their discourse is so uncultivated that it smacks of t\ISoo ticity."'" He became from that point .n unHinching critic of what he termed the tr"goJiAnmf _ill and the JDtt4r*. figmnutl of the an· cients, rl!Serving a ,mall rok in thrology for "human doq~nce" Of for "secular philosophy."'w But the contrast was not only between pagan and Christian. In place of ancient learning he proposed the divine Woo:d • word, how. e'tet, which was both on.llltld written. For, the biblical message was tOO complicated fot ordinary rndef$ and th~refore requi~ an accorn· panying explanation. His images all a consequence ~rain a liaVQur of oral delivery while his intention is literary and cxplicati~. His ex· position, he maincainecl, was an attempt to enl;ght~n through the ear Vuni"*' n;pJ.I11l"').· .... Scripture's obscuritics could be rnnlcd by sim· C""""". 'MF4 -,,;, ;.£0 •" lHJ.. ~>C . •• , . ,.,,~ ""_M,d .... .. -" '>","""",l'Ln<>.~[..c . •• ~ .A " ........ _.-.-, 10>,~. ,,, G......... , "P ,n a. ' [t< . . Z'noI» 1'1,,,,_ ...... ....,.i"";..,. ~ ..... Iolipi6ution" F[lt '" da I...... ! et IU""l'F...,itJo . _ . " iA c.w., ['S"4 8 . ," w.ii, PI. [20. ['[1)..8,0. '.. IIN., ['}A ond PM(ri I. . _ , ,,68. ~"';'liIwi ' .. ",-,,,,.. Ii*i ";", ,~ .\. -,.,.,.., THE EUCHARIST AND NATURIO pie e!oqllC'nce vimplu: ""'I";"")' The holy $pirit inflated the nin~r eau" like sail$ in order that the ship of reflection could steer a straight course. '" The gospel was to his commentary as word to t~t: "For the divine discourse Vtl"mll Jivimn) . . . depiCts not with the brush or reed hut through reason (r..tio) and celestial instruction, in order that the whole man may ~ reformed within. ",., Human explanation can derode biblical panbles, "which are veiled to the rommon people. ",., But it is the light of the WO«! which penetrates our hearts. He e~n glUed his novices with a metaphor which aptly summed up their own situation. 1aeological education, he said, was little differem from the martial passage from boyhood to maturity. With one's initiation completed (txpldo tyr«i"io),· .... it helped one to recover from the errors of youth (jllllt1lfiIJ IiJw..,).") In sum, "rhe power of holy scripture is!l()( so dimmed by mysteri<:s that the 16$ educated (simplicUwrs) are unable to understand it:""'; But, implicit in his division into higher and lower culture is the assumption that ilI;"tr..,; and litftr..ti ~h appreciate the Bible on their own level. A similar doctrine infonns the Pt C()rptn. Historians who have studied the treatise have bef,n CO!l(erned almost exclusively with tracing rllt origins of the notion of the "real presence. ",., This approach presumes that there was an "unreal"' presence, that is, an a1rudy «isting basis ror allegory and interpreu,tion, which there was not. In fact, Radbert', tract i$ JUSt the oppo$ite of what it is often taken to be. It did not only revive and consolidate a rat her oversimplifit.; fW"i, .67 8 -<: . ,. , '-1.-;' /Wri "";.;, 481D. '" 1;;.1. • 48y.. ' .. "'...{4ho h.., _; . 6.HA. '" "'''''~,;. ".., >ox';. }968. ". """rot ' .. "..{.-;, liIIri ,m.i. ~7"'. 'n J. Goi ..lm ... n. DiI E",b.ms,i<J" "'" V-'-iMrilt (P<.dorn, 19.6), .~ )'7". A. J. Iotoc_ doo:.ald. B...,.. """'hI rf S..-w v.an .. (l.on<\oo,. 19}O), ".-49 (... ",,,,,,,;";"-'1 ",9-H. fI,... ,6, THE BUCHARIST AND NATURI! !ogical!y accept&b!e in[~rpretive framework. To do so, he had to empbasiu d~ historical element in his patristk sources to the detriment of the phHosophical, as his cdties pointed OUt. But what was remarkable was that traditional thinking actually 5UppottN his position. Pot he effectively went back OV~t the heads of the fathers and recreated che original senses of u.mmm,rltm on hi, own. The two ,ides are evident throughout. On the one hand, Radbert treats the material aspects of tbe Ncharist with a certain awe. His unsophisticated notion of divine causality is less an eltpJant.tion of how things came about than a justification of what they are. Augustinian vocabullllY is pttsent, but in richness is greatly diminished. His notiam of IItrililJ aOO figlml are two-sided. The truth is latent in the configuration, just as reality lies behind appearances. Yet, figlml is a synonym for f:4I'Mtw, a mark or sign...• Ritua.l, too, has an ambivalent Stlltus. The Of'ai commitment of the sacrament is confitmed by the conSKntion of the priest, but the inner meaning of the eucharist is a product of te6ection alone. ' •• Thus, formalism is both adhered 10 and denied. But .bove all Radbelt reveals his dual penpectivc: in his attitude towards interpretation. Iu pan of the search for inner meaning, be admonishes his brethren not merely to .ccept inspired events but to make sense OUt of them, to dedpher why an act against the tmi8 TUIIltrM is nonetheles.s in accord with God's will. But one proceeds from sense to spirit as one advances from oral to written: "Just as an infant glopes slowly towards Iitency through signs or con.figurations of letters, then advances [0 the spiritua.l sellSI:' and undenanding of holy rnts. 50 one lCIChes from the humanity of Christ to the divinity of God." Ju a consequence, t~ one is called the figlll''' or CIlrildll' of the other. ',,0 The compari50n is apt, suggesting not only a proc6'l of education but that interpretation is an addendum to what is secn. heard, and performed, ", an idea which receiv«J indirect support from Am... SOI'''' ,iom... s~~ )0 /19"). 48,-, I>: "" CuoIi"';'" .... bon. ,o6.n . .• o . [)om o. Ca><1 •.. 0.. Iof.,...~n;' Reooo.i""""." .,. Dt C..,.... c. 4. p. '9. 'U, . •,. On "'" ~;"ui.,. 01 ,he _k ",,;,~}tJ. onc! .... _ .... M. 0..;.[. "I.< ......,.'" du ..... c!u IX. ... XV••i«!<: R_ ""..,.. . . w;" 6 ('!nol. "1'. m.. ,.,. pp. 6(,.'Hi "" r!oo utli<, ift .... "'i"llj~. 0 1 _ ..... Go:o-"...,;c..,... .... C. Capdk. u _ ';J,i;,_ . • .• " THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE b~. " > Moreover, t~ patl.ll~!ism of the material and th~ spiritual is carried over to t~ not'ion of satTIIl1InIlum. Th~ Term pig"IIJ is a~nt from Isido~'s definition, on which Radbert heavily ~li<" . , ._- Ctit ." On Rodbt,,·, Ambroow. ' ~ 00Ut«t .... "- ~ , . w_ ... f..,J",.i,,., ..w",. ~- " ~-- " ""pOIi''''' p'"itti( _ . pp. '~19 . '" for 1Nlo!;" in Coroli",;ion 1<,a1 ,~ht .... M. o.vid. m, N,., 66-<)6, """ f. L. Gonsh:o(. ,,'ori,in< d.. ro.pp:>m feod<>._liqun." 1 ~ IIJ'" rWil", r.mIiorfil ($pul«o. '~4), >1>'4" ' .. A. Vouchn, ~ .,w;,..JiU JJ.loUy ,0>'1· '" J. A. ]Ul\llm&ntI. N.i1_ 5.0... ... En,. ,...... (N... YOlk, ,6, ' \1'0), vol. " p. 84 . THE eUCHtr.RIST AND NATOll.E level of complffiry. Occasional explialtions of biblical tUtS would no longer dO.'1 1 One had to aglft or disaglft with Radbert with Ide~DCe to an internally d~loping tradition ofpatristic writing. The first negative vcm: was «St by Rat~n. also a monk of Corbie, whose own f), CUi}G." n S_".;. O-;,u was written around 8,9. Like Radben's treatilC, it was dedicated to Charles the Bald, who asked fur ans~rs to two questions: whether the bread and wipe were the fiesh and blood of the historical Christ and whether the eucharist presented them i" nrysttrio ... 4111 ill _ilAu. ," To the first question Rat~n gave a flat no;'6o ro the second he was inclined to ~ply "both. ",i, He disagreed with what be considC'red to be Radbert·s crude physicalism, and rnrom:l the spiritual element to the thought of Ambrose and AugU5tinc:. But the signifia.nt diffel'ttlct hetwttn the tWO did not lie in the realm of ideas alone:. R.adbert', ,tatting point was the concrete. His t~tilC was the authentication of an historical and, to his mind, evet-prnent reality. Rllttll.tnn did not deny what appeared before the senses. But he considemi tbe eucharist an intellecruaI problem soluble with the help of grarmnar, logic, and allegory. In his explanation of tbe eucharistic "mystery" tbeft' is less that is ~nuinely mystet'ious. His appl'QllCh tay in me mainstream of patristlc commentary. and, had it been written tWO cmturies later. might weU have passed withOUt criticism.·6> The essential issue in his view was whether the eucharisr represented the body aDd blood undet' a figure (jiglmil) or veil (~U1) or whethet it was tbe uru.dorncd manife3tation of truth (_ ri14tiJ tuJ., _IIifa"'i~) .•6) Radben, he argued. had drawn auendon only to the realistic element in Augustine. But the bidJop of Hippo clearly disdnsuished berweenfipw and wriltn. A figure. in Rarramn's ...,.. "latiood bawall ...aw;.. i< ~ ..... liru'Jic&I pronim. Po< .... tI>t .... tbt q.......... ii d~ bt' P_ HoIb60:k. I)w ~ ..J "" .."sUcW IN CJ.rilIi .. __ i" UMo __ Frib• ( ( ,,;' (........ '94'). )6.fI,; fOr tuIy Dd .,.;,; proc '_n" """ F ' jJ~ (M_. '97V, I' ( . - . "" <110. ~.ti. 'M'" c.,..." , •• ... a . v....... on: ,.a. "'4.1,. ~ p""a.;, c. ,. od . ] . N. &klouJ_ "'" dm lltiok Ch..--...... 19,.J, ,.. I" PI. lu.u9I1-}OA,); .... "11 .~i ..... it! prcI<m>U '0 ...... oI.. od .• '914, 00 wIIidI. ... J. P. Bouhot. R..~ '" c..M. HiJIoir< He' ..; ,,, • ,k (hris, .,,6). '07· "" IIW. , c. H. Po 48 (I'l.,otr." ,tr.) . ·.,nd ,.,« ,; .b.. Kt,,,, ,,;,. ,.,d, ... Foe ... • ....tl'iI.... I.. Bm.1Jdr. "la <1IrIpia; cl. cl. I..mm"" .... _ . - .......... -noriKiqoo." C....., ~"""" . ,,&.30. Th< ...............;.,.._ "Rot,.". doea _ - " cl ... i ...Jl«no.t ......... ondinf( (p.ln) io On , ......... '''"'''''. d. ... 0. Crisriuz.i. "1.0~, H 19>"94 ond "., . J) (I'lt>8A), c.,.... c. >. p. ,68 THE EUCH"II I ST "NO N"TUIlJi view, WlI$ a kind of obscurity (MJlmbralio). It concn.Je$ be able to frame the di$till(tion between R.adbert ""biJ., 7·8. pp. ~·'ll''''''-O. ·" 'biJ., 8-9, pp. J.4'" {,~"Cl . ,., I.o<.u •. ... for •• ;.-.. ,; m;l ... to "'J own. "" M. G;booo. ''' 0.<:..-,-, <. ' •. p. ,6(" '''1. •" IbiJ. . ". p. ,6(,p".8). ." IjiJ..•6. p. )7 . , ",8· 'lM. •" lNJ., 86. p. ,6(,6,"). '" lI;.U•. '''1.0<.& . J..,o/r4'" of ~ .o.fo 1978). 7S.)6. THE EUCHARJ::iT AND NATURE and Racnmn more precisely if we return momenearily to che legal analogies of an eadier chapter. Foe Radben, thr eucharistic rite itself was "dispositive"; rh\: intet'J>R'tivt material supporting it had only thl: nafU$ of evidential documents. For Ratramn, the authl:ndcity of the cucharist was irueparable from the texts which relat~ its meaning. AlthOUgh the presence _ "real," its reality ha.:! co be consonant with gnmmar and logic. To undctstand the e\l(hatUt, thrmo«:, was to apply gnmmar and logic- in short, to allegorize it. Radben did nor wholly deny the ""Iut of interpretation, nor did RaulImn dcny che rnl (as opposed to historic) presence of Christ in the Cl:remony. But they diffcred in the manner in which they approached the issue of figM'" versus vtritlU. '" Foc Ratramn, the di .. tinction arose within the logic of human undcrstanding. In order for thr bread and wine to be the body and blood of Christ i" "",itat" Oldst had to be nperien«<.i in the lIesh and blood by the bodily ~nses. This was obviously not the case. The eucharist was appcehended by the !!tnscs as bread and winc; it was the body and blood of Christ only ill jigllP'•. Put in other terms, the bread and wiflC were symbols of the body and blood of Christ. If Rarramn interrelated fig'". and _iJ4J as categories of understanding, Radbcn did JUSt the oppo$itc. For him, lIfI'iw inhered in the physical, che historical, and by implication the oncological. Truth or falsehood could not be verified by human logic alone. A thing WlI$ "crue" when in reality it WlI$ what: it WlI$ affirmed to be; it eaisred ill jig.,.", when, while reaJly being what is wu, it abo signified, evoked, or represented something else. There was to Radbcrt 's mind no incompatibility between the two: the euchariSl W&1 the sacramental body and blood of Christ ill vtritatf, DO matter what else it signified ill figllr•. The link betwttn expericnce and reality was provided by the Word, the affirmation of reality, or, more precisely, by rhl: Word &5 authentiCl1ting text, since Radbert accepted che gospels u a simple transcription of God's verbal intentions and commands. The distincrion benveen vtriJ4J and figllr'" was nothing rtlOft' than that berween the original word. and/or teXt and subsequent rommentary. H we step aside from the eucharistic controversy for an instant, it is possible to sce Radbcrt and Ratramn as tontributors to the two problems with which this chapter began. First, both distinguished between whac they saw u popular and lcamcd approaches [0 tbe ques'" J. R. J. LtboQ. "Sur b. 48), 67" •. ..... d'Hk~,!or '7' 1..oI:oboo:' $.... f ,""'.. . . . THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE lion. In Radben's cue, this involved a partial re habilitation of the oral, the symbolic, and the performM; in Rauamn 's, a rcronceiving of the whole question withio the framework of higher religious culture alone, More significantly, both threw into relief the phenomenal aspec:rs of reality, although once agllin from di/krent perspectivC$, For Radbm, the physical implied the spititual: hwnan imcrpretlltion merely amountM to underwriting. For Rarramn, $C O$C data were also the starting point of all genuine understanding of reality . But oddly, by questioning the nature of reali ty as it appcaffl.:! bcf'ore him, Rarramn was further able ro distinguish what was apprehended by the senses ftOm what was understood by the mind. This byproduct of textual te$ea~h was n:ploitM io the eleveoth ceotury by Bcrengar, as later by twelfth-century philosophers, who appliM it to scientific Nlhe! than to theological questions. To conclude this brief discussion of Radberr and Ratramn, we may turn briefly co the summary of the tWO ninth-century positions in Heriger of Lobbcs, who diM in 1007 . He was diSflInr enough from the origioal participants in the debate to distinguish confidently betwccn the "IIliqlli, that is, the fathers, and the modtmi. ,,6 He was also the first contributor to make selective quotations from pllnstic sources to suit his own design. o?? He therefore offers a bridge betwccn the fint phase of the eucharistic discussioo and the techniques which became fashionable in the eleventh century . •,. His short treacise, in fact, marked a new stage in th e development of an interpretive rradilion. It presupposed that the reader was familiar with Radbcrt's ideas, and, while fundamentally realisr in orientation, it tried to cff«t a union betw~n opposed positions. H eriger had read earlier attemplS at compromiK: he knew of Ratramn's letter to H eribald of Auxene and the letter (also perhaps by him) to Egi!/), both of which criticizM Radberr.· N He also quoted Gew of Torrona, who paraphrased Radbert around 9,0, and through him R~mi o( Aul<erre, '''' as well as lengthy statements by a quiJ..m Jilpims who authoccd a RtSjIOlIsio defending the r~aliH approach. ,I, With such con.,. 0. C","" d s~.;", 0-;,,;, <. '. PL [". ,$aA; t . 4, [8,8 , ,8,e. ,,., 1'<0- oi!Tc';". Gti .. l.... n. 0;, E.a...u,ifWM. '7.·n . ond J..ebo<,', O'OpIY. "S<.o. la doct,;,.. OUCN.';lciq ...:· 7<>'7S . ,,. Gti .. lmaM, 0;, E"",,""iokbn. >77,80. n.-..... ,,. n.. nidrn<. i, summon...! by MK.....Id, ,.. s.. J. HoriJI ... "'" B"'"V' "'" "" R,p,.. , '4' "". G<;.e/""'M. - Ott fi nlluso de> R.",i8i", _ Lobb A~ .uf d;" Eudwilt;'khr< de> rhtt/or;d. ~ ['. ( [ ?~l). ' ' '-44· I. p. [. \>; on i " ........ Ldoon. MI. .. , Ild. d·AcI>/-IJ . $f"hl.,;-. ..... ' 7' THE EUCHARIST AND NAT U Jl.E temporary discUSilion in mind, Henger attempted (0 fit the ancients and the moderns into a robcrent tradition of thought. Overlooking p.tri5ric differences on tbe melOn;ng of _ _hllII, be argued that the fathers presented an essentially unified outlook.'" Some writers of the "modem -se" had once &pin raised the spectre of heresy. In his view, it VIIS impcuible to "categorize" Christ oc to "dogmatize" whether tbe l'UCharist existed ;" ","lid, wI ;" jiptw. 'h Yet parristic tnc:hing on the question was reasonably clear, While admitting the possibility of interpretation. Ambmse, Augustine, Basil. and Gtegory unequivocally srued that the brad and wine were the acrual body and blood of Christ. ' .. Indeed, he added, the doctors of the church spoke so eloqurndy that "the simplicity of When could perhaps be excused. ",t, By implication, the purely allegorical applOlCh of Rauamn rested on .. misinterpretation of earlier views. The authors most frequently quoted, namely ]eromc. Augustine, Fulgentius, and Eu.sebius, did DOl deny the reality of the Sll(raments. Hmgel' also claimed.. following the fathers, to put matt confidence in "simple words and prayer" than in "dialectical ugwncnration. ",14 Perhaps he did: but his rreatiJe placed the eucharistic debate on an intellectua1levcl which made those simple words an increasingly remote id..-.l. Ekwnlh-Cmlllr] AMlIxm The lines of inquiry laid down by Radben, Rltranln, and their soccesson were pursued in greater depth during the major ph.se of the debate on the eocharist. The protagOnist was Berengar of Tours. ,~ Among his early theoretical (as oppooed to conciliar) opponents were Hugh of Langrn, Durand of Troem, Lanfraru: of Bee, and Guitmund of Aversa. The renewed controversy went far beyond the specific arguments of the central figures . PO!' canonists and other spolcesmen on behalf of ... 0. C-;- .. s....,.;., 0-;.;. t. ' . pt 'Jp.,8o.A_ '" /IIJ_. ,BoB. •.. /IIJ.• t. '. ,80& 8,B. ·" IOiI. . ,SoC. ·"'/W.• ,8,<:; t. 7. ",A. t.,. •., 1'0< • brief ........ of ob< OlCUmS 010. Copd."j. "to let ..... di GoKmIo II N....!lo et.." . d' AQPI. Ildebnn40 ho,g).·· S'Ji ('on6). '''''' •• M. iM. UPe. la""';' dri n;:; M'; '" c..p;.. VII. u ~ dj T ...... iIJ.• 6 ("'~I). 99'"' 4'; obo. R. So4>a,iJI•• "1'bo c... Api_ !krtnp ofT..... ; A Ne..- Ten.- iIJ., 9 ('!n'). "lk. "".i,• .f•. ·..;' ,,-n. ' 7' THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE the in(rtl1Singly refurmist papa'J', the issue was universal .uthurity versus part;cularisric innovation; for studenu of the liturgy, mysticism, or theology, it was the deg~ to which intdl«:!Ualillm was permiss ible in the fio:kinic, ritualistic, or participarory areas of religion. Although differing on much else, the tWO sides had a similar response co such questions. As the number of contributions swelled and posicioru hardened, it was d.-at that tm, eucharist had be.::ome an ubjf(:t of cognition ro be discussed by experts on the legal, philosophic, and ~n diplomatic me.ming of tnU. After Bereng.r, Christians may still ha~ be-en divided on how the eucharist was to be interpreted, but only a tiny minority opposed the use of hcrmeneutics itself. Bermga,. 0/ TOMS Ikrengar's intellf(:fllal devdopment can be d ivide.! inw four Stages: the early correspondence, includill8 the letteu to Ascelin the Breton and Addmann of Li~ge; quotations from a los t treatise written shortly after the council of Rom e of 1059 and preserved in Lanfranc's D. C~ eJ Sa1lglli71t Do",i1l; from ca. 1065; the D. Salt.. CDnla, the lell8thiest stacement of h is position, which can be date.! arouM 1067; and a mImoirt on the Roman councils of 107 8 and 1079, probably composed in 1080. ' . The various treatiso.s do ft(It illustrate a lineal growth of ideas. Instead, rather similar notions recur agai n and again ami d carefully ClIkulated .... plies to thO$<' hold ing OI:her opinions. Yet , throughout the often excited, tendentious repetition of his position, Berengar makes one point d.-at: his bo.li e{ in the value of !ogically defensible systems of interpretation. On a numNr of occasions he was f()(ced to r~tract his doctrinal views. But he neve r really denied his faith in rationalistic exegesis; and the rigidity of the confessions he was compelled to make betray that it was this rather than his sp«ific tenets which was looked upon with such alarm. H e does nOt appeal to have thought OUt his •• 0<1 dIt d;,.;'i.., 1 IQII<>o- M""donold. Ii<not"... ",.,j < d/.' ;I\3. ,",,,,,,,,100. "The .... n,i.1 KhoI.,,"ip on -0,<;" i. bO«. by on '""0fr4"''' -.,.., }.,. o.-.au'" " . ''''1'' ,,"«1 ,ba, _opi, THE llUCHARIST AND NATURE doctrinal position with care ~(ore the coundl of VeruHi of 1St September 10,0, ,., but long before that ~ he "'IU widely known IU a sUC«S$ful tcacher committed to a philosophiclll methodology. Alter the Roman council of the same year he was more and more fn'qucnrly called upon to defend the content of his views. But what evidently interested him most was the 10gH:: by which they were reached. legislation and administrative correion were pani.Uy effective in silencing hi5 voice. Yet. the linal irony of the affair was that his opponents overcame his position only through an often less sophisticated adoption of the methods he himself pioneered. Of all the contributon to the aJCharisrk debut, Beren.gar aiJo speaks to us most clearly as an individual. His unusual lecturing style, his involvement in Anjou politics, and his subsequent appearance at papal couoci!! made a deep impression on the thinkers of his own day and have coloured hi5tQtical interpretation ever sino:. Nothing he wcote WIll f~ of polemic.: it is not alwaY' easy to separate his own reflections from hi5 rnction to the ideas of others. Yet, despite rhe difficulties of his style, his deliberate use of innuendo, and the fragmentary character of his woriu, there are several strands of thinking which pernde 8erengar's entire utIIfIn. They sur&.cc for thc lint time: in thc Ictter he wtote to his friend Ascelin towards the: cnd of IO~O and perhaps after the council of Vcreelli.''''' AKclin accused Ratramn (whom hc mi5rook for Eriugcna) of heresy. If the report is true, Strengar observed, thcn his fricnd i$ an unre_ flective, impious, and even unworthy priest. For, to have accused "Etiugena" of hete$y is to put oneself in the camp of Radbert and Lanfranc. ". This, in turn, implies an incorrect notion of the euchirist and, mote generally, of the philosophy of change. 8e~ngu ~plied that it is contrary to the gospel, the apostles, and the ruin of nature (-.lIff ".,tllJ'M r4/i_) to believe "that the bread's 5umtan« is entirel), withdrawn from the sacrament of the Lord's body."'·' But it is aLw untell50nable to forbid interpretation, Jincc the gospel of John clearl), stated that religious mysteries Ire not often evident to the senses. To oppose this is genuine hete$y.'" For the material bread no mort rep... Dt S - C-. c. 9. ,~,). M."., 'l. .ow (pan. .• 912). IlOft' . .. ' El. 8#mrt.m ~ AIootiot_, «I . R.B.t: HUYJ<"', Ko T_ - ' M'o ,~", E-,. ~'"'''''' _G. /. L«{t"d • .oI .• (AmRctdam. "n'), .8"9 Ca pt .)o.66A.B). - IINI. (66B) . ... /HJ. (668-0. THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE ments the whole sacrament than the bishop', srarF the cure of souls.'~ Berengar confes!eS he has nQt read the whole of "John the 5o;:0t," but he warm Ascdin nOt to take a position against interpretation for its own sake, He who holds the keys of knowledge, if not passing the threshold, should not bar the way to others. ' •• H~, in a nuuhell, wt find twO of Ikrengar's major rcneu, namely, the commitment to logica.i discussion of religious issues and the re· jection of all forms of naive physicdism, even if guaranteed by ~ith. Similar thoughts wct'c voiced in a letter which Berengar wrote to Adelmann, a. fellow student a.t Chartres. who became bishop of Smeia in 1048. Although difficult to date predsely, it WiilS probably written between the rouncils of Tourl in lOH and Rome in IO~9.'~ No· where, Berengar protested. had he advocated the "Manichaean" posi· tion whereby the historical Christ was JUSt an ima~ of reality. '" have held and still hold," he maintained, "that the true and human body of Christ is present on the altar during the mass. "'97 He "conceded" that the bread and wine wtre made 1./in'1) imo the body and blood of OIrin after rhe con5C'Crarion and was willing to allow that this very (iN""') brnd and wine actually became the verifiable (.....Mm) body and blood of the Lord. '''' Yet, he continue . "'11iJ.. H"" . 1'<"'", "'liiJ. • H). N"",d... p. ' l) . tt.: cli";.",;",, ,oo fu. On ,t.. ~jfk" " i<> '" Au, P., n . Cam<1ot. "Rkh.lII< ... ymbo/i ..... . . . . " ) 1"1-4 ' 0 ; "" .yml>ol • ...J ...,to, !Mn, . pp. 4<>'.06. - 1IIont<1oo. 1•.•iI. ""'i....... • THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE other invisible. 1k statements "nw bre.d is my body" and "The bread which ...e brak is Christ's body" do not melll that the ~lIbJtt."t;' _ comumro .•," Radbcrt, be continued, panderrd to popular taste: he produced not S",RIII;' but m.,,,;.. UnfonuRltely, Lanfranc folmed hi, lead; they both urged that somehow- .. Iitt/C,' portion Cporti~) of the actual body aDd blood was produced by the transformation of the bread and wiDe.'. "'· But his "gument, or, as he put it, that of Scripture, was as follows: "the bread and wine . . . an: conftrted into Christ's body and blood not sensibly (mlll",litrr) but intelk<:tua11y (jllltlltn".,jitrr). " It is fIOt "consumed" but ruhff "assumed"; it is not changed in small parts but entirely. >OJ For a crude materialist "conversion" is denied by bot:h the senses and reason. WbcDt'Vef one thins is changed into another as, for instance, when M()SC,'S', rod _ made into a serpent, Loth', wife into a .tatuC of sait, or the wuer at the Cana weddins feast into wine-the .terond state canrnx be said 10 WSI (p;ilt",) befote the fint has ccued to do so.Usins this criterion, the bread and wine on the alw cannot be transfiJuued "..:mibly" inro OuUr's body and blood. Pot Orisr ~ts who.lly in eternity.*"" Berengu claims, moreover, that this approach unites .-.tio and /IlICloNUU, a dx:me to which he tums in the last section of the letter. Through a judicious selection of tt'Xts, he illustrateS that AlI8ustillt' both accepts the aacraments as divinely inspired mysteries and interprets them using logical methods. ~ The letter to Adelmann, then, not only pn:sented I clear statement of Betengu's position. I r also grouped a number of Augustinian texts into a self Lanfranc:. The tteatise is not only a iist of authorities or a Kript_ WtI"''' JyIlOlbnn,- as his opponents would lead. us to believe. It also marks a new stllSe in rhe aniculuion of Beteng.I's ideas. Between the synod of Toun in 10 '4 and the Roman couocil of 10'9 his teaching had become well known in many Ewopean centC"e$, both in France and. Italy. His followen ...ere singled out less {or their cOlKcptioo of fhe ... lx.m. - IW. • H}-}4. "',W., ' )4-}J. .., IW., IU-'W. , n6; !or ... ....t,.ls.... NonKloo, ".,...,. -11iJ.• ')4. - MO"fdo•• !s,. ,,' THE EUCHARIST ANO NATURE eucharist than for their advanced methods of scriptural exc!C:$is.Not surprisingly, principl.-s of interp~ta[ioo became a major issue in IO~9 io .Rome . Present at the council we~ Hildebrand, Lanf.... oc, and Humbert of Silva Candida. Ikreogar, by his own report, came vol· untarily to the meeting and hoptd for Hildebrand's support. He .... as bitterly disillusioned by the whole affair. According to his account of the proc~dings, he was not t"VCn allowed to state his cue. '''' The assembly made it dear that it wu oppcsed. not only to his specific tenets but al$O m his m.-rhod.s. At the ve ry mention of the word ··spiritual,'· he said, they smpptd up their eIIC$. "o In the end. a humbled Berengar was compelled to rq>eat an oath eschewing not only his eucharistic ··hete3y·· but t"VCn the possibility of higher criticism. The "con£.-s5ioo·' cffc< Roonon 0&"''''' "* ··St"", .. idot>« is _i,heeI by O . CApi""';, PO' B<,."P';" ... :. put ,. pp. "~H. Fer. ,ompori_ qf ,h< ,.." qf 10 '9 IfMi . ~. le< L. H&U, ··0;' confmio II El ... ArbII.s'i~ j7 (.96.). ~ 70· 8 • . •~ o.S-o c-. (. , 8. p. 30. -.,.,-. \0$( qf ,I>< .. ' ''' in .hi, """,",." qf W« J. L:I by w&o.c. pt ')0 .• '0(;." B. " ' 1141.• •• ... 0 . ." 1141.• •• . ..0 """ , .• ,.0. '·'1141.• 7 • •• 60; 8, • • 8(;. ~[8[)..'9A. !.no,,,,. "'' 'I... '" G. E. ~., T",..",i, ..... ti". 0'1 ........... "'1 ti,.., ,.;d,o;"" ........ .. . (B"""wick. ' 1701. For. di""";",, '" m,""""!,, (WoIfrnbii".I. Hot"'!! A.., .... Bibli",h t'" ,,.'d THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE peannc.. of unfn.nc'li Dt CD'-pore tI S,"'glli", D"",i"i, induding the W habits of mind which Berengar a<sodaet Rot-. , •• Cf. "'-:donoJd, ~ ..... ¥>4, q~"II H.rnac:k. ....i".. _ . G......... '""~_ ,1..jHb.. ;.."";,,,,-,-. '. '17 . '7' H',..., I{ 0..- 6. 46. THE EUCtlA~rST ANO NATURE which li e behind the verbal arrangementS, whose formalistic and coo _ ventional qualities he nonelhdess recognizes. He dlUS lawns flom texts ro IftliIY, thal is, from words to things. His separation of the literal aoo the allegorical also leads IU did the auder formulation of R.attamn to a radical isolation of the world as po!rceptible to the senses. Yet Ihis romtS about in a different way. for the dualism of words and lhings as he undenrands it implies that things themselves cannol simply be broken d.own into substances and qualities. To pul the mlttt'r another way, he rakes the anci ent distinction betw~n substance and quality and reapplies it by .a.naJogy tu words and things. He thtll denies that ;t applies 10 things alone. Onc (;lnnot sum up this position as ' ·gl1l.mmalical, " as "nominalistic," or "en as an anticipation of the distinction betwet'n particulars and universals. Despite authorities, the implicalions of his Ihin king are largely his own. The ftllliqlli an: imporrant chieAy as reference points ror the indi vidual in his search for meaning. The book purports ro reassert a prc.medi. "al position, hut it is reaJly a Stat ement on behalf of modernity. In Berengar's mind, then, the distinction betWet'n sensible and spiritual is based on the analogy of tnt (or textual sign) and interprctation. Biblical and pattistic writing on th<: cueharist is a kind of figurative s~h, in whkh the concrete stands for rh<: abstract, the particular for th<: universal. On "mysteries" like th<: sacramcots, Scripture cannot stand alone. It must be intcrptt'ted, preferably wirh the aid of reason. Reason, in turn, cannot be employed in a haphaurd way; it must be engaged logica lly, that is, IC,ording to pre.established rules. The flavour of the discussion can po!rhaps be caught by paraphrasing a few passages of interest. Early, for insran,e, Ikrengar insists rhat his position on interpretation has b iblical and patrisric pre.::edenrs. '"The light shines in the darkness," John wrot e, "and the darkness has never quenched it."'''' It even illuminates Ihe "obscurities" of this world., but Lanfranc's .. btclouded mind" is nor able to perceive it. His opponent's chief error arises from ovcrestimatin8 his po!tSO nal ability to interpret the Bible and from ~suming that what he reaches is always in o,(cotd with God's will."" There is,. more positivc basis for henmneutic S(:iencc which begins in the Bible, is handed down through the fathers, and has bet 1." 0. s-~ C-.. l. p. n' I~.. ,. '79 <. 9 . p. ... THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE stTipUmtJ Altlt1lltit.t.J.'" Had the authorities takfn a serious intfrest in his work, they only had to foUow John's ao;lvice "co read t~ scriptures diligently .... ' and to rompa~ what they found co his own understand· ing. Bur, he added, one had "co read in order co understand .....• Wirhout an anentive perusal of the tUtl, Humbert mU$Cd to ac· knowledge what was "bcfo~ his eyes" and merely spoured "words without oroet ....., Among the many pouible guides to the Bible's C1)Irect meaning he might well have glanced at Augustine, who, on numerous occasions, clo:arly distinguishes bctwttn reality and symbol. For example, s~king of the tl'lnsrormation of snow into ice, the bishop re&rrcd to the crystals as "snow. " But he ncvtr called snow ice, "unless by that manner of speaking (/_lilNtis WMio), by which the thing prcduad (m r/J«ta) is conventionally caJkod by its rnataial name: (fllAlrriA/iJ .or_J, .. ,16 Similarly, in the Bible, when man is said to be ma.ck: of can.h or Christ is said to be a co~rstOnt, the tut employs a similitude v;",;lititJr». '" M~r , putting bread and wine for the body and blood of Christ ;s no d;ff.,~nt from any other biblical ex· Ambrose, when he inter· ample of one thing standing for anoc:her, preted the sacraments for atcchumcns, was well awue of rhis, The water of baptism is nOt ""prism; ttH, bread and wine art nor The eucharist,'" lUdbcrt, Humben, and Unfraoc, he concludes, are guilty of the fundamental error of mistllking ttH, particular and ttH, univer. sal.·,IO "Fot cvcrything which existS is one thing in that which it is, another thing in being some (particular) thing, ".,. In the cucharist there is rnI bread and wine; the~ u also "mystical," "tropical," or "fisuflltive" meaning, ' " The rwo must nor be confused, Nor should. the won:! be pur before the text, The primacy of textual analysis based on logical principles is the basis for Berengar's am.ck on the unreasonable abuse of luthoriry and on all forms of oral, pop. ular, or crudely realist thinking, '" It is quoestionable, he uks, who is the more d.all8f'rous allegorisr, he who utiliU$ I'ltional methods to elucidate biblical texts or he who confuses them through needless "obscurity."'j·lUdbert, in his opinion, ~uccd. important theological n. '" IM .m, ." la <. 9, p. 1>, ·"IMJ., <, '9, p, }2. ' .. IMJ,. <. ,W. p , 'u, ~,19. IMJ.. <, ,6. p. 28. M, IJlJ,> <, ,6, p. 29. '" !.-,';I, '''I~" <, z<>. pp. " . }), • ., ' .. Cf, M.. ··· .'J. s....,- _ "" R<{tnI. ,'1, '" o.S- C-. <, ,6, p. ~, '.~ E,. " <, 4', p. " 1, .,. O . £I. - . . AI-.... «I. M ........,.. p. n4' 11. ..............1.. i...... om,,". bu_.,.. 'W """,m Or.f...... C_. <, }, p, " ,So quo< m<m; THE IlUCHAIIIST AND NATURE issues 10 the level off~bJl"'.· j ' Tht sacrament is not merely a form of participation (crmmtJlllio), It is also a form of communication (wmfIUI1/Mzlio), ' J6 alld as such must be inttrprCfe-d. In SC"IIKhing for tM right meaning, no one has a monopoly of truth: a "friend" like Humben, who asserts that he has the whole truth, is really truth's enemy.' " Mocwver, a refus"! to com ider the rnl questions has le-d 10 a number of "vulgar erron," like the ac:(U$II.tion that he holds Manichaean views. ,," Only a radical oversimplification of his teaching could lead to the unsupportable conclusion that Chris!"s earthly presence was only 11 phenomenal appeara.nce. He had never ~n tried by approve.! legll pcoce-dures, which, once Igain, would have n«essitated a careful examination of his wtitings, not the emotional unanimity of a "mob ....... "For a crowd of the unlearned in the church does not constitute the chuKh:" Early Critirilm Beneath the satcasm, of course, Ikrengar was affirming his positive belief in the value of interpretive logic. This, in turn, helped to make a case for distinguishing bet'N~n popular and learned apPfOll(hrs [0 the ~ucharist, and, as a consequence, ~twrro appearances and rcality. His ideas el icited a wide vari~ty of responses. mostly negative , Although his opponents shared a dislike of his methods and docuines, thd r own writings do not fit into any cas ily definahle tradition of thought. Bert'ngar'S fitst detractof$ wen: his former srudent friends, whose appeals were made on IMi. own brhalf. Only larrr d id onhodox '" I~.. c. 1 .1'. 9 . •~ El. '''' .. .• <. ... 1'. , . ." _"" 11./_"'''''"' p. H'; 0. s_~ C_. c. 6 . p. 6, fullo.. i"3 Au,!;"'d ... . '''IWJ., <. 8. p. 10. ·" IWJ.• c. 6. p. 1. ' .. LM.dt. " . /WJ. • c. , . p. 6. ~'For Vt«t. c. ,8. pp. )0-) ' . ~'IWJ.. c. 6. p. 6. '.. fAt. 'u. '" rOd.. <. 9. 1'. I~ . ,8, THE IiUCH/"UST ... ND N ... TUIIE spokesm..n bewm.. aware of commonly held assumptions. Iu lirerat)' genres, the various contributions to the debate can be (lusilied roughly under three headings: correspondence with old friends like Drogo of Paris or nn. .. n..mirs like Lanfranc; councils, including the major auemblil'S at Rome in 10}0 and IO}9 as well as at Vercelli (10,0), Paris (lO}t), and TOIln (loH), with which may be included the r«antation of 1079 requested by G~gof)' VU; and major neatisa, which begin as euly as 1049 with Hl,Igh of Langfl'S and develop through Dunnd of Troarn (lOB), I.anfranc (ca. I06,), Guitmund of Aversa (IOn-I07g), and Alger of Liege (I lIo-un).',.6 Hisrorians have in general arranged the orthodox replies to Berengar so that opposition culminates in th .. work of Ls.nfranc, whose lk Corpml was USI'd by both Guitmund and Alg..r. But rhere is another way af looking at the o:videnc... Early ord1<Jdox writers, following Radbert, not only displayl'd a lack of techniol expertise in logic. The views often amounted to authentications of an existing stare of affairs, in which teJ:ts merely served an l'Videndal function. WhI'n opposition to physical symbolism l'l'Surfaced in Berengar and hili followers, OJthodOJl: writers were: compelled to develop an interpretive tradition of their own. Thw, as notl'd, by tht centl,lf)"s last quart.. r, we find a set of differing doctrines but a gradual fusing af methodologirs. This meant that the interpreting of the eucharist had. bewme a question for higher culture alOI1l'. The CS5Cnrial deb.re ..... over conceptual scheml'S and rh .. d ..glft to which linguistic philO$Ophy was an admissibil' tool. Even when ritual and symbol were introduced into lat .. r disclU.'lions, as they were in Lanfranc's case, they furmed part of an intdllXtualist position. The poles of intel'l'St of <'ariy replil'S to Bertngar ate well conveyl'd by twO writers, John of Fb:amp and Adelmann of Lie~. for simplicity's sake we may oil them mOflRStic and early scho[.stic approKhes to the theme. In John, hermeneucia is conside~ to be largely superfluous. In Adelmann, int.. rpreration cakes iu fim steps towards grappling with rh .. issues which lartr philO$Ophers thought important. John of Fw.mp (aa. 990-1078) was the: nephew of WiIliam of Vo[piano, the founder of St.-Bmigne in Dijon. His principal work appeared in thlft sU<-'«Iisive venioM, the last of which, called the ... 0.. Gui....""" • .." Moo'd.... L ...... 1Uj'",u, .62"-4 and below. pp. '09'. 1: fOr "'la<:, ... N, Hori""" ..... Study in .be Socnmm"""-' ~ MJct ,,(I.~l!.," Noli ,w! ttJJM .0 ('!n8), )1·,6, &nd, Norudoo •• 61-6.>n •. ,', THE EUC HARIST AND NATURE COllft1Ji~ Fitki, began to circulale afler Although primarily a mystical treatise, Joho's "CQnfession" makes its opposition to Be.-.:ngar dea!. In his view, the eucharist W11lI to be ""pcriencN, not interpn:ted, seized by f.irh, not grasped by reason. , •• Of course, the sacrament is a ro JWiIlA; a5 such, it can be undentoad "divinely" or ··spiritually:·". Yet, even this apPI(lll.Ch, as Gn:gory the Great ilIus_ tr.tes, .,~ is less tel'tual than mystical. 1be transformat ion of the hread. and wine into the body and blood of Christ is brought about by our participation in the mass. One see the priest befon: one's eyes at the altar, bot the mystery can be seen only thrtllJgh the inruition O1llllilll,) of fiUth and the heart's introspection (iIlifJKilIm) .•,' '""Through this mySt~ we are all participanu in Christ: we an: .11 in him. " Divine unity is conveyed through '"the sactulCllt"s commonication"; the mystical bond is thereby subsumed wilhin a verbal pact.'" And, JUSt a5 lhen: is one faith, so there is one body and blood of Christ. On the one hand, the teal prnence is before US; to deny this is to be guilty of heI"l"SY.'" But the onivenal instrument of communication and contemplation is the Word. "What is seen has • corporeal appearance; what is understood is spi ritual . . . . Christ is eaten '00 yet does not die, he is chewed up but nOt broken inTO small bits, he remakes but is not unmade . . . . " ... Like Wbete, John refers these' mysteries to GQd's limitless power. If they wen: com~hensible through tea$O!I, they would hardly be remarkable. '" John's apptoa(b, beill8 mystical, is of course irrefutllble. ThaI was not lhe case with the arguments of Adelmann of Liege, who composed one of the lengthiest early critiq ues of Berenglr. On learning of th~ latter's aberrant doctrines, Adelmann asked Paulinus of Metz, a common friend of both parties, to intervene on his behalf."~ Paulinus wrote tWO lctt~rs to Berengar, the lirst towllrd5 the cnd of 1 0~O or early in !O~ I, the 5C((lnd sometime later in IO~ I. Dcspit~ Berengar'$ replies, Addmann claimed that Paulinus had "'left him in suspense" 1050.'" .., J. I..«I«cq.rod J.·P. _ ...... U. _It.< '" /,. ... ~;'i''''''' • • XI, ,.1•• J- '" Flu"", (i'ui • • '9046). J I. ... C~ FiJ.i 4. ', PL '0' . ,087A. ' .. liiJ.. • 087B. A, .ki, _M '"Q"'. John " .. ..,.. <..i",l, "m,,,k.l "" in ki. _ e k. 0.. lo~;'" """",';""'1 (Nor .. do 1«<"", dt C<*/880. ' .. IHJ.. ... 6. '090C . .,. Mon ,8, THE EUCHARIST ANO NATURa and, after a tenain period had elapsed, undertook to write Berengar himself.'" His letter is extant in two VffSions, one composed at the be8inning of 10' I , the Other, "a little more detailed:")' towards the mcI. of 1°51. AJclmann's letter has "the dimmsions of a true treatise"'" IlJId may be divided into tWO partS, the introdLKtion and (OndU$ion, which put the ~haristic (Omroveny in a wider cultural context, >60 IlJId the middle sections, which tteat in otder christoJ08y,'6, baptism,.6> the eLKhati,t, and the range of possibilities for interpretation within the orehodox position, ' " Adelmann', treatise is written in a refined style, IlJId the rhetoric is deliberate, For he is really presenting tWO sons of ar8umenr ar once, His specific case is directed ag:ainst Beren8ar's ideas, or, matt particularly, his use of I08ic, But his juxraposition of imag:cs from the Bible and the classics helps to frame his arguments as • morc gCMrai (On_ trut between the ancients and the modems. 8erengar proposed that the Bible coold OOt be a:.:cpted without interpretttion. He also opposed the unsophistiCllted methods of many predecesson and cCN'Itemponries, What CllJled for in his view 'MIS a clean break with uneducated tradition. Adelmann, tOO, saw problems in bibliCllI criticism. But, whelUS 8erengat expressed differences &$ (Onfikr, he prefelled to emphasi~ cominuity. His view was dose to that of FuJben, >60 and, to !QOk forward to the follOWing ~nlUry. Bernard of Chanres. He asked Berengat to rclkct not ooly upon the memory of their common mastCJ', • "modern Socn.tes," but on the nature of tradition itsclf.•6, The best way to insure religious tcuth was to avoid "those who, deviating by heresies and schisms, break the C&tbolic peace. . . . ,,- He advised his friend to desist from his pointless "vapties," which had already spread dangUOUii ideas "into French and German ea", ".61 There were in fact prece68 w.., ," EI . ..J & .. ;-i.. , «I. I..II.C. Hu,Jft>'I ..,..., .. lot;,.. d~ XI< ... XlU. _ , - $"",, , ( ..,H. 3«1 Sot... 8 ( '967), ~71 . I;"" "'ltiJ.• • 38, li ... 4'3. ,,. Hu,~, 4'9. On die Ij,.'OJ . ... £I. ..J Bo~'", __.;._"• • 76, 418, - IMI., 4n, '7" 8. ... 16i4.• 4n, JJiJ.• 478. 6<:>66. .'·.7. "n. I,.... ,·.0: ... ,s.". p_". ... '" THE. EUCHAR I ST ANI} NA TUR J; Further, the lCisons of history were reasonably clear. AI! the early battlCi were won by the church. Where, he asks, are the Manichacans, rhe Arians? '"Even their memory has rotted away, while Augustine. jerome, and the other opponenu nf th~ aren~ beasts are ~I ive today and flourishing . . . . ··.69 Young thinken should rake shelter under their colle<;tive authority. As. for new ide-.os, they are very often wrongheaded. The history of pag~n philosophy is filled with ··JOOO$trous"· /lOtions thOlI were refuted not only by lugic and tta50ll but by faith, hwniliry, and. worship.·70 Such an introduction, of COllr!C, could lead only to the exposition of t~itional views. Yet Adelm~nn·s argument is highly developtd. Speaking of the euchariu, he maintains, Christ said, ··1 shall give rhis bread, that is, my flCih, on the world ', behalf."' Note, Adelmann ..dds, that he said ." shall give,"· Jl()( •• , gave.""" When did he bcgin to give? At rhe last supptr, to which there were numerous eyewitnesses.·" His natements on that occasinn had the same statu'! u the word of God in GetlC$is, "Fiar IlIx ." ») The essential instrument of validation, in other words, was the communication of God's power thC1)ugh the Word. Naturally, onc may ask wnerher a single man, even if divine, was capable of whar was impossible for all others. The answer again is found. in Scripture. When Christ was still morral, he said, "Without me you can do II()thin8,"·'" and just before he attaim:d immo rtality, he added , ·'r ~m with you always"·'" Echoing hut developin8 Radbcn, Adelmann explains the connection of time anJ eternity as a neoplatonic paradox. From t".. o natures, he states, one circumscribed, the other uncircumscribed , a harmony waS struck. Throu8h tbe one, Christ nansmi8rated from onc place to another; yet, throu8h the other, he remained with the lposrJes. In his uncircumscribed nature he is "wholly everywhere and yet ]ackin8 locality·' (i"/rxalifer ubiqllt tJf fOfIlJ).,,6 In this way God usured that the fi/ill1 rhi was not separated from the filillJ 1III",;"iJ. '" Evidence of Chriu·J ,imultaneous participation in twO worlds at once is furnished elsewhere in the Bible and helps to underpin Adclmann·s ~ali,m . " · It may be asked, he S(a(Ci, why ··the appearance of the Hesh and blood is not visibly rransformcd."'''9 For Paul said, ··We are led about by faith, not by what we le<: (speril1)" . ; and elsewhere he ·'NJ.. ' 18. 68·10. ,"". , ' '4 . '" ft. ""&>-..•79. 91- ' 0' . "·'Ni. . ' 79 . ' 09-'0 . .~ •" In .",. ." M", ,8:>0. ,,. FI. "" 11.... ,110. .,.,..,. ... [.8 .. Mu" 9.4.!Id J ~ 7fi. 1 ~·. 19. '" ,.. In 6:,,·, • . INi. . • ~. "'·'4 . Co< .,.8 . ' ~ fJ . ..lBw .. 48 •. ' 1 '·1' . ,8, THE EUClIlt.RIST ANO Nlt.TURI! defined faith as "the substance of things to be hoped for, the argument of non-apparent things."'1Io Paul had good rnsQDS: for, if the sacraments displa~ outwardly what they signify within, then faith, by which a JUSt man livtS, W1)uld se~ no purpose. "For who actually sees what he hopes foe?"'" Clearly, faith is an exercise of beJirf in what is non-apparent, "the vital sacrament beneath the bodily appearance," JUSt as, with ~ually good reasons, the inoorporttl soul lies hidden beneath the form of the body,'" Similarly, (ommcnting on the rEI hflT..mmui, Ade/mann asks: does baptism seem to be anything but water to those seeing but not understanding the mystery? Does the bapti~ed man seem to be anything but what he was before? Of course nO(: even the "bath of regeneration" cannot change black into white or educate an illiterate. "1 To think such thoughts is to be "drunk with carnal phantasies rather than wine," to believe in "the illusions of sleep ()J the refleCtions produced in mirrors and still waters, "... We can undentand this aCtivity better, Adelmann continues, if, instead of dividing man's "compact of human narure and power" into "the sense of the body" and "the intellect of the soul," we more carefully examine the chancteri!ti« of ~h. For there an: many things which occupy only the sen5e$, like seeing and hearing; ot:hers, like wriling and reading, which are adminilotered by tm- senses and the intellect in common; and several maltet$ to which access is not possible through the senses at all, such as the relations between numbers, the hLrmonious proportions of $OUnd, and all conceptions of incorporeal things. Here, even tlot purest and most polished mind has difficulty,'" But "no human multy," even with God's good wm, is sufficient in itself fOt understanding sacrllllental mysteries, which peru.in to the eternal salvation of Christ.'" For eumple, what can sense and reason really understand of baptism? The water can be tO\lched, seen, and tasted; beyond this sense cannot go. Reason can comprehend the pbY51ca1 qualities of water, its mobility, obtuseness, humidity, and its relationship to lir, fire, and ealth.'" But neither can unfold the "inscrutable R<:ret" by which water prepares the way for the rcmission of sins. ,A8 And yet ~ maintain that the incorporeal soul is reborn (mI<JJ(/) through COI:poreal warer , restored, so ro speak, to the .,Co. " 7: Hobo >"t . .. ' ft. -' lW. , 48" ' H'48" '17. -1"-1.. • 8" '11-19. '" /H.I.. 48>, '19-8.. "'/INI.• 48 •• .., 11;,1., 461, IINI., 482, _·d" >08. ""'''., 48" ><>8-[7· "'1".,48" ''7-21, [u·"". - ,86 t8~-86 . THE IlUCllAII.I~T ANO NATURIl state in whkh Adam was before he sinned.'" By similar mtans we "know" the trinity, that divine "enigma," by which GQd, as nored , is "wholly ~rywhere and yet nowhere."·90 In other words, beyond sen~ and ffllSOn, there is really only faith, the "mediator betw«n God and man, betTing in itself all nature, both create.! and creating. "'9' With faith as guide, as eicero says, we are leJ over "the sea of thu tempestuous period, surrounded as we are on all sides by the densest cloud of error."'" HlIgh of Lmgro and Durand if Troarn Adelmann of Li~ge was typical of early opponents of 8crengar in stating that reason's limitations could be overcome by "simple" faith: simple, above all, beo.use nothing is more odious to our maker than "excessive scrutinizers. " '9) The human mind is always bubbling with contradicrory philowphies, he mainraiM<.!, passionately tearing apart rhe rallSa' and raliotfts of everything. >94 " Pompous didacts" invariably follow a train of thought "from the sensible to the intelligible, but avoid the question of faith alone. "'9) H is point of view was echoed in less sophisticated res poll$Cs by such writers as Ascelin the Breton, Anastuius of Angers,and TheOOuin of Litge. How~r, the orthodox could not hope to vanquish Berengar's followers ftom such a weak position. Accordingly, a more rigorous apptOllCh was talu-n by Hugh of tangres, who wwte his Ol CO/pill' et Satfglli.u ChriJli before the council of Reims in October, 1049, and after having II lengt hy interview with 8crengar.''>6 Like Adclmann, his realism is linked to the will and word of God, which has the power to change {mu/arr, /rawfonr:ariY'" the bread and wine. Yet, although written a little earlier than the laners treatise, hi5 argument opens up more philosophical possibilities. His short work therefore provides. bridge betwtcn the early critics of the master of Tours and the lengthier rcplin of Durand of Troam, Lanfrllnc, and Guitmund.·.. Bereng.i5 position, H ugh statn, ;5 a ~il of error (<»Ori1 inwlll''''~., .8" ""'4· ,.,1., 'n·,..· -lid.. 483, >2)->1 · ... 48, . ... /~., .8,. ')l"H : Ci<mI. I t _ od . Mullcr ([..;PZil. 19'0). ,61 . .., InJ., 481, ,.6-,\<>. ... /0iI. • 483, "'-H· .., I~.. 48, .• ,8"9 . ... 0. C..,...." CMiJ,; <001>4 BmoJ6rio .., PL '42 · '3HA. On ,11< do';",. >« pi..... i... SOll«I<>noId. B..........__ -.l ... R 4". s..,.. ", eo· THE EUCHAIUST AND NATURE 90 I( he had carefully examinNf "the nature of existing things" and "the teachings of the (.eMI"I, ,. ie would have .ppeued to him illogical to describe Christ'S body at once lIS ··corpore.l" and "ilKocporeai."- For .Berengar, he argues, 5~ln that "the nature and n$eoce" of the bend and wine is not: changed, and he~, the body of Christ, altbO\lgh truly crucified, had only an "intellectual." existeoce."'· Foe if, wr consecration, the "primuy re.Jity" of the bread and wine penisr, nothil\8 can be said to be "transformNf" ; and, if what i$ added is only a product of the mind, the nature of Christ's body-which, up to that point, cannot be said to Cli;ist-is not dearly undentood.}O· "POt the intellect is the examiner, OOt the autboc, of csscnas, the judge. not the inventor." Although it "delineates" or "configures" the images of things, it produces no body by creating it from matter. v>' Hugh, of course, misunderstands Berengar's actual position, which did not deny the intellectual production of categories in the mind, but insisted nonetheless that the sacramenr"s material reality cook! !lOt be uOOecstood without interpretation, which ultimately dependNf on them. He thereby Ittributes to Berengar I more radically symbolist starn:;e than the litter wu prepared to defend. Through tbe aame logic Hugh also adopu an interpretive position himself. If in their mmtil "" MI_, he argues, the bread and wine arc only whit one has befon: one's ern, tben they do not contain the pcKentW for bringing about salvation. They remain "impolem:' Therefore, in his opinion, onc hu a choice: either the bread and ....ine are simply material, and not sacraments at all, or they are in some mysterious w.y traruformed into Chri$l's body and blood ..... In separating tbe res from rhe Siplllll, Hugh rhus rejectS Rauamn's allegolism. For a Caesar, he says, cannot be judged. by tbosc beneath him. '''' But a more radical symbolism, as he conceives it, is really a straw man. His appfOllCh makes an intellectualization of ft.f itself unavoid able. His shift in rhinking can be thought of as the conclusion to a Ions previous tradition of interpretation, which resultNf in tbe orthodox adoption of .. genuinely reflective focus. His argument, in fact, unites the realism of Radbcrt and, in particuillC, its explanation of physical symbolism,)06 .... ith a prescholastic conception of essence and change. Reality. fat Hugh, is mntri" or "/WJ1n'•• If Bert'ngar argues that the bread and wine retain their "reality" and yet are po.... erless as sacraments, he proceeds "against rea"'VoC I.', ,,.~O. .- lhJ"'}' 7A. "'Ut.m. .... l-.t.. ""A.B . .... ,~. . 'H,A.,.D. -I~. . ' )'78. - I~.. ')'7C. . ., I~. , ' J'7B-C. ,88 THIl EIJCHARIST AND NATURIl son.""" For a th ing's nature Or nsen(~ (annOt b., sepano.red from ItS qualities. If wat~r mms to wine, in no sensc is it any longer wl.tet.'OI Btrengar, h~ adds. also mistakes suptrficial fur eleme ntal (han~. A thing , aft~r all, may appnr to change before our ey« but in reality remain the same. "Air doe$ not suffer from the arrow's Aight.""" In orde r ro have essential change, which the cll(haristic mystery requires, on~ MMS divi~ intervc'ntion. For "$table Nature," veiled (or eons by app<"anr>Ce$, must fif$t relax firmly establisMd bonds and become 0IlCt' again the elem~ntal force OUt of which sh~ is made , ,,0 To suggest that this can be done without God's assistance is "unmsonab!e.""n Berengar, he States, takes the sid~ of those who assimilate God's power to natureY' But mysteries like the SlI(nmen" cannot mlly be explained in this way. The word was mad e flesh; similarly, the bmd and wine are transformed.' " Thost who have faith are "ftee men," those who ~uire a hermeneutic veil, "slaves."'" Hugh's explanation amounts to a reaffirmation of God's essential stability in a marerial world of lIuctuating f(){ms. 'This is esp«ially appropriate in the $aCrament's case. For the cmted form (l7'Mfllf'a) of bread and wine prove they SCI"II<: God whi k he changes natu re's C ()I1stancy with invisib!e spe-ed, transfiguring (IramjigurarIJ) himse!f into everything . . . :.,,' Like Bueng .. r, he opposes those who take the sacrament fnr granted "ignorantly. " "G A crude physicalism is therefore unll(ceptable. Bur, in addition to his own natura!ism, inspired doubtles.s by ,he Latin Plat(!, he r<:rurns t(! the not ions o( divi~ power and to relivin!! rituaL The one relales the visible and ,he invisible, the other, past reality and presenl re-enactment. The !ast supptr, he a.rgues, is not an al!egorical story but a s.acriflcial m!ity Y' The a n(!':Ill mYSlery is the word made lIesh. Christ's birt h moreover was not "termtrial"; tbat is nOt th~ meanin!! of (art! ItNla tanlrlll. Similarly, [h~ rebirth brought about by the sacraments is OOt earth!y. l' . '"For God', (han!!eless word, humbly made lIesh ... , is carried over to a rencwN creature . . . . ""9 Ju.st as the word o( God was invisible in the flesh, whicb was nonetheless a product of cmtion, so that very Aesh exists almocly in the word, somehow (mtN invisibly and on!y concealed by qualities. ' ''' "But this rl:lllity of the flesh is not deninl to spiritual eyes. ",,, "' 10iJ.. 'p7C, -11ii_. '}'1C-D, - 10iJ., 'l '7 D. , .. llii., ,},8B ·C, , .. IHI.. , }.8C. ,}.8A·II . ." I...,it. P. I/OI.. 'J'9A.B . '''l.6.h' . "' /OiJ_, 'l'9D_ '''j~_, '3'91).3001.. ,,, 10iJ.. '}30Il-<:. , ~ /~.. ,}}ae. , R 1..1.. ,}}o O. ' ~ I~_, ,s, ,. , l.6.,i/ . THIl EVCHAII.IST ANO NATURE HUSh, in shon, uks, from a Kholutic viewpoint, the right sort of questions, even if he does nO( provide adequate ans .... en. His linc of attack .... as pursued. at g~ter length by Durand of Troarn, whose lk C9IptJ" It Sal/gMi", DimJj"j appeared in lOB. Dunnd was the lint author to direct a theological tn.ct agilinst Be~ngar pel"SOnally, ilnd no one puviously had defended. the orthodox position with so wide a selection of biblical, patristic, and early med.iew! texu.'" Yet Duna.nd wail also caught uneasily betwten two 1V{lrlds; his treatise is a hybrid of m)'5tical anti-intellectualism and interp methods by which they ace established. The euchatistic opinions of his oppoPl:nts are consequently vje~ as a cb.$$ical h.. res)', a wJtmW hostis, an IUlliI{l4t. lIItWt41i_ putis. ,., Its diffusion (Jiff"" j .) is an intellectual phenomenon. f.ike the literal")' portrayals of h..resy which we have already examined, Derengu', ideas an: regarded as a revival of ancient errors , which Ih!>n in61tr:o.te Chrisn:ndom like poisons spreading through the body.)·G Placing Derengu'li position in a histocic context of course allows it to be attacked U$ing the same technique. Dutand qUOles ".ti'l"j like Cyril, Hilary, Basil, Leo, John Chrysostom, and, abov.. all, Ambrose and Augustine, as well as tnOtimti like Hincmar, Amalarius, Radberc:, and Fulbert of Chartres. He also calls as witneues th!> pseudo-bidorian decretals, an 'pDCl")'phal letter of aement of Rome, Eusebius of Emeu, Cassiodorus, and Bede.'" Moreover, he putS p.5t t!:aChing into thlft' can:gori~, tMIIJ/J"'. .. , H<Wfn' '" 1.iM-" ',n, '''' [;_ .....; PI. '.9.IH) . ""/oiJ·,·,76· THE EUCIIARIST AND NATURE than Hugh, he ~turns to an essentially non-intelle lkrengar's error, in his opinion, is not only to have thrown accepted teaching to the winds and ro have overinterprtted the $.IICI"O.mem."" It is to hav.: mistaken the ritual aspects of Christianity for structures of words. Fot Dur.md, religion i$ pro/mio.}» He does nor adhere to a negative literalism, which sees the eucharistic sacrifice as "true"' beco.uu Christ actually lived.'" He giv.:s a po5itiff evalUlltion to the Lord', symbolic behaviour. This is clear from hi! exegesis of John 6:p. Christ, he argues, affirmed two thins': the bread which he gaff WlU his true flesh and this flesh wu the world's life.H' Christ, in other words, passed from' the corruptible [Q the changeJes.s;"· similarly, tht sacrament on the altar "is immediately transformed ftom its vis ible appeanl"l(c into that which only He understands . . . . "", AIS(), when Christ referred to the earing of his flesh and the drinking of his blood, h~ wu nor speaking of '"the impurity of digestion" but th~ external ,ign of divi~ mY.ltery.'.<6 The fOrm of tM sactament is visible, the ~ntion invisible;'" the means of transfurmation is the holy spirit, acting through the Word. From the visible, even earthly subs tances, that is, from bread ..nd wine, t h~ {ru~ body and blood of Chri$! a~ made by means of "the incomprehensible artifice (opjfoilm. ) of the spirit" and from "mystic.l words:" " The Jink between the last supper and the eucharist is therefore provided by I"l'..f:nactment. The visible form is dir«ted by means of a "celestial commerce" towards tM invisible "in the minister's hands. "m Word and ritUllI act rogether: the interprttarion goes beyond Augustine, whose Dt TrillilAlt, quoted at length, ''''' limits itself to conceptual issues, and takes its meaning from the liturgy itsdf. P~nance is also stressed. Christ, Durand reminds his readers, gave himself on the }.4; I}8)A;d'. 1. 1. ' l7@A; •.• , 117!lC. ". 100/., ' ." '}18D. •.• : 1)79A. '~Ut.ri,. , .. 10UI.• Il79B . "" JfflI.. . .. . I }"NB. '" 1"-1.• ,}SoA . ,~I..«.. ,;,. "'Ut.ri•. - Dt T.,.. j·4 · 10: lA". ,;,.• 'p9C.D. "' ''' '" '" l liJ.. /liJ.• IliJ.. 100/. , '9' THfi fiUCHAJl.IST AND NATUII£ world's behalf twice, once during tm: last supjlC'r, a ~ond time 011 the cross. The fint sacrifice was 11 prefiguration of ch .. second,w and the eucharist ~liVl"$ che memory of thos.- cvena. Christ "signified beforehand," just as w.- "LUte beforehAoo" tm: bread's "visibl.. subItance....... Durand's aJ>Ol5ition makes us.- of Hilary's COOC<:p4:ion of the incarnation,"" as ,.,..11, jlC'rhaps, as Eriu~lIa's notion of Adam', sin as the fall of h~1ItI IItIfllr".- But the cor.- of his thinking r..volves around the mass itself, and he tol..n.t.-s no intetprttivt vthid.-s as intermediaries bct........ n the priest and his aooi .. nce.}4' The id..ntity of th.. two ritual ~nu also transcends, to hi, mind, any J>OI5sible logical oontn&dictiolU. The sacraments att communicated equally by IICts rf-l and words (1-triw).Wl 'What I have done throu&h my povm"," said Christ, "you do thmugh my authority, I by n:ample, yoo by imiution. " ..., To do what? To fashion (~) his body Ind his blood through his words, not only to ptI.'SC~ his meIDOl)' but to see him spiritually, to Kns.- his pres.-nce..... Ritual, then, is viulizcd. by the Word, and Durand's centtal problem is how to move from word to tnt. His attirude towards written tn&dition is undentandably ambivalent. He is convinced that the eucharistic h.. resy is the cons.-quence of false ~."" But faith cannot be called into question by such "broken figures of the truth. ",,0 On the other hand, he is a~ of tbe pitfall5 of physical symbolism, as evid..nced in his discussion of th.- psalm "Eztol the lord our God; WOJShip at his footStool. . . . '"'" On the surface, he remarks, w.. would seem to be asked to display r.-vtrence towards a ooncrtte object. But, as in the snram..nt, ~ mina is befure us, anotm:r i. mcant."· Reality is present in pil"lWf.m Natural process.es art' subordinated to the word along lines suggested by Ambrosc, in which the .-u.mples iJlusullte not whac "nature formed" but what "th.- benediction consecrated. "'>4 Th .. 'NCII"d of Elias was sufficient to bring fir.- from heavm. Could Christ's word then not bring about. change in "the d ..m .. nts' .ppearan«"?'" Funher, if Christ W1IS able to invent what did not exist, surely he could ,hange aln:ady existing things into those which did not)'C1 aisr.njl For fint creation is mon: rcmulcable than simply changing essences (JlfltUI't ....tMIWP" Tht $IlrJ>C principle of aplanaw'tIM.. , . " '3S[B-C. .. , IIM., [,81B . .., IIM.. [,8'/l-C; ,.~. [,alA. -1101.. " ' •• ,!IoC. .., IIM.. ,.,• • 's,c. ... Uu;'. ..' '-«.m . ... IIM., [,81D. _ 1101., [,8.e. , .. lA<.';' . ... PI \19"; 1,S,S. '''/"'. , , .• . 1)11,S.C, '" 1101.. , .,. 'la.,A· "'INJ.. • . '.1,8,,,". '" Lot.';'. "'IOiJ. ,I)11,B. '" Lot.m. '9' THE IlUCHAJlIST AND NATUJlE tion is used in a number of analogous cases. For instance, was the MIII'M NJNJ not suspt'ndw in Cheis!"s birth, whi ch, if t~ natural order had been followed, would ha"", rc:suhed in an ordinary human being?'" Yet, Ch rist's birth, crucifixion, and l"C$urren ion also in_ volved his "true flesh," which, IlS a consequence, is a Jafl'411ft1ftlml brought to life for us during the mau by t~ priest's words.'" Th.. re. fore, "what speech $OU.nds out, affection senses."',60 By the same tok"n, just IlS Christ's CMpNJ WIlS both material and spiritual. $0 the words of the Bible ha"," both ahtend and a figurative sense. }6, Christ's spiritual body can be the subject of figurativ.- expression in the sam.. way that manoa means "the angels' bread. ··}6· In bo4:h cases the~ is OOt merely an image which con«al.s reality. A latent meaning; is alS() reveal<"S . ,,. I-«.ri'. ... IhJ. • 4.8. [}87C . ... JljJ .. 4. 9. 1388S-89C, , . 1 ' . 1,9><·D. "'10i6.• 4.9. [, 88S<. ,., lkll. . Il88C. ... I~.• ,.8j>S-0. ... 1"4.• , . • I . I,? IC. '9j THE EUCHAJlIST AND NATUJlE eucharisl, nOI 10 create a circumloculion. 'l<' '""The similitude or figure U full to tbe brim of truth and. grace:·'" The eucharuI therefore is at once a ~a1 sacrifice and a s)'mboL'" W!w: is more, in reading figurative expressions in the Bible and the fathers, onc must watch oot for "subtle dininctions of won:U." The apparent sense is tIO( always the meaning, contrary to what the Manichaeans, the Arians, and more recene heretics haVl' taught. In a fivtr.z they often $tt only jig_ _ , not -nm.'" But, when God made woman, he did not change humanity's essc:nce, as a cursory reading of Genesis might suucst.'" Nor, in his letter co the Hebrews, did Paul oppose fix'"'" to vrntaJ.'" Even the figuraeive expteSsions of Ambrose , on which ~~ngar relied heavil)', ,)6 can be reconciled with Chrisfs words. m No one denies that there are figures of speech in their OWn right, but th~ are just " figures of figures." The sacrament is a fifP'r", Jllbstatll;.u.H' Needless ~lanatkm is CO be avoide(" was Ihe ·'brc&d of life.·' And he alone would raise the dead on Ihe last day. To the ensuing incr«!u1ity among Ihe rank! .t how someone could offer ··his flesh 10 eat"· Durand rnponds in largely allegorical terml. The uneducated. he argucs, failed to appreciate tM symbolic nature of Chris!"s words. J esus used everyda.y "" /IoiJ., 1l9.A.B. ". H<wt......, . o..-i ;f r __ • ,,8. '" /1oiJ.• IW.B. "' 1.iJfr .. c.,.,.~ . " . Ij9lA. 1 l9~8 . ,,, Hebt- "). ~n'. o.r..I rf r_. ""IoiJ., ," a. » 9- ... LiM. C."... ' .I~-I ' , 1)9~-?8A. ,,, 11oiJ., , . [). Il948 . ". l~.• "'1. l~<:I '94 ... 10iJ.• '. I~. 'me. THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE phrasa !IQ that hi. m~g~ would"" acceptable. H~ said bttad but mnnt flesh, a!tnning his listeners with a novel exprt'SSion but not shocking them with lbe naked truth. However. 10 his diKiples he revnled that only the spirit has life: this. Duraoo. says, is the spiritual sense of the tOt.'" Lan/ranc Only roughly a decade dap5'fd Jxtwecn the appearance of Durand·s treatise and Lanfranc's [), COI"/JI'It tt SllllgNifU Domilli, which was (omposed. between 1063 and 1068.'" Unfranc's ostensible reason fix writing was the rcqUl'St ofThielTY of Paderborn that he answer the OpNI(J1/JI1I'. in whi ch Berengar .wl<:ked the counc il of Rome of t059. Lanfranc did not rake part in the actual debate.'" but he cast his epistle to Bcttngar in tbe form of a finive dialogue before an e.:desiastical ni_ bunal with the council dearly in mind. His work marked an important phase in the euchatistic discussion. It was a defence of the onhodox. position at a high philosophical level and, significantly. the first that depended almost entirely on an internally developing tnodition, including the writings of Bcttng.r him_ self. If Durand's intcrptcdvc technique was umurc. Lanfranc. like Bcttngar, wrote within a tradition of commentaries laid down by the fathers. He thettby united the mttiqlti and the wuxin-lIi in a continuous body of theory. After Lanfranc. discus.sions of the eucharist"s meaning Ixoome almost exclusivdy th~ resJ>Omibility of professional canonisrs and theologians. 0121 experience, liturgical practice, ritoal p,micipa_ tion, and popular appt"eCiRtions of the sacrunenu wett afterwards of less interest than the internal philosophical cvoludon within the trntises themselves. Lanfnnc', [), Corpm·t tt Sa"glti", DlJllli"j can be divided into two major sections."" In the first (chapters 2-'7). he answers Berengar', OpImJliM'1I point by point, dealing in turn with the charges against Humben: of Silw Candida. the use and abuse of dialectic in theology, and the legitim.te manntr of interpttting the eu( hari~t . In the second (chapten 18-23). he ~fit>eS and elaborates hi, own conception of the sacrunent. first acCQroing to amMi'''I. then according to ,afi~. In the ,.. ,. .. . I~B, ,.1) . IJ904A.B . ...,., """" cb. ~~"'... ..J S ........ '49. Nocolonald. IM Rf",. ,.8 11 8~ and n }_ ,,, Cl. IoI... tdao. >7'·H . . . - dtuil«l ,,",pt ono, •• ool,," .... 101. Git-n. u~"' a."9" '" THS EUCH introduction and chapten sixteen aDd seventeen he also r~iews the eventl which, in his opinion, led to the condemnation of 1059. lhe swnmary content of anftanc·s (rnrilK" ill ~y well kl>OWn. Less often disc".u d ill his attitude IOWUUs popular and INtned tradition and the manner in which orality ill transformed as part of a systematic approach to interpretation. In rhe introdunion, he explains how, in his view, the controveny arose and what its reL! significance is. He was, he says, initially disposed to a public debate on (he eu.charist with Berengar. But, as no appropriate occasion presented itself, be decided at length ro put rogetber a "compendium'· refuting the nsential errors. He accuses Berengar not only of maintaining doctrinally incorrect ideas but of form ing a sectarian movement ultimately d~tined [Q subvert the faith. When the W(lrlai of Augustine, Gregory the Great, and other authoritia were bwught before him, he purposefully deformed their meaning tiuoughj"Js..lI dqwtmzltl r.hD. He therefore nIDe to the holy ciry not OUt of love but fear. Rather than adopt an authoritative exposition of the ruts, he eos_ged in "dandl:'Jtil>e mcetiD8s" with his followen. k. _ result they all had to be silenced .•8, QNtly, mote than a siD8le controveny was at stake, for Lanfranc suggests political. sectarian, and largcr intcl'prerive issues. Further, be argues, Berengar's "diabolical &1lacy" easily sedl,lCed " minru igDOflInr of divine mystery." In thus linniDS against his less well educated bn:thren, the master ofToun sinned against Chri,r.,a6 Specifically, he msnartd those who, "not knowing how to resist, contemplated things visible n.tw than invisible. " H e preached such errors, committed them to writing, and sent his envoys "into diverse regions. ,. Hill opinions were justly examined by NicolQ H, but, ··bending hill body n.ther than hill heart, he reignited them." Replying to all Berenpr's thc$cs would be a thorny business, he concludn, &ince, throush verbal cleverness, the master of Tours colours his appaririom '"blrl and white at will. " But, if ordinary believen q,op.l_ Dn) ar.:. to have any peace, an aw:mpt must be made.· h Berengar, then. stands accused of forming a hereticalscct based on intellectualism. Beyond this, what l.&I1fnnc says .imply turns Betengat', views of his opponents back on himself. Berengar claimed that tbe realists merely paDdcred to popular taste and to illiteracy. He also alleged that the uneducated massa and theit theological spokesmen ... Dt C..;w. .. s...=. ... , Cot S . ... ... Dt Go ,"" . c. '. 0..;.,;, {. " ~-(>9C. PL ',o.407A-(>9C . THE IlUCHAIlIST AND NATI.IIlE like Humbert truSted appearances and physical changes alone. This is precisel y Lo.nfranc·s argument. Through interpretive {e(hniques. he Statcs, ikrengar overumc those least o.pable of resisting; and he did so by focusing their attention on sUIXrfidallinguistic questions at the UIXnsc of d~pcr mysteries. The important point is not the actuol case presented by either side; it is the independent fC(ognitiop by both of a hiatus between popular and learned cultu~. However, if that a.ssumption is shared, Qthet views arc not. In Lanf..... oc's opini<>fl, Ik~ngar is a "heretic" bct::au$C his teachings arc flO'{ consistent with orthodoxy and bct::au$C he dares to contradict the church's legislation .... The handling of Humbert's case is illust ..... tive. Humbctt, r.anf..... nc argues, was anything but the uncouth "Burgundian" cn..r Berengar aUegt'O{ only opposed inherited authority bur afli.xcd his signature to teners he believed contrary to Catholicism.ll" Needless to say, this approach is different from Bercngar·s. Lanfn-ne's argument is from authority to understanding: the capacity of the church to legislate is the criterion of the beliefs legitimacy. If nn~ secs the chutch in an apostoljc role, th~ responsibililY for making I~gal and thcoJogiCllI decisions is also the criterion of truth. For Ikrengar, the ultimat ~ court of appeal is the human miod and reason. Legjslation and inh~rited doccrine play a sc .,. ,.. l!Ul.• c. " 4,011. Cf. Mon!C"" • 80. &Ii""" .. 01 J...,{nnc·, """!Cry of aoon .... n:y. 1'0< • pool'i...;.-.., ... N. EIrookt. ToIt ~.,III~ ClI.mb ~oJ.1>t P4«1 (Conlbt~. '91, 1. ".8): J. GikIHi". TI>t CJum- ... S..,..ty·F_ 1";""'" A C~ _ ~ M..ouutI of lilt G~ Rof- (1".,.".,<0. ,<)80).11-9 . ... Or C",... c. '. 409o.,oA, c. ,6, 4,68. Hum""' ..... from .;,"'" lJ"l".r """","""", ;n ,Ill: !. z. 1<0,. """'" Il<0l_ ............,. r.ur,;, ". 1nl.. 4 ,,[).uA. '97 THE EUCHARIST AND NATURl;! franc resenrts a Iuge function for reason within traditional teaching and Berengar sees no incompatibility between individualism and membenhip in the church. m Yet, their respective conceptions of literacy·, uses remain far aparr. So, by implication, does their attitude towards ··popular culture;· which is essentially negative in bcxh but exploittd for different polemical mds. In calling Humbert I ·'Butgundian,·· Berensar meanr thlt he adopted the position, or, u he would prefer, the mad vicw of the commOn crowd (lIfCfWdia IItdgl); this, in turn, he equates with Radben's and Lanfranc's teaching, namely, that, .fter the coos«ration, the "sub3tance'· of the bread .nd wine "does nOt: It all survive."'" Lanfranc poinf$ out that Ben:ngar argue$ "'4 homltum,I'J"J i.e., against the cardinal rather than the church Ot: theology, and he adds that he would prefer to be thought a rllJticuJ 0( iJi~/a rather than a supportet of such specious erudirion.w; For neither, then, is the question "for·· or "against"· interpretation: it is whose interpretation is correct, and why. Popular culture has become merely I metaphor for describing the arguments of the other side. The debate betwff!l Lanfranc and Berengar thus brought the qucstion of the eucharist to an important crossroads. It not only speciMd which intetpretive positions could be reconciled with the church's teaching. It alJO drew into focus mott sharply than before the stltUS of appearance and reality, and, by implication, the criticism possible of traditional ritual and symbol. This is clear from chapter live, in which Lanfranc takes up Berengar·s criticism of the orthodox view of the sacramentS. Inhetited ideas, he repeat5, arc hardly Humbert·s invention. Berengar accuses him of stating thar the bread and wine ate only sacraments. This, he retortS, is not Humbert's but Screnglr's own vicw. Berengar also attributes to ch.. cardinal the notion that the bread and wine are only the true body and blood of Christ. This, Lanfllnc sa)'$, is the view of no one. m Both authors, of COUr$C, distort each Othc:r's pos,ition, which does not advana either side but illustrates tOeir attitudes towards interpretation. Berengar puu Humben and Lanfraoc in the position of userting onc of two ridkulous extremes: either the btGd. and wine are only what appears on the .ltar, or they If<" only finh and blood, that is, what they evidently appear not to be."" He thereby pictures ... MOtll6CO . ... o,-oJ"",. ;W. • ~I2D. ... /lo C~, <. ), ~,>C. ... IHi. . 4148-<: . ... I~. • 4" ,4, . ... 0,-"'.... iftI., 414D. ", TIiE EUCIiARJST ANn NATURE them as excluding the possibility of higher understanding, which, paradoxically, he insists is essential for making sense out of the sa<:lament. In reality, Humben's criticism of Berengar made the potential fur futther dialogue minimal. Nor was Lanfranc corr«t in stating that the cardinal's opinions wen: shared by all previous commentators."'" What, it is arguable, the latter had in common 'NU a faith in t~ _gist,n"m:- the institution rathcr than the individual wu conceived as the instrument of interpretation. In the cnd, Lanfranc is compelled to misrepresent Bcrengat's position in his rum. Berengar, he slatcs, not Ihe church, wishes to coruider thc cucharisl "only a sacrament."'·' It is he who refuses to admit anything but appearances, ete. In fan, both authors' point of departurc is Augustinc', notion of I#Y'alrWltllm U a visible manifestation of an invisible reality which requires t~ mind's interpretive activity in order to be understood. l,anlttnc as much as admits this w~n he adVllnces the idea. that the bread and wine arC the true body and blood in "no man'," opinion, yet maimains in the same breath that Ben:ngar denies all realism.*'" For his pan, Bercngar sees lanfranc's "heresy" as a simple denial of thc Vlllue of the human mind as an intcrmediary between the eucharist ', external and internal meaning. Neither is wholly correc t; both in part are wrong. In chapter six La.nfranc countel'1 with an interpretation of his own. Berengar, he informs us, argued that, in calling Christ the "chief CUtnef_stone," Christ, as logical subject nf a sentenc~, is not removed (alliwl) but cntin:ly retained (omllifW ro.mitllil). Similarly, hc would argue, when one says "The bn:ad on the altar is only the true body of Christ," the bread on thc altar is not denied. Logically speaking, thc bread and wine are confirmed 10 exist (wt ronfirtMt) in the Lord's meal.'·' In commenting on t~ set of statements Lanfranc has no quarrel wilh a neutral methodology.*"" He is merely against its misapplication to reality and to change, espedally if words arc mistaken for things. Hc replies: "You would ming out the truth (vtrA'm) if ,omeone inexperienced with il maintainccl the first part of the proposition (i.c., br~ad and wine), unless by chana he put forward the (){her words (i.c., body and blood) in a figurative manner ffig,.rat~ ... Mocdotu.Id, IJ....,,,, ~'" 'N 11.<1_, 'J" - o.c..,.,., c. ~ •• ,)A.,.A; .. " .,)A; c. 18 , 42]A . .. ' JOiJ. , c . , •• ,)A . - I-«.ril . ;/JiJ... ,,0-,61.. - 0. C..,.,... c . 6, .,61.; d . c . '7. "911- On ,I>< po;'" u,", 01 diAl«,;".... J- A. F_""_ "" G~.~""'_ PIJi'",!,,:, . • )-47, 11 4- ' 9. .., o,,,,,,,bno, '99 £nd~ , TH6 EUCHARIST AND NATUI!.E J«1IJi",w -.Io)."~ BUI that, he adds, is just playing with words. Anyone knows that on occasion we nIl things out of which other things ate made by their former names, n"Cn if they ate physinIiy transformed inro something new. Berengar himself J>Qinted OUt that Augustine den to ice as rhe crystals OUI of which it is made. But the master of Tours wann ro acccp< tbe lint part of the f:quation without r.ec:esu.rily admitting the second, dwt is, lIS he sees it, ro take the figure of speech without the rmlity. Howner wc wish ro name it, there is still .. rmlity ro contend with ..,06 H ere, "S.tn, Lan£ranc misrcp!uenu Bercngar's intentions. Reality \VU oot denied: Berengar merely said that interptetationl dealing with it belong essemially ro the realms of logic .nd language. ..., Lanfranc proposes that "names" ate only useful in describing realities and does oor :let any a priori value in a science of interpretation. In his view, expressions like brea.d and wine keep the appeanmce 1lIld the names of the realities they once were, but, after consecration, they are really transformed inro body and blood .... He concludes by putting into Betengar's mouth W01'dI very like those Bcrengu put inro his. "You," he says. "who deny the flesh and blood, do not accept the latter half of the (abovcmentinned) proposition, wht~ wc, who affirm both halves, nowhere okny the existence of a sacramental ligurc for many celestial chingl." This ritniJirll48, he adds, which impedes Berengu's ideas, advances his own. - If we peel away the rhetoric, the difference between the twO mIly be srated as follows: Lanfranc a$S :HI that names (.-i.,) ate always attached to mlities (m), while Bcrefl8&r maintains that, while realities exist, they reil us little about what names mean in expressions, which must be investigated throush the behaviour of bngua.ge. In other words, both Berengar and Laofranc '8ftt that "when Jivi"", /NIgi., nIb the body of Christ bI:ead, it is I question of Jll(l'ara tit "'Ystica 1«JIIiD. "4'~ Buc Lanfllltw; says that the figure describes a preexilting reality, wbile Bcrengar lIS5eru that what cnmes first is the linguistic description, from which inner reality can perhapl be inferted. Lanfranc addl that, in bis view, lIiI noted, there can be no purely loginI 5OIutions to theological problems.'" For the historic.t or spiritual realities !In given and cannot be expl.tncd away. He prefers ... Doe.,.... c. 6. 41&A; d. c. 18.4'14. ""Ni., c. 6, 416A.6. ... Sot ....... pp. '78(· ... 0. c. 6. 4'6&.C. " ' 1...... ,61:. , .. IJiJ., c. I. 408A-6: <. , ....s: c. 1. ,,6D-' 7A. C..,... - '-".,;., THE EUCHARIST ANP NATUIIE J4iYl!le l!Iu(/(Will!lltJ to dil!lltctira. ~1!I1;O"tJ, nO{ on ly be limits of human ro:asoo,'" but also be<:ause he fears that ph ilosoph ically sophisdcated pm!; will invariably dtteiv.: (ajthful but less well ~ucat~d im[Jfri/i."1 The argument is tW(l-sided: in spiritual maners, realities come before imeliKtions, and, when popular culture is involv~, authority, afJirmN by faith, i5 better than a poorly understood rationality. No less than 8erengar, he tahs tn.: Augustinian position that philosophy is a useful aid to exegesis. Yet he wuuld limit its fUnnion to the expli cation of a given text in accord with traditional teaching. His position is C(lll.$iderably more sophisticat~ than Radbert's evidentialism, in which the text was a mere memorandum for the Word. But he sen little role for new interptetations as independent teltts."· In particular, he appt"ats to have limitN the use of formal logic to the ma/trip. diJputJJlIdi.'" In shon, his conception of hermeneutics moves from grammar aod lexicography through syntax and rhetoric and finally to throl<.>gy, while rema ining within the orbit of rhe <.>riginal text. Bur, as Berengar caustically nOtN, Lanfranc did not adhere strictly to his own principles.,'6 He put forward tWO irreconcilable statements, namely, that the: bread. and wine are only sacraments :lncl that they arc: only Christ's body and blood. He then attempted to dismiss the master of Tours thl'1.lU8h an errot of logic, the: very abuse to which he rook most serious exception. The method was inappropriate; nor was Lanfranc a real match for Bcrengar io philosophical analysis.'" Berengar. in fatt, affirmed that, if any term of a proposition were suppreued. the existence of the whole wIIS thrown inro doubt. Thu$, if <.>f1e as.strtN. on the one hand, Ihat the bread and wine were only a sacrament, and, on the other, that they were only the body and blood. of Christ. a n:futation could only (Ome about by negating one of the tW(l. In his reply. Lan(ranc does not dea l with the logical issues but confin<"$ himself to ;ntssentials. " , The further, in fact, Lanfranc movt$ <.>oto Berengar's ground. the more clearly he reveals hi, own weakness<"$. An example is provided in chapter nine. Berengar argued that, through CQrl5Kration, the bread and wine bec!lme a Hm'AlMlItum nligiD1lit. They did flot cease to be '''1nl.• c. 7, ~16D . '" Ift.i., c. 8. 4180. c_ 1, ~11A . '" Mo",d"., Uofrd"'''~, '119 UId • .. 1. ... ... 0. $ _ C_. p . )0. ,6.,3; p. ", '~7 . p. H. 7"4; Mon,d.,.. " , "" . >;. ,,; • " Mon«loo, ' 9' -9~ . Fur •• im ilor ... o.c..-,-, c. 7, ~ [71).[8A . 3°' «!Ht. 14·88 . THE EUCHARIST ANI> NATUJl.1! what tbey were: while remaining that, they were also chmged into something else. m in ocher words, whilc remaining physical objt«S apprehensible to cbe senses, they acquired a religious value perceptible to the mind. His authority was Ambros.e's lA SamI1IImtu."" Lanfranc, in replying, once again distorts Berengar's sense, accusing him of maintaining sjmult~ly that the bread and wine do nor cease to be what they were and of their being changed into something which they were 001,'" His own intetprttation of Ambr(lS( is len sophisti _ cal, but it convinca only to the vtriun. Bcrengar did in fact take Ambrosc OUt of context.·.. But Lanfeanc did not answcr his critique. Bcrengar, following the fathen, argued that all divine mysteries consist of twO partS, ,." and ripsnll, That Christians interpreted manna as fipN and the passion as ,.,,-using the distinction so to ,peak as • figure of speech--did nor change [he methodological signifinnce. However, LanfeaDC added, Ambrosc also said that the mystery consists "not of what natUfC formed but of what the benediction consecrated. ""1 Here he struck dose to the weak link in Berengar's chain of thought. Boch Ambrose Ilnd Lanfranc were rekrring to [he trarufonnative power of tbe Wocd; both considered the change to be "real." For Ambrose, it was iOSCJ*f'l.ble from the Ill&SS (which, ~ither of his later students recalled, he was elucidating fot recent conVC1't1). LanfOlnc secs [he Word in a lar~r conteXt as the principle behind all "mysterious" change...• His interpretation, as it !Urns OUt, no less than Bctengar's, is an ,«pansion of the original's meaning. But I.&n/ian( incorporaces orality, which Berengu does not,'" .nd returns to the idea in his later discussion of eucharistic change. While there a~ genuine diffe~nces of position, then, there a~ more evident points of conflict arising from the pair's mutual distrwt of each other', me[h<:xh, a distrust, it should be added, which is based as much on hearsay as on tbe opinions each claims to be refuting, This is evident from chapten [en, eleven, and twelve. In ten, Berengar stata that the eucharist consists of tWO elements, one visible, onc invisiblc, that is, in Augustinian terms, 1IIlY_1II",.nd m S4tTt1... Q'r __ _.. 4' " , , , ,"> ... Lor.rit.; CH. "~_;:~'is 4.4.', . .. ' CH C..,...., <. 9, .'!/C... W""tdoo, I,: . .,~, 297 . .., Dt C.."., <. 9, .f2O'\.; Dt S.. , , 'is, <_ ,. '" THE EUCHARIST ANO NATURE Lanfran,'s vi~w i$ a slighdy al!~m;l v~tsion of the same state_ ment. In eJevl:n, he is compelled to seize upon 8erenga,s minor grammaticd erron in an dfort (0 put snme disr;mce betw~ n them. In twelve, ~ argu<"$ that Augustine's definition of sacraWUltl1ml 115 Sa _ erN'" J;plt1ll i, taken out of its ritual context and used simply as an analytia.l tool"' - which is corrtCt enough, but hardly a reply to B~r cngat', ,ubstanti~ ideas. Nor does Lanfran, aCtually trUSt that "the mystery of faith nn be safely believed but nO! usefully investigated .....1 For many of his difficulties stem from his a.dvl)C2(y of a non-interpretive position by means of interpretation. The funher hc moves into the lield of logic, the more he is forced to adopt the !.ame terms of reference as his opponent. unfran, sounds a more OfigilUll nOte in tlw: following three chaptcn, in which he pn:scnu the core of his own thinking on the eucha_ rist. He extends his alUllysis of Augustine's concept of UlCTamtllfll11J, distinguishing it from Bc:rengar's. He also develops the links betw~n word, ritual, and nperience mentioned in chapter nine. Chapter thirteen opens with two quotations from Augustine by Bcrengar. In the lint, Augusti~ stat<"$ that, if the sacramenU did not tonrain the image of the things of which they were the s.acraments, they would nor be sacraments at all. In the s«ond. he says that signs of divi~ rtaliti<"$ are visible but that invisible things are glorified in them .... unrranc "situatM the s.acramenta! resemblance on an entirely different basis. "•.., In his view. without a "resemblance" betw~n the eucharistic reality and the body of Christ there Can be no sacrament, that is. no rapport betw~n real ity and s.acre ." 0. c.".... c. 1>, 4'>C-0_ ... ~••, i&iJ_• • "O-'JA. ... I;;J.• Co '0. 4,,0_ ~"". " ........ ' 1..1, . A""",I"". Do c",..m..Nl, II.JiI. Pl . 0., " . ... MQo,do•• t-fr-. "< _ , .. 1<0< ,h< " .. AI«";"". "" """"d... , .06-07. s........ 3'3 . Ifr- 98 -9 . .,>V. c",..,.. pt H .36.! OP C. I ,. 42,A. THE IiUCH ... 'UST ... ND N ... TURE a vtrbaI commitment (j.,jlff.~). OJ Historical prt(edents ill't recalled. Gttgory tbe Gl't&t, writing to Justinus, is said to Iwve employed. JMT""."IIIIII in this sense. Elsewhett it is called SMT4IiD; in relation to ,., is similar to the type of argument which gives verbal assent to a fact or "rhetorical support" to a cause. Augustine, after all, was not writing dry philO$Ophy; he was preaching in tbe qUOled. pass.ges "to the uninitiated. " When he said that the invisible glorifies the visible he was not mettly dividing things as they appear into the categories of sanctified and unsaDCtified.. He was rd'ening to a reality made ~ident by ritual , "For we $et in the appearanet of the bread and wine, which ill't befutt our eyes, invisible realities; that is, we glorify the fttsh and blood of Christ." It is not a question of dividing the matter into two "'ppearanc::es," one bffimo constCflltion, the 04:her afcer. Moreover, Augustine, in speaking of the N<:harist, was also thinking of tbe Other sacraments, which ill't nOl obedient to intellectual principles alone but also to accepted. CUStom (CllJlSllttudiJ) .4H "!be sacra~nt, then, is considered both as word and text, that is, both as oral communication (jllJjIll'/1.WItl, mulldudiJ), involved in rire (iItIMor.",;~, SMT4tio), and lIS an object of cognition (J.m-4_tlt1Ifhi_ilitJUiD). In swn, Lanfranc sees the eucharistic ceremony lIS the subjtctivt attempt to rttaIl an objective fact through ritual. 4)) A further integration of these dements is ..ttempted in chapter fourteen. Berengar qU(){es AugU$tine, who states: Just as the sacrament of Chl;S!"S body is ·'in a certain fashion" Christ's body, and th .. sacrament of his body is in the same fashion ChriSt's blood, so the sacrament of faith is faith ... >6 Lanfranc's incerpn:t.tion i, this: "lbe body of Christ's sacr&metlt, insofar as he was acrually sacrificed. on the cross, is his flesh, wh ich, hidden und .. r the bJ"l'ad's form, we receive in the rucharist, along with his blood as wine; that is, flesh is the sacrament of flesh, blood of blood. Thus, by ftesh and blood, at once invisible, intelligible, and spiritual, is signified. (riKllifiatld') the redeemer's body, visible, palpable, full of grace. virtue, and majC$ty. "0' The C$Sendal transformadon takes place during the tite: ."The bread, when broken, is divided up for the people's sa1vation; the wine, when poured, is raken up by tM lips of the faithful." Thereby, ··his '" /.......,,...._8 . •,. /..... ~'jfl.O . •" o . o. c-./, " 0.. Mystai«... " .... BiI .... Meu./itul8ir .. .• " IIJ' I, ; 1"89. 11.. w. So THE EUCHARIST AND NATURIi d~th on th~ cross, as Wt'1! as t~ spilling of his blood, is reprl'Scmed (jig",a,,,,). " ... Gregory the Great, ~ adds, referred to just such a ritual cr:ansfOJmarion when he said that eating t~ bread and drinking the wi~ re-enanfd (iflli14tur) Christ's crucifixion and brought about our absolution and purification.'J9 Gregory, h~ nOtes, said ;,mlllt", nOt ~,,1I1r.- he meant t~ reliving of an experience through the rite, in_ cluding ics inrelkcnzal significance, not a physical or inrellectual change alone. He aoo used. the concrete rather than the abstract . In this sort of ttalism, the eucharist, as a visible process, is integrated into the prcx:essua1 changes of Christ's birth, crucifixion, and tffilrrection. And, in this stn~ only does ern, linguistic interplay to which Berengar alludes actua!ly become tell'V8nt. "Flesh and blood, by which we are nourished daily tOWllJds obtaining the clemency of God for our sins, are o.lled body and blood. nOf only b«auSC' they remain C$5entially the same, but also by that manner of speaking by which the signifying thing (rrs J;gIJiji4mJ) is accuscomed to ~ ca!led by the term of the thing signified big1lificatat m ... fJ(JCa~/o).'" In the Bible, when a relationship between symbol and ttality is established, it is integrated inro the ovenll mystery of change by means of typology. An example occurred after Christ t05C from the grave. Two men on their way to Emmaus met him but did not know who he was. His appearanc~, as Augustin~ noted. signified chat he would KlOn riSC' into heaven ...• The epiilOde, in LanfHnc's view, was not only part of the gospel nar_ rative; it also attempted to present the evenu in a mysterious form, far from the common expcrien« (rommllwis Vila) of men.--' The discussion of the cucharist ru ritual u brought (0 itS culminating point in chapter fifteen. Onc~ again the analysis bcgiru wich • quotation from Augustine by Bcrengar_ In his letter to Boniface, che bishop of Hippo made the following statement: "Christ is sacrificed. once in himself; and yet he is sacrificed in the sacram~nt not onl y during each Easter ceremony, but, for the ordinary pcopl~, o:v~ry day as well. "- Lanfrnnc pr0p0$C5 this int~rpretation: Christ, it is tcue, was sacrificed once in himself. The "true man" and the "true God" hung at once on the Crn», the man offering himself as a living victim for the father. suffering, dying. bringing remission of siru to both th~ living and the dead.· .. In the eucharistic cer~mony the ChUKh com... /Hi" 424A. • .. L,,-<;'. : DWllfi 4. ,B. PL 87 . 4'~D. - Dt .. ' ,--,(il. ... IHi. • 424B.c: U 24·'311'. '" 1Nl. • 414C. - 0,.",,1_. iHi.• 4>,A. B; A., ...i ... Et. 9~.9. Pt )} .}6j-6.j . .. , Or c..,.... <_ 'S. 41 ~B . c..,.... <. '4 . 4'4B . THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE memorates this act. ~ Lord's Besh is sacrificed daily; it is divided and neen, and his blood il poured from the chalice into the mouths of the faithful. Both enactments ace "true"; both baR their origin in the incarnation. Yet neither could take place without a radonale of certain mystery v;~ rm; ""sf"';; rill'-). ThIlS, when it s.aid tbat the whole Christ u eaten "after I manner of speaking," what is intended il that cternallife, which he rtp=ents, wheu the appetite of spiritual desire, recalling his sweet commands and inspirill8 fraternal charity, reigniting the memory of his crucifillion and spilt blood. ....... There is a meeting of the actual physical and philO$Ophically material aspe<:t5 of the eucharist: the one complements the other""1 Berengar, thetefore, acgun ro no purpose that, "if Christ suffered once in himself, he suffered only once in his own body, since his body cannOt in any ."..y be separated from himself. "...1 For a logician he is not rnsoning very logically. "Pot there ace many ehill8s which exist in tcoIlity which cannot be brought together simply through their constituent pam. Since the Lord WIll at once true God and true man, just as every man is made of rational 5(lU1 and body, neither hu soul nor his body alone can rightly be called man or God. ,.... In other words, there is an answer ro Berengar's methodology .•'" The ritual of the bread and wine re-enacts a histOrical rtality originally bringill8 together the human and the divine. This is the ultimate 50IltCC of the "mystery," the subjeoct to which be turns in chaptet seventeen after once again defending Humbert against Berengar"s charges.'" Berenslt, reca.llill8 the cardinal's words, is repotted to have said: "For who can concede that the bmKI. is mi. racuJously broken in(\) pieces of Chruc"s body, since, after the resurrection. he will tcoIppear in~e. and sin«, moreover, he remains up to that point whoUy unrecallable?".. • Lanfranc rtplies that soch processes cannot "be investigated by argument or conceived by reason. ,. To such celestial mysteries one simply a(kb faith, so that in the end one attains one's jlUt reward instead of merely confusing oneself aetempting ro undersrand what is unflthornable. "Fot it is not nece:ssary for one to see things which are veiled from one's eyes" and arc brought aboue "through the operation of divine power." Then lIS now, God's trut narure u concealed under wraps (ur-t4). Heretics and overinterpretcu are babes: "Laughing It faith and wishill8 to understand everything rationally, " they are ignorant of genuine reason. They are "'11WI.• 4'S&'c. ... 101..",100. t.-fr__ u ..... ~14 . ... ~... pM. •.. Do C~. c. " .... 61.. ... 1Nl•• <. ,6. 4.~B.D. ." q.. ..'_.• ,60. •.. t.-.rit . TtlE EUCtlAR/ST ANO NATURE like horses or mules, which react without think ing. They afe unconvioced of divine truths not by understaodin8 but by poor IlIticular on the question of transubstantiation and the ~I presence . But formal distinctions betwttn his and Bert'ngar's views are more sharply COntrasted. Lanfranc reirerates that he and Berengat are separated as church (jU:kJ) 2nd sect (urla) . m TM one is universal, spreading doctrines held '"from earliest times,"'" uniting' the a"tiqll; and the modn-lIi. "9 The other, although cla im ing to return to the .postolic church,'~ is particularist; its ideas are spread about by his "disciples" and "followers, " who win their shortlived victories by replacing "'light" with ··shadow. "·6, In repeating pRuistic aoo more recent ideas on the eucharist, Lanftane', fundamental tenet remains that the eucharistic conversioo of Ill,. :.. fIlMt.."li.. comes about with the aid of divine power, "'ineffably, incomprehensibly, &nd marvellowly. "<6' He adds the evidence of miracles, which, for him, involve nor only swpension of natur:al laws but, very often. the numinow power of words in a ritual cont c..,.... c. '7. ... O . "'o."do<. " , D< c.".,.. ~. ~>7A..c. • .. E.•. • ut 1l<8 ". I S; 1.-. '" IW., u.p.. .. IU ..... . ,8. 4}OA. \.0" ' . ,,. JliJ.• ~ jOC- D. " . /liJ. • c. '9. ... I~.. c. '1. 4'oC . ... / H.I.• <. ><>. OM ; cf. t . 9. ~,oC . .. ' I~.• <. 18. 4},B..c. 00 "",!w;" i< mi"",,"' ;n 1 .....&1. 11"........ do ilh,,.w,... (B ..... u. ' 938)· .. , 1/IiJ.• 43 ,c. ... JhI/.• H,B. ... 1.«.';,. I« ~"c:. P. 0""",. 0;,,_' 7~'j lixhto THE EUCHAIIl S T AND NAT\JkE does arise from abstraction alone but as well with the codes 01 conduct in oral culture. God', intttvention and the $8Craments functioo within tbe same mode. As Christ said, "You have the words of eternal life. " .,66 The fathers, be adds. while aware of the physial transformation, DCYer adopted a fully symbolist position ..m Augustine, for his put, underlined the ritualistic .ssoduions. and, like Gn:gory after him, £Xefc:ned red i~ fix n:pn:sentiD8 real changes. ot6'I Lanfranc', position, of course, b a subtle interweaving of interpretive and non-interpretive approaches, as is clear from his n:ply [0 Btrengar's "objections. " Ct-rtainly Augustine, whom tbe masttt of Tours quotes. assened that his own wnrds OD the eucharist wen: to be understood spiritu/illr. o6s> But thac was not a denial of [he rca1 presence. It is necessary, to recall his wntds, "that one thing be celebrated visibly and anothct" understood invisibly. "Ol 0 Spiritll4/ittr is a synonym for ;"miji/im. " . Similarly. tttms like IjI«iG, l mi/ihIM, fiP"'" siP'"", ",]llm_, and SMr_lIrM are Ct"IIployed on behalf oIa rM entity.'" SpKirs, smi/illiM, and fip- refer to realities that have disappeared;·" siP"', ""Juri_, and _ _t.., to Christ's .ctual suffering on tbe cross."· Btrengar, Lanfranc COncNes, comes dose to • deeper understanding from time to time, bur it is always ronfllttd with verbi.a&e.·" Funhet, Btrengar seems dumb to the inner meaning of the rite. When sjI«iG i5 UJed in the canon of the mass, it refers, not to appearances as Ratramn suggellted, but to a "manifest vision" undtt wbich truth is bidden ..'" Ritual meaning moreover is specific. Berengar em in wo fKilely comparing tbe cucharist with baptism. on True, there is no de.rb of Cbrut in baptism, but that does not mean rhere is no real blood in the eucharist. Onc ClJ)nOt simply compare rituals, which are enactments ollivtd sicu&ttons, by means of m6ww. i1lldJiPUM or s;",;/iltuliwiJ ihtil4J.<11 NOt to recognize such different senses, he concludes, is to class oneself as an imD14 O£ i.pnilJlJ.·n But interpretation, as Lanfranc secs it, is based u1timarely 0Jl1I1/CuriUs, which. as noted, is universal ..... On the surface bis argument appears to be I. tautology: the church legislated cenain norms, and these are the bl.sis fur placing 41KluriI4J .bove rwtif. But the m ..tter goes deeper than that. Berengar I.SSCned the vaI~ of rlN: tnt over the not ... In 6.69; 4}1C. ... I~.• 02I).HA. . . IfiJ.• 4 ,)A-C· .... lfiJ.• 4HC. ''' I~.• 4j4A.B . ." Moo><do•• r pOll'. •" Do Co , • •• c. 1<1.436.\. .., 11oitI•• oM.Jl . "'I~. • 4HC-,8A . • " 11oitI•• 4, 6A. .,. 11oitI•• • ,611. .." 11oitI•• 4}11I).19B . .,. 11oitI•• 4~' '" 11iJ•• <. ... .....,c. - I~.• ...,,0-4[D. a.'. . . . . . ,,. . TJ{E Il U CI-IAltlST ANO NATUItE word, The illdividual, as inrerp~rer of the tcxt, th~reby supplanted what he considernl. to be uneducated ways of thinking. Tcxtual criticism, moreoVl't, has in own rules; once adopted, the system could not k suspended ubitflllily to avoid l'mbarrassing (Onscquen(C$. lanfnnc did not accept the autonomy of hermeneutics. FQr him, tM C$S('n(e of Christianity resided in God's word, whkh is expressed in textual form only ro &Ciliate communio.tion. It is a record of events alone. Legislation, tMrefore , .od commentary, ind~, all forms of ratio, are appendagC$,'"' which can in pan e"'plain the word, but whkh do oot uke its pla~. The proof of the word's efficacy is not its interpreubility but ilS consistency of meaning (or the entire Chrinian community. Latins, Gtftks, and ~n Atmeniaru, in Unfnnc's phrase, "hear witnclS with one mouth to the faith ... ·~' The unity of God 's word ~roduCC$ itself io the unity of the chun:h's members. Heresy, by implication, of which Be~ngar stands accused, is nnt only B dO(uinal etror; it is an attempt ro uooerminc uni~nalism. , ' , FQr that reason, .....thl'r than its cleverness, it ;5 considered to be the devil". work.· .. Lanfranc's views were put into a naturalistic context hy his pup il Guitmund, whom Urblll II named bishop of J\versa in 1088. Like his master, Guitmund argued that Berengar misintuprcted Augustine on the real presence. But he went further than hi s teacher in reflen ing the genuine tenets of his opponent and in anticipating scllolut k d iscUlSions of the sacraments in such th inkers as Alget of Litge. He nOt only provides a bridge hetween the unperfccted sacramental vocabulary of the eleventh century and la.ter, official doctrinc. He also rakes up a number of issues o( cental i mpo:lrtanc~ to tw~lfth-«nrury thinken on sci~ntific naturalism. The three books of the Dt ClJt"/>IWis (I Sall'g"i"is ChriIli Vtri,a't in cmJ,arislia are framed as a dialogue between the author, who ,akC$ tM OI:thoiJ., c. ". ~ '9"" ... E.I ·, c. I. 40jlA . THIj .6UCU"RIST "ND N"TUkll el.e. France was then lacking in guides to "higher philosophy·, .ecrets ... So !w: amUKd hirnsdf by wlffiChing novel sm$eS (lfOll2"t . • . illll'fPttatilJlUS) from what he knew, thereby appropriating to himself a unique science ()ilfglllaris srim/iII). This, in turn, he "'-lInted publidy: ··Simulating Ihe style of a master instead of following the matter of insrruction, he cove~ his head with a hood, and, deep within its recesses. pretended to meditllte, deceiving many through the rasping of his Kar«"iy audible voice." H e WIi$ set straight by Lanfranc, Guitmund contLn~s. but, unable to bear the humiliation and the loss of hi, students, he turned to dissecring the sacramenrs, a subjecr obviously beyond his adolescent range. "He preferred to remain a heretic and to enjoy shifting public admiration rather than to live privately as a CathoHc under '300 ...••, These are strong worm. Yet, pruned of their rhetoric, do they not present Bt",ngar somewhat as he saw hirmclf, that is, as an individual interpreting Scri]>{ure in his own manner through logic? Guitmund concludes by acc:using the master of ToW$ of twO beliefs he did nQ( hold, namely denying the sacraments of marriage and of baptism. The former, he adds, enabled him to prost itute women, the la[[er to ( ondemn inh.nn to perdition. In both (IISCS he was the devil's mouthpiece.· M The central issue as Guitmund elsewhere putS it is ~ fll/lMiII venus (IItho1iu f'rriw.'" These arc familiar deuib. Berengar, like earlier heretics, becomes a stereotype, someone long ill "with the heretical pugue."'·" Moreover. he achieve<.! hb cnd. only by employing the distorted logic (rtlliIl1lfllt.) common to all subverten of orthodoxy, to which were added the "sweet but corrupI" words of his supporten. And so, little by little, "the dillCUe WlllISpre&d ahout."089 The establishment of the conspiracy theory is the preface to Roger's pinpointing of Berengar·s chief offence in Guitmund's eyes, which i. to maintain that the euc:harisr isllOl: subsmmially VIds/#/Ui#liur) Christ's body and blood. It is only so nmle<.! by the voice alone vul" wx), signifying in shado..... and figure (tmbr" d fig,",,).''''' Even though the senses normally deceive rbe mind, Berengar insists on lft$OI1ins through the lIesh (t:II,..,/iur), evi Co,,.. ... l.oof.;.... Cl,,;,,; v~;. £00600 ...... bk. ' . PI. '49. '4>aA.< • ... liU.• ' 4'9A. ... ItiJ.• t. '. '4.18. ... IOJ., '.'9[).,o". - ItiJ. , 14'''''. - ItiJ. , ,.6.A. ..' IOJ., '.,0".8. THE EUCH/dUST ANO NATURF. ag~ that t~ bIftd and wine do nl)t (hang~ ~$$emial1y (eJ}mli4/iltr). Bur they differ on much dSC'. Some assert that virtually nmhing of Christ's body and blood is present and caU what is on the altt.r only "shadows and figurts. ·· Others, yielding on some poinu, uy that the eucharisl truly represents the body and blood but (Ont1lins them SC'cretly (14t<1lltr ,,,,,ti1lm) in order [hat they mlly be imbibed (1_1IU), or, u their Jeader prefers [0 uy. made bread (imp4l14n). And they affirm that this is Berengar's "more subtle view." Still others, opposing Buengar, nonetheleu make U$C' of hi s arguments, stating [hat the brt"ad and wine ate changed in part and remain unchanged in part . Finally, there are thost who do not find the Lord's straightrorward W1.lrds adequate and prefe r to seek meanings on their own. Among other things they state that, while the bread and wine are wholly tl"llturormed, they revert to mere lIesh and blood whell the unwonhy come to receive communion.'" But all Bttmgm4"i oppose orthodoxy with the same idea, that there is no cssential change of bread and wine.··· Guitmund's reply is to extend the notion of God's omnipotence to what &erengar rcgards u the realm of nature. His oppoBC'nn maintain, or so he affirms, th.t nature cannot permit such a tnlluformation. BUI, "whatever the Lord pleases, he does"_ v.:nC' of the Pulms, he adds, they qUOle but do no( understalKi.·... If tbey did not believe God omnipotem, they could not argue that he violated nature. And, if not omnipotent, then he is not God at all. Nature un permit such a change ifhc wills it. For this "nature," which in its-df is litenlly 1I0thillg, is bfflught into beif18 and form$ specie$ Ihrough his volition. How can mere bread and wine resin? Further. Berengar's followers. who think they defend nature, ate really igoonnt of in forces. If physical proof wece IlC'CC'$$IIl}', it i5 (urniJhed by physiology. The "narure" of the bread aoo wine which wc eat and drink every day is "tn,nsformed naturally into flesh and blood." If such nourishment is nonnally changed into flcs h and blood in our stomachs, how can the same power be denied to God's W1.lrd? These nC'W pagans $hould perhaps concede as did PlalO that "the nature of things is what God wishes. "••, N for "eating" Christ', body and blood, that tOO is in harmony with God's will. a$ the Bible bean witness. AITer all, Thomas doubled ... lid.. [~,ac.,[A. ... IW., [UtA . ... Po [H·6: Onmi>. q~ o.,."i" .. "".i[ I'«i •. Cf. J. 1.«I1 4: '"lli ploc .. i,. 0.0 nulla """.. 'um Mt. . . . . . . _ , or.! quod.i pi""" il ..., ,i","1 .... ,," .... , .. pt<>p;",; i" .. , 100><"" .,.,.,. .., Do C.".,u . , . , '4} .A.O. 3" THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE the resurrection until he had before him tbf, visible and tangible Christ. .,.6 If he was able to touch the Lord with his hand, or, for that matter, his wbole body, why could he not " touch" with his teeth? And, if11Jomlll, the aposries, and the holy women had this experience in the PUt, why aD the faithful not Mve it in the present? "No reuon is opposed." Not is it undigni6ed, u some IlIIK"tt, for Christ to be " binrn into." For the faithful ate saved by this physical act, just IQ He saved all rriankind by sufferins death on rrn: cross. It was necessary tMt he die in l5lity; similarly, it is necessary thlt he be eRren "in truth." What il more: in the Old Testament, man "died,"' oor by eadng rhe shadow but the fruit of the forbidden tree; so the "new men" avoid death and n:<:eive life by eating nOl: the figure but the reality of Christ, woo also died from the limb of. tree. All this, Guitmund adds, is prophesied by Isaiah :1,:6-7, where the Lord spoke of "a feast of wine on the lees." Corroboration is found in Paul, woo speaks of Ouist, in whom liVl'l the fullness of dr.inity corporeally (ilr If"" brbil4t pl"ultulo t/m"il4lU Wip~,..JiJ".).m Onc: C!In ugu<: that teffh art in themselVl'l unworthy itllltturnents for di..,ine JetS. But remem~ ha Titus 1:1': ''To the pute all thinss are pure." The argument concludes with a parallel: " It is natura! for /ksh tu be toud~; it is ia infirmity to be wounded. " Therefore, Christ, III flesh, 1I>'as and is "touched," was and is " wounded. " And in his hm!iliu lit$ our redemption."" What, then, of the meaninsfi.J1 cJelmnt in the eucharistic rite? Guiunund assiglU this too to God's intentiOIlll, once l.8ain adding physical analogies. A good aample is provided by the problem of division. When Christ', fai:h is "divided among the people," it is not diminished. by division f/lMtinJo BilllMntr). This seems to be the case only OD acwunt of an illl88e of breakup lImPt" sitNiil.J;- fr4di~ Mir).4'" For his body is not distributed rlttovgh division but through participation. The host canDOl; be divided any maR than the trinity , which, appeari", as three, is really one. Division in &et is bf'0U8bt lhout by the office of the priest, which celebrates the eucharistic mystery of the many in the one. Moreooer, the mystery, Guitmund argues, transceDd5 physical reality jlUt as thought usimilates words. For we knov rht0U8h "everyday experience" that our understanding, that is, "the word of our inner being," when clothed with sound, allows what was known tu UiI alone aod hidden in OUl hearts to be made manifest to others throu.gh the 'tOice and It the same time to ... In 10 . • , •• 8: /«.61. - 11fJ. , I.J.i.A. '" THE EUCH"P.IST ...,'1£) N"TUIlIi ~main wholly within the mind. If a thousand men heat the sound, d~ same paradox is observed: they hear the words all at uIKe, y~t each on~ k«ps his thoughts for himself. "'" If, then, God off~rs so great a mystery through t~ human won!, he tOO is able to reach a thousand ears. H e tOO t!lemore is ·'dothed· ' by his voice. And no one. ought to think the mystery of him, his coeternill 1VOrd, or his flesh inCr"Mible, eVl"n though it appears to III in the form of words, '·since OIlC is never able to $eil:<' a meaning fully (rom man·s fragile, ttatUiwry speech or his short!iVl."d., momentary sou nds, even though, as a rule, onc ret!lins something of the sellSC ... "" But what one '·grasps" also involves interpretation. Committed to a revaloriution of the tangible, Guitmund nonetheless incorporates the ida. of inferiority. On the onc hand, he despises over-interpretation. Even Solomon could not explain everything. How, then, can man?" " On the other, he dearly distinguishes between sense and thought. Roget asio how something can be divided. before oor eyes and yet remain whole in essence.'''' Guitmund replies that onc must see with tbe eyes of the mind or of faith. Thnc is no equation between what Christ wishes to dfi:ct (opt:r.~11 and what is apprehetUible to sense (r.rna/is antimA' mlJln). Scripture furnishes num erous CXlImpies of the 5enscs' inadequacies. Muy Magdalene saw Christ as she wept outSide his tomb, bur she did nOt at first koow whu it was . "" Similarly, Luke says, "Thei r eyes were kept (turn tecognizing him . ",,,. The anillogy cao be: pushed furth er: siO(e it was Adam whose spiritual eyes were shut and whose carnal eyes were opeo, it is fitting that Christ dose our carnal eyes and open those of the mind, by which truth is apprehended. No onc considers a man healthy whose pIllare iudges sweet to be: sour; likewise, no onc mistakes rhe extemill fur "the medicine of in cerior light. " The sacrament, therefore, works amf,. m_. For the senses often deceive, as ilI\cient philosophy and everyday experience plainly teach.'ooS They arc particularly prone to error, BOC'thins notes, on the greatest and the least matten. In general, the exterio r senses canflO{ be: trusted 00 thei t uwn. Even a harlor seems beau tiful to her lover! One's ears are no better: the love song which attracts the lascivious is a triAe to the sober man . The real challenge is to escape rhe senses: striving spiritually, wc exert fairh; exerting, we grow learned. ; learned, wc arc nourished; nourished, wc grow; and, growing, we reach towarch spirirual perfection. jr is incoO(eivablc, "' ,jiJ.• I ~HA·'IB. '" 1J;i.• 1>1<.1 . I ~~B-C . "' Qo C~. 'HH8-C . "" ~.• 'H IB-C. ,.. In '0." . '" - l jiJ. , J~,6 ". '" u.. ,~ . ,6. THIl IlUCHARIST AND NATURIl therefo~, that the eucharist's "miracle" be revealed to the senses, for the faithful and the unfaithful would then be on an equal footing." 1 But what, then, is the StatUS of seme data? Some ~ject the eucha_ rist because they believe no such ttacuformation has ever occurred duting the coUr$C of nature ..... But the Bible does ~pon other IUbstantial changes, as, for example, wMn Moses's rod became a serpt'nt.- The human mind is limited: it cannot "grasp how that which is wholly in one place at one time can aho be in another." But such a mystery is no stranger than the voice that is heatd by all but emanates from one place, or the soul, which is one but which is spread throughout our limbs. The best example is creation itself: an men belil"V!' it, although none C&Il expJllin it. Funhermo~, with mpect to the creative process, who is capable of undetnanding what has been done after it is done? For, what was not by definition was not done, and, having been done, is already brought into existence. When it existS, it is no longer being made: it just is. And that which has been made cannot be anything midway between being and noD-being. For, if it lies between two states, it has nonetheless already been brought into being. Indeed, when can we say that what has already been made has been in the process of making? For lhat which lacks a beginning an in no way be said to exist. How marvellous, tben, that what is made is by necessity believed in and yet understOOd by no fotm of thought. Morcowt, if anyone thinks this line of reasoning confusing, Guitmund aJels, let him condUCt an inquiry into the beginnings of things in words or thoughts. Th e same ~llltionships will be ~n 10 hold. tu a co~uence of this train of thought, Guilmuoo conc:Judes book one with a purely logical solution to the problem of change. The Bible, he states, narrates the creation Of man in one of fOill ways: fmm neither man nor woman, like Adam; fmm both man and woman, the conrn.ry; woman from a virgin man, like Eve; and man from it virgin woman, like Christ. No one thinks the binh of man from man and woman extraordinlry because it happens every day. But, it is also iogically possible to generate a COntrary from I contn.ry, as for example man from non-man or Eve from virgin Adam. Such was the binh of Christ: the whole world rose against it in contradiction. And it was DO less "agaicut the customary course of nature" than the birth of Eve (rom Adam's side. More absttllCtiy, Scripture speaks of a "fourfold substantive or effcctive ptinciple of change." Ollt principle is that by which all things we~ made into what they a.re from ttOIhing. A ,.0 ,., I~., .~,8C-,~B . ... IJiJ.• ['HoB . 3'4 "' f.md 7 ,[O. THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE second is the opposite, which is a product of thought mher than of experience, by which whate~r ~i5!;$ on in own can rerum to I1()[h. ing. A third operation rakes place when substances b«ome non·sub· stances, either through natural or miraculous change. The fourth is tm, case of the eucharist, in which Of\<' existing thing becomes another.'" Are the "sacraments of the altar," ' then, fif,lIra or veritas? A!. in Radbert . hut with greater philosophical sophistication, the answer again is "both." Without abandoning the tangible, Guitmund admirs an interpmive framework. He opposes Berengar not so much with authority as with textuality. Also, like Lanfranc , he rese rves a spedal place fOf" ritual. Augustine, he argues, did not state, as Berengar assumes, rhat the sacramenu were only a sig",.m or fig,.,.a. He spoke of them as a air· brat~, "in which and through which wc commemorate his death."' In other wor 3. NATURE AS TEXT Guitmund of Avena brings the discussion of the eucharist to ques· tions similar to those treated in Guiben's trn.tise on relics, with which ,.. 10;.1., '~4'lA ·~ 4C. , .. I"'.. '" h.;lh H . • I: 1«. m.. [~6lB . 1~l4C.,8A . '''Sj,iI.• '" 'HOC. THB EUCHARIST AND NATURE we began. In ixH:h, tbe c;mtral problem is DOl: so much Vl:rifiation as authentication. Like Guibert, Guitmund U$e$ interpretive techniques within a limited context. He provides an .d.equ.re fuundation for tbe orthodox position, bur he /ails to explort' the wider connections ofhermenwtio with logic and language. In these spbertll he is no match fur Berengar, whose views be disingenuously represents as both "populu" :and " learned" beresy .r once; popular, insofar as be and his fojlowers Irt' said to focus on the carnal alone, acknowledging in the eucharistic saaamcru only 1I/IJwa, figllr#, or Jip_; and learned, ,in~, despite these :allegedly uneducatttl mitudes, they ate -.id to manipulate words with diabolic.llogk. As in Guibert, there art' in Guitmund two sides to the qUl5tion: on the one hand, there 15 the physical, the tangible, and the concrete; on tbe other, • method of proof involving the quotation and discussion of texts. The tWO, 1.S noted, arc only loosely united in his mind. Convincing evidence of this is furnished by his argument that the brnd and wine an nO( really "consumed" but only appcat to be so, a view whose wl.icali5m leans logkally to_rds hi5 oppoDC:nts and wv.s therefore reversed by l.rer commentators.'" But, owing to his rt'1:arive imprecision, Guitmund, I'1.ther, say, than a more canonically oriented theori5t like Mgel of Liege, offers a convenient focal point for the uta.lysis of attitudes towards naturali5m as tbey Ippellrcd on tbe eve of hVO large intellectual movements, the scholastic solution to tl'llnsub5tantiatioo and tbe rebirth of scientific empiricism. The subject is too large for full treatment bett, and would in any case require I departure from the study's main theme. By _y of conclusion ro thi5 chapter, we may summarize GuitmulHfs rell.ections on tbe problem; then, if only brieB.y, turn to poIratlel ideas in William of Conches, Alan of Lille, and Hugh of St. Victor. Guitmund, first of all, insists on II ~rious consideration of whar appcarll before the senJes III his starting point. Thomas, he argues, believed in the resurreccion only when he acrually saw the risen Chri5t. The $8Cramenr's pbenornenality is noe a sign of phYSical baseDCU bur of spitiruaJ humility; eh2t is, it (OO$titut~ the prepatlltoty 5(llg~ of redentprion. The rucharist is thus aptly designed by God as the change of onc subsrantial thing for another. Commenting on Hiluy of Poitiers, he adds that one should speak of tbe sacrament not JIIMta1lti4litlr ' " /IU., '440""0; cf_ I.. G.qoi ... ''Cu;tn>O/Od of " S!ll· ,,6 A_.-N_ c.d.Jit eAJ .r, &, >01. THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE but IWIIdA/ittry6 'IlK role of the SCIUeS in appm::;atillg the eu(harin is also emphalliud by al\lllogiC'S with everyday eJlperience. Through qllotidi""lIm txpmmmtll1ll, Guitmund rrl3intains, wc learn that the eu(harinic mystery is similar to the relations bttwttn thougbts and words. Would Berengar not have agreed? Guitmund evidently did not think so. The SCJIsrs, he adds, often fiail, and Berengar, in his vie ... , erred in trying to disprove sacramental signs through material experiment alone.'" However, s\Kh adaptations of ··exptr~nce·· must be setn agilinst the biLckground of Guitmund's $Careh for biblical authoriry IlIId pm::edenr. Book thue of the Dt C"l-is is a virtual (hc<:klist of previous authotitio:s, including the lives of the early saints and the fiathets. Moreover, Guitmund's approac:h to interpretadon is not il blind fideliry to tradidonal doctrine. It depends on the eduCilted individual"s ability to work through inherited ideas for himself. Employing a eu(haristk analogy, he remarks that ~ry P<'rson is apable of holding IlII image (ji.gllrA) of himself in which there is nothing of his own substance (Jllru~"tiA).' , I Similarly, the physical prcsen«: in the euthatist is not the same as <;..,d's intendC bk ,. ' 47611-C. '" I~.• bk >, ' 4\>(;, 0: ."0 bot,.,ic. mali,;", bocci ......,...1,,,•.,"0._ .. ptu<. Qoom i.""".i.. i",.. oudocia • ..., .. ",,,,t, I)"i ,,,,,..,,olarn ....;"Ott.. in ...,...i •. '··I~. , ~, r.... _,.- 147, A: ."Qmnt, ",,;pp. homo fi"""" lUi. i" '1'" .ihil d< '''/1*1.• ' 47.0. ,MI"". . '41l A. '" /..,;.• '479A: ··Non ocI ..... pnoedicci •• """",i..,ibu.o. O "7 ",.Id. "'too"...;,. .... '''. quO«\>< mi..culi< ..i_ THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE were textual. Guitmund makes liberal use Qf mediCIII OOcttina in analysing now the eucharistic bread and wine are converted in CM body. Writers on nature did just the opposite: they imponed ro discussiQOS of the elements, the humours, and the world's wigin rhe same cooccrns which motivated the ckbate on the SoaCtamC!lts. Twelfth(Cntury naturalistic thought could in theory have reanimated iu classical fo-ttr and progressed without intel'$C(ting the rise of other interpretive: traditions. But in poct;(C it did not. Iu vitality derivM not only from treatises ~wly Il1lnslated from the Greek IllId Arabic but also from a changed attirudc tQwards ftctual knowledge. The growth of a more literate sociery did for naturalism what it hIul done {or the eucharist: it placed the whole matter on an intellectualist plane and dismissed as rustic, popular, and irtationalall that did not accord with a rali~ synonymous with the inner logic of texts. The interest in empirical n:.lity already evident in discuss ions of the sacrament WI5 consequently supported by a genuine appreciation of fCience. To establish this point, there is no need to review the numerous studies of the idea of nature,'" together with its ramifications in law.'·1 sculpture, and art,"j in tbe first half of tbe twelfth century. The point under discunion can be ilIustrued by & few key plUnges from William of Concha, Alan of Lille, aoo Hugh of St. VictOl. Pot a criticism of symbolism and an interest in languase, few better examples can be found than the first book of William's youthful PhiIrn"hia MInIdi, & wQrk almost contemporary with the 0. PiglWribllI SalKtllr/nll. Although the subject is declared "scientific," the concerns on 5«. in,....w. H. ," ...... , .• ~ Moti,.. in drt Bi~. .1t door "Nb..:/Iobsrik.·· V........ Sau.W,.,.~ 19'J" 4 ('9.6). 8] · '48:J.M. Porrm, Lr - . ;. . . u" ( ;,. '-' rIM< '" c ........ (p..;, ond Otn_, '9,11); E. 11.. Cunilll, -RhnooUdIt NJtu<· I.. ), ,,?,,6; M.. T. d"AI .. "(.0 < du XII •• ;klo: · AHDUdA '0 ( '9'.). ),.81; T. Gro:IO'l'. A ...... _ _ (1'1"" .... . '?SS). ch. 4. and ' L'idoo, di .... ,.,. .. U. filaoolio modirnl< prima c!dI';"",raoo cIoIb """ di NiI.....I. it _ XII," ift Lrp...fw MU. _ "" .,. • (Wjlon, [966), ' 74,: "I. H!tln,•. ",. Ctruiot> and c.."",.. 01. the w otld Amrrdl". <0 TIll..., ol Cho",... """ ct.m.boIdurr ol Amor:' AHDlMA .. h?S6). ')7 • .,6; M.·D. Cktru. "la ... ".,. .. l"t.o m" '?', [; and CooioK ... 1914). p, s.. B. 11<1"'1, ''Narun. Id bt Dous, A Coo< ol Jutiocic p.",m.w..1" J - ' """ HimI? m · >l; G. I'00I, 1""""' ;. 101.""-' L.pJ T..... (P,"""'".... '964). 494' ,6,; P. Wri ....... , "Dirlqil !'" "4"'. '" 5« L. 'll'hi" Jr., "N.. um S .• ' R";'" ,0 (1947), ."·n. 3" ~'" - AM. ' • • THIS IJUCHAIIIST ANO NATURE are not so very difTe~nr from those of Guibert or the students of the $aCBlTlents. Even a brief perusal of William's habits IIld CXprt'U iOflS of thooght ~s 11 Ilwnixr of simila.ri[i~, Existing things, like th .. per<:eptions of the eucharist, are divitkd into the S«!l and the uns~n.'·' Man has only an imperfect koowledg .. of God, who cannOt be ciKumscribed by categories of undefSunding.,>4 His wiwom is mlUlifested in the world's "daily disposition, ",.,. a phrase which neatly captures both the notion of ph.. nomenality and of id...1 order. For, if "disposed," it displays <"Videnee of "wisdom"; and, if disposed wisely, wimesses di. lIiNZ sap;""ia, which "make$ things live and speak." Thus, through daily disposition one arriv~ at divine wisdom, and, through this in rurn, ae dilli1l4 Jllbrtalllia, which, to f«all the physical side of signs, is just another way of indicating the mark and icon of God (Jignacullt1R rl ilMp dll). ,.. ' Other panllcls with discussions on rhe !l3(uments are not difficult to find. Onc arises from the !Xlwer of IIbseraction and the idea of a high ..! sciemific culture. In making the univem:, William asserts, God utilized his pot",/ia, sapimlia, and WhlllfaJ, which, he adds, "the saints, adapting from ordinary usage (a II1Ifgari) ... have called the three pcnons, .. ,'" Less erudite personification is by implication a popular habit. But In essentialist position demands great.. r precision, since the father gav .. birth to the son "not by doctrine or usage but from his own flIItUre."HQ Analogies from written, i.e., learned, lan· guage occur elsewhere. Ele~nts, he argues, are like lene", that is, tm, indivisible pans of syllables.'" Aod, jU!lt u the iodividuall~lter IOS<"S iu character in the syUab!.. , so ch....!emeots are intermingled in th .. body's composicion."· As io the eucharist, the physical both per. sim and is consumed, Only ,",,It;(i, he adds, rely fot theil knowledge of the world OIl what they learn through their senses. m Again, he discUS5<"S at length whether elemenfS are un5ten or !ot'en: rhe one he names tlmttnta, the oth<"r titllJnltala.'J< Element$ ate the principal boilding blocks of things, but they retain their identity primarily as do wanis and are perceived by the senses only in combinations of ". Will..." of Cooc .... , P"; '".''' ftI..otdi ". !. • • ~ ..... G. N ou ...h (P""".i • • ,<)80), ''', " . ' '' IMJ., c. 4. pp. ' 0'" , 4' ' ''' '" 11U. , c . "p. 1>. So. ,,, IMJ.• ". 8.·8. . ". 10iJ.• 1>. ~. ''' 1001.. c . 8. p. '). 104-06. '" 11U., c. 22, p . 19 . 6,,,. /IU. • ' '' •• 87-30). ,.. "I'M., ., '0. ' ..9" a . c. n. ._.'77-7"'--" : ...... fUJCKO! no< c.......... . "' ". /1<1.• , I. '99-)"": '"' the to"", ... T. Si[~nt j', .r.--. 3'9 THl! EUCHAItIST ANI) NATURE sound. or syll..bles. Wheo earth, for instance, dissolves in .....ter, the irreducible element does llOI: disappear bur is only decreueQ its method, and the whole conlirnu the stmerUlt of cltisting reality. Nature is 00f onc book but many books at once: there &le as many "rmi"83" as dlKi. plines and controlled intcrprerations. Conversely, finding OUt .. bout the world i$ tantamount to reconstructing Pluo's inner meanins. )lUt as in nature one proceeds from sense dat .. to understanding, so in interprttation one is led from the seen to the unseen, from surface to inner meaning. William equates theory with divine aud practice with human kno...ledge. These in rum become rh., bo.ses for distinguishing be. ,,. I~. , p. ,>, ,80-8" ""No< ..., .... did..."" in omn.ibui ...ionom .... '1'" '" /H.I.• p. " , 6,4! : "N.......... od li ......... <"de"d ......., deo.>m homi""",. " ," GmU-M C__ . G'-" ..... l'~ (J'uQ, .965). •, . '" " - till Th. "od. J'" n, p. )9. ""IiJ.", pp. 6<;.-6,. '''I. T;" '9l>, <. ·n, p. "l. _ "do... , ai _ "Toe pn ........ THE IlUCHARIST ANO NATURE TWttn the abstracT and the concrete. It somewhat different vCl"$ion of such ~llItionships was ~ntcd in thc Dt P14l1Ctu N.fltrOZl of Alan of LiIle. Studcnts of this wtlrk have traditionally focusCllrallels. For instance, when the d~er, first OffI"COme by Nature's appearance, clears his head, Nature is said to dep ict for his menul understandin8 t~ imll8e of a material voice and to produce vocally che $OtJ.nd$ of ideally preconnected verbal al(hetypes. "', Alan also rcAcets an aspect of the orthodox position in the eucharistic debate not normally dilCu~ by fwc!fth-centuty philosophers of language, namcly, the rehabilitation of the physical, the spoken, and the performed. When Nature first appears in the Dt PLmrtu, the details of her appearance and d rCS5 are elaborately describtd. We vicw ,., I'ot. ~ ....I .",rodu< • .,., ... be oubi« •. '" w . W«born... Pldlau•• od p....,;" tI>< T,.,Jf1h e..."" '97'). ond. wi,h mpUf to At... '" pltticulu. u.. ..m o«t"ul .. ud, ofG. Ro, ... "" do: ~ •• At.;... Lill<. /*I< "" XII, J~ (1'0';. """ 101"",,..1, '9"), I. . 1'1"",;;'" ",,, . . oM ,. ~, Sit_: A en';'.! ft/;_, cIiso. , (Pr,,,,,,.,,. 1£0,,,,,,,.... .., lIIm_, T""", ... '979 . ... M"{iw-i AIIJ,,; E",,~;"'. pJ""",. N"''''". ........ t. «I. N. tU,'n.!:. $,"",,"'&"'/; 19 ('978), 806( " pt,to·Hrll). ~'/"'.';,. '''IW.. «I. H""n.!: 806-01 (PL >1 0.0,.11). ~' INJ., ,,.... " p. (H,B). 8., 3" THE EUCHAIlIST AND NATURE her arrival through the eyes of the mortal narrator whose understand· ill8 is limited to the sensual world. In other words, we have the same perspective lIS the obJerver of the euchuistic rire who is Il5 yet 1101: initiated into its deeper mysteries. We are struCK by the rhecoric with which the poet portrays her hair, forehead, SKin, eyes, nose, lips, teeth, chedu, and chin. But in taCh 0ISl' the visible and tangible ~ first ...• And, although intricate mechanics of appearallCl' and rcality accomplllly het diadem, gown, and tunic, the concrete provides the ground for the vatious devices. Nature herself sham the amhiva· lellCl' of eucharistic rcalism, both visible and invisible. Although, Il5 the poet invtnts her, she is an abstraction based on tallier allegory, me is also a Creature who communicateS by means of the spoken word. Mol"l'OVl'f, she not only interpreu and aplains; w aiJO performs. Her moral and scientific instruction is delivered orally. And, as the drama unfolds, ritual plays an inctcll5ingly imponant roll'. The purely phil· OIIDphical issUl'l gradually yield the stage to mythical stories. Venus delll'ns her lawful bed with Hymen and takes up with Antigtmus; in the last act, Genius, the "fflr of Nature, makn his aPpl"-n.IKe with Truth and Fahebood, excommunicating all who deviate from legiti· mate furms of love. The ending may be poor philosophy and weak narrative, but, despite the orhecwoddly air which pervades the allegory, we ate IICtually led Il5 in the sacraments from ritual cowards mearung. Again, Alan is not so much indebted directly to the eucharinic debate lIIi he is aware of many of the same issues. Such new readings of nature implied a different approoo<:h to reading it$eif. The period's finest compendium of reflections on this question WIll undoubtedly Hugh of St. Vktor's Dirlcv..lu.,. Hugh's point of departure is not nature in the eucharist but nature in man, which, as it tumll out, is placed in a similarly theological framew01k. In a fallen world, Nnure has left men "so destitute of inventivtness" that even simple matters lie be)'tlnd their grasp. Some men, although conscious of their limitations, nonetheless punue knowledge cl'IlSl'!essly, their will to learn outstripping their Clpacity for achievement. Othen, knowing that the highest m,.tten are tOU difficult for them, pay no attention even to lesser ones. But not know· ing (....m) and not wantins to know (lNIu Ja,.,) are not the same: the: one springs from infirmity, the ocher from an impaired will. Nature hu endowed another son of man with the faciliry fur approaching 3" THE EUCHj\RIST j\NO Nj\TURE truth; but even among the talented., one finds differences of ability and dedication. Most worthy, in Hugh's view, arc: those who labour "in hunger, in thirst, and undothW." Yet, all who desire to advanct' in knowledge must follow die same roure:, which consists of lUding and meditation (I~nio et ",",iI41io).,..9 Btneath the schoolmaster's exhortations and. the plea for a learned monastic culture, an important point is made. What is essential for the advancement of persona! knowledge is not only natural endow_ ment but one's consciollSnns of its uses. NOt only is man's inner nature identified with the ability to think and to interpret. The degrt'e to which his reason is an "image and likeness" of the divine depends on the exercise of the will. Subtly aclapting Augustine, Hugh thereby allows for the possibility of progr~uive knowledge, or, more: precisely, man's prog= through knowledge. "Wisdom illuminates man in order that he may know himsdf. """ Man's dignity, in Other words, barh personally and cosmologically, is related ro Klf-consdousness and sdf-knowledge. The original pIlttemins of forml~ matter is microcosminlly imitated by the cognitive activities nf man, who ptoceeds from the concrete to the ahstrllCt, and, through rc:acling aoo meditation, gradually repairs hi, fallen nature. Enteitchy is endowed with the ambivalence of consciousness: becoming, it knows what it is, and, knowing what it is, it becomes. Like the eucharisric myuery, it incorpor&tes both the visible aoo the invisible within the permanence of erernol chanse. Similarly, in Hugh's view, the human soul is imprinted. nol physically but ideally: it reRecll the t.ngible but has the intangible potential to be all things at once. This duali~m is reiten.ted in the structure of knowledge i{Klf. For Hugh, phi/ruophi.u consist of organized knOWledge. But wisdom, which worldly knowledge imperfectly reflects, is plan, pattern, or idea (riltu): it is an ur-text, the Wotd which has the potentia! tu h«ome all written texts. All human activities and pursuits, Hugh continues, are intcndt " ' IJiJ., !.[.pp .•• , . '" IJiJ., ,. " p. " . 3'3 "...r.,i..od. c. H. Bu,,;'n... { lVa Tal! aucaARIST AND NATURB thc bridgc betw~ tl>c:m u tilt ttn. Sa.,;., il absorbed. by rading and study; once iDternalized, it becomes virc:~, d~ potential for right action. Nnr only, t~rd"{)("C, through applied koowledgc, but also through the process of applying it, man helps to undo the wrongs of Edcn. HUSh devotes spKial attention to the origin of the ans and the beginnin&s cl logic,,.· Botthius, he saattS, uaced the miD"", in which tbe ancients fint began to dutinguilh bet~D words and intelltt'tions (II'CQI' It iwuJ/~IIJ). But logic, since it is dtril'td from lops, can mean one of two thingl, eit~r discourse (I,"",,) or reason ("/ftu), that u, either lOfllEKill#fis Jif4 f'4Ii_/iJ m.,is. In other tHmS it can refer to words or tClfa. Rational IQgic, he adds, contains dialectic and rhetoric, which an useful for writteD fOrms, whik linguistic logic is a rubric £or gn.mrnar as well. As one plixeeds (rom words alone to a combination of words and tens, one also goes from mere vc:rbai usage to disciplined lansuase, Befvtt linguistic logic, be add., men used bot:h spoken and written words ,,""i1!/lJI'1 ""Ud ,,_ It liJ"rM), but they had no scieoa of discoutst for the spokeD and the writtcn (,..tit! JII"_ It JiJUr'."'), 'l'ht.te wcre IJD prF"tplIf: "all 5C~nces exUted in u.st rather than att," that U, io practice, not theory. Thc introduction of "rules" and "prteepa" .l.' d DD texa changed all that: henceforth, habits which arose by change or by nature (ptutiM tIfJIl, /III"';/IJ ..",,,,.) were organized as forms of art. Yct, if words, textS, reason, and nature an so interrelated, what is the place cl things, which, it is worth recallins. Guibt"rt Ind Guit. mUM made the ulrimare source: cl meaning? Hugh', aruwer to thu qUl'Stioo ptOVide:s • convenient swnmaty of this chapter's major themes. He turns to the problem midway through the D;tWflf/m, part twO ofwhich is devoted to the study of the Bible. In divitK: eloquence, he states, not only words but also things havc: meaning (_ hllIhuIJ"".brI s.J It;"'" m Jjgaifo,ur N:lEhI). Thu mode of communication is not found ellltWhere. The philosopher, limited to sri""is, knows ooly the meaning of words. But, ideally, signification through things u preferable. For usase (~*1) relates words, nature, and thinss. The one is the voice of men (""" bomi_); the orher, the voice of God tOW&l' crated. end~. Moreover, the voice is the physical sign of che $enscs (1fOta Jtll./ll_); tbe thing is the likencu of • divine original {JitJi_ JiwulLr- 11 ,..,;,,,;s 3'4 THE EUCHARIST AND NATURIi trill"). And t~ $OUnd is to the idea as time is to eternity. The pl.(t ern in the mind (ra/i~ mm/il) is (he imerior word, which i$ made manifest by the sound of the voice, the external word. Finally, divine wisdom, which (he father ·'cxhales" from his heart, although invisible in itself, (akes on a visible form: it is known through creatures and in creatures. Thus, in biblical study, one should proceed through vox, ;,mll«llIl, m, '''Ii~, and vwitM, an intellectual journey nO( accessible to the less learned (",inlll 4«fI).'" Hugh, of wurse, stood midway on the ;nurney himself. The word of God was now halfway ~tween word and text: man's earthly duty wu to coordinate idea and exemplar through ~ad inS Ind meditation. Llio, (00, was contex[uaHzed, as was nature. Yet Hugh retained strong links with el~nth-cel)[ury theorists of the sacraments, while, in writers like WjJliam of Conches and A[an of Lille, the idea of nature o.me closer to a scientific notion of empirio.i rulity. 3" IV. LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY Non at I):us 8nmrna1ko.t (urioow. --Guibtn .. NOS.D" [), Pit-iMs S.""...II, '+2. {Grammatico.] est t(l(ius phjlosophia.e cunabuJum. -John ofSalilbuty MdIIUlitM, 1.1,. ThiJ Jtudy has SO far looked at two different field! of activity ;nSuenced by the rise of a more literate society, n.amely, the appeamnce of hCf'!'tica1 and reformed communities and the debate oVl:r the nature and meaning of the eucharist. Through the analysis of specific eumpies, an attempt was made co draw ancntion to broa LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY Ot~r$.' The "scholastic method·· is jllSt what its name suggestS, not a group of doctrines bur a set of techniques for evaluating and =nciling oppom:! positions. Subjuts in the arts curriculum evolved at varying rates of progms. Theology and canon law achievtd coherent systems of ciauitication long bf,fo~ history, natural philosophy, or literary cridcism. In this respect the rwelfth cemury continued what the eleventh began . In comparin.g the £wo centuries, one diKerns the u.se and reuse of familiar dichotomies, such as visible and invisible, material and spir_ itual, image and reality, and, of course, word and teu. What wu novel after 1100 was the setting, the diversity of application, and the bread th of the implications. & textual andysis emerged as a general methodology, many thinken began to speculate along the lines of a semiotics of cuJ{U~. Phenomenal manifesratiOf\$ of meaning _re looked upon as a series of signs and symbols whkh could be interpreted once one broke the code of thei r .gnmmar, logic, and rhetnric. One only had to search for the interior unity (ollCealtd hc:neath the exterior ·'integument." Using Latin, that is, the writren, as a prororype, t_lf1:hcentury authors implicitly or explicitl y developed. formal Ianguagn in many ateI5 of cultu~in art, architec ture, litenlure, music, and philosophy_gainst the ba.::kground of which they invariably con· ttaSttd local, popular, and nral traditions. Indeed, wit hout the emer.gence of such official cultures, the distinction htrwe<:n learnoo and popular wou!d have made little sen$/:. Culture and nature thus pantd ways, separated by a barrier which at OllCe alienated man ft1)m the paradise of verbal, interpersonal corn· muniC1lrion with God, and yet, throu.gh tducation, as Hugh of St. Victor sug.gCSttd, hd d out the possihility of reintegration at a purely spiritual level . The theological mctllphon s.eem inappropriate to mod. ern e-ars, bot they aptly characterize twelfth-century mao's perception of the intellec tual forces creating a new cultural universe all around him. H owever, the "~nais$2llce'· WB.5 not achieved without !train: as the infl uence of textual culture spread, so did conflicu over the tela_ tionship between language, texts, and reality. Did I\·ords, as the real istS assumed, describe the objurive W(lrld, or were they, as the nominalists IIZgoed, merely "d~ breathing of the voice· ? The accumulation of factual information from t"«ordablt sources and the evident ne<: ,.1. ",-6Il. 3'7 J...u... ~« Ie: · LANG U AGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY purpose of know1edse itself. Was its proper function, as St. Bernanl asserted, a meditati~ dialogue between one's inner Kif and God, or was it, as Abdard sa:med to imply, the prlXluction of logically defensible statements about the knowable? A mott fundamental philo • J. Lt Golf. LIr; 196'), 6J-68. '1'0><_...,.,,_ ", •• "' .... _ .... J. "" ' ...... .",. I....,...J o{~.- in It. L. IkhiOil ODd G . Comtabk, oc!o ., Ih';:; .. _11--';" .... • '!.t.h M _ . (PviI. - ~tJ.IJc... ' ,b.,wu. ~ . , ~ '-no. Ronnoa.I, - p. 77 . Foo-. briof ~ '" pooirions for and • "Leo~. La ......... ~iqut ; ", LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANn REALITY truth. But, connected with it was .... nsdm·~ notion nf ··ordinary lan _ gua.g~··: that is, what w~ do when we u~ word~ to desctib<- situations involving things and how such cwryday usage differs (rom 10giu.1 exprrssioo. Peter Abdard took t~ matter in a difff~m dite(tion. His staning point WIl!I tne, mrcii.-val inherittln~ of later andent grammar and logic, which had an inmrently turual bias. Ab<-lard fued. the philosophy of language (rom in dependence on the theories of written language and proposed that !inguiltic chang e operates if not autonomously at le;ut accordi ng to its own laws. His disc:overies tne,rero", ne,ld wide implications for the notion of meaning. In Se B~rnard, a stern opponeO! of all he stood for, a radinlly different approach to tun ~m~rged. BemU"d was a mast~r of rhetoric, whose sermons thoroughly renewed the mon.astic tradition of meditation and inn~r reflection. But he alSQ ordered aoo diSC:iplineci the subjectivity of the cloister; m unite 1. ANSELM OF CANTERBURY Se Anselm is perhaps the most popular medieval thinker among contemporary philosophers and thrologians. His writings take w to the heart of matters interrelating faith and teK$On which remained under investigation throughout the Middle Ages. And, at the cenrre of his remarkable achievement lies the problem of texts: the concept of the text, tm uses of tCXt$, and. their relation to the Word. Anselm enrerc A_'. • ""'. «"",bbi< ,tuj9 .... ".10, <11'. pp. j.,,6. , DH G~ . . "!.Ut,,,,/:,.. ,"",W, 001 . 1 (Fr<;bu<~.im.B .. ;'8'~. 1909). >l8. n.. bibl;"'~, '" ,1. ....1"'·. lir.:""" ~bl i, abut>da",. """ <0,"_ b< full, hen. The Nil, ii,,.,,uur<" ii,, J. So; ....i ••• ,I.Dt 3" on: """""tize I .'. col . '~9. ,nd io tJebt .. ". LANGUAGE. TEXTS. AND REALITY values; yet he pursued logi(, facwlI!ity, and the rrsolurion of op~ views. A grNl deal of Anselmian scholarship is devotd 10. single ;»ue. the "ontological" argument for the existence of God.' Le$s .ttenrion has been paid tQ hi5 nOtions of language. meaning, and reality.' & a result, while a large literature ha.s gf(lwn up around his dogmatic c........ ,., ,.",,.,,,6•. 1" . , (Bet!in. '9'S), 6,1.7<'0. AI> .",..,wo< bib!iovaP/I, '" ,"" ~ _ , philpll,.m 1beoIop. I« ..,J_ of AIIoI.-t,o A""''';'''''' • .m '" • tumII\Ol)' of __ Wotld '011.. n in«mu. Slifihli_ S . I.. ' / , ~;.",J "" IX. ........... '" , _ to..... _ k CB«.m ...n._ '''9)' Goyer. C.",J,oW ,., e_ ,,,,,...no... = •• e..... Amdm', p«<;" in!.....,. "" "'" """".... '" "1.,1.,,,<: """"'" has ...... "'" oubjo<-t '" n"""""" ...diet. IU ... id._m~ .....,.....,.. _ H. W.iowciJ.r. -0.. ..... .,..... ..... _ KootIpendi"", ..,. drn Wrdt", AftId"" _ c:.nwbou,;' lbtn ,0 (t9l8). 2(16.'" II'hiIo .11< ........... ciona with the ochooI of 1-. It< bridI, - ' by Sout!oo:r •• SI . ..1."'/_. U,.87. ond ;" . _ don.!l by Dom lottin. I'IY' "l~. ~ _ XII." Xlllt likItt • .",.. , (louq;n. '~l'). 1)-.88. Grnorol ,.,.;,., '" A... Im·, inll-. .... ob< twd(.h ;""1 ..... A. lAad, .., "Oot G<-h';'Uiub<.. ilr 101 . AAo.]", •. cuWbu'l' un.! ..u.. IItdtutullfl fUr die ThooiofI;' .!or Frilb,d ....iI< ," 0;.. n...... j_1o , p;, I'w. # ;c . .. • ye! s.nn, , ('~ 1). ,66-77; S. V... o.i ~. -N.,... .... l"~ de Ni.. Anodmc ... XII •• ;«1<." CO( , (.,..,.) ••"-H; S (.~) .•,-,S; 11.. Iiri~.......... -V"i ... h....... _ _ . Ei~ ll-«817-"; and I.. D. VOI"l de Nint Anodttx ct... 1<0 p......;." orohtt;qu.. du Xllk Ji"'I •• fJiri"ci- _ , . l09-ll. t I'ot "'" ....... ieI Hapkins. C; ' . ,6'-6$. and, foo • ...:oat hi>_ tori. >: "So. Aruol"., Tht o.6nirioa oC "'" WOOd Wid:li _,uty « Gou rf,O:6ti(..,_ bibI.,.npIt,. _]. 06-., .a I , '" I.ANG U AGE , TEXTS, AND REAI.ITY !he-ology, cerrain basic issues in his work have not yet rKeived adequale treatment. Some of thcsc--the notion of audi ence, of conv<'ntional as opposed to furmal language, and of interior venus eltttior speech-dearly Kho tm,mes diKusseO. elsewhere in tbis book. We af<" therefore entitled to ask 10 ,..ha! extent Ansclm (an be is.ol at ed wi th in the risc of a society whose institutional and intcllKtual StruCtures an: heavily dependent on tntS. Of course, there etn be no final, satisfactory ans,..er to such. quesrion. Individual thi nke,", of Ansd m's qual_ ity are not ~ucible ro a combination of cultural (OKeS active at the time they wrote. On the oth<:r hand, All$oClm returns s.o often to basic problems involvins wrinen languase that they etn be cons idered an undert:u rren t to his mof<" overtly thrologietl concerns. It is to these areas o( his thought that we no'" turn. l·bI "Monologion" and "Proslogion" The best introduction to the status of texIS in SI. Ansdm li es through the Munologio1l, his first publisht Co..,..""".- f. S. Se/om;". "Zur a.""",~;. do, w... k, do. hi . ... ".dm _ I.""" ~4 (19,.). ,,, .,,,. con,';", the moo< ... ,oo..i""i ... ",,,,men, 01 ,h< "'"';11$ of .......1.>. WGfh. ~ "hid. 1 f<>Ikror ,h_bou, . .. 011"'4, .... ""'_. od. f . S. Sduni" \S . ....,.!,.; . . o,...~ a-... £di..to..s8h. '9016)• .01. '. p. 7. ( ... 11 ~""""_ ... fl t h;, «lit;"'. ) E..Im« d« rlI< lit .... ., ,_pool'i,", of ,h< M...hf ... oM th< p..,11f;'" io .;,,"'!I, ido .. K>.l "",.,.: Vi '«l.". s""rlI<.n. SI. AOHI., On Al>I< •• i8nllka.o;· Ao.oI_ A.,tlor'- I ('\1701. ,,_116: <XI , . , of rlI< oII...H(Wo ond "'1qI .• 0.. Trio . • 8 .,..... f . S. Schmi" . ......... Im unod d 11..,....,.. ,I. .;",,,,,,;0,,, _ in ~I '""",'0. K. F'-h ••;0.. philoooptli.d... Aruat. "'"' ... nO 33 ' LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY the change as he sees it I. link more specific. He previ(MDly discussed the themes of the meditation in ordinazy language (tuir"lD _ ' " rrH~). While rerainill8 their qualities as interiOl" relkctions, he now wishes to record them in writins (....Jitati;J"iJ ,.. ... Jamok" .. ;). '. In (he term """'/IhI/II. he suggests I. copy, a transcript, or, in a special sense, a proof. In addition to doirins a permanent record of the soliloq uy, his monastic bm:hren made other demands. In writing out his thoughts Anselm "W1II w brins rogether in a sinsle treatise and to hind by a unified chairi of reasoning wha~r had been revea.led by his separate investigations. In other words, the final product was to be • logically whereot whole. correctness of his position was to be established through a plain style, commonpia« arguments, and ItraiShtfol""lWrd de~ (pkuuJ Ililo d IIMIKllriNn ""lI/II.mliJ limp/mlj_ ~iolll). A~ all, it ...., to be CO.llOOonted by necessary reason (nui""iJ _itm)," ,14 n.e -.m:_. ".-4"'" ....d";n Vert.l!..,;,...." A.,....aRiottloo tk'lP"~""",- iIU." (097<'). Aujpoo. ti . . . . . _ ..... ,he ,.,........ ir. 1 ....,........, ... obo¥r oil Th: A. Awdoet, ··U.. tiN a..... """"iom men ..... od dei ..... "u m ci,_,,,,..... od"';"", dioc " ·'"t''' odi... """. _ ....., hi< ' '" """"lru, Md la qw...,.- ......... No< dolo.< la..- ht. locUlI • q...atinctioo. be.. tea _, 'W _ ........ , . ' J"/,. MOLClCdioa""" Cio:a-on.ioI>.,....,. It< - " " bJ J. do Ghdlindc. "Oi&kctiq.w:" dos .... """ ~X11t "ci'" .....:.l'osq,oJ. ..• c. e '.9<'-9' . !'.'A.Sdturr,m. BC;? , , . ' . ' /EJ.rdoA _ _ C. I .,,, ... £ .... . . . G,'sd... . (So:unptl, 191\6). 36-6,; H. IIAld. ~, $;.;{itM . . /tMio .), "7·7" ..... 5. v""...""3tu, -R"';' In S. AnodIllO d"Aowo. - N~ . .. Mill... (t""'"' ....,..i..... 0-,....,,_ I 9H), 6,-19. !' 6-,. ): A I .." ., ';" ,0>-", ,it. ,d, . ',-.J .... "'".~ Fri' (J.o SoUt, Ill.• . .... IP """ 01 Katto' ,,,., idou, _ O. A. hilio, ....... ...cl 4' .... " "' . . . 1o"""",""", s..r.., 01 Owla Hattobotno·, Woet. ... ,be Oou::Ic:wlal Ar.-, - A..... A '". ., (. 969). '~'_l2' . ";110 t:o;bj·'d >I!>-",. to;. pcom, 10;101 """"'"'. _ ._. .. A. . . . . '-icolGad·, N.. --. - -. _ .J . . '1 ,- '--.-PAi' I. f 191\,), _.""Th< 1',. '" LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND IlEALfTY that i5, by the logiC1ll interrelationship of words in sentences. Finally, no obj«tion, however unworthy it ~med., was to be overlooked, as the work was intended. to SC~ the ncc.:h of ordinary monks. This last requirement in particular made Ansclm hesitate before 50 difficult a tllSk. The bvorable recepteion the treatise had received was accordingly a pleasant surprise. To avoid unnecessary contraveny, he now asked only that anyone copy ing it preface the book ""ith his own statement of purpose as well u the tllb]e of COMents indicating tbe chapters' order. 'I Ansclm·s outline of his intentions must be read on two levels at once. Onc concerns tbe relationship of the wmplctcd text to iu reading audience. The other dais with Ansdm·s own process of literary production. Of the two. the fint is by far the easier to grasp. In composing the M-xogiutt. Ansclm efffl:tivcly rcplaad a living audience (qllida", fraffYJ)'6 with a reading public (qlliJ htx 0pIMII/II,. voill"i: tr 8. "1601.• 7 . ., 1j;J. • 8 . LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND II.EALITY ",",illstionis e:umpID. But there was more to the process of composition than this. Anselm wrote the work at the age of forty·thm-, WMn he was already a mllture student of the Bible and of the fathers. In the DI Verilal" written sometime after 1080, he even spoke of his eulier invcstigations 11$ "pcrtaining to the study of sac~ scripture. ".f Vcstiges of this period in the evolution of his thinking are sclluereoK "humbly des.iring to understand what they firmly believed."" The essential term of this well-known expression is understanding: by it, AII$elm means, in effect, to discuss, (Q comment upon, .nd to produce a new tCXt . In other words, the text is the bridge between rtttio and alKlmw. 1brough the interior dialogue, a summary of biblical and patristic authority becomes a "text"' before actually being writren down. The "cogency of rcuon" III which he refers is in reality this text's principle of Olganiution. AII$elm, therefore, plays the role of someone in convcrsation with himself" who both intetnali~ a tcxtl1li methodology and anticipates a written product." Poe him, this process alone gives rise to a defensible theological discount , since it is o.chieved through the logic of raJiDttis INUSJiw. To produce theology, it follows, one mUllt begin with a typc of oral exchange. The essential contf'lllit is betwctn what one simply hears or believes and the pcrsuasive capacities of logical thinking." Anselm, (pm_> .. ~","'1. I. p, 'n. '" "'1_ . ,. _' _• p. 7. R "_ .. E.,. , Prwt.,;., c, I . ""_ "El. '" /-- __ Vri>', c. 6, ..... >, pp . " ".w., p. 8 . .. Fat. [hi...,., '" ["" J;m.,y 1'" I, pp. 99-100. ..,.21. ~;",. I ' n.. Am<Jm Ac.d, ... F. S. Sdunitt, "1.<0 CVl""""" de _ "'" ',... <. I , p. [l, 11-[0. Cf. p, Vipowt, ""Sot""'........... d~ Ma pp',. .,- IlSPT " (1~7), '9'-94; and ""'" ,.......uy, ... , "1..0. ..,(11_ de .un[ A_!me doN It M""",,_ .. 10 Powl.,,_,·· A~ 8 (1 96,). 110-,8, '" LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND RIiAUTY mOrt'Over, is not sped:ing as a philosopher, for whom such diStinctions would ~ normal, but as an ordinary believer, who may if he wishes abandon the casualness of spoktn fotms of argument and adopt the rationality of texts. He need only turn his mind's eye to "the investigation" of th<' SOUK(' of the good things which he natunlly enjoys. R~on will lead the 'my; he has only 10 follow. He will event.uJly arrive "ntionally" at an uooefS<1I.nd;ng of wha. he "iua_ tionally" ignorro." OnCl' again Ansdm emphui~es that he i$ nOt supenfiling biblical authority. The old and the new texts are mutually supportive: eh<' one is received, the other established truth. >6 If this lllgument s«ms fami liar, it is because wc have ~n it previously ;n other forms. AtUtlm eff~tivcly proposes a paradigm for rheolosiod investigation which is inseparable from his consideratio n of oral and written modes of communication. JUSt as, in general, orality bcc:arne !i$$OCiaeed wieh illiteracy as a byproduct of literacy itself, so, in Anselm's mind, irrationality and rationality are viewed in the image of unstructured and structured language. Conventional spct '" LANGUAGE, TIIXTS, AND B.EALITY arguments, and simple disputation," he implicidy devates ,he interior dialogue over the wriuen prodUCt, ~n though the latter ahibitl much of the fotmer'. rational organiurion. In Antelm, it follows, "literacy," at the highest I~I, is illustrated by speaking, by di&logue, and by other linguistic phenomell& connected to the Word, that i., to an ideal rationality. Although, as he later points out, the illli.,. itJattiD utiliz" grammar, logic, and acerpts from tbe Bible, the tat produced can never fully rKapture the vitality of the otiginal proccues of reasoning. As he puts it, the MllftDhgi",'s written argument CODstitutes a record, a transcript, or an l:ItIIIr/'/_. These relationships arc essential fof an uncierstandins of the "proof' of the Prolkti4tl and of the argument between Aruelm and Gaunilo. However, before we turn to them, it is necessuy to mracc our steps and to return to the MlllffliogilJl". opening chaptcn, summarizins thcn commenting on a kw key p'lIagtS. Anselm , in cffect, leads the reader through a proces.s of reasoning similar to the Ont tbat his preface outli~. His well-studied thoughts ban essentially three lrages. Fint, he sets up a system of comp'rison b.lsed on the acceptanCe of abstracTions as the highest otdet of reality. Then he generalizes from such COn«pti to the existeDCl' of a superior Il&IUre through which they ckrivc their heing or csscncc. Finally, he argues that the manner in which the JaM ,r ""'~" Cteaus ftom within itself i. analogous to logically informed discourse. Abstraction is fundamental. All$Clm', CltUnpJe is "the good." He asks: si~ we experience many good thing. through the senses aDd the mind, is it not pouible that tbcre is one thing (oM_ lIiiq"UI), through which whatever il good derives its goodnessi"l This, of course, is another way of aslc:ing whether thin~ are good chrouSh similarity or difference. To solve cbe problem wichin the limits of Sl"&mmar Ansdm t\llns to comparison. All things, he points out, an:: nor equally good. Some are "~ter," otben ''wont.'' But the capacity for comp'rison implies a standard asainst which goods can be measured; that i1, goods are related to the Good as being just is to Justice. Moreover, the languase through which we dacri~ such relati0D5 and tbe reaLities which lie hehind them are dOlely interrelated. In JlIInicuiac, the standard of comF81i5Oll is ind~odcnt of the quality by which something is good. If one hone is stlDll8 and anoc:bct Iwift, both arc in JOUle se~ "good" horses. But a swift, strong robber is .. /H.I.. '4. ,~. ", LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANO IIIlALITY bold. Theufore, although the measurement of the .legtee.' of goodness is a tollCeptual affair, good things arc ultimately judged by t~ir disposition in the ~I world.'~ This son of comparison, Ansebn continun, helps to explain existence iuelf.'9 For, if all good things derive their goodn~ from a single entity {J1tr iJm. (lli'l"iti), rhen, by implication, everything which existS also derives its existence from something. The opposire, namely, that something exists through nothing, is impossibk. Jf onc is to offer a logical explanation of nistellCe, the only altemuiv<"$ are existence through many things or existence through one thing. If things all aisted separately, each would have tbe "power or natun: of existing" in itself. But that is not the ~: although the power wodo differently in each case, it is nonetheln.s the same viJ vd M/llr(l ",ismuii. It is greater than the individual forces by which things exist individually; then:fure, things may ~ said to exist more truly through it than through them. By this son of reasoning Anse!m comes to the conclusion that the being through which all things aist is one. Although som<: narur<"S are ,u~rint to othen, this narun: must be cnnceived as something pn:-eminent. It is a n.tun: beyond which, as he puts it, nothing cmix greater. And tben: is of course only one natun: of this typc.'o The establishment of a supn:me nature leads to I separation bet~n the C!"<:ator and the c!"<:ate ,. I!>;J.• c. ,. p_ ,H. .. /~-. '9, ,', . " I""., <. j , "I!>;J_. I,r. c_6. r· " IOW., p. ,6, ,8" 1. ,8K. "lkJ" p_ ' 9, '.} . m LANGUAGIl, TIlXTS, ANO RIlALITY than it in cmtion. Therefore it must derive its existence {rum itself. To describe how this takes place, Aruelm rcasorus by analogy from the metaphor of light. As "light" is to "ru light" and "lighting through and from itself' (ha If IIIm'r If 11ImU), 50 we may speak of "being," "to be," and "aisting" (mmlUt 1I tu, II nu, /xx tJt IXillmJ live sltMisImJ) . JI The remainder of creation, Anselm adds, exists through something else, whether the creating agent actually made things or merely the matter out of which they are made . .<4 No one doubts that the universe is material, sin«: it is composed of the four elements. But, from where does the matrer out of which the material world is mi!odc derive its own aistence? This primary crNtion, he argues, cannot be material, since the JdJ1IW "",I.m. creates only from itself. It follows that all other creation takes its existence from the supreme being, which created things without aid, that is, from nothing. Of course, this does not mean that things were literally made "from nothing."" Ex "ihi/o in this COntext really means mm IX .. Iiqlto (not frnm SOIDethingpl By way of explanation AnseLm once again turns to metaphots. The CJWtrix JIlMwt!tia or t.tJmti" brings things inro being "from nothing" in the same sense that a poor man is made rich or a sick man well. What formerly was nothing is IIOW somcthing.)lI All of this brings Anselm to the meaning of creation itself. For, when we use expressions like "it created" or "they were made," we imply that the supreme substance created something ~liqllid !,at) or that things were made as something (aliqlliJ!..na JIlIII).'" How does this come about? Anselm's ~r intC'rtCl&tCS words, thoughts, and thi~. His point of departure is Augustine's nOtion of a model in the creator', mind." Nothing, he states, can be created unless there exists in the maker's ordered rhoughtS (it! /tuimtiJ rl#itmfl) an exemplar, pattern, likeness, or guide (IXtmpllll1l . .. ,!v>iJW RI Jimilitlldo, aid rrgllia).'· This structure existed before the world was made; in this sense, tbe universe was never truly " nothing, " as the previous discussion might suggest. Moreover, this model of things (rmlm Iv; _A), which preculed their I"'·. "11iIt.• '0. ".,6. On A.... mc,"""" 0/"Ii8"'. _ H. K. Kohlcnb.t,.... "Zur Mot .. P/>l'ik dn Vi."dJ." bet A.... Jm _ c...mbwy,",\-.,. .4."",--" ('969), " •• ,. Genflropby is listed on p. 'SDI4. a. F. S. Schmi", .. A"",,[m "od der (N.....) Plarorr.;,muo ... 6,~ . .. "'........... c. 7. p . ""4 . "1Nl.• '0 ' '' . .. 11iJ" c. 8. p. • " ""4 . .. /1iJ. • • , . "1J.iJ., ""4' ,. Do o.n.;.. 'bm,~ " 7 . n H· 02; T_ . ioJo/> .. , . ,6. PI. U. 0,87 . ., ~;." . c." '" >0, ,&.". '4. 10"4. ,,8 LANGUAGE, TI.!XTS, AND REALITY creation, is a kind of expression of tMm in the creator's thoughts (mu", qlllluimn j" ipsa ratio," I«l#i~), similar, Anselm maintolins, to the tksign in a craftman', mind befo~ be fashions an obiect. o, By "an exp~ion of the mind or of rnson" Ansdm undentands not .... ords (.-) representing things but tbe things themselves (ro ipuu) as Yisualized in p=nt or future existence." For, he adds, _ may speak of a thing in common usage in thre.! .... ays: by sensible signs, that is, through the senses; by a menta! consideration of those same signs; 01', putting aside "'Mib!e and nonsCnsible signs, by forming an "rxprnsion" of things themselves in the mind , either thrO4-' 7· M lOiJ" n-JO- Cf. 1'. Vi,""", ,ll" in A<>O "St,,,,,.... ,.It """'" r . 39 id." LANGUAGI!, TI!XTS, AND RI!ALlTY that is "dissimilar" in this "~jmilitudc ." FOf" the highest nature rook whereu the crafcsman has from oowhele ~ISl' a model for his nothing in his mind but what he cakes from external obj«ts. Unlike the creatOf", he needs some material fOf"m as a basis for reali~ing his plans. For inscancc, a.lthough an ordinary momd man, through a concept or an irna,se, may leprnent an animal that does DOt exist, he does so by drawing from memory eIemenQ from known animals. W~ may thelCliott: put the djR'ctl:ncc as follows; both the rrwtw aM the j..w work from mental designs of what they want to make. In the Creator's case the ;1IInu Itltat;~ suffices in itSl'lf; in the craftman's, it is neither die: fint, the aole, noc the sufficient cause of the undettak- . iog.O\I What the craftSman makes always depends on the prior aistence of $Omething else. But, if the highest being creates only from within itself and only by means of ia inner eqxc:ssion--flther through indiYidual words or by uniting iu ideas in one word-it follows that this elpreuion of the hishest nlllute V_:wt Wttlt;'I i«IItif) is nothing but the J _ U wlflliA itselr.,.. It maintains all other forms of creation;" it existS in and throughout all things." But what can be said concerning its substance? AnSl'lm takes thi. qunrion up I t twO levels in me MlllltJiogi". . .An earlier linguistic discussion dismisses relational terms when Ilpplied to the highest natule', expression and pi..... dcscliprive rerminol.ogy .nthin the rea1m of logic." If, logically speaking, nothing is het«!t thuo the sUple:n.: substance, it is superior to all the other things which it is not.1oI A more theological atWysis begins in chapter twenty-silo Anselm has devoted considerable attention to the I1IMMIl uilmls temporal and Ip!ltial. qU2lities. He now asks how what is in dttct beyond substance in the nonnal scnse can be called substance at all. For it is 00{ subject to differentiation through miling or mutation through accidents." His lepJy is thllt INMlilatitt in this context virtually means mmtu,.,6 The highest nature: does not, like other substanCes, separate into universa1s and particulars, as. for eumple, being a man may be distinguished from individual men." A better term than substance, he adds, would be "spirit," since of all things compoled of the corporeal and the spiritual it is the highest or puret. It is a unique spirit • WO"" .. /IW.. c. ". p.•6. ,.'0. Cf.'. Viii ....... -_ ....... :. ' <>4-<>' . .. /IW.• c. ". p_ .6•• 6-.8. "/jiJ. • c. ", p. '7. ,. /IW.. c. ' • • p. '7. "0. Ar.oo!m., _" ............ o!Id r-,_. Col"". 8,.,. LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND II.EAlITY which exists simply, perfecdy and absolutely," unaffe(:leJ by (empo",1 changes. Compa-red to it, other things seem hardly to exist at all: it is M) to speak the N'Mf(W spintllJ, which makes them "something" from "nothing,"'. But what is the relatiOluhip of this personified wffltia to itS own exprt'SSion! If it made nothing except through itself and if whatcvc r was created by him wou made through his expression, then the two are identiul. 60 After reiterating his previous argument, Ansclm com~ to an orig i!l21 conclusion on the matler. It has be<en proven, he sates, that nothing exists except the clnting spirit (crranJ spiri/In) and the product of its Cleltive activity (~IBj trM/,,'a). But the exprt'SSion (1ft.. CJiltilt) of the spirit cannot be included among the things created, since it is created from itself_ Therefore, the expression of the supreme spirit is the spirit itself; or, to be more precis.e, th e expression is nothing but the intelligence a 'lt,l/igttJtia) of the spir it, by which it understands or (ooceives (i'lulligil) all things. Indeed, for the creator, expressing I. thing is nothing but framing it in his mind, since, unlike man, he never &il! to find a sui table diKOUtS/:' for his inner thuugh t$.6' Thus we may say that the highest spirit (Jummlls spirillll) and its expression (I«Blio) are consub.nantial, since the spirit, however we call it, is one and indivisible.6> It consists of onc: word, through which all things ~re made. 6, Anselm then turns tu the natute of the divine word itlelf, stating that, in his view, it is not the likeness of created things but the reality of t!>tir being (mm sit ,;",ifiIB,u jacfurllm ,d wnla, mt1l/w) .... All words of th e type by which \VC express obje<:ts in the mind are the likenesses and images of the objeyd>oI.,iqo< c. 30. p. 48. .. INi.. c. " , p. 48. ' • . .. ItiJ" 48. , B·;o: -E,..,;", omn," hui",""' m quulib ...... . "nl. ·· Cl. <. 6,. p . )1 . ' 0> ". " /~. • 48, .,_,8. to IIW. , ",. 7'10. LA.NGUA.GIl, TEXTS, A.NO "'BALI·IY However, if ~ry word i5 the r~prc:senta[ion of an obj~t, and, if between the crulor and the OYaIIlt"A. word and obj~[ do not correspond, how Cln we be sure that in any given situation wt hllvc the right word? Aod, if nothing was created, how could we prove that there was lny word Ilt a11?6" Ansdm resp:>nds [0 this problem by picturing the supreme spirit in terms of Il raIionLI mind. The highe$t spirit, being eternal, is eternany mindful of iudr Ilnd undersrands itself in the image of a min..! that is continually thinking. But priority must be given to the mms ralioMfu."" If it understands itself eternally, it expresses it$l"lf eternally; and, if it eJlpttSse$ itself eternally, the word is eternal with the crearor. l~ Does the highest nature tMn txpte$S itself by one word and Cf"CIlte by mtf.n5 of anothtr~" No: the word by which the creator exprtSStS himself (1jJMJ uips_ difit) is evidently identical with himself (tuemt 111 itJips_ us,). The word by which he expresses himself and the word by which he nJln:sses creation ha\'(" the same ,,.jJt4/1lia. Dut there are nonetheless twO words. Fot the creator, who sptaks thest words, shares substance with them, and yet is not the word himself. Identity of substance does no< necessarily imply a uniformity of expression. 1 ' To explain this, Anstlm clilboratts Il little further the llOIion of a word as a mcntal concept. No one, he srates, C&lI deny that when a rational mind conceives of itself in meditation the imase of itself rises in its thoughtS, or rIlther, the thought is its own image, as if formed by impression." The rationlll mind, then, when it conceivts of itself in thought, brings folTh an image of irself, the likeness so (0 speak of ifS own thought, evcn though the mind cannot, except in tnought, be separated from its image, which is its word." By the same token the supreme wisdom, when it conceives of itself by expressing itself, gives rise to a likeness "consuh$rantial·' with itsclf, that is, its word, which is wisdom's image, reprc:senration, or mark (imdg, tt figlira et (Ar(ldft" fillJ). This WOld, hy which the crtlltor el[.. /hJ.• c . lO, p. ,0, ,6-,1. "lhJ. • p. ". 12" ~: .. &,0 ill< .,.,j....! """.od "1Ii", ~miJitudi..",. xd m. priDCipoiit<, .. ",..,. ... moli • .od .r", ,imllitud;...", .- Ih 'u"'''".. " IW. • p. )'. '~'p. )'. 6. " IW., s'. " ·' 1: "Nun "ull. ..o"""', memo< ",gasi _ . <'IIm mm> ,.."""'Ih ""pouD COf;i,ando iBmli3it , im&,>lu...n ipciu> IIMCi in ..... I.n".,. ipoom ~iu'ionom tq.j """ ....... I..... intm.od .1..... imiJi'udi .... tamq ..... Cl! imprus;o..e bono"",." N 1~.• p, .~ . • 8: ··Hob<. i3i""",.", rariono.!;". Nn> . . COSiundo i.-lli3i, • ...".", i",.. si- ouam "' .. MWtI, id rH «>si,,,...........i .od """" oi.nlHtudl",m . .. : quam ... ipso .. ...... i",.,i ... """ oioi,..ion< ..... ""'""'" _it. Q..- j"""",';'" ~",.r", ...: . tar ..... LANGUAGE, TEXT S , AN O REALITY pll:sses the created world, is not the same as the word of th e created world, since, as was previously pointed out , it is not ics likeness (ji".ilitlldo) but itS pr incipal essen~ (prilKipalis mmlia) ," In subsequem chapten AllSeJm applies his ideas w the thrtt persons of the trinity, but ~ don not further eJabofllte the interrelationship bet~n language, texts, and reality. We nuy therefoll: pause at this point in the M""oIugioll and ll:View his posit ion as a whole. Anselm now hell: explicitly refers 10 the comrast between the oral and the written. Yet, his defence of reason's role in theology is heavily influencnl by his notion of written language. Inde«!, ;"Ii_ 1(){Jtlio could mOll: accura.tely be caJJed a contextuali~atinn than a rationali_ zation of the word. Not only is his literary prodUCl a wtitten cumple of oral meditative dialogue. His r41io is also modelled along the lines of words in sentences. Just as the biblical text leads tbe uninitiated into the secrers of divini£)" so Reason now guides his inquisitive mind into the ullTflIvelled p;tthways of formal theology. The internal conversation Anselm has with himself is an anticipa_ tion of the two sides of the s.cholastic qlltslio in which the spoken dialectic of the [Wo parties is transfurmed imo a written p resentation of oppos :d positions. With onc difference: in the process of inquiring into the logic of words, Aruclm makes a number of discoveries which alter his perception of ttal theological relationships, These concern abstraction, Il:ductive defin ition, natural language, and above all the disjunction between W()rds and things. ThroughoUl the MOlfolugion, Aruclm maintains that he is illuminating realities rather than forms, images, or likenesses. But his r4fi~"il 1It(t.u itm is the imposition ontO an implicidy present body of biblical material of an external logic and grammar: an exploration, as he puts it, of faith by reason. Faith, as noted, is a received text, reason, an established one. Mnreover, Ansdm proceeds by analogy from words and things to the created and che creator. For God, words, which are normally the mental images of objects. are the inner realicies of the objects themselves, logically and thell:fore temporally prior to them in the creative process. He sees in God the verbalization (flXUliD) of a perfect grammar of texts. But his deity's word is an expression with a ronrext . He il!wtrates the grammaticalll:lationship between melflu, UJr, .nd 'lIS by one of the commonest Joannine mecaphors fur the Word. 111:0<. lu(tfr, and Imm. It does not follow that for "nstlm to exist is mell:ly to be thought to exist. Rather, to exist is in large part w exist in <. ') , p. ' [7. ~. 0.. th< r>eopi>"''';o d<",."" ;A, ....I~ .... ~ . .". _ _ .... f . S. 5 " I~_ , H .•• 6: cf_ ,.,.,~. ,,, LANGUAGE, 'tEXTS, AND llEiALITY thoughts capable of logical apression, for which the model is a reIL E.en God speaks a word which has all the qualities of a tnt before it is spoken: this, in Anselrn's view, is WMt makes it t~ Word and not JUSt mere words. A dear example of this type of reasoning is found in his nplanation of the phrase ~ "iml•. Something CIlnllO( be made from nothing; therefore, c~tion mun haV\' developed from "not anything" to "tomcthing." The biblical phrase is thereby put in a logical contnt IlIld then ~pp1ied to realicy as icyeaJcd in the Bible. The one text cannot function without till: or~r. To iDOVe fl'Oln faith ro reason is to pCOgInS from an authentic statement about reality-the Bible-to a logically defell5ible intctpretation of its m~jllll. Anse1m refined his positiOll in tbe p,..../",UtI. romposcd between 1077 aoo 1078, aoo in his reply to Gaunilo of Marmoutier, which was probably written a year later. The notion of che tat once again pCOYides a point of comparison.:>6 In the preface to the PmJ/"IIUtI he states that the MUIIOI"IIirm was writ· teD as an ","",,1_ tMdit.l..u J" ,."ti_ /iMj; that is, be took the part of somecne who condUCts an inquicy into WMt he dOCl not know by reasoning silently with himself.'} However, the MUIIOIogil1ll was woven of different Strands of thought. Could he not 600 a sillllie argummt sufficient in itself for demonstrating that God truly exists and that his goodness is supremr?'- The PrIJI/IIgirm, therefore, is not only a Kcotld attempt to move from a silent tat to om: that is written down. It is ,.[so a redUCtion ro ..,.". - X - - . The "onrological proof," then, is among orher things a s~ia1 kind of written ~d. It is an intemally dewloping, logically interconnected nerciK in reasoning; and ie is du: fruit of meditation on his own previous writing as well as on biblical and patrisric material." His earlier test, the MtnUJi~io", oow occupies I place in a sequential tradition of wrirings. His formerly subjectiV\' rellectioru have become objects in I.D external world of soiba[ forms which provides a further st:imllius to personal reB.ection. Anselm, as well, has created his own 6cc:i.e listening audience within his mioo. ~ "proof," he adds, came to him when least ex~ted .... He hastened to put his thoughts on parchment both for his reading public aoo as I.D aid to deeper contemplatiOll." This activity retaill5 an oral flav.;mr, which is caught in his twin tides foe the work, I~i~i_ and aI,«pI;""; that is, he n....., .. Cf. A. Slob, "Du ~ .... hI. ....... Im. (I9H). H'-H"U. P. Vi&_, "[.0 mlitl...a .. . •" In- Il . .. "",,,,*,. ,., . ,"'&. I. P. 1>1, 2' 10. A. ikoI.. "000 ~""'-' WO . ,.r·~ " _ , no .. p. 9), 13-19. ' _.• p. 9).'o-p. H .'. ,. a. .. .'U 3.... L ... NGU"'GE , T~:X:T S , ... ND R~"'LlTY k~ps befure him the model of iln oral exchange rv= though his product is illext. ·· 'TIle final Stage in the procns is his a<: knowledg_ ment of his own authOl'$hip, which was urged by Hugh of Lyons, and the contributions to his thought! by his readen."' The commitment to written language is maintained in the Prwlogio,,', argument. The point of depaIlure as every rtader Ittalls is Psalm 14:I: "The fool has said in his heart, the~ is no God:' For A~lm, the very act of thinking about God negatn any potential denial of his existence. But this involves a change from impreci~ spoken to ta_ tional forms of thought and a ~cognition of the d;fk~nce between JII1"ba and m . The same fool, he smtn, on hearing the words "something than which nothing greater can be conceived" understands both what be bean and what he understands is in his mind, even though, at that point, he may nOt underst'and what is in his mind to exist. For it is one tbing for an object to be in the undentanding, another to understand rhat it exists." To illustrate his point An~lm once again draws on the analogy of the artist from Augustine'S V, DlKtrillll Chrisli41J4." When a painter thinks out ahad of time what he is about to draw, he already hILS the futu~ dnign in his undentanding; but he does not undentand it to exist, since he has nOt yet broughr it into being. However, once it is drawn or painted, he both has ir in his mind and undentands it to exist, because of (oune he made it. "; 'TIlectfore, in Anselm's view, efth a fool nn comprehend the grearnr conceivable thing. For, wben be bean it spoken in W()(ds, he undCl'$unds whilt he \\nu; and what_ ever he under$tands in this manner may be said to exist in his mind. Further, as it is "greater" to exist in reality and in rhe intellect than in the intellect alone, thi, being "than which nothing greater can be conceived" cannot both be conceived and be said not to exin.·' Why, then, did the fool make such a philo50phicaliy irresponsible statemenr? Because his foolishnns took the form of failing to recognize 0, l!ii.. p. 9'. ,r. " . . . in pt .......... n i.... ,.d .. I«Um .at;OCl",noJo . . " '; pp. 9'""1>4' . d< ho>< II*''' do qulbo ..... "1iI,, "'" pt...,... triJ'" " .. od pbndum doum et """",,,,io I""UiJ... qoo.l <mll., oubdi",m K".,.i """",ul"",.·· In ,b i. '''.,,,. ,he J>.osi m""h i. common wi7<>-8' , """".i. m "'u,n..:' S_. m,,,,.,,,,,, con..",_ .~~ . ' ~ ... - . p.~ . .. l!ii., Co >, p. ,.[, ,.[Q: "Sed «rre lpot;dem i.wp;.o., <1.Im .udi. '"" i.,.WD 'I"O'i di -- "i,,,, ., ' ·7. PL H .... .. hoJu,;.". <. ', p. [0', 10-1, . ,.> " 1. .. , 1 01, " . , , , , , , . LANGUAGE , TEXT S , ANO REALITY thc difference ~tw~n aistcnce in the understanding and in reality. A thing after all may ~ thought about in one of two ways. either when the word. signifying it is spoken and concrived or when the thing itself is understood in the mind.- In the formcr seOR God can be said or thought nor to aist, but not in the latter: for, one may say "God dOCl nor exist," or think rhose words;)'ft, lIS God WSts, the words d o 00t tQlTelpood to reality. Our pw:pose in paraphrllSing Ansclm's "proof' is noc: to provide another commenwy on his rheology but co suggeu that his achi~ ment depends in part on a compla sort of orality within I textual mode, Is the fool • kind of illitcl1lte? Yes, in tbe AORlmian sense of failing to distinguish between"""" and m , He eid>!'t thinks mete wortb Of verbalizes what logical thought will not admit.'" Once again, howner, Anselm', mystical pathway ends at the doontep of a rationality affiliated with his notion of a standard, natura.!, or nructuml linguistic fonn. The undenranding produced by words in the mind is in fact a kind of tat. The bridge between existence "in teality" and "in the intellect" is tntual production. But the fool was nor so atlIily silenced, His case _ taken up by Gaunilo of Marmoutier, who first summari2ed Anselm's position as he .saw it!'" and then attempted I refutation. Gaunilo argued that the highest being aim in onc's undcrstanding only because one understands what is said." Hc thereby thcwt thc problem back from the 1~1 of m to that of I'Iriw, The mind, be said, rerains ar any moment a great many real and unreal things. How could one differentiate among th .. m if one did not undentand what they were wh.. n one heud the by which they are signified?"" Th.. only l"Xception would ~ a highest being that was unabl.. to bt contl"ivcd when described in words and beard, or unable to be held conceptually in thc mind (/HII' . • • tUUiitlllfl rogita", fltl ill' rogitati_ "",,",).p, But this is impossible: with respect to tbc supttmc nature, woros "1Nl., c . • • p. 10,. ,8" 9; " AJiw ",,;m cot;_ "" ""'" _ .... ...",iIiaom cotl .. _. o.Ii", <wn .. ipoum quod r• .f1-6I . .. On ADw!m·. ODd c..,..;1o'. """"'" '-:H. I'<w. lidl ...... of Gounilo', .."...,.... .... Ill , dot] P ... T,.h ,.."JU. i7.$ , . .. QoOl ___ 'Ill' ,', . " , _ ,.. ;",;p-. c. ' • ..,.. '. p ...,. '._,,: nQlo:>d hoc: iam ... die."., iQ i -'Io o.Iiud rti c.. """,ioN. _ 346 LANGUAGE, TEJ[TS, ANO IlF.AlJTY I must both uaderst1lnd it and have it in my understanding, since I can!lO)t conceive it in any Other way than by graspif18 ,h(, knowledge that it exists by itself (,srimJia tomprrhtllJmtlo "' ipsa if/lid o:isttrr) .... Y", if this is the case, contl'llry 10 what Ansclm propo$es, having an object in the understanding does not logically pcectde understanding that it l'Xisrs.9' Therefore" Ansclm's argument that God's existence can be denied in words but not in reality falls. Furthermore, it is not dC2r that what I understand, when I hear it. is alrndy in my under_ standing. For thel\' a.., many things in my mind which I bave not heard, ~c of wh05C existence is uncert1lin, others which have no mll existence at all. Tq turn Ansclm·s argument around: someone may say the words by which such things are represented, but that dOC$ DOt mean they really CIist. 06 To Ansclm', example of the lreist', design Gaunilo opposes Au gustine's image of a craftsman, whose plan "I;',es·· in his mind, juS! 115 his soul lives, bcful\' it ;s brought into being.'" An exception may be made for pu.., concepts, which, on being heard and thought about, are perceived to be real. Such rcality is onc thing, the ptt«iving mind another." But the being '·than which nothing grntu i, conceivable'· is hy Aruelm·s own definition nOt an entity of this type. TItcr.::for.::, if onc fOllows the argument logie&.lly, Gaunilo suggc-su, A~lm 's G.:xI is inconceivable. For, as he pun it, onc cannOt conceive of this being on hearing of it, nor can one simply have it in the undentanding. In other words, ooe cannot prove whether it exists or not. For, to ",turn tu the imagery of the artist, Wl: normally pierut\' the less familiar by comparison with the mort familiar. If a tot1llly unknown man is described fOr me, how do I know that I am not being deceived? Similarly, 1 nn form no dear mental picture of God or of qU9 _illJ rogilari lion poIesl.'" Such statcmtnt> are mere words, from which alone no real object can be described. When we auempt to conceive God in this way, it ;s not ooly the mll sounds of the letters which arc in the' understanding but also the word's si8nificance (« ,. ., /MJ.. ,,6. ,. ,. "'MJ.. ,,6. "'MJ.• c. ,. p. ,.6.• 8_ ." ...inr. T_ . io,_. 1. ,6. PI. " .. ,ftI., .. , .•o- .~. .. ,ftI., ,,6. >,-.,. ~ " 'hi., <. 4, p. ,.6, '"H'. " 7. I}. - IMJ. . " 1. 14·'). 347 8,,~. . • jllt . LANGUAGIi, TEXTS, AND I!.IiALITY Gaunilo replies to Anse[m's other argument in Il similar fashion. Anst.'1m proposed that, if nothing greater ai5ts, the supreme being must fint aut in re&lity and only sewnd&rily in the mind. Gaunilo maintairu that Il being which cannot: be conceived prima facie with rfterence to lll1 object has only Il ron<:eptual &nd DOl I. reaJ. exiStence. It is Il figment of tbe im.gination. For Anselm did nO( Sll.y "greater than IlDy object" but "grellter than anything auting," which can include existence in II purely verbal form. As I. result, this being cannot be in the mind in the w.y that re.! objects are. 'Q ' S.ying that God exim thJ:WBh these criteria is like positing tbe ainence oll.n island para .-. The existence of a being wh05t' reality ClInnot be denitd, he asseru , is not the same as that of a beins wbost: re-lity cannot be certainly affirmtd. For if " /{IU _illS rtlf;ifllri _ Jllmf' can neither be understood nor conceived, then it i. e/Jectively not in the undersrapding or the intellect. As • consequence, God ca'e! to mst. This, AIUt'Im assumes, is fabr,; therefore, either Gaunilo·, premi~ Qr condUlliom must be in error. '''' ·Gaunilo , in Anselm's view, maintains that, ~n if God existed in the understanding, it does not follow that he exisn in It'lliity. His view is just the opposite. A being "rban which no sreattt can be conceived" can only be thouSht of ... something which auts eternally and has no beginning. But something wh ich does nOl yet exist lll1d yet can be: thought to exist must oeccssatily COIDl" inw «i5tence at some point in time. This cannot be the lupreme being, since such a na.rure had PO beginning. ,<>6 Thus, if it can be thought to exist, it ... 'M c. ' , I'. "7 , 2)"1' ,,8, 7· l W, t. 6. p. >28 . .., IW. , c. 7. po I~., u ~, I " } . - ~ -' ' - Id'i' + " ..6M ;,.;", liWi, c. I, YOI. ' . p. ' '''. ,, · ,6 . ... lW. • ')0. ... lW .• 'l' . 1_,. ,., LANGUAGE, TE XTS , AND REAUTY must roec~sa,i1y ~is{. Further, if it nn be thought at all, it must aist. Anselm offers the example of a be ing whi(h does rt()t ai,t, even though it may be conceived. It would not be • supreme being by his definition, for its non-existence, either in the understanding or in rnlity, would become a possibility. The same (ondusion is reached; if the supreme being nn be thought, it aists, and, if it can be understood, it exists in the mind. '''' It does not at any time or place fail to aUt &$ a whoole; it msu as a whole everywhere and always. ,001 In fact, Anselm adds, it exists and is round in the understanding to the degree that mC"allingful statemffit, about it can be made. For, JUSt as sOfnething conceived, as it is conceived, exists in conct:pcioll, so something undeutoocl., as it is understood, comn into being in the understanding. And, if it exists in the understanding alone, it can be cOllceiW<.i to exist ill reality, which i, ,ul'<'rior.''''' Qn<, n n put the same conclusion another way: if a being ··than which nothing gu-ater nn be conceived·' i, in the understanding, it is indeed that which it is statl.'d to be. ,,0 Gauni!o·s lost panodise Iw tneItf"ore hem found. The supreme being cannot be thought not to exist becaUK its existenct: has: been logically demons trated '·through the ceruin reason of truth." Otherwise, Anselm statn, it would not eIilt at all. '" If anyone says that he conceives the supreme being not tn exist, be either conceives something "than which a gttater is inconceivable·· or be does not think . If he does not think, he does not think of the nOll-cxistenCC' of that which he does 110{ conceive. If he thinks, he thinks of a being which cannot be (onceived not to exist. For, if it could be conceiW<.i not to exi,t, it muld be thought to ha~ a beginning and an end. This U impossible: therefore, Ansdm a third time concludes that the non-existence of God is logically in conceivable. ,, ' Finally, he answets Gaunilo's "gument that it would be preferable to Il'<'ak of God's existence as not" being able to be understood (inulIiGI) rather than as not being able to be conceived (rogit.m). "I Ansdm disagtffl. For, to substitute ··u.,Jerstanding·· for ··conceiving·· in thi, context would be to yield to one of the f.dlacies Gaunilo himself underlines, namely tbe fact that something unreal cannot truly be understood. This same objection (annot be raisW against conceiving (coptalio). For, although no obje.:u which exist ClIn be undentoocl. not ''' IIU. , ",,6-1>. ,.,8. "" I*M., ",. IS-I)>, >. ,-u. ". "" ~.• Co ..- >. p. I,,,.,8. .. [~.> .. " ' /!,;J.• " ••• 11U. , ( . ,. p . ' jj. 11U.• " '. '" Cf. P. N id",I>d-Q,wt,jB, - Not .. :· 10<'<;'.• aod. 011 It.. -"IMC<..dcn.. l..".,..iru Sq.,. 349 LANGUAGE, TEJI;TS, ANO REALITY ro tIiSt, yet all objectS ~Pt rhar which e:risu in the highe$r d~gree can be conceived not to tIist. For all things that hav~ a begirtning, an end, and are composed of PIIrts can be conceived not to aist. I can COi\ceive my own non-existence, ~n though I am sure I tIist. For w~ ronceive of the non-n.isrence of a good many things which exist, and vice versa, noc by forming an opinion (txiItiltwtu/o) but by imagining /.fot{,tJNk) that they exist as we conceive them. In short, in AI1$eIm's view, all things except God can be affirmed or conc~ived to exist or not to tIist. ". It is dear from even so brief an outlilK' of their respective posidollS that th~ diff~~nc~ of opinion between Gaunilo and Anselm wu no! only about how God could be d emonstfllted to exist but also aIxlut the manner in which meaningful statementS could be made in lan+ guage about reality.'" On the Intet i:;sue tne pair brought to the surfac~ a controversy analogous to that which divided. Berengar aoo Lanfranc. For they efftttivdy examined opposite sides of the samf insight, namely, that man's im~llectual apparalus was highly inlluenced. by the structure of language, providing him with beneficial aids to thinking such IlS grammar aoo logic but cutting him off from an ideal or inner reality who5e e:ristenc~ h~ could only indirectly infer. The langUll,gf in qUe$tion was written language and, within its systematic fn.nt~rk, thfit debate was in large part over words, things, and meaning. Gaunilo takes the view that what is in th~ mind is the conceptual equivalent of words ('l1lOd diritllr, ilmifigo). For him, themore, the tat comes first. The mere fact of being in the mioo dOl'5 no< make words into things, sinc~ th~ mind, by its very natuft:, contaitu a mixture of tbe rnl and the unrnl. He would llr,gue that one can und~ntand what is said aOOut things of which OtIC has no knowl~; but that does not make tn.,m real., for the simpl~ reason that there is no evid~nce in the form of an object corresponding to the verbal descriptions, How~r, if the link between j"ttlt.llfl and frl is broken, Anselm's conclusions become invalid, ~unilo is willing to admit that when something is heard and thought about in the mind it may be perceived to be real.. H~ also agrees, as noted, that tne perc~ived reality u on~ thing, the und~rsranding by which it is grasped, another. Bu! ro hu miod there is nonetheless a gap between words and things, His p<»ition begins with doubt and ends in skepricism. fM, ... fbitI.J W, c_ i, p. ')} • .,.p. , ~. '1. In q>ootatiI', ~n. But "" does """ odd ... bs'I K. &nit, <0 """' hr hu sold abou, 1ot.J".,..-I ....Jit)' . "'' ' 'ac F_ 12- ... /.. " __ , ~. ,...... (tm.Jo... '960), .II-j '- '" l"NGU"GE, TEXTS, "NO IIEl\lITY either what onc has in the mind are mere words implying no reality or a (on(cptual reality which has no verbal counterpart in a known objecr. The name "God" is COfl(eived by Anselm, who does not have any direct knowledge of the thing to which it rd"ers. Merely de6ning God neg&tivclY--qMo _iUl "ihil «Igitari pot,.r--does J>Ot prove that he really exisu. Anselm appfOBche:s the problem from a different perspecrive. He does not doubt God', exiuence and Wllit fur a positive demonst .... tion through reason, bur ,,"umes hit reality and ukl how one ~n make sense out of the fact by using language logi~lI y. Therefore, he does nor argue that, beuusc a word is spoken, an objc<:t exists iI, i"ltI/Kt" and ill J'f. Rather, given the I priori Cl[istence of"q"o "...illS "ihit rogiltlri pottJI," he asks whu are the 10gi~1 interrelationships between words that account for ie F()f" this reality can be diKussed and thought about by humans only through the vehicle of language. Hence, for such a reality, saying that it Cl[;sts is equivalent tu ;ts existing in the umktsranding, which, like the design in the &nisr's mind, implies thar it is urnkrsroocl. From AniiClm', definition of tbe supreme narure it follows that existence in reality is implied by existence in concept. In the final .nal~i5, Gauniio and An$Clm have simply a different point of departure. Gaunilo finds the hiatus between words and things insurmouncable; Ansclm's solution for him is a mere logical sophisrty. But he is not on that account a " nominalist," just as An$Clm is not a "realist. '" ,6 Both autlwrs stand at the threshold of mediew.1 linguistic philosophy as it begins to come to grips with the implications of logic, gr:ammilt, and written language . Gaunilo follows up the problem of words as names of thing:., but he ;s no less inte~sted in their objective reality. Anselm, by comrast, lS$umes that the reality of the highest being is revealed by the Word in textual form, the Bible. The disjunction between wor..u and thiOBS does not negate this $Ct of revealed truths, since, in creation, God followed a [ogica1 process of discoune and hmce of tCl[t formation. Logic, Grammar, awd FI)f71IJ 4 Expf"t.lJion The issues regarding language, tellts, and reality which Anselrn discussed in the MtmoJllti01l, the PrMfDgi"", and the reply to Gauni!o ... a . p . P. He,.."., rho lAc;';. r_ ,.,"""" (PD:xd, 'jl6]), 'n" O"! ' "B in",U","", .;ri,;,;..,., 01 e...wnJtn', BIfj-'iJ_ ;, oIftred "'" 1- Fio< ..... p;. Eo ....... ;,~ -" *- Q-fI'- < • sJ/; tu'"""'" .houId not be confuoecI .. i,h _ ,ho, ,.,.iJ. _ C. "''''"''? ';0''' '9' I). """41 ... Iw;> oddl A_I",', ,.o.lioti< ""''' .... of lo«r ocholutko. "O>ty ... .... bosl" .. "'0[ cdJHo 1I..u.o..J...... (p. 4J). ". ho, "" LA,NGUA,GIO, TIOXTS, ANO kEA,LITY recurred in diffett:D[ CO/l(tt[s in hi! other writings. Hu belief in the mue of logic for clarifying theological problems led io particular to serious consideration of when Wl: can call a proposition "truo:" or "&lse." He answered the question btiefty in Dt VtrihJU, which was written between 1080 and 1085. He also put the matter in .. wider aod mott: £071«9, which belongs to the same (echnical framework in Dt ran,'" Finally, he added a few purely logical insighrs in hi! Phi/(J.o J¥biul PfllptttttJ, which ue possibly tbe early draft of the longer tn'&tise on linguistic analysis promiSlld in C", DPu H_ sometime after 1094."& The essendlls of his position are made dear in D, VtrillMU and Dt G,.-..Jiu, to which Wl: briefly tutn. The Dt Vtrilllt' begins by recalling a passage from chapter eighteen of tbe M~*".m, in which Anselm tcaSOns from the timelessness of the highest natutt: to the eternity of tnlth. The highcst narutt: i....... MI_;III1. But, if that is the C&$t:, thett: WlU no point in time when "truth" began, and, of course, then: will he no point when it ends. His stlltement once again is reducible to a syllogism about (he real: if God is eternal, and God is truth, tben truth too is eternal. ". The student io the dialogue (hl:Tl asks the master (0 provide a definition of tnuh. ,,0 Anselm replies by taking up the question on a logical lent. ~t UlI fint ask, he says, what truth thett: is;in a statement (.."ma;,j, since truth 01: falsehood refer in fact to What is said. The srodent suggests that a statement is true whl:Tl what it enunciates is in fact the case (~ 1St qMM ,.."ti4Jj, whether positively or negatively. Anselm tben uks: [)oes it IIerm that the thing stated (m _1Ui.u4) is tilt' surement's tNth (vtrilllJ mJUt,i..titJJIiJ)? No, says the $Cooent, becaU$C nothing is true excep4: by participation in truth. '" TIle truth of a true thing truly exists in that same thing, whereas the thing Stated e,ons in a true statement (i" mM"';"#_ ........ j. Therefore, it would appear that a statement's truth is to be sought in its language, diilCOUfSC, or mannet of delivery. Aruelm then asks a funher question. Does the problem lie io the G,.,. .. , Per. brit( , .. ;e. fA . .• ~ cc:M 1('904). A.4odm'. _ fA tosic..... S. Vanni Ilooi,bl. UNota ... f !'inll.....,. 4.,..,9, in,_ _ ....oiI, H""". T" ur<. />MS;". ... H< ueu:;..•• ",I ...... '" ,I>< 0. G'n ;", ... Col"", TIlt M;,- t{ r , lP, 110>11 . ' · 111...,. ., , . ,8, pp. ,._,,, Do V.-i< ,.,._". sumrn&r)O dtp",d. . a. G . Il. I _ . A""'-' TJ.lior __ GotI. • oO a. !Ioo <.'. ',-86 . ", LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY statement as ddiVl:ml (uralio), in its meaning (si"IIjfoalio), 01 somewhert in the stated definition (ill JijfilliliOlH ' 1I"",iatiollis)? 111e studem thinks 1Klt, since. if any ofthes.- wert correc t. the truth of a statement wnuld mertly be a form of aprtS$ion. For the inrtrnal logic of a proposition i~ not affrete v_. ... 0. c. >. p. '19. 0.. ,he i _ '" ,he 0. V _ for 11..,.1", ', tt.o.", •. whkb CImib;l;" in ,he~. '" St. A_lm." L ' _ IS _ ""f'b It> ,.."." '" ..,.. Jp (Lou..in """ Pati •. [1)60>. J 86; ond 101 . Coli .... Tb< 1Il~ ei, boi .1, ....1., _ bu",:' PbiJ.. .,A;,d", JA~ 7' (,~,), »._p """ Of> ,.,. . . l"od """"'" '" ...." i,ude. ,It< ful l Jm,.. C."'or_ .. udy '" R. "-h ,~) . .. , I"".. ' 79. ,_.: '"W cum ..... ilicao: ..... quod .... .dji. """ub,,, q_ d;n",,,. ", ';I,,;6 LANGUAGE!, TEltTS, AND REALITY tM Short, compla dialogue, 0, Gr,,_ti#. The question, derived. ftom Bocthiu.l's interprctltion of the ClfltglJrift' opening chapter,'" was whether grlfJl\P'dKm was l substance or a quality."~ By providing an answer, the student hopes, Ansdm will shed light on the logical status of other denominative terms, which were defined by Aristode as words "which derive their name from some OIher name but diffet from it in terminatiun. ""7 Included in this ca~gory are tbe Latin tellDs referring to aperrise in grammar, or, as D. P. Henry corr«tly interprets Anselm', l1K'IlIing, to an undentanding of literacy,'" which, as we have noted., is inseparable from latinity and written language. In Anselm's view, the tWO statemrnts g..."mMti(JjJ t1f JIIN","tid and grll/lllUlIDu est 'lfl1' In a further exelCi$e it is sbown that premises fonnerly considered defensible have in fact no common term. No conclusions therefore can be drawn from them.'" Por, An$Clm adds, the common term is leu an aspecr of utterance (ill ""u.ti~,") than of meaningful sense (in Jt1IllIIlia). However, there is no objection if the common term aists in the undentanding (in ill1l/ooll) and not n. •., D . P. Hmt,. 0. G. ,'"" «$•. A ....... (N",~ Dol u,;, «$/. A_. ,6.,8; .. ,06,. . Tht .-.;,. _ tboua:ht .". cod, hil ......... to b< of [;"It ..t ..... "".. """"" of It.: ~_, ... L. Stri&«, "Cooo:"" oyJIofima; Ob69). ' ''7"""l . ... 00 Gr, ';n. <. ' ...... ' . p. ,~S. ~ .6; on of ,bt -;,;t . ... HODI)'. ",w,.",,,, ...,,,,,,, T"ht14i<. ".,6. n, C-.., ...... •. ,; 1-1<...,.. r .. 0. G, .. o.. 80 . . " [lOt"'" HllJcit. n; _ . "W~y 'Grammaticulr." A" .... _ ~ MItIii Am.8 «918) .6, .80 . ... v. e. ..... <.•• p. , ..6. "., ... ... IMJ.• c. '. '.1. 'I;··· . . ""'ni, ,,,.,,.,,,...~ '-'" .......... '-'" ............. ". /MJ. • •. '. '''7. ""1. .~ IlNi.• , .. 8.•.6. ." /lNi.• <. ~, ,.8. "".9. 6. ~ LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY in a verbal statement (ill ~tjc,"). The meaning, not the words, holds the syllogism together. 'Jo< If the stuaent cannot prove whl.{ he ~nt$ ro say, ate his statementS therefore meaningless!'" No: by rearranging !he evidcnu, Ansclm coml!$ to the "log ically round" conclusi on that "literate ~d man arc nOl identically defined. "'06 A further St"ril!$ of propositions follows, after which the master condudl!$ that, in proving that the essence of man is not the ew=nce of literate, a common term is no~thcl~ implied. '" When the srodent appears cnnfu$Cd al these apparently contmlictory results, Anselm tells him that he too has conc:enrratN on words to the neglect of meaning.,)8 The student confesses rhat he did not rcali>% that. syllogism could mislead him by itS logical muc_ rure lione. The nOw !i.miliar distinCtion berw~n mere verbal usage, however logical, and rrulh is emphuized in subsequent statements, after which the student insists on being shown the rour<:e of his initial confU$ion. Anselm accordingly takes him back ro tbe cxampll!$ of animal and homo. Propositions concerning them were 50 evidently true by their scoSt" that they could nnt be logically invalidated. The master then uks if something's essence can exist in the form of a d efinition.'" Thus, by their O$Knces alone:, wc might know WM.t is an animal and what a man. He tearnmges the previously discussed syllogisms, arriving at an exp«ted conclusion: if being literate is not being a man and only a man, then what~er is essentially litelllte need not on that account be es#ntially man. Hav ing iwlated the inner meaning of being literate from being man, he can finally stale, "NIiI!lIiIJ gramflWti{uf ut Jimplicilw homo. ",.0 AnSt"[m thus establishes by a ne:w route rhe di!ttrence betw~" the illogic of utterance and the logic o( artificial language. At this poi nt the student raises another question. Arisrod~, he points Out, said that .,. I~., [49. [[. [4 ' [M .....} : '"Commonis ...... in .. ,ylloJ;,m; noo. um in ptIlIadOM quam In ......... [;" ... ,*"",,,,. SiIoo:. Cf. Scei,.... " Ob« d .. "7·.8. '" l~. • c. ,. '49. •"'~.• '49 . "'n' "Sod,; It> '.,=. o< ,6-" . "om,,,' i,..,......· ", LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND RBALITY a literate is one of the things which aim in a subjo:ct (ill Ilfbir!Jfh». Yet no man is a subject; thelefon, once again, no literate is a man. Aoselln respondt rbat this conclusion is COntrary to Aristotle's intention. He aslts in turn: '4' When you speak to Ine about a literate (wbeoce I understand you to be speaking), does what you signify in speech conccrn the name: (M .-iN) or tbe things (,u nhm)?'" The student replic:s tbat the vrords mean the thinp. dw is, IIoIzN and PM: dit:.tt. Bur. if thi. is so, then, OIl hearing the name, I may understand man and literate, and, speaking of • literate, I Inay mean man (It literacy. From this it follows char man is a substance, not a subject. '4' Literacy is both a quality and a subject; that is, it may be IISSCrtcd tbat, with nspcct to man, literate is a substallCC, and, illSOfat as litetaey js concerned, it is a quality. The student taises a further objection hts :d on Arisrorie , namely that every subst2l\CC is eitbet primary or secondary, and literate appears to be neither. But Anxlm counters easily that, insofar as a literate bcit18 is not a subjoct, it {ails under both genus and species (i.e., animal and man) and to this atent it is a sec:oodary subsWl«'.'" The discussion then turns towards defining the nature of logical discoUl'Se. Ansclm asks the student to prove tha.t, if litcOltC is not man, then literate is not iitcn.cy.'4' The studeut foresees an obvious problem. If, he says, I were to assert that "Being literate is a useful form of knowledge" (Uti/if Kinti4 tit gNM Llfliau) or dw "Man well knows literate" (a- Jtit ho.D uu VII wm.-), not only the literate! ~icJ) but also the uneducttcd (nuria) would laugh, Do the authots ollogical tre&tises have nothiOS better to do than to set down in writing 0_ SI/U lilwir smpriSJ,) wha.t they themsdves would blush to state in familiar conversation (tpJ/~1I tIKm tn/kJtrroll)?'of, In other words, tbe student distinguishes betwffn wha.t men say in ordinary uJlige fJultl _ i. . /"'1_Ii. .) and what they SCt down in wridOS (If~j srript_ sit . , .),'" Spoken usage draws at~nlion to literate as a .. . IIW.. c. 9. "4, 1-', JIO<. fuU diocuoUolo '" AnooIm" .... '" Ari_1e ud fIoed" ... ,,,,: Henoy. n. UP. 4.-60 . ... ,.... 'H. 7-8. '<, '~., 'H. "'16. ·"I~.• <. 10 . I, • • '''J~. • <. ", . ". " • • 6 . "I " ''Q!ooolom ....... q"; i"",ni~ il .-.m .ronum.icitntio .... t: ""'" .ac """'" .. ,_I""",: """ .....um ~ru, ,6-,,,, ". ... ,..... ,,6. _ituJ. '... ..... "..,......;ri • ...t .. ridc~"", iqu<<mIam ..... oliq.. al .. rotioao<.......".. d .. et , . . . . . ~ in ..... librio ><: to"",,"" ..... _ ,,6 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY sub$tan~, not as a quality or accident . Yet the logicians never »y "like litera~," ete. If, in this frame of rcfe~nce, literacy is bnth .. quality and a substance, why is not man as wem Anselm's ingenious reply rakcs the reader to the heart of the dialogue. The student, he says, re:jecn his argument that literate is bnth _ substance and a quality bee_wc both cannot be applied to the name man (in _illt Minis).,.1 There: is a difference bet~n the way in which Ma signifies what makes up a man and f,r(fmmatifll5 sig nifies what makes up both man and literate . The name " man" signifies man wholly and all at once, ItS Chief feature is sub$tance, without which other qualities would not suffice. For, there is no characteristic of substan~ (dif/tmlli(f JIIMt(fnti(f') in whose absence substance cannot also be fOund, whereas, if subscance is absent, no characteristic nn exist. lhc.cfvte, although all the qualities takw together signify "man:' forming, 50 to speak, a unity wit h a unified meaning, the name is nonetheless principally a signifier (Jigni}it(flivllm) and appellativc (ppptlialiWllf) of substance. Thus, it is correct to say "Subsl\loce is man" hur not "Rationality is man. " or vice versa .••9 By contrast, literate dotS not signify man and litcracy wholl y and at once; it signifies literacy through itself and man thlOugh something else. ,." Gr,smmaficIlJ. then, is .. "omm, an appcllative but not properly speaking a signifier. Funher, althoogh literate signifies literacy, it is not the ap(><,ilative of literacy. The general tule is as fnllows : the appellative name of a thing ({fp~f!{ffifl,"" lIomm m) is what the thing is called in everyday usage (/tJ/tJ !fJI{umd.). Statements like "Literacy is litera~" run counter to such usage. '" The nudent is not yet convinced. What , he asks. i$ d~ point of distinguishing 50 C1Irefully betw~n definition through iuelf (ptr se) and definition through another (ptr aliqllit/J? For rheu never was a man apart from liuracy or lireracy apart from man.'" Why. in fact, is literate not definable as a man knowing grammar (homo J(it1l$ gram",.,tir.-",P'" Ansclm brings five convincing arguments against this position, thereby I'«Qllfirming that literate does not strictly speaking signify man. 'I. It only signifies knowing literacy.'" The student then asks that he clarify the difference between the twn types of signifiC1lrion, that is, the signifiC1ltive (!ig"ijic(ffivlII1I, "" 11) and the appcllalive ' .. IfiJ.• <. ". 1,6, "_'). .." ,." ·" IHJ.. Is6. '(;.')1. .. •.. ,HoI_ . <_ '3 . ' S1 . ,<>- ,1. ........ "'' c. n. I", l_ . ..... • ' n. 10-'). '" .....• <)1. '''' " ' 1. "'I~_. a; . '3- ' • • p. ,,, . ,sop . • ,~. 1$. ." JjjJ. • 'S9.• ~. ' ,." WP-lIl1liW1lf, fin' a/i",>. '>6 An~lm explains how a wO«! may name something it does not signify by Wling tbe cxatnple of a white horse and a black bull. If, standing before both, someone gave tbe order, "Strike tbe white one," the hea~r would al.ltomaticaUy strike the horse. Yet "white" in itself don not signify "horse. "'n Therefo~, an adjective may name a thing which it don not signify. ' " The stl.ldent reaIizo tbat wbat -i. tcue of this eampIe is valid for all denominative terms, !xJ(h nouns and verbs. " , The name, Anselm adds, is accidental to signifiCllnr utterance (~ 5ignjfo.JlilJM) , while the signifier is substantial. ThllS W;l' JigllijiCtJliWJ meam nothing but signification pw SI. "SO Finally, Ansdm rounds out the disclWion by returning to Aristotle, wno, he argues, refen to words by the name of tbe things th~ signify, not by the names of their appellarivei.,6. He then emphasizes that this is a diffe~nce common to grammarians and logicians. Grammarians say one thing IICwrd ing to the foon of the word , another according to the natu~ of the thing. ,6. Logiciaru write one way about words insoflU as tbey arc' signifiers, but use them in another in ordinary speech insofar as theyarc' appellative5. By a diffe~nt route, then, we return to the problem of written language, and, in a logiul sense, ro the StatllS of ora! utterana within it. The lA Grlfmm#tiro has as its principal SuhjKt the difference between tbe ordinary use of iangWl8e (1Jj1Jj ioqllt1lris) and logically significant statemenr (tIInI" J;gn~lItw.u, siglli{Kalu," 14). ,6, The distinction parallels that ~ uri.z and. m in the MtRlfJilJgiM, the Pros/ogimt, and lA Vwitak, providing a "systematic unity .. ' .... of method which underlies the treatment of diverse theological issues. The Dt Gr,,_liro, despite itS sptdali~ed appeal, abo marked an important stage in clarifying the philosophical difference between the spen:h habit$ of ordinary pe'Opk 1Nl/it) and the technical language of tbase engaged in logical diK1)urse (dillumN). This was not a simple dislinction between popl.llar and learned culture. True, (o~ Auselm, pop1.1lar 5tx«h wu spoken; its grammar was based primarily on usage and could not be scientific or logical. Technical language, while al50 .,. I~_, "9. .w.;, ..N *,60. 3- " ,hi. Fre!", $... and B ' . ," CCN 7 ('71 .... , .. ~ I.,. S. Vonni Ro- ,6•. ''''3. •" 1/dJ.• 160, 3· ,6,. 4'''1",. . c. I,. , 6,.6-8. '''IHi.• ,.. I",.. <. '7, pp. ,6>~, . ·"I/dJ.• ... IHtI., <. ,8, '6.f, 7" 0: - Non Oftim _ .. " _ dobt< quooI dia!« ,6,. '4"', ""i<.... '. "" ". "rwn LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND IIEALlTV existing in spoken form, was basc.l on grammar, that is, on the norms of written language. Its logic wu a. set of rules relatins to the use of words in s~ific contel "'''''f{"t ft1lJ). ,66 Yet, in thus diuinguishing betweo:n m and forma loqllmdi, Ansdm did not advocate the unlimited use of logic in theology. The two sides of the question were dealr with in his EpiJlO/a tU In<arnalioM Vt-rbi, which went through some five teeemiol1$ between 1092 and 1094 . ,61 Hi, opponent un this ocClLSion was the ~lebrated Ros ><>' cf. H....,.. Th.I-ofi<, '}. ''' I~., c. " p. '}), 8-", H...,.,., pp. ' l· '4: ,84-8,. ,., s.. F. S. Sf JI.-.hn·, .;owo in """'por;_ w;rb A....1m on« rh< ..Jul ,«>up of. ;n F. P;''''', R""",, tMht~ (Pt.ri., Ij)l I), " ' ·n· ,m/,',,'" " ",6; .,.. s.- '.. EH. 119 tt>d I }6, ...... ), .... p«'r.ely pp. '7 '-1' ond '1~8, . LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REA1.ITY 101_ fllGri~_);' 70 die DeCeSSity of' understaDding what one believed; .nd the cue needed in approaching wtTiI ,.,gill4, 1t'S[ one &.il prey to die diallditM ha ;efin. Yet once I8lio the crux of his ugllment rested OIl tbe logica.l defenc-e of the previOWlly e5tablished distinctions between words and things. Anselm reiterated and extended his thoughts in his longe5t llnd most m.&[ure theological work, CM [)nu HtmIII, which WIS completed in the sunutltt of 1098. -,- Hi!; major purpose was to ilIU$trate through logical. argwnent why God assumed a human form in order to redeem fallen man. The question, be claimed, was of interest both to liu"ilri and to illiu"iIIi, both of whom had demanded a logical exposition (,..,rio) . •,. TIle treatise', contents lie beyond tbe scope of this diKussion. Yet, it may be noted that C.,. emu H_ effectively brought tbe reflective, throtttica.l qualities of eleventh-eentury theology to their Ollmination. '"In tbe oJd rhrtt-cometed conflict of God, Devil, and Man," Southern suggests, "Man bad played a very subordinare ttSle; in the new order the ttSle of Man WII necessarily greater, and that of God less easily deftMd .. .... ,,' It has also been proposed that CIIr DIMs H_ presents a '"penitenrial~hari,tk" IS opposed to a '"baptismal'" theory of atonement.'" In other words, in pJacil78 Christ's $lCri6ce at the centre of the stage, Ansclm inevitably Created a manoriented theology: the pauive .cccptlnCe of a divinely inspimi historical process was in put replaced by man's own active suivjng .mer undetstaodiD8 within faith. '" There WIllS a conseqllCna 1 new place for human. consciousness within the traditional fnunework of un and redemption. Th is traruformation, we have argued, cwld not have been brought 1"', ·" EI."/ Vrio'.<. •• p.,.s . .,. Sot in..-aJ r. s. SI"Oor 0... S~ · 8" " . .H~7<' • ...tII.Iloq.... ,A""'''C .. M",""r,.,iD;"','."'iI __ (hrio, ' 96Y. 47-'jIO. The ..... ioo·. ir>r<1lo Honoo: - Md...,.... .... "' CriJks. A ItN ' I' , 0 r( '" "Car Dau H_" aNWlon, '9H). '17-'04. OD tho OK J. lI.iri "'''[. ""«I'. H_. .. , Sf. II....J. . . M BUs, p' ,97 . •,. G. H. Wilm-. 11...... C, ', . . Ar •" OD AMt!tt>., middle pctoi,ion bc, Ea" ..n,. , jottift- d_in ol-./ntioot, ... 8. l'unkt, G.. .. M. it.....too _ _AuoIoa_c . . . •-787-11[· c.,. e., "' (St. u...io, ,'1'60). 1).1. >6.6:0. • ,. •aI -. hj oi •• " ond J....- """'ir.-aI . """ J .... V - . . . . '9<>Y. _Ht••' " ;, ' - J; E. ~. Dit LMz _ Fm.. ,.)~ , '9'4) ., ~,;...JI..~. -Veoi ... _ _ I. TciI (MiInotet. LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY about without a mLSSeUment of th....,logy's rdation to written l~n_ guage. An$elm 's dialogues all proceoed. from meditation to meditative tCXt and depend upon incrnsingly intetUive n:petitions of the hermeneutlc process. They oscillate like his famous pn.yen between word and re:Jlt, between the activitie$ of intima IlXUtio and cogiklrtlinttllign. In each cue the opposite numben in the dialogues--Boso, for instance, in ern" D.MS HIJIIN provide alter~gos for Anselm himself. The meditations therefore have audience$ berore they rtac;h pan:hrmnt. The reSection is notional not because of its rationalism, although, l1li Grabmann emphasized, r,"j~ has a "systematic function" in all An$elm's work.s,'7~ but beause, within I!.nselm·, mind and afterwards, it involves the playing our of a set of "speech-actS" as lext$. What has been caUed "the Anselmic method" '" is reaJly a type of " proof' utilizing logic in which the human interlocuton have in part the status of means of communication. In &0 rc:formulating the Augustinian notions of wiU and mind, Anselm often visualizes God as a dialoguer, as a being engaged in the original production of the text. R,,'i~ is God's reason, that is, the process by which word becomes text , and, in thus becomins the Woo!, also authenticate$ it$elf. C~tion is the",by made coterminous with "talking about creating."'" Similarly, in his approach to ethio, "the phenomenological aspect of the moral lik" - its acting OUI as a $et uf "problems" in the here: and nuw-"predominates over the metaphys_ ical reconsuuction. "' 19 Ethics beo:omes a way of revitalizing experience, an extension, &0 to speak, of eucharistic aod sacramental " realism ... ,,., Hence, for Anselm, texu, although rc:5Ulting from purposeful text generation, atI." not in thenuelves dispositive; they an: evidence, memoranda, aids to the recreation of the experiential process linking man and God through Christ. &ripture, no m1der can forget, is excluded as "proof' on its own. In fact, Anselm refen to the Bible a..s ,,. Oi. G. . . . . . . ",""",i.m.. lIfolW. I. >71' 311 . '" J. Nd",y .., "P«",i,.., and c.-Iw.ions in .... s,.,,<m of A... lm·, Theolof!,," S,;r;Hc;,'" _ I . 9S"96. '00; d . $,. ,, _ _ bit C,.;,;".. 39: - It _ _ b< doftitd . .. k>t St. A.... lm ,h< .redo .,....id<1' ',04., .... ro",d",iono .. bKh be _""" .. '" .... blioh br tu. "'lumen'," a. K. Duth, FiJIs Qu.,,", I...JI«,_. '1>-'0. 2'_'~ . G. 11, . E...... " .... _ T~ Hr»d GoJ. ".,~. ' " S. Vam ; ~, ··L·.. iao di S. A....tmo. " A...r.n.. ,, _ _ ,(,969).". Tho i..... « ,ha, """'.! .,. a. pkr...: ;, rn, _". ,.. d . P. bd,....;".,.. · t·_, apop/>o.,iq"" d< r ...!!""' B _ I. '3i: "1.< ·rN]i"""'· ... uj", AI>Io]., con, ..", toujoun u"" ccn ...... p~. "" 'ymbolUo! .. .." ,6, LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY ImPIImI, IIJ1ln1tiftl pagi1lll, aJldllTita1, fIX, and so forth,oS< clearly indiuring a dinincriOll betw«o ..-_ VIi IllId Impt"'" --M. For God's fu[lCrioo io part io Aoselm's thought is to stimul&Ie mao to explore the limirs of what he un terrainly Ic:now concerning divine truth. 2. PETER ABELARD Omni. tonll"OVCrJia, Tullio diceme, aul in scripta aul in nuione wrutu •. - T"",",;' CbriJl"''' 2. f,b (and e l..... h Among the numerous student$ of the problem of language and reality during the first half of the twelfth century, the mOlt original by common rotl~nt was Peter Abelard, who WlII born io 1079 io Le Pallet, Briu;tl\y, and died in the Cluniac abbey of SI. Maro::el on 2 lit April 1142 . ,8. Abelard WIlS r«ogniU'd both by thos<: who favoumi his views and ••• S. T""ir>i, '"La ImpIet< liar: J .uct. .......;0<11. ,.. Tb. ~ ia ,969 oi ~ impOrtM< """'"' J AbeIotd ",.J.eo" full of ,la. ,"hi. . ., supe,~ . '" p.,.. Abe/ard', 'ochooJ" ood ia iduonu ;. ,la. o-lfth =tIl, '969)· Ad...ic...-lf - " _~, oi Abel....r. phil'· lho%s, is mu J N . GroIomonn, 0;, G......... ,.J,.W,iIdNJ, "'...... , ""'.• ('9<1), ,68-.. ~;."""" Jft"'n.I ownmory oihis pia« in _ i < ~h' is P. Vi • ..-. ·"NomiotJismr." DTC 7'Pl-n. A am .-ful ...,;e.. oi A,brIud', IOI1l'«I iI IOund in E. JC.i>ef. P""" AIII"I.ooo/ ~ (f,ibour~, ",.. ), robulor b-fIlJ "'" .. ,S, (ift del";!). A (u11 inlJoduaion '" ,be q,;c ;, L N . de lI.ijk, ' - A~ rn.J.a.... ".it. o.r pi., """ ,I.'. ,,.,6 (;" 1)Ji';"". '''<», ;.- PPoi C J"" P"';';" {of ,. . ' ..m ".1•• j .,... 2liYn. AIlIPJ _ "" I""hpi .. .",., t. ~ (Par;', ,96\:); "' .... ,.....u;. W. ood M. Kneok, TJ. of Lop" (OVord, ,96'). >0"'4. Four r 0-1.,..., 1'_ A _ . Pm '""f' of. l_iM.I C,ft, _ .. u-.;", lOWJ ,0>-", '~11, cd. E.N . 8.>, ..." (lDnnin, '974); P'" AWI.ro>J, P" ' ' ' V,U; ,t. &t ..,.... /Oi/o,.,l"{.&, litM-iim ,,_~ ... o.;J"ot _.i/.." .. XlI, UkI.. od . 11.. loo.!i •• J. }<>Ii_....J J. Ool, '97)) (iD whidt ...... slIoWd b< rakm oi tho import' ............ ....,. oiN. N . HiJi,,!!, "Abcl..d y .......,""" T....." .. pp. J.4'",O}); P_ AI ' '" p",.", F..-A _If'mi.... cd. R. Tboonoo, • M. ITri.,., ,,&0). <19. port U: -r\boriotd I'tIilooop/l u..d Losi.lr.. im 12 . Jobdo~, H pp. , o}-79; ....J N . ... GAndillx, If .I., ..... , AIII"I.ooo/. u "DUJ.,w. Ht.. ~ 100;,00. ,~'" C..." , .. N_J ;"" ./5.'1 ...-h '91~. (~. 1.0....,." ond N...d ....I, ,98, ). AmocoI etq<1opcdia artid." • .....,.I...e, _ , J AboJud"~' iI ~. _ I t , "Mo&td.- DTC I. ,6-,,; 0100. 11. No.rdi. "Abolotdo. " £oooio"lp I~ ;""'-" H " . Par ........ ,..,.,., .... ....,., ... L Ninio-Pol...!Io, "AboiJord," ofS (''''19-''4_'. ..... * "" "i_, ,6, Ditt...., I.ANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REAI.ITY by those who opposed them to have stood at a son of crossroads in the development of medieval philosophical theology. Like fkrengar, the major champion of the ust of logic in divi1W t«fi~ before ne wrote, Abc:lard was for many generatiollll better known as a pcrwnality than as the proponent of a consistent thwlo,!!ical position. Hi$tO£y in one $enst . ·.. ,w.. " .. ,6, I.ANGUAGI:i, TIIXTS, AND RIIALlTY to him "for petsonal. reasons, " ' 11) and, from his fint casual iludience in aon ro his setting up of the Pandece, he cootinUoCd to promore a variety of communities of study, often of dissident or refixmist tendencies. His biblical commentaries, and, above ill, the glOiSS on Romans, were "readings" of il more strictly systematic kind than tOOK ofhis C01Itemporaries, Rupert of DeUtZ, Ansdm of Laon, and WiUiam of Champe&WI:. 1be famous prologue to rne S« tI N~", although !lOt ItS original and audacious ItS WItS once thought,' ~ contains petbllps the twdfth-a:ntury's clearest st&tement in favour of a linguistic and referential bqis for all serious theological tes.earch. Abelatd asserted, as had DOt the collecriOlU of fons and JDltahM, that ._#tIJ implied the correct rrproduction and careful ordering of early Christian st&temenrs on belief. The fifty-eight groups of quotations were to be evaluated accordir,g ro twO criteria, external criticism, whkh dealt with authenticiry, aoo intl'J"naJ criticism, that is, the author·s intention, including all matten that might bring about a dishatmony between wbat a text said and what it actually meant. ,.., Abelard's defences of rhe US!' of dit.!ectic were likewise insepan.ble from his conception of t:he role of a culture of written information. ,11 The infurmal disputation. questioning, or dialogue invariably took place against the background of a putative library, .. tt5(lUrce collection ftom which a logically consistent unity might eventually be fmged. Indeed, .he was even more C01Iscrw.tive tban Anselm in looking upon not only. the Bible hut also the UllKli JNUm as a set of ut-tats. However, unlike Anselm, whose ideas on language are inseparable rrom his theological speculatiOlU • .Abelard crnttd ll.D wtonomous theory whose relationship to lbe various revisions his theology will DOt be rully clarified until the manuscript venions or his many commentaries are systematically sorted out, On tbe question of language itselr, however, Abelard·s vltwJ are better understood: he not only used logic to separate meaningful from imprcdse forms of diSCOUlSC'. New perspectives also seemed to be opened onto the real. At ·the centre rhese insighu was a notion of signification in which langUlse effectively acted lIS .. bridge between m and i"ltlltctllJ. or or ~ I~., ,. ... So< E. BonoIa. · 1 r"edt",1 .11Iri(; cIt1 mI;_,,t,., J. ~ It !( 'e" "- ,t/&tttJ. ~l. ,., Sit .. H.., I' 'iW, PL '78.1'400-" D; Londot>, ,976-n), p. 91, I. Hop. ,.. ]<>I;"",,t,., "" I ~,J. 8~ . er, "}·n . eel . B. B. ~ &Dd I. . Mc:Komt (OIi lANGU ... GIl , TEXTS, ... ND RI!"'LITY Abrlard made his clearest Jtatem~nt on the subject in his logical works, which were wtinen roughly betw~n t f IO ilne! 1117'" in the form of commentaries on such te~tboob of the "old logiC as Aristotle's CalfgurilJ ilnd 0" l,,'trpmaliotf, as translated and interpreted b)' Bocthiw, and Citero's version of the T9f!ics. '''' The commentari es , which ma), occasionall), Iu.~ originated iI5 ko.:ture-noces, po •..-d through a number of onriapping stages, first appearifll! as literal glosses, later in the more conn«:ted versions of the u,giu lngmiimlibus, and finall), in successive redact ions in the DialKlka. An understanding of Abc:lard's logic and of its relationship to his noriofl5 of the US>e$ of texts CtnnCK be achieved without return ing to il$ $()UKe, that is, the old logic itself. Just as his succnsive theologies, it has re<:entl), been argued, deported increasingly from Boc:thius's views on the trinity," - so his revisions of the logical boob developed and modified the position of the thinker whom he dtsCribed as maximlls illt uliltOl'llm phifMophus .··· This is not surprising. The synthcliis of Grttk logical thinkiog which first pn vd to the Latin world and then to the early Middle Ages was put together during the late Latin period, a time during which, M noted earlier, first bilingualism and later uniform latinity were being challenged by linguistic d iversi ty. The Latin into which the Greek logical worb were re nder«! was becoming, even during the period of transliltion, a learned. bookish tongue. Th e int erpretations of Bocthius, no less than the Justinian codifications in law, had to take accoun t of the growing dinance brrwttn spoken and written forms. B«,thiw 's solution was (onscioosly or unconsciously ro orient large pottions of his discussion arounq the norms of wriuen language. However, by recogni~ins cenaio disjunctions between the spoken and the written, Boethius provided onc of Abelard's main points oC deponure for a reversal of eenain late classical ideas and for a reaf6rmatioo of linguistic cocuiderat ions which he associared rightl)' or wrongl), with Aristotle', original intentions. Abun all, Boc:thius provided AbeJard with the mode! of written la.nguage against the background of which spoken discouue could recreate meaning Out of pattercu of sound. Before taking up Abe!anfs BuY""'" ... On 'h< o.' inl . I fulJow M. lotrt>d ~Ionch;k. " 'I»~""" } ..A,1 .. 6 ~ (191 7/. " ·H'" C . M..... "n.. Dn>sioo of ....... AMI. m." ,,,",, AJwJ",;.J..... r8<: '9' -9~ · '" T""",,,Y '''''I..... , . rH. CCCIol ". p_ "9 ( - ,6, PL ' 78 . , 16~ A)_ LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY innovations, therefore, .... e must turn brielly to the thoughts of his JlKntor. BOfthilli Oil Aristotl, F()f' bo£h Boethius and Abelard, AristOtle'S (enrral Ultemenr on language and meaning was contained in the opening paragraphs of lh f"twpnlJio). Then Aristotle turns to the relation between the onl, the written, and meaning. Spoken sounds (M q_ SII"t ;" .......) an: signs of af'kc:tions in the soul (;" ,,11;_ Ptm;rmllm IIPIM) and what is written (ta qllM smbll"· 1111') tepJ"e$Cnts spoken sourub. And $Ounds (~) vary among peoples no less than written forms (/ilt""u). But the signs (IIo1;u) stand for the same alTecrions of the soul and rhe verbal likenesses (si/lli/illllii"IJ), the same things (ro). Moreover, some spoken sounds, like the sours affec;tions. are lacking in truth or falsehood, while ochers are necessarily onc: or the other. For fabeneu and truth imply combination (tMJIositio) and division (JiWio). Nouns and verbs by themselves are similar to tbought (i1l1"I«IIII) without combination or division. Examples include "man" O!" "white" when they Stand alone. the words being neither true nor false in the~lves. Even the name of the non-nisrettr "goat-stag" is a sign (sip_), iruasrnuch as it signifies lOtIIerhing (Jig"ifiat "Iiqlli,/j. It is neither true nor false since as yet "it is" or "it is not" has not been prediuted of it, C'ither Simply or with respect to time. Aristotle ploceeds to a more dC'tailed disclWiOli of these matters, but wllllt cOflUrns us mOSt is Bon;hius's commenlllJy on his initial distin<:tions. In his exposition, Bocthius tint turns to the physical aspecrs of sound (~). '9> Spoken sound, he explains, is a striking of the lir by r*l.,," in am p,j • . " .60. On Ariatotk', ......,;1\11. If< Ktu._, ,66 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY the tongue, through wh ich rhe voice produce$ lIoisc in the throat. Of course, :IOme -'ilunds, like roughing, are not made by the tongue , but these cannot be expressed in a wrinen fo-rm (~(T;bi .,.i", ,,"110 ...rXIO /J6ltJ1). 1ber~, they are nor meaningful :IOund (vox) bur mere noise (so"m). Mean ingful spoken souod can be defined as sound with a mental image for signifying (SOIlIl1 . .. (1ItJI quada", imaghl4lirmt sipifiumdl). When soch a :IOund is emined, an instllnce of maning (sipijicatirmis CAIIsa) is brought forth, as is not the case with a cough. When the physical processes arc complete and a meaningful sound has been produced, it may be caned speech (/OOIlio), translating H~~, rarher than mere Jjetio, which renders <\la-OlS. Such speech is articulated sound VntitItIma I0I:l\"); its demCl1ts are Icttcn (paries SI"" lilltr#), which, when joined together, form l single , harmonious, grammatically correct expression. Sound signifies in a number of ways: it may signify something, as does the word "man," or nothing at all; it may be put in the place of a noun which signifies JOmething; or, while signifying nothing in itself, it may have meaning in grammatical relation to other wo-rds. All these are called types of speech (fOfllt;OIW), since the form of the spoken exprCS5ion (/rxll,io"iJ fomw) consistS of sound in a consttlKtion {vox (fm/'WitA), which can be SCt down in writing (qUiR /jruris Jesrribatur). In sum, in order for there to be speech, first the tongue must strike rhe air and then the emitted sound must be transcribable in written characters (jllJ(TjM (illtr# /'Wsit). POt spc-e pp. M . .~ /MJ., bl. ' . p. 6. ,6, ~ _ ,. LANGUAGE, TBXTS, AND REALITY tions themselves. ' .. A second limitation is introdu=:! throush the place of Dt [flU.;. ·..,ti411e in tbe AristOtelian canon. In the An Pwiu, Aristotle divided speech into letters. syllables, and other grammatical forms; ;n the C.,tpriIJ. he spoke of the mannet in .... hich ttality .... as mediated to the mind via die senses and the intellect. In both cases. speech was looked upon as the union of the physical and the meaningfuJ. elements in butnan rommunicatiOl'l in ....hkh the ia= .... ere "superimpxer\" on the former. Neither 1VOrk. however. concerned iuelf specifically .... ith the logical aspects of interpretation. Accordingly, Aristotle's intention in Dt b.:.prtJMi~_ was to deal .... ith cOIUtnlCtions h.ving • noun and • vt'rb, .... hich ..... ben occurring together in a simple sentence. indicate .... hatom:-t arises ftotn the mind'l intellections (qlliliqlliJ 0/;" 111/;"'; ;.l"lrrlib-.s). ' .. He did not restrict himself to relations between the spoken and the .... ritten, but, .... ith grammatical conespondences as a foundation. _nt on to the ilSue of significa.tion, In this sense, he developed and expanded the design of the c.ztgIll'UJ. For rhe divisions of this tl'Xt ""Tn' originally set up to delineate things by means of intellections; that is, as there are ten types of rea.liry in nature, so then' ~ an equal numbet of potential c.tegoria of thought. 1l1e iattl'[ in turn ~ represented by nouns and verb5, .... hidt are the basic elemenrs of interpretation. Funhel, Boethius notes, Aristotle did not deal with all fivt' classical divisions of """liD, but only cbe last, IW.ti4 QUI'litltiJitl, which concerns itself with the truth 01' falseness of pt~jtions. Finally, Aristol:le called intellections (i"tel,lICtIU) the eventl, receptions, ttfttrins chiefly to their or movrments of the soul rtWM tlllrr and utility; fOr. what comes about usefully in his view must result from a purposeful mental aper;ence.He then puts Aristotle's thoughts into his o.... n words, SOnlrwhat altering the Ot:iginal. No maller how onc approaches the qu=tion. he argues, iWIIIIi~ always contains chree, or. as he !atl'[ puts it. four essential components, namely things, intellections, and words, together with letters (that is. the WrillCO fotm of wonis), Things art' cOlKCivtd by the mind; woo:b signify the$(: conceptions or intellections; and the mental. products are both conceptions of objective reality and things as s.igni/ied by words.'" Mortonr ..... hile the object and tbe mental (pan,,,.,,,, ."i_>, ""'M/., p. 6, 6:'l ' - ,M/., p. 6, "'1'. 7, ". -IM/., p. ", ,1J..p. 'l, ,. M' ,"". , ' 0. "_", -rlibw his ...... onoadi ...... I><'''"'ur. rd.uo. intdl«tibuo, _ibua . ""'"' .... milD ob inrdlocno coocipi.... , .... ftfO onimi iMdlocNlljllO 'ilni/icu, ipsi wro io..llect", .. u~ G.. "" ... ~oil!.;u,.., • ~buo . . .. Quotrum q""'l" quidd&m _. 'I'"> ......._ _ ",;,...n, id ........ - ' H'..... " u""'ipi"'" . ,68 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANO REALITY configuradon a~ one, the intellection depends on the spoken wmd, which in turn reflects the relationship bctWttn linguistic and Kribal folm'.·~· Things, that is, substancn, uldmately give rise to intellections. Understanding alwa}'$ plocceds (rom things, from which, then, the signifio.nce of words arises. For, beyond the mental awarenas of a thing, a word has no meaning. But, Bocthius adds, where there are $poh.. there are abo tn.: wrinen forms of word" that is. the written cxptn5ion of the SIII.II.J1csr linguist;c elements disdnguishing words from each other. Thac matter-of-fact observations on a rather complklted. Aristotelian teXt are then illustrated. by a set of simple parallels.'"'" I( a people employ the sarm alphabet and phonetic system, BOIethius suggestS, they will also use the same nouns and grammatical constructions. It folJowl that thq will expfts$ the same mental conceptions. And rhis implies that they have rhe same reality in mind. The conelusion. he adds, is only reuonable: for a people may share the Same things and intellections and y.-r reprelJCflt them differently in both spoken and written forml. The Roman. the Greek, and the barbarian all see the same horse, but each calls it by • different name and uscs a different Klipt to =rd what is spoken. TherefOre, the identity of the thing with its mental image is not founded. upon linguistic evi. dence alone. 1be thing preocedes its conceptualization; the spoken word follows, and finally the written (orm. ,,.. Of course, for Bocthius, the one implies the other. If there were no written characters, the meaning of a word would ~ difficult to establish. An illiterate cannot reiate the verb&! aoo scribal forms of a name.'''' Nor, i( we had only words, would understanding necessarily follow, since there are many words which signify nothing ;n re&!;ty.'06 And the intellect does not alway, have its object in a thing. There are mental images which correspond to nothing known, such as a «"ntaur.'" However, from the viewpoint of esl .., Sum.,...;,;"!! p. ><. 3-p. 'J, ' 4· ... IIMf.• • ' > 2"~' '.P.m. ili' .. di""", n' opud <7-">1 ...... m "" id.mq.. in"ll«,,,, .. n,. """ "1Il;m opud.". .. I...drm _ ... I...tom ,I ......... 1;OIdi...... Pn«edi' "",..., "" i... I· I«,um, inrell""", YCro ...."m • ..,. [i"",... . . . " .., IUt.. ", "'n: " Hoi,lni6c..... ," LANGUAGE, TEXT S, ... NO REALITY fe~nt route, if the~ is an intellection, the~ is also a word; and, if a word, aho a written form, without the knowledge of which nothing could fOlly be learned of the tbing's nsencc:,""" In sum, rrs and bm/_ IKt", are establi,hed by nature (.1ft ".,hlr.JiUr CMlt;fMtas), while words and lenetS, which change with man's setting (Jx»iti9), an: often different .•'" Following Aristode, Boethius next reviews a number of ancient approaches to sounds and signs. >00 He then IIlOVI:S on to the interrelationship of language with sense, imagination, and understanding. Buttressed by a passage from Or All;'"",'" he proposes the following 8\'neral scheme as a recapitulation of the original. A name like Socrates, he &lgues, signifies not only a mental image but also an intellectual understanding of the real man ... • For intdltctioll.l rest OD the foundation of sense and imagination, like a fully coloured painting on clw: b.dul.rop of a pencil sketch. In ()(ber words, they provide a substratwn for the soul's perceptions. " l When a thing is seized by sense or imagination, the mind first creates a mental image of it; later, a fuller understanding emerges as the hitherto confused picrurcs an: sifted and coordinated. For that reason, he conch>des, AristOtle insist! that nouns and verbs do nO( reflect the sensorial or imagistic di.o:«ly, but nIher signify different sorts of intellections in the mind. ". Thf, Peripatetics, following him, suggested thl.{ sentenCes (.,..tiotU./) were of three: possible kinds; one which could be written (sIrih,), a second spok""'- f/'f ,fim), and a third coouIinattd (a. h) in the mind.'" Porphyry asked why Aristotle spoke of those thinBS which are "in sound" or "in letten" as opposed to speaking of "sounds" and ten" alone. But, Boethius COunteD, the two major components of a sentence, tbe noun and the """b, aist independently of whether the sentcn<:e is written, spoken, or thought. More pudsely, Aristorle argues that nouns and verbs enunciated in a sentence make a vOOll decl .... tion V/num!iIIrr) of the soul's .tfections, Simil.t.tly, what is written tepfHCncs what is .poken.",f The relltionships may tit illustrated through the mcnphof of a coin. For a piece of money is not only an object in metal onto .... hich a face has ~n impressed. It is also an instru.rnent of achan8\' which "'et_ -[~.• u . • •, . -[~. , .. , , ] " . . . /. ... p.•" ',' p. '1, 6 . .. . [lNI.• • 8. 0. A. . . ,.a. ... /!.iJ.• • 8, H'/IiJ.• p. >S. 2S-p. '9, 6. H, lW , '9. 6..6. '" 1!.iJ.• 2g. ,6.21: "UDdo: moo _ ... ob .... n.r-Ic s........ Pt,jpot.oo mo.iuim<_ ,-7. .,-28. ................ _iooIn, ........... KJibi - " <.leA".''', .hcnm q _ _ • _ ","'d. j. ~ COJj ... ioDc LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY rcpreRnts th~ yalue of another thing. Likewise, verbs and nouns a..., not only physical sounds but lill8ui5tic convenlionJ ~tab]ished in or_ der 10 signifY intellections. If a sound d~ignar~ nothing, it is not a noun or a name. Just as a coin is called a piece of money and /"OOt juSt a metal object, so a word signifi~ not only a physical sound but a noun or a verb. When AristOfle speaks of ··those things which are in sound,·· he means nOt only d~ sounds themselves but sound having .petmilllJlj Rolli_ ate born through likenesses to thing,."~ For instance, if om sees 11. sphere or a square, one 8t:i1sPS its shap<: in the mind. But one also reflects on the liken~' while it i, in the mind, and, having exp",ienced thi, m~ntal pro<:eu, ...,adily re..:ogni:ecs the object when it reappears. E"",ry image mtdiated by the senK"$ i5 capable of generating a likeness of thi, type. Tht mind. when it engagC!> in understanding, rnsons through such forms. Whence, Boethius concludes, Aristotle's p.mi~ may be rendered as m limili_ 1.,,10. '" Even JO brief • .summary of ~thius·s views clearly displays the ,. , 10iJ., p. .~ f;;J.• J', 'J-P. l .h '· H. "·'11· ,., •. , 10iJ.• ll, '·'4 · 10iJ.• p. ).c4. ".p. 3'. >l . 37' LANGUAGE, TIiXT$, ANO III!ALITY thrwt of his argument, which amounts to a recognition of a disjunction between the spoken aoo the written without necessarily following up all of the conseq~nces. ID general, he. sacrifices a. good. deal of Aristotle's subtlety aoo complexity in attempting t() interrelate the ow, the written, the il1lll8ined, and the understood.. He does not, of coune, confuse the spoken and d'C written. Utttr4 is defined as Ilt\ "inscription.'· the cun/isUllltiOO of Ilt\ uticulated sound's smallest part (ilmriplie 4/1/11# figllT4 partis ",i"i_ MIW MlicMimM), while ,u"I'II_ is the equivalent of that same in$Criptioo in physical sound (JfI1I*l ipsi*l itucriptiolliJ).· .. Yet. in thus differentiating text and. word, he nonethdess underlinn his interest in the written, both as a. rckfC'nce point and as a £nunework of anaJ)'5is. He maintains with Aristotle that written depend Dn spoken words, and these in tU1n 00 intellectioru of things. But he also iUe1$e:S the pair. stllting in one place that words "are designated .... ' by letters, while in another that letters "signify·· words ...• adding elsewhere that, above all. thry ··signify" wrbs and nouns. His ilJllbiYakoct' towards written language and his corresponding lack of depth on purely Jinguinic phenomena ate evident in his limiting of the di$Cussion to ~, P"CI", and i1UtI/ta1lS. "leaving letters aside on account of those who lire ignorant of them ....., AbdarJ: "Oratio" With thoe reflections in mind, we m.a.y profitably turn to Abelard., whose penpectiw was dilfcicllt. Like Boethius, he SlW sounds O£ words as "absent letters .....6 But his point of depoarture was a more fundamental inquiry into the basic units of spc«h, that is, sounds, wor~b, and $CfItellCCS. Like Boethius, Abelard based his theory of language on grammar. Yet he saw in the too rigid identification of things and ideas a problem which a properly linguistiC analysis could solve. Accordingly, Abc:lard's philO5Ophy of language may be thought to consist of two interdependent partS . The first deals with the ~lation_ ship bttiltUl 'DI1!Kl and sense. The fundamenral question u bow words, that is, meaningful sounds, signify. The second. turns to the larget issue of meaning or signification. Incotpotllting the first theme in a bro&der context. it asks how words. either singly or in gtllmmatical am.ngements, ~late to things and to intellections. On the fint question, Abellrd's differences of opinion from Doe•N 1j;J.• '}. ,6-,8. , ' s.,.. "-H. .., lOiJ.. ' 0 •• ,_Hi. "'IHJ.. • ~. "_U. '" IMt•• ". A - " '" 1_,..""...... od . M. dol P.., P... AW ' •. ,p .mm .... n . • LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY thius c.n perh.ps best ~ observNl in his various discussions of Ul'atio, which, like his mentor, he uses simnltaneOU$ly in two senses, gtammalically to mean a sentence and linguistinlly to refer to meaningful discourse. There are somc dear panllds ~tw~n the tWO authors. In A~lard'$ view. a sentence, u il is spoken (w&/i5 UI',lIio), is nothing morc than '·ai.,"· that is, in Aristotelian terms, a body and a substance.'" In his glosses on the CaltgUl'ies, A~lard treats thc subjc u, GI,,_ ;w C~.,.n.u • .d. M. dol Pro. Pm.. /t1J.t,J., 6,. ,," YI . ,,. A,,;p.,Ji> • .d. 8 . G9"JI. ,,. S",,", h .. &. 'n. ". JNJ., 'Il. ,. " . H"H.~; o;;Ij~ ""'9· ' .. DU.nu ...... D< 0._. Ati_It. in C_''''';i . .d. M.i...., vol . '. '" INJ.• 11~. od. L. M. do !l.ijk. p.~. ,,6. p. p""" Md 'Ob, D~. 6,"" . I.ANGUAGJ!, TEXTS, ANO 1l£.\l.!TY ing.'" The Greeks, as Boerhius pointed our, appear to have subsumed dIe ropic under three headings: what is spoken as speech, what is written representing !ft.1 things, and what is produced by the voice on behalf of what is understOOd.·~ But, in his opinion, the isslH' cannot be so simply resolved. Finl, the qualitative asptd. of sound, as PrisciUl notn, llte ultimately reducible to the quantitative.'" This spiri/m helps to "count for our reacrion \'0 sound wben it is weak O£ loud, low O£ high, lIld 10 fonh.· .. However, it is not tru~ to state, as has an opponent,'" tMt meaning_ ful sound is nothing but the striking of the ur. On the contrary, sound i. significant whenev~r the waves which an: sustained through the air reach rhe ear and create understanding. In mediating sensedata, therefore, hearing is no diffi:rent from tbe otber senses.'4(> But, most importandy, sounds must not be indiscriminately identified with letten. True, the smallest particles of sound are named by analogy with tbe elements of tbe cosmos, and these: verb.liutiom of single letters {Jmgltlal'llM /itttr4l'1tIII pro/IMtitmtJ)," make up syllables, words, and senrences. Yet it is iocorr«t to think of tbe simplest parTS of discourse as the spoken veniOO$ of letten (piJU /itttral pmJ.tiQl. Particles of speech can more accurately be described as being in their turn made up of several parts (DC p/ttrim ,..rtihus CM;ItIKt.l).·.· For, when - we utter the $O\lnd of a letter:, we strike the air, however slightly, in severat places at ODee. Each vibmtion produces an individual sound, even though the sound waves are nor perceived or uttered as meaningful sound. 1bese minuscule motions an: sound·s simplest puts. Individualletten are n(J( ··indivisible"; they llte rehICed ro other Itrikiogs of tbe !lir, that is, to the Ilt!~mn(e of other 1C'!!en, which make up the elementS of meaningful discourse .•• , Such sounds, words, syllables, .nd eltpre5.'llions, AbeLard conri nUt'S, an: interwnntered temporatly. The tini~t parts do not have perma- .,-66, ." llU.• 6" IJ . '''IIU., 66. ,8.-.G: .,.ribui ..,jm mod .. •.....icoio· = '''0 opood Gtecao ",dp1,"", pro oocalj .. Um """ .... i quo p....... "', 0< ptO ,.ai quo ocnbj,u" '" ptO ;",d~ q.ot """" ipo -""," ." ,...,.• 66, '~7<>. "Pri..:;"'. 1""_" -.• '-+4, G,,,. 'm !.Mi.;. (,88,). , .• . •,. IftJ., 6" '·4 . ... 1141,. 6" S.,(I; p. I « E. Bc",/o. "Le <,;,i<1>o cIi AbolN .• 67. ~'/..., '4"1. 374 lANG U AGE, TEXTS, AND REAliTY nenee, any more than imtann of time. Rather. like the Aow of time, the partS of diKourst: (fJI"ariU1lis ~ rrOJ) make up one oontinUOU$ human un eru>ce Ipro/Pti~ (I!"t;"~) . ,,, Although, on occasion, many words may ~ spoken in a givt'n interval of timc--by d iffen'nt men or by one man to others, either all at OlKe or i nters~ntd by paUIIC'5-to the degn'C that they wh .. n' through meaning, th.-y may b.- refern'<:l to as a single diKoulW ( _ Ifffll;P) .•• , for, if physiodly divisible, the sounds non .. rhekss signify a comp«hensible unit. Take , for ins tance, the statement, " A man runs."' If one $i~ "a man" and then "rUM" IU IIC'parate entities, no meaningful sente",e (lH"atig) but only a set of words IPIIiffl Jiairmn) an' spok ..n. Each term has its own seOS<"; the whole i~ nor united by con..r.. nt t1lOught. Nor, in such Ca&C"S, does the memory have a recollenion of wh.t ctme bt'fore and afterw.rds, such n'miniscence, of COUn<", Ix,ing a pri ncipal aid ro understand ing. Still le» can this random group of word. be thought o( as the single un· derstandill8 of an utterance (""It! fJl"atio ..is i"ulllctuf ). In other words, the division of In utterance inevitably rt'Sulu in a break in meaning. For. n.ternent 10 have CUllOe(led meaning, the individual sounds or words (fIO(u ) must be joined in a single verbfll statement (al1llill"'" proiaJio). No other group of sounds fuUiUs {hest condit ions. Individual words an: interpr~ as individual meanings (Jillglli<mlm sipiji(Jltio). One can argu .. that these should be included under the rubric of Iffatio. But th.-y do really wmp!ise "/UI <'0;(. , . 6 At what point, then, in tlIt utterance of a meaningful expression does meaning actually aris..? Abelard', answer to this question takes him in the direccion of a din;",tion sim ilar to thac between paroh and In one $ClUe, he argues, the meaning i5 noc established until the last instant of uttetalKe (ill "It;"", p"lIcto jWlJfatiMisj. Yet, the parts of the d iscourse which do not physiCilJly «ist .t A siven instance do noc on that KCQUnt lack potential significance.'" Meaning, it would appear, arises equally from that which exisu in spoken sound and from that which does nOC. Abelard.·$ approa.ch to this problem devolves from his not ion of Iffaf;~. A singl .. unclent:anding, Ix, argues, is gathered from many di(· ~rent woros. But the twO do not w incide in time. Most often, .... h.t has been said is rechannelltd through the mind via t~ memory. In that $COS<", the Jigni6clUKe of a $ingle 5Ouod or ?lord is n(l( macle clear umil the whole sentence has been spoken. AI50, it often hap~ns that "0" "'"KIte. '~/NJ. • 67. n'~' .. , / NJ.• 68 , ... 2,·).01 . '" /~.• 68 . j"~' LANGUAGIi, TEJ(T5, ANO REALITY what is said is noe: immediately undentood, We f~uendy need to reHect, if only momentarily, on the words and constructions we have heard. 1be listener's mind is·always held .. little in suspense while a statement is being made. Something, .net dl, may be added, and change the sen5C:. ).$ a consequence, his mind cannot really rest until the speaker's tongue is silent. For no statement is linguistically or meaningfully complete while anything which can contribute to the .sense: rt'mains unsaid. Significance, then, is really a problem of the bearer's mind. The statement, "A chimaeta is conj«tural," derivn its meaning, not ftom the chimaera's form, which does nor exist, but from the conjecture of $Omeone trying to picture it. Further, if by "signifying" we understand, flOt a formal quality of rt'llity, but "an intellection genefRte AhtJard; "Signjfoatio" We are thus brought to the doorstep of the first major iiSl>e in Abclud's philosophy of bnguage, namely signification. This, in turn, lcad s ro two relata:! $Ilb}ects in his logic: the interrelationship of words, things, and thoughts, and the problem of universals. Regrettably, Abelard nowhere made & single, definitive It&tement of his vit'WS on ligni6.cation. Ill$tead, he 5a.[tered his observations "'/~.• 68, 3-4-69. ~I. ,,6 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANO RE ... lITY rhroughout his logical works, evolving his ideas as time passed and as M shifte.:l from early commentary «> later synthesis. It. seceion 0( ehe: Di4't(/~ is in face devOfffl «> Jig"iji(4t;O ....9 Bue ehe lengthiest and m~r instruCtive survey of che: question occurs in the o~ning paragraphs of hi' rommentary on Dr J.1twprr1atio1ft.'''' Using this dis_ cussion as an inuoduccion, ~ may approor.ch his COfl(ept of meaning as a whole. Like Boechius, Abelard limirs ch~ field of en W i"uloollm ..*"imth). '" AbeJatd adds that, in dealing with oratio nllllfllialnw, Aristotle was concerned co illustl"llce OOt che variecy of things but the vari~ty of thoughts about [h~m. In his view there are three logica.lly interrelated reasons. Fitst, the same thing Can be signified hy a noun and a verb. For <"Xllmp!e, in '·a race" and '"he runs a taU," the reality, a race being run, remaill$ the same but is conceived differently in the mind. Again, Ariscotle deals with nouns and ~rbs not to study reality but the utCered ~ntence. A proposition is materially construcced of a noun and I. vetb; similarly, che unde ruanding of ic is mlde up of ··t~ ... Di.J.aK~ I .'. r. «I. do Ilijk, pp. , r 1· 17 . o . ).r .6. pp. ,6,-6,. - Gt--,.,.. P"i ... w"",. «I. ~. ~'J.4 . '" IMJ., )01, .·lO. '>' InJ., '4·,08, I~. '" 1101. r;,_., ' .'. «/. H.",. p . ,. 6; !.t. tir .• ~. r ·4 · '" s.,.. , ..i .ON""",. ,08. '<)oH ; d. 0 ..1",;" 1.).1 . P. '14 . ,e>-". ",s.,." ..i " .. .", )08, ' 7"0. ,0]. "'' 377 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY intelkcrloru" of th" various palU. But the same correspondence does not elI:ist ~ween the proposition and the words which make it up considered as things. For, as a "thing," the sentence has no oc:her substratum. Finally, Abelard argues, while things' existence is transitory, understanding is permanent. Take a rose or a lily: even if the reality is absent, the idea remairu in the mind. For this reasCllI AliI:totlc ugues that a statement's meaning should always be referred to the COfl~ption in the mind (ad .."im; CDiUlt'io_), noc: to the naming of things (,ui 1IImIi""lio_ """,,)•• ,6 Por the sounds which make up meaningful words and 5C.'ntences do not actually make things l.'Xist but rather arouse the intellect for contemplating them. They ha,", the function of signifying (Ofjirill1ll lipifiooIlU), that is, of esrabli~hing UDderstanding (i"ldltICllliII rotIS/illltrt). >n The human invention of sound (hwmlio VD(is) of which Aristotle speak$ in the Czugorit! has the same ends. And this meaning within the mind v;pifiuui~ ilrldiK1l1J) he rightly calls interpretation (i"tifpt.Itl./io): for, to interpret a word is not to revcaI a thing but to open the door to undentanding .." But tbe COIre$pondena between thoughts and things via language also depends on the operations of the mind itself. Noc: only do groups of sound derive their S<'nS<' from o:erebral activity; sounds are also the equivalent of .Aristotle's 1I4IM jwsUJIIM1/I t!llri_ in their non-physical 5C.'nse (by which Abelard later calls them J_iNS rather than WU:r).''' Ycr, do such signs, as in Boethius, stand for written characters? If not, how do tbey signify? Abel.ard.'s answer is a combination of .Aristotle', and his own think_ ing. He distinguishC$ more subdy than Boethius between imagination , which is t. byproduct of d>e strues, and understanding, which is a function of reason.,60 Consistent with hi. earlier argument, he sees reason as tbe po<ential for seeking OUt and delibenting (pDImf;a Jistr.mnJd,).~' It is the power of grasping the IlIIture Of property of an object, WhetW.f it really aim or is only a product of the mind. With Aristotle he agrees that we perceive only through the senses. "" But that does not solve the problem of imagi1Ullj~ venus illUII«lIlJ, since, in theory at least, both can function without sense. If we are far from Rome, we can nonethdess picture the dty in our mind,. " ' /JiJ.,~, 9-') . '" (JiJ. ,~, '9- 1> . .,. jJiJ. , l09, '7'28: cf. )01;""', A ... "'~, Bo. ... JoIi.... .,.riI. , 69-7" ... $.,. 1'm _w",Us, l' l' 1:1-9• .. ' jJiJ.• J", .(>-,1: "Est ............. io ~rio. d~, id "" . "ondendi .. d "I""i .. "iq~jd q_i ....;quo. .., (Ni. , l'\ . _ .... ...t p'¥io,.,. <0< ,6-", 37 8 ;., ..... l.4.NGU.4.GE. TEXTS, .4.ND RI!.4.LITY Bo.:h imagination and undel1tandill8, he cont inues, can work thl'1Jugh in~nsible means, as in the ca~ of abstractions like "the soul" and "paternity." Indeed, the mind normally operates through imaginary forms 1/"" rq itrWgill4ruJt) which it creat~ at will. It thus contemplates rhe true nature of things, often restraining imagination or intellect. For, dthough Rome may be far away, our image of tbe city is influ. enced by an absent reality. To put the miiltter another way: the imag ination and the intellect per<:eive through a copy or imitation of the thing (rri ifjigirs), even though the reality may not be present. '"' This "copy," he adds, is spoken of in difTrnnt ways by Plato, Aristode, and Ckern, hur the issues come down to the same thill8. Plato's i~ or txtmpLnw /vr7NU , for instance, are no different from Cicero's imagi'lrs, or Ji",lIktcrll. Abo, Priseian speaks of images in the mind a$ the plan or design of a house in the builder's head, a metaphor which recalls Plato's formula for God's creation of the world from an eternally existing archerype.'6.0 However, none of these "forms" are substances in them~lVl!S nor an: they forms underp inned by sub-stances.'"' If one imagines a tower which is not presenr, one can get a clear idea of its height and shape from the image which the mind creates, jU$t a$ if it wen: befon: one's eyes. But rhis image ha$ no formal or suh5tantial reality.,66 Above all, the words by which such images are designated must tl(){ be mistaken for theit objects, as Aristotle mak~ dear.,6, For words are not invented on account of similitudes of things nr of the intellect hut rather httause of things themselves and thei r intellections, in order to irutrun us about their essences. In other terms, they are intellections of things, not images, hut they function by means of images which we utili~ fo, cOIlfiguring absent things. They are so to speak signs which operate between things (intmigtlll rmmI).,(A Words, then, as signs of this type, apply the mind of the listener TO the likeneu of the thing.,60 MortOVer, in this process, one must distinguish between imagiMlio and inltl/KfllJ. When one sees a statue "/IIA,, " '1 . .., l~.. , .,. }I·" •• 6. '" ,",,, 7"., .., I",. . '7 .• 8. "'IU., )1 • •• 6·". -lbU.. ,,, .•8.)4' "Non "'1, I, ..". "" fi,,,,,,",,,, O _ntib .. if"'. <00;0';' noi",,,, q .... i quoeJ..m ;",en;s.....",m ," ... , " '.• ~'j7, LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND RI!ALITY of Achilles, onc t~ notice of it not for itself but for Achilles, whom it represenu; that is, onc focuses not on the stlltue but on the man, using the copy as 11. likeness rather dun a thing. therefore, the SUtue annot be $!lid to represent itself to the int~lIect but rather ronfigures AchilJelI: while the sense ptrceive5 the statue. tbe same sense dim::t5 tbe mind towards AchiIJelI as a thing. But, should onc put the statue in place of tbe reality, 0""" attention would be directed to nothing else. In that case sense perception tmr,sMS) and understanding (;"t,//rrt~) would have the same object. Of COUl'St, this can take place if the image is a fiction, which 01lC.' can understand either lIS an image or II reality. Howner, if Otlt i. speaking of a thing, there is an intellectioo of the thing irself through th~ medium of the image. Nor does it matter whtther the DlllJI.e refers to an indi"idual like Soc:rates Ot to a colletti"ity like "men. ",,., Yet, if the imagn of things IlDd copies must be distinguished with respect to the understanding, the intellect itself must also be separated from image forlnlltion. Fot ;"giMliQ is rnJly th~ confused conception of the mind (~ lllnitni ro1lU/Jl;Q), common to all mawres ba"ing senses. m It can ",ist without intellection, but intdlection annN nist .... ithout it, aJ Aristotle aoo Botrhius emphasize. Aristotle, Abelard points out, iooicatts that understanding cannot arise without prior per«:ption thl'OU8h the senscf,. SItUMS and i_gwtiD are, so to speak, a foundation onto Which i"tJIICtIn is suptrimpcscd, jullt as sketches and ptn-drawings precede a fully rolourc-d painting. r"",gi_;Q may be described as the beginnings of thought (itrebotllliD cogil4w), before thc mind hili perttived the nuu!'e or property of a thing. 1"11/00111, by rontcast, is II further Stll8e of the mental proass, whtthcr the understandins arises through the thins, fflI,lity, lOOsmrKt, body, or even through qualities like "white" or names like Soc:llltes. Through undentanding the rnind is finally led frum disorder to order. from confwion to ttason.'7> Having outlined the functioru of ImJln, i_giutiD, and illlflltctllJ, Abelard now turns to the problem of language and rruity. The i"ut of writteo lansua8e i . also int~grated with that of meaning. The nexus of the question re-sides in undentanding. Words, he reiteratcs, ~ not prodocrs of $<eDSe or imagination but of the intellect, as Aristotle maintained. >71 Aristotle further united all sounds as "'"/W.. p. )". )7'P' ),6. 16. •" I .... " , . '?' ." _hi",. 0./- P' I"b p. 28. 21; Abdotd • .,. ".,...... ~ "1"" ~,.,. . , . ) ' • 2)")' "R ,80 m_. ,,6. )0-)'7. 7- LANGUAGE , TEXTS, ANI) IlEALJTY "events of tne mind" constituting understanding; rhen he seplmted them through their different meanings. Similarly, Boerhius, following rhot ancients, distitlJ!uished ~tween "things which are in $O\lnd" and "rhings which arc sound."'" Fot, he recalls, among the Greeks, flXO had a rh~ld meaning, either as SQUOOs, as texts ~ring sounds, or as tne understanding of sounds.'" How arc thac componCflts connected? In part, Abelard's argument merely reiterates BocthiU5 in his own words. Howe~r, once the ex· po3>ition of basic relationships betWffn sound, letters, and sense is completed, he turns to the question of why i,.lu!KtIlS nuhcr than .....a)" is the same LtIlong different peoples. For, he notes, one might assume that their understanding was the same not because of identity between eucnces but bc:ca~ of a similar mooe of conceptualizing (ro/UimiliJ 1II9@lro'""f!t;onis). Thus, di~rsc tongues might refer ro tM same thing through their modltr JilJlijicaliolru,"6 in the way that Greek alrlbropoJ and Latin hcmo boI:h mean allimaJ raJiotwf, mortAl,. Funhcr, why shook! Aristotle argue that understanding is any more permanent than words? The answer, in Abdard's view, is that Aristotle was inrcrc$ted in a better comprehension of both wordJ and intellections. Bur, in order to establish this position. he feels he must clarify ami expand some of Aristotle's ob5ervatiosu on unwritten and written languages. The undetSfaoding of a Greek and a Latin, he argues, is not "~mially" diffcrtnt on acCOUnt or diverse tongucs but because of their "founda. tions." A man who knows different languag.-s never has quite the same und erstanding of a thing if the languages in fact bring into play different conceptual tools. Moreover, the intellect is not divided in in conccptuali~in8 functiol15 (in o/foiil WKipimdi nm), since it does nOt conceive differtnt things or conceive thins, in different ways. Onc must recognize, Abelard insists, that the problem of linguistic com muniClltion is distinct from the identity of rv and ilrlt{(.£tll$ _Linguistic difference o.n also be looked upon 'imply from a plwnetic or a $C[i hal poim of view. on For, it is not the essence of things, the essence of understsndings, or the mode of conceptualizing that varies among peoples who speak different lansuages. Rather it is the form or office of signifying !.forma r{fo;i.", Jipijica"Jl) for both sounds and letters which is changed , So rv .nd ilIlulKtIlJ are the same {Of all, as AristOtle asst:rn, while conventions of language VIlry, although, it would ap_ fit' ." I"" .. )'9. ,6.).-1 . '" I~" '[9, ·" lhJ.• "1, '8·... • " IliJ" p_ P l, ,6-p. , ••• [4 . .,_.6. ,8. LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANO REALITY pear, nO( for the same ~aso"" as were advanced by BoethiUll.'" And Abelard agrees with Boethius but from a linguistic point of view tlw: texu are less essential for the ordering of discourse ( 0 ndloaniollv) du.n ~, illtt/ltdm, and nr.·19 Having established his own criteria for the discussion, Abclard then directs his attention towards types of understanding. A simple intd lection, he proposn;, has no puts, as is the cast of individual Words.·1O For, although, on hearing the word "man," one reflects upon KV1:ral things at oDce-'9"40. quo -1J.iJ., 3". ,,.'0. _\d.Do I .. " .., I~_. 3'~. '9-1} . ,8, ....., ><>. ... f"".. ,6-,,_ 3". 'i·n. LANGUAGB, TEXTS. ANI) ilEAl. IT V when the activity of understanding, while running through various imag<"$, makes a unity of them or nol. JuSt as several people can have difTe~nt underslllndings of the same th ing, so the same understanding can exist for several things, that is, if the hearer understands a single entity through them. Logically slJ'C'akillg, Abdatd cOllcludes, tmore is Om' undersnnding which is both simple alld complex, that is, which consists of a single union or disunion of thing •. When I say "Socrates is a man" or "is not a man," I make Om' union or separalion of "Soo::ntes" and "man" in the whole pr0p05ition.'"' A I1!lated iuue involv<"$ the troth or falsehood of statements. Ik>th simple and complex fornu of uruiernaooing, in Abdatd·s view, can be corre(t or incorre(t, depending only on how closely their meaning confurms ro th e intended thing . But the siruadon is altered if Ih~se SOrts of expressions occur in propositions in which the definition in question is true or false according to the statement's logk. T he qU<"$tion then arises: does cruth inhere in the statement or in the mind ? Does verifiClltion- involve the statement or reality! In Abclard', view, boch. In a "definition" within a proposition, uUl h CH" f.dschood is nor siSIlified according 10 what is to be re(eivM in Ihe understanding but accwding to the Statement of the proposition. And, it is the Statement which is referable b.ck 10 ~]jry; its truth or falsehood ultimately delJ'C'nds on what exists. Jc follows, of COUHC, that a "true proposition" can somerim<"$ generate a false m.-aning, not, as Aristotle points OU t, from the viewpoint of understanding, but certainly with respect to what is said. For example, if, while Socrates SilS, one h.-ars "Soc rates stood," what is said makl'S logical scnse bul ereat<"$ a misleading impression. For, the mind's conception (;Inimi ronaplio), guided by words, does not conform to the status of r.-ality (slalllJ rri).· .. The understanding, then, judg<"$ truth or falsehood nO[ lICC()rding to the conception or disposition of images (ronaptio 1)(1 Jis/miliQ i_ginNm) but according to the attention of the mind (4I11nt;~ 411;"'/), which focuses on being or non-being in the past, present , or future .• 8, For, after all, Abelard adds, one does not gather mental imaga of what presently exists alone, but also of the past or the future. The intellect. for its part, specializes in making distinctions W dismti_ I , while conceptWlli~ing is left to che part of the mind whi ch makes imag<"$ (imagiTl41iQ). ,OIl Abebrd thus SCpar.lles the temporal and atemporal aspect. of langua~ philosophy as they IJ'C'ctain to chinking. ", ltii.. p. ~." ~p_ ~,6, '9 . ... /W.. p. 3.6, 30-1>. 3'@, '7 _ ,8, At the point at which dininctions art' actually m:o.ir, the images we use and their temporal tjualities do 001: rdet back to "the intelle '''''Ho - /MJ.. ~'8. ... IMJ. , J,8. H-J': "ldoG ........ notI od "" .. I_I""",. otd ..I ottet>lionom mum per i_i"" oeritu iartlloctuo .el &lair .. p..dn... qw. I'....i ........."'" pro .18"" «>N ... qui&m .ilo.i~. otd i" .or .....,""'"",..... _ Cf. I.. M. d< l.ijk. "Tbt Somontlal 1"'1*" cl Aboilud·. Solm;o" "f ,I>t P",ll<.n. of ,pt"""" Uru-..L .... , _ Md : '. "9. '" I.ANGUAGIl, TIlXTS, ANI) REALITY As in Aristotle and BQethius, the essential identity is establishe The relationship between Jangua~, thought, and reality was more systematically e:>::plOtecl by Abelard in his exposition of the problem of universals, to which we now turn . A bridge between univenals and signification was provided in the Dklk!tica,"" whell: he briefly repnted his views on words and things and mure closely tied together the SUuCtures of language and thinking. Signification, hc reiterated, was not only a property of words but also of things. For written characten, when they appear before the eyes, Il:present verbal and Jinguistic dements of discourse. Aristotle, he added, therefore speaks of signifo4tiva u both what is written and what is spoken: together these constirute the signs of menral expericnce. Once again he Stll:S5n that a thing's nature is revealed through a word expressly designc A", ,. i.tqqf. 1•. Ab... .-d . ... """ • ...,.,Id ""'" '0 ",'idpol........= .• oh~.-.d C... '" Ii"f~ ' - " ". p. 98' ..~ . i..... Ii••• i,,;q.,. uni, _ ..... o, .. Ambroo. .i•• 01, 3, FI"",tIU at>d Milan. '9J}>. .. ' )oIi ..,. _t. ,8, LANGUAGE, TIiXTS, ANO REALITY words alone, ",., that il, to the nexus of words, things, and intclleetions pCl:SCnt~ in hi, idea of signification. The consequence of rhi5 oeminal &naly,is WIU not only the oft-cmphasizcd p[a(ing of universals within the rttlm of meaningful discouue.'~ It also completed his thcory of obi«tj~ rality, .nd how we umkl$tllnd it, based upon linguistic considetations. Thac, in rum, teSt~ upon auumptions about the behaviour of spoken and writrct\ language io tdation to each other. Boerhiw on P~byry As previously, Abelard's achievemcot cannot be fully .pp~iate ... Gt..-""" r.~,,;_. ,-I>. ""o.dotn." iD . , c, e ..., ..... '. [<> ["7 , A b [~). Un.imooJ~.-h F~ , ~I diocuuod by W,L bJom: r .._ ... ' , Gombocz. "AbooIardo II< &Is Sch!iiou.!. ot>d K . Jacobi, 't);I<',",'"",n Gbor Pri.dibciono,b to.!i> Pttruo Aboilatduo. - iMJ" [6~'79, !'or.-. tItetIli", lat""""""" ... Ta I 10, cho, , 1lHl~, pp. ~>I' ..... )01;""', ....... ( ,.,., A """"" " ' _ to T.....w. is G. Kiln,. - A!>tllll....."':. in M, ,x G.no:!illoc ... M" cdl, . ... """", Lt .. Dw. ... - pp, 99"04 , R,., ", qutsI_ .... ""*,,,'_ . 1>1< , '. pt 6..j,e.A_B, ... Bonbi",. I. "'16iJ',7,A_8, ... lW., 7[ 8-7 ',0.. LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANO IlE'''.ITY tJvltles of the 5oul, namely, comprehending things present, under_ standing things ah$ent, and inquiring into things unknown . In the application of reason, Boethiw ",n(inues, it is tall' for the mind to be mislt. and of logic. Signification is then related ;\$ in Aristotle to the five predicables and in particular to tile meaning of genus and spedes. Boechius thereby orients the problem of universa15 around the relationship of genen, species, and other CliItcgories to the individual forms in which things normally exist and are ~rceivt 7, 8 -",0, . - I~.. 1311 . - E.S. . T--do"'. A. .·I .m/", Uu-I4II, 61. ,.. I~ .• 808-<:. '" LAN GU AG E , TEXTS, AND REALITY In reformulating thoe questions, Bocthius puts the fint into the context of his ttKory of signification. Arc genera and $pedcs, he asks, CI.tegories of understanding, or do they exist in things in rn.lity? In his view , this is tantamount to asking whether they arc uooersrood by the mind thf0U8h the dual operations of con«:iving (ilddllftll (mI dpn-r) and rnsoning (rt#titnw tiGfrii>rrr), or wh~bet Ihey a.., a vacant, uoconhC(led image (--.t, 4ISU i_gilltlliD) which the mind " paints" for itself.)01 Secondly, if they exist, what is their IIItulC? Por all things arc either corporn.l or incorporeal. "" FinaJ.ly, do they exist in connection with bodies 01" beyooo them? To take an example: God, mioo, and the IIOUl exist incorporn.lly and outside bodies, bur line, surface, and numl:ll:'r do not. The latter inhe.., in other things. Scp&rated from bodies, tbey no longer truly exist.)'» In short, wbercu Porphyry had restricted his discuSllion to tbe ClltcgOfies, as evidenC«!, for illSrance, by his derivation of sltIJsiJurw (corn SIfNltflltitl,"" Bocthius moves in the di~tion of signification, as illustrated by his continued use of tbe key terms U1UIU, ilMgilWtifl, i"tdUttIU, aoo ISSI. 1he questioll$ he asks of each of Porphyry's three ques. tions are: what does the mind understand, what rcally exists, and what exists through sense?"" These: concerns arc carried over to the section in which he attempts to eliminate what be considers to bf, Porphyry's ambiguities ..... In his view, the basic question is, in what sense do genera and species exist? He agrees that tbe.., arc tWO pouibilities: either tbey exist or subsist in reality or are formed by tbe intell~t and by thought alone.'t09 But he does not 1001: upon thoe as mutually cxcIusive al..,rnatives, and his e"..,.ition does !lOt so much clarify Potphyty'l thinking lIS it points towud his own solution. To achieve this, Bocthius presentS n:.mplca of the philosophic problems which arise if genera: and species an: assumed either to exist lIS, or to bf, byproclucts of, thought alone. To exist, as he sccs it, is to e:xi5[ individually in conc..,te rtaJity. In this sense, gentra and species do fIOt exist. Anything that is common to many things at a given moment cannot be only one thing. Howrver many species there are, tbey all share lbe same genus, which is not present in them in "" HJ.. he-D. '"'/W.. h e-D. ,... See T. " Ide, .ti.iI..J .. U ...=+, ,., /W . • H>l).8~ . 4+-66, ,,110> "'8.... _ 1:Io _ la dift from Potpb,.,· •. I ... _ 6!1d tht O'ridtnce <'OI'I ""-"'..... . . . ,88 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALIT Y part but in whole. Therefore, the enti re genus, although distributed to individuals, (anI)(){ be one, not even in number. But, if it is not nne, then, by definition, it does not exist. " o A genus, in fact, is onc and many at nnce: it is nne, JUSt as animals art' one, in having snmething in cnmmnn, but many, JUSt as the same animals an many in reality. What is nne is it$liken= nf itself.'" If this were nor so, insoluble problems would arise. Fnr genera canllOl: be: only nne; if sn, they c(M.Ild nnr truly be: commnn tn many. A part, !tOt CM whole, would be cnmmon, and, as a parr, it would be cnmmnn in use nr functinn (like a servant nr a hnrse u$l"d by different men), not in cnnstituting rhe form nr substance of tM things them$ol'lvcs. Fnr this fCason genera can be: said tn have no absolute e>::istence; tMY cannot be derived from things alone.''' The mind plays a role in understanding what they are. In facr, gelH'fll and spccin are 1'11'1 different from nther intellections in nnc sense. WMn they are grasped as subjects rcpresenring things in the mind- wherher nr nnt the thi ng exisu in reality-the idea nf genus and species exists like other ideas, and comes in tn being as the thing is estab lished in the mind, nr, at least, is understood tn be established. In that sensc they arc IH1t nnly placed in the mind, but, tllrough the mind, arc placed in the reality of things. In nther words, the essence nf things cnrresponds to the inner forms of thought in the mioo.J" In Socthius·s view, tMn, the problem of universals is both logical and 1'11'1tological. In what sense, he asks, can wc pled;';ar! existence of genera and species, sioce they neither exist absolutely nor represent a truth derivable from real things? 1bc answer he proposes is to scpal:ate ~xi$tence in reality from existence in thnught, as does Alexander of Aphrodisias."· w~ must distinguish, Bocthius argues, between the truth and &.J$thood of things in reality and in the mind. An idea about a thing which does not conform tn reality is not necessarily false, unl=, of roU.f"$C, with respect to reality, it atttmpu tn unite elements that do not belong tog~ther, as, for instance, would be: rhe case in the attempled union of B man and a hnne tn form a centaur. Yet, if the norion of a centaur oomes about by means of the ment"lll processes of absr[2(tion and divi sion, whether or nor a reality cnrresponds to il, then the idea iudf, qlla idea, is not false or devoid of meaning. Rather, it means what it means as a product of the mind;'" and the subject established in the ""/~.• a)A.B. , .. lbY. • 8)(·D. , ., IhiJ., 14B-C , .. 1j,iJ. • 8}B-C; . .. hob. ,,, l~.• 8, D-l4A. ,., lbY. • 84B. ,8, LANGUAGti, TEXTS, AND REALITY mind is no less rn.l to the mind on accou.nt 0( iu lack of correspondence with concrete rea1ity. To i[J\lSt~le the point, Botthius takes the eumple of .. line in .. body. The line exisu only through the prioc existence of the body. The mind, n:cciving at or>« the intermingled images of line and body, makes a distinction becwttn them, uldmar:cly, of course, in order co enmine things in their incorporeal state. ,,6 Genus and species, i[ not arising incorporeally, are similarly abst~ted from bodies in the mind. "Things of thi$ kind," Boethius argues, "exist in corporeal and sensible things, but art understood beyond the sensible in order dun their nature be perceived and theiT property comprehended. " " 1 ~nus and species art products of cogitation (rogita,.,), but a likene.ss is brought together (Iitlfi/it"t/tJ CDi/igitllrl [mm individual things. And, in this way, one pcoceeds from species co genus, that is, from the diversity of men to the image 0( humanity.'" The mental like~.ss. then. when in individu.ls. is sensible, and when in universa1,. is intelligible. ' " Botthius claims ro derive these notions in large put from Arisrotle. '>O but his vocabulary is inHuenced by several strands of later platonism. The .... ritten .... ord also impinges on his analysis from many din:ctiom. As in his commenrat)' on Dt l"tttprrtatiotN, the logic of texu pl..ys a dist&nt if nonetheless discern· ible role in his various oOscrvations on language, thought. and reality. He re£ets co the need ro arrive ill: the principle of substance (fIlMIat,tUtt ...tH), but the means he propcses art illSC.!»f8ble from his a&!umptions about Tbe written mode. In dmriptio. he sees not only "description" but "de-scribing," that is, the making 0( a copy or a transcdpt; in JijforititJ, not merely "definition," but the setting forth of precise lexical or semantic boundaries. Description establishes propetty .nd chi, leads TO (he principle 0( substance; by implication, r.uro is ratio Kripta.»' 1ht notion of (he terr also helps him to distinguish bcI:....een rktriptio and Jijforitio; he speaks 0( rollC(ting (CO//igm) properties but of a definition being made (jim),1" relating the one to gathering lexical meanings, the Other to tbe interdependent ui>der:sranding of the essence of things. At the back 0( his thoughts art the connections between sense, imagination, and thought, hecwttn .... hich. il$ in ~ l"t". ~, wrirten langua&e provides, once again, uninvcstigated links . ... IhJ.• 8.((;..D. ,.. /Ni. , 8,B-C. ~. a. • TV • • • • 'u I. ,RIMf., 86A. T. GttJO<)'. '"Cof>sjdmtioN .... Rooio .. Nuun. '- '" ' _.L . . ." .,' L4<. 'H-n. ""~,,;'., 19C-D. '''' ,lie, Ab!Iud:"_ AIi/MJ, , _ I.ANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND IIEAUTY Porphyry's tripartite questiOn rejl;arding universals. which was In_ ["n Abtlard on Porphyry 8oethius's achievement, despite itS limitations, was Ab..lard's point of departure. His fullest ac;:COl.lI1t of the problem of universals is found in the opening s«tions of his OWn glosses on Porphyry. The twO centra! themes are the limiu of naive tealism and the status of universal, with tnpecr ro language and thingsY} In AbI>lard's analysis rhe issue of spoken and written language reached its culminating point in twclfth-ttntury thought. Like Berengar in the eucharistic oontrov..rsy, AbI>lan! hen<eforward became a standard ajl;ainst which other thinken measured their positions on realism and nominalism. Ahelard's "solution" to the problem of universab has long occupied a respenable place in the history of logic. Yet, it is arguable. his discussion generalizes in a phi losophical format an ani_ tude of mind which, as we have l>Oted, was gradually emcrgi n8 in other thinkers and disciplines concerning potential links bet ween tcxtuality, rationality. and the nature of rality. For that reason his oftenstudied thoughts deserve still another review. After restating Porphyry 's tht« qu estions. Abelard establishes that rhe ancients are divided on whether universals are words or things. Authori ry, he observes, se..ms confused. Aristotle de!irn.s the universal as predicable of many, whil e Porphyry refers to one.}" Wonc, both speak On occasion as if things were en '",",,,i_. p. 7, ~-p. 8. 8. ""/iiJ.. ~. ,8..0. ",p«""!, , 800:th'u •• I~ P"; " ....... cd. C. M...... YOI . l. p. l~'. I./..,~ .. Poo~i;;, cd. S. BruMk. CSEL48,.oI. p. 18).7 . >,.""" q_'"". >. 39' LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY words whose only function is supplying the proclkate terminations of propositions.··· For that reason they cannot refer to things alone. Abrlard there~ ~ lIS his first taSk tbe demolition of this position.'~ Howe~r, lIS becomes evident, oversimplified. It'.alism is not so much a serious philosophical argument as .. springbnatd for his own solution to the pr0blem of uniwrsals. And this, lIS expected, is inseparable from his theory of lansU8Be and sisnilication. Abelard considers three theories by which universals may he located in things alone. 1he first assertS that universals predicated of things ut different in form (j0l7lMnmt. ditwlikJI,j but are essentially tbe same in matur (,.,t,., IJJIlrIi4JilW _Iern.j.'" In other words, Plato and Soctatn ut substantially the :Ja/Jle but differ in IICcidenu. The S«ond, which Ahelard finds closer to the truth, mainmns that individual things fIO( only differ in form but are also separated in essence (i" rllU fSSmI;U tn, Jist" 'iV'). As such, they share ndtber maner nor form. Yer-, d·.ose who hold this position still believe that universals mst in thill8s. as tbey put it, not n·entially but ind~ntly (_ tnllr/w/iur, uti ;"dijfi,UfttT);'" that is to $l.y, PI.to and Socr.tes, although discrt«: men, do not differ with respect to their hwnllllicy. The dUrd position sees universals as iooividuals which are proclicared of many things not because of similarity of essence but because of harmony or a&~ment (_ mlllti4JiltT, srJ fllw phlf. twJJII tU ~;II"/j.'>9 Abd.rd plays loSical havoc .ith these positions. The first holds th.t animals differing in species nonetheless share the same substance, as different Statues m.y be made of the same wu. But therein lia the 8.w; at any moment, the same wu is not fOWld in all the statues, whereas, Boethius mans cirat, the same univenai is. That, AbeJard adds, is why Porphyry's official (Ommencator argues that universal, aist in one sense but an: undetstOOJd in another.· ... By contrast, the first position allows Cl)nt!aria to exist in the same species .t the same time, proposing, for ill!ltance, that Socrates can be both rational and irrational at once. For, if men differ ODly in accidents, contrary accidl'nts may find their pIli« in a being th.t itill remains subst.nti.lly man. Abe1ard p~ tbat this is logicaUy impossible: neither can the .., G_, 9, 22'10, 1 . ... [~J Mic ..d by SWs. ,.,.".Il"'-", 119-9'1 om T."doI •. 1lM'-I .. U.;,."",Jr. ,,,•• 10. 17-' J. ... l.u., I,. '~:I« I,. ,_z . "'10iJ., I~, z~.z6. " · IHJ. , p. 10, ~p. 11,9. 39' I. ... NGU ... GIl , TF.XTS, ",ND RI)"'I.ITY man harbour contraries nor can it be ar8u~ that the paradOll; rationallirn.tional ~(en only to W(lrd$ and not to things. For propositions of this type must be verifi~ by testing against what actually exists. J)' MOfl'Over, stronger argum en~ against such naive ~alism can be brought from other quartcn. It is illogical to suppose that things can be alike in essena and diffe~nt in form. As all qualities would then be the samc, so W(luld all suOOtarKCS. If Plaro and Socrat.., 5ha~ d.e same rhings of each category (n<:r ringltiDrllm prdiC#I",.,,,,,), they would be the same penon, both essentially and formally. '" Nor, 1lS a corollary, can it be maintain~ that individuals are made of thei r own accidenn.m For that is to reverse the categories' logic, namely, to make individuals priO£ to thtif accidents. Abelard illu.sttatcs similar fallacies in the second and third positiol1$. Regarding rhe second, he states, the~ is a diversity of opinion. Some hold that the universal thing is JUSt a collection of many, J}4 while Olhers say that a genus or species is niX just a group of individuals. In this case, cxp~uions like "1bc thing which is Socrates is ptedicat~ of many" is to be taken figuratively , as if to say, "'Many like beings a~ in agretment with him," or via versa. m But neither view can be defend~ . For the accommodation of individuals to each ocher i.! not the same ~ pre.:lication through a univenaP~ That would merely make Socrates a universal in himself, or, for that matter, any group of men taken to~ther.H" This, in turn, W(luld lead to the general opinion that there a~ many abmoctions of the highest order in • given gtoup of subsrancn. The actual diffe~na betwccn genus and species would thereby be blurred. For, while the part is not the samc as the whole, the specics is always thc Ume as the genus. Abclard has little more patienc~ with the third option. In his view, the proponents simply (Onfu.st universaliry and individuality. To be predicllted of many is not me~ly "'co agree" with many. If the man who is Socratcs is the same as Soc[Oltes himself, then there is no d;ffe~nce between the cat~gO<")' and tM ching.'" Abtlard thus concludes that things cannor be called univtt'$8.1s eitner singly or colltttively. Universality can be asc;ribcd only to words, or, as h~ mono specifically putS it, to ceru.in types uf oouns. H9 Once again he reasons from grammar to spt«h, that is, from the norms of written 1lI11lC' '" IW.. p. 11. ' s·p. 12 . ,6, Oh ,11< IoskO! ;mplieo'''''''' .... T~I., IIlwjI..,J .. uh.9'I-'0II. w IlOJ.• I,. )"7. '" /ftI.• p. I,. I~ ,.p. I~, 6. ''' ,MJ.. J~. g. '" IW. . ,~. ' '' IW.• I~. ,).,; . '" IW. . p. 14. -40-P. 'S." '''IIiJ., P. '1. ,6-p. ,6, ,8. '''/IoiJ., ,6, 1\>"" . ,lI-" . "3 u........ LANGUAGI!, TEXTS, AND RI!AI.ITY ro spoken languag~. GrammarialU, he stares, call JOme no\Ul$ .ppellative, that is, designators of a class, while others are proper, rhat is, drsignawn; of individual things. Similarly, logicians call $Om.. unc:omp:rundC'd speech forms (si""lius m 1'II'1f) universal and othel'$ particular. A universal is a term (VIX4b"I_) devi$ecl to be predicable singly of many things. It li nks a noun like "man" with particular men and is imposM upon the things which compriS<' iu suhjI'Ct. By contrast, a particular noun is predicable of only one thing, as Ibr ilUtaDCe, the name Socrates. Moreover, when a universal is said to be predicated "singly." th~ claim is made both with rtspect to th~ word's simplicity as spoken speech (or..,i.I) and with respect to its unequivocal unity of meaning.W> This is the sense in which a universal is that which Ui predicated. of many. But, he then ...le, what is meant by this npression? For, as AristOtle nukes dear,'" universais are neither appellative nor proper noulU as Priscian later delines them. To be predicated is lint of all a fUnction of di$CoulV; it mHns "to be conjoinable to something" in truth, that is, in the nature of reality, through the speaking (m""n..fi.l) of a suhscanti,... v~rb in the preS<'nt tense ...• Examples may be fou.nd for "man" such as "M runs" or "M walks." Such verbs have the powu of copulas, even thOU8h "to be" is absent. In "of many," ArUirotle also brings rogetMr names or nouns as such according to the divenity of things named. OtherwiS<', the nam~ Socn.tes rould be predicated of many, when it is said, "Thi, man Ui Socn.tn," "This animal is Socn.te5," C'lc. That is ro ,.y; the names arc different in the understanding but in reality refer to the sa~ subject-thing .... Abelard then ret:unu to the analogy of grammar in an effort to clarify predication further. The 8rammarians, he notes, speak of union through co(Utn.u:tions; the logicians rekr to linkage through predication. The rwo in his view ate not rhl' same. According to 8rammar, "man".nd "srone" may ~ join~ by "'is. " Any tWO nouns may be so unit~ .nd pn:sent a purely grammatical relationship: the case of th .. nO\lns and the number of th., are correct and the resulting sen- wros - I.... ,oS. '!I'JI. Toed,I<. 1o"'/IvJ .. U.~. '4' .... ,. (..pn,· _I). Bu, Ab<1atd·, t<m>it........ , it "'" cons;"· ,... ,_ For. dio1:1 tilt """",. 11' 01 I-l. 10-71 i_ ond _~ ..... 89-9<> i~ Ab<w.I hi.....,f" I Lll1 L (u" ... ncel. 0" hint (woN). ond _ $..-.- Ptirph,..,.. ,n. '<>-". disnrsoed ;" ""toil b» Tweodr.I•• '4>-17 . ... GI..-,-Iw ,...,!,,,'_, 16, 19-'7. 6; iIorthl.... hri .", ..... I. p. '4, u_ - G/oJJ.ot. ,6. ,,....0; oh, ""'!'Ill pro«!i<ari ""';uI'o!ibi< .... ",i(rU ""rocitrIit . B. ~ (Ni ...... '9"), $~ verbi ...... ,..,/.; .....atio. .., IftJ., '1,7''' , '" ~_ LANGUAGf, TEXTS, ANU ReAl,lTY ttnee is grammatically souad. But this holds nut whetht r or no[ the ~ntence Idets a,xurateiy to a srate of affairs in IM leal world ~d IlJlmdnl' i .... 001, >. p. 16}. 1. "'CImM. '9.8--9: " , . non «>no.i,,,,,ncIo ,.",.., ;n'.Ik<-< ..... de .it IU'I""''''. "'.,.uw pmi ......... :· '9) ot.!'" LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY cause of me common cause in which things agree ~/tr ~_ CA ...... ill qllll rr1 fP1I1/r1I;'/), or because of tile commOfl cOll«ption ()( anything (/WIC rat ./iqll#). For eumple, Socrates and Plato are alike "in being men" in tbe same way that a hone and an ass are alike in being non-mall. How then are Socrates and PlatO united? In the condition o( man (ill sum _illif), that is, in that they are men (ill III qllOli 1/111t bottUIJ(J) .... The Jt<Jt14 hottciJru therefore is "to be OWl," which means tlar tbe expression is noe: a thing but the common cause of the imposition of the nlllne OOto iDdividuals inso&t as they truly agree with each othet.'" The state or condition need noe: refer to res.lity. For example, in the sentence, "He was be.ren because he did DOt wish to go to tbe forum," the principal clause does not describe an existing situation. In that sellS<", it is a cause ("'U!~) but nOt an essence (ersa/i,,).''' In sum, Abelard. calls the cond.ition of man those things established in tbe nature of man, things whose common likeness he who imposes the word conceives."~ Univenals, rben, signify thingl by giving them names (~NltiD). lhc common cause of luch names' imposition is the condition of the entities themselves.'" But what of me intellectiON which they constitute? To aruwec this question, Abelard largely repeats Aristotle and Boerhius, adding insights from Priscian and a few ideas of his own.'" Like Aristotle, he '" 11ItI.. '9, 1~·2o. ~'liiJ" p. [9, u-p. ><>, [4· '" I"'., =, "4. -jiOJ. . 20. 7"9' "bum..,..,. ~irtit lpkID' .... _ l ...... quod _ ... m. -'-""". quod. .. iAm dia,,,.. comm .....m coo"..,., U"f'OIl,;.,w nominil od lin8olorr, IOCIOtIdum qo>od ipU .od i ... 11ItI.. 2<>. 12 . ... '''''. , ><>, ["'4: oppe!w.. _ -s.-- q _ bon>i.,q m ~m ....... >imi~ ".d ineno .., liOJ.,.o, 'S· [1. i _ It> ....... Iooonian ........... -..... ... ill< 'I" .pi •• qui -.i>ulum ;",__ i,." '''IMf. , p. :ro, '<>-p, .[, .6. LANGUAGE, TIOXTS, AND RIOAJ.J TY acrributes both sense and understanding to the soul. But, Wherel15 !ellK requites the physical perception of bodies, understanding is s.atisfie In a sense, {he intellection can also be called a likeness, since it conceives what is accurately caJled a thing's image. j6, But here tOO Abelard $ee5 a problfm. For, beyund the compositf image of {he (ower there are components like $quar~ness and height out of which (he tower in turn is formed. These, in his opinion, compri~ the intellc ,,. s... ....... , p. ' 79. "'"GIo.s.... 20 . • 8." . -", 11iJ.• u. " 1. -", 11<11.. u. 6"7 . ... :;.. abo.< , p_ ~,f. ,., G...... ". ,11-.6. 397 ,.. 11<11. , 20, ".,6. LANGUAGE, T.EXTS, AN!) REALITY UndersUllldillg, then, as ill Aristotle, i5 always based directly or indir«dy on reality. But what d(le$ this imply for tbe understanding of univeruls and particulars?M AbeJard's point of departure in replying to (his question is to inquire into the type of image which each SOct of word ~llCtates. The univenal, he ugues, prod= a common and confu..se worm ... rjiJ. , p. ". >7"1'. >l, 6 . oM s.. alo<:M. p. J9) . ,'" ,.". G._ . • '7 .... ..... >, p. 7· ... rlW.• ". >7·,8 . ... GIouM .... 7'24. ". GI.u..... }1-2" 'n. •. ,,8 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND IIEAI . ITY dcnt$, and, ~ such, thty Itt neithcr gen~r.l nor sp«;n Y ' Morrovo:r, these idca5, "lxlan! propo$CS, ar~ imputelte understanding beotuse their inventor intends that they Ix imposed ac· cordin8 to a selection of natures or properties, nren though, ~ a mortal, one is not able to discover by thought alone the pm::ix naml"!' or property of the th ing.m The various ancient authorities appt'-r ro be agreed on this point , Priseian, Abelard points OUt, calls the common (on<eptiofU "genel>l!"' or "specific," sin~ they al"!' so deseribed by nouns. By analogy he thinks of universals with proper nouns. J usr as rhey dire<:t the Iistener's mind to the one thing si8nified, so universab act "'11 proper nouns for common conceptions. The nouns, although confused with res~t to essential signi6canc~ , nonetheless di m:: t th~ ho:ar~r's mind toward the cOl>Ceprions. '" Porphyry for his parr Rem! to have conceived universals in a comparable manner, sir>ee he distinguishes betwee n idca5 made from maner and tllQs.!, made from theil iikenesses. ,;6 ~thiu$, too, speaks of genus and species as mental constnl(:tions made up of many individuals" IikenelStS. l7l Even Plato's and Aristotl e's approaches, Alxlard urges, are reconcilable. For, when Aristotle argues that univenais exisi in sensible things, he speaks of actuality or toward activity (Pi oO(t.rml). Plato I"!'fers to existence when th e IoC'nsible thing has been withdrawn. Thus, what Aliuode denies with respect to actuality, Plato, " the inquirer into physical ph~ nomena," assigns to the natural £acuity (MtllT"liJ ",ptiuufo). And. what authority affirms. reason approvn: for, conceivin8 through nouns is nothing but signilYing throu8h nOuns. However, Alxlard adds, there is one matter which authority omits but reason InuSt resolve. If such forms or im· ages are different from understandings, thett exists by implication, in '" IOY..•, . , ·6. '" IOY. . '). 6- " . '" I"".• ' ) . 001. '. 2; I. , ..,.";,, ... vol. ' . P. , 67 .1. , ,, fOY. • '). ) 0 - )3 ; IIoo;th .... . f. f'~ ... '" IOY.. ' 3. 3~·'4 . ' 8, '~. p_ , 67. 3- 3" LANGUAGE, TexTs, ANO RIlAI,ITY addition to the thing and the undentandins, a third element in meaning, namely tbe sij:nifiation of nouns (MltliIJ_ Iipifi<;tMtio).'7· Do universal!, then, nist be.:aw.e of common aux of imposition or because of C1)mmon conception? Both, Abelard replies, adding only that the common caw.e taken from the thins', nature has the greater weight. m Bm bow ut universals formed by ab6traction? And how can they be spoken of as "single, bare, and pure" and yet not be devoid of true meaning?'" The key in Abelard's view lies in ah$traction, which he explains as follows.'" A thing exists at once in matter and. in fotm. But, through reason's applicatiOn, the mind retains the Cl:Jllicity to think of the one or the oc:ner, tither together Of apart. Isolating rhe pair is brought about by abstraction, that is, by "dtawing $Omerhing away" from its composite state in ordet to rdlect upon its natun: alone. The opposite to this state of affilin, of course, is thinking in terms of unity. Take, for instance, a "man", he is at once body, animal, and man, and is invested with infinite forms. If onc igoom the fornu and concenttates on his mlUtfial csscncc, onc dfcctivdy bring, about an understanding by means of abstraction, If, howo:ver, one thinks of both his essence and his body simultaneOusly, one thinks in tttms of a unity. Yet, one can think evcn of thest twO in isolation from his other characteristi", in which case the result once again il undtrsu.nding tbto\l8b abstraction,'·' Such conceptions mlly appeat to be false, sincr thq envisage the thing in terms other than those in which it sllbsuntivcly exists. Not so, Abelard. argues; for the abstraction does (I()( violate the nature or property of d>e thing icsclf. It pertains to the mind's application e,.t. UIJIio), (I()( to the mode of es:isrencr (.,tV' s"bsutmril).J&, Otherwise, Ilndenrwdill8 icsclf WQuid be devoid of meaning. After all, it is nO( the thing alone which posscssts such an idea; tather, attention is focused on it to d>e degree tUt t~ form inhem in it. And, in a anain sense, as Boethius says, it il uooentood differently from how it is. But this O(~mess is OOt a stare; it is only a mode of undentanding. In Other words, through the p£OCCS$ of abstraction, ~ thing is understood to be stpuatt from ,(I()(her, but, in truth, it ;5 not 5epiIratt at all. Thus, mamr and form Im not isolattd in rtality but in the mioo, that is, in the place in which the imdlectual reduction actually oc"·liiJ. , .~. ,.).. ''''liiJ., '4, "']1, "'I/.J. , ,.. /iiJ., p .• ~, ''1'. ' 1, ,. ""liiJ., ." ,.", ... /W... ,. " . ,~. )~J. LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANI) !IF-A Ll TY curs. Just as sense makes such distinctions--perceiving, for instance, the gold and silver sepatately in a stan_so does the mind .o&o Abe. lard adds that ah:$tra(:tion can include foresight (providmfil», in both God's cue and man·s. In God, prncnt .nd future are one; thcrd'ore, the question of diverse uooerstandings does not arise. In man, fore· knowledge must later be confirmed by (.ct. The design in the anist', mind must repr~nt the future work. '" Abelard now find.! himself in a position [0 answer Porphyry's ques· tions. Do genera and species 0:;'1 in the scnsc of signifying things that truly exist? Yes, by naming (rlomil'I>lio). In this setJS(' they are no diffe~nl from nouns which ~fer 10 individual thinss. Yet, universals also exist purely and singly in the undemanding ..... Nor should these two be n:garded as mutually exclusive alternatives, as logicians might 'u8gest.~ A ,imilar reply is made to the sN:ond question. If subsisting, an: genera and species corporeal or incorporeal? Following Boethius, Abe· lard reads "discrete·· fur "corporeal": for nothing, the pe.ir .rgue, truly exists except in a Singular form. And, in this sense, the anSwer co Porphyry's question .gain is both. Universals signify things discrete in essence and yet. at the Sllllle time, incorporeal with respect to the universal noun's mental image (lWfio). siIKe univer.ls, lIS established, do not signify discrttcly but confusedly. In other words, they signify corporeally with respe(t to thing, lInd incorpmeo.lly with respcCl to the manner of signifiClrlon. They name things which arc di"rcte, but they do not do so discretely or determinately.,li It follows, therefurc, in reply to Porphyry's third qucstiOfl, that, while universals exist in sensible things, they designate them as s..p. anted from their things. Whence Boethius, Abelard states, proposes that universals reside in sensible things but are understood outside them, '" in his view, tbe I«ond and third questions can be merged. UnivcrsaJs may be said both to signify sensible things and to signify the common conceptions which Priscian locat.., in the divine mind.l9<' Abelard adds onc further corrtttive to Bocthius. Concerning spoken words (vom), he says, doub" do nOt arise about how th~ y signify individual things, since the mode of signifying corresponds to the Status of the thing signified. In other terms, as things exist diSCtctdy, so words actually name them.,9' But douhtS exist concerning the real· ... I~_, p. ". '!!-p. , 6. [,: Cl<> Boo PI , .6. ,6.' 7, 9 ' ""0;6., p. '7, ''H' . • 8, 6. ,., Ind., ,8, 1"" ""~" p, ,8 , , 6·p. '9. 7. "'11>iJ" '9, 8,'0. '""OiJ., '9, ,8.,8. ", ItNI., lO, 6.[0. •., I~" LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND aliALITY ity of universab, which nonetheless perform tM same task.'''' In this respect, therefore, Boethiu,·s account of tM subjccr was incomplete. Although CM universal·, definition refers only to spoken words (rDlae J.IIro), the names <_i",,) art often transferred ro things W ro). Thus, when the won!."s nature is disclooed., it is found sometimes to refer to words, sometimes to things. Frequently, the nasna of the one and the other are transpc5!d, and grammar and logic, if incorrectly applied, may lead to error. This, in Abclard·, view, is what happened to his illusuious predecessor."" Boethius was correct in calling a thing a thing, and in insisting that IM universal, qll4 word, is common by its nomination of many. However, he did not sufficiently emphuize tl\,.t the many themselv"" give rise t(l the universal. The universality which the thing confers upon the word is something it does nOI have itself. For the word does not ultimately derive its meaning from the thing but from the mod.., of signification in the human mind.~ Beginning, then, with rejections of realism, Abelard finishes in an imellectualist position whiCh combitll'll Arisrotle, Boethius, and Priscian with his own insighrs on the nal~ of language and reality. His rdationship 10 the notion of written language is complelt, and ope-rates on Sl'Vl'rallevels at once. In terms such as .bsN"tKlifl the spoken is direcrly infused with written linguistic norms . .M in Anselm, a text appears in the mind befure it is rendered as script. Again, to be predicated is essentially a function of the spoken word; in this sense, universal, are imputable ··to words alone." Yet, these turn OUt 10 be word!: in gtammatical or logical atlllngement; they are spoken sounds whose meaning is insepanble from the ordered discourse of tl'ltts. Thus, for Abelard, as, in the CU(hatistic COntroversy, for Ratramn and later Ikrengar, the problem of universality con~rns the ~Ialion_ ship cl logiro-linguistic srrucfUl"l'$ to the mind, and, as a conse_ q""'nce, to reality. His definition of the universal as a noun that can be predicated of many things is evidently derived from logic (Porphyry) and grammar (Priseian). But, from the outi<'I, he is occupied simultane<.lusly with words .IId things. Although 1If".,io numIUtli.., is his proper subject, he repeatedly asserts his interest in nouns and verbs as "substantial'· elements of communication which ate combined "in truth." Therefore, he does not abandon Boethius·s conceptualism but n.ther refines and extends it. He adheres to the vocabulary of "!ikf_ ncu·· and to the notion of the mind as the active invenror of universal concepts. Yel he clears up ambiguities in Boethius's oversimplified -I~.. lO. ,<>-,6. ... IHi.. JO. '7·,6. 4°' "'IW.. l'. ,.". LANGUAGE, TE:X:TS, ANI) REALITY explanation of how universals signify discn:tc things. For Abclard, as for none of his anci~nt pr<"do:crssoTS, languag~ is the chid instrument of discourse. By iwlating languag~ frum things and thoughts, he IS able to provide a more defensible relationship bctw~n the two, 3. BERNARD OF CLAIRVAUX i -r,_, "" S..", Virnt'"",, <1t. 3· H Abdard was alone in his time in weaving the various threads of inten:st in language into a coherent theory and in testing his hy_ potheses against the full range of available ancient authority. The above account says little about his pure logic, about his applications of dialectic to theology, Of about internal developments with in his own thought. Yet, even a synthetic n:p~ntation of his ideas makes dear his belief that semantic analysis-that is, the e:x:ploration of the meanings of words in textual contexts-- ... no. ..rl, !iutMu.. "" fI<, ....... i, "'i BiOl~;' ~i ... . . . (Vi<-nna. ,89' ), ~ "nd~.", I.. ...! by '. do, .. c.o;. """"un. 8a1" 1 ~I>U _ _ (Pori,. '9,8). f Ot ('ti,;,;,1 ,.,.i ........ E. n" Gu>eI. ··Bibl..."..",i. (POrt H. lI<.-ou.Iuo:' Si., B........t.J ,_ CIMnwttx . . . (Rot,m\am. 19H ) ond M. _ .••~ St.nd du"ll:' /Smt. Jt-J ... CL.;" " MM.-.J Al1";..... . , , <W~, 'l»'). 3'43. Mort ; ond. on ,11< """....:np.. of - no. ,he ...;...., "ndi« of J. L,d« '''' S. B...-.J .. '" mu. , ",10. (Rom< •• jI6., '?li6. ,\>69). F..ndom-....td.• Ilk. ,"""&h'. Id. "&< """lIfCSKt li"od above. imporrut, ..."n, (, 9,,). F"'KbNf' ..... J«hI";''' T.J.o 8woJ>.tJJ .." C~ (Vi.ii"ll ..... nl, "'' 5.. _ _ . PHW".v-· " , _,.,.... ",IIVIII ,..,...... Ma. ''''' _" (IoIil",. ' 9'. ) • ...d SI.Ji ,. S. 8 ........ Ji C~/, . (Rome. "JH ). A number of .. ndia of I\emotd., m)'l,,,,;,m "ill I>< d'N i" ,ht ,,,,,u, of ,bi. a..-......... ,,,8,,,,,,,,. "" '."'-519 800-j_""'''' """i..), 4'3 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND IlEAL1TY mystical thinkas, swnd5 at the other. Of coune, it is now rerognized tbat the doctrinal diffcrellCft between them arc: not as great as tbey themselves thought.)!oII AbeJan:l wrote brilliantly of the monastic spirit in his letters to the nuns of the Paraclete, and, since Gilson,m there has been an increasing awareness of the ·'systematic" elements in Bernard's thought. However, despite points of concact in the conrent of their ideas, their conceptions of relations between autbor, tat, and audience wcre not the $I.me. Nor were their notions of the relationship betwttn literary form and individual thought and acr;OI"I. To describe these differences, it is nowadays fashionable to speak in terms of "hermeneutics." The word is so widely used in critical discussiocu that it has 100t much of its ancient association with a sciena: of inrerpretation. Yet, it was precisely in the definition and application of this stinui. fi~1IiJ tbat c1ennth- and twelfthcentury authon began to evolve differing DOI:ioos of the text:. Ansclm, for his pm, bad bridged the morwtic and scholastic realms by suggesting that the establishment of logico-linguistic r.cn was not incompatible with deep penonal meditation on religious mysteries. He effectively reconciled the objectifying and sub)ectifying aspects of crit· ical investigation within om literary endeavour. Abelud, by contrast, when treating similat issues, shifted the burden of inquiry to the comparison of texts. True, in the ThIJ~g;' "SdJtJUri_," he emphat_ ;"''''fI... cbopter. In: tan, , .. iEw ... hi> inH"" .... 011 mtdlnal ' ...... '" DO< ....... iantd !:>do.- _, J.Oo\'ilJoo., "L·jDIIIlil1lH do: s. BeIii'oN iUl 10 pe XII .. .., XIII< ~I., "" s.;.. &_0' d' ',w, .68-811, A. M . IMIdarol, ""0.. ho;!~ 8oo.uIIotd in .. incrn VorbIl,,1is .." 'I"btooIoAi< . . .....&fwn J~.: /Ho ' 0' _ Cwo 'P', 4<1~" V""'; R.. i3~i . •"S. 1I..... do. 10 ~1".,,60.:· $. ...,j 8. Bell>I •• ... ,'I... (1'1 J .. , '9,9). 0.. ,loo aC,..-lif< .. tIoo period·, iD,otial 'houtb<, ... jn ,.,.....t, G. eoo-blo, "TWt!fi~ SpiriillOli.,. "'" ,bo Lott M;,tdIo As ..: ~""",.J R-':o' ..... S..... , (Cl"f'<SdMJ ',_.;que ... s. s.. ...... "" .". ...... 80_"", .,•.,,, . 'Oi,,...n_ Corn<»IIIIi,,:· "icJ M _ . , . ". . . . . . it,'" ..}. r..., . . . ,""oIoA,. IlHE ,8 (IU'). ' H.<;I" H'-". """ 788-8.8. !mp",,"" ... ..". ",iE .. ol the hiototial '1'''' ;"".. io A. Bont. ""AblIord uar:\ Bttnbold. - Hi, , ,86 (1,,8), 497-,a5; _ 1 ·ion"",;, P. Zerbi., "Sooi Btn..do di Ooi......tk c ~ Goneilio di Sono." S,,J; ",$. Booo..o"", .~7J. A ........ ,eo .. ., .. Bo:rnar .,.l .,...t<>. m.i'" Abaatd: ... Uo~;' -"sit-""';" &,=o'(I'aoW, '9)04). "100"", __ , .... L"NGUAGE, TF-XTS, AND R.E"LITY k ally equated ~atio, I",M , and "".bum . .... But, when he turned to the Sit et NOlI, the various di$CU.S$ions of the triniry, or the methods by which moral and ethical conclusions were reached, the knowable was largely associaled with the accumulation of facts that ~rt dira:tly or indirectly derived from tcxts. Although Abelard nowhere allowed a model of written language to St:l.nd on its own, th e applications of his ideas generally stn:ngthened the already pn:valent medie,,".! link betwt('n rationality and tcxtu;U.ity. But there was another possible approach to the meaning and fimc{ion of textS, which considerably antedated the uses put to logic and grammar after the millennium. Instead of leading one to a deeper appl'Kiltion of objec{i~ reality, texts c()Uld be called upon to structun: the conduct of everyd..y life, either of the individual or of the group. Knowledge in this stnse woold be rdated Ins to expo.nding the corpus of cxistin8 information than 10 influencing rhe use of consuuctS within some aspect of social experience. One &$ptCt of {he latter problem has been discussed in Chapter Two, namely the growth 0{ textual concerns and group or8ani;r.ation among early heretical and reformist communiti~. But the i5$u~ also link up with those of Chapter Three, that is, with the imellectualisr or symbolic approaches to sacramentt! realities Ind the concornmirant priority gi~n ro reason or to senst. For, as Btrnm of Clairvaux"s sermons were circulated throughout the expo.n...Jing Cistcrcian Order, they not: only provided the century's outstanding eXBmple of a ··{extu;U. community." They also brought rogether inro one 8rouP of writin8s and ga~ a de6nitive stylistic imprint to feelings, per«ptions, and practical ideas that wen: the anlithesis of the Kho/astic, informational, or objectifyin8 approach. In Bernard's view, hermeneutics funcdoned. by means of a dialectical swin8 between the tnt and experience. The text therefore retained its inner mediradve concentration dirt(ted towards the reform of outer action, &$ it d id not in schol&$tic analysis. Physical symbolism, too, if allegorized, n:mained within a framework that was essentially titualistic, although such rituals, now dependent on subjective interpn:rarion, ~n:, like the gr()Up inccractions of earlier reformers, byproducts of an intensiv~ly literary experience. The externalization of the ascetic ideal was thus brought about by a simuhancoU$ development of the inner, emotive, and pcrsonal &$J>CI:U of hermeneutics and by a fo~eful rt$tructurin8 of external behavioural patterns within the group. Life, in that sen~, and not merely the 4" LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY ...0rd5 describins it, btame a was commented upon, discussed with oneself, aDd compared to established notms. In one sense, Bemard's spirituality was ~'Y old, as those searching for his Greek or utin roots have taken pains to point OUt. 1bere arc no unusual sources; there . te f~ if any innovative doctrines. But the size and nature of the ((tettte community before which he preached his sermons irJ"n'oxably altcred tbe conteJ:t of his message. Litt"."ti and il/itur"ti (i.c. , C/Jllfltnl) were bound together in a single historic and ~runental experiment. The contrast in approaches bc-rwem Abell1"l:! and St. Bernard was pur tather bluntly in the nineteen C4pitll'" of Bernard and the thirteen of WiIliilln of St. Thierry which were cundcmned as Abelard'l tuching at Sens in 1140. 179 Of course these lists of allcsed errors presented Abelard's theolngy only imperfectly. Yet, whattver their limitations for an objective assessment of his thought, they providc an accurate picture of how he was viewed by his intellectual adversaries. Not surprisingly, there are numcrous connections with themes discussed earlier in this volume. On the one hand, Abelard is accused of believins in physical symbolism. Hc is said to propose that the devil's "suggestions" to man come about per PhJs~ (W 10), that is, "through the appliClltion of stones or herbs"' (B I:S). On the OI:""t, Abelard is said to withdra,.. the physical elemcnt (rom tbe trinity, tbe sacramcnts, arid in particular (rorn penance. Hence , his names for the triune God are ;"'/"'P';" (W 2). He daims tbat the holy spirit 00." not .rise '"from the substance" of the father and son, nor the son (rom. the father (8 2, W 4); and thu Christ did nor assume flesh merely to liberate us from the &evil's mundane bondage (.., pp JUJoIi, B 4, .. jlm Jj"bD/;, W 7). 1be b~ aod wine on the altar an: nOl: wholly transformed: "the sacrament," he is said to assert, "remains in the.Lir through the form of the previously existing subuance" (W 9). Alleged to have rejttted realism, Abelard is therefore painted as an overiy clever =8ete, who continually seeks a rational, in~nalsense tI':Xt, ...hich cb< comcn>:nt....".,..,. ofE. Ln.Jo, "Bcmard onc! Abe!mI It .he Coun/IO), ~, . ,~. The .[J • below . . '" Will;""', ("90') onc! Ikonud', (8) liI l.«1 ... [110 .. _ ,iat_ v......m.. pu...." "" ".-.p .. ...... '" __ ""'< ... .".ibuo< .... ,06 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY fur religious mysteries best left uninterprcted. He is $aid to argue Ibal tM father is "full potential,"' tbe $On "some," and the holy spirit "none'" (B I , W 3). !be third person of the trinity is not the God and mlln who is Chrisl (B 5, W 8), but rather Plllto's "world-500!'" (W 5). In his opponenu' view, Abelard gramed God omnipotence, but tm,n restriCted his activity to the boundari<'"S of dial...:tic. His God does nOf simply do what he wish<'"S but acts in accordance wilh law, df...:rill8 change only at prearranged tim<'"S and plac<'"S (B 7). And, although all-knowing, he is not automlltically '"wise" and "benign" (B 13). Religion, too, in his logical f«onmuction, is purged of its affei:dve qualities:. In Christ I""re is no "spirit of feat" (B (0) and in the future life there will not exist "eve n chaste fcoar'" (B 14). Further, 115 God obeys laws, he provides no an:swer 10 theodicy: "he neither should nor can prevent evil" (8 17). Also, the power of binding and of loosing was given to the apostles but not to their successors (B ! I). A~ all, Abelard is IlCcused of holding to the inner naCUIl: of all true religious experience. Faith is " the estimation of things unseen" (W I ). We did not inherit "guilt'· from Adam but only "punishment"' (B 8, W 11). By implication, the Jem weIl: not responsible for Christ's death, "since what is committed in ignorance is not ascribable to guilt" (B 9). The pf«ondition of sin is consdO\Un~, for "from free choice without grace's aid"", can both will and act'· (W 6, B 6). Merely physical frailties like sensual desire do oot represent "'sin" but only "nature"' (W 13). For there is no genuint culpability wheIl: there is "1lCC(lrd in sin" and "contempt for God" (W 11). Abclard's theology is thus portrayed at once 115 crude, and, in terms of true faith, illiterate, yet, at the s.ame time, as a hert$ y <Jf grammar, logic, and textual manipulation. In thal sense he is pictuted for p0lemical purposes as a "scholastic," in implied contrast to a thinker like Bernard. In reality, both authors are bypl"Oducts of tcxtual culture, although in diffe~nt ways. To ~(urn to our earlier analogy: if, for Abelard, the text is disp05ilive, for Bernard it is largely evidential. Although Abelmi wrote much about the narun of lall8ua~, and, although he held traditional viCW$ on most dO(trinal issu~, his ultimate aim was to explain how we undentand objective reality. Whethul. qUC$tion was "philosophical" or "theological"' did not matter as much as what Wa5, in his view, a rasonable solution. In Bernard's case, as We shall see, just the opposite was true. Fact, as he saw it, was already esrabli$h~ by the Bible and the fathers. The problem was its rtassimilation lANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANO JlIIAllTY back into the mcditllting suhject's mind. In his mysticism tne, 1lCW ttxt did not supplement the old, text (0 tat: meaning, as noted, was the byproduct oi n:ligiOU5, pilycbological, and htrmcneutic ell:pericna. The purpose of studying Scriptun: was DOt to advance txtemal knowledge but to uy to rcintegtllte oneself into a previous state of spiritual awucncu. In his view, the monastic community was a group of sl,lCh ttxrually infurmcd individuals. Bemard achieved his results by rcctcadng in mystical language .. scnst of the spoken, the physical, and the pcrformrd to which this study has frequently a.lluded. In du.t sense, his sermons can be deKribed as the acting out of an intensely personalized ritual. But Btrnard also brought to peifection otlll techniques utilized by earlier monastic authors. To understand them, Dom Leclcrcq temind5 us, one must recall the meaning of "r.-.dins" and "meditation" in St. Bencdict himself. For, during the Middle Ages, monks usually read "not as today, principally with the eyes, but the lips, pronouncing what the-I $I.W, and with the can, lutening to the wor' The strong psychological n:lationship between the reader and the ttxrual txperience produced an auta.! as wcoll as visUIIJ record of what was heard, 11>cttforc, 1Mi/il#IH, as an cxtlcisc in memorization, was inseparable from 'lIt1i~."'· Above ail, monastic rcadiD8 did not proceed by abstraction. It permitted the bm:hrcn "to picture, to 'make pre5tUr,' to set things with all tbe details provided. by the tl'XU: the colours - T. u... (I ";4 nil u.. Dosinfor GotI. tc>oo . .." ,. ,,·,itoMiII• ..... 9, 48,~ . A IimpJe lis< a( otIk IX'''''' ~ '" God.... the 1npotLan< anodr IX D. 1'arbaloIvr. L'i.~ j, ,.;..,. fliml... ..;... ~ ~ lis (,~ ,. ""'" 1l...,oi(lI.o68J, ""'-. ,. p. ",. 10-'3. A I l _ i _ ..m bt .... fto I'..r' .. '.. . :. w'., .• ,. u,..s. I.AN GUAGE, TI!XTS, A ND REALITY and dimensions of things, the clothing, buring and actions of the peo:;opI e. . . . "'0) In other words, as the monastic "reader" engage.! his mind and his senses, he rehearsed, revivifie.!, and ulTimately reJiwd the nperienu which create.! the initial mystical Slatt. SacrtlSffibt), and publication (< = TO. '-" t{ f_iorr. 8, . n- quo,.,;.. .... "'" ... i,,",,,, r>ppxt ..i... tfibal .. Ii,;o,,; ... P. R,.". ··SI. 1I< ~ndi on ,I>< Nom< "'God,"' Bwo.mI t{ Cf.t,,.,...,,, .. , I...:I'I«!. ">"[4 · - l.< _.~~ f-O ... J. 1.«1Ominl>l wn<1I. I<1"iptl "'M '" diet ...... , .. "':. " ~_B). Cl. l«1 S"'" .am "'"Wl ",k>, ~.• " . l.ANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REAl.ITY and, very frequrndy, correction befott circulation ...... Once published, of course, the SmnotfS were looked upon as a tat (opllI, aJMliti~) .• 'o Three major roianion, developed, each with iu own wne of influence. <" But hi, sermons never completely lost touch with the ,poken milieu in which they wett conceived and delivered. <" The following discussion is devoted exclusively to Bemard', S"._ 1111'" c.lIlita.·" The alalysis does not deal with the intetlal ordering of the Cisttrcian communiries, which, it is Ill"guable, they influenced. but rather to eleme nts of Berrutrd's thoughr and o:xpression which helped to make it possible. In tMt sense, the question of "textual communities" is taken in a different direction, tMt is, one which focuses on a body of ten5 themselves. By way of introduction. the fint sermon is examined in detail. Its images and ideas can then act as a mercnce point for investigating tbe topics to which lktnard subsequently turns his attencion. Super Can/ica, Srrmo 1 The sermon is devoted to the title of the Song of Songs. Before its meaning is discussed, iu contenu may be lummuiu}-> • . 0 . P. l l _ . "'Oit Mi#oi~ St. Botnhut\I _ H ('9,,1. 61~. ,.."u.; _G.>H6I..,S, q,;~ , .. L«lm:q. - Ion toq>o> _ • • ," " • • CI.;.......,..- s,~ """ , .• I"".. ,,6.'7 . ". J- 1 ttt ....""""..t.r R."""'- '. '9l·>U. 0.. KJlionI kri";n.- R."""'- '. ,. ,., . ood "~ .. li ut.-.;... de [,,,,,,, ... de ";0' 80rn0td:. R..".;J, ('969). ',""'1. The <eX of Btrnud·. 1<-1..,. i, oq..Jlr <"",pin; ... Lerl 'I'I' bi.I,"" "" '*' Po_. Ion""" .. ",I< .. , n.: "",..1Otdn IoIlo.-i,.. my euli .. ....r. "E>q>orirnce. Prax". Work ond Plato.,;"!! in 8t..... T!. CJ"",J C.._ . M howl~., (DoNt. ,., ,er.- ,_, ••; Ht , . U" $.,,, _ c.. .....," 4_ ,~ ,er.- •.1, . .e. LANGUAGE . TEXTS, AND REA LITY f~u. "." So it ;$ for his br~thrf:n: they ha~ long busied th~m~lves witb celestial matters, tbat is, with God's law. Now they may o~n their mOUIh5 10 K«iv~ no( milk bUI th~ hmld of Solomon. that is, lbe message of lhe Song. Ecdesiaste5 has taught tbem, he continues, to know and to despi~ this world's vanity, as has Proverbs. Ha~ th.,ir lives IlfId conduct not been informed with those docuines? As Luke suggesu, their "friend" has three ]OIlVO in his cupboard, of which they have uied two.'" May they not now try the third? To Ihe 1""1) abo~-menlional boob of the Old Testament corrnponded tWO evils, namely, worldly vanity and excess. !be (lJ)(' Int impro=;! our morals, the other discovered through reason Ihe diffet"elKe hctween wnity and trulh, pUlting the fcar of God and the obsel'Vllnce of his rules before mundane interests. Fnr fear ;s the beginning of wisdom, oWl'VlInce its consummation: the only true wisdom consists of aV ." , eo. ,,6. " , l< 11 :, . ". I Cor "'4. '" Con, " .. 4" LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND ItEAJ,.IT1' those who have found peace .net 1Irorldly cares have bet:n put aside can truly understand the text. ilIete is another "sons" in tbe Bible of frttdom which has the same mcanins, that is, when liBel after escapios from bondage in Egypt. Judith, of course, Samuel's mother, and sevem of the prophl'ts alt abo spoken of as ··siOSing.·· Yet, such hymns all had special motives, whereu Solomon was in ueed of no earthly benefit which would have compelled him to compox the Song. It ill a uniquo: picce of writing, celebrating as it does tbe marriage of Chrilt and the church,'" thereby embodying the SIcred soul's desire in figurative lang!la8c. No less than Moses on Sinai, Solomon veUs his true countenance. Bernud then rerurns to his brethfl'D. If they re-examine their own experience, have they D04: too sung " "new canticle" for the Lord? He delivell'd rhem from the twin evil! of 1Iroridly vanity and lack of discipline. Wben their penance obtained from him not merely pardon tOt sins bllt the promise of future reward, did they not sing his praiSl'l even mort: enthusiastically than beion:1 Foe, if on occasion an obscUfl' biblical teu suddenly became rife with meaning, was it not their duty to chum God'I tan in thanks for tbe alms bestowed? One netd D04: wait fur such notable events. In the trials and combats of C'tet}'day life, tbe monb ling their gratitude for small viCtorie. 11 temptation CM:rrome, a rice eooicated, a passion quashed , or a vi~ finally achieved. In all such cases we trumpet our pn.lfe, lest, on the final day, we cannot say, "Your justifications well' tbe subject of my song in tbe place of my pilgrirmge. Bernard adds that his brethren airHdy ne<:Ogni.tl' from "pClience what the psa.1fl'r call. not the sons of sotJSS but the &Ong of steps. For, with every stage of the ascent rowards perfection a particular cantkle of p~se and glory must be sung, as Scripture ttKhes. But the Sons of Songs SWP.,ses all other sacred melodies. It can only be aught by grace and learned by experience. The experiCllCed know it: others bum with des.ill', not so much for knowins as (or feeling, sina the Song is not a noise of the mouth but a jubilation of the heart; D04: a sound. of the lips but a motivation towuds joy; in sbort, a ha.rmony not of words but of wills. It cannot be heard outside: only the singer and He to whom it is sung, that is, the bridegroom and the bride, can actua1ly hear it, as is fitting fot an epitbalamium. Above -.Jl it cannot be heard or suns by WHk and imperfe<'t soub . sans: "4_' ... For on",.) ..ion vi ct. .. ,ho.... , ... 1'. - ~, "",,",-, '36-90· ... Po 118:,•. 4" "L· LANGUAGf; , T E XT S, ANn REALITY One must be well on one's way to maturity, "marriage." and mystical experience. Lee uS now look a little more dosdy at the sermon's themes and modes of expression. Its point of departure is two interrelated types of comparison. One is between the secular and the spidtual. The other i5 within grades of spiritual ascent. M the monks, who have left the secular routine, engage in spiritual ilCtivities, their susten~ becomes "more solid." Paradoxically, therefore, their spirituality is highlighted by the physical. M they arc pnftdi in Paul's terms.'" so they must be given nOl "milk" but "meat," that is, spiritual Aesh which, we learn a sentence Later, is really sacrarnenttl "bread." Bemard plays on the monies' othemcu: they require "OIher things"; those living in the world are "the others. " But, most of all, they requite a different mode of communication (alII artt alilt/'" dia/lda JIIIII). And the otherness rhus inspiml inAuences nor principally doctrine but a way of lik Paul holds up the model by his instruction (/urmam ttlla ill dNendiJ); he teaches by example (t/qal tXtmpln). The text in Bernard's view plays a fundamental role in leadill8 their minds upwatds. They have long !>ten (",Ir.Jtiblf.S tJ4/1pa#, meditating day and night ill Itgt Oti. Now their "mOl.lths are open"; they hunger after the Song's "btead." The concrete images are dNwn from the Bible, the fatheu, and, very possibly, the agrarian life itself. But the spiritual nature of the undertaking is also emphasiwi by the physicality of the milk, the meat, and the bread. M the OIherworldly end becomes more evident, the tangibility of the imagery is more pronounced. The text itself is a symbol of what is petformed in the $2CNments: the book of the Song is "proferred" ; irs bread u "broken." And, for Bernard. the new text, the commentary, will undoubtedly ret2in some of the seRsual attta(tion of the old. From stagH of $pirituality he then turns ro states of self-knowledge. There ate three boolu and three lOAve5. Ecclcsiastes teaches the monks to know and to condemn (rogwOUffl tl (01Iltm1lm) the world's vanity; Proverm, how to regulate their livH and morals (vila tl mo:rcr). But the kno .... ledge to whi ch he refers a few lines later is nOl simply a doctrinal message. Although it involves dogma, it works chiefly through the experience of the rat and rhe rerransfurmarion of its principles ""'1;"" <1<"",", ;n s,. &rn.rd', ''"'-'l!h, ...... G. P,;..hm .... {)it 1-iittUdJ. K......... io;" F....,;p.;, ... Cl<> ,ho h, onl, 'h< .....do,ed BmJ..," _ cr.'- J9H)· 4'3 "udr ~ (~. L,..NGUJl.GE, TEXTS, ,..ND IlE,..LITY into action. In thi5 wly ~haviou[ is both improved Rod reformed U ;,,/_ZI), the ll!rer rerm effeo;rively (ornbining both instruction and contemplation. The question of in!erpretlltion is nOI: mentioned directly, but it obviOl.Ully lies JUSt beneath the surface. fur both books are too large to be absorbed wbol.ly as guides for conduct in the sense that Bemard suggests. Excerpts must be made and rules put in order. Thus, while 5<:ript~ is undel"$tood litendly, the ~u are not assimilated as they are: they too are subject to experience. Also, Ontt again the material aDd the spiritual are played upon, Ecdesiastes U(ili~ "the hoc .,f discipline." Proverbs il handled more subtly: by reason's light (iMa flltitmU) it distinguishes woddly vanity from truth's solidity (.,,,,:uitrrqw diJtillKllfI/J " SQ/ido ""jklZir). Sacramental bread and physkality art thus linked to inner truth, and the pair of Old Testament booio are made Steps in moral reform. Proverbs, he adds, teaches fear of God IlIld obedience to his commandments. The onc, as P.sa.lms not<."S, is wisdom's beginning: the Other, Bemard affirms, is its fulfilment. For wisdom, in his view, i5 IlOI: merely a static virt~; it actively llvoids t'Vil and practices good (.I«/J""re " IIW/~ d /tICIft NIIII1/J). Here, too, Betnllrd's starting point is the text. For, without fearing God, wc cannot avoid evil; and, without observing his commandments, we can do no good wOtk. He thereby begins to build a case for linking tel <_.z; "".,1"........ '" .. , 8«...-4', id "'" Gm!< o\oIntn,. "'" d......,. ol J. o...i&u ao>d J ..IoI. Db:hou>rt i. s..;", J ~_ u ....1 u m.....u.. i .....ripd "'" ....... """"",,0.. puJi<6. uo.. ill ui_ Elltwidtht.,,,JI(,,, _h "" lMn "" N. 80 ' " IP",ibuI,. u..."",;.,..., '51<'6). All _ , pbt,,,,,,,,, >108;00[ opp ..... ~ ..... J. .$dud:, 0.. "";pi,. e,.,." _1I. Bo ! "". F.;,,!I,;....., .... c "'.",,~,-c... :fOI .,('WOiI!obut8. '9"), ,1-10', i . Gibm', u ,! ( .It _ - * _ !lit JUbjen < ;'" " ' ;"3 bo,o, _fuxd ..... olr. _""). I'oc ... ;,_.. , ...... _ ........ "'" dill"m,,, !Unotd ol 001 ......... " $.... iot ...""'-I c.Jum I (,~), .... ,S. ao>d "a..riun&tic.,.j G ........ Ltod s.-..... ,,_ct·.. C , 8<=" " cri,,,,,,,, '" ..",.., Ke_. '·...... 4'4 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND IlEAllTY also " in ean." Yet the oral and textual experienclI.'S are intermingled. The mystical reading of the Song is a Ulm1a IKI;~, which cannot be undertaken before the spirit has SUbdUM the flesh. And, as this higher stare of awarenll.'S$ is appruached, ~rnard·5 imagery becomll.'S charac. teristically more concrete. The blind eye cannot S~; the a"iwwliJ hmn~ canll(){ perceive inner rea1itill.'S. The .... orld·' wisdom is therefore fonl· ishness before God. His is the .-itat;s ... sp;";tw ; but He is also the paterfamilias who lirenlly breaks the bread at the human family's meal. He is therefore distant and objective, and ytt near and el:perienced subjectively. For Bemard, the imil8es imply alllhority and social co· iJcsiveness as wrll as the !egitinlllu basis for rt'5tfllcruring the personal moral life. Al the .same time, the biblical father is portrayed as the ultimate source of interpretation for the Song's message. Although, as later sermons illustrate, Bernarcl is the active subject of the mystical CIperience, he avoids the responsibility for rhe subjective aspects of hermeneutics. He does not shift the weight of decision-making to his shoulden. Instead, he stands aloof, and, while striving m er truth, n'mains a passive recepucie of God's fOICC$. He is a meJialDr' and a tJiat(Jr between the Word and his brethren, whose group experience he embodill.'S as the Song's "bread'· is broken. He sums up his position in an apt ContfliSt between the external and the internal, sfating that, if his brethren lonk to him Vp«tttiJ), they can look for nO£hing from him (",,,, 1X1/w:tniJ). For he too is onc who waits in anticipation (II"'JJ sltm tk txJPKta"tibw). Spiritually undernnuri'hed, he implor.., Him ··who opens the door and closes it to no one'· for this textual bread, this pro/lltuiini1lfll7ll wcratnlltlltm. What he wants is the verbal bond implied in the, Song, ilfld he thus unites the physical. tM sacramental, and the ttl[t. The image through which he combin.., the physical and the spit. itual i, the kin, to .... hich he nCIt rurns. The kin confirms that his my.ltical experience begins with the sensual. And, from what the text suggll.'Sts co the senses, onc then proceeds to high er undentanding.< >6 The "face of the tCXC" entkes onc to read furthtt, IUn"$ onc to iDv"" tigate the hidden meaning. The task does not tin' when the text's sweetness so charms. <" ~rnard·s interpretation of the Song"' opening vents maintains this ,,, For • dilC'll""", ... D. F.,bs&.I.,. L·;'~;'" " r Ed"", ~i."" q..od'" <>odi fort< diffi '+,. "reM"m. 4" LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY parallel by relating the physical and t~ oral, and tho: spiritual and the written. TM Song, he recognizes, is a dialogue. For the words burst fotth (~ pronmpit) lIS if there had been a previow speaker (q_pilntl UJqIlDlUfll), to whom the other participant is presented as if replying (mpollilnlum). But why, he asks, does this woman IISk expressly and. explicitly vigu1lter It 1I01JIi,..,t;"') for a kiss on the mouth? Futther, why by "his own mouth," as if it were a habit? Who, he continlK'S, could resist this "beginning without a beginning," this floYelty within the discounc of an old book (1IWitaJ ill IItUl'i loo ItKIIlioniJ)? It is proof, in Bernard's view, that the work (ym) is not of human invention (Jm.a1lO i1lgmio) but was composed by the spidt's (nUt fJpiritIU .,." it. ~it_). In other words, we have a text «<Tip11lN, lilmm, OPIIS, etc), which lCtWllly spealcl fJtrmo, vtrlo4, doqlli_, IlXJdio, etc.). Moreover, Solomon, as noted, means sigtr_ jNlcis: wc thus move from the kiss's ractiie aspects to the name as a lign and the~ to gcnuine: interpretation, whi(h, M idd" is the pterogative of minds at peace (aJ h.1IC ;1Iu(liJl .,/a, smPtd1fl tIIDIlD j1l_ villlri JlrMifo.J). Having tea(bed tM plane of mystical interpretation, Betn&rd cMn makes it de.r that this is a unique song, dlll.t is, pure spirit 01" word. Solomon celebrarcs Christ aod the (hutch, the grace of holy love, and the sacrament of eternal nuptials. But M abo expresses the desire of the "sac~ soul," and, exulting in the spirit, composed the cpithalamium in "'sweet but figuntive terms" (illOlw •.. figllralO t. 1$&1.). Like Moses, "he veih his face." So this tUt, whose te:nWllity so sensitizes Bcmard, has its ultimate myscery in the Word. He asks tht other monla to participate with him, to ronsult their own "e.perieoce." For, have they ll(){ sung "'I new song"? HIS their &.ith not "overcome the world"? Has He not worked miracles before them ? Thus, the new canticle, the hymn to God, becomes identiMd with conversion of the spirit and reformed conduct. The experience of the ten, in fact, becomes a ritual involving the individual interpreter, the largu group, and the written. On the one hand, new sons' ~ comp<: d, Berruu-d stalCS, whenever penan<:e obtains DOt only remission of sins but promise of revn.n:l.. The "song" completes the ritWlls of liCe's fulfilment. But that is not the only ~. If, Bernard Jldds, for any among his brethren, a mystctious or obscure ten suddenly becumes luminous wirh meaning, surely it is their duty to (harm God's can; "with the voice of joy and peace, the sound of fcanins." Even in the everyday butles ...,ith the Hcsh, tM world , .nd the devil, wc arc oblig1!d to sing daily songs for victories. As oftm as 4,6 LANGUAGE, TIlXTS, AND RllALlTY this happens, Isaiah teach~, should ~und the acli~ tI vox l4udis. The "song," then, which I"t$ults from experiencing the Song, is a more profound furm of a quotidian dramaturgy rather than the cxamination of a text in isolation from monastic life it$tlf. Btrnard therefore describes the anivity as "!t<:ognition" (rrrogllo.r_ 41"1). It is • (4l1li(a grat!MlI1II: for twry Itep upwards a canticle must be sung in praise of Him who is the source of their advance. The sermon ends with a remarkably condse summary of Ikrnard', views on ritua.l, experience, and stlf-knowledge, The Song can only be taught by anointing (sola u"nio); it can only be learned by expcrien~ (soUt. . . . expmml;a).4" The experienced, as noted, "!t<:ognizc" it, the inexperienced "burn with desire," not so much for knowing as for experiencing (Expmi rtCOgfI(!J(a"l, ilftxpn'li illltrt/esul.1It dt5iamo, 11011 la'" (Qg"wandi q""'" aperitlldl). So the Song, wh ich is the Word, is not merely words; that is, not the slr-rpilus urn but the ;"bilw (ordil. And this word , which is ptr<:eived as a text, is not heard outside ("011 aru/illtl" {oris) nor sounded OUt in public (lftr . . • ill pMbfiro ptrJUllllr). Only he who sings it can hear it and sllc to whom it is sung, that is, the groom and the bridc. As the text internaJius the word, mere sound is ritually transformed into inner though!. And thus reform is brought about. Word, Tat, and Exptritfl(' The textS qUOted in the fint sermon are commonplaces of monastic thought, but the manner in which tMy are brought toget her gives them new meaning. They are in fact united by Bernatd's style of txplffiion, which, in turn, U a refle.::ricm of his inner emotiot1$ and states of mind. His explonllion of relations bctw~n word, text, and experience is . " 1I b«n dj....-! bt-. numbe. '" e d 67>10· Gumi< d·lJ"n, . who beotd 11< .......... ptrtL ,8,. ,9,0. An ..p!kj. _ _ '" Il<mood', ptin1, ...... b.«I...d dixuued b!' n.;"..,.. 'Q.,'. ,.........!J. Ill. o.uno..i«. $.;" 11 ...... ,1 ., ~ 1I!W< (Pori • • ' 9H). 9'"98; d .• _ J. H.,.....;,,' • •"s. B<mord .. Gu.ilLa.".,. de Soln,·Thiorty dono lo'Ubtt de A....... : .. S.illl s..-J « D. "achJal.,.. t·nu,irotioo '" I"Emttm cl" . ,. ,. pp. 4'"91. ''7 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY continued. in subsequent sermons on the Song of Songs, 10 .... hich we now direct our attention. . In sermon tv(O, the sensing, thinking, and jnt~rpretins subj.-.::t ~merges more clearly. Bernard confesses: "Wh~~ver I rdiect on the yearning and ardent desire of the ntheD for Christ's presence in the ftesh, I am lilled with grief and confusion. ".,., There are twO sets of physicalides and twO yearnings. On the onc hand, he speaks of the historical Christ, that is, of ChriJl1tJ ill r",.. On the other. we, as readen, f~d, as did his monastic brethren, th.t same presence as active subjects (rogiltlllJ, twnj!lInp, ron/ll"aq,). The: ContflLSt is not only betw~n the ancients and lbe mooerns, rh.r is, ber .... ~n the undiluted (.jth of the patristic l18e and the spiritual tepidnm of his own "miserable times." le is also between the monks' desi.es and his own. Is there any among us, he ola, for whom Christ's display (ahibitio) of gfllCe excites the same passionate promise (prrmtiuio) a.s it did lot them? AJmoU8h we rejoice in Christ's binh, how many really undentand its meaning?<.IO The put and present e:apectations are then related to the lint ve!$C of the Song, " Le!: him kiss me .... ith the kiss of his mouth." At these .... ords, Bernard states, he feels some of the fatheD' d#ritUrill/lJ and txJj1«I4Ji~. Whoever was "spiritULl" at that time sensed that grace would be dispensed "from his lips. "'" This train of thou&ht brings him back once again to the physical and the vubal, to .... hich he now adds ritual. For the fathers longed 1>0{ to be depcived of participation {Jwnirip..Ii~) in SIKh s .... eetness. A ptrjtmu, he ootes. of those days might have said. "Why do yw offer me those babbling lips of the prophets?" The older spokesmen on God's behalf, such as Moses, isaiah, and Jeremiah, were all tOngueiess (uinKlles). Their utterances COlItained no promi.es of salV1ltion. But, he adds in a frenzy of mystical desire. "Le!: him. let him alone, of whom tbey speak, put forth his words, let him kiss me .... ith the kiss of his mouth." He wanu no interpreteD between himself and that tangible presence: " No longer in them or through them, let him speak to me." The mouth is both the source of I personal embrace and. me means by which Q,rist's grace becomes I. living fountain in him ({MS tIIf- SA/imtil in IJifa", iIIImw",). The immenion in the word via the text is a sensuous ritual, a paraliturgical c:a:perience. of .... hich he remarks: "Surely I may expect a more abundant outpouring of 8fllCCS from him .... hom the father 'has ""Pi_""'" ... So>- 2. '_ t . p_ W• ..,... ' "-,,,,,"u .. dnidr,;i """"'" Ouioti i" ...... _ ..... ~ ~i""'" . ... /1;,1., p. 8, .,-p. ~, I. . " 11;,1., 8, " 4; '" +4.'. 4" LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY anointed with the oil of gladness above his fellows, '••• i( only he will condescend to kiss me with the kiss of his mouth." For, he repealS, the kiss is not juSt a ··coming togeth er of the lips"; it is abo a J_~ 'I'iwJ ,1 ,ffo:Px. For Bcrnard, then, the physical, via the text, is apprehendeJ tangibly, but, at the same time, it representS a divim' reality. He is not so much an "interprete r'· u a delver into sacramental meaning, since his point of departure is the thing, real or imagined, rather than the words .Ione. H e $<'Cks both • rrwwio IKrrtllnlm and "a marvellous, and, in a sense, inextricable mingling of light (rom above and from within the enlighteneJ soul." 10 this, he adds, "He that adheres ro the Lord is onc spirit with him,""" Purely intellectual understanding therefore is put aside. Bern.aro rejc«s visilmfJ tI w""ia, fig,.,a, rt mig_ _ la, eveo when they convey an angelic beauty, For the~ images all fall short of Ch rist 's perfection. And, it is He, not angel or man, whom Bernard asks to kiss him with the kiss of hili mouth.· ... Variations on the theme of word and t""t art pursued in ~rmons three and four, in which Bernard [urns [0 the significance of rhe three kisses . In sermon three he begins with a direct appeal. Today, he says, we arc reading in the book of experience (HDdi, ftgi",1I1 i" film! apr;r;"'tiM). He un the monks to turn towards themsclves and to examimo thei r consciences concerning what should be said (q"a~ Jict/lJa 1nl). He wishes to ask whether any of them has reached the point of stating as a 1",1",1;<1, ··Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth," For, in his view, this progress from word to text must come from within (IX 41«111). The awareness of itS inner truth ari~ in (Urn from re~ated ""perience: he who has onc~ received it seeks after it again and again. And " no one can know it ",ho has not undergom' it." Like the eucharistic bread, therefore, it is "hidden /ruInna.·· It is a ··sealed fountain" in which "the stranger has no part ...·)· In this sense, the thnoe kisses-that of the feet, the hands, and the mouth-represent the sou!"s progress tp"i_ priftJCtIlJ). By the first, in Betnatd's terms, we CO[\$C(ratc the initial stages of our coovenion. The second is granted to those making steady progrm. BUI only a "rare perfet:tion" of the spirit experiences the third, and this state alone pertains to the Song.,Y; The 6rst two kis~s are prtSeTlt only to make the last's meaning ." to ~:J~ ; r. ~4: 8, '" , Cor 6 : , J. . M /hJ .• • . , .'. p. \I. 7") ' ... . .\..- ~_,." p. ,8,9"' " - ' n ptimo ..... p d<.;i;':otI,ut _ _ C e""""'" ",km ptof>cimtj!>w ;..:10'«<'01. pot'" ,onium ""'. <>perieto' .. 4'9 fU. pe,fu,"." LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY c1eu. For, lkmard arsJ.teS, there mUSt be some distinction among the meraphorical embraces. The female putnn in the Song did not .say, "Let him ki. mc,~ but, "Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth, " obviowly going beyond cwtom and ordinary usage (Jw4dw _. ea ... MJImI«W loq'Wflit) . lkrnard teUOns that she meutt a ki. that was supreme (1.;;;. s all) but not unique (101_). In noflDlll usage, he adds, the expressions "kiss DIC''' or "Sive me a kw" are frequent. No ODe affixes "with yoot mouth" or "with the kiss of ywr mouth." Why? Because a ki. tJotmally requires that lips mm:: there is no need to mention it. ScriptUre, lIlOf'roVU, furnishes numerous eumpJes of this sort of embcaa, which is the custom of all who write ot speak (o-is qai JmIH, " qai Ifqllitlll' ClllUlllfJit). Therefore, there must be a deeper meaning for tbe phrase, which cannot ~r to anything bur the three stares ~jJKlIIJ) or 'taBes of progress Cpnf«tas) of the soul. These are fuJly known only to those who have experienced them (ap.nl·" If An.sdm .saw special languages as grammatially perfect versions of ordinary speech, Bemard sees the same distinction between cwtomary aoo mystical meaning in the Bible. These consideruions bring him to the related problem of the wocd, creation, and understanding, to which he tUtnll in ~rmons fout, five, and li• . In sermon four, Bemard quotes John 4::14 (Spirit'" IJIDGs) as wir_ nen that God is a unified substance vitnpl'" ralnhllrtW), lacking corp!)!'Nl memlx:n. One does not liren.lly "kiss" his fttt, bands, and mouth. For God, he atgllH, is .said to ~ members through dTect, not nature {J1t'" Ijfoa_, _ J1tr _ . " , j . We find in him something resembling feet, before whicb we kneel; haruh, by wbich our stren8th is ICliCWoU; and a mouth, which offi:u plea..nt food for tbousht (jyanulr ~ti$). P~cally, "he woo governs is all things to all and )'a' is properly not any of them. ,. For, as Scripture frequently tells us, he is never far away £rom' his creatures, who are nothins withoul him. Yet, if there is nothing "more piesenc" for us , there is as well nothing "more inCQlllp~hensible." ..u Paul .sa)'l, "All rhings exist from him, through him , and in him. " In this sense, God is tbe beins of all he has made. nor materially bur causally. He has DO need of the corporeal, since he C!'Nted everything by his word alone v~ ..n..j. Using only his will, he derives what is necessary for creating and ordering.'" The emphUis on God', absolute power r«alls the eucharislic theory of Radbert. But what is the place of tbe teJ:t and of physical reality , '9. , . .., IW. • p. , ~. " ' P, ... _ 4.,. 4. p. '9 • • &.p. "", n . LANGUAGIi, TEXTS, AND REALITY which Bernard ..hove refer~ as the starting point of all higher understanding? He turns to this q~tion in sermon five, arguing that there are four kinds of spirin, those of animals, our own, the angelic, and the being which created the othen (peoorn, /IOSttF', "71gf/iatJ, tt qlli ((»Jdidit is1JJS).·'" Of these, only God can truly do without some corporality; the others are all involved with bodies to $Omt degree. Paul, he recalls, said, '·The invisible things of God are clearly seen and understood by the things that are ma.de.··- The latter in Bernard's opinion are ~"/j,,.t visib;l;", which we only come [0 know through bodily means.'" The sacramental PfO(eu therefore begins with what is heard, seen, and touched. Although man is essentially a spmtlld/a rrwtllr", he has need of the body, without which he could not acquire the knowltdge (mm';,,) enabling him to ascend fO higher ulldentanding (rognitio beat.. ) .••• Angels, tOO, have need of bodies; otherwise, they could not miniuer to those who live in bodies .... Moreover, Bernard asks, without bodies, how could they move from place to place? The angeb in fact appearW poUpo..bly before the chu~h fathen: they lived with them, ate with them, and had their f«t washed ...• iktnard concludes that both angelic and brute spirits h~vc need of bodies, but to help others rather than themselves,'" the superiur out of love, the inferior OUt of neces,ity. ,,6 But what benefit does each derive with res~t to eternal salvation? The itNtiooal spirit pmeives bodies, but it is not led upwards through the senses to spiritual and intelligible realities. Unable to attain such understanding of itself, it aids those who transfer the use of temporal things ro the fruition of eternal ones, ··using this world, $0 ro speak, ;,IS if not using it .. ··., JUSt the opposite is true of the angelic spirit. Without bodily aid or intuition from th~ -'Cnses, it is etpo..ble of ap-prehending what i, ·'highest" and "most intimate" by the ·'affinity and vitality of its nature alone." Paul, Bernard. asserts, dearly in_ tendtd this sense. For, while he said that the im;isibi{iIJ Dei were romprehensible through", qUI {MhI SII7II, he addtd, "by the creatures of the world,·' suggesting by implication the opposite for creatures of to •.. S..... S.I.I.p. U . 9-I ... .. p." , ".p. u /~ '.= • •. ""'quo in'"''II> .. n> - S_ ,.1 . '. p. " , 11-12 . ,,' lbU. • >2. " . -l .. iokrio< '.1 "Piri"" prop0 rroc..! dubio ",is ut i~:· " . /t.iJ. • " . '''-lo; I Co< 7.) 1. -'bus """ 4" I,.ANGUAQIi, TEXTS, AND REALITY heav~n. , .. This, B~rnard maintains, was anoth~r way of u.ying rhar the ang~lic spirit needs 1\0 bodily aid ro perceive objects of contemplation, while the human spirit mU${ approach them slowly and la_ boriously .... The angelic spirit in fan provides its own teXT. Why should iT seek spiritual matters among The bodily when it can read in "rhe book of life" wirhout cont!lLdiction and undersund its IllC$$age without Jifljculty?"~ Th~re is even less need for allegoriution. Why should the angel "sweat" to $Cparate the wheat from th~ chalf, to prn.s win~ from grapes, or oil from olivC"S ~ By rhis manner of thinking Berna.rd comes to another conclusion. While lower and higm,r spirits utilize bodies, neither benefits from them "in Requiring what makes rhe spiritual creature bl~.·· The brute is incapable of enlightenment, the celeStial spirit has no need of it.' )' wm.t then of man, whom Bemard, in the traditional metaphor, sees as occupying a midpoint between the highest and the lowesa'!' His spirit needs a body both for his own advancement and for the benefit of othen. m Bemard asks how he could instruct his brethren without a tOll8ue. It follows that every created spirit, and not just man's rmioll4IiI ."hM, requires the ~ of the body, either for others or for itself and others. , .. Some living things seem to have no human ~, but that belief is an illusion. Often, Bernard argues, they perform more beneficia.! services as objects of reflection than in fulfilling corporeal needs. m Some in h et are harmful, like poisonoUs plants. Bill, even if they do not provide food or serve another /Unction, they ofTer matter for exercising the intelligence (i"gmillm ",trrmJo). For IllI who U$C tcII30n (""",i "Im'; r,.,;o",), they bear witne:u ro PaIl!"S dicrum that "the invisible things of God arc seen and understood through the things that arc made. ",>6 Bemard's PQSition is 110!: anti-rational, as his mystical ascenr was portmyM by his opponents. H e has only led. the reader back by another route ro the physical element in his theory of signs, He is aware ... 0.. ,.,. ;..dqo<""",,,,,,, '" II<mon:l', .-i<w> '" ""FI,.... li. 1\0 ·,.td...t. doo;tri ... ok< ...... ... s...., , . ' .~ ,p . ' J, J_". ' 3, ''"'3' -C... <pok) ...., ;pto< "'."'''••<, 11« ol..,i 1"'"1- '" _ if:' '''IOU., , . .. 6. p. 2" ,8.p.• ~. 2. •" IOU. • 24, ,. , : - P""" ... profoclO .... u...li """ ...... ",mon. eotdil»o itt, ....... i"'" q"'"'" ....."iwn .... ,Ot; -ibus _ _ ." ""~ , J,. ·" IIiJ., '4. l"9· 4" lANGUAGE, TEX TS, AND REALITY that his divisions of se!l5l: and spirit inVQiff philosophical difficul_ ties. '" But he p~fers to bypau them, and ~turn$ to th~ means of rommuniCltion ~tween God, spirit, and man. No created spirit, he proposes, can of in own accord be applied to our minds in such a way that, lacking intervention On our partS, it "intermingles with us" or "nV1:rftows into us," thereby rendering uS learned or vinuous. Therm~, higher truths cannot be generated by human or angelic spirits alone. ' " The p~rogative is limited {O "the highest and uncir<:ums(ribed. spirit,"' who can convey knowledge to angel or to tI"Uln without t~ use of ears or mouths. "He is infused through himself, he is made known through h imself, and, being pure, he is apprehended by pu~ mind." Although self-sufficient IlIKl omnipotent, he nonethelcu brings about many operations through his created subject, wh ether corporeal or spirituaL Ho~r, he "orders" ; he dO\'s not "beg."'''· Bernard takes his OWn praching as.n C1 ' .' .7. '4. ." /IOJ.• p. '4'>' , '" ,~. . ,.>.8. p, >4. ,6-p. >" . . ·" 'Id.. , .~.8-9. p . • ,. ~., ,,. ""IOJ.• ,0-,>; " F,". ml>i ~,., ... quod ti"&"",,, m<.I 60<;"" ..... ;""11'< id p<>o. ;,. " >,. ..' I~.. >" " · '4. "",;aJ.. , ., .10. p. >" ... On ,,,. ..,ion of Ill< Wool in hi",,,,)', 8....-J "' C~, "'S..-, Of< ., .•6. "" "-I.. •,. }" 11. McGinn. '"$o;nt IIrtnotd ond Eocho'o/<>e:r.·· '7,.8, . 6. 1. •• p. • 6. " .p, . 7, 4. 4'3 l.ANGUAGJI, TJ3XTS, AND RJlAl.lTY than ro their author. Even less intdlig~ntly, they often attributed their aistence ro chance. Many erttd, Bc:lt"lard continues, in IIS(ribing to their own ability .hat wu in fact a gift from above. Goefs worb were credited to evil spirits, rhe sun, the moon, the earth, and even human artelacu. Gras5, trftS, and even seeds were woahipped as gods. <611 Thus did men descend even to praying to a "golden calf. ··.67 To combat this idolatry, God did not appear as reason. He pre$tnted hirnself physically to tl\o$e ....ho understood only the corporc:aI so thac they might mon: easily be led upwards to things of the spirit ..... For, while appearing as fI~h and)'l:t working things IlOC of the flesh, he demonstrated that be wu respomibJe for such contradictions involving "nature." "fortune." or "the devil"' even before his coming to earth. ParadOll:ica1ly, he was, like the $(>flsual message of the Sons, both vis.ible and invisible at once. Bc:mard concludes his brief allegory of nun's desertion of pagflll sUp"rstition with a lilt of Christ's miracles, pointing out their public character in each case. No less than schoJ.stic theologians, he sees the religiON that PI(Ceded Christianity as forms of ignora.nce. However, vulgarity is not attributable to a Iac:k of unda.standing of God's ways but rather to a lower state of spiritual awareness. 1be kiss " of hi! mouth" accordingly becomes the: "breath;' of which the evangc:list spoke, by which the primitive church rtCc:ivtd the holy gbost.·W ~ ap.in, then, Bernard eqo.wcs the physk1l kW, the boIy $piri!, and the word. That. he aplains. is why the spouse so eagerly asks for a kiss. In requesting it, she ef&ctivdy prays for the threefold kl>()wleds~ of tbe trinity. insofar ,., a creature can posseas it while still in the flesh.4"/" .And thi!; knowledge, of course, which flesh promises. is rcally an understanding of the Ipirit ...It does not only illumine onc: with intellectual awarenc" but kindles onc to divine love ...· " It is Paul's cbarity." · Moreover. he rcitet&tcs, it is not only ne<:cssary to know (f08~"") but also to love (.pwrt). m Otherwise, the kiss's en· lightenment would only "puff up. ··n. "' IMt.• '1 . 4,,0. ... IMt.• 6.•. I ). p. ' 7. 11''' . ... 11U... ']. '4" ' : ·"Obtuii ........... '"I ·'ft.ibuo .......... pet q....,. diocotenl _ .. spi. rl_." ""/oiJ.• 8.1.~. P. }7 . 1-8: - .[.....tlIr...; ... inqui....... [10 1O. >2[ houd d..bium qwn [..... A.-.oo •• id .... primn;rituok '" .ok.!. ,.. /Mt., 8.• . ,. p. l8. qWdnn cop in ...... mortoli .. ' !Mt., p. )8 ....... ). !«Itoio<. •. :. 0". 101 . Cord;"". "'L> op;mo......, od" ";l. 'Pi- &.mardo,- DiMI T..... " ".,6: Tri_ C;= ' .. r eo. 8:1. ('947). ,ar-ol. """" ..oil;"";" 1 J>O«S<. '" ._ pori •• m "'5_.8.).,. p . }8. ""7· <:,.. I. ANGUAGIJ, TEXTS, ANU REAliTY Bernard ends sermon eight with a word on the limits of interpretadon. In inqui ring into deeper senses ( ill arra"is $m$ibtn), the monks should not attempt «l fathom what lil"S beyond their modest abilities.on They should "walk" wilh the spiri l, not the letter, of thei r own readings .• 76 Onc should not be pdsfied with "carnal senses" or a.cquicsce to "the inane reckonings of human curiosi ty." She who begs for the kiss, that is, who invokes the holy spirit, should receive both "the C25te of knowledge" and "tile condiment of grace." The kiss i$ evidence (i"did"",) of love; but it does not impart Jdmlia . . . JiM rmw,. Along with "the light of undemanding" comes "the oil of devotion." InJeN., in lkrnard's terms, it is the Jpiritll$ sapimlia, It i1lltllltillI wh ich ignites the 1II/1IUI J(imliM and infuses the sapqr gra_ tial .•" Another fashion in which the Pm<: contrast is illustrated is through the identification of Bernard's point of view and crn- bride's, as in sermon nine. H e returns af"rt$h to the Song's opening Vl:rse, he states, in order to provi& an explanation (rafNJ1InII dart)."· But he soon surpiI»l's the limits of reason,'" Rather than offer an exegesis, he r~~tes a spiritual setting in which the bride's and his own thoughts can merge. """ Let us suppose, he asks his brethren, that, on successive days, the friends of the groom have come to pay tribute to the spouse. They find her out of $Om and ask what is wrong. They prt$ume that she is returning to her former husband af"ter a period of infidelity. They then ask her to rehearse the enactment of the thr~ kisses. On your return, Ihey ask, did you no t importune him with tears 10 le! you touch hu (~? But, having attained this privilege, you once again grew discontented and, desiring greater familiarity, obtained ~ second g race, r«ei"l'ing many vir_ tues from the kiss of the h~nd, Yet, did yoo not then ~grcc to ask for nothing more? Yes, she confesses. What then. they ask ) Are you afraid that the gifts will ~ taken away? No, she repli es. Then, they add, tell us what wc can do to help you. To this she replies partly in her own words and partly in Bernard', thoughts, which can be summarized as follow,: "I Unn()( rt$t," 'he says, "until he kisses me with the kiss of his mouth. I am grateful to have kissed his f'cct and hand: but, if he ,,·s...., 8'4.6, p.}9 , "'['1: Ecd; j . . . . ''' IW.. p. 39. ' 4' [ 1: "In 'p;,;'" unbul... in ;J!j •• et non;n ...... ".",, ;0," '" IW., p. 39. [6-. 6. ,,. IW., 9 '[ ' [, p. 4>, • [ .... _ ·, 9·'·'. p. H, It; p. H, ... Whu lOll""" ",mm",; ... 9 · [ . [-,.;. pp. p, " 'p. 4 ), "1 . .. '''' I,. 4" LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY mlily cares (or mc, let him ki" me with rhe kiss of his mouth. I am Ill)( lacking in gratihKie, bur I am in love. What I have received i5 more rhan I deK~ but less than I desire. I am driVl:n by passion, not reason. Do not critici~e my boldness, sinc:e it i$ m()(ivued by ..{k(tion. Modesty asks $W$ibly, but love conquers! My judgement him kin me with the lris:s of his sleeps. J ask, I bc8, I implore, mouth.' For, on his behalf I have led a disciplinro life for Ill$ny ~rs. J have devottd myself ro mOnllStk study, Iftbted vice, prayed constantly, and held vigils against temptation. I have uwunted my~" in the bitterness of my $OuI.oo, I have lived in common and obeyed my superior. I have not coveted othe,,' goods; I hllw given my own, and myself with them. I ea.ten my bread in the ,wea.t of my brow. '" Yer, in plau of sweetness, I have known only routine ((Oil' J1«fIIIiM. Am 1 a useless servant who only 0l:qs?4J! Is my soul to remain in thint?".... Of course SlOt, But, as Bct!W"d subtly shifts from her desius to his own, from the carnal to the spiritual, from the female to the male, and from drama to meaning, wc, as readen, like his monastic COnfempotaries, al$O recreate in living images the theme of tile soul's adVIlDcement. Many of his brethren, he adds, complain in confession o( "dry souls" and. "heavy minds."!bey do SlOt know how ro "penetf'lltc" God.'!i deeper mysteries. He asks: is thllt not the 5a.Ole looging ro be kissedi>"''' FOI clearly they yearn after the spirit of wisdom and uoacrstanding. With uncknu.nding as .. guide, wisdom "YOU" whllt it apprehends. oll6 Sermons nine to twdve tIlke up .. theme implicit in much of Bcrnud', erotic and mystical language, namely, ilCt;~ as ritual initiation and purifiCl.tion. The Song's verses continue: "For your brea.srs are better than wine, smelling SWeet of the best ointments . .....,. As a panllel to the three kisses, Ikrnard envisaga thKt kinds of unguent, conversion, COntrition, and piety, The verse, he thinks, WII5 spoken by the bride, As she speaks of him, be appears and gives ber the kis.s she desires, thus fulfilling the: prophecy, "You gaVl: bet ber hCllIt's desin: .nd did not withhold from her the will of her lips ...... So great is the spiritual 'ut ""VI: ... to ,8",. ... Gal "'9. '" 1< 17:10. ... PI '9:4 . 9.2.J , p. H • • S.p. oH, 2 . ... I~. , +I, >-4: "Swpin.n, pIoon<, et ;,,1!ioD< spiriuol ""f'eorioo et iofdloct",: i.«lkn"" Uf;q... ~.., p ... s..- ... Can< ", ... .. 1'1 20:,. .,6 1I1.NGU-,GE, TEXTS , -'NI> RE-'LITY kiss's po .... er that, on roxeiving it, the bride cunceive$. Her breas15 swell ilnd milk begins to flOW.'1II Bernard once again shifts from this highly $Cnsmu imagery to the monks' situation. "Those of you," ~ adds, " .... ho desire to pray often know from CJn is o:uily deceived , the will defeated, and memory obscured. ·.., Yet , God manages to penetrate the c. - On 'his u...,..y, ... wo. By"""" .~ ..... .. Mott.-Century Ci>ter<;.n W,il~, _ fI-' ThM.,i<.J R...... 70 «917) • • ,(1.34 . ... r_ 9.' .7, p. ~6, ,?-,6. f t · IWJ., 46 .• f>., I. - IWJ.• lO·4 .S. p. so. ' 4" 9; P> ,8... . .., '''''.• 10. S. 7. p. S'. l7'P · ". 7; P> 49.' ,. -'''''., ' 0.,.9 , p. p, 17->2;' c.,.. 11 ., . .., f WJ.• !I. I. ' . p. SS. "_10. ... On ,,., "",r, .""". in s..-m.... W . Hu,. 0;' -, •• A.! ",... s.,.,,' '" _ Cf.;" •• (fin.; • • • 964). 89-Il1... So'IDO 11 ., .,. p. ,], ' 7- 19. 4'7 LANGUAGJ!, TJ!XTS, ANO Jl,EALlTY human soul, communicating to reason as p/tIJihldt> /..as, to will as _I,itllli4 /NKis, and to memory as ml/i"lUIliIl tltl"."illl,is.·" Finally, Bemud adds, the thiro ointment, that of piety, is extm.::ted from the miserable.'" It is superior to the othen becaUSl' it is sprnd over the whole of Christ's body, that is, the church.'oo What the church offen us collcctively, we enjoy individually thl"O\ijj:h participation."" Variations on these themes rKUr in later sermons, of which, within the framework of the present discussion, twO othen d~rve special attention. In $tt"mon fifteen, Bernard speaks of t~ ~ of God and the name of Jesus. A critical attitude, he argues, is essential to any higher undencanding. True, God is available to all who pray."" But the Song's tat suggesu that His name is "as oil poured OIIt;" that is. it is a word in need of inteq>l"C'tation. Fint fkrnaro. redllCes the biblical nama for God "to oil." that is, to qualitia, su.ting his prefe",nct fD<" twO, pill4tiJ gr"'u. and potm,u _ial.r'u .••• Ar length he comes to the appellative "I am who am: ·... Even Moses, he argues, could not have uruielsrooci iu meaning tw:I it no< been poured OIIt (if{ItIlMrrNlf). Met aphors for the ftow of the Woro follow: it was not only poured (/Its-J but pouted fonh (e!fin-), that is, poured into Moses (illfos-) and thereby grasped (I:4P'II_). In other woros, what had been poured into the angels was now ovtrAowing among men.' ''' The vent, "Your name is as oil poured out" then:by becomes a symbol of the Word's communication. Jaw; rcscmbla "oil" in three senses, in providing light, food, and medicine. The name gives light wben preached ~,_), nourishes when rhousht about (IMdJi.iIIIllI1If), and [nnquiJli~a when invoked. (;lff/OaIt_l.>'" He then enrnines each sense in decail. NOIhing, be argues, could have spn:ad the "li8ht of faith" throughout the world but the preaching of Jaus's name."" Fot the light is his woro, a5 Paul States.,.. But illumination i.>e8an with the tangible: He bore hu li8ht "Iike a larnp";~ He directed everyone's I.'f" " to rhe candle. "" 0 And Jesus's pn:aching, for &rnaro, went hand in hand with his phys... I.... p . n. ' 4-.6. _1. ... " . 1.1. p. 60. "'Ia; N, ,., . - I.... 1> .1.10. p. 6,. , . - I.... 11.1. 11 . p . .67. 6. - I}M., 'J .• . I. p. 9,. ,~. -IHI.. 8 •. 4. -I}M. . " .• .•. p . 81. l o ; b , . 14· _ I. ... 8" .,.:l<5. >,.. "' 1"-1., '5.'·'. p. 8,. 1)-',. "' 11<11•• 86 • • _. ; Epb,.8. ""iiJ. . • ,.,.6. p. a,. "" "-1.• 86-4- 4" ,11.-'9. ' ~ 1".,86. 7 . LANGUAGF:. TEXTS. AND REALITY ical dctth fur man's s..keY' His name. moreover. is a kind of spiritual food «miwwt cihll,) .'" .... ithout .... hich neither te:n oor word haY\" meaning. fox, if you .... rite or speak, Bernard asserts. your .... ork .... iII not insuuct me if it lacks Christ's name.'" Finally. to turn to medicine, he stat.-s that the name ente~ one's heart, leaps to the lip5, radiates as light, and disperses domh of dooM . It is thus tM name of life ("MInt vital). , •• Again, onc proce~b through these images from Mard 1oO\Ind to meaning and illumination, that is, from the i"WC4I;o "omi"iJ to ctrtillldo. ", Bernaro sums up this aspect of his mysticism in sermon sixt~n, .... here he also adds a fe .... comments on his exegetical method. The holy spirit, M pro~, causes everything to be made (jim) :lnd to be .... ritten {)triM, These things are done fur the improvement of spirits misled by the body's '''perfidious s<xicty" or mim,ught by the wnrld's "foolish wisdom." No one ought to be anonished if he scrutinj~es the "stoll:housc" of thc holy spirit. sine<: he r«ogni~es that "the spirit's liu," ~ides there. Moreover, his preaching is dire<:ted equally at the quick and the slow wined. My purpose, he adds. is oot so much to comment on .... ords (Ill ",pO/lam vtrba) as to imbue hearts (/0'1 imJ,1/Ilm cwtia). Such insrruction cannot be given rapidly; it requires "diligent treatment" and "frequent exhortation." The diKU$sion of the mysteries (dimmio Jacramll7tonll1'). he confesses, took him longer than o.ntici~ted. He thought to pass in one day from the dark, shaded. hidden wood of allegory (JilV ,,, IMJ., 8OS ••6. '" I~. 86, 17-'&"S; ""a......... ..p. ",it.;. ni,i ks"'" ib; !....... Si diopu'",,,,, _ . '"'" oap;. "'ibi. nul "",,,,,i. ibj !...... .. '''IIiJ.. • ) .•.6. p. 86. 1<>-2,. '" I"".. 86, '9. ,., 11iJ., 16.1.,. p. 89, "-p. 'P. • . '" INJ.• • 6. I .,. p. .". ' . : l< ' • . '\J. ,., lliJ.. p . .", .8·". 4'9 «KO- LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY For, throush his Sift, 1W Je!lJe /2ithfully, we speak usefully, and we implement efficiendy."9 In the end, his is practical advice. Reduced «l iu essentials, hu "triple cord" cons.isu of thinking rightly, speak.ins worthily, and conlirming one's words through life.,'G The WtJrd, InttriurilY, and Riform The .R'nnons diwJ55ed $0 fat provide a rough paradigm for ",fonn in Bernard's theology which involves the word, the text, and experience. The starting point is the word. Enunciated by the Spirit, it is fonnalized as a text. And that, of caune, III in the Song', case, is how it is fint experienced. Howevtc, through active meditation, it is revivified lIS WOtd. In the prtJCt:s5, psydlological reform is brought about.'O< The manner in which this comes to pus is treated in detail in subsequent sermoru_ The question has many faceu , and Bcmard nowhere pulls his thoUBhu together III a single doctrine. Yet , if possed in rt'View, sermons seventttn to twenty-duee tell U$ much about his notions of interiotity, self-knowledge. and reform. To these tnu we now turn. A fund1lJT\enuI issue for Bemm is how _ undentaoo right and wrong, which, he ugues, involves the word and the heart, DO( the mind. Thu u the messa,ge of sermon seventeen, in ....hich the tat remains, "Your name is as oil poured out." HI~ _, he IISks, penetrated far enough into the J41IdIlllri_ [),j~ Have we sufficiently KrutiniIed the ",#abiu JIKr""""/...? Or should we now proceed further in the investigation of inner truths men p. 90, " _I}: ""n.t _i,. fiodsIi .... do< ,"oo",s IMiliw, dot~ ... 001;""10:,, ' · ,.. I~.• p . 90, '4-'" ~ . .. ,i ~ ........, si djp< pr. I""".,;" si vi ..... cd....,.iorio qown p'Lmo: """ prim<> qllidm! in"';"""" .mat.... CJ~. .i, mc,..cundo ' '' I~. , '" IW. , ' 7. ' .1, p. g./I. 7-'6. LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND IlEALlTY jah ~fore d~ lauet', spirit wu taken up to heavt'n. ,.) Afrer the Jollhn's waters miraculously parted to I~ them pau, Elijah asked EIi,h .. what he could do for him before he left this life. Eli,h .. replied., "I ask that you inwart to me your double spirit (;hpfa spiri/m).·' Elijah said that this was a difficult task, and. set the follOWing condition. If Elisha saw him as he WIll ~ing taken up to i>eavt'n, the wish would be fulfilled; if he did IKX, it would not . 1be epi.sod.e was aaractivt' ro Ikrnard beeaw.c it onct' again drew a dear conttast between the visib le and the invisible. The starting point wu real change u evidenced by the sen"C's: this "figure," he asserts, was "written" on our behalf. Accordingly, we must watch carefully over our own salvation (~'" IJOitrtU kt/lllh), which the holy spirit 8C _ tivatn within us ,-,"fifaf Spiritlls in i~ti_ ntnln), subtly, sweedy, and ccuelcssly. In other words, although grace is invisible, it leaves visible signs, which we must acknowl~; and, although the spirit opeflues in mysterious ways, its action never stops. If we do not wish to be deprived of the "double gift, ,. it can newr be taken "-way from us. But, by implication, God must never find us "unprepared"; we must be waiting with "faces uplifted" for his benedicrion. Wc must be vigilane at all times because wc do hOt know at what oour the spirit will come. ,'. As a parallel to the two states of knowledge with which we g rtet the spirit, Bcrnard adds a funher distinction between truth and falsehood. It is one thing merely to doubt the truth (dllhil4rt de vtrilall), another to savour fal.schood (s4pm fahiI41tm ). We may avoid the latter by refusing to remain ignorant of our ignorance. For fa/sil4J and ;hbimtJ, he .Jlcgori~es, are the misuahle daughters of "ffiQther ign<)ranee." When the spirit speaks, both vanish: they are replace.:! not simply by truth but byarl4 t'tI'ilaJ, that is, by the "spirit of troth," which, in the terms of our p,,"ious discussion, is authenti cated truth. Above all, Ikrnard adds, we must esp~·ci.lIy be on Our guard "",hen rhe spirit does not speak to us." For, at such moments, it is really speaking through silence. Moreover, Bcrnard sees a profound. difference between rashly asIK"ning whar one does not know and simply affirming what is probable. Some men, he aslK"rQ, openly say what is false; OI:hers spct.k of wh.t they do not know. 11le former, he notes. are ill good faith; the litter lie. fClf" the fonner merely say what they actullly beliew to be '" ~ Ro, ' .9-[0 . ". s_ '1.' .2, p. 99. "'0 . ". LANGIJAGf!, TEXTS, ANO IU! AI.ITY true, altboush it is not. ~ latter pn:tend to haV1: certainty when they do not. Therefure, they speak falsely even when whar th.,. say haPPCDJ to be truc.'·' In other terms, the criterion of tlUth is what is; it cannot be altered by mere affirmation. As a consequence, man's moral reform cannot begin in 50flIething external to himself-1l text, a set of teachings, etC. In precondition is his inner awareness of the spirit. Bcrnard, then, is interested. not in factual objectivity but in a kind which, while relatr _;0"" ~: rJtcriUl _ . """ fori. _ "";uo q....... """ _ cui""""'" .... primo I.... ";mI,ibuo ooIkIN od NI ........ muroeribuo ...... od Iuctutn. ·· ,., IW . • 10,. ,~... '''IJ,jJ.• ,8. 1.2. '''"4.8-9. ... IW. • ,8" ' J . l<>f. ) p. , .. p.,.. 2p:l , . , .. s..- , 8.' .3. p . l<>f. 2,' 28. ,,. /J,jJ.• 20. ' .'. p. , , ~. 7ol1: , Cor , 6:... '" LANGUAGE, Tf-XTS, AND llF."LITY this mean? Christ, nn! of all, is to be venerated u the wurce of onc's being, life, and capacity to underst.nd,m To be ungnud"ul for ,uch gifts is to be unworthy of tnem, Howcver, beyond this, he who refUsn to Jive for Christ, as Paul states, is dead; he who has no understanding is a fool; he who don not exist for him is already nothing.'" At the essence of man's existence is an iKti~ relationship with his maker:'" for, "wbat is man",,6 but "that you are made known to him. "'" Of course, God's love is not the same u Chriu' •. God made everything for himself; Christ drained his "earthly chalice" to complete the "work of our redemption. ",,, In making the wtlt1d, God merely willed and spoke, while, in suffering on earth, Christ "\.I. boured mightily" for our salYation. ' ... He not only cnd~ the world's disdain; He loved us befon: ~ existed, even, after CICation, when _ resisced,!4 Q And fa we should love Him. To return to a now familiar image, Bernar.! states thlt, at the core of our devmion is an A.",,,,. rordir which is also (1fflIAIis. Why? Because, he suggescs, it turns us toward rhe physiclli Christ, together with what he undertook to perform while in the Iiesh.'" To repeat: the "invisible God" appeared visibly, so that, a& a man, he might dwell amnng men, drawing towards spiritual truths those who ooIy knew how to love camallyY' Putting dle matter ;n human tC1"lT1.5, Bernard p1"OpOSCS that Christ'S rorporA.ii5 prA.tJ."tiA. Illonc caUK.! his fol· lowers to leave worldly things behind. For, befon: the crucifixion, they could not bear to hear of his death, while afterwards SOtrow prevented them from witnessing his ascent ,'" Thus, paflldoxically, devotion to Christ's fiesh is a "great gift" of the holy spirit. It is called "carnal"' not with respect to the word that became fiesh but with respect to the virtues which appeared as the word in Chr ist , them. "'. There who, after all, did not represent them but rather are, Bctnard adds, three stages of love, carnal, rational, and spiritual (CA'7IIIliJ, rCe$, it becomeJ rational and then spiritual. For Bernard, rationality is literalism; that wa, '" 110[i ti1"' , ,. PI [4l') ,,' P".. 16'4 ,,. S - >0. 1.2 , p. 1 ' 1, " , /10 J-' . n" - 110<0.,.6. p. [ [8, [l- [' : "E, ..... """""m cotdi, quodotnmodo> .... cu ......... ~ ""Ai •• ,~. "",...." Ott'I<;, et _ j• ..,... o.riI< _.6. '" IliJ., ,,8 . ' 7-11 9. j. ,.. I . ... , ,,.,.B, p. 1>0. 4.8. i,. '" LANGUAGIi, TIiXTS, AND REALITY is, love is "rational" when it adheres to aU Christian dO(trine withour deviation and exhibits "sober moderation" in conduct. It is, in that sense, a kind of IIw, and n.tionality is onct more identifiablt with a text. This same love becomes spiritual when, frttd from all difficulties, it adell the "strength of spirit. " .., Again, then, in Bernard·s thought, we move from the word to the text to the word: from the physical Cht;.t, who is the Word, to doctrine and precept, which is '" text, and to spirit, which is a word dependent on the other two. This dialectical process is central to Bernard's notion of reform, as sermon twmty-oflt revtals. His text is, "Draw me; he will run after you to the odour of your ointments. " ...6 But how is one dnwn to Christ' Do you not see, Bernard asks his brethren, tlat he who wa.lk5 with the spirit is placed in a difficulc dilemma' For, he can neither remain in the ~ srate nor ~ry easily advance much beyond ie His way, in fact, lin not through man but through the spirit, which, as manager (I" t...0. »..p. 12 ' . , . .., $.... U .} . 4. p. 1>4. 20-'4. ""001.• 124 •• ~ •• ,: •• quod bo< .. ___ hi quod <'" p,.,. ... c.." I. • . ;p...m. ,; ....0<1;,;, ........ us. od.,,_ ",,,,obil;,,,,, wn..,. 'S" 7: " . .. tfisq"" i ..... """""'" ., two> «<><01 q"""*'n o«em;,.,;' imo&-;no:m. Uliqu< "'''' iMdaloiImo .. onl"" """"" ;tll<"'. . . ." .... . p. us. '9-20. , .. 1"-1., 'I. J.6, p. ,." j", ... fori.Ioquor:· "'(J;,I.• 21 . 1·'. p. "4.26-27. "' ...t>io <.tp ,...--no LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND Rf. AI. ITY ongUl$ as his makers image. Nor, through rational :acdvity alone, can he fully recover rhe likenns he 106t. H e must undergo acti ve spiritual development. ". The lIoi>iliJ mulllra, in Bernard's terms, originally Cmlte.:!. in imitation of his maker, recovers (rfUfJ'arr] his ancient dignity to the degree that he 'purns the Aet:ting world and, as Paul suggCSts, reforms his awarenns (;fts/lS] to the divine exempbr.m The essrntial relat;on,hip ;s between ,qlmlJari and wo/brm4ri. Bernard's IllO$t comprehensiw Statement on morm occurs in ser_ mon twenty-th~. The ~xt ;5 the "king's storerooms" (u/lari"",), which he tmlrs along with the "garden" (honm) and the "bedcham _ ber" (c#bicul"",) from subsequent verses of the Song.'" Here, he is direuly conccrn«l with the spiritual sense of the tCXt hidden beneath the literal. In his view, the garden reprncnrs the historical reading, the storeroom the moral, and the bedchamber the se<:ret of "theoretical contemplation. "'" The investigation ItQwcver is not conduct«l according to the rules of the trivium and rhe quadrivium. Instead, he refers in each case to his own experience of the text. The garden is history (hul"';"), he argues, because, like fruir r~ in the garden of the bride or in the garden of Eden, we find there men of virtue (viri I);rlllllfm). from wh~ good actions and morals we may take l'XlImplcs.,,6 For a good man is a "tm: planted."'" Moreover, the garden has a history. which is divided into three parts, the cmltion of heawn and earth, the reconciliation, and the tcstoration. ,,To turn to the moral sense, Ih~ things an also notable, as if there were thrtt cellus in the !ame storehouse, containing wine, spices, and ull8uents."9 Bur thcs.e rhre!! subcellars also correspond to disci pline , narure, and grace.,60 In the first, wo: learn acrordill8 to ethical principles how to be "inferior"; in the sc<:ond, "equal"; in the third, "superior." In olher words, we learn how to live under. with, and over others. Natutc made all men equal, but, corrupted with pride, the)' degenerated through envy and jealousy. For that reason, in the fitSt "cellar," our behaviour i5 discip!ined, our obstinare wiUs mollified, alld our pride humbled and healed. When. through "natural affe.:lion ,.,;p ". fliJ. • p. ,.,. '9·": .I"", «ta. f;"... mi!,."","" ....... n •• • ' " flY. • p. ",. 'l·']; Rom .. ',; 8:>8. "'S_ '}.1 .}. p. '40. '1)010. '" c.n. ' ''; r~ . ''' 1;;,/.. " . ' . 4. p. '40, ,,' S .... '),'·4. p . ".' •• -6 . '''IIiJ.• '3+ '. p. 14'. ".']. ,oo11iJ.. 14'. ,., . " ·'4, " ' Pt " , . LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANO REALITY alOIK'," we have IcarlKd to live in common with OI:h\:rs, we p.ss to the IOCOnd cellar, nature itself.'" Here we apericnce the truth of WMt is written about monastic lI.I1ity.)6, For, to disciplined monJ, (dUtipliuli aLl l!», one now ad'» the ~ IIIIlIIrM, since authority and discipline "beat OUt .nd extnct" the naru",,1 superiority of good p~ ceprs.06. But cIv.:~ is IIn important dudlKtion ~n these two cellars not revealed by their namcs alone.'6.< For monks do not all POSSt'5$ the happy faculty of living together in peace and batmony. It u one thing to obey. superior; it is quite IInOthcT to be ohMient by internal willpower alonc.>6> Likcwi~, few superiors govern well, fewer still with hwnility.'''' With the cell.r and the: proen behind him, Bcrnard then tutnii to the bedchamber. Ani I, he asks , to presume I can know what it is? Truly this "aperience" bc1oos1 to the bride alone. But what understandins be has he is willing to imp.n.,6J lu he has many cellats, the killS has numeroul bedchambers, each rcscrftd for • different ,..i~. Ikrnard describes thm: such "places," of which he has had mys. tical iUtimlltiOll$.,6I The nnt is a pl.&cc (l1JOIJ) in the bome of the groom, where, as governot (guAWlWlDI') of the universe, he determines his laws .nd IIttansCS his counsels, con5tinlting the physical ~llItio/lS of all ClHtures, their weight, measure, and number. Although lofty IInd .sequestered, this pl.&cc is not: quiet. The groom mlly duposc '"sweetly," but he nonethclt'Sl disposes. Here the contemplative has 00 pla.ce: he is pleasantly tired by c_lt'SI auivity.069 Thu is what the bride means when she re~rs • few UfXS later tQ '"sleeping with her heart .wake. "no Similarly, cvcry soul may wish to decline sweetness 50 that the appetite can rise again.'" A st'COnd "'place" keeps watch over reprd:.te rational creatuI'CS. It is the home of '"the rishtcow judge," who is "terrible in his counsels over the .tON of men. "". H ere, the ""timid contemplative"' beholds God's jll.'!It but secret judgment. He refuses to accept the good works of those whose hearts are peitllllnentiy hardened or to offer 10 heat them. And he carries on these activities with a certain etemal rationale (~d .,'".W r"tillj, which is all the mo!!: fnrful III it is immutable. Bernard in panicuw admonishes simoniacs and other abusen of the chur<:h', material and spiritual goods.m Who, he asks, would seek ... ,... , .)_,.8. p. ... s... ,.. Ps ,,." _ .. ' IhiJ.. ,., • •• ,6. '.) , ,,_ ... ,. ._. ... ,.... '3 ·.·9. po '44. '<)-13· ... ,~.. '." "-,.6,.. ". IOM•• ,)., . ,.; p. .,_,_,. p. '.' . " ·'9. '0. • ,.>,_ ... ,.... l~., ... , .... . ) .•. ll , p. ' . , ••• _ "·s ... ""." ', p. ,.6. ,<>-" . ," c..., ,:>. ,.6, ,6, Pt , :11 . , .•. '" ", ,~.. 146. ,6-'.7.). rest in so frightening a plltt ~ Tbe vision, he admiu, is calculated to insp ire "tbe fear of the judge," not "the sct:u rity of the bedchamber," For the place is "terrifying" &nd totally lacking in tranquillity.'" But, in contr&St to tbe first I(/(Iu, the second is the ;"itiltm Japimtitlt . Bernard·s reflections so adequately sum up his thinking on the relation of theory to practice that thc passage may be cited in full Y ' "Do not yourself be disturbed then that 1 have bestowt:d wi.sdom·, origin to the sct:ond place rather than the first . For, in the one, as in ,. lecture-hall, we hear Sapitntitl as a mi5uess who leaches all things. But in the other we take them up. In the one we are insrructed (illJtN/imur), in the other, affected. (afficimllr). lnstruction renders us lorned; affection, wisc. For the sun don not lig ht aB that it warms. Similarly, Sapienti.. , which teaches many what is to be done (quid sit j"riouiMm), d<J<,s not cootinuolUly quicken one for doing it (lid {lICim _ .mm). It is one thin,g to know of many rkhes, another to possess th~m. And it is not the information (IItlfitill) wh ich makes a man rich but the actual possessioo (pruslSsi,). By the same Tnsoning, it is one th ing to know (lIom) God, aoother to fot (Iimm) him. It is not undenrand ing (UJgllitio) which makes a man wise, but fear (ti_), by which w~ are affected. You W()uld not eaU a man wise whom knowledge merely 'puffs up.· . . . God has a taste for the soul (n1J;1/JI1t DrItS !dpit) when he affects it for fearing, not whcn he instructs it fOf knowing (Cltm tIlm njfoit nd timtllJulll, /"lI)II Cltlll illsl,.,.it ad Jamdltm). For 'the beginning of wisdom is ftllr of the Lord.· You fear God', justice, yoo fcar his power; and, since fear is savour (Jdpor), the jlUt and potent God has a taste (,sapil) for you, Just as knowledge (Jcimtin ) makes one well-informed and riches, rich, so this savour makes a man wise. What then of the fint place~ It only prepafC$ one for wisdom. There you are prepared VWtU/NlrnriJ) so that here you may be initiated (illitirriJ). This preparation is the understanding of things ("..II'1II wgnitio) . • , . In sum, in the fint place we obtain accrn (=/:$SItJ) to wisdom, in the sct:ond, entrance (ingrmIlJ) .·· Bernatd then lurlU to ,. third ilXlts, a place of imperturbable t!'llnquillity, a placc not of the judge or the teach cr but of the bride,,,6 and ho: dwells at length on its mystical delights. It is the arcnllllm . .. Jnllmillriltm Dti, the true ··bedchamber of lho: king,'· the home of perfect peace,m His concluding pan.graphs also provide us with a ,,, ,"'.. •,'s," , p. '~1 .• -1· " ' 1",. .• , .6 .• ), p. 148•• 8 . '" ,IW. . ", S"4, p. ' 41 . .. -p. '4B. I } , '" IIW.• , ). 6.• 6. p . ' ~ 9 .• ,-,6. LANGUAGE, TilXTS, AND REALITY convenient n:fen:rKe point fur ~iewing hi.i <:encca! thoughcs on experierKe and reform"" We begin with the text. The place of law .nd discipline is where the monks learn knowledge about God. Bemard speab of Jamlitl, ropili., and i>IJfr1Kti~. The lil'$t I«tH is a prepo.lluion for the second, in which one PIIISes from theory to pn.ccice, from thought to action. The monks also proceed from imlnlrlio to 4/«';', that is, from looking upon tbe tat as object to assimilating it as subjen. The process is not wholly cognitive. Like a didacdc ritual, it is a blend of the sensual and the spiritual whkh is c&ptured in che term upor. A!so, in the second /IX1IJ, as in the lirst, there is ceaseless activity; but chey are of different kinds. The one concerns the acquisition of' knowledge, che other, its application. Overlooking both u che ultimate law-giver and de.::ision-maker . So man, passing from discipline to obedience, blending theory and practice, attaim, if only briefly, a third scate, a beatific vision which is an anticipation of grace. Yet the third bedchamber is not merely a mystiClll vision. It comes about as an active rewotking of the two previO\I$ states. Grace, by implication, while a future gift, is mystically manifested on earth. So once again wc have an intimate uniting of the physical and the spititual, thltt is, in Bernard's terms, of the word and the tat. For one p",es from discipline to nature, which interna1izes discipline as obedience, and thence to grace, which assimilares bach. Grace, then, as man mystically experiences it on earth, is bot:h the fifUll application of diJcipliDt' and the appropri&tion of nature. We may speak of ir as a kind. of "praxis," that is, an identincation of objo:ct and subjc Man as tin I_gt of Gwfs W()fJ In these choughcs, Bernard IIdapts the Plluline di$tinction between the external and the internal man and expresses It 115 a mystical ideal.. Bur wlar of God ~ H e ;s not con~;ved 115 in fCbolasticism as rhe "uchito:ct" of the C(Nced world. When Bernard speaks of his disporil;o, he is chinking primari!y of the monutic "plan olliving. ",)9 To put the matter another way: God's relationship to the universe 1100 to man ." For .. hoc folio.., Id ....... 1IlJ' ... PIanni~, .. .•" ,,,,, ... 6. OWI"""--"'*' fJM..t,. CoW "" ~,.I_. ;~J, WH. ,,. a. M.. Webo •• 43' LANGUAGE. 1'EXTS, ANI> REALITY is viewed, not chiefly in t~rms of caUiot and d"ft<;r, but of means and ~nds. Bernard's !lOtion of GoJ's influtnc~ on man is nm naturalistic but moralistic and psychological. 1be mediator between th~ divin~ and the e8.rthly is not law but txperie~; not only everyday experi_ ~n(t, that is, the living OUt of daily activities, but, moce profoundly, the ,""peri~nce of (M Bible, the energy generated by JivilUl Itni., which U ~~xpreS$ed in an active outlook . The ~latioll$ bttwetn God and !lllln furm a principal subjt(t of sermons tw~nty-four (O fifty. Beroard·, tat in twtnty-four. which ht ddive:red and Ini.sed aft~r returning from Rome in 11 }8,,1b was, "The righteoos love you. ·',8, But what, h~ ash, are we I" understarnl by nrllli? Not primarily a corporeal $Cnse, bUI rath~r a spiritual, that is, a rectitude of the heart or mind VpiritltAlil , id lIt animi rKtitlltUJ). , I> ··F,,! it is th~ spirit which speaks, comparing spiritual to spi ritual. · ·,tj Th~rd"on: , with resptct to his h<'1lrl 01 mind (animllJ), not his corruptible frame, God made man '·upright"· Man·s likeness to God is an image of His right~lUsneu , and, it is in m .... ·s ··spiritual portion·· that God·, image is {O be preserved ur repaired (Dti Iimililltdi"tm romwwn""", Iillf nparandam). fa! " God is spirit;· and those who wish to be lik~ him must find th~ way into thei r own hearts and become active in the same spirilual business.'''' Tru~, God also gave: m .... uprightness of body. Perhaps, B~roard rea5(105, he wished that tht viler "II~rior rt(Ommend the worthier inte_ rior patt, the body's comeliness, so to speak, acting a!! a foil to the soul's "dcf"rmity." Indeed, he ,tates. it is pcrverlo/: that the base body should ha~ the Olpaciry to look upwards towards the heavens while th .. celestial spirit loweR its "interior senses and aff«tions·· to rhe ground, and, like a pig, embfllces what il most earthly. '" "Blush, my soul, ,. says the body in Bernard·s woNs, "for trading a divine for a bt,t;al image, a 'Slellar· for a ·cindtr.· Creatrd upright lik.. the creator, you ha~ me 1$ a helper, an exemplar fur yourself. Whether yoo look above or below, your gu.. nlls on an image of your own beaury and, wherever you turn, you ha~ advice from Sapimlia . ,.. S..- '4 .1. ', p. ') " d. Gooff..,. d·A""."". W... PT;" ", c... I., . _"'i 4·' '. PL ,8, .3" · ... 5.... 24.' .' . p. ,)6. ' ,," 11 . ," ' '11.. ,,6. ".'", , Cor • . , ~. ,., /6iJ. • ' )7.6-8, ."Sp;';,,,, .... ;"' .. ,~, fl. 4.'.1. .. """ q~; ...,r u", , ;",;1", <; m p.". ~ vd fI«;. op<>rt-1'. ,,8, 4. .. LANGUAGE, TSXTS, AND REALITY But, while I have kept my original uprightness , you have lost YOUlS. Why should God be obliged to ~ his image destroyed in you, while, in me, your likeness has been carefully preserved-r",M Bernard concludes his address by the body to the soul by observing that .. 0d.tared .... Faith, then, lives by spirit, that is, in Bcnlllld's terms, by hearing. This is the conclusion Bctnard reaches a.f"ter a set of sermons dealing with the Song's referf'1lCe to the bride's " blackness" and "the curu.ins Solomon." In sermon twenty-five his text is, "I am black but beautiful. ."." aernard asks, "What is rf'puisive in these words?"''''' Only sitnpliro, he states, fail to distinguish between colourlnd form: the one pertains to inner composition, tbe other to superficial pigmentation."" Therefore, not everything that is black is deformC' ental m "'1"-1.. ,,8, , .... "9,'. ,., 1!iJ., ••.• . , .... I", ,.6. " ,... , '4.'.7, p. "9, '<>-p. ,60, ,; iIM., ~.,.8, p. ,6 •. Woi ... ~ cui, .. j,. c...!i. in o.riontmll'oc CItrisIj opon.. UI ";'" IId...,,", fide", "'"'" dilectio .......... pro/>et "'...... ,_.:""Mon ... c.., ... $..... 2,.2.,. p. lE.!. 12. ,., I~. , ,E.!, ,._••: "'PI""", umpliiJrodo LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND R E ALI TY died for all, so one woman is discoloured (or all. Yet, Bernard sees in Solomon's exterior blackllt$S "rhe furm of our denigrated nature," that is, the very clothing with which our first parents covered their nakednns. ",' These same garments, he adds, are full of the promise of our ··inheritance. ",96 To highlight the difference bctwttn appeo.rances and reality Bernard !;Urns to the rontrast be!;W~n se<:ing and hearing. As in (rtm'sis, one may, like blind lsaac, be easily fooled. But the word is heard by faith, a5 is i!IustratC91 hearing discovered what a5 yet escaped the eye.'''' For, !O look aI, Christ was weak, miscnlble, and mortal; but the ear rc "'lhJ., " ". 3. p. [""l. 7'[C; '" •. 8. '" IftJ.• ,8" .4. p. '9). i'7; Mc ',.)9. ,$ .• . ,. p. '9'.9·'Q. '" lftJ.. [9'. ,.,.". ... ...""" 5..... ,8 . • . ,. p. [9). Rom [C. ' l · ." l~", [9'. >0-'" '" 1','" [.,,8; I~..• 8.• .6--,.8. pp. '96-99. '"Sol", I\ob<, ."";,.. >ttum. qui pomp;' ..!bum." "'/hJ.• • ~ .•. @. p. '97. ,I: ... 1i;J .• Jl '" I. p. "9, 8'9 . ... Fot • diK ............ E. _ IYinb. 20J-06 . .., S - , .. ' . ' . p. ,,~. J-". ,bOtJ""'" ''''IiJ .. ... "r.. "'''''' ''''' do I.."", ..Inn S. !Iemo.rd:' ur.. Ihruti 44' LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANI) IlI!ALITY as he is is not "for the pl'C5I:nt li(e"; now he .p~rs to whom he wishes Iltld as he wi~ bur DOl 11$ he is. N either sage, saint. nor prophet can .see him as he is while living in • mortal body; thq metely see him "as he wills." In this SCIlK, God is like the lun, whi(h is only seen by the light it sheds in the air, on • mountain, or 00 I. ~ll. Aod, he lnSOlIlI, we (ouM not see light at 1.11 if the human eye did not belo[ some raemblalKe to its (e1estial .tadil.m:e.6oI But even rhe eye's reSection of the sun is imperfect. Similarly. the human soul perc;eivcs God to the degree that he enlightens it. 609 The real advannin our spirit is through his.6," The fl.thelli, Bernard. stl.tes, speak of another kind of apparition by which God makes hirruelf manifest iD sundry forms and on Iltl inti mate level while remaining essentially one. 6" But, the most important son of vision is the kind we have of God within ourselves, which is a byproduct of meditation. 6,. Bemard then puts this interior image in the context of his previous statement on the value of spoken testimony. It is nor I. physical vision: [ake cue, he admonishes, ro understaod that he is DOl making "[he mixture of word and soul something corporeal ()(' undetstandable through graphics. "6.) He metely uses hunu.n language 11$ Paul suggestS to provide an. incomplete picture of what is in fact ineffable. 6•• The actual union is spiritual. F()(' the word. of God is not a sounding (.rDIWIJJ) but I. penetrating ~.IJJ); it is not pronounced by cbe tongue but is efficad ous to the spirit. It does not sensidu the CIlI'S but [he affections,6,. How [hen, wc may ask, does it differ from a rttt? Bernard's mystical perspective would .ppear to ind~e both possibilities at once, that is, a word which is heard, and thus iluthenticiltes the reality of faith. and a word which is internal, and, while perhap:s heard. as well, appears in the mind as spiritual truth. Sermon thiny-cwo turns to a diffi:nut aspect of the question, namely, how the word Pl'C5I:nts itself w tM monk who is engaged in meditative pn.yer. Bernard first recapitulates what he previous!,. uid about vision and address. Although their language and images may s«m "'lbiJ. • ,[.1.'. p. >:t<>. ,." • ... 11:«. . >lOo >1-'4 . .~ /tu., 31. ' .3. p. ' 21 . [' 4 . ... Iou.. ".'.4. p. 221 . , 6-[8 . >, .. ." .,. _~ .-. • 3" .4. p. H [. QU' nport'" .... '" r~., ,,- •. 6. p. H), ,.>: ··vOk .... _ '~. lit qui<.o.m .... i"'"llinariwn .... ti .. ... IH.I., '" IH.I.• p. ",. '4", 6, qo><> i<>lW!. """ foris. v..t>wn ..."'P' .... non_. !: ; """ obortq:oM< . oribos. ! ' ' '' . .. "''''ilDOl.- "3. ,.,. ".,.6. ' H • • • 44' H lANGUAGE, TEXT S, AND REALITY corporeal, t~ir int~nrion is spiritual. Hen~, their "causes" or "sources" must be' $Ought in th .. spirit. 6 ,6 But this in turn ~uit<"$ that w~ inv.-sIigat.. th.. spirit in oundves. 6 " How do.-s oo~ in faer perc.. iv.- the spirit? For B.-rnard, only in a mystical manner. If one desim God. night and day and meditates upon him continuously, one ocosionally ··receives the word·· like 11 chana visit from the groom in the Song. At such moments. the monk feels hims.-lf ··~mbn.ced within S"pimti,,·s arms" as ··her lov.-·s sweet_ ness" is infused into him. Yet this exptrien~ is short-lived. Bemud returns to the metaphor of the groom: JUSt when we catch hold of him. he !lips away; and. as wC weep in remofS<". he app.-au b.-fOre us again. allowing hims.-lf to b.- n.ken hold of but not to b.- held. He wnishts from view. and does not reappear until our minds and hearts have m1ttained a sl.lflicient level of dev()(ion. Moreover, the groom·, visit brings both pleasure and pain; for. during the meditativ.: ptocess, one's inner thoughtS struggle with good and evi!. "" Bernard asks his f.-llow ffi{)nkli: "Hav.: we not often felt this tension as we prayed' Were we not both tempted by tne present and rormented by the past?"6'9 Some, he grantS. may not haY<" had thi s experience.6' " They a~ the "tired in spirit." But the~ is an ansW<"r ro their problem.·" Wnenever celestial thoughts are entertained. their source must be uknowledged as the Lord.·" The monks must think of Him u speaking within them.·" ··For the ((lgirations of our mind are v.:ty similar to the words of ttuth pmnoun<ed within. " Of q_ """,, " j'.'.', p. »6. '9-'" ··N.m ...i..m. illl. 'l"ibuo ip"" .i,ion<> S<'U simHi,..,ji.... d.ocri!ounru,. """,. ""1'''..... '1''< ""p<>rn ..;d.:o""". spi,iu.. H. """'8 "11" q_ not,;, mini· •.• !hi.• " .. nru, in hio . "" pn I.o< ! ~ >pi,i ,. .. , ION.• »6 ••• • .. 7. , . •• , 100J.• ~ • . • . ,.). p. ",ion<> ... wo _ .. i<>qui,i:· »6. 6· ,8. '" IMI.• H8. j" : ··An .... N q""ddioo adhuc ..~ibos _".ibuo. """"'mu. p ..... rid.··· "",,mu, - !Wi.. ,,8. ''''j;I.6, .,. ,,8. ' j" • . ItiJ.• ... lhi., ' • .•. 4, p . ..8. ,(,.26. ft , 1"-1., , •.• . ,. p. "9. ,.6: ·'Tu ''I'> cum 'ibi ..1>. ooI.i ... "'''' .... , i •. """ . ....... D. •~ "Uf.• 1'.,.,. nobi> '.,.u", '''''.... "...",. .. "'"'t.. p. "9.8+,0: ··SimiUi ..... rnim NM """"it.... V"'tod. in Ir>qutn.i" n< . udi ... ";0< qu; """"',,~ ........ i ' [)gm; .... '" in EnD!"';" koq""''',m . . '1""" 443 LANGUAGE, TIIXTS, AND IlIlALITY thought; the good is the speech of God. 6>, In ocber words, the heart's goodness is not its own offspring but simply "God's voicc."~ The prtSentt of the word is • p~lude to ullClenrandins on~lf and God. This is the theme of $CrJnOns thirty.live «> thiny-eight. Bernud', main text throughout is Song of Songs 1:17: Si ip,mu, tgmUn ... (If you art: ignorant, go forth , .. ), Sermon thitty.6ve interprets the verse lIS a contrast between the spirit and dlf' tlesh. Sermon thirtysix turns to the implications of knowing our own thoughts and those of our mmr. The following two 5etmOll$ embellish t ' - subjects and provide a discussion of such matters as higher knowledge and despair. In Bemard's view, the tat means, "If you do not know yourself, you uc commanded to go forth. "6>, This is the language in which the groom appropriately addrnsn the bride. On the one hand, he can ilslle no mo~ serious threat than the conditional ignotauce of oneself; on the other, the bride mlllt leave spirit for flesh, the hean's goodness fix earthly desires, and intemol ~' CC lot ene:rnal cares. In other WOtds, the spouse is biddtn co seek 1If/lcr and M/IJI'. A soul that knows iUl'lf, onc which "enten into itself' and "breathes after God's pcesence in its in~[most being," would n~r consider operiencins the pain, chastiscment, and slavery of the senses. 6• 1 By implicatioo, to know yourself in the Song's setUe means to know that you a~ undeserving of"the contemplation of celestial, intelligible, and divine matters."~ The tot continues: "Go forth and feed the kids." This, Bernud says, means to go forth from God's sanctuary, that is, from your own heart, whcte truth and wisdom reside, in order to sarisfy ~ I'Xtcmal sensa; ,'Y> The "kids" replescllt sin or the bodily SCD5C$, which do not need spiritual nourishment. 1be "shepherd', tents" refer to the goods of this world, the region of bodies (rrgio '+11111). 6) . In short, the Song, for Bemard, speaks of the souI's exile from unity with God, of its degradation from spiritual 'to physical. 6p So fallen, man becomes one of the beasts.61! .., 'hi.. ".,.S, p. bono. 0.; ,~, ' ."}: "Cum ...8" mdo. iB ~ .......... , """'.. Kt _ _ - ... I}HI.. , •. ,.1. p . ':\<" '9'.8. ... I!NI.. " . '., . p. ,~,. ...... - I!NI. , '4~. ,"7. ... IJHI.• " " ", p. ' 49, ~p. I. "' I ji;{, ' ,0. "4· " · I!NI.. • , 0. 6; '4" " On ,he "tt,ioo of diMiIDUiu,d.," ... P. M. S<sndoon:, "La do«"" "" I'u...,. cbn uinc Drtnud. - f\I! 'd . 'I.",,"';' ., ('\1041), ,,,"129. E. G;~ . .. 'Ilqio diooimilirudinh' do:""- i. Soin. Botnonl.- I,hli,-'" ,,0, .,0, ".••.• ,." r...,.. S_'(I\Io47),Ioa.:\<',ondw.H.... ,OitA ••t; ',;.Boo ' 06 _ Cl"",, ... $ _ ".1." .~_ p .• ,., . .., IIW.• " .• . , _,. pp . • , ,., •. Cl. C. BodW . "la BlbIo:,..... 444 ' '0 d'.,," up(ri<""" reli- LANGUAGE, TEXTS , AND RI!ALITY But what was the cause of man's fa!!? Ignon.nce. What did he fail to understand? The Bible does not say, but Bernard don: he was ignoranl of himself and of God. 6" This is the theme of sermon thirty-sil<. Before turning 10 it, Ber_ oard asks whether all types of ignorance are damnable. No: in many cases, "1lO( knowing" does nol "diminish salvation." J.a(k of knowl edge of carpentry, masonry. or other arts "useful in the present life" offers no imped iment. Even training in the liberal arts is not essential. For Paul speaks of many who wen: saved not by J(jmtw (itwant'" but by "a pUtt COIlSCicncr: and a faith unfeigned." They pkwd their make!" not through J(j'lltiA but thdr "ita, mtrita. Neither Peret, Andrew, nor the SON of Ztbedee, he llO(es, wert chosen from "the schools of rhetoric or philosophy." Thqo spread "ways of life," not "sublime sptec:h" and "the wor..u of human wisdom. "61> B..rnard does not condemn the Study of letrers as such, an intolerance of which he was oftet! accused. He is awUt' how much limrati benefit the church. ~)~ But, he adds, such knowledge is like a picture, whose image must rest on a more solid bast. 6J7 In his view, then: an two types of knowledge, one which inflates (irl/lam), the orher which soben (frmtriJfalu). 6)' Only the latter is "useful" and "necessary" for salvation. 6", Paul does nor prohibit knowing vaptrt), only knowing more than is nccessary. But what does it mean to be wi se for sobriety (JiI/J"r ad JrKwi,tattm)~~ To look carefully at onc's preferences and priorities in KrlQwiog.60' For, with respect to salvation, "time is short .. ~. Of coune, he reiterates, all knowledge is good, provided that it il subordinated to (ruth. But, in view of our earthly condition, we mlUt con~mtate on the sort of undentanding which brings us d05CC to salvation. In this, knowledge is no different ftom medicine or food: the one cures distaSC, the other relieves hun- ...,. AiioI4r*. '7·,R. md. r.". "'"'" ,,"plk,' .......,..,.... l~ C-Iiu 81.4.1 -,.11 . .... . '. pp. ,88'9' (on , in) and 8, ., ., ·8. pp. '93"'911 (on di .. imili· ·"/HJ., ".4.9. p. ')). "3' ··Po,.. " 8" qui. i&nor'N i,notabi",r. ,iv. 11<. om, Drum it __ " _,inp' . " lid.• ,6. I. [ • ...!. '. pp. "4. On ,hi, ,h<m< I « ,I>< """"".oIh d ;.. .... i"" of E. Klcinci· dam. -WOi*". Wi_hoh. Thud .... o.i""",;· ~ _ Cl.i" .... [H-4' md moro bei..t!, J.. M. ~boo..6); aho J. Sommod.l.h, .. ~l«moIotY. £dua,[ion and SlxW. Thoory in .1>< l"ho:IuIh. of Ikmord of (:I.i ........ - $";01 _ ' " ~ Ct"m.",,~. 170"7 [ . ~. I . '. ~. ~. " " 7. ..' I~.. J7. [. ' . p . 1<>. 3-' · "' lioiJ.• ,6 .1.1, p. 4, 'C>-II: I Cot 8,,: lied. ,,, 8 . ... s..... ... 1J,iJ. • 4. "-'.. "' lioiJ.• , •• -, . ... //oiJ.. S. ,.6: * Vi, iloftl;"i"", .b",_ qu;G ori .. """" pri ...... """,,",. " '" , Cot 7"9. '" S - ,6. I.'. p. ,. 7"4' '" I.A.NGIJAGE, TEXTS, A.NO flEA.I.JTY ger, but only i{ taken in due measure. 60 ) For, to his mind, Paul tlIll8ht IIOC mcrely a number of {actl but the manner in which we .mould know t~m, tb,.t 15, wherein consists the "(ruit" and "utility" of knowing. By t~ I{;mdi I1141iMs he meant "the ordet, desire, and end" of knowledge, either for one's own edification or ooe's neighbour.6o< By this route Bernard returns to knowledge of oneself and of God, which is the subje(t of sermons thirty-seveo and thirty-eight. In both cases the disclWion begins with interior conVl:csion. Having pUled through the fint bitter nages, the individual begins "to breathe in tht hope of consolation. " As such, he already enjoys "the temporal fruit of his tears." He has both "sttn God" and "heard his voice ..."", The process in Bcmard's view is twofold. In shedding tears, we discover knowledge of ourselves; in joy, knowledge of God.606 But, having acquired this dual potential, wc stand in danger of being "puffed up" by eanhly learning or honoun. For this charity which we Mve earned "infusts" the heart with certitude. 601 Yet, paradoxically, al_ though OUt own learning furthers uS little, nonetheless we canllOC Jive in ignorance of God. fof" how can hope be pl..:ed in one whom one does not know? And, if we are ignorant of ounelvn, how can we have true humility, which consists in denying our earthly importilllCe?601 We muse guard against these twO kinds of ignorance, the one being sin's source, the other its consummation. A pua1lel occurs to Bernard with rhe manner in which we acquire wiildom. JUSt as tht fint of the two kinds of knowledge is the beginning of wisdom, the second its perfection, so the two kinds of ignorance stand in a similar relationship to sin. Iu feu of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, so pride is the beginning of sin; as love of God is tbe consummation of wisdom, 50 despair is the end result of sin. 609 Bernard sees 'the sttg'cs as pride, which overvalues our worth, then ignorance of God, which leads to despajr.6,o- For, jf somtQne looking inwardly at himself recalls his sinful put and hnpn to conven, yet is not acquainted with God', goodoce, his own thoughts will quickly drive him to dHperation. And, either he will remain depressed or take up with the world again.6, ' In the end, be concludes, no ooe can .., I~" n.l.4. p. IJ.1-11 . "'1J,jJ" ~ . • . ), p. " ""4. "'1... , ". ,8-1" - lJ1>; b"'ktl ........ d., .... uuoqur <0,11";';. . ." .. _ri qulolom in Joc.imi. """'. _ ""ten> Do; " ....". in ....d;.." .. , I. ." )7+1. p. 11. :00-'" "'1".,11, ,6-". , . "'IW. , )7.,.6. p. I>, "14_ "' 10iJ., I>, ,6-.6. ..' /~., )8 .0 .'> p . 14, H- ". ). LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANO REAI.ITV have knowledge of God who does not undergo conversion towards him, o,. That is (he 6rst stage of sel(~nl ightenment. As Ikmard later pun it, each monk must ffi:ugnize spiritual rnlity in his own life histnry .60J This, apin, means proceeding (rom biblical text to med itation and to new experience. As such, th e monk is both subiect, reflecting on a text, and obiect, who becomes a "text" for further reflection. The ultimate purpose of self-knowledge is to examine our intentions. This is the topic of sermon forty, Bernard·. rext is, "Your cheeks ar1: beautiful as. the turtle dove·s. "0,. At these words, he 0bserves, the bride must have blushed. For the soul, which she r1:present$, is an incorpornl and invisible subsu.nce, possessing neither members nor colour. He admonishes his brethren to try to achieve "rhe intuition of the spiritual by means of the spiritual." For "the face uf the !IOUI" is really "the intention of the mind. "60" Just as. one's body is judged by one's face, the t;ghteousn.-u of a work is judged by the intentions of the doer. MOTe'Over, these intentions involve two things, the object (ra) and the reason (Ctlllsa), that is, what you intend (qltiJ ilmndas) and for what purpose (propttr" qflir/j. By these alone can one measure the "beauty or deformity" of the sou1. 6 , 6 But why compare the soul ro a turtle dove? Because, 8ernard replies, of its shyness and solitary life. As the bride reserves herself fur the groom, the pniscwilrthy monk thinks only of the singular experience of God. 6" He must withdraw in mind and body from others' company,6,1 striving after the exclusion of "common" and "present" things in his mmlif tl JpirifllJ J"'ifllM. 6 )9 Everything, he adds, depends on onc's frame of mind. For one can 6nd solitude in a crowd and feel ot hers' prescnce when alone. 66o In sermon forty-Qne, lkrnard relates the question of the internal life to the manner in which physical signs bespeak spiritual realities. His text is, ·'Your neck is as jeweb; we will make you chai ns of gold inlaid with silver:~' In .. passage suffused with Pau!ine mysticism, he attempts to explain the imagery in term, of levels of experience of the divine . ." ,''''. , l8.1 ." p. 'I. 8~: '"£80 outrn> diM om ... ;8-"'" Dtum, qu; ..01.", '00 ..... '; od ... m ." o" ~ S_ _ ~.' ." p. ' 9, 1,. ,8: "Non ombip q..oodam ;om OfltfUm iD ",mnipo;, «fi"'l"" ~"''''''' '0""'''''';'''' od in' ... Cam 1:9. ." J _ 4<>. ' . ', p. '4, 'H. " , I. ." JjjJ. , 40.' .4, p . ,6, ,0+1> . ... /tfJ. , '7, ,~ . ." IW., 4<>·' ·', p. ' 7, ,6-'9. ... lOiJ.• '7. ' 0. 447 ... 1n4., 4<>.2.2, p. ". .., Un, ,:0'0. J '.'} . LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY We rnu$t take inro consideration, he ernpNsjzn, what sort of chains [~are. Gold represenlll "the brightneM of divinity," that is, "tM wisdom (rom above." The physical gold is thus equated with the ligNlOlla Kf'iwtir, which, to extend tM mettphors, the heavenly ministers nt ontO "tM internal ears of the soul. "66> But these, he adds, are nothing but d)e spiriUt4k lmulirw/iyr, by which the purest rhough[!l emauatins from divinity are p=nted to the romempladvt soul. Through them, it is permitted "to see as through a glass darkly.""" Furthermore, these rboughu (lo!/lY) are divine, and unknown to those who have not expetienced them; otheMl'iR, we, who are limited to the flesh, would never .ttain the sublimity of inner contempl.tive truth."' At best we might say, "Now I know in part and prophesy in part. "66, Btmard also provides some details on the nature of the aperience. On occasion, he StAtes, the soul, superseding iudr, is transport\' or or ... s.... 41.'." ""toJ.,}O. p. 'S·'9. 30, 11- . ,. 30. ".,,; , Cor " .12. " .n;'Cor " .'9. "' S-4""}' p.)O. " " 1· .., "" c..- ,~.• w, .. '4 . ... I~.• ,0. 27-29. ... $..- 4,·'·1. p. 49, ' • • 26. .. ' ''''., 4, .1.2, p. , 0. "'16; ... I. .. . ,0, , . p. ", 1,'1,. 4,.2." 44' LANGUAGE, TEXT S, AND R EAL ITY her.6,. The groom delightS that the bride nOW "perceives in spirit," • fan co nfirmed by her "dove-like eyt$." Bernard allows that the vision of Christ of which he is speaking is a mystical experience in the preseIU and, as su· What is imp!ie.:l is simply that the groom has appeared ill ..i,iQ,u mt/jr;rj. Like Moses of old, he speaks from mouth to mouth (on .. . ,d Ill). And she sen God openly, not through allegories or figurn. 6-" In fan, in Bernard's view, her words arc as s _ as her vision, lan_ guage, so to speak, on this occasion, tral\S{cnding ordinary usage and approaching pure spirituality. Bernanl thcn anticip8.tes the objections of his bll!thll!n. One might ask: how can she reply to the Word~ For Wo! speak with words, but thc Word is not spoken. Also, thc soul can speak only through the body'l mouth. 6'6 The doubts, Bernard admits, arc justified. But they mUSt Ixar in mind that thc holy spirit is speaking, and that its words must be understood spiritually. The statement appears to apply equally to the content and to the linguistiC form. Whenever, he adds, onc hCllrs or mods of the Word and the loul in dialogue, corporeal sounds are not =hangcd any mOll! than realities are actually speaking.6>, For the 4S. 3·'. p. S>. ,6."" .. ~, ,; pIa<"'. opcm .. ...r.... ",,"'ulurn pi ....... ad HI. q..,.j poul<> ..... 10 + 01 . . n>W"I>m\Il .. ,i fO<< doeui, omo ....... ""J>Ori" ..cl iol"ornu .. auditwn roodi •. Potui, ;'"'1"" """. ut Iid., quI< .. ' ." ouditu, dum, qlOOd an .. non po< I~.. i"'"llill '" I~.. H. "''1 . 4'.' ·7. p. H , S·'o: .. .Quo /I, ..... ...two V""," fOC1' ad ..,imom ........ ",ut... tunum ... imo. od Vorbum, u, ilia oudiori, .... " .. !oqurnti. li~ " pO idrnI ~ium "'" ....", mldido", Io..mrori! Quom<>um""l'" Hlinwn pori«' rollOqui. .... in.in", in""'i. noli nbi i"," ."i..... """ ,i, coUOq""",ium ippltOt. ;"'"8; .... 449 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANO R.I!ALlTY WOId is spirit and the soul is spirit. They both have tongues, with which they communiC1lte to each other and indiC1lte their presence. The WaN's "tongue" is the bestowing of favour, the sours, the fervOf" of devotion. The impious 50ul is, so to speaic, "tongueless"; it is "an infant," which does not possess the capacity for "c:onvenation with the Word.''671 Moreover, when the Word wishes to speak with her, the $0!.1.1 is obliged. to hear what is said. And when the soul spealu, the Word always hears, since, in dfect, she speaks through him.';'" Therefote, the Word's speech is m.lly an infusion of glUe (I«ttfi~ Vw/Ji i"/lIJis dtJlIl).In sermons forty-nine and fifty, Bernard turns to the subject of charity. His te:1If is, "The king brQUghr me into the wine-cellar; he set charity in onIer in me. "611, Of all the king's cdlars, the wine-cellar is special. In Bernard's interpretation. it refers to the ecstasy of prayer, the penetration of divine mysteries, and the zeal of the burning heart. Through it, the initil.te begins to appreciate "the wine of happi!le$$," Of this sort of ((JIIJ"",J.ti~"iJ ~JIIJ thete lte tWO species, one in the unders~nding (ill ;"ztlltcllt), the other in affections (ill a/ftt:JII). The one acts through light, the other through krvnc; the one in knowing (Pglf;titJ), the other in devorion VfnwitJ).61. "He set charity in order in me," states the bride. This, Bernard argues, was necessary. since zeal without knowledge i, unsupportable. The mote ardent the desire to ple&Se, the gteater the benefits of discretion (disffll;O). which, .secnard adds, i, the urdilfafio ,.rifAtiJ. It is written, "By your ordering my day goes on. "6II) By "day, " Bernard proposes, the psalmist meant "virtue." DisutJio, in other words, is not so much a virtue in itself as a moderawr and director (lIIINin'.t,ix It .IINg.) of virtues, an ordef1:r of affections and a teacher of morals. The groom, rhat is, the Word, originally "ordered ctwity" when he created the church. giving IllI apostles, propheTs, <"V1Ingeiisu. puwrs, and teachers. Binding them by a single bond of charity requires order. So chari ty, in order to provide order, must first be ordered itself.6&< Charity, Berlll.rd continues, exists in t .... o forms. in anion (ilf lid") ... 1»1., ,., , •. " . ""IIU. , )4, '\>"4 ' ... 11it/., 4,·,·8, p. ", 2. J.-M. D6:tIontt, .. ~ a. .. ' Coo, • .., "'1'>.,8.91 . ... $..-- 49· '·4, p. n. 14·,6, ... $. . . . . 9·2.'. p. n. '7'P, 76, '7 · '" s.-" LANG UAGE, TEXTS, AND RBALlTY and in affection (ill a/ffJdl'). M, In general, anion ~Iong, to thi~ world, affection 10 the next. In enjoining law upon men, GOO demanded action. For comtn2n Of (ourse, Bernard does nO( iIodvisc his monks to e) m Bunard'l "commentary" on the Song of SonS' hal now heen fol_ lowed to the point 11 which the central clcmenc5 in his dO(trinc of reform are reasonably clear. The analysis hu not dealt with all of Bcrnard', writings on the tnemt , but hu the advaMage of illustrating '" Ibi.I.. ,0."'. 0, ,"_ . , ,0 . .. " p . 19. , . p. TII, ""hiJ.. 19. ,._p. •. OY • •. ... IW. . ,0. ' ·4 . p. 80. $_10. ""W., p. 80. ' 9- p. 8" I. ,0.'.,. ,_.0. - 'INI..8,. '"', . LANGUAGJI, TE1TS, ANO llliALITY bow his thought ~lops as a set of meditatiom on an interdependent group of biblical tats. Hi.!: discussion begins with "aperience," which may be understood as neryday monastic routioe or, in a more technical sense, as the apcriencc of the tat, tht.t is, as bermeneutia. In Bernacd's mind tbe tWO IIf( intcm!lated. Just as man's undetltanding begins with the percq>tiollll of the senses, so tbe point of depatture for the mystio:al appreciadon of God begillll with the tangible clement in the sacraments. His interpn:tations of the various verses of the Song of Songs an: all b.scd on dramatic situations or concrete symbols, thereby CR!ating in the listener's or the reader's mind the impression of a palpable reality being aperienad. by Bernard himself. As a result, all mysticism fot Bernacd involves both the tat and reality; it is panly sensoria.[, pmly intelkctual, or rather inteliecrual through fim being sensorial. He continually n:pcats that OIK' canDOf undetltlUld I. biblial tat until one ha "aperienced" it, Only after initiation, ritualized meditation, and interiori~rion is OM sufficiently enlightened to be able ro I'CIIpply precepts, that is, new teXtS, ro everyday activities and rhereby to achieve-lasting spiritual progress.6t> Behind the Song 5taw St. Paul, who is qUOted in almost every sermoo. The one ten is used to give form to the ocher, just as tbe New Tawnent supcucdn the Old. But meaning dots DOf IlUe in the .schohutic fashion from a comparison of different tens. Like a physical sign, the ten is a given; in that sense, it is • "record" of tangible reality, Internalized, it allows fonnerJy apcrienced hutorical evenrs like the fall and the crucifixion to be reimpcmd on life.'" Benwd has Anselm's respect for the Word as "evidence," but uses his insighu differently. If, for Anselm, God and., to a lesser degree, man, I.tC tC%t-prodllCen, Benwd is more ioterested in distinguishing ~ oraliry as "the person who speaks" ROd the tCJ:.t as "the words pWIlOUnad.."~ In ronuasr to Anselm, be sees in former authorities only "me.:liators of the divine word. "'" It is the utpimtu" SpiritllI itself which speaks poetically through the Song, lIS he sees ir, and creates its many I.yetl of mystical and allegorical meaning. ¥ 'Thus," FIl- ... a. y. cooP', "L·ea:It.ioIotI:;. do: s. Bernord,- S. Bw-.... J ~_, l~': -0. toI&f< t.ide .... , '" qui iftr&euo Bemord dano I'EJ:Ii>o, .. n'OK """ ,1nl .....~ <Ji>:jo/Id, <'OK" tbli'" ..... tt" q...o< <e ~ • .!ono I<> " - .in... .'" a. J. MciunJu:J:, .. s....1e:. 6'.(;7 . ... D. I':: r__. '7 . Fotbolo!.,: >j1 .' _" ... IW. , 4' . ... Par • diKuuiooo, _ N. Dws""'''''", hirII s.. _ " ~ BiN<, 4l' '}O"'~ - LANGUAGE, TEXTS, ANI) REALITY kasfalvy ~rve" "when ikrnard evokes the bi rth of the word in spi ri tual experience, it is th e gent'sis of his own preaching and of his writings which he UII'll'"_ '>60, His focus is ()fJ the nexus "letter/spirit" with iu dear li nks with 5a(l'llmenr;:al myStery. And this in turn leads him inevir;:ably back t(I the concu.te: Hab«..t ego Vrrbllm , Jd i" ranM; . 1 mihi appo"itllr writas , 1,", ill salTa_t~ . 691 Bernard defines SlJCf"alnt1ltllm as J.W'1Im sigllltm or S« ... u... 03' , '00-": -(;>, ...d . on B<motd', "",ion of _ . - . ...... J. t~d'«q . ."Cht .... ,_hloIS' .nd $ok"",.,,, in '101. ' ,p_ '4<>-84· ... I. C_ ,.. w. J. 'I'" ""n' /hot;";, c. 0, $" "'= . 001 . • (!loo><. '963). p_ <\9, " . eo...tt ew..li l< l ' 9" . ... ,. C_ Dolo;";. c. " p. 68. ,S·p. 69. " "'Ad hoc .... ,;"'.....,,' omnia ..mm. Ma. od hoc tudtlti,,'" porrici,,",io. . . SiUN di,...,.. ,i~ ... et. ut <0<1"0 i""'...... " ...... mplo, ..,.w, >un< ; " -j,u,.. ooorodum .. do ""i),w in .... ' mu' .--><>, bi 8 .... i•. m..... i,'" ar<miru. p_.t of CI-i, '''. " ... S. 'Q LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY words, thoughts, and things. Oddly enough, Bcrnard's notion of sin iIlI an interior fault correctKble only through contrition and «sift for improvement is not far from Abdard's moral intentionality: prooC, if jt were needed, that 4)4 Y. RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS N« miretil, f"uer chuissime, quod ha« haeresi. nostro modemo rempolT cn:~jt, quo juniri a txCCS5it rerri •. -AbbooffJ.... 'Y. Ep. '. The j"jbimfr of literate ways of thinking has now !xcn ttaced through heresy, reform, sac:ramental theology, and the philosoph ical attitudes towards texu . These changes within medieval cultural life, it was p~, were i>O£ only produced by a renaissance of higher disciplines. They also revealed a new baJaoce between oral and wriu en communication, adapted , as it were:, to the n«d.s of different braoches of thought. Culture, therefore, was reborn, while the forms through which it expres.sed iuelf emerged as ~lf-conscious instruments of analYSls. lu <'X~riencc j,e(aIll<' richer, d~ptr, and mot\' complex , it also demanded a diffcttm shape. Inrerpreti~ models evolved from {' >eU, whether disseminated by ve rba! or wti tren means, wet\' incn"\lSi ngly called upon (0 provide explanations (or behavioural patterns. Just lU, (or Abelard, the mind acquited. the capacity through the use o( language to structure the raw data of the SCnJCS, so written statements began to act as reference points for giving meaning to everyday human relations. How did such tcxts ope rate as imerm«liarie£ betw~ n thought and action? There is no simple formula for amwering this question. Not are tilt techniq ues of contemporary literary history an infallible guide. For, by and large, rIM: diS("U.Uion of ··literature ,·· that is, of the written r«Qrd, presupposes a clearcut textual tradition, which, in the case of me<.iieval models, is rarely furnished. The linal text summarizes I.M records events, but it omits the stages of oral and writren int en::hange along thoe way. The present chapter can be described as a series of histories Qf = RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTBRPRETATIONS !uch tenu.l encounters. h i$ also an interpretive essay, whkh ttkes up themes and idea:! from prn>ious diSClWlions and attempts to illustrate them through the p..ttem! imposed on life by typical individuab. "!'he point of departure in each example i! t~ id"- of moderniry, d"'t is, in medieval terms, the awareness on the actor', or the narrator's patt that, fur reasons difficult to SpKify, the present had become unlike the PUt, a &et which in itself demanded refl«tion and apb.nation. Thb, in turn, involved new interrelatioru between rituals, symbol!, and tau. More precisely, for the articulation of interpretive modds, tben: had to be, if not .. fuBy written tat, Br least some formalixed diJcourse, which, if reroUecto:d by a non-literare, could, while remaining unwritten, nonetbeless offer a focal point fur subsequent thinking and. acting, the two being pmgteS!ively distinguished on hi5 part only as the criteria of literacy were imposed on them. Texts, so utili:ed, inevitably Structured aspeccs of u:pc:rience which, before tbeil adVent, wet..: not thought of as being structured at all. Moreover, as .. byprod\Kt of reading, writing, and more widespread education, patterns of behaviour wete not only derived more and more fmm establi5hed texu, although that itself was an impo:ttant development. The patterDS, ctystll..Ili~ing from symbolic action, were also ooatextualized; that is, while stiIJ Iugeiy aistins as forms of experien«, they were increasill8ly compared to rextual exemplan or justified by them. At. written language gradually Il.'Of"iented man's faculties of inrerprttalion, tbe models produced could not help but feed t.ck into the network of real social relatiOIlll. RodtJlj G"'~'J "SlQriu" Let us begin with Rodulf Glaber, who effectively repreent5 the prehistory of tbe JiJEHl4litl which we an' examining. Foc, although Glaber is himself literate, his HiJllIriae do not clearly di5tinguish individual from collective activity, visible from invilible call$;ll fOl"Ces, nr rituab and symbols in aperieoce from textual models of interpretation imposed upon them. As an empirical historillll, therefore, Glaber leaves much to be desired. He rells hi5 "$wries," Prou noted., "in the fashion of old men and children," in which "one idea calls othen to mind";' that is, be writeS in an .ssoci.tive rather than a sequential fashion. The critical RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS mind is ioclined to pry rh~ factual wnrent, such as it is, from its offfn ~troorous int~rpn:ti~ ~ncru5tation5. But that is to tell only half the Story. Glaber's purpose is not just «> relate what has tak~n plac~ but to und~rstaoo and aplain it as b~Sf he can. In doing so, he reverts to what his age considered to be standard exeg~tkal procedUf6. · More importantly, he l~~b rype$ of change to a common denominator. H~ felt Ihat th~ physical misfortunes of the world wen: somehow conn«red to the absence of stable institutions and government. But h~ gave no special place within his tnumttati(Nl of catastrophes to plasues, poor w~ther, prodigies, insurrections, hen:sies, or invasions. He applied this homespun equivalence of ausal mechanisms both to material recorded in earli~r tau and to events whkh took place in his own day. In part he echoed the crude fatalism of many p • s... J. frs"" •• ..Tb< Ojyj ... Quuemity 01 Rodull.. Gksbt<.- SUNIi. hi.."". '7 ('97'), ,~,_, &M. "" ,10< _ ..... P. o.n"•. ··1..,..1 Glob",·, Cl< 12... ,";1Mr. An u""",;".d koodi~ 0( !ili..,....·, T""""",,, 0( ,10< Afdit.. 01 10< .. ;", ... ,be ~." M..6"...1 $,,",", 4' (198<». H'-H · Diri,. RITUALS, SYN80LS, AND INTERPRETATIONS To turn to the text, the HillfflM a~ Ofganiud so that Gl.aber's personal rt.'Sponses to events and conditions may serve as a point of departure foe understanding the history of religious experience between about 980 and 1040. Books one and two by and large r«ord misfon:una, which are, in his vil'W, the legacy of Adun's distqxJtable behaviour in the garden of Eden.! However, otder, discipline, and spiritual progress make their appearance just befurc the year 1000, ra.ching the apas« of their dcvdopment within the thirty-three yeLrs that recapitulate the life-span of Christ.' Book one ends by describing a number of calamities, real or imagined, in the religious life. One can sum up the contrasting themes of the tWO books by stating dat group activity would appear to be working both for and against civiliution. In book three, despite new disasters, the tdigious revival foreshadowed in book two begins ro nke place. Its subjKt, and the essence of Glu.c,r's ovenJI message, is the appeg.nnce of a collective religious sensibility in the northwest of Europe and the growing desire of lay and ecclesiastical groups fur participation, chietly through mass movements. Men of al.J Stn-fa of society yearn for an articulated, erttrna!ized, even illlltitutionalized mtallll of exprasing new valun, goals, and alliances. The desire does nOt first appear L'I a set of abstract ideas advocating such dearly defined notions as "reform" or ·'universa.lism," It occun in fOrms in which the actors and. the author an: barely conscious of inner meanings, that is, in dreams, visions, or apparitions. In other words, it is concrttized before it is made abstra.ct. Although elsewhen: Glaber does 1l()( hesitare to monJiu on motives or eveots, he is reluctant to comment at length on these exceptional occurrences. He thereby leaves the bewildered reader to fend for hinuelf. ln this • H~ ,.,.16, pp. 24->' . R_. • It ;, ,.,... ..;dd, _nix "--,"'1 ""'''';.... .w-·, Sd_od;. on-1I"""",H.' "";1__ "" 1';1,) _ ' " io" H""", _ ~""'""'_idJtIr Gr TT'!, .... W"I (Loip;zil, ,896), 7-,6. p", • ~ t<.......... P. OM •.", ~iscbo Idccto utod ~I"'I!I'" im ". utod I •. jolwhuJ.. . . . . ";> Ool.,·' "J.;IJ.. '1,;i",,'iOol_"i XI ,XII CTodi, 1969), ,,6-6 •. om. ".oIl: .. HL,," _ .., ,.ncnU" RITUAI.S, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS sense, his $roci~ demand iflferpt~a!ions_ Of course, ca~ mu.sr be raken nor to impose tOO much cohe~nce on the various epiilOdes. The ~l problem is not Glaber's lack of lucidity but that the events he understands lucidly are nOt a1 .... ays those \\le Wan! to have explained. Throughout the HiJ/tWillt one is struck by the conlnSt betwten the vividness of thO# scenes and the utter lack of analysis .... ith .... hich tbey art related. In gencnl, the pl~ of rtH<:(tion is taken by movements of people, in particular, group movements and the ideas that accompllny them. The masses bcromc an amorphous intermediary betwCC"n the individual and {he fo~ of good and evil. The rol~ art gradually spelled out in [he epiwdes of books one and two. Book onc, chapter four, conlains among other details rhttt cXlImpl~ of Ihis 50rt of imenction, each of which is raken from the reign of a different Ottonian emperor. Thc stories arc well enough known that a brief summary of each will suffice. W ith the fall of the la..st Carolingians,' G!aber narrntes, the imperial rnponsibility fe ll on the .... Ofthy shoulders of Otm I, whose frontiers were unfortunately subj<:(t to Moslem incursions. On ooe occasion, Maieul, the abbot of Cluny, wa..s kidnapped fur a ransom of a rhou$l:nd poun. • /W" '.4.9, pp. , .,. u . On tht ......., cl ''''' ~= j. 0167, 1<0 F. . Sodu., 0.;. Cl""""",,,, (Hallo, 189'"'!I4), I. >l', ',o-l>: on Mo;",!" d;pIomo,ic joum<1" " 7- '9. 'H;,IMYt 1,4,'0, pp, "_,) . M .."...! bjr .... ,h< B.olti< <001<, Adoolb '" RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTEIPRIlTATIONS The third story, taken from the time ofOtto HI , con«rll$ the ill· considered revolt of Crescentius. During tbe early years of the emperor's reign, the papoCf was vacant. Otro nominated his cousin, Bruno, the 100 of the duke of Carinthil., but Crescentius, I. Rom&n uistOCtlIt, deposed him with the &id of I. local &Ction and inst&l.led the bishop of Piacenu. in hi5 pla.ce. When Ouo marched OD Rome, Crescentius &nd his followers shut themselves up in the Casrel 5.nt'Angelo. Otto nonetheless subdued the city, mutill.tN the impo$let pope, and besieged the I.lIclent fottrcss housing the rebeb . Crescentius, disguiJed as I. pilgrim, appeared. before the emperor, begging for his lift. OttO said to him: "How is it dll.t .. . the judge of emperors .. . and the creator of popes enters I. humble Saxon abode? Take diis ml.n back tQ his lofty throne until I. more suitl.ble welcome can be unnged.·· Cres«millS WI.5 returned to the Casrel Sant'Angelo, whik Otto drew up his utillery. Ctescentius...., Jattt thrown from the r&mputs, dragged through the city's gutters, and hanged in public view. What do these grisly stQries tell us ·roil Glaber's inner concerns ? First, it should be DOted, he committed tWO errors in arn.nging tbe episodes to suit his designs. 1k manyrdom of Adalben took pl&ee on 23rd April 997 in the reign of Otto HI, not Otto H. 'Thc: la.tter died in 983, by which time Ono Ul \VU thm:, DOt twtiVt". ConSCiously or OthttwiJe, then , GI&.ber pbced alJUlj-ot event in each monarch'l period. And what the three IUlrratives have in common is the skilful interweaving of historical evencs and ritual gestures. In each cue, a single significant &et on the part of an importult pcnonage effectiVt"ly recreates I.lI entire previous tradition of similar thinking -.- ... _,g,j bt' !Cl". B- I '" """ buriod .. Gninno in I ~ )!> . Hi> mnaW -... 101.. ,....,. lattd to 1'nfI.... For ... f1l tIoo .. i,x,;.., _ f . Do.nil<, M I' i. C-..I ... & ,; • ~. ~»d. od. (Albotiy, "7"", "'· H. on.! p. D, ~ S. Miokutski, Mis~ fN1U ,ie. n. « . ,.., ..L.>. ."",. _ ",. - -. ',..., j . ' ''k I His " . . .. 4. 1>. R>. '1" ' . Oa " ......... f1lc...c...tioo ..... _ of Co " : ,J, ~ dr n-. ...... ..t.o .... kiJlo<> J IOU (V.,;"", Ciry, 1 91' ~ C. Cc«IotU.i, ["C...,,';, I StwoiJi, i c-i~, '942); """ O. G run! bistofy <JI LMhu" d..n.,: tIoo p«iod f1l "!,,,,.. al, ... o!.:M all P. T ,/"' ', ...... "do. 4, pp. ]U,..4(I. RITU-'LS, SYMIIOLS, -'NO INTERPRIlT-,TIONS and acting. In this way, a link i, forgl"d ~tw~n an un(errtin p.-esent and a moa. (O!rtain past.9 The scene opens with the diSllppearalKe of the Caro/ingian empia., and running through rh.e entia. chapter is an understatl"d threat to public order. Maieul ', captuu. and Ad&Jbcn's martyrdom counterbalance this impression by establishing an atmosphere of ecclesiastical un;vcrsalism.'o In both cases the models aa. traditional. Maieul is a pii8rim, Adalbcrt, a holy man. Maieu!", exchange with his captors, together with the stigma on his hand, crclIcs a situation in which th.e Arabs, likc rhe ancicnt Romans, art' virtually forced to persecure Christians against their ",m ..Adalbert leptCStntS anorbcr familiar theme, the opposition of Christian goOO and pagan evil in the natun.1 order. A primitive science still holds ,"'ay; chertfort, [0 prove GQd's effec. tiVCnes5, Adalbcrt mUll! die. His prediction of his death is of course taken (rom the life of Christ and earlier pauions. The revolt of Crescenrius is a differtnt SOrt of story but similu motifs appear. Hea. the contrast is ~twecn what Gla~r conllidcrs to be a defunct and a living imperialism. We never really leun why Cr<"SCenriU$ took up urns. GJa~r is mort interestl"d in reversing the CUStomary roles of conqueror and conquered in a scries of heroic tlI:changes. Crescentius, although authentically Roman, is pottn.yed ill a 1I000fN111 riCM: ''The more burdened he was with money, the morc prone to serve Awrice:'" His threat is thus prcsentl"d as a typical attack on traditional valllCS by a rt(ent entrant into proper society. The irony is that Ihe emperor and pope art ~rmans, the imposters, Romans. Ouo's tOlUnt to the false pilgrim ",ho kneels bd"on. him in Ihe holy city is a ooculated abuse of imp>:rial clemency. The 6.nal twin i5 CCC$CCmiw's murder in the Castel Sant'Angdo, Chal ancient reminder of nsi$[ance to the barbarian hoards. As notl"d, these episodes reveal an interest in the concrete , the ritualistic, and the mln~r in which ancient modcls rake on new life. The stQries from the a.igns of the thl~ OttOli also inaugurate I relationship between group participa.tion and spiritual development which becomes mott pronounced as the Historia. progresses. Particularly significant att a SCt of scenes crowded together towa[ds the end of book two. Chapter ninc consists of three episodes, ~gin- ,0., ,. Vi ....... Tb. IUi< . ' I ). I" /hJ . • ' .• . 1> .1>. '). , Cl. ~. ....... _ ...- h ·H~. 46 , • p. R[TUALS, SYMBOLS, AND '''ITI!IlPIli!TATIONS ning with Glaber's jlHdy famolH r«oll~fion of the famine which probably took place in 999. h was, as he puts it, I time of " unptecedentt oI-U.,..a •• i • .• Ibo. Ab! 'Ami. Mo/Iomme 994. ;. o..c .. r.. "'"' uti{'" " C. . . . f1 "oJOJl "l·C. ). l h! od. (M.drid. ,967). 416- 17; J P. O"CalIofban . A -.- Hit'"? " ...... (ltho.<wo '" I.t>oodoo.. '9nl. ,.6-.8. RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERP~ET"'TIONS came from, and why he had stOpped on that part icular day in Moutiers. The bishop repliw thllt he and his brethren had born "a Chris_ tian profession," but that Arab swords had ~panted theiT bodies and their souls. They were in Moutiers btausc, as he put it, soon many of its inhabitants .... ould belong to thei r ··coll ege." Aft er mass had ~n celebrated, Vulfiorius was asked to follow one of the brethren. But .... hen he tried to do so, the bishop and his followers vanishw.-' This vision i$ rich in assodations. The key terms a~ pllk, fJ"U!tsSio, f)(I(alio, and wll'gillm. The bishop is a mau Jcader;,6 his follo,,'crs are laymen (vin) who have tlken a sa(fW vo ..... Of course, the profession may simply refer to the cross which he bears before them. But, in view of their vaguely mentionW battles and pereg rinations, it more likely ~p~nu a combination of penance and holy war. The brethren are united by a cllling (f)(I(miD): the term retains the onl fiavour of the vow and yet binds the committed together as a group. The move ment is given the Roman designation of wlltg;IIm, further emphasizing itS obligatory character. The vision itself is both anticipatory and pen itential, thereby uniting the future and the past. It occurs a week after Whitsunday, char is, at the conclusion of the liturgical celebradon of the descent of the holy ghost on the "tx>Sr!C$. The ceremony in Jerusalem was made familiar to pilgrims af,er ,he fourth century by the Spanish nun Aetheria. " The dellth of the Catholic homeland's def"enden is a martyrdom. ,. To draw am:mion to the point, the bishop begins the antiphOfl from the altar of a martyr, St. Mautice. His brethren are del.dy souls deps.rted for paradise. They have ret\une01 b.ter. lIctnud 01 Tin" ... fu<"", pr r...."""" ,. H _ _ •. ~. " I~.. .. a. r ~, p. 4'. 46 . v. T~ ..... , 0.-... FiJJJ. - ' M~ , ,86090. ,6, JI,ITUALS, SYMIIOLS, AND INTEIlPRETATIONS [he unexpened, the lay and the religious, the present and the OIherworldly, are intermingled. J1M, subsequent episode, which has twO puu, reinforces t~ notion of colkcdve lICtion by introducing the external threat of the devil. Five monw after his vi$.ion, Vulferius was ordered to look after IIOme sick monks in AUXl'rre, sin«' he ..ppean to have had. some knowledge of medicine. Claiming thu his death was neJ.t, he insisted on seeing the sick shortly afTer his ouriwl. The monks of Auxerre were used to his sharp wit ROO pt.id no attention. 'They implored him to take a day of rest. Howcvt'r, on the following day he fell ill, and, while in the infirmary, had another vision: I. virgin, appeating before him, a.sked whether he harboured any doubt. She rben rold him to h&ve no fe&r {Of' his "forthcoming toumey," as she would be at his side. Achard, an erudite member of the community. interpreted the vision a.s "iden«' that Vulferius would soon die, and this took pJace t~ days later. While tl:it monks were preparing for his burial, another unusual set of events took p~. A pious layman, who lived neat'by, heard the abbey bells, and, thinking it was time for m&tins, got up to go to chlHCh. About midway along the road was • small bridge. When he arrived there, he heard voices from inside the monastery crying, "Pull, pull him out," and, "If not this one, bring another. " Then, above the bridge, he saw a figure resembling I. neighbour, but who, Glaber informs us, was in R':Illity the devil. It advanced rowams him in a friendly manner, telling him he could cross safely. Hoping to deceive him, the devil even turned into. turret. But the laylllUl fell on the bridge, ame to hi, .senses, .nd made the sign of the Cf'OlS . He returned home I. more prudent man, and soon he, like Vulferius, WIl5 relea'!d from the bonds of the flesh." What are we to make of these two stories? EiI(:h concerns a man given to dOl.lbt and starChing for certainty as he passes through the last stage of Iife's jOtmlCy. Both the religious Ind the layman are engaged in relatively straightforward activities at the moment when their faith is tested and reaffirmed. Vulferius knows that he is near the end of tbe road, but the monks in Auxem" will not listen to him. The pious layman Hkcs a short journey which is both rea.I and symbolic in order to dramatize the omnipresence of ciark forces in the world. lbese have invaded the monastery ofSt.-Gcrmain in the fonn of illness, which, {o( Gla.ber, is I physical manifestation of sin and of R!TU~I. S. SYMBOLS, ~ND !NTEIIPRET~nONS che no:ed fur ""penc:a",e. For this reMOn. and nN only b«aus<: of Vul(erius·s dellth. the voicts asking lhat the innocent layman!)., lured rowards the dtv;! come (rom the monastery's side of the bridge. Vul(erius. for his part. is U!Il(l5t prevented by pain from attending mass. His physical weakness is also a sign of doubt. which i~ ""liev«! by the appearance of Ihe Yirgin. who mwurn him and srttnglhens his rt$Ol~. The l:ayman wuhes to ~;t(h the chur<:h i!l$ide the monastery in order 10 celebrate matins. He is prevented from doing SO by an apparition of the dtvil above a symbolic bridge which s<:pantes rhe lay and rhe «desiastical WQrlds. ThroU8bout the tWQ episodts. the customary is 1lSsociated with ",,!igioos doubt and the unusual with certainty. Vulferius, Glaber lells us, was ··alwa)'$"" known as a clever man, and so tn.:: monks do not belit¥t him when he says he has little time lefr. His vision esu.blisbes se.::urity in place of doubt. ') He is assured of a certain reward. but he must pay a certain price, his life. When he is dying. the other monks pay him a visit 1«"1U/_ mtJtTm. They perform his last ritts ex M/M. And the pious layman gelS up for matins "I JQ/elJat.·· Hu vision. toO. arises out of everyday experience and ;nrolves somro~ dose to him. his neighbour. Even here the customary order of things is overturned. In Glabcr"s view. these :are confirmations thac the lay world is suffering from new rdigious anxiety. Should one chen conclude that. for Glaber, wha! is new must brellk violently with what is customary) Only in books one and two. Later. change acquires ethical respectability; so. in in cumext. does It. ceru.in amount of individuality. which is sternly condemned in the heretics Leutard and Vilgard. But the acmosphere is al$O diffcrcnc . From book three. change not only takes pla(:e in a world undergoing monl dissolution. There arc also some enmples of fulfilment. The line betweeo the tWO se.::rions of the Histvru,e is not hard and fast. Indeed. some of the worst ca tastrophes lie ahtacl. But the millennium is nonecheles5 a symbolic turning painc: ··From chac year there appeared in Italy as well as in Gaul men of both orders. ""li8ious and lay. whose lives and act ivities might wdl serve as ttamp!es to ~ imitated fur pustetiry .. ·· ' In books three to five. GlaNr conrinues co be prrocrupicd wilh movement. Nor do his methods of analysis change . As previously. he does not build up a logical or sequential crain of thought hut links "''''f< .. /HJ. • 46. -u< " " ..mp« .Ioa; p"(idUl, •, L«.n,. .. /ft.i. • • 7. •• IW,. ) . 1. p. l '- 46, . RITUALS, S YMIIOLS, AND INTl!RPRETATIONS his anecdotes and _pI. through the interlacing of subjective ass0ciations. The groundwork is laid in t~ oh-<juoted opening chapten of book three, where Gla~t speeks of the mO$ t important historical changes occurring around the year 1000, namely, the formarion of stllble governments in Europe, the opening of 11 safe land roure to Jerusalem, and the frustration of Byzantine ambitiOf15 in southern Iuly. >G On this foundadon is erected a structure of collective: religious ttviva!. '1 Throughout France and Italy, he points out, ecclesiastical councils tried to ~lvc 10ng-standill8 differences." Mool.nicism, hitherto in decli ne, began to win new wovcru and to establish outposts in backward regions. '" SuCctss alternated with di5a!ltet, as was illustrated by Abbo of Flcury's murder by it. Guron mOO.· o Yet, such iucidenrs in themselves could nor dampen thc ovcrodl enthlUiasm for refotm: ··It was as if the world, rejecting in roots, cast off what was old, and tverywhere put on the white gown of the church. "J' But how don Glaber really look upon reform? We get one side of the picture from portraits of figures like Het\'t Buzan~ais, who rebuilt the church of St. Marcin at Tours," or from vignettes from the livc:s of better-known reformers such as Wi!liam of St.-Btnigne in Dijon.H The other and perhaps more revca.ling side is conveyed by "",,,pia of error, doubt, and self-questioning. A rcrnIIrkable group of the Lurcr precedes book three, chapter six, and may be summarized briefty as follows. When thc entire world, Glaber reports, was beautified by new chutches, the moment came when, through diverse signs, men were ablc to rediscover the long hidden reJia of the saints. AJ if waiting for a sort of K'Surte<:t;on, he adds, these relics .... ere presented to the .. (Hi. , , . ,., .•. pp . ) ,_,6. !'or. cti,ka.l dioamion, ... 11o.i..... - 1ft prttend .... l ,, 6-,~ . po;. de Dj",:' H_" ,,, '.u "" _It., "1--40 . .. HiJ..n.. ,., .... p. 6 • . Ptai .... p. • ~81., po;n .. "'" .1I",.II< ......m.t is _ • ..,..bJ«ronot< "Cf. G. 0ubJ . .""" la..... la cl ",bot .,..,.Ji"" ood <1ubo '" FiNly. or s.rnwold '" Hildeobid' >Out« cl inlor""" .... b H..w; b . d~ . "" G. Oury, '1.i RlTUALS , SYM!lOlS, AND INTERPRE TA TION S faithful on God's signal, providing them with a sourc" of cont~mpla_ tion and. strength. Th~ first discov~ries tool< place in rhe cathed ral of Se St~p~n in Sens, and among chem che archbishop Li~rri cam~ upon a piece of Moscs's Staff. The news spt<"ad, aoo pilgrims cam~ from near and afar. Sens, as Il re;uic, acquiuJ grnt tourist ~Ich, but, along with ie, insuikeable pride. When Fromond, the good count, passed away, he was replaced by his son, Rainard, who was Il P<JOr adminismuor of the chur(h', goods and often frequented che local Jewish community, at one point even calling himself thei r king_ Under their inHu"nce, Glaber states, he beume dishonest, disrespenful, unmerciful , and a threac to the faith. Two miraculous $tories (Onfirme-d this change for the worse. In the first , Rainard ordered I common thief hanged, despi te pl~s for his life. The man asked only that he be allowed to confeu, as it was Friday. The Cllecucioners chen did cheir wmk: buc, after the man was sUSJ'C'ndcd for III day, the rope snapped, and he was set f!tt, alas, G laber adds, to return to his old ways. The second story came from the neighbouring town of Troyes. A group of th ieves, having stolen a bull , tumed it over to an old man whm it appcauJ that they would be caught. He protested his innocelKe, buc Herben, che local count, ordered him hanged . As the eneution was being c-arrie-d OUt, a large, strong hei fi: r came along and supported the man from below wirh its ho"'s. The twO remained in the same position for snme c~ days, until l{)me local townsm"n finally cut him down. The man then Cllplained that his rncue was appropriate, since, when newly married, he and his wife had held on the baptismal font a child to whom they had 8iven their only heifer. G !aber adds that the custom of giying heifi:rs to one·s godsons survives. Bur then he re\Urns tu the moral of the Story. All of this, he reasons, was a dear sign lhar the ·'judaizing mania·' of Rainaro had gone 100 far. The king was obliged to send a fOr(~ to restore order. But part of che town was butned as a result.''' let us now look at these anenlates in a larger (Onltxt. R~rt the Pious, aided by Eudes of Chartres, ItCtually took Sens on und April I O I ~. Rainard was not CltJ'C'lIed, and eventually reached an ag~me nr with the ki"8. Glabe r argued that the attack was retribution (or Sens's error and gr« RITUAL S, SYMBOL S , A.ND INTERPRJlTATlON S and 1IWII1II, the hidden and the discovered, il roug:hly typological. In fact, the sra« is the firn in a series of.manifesc.tiom of tl1JIiqlllnW. 1tIi>9'''' ituip;"". " More particularly, within the stories Glaber draws attention to what is dght by presenting a fulfilment of what has gone wrong. Rainard and Herbert are in his view men of tbe letter, not of the spirit. Rainan:l's Bim.tion with the local Jews even transfixes him in the preparatOry Stage of histOly under the law, as, with I~r dttail , is the cue with Herben, In other worm, at a time when Glaber thinb that what is youll8 and innovative is ac.;eprable, even perhaps beneficial, tbey n:present a youth that is merely old age relived. Mraid of change in the prner!t, they hllYe tetra-ted into 1lrcbaic models of conduct. Htd thqo guided their judgments by Christ's precepts, Glaber implies, the innocent WQUld DOt have suffered. Yet the abuse of justice offers visible proof that God is working &gaiDSt them in the world. AJ it is, ,. guUty thief is hanged on the eve of rhe 51lbbarh aDd an innocent man is condemned without a hearing , The old man is sa.ved by .. good deed from his younger days, and Rainard, who succeeded a respected COUnt, is an eumple of unwise yOuth in authority. Finally, there are the Jews, who are stereotyped as being stubborn aDd in error. By allyins himself with them, Rainard links himself to a p0sition of historical inftexibility. For, as the relics hear witness, the mtna~ of the da.y is that the new has come to replace the old. Gla1xr himself is somewhat ambivalent on the question of cwtom, hearsay, and orhet unwritten evidel>tt. Throughout tbe episodes. i-, which causes men to altet' their ideas, is a two-sided force, both a harbill8er of promise and of potential delusion: for instanCe, tbe tumour oC Mo5CS'S staff brings tbe pious to Scns but only to have them mulcted as tOucisu. In sum, while, in Glaber's view, cbanse is anticipated, it does not necessarily bring about the desired State of afIioirs, There is a ((Inside,.},le gap be~n what the revelations S~t and what histOry actually reveals. The foccc that Crt'Iltes • new religious sensibility aiM) leads to socialaoo political disorder. The good news of Jesus's message is once aBain in d>e air, hut lIlC'n petsi,t in their old habits. The story of Jewish inBuence in Sens opens the door to other issues that are interrelated in Glaber's mind, namely, blam, Jerusalem, and heresy. The Jews, whom he sees 8$ the source of Rainard's downfall, are associared with larger religious and political subversion, The way fJtIIt.J .. I~., , .6.' 9, p. 68. Glabor <>pIoins ,t.. ~ ..... , 468 iMJ. , ,. 1. 10, pp. , ..... . II,ITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTEIIPRRTATIONS is thus paved for the destruction of the holy sepulchre in the following chapter, which is also a byproduct of JewiJh intllln,igence. 11.$ Glabct has it,ll fugitive slave called Rot~n was paid by the Jews of Orlbns to bear ktters to the Fatitnid caM a1·Hakim, requesting that all Christian influence in the holy land IX" eJirninated.,6 The story effec tively links the idea of religious disorder at home with lack of Christian control over Jerusalem. The point is made clC"ar in book four, chapter two, wh ich tells the story of a Cathar ramI/Mm near Ani and of its leader, Manfred Y Here, ilS in the dissidence at Orlbns, heresy does not only fulfil a doctrinal role in the Hist/1r;#. It is also employed as a vehicle for traruforming Christian awareness into a form of group panicipation. The central incident concerru a kn ight whose village remained Christian despite tht' pnvalence of Cathatism in the region. 111 and nearing his end, he sent for a woman 10 minister to his last needs. But she only came to spread heresy. Entering his house with her, he saw a large group of mtn dresJC " ,&11.. J·7. '4·'S. pp. J' .1). "1"'., Pf>. 1><11l"'. Basil 1I it m;,Wc<" fc< Roma ...... lH. RlTUA.LS, SYMBOLS, ANO INTERPRBTA.TIONS liam of Sr.· &!'nigne, who died le!pectively in 1024, 1029. and 1031." The ensuing Famine WII$ so severe that jt was tholl.ght the whole hu· man race would peri$h. Drought alternated with floods; blights, aIis· ing in the East, spread through Greece and Italy to France. Inilation pushed food prices beyond reason, when, that is, nourishment could be round at all. Men had to survi~ 00 reptiles, carrion, roots, weeds, and even other humans. Glaber renlls several imtances of cannibal· ism. Travellers we~ mwdered by their hosts; child~n were lured to ~mote places, butchered, and devoured; and glllvtS were regularly robbed of the dead. Cooked human meat was sold for beef in an open srall at Tournus; and, not far from Micon, a wild man WIl3 found living in a hut with the bones of some forty-eighr victims. In desper· ation, men mixed flour with earth; lnd the treasures of mBny churches weIC simply sold. The normal rhythm of the Iota5Om ilttmed to ha~ been arte$ced, and the uni~ne, Gbher adds, to be returning to pri. mevd chao$.J!I However, in 1033 the torlCntial llIill$ (cas«!. The earth once again was bles.w:d: famillC disappeared, food became plentiful. First in Aqui· taine, thm in diverse regions, abbots and other dergy began to mtet in groups. The bodies of saints and their relics were transported to the meeting places. The purpose of these C(lUocils, in Gl~ber·s words. was ··to reform the condiciOIl$ of peace and to re--establish the Chris· cian faith." When news of the gatherings spread, lonis, middling perso.u, and even those of lower rank also came together. Their sup-port for their pastors was for once wholehearted,'" [or the disasters of the pkYious kw years had left them apprehemive. A documem was drawn up listing the legal conditions ror peace: cletics and laymen were henceforth to beat no arms; thievo were to be rigorously pun· ished; churches were to become S&lKtUAries for· anyone seeking refuge; and monks and nuns were not co be humed under any pretat. Mir· acles. Glaber adds, cont ributed co the atmosphere of goodwill. But in any case it did not last: the great lonis IIOOfl returned to exploiting the less fortunate; the middle and lo~r orders, misled by their su· periors, (ell into similar vices. Incest, adultery, and concuhinage once again became common. A chi ld was even said to ha~ been made pope. The one lasting result was the new interest in pilgrimages to " IAl.. • .•. 9. p . !XI . "I~. ••.•. • pp. 99".0) . .. F '>". 470 ~.ti<. RITUALS, SYMBOLS, ANO INTERPRETATIONS J erusalem, which continued to bring together m"n and wom en from all social classes and walk, of life." Unlike Glaber's anC(:doral tales, the logic of these scenes presents no serious problems. The hamine is for him a rime of testing, sacrifice, purification, and group cohesion. The: year I OH partially fulfils God's promise within the design of Chrisdan history, a( o~ restoring plenty, cttaling universal institutions, and inspiring men to .ktn()nsuare lheir faith through pilgrimages. Bur, if need is answered by physical plenty, rhe working our of history also d emands aKeticism and discipline. The church and the monasteries show the way; but self-denial on so large a scale also implies ]I. common rdigious goal. In a sense, physical need, as produced by famine, has itS fulfilment in the tangible Jerusalem, ju.! as mystical self-abnegation fi!>ds its uward in the hea~nly Jerusalem . Both images work side by side in Glabcr"s imagination, subtly inter_ penetrating each other. Also, tm, famine is foushadowed by the deaths of eminent reformers, those who were, in his words, among (he chief modd. (or conduct "' in the prestnt age." Glabcr himself had written a little Ittatise cdebracing Ihe merits of William of St.-Benign,." The famine suggests rhe idea of anarchy in two classic images from the Old Testament: original chaos and the flood. JUSt as chaos preceded order in ~ne$is, so natural di5]l.$ter prc(:Nes the anniversary of the passion. God rherefOte appears as an avenger vf sill.!, his wrath emering France by the same easrern roure as Ihe diabolically inspired heresies and political threats. The leswn of the hamine also has iu spirituaJ sid." "There was no refug~ from God's anger , unl~s rowards h ims.elf." " The abundance Of the years following I OH tepealS another Old Test&ment theme, the jubilee of Moses, while the peace of God echoes th~ imag~ of the coming of the law to the Jew,. For Glaber, both established universal principles. Of course, these years too were not without their problems. Man, ever sinful, soon returned to his old way,. But a new collective conscience had in his opinion made iu appearance, manifesring irself chielly in the desire to visi t the holy land, uniting men and women, rich and poor, in a common quest. Doe concludes book four in a mood of restrained optimism. The deeper conflicts of the West have not vanished, bur there is a new spirit of cooperation in the air. Again and again men have been wrenched from ,. Hisw;", 4.' . '4- ' 1, pp. ,oJ-06. ,. I fiJ. • ~+9 , p. ?SI. "I""., 4.4. '0. P. 'co; """" "SO .uf",ium i.. ul,iofti. O 47 ' RITUALS, SYNBOLS, ANO INTIiRPRIiTATIONS their customary practices, 01", to employ the vocabulary of nl15«1lC feudalism, thrust into CUStomary situatiollll for which there is little precedent. Custom itself is ambinlenl: it is both a background for change and part of the new' design for which history ~m5 to be searching. AtI#lI,w t_".is Ch."gt Although highly individualistic in style and content, Rodulf Glaber sits midway between a world that is oral, gestural, and symbolic, IIDd one du,r is u::.;tual, interptetive, and (actually oriented. 1u soch, he offeR a convenient point oC departute for exploring broader attitudes towards change between twO peaks of KDsibility, namely, the later CarolingillD empire and the consolid..cion of the duchy of Normandy and its dependent regions in the genet'l.tion after the death of WiJlilll1l the Conqueror. Then, lIS now , a distinction must be made between the objective and the subjective. Those living through the times wete nften confronted with changes whose violen« was all tOO vivid and real, such lIS invasion, hmiD(', at" IlIttwal catllSrropbe. But, what OD(' invariably finds in their letteR, histories, IIDd WlX'ks of literat\ll'e is lID unjudicious minure of what acruaIly took place and their personal thoughts .bout the events. Like people .t lIDy time IIDd place, they did nor fully comprehend the changes in settled patterns of thought and action going on all around them. But, they did nor on that acmunt view them as .3('riC,'S of totally unconnected actions. Muu.tions were "causally" interrelated; the past, the present, and the (ut\ll'e indissolubly linked. Attachments wen: not limited to the empirical: anceston, biblical figutts. and pPgIlD spirits wen: lIS inftuential on condUCt as the «igencic:s of survival. Forces which for us can only be brought to the sul"filn through psychoanalysis were felt lIS tangible realities. The visible.nd tM invisible coeJtilted like body.nd soul in murual interdependence. Symbols .nd rituals, as noted, wen: not objects of Itudy; [hey informed and gave immediately apprehensible meaning to life. Ezperieoce, if somewhat disordered by contemponry standards, was immeasurably richcr in range and drpth. For better or worse:, men lacked lIS yet Ihe instruments for turning what lhey felt and sensed into a let oC logical COncepti. +I What Huuerl said of the period preceding Descanes can .. M. BIo ...... I, p. loll. 47' IIITU"'LS. SYMIIOI.S. "'NO INTEIIPIIET"'TIONS be said of the evly Middle Ages in general: men had Mt yet discovered "science. " but they had not ye! lost touch with "the wol"ld,"" From time to time the subjective and the objective coincided in time. Anticipiltions ~ confimKd. ex~OiItions fulfilled. Earlier models for condUct teemed to Iiw- again. But such occasions wett fIIre. Mott commonly, change in the enernal world and one's appreciation of it were $CpIlfllted by In unbridgrable gulf. The result was anxiety. lll(k of comprehension. and • whole nOSe of compensatory techniques. For. if the hard facts of life could 1lOl: he Iltered. at iea$t they could he fitted imo • system of helid" that made them understandable and acceptable. There Wl:tt many methods of explanation. most of which worked along internalis! lines. Like all abstract systems detached from actual change. they had their own principles of devdopment and rheir often arbitrary ways of accounting for why things happened. Instead. of dealing with the phenolmnal wntent of reality, they de,cribed its modes of appearance, i~ organic patterns. and its hidden. inner meanings. The contemporary studem norlTUllly looks upon these analytical too15 in a somewhat dispilfllging manner: they would $eCm to represent the symbolic universe of tbo&e who had not yet le&rned to limit investigations of reality to the empirical. But. to those employing them, they comprised a system of signs {or communicating between form and content, sound and sense. design and function. Attemprs were sometimes made at codification, but they were only partilllly successful. Men could never fully agree. Even religion. the largest re~itory of Significant objects and events. harooured not eas ily reconcilable notions side by side. Whit crossed educationalleveb and the boundaries of estates was not hard-and-fan philosophy: it was the widely shared if often naiw- faith in the value of inrerpretation.· 6 Change, not surprisingly. was fr«juent!y viewed with suspicion, lIS it led to uncenainty. Mllh>ti~ Ctrried pejotative connotations." Novelty did oot generate enthusiasm but fear, not adaptation but ~si5t Ince. fnd«1, '1>; 8. 1 (;91,). "For. ,boomDl o.m.",.. ,ul. 47l RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS did tbe incapaciry of individuals to understand and to interpret what was taking place. The reason is not hard to 6nd. All the transfotmatioru .seemed to be leading an already troubled society into worse times. In Charles the Bald, who died in 877, the cultural if not political unity of the Carolingian empire still appeared to be intact. But, just thitty-four )'Un later, the "roasral counties," as Flodolud put it,'" along the Seine were ceded in fid by the French to Rollo, who was named the fint "duke of NOfmandy." The "inVllilions" perhaps brought about less physical than psychological~. Whether or not they marked the decisive rod of the old order, they compelled iDl'n .nd women of all social strata to rellect upon the direction in which civilization WIS heading." Spc ,no '." '7·"" ..,j. _ ' 7·'0, .. ~'I'. KodulfGlohor, Hi" . . p",." pp. .. So>mmari ...... from J. Y ...., "/.n pnmifta inKi .... iom du d"d.1f de Ncwmandio;· I N_ ~ ($p>Ioto, 1969). _l66. • t.,.,. .. £on,t.o..u.. ,. • " c. H. H..JU ... , N..... /.,.;_ (C&rat:orids<, M... .. '9>,), Append;, D. p. • 8,. P MCH u,... S 474 IUTU<\LS , SY MBOI.S, ANO INTERPRI!TATIONS ber of dispo.sicive acn de(reues with e2Ch sUlx"$$ivr monnch: 120 a.cu for O~r1es CM Simple in 30 years (i.e., about four per rar), 53 for Louis IV in 18 (less than th~ per ~ar), ,6 (or Ll)(hair in 32 (less than .wo per year). Gradually control over the clauical prerogatives of minting, tonlieu, forests, and the construction of ch3teaux was lost. Mo~ and mo~ frequently, concessions wen: made tu local "counrs" whose lineage may have been 'uspect but whose military authority ..~ undeniable. Early historians, as a rule, attributed rhe psychological breakup of the old order to abrupt, irreversible changcs of OM son or another. In doing so, tbey followed in the footsteps of medieval commentalors, who tffided to ,peak of the tHnsformations in highly dramatic terms. Even Haskins, who wu sensitive to the sourccs' li rerary qualities, overemphasiud the degree to which tbe founding of the Norman sute was a di$COndnuQU5 break with the past.>} Ceruinly, the kar o( the millennium and the Anti christ played on men', minds, as Adso of Moorierender bean witn..$S. Nor should rh .. destruetive and creative energies of invasion, immigration, and sertiement be underestimated. Who, (or instance, among contemporary chroniclers, could see a larger, divine purpose in the random looti08 of the Magyats; in Haning', r:a.id, on the coasu of Fr:a.nce, Spolin, and Italy; or in the long-remembered Moslem attac ks which desecrated St. Peter', in 846 lnd Mont«usino in 881~ On the other hand, the commentators' bias should not be forgotten. A we!l-known example is the complaint of HeM, archbishop of Rtims, to the councj[ of Ttoli on 26th June 909, that the province's bishops have been unable to meet for several years owing to "the in/lw: of Pilgans and the grave distu rbance of the realm."" In his opinion, God's wrath was evident: IOwn' were depopulated, fJ\QfIasteties laid was~, and farms deserted. Adultcty, rornicarion, and mindless slaughter we~ common occu rrences. Bishops neglected rheir flock$; laymen "0. c. 000.!I1ao. '11;/1;"'" ,b, C ...._ " (J.ondooo '96.d. 98- JIo< ... ~ ~ d'tbet>eOd 1IotI<.1ty. odIob.no'>ip sin« w. vOJd', ,906 dotsi ..... <\. r'mp;'" r. ....... IX, ~l<," 1 No< m, 'n1)8- n.. ...... q.... 'iooo ;, ...... ...,J ' - " brl<£, br P. H. So""'" rh< AI< qu< .. I.. .x..iMo> du rtli .... ,. C-ili_ on'''''' " 1'_, r,.,r.p_, M.... I 18. 26.4-6,_ RITUALS, SYN90I.S, ANO INTIlRPRilTATIONS usurped ecclesiastical offices; canon, and nu"" pledged allcgiall(:c to fortignen. h was, he conclvded, nothins less than a return to prim. itive chaos. Michelet, among 04:hers, regarded the council as an acrun.tC reftee· rion of events. But how much can we ret:l1y bdieve? The "terrors of the year 1000" were copiro in pan: from the Dkllpgllf."l of Gregwy the Great." Their sombre evocations are echoed by few 04:hcr chroniclers. In truth, the "i nvasions" may not have heen as uniformly disruptive as was once thought. Even Normandy, whose boundaries were "an expression of history rather than the product of gcographi<:al comii· tions," illustrated a large amount of "tetturial continuity" with itS own asralian pllSt.16 Norman society was DOl: a new society: it was .. hybrid, .. minure of old and. new. " The forcn which helped to frag. ment the enfeebled empire aod to pave the way for the Scandinavian colonization also laid the foundations for what later beame known as "che feudal system." B.u t it rook juridic Structures nearly a antury to <:atch up wirh social rea1ities. In the meanwhile, what men noticed most was DOl: the appearance of the new order but the gndua.l disappearance of the old one. Ic was at once .. society which was old, and. therefore confronted with ia apparent youthfulness, and, at the same time, rather imnu.· ture, and fot that reason preoccupied with creating for its.(M. suffi. ciently credible past. Old lIge and. youth--witne"es, so to speak, to the sense of discon· tinuitr-re recurrent themes in the period's literature, hagiogJllphy, and. historical writing. PerRap$ beuer than mute ftatisties they provide an index of reactions to change: DOt only to the subjective 0:. pcrience, but. more importantly, to the modds of interpretation which individuals used to chancteriu their hupts, desires, aDd inevitable disappointments. Wantlering and Y ()11th Let us looIc lim ar tWO of society'$ basic mCl&JlhOlS (or change, namely physical displacement and. the stages of the Jifc-cycle. During the period under consideration, it appeared. normal ro most thinkers that Ilk·styles shoukl remain unlixed for a certain length of " DWci l.~, P1. 77.l [6C. ,. 1>-[81.. , ., <.. .... .,Ju- ... CM, w. [J ...d ... H0I1;', .. ...d J. W . &!dwin, .",. PhiUp .....,....... ,- 8"9 go. r.;;. of !.&nin"'''';''' Ki .... bip: H RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS [[m~. Pmg~i""1 had not a(quire.::! the s~ialized ~n~ of "pi lg rim," still less of "crusader";" it simply meam "~xile" or "wanderer. "'9 However, from th~ t~nth century, th~ notion gra ,969/. )0"' . So< B. d< Ga;f&«. J. A. Bt.lNia&•. Ill"';..,,! c.._ """" ~'" "" C~ (Modi"", . -P l!>of"" d '"n """3...;' E'..... <>i';,_ ~h.q;"''''''';' ~~;, (B",... I•• '?ti71, ! I ' j.4 . U,.{ul ;n ,. " (Ri""',,· or '*'.. p_ittJotWtS _ _ ;. '" 1(""" "" . CoI--"';. od . 1. V"I!~' """.~ B. • • MituUhm U...... '9.,1. H -7 ' . Bi . .... Tb. l';'. P..;wtUh (Dublin. ' ?till. ')8. Tht di",,,,,.,., b<'!W<e<". ,.. 477 RITU"LS, S\'M60LS, "ND INT l! RI'IU!T"TIONS instance, the Carolingian emperors, who, being wmewh ..t nomadic, ttllVC'lIed from estllte ro estate, Jibctlllly dispensing gifts to their "fo.milies." The =-Iy English king, wrorc A. 1. Poole, "moves ceo.selessly from place ro place ... o.nd with him mova also all the paraphernalia of govcrnmen . . . . ''6. ' What was true of William Rufus and Henry I on one side of The Channel, of course, was still applicable on the other to Philip Augustus, who died in Ill3 .61 Bur, by rhis date, "wayfaring," was well on the way «l bKoming .. disreputable son of IICriviry. Did the aristOcratic Otro of Freising not deriu the name of the Norman soldier of fortune, "Guiscard," from wanderer or n.gabond (do lid",. 1It/ ginft",.J,'" pointedly recalling an ancient monastic opprobrium? It is not dear JUSt when the turning-point came. A Jur gasp of thl' older idealism with respe« ro physiC'lI movemenr can still be kit in the Children's Crusade of UI2: it began in an atmosphere of pure piety; it endctl in briganda~, kidnapping, slaVC'ry, and murdtt. By this d ..te many types of rravellers had acquirctl .. special sratus: pilgrims and crusadu:s above all, both furnishctl with letters and recognizab!e gatmenu; but abo, by the mid-cenrury, mendicant frim, merchants, aod troubadours, along with pctllm, jongleun, and, perhaps more frequentl y than the sources admit, preachers of popular but unauthorized doctrines. On the fringes of this substantia! group was an even luger number of vagabonds, whose mob included the poor and homeless, together with those for whom displacement. was .. convenient means of remaining outside the largely locali2ed network of law and order. Ycr, jf the thirtCl!nth century witnnscd. the final stages of this evolution, the eleventh saw the early and larer medienl conceptions of human movement Q)me face to face. Wandering had not lost its ritual associations, and still I:Unctl a strong, primitive for« on men's minds. But it had also begun to take on specific social and religiOUS connorarions. What is mOrt, it was suddenly tahn up by the lower echelons of society. By lloo, all but the greatest lords were leading sedcotal}' lives. BUl: the masses ~ now on du: mo=. ~ 1bey oowded after the wandering prc:achcn. They huddled together on the dusty pilgrimage roads. They filled Italian town squares in search of civil .. F,.,. D ,11) IHM ,. /tI.qtu c.m.!O>dOrd. [9)[). 7. " HoIlimr &lid Boldwin • •"". Ris< of Mm;"""'[;'" J(jftlSh;J>, 89s'905"wur.;J;;,;!/ [u['J,NGH SS>O,JH' .. a .... I. u-e, "l'amilr, c.:-m""itr IfId Cul[ "" [11< E.. of [he Gt<,.,m,. 1ltm." T"'· _ .... of Jh.1I.~ Hi,-..J ,It! S<.;.. ..... . JO (l.o<>don, (980). i~,6. H $....,. ", RITU"lS, SYMBOLS, "NO INTJ:;RPRIlT"TIONS rights. In the north, they infilulItr pauage from youth to maturity is i.J\ important rite. Cros.sing the frontier from one stage of life to another inevitably brings with it a time of insrability.o, The contrast between old age and youth-that is, between the ancients and the moderru--i$ already a familiar theme in the Carolingians, as it is in later commentators such as Rodulf Glaber. But the metaphor and its associations entered a new phase in the last half of the eleventh century. More precisely, in the north of France from about 1060 on-tbat is, from the moment when William, after some fourteen yeatS of uninterrupted oombat, manased to consolidate his hold over the duchy of Normandy-growing up and takillS a position in society seems to have been an especially difficult change for many well-born young men and women . It WIlS different in the touth, where wealth , courtly ideals, and orderly relations between church and stBte helped. to ta$e the tensions of socialization. There, despite the presence of a knightly class, youth_ ful energies found outlets in lly piety, vernacular literature, and even heresy.M William IX sublimated Noule into poetry: the conilins of the real world were tratulOrmed inro a vehicle for ~lving the oppositt$ of love. 69 In the north, the real bartlefield was never f.u away. Society was more dirully shaped by the survival of the fittest. WH.. L. C. N.:K.iDII<)", '"The I'I:vpk and Publi< Opinion in [h< EI'<· ",."':. SJmi.. b;blioJ ......, . >9,'9" .. G. Volp< , M .. :...,; "'if;";' "'It - u l i ~ -..t. iW~ .... YJ.. a . L. T . T<>po6tld ••".,. 1100""1"" 1'0«" '" &om ....... IX '" "q..;..i....: · N..,4i~ ftI;,..u",.,.. 69 h ~) .•80-,0'; on / - , pp. ,WI·I!]· Il_" ".-p. Ht_'" ""t. 479 RITU"-LS, SYMBOLS, ANO INTeRPRETATIONS liam the Conqueror was a stroDg leader .nd administrator. Those of his generation who prmptted Wff( like him , A k indly, :sensitive, .nd humRDe individual like Amold o£Echauffour, whose only sin '1111$ his w:k of fortune, might have led a tHSOnably untroubled life iD the south, Friendless iD his own CQUDtry, he was first tricked by William's fal:se promises and later mu~red by Mabel Talns, :ro The power, ruthlessness, and ftaBility of the Norman aristocrat)' under WiUiam was • virtual guarantee that 11 "generadonal gap" would «ise betweeD the elden and their ofUpring, Few of the children could fill their pan:nu' boon: fewer still wanted to. Care must be «erdse.:! in defining what was meant by "youth, " But here, clusica1 and sociological canons are in reasonable agreement, lsid~ of Seville placed ;II.-111S between the ages of fifteen and fifty," Later authorities imitated his cllISSification of the MlaW /mniIf. . with only minor changes, " For instance, Guiben of Nogent, although over forty at the time of writing, speaks of himself 1$ "timid in hi" }'QUthfulness,"H hilmlllil, mo~r, not only referred to a span of time but " co • sp«ific position in military society .nd family Structure,"'" In other words, youth WlIlI defined by. soci.1 role.nd by. strong horizontal bond within a peer group, A hroI:herhood or ",.,;JlrU WRl often formed on the day following the cernnony of knighthood. " Membership was shared by all those who had undergone the "rites of p"'.ge" together and who, in tile 5e"ke of a wulehy retainer, constitutro. a new cohesive iamiii4 devoted to battles, tournaments, wenching. and conquest. ~rges Duby hllS indicated why the new "family" WII5 needed .., • substitu~ for the old.'" Problems If'05( within the system of primogeniture. Of~n • young nobleman received arms when he was between sixteen IItJd twenry-twO, that is, at 11 time when his father, .. Oode' K Vin!i>, MW. Hi>t .• ).9. YIlI. 0, "0, "4. "b) , ,>WO . " .2, od . 'IV'M . LiO>dso.T.. 1I.J:. , ......... _ , 0. U _ l.' , 1'1. 11 1. ' 17. In ..."ual_ 10.. li!indzo" .... "'m.w.... idom AIo ... buoidoauQJ:Cti," ia A. B...:knwoo. «I. , P.,. . . . . . r ' h • • • • P.-I K. . . . . 6}. Cd.,· "" (M_b, ,,,,6), 287·,,6; J. do: Ghdlilld. ·I~_"", JfL.; .... ... __ " .... ' $'" M'r '.io- R. " 1Of"ti., )5, ODd, (IfI .... .."'" IOr J< mldXnl, " :u",m., ~ dE' ~;I (8Nooeio. ,916), 12" 4. " .or v.... $... '.4. od . G. (PaN, '907~ '4' .. G. Duby, ·'Lea;.u- duo. .. lOci&! Llistocra!iqu< doni 10 _ dot NOfd.a....- ... xu. oikI<;' H _ .. '4_ "N. BIo L'' _ _.in 7 I .. $...,. ,'0 II.ITUALS, SYM}lOLS, AND INTERI'R ETATJQNS who was frequently in his fifties. had no intention of relinquishing hi~ tsrcate or its prerogatives. Di$putes over ,he disuibution of family ~I'(CS inev itably rcsulml in (OIlfrontatiQll5, mounting tensioos, and physical assaults. No wnnder it was fashionable in reality as wcll as in romance for a )'Qung knight ro spend a good dal of time away from home. Property within the family wu not the only $Quree of conflict. The other mtdieval method of transfenill8 the means of production among lineages was through marriage. In principle , youth ended with mar· riage: the ill_is be<:ame a "if. that is, a man with a family and stable ethical val.....,. But marriages were often negodated with a mind to protti:ting the integrity of estates, and younger sons were both a nui· sance and a threat. Frustrated, many young men chOSt' to become permanent exiles. Young Normans are fOund as mercenaries in sout hern Italy from 10 16. By i038 the infamous sons of Tancrtd d' HauttviUe were pres· ent. The subsequent story of displaced agsrcssivity is well known. R~rt GuiilOlrd, aided by his youngest brother, Roger, proceeded to subdue all of Apulia after l o ~8. In 1071 he captured Bari, the last Byzantine stronghold . Roger look Messina in 1061 and Palermo in 1012. Of COUnt, not all the dissatisfied young men of Normandy left for the Mediterranean frontier, and ehroni clen differ on the real as opposWtO mythi cal vitality of the Italian conllCCtinns. " Of those who did leave, many mana~ tu return . Still others remained, and ar· tempted to work out their fates on loul soil. Two porrraiu from the last decades of the: e1evenrh centu ry paim a vivid picture of the inner eonllieu and uncertainties of the aristocrati c Norman youth. The best known i$ Orderic Viu.lis 's description of the coort of WiJliam Rufu5 in the [O<JOS ," wh ic h provided him .... ith an occasion for a g eneral lament on the decline of "our ancestors' honorable cus· toms" sinee the death of d>e Conqueror and of Gregory VU. In rhetorical phrases, Orderic depicred the younger gencrnion as turning away from the firm piety and virulent manhood of their dd · Hi,...,. " This ;. po";'''!>'!' , .... cl Otdtci{', ..<....,: N . Ch.,bnalL Tb< &t1t!"Jlir./ WJI . , ('969), ""'-""';;; R.H. C. 0..;,. Tb< N _ 404 IJ..;, ltl"b (London. '916l. r ~ ' ,6, 6)_6, . '"/lm. fit!. . , 8. '0, "" . • ('9n), ,811'<" O. Eod ....... 1Ii< ..... N___ .. ;'A"tl", '*. '. ''''''I<, dJ. " !'P. "oR. 48 • IlITUALS , SYMIIOLS , ANO INTEIlI'Il E TATION S en. They apptared to him to act, (0 look, and ro dress mo~ like women than mcn. Th<'y were t/fi: ,;1141;; and, as .tablc boundaries of Bcnder wt'te trcspused, so were traditional norms of conduct . He was particularly in~nsed at the fashiOtlS in foo~, clothing, and hair Iryles. Long pointed shoes, hc relatcd, were invented fOf Fulk-lcRechin, who suffered from bunioru; they wt'te introdue«l (0 court by a ccnain Robert (soon after nicknamed romarJtu). Shirts and tunics, he continued, were tOO ornatc. Rufu.s's forbears were C()t1.tcnt with modest dres~, equally suited to walking 0( riding. J"hc,re: were: no tight shim, ovenized g[O\u, or capes that swept the ground. 'Ik new hair styles were: similarly non_functional. The shon-croppcd, militaristic CUt of euiiu times had. httn abandoned in favour of long: hair , which, he noted, was frequently parted at thc middle and hung down in ring:lcts. In effect, Orderic observed, Rufus's friends shavW tbe front part of thcir heads like thieves, whilc they let thcir bait grow Iona at tbe back like harlots. In this way, he added, they parodied a style tC$Crvcd for penitents, prisoners, and pilgrims. Hli image was apt, for, conIIdously or unconsciously, these young: men had broken with the ways of thcir fatben. Thf;y had become "wanderers" of a new type. Orderic fclt tbat in his own day "thc older life-style had almOSt cntirely httn given up for novel diversions ." In his view, the outwatd appearance of Rufus's companions mirrored tbe shallowness of tbeir inner lives. Ycr, leaving aside the allcgatiolU of de~""mcy, how characteristic is Ordenc's picture: of thc moral pm:Ii~nl? It is instructive to comJ*e his observations with a diffc~nt SOrt of personality crisi. rc:lat.-d in Guibcrr of Nogenr's MtfM;n in which thc social mili~u is somewhat simiJu.79 Guiberr told the story as part of a largcr diSCl1S:lion of " the coDditions of religious life and tbe conversions" he saw in his day. Thc hero was Evrard of Breteuil, ....ho died in I095 . Evrud was "in the Bower of youth" and known rhrouahouc Normandy for his wealth and re6ncmcnt. However, at lcng:th, Guiberr tclls us, he began to re8.ect on the purposelessness of his eltist~nce, which, in the narrator's rerms, consisted of noching "but coruumiog .nd being consumed ." He talked over the problem with some of his fricnds, md lhey decided to punue the ~Iigious life together as memhcrs of Il lay confratcrnity. Leaving thc comforts of their great hOUSC$, they wcnt into "exil~" in Il region unknown to them, .... h~re they earned thcir liveli- ,8, JtITUAI.5, SYMBOI.S, AND INTERPRETATIONS hood by selling (harcoaJ. Evrard, Guibert says, remain«! in apostolic poverty until OfJe day when he found himself in a village, where befun: him stood a young man ridiculously dm5ed in a $O.rlet cloak, fan(y silk trousers, and obscenely short leggings. His hair, parted in front, s""ept down girlishly over his shoulders: he looked, Guibert notes, "more like a lover tban a traveller." Evrard, ""ho had kept his own identity 11 seem, ""as eager to IClrn who this i'C'cson WlLi. When a.sked, the young man replied: "You mun nO! tell anyone, bul I am actually Evrard of Breleuii! I was once a count, but I have voluntarily gone into exile to do penan(e foe my sins." Evrard was shocked , but interpreted the meeting as a divinely inspired sign that his period of "wan_ dering" was finished. Ac(Ordins:ly, he and his (ompanions immediately left for Marmoutier, where they ~me monks. Even if we put aside the moralities of the tWO au!hors, there is a fundamen{;l.l similarity and an important difference in the two stories. In both, the life-style of the previous generacion is rejl!(ted, even though inheritance poses no problem. BUI the twO groups are at sep. arate s{;I.ges of their diuociation from traditional norms of !>ehavi!)ur. William Rufus's court has merely left them behind, while Evrard and his friends, at least in Guibert's vie"", have found their ( hosen soa!. Perhaps he was overly optimistic: even so, their youthful "rites of passage" involved the isolation from onc set of relations, a transiti!)nai or liminal stlse, and incorporation into a new ··family.·· Territorial displacement thereby symboliud spiritual growth. These storiC$ abo illustrate twO different uses oltextual models. In Orderic, the customs of the past have become an inviolable standard for the present. In Guibcrt, we wirnts-S the progress through twO stages of a "textual (ommunity," first appearins as a ronfratemity and late! adopting the RIJ/~. There were, of (ourse, more idea!isli( renderings of Christian knighthood. "" For, in a sociery, 8$ Glaber nutl'd, which seemed to Ix: growins: old without gco""ins: wise, the pit" Jtnt:x:" or wise young man .. n.. , _Odo:~ li,etO'u" ,,".Iot M._i"lJ .... pr;' n;",hC< ;, ,lot ....,. VO/1, Hwnd....J H,;/ipt , .. R,;d, "" M ....... (P"C"" [96~). D. 11Im ..,...w' G,. ' ..,.... '*' ,,,,hot', 1;...,. ,8, RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTt!R.!'RI'ITATlONS was .n o:specially important link between the put and the present. For an outn.nding enmple we need only $fep bKk • few yean to the n.ign of Robert [he Pious, who died in 103 1. He was [he iubjec[ of • famous poem by Adalbero of laon, perhaps composed between J 0 10 and [020,8• • Dd. lengthier life by Helgaud of Flcury, completed by [033. ' ) Although drawn in his later years, Path porrn.iu ptestnt Roben as a YOUIl8 man. Helgaud's "ir. is really an eumple of 5e(uiar hagiography. He saw the kill8 as a new chUKh father, cap.ble lIS were the ancients of rnansmittins to earth the uUJlis iwprrii tlipil4J ." R~tt in his view livai at • time when God was looking ~r "the sons of men" in an effOn to liDd someone who truly u.ndetscood and desired him."' Adalbero had a larger view. On the one hand, he saw Robert as a transitional figure between tbe Carolin.,gian and Capetian dynasties. As s\1Ch, he reprcscnud both sapmuu. and i_w. e6 Although aging himself, Adalbcro greeu the king on behalf of the YOUll8cr and older brethren in Iaon tjIM jtNnumI fiv;tllSqlll _1." Also, he idolir.es the early years of the prince who helped Hugh Capet to g~m the country from 987 to 996, and wko became sole rulet .t twenty-seven: ''Your imI,ge," he stated., " is now resplendent with the flower of youth . . . . The common people are happy, even the wise n.joice."" But, in his lacer yean, Adalbcro feared that many long-established. tradition.s were uDder .ttaCk. In paniculll1', he saw the Cluniaa: under ()dUo as • threat co the inherited link between the nobility and the bishops which was • bulwark of Carolingian polity, and, in broader terms, Q • desacralization of the thn.dold division of socicty-tilose who I.boured, prayed, and fought-in which he perccivai a reflection of divine I.w on earth." The OUnillCS were viciously satirized: their so-alled .ndent I.w had no authority; their I\lperiot usurped the s.... ;" .. 11.. T .......... "AdaIborn. BKbop '" Uoo. ... M.lm,J..J R-· . Hm-, 2 ( 1ge,).71-12 . .. I.· H . lIourior and G. r.bcwy. odI .. H"t-J J. FJ.r,. W, J. R_ I< P"'" (Paris. ,ge,) • .. El " , V;.., Rtf;' R..-"; Pii ' . ifiJ.• ,6. "'''.',p.,8 . • a. a. c-..;. "Loa 100"0*".. do la 'riporti'ioao "",it..!< Adalbboo do ' - ." A .. _ . 8OS.C .• H ('nB). 683~. 69'. and G, Dubr. Ut,..., .... ""i>Mf_""fMU/i_. 63.66· . "Abl' ·'El''';l r Ij,C , ""R ...... 11:.... 1, _.).HP ...... , , " .... ,_ ,. • /........ '3-'<4, .. CooI~ •• A.!aib ,8, RITUALS, SYMBOLS, ANI) INTERPRETATIONS sc.::ulu functions of royalty; and ltllmed bishops w~re I"C'placed by illitcrates. In thc abonivc attcmpt to halt thc Moslem advall(e, thc roles of old age and youth wn'C prediCtably rcvcned, tbe young knightS ascending "slow chariots" and the ho~ stooping "to a cro .... d of old men."90 Adalbcro even I"C'g=ted spending his own youth acquiring Icv.ming, since, as h~ put it, W1lrfa~ and agricultu~ w~~ now SO much more fashionable." Adalbero did not approve of the ",iftJ-lltfnUuhIlJ," but in ge~ral the eleventh century did.·' Although less ~markabJe as a literary work, Helgaud's Vil4 is mo~ characteristic of a period that increasingly sought 10 combine sc.::ular and «c1esiasrical heroic types into 11 single lnuge. An early classic of th~ g~nl"C' was Odo of Cluny's Lift of GrralJ of Allril"'f."" (ftnld, who died in 909, nevcr actually became a mOflk, but, Mahillon ob$el"o'ed, "the Benedictines o.... e so much to him . . . that he justly has a placc among thc Order's holy men. "•• The social and ~ligious pressures of the decades following the death of Rohert the Pious KQpened the issues. Yet, for the most dfcctivc portraitS, .... e must look forward to the historians of th~ First Cnuade. An ex_ ample is Tanered, whose GtJla WCI"C' nart:lted by Ralph of Caen around I l l } . Ralph's probl~m was how to make his hero attractive to a society which had all but had itS fill of aggrmiVC' young men. He did so by fitting the real pe!'$On into tWO ir~pt03(hable models from the past, Christian virtue and .... ise )'QUth. Despite 11 rich family, Tancred is said to be unconsumed by pridc_ He is vigorous iUld yet ~AcctiVC': "An acute observer of God's prcccpu, he strove with grc ..t effurt to give meaning to what he heard and, to the degree that his peers allowed, to transform thought into action. "96 Ac~pting no pnise for himself, he led an ascetic life, putting off deep for vigil, rest for .... ork, .. c...-. '"'P«'i..Iy .... }<4-}S. " S. J7-49 and '.'-4" ,. l~....... '7.·1) . .. IhJ..... """S. " On d,. ",,;'1 hi...,." .... A . !id>wl .. , 0.. AMI .oJ Jit Ju.btbt K;m,,;. MJI..r./"' iStunp", '9·" ), G. DubJ. ~ _ ""~ XI." XI/.,~;,.Of "' .... ;..- ......;", '09"3. "'·H. J . l'ed, from Iho _ i < ponpd ... ,..;,; in> A.,· pWiJu AofUtli I (So ... " ..... '916). ".-49· .. 0. V.... S. G,..Jt/i . . . • PI. 'H-639A·7",A .. Vi.... $. G.......Ji C , sb .... ""'. • 703B . .. G"... T• .,..·. <. [, RItWi/ Ms loi.... io= Ms "" ' , , 4 (Ptri, [8.4, . ,9'>6), ). 60,. 1-1_;,,,10.1,,,. ,8, "'loo,..-:· RIT UALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS sariety (or hunger , and leisure (or effOn. · · Robert the Monk, writing o( Godefrey of BouiHon, was a litde less «p!ieit. As I. knight from Lorraine taking up the crusade, Gcxk(rey fell heir ro the legendary obligation of Charlemagne, who wa$ reputed to have carried the cross of northern Christianity as far as Constantinople." Yet, in spirit, he Wti "mon' monk than soldier:'" These of course lore literary portnits. ''''' We come closer to reality in the NOtman nobility who fill the p*ges of Orderic', E«UsiMlital Histw], a work which, Marjorie Chibnall observes, has perhaps no equal as I. living ponnir of eJevenlh-«ntury society. '"' Here, 100, the contrast between lay and religioU5 ideals provides refreshing insighrs inlO the growth of litence concerns. Let us look at a few of tho:se youths, then attempt some genenl remarks on the man~r in which Or&ric coru:..ives the rituals of en· tering mature life. W e may begin with Ansold, the eldest son of Peter of Maule, who died on I ~ January r 100 or 11 01 . '0' According to Ordet"ic, Ansold', Clret'r after his fat~r"s dc..th was a t«tbook version of Christian knighrbood. He had ioU the expected virtues: he wu fllll and Sttong. an excellent leader, an impartial judge, and a gencrou.s, intelligent per$Ofl. "'1 But hu lino _ "ideal-typical" in other mpecu. As a young knight or tiro, he displayed outstanding capaciry for oombat. Then, forced inw «i!e during his father's lifetime, he campaigned successfully with Robert Guiscard at Consfllntinople. He returned to Nor· mandy on finding,. suitllblc bride, Odeline, the daughter of Ralph, the casteJlm of Mantes. He married her as a young girl, apparently educated her, and had by her seven IiOf\S and twO daughters. In Orderic's view, Ansold evolved fwm a kniShthood Snccd with monastic spirituality to a disciplined fatherhood in which youthful exuberance wall barely a memory. So notable was his religious commitment, his .. lM.m . .- J.. fo! •• U UT'-.·' .. J. u,..Jr" c~ .. "'- ff pi" ." "'..... ~ (Pvi •• 19,0), 'H-4'. ond, "" lhe~. _ -' . Kkind..... "'U Ltsmd< Miocltr " "'HE '9 (t~V, 1 '''''0. - T"""""'hy amJUfttI of ,he Fin, Cruood< «COrd • 1IWDb, p. nJ>:. ' ""'_. Ill.,.",. - /nJ.• -.01. ,. ' 7&>2 . "' 10iJ. • '.'9 ...... . 1. ' 18<8<>. 4 86 RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS hiograph.. r obstrvo:1, that "he even provided a model for persons living under ch .. RlIle.""" In families with tWO sons, onc ofeen became a knight, the Other a monk. Such 1IfQ th .. fate of • pair of the impov.-rished progeny of .... rnold of Giroie .....fter th .. it farh .. r·, death, the eldest, William of &:hauffour, w.. nt to the Fren(h (ourt ··as soon as he rno::h<"d adolescence."'''' He s.-rved rhe king unti l he was old enough to bear arms; th .. n he journeyed to .... puli., where he was well r~e ived by his Norman re1ativn already nt"llblished in Italy. He married. Lombard woman, and, while in the $ervice of Guiscard·s nephew, Robert of Loritdlo, gm: poue5sion of some thirty ramlli. His wife, Orderi( notes, bore him many (hildren, and he lived for some forty years ot.mong her people, "for~rting Normandy.···06 His younger brother Reginald was • moo: interesting CU<". H .. was given with one ploughland to Orderic·s house:. St. Evroul. at the age of fi ..... Disciplined .nd dever. he stood out among the novitiates of his g"lI("ration. He was, the (hronider re<:aUs. gifted with an exceptional memory. and was especially skilled in Jillina i«tio. ,~, But his scholastic achievement appears to ha"," (amouf!aged inn.. r conlii(u. He was a fanarkally stein interpreter of rhe RMk. and, it was re_ poned. highly crirkal of those: who bore life's burdens less easily than he . ...."oniing to Orderic, this h<"havioural pattern first became apparent when h.. was quite young. E.... n as a boy Regindd overdid things: once, eo.: inst.n(e, when transporting a loo<.! of earth, he ill<:urr«! a hernia. Repeared OV<"reJt<"rtiom ev.. ntually rendered his (ondition incurable."" The cxot.mples of WiUiam and Reginald are nor unWlual. "...... similar destiny .waited Ikrnard and Drogo. the sons of CcofJ"rey of Neufmarchl!." ~ In such lives, the period of ··wandering·· was necessary but impermanent. Whichever direction the human spirit took. in Orderic·s view. secular and religious villues ttinforced each other. Successful decisions were often taken befott youth's cnd. But [I. high emotional price was paid during adoleK<"n«. rh .. interest, .0 to speok. accumulating in small amounts until later in life, when it could bring about psychologica! bankruptcy. Ov.-rindulgence in ascetic exercises was one answer to uncertainty. but it brought new problems in its wake. An I'V<"n more dedsive dlange of ( hamcter sometimes occurred in a . . . ........... .... . . _.m. ,_ . ...,"..... " . ... lki.• 1110. ... a . Erkmbold. .., /W. • bk. , . ...... '. p. ,,6. i.ondulf $tQ;o,. Hisl#ril M"",...,,,;, , . ,~. "' '" RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTHRPIlHTATlONS sill8le penon, dramuicdly uniting t~ notions of wandering and refurm, Throughout the eleventh century, mOll2Stic confnterniry offered a viable substitute for declining joint families and netwOrks of kin, '" Abo, the change from a secular co a .religious sryl~ of life was still relati\oely easy, '" 'The jrwtmtil41 of the monastic rommunity coukl. even act a vehicle for social mobility, A cenain.Geoffuy, an unti_ tied Bmon, was said co have committed a number of thefts ill i__ fII"; but, later in life, either, as Orderic would h;.ve it, itlJpir as '" H_Il.]. ,6 ('!l61), ~, 'n-~4. -v...,.,. ODd c...r_i'T -.-j,b 0"",." J--' 16•. , .. 500 in ",,",,,, I;. Ammut 0Bd A. 1<)4'). '960}I" }tl.64. '0, Hill. &dor .• 6 . '0, ...t. ,. p. o.n-. L'lQu. ""''' }t•. '" tM.dI. ,88 ;.. ';..' Hu.., ...,,. ,, 1;>0" (B88-lo17) (IV;', RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND I NTERP RETATI ONS miliar tMJJle$, &$ was the tension between family, whose bonds operated vertically, and fraternity, in which tMy functioned horizontally. In all thm: stages of the "rites of passage, " as instahility increased, there arose a corrnponding desire to internalize inherited religious VIIlues. No wondl'l" the rtSU/ting stroctum were somewhat UllWIble. Youth, as eVC1l unwise you08 men knew , was a two-sided coi n: it could bring radical good fortune or bad. Men like Gwffrey were lucky. Many others were slain before their values had a chance to mature. Still others drank aW"ily their lives or spent them in W"ilnton destru(tion. A number of young noblemen tevuhed against their parents and were cmshed. A few, like Ranulf FI~bard, were drawn from obscurity into a limelight that threw the ir worst and best qualities into stark re lief.'" Above all, most wasted all or a part of their youth in senselcu moveffi<' nt . They were simply drifters, p/''K,ini who set forth on a quest but who neVer reached their goal. OdyJSry and Visirm Rhetorical sketches like thOS age:. '" F w. Swtho",. ··Ronulf Pbrnbord:· M.m...i H-';"" ..JOI""S,,.u,,(o.tOnl. '970), ,8,-"",. , •• FwuW sori pff,., RITUALS, SVM!lOLS, ANO INTERPRETATIONS difficulty of 6nding 11 5traightforward tNnslation for jnJnu.'" The term can eitMr refer co a group of vinues which, ickaily, che young should possess, or, on occasion, ro "a body of j'QUdlS," "an association of youthful people,""" perhaps as • pac.llci to the fraternity (/4 gm jr"iri_) of the poetS themselves. Marcabcu caught the Nnge .nd subtlety of troubadour $Cntimenu in 11 gffieraliud invective against false love: Tant cant bellS Jovcns fon paitc Dei segle e 6n'Amon m.ire, Fon Proeza ntantenguda A eclat et a saubuda, Mu et rant aviJanad, Due e rei et emperaire. Qu'ieu sui assatz csprovaire, Deffendcns et enquinaire, E vei cum Jovens se cud., Per que Arnon a perduda E de Joi dcsetttada E cum Amors cs cujaire.'" As long as true j'Qurh was flrM:r To the world and pure love mQ(her, Prowess was maintained Secretly and publicly, But now it is deb.ased By duke, king, and emperor. Because I am a good judge, As defender and inquisitor, I sec how youth stifles ;t$('Jf, How ai& J. Dmomy, "J.,..."., the Nooion J youth """"'11 ,h< T"",bodoun. i,. M.."il\ll oM Soum::' AI,ii ' S,.,&, " (1949). ,.". Pot opl< _iaJ Ofi,;",. lOO E. K6hlcr • •'Stm .. fonction "" mm< .jeu...... dons Jo. pObi< do> ..... MfIMpJ R. c..... (Foi,;"' , 1!166l, 001. '. )~}; ud, ""'" JeII flir U-"",." ! r/i - ' UopUtiJI7 (1977)· '.. Dmom" "J~'" ,"l, dUcusoeo the 1Vo3<. '" Ed. ].,..1.. Do~. Pobi.I' Vl'vJ. T_I,! ,AI .... ,1. (T........... 1_), , ..... H' ", A. . .. ". '''"''''''n." RITUAI.S, SYMI,IOI.S, ANU INTERPRETATIONS In the north, the theme of youth found quite a different form of expl'Cc!sion in the Vit ell Sf. Alt;Jtis, which was ~ibly written by Tedbalt de Vemon, a canon of Rouen, around 1040. The poem was an immediate success: the original strophic version is known in some seven manuscripts; translations later appeared in Old French, Proven~I, Spanish, German, Old None, and Russian. ,,, Among the oldest Italian minstrel poems is the Ri'- di S",,"Alwi~ ftom the larc t~lf(h Of thitteenth centuty. In Italy the Story al$O influerw::ed a Hebrew elegy on the captivity and marryrdom of tWO noble Christian chilexisted, the utin life dren. UJ Although Syriac and Byzantine aoo cult can be t~ no further back than the tenth century.'" The life, therefore, although ~ on an ancient nory, achieved its popularity during the Middle Ages. In ilttractivtness in the eleventh century WlliI partly due to the centnl them<" of a£XIS!olic poverty.'" But it also st ruck dose ro the problems affecting family and youth. ~ Anglo-Norman version has little action and is builr instead atOIlnd a single mora.! decision, which is aptly summed up in the statemtnt that Alexis pI", "i",.' DIll qll' trrsfot 10" figMg' (Alcxis loved God more than he tl'elUured his lineagc). ,.6 The plot involves none of the typically medieval mitChiMry of demons, miracles, Of divine intercessions. The well_known story is teally onc of conversion away from the world, and spiritual developmem is framed within Alexis's wandering from Rome to Edessa and back ro Rome again. Living under his parenu' doorstep for somt seventeen yea", he is nonetheleu unmoved by their anguish and la_ menu. Only after their death is his identity rtvI:alca. The srory, then, was a vieroey of spirit OV\'r Resh, and of youth over old age, as "'as obvious to Chrinina of Markyate, who had a versioo of the Old Frerw::h life transcribed ioto the St. Alba,,'s Psaftt1" "if,,, ••• 1'0< • bhof .... ;n., ... L. ... J. .... AAtci<, ..t. c. &tot.., (o.food, ,~6). "'·aii; on _ul&t ..... iom 0( athu eI< .. OM po>bji' ,~XI< "';""~_II~ .. . /.. _ '" e.- (P,,;' ond 11 ......10. ,~,). I. "6-,,. oltd<: ,., Se. 11. Mi,liorini, TIN ''''';'''' Utqul', .... "'" '''M. T. G . (ir;/li,h (" nd"". '966), , [·n· f,..,.,_ '" '" "Th< win I;"" ... d....i6N by M. RbWr. Dit AIt:<,,,,,UpoJ. (V;. .... , , ,..,,) pp. ,,-,6; on fl>o ""If, ... L. INth. f"POS""";' d< R""", ,. ~IA:' VII: I<> illI'Rd~. 'H' ,0. '" In[<tp ..... ,;o.. on: tn'M:W,0 . .... G. Puis ( I'oti" ""), , . 49' RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INT ERPRETATIONS made for her sometime beforr 1123. Like Alexis, her euly marri.ge had been arranged wirhout ber consent; she escaped only by ~uest ing her husband to =pect her prior vow of chasriry.''-' The numerous and her life led OI:to Picht to reoveril.ppings between Aleris'$ mark: " ... Either ... in Christina', case reality was moulckd strictly accordins to • literary pattern, so to speak as an 'Imitatio Aluii: [)( ... the story of Alais was introduced '.nH the event' as • meaningful allusion and suitable parallel 10 Christina's own aperieoces . . . . " Coruciowly or uocoosciousiy, Christina Jiyed a tat in such a Wlly tlwt her life, become a paradigm of Christian sainthood."e Of coutse, precocious saints werr not original in the post-Carolingian ~, but changes in rrligious sensibilities found a number of occasions for brearhing new Jjfe into the ropoi. An eumple is the vi", of Bemwald, bishop of Hildesheim, by Thangmar the Saxon. Bernwald was elected on t 5 January 993. The "vcnerable Gcrdagus" IllI.v_ iog died, rrl.tes Thangmar, "the OODseMIlS of all setded on the·young man (i-a),"''''' who, Ilthough tender in years, t.JnUed the elders V-) with the gravity of his ways <-no'JIII ... prwit.Jt).')O O<1ilo, who died in 1049, met MaieuJ mCluny as. YOUII8 lad and was taken under his wing "like I SOlI."'" Such eumpln rrinforcN the continuity with the put. But, in the nat genentrion, the same hagio-graphic conventions could symbolize a break with custom. For instmce, Viralis of Savigny was so ~ as a boy dIU he earned the somewhat condescending epithet of jIanJIU ,,1HNu. '" Bernard of Tiron .. ..,., 10 inBamed with religious atkction that he ~red himself with the gi)'Nn of a regular canon. . . . His school chums lal18hed, calling --'.' · .mulll ...... "'H h.m. A literary work which came at the question of youth, movement, and. spiritual growth from a different angle, but which nonetheleu n'" ,.,,,,. I oI>d _ ~ ia I. W. H.,"'i .... TJ. toJn " " i>I T )"A C J Re ' . }o4· So . ... Tit. S,. AI"- """"" (.ttMr; p",{w) (LondooI, I~), '~n. O. H. Sd 0;.;""""." . '.,." •" Viu Son"" tli, c. 4, NGH:SS IV. "9· _ . , c. ,. '" Viu i 0... ',. c. I. pt "',89\ICo Pi, iole' .......lIi... "']A'" ... "'" prod;, 1 'h,i""'i ....... ..,imwn. ,,. V.... ViI.¥U, c . 2, od. _" ' .. Vn. S. 800 ......, ' .7, PI. ' 7' " s. I;.... ~ pemo.., modi, "",'bus potutt;,...;.om i_flli, BoII.- 'i.- 1 , (I88.), ~74B<. 49' ,60. RITUALS, SYMBOLS, ANI) I NTERPRETATIONS belongs to the sensibilities of the nsne period, is the N"vig"ti~ Salt(li Brollltllli, manuscripts of .... hich date from tenth-century Lothatingia.' " The text ~h«l French rcade", by I047' ~' and wa~ beautifully translated into Anglo-Norman from a new Latin version IS early as 1106.,,6 The real Brendan was born aruund 489 and died bcr~n HO and 583, after reportedly visiting the Shcdand$, Brittany, and England. His life and adventures inspired an Irish i_am (a sea voyage interspersed .... ith remarkable events), .... hich involved t ....o visits to the threshold of ·'the land of promise.·· One .... as made by Brendan's fellow monk, Barimhus, who told him about it on his return. Barinthus 5aid that he had travelled over IiC:iI to the Isle ofDdights to visit his hermit son Mernoc. There he found a large number of monks living in complete spiritUll harmony. To the ~t, he ~s told, lay another island, the terra rqwumiJJil.l1'ff, a marvdlous place of prc<.:ious stones, eternal blooms, and ever_ripening fruit, whue physical n~$ we", unknown. Barinthus and Mernoc visited the island and wandered about ror some fift~n days, coming finally to a river which Aowed from tlJ$t to west. A man bathed. in light then appeared aod told them to turn back, intimating that they had reached the gltcs of pandise. On hearing Barinthus·s account, Brwdan resolved to vi,it the is+ laO(b himsdf. After fasting (or forty days, he set OUt .... ith some fourt~n chosen brethren. A lengthy odyssey ensued, in which Brendan·s boat passed from isle to isle, alternately experiencing marveb, threats, and temptations through rhe course of the liturgical year. Onc island turned out to be a large fish, .... hich simply swam a.... ay. Another seemed to be a paradise filled with exotic birds, but was in reality the abode of fidlen angels. The voyagers .... ere even greeted on one occuion by Judas lscuiot. At length they arrived in the promised land and found themselves at the SlIme river .... hich Howed from east to west. The nsne young man appeared before them, embraced ·th em , and said: "Before you lies the land you seek, which to this point God has deliberately concealed from you. Return whence you came, taking as '" C. Sdm<e. cd., N<Wit"'~ s-a; BmrJ..oi ANw,is (N"". 0."",. [9)9). "",j jj.j~. } . CarO<J'. Ill*"_ A..... F ([ 96~). 4" . coi[ki"" Selm<e tt>d piu .. [t.. "';Iin&) • ..,.,nd 600. On [t.. ..,IT hioll poBIkl •• _ ... . 1'.... . Oobtnp. T" VOJ'4U of MM! W; •• ,6-,}.•nd. on 'Il< """;,-"",,,,. K. H",bo< • •-no. a..c.wi"ll n.....,..nd p"",k< nf lruh Pil.!;tim.,.:· J-...I " J!trh,;"',i<.1 Hi,..., ,,( .960). '4!1-S0 . ." J. F. Ko,,,,o,.. . Th. S..,., f .. '" ~ Hhnf] of Im.u. YOI. , (N ..... YOlk. '9'9), 4' , . ,,. I. 5bot< tt>d 11. "' ".<. 493 RITUALS, SY)'180LS, AND INTERPRETATIONS man)' fruits and predous stone\! a.s ),OU can carry. For the final da)' of your earthl), pilgrimage draws near." Thus enlightened, Brendan and his companions sailed for borne, where the saint died shortl), afterwards. TM NtWig<#io has txoen chiefl)' studied for what it tells us about earlier Irish liten.turc. But attention should also he paid to CM sou~es of its popularit), as a Latin work down to the liftttnth Century. ' H Its h<:ro was admittedl), an I.ttractive saint and its chuming exotic. enticed man)' readers. Yet, the clcventh-century themes which we have been discussing make an appcara.ra 85 wcll. The rite of p9sugc achieved in goal, and tM visionl.ry qualities were sure to be of interest to men already drawn to those other ancient fomu of prognouication, drtams, and prophecies. 'fhr: quest fix the fnTa rrpromiuimiJ was itself on men's minds. In effect, the NlWigllfio presented a fabulous version of the search for the earthly and spiritual Jerusalem which was the mttting point of the pilgrimage and the crusade. · ... The story was also rich in symbolism that mvck .t the: cOte of contemporary spiritU2Jity. The (')ttOI.n represented the desert of the wanderins preachers; the crouins was a time of testing, 5Clf-&nal.ysis, and discovery . The images and anecdous cnmbined mortification, purification, and the desire for inner perkction--concerns which Irish missionary activity had brought to tbe Continent anod which, in the eyn of many, were just then beginning to mature. In • sen5C, u he set out on pis penitential ;u..mey, Brendan stood for all "",iles" s.eeking to be reunited with their permanent homes, whether they were monks desiring paradise or knights yearning for their ""tria. Typology, tOO, pla),ed & role in uniting the put and the present. There were reall), tVIO parac!ises, d~ one narrated by Barinthus anticipating the other seen by Brendan, just 85 the Old Tcstamenr fottrold the New. Bur above all the story echoed the theme of old age and youth, aptl)' represented b)' the eternally young and )'et ageless puadi5C itself. Barinrh 494 R[TUALS, SYMIIOlS, ANO INTERPRET ATI ONS step, ' .. the latter possibly drawn from Claudian and anticipating Alan of Lille. '.' An eleventh-century vision which more closely imerrela[ed the imaginary and the real was the story of Walchdin, a )'Qung priest of St. Aubin's, near Angers. According to Orderic, who reported it from a verbal account, the episode took place on I January 1091.'" Like the testings and conversions of the wandering pttachers, it occurred in a deserred region of the northwest, ··far from the dwellings of men. ",., ~ most notable feature of Walchelin·s charaCter, twice repeated in the vision, is his combination of religious piety and yuuthful un_ certainry. The Story's ino:vitable mon! lenon is also presented rhrough images uniting the problems of yourh and family. ~ eventS are as follows. One night Wakhel in ....as returning home along a deurted road after visiting a sick parishioner when he hu rd the hoofbeats of a lar~ cavalry force in the distance. At fint he thought it was the infamous maraudets of Robcrt BellEmr, rushing to the siege of Olurcy. The young priest was frighrened, and turned over sevenl courses of action in his mioo. As tilt band approached, he tried to reach the cover of four medIal trees wh ich he $ll.W in the distance through the moonlight. Bur a giant wielding a mace b of ,"" "'f'OI in A'lII[.,.N""",n [it./OftI. '97<>1. •" 101. D. A.t..N...,.. Li _ _ ~,.J it> 80< . ....... " . ." Ea"". H il•. , 8. '7. '>"01. 4. pp. ' 36-,0. .., UiJ.. , }II . bot_"' . . Le",. r-r_ ." tI.lTUA.LS, SYJoI"OLS , A.ND INTliIlPllIl TA.TIONS a priest, who , he recalled, had cornmined a murder but had not" completed hi, penance. Next came a stream of women which s«med to him to be almOSt limitless. & punishment for their "seductions and ob5c~ne pleasures," they were mounted ,ide-Uddle on steed, whose backs WC~ covered with hot nails. Some wen: nobl~, Walchclin noted, and quite a few horses still awaited their rideD. Mter them call)C bishops, abbots, and monies, all holding the pastonl staffs they had wilfully neglected in this life. finally Walcbelin saw a large number of knights, among WDose ranks he picked OUt Landry of Orhec, who rose above his lowly origins only to be corrupted by bribery and greed. After tbe immense army of till: dead had pessed, Walchelin m.lized of Hellequin. Acthat he had been observing the /_/;. or coming to legend, such spirits roamed tbe dark wastes of Normandy and Brittany by night, leading those in purgatory on ghastly hunts. He feam:I. that no one would beli~ his tale, and 50 he dedded to ('I.trn hold of .. riderless hone and to me it back with him IU proof. He reached foe one of the CO&1-black steeds, but it eluded him and galioped swiftly away. In order not to miss another, he placed himself $oIJuately in the middle of the road. When a second horse stOpped, he attempted to mount. However, no sooner had he PUt his foot in the stirrup than he felt a burning pein ,hoot: up his leg. His hands, which had lightly taken tbe reigns, turned ro ice. Meanwhile, four great knights rode up IInd S((ll _.ft 49 6 RIT U ALS, SYMSOlS, AND INTERPRETATIONS When all the other knighn had passed, Walchelin noticed a solitary figure lingering on the road. The rider approached and asked pointedly whether he recognized him. Wh en the priest !-aid he did nOt, the stranger revealed. his identity: he was his own brother, Roben, the son of RaJph the Fllir. As proof, he ~Jated. intimate details of their childhood togo:ther. Once again, Wakhelin was unsu~ jU5t what to do. He WlIiI even reluctant to ackoowJedge his own Resh and blood! Somewhat taken aback, Robert remindc.J. him that, after their father·s untimely death, it WlS he who virtually rai~ , clothed, and educated him . Without his aid, he infurmed. his brother, he would newr have succeeded in pursuing a religious vocation. Confronted with these facu, Wakhelin broke down in tears. Robert then told him tbat be had. narrowly esapt 1'(11) .. _to. U. C. Gt...... '8 . ..0-;..,;. _ i ...,... ju~il«. , .........._ : . L< Go« ...cl J.-C. «1>. , lA d .-.,.; (PoriJ, ,.,e, l. ,~.,6 . I~.. S 497 RITUALS, SYM60LS, AND INTl!RPRl!TATtON$ headed dwarfs IUld tbrit giant bearers may even recall a more famous metaphor of Bernard of Chartres. ' •• But the story's major subject IS one mlUl's indecision. Wdchelin, in duct, is put to the test three times, once at the OUt~t, a second rime bc/i)(e William of Glos, and finally in the preseno;e of his brother. On the tint tWO ocusions he fails; on the last he succeeds, but, it is Illg\$ble, in spite of himself. His brother draws inro the open the real sour« of his uncertainty, that is, the tension produced by his having to forsake ties of kin for an atrapersoruJ relationship of presUltlllbly greater va.lue. 11tc vision nor only underlines the need for prayer IUld yigiJlUlcc--rhat is irs justification; it also ~infon:es Walchelin's personal resolve during a period of ps~hological instability, when he passes from one style of life to another. The timing, coo, is important. Walchelin was only recently ordained; he is still called a illll",is. ,.6 His unqudled audacity almost casn him his life when he tries to make 0« with one of Hellequin's ghostly steeds. The purgatorial procession, of course, is no surprise in a medieval vision. But, he~ tOO contemporary concern.s diffl;tly affecting his life make themselves felt. Religious reform is just beneath the su.rface: the condemned cleriC$ Irt in fact all black monks. Further, the events take place in the unsettled wilderness of Maine, which of~n doubles for the MeditcITaJle&n rttrcats of the desert f"athen in the lives of deventh-<entury wandeting preachers. ,., Emoomic chllllge is another sourtt of a.nxielY. Landty of Orbec is accused of profiting from office and WilIiam of Glos of usury. Rcfi:rence is made to the twO devices which played an important role in transforming northerly agriculturt, namely tbe water-mill IlIId the stirrup."· E~n the Moslem menace, which was still on mco's minds, makes a dim appearance in the black lxat-ets. ' .... In this sense, the vision it a catalogue of the concelt1$ which might have affecred a young priest of noble origins but of little financial security in a rapidly changing world. This view is reinforced by the con~rsation with his brother, which is IJlOtt than an e,;;en:ise in I\QS- '''.so. Soock. -It...,; ...,. _ .. "Gis"",' ...,. "Dwsdil': A R, ' ';0" of Popular CuI", .. ?" j--..l r( l'w' 'li 76 «979), Ho-~~; "" 1Ietmrd.... bc)o." 1'. "1· Ij. N"" ,8. Hill. 1l«I. AASS >,~ . .".. 6. 610E_'; Yi.. Il. &00 Jj Tm.ioIuir, c. pt q,.I,IIoD. ' .. HisJ. ttdtt .. p. '~4 : e' ,. _ .... :j;J , • ,ho Iottct .. ...-!, - . d. 11.. E. Lam.",. R..n.i 1Il'"-l l.MiJr "'..J·UtI (OEbd, '96", . 80. 0.. ,ho Ifi""", If< L Whit., J'., IIlcfuoJ 'o' ,,'0, T.' """""~Cbooor. I .,8. ' .. Cf. N. o...itl, 1"- """ ... YP... (6d;obwp , '960', 6-7 • .'" RITUALS , SYMeOLS, ANn INTERPRETATIONS (algia. The interview attempts in effe<:t Ihrough the most powerful of cvootioll$--the de<:cued--ro uanKcoo living human bomb and 10 u-cxpress them in spiritual tcmu. Thcrt' art' ually two "familics" active in the vision, the band of Hellcqu in and Wa1chdin's own prcsent and futuu rt'ligious brotherhood. The onc is a folkloric "text" brought to life through being r«orded. The other is an internalized "text," in which the image of Wa1chdin's personal family for two previous generations is used to strt'ngthen his membership in a n~ iLSsociation. Gllibtrt's Mo/m Unccnunty, of cou~, affected women as d~ply as men, although rhe chroniclers, being malcs, have left U$ nothing likc u complete a record of rheir trials. Yet, the historical forces against which women were reacting wete not the ume. From the eleventh century, women aPJ)<'ar to have begun to live longer than men, reversing an early medieval trt' nd .' ''' Population growth overcrowded the marriage market with young ladies who had no dowri es and hencc litde possihility of attracting a suitable mate. Consensual marriage was not yCt thc rule,'" and decision-making was generally a family rather than an individual responsibility. Am ong (he lower strata, suict monogamy was not always practiced, ". and many peasant women were concub ines of the regular clergy. The "imposition of the feudal system g radually impov_ erished such women's families , while the promulgation of the Gregorian reforms demanding strict derical celibacy deprived many of their sole means of support. On the positive side, older boundaries began, if not to be obliterated, at least to be challenged. A number of tenth-century women rook to arms co secure what wiLs theirs. Alpcrt of Men mentions Liutgarda, who, on her sisler's deat h, took Offf her cst'ales by force, then captured Elten on the Rhine. 'H Thietmar of Mcrsc bur8 writes ... D. H<;e, fo< w"""," i~ M«Iion! 50<;'1,:' in R. T. ~. «I .. Rw ke '" M ...;os< j " ,,,. Midelk As<s: o.v.(op_ otod Mod. '" App( i<&fion "'. n.-y '" M . ...;.,. :· $•.J;.,;' M~I • ..J R...,i,_ /1;,,.,,. ".•. • ( '918). 7.tr · ." Pot • 8 .... ,.(,....;.",. "'.". ....... ~ 1'00 .... 1/ _ _ .. ,..jJ.,.;,." "', .....t. • n. 1'>,,,,,,, • ...... (...... ' 0. '977), ion IM« p...Ud.... J. kommd(. ··F",,*,,,,...s M ...... "l!. i. M«lien( Enslortd:· f< . ...... 11""" R,.;.,. ., h9H). H '-3'. '" D< 0MnitM< T" i •• ' ,' ·3. MGH SS~. 70" 03. 499 J.lTUAlS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRIlTATlONS of a certain Chriscianiud Hungarian called Oniu,. around IOT8. His beautiful wife "drank quite a bit, rode to battle Jik~ a knight, and once killed a ~n in anger. ", .. QORt (0 the society we Move ~ discus5ins, Orderk speaks of a number of women who openly played male roles, like iKbel of Conches, who fought "as fiercdy as Camilla. M,,, Other Nonnan women mused to acttpt tbe perfIll.llent desertion of their husbands for the: battlefield. When the Conqueror called upon his vassals to quell the molt at York in 1068, a number of spouses gave their husbands the: choice of returning immediately or of .finding them remarried whe:n they did. "G Contemporary portraits of women also snow them emerging from twO- DltJmIlS is also a sort of Wlywardness, I wandering &om the straight path and the chosen goal. ,6, Guibert'$ God is at once infl.exible and compassionate; he is both a deity outside man, inBuendng him obje<:tivdy, and a deity within, wbo is ~rceived subjectively. Above all, he appeaR to understand the many dark corners of Guibcrt's mind: He knows that he has sinoed; and He knows that he will sin again. And a large part Of ~en .,. C!,. ·. 9.~, od. F. Kwa:(lIanoftr. '839). 'i'· ." HisI. la*r., 8.• i, ...... i. pp. H', lli . ... /. ... bIo. i. '>01. ' •• ,8, n o . •" /.... bit. " ...... " ~. Cl. E. &..tbodt, 1\1;-;', ........ W . TrasIr. (Pr\ _ _ • ,96/1), '~7· ," Po< ootful . -...n bot ..... At ,'*'d .... Wiben, ... M. Md"oa:foli_, ~Ab ....., . ... J. f_. F. Bmf, - C,... ;l & ., ('964), " '-H . ,.. Guibtrt, Dt V':" $ ..... Cl. jjiJ. , p. , 0: Nihil io .. oolidua, nihil 1\1'" 1." RITUAL S, SYM:BOLS, ANI) INTERPRETATIONS Guibert's anguish ari~s from the simplt Fact that he tOO knows that God understands. His cri.is. as John ~ntnn emphasi~, i$ nne of ~lf. knowled.ge . His troubles, as he ~ them, scar~ in early youth, indeed, almost from the moment of birth. He was a sickly baby, and, as a boy, a dow learner, who ncvtr livro up to his tutor's expe(tations. ,(" He saw himself, in fact, as a latter-day August ine , that is, &11 a permn in whom original sin had taken the form of yout hful irrationality, which he bad to strive to overcome. "I conreS$," he wrore, "the ev il deeds of my childhood and adolescence, which still smoulder in this, my mature stage of life, the deep-rooted. longing. after forbidden pleasUrt'5, which, despite the weariness of my frame, have never Ceased." '6. Guibtrt was over 6fty when he wrote these words. '''' He was looking back on his "youth" as weJJ as on btOllder problems whi ch wen: indim::t1y conn«ted 10 his own spiritual development, namely, religious revivals, civil disobedience, and the breakdown of formerly irreproao::hable codes of conduct. Even his style bri1l8!llogether the penonal and the general. The Mmro;,., have no linear design; each episode is linked. emotionally to the next . Each, as well. involves many feelings at once: dignity and shame, charity and Il:gll:t, attract ion and revulsion, His Story, in short, is an efforr ro bring order to the chaos of his own experience through literature. ,6, It does not alwllys succeed. Similarly, in real life, he was continually struggling to be frtc:: but he never was. Nor was his mother. But her anxieties well: IlQ{ the s.ame lIS his. Guiberfs turmoil was almost entirely internal; hers arose in large part from her treatment in a male-dominate~·~o, S,q Ri s.,;,ry. 'B. ,., Dt Vir;, Sow 1. 1' , p. ~I, ·"'Mf.• 1. 7 , p . >2 . '.. Bt""". RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTliRPItETATIONS in hC'r • blind fnr of God. ,&, ShC' often imagined, he said, that He would actually strike her.'N Worse, she was forced into a bad muria.g:e. When scaretly put puberty, she wa5 given to Guibcrt's fathC'r, .. ho was himsc:lf still in adolesttDCe. '60 The m&tch had bC'cn arranged by her gcandfather. But her ltepmothC'r, hoping to promote one of ber cnvn nieces, bewitched ber, and for dutt ytars thC' rmrriagt remained unconsummated. Her hu,b..nd, questioned reputedly by his rehdYe$, at length revealed thC' state of dlain. His family tried to obtain an annulment and to penuade him to enter a monastery. Failing in this, tbey began to han5s. tbe J'OU'l8 bride, whom they were eager to disinherit. Wealthy bachdots in the region assumed that she was still .. virgin and began to pay her suit. But, after wrne seven yean of barrenness, the spell was broken and several children were born. Guibert'. father died when he was only eight months old; he was raised entirely by his mother and his tutor. His mothC'r, who was increasingly preo«upied with bo For a brief period Guiber. pretended to rake: pan in the youthful diVC'niOflll fash_ ionable in his day. Then, to his mother's disappointment, he entered the nearby monastery of St. Germer-. '" GuibC'rt's story is rich, perhllpS tOO rich, in suggestions fOr psychohistory.'" A v;rt.-lly fatherleu child, he looked fOr strong support in his tutor Ind his mother. His tutor, he claimed, appeared to him befOre they met in a drtam Il5 an archetypal fathCT-6gure, towards who5e kindly features and white flowing hair Guiben immediately adopted an attitude of blind devotion. '" He found his mOther irn. sistibly beautiful. Hi, Ilttempts to traru;£m-m his physical IntaCt ion into Platonic imll8es w~re not .Jrogether convincing.'''' Yet, at critical moments in his youth, boc:h parents treated. him cruelly anc! left his needs unattended. Guiben Jived at homC' and, 10 fat as wc know, had no outsidC' friends. He therefure developed an ... Ut.m. ... Ut.m. "" I~., , . , •. ". pp .• B-,a. " . IhJ., , . ". Po H . •" On. ... IW..• , .... pp . ~H. •" 0. Vu Sa. ' .• , p. 'j; 1.11, p . StIf MS..." ""j. .s.. Gulbcn n»>ddJocI ttK 'IOI'J' qJ hiI «IIxariocI C<. " p. IS) OIl Qui"'il ..... [lIS';"";"" 0. ..... I.,. eel. Ni ..., (l.ip;', .886), ." A. MoI!.nI, "L·im.i<Mion .. Quin'ili u t-,. On. tIoo hi_icd «M ..... " ... L 1Uiph '" R~TUALS, SY MBOLS, AND INTIiRPRETATIONS acun- awa«,ness of ~hc diffe«,1lCe$ I>I-tween his own 5y5tCm of values and. those ... hich p~aikd in th~ male-dominated. weiety at large. '" He both ch~risMd. and d«,ad.~ thc twO chief in/iuen~$ in his li(c: ,,6 his attitude foreshadowed. his later ambivalence t()W2rds physical viI»lence and SClI-tween body and soul into a series of poetic images describing the most unpleasant aspects of physiology. But, JUSt I>I-neath the sum.ce of his 128e, one senses a $CCn't desin', a mixture of tenor and anticipation, which surfaced in his uncontroJ!able nightmarn. ". In a curious way, the same qualities which mm Guibert unlikable as a human being compel the histOrian to take his insight! seriously. Indeed, his inward turning away from a potentially hostile yet sensually fascinating world is pethaps mon' typical of the period's real problems than the arid triumphs of pure thinkell. We wirness his mother's conversion through his eyes; we nevee sec her face to face. We do not even [earn her 6rst name. The story Ixgins in book one, chapter nine, in a series of deliberate foreshadowing!; it concludes with the visions and apparitions which precede ~r death in chapter twenty-four. Of course, Guibl'rt is not merely attempting to nplain his mOther's case. He is placing a number of contemporary conversions undet a Single panoply_ Th~ experiences haVl' to his mind essentially th«,<, featurts in common. First, conVl'l'Sion is nOt chiefly an inceU<"Ctual change; it is I>I-haviounl.!. Consequently, what happ<"ns in the outSide world has a dir<"cf beating on the convert's inner compn'~nsion of th ings. Convellion is not on that acCOUnt weially determined; but, in Guibut"J view, the external world-its foxmJ, ritua.i!, and reali ti_is a foe with ... hich the inner self continuously engages in batde, Il00_. s......, .• . '" U. 5Jf ~OJ ~ . " 0.. hi. ....." , 0. Vi.. S .. J.~. p. I~:· 'Vod<: mq.,;I, 'od .. m. qui, iot< .. piu,."""" .",."''''' n,." .. Or. h.. _ ' . .. ,6. p. '9' '"Cu; ( ..... ,;) """" ""P""" . .. '" IIN.. ).'7.!'P. "2-I S. p. ,6. ". E.,., 1.1,. RITUAI.S, SYMI:IOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS just as, centuries before, t~ desert fathers struggled against hoards of demon!. Thirdly, conve[$ion is !>Ot only directed towuds the otherW1ltld; it ~rges from Ktive engagement ... ith the world, and, at least in part, remains innerworldly in orientation. 1besc features of the ell~rimce are united in the converts' minds by the invoking of models from the disc'lnt PUt, Ihat is, by looking upon unprecedented activity IS something structuted long ago. Conversion then, in the cases of Simon of Valois, St. Stuno, or Evrud ofBretl.'UiI, iIIustntes the sense of cultural diSCOlldnuity which we see emerging e,,",here. "Wha.t W:IS achieved," Guibert Doted, "W2$ the same IS in ancient martyrdoms."'" The "modem" age and itS CQf1Upring influences we~ su~neded . 'So For Guibert's mother. at least iD his view, the ~ntjal problem W2$ I'oow to maintain a pro~r, that is, inherited. form of behaviour in a changing world. Het iDlllbilit}' (0 adjUSt began very early. She was born. or $0 he thought, into a world of unquestioned loyalties, which he identified with mon.! absolutes. Her troubles began when she was given IS a girl to his father. One by one ber furmer staOOards of conduct and guides fur decision-making were iIlV'llidated. Al the real. notID$ vanished, p$yChologkal sanccions and boundaries rook their place: they appeam;las successive sets of teSts which she N.d to pass in ordct to proceed from one level of self-assutance to tbe IK'Xt. Her chastity was enforced by ....ttclK:rafi:;·8. the scxual barrier was put in place again after her husband's capture and death. '"' In both instances. pcnonal relatiot\5 provided a point of dcpo.rture for the cvenrnaJ appeanDce of cxrnpenonaJ vah.".. Guibert himself played a role in the implanting of the psychological fenceposts . In many respe<:ts the> child was athcr to tbe poan:nt. M he saw it, his spiritual enlishtenment Pleceded ben.'" His wayward adolescence and introspection served to remind her of her penitential obligation. ,0, Hi5 feats were also refiectcd in her character. Throughout dtC story. her own anxieties took the £arm of direct physical peril, IS, for aample, ...hen t~ devil finally appeared before her and almost crushed her to death.· 1I6 Feat of rape, o.l5o diabolically inspired, was anocher recurrent source of concern. In fa.ct, just before her final convenion, the rumour was .pread about that her loins were bewitched.''''' Was tbe jUIt'lposition not: significant? The world of sexual liberty seems to have become a SOrt of underSround governed by de- . .. '''/jiJ.. " ".,. 11. ••• I.... . . u. p_ )8 . ''' ,""" ._ .. . ,. J' . .~ .~,. .. .~, pp. 4""", _ .• 1.19. p.• 4 . _ . •• .• ,. pp. -I~.• •. 1). pp. 4J--44. ." I. .. . ' ,' 4.,· 47 · ,'"_ .. "'J. '" ,,·,2. R!TUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS monic powers. Guibert', mother could not 6nd the stability she desired in the old family relations, which, in lIer mind, were linked to the do-i!"s rnlm . SIIe did not regain tranquillity until slle found a suitably strong institutional structure to replace it. The walls tu..:! to be higll enough to keep tile evil spirits out: ' · one wonders if they really were. How are we to assess the accuracy of Guibert"s port",i{ of his mother's spirit.u.l dcvdopment~ Like Orderic, Guibert lUeS the alleged d<"Uclence of the present as a foil in order to C$tablish the superiority of earlier po.ttems of conduct. ··In those days,·' he rells 11$, ·'a marriage was hardly ever slandered by hcars.ay. "'~ Motherly guidance, in his view, had gane astray. The women of his time ~re dcvotro only to gossip, flirtation, and amorous prank,. They swaggered like r,ms; their oversized sleeves, S6y slips, and pointed Cordonn shoes were ·'the antithC$is of the pld mod<"Sry." Tlleir only misery was a lack of "mad lovers'· to chase them; their only oobility derived fnlm the odiow court in which they placed them. In former rimes, Guibcn concludes, men would !avc blushed to keep the company of these $0. called virgins, woo, "by tlleir sly business operations, turned true lovers into windbags in the public market"·' " The flaw, of COUrIC, in Guibcn·s thinking is his associalion of virrue in the put with scxual puritanism, a familiar theme of many ascttic utopias. How far back did his information go) Only far enough, the evidence sugge${5, to rationalize [he gradual slide down the W(iai sale of his mother's family. In his opinion, the dedine had set in JUSt onc generation befVn;. The "present age,"· he thought, made the oldet, inviolable marriagn difficult, if not impossible. The new attitudes among females signified ptrsolUll pleasure over the common good, the individual over the gtncraJ. In reality, his mother had not gone from a position of M>curity in her family to onc of insecurity in his. Guiberr tu..:! merely p rojected his anxieties inro rile put, where they could be more easily typifitd and dealt with. Morality in these terms was synonymous wit h immobility. Similarly, he read hi5 own nced fot certainty into his mother·$ conven;on. In his mind, lIS, very possibly, in hers, proper behaviour W3$ a ··text·' stt down in the past: it could not now be altered. Not the least of Guibert"s positive achievements is the stylistic interplay of his mother's point of view and his own. Her spiritual development ;$ not only seen through his C)'C$; it is a tang ible reality ' .. IOM.• J. 1>. p. 38. '.. ttiJ.• 39. lI.JTUALS, SYM60LS, AND INT BRPlI.ETATIONS which he lives and feels as he writes about it. His shifting, StB«ato periods, ovenich in poetic tutns of phrase, mirror the tensions of his own mind. As noted, he tells the story of his mother', conversion by the piling up of different tvcnts which seem to him to have the same emotional weight. Chaprers twelve , thirteen, and fOurteen, to which ~ havc alluded, havc the effect on the reader of figures in a cubist painting, in which the artist', illtention is to present two perspectives at once. The illteriacing of the twO personalities ~achcs in highest point in chapter fourteen, in which he fully reveals his ambivalence IOwardS his mother's leaving the world. For, in order to obey her religious calling, she was obliged to dlRndon her son at the age 0( twelve. Although, at a cognitive level, Guibcn understood the reasons fot his mother's decision, he was unable to overcome his dependena on her. The iIepIlration W llll therefore a critical moment in his life, and he narrates it in two Stages. First, his mOlher went to the manor of Catenoy, .,' situated about t~ miles from town. While staying there, she apparently made up her mind to withdraw permanenciy to the monastery of Fly. At the intetvcntion of Guibcn's tutor, a modest dwelling was found and at length she set OUt for her new home. In Guibert"s description, she paS5"1 from onc: stage of life to the next, while , IllI the tension builds, he informs her mind with his own emotions: "She knew," he says, "that I would bo:oome an otphan. "I"Mre was no one on whom I could depend . For, despite many ~Iatives, no onc: else could provide for a young lad in this te'oo.,c srage of life . . . . Yet, through fear and love of you. dear God, she hardened her heart. En route' to Fly she passed benesth the town where I was staying. Her heart was torn by such pangs that she could not bear to look back. Bitter remorse COl1$umed her when she turned ovet in her mind .... hat she had. left behind. "'9' In these re.... sentences, Guiben illS<"fts into his mother's moment of dc RITUALS, SYMIIOlS, ANI> INTERPRETATIONS put. in Guiberr's case, it is a youth that has all the teg tet. sadnes5 , and frailty of old age. In'trjmtjng SrxiaJ Conftkt Guibert did not completely underuand his mothds motiws for conversion, but he nonetheless provi '.use5 .. , a, J. o..."...d, "z... """'''1'';00 d< r hi"";,, de wib<" d< ~n' ( ' 0 " - "'4)," )9091 , ond, OQ ,lot 1<01. in Guit...!', ima,!:i .... ;.... I><..,..,n ,I>< o t - .. {, "".. '~IA Vu. S... ~ " , p_ ' 30 . ) 07 RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS Adalbero was followed by Helinand, a man of poor family and little education. Then came Enguerrand of Coucy, who btcam.e bishop in 1098 QC 1099 aoo died in 1104, during whoK administration, Guiben noted, the bishopric's mon.l force was further weakened. Helinand had persuaded Philip to give bKk ceruin rtvtnues thar had been uken by force. but Enguerrand eventually ~turntd everything to the king. Noc: only was the set muerially impoverished.; the door was also opened to simony, for no bishop could thenceforth demand the $ur~nder of revenues by those woo guaranteed his elec::tion. To make matten worse, Enguerrand. was a worldly man, bereft, in Guiberfs opinion, of true piety, who lpent a good dtal of his time spreading idle gossip. The gradual accumulation of.bUXII provided what rhe narratO£ called "opponunities foe the destruction of the town and. its churches, opportunities for which, as it turned OUI, there were not happy endings. ",., About tbis time the~ appeared on the scene Enguc:rrand of Soves, the bishop's lint (owin, who was generous to the churches but also an inveterate philanderer. An elckrly man, unfortunate in marriage, he finally IItt his sights on Sybille, the wife of Godcfrey, the youthful, handsome count of Nunut. Guiben argues that GodJrey might h."" incurred his wife's enmity through the ttniiness with which he paid off an inherited nurtiage debt. Enguerrand seclocecI her, aoo proceeded to disavow his own spouse by accusing her falsely of adultery. Then, to everyone's coO$tetnarion, he married SybiJIe. Despite a public scaood, the combination of Enguerrand's influence and Sybille's tIatttty lulled the bishop into inaction. Deprived through treachery of his wife, Godeftey took his rnenge OIl the county of Porden to the west of Laon, which belonged to Engucrrand. Many men ~te killed or mutilated: "and. thus Venus," Guibert ~flec::ted, "not having conceived Vulcan, procttded to Mars."'''' Throughout these events the bishop did II()(hing; and, on his deathbed, he rt'Ceived his cousin over the protests of local monks, .nd absolved him, or so it appeared, of any guilt. The episcopal sce was vacam for the following two yean, chat i!, from 1104 to 1106. Then, as was the custom, the local oobility and higher clergy met to elect. new bi~. Enguertllnd of Boves, together with the churchmen, favwred a candidate on the king 's side, Gaudry, chancellor to Henry I. Hut, as Anselm of Unn raised. legitimate objectiOns, the matter was broll8ht bcfo~ Paschal 11, who was ' .. /W.. ' .J, p. I". "' /W. , H , P. ,,6. ,08 RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND JNTERPRf-TATlONS then travelling through France. J1lc, ase was ht'IJd at I.angres on 24th February 11 07 . After. number of speeches, including Gui!>erl"s on Gaudry's behalf, the elenion was conlirme.l. The cons«rarion lOok place shortly afterw-lrds in St. Ru( of Avignon, as Guiberr putS it, to t~ subsequent "destruction of t~ town, indee.l, of the tnti~ region. ",., Gaudry's bishopri<: passed three years ~efully enough, but rhe seMS of SQ many evil anions ~re bound sooner or later to bear fruit. The dissolution of OJdtr was eventually occasioned by the malidous gossip of one of the town's procurers, Gerard of Quiel'2Y. A man of great physial strength and a !>ero of the First Crus~e, he became, through Enguerrand's preferment, the protector of a girl's monastery in laon. His Achilles ~I , Guibert OOscrva, was speaking i1! of others, although never, he ~d5, without cause. His first objea: of disparagement was Sybille. Before her marriage to Enguerrand, she had b<:o:n his lover. On marrying, he had StOPped ~ing her, but she, he mainrained., still desired him. Gerard's insults were ~hoed by his wife, who began to exchange abuse with Sybille. Having th\ll attacked Enguerrand, ~rard next turned On Gaudry, who, Guibert remarks, bun: his jibes "silently but not patiendy. "'~ A calculating man, Gaudry waited. for his moment. An official visit to Rome providl'd him with the opportunity of arranging Gerard's murder at a convenient distan~. The deed was ro be carried out by a group of 10..-:11 laymen and their wives, supported on the inside by two archdeacons. The actual seem: is onc of the mw;t vivid in the MmlQin. Gerard, Guibert tells us, ame to the cathedral to pray clad in "Tyrian purple." Feuing his strength, the oonspirators came at him from behind. Hi~ cape WlL1 hdd around him so that he could nOt move: then he was cut down. The poor p«lp!e who happened to be in the church cried. out, but they were tOO frightened to come co Gerard'$ aid. When lvo, the royal delegate, heard the n.-.vs, he rounded up and ki lled many of those who tu.d taken pan. The fuse was lit; the town exploded. The remaining chapters of book [hree confirm the picture of inevitable dvil strife as a hangover from the past. But, even if we follow Guibc:rt's Kcount carefully, we aTl: never SUre what precisely caused the communal riots in Laon in 1 t ~~. Not only is he unable to perceive Konomic and social rivalri es a.I such. Even within his own explanarlOn ecclesiastical abuse of long standing- there ;s much unclear '''/,;,1.. ~.). p . ,~6. RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTI!RPR!!'ATIONS thinking. Onc mu.n distinguish Ixtw«n hi~ position and his inter. prttation. He defended Gaudry, 11:1 noted, before Paschal 11,''''' and, li~ most COOttmpotUy chruchmen, rook an unremittin,g sand against the commune ..... Yet, as the Story proceeds, the intermingling of images and motives leava one with the impression that he is unconvinced by his o..... n analysis. He never really steps back from the gripping narrative. IlUtcad, he engages in periodic, half·hearted attempts to penuade the reader aad himself of a fnt large truths. However, as early as his initial progIlOilis of doom, a more personal interpretation makes itS appearance, one which, not surprisingly, in· volves his own life history III well as d~ M_m' wider concerns. The seeds which bring forth disorder are the Ixtrayals and indiS(fetions of youth. As in his own life, the wrongs an those of adults against children. AdaJIxIO, as 1lOltd, from whose bishopric, in Guibert's view, the original sins dcsctootd, betrayed the boy Chades of Lorraine, Godefrqr of Nunur, a i••mu, was deprived of his legitimate wife by an older man, Enguerrand of Doves. MotC(Jvcr, the failures of youth brins down all the central characten. Godeftty is said to have neg' lected. his wife's debts and his wife to have caken early ioven, including ~rard. He, although fIft of youth's wantonness, is propelled back into the affair through his own immaturity, which results in taunts to his for~r mistttU. As in his own childhood, Guibert also links the Ixuayai of adults to stIuaI repreuion. )U!t III he fou&ht all his life to control his unruly passions, so Enguerrand and Gerard, each in his .... ay, carries .... ith him the Haw of overindulgence. With biblicv.l ptecedents in mind, Guibert attempts to trace all the wtongdoings to • single point in time. But, in doins so, he confUStJ rather than clarifies an alrea.dy obscure pictu~. What tClulrs is a stries of images which contrast the past aoo the pmcnt, the familial and tht Clttrafamili.1. The only indisputable conclusion the reader can Itllch i, that, in Guibtrt's mind, older models of nplanation are breaking down. Lust, Urtvtrtnt youth, and divided loyalties att replacing mOflll absolutes. He does not know quite what has gone wtong: but something definitely has. Symw/J Unearthed The theme of old age and youth not only made Il frequem appearance in real lives and in their literary representations. It also found iu w.y into symbolic statements of cultural discontinuity. ''' I~. , ) .~, pp. '~o. -1~. , l · 7, p. 1)6. '" RITUALS, SYMlIOlS, AND INTERPRETATIONS Thos< who could neither read oor write, or who were only slightly acquainted with the written word, ne-eded conCrete vestiges of the past, Somewhat paradoxically, in this period of increasing complrllity in modes of interpretation, ever greater intefelt was also shown in physical symbols interrelating the past and the present, that is, in relics, cults of local saints, the veneration of the cross, and so forth, RodulfGlalxr is an eloquent wirness to the reawakened archaeological innincu, As nored earlier, he maintained that, within a few years of the millennium, there was widespread evidence of religious revival. Reform was in the air;'" and, in .008, a number of relics that had bren lost for ~n turies were suddenly rediscovere<1. •• , Moving ouuide the confines of Norman rociety, le! us look briefly at [WO eump!e'I of the rehabilitation of physi(ll objecu, occurring respectively in the n.lly and latcr yeau of the elevemh century. One of the copies of Ademar of Chahannes' ChfYJllffoll records that, shortly before his dn.th in ' 00 2, OtlO III was mid in a dream that he must exhume the body of Charlemagne at Aachen. ' " But no one was any longer sure where the emperor lay. His burial place was discoverl!d afrer a three-day fast. He was found seated on a gold en chair in a vaulted crypt bennlth the basilica of St. Mary. H e held his sW1)£(! and his sceptre and WQre a gem-studded crown; and, despite the passage of time , his body was perfe<;tly prese rved. His n:mains, Ademar records, were takeo out of their felting place and put on public display. Amoo;g those who admired the marvel was a canon called Adalberr. He was a man of immense size, and, be ing perhaps bolder than the others, he tried on the imperial crown and measured his legs against those of Charlemagne. 11>1' crown did nOt fit; and, as ifby miracle, one ofhis own leg s suddenly broke, leavi ng him crippled fur some (orty years afterwards. Charlemagne's body, Ademar continues, wu then placed on the rig ht side of the church behind the a1tt, o( John the Baptist. Over if was built a magnificent crypt lined with gold. Before long, the shrine became well known for revealing divinely ill5pited signa. Nonetheless, Ademar addl, the emperor's anniversary was nor celebrated the~ by a speciallitulgy. Otto's dream is an interesting specimen of in.erplay betwccn p0pular and learned culture which also touches upon the symbolism of old age and youth. - Hi,_ '·4· ", p. 6, . ~'I~., , .6.19, p. 68. ~'C_;"., , ." . «I. J. Ch • ..-., 'H'). , ftom MS P> ,""i, ,u RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTEIIPRETATIONS Ono, .... ho ....as himself n~ar drath, Wa.!I sensitiud in his d = to the £act that Chatlerm,gne belon.ge '" RITUAI.S. SYMBOLS, AN!) INTERPRETATIONS was the holy lan~, which, alt hough not normoJly examined in Ihis context, r~rtS a number of bask panerns involving old age and youth. The lance was said co have bcf,n discovered by a poor peasant, Peter Barthclemy, in Antioch, on 14th June 1098. TtH, mystical details of ctH, Story arc most suc~ssfully related by Raymond d'Aguilers in a series of visions which p=eded the final fall of the city to the combined forces of Bohcmund aoo Raymond of St. GilJes some tWO w\"tlcs later. Raymond's account is not ~hoed by com cmponry historians of the First Crusade,'''' and may in fact ~1Ie<:t a purely personal interprcntion of events.''''' Bur the internal structure of the narrative is signifiont in in own right. As Raymond tells it, the story runs as follows. >ooS On 10th June, Peter Barthclemy told Raymond, the count of Toulouse, and Ademar, the bishop of Le Puy, that St. And~w had appeared befo~ him some four times, stating on each occasion that, as soon as Amioch fell, the holy lance, which had bcf,n l05t since the time of Christ, would be recovered. The first vision had occurred 01\ rhe preceding 30th of ~mber during an earthquake aoo coincided with the beginning of the siege. Alone and afraid, Peter lay trembling in his hut whcn tWO men suddenly appeared before him. Onc was elderly; he was mOOefale in stature and had white hair, a lIowing white beard, and piercing black eyes, The other was a younger, tall er, and better-looking man, who ~mained silent. The elder of the pair revealed himself to be St. Andrcw. He told Peter to summon the count, the bishop, and Ray- 1bt tpiood< r« ""'~ in ""h s.. P.... Too.bod<, {. '0, ~ Ms """"". ""'-. " 70-1' ; hkh<' of C!ou, .... c. , ~. i~.. W'4S; AIIo< .. of Ai>: ~'4', ""'-. 4 , 4'<1-'0; a.I1dri of Boo,!",il l .\!, ~.. 67·68 ; and Rob.n [he Monk 7.), ..,.. j, 8,}. P. AJp!!and Ms u """"la, ,he .lm'I in ,he """"Y"""" G" .. 0.; 1<' 1'•••,,", [..11 10<.. ,,,., tl>< 0«000' ......, btirf (T'" h AN","'''. c. ,. RnOut«<, le< S. Rur>; " and. "" • djf! ,h. "1- fot.... ,i(IfI . . , ... "O\ooadt Idoo: " j - t ., ~i",,~ JIi'"" ,t ([97<'1. ' 0 . fot ... ;" .... """ ..ion whi<:h plK.. ,he rpiood< in the of m. P;"J of th. Fi!1t en.-I<. le< th< thou!lhri"u.! ....... Iot of B. IoI«J;nn, "/", S _ StpMIdm: Tb< P;"y of .he Fin[ Cruud .;do, """"" R"""' ... ...... }. 'H'''. "3 RITUALS, SYMIJOLS, ANO INTERPRETATIONlS mond d'Hautepoul, and to ask why the bishop had neither preached before Antioch nor carried the cross as a symbol for the rommon people. He then led Peter throush the succts of Antioch ro the church of Sf. Peter, ",here he displayed the holy IUKe. Peter offered to take the rdic back to the Chrinian side, but Andrew told him that the cit}' had first to be taken. The [WO spirits then led Pcter back to his hilt, where they left him. In relating his tue !O count Raymond and bishop Adernar, Perer daimed that he had J'IO{ immediately come forward b«au~ of his povcrty and low st:ation. But Andrew reappeared before him at the beginning of Lent and tOld him that he had hccn chosen as God', mes~nset prcci~ly bccl.U5e of his humble origins. Peter still hesit:ated: surely, he reasoned, in such harsh times, the COOn!. W1)uld accuse him of simply trying to secure a little extt:a nourishment for himself. Andrew, however, appeared again, on this occasion while Perer was in the compjny of his own lord, William Peter. William heard the saint explain that, when the rount reached the Jordan, he was not to immenc himiiClf in it but to tlIkc a bo&t to the other side, whe"" dressed in fresh attire, he was to sprinkle a little water over hinuelf. Peter once again tried to avoid his duty by sailing to CyptUS in search of food. But, after a series of misadventures, be found himself back at the pon of St. Sirneon. Meanwhile, on J Jth June, a priest named Stephen had a vision while praying for his lost brethren. An angt}' Christ appeared before him, and, despite the good offices of Mary, chudsed the ct\lSaders for their failure of will on tbe threshold of victory. The following dl.Y the assembled knighu pledged to take Antioch. Signs appeared in the sky; and, on the 14th, Peter, accompanied by twelve crusaders, invaded the church of St. Peter. BartllClemy dug up the lance, aDd St. Andrew reappeared to COlllirm the discovery's significance. Thus cmboldcned, Raymond d'Aguilers condudes, the Christians eventually took the city. Tht historical context of the story is different from the others in this chaptcr, and a full reconstruction would have to include an ac_ count of popular piety in other episodes of t~ Fint Crusade . Our concern i, limited to the nafflltive's internru fea.tures, and, mOJc particularly, to the funo:::tion nf symbol and ritual within the text. Sn restricted, the central events clearly ",late thematically to issues already d ...lt with. The Story of Percr Barthelemy is essentially one of ptt "4 RITUld. S, SYMBOLS, ANO INTIiRPRETATION S the youthful Christ and. Peter himself. But the contrast between old age.nd youth also re/l rcu a WI>Cern with learn~ and popular culture. Old age, through Andrew, leads youth; similarly. through Peter, the high culture vision of Stephen, which is largely an explanation for suffering and a plea fur penance, reinfuK~ the simpler visions of the Proveno;aJ peasant, whose m~ge is popular election and the con6r. mation of the crusade's inner spiritual life, These features become evident if we look at ell<' episode in grt'atcr derail. The srory covers chapter ten and the first pan of eleven in Raymond d 'Aguilecs' Hisuwil1 Frl1 _ _ qui Ctptrll"t IlxrnSll/tm , Peter relates his experiences in the 6rst person, the style, so to speak, deliberately mirroring his fear, hesitation, and insecuri ty, He is rt'a!ly co nfessi ng his failure to act, des pite divine commaod, H is talc thneby provid~ a popular counterweight to the nusaclers' inability to rake Amioch, and, through it, to the more general frustration of the nusade's hig het mission, The pal'l1!lcb of which we have ~n speakiog--old age and youth, p~iction and fulfilment, and thc learn~ and the popular_ re maintained throughout, To review them in the order in which they appear: the first vision, as noted, coincided with the beginning of the si cge; it thus marke.J. a turning-point in the real nuu.ie, Also, it umc about during an eatth tremor, a sign of God', wrath easily understood by th e non- lettered, From the OUtset there were tWO agc levels, StllilW and jUllilW . '''' Only the elder St. Andrew actually spoke, signifying the old predicting the new, Christ, representing fulfilment, remained silent, if expttl'l1n!. Physical symbolism plays. rol e as well within St, Andrcw's w mplai nt. Ademar, he alleges, both fail ed to prt'ach and to bless th e common people with the cross (CII1II rrllrt, , , sigl/an fIOPII/IIIII), 'oI Thus, Ademar's refusal to venerate one concrete obj ect provides a reason fur the eventual tevelation of anothet. Perer secs himsdf be in8 led through the ,ttceu of Antioch wearing only. shirt, In this state of spiritual innocence-that is, while there is little covering for his body, and, by implication, fur his soul- he is a SUitable recipient of the lance, He sees the tclie and holds it in his hands; and the contaCt is accompanied by St, Andrew's explanation: this is the lance, he rdatC1, which pierced Christ's side and -, H~, t . ... ""_6._ 10 , p . 'H- ,., RITUALS, SYMBOLS, A.ND INTIlRPRETA.TION$ which, for that reason, is a tnken of future salvation. And~ adW that Peter musr tttw:n to the church of his patron apostle in the company of only twelve other men, another cle&!' parallel with the gospels. Peter's sui>seqU(>nt vacillation only serves to add credibility to the srory. Were it false, the narrator implies, he would surely have tried his ruse immediately. Andrew visited him a secorul. time at the beginoill8 of Lent. Again, the symbolism is transparent: while the "first cock" Clawed, the saint askrd him .... hether be 'NU still "asleep." Peter's excuses o:mfirm the swry's inner m....sage. He claimed he was roo uneducated, but Andre .... tefused to cbooK anothet. His spirit, he said, Was weak, his ftesh even weaker. Yet, apinst Anclrn"'s spiritlllll designs he could only set up physical impediments to action such as poverty, hunger, and the "iUnos" .... hich underlined his soul's inuth'it)'. On Palm SUMly Andmv paid him aoather visit. Once again Peter asked that someone more suitably educated CJ4pialllJf') be selected. Andmv .gain refiaed, and offered. parallel for the Easter procosion which OUSht to have been held that year in Jerusalem. Before William Peter, a presumably reliable witness, he told Barthclemy that Raymond of St. Gilles was to re-baptiu himself in the Jordan in a manner which invened the DOfmal symbolic relationships. He was in dfeet to cross the river by boat, to put On new clothes, and, once he reached the other side, to sprinkle warer on the garments. Once again, the old was to be put aidc, the DCW reborn. Raymond's dodlCs even attained dlC starus of reiia, since they were to be pt(3(;hed a10ns with the holy lancc. It is aho siSnificant that William Peter heard St. Andrew, but did not see him. The direct experience of diviniry was thereby ~rYN for ttIC common man, who, the oatntOl" would sttm to suggest, believes through physiC1ll rcprescnmions, 001: through words , texts, and. meanings alone. Srcphen's vision, which is interjected after Ptta's abonive attempt to escape to Cyprw, provides a necessary coofirmation of divilH' intentions, since, within the story, while Raymond. ofToulouH' believed. Pcrer, Ademar of Le Puy did not. And Stephcn's visiOn itself retums the story to a higher cultural level. Chri$t asks tbe priest to de6m: what a Christian is, and. Stcphen replies by quotios the cfftd. Christ then abortS the lla88ing troops with quotations from the Psalms, On the followill8 day, the knights , _ a new O;I.th oat to flee befOl'C the Turks. ~ common people, through whose eyes the reader witnesses the final KellC, are reassured. The church of St. Perer is stormed and the twelve chosen search for the lance (rom morning to ,,6 JUTUALS, SY MBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS nightfall, without succeu, They nad the help of Peter, the iltltmis. When the lance is finally l«overed, !.ndrew reappears: God, he says, gave to «Mlnt Raymond whar had b«n given (0 no Other man, a sacred standard a$ a demonstr'o.tion of his love. AndtntJ and MrxkrnJ From the complex use of the topos of old age and youth in Raymond d'Aguilers it is a short step to cultural assessmen ts of the period irself, to which, in conclusion, we briefly dil«t our attention. ~ the pa$tnCS$ of the past was widely recognized, archaic modes of thought ~re no longer able to enve lop the present and to di&SQlve it a$ an independent realm of experience. The prncnt bceame a vantage point from which the past could be diK~ and debated. The inevitable contrast between the old and the new resulred in the first tentative stages of the "ql«fT1lt iks Anrimr tt M~tJ. ",,,, 'The differing positions were most clearly reflected in hig her culture. The best-known summation is that of Btrnard of Chartres as reported by John of Salisbury. Btrnard, as frequently noted, said that students of classical tradition in his own time were like dwarfs standing on the shoulders of the giants. They were able to sce farther thltn the ancients nOt becaust of better vision but owing to the height to which they had be<-n inadvertently nised."~ His famous comparison dates ftom the [t201,''' OO[ behind it lay a cenlUry's quiet growth in his torical consciousness. The key term was moMmltJ, which, in general usa.ge, referred to "the present period" or "the presttlt gencration," and, hence, liS time went on, [0 modernity itstlf. The stnse WZ$ first established by Cassiodorus.' '' who was followed by a wide variety of medieval authors for whom the m~i had little in common besides distinctiveness from clK: pilCristic en. " ) Thus, ... s... E. Jl. CU...;.... E., i A.,;,p; .N " Littr_...J'''~i. MJI4I< Mo"*"" .. Mi,,,",,,," (Paderbom. '9741. 9- '9. Apr. ""n 0I>d E. ~nn. ". M.tt.J,,_ 3·4 . od. e.c.]. Wd>b ((),J;,.d. '9>91. '3(\. ' 3-'7 · J ....... u. .. ·N..,; .;8 .... "'" ~umo:ril ;"';oX",": Eooo; d·;."''P' ..... ;on do Ikmu Qud hri •. 19<1/1) •• J6.37 •• , . -" . An i"'pott'n" on_i, od 0" of PriKian'. romp"doon ;1 found in )0110 of F8.4'\'. ". f . '" f·8 .. v......... 3. ,.,. MGH A""' .... A"';quinin\; ". 8" 4." . ". aJ. . "9 . .. , W . H.ltmantl . .. ·Modotn ... • U<'Id 'A",iQ-u"," z.,.. V.n...i.t..". ond Btdeu'0"8 di<>« 11<.. KIln • ..,.... in do . . .i.....rn.hl id ..o 9 . bi. I~m 1>. J.... hon.d Li",.""" -" ,-7 RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTBRPRETATIONS Paschasius Radbenus, whose euchatinic theories reimerp~ted the traditional teaching, spoke of the ninth century as "a modern period, after the lirst fathers' autlwrity ...... The same notion was carried over with little change to the eleventh century, when the disciplines attributed to mod""i were expanded to include diale<:tics and musical theory.'" Perspective on the past gradually matured: by the twelfth century, Illftiqllli and mrx/mri came to represent cultural positions in law, history. theology, natural philO$OJ>by. and the plastic am ...6 n.e "n:naiuance" was in part an awa~nen of progrns through diffe~nce. Wherevet ancient mode15 wen: f«ognizcd as such, their n:levance to contemporary intetpl'Wltion therefort' became it subj«t of inquity. In general, tnoJmtllJ retained negative connOtatiOIU; innovation was often equated with unwelcome novelty. '" However, some wdters had a more nuanced view. Adalbold of Utrecht, for insunce, took up the question briefly in the preface to his life of Henry n, which was begun around l 004. Everywhere. he lemarked. we are taught to venerate "'lrtif{illitm and to disfl'lD8e 1If1IIitm. But all that we call ancient was once new. "Nwil#S merely p..:ceded in older that what we call alrtif{iIIiJaJ might follow." Spurning innovation, thelefore, was largely a m.tter of plejudice: "For rarely is a river sought by a thirsty man when he possesses it$ source." The .ru:ienrs and the modems. he concluded, have • roughly similar value ...• His vieW$ were ,""hoed by later .uthors. Writing in {he spring of 1046, Wipo reminded his readers in the preflKe to his Gr.rw ChlllowraJi IlIIpmllwiJ that the Old Testament "prefigured .nd taught that the fruit of recent events ought to be gathered up .nd stored away in the rnemory .... 9 with {he aid of scribal methods perfected by the _ JmJj ..... An even more fonhright statement was made by Guitmund of A\'ersa, who, in arguiD8 !l8ainst Bermsar, said dIU he had superseded the argument$ of both the .ncientS and of authors of his own time,'" ,,' Eq.;n, ;" £ ....._ M ,tt ","w.,-. PI. '>0. "o.,,A. 0.. 11" """"'. _ G. N&o:hDn. - _ Ldbc.... l'tvoI",io .k.....u. ,,' RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETA T IONS William of Malmesbu!)', who died in 1143, wond~red why so Jil!l~ a!l ent ion had been paid to his period's intell~Clual a<:hiev~m~nts. Ev~rywhue, he ((lmplain~, i nveterat~ Il$age is a<:cepted without question. New facts, even wh~ n v~rifi~, ~ plac~ in a doubtful light. Ev~ryone repaired to the wisdom of the andenn. Nothing of recent origin WllS given sufficient C~iL'" Such contrasts blended easily with the biological metaphor of old l18e and youth. Ansdm of Havdbcrg saw youth as tbe mos t appropriate symbol of successive church renewals.'" At the climax of the De PI41Kt1l N/JlllrtU, Alan of Lille brilliantly caught the lIav(}Uf of Bernard of Chartres's image in portraying Hym ~n, the god of mar_ riag .... His appearance B.uctuated between adol ... scence and senility: his stature correspondingly rose from the insignifiCllnt to rival "the giants...... There were of count mote systematic rdl ~tions upon chang ... in_ volving growrh, education, and the uses of literacy. In the third book of Dr COIKOrJia,'" for tJalmple, Anselm used the a!\.lllogy of the agrar_ ian cycle to depiCt the telationship bctwo:o: n free will , language, and Scripture. Divine words, he said, ought to be understood in such a way that neither grace nor free will alone insures man 's salvation. Yet, he added, in bibliaJ passages dealing with free choke, the following comparison holds. The earth produces many planu withour man's help; but [hose which nourish man requite a seed, a farmer. and hard work. Similarly, without doctrine, the human spirit PrOOuces many thoughts and volition! not useful for salvation. Human beings, 100, need "their own kind of seed and laborinus cultivat ion." Th is, he Srates, is the agr;(Ji!tu,a on: the word of God-or rather, the mean ing which lies behind it-is the seed of "e~ry understanding of righ t_ eolUn~ss," whether originaring in dle mind, in word5, in texrs, or in reasoning based upon them. What is more, he argued, as the Word reachl.'S uS largely through preaching , "what the mind conceives from hearing the Word may be coruidered the p reacher·s seed." Right . eousness of will is by impliClltion the increase given by God . There· fore, in the beginning, JUSt IS God mino.culously crea ted plants with· OUt cultivarion, SO he made the gospels without human leamif18, placing . .. (rlJ .. 1/.,•• ... ~j .1..,- J. '9' , ... . W . S.ubbo (/..otodon. ,S!!.' ,AA?) ..... _,. p . H)- 1.6, I'L 1~9A . o.,,~ N",_. /H>¥ 8 .... _ N. lilrina. p. 86,. "9. '" lAC " (of ~"PI -(, u..n..m" G,,,n. v..,.. L&m ArIJ' .... Schm;tt. 0,..-. 0-... 001_ 0 (Ilomt, I~). '69. 0,8. ... "9 ~_ ) ..... f_ $_ RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS the S«ds of future salvation in the hearts of the prophets and of the apostles. In a letter written a generation latef', Pecer the Venerable used a similar metaphor to exhort an oc:herwi!ie unKnown hermit named Gilbert to combine solitude and manual labour with divine reading: "Let your hand be turned from the plough to the pen, l~ pages be tilled with divine letters rather than fields, and let the plOt be sown in the ten of God's word ... Thereby, Peter continued, Gilbert would become the "silent prtaeher of God's word"; .nd, although remaining mute, his message would teaCh. "many peoples. " ..6 These statementS from within the monastery contlllSted with the. broader perspectives of thoo living in the world. Otto of Freising, for instance, united tbe notion of the Hfe-cycie with the idea of cumulative understanding. Children, he observed, are always told that , the younger they are, the more they arc able to apprehend. So it is in history. On the one hand, we are taught by the writings and institutions of our ancestors, tog~het with experieDCe and the passage of time. 1bereforc, the later we Jive within the span ofhistory, the more rapidly we are able ro learn. And, after masrering tbe knowledge that has come before, we are able to invent new idca5 with the same innOVlltivencss u our anceston. '" The tole of rltionaliry, and, by implication, of textual srud.ie$ in tbe tra.nsition from a youthful to a mature stare of mind was perhaps best summed up by Abelam in the opening paragraphs of the O;"logw 6/ • PhimtJ/Jlm' with.}tU!.1UI 4 CbriJti4/1. The dialogue is begun by the mionalist Philosopher, who claims to be content with an ethical position established only bv "rwural law," that is, in his terms, by the first law of relSOrI, composed only of uu.,ti4 ,""aM, in which there are no super.dded teXtS V_pvMidiIll stripu) or superBuous t:l[cemai signs (mtriJw. J/p4) ...1 He begins his dcferKe of pure reason in religion by attempting to reJadvixe the social origins of belief. He ub che Jew and the Christian: were you, who rely chiefly on scriptures, actually led to your respective beliefs by reason or metelybr men's opinion and by loving respect for your own peoples?'" The latter, he ... q. 'C. A.J GM' ,_, td . G. c.:-tobI<, Ta /JI1m" (. PL'II9·9JC-98<\)· HO Ott.is 'l/i>t>IIi Fritj..,..i, Cl , ,;,• . . . . cd. •• 6, '4"'. ,.. J)j.,p ,-,Pllil. 1910). p . 44, 11. ·.. /w., 80-89. U. 9''9}. ,' ". l_d~__ 1'M6'" V_MIo, YOI, 1, p. ,8 A. Ko/inei ..... (l-l ......., aod 1hp>1a. '91» • .. C"""'_ _ • n-.u (Srut.....·BodCannsrat<. RITUALS, SYMBO L S, AND INTERPRETATIONS argl.lC'S, i5 the common heritage of all traditional i)c,lit"f, whi ch, as Sallun notes, eff«t ivcly turns (ustom into nature: for, wha{~er one has learned as a (hild, one obstinately adhc~s to as an adult, and, befo~ one truly understands what is said, one claims to i)c,lieve il. ,,0 Ir is astonishing, he adds, that, although human understanding grows cumulatively through the ages, in matters of faith, where the dilllger of error is greatest, there appears to be little rea! progress. "For youths as well ou grownups, tJIltirl as well as lil,..",;, are $aid to fed tm:, $3IIle way; and he who is said to be the m<.>St firm in faith is the one who does not go beyond the common thoughts of the people.··'" These statements on the nature of modernity do not add up to a distinctive view of the world, but they take us far from the monolithic eschatology of Rooulf Glaber, with which our reflection.! began. For each in its way acknowledges the possibility of cultural progress, even if incorporating it into a recognizable metaphorical fram<:W{).k. The Stress on continuity with the: past is of course in pan a plea for rea5surance. By admitting the rnlity of change, a Bernard of Chartres ot an OttO of Freising alw suggestS that the world o.n never be quite the same again. The situation of Abelard's Philosopher is particularly teUing. The text on natural law which he invents through reason is answered. by the already established texts of the Jew and the Christian. The debate between the three is mainly over the foundations of ethics, but the questions often spi!! over into areas treated elsewhere in this volume, such as custom versus law, external versus intetnal forms of worship, and of (OUrK ageless tradition versus youthful innovation. & the DiafogJ't end, before a final judgmen t is rendered., we are not sure JUSt where Abelard stood on many of these problems, which were central to a period that was even less sure of inMrited certainties than himself. 4'. ' '' 1"-,.. p. 11. '07· '~. ' r' I~. , p. 4 '. U. ,J1·'~ : ·"Quod Oftim mirabil ..... fect",. Sod < mi...".. ur moiotr>. < "",ki "r li",,,,,; do: ha<: .. ot;« ....... mnr •• r ;11e ~rm;roirt"" in 6 ..........,... '" CONCLUSION has d~lt with the mlignmem of oral discw~ within a cultural rettreoce syncm based on the logica1 priorities of texts in • number of different aspects of medieval life and thought. By way of conclusion, it may be useful to mtcrv;te the centm brures of the argument, and, in particular, to indicate how the major themes of This W Chaplen. Two to Fi~ impinge upon each Other. As noud, there are foor gcnenJ topics, of which the first and most basic is literacy and social organization. The iuues may be framed lIS follows. Where there are tau, there are also presumably groups to study them. TIle process of learning and reRection inevitably inB.uenc:es the members: how individuah behave towards each other and how the group, if it is DOt transitory, behaves rowardll the outside world, will bear some relation to attitudes formed during the educational experience. From reading, dialogue, and the absorption of tnts, Ilv:refOl:e, it is a sOon step to ··texrual communities;" that is, to groups of people whose social activities are centred around tats, or, more pm::isdy, around • litente interpreter of them. The text in question neW not be written down no.r the majority of .uditors actually litente. The i.uI}!"II may relate it verbally, as did the medieval preacher. It may be lengthy, as were, for insr.,nce, genealogies or monastic rules; but normally it is short enough that its essentials can be ea:lily understood and remembemi-1 few proverbial maxims, let us say, of St. Paul, fIIther than . n entire epistle. Moreover, the group's members must 'I$'Y ... iacc vulumari ly; their inccraction mUSt take place around an agreed meaning fat: the text. Above all, they must make the hermeneutic leap (rom what the tCl[( says to what they think it means: the common understanding provides the found2tion (or changing thought and behaviour. The examples taken of thi5 activity are a series of relatively isolated outbursts of heresy between roughly A.D. 1000 and 10,0 , and then: accounts of till! Plltartne reform movement in Milan between I o n and IOn. Yet the pdodples involved take us to the heart of broader issues linking literacy, heresy, reform, and group organization. 'I1le '" CONCLUS~ON c~ntral motor of change was the litente interpreter of a text working within a less lettered community. With in smaller groups contact was informal and personal; in lar~r ones, or when the audicn~ was di$. persed, a more formal means of communication was adopted, nor· mal!y preaching, through which a hcret;(:II.1 or Il'formist text was tnnsmitted and comm~nted upon orally. H~r, in both.:;uc$, the group adopted as a norm for bdUl.viout within a given context a type of rationality i~puable from t ~ text. The 5C~ of logical imetcon. ncction thereby established could then bf, applied critically to other issues, as was the cue of the Orleans heret ics, who, und~r questioning by bishop Guarin of Bcauvais, confronted the church with the notion of autonomous natural law. As a consequen« of this manner of think. iog, heretics , and, to a lesser degrtc, [efo[m~rs illI wel!, tended to dismw as " popular·· all that could !>IX be legitimi;:.l' Ora'fti,.,.,., af T..,j;';g". · in P_ /ljp$<>. 19,6). 1().1• . "3 s.;." P' CONCLUSION alternative, and contributed. by its universalism another dillCouragement to "popular" culture. More specifically, the rKognition of different levels of understanding hetw«n Jill".,ui and iJJiJl".,ui implied a turning away from ritual and symbollUld towards IU\ intellectualism inseparable from the study of tats: that is, a movement away from the pertormallCe of rites and from deyQcton to representltional objects and towards the consideration of both primarily in ~nns of an inner lesson, meaning, or kernel of truth. The natural field for this debare 'NiS the sacraments, which not ooly harboured the most respected ~positories of rites and symbols but also provided the raw material for medieval Europe's first sustained inquiry into allegory. Was it entirdy by acddent that followers of When and later Lanfranc insisted on an interptetation of the eucharist stressing the spoken, the concre:te, and tbe performative, while Ratramn and Ben,ngu emphasized the allegorical and the search for a sense beneath the formalinic sutface! The resolution of the eucharistic controversy, which u the major theme of Chapter Three, nOl only brought about a permanent intellectualiution of the sacraments. As a byproduct, it also created an in~nst in physical change. For whether, as the traditionalists urged, the body and blood of Christ were: "ttally" on the altar, 01 whether, as their opponent$ argued, they were only configureenu, " La _ _ .. l"bonunt. 1.0 Rmoi ....... du Xllt >*1< .. ' in Lo 'D·: Mrlt, 2I-}O. "4 '~H_ CONCI.USION differently. ODI tradition accepted without question nature"s physicality. tangibility, and concrete,,"s' To use the anall)gy of law, the dominant conc~tion W&$ similar to early medieval Iraditio, .... hich requieM the taCtile, the u-en, the heard , and the performed. In this sense, nature did not have to be di$Covered; it already existed. But it had to be explained, interpreted, and above all authenticated by texts. A naive, pre-eltisting DO(ion of the phenomenal had to be o.clapto:d to the principles by .... hich the human mind WlU thought to function. In sum, from .... ithin litemte tradition the interpretive modd was that of the renaissancr or classical revival. Fot amI culture the problem was posed at a more basic level. How could the given physicality of things be reconcilo:d with forms of thought .... hich suggested a more rn.l exiMence at thei r core? Worse, fullowing the dilutw. Platonism of the early medieval 5':hooI5, how could one maintain that .... hat was before one's eyes had li ttle or no reality at all ? The ri se of organized groups for studying teltl$ and the appeal1l.nce of a more systematic theology of the $aCramenu were accompanied by Europe's first sustained inquiry into the relationship bet .... een language and rn.lity. There .... ere, of course, ancient precedenu for the centl1l.i ii,," of debate and a wide variety of methods developed in cathedml schools and in the nascent university of Puis. Yet. as contributors to the ovel1l.J[ diKussion of literacy·s usa. thret' authors stand OUt in importance, Anselm of Canterbury, Peter Abelaed. and Bernard of ClairvaUI. Their ideas and approaches overlappccl in ways that are not fully revealed by the period's intense polemics or by the modern, overly rigid categories of "monastic·' as opposed to '·Kholast ic·· thought. Anstlm. the ·'father of scholasticism·· in Grabmann·s .... OIds ..... rote chidly for the benefit of other monks. Abelard ..... hose 5i( d NOli confirm~ the use of the scholutic method, was more thiln occasionally monastic in spirit, as revealed by his biblica.l commentaries. his founding of the reformist Paraclerc, and his fervently ascetic rule for religiou.s women. And ~rnard, .... hile misundet5tanding Abelard 's inrentions, nonetheless teSOned from time to lime to a scholastic type of allegocism, u did, in a more systematic .... ay. his fellow Cisterdan critic of the master from Le Pallet. William of St. Thierry. ~neath the surface of the controversies, the councils, and the ICcusations of heresy lay a growing a..... areness of the subjective and objective dimensions of philosophical or theological issues which arose from the different usa of texTS. An.selm occupies a middle posirion. '" CONCLUSION His medirations are both personal ,..,R~rion$ on the Bible and aarn.pies of the mental proc;ess by which, proceeding from word to text, the individual in search of God achieves theological ceminty, For Anselm, texts are largely memoranda. Like early medieval legal documents, they set down an oral diKOU~ in writing without significantly alruing the mentaliry which lies behind it. POt Abelarc:l, to \IK the same analogy, ten, are di'J>O'itive, or, at the very leaJt, h.ve in themselves the potential ro revttI aspa::ts of obj«rive reaJiry. AIx-lard's central problem is .t once linguistic and sc:mantic, thereby interre/tting words, ft.cts, thinss, and meanings. For him, universality.. is imputable "to words aIODe." Yet this celebrated phrase should not Ix- taken out of context and made ro defend the sort of verbalism he opposed. Words, in Abelard's view, ~ subject to grammar and logiC; they ~ in effect spoken elements of discoufR in relation to real or imagined texts. Taking prioriry over texts, they do not on tbat IC_ count negate the relevance of texts. In Bernard of Clairvaux we find • quite different approach to these: quntions, but one which presupposes the existence of scholastic tendencies and derives io sttength from an implied. contrast to them. Bernard's sc:rmons on tbe Sons of Songs, the twelfth century's most remarkable aample of mystical theology, arc arge/y a subjective expression of faith. But rextualiry payed • major role in their production, audience relations, and subsequent tr.l.lumission. For, although he was himself a charismatic preacber who extnlled. the power of God's unadorned Word, Bemarc:l in fact rq,roduced the rituaJ.i.tic and symbolic world of on1 diJcourse in the fOrm of a tQt. As such, his dicta became a set of quasi-sacramental bonds fOl" the period', most exemplary textual. community, the Cisterci.n Order. And, within his KiliKtrul, the experience of cbe text .nd the experience of the religious life were intermingled, offering 1 structure to both .t once. The final chapter of the book turns to the question of ideas and society. How, we may ask, did the grad\lBl increase in the use of tars act as an intermediary bet~n group interests and their ideological expreuionJ The later deve:nth and rwelfth centuries were times of intensive: economic, 1OCiaI, and cu1tum1 upheaval---thal: was 1"t>C08nm-.d by many contemporary obSl:h~rs of evenu. But how VIas one ro explain 01 to understand the transformations? In gemral, witnesses found tbat their inherited tools of interpretation were inadequate. A programme ViaS therefore undertaken, not primarily ro study the roots of change, but ro develop techniques of the intellect. Those categories of thousht ,,6 CO NCLUSION ... ther than an objenive evaluation of lhe forces involved repre~m one of the period', mOSI di,rinniff cultural products. From the difflW conrributiol1$, commentaron gradually built up an invenrory of imerpreted experiena and evolved both personal and general styln of her~neutiC$. n.e effectS were nOI only felt in the intellectual domain, where one saw a prolifi,ration of exegesis, hisrorical writing, philosophy, and theology. As noled, Ihe new structures also fed into and were in turn nourished by the world of liff s~ •.•'" of 'N Uf<- WwIJ (E•• _ . 6"~. "7 Ill .• '91J). J. CONCLUSION twelfth centuries. For reas(/ll$ of sJ-ce, such important topics as music, iconogmphy, archirenure, and Latin poetry were omiued: it was better, I felt, to say nothing thM to offer I. supctfid&l. trtatmcnt. Even within the disciplines discussed I. selection of the I.vailable material had to be made. As I. consequence, little is said about the deveioprncnt of gnmmar and logic during the eleventh ccnrury, which uDdoubtedly influenced the pattern of rn&ture philosophical concerns in the twdfth, or, to tlIke another cumple, the twelfth-ttntury inrerronncctioD5 between theories of b.ngus.ge 1.00 theology, as witI)CS-d by such writers as Hugh olSc. Victor, Gilben ofPoitiers, llDd Alan of Lille. On the other hs.nd, the qUCltiDrnl taken up h.~ the advantl.ge of being naturally intettelatcd, both through histork and theml.tic de~lopmcllt. !or. nOted, the problenu treated ill Chl.ptcn Two to Five, hCfC$y, reform, linguistic philosophy, mystical theology, I.ne! the sodal uses of ideas, h&~ long been knowll to h&ve interpcnett'8.ted each other. In this sense, the book follows the lines of inquiry laid down by such DOUble previous students of the subjc<:r as M.-D. Chcnu. 1bc thematic cantinuities I.re equally evident. The criticism of ritual aoo symbol by heretics and reformers was inlCparable from the cuchs.ristic debate, which re.uesscd me meaning of the sacramentS as a wbotc. The issues raised by lanfranc and Bcrmgar led Ill1tutaUy to 11. consideration of Iansuage, texu, and reality at a mocc abstract level, as well, indirectly, to the polarization of attitudes towards textual methodologies in such wtiters AS Abclard and Bcrnard. Their discussions, which represent high peaks of development in their respective fields, contributed. to the DlOte general interest in interpretive systems, which, in tum, inevitably fed back into conceptions of the individUliI and of society. Running through the essays is also a larger set of theoretical conceflU involving speakers, writers, readers, and audiences in a period rcawakenins to the potential of literate communication. In Sa"ssunan terms. onc could say that we arc witnessing the historical emergence of the distinction between J.,"gw and jIdrok, that is, in medicval terms, the distinction bctWffh an innl:'r linsullItiC model, based upon latin's cxpli ", CONCLUSION in wriuen form.- On the ocMr, the appeantnce of texts often preserve.:! the record of oral tntdilion~ in a s.cribal museum in which, like the physical symbols in the eucharist, they SCl'mC • U . N. 189·..6. z. o.Tio. ··Pti~d"ll ,;..,.;. 11 ...... ii "" _tOYio "" "}OO, I)) . ond , ... Poopt.:·;n $"""~,.J C.I,_ .. E-/J AI",*,"" F,_. >'9 CONCl.USION which texts united in symbolic action peoples who had Iiule in common besides occupying the same tempom and geographical Space.7 In high<:r medieval culture, tcxtuality lay at the basis of a growing intellectualism. The fundamental divisiotu of'rommunications in the eleventh and twelfth centuries were all derived from amlogies like word and text, spirit and letter, in""r and ourer meaning, etc. The ordering of the phenomenal universe, on which most natum-scientific achievement rested., took it! direction from t~ opposition of the visihle and the invUihle. The inteUcctual roots lay in Christian Pbtonism, but the redeployment, as in WilJiam of Conches, was often tied. to a contrast between popular and learned tmditioru. For, what met the eye was, like t~ letter, both a source of deeper insight into the spirit and an impediment to rcali~ing it. Again, the most frequently reitel'llted dichoromy among both heretics and reformers W1IS between the material and the immaterial. in which rhe rise of a legally ori_ ented, institutionally centl':ll.!iud papacy held an ambivalent position. The rerms of such discussions were clearly dr..wn from SL Paul and Augustine, but the critical instincrs with which they were reapplied presupposed an agreement on matters like pl't'adent. scholastic arrangement, and the ~uiY1lleDCe of law and truth. Practice, too, in such areas ""' education and politics, W1IS infDlmed by a new acrt$s to theory. The distinct ion was increasingly tbought CO lie between what was COfUidered to be om, CllStOmary, and transient, as opposed to what was written, canonical, and permanent. The use and reuse of $UCh familiar poIariries as time and ttClflity, imagt and reality, and figllr. and _if41, whatever their p.rticular $OUI'«$, were justified by the belief that within the oncology of the written word lily an intimaee reflection of rttIity, which the study of grammar, syntaJl:, and hermeneutics could rcveal. In the content, then, and even the forms of thought, the medicvals appear to JaY{' consciously imil':ll.ted their ancient pred.cttsJOrs. Yet, as their imprecisions, misinterpretations, and rources of anxiHy demonstrate, they were unlike their forbears in fundamenral ways. The roou of these differences Ul: traceable to the conceptual vucabulary, if nOt to the PIOCCS$ of cnnctptuaJization itself, which derived from a few Jinguistic models, all directly or indirectly boued. on the relation of oral to written exchange. These complexes of ideas provided the period after the miHennium with a rationale for both culrural progress and decline. , Cl. V. Tu ...... "Pilfnrnogeo .. Sociol Proceson," in 0 . - . '10. FiJJs.~"" M_V' '. , 66- CONCLUSION The prncnce of It number of different theoretical concerns relevant (0 history, literature, and the social sciences naturally raiscs t~ question of theory's role in the volume as a whole. In general it appeal"$ on rwo levels. The study assumes dlll! the transition to Mw working relations bet:~n oral and wriuen modes of communication was an important shaping instrument both for the fotees of change themselves and for the processes of thought by which they ~re simultaneously interpreted. In It bl"lXl<"ler context, th~ volume also takes a more positive vi ew of the cont ribution of historical research to an interpretive social science tban is nowadays fashionable, and that of coor5'l' amounts to a theoretical standpoint in itself. The argoment for the second role of theory derives in part from the working hypotheses of the book as a whole, and may be: summed up as follows . Tcxts, as noted, when introduced inw a largely oral society, not only created a contrast between twO different ways of looking at the world. They also rai$Cd the possibility that reality cou ld be understood as a series of relationships, such as outer versus inner, independent object as opposed to reflecting subject, or abstra<:t sets of rules in COntrast to a ooherent tcxture of facts and meanings. Experience in other words became separab le, if nOt always separated, from ratiocination about it; and the main field of investigation turned OUt [Q be, nor the raw data of sense or the platonized ideal uf PUn" know ledge , but rathe r the forms of mediation between them. This set of changes rc:sulted in a rebirth of hermeneurics as a Clitial philosophy of meaning, in a renewed sean::h for epistemologica l order, and in a widespread interrst in diachrony, ckvclopmenr, and pl"1:>ttuual evolution. Understanding as a const'quence began to emerge (rom the accumulation of n"iterated and reinterpreted experience, even though, il5 was recognized, the tools of methodological analysis were not given in each concrete set of events; and an understanding formed of similar elements links the contemporary reader to the past through the p«'"Servation of thOM' very written artefacts which originated new patterns of thought and action themselves. A theory which att empts to account (or such transformations cannOt" o~rate aprioristicaJly; it cannot di · vorce itself artiticially from the geMl"'II1 flow of eventS, which includes the prncnt. Ind~, if the issue of cau$ali ty is to be raised at all, it cannOt be limited to the technical, the econom ic, the societa!, or the intellecrual. As crucial upcc:ts of reiterated experience, hiStorical factors have priority. 53' BLANK PAGE SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY AASS A.aa S."~I •• AHDLMA Arfhim "hismrr #' 1,;"..1, " fit"","irr .. . 7 '1"'1 Jp Bul/tlti". tklnstitulo slorHo ital;..". , .rrlJivi~ 1JIIIf'.,I1ri.rf/(/ BIS Corpu, Chrnt;"IIItnI_, Clmri....ri~ MtJi.ur",/iJ CCCM C~MJ Cbrill;...""",., s.m. /.41;".. CCSL c..hi", ,i~fiJ.rli .. flllJihwu, x.,..XlI'liidlt CCM C"'1MJ Strip_. E«Usi.rslic",u, lAI~ CSEL DACL Diailm"..irr ".rrM!~ie (lMtitnllf 11 '" lilll'!;' IJTC Dkt~irr tk IhioJ"u <.r1ixJli'l'" S .u (Plon:llU, I n9"98) MGHSS MIOG NRHD PL RI,," RHE RHP M"",,-I. HiJtmif4, Srriptom (in folio) Milltil,,~gor" bul;l"ls for Osl6rtichim. Gu(hKhtsfomh""g N9INtI4 rrI'I/I hUlm'll/l "",/roil fr.1If4iJ" Itnntgtr p"mJ!IIgU l.41;".. Rtt- hi 'iirs; ... RtIIIH "histoirr I«/lsimliqlll RltJllif"" hiJloritJ/J.us G."I" tt tkt.. F~._, '1n RSPT So) R_ ZRGKA 1"-, KA/llMliJriJchr Ahttilll1lg Ms wpm philowphiqws " IlJIdogitplll ZRGGA utt/(hrill "" Smg",-Slift"lfl I" Rlfhtrl"chidJrt, G"",.,,,iJsim. A./'u;/''''l '" SELECTED BlBLlOGRAPHY Abdard, Petcr, Ptltl' II.l!.ull".,is philOlO/lhiJ(ht S(h1'i/Stlf. ed. B. ~e" I. Di. "Log;'... l~,.,..a;."tihm": I . Die Gloss ... :ut Porph,rim (Beilrjge lu' Geschichle de. Philosophi e dts MilCe!alters, Bd. ll. Hm I. Mijnscer. '919); l. Die GllIJsm ~II Jtn KAttgmtlf (ibid.• 2 I. 2, '92 I); ~. Die GI()Jsm III nEPI EPMHNElAI Ubid .• 21 , 3. '921). 11 . Vie Logia "NMInIr"'" Puisiotti SO(i"""". ..• Dit Gloum .11 PMflh,.;lIs (ibid . • 21.4,1933)· • Pettl' Al;.tlart/.s ThtdogiA "S_; bo~i" :utili ..Ifm Mal. wllssliltdig htr_g"tllth. ed. T. H. Ostmdler (Beitri,l5:e zur Go:schichtt de!" Philolophic und TMologie des Miud.lte .... Bd. 3', Hd"t 213. Mijnore•• '939) , - - -, Pm,. AN,,,,,d, "Sit et N.~. " A Crisif41 EJ,sio~, ed. B. B. 8oye. and R. McKron (Chingo and Loodon. '976- 1977). - - - . Pd.,.lI. bJ "elhla." A~ Edilm. with 11IhWMa;"", ERglish T""It114I;'" Not." N. D. E. Luscombe (Oxrord Medieval Text •• Oxford, 197'), - - -" Puri A~rJi Optra ThttJ4gi4>, w. E. M. Buyo:aett, 2 vol$. (eCeM ,of, a"" 11_11. TII.nhOUl •• 969). - - -" PIIn/.J AlwJanl.s DiaItt:OO.. Fml Comp/ek Editinn o{sht Pari""" },1An,.,mpt wish IltsrodJlnif)tl. N . L. M. ,lI' g""_, 'IIH)· Ars.r Sy...di AIrtNtnlJis ,~ Ma";,ha",,. PL 141 . 126?-13 11 . Adalbero of Lann. AdalbtroltiJ Epirropi I a...w_is C.. , _ ad Rothtrfllltl Rtgmt F ...."""" .... RHF. vol. 10 . pp. 6,-]2. Adam. K .• Dh ElKharisl;tlthrr des hi. A"KIIII;~ (Fonchungen zu. (hri.dic~n Litetatllt-und Oogmeogeschichte, Bd. 11. H. ft I. Paderbom. [908). Adamson. J. W .• " 'The Illitetate Anglo-Saxon: " in "Tht lfIisera," II.ltglQSa"",," "tuI Olb... fuJaJ' "" EJufllticlt MMi_' altd M~ (Cambridge. '946). ' _20. Admtar de Chabanne5, C~. PubliIt tfaprls Us _tumrits, ed. '" J. Chavanon SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY (Collection de tntes pour senir ll'ttudc et l J'enscignemellt de J'hisroin:, mc, 20, Paris, 11197), Adlhoch, B" "Roto:rlin 1,100 s.nct Anselm," Philos#pbiIdM ).JJrl»Kb GIims,ouJlsd.o..[t 20 (1907), 442-~6, Ar;ritoJm-" • _-d, .....k i_ «riJn,tt ..Jr.1/8 wuJi«w i/<#I;'"" (Setlimano: di 5tudio dd untro italiano di ,nodi suU'''tO mediOleYO, '1'01. 13, Spoleto, .w 1966), Ala:! of LiHe: '"' Hiring, N, AJphandtry, p " "0\: qudqu.es faj" de propht1:isme dall5 lea secteo latinn an.hie...,..,. au )oachiome," R_ M fbim;'" Ja religioN ('90' ), ' 77- ,2 2,8, - - - , lA Chtiti#ul" J'iJM M rroi1Alil, eel, A, Duproot, 2 vols, (L'fvolution de I'hwnanirt, Synlh6e collective, vols, }8-}8bi" Paris, 195-4, 1959). Ambrosioni, A., "11 piu antico e!CrKO di cruetici della diocesi arnbrosiana eel "In:' .ggiun~ .. DIcrd_ di Burcudo in un codi« ddJa Biblioteca Ambrtaiana (E '44 sup.) Una voce ""Ita pokrnica andpatarinicar A _ ('976), 274-}20. Amira, K. _ , MOI:r Stab in dcr germanischen Rechwyrnbolik," A~ _i,lid. &pim- ,ud-w Mr Win _-I;.,fllll, pbit... _,},iI",.,. , _IHI hUmla" KI., Bd., I. Abh. (Mun~h, '9" ), 1-180. Amdwi, M., and G. Coswnagna, Al4 ,,",i~i dtl.."..;..,. il luris Canonica COI',qumdum conKrip(lOt, Series 2, tomus 4', Louvain and Gcmbl()tll[, 1949). AOO-. da Stnuni, Vit. S.",,; Ari.lJi .1Imrf AI/Jrv A~ S"'~i, !!d. f. lbethgen, MGH SS }D.2, pp. IO.n-n, And""" of F1eury, Vi/<# Gtutdi.i AblJalis F~is M~l#rii, ed. RAJ. Sautier and G. u.oory (Sources d'histoin:' mo!cIimlc pubJi~ pal' J'Instirut de Rec~rche et d'H;Slo;n: des Tates, vol. 2, Pat;s, 191>9). Anselm of Canterbury, AlISu.. dt C._I~"".,. PllItTqwi Di~ I'at f.il _ .., ed., intto" and nanl., R. Roques (Sources chmienncs, 00. 91 , Paris, 1963)· - - -" S. AItJw.; C_l'ittl1iI ArrJsj"is~i Opml Ow~;", !!d. F. S. Schmitt, 6 vols,: vol. , (Seckau, 1938, n:'pr. Edinburgh, 1946); vol , 2 (Rome, 1940); vol. } (Edinburgh, 1946); '1'01. 4 (Edinburgh, 1949); vo!. ~ (Edinburgh, 1951); vol.. 6 (Edinbutgh, 196'); n:pt. with. new introduction by f. S. Schmirt (Stuttgm-a.d <:anns ,0 .w 2,. SELECTED B1BL10GRAP}«Y Aud~, Th . A., ··U... """KC ""guninicnr>e de I"argument de ... in{ An$elm~,"' in J. Maritain. tt 4f., Ms., ElitmIt Gih.", phifOlcpht de 14 rhti/imll (Rmconn~, }O, Paril, '949), IO'-4~· Auerl:ach.. E., L.itn-4ry i..gugt ,,~d i/J P"h/h i" /..lIlt /.4li~ Amit{"iry 4"d i~ IN MidJI. Ag.... trans. R. Manheim (Boiling-en Serin, yol. 74, londnn and N~w York, .96,). -::::-~, MillJD .... The RtjJrattlI4Ii." of R,../ily i" W... I...,.. Liler41"", .ranl. W. Tl"Qk (Princeron, 19H). Avall~, D' A. S., AIIt ""Xi"i M/w ftlter"'tmt !.4J1ro<. I Xi.".aJfft1Il. di Slr4!bI<~ • I. Itq"",W J, ",,,/4 E"w/;." cd. L. Borghi (Tu.in . '966). A)"", A. J., The F""~""li_ of &.piriut K....dtJ1' (London, '940). Bauml, F. H., ""Th.. Unmakins of the Hero; Somt Critical Implications of d .. Transition from ! to Writun Epic,"' in H . SchoHer, N., The Ep;,; in M,Ji_t S/ritly. A ...tbdk ..JU/ M"""I V41,." {Tlibingen, '977), 86-99. --,-- " ""V.tietin lOO Consequences of MNi~1 Litera<:)' .nod lUireracy," S/IK"t"", 5' ( 1<)80), J}7-6,. Iblogh, J., ""Voro p..gilW'''''' Beiu,"ge lut Geschi(h ~ dOlO !amen Lesen. und Schuibens," Phif~ 8~ ('\127), 84-109, ~0)-40' Sanh., K., AlUt'-: Fid4 Q""""",, Ilful/ttt",.. Alfltlm's Frwf of IN £.xi"...... of GM i" tht C•• tat of hiJ Tht4lII$KaI Srhtrw, Eng. (rant from the ~nd N., ZUrich, '958 (The Library of PhilO5Ophy and ThfOlogy, Londoo, 1?60). Bartle!!, F. c., R_/ltrilfX. A Sf1«iy ilf Exfwinmttal4"d S«W{ Prycbo/ogy (The C.mbridsc Plychn!08ic:01 Ubrary, C.mbridgt, 193~). Bau!i~r, R.-H., ""L'heusie d·O.ltant et le mouvemCnl intdJecruel au debur du XI~ .iklt. Documenu et hypod~ses," in Elfle;g1H1I/t1Il If rn illu/lldllt/l. (lXe-XVI. SiOtkI (AClO$ du 9~~ Congres national des societes $:I.van.n, Rei""" '970 , Sec!ioo d~ phi!ologie et d'hiSloire jU5qu'a 16.0, tome I. Paris, 197'), 6~·8g. BK-h,hum, M., Beu.'.ggriiNk nd Btdetttnx d4 V"g411t",tllllU i. tin I.tlrilliJrhm Kirrht .. M;"'l.tll~ (lkitrigt mr mi!trlaltetlil:hen, ~n und allgemeinen Gescbichte, Bd. '4, Jena. 194 1). B«quet, J., ·"J."~tI!mitilmc cUrial et lak dans roues! de la FIllfVX,"' in L'".."uli"". ill (l{Cidnh lIti sKo/i XI • Xlf (Pubblicnioni de!l'Univenit~ Catrolica del Sacro Cuo.re, contributi, $Cri. ecna, varia 4' MiSl:eilanea del Centro di studi mcdioevali 4, Mi!an, 1'}6,). ,8l'203. Bcne o.. R_' '9~12)· ~I!LI!CTED IIII1L10GIlAPHY Benton, J. P., SJj • .J S.itty i. M.Jimd Fr."". Th. MM4Jn 1/ AlWI Gllikn of NDf"/1 ("Jf'4i'.(· r Tb. Tr41lJl4tio~ of C. C. Swi~1IA BI4"iU/ ,.wiuJ by IhI &law (New Ynrk, l~nO). S4!raudy, R., '"la ca~goties de pensee de Ratramne dam son enR;gnemtnt euchariotique,"' in C..-hit, II~ ~" 1n-8o. Bcrengar of Tours, BwttlglI,illJ h, prgaftWi.. "iJIIJ/a (I)1l/1'1O II.I..... IIU",. ed. J. de MQnldos, in r.-j"r1l1K 11 JUn.g.,.. pp. HI-38. -:c-~, B_gmllJ TlIr01InIJu M SMrIl C_ .."",mu LI.../NIItII", ed. W. H. Bcekenkamp, (KerkhislOIische Sludien behoorcnde bijhet Nedetlandschatchiefvoot Korkseschiednis, Deel 2, The Hague, 1941). - - - , Epis/ok..d Am"""., PL l~o.66: also ed. R.B.C. Huygens, "Le, Jeltres de ~ng<:t" de Tours" d'AKdin de Chartte:' in Tats MdllIIJrTipts. E.u",s prrlll'uJ Iq G. 1. Li"'i.~, YOl. " (Line,..., Taluaies, Amstffd1llTl, 1971), 18-19. Belkoul, e. T., and J. B. RUS5Cll , MtJi_1 Htmirs. A Bibingrlljthy 1960'979 (Pontifical In5l;lul. of Mediaeval Studies. Subsidi. Mediaenlia 11, Toronto, 15)81). Benchjn, W., &«ia '"" S"".. U/JtJI ,,"" wml! (Bcitrii8e lUl Geschichle lIod Qlldlenkunde des Mimlalcers, Bd. ". Berlin and New York, 197"). Bernard of AlIjj:.rs. LJbw Mh"MIII___ S._ FiJi], ed. A. BouillCl (CoIleclion de ttlItcS pour 5O'rvir ill·Mud. Cl l re!UC'ignemenr de i'hinoice. &.se . 21, Paris, '697). Bernard of Cl.inaux, S. IhnwrJi O/Hl"", ed. J. Lecleteq aM H. M. Roe"";,. g vols. (ROm<, 1917-1977); vol •. I-a also cd. e. H. Talbot. Bmwrd of C/airvrtIDC. SlIl4its P......uJ I. 0- j04~ udtrrlf (Cistercian Studies No. "3. WashiOjj:ron, D.e. , 1973)· IHmhtt.,d ..", Cf.tirvrtltl<. MM ,,"iU/ MJI/i/m-. I~unwtiDlflli., B", A"..M"'IJrfIJ. M.uirl:, '9'3 (VetI) , 2~5-8o· - - -" '"I.c criticbe di Abelardo ad Ans<elmo di Laon ed a Guslieimo di Champeaux:' Ril>itlll Jiji/oJ«JIf_ 36 (. 96.), "09-~4; rcpr. MiluJ.fl#rlid. StttJia, vol. 2 (Stllttgart, 19<'7), l2 7-4~· u, ,. m H ==' : ". SELECTED BIBLIOGIIAPHY Bishop, T.A.M .• S;ford, 1961). Blake, E. 0., .1"hc: formation Qf th~ 'Crusade Idea, · "j$., FtMJ,,1 StritIy, trans. L. A. M.n)'Oll, ~ yob. (London, 196'1- - -, "l.es rormes de La rup ,.,,,! ~h, S., "Giovanni Gual~"o e la yi ... romUl\( dd dero ndk piog .... fie di Andrea da St:rumi e di Ateo do Vallombros:&," L.t "ita """"lit tltl cl.... lit; JKOIi XI, Xli, WlI . " 228-35. ~h Gajaoo, S., "Soori. e tradizionc vall<>ffibrosan~ , " BLS 76 ( 19/4),9921 5. BoethiWl, A"iai Mtmlii SttJtri~i Bot,ii C...,.,,14rii i" Li/>rJl", ArillOluu nE!'1 EPMHNElAI, ed. C. Meiso:r, 3 \'011. (I..eiJni8, .8117-.880). - - -, Co..lMtltar;" i" PorpbynJlllt 11 " Ira"'''''""", PL 64.7 ,-, ~8. Bois.sard, E., "La doctrine des 1lll8" chez S. Bernard:' Sai"t B"'llltrr/thM._ t ltll ,114-}1· Boler, J. F., "Aha.ilard and the Problem of Uniwrsall," j _ 1 of IN 1/i/l"'7 of Phib»o>pby 1 (1963), 37-'1. Booge", Y., RKhfrrhn lilt" 11/ mm ""rqM" X, aM XIlI, liklt (Puis, 1949). Boniw of Sulti, BlllfiZQ.u fpiltopi S.tri~i Lit- ad A",Iot", post E.dit~ 1<1/. tu"""', t1l1"Im.. Z ,ituhrift 186 ('9,8), 497116. - - -, Dil (Schrinen der MGH 12, Stutlgan, 19'3). Boss;, G ., I Crl/mui. C..,tribt. al"" stllria dtl900 allos~ (Vatican City, 19 1,). Bouard, A. de, MAuu de tiipli",ratiqlll fta"fail' If fo"tifoalr. \'01. I, Diplo_ """iqw &.,,;,.,.1•. A .... n .16"", J. H pt.1Khts m phOlotypit (Pari., '929); \001. ~: L'MttprnY(Paris, 1948). "* Kat"",..., BoUMt, }. -P., Ram._ J. Cor6it. Hif/Qin littlrain" (D"trovml/ .vxtrilfalu (Par;$, 1976). • SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY Bouiller, A., and L. Servi~, S"i..u p#!, I'irtt 11. tT" (ROOu, '\lOO). Bouton, J. r. in Emts ntr fhimirr (Paris, 1969),4.-83. Brenner, R., "Agcvian OUS Scructure and Economic ~lopm!'nc in Pro:InciUllcrial Europe," Pmt ...J p _ 70 (1976), 3o-n. Btenlau. H., H""r1bb . . Uri....ftbn fIir DflmdJItJI/IJ iII~" 1",1u., "",I. 1 (Leipzis, 19U), vol. 2, aI50 ed. H. -W. Kiewitx (Berlin, '93'). Briw.ud, J., A Hil,., ofFmtdJ PriIw,. I...nu, t"'",. R. Howell (The Conlinental Legal History Series Published under the: auspices of d~ Associll!ion of American Law School" vol. 3, Boston, 1912). B~, P., DH fe,6 iJtirrha Wit. Ms MitlJ..ltm (Breslauer Studien xur hiltoriscben Theologie, lIC'UC Folge, Bd. 4, Bm"au, 1938). Brown, E.E.R., '"The Tynnny of a Concept: Fcu.dali.m and HillorilllU of Medieval Europe;' A __ic.t" Hislllriulf Rlllw 79 (1974), .063-88. Brun.daae, J. A., M"u..",1 c._ I...nu ,,/IJ tbI Cn'- " (Madison, Wisconsin, ,m)· Brunner, H., Dir E"tttJJillq h Srhu.*rgt> i lIJopbif41 QllllrnrI, 10 (1970), 276-90. Bynum, C. W., 'Jesus u Mo.her and Abbot u Mother; SorM 1"hemc:s in Twelfth..Ccnrurr Cis!Cf'cian Wriring;' H., ..,"rI Thttikgiul R.w 70 ('977), 2n-84: ~r. JUIII m M?Itbto-. SIIfdiIt ill thl Spirilllllli" 6{ thl High MjJdf, Apr (B :==' SELECTED 1I111L10GR.APHY c.._ Ww. fd . S. Ku,mer and J. J. Ry.n (Monument. Iuris Canonici. $cries C. Subsidi., vol. I. Va.iean City. '96~). 297'}'9· CalaS$O. f., U. "fulogie _"' .... nwfT .ugu.,inien...... R""",'-oiIu ~7 (19~7). 429-49. Campenh.usen. H . ffTiherr \'On, "' Die aske.iKhe H.im.dosigkeir im kirchli(hen und friihmim:I.I,erlichm M(inchlum,"' in Tr"dition "..J LU.~. Krii/tt ~ MM;,.".I .1._ '7 · .us Capelle. C. u .."" ilobI;u" .... orig;~., "M XlTl. sikt.. Et"J, j.ridi'{lIl (Bi blio.l>equc: d·hi ..oifT du droil el droit romain. tome: 2. P1.ri •• J9~9)· Capirani. 0 .• "Esiste un 'etl gregoriana"? Co-nsi.kruioni ."'Ie .endc:nu cli UlIIltoriograna mtdievis.ioo.: Riri{14 di lrqr;.." ktl....".,... nligitts.. , ( 196~). 4H-81. - - - . /1"'IIII1.;t) mm-i/, td I1«I"i!!l~i" iN ,IJ ''pngrtg0ri4ow'' • "g '~.';"IW." L '""..,w ..I'" "..,/a"'Azm" (Bibliote.:a degli "'SIudi mfdi .....li •.. \'01. 3. Spo1.10. ,#). • "4 k"':r.. di Goffitdo 1I Mmdlo tol"~ d'AngiO a lldebrando (IOW)." Shldi g,tgVl ;.",; ~ (19~6). 19-3 I . , "Per I. !tllri. : Adalbo!ron de Lwn." AM""lfS. ES.C., 33 (1978), 683-701. (,mll"'m '" I'di'll,." S";"I-Pb-I '" Cb.tttrfS. fd. B. Gutrard (Collection des dOCUJI>encs intd,rs sw I"hinoifT ,fIhi"",... SEl.BCTIW BIBLIOGRAPHY Ceocttti, G., "11 nooo.io rnedirv:alt italiano;' Alii JJJ.. S",;.u li, ,," di Jmilt p.rn., n.l. 4 (1!)6.j), vii-xxiii. Cmeau, M. de, L'kritIM M I'himirt (BibIiO(h!que des histoim, Paris, 19n). Chaurand, J., "La rolKtpCiQn de I"hi$toire de Guibett de Nogmt," CCM 8 (196), }81-9). Chem-y, C. R., 1'.",/ilh 8uho;s' Cb. .. id IJO()-I~'O (PubJicuion' of the &:uJry ~ Arts ~ the Unn.enity ~ Marrl.... tU, No. }, Manche. - --, "Recberchel histQriques 'U' qudqllCJ fire::. nupti.""," NRHD }6 (1912), 573-660· Chenu, M._D., t..1hM/"lH vol. 14, Paris, '9n). - - - , L'Mi/ tk J.. tvIIJrinur ""'" J.. rifIi/iwiq" 1riJi!v.k (Corutreoce A1bettIt-Grand 1968, Monrrbl and Puis, '969) . ChriJlian, W . A .. )1., P"..." " . . GM ill" Sp,tllisb V"II#! (Studies in Social Oismn!inuity, val. " New York and London , 1972). Cipn!!a, C., Lit.,., ,,"" o-J.,.WJtJ ill 1« W .., (Hatmondsworth, 1969). Criniani, M., "La COIIlZo.mia NCatistica ne!!. cuJrura det secoto IX," StlHii lMJiaw/i, }ro Series, 9 (1<J68), 167-23}C1anchy. M. T., F,.", Momo, to Writ,... R,..,-J. 11","'' ' , 1066-1)07 (London, 1979)· - - - " "Remunberins the Past and the Good Okilaw," HistDry ') (1970), ,66-72. CI&SS>e1l, P., "EschatologiKhe Idem unci Armut.bew..gunsen im 11. und 12. )ahrhunden," in Pwn-tJ , ri«bau ""'" spwit",,/i/il Mi utO/i Xl ,XlI (Con""gni del Cenuo di uudi wU • ."irirualid med~!e. vol. 8, Todi , 1969), 126-62. - - -" "Fottlebrn und Wanodol spilromisthen Urkundenweseru Un friihon Miltetaller," in RtciJ, Srbrift i", MituJ.flll', pp. 1}-~4. - - -,. "Kaiserreskript und Ktinipllrkunde. DiplomariKhe Studien ZUJn romioch-germaniochen Kontinuiduprobkrn 1_11," A"h;" flir Dip/_,ilt, "u Schri!tgNbiflm, Sirgtf-m W~ I (19n), 1-87; 2 (I9,6), I-J I). Oerval, A., lis koI.. tU ChnlrrI "" -,... Mp tU V, " " XVI, (M~moitM de la Socihf arcMologiqllC' d·Eure-et-Loi.e, come 11, ChantM, ,89). Coins. Hq ed., HII~oH.dJ "" MW LiIll'III11r dtr 1£1 ...$ Ui,opiutbt!l PrWtmrchul"'m«b". E,.",,. Bd.: MiZIu.tt,.. ( 1 10()-1JOO). DH GtI.oru. RIch" """ di. G.ulz.ge/Ht"l (Ved,l'k"dichuns des M.u:. PIanck-!ruliluIS fur CUfl)piische R.ochngo:sc:hichtc, Munich, I973). Colilh, M., Tb. Mirror of L,,'Il""Il'. A Sbuiy iij tlR MtJinwl TIMory of Ltijll""Il' 1Mc'. 2""'''' (ylle HiSll)ri(-a! PubJialions, Miscellany 88, New Hli.ven, 1968). Colman, R. V. , .. R....on.nd Unrcuon in Early Medieval u.~,"JINIT7l4Ii l$urdiJdpfi"'"J Hittllfy 4 (1974), nl-9I. '" of SELECTBD BIBLIOGRAPHY CoIumbo, A., ··H c.sUrTW:ntl) di Landol/O Seni\lre.'"· ArdJi~io "twiCIJ 1..IJw,do 57 ( 1930), "S-40. Consaf, Y., .. ·ArrilUla ~ ..... i!" Cemme ~ignation du n~<>-m.anicMi.me au XJle s~Je. Contribution 1 l"histoire d·u~ typificatioo de I·h&&ic au l1"IOyen 1ge," RSPT 43 (1959), 449-61. - - -, ·'t·rcclkioJogir de S. Ikrnard,·· in S..i"t Bmtard IIW/ogm" pp. ,}6- ---, ··w lates et I"rcclhiokogie des ·ordines· ehtt Ies chwlogiens .In Xle er XUe .ik-ln:' in I 14iri ",/14 ",rxittotJ 83- 11 7. Conrv (Cohn), M., Gt>thidJl. dw Q~If", nd Littr..bIr M. ";;"'i1(bm R«htJ ill /riihmtl MituJ.lttr, Bd. I (uip1ig, 13<)1). Consuble, G., Letl", ..... ul",-C~/«timu (fypol\lgic des lOun:es du In<.I)'<'n 1ge occidental, fasc. ' 7, TumhOUI , '976). - - - , ··Mooachi.me el ~leri"'"8e "u Moyrn At,t::. R,."" hiltllriqll< ~58 (1977), 3-~7. - _ _ " ··Opp<.!ficion '0 PilgriJnaS(' in d.., Middle Ages,'· 51""i" G,..,i4.... '9 (1976), Il' -46. - - -" Th. Let"" Dj P.ur,h. V.......bl., ~ ""b. (Harvvd Hi'l\1rical Studies 78, Cambric!se, MaQ., '967). - - -" 'T.....lfth-Oncury Spirituali!:)' and che Late Middle AgQ,'. in O. 8. Hardiaon, Jr., ed., Midi_I ..... R.....iswla 51""iu, DO. 5 (Chapel H ill, 197 1),27-60. Coolidge, R. T., "Adali>ero, Bi,hop of Lwoo,'· 511"'i<1 ;" MtJi_1 nd Rm..i,l4_ History 2 (19<>5), 3-114. Coriie, """"14 "1"1•. VoI"". dst xm. ftfIltNI;'" (Lille, 19<>3). Coltiaux, j., ·'La cOr>Cepcioo de la Ih~Jogie chez A~lard,·· RHE ~8 (1932), ~47-95, 133-51, and 788-828. Courtenay, W. j. , ··s.cramenc, Symbol, and Causality in Scrnatd of Clair_ nux,'· in BW1IIIIrJDjCI.;""'"", pp. III-U. - - - , ·The King and the lnJen Coin: The Economic Background of 'Sine qua non' Causalicy," T'''4i/i4 28 (1971), 18'-~09. Cowin, P., ,,;rH., J. FIatry-,III'-lAitY. jM!'fM', "" 1Nl,."." III fill '" X, (Paris, 19H). Couturier, c., "'Sacramentum' et ·my'torium· dan. 1'\IC\Iv", de sain. Au_ gU$tin, ,. in H . Rondct, M. I. uooail, A. Lauras, and C. Cc>u.urier, cds., Enui.s " "gllfl;"imlW (Theo!ogie, vu!. 28, Po.ril, 19'3), ,61-B2. Cc>wd"'Y' H. E.]., "An~1m of Besat<: and S<.!m<: Nonb_ltlJian Sc/>olars of the Eleventb Crntury, ,. j _ f Qj Errh!illJtit ,ikI. ==' u. _"', "" ""An:hbi5hop Aribm II of Milan,·· Hisl." " (1#), 1-15. , TIN C/niMJ ....J thl Gnr......." Rtf- (Ox/O /d, 1970). , '"The PapK)', lhe Palarenes IIlId the Chun:h of Milan," T,..lIJMIiOllS of tIN R?JI HisllJl"iul 5ociety, ,Ih Series, 18 (Loo = '" SHLBCTI:ID BIBLIOGRAPHY J-' Cowd~, H.E.)., "Unions and Confn.tcmiry with Cluny," of Ba/'tittuti<4 Hu~ ,6 (11)>)), 1)2--62. Ctscco, G., "Puaria: . . e In.m (tra verit~ e .utofid);' Ritlist.f Jell. SIHU 4Jt. rIIituI ill l:.lit>.:I8 (1974), n7-87. _ _ _ , "RifOnna ed elUla in moment; d.c:lla CulIUn.. europeo. In.. X e XI secoJo;' Rif,jJt.f Ji st"';' ,ktUNtmI rtligm.. 7 (11171), 411-77. CurtiUI, E. R.., B.'(/o" LiUNNnT'" tIM r....1i" MiJJh Ag", frans. W. R. TruIr. (Bollinsm Serin, vol. 36, Princewn, IIlB). , "R.hetorische Natunchilderuns" im Mittd<cr;' R_"iKbr F..... ....NilJOJi )6 (1\142), 219-)6. Da.iy, L. W., C",tribotli_ IG III Hut~ ~ Alp/vlldiu/iQJI ill AwqMity.nul tIM MUltlUAta (Collection iatornul, vol. <)0, Brussels, 19'67). Da.ly, L. W., and B. A. Daly, "Sollle Tl'Chniqun in MtdiatT&! win Lnicosrap/ly;' Sponu.. 39 (1964), 231-39. o..yid, M., "Le Rr_nt du ucre du IXe J.u XVe 5ikle. Contribution l I"kues in the Study of Pop\I.Iar Relision," in C. Trinnus and H. Oberman, cd •. , Tbr P.m.ir IIj H,/i ..... i. r...to MoJi,.,.f RaRIIi,~. P.."" tIN U.itJmity of MidJigllltl COIfj_ (St",ljH in Mcdieval.nd Reformation Tholl8ht, vol. 10, Leickn, 1974), 307-36. o..vil, R.H.C., TIM NW1NIIII.1III fbri. Myth (Londnn, 1976). d'Aks, A., "Lt mysti<::i.mo: de Jaint Ikrrwd," Rd.."J." tkt.m.a. ..JigitMs" 2, (1113), ,~-84. d'AIYmlY, M.-T., ."Lt COiIIOOS symboHque clu Xlle sikle;' AHOLMA 20 (111)4), 31-81. D6chanet, J.-M., "'La chri.roJ08ie de Jaint Ikrnard," B...h.m/"," Cl,.imtllX, pp. 6,-7). - -- , "1" christolosie de S. Ikrrwd," S.jllt B"-,,.,rJ tbl.logw., pp. 78-91. Delhayt", Ph., U prNl_ '" I.t (Mlr;-. _I. rbn S. BwurriIlINlii MIIS Ht _ _ " MIll Ht _,.., (AnaJecu. Mediaeval;' Nl.IIlom:ens;" 9, Namur, Louftin, and UHe, 'IIn). -;;;:;:~' "L'orsanilation scolairr ILU Xlle li~Ie," TnuJiti. , (1947), 211 -68. T)e!a"Utlle, E., L.. jIiIII i 4 ' I." _ hp igt, prU. Ph. WoIlf, inao. R. Mm!t:Ili and A. Vaucbtz (Turin, 19n). Dl'Ilomy, A. J., "}0YeII1; the Notion of Youth among the Troubo>dours, its Meanins and Soun;e," M,;i,."w/ StJU/ill" 11 (1949), 1-22. d'Haenms, A., ·'w invasions IIOIlIWldes d.ns I'empin franc au 1Xr 5iKle. Pour nor n!novar>oo dr la problfmariquc;' in 1 N .. " ,~~i, pp. 2H-98. .i_ ."J t- ,.. SELECTED II!BLIOGII.APHY Di,inge'. D., \vril;~t (Ancien, People and Pi",", vol. 2~ , London, ,<)62). Dondaine, A., 'Torigine de l"ho! .... ic mMih.. le. A propo5 d'un line recem," Rifris,.. rJi s',-;" Jell. wits. i~ rt..tu 6 ( '9,J), 47-78. I)o.uglas, D. c., \Vil/;". r« CtmqwrtH". rh. N . ....M h"Jota """" c"gt."J (Lon. don t.nd Be,keley, 1964). Dronh, P., F..bttu. ~fwllli."1 iM/.'h. Um 0/ My.h i. MuJi_1 P!.t,,,,,i,,,, (MitceU ...einische Srudien und TCJlt jr..iIf.Oiu i# R_ 10 (.890), 2l~_~O. Dumas, A., "La parole et I'kriture da.n$ In capitulai,..,s carolingiens:' MI·l..ng,,!J>IJis H"'pM, pp. l08-16. Dumhil, G., My.h." 1fx4>/I, , vols. (Bibliorl.eque de:! sciencn hunuin.-s, Paris, ' 968-73). Dumontier, M., S..i,,/ BMwrJ tI I,. HiM., imro. J.-M. l)t(:hanec (Bibl iolhtque de spiriruali.e mo!di~vale, Paris, '9B). Oupron', A., "De I' Accu!tumioo," XIl, C~.gro [",,,,,..,i.iI4l tits S,i""". His_ Imql/tl, Vi"''''' 19 "'~I-:} Stp'ltilffl 196,. R..ppqm 1: G.","", ,''''''''' (Vienna, 196,), 7-3 6. - - - , "la Jpirirualir~ des croists et "i".. :==:' '" U!LECTBD BIBLIOGRAPHY of E,iu.ge!la·s Trnulation of the AMp. of Muimus the Conkssor," M ... /;.-1 ShtJiG 42 h9t!o), HI-H. EadmeJ, F, , .. j Hill"';" Nno; •• ill A"I'u." Opi«../,J..u Vit.o S"lItIi A>uJ,.; "lflli61'J,J,m Mmmdis fjl/J, «I. M, llu1~ (Rerum Britanni<:arum M«Iii Acvi ScriJ'«l"S, voL 8., London, 1884). - - -, Till Ut,,!SI. A>utI", Arcbbisbtlp f/c..'I#"*'), N., intlQ., and tnons. R. W. Southern, ~r. (o.ford Medieval Tuu, 197~). flxl, W., "Obcr ckn kihegod.mken in der deuachen Rechtsgesch k hte," in T. Maye., M., SnuktI .... • imw/llr/""", r +>u_ ... (Vonti.ge unci Forsch""8"n, Bd. ~, Con.tance, 1960), 11-,6. EUenstcin, E., Till Pr;',,;., pl"fll tU ", Agml f/ C"".". C nit41;"iJj ,,~J CIIII..."I Tr"IU/or-li_ i, &my MMr- E",..,." 2 ¥ob. (Carobrid8<', 1979). EIcodc., W. D., Tbt R_.. LttzIlllgD (The Great Wle:uages, Londoo, 1960)· Endn:s, J. A., FondJIINg... VIr GmhidJ" _ /rli"-iluwlurlifbnl I'hilllSfl/Jh;, (Beitrige IUf Gechicb~ der Philosophif: des Mit~lalten, Bd. '7, Heft Muns'eJ, 19"). l!/iltoJ.. A. Coo Spif1tuil "J H"ibtm", e.,u",iIIII,. "lThilpism;1I1II ...nwrlll pr.uP"f."'dJ /J«t.I- .-""".--" in MaI'i:~ne and Ourand, V"".... Strip/(IrWJ M",,~_..-- . . . A..,twi_ eoJ!ltti•• vol I (Paris, 1724). cols. 3H-59. l!/iJloW T,,,jlttmiJ BmaiM "" FriMrifll. l!I~. C~,. ,le T"dJ_ AASSJune, I, 832-H. frdmann . c., "Gn:gor VII. und Bclt"lIar ¥On Tou"," Qlllil", .",J Fon+""g'" JIIIJ ilJllini.rdN. A..-h...... .",J BiWitJI}"h. 28 (1937-38),48-74. - - , ThI Orig;. t{ thf I . o/e,n*. ti'lilS. M. W. Baldwin and W. Goff&rt (PrillC<'ton, '977) • .Esmcin. A., e""" 4' Vii""in .ill f t l /N"{"u J r""'g' .. lnulkmts """,Un " ..... '3th ed. (PUil, 1920). Evans, A. P., "~ial Aspects of M«Iieval Heresy," in PrrJlnlt;"'.."J U~. Ewry, i. H ..... o/G."" Li..ub. B,.,.. (N"" York, 1931), 93-116. Evans, G. R .• AiJjJ. " " " N,.., r;,-,u,-., (Oxford, 1980). - - -, A11itI. "SJ Tttfl!i.g "MI GM (o.furd, 1978). Eyndc, D . van den, lA D!#Niti..., tkr S.....",,.u prdlNI '" JirrtIIitrt piri..u J. thIoIogil wHtUtiq.. (lO,0-1240) (Rome and Louvain. 1950). Farkasb.lvy, D., L 'i~Ili~li'" .u"Emllll'f ui"II Jmu '" IhItJogil.u ",jilt B"..,J (Studia Anwlmiana, INc. B, Ro.;m, 191>4). Fasoli, G., "Gouv<:rnanfl ~ gOLlvernm da.ns In communn italicnnn du XIc all XrIIe si~clc:' in G~ 11 ,-1IJ, 4C part;e, pp. 47 -86. Fcch~r, J., Cl.." AJJ VoIl!. StIlJi", iHr _ V...b.ilmi, fin Ku"ttn %1/ Jnr. Stii..u. (910+11 ,6) (Stuttgart, 1961). &:dele, P .• "llid,crche per la storia di Roma e del papato nd secolo X," A..-hivio dcJt.. R..l,S,,'-"" R,-· .... tJi Slur;" p"tf'ilS n (1910), 177-247; 34 (1911), n - II), 393-4 23. Fcrguson, W. K ., TIM R"",i""IiCI ill HiJturial Tbortghl (Cambridge, MilD., 1948). 2-" ...usa_. .u w 11"" ,.6 SELECTED BIB L IOGRAPHY ~rmi, LA., "Gli Annali di Dazio ~ i Patuini," ArriJivio storico ''''''''''r'''' '9 ('1192), ,09-48 . - - - , "I fOntt di Lando!m Seniore," BIS '4 ('89,), 7 ' 70. ut. FrrtgU. 60. Gemmwg Cl,..,.. B_m gm"""t ..,~ s,iIfn SdJiil..... ""d F ___ , 2 vols. (B~itrii&~ rur Gnchich~ dt, Philcuophi~ de. Mi,t~l.lrtrs, Supplemtmbd. I, Miiruter, 1913). Frrmltrijt ZJt1If 8oo:J.bnspiikhnis Ms ToMs B.",h.trds 11011 Cl.tirww< (~m,_ reich;K~ Be;t~ ru, Ges<;hicht~ des Ci5tm:ienstrordtns, Vi~nna and Munich, ' 9B). Ficht~nau, H., .. 'Carta' tt ·Notili.· t n Bavi~..., du Vlll~ au Xe sikle," Lt Agt 69 (19li}I, )0,-20. - - - , "Zum Rdiquienwes..n im {rU ......,n Mind_It"," MIQG 60 ( 19,2), M.,,,, 60-... FinUClne, R. c., Mirm/es ,,,yJ Pilgri"". P¥III"r Btiitft i~ Mlditwll ENg/sIId (London, 1977). - - -, "The Use lI1d Abuse of Mediev;o[ Mil"2Cles," Hill"", 60 (19n), 1- '0. Finnegll1, R., 0.-,,1 Lil".,,11ffl iN Iljriu (OxfOrd Library of Afr iclI1 Litemu..." Oxford, 1970). FiKher, J., Du E,u"lJllJiJhim Am,/1IJJ _ Cmt"""" IIlIKh JtJI Q"tiftIJ urgutrfll (Beiu·. g. rur GcKhichte det Philosophie d", Minela!!trs, Bd. 10, Heft 3, Munster, '911). Fla.ch, J., "Le droit romain dan. le, CMrt" du IXe a" XI. ,itele," MilliNg«> Fitti",. LXXV. "11";..m,,in M. "Pro/tslUlr HmIW"" Filli"g, vul . 1 (Monl ' pellie., 1902), 38}-42 L Flasch, K., "[).,r philooophiK~ AIUIIU des Aruelm vOn Cante.bury im Monologion und sein V... hiltnis rum Augl1$dniKhen NeupJaroni,mUI," A .. flCttl A_f.;."" 2 (Ino), r-43 · - - -" "Zum &"iff Ikr Wahrhei, bc-i Anselm vun Canr.rbury," PhilllflJpbiKbes)"brl!"ro 72 ( 196,), 32.2-,2 . F1ic~, A., L.. .if- pigll';"",,, 3 vob. (SpiciJtgium Sacrum Lovaniense. Erucks et documents, fa.sc. 6, 9, and ,6, Paris, '924, '9~', and '937). FoIgbm., ).-D., "La _ile ~nie pill" saint AnscJme," R_ U-Uu 8 (1900), 4' ~-26. Folkern, M., "Boe/bills" G_i.lI. Ri" """imtwtiKbes UhrHKb Ms Nilldsl"" (Boethius. Tute "lid AbilandlWlgtn zur Guchkh.. dcr exo..kten Wissenschaften, Bd. 9 Wi",baden, 1970). Fob, R., u S_ir <1 Lt Ug•.Je tU Cba"......,'" MIIJ I'Empin gtNIWlfiql " 80). )47 SELECTED BIBLIOG-,,""J{Y Fournier, P., and G. le BfU, Histom Ms whaitnu _iq_'" o«iMt "'Pllis 1f;J jUJlfS hI. PsI{II'"" DInrt GNU., 2 vols. (Bibliod~ue d·ltiuoire du droit publi& IOUJ Ies u.spka de la Sod~ d'hisroirc du droir, Puis, 193 1' 1932). Pouicr, R., "Lts JI>OUvementl papuJ.oi!"ell m accidenc IW Xle likle:' COJIItIU 'E 4, " fA(,&,;,,., lJU Is, .u .,. France:, J., ''lbe Divine Quacernity of Rodulfus Glaber," SIIItU4 MU//IIJtK ". "o.s Fuhrmann, H., friihmicccWrerlidw: P.pmum uod die konstantinioclte SchmkuRJI. Meditat~n ~r cln una""sdUhrtcs The ....," I proM,.i Jdr~am soo V11I, pp. 2H'92. RefOlmpapmurn \U1d die Rcclttswissen..:haft," in J. Flr:ckensm.n, ed., l_tit_Iml nJ Rtid>wrifIJSdg, pp. 17,,20,. - - -" ''Die FilichulI8cn im Mi~Wtti', Ubc.ksunsm mm micrelal"'rikbm Wahrhci~.ilf," His~ zalJdmft 197 (1903), ,29-H. .. "" , "o.s - - - " E~ ."J V,m,ilJnlg "" ,...,d·isitItwUeJa Fiiu'bllp". V... ibr. A-ft-cim Hs nr ,u, 77"". Zn, (Schriften de. MGH, Bd. ~4, Srurtgwt, 1972, '973, and '974), Funke, B. , ,u"g.. 1IIUi Vor.... tkrS.ti,j.ft,iMs,h«wH tIu hl. AlIut. c....~ N'" I, Tnt, diM. (MUnster, 1903). 1'" _ uwr..,... G,. .11_, G&iffier, B. de, "HaSioSlaphit- ~I hiltoriOSraphic," in r... "",""t,".[w Jia.t., pp, 139-66. - - ___ " "Inracu.nl spon.sam ~Jinqm"". A p 66. - - - , "Mentali~ de l'hagiognophe !nMitva! d'apres qmlq ..... rno,.,,,,,, ~, cents," A...ma.. 86 (1968), 391'99. - - - , "pt,lerinasc Cl cui", des .inll: cM_ d'un (o",m," in PIIUgri ....ggi B.u....u-. ,., ~1!t.ECTED IIIIlLlOGRAPHY • "./1. tin ",nli, pp. "-H; "'pr. EIIIM. criliqlltJ .rbagiographi. tI d'iu""/ogit (Brwsels, 1967), 31-49. Galbn.ith, V. H ., ·· Rdeigh LttIU~ on Hi.tory. The Literacy of the Medieval Ensli.h King.," Pmcp 'hgl of IN Briluh Acadmty, ~Ih Serie., 2 I ( 193 ~), 10'_)S. Gan.hof, f. L., ··Charlemagne: el J"usaSe de: 1"«lil en mati~~ ldministr..· tiv.::· u M")'t'I Age H (J9SI), 1-2S - - -, Fm""/iJ.. , 'l"an •. P. G.ie'lOfI, .... ith a fo..., .... ord by Si. F. M. Stemon (London, 1 9~2) (- Q".",'-a q.. la jioJalitl, 2nd od., B"...d. and Ne\lchilel. '941, with co.=tion. and .dditions). - -- , F,...n~ilh 1",'illllilmS "11,," Charlmwg"' • .....n •. B. and M Lyon (N~ York, 1970). ··u pleuve da". le droil franc,·· in lA prtJI"f, 2, /'>"TI;', pp. 7 I -98. , ""w reLation.'l ~WSAliques?lUX temps ('OS1-Carolifl8iens:· I prohItMi """"lIi dtll'E~ posl-u..willgia (Senimane di .Iudio del Cwuo ilaliano di sludi sull"alto medioevo, vol. 2, Spolelo, I9~5), 67-' 14. - - -" ""L·o /iS;'" des ....ppOrt. f canoniq ues:· La prtlll't. 2, p.trtit, pp. 99- 1.\ 5. Gei7j Mr Vr;ne~fi. (FWKhungen ZU' ch,iJtlicbc:n Li.etalur-uOO Dogmeng<'lChichce, Bd. l ~, Paderborn, 1926). - - -, ··Oie S~Hung deJ Guiben von Nogen' (fI'l4) in de< E....::haristielch~ de. friihschol"" ik:· TbtoIogiuhe Q.-lAlsdtrift 110 (19 29 ). 67 -8 4, ==' : 179-30~. _ _ C, '· Ein nCue>ntdeckll:$ W erk von Tours Uhtr da. Ahtndmahl ?'· TJx». /ogiuhtQltarlalubrift 1,8 ('937) , '-3', '33-72. Gennep, A. nn, The Ril.. ofPaJ~g., (nn •. M. B. Vizedom and G. L. Cafkc (Chicago, 1')60). Gcrstenberg, 0 ., ·'Scudien zur Geschichle des romischcn Add. im Au.gange des 10. Jahrhunderts:· Hillm.m. Vitrtdj - --, ··Di. ,,, SELECTED IIIBLIOGRAPHY ~r, B., ·'Die Sttllung AbaeJards in der Uninnaltenfrage nacb neuen bandschriftlieben TeJ<,en," F01"d6 Cl....., B4~, vol. I, pp. lO~-~7. Ghdlinck, J. de, ~Dialeuique et dogme am: Xc-.XIle .i«Je. Quelq.... noces," Ftt'K"f" CltI1JGJ lkM.-, voJ. I, pp. 79-99. - --'-" '"Iuventus, gl1lviw, sc:nectus," S,uJiA MtdiMvafill R.J. M.rti~, pp. 39""'9· - - - , '"Latin chritkn ou Jangut' latine des rnritiens," l.M fttuils tLwjq/Ut 8 (1939), 449-78. - - -, ed., Po .... {,hittom "" _ "$'"'"........,.."''' I. Lt. ""'blitinu (Spi GilUburg, C., 11 for-ui • • i """.;. It f&1_ Ji MN -r"";' "" ,,00, 3rd ed. (Turin, 1976). Giry, A., '"-"" d. .tip/•.,I/iq.... Dipu-." m.m01, Chi6lo/og" ,..m.iq... , ll/imnllt mtiipMS" /Wrria mmitllliK$ tU '" _ Ms cMI01, Us <""IKdhri01, le -;r;..a, 2nd ed. (Paril, I9~'). Gbaener, H., '·Godefroid de Bouillon. Etait_il 'un .m.!ioo;n:'?" RHE 39 (1943), 310-41. Gliozzo, G., Lt diittriNt ""'" tMJOmw. tlKAriltit. i" PIIK4t~ RIIJJm1•• RII~, _uci Ji C,nW (Pubbli ...... ioni ckJl'{gnatianum, MC"SiSina, Seri~ trologica I, P.I~rmo, '94~). G&smann, E., A"li(1l; - ' MMemi m. Milk""'..-. En.. gttrbidillm" $$4""omkstm._: (Verllfl'"endichen &s Grabmann_lnstirut.. zur Erl"orsct1\1ng P,,,,,,, Golclman, E., ··Cartam Iev-att;. MIIiG " (1914), 1-'9 . Gombocz, W. L, ··II.!::aeJards BecleutulI8slehre lis Schliissc:l zum Uni..,..Iienprobl~m;· in PfIrMJ AINulMJIIJ, pp. 1)3-6.j. '" SELECTFD IIrllr. I OGltIl.PHV J., "Litl'ncy and .he Non.Littl'll'~," TiM .. Lit ...",., SIIppfmwrl (11 Ma~ 1972), 539-40. nI., Littrlll"J i~ 1"r..ait~1 Sotitti.. (Cambridgc, 1968). , The DoIMfUfilltiolf 4 the S"""l' MittJ (Cambt;dg~, [977 ). Goody, J., and I. Watt, "Tht Conscquenc.., ofLitnacy," C-p«'''li", 5",111 .. iN SIIr. Lil......., i. y ....Jili"""l SlKittks, pp. 27-68. Gosscn, C.-Th., "Graphtme« phonem~: le problernc ~n[ .... l d~ J"kuck Goody, -===' ,6 - - -, F.... lfwum.. Sb"iptHii .... U~tmll,h,,~gm:ut Jt" -a{r.. ~:iisuthm Urb...-lnnpnuhm Jt, Millu..lrm (~rcl",ichiKhe Akadc:mi e dCI WiSSCfl..:haften, phi!._hi... Kt., Sil~uI\S5belicb.~, ~B . Bd. , Vienna, ,'}67). Gougaud, 1., "Mu•• Prw;lica.io," Rbcn 42 (1930). 168-7" GsllWf1lls It XO''''tr'''I1JU, dux. . p.rtit: A~tilf"itl rt hot"t "'>yft tig.; If''''I,..;;,,., p.rtu: B.., ",.,... agt d Imt/J' ",od; _ ( If) (Rc u '#), 27-6~, - - -, A,,;... Mlmdi. I....t filmofoo Ji GIIgfufl1l(J Jj C.1JIhtJ t t..l G['0$5i, P., "Problemarin luullu .... le dei com ....tti ag .... ri neUa esperimu giuridica delral.o mn:Iiocvo italia....," in Al'icrJll1ra t _do ntralt, pp. 487+~ 29, ))' Sl!L.6r.Tl!O BllnlOGRAPHY Gross"", G., Vi'.. Be..ti &r....rJi F.w.I.ns CMglii,lftimis" Tm,.;o i" C ../li.., pt 17'.13 63- 144 6 . Grund, K., DN AJIIIdw......l'" ... RMhI/f111 CJ.w i. In_ His/wU., din. (G~ifs..-.ld, '910). Grundmann, Hq ··Ar. A~hllI Astj~m, vol. 1, 124-49. - - -, AlIl,lWIihlu Aqwm, 3 YOl •. (Schrinm dCl MGH, Bd. 2" 1-3, StuttSAn, '976, '977, '978). - .,--, BiWitJtl"'phit U ' K#ur,IJrbid;u • MiluWun ( '900-1 966 J (Edirioni di nori. e leueratun.. Sussidi eNdi,i, vol. 20, Rome, ,9'67): rq>r. in HlrtJils 11 JfXiItIs, pp. 407-67 . - - - , "H&-&ies savantes et ~ies populaim lU moyen 'Be;' in Hlrlsies lIJ«iIIIs, pp. 209-'4. - -- , ··Lim'ratuJ-ilIitrcrar.... Der Wandd ei~l 8iJ.dunpnoml V'Om A1tmum zurn Mittdaltcr, " Arm;" ( .... K...II~itIHl 40 (1958), ,-6); ..pr. in AlJ1pwiiMt. AstjsiitK, vol. "pp. ,-66. - - - , "Ncuc Beitrige zur Geschiduc de. rcliSi&$cn 8ewcsu"8en im Mitrclaltcl," Am,;" {Iir K../~ 37 (19,,), '29-82: ~. in AlIl'~ ''''/siim, vol. J, pp. ,8-92. , Ruigi/iJ, Mil"",II".. U.tmlKhallgt1/ /iw Jie,esrbithtli<MI. z.,.,a_nIW"t' ~~ . . K.mwri, .... 8«,....... . , rriitiis", Fr.. _ ~..., ;. 12. """ '3. ]..hih ....""' ..mJ _ flit ,esrIJidNli4ftt GnattIk".. • o.tsdJm !.Iys/a (Hi5tori~ Studien, Heft 267, Berlin 193'; 2nd N., Darnur.dt, '970). Guen6e, B., "H;'tui~, annaJes, chroniques. E,sal lilt Jes 8cnres hilforiques .... Moycn .\se," A......Jes, E.S.C. , 28 ('9B), 997-10 .6. 6,. BtugtI.,,,, ;. - - - , Hisloire 11 (111,_ hisHri'l'" tJ.uu l'Oait/tlu ~/ (P .... , .1}81). Guibo:rt of N"8cnr, V•. GllilNni AM..li. i" lilma '1""1",,,. Dt Pig_ibru s,,1K"'WM, PI. .,6.607-80. , Histm. M 14 vir (1 0,) - •• 24 ), ed. G. Buursin (Collection de Inles pour smrir l I'hude et l J"cmeignemem de rhiJ,oi~, fasc. 40 , Pari" 1907). Guitmund. of AVl:I"SI., GIlir-nufj A'fbi"iJPlti AIIf/1...u Ch CIftl if 11 S".,lIiNif Chrisli ¥Iri/4h i. ~I;' li~ ms, Pt '49"4~7-94. Gurrn~, A., "Rcpdscnrations et arrilll """.u. ", SEL.ECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY - - - , "Alan o( Lille, '~ PJ.""u Na.ura..: .. SIJ"'i _ i .... /i, 3,d ~ril!'S, 19 (ln8), 797 -879. - - -, "Cbn.r/w, Sigu", und SiX""",f"",. Die Enlwicklung bi, nach der k2rolingillCben llenai~," Srh.J.llli~ 30 ('9, ~), 48, _~'2. - --" "Die Vieaehn Capitula He~um Pet.; Ab.>eludi,'· Chu"x. CmlSIIft.trii Cimrritlu.. 3' (.<)80), 3)-)2. - - -" "A Study in ,be Sacramentology of Alg" ofL;~~, " Mtdi_ISII,d_ irs 20 h9,8), 41-78. ---" "n.. Creation and CreatQr of tbe World Kcordi ng tQ Th ierry of Chanrts and ClarenbaldLLl of Arrti, " AHDLMA 22 (19:16),1;8-216. H.l.u.o$ling, A. A., M ....b._ _1 ."d EMrharnl¥;". Ei". 51"di. iihrr.u, Muu;.. dtr .t-aliilliisJ,m /(jlfJt...lil"rgie fit< friilwt Mitrll4ltm od ZOlr GOl(huht. Jtr Mmhilljigltfit (LiturgirA'iueruchafdicbc Qudlen und I'on<:hungtn, Hrft ,8, Miinster, 1913). Hafs,l!m, G., "Di~ politiS(hen lruti,utionen dl!'S .kandinaviscbcn Wikinger und deren Probieme," in AgricoJl..... , _'"'" '''raf., pp. n~. HIgenmeyer, H . , & ",ai 11 f, ja"x , .... Pi...... {'E,.",it•. Aowf,it "il;qllt dOl l'-i,ow8" hiJl...iqlltS .."'rift" u ,wcm""'ge l!l<'r), S vob. (Leipzig, .887- [9 20). HI""]odt, E., Prifaa I~ Plat. (Cam bt;d8e , MISS., '96;). Haultine, H. D. , "Commenll on the Writing> Known .. Anglo-Suon W;IIJ," in D. Whitdock, <:d., A"ll0-5,""" Wills (Cambridge , '930 ), "ii.~1. Hdgaud de Fl. ury, Vie tit R,,[,m f. PiUiX. EI'il_ Vi/oU R"is RHhmi Pii, <:d. R._ H. Baurier and G_ Ubory (Sou",,, d'l>isroiO' mtd;ev.le publiee par J'JfU';'U' de R«hetche e. d'H'Jtoi.. des Te~ ... , Paris, ,9I>S ). '" SELECTED 81!1LIOGIlAPHY Hend.ickson, G. L., "Aru:itnt Rn P_,,,,, ,8~-<)6. Henry, D. P., TIN '0, G,..m,wito' 4 SI. A.",II• • TIN TIwry 0/ (Publications in Med i~l Studies. The Uniwnit)' of Nom: ~, vol . 17, Not"' Dune, ,964). TIw UgK ef SI. A",J... (Oxford, ,<)67). , " Why 'Grvnmaticus'?" Ard:on- urillit4tiJ MJii A"'; 28 ( 1918), 16,-80. Hhh;" fI todltis /.futrrJp pn.iNlm",;tlk , & twIG. C_~ic.o,i == ' = ""Ill '1-' n.e C_/t,,,,,. ". He.bc:rt, R.-J., "So..int ~rnard et i'nldwistie," Mn.."grs sa;"1 BmwrJ, pp. 1,6-86. H .... rtevent, R ., D,....""d"" T_ .... et {" origi_ "" /'hbh;, bimtg"''''''' (Etudes de lMologie hisrOlique, vol. " Puis, 1912). Hcusler, A ., Iml;'ltri_ • DllttHhttr PriJwtrfdm, ~ \>Oh. (SYSf<'lllarisrnes Handbuch del Oeu<$Chen R«htlWissenschah, Zwdf<' Abthdluns, 2weitcl Theil, 1-2. Bd., Leipzig, 188,-1886). Hi", W. , Du Am/. flog;, BmII:t....JJ _ Cl.timulx (Quellen \I.nd Studicn ~ur G'On 10'9. Eine Albeit 1um friihscholaStillChen Eucharislienaku.I," SdJak It"" - -c' It"" '" SELECTED B!BlIOGRAPHY ,,",,,,,. F",w,ngm zm p«i/ilm", Gcuhirhl.....J Gti!llSftMJIJt1" Ms Mill""!I,,,. P"M! Kthr ~."" 6~. GdI""14g (Munich, 1926), 287-316. Holbllck, F., Der uu;Mm/ism. M..J . . "'Ys1iKht IJih Cbrill; ill ihrm Bnith""gm uui......u...ch .. Uhn.in Friihl(""&'li~ (Rome, 1940. HoId'WQrth, C. j., "Christi .... of Markyare;' in D. Baker, ed ., M..Jitw1 w_ (Studies in Chun:h Hi1tory, Suh!.idia I, (hford, 1978), 18~+204. Hollister, C. W ., and J. W . Bald",in, "The Ri~ of Adminism.tive Kingmip: Henry I lOO Phillp Augustu'," A...mc..If HisrlWical Rtvitw 8} (1978), 86 7-90). Hopkins, J., A C-pa"iINlID tht SIM4y of SI. A""/,,, (Minneapolil, '912). - - - , "Anselm', o.,bate with Gaunilu;' 1i. ...!1ItI4 /I."'''",;" .... 5 (1976), 2)-,:3 . "u vie commune de dercs <"t I"lKMologie. " in r... vila ~ MId". "01. 1 . pp. 90-1 11. Hucbner, R., /I. Hisur, of G".".."ir pm..t. LIw. lrans . F. 5. Phi lbrick (The Cont inental Lcs-l, Ser;n Puhlished under ,he a ... piccI of the lI.$$OCiuion of Americ.n uw Schools, vol. 4, Boston, 1918). HUSh of ungrcs, H"prlis T~IKI"'IIJ O, "1.1: ercsie popuJari de! ...colo XI ocU'Europa o<:cidentlle," SI.m grrpV~i 2 (1947), 43-89. 11 "",n;_nio ".}/., ,OridJ ..1""""';....It, 2 vols. (Senimant di studio del Centm iuliann di studi ,ull'alto medio.vo. vol. 24, SpoJ..m. [977). ILImer. D., P"' ...... Jtr e.n;.h."g rmJ W;,mu.-;lrf."K i", /riihnl Mil"t..fttr. QmlIIIU,,,Jim ur Fr..,. titr KOIf/;""iliil Ms "bt1IJli/.Ji,rht" Erzith.ngll/JCjm (MUnchcner BeitriB<' zur Medilivistik ut>rschu,,&, vnl. 7, Munich, 1971). - - - ,. "Zum P,..,blcm der Ernazipationsgewohnhcittn im merowingi!o(hcn Frankcnrcich," in L',.,!"III. 2t ~"'i., pp. "7-68. innis, H. 11.., Empi"' ....J C...",,,.ic,,,i_ , revised by M. Q. inn;., foreword by M . McLuhan (Toronto, 1972). - - -, ThI Bim C_,,~ic..si... (Toronto. 1951 ~ rep/. 1904). Hubere, J., _Ir" or '" SELECTED 8IBLIOGRAl'}{Y 1 N_""j, J.lon 11j1,,,ui_ j" E.Jm,p. ",/fJ" -'illfllll (Scttimano: di studio del Centro ittliano di studi luWalro medioevo, vol. 16, Spoll'tO, (969). '_tiumtr'lir IIIItI RtithJwr[iUJlI"I, eel, J. FlechnMCin (Vortri8e unci ForKhun.gen, Bd. 17, Sigmaringm, 1973). il"Mnf,; MJ/'~, '"' IQ/~ VllI (5ettimaM di studio del c"nrro irali.no di studi lull'tlro mediono, yol. '10, Spolero, 1973). irinh, E. yon, "La srfUcru.n: de rime selon S. Bemard," in s.n.t &nwrJ _c l I M"t_, pp. '10Z- 08 . ' JlICObi, E., "De. Pl"OUSf itn I:/«.(tum Gruiani und bd dui i1ttScen Dekn:cist~n," ZRG KA 3 (J9'3), z23-3-43. Jacobi, K., "DiSCl.US;oncn iiber Prildintionst~rie In den Iog-iochen Schriften des Petrus Ab.iJardw," in p...., AJ"I, pp. 16'-79. J&tt{uin, A. M., .. ~ Do C",,"'., S.aglliIH DMi"i de Pasa... Radben," RSP! 8 (1914), 81 +'03. - -- " ''11::1 'rationes n.ecessariae' de saint An ...Jrne," Mo..lIfIJ MtIIIIlioIIlId, yoL 2, pp. 67+78. Janauscbek, L, Bibliogt-.pbu. &rn.m/i"", f"" S.-ri &'4J"Ji pr;.; AM6tit Cltmnodktuis ~,,_ ~ _inI t_ s;"gll'- Edit;" M V..,.;" VittIJ It T..-11IJ • • Smpw fll<Jl4llOlllJfllf..J Fi_ #lIIJi MDCCCXC ",..,in fi't'lllit (Xeni. Bemardin:o., poo.n qlWU, Vienna, 1891). JJISOII, H., "A Multidimensional Approach to ()ral LireOllun:," C/lf'ITIII A". th'J/J'D 10 (1969), 413+z6. Jm.rneau, E., " 'N""i g-iganrum humeris insidulleS. · £Ssai d',nrerpdtarioo de ikmard de Chartml," VitMri_ ~ ( ,967), 79-<)9; rq><. /..«rifJ Phil..", ;1:: ••. Rd... .!a: s.,- f&.U. CJ...,bfi (Amstetdarn, (973), "-73. Jen!.:inson, H . • Palr'ft'.;6y -.J It.. J'rwtiul St"'" of CIJIII'I H#"" (Cambri ,..us, 191~). John of I'kamp. MImU C./m;' FiJIIi (wronSJy mributtd), Pt , 0 1. 10 27- "'. John of Salisbury, Huloritf P""ifiu!is, craru. M. Chibnall (Nebon's Mo:d.ieval Texts, Tondo '96,)· Jousse, M., li.huk .1JPs!8gi<: fiwgllutiopre. U sIJI. ONI rhythtttiqw It .. ~m.. '" !'Iiqwda lis Vd: ; , '9")· ,,6 SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY w., .... KanlQI'QWiCZ, H ., irh the ",H.bor..,ion of W. W. S",k!at>d, SlfldUt i~ the GflJl.Wlm of the R__ 14W. Ntwly ailCiltJtrtJ Writi"gs of Ih. r""Ift" C"'I".,.(Cambridgc, '938); ttpr cd., P. W~imar(.Aalen, ,\>69). Ka$er, M. , DAI ,.;;murh. i>Y;...tndJl, %u~ilt,. A"dmill: Di. II._ lei..esens im XI. Jahrhunden:· MiOG VI. ErgiinzungJbd . ( 1901), 70 112 . !(eller, H . , ··Paw-i. und Sradtvemu$ung, Sradtg~meinde und Reform: Mai_ land im ·[nveuirurnrei.: ,. in /~IIfSJit~n"";, IIIIa R.i(lm..q.wllllg, pp. 321- ,0 Kenny, J. F., Th. S...rw for Ih. &srly Hi,t.., of Irr1.tml. A" IMmsdlKli•• ""d G"i'" (RecotW of Civilization, SouKrs and Studies, nO. " , New York, 19 l 9)· Kirzill8er, E., &srly MtJi_1 Art ill IM Bri/ish Mm",,,, (l.Qndon, 1940). Kleioclausz, A., " La l~gende du pl"QfeclQCat de Charlemagne: su. I. lerr" sainle:· SJri" 7 ('926), 20 - 3}. Kleine:idam , E., '·Wil5efl, Wi~lUChaft. Thcologie ~i Bernhard von Cl';rvaux:· in B"."t..rd""" C"'intutJ<, pp. 08-67. Klewitz, H ._W ., ··Caned"'ri•. fin Seitrag ~ur Gcseh.;chte des geisd ichen Hofdien.l es:," fuJ/m.. Arrhi" for Gtt ,,,,a 19fj2). K1Ihl~r, E., · '~ns et foncli<Jn du terme ·jrunu,.· dans la pokie des troubadours:· Mllttllgts R. C...w, voJ. " pp. )69-83. Kohlenberger, H. K., S;",;lit""" ,,~a Rat;" . Ubnlqlmg... Zllf' M.Jhodt hi AI<$"• .... C11lItMnt'7 (Bonn, 1972). - - - , ··Zur Metaphy.ik des Viluellen bei Ansdm 'rof\ Canterbury:· A ...IImt Amel".;""" I (1<)69), 11- 37. Konrsd, R., himmliKhe und cia.! ir ··nas m SE1.ECTEO BIB1.IOGRAPHY ;", SPi"eI _ Gt:1rhidJlJJdmi~ IIU Gt:1rhidJts,w,r""t (F"'iburg .nod Mu_ nich, 19<>5), 52"-40. KoI, M., "Cam. line litteri...• MIOG 62 (I9H). 97-100. Kunkd , W., A.~ 1"lroJ"e~" I. R_ &,..l • ..J C_tihln-l Hul"", lfUU. }. M. Kelly (Orloni, 1966). Kutmer, S .• "The Revival uf Ju.ilprudena, " in R. L. BenlOO u .l., NI., R... R,m" ..1 nrl}" TUll/ftb C",,.,,, pp. 299-323. laffioven, J. nn, .. 'Christianitu' el rHorme g~gorienne." ShIIIi grrg ...wNi irs..,...'" 6 h9~?-6I). '-98. 'u hbomde, E.-R., .. 'Ad !imi .... · Le pelerin m&lienl tetme de SI. dernm:be," in Ml4tlltt:1 R. Cnw, \001. t, pp. 283-91. - - _ , "'Recherche! sur I.. ~Ierin. dans I"Europc des XJe et Xlle si~l', 1936), , "Two Gregorion Letters on the Soun:es and Nature ofGresory VII's Refrum Ideology," StlUli 1l''IJ",wNi, (19,6), 221-42. wltner, M.L.W., Thught."J Latm i. War_ EImpI A..D. ,00 r. 900 (London, 19)7). Lambert, M., MM;""" Htray. p.".t.r M.. mlS fi- &pm' r. HIU (London and Ne.. York, 1977). landBraf, A., "o..s Sacramentum in Vow in der Friihscholastik," Mn....gt:1 MA"Jo"IItI, vol. 2, pp. 97-'43. - - - " '7...... Methode der bib!ischen Tntkritik im u. Jahrhundert,'· 8iIN"" 10 (1929). 445-74. Landulf Senior, w...1fi HUIqr;. lrf.,pip1lf_ir, eel. L. C. Ikthmann ond W. W&CtenbJch, MGH SS 8, ,,2-100. - - - " MtJiot.llmJU HiJlori.u libri fUlIltlW, eel. A. Cutola (Rerum ItlIlicarum Scriptores . . . ordinau da L. A. Muratoli .. _ , noova edizione ridcYUtI., ampliatl e COX"'ttI., eels., G. Carducci, V. Fiorini, ,nd P. Fedele, tome 4, parte 2, Solos"" 1942). lAnfranc of8er:, 8",1; w"fr..n wlII_imtu ArrhUpiKfti Dt C.'1:: • tI S.~t.i", o..i~j .'hiiM! BmtIgpillltl T" ......iUI:II, PL ,,0.407-44'. u N.--...w j{, Mm_ "'" ~ .. Gllill#_ It ""'I_mu (Xl~ likk) (LilJe, 1967). u piltl ,.lIlsin.. tu". . Jp (Acas du 99C Consm. rtafionaJ des lOCikis saVllntn, 8csanQ:>n, 1974, section de pbilologk et d'hi510i", ;lllIqu·lI6JO. Pacu, 1977). W"...."., »8 SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY Jean Bodin pnut !·hiw,i,.., cQmparatiyt dts institution" vol. 17, Brunels, 196~)· 14 llwiog.-sfo. .1l.""./i....I., :>. vols. (Scttimane di "OOio del Centro italiano di $tOOi ,ull'.lto mdi()Cvo, vol. 11, SpolctQ, '970). 14 .,;, MU;.' Afau, eel. C. Storey (BlackweU '1 F,..,nch Tats, Oxfurd, 1946). Lt. vii 14i"l lllail. poe.. .. XI. sifek, td . G. Pari. cJauique$ f~j. du moym l~, Pari •• 188~; ,..,pr. up to 19:>'~). Lt. vi". _ dt/ d".. IHi ,Q/; Xl, Xl1, :>. ""I•. (Pubbljcazioni ddl'Universiti uttolica del Sacro C~ , ~rie tern.. scienu sroriche 3' Mis«Uanea del Centro di Jludi mtdioevali 3, Milan. 1962). LaVO«'I, t., "OblatS et corps du Christ ,ur r .urd d·.prh ... int Ambrose ," R,.b",ha IhioJqg# 4wirt1. tI dNNh 24 (1957), 20~-24 . u.:h, E. R., ''Two Essa.)" CI'lfK'eming the Symbolic Represmtatioo of Time, " in E. R. Leach, Rtlbi,,*j"8I1~lhIO/JoI~ (London, 1966) , 124-;6. Lebon, J., "Sur la docttllll!' euchariltique d'Hhi~r de' l.obbcs," Ji.mwfia R. j. Mm;., pp. 61-84. Leder<:q, J., "Christu.nachfo/ge und Sakrament in iritU.llir~, vol. 4, Pari., 1964), '* (1..,. '* SI"',. ",,- '* "" 3~-90, - - -, "Passage authentique ioMi, -" "Saint Bernard Kri",in," Rben 70 \1960) , ,6"90; "'pr. in Rltlllil, vol. " pp. PI-,1. --,-- " "s. Bernard et la tradition bib!iquc: d'aprb I.. Sermon. sur les c.n';q .... ," S~ EnHliri JI (1960), "~-48, "SpiritU.lJiw," SI"'i ~Ii, 3ro Series, 3 ( '96,), 279-96. , Thll.wIo{ Lu,..ilfg ....J lilt Duirt jw GM. A S,"", of M.,.",lit elllt",.., tran •. C. MiJrabi (New York, . 961). , "The Renc,.al of Thtology," in It L. Ikmon If .f, eels. , RtMiJI4..a " ' RfIf.U ..I;1I ,hi Twdflh C""IIf}', pp. 68-87. Lecie«:q, J. , and J.-P, Boobes, V" " ••oflrt vU JPiri",Jh iUI XI, Imf,: j"." - - = =' : '* "" '" SELECTED 1I1BLIOGRAPflY "- Flu". (Etudes de th~108j. et d'histoin: de la spiritualitl!, va!. 9, Paris, 1946)· Le&.nc, A., "Le uaitl! des reliques de Guibert de Nogent et les commencemenu de la critique hiltonque au moyen age, ,. E.,1I4D .rbistoi,., h ."", Jgr G4.jJ M.....J (Pari., !896), 285-,06. Le88f, M. D., ""q/..Nonu" Utmmm.tuJ its ~tuJ (Oxfo!d, 196,). Le Gaff, J" "k ri~1 symbotiq\IC de I. -,itl!," in S;.J..Ji , s;"Im~;" lIfI'diu w&"" (Scrtimane di ltudio dd Centra iu.liano di nudi sull'a1to mediOfVO, TO!. 2~, Spokto, '916), 679-788; repr. POll' "If ••m hi.".,. AIr, pp, )49-42 0 . Us il,JlKtwJs.." JU)'I Jp (Paris, 1962). 'Hi"" -=;=' - , PDItr I#f _ (Bibliod~que M.,.. At,. r..,., Irwiwil" CIlIum .. om.,: 18 lS",is Ms hiJto;res, Paris, 1917). J.-F" "Scrut"u", monaniqlK'5 et ItructUrrs politiques dan. la Fnancc de la lin du Xf et des d.!buts du XI ••i«lf," in 1J ", ba.,. la for-zi .... "'14 dtJilt,i «rji-...!. (Scttimane di studio del Centra d.i studi lull'a1ro mediQevo, WI!. 4, SpoletO, 19H), ~H-400. L',./."" 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RV";"(f; "" X C..,.-.sl.l~h tIi Sm.w SIDrid», R_, <1-11 Itlro ':a, 19", vol.. 3: S",;" "" ~ (8iblicxea. S«>rica Sansoni, nuova lefie, vol. .24, ~, 19n). R.etIOW.rd, Y., La uilltJ tfl141H J. t. for "" x. sUck "" Jih, "" XIV, .iNk, ed. Ph. 8raurutein, 2 vols. (Ro:8ud1 Sur "histoirr, vols. 11-9, Pati., (969). Reynolds, R. E., "lltl,U"8iW Scholarship 1.1: tM Ti ..... of the Inwstitutc ContlOiCUy;' H-" TJwi-riuJ R~ 71 ( 1978), 113-18. ,;,I,. . ''" .... Cllfflm i• • Rirlw!, P., thl Eiehth CIIIhtry, trvI!. ~(f \V0l1 J. J. Cont~, P,... thl Sixlh thnntgh intro. R. E. Sullivan (Columbia, S.C., 1976). - - - , ·'I.'instruction des laia au Xlle .i«le;· MOnt. S.i1ll Bm_ ..., pp, 21 4- 17. - - - , "Rcchrrcbes surl'illlttuction des lata dl1lXe au XUe si«le," CCM ~ (1~2), In-82. Rkhter, D., ''Die Al/Lgoo~ der PeQamentbeoubeiNll8. Beziehun.gen. zwischen handwerl<Jicht:n Vorgiingen 1100 ckr selulichen Bildenpnche des Mi~l fltcn," in G . )Cril, R. RudoH, W. Sch.mirt, and H. J. NeIiMeJ", cds., Pd/iIta"", .. Mill#.llun. F.mhrift fIir G. In " EiJ (SCUtt8an, .968), 83-9 2 • Richter, M., '"Kommunikationsprobleme im laceiniscben MitteWter;' Hifu.riJ<M ZfilKiJrift 222 (1976), 43-80. R;"" l., D.u piJ,1itht 1 'b ill __ E~JJllt/,. udJ '" ( ' , . . hi. BmUMmJ, Ql/fJlos, brig "",.1111, (Frribur8-im-Brei5pl, 1906). - - " ''Die KontcmplatiollSatten nach der khre des hi. Bernhan:I; ' jJJrN.th fIir PhiIMop.bH _ Sprbktiw TJ. r't~ 23 (1909), 1)0-7 8. Rijk, L. M. Ik, G~" I wilt.., DWi«tiu. Fin, &iilin " . M.usmprs *"." Lift."" "';0 _1111> ' 11. W..,.,.,,, IhI AlIlw """.". COIIfr1II1" 160 P _ Wori (Wijlgerise Teksten en Sl:o.odics, vol.. 3, ADen, 19~9). Riyim-,)., Lt 'ga" t. ri' {I;"' . . JIIoIII "" ;aa Jp (8ibliotMque thorniltc, wl. 19, Patil, 19}4). Robson, C. A., '1..itervy langua&e, Spoken Dialect md the Photlolo8ial Problem in Old French," Tr.IISIIdWlu t/ IhI Phi/oIagiu/ S~, J9" (Oxbd, 19,6), 117-80. RochaU, H., and J. Lcdercq, "La t~idon des sermons litur8iques de S. ikm"td," S",~C&:ino I, (I~I), 240-84. Roclulfus Giaber, &-f GWrw. Us d"'l fitrra J. Sa hiJlDirrf (900- /0<14 1, M. SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY M. Prou (Collcction de tatH pour ",rvit" r~udc et l l"cnscignement de !'hi.tOilT, &se. I, Paris, 188-6). Roquel, R ., "o.,;s;" S;",plicihIJ, lmipitlllw . R.emarqu .. mineuIS Sur la ter_ mil\Ologic de saint An",lme,"' in L'hottr. ... tWts~1 Dj", . MiflmgeJ II/ftrIr ~~ P..... Hmri de L.<.1wc (Theologie, "YOI. H, Paris, 1 <)6~), \t01. ~, pp. 47 -61. _ __ , "SrfUCtUlT et caract~...,. de la prier. Ansdmienne," in StH.. ....1;""., pp. 119-87 · Rouse, R., "Biblical DulilKli_ in dlC' Thirteenth Century,"' AHOLMA 4' (1\174), ' 7-}7· ROIl"', R., and M. A. Rouse, P....(ben, FWriltgi.. ""J S_ _: SIJUiia hi 1« '!oW~i;..J1Jj for".' of Tho-., of /,..",,,,, (PontifiC1l Institute cl Mcdi~1 Srudin. Studies and Tnn, vol. 47, TorontO, 1979). - - -, ~SIIII;" iIfl,mirr. Schools, Preachm, and New Attitucb to thl: P3f1e,"' in R. L. Benson rt ,,/ ..d•. , Rm.oiJullU "lid Rt7M< ..1 i .. IIN Twtlflb CtIIl*ry, pp. ' O l -' ~ . RUn<;iman, S., "The Holy Lance Found at Antioch ," A,.,.IKIA BIJI"'Jtdi6,.,. 611 (19~O), [97-'09. R",scU, J. B., "A propoe du synode d'Arras en 1025,"' RHE )7 (1<)6,), 6687· - , - -, Dilsml • ..J Re!- ill I'" Early MidJk Ag... (Publi«tions of the urller fur Mcdieval and Re""iI$aIlce Studi.. , v3), Rychncr, J., Lt ChamOll "" gul,. Ess"i "" I',," Ipiqllt des p llglnm (Soci~t" de publie..ioru romanes et f~ai""., v ,t).n· SI! LSCTlSD BIB LIOGRAPHY f sfi_ Z,it (PiJ>$!e unci f'lpiltum, Bd. 11 , Scuugart, ' 977). Schmiu, F. S., "A~ltQ unci do:r (Neu- )Plw>nilmUJ:' A""ffeW A,."/..;.",, 1 ( , 969),39-7 1. - , --" "Onq I""KftWonI de I"Episr:oIa de lD(Vllal;one Verbi de S. .... ~lnw de UnrorWI" N 1lb... , 1 ( ' 939), In -87. - -- ,. "Die .jumKhahlj~ Nnbode AlIKlm, 'Cur J)ru, Homo: " Spinlqi•• &-J, t, pp. 349-70. - - . l a mrrections de S. AnscIme lIOn MOI"IOiosion . Ilben 10 (1936). 194- 20 , . - - -. "'Zw Chronologie der Werke de, hi. Anselm von Cantem....ry... Rb... 44 (19P), 322-~0. Sdunitt, J.-C., " ~Ii&ion p"p'.J.jce· et cuI~ /olldorique, N.... MP• • E.S.C.. 31 (J976). 941 -H ' N Schuck, J., o.u "'itiiu ErI_is _ IN. B... ,,: _ C~. l!m lhim., Ul7' GudifM . . dJ,ris,I" GflfGfr{Jw • ., (Abbandl~ WI" Philr+ p.".'lie und Ps~ho1og~ der Religion. Hdt I. Wiltlburs. 1912). Schulre, A. , V. AMI.aJ JU It 'KIJI Kirr.;" Mi"""I,.,. SI""",, __ SKillf-. R"""-'" Kltlbu;l'1dJidJu (Kin:htfltI!Chdiche Abhandlung.-n. H en 63 .od 6.t. Stutrgsff 19 10; 2nd~ .. '922). Schurr , A ., D;, Phil_fl/'h;, _iI A"IJ. _ c.."r.. ,." . Ei", E.it¥UI. WflCiKhlt/ GflU/Mmsfl (StunJ'""' 1\)66). Sd>urJ;, A. , Pl: r 'i::tp. • u.S«WJ 'Vri!. trINo. G. Wabh and F. Lehnm (Nonl'.!lIm! Univeniry . Srudics in Phc.oOill(looiosJo Md &iKeatial Phi Ioqoh" 1 : _011, Ill., 1961). Schun, A.• aod T. loKkmann, Th< SInWJ_ f/ ,h< Li/f-W..tJ, lrant. R. M. Zaner Md H . T. 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Pllbblituioni drlJ'Un;veBitl Catrolico del Sacro CUOft, Milan, 19,..), IP-~O; repr. SIINiiJifil.l,pp.14 l -6l. Vansilll., J., Or,.1 T~it;"'. A SIIIIiy ill Hirllirirtsl MdbddrD, {ranS. H. M. Wright (london, 1\)6,). - - -, "The Po ...." of Syseemaeic Doobc in Histolical Enqlliry," Hisl"., ill Aftifll. Aj_1 of MelboJ, 1 (1974), l09-l7. Vaucha, A., "1.0. pi&~ populai'" au JnOf<'o 18c. Elat des ttal'aUI et position des prob~m<s," in ~ pill' IDP"/4in ,.,, "" ....~, pp. l7-4l. - - - , ~ wi"ut/ III QaiJat,./IX tImIim sikhs "" Moym A,p ",."w III p.dJ .. flI_istIliD" d Ut J ',,_IS b.gi."..,.pbiqlltS (Bibliod~"" moitio! ..tu Vllle ,ikk et p",mier quart du IXe sikle)," in E. Parzelt, Di.ltarsJi"gum. R.".in.tIlU, C. Voge!, ~ ,q",_ fIllhtrJl, ... l vols. in one (Gnu:, 1\)65), '71-l4l. - - - , Us 'liWi JltlmiIDll;.IIl' (TypoloSie SELIICTIID IIIBLl O GIIAPHY VoItdilll , H ., HIM Im~ des Johan ..... Sctib. im SU.... r::hiY .u Gm... ," MIBG 41 ( 1926), 7(}-79. Violln(e, C, L. ,.",..is IIIiu._ •• '" , i t - ,"Jts;'lJ/j~. 14 I" ". (t o.} l Oj 7) ("titUlO Jtorico ilaliano pt. il M~io £"0, Stud, storiei, "01. I 1, R~, 1 9~5). - - C ' Lt. J«ia4 . ;r• ."• ..u''';' I'. """It (I_il",o i,.liano pt< 81i "udi Ilorici, Pubblict.zioni, vol . 4, Dui, '9U). - - -. Stdi ."'''' rmN,.If;U ...!;..,..u. Sot",," . isti""i.;, 'Imlu'i,., M . P. 7.J:rbi (Cullun. e Swn-, \'01. 8, Milan , 197 ~). Wads~in, E. , D;, mNlNt,i$,bt Id ,",,'-pp.' Ihlifhri,r-WUIUM.,-Wt/"". Wdlt,lridn ill ... H""I""_1tII i/mr rhriJlfirh-_i",I.'u..Hfhm GUIII" ",twirb/"", (LeipziS , 1896). Wilkdield, W . L., and A. P. Evaru, tr'UII., H,mifS 0/ ,''' Hi,! Mi""l. Ara. S./IC1#4 S _ T ... AIf-..1fJd (RKorOIl. ON """, ICI•• 'iF F...d,fS·rIb . S'N"" zm G~" til . IfJ""" ."" 's,,, MiidI_. 2 T ..h". RWt_ A.wwJ; 2. BmUJwn/ ..... TJn-, Vi,./Is _ S"..;p,. GirwU _ S.IIG , BI"" W! .. Norim ' " )UIfUC """ H';,.,.;n, (Scudien 'ur GeKhicllle 00 ~!ie ""d der Kirc .... , Sd. 9, Heft " ~ip.iS, 1903 -06; repr. AlIm, '9P, 2 \'01 •. in OAt). W.rnxh, V. , " Won unci Wirklichhi, bri An5t[m 'IOn Cancerbury ." S./: ...,,,. j .. M ...h ftir Phifos",hit )-6 (I '}61-62). I 57- 76. Wmoorg, W . \>On, DN ElffJltlnt", Jtr ,...",."iJtht.r Vwkw. 2nd M . (Tiibii18<'n, 195 1). - - -" £ilffiihntlf, ilf PrMI_ti' If"" MttheJi' J". S,.~hrt!, (H.lle, 19·43)· Wlm, A. C , TM Lyn .". tJ. H;np. A C..,..... 'iw RlCUJidt,.,iM f/ Or. 1 T.""i';' ill H_.". OIJ E.If, flsh E;ic P",", (Y a[~ Studi" in EnjJlilh , ool . 16'), Nn< HIV.... , , '}6'}) . Wt~r, M" Du /wpw"'If,iltht EI),i~ .,,'" "" Gtlsl Ms /&pitlll"",,,, , in J. Winckel!llllll\, M., MoOJr W..... Di. ,,",,1J14~'is(ht El),;' I. Ei", u • .,;""" ,n1 al. (H ll1lburjJ, 1973), 27-374 . - - - , . W;'lKhrtfl ,,"'GmI,,(~ft , ,ch M " ed. J. Winckelnllnn (Tiibirl&~n , ' 97 2). W ......r. E .• H.,.;, ,,"" G."lhdvft ;. rI . j"/"I.••• (SinunjJSberichle ',.,J/I"IIU (~ipli8. 1956). Wemer, E., and M . Ero.llis5tr, "Sozial.rdiBiiiK BeWl!'Bun8en im Minel.l Itr, .. Wiunua,.,!,lirlII Z,;lIdJrift rkr KAr/-M,"" UMillff1i",'1 7 (1957 · ~B) , 2 ~ 7- .. 'n"'''''' "'''fwi'- 8, . WHMrber, W ., P"",.iJ• •"" P",", no IM T ...,/ftb C..,,,.,. TJ. UIW.", 111/.. ,.. t{ tJ. Sm../ t{ CIM".,., (prin«ron , 1972). '" SELECTi!D BIBLIOGRAPHY While, L., Jr., M..u-l To :1'00 nJ Stri.1 CIM." (Oxford, 196.1). - - - " "Nat:mol. Science and Naturalistic Art ill che Middle AAes:' A.,... HiJt.,.q1 R",w 52 (1947), 4.11-3). Wie.cker, F., Allt; __ Z.stii1lM 11.. Rdh_li:ult PI'" li..u Ms W.IriiRUdH!r Rnm. (Ius Romanum Medii Aevi, vol. I, ~a, Milan, 19li3). - - - " Vodt;,m.., uJ K/.ulitiZIIUIJ i. Rrit . . SpJe.lIlib (Sittungsberichte del" Heidelbergtt Abdemie dcJ Wiuenschaf"tm, Phil.-hiat. 10., Abh. 3, 19~~, Heidelberg, 19")· WiUiam of Conches, GIosM sllJltr Pw_, cd. E. Jeauneau (fates philoso-phiques du moyCIi~, vol. 13, Pvis, 196~). - - - " WilhJ....... C,.h:::, Phi/. . ., cd. and t/allS. G. Maur.:h, with the aid of H. Tellc (P~ia, 1980). WilIiamJ, G. H., Atv"..· C:" :II~;"" ,,,111 All SI ma' (SI . Louil, ,960). Williams, S., ''The Oldest Ten of the 'Conuitutum Constantini: ,. T"""il~ ;::0 (1964), 448-61. Wilson, B. R., RlIi,iMs SKtJ. A S«HIIifiu/ SIINIy (World University Libnry, London and New York, 1970). Wipo. DiI W","", WipN, M. H. BlCSllau (Scri~ Rtrom Germanicuum in Ulum Scholarum ex Monument;s GcrmaniAe Hi5tor;cis separuim editi, jM ed.., HIInQVCr and l.I:ipai&, T91~). Wri&ht, 11.•• "Spn:king. R.cadi.ng and Wliting Late Latill and Early Rn~," N"';'iI"f-jIIJ 60 ('976), 178-39. Yatcl, F., Tb. Art t/ MITY) (Londoo, 1966). Yver, J., "Les ptcm,be! innitucinns du dud\\! de Normandit:' in 1 N"... ..."i, pp. .199-366. Zerbi. P.. "Akuni ri.wlati e prospettive d.i riectu sulla storia ~Iigiosa di Milano dalla fine del sccnlo XI aI. 11«," in ProM",,; Ji SIori4 rdig,-, f :! ork l!~u Vilw M-st"" /iV_M. T"",,, RoI..a..SlltLlJllIri4 rdi,;.,,, ~ brJ.s, 2-4 loft h, 191i9 (Como, 1972), q-z6. , "11 tHmiDC '!idelil&ll' nelle lettere di Grcgorio VII," StsuIi S'''','';'',,; 3 ('948), 129-..8. - = c ' "MolWteri e rif"0rm2. .. Milano dalla finr del secolo X asl; ini1i dd XII," ..1._ z4 (19,0), 44-60, .66-78. ---,:--, "San Bemudo di Chian.valle c il Concilio di Sens," in SI..Ji till S. lhnMrJ., pp. 49-7). ~, K .• " 'Caram levare' in Saner GalIcr (Jrkundm. - ZR.G GA 4 (1883), 113-'7· _ _'-,. "Zum WCSIBothischen Urkundenwam, I. SuM.=riptio unci SiBnum," N_ Am,;".14 ('899), 1~-.19· ?ink, M., Ut prW/kl#i." ", wlltlll "-",.,,.111 IJOO (Nouydle lIibliothC<j~ du Moyen AAe, vol. 4, Paril, 1966). - - -" "Les dcstioaites des lCCuciis de sermons en lang:uc TUlg:aitc lu Xllc rt IU XIIIe lil!cle. Prfdic:atiOfl dFKli"" et prid.icuion daru un flutcUil," in Ut piItI,.".w;.. "" LLJ'" .", pp. ,9-74. Zumthor, P., Eu,,; M pokil[lll ' &::.1t (Paril, '972). u. ,,6 INDEX ...... Moo 01 Monti........ , : n. 41) odul.OfY: '47.470.47' /lactim , " If ~ Abbo '" 1'l i\.bd.....l. Po«" >6, Hh, )28, J2jI, ,62'40} • • 061. 4H •• ", pd, " ', "9". ,2,f, ,28, 0;.1 ,;.. , ,6" HJ·7ti. H7, }lis; f:It .. • 04: G'--: io C~, 373ft; $.,.. Ani' ",. .. I~. H2 ft; LA<.. p..,b)';! 'Rn doh .. V... U/" , ,8,n; ~_ }Hm; p,,; " ....... 311-8,; ... "'-ni, Epi"l< ... tftt Romono, ~; Up. I~;;". ,6,; up:.. ..N ......... PIti· s;.,,; $.';._." }94ft; $;'" N... 6" 401. '2', TJ.kr;" CM";""'" ,6.; TMI'f,'" ·'s,w.;_,'· . 04 i.,.. S.,.. ",,,,,,,';;,, $""" >" .o.buhom: 249. obooIu ...... (rom un, ",;.c,"",0I: '4' ob.tro<. ",n", ." "",""",iofI: OOP<m.; 8,r. 101f, 279. 301. n6. ,.of. J. ",,,, -,~, AI£mo",. 01..: .. 6 AJb 'f. 1". 49'. I' 9. ". Akwn: '4 •• ,. 78" •• 6) A~.J .: 63ft AJnan0 >. >"4. .06. »600. 228; JIt .I,. A"",lft'I 01 JIofWo AI..... St. , 491f AI,... oll.itC<: >H. >'9 •• 8 •• 1"9. 1.6 A/halm: ,., Ibn aI·H,i","", 0.I;"-~: 117. ,.,. '49. 4". 440. 4... .~, 0.110,.".,.: 9' . '''. ",. " 0. '11. ' 481• "Sf. 'l' .• nf. '4', '4 g• "of. >H. ,6,1. ,68' 70. 278. ,So. 288. .>90. '94, l" r. 40,. 4". 422. 4'4. 4>91'. ·452. Pol. ,2,; ",..u. ,,,,,,,ri"ll. 01· 2'~. 4Hr .Hr .,S•• Hr H' occultutotm: [00ft . 2.} , 2,., .60, 4H, of w,it;",. 1>-10, 48 },chill, J.: ,66n Aa.. S,-Jj AmJvJnnU: ,,0-)9. 48 1ft Adalb.ro "I..oo: 4141, ,07. l<801;'.1 . "',., 0.1·101''''0': __ I"" AbJ 'Amil Moha:nmN All'<" '" M=: 97ft, 499 Alph>ndo!<)', P. : '0}D. 494ft, "S'1ft Al.i< 01 AMi : '40. '4' AJ';";m. f .: .on ,,0 Adalb.rc, obboo: olCo6, Adalb.", 11."0, 07 Adun, 11:.; Adam of B<en> AIoob.riu. 01 M.. " ' 90 AIrIbroo< B;/!\,,: '9''''' A..w_. 5<. , ' ]4. 'n" ~.J - ' "1. Adlhocb. S .; Jl9B ,,,f 's>!!. 206. " ' 7 ,020. 129. 140, .,6. 'H. 176f. ' 78. ,80. 18 •• ,8 •. ,8,. .88. '8? '92. '9' .• s>!!.~. .... "1. " .66f. no Adel".."nofliq., 113. >nl, 28" '8,~ Adc ...... bi."", 01 to Pur: "~. Adomotola..bon ..... , 97 . '07 .• oRn. " I ' '7 . 1,0. ~66n. Ad >". 'n. ~I 9. ~i8 "'.hot;.; ~ 61 4fim.t: 4 '9. 4'0. 417. 4 )8 • .. ,01 >67~ 4. " 4 .•}C'. .•6/1. '''9. '". 2,8. ,6,. '7>. 27 8 •• 80 . >90. '9'. '9'. >9-\. 3' 7: Dt 2"9; 0. Of· firi;'. '77: 0. }C''' fix " ... ,,,, '07" B_. s.. .....",. AmI>nosioni. A.: ,,11<0 AmoJo.. i . M .: ~oa. 4'ft Ami ... K. _ , " " m I NDEX nd. """"",,, E... 78<1. 14911 •• 6lA • P. : ,,,.,.,, , 0 '0 ~. ..sao AIn.., .. ) . 60. 16, . ,67 •• 61. ' f), '94. '96. '97. ,jIS, ArioJ,I, ~ofA""": '11 Antu. P.: 770. 71n )11'.)91. 399,414, ".u.. ,,;,.. , ' .... " . _6,.66.61.77.17. ul. ,.,. ')0. 'n. '46f. '48. ' 99.207. '4" 117• • 14, .,... )}04. 4.1. 4190 "7,11. ' )D; .. .u. '" 1'1' ILII ,,>. ')9. 4'. "4, 1,1. ,60 •• 6 •• •~. '7'. 'H. " )I'. '7'. ,I,..,... " •• 20), 21). ,,,r. '" ,n"".)90, "'. .196. '94 • .u. ..... Il10 al~ '91 • •00. "'''1'. ,60. ,6, • •,... )I; .. .u. ..... _ 'n.• .060.1". ).,.. ),.. ",r. )1'; fI. '" ,)9f, • ~ . ... ' ,,6 ,81; HI), d . .. ,. ')7 • ..".4", 469 1("'" .I~" ,. 'I., ,.s. 'n' "0. +4'. ".,1 .... I!., : ........ 4 . 000.1""" .......-;.., So.: .), ,8,}O. ". " . " •. "f, 'P. 'J). '4.r. 'n. ')7_". >60 • ..6" >66 •• 67, .68, '7 ' ••". ,,6, '7' • .~, •.•110, .'" 290. >9). , ,6. '99. )0'. )0'. )0).)04. )0). 101. 'CIf. )". "1. 11'. ))8/"• .,~. )0 •• 1°'· )00. """..... , Thoont:o: . " Aquiw .... hernia ia: 97. jIS. 470 _~" *S, .... , ... ..1: 148. "" )" ud ':10' 20, .61.m. "1 Ardzric.OUlIIa: .,6 • • " ......., 97. '<>7-'" •I,. I '" ,., .obo Or· .,1.. ,8. '., Pcok", jc, 14 ., ).4. ,6., A..... T.: I)'. .. ,.I' ..... : 68, 71. n. 110. ",. 121. '46, 'IirI. ,(;P. riJ. :o6J. pi, I)', ))Jr, )11,. 4H. "); ood w . - . . , H), ud ... .'uo. ,lr6 "'tuilm: -_. , ~, .... 00 Hl. 116(. "7, ,0;, 114 •• ,., " ,. • ~ .•61. '77. "" 'jIS. )'7. )n. 99. I,g, od......,.110..•,.- : '7). '7.p. "7 Aooj: " ,. )0)< . . - ...... ..-li". ... . t't ,"" ••. ~,,.,,. om .....: in Mi l.... "4, 'll, - . 10(.: ,aa. 47) """, Up' 2)1 hms, i.: )9, '46, ,,0, .68, ,27, 2)4 . '"...tIOntarf: 94. ' 0 1. , .. ,M ....... '.7;- ....... 247, ).1 .obo}tw> . "'"_ e·mH, : _",.". "',. . _. '4,. '7'. 'f". '9'. ' •• ,,- ...... "'I 01: ")"7 Ap I,", "'-Im .... ~ l0}ll. '47-,0 Alllclm of t..cc.: 17, ..So A1IIOId. _ of I'tm 01' NaIIlrr ", 486 Jt11, "7-", .... -..;.i... ' . ". A"';. c.: 94ft ",. ,.) ... it . e · 9'. 99. ,>6. ' 77, ')', ",, V...... .... '--: ,'-'.)aII A",idlrit" 97 • • 01 Im<.: ')4f /I.moId 01 kbodooor. 480 /I.moId 01 GI"';" 487 ,6'-7' /I.ocrIin tilt H4. fI· '" r, 'io f • - . '.0"; EW,. n".; 00 ,. • n ' •. H'. "'-Iaof'Ia, 1' 9 I' .... u,•. 'n. '}7. ''','40 v_. r ~ no, Ptri " Ano!ItIl.~oIWa-: ,.,f; 7'it" "._", Do A ...... . • 11 "'-Iao 01'-"': A-"" of C...... l....,: .6.4. ,,,. )'f'6>. 40_. _ . ~20. 4)'. C,., 0H_ , Jfi0..6.: M. ' ••. H'· .... ,)1 . " •. ,,,. ",. "9, ",.,..., )).4. ).44.6. ).411. " • • )}I. 1", Do c-r~. ),g, Do G, )91, AI'INIf I. 0Id0bitlI0p .... Nilooo; ,6, .........,.01101:;,.,,:7).74.119."'... ,6" .6,-'4, ••••, " 7, .". ,'" " 7, ' 20. ,I; .. la.. , r: ' .... ' 4, . 4)9 ,~T"", W;" , print: ,jIS. '99 "7. '97· A.. _ , )68, et' .""'. "'. )68; Or ,.In "'_. J}6a, "t, " ' • AriModz: " ••• ))4. .......... prito< ... WilMI: .06 .•07. "",,'0 .\DdmIoH • • ,6. »9. AndII;1o S a" AI_ '41. 149. 177 •• '94 Arib 4>'v. ..u. ~U7,49) ' 90. ",. .06, " 0. 20', '''. "'-1' .• ,6, ')7. '}II. l'>9;" .Jso hun. .."';c..... ."f. '7<'. ')0; Or 0.... C,""r. ,,, •• ,.,; Do Tno .. 09 1, T,..,. ;'j_" Bb. ).47 Awbtn., St.: H _he . ......, 67. >4)-" • • 61 • ••• . ),6. 4)' . ,." ........ it,' 11 ,. 6:tf: ,.f, ..... ". INDEX -hoooIoII,. ofpopoJ !NIh. 6" - . h 2)0" " UN;" , ~" ........ ' ,- " . .88. '119. '90. ' 9' .•,. . •.,.t;-}". ,, 6. ) '7. U O. ~J. ~" )f l. 4" >. , , 8. " . , Do s- c-.. 'H . ' 17"" JOln; ~. AIOICfft, 464 "'_ , . 7«. A..u.. D'A.' •• , JO"', )<>4". ""0. )060. ,07; foI_ .. afT ' U . \101' A,.... A., >H" Auo. , ........ ~ candidot.: [6 • • e ' [. E. dr. . " , }.: )'\11' BoIbi. Gio'.woi: . , . 8ddrii: of Dolt. ' 0 ). a.u.i•. J. W .: ,..,. 41~. 47,," 8.lo3h. J.: 408ft bopfisno: 78. [U. ,,8. ' }O. I, S. 143. , " . 11 •• "3 • •• ) ••~, So • • 86, )01 . ~ion of. 98, ".r. ,60. ,,6; .,6.• " ' , n) . .. ,. u6. .., p '" ... .l I : .4> ~,. 40)" 4. 6; ~''''; ': "4f; 9 ; ,0," 7; ' 0; 4'7 : " . 4',.f, rJ : •• 8, ' " . , .; ,6, 4~; [7 : 4 ~)" , 0, . ,• . ,..; 2 0: 414f, ' 3 : 4)\' )1, '4' 4}81'; .,: 4 .... ' .S, ... 01'; 3" 44,f, H : 4".; ,,: 4 .... f; ,6: ..,f, )1: 446; }\I' 4461, ...,: 44 7; 4 " ..... 7f, ." ,I: ...,... . ' ..... . ,'" 4 9' ')0; )0: . , . ; )4 : _ . .... 91'; I t: .... I" .... ,.; I, c- D '•• 'n/...,.; DJ. lrior.. _ , . .,,~ , ~oII~ ; El· '''' 4<>S1 Bt.-d '" Tiron: .nr. 46,~ .• 9' 8.nti. G.: 'H" B..,h. K., ".,.,. ,6," B...d,..,.,. e.: ". !IoW 11 , ....... _ , _ m;".J. ... lOt l Or _ _ Ill . 469 _ . So .: ., • • .,., lI...dtiof ....JWOiI: ,.). Bo.ot;.r, . l .·H.: ' ''7., .08. '09". It' . . "9" ,u. ",r. "I, """ ...... of corn.,...i'. ond doli....,. .."t; Sw T' .... c-;.:., " 4"911, 4 ,Or 17; t: .,81; ):4'91'; 4 : ."If," 4' I"); ,.8. "9. 1Ilum1. P. H.' h. '9.800 Booo.>mk ... 0 ., "[. 8ool1. E. It: .... 3" mrr. ,..D, 64·, •••.a. '1). • ,_d afCl>orrtn, ,,, ..... 4~ . ''7. , '9 8o,_d ofa.u.,."", ". 90. 103". , •• n • ed' k,. A.: "0 .......... . P.: . " . U _ ..... JO' •. l .: ,,.,. •• id of ~ .,&.. 'n_ >9110. ,."... 1Iorkou,. e.: ~,n B<'~ . '" ' 9') . 1Itt¥t _ " " ...... Phili""" do: " ' 0' , .", . [(" . ,06. ,011, "4. ,,8. "). "9. 'n . •". ,)8 . ' )0, ,/16, Bod! . H .: .,. 16f..JO. "'. >col. " 7 . .." '47. ' )0. >6 • • >64r. _, ~. M ·: 4J7n c" I,m _ . ",. V",." bh : Ik. ' 90 bteo, . 't" tol" '0 •. '0'·10" ' 4' "mbDIk '9[, 4", 46.~. "7, ,.~; .. .t.._1t ~t. bcba...,..,.. s.u..·NiotI...., H .: _ Bt=ditir. _ , . . I'm VHI. pap" " Bt lin. So., , ,", 1Imodi<, ,he I-t-t"" 61 Bmodik, ..... J. : ,6" lIkI~ .... ...... • • 69 So., ......"., of: d. Pu_~ l . L : )4ft. M n. '4\111. J.80 Bto_, } .: ....... jOOIl. ) 0' . )0' • • , " ) . e af . " . ". 10 PI, ,.." l .: """ &m>rrofT......' 98. " •. [)2. ')J. "9· ' 11. '7'. ' n.a l .• 8•.• S, . ,S ••• S7. ,,2. ,6,. ,,600. ',W . •• , . 'n . • ~. '7'. ' 7')•• 80. '9' .•Ilo . ..,,[. '9<1. "". )07. ,,,. )'4. ) IT , "4. "'. ,,6. )44. )SI, ,6,r. ,64. 407. 4' I. 4". ,W,. ." • • [4, 420. 4)9, 44' ..... ,. 419. " <> , '191'. ,,6; .. Old "'" S ... T..........., •• N... Too .. '.' . , Old T.... , "' ...... i. . ..do.! book. bili.,.w;...., {'"",.. ond tooti•• ,6j,;n MiI· 4)'. _; ___ ...... ,,,,,.rn. ' 9l ai,(\,,,/f. B.: ' 0. "" Bishop. T.A."'. : }In bid • _;".I ..:....... of: '4> , ,..." Doo!l>, 8, BIMt, .E., ..•. ,.)It 8iod>. M.: to, 49". "n. 412ft. Bioi!. D. ; 4. ft 1Iodotd. C, 444" 08<>r> . • 89 INDEX "C.j 'O,s., ",,", "" ",5.:2".: 11< .. S· ~"" 61, s.., )", }'4, "os...)6,. )76. ,n, nB,)80. ,I'. )1 •. )'HII. )9' . 19', )96, )97. J98. J9!1, 400, ..... . ..... ; e_. ;" c.... A...., " ... ''H: e_. ;. I ., _ ",; • '1'. )}9. JIi67'. 19'.· }SIot: Jb., ,&>", ,&6. "... C -. ;. ....,." . , )861" 0.0;;. • m B,,_w, G.: .,,,. '" ;';'''n. •• <10", 6;._ . . m", }99: <..~_ + of,6a Purdoord of Wamn: 6" 17 ~: ,,6. 'H, ,64 ,'s. B.., ..". I .: )6 .... ""'!/j0l•• H.: .66 lit ,... c. W . : _ 4>1" B, I' 'M : ,,.6. ' H , 466. 48" 4" e ·s'" L c. -= .6a.. n •. ,1, ",. 0' , 1'.: • •• o.J ):to;." 0, 4 ..... . 1'.·110.: Pbto >,.... " 9". 'nll ~.H . _: 4170 c-ua, " " - HII ...... ofT-r: .64.• 66 e· ;"of5"..i : .6}, ,6&0, ,680. 194D. •98. "'''. " , ,,, B""I7'I, £. : "" .... , } .•P.: .Il" e.··... G.: J600 . }.: SJa" c./ooo: '.', 417 , 8010<, }.; ~ 8, ,- ," . Ici.." 46001 ~,Y. : _ buIlo. ptpI: l,r; -;"'" .,a...• }6. >91" 'n e.".. Op/Io. C.: .U• 7,.. 4~ c 'O.... }GM:)O ' ch 'l" ')7, "9 C C' , 6800. ! ..... A. : 9>.... , ...., '<>71', ' 41·._ A.: ' )4 ' J9I'. .m··.. '4'·. 1Ioooi. G. : 46000 110«<,11.: ' H" B........ W. .6 • •• 08 ...91". ., ., "'.0.: ".. .. '1OOf. 17 ' •• '7,.. .n ... '<>4". ~JII. rn... 2no> • • a.a. .1,. _ ...Hi.,.• r - 'V "". •' "' ..." , .. , I 66. ",0 ...di.... cia.,. (of N IlatJ): '" ......uq; ) , <1, ' 7I1l: [6.:, ,6" ."- 4l}r; .. jonioa of, ..6. '4'. '4'. ,'S ' n, e ,m.., A.: )4'1. 6.ta c-.,. J.: "'}to la , }.'" la CIuU!: 40l" ' KM, L : ,... " " c h i ..'....,... .. PO' ! . !iSI". )8. ,.. . 76• • " , ,.6" 412, 47 ..... 418. 419 . .... . . . ...., "~a B ".1'. : . ... 80 ' o. A : ....,. 1IoJIt, L t.: " 8: -=)1 . ,.6; .... Iitfri• '.' 10 • • St..: 49'-9' 8 _ . I..: 4!l<> Bmcio: 'H, .n B, "le .. , H .: )}n. _ . 4.0>. 4!l<> Bn.-i. J.: 47D Bril....,., 49}, 49'5 • , , z. N .: 091" bo ' hoo4:46), ...... _ ...m" Ii .... , Btowo. P.; y:>7a . . . ., Li.L: 49" 8n:h. P.: ,~ 1Inod:_. A.: .... 1In'h1, Co: 6 •• ~. J. : 417" _ . H.: 4'. 49", '9'> _ o f T ..... " _ c . St.: "". ¥'4 ..,.. , •• r ,.a.: .... .s; '"' Io. n. .66ft. Colt""""" Orotrt: '" c-I. 0 .: 3004n OM ' , . ...: 6" '\PO. H.n. S'7 Cathoriom: 9.... 99, .0>.469 0 . .... _ . St.: )O Ca. .• ; . _ ... h N r S.t ._ j. ...t 4)9; ........... iaol <' •• , 41 • • " ' ; _.... ' . " 1;;' .. , .. . . ,. : , ... Hiof; ....... Iot •• • 66; pi.... u.... 4J7; ....· le ... , ....: loo ' 1 C. 4H Cotorlli. C.: 46001 " .....,a. , 'S: «Iebtotioa •• 67 _ .... 100....., CtIouo. St.. nO c..-u. G.: _ I' M, cl: ['9,'" ..u. INDEX ,tit"",,,,: 'S, Sol, ",. '40, 'p, • 67,480; and ...1 ",,1'''',17; ODd po!",1 b word., 47"76; oul' ...... , "); iourfi:>1d pri'" dpk 01. ".f; bmoricol, 461, in "" .... _ . '69, "4, '\>', .'jI9i, ,,6, .8, .•8" }<», }<> '1>', ,'0, '''''4; in ,to. Hr. "dt 01 a.. ... , }<>,;;n _~, • 80, .88f, 107(, "Y, ,,6, }40. S>4; ~, 'W; ~, >76, ••pl; ...... .i. p/Ion of, H6; phJsic.J, P4; ph,.ioIo!i. 9; ,.,J" ..... hariM, ".. t~, ri,,,,, &lid • 67 . • 69, '70, ']1 , 8,. ,88. 'n, 176. ,So.•a, . .s.. .• ,86, '91, '9', .~. '96, '99.301. }<>8. ~J<>. l", l". "4. ,,6. )60.4001.4",416, 4,8. 4'~. 4 " . 4'i, 4>7 ••• S. 4)'. "", H'. 446. 44\1. 4'S, 46" 4611. ~", "1, S'S. ~,6. P4 Chrilti.". W . h . Jr.: 7'ft ChriKi... '" Mo"'".,.: 491f diu""', ,to.: ,,8, thy"' .... , ,,8, hm~. '9'. >0']. "4,Gtftk, >06<>. "4' ,h"",h ....t ..e,. ,66. ,68. 176. ISj. >08. "4, "9. .". ,07; )>; uni., oI_i", in.•• , C;"..o: .8•• '79 GpOIla. C,; Ciotftciaft Ord. 4<>1r, 41(' • ,,,n, ,6,. ,6,. ',n 87. "," ,.>" .• ". ',w H" CW-O, )7, Hn. cI ... i"'-,"",: .,...,.,..,. 01. '4 ; ptift<,p/" 01, &lid "";.....10. ,87 ; ,.,;,jn8" ..... '" cf, ,8ft. ot.. s.-, ,6]: i P.' -n.... 486: I<,iol .. ioq on 4' Charl 4"'. 4'''. 4,8" • a..rtta: '07. ,08. "0, I. " '1S: ..1>o<>I ", 6.j, 'j4, '44, '47, ,,0, 'H, ,66 . "1. .......... " '''''' H C'-- J. RoI.oJ: p, 8, C'-- J. S,".·F';: 480) cIoNi"",,: 90, .04f, ,.8, 1}8. 1)0, ')7, 168, 176, ,88, ,80), "9. S, 6 Chorlemo!n<: .6, ." H, 78, 81, '78, S' ,I: .,.n, .,60. Clnt, '9" 6, d..,.i,,: 17~ , '911, '09, 49': """"" to."" a.""O.IIom·s..u..wo. """"'''Y of: . i{o, 14'; '" ~ «Iillo<" man;q. in d,.., d a...jllooo, J.: "on, J6.n •• Oo!n J': dwiti li,..._ SQ' ~r;, " a..u......J. }.: '44n, ,07 dmt.: .. Ii",. ", 16,; .. _,108: ,Ib-i, o....u, CJcno&l. h .: a.tnon. E.: "n, Hn M.·O.: n", " ,IBn, "7n, }l8, ,,8n, ,.8, ,.4n O>on '00, ~,,'O, 49'. "0, '''; ...d .to.l6C~", ,,6, Jl8, .,,; damned, "0; <,h"'ation "', '4j>;"_ In, •...!.•66; I.d, '" unden,andi", in, .. 6; ml1hlo:mi, ~,lOin' .. child, 6.j, . (hrki"" 4&_, " ',0. "], "l. "4, ,,6. '}4. I". ,,6. '40. '4', l.s. '76, .08, >0\1 ... 6. '17. "I>. n,. '21, .." dock •• to. m«Mni<:aI: 8) Ch"". 0. .... "', 89. 'Wo 4s.. code: "], 4U; w,lI;", .., 4, . 8 C... f"';';'_: 46f "'1_ j4'n. }46. ,80. )90. 418, and;" "'I;p... j4ln, j49. '6 . ;."d ..... 408; po .on.:. "Iillri _ """. '47, }4B. " ' : _#Mt, 4.8 Coi",. H .: .... )i" CoIish. W. : Hon. }4Qn. H)n c..I"""" It. V.: 478. ,B« CJom. """'... CoIumbo. /I. : '75" comm ,,>n. (loriK.] .....: .8, 68 , 90, 'Oo! , '". "'. 018. 6.4n ,,« "'; IInr ,6,. 'j4, '40. S'o; in "'ilan. »6. »8. "'. ,8. '" INDEX commwU<"ioo>, ap«t ..., .f, 9, 11. ,4, .6, ~~, 1', 9<\, 99, '0" "9, 'VI. '4', '49, ",. ,6). >66. '74, ,~, ,9<\, ,'}B, '09. >OS, n~ .• ).... 'H, CO",,,,...., G .: 4"". 4,n Got". Erl<:mbo.ld: 'B. ,6" ,6., ,,8. • 8,. ,8), .8,,)09. , •• , H'. J'lf. 40' •• '), 4,8, 4491'. ",, ,.Bt; romtnQ' ..;.;.,;"., ond '''hoaF. 8,-87, IOt,.J,. OI'II!_ ""*" '7<'. '9', '9'. 1~. 196. 191. 198. 199, '0'. '0', '01. ",3."6, ''', " l •• ", .,6. .}ll: ... "'0''. of. 16$-10 _0 '4' 'S" ,6, Got:, J., council. (ind..di.", .ynodo); 11_ (,on ), S4: 0Ill0n0. (8,,). 17' "",",,,...., (or NO' >SIa)("'n)' 16<>. '71. '<)0, >00. '0'. OO'. '<>4, OOJ: G<-ioleben (10,8). )4: laI· ndooo (114'). ~,onl:8c ....,...:84 "..,.;.: )8,. }ll8: n;';. )18;-m. m,)~ wm: .....,.,; ,,8: IS liWUJ' _ . SO" in 41: priowr<. 78(, ~jec''''''''' 55"; Nltb..",., (1<>4'). ,,, Orl.. ('0"'),1»' Pu.. (,,,,,, •• a,: Po ... ('00'). 'j.II: hUno (81,), ' " Ilftmo (10<19), '46, ,87: Rome (1<.,0). ,6<>. '9> , '14. '710 .•8" JI.omo h"'9), "9, 'n. 'n, .~, '78, .8, ••• 87, ," • • 91\: JI.omo h<>7..>. 16.: lton>< (' <>78l . 'n; Rorne ('079), 'H. '11". ,8.: ,......d, (,00.), 54: s.... ("40), )6,. 40600; Toledo (l"9d, '4: T"" .. (8'3l. ", 11: ToutS (1",4), )6. 'n. >76 •• 80: TroI; (909l. 4"; V""' .. ~ hos<». '74. 218. ,8, ....8. c.-uno1. W.: 4''''' _ _ ovpl, ;n En&W>d. Ht": .. N _w... u, 98. "a, '" _ion>... oonftu.mit,: 48,f, ~7 : .pirituol. 46 • .64 Cot\,I! ... Y .: '49", ,,,B. 4"B.• "n C"""".., 64-71 c-n.t I. duke of Cuinrlolo: Connd II, SeI,- '40. '4'. 469 ,m_: ,,6, ,,8 . "9. I .... ,6,. 17'. 183, 184 Ill. of H........,wfrn: 16. c-n.t c-r." Q M. : 54B "" ...... C.: 4' •• ,._, 60ft, "s., ••"'10. _e. m" 0- ... .,.,mo. .... re .. ,. It t ;,......w, obe 1'...... , .,1" eo..d"". w.-- C-....... , c.: .....,;",. oIlqor;o.J : ' ' ' , '48, 249 .• ,0, .69. )06, ,,,(, ",. "", " S; ,..ho IIl"sorT. IUi.j.: 37", IHB, "9". '84f, '9' .. t: 6,.10. "" '.,. )04 •• ,6: iii- >"-"., .... III 4'0.•», .)). 4~' 444, 448. 4"" pIoc< of, 4)7f, ",.ho ",,..i<Wn C«tu"';.] .• H_ ",,,..,,...,: feudrJ •• .,., li~, Ii>< .Ieoc.;],.. '''11 hemr. 1#'" ~..,., of.p«> n' . ,8" ,.."',;: ........, .~ .. iliiflouli,.,*, """..,.io ",)I", .. GWben'. "-"". CooIHI3e, 11..: 4840 Corbi<:. obboy of: >6" .68 ,00."", .,60>, ''''''' '9'" .•02,. , .0}ft,.880 z.... '1': MM """"" ",,,,,.mpl,t*'-: ."', " ' •• ,6, 344, 4'4. ,mu, '" c-.:•. P.:.66n Com,""unopi<:; '47, 4&6 c-ti"",,'" f'..m. of lOll' ,,6f. ,,8. '--';",uN ... --, ~. ,¥.-- ' 74, '<)0, '9 '. '00. 10', ><>)!, .06. ' 07, »0 .• uf, "', .. 6, "7B, .,6, .87" Got .., Uodulf: 167. ,68. '1', '90 . 'n. '40 • ;", Ji......." , ......ti'T """",,~Mm. M=;": Como; '7'. Cnocco, G.: 920. '430. '1'". "," <>: «.m.u.. Htt". )#: pIo"""8" "",,>Poor of. 'P:"""*"'.l41 f .• ,. "Sf, ,6,. "". c.:a....n.: "9. '9' c....:. ...I...'H. : ,8,. #. 46. en,,;.,,;, N .: ,6,... ,6],., .6& ,,8, ,,6. ,~, .08, "9, '11. ')7. >6',46'.46, .•1>4, " I, S.); .. ...,... n=. I)S. "ja';"'1 ~ ,8, I NO.,,, .......;r..;..,. 21'. 'B. >69. ,88. N., 49&n o.,ioHou.. J., 4'4n 0... .... >9). ,0,. JOIi. }<J8. l" . l60, 469. ~1' • . . . -, 17. 'H, 478 • • ,.. : .,,,kipotlooL of. .6.~: Ot.ild:n" CnLood.t. 478:.n.aodrt .. pil"int. 417; "'.1.. Fi... en-d.. dIo: DUI;.! ...... , ) jOn O'i .... ""~"ilbop of Mil ... , '90;"",," . .,..111 ; "",,",. .. . ')6: I I In . u •• ,,66. ~. 7d, 7 •. , ,,. 0...1.1, M., .6601 •• 67n Onio. N. Z., I,n. "n. IDOII,»9I> Do.i>. I .H.C., Dkt.ano..- . JA.. . , 4 ' 'In . ... ,0. t!"" do , , 6. "', 'F. 14' . 100, '1 ' . 'I). •• 61. '48. '.w. •, •.•. ' 11, ,", D piLari ..... .8 ,. cul..,...: .. titudeo --.I . •0: diflUaian of, ')11. ~ }Ot. ,t,. "]. "If.pOpOl&r . biblios· .....,. of. '''''''. 01<. , iao !..& ""'"'* ....... . . . f<'IIiiom, .80; popu.Ju 90. [06; P"I"' .... <"l!,~ ..... I ........... . 4'; .."...Jot ....... _ _ _ ndntr<. .W......... '''4. 10, 1)6. 'I'. '4' . '46. [,... " '. , , 8, ' 79, n o . .. ,r. 064f. .,.,. >" , .~ 6 ?I. ) .6. "I. In. , .. . "4" 7. " 4f, ,>9. , }O; .iditiol cul",....... .".. rinm ..... 41 '4'. '«"'. .1). 01'. P,. -- --..,.,.. C.....:bmlftn, M.: _ Curtl... , E. !l. ; "~n o 1601. _ In "7": , }I' Odf........ P.' 4 ,.n 0."",., 1'., )' 7n • • )4" 0.-.") " 490" o...Ido.). , Ion Doocona. it""" : 41. f Dnidni... , ' 18 Dr..Lodotdil: 6J .....~ . rho: '04 ... 6. " ,. IH, 1)7. 14cf• '79. ' ' ' . _ . J ' O. t60. 406. ~ '4, ~ , ,.&,. 4f>9; po .... cf, ,041 d·H ..... ,... A.: ( 7)" diaIoai<s: ~,. " •• )64. " . ; limil1 cf. )001; lI""jriooo '0. '12. " " )1" ,60. 407; '" JH loll< ,.6. d_ ......" ,,11ft, .8)ft . di.""' .., Oikhn. G.: 'Hn 24 C\lM_: ". 69. 88. 90 . ..,. ",. 164. ' 67, ",. ' 71. ts.. "" __ 1"'_' . "n, 1..,,,,,, D ' " ~N'"'. . '9<. 'Ip. '90. ><>0, 20) • .." . 201 . 210. "7 . 'U. ' .. ,. ' )0. 'H. )I'll. )O'1f. J'4. 'U. ,,,. 0 ' " ;.... 5< .. ........... cf: ,)9.• 9'I . " o· ..... 10... 4)t'. ,61. 6, . 166.•011. '.'. m}'tlo. " " """ _ _ • '9) . oroJ ,.f. ...;.c,"", ""........ ia. 49. c....oIo .....: '71n C,.,n... 5<.: '17 c"n.: "'I . , ,6 n... Ooc I ".DSt. : " _· ._" lft ok, . .... _ .. • )6. klio!. of. ..6. ,,8. I ,9; ,61" - poh, ;o.I, '0'/. ,,9i. S"". ,01. ' O"I"~ di>l.imilinldt . .. , Ion cl: ••• di",,,,~"',,,,,,: u ., ' ••• '7': _ JH _ ..... Md f<'IIi;" 10 '. ...... orjoniooe t C_ ",,-, 60 Dondooi .... It .: 99. "'D ""'0.1,.In... ., d·...1....,. M.·T.' 1 ' ''''.))0<1 Dam ..... Pun-; ><} 00u,tJ .. . 0 , C.: 47) ", 4760 d ....... , )U, 4S8. 4,... '0) , ~ I .~" 0. " ' . doo: 7f:> 0...., cf Patio: .8, Owo./uo. P.' ) . !In Dol,. L.. "'" B., 6.n .... di...-.e: ond - , . , ,"! : .. .J.. ...... al ohm.,,, . ". "9i;..- cf. • 8 o t, &M: " Dw 0 tlonaIiot" ' )1 4'4" L : 6Jn 16t . •66. ' 7' . ' 74. ,80. ,S,-'7, "', "I, "4 • 4". 46. , .68. ~ 119 . • ". , .,; 00..1 ,.a; OIl of. ,": . Din..,... D.' ,a.. 4_w....ity. ,""_, 10. ,,0; _.1» ,_1- 410 .46). 468. 411. 4\1' . 48, . 4,.. )OtI; INoC)' )I' di>lo!;"" 4,6; In AruoIm . ,6[ n-w. C., )In - "3 S"r,,..,"," INOJ!X '0'. '~I . [~6. [',; '., ",.n.. .,._. HI' Catho ,.vI, «hia: .6,. i.n~, }6I &0.- de GuIondo: )8 ouchoris<: 'OO. "'. '"3. " •. 'Hf. ,}6. ')8. ''', '.,. ' .... n. '4""'. J60. 4"". ~06, 4"". '"4. EucIoa ol awt..., ..61 Euda ol So. s,tr.ptKKim; ..... '49 ~ .. , orchbiIlIop 01 ~;I ... ; '78 E....-: ''', 272. '9" .'9. [)o.uon. J.: lion D.ikiclil>l, So. : 64 0....-. A.: '60 . . . . DumWI. G.: ,,0 o. __ i«. N. : 4'70, [)uptItb 4,.n ..,,1.[ do. 0_ b<m:ics: E...... , A. P.: 9)n. !I6n, Eft: 207. "4 P.Y_ olllooteWl: .. 8.f. '"' tt, Pt. ~H;.,...boLi<. ,01" Find. '!IV,: 2)1> ",; _ _ , '11"', flea, ,be: l79; ,IIJ. 22d : 0I1«re<, "9;" M . '., ~Ipf ,,6. u...o. ompiri ,06. ,,8 Eoodtu, J : '46ft. '?9" ...""dopediom. ;" """ , .."lirion: IJ. 80 EQFb. P. : 9} E",...,.....I ol_: ~ ,08. "" olCou<-y, I.Oo!q> vlI.aoa: .n. "I ::ith«.•", 47'; md "b",. 4).f; onc! ~j",. HI; "upr or Jiocd. jl~, }'7, 465, ",; ""Ilkol. 412. 4" ; oItbo:!0,,; [1".}'7 aporimm ...."" .a....ik: 24J I .,," 4'7 , 4><>, 44"o;",JJo imdptUo~~ol:41~ Ionrio, ~}9I", olh;ab ,08 'If'" " .. - . )4"'0 nlu;o, ;,/ ; }99, ~H ...,S;", Js. hupcnIo. So. : 2,0 Eyrork, .... doD. 0. : , N .: 9)n c.: •.."., .7. ... .a6n Eriuc< ' . J......... S _00"81· 4H •• ,800. ,2' Eamoia. A.: "a,'an, "., "n. ,6. n. ;-non" ',.R E...!_oo. ............ """ .• 0 J88"9' ut tt/H .,,, lit le ,';" 01 i.'''F"''otioo, 19 ion de i'Etoile: " ' •• " Erb,o.l ,'*'t-, ;Ie ...., 41 , .""",hI, iJioo: .,. El,jo/I' .. )Of Elisho: .. ~ 'jIof. <>:ik: 'H. 44'. 46}, ~" 48 •. 4j1of czisr 'ld, 314; 01 .....:I, J7'. H}, 'H;" '07. tw: , .... Ill , IIJ. '9'6. '4~' ,}6, J}I. 466; f, I"~ " ' ,}44, ,)of; , ....;},; . '=IlII.;., Mu..: " _ . lirurl1 af. JO', ,,6 E.i-';_, E. L.: '31' . 488, ..lIsI. '''h E".d • ...,.;....... a...a..: 11 0 E......!. St.:}'6; ~"'-PI ol. 488; Ultt/H OIduit Vi<>l;. ~: """ _...Jcor:iutr, 8,--3}. nol; ~,. ' .....: '9\1. 201. uJ &t!..;M"': 4", ~Il. 4'4 F.deoo: IIJ; .. "'- Adorn , [4J 107ft . lun. . .60. '4411. F...... , G. R.: ~""'. n!l J!odtnet: 6•• H'-. 48,11. Ebd, W. : 49" Uitt" ,.8, "9 Iloi............ _: _. H8, _. ,)8. )Ill: .... dtfini· '"'" ol. ,H, hi •• H8. H}; ........ Ji- E.: nV' 6oitb: '4', .69. 286, }06, otO"/; on.: (ft> w,.,." ""; ond inotLiocn&l _ _ • ,or; orrd..-xl, '47. 26,., "!17. "'}, ,.. INDEX *,. "9, ,,.... ).44; ...... 'Pi,'o. ~40; ,n _ _ • ,8,. )I}f FoJeo, N .: ~6on f~: >S" If< .I,. forF'}' FMu Dtc.rtJJ: 6cI f - : 611, 106, '9", 19iI. ~68, '" J. bNr, F1_ .... . : In" ~ho,..J .,D. : 3)'" J'ol..,.... M. , 8.4" J'ob, l.: ./161>, " ,. i'ono -, f-:tw-· ~_'" 64 ••• 8; .. horfty. 79; in I.... .71'. Ho 48<>; ...... 1-0;.... ~88; ...... faphot, .88f; of Hdloqujm, ~!16 famil, : ..... opboJ of, 478. ~8<>. 48,: , .....,.,. ..........10<. p" 'J.~ 47 ....F'}': of lA: -.iolo' •• SO"l0?; ll O fomi".: '8.4 . , 88. ,!\g. 46 •• ~69. 470. 47' Fotbs&[.,. D. : 408 •. ~I,n. 4170. ~S,f !-" ri: '99; If< JJ. m>«'< Fuoli. G.: 'H •. 'J& foo'i~: ,~S. 49' &1hm.oIo" B. 6" 66. 67. 68. H. 78. 1'<-: fuUlIIiOn f ......., J., ~H" ftuk. R.: 7'i! foo, .."i.,: h<mi ;fo." ,,;W, 488; '" J .. brod. """n .....c....... P. : 460. F"'5"""', W . K. : " . mm. L.: ' 7Sn. I n n. '79<1 /a_I: fm--. 49; " " " - . " !NdoH,ID: 10. '1. 4'. 45>"". 86. ' 0>, ')4' H. 18,f. "'.2<>4. '}S, 47'. 499 Fi: . , 6; .. _ . ~O; {tJJ<s, 126. foIJot .od i;Hh, u8'3<>; foIJ~. 1iJ9; foIJ;.... 'l9 AA .. ,,' ,~,. '64; ,. Jto allqr>8. l'S , ,16. and ~.n 66; and .7.'" F'-q" '~ .. and Mr' _ . ",; a.o.d ,ri'. 110; .<><1 ....... , ,6,(. ,66.268, >70. ' 7'. ,,... ,I,. n o; fi. ,.,...• • '1'}f. }'I'''' Jto 6&filII"'; '91, '94. l", and..,d· .". )u ; in eu.chuj". ,60; of opee' ; ......... ,,,,,h. 9' ; Ht ,' I, 4,1; • 67. Guo<> Gwci<mtt, J.: ~4 " Go,..".. biohop ofUron: ,08, J.: "4" 'H. J "I>, ,,0 Gounilo of Na.J",o.,,;,.,,: d..... ",iolo Amdm . FIodootd:: 474 ,08 fulba-t. "",..,.ofG.-ratd J: B Fulb '}It. "'D FJu ,6n. Gondjllo.c. M. do: ,6,n Gonohol. F. L. : 16n. 46n. 49. SO Fj.m. •• ) .: fIew,-: Frod.ri Goirr..., B. .... , 6 ,". 7'11. B . • n~. 48, •. 49'· G.Jh<" of BnrJd: ~o Golbtoilh. V. H. : 48ft.,9<'I J MN-. oJ~ Fin""."". R. : 80n finlOCm<. R.• "-4. 'i", C<usod<: 20,n. 48,. S"" 7 FIe . , 4' 1 ; In- Foudla- of o..n...: n '79. '90. "'. ,,... ",. "". }08, }'O. }'7, H'. 'H.)44. ,6}. ,64. 401, ~Il, .,8. 4". ~'. 48.4. 498, )04. ll7f F.... ;,.". 11.. : HO _irUf. • • '9;.<><1 _ . "0; /01 ..... 6,f H8. } 117; and ";'if. 441;" m<mal Fooo.i 79. 14}!. 148. IS', '96. »6. '~'. ,6,. .6, •• 6, .•66. ,68, '7 ' . '7'. 'n. '78. ~J., 60-4>.; ,"'"«< of ...... )79; ; " . , _,. '67; ......, H8 '4>. 1'«..... , J.: S8; '" Jto .ymbo[;"". phyriocrl in.,..J ,..,.;!;,;"..: 'l ,,6 • .'44 . 146-Jl Goery. P.: ~n 'lI) Gol>uin. '" bi.mp, '0'. 104, , 06 INDEX ~lmoon. 'n ,J6o. ,61. ,.aB. ,\19, j. : .,.,.. •• 6,n. ,67a. ' 7,a. a 411 . 414.4 ". 4,8.4' 9.42". 4U. 4". "4••• 6. 428. 4)0. 4". iH. 4,6. 4)1. 439.44'. oH' . oH) ........... 6..... 7. 4". GeIMi .... 11. _ : ,6 G...." 6. i~ A'IIIa s...... : 90 c..-; •. b::>aI< 01: '94. 441. 47' GotIr>ep. A. 46,.467 . in. Gft-= '79 Gonrd I. bnbopol Arru-Cambn.i: 1'. '9. ,],.4". ,:0<>- Godo:fny • • bboo of St. Dao"'i .... Nilao: G<:odof"ny ••,d,bishop of Nilan: .6,. 16:>. ,8•. '90. 201 . "" . "0. '" '0'1"0 Gonrt\, St .• of Autilbc: .hurdl oi. 70; lif. 01. 48, Godo:fny .. IIoWlloto: 486 Godtf.., oL N"",...: , 10 G«b ~ d'A~: 439" GeoIr.., of Neu£motdoI: "l] ~. E. ; jI 7~ . ,,8ft G GerdotIUI • .bbot.,( H;~"' : 492 Getmoin. St .• d'AUft Gonuabn•• 0. : 460. G_ F_: ",. G_ SJII*Ii Ah I 'mit: ,0&.'0; '''' Dti,., ~T"""" 90. 169. "7. ,_. GoodJ, J·: lH. "9. 460 Ce,er. B. ; }Ii, •• l86ft Ge.oofTortOftI, ' 7' GIotlUod.) ...: H'R ....... ,.8n.M. : 6... 6,n, .67n, God ... boret, .: 911 Co< ,n, Th. : .~a Gocho •• ho:: 46. ,80 Go '72R. >1I,R. ~'" Gourud. ,if<: ........,. ,of, 86, 4ll. 477 ; ""ri, ..... '}O. Gt.b.nonn. M. : )29. HOD. H'O, ,.0 ,6,. 9" 'J.4. "9. ,~, "'. 4". 4'7. 41' •• )8, 4" ; oncI _ _ ....., I).; ond (...... "9/"; merit. ond oa/Ya.ioco. Gilbo .. , botoili: GUbon: .. Poit;.,.: 6 •• 6,. ,.8 Gikhriot,)., HR. 6, •• 2970 Cibo (IfOU: .,. G"",," _ ,s.. c-" 486<0 .6,. GiMu?ofLsJJ, ' s G'--1 m. ..: ., 8. ",..&>; li min of. 'I'" 66. 97. ,," a<>d owtittd. ,,6; wh ' 9'. Gi.,.. A.; ,21. ,.6.,,6. '" ·"wo. G/IoJI 11. ...& -: ., God, 11. 79, 87. 90. '0'. "4. I ,8, "0. ,,,. ' i' , I.'. 'H. ,68. , ,6. <78. ,82. ,8,. 188. '89. 19>. ' 07. 209, "0. u6. ",. "'0. '''. 12'. U,. " •. ' P. 'H. '46. '41 • • 66 •• 8 • . ,8, .• s" ,&6 •• 87. "0. "7. "9. ,2,. )'7. p8, ~'.)44. ~,. j.oI6. L.: 7"" •• n n ,6.n. ,., "I, "i, '49. 4ll:'" MM <>1_ .!Iso. )06.)0\1. '4". lion 8' I ". dodo< ...... ioto of: 'H; '" MM N... 2'., '"n, .,600. "71'. ~. iII: ......;..", 19II; lS .... ionaI .. io60. '79. ,87. '''. ' ' ' . ,,6. "9. 4.... 44' """... inmi ..... objo .... 'j' .,., ...."",; ", ,6,,,. ,0. ,8. ,06. '0'1. ,,,. ." Gonrd. t.o.<:ti< .. Wcx ....... : 18. 'i'-4'. " ' • ..... y. Gentd il. bishop 01 ~i: Gent """. ,.". "sol. ''''. ,,6; ...... _, 4,a-,.; .. ""'- 479. ¥an: .0'. 4<1«• • _. }if. " ' . "'. G,,,,obe'8.j . H.: '9n Grtpion lI.dorcn: }6I. 4' .". 'H. 499 G~,.. R.: ,,600 Grtp)rofT....... '0, . '\14 Grt"", VII : JOII. #. ,6,. 16,. '9'. >10. ,86 INDF,X ...... >26, .)., '}-4, .R • . 48 ,; ,.. .I.. Hild ... Houbci H.""k, A. : ,6}t1 ,,1, .,.f, Grdn<, V. : ,0" ,08. )"'" .,61> ~,I..: 8) Groool. P.: ,6ft C - . G,: ',Mn Gnond, le.: 4)Ba Crun !16ft, 100, .8,.. '.0. '1. 30<' , 9,n, GuariR. IHIhop of-. ... : ' 4, '2} Gumo!., 11. : Hn ",. Guen-ie .r~nf: 4'7" Guibott, u,lode"""" in Mit.:.: ,06, 1O1 Gwib<><>. 204, 214, ,,6, '01 . s.. ........ .,6.•:to'. " '''1. ug, Guido Llndriw '81, )0\1"', '-4, ,,1 Gu..dulfo, holftic: 97f, '2 " "7 eur.-.-~, A.: 47R Gum, le. : '44R, '491> 0' "477";"' .bo --.deri", }Ud,"", I. """": 1]8 Ho1phm. L : ,'>2n Hlti"3, N" or flui",. N.: ,660, ,8,". )Is", ¥l2n, 404". 40600 l-Uu.lIi"l, A. A.: .68.0 ~,G.: ,600 Hofe..".,er, H.: Honty [of~lond: 38, .78, ,oB H....,. I of f...- [7 . 38 Henty 11 ofGcr ...I>y: Horwy III '" Gnmo ,,6, ,,8 .,s.60, MOR.,. IV "n. '8B, ' 9' , '9' ofCorma..,.: ,6 ., 16, 2'" ". ho, .. , : ", ", 79, ' 74, .88 , 214, .. 6, ,,6,16),411. 468, 41'. 419. ,03 , , ..f, ,." '~7 , \28, 1>9. HO:'od c.... 'i" , 14'; and " iminolity. ,.) ; and dioboli9<'. '9'. 'g.!, '\>9, JO'rI [; and fobio., , ,t;; and form..iIm, 79; and 8""'P in ...• 0<1;"", 88--g., "'.469: . nd hotmonou· 'in, ,oa, "of, "4, "7 , [42 .... , '41. 148. [6" '98; and;dol .....,b;p, '40, ' 47; and jjli.....", )0, ,06; and incom.· 600. and i ....... it)'. 123, 199; ..... ]...ai"", 140. 467; and tnqi< •• [0 , ,,6(. " 3' and Nocw T...... "",. " 1' and '04. ordi .... ""'. ,,6, and "'Silo'ie I""<'ic .. , [' 0 , I ,6, [4R, and onfotxlo:n<,pi.... '98f. Hoim<> ofl'l ,.o••nd ,ho _ ".,"'o!. ',l;....t ,or_ , ..... , n., ") , '4>: ond _ n , " 1 , 140, 141, ')'. )10: and~, '[1;" di ..... , " 1, 190, 1[0: Of "' ......, 67f; biotoriot!., of, 9-"'01, ' 46, .pf, !hBni"" All.. ...." W. , 8'R. 4g2ft 22n, '78n ,,110 Hatnhomo, C.: H.n HwulII, C. K : 1]. HR, 74 , 414R. 471 H..,i"l, ",.,...,: 471 'n. HOfbon, <""ft[ ofTroyoo : 467, 468 ";n .. IUrt.~, [(,6, Hmty of r.u..n",,: He/b<", chop ..i" <0 .....w.: 97, '07. 109, "} fUn ...... , W. : "7n, .,n lh'l'. 491, 4<08, 499, so<> H C"p" T, : " Sa,,9"'" G ...,..., ,hoGrn!: 78, 19 , 'll, 148. ' 7' . ,8), .!16, ~, '"", ,o!I: ~,416-, H....I. . . ;" f ..... "~n ,83, ori.Jifll 01, 91-'0', ,,0, '94 I-V;.ibo!d of "''''''''''' '7 [ Koo-ib ,8, INDBX Herlpollobb-- ' 7,f Hct1.ihJ, D.: 499" t.. "" "" ... ;';s: Ion •• 0 •• 108. ",. 1~9. I •• f. I,.f. 217 . "IH'. 2~. 2019. " ' • • 60. t6)f. 271f, 278. '191•• 8•. .84. '9¥. 3'>1.)051.3.7. J>O. }6,• 'n. .... )-06.4.',4.91• • ,>.u....,.. ...u,)07. ,21. )2'. ,,... HI; . . . . ~ iDlorpR- .......i" life 01. 103: ri&fIt co pm+. '3¥ &n>dia; u6 , ...... u •. •3 0 ..•.... H<m!. 0"1' . I I 01 .......: 4n "-"f de Bcoqdiw: 6, Hetben, II. ••J.: Iko'''!, L: ,.,... '*"'-. 11..: 274". '9011. 'K"- .H" "n lk,,"... /1..: 471>.''''' H...,...." .,. ,80. 4H. 47', )00;-" ;..., •• 6 H.-d. E. : 47.f H",._. " .B.e. : ' 11R. '840 [ton Ab!'A..nir Nobornmod: 4MB Ibn oI_lhithotn: h£ in "rn: 10,; ond '-'" 102 ideM. _ , 1 ... 4H, 4,8, 47'; _ ... Ia,,'pltl.. ion ....., .8-.30. 7", '99. 124"....... '98. 4<',; .. iklCDt. 88; .. iDi_, '7. 68. 166•• ,,; .. ~. 117.149:" ' .... m... ;n .................. JOB; "' ... li......,.. iIlitenq, .......... ;,w_.,.: 424 idoIo. """*'if> 01: '4<'; _ MM - , 1&"'·Wo; .....,..u..I. 4'"; ond odf-"'-I_ ....- q. . .....-41: """"" ~i... • ,V: HI Ms. HiIooJ oI""'cion: '90 •• ~. ,.6 H;ldcbt.> ." Hildqar H~~Aq;,p' ;': 61 HiIo. W.: 4"11, 4+4" H6dl. L: 2nR ::':"r:;;; H : .~ 1iuIi,.ojp [' ..... 48001 • H. M. li,,,..., "co±....... $., "n U,_". )'. )) Honantuo•• <101: 'iIIcp 01 Milon: '7&.80 I _i .. U: ,6, H"*",,, }.: H"". #1_ '7. 68. 13'" .)6. '49... , •• 6" 26); ....li. Ha:..-i. .,'; .. .., ... , " "; P. ... 4~'" 11 'l"P .... C. W. : )7JA. 476z.. 4780 -..,0: ,u J.46z> IkcOCl:. , 0 . . . Hourlitt. I .: 4'7" 1I..bt1'f. J .; 'Y>" H..btI'f. St .• obbq 01: 60 Hu.ah. _w ' p' ,. of LJ ,'7. Hu&hoo, It.: 4,,0 H...,..m. of!'iso: 6J Hnmbon of Wn ...d;": 276. '78, .80. ,'R. .1'.29'.291.299. }06 ;,...w. .,-4,:." litencf .:,,-,"" H6Ilwdz. F.: rlO8z> 11oIdo .... dI. e. J.: lin" l\orino do Ioli_ ~3a. 97n. '07ft. "s., 119Il, 127n, 139<1. I~ n •• 0 . ill;.....,.. 7. "9. 6,n. '00. ''''. '32 ... " 22,c. •86. 2"\14••96 . ..a" ,11. ,,,; 0Ift "''''''.,#' 406:" iJiIIM, iw. I71n. ZOO; w,;...._ lillDer. D.: ~Q. 'OOIl • ..a,n W..... _ioft: 99 •• 0, . 10" 110, Ill. 114. "9. 12~, 14" "'1. "0•• n, ..,. ,.,. 4", 4"~, 4~. 408. 4'9 """'": "~ u..."... diYiD<, u8; i _ ond "m-,)O}, "). )41 ••", ,}O: i"..,a • ....,.... fOr WLioe,...,j.. I}6/": ~ ","-,ion. ". )10, )18. 4,11-". }IIo. ,aV. iOIIf. ~'. ~a; i _......... ul, 191. 40'; oI ... p _n-o •• 'if jL 'f, 367; '1 C' F'i »,... ...._:4" ;_ ... ~ .- I '..: .301. ,08; "' . . j",ftJ"tI'''iooo, ,.... I". ....pooi<.... oIhondo: '~7 "-' ,88 INDEX ,.61. ,••.H"di_W ...... , .....ica<;".,. '., ood ,...... .. ionw: '~l . ~l<> i...... i-n. btM._: ~11 . JOI: " MM dot- \osi<. 'nf; .. ~, ....h lo, 79; in Plul • • 91: "I'P"'i'"", '0, >9'. ,061'. 401. 4", 41):~. ' 01. , w....mokin, I......... bo8'nni"3"": 6, In .08: .......1, "9' ~' l~. ,6,. p', iVII _, ...., .. ),a. m-6!J. ..It.ht...........oe, '41. '78; ,..,. ')04. '""""'...... ,: _ _ .".... _ _ .... UoeIi", .... : .. ' - • • ,6 .............. , . ,6 •• '91 . ')" ')4 , " '. h ' i.... V-=., i I .... .. iat ...... . "'_ont. 4" ; . iUi........ 68. 74, '" __ V 'D. ho.p,, · .,.. Ul b. """'H [ ""'-.;.,pt- ,. . I [....,.; . . . . . . n i";.;.....: 4.6-,8. ~n. iJO. 41' Jr.ftio. 11 . A.: .6n 1_.... Ill: n. 6, i....iouIioy: 4". )O" ... "J,. li<et><}' ..... , iorwlioy 1>". i"""ioirioo : S, •• 04. " ,. Ill. ,,~. u6f.•• , : ~,;,;,. ;" 10.. . )9 w-lry; '<J9; ''''4 • • 06 • .. ,. ..... pi., .,01;'". ' 16 • ., • '_ .~a ; .. __ (cO(.i ... ....JOfinl i __ ...,.... I..... : ",. "41 . -1IonnJo. ,,>. " ........ . .... >.'. "'. '#. ,60. ,.,. )0). " " '. ...,. 124. H" iMIJ.rw: "4. "" '14. ,66. )16. }96f. 4,0; . "'iMallo. n8-80; .... " .., ,__ , _. H• ,n; ,4'". ' ..J' _ ". i olOl_ 'isf "lo:' " ....1...,.., l4'.~; "'_=.)041; ioItI· l49. "c; ...... l4.a, ,6 , ,., . H', r4OI. 4061', 4" . 4'7 , .,.. 4". u,. «Iif. )1>'. ,a<. )}o. H' , i .... !Wc.. , • • • l . n . ...... 8 •• ,.., , ••• 0 . , ............. dWiot ; '1"""""" ." . • ,e ..so ' . 46, . I..." ,I,; "" -........,. . • I f; " _ " J horct,.1I1. n). n,. '4'.'IO_cl J"";';. "'., 4,. , 1. n. 79, ..... 90, Ill, I" •• .,6. 'U, "4. .,of. cl »'" ]0«Ib;. F. .: "" I.,., _ _ : " ' . U' p. ..... ,; n>nI. .. B. , . 8, '49, 'Hr. '19, .6,f. ,66. • 69 •• &6, '9 ', ,." p o, }olf. ,.,. ,It. )'), •. J1<1uon. 1'1 . D.: • '''I; ..............." I.... , 44' lII,beI ""''''' 466: .. ___ 01 hi"",. 410 1Yinb, ~ . """, 4 ' 4~. 44'" Iw"Chortrn:)7.6. ;rwoI_: .Ilf:,., Ms. ...... _ ... ,6. f . ,n. ,aIf•• -.s, ,80; .i,:...,,.. ............ '44 .......... )68; _ ...... }118; ..,.;".~. · of' I , ••, " )116<0 J....n. fr. N.: ,6la. J -. So.: 'JO J- .1 l. L : ~O)ll JP" J_. H .: _ J _ . B.: )'0. "7" J«>k,;_, 11 .: •• Jrttmialr.: ..6, •• 8 J•..,.... 5<. : .,... 19. 'l), '11". '1' .•,8. ", )=.'1",,: . c,. 470: ... ,,6, .6). 466. 468 • • 69. "",..,d "",iNal. 4904 J-- 6? VI , ." . ..... '4' . 4<>1, -t68I', 49 '. 'lI , onc! ......,. . '04:;" Som. M : loa'H ,M 01. >11' ... ' ",... ... i )', ,.of 'o,. ,06. 'cl. " 4. "9. " 1. " •. • t<>• • ,t;. ')7. '4' . ' . '. '1". "' . 'I' . Joli_. J.: ,6... )6)11. )6.4 •• )la... )8,n • •6,. ,67. ,68. '1'o!I. ' H . •76. "" .96 . .,e. n o. "1, .46, •.,. "', So .: "J. • I " .69. '19. • 80. '9' , 2,,..6. , .6.4-66, .6,1, "M, '904 ••• 0 .801• • 8" .9 ) • • sa, '11'. '9)1'.• 516, J""" a..,,,,,."': .,., '98. '99, ,ao, ,01. ) ,M, )'){' ).6, J.... Goal"'", •• , )*". ),8. )4.4. }1.41. 404 , 4 '4. J""" cl Hu."p' .&.{. ,"ft ' 04. .... .•,1. J""". .,6,.,0.". )6,. 4", 4})I'. 0)1. 411 . 4)~, 4n . 476. ,01. ,.0. I". )". 1'1. " 7·". l') , J""" of Goo ,8<j INDEX J""" tL kip<>ll: I01B, ,0/1<1 }oM tL So. Atftui{: IB}n J""" ... K.OhIor. E.: i _ KPh'on.buj«. H .: ",,", M.: i80 SoJ.....,., H, 'H, ).6. "1 Jot.. l'o Kftumano, N.: Joba ,he Boptioc: I, ... 216. '41, " '. , .. } .~ }obn tile )I .....: " , j ..... , C. W .:"" ; ;' .' 418 }ordoa Ri.... : "4, ,,6 .' f t i--; "90; III ~ i. ,. .... , ,.,..m Kq, G.: ,860 Kuolool. W.: ~, i,A K.... _, S' : 'i" ~1I1: 2 n j ..... lo<ariot: .,•• 4" J..doc. So. , hermJ... tL: J66n t.othon J..u....., H.: "9<' J -, M. : '''0, nBn , .I .o6n W', G. B.: Ha, "n, [600 j ........... n,j. A. : .67n j ....i.,;on, l lAi......, M .L W.: "0 Loi.!Itdt, ,1I9f; mtile PIIII";,. .,,'n; po>t;,;ipotlon tL. in ~ion, '03, • ri. 2>'(, .,8; p;.ry"" 419; oopontioa prira •• '}O; opiritllali., tL. »6: _ ;""ibioo: 126. 108, '29, I,., 'H. ' } l • on, .,,; ... ~;w pool,iono. "9-3' lambort, M.: 9'0. Kaiorr, E.: ,6.D !Camaow i<&. H .: 'iD 1460.. a,2n, Lombc" ... Hmldd: '41" Lornma, P.: ,6 ... , aI,,, ,.o,p.m,w.. i"" ,ioo, 498f.)06 k...: .. «>km ... _ , • "I; .,mboI;c. i", i", 418(. il9/'•• 24, ... ,1; .ymboI;'. in Klud, G. : "'" kit"""", E. : 8. ~. A.: i86o K~. KIotritJ;, H. "n "4,0 11., W.: Kneolo, W. and M .: )&20 kaiah'bood: ~ ..., 480; id< li ..... +&,-86;,., MM OlmiD .,0, Kom., I..: 37" '3)" ~tOf, ."n, kiB: bond. ..., 488; and .,..' .... ,...,] 107". "9", A. M .: 61n, 'Ha, ,}OIl, ~<>4ft u.r..Jty tL Orbec: 496, 491, # H. E., _ , 'Ha, ,,,. ~, E. T.: iO)l', .'iD lCNMr,j · P.: 96<0, 9fIn. w..., holy: ""'1 .,n. 'n" Kaq>iDlIt;. L C: Sin Itao .. ...., r- I.ot>d..If 11, otdobiohop ... Miluo: ''', • 19, ,64, '1', 178, I8I-8J '}9, 'i" .3. " •. ' }4. 'HO, .6 •. 161_, .68n., 'H'' ' ' . .,6, "7, 220, '21n...6, " 7. lMMItdfSo";"': n, 119, 98 .• o.~. .", .,6, 'n, .,8, 481" I.anfw.:: .", 'H . 2,9. 072, 'H, '14, .76, '17, '18, '19, .80, .87. '9,<}09. ''0, "9, no, '>i. r.aftonr, cl.,;,; tL So. Cdouo. MilO ,'S, ~ ,.8 .""""""uo.ii>ati, ,a. 40. iY, i6,,S., 119 ,8,(; ~: and ,.,f; ~~i-8" 4"-'-f, """",Miom"', H'; diftni'1 tL, ,69; 8""" ..... jg/•• 20; lilllits .... )84, 4042, ii9; lOIicld _ ..., and "Sf, ... nuaJ, l4,; Otdi.....,., ..6, "9, ,,6; tL .q;"" .&6; ...... iilc:, and oij: .... '''; "nxtute .ime. .,i"'''' ,6., on.li'1, lifetl!Cy "-Pt 11><1","", }n. t.noo, Iood« tL ci_: 192. zoo, XI,. ,.8 ,,8. "9, '7}, .88, "."J6 INDEX _;.<_[W,.'" ,-,u.t. M""" h<m i<; 89. 97 . 98, '01_ Uoon. dilo .. 106. ~ 1.Jo,,1>am. R. E.: ~ 9" .•98n Lotio: 61• ••• 8,.1>9. 'H. [)8. ')9. ~. ,d. Leoy. E.: .. " 44" . .. ,n, 460 lbr. J. P.: ,8n ,69. lbi.p,o ..",,",. E.: 46." u-,;,s,....... C.: Lowis, C. S ; " 6n la: ' 7' , '74, PI , ",n ll. 1\)-,0. ODd Ilomonla, " . ,,; &nd "",no<_ ...... "->7... 8: r.. ... f; J;teruy. ,2 ; _ l~; K' 'H. '96. ~. ut MJ. ~_, >0600 . 'H. '8,. '<>9. ~. W';lfft>. and 1;-, 126, ,,8; D'Ii. 4'" ,.. ,J" 10 .. fA>< Ri" m.: 46 u,..I•• J.: IhB ~~ , d uw_"""'~: ~. '''.,,9> ODd ""th. HO; An· ,k>-5uDn. "'......... 461; SW.undi... ~2, ')8. ii;m.,: .6;"""". ~ . 68. ''''4 •• VI; dioior. 484; family •• 4 •• 6; ktIandi<. 80; liMits of. 4'1; M.....,.;n'iul. 10; ... tunl. "4. '9'. • ",. "of. ",. oflana_, ,B,p; of no, ru ... "" ,,8. )'" Old T.. ' ....... ,. of 8 .... G.; Hn. nn l.«1o.l". 4<>4n •• 060 ... <>8. 409". 4'0<1, ~Hn. 4n " kfM, 7'. ",, , , ). ,,8. 4<>8; .nd ,.. .;.", H• • • 68: .. ink;., ..... 4'6-.8; ....... "g;" <W*tip<. ~; JM.... ' O} • • <>8. 'I", ~l9. 487; i. m..~. 4'9; ",,J,, he<"..,....,icI. im.rpte< ...... J,.o '~, n. s.•. ,<>8. '17, lIB li .. nq: , - ' 0, '3·[8, .,,(; ond ,bstt"" ;,,... 8S. 3'9; ODd odmini>[ra[ion, 17, IB, 3', ", 37. 38. ,.,; an 00ftl"","'''''', 8 i; and ,,",,,, .. uoIi.Olioo, 68. "0; &nd <01111."", i '; ODd , ultllh.l dill'.,ion. ,,, and culrurol _ ..... .".-, 86f; oM ,he dt.-il, 67; an: ond S""'<Mt, 314-'9: an00, 4", ... 07; """ hi~htr ""It.,", '" 67; ODd tu,,,,",,;,,,",,,, ' 01 : ODd 'h< holy .,toi" • Ilf. '76: i6; .nd iBtttioris; and loo .... ,6t:, 4'/' ,, ' ". ,81', [701', "7/. • '4' , , .. ; ll: and obi hem,. "on I.oW, ld . D. : 1.1". 49"Jn Lt Golf. J.: 14". In. jI6<>. loon. 1'9n.3,1l I;.go La> IX, }6. '461'. 'in La> ofVmelli: ''''4. I.oopnnd. Psutmeptidt; ,,,,. ' " •• ,6 r-ulf of N_; 67 Lo.i"". G. E. : '77n kttot ODd opi,;t: ,<>"/, '49. 4", .n, ',0; ut,J., Idoo......"i< •• inl" ...... "'" ,0. , .,6. '01. lO'. 467 {jn_. I..; 4'iB liooi •• ",non ~ .(;tQi., QrWmo, 97. t..,....u S.oai $ikorJlTi: 60 'OR. "s" ~.., ho«o"1; 99. " , {jot';, "",hbioh .,0. 1..I:mn<. It.; '9' ,}8, 4'4. 4,8 lindbo:r,. D.: 8," [lOo poi .... , 4,f. '" p Loun.o. 67. 78 t-h. E. JI.: &!n Lobon. J.; '70n; ';,n H. : , 87. lifo<), !>,'''''d. ,[f.,... .•68; _ i n g i_i«. .'9; .,8 .• 60. U ~8; ......... ,6>: .nd _ ___ • Hn; ODd ,,{,_. »6;..-.J JOO. R"... of So:oi--= " 10.: '''9. '". "'. ,~8. ,,8: and """"". I 48 ""io". '[. ,,0: ',*"". "'; 'H. ,"', '0' ,IJ(. i". ". INDBX u..1atJ • .) o,r. ~. T.: " 70 l.Odkr. H .: '9<>. '4R •• ,0 Lodc., 5<.: .. " "). 4" l.uoa>mbt. D. E.: ,600. ,6,._0 ",f; Mob;l,""" 19; ..... rti•• n;...d pmolItO. 17'79; ...d _it dKtiooo. ,0>; ond 1<1 ' I.. coJ· <w"<, 66. 7ee; ..... fA. 'h;.., •• 96f• • >24. n6;""" priodq, .~; """ rarionol· }<>-J,4 • • 7, 10•• so, }.8, H). i.,. otId .6:><.u, ,61. 7 ' , 88. 90. "7 •• ,.2.4<'.4O"),...d the Ilcb"'..;..... '3 ; &Ad 8 ... . '1. oocia.l.........-.•. ".. 8&-• ..." ..."r, .6}. , •• 1. ,.,. &Ad ""ri,. "'[ity, 9O;..,d ...... <1:." ~; ...d ca-.l aicCiom. 601"; 1I>ou3b<. onc! ",,;0... .,,1; onc! ....... 8,1;...d .........u.,. .48,....d.-ioud ocdor. 8. ;,..ts. cnIl.,. I~. «ZrIlOI.i., /;-. '4,, ;166. ,67. J72 N_ J: 60., <jll, '··Id, A. J.: .6,D, 'l'D, ' n o, '18<1 ••8000., '87u, MtGinD, B.: 4"u, ,. ,.. Md...,...J. : }6on.,61n MocK.....,.. L. Co : 4790 Md.ou.IliliIL, N. : , 000 Nd,. .•• N .: 'SD N •• obi '46. , .. 'HR, 'nD, '9}D, "?9" u,. 14(Ii, '99, " I. I...... : 6. 26C. '7R. ,,6.• " , .6), ,." 44',...J i/JiI_, :o6j. 360. "] MainLI, obbor of Oun,: 419, 46,. 466<1, Utd<. E.: 4060. ti""V, me Chriati ..., " ...8 • • '7> .•9'. ' "; ,h<" h";,,. ,J'I. '18. .uf; iD me eudwi... ." , of I!oom-. Iobi_ of 5<. E_: 491 NiLiIlZ. N,"';U at: 91 ,... ,.., '!i'\l. "]0. ,01. '.'. • tI • • " ; .Ms. ad .... ~ .., .~ ~~ , F. lV .: SlR bu.dkli' " &at ......,. ,.,..." ulo''' "" __ • •J .L """ 41 • t.m ... Noli...,.....;. B.: ,,," _ _ ,80, """, H9, ~J , 4.6,. /ms. 1obI1ooo.J.: Hn w.-...... Co: 'nn Mmi: '41, '49 , 61; dj. ,,9,111= d',. H'. ,l8-40. ~,. )6.; _ "';_. • ..,..,.... ~ 91. Jl6C, '47, ,\00, ....... 06>0; Vd. 4,0 l,ooI;: 'n, ,6,. ' 7" UI&tcd<. I .: n. Un Josic >.,. >7<', '7Sf••80. JOoI. "". ,'0. lU. 3"'. H'-. lW. ,}6. 140, ',0, ,61, }6" ,8,. lW, ,26, ,.8, opinM, .iJ.4, ..... "6;....,,..,., oR .....rica. be~ the in An· 1'4, pI , """,,, ",-60; limit. 0/. !IO'. ...,>; the "old," ,6,; _ _ .-li.,. 387 ~. ~l ~ ""'",Ui. k. : g.8Io, '49<>. " ... 41 lrio> . .d". E.: ,600> !>I.Xl..!, k. : .,.a.. ~: '40, _ oloo Milan ~. the: otId U......,. 8s4]; ....... i<, ')4 ........... "" . 0 . . . 11., S. : '7R. . ., . Lord ..... 11.: 8000. L<>c, F.: }lo. 4'''' m,.,.: " , u8, ')8.461 • • 8,. 49'. 499. )0 •• ,.,a;""" odu!my • ..,,; on.! homt-, "4;""" ~i_, _, Iftd 8.4 • .". 49' opJri.,..!i." H. do: ",ft. ,,,0.•,&. Loo:a.; IlIJ. 194, . ,6 '0]. n.; sod of. "9; ilL Tondk""·. bet lott;",. 0."." , _ 1.oLaio IV: 47} u.w., I..: ,Mo Loiaio VI: " , 38, '46 u.uis the Pi Luhec, me..,... Notbo, k ..... : "90 .76 ~iJo: h- . 4~ M.dial.... dkik of AMi . ,...,. 14' Mo..iriuo, .... : .6zn ........: '1'. ~,. >94. ,.. •• 4'9; ,., "'" Jeh • . ,... l<>d>: 'n . •81, .8S , i94; .. .ts. Cot/Iaism, dI>oIiom ManoPd of laIoc...b.:h: ,lOCI ' l } •• "4, 76, '71 •• s,f, 200. '<>4, 206- .0, .,,1. '4' , 4"',' n, 4~ ,,8. "l·2S , IW. ...... 01. 4.6 .......;..I, '41 . J IO; me. """ ilL me 24f Nu""" HA. ' _. P ,.' ...je<- INDEX I>Urowo mill<""iurn. 11><: ",~ . 88. 96, [00\. 119, 1)9. 4n, 46" 466 ••1). )[ ' . 130 Ni l""". S,f,C.: H" MinS-. E. ..," '46n Nin;"'Po.I ...IIo. L ; /of;'",rJ.. $, s.-!;'#: ~. """ mi"",I ..: '9, ~·7'. 94f. ",. 'll. I~. 178. ,88, ,,6, '.,. '46. 'SO. >90. '~'. ''7.4'4. Hof, 4'9. 467. 4 70. 49 ' , ,,, , d«>i,1of. "'. II~ . "9. "c,of CIuU<, 78. ,~ , of ....huix. '61, '94f. '47, d!utct. of. Too... ." ,.on. ",n. """"room: 46,.~; 01. Nidd. ""' ] ,6,. Moro..,. . in'" .. "";"" oi ...... y in: 9,f "'''''' St. : '~9/'. 496. "~; "",,IOu oi. Aoctorn.)II 101..,. MI,s c . /1..: [9',on. "n 'Ol . 199. 'H. 4,8f. 418;,., mowmm" Motbon. G.: '~n. ,B }n. ) ,8n _ , ....... 10(,: 'Hn III .. ,how. So ,: [H. ~ maK<S . . . . . : ~,. ,Y>6f. },a... ...."""'. J.: 408ft ",""ri«. s..: 46 ••• 463 1IIwro. T. do: M...... Ill, : Mooi"""' .... G:mkuot: 1 [8 T. , 49". [,4n Me ,on "n Mo"". 'p. ,i,. .,.;.<><1 nodi"", .<>IIf 101_",.". G . G .: 'Hn "'.,;". ...,non"';'. '4'; ....._ ~. """""'Y: ~. • ,,, •• '- L;,. - ~ry, , ioo, l" 74f. '44. " , . '1' .•• 6, ~ 6 .• ~R. 4S6. S", S'7f; ond «odition, «odi,;on " I •• , . . , ' ' [ , '~" ,,0. ']>. ,0,.MM6, .• H. '4', >of .... , '49, sf. l"; oM ""t£m3 ",... i1>3 OV<' 'itn<. 371 f M, nofndn P>Jol, Il .: ,," ",«: ' 4. 99. "4. " ,. [,8. ,88. 1119,211.418 ; in Mdlll. ' Hf 101""';1>3"''''' 38 Ntffilm. 11 . L 4~0 N ........ Il . le 6n Mm. Il .: 4ilon Noht. W .: " ,n M~n. C. , 4ll , 'l<>R. " . ''7 •• ' ll. 4' '''' MoUud, /1. .: '0'. ....,...,<... , ." 89. 98. 101 •• ,08 , ' l9-41. 'SO. 'S7. 18,. IS. .•06. ,.6. >10. HI. "7. '3' Nonod. B.: '44" Non«Ioo. J. <1<: "9", .6,0. ' 7}11. '7)". ' 76R. '7~". ,8... ,8,0, '9,R, '970. '930. C. : -i61n ""n. ,o,n. ""n. ,06". } )08". J09" Mon_i"", 41l N<)'fIiol. IL ,60. Me • ..borbo. P'«d-Qow>rin. P.: }41n.}49<> N;.l01. ' 0). ,,8 M,11l> V.Uk..,..., J.: 14ft mill ",n. ~~ 10 , 479. ,,,.. >" .•'7;.,..j /1(..... "4 IIIi.....,.. N .·D,; '440 Ioti ...;,. H .: 44" m<delo, "",,;.n.. ' 0 . ,,~, boht..iotottJ .~ . 4, 4S6. 46t1 ••73 . ~77, 479 . 4/1,.8,. )0'. ,04f, ""h~tol oM li•......,.. 34; fo< <1<'0' .ion, HSf. B9/'. H7. H9, fo<.-" ODd pntri«. 77; innop,.ti..." '[ . 'S,f. '4,f, ~S', S07. S ' O; Io,inl psop M...... k. I,: "". 9,n. 960>. 980. 99". '0,•. ,06<>. 107 •. ,,6<1. "70. 126<>. " 7n. 128<0, 4180. ~ 79" 101"""" S. f ., '4'0. 471>" Mot, G. C.: ')4ft Mor-d ",n. ,,,n. ''', "9". "'ft, "".tom 'n. • Moo<s: , ,,, ~, '94, "4 . 411 ••• 8. 4.8. 449; ju!J;l« of. 41" "all' of. (6)( '" INDEX ~ i ..........""'..... 46.~; 01. "7-,,, rtli.""". '1'. '1<'• ....... 'P<>. •76. ,,,. '4' Mumkord.l..:&..,. 101 ........ ;.1.. A. : '1'". '71 M.......,.. A.: t~f. 8,~ M....... l.. : 471" g.8 Y>«. morri. Niools. S. G. } •. : Son Nier....,.... J. F. : .9" _ ".f. .(In. '89. '9'. '97. .... m..,. ,}6. ')4f• • dmntiom 01. • ,4f; ",1lH_, t ... "9 •• 6" 'n.•B,. 409 • .po. Oil. Nri. 11.: .ucoI<i..." 'H . •,6. ,60.• 6•.• 68. 'n. '9'. '9' • • 0(\..'0. "4. 226.• ,,:,. JIf NDif ,.H.'H.,.,: poa.....".6.:..,H ')7: ...... ;'•• m)'1ri 80 ~" K. : 14" .,tIn.JOtI. )08..67.4.6..68.4,0;'79.01 .86. ,0'. ~. no .". N«k. A. 0.: 'H ••• ,6n N"". }.: 9'". '4'. • " .. . ::;_:.....' N~'::' bo: Ni M _ . }.: 4'7B. 4,'B ,............ in Getmoni< litem .... : 477 "9. «,f. 00. 4". ,.6 : ood "'. ,,6; .. ';ao. ')9; ood ...... . . . '66: ...... 4'9 , ph ';' H8. ,!j6. 40' nooUDOliun: '19. "7. })', ,.6 _",10. ,_""......,. ofo ,~6 ~'47'. ~7.·76. 479. ~" 496. '" Nof....... ' ' 07, ' 78. 0(8 •• 486-118. ' " No... li.........: ,91 __ }79; ._' .u...,_ '9'4'. n. ,,... •• }>. ; .... " " , - - - _, }66. HIl; ... 36>~ _ori .... the: N..t.. M.: 8,~ - . ., "4••118, 292. '9J. J'O, ,"a. ,,,. "4, H7f,~, m· ,0;18. 4'0, 4,6: ptuo"itiod. , •• f:,. "'.. _ , .... ~. .JII. 4"9 ...mw: 46 ••90 '11. ')1. '4'. "'. H7 No _: "4. '42, >66. '0'. l'4. 'H._. """"'1' •• 4)1f. 46 •• ",; ODd o:tIanf< • • 881. ,'0. l". '.4: ...... ,.8. ,.4f; ..... '74. ,.,. ,,,: of. of. ........ &.l ..... , ... . ,. - ' i.... I<'F! " ... , .... 01. '4,; prcbIe .... of, '4.f; ",i.,,,;,, _iooc! 01. 2118, "7-". "4' ..... " of• ... ,. ,2(>-l2: '" M.. nuut>Jw.. ,.......Jw..: 'd. " '. )09. 4)9. "4f: i N...no. "'....... 10,......: ,60. >16. '''. re.. _in. "",.>08, 218(, 22" ,oon 0"Gd.l0,I ...... J. F.: 46.>0 0010 0/" Cl",,!,: 48.4. 49' 0.10 0/" CI""l" )Or'. , 060.; Lifi t{ C.-iJ t{ A.mJJ.. 411, Qdo"",,,,,,, 0I.sen., .080, 4660> ""'..,. ,t..- of: 4U'91 01&.. Jcl"" 48 "" . .• uf• •• ,;J. 0,&.. C. K.: ,601 &lid f ", '.. "7 ,.,...,b, ,,,"- of: ,., ,..""h Old T.... "'..: '91. ,.,. ",. 4'4. 47', , ,8; .. jc<.od br Ixo(l;o. 9/1; toOW"C< for ord,q,. &Dd ouchoriKi< ,...!;.,.". ' 1<':.od Ji .....,. 11. '30: 99. "7. '4' . '44. ,,0; .. I7~, 777.. '. 1-1.; lIoftta. '4'. '44:".Jso Bib!< T...........: '97. 'Sf. '4""- .1It r .... ia. IlH lIibIe ex o..a. W.}.: T,n 'lO. "", Ne-w .66.., old • ' it S. S .. ',.,;: .9}-91 lIl ... 8 •• J.8 N ......... So.: 19J. 198 Ne""",. _ of St. Am_ ..: ,T. '10. "'. '7,. ,8•. '9J. ,,8£. }04 • •6,. ~.6; &Dd _, .... ''''-17. >6.-6> _~: JII """'Iosia.l ............. ,~ .,;.;.: ",. '99; .... M.. ~ ~ ... F.: ~o'_ >9, INDEX op« cl, 3,f optimism. 1• ..,.u, 96(. 4)1 on.l cui", ..: )-1 '. ".,8. 7\1. 1,6{. '69, 'n, H6; ond. ""ul,~ 48: ond. roo~. n' onc! cul"",,1 di'&'_rmmt. "" ond.m.m.. 74. ,o,f: ond ...""'. . 49'H' N'>. 16:...cI law. 4S·.9. H. ,I. 90. orod ~i<. "l; ..,d """,~. ", ond. -.-,.. I,. 6,. 6,. HI. 90. ,<>8£.1+4. »7. »8. "'. '46; .Bd _is<. b-,...,.. ".ioa. "9' 8,. _lis. ". '1'. 'H. 18., '93 • • J.8l. ,03(; ond. Otdoolo. H; ond. pt,,,",,,",,,,,", 3' , 3"; p1Nt<. 7"\1. ,...-, . 34). 346. H6{. cui'''''' " . ,.;.od "">W)'. ni, "al. )66. _i. . )7'. W'. 40.f.•o8f. 41,1. 4n. 472. 497. I"')' : oM wriom. . lH. ;/I, ~,.8. 36. 90, ,68. "7 oocIool" H. ,8. 66 ord '" oro.n: oflaym "-<. i. ,t.. church, "4f ordi_ : n8. 1811, of. ,,8 "S, »6. ')9. 'S7: u/!.aaiotri,. )8>; _ _ •• 66: ~. ' 49: "". tilt _ _ _ il •• .,.: ... .wo order 0.1tan<. ~, 0" 811. ". 99. ,060'0. n •. '46. ,68. "7 . ' j.oI. 469. S" Oni. P., 4's.. Oobmp. H .P."., lion •• 9}- ...., ."f. 'jO. ",it od'd ."'IdJi ....: .. ,of. 4' 3. 46.4 OU" J: .,. 180. ,8,. ,81. ,86. 0 ..011: 18•• a"~. 46<> 4" 0.10 Ill: .60. 46,. )llf O aw,-. C•. : 466<1 P";",bo"" ,6, Pi "'-l 481 Pal".... I.. E. : IQR. ,"" "'-no&k)r, E. : 8,. pope<)': 3) . 113. 174. '76. ' 71 . '7B, I~). a,. '97(. ,01. '09.• , 6. ,,8. '1'. 'n. 470. S)O' and ,mp'''. '111-63. '9'. "0, ')'. 'j.oI, 4601' Pap;,,: 6, PIt:O< ...... ron .. m of: 314. 404. ,., puodis<, 46,. 493( "'-Of<. E.: 4'on Purnt.J ..N .: ,,8B "'-'''. G. : 'In ",-..... \Jru .... i,y of: 1" P. ..... N . B.: 13n. 6,ft Pit.,.; 119 P"";' Pan""'. N . P. : 74n Poochol IJ: )08. ,0 Paochui ... I.odben-... , '.'. 'H. ']4. >76. ''''7>. '78 . • 80.• 8 •.• 83. ,B) •• 811. '90. '9'. '94. ,,,s. '''' .•'0.• ". "S. 1' 4; 0. FiJt. sp." Cm"''' • • 6" £>101;';' ;" Mod" 7 I, ,~: v;.., W.J.... ,6, """,ouJ are: I. """ ••i _ _ Pat ..i•• 'h<: 88. s,. 14S. ,,1"4". 'j.oI·40. ,>2(: do,i ... i"" 0( norn<. '99. '00, '7'. ,~ P.,,,,h . E.: Hn Paul. St. : 6,. 90. "'. 19>\1. '~o. '~9. .,0. '16. ,60 •• 6, •• 6•• ,81 •• 86. '" . .,.. ,<2, 413. 4.0. 4". 4". 4H •• " •• ,8 •• 4_. 44'. 446. 441. 448. . ,_. ' ' ' . 1.1"; .. i...plUion '" .......,. <21. 129; .. imp;",;.", 0( ""'rmt>. '}7; 01 u,i!i=! b-, 'h< Po .......... '7<>. '07. ,08. '40 , mi>iM"pI<',J. '1<>0, on;'/;· 'li. .,0(. _ . ,H.)O INDI'iX P;~I. PluI of St_·~ • Chottroo: 77, 99, •.,.,. .8, '~. [,0 Poa>LitI", of M= 1 , =: .,6. >H, CMmi. 88. ')0: N. : Pippirc ~. 53 Piroru>o. H. : '7. ,0, '15'1 _ . P.: 4,aa, 466.. pIoztio:: ..... the: , ,8 PIozo: H. 'BsI. 1", )20, )JP. J9.2, '99, 'H. ,,6. "7, .6 •.• 14 .•8,, '9j ~J.God: ." p"liku.. .., ,:S •• l1li. ,n7 •• (Jp. 410, .7'. J.: u. ,n PdIt";I>l. C.: .. pc . ": n·19. '04...8 •• ", 'JII •• 69/". •• " u'. 29'(' ,60. 406. 412. 4,6. 4n, ,.6" 484. 41", '04, , .,; rej '2,..', .• ~ :.71 P'-;w""'-«St.CJ ,.q.n;: 4". 4.8 pc,,,", 7 '99 •• "" .. 6. '24, ..8. ~.n; druid; al, "'nioda. ,'6/"; dItud!. of........, 118. 41:1; mt ....., 44'. "4. J'I ... ,i_: , .... ",. HC P1i",: .0., ." "- _ a-. Poo .......: .BsI "I: An.. , '"" l'00I0, A. L.: 478 Pode. t.. L : "n)6 pc:r 'W' aoJ .....: ,., aoInrre ~4 '74. ,84, ,...,. the Voaonblo: '"'" 'j04 • ..... 19 [!SI. '84. ,86 • .88. '90. '97. '990 '00. '30.• '(1. ,,,. to,.,. , 4':1: Pn&ue: 10.,. 36, "9, '27, '4'. '91, 46• .0" "4 4'" ,tic. 4.6(; p"p", .... M-' 6600.. '~244"_' .60. • 6,. ,(if. 478, "4; .oI.........,.,}C. 88. 217. "7. .,6.48)•• 88 ••9' Po.dl. J. N . : 48n Powif"Kf ond rIo< •• 'PI"" ...!. 24A-)O, .,,: ",Ms. "",Wi.m, ~'I"" 4" .,. '28.......84... ,. 'J', '47. '12. '29. 44.f. 497. 498:...cI _"'._. _ .• ", _.;....t. _ 367, in A.eiJa. ~'D; 'it' "',)C4A;' " •. 64. c,. ,~ no. ,8,. """"bc., •. : J:lJ" PO,"" ..... Picaftt. P. : ",.. .69, .". '79. "n. e .: ,60m -"""'m. B.: n n PoOl. G. : ,."" Pootaa, N . M.' 8,,, - . Tudobodo: ,.,.. .... ouo:ri. A.: 4"". 4' Pbu' • the: 68 PIoillp A..,.......: ,9, 478 Philip I: ,8, :1<>8 l'IoiJiipo, H.: 8jn Pioana: 'H •• ". ' " .- .a, .•86-88. '90, '9'. '92, """ 214. 018. . . ".. '29 •• ~. ,0,... piety. 97. ,)6, "" '67 •• 68, .(Jp, q,f. "1: 1cbi.. <Jl.}l8f:}W' '" UfI F\wplq.): ,~ P '7". 4" m'&iOn: III idllioa 1><1 'W' _a.llbeltoa,: ""'7 • , , • )6, '}7 • • ,.,. ,,8 • .-,6. ,.,: .. ... h ,...,. • . 0' 4:6) plo",,,,. rIo<: 'J. fI«iI-: ><:>6. ""'7 ...", "', .JII. '1) ",.IN F,a" Pnio.: 10,. J- ,u,ri-ae: 69. 72, n, '92, 11)11•• .. 6, .,., 'H •• ,.&, 2,0, 4'". #0. 4:17, 460, 46" 69. 4]Of. 477. 494. ,.,; pi ......., .6,. 467. 471. 478, .8. '" ~: .6,.• ,,6 hoe<. ,t. 9.f. ,,6. '48. '49 •• ,60 • ,66, .68 •• ]"CS. '9' . '9""'97. '99 • ..". ,a6,"",... , ...6. "7"'. 237. '3" 40 • .,.s, 4'8. 478. ,[jlf. '''. "). " 1; I NDEX ,. A""Id. ,,).,8, in Iotil.., •• 6.<1; wonder· i~ ",_!:>9> ; J.,.I>o.ypolofy prtii~: ,~; 6. IIt.u. liunq P\<"""",,,~ Ordor. "> "",,run. W .: }9<> priode. ti. of: ~ 6, pheo.u, in P>t.rN •• ,6; reje<.ion,.. '. j. prim. q<'" .6. ,., 1.'. Ran~I{ P!&mbotd : 4~ 1I.....1 .11t Monk: ' n 11.....,... P.: 4''''' , _ 'H. '96.• <>8. '46, >" •• ~, .6" 'H. ' 76. ,8 •.•". >96. )<>1, ,09. l'O. 3'<>. 3'}. 3> •• ",. H'n. ,,8, n,.., )8f. H 4;'od -«.M, 6,; and wiO<Jo,n. "3; /i. .'.,3.4; ..... )<14; 4pI,.nod ",loo •• 2)3 ,~, . pmo...: nl. 3H. Pl. ,,~. w-I . 396. )9B. )99. 4<>'. ""'. ) 17n ~in: 68. '46 Pf'OS'<SO: cuI""'l. 8. B<>; .piritual • • ". ~l<>. 4.6. 4'7. H4. ~". -HS. ~)8. 483 . S04. a.nd:sU. D.J.IL '7" ,,,,;.ia kno..l~. ""'; ",.,100;' _;"." 61 , ..J... '.'. '47. n'; "",,,", H , ,,8, }60. 390'....n-/" IOW. 4'" , _ n.. 'S" '" .Js. IWionoIitJ, .... .wi'J ..,i.onoli'l" ,,~. '.1, '49, 1,<>, ><>8. " '. n,.• ,6 , . 'nf, '18, 8<>, ,01, ,'0, ), )<16, JH, ,6,. H 8. 406f. ~'} ...,.,.,: '41••• 8. H'. ,,6; A_Imk. J.404. 36" GeT"""';'. ,8. 66 pn>pheq: >9. 74. ,(13. , , 8. "'. ,681'. 117 . '96. 219. '46. '51. 44'. 448. 46.\ . .~ _ i .... ion: '09. I". ~8, . """"1,,,. So .. ch~n:h of. Milan: ,8, p"",. !JR. ~)6 '.1.: ~ 6, .• ,of, '4" '9', ~, .• ", ~,~. 4'1. ,,6 ~o...io: 8,. '}l po.Joido«, 6 , • . '90 p ., _ , H. p- _ c. : 99. '''n .• opoo of: ~8}; If<.u. .,..,.."h ""~. E.: ,,.. pwifi< .. i",,: 9'. 13', ' )}. '4', 21'. "}. Oll .••8. 'l'. "", ~9-4. ,,, pw,"""" ,horn< of: 49'''99 ", •. N .: 9-4n St. : '46 .,6-,8. "'«XI. Quin.il;": ,8, ,0'. bbik ..... k.. , P.: }6n Rtbonuo .1Ion Mo""", Raftil. J. A., 9,n lloi...,d. ,ount of s.n., 467, ~6. R.lpll Jtam;htd: '}' a-;"" 1lI of Uon: 46'R ,s.. 4ll' ' '' oad ml",i}n Ram.. ofV .......: I O'n of CorW: ' . ' •• ". " 9"1 ' . • 88. 40' . )'4; mia,.un fo< Eti",..... '(I. '9'. Ra,,,,,,,,,,,, ." .., P"" .. bo. 41 I . 4'), 4'4 Pndtmi., "'-in." J) )j', R..... "", ,)6, 1, 9, '64; ht,..,". 91, 9I!. R.y. R. O,;76n R.,T1 ....~ d'~o.iltto: ,T,·q Roymon.d .rH•......,.,!: ,I,n lI.oymond ofS< . .(;iU.. , «<1M ofT_ _ I" . " 4. , ,6. '" by .... ...! d< r..., •. G. ; , >I n .... pnTe8; ut .u. ttantubo, .... 1>,. _1wiIt. ....iom: 'I"', J"f. "" "4' ond li .. loIilm. ' 78, <nod<, in I.w, -Hf; li",i .. of. '9 1 ~l' oppooi,ion w. ,8,. 406; _toI. m. "', ,,6, "7, '}9. '.'. >60 ••8]. .9Of. '99, )6, ....;", >4). >7<>; ond .10"".«.... )36; ..... 61~"" 30<>; and ht""""""jc mnhod, \.<>; ltKI i"'"l". 391' ond ;"..110< •• ,88; and l........ '78, ',0, ,~, and ,8<>. "'); in •• II;"ible • • ' " ,~ ·nabk. '4' . ' 7 1, )86; ........11, de/ined, '4' .• ,uf. .,mboI. «, _ ,!! ""'"objn:.i ... ,8{. , 8• • ,)6. '~",06. )<19, 46 , : on.d "",hori'l'. '78. 301;'od ....... , "4; ot>d ...... , >"; and tall. )3' ; .. law. ,.<>; .... ht ... i INDEX .....,., (,M.) I.ictwd •. I. "-: , 6.0 1lkIII. P.: '78 , .... 'HO .. hll, }4" ~onin d. >&" '8,-811. 306. (";"" ='1. lP, ,6.!; ';J~ ond-.rl· ...,. . • '7;'" m. ..,io, .. noa..t;., on.! &.id!: lOO iD ..... n ll, _ _.m.: Ri will M .: .60> 1Joo. J.: 414" lijlc. L M. <1<: &40, ,6>n. ,6,. ,114ft l;..qimrnlO • .., 'n nw. d - . : 49-1. ,06; '" """ ,.,..,~ rinW: I f . I , . H. 47f.•9. SO. H. kM:h,~. ,>, ,,"'" ...... lit ..... , 4. ~" 1[,. "I, "1. 129•• , •• 'H. '47. '49. I!'-H. "7. "9. l~, ,6"/-10. 'll. 'no '77 •• 8,f, 186,19[,19', '95, '91. _, '0'-:104 . • 06-,0. Zl4. 11,",1, ..6, 'H. '}CI, 'B.•6, .•6" .].f, "" .• '4. 4"£' 4~,a. 69. ", 1POf. ,n8. ,,6,(, 47<'. 47' •• 88. 498. ,,,,pm, 4.M. m 92, 'p, 'H" P..p.ld "Echoa/ruoo" 437 Roformujoo, ..... : " , ; """ 0« ' - tep<en: ""....1. ~; -W, ., f; popo1. ,6l: popo1, VII, " "Gr<,..., ',r, ..1;';0: 7"'. 72. 90. '44-" . ,,,. 466f. .&8.47'>. )I'. ")->11 _hr: 4#. ,.,; _.u. """"'" lWmiofA~." ....u.....c.: "Cu<:>li.......,•• ,; JuM~. .,; li....,., and "n; "_'1', lIf; "hi..... ".he diociplinrs. 01 10_. "f; ~(. _ k 10. ,.6. "1.'" MM U;:';"..,. ,'9; ,s..; le,~ '"ni. Y.: [6,,,, I." .69, '>1, 431: Il'td/- I " ", onc! ;.,,1",-, nol, ,~, )77. ,SIr, ono! ift......,.... 447: ond _ . )00. ,,6. 402: _ . - i. " .• 86. :IO.f. ~: onc! ';'-. >,Hf. 'n .•88, ,a.: and .m/i· .... '66;""" ....... H'·P._;.u. ,,8:""" imtu, _ . H9 •• 02; .81: "'; _,..;. ,8,. '91: 14:4"=. ,,,,: all ", ", ... i....,. .....,ttn;.,. mc: ~: ... I,...•8.•6,. ,69, .". "". ,06. ''', ,,6 IniwJ. td~i-= .,8, 'C,. "':'" """ ~. It.qoold '" T...,.: 67 1le,1WlId.o. k. i.: 6,n rbno '4}. '.9. ,6,~. ~. '64. '&4, '91. JCC. )04. l 'C. Pl. ,.,. l;\.n. '"" '" I.ithotd I. dukt: "'NIXmand" n4 lio:had u. dub- '" Not.nandy: '1>'/, 108, 118. 414 I.idwd "'So. V.......: '01 '". "4. 'n. =_.• ".,8 r.;.,;,m. J. : ,600 Id", 6ellfmo: . " I.ob 1.'1 t of , . ;"Uo: 481 aobot< 11 ......... of FIa Iobm: m. P....., '7. ,,8. 467 • • &4 • .a, R"'-. ,"""m ,,,,,,.aJ, mjH~ .. mil~ ,,,n, ,06. "0. ,,6. lIS. ",. "9. ,}Ot. 'H. " " 140. 14'. >l2f.•,0{. 231. '4'. 2.' .•6, .•67. 'H .•8, . .,•. 29'J . 'S>iI, )0,.}04 , 107. ,.a" 408. 41&. 4 ' 7. 4.628.0" 4nf. 460. 478, '''. ,.,.~. .,8-)0;""" It.: N<Mrist•• 6, .•66. '89. ,11, , ..f, ,." ,21-,0. '''Won. 100. ,a. 64, ,S. '07. 110. Ill. e. A. : '6.0 lodo. F. : 4"'. lodoW. H. M .: "n.•"n t.o.h.LfGLober: 64.178. 97n. 98. ,e,f. It,. '0" '04. IO'h ,06. '07, "7. ')9. 14"'. '.,. "O. '48 • • ,6-7', 474". 479. 48). '". , ... ,01. ,., 1601«. N.: 491 • 11._ !locoo. 8, Ilnr<>' r. Ho·.., '" OIiloRt-ou<·ltWn,,, ,., _ _ 11. ~ ofCbllono· .... ·Ma .... : '47' ~ J.os« '" Skil,: 48, " ' . _i&l: '4. 9'. ,.8 Itoll". duke ofN........Jy: 414 1 _ _ .... lh<: 8 • Il....-: ,iSo. ,6,. ,,8, 49'. ,O!); Ht..tu po. '*' ~ Ill. Ilomuooi. C.: =_ 'n '4C. 469« aoq ..... I.: H,n • .w6n. ,&>n ,,91 J.oouIi •• J~ R.oo> ,98 INDEX nn RuI. So., SomiF R~'"", ...,;,.,;., "9. 437. 439. 44'. 484 s.u..u... F, do: ,Oft, ,8,n , ),8 of Aquiloio,: .~ NI<: ')'. Ht; IIocoodk(in<, 9'. 48" 487; of~." Canonk>, »91'. '39 """""': ,8,. '47, '46 Rund ....... S., "}II So""". P, H ,: 4Hn Smdl, j .: 499t> 5cb.i..,..mli, L,: .)n. 40 '4' ; If< ~IO ........, R.,..., of o...u:; J64 1<"""', ',), .. s.:hmid •. R..... Il. J.; 9'0, 9'''. 96n. 98<>. '07". ,080 . ,,80, ,><>60, '46<1, ' 41n, .,.n, 'H" ""';,;: '), '7, 611. '4,n. '48.• ,6; • illimot7 • • 06<1, '98, )'0;" Sohmjt<. P, S. : "~,no H~n . n 8n. ,l 43n. , ""n, 5ct>min,J.-C. : ,DO!! odu>Wri<""" 86•• ". ", ,~; ,.9. "". 4Q.j· s.:ho/I«, H ,: 80D 5c11triner. K, ; 60ft s.:huck.J ,; .'4" s.:hul". A.; 48," Sdn...t. A,: ll>n, 349" s.:hutl. A ,: 4H", ))7n Itrill' . 09. 4' '. 4", 4H ' and "",,,,. 1>1; ~ ~~ "' .. "'''''''''1. '4 ; "If" " 347; ",.un., aDd ;Ol_. 4,8: I""j" 01. '>4; tU" ",'Ii_.>,n;JllMo;M" ""t:iriIM;...d o.nd "",,,I;.bi li'1. "o;...d _01... , '7; in lahn, ""'ricirJ': •• pta>""" of. ,». ~, 4'4. 434r. H8f, 4". 4)). ,., ,hI: ........ hI:....,.. ""'; ,6ft, 19,,, '1.; <'_i,,' , .". .. >"f; of diJro."... N5ti(J. 67f. 70. '7S, '93' " ""'- ""tit; 1;',.,,_. " ' , •• , ; _ . ,20; RT*". p, ; 409" R,d> .... j, : 800 _".ani<. -*/;, tit< -.,u.;,. 4';; ,.tn...JiJ. 3'4:,n,. ,,;..... "S; 4";" MIO It... kdg.s.:kommod ... , H ,: 49'" ,,"~iorii: ,). ~8; "" M.. _lfia" ".w: .0; '" ~.. ~. """'"" ,,6. ,66. ,6J, 370, 4"}; ;..m..... 367 ; ;"",;,.;., }7' .';1'-: " dot ,6,. " __ .. 0. --.u ...; 9'. "'. I,., '12. '»'" .,8, >49. ' n·,a>. S9. ,6,(. ,661', ' 7'. >7S, .86, '9', '\19. JO[. )08, 4['. +>\If. • ", _,ilKe: [)4. ,S,. ,08, '1'. '34. .. ,w. ••"'''''''.... .S. .,i".., 67, ,80; .. J.. S..r_. Th<: 477 ...... i..,;'m: 1]9, 180. 2~; '" ~IO d .."do and '0'. JO', )04(. '67. '9'. >94, , '8 _iao. ,0.,(. ", O Sdme,. C.; " 91" ... ~n ......... in: in Ahl:Iu Sohli ..... M, ' s; ...... So" _ 01: $" AI""", PUll"" .91f ..i..... cui, of;~. 7"7), \1". ' 37. »6. 50 ... , ,08; ........ .,t. " of. ''''''''. "7, , ' 9. 'I': ..it<. 'Mm 01. ,,8, '" SoJJI>I<: '" 501«<.1,.: 6,n ooJ_ion: "'. ,68f. [\19. "~I, ."', '4), '46, >)7, ,88 •• 2Ir. 43', .". 44'. ,[6. )'0 Sunooo: '}4 s..""."I: ." ,90. <>per""". , .. ion. 409: limin '" ,,,.od "tt.:. 1" . '[9. ' ' ' . INOI!X ........ ,t.. """.1 ,.,_".,e · .. )70. 444; _ _ _ • '76. ,,8, .1" . 2SO; ' ' __ ••• ,m; .... "Pt.,af .0,. .. 8, "9, .71f, ,011 ,; 4/i,,· .. ~, "7, " •• . .,,,"" _. "~ , '1'9. ,,61', >4", 2", .6" 440; '" JJ...", oimpliritJ: """ ph,uwiom, '7'; 0( &irhlul, "ioIbirtb"'Ooriot, .6.4; 0( ; ' - ' , ' ••• 14( dv. l'l; b ii...... onc! .... _ , 4"; _ ',>, 'H, .,6, "'4', .,0, .4}6, , ~ ¥On: 8.n . , .. . '-·7', ".,}79 Si"""", O. .... ].86; ,.,J,. ....... _ H2, .',. 4'" ODd _. j~ "kThp~. nB: .. diocauno, , •• : .. .....d, }14; J;_ .;.., .6,: _ It. i . 4'. .,!In '.20 Si"'" PO"' ...E prinI; " , . U1f, "'D.'H Si" di, ] ....: 5Io:wpki, J.: ,s;,wloy, 8 .: '71n 5. Maho V....., chuodl 0(, MilM: '9', s..au., St.: ' " S'" £.l. : 64n ." Slw;d ...., M. M.: .80, 490 ••_ ShiPPtl'. T ..... : 80<1 ';,-w- .,6: .. ~ VIIi, "9; ; ;~;;.. mtrrir, 110", .,;us;" 448; ... 6Iso "" SmidI, D. i., &4<0 ./t4 SomDkd'cId., J.: So [",,,m., IL: "'D 44'" Somi.~, .,2, .", ,.6 ,- .~ .", 069, I ,.... [ J", . " , .n, . [6, MM Siq 0( SocIp Si:1ca )H, )6']. In. JI'; i. AbeIud, )76-3, ; )47; 0:(& s..:.....: ;14; '" "'" PI&I<J .400: ..... ~. ~. ,&-r, nB, W'; .. I' ;""1_)""'/414; - . .}n;ti. "'0 ,b.i.,.. ')0. ..a,. }III. J~. HI' ••". 44#. 4P. 466/', ".: typtO ai, :146; <es ...«". J. 'iY<"I, .. 0(,,,,,,,,,.t.J.i5 n ~. k. '11'. : 6211, ~n, n<)tl, HIli, ,60 •• 89a s,.;.r, "-',...,.. dci>uJ. 0(, 77"79 c., Spicq, '11" SpiadJi, G.: "''', ..'D . . I 1 .,...., .. h_'P'" ..-1OIIa, }4...... ::<. " :rL. '4'. ,..a, "7' • ""'"" '.>, '.7;" .l', .", 'n, "" .U; _~ ....., ~17;"'MM '" """"': 1Nl _ . "" lP: ... iculo,od __ .... ...,uliood., '77: dlolc ....... 0(, ,." 'f'IOI- oop«.U 0(, }74''-;- 1i<eft<J', .]is; .. h _ in«U;"":', l44f, .. Nani, rh< ~'" 0( di: .;"" = " " ' , ' • • ; ipiri. 0ftSU0 Iot .,6. ,oB, ,.6, 'J'. lH, ,66 , .'7' 004 ........ , "';....! .., >,BC, sw., J. G., ,b, ,g'l\ Silq;, G., ,...r, .. .t.",.,;.: 40']; .;,-: 611, . _W, ,20; _ , 44"_ inotII~, hoI" holy, 1nl! ........,....;..... 1441'; ODd '4«. "S. )$4, 088,)02, c.: .6,,, Siq 0(5 p ' .'''"'', _and 14 ""_. H7 . ........""· ...... 11..010<1: ",. )46-", ,68, n', H', ~" )8,. ,ss; ond.be ........ ",ind, ~76. )77; ono! .w .., Eh, }9" po .... , and ...... ia, 'IJ7~I ; """"-" )2'1; "'""""", ,67 lip. i.lu!,pop: ,so, .. ,. ,)6, '49, 'n. }. .. lH. "9. )66. H', 4'7. "" diYi"",;po. 118, '40. JO~ . SII; .... tt' ~i! [",;0" ai, '3\1: pl!.JIlcol, .,.n, .,2, ,.601 sa..nmD, T. : }'9" Si'->o, H.: 61n, ,&411, ,[7n u.I/;"" n" 'n~, '7), '17, .80, '9'. '93, '<)4, )00, '''4,)08, }U, }~, MO, }4', W, }4}, ,66, }71, J7g, }51'>. '9', '97, .'9, 448; _MM imott Si..- o(V.a.:,o.t Si""", Mop<: • 8 II-.y: '0:1", I)B. ,.6. [H, ,,6. ,60. ,6" ,6>, [~. ,66, ,68, ' 7<', '7>, '9:1, ....r, •• _ , """ ><16, ''7, •• 8, ''''4, u6, 1>7 , _*"_, ... <106 oplrinlllity: 51'>, "mn.: _ , }41;~, H': Io. ........d, }74; "f ' 'it. _"""', 4>' ,. SpIIrl, J.: "In !lj_ "I, k .' .600 ... _ ,' " . ·:.'711,444" -~ _ . it~kii'od, '., ,6, .8. " _ , ill Al>elotd, ' ' ' , 196. , 9\1 s..eipr, L. : }}4ZI. , , ,.. 600 [NOeX 5mnadc... H .: 4-4ft 5mnhalf. M. W.:."" So,pI"" [X : [91. l OO So,pl ... , of~_: 6, So,pI.". pri<>I in Raym"""- cI",..,.,ik..: " •• ", StUj> ~["", Stob., /0..: '+4" ~. C : .9[n : ~l., ..... S_/oooot (lod" •• StouK, L S,,«I=, K.: ",,, S . •.m;..c" i0Io8;,:, , n6, ",b;.c.- '.9. >", >91. "",. ,,It.• ',; lI>d abje<[""1. n, 18, 1', ,8, 84, S" 86, 87, 89. ' 07, '''. [H, ,d. ~. ...bj«tiyilJ': ,63, ."'4, 4Q7f, ~18. 4"' , 4-47, 47,f. ~""f. HI Nhota",., '?8. ~17. ,60:/, 406; lI>d '1"'1;',. '19, J14',9; rup.." 3'101"; III ~ , .... ,.w. " '. .,6. 48 ,. F,f. ,,6 fat ... lilJ' : 6. 7. 14. H. 6,. 8., W, 101, ' 0 '. ".f. ,,61'. I,Sf, [Hf. 1,0(. " 1 . 4 '0, ~.,o""_W;,. ... kid<. ~ he",i"" '4'f $.Jlpid ... s..en., 67 "'pema.uro.!, [he: I~ [. ' 46; ut ~ ml,llic .up",,,iri....: ''''. 4'4. 4" • ymboli",,: U ,. '4', '4'. 40'; lI>d .... )3; in lhe ""' ........ " . '41'"" [i." 66,6!If. 7'.,..8 1,82,90.9'. 100. [[6. 118. ",f. [ll. [}6. [H. "9, ' . 0.• U}, UF. 218, ",. "" ')', 'H . 'H, '44, •• st. " ' •• ,9/", ,6,. .68.271. '1), .8. , .88, ,80). >9 1. '11'. '94(, >97. '98. ,08. ,,6. ,8,. 40",.06.4 14.4'., . pI'. 4H'. 448. 4'9. 494. .,.f. ,,, 46.tf. ""'"'1. , ••. ,.,. Synltl. E. It.., H'" Ttbooco:o, G .; 'HO>. I,," ..0.11;"" 39/"; J_inian Je"iolor;.,n on. j9l, ., ''It.•~9f, ,~f, .wf. ,I,. , ,6. J'7, obtoot, S. ,>It. ,.It. 'J'. ,9B;.r>d ,n,m..-" ~88; -m., H B; ",. .nw. l'9; 'iwpkt, 4"'" _ . ,07;" 6,. ,a" formation. 4) >;'" ~ '0>",11· iry. writi.,. [ ...1>01 , ... ' .. ;..: ' 76, ' 77, "7, H', n4, 'H. ~ ... 4' " ",n" ,}l: ",n.,.1 pt«<de"'., 88; [a,· ,-;.. _;"i'm. ' '0, ,[6: .It,:... Ms. Jubo. ... tub, '90; u "1'",,,« ""''''. "u '1mbol., 4['. ~ of , he 4,6, , .6; ..... , ideas •• r>d _;.". ,.61'; ...... . IoJicIl ",";"'ion Jl'-H . H¥. !-!6. )6 •. }6,. }9'. 40.f. 4"" ... 06.• J~. 4"f, ,.9; lI>d 101"', .Sol, )19: lI>d .... mo '" bd-ooviou,. 90' lI>d rd ,d' "m •• jQ; aod .. lie>. '4-4-"; HI~" ...... 1ha","'"' m. Suon : '/lcodH .. , CO""" .9' dtoot)' ....... pna-i 'd, , ••.• 'S, ,.,. ,<>n. Thk<.." 499 ThmN. So:. : , .. f. 3,6 n.:.r-. Il.: 36'ft lllompOon. J. w ., P.: [4n ThorIby. A. : [3ft 1'hon>_. 60. I,,, INDEX Tbomdikt. 1.. : 8:1" Ti<meJ. 1:1.; ,,80 rime; 8y; ond c ..... ;.",. )481'. H4f; ond I; 'O'j ,0'. n ....: '" TjIcIa. J. 0. : 440 j-I,. TonW. S.: "'~. J6,n TapoIiold. 1... T. : 479" ~, Uzboa 11, J6. )09 .. /. ;..r: in '4'. ,86 tOr ''7. 4g6. 493 .u.,.IfJ. 00); f." ,d, n7, ,,8. "9, 4>0; ....q..,,-.Jm,. 6, ""'lJ: 1tIIII: , . , . , ' . ; ~ ....... _ntr7:,-r, "9. ,66. '70. t7Y. ' "W. ,8" ,8 •• ,8" 'H . • nf 4~. 6.4. 8,. 9' . >4" _ . 4,f, 41; ", _ , 4 ••• ,. 46. 41;,...n-. ,, ; phyoi 'r"'I>oI..... ploY>' ~ '::ni'r. 8. '7'. "7; hnk ....... ,...,. )l'; ... ..u. modc,al,y ,........., from Anhi<. ,,8; from Grt<>I<. ,,8. ,6, ... ..u....:hotiK. 1ft! .. '><,.:< T.. A ..... c . . - 1 7 - , . 0.;: ,,; ",,Jso m.-. peoc. <>I God '4>\. '4'. 181. )'" -"". 40'). 406. 4'4; "'ita .... <>I. ,,8 TrinIwIs. C. : , ,,.,., Trool<> ,6,. 'n'",bodoo,,,, 478, 4891" T...,..: 467 'tuI God : '" _ <>I God ond tOl>1 .. n" ,8. ,66. )611. J77; d<6ned b,. "'-Im. ,,,",,,, 018; ".r, ,8,r. ...,.....0.-. ".; <>I ~p" .. ,iooI. '69; tiool • • 4'; ... .Jso_ T... i", ' " , '4' T ...... V.: 69". 46)a Toe, 101-, M. M.: )660>. >=US etuoij. ,88a. '92". ,9:1" • ,~. >" .,.".468, 4".494. "4 f <>I: .,. canom V... ad·..!. E. : )4a . ..., . V,""""". E.: '9ft ............., ~6. 478; ,.. .Jso .......duinf; c.: ".0 Vallun.boo(Wl1Ord h" 4o!It> 1lm-iP. S.: "OIl. ,1iI> V ..... i "Sn, , .... _ _ jot;.",: 'H. 'H. ,60. )1'1. trinity. Utndo,. Vapaiai . ,...ti,""" ond.. ~,6; ..u. ...ui. ,~ P.: .,". 46001 TOIlLowo. ""InYo" 98. ,,6 TOIlmut: 47<1 T...... T. F. : 6'n ". . .I', •. ... i....al; YelMd lotol. 4"; _ putiNlu, 180. m ....m-n.LiIm : 1I1r. "'. >,9. '+8. "'. >n. j08f, 4,8. 46" 46,. 471.)'4 ""'-1•. poobI..., <>I: .". ,,6; ond ohI(ra: ~,a, ~"'4. n>n. ".n. Vonol ... J. = '48. 6600. 74" Vo _"'ism: ' j1. fO' l'ifS: , , " ' ) ' . ')7. "9 '4'. '~7. ' 49; ~ hcmic •• 98; 'Pi I. 148 Vonia:. herar": 98, .. , . H9. ~ •. 4.0. 41j; ond ond ... , H~-~I . _.Iso-.l ,.6 ,,8. VqU: .8. IM. ,060. -.)66, ,~ V.-nt, J..P.: "D .6,' .•6IIro .,.ri&o:......, '.J"'. }8) V....... F.: ..;,.: 66 • ..." •• " .... 229". >,6 .•6,. >68. 30>. ,.0. PI. ).4', '52. ",. '59. ",. '97. 4'4. 4". H', 448. 4 " ; and !MJ;w.. 4}'; and",",," •• 62{•• 66. ,68. .. ' 70, ']2. '94 , ",; ~" ~. V_. horosy at: 9111". '46 ,.;Ji_: .0) . ,,6; uoai 'om. "'.216.• )8 Vi""",. P.: ,-"'c, ,,9ft. 'H •• 0 •• J.4O Obe, . ... P.: ).\If UU'..... a. W.: n . ,, •. ,"". 60. Vilrud of r..........: 97. ,060.46:1 Ulpiaa: H ,Od Vi ..... '. E. : 8tn. 46'n lJlri< <>I Owor; Urnhmt;cl. 1IoIl.-n of kenp<' " , ~inlI : )4'. )46. ))'. ,,8. 4,8. 0'; ia Abdml. )8.~. in AnIolm. ,,.; <>I Go>I. ),pf JP;" ,6.n Violo:o ... C.: '0V'. '39'>. '.'". 'oH". '4,ft. 'HD. ')40. '''''. ,,"". 'H. ,6.0. '640, ,67 •• ., 11<0. "IW'. ,60<>. ,69ft, '7'0, 'nn. ,8,n. ,82n, 'l4a. '87·. '!IO". <9'. '94n. ' 9,0 .• 98<0. INDEX ..It- ;""'1;"'';', .03n, ''''4n, "~n, ",n, "3a, 226<1, "'In, "Sn, "<)n, ",n, '11, ,}bo, 'nn, .,S~,,~ :to.~, ,.,.1. "",it;, ":l,in, birtb, 3'4; .. j«tm 01, II I, '44: ";'ionory. 4'-4(; " m. Msry ""8i";.,: '17, '!)O; al.nrd, hurtioco, '4'; doIIri., .ioiblo, oho, ond "'" ia.ioiblo: n, 9'. '.0, ,o,;""""" ,.,..no I", '4' . '10, 'H, ni" >9',296. '7)(, '89, '99. '0'. ,..,. )04.}<>EI. "9. ,6. 322.3", .p ' . ~ ... ~.~ .•,,. 4H • • ~72. ,,.. V-.,...i. A. ; 'nn VioiJOlbo: ". ,8 PtoJtrnoi,c u..o., 01: S.( oitO:w: .lI\fdic. 01 h<mioco •• I I; biblic.l, in S<. B '''ion. N.".,.•. " ,; i~ Aim 01 Lille, 3,01; ;. "odWfGbbr<, ~,8: oIO>mt. in~. 01 449: 01 I.&ndulf n, 18,; 01 Pdan, ~9'9'5: 01 , ... kAi8'" H"8b. 469; 0I.h< p ,"",riflll, 44 [ ";16 _.~; '].4; 01 co.nom. Vi... p,.;.." 1I.v41i: '" V... S_II.;.,JJ;, "'_" Vi.... p.,..;,r..-: ' 77 Vi..!;' 0150"'&.,.: 49' Vi""":,,,,; ,8 V""I. C.: Ha. 17ft Vog '*""'" """"'-'"S<. "o[·""i.,. ,,8.,.. """":_...,b ..,., ''0, 3-4. 3_'. 3H. 366, }67. H'. 37'. la.; ond illl I ' , .... 324; ond .... 39\1; 011<1_ ia Atxlud. 378; .. IOUII ,66f,'" i .... }SS; ~iJ, 391; ,.. ...'_, ond _ . }94 0 Vulkriu •• monk oINoutirn.-S<.-J<M: 46,~ o'UIpr""" 6,. 20,. 1~6. '7'1, '8,. "9, 1.'0'. 4'. .'4: in !Min. ' l ; in 461', in li,_ 63: in p.,'uen< prn "'81. ""'t_ ..... • Hn; ..I"";' J-. • f __ . 6); ...18"iom ,,0: _I,.,.;",. ,0; " , , _ . il/;"''''; • • ,0; - 4~; ..r,m•• WodK .6n. ,,'G. ,,,;0,, WoJdo, I'rn1c lOO WolI. " ., 31n Wo/bet.. L >S. Wolp ,80( .9J IV........ Tiro: 477 .....om.... m.m. 01: '9", .6,. 476-~, ,00 w .....I"'" 01 ~ 67 -.r. hoI" '}4;"'.I.. "",0&<1< w.,;~, obIxoo of eono." .63 Wunoo:h. V., HOR ""rrior ond monk. oypoI<Jsr 01: • [0, 481f W""OOr,. W. _, 22n. '4" ......·n>iII. , ...: 498 14n W..,enbo W'''. /.; 'nn Wm_aot, H.: Hon Wellert. Eo; 417n W W"'''' R, 3". W.".. ,b«. W .: 32,n Wloiro. L, Jr.: }Of, pn, 3,HR. 498n Whi.tlock. 0 .: 47n. 48 • W .... 01 """,,,,'" "9 Witoch.-. P. : 22", 43n Winoe,..,ret. H, : 'h< Io,,¥io-Su"'" 48f W;lIiun. """n, 01 Flond .6,. ...m, "w: .'9 "o-,.; INDfiX William of C' .(W'!" 46> WjJliam of GIoo: 41J&. 497. 49/1 William of J""'x,o.; 474 W~liam of KolA' L..." n, 497, ,'9 WiIliam ofNnoI.utJh: I ) , Williom ofSo,_hiS"'; 466, 4~7' William of So. 'nIltrry; }6), 406. 4'7m, '" ,8, ofVolpi_ Will ..... , So,: n WUliam tt.. C' , _ : 7600, 47>. 474. 479,480, 48 •• jOO. "7 WiUiounI, G, K: , b WiU_.~ , 6000 Wi!.M!. 8, I..; 9'J Wincid_, ) .t lOCI Wipo:, 74" •• ,1, ,,8 wioclom: " 9, "}. 4'1, 4.6, 4'9. 4n. 441,4461'.4" .. itd!nJt, }Cl. ,04; "' .Js.",.K. _ W~lif.m WiuIo: 8, Woill'. A,: 4.n and.".... i.~. 4>)1;" y. Wo htrbrio, '7', 20'/; lift <1ijAA1MOJ' of. 499: ruJe for, ,,, ....d••:..: 79, 'o" .ooS. " 7. 1}6. 11". 167.179. "', " 7, "9, '}}, 062. ,~. ~. >&}, '9', '9'. }'», }4>f. and .... w(w : _ . >7<>, .got, }CI'.}C4. 308f, }"-4, ,,6. 144, 'P . 4", 4.6, 417-,0, 414· 44'-+4.411,41'(' ,I!)n. ,20, »6; d<....... of. in 01l'8XJ. "9; inuricwity, and ..Iiw",. 4}C>',8: of tloe ClfttOr ond.be word in t1UD&O. olity.«nI )i'. 4'0-" ; ",.Is. or- worda: and i....,.., 39/1:.0<1 inttilc.:,j""., ,24: """ _ ,'il'. . nil'; ond ,N"!!,. '79. H9. }41. )4" }4). }4'. 146. ,n, ,,6. ,60. }68. }9'-9}. 40', ,,6. '4). }.. "9; and thoufIh2; ond _ion, ..6; .. orwnooIlob>ur, ' - ' ' ' mor, "91';....:><100. pod. "', '4" 4" ...tdl......, ill the MU, 'n. Inf, "7'. ",,",4>9,44°. ,08; ,,;oc.iou of, .oa WriP'. IL: '4" .... i•• • he onlod: nf wri, ....:...t ,he"""", of Ion_. '9. 368- 71. )84. 4,6; .. p .... ...t - t ........ . ,,6. 4". 4H; dispooici'" r""", ...... of. 4'.48f, 27<'. 4'1. 475, ,,6;..nJ.miol Non ..... of. 42. 6.4. 7". 119, '47. ,8>, }4II. )6,. .,..,.ru.-. ............. i ,0 •. 4'.: . . -~wwodorio. P, : '!)n y ..... F, A, : '1" , •• •.,.. : 476-89, 49)f. )01; .... i&.,>il" 49'. 491"W; and old .... iD ...,(i" ono! mmphoto H. 'l' .• 69. '79. 180, ..6. 468. 476:&9. 49'. 494f. 101, "o-n. "1;" __ role, i&>; of. " 0; ddj".,.j. 480; ........., ,6,; rita of, 47<Jl. 4S). .89; ... .Is. j I*' y ..... ) ,; }6n. 414" b ZoIbi. P, : 'nn, "~, ZtwtItr. J{, ; 4610, 418, Zink. N, : 72n 7.:=, .... , P, : ,, ~, Ion ,"oo._ft 4IIa u..., r{ c.,...... c...J.i. io ,.w"..;. D.u n.. 5<<> «Ii.,... ,. Bibl~., : p. lo Wn'ltn ' .... _icMioIo-E","I"'-Hi"".,.. •. Cioili ... ;"". Ntd..-..l , 1. Ti.I< . .,,, ·569 ,!If, 00 ' .,.' ),"'94 " ISBN 11-691 · L0221-'1 (ptol ·416,6

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