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,
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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 un-
dertaken 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$btion, and the tCNtUn on the
euchuist p~nt unusual problems of inretpteH.tion. As an alternative,
ql1Olations could have been made in the originals, and, wherever war-
ranted, this hll$ bc.-en done. However, a mass of evidence cited only in
Latin would have rendered the book incomprehensible to critical the-
orises, 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 lim-
itations. 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 Con-
stable 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 paleog-
raphy, 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. Human-
ities ~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
The Emergence of W ritten Culture
T« PmpKtiJII ~ Writtm Traditio"
'9
'0
ar.lily with;" Writtm r,..,di,ioll
C,,1t1/l'W1 l.plicat;tr1/!
"
4'

TEXTUAL COIIIHUNITIES
"88
"<- Literacy and Early Hemy 9'
b,trr;JMaitm 9'
w lar" '0'
Or/lAM ,06
'"M "'0
Mort/m,

,.
Tb, M4Jeil'g Dj "H_w "
Literacy and Rerorm: The Patarill
'"
,,,
'4)

br~iM
A.mM/f of Mi"'"
IAtubt/f SmilW
'",6,
'74
BMlo T~
.... T""
",
'90
A"dmu 0/ Str/lltli
COIKJlIJi/J1l; Prtaebm, Hentia, ""d Refin;;Ull '"
'"'4'
.,.
Il l. T H E EUC HARIST AND NATURE

Guibert and "Popular" Culture

lmerprering the ElKhuist
'44

"S.cr_llllll'·
PlISclMsillS &tibww "l1li R..tr_1IJ 0/ C",-bi.
'"'H
,,.
 CONTENTS

BUi.,.·. Ctlttlll'] AMIxwJ

s.r.lpI{T..m
' 7'
'B
&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 ,,6
I . ANoelm of Canterbury
TO. ~M ' s{~WrrM .!ttI "hw/";,,,"
,'.
".
:z .
lArk, G~.r r , ... F_ t{ Ptf"ssi",
Pe", A~1atd
".
,6,
lJ«Ihillr .. Amltllu ,66
"',L,
....s...."" $''1"'1-"
• ,_. --,.I' ..... - _.'-"
no '" ...........
",-. '" ",
,,6
U.ir.wwb ,8,
lhtthillJ ", P"'1byry
At.I.mI fJtI P'4bJ? ,•.
,86

3. Bernard of C1airvaull
S.ptr c../IIK.I, S _ I
'I'M, Ta', .tuI ~
."."
"7
TO. 'I'M, 11% iwily, _ Rtf- 43'
M.,. III oM I_Kt" GJI Ww ",
V . R ITUALS, STJU OLS, AND hnelPIBTATIONS ."
RItMII Gr.,s 'I "SwUz" .,6
Allil_ INIIIfIiI Ch..,. 47'
W•• H., IINi Ylllllh
OJymy - ' ViliotI
G.ilwt', M.u.r
1.1I,,,rti., Sf/It;.,1 CMjIirI
...
47 6

'99
"7
S,..,lJU~
A .. 'y-t,.!ttIM,t "'" '"
"7
ConcIUlion
Bibliography
'"
m
Inda m

,
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 ChilP-
ten 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 founda-
tion 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 fol-
lows. Before the year looo----t.n admittedly arbitrary point in timr-
there existed both onl! and written traditions in medieval culture, But
throughout the eleventh and twelfth centuries an important transfor-
mation began to rake place. The written did nQC simply supersede the
oral, although (hilt happened in large measure: a new type of inter-
dependence 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 interpre-
ration 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
n

or said to be taking place. A barrier was also introduced be~n

traditional accounts of how the universe worked and scientilic con-
sttuCU, 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 in-
formed 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 knowl-
edge ..... 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~ elev-
enth 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

•
 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 re-
quited 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 anal-
ysis 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 pop-
ul.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 undergeneraliu-
tion. TItc: lirst i5 the replacement of much linear, evolutionary think-
ing with a contl'Xtualist approach, which describes phases of an inte-
grated 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 $eCond is
the reaffirmation of. theory of the middle range,' which u bemr
luired to the present, imperfect state of thinking in the cultural sci-
ences than universal tenets. Finally, the book .nempu to pl&Ce tbe
problem of language and culture .t the centre of the discunion. For,
without luch • shift in emph2sis '_y
from purely &c;tual .11<1. hilloc-
kal description, little progfCSS in unde~tal1<l.ing beyond the compar-
ison of content is possible.
The adoption of these perspeo:ives, it goes without saying, requires
tbe employment of literuy and historical styles of analysis at ooce.
Also involved are tbe use: and rruse of thttt concepts, namely literacy,
textuality, and orality, which merit d.ri6cation It tbe outRt.
Of the three, literacy is the moot difficult to define and the most
troublesome to use. The term's connorttive field in English has no
precise equivalent in other l&nguages. Worse, 1'10 mattet how Iitenr.cy
is chanlctcrited, there is, even within English, no u.niversa.lly agreed,
value-free dennition. The conceptual voabulary evolved for dcbatins
tbe issul'3 everywhere betlllYs Iln ineradicable bias towards written tlll-
dition.
Little light is shed on the question by rcfettins back to medieval
p~nt5. since, throughout the period, lit/n'aW, the ~rd most
closely corresponding to "literate," indiC2ted a familiarity, if I'IOt al-
ways • deep unciel$tanding, of win grammar and lyntU.' TIlere _,
also vemaculu literacy, DC n.thct literacies, although their early tttord
is fragmentary when compared to Latin. The literate, in short. was
defined as someone ,..00 could ~ and write. I.ngua&\' for which in
theory .t least: there was • set of articulated rules, .pplicable to •
written, and, by implic.tioo, to. spoken language. Even tod.y, such
terms a.s "prcliterate" and "illiterate," which are commonly used to
describe ~r1ier pbl", of cultu«, imply. 5Cmantk norm linked to
the use of cexu. The study of past Ot present communities leu de-
pendcnt on writing than our own h2s provided corr«rives to onc-
sided views. Yet, inescspably, we ate bettcr equipped intellectually
to outline the role oflitcncy among people like ourselves, or among
those presumably desirous of becoming so, than in societies function-
ins all or j*tly by word of mouth. Of course, t17ol;ing the roots of

• T.. ,wc., r( r- (Od>rd. [,,6). , .

• R. K. 1IIettoo. "()" Soxiolot;iaoI Thtoti<> 01 the Middle 1llI\I<." On 0. T____ s. . '>u.
p;. Et"". DU...t fW.(New Yod<, I~). ~.
• H. Grund ......... "Uttu.....ilU<UtS<UI. Dot Wotk\d .i.... lIild-"8"wn> ..... A I _
...... Ni""'.ltu,· ........ fl/rI:sJl... r.a....,([~~8).I - [~; d;., Jbolo.. Ch. I.pp. [411'.

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 me-
di~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 mis-
understmding 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 prac-
tice 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 prac-
tice. On many occasions, texu mertly recorded oral transactions, tell-
ing \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 re-
ceived.
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«<!. by the written mode.
Medieval documentation provida little direct evidmce for such oral-
ity, although one catches glimpsts of it in accou.nts of gestuta, rit-
uals, and kudal ceremonial. These activities an proumed [0 take
place in a world that is pteliterate: in theory at lea.1c, they a.tiM: not
from an isnorance but from an absence of texu.
The type of orality for which the Middle Ages furnishes the most
abundant evidence is vert.l diSC1.lllne which exisu in interdependence
with texts, as, for imtance, do the normal spoken aDd recorded forms
of a language, which impinge upon each other in compla ways but
remain mutually aclusi'Vt'. The medievab did not understand, as in-
deed we do not, how spoken and written styles of interehangc inBu-
ence each other. H~r, from about the millennium, the written
word, if directly affecting only t. minority, had once a,gt.in begun to
be .... idely adopted t.I a basis for discussions of cultural activity and
even lIS a.tt.ndt.rd of cultural progrns. Inevitably, thete was a certain
amount of tension: for, in this "uaditional" society, in which the new
was almost a1WllYS £nmed in terms of tbe old, trn- rules of the game
wf:te ,..ucaJly aireted ..men the sole mn.ns of establishing .. position's
legitimacy was IlIIsumed to be the discovery oh written pruedent.
Thf:te .... ere of course both negative and positive consequeD(es. On
the negative side, a dilkrent set of value judgmenu emerged. The
prelitert.te, who managed without tats, was tedefined as an illitert.te,
that is, as a ptrtl'lll who did not understt.nd tbe 8rt.mmar and synru
of a written IangUt.8!' .• Literacy thereby became a factO!' in social m0-
bility; the lo.n orders could neither read. not write, but their liou
were iocreasingly inBuenced by those who could. On the positive side,
the revivaJ of writing addC'd a new dimension to cultural lik, very
often, lIS noted, incorporating the on.! into a real or implied textual
framework. An ClWJIple is the role of spoken testimony within codi-
fied statutes, which trt.D$CeDded the onl legal formalism of the "-rly
Middle Asa and gradually evolved within literate jurisprudence.
This kOOt.d type of orality, it should be messed, is an essential

• Cl. P. H. BOw:oI, -VotieUcs"",,~ ofWodieftl Uo:'fOC}'oo>d lUi«fOC}'. " $~_

n (,,~80). 23NJ. 2.~9. diocuued btI<r.-. 0.. " pp. ,!OK.

,
 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 unwrit-
ten 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 geo-
uine 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-estab-
lished 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 sug-
gested, 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 be-
tw~n 0011 and written modes of communication brought about dur-
ing the Middle Ages penisted in ffi.lny areas long afterwards , Medi-
~I linguis{ic evolution thereby provides an example, rare in cultural

'On ,..., _"'" ~

""",!tun""" in hiMOri<lol ~~ •• '";"" ~ """hod. ;, p«-><nt<d by
A. ~" *'
"0. l'A« ........ ;".,." XII. C..,.. 1_;...J ~ H~ ... ·j , (V ........
,965). 1·Y;.

9
 INTROD UC TION

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 administra-
tion, 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 perspec-
tive, 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 <I a<ie""", ....ialn: la """"" dutU;· A......, l .S.C.• ,~ ('918).
7>1'''; } ' 1.0 GG/f, r- MO _ M.,.. kr<. T..., . . . - " nth",.", Otr i ' ' : " " " ; ' (Pati"
'977), S'"ll , " ,...,;..
, Nu Wcb.r, """"""" .....t G_'.d./t, ' ''' <d., eel. J. WiacblznaM (T"ubi....." ' 97»,
1.1." pp.",; .. Ji .• , pp .... ".
• Loo_pJJ.,""'. "Loof-l_ M /;",," " , (P.... , '9J9), book >, <ho . •• , .
• Cf. F. .to. Soo_' ...c...... .. ""'~~, «I. T. do Mo"", (Pati •• ,g&, ). 4'-47, ODd.
OD the _tiOD bot...... Losic: on.! wrru.." the .......... .,.. .. J. I)orrido., Dw ~ f' ',' g~
(hho. ,96"/), dt. . • (pp. 41·,08) . ...... blood., ... inr" Otal I",r""......,.
withi~ h<rmen<\ltk
pri,,<ipl<o, ... in .., ..... , I.. E. _ , Hop. M\EftI>orDn, '!l69), ,..,........ "', ond .<),.
'7 , .. i,h. blbliol"'pl.,. 'H·H·
 INTRODUCTION

opo:n out ontO a bCOltdl'l" problem. Thete larger issues .. re (our in num-
ber: 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 s0-
ciety (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 ori-
ennIiom 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 under-

sb.nding of the bro.der tr.nsition to • type: of society in which oral
diK()uf$e exists largely within a framework of conventions deu:rmin«!.
•
by tats.
What follows is an introductory account of that <kvtlopmcnt. A
ddibelllte attempt is !WIde to place tbe gro...m of litene)' in a wide
context and to ilIusuate its (Onnea:iol'lS with lingllistic, legal, and
institutional ct.ngn. But thm! themes mentioned in tbe Introduc-
tion, which are of special relevance to rho: subsequent chapten, are
also stfcUfd. Onc is • de--cmphasixing of the problem of origins and
aloog with it a purely evolutiorwy penpective in favour of a func-
tion.a1 approach. What ~ ,..isb to know about 0".1 .nd written cul-
ture iD the Middle Ages is D()[ wben each component nme from,
althoush that would be useful tOO, but ho .... tbe twO actually wot~
toget:het. To undenraoo these often complex relatiOll$, 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 tnnsfor-
mation, 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 hu-
man commenuton, .nd, by implication, through .ttitudes towards
earlier model5 of interprnadQn. When major issues reg.t<ling the cul-
tutaI hcritlge arose, it was men's (Onco:ption of the put, not the put
in an objective sense, which illtgely 'haped the nature of the re-
spDllX5, In the medienJ. mind, III in DUn, whether the nCOi'd was
p~rved orally or in writing was of criticaJ. importance.

"
 ORAL ANO WRITTEN

I. Two TRADITIONS

Let us begin with R fundamentl.l question: how useful is the dis-

tinction 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'$I'rve many of its original fel.tW"l'S, for inst1llKe,
formulae, repetition, and encydopedism. Written texts are contin-
ually being re-performed, offering continuitil'S to human behaviour
over time. Oral intl'rpolation may dl'rive from improvillation or from
texts.
Despitl' the untidiness of thl' terms, there all' practical In5()Il5 for
ret&in ing them. Some are historical: men and women wefe' conscious
of the diffi'ren«, especially after rhl' millennium, when writing and
iu diverse functions began to undergo a sust1lined revival. Moreover,
tbe tvidence, such as it is, suggtsts that at no point in the subsequent
three tenturits was a significant percent"ige of laymen able to read and
to write.' Medieval and early modern society hovered between the
extremts: thefe' was a tiny minority who Wl'fe' truly li tl'ratc and a
much iargl'r majority for whom communication could take p~ only
by W(lro of mouth. Down to the age of print and in many regions
long afterw..rds, literacy remain!'d the I'XCcption rather than thl' rule.
Despite primary schools, cheap paper, spectadts, and the growing
body of legal aoo administrative ml.tl'r;a], the masSl'$ of both rown
and countryside as late as thl' Reformation remainC'd relatively indif-
ferent 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.<h<J' of.h< Modo...! f~iab J(i"ll •• •· "'"wi"" <f "" flritiJh ,0" 'a;.
"h Stti<>. " /l9n). 'OI-}8: J. w. n-._. n. '-""r.-, <f ,o. ~ ..... MitUh Af"
(Boru..,., '9)9); and M. B. _ , '"Th< li.... ocy of <he 1..0;,,;' ift D. Doict... and A. Tho<lby,
«11 .• ro. M""-wI"FmJ (iDrIdort, [9"1)). H,-n. A ~ s .... BI a«ow>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""" ,,<Ni C./un .. EM?-
h,,,,, (SuMord. 191)). [s,-,~; and, Oft ob< "",d,,,IOfIiaI impo« of pri"'i<l,ll, E. L. Ei.... •
KCia. Tit p,.;";"t p"" '" "" ""'" I( C~. Cd .,......,;.." ,,'" C.I",.,J r....r-<'" ..
un, M..... E.... (c..m~. ' 919). ><>I . [, pp. " '-1 "

'3
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

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 cor-
reo::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 be-
tween 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 inher-
ited stat\LII than of IKhievcment through pn.gmatic social roles. Oral
culnue ~ its own chan.ctet:isdo, some of whkh havco bttn re-
di.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 vcor-
billy trznsmit the bctirage from one generation to the next. The form
and content of knowledge, whose logical properties are not differen-
tiated as in textual. tradition, 6 are pined on in a series of face-ro-face
'a. J. u Golf. -cui..... cltrical. et ,nodit_ IOIkIoriquat doDo '" cfflJu.ciocl M'''';'''
......... - A-u.. /l .s.C.... (.967). 78<>,.; """',. P_ .. _ M".,. Al<• .. ,." .
• H. Gruod ........ "lit_uu..........- , .• ,.
s•
'Se. obo.e o.ll J. v......... o.w/ Tn·£'• . A. .Jj it! H;, d • d' ,u.b+'v. ,...... H. M,
Wrip' (LIndon. ,~), - . ,~is. ,..... _'*"&0.
of...tie< pp . • 41 . Tb< ~ 01
an,.. ...w"",""&iI<t is dioc "I by M. T. a...dty. -RtJ ... ,bori... tbo Put """ tbo Good
Old Lo... H~ " ('97 o ), ,66.7" _
N
ill...,. iI M. do c.m-'. 'Humi-.i ... R\odr.
L'...... .. flHJ";.. (,,",iI. '117'). ap. pp . .. }./18,
""" ... antt.o.,· ..... i<al 1"" I ",...... tbo itnpo<t 011,-,., ... ] . G<Jody and I. W..., ..",.
Co<J ,UE hoCLI<ero<f. "C I d"'MS_j.s""_H~'('94>-6,).'04""'.,. .hzr
"';111 tbo -..I ... ed,ted by ]. Goody m I ', "1 it! TwW d' .r.;,,;. cc.,obo; ~E. ,~) , and

J. V-'no. • ..",. I'owtt ofs,sumatic DoubI i. HiKorical! ,.,;..,.- Hm.., -1J/rit4 ' ('974) •
•"9-27. Fw. J:"jft4-PoCroccm _ . lOO] . Good,. 7100 (- '_".5 '.'
(Cambrid,so. '977). <hi .•..,.. """. pooI'i" 0' , .. ,,, oC on! _ _ J. 0JXiaI hiot<><y. _ P.
M_

~. 7lo V.".PtIII. o..JH~(NowY""'. 197t). '9-64.

'}. A. ~. "M"'""*1'" iA 00aI1.it<totuIo." T d ,~ 'd ...J m fc;" .. A.w-

'4
 ORAl. ANI> WRITTI!N

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 any-
thing. '., Speech and action form .. cohesive whole: ··th<: meaning of
~ch word is n.tified in .. succession of concrete situations, accom-
panied. by vocal inflexions and physiclll gestum., all of which combine
to particularize both its specific denotation and its ac«pred connota-
tive 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 insti-
tutions, acts as a conceptual filt..! for image formation and r«Ol!<'C-
tion." 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-mem<H)'," determines the
relationship of the n<'W elements to the old." Th .. past, whether con-
ceived abstracdy or concret.. ly, r:t.n be pt"l'll'nt, if relevant to ongoing
cultural neech. Oral culture is therefore conservati~, if only in the
K- rhil", · .1 ~ 69 (111,8), 46'-9'; tbo ;mponom K...,. of E. A. Ho,..loo;k. p,q...
If rJ",t, ~ •. MoN . • '96,). "'-H; ond. "" ,he li".!";"", """'haniams. ,he oIdot but
aiU -tu! ,"""QI r:J N. J_. F!t>JII tit "}<bokr~ I;"";,,;,,,,. I.A 'I)" -'
.,11 0;10'''--
5 io;nl.,.,.IIIY"J. ' ."(i'a<i,, 19'41, ,,,.• , •.

.-.
, N. )'(,Lubon. T" G0"""'t G~ eT"""" •. ,96.). 21_'11; 40-~'; w . J. On.!:. T.. 1'..,,_
t{ th. ""..-sI (N.., H.I'm, 1'167), 1-9, 17-3) .
. ').
_ .... '1·(1/·5
• Goody""" W"I, _ .ti•. ,,06.
~ O . E. I.. Cwti .... Ea, i , " - _ MIll •• Urn. MiJ.Ih~, ttanJ. W . I.. Tru.I: (N ...
Yorio, 19H~ 6,-611.
" ilK. in 1,,*,01. P. A. Y .... , T" An t{ow-, (10F>d0r>. 1s;66l.
" F. C. B.,.d.". R • ,;.. (V-ho • • '11,.) •• " ." . Bard'«·'If'P,-h is britlIy <ri,_
icioorI bt' A. O. Baoibl<J, T.. PIJ" '0" sII-, IN.., York, ' 976). to l ). wOO rm.... "''''''
;,..,.. i. ,he r..td ........,. '" dUo ¥OI<ldIV, <hrr. " , 13. ond '4 (pp. ~). for. ];'m"
_ ...., _ In aenonJ G. O" .... ,il. M,,,,-,, ..., , 001 •. li'a<i., ,jlI\S.U).
"N. HalhKIII. 1Ar";' r.n.a tit u ,I j" (Pat; •• '9')) .

.,
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

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 ma-
tetial i$ iD90rably mixed up with, and dependent upon, the course
of the activity in which tbe utterances are imbcdded. " I' In luch s0-
cieties, "the controil of action arc informal; they m;t on the tMi-
tiona! 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 ori-
ented: towards the scribe, tbe written word, tbe literary tat, and the
document. In Iuly and southern France, tbe tooition Roman legal or
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" In-
sular, Visigothic, and Benevenun hands, JUSt u Charlemagne's cor-
onation 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 polyp-
tiquc of the abbey of St. Gctmain creates onc impression. The capi-
tularies issued by tbe empcrcm in tbe eighth and ninth centuries
create another. 1beR bodies of otdinances treat. wide variety of leg-
islative marten in legal, ecclesiastical, military, administrative, and
commercial ucu. But their fotmat varies little. They were "not usu-
ally drafted in official full tens by the royal chancery, but were notes
or title tisn set down to rccal.1 the contcnu royal commanc:lmenu or
made orally. "'9 In their written rorm they often exist as verbal orders

" Goo<tr ond '11.... ".<11, . )0'1-01,

c
" H. A. lnDiI,
' .•
Bioin.
ad cd. ('1'.. _
"C "';"",
197' ~
r<pr. rn........ 196:1), ,-60; .... ! , '" . -

.. B. MoI~i. ''The PI': ! 'A of M_i". i ft l'Jim.itioo ~." in C. K. Osdrn """

I. A. J.id<oldo. n. ,Af ',. " N-nr,~. 192,)' I'l.
., J.. hd6e\d, wr.u ..
TAr p, ' "iN ill T, f. ,,'Mo (lm.::.. N.Y .• "H), I• .
"c..triuo.@ 4"l lr,_., 6• .61 .
.. J.. " ..... r_ ..... , .....
~ 1_-'·
R'tuIariea ........
..... ,. p . i\sI, 0.. dUo '1",.,1.." "'" A. 1)",
- 1..... .....--__
,,- ,-,,-,-'", N ..... , .r;. ~_'
_ , r- 'pf '
" lo. """"'" .. ,.4<ri ..... dono le;; capitWaireo
nroIiqirDo,· Me ca /,MD H,t' (Poria. '9")' .0$.,6, who _ ... iR " ' , . ; . . . _
. . . . n 1...... l/1000 f. l . Gonrld. ~ .. , .
. . ....,..,'«rlc ... mWtre"""'ioi ..... i.... "
J" ~ Iol< 17 ( 19"), I·., .

.6
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

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 king-
dom, 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 re-
gioll$ 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$tinns are held in check by long-
cstabli$hed CUStom. The cursive reappears; one wrote more quickly,
Pirenne noted, because commerdal occa<Iions for writing were nl<)re
numerous.'l Even allowing for regional and occupational variations,
by the mid-twelfth ~ntuty the prnencc of .scribal cu lture is one of
.. M. Pm.., ""'uti •
U
".H
I'''''''' (p.n.. l!l9'). , .0.
G. 0ubJ. RomJ E - , ...JC....., Ufo;"", M,.{;..,J W"" , ...... C. Poo,.,. (CoJ~mbi ••
S.C" ,963). 6 •.
" I"'., 6 •.

,8 . On ch< ooo"j ..... ;". "c _.ie

" ·L·;..... ""'.;". <In ....m.u.do ... )(""" ~:. ,\ ..... tfbis_ .., 4- • "'"'" , ('9'9).
.dlOOl., ....... feY; ....... "c P. Richo', · L';",,,,,,,,",,, <In
Mln .., XII< 'iokloo:' MO..,., Su. - . I ro;joo, '9H), "~·17 . For • re<<n' ,....;.". "c th<
~ion .... R. S. Loptz. ''Tb< cw.u .. "c , .... Med;",! Ill"""",,:' j~ D. B.,. lI.vI<Io.Il. ed .•
MoJiMJ -* '1_;"" ... 5,dm. No. 8 (Durt..m. N .C" '97'}l, ,.-6,.

'7
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

the kw uni~mliling fol«S that tbe western Middle Ages knows as

a whole.
"Administration," wrote Hilary Jenkinson, "is founded on preced-
ent, 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 neces-
sity 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 .
.. P" ' I 'j nJ u. ,,-, ' .r s'lJJ "c_ H.... 0Cambrida<. '9' ,), •.
.. D. 0;.;..,. •. 1I".,:,;q (L<mdo<>. '96». '1·

"
 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.'Ji-
teracy·· 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 writ-
ing; 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 lan-
guage." 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 inter-
change. Not only wen: there "direct channels,'· Sabuini notes, bto-
twetn 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. '."
.. Pot. _ .....""''''. _ F. H. _ I .."V";";" 0Pd ~ ... :. 'J1- " ~
"Fot. dilNoojon rL ,110 ptobIomo, ... E. Put,tom. ··PI ..... m. ond Grophcmc: , PonIJd:
W'..J 7 ('9" ). "-'0 ond ",,", "Gnopb;< ond Ptooni< s,........ , Fifuta< ond Si,..:· a;J. , "
(096,). 208-2~. p.,. 0 hibl"",""", .., tho ",bje<..... J. Vl<h<k, 'J'rinto ~"." fTh< H'II"'"
'\17 J), 7 'on no. ....,! ... .", rL dOfI\:,.", "PP ' ..... ;. di""-"'<d by J. H. G, .. nI><". "His<w.
0:01 Un&Wtlin ond Un .._
_
r..,.,...,..: in A . S. Oil, od.,
. "-', ~ , . fl. G, ..",. (Suniord, '97 '), "-29.
1...,_,C""_.J C_i·

~ P. Soboo<i:U. "Oon. ·lCfip<> lo.Ii ... ""'0· 0.11< ·o<ri_· _ : . $,_ ...,J;....1'. Jr:i .ni".
9 (' g.6/I), ,,6 onc! H . LiIdk •••. 0;" £t:m<l:""6 fOIIWLu.:btt Sdu;f::.op,od••• :· V.. 11 .... ·;", 2,
(.96.4). " . Cl. 1'. 1I"uM..l i, " 0;. 0Ifft< ... T .... un' .. dm: G<"Ii<:h<, ... ink<l """ Pro<o>ltol.l und
Votl<o«:: ~., '4 (.s>6,) . ... ~,; C. A. N ..,,,,m, ·· ...."..,;...c.."""i,: MilL">dlid.. uL">d

.,
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

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 ed-
ucational 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 van-
quished the other dialecu of the ltalillll peninsula. It then bec:aJm the
ianguase of administration throushout the republic and llUer the em-
pire, 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 dic-
tion. JO Later autban, ....hile imiutin.g Greek modeh less crudely, fol-
lowed his enmple. But the emulation went fat beyond language-
trainins 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 appro-

a<briftlict>< ObodwNQ&'. - ia H. Pi., [.Nidoen .. Ill.• ..... Otrd TI "1;". u......" T. " '-
(0 I '917>. 8)"92 .
....

.... Altbdm, - [)it AtoI'I..,. .... vulprlot<im.- Gw... .., ([9)')' [H; It. A lWl.lr"
-n..~<LP_R, . j (•• ~ L, w.6h~") . ,~C.\t+4 ........ ·'lbb,, ...
do" Iooin dit ..wri~" - LII;" ~"
/M;''' ......., IMio l'" • (Paris •• ",). , ......
_~'h ' U'
.....". _~ S[ i', ,an
"K IN: ..... . . . . ,.,. . ,, ". " • c".~_
oIl ·
• .... ~Stm: ...
~ ._ ._,
' ...... ..... ",.,.
11.. B. Pal.- (Bcrliro, ,~), 28-J04 .
.. I ........... "l.muoI.- '-':rs 1'•••' ••
60,.
,.,'....0·.· _rl i·' AlMt: Lw Wi'. Suppbd. v,
,. H. I. Narrot:., .. Nu.,,, E t. ;.;" ......" .•. -. G. Umb tL<>ndon. [9,6). Jo4"
_inn.
Ott <he a:o:lie,ol dt .. Iupo ... ", of rl>ir. lOO B. ilitcboli'. '1'b< 5::"", of '-if;n ~
in <he Uio:\dlo Ar.~ ~J L)6 (1961). 2""'4 .

'0
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

priacc for tnewucationally 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 be-
tWeen the official culture, which W"iS in Latin, and the unofficial cul-
tures which existed in vulgar Latin or early vernaculars. During the
Renaissance a similar theory of high culture helped to legitimize lit-
erary Italian, French, aoo German.
The early medieval phases of these compl icated transformations Oin-
not 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 direc-
tioos. 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 =:on-
srruction, 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 petsua-
sively 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 mor-
phology and syntn, as well as tracn of phonology; and it adopted
new gl'llphic signs to express the sounds actually spoken .... Many fac-
tors influenced the linguistiC and scribai changcs: the inttrplay of
lIOCial classes and 1~ls of education; migration from the countryside
" ~. INIttd,. r-LM .. (OsJo, (9)9). I.
"J- JoWb>. P-"I>>I';' _ _ (~,;d. ' 9S' ). I> J.
" f . Soho<ini, ··o.J.la ·x , i",a Isti .. ""tic. ," ·· H 4.

"
 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 citi-
zenship 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 $poken Ot wtitten word.
What was Cmtted was "not qllitt • new lang1ll8e, but certainly new
forms of es:prtSSion."" Whether in CTtrydiy, literary, Of liturgical
Latin. Christians introdu«d word. aDd phrases drawn from ordinary
speech and occasionally from Greek." The novelty arose both in Jan-
g1ll8e and style. 1be Old Latin venions of the Bible. which d~
heavily on coUoquial \lUge. inliuenced. speech p,lUernS amotIg Chris·
tian communities, and thi, linguistic phenomenon. refi<"(:cing in turn
the often low social origirl$ 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 0b-
served, 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. at-
tempted 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; ....... . ",). <ha. J-'.oar:! F. Wit.;:k .... V.(r"';-...J ~ ...
Rdt . . $,'_ f .... (Si •....".l>end........ Hridrdhtrrr Ahh"i< drer Wj" • • bof."", ""il.·~"'.
!Cl . • AbI>. J, '9"), 7~.·
.. A. Hornodo. T .... Mu';' _ E.,IOu.. <fC~ io'" Fm. TIow c.-.;.. ttanI. ond
0<1. J. -.:, ,.~. J. Pdibro (N. . York. '96')' "". '. an·n.
" Lii6teclr, ~ !Mio, 68 .
.. C. ~. "1.'hude ... 10 Iociftitt <hmi<noo::' .,. (i/ .• '!>-.w; _ . "Wia (ia tbc
Cburd» . - Now c.sJ,Jir EZ) " ,. -. 8•• '3. Pot. bolon«d himriad ond «i,in! .,.,,,0:0' 01
tbc question, _ 1.6&.0<1., .,.<iI.• cb. " ... J .... GIoeIlind:, "lM:ift dWritn ... I&nfIIl< Iatj",
. . cbrttirnor lA'" ~ 8 ('939). +4!>-78.
"Ii. A ..... "-:h, { 'r . ) ~_ _ ill Pdht io ~!M;' "'_if*iI1_io." M;,/JhA,os.
ttanI. I.. N"onbdm (\.0<I<l0<0, I~), .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<l until Ono the Great
rourt<! the Magyars at the River Lech in 99~ and t~ Arabs wet\"
apelled from their last Italian stronghold by Roger of SiCily after
lOO!. By and large, the ouniders did not disturb the morphology or
syntu of Latin Ill! spoken or written, eIcept in Rumania, whe~ the
penetration oC the Avars in the century or so after tht' death of Justin-
ian brought about a fusion of Romance aoo Slav elemenu. In some
cases, like the Visigorhs in Spain line! the Langobuds in Italy, the
survivaIs an: difficult to disrill8uish from the gener:ol influ" of Ger-
manic words. In others the le"i«)graphical legltCy is greater, lIS for
instance in France, whe~ Gt:rmanic words influenct<! the vocabulary
of agrarian life, feudal relarioll$, and military hatdware," or Ambic
Sp!l.in, where the innovations affecrt<! gardening, building, commerce,
administration, literatu~, music, and above all science." The de-
oouemenr of the invuiQfU Will! the reshaping of the empire in the
image of tht' invaden, in which, from the ninth century at least, a
new Romania emerged Ill! a palpable linguistic ~ality. But the fate of
govetnment and language ~erc nor the same. The growing st~ngth
of the centralized monarchy after Pippin·, coronlltion in nI me~ly
camOl.lfl~ the increasing decentralization of spoken languages. When
Chulemagne died in 814 he had largely realized hi. ambition of re-
constituting the empi~ to include what is now France, the Low Coun-
tries, greater Germany, and sectors of haly and Spain. But ordinary
people in different regions could scarcely any longer understand each
other.
The hiatuS, in other words, had oP'"ned not only between spoken
.. 1;;,1. • ,,,,",J.
o. w. D. Ekod<. TJ. R _ ' "'""'"'(~. '96<>1•• ,6; i. , ....... d.. lH .... G. p.n••
."LeI ....... d·_nt d...o I< plUl _ien ~:. MIUIrtts I;""';J~ (P&Jio . ,_I. l ')·" .
.. (lm:k. r'" R_ r-r..,... '"/9.

'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 view-
rwnely, that Latin and Rom..nce C(lC':I:isred III spoken languages from
about the second century B.C., but had become mutua1ly unintelli-
gible by the ninth-is certainly oversimplified. The implicit eltpla-
nation of how people spoke is !:.sed in fact on how they wrote: die
connection remains hyporbeticaI until we uD<l.erstand how the medi-
evaJs themselves viem the reb.tionship between speech and writing.
A growing body of evidence suggests that the evolution was not only
verbal. There was also a set of incompatibilities, as yet not fully
understood, between offidal written and unoffidal spoken forms."
When communication between the twO became tOO difficult for Ot-
dinary spo:dr.. rs, the w[imm language, chat is,latin, probably became
reduced to "Ut additional collection of rulelI. ".. Moreover, what has
normally been looked upon as the ·'emergence" of the Romance vet-
narul.an may in part have been only a n.... ....y of writing." One may
even ask wlM:dlU the SInUb.rx o"thJ of~::z were the "binh cctti6cate·'.06
of tbe Romance Jansua&e'. or whether they .... re iD<l.irect byproducts
of Aleuin's reforms, in which "the re.ding aloud of written texts for
tbe first time $OUIlded different from the pronunciation of tbe ume
words in tbe vernacular.".,
Even bcfutt this &mous IDCft"ing a number of wotks written roughly
within a century of CllCh ~r in different regions of Europe under-
lined the passage to genuine bilingualism from "diglossia, "., that is,
&om the simultaneous use of phonologica1ly interdependent forms of
Latin and Ronuncc in which each had specific functions. These texts
............ , .. k •• of tb< _ , _ .... Ioaoo< _ 0".1.. AwJlo, AJJ. ..."'" .JJ~
of
.",,",_/0 .',1'.... ,,.,.J;S,..d •• • ~_... J;_t.W;".«I.L.Ikq:bi(T_.
'966),41.'44; C."rh. Go d, F,.. F ;""S~_. U . ' ".. .... ....,............
t/". ' ?' ! . . At;,,·,",,", (0. ".khioo:I>< ~ do. 'lVb ,r
~..,. plUl.-No<_ Kl. ,
Si'",,,..1 ,id,,", . " Bd.. , Vk ..... ,9111); _ , "Gnpbt.... et pi 'OK: Id: PHUt",. _,raJ
<It I·fn>do .... w.,u...
f.<rilft du """en "'," R._ .. Ji.pi#ip<' .. ,~. (,968), ,·,6;
R. •,~, "Spaline:, r.-li".. and W,i'i", 16.1< latin ODd Earl, J.omontt," N J! .~/; 60
( '976), '71-&9·
.. Wri .... , "".<it., '78 .
.. fM,Bt .
.. .... ..... W..u-" £¥;;I.. . ;. Ps ' ... 'u, _,.. • m .. .1:1" .', i,... ,.. .p {Hall,.
'94')' '91-
"W"- .-o-A, _,m.,
. 1• , .
~ H. UIdb, Gal· ..... , ,6''''' ",_J ',0, IF........., '9M)' m. ,.

'4
 ORAL ANO WRITTEN

indude the 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
written and spoken lllnguages is also evident from a number of con-
temporary 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,

J J f _ "" unI. Viii ($pok<o, '9H). 1101 ' 3" Spocili<allr. ,I>< /" ' ,i.,.
.. for • ~ rniew . ... c. A. M.om<lIi, "Vi<rn<k li,,!!ui,,;cl>< dol >«010 VIJ[," I ~,J!oooi

11>< .... ri3hth <If...-t~ ninth <enIU<J': L ~ i. ''SW'' dat,.".-..:.m. old rod. LXXXIX
i. d ... bl< ("""

dollo 8 iblio=> Upi .... ~ d i Ve""'" (l'On..i ..... k M....-.biro):· ASI. ""in 7 •• ('9'4) •• 06;
,.,. philololi«J .nd liop;"i< dioeuo<ioo>. 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<f...... 18) .nd ,~ ;
P. ZwolhOf. "U ... IOnnuI< , . 1 _ du VUI< .ito:Io. '" t.~ {rf -.n,d>, Pbil%rir 7l
(0 9 19). "4. n.. porod, of.1>< Le< U1i<.> rotn<S from .1>< .... 'l""rt<I of 11>< .~h<h u n lUrr;
G. A. II«k...."." "A ... ..... km ... J,ht..ru.,... *' Vulp .....i .... in f~t<kh , ( in pol'O(\i ••
, i,<I..., Zwoll NI I.n Salk>. ..nd . i... Schreibozl,;l13<:' ~. , 79 10 \>6,). ~--06. Tbo G/""" r(
R."'...... .... b<fot-. 800; JoI ...",lI i... Vi«odt lil\!:ui ..i<tIt . : . 8' 7: .1>< r;~ I{ """"
from Fulda ""....,n .1>< ' i&!IIII tt>d ninlll « • •",in; 1«. m.; ,I>< r;,.j}u ....... fn>m .1>< ~ISI
<kado of d>< ni"'h; S.bottini, _ .m., , .... ,..1>< GIou.It) <f ,\/...... f""".t.: ..... h of Iuly in
.1>< ~". <kado of.1>< " ,"h; 8. 8i1<hof( tt>d H . G. 8td<, " 0... i.. lioniocf>."io<hioch< GIoooot
ckr H..-o:Iodo, if, • ' 4 ( 11 7) dor E!iblioten ~i«>11l< 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' .
.. c_m.. 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'" int<lk!<l'l q_ d""nou •. '" fuo-,
I." of <It ..... odn>CIni.;o", "" mtIOCUW _NI\!: ..... M. link. /..0 ,-w..'....... ~ .. _ ..
_~, 'Jot> (Pori ••• 1)66). 81·88.
" Quott<I in El. Mi,li"';o;. n. ,"',.... (.,o.V"'f'". od . tt>d ' ....... T. G . (;'-iffilll (I.<>ndoo.
,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'OfIWIioch<t Schc;f"l'to,t..n; · I '~' 0.. A!cuin', inll.-••
... in pOtti<>llo, L. WoIlod'l. Ab;" 60</(0,, ' . _ (I........ ' 919).

"
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

the finaJ. Stages of this long proceu. 'I1Ie vernacular languages of con-
tinental 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 acquaint-
ance with culturt' in the formal sc:nse of an ongoing tradition depend-
ent 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 lan-
guages mosr accurately reproduced "the relative position of written
and spoken Latin in the later days of the empire, "U gave little evi-
del'(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, vemac-
ulan and utin. Of course, the Romance and Germanic languages
aisted in substance if not in grammatical form, am! each ,.,as self-
consciously 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 tw0-
fold 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 writ-
ten down.
It is not surprising that iittrr"tlll, the normal term for describing

"w. K . Pope, P_ Wti. If.\l. . . ,,-,.,,;u ~ c_u-n-" A.Jo.N ...... , .r>d

od. a : ! :, Tp,'), "4. Or: ... ittft: -.uo opoIm: ....,...., ,loo _,..",;",;, is fnicw<d
bt c. A. ,«-. "U.....,. lana...,.. $p>I<ct 0i0I«. ond .100 PI"'· ... 'IIOI Problem ill Old
Fmw;h,"T...... ,. ·"doPIi!:', ·-.lS..-y, 19''(0>l0<<I. 1~6), 111""
" "'" on O.b .in al the _ . _ M . lIids ... , "Koorun<:niboi« I( .Ne"", im laoeioiKbon
Miurkl .... " HiMriIdJ< :z.;_ift ... (Im). 4,.so.

,6
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

someolH' ,..ho km:,.. how to read and to write. reft'rl't'd almost invari-
ably to literacy in Latin. As tM norrru of Kribal cultu~ we~ gmdu-
ally adopted, the mention of litency. first by clerics and later al-
though 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 sim-
plicity 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()un-
tryside 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 peas-
ant; 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 em-
barrz"ed at their runl origins. Thc agnrian pa$t was deeply im-
printed on early Latin: primitive law was that of the farmer; the re-
ligion WIiS rich in rural culn; and in contrast to Greek, with its
.. H . GNndltWlB, -u.,<ra, .... jU;,,<ra,"' .... " ,.[,. u . M. T. Clanch, . F... M.-, ..
Vlri_ R-.I. 'n~'· Tb< ' .,.il«l>« on ,b< >POI<m .Ic _ _ undodintd iB obe dtfrn.itlort
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, ....."': ... u,......
...t ]i,...... """ dici,u, illc q"; - . mul..,. lib<ot « io><pkir
er mooJuit u' """"""u. qui pn>pr;' 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<t in onr;"';"'" er onr ....... Id. """V"' PO(O'<'" tf "", ......... . QO&tI_
H

Srolburt. c.J,J;u" [M.i,". 1~60; «pr. FomboroufIh, U.K., '97 11 • •. • . ).

" J. )01 ............. ·"lociniw-Yrboni_R....i<i.... - in fJIwI_ """'" '" "" /.. • """ "" t..titr
/jftt,..m (hrio. I _I .• [.

'7
 ORAL AND WRITTIIN

fteJ[ible verbal constructions so suitable for .bstr.ct thought, the con-

ceptual 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 or
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$tic abrasi;~n m and provincialllO\'elry"~
as well as archaism,60 while Quintilian suggested tcpe.tedly th.t ",-
IM"iw was preferable on mOSt occasions ill vtriis IIS_ 11 MSII. 6, Ma-
crobius, writing as lare as the fifth century, could think no more or
appropriate metaphor for the bubarnm or
mankind' l origins tban II
linguistic "roushness" that was simply an erudite version the same or
theme.6> But, by tbe time he w~, the standard was not spoken but
written Latin. It was gnmmu in textual form, not speech habits,
which henceforth iIolated the literate and by implication denoted the
rustic. And cbe irony utw.ir::dyin,g the arlic!: disrinnioos t.ire erner~
in a new cootcrt. 1lIe simpliciry or
the countryside. was largely re-
plated as • litcftry topes by that of the Bible. ~ Although Christian
wthon from Augustiuc on studied and mutcl"td rhetoric, they wen:
constantly reminded thar Jesus and the ap>stlcs spoke in the plain
language of uncuItivued men.
They were, as the New TelU.ment bore witness, itlifllM. This term,
which 0CC\lC$ 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 unin-
itiated, 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-
,. ItiJ., , ....
.. Do 0 . - } . '~.,", <d. J. G. Iloi... orw:I C. ~. ~ (lLipzia-, ,860). 'l'.
"ltiJ.• ,.II.4•• I«.m•
.. f.,." ;, 0,._ . . 6·J.7 , <d. M. Wifh"booo ... " (OoW, '970) , ..... ',p. H9 .
.. C , __ ;" Sd . s,y" •.• 0.6. od.]. Wim.~ , '!JIS». u, .
.. n..r. ott of """"" ,,,,,it' ." .., ...ml#l i..... VuIa_ JtImI .,;, (".,~ Ecc~ 1:>6
("",_~ , Par '7:~ orw:I Sop ' 1,,6 (".,litJt:) .
.. LidddI ond. S<utt, C 001 f.'u,t, r "ow, u .
.. Tb d.. u.,- /+;" p• •• ~•
.. Do A.....A..... 6.S. '0; ' " !b;" orw:I am.. namploo, _ "'" n..- » , . ' . Po .. ,.

"
 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 con-
sole." 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 pro-
found, 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';"';' u.itoo 111;_ (l.<Kl<n. "nil), •.• .

.. Po< • full , .. k • • _ C. Sp;cq. " Lo _'u <It: la .i",,"icid d .... I·And."
10 NwOUll
Of

T.. , ......... " RSFT .. ('9H), , •• \1. 1'fl<J])amim i, _;n,latly rkk in...".Jeo oL ooutd
>itllpliei,,; I « Or. S _ S~itm ... . c. " PI. I~,.6v79; c_ ,. 6?9A-C, " J-I';'; Or. Vu
E-.iI;'" . ..• c. S. ;~.. 71)1).1.D; c. ], ,,5D-HC; Dt V..... FHKMH« S~i4, c. t,
mJ_. 8, ,8: Do Wli;.. ""fin;". ,.,w.. i~. , 86, ....
.. MW.",.
.. , CO< J~' ,6. Cf_Je,.",... C -. M GM. l .lI. , 8; PI. , 6 .• 689 .

'9
 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 some-
one 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 er-
tolled 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 under-
standing .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.,"',,-,-'
...,,~ ..... " dd"' , - ... '"._.-~-
' . ".iD"' , ' .'7 .J.LN ,.. ' -'.-'-'-
' ........ •• ,~A. ,.",'-
_ , ..... ,~"" ,

"'7 .
rl
.. E., .• Odo tA
" _
a....-r. V;"'-
_or
S. <Woo ... c. to, PL In. 710; U!tk tA 0"",. C_ _ ·,·.,
_ J'"' I 0W1 ','0, .~
ft __ ._ ~_,
149.1""'-; ...... .-ruan, __ ~.'. '
• . n, r_ L '44.'•r•.
~ .. •n
,,~, --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, .... a ..
in 00 l'modr, V .. u Jc..(., HI6, ......eeI;" TobItr_
'-""'-". AIIfi ............ti ..d . t (\lI'itrbkn. ,960). "',: "'Si "'" • Iui "''''' <lICwt
SoUr. Uhtan de oimplicib!, Qu..M!iote or"; •• II1I>I Iottur< E ",,'u rn>cc ...;, n'"", cimn=.-
0.. ,he Id;';"" prd"t.....:< for ob< .poken. d. N. T. OaodIr, .,.<it., >08-'4.
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

opmrot plays io human ai&.irs has been negJened ..." A similar state-
ment C1ln Ix made about the internal history of the family. The rda-
tionships 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 writ-
ten traditioru and institutions alone or as an evolutionary transition
from oral to written.
The best-known approach through written tradition is the renais-
sance 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 pe-
riodic rejuvenations of the literate disciplines themselves.
The renaissance idea apttSSes a putial t.ruth. Mter all, the medi-
evals reootded only what they kit deserved to survive, and this inev-
itably 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<i4 u...,.IOda<d, 1\162), riL

.. 1'. !Mien Md f.. '11'011, H .... ' :I ' _ F_1j io p~ T;"" (Combriq •• 19"/'). ,.

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 no<ions. The "twdfth-
century ren.i·.nce" js an acknowledged category of dis.cussion, whose
usefulness is admitted even by the advocates of. decisive bteak be-
~n medieval.ne! early modern culture," Yet. price has bet-n paid
for the rehabilitlltion, In so eloquently defending the century as an
earlier venion of somethins else, medieval ists have not .cIequatdy
faced the te5ponsibility of asking how the culture shaped irself.
M a resporue, the thesis of .. simple transition fmm oral to written
modes of communication is superficially attractive, especially if once
again the reassuring enmple of antiquity is invoked. !be growth of
written culture and, as • result, of rat>onaJ .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 tra-
dition,
Other parallels between the ancient world Ind the Middle Ages
come to mind. Writing first developed in the Near East for the pur-
pose of goverrunent; that is, it ~ "tIO( to fiI theological or meta-
physical 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 pro-
gress;"" and tbe rebinh of medievaJ literaCy coincided with the rt'mon-
etiution 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

." I'<>< • ",itw ,,( ,ho oId.er U - =. ... W . K . Fa,...... 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.
Li,..
S<od< ...SC ..... , T«hnaIotr. ono! Ews_i< Pros .... it! tbt EorIr IoIk1d1r A,sot," in D.
boq. <d ., sn-..;" "" MiMlo Ap ('Chi<ofo. 1'78). ' )').1.

"
 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 state-
menrs. 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 am-
tains a large degree of acc:uracy. Within the period under study, it is
paralleled by such well-known developments as, in religion, the de-
dine 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 .
• , On ,.,. GtOdu . ... j. P. v...."., "0.. m",'" l" to;_ , 1.lI;..mat;.,n do" 1'<_ """'...
dons .. Grke >r<haiqu<," ..t.....r.., loS.C., "h9H), J8}"06; ... IdectN ...... 1I:,h~nrury
,hLnUn, ... B. 5<o<k, IIfph _ s.;-. ;. ,. T.."j/ih e..'...., / PribafOn, ' 97' )'
.. 1If....t.v- 3 · ~ ...I. C.C.J. Webb (o.Ii>rd. '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 differ-
ences between the twO experiences are lIS notable u the similuities.
In Gleece, the link betWeen litctaey and rationality is chiefly ISSQ-
date<! with the [«chins of Socrates and Plato. In the West, inquirics
into th~ rclations between factw.lity, ta.tuality, and ntionality wer~
undertaken from about the year 1050, but there was no single figure
who focused attention on kcy wUC$ and who lI«ed lIS a spoltcsman for
cultural evolution lIS a whol~. instead, the chang~ in m~ntality was
diffused throush .. number of disciplim:s law, philosophy, thc(llogy,
historical writins. music, and science-which did not always com-
municate with och other. Like the ancient world, the Middle Ages
h.d its GwteswimNdJa{trn, bue, unlike it, no integrated theory ofhow
they functioned wirh respect to each other. sdll ltu of their impli-
cations for social change.
In sum, thc acdviries of medieval Kribes graduaUy increaJM their
BnSe and inHue~ partly because Europe recreated the conditions
which made written cwtUJ'C relevant in the 6nt place. }hd that cli-
mate of opinion not existed, the legacy of Greek and Roman !earning
might havc remained untouched for It much longer time. Bur, to tell
thc story of oral IlIld written evolution, one cannot simply review thc
forces by which writing perpetuated iUt'lf and in which litente cui-
tUI:'C grew by a series of ",ocwals. Nor is the development of oraliry
within totual tradition a linear process. Once l18ain ~ must speak
of two penpec::tives, om: from within written culru"" the other from
within oral cuIN",. Ler us look bricHy at each.

TIH PtrJ/I«Jillt of WriJInI TraJilion

The c1e.tfat instances of literaey's continuous emplOYJJJCnt an: fur-
nished 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 let-
ters. 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 recon-
struct. 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 trans-
actions." In an incre;uingly litigiOU$ age , Ullmann notes, "the un-
parallded 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.r...., t( ... v....... 11"""" - ' it> Moh.l HoIJi"" cr"""'to. ' 97'), 7 .
.. L s.n.iftlIOl, ""Souio di uo.1<N;o dri ruJU""",ci. jmp;.p<i • r<ciuori <1<11. C."",,11<tio
_ir.: .. doIl'initio .1)".."" l<oon.- ilLS ,6. I·'
(1940).
.. 1_, "B<itliF ..." Goo<hicbu d<c lIndIt.ibotoll< im M j ..... I~ . . . I: ' MkIG, XVI.
E'8mrwJjJSbd. Hdi , 119"), 87.89.
":so. P. K<~ •• '"Soin,urn und ""'..,urn. 7_ GosdIi<~f< des pjp'dKbm IWu;l<i--.. ,m
XI_ JoIub..f>d<tt,- MW<>. VI. Et~obd ('90' )' 7<>"' 12 .
.. W . UU",""" , T. G-a 0{ p~ r;.,.. .. ;" to. MMJt.1Iz<l 2nd «I. (Londm, .96,),
.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(rip-
1nl 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<Is but of
syllables in words in an aw:ntual pattern. Ancient metre was not
muundentood; it was deliberately abmdoned:.'" What originated: as
an onJ·aural phenomenon was evcntuaUy pressed: into the service of
writing.
TIle tJ[~ion of the chancery was of coune inseparable from the
rise of a reformist J"RP"<Y in the later elcventh century, apecWly
dut'ing the pontificates ofNicolas n, A1cunder rI, and Gregory VII.9l
Gregory's career spomncd the maj01' period of cbange. Iu Hildebranc:l
he fint came to Rome in 1049 with Btuoo ofToul, later Leo IX, and
by him was made dtkOll of St. Paw outside the Walls. His inlluence
on the curia grew sre.dily over the years .... In I OH be presided over
the synod of Tours which considered. the case of Bcrengar. He wu
instrumental in electing Nicolas 11 in 1O~8 and Alexander 11 in 1061.
The lat[er's "reform group" of canonists and theologians remained.
active throusbout his J"RP"<Y from 1013, to 108~ . 'J His program gavc

Noroou-..r.. · .AI 5 rS' f F;"J('n~), ,,'>I .

.. """ ,..,.... , •• itw, <I dI< pooiod', _ _ ODd ~ .... H. Ho/I'm&no., -V... Cb>ay rum
I..-.; ....... it. · A.'- fir N.,. '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<hmidt. A.h 1 I/fU' (",I07J}...trlit, ' . " 11........ , ii , ........ Lif(S<unpn,
'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<! eariier, underlin.
ing, Peter Cla.uen notH, t. clear line of continuity between later Ro·
man and G<:rmanic practices. '''' Rudimentary archives were con·

.. UU"""",. G...... of p~ Gm, '"', ,6, . a. G . l.:>dn<r. TIwI.V<".,J ,." i/iJ .... "-
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<gorlan Rc-
r."",. " 5"; ~ '('~7')' 4' ,.66 .
.. J. T. Gikh<it,. 0 ; - _ ~ _u u... CIII.m. io LXXN ritm. .tipu. (V..i,on
CitT. '97,1. ";;, 0. Grr,.,..,.·, own ...1<. "'" ,I:<..."..,tIoor',""Gr<J"'T VI! O<>d ,I:< ]ut ... i<
So::w:t«o of ru. ~," S,... G"";,,,y 11 ( '967), ,.j8 O<>d "n.. Il«<p<ion ofl'op< 6«• ...,.
VI! intO tI:e Co""" I..>w ( • .,., J" ' 4<1:' ZRG KA " (''11 }l. "'77 .nd t<hIn .
.. J .•• n I" I.,..", .. 'ChruLi."i. .' .. rHot"", ,"pi.ntit." S""""",,;,oi 6 (.,,9'li.),
, ,., >. 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
4<,.,,,,,,,,# "'if.... , (,,6,). 4'4·81.
- G . J dM'. "Two Grc.oriu: l.ft, ... on tl:< Sowno u:oi N.",... of GtqoJy vIr. R<form
ldoolorJ." Stdi "..,;ni , /1,,6). 'Jf>-4', Fo< Oil:<! "'".... ,I:< JWIImo'1' ,,( H,E.] . Cow·
d..,-. rh. e,;s. V.- C..,..,
of 1't;I VII (0:U0rd. '97'). Apt>tn:li. A. 1>0, 6 7.
... H. "' . Klntit:l. "'Cot:<dluio.. Ei n I\ti,.." ..." G<oo;hio;h .. dn ..i.:!i<h<n Holdl_. "
0..",'" AdWfM GtriitW. M. N.inUI_ I ( ' 9n). 69-n ,
," .. ko.i ....... luipt ~n:I KlWputk~odr. D;plomatio<l:< S,,>oI;'" ... m r6mit<J>. .. rnw:it<bt<:
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$Siv~ ~mperon, only to become fragmented with different
parts of the empire afrer &jo.
In the hue ninth and renth centuries, the royal chanceries of Pro-
~nce, Burgundy, and luly utilized the Carolingian style of dip]oml..
Similar traditions dominated the diplomnic services of the culy Or-
tos. 1bey ~n served as I. point. of departure for the modest writing
service of HUSh Caper.'''' The chanceries of Hugh, Robert I, Henry
I, and Philip J were no man: extensive than was necessary fur !'\Iling
a kingdom cncompassill8 little man: than the lle-de·France. But, from
the rime of Robert the Pious, a ~ of simplification wu di5Ccm-
ible. The new charrer was smaller in dimensions and lacked many of
the traditional furmulat. Eventually it was simply called IrriPI_, /W-
gilY, ()!" tIIf14, ,06 indicating that thc tat rather than its symbolic
trappill8s constituted tbe mes.sage. The position of the uthchancdlot
correspondingly lO$C in prestige. A c~ in point ""as Etittllle de Gar-
bOOe. 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 acres-
sion of Hcnry I ODto the English throne in 1100. Henry centralized
accounting and ttel.Sury procedures, improved the quality and quan-
tity 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

'" Se< N . T. CIsn<h" P_!oII ) .. 1V""" I ....... '~" j.

- G. T ... iu, fX~ ' ,.. ..,. fo 'Of ,;.. (I'Jri •• ,96.). 40 .
"' IW., "9.
"'.4-. Gi,." ~.I. 'jib 'it-, .od «I. (Pvio, '92,), H2 .
. ,D:
- T...... . ' ,',"'
' __.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 ~ <hu<rt
";';113 .. Eo,gIotId. _ a...ct.y,"" IoI--, .. .._~. ,6-n. ood tb< -'uJ «r<npor-
W ... cbon. p. 44.
- 0; "r .I. $' , , if. od. C. Jot._ aCr I ..... '9,0), ..,. 0.. "-1', o<rit:r.., _ T ..4-.IrI.
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 Bra-
bant from 1199.'" Episcopal registen b«arne more abundant in the
thirteenlh ....
Between the laler Roman empin and the eleventh century the con-
tjnuity of administrative literacy was mainraiDed by private and pub-
lic 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 or-
ganjud as I guild . As they had no public Cllpacity, they were com-
pelled to deposit acts in an appropriate branch of the imperial bu-
reaucracy, the census, the judiciary, the municipal magisnacy, or the
proviDeial prd'ecture. JU5tinian, who was emphatic on ;1I$;lIlI4tio, spe-
ci6cally excluded f4Mli_ from the p.b/KtS foiD. There were at lcut
tWO reasons. The transfer of the empire's headquarters 10 the Greek-
speaking world meant that le8islation regarding priVllte IICts intvira-
bly 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 hI-
klli" 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< <Od .. <II«.!"'.
to !in d~
Xli 'iklo, " BiN;"Up.. r&.lt" C~ .. , (1967), 4'--48 .
... Sot io ..- ' C. R. o..""f, E.,JiI' B~' C,,"_ 110<>-';,,, (M.och....., "no).
' .2~.,.j dw. 2 ond •.
'" N.."p" • I. ~ I"';' C;,.ilil. <d. R. S<hooll and W, K""'I. 4,h <d. (!IerI;", 19<», vol .
,. pp. 'H·n·
... N-n. .... PI· '. pp. '73·H .

"
,
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

writing was reinfo«ed in N4VtIt.. H, which dealt with the .utbend-

cation cl docummlJ. Scribes, it md, ~ p.niculady irnlX"(litlt among
those having DO formal education. Witoesses acquainted with the par-
ties 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 profes-
sional 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!ltru-
menll. ,,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 valf-
iog 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 authenti-
cated 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 de-
manded 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<n<\oI,i """ G.
~ AJJ.,,;p.; "" " , -;7'7 iMJ. . (Rome. '97')' ,,..6.
}}. ,6, 4''''}' ~ ~

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·<tl Ioft&o-
botdo,," ASI. 7<h ..... ' 7 <'9f:1l. " ' H, A. Pe<rcci.~. 0.
iuI. . (Nilon, ,,,11), ,,-.8,
ond G. c....-.ni.
"11 ........ _
;,..1._"" .........,
itoIion6," Am !lJJ.S.a.t.I
Iq-. _,.m., "." 4 (,~), >ii-.alii .
". For • diocuoMoo. .... I'ttno«i. 1'1_, 4""
... Sot i ...., .... H. Do 'hi. H ' . ' . 1. ,8}-tin ondA. do 1IoIlord, _Jt~
fi ;rH,,; , t !.1I.-r_,..(I'orio. '90481 •• " .....
... [ i W .. f ~ de .... XV. I" , VIII. MCH J..qn 4. , ... _~,.

40
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

t~ latter of whom, PetrU(( i maintains, were instrumental in pro-

viding 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 im-
perial 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 pro-
cedures. 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' $ reg-
ister. 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 reg-
isten, .. summary of the procis-1lfrlJal and a more extensive official
record. The earliest extant register is that of the Genoese notary Gio-
vanni 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-.<n.cd. <I.m .. s no. _"'" i, ~1I1 f<Yi<w«Il". ""_ ..... ; and C<at""" .... <I.m.•
[,,_88 . On [loo ."l.;o<li... quali.,. 0( lMoJObud <""'fO<I' .... F. c·l ....,. j.., -_inli.. "
c_ ih" ~.. , ..... JJ _ io 11III.,o!o. ... r"JJo -.Jion9 (lIoIo!I.... [9 1» . 92·
... KMOIi Ill.."; C.pil.~. 0«. 80s. c. ~. loIGH LoJ<'! [. [J" · u[ ... uoqul"l. ... e p i _
.. obboo .. ,inj"ali CIIn'Ii[ .......... _mum habao",:'
." ~ "'" d< 1IoiWd. Ill"",,",. [6[~, .
... 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, to-
gether 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 sep-
anre from its proof. Throughout the republic no particulu impor_
u.nce was attached to the written IUts of private COntracts. By Jus-
tinilltl'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

," TIlt .,Id<r

"m,l; ,nlllft"in, "(>911). ,·11 (....;qui,,) and 11·17 ()I;.!dk

li .....,... on do< Bnmn<r .h<>i, ,,,it.

l> 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. .,<adi.,;" per anam,' .ift Koorinu.iolnp<ol:rlom,'· .4. ..... P. Diflru 'i j )~ ('9'?"
60), "1,, 4~; and P. CIF'['n."Fon1obrn unci Wande! opiIr6onio<bm Urlu""I"'......... ;m
frii!tu> Ni...w...." Ut P. Cl PIU, ni" Rd....... $drft ;. MitrW.J.... (Sip>o<u.,u., [917), ,().
~J . o.h<t .-.ibutloiM ;1'I<lud< H. YodtteMu, " 'Cartr,' et 'N<IriI .. ' ... Sorift. du VIII< ... X.

'iklt." L.. M""" Aft 69 <>.,.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.

4'
 ORAL AND WRITTfiN

ten records ...as oot of coune the byproduCt of more widespreiid edu-
Clltion 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<I to mactments in the classical system. ,,'<> 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<lge of othen . . . and the witnes.5 of
tDose nearby. "'J' n.e u~rchjng of an iodigellOWJ if unofficial tradi_
tion of unwritten law has rendered inopeIllble the simplistic contrast
between suppo5!dly oral Germanic and written Roman codes. "Thi5
presentation," Ernst Levy concludC<l, "res\l upon a fa!Jacy. The law
books of Justinian were not yet in existence when the earliest Ger-
manic codes wett: framed. "'l' It was not classical but vulgar Roman
law which by and large the new kingdoms adapted to their own need:
"Where Germanic ideas found entrance into these codifications, as
they particularly did in the law of pt'tsonS, domestic relations and
suqnsion, there was the deliberate CIQtion of something new. . . . '" II
The novelty of CO\lne nw.f not be tt:garded negatively as "vuJs:ar-
ity"' : it...as 1es.5 a degenerare form of correct legal pr«epn than a facet
of a more widespread oral tradition, which, unedipsed by Hellenism
and sophistic rhetoric, tCllppeared and 'NU sttt:ngthened after the third
century, when dormant impulses were stirred by the customs of pe0-
ples unfamiliar with writing.'l4 What was implicidy challengC<l was
the equation of official and written culture. In both Ravenna papyri
and ungobard charten, for insrance, traditio (arr.u is a symbolic Kt,
religiow in origin, sworn verbally on the Bible, and, unlike traditio
... eo", R_ VJ,... L-. n. '-- t{ '" I ,., (Philtdolphia, 19S'). p. 6 Tb< foIkro-i",
-"""" ""'_ tnenti-o<l, on 'hi> . udy. O. Leoy, 1V.,._doo V.I"" .... o.u ~;,.;.",..
..... (Woim .... '9")6), , .", iJ., G" IJIJtSdri{"', <d. W . Kunbl on.! N. JC.., 0C0I0s'"
0IId Gtloz. '1)63). ,6,.,>0.
'I' p, . . . "", v.n.:n. '49, 4K. uod ",,r.. 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 .. . :. ,...

'" Ut.m.
". On --..wpn...ion:· _. i~ oddi,;.,., tu ,,", cited -n '" E. Leoy. F. Wi=kl, VJv'
m-s nJKhWIi..., . . . : ...., .tu, ·wZ",'-nJR_uuWoi."",E""' _ IJ',,_"""'"
IWdw aUl J.omonum 101«1;; Ae.i I, '0, Miio.n, ,1)6,), ",6. wid....-lie< bibl",., '""'"
"'oi,"".".
mui><d .,., p.' ,n' I; ond lit . ~. o..r, ~ .... '_HA' At"'i,,: Di< -ut.s,UtM
E~. ,1>11 «I. ( M""K\o. 19"), ,-S. 17-" .
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

JIK~, DOt necessarily legally binding.'" One oral tradition ap-

pears 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 pe0-
ples 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, IIIIIS-
fiwtllS) 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 evapo-
rated; 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 be-
tween 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 docu-
mentation. For, where the law was no longer uootl5toOd, it hlld to
be 5pcIJed out, illustrated, and explained. The founh and fifth cen-
turin saw the rise of leg.J instrwnents which clas.sical 1.11' had. con-
." .so. H. Stti...a..., Dit _ _ G, er. ..
fi _5 5,"rli<lo!r ;.,1, , ' - ' IUipo;,; """
'rb
BorIu.. '''7). 9"'0'; L. WftLIOf. 0;, a-'Ioo. 'f !RriIs (vica.no., ItB). 747 ... 8;"""
1_.0. Tjid«. 0.;, "'!'h ..... I I.: " ! '""," 1""_ _ • Z,;, 44"700: I. ,~ ,·.8
(Lw>d, I!»,l. '14-1'·

cIor o.u'-':'k ' ..... cIor W;I .I:ofr<a ... &din. J......,
""Cf.H.Mitteio,o;,Rri<" L60:..J*:-P, "-.M · ., Kw ' . ,,,(Al:bond~...
'5147. phil.-hlot. Kl .. 1I<du..
'5147), 20_ 0.. tbe odoY"' __ ' I Cb af .... q........, ... tbe '-,iLL,!! .n>d, af D. 111""".
P.... • f:> • 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. (',,-,,,J /CoJumbio, S.C .• 'J76l.
." u-., ....'" R_ V""~. 127.
,
),_ '·'4·')·
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

sidered a.t best SUperflUOUS. These practices were taken over by Ger-
manic 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, acwm-
panied 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 $0 popular that after Constantine jurists took pains
to point out rhat Ir;u/ilio did not require the drawing up of an instru-
menL The transfer of the burden of taJ(.O.rion abo increased documen_
tation: "there can be no doubt ... that as in the East so in the West
all major sales, not only of land but also of fo/oni, slaves, and other
valuable objects were usually put inro writing. "' 40 As a consequeoce,
only CKceptionally did ";u/ilio alone remain a basic element in the
transfer of title. By the fifth cenrury sale Mrmally included a public
performance of the act, either before witnesses or through registration,
after which the proceedings were set down in writing. Similarly, Con-
srantine insisted that all gifts not among members of a family be
ruorded and the property formally handed over. As in the Cll$!' 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 tran-
Krlpt.
Oral tradition, as a consequence, played a dual rol e, equally evident
in the new functions for texts and in the growing emphasis on per-
fonned 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. "s.
'''IHi.• ' l"
""""'1_ Cl. P. c........ - l'<>ttlebM ut>d W.nd<1 ___
.. ' IHi. . ," ""4-
"'L<ry. ,,6.

"
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

form. T,.Miiti~ per tilrt4m appeared only in tbe: seventh century. '4' Dur-
ing 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 be-
tween types of legal instrument and theit supposed Roman or Ger-
manic origins, an issue thar has much preo«upicd legal hUtoty: it
was simply whether the written te:l:t was acknowledged to be an ob-
jective 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 pro-
visions 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
•., /MJ.•16,.{;6; "" oh< _ " " ' .... oh< '""'" ....' -.....,. i. hi. Cn to; s"'/IH. I.
>o,-6}, ..-d. f«t. """"""" ".i..
cl !he """"""""'" b<t.... on./;,y oad proof in FfO<lk.iolt
cui...... _ F. L GMoItof. "1.& pcm... dam Jo d"", m..:,- L."... ' ., , """it,
ltI..,.. ...
"u.fI E, . ""' (S""",Is. '~J. 7''''&. On !he ... in>cIo '0 ..,d oh< .JOOd old 10.... up ... oI:oou<
800. _ R. Sj:" hi. F ·Obtt,..
P:tol ... " ""'"" R«htI ill> IiIil><am Mi...W' .... - noItA 48
(,~, 1l7·H·
.... """" 147" tee! br S<ouIf. nEtucIo;· 2"I'U .
.. , . . . . . r«mI ... itw.
_ P. 0 w. "I'onlobon unci WODdd . • .• - -J6.
'''IAA'" •• '.42.2. WGH k,.. N., . Gmn. "'. p. 10J: '"$o:ftpauo _ oolet.,.;,;
;" _ OM;' . . d.. co · I h .... -..nditlLl.-

... lA Rih .. 27. , .. 'So NGH r..,..,. 2}2 ..... 242 .

........._. "..
E_ ._ 1•, I,. _. .
'~H'-N--
_.~ 'y . . . ........ ,.2. P. 441.
_ lA Viii, r' _ ' . , .• ,. MGH 1.<,.. N.... 0. ..... '.'. pp. Il6-'7 ' On !he boolc «>nI,....
lot, AU" Vioifodti<..-d _ la.. , _ E. l.nJ. ··Rdtttiono OIl oh< 'rot 'J."""P"i",,· cl R<:.n....
Uw I" Ibt Gua ..,;c s.-.-
C. to; Sol """ I. >01009. Po< ....Iew cl .... ...ieO<o ..
- . b oubottipt""'. _ K. :ztum...•• "Zatm -,oott- Urlnn 'a_G. I . s, 'a 'ipeio
unci Sipwn'- N_ A ..... 24 (.89\1). ".2~

,6
 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 ren-
dered 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<l, a tr#.diti~ «trIM or ",. C4r1afll. was out of t~ qm-srioo. ",,)
In many cases, such as hnulilm and j1fJJJtJJW, ,,. there was no precise
vemacular equivalenc for Roman legal vocabulary.
From "vulgarity," [hererore, as a debased image olliterate law, it
is a short step to oral law, which, although assimilating writing, has
001: as yet been change.:! by it. In Salic law tbe land to be sold was
frequently represented by a physical object, a rod or piea of sod,
which, when ritually exchanged, legitimbe.:! the transfer.'" This law
was not ··irrationaj"'; itS principles of operation were merely different
from written law. ,.6
So:dbal pmcdces almost invariably emere.:! oral legal systems by
imitating already functioning verbal instilutions. Of coune, neither
Roman nor Germanic law admintd obligations J4k,~. But, whereas
classical law recognized only real contracts, Germanic codes empha-
sized formalism. In oral law, tbc equivalent of the Roman conll"l1Ct
was "only the image of the tttnsaCtion for cuh, an imitation of ex-
change."'" Such unwritten law was made up of words, rituals, and
symbols. In place of the author's signature onc had. a sign, a cross, or
limply _"",,uJJi~, me' ceremonial placing of hands on the parchmenr.
Witnesses did nOt ··record·' an act: on the COntIllry, '·Germanic custom
demanded that transactions be nOt only capilile of being heard and
seen, but that they be actually heard and seen. ,.,~ Oral practices were

.... c.• 86, od. K. z.wn.., MG H Lo... No< . G.rm . I. " p . •• .

" . I,",.• "9.
." INi.,.,8-,9. ,6.-6•.
"'lftJ.• ,6 • .
,,. A. Gwnil, ··R.p,t.. "........... minOO ll"/ptd do Is ptopJ"ift/ ptndah, .. ","ut »><>yen

•" p. Owlio< and J. oX MoJolout, Hi,_.

l&c: A..w.s. RS.C .• '1 ('111'). ,2,_,8 .
Jntit,mt , .. u. OOipt*, (,,",is. '9H). 64 .
," a. R. V. Col""". "R<aKJft and UOr<SlOn in Early Medi .... uw,·· J - ' of 1__,,;'/1-
....,. H~ ~ ('1114). H'"9' .
." J. Brlooaud, A Hi....,
of"- p,; " .. £-1. , ...... R. Howl! (800_. '912), 47'.
,,. H . D. H...r'ill<, ""C.omm<-no (1ft rh< Wri,j..,. K..,..n u An,I.,.Sooo "jIb." oft
D. WlUIdod<. od .• A.Io-S..- Wi/l, CCamhrid&<. '9JO), iK. a . J. B,i ... od, ,,-1> J',;,'>J~
Ltw, 486; A. HNIIot, I .. ri... · '" 0....... I', ;,.",,j,,, (!.LiP:' •• 88,), I. 6,·n.

47
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

not limited to tbe north; d!ey sptead southwards inw romarUzed Bur-
gundy 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 tnadi-
rion 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 dis-
... A. do Boiiu<I •.Af si....
'. 11. 104-<>6. 'Ib
... Set E. Go" _M. ~ 1rMtt,'· ~ " ('9'04). "'9. o..d bridy~. "Il ..
pI/...'" ' • . " na·H. T_ typ<I - . . k,· .11 .. St. G&II; K. z....a..., • 'Cortam ~. in
Son<t G&IJor Urlrundm," ZKG GA ~ (188,). "7 .
... Ste N. !Coo, "Carur. ..... ~tttri&.~ /IlJeG 6> ('9W. <n"OO'
... , ... 1' L-d\. " , . Li<en<J ~ .... v'he",1 blWIt ~. ~ ''7 .
... Q\Io<td in L. E. 8oti<. "DipL>wt ...... ;"]. W. ro-Il. <>I .. Itl""-l Sb". A. ,"',..
... . tsr--. ,916). ~ b Iho oripIoI, _ CL ... I " . 04= ', . w. pc. ), od. A. IInocknor
o..d Io. MoridaoI (OI_...d 10"" .W. 196Y..... ''', pp. 1,,",7.
• ___ _, . . . . , - '" D .w
_...
, """"',
•.•. . L .....
. , .....
• x•.•_ " '. "•• " ' ,

... M. M. P d_. n. Fill;' M-..wJ ~ .. . ('1"........ ,96)). H"9-

"
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

po$1t1ve act remained an essentially oral contract. It was merely un-

derpinnrd 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 '<I.atJ, lfQIiti<lt. " . <Ie
Thesr functions for texu within oral culture b«ame an intimate
part of "feudalism:' The norion of feudalism, both as a '{llge of his_
tOry and as a state of mind, is lacking in pre.:ision, '69 but its rela-
tionship to the oral and written aspe<:u of cultural development is
reasonably straightforward. The feudal bond ociginared as a spoken
contractual arrangement betlWen two individuals, most frequently a
lord and a vassal, to which cenain property rights were appended.
This state of affairs persisted throughout the early Middle Ages; be-
tlWen the eleventh and the thirteenth centuries, a somewlat different
"feudal system" came into being. The personal depeodencies and mil-
itary oblip.dons were retained. But, wha! had arisen in principle as
a bond between men slowly bur surely became enmeshed in the eco-
nomic strUCtures of a competitive agrarian society. Property relations
became more imporrant, especially at the local level. The oral features
Wfte either translared into written term~I/ICJm, for imtantt, which
earlier denoted symbolic tr.diti~, coming to mean "to fa{ify""°--(lt,
like ceremonies of investiture, were framed as verbal ritual within an
ever-widening network of written law. Thw, a compkll sct of human
relarions was eventually reducN. ro a body of normative legidation:
feudalism, in GlI.lIshofs phllLSt, was ··teaiiled:·'" By 1100 fhe con-
ceptual framework was in place; by t3°O customaries for both secular
and ecclesiastical estates were bein8 liysttmatized and written down .
... Haul,i"., '"<:omm< .... ," ";i .
," l iiJ.• Iii,;"'; in ~_ ...,..il. Sbo:tI.an. n. "'ill. ~1. ~4·~).
,.. H .... ltin<, '"CommcntJ,- Diy, «hoi"ll H . BNIIMt. Z". Rrit~ ... ''''h,l>o •• ..J
~ (I"""""'(B<rli~, ,880).44-47. tnd H. 8,"'"".11-40<• . . . . 1. '0"" .
'.. Se. in ~ ...,,,.I Blocb. F...uI S...,. ,,&11>. L. A. Matlron (London. ,96.), I. nii·..i ;
G. D.il>y. ·u ~ittl1J ............ i!t mt<iifook:' ...",..I.a, E.!.C . 'I ('9)61. 1')'1 " E.E.R .
6~, ' '"Tb< Ty .... , "'. 0H><q><: 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.. ib<g«iatok<n in &, &U""b<.
Rtcb • .,....bich<t:· SIUid ... • uJ.!mlm- ~. «I. T. Mo,..,
lCo ..,on«, .9601. " .
,6; ond. on.1>o :ebrionlrup 01 , .." .... '0 ....Ii'!', R. Btenn<r, •.~ a....xN<.......M
L:"""",,,, o.-..Iopm"", in Prt-1.w..riaI Europ<: ' I'~ nJ _ , 10 ('916). :IO"7S, .. ith tt.:
.... ious repli.. , jlU.• 1811'118). , •• " .
l.a<""".
,,. R. E. R...;"J M..J;wJ L.on. IV...·U"• •.•.
., . FtlUiMh .. , n,,... P. Griu",,, (London. '9)2). '19·

49
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

The metamorphosis was so complete that the feudin lawyers of the

seventeenth century had. no (rouble in reconstructing the entire or-
ganism 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 relation-
ship 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 ges-
cures, wbich wen: sometimes concluded with .. kiss on the mouth,
". On spnboI.;"" ODd on! <ult .... iR Getmo.ni< law, """ in potricubr A. U.. • ... /mw.u-,
w.nl. Earl;'" Iopl Ji .......... .. ~ bs> ll. H.......... A H;,u" «Ga . 1'0 ; r " Uw,
,,.,.,. P. S. Philbrid< ~, '9.8), ,_.6. (Omiooed io.b< iq ,,,..... «>lite, .... of N. Tl>f-
vmin, T_ MMifi _ ictit_!riMs. JW/o,- _ fo;= ""wi._ • ....u-,-
[PW, .887l .) A l",id ~ioh """"'"'1 of ,he "";n pti"";p!<o ;" H. D. _.in<, -c:.-m... ..
. . . : ...;.>1; • .-fuI «>I1m.... of ont. i. uonolotion. J.. Bcuon.:bt, So, ~• /f<J,Jid, YOl.
I (Poli" .968). 13'-71;' ___ ",iew of .... "'lit", SiLO! ]X,'''',';''',J. i.< Go«. ""U ",...1
rymbo!iq ... cl. la ....,.[i~, - p _ _ _ fMy<rI Atr, ~4'O.
'" i.< Golf. "'L< rirud .,mbol;q,...:· 365·
." ..... ,lot NrnmIlfliAn. mol, _ Gomho(, Fp (6w, 6-7; ,." GoIbtn, H. 1'1 ........ , od .•
Hit.... '"" n " " Cl ,/00 If ",,", _
. . '""..."... (JWio •• 89.), SsI . ...... Joto,th;" dio<uuion
oftlot Iattcr. 1<0< r. 1.. Gocioho(, -l.<o m.._ Ilodo--tiq>.xo .... tempo _-Guolit>~, ­
I J",jbo; - . i JoII'E J ~-unI;"p. (Spcdoto, ,,,,I, ~n-
." G.u..h<I. I'd (-b-, ,.

"
 011,1.1. ANO WIIITTEN

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 vas-
sal, 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 appro-
priate 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 evo-
lution. 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
.,. s.. ... GoK...... riNd .,.."boIiq...... ,,6.'9.
'" E, ~. "'lod."d.. , ~i&conq .... "" qutl<fl><l ri, .. """,i . ... ,- NIUiD "( '9 ' ,). 6.~ .
,,. 0... c..n,.. G ........ ~ .. . (Holot, 17H). , .• ,
,,. M. 'Ilokmio. ''Gon<ribli,iooI I l'hi,,"' .. d~ droi, . <I ...... iq .... " NRHD 4 (11180). 74·99.
' ... M. IIIoc11 • .,... 1\:>0-,.,.. do I>. "","U" do I"""'.noge do", 1'"",,;'0 d",;, ~. " I. " ' ' ' -
0;.,. '; .~. 1 (P..i>. ,96,). ,&!>-.<>6. Ea.rli<> li«,".,,;' " ,ie.-.d '"' P, '\10<1' .....
1<><1;"11
d .. ;mpoot"" .. """ of K. ..... Ami ... ()w 5.... i. " .I"-'mIIw 1/..~iIt (Abho..dl",,!!,.
de. K,f. fIoyeriod"" Ab 1:",... de. Wi~. ph.iJoo ,. philoJ .• •. ~iK. KI. . " . Abh. '.
Wutlkh. '911), pp . ..,80; "" IIlo<h', ""'" .............. GoK...... ri, ..... "",boIiq".:' J]/I..

'" a.. tht loo' , ... M. Mo.,..••.&00; .... '" 60<.. Ponne <I,.;"'" do l't<ho"1l" doni In Kl<ittto
-t,
&r<ho>qu<t," io Sotioh{it d _"",",,,it. 4m <d. (Pari' , '9M). '4)'''' (Ofi,in.II, pubI;.htd
' 9" -'4), And tht ilDpootlll' ", h im' of W. Sobli",. ''Tb< Spirir cl rh< Gift." i" 5_ A.r<
e.. ,., \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'/ ' .

"
 ORAL AND WRITTEN

genera.! it was personal and varied with the radal origin of the subject.
Yet, in principle at least, it lieU within me
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 intermin-
gling 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 cus-
toms that governed everyone lay and rdigiow within iu borden with-
out distinction of r.ce.'" Naturally, the inheri~ kgts of the domi-
nant 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 Car-
olingi-.n censuses disappeueci in the eleventh century.'~ But, long
bef<N"C, lay and C'CClcsWticaI ~ bad spru1I8 into being. While
retaining tn1(:CS of the Justinian and 1'beodosian codes, they repre-
sented .. new legal form. The capituiluies, which were also bes~d on
the law of person$, suffered .. similu fate. Unlike the hgu of each
national group, they had from the OUCSCt been marred by obscurity,
il>(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 north-
western Europe, extending its jurUdiction equally into lands of~­
manic and Roman lepl ~raditions.
Although pm:tices varied from place to place, the custuma1s were •

., '''"
-., m·
... IMJ., 782..a~ .
... 11.. " " " _ . So, ;, .. flJJiII, ....... • (I'.rio, '97<» . " 1·
-&m.;n, ..... ,7S' .
... l~.• 1&4 .

"
 OR."L "NI> WR.ITTEN

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

They wett pre<lomilUlndy or.ol in fo rm and function. And they wett
both "old and )'1)Ung.'. According to Vlpian, cU$tom was .• t1~ silent
constnSll$ of the pe:ople, J"OO{ed in long habit. ··'119 Writing centuries
later, lkaumanoir WlI5 in essential agrttment ...,. B'Ir what «lnsrimted
long habit? On occuion customs wett truly immemorial. But, as they
affected local propetty ttladoru, often they wett no older than a gen-
eration or two. '9 ' Whu gave them their timel= character WllS the
verbal milieu in which they operated.
One branch of written law actually broadened irs range d'lring the
customary period: canon law. The Carolingian p.tglii yielded to the
j'lri$dicrion not only of the manorial estate but also of the bishoptic.
As centralized adminisrnr;on wffiu:ned, the gap WllS filled both by
local feudal aod ecdesiastical courts. This was a ttver~ of earlier
tttnds. In the later Roman empitt, wherever civil law umained in
force, the church limited itself to internal juridk questions. ' . ' The
Carolingiaru marked the turning point. From Pippin·s ttign every
attempt was nude to bring church and state d~r together. '" Char-
lemagne, as noted, employed Latin culmtt as a common denominator
among his various dominions.'~ The church gradually acquitt'd a wide
legal role, dealing with both civil and criminal cases affecting laymen,
the dergy, or both.'" Canon law WllS ideally suited to the task. It
was made up of unusual elements: qUQtations from the Bible and the
fathers, decrees of synods and councils, papal letters and decretal!,
borrowings from indigCflOU5 t~itions, and genenlizations based on
the developing institutions of the church itselr. Roman law was the
cement bioding logcthct the parts. When Roman civil procedures all
but di!oa.ppea.rcd from the ordinary Jaw of northern Europe in the tenth
," o . E. o.n-, lIis_ """"" '" JroU ~i'!riI"" ~ '" .,;,;...i .8.,. 001 . 1
(Palis, 19.6), ~~• .
,., JI.".IM 1 . ~' d . J"";....... , ,.". 1. ' .9' Gm;"". Dom;.., 0 . ". <.6 .
... ""iliPl'< do Boaumu>oi •• c...._ .. B "~" . no. 68J. od . Am. SoJ_ (PaN. [~) •
.01. I, p. }<I6.
... 0.<""". 1I~_. ""'-. I •• !1<>"9' . for ... b<. Iopl ""'<l ""htopoloskal ponllob . ... M. T.
Cland!" ··R<rn<mherin. tilt Put .. . , .. >71 .
... ~.m.'n. C_, ,63·~ .
.,., P. Youm;" ""'<l G . 1.0 Bru, Hill';" "" ,",l«1i"" ' -ifwo .. o.ridtou""'is It. f -
J4,,.,',, ;..,..... 0....,;. G,MinI, ...t. 1 ( ..... i•. "HI). 1-3, 78-. 07 .
... ),1.1.. W . t.ismo •• T"-Ibl .... Ut,..., ;. "1'"..... "".,. i\ .0 . '''''' .. 9"" (1.otwIo.o. '9n).
'89-.06: C. VOBd, " t.. ,"",'"' <Ultut<1l<..,... Npiro 10 Bm" ....... ~".:. in E.......t.,
..... D"~""jKh<R~ .... ,...t . • IG ...... ~). '7'·>~' .
.., Etm.iQ, C_, ,8,·86.

"
 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 <Of"IJ h tubi<a ... N . Cao.ru. G' Pf" . . fJ-iI.. ... w.. ·Otrr . . d . loo
RritJ is',HL .. MinJJ..... ~ipz;". '89'~ H . "'""""-in. $...... is'/io GImI_". R_
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>Jle<tiott .... H. MonIolr., Kif"'", ./0
... Rf-;' F~,"i ,..b. Dit Col' .... VII'" G~, tIiIi/hsJo",_irioXo " . " . ""
foJ ('. " GtJIiM (Berlin....t New Yod:, "In), 97-'''1· A ........ to ..... , .....nm.aft''''J'
ouiNdcs is rU.bo .. pleuty, C~ er. , c. " pt 1".~8.B-C . .,ho de,i ... la m:.n
".-li",," o..d _ ItpI o..d .,tiu"" mtditiott: "Si<\tt ............. oficin,t, j,. . . In •
it,....Jo.... 1 .... ...., Iq;,; .... .,. 1t8;""'"""..,.:i _td>i ..... ~i IRtdii.la>tia_
.ion ...... . . . . N .... In .. prin<ipium ronI,inlrio Klipt&; .... OUI> cc< .......1Ido mldtl".
"......... '"""" .rnpt&." Cf. lI. 10, jj,iJ., O}A-31lB .
... 0.. ""' ...... tbt _ in~, _ ""'odmittodlr ...... ,OXo<c ,xy. B<:.."crt,

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 -*r OC'",.",o..O,.o, UIII>I. 8. """
N. L"", ~ YotIt. '910), 87..yj.
- a. E. V_1dud, "L'E&~"" le> oodolioo." tJ.I.IJt ~j';'''II''';" '" "'it*><, .od od.
(Puis. <,06). <91. EImtift. C-. " '. """ ""'. ,IMN oF...:en< ,.. it.·, lOO J. C.-od "''',
.~ oodolioo .. n"".n ..,., dottri .... If,islMiott'' _iqun aonooiqu<o," ~ /'WM, "
jwfj<.9!I-'J',
"'"
 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~ arch-
bishop, 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 organ-
ized texts, a model of early scholllStic riSour later iminted in philos-
ophy and rheology; the bisbop or his ojfoialis- normally acted as
judge; and canonists culminating in Gntian insisted on tne impor-
tanCe 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 de-
fendanu than on riM: ratio mAtmM.'o(; In (){ner areas, canon law effec-
tively led the way ro lay participation in justice. A good eumple is
the pax Of ""'K"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-
- 0.. "" ~ ledl .. kmoo,-", I . H.w...., Hi".,., ",w.-.it I'>i .... !..<w, )·4 .
.., Dt c-;Jo •..i. " ).2.'0-' 2, «I. J. l.o<lercq and H. N. lo<t.i •• $. B..-.Ir 0,.......... ,
(Rom<. ,gOp. H1·'9 .
... P. l'o<lmi<r. Ut t(ftcjJjlb u ...,.. Jp (Patio, ,880), 2 .
... .so. E. J""* ..'0., p" • im Det:M\om Gntia<oi wod b<; ..... lit .. , ... o.a.-i...... :·
ZIlG JU. ) (",,), .66-70 .
... E<mrin, C...,.,.. PI .
... On ...-lr .w,..",h-<on,u'l",<mp". _ H. HoII"mann, (j ..IfJ/, .. (. ".,J T,..,~ cm (So"".
,ran. '~l. ,8.,). On tIoo 1O!at;o., betwua Hen" ][[", _ ..............., and 'h< k!oI l<fi';,
"'"'1' '" m. ompix, ... G. tMr><., T'-"t;, nil ~ _ . . 1....'iIImmit, 1) . On ~ith
ona\csin in ,bo towo<i! '" l.<ondoro '" , '.2, ... P. N. p.,.,.~k Th< ,_ ". N_-'1 1/ ,89_
1104) ()I-,,<O .... ," ,l, 94-9'·
... G. Oooby, .... Ioico .. la po.i. do 0;.", - H _ .. ,.,.".", '" ..,.. Jp (Pu;, ,Bd n..
Hofuo, ' 97}), '}' . .w.
-c..;m.".N•• j. ".c. ,;",...",.8'71).
.• c. DotWo, L·~_. S,,";';-. 14 .... (( ... (P>.m . Igo6). 4·'4 .

"
 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 wide-
spread transition to litctatc legal institutions.'" G,Jater, gcncral prin-
ciple$ 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. Mu-
nicipa!lt.tutn apart, wlinen tradition was resisted. Instead. the ju-
risdiction 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<! qu..d"., .... p. ~. ··Ptoblt_in ...... """'" d<i .........,i
"&fOri ....10 nporiemoo liuridin doIl'oleo <n«liooYo italiano, " Ao,io " _ ....... _Mo ;" ~
.tI'. 5 h" (Spcl" ... ,966)' ~81-'%9.
on W. Ullmo»n. ''Von ea,.·on, noch Ptrio. ZwI> 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<hoo /"'tlru, .......
. . ....,.1;_;,''- ...iItl...,.uad ..... Pi'. r. ri.- jI,U.• ,J-"69. o..,ho ............. 01 _ _
la.. wid!. wrinm .ndition, -1. FIodI, "U dmi. """';n dam loo cbotte; du IX. "" XI< liklr. -
MM ,. Pittior cw.-... U.... '901), 001. I. 04')60,.; ....c, .. miKm<o 10 ,I>< 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-'"

,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: termi-
nated," in which, Besnier observes, one finds not an opposition be-
tween customary and written law but tlther throughout "a formalism
dominated by a principle which make$ the rights of the parties de-
pendent 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 oflit-
crate b.w for which before the thirteenth century there was little
•• , IMJ.• 19"
". R. iI<aoier, u _ _ '" N.. n.. 1ir (Pari>. '9,,1. " .
.. , N . do 8o<ratd. - le d<><tot dt .Norrnot.d;'.- jft F. Lot .....J R. F......... «k.• Ifil";'" ""
1",1i,m-~.., _lp, (Pari>. '9H), I, , ,·r • .
,,' £am.jn. C.",.. loo; C. H. Hook;",. N _ /.,,;"'_ (Cambri08<, W..... '9.,1.
j8:
, 8 • .$9.
" . t. s...u.. ... ·Vad;..., 1<8;' or 1<,..: u. p _ d. d",;, """""un l l"o/poquo .... ""'_
turn"" _ ..........- NI\IiD. ~<h Strin ' 9·m ('9010-'9011). 9' ·
,.. Or> <lie """ter of tbe (\,I1oto;", ~, ... ;n ,....,,1 ,be
F........,k I'ollo<k ond P. W. Woi',*"". Tb.. If;u.., tf £~liJj L-.,.
"m u><ful owvqo. of Si,
tbt T;,.,. tf u-J I•
• od od. j",,,,. S.P.C. Wiloom (CambrioIs< , ,\168). dtJ. >. J u.d • u>d W. S. lioldo_h. A
Ifil,,? <f lilWisb LIw. l m od., od . A. L Good ...... u.d Ii. G . Hmbouy. ""'-. >, book •• <hi.
"'; ond,,,..,,... boid!y, R. C. . ... c..n.,.m, Th< BinIJ <ftbt I!Jqlit6 C _ ,--~ • •
1971). On tbr to<hni ...... of ocribol culture im ,be ..,.", p<riod .... ,be i ll< •.....,. of lot. T .
Otno;h1 , f _ M.-, .. Wri ..... R-.i. 1". '0 •.,.,. lot....;", of to<O<do. ~ 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 rnid-
twelfth century complaints were delivered orally. They were not dif-
ferentiated 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 compensa-
tion. The defendant replied, after which the local doorrutnan iruii-
ated the appropriate type 0( va.li<lation. Hence, as in othu feudal
courts, there was, as van CHnegem notes, "no intrinsic link bet~n
the nature of the plaint and the method of proof. ,..., Judges did not
evaluate evidence; documentS _re inrrodU(ed only to corroborate ver-
bal sr.tements. The Roman style of proof through witnesses, which
was reintroduced by anonises, was largely unknowII. The nial con-
sisted of oral ple.ding, the reading aloud of written evidence, ,00 the
~Iection of an arbitrary means r:i determining innocence or guilt. The
latter was bend on tho: analogy Ixtween focmal and mat<:dal troth;
that is, a physical sign on the defendant's part was interpreted as an
indication of inner guilt Ot of inDOCl'nco:. Truth was not absenct but
C(ln.cret<:; in justice, as in evcrycb.y life, it consisted 0( appropriato:
conduct--gnturn, daily ritwls , spe«h habits, and Ixhavioural re-
actiOOll . 11>C 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 tes-
timony and an objective metbod 01 evaluating evi<knce challo:nged
formal procedures such as duds, ordeals, and coropurgations. Tho:
innovations consisted mainly of taking evidence from witnesses, ana-
lyzing rh<: various facton in a cue, and catefully scrutiniJill8 written
documo:nts and records; methods, in fact, in which th<:re wo:te clear
puallels bet ..un Roman and common law despire the difli:.ctlc origins
of the tWO systems ... ' In ElI8laoo, the chief vehicle fur establishing
impartiality was the jury, which do:pended fot its judsm<:nt on rec-
c. _ er..., .. Gw..// tt-doo, J~~),
.,.
'" J.. ComoFJD, R-,M 'f/'>in;' Uc~fr-'"

..,,'". . " · J7, "" ..tU,h rIH. _ . is booed. 0.. tt.: par;'"".. ofopobn k .... ,lad ...
,"",". _ N, T, ~,F_'" I " I'ro'IIM RourJ, ... . 6-
•• , ..... Como.... , J6.
". o. J.. v. CoImar, - _ and u......... j~ hi!)" Nodinld law,- '74-8,.
'" 11. . C. """ c.....,.m, -n.. la.. of ~oid __ In ,110 T_lfth Cmt"')" E _ htsp«.
m.. ond Intdl<auoJ IIockatound. - "'_ I·"" of ,"'s-.J / - - . 1 C. ..... of M""-J C -
L.w CV.. iua Cl.,., ,\16,), '91-99. P<>r • brood ,.. i, A of !lw, ..... .Jo..k; =r.. _ J .•p ,
!by. ··l'hohu:ioa dt 10 ~~ ",,~ .... _ ;.:..n ... Lo~, h, I'I, /tInit. top. pp. '4-
.6 • ..d H·H.

,.
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.nk-
ish 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 in-
formation occurred durin8 tbe twelfth century. helping to establish
objective methods of collecting 100 evl1uatill8 evidence. They paral-
leled 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 rep-
rfiCnU 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}·
,,,.
'" van c.rn.~.m. R..,.t FrifI, ,I.
... On .h.. <jIItM""".... H. Btunntr. IJ;t e.""-"f" S,"" ..,,,,,.. (Bctti~. 187')' '9)'
,08, ch< ";.,;",, .... oCe. H . Huki .., n • •- /..,;""...,. <h. 6, pp- ' 96-_,S,..,.J.I>o:.,..".
m:rn ........... of .... c..n.5"ID, R.~ F"", <It . 4, pp. ""0,.
' .. un c-..,.m, H.
' .. V. H . Go!bI.im. T" MMi"l <! DI '., IIool (o.ford, ,If(i,), 18,-14.

"
 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 <bote from 1074,
when a group of apeu. assembled It Li~ge to give an opinion on the
wthenticity of a papal privilege placing the abbey of St. Hubm \lOOe!
the cootml of the Holy See. On confirmation, the document was
mrarucribed "in everyday hand" (or the benefit of the chief litigant.
the archdeacon Boso. who claimed he could not dedphct the cur5ive
of the R.oman scribes. -,-
The problem was nor only legibility. By this date forgery bad been
raised to the level of a high art.·)I In oral culture a forger was not a
penon who alte~ legal tau; he was a trllilOl: . He betrayed d~
n:lationship not IxlOitell VIOro.. and things but be"-,een men.
Only through the wedding of property clainu CO a written reroro
of title did the opposite point of view oome to prevail. In fact, the
rise of forgery rather than in detection is about as good a witnas as
we have co the growth of general legal apertise. The tWO lD05t fa-
mous cases were the V-,.,
rI CIWIS~1If of the nos and the F.Ju
~h of pseudo-bidore .....titten. it is iliought, in the diocese of Le
Mans between 8 0U and 847. Both wen: based on genuine ociginals.
TIle 0.".,';" utilized the Log.: i . Jlf1ldi Si/_Tri. a fanciful .ccount of
ConstllDtine's conttrsion in which the emperor allegedly "ronferred a
privilege" of juri5diction over all RomllD priestS to the pope. and, just
eight days after becoming a OtristillD. prostrated himself tnrfully
befure the pontiff with crown and imperial mantle in hand.· ... The
Fills, Da, 'pr wen: put together in a morr rompla manner. lsidore
did not invmt papal documc:nrs on his own. Mosrly he supplied let-
... for.lC.ic •• _ K. 50.1 • • ;. ... , "'Diocrimen ""; .. fioI .. : ......... un<! !'<oa" .. d.r "->i.ik

'-n·
... c •• ' S. HoIorti. c. • " od . K. I-luoq_ (11 ......... . ~). 76-t!,. dioo;.wod by
J.5<_. I'.u i 4,w. a Mo::- iIzo (Pmo. '97)l•• ~.
'" s.. H- Pu/Itrn'-' . "DO< PIlKb..."... I", )jin.kl«r. " Ha ..... LiIxIwif, '97 (.!>6Y.
129'HODd loio~tnJV~.~I'~ •••. ...t . • (Snonpt . '972).
,,,,,,-
. ,. I" !./t<I.. ..t. S. """"britl.... S-'_ '. . . . V",," $ _ ••• ...t. • (,.,,,. :9.01.
",. '1·'9...d .,.28. On m. temIoI 'n"--i"".... S. WilJ;um. ''Tb< 0Id<0< Tnt oltbo
"Cono<n- c "",;..:;" T _ _ .o (.964). ~'; "" ~ rdationo wi.h .1><
J J 7. H. IV" inn. "o.l'rfdwimlaltflli<bo P I '\lID un<! die m.-iAio<bt Sd ImI\8
... •" 1,.,1'; ;.-u.... VIll •• , 7..,. .... i.b.fulJbibl~; ..J .""_
f
.. ...

$"",01 bo<qn>ond """ it,..,' .. " ...., ..... UIImonoo, TJo G-'> I{ I'..,.t Gu;; '. H '
".
60
 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', re-
corded custum, opitularies, penitentiab, rrg"/a', patrisde writings,
and ~lier ononkal collections like the spurious HisJ1d/la Gaflica AIt-
gmrtNUt'/UJ/Sis.'" Plagiarizing hundre<h of authentic documents., he
ronStfUned I. virtually new legal tissue. The chief political aim of the
D«rrw/s was ·'to protect the suffragan bishops from the clutches of
the metropolitans, proviD(;iai synods and the secular power,,·,6 in the
wake of setbacks to reform after the reign of Louis the Pious and the
definitive breakup of the empire in 84~. They entettd canon law viI.
the CoIlKtio AlUdmo ddiCAW of the late ninth cemury, whence thry
influclKed Burchard of Worms, ]vo of Chartres, and Gratiall.
Although eritiolly questioned by modern scholatship, major for-
geries like the D«mah, the CapitltlA. AIIgiframlli, and the ("pillllA. of
Bcnedict the Levite may 1.150 be viewed positively ill a medieval con_
text as assenions of written over customary law.'" A good example
on a smaller scale of how they worke<l is provided by a ~t of falsifi_
eadons over property rights in the diocese of Le Mans between 831'
and 8~7.·'" Like many Carolingian bishopric$, Le Mans lost most of
its estates in the eighth century. Nor wa.s there any survivill8 written
evidence to document the claims. In response ro the predicament, a
local monk invented precedents to title fOf the original lands and
many others besides, not only altering donation charters but rework-
ing the oral history of the sec: and the lives of local saims,' J9 a.s,

' I'H. Fuhrmon" reo;':'" d", IOUIteo bli..Ar i~ HFolI< ""',<ull:· N .... C...boI" E..,.' J f •.
WIl. ,, 8''''~4. with. «><Ki .. bibli.,l'&pIIy, 8"·~4. I'Jn>do>.lsi.x.... it;' wonh ..,.iOS. fO..bod
;"i"""' .......;.....
ordi ... i.... to ,h<oI< who ..... ;"";i /i''''.' 'M • . . td in ' h< ;,,8 ........ i.l s..-,.
,,_ 7i,l<1; ro. ,'-, ... P1 "O.9 'JC; fOt.t.. I""
«>.I1«,ion. m. roit;"" of J. GikhriK,
"~,.
,6, c. 'H. p .•00.
,,. I'uhtman". -Pal", Doe_I.,·· 8".
".. for. «><Ki ....... iew .... P. J'oum;.r. ··EnoIo ",t k> r. ...... dkn'W'O ... RHE 7 ('9(16).
H'" '" L Sol, .. , ··f.... Doc ......;· 7j" c,'''';'; &r,d.,.,u.., WIl . ,. 77l-80, i. ~ .....r drn.il.
Puhr""''''', £;,.,....J , , _...., ...... ,., (Srn'''''', '9H. '914). 0.. th< .....,oIi" "" , b<
",..:h...,.1 r.:.r,... ... T. P. T""" - loIroito:vol I'otl!<n...d F<>tij<lK>.H ",.J",", <f ... ,oJ>. RyJ..oth
.;w.., '( ' 9,8,00), "4-'); H. Sih...r~, ."1.< pi_m< d<-o m.. oU MOJ'Cfl ",.:. t.. Mqa
,I,. 66 ('760). "'_]<>; ond ,t.. _ _ _ " !U>nit<:</ in - [)H, 1'";I",h"",", om loIi, .. 'ol,<lC
iIf:·
i:rberl.&""5<" Nm mj"dal ..did••• Wlhrh<i ...... . Hi".,;,m. Littdwift 1971<96,), "!r
60,. n.:!'.:1d ;, bli..Ar .... ~ I.,. B. ok Wiffi<r. ··111 ... ,,];,/ ... l',,",lofI..pt.o mMift>1 d"ap<to
q...Jquos 'ra......
~,,:. A~ /hIUoii.t," 86 ('968) . )9'-9'6. and C. BrIlhI, ··Dot <It"""
Fil_. z" d... AIKh~" KInM<rJ S. v;..,., in Ci<I dOro ... P•• i.... 0" u+- A..Iff.
jlk e.r- + "C Mt Mi'JJ.I.... " ( ' 979). '09"" .
... '111'. Goff",. "rh. t.. M....f "_ ... i" (CambtH;lp-. M.... .. 966). ».
-" lld" • .,.,8 .

6,
 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 pre-
vailed 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 gui<ks for the offenden. A mott succcssfulllftempt was
made in Innocent m's wdJ-known decretal on the VC1Cificacion of bulls,
which called for, among otner things, prevention of tn.:,{t, inspoc>Ction
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 GiI-
hert of Poiticrs improved upon Cassiodorus's thematic classification of
- So. ... 'IV. Swth<n • .",. ~ f<q< ..... - ~ H;" 1 ~ B (I~,
193'226; N . Go,...
... GoIWt. '4 .
1 fr '"' ( k (OKfWd. l!nl). Appondi. C.

... /)tRI D;,' -., ., .

.. , 1/.... '. H9 C4 Sept. "98>. <d. O. Hq I:: """ A. Ho" le>, I)i, 11:.-' .'/11.
I. P~;Jzr "98/S'II. T_ (Go.> ODd ~ .... ,\164), ,»-22. <\lOJ:uu<d by """' •• ~
. . . H;'''''<f.P''''C~ ),113-60 .
... I.. ODd M. I.ouot. "!w;'; ',£ Sctw:olI" P"KI.,,,. ODd New A.d ..... '" m."'*:
in 11.. ~. ~ or>rI G. Com,obIt. «10 . • ~_ _ R - ' itt ,IJ, T,..JfJA COl w" . pp. 2 01_
.,. On do: thi""",,th-<mtury cI.odopmm< 01 JIJdI oJpl>abetiallJ ..rmpI ..... "- Ionrti",
biblinl ODd po<riKk _ _ "- k"'_, 00<,1>< ...... ..w.,n. - $jblicoJ iJ;,1;., ' in ,bo
Thin ,\ c.an..,," AHDUfA 4' (,974), '7-37 oord ?l ....,,,. 1'J.n/c_.s-, s"..
;" .. "M=r'=J--" (T__ (''''(1'_. 1\179), , ..p .
... On tIo: doli"' .... G. Goer •• C""" Glow';". , ..._ _ • vol. I (L<iM. 1'1-',), 17)'
"" tIo: ~" L W . """ B. A. Doly. "Som< T<rluUqi>n ia N <dirnl!Milt LnicoJra·
phJ-, - SlPl_ ~9 ( 1\164). '3'-H.

"
 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 .-piJ-
t1e$,'" Thl' great codifications of the period Peter Lombard's Sm-
tmw, Abelan:l'J Sir tl N~", Gratnn's Drrrrlll"', and, towards the cen-
tury'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 quote<i."··9 To th~ one may acid tlte: begin_
nings of alphabetized ind",ing.·,o Such &ids moreover we~ not lim-
itl'd 10 law, philosophy, and theQlogy. Thei also affected pracdcal
"~IIS such lIS the liturgy, where dforn at standardization from the
lucr elcVl'nth century hrought .bout dea~r textS in the t_l(th. In
his Lib6hu rk Cllmrti_, for iD.'ltance, Herv~ de Bourgdieu proved
that certain t"'U in the lectionary _re interpolations, and IOUght to
establish .. mcthoc:l for scp&r&ting 4ntiqllA lItrilas and n0fi4 /4hilaJ in
the Chtistian rite. His llpproKh consisted like that of the diplomatists
of finding an earlier "evangelical" or "synoo:W" authority for the ttxt'l. · "
Pusagt'li for which no pl'l'Vious documentation coold be found Wl're
chusified lIS "Vl,Ilgar" custom (/11/11 UU/gall «JlIJuuIlJi"ii, IIl1lgi «J"SfU-
11Ido), .,. which, he observed, "wrilas and ratio inevicably ~j«c. "'H
If by conttaSt we tutn (rom this critical ~nais~1l«' to arcu of
... ~ and Rouo<, "s"";' ;""";"," >Q.4-<)} •
... A . ~, ''Zur M..hocIo cia- biblio<hm Tat!ui<ik im n . Jmm....:Im, .. H'W;'-~ 10
(.??). ",S-H·
... a . M, Psrbo, •.". lot...- on:", ....... of (/ICi_" ond C"";I.I" "" ,be De .. 'op""",'
of cb< Book," in } .} .G. A~ ond M. T. Gibooo>, .do .. Mc' ,,./ u.,. ... ~"" U -...,
~",.,."" " 11 . W. H_ (()xfcxd. '976). 'I(\.'~.
- ~ 0P0I a-. .. S..... ;"";..,- >01 ·
... L. 'IV. 00l1. C_~ to _ HiJ., <f 111# f , ; _ ; . 11 ...;,..-;;,. """ "" M;J,IJ, 1I,r...
(1 ......11. 19'67),69-8.4.
'" G. J,Ioria. '1J. o:ri.iqut ... li,,,,,;. tu XII ,;«1<. 1.< ,,.;ct '..<d;, d·H..... <le: Bow-Sdi.u
Do _ _ po 'M ' .. la.' 4.- Rhm .~ ('901). H . On hi• . . - Iw., _ ,be ma<>JI(. ipt
-.... ...;.....d by •. E. ~ .. Id •• "Li'UiIi<>! S<IIobonhip .. ,be TilD< of <be ,,,,.... .. "'"
CooUOit"f' Poor, • .....rn 00:1 ""'ut< Oppon~"";"," H-..I TMJ.r.i<.I R,..;... 7 ' (1978),

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 at-
tention 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 contin-
uation 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_
im frO 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,).
".'.. r;u... J' • P ¥ • LiIor M~. 1-2.
... LiIor 1.1 • ... }O .
... BoWn... fM. pt ( .'. Ur, on "'" <ult . ....... a.,wu.r onc! L Senikel. :w;"" P.,• ......
<I c, I» (11...... '900). ,., .~ .
 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 lru-
cathedral 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, amI 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 him-
stlf 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 .

"'1iIi'*"". pp. '-,.

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 an-
thropological fieldworkec· 6) at once. An early critic of oral history, he
investigated popular belief not to discredit it through a foreign ra-
tionality, 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 d-
tctwards 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. ".-.0.
RoM; t" ."
"'1. .. , 1,2,
p.
p. 20 .
I,.
"'1. ... ,6 .
... Ut.m. ; "Hujus"; Yeri ...... qtIOL' . . . _ it oolliciruo i~m,t<diooum mIlli< <SI
...........; ....., pmn _iJOOn.i~rn il.lorum q", mkh i ~ ; .u __ ..... <t !Un";. pia ....
jwv<, wI j<>:Iiciwn ianinun _ ... iR ~ "', ..x..
"",,,,,.,,tiquas.ripIatwn _rim, .a.
"""'" CUlit ei," oodoo defo'""i .. ' .... bor ..... •

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)' prod-
UCt. & 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 rc-
fused. to accept his version of events lIiI uncduated. He ciC"aIiy rec-
ognized 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 as-
serted, he did not ~k anonymity, lest his tvMl{". tdili~ of the miracles
be thought apocryphal. To his owo signarure, lIiI a sign of authentic-
ity, 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 her-
etic 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.
I'.'
,.. /jji. , • . 8, p. - Hi< cum .Iiq..... """0'"'''' vi", in (If< moo ...........
.
"' /MiI., ,.,., p. 86.
'" /hiI. , <.7 . p.
,,, //.iJ., "-H.
,I.
6,

.
 ORAL AND WRITTBN

true knowledge-, totally unskilled in God's ways (natints, "b""",i Kinf-

till .Ju"IIJ, prPnllJ tMillJ Jwi1It IlirtllliJ i""'i,r111J), and, ....hR.t was wone,
a traitorous soul, depn.vcd in mind, who h*<i &.lIen into the same
et'1'(H' as the Pharisees, vaunting themselves the prophet-so successon
but refusing to acknowledge the sigtld and proJigill of Christ. Hanng
tried unsuccessfuLly to impede his journey to Conques by other tasks.
tbe devil in hil view resorced to heruy, not only to mislead tbe un-
instrutted O"'fnll) but also to prevent aernard from relating the
miracles ro a larger audience, that is, from acting lIS the vrnt.MlU tn-
I~. Thus, paradozicaIly, tbe heretic, a1thoush illiltrluln tI _i"",
6gll':_ imallJ, stood aocused of preventing tbe translation of God's
intenciolll into wriuen form. Bernard added thR.c the maker's .....ys
wen: far from lacking "reuon" and "neassiry." Beasa n.ther than
men were brought back to life on occasion because they were needed
to insure the lands Iivdihood.·n Moreover, during d\C: patrisdc age
morals were 10 lax tlu.t tbe body did not deserve to be saved; now-
adays, a resuuected mule rouId reaffirm the faith and show t ..........y
back to ancient probity. Bernard even demanded that the unbeliever,
although in one $e1lSe illiten.te (rwsliau, itJiotA, ip",IIJ), avail himself
of the "lItill*"'"" Jldgi1ltJ. The diatribe ended with a reminder that only
canonical methods had. been used to establish che facts. The stories,
as recorded, wen: not byproducts off,,"""''* f - Ot tJ/I«ripha SrripllIr.,
but came directly from the mouths of faithful .... itnesses, whose 'NOt'ds
were merely set down in writing.
Bernard', rehabilitation of symbolism was similar to that of oraliry.
The gilded statue of St. For was for him both a physical reminder of
the saint', powers and a viaticum between popular and learned cul-
ture. Symbols abound in the Mm.oJ. and on occasion speak Cor them-
$elves. Guibert', eyes wcre torn from thei, $OCkeu in rep.n.tion for
aD al1e8ed crime;'14 tbey were then borne to St. Fay by a dove as
white lIS snow."" Symbols are alJ() pbctd. in an allegorical context. In
the fint miracle aernard presents the vision of St. Foy befOre Guibert,
tbom interprets the meaning of het .JrJn/iJ WillIS for the readcr. By
anaiogy with Boethius's Phi/QJophM, her IlIJlple gvmcnts iepi -nt &ieb's
limidess protection, the infiDire fukls of het gown the tormous $eUCh
... 1. .. . , •. Sor.. .1 .... _ . Ill.... dotouliat ............ .t. liNt be ••"",.ho ..<two>!
- M - 01 ""'- o..d dot ............. .t oot-;".,.
"</JiJ.• 1.1. p. 1.
'H /JiJ .• ,.

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 <kcor.uions for the church
glltes. _1'
Bcrnard himKlf J"n"ellt"d in the tangible aM its associations. When
the saint restored the patrimony of a d«cued monk to che monastery,
he rejoiced that he had witnessed Pride not in an image (wow , •.
illwgi1l4Iit".) 11$ in Prodencius' PJ'!'},... QU., but genuindy present in
substance (std jWdml;"fittr wrjKh-afit".qut p,¥,"i,). , 10 Such pbysictl ligns
of divine power were linked to the public performance of miracles
during pi lgrimagn, •• , processions,'" or other ri tual observances, '"
thereby allowing men .nd women of different age, social backgIOund,
and educational ll'Vd to participau in a common religious experi-
ence.·.. The incerminglill8 of low and high culture was noc lost on
Bernard. For instance, he was struck by the peasants' venerahle tra-
dition (_ ah allriqllliJ) of celebrating vigils in church with candles
and torches on the eve of their acrival at the shrine. While r/".iri . . .
litt".arlilm ptrlti sang p$llms, the iglUlri :lang t4l1til",~ rltJtiu , or other
frivolities, which he personally (elc were inappropriate. But the abbot
of Gonques told of a miracle which dnrly indicated St. Foy's approval
of the custom. The monks once locked the rowdy peasanu ouuide che
church until morning. but they discovered that someone had myste-
riously opened the: gates during the night.'" It is arguable chat St.
Pay had 001: only tolerated the "innocent, although rustic songl," as

1'.
... IOU.• IQ.
'."" ..... I. J'. p. n. -""
." IOU., I.'" 1'. 6,.
_ .. '.,.
." ]; .8. • 1.1,. ' 7 •• ,; I ., .
p. I .
,
... E.•.• I. •• p. 7. '.'. p. 17. 1.,.1'. ". I.~. pp . .... ,. I.~. p. ,6. I.IQ. p. H. 1. 1'.
~'. <1< .
-E.8 .. ' . 14, p. ~9; " . . . V-..bilil illo i"""" . . """" <uno ;"8«>' i pno<noiont
<fIftrrcw . . . . " On <>pp<>Ii<ion to dot _<kt . ... Bouillot, 49-,""1.
'" E.J .• yi.\:il •• I . 'I. p. I:IQ: "&1 ....,. ob Ofl,;q,,;,. ut i><r<g,; ru ....... per y~!ia. .,.". i~
«<In;' IaDt"tC Fidil .. . . " U . E. R. l.aho.ndo, " 'Ad limi•• : I< ~I"';n rMdikallll , ...... do
• ~." /rI1i, ' ... R".J C_. «I. P. GoI ... ;' """ y .•J. Riou (f'oi<im, '966). 18, .
... a.V. Tum<r ... Pil.,; .... ,.,. .. 50ciaI 1'1"'...... - 0 . -. FW• ..J Me , A"" (hhoea,
'~H) . • 66-. }O• ..too doeo "'"' k...... E. \I.. ut.ndo. - R«Io<,d,.. ""In ~I ... i ... dono rE""'P'
<In XI." xn. oikln:' CCN ,(,~B). "~ . '39-~7 .
.., Mm.n.u . .... pp. ,:to-•• .
 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). ~~ .
... Cl. L Goupud. "M".. rr-!i ..."'· 11.""" ~. (19,0). 16$.71 .

7'
 ORAl. AND WRITTEN

"""fJ"S. . s;",1I1tIJT*",). it in that ~~ "eviden~," even though

W35
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 ob-
s.etver of events u isolated from a mixture of e~ms and interpreta-
tions; 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 "pop-
ular," maming unlerten:d. The O1:her area affected was communica-
tion 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 lat-
ter 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

- W . A. o.ri ...... }I . • Pm..-I GoJ ;" • S,..,mb VJJ., (Ne. York on.d J.on.ioo. 1972).

"
7'
df:Vtnth century. the lliflll and Jiwri_ alternating between the spo-
ken and the written as It::ssons for the office, in public oc priva.te
ucli_, in serlDObS for saints' <h.ys, or, as was the cue in Normandy,
as moral diversion for noble families. >If Monastic communi tits gen-
eruly 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 <h.ily piJgrim-ses not only fostered interior devotion
but also legitimized the symbolic veneration of fl'lics. Accordingly, a
powerfu.I force in the rise of local culu was the search (or the "material
souvenirs of celestial patrons. ".,., Through the office ()(bet links were
forged between the textual and tbe phys.icaJ. On saint!' days, the
CWtCVD,ries pr'l'SCriba!. tbat DOc;turns during matins, which were nor-
mally given to the Psalms, sOOuld comilt of the HIM I4l1dtlnlffl. In
cults of purely literary origin, tbe liturgical office might be irtllumced
by the written legend; a saint's feast might be celebmcd simply be-
ClIUSC tbe monastery POSVHed an exa:llent r1ihl ,ssuring him local
fame.'" Conversely, instituting a feast might ~uire tbe written re-
daction of a lik, especially if tbe house =ivcd an important relic. *9>
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 med-
iration. 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 re-
fectory.- 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

+W, ... N . Ziolt, u,.·,. .............. '

.. B. de Coi'!>"', "L'hq;"""",,,"" _ puhi;.:, " 'Se, 0.. tI>e r-'rm~'f" .....
0"0, '4""'49; "'" ·"!ime. rdariono, ,110 __

-"ot',"Loo! Owi.., .... -'la de ... ' _ ......... ~ .. "" Xlk .. an X1~ .....
I'Itdito<ica cI"",,i .... pridiariun ...... "" r..-.;r," ~!iIIIJ I ' ..... ..,..",. (Pario, '911),
S5I-74·
- de GWIia-. , }S.
... ,.... 'n·
... LM.m.
... Vu 0 i I ti 1II, ,.a 1', _, NGH ss Maoo-. , n, , ...
- B. de GoiIitr, "L'hq:koe". '* .. _ pubIk," 1+4'46.
 ORAL ANI) WRITTeN

vernacular. '9> In an effort eo accommodate ehemselves to an unsophis-

tioted audience, de Glliffier remarl<$, they often "counted on the ig-
oora.nce they proposed to remedy.'·',,6 Yet such ro\l8h-and-ready te:l[ts
perhaps created the fine lay liseening audiences. From them ir was a
shon seep to vernacular rranslaeions of laTin lives (at vice versa) aoo
tbe reconstitution of the reading public tbrough bagiogt1lphy, chaWSQ'I
de pt" romance, and lyric.'91'
From the authors of saint$' lives it is a shon step to the eclectic
reception of" wrinen tradirion by eleventh- &nd twelfth-century his-
totians. 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 be-
cause, 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 _ u-..... n,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 . .-tIi<b cutkd his,..... ....... ID ,he f>OtI.Iott<:t<d, P1 " A. ' 8~o.86A, - . . . u' eti"'"
illin.,""" m«Io.lio< duk.do . ui ...... i...... jmm............: .
... Vi". S. F J I ,~'.~. ". PL ')7_60611.
." " 0. min<:uli. S_ Au,belfi Gomo,*"""u OP;>«Jpi.~ c. I. """"_. Ao.J.1,. /jf/I...u. ... 19
('900), l OO .
- (;.". H'--:';;;I':':'~:falmM, prdO«, I'L '46' 48~C D.
... HO,,,",, M ....' ,is. p:.I'ao: •• IoIGH SS~. p_ 37 -
"' I;;J.• j .', p. 7 4 .

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 unfamil-
iar with critical methods (iwexpmt) found them obscure, (Of the ex-
ploration 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,

"'n./! f{"'Twlf"'C=.,)~,J.I .... ,19'7),22~ .
'-lI,
i"

~ Ji" .• 'lVi"", Gtu.- Co! ,,6 ; W _~, proI.,

d;.,;-d boIow, ch. , p. ,,8, """
....... nampI<s, ... N, P. hrt_, 5_~. ThrW""f{Hu., i. Twlf"-C..u..,
It.' ' /OJi<>F, 1917), 18,-91 .
"tbete
... B. Lacn:ri', L'ft!' ....... ...,., "'" (Pot;" 197'), SO. for • ....t..l diocussioo
"...hodo in "",, __ ttrn om hittOry, ... J. V.".i .... o.J TNJiJ. ., <IP. ,"', pp. 19-1 ". On
- . . 1OUt«O, ... N. T. Clonch" ~R ..........b",;", m. """ . , . .- 16"70. 0.. cb< q....ion
'" t.4to<Ol ~, _ i. 8....,.) 8 . Guonk, nH~, omad .. , <h.",.;q""". ~..; "" ...
,.,..... hw', ...... No,«> Aat,- A...., ItS.C. , ,8 ('9n), m"o,6,...cr,..-. ......d"
m. ......... _. HisIoirr. ,""tI,,. ~""'i "'- ~ '$' "(Pario. ,914, ).
- Hmw;" &d.;,.,nu bl. 6, ... Iac., od, M. Chibnall, ....r, I (OJoc-d. <97», u,.
14
 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 li-
brary.,'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 elic-
ited 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 writ-
ten 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 prob-
lems 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_

... 'W.• bk. ,. w.i. ). po ,Bo: "I. .. &<>, .. P""" .... .,. .i. «Ii_.
«>oIkibuo i .... _ ... n.
• oIc><tio .. I......:buo dap<ilft i ........;p!oo< • ...dit-;LI< po'l"IIm ui"" «nOCi ..... mor;... com.".., •
.w.,.•. l'. bidiotoo m..o... .. .....bum o.i odul ........... """il>uo I"",;. i nl!ia"'........ _ ·
b,ll. « dot",.i ....... i...... ibuo moliao.i... i~ d«;p<-t<n< pol .... coafuttbo< ."· (f ......
N . 0._1. iIoiJ.• • 8, .) EIo<-wb< .. Ord«i< opooIco of Anoold .. ot.~i", (rom 'w><><d I'f')Oh
(ar8~'" alkption<t~ iIoiJ.• pp. [Bo. 18, .
... 1Pi. . ,. I. >01. , ( .9611)•• ·
"" ~. , bk. ,,>01 . ' . pp .•8. )0.
'·· ' W .• ,.6: ··.40",100 ~ ...[" .. ,.... illi ......,. . .... , d . W illiorn '" Nairn,,""". Do
Gill;' Ror- """ ........ od. 'ill. S<ubbo. >01 . , (london. '889). J"-I . n.. I'"rio<l;"'iOO of ".,..
of od_ion _ of """... l'&miHar in E",1and (!Om AI&..I·, .. &<.iono. Se< in ~n...J J. 'ill .
Adtm..,.,. - .",. lII i...... A"I~ : .. iB 7 . J/IM_ A",u..s-· .... ou". £u.o" (C.",_
bridf<. '9046). '-I • .
'" R;" . &rJ.. .• ' . ' 9. >01 . ,. p. [11.
'" ' W .• , . , S, pp. ,,[11". n.. ''';8;Il0l if. Al<hi ..... 1"Om< H ]'] (Chil;no.ll. ,~ [ft,).
'~/ow., ,.18. pp . • 6,-6B. Ordt<i< Wo ,«<IO ...od ,1>0 anecdote of. ';nNl """,k who .....
...... on juds"",,' d., bo<o""" ,10< _i~1t< of bio ..,;,.... - " __ on< I..... heo..i ..... han his
.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 writ-
ten 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 schol-
an 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 ter-
rible disturbances that accompanied the ravages of the Danes the re-
cords 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 spir-
itual 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 an-
cients 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<I0lI. "001 . '. "!.,,li and
11.. D. Ilq, "Otdcric VltWs and ha" ho, " SIMlU ~ 14 (097'), lB.}} .
.., Hitt. &tilt. 6.g. pp. d}, .s,. cr., m.I. , p. ,06, ...... -.. opi. Ordaic ...... oodei
• !ou/q" ••;1_ •• wI /:brauaiI """OIl..."" -m& omj- j. AJr.. _i". _ be foIlow:o
Dudo of St. Qo ,:.. J. ti",u.s die "" ' " of ..... . - . and deedo, "" o:idl: "I line olmd)o
.... '1 I (Jir' ~ ......... of dIt... 'L i wonhi17 "'1'.. .01 in .... fOtoo< of Oo.o:ho i. the
.im< of duIoo William, Ioter killf;. il<II I line boew w..bI. '" 60d ...., wri" ... I....... of.1ot
-'1 ..,.. _ m. doodt of St. lwood. and dwo,cli:.. I will """" • opociol cIbt '" ~ i •
..nrin& (liIMm) rho modi.;." I ..... to:ei..d r...... "'1 ....."., ' . -"-1. . . . -
 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 sen-
timent 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 Co-
logne in mYo Although presenting himself as a layman (rhoiJ), the
author reveals an insider·s undeutanding of pc:nitemial pnKticcs, re-

,··/OU.• ,.,.p. J.
'wC#to~ ,. I·~~,. ,. $•. _PIn" C~. <. J • .... 11. Guo!IU<f (P"';'. 1!40)..... . I. p.
• 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<I. <f.
Ro<IulfGW>u. H~ , . 1.8. p . Il~.
,., for. full _ " ' oI,h< S"'W'h 01 1"-........-.... E. Am ....... -J't,.i"'""".
IJ. l..o
p!ni"'""" ptioi< . . . ;. DTC ".', 84'""'1-48 .... j,h bibli"ll"'phy. 948: 11. I'oo<hmann, Dj,
.-.JJ;;.Jirio Ko,,!.. ! " ; " ftiii- MilkWtw (~,,,,I,,,. '930) •• Dd P. An(d"", t.. ThIoI.ci. J.
5." ' LW" I'IoiuoJtr _ XII. tiklt (u....'n, ''}0491, <>p. PI'. 11-1' • .,i,h • full b;b!iograph" ~.
_i. A -"ul 0«0w"I' in Enjjli.b i, 11. l'oo<run..nlI. P _ ~J ,loo A...;,u;-'f of'" Sd (Ft<ibut8,
,96.4).
'" for 1'""11<10 ift ,h. d<Tt\opn><ru 01 ;~j'f ift <><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't<Iitcnri<II." DTC n . ,. "J6. for. full _ , "'COOn'.... C. Vopl. La
·ltIn ,....ilt/ll;.u,· ( f",.w,.,.. '978) •• "h • full bibli<>sto.phy. Q-'7.
,., Ep;.-u.1 . Cm, S~, M Hmwt_ Co"""""",, ~"!4i"""'. in N ........ Dd D,,,,Dd.
V_ sm,...... _ _.... ... ..,tj,,;.,. ColUttit (Poril, 17>4) ..... . " ')7·'9. «pr. pt
" ,.~,-?8

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 Charle-
magne's synods at Toun, Chi/ans, and Reims in BI3Y' But the
questions he raises eventually throw light on the entire issue of lia:r-
acy, 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, involv-
ing 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 in-
dividWlls, one can avoid such misrepresenratiollS as the: " ne1V abtolu-
rioM ...
The letter dfectivdy ra.ises th~ question of litet"ll.cy at differt'nt lev-
els. There i$ a generally US1,llll.ed difleren.ct' between the learned and

,., lhi., ,nB .

... 0.. wIP<h ... t. Ammon. "i'toi .......- OTC , •. '. ~-66. 81"
.. ' In 11.44. a . Abin, ~ '12, PL 1<>Q.n7C. ~6. Gt.,.,.,., I. E-.,.I" 1•. /1,
H • . • 6.,.0. pt 76.12<>0-0' •
... 0.. "'" ",her _ ailll" ae<cion 0/,Il00 Iea<r, _ P. A"" ..... , L. T~;,. r .
. . • , 4'""4"'4·

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 func-
tion 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 indi-
cat«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 the-
ological 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 out-
side tbe field of Latin, begs as many quntions as it answers.
Of course, no onc doubts the praence of the spoken clement as
su<h. TI>e Norse skalds, Robertll. Frank notn , ··were essentially re-
corders 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 mne-
tnotechnics. 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 au-
rbors, Iit.tet'lcrs, readers, and the real or imagined public.m Narrative
material often shifred from oral [0 written form and back I.gain with-
out leaving a trace. In the ClISe of the NibWmgmlied. the version [e-
corded 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 &udi-
ences 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<y. "Muio<>& i. Old EAalioh N........: Li......, An Of Troditionol Wiodoml-
in 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 V_, <f _ om,
(Gronl....' 'on<>), n·,,, ... AtoP .,_. PO< A. C. W_. T" /.yr<...J. 11-1 (N<-oo-
HnoB. ,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< ;"
M 5"" s-o., (l'I;bi..,.... '977), 86 89 ht!i<o- worir; by ""' ............... io oummuil!<d ...
po 86n6;. wider penpoa-i ... io odoptool im ,110 oo:1i<o- pope< oJ. M. Cundomonzo, ''On! Pot .. ,
io Wedio<oal Efl&lislI. Pt,"""...J. Gtrmrn Literrturo; Some - . . on Il« " .. J. .......... ~ $,.. "-
4" /.967)' l6-,.· 0.. Old 'modo., ><eJ. J.,d ... t . ~ C' "OM . . , . . . . EJ..i _'MO fif- Ms
;.,.'-' <G<nno. ...J. till<, '9"~ S. G. Nicolo, J...
;" ... Cl iiiT" r. ·H· 0;,.. . """ T"-'i< en,.._
#/"-1 (Cl>op<J Hill, .g6.); J. J. o..,g,.,.. TIoo S. . t/ #/.t...J."~ $",.
""" ,.."i<C.., (lLktL...,. ..... Loo AnJeIn. 19B); ..... ,.-~, H . E. Ke!i<o-. "Ow!&<t
in Old Pmodo. Epic Potu, ...J. a.ao,.. in ,110 T""" 0( ieo AO>d ........ in kboIlor, .,tiI., '}O-
77. For • linpitric ptl J"' ,i .. ... . 110 .... i~ MId .... P. Zumtbot. EJ..i .. p, '<t',_ (U ,~
(Parioo, '97'), ., ( al biblioItap/oi< .hit .. iadad< A. B. lad, "P<nportiwI "" a..,..., Work
"'" Oral UJ<fo> ..... - In]. J. Ougsto, od .• Or-' [. . . , (~Ih ...J. l-conoIoot, '9n), . ,"4
"."
" .. . H . "-I, _ "V ' , ._'r
"" ........................ U.. O<U, • ••" 'H"'l'
L

... P. H. _ I . "Tho Uruna!r;i.., oJ. d.. Hero . , , .- 89,

»> Se< J. Goody, "Li--=r...J. "'" N<inoLi'......- n_ f h ... , S Ii I ( (H M'r '91').
,,9-040. and III<ft !dk.a11,. J" Pi""",.... o.w I " , W',;" It/riu (o.fotd. 'on<», For earlia-
"'"bIkoaroPh,.... H . J_. "A lrI"h;,ti....".;.,.,.J Appt_h to 0nJ Limuur.," C....... A ...
u'oJ,11P . 0(0 969) •• ,,.>6.

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 dis-
course, mainly legal ~ administrative.
No IC$S far-n'aching than in litenttun' wel"l! the o:fkcu ollitemcy
on medieval art and architectun', to .... hich in a more general fashion
.... e may briefly tUtl!. For, as note.!, oral and written tnaditiom made
diffen'nt demands on the human senses. 1k one emphasize.! the ear,
the ottH:r, the rye. The new complexity of the senSOf"ium eventually
altered the form aoo function of the v;sUllI and plastic arts.
Ju in literatun', the Middle 1I.8cs knew two imerdeptndent tradi-
tions. Classical n'prescmational art was dosely linke.! to the written
n'xt. Northerly art .... as more primitive and absttaet. Were these the
artistic equivalents of ora! laY' and epics' The styliStic connections an'
difficult to prove: yet, it is sU8Sested that the rich, "interlaced" or-
namentation of the brooches, pins, be lt-clasps, drinking horns, and
sword-hilts are artifacts of a "heroic" society;,,6 it was the craftsman-
ship of migrlltory peoples, excelling not in sculpture or buildings but
;n portable objects such as jewellery, implements, ~ weapons. Ma8-
iOlI properties wel"l! cmphasized, the elaboratel y dccotate.! swords of
1I.n8lo-5axon and Old Norse poetry effectively rccapturin8 the sense
of a.... e accompanying the discovery of metal-.... orkin8. Book$, 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 im-
perial teviVllI, he also inau8urated a classical "I"l!naissance" whi ch con-
sisted of imposin8 MNiiterran.-an canom of taSte on indigenous tra-
ditions. 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

... J. ~"' ..-n.. 'o,othoct Slru<turt oI-..Jf..· 11";"";,., </r_ Qa.""t, H ('9'67).
' . Cf. E. Vi".,...,.. ro. Riw </ R _ (Oriotd, ''17 J). ch . , .

s.
 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 effec-
tive signpost of religious education and learning as well as of the
p~mation in monumental form of traditional vaJuc:s. For the essen-
tial feature of the new style, Ernst Kitzinger remarks, was not only
the attempt " to subordinate all partS of a building to a uniform sys-
tem," 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 per-
ct: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<klpinning of rats. Written
Ollcure effectively imposed divisions of sp«e and time onto experi-
ence, dividing land into precise boundaric:s and books into chapters.
Gothic architecture merely applied the same notions of didacticism
and reckoning to another IJQ and on a grander Kale. "Small wonder,"
Panofsky observed, "that a menn.liry which deemed ir necessary to
make faith 'dearer' by an appeal ro reason and ro make 'reason' clearer
by an appeal to the imagirarion, .lso £elf bound to make imaginarion
'deater' by .n appeal to the setlsc:s. ").,
But not all the senses: mOiStly, Gothic appealed to the visual, either
to appreciate the 8cometrical patterns of the vaulting or the play of
light through the srained glass. The interest in visual phenomena
coincided with the rediscovery of the science of optics. Early in the
eleventh centuty Ibn aI-Haitham ploposed .n alternative to the Ptol-
emaic theQry that rays emanate from che human eye to the object
'" 1;. K;,.unp. e"." ... t , . An a '" Iw:. 'H<'). 8,·8.,
'''0..... $;_, n.GtlM-c"f '.(New Yod!, '?6», J.
llO G...., A......... """ ~ (C1; ..1oad and N<w Yod!. '9S7). J8.

8,
 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 Gros-
setesre, Roger B:aron, John P~lu!.m, and Witelo. By tbe 1270S several
Yf'rsions of his docuin.e ~tt' available along with scholastic commen-
raries.'" 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 illuura-
tion 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<orr d v ;,;". , od iu il«<p''''' i" ,"" W .... ·· I';' ,8 (0'167),
l·}·
.. ' 11U.• HO. On ,.,. ",,1.unI i..,pK.<; - . ><r H. Pl<illips. J_ W-,<ii/', .", "--'-i,riI' n.
m MItIiw.J S,,!i.t., diM. eT""",,o. [>;>801, ch. " pp. [" ' 2" : ''Tb< I'ffi 01 P<<<<p<ion: fmm
Toucb to Sip!."
M' m • ,,,it . 01 ,.,. ;......, ... E. I>ono(,l;,. l/ .. ,;., ,.... -J Rm" •• " n. V'..- ... "

..
IS, ..kboim. 1960) ,.'· . ,~ .
.. , L Thomdik •• "In ...... ;.., 01 tI.. M«hat>;"'1 Cl<o:k about <2 1 ' A. D. :' s,-MI_ .6 ('9-1').
' -~~ .
... R_;oJ S,"", n. ,lot N.iJA ",.. (0J0,d. '<nil). ,6).

"
 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 imi-
n.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 as-
trolabe, .... 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 (mi-
nUl 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 inse-
curity; they imposed upon the changes of s."sons and climates. man-
made 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 mathe-
matization 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<p<O:;I;"" in ",;ml.; ... oodt'J , ... E. 11.. '-f>,
'Two F..,.. , ... _oi..,. 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,.... <It:r; ; ;"" (Oom.
btidft, N_.. '9-4~ 6-1 I, .
..' J. lrIiUh VoJJic.,., "La ;","""-":ci6n del (>LAClranre ,on ""........ Europ," lIit L7 ('9"),
,.8 .
... 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 Y<L<k, • ;>til 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 noo-
matetial culture, as ooted, is inadmissible. And parallels, where they
occur, cannot be separated from their historical contexts, which in-
dude, of CO\ltSC, contemporary CKplanations for the chall8cs them-
selvtS.
If a generalization is to be proposed, it would have to spNk of a
new system of excha~ and communication, equally tffcctive in 1:<0-
nomic, 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:<tifying economic concerns,'" juSt as, in the
cuitural sphere, the written text helped to isolate Whal man thought
about from his processes of thinking.
The use of coinage grew throughout the twelfth and rhirtC'enth
centuries; it was slowed only by the protracted e<onomic d ediruo pre-
ceding the Black Death.'" Similarly, written litcrature and other as-
pecu of cultural life dependent on texts gradua!Jy incrnsed their range
and depth. By the cnd of the Middle Ages, men had begun to think
of the 1:<0llOmy as an instituted process,'''' just as they thought of
cultural continuity as being preserved by records. The shift in litera-
ture Cln be 5CCII in miniature io the difference between the ChallJOII
rk RoI4nJ and Chrtticn de Troycs. In the ChaIUOl/, thc spet<hcs ~
rdkttions of formerly de6ned, often inviolable human relations, eidlCr
betweeo members of a family or within a 6xecl social hierarchy; in
(hritien, they are autonomous elements in their own right, retll:<ting
persona! interaction as it i$ conceived and ioterpreted in the minds of
individual characters. As such, they (an be divorced from their speak-
ers, tholliJht about independently, and made the buis fur an exchange
of opioions.'" The later eleventh and twelfth centuries, it is arguable,
not only llW the rise of commercial methods for dealing with goods

". On ..... of ",-,i ...iotI.... ,lit """"i""'ion> IQ M.u.,..-; ",If.!" . 'h. (SpoI<'o.
,96,); on _ i ..,;o" """ ;"",ll«tuaJ hiKoly. A. Mu",",. 1/...,.., M<I S«i<t7. poet I. pp. " .
'H·
... W. M. Pootan • .".. 11.;.. 01. M-, fi<Q""""." 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] f ..... (Nn. yon. '9~7 ). 'H-' • . Cl.
N . N"*,,. Pmo;ti>< .-I 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. , .

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 10Si-
ClIl 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 «moo-
Baged 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 com-
muniCllting 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 uld-
m.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 =_,•..iN. (Puis. 197')'
3-'18-(>,.

86
 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:<! to his o.... n should.ers. But, as his
nOtion of objcctiviry c .... nged, an archaic form of subicctivity also
began to .... ane. The transErr of effective control from the su~tnatural
to the mote mundane world of law, ill$titutions, and administration,
while offuing ne .... freedoms, also brought with it the knowledge that
social. telations, farmerly governed by subjective considerations, could
be thought of in objective terms u well. Alienation once again be-
ca~ a topic of discussion. ~n, SO to speak, not only anguished over
a new 5CpIl"I.tion from the paradise of familial telations in Eden, which
were oral, intimate, and ftee from interpretive Sll~rstruCtuteS. Texts,
u Hugh of St. Victor suggested, 01" rather, reading, study, and med·
itation based upon them, offered him a technical instrument for help-
ing to restote the lost spiritual unity with God.

'7
 II.

TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Ee, quid dicam? Non id idioxae fachmt, sro

doccoru Christionorum. m:tores plebium, tl; ira,
quodurunodo obe ..,u; omnilltn ta<!ice malorum,
ptou~res Quilt; .et inopiam putn.buru:,

1'.1. '.
-Abbo <£fItu.ry.
Air i.;-ttlll1 CORSequen« of li~racy in any human oommunity ariscs
from tbe atea of social organization. Reb.cionships between the iruli-
vidual aod the family, the group, or the widM community are all
inBuenced by the degree to which society acknowledges written prin-
ciples 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<ia]
church. But their uses of litcracy WHe similar: in puticular, both
resorted to textual ptt«dtnts for justifying devi-.tions from what were
considered ro be merely cusromuy or unwritten ec:desiutical norms.
The practices aDd beliefs against which they reacted were not: always
as unsupported by o:uJier legi$latiop, Ill! they maintained. But dUlt
vns how they wete perceived; and it Will! the perception of tradition
rather than objectift coosideratiom whlcb dt:teunined the future course
of the di55enten' lICtivities.
!De present chapter is not: a oomprchensive surwy of herey and
mwm but father a series of case hurories. ~ material itself drawn's
from two groups of sources: (I) a ",lative!y isolated series of heresies
&ruing roughly ~n the millennium and 10,0 and (2) the Para-
rent movement in the diocese of Milan bttwem 10'7 and 107'. More
specifically, the lirst group corusists of che hereies at OrlNils in 10 22,

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 par-
ticular 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 prede-
CCUOI"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<ts litcIllty analysis provides insights which a
purely historical reduction overloolu. One arises from the non-factual,
inconsistent, or erroneous m~t~rial in an account, which, while useless
for historical purpmes, may shed valuable light on problems of com_
munication, or, at the very Il.'aSt, on the narrator's interpretuion of
them. The other aris.cs from whether the elements making up the
texts themsel ves come from oral or written originals. In view of such
issues, each account of heresy and ~form in what follows is cons iderro
both as a repositury of historical facts and as a rhetorically COnstroCted
text. Each is provided with a literal summary; only after a basic mn.n-
ing and point of view arc established are broader intcrpreri~ quesrioflll
lIlised.

"
 TJ3XTUAL COMMUN ITIES

~ COD(lusioru reached through this dual approach can be put

quite simply. Eleventh-century dissenters may Il:Ot ha~ shared pro-
found doctrinal similarities or common socillI origins, but they dem-
onstrated 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 meth-
ods, and, in particul.r, their use by groups hitherto dependent on
oral participation in religion. What was essential to il tenual com-
munity was DOt a written version of a text, although that was some-
times plnent, but an individual, who, havins mastered ie, then uti-
lixed 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 pre-
dominant mle in the internal and external relationships of the mem-
bers. 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'· prin-
ciples 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 re-
flecting 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<ldilio

was debased, IlOO dong with it .U verbaiistic, fof"mdinic, or purely
ceremonial traditions. A new SOrt of symbolism took their place, one
which, as Augustine 50 aptly put it, distinguished ~tw~n trn, SIUr"-
_1_ and the m _ _Ii, tbat is, between figure and ttuth, the
visible and the invisible. Such a distinction, of course, was unthink-
able without a resort to the intelle.::tual Sttuctures of allegory, which
were in turn a byproduct of the literate seruibility. For, to find an
jnller meaning, one first had to understand the nOtion of Il tut <la
lilm''''''. Ritual, tOO, underwent a tn.nsfocmation. Archaic ritual ism
needed DO imerpretltioo; the meaning arose from tne actins out or
performing of events. This sort of rituu was replaced by a complex
5Ct of interactioru between members of groups which were in large
part structured. by texn, or, It the very least, by individuals' inter-
pretations of them. ~ were rituals of everyday life, that is, the
acting out of specified roles. The !-lI1TIC seneral principle, say the Bt-
MriiailN Rlllt, could ~ adapted to different sitwltioru and used over
and over again.
Finuly, the textual community was not only textual; it also in-
volved MW uses for orality. The text itself, whether it consisted of a
few maxims or an elaborate pl"Osramme, was often re-performed oraJ-
Iy. Indeed, Olle of the clearest signs that I group had passed the
threshold of literacy was the lack of nectssity for the otsani~ing text
to be spelt OUt, interpreted, or reiterated. The members all k~w what
it WIS. Al a conscq~nce, interaction by won! of mouth could tllke
pIa« as asupemructUll' of.n agreed mn-ning, tM textuu foundation
of behaviour having ~n entirely internalized. With sham! assump-
tions, the mem~n were free to diKuss, to debate, or to di!-llgree on
other matters, fO ~ngage in penol12l interpreradoru of the Bible or to
some d~glft ill individualized meditation and worship. And the uses
of what was so to 'pHI< a literate's orality could be extended beyond
the group, mainly by prn.chins. If this were done, a two-tiered struc-
ture resulted: a small inner COil: of liten.tes, semi-literate$, and non-
literatts followed the interpretation of [h~ ttltt itself. But the litctlltes
within the heretical or reform group could also preach outside ;[ to
nonliterates whale only bond with the founders W2$ by word of mouth.
Yet, these nonliteratl.'S had already ~gun to p&tticipatc in literate
culture, although indirectly. They well: made aware that a text lay
~hind a sermon and they well: giv~n an indirect understanding of
the pcinciple$ of authentication, that is, of legal prec~ena' and leg-
itimation through writing. Although remainins unlttrertd, they could

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 ber-
esj'-~ laid down in the Middle Ages itself, &long with subjective
expianl.tions of heresy's beginnings which suniYC'd the mediew.1 pe-
riod 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 investi-
gatioo 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 sue-
aeded 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

Mod'"'" llu..,." .. ... - 'SuJiIs

._in
• 1'<Ir ....... a! ... it. "'...rt,.
>,
....
('91>)).
J. I...-U,
a6-".
'" ,110 <m,w. '"
"1~.erpretJtiono
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 ,_if ..
H", (I , , ' •• 917). ,_,6. (In pu< on< '" ,bi.
<boJftr. ,_ and adJ<t f"._,~,1y <Kod ......' #-,-=<1 are _rod '0 br .... hot and do«

, n.. Iima<un: Oil rned;..aJ _ , is !or... and ..... cemp; can loo ..,..x to summori .. i.
fu!l,. 110ft. Two tfftdldd 'hit •• '" ~ .. TT ' ~d'" wKb ~ bjbIio.,. . . . . . . J . M..,..
-~ .. P'J"~';"" .. btrtola.u Xk .ikl< ... , ......;. R.w /HPd ipt"H (''In). H-
76. and, 10< lraly, G. Oo<co, HJ.j1Gnna od ...... ill _ ... i ddlo. <U/'_"""'P"' .ra X: Xl
_ . H R _ Ji -W' (.. d.... ""ipeu 7 ('97 '). ~"-n. n.. ....... are Wo a..:.o..,bl1
",it ,J bJ I.. I. _ . T. O!irm ( Ea., TT DiHMt a ........ '977), ,_~, . An ...,uia!
<Oiilpilatioio '" _<><dory ...,..,. ;" H. Gnu.dmooln, BiW'·c'rfl·, _ KM.......... ., ,Ilist.!.'.,
('90<'-,966) (I.om: •• 9671. lUJt>lomonnd bJ -N.... B:i"i,. •.., ~ dot .. ~iIio<n

"
 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 direc-
tion 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 earn-
ouflaSed 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;$! ;n
orientation, the other internali,t. From time to time the tW(l have
~n intclliscntly mmbined. But 00 reworking of the debate on
"origins" as a whole or mooographic study within it has succeeded in
establishing a universa.lly acceptable cultural anthropology of dissi-
dence.
There are re~ly twO rorms of the thes is on the alleged social. ec0-
nomic, and political origins of heresy. although the distinction is not
always t«ogn iud by rncdicvali5rs. A radical version. urged by En-
gds, Kautsky, and later Marxist writers. s«s heresy as an expression
of the medieval da" StrUSHle which oppo$ed the feudal aristocracy,
the nascent boucge<lisie, and the peasantry. ! Medieval historians have
generally rcj-ccted this approach as an ovetllll interpretation, preferring
_8~"Vn im Mi<te!olt ... ;· .. priMed wi,h addi,ions in ,he ...". ou[""'·, Io.,~" IoN/lilu.
""'. ,(Slung"'. '976). 31>-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><ludo, n"i ... do Mo ............. <fa;' _Ill; dol .....10 J(J ",lrEu",,", O«;don,ole:·
S,wJ; ,..,mni • hW7), ~3·80,>; J. B. Ru .... lI. DiM"" ~"" R(.",. i. ,'" Urly MNItih Iou>
(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, ,</691, [." , R. I. """-•
.-rh< Cri' ..... of Mod ..... l Krm,:· H;".ry " (1970) .• 1-36, ."d H. To,i,.; . ··N";... _ d·u",
I>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
...Jiw.h ilo/M"" . wJi X/_X/V (I'Iorentr. ' 9"), OIP. pp. '-78.
"i,,,,,i , ,.,,, ~i ""'" ""kr,l

• F... , r«<n' 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<h.
F",,,,,,,,,,,, • .J 1(,,_ _ i. lII.i llu/.... (a..lin, '9li' ); E. W ..... " H;;,., .. • od G...J1td>.fI ;.
H. ) ....., , ($0"""«,,, ,idI .. do< IiIrboiocbon J.k.do:m .. dot Wi ... ,wlod, ........ Leip<i&. Philol.·
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 contrib-
uting factors or as unintentional byproducts. The most inHucntial
sucement of this vi"" was made by Gioacchino Volpe and was popu-
luized out$ide July by Emu Troelc$Ch, who tunslatcd from early
articles portions of Volpe's study of "religious J1\OVements md heret-
ical seeD in medieval Italian society" fot his widely read SrriAJ TttICh-
ilffS 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 Protes-
tantism, 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, usu-
ally 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 mem-
ben. 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 _ <IwisIIida /CirdfIt nJ G"'4'I- (C- 'h Srlinf_ 1. Iubi.~, 19'))'
)8J~; Enc· ...... , O . w,..,.., JqIf. (N... Yod< •• jP60), H~)8. Fot Trot"""·' pIooo:< ill
Germar. .... i<I ·.ical '''''''V<. _ c. Aotoni, F_ Hm..,,, S.... '., . TJ. T_iIMI;" C.....
Ha . d1lo\Wor, ....... H. V. Whi"(lof>don, .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, ".n.. IV......" .. Th'", nJ Bm,;.. G-w... "1n).
0 .. _ _ , - ' · '""-,
'~~~." ... v~ rt' _
.1".•
"'.
.~
. ' ·9 . pp. ,.....,.17; , ....... H'~l.

"
 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 be-
lieved, (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 $OCial and economic_conditions crnud the possibility. Their
ultimate origins, like their objectives, were rdigious. 6
Troeltsch's views are taken seriously today only as part of the clas-
sical tbcory of chutt:h and stet.' Yet they possess onc advantage oyer
many studies of heresy by better informed professional medievalists.
Like Weber, Troeltsch admitted no arti6cial harrien; hctween "social"
and ··rdigious" sph("tes of life, a position I"«("ntiy vindicated in a
mnarkabl~ case-uudy by E. le Roy l.adutie.! Yet, this pcrspenive
was not widely acknowledged by rarly critic$ 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: me-
d.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<cUl $,", (\.on<Iolo. "no) . .... , .
• M.....II_, ..IUp.mu,; M "9< ~ 'J" (Pati., '9n ). 1'0< "",... b,,, dilfrtftlt ..............
<i obt book·. -.I ..., ... N. Z. Onit. "t... """''''''' de MOOtoiUou, " A_t... £.S.C., J..4 (1919),
(II'n tBd L E. Soy", :·N...... illou Rm';,«I, M.-.JiJf tBd Nnhodo!oe:r; · ;" J. A. Uti ••
«I ., f'~"""''' MM· .r PM' " (TOO .."", ,~,). pp. " HO.

"
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

and their motives, when enmined in the light of their own state-
menu, were fouoo to be overwhelmingly religious. Criticism of eIlr-
liet sociologied interpretations was synthesized in Herbert Grund-
mann'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 unpar-
allo: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 inconclu-
sively.'o A similar iOOe<:isivc-nes.s emerged from the R.oyaumonc col-
loquiwn 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 sectarian-
ism 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<rlin. 19)1), ,.

~ R,z.· . JIl X C C! • I d_'" tIi Sn.:. $. . . ., R_, 4.1' 11# •• '9" . "" . J:
s......JII pr, 0'100,,,", '91')' , 01-)4'.
" J. Le GoII", eel. , H .... " MriIIIt J.tu fe-,.~, " ... ,.,;;m, (Pouio and T"bt
I-iqur. ,961). Pot· .hot aimilor .-:Iuo;w., a.mp.r. A. P. E..... , ."Soria! Asp<cll at
........ H....,.," in? ,:o"",.,j tA.t,: EJI#J';" H _ <le..... LnrtJ. s- (Now y ......
'9")' "S:} . R..... U ('!III,), "-H: Wok.6o!d ono! E_ ('91>9), ~: M. UmI><n (1976), ";y:
""'" I.. I. M . • (1977). ,6,-7<>.
 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 here-
tics 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.-Picrre-
le-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. ,0.
., AJp<mU , 0. D;-';,." T,,~, . ... <. "NGH ss 4, 7<>4; d . Jlui,., do Mil . .... ('~7),
,0
.• ",-u. Q,..JIid"I<01;I, .... '0", MGH ss 3, 8,: <f. lI.,i .... do Nill..." I,,",it.
., c~. 3.49. od . J. a.._ (Pari •• ,8911. 'n
··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. t."7' J. _.n., J. Cs...m.s . od . B. <;.",&.uI. <h. }. p. '09.
" ,\,... SI _ '\"",",-;1. <. " pt '4'.' .1' ... ·B.

97
 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 Lan-
dulf 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 mis-
rook for followers of BerellgU. They were apparently spreading erro-
neous 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, Or-
Ikns, Monfone, Ch1l0tlS).·1 Chroniclers frequently speak of with-
dtaWll] 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 idio-
syncradc. "'"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 ss 8, p. 6" "'!"
., IW. , 69 .
.. c-~ B... ItaN ,"';-111., PL ,.6. '-Ho&.
n E.I ., R........ Ui. I.'...... JJ """ (N.pIt>. ,!)6J). 1 ['-j8: .. "..cll /l96-1I. [116-99: 101-.

(1970), "'JI; /01 ..., ('91l), , •.

.... /oI""hon. "n _ioin", _ _ O<cidtnrale del ...... Xl. " i. Orl.oou J"';,
...... AI_ l .. ( I....... [9,, 1.89-90. Cf. M.., (l91l). }~, md '77'«" (,911). Apprn-
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 im-
plication, 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"·"" n.c
so-called eastern dualism of many elcvcnth-century hel"t't io may rep-
ment 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 essen-
tially 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 no-
linic theory. Yet, in two areas, an examination of problems of com-
munication 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
m-;.
.. ·"L·oriSi .... do l~;' rMdi""Ic, - Rioiu. tIi ...... JJJ" I!MU 6 \19,01. 41·78.
,. Woof"'" (19S7). /4 · '04; ;J". ( , 966). 1_. 6.
.. ·"(;&rhoriuno rMdi'".l <f boJ.>mi];""', - inOri"",," wt t. ... .. . 80.
" rOM., 7' . >,. "
.. M__ ('97<». Ptl<o:h in CIrWo« "'.mMo/t (1,,,1. h.
,. Nor."*" (,g66). J • •• J1. "''''''"' «
" Cf. '1/17) •• 0·.'. 'H",,'·

99
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

entirely satisfactory:" too often, popular is merely equated with lay

belief, and there is an inevitable bias which arises from viC1ll'ing pop-
uw 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 appeac-
atlCt'-(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 be-
twttn 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 rit-
ualiltic .... 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 wlit-
ten 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<kna, as-
swnins that the formative nperience takes place bcfOJe the indiyidual
"Form'l

R,. · R.up. a '1 " 1\174), ,0.

n..... .
b-oC,jmil"ricwo._N.Z.om.,"Somon..-irldIt$tudyoCl''l "
1.01...... " In C. T'nn ..... ODd H. OI:OP ,ft, edr., t( HrI*J;" LM M f ,'" MIll
"9;). C. !!dun... -'hIi,poa p".. Ie'''' .. """"'"

1\176), zi»i.; ODd}_ Le GoII'. ,... ..

... • . ". . .
_ ., n,_-,,-,
......... 1 , .
_M_
1OIIdoriqoo<'-' A ...., 1!.l.C., ,. (11176), "'-)3; C. Giubur., 11/00 air. i - t , CT""".

j,.,....... ,.g.....
. _ .
A,.. ' j_', .,...w.. A ............ 01 "'"'"
.... ........ ... . . . . .... ', I.•' '. •
pout-
u~,,'·. __ ....7-+'.0Dd_,u,· ' .. 0-;' (........ I~d,'7J·.B7.
A_.botd>T::· Pu ;:Un..io! .... br D. w-r,h _Ii> " C. eIt. 6, pp. , ....
89: hIip50t LiL". u..d Akkul .........; ODd, "" dIt n:Ie,*"" ~Ibo""" 1'1 :Ie' in late<
_1<1";.,., .. dit q :;.0 rolo<d a.,. P. /!towp, :no CtJt t( SttiIl# (Chn,o. I~'). ,,_2'.
"H.Gnwl 1._111:: 7
; __, hb' ·'JI.II·..... n·s": ....·!r:t..GoII'(968).
..

HO•
Li....,.,-· Hw., 61 (1917), ~7-
,. .. 0.. Ill< ~ ....I I AI," N. M .., nLolIatdy ODd

'00
 ..
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<l.ucation helps to dctennine latH
behaviour (and may, as well, influence the reintctpttrttion of earlier
evcnn). Above all, it u instrumental in the dedsion to rejoin the
world, to rej«t it outright, or to try to aher it by B<l.ical methods.
Group inttrxtion ala) illuminates doctrinal di5S('minatioo. Only rattly
is an idell utilized by • small voluntllI)' association simply becawe it
has deep historical roots. It must also respond to & problem in the
here and now: in that strue, all dissident movemenu, whetMr heret-
ical or reformist, arc contemport~ phcnomcna, no matlcr how
they hi,toriciu their origin.! . But, for thc fundamcntal, institution-
building activity to take place, it is arguable, previous experience,
both social and intellectual, in a CQmmuniry developing lirerttc sen-
,ibilities, mUSt be ~ndered as a "text, " which, at thar point, 51amb
It the ncxm of thought and action, whether it exists in written form,
or, having been inrernalizccl, is merely prnenred verbally. Undrr-
standing Mresy and rciorm, therefore, as both historical and social
phenomena, mUJ! go beyond doctrinal questions and come co grips
with the transformative power of such "writings," together with the
role ofhermeneutics and inrerprerttion. For, within the small group,
one', daily activities are structured according to such pte«pts. Behav-
ioural norms I.te cl< istential glosses on real or putative documents.
They are parr of the movement which binds the text, the spe«h-act,
and the deed.

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. ' . 1 I. U , pp_ .~jO_
 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, Leu-
tard 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 opposi-
tion 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 set-
ting. 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-
.. _ ("1)), ,~ .

.. 1. . ",,",;.,., "L<I """'''L'''''' """"'"too ... O«idnt ... XI. ~l<:' NiooIlaN .... 1. ];""
.. s.n..~. c 0' ...... .. '971.P."~ .
.. GMt'" 4.1?6-'01: HUI. NM .• 11 .• 6. C o n u _ mod*'-' ~ in"'..... "",.
ben .. a..n ..., _ , . PI. '4""9O...d. ;" dI< " I vi """'"'". h"",,,Ir, _ _ of
Monfcctc. HisIwi.< MwIi ' 'iI ,.,6. MGH ss 8, p. 9', 47~' no. -db" iDl«p«l .....
... .......-! up br hIhtt d v......., /'Id I " 1.8. PL l}!i. I"A: "Eo <me o;>n """i""
..."i""", <.....,., ipot
.. £.8., Ar"I,,_. H..
<_
lilionam _ ~ con<ipi""" otd _ _ 'P"" p<I" _ _ <OIli ....... I ....ifibjw", 0Ili",

•
osl ftIWD ...... jam .·

,." .6,-68. CSlL }'. I . llIJ-9o; .", ,.-h;d, _ To""; ( 1974).

Il,' M.
IlI<i 4'--44,
 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<i in this case on etroneous docttitl\'.
The lISt sense is suggested outSide a heretio.l «lntext by a number of
contemporary analogues, which also mer indirectly to mOlllStic Itrti~
and -aihltiIJ." For \'Xample, men we~ said to rush to Richard of St.
Vannes "like bees flying to their hiws. "'9 Similar phrases were 1SS(l-+
datN with Notk\,r, th\' popular bishop ofLi~gc from 972 to looS. ""
Should Leutard, then, be viCWl!d as a "heretic," or, as Glabcr would
like us to S\'e him, as a ~i~r of ancient herc-sies, or simply as .. n
ilIuminC!d l"yma.n, .. sdf.stylC!d interp~ter .. nd propagator of Scrip·
tu~, " who is "call\'<!" to p\'rform th\' Lord's work?
Th\' Cl5\' for the last view is strengthen\'<! if one looks more closdy

.. o . C. Viol." ... U 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 <i,i
_ I i.b ........,"';. Ut",,"' \[ 9,8), H"" .
"His-u f,........ ' 0. '" PL 1 ,-,,6C-,,7<=; diJ<usoed by P. AI~. " 0. q""l...,...
f..;u 010 pi .... I:t'''''''' dons In _ Io.!i .....uf.;O\Itd ... ioo<hi...,.;· 11..... floisni.. .. m;p...
,. ([~). [79·
.. E.~. , V ... S. A d_ ,M . C. ,. AJo5S 0 .."".. , vol. 8, 9!/'>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~ c...,,,,, 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 «<am """an<is ......1. hat..! omnino ......... o<,onda, I...... ><itft, ............ inlundat
,",< .'" , ....... •
.. Viw S. R;.+ Ji •. I"~ AASS '. Ju .... vol . J •• '9A.
,. ADOdm cl~!,", C_ qiM4' _ LMi<tuis, c. • 0, MGH SS 1. p. ,u . EnmpI<s of I....
... iood!ode &Id";' cl Dolt. Viw 8. Roltrli • .t~". c . •. , 2. PL [62.l.,,01l-C: <. ' , ' 9.
aY.• ,.",C; and Ordm: Viral;'. H~ l!aUJi.tiu. bI.. ,. vol. l. p. [7'. (""" ,t.. ... ill cl
Pnec cl M.ul< cl '076.
,. a. Iolnnt< (' 977), ". who ioldl;""d, .."'... GJ.t..r". idtu on ;......1'1 "" li.....,' .
 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 ter-
minates 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 met2-
phors and do:scribn the rapport between the (harismati( Leutard and
his audimce (lines 5-24). Tht: twO levels of the narrative also corre-
spond to twO interpretations of Leutard·s ac:riollS. In the learned ver-
sion 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 "in-
sanity," which is used to do:scribe Leutard', activities on some four
occasiolU. Glaber speaks at the outset of _tU., jJtrWwz.,. IUrrr Leu-
tard'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,
H

interpretive apparatus there are rhree explanations. Although he n0-

where 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 em-
issary," To these: intellectualiutions must be added a third set of ideas
which do nOI in facl appear in the episode at all. Leutard's retrogres-
sive behaviour is the last io a series of c:aiamides which Gl~r 5ees as
threats to public order around the millennium, including omens, fam-
ine, 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,
.. a. Nil.., ,.6...,. ,. 69.
»""'. _ u","; .. dioc,mi ....... Cb_ , .

"'4
 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 State-
mentS 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 con-
trasts Ihe prope r and improper uses of the Word. For example, when
Leutard has shaken off his &milial responsibilities and prepared him-
se 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 fA-
hiks).'· 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.... ""Buoiol< •• ,Ita< oocUol .. 00[ , Ibm • '''U'S';..n 01 .imonr.
i, ;.
" PtJu.ibl, • I,,,,,,,,,,,, of "',,,... '" '" St. An"""',', ~ ..; Moo .. (1977), ,6.
" ". ,,_ . ~ .I ' . " . p_ .9, ,,,.,,.
"10iJ.• • 9. "." .
"'0iJ.• • 9. " .,S; ··E'............ m .. I., .,..'u .... . i"'...... ""cl..""". or,;pOmoqu< ,"".."
.. Soln,oti. i""«i ...... con,';.i •. QuoJ m ........ quiq"" .... id PO"""" , <...!on... illum, .' "".
pot'"'"
i....""", I<m; q.ibuo .... '" ipoo pc ...... i' ...... ' ',m, ...... i<i """.. lobil ... uhi,..... he<
.. <nirK..ili 0.; ..... I.. i.,...:·
.. ( ...... 9. ,$·'0 0 "Af!I""bo, i,i'.... Ilimi "'" ...-..-;1.....,ili".. <I "';1'" _"il. dot·
1Orq"" oop;rn. appor«<, J..io«bo, ..... i.. Nm doe,ri ... : ·

'"
 THXTUAL COMMUNITIHS

ber's understanding of the 4r1"Jj'IIlr"J rUKlom as a preface to interpret-

ing 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 rein-
troduction 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 amons tile poor and unJettu,d (IIItlgllJ). So, tOO, Gebuin in-
terpretS his "insanity" u "ncresy," dw is, behaviour, including ac-
tivity 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.

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<n<td !bo hot«i< Vil,ptd
01 Ro.....,. """"" 970: Hi"";' 2 ..... J. p. ,0. "'__ ('911) ••~. ""'.. V.,Silial:> ... , . "
... obr fo.itlr 01 ado 01 a .... y ond Gntr. ... I'<w. mon: enodiu _ . _ Aoodm 01_.
R' ,,. , . • .• _.,. <d_ K. 1rI",,;';'" (W<imor. '9,8). 'J8-,o. LNtur!', folio..... .......ill
...... ...:uncI 10,0; b • . . - - . , . 01 the .... k\nr«, _ "'""" ('977). l4-H .
 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 ques-
tions 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 consid-
erations. 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 corn-
ptte 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 sectar-
ian 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 .. <I" m"" ....,.,..
ift ...Ie<....1 ... dI:bu< do XI. sitcle. ~. <I hypoth<oos:' £~_" oIt '''''''''''''''It
I/X..XV1. _ I (""'is, ' 9n), 6.(-60". B.... i"'·. H.. i. in chronol",inJ otd<t l><ainnifIJI wi,h
tt.. _Id[ ......". Io=r 0( John 0( Ripoll: f« OIhm ... llui...... ~,I.t ... ('947), ,>n"
o.nd
r. .....1l ( ,~). a70-77"'4, tbo "'«." ',,>pI ,·!,i<\!l ,I>< diplom_ 0( RoI><n tbo Pi<N> (RHF 10 .
60,~). A <';,inJ di><u>oioo> '" rnojor r.-s is _loo prooidod '" lombm ( ' 977), AP!"ndi. A,
pp. ",,·47. Cl. Nu., (1971), ,en, .
.. &<I;" ",holanltip i. ,..;.....1 by lion< (II'll), 67-w· M.".. d,~ '" ""'''ino!
,«
([9n), I'>-rn . Tb. _ibilil, 0( ..... U.. ,nlI_
q.....""" If< {CUnod 'n lluino ... N ila ... ([91 71. ' >·'9; R"",,1l (1.,6,), ' 7·"; 0IId Bo ..
is ...;p.d trr N-. (' 970) •• ,.'8. w'""
_ " • modi6..! (.I""""b p<thops le.. _able) .icw in f."""
., ",,....is in (' 977), • , •

.. Co , (.;". .. ,.~ '" $1 .• 1'.. '" Cs,.".".,. «I. 11 . G ....rd. wI . '. [0>}. [I, ( _ d·"'hfty.
$firiJq_I' 7 .~ll . 204f).
.. Bou';" ('9n), 68.
 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.<alled "cvmtS
of the syood" £orm a self-contained chapter in the cartulary for 1028. J'
They are pr«eded by Arefast". will, leaving to the: monastery pans of
three ";/t.f, some mills, and Iishing rights. lbac: ,",ere gifu, he as.
serted, Yo'hich weft" ofttrnl noc: only for his and his familys salvation
but Wo 0fI behalf of Richard H, Yo'bo died in 1027.
1be piC"'nce of the will provides at least onc imponant lI:UOn foe-
P1t.ul's including what ..-as by the time he wtQ(e probably only an oral
rKOtd. of the original events. He saw them primarily as an _"'p'_
.. J""" allipolJ (1IIOnk all'ltut,), El . .JOIn-. in And~ al fINry. V.it. G",,>li.l . .. .
..... Bouriu ond Id .. t". ,8 (- "HP H), 41}8) .
• Ado ..... .ca..b- .... a.. . ,.,9. p. ,a"!dol... t.<,. . _ ,0.1l0<I n-.
....., who di<d in. '0'" ~.., ,,,", ItCI . 0.. thia ..id<t..... J. __JI (t~), '7, do, .. i<>
"""""'""'"' Iiom '0''; but Ademot ............... al,,,", ..~" before '0,8. 0..
Ademor .. , wi ......, ... Bm it. ('!In), 6,-66 .
.c
.. "\n.dit I'leuty 01", 'I h of. canlm I'ukhm ... (JI(inDIi S. B • 'ili. «I. E. do Cnn;n
IPoriI, ,8,8), 7.>0, p. '47), ..... G!ob.r it oaid .., wd_ St<pl.. " wi,h, certo.ift . H<rbo:n"
{Hi> ..... 3.8.a6. p. 7-4>. n.. <,: .1,. boo "'" bent WIIIid".d. t>OnoeI" tbo< hoJ', """"'"
failocllU ........... Ik,bu, _..".,.uy io \Jrll&noI. Thr ....... <OUld NOi:, ha... bent <0<1"-1
with ",het "<k,;,,:" .... "in.c It!< period; on ,he <aK alCld.:nn.n ... als... •• ... Boutin ('9n).
8.-3l· Abo, ho;.-. biKoriaooo ,w.. ... ioudy"""""" Qlobu:'. oiew _ ,,,", beJa, ..... "'I'
nar b,.. • k,...... but b,.. , cIori< &om P.oo.Ml
........Iet ('9n). n . "1"".• 68 ..... M. '9-aa. fur ,"" detoiJ •.
,. C ,'·h. 107-08.

'0'
 TJ;XTUAL COMMUNITIES

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 hap-
pily coincide<!. In order to prove his worrhin t», he had first to be
tene<!. His tempr.tion took the form of I cleric in his houseoold who
had fallen under the dtvi!', spell. Other figures appear in the drama,
but their roles are minor. It is Arefasr who Stands at the crossroads.
In Paul', view he was no lit» admirabl e for having denounced heresy
than for setting out on I chivalrous quest, surviving intellectual trial,
and achieving his chosen goal.
The "heresy" which, Paul notes, WIiS spreading "through the prov-
inces of Gaul" alxlut this time, is curiously intef(:onnected in his Story
with the growth of personally style-d hermeneutio. Herbert, who may
have given lessons in Artfasfs house, ostensibly went to Orlbns for
the pur~ of study (/tcrio"is gratia), that is, as a pan of the normal
training in theology. He became a heretic "while he busie<! himself
~king out the authoritative sources of truth (vtrilaJiJ alKltwfJ)." As a
half-educued student of Scripture he fell easily into '"the pit of total
heresy." In other words, the process by which he became a "heretic"
~raIleled the development of his own capacity for interpretation. His
spiritual guides were twO dtrici, Stephen and Liso is, who _re widely
acclaimed for their wisdom, holiness, piety, aod charity. They aJ50
-rpear to IuIve had .. popular foHowing. Herbert became thei r '"docile
disciple" ; he Will! misled by their "swttt words," inebriated by their
"deadly draught," trapped by their "madness and error." "Although
unskilled in 1000Iogy," Paul adds, "he: believed himllClf to have as-

"/W.. ' ''9. .. 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 signifi-
cant; 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', coun-
sel 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
" •..___." , . , .
............. , .. " , p' . i. '~. ..,'"
_ .. "0. ." _,-. .. 'W
_ .. " •.
.. /Ni.• ,, 0: - r,-irW Aurdiaruo .Iewfti.... , uti odom.s Nont. oxidic MCttt «>mm"- K
.oppI;'; ""';"'" "' ......... od """"" do<t<ioom .......... od i..-r rodio diodpuli, uJ,imw. ;"...
dam..... I""",,,"",,,,,. ukimuo od>idobotur.-
 TEXTUAL COMMUNIT[U

wirhout participating in it, u.!~r, Paul adds, M: 1WS gLven instruc-

tion, 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 dis-
cipl~, 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. Are-
Cast 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."
.. t..m.; '"(:umqu< prim"'" di.inorum ""I"",inum ... ",pI" <Wn ... quibusdam mum ,i.
mili"odiniboi i..... ......." •• _ . ""'" pe,ftc.i diocil"'li. ,ubdi ....... i......,.u", yid<..,u. in,,,,
ali .. oimili.udi .... oit...tri Itbori • • imiliNdincm ei po<ict"",,"
,,0-,
.. I",. • J. .. IHI.• 'L J. " t.,m .
.. Ur. m,; - NUl>< ...., ......'" in culmi ... ..,.i ... -;,., ... in"'..... ".,.",;0 otuloo od h••",.
vera< tidei aperi .. rnepio<i . Poodom .. ,ib< 0&1", .. _ium , quo i"!L~. p<1' impooilion.m
.ideliert """",om """"""m. ob om"i peC<o'i lo.b. "",nd.b.rio, "''l'" Sonrti Spjri'", dono
~i., qui ""ripe","",'" "",ni.m J>f<1I\J ••cli,....., It oenm di.ini . .""" .tlp' ""rupulo. '"
docob/" Oo;nde cod...; c;bo poO"". __ "",;.u.. ru ........ idobi. pe ... pe"""io<u.m ,..;.

'"
 TI!XTUAL COMMUNITIES

Dnpitc Paul's dispuaging asides, the programmc of the Orlbns

sect $p""k. for itself. First, it shifted tbe weight of ~li8ious (Ommit-
ment a_y from objective elements such as "tmition, priesthood and
the sacramcnts"·, and onto the shoulders of ordinary beJicvrrs them -
selves. The priest', natura! «tension of the idea of iDCI.rnation was
~placed by tbe "pcrfotm-.nr;e of mom dcmands which, at bottom,
was founded only upon tbe law and the example."· eithcr of Christ
or the sect itself. 1bcse demands wen: largely expcrien«d 'ubjc<:-
tively, wheDCe Arefasc's alarm at the withdrawal of the standard sup-
potu for faith. MOI'COver. the change in cmphas is from the impersonal
to the pcnonal aspects ofbelief nude itself felt ditren:ndy at the level
of the individual and tbe group. In the onc, it resulted in mysticism;
in tbe other, in (OlICCtive interaction around a ~It. Throughout,
literacy played a large if somewhat diffuse role. The sect ~jected the
writn:n rlltditions and dependent institutions of the official church. In
their place it put a rationality based on simplified textual criticism
and on onc', capacity for n:Aection. The impn.ntation of God's MlM
in man W&$ 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 him-
self. 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 n.e
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-

........ ~icao. q............io fuI .... CW>1 rio. q-u Ioooo ....... .oi .......... rtI dili<ul, .... ""'"
""-'0. ;t<,< ..... I>i<Iillq... ,ibicIoeri,.
qu" o...""";um ,ibi ........ """"I""" do:ai' ...
q"" ..,.......... hosauri .. quoo dirn~ <ON;"""""
.. Cf. I!. Ttodtodo.. rAo s.;..J
"IHi.• ,,6.
T_". <f" C~ C.Ioo, ... 1'01 . ' . H) .

'"
 TEXTUAL COMMUNiTiES

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, Ate-
fast 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 m0-
ment, 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 IX-
i",), teaching by example (IX""phll,,/xmor.1fJ ~.",) together with doc-
trine (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 un-
del'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 them-
selves, 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.";'. .. lM.<;I .

"3
 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 unac-
ceptable 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 au-
ctKlrity 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 be-
tween tars and reality.9>
1neir sophisticated awa.teness of problettlll involving written tradi-
tion 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
.. o . I!. G<D" ..... I-- ..... RiJa.} (Nco. Yort< .• 967), , .
.. ~, "4' "N<o, _ inIorIW", .., ""'I"< booc ven. .... ".b. pouw!I"' ."
.. So. ""Iow. do. J, pp.• ,,·!h .
.. G.rlJ..lr., "4 .
.. lA<.m .: ''Quod notura _p<, lmlpor • <0._" diKrepot. H

"4
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

no oth.-r wisdom than lhat of God, who made all things. The~fo~,
your arguments serve no purpose: they a~ unnecessary and inconsis-
tent 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', tCilChingl-
was a symbol of alienation, due is, of an uncomprehended or incom-
prehensible tClCt imposed upon man from without.
To summarize: Paul of St. Pe~ secs the outbreak of heresy in Or-
Inns 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 noble-
man 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<tiolL'i ba5cd on their logic also influenced the
sect's views 0/1 ocher subjecu, causing the members to reject Christian
doctrine and to ask searching questiolL'i about the relationship between
texts and reality. Despite the narrative's brevity, we observe an inter-
nally developing set of methods, an unmistakeable if rudimentary
hermeneutics.
Neither of the .xhet" two main descriptions of the heretics at Or-
Inns provide us with insighcs into the internal workings of the group.
But both Ademar of Chabannes and Rodulf Glaber help to establish
typologies of interpretation. In Ademar, we ~tum ro the world of
popular culture, pagan cults, and superstition. In Glaber, popular and
learned culture are openly 'OntNSted IIiI he onct 'gain weds a foreign
.. 1..«."'.: "Iota ilIiI "....... pota, ~ ,.....,.. OOJ'iu ... otql>< <<<<Iu ... Iict. <vnoJiWII. bo-
""*""
",in"",. 1Cripu. iQ ","",,,,",,,,Ii. >1Ii_I ...... : 0U«rft q~i I.,... '(li""", ... .,.".." i~ i....
riooi hami.,. • Spiritu So"""" « nichil oIiod """mw. aili quod. Dto, omnium «HKii<l)t<,
did;';m"., irnooum ouperII",". omnin,. d....i .... 01'... : '
.. 00. """" it,,,... ,
lOO ,b< ""8"" l)"Dtb<oio of Bou,;" ( ' 9n). 69-77.

u,
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

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~ propasan<!ist.
For Ademar, rwo I9.tures of the dissidence at Orleans stand out.
The heretics ~ put of a C"OlI5piracy stretching northwards from
Toulouse, and educated clerics were led into ertor by masical and
religious practica involYing the occult. Above aH, Ademar, in at-
tempting to explain here5Y, stre5Se$ the deceptive gap between ap-
pearallCes and raliry.
He lint provides some bate deWiI.~' In 10.:1.:1, he Stltes, ten can<l1L'l
of the chuKh of St. Croil:, "who appeared to be more devout than the
D4:hen, were proven to be Manichaeans." The educated priests were
deceived. by a rml«ru, who is tbought to have comc from the Peti-
gonl.9I This countryman said he could work WOOOtts, and carried
about with him thc ashes of dead childll'tl, through which he soon
m* a Manichaean of anyone to whom he could communicate them. ''99
Ademar's imagination is obviously less sophistio.ted· than Paul's.
Like tbe monk of St. P~n:, he sees the origin of heresy io a ritual
opuience. He aho re£el$ to the transfer of a physical object in which
the concrete stands foe the abstract. Nor can he resist adding lurid
deraib of orgiutic prxticl's, which ~re standard fare in many ac-
counts of medieval sects. ' ... But he dif&:n from P.w.l in Olll' imponant
respect: the deception in his Y1ew p.sses from popular to learned levels
of .acil'ty. Misled. by a "rusric," the canoru of Orlh.ns an.' portrayed
as worshipping the devil, who appeared alternately as a "black and
white god" and gave rhem money in retum for theiT homage. 'J'hosc,
in the heresy's thrall were unable to distinguish between spiritual and
material values, that is, in .t\demar'l eyes, betwten reality and ap-
pearances. They also showed a lr.ck of unity bettll"een thcir public and
private lives. Outwardly they seemed. to be Christians, but inwardly
they had adopted a Dl'W form ofpiery. Typical was 'fheodiltUS, I.lilte
canon of St. Cmm, who "seermd to be religious," but, "as trusnvor-
thy men dedared," died a heretic. '00 In othl'r 'IfOtds, the root of (he
problem for Adernar lay in thl' contrast between external and intetlllll
types of devotion. But it could be viewed from tWQ pcnpectives. For
the heretia, the hiatus evidently arose between the empty, ceremonial
mannerisms of inherited. tradition and the vitality of in""r, privatc,
and personal spirituality. What h&ppcned i" II(UI/lo rould 1>0 longu
"
" -'u".
. 3.'9, p. 0 ....
- Cf. _
..
(I\lnl. 10.
",.-.. ,S.....t •. "!M.m.
N. CIN ' N, Ill,.

,,6
 TEJ(TUAL COMMUNITIES

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 else-
where, it was Chiefly cxplainm a~inst the background of lay piety
and monastic ~form in France and Normandy . For Glaber, by con-
Iran, 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<iuced whomever she wished, not only the illirerate and uneduC1lt«!
(idiof4t tI JimplitrJ), but also quite a few more learned persons (i«tiM"eS)
from the clerical order."'·, Like Ademar's canons, this archetypal Eve
appeared to be one thing but was in ~Jity another, She remained for
I time in Orleam, where she managed to spread her message into
various cornets of lay and ecclesiastical $llCiety. Glaber then r«apitu-
lares parts of Paul's version, adding inaccurades of his own. Two of
the town's most knowledgeable and well-born clerics, he continues,
5tephen (whom he callI Herbert) and Lisois, became heretics. They
were favorite:s at the feudal and royal COUrtS, which enabled them, in
the chronicler's words, to more effectively corrupt the minds of rhose
who were no! united by the 4 _ foki III1ivrn4ijJ , ''''' In his view, ;n_
dependent interpretation of &ripture acted as a th~t chieHy by un-
dermining the traditional principles of order, which comprised soci-
etfs only source of universal v.lues. Therefore, appropriately, it was
not a layman like Artfut but a priest from Rouen who was instru-
- Hif,..;". j .8.l1S. P. 7~. On ,be mnaphor ..... R. I. M...... , "!-krcir" Dixao<:' in Tb.
C-.. " H"", i. Ib. Mi.Mk ,\p ILou"';n. '916). "" .
"'u.m. '.. u.-.m.

"7
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

mental in nposing the sect. EmiS$ari~ frum Orlnru apparently ap-

proached 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$iding in Rouen, and through Richard won! reached
the king . Robtrt , fC&J:ful for "the honH:land', ruin," hastened to Or-
Inns, where a large body was a~mbled .nd a formal inquiry umkr-
taken. 5tephen and Li$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 war-
ranted 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, nat-
ural 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. '4'~' ,.. IIW.• J. 8. 28--JQ, pp. ~.

.., llarino'" Milono ( ''''41 ), '4· - 11._11 ('96,) •• 8.

"s
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

of divin~ c~tion 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 dif-
ferent accounts. But the careful arrangement of their ideas as the
antithesis of ChriStianity within the wririnB' of Christians whose po-
sitiollll IlJ"l' clearly defined also sugg:ests that the references [0 doctrines
have the status of evidence-documents in ora! culture: they are confir-
mations, inteq>retatiom, and conttxrualiutions. Like the pleasant
narrative of Artfasfs quest, [hey attempt to fit a new, troubling ex-
J)C'rience, for which there is only a vtrbd re<ord, into an ICc~ptably
cunvenlional fnamework involvinB tnU, pre<tdents, and standard hy_
potheses about behaviour. The terms of reftttnce are not only assumed
10 be familiar to the audience for which they are written; [hey are also
attempts ro rt'Constilute rha[ audience through an artistic and artificial
rebuilding of ia foundarion fot continuity over time , which is textual.
This activity may have begun with the hererio themselves, who, as
_ IWin<> da Milo"" ([9'17), l~-,8: coMrmod by SoU[;'" ('97)), 69-77. w..bm (11)77),
:1+4'~'and M-. (1911), , 6.
". O. """"" ('970). ,6-'7 .
, .. ,,;,., Gu./itri ,60.. p. S>8.

".
 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 un-
covered, 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 or-
thodox, the <kaption _ exposed as the aUesoriClll surface of Weir
a.cdvides yi.,kird under inquiry to their true, diabolical motives. And,
so, what began &I an opposition of methods cutiowly finished iIS an
opposition of methods. Throush the 10Bic of tau tbe heretics chal-
lenged ac«pred tradition. Through rn:cuaI reconstruction. they were
made part of a widesprrad, hUiwriClllly evolving conspiracy Igainst
the church, of which they had no knowledge and to which they were
little jf ae all relared.

1hr examined accounu of hrray It OrMans in 1022 provide in-

sighu 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 con-
arDS. 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 S,_
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
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 Arras-
Cambtai, to an. unPllllcd "R," and the Aa., which is 11 Icnsthy 1(-
'" Man . ",.6; Vi<o G.nJiot, " .m.; "'i,...,' S.'T r.; 6. >0. p. >47 .
.. , ",. ""'" .... h ... ..I; .... br I,.uo: d' khby, ~i_ (,6'/7), .... . , ~, ,-6~. 0.. th<
.,h; ..... ..I; ...... , -'oido .....U booocI ... dUo OI'i,!;InoI, ... ~ . ... N i.,,,,.,. , "Nu. 5 , .
Abbtu'" ("•• ,~ '" !" =. do <ri<icpJo do ,"" .it," S-' c.",',., :to h9J6l, u8.uS • .
0.. rIrr ...... >J>OCrip< (1)ijoo, Bib! . "'... ,h), ... pp . • 0&..09. All q""..,i.... in - . foI ......
... &<om Mp', "pri"'''' '" d'Act.fty, Pt. ,.,."~.},,D.
'" J. 11. "-U, "A ........ du.,.,..,&- d'AnD on 10.,," .. HE H ( '96:r), 70, 1).
u. Ptooa.ibJ, me _ '" tt.. Go<.. .... . ; _ c ,... onol rto. Vi<o S. G' ca M, Nio·
"""'" (.916), ""'7·

" 0
 TEXTUAL C:O MMUN ITlES

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 ron-
c1udes 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<t, aimed the sermo n', message

", 00 ,.,. ("""., _i"", ...1, bibli.,., .. . " .... m.,;..,.! obly by J. M. r-Ioi""". - to>
<i<w< ".. .... ien docwnmn <on(ff1IlfI' I"hhts.'t .... h,.·D ..: · RHE ~9 1< 9H). 8.!' .• )n) .,.,j
by loIi",,- ('976), 2o,n. o . On ,.,. I."" i ...... It< Oondo.i<>< ('9,>1. ,9""1'0 otnd /-;.. ,
Puedo (19S1). Norgbrn (,.,,66). md .....dn<d, bur: ~I .not,.....,
M""", 1<9171. 9.• 8.
,,' Wok<-fi,)d and E..." (.969). B•• lOtiowin! t .....1I (, 96,). ,,·,6.
,., tu_I! ('96,), 2> •• ,.,j M""", (197<'1. ,8nH ·
.N ~"" J,..Ji AI""'''';', c. " PL '.2. "18D: •...,.! qui. die<, ad oc<toum <l.di,;'" . .. •
c. r? "~, ID, -J .... d ... od _ m d,dio;"" ...... .
... Ni..,,,,,,, (976), ") .

'"
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

at alar~r audience than thole actually pra.ent. Also, by echoing the

pu~ly intellectual defenccs of orthodoxy by pauistic bishops, it pr0-
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~"
. Ii_ (Puio,

.. , Sutnnwi,;". GmmIi El .. PI. '4,., .6gr..7<JC.

 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

they had not yet converted. Having bttn ~Iposed, the herttic~ then
confesl«! to • number of abet-... nt Oocuines. Baprism, they main-
tained, 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 con-
cludes, 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 dis-
covered 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-Iur-
Mame, 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 to-
gether 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.
•" Cl. Mi~ (1,;6). "9.
n' El .. 121>9110 -qui,""<M' ,upp!;'ii ope<~ ,diJ~;' ....... ,itb&n,...-, ond "70B , ··w'
nolli, ,oppJicii, I m'n, ooii od rnru...ionom. *
on ~. , uoS,B.

'"
 TIIXTUAL COMNUNITII!S

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 or-
thodoxy arose in his diocese. He is more alarmed that "R"' did not
recognize the evil for what it was. "R" himself wu misled by ap-
pearances. '''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 inno-
cent 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 "mission-
aries"' 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 interroga-
tion, 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 u-
ligious 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 _ .... quoIi .... diotimuJu. po<u<ril>l, ... "'" &110: _
_ t, .......... :_, ~. -

·"IIoiJ. , :rti9B-lOB. •,. I"'., nlOB. "'1-.1. , 1>7OB-C.

".
 TEXTU~l CO M MUNITlI.!S

(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 Christ-
mas 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"<ktuto, ...... audi, .... GUt>dulli. mj ....... od 1<.1"", pottibuo
Yiri, et ob <0 .... "!Id id. mlnd",is .. ipOIlOli<is i"I"",,,..... , nullam<j .. """,er ho.n< scrip"''"'"
.. _;1'<"'. ,,,J .... "" 0«100 .. """'"' ..... "'.-
''''~.• tl7,C·D.

'"
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

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 "evan-
gelical 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<l I.ter in life. And. child-who has no wish to co-operate
nor a tIUf' undentanding of the faith cannot he saved by another's
confession. " j
This is virtually the lut point .t which thor heretics speak for them-
selves before their r«onvenion at the cnd of the Art... nu, remainder
of the synod consiSts of Geranfs reply and his genen[ defence of the
chureh', institutions, as Cl'Viscd, of course, by his narrator,
Within the sun'IInari~e<I pUbge there are three stpIl12te acwunts
of the heretics. The bishop, we are told, was informed of their pro-
en« in his diocese .nd was given I tough outlin.e of their idfiS. He
then questioned them briefly himself. Three days later he formally
interrogated them It the synod, There is also evidence of a fourth
intervention rrwie on his behalf but not in his prcsen~. '" It was
presumably from this inquiry thar he [tamed of their specific obje-c-
tions to orthodoxy,
The most striking feature, as noted, is the discrepancy between
Gerard's (or his narrator's) description of the heretics' beliefs and their
own account of their activities. '., Gerard, following the question-and.-
answer proce<lure of the episcopa1 i"'luisirion, attributes to them a
... J~ J.,. "' ......, •. I. ",.,40.
" 'IW , " 7.A·B, "H_ {la Of dU<ipI;.".j """"Ill< ""i<nmo<Ii ... , mundwn rei;"'! .... ,
CVIIOII>. ~;;. fteoot., do iobori""' ............. ","""".krum _ . nulU ' ..... ,.,m
~ .. ''''. _ ....." <uo<ti&. q_ ..I", ""ill>""""; pt., .i,; _". ,..,ib.t.:.... Ha«: ...
""""" i"";lic&<ionio IWDIDL • • _"
....' 1j,U.• "7.B<.
'" 1",,_. "7'C: - od _i,,,,,, Opiocopl "'" •• "' .... . .. -
.. , l ....1l (, 96,), ''''4; Wokflield ord E..... (.\J69), B4; N""", (091").8 ono! .1In~.

,,6
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

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 sug-
gestion 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 point-
by-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. <ft-rard's
narrator de-emphasized this aspect of the episode and took pains to
reinfoKe the traditional ceremony of the ChUKh, whence <ft-rard's
magnificent emra~ into St. Mary's. But the natu~ of the sectarian
cxpct'ience remains clear. It was not only a reaction against the official
church, although it may have been that as well. It was an autonomous
association. The converts were disciples of a single teacher, Gundulfo,
abour whom we learn only OM filet: he based his instruction on a
literal interpretation of cenain powages of the New Testament, which
he called the tf/iIlIgrli{A mAlI.utJll. The members of the stet were prob-
ably not literate; in a significant phtaK, they rd"errtd to themselves
as Allliitom.'" But they nonetheless participared directly, 01: so they
thought, in higher religion. ' •• Gundulfo asked that they accept the
gospel, that is, his reading and interpretation of it, without comment
(IIlIllMnqlU prMitl' N>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 in-
formed 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 im-
plication [he other sacraments. But they appear to have been provokct!
by <ft-rard or his inquisitors, and their defence of their views did not
... Nu, <. I, "7~B ; <. 7, u"B; c. ", Ij04B .
..'Ci. Moott(1977) ....
,............ C. I, 1>1'(;. quo«<I """'" p... ,0; c. ,. 12960' ~""8r1;; • ...!;, ......
' .. Cf. llonno <10 !oI; _ ('90(7), ~ •• 66-67.

'"
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

8Idd Up to an dterIWtive theology. In faCl, all tt=e eumples of in-

vaJida.tion--the b.d priest, the unrepentant sinner, IiUld the un~illing
Of uncompcehcnding child lien: ttbud to the $8!lle ide., the devel-
opment of the il\flef moral conscience. In their vie~, one Wll5 person-
ally 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 Chdsti-
otnity. 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 forma-
tion 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 prof-
itably 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 begin-
Dins 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.... c. '. "l.e. '27~A-B; t _ .6. ,)O!IA-.,,,A (whoro ~redI, ... ""If boor &om
Gorvd). Cl. _ ('977). n .
.,. 1!OtI.• c. I. 1>1.8 .
•" IW. "l.A (]a). 1>7.B (bopo;",,; ..... ).

,,'
 TEXTU ... L COMMUNIT1IlS

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 am-
plified, were plac~ in a systematic framework, thereby allowing Ger-
ard 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 contin-
uum 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"$al-
ism 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
'" I~.. (. '. "14.... ·" 1.... ,. ' 7. ' 3,,(;..n .

"9
 TJ!XT U AL COMMUNITUU

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 unintcr-
prt"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 re-
demption.'" In this sense 'Jesus alone is JUSt and justifies cvery-
thing."',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..«.",.: ""uI. ~ mu"". sr&«d ...." •• 1.. d~ ..... """" ho
·1......;. __ Oti p<o &dtm J.... a..;,,; in ""'...... _
w""... L>m l""
........ qui <..duo, in """: •
..!dill!! .. J '" ··j...rihno cum q"; ... a fide J.... 0"".;.- Contd·, p/>no< fonIifi<--u.
whi<h io _rd..-.en tU- (n 7.r~7 3B) io ~ .-I... h... in Ps.d. but _;n ' opeci(.
kr.I1r Itpl &ftd _ _ raJ .......
'" J..: I: 17 . •.. I n '0;.,0. .,. /\not. <. t. " l,c. J ' nA .
... M... "" ., ,, Nt.o, "1)A. "' Aa.< • • . J . u n B-C.

'3'
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

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 discus-
sion 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 declara-
tions 15 clear: "In the disobedience of the 6rst man ~ lost our inno-
cence and natural potcntia!; and no onc can lift himself up from the
depths of ruin through his free will unless he is also raUt<! up by
merdful grace, "'6, Man', personal striving after s.. lvation is flOC cun-
sidered useless; but, no maner what "holy thought.," "pious coun-
sels," or "good motives" we have, we Cllnn(>t furthcr our chanCe! for
tc$coration to pamdi5e without God's help. ,66 Jv. John said, "Without
me )'QU can do nothing."'61
Grace, morrover, Gerard argue!, 15 a kind of foreknowltdgc, which
takes account of individual merit in advarKe, It does not" preclude
leading .. holy, ascetic life, for the gospels explicitly state, " Forgo
impiety Ind vain desire that we mly live soberly, justly, and piously
in this workl.", 6I But, It the sune timc, Christians ought to recog-
ni~e chit grace's source Jil'S "neither in DlIture's fol'CC$ 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 prepa-
ration 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<l to the original bishoprics of christendom and later to the
many churches of the holy Set. rn
At the sermon"s beginning and end, then, ~ 6nd the principle of

"'I~.• L>7,C. ' .. J O '''7; '''<1.<. c. ,6. rJ09A-II. .", Rom 7".: a./., , ~.
"" "''''',c. ,6. rY'9l1. "'I~. , rY'9l1-C.
," Jo ,,: 6; jjiJ., IJOlI<:. ' .. n. ".: ,~., '3'>9D .
... N:., c. ,6. "'0.0.. ' ~ I~.• ,~,oB . ". '-«.tit.
''' N:., c. 16, "'01).".0. .

.,.
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

legitimK)'. The intenenins chaptml deal with t~ sacraments lIS un-

derlying 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 pro-
jected 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 conse-
quence, a distinction grows throughout the sermon between "popu-
lar" 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 an-
other 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" bap-
tizes, 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 med-
icine, 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. " Ad-
ministerecl 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," ,4A. ·" I!M.. "14.\·8 .
"'IJW., "140. ,.. I!M. • "7,.o."A. '''1101., "nB .
.., Got> 1:2, HW. , "HB.

'"
 TEXTUAl. COMMUNIT IJ; S

of that earthly "j ustifiotion" which Matthew said his successors W<:~
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 him-
self. 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 her-
etics' .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. •., (. I ., 1ft ':" .• In , :7.8. A"", ' .'7(.. mJ., " nC-7GB.
,., A""" (. " 11 76C-D. ' .. [tu., " 11 A.c.
," On ehJld",n, ifiJ. , " nCO. ,., 1;;6. • " 7,0..76A. " 77 {). 78A.
''' Aa., c . 1 . I> 78B . ... IWi., "78B-C.
,,.. 1Ii1.• "78C . .., M, .. >6:>6-.8; mJ.. u780-1?A·
''' A,,., <.,, " 798·0. -Jn6:n:_.. r'7S>(:.

'33
 TSXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Again, one may argue that Christ's Anhly covering could not be bro-
ken up into little biu and dinribute<\. For this would amount ro
«.nnibdism. That is to repeat the same error. Christ said, ''llIe ser-
mon is difficult. "'" He meant that aperiencing the eu.charist re-
quired mem..t ennion. Grace "is perceived by the palate of the in-
terior 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 de-
scripcion 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 sac-
rifice 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 sac-
rament."" Bells recall the wunill8 at Jericho and foretell of the lut
day ..... Churcba, moreover, need officials, woo must be cleady dis-
tinguished 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 spir-
itual 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.

,,.
 TEXTU ... L COMMUNITIES

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 af-
fitmtd by biblical tats. Written law as oppaed to custom is repeat-
tdly 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. Lt-
viticus '"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<! home, he was
given the coat he lost: the first (prima JloJ.), that is, the ancient (an-
tiq_), fIO{ the new ("._)."1 By the same tOken penance does not
merely cure plt'$Cnt spiritual ill.s bul restores our primal innocence.
The scholastic bent of the discussions is evident from the lite .... ry
manner in which the authorities are often cited. ". Evidtnct fOf gen-
uine salllts after t~ age of the martyrs is furnished by "volumes of
miracln. " •• , The church is allegorica!Iy cal led the /llartr cmit1ltiMIII ...0
The list of earlier mmmcntators is 101lg, including AugU$tine, Euse-
bius, Jeromc, the pseudo-Denis, hidorc, the life of St . Martin, and
Gregory the Great.'" Gttard's point is that, in following up the tat
"He is JUSt and jwtifies" with written authority, it is the orthodol{
who really play t~ part the heretics claim to be theirs as the imitAtOffl
$a/Kt; fall/i.· ..
Patsdo:rically, the IllOI"t Gctard trics to underpill the: custonu of
the chun:h with a textual basis, the widcr the gilp becomes within
-IMi., <. '0. "99C-"ooII. ' '' I~., <. ~. "11.40.
, •• IMi.• ,,8,0: Luc • . ,6 . '" 11OJ.• "Q6C.O. '" II<J.• c. ~. u87C.
"'/MJ., ,,88C. ." 1nl.. c. 6, ,,~.... "'1nl., c. 7. 1:t96t..
,. , lMi.• <. 8, "97.... .., II<J.• <. ( , ,,891&: c. 10. "'l-90.
"·/j,jJ.,<.II. I ,o~"" ' » lnI.• <.,.129,6 .
'" E.,., ... ",,,,,i,,,,, u8, ... , 1l8<.>C: Eosebi ... "91C-O; J...,....., ,~,c ; po<udo-o.ft; ••
'3070: I.~. " ,!!C. "&911, 1'9.lC; St. Mottin. 'J036-C; GooS"'"J". ,,8.A-8,O, "99A,
,,08"'-C.
n' ""-. c. ". '3.,.6.

."
 TEXTUAl, COM),(UNITUIS

the sermon between popular and learned religious cultUf'l'. For, in

providing I. historicall£COUllt of why the institutions were adoptc<l in
tbe lirst place, he has by implication to CIp!l.in why they should now
be adhered to by the common people, who have little understanding
of ecdesiastical precedent. Getud's IInSWtt is ftI redefine popular cul-
ture as all that is not official culture.
His position is comples:, not whoUy consistent, and composed of
rhrec elements. The first is d~ recognition of the bctetio u dangerous
/itttFIJIi lllJlong his unlettered parishioocrs. They spread. falr.e doctrines
(ffJ1I/Msio,'" UdHU i"fo/tIil4tu);'" they "invent (abIes:'''' Their dia-
lectical sophistication, or so be "WOuld have us think, is to be both
fC$pectcd and. distrusted. However. this picture of the heretics as dia-
bolical ministeR, whose efforts are primarily directed to",ards the
common people. is invented in pan to provide a contrasting role fur
the church as defender, eftn pfQ(C(:tor. of reJigiow communications
with kss learned, ominuy believct5. Genrd serene OIrist as pr<:IIdler:....
Itrkli4. means JItIInI/1IS C8IIC"CItIU;'" the role of the bishop 1.00 the priest
is "to instruct the people. "us In other "WOrds, inherited belief is oral,
just as God speah through the Word. But specious erudition must
be combatred by proper interpretation.
As a consequence, the third element in Gerard's thought is I. new
separation within the church of popular and lcarne<l culture, through
which the spoken is both part of God', design and yet unable to ,taoo
without an intetpretivc gloss. Like physicallymbolism in feudalll.w,
it retains its functional orality while acquiring evidential documen-
mion. On the one band. the older vocabulary is reiterared: in the
eucharist, " be who does not embrace the unique gage (Pip1lI) of faith
doubtless acludn himself from the constitution (hi!:"'go) of Christ's
body.""9 The link.rues between the Word and the physkal sign; in
understandill8 sacramental mysteries. reuoo. that is. tcnual di$Cus·
sion. has a limited role.'''' But God's onJity is not the same as mali's.
Discussing Christ's image on (be cross, Gcrard dearly distinguishes
between the lettered and. the unlettered. The wood, he points out, is
not divine in itself. "But if you diligently s.earch fat the reason behind
(he mystery."'" it may be summed up as follows: "the less educated
(;;.plkiom) and iIlitetl.te (il/itffdll) in the church. who cannot under-
stmd written biblical rem. form a mcma.I impression o£ them thfOU8h
~. lW, c. 2. 12]8B. '''1'*., c. " '284B . ... IW.• c. ~. nt-,C; c. 1, n9,A.
... 1101.• c. " uS,D-l6A. '" IMI.• n8]A. •... 1101., c. 6, n9~ .
- I. ... c. 8. UlnC. • .. IW. . c. '. 1a]8". '.' IW.. c. • ,. 'mA .

,,6
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

the p~intiflg'$ delinntion. "'" Thus, artistic furm (iptriu) provides a

means of u~riendll8 Christ's crucifixion.»! Similarly, "interpreta-
tion 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 profes-
sion 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 sup-
poKd followers of St. Paul, ~raro offers one final Pauline quotation,
which is drawn from I Timothy. In the final days, Paul predicted,
$Ome Christians would leave the faith under diabolical inAuence. They
would preach lies tmd forget the obligations uf conscien«". They would
forbid marriage and th!: tating of Oesh, even though God intended
the filithful to profit from both.'" The h!:retic5, ate then said to be
rendered speechless by Gerard·s cumulative wisdom, which comprisn
a virtUllI ··summa of Christian saIVlltion:·· j6 Gerard invites them to
denounce th~ir conspiracy: together the assembly rejects the heretics·
·'·10iJ.. {. ' •. 'lo6fl..(:: -Eo. ""1'0 O/i. b~j",,..io; .implkiores 'l"ipp< in «da;' .. iUi,.·
""i, q..od 1><,5ui"",... """ _"", i..... ri, hoc 1><' ~ pi<, ..... lin~n .. «><ottm_
p/amu., id ... , Chris<um in .. hwn;J;,It<, q..>a pro,m;, p&li a """i ...tol,.·· fur ,imH.,. """,
..., t . Gou.!;oud. ··Mu," p,w;.:.,..,- , 6$-70 .
." 11".. ' lo6C.
". 1Nl., ,}06C.O: ·"Similiter do i.....,;inil......... fGfUm ,.,;00 ... '; lko<, quae idee> in .."',.
«<10<;0. 6.... '. "'"' u, ob """'i.,bw odorui dtbtont • ..d ut pt!" no in«r;'" n<;""' .... ad ,,,,,.
~ , ... i.. d;yi_ ....."'-"".""1"" .. <Otum o<t;bw al;qu;d in """" ",,",flOC «<I •
......,ioru. ,ra/v.m... -
.
". ,.....
, c. '" ; 1 .m
'1. ')" ....... " ~. , .•. ." ,...,.. 'l"e.

' 37
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

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 un-
de~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,,11, I_'
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 state-
ment 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 bish-
op'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 explana-
tion 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 pro-
cccd.ed from words to texts. This. in turn. helped to systematize the
. ,. IhJ., ", , Co llA. •.. IW., "I1A-C. ·"IW." ,, >C.D.
_ lfIJ. , .,,,c. N' 1__. , >, uD.

'3'
 TEXTUAL COMMUN I TlBS

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 understand-
able 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 forgiye-
ness 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 be-
come $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,,", ..

'"
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

renowned acchbishop, attempts to regain religious and political con-

trol 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 0p-
posite: 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 van-
ished.
"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 .
... Ur.m. - /.6.m. .... ,"". 96-
 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 effec-
tively superimposes political /lllIterial onto an ami rtt:otd of 5Up"rnlt-
ural forces. He thereby unites popular and learned forms of progn05-
tication. 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 death-
bed 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 polit-
ical 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 MtdiolalUlf-
ill 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< ,6.

'4 ,
 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 per-
minion 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
continually. Our elden pn.y day and night, one meT the other, 10
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 pactic-
ular, 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 ques-
tion: "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~." Ali-
ben 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(~ pro-
creation without sex like the bees." Aribert: "In ....hom lies tbe re-
sponsibility 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' Gcr-
ard: "If 1ft die through tbe torture of evil men, 1ft rejoi«"; but i(

'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$t . {i.,rard r.-pliaf: " There is no
prinr b.-yond our priest, a.Ithough he lacks tonsure and myJt .. ry.··
Aribert was now convinced thllc whac had been said about ch .. her-
etics of Monforre was corr«t. Soon afterwards he sent Iln armed fore ..
to the locality and took everyone prisoner, including th<" ~., COUnt-
ess. Th<"n he brought them .11 to Milan, wm.r .. , with th<" aid of his
d ..rgy, h.- art.. mpted to f<"(:OnRrt th .. m, Int the heresy spread to other
parts of Italy. But wicked men, Landulf adds, who, unr«ogni!ed,
had come to the region ftom ds.-where, ptO$<"lytited the humble folk
who cam.. daily to rh.. ciry to see th ..m. When th.- el<kn of Milllll
learned of this, th<"y built a hug.. pyr.- and set up a cross nearby. Over
Aribert·s protests they led rh.- heretia out and askal. rh .. m to choose
between onhodoxy and death. Some came to the cr055 and wer.- saved,
bur many, cov.. ring rh<"ir faces with their hands, leapt bI1lvely into
tn.. flames.
Landulfs account is undoubtedly based on rn.. t«Oro of • prom-
1Itf"b41,'" and the questions and answers give the imprcssi()ll of a sec-
tarian movement highly involved with doctrinal issues. Were it not
related to Glaber·, account by common historical derails, one would
be hard pres5<"d to 6.nd any similarity between tbe two narratives.
There are two sides to the h<"rcsy as outlined bri .. Ay by Genud. One
is the Jin of acmal beli..&. The orher ;, che method by which ch..
S«tIlrians arrived at them. Historians have g.-nerally focused on dogma
in an attempt to link the $e(C at Monion .. to other eleventh<enrury
hercsies .• ,6 But {i.,rard gives an equally lucid account of th .. it proc-
esses of reuoning, which appalr to have been undertaken, elaborated.,
and made the basis of religious practices within th.. group itself. Get-
ard himsdf was reasonably ~rudire. H~ WIIS presumably literate and
had the b..ne6.t of a good lay or clerical education. -" His technical
r.. rms oft.. n appear to echo th.- vocabulary of patristic theological de-

." <I. C. v ....". t.",.,..u ";1._, I. ,;p.-

I,,,). ,08; T....... (J~H). ".,. ".8.
_..,w.
lA....-n r '''''.'Olll
(I.Qme.

.,. VioIoar<. t." __ ~ .. . ,(&ri . 'lI5J). 176-64 ( - ...d .... . [~ 7 •• " o-J I. n..
oe<ond ed;,ion _IS It.: ~"" ... _ Ni,..,ion I ~n for ,h. Monfom, <pi""'). CI. C<o«o
(' ~7 I)•• 65. T~"; ('97. >. ,...,;", .
." To';"'; ('~H). ".'.4> ...,tt<> ,....
t.. wu o,Imt... b", m.r. il .., ni6<<><< to ...._
It.. doin>. On ,bt <d\w:M""n ohbt W.,. ... 8"""" duti..,. It.: p<ri<>d. lOt It.. "';0" '" P. l.i<ht.
"I..dud... our l"i",u'K'ioo .500 Ioi<:> 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. Gcr-
ani 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 1<I/ICl1lI) is
the tJivi/tl1.nmJ S€i",t;"~ ;,""/1(1111 , the undentanding of divine knowl-
edge. It follows that JC$U$ was nor literally born ftQ1Il a "irgin. Gcrard
sates that Christ is the same .,,;I/UIJ of which he JUSt spoke, born
snull4ijlll' from the "irgin Mary, that is, bom ex _ scriptIW• •06' H e
equates tbe reality of Christ's birth with authentication in the sacred
text, and adds that the "spitit" of the same sacred sccipcW'CS is noth-
ins more than the intellect itsclf actins with devotion.'" n.c holy
$pirit, then, is identical with the orduul. iotelligence of man, >60 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<I i.d'rm, ... T . .... (o97~, to,. .·
" - A dilfiod. """""", " ' ], p, 66, ,-4: "ImllJl OriKum...,.", d;cio <SI onim .............
li_ """"' ... N&I.. oirJi... , YidelK.. ""'" OK .. ITtII:I.><riptun.. ...... _ ; c >p<a>1otion
(In _aJi", ... T ..... ('974), 1>17-18 ond below ..... 1; "",..,....t ;",......."'........ tht
...NI _"'""', r:iV_ (o 9H). 'n
ond W,L &cJd and E...... ('51'1'i9)' 669 9-
... Hu",w '.2], P. 66. •,, "Spiri .... FOZI<IU77" .. um Kripruon>m cum «-i"""
i .... l·
1<>rnII," _ d>o .... i,;..., r:i _,...., be >no! ",ith oio:b<r,,;.;t1tS or _ .... .
... IHJ.• 66. "1' '"Q>od d;"j Spiri ................. dm-um tcimr: ....... iru.u..:-, . ....
noil ...., be !be eorI..., ........., r:i on i ..aus.i7lfl I,,;de •., in tl-c
<uto< .. dirt, ................ "
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 ><ribo: Suiptw ...toci ... ><ribens cot sp,; .... Sot>cruor,
1;_ pmI.,..."io no <*l.-.. .d pOll .... S.,." pmno .oil l'o<it tint ........ it, p.odo"" . ....
Splri ...s......
<00j>Ci .......... """'" 1'00&«« . • . . Ptr_um .rip!<>rio <It _ horni";'. i n

'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$ sal-
vation 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. Com-
munication 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 valid-
ity: 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 ac-
cordingly 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 <oop<rltll< non po!<>! pro6c< ... .. , I'<rpm<num K,;pror;' ... «,. hom;n;,. ;n
qui> drb<t « .. b<.. _bum 00;," n.. ",...-non i, "'it«! with. """'''''''tuy by O. Rio<h", •• "DK
Alksori< d.. """B""",,[lwarbri[u'lll," in G . ""I, .. . 1. , ..... , FMWi",.,...... !tU"""'-,
to.
rlftririft CriMJ Eis (StunS .... l~), 8)-9" qllOt<d puaoj!', P, 8"
... a . v"*- ([lIn). 17i. 'i9,
... a . llari"" do. M,I""" ('9-4i). J'.J ) .
.., Hi,"';", p. 66. '1',0 ; "A, ipo; ncfand i.. imi <l. quo OIM port. in h.l .. fu;"""....,.i
i_ii. q .... ; t;.:,o.i -=dottt "",,;.lit ....... n I";",i,.. tuot"'i<. qui in loo< wt" _ nd<ndi "'....
''''' ........ ,''. fd .. ru<!im", . . . Krip<U';' d;';";' .x.ornt ...",inabo .. . "

'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 historio-
graphical 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 con-
firmed 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 inter-
pretation. 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 possi-
bility 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 to-
gether 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 con-
sciously or unconSCiously confused the "popullr" heredes who refu5e<l
bapti5ll'L md mania&t' foe /01lowus of the "leatrJCd'-1kmIgar ofToun. '7'
1l>t 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 H,_ T,;_ """ . ... ~ *' r;.n-I_ Cl"" (Munich • • \167). 97.,e. 0.. G«ud',
,_,.. tic <Otu>oCrions .... J. L.d.lCq. "5. GkmI do c..n.d et le _i<rD<.'
SliUIU _ l i u
" ( ' 91<1. ,,',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. a. c... Jt ~. • PI.
' ••. n69ll-7<>C. .... ond dixl>ued by /01;7\11 __ (' 976) . .. ,.,8. p.,. • d;1< ,pm olll<l'ftIPI •
... below. Ch. ,. pp. 'B-3 •.

,,6
 TIlXTUAl COMMUNITIF.S

incest, adul~ry, the abandonment of vows by monks and clerics, out-

rages against the poor, "and other heresies.·'''' He liller excommuni-
cated 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<i 10 48. The letters also offi-r a bridge from the
isolated outbrnks of heresy in the fillt half of the ce ntury to the more
general issue of literacy and ccform, to which ~ Shill! shortly turn.
For reasons tha.! arc not entirely clear, Roger, on finding heretics
in his d iocese, tum..o. to Waw ror advice. Certain rustici , he $aid,
were regularly attending the seeret mtf:tings of local ··Manichaeans, ·'
who engaged in a number of perverse and idolatrous practices. They
maintained rhlt they received the holy gh05t through the lilying on
of hand5, for Mani, their founder, was ··none other than the holy
spirit," $Cm to earth by God. They activdy re<;;ruited new members,
teaching them to avoid martill8e, and, ;LS an interpretation of God·s
directives, to abstain from eating meat or killing animilb. 11Iey also
transformed their uneducated disciples into models of erudition, who
surpassed the faithful in eloquencc. Roger was not overly concetned
about the seet itself, which was limited in numbers. Bur he did not
want heretical ideas to infect the whole dioce.JC. He concluded by
asking Wazo whether he should summon the seeular authorities. ' "
Wuo·s reply'~ is interesting both ror its conteot and for the man-
~. c..,.,
M .... ;, [9. H7 ' P. F.-.d<t;c.q . Don ..... 1.... Nil;."iI H_i<M "....,.. ri,~·
~. ""' . [((7""', .• 889). no. 4. p . 8.
,,, MI.IIS;, '9, H' ·
". t.mben 01 Honidd, 11 ........ , .... [OSlo MGIf ss S. ' l S' '" "',." " . ... _ R. ..dl
.. ~). '7_6 ono! f<Jt ......... ;n, ...pcno';""., a.,.... (I 9H), 7 ["4 .
'" G<Ju I!I;" id _ u..m.,;" Co 6" MGH ss 1. »6-'1. A. Flith<. u ,,_ .'4,.;,....
W>I. [ (~, '9'4 ). " )· '4"2. ,.,....., d;/fo",,« ;n Ih< «<run"; bv., ... R"...ll ( ' 'I6S).
'78.19>}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$( be cut off
in their ptime. Christianity I.bhon such "Arian" sacrilcge; nonethe-
less. following Chrillt's aample, it must be endured with meekness
and humility. As Grcgory says. Abel's grace rcqu.ired Caio's mali~:
to produce wine, the grape must be trodden underfoot.'" In general.
behaviour towards heretics ought to be guided by the puable of the
wheat .nd the tart'$.'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 commen-
Cllton. In most respeCt. Roger's is the standard complaint: the dissi-
dcnts 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 com-
munity. 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. ." }jot, I).n·)?,
... c;.".,. <. 6•• p. 226. H·)6.

."
 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 e-
fence 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<b ... a. L. 8<_. Tk/J~flott . .>I Std] i. Mt4iw.I £al<J;"~Of}a ( Ptioc< .
<OIl. ,968).20"/-0<).
", G",. , c . • 8 , iMJ., "", .
... /~.• <. 40. ",,., I . "'" ("""'" 01<,';11. le< E. <k "''''''..,. H;, _ .. re,l", .. BJ,.,.., •
• Dd ed. (Ilnw<II, ,>;104,), ..... . , J4-P; f. Amman. ··W_do ,","p:. on; " .', 3" "" 4 .
'" ... ft<qutnt .....,1(Ih-«"<rtul")" t.bd fot d.,.l;"". o><d ..... port..p lOt , ... 6... " .... ; ...,
R. N.,...,IIi. ··U .. d<>i8nuion< doll· ....... co,.,a; ·AniI .. H.,<si. ," •• BIS 68 (19,6), 'H·46;
Y. Conpr ... ·Ani.,.. .......;,. _ dtoi ~ .. ,ion d. n.ro.n.nict.titrn< ... xn< ,ilx":· RSPT
4' ('9S9). 449"6,·
- GDw, c. 6" i!Ul.• " 1, I..... 11 .nd 18 .
"'/IOJ.• '27 . 4'-4;.

'49
 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 under-
went 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 govern-
ing 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 OUt-
bursts 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 idol-
atry. But tht question of initlltion, educatlon, and theological dis-
cussion did noc esape the ..ttention of Paul of St. ~re or the aoon-
ylllOWl miser of the GGI4 Sy-u A.rd'hiuir. In both, a group aperienct
bu :d on the interpretation oftnu ..od organited 15 sectarian behav-
iour was framed within aia.rger political and theological debate. Her-
esy, 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 dis-
sent and reform beclme more complex. Throtlghout the larer elev-
enth, 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 or-
ganization, 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 de-
IIIIUlded .. 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 CQffi-
munilies" on a larger sede? And do fa.cton; of communication, if
5e(.>IllIItNi from , dogmatic contat, offer .. buis for rompan5Qtl br-
tween the internal organization of berttica1 and orthodox groups?
Of coune, the twO sons of communities shared a nwnber of atti-
tudes towards the uses of literacy. Tbe leaded engaged in interpreta-
tion, either of the Bible, the &'then, earlier legislation, or, in the
case of heretics, tUt. (mm other 5I)Ul'CeS. Tbe groups' memben fre-
quently had twO principles of organUatioo, a fonnaI, IIttkuIated "ruIe"
and l1li, inner set of beliefs whkb, while not violating its dicta, none-
theless chanlKlINi energies towards certain aspects of the ascetic, med-
ittdve, 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. There-
fore, within each side, learned and popular sensibilities emerged.
Even more than social organization, the rUe of a more licente so-
cief:y influenced the bias of the sources. Commentttors, who had from
the fint a tendtnq- to intell~u.diu di$lli<icnce, responded to the new
complexities by l'XttMing and deepening the historical context. As
more became known about ancient heresies and the o:#ly church,
chroniclers also became more inclined to dlllllCteriu both heterodox
and onhodox groups as offshoots oi movements in the distant palt.
Dissatidaction, in .. 5enst, .... ith coatemporary events W1lS I. main-
spring of intellectua.l progress, inspiring leserch into ecclesiastical
hisrory. But the infonnadon ptod~, instead of liberating inrerpre-
mioD from palt models, often led medieval authors to Kcount for
unpiec:edented changes with patently inadequate upJanatory mecha-
nisms. Two phenomena existed side by side: on the one hand the
beliefs of che participanu that andent heresies were ac::cually being
reborn or that reformers _re imirating the " -,y'_ pmtitro.u takJifu,
and, on the oUKr, the interpretations of eJl;tcrnai observen, which
[inlrnJ the ,,=tIfW and the • JI ,.; in ioo:mal evolution. In other words,

."
 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 Ireor
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 lily-
men 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 move-
ment's de.::line following the death of its lay leader, Erlemhald, in
IOn·
The Pacaria was a perhaps inevitable consequence of social and re-
ligious 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. _ Go;"':' ••• s.oo •• "..dj,ion< ,..1I0'nbo< ,.,.:. II!S ;6 h964). 99-1'~ .
• P. Ztttoi. "Akuni riOt>!,..j • proop«t;'" dj ric<m. ",1100 ......... I~"" di Milano d ollo &...
dd oecoIo XI 01 '['0,·· Po I'd '" S"",, "'if;"" r ' ,,,u. et,,; (Como. 1971). I~ .
, C. Violon, •• L. ",jujj ';1.-. .00\ <d. (1970). 19 . A full biN"""""" of Mi/on·, n><ot ......1
hi ....,. '"""_ be OItm\pted here. I'<x tbo ... ndord """"n'.... ,11< """,lOOtiom of G . Boprt'i
U>d £ . ..,.... '" .hoS"",, Ji Mu" ... 001. >= t),Jf""""...... """"" .Jf~ rill . ... ,, . _,,
(49).'0<»1 U>dolG . 11".; ... wI . ~,o.,l; .[Widi_. .. .Jfi ......... " , - . B","""'u
( roo •• " 1'). bo>:h publioh<d in Milon. 19101. A I>ri<f«, """" _",.....:IT i.G. Oik ... " Vi<
E.oIJI";'''I''/~ i"ir' ... Eiw ~;," /)."",d• • (AalM, I~): ",,",
on oo<iol .. met." in ponicw.:, ... 'h< """""''''' of H . Ktlloer • •. 0;. OOlI;'1t und 1"'1;,;':10<
V<tfuwna M';1ond< in den AnIitop dn k""""unolon Lobe ..., z., ri .... '" <><u<n Buch Ob.r di.
En"",,,,,,,, d<t Iombudi",,"'n Stodll.:>"'''' ...... ·• H;""'iM.M Zuudwift 111 ([ 910), ~-60. n..
..".. ..... Ioot pun ,11< i _ in brood po_';",,;n •• I'>ufio""" Sb<I""f... ~, Stodt~moi..d<

'H

"
 TIIXTUAl. CO MMUtHTlES

countryside and town. The abolition of heml.itary labour services, the

fteeing of J""
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 cen-
tury, 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 mer-
chants, 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
.....J llWm: M,iland;m .! ....... ;"""~. ; n inJ . I'I<ckenotrin . od_. 1_.,,,,,;,.0,1 R.....
-1_, "")0; ra. bibliQ8raphy, ... p, ,14Jl9. om...,.,..w utid•• at no.. i.duclo A.
&.Wo. - Po"1 ",iot .. ",icll< "'u·.... ~ • --..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, -a.: .... "1 iar,", drll< <i<t/I italion< nd/'o!to
Nodi<> 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'"= n . . . 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" e ; is<unJI .... '966). '91'j>0; G, C.
Mor •• 'Cw ....................... m !wie du VI .... Xlk ,ioklo," CU'"_" ,M"". IJ, K
put;' ~h, '968), )9')·.'IJ; 0Rd H_ Kollft, -0.. Gmdoo_ in oI>M .. lieBiocheo ur><l
~ Sdd ..n. Un«nUdl~ wr Srdl".... .... So..!. im 11 .. ,sdWOC... ,....... dcsll<pum
ltallau>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", ... !..< _ ""'-n. 7 .....

'H
 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 out-
side. Ecclesiastia WeN' also proprietors of the slttlionei which mer-
du.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 in-
sranee, in l..andulf Senior·s words, archbishop Arihere was "the father
of OrphalU, the dergy's ornament, and the protector of widoW$. pau-
pers, and merchants.· .. By the Hotly eleventh (entury upW2rd mobility
wu calUing particular difficulties for tWO dasses within the social
hierarchy. the C2pitanei and the ,,*vasours. The ,apitand were nobles
who5e tsralts lay in the countryside iust outside the dry. Vassab of
the archbishop, they monopolized decision-making in Milan through
an intricate n<.'1work of marriage:s, property transactions, and N'ligious
alliances. Although claiming investituN' 1.$ ",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 Ari-
belt of Intimiano. The $On of wealthy parents in Como," h~ was
• Y. Ileoouatd. LD ../k J'I""_ .. 14 /0. u X,U«k"".m." '" XIV, 1.1<. «I . P. Brou...mn
( htio. '9'\9). ""'. 1. p . }II~ .
• V'olol",. U ~ .i'->. 80.
' H""';" M.fflo' it '·3'. MGH SS I. p. 69, d . bdo",. p. ,8&f.
o Amulr al Nilo<! . G_ A ......·" , . ... N""""'-..... , .• 0. "'GH SS 8. p. 9' Londuif.
HitIWU '.'7 . pp. H-'.; Viola .... u,..;,u ";~" 178 .
•• A . V _ i . ··Ili«1<h< ",I diri"" pubblico "'il ...... n.Wolto mtdi.....o: A-'i,J,lI4 u..;_
_ i~ Jj 111_ _ , ( ' 9.8) •• ".-129' ....."N<,."ilf<ll<"J.x N«Iiolmo:· mJ.• I (19'9). 'n ·
96. Cf. Violotl ••• .,.d<.. ' 70-7' • ..-.I. in broodet pottp«ti.... G. Tobo«o. "/I ..,"" i,oli<o nei
oecoIi IX·XI." in 0rJi .. ""i .,ilirm '" 0,, · ' ,. wlt J .. '.,," (5,<11,,,. ,968). 78 ,-14 .
.. Y. Rt......"j. lA Jli/.kI J'II#_. I. ,8.4.8,. U . G. C. NOt. ~ .. ..,..,....,.""...
4.6 • ..-.1. fot. btin tn"i ... al If>< oocio[ ctu.ifi<><iom. H. Kdl .... ··Pawi. un:! S.." ' ..rfuou"'"
.. . :.''1_,8.
" See C. Mo.natn.i . ""Notiz", ",11. hmi, l;" dei!""",i ... """,, Ati"""" do. In' im;""'." A"'m.
~~. 49 ('9"). '94-,6·

'"
 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 three-
fold. 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$lIive emperors fmm interfering in Milan's internal affairs. allying
himKlf with Coorad between 10:<14 and tOH and frustmting his ac-
temptS to crwh the city after 1037. His powerful leadership wail also
capable of ovuridirl8 class tensions: when t1un.tened by Conrad, elves.
WVJ$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 privi-
leges, 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 dis-
gruntled vawsoUt5, Arihert by striking an a!!iance against them be-
tween the capital"l(i ....d the eives. When the vaVJ$OUt5 linally revolted
in ro~" both parties appealed to Conrad. Tht substquent imprison-
ment and escape of Aribert and the "mimculoU$" 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

. ,.,.,
., H.f.) . c-dtcy. "AId! ;,t-p Arib<n 11 of Ni..... " Hm., " (,966). 4 .
_ .• ,. 7·
., N GH Dip' '_4. no. 244. pp. ,,6-n; c-dtcy • ....m.• ,0-,'.""". in 8 - donil.
V......... u ua.u ";'-. 24'-".

,,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 mi5inter-
prtt1ltion. A resourceful and du.rismatic leadcr, he nonethe less suf-
fered from stubbornness, a lack of diploma<:y, Il1d a hunger fur per-
sonal power. Historians havc viewro him from "'t~~ positions: thc
cighteenrh century s.aw in him a champion of civil [ibereie!. the ninc-
teenth, 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 mag-
netism, 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 $latus quo. By all a<:C(lunu the archbishop
had tOO much ~rsonal powcr. After Conrad's death and the aC5truc-
tion by fire of the imperial pala<:e at Pavia, the ItWgimi of the corpo-
rations of skilled craftsmen like the mintcl'$ came to depend less on
royal authurity and ffiOl'C' aM more on his patronage. Eveo the Vi5-
count 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 prewm-
ffiunal 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 <OftOKl«anl, non .H"",m .n;mum .
~ /..ondulfSmkoo:. HiswU. 2. ". p . ~; ... bclo.r. pp . • fIg(.
.. a. VH>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 pre-
sented 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., ' }7-,8.

" V;oJa" .. , "La paI"i<o hili... di brim III pr ..... doll..... diIC<M ift "ali. ( 'O)9-'I046).~
f,
,,_
in S,Ji JJJ4, .......i<l ,
.
rI<. s.ri<U. _ ..... .Jjo i .. %,j. od. P. ;r..rn; (MU"", ' 972 ~

.. u ....... .,;_, .6,~ .

"C_,ii"';- _ ._ MIIii /llll1IIiuI f ,,_*"
... I~ _ S"'jI ,.... 4. 1. p. " ; Vio/an,., •. ,;,. , .6.,.
'r " '" " . " , .., (, 067). i ..

"~a
 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 hold-
ings 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 re-
former, 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 bish-
ops of Vercdli, Crcmon., .nd Piacenza. '" But he was not .~ med-
dling 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 die-
ceH'. In contrast to Ravenna and other north Italian towns , it had
been virtually uninftuenccd by ouuide reformers, including Clu-
nillO. H The patronage of monasti c houses depended on the arch-
bishop: 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
-n._. ,8-."" w..
.. Viol"", •• u.,..."... " Hnhin un.;nn ... hhuin N"In on laho
du ,to IU 'J< ...10.- ). ~ Golf. «1 ., HirlJia It~. '76-77 .
"u. ~ _""-. 34 .
.. H .E.]. Cowdrey, Th< CI••Un iN ,,,, G,.,..... If</- ro./Otd. ''''7<'1. ,~~~"' .
.. Viob.n",. u. ,..,.,.... ont-. 6. ) 0.
.. Viokn«. HAspnri dol .. polirka ;tJJimo d; Enoo. JJJ .. . :. '"
,. 1J.iJ., 278.
"u.""....;. -u-..).
" P. Z<rbi, "M_ri. m.:.ma.
Mi...... - A ..... ' . ('9S0). ' 16.
.. Violan", u. ~ on~., ' 9")<" ; CDwdrey, • At<bbj,hop Arib<n 11 ," 4" .

'"
 TSXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Henry', eyes, monastic li'-t.r.s was a byproduct of ill1 rrpi, The ilp-
poinrment of Guido da Velilte ,.., pLtt of a bro.der tef"mm pro-
stamme: it increased me emperor's real. inlluence in Italian ecdesias-
tial 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 de-
clam:! the fuedom of the Milanese church from ill internal hieran:hy.
The Pararia, then, had its roots in the social conllich of pl"l'-COm-
munal 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. Ac-
quittt.!. 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 si-
mony. 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 can-
ODS 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:! them-
sclVt'J official enemies of the Parard. Ariald and Landulf wen' e:ro)m-
municatt'd. But the tWO journc:yt.!. to Rome, and, in response to tbeir
appeal, Hildebrand and Ansc:lm of Baggio, then en route from Ger-
many hack to Italy, wen: -enr to MilAn as plpa.llegates. The IJlPlUCnt

"G. T.u...bo<h. CJ.wrj. S_"'CIIriAiM S..., M "" Ti_tl"" ,_ _ ':-'. ,......

JI.. P......... (0 bd. '_I. 8,-38. Pl" "; G. I ' ." Th' c. """ hlltiIt _ . . I""";"
_ . 6c>-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'llge<! the PatlUCn~ and d~p­
ened the alrt:ady wide gulf sepal'llting the archbishop and the reform_
ers. On his election in 1059, Nicolas If sent Anselm and Peter 0.-
mian on another miuion. Guido panicked and raised a large crowd in
defence of Ambro:sian autonomy. But the sincerity and goodwHl of
Peter mmian prevaile<!, and the Milanesc church agrtt<i to penance
aoo compromise.,6
A new chapter wa$ opeoffi in 1001 when Anselm was cleaed pope
in ~fiance of the impHi:al taction, which, acting on behalf of Henry IV,
named Honorius 11 anti_pope. As Alexander n, Anselm appointed
Erlembald, the brother of the de<t'utd Laooul( Corta, as his personal
representative in Milan, while the archbishop looked more and more
to the emperor and to the feudal aristocracy for support. Two churches
existed, the cathedral and the Canonica: the people, alternately indted
by both sides, attacke<! the houses of both married priestS and reform_
ers. T he Pataria spread ro other centres, including Pavia itself. In
1066, Erlembe.ld went to Rome aoo presented his view of the situa-
rion to Alexander, who responded by txrommun icatifl8 Guido. On
heating the news, the archbishop summoned a great throng at Pen-
tecost and presente<! his fate as an insult to the venerable traditions
of the MiJanesc church. In the ensuing tumult Ariald. was gl'llvdy
W1XIflded. The mob attacked Guido's palace, s~king revenge, but wa$
driven back by his mercenaries. Guido then forbad all ··reformist"
preaching in the dty. Ariald and Erlembald left Milan for Rome, but
were attacked once again en route. Ariald was murden.'d shordy af-
terwards near lake Como by Guido's niece and her henchmen. His
body was suhsequently r«overed and returned to Milan on 17th May
1067 in a hugh procession led by Edembald.
With Ariald martyred., Guido had few friends left. Along with
many nobles he fled the city. Erlembald assumed complete power. In
a lengthy illfdress he appoinred. thirty laymen to oversee the conduct
of the Milanesc clergy. The pope, naturally uneasy over lay control,
decreed by way of compromise that Ariald was to be canonized, Guido
reinstllted, snd the sins of simony, nioolaitism, otnd violence con-
demned.. Further, he emphasized, the church of Milan was henceforth
to be subordinate to Rome. Unfortunately, the admonitions did not
COffeet Guido's ways. Wishifl8 to retire, he recommended as his sue-
ecssor the palace chaplain, G<>dtfrey. Henry IV named him arch-
.. So< C. Som;5li, ·"Son Pi«ro Duni.,.. • 1& P....ei. (RelWoni < om;";';"),·· s~. Pi..- ~;"".

oJ IX tt1I-';' MlII--. r l01i_191il. 0<11 . J «:.0<"" '97)). "n·oo6·

 TEXTUAL COMMUNITII:5

bishop, but EdembLld once again directed his followers no< to I'K-
ogniu a 'imoniac. M papal gonfalon he seized the material goods of
the church, while Godefrey, unable to enter the city, took up resi-
dence 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 Er-
lembLld'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 at-
tempted 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 move-
ment llDd the qu~l between ..mperor and pope took its plac.. in the
larger conBict over investiture. By the first decade of the twdfth cen-
tury 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 me!"
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 move-
rncnr"s founder wriuen sometime larc in 1075 by Andrnr of Strumi.
Amoog odJCr contctnpotary chronicles spccilJ mention should be made

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

.,,; C. V _. *Amollo. " 01';-;' J.'., I .,Ii
'"'_ Nil" ........... J (l,(urum. " , , ). S<>7'
;,.!;..; ., ,8,-6, .
.. Gel .. ' . ' , "" . " ".. ,..... ipa; .idcndo .... _i",w", a. ,. ' 0 , p .• 8: """" l a ....no
adb...: ........ '" in ocaolis . .. :'
.. M.rud.... .,.,;,.• " ".
.. P. li.m..... ··A...t"" do ......... (do S""",;)," Oi, . ;, ...• ,. Ill.

,6,
 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 develop-
ments 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<Iri (B<rlin, 19")2) . 22_2} .

.. Cl. o. ~i ..";. "'S<orios..6t. < ,;tOtm. dolll. <h;".. HI luli. (AmoIfi:>. 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 aliena-

tion 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
a period foe writing, he _tt"never existed in the city's past, dther
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,.." Through-
OUt, he ,.indicates the role of the capiranei, justifying their preroga-
tives 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 de-
scribes 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;."

.. a . V_. u t " iN ""t-. .. ; H. ~ .J. Coadt'j, "1"bo ........,. <!It " - " ' - &nod
<!It Churdt of Milan," T...." CL ( ... R". H~ S..,. ,rh _ . ,8 (,96/1). H-" ,
.. ~ ' . ' .)'P. 6-7· " ,W.. 7. "I. .. . I .B. p. •. .. , . ... I. ). p. 7·
.. 'W.• I. ,. p. 8. .. ,.... 1. 10. p. 9.
"'1>'"_
" I. .. , • . I , )'P. 'l"idftn outando. """; j ' p"'" 1UK<pi"'...."
"/~.. 2.«. ,. U. " 'W.. •.8. p. I•.

..,
 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:'" ··what-
ever 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_.
,. A<axdin8 '" Am"lf. Aribm""...... oil nnk. '" _ic" to tah "" I t " " • •• ,6. p. • 6:
.'.. . i"bot ,Ik<> con..... , ... od . - om .... lLmbrooi.... ",,,,,,hi.. iOo<OW .,,"" ,_ _ ••
.....iro ""!"< od mil',"",. ob i""F< """'" od di"tm>. Ul in 1&0.. <»ho... po,,'''''' t\l<felur ob
_ . " Y. R<nOoW"d, Us >iu.. ;/uI". '110, .... rhis u • moniffttat;"" '" ..... ,..., ... _ _ :.
- _ ' ... <oil,,"":· 8 ... il ,. _ _ i"l! ,hol A'nul( ' - ' ,ht >am< rhttori<oI 'op<><.1K--
wbct<, for <>&mpl •• whtn Aribor1 ... , ...... ao",i... by Conrod (> . u, p. ,, : ··k« NtdiQIo·
..,..;.....,.,1.. iot.orn>il .;oi,... _ i o .id..... 1''''''' doIoN .. 8''''''''' • pu<ro ""IU< od
1<fJ<m)," .od wht. ht <&«p<d to Miw. HMI. : •• .. . cui vm;""! ""0 """"i, <ivi,.. i,. ,It.ril,
... ....." doni;"'" mul;", """ "d... , tiro pra:: Soudioo <uni ..",.. )." U. UtidtI!{, H;,wW ' .9,
p. So. "·' 7; Arod ..... 0( Stnuroi. V .... $. JI""!Ji. , . • S. MG Il SS lO. >, 107' . 7·' 4.
"Gtl... , ' . 16. p. ,6: ··.,....idmo 'u«m aKhi<pis<opus f ....... m opp«"II .....m . . .
.. 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 vu-
sus 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 Pa-
faria. 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 situa-
tion 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-<!. a.nd
were deprived of God's glory"·6o> 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, Ar-
nulf 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'''' <urn oopi"";"'" li..." mul",""" <On«pi. Of...,..", ."
"I..,., ... . . ;~ I"'P"Io _i, .. i ........ " ( - <I<rum) .

.. Cl. Co VioI&nt<, "I w<i ""I mooi ...."", pourillCl, - i. $u.Ii, od. P. Zo<bi. 164H.
.. c"", ,. to, p. '9:".. . dum li~ _ _ ttuclio, ..... ,iotim'" OM diYi".. le,i. foe ....
i .... , ..... , oo",~ .. in <~ JOIos iudi<i • ."
" IA'.: " .. . fomiliori, ei ... 60. .... _r..' .. lA'. .. lid.

,6,
 TilXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Amulf, then, does not ~ the Patari. lU • popular mm'Clncnl but

as an aample of sectarianiMn. It _ only "popular" in its conse-
quences, 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 be-
twern 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 .... ... -

,.u.
"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, ,.

• 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 im-
inte his ~formed. way of life.
What can we learn from this sermon~ Amulf mllinrains that Lan-
dulfs pteaching was deliberately "arranged" for the pel"$uuion of the
unsophisticated (,~ndoIUlIJlr i1l /JOPJllo)." While his point of view i5
undoubtedly biased, it canont be denied that the It'Xt, at least as he
presenu it, exhibits careful organization. It contains thtee sections,
an introductory sentence, a short exhortation to tn., audience, and a
lengthier didactic message.
Above all, his statement is personal, individualistic aoo affe<tive.
"'I cannot:' he lIlyS, "any longer hold back t~ sermon couceived in
my htllrt. "" The phrase JtmM i1l amk ro1l{'tP'1II suggestS a charismatic
gift dO$tly allied with the accivity of interpretation. TM words .... hich
follow a~ the U'Sult of his own reliection Of! the gospels IlfKI. on the
moral state of the clergy. Landulf takes pains to hide his individWl]ity
behind twO rhetorical topoi: as a young man <p./Jil(!lmu), he appeals to
his eldel"$ (smionf), and, as one untrained in public speaking (imp.rri-
IUl), he ash indulgence lOt: his lack of style. But, hllving thus dis-
tanced. himself by this introductory flourish, he immediately involves
the audience in tne di5COUTSe and in rho! prog~ of his inner thoughts.
He reaches out to the people 00 theit own level, making him5tlf a
bridge between the lettend and the unlettered. "'Tell me:' he adu,
"do you believe in the OM and th~fold God?" They answer, "We
believe!"' "'Then make tne sign of the CIl.lS$." They do .1g Both ora! and
geuura!, this revivalist give and take between pr~h~r and audience,
which th~ reduction of the t~xt to Ladn undoubted.ly t~nded ro sup-
press, ha.s the efkct of welding the tWO inro a sinBle unit. It also
establishes a bond, if somewhat impermanently, between the mem-
bers uf the audience, who, despite Arnulf, ~rception of them as a
mass, probably represoenud. dilfemlt economic and S(lCiaI strata. Through
Landulf, Wtlrds they all participate in the 5ame religious event.
O~ the rapport is established, Landulf is fue 10 deliver his mes -
sage, which has two parts, one prophetic, the otner penitential. The
MilaMSe, he claims, a~ headed for ruin. They wande r aimlessly, un-
"G.... , .11, p. " .
.. IUtI.• '9: " ... ",n':'plum in cord. ..rtIIOO<III .l'n non nloo. ··
.. , • . "" ,he <ul' 01 ,,,. , _ , ... Violo_, L. ~ ";1.._, "9-'0.
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

aided by the MStigiA tJtril4JiJ. In order to find the right pathway they
rouse uke tbe le.<! in cocte(ting ecclesiastic.l .bURI and above all
ru£iUiJ ill. ,,-iAu. Landulf te(ognizes that the problems relatc to
both the countryside and the rown: the bad priesu in hu vicw mUlt
be deprived. of their goods whether they are found ilt IIrlJt "" t:1tMf.-
He is nor afraid of SUtet language: tbe violations are JIIIF'" the forms
of worship &.IIIi"", JUmw", tbe churches illJrrmllJfJl1ll pr_tpiA. But n0-
where does he suggest thlt the IIICrarnents themselves are ine/liea-
cious. Finally, his harsh worW are deeply petsOnali1.ed. Although he
is not one of the people, he speab to them as if he were. He delights
in their piety aDd suffers in their sins (tUknKw . •. R.tior). He too
has sinned.: IV plKtnul. ,bml .lJIfIJfJfli. And, through dramatic New
Testament imaa;es of darknm and light, be takes upon himself an
apostolic role, asking like St. Paul that hu lutcnen imitate him (mu·
tilt_"; aJtII,), following not so much specific doctrines but an entire
way of lift: v;..:: .. 1JIU11"")."'
From the sermon Amulf turN to the mowment iuelf, which, as
he saw it, was largely composed.. of laymen who rallied around Ariald
and Landulf eitber for religious or rnateriaJutic reasons."' In subse-
quent chaprers he increasingly identifies this lay lWOCiation with an
innovative legalism which easily Cf05SeS the Buid boundary between
heresy and reform. I. Social and cultural facton are intermingled.: on
the one hand, " the people, ahlfll.Y. eager for novelty, w~ aroused
against the clergy . . . "; on the other, they were drawn together by
the preKhing of Ariald and Landulf, who incited. tbeir minds, "'al..... ys
proposing new and unheard of ideas through subtle discourse. "I.j The
winds of change blew in the leaden' dirtttiOll and they wasted no
time in pandeting to the people's tastes (wlp _). On numerou.s
occasiolU legalism worlcc.:l the other way and the cathedral dergy op-
pos!d the .cfouners with Krilflll'M d kllldi_ r.._it:.u, but to no
avaiL"' Association finally led to sworn agr«ment and to "iolence.
After the dash at the Rom.n forum on loth May IOH , Landulf.set

""-j." . p. '9-
.. IW.. 19' - ~n ... ;",;u,-. ..,.; ___ • catiooimi. et itI In'bulau. oi<u< hobo!io Iormom
"""""'. -
.. 'W. , }.... p. ' 9.
.. CIa ,hA" rh.,.....ioa. ... O. c.p;...., "Star",S' !j. • riIOnna dol .. dI .... ia Ir.lia
...... ,6-].06,~ .

. ,....
.. Wt.o }_11. r· '9_
 TEXTUAL COMMUN ITI 6S

up his own Irgu for the diocese, which were $ubsequendy enfo~ed by
lay "igil.nres. 1I6
The ideological separation between derics and laymen was com-
pleted at Fontancto in November of the mne year. "TMre, Landu!f
,""iled tbe bishops, especially the archbishop of Milan; he raged fu-
riously against the derics but wlllmly .ppr~ ofl.ymen as his breth-
ren." Amulfs llltlguagc for describing tbf, huesy is remini5Ccnt of
Gerard of Cambra.i: Landulf, in his view, was merely a mastcr of
"simulation and dissimulation," adqlt at manipulating a popular crowd..
And the people responded by swn.ring "a common oath," which was
later enjoin«! upon the entire lay and n:ligious community. From
within the movement onc llso ftcIJ that boundaries ",me being fixed.
For example, '"from that period a b.nd of men and women accom-
panied (l.andulO, stayed by him, and guarded him dRy and night . ..•,
Arnulfs distaste for the lay clement resutf1.ced after Landulfs death,
when admittedly Erlembald took up his brother's cause out of personal
conviction and fraternal dCV<ltion." But what WII.S good fut laymen
was bad for the dergy: "while a l'yman judgC<!, the dergy WII.S pun-
ished ..... It follows that Amulf sees the lay community of c1evcnth-
centuty Milllll as a popular moo, impermanent and unsrable in
composition,'" abruptly bringing about changes without reference to
Mi l.n', past." He describes the people as a tlll"ba, turiHl," or ',,111111-
111.(;9' /l4l6ri" in his vicw m<:ans ~Nrb.sti~.!>4 He also th rusts onto
laymen's shouldet$ 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,.
.. 11oiJ. • ). p. '0. .. 1_. .. INJ. , ,.16, p .• !. .. IhNI. • ...

.. E.,., in d>< riot ,. P.... ..,."., [066. '.'0. p .• " '"Sod mo .. ..., popul ... _ diu "",u
~[<Odom:'
.. E., .• J. n, p. 19: popul....mp" ..idus no.orum: , .6. P.lo: Suocepcuo ft, J><"«"l JJJ.
( .. Go<oftoduo). <1<.., et _In. "'_ "'"""""'...-utn .. osJi", •• ido.
"181., ,. [~, p. >0; , ,'0, p. • "cf. • . [8, p. [6; ' . [9. p . [7' l .". p.• ,.
" IW. . p. >J ; , .'0. p. 'J; d. ' .,. p. n; 2. ... p. I, .
.. IW., ~., [, 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... i<ulorly nl ... bI< .........."
<0<"1 ... 1Ot\>dic< is A. FN!""i. -Duo Khedo: ·P ... """" ,·P.....in"': " IllS 6, ( ' 9,,), "9'".

~ .;1 " [~ • . Nu""",,,. i. _

of Ariold .. ,.;.; ""i""";; G. Cnoooo. ··PowU: .,." < _

I.
8 ......n <lIio dt<i.....,., m-lkrl. m.l1icll< OIl tIIt~ · _iol "'ili ....: d. Violll\,.. 1...0
, _ ,Ieo< ,h< 'Nth wh<n It< ipOIIr aI ,t.. ioJ!oo..<n
(.ra .... i<t. ",.mlll.- Rioi,.. "'14
,..,;. M~ ~;" 1t./...8 ('97~), )H"S,
.. lid. . J .'). p .• , . et. , .,. p. , .

'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 gen-
era.J e«lesiastkal abuse than a point of litigation opposaI ooween
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 'MJ,
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 de-
void 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 dom-
inated 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 uium-
pliantly 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
"'1Nl.. ,.1 7. p. 22 .
.. 1» f ';"'-"Rlipcu" <0 Copi"";'. "-..M." ..,... I" ..... _o1«i .. III ........... I~ Eotel ....;
"'to, ...." ' - c ,'( , .. dtllo<*'_ IR I..... " p. ,60. ,60-6, ......Jwssioo.
- 1".- is rcstricud IQ oh< """.... ~ _ .. ,.... La, P.9; ', '9. p. 11 .
.. ,'".• 1.'0, P. 9: "1am ... 1m~ ... Go,e(,cdo ~ ...!Ut;' ........ q"; ......... '
__ . . .
pon .... f ,......" .
.. , ,7. r pal ..........
" ...... 8' ..... ' .. J" . ' :10: eo.......
- I.....t...o: ...""
·
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 <IooRi....... 0fDIIi ...... _ ' " I..... _ 01 ........ ..,;",""'. U................. ...
qoidoom wbb rnllitft. . . ..J, U IUDlnari, <Ionado llliuo lMidi&motur .,..nbooa •...t.......
ipown ...... <01 i ·.... ' ... ..

'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: im-
1Qt;>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$CS social boundaries: Lanzo, "a well-born
knight of the city, nonetheless preferred the plebeian mob.""'. And,
indignant .t his action,. the nobility became united as a knightly
class . "~ The blood spilt on Mi lan's Stt~t corners and back lanes fore_
shadows the Pataeia, but by 1057, when Ariald begins preaching, the
insurgents have anchored their aspintions in the firm brdrock of ec·
c1esiastical reform.
In book thm-, SKllrian rivalry based on articulated institulional
diffiorences n:placc:s the cult of pc'nonality, only to be sUpc'ucded in
books four and five by rhe legal authority of the papacy. Written
legislation hall thereby worktd itS way up Amulr, historical S(ale from
the lowest sO(ial to the higheSf ecclesiastical sphere. Individuals re·
main importllnt: as Amulf 5<:iCS it, the PatateM agitation began with
Henry m's wilful decision to appoint Guido .la Velat e fO the see of
Milan over the head, of the cardinal clergy. But other conAicts an:
just beneath the surfate. The pri11lllS MM of the clergy is dcs<ribed as
.ohilis and hlpitm; it is socially and culrurally identified with legit;.
mate authoriry aM the monopoly of insrirutional literacy. Guido, as
noted, i$ by conttlUt both unlenertd and a countryman. Throughour
Amulrs account of the PataIia, rhe gulf widens between the town and
'''lbJ. . • .6. p. '3 .
"'INJ.. • . ,8, p . ,6.
·"INJ.. '·'3, p . ><:I' "Unde
- _at< ""'. . ,
, ..
"".m. .., !.M.';'.
"""',"uo< i.... i<1I (ErIm'It.Id..) omn.ibu.
!oKiJ iwom.,uum, quos; i_ _ ... """no "'''0''''''
oNin"'" ""P" ........... _ ...
t;.,..... ·· On p~i"& (""" "_h" '0 ..dc< ....: .... "'" <k'''''' ......, .., '" c.p; ....;. '"S<o<io-
,ralia .,ift>rmo d<{1. china in h.lia." 6I~.') .
... G",• • . ,8. p. ,6 .
•• • L«.dl.

."
 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<!d "t·· with which he prefacC<.! the work.'" In Landulfs
view, the tribulations of his own day were brought about by a twofold
evil. The church was w~etll'd from OUl$ide by the Patarenes' fa!.lAI
prtMiiw;olUJ. But many of its own number ent ered the clergy for
I'C'rsonaI rather than vocational reasons, thereby rendering themselves

.., Cf. W. W_nboch. a.,"'IIo .... G..md.t""",Ito;. MiluW.".. 6<h .d . 1"",l in . I~).
, ••t ' . p. '4'.
,,' I'ot . bri.f .....;"w. _ rh< iMo<Nlu< .... '0 A. (.'''',(0', «Ii.ion • .1: ..... / W _ $ .. "" b
4.1. iij·ym; and. OII.iewo '" Aribon in ponicolro,. Violan, •• E.. ..mu .,;"'_• • 67-79.
·.. '.m..... ,..,.; __ ("Won. n.d.). ¥OI. >. p. 4S: qoot<d bjI CutOlo. p. , .

... Cf. Vi%.nt<. E.. :w--. ",;0.-, '4·

... A. Colombo. " U ... ' ..... nfO di I.ando(fO SMiottr" A"MW JJoriro 10.1 ... )7 ( ' 9",)' 140:
..<Itri<u< .. ""'trim de otdi .......i_ '""",. mtdiolUterUi< oo:lnic .-
'" L. A. ""moi •..• r....,; di Lon<i<AA> s...o-:' lIS ' 4 ( , Il9S). 7' [l .
... Cf. O. c.p;""i. -~ •• ril'onna dell. dt.itsa in 1'-... " 5)1-67 .
•>, flIUlttI. y, ... ........,. M A~_. JOi:u. IoIGJ.1 SS 8. , .... n-
 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 recon-
struction 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"d-
turning spirituality, and a disdain for outsiden.
Landulf tailon his ponrait of Sr. Ambrose to lit rhis. dual perspec-
tive. 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 Am-
brose'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 ecclHi-
atical 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 interpre-
tation. 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 move-
menu, 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 t<d..u.." ;

.•""
~•. ' . 2, p. Ja. In.. .... ' .. ocict>cio. <\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. I.,. l J7l'
'442, ..illl "'blOcS phr. '.3,..•• .
•,. Hil"';' 1. 1, p. H , H'P. ~. 3: - I" principio .... ..rbum . . . ... (10 1., ); '"Sic booo ...
....,mu et ob:wt .o.mbtai... i"... .,...... do<<ora ..itni... «d<oiam 0.; . . . d;" 0< """'"
~ .. n'b. I '.1'" ' .... _
I< l ' --'iaodo.w· ........ .
"

,,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'"<i ~rd of SI. Ambrose and
the autonomy of the Milanese church is pursued in (Kher chapters of
book one, in which Landulf ca~ully Inmtngro material from his twQ
major sources, the 1r."u1s of Datius, who was bishop from ca. 5}O 10
5,2, and the ViftU Pontifio.,..· .. n.e ,esulting explanation of Milan's
ecclesiastical hierarchy is largely a justification of the status quo before
the Patarene agitations. Particularly imporcant, he maintained, was
Ambcosc's position on married pries ts, in defence of which he dis-
torted I well-known statement from De OjfoiiJ.'" TIle bishop is pic-
tured as an advocate of tolerance: he knew the frailties of the sen~s
and that all men ~re ptone 10 si n, especially from inwntincnce. No
onc, he argued, could attain chastity or virginity except through God.
The Lord did not want forced servitudt. And, in this respect, the
loWancse and Grttk churches were OM: a man could enter the priest_
hood single or married, but from that point he could not change his
status; and, if his wife died, he was not permitted to remarry. ,,6 Of
courw Ambrose had made no such statements. Landulfs argumentS
merely repcat with minor va.riations the standard responses of married
priestS to papal reform dfons. The due is his characterization of the
Pattrencs as Rome's agems. They were, he said, PstuJocbriJ/i or pJtl/-
Joprophettu, who were "about TO subvert the church of God and his
people through false doccri~.>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 t-
ical 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 : ' A~

, ....... ! ~ ,"" '9 (,89,). 119l'f.

'" v. O{fi<iis .. ,0"47. PL ,6.97A. n.. poo.iI,iI;'r 0( diH<rrn, , .." o"""'l! ,h< .. A"oId;";··
ond -NiQ,bj,i" j, ",;.et«! by F<'"". " 1 ""'i:' l 7. Ambcoso in r.c, "'toed ,,-, "",n wl>o h....
muri«l ... k • • ... n i( <fie """;.,;" ""'" ploe<> btfot< bop<;.m. COMO< bKom. prk.... lbw,
;, ;. 0 I,~ 11«) ,loo,
pli..,. _ wi.... ho .. died .... _ 1(1 ","'I")' .,.in. '"'_. j~ ~;,
.i<w. co«,jnrnc< ..... pc.K<abl<"".1t ",IiJiouo .
•,. Hi,..,;. ' . ' . p. )/I. 44-)4. _ill,ll )<r<HIl<, fI. 8. "'" , 1'<<<; ...,..
'w IHi., p. J8, )8.1" J9, '9.
 TEXTU"L COAlMUNJTU! 1l

literacy and illiteracy. ~ question for Landulf is: "'hose erudition Lt

histotically justified, and for what end5?

BOOK 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 Teu-
tons" 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<lSCd
by which a few chosen knights could come and go throug:h the city

,,. (/OJ.• 2. 10. p. 49.

'.'"
- .• ' ·"·'l. pp. 49-- ,0· ' .. I.... l .', w. 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 him-
self 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 arch-
bishop only from ,66 to ~68, .nd landulf confused the GQlhic in-
vasion 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 Hil-
duin ', son as he slept, a symmetry rcinforced by the parallelism of
··thrff nights" and ··thr~ days. " Further, Lambert's invlI$ion and de-
feat are described in terms reminiscent of the formation of a sect. His
effect on the city.is called I dalllkslina pGIU, that is, an unhealthy
inftueoce from outSide. His entry into thc l,Itban !.all(tuaty Wa$ made
possible by a ~/lJti(/IJ Ittqllissi1ll1l1 , through whose wicked mouth. lan-
dulf adds, tM devih"Vidently spoke. Finally, the nory juxtaposes not
only t~ learned and the popular but also the bishopric, as the em-
bodimcnt of the Word, .nd the uneducated world beyond. The essen-
tial contrast is not a$ in the ancients between {Own and country as
interdependent opposites of • coherent world but more simply be-
tween town and (omt, that is, between civilization and chaos. The
." L ... . m"';. ··1 foo.; .. . :. )• .
.•• Hw.... ' .', p. • 6, H·.'.

'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<ien of Milan's past, agaimt Lamben's wnrm-ftten bones, whose
flah ha bttn "gnawed off" by tavem and vultures.
If we move forward in ti~ to me accessioo of archbishop W..Jpert
in 9B, history would seem to be repeating itself. For, just as Ho-
ooratIU rescued me church from lamben, so W..Jpert saved it from
the irrational .Albert and placed. it under the tutelage of OttO I.
Walpert'S bishopr;c re-enacted many S«!laI from the early Milancse
church.'" The t~ came (rom outside: Albert, horn and raised in
France, successfu1ly drove out the Qxhs and Hungarians, then de-
iC1:nded through tbe Alps to Milan. He tOO _ a«taeted to the cit)'
Cor its ancient splendour, beloved by Ha<irian, Trajan, and even the
cruel Muimian. He prepared to enter MUan "ignoring (or so he later
claimed) that no kins had. done so since the time of St. Ambrose,
under whose protection dle cMW MJioimmuis _ decreed free ftom
intrusion by the emperor. . . . "'"'"'
But, with God's approval and Ambrose's intervention, the same
forces which saved Milan ftom Lambert protected it from Albert.
What is different in tbe two accounts il the _Iyeinl depth of the
iiCtne. The Milaneae, he informs us, feared lest the city be disturbed
by an attack (hosti.", iltami,), a civil uprising (rifIi_ f'trtmNtifl), or
some ocher depraved inventiveness (,Ji_"..",.. j"gmi_): '" that i.
to say, thql feand lID enemy without, an enemy within, or, presum-
ably, a form of political or religious securianism. Albert had dreutu
of grandeur but in time gllft them up: ·'Enntual.ly perceiving the
people's will, he made out IS if he were reasonably content .. . ; yet
he bore & wound greater than anyone inusined in his heart. " ,-t6 Once
again mere is a contrast between the old and the young: Mben',
IUIlbition of imitating the emperors is frustrated, while Walpm, al-
though still a i_is, il described. in matters of statecraft IS COIUuiio
vrMMWs. llte working out of the stol}' reiterates the ineqWllities
between the secu.Iu and religious kIIdm, W-.ipen, Und.ulf says, .sth cd
the king loya.lly for several years, but one day was falsely accused by
the " paIace dogs" who hung around Albert'. tourt. Albert, believing
the charges erut, decided to march on Milan. WaJpert, however,
knowins Alhen to be "moved irrationally," acted not with " the power
.. , /. ... a.1 6. pp. , • • ,.,. . "'I"., H. 'l-I, . '" IW . n , ,6..,.
... 1101. . u, .t-.1.
 TEXTUAL CO MM UN ITI ES

of arms·' but with "strength of mind." Uooer the p!"etCllt of ec;clesi-

asdcal 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 $Omething of a com ptom ist. On the
onc hand, the archbishop is described ILS i"iqltltJ W/IlI mwpi~;'" on the
ocher, he enfcoffi the capitanei only after sober rtflec;tion, in which
penonai ambition is weighed against larger C'thical issues_ ' ••
Chapter st~ntCt:n, in whleh Landulf, career is outlincJ, also deals
with twO scparate but intcrrcllled sets of events. Thc onc tmu the
emergence of the a~hbishop's family into a prominent role among the
nascent capitanei ."~ In this senllC it tells a small part of the Story of
the rist of an agrarian nobility wh leh has as yet 00 urban jurisdic_
rion.'" The other concerns t...ndulf Il's negotiations with the cm _
peror,'" who was anxious to stabilize his authority in both country-
side and town, .... well as with the existing urban nobility, who l'f$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 arch-
bishop, 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 •

_i
.,.. 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<ti "'" MU!" od """,""B ""'l<Uorum .. A",btooi; Iftnpoh tn<,.", .. ~ ..........""'.
r..;, ......i..i"'i> !oi<i, rn.iid i,."

..
,8,
 TBXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Landulf perceptively distinguished betwten the economic and p0-

litical forces that brought about the ntW' order.'" Under Ouo I, Bo-
niw, 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 well-
qualified 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 be-
Iieved. " 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 n.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,

.. ,...
." s..n.m.rui"ll in _

Violsat<. ~ ~. i!
.
1i>I."". •. '1. pp.
..'4''',
_.,2. '1, p . n, 2,. 2 .. . ""' .... p ...... _ _ "'...... . . .,<jIW k ~ .
" .. " I• . . . .
I. ,2, . ...,.... ,..., ,..., .... cl ~ .... . . -. .... to ....
. . lot ..., <lit ""'"' to .... -ifila .,. " feotn 'h< couaupido who -..: iNtNn'l<atol in
oidi"l iIaftiso and. later I.andWf; H ill .• 2. '1 , p. " . ~I· H. Buo .... Jat.< ..... _51 ....1 n .. ,d ,
be. ,...,m;.."", cl the ","" .... A .imi"" double ........... ' <>«Un . , '. ' 7. p. H , )1 ' 40.
'II"Il<K UndI>If ~ ... donomi...... ..oh _ oJIi;tld br :..... ,fd ... , Ibm """ to ,h< loa of
...... .d.idI.... I, N _ _ Jia. ',. by ,h<"'" ,,,,...&.;. Cl. At....If. C_ '- '0. 3"
".'" VioIant<. Lo..,;",j ';1-.. , 8, .

.,.
 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 in-
spired 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 amono-
mous church ,gainst his foes on the outside, the heretics from MO!l-
forte 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 Lan-
dulfs 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 ad-
jectives 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 epis-
copate. 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 .,.i_
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 sack-
cloth,"'" 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-
' .. Cl. VD • • c, U -o.w e H ".,,. .6G.
"'IIiJ.. ...a } . ... H _ ' _20. W. H -,8 .
... IIiJ., . ...., p . ,8 (~ n ond ' .02, P. 19 (Crn od ID.
"' I",., ' .31, p. ,8. _Zl . ... 'IiJ" ' ,' 7, 6,-66 . ,.. ,",,, " ' ), p. 60 ••6-48.
• '''> .
_ .. ' .". p . '9, '(-'1· '.. ""
_., p. '9, " -'4· '" IIiJ.. '.2}, P. 60. 4'-.6.

'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<!. his pan in
the sectarianism undermining the original ideals.
Successful against Conrad. Aribert was nonetheless defeated hy {K_
tionalism at home. Landulf was no bener than Arnulf at isolaring the
I(tual ca~ of the civil disturbances of the 10405. Yet their expla-
nations differed in significant ways. Arnulf. as noted . .saw the /JOPII/i
principally as ~hels against the legitimate order of church and state.
Landulf subtly adapted his notion of decline from a golden age of
Ambrosian polity to the need, of a !«ular controversy in which the
people by accident emerged as rhe coun of last appeal. The chief =111
helli was the division of the responsibilities of government among the
older nobility, the Ittently arrived capitane;, and the upcoming VI-
vasouu. In Landulfs view, tbe ideal ,,·as tbe period before the enfeoff-
ing of the capiranei, when the countS administered the ci ty's affairs
from their palace near the church of St. Procaxius:
" . . . Whatever was hooorahle they performed with care on the
city's behalf. If any ordinan~ was imprudently violated, they $t'ttled
the matter wirh zeal and wisdom. If an unjun act was committed
against anyone. they immediately saw to a trial for making amends
and giving satisfaction. They helpcrl orphans, as.sisted the suffering,
aided wid~, and nourished the homdess . . . . All merchants, peas-
ann, fieldhan<h, and herdsmen looked after their affairs and d erived
a sure living from their own commerce. Univer.sally prosperous. solic-
itous of the rights of churches and. of cleric$, all lived in peace . . . ,,'m
But this harmonious stare of affai rs did not last. From "evil 5OU/aS,"
whose origins Landul( could not trace, the older nobility little by
litde ceded their honoun and privileges tu ··the novel capitanei,·· until
at length, ··strippcrl of their highest offi~ and mindless of reverence
(or the ancients as well as their own forehears,"""'; they had their
functions m;\l,Iced to mere ceremonial. The loyalty and respe<t which
the common people were accustomed to give to the nobility fell to
." 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<i . .. :.

,8,
 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<! prisonen and lefr their bodies
in the gutt~rs to rot. The commoners, LaDduif notes, fought with
better strategy but no lcss cruelly. No day passed without brurai
confrontations within the city or just outside the gltes. In rime, the

". I.... p. 6,. '4"7 .

•,. WJ. • p. 6" '7" "
·n liiJ. , p. 6,. ".24' ". . . P"I",1o ,",,,,, ... mo.iota pn> !ibmo .. o<quIm>do prod_.
'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
 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 sponta-
neously; it i, a byproduct of the vacuum in leadership after Ihe no-
bility'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 cle-
ment. 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

ecclesiastical _i_.
older values that were once the unique prerogat ivt' of the lay and

The role of the laity. now firmly establi5htd, is further emphasize<!

'" IW. • p. <>.. l·7 .
... IW .• p. 63. '1 : " .. . duld .. iudiRno monem.id<tt q""m .i,.." 'ummo <um d«k",,,
duo, """am . .
", IW. , p. 6" "'}6: " . •. """"I", mm. .i,am in man;t"" fore. ""3;' Hmi,_
..""..., quo'" ulli' bcne6<;i •• '''xI;o bell_ " ;>1$<";;' , n i _ <...... diu _tuq<lt "".
ord<t<..... l"'ul"""''' fan;, . p«> ",,!.l.....Ja tibe" ... ro,,;";m ... di.i,i;, ....;"'. O<d orud ... ior
hbem.... .. ."
... s.. in _ I . C. Viob .... " 1 lok; ....1 """'"•••,,, ~ 1"',.,;""." lAd 10.1_. pp. >" '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 peo-
plc:"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 " provi-
dent 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 p0p-
ulist cause while recognizing che n.ecnsity of compromise. He has
some of Aribcrt', charisma: supported by God and Sr. Ambrosc: , lan-
dulf 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 back-
ground, 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 cpi-
lOdes 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 con-
trol. The list of hil IlChievemcnl$ recapitulated from landulf il im-
prcuive. He fOUSht heresy;'" during famine he aided the poot;'o<! he
brought about a "",ga Dti on hours of work and commerce for mer-
chants and artisans;'''''' .. miracle rutored his omamcnlcd Itaff 1lftcr ..
... /1oiJ., • .• 6. 1'. 6,. n.
- fIor • tniow .. "'" ..... , Jir<n.<o:< • .,. E. '\IV<mer. 1'.. ,/. u CIwini a..iM •• 9")6) •• " •

• ... ,,-" a.06, 1'. 64. " " 4· -11oiJ•• p. 6" ,4 .

.. ' llliJ.• p. 64. , 0- <1. H. _ probobI, 1 - ' , IOr IIi> .i......... lOO Ni!on. Aa<hmo di
_ N.D. ft . 6"/0. D",,,>Ioc,, '<'>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 disci-
pline 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.}<I. w. 6oJ-70.
'" I~.. '·H. p. 7<>. "- '7 . - !W. , p. 7<>. ~)-47 · - /hJ. • p. 7<' • • ~H ·
-l~.. p. 7 1, '-4· - I~.• p . 7 1, 7-8.

,s.
 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. n.e
church·s hosrels admitted
nox only wanderins clerics but .lso poorer women and orphans.'" nw:
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 ques-
tionrel .. 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<kal church
as an IId#J ;"tw. et u ... " ,

BOOK 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

- 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',2,.
'" 1Nl. , p. 7', .8-3' . "·I~.• p. 7'. )4"'. "·INI.. p. 70. 2<).' 3.
.., "" , '.p .
_ . • p . 7<>. .., IMf.••. ".,t;. pp. "-n·

'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<l ly prnc~ before EtI~mba!d
and the citizens of Milan (chs. 23-28). The laSI part, whil~ carrying
ev~nl5 forward to 108" deah essentially with th~ martyrdom of Ari·
aId in 1066 and the death of Erlembald in pitched battle in 107'.
The book, in other wvrds, has tWV diffeffnt principl~ of unity,
Ofle following the n2rrativ~, although, as it !Urns ()UI, not" accurately,
anod\<"t, Undulfs own sense of thematic developmcnt, which re!I)ll.ins
understated.
Landulf claims to be turning from the ,,"tiqui, whose acCOUntS of
earlkr bishopria he gleaned from archival CIlrlllhzt, to the events of
his own day, which he simply arrangt<l in sequcncc ftom experi-
enc~. ". Yet there is another type of transition at work. In book two,
the romanticized Ambrosian church forms a cultural backdrop for a
popular movement whose otigins are largely social and political. The
effectors of ch.ange are the enfeoffing of the capinnei in 979, the
C01UtilltlU! tit Pt"dis of 1037, and the ensuing struggle of the common
people pro UIMrtafl .uqltirmda. In book three, purely IKKilll tensions
recede; the rival panicl in the Patarcne dispute are opposed chiefly fur
cultural reasons. Although Landulf refers from time to time to the
primitivt' Milanese church, there is no need for him to Streu a decline
ftOm a supPOSedly golden aSt'. The reformist and traditionalist fac-
tions now speak fOl" themselves. The change is not from one to anmher
phase of IKKia[ revolt, to which religious issues are 1~ly tied; it is
to the cultural as comrastcd with the social articulation of dissent
itself. And this is I. byproduct of the mdiag, teaching, and preaching
of the Bible. Although the Patarenes frequently took to the streets,
they were capable of defending thcnuelvcs eruditely before Nico!as 11,
AIcXllflder 11, and Gregory VII. Also, it is clear that for Ari.!d, un·
dulf, and Erlembald reformist principles came before cveryt hing e~.
Their rejection of Milan's inkudate<l clergy was not a IKKit.! rebellion
in disguise; it was an inullectuah' movement, which gradually worIccd
its wlIy downward through various social strata.
The interconnection betWffn the revolt of the pop,,/i under LanlO,
the rejection of Guido by the capitanei, and the risc of the Pacaril.
was thercfure complex. The link was nm a common ph ilosophy , but,
in Landulfs view, different forms of disrespect for thc inherited au-
thoriry of the Ambrosian church. In contrast to Arnulf, Landulf did
not" believe that the Pararia was a direct consequence of Guido's elee·

••, / " '.• ,.,. p. H ·

'9'
 TE:KTUAL COMMUNITIES

tion. But his centre of focus remained the ucbbisbop. During the
1040$, he reasoned, the ptJpllJi rehelled under Lamo chieBy hecalUe
the nobility refused the responsibility of providing govcrnment. Sim-
ilarly, after 104" the WlCtium of power was again a critical issue.
True, the emperor bad gone back on his word: innead of choosing as
Arihert's successor one of the £our recommended _iom wtihis l'iri he
picked I man whose primary loyalty was to the imperial faCtion, ".
proof enough, if the already insecure ~itanci needed it, tha.t HenI:}'
would invtliably put his own interests before Milan's. The cardinal
clergy hardly czpected their collective will to be so easily brushed
aside.'>O Yet, in Landulfs eyes, Guido was nonetheless a reasonably
good archbUhop. , .. He was IICquittcd of the charges brought against
him It the luetin synod of April, 10,0. If he awola! late to the
Pata~ challenge, he was nonetheless described by Landulf as "rul-
ing the Ambrosian archicpiscopRte . .. with C'UC and devof:ion. " ...
The rea.! problem was the murii: he was unable to Ippease their
wrath; they in turn slandem:! him daily, though, foe fear of the pe0-
ple, in secret.'" On one occasion tbey cvcn left him alone aI: the altar
during mass .... For Landulf this was too moch. Although perhaps
indedsivc, Guido was melegitimate vicar of Se Ambrosc. In czpos-
ing him to the people', SCOln and to the dcvil's rempcltioru, Landulf
concluded, the capitanei well merited the anger of God.
But punishment took an unpre«dcntcd form, namely, reformist
preachinS, underpinntd by I conspil'llCy amotJg three members of the
clersy. hndulf, reworking of these ctitical events, which occupies
chaptets fift to seven, is ccboed in DO other ICCO\Ult . As I piece of
fiction, it takes U$ 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

'. '''>
_ .. ).), p. 7 4· _., ).), p. n,
'.. '"'' "2.
M' l~. , ).4, po 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~
... ,,,it..
"~.",, 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,.

'"
 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 $peechJ~ with jealousy
and rage . H e returned secretly to Milan on Christmall Day and, unob-
served, found his way to the church, when: onc of the deacons, Am-
brose Biffus....-so caHed because he was bijarillJ, that is, bilingual in
Greek and Latin--was spo:aking with ··angelic eloquence.·' At the mass"s
end Ansclm returned to his (amily home, angry, distraught, and con-
fused. ~ clerics who ac(1)ml""nied him, ignorant of his state of
mind, tormented him further with praise for the youthful priest. An-
selm n:torttd angrily that, if the city', dergy, both high and low,
had no women, no harm would come to the pursuit of their offices,
especially preaching .... His companions protested, but to no avail.
A11$elm, tin:<!, infuriated, and driven by dark thoughts, Landulf
continues, waited until nightlio.ll, when he called to his side the two
well-known dissidents, Ariaid and Landulf Cotta. Landu]f, the chron-
icler adds, Wall the ambitious offspring of a powerful family desirous
of the archbishopric. Ariald was a mcre "Jcvitc·· from the countrysidc
woom Guido had favoured with ordination. Born in Cucciago, a mcrc
hamlet, he rose to the lewl of master of artS, only to inllict his eru-
dition afterward s on the undeserving Milanese clergy. He was proud
of his humble or igins: lately, he had been charged and convicted by
Guido befon: a lar~ number of urban pl"iesrs for being improperly
dre-ssed and for officiatill8 iIlcgally in town. Ariald n:taliated by de-
nouncing the local clergy's "concubines:' Ansclm, Landulf adds, knew
their views. He called thcm to his house by night and congratulated
them on rheir expl oits. Further, he suggested rhat thcy form an ilS-
sociation to oppose clerical marriage. ~ thtff swore an oath, and
Anselm promised material aid.
The moming after, Ansdm withdrew ··like a serpent"· from the
ciry, without so much as a greeting to the archbishop. Landulf Cotta
n:mained, and sprtad. the word publicly and privately among potcntial
converts. They tOO were sworn to allegiance. Aria!d n:turned. to his
rural pari~h, when: he did the same. Guido, l.andulf obfc,rves, kncw
of their activities, but ga~ the matter litd~ thought. Unopposed,
Ariald darW to preac h a sermon to ordinary ··ruJtics" adVOCllting st rict

'"
 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 tKh-
bishop thereupon sumJnOned Landu.lf and Arillld and admonished them
nor to nir up a sensdess mob. n.e
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 doc-
trines. 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 sub-
scribed 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 per-
petuated factional rivalries follOWing Guioo', .ppointment. In Lin-
dulfs view, such agitllrio," repre#flted another .ttempt by [he n0-
bility 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
, .. ftiJ. • ).,. p. 76. 1-4.
' '' v;"w,te.U~'';} T. [n-,.. .
• ,. a . _i ..... 5utri. LdortJ " ' _ . c. 6. p. ~9" "u....Iulfuo ..........."',.,.. .p;. on", .
Yi, oubon ..... fiKundiaim ... . .. "
.,. lIu_ N. p. 76. J6.-)S.
 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 rival-
ries of the intervening )'tan. Surely ecclesiastical politi" did not van-
ish. 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 gen-
eration', 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 Lan-
franc 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 unu-
sual 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<n<ion<d in '",9; G"... J.I •• pp. ' 0-" .
'" Violo.rt!<. I...t ~ 0Ii_. Cowd....,.. ·"'....
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 com-
munication. In the section of chapter five in which he fint appean
there is an abrupt cbang<> of subject. After speaking of Anselm', dis-
pute with Guido Oft!' jurisdicrioo, Landul( introduttS what would
serm to be a ..,. stll[llintr. "For Ansclm," be adds, "was Il man pow-
erful 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 Am-
brose 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.

.·,,'HIt.,
p. ]6. ".
- .• p. 1 . I~'~-
''''IOtI., p. J6, '1_,8 .
 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 sev-
eral 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$ladon of St. Nazarius, which took place in the Ambf'Osian cal-
endar on loth Mly. But from that point accounts of Aridd's anivity
differ widely. Andrrw of Strum; and Bonizo of Sutri place him in the
country;"1 Arnulf credits him with instigating reformist preaching on
h~ own. '44 Reports of tile intenoiew before Stephen IX rJso vary con-
sidenbly.'" But what most 5C1S Landulf apart from other witnesses
to the early Pataria is the fictive presentation of opposite sides as an
intellectual deb&tt.
The speeches of Anseltn and Dionysius are found nowhere dsc:.
Us.ing these orations as fixed points, Landulf oriented his venion of
the fint signs of dissent not so much around the principles as around
the communication of ideas of reform, thereby providing I thematic
link ~ this S<"CtiOll and the earlier contl'l$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 chron-
icler', simplified images tenal. Ariald and Landulf an: <kscribed as
attempting ro inflict their "false chastity" on a group of pious devotees
"of both Sl'Xa." The pilgrims are on their way to celebnte a wnt
whose body WIS diseovered by St, Ambn;.e himself, the saint's day
for both being the same. T1te putative refotmers were therefore in
n:aJ.ity sullying vmctabk uaditionJ, "<kb.ting with vain words" alone.'"
Anselm by contrast rose to dloe faithful's defence, He saw chat evil
"novelties" had ani6cirJly ,wl'Cleneci the atmosphere and "tainted"
the city. Significantly, he did not asK AriaJd the speci6c poinu of his
doctrine but whether what had been spread about VIi!f4"",1_> oould
lnlly Ix attributed tu him-incidentaHy inform ing the reader on the
large role which hearsay pla~ in dloe controversy. True ro his heret-

.., v... S. A.;JJi, <. '. IoIGH ss }O. • • r. ,~o, IIonQo <LSu<,i. I.iWJ "'_, <. 6. p.
)91. Cf. Violont<, Lt~ .( ,11'-n.
-G.t.. , . • o.p .• 8.
"' ... tilt diHtti"....."...... .... v ....". Lt ,.....;,. -.it " " •• ~ .
~ H'-'·,P·79,I
, • I·"· '" '"_ · ,p·79,1 • .~ .
 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 p<tlaliam ,I . . . sa.rrammla praVtt, phras.-s
whi ch neatly cnmbine orality and illegitimacy. Ariald wu, in sum, 11
hypocrite: he followed no recognized sanrlunnn pia; instead, he .. rode.;!
the foundations of th .. ,"Iuia primiti/lfl , which, und..r traditional lead.-
..rship, "had always Hourished:' Finally, not only had he dared to
criticiz.- the clergy, he had done so pltbli".,·e
But public scrutiny was JUSt what the morm ers wantal. Landulf's
response to Ansclm's tirade in Landulf 5.-nior'$ account was to organ-
ize the Pauria's fint mass demonstration. Belb were rung, w~n
went about th .. str....u, and notic.-s were circulated. In Landulf Corta's
opinion, what had hitherto been whisp.-rccl among the shadows wu
now to be shout.-d from the rooftops: the manyn were no longer to
be v.. nerat.-d and devotion to the ancients was to be Stoppe-d. ,.9 All
assembled at the Roman th..ar!"C"-the wise and the foolish, che old
and che young, the upright and che sinful--eagerly seeking "ali6ca-
tion" and ··salvation."· Ariald, the chronicl er notes, spoke first, his
.-yes blazing, his words flooding over the "laughing populace" like "a
filthy rotrent."',o Then the more eloquent Landulf, in "a. more dig-
nifi.-d styl..... finished the job.'" To describc the ensuing popular
uprising, the narrator reverts to a now familiar topos, the overthrow
of civi liz:acion by savagery and chltOS. When Ariald and Landulf had
finished spreading (JJandn-r It diNtlgart) their poiS<Jn, he relates, the
p<"Ople, thinting after blood, moved en masse (rOlllmwmonl) against
cn.. <"!itablished dergy."· Th.. forces of change ",,"re essentially cultural
insofar as they invoiv.-d th .. sprt:l.d of new ideas. But the words fell
on .-.ger ears: "suddenly many . . . whom. diu poverty had ravag.-.J.
Sllw 11 chance to resuscirare and ro sustain their miSC'rabl e sons and
wives. A deafening cry was raised: tht simple unt<iucatal souls vim-
p/iaJ tt idio/M) were aroused as if they had heard th .. very words of
P.. rer and PIlUI. ">1,
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',,' '>"W. , So. }9-4"
"'INi., So, 41-46.

'99
 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 $eelD~ to mst. The
nobiliry, when duurened, looked to its own interests as it had in tbe
past, aoo left tbe endangered clergy to fend for inclf.·" The people,
always .. volatile, irn.tional fottt, now abandon«! tbe Ambrosian ide-
all, jun as, in Lanzo's time, tht'y hI.d defeooed tbem without really
knowing why. On this occasion Ltndulf finds few redeemill8 quali-
ties, Forgetting. be nor;n caustically, who nourished and d()(hed
them,'" the people turntd to mundane- n.ther than to spiritual pur-
suits, _ o.m. s«I "" ...imII_,uIl, 'I' The ttformen also ao::ted with-
out proper authority. Their only "liccncc" 'NU "the words already
~p;$tn"'!7 by AriakI. landuIf was ~ lJ'I(X'C horrified rhat: they seemed.
m take up arms J1Ir 1Ij1tJsIJ;,;.." linmi m.'"
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 Pata-
reues wt:re melely trying to put laymen above priests. Tht social con-
sequtrKn 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 elo-
queocc 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:, 5"",,..
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
... lMi., 81, ,.,. y"" ........ orm<>lobemaJo .., "", P. 81.
'" /j,OJ.. 8 •• 6-7 . "'/Mi., I •• "d. 8" 7-1; 81, '4-" . ." Ij,OJ.. 8., .6_
... /;;./. , ,.1 1, p. 8. , I', "'IMi., , .n, pp. 8.-1 •.
... lW" 1_1), p. 8., JJ.,6.
 TEXTUAL COMMUN IT IES

the archbishop resigl15 in favour of Goddrq, anually sometime after

1067·
.6.
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, Lan-
dulfs 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 hesi-
tated 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 mar-
ried 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 suf-
fragans 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-

,,,
 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. ><I> Once again attention ftuctuata beli, cen sa;Ik!3
of mass violence and intellectual diilCUSSion. Fictive roles are also in-
vented. 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 <fa. Velate in
1066: all of which violated Chronology but made good literary sense.
Yet, if some distortions wet!! II£cidcntai, others revca1ed more se-
rious purposes. In this scetion of the Histm. the Patati. devdopcd
and stabiJi2ed. its internal mueup, becoming more precisely identifi-
able with pre...ezisting lO(ial and familial alignments in Milan. It ac-
quired a seculo..r and ~mporal arm, and thereby tbe cap&Chy to chal-
lenge tbe administrative u well as the religious authority of the
uchbi.hop . And it adopted officially 5I.n(tioned warfare I.S opposed 10
occasional demonstrations of violellCt' as I. legitimate means of achiev_
ins reform.
These three objectives came roSfiher in the figure of Erlembald,
with whose arriva.!, in Landulf. view, tilt Paraei. was given. vinually
new beginning. He became lC'ader of the mOvtmtnt in two stages:
first, he was sins1ed out by Ar;.Jd and his brother as &nobleman with
appropr;'tely spiritU&! concettlll; later, through Hildebraoo's influ-
ence, Alexander conferred on him the IJIXill_ J11l1di Petri.
Seven yean p.,scd, Of' so the narrative goes, which was, as it turns
OUt, . n important symbolic as well as temporal interlude. The enthu-
siasm for reform was possibly on the W&1lt.'6, Atiald &nd Landulf
... a. Vio>bnte, u} .... ";1._. """"4 .
... Am..J{. G.s", }.16. p. n ; lMdulfs...; .. ,.09. p. 9S .
"'llw..;", p. a.BI' ; cf. VioIao>«, U,......... _ ' - , ' 004 .
a.
"' 1/,;,/. • ,.1 • • p. 8 ••• ,~6. H .f.) . c.-drq. ''11>< ~. of>< htorcna t..d the
CbutdI ofNiI .... * n.
 TEXTUAL CO MMUNITIES

began actively to seek ~ular protection for thei r preaching.·6<; Erlem-

bald 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 Pa-
aria.'" Yet, he was also an embittered eOllven to religious purism
who first turned to asceticism and reform and later to authoritarian-
ism.''' According to Landulf, he hi!d recently tcturned from Jerusa-
lem 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 :sepa-
n.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.

~H··
"'""" ,. [4. p. • 1. ~1·4l> .
... l.u.. ,. [4, p . 3,. ,[. 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 • .

Bu, ~.II..".,.". ... ohows on OC<I"'Ut' UIC< .,i,k ,h< ....... Of hi"",i"" of ,lot ,"",-".od~;'
_ , of _ popol PO:OO;'' ' ' .. --s. .
... 11«., ,,'1. p. 8, . '9'4" .
... Cl. Vial..., ... "lloioi nd """';mrnlO pOtanno: ,64·61 ,
.,. H;""", , . [4. pp. 8.-8,.
IliJ.. 8), [8.,,, .
n '

• " 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.

'0'
 TI!XTUAI.. COMMUNITIIIS

Landulfs description of his anivities on hi5 rrrum from Rome sup-

pons 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 presum-
ably be honound. One regime would replace IIIlOther. In short, be-
neath 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 tbe-
atre. 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 Para-
re~, chan~ had always been underpinned by caoonkal authority
and WOt"ked out by I. h&r<i COte of educated claics. Structurel inevit-
ably appeared: tbe thrtt leaders now met "Jike bishops in a syood"""
and coodemoed Guido II1II I simoniac. This, within Undu.lfs account,
represented In escalation of conflict, which, up to that point, was
1ar~Jy b"td on the issue of clerical marriage .• ,1 Guido's relporue was
the IYnod offot,uuetn, which, landulf fantasizes, took place IX ro/ffG-
It- AblUiri II/'OstrJli.'" In reality, the chronicler merely wisMd w
balance the claims of the autonomous Milanese church against the
authority of Rome. What the Patarene and lIlChiepiscopal "synods"
really meant was that rhe controversy now had rwo clearly defined.
sides. ThWl, while a naked struggle was CIInied on in the Streets,
reviving and breaching life into Milan's older class tensions, an intel-

on /hJ.• ,.1,. ,. 14. 11_1"

... Du CatoF, GMt' . a.
• .... . plod""", Nn.;. " ". p. 19. >2 (o,oyum pla<jNm~
J.'O' p. 1\9, ': , ·29. p. 9' ••. "", _ cnmpI<o, _ O. c.p...,.i. ~<dio ~ ,i/i:Ioma
"10 dmoo in I......." 6, ,...., .
.", Nu.;,. , . [,. p. &I •• 8.
.,h-86.
... W_ ,.,6.
"'a. Violontt.u~,·""'.'
p. 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 alli-
al1(:es; the pfOJXlnenu of the old order increasingly sought their r4iJInI
.rim in custom, urban history, and arid thcologisms. In this perspec-
tive, it is instructive to contrast the WQrds put into the mouth of Uo
of Vercelli with the violent degradation of Guido at the Roman the-
atre. 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 unaffection-
ately 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 Pata-
renc 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 im-
ponancc 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<o> ). '7 .,. ss ·
... I~., 8S, ".,6
," I... . , .• 8. p. 116. ;0. '" IW.. 86. 3'. 39"<10; p. 81.6. '''1... , 116. 3'',6·

'0'
 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 be-
fore.,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 ruth-
lessly stripped all unreforOKd priem of their wives, their offices, and
their worldly goods.,as
In this increasingly litigious atmosphere the reader urives at chap-
ler 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 ap-
proved 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 <IIn apin ........ Nil ... ·• hi..."ri< rtIoIioomtJip to tb< Gmk
d">I<h. G..iberr io .,,; ... 11_ _...., .. io ~ Biffuo. ADod .... iI d<w:ribod ....
t/M.u.' ,.~ G.-it. I..ItiJrio Jd -h,.mJiJ _ . . . . Noodlou to .." no dtno k"",,·
I<dIt "Gmi if. ..-led b\r u..;, ..._ .
 TEXTUAL COMMUN[TlES

Landulf, and Erleml»ld meet {Mir rt$~ti..., fates shordy afterwards ,

IM Ambrosian church, in the chronicler's view, achieves another vic-
tory 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$C aUegMly supportiog the traditional state of affairs.
Ariald and Landulf, by contrast, rely chiefly on pusages of the New
Testarnmt, by and large unadult=ted by cvmrnemary. Andrew's speet:h
rises considerably above the othtrs in passion and pc."rsuasiveness. H e
seems to speak with tM voice of Landulf &nior hirn5<'lf.
Dcspitt the reiteration of previous positions, the nctive confronta-
tion is instructivt. Both sides lay claim to t~ usages of the pri",itiwt
Kf/tsiA. But, whereas the Nicoia.itans think of themselves as part of an
unbroken tradition going back to St. Ambrosc, the Pararcnes insist
that the original purity of the church can be restored only whtn "old
things have passed away and everything is made new. '"- Guibert and
AmbrO$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 ... ·9.
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 exist-
ence, 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

-IIM., ,.», p. 89. ,8.40' -ArWdu< .. Loll<hllfw procMnu'" co< .........' dic<n,,,.: "HO"
, ....., ...... et 10<.. """ ""'~j ....... (, Cor S. '7). Quod ohm ;~ prim;';" _Ioti,. p.uibw
unctis <O<KftI~m "', modo illdulHun«r ptOhib«",:'
.. ' IMI.. J"J. p. 9<>. 1; Ambto...l!x._ , .7. pt '4·,.,·,6.
... I" ,.. 9<>. 9 ' -om ...
umeo !.ic; .. ,Ieric;. qui<uoqyo .un< ~lii ..:c["'o< • ...,erdo<... un,:·
.. , IOU., ) .• • • 9', "j; Rom 7" 4.
"'IIM., p. 91. 6-,$ . .., IMI. . 9' .• , .• ,_

"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 ,.",i6,·'"
that is, tbeir rnding of .postoli( doctrine,
whkh was elitist, hierarchk.l, and strtl5~d tbe separation of the let-
tered 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:rip-
tuft'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 • re-
phrasing 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 de-
scribed 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<! from the outset. The reformist position
stresses the COntrast bttwttn conttmpon.ty practice .00 past theory,
the latter defendtd by n.dona.J.iry, legitinw:y, and • literal reading of
biblica.J. tau. The Patlrenes thereby achieve their utopia of the spirit
through radical opposition: Bed! versus spirit, custom versus law, and,
by implication, the written venus the merely ooU.
Andn-w , fOe his part, attempted to refute the PlItarene programme
on eucntially thrtt grouoos; it was intolerable to society; it IKked
clear biblica.J. and canonical precedents; and it was incompatible with
the previous hilitory of the Milanesc (hurch, whose: rootinuity, in his
view, was • bctce, witntSll to sin(tte piery than their hasty, iIl-con-
ceivcd arsumenu.
What M.S uooertaken wjrh (hariry ought to be concluded with
chariry, not with empty rhetoric. The Lotd wanted mercy, not llsel~s
w::rifice."" Whose aample were they following in thuslllsuming the
"'1... , ) .• " p. 9[, 60 .
.. ' I... , 11", [1>17 :". . . ord unuoq";IC(UC DOIttWII, am;'" 0.0. italri<a[. in di';ru. et

.. . "'A'...... .. .
''''''flU ............. - 100""'
b_io " I , '.... u • .;.., ...... ...."i..... IM de-tium .... rorruooum i. O<riptw", """"

... I"'. , 9>, • '_" , G.I 6: ' •.

-I",.• 9'. '1-'9> I Cot 1:21. "'1"'. , 9', .6." .
.. ' ,'''. , ) .• 6. p. 9' , ,.,., ,; hod H :t9.
 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 enun-
ciated. 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 "com-
m 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.
.., /;M" 9'. 6, . ... /hJ .• 9,. ,.,:
Dt _ . <c. " ,26,
,.. /;M.. 9}. , ~" . ... /;M.. 9' . u_,
3; Lu< '~ I , . "" IhJ.. 93. ' •.
' ''' 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<U the theatre, where he proceeded
to whip up a volatile crowd against the clergy. When he wu linishcd,
Erlembald, who stood by, as lanclulf fotewartu, tUfqr""t"t tmIIq_
rrx imper""te, ordered a general rout of the regum clergy. Prom that
point, anyone who did noe: show proper "reverence" wu put to the
sword.'"
The narntive next turns to a seria of events rearranged from rbe
years 1061 to Io n; in order, Godefrey's W1SU(cessful &ttempt to re-
enrer Milan from ~tiglione Olona, where he was besieged by Edem-
bald in March ID7'; the d ection of Azro, the Patatcne candidate for
tbe xc of Milan, in S. Marill. Yemale, on 6th January 10 72: the death
of lanclulf Cotta, which probably took place, as noted, in 1061; tne
flight, mutilation, and murder of Ariald on 27th and 28thJune 10 66;
the return of his remains to Milan in May of the follOWing }'CIr; and
Etlembald's death in battle in 1075.
These events are tcltsroped into. few brief scenes of vivid and
chilling deraiL'" Godefrey is pictured as In indTectualligure. who is
simply born along by a tide he c.nnot control. Etlembald's IUeg<:d
collaboration with Gregory VII on Auo's election is denounced by
landulf, now firmly committ<:d to the imperial faction. Por, in his
view, Hildebrand was the original catalyst in the pwit"". between
Erlembald and his secular supporteIl. Auo's dection was therefOlC
"illicit"; Erlembald won only by effectively buying votcs. The Paca-
rcne leader, the chronicler notes, had become a virtual dictator, judg-
ing pricsts "like a pope" and laymen "like a monarch." He had finally
overcome the proud city through steel, gold, and conspiracies. No
ODe could lily lon8er oITer resistanCe.'"
Bur "God's anger" was OOt $0 easily thwarted. In Landulfs view,
one by one the ""ads of the Pat,.,.ia met appropriate fata. Landuif,
frwtn.[ccl in his efforTS to secure the archbilhopric, 8fCW despondent,

p. 11".. ~ .• 6. p. 9 ~. ~~,
, .. 1041" 9). ~9. ' " t!iJ.• 91. 6. . ,.. I~.. ) .' 7. p. 9<1 .
,.. Summuili". "'11-,0. pp. 9<1"\11·
'" Hiswi.. 1·29. I> 91 . ''''): - I ...... <un> fl ..kmboId .... q.JOOI """" od i odi<M.d_ ...
<erdot ....... od ..... <e~ srn"". u"""" ..... iamquo ................... i.--_........ i....
di......iI ........ ' 'e'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<! a thrtt-cby fast for
the Easter litanies. Accustomed now to polemics, Milan was $OOn
divided for and against. In the ensuing skirmishes, six lives were lost.
Public indignation mounted against Ariald and he prepared to flee.
But, on the night of his escape, he was caught near tegnano by some
men in the .service of Guido da Velate's niea, Olive. She had him
lint taken to Ihe isolated Roec. di Amna and later, secretly, to an
island in Lago Maggiore. There she attempted to folU him to ac-
knowledge Guido as legitimate archbishop. He is said to have replied:
"As long as I have a tongue in my mouth, an unimpaired mind, and
a serene disposition, I shall neither consider nor recognize him as
archbishop. ",.1 On Intse WONS, Landulf maintairu, a servant pro-
ceeded to tear out his tongue. He was then left to die; however, the
following cby, Olive, kouing Erlctnbald's reprisals , had the body t3ken
[0 the cellars of St. Ambrosc at Travallio. After a few days the stench
of rotting Ilesh was so grt2t that Adald', Captors ",uld nor remain
upstairs in the fort and they lilled the cellar with water.
Won! of these events eventually reached Erlembald , I..andulf con-
tinues, and he threatened. Olive with siege unless the body was im-
mediately returnC<!. Then, his legates, camped in thc Rho valley,
heard a voice by night telling them to run to the banks of the Ticino,
where Ariald would appear. At the appointed place thcy came upon
his mutilated, Karcely recogn izable body. Erlembald had his remains
born solemnly with prayers and litanies to the moruutery of St. CeI-
sus, where he was buried. In IOn , the chronider adds, archbishop
Anselm had the bones transferred to thc convent of St. Dionysius.
That, as it rufne.:! out, Wl/.5 also a fateful yeat for ErlembaJd and his
lieutenant, Lcoprand. The capir:anei, loyal to Godefrey, had begun to
~nter the city and to renew thcir feudal allianc~$. Around Easter,
the ordiurii assembled to consecrate. ch.lice containing the chrism
for the baptism of catechumens. Weary of harassment by Erlembakfs
militia, they prepared a ",nfmntation at the Roman theatre on F.aster
Sunday. Erlembald WlU in no mood for compromise; he snatched the
chalice and crushed it underfOOt. He then rcadi(d his troops to assault
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

the capitanei. The nobiliry and their popular followers prepared with-
out 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 .p-
propriate to his offence. Landulf died with hiJ ton,:ue hanging our.
Ariald, who mused. to recogni&e the elened archbishop, was cruelly

_iIl_
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"
trtd_). - We tttutn, in othtt words, to twO rypes of onl discourse,
i'tP'_
Dti WlUt-

one evil, the other good. Funher, the beneficent verbal union , un-
derpinned by the .uthority of Ambrose, is linked rirually to the past.
Erlcmbald's principal offence is to ha\'!: criminally inrerruptC<i the
ceremony of" paschal baptism.!" He thereby interceded in the church's
titcl of purilication. The public natlm of" his fault was mltched in
the nun.dYe by his public downfall.'"
So, too, Ariald's intellectualism broke the sacred rontinuity of" Am·
brosian rituals, and the bypnxiuct 'NU civil disorder. H e intttjected
himself into the sol liP;" of the Easter litanies, "preaching .nd squab-
bling with clerics.". · , He assened that meat and wine could not be
eaten kg.lit" and that futins; 'NU nowbCf"c spccifially enjoined by
St. Ambrose. landulf Senior', response was more nuanced than in tbe

, .. 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: ............ "'" <holi<e and ottribo, .. Erlu 1 I,(". ....h to ~ lIDf'OP"lari.,. ofm
"'" r... of}Odl_ l aJ , .
.. ' I~., 9 1, ~ : .. _ _ boptiomo oonni _ <rimi_ ;_ .. "
.. ' I~. . 97 , 9"'0 .
• , '''
-,9',
~ __"
il: - "'L~<ii.L cum uuu,. .,..,.,- n
._ .".
_ ... "
 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<l as founded by St. Ambrose and perpetuated
despite difficulties by Milanese an:hbish0p6 as late as Ariben of Inti·
,,, 10iI. • 9~ .• g.. ,6. on wick ~ ,he ,n,·' ""'n. p. 9).,,>6->1 .
'" /jiJ.• 96. 1>-"'. '''''''·. 96. " . ,.. 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 encour-
aged, • married dergy. In his view, the Nicolaiti reprn-enred the
traditional values of the Milanesc church. The Paracini were innova-
tOtS 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 con-
Aict. 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 op-
portunity, 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
$truck by Landulrs characterization of the common people under tan-
zo·s leadership, preferring to die rather than to live di~nourab!y
<_pr_i diligt1U '1_ m- i~lt).- But few have noted that he
describes the capitanei in fOn in aIlDOSt the nme terms: jJtlrati ,.m
'1__ i"lxnustl "wm.''''' The key concept is honour, which he sees as
both a civic and a religious virtue. The relation between the social
and. reformist components in his interpretation i, therefo.re not easy
ro unravel. Filmilial and politiC*! rivalries, he thought, survived Gui-
do's election and poisoned the atmosphere of the r",os iust as the
reform platform was taking s~pe. But the Protari. WIll not only a
social movement. The religious element was amalganuted onto the
social, fotming a new alloy. The Patarroes CUt ilCtoiSiI older boundaries
with • new culcuraJ ideal: both the pl'OCCS$ and the content were
equatly unprecedented. When enthusiasm inevitably waned., older ri-
valries 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. ""'. ,,,i...,
'" Iat .. ok", '"'W""..... Y. a..-N. Ut ,,;u.. JIWit. }98-.4" .
... H;p.;. 3030. p. 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, be<orning ab-
bot of Strumi, oear A~uo, some founeen years after the death of
John Gualbert in 1073.'" He was in a good position to look back on
a quatter-ccntury's successes and failu!C$ in attempts at ~form.
His tWO principal works are tbe Vi/a $a>KIi li.ria/Ji, written in
tOn , and his Vi/a GII4/Nrii, in r092.H' In both, stress is laid on
penance, uceticism, and t~ need fot Strong leadership among ~form
communitiC$.m The Vi/a li.rialdi may be divided into three parts, the
lirst dealing with the Pararia's early phases and with Ariald ', preach-
ing (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<l. d, So""", on ,.,.b o<<<obrt '087 :
aY. , HUt.
", P. Baothp, Vi ... Snffi ArWJi, MGH ss )0.1. p. '''48.
'" P. tMn_"Anodmo d. Pt.rmo. (da So",m;).'· O;~ lice. ~{; iW~· . ..... , . "" in
Jf<"<et do:tail, _ S. IIooo<h. ··(",;q."nni Gualb<no 0: 10 ,.;,. <Om.'" dol <I.m "<11. bioJI",1\< .I,
And," da StNmi ., di "',m da Vallom""""':' Le ,,;,~ _ .. Id ,J." ..; i«JIi XI, XII (Mib".
'96», >111-".
,,. B~"". V.... p . '''47 . ~ Si",,', I...... "",riou>. /ot i<o>!, ""-",,, or."", .1\0,loo
"""how .,im" ,h<m of,,,, «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< md<n< .. ... G. Sp;ndli, "11
>oc<nJ,..io m;n;"",'" noli, p<..tH:ttOon< doU. P.,,,i, miL"..... ,"· 8moJin;"" " ('97)). 9 "
9)nl .
,~ V'" $. A"yfJ;. <. ,6. '''7>.
1'. N", t" bo «>nf.....t ... ;th .Iv ';'" 4'0;_ of , Iv ,....,Ifth
Of ,hirt«ntlt.
C. "'U'pini.
<""." poorly odi"" by PutittUi .,6,91. For.
'· _i ......_
«>mpu'_ " tbo ,..., li.......
"",i<t>o: d, S. Arialdo:· ... ~ ,...;..1..... ,,1.. anno '7. 001 .
I~ (I .,,00), '''9.,6.

'"
 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, dis-
Cipline, 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<!tra.yed by onc o( his own, & priest who,
like Erlembald, had recently n:tutned from the holy land, and who
yisited him during the vigil of John the B.ptist .... Ariald combined
fortitude and charity. Andrew himself heard him say, " Whoever is
ready to die with me fin Christ, let him come to my side. Whoever
is not, lee him leave.""" Yet, when wounded in • skirmish with
Guido's henchmen in 1066, he admonished his followc:n "to love
their enemies. "- In the md, Andrew ""lares, he 'NU murdeted by
tWO clerics, since secular jailon ~ to lay hands on him."" Olive
pl&yed the pan of Jezebel or Heroc:lias, and, wherever she tried ro
conceal tbe corpse, a divine light shone abm-e it (rom the heavePl.J46
Humble folk .ided Andrew in his search for the place of ",?ssina_
tion.M' AlgisiU5, who finally found the body, lea.m«l. of its whtte-
&booQ from shepherds who followed an eagle along the sbores of lago
Maggion: . ....s Ariald was lIS .crong in death as in life. lletumed to
Milan by Erlembald, his remains dm.' all c1uses of society together
in grief.
Andm.' reulls the scene, which M witneued himsel(: "Prom the
towns, in which they had shut themselves up out of fear, countless
numben came fonh, tbe old, the young, the women, bearing CM'S"S,
candles, and urns. . . . Each in hi, manner rIlndered thanks to God
with an eu.l.red voice. Bells rang our, and 5Om~ climbed tl'tt$ in tke
hope of catching. glimpse of the saint. As we .pproached Milan, we
were met by virtually tbe whole city . . .. .....,

,,. 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 be-
wme 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:a<hcd the following sermon: ··let me begin;·
he said, '·with what you know, and then p~ to what you do nor
know. The human ca« was blind until Christ Clme, worshipping
mere objectS of stone, wood, or metal. ". GOO found this insufferable,
assumed flesh himself, and underwent crucifixion. While on earth he
also chose a certain number of spokesmen to spread his word. H is
illumination descends to earth through two meam, therefore, through
his own word and his t~hers· way of life.m The tcachers' light ,
however, is nor the same as yours. Theirs is the uodersranding of
Scripture and their lives are so to speak a text for those who (anMt
interpret the Bible for themselves. Yet, by implication, if they Jose
their guiding light, you tOO will be enveloped in darkness. That is
JUSt what has happened. Your present dergy give you not reality but
appcarallCes. In place of the truth they oifcr you lies. Do you wish to
advance towards the true light? If you would serve Him, you must
follow me.!" Par th~ an: not Christ"s true servants. He extolled
meekness, humility, and poverty; {hey revel in worldly goods and
Sc.'X1UI1 depravity. Indeed, Christ demands such purity in his followers
that he even condemns the sins in tneir heans. ,. Ariald concludes by
saying that he has tried to lead the wayward priests hack to {he lighr
,,. E,kmbold·, m,h is looked upon in ,ht ...... '<rms: for<-o.roboratioo, ... lIoni.., of Sotri,
IJI"r >Ill 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 sep-
atate 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<rver, srand ail a summaty of Patartnt doctrine as interpreted by
Andrew. The author paints a picture of laxness, sexua1licence, and.
simony with a few black and white srrokes. Atiald adds the greys of
deeper mortl principles.'" Andrew is the disciple, Ariald the teacher.
Andrew condemns the entirt clergy; none, he suggests, was "truly"
ordained.j'" What disturbs him most is their wayward life-style: they
have betrayed not only I spirirua! hut a public trust; that is, they
boua:ht and sold oflicQ on thr op<'n marut and p!w-ded their women
in the sr~ts.m Ariald, by COlltrast, has come to restore public con-
fidence: as Situs putS it, tU!~. . P*bliff. '" He is thereby con-
ceived. by Andrew ail a viaticum from learned to popular, from inter-
pttttt to pupil, from iittrate to oonlit~te.
But is he? The sermon itself presents a more nuanced picture. Ari-
a1d·s staJting point is a series of New Testament COntrasts: ignorance
aoo knowledge, bliooness and sight, the body and the mind, and ,
finally, darkness and light. Familu.r opposites: they are phrased and
rephrased in an unsophisticated fashion, hiald lrading his liStenetS
into his sermon gently, ail if he were feelill8 his way through the tats
for the first time.
What do the Milanese '·koow"? nw: humanity was '·blind" before
Christ, nor, however. tht0U8h their eyes but through their he&nl and
minds."" This "blindntSS" was an inability to distinguish between
the physical and tbe spiritual. the inanimllte and the divine. The
various images then coaltStt into a little allegory. The highest and
C1;ernal tight, Ariald ,tatCll, rhrough which all things weft: (reared
~, ArioId·, "",,001 ..-......, "" "ru. m ;" fumod br ..... den_ ........ ~ "'" /1(;""'" <i<r.,.
""" br ...nd...... p. to,'. I.'). "'" _ In tilt \ant, bol( at k;o """""'. p. IOS>. 17-46.
... 11<iJ., '0", 17. Ott ,he ""*"'........_ " INlb- and Ofdi ........ , ... Micmli, - p.,. la
• ..,... dtlla Po_;' . .. ... 106<122.
~, V.... c. ~, p. '0,1. 19-><>: ·'Cuncti k<e." "'Ill pub!id, ......a.u. IM t<OrIi. IUOlII
;':"""'W- ducmont .i..... ; p. ' 0,>, n·J.8: En ipoi, ... «n>.i';I, lieu, t.;c:; ""lutt .-....
"""-.. . ."
'''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 ele-
rotnrs 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 through-
OUt 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_
<It. P<f _ "",ni. (0«. 'u"''' in """ un ........ comi"unt . .. ."
.. ' I,,",., ,<>~" 1-9. ,~",; '"Qui in dOdo .. urni, ._hDmi ..... I<>t do mundo <I<~i •• 'I_
oWli< ... od uni.."i,..i. ilI""'i .... ;.""m on« >«1<10 poll< pmoidi, . Q.- "",niboo &I ..,,,,,
,rn<hrit ab """'" wodibuo .. puh;' ""'" '''co ill"",i,..,.i. o:ooq ... J><f mu";u", ".i __ "", ",i,i,
.. I",.m. ""'"'" K(opcnM. ubiq ... d.f., .. p««pi •. >i<quc od po, ..m. 0 quo ~, ... ...tii, .
Hoe< ~ipp" turn .... .. «<mo .i-=!". ["" ""'"" in <e'" """'" I'diq";,. in ",,;bw om"". qui
...... ilLumi.....,ji . m"",iMJ<ft<ur Of ""I"" in &nom wcuJi .. _ pt.",.,... .... , Lu.;;di.
V••l<i, """". ha< re 'I .... NoNMI V,rbwn KiIK.. o.i e, <I"",,,,,,,,
.-it> . . . . E. hi, i'*j'"
u""" id<tn """'in ... """". on .. il"". oliam ..... ""'. Hii """'. quibuo 1<;"";"" Knp....-..
«di' .ibiqU< od mini.trat>dum . Io,i, . Ut od '" ..... " ..,b. ",i [ucjdj '''''1><'
. i....n •• """".u;'
.. u, eorum v.,. ..... ... ,n 1.«10. ~j [i".,.., "..
d,'" oNi .... ;, :·

"9
 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 dark-
nl'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 be-
tween lay and clerical life-styles ..... ere harmoniow and in ..... hich com-
munication 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 non-
elea, 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 accept-
ing a $triCt division of labour between interpreter and audience. lay-
men 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 knowl-
edge. 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 concep-
tion 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>r-
icaJ 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 (.:111-
gt/III) is placed bcrwecon the word and its interpreter.'" Christ's min-
isters. 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 (JtJ-
ttndil) 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 re-
united through the byproducrs of und~rstanding. which relat~ man's
... Cf. Mi«oIi• .."", I. >torio <ldJo I'J.t .. i• . . . :. "HI ond " ln J).
... vn-.. c. 4. p. '0" .•6.
'~ I..... '<>1' . ~· Jl . U. t..•••,,u Stn"" . I/i," 2.27. p . 66. _od aboo< p. ' 4-4",60.
". Vn-.. t . 4 . p. 10 " . },_,6; eJ. Undu.lf. I¥.t#.: 1',..... """".'" p",u;lia", noIO'" oIi",
P,,(u;hot.
,,- ViI.o. t. 4. p. '0,_. """,od obo.. p. "9<>. Cf. Londolf. w.,it.:··PomilKcm hobcm ...

...no: .
noIO i ll"", X ......

ViI.o. t. 4.
u"'.
k<i 01;"",. ""; _,HI;. p<r orbono ' ...."'''' fro, ... _ ... ~i.i,", di>p<'_

'0". 37 .t>d ,,,,,. , . 00. rh< ponibl< _ .. Eri_ by m. MonIOrt<

r·
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.
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 move-
ment 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 ar-
gues, 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 em-
phasized 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 ... "a. Spi""Ili, "11 . .,00.;"
minisuriolr," 91"99.
,.. Vii.. c.•• 10,2.'0.
... IHJ., +0-41: -a.riotus ... Iem io oW • ....-.. miBistris Wlram lIIWM1iliuD queri ... n·
_ . '" _ IOh... iII. ...., ................ O<upri >«""
dam .... ;" cotd< .. .. -
... a. G. 00«0. -"'tu;.,.,., . _:. ,6,-'9.
... V;"', c. 4, p. [0,', '7 . "' IMJ., '" ". ""10itI., ' " ','''
... IMJ.. '0. ... IOJ.. O .
... Nio::o~, - ,.,. 10 _io del. l'au.rio ... ,- 'I,.
,. vu.., c. 6, p. 10", '4 '
 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. , o ~l , ., .• 6 .
... lo;J.•• 6-11 .
.., 10iJ. , c. ,. p. ' ( 1). 6-[ 1: "NUM ....... ~,.. AliUdoo Ita" ..i"",. qw. 0.; doo.", ,.
<i<d" mihi, sei"' .... ob ipoo coIlon.m fibi . . . . Populos """'quo iom fiddi. ~ and;.,., in
0.; 1"[ 'ab c' ... " .. ill.....i':·
- lo;J.• <. 6. p. ' OH. ~6-l7 .
... V_. ,ho,
"I laid . . . ;. '7 6-78, "'8"'" ··_hins """,RI! simony bo8""" • 1a0ft
...... . "hid! _ _ loIical. 8., the nideroee "<un,todict<KJ. Th< ,.0 .."""", ,t<" ,Hd by
Andrcw fnm 'U,7 deoI "i,b bo<b "&,",,,. Al".If'1 .. only of .imony (G_ 3·' [. p. [9).
wbilo land.l( cf ""'... emphai ... d.ricoI m .......
... V;... c. '0. pp. [O,,· n; """,ond;",Jy "",111«1 by Mkcol i '.1'<. la .tot"
droll, Pat""
. . . :. 11#.

'"
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITlIIS

oppo5t'. Who would care if hentia 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 combat-
ting 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
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«.'U-
1iJ.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"
dobn _ ... _
__
" -,
_.i. . . . __ . ,. . . _. . . ,_. . .
, . ..
p" • • """".~ ,.""............" <=1\10 ..... 4 "un>.
~ ;,.ddT.... <:><on...x...,

qoi ......... ,i ...i.e<.t. _,HNm I&boro llWluum .;m;" UI 0.... ......Ipo!.......... ob «<la;'
...._-
n~ ..... """"I'"

,,"'"_ 01' , <Otidie dot! ...... _ . .

_"1'"
"
'"> ", .. ''"'4 '"'"''''' ' -_
~ n. ~
. ><-'4""
~Nt " " " " . . bio Itlbuo QRi; ........ _ 1J"k'fI_ ..... ~;o /UUi,'" _a.... ...:...- .,.;.
..;",. J>UVlO....n, ;.,...,. di<ta SpOi... _ ' • .,..; " - ~W! pt< .. t.,u; Gtqorii • .,.,...,... ~
Si_ ............. hohet •.. . _ .....do ....... oS; .... I!> :';i, quibua cs< "" .... .:. oI'5tiO>mqU<
pmic&ndi cammi ....... , quolil><t .. , .... IXI>Orim, . - 001 ..... «>nti ................... prodi...;.
_ ... _ old>« Libft;", et .....,ior, "oe '0"""", quit. ...... ob ...... 1t......Jari .",•• H,. et
_ qi, ......i........ ........ odoo:oi. _ ....... _, qui ..... id....... _i ..... "'......
ODm""..n...... ...bA. "'j.... oaIerio. ;•• RaD "'" """"" 01> hoc IIOCjIIilio ) ! bit debo!iI . Undo
Domift ... dw<: 'Si h<m>i_ ........in., ...i<td Ioq..........: ~ <10 boo: It <Iit;, p,."n ...
..uH ...... ...,; ptt>Nbet 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$e three ord~s refuses to fight ar-
dently with the works of justice which are in accord with the sayings
of the holy spirit put into the mouth of Gregory, he does not believe
that Simon M"gus now suffers punishment . For, if they, 10 whom the
knowled~ md office of preaching have b«n commined, rem.;1I ,i_
Lent, no mar;u,r what lhe ~. not only the comillent, whose preaching
ought to be freer alld truer to the degree that they arc released from
worldly cares and instructed through ceaseless meditatioll on sacred
law, but even you, who are illiterate and ignorant of Scripture, ought
to give each ocher ptOte<:tioll from this iniquity, as much as you can,
through rach others" words. Whellce the Lord says, ·If mcn are silent,
the waUs will speak. '... Does the prophet not add, 'Cursed be the one
who keeps blood from hi, sword, .•~, that is, from the slaughter of
this most wkked monster?"
The implications of thu text are far-reaching. Ariald states that
tm-re are three q,-JiIW, which he call, prtdif:4tlMJ, CtlfIti_t~, and CtlfI-
iM~tiY' Ea<:h order has a specific offoillm on the scale of C(>mmuni_
cation between mm and God, namely preaching, praying, and alms-
giving. But, in intcrrdating order and function , Ariald brQaden$ 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~_
born. 4. {. I. PL 16.976A·B. "'" brief d;K...uom, ... H . .;. I.uboc. fJt4Iu dH~It, ..... 2
Po."..... >.

(/'aI; •• '959). H'·n ..-.d Y. Cr.,p' . .. f..<> Ioh .. 1".< d•• ;oIo,;" d<o •.,...; ..... <1>< .... ,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 oblip-
tion is underpinned by legal isms; Gregory's words were decreed fJwr-
ripitllT); 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 $lItemenu by Gregory VIl.~ But these motifs an: abo
woven into I pattern of communication from high to low. The prhtun
_ is the preacJK'n; the ipotM iguriqw stripll/rM Itt";ve the mem:ge
from above; or, if the preachers do not fulfiJl their proper function,
they an: enjoined [0 diKUSS sacred matters with each other in ordinary
langWl8e. In order for the Pataria to exist aJi a religious movement,
in Andre"is ern, both sides an: dearly necessary. Through the roII-
;111111'-, active participation, themure, lay spirituality is dftCdvdy
transformccl into a vehicle of religious and. social change.
At this point it may be u.scful to reftec[ brielly on AriaId's intellec-
tual techniques. What strikes one about all tbe descriptions of his
activities is tbe new U2S to which he puts oral dilCOUrse, Of course,
he widely utiliz.ed biblical and patristic tau and generally outshone
his opponentS in erudition. Eumples include his contribution to the
debate brtwccn tbe Patarini and tbe Nicolaiti in Landulf Senior, aJi
well aJi the sermon he prnchcd asainn the observance of a thrre-day
fast brfon- the Easter litanirs.oo(I But, on IDOSt occasions, it was his
words n.ther tban his thoughtS which ripped the scales in his favour.
Andrew, who was close to events, dates his influe~ 116 uorJiQ JIIIM
pflw/illltioniJ . ...., Sirus similarly speaks of the im:sistible _M IItri /tt-
",*/i Cbrirti.+Oi In a brief riJJmi of his ptaehing style, Andrew states
that he pet$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 n,'" Viola,,,., u , •. ,.... .n..-, '49
ond .. , l&i<i • • • ,- '74. 00 ,be G<tp .......... It< P. btIoi, "U totmi ... ·!idol;... · ...tl<
10"." di G, ..",;" vu:· j,Mi . '." -"', (,,..a). I~e.
- Sce A. So:icklo:r, -n ',Iodilll' ...1 I<I"u" di G<tsorio VU," S"",, . '." ;""; ,h,..tI}, 1'4
ond ,..ft[••
... y;,.,. ( . "~ •• 06[-6.. -1-'" c. ". p.•",e.,.,. ...,__" c. •6. p. 'OH .
".
",
 TEXTUAL COMMUNITIES

Ariald tOOk ca~ [0 discuss matters befurehand with hi, other breth-
ren.- The three qualities which COtlK to light in this succinct por-
tn.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 ful-
lowing 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<l. on "direct"'
illumination replaced the accretions of customary theory and pmetiee.
A single, unavoidable truth was said tQ take the place of the "divided
spiti!."'" The picture, moreover, is corroborated by other incidents
in the VitA. Andrew, for instance, recalls a number of dl""lffiatic ges-
nues in whkh the saint imilated dJe language and behaviour of Christ.'"
There were memorable personal attacks on simoniacs, as when he
dispossessed a cettain Lanfranc of his income at SI. Ct-bus with the
wO«!s, Htri rlwiCIIJ, Wit tlhh4J (yesterday only a cleric, today an ab·
bofl!"~ Yet the Part1!a was held together by a combinatiQn of legalo-
moralistic doctrine and the spreading of the word among its members.
- J-.t.• c. , 8, p. [06,. 3 ['40. , ~ I. ..
'" a. MicroU , ••"" I. ltO<io.dtlla I',,,ui,:' 'H'37.
", Hi, ...... 3.6. pp. 77'78.
,., Vir... c . ,6, 1'. 1('13, '(,.'9·
.., l-.t.• c. '0.1'. ' 0 '7 , [6; Jm ,,8 .
'" hrbo.po ,lot moot d......w.: '" 'hn< n:<>k plo« wben Ali,ld w.. ,,,..-.I, -.od<d U>d
,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', <OtI><iouo imi",iotI of !be lil< '" Ch<i .. , ... Violontt. " 1 I'Ki;' "9""30.
'·'IJiJ., c. ,6,1'.1060 .

",
 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 Alex-
ander 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 • (har-
acrerisck 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

... /,;J. , '0" , ~}7 . · " lfOJ., <. u. p_ 10 ,.s" .

". MioooJi, -1'II>r 10 otorio,- " 1; d . AM.t", '" "K", CoI_ C _ ' ).4, quoted f"""
YSS by Nic<oIi, 118: "Q<>od militont<o ..iom pc ...... n...i .. 1Qo..., dopo-imot< ,.' I;",
""" ........... .w...... o. v , n, "11Uci" ...,""4""'0.
r

... pp.• 0,6.'0, 7, >: N, 10."...

",
 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 back-
grounds the choice was ~ difficult. Their priests might be Slmo-
niacs, but they did not wish to be deprived of the sacnments.·..
Ariald Wa$ JUSt a$ inflexible with them, demanding that they .. $eg-
regate themselves completely from the company of fal$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 ;"fi-
JtIIS. "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 an-
other.'·") 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. sepa-
rating 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<ti ........ poti'" did, i, ...,. ,"m.". do.m ..... i_m q..",
..Iu •• m. *
." IkJ., ' 7·' " .. ki<oq ... qui ...-i'''.m cupi' vmo<i .... iQ""n iro:. <OnfUn.I ... ""''''''' <Iebn
faIJi",~ """" .... Qt.opropm- ut . .,i<l«. q_ o.-u. "', ".nNi p<rf« .. ..u..<i,. P" ipoum
... "'-«ru ..... foloorum _ " ' ,"",,,,,,"urn P"'iM ..... ~ .. ~;,. q...,.,iam I»<i <urn
,,,,.boil, ""lib... CUm intioXhbw. ChriKo <WI1 Sdi&! nulk .... dooo "",,,,,,,,io ,''' pon , ....
"'""'.
... IHJ.• "., ,, ··Si< .Nm .« iptum ..r: ·b i" do n>tdio """"' ....... ""'ini .. inmundum
'" ~iptiri . ... 'So ",,;p;.m _ . di<ir O"",i .....• - h Cot 6, ' 7· ,8).
.., 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.
,,6-00
lion ... • I)6-n """ Vio!an, •• •• , '*"oi,.· ond ""'''.

"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 con-
versation 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$pite the image conveyed to the outside
world, tnOl'eQver, the chapter appears to have enjoyed inner tranquil-
lity. Atiald, Andrew states, was very happy to have found a pl~
where the reformers could "live in common." 'The foUks ~u: equally
content to be "where they could hear the Lord's words with a free
mind ...••,
The college of canons established by Ariaki attr..ted men and women
not only from rhe ciry iuelf but a1so from nearby villages and fllUt,l/j.
The Canonica was filled to overflowing.'''' But the.p1MJ ffJalS, lIS An-
drew called it. institutionalized the firm !C!panition of derics and lay_
men. This barrier, in turn. was the precondition of understanding
between rh.. fittw.,; and the il/itt,"ti, not only through preaching,
but, less obviously, through the daily ritual of the relOrm.. rs· lives. In
num .. rous ways ch.. Pararini distinguished themselves from the regular
dergy and by implicarion from rhe laymen who fulfilled priesrs' func-
tions. They led lives of absolute poverty and renunciation. Ariald
combined the hermit and the nnon: he had a church ix>ilt in St.
lunb~'s honour at Nemus where he "Hed tbe people·, tumult" and
carried on vigUs and m.-diradons; )'<"1, h.. insisted on the communal
life for all his IOllowers, never dining without che company of 1¥IIPWU
dtriri or leaving the cloister without his companions.H' The poorer
muses cam.. into contact with the Paurenes' di$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 eight-
een. 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 re-
search, thereby authenticating the cults whik reviving liturgical ptac·
... On m;' ftot .... of nnoaOl _t«tut<. _]. Hobott. "la .., «>mm_ d< c!<fa Cl

r..""" ..
f...t.foioe:;.." M "-. I. '''''0.
- Vi". <. 12, p. ,,,,8; d . Il. c.._.. t.a ~kipo>io<>o ~ Ialci 0110 lit"'..." , IMti
_ . . . . •'"'
_JL _ • " . .•
" ' _ , " ''19"400·
.,. l~. • 24-'6. ", I~. • c. '7. p. ,06,. ,"'4. •.. ,w.. c. u. p. ,,,,8 . ..... 4·

,,0
 TEXTUAL I.:O MMUNITIES

tias. on Andn:w has left us ;l bdef but vivid pi<tu~ of his 100i1 pil-
8rima.ges,"o "Daily, surrounded by hi, shield uf b~th~n, he went
round to d~ vuiOlU saints' =ting-plaa:s, arranging in each a small,
tearful service on their heh2lf. We would leave the house singly and
separately, 50 as to avoid the people milling about. Qoce past the
crowd, wc followW his lead and ch2nted psalms until reaching the
doorstep of the chosen shrine. Then, from memory, Ariald would
recire chann and hymns devoted to the saint in question . He always
»ng in a slow, S~t voice, which we ~n: abl~ to follow word by
word . In this atmO$ph~~ of »cm! mll$ic wc approached rhe a/raT,
when:, if it W25 not a holy day, h~ knelt, opened his arms, raised his
eyes, and, thus representing the cross, prayrd for the pope, for peac~ ,
for the chuT\:h's !a/v:ation, and (or his enemies' conversion. We too
prostrated ourselves and repeated what he said. We all praynl silently
for a while, a(ter which he said, l.ord our God, give us the angel of
peace and gnce. 'm We then departed from the church reciring the
s.affie psalm wirh which wc had entered, and passed on to anorher. "
In the minds of the unlettered these rituals made much sense. They
wen: publi< in chancrer: tIN> 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<l, Aria!d
appeared to be in apostolic succession from the early Christian saints
whose hagiography was SO intimate a part of Milan's civic ethos.

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<i in th e first part 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.,.., <ror<t .. """ p«<fi<orioni . .. m diu
""'" ' 10qu0ri';" fideli""" pt, ...... f2hih. 10<. ""''''''''''. ft'"lli bn> ~ .. . 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 illus-
trious pl"Cdeca.5OJ:, Gerard had Ramihrd taken to Cambrai for ques-
tioning by his abbots and " learn~ clerics ....... Ramihrd 5tat~, like
fotmer heretics, that hi$ claim on truth was "$aoction~"; and, refus-
ing 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 in-
vestiture 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"11-
ments mere pDlhttil1lltS.'" like Geno.rd of Moufone, but pnhaps in •

•" 0 ... j. 11. __ r;..",.; C ,.Mi U. ). ) . NOH SS VII, p. )~ : "Ubi cum <i ......
...,.ibooo inti ................ born;""" quondam """';1>0 bmilu<luno • ."...t pRIIi""'" nU .... q_
<It Sd.... a' ....... ~, rnWI. ~ Iid<m. . . .isot<:. « Wo:! sub do<cri .. "'" mulroo dioci·
""........1Jr,o,nqu< ""iuoqut ""' ... pl<bem .ibi «*'to""""" odqo.o;,r.i_.-
... [Wil.
·"/Wil. : "'Cun>qur od hue "",,6~ dooo.i»i<i _ i pani«p fir,; oh <pi_
,," ..". . . ~;" d_. nullo ~ """ ... , ) ..... """ «iom 01> ipoo epiocupo!>ox I<
J><'«PIUlUm, quod OIl' .,,,,,,,",,, "" oJicuj ....... itioo """" od>tri<ti ....,,"""'."
- Iw(.
~. Gn,.., VU, I!.-u- IV, '0. od. Il. CMpor, MGH ~pi"d S<I«t..: <B.rli~. 'P>O), p.
,UI, H. ~'_'j. On .....ilotd ... ",0.",,,.... Romdl. 0;.., -.I R.p.., I". H "H, 'J~
40. no. i~ ..A,,,Dtl. of _i" in ...-ty rnmmo.o .... io ",;,oed "" lMrobe", MoIHtwI H".",
)!>"·H·
- ~ T'"i 7 is Ea!ttiM M FiJ . wo Efi ./ • e,r,":;;:.;::- .. r-w-..1 "". t . 1.
. .

.v.ss JUI>O I. 8)%C-J>. "I. matiti"," p<imum Iocio rudi.h ,10 or inbmioris /kIti ...""""'"
per6di... _ mio<ui, .. . . Nor,.,..;" ... =bri ..~ co.d>i<ulis, oed tuper te< .. proedicoro inO[>ien<.
in _iIoua am,," .... <.imunh multi ...d;,ti .... """inobo<u:.... A"d 't ill"", ~ ..
oedu<tuJ. situ< ""'fClum 0.;:'

'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 de-
cdvcd 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 chal-
lenge(!. ··6 Did Tanchelm really rej ect transubstantiation, or was he
<lut!t ioning the legitimacy of unworthy priests? Did the "marriages"
and Marian imagery of his rites signify S<'xuallibcnarianism, or was
he trying through symbolism to recall ordinary women from lUlIury
and vice? And did Manasses, who formed a "fraternity" or "guild" in
his honour, truly engage in a systematic defurmation of {he gospels,
or was he, like other unlettere-d members of d erical l«IS, attempting
to lead those like himstlf towards $Ome fnrm of participation in the
Word ?
The matter of communication in such groups remainN fundamen-
tal, as it did among the Pararenes. The poinr is well illustrated by
the sermon which Bernard of Tiron prC\lChed at Coutan(t'$ sometime
before 1105, defending the right of hermit rtJQnks to preach, despire
the potential opposition of the local hierv.rchy.'" His occasion was an
archdeacon who possessed a wife and childrt:n yet WlI$ considere-d mo~
worthy co convey God's word than himself. Utilizing simplified alle-

M' IJ,;J.• c. }. 8J'~' ·-r.libo,.o tltqo.i,iI.. '",,<eo,;"'" ",il<lO homi.i .. n.. oal<tj, a,,,"';'
_io. '" .. i...... Dwm di< ....., _,.",. 'lllia, ,; a "i"'" adro n.u. <It. 'IIIi, 'Pin,um
....,"'''' Idbuj....... ,.., j~fn;u • ...., di..,.... il,., [).utrI . quil. l*ni<U<ii .... '" Ipi,;,,,, ....:.;
ill"",.
0<Upl ... , . In q .... ",.. ournptioa< ...... u' qoldam in <0 diyin.i .."m ..,..t1t<tI'w. ..
M. for • bri.,( It,it_ . ..., Umbo ... M""WoJ H...". ,,_~? oro:I. ro. • fuli<r d''''''''ioo .
It""",U. 0;".,.,.,J R.f..... , 6-68. Tb< ~ ... full, h.~ by It",,.!!, pp. ,6,.(.s>.
~'Tb< in"!pf<'("ion ..... &nt ."U.. ,«I by H . Pi""n', '"T_h<lin .. I. p«>i« d< <It_
mtmbr<,.,..., "" d _ d·Un"«h, ... " " oo.- A,....j,~," B41,~. 8.11,,101" /.0 Cl",,.
.. ill"" " .;., """'" _"'" It !Jlrif-. oh;' ~ . 1J ~ '9" )' '''-19. Bu, ob;"::,ion ...... b<.:n
<>io«I ...., in pank.b,. 1I......t1. Di.-,.oJ Rtf_, ,6_68, ,67-68 .
... cr. W . Id""'. ·"1"..-.:lI<lm 00II An<W"P'n. Ej"" """"mol'S< Ub."wf",,& <k, Quell.n_

"",,«I by Umh<,.. N..m...J

,,' On ,"" .."""" .•
H_"
0<"""""' ....
H, bu, .......boIl, by 1t ...<lI, rh_""
I~.:· ... ...ttJ U......." .. ~ S......... ~, palOllllb .......... l C'9H). '~--4'. Moh,'. vi ...... . up-
1U{o<w. /«.<><.
G. G. M.....,,,,,,,,•• ··£mni,i,,,,,,. p«di< .. _ i,'''''""''
do; ><coli XI , XU:· in I.:....,;,;_;..mdtm• .,.; IKI>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 ""';p,- F...........,.. ~. r.iI.
(u.;p>i~, '9<»), ~)-"; 0fI tb< .... - at Cout.""... pp. H-H ·

'33
 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 main-
tained, was the sj1lfPIIX pop/lllJI, the jaw in its head, the preacher, ....
whl), by "chewill8 up" Scripture, rendered it palatable for the com-
ml)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 histor-
ical, 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 at-
tained 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 devd-
I)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 apres-
sions fL the flil4 romt/Ut"iJ; the communal movement, which engulfed
the Pataria in the twelfth century and led to the downfaIl of Amold

... Vis< B..u B..... ,Ji .. . M r_ . . . ' w, GMfriM G ..... c. 6. ~._" . pt I, •. ,

wIIO:
" . . . .... 'n .. mon ..... ';mpli<<m popdum (....;I\at). ... MIBda...ta, ..... "'" r<Obu, ""boos
n

... i .... """""'''''' n... dtfldi .. mondttIdi;m apit< ..i";. ptUdku.:oo<n> "";''''' &<Io<tao.
- IMJ.• 6 .H. ,)?SO·C.
... /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, whippe<l up anti-scmitk crowds in tOwns dong the Rhine. or
Eon de I'Etoile, who, William of Ntwburgh notes, although ifliwalllS
el idiolll., thought himself bmught to earth to judge both the Jiving
and the dead.'"
Despite their dif'krcnces, the three major commentators on the Mil -
anese: Pataria lean no doubt that the RKIvement stood at the cross-
roads of c1evtnth~emury dissent and reform. Above all, the Pataria
served as a vehicle for the concentration of issues surrounding the
spread. of literac:y. It brought the controversies over simony, nicolai_
(ism, Ilnd the sacraments out of the classroom and into the parish
church, even into the streets; and it produced a hybrid .di8ious move_
ment possessing an inner co«, of deriu and a wid~r ci.de of ordinary
bdievers. Both of these: achievements were made possible through
preaching, that is, through a method of commun;Cll{ion ultimately
dependent on texts.
Cinz;o Violame has demonstrated in a series of remarkable studies
that the Patui. derived much of iu vigour from new and mo«' intense
forms of interaction between clerics and laymen. The beginnings Wl:re
undoubtedly clerical and literate. The romantic LanduJ( saw the Pa-
taria as a conspirac:y originating in the liunily interests of Ansclm of
Baggio. But Arnulfand Andrcw recognized the founder to be Ariald,
who, from the out5et, not only demandt<l a moral «,srructuri ng of
the clergy but also invited laymen to play an actin' role in reform.
From IOH to 1061 Ariald. was ~is{t<l by Landulf Cotta, who, as a
norary of the catht<lral, had strQn8 liok$ in higher lay as wel l as
ecclesiastical circles. The degltt of lay as opposed to clerical elements
in the original movement is divetsely interpreted. Sirus maintaint<l
that the !am"//fl ehrisli"s bcni8n admonitions we~ «'jecled by the
1000al clergy at VattSC.·,6 Aodrew a[so St2ted that Ariald first preached
to I4CWd"tts and only Iarer to laymen.'" Landulf Senior teUs anOther
story: ~turning to the countryside after seilin8 his poKt with Anselm,
Ariald is said to have preached openly agaicut the ma.rri eJ dergy
... Hi,"';" P_ ifo.Jis, '''''''. M. Ckib ...n (London. ' 916),6, .
'" Hi","" R.... A...I",--. br. . '. c. '9. «I. R. H""Irt, (London. ,11!4). p. 60 .
... Vi... c. >6, 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 follow-
ers, sbouId one forgn Andtt1Y of Strumi himself or the "_tal der-
ia" who, on hearing Ariald preadl, left the rwuorli_ (~pa-
10:.:;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 witb-
out 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. /u-
nulf 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 de-
s(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 estab-
lished 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.
•• , c. ". p . • 0,7 . )4.
•....
v_. "'Iai<i,' .,,-)4.

... 11M.• '" n. p .• ..,a.

... ,.......,. $. Tric:itl:"Jj 11_," S. A...t.n. "J _ , " S. Vi< .... "J.J.-" and pttbop
S. War.Sou<!&; Vi.... cr. :1, :4. 11.2 •.
'" a . V _ , " 11o;ci: :64~.
"'l.iI.r J ,1_, 6, p. S9:. a .• u.
Cor.• :07 : "SooI_ KIll .. mw:di <lop. Druo.
~ ..p..._,,, inofj""", m"";; <Iq;' Druo. uI ...d : ... ' /Onia."

.,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 {<Kif, i>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<::<i.
Instead, thero:: were simply masses on both sides. They had no juridic
status as dasses, unlike rho:: capitllnei, V1IvasoUrs , and dves. BUI Pa-
tarene preach ing, toget her with Ihe archiepiscopal ~buttals, gal\?-
nized their self-consciousness as a group and gave them a means of
articulating common material and spiritual gOllls. As for those higher
up on the social Kale , the appcal of the reformers seems to have varied
from person to person. True, in the countryside Ariald had a m~
naturally r«eptive audience among the «onomically depressed. fltS/ifi
and small landowners like his pa~nrs, JUSt as, in Milan, his individ-
ualistic m~gc had an undeniable attract ion for the newly consti-
t\lted " middle class. ' ..,6, But Andrcw notes perceptively that his sharp
woros often divided members of the same family.· .. Among the Ility
the~ wet'e undO<lb~ly differing appr«iatioru of what Pllt2lCnC ~hing
actually mean t and what mowobligations it entailed. Only a smaH
number of derks and laymen stayed conStantly with ATiald, guard ing
his person, joining in vigils, /lnd, as SitU.'l put il, following him "with
bare f~t" on his daily p ilgrimagC$. In ordilI2ry believers ascetic de-
votion was mit igated by family loyaltie5, «:onomic and political in-
teresu, ..,r 5imply by fear, hatred, or the dC$i~ fO{ ~venge. Arnulf
and Landulf both suggest that laymen usurped the officillm pratJica-
,io"is. But the~ is lifde evidence that they went beyond the "diKUS-
5ioll$" r«ommended by Ariald . The upper levels of tne laity were
chiefly useful in providing $«ular 5upport for the Pataria'5 coercive
activity and in judg ing, perhaps tOO harshly, un~pentant members of
the ~gular c1ergy.·r..
If we turn from the social origins of the members to the organiza-

... HiJ,..;' , . 11, p. 81 , 16.

... Va.. . <. ". p . ,~. ".,>.ct. Am"'f. G_ }.><' . p. '}. ,8-'90: .'s..:I """" .... p<>po.iu>
non .:Ii " 11"'" p<rnd<di' ..,dem."
... 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

a diffetent way. Atnlllf record. that the _i_

with legal isms which each of the three rommentawrs emphasized in
of the MiJancsc chun:h
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 [C-
duced w sm;i in the city', curia.'" The legally (flIined &nulf recog-
nized this to be a "rcV'Olutionary" document and accuse<l Ariald of
"usurping ecclesiastical Jaws. "
Oaths, too, were frequent throughout the movement's history. Lan-
dulf Senior recalls a possibly fjctive iltrl#.ltH1It_ bet .... een Ariald, Lan-
dulf Cotta, and Anselm of 8aggio."· But similar obligations W1;re
ailo enjoined upon lay members: Ariald swore a SIImVIImIIl/fl with
Nazario;·n Amulf spoke of a twII",II1H. • • _iblls "'iris ;,""".,,111"','"
Landulf Senior described lIS • pt.citllJlJ the feudal OI.th which bound
the MiJancsc youth w his 5el"Vicc''' and used the same: term to ,peak
of Erlembald's receiving the wxill_ ulldi Ptlri ••76 Andrcw of Strumi
saw legal authority primarily from within the movement. He called
Ari&!d', followers fidt./I$, 11. term which apdy summed up their partly

... c.... , .... p. '9. H''''. "";oId i. mo:ntlontd i • ." ,Io.ro,h-<en<ury <UIOIIiao/ col/rt,....
on<! d _ a •• ialm.. ,,( dnoKb diocipli ... ",""",,- DIi .i '. ~ .. A ...
etI""",,",ioo. ,,( "'"
"'''''_ ...t, A. AmIxooiocIi, - JI pill "",Ko""'"
di r:tUm<i 010110 dioc..i ombtmiano ed 01,,.
"Ui""", 01 Dec= di IIur<Ndo in "" codin <ldJ, Bib!."..,. ... ~ (~ '~4 ..... ). U..
TO« ddlo pokmiu .uipororillinr· A_}O ('916), ""i
IQ, m. milieu, ... pp. ,""7 .
• " VIoIonl<, Z. ~.if 1', II4-?"i cf. - I 1U:i, - 'no On "'" ." ip"...
1 ...d """"ia.]
".i.I....... n. ponkulot O. eop."'; .."Storio!I,o. • fifoxmo <10110. chieoa '" holio., - n~" .
... H:-;" j." p. 71 , " .
." Vi<", <. 6. p. ,"'" 28.
"'c.... ,.1'. p. 20. ,8.For "lDil.. i'i .... i<h ....... j ••Ii.. ~ ""'~""".'"
G. PaoaII, ."Goo.o ......." " '(."".~ •. • •• - 6,.6lI.
'" ll~ , .• ,. p.l4. '4 .
. .. 110#.• ,.>9, p. 9', >.

,,'
 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 by-
product 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 Pa-
raria 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<! for the first time the light of self-conscious reliecrion,
not only on the spedfic issues of nico lairism and simony, but, by
implication, 00 a whole range of matters whose content had hitherm
... a. Nk<oIi. " P<r b ..on. doU. I'Mat" . .. ,- I " .
.... a. Viobn«, -I bid," >03-06.

'J9
 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 com-
munication to be the Roman theatre, the ancitnt seat of the com-
munal 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 ques-
tions 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<'<i with explanarion in lit-
ente terms. The orher .... as the b<-gin nings of reAec:tion on observable
nature, or, more pr«isely, on tM relation of pheoomenal appearances
to an inner reality whose logical properties coincid~ with those of
t!!Xtl.
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 partici-
pants" 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$f bKame assodated in tUtn
with the most erudite mpome to the issues,
By implication, each group asserted that the other's ideas CO!l.5ti-
tuted a "popular" debasement of higher cultute. While there was
much rhetoric inV1)lved in the mutUal acC\lU.rions, a dassie rift opened
between an intellectualist position, which, of COUIK', both claimed to
reprC$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 me-
dieval 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 contem-
porary 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 devel-
oped 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<luction lay an issue which
fell, sttictly spc2king, outside the bounds of religious thought. This
was the stacus of observable reality in the ritually consectated bread
and wine which were said 10 [«all the actual body and blood of
Christ. From Ihis specific question it was a short Step to the idea of
nature itself. Was nature what onc saw before onc's eyes, to which
the categories of human understanding were simply subjoined? Or was
reality the inner core, a formal truth (or which phenomenal appear_
ances were metely a kind of allegorical covering? The question had of
COUIK' been posed and reposed in the ancient world. But, as the eu_
charistic debate gained momentum, it was 11) patristic and even early
me<lieval a!l.5wcrs that thinkers most frequently returned.. The critical
texts were found in Augustine. Iu the bishop of Hippo had never
's.. in ..... taI J. SIwrupI<j, 5,.....J n-,. " P/HI. plH $,., o(T__ 0( R.Jil _;'
S.n.J A... ,hW (Cambrid$<, [91'6),...d s. F. loI-. and S. G . M,al>off, "Soco.Iu Rio.,.),
"""'" and loI..ni",. ..·
i" .... ...". odi.,.... S«_ Rm..J (A,_, ''-'7), ,-,~, .,.i, h. bibtios-
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$y, the naturalism of
the later eleventh and twelfth c~nturies can be de-scribW as a compro-
mise. As literate science was u-tstablishtd through the uivium and
the qua<irivillm, conceptual schemes for IIndet$t1Inding and interpret-
ing natute gradually took over the 6tld. Physicalism and naive sym-
bolism, although pt't$i!ling in unofficial "sciences, " w~rt more and
more rejected from the classroom and regarded as uneducate<! ~mpi­
ricism. The sci~nce of one generation th~reby became the superstition
of the next. But natut1llism also involved a procr$s of acculturation.
A$ it was articulated in the finr quarter of the twelfth century, it was
anything but a pure Ki~nc~ of nature. It could best be describo:d as a
new ueilude of mind which CUI across otherwise unrelated disciplines
and united them in a common approach to the comprehension of the
ex.isting world. At bottOm it had only twO irreduc ibl~ features. The
senses were the starting point of all inquiry. But verification or, ro be
mou precise, authentication did not take place through measurement
or ex.pedment1ltion. It was produce<! by eXllmining th~ inller workings
of thi" human mind, which, in th~ medieval context, mean! the in_
tcrronne<:tions betw~n words, thoughts, and things. The material
and the immaterial wert thus brought t08cther with in the same in-
telle.::tllal programme but represented in {a(t diffetent ~rsp«tive5.
The insistence on the heard, the tou(hed, and the seen may wel l have
e<:00ed ancient doctrines; but, for the vast majority umu:quainled. with
them, it also expres.sed in writin8 the normal, conCrete appreciation
of the phenomenal in nonJitcrare society. Thi" higher categnri es of
thought which comprised the oth<:r point of vi ew arme from no single
tradition of thought. Logic, 8ramnlal, rhetoric, and theology all had
a try at unravelling the "secretS o{ nature." What such erudite ap-
proaches had ;n common was rh<: use nf textS, or of methods derived
from them. And, altholl8h daimin8 affiliation with the aTlliqlli, in
med.i~l terms their emphasis on script made them unmistakeably
modern.
 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 ass0-
ciations 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

' } . F._ton. SJj_.Js.a.t,;" Md' , ~._. TAr ....,' 0/ AWol G.n..-t o/ N_ CN ...
YorIE, '910), .)8.-l9·
'A. Lcf"""" "le , ...tt .... 1<I;q.... do G\>ibm de ~ et Ir< <OmI,"'.....,"',.., de
rn.iquoo hi" ~iq ...... DIOJm ""' ... El" -'__ ...JiJii. J t;__ Mo_
ChriI. ,¥).
loo

'"..... .;.... -
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~...;.,
J. a-nnd. "1..r. <OnCq>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<uIAr, _ K. G»th. G"'" _ NfrMI- iM _"*,,,,,idIt
' f

hi#l. ... " Rflir ~.

'97<'), P-IOl .
' n ," • • •

,Ot "ia _i'" S· ·; '., El. N •• g ".M, ( . I, .,6.6c1().c1jD. On G\>ibcn·• . -

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.ib<n de N".
P"'''' sm,t.mn. ,. (,,.17), )->9. 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<o, " 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 Bap-
tism 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 dis-
tinguishing 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 (w-
1/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
• Cl. A"..!m. liIu't14 .s._._is
(kom<. ,~o •. l~O. ti ...... 1,,"1, .
o:tt., .... c. " od. f. S. !le""';". 0,.... 0-;.".01. 2

• Dt pit,.;,-, I. '. p~ I)6 . ~,.c.'3D .

 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 sup-
posed 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 inter-
pntation 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 exam-
ples 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-con-
OCCTed 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. , 6"n.'~B .
, IW .. 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<i a(cou nt of events
«(fJfn1/WIlala hiJlwia). Their narrll[ive is val udeu if uocertainty tor_
ments tile worshipper·s mind. For a prayer dedkated to a saint about
whom one knows nIXhing for sure is a sin. Nor can prayu in doubt
please God. '. And Christ Stated. that an illttrpm ... jalritaliJ" would
ce rtainly perish.
Of course, there are instartm in which reason merdy suppom faith,
as, for example, in the resurre.::tion of the virgin . The even! itself
cannot be established "by ne.::essa!}' arguments.·· Els-ewhere in b iblical
srudy reason alone suffices (ratio JoIa rr!1WI1Iiat). On occasion, tbe evems
of Sc ripture provide their own notionale. In Ma!}'·s case, since proba-
tory evidence (tvimlia p,."hotmml4) is not available, onc is all the more
pnoisewofthy for a display of failb. Similarly, in the authenticat ion of
saints' If:mains, ralio underpins jiJu. ,6 H owc~r, tbat does not mean
that one believes eve!}'thins one reads in the oflen mi sleading saints·
lives produced. for his own age. Where the fac ts remain unsubs[an-
tiated, he: prtters a prudent silence. A learned falsificat ion, he adds.
il even worse than a popular trifle. Some authors of local lives attrib-
ure great antiquity Vllmma alftiqllilaJ) to their beroes, demanding that
tM narntives be ~OIded for the pr~nt age (1Mlkr1fO ttmpon . .. .n.141
l(Ti6t). Guibo:rt hi.melf was asked to compose ~uch lives but refused.
For what ·'truth· · could he profes.5 about Ioaiots wh om 00 one had ever
secn~ If he tnnsc ri bed the verbal accounts, he wou ld in effect bo:
giving them bi, P'<'rsonal attesration. " For. even when authenticity is
IJOt in question, errors and disputes elln arise, as was !he case, for
instance. of the skull of John the Baptist daimed by both Angers and
Consl2ntinople.
Guibo:rt"1 mentality (annot be summed up in 11. singlc term like
critical or /"I.Iion;uistic. Like the unearthen of relics in his accounts,
•• Ih<I.• •. 6. 6" C·D. "IHJ. • , .• • 6»A. " /HJ.• 6»o..y•.
•, /JiJ.• 6r)c. ., IHJ.• 6:>,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 devcmh-
century movement of religious archaeology, underpinDCcl by the re-
cordill8 of spoken accounts. Yet he cannot" accept all that he obs.ervcs
withont doubt. He is awatt of his period's distincrivenes.s (>mtfr ttm-
Pill, >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 dis-
tinguishiI18 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 for-
malism. 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 as-
soci;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. "/tw.. bk. 4, c. 1.4,668.1..
R lIIo . '. c. 4. I, 6.6.\.0. " £ph I: '4 . n $. '. 6098; He'" ,:" 1 eo. 4:> .
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I,6"e.

,.,
 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<ku:ially, although the physiall
is verified by the textual, the text is also the means of transcending
··the len.er"· Moreover, in weighing a claim for sainthood, it is not
only tbe written Te«lrd but contempofllry interpretation of the sub-
jeer's intentions which counrs.'o The Ta.'Ik of hermeneutLcs is to im-
pute or deny holin= to the candidate·, subjective meaning.
If Guibert thus unites the physical and the spiri tual, he sees the
bad side of crude naturalism in externality. At the outset, as noted,
he dist inguishes betwttn customs pl1lCti~ at random involving noth-
ing esse ntial to tbe faith and the sacraments, where, despite a physical
presence, there is "a doctrine of like form.·· Similarly, although a
'·body" coven a relic's ·'spirit,·' which is then imerpretcd by a ten,
the spirit of a text C1In also have a purely interpretive function, as, for
ill$tance, when Paul speaks of Abraham's unaccomp!is hed work
'·figutatively'· p or when, in a negative scnSl', falsifying rhetoric dis-
creditS genuine sainthood.'> Merely encnlll signs therefore cannot be
relied upon a.'I evidence unless situated in a textual continuum relating
the individual vita to larger theolog ical concerns . " And this ~uires
an imerprt:ter. Th<1$, 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 dedi-
catory 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 phys-
ical 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<! ultimately
with oral tradition. The pigtlllJ is thereby a repratsmlala mtmona,'06
recalling early medieval legal imagery. Mary, by COntrast, is the sub-
"I~.. ,.6[,8. M 11iJ. , [, 6[,C.

.. (;p. l . 6 [0&" [.\, bk '. , . [. 6.,A-C; for a d;o<u>""n .... me [} .•. ,,,6-H a<>:l
G"'h. 'I .';' .• 77 ·
"o. Pi~.bI<. ' . '. [.6[)C. ,. IWi.• 6.(11.. "IWi.• c. •.•• 6[68 .
,. (;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 'Mlr,
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 phys-
ical renuins on earth. The miiiJ0lI4 of which Paul spoke was not ItIJ-
IIIISIit.u bur ;""IUrtulit.u." There wecc not tWO bo<!il'5 bur one; by
implication, no OIle can d.im to have • relic of Chtist himself. PUT-
ting the part for the whole, i.e., synecdoche, is fuund in the Bible,
bue it is also used. indiscriminately by the unlettered (il/it"..IOI tt
fiIIlgam h« fip''' _ fit.).", Similarly, onc mU$t DO{ dwell on
the: physical aspects of the bread and wine of the eucharist .nd forget
the spiritual meaning; "which is to "y, he who eats me ~:I<teriorly,
that is, who eats my flesh and blood., lives by him who gives lift
"tIQ.• bk. I. c. 4. &..6C .
.. t~. ,. I. 612D. " 'HI.• 61}A.I!. ~ I~.•
>'4. 619C- .' I. ... ' .>. 6>4('
4>/W.. '." 6>'AoB. ~
. j t;;'/', , . 1. 6.. C. IW.. }.,. 6>,c.O. "'HI.. 6>6A.
.. I'ar. diffomtt ,.;nr .... A. Lefn.n<, ...<it., ~.." .
.. 0. ';,_""", bk. " C. ' . 1. 6, lA. .. /ftL . 6, lB .
.. 1"-1.• 6"C. l'Of ....... drtaikd npooitioa vi 'h< "~iI<oriaI- .....! "..:ram<tII,.!" .Iem< ....
iB Gu.ib" ...... J. Grisri_. "0;. s..uu". del Gu;!oen _ Notu'l' It , "4) ;n dot Euo:!.
,;..·.kh .. dot F~ik. ~ TiMJ~ ~ ,,0 (19'9). 61..a.; ' 79'}O'j .
.. 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 res-
timonies. "" 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 sup-
per, 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 <n;m .,.,.,;. ;ft'''''';''. ;,no _onorio .... no<;';. qw.km "ull • .."tiJ;'u,.
quo .... ioBt _rSJi ..,.... <.-.dim,/""
wl;;J .. J.,.6~C .
"IOY., bk. " c. I.', 6"B.D. "1Nl., L" 6pC. "1,,.1., ""B.
" I;;J. . '.4. ",4.... "IHJ.• '. ,. 6".... "1Nl., ' .1, 6nB .
•, IINI.. •. ,. ",M. .. I~.. '.4. 6,61: . ·'IOiI., j.,. ",81! .
.. Ut.m. " 1Nl.• bIr. 4. <. '. ' . 66,B.C. "tOil.• ' .'. 66,[)..66C .
.. IW.• M7A, AJ><>:" 1. '0.

".
 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 pres-
ent. 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, con-
sidered, 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 typ-
ica.lly medieval lISSOCiation of orality with a written mode. While iIC-
cepting 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 ad-
judicating 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 sym-
bolic and the hcrmencutic. The achicvc:ment of phiJosophiC21 theology
in the later dcvc:nth and twelfth centuries was to bring the two elc-
menu together in harmonious union. The Dt Piporilnn $tllKtO, ..., ap-
plied 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 di-
versity of spolcm furms within a unity of written doctri~; the equa-
tion oC truth, rationality, and textudity, supported by historiC2l and
ardta.eoJogicaJ rt:Se\I.tCh; cbe distinguishing of the local ftom the uni-
vcrsal, 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'<ie.:euon like Bernard of Angers
in one important n'Spt<t. For him, criticism of n'lks forms part of a
larger theQJogicaJ framework based u!X'n a learned understanding of
the sacraments. He tMrcby provides a con~nie nt brid~ to the tWO
major problems of this chapter, namely, the rise of an intdl e.:tualin
theology and the concommitant growth of empirical attitudes.'"
For thne issues , IllI will be evident, intersected the debaCl' on the
nlcharist at a critical !X'inr. The eucharist was by definit ion a j;I(F4'
"""fttm, an oath or oral commitment, intimately rclated to the his·
toriul n'--enactmtnt of the last supper and the crucifixion. Also, the
bread and wine on the a1tU wen' physical reminders of the body and
blood of Christ. But intetpn'ring the eucharist demanded, as did the
ctiticism of rdics, a contran between differing modO"!; of perception:
the visible and the invisible, the material and tile spiritual, and the
external and the internal . The rival positions developed during some
t1't'O cenruries of acti~ discussioo ha~ long had their placr in the
doctrill2i history of traruubuantiation and in the broader evolution of
scholastic techniques of argument. But the analysis of rh e eucharist"s
meaning was aho a watershed in dividing popular from learned tra·
dition and in the use of logi c for refln:ti ng on the problem of nature.
The theological history of the eucharist can be tracnl from Pas·
chasius Radbertu5 and Rattamnus of Corbie through Ben'ngar and
Ltnfranc to the syntheses of Guitmund of Avers.a, Alger of Li ~ge ,
Hugh of St. Victor, and St. Thomas. It is more difficult to say why
the is.sue arose when it did. The answer, to the degree that any corn·
pIa intell e.:tual mo~ment can be traced to a starting point, is that
the debate called into question the.' meaning of "sacrament" it~lf, or,
more prt(i~ly, the Lttin $4lTamt "tll1n, at a critical phase of its evol u·
don from the later classical to the medieval world. ~ cros.sroads was
n'achal at the point at which CU3tomary, unwritten, or g enuinel y oral
elements in medieval rheology were abo being challenged by the logi c
of written texts.
Then' wen' lIS a con~uence two possible approaches to Jacral/Ufl'
film. Either it could mean the outward and visi ble sign of an inward
and spiritual gTlee or the innec and spiritual meaning of an external
sign, symbol , or ritual. ru such, these sides of the same theologiGlI
.. n.. ",rm ··<mp;ri<"Ill·· .. O«>OiO<lolI,
...d ;n m;' <tIar< ... ;n • <in<';p<i", 1<"0<. Co>oooc,;"",
... im 10, .. <mpidu l ~IH or< not nocqo&ril, impl;.d . For . ro,,,... dilCU .. ion of d·.. id......
A. J. A,." n. F","""," <f E",,~ K~'" (~. ,~o). ,S., l '·

'l3
 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 ob-
ject 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 cere-
mony of investiture, in whi ch objects physically represented the bind-
ing 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 sac-
rament, 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 inter-
related) streams of meanins: (1) Jll(ramt>U1I11I in clauical Ladn, mean-
ing 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 "sac-
rament;' 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<holoolik." M~ M.o"' 7 (1'Iri>. 19,01. .... '. 97- '4); 10< ,10< Jaw-
pc.iQol, O. YMI dro E,ode, t.. Dt1 .t.i..... $A, .. ,.."ro' ~ Jj .).,... .. ~ .If Iv
.,4";1_ ( ZO,o-"40J ( R.omo •• 9,0).

'>4
 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 lolo-
gists. Hans von Soden acknowledged the important range of meanings
attached to illtl'4mmlllm I j.&u<rn'lew\" but Strt'Ssed that the p rimary
sense derived from the ritual legitimation of obligations through the
spoken word. n A similar view was taken by Olristine Mohrmann.
Christians, sne arguN, took over $4(T4_11I/ft from secular usage; thus,
the notions of "OQ.th" and "devotion" were equally balanced SO as t(l
produce the idea of ""'glJgtmml nli&itwl." This in turn implied three
elements: a ritual of initiation into a community of believers; an OQ.th,
giving juridic statuS to the ceremony; and a subsequent uniting of the
legal and the religious bonds. " In othe r words, the link if any be-
tween the pagan and the Christian senses lay in the spoken word and
its sacral funnion, either for initiation or cOlIS«l'lItion , Later, the idea
of "mystery" was added; but the etymological route remains obscure.
Onc possible avenue was the symbolic as oypased 10 real value of the
legal deposit in a lawsuit." The religious formalities of Roman law
could easily have been adapted to new uses in Christian communities.
But it is more proOable that there WlIS a slow infiltl'lltion from the
Greek, a pan.lIe! to the adaption of other abstractions to the philo-
sophically weak vocabulary of Latin. Of that popular fusion (or con-
fusion) of t4Cr4f1UlItMm as sworn pact and occult symbol we perhaps
catch a glimpse in Pliny, who wrote in A. D. 93 or 94 of th e Chris-
tians' habit of a.ssemblins for prayer and of "bindi"8 thelTl$oelves through
sacnment" (SlqUf illtl'am.,,/D . . . obslriwgm) against temptatiofiJ of
evil. 76
Between T~rtullian and Augustine , S<W'4mn1IM"I undtrwent a tran-
sition in twO senses. The notion of oath or pledge was gradually &ban-

"" H.IIrn;,,'" N,.. ...... oM a.,iN;.. Soc,.,.,."ra. " .11....,_.

~tlI So,i ... S ('liP). lOO.
" "Muo::rtWuw uo.d _~I~", in ........... n <!rti J. hlhund<r= dot KiKho:' Zt;,1<I>rift
fii< t& _",_,la. Wm.-IMf' >l ( '911). ,88->l7; ",m""';m:! by,. do Gh<llilKk. P_
{'6;.";" .h _ ..S.... ", ....._ ·· I, Ut ,.,.'hli</toJ (Lo.,min oM Po"; •• '11'.). ~ 7')r.
" .. So<,.",.",""' ...... loo pi.. "",i«t< ... , .. <hrt<i<", ." E,""- _ k /,n.-.
Ju d.<Iii<os. ¥<>I, I
(R"..,.. '9S8). ' )1. 0.. _ ......JWOUO ."1'3......... in tl>e ~'" 1\0< «nt"';.. .....
a..;" . ... c, Copoll<. u _,,~ "" <ri{;_ ... XII. ,_It,
El"'" ~ (Pori •• '9)9).
)3.0,. for • d_ion cl ,.,,,_ in n><di ...1 "'''.... H. do tobo<. C..,., M,";,.. ...

~For. dnru..ioot of
(Nunid<. ' 976).600-97 .
wrno_
L'-a.,w;, It rqlu. ... ..,.. ~ ("",is, I ~ .. ) . ~ ,.~.
in JI.omm "'w, ... M. Karn. rhJ ...irdJ< Zm/jtoul_hl

.. Ill· \16, al. J. a. li&h'''"''. TI>o ....,..",i<

p.,hm. ¥<>I . , . , (In<>don, ,~, ). S' .o.d ".
pn . " Cl, Ttrtullian. ,y./. >. CCSL 1. pp. 87-9' .

'55
 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_ mi-
lit;', 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 for-
ward to the Christian vrxiIJ_, the Lord's banner.a. 5"""1IInIZM,,, thus
b«ame a synonym for sig1l4Ol1"1II or sip"•. Commenting on I Co-
rinthians ,. 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. 5""""",,,_
thus came to mean _Ill, a sacted or consecrated thing, The initiated
was JllCrtflllJ: he was both 5W{1m to obedience and introduced to reli-
gious 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 commu-
nicat~ only to the initiat«!, usually throush revelation, porable. or
in eO(l5y.M Again, ~/_ meant rite or sacrifice: Tertullian (on-
"Cl. H. do Luboc. c..",. /11",;-'. ,. ". ""'.,..b _ ,......JJr of ,............" of
msAi"ll b .,.., ' and ...,. ..: ".I'..... port. Jo _ q... .. . ""'" _11<""", ri,woIlc

lIOn _0
.... ~Io. "', d· .... « PU!. 10. .... q ... ""'" qoJOlir.o.- do otrip''''';«,.,,«t>d&n< po.! ~
J'llainu< <110-_ . ...w I< doma,ino-<i J opkuiatiml .... 1'E<ti!Ur<. . "
.. E. do !lock«, "Ton.,m... ," in J. do GboJIindr. • M .• , _ J. _ .'!_ ' •.... " ,.,.
.. M -.,.... , . • , CCSI. I. p. ,. "-'J.
.. do~. "T... o>IliftI," 67.
"Do ,.-.;,,- ' • . 17. CCSI. •• ,. '}OII. 67' 1"
.. Do c.- ".,~. = >.,. ,06:1. '"1->1 ODd litI,.' _•. 6. iIii.. I. , . 88.
Foe- G.<d<~ .... A.O. N<rl. "1i<1i<1<io!k N,....; ..." ,8,. But tt.:" 1 1 ,ot""
',-,0.
!>dOn:
,"" IOOnh "'''''','' ........ ",Iow.n.d lIi,ho" tMn 110 .... _ . ,. :t<>J . s.. do km, "T...
noIli .... • _ >, pp. "'~" and, -.....-I;.,~. <ho poto/ld......&.o ~ v. Gt6oo,
f.r . . . . 1Ifri/f N B f , i _ S"'_ M _ SdJmjj (BriJoo •• 8'1) .
.. do B.d«<. "T....,ui...... 7\ .
.. ,.,... 1,.8, CCSlI. p. "4. 3~41.
"'WJ., 47·'4,'. •6:1. 6!>-U.
.. Do '" 'iI<!- H_,<&oo_ >6 .• • iIii.• p. >0]. "1.

,,6
 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<!d 5acralMfI/ltfll in a full
range of metaphorical senses. Onc of his favorites was to indicate
prefiguration: Moses, who prefigured Christ," or the cross, a sac:ra-
men! of future 5aIVl1tion;1\I In such conrexu, sacraTlWltum was a pro-
phetic or figura! type in irself.'" On other occasions , fig ural typology
was unitN with other sorts of symbolism: Ahraham's son born of a
fIff woman represented the nohility of Christianity (to come), while
his son born of a slave stood for the legalistic altitude of the Jews
towards spiritual matters. ?' Sacrammla in the wi ckst sense were all
figltfat, alltgorifU, or amigmala, whose true inner sense ~ veiled to
the uninstruned. The nnge of meanings was broad enough to indude
symbol, figure, allegory, symbolic virtue or power, a symbolic objec t
or person, ILiI wel l as the urdo oc Jispwitio of which the symbols were a
part.?' All were sacrammta.
Tertu!l ian WILiI the father of sacramenta! terminology io tit.: WCSt.
His broad division of sacramtfl/1I1fI into "oath" and "symbol"' was fol-
lowed by Cyprian and a num~r of prc:- niccne fathers . But, by this
time there was already a tendency to reverse the priorities. In Cyprian,
the notion of verbal comm itment waned; in Lananlius, ircnatus, and
the DonatistS, it virtually disappeared.?) In its place a nC"W di visio n
app"ared betw~n sacrammtu", as a ritual and .as a symbol. The most
eloquent examples of sacramental rites ate found in the sermons for
catechu mens which SI. AmbtO$e published under the titl e D, Sacra-
mmtis.'M The most elaborate development of 5ammUnlUm as a symbol
took place in Augustine.
Th ere is no simple way to summarize Augustine's use of the term .9'
., I~. • • 0.> . 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.
o'lid., '.4 . ~, p . 6B. ,}.,~ .
.. do: lI..;k ... · "«,~IJ;'n:· 1>9. '.\04f.
" 010 GbolJind, ilU .• J ' , .
.. Don> 6 . 6o<t<. od .• 0. S""nJ<Otis. f)" MW;.... (",",u. '9,0). >. ' }" So< L. r.."""I.
''0l>I0 .. <f <<><po d~ Ch"" ... , 1",.,,1 d'"", "';n, A",b,..;",:· R"J,mlxs" '1MI.t"
.* ~~ It ..
>.(,
..
odiIiltwk 9n). '07-24' on ,t.. ru<ho";"k " • ..ronr...;.... pp. 207' ' 0, on , ....1;,,,,,-. " ,.

., 1'<0, .......1..;00. . . . C. r..,.."uritr ... ·Soo:BmmlU"'· .. ·JII)'>... ium· <10. .. r... uvt< dt ..in.
lIu~\U,jn. ··
in H . Rondt •• N . I< UndJoi., A. LaUl... ond C. eo..,,",i<r. od'., fJ"'" -,;."io;.,m."
(Pui., '9))), ,6 '· H2. f <)t .. tarlioT <kkn« 0;,( A",,,"io< .,.; .... <ily .. . ·· ... Ii,,:· ... K.
lldano. Vi< E...a..;";JJ,,, ""~. 11",,,,,;. (Po.derbom, .9(8). 6 • • ,.6.6, .
 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 sem-
inal importance are twO letters written around 400 to a layman. Ja-
nuarius, 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><krstood accotding to the mttl_
IfCtlll IpiritllAlis. They wen: therefore a subject ol interpretation.
This double view of the sacraments was incorporared into the def-
inition which Ausustine offe~ to Jlnuarius in his second letter. A
sacrament, he said, is a sacred rite (alJw.Ji~), commemorating a past
deed <It: act (m grrlae:a Sdi suw;"), in order that something else, which
is to be received sacredly, is uooerstood as signified (lit .Iipid ,,u,1fJ
lipi/sft$ri ;'mlli,.,IW, qllod SA/KtI d«ip",,'_ 1.11). ,.. Here. the titual
and the symbol welt" united more luccessfully than in TcrtuIlian <It:
in Ambrose. Augustine was also more phiJ050phical ami theological
in his inrerpretation of sacramental symbolism. His meanins for JII-
~ was "isucpuable from the spirit1.la! intctpretadon of Scrip-
run"' itself.'· ' To put the matter aSlOlher _y.
the sacraments 'IIcre
viewed as symbolic actions in which incerpretlltion formed an inteSral
part of enactment. In this way, _ _ tllM was made to fit into one
of Ausustine's main theological Cenetl, namely chat objr:ers in the
created world are &i8n5 vi"..,) representin8 realiri~ (rl!:f) which are
.. For. brid' "";.., 01 ottIr ".w... _ P.·Tb. Camclo<. - '50<..",.""",,: N.... de ,,,,,,"
Losit ............,..« .."....,;n.ittw. - R_ " ;,.. H ('9H). ~ ~}O""" .... on wt-..w.
Ita, ...........,. I "".. d... n.
"a. I'.·n . Camdor. "K#liorn< Of "",hui ;'''' ""'" .. du<CI; ... cu<boJi .. ;quo de ......
A"'....,;R." J.SI'T } I (' 947), }93.
"£I.,.. I.Pl.n·_.
.. £I. 6. PI. )} .• o•.
- El· ,S·>, pt " . • a, .
,. , eo..n.Io<. - 'Socnmr<><um' .. . , - 4 }-4.

,,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<! the inrcllccruai devel·
opment of the second phase. But, during the twelfth century, the
issues were raised by a large number of both heretical and orthodox
writers before rhe K1lution known 15 transubstantiation was der:lared
d, fide at the u!Cran council of 121 ,. ''»
The two phases also represent diffcrent stages in the devdopmem
of an interpretive solution. Rsdben and later Lanfranc insisted on an
understanding of the eucharist stmsing the spoken, the phpi<a!ly
symbolic, and the performative, while Ratramn and Bercngar empha-
sized the written, the allegori cal, and (he search for meanin8 beneath
- So. ll. " . """kuo.. '"SI . A",USt'''' .... Si,,,,:' iR ll . A. M,do.",. «I .. A.,,,,Ii.. \N_
y.,..k, '97», ~'-9' ,od B. D. )0<"","" '"n.. Th<orJ 01 Si8N in SI. AUI Ulti,..,·, D< Do<rri"",
t;t,,;,n.. .. :. iW.. 9"'47.

. ,,-_.,-
' ...... ... ,
,~ _"....n"""... . .
- .~.. ...
4n : 44""4, ·
... , Gor . : ,: AU8 " El. »8 . >. PL H · «"4; e_.-..s;' i. P~I_ "9.', Pt )7" 44': <f.
C&rr>r:lot, 43601
... B. P,u)",. «I ., Or c..,...." SMvo;. 0-;.;. CCOoI ,~. p.•;;; .
•~ I'<Jt • <b«kl; .. of d.: main con«''''-'';''''', ... J. do Mont<loo. u.p_ " BImq ... u
"*
........... ""/wi<'iq,,, Xl. ,ilrk (!..ou"';n, '97'), '7·' 9n •. I'<Jt • "'id o«oon' 01 "'" dcv.l·
opm<n<, ... H. lw;_n, Di< E.Ij.t",., "" r,.,.,,,,hta,,,i.,m..kk Ws TO"' Br:r"'" "" H,dnt6J."j"
(/>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 accul-
tundon. The c:enrnLl m~ning of the eu.charisr did not need intetpre-
tation: it simply was. For Ratnmn and later symbolists. the physical
element in rbe eucharist could only derive meaning from being siw-
at~ in an intcrprctiVl: framework. In other words. it ~ ro be alle-
gorized. 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 partici-
pants 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 under-
standing 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 har-
mony 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. Al-
though .ppc:atins "in the figure of bread. .00 wlOe," God arnngC$
- Do" , . ... S i.i. 0-;,,; ( , I, o:cu ,6, p. I,. "7, •
"'I~_, 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<u born of th e virgin, died on
the cross, and was ~urrected on the third day. Like the miracles: of
the Old Tesrament, th~ evtnu we~ "against natul'l:'s cours<." They
must h<- both acknowlt<l~ and intetp~ted: acts perfurmed against
nature but in accord with divine will take place "for the utility of
rational h<-ings,"'" So it is with the flesh gi~n on the world's behalf:
it i, a wken of thl: whole chuC(h (pig"ItJ tlifililJ ",dtJia')' which bring$
about the interior mystery of sdvation. ' " Radbert adds that nothing
more I'l:markable takn place in the world of matter or appearan«$. A
single mystery, therefore, confirms all Christ's other miracles, which
are like the ellcharist operations from within. ". For instance, in the
~ of the tree of life, the potency d id not aris< from the nature of
wood. Rarher, an invi,ihle power operated by m.-a1lS of a visible ob-
jl'l:t . "~ Similarly, Christ 's ftesh is "nourishmem for the mystery." The
mind bows before the rock of faith. For the factual truth ifacti ItWit41)
lies beyond human reason .'"
But, if God', law is not natural Jaw, what sort of law is it? Radben
clarifies the matter in chapter tht~ by recalling the tWIJ sides of the
parristic concept of JaCl"ammtlilm:. A sacrament, he states, is "whatever
is handed down to us as a gage of salvation in a divine celebratiun,
in which a visible deed acts from afar and from within upon some-
thing invisible and is therefol'l: to be understood in a spiritual man-
ne r.'·"~ When ce, he add" l4N"af1lmta are etymologically derived from
Jtn'tfd: the divine wotks secl'l:dy either through a perceptible change
or a form of ~ctifiClltion. '" The "divine power" pl'l:fers co lead the
believtrs' minds toward the invi~ible, proce-edill8 lIS Paul sugg~ted
"by faith, not by sight. " "I But JtlCI"ammllllll may also be undersroud
as a type of legal oath (JtlCI"alM1Itltm ill1'iJ ) , in which, after sides ha~
been taken, "each and every pnty 5W.-ars what is stipulated by the
ag~llH'nr. " "· In this sens<, it is a satrament through verbal com-
mitment, "since invisibJe faith is held s<cl'l:tJy through the consecra-
tion of God or some other sacred person by what the swearer's voice
" · IOU. • p. [ I . [ -0 . " . 1;;.1.• [7, [00. ".-'9.
'" 1;;.1 . • [7 .
" ' /~. , ,8. [ ' 9-'4· ''' IOU.• ' 9 . 'H-.e. " ' IHJ. , [9.1 6,.66.
" . 1;;.1.. <. 1. p . • ~, ' .j : -s..:nm<t1[um ~i1U' ''' quicquid in Illiq .. «Ietnt_ di,.;....
op<"''''
"""" q ... i NO". I>-l .... io tradi''''. cum ... ,..." uisibili. ionJ!< Illi"" in";oibil< i MuJ
quod """'" o<cipi<nol"", oi, ."
,,, r~.• '1. j'H. 'c.
" •• Cot ,.7: aiJ.• ' ., [0-, •.
". 1;;.1., '., ' 9-. 0: - Elt OO<ramontwn iu<io in quo pool <1<.:, ;""' .. pottium ...... un""l".
i"l'" quod "'" pan" d<c ....... , ."

,6.
 THE SUCHARIST AND NATURII

$e1lleS 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 IUb-
sranee 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 6g-
Ulft. 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

''''#J.,
'" ""
- .. .
.~ •• $.)0.
. • .• ,. H·
>~
." 11iJ., <. 4, 'J, ~.,8
• .6. J.adben ,...............iaIlr
".<ran>..... in hiI km' o£8,6 '" F,ed '8'''' o£s.. JJ.r.oio<.
,h< .. me
~ R, 9
pool,.,.,
rj
iB '"I'i, KO
P_ii MI f _
,..,-. CCQf ,6. p. 9>.1"" ··N«~;"'" mihlllo.. oj fiamo. hoc m""";um <Of Of "" .....
, ~.,
"""";; ~ tropin loaoIio 'l'P"11o .... , cum ;po. a.n. .... ob If"'I"*> i'>uio ."""'" ud
&,un. dicinu, """,,,W, ;p...i, V...it .. (Hlw ,:> _ ~ , .. .. I'.c<o.... ou<!iI. ;p..1WDIII' Veri ...
......... _11_ .. Arm. T....... ;" '" nihil,"..... (";t, olIoH ,.....," .......,<St •.• iN ' nee
<woc"". uti 6,puoo uo<uu .... did...... Umnrum. ut .. potnt>t< 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 {"'-<lft" i$ sensed out!ide, whil e the whok truth without
penumbra is understood within . ,,'
In subsequent chapters Radhert complttc.'S his outline of the the-
ology of the euchar ist . But his opening nat ements lay before us the
esseotials of his approach. Putting the matter simply, he S«s one set
of links berween the material, the spoken, and the ritualistic, another
through the spiritual, the thought, and the signified. At times he
seems 10 be wririns for twO sons of audiena at once, both i//illtr<lli
and fifftrali. He attempts to bring the pair into harmonious union,
but the difficulties and oversightS in his e1<position leave us Uf>(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<llt to
Wat;n. One of the chief opponents of his eucharistic doctrines was
Fredugard. a monk of Corvey.';' Like the new foundation, the D .
Cvrpon was a pioneering effort. It was the first post _palr;stic synthesis
of the views of AmbfOSoC and Augunille on thl' subject. 'J' aod, rhfQUgh
theology, it attempted to alticulatt the ideal of a higher culture Im-
plicit in Akuin·s reforms. ' H

... IW.. )0. n·8 ..

'.. u. M. JOO«po>in. -IL I): ~ « Soto8...... Oo.ruru do - . . . Ldh<t<. - R5PT S ( I,) ' 4).
8.-14.
'.. s.. A. Iiaud:.. 1:"' ........'.0100 o-r~ (l..<ipois. '9' ,). ..,. . ' . J1 '·4'4. and E. .......",..n.
L·~ """'i"l_ (I'>n.. '9 J1). '04"'~. ,88-90.
•,. On " - «onn«tion> .... H. \Vi_,« •.. 1.0 fuo,d,.,iMo d< I·<hboyt d< eo.-..-, i. I.
lwn~'" de" T. ,r''Iio Sd<li Vili.~ in C...... ~ ~(l.ill<. '963). "7·,8 .
. " U. G. Gliou<>. u J«triu dIIl..,..",.;'- _"'~ i. P"""," R ...... R",,_ (P, ·
krmo. ,~ ~ ). 4.
'" U. O . c.p;"ru • . "5<1><1; P<' iI<mlp<io d; Tou ..:· 81S 6o;J ('9n). F -B; M. C<ioci..,i •
•• 1.0 ...... ..,...,... <IICI,;";a ",,11. CIII"". dol 1«010 IX:· StoJi ...u..../i. }l<I s..i ... 9 (' 968).
·"-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$.
On«' again the task was related to the needs of his own monks, who,
dtspite their devotion to "the highest eloquence" in prayer, demanded
of him an orderly exposition of the re>::t (1tJd1H NI"'4fiollu pw orm-)
so as to put an end to disputes about its meaning. ')< He saw his role
like Matthew's as spreAding the word to all; the gospel', aim was
didaetic. Aware. perhaps, of his UnedUCIted auditn«', he both eI·
cused hiJruclf for his lowly stylt and yet drew attention to its ibCIvan·
tagf:! over "VergiliMn HaweD. " '!' He also ddimited the role of IJ,mwM
WiD ; through "the simplicity of ignonnce" man rowd easily deceive
himself with filiity, Yet he praised "the simple faith" of uncluttered
minds; that, sutely. is the proper conre>::t of his "AnsdmilUl" state·
ment of faith's ability to grasp where mt50n fails. ," In the preface to
book thret. which was presumably written after the public-tion of rh!:
fir~t version of the Or C""""".
he ~rsed his ",rlier, tokr:ant views
and took an uncompromising stand against the pagan dauics,'"
speaking of "some of our number, who. because of inadeq\llltt under·
sunding," turn to distortions: "Although their win eloquence is pol·
ished . , , , their discourse is so uncultivated that it smacks of t\ISoo
ticity."'" He became from that point .n unHinching critic of what
he termed the tr"goJiAnmf _ill and the JDtt4r*. figmnutl of the an·
cients, rl!Serving a ,mall rok in thrology for "human doq~nce" Of
for "secular philosophy."'w
But the contrast was not only between pagan and Christian. In
place of ancient learning he proposed the divine Woo:d • word, how.
e'tet, which was both on.llltld written. For, the biblical message was
tOO complicated fot ordinary rndef$ 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·
'MF4 -,,;, ;.£0 ""_M,d '>","""",l'Ln<>.~[..c .
•" lHJ.. ~>C .
•• , . ,.,,~ .... .. -" •• ~ .A
" ........ _.-.-, 10>,~.
,,, G......... , "P ,n a. ' [t< . . Z'noI»<ioao "" 1'1,,,,_ ...... ....,.i"";..,. ~ .....
Iolipi6ution" F[lt '" da I...... ! et IU""l'F...,itJo . _ . " iA c.w., -,.,.,..,
['S"4 8 .
," ~"';'liIwi w.ii, PI. [20. ['[1)..8,0.
'.. IIN., ['}A ond PM(ri I. . _ , ,,68.
' .. ",-,,,,.. 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 com-
pleted (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 appre-
ciate 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 trac-
ing 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$ite of what it is often taken to
be. It did not only revive and consolidate a rat her oversimplifit<! view
of patristic tCllching' on till" eucharist. It introduc.-d them into an
intellccfUaI mili .. u in which any son of hermeneutic$ wu regarded as
superfluous. For the unJctter.-d, still lar8e!y attached to oral tradi-
t ions, the COncrete upn:sentation of the l'Ucharilt and its allSociated
rituals were the oorm. n.e idea that On" could "'interpret"' the ......:ha-
tin was something new. Moreovet, Rildberfs inoovation Jay !6$ in
his ",tu..1 statements than in {he relevance he law (or earlier instruc-
tion for both the Jettert<! and the unlettered. His achievement Cln be
described as I compromise. He maioed. the essential physirnity which
nonliteratcs saw as part of oral tradition; yet he placed it in a theo-

". """rot /;>.; fW"i, .67 8 -<: . ,. , '-1.-;' /Wri "";.;, 481D.
'" 1;;.1. • 48y.. ' .. "'...{4ho h.., _; . 6.HA. '" "'''''~,;. ".., >ox';. }968.
' .. "..{.-;, liIIri ,m.i. ~7"'.

doo:.ald. B...,.. """'hI fI,...

'n J. Goi ..lm ... n. DiI E",b.ms,i<J" "'" V-'-iMrilt (P<.d<rI>orn, 19.6), .~ )'7". A. J. Iotoc_
rf S..-w v.an .. (l.on<\oo,. 19}O), ".-49 (... ",,,,,,,;";"-'1
",<oit ... positiono): J. do N"",d"., L-fo_" ~. 44"" S2; ...d . """" I ....... U', F. v........
" E~;< <10 !It •• b ~n do X< ';«1<." OK S.•• 1'<>9-H.

,6,
 THE BUCHARIST AND NATURI!

!ogical!y accept&b!e in[~rpretive framework. To do so, he had to em-

pbasiu d~ historical element in his patristk sources to the detriment
of the phHosophical, as his cdties pointed OUt. But what was remark-
able 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 no-
tiam 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 at-
titude 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-
... S<t- N . Hiri",. "0 _ . S;,- und $ ..- - ' _. 0;,. E<or.ickl"", bi< .... <In b>OI''''
,iom... Reooo.i""""."s~~ )0 /19"). 48,-, I>: "" CuoIi"';'" .... bon. ,o6.n .
.• o . [)om o. Ca><1 •.. 0.. Iof.,...~n;' <In ",...Ii,w,i< im UdI" dot T...ti, ..... •
j.1 Jw.Jf/k LiI~ 6 (19)(\) •• 80, Eia Aud ......_ i. _k di< o/ic"""""13 dutdo

.,. 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;,_ . • .•
"<rn·
 THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE

b~. " > Moreover, t~ patl.ll~!ism of the material and

spiritual isth~
carried over to t~ not'ion of satTIIl1InIlum. Th~ Term pig"IIJ is a~nt
from Isido~'s definition, on which Radbert heavily ~li<"<l, although
it occurs ~lsewhe~ in Augustin~, hido~'s chief sour«. 'H But Rad-
ben also took th~ words of the: bishop of Sevill~ a little Out of their
context. The sactlm~nts we~ dealt with in _ book sil[ of the Etymo-
WgUII, uooer the tide Dt OjfoiiJ. As a subropic, hido~ compared the
unmonies of Greek, H~bnw, and Christian tradition. 'H In his opin-
ion, all tlJtrimoniu, JacrijiciiJ, and S/UT<U1Illll4 were a!ik~. The euchariu
was at 01Ke a titual, a sacrifice, and a mystery, for the body and blood
of Christ, although material, were "sanctifial and made sacred through
the invisible power of the holy spirit," Echoing Augunine, bidoft'
delin<"<l JiU"fiJlIfl1ltIlM iI$ the celebration of one thing so that another
might be signified, the latter bearing a "spiritual" sense. In reworking
Isidore's definitions, Radben empha3iud the physical through such
t~mu as pig1lllJ,jigllrIJ, and 4IrtICttr, He _bo di$tinguished mo~ clearly
than his menror between the otll, ritualistic, and performative side
and the cognitive, intellectual, and interpretive. '" It is difficult to
imagine that he did this without some knowledge of his audience in
mind. NOf was his initiative isolated . For "ritualism is one of the
most not1Ible features of rhe period's religious life. ",<6 As the imme-
diacy of the SICtlmenu was threatened by the implicit division of
popular and learned cultu~, "the conscious panicipation of the com-
munity" was lost. The mass gradually became a mystery which one
had to "wonder at and contemplate from afitr."'" The theological
controversy, in other words, was a symptom of a mo~ widespread
hiatus between theory r.nd pf8.Ctice.
Once the Dt CvrpOll became well known, it acted as a rek~ncc
point in all subsequent diS(:uS$ions, le also raised the issues to a new

. , ._-
." On Rodbt,,·, Ambroow.
' ~
00Ut«t ....
"- ~
Ctit<ioni. "4 """ ........... .. '<\or7"
, . ~- "
., .. __ H~. '. n '7 . '~",: . . . .". PW''' ",,,,"rn ,-",,!SO, • • • • ~""" "", ~-- "

ow<;"...m /0<;" 1';'''''' dt<!;, . ... Noli " - " " . <fUi .i..... p;«..."... . .
". Er, \: ... 6" ~.'1-'t9, od. W, I.jn.!u., (0Idixd. ,~,,). for on ""pOIi'''''q( h~·.
m.., ... ] . o.;..rItW\ll, 0;. A+ ...... ,' bI_~. J.r w_ ... t/wiulitht1t r~",i" ... F._i,·
..w",. 1"""- ... 5.../", _NI Ml S. ...... f..,J",.i,,.,
(Nunkh, '\lH). ,6,-6e ; <XI [,idoo"
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<If Ap """,,.1. VII.. XII, ,_kl (P",is. 197)), '4: cf.
,0>'1·
'" J. A. ]Ul\llm&ntI. N.i1_ 5.0... ... En,. ,...... (N... YOlk, ' \1'0), vol. " p. 84 .

,6,
 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 Am-
brose 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 ap-
peared before the senses. But he considemi tbe eucharist an intellec-
ruaI 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 with-
OUt criticism.·6> The essential issue in his view was whether the eu-
charisr 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
.,. No 0fWmp< """ b. ....... _ ...,.. "latiood bawall ...aw;.. i< ~ ..... liru'Jic&I
pronim. Po< .... <k,.".h .........lfth <eI>tI>t .... tbt q.......... ii d~ bt' P_ HoIb60:k. I)w
~ ..J "" .."sUcW IN CJ.rilIi .. __ '_n"i" I' ( UMo __ Frib-
. - . ""

• ( ( ,,;' (........ '94'). )6.fI,; fOr tuIy Dd .,.;,; proc<ices. Ott A.. A. HiuuliOI. Mr ' 'an" ..,
""" F ' jJ~ (M_. '97V, <110. ~.ti.
'M'" c.,..." ~ , ••
p""a.;, c. ,. od . ] . N. &klouJ_ "'" dm lltiok Ch..--......
19,.J, ,.. I" PI. lu.u9I1-}OA,); .... "11 .~i ..... it! prcI<m>U '0 ...... oI.. ·.,nd
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.) .
... a . v....... on: ,.a. "'4.1,.
... Foe ... • .b.. Kt,,,, ,,;,.
....tl'iI.... I.. Bm.1Jdr. "la <1IrIpia; cl. ,.,d,
cl. I..mm""
.... _ . - .......... -noriKiqoo." C....., ~"""" . ,,&.30. Th< ...............;.,.._
"Rot,.". doea _ - " cl ... i ...Jl«no.t ......... ondinf( (p.ln) io <on,,, ' ....
On , .........
'''"'''''. d. Crisriuz.i. "1.0~, H 19>"94 ond "., .
... 0. c.,.... c. >. p. J) (I'lt>8A),

,68
 THE EUCH"II I ST "NO N"TUIlJi

view, WlI$ a kind of obscurity (MJlmbralio). It concn.Je<l truth ~neath

wraps or (overs (vtiamj'la), as, for example, when speaking of the
Word, .... e say '"b reild" in the Lord's prayer, or, when Ch rist himself
said at John 6:~2 '"J am tne living bmtd which descended from heaven .
. . . " In such expressions, one thing is said, anOlher is meant. Truth,
by contrast, is the dear dC$ignat;(}II of a thing (rri "",,,ifma dnluJlIJlra-
tu), vriled by no clouds, shadows. or images. ,6., An example is Christ's
binh, crucifixion, and resurre(tion, where rh.e~ are no concealing
figures.'6) The truth of the matter is stated in plain language. and
nothing is understood but .... hat ;5 said. In figurativt diKoursc, of
which the eucharist is an instance. thcTl: is no sueh "Jld;, d apul4
sig"ifrati~ . '<'<& One thing is prtscntrd extcriorly to the $Cn!ltS whi le
another is Ctlllrd forrh interiorly to the minds of the faithful. ,61 Out-
side, there a~ colour, taste, and other $Cnsations; within. the spiritual
significance of the rite. Clearly, the latter aTl: given "figuratively.··'oSI
In sum. Ratramn did not deny the mtl presence. hUT he Tl:fusN to
affirm it alone. '119 For, if everything in the eucharist was Kcompii,hrd
Itnllldlnll (l)rpIlJ , theTl: could be no role fo r &ith or any hasis for mys-
tery, ,'" Nor, he addrd , would there ~ any means of transformation
(ptrmMlalia). If we ~Iicve only what is befOTl: our eyes, there is noth-
ing OUt of whi ch change may arise nor anything into wh ich something
can be changrd. To put the matter ano(her way, if nothing is changrd
in tne euchariu, lMXhing could havt exiueJ before. ", For Ratfllmn
the way out of such difficulties lay through the traditional method of
allegory. Under the covering (vtfammIJlm ) of corporeal bread and wine
there exist spiritual body and blood.01' These pairs, he assertrd, aTl:
lIOI: different; chey are "onc and the silITle thing" viewrd in different
perspectives . Corporeally, they are physical things, but in potential
they are tM mySteries of Christ's body ~nd blood.'H As for Radbert"s
nocioo of pig"JlI, that too may be dispensed with. In the mass after
the eucharist, Rarramn maintained, the faithful aTl: !-aid to re(eivt
"che 8'lge of e~rnal life." This again is both pig,,"s and image, boch
mtlity and symbol. '"
We may pcrhaJ>$ be able to frame the di$till(tion between R.adbert
""biJ., 7·8. pp. ~·'ll''''''-O. ,., I.o<.u •. '''1.0<.& .
·" 'biJ., 8-9, pp. J.4'" {,~"Cl .

... for •• ;.-.. ,; m;l ... to "'J own. "" M. G;booo. J..,o/r4'" of ~ .o.fo<d. 1978). 7S.)6.
''' 0.<:..-,-, <. ' •. p. ,6(" '''1.
•" IbiJ. . ". p. ,6(,p".8).
." IjiJ..•6. p. )7 . , ",8· 'lM. '" lI;.U•.
•" lNJ., 86. p. ,6(,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 ap-
proached 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 appce-
hended 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 under-
standing, 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 in-
compatibility 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 distinc-
rion 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. LtboQ. "Sur b. <b:tria< _ ..... d'Hk~,!or 1..oI:oboo:' $.... f ,""'.. . . .
R. J. lrIM1irI (BNpI, '$7>48), 67" •.

'7'
 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 as-
pec: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$ea~h was n:ploitM io the eleveoth ceotury by Bcrengar, as later
by twelfth-century philosophers, who appliM it to scientific Nlhe!
than to theological questions.
To conclude this brief discussion of Radberr and Ratramn, we may
turn briefly co the summary of the tWO ninth-century positions in
Heriger of Lobbcs, who diM in 1007 . He was diSflInr enough from
the origioal participants in the debate to distinguish confidently be-
twccn the "IIliqlli, that is, the fathers, and the modtmi. ,,6 He was also
the first contributor to make selective quotations from pllnstic sources
to suit his own design. o?? He therefore offers a bridge betwccn the
fint phase of the eucharistic discussioo and the techniques which be-
came fashionable in the eleventh century . •,.
His short treacise, in fact, marked a new stage in th e development
of an interpretive rradilion. It presupposed that the reader was famil-
iar with Radbcrt's ideas, and, while fundamentally realisr in orienta-
tion, it tried to cff«t a union betw~n opposed positions. H eriger
had read earlier attemplS at compromiK: he knew of Ratramn's letter
to H eribald of Auxene and the letter (also perhaps by him) to Egi!/),
both of which criticizM Radberr.· N He also quoted Gew of Torrona,
who paraphrased Radbert around 9,0, and through him R~mi o( Au-
l<erre, '''' as well as lengthy statements by a quiJ..m Jilpims who au-
thoccd a RtSjIOlIsio defending the r~aliH approach. ,I, With such con-
.,. 0. C","" d s~.;", 0-;,,;, <. '. PL [". ,$aA; t . 4, [8,8 , ,8,e.
,,., 1'<0- oi!Tc';".n.-..... 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.. nidrn<. i, summon...! by MK.....Id, B"'"V' "'" "" R,p,.. , '4' "".
,.. s.. J. G<;.e/""'M. - Ott fi nlluso de> R.",i8i", _ A~ .uf d;" Eudwilt;'khr< de>
HoriJI ... "'" Lobb<t: rhtt/or;d. ~ ['. ( [ ?~l). ' ' '-44·
.. , Ild. d·AcI>/-IJ . $f"hl.,;-. .....
I. p. [. \>; on i " ........ Ldoon. MI. <it. , 66-}<I.

' 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 unequiv-
ocally 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 ex-
cused. ",t, By implication, the purely allegorical applOlCh of Rauamn
rested on .. misinterpretation of earlier views. The authors most fre-
quently quoted, namely ]eromc. Augustine, Fulgentius, and Eu.se-
bius, 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.• t.,. ,8,<:; t. 7. ",A.
•., 1'0< • brief ........ of ob< OlCUmS<OZI<rS """"'...un, tb< ............ N . Gibooo. uo/t-
"lk. 6"7'; !Or ob< popoI """""",,;0.... c. Wnooao. "Crop vu. ""'" ~ ..... T""",.-
Q ' l . """ f. ! . .. _ 11 .11-; , "".i,• ..t B;j,l- d ' ,8 ('9n'~' ~8-74 u.d "'"
I'<YiIion> 010. Copd."j. "to let ..... di GoKmIo II N....!lo et.." . d' AQPI. Ildebnn40 ho,g).··
S'Ji .f•. ·..;' ('on6). '''''' •• M. iM. UPe. la""';' dri n;:; M'; '" c..p;.. VII.
~ dj T ...... iIJ.• 6 ("'~I). 99'"' 4'; obo. R. So4>a,iJI•• "1'bo c... Api_
u

!krtnp ofT..... ; A Ne..- Ten.- iIJ., 9 ('!n'). ,,-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, mysti-
cism, or theology, it was the deg~ to which intdl«:!Ualillm was
permiss ible in the fio:kinic, ritualistic, or participarory areas of reli-
gion. 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, philo-
sophic, and ~n diplomatic me.ming of tnU. After Bereng.r, Chris-
tians 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 <h< lI.</..... • ~; on ,I>< d/.' ;I\3. ,",,,,,,,,100.
'""0fr4"''' -.,.., }.,. "The .... n,i.1 KhoI.,,"ip on -0,<;" i. ,,"«1bO<A, by O. c.p;r. ni.
o.-.au'"
'"S,...!' P'" di T..... :· (n·7'. I loo"" "'" """jdrt«! ,11< pnobI<m,,( _opi, 'Hp"
pGI' <n. ,;t>«. by on<! Wj!<. ,h< littl.... k _ q( ,h<m "'P" " ,ba,,h<y m<e<l, r<p<'I,«I " i1
do<:«i ..... 1'<If ... (B' ......'" <nmpIt .... M. M .. ronoI<o. U. "'" ;...Jj.. 1i ~"';'Ii T_"
il~;' "" '019 (Milan. 19)6). '09'" .n<! tb< <li,icol o/mrYoIiom q( J. G<i.dmo"". ··Ei •
......,.,tdo<k,,,, W.. k ..,... T...... ru",. <1000 Abcnd<nohl?'" T~ Q.....{../trijt , ,8 ('937J. ,.
" . ''''1''
 THE llUCHARIST AND NATURE

doctrinal position with care ~(ore the coundl of VeruHi of 1St Sep-
tember 10,0, ,., but long before that ~ he "'IU widely known IU a
sUC«S$ful tcacher committed to a philosophiclll methodology. Alter
the Roman council of the same year he was more and more fn'qucnrly
called upon to defend the content of his views. But what evidently
interested him most was the 10gH:: by which they were reached. leg-
islation and administrative correion were pani.Uy effective in silenc-
ing hi5 voice. Yet. the linal irony of the affair was that his opponents
overcame his position only through an often less sophisticated adop-
tion of the methods he himself pioneered.
Of all the contributon to the aJCharisrk debut, Beren.gar aiJo speaks
to us most clearly as an individual. His unusual lecturing style, his
involvement in Anjou politics, and his subsequent appearance at papal
couoci!! made a deep impression on the thinkers of his own day and
have coloured hi5tQtical interpretation ever sino:. Nothing he wcote
WIll f~ of polemic.: it is not alwaY' easy to separate his own reflec-
tions from hi5 rnction to the ideas of others.
Yet, despite rhe difficulties of his style, his deliberate use of in-
nuendo, and the fragmentary character of his woriu, there are several
strands of thinking which pernde 8erengar's entire utIIfIn. They sur-
&.cc for thc lint time: in thc Ictter he wtote to his friend Ascelin
towards the: cnd of IO~O and perhaps after the council of Vcreelli.'''''
AKclin accused Ratramn (whom hc mi5rook for Eriugcna) of heresy.
If the report is true, Strengar observed, thcn his fricnd i$ 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. <d. w. 1-1 . Bedteobrtop (The H-. ..... ,~,). 'l.
M.".,
' .. R, H.........,,'. 0.". ,d" J:--' .. Jt.lriti ... '" rMlm
.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 "con-
ceded" 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<!, to leave the matter
there was to misundersttnd the nature of the sacraments as outlined
in the Bible and as developed in patristic thought. StW'ammIMI1I, as
Augustine taught, means S<II('nffII lignllm, There is 11 differen~ ~tween
m and rigs""" that is, between the object itself and the "sign" by
which it is consecrated. ' 99 Thus, while the real ity of the euehatist is
not denied, neither is its inMr spiritual signitlcance miuimized.
The fathers in Bercngar', view ~re agreed on this matter, W~n
terms like figltr4, pignllJ , sigsl(11/, and rimililudo are us.cd in patrinie
tCJ[ts, referen~ is not made fO the true body and blood of Christ but
to its Ipiritual signitlcance.' oo For the body and blood are onc thing,
the sacrament of the body aoo blood another, The onc is visible, the

' .. liiJ. (66C). l'o<. ":malt ."irudt oa bi bl;uJ " ''', I<t ,t.. p..... ot"ibuml to him by
B. Smollry, "1.0 Gloss< Otdi ...... Qu<1<j_ ~ d 'o\"'d"", d< 1_." 1I;,,&"<bG"
1hIoI.,;..-;,... " ,(~.\"It 9 (' 9)7). ) 9 '-9' .
'" £/ .. iiiJ (66D),
... iliac.... Id. B~ ~"" "" /(<!_. ,~6; "'"",d oo. uofr_"~. ,, ~, ,6 .
.., s....,,,,.;,,,;,, ~ ~ _ M_._. «I. l.loa"loo. I...oft--" 81" ..... H "
"'11iJ.. H"" .
1'<"'",
""'i.......
"'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.

•
 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 fol-
med hi, lead; they both urged that somehow- .. Iitt/C,' portion Cpor-
ti~) of the actual body aDd blood was produced by the transfor-
mation of the bread and wiDe.'. "'· But his "gument, or, as he put it,
that of Scripture, was as follows: "the bread and wine . . . an: con-
ftrted into Christ's body and blood not sensibly (mlll",litrr) but in-
telk<:tua11y (jllltlltn".,jitrr). " It is fIOt "consumed" but ruhff "as-
sumed"; 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 trans-
fiJuued "..: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<Of15Cious tradition fol the lint time sioce Isidorc and Rad-
ben. Essentially the SUIIc.' frarnCW'Ork for undcntanding rhc SlCnmcnt
was employed in his lost OPIUOII_, which, as noted, was written
shortly after his condemnation in 10 '9 aDd qUOted in large part by
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.

-11iJ.• ')4. "',W., ' )4-}J. .., IW., IU-
-'W. , n6; !or ... ....t,.ls.... NonKloo, ".,...,.
- 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 hum-
bled 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<tively eliminated the distinction between the
appearance and the rnlity of the sacrament. ' " Both were one: there-
fore, a deeper, rellective understanding through the comparison of
~Ievant texts di&appcared. Berengae's OpIIJ('IIiJ"" was 11 reply to the
council, and, in particubr, to Humbcrt·s excessive literalism. It re-
affirmed his o... n position virtually unchanged. The view of Radbert
and Lanfl"llI\C, he reitefllted, was I "y ulgar error. "'" The JNbJta"tia
rem;lined on the altar after consecration. '" The slow-... ined Humbert
had even proposed. a logical contradiction. ".
The doctrinal elements of the 0pl#("I,.", were incorporated without
alteration into Be rengar"s De S..rr.. Cqaa . This work, d iscovered only
in 1770,'" is known from a single manuscript possibly annOtated in
the aucher"s hand . Its repetitions and stylistic imperfections sugg.-st
that Bermgar intended to revise it at a lat er date . It presupposes a
reader already familiar with the eucharisti c controversy up to the ap-
- M..:dutNold. ~... ...J'" Rof-. u o .
... 0. $_0 C_. c. IS. p. 30; d. 4nf_, 0. C..,... .. S...,..;.. 0...;";. c. ,. PL ':10 •
"*
• I,S-C , ... ho .. y. oh.. lIctftI. ar ..... 8"ntec! "'" ,MOJ; ImtUt but rd'uood to tU. oc/Yonn.s<
qf .... opponun'<r. w .. 'h< curia 0&"''''' B< ... "P' bofor. ,I>< Roonon <vun<il qf losol Tbe
.. idot>« is _i,heeI by O . CApi""';, ··St"",
PO' B<,."P';" ... :. put ,. pp. "~H. Fer.
,ompori_ qf ,h< ,.." qf 10 '9 IfMi . ~. le< L. H&U, ··0;' confmio II<l<tIfIlti i ><Ill ''''9.
El ... Arb<i, """ fril/lodlolutisoho<! E"dw."";",.lm,:· $d>II.s'i~ j7 (.96.). ~ 70· 8 • .
•~ o.S-o c-. (. , 8. p. 30. -.,.,-. \0$( qf ,I>< .. ' ''' in .hi, """,",." qf <o)U , . . _
...... For ch< 5rt>W<h qf th< oquot;"" .p.;lu/iws .. i".",.,..ui,." >« J. L<cl=q, ··SpiriNlli"".··
SuJi...Ji-" } Id Sot .... } <' 9/1'). ,a,.s}.
, •• Quot<>:I by w&o.c. pt ')0 .• '0(;." B.
" ' 1141.• •• ... 0 . ." 1141.• •• . ..0 """ , .• ,.0.
'·'1141.• 7 • •• 60; 8, • • 8(;. ~[8[)..'9A.
'" G. E. !.no,,,,. ~., T",..",i, ..... ti". 0'1 ........... "'1 ti,.., ,.;d,o;"" ........
.. . (B"""wick. ' 1701. For. di""";",, '" t'"
m,""""!,, (WoIfrnbii".I. Hot"'!! A.., ....
"'' 'I...
Bibli",h<k, W~ ... , ' '''1 '0'), le< R.B.C. HuYI ..... ··A " ' _ d. ~ot et ..,. ,,.'d
de
I· ....hlt,"i.:· Rben 76 <'SI66I •• ll·,9·
 THE EUCHARIST AND NATURE

peannc.. of unfn.nc'li Dt CD'-pore tI S,"'glli", D"",i"i, induding the

<k<:;isWru of t~ councils of Vercdli and Rome as well as much unn--
cordt<! diilCuuion. ,,6 Despite its weaknesses, it is also Berell8llr's most
$tlf-consdous lit~rary product. No one who has worked through its
confused, labyrinthine periods ha been able to avoid taking a position
for or agllinst his subsequent fate. But the Dt SatTlf C_ abo «In-
tributt<! in sevenl resp«ts to strengthening rhe case in favour of
~rmeneutia. Its erudition is impressi~: precise biblical and pIIeri5(ic
q1.lOtations occur throughout, and the views of Berengar and earlier
writen are fed. into a logically interdependent train of thought, ", It
refines am:! d~lops an already sophistio;:aeed norion of allegory, and
for the first tim .. Berengac, mind «Imes ro grips with t~ purely
philosophical question of language ~rsus reality. Finally, it reasserts
the primacy of reuon and of t<'Ituai m.. thodology, not, as some main-
tained, against authority, ". but in opposition to unrigOt"1>W habits of
mind which Berengar a<sodaet<! with the popular imagination. The
D, SatTA C_ then'by became th~ eleveneh-century's most forceful
statement on ~haJf of serious biblical criticism and its implintions
£or t .... educated Christian life.
Its chief originality, as nott<!, does not arise fmm stating a radically
new thesis. By and iluge, B~rengar repeats what h.. proposed eJse-
w.... re. But the framework for discuS$ion is sready eXpllooe<l. He n:-
fuses to admit anything which is denit<! by the ..... idence of the senses
or by simple logic. The lxead aoo wine, he repeats, despite th .. ir
sacramental value, n:main on the alru &her consecration, (or they can
be feh, seen, aod tasted. R.ad.bert, Humbert, and Lanfranc, in his
view, approach th<: <"Uchuist in tOO fundamentllist a fashion, accept-
ing I cruG.. equatioo betwe.-n [he letter of [he text and events in the
real world. If the eucharise is to hive any geouine meaning, one must
g .. t ~ne:ath th.. surface iltnses and t .... reforc ~mploy methods of inter·
pretation. This was the approoch of Ambrose, jerome, and AugllStin'"
which now, he fe.-ls, n«ds ro be reinstatt<!.
However, Berengar is not «Intent as wen: the fath<"rs with $<'parat-
ing t .... logic of teXts from [har of reality. He claims that the one can
be imposed upon the other. His philosophical method is essentially a
seties of de<luctions based on rhe relations ~twecn wOrUs, phraxs,
and syntax. This logic in turn is :wwnt<! to apply to the realities
.. , NonKIoo. u.,f._ • &",_. '98-100.
'" Esp. dol. '9-"~6, pp. 6... 66.
, •• Cf. "'-:donoJd, ~ ..... Rot-.
¥>4, q~"II H.rnac:k. H',..., I{ 0..- 6. 46.
....i".. _ . G......... '""~_ ,1..jHb.. ;.."";,,,,-,-. '. '17 .

'7'
 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 sub-
stance 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 an-
ticipation of the distinction betwet'n particulars and universals. De-
spite 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 inter-
prctation. 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 abil-
ity 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<n revived in his own teaching. He did not
read the hcretical opinions of "Eriugena" in public.'" He only as-
serted Ihal Ihe tucharist was ", similil"Jo, fig'm~, or pigll"s of the
lord's body and blood," notions which were fulJy defensible ftu",dllm

' .. In 1." 0. s-~ C-.. l. p. ,. n' I~.. <. 9 . p. ...

'79
 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$Cd to ac·
knowledge what was "bcfo~ his eyes" and merely spoured "words
without oroet ....., Among the many pouible guides to the Bible's
C1)Irect meaning he might well have glanced at Augustine, who, on
numerous occasions, clo:arly distinguishes bctwttn reality and symbol.
For example, s~king of the tl'lnsrormation of snow into ice, the
bishop re&rrcd to the crystals as "snow. " But he ncvtr called snow
ice, "unless by that manner of speaking (/_lilNtis WMio), by which the
thing prcduad (m r/J«ta) is conventionally caJkod by its rnataial name:
(fllAlrriA/iJ .or_J, .. ,16 Similarly, in the Bible, when man is said to be
ma.ck: of can.h or Christ is said to be a co~rstOnt, the tut employs
a similitude v;",;lititJr». '" M~r , putting bread and wine for the
body and blood of Christ ;s no d;ff.,~nt from any other biblical ex·
ample of one thing standing for anoc:her, n.
Ambrose, when he inter·
preted the sacraments for atcchumcns, was well awue of rhis, The
water of baptism is nOt ""prism; ttH, bread and wine art nor The
eucharist,'" lUdbcrt, Humben, and Unfraoc, he concludes, are guilty
of the fundamental error of mistllking ttH, particular and ttH, univer.
sal.·,IO "Fot cvcrything which existS is one thing in that which it is,
another thing in being some (particular) thing, ".,. In the cucharist
there is rnI bread and wine; the~ u also "mystical," "tropical," or
"fisuflltive" meaning, ' " The rwo must nor be confused,
Nor should. the won:! be pur before the text, The primacy of textual
analysis based on logical principles is the basis for Berengar's am.ck
on the unreasonable abuse of luthoriry and on all forms of oral, pop.
ular, or crudely realist thinking, '" It is quoestionable, he uks, who is
the more d.all8f'rous allegorisr, he who utiliU$ I'ltional methods to
elucidate biblical texts or he who confuses them through needless
"obscurity."'j·lUdbert, in his opinion, ~uccd. important theological
'" IM .m,
." la ~,19. <. 9, p. 1>, IMJ.. <, ,6. p. 28.
• ., M, IJlJ,> <, ,6, p. 29.
·"IMJ., <, '9, p, }2. '" !.-,';I, '''I~" <, z<>. pp. " . }),
' .. IMJ,. <. ,W. p , 'u, ' .. Cf, M.. ··· .'J. s....,- _ "" R<{tnI. ,'1,
'" o.S- C-. <, ,6, p. ~, '.~ E,. " <, 4', p. " 1,

bu_.,..
.,. O . £I. - . . AI-.... «I. M ........,.. p. n4' 11. ..............1.. i...... om,,".
""",m<lmet, . , ,
quo< m<m;

'W Or.f...... C_. <, }, p, "

,So
 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 (wmfIUI-
1/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 ex-
amination of his wtitings, not the emotional unanimity of a "mob .......
"For a crowd of the unlearned in the church does not constitute the
chuKh:"<O As it turns out, he was convicted Jargely by hearsay. ' "
His appointed de~nders were hardly acquainte-d with his work.'" He
desire-d to prove his case "more by sacmi authority than by argu-
ment"; he was ruined "by the su.in of deprave-d rumour:" ", Author_
itarianism and crude realism, he felt, went hand in hand. "What
wouk! be more normal for these simpletons than 10 usert that a man
wu made in God's image according to his bodily delineation? What
would be moll: typical of an uneduCllted rabble than that God had
nude thttt pi!ns of hirnseJf?"'" Humbert 's flIction evidently thought
that it could approach a mystery like the sacrament by merely break-
ing bre2d with the hands and grinding it up with the teeth.'"

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 , Al-
though 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.
'''IWJ., <. 8. p. 10.
." ''''
.. .• <. ... 1'. , .
_"" 11./_"'''''"' p. H'; 0. s_~ C_. c. 6 . p. 6, fullo.. i"3 Au,!;"'d ... .
·" IWJ.• c. 6. p. 1. ' .. LM.dt. " . /WJ. • c. , . p. 6.
~'For Vt«<l!i, c. '0. p. ' .. ' for RoR>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 Beren-
gar 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, OJ-
thodOJl: 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$Ophy was an admis-
sibil' tool. Even when ritual and symbol were introduced into lat .. r
disclU.'lions, as they were in Lanfranc's case, they furmed part of an
intdllXtualist position.
The poles of intel'l'St of <'ariy replil'S to Bertngar ate well conveyl'd
by twO writers, John of Fb:amp and Adelmann of Lie~. for simplic-
ity's sake we may oil them mOflRStic and early scho[.stic approKhes
to the theme. In John, hermeneucia is conside~ to be largely su-
perfluous. In Adelmann, int.. rpreration cakes iu fim steps towards
grappling with rh .. issues which lartr philO$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

1050.'"
mystical treatise, Joho's "CQnfession" makes its opposition to Be.-.:ngar
dea!. In his view, the eucharist W11lI to be ""pcriencN, not inter-
pn:ted, seized by f.irh, not grasped by reason. , •• Of course, the sac-
rament 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$O!I, they would hardly
be remarkable. '"
John's apptoa(b, beill8 mystical, is of course irrefutllble. ThaI was
not lhe case with the arguments of Adelmann of Liege, who composed
one of the lengthiest early critiq ues of Berenglr. On learning of th~
latter's aberrant doctrines, Adelmann asked Paulinus of Metz, a com-
mon friend of both parties, to intervene on his behalf."~ Paulinus
wrote tWO lctt~rs to Berengar, the lirst towllrd5 the cnd of 1 0~O or
early in !O~ I, the 5C((lnd sometime later in IO~ I. Dcspit~ Berengar'$
replies, Addmann claimed that Paulinus had "'left him in suspense"

.., 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.. <h< philooophi<l.l 01.",. •• , ... ,hot <on«:ri .. to I..«ltt<q bt' G. Jo,I"bon. "J... do Fkamp.
rl*'>lo~;'" """",';""'1 (Nor .. do 1«<"", dt C<*/<fJ. Fi4i IH. ,6-40) :' 1..0 ".. """,,, Wo/J;ai""
.. ".", '" GMiIi4nM It C""4"borl (XI, ,iIdl) IUlk . ''/67).•87-88: ood. on ,hot "",No,;" •• 9".
' .. Dw.,; 4.S8: iOiJ.. ,o8JA·B .
•,. 'OiJ. • '08JB. '" C""",. ~ . 3 •• 068B . '" ' M" .. 4· .. ·~. ' 0660-90( .
" 'liiJ.. ... , •• 0>880. ' .. IHJ.. ... 6. '090C .
.,. Mon<cb, f...,ofr_ " tU .... , ,,6-'9.

,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$ion,
which put the ~haristic (Omroveny in a wider cultural context, >60
IlJId the middle sections, which tteat in otder christoJ08y,'6, bap-
tism,.6> the eLKhati,t, and the range of possibilities for interpretation
within the orehodox position, ' "
Adelmann', treatise is written in a refined style, IlJId the rhetoric is
deliberate, For he is really presenting tWO sons of ar8umenr ar once,
His specific case is directed ag:ainst Beren8ar's ideas, or, matt partic-
ularly, his use of I08ic, But his juxraposition of imag:cs from the Bible
and the classics helps to frame his arguments as • morc gCMrai (On_
trut between the ancients and the modems.
8erengar proposed that the Bible coold OOt be a:.:cpted without
interpretttion. He also opposed the unsophistiCllted methods of many
predecesson and cCN'Itemponries, What w..,
CllJled for in his view 'MIS
a clean break with uneducated tradition. Adelmann, tOO, saw prob-
lems in bibliCllI criticism. But, whelUS 8erengat expressed differences
&$ (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 prece<knu fOl' the
present situation. The many» fought to preso:'~ the integrity of the
rrspllblir4 thriJliall4. No "new enemy" should now be introduced. >68
," EI . ..J & .. ;-i.. , «I. I..II.C. Hu,Jft>'I ..,..., .. lot;,.. d~ XI< ... XlU. _ , - $"",,
, ( ..,H. 3«1 Sot... 8 ( '967), ~71 . I;"".'·.7.
"'ltiJ.• • 38, li ... 4'3.
,,. Hu,~, 4'9. On die Ij,<nIl' hilt<)ly,'" H. Sil ...... , ''Notia sur AcIoI""", de uq.,
t.I, .. de Bt.rc. (t,06.),- .. HE ,6{,\16.), 866.71.
... EI . ..J 8",'1"';_, pp. 476-, 8 HOd .87.a8.
"'/j,jJ., 478-80. -1",·,480-8.. '" ItiJ.• 48'~1 .
... On Fulbon', ............... "n. ~~, ...eap;....i. ·"S<odi .,... ~ d,
TOW1t," 8g>.'OJ .
... £I. ..J Bo~'", I,.... ,·.0:
__.;._"• • 76, 418, ,s.".
- IMI., 4n, '7" 8. ... 16i4.• 4n, p_". ... JJiJ.• 478. 6<:>66.

'"
 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 wrong-
headed. The history of pag~n philosophy is filled with ··JOOO$trous"·
/lOtions thOlI were refuted not only by lugic and tta50ll but by faith,
hwniliry, and. worship.·70
Such an introduction, of COllr!C, could lead only to the exposition
of t~itional views. Yet Adelm~nn·s argument is highly developtd.
Speaking of the euchariu, he maintains, Christ said, ··1 shall give rhis
bread, that is, my flCih, on the world ', behalf."' Note, Adelmann
..dds, that he said ." shall give,"· Jl()( •• , gave.""" When did he bcgin
to give? At rhe last supptr, to which there were numerous eyewit-
nesses.·" His natements on that occasinn had the same statu'! u the
word of God in GetlC$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 de-
velopin8 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 uncir-
cumscribed 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 Adcl-
mann·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. .~

,"". , ~ 7fi. 1 ~·. 19.
' '4 . ,.. In 6:,,·, • .
'" ft. ""&>-..•79. 91- ' 0' . "·'Ni. . ' 79 . ' 09-'0 .
•" In .",. ." M", ,8:>0.
,,. FI. "" 11.... ,110. .,.,..,. '"INi. . • ~. "'·'4 .
... [.8 .. Mu" 9.4.!Id J 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 sacra-
ments 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 ap-
pearance," 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 pos-
sible through the senses at all, such as the relations between numbers,
the hLrmonious proportions of $OUnd, and all conceptions of incor-
poreal 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 per-
u.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 rc-
mission 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 •• t8~-86 .
.., 11;,1., 461,[u·"". -IINI., 482, _·d" >08.
""'''., 48" ><>8-[7· "'1".,48" ''7-21,

,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 creat-
ing. "'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 Guit-
mund.·..
Bereng.i5 position, H ugh statn, ;5 a ~il of error (<»Ori1 inwlll-

''''~., .8" ""'4· -lid.. 483, >2)->1 ·

... /~., .8,. ')l"H : Ci<mI. I t _ 4".
,.,1.,
... 'n·,..·
48, .
od . Mullcr ([..;PZil. 19'0). ,61 .

... 0. C..,...."s..,..
.., InJ., 481, ,.6-,\<>. ... /0iI. • 483, "'-H· .., I~.. 48, .• ,8"9 .
CMiJ,; <001>4 BmoJ6rio .., PL '42 · '3HA. On ,11< do';",. >«
pi..... i... SOll<iiperScKnsad" . .. :·,,'n, .
eo·
... 0. C..,...., I,,$C.
"'U. MI>«I<>noId. B..........__ -.l ... R<!-. 'H "n

",
 THE EUCHAIUST AND NATURE

<l'lII'I/I'J. >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 "ilKoc-
poreai."- For .Berengar, he argues, 5~ln that "the nature and n-
$eoce" of the bend and wine is not: changed, and he~, the body of
Christ, altbO\lgh truly crucified, had only an "intellectual." exist-
eoce."'· Foe if, wr consecration, the "primuy re.Jity" of the bread
and wine penisr, nothil\8 can be said to be "transformNf" ; and, if
what i$ 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 sep-
arating tbe res from rhe Siplllll, Hugh rhus rejectS Rauamn's allegol-
ism. 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 ortho-
dox adoption of .. genuinely reflective focus.
His argument, in fact, unites the realism of Radbcrt and, in par-
ticuillC, 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 "real-
ity" and yet are po.... erless as sacraments, he proceeds "against rea-
"'VoC I.', ,,.~O. .- lhJ"'}' 7A. "'Ut.m. .... l-.t.. ""A.B .
-I~. . ' )'78. - I~.. ')'7C. . ., I~. , ' J'7B-C. .... ,~. . 'H,A.,.D.

,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 Ber-
engar, he States, takes the sid~ of those who assimilate God's power
to natureY' But mysteries like the SlI(nmen" cannot mlly be ex-
plained 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 ()I1-
stancy 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 there-
fore 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.
' ~ I~_, ,}.8A·II . ." I...,it. , .. llii., ,},8B ·C, , .. IHI.. , }.8C.
P. I/OI.. 'J'9A.B .

'''l.6.h' . "' /OiJ_, 'l'9D_ '''j~_, '3'91).3001..

,,, 10iJ.. '}30Il-<:. , ~ /~.. ,}}ae. , R 1..1.. ,}}o O. ,. , l.6.,i/ .

,s,
 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<nive ~lism. He perpet-
uated the approach of Radberr, emphllSizing the absolute transcend-
ence of God's will through the word, and placing rdigious enacrment
and parc:icipation before forms of undennnding. But he also presented.
traditional authority as an inte!!ecrual position in its own right, a
summation, so to speak, of various writings.
His wk, he announces, is to inquire into all the early Christian
teaChings in ord.. r that the "substance'" of divine truth, concealed
(~lA) beneath the bread and wine,'" might be revealed, and that
heresies and Khisms, which are making their way "through Frankish
lands,"'" should be coun~m:I by a brief presenntion of authorities.
It is I\{)( only th .. beJiefs of Berengar which he questions but also th!>
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 intel-
lectual 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 spread-
ing 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 Chrysos-
tom, 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~, <hem"", J41KJat
vioo tMIIJ/J"'. and ",iraa"'.I'" But, It bottom, his realism is not phil-
osophical or theological. It depends on faith and ora! experience. More

.. , H<Wfn'<ftl, v-.f,. T-.. '401 , '~9.

'" 1.iM-" C..,.....S. ...i.. Cbris#, tr-i-, [;_ .....; PI. '.9.IH) . ""/oiJ·,·,76·
',n,
,., IMI.• I. I; 'H7A .
... /MI., I. I; I,HA.

''''
 THE EUCIIARIST AND NATURE

than Hugh, he ~turns to an essentially non-intelle<tUllJ point of view,

~j«ting entirdy the "C!'!iSS similitud~ and figure"". which anempts
to explain away the last supper's reality. The ewnts of the Bible, he
argues, happened litm.lly. They depended on the Word, which en-
ga8ed directly in creating, beroming flesh, ..od performins miracles.
Thr eucharistic myStery re..f:n2(($ the original scenes of Christ', ue-
ri~.
lkrengar's error, in his opinion, is not only to have thrown ac-
cepted 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;"· sim-
ilarly, 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 Augus-
tine, whose Dt TrillilAlt, quoted at length, ''''' limits itself to concep-
tual 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;<r. 1.1; I}n ... .

l liJ..
''' /liJ.•1.1, I}17I\-C: S.I '. Il9l":9 ·l'-H. I ~ "H->d'.
'" IliJ..1. 1. ' l7@A; •.• , 117!lC. ". 100/., ' ." '}18D.
'" 100/. ,
•.• : 1)79A. '~Ut.ri,. , .. 10UI.• Il79B .
"" JfflI.. . .. . I }"NB.
'" 1"-1.• ,}SoA . ,~I..«.. ,;,. "'Ut.ri•.
- Dt T.,.. j·4 · 10: lA". ,;,.• 'p9C.D.

'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.. sub-
Itance....... 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 prob-
lem is how to move from word to tnt. His attirude towards written
tn&dition is undentandably ambivalent. He is convinced that the eu-
charistic h.. resy is the cons.-quence of false ~."" But faith can-
not 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 con-
secrated. "'>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 aplana-

w'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 to-
k"n, just IlS Christ's CMpNJ WIlS both material and spiritual. $0 the
words of the Bible ha"," both ahtend and a figurative sense. }6, Christ's
spiritual body can be the subject of figurativ.- expression in the sam..
way that manoa means "the angels' bread. ··}6· In bo4:h cases the~ is
OOt merely an image which con«al.s reality. A latent meaning; is alS()
reveal<"<i in the counc of time.}6,
Whil .. not denying the power of the word, then, but by building
on it. Durand arrives at the necessity of rexn and interpretations. The
antinomy of word and text is never completely resolved; the operative
power of tht word i$ continually reiterat<"<i. But the poS$ibility of
herm .. nNtics is also admiuw. Onc th ing may he seen by the eyes,
anot her signified by /mans of '41io rypif4.}6< This, he adds. is the
meaning of Jimililll,u and figllr4 in Ambrose and AuguStint. }6) But
why did Christ resort to figures o( speech at all? Fint, to demonstrate
that through the power of his word he could alter gtlftr4 i1fftitlll4;
s«ondly. because his disciples no less than his later com municants
would have been shocked to sec his rea.I blood. # Y.-r the b~ad and
wine are nOt on that acCOUnt mere figures . The .... ord became flesh and
the bread descended: those who m;cive "the flesh" are "participants"
in the mystery " through the food of his substan"".··..,., Rather than
calling a figure of this type a mere appearance o( reality it should be
termed JIIJm'Jllbsl4"li4Iis, IlS AugU$tine suggested and When con-
firmed. oM Expressions like fig.r4 and si",iIit"do $JMis IlI4TfglliTflS are
fr.-quently found in th.. fathers.'(\o But they do not diminish th.. Sa.('
ramenr"s "reality," which simply hid..s beneath the surface of the
gtammar and r~tOJi c. Wheo Paul, (or instance, speaks figullltivdy
of the body and blood, he does $0 to celebrate the mystery of the

,,. I-«.ri'. "'I-.I.• 1,8,S-C. ""hjJ .• I , S,c.

"·I~.. 4.8. ,,860. ""iiJ.. 4·8. 'lRM-C .
,., l~. • 4·9. 1,8,S, 4. 10, 1)8?ll-9<>S .
... 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( al-
ways 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<l, '19 but only an '·illiterate" could fail to
see the Bible's deepu sense.''''
Duraoo. concludes with a number of miracles drawn from Radbert,
Gregwy of To un, Rufinus, and John the Deacon. Tho:x illusrrale Ihat
he hu in genefal rwo answers to the problem of why Christ spoke in
figurative expressions. One rc:llln to higher culture, is bll5o:1. On tbe
fathers, and is secn as a reply to Bcrenpr himself. The other is a
paradigm for communication among the less well educated. Here his
chief biblical text is once a.g:&in the sixth chapter of John. Thc scene
is the Sea of Galil~ .....here "a large crowd·· was seeking OUt Jesus.
"There follows the miracle of the loaves and the fishes, after which
Jesus walk. across the ~h sea rowarm CaJlt'maum. On the follow-
ing morning, Durand reminds his readers, Christ toM the asK"mbly
CO "work nor for Ihis perishable food, but for tbe food that lasts, the
food of eternal life." The people asked for a sign like manna. which
descende<l for Moses in the desert. Jesus answer«! that this was nOt
tilt" true !mad; he alOI>(" 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 ap-
preciate tM symbolic nature of Chris!"s words. J esus used everyda.y

"" /IoiJ., 1l9.A.B. '" /1oiJ.• IW.B. ". H<wt......, . o..-i ;f r __ • ,,8.
"' 1.iJfr .. c.,.,.~ . " . Ij9lA.
""IoiJ., 1 l9~8 . ,,, Hebt- ").
," a. ~n'. o.r..I rf r_. » 9-
... LiM. C."... ' .I~-I ' , 1)9~-?8A.
,,, 11oiJ., , . [). Il948 . ". l~.• "'1. l~<:I<lC-O. ... 10iJ.• '. I~. 'me.

'94
 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 (om-
posed. 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 inter-
nally 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 trn-
tises 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
Nocolonald.
8~
S ........ '49.
11
IM Rf",. ,.8 and n }_
,,, Cl. IoI... tdao. >7'·H . . . - dtuil«l ,,",p<ooitioa (pan 11) I"""idn on ""u..nding ~"idt
'" <h< &.veiopmcn. of l.ooh.""., idt ... Pot • brim. b..>t ono, •• ool,," .... 101. Git-n. u~"'
a."9"
<f 1l4<.

'"
 THS EUCH<l.RIST <l.r-{I) r-{<l.TURE

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 tra-
dition 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 dis-
posed to a public debate on (he eu.charist with Berengar. But, as no
appropriate occasion presented itself, be decided at length ro put ro-
getber a "compendium'· refuting the nsential errors. He accuses Ber-
engar 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 author-
itia were bwught before him, he purposefully deformed their mean-
ing 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 ig-
DOflInr of divine mystery." In thus linniDS against his less well edu-
cated bn:thren, the master ofToun sinned against Chri,r.,a6 Specifi-
cally, he msnartd those who, "not knowing how to resist, contemplated
things visible n.tw than invisible. " H e preached such errors, com-
mitted 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 Ber-
enpr'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 Beten-
gat', 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. ..
... , Cot S . ...
s...=. 0..;.,;, {. " PL ',o.407A-(>9C .

... Dt Go ,"" . c. '. ~-(>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 "Burgun-
dian" cn..r Berengar aUegt'<l. He was a flir rdigiOJ1IJ; his place of origin
was Lotn..ringia (well known for i~ vene ..... ble .,.fucational institu-
tions). EqUl1!1y npable in "faith·· and ··science,"· he was appropriately
made archbishop and larer nrdinal by Leo IX .'OI9 Further, he did not
dn-w up Ikrengar's confession on his own authority but at the reqUCSt
of the enti~ assembly at Rome in 1°59.'''' Copies of the tUt were
circulated and everywhere met with approval."" Ikrengar thus srands
twice convicted: he J>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. Lan-
fn-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. Legjsla-
tion and inh~rited doccrine play a sc<ondary part. Lo.nfranc thus pre-
supposes an institutionalized church, without which the continuity of
ecclesiastical thought and anion is inconceivable. B~rengar sees the
church primarily as a cnmmunity of believers, onto each of whose
shoolders devolves a certain resporuibility for subi«tive com mitment
and 10gio.I thought. The two views are not mutually exclusive. Lan-
,.. l!Ul.• c. " 4,011. Cf. Mon!C"" • .,.<is.. • 80. &Ii""" .. 01 J...,{nnc·, """!Cry of aoon
.... n:y. 1'0< • pool'i...;.-.., ... z. N. EIrookt. ToIt ~.,III~ ClI.mb ~oJ.1>t P4«1 (Conlbt~.
'91, 1. ".8): 1<0,. """'" Il<0l_ ............,. 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 """","""",
r.ur,;,
;n ,Ill: !.<ot,..; ... ; '"' ob< IOtm<r. le< Sotoizo of I~"; A ....... MGI-( Lilll:lli d< Lit< J,

". 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 lit-
eracy·, 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 Rad-
ben'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 qucs-
tion 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 Beren-
gar·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 inter-
pretation. 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
... MOtll<loo, ( f_" /U ..... . • 8.; 4-4'.+4. Cf. 0. c.."..., c. 16. ~>6CO .
... 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 poten-
tial fur futther dialogue minimal. Nor was Lanfranc corr«t in stating
that the cardinal's opinions wen: shared by all previous commenta-
tors."'" What, it is arguable, the latter had in common 'NU a faith in
t~ _gist,n"m:- the institution rathcr than the individual wu con-
ceived 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 eucha-
rist ', 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 mis-
application 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 prop-
osition (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 .
.., o,,,,,,,bno, ;/JiJ... ,,0-,61..
- 0. C..,.,... c . 6, .,61.; d . c . '7. "911- On ,I>< po;'" u,", 01 diAl«,;".... J- A. £nd~ ,

F_""_ "" G~.~""'_ PIJi'",!,,:, . • )-47, 11 4- ' 9.

'99
 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 pre-
exilting reality, wbile Bcrengar lIS5eru that what cnmes first is the
linguistic description, from which inner reality can perhapl be in-
ferted.
Lanfranc addl that, in bis view, lIiI noted, there can be no purely
loginI 5OIutions to theological problems.'" For the historic.t or spir-
itual 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(·
" ' 1...... ,61:.
C..,...
... 0. c. 6. 4'6&.C.

, .. IJiJ., c. I. 408A-6: <. , ....s: c. 1. ,,6D-' 7A.

-
'-".,;.,
 THE EUCHARIST ANP NATUIIE

J4iYl!le l!Iu(/(Will!lltJ to dil!lltctira. ~1!I1;O"tJ, nO{ on ly be<au~ of t~ inherent

limits of human ro:asoo,'" but also be<:ause he fears that ph ilosoph i-
cally 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 in-
volv~, 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.$iderably more sophisticat~ than Rad-
bert's evidentialism, in which the text was a mere memorandum for
the Word. But he sen little role for new interptetations as independ-
ent teltts."· In particular, he appt"ats to have limitN the use of formal
logic to the ma/trip. diJputJJlIdi.'" In shon, his conception of herme-
neutics moves from grammar aod lexicography through syntax and
rhetoric and finally to throl<.>gy, while rema ining within the orbit of
rhe <.>riginal text.
Bur, as Berengar caustically nOtN, Lanfranc did not adhere strictly
to his own principles.,'6 He put forward tWO irreconcilable state-
ments, namely, that the: bread. and wine are only sacraments :lncl that
they arc: only Christ's body and blood. He then attempted to dismiss
the master of Tours thl'1.lU8h an errot of logic, the: very abuse to which
he rook most serious exception. The method was inappropriate; nor
was Lanfranc a real match for Bcrengar io philosophical analysis.'"
Berengar. in fatt, affirmed that, if any term of a proposition were
suppreued. the existence of the whole wIIS thrown inro doubt. Thu$,
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 .
• .. 1. ...
'" Mo",d"., Uofrd"'''~, '119 UId '~7 .
... 0. $ _ C_. p . )0. ,6.,3; p. ", >;. ,,;
p. H. 7"4; Mon,d.,.. " , "" .
• " Mon«loo, ' 9' -9~ . Fur •• im ilor <Oncl ..;.,., .... M. Giboon, U.fo4fK «!Ht. 14·88 .
... o.c..-,-, c. 7, ~ [71).[8A .

3°'
 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 <kgltt that he abandons Betengar"
statermnt .nd sttiko:s off in a direction of his own. Ambrose, he cor-
ll.'Cdy ob5oerva, did DOl propose that the manna from heaven was like
the mystery of tbe euchariSt: [he onc was ~".br" tt fix"'.' the other I~x
It 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, Ber-
engar 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_

m(fIti .•• 6
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 investi-
gated .....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 chap-
tcn, 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.acra-
ments, 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<! sign. But
he does not establish th~ simply by following the bishop of Hippo. H'
Instead, while a cerrain intellectualism it rctaine<!, the idCll5 progress
by analogy with ritual, DIlth, and custom. It i. true, he allows, that
the sacraments hear the image of their inner realitiM. Dut thi s philo-
!lDphical relationship cannot be [!lDlaled within Ihe rite. "When the
host is broken and the blood poum;l . . . . what else is dMignattd
(dnignatllr) but the sacrifice of the Lord's body on the cros.s . .. ?"<l'
In otbcr word5, wbat constitutes the sacrament is not only its rt'Seffi-
blanc;e to something else but its ooofirmarion of a sacred mlity through

." 0. c.".... c. 1>, 4'>C-0_ ... I;;J.• Co '0. 4,,0_

... ~••, i&iJ_• • "O-'JA. ~"". " ........ ' 1..1, . A""",I"". Ifr- 98 -9 . pt H .36.! OP<I
Do c",..m..Nl, II.JiI<u. <. >. Pl . 0., " .
... MQo,do•• t-fr-. s........
"< _
, .. 1<0< ,h< " .. AI«";"". "" """"d... , .06-07. .,>V. c",..,.. C. I ,. 42,A.

3'3

.
 THE IiUCH ... 'UST ... ND N ... TURE

a vtrbaI commitment (j.,jlff.~). OJ Historical prt(edents ill't re-

called. Gttgory tbe Gl't&t, writing to Justinus, is said to Iwve em-
ployed. 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 $et in the appearanet of the bread
and wine, which ill't befutt our eyes, invisible realities; that is, we
glorify the fttsh and blood of Christ." It is not a question of dividing
the matter into two "'ppearanc::es," one bffimo constCflltion, the 04:her
afcer. Moreover, Augustine, in speaking of the N<:harist, was also
thinking of tbe Other sacraments, which ill't nOl obedient to intellec-
tual principles alone but also to accepted. CUStom (CllJlSllttudiJ) .4H
"!be sacra~nt, then, is considered both as word and text, that is,
both as oral communication (jllJjIll'/1.WItl, mulldudiJ), involved in rire
(iItIMor.",;~, SMT4tio), and lIS an object of cognition (J.m-4_-
tlt1Ifhi_ilitJUiD). In swn, Lanfranc sees the eucharistic ceremony lIS the
subjtctivt attempt to rttaIl an objective fact through ritual. 4))
A further integration of these dements is ..ttempted in chapter
fourteen. Berengar qU(){es AugU$tine, who states: Just as the sacra-
ment 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 maj-
C$ty. "0' The C$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<Irhrrn , ...... ~ •• ,loa "" Ii_ .. fiIitJJ ""~. with in ItpI im.pIiaociono:
St. ....... """ M 1I.......... {Gom~. ,96}). '0 .
•,. o,-.J-, iIiJ.. 4.,D. ....' 0. c.,.n, <. [4, 4'l D-.V.·
 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:ansfOJ-
marion when he said that eating t~ bread and drinking the wi~
re-enanfd (iflli14tur) Christ's crucifixion and brought about our abso-
lution 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$5entially
the same, but also by that manner of speaking by which the signifying
thing (rrs J;gIJiji4mJ) is accuscomed to ~ ca!led by the term of the
thing signified big1lificatat m ... fJ(JCa~/o).'" In the Bible, when a
relationship between symbol and ttality is established, it is integrated
inro the ovenll mystery of change by means of typology. An example
occurred after Christ t05C from the grave. Two men on their way to
Emmaus met him but did not know who he was. His appearanc~, as
Augustin~ noted. signified chat he would KlOn riSC' into heaven ...•
The epiilOde, in LanfHnc's view, was not only part of the gospel nar_
rative; it also attempted to present the evenu in a mysterious form,
far from the common expcrien« (rommllwis Vila) of men.--'
The discussion of the cucharist ru ritual u brought (0 itS culminat-
ing point in chapter fifteen. Onc~ again the analysis bcgiru wich •
quotation from Augustine by Bcrengar_ In his letter to Boniface, che
bishop of Hippo made the following statement: "Christ is sacrificed.
once in himself; and yet he is sacrificed in the sacram~nt not onl y
during each Easter ceremony, but, for the ordinary pcopl~, o:v~ry day
as well. "- Lanfrnnc pr0p0$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 c..,.... <. '4 . 4'4B .
.. ' ,--,(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 .
 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, thete-
fore, 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 resur-
rection. he will tcoIppear in~e. and sin«, moreover, he remains up
to that point whoUy unrecallable?".. • Lanfranc rtplies that soch proc-
esses 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 ae-
tempting 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 over-
interpretcu 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.. •.. t.-.rit .
... 1Nl•• <. ,6. 4.~B.D. ." q.. ..'_.• ,60.
 TtlE EUCtlAR/ST ANO NATURE

like horses or mules, which react without think ing. They afe uncon-
vioced of divine truths not by understaodin8 but by poor <!ltpositinn
(mal, txpcllmrio).<H The Bible furnishes many examples of things which
weu consumed and not diminished, to lay nothing of mysterious
comings and goings on the Lord's part.'" The essence of good inter_
pretation is the ability to disti~ui$h ~tween "things to be taken
literaHy and things to be understood spiritually."'"
So ends Lanfnnc's point-by-point refutation of lkungar'S optnCN-
IN"'. From chapter eighteen, he focuses his a{{ention on the eucharistic
conversion it~lf, arguing from allClrwitIII (chs. 18-19), ratio (du. 20 -
.:z I), and from objections to the master of Tours (chs. 22-33)."~ There
is lin le that is genuinely new in part tWO, in (>IlIticular on the ques-
tion of transubstantiation and the ~I presence . But formal distinc-
tions 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, Lan-
ftane', 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 mir-
acles, which, for him, involve nor only swpension of natur:al laws
but, very often. the numinow power of words in a ritual cont<!ltt. '~'
He also purges natur:alistic language so far as possible from the vocab-
ulary of conversion, utilizing most lR:quemly the terms opet"Of" (to work,
labow, or toil) or ~"vtrlO (to convert or change).''''' He thereby em -
phasizes the activity's concreteness and reaffirms rhe original biblical
phrasing. In avoiding naturalism, he once again implies an anal08Y
with the ritualized imlilltl.. of customary law.<6, In orher words, if
there is a parallel with the eucharistic ceremony in another area, it
'" Dt
• '9 11 .
c..,.... c. '7. ~>7A..c. • .. E.•. • ut 1l<8 ". I S; 1.-. <It . • ~' 7C . '" IW.,

... O . "'o."do<. u.p.. .. IU ..... . \.0" ' .

" , D< c.".,.. ~. ,8. 4}OA. ,,. JliJ.• ~ jOC- D. " . /liJ. • c. '9. ~"c:.
... I~.. c. '1. 4'oC .
... / H.I.• <. ><>. OM ; cf. t . 9. ~,oC .
.. ' I~.• <. 18. 4},B..c. 00 "",!w;" i< mi"",,"' ;n 1 .....&1. I« P. 0""",. 0;,,_' 7~'j lixhto
11"........ do ilh,,.w,... (B ..... u. ' 938)·
.. , 1/IiJ.• 43 ,c. ... JhI/.• H,B. ... 1.«.';,.
 THE EUCHAIIl S T AND NAT\JkE

does not arise from abstraction alone but as well with the codes 01
conduct in oral culture. God', intttvention and the $8Craments func-
tioo 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 Augus-
tine, 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 interpre-
tive 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 pres-
ence. 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 under-
standing from time to time, bur it is always ronfllttd with ver-
bi.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. Ber-
engar 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/C-
uriUs, 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
... In 6.69; 4}1C. ... I~.• 02I).HA. . . IfiJ.• 4 ,)A-C·
.... lfiJ.• 4HC. ''' I~.• 4j4A.B . ." Moo><do•• r pOll'. a.'. . . . . . ,,. .
•" 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.
 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 crit-
icism, 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 is-
cUlSions of the sacraments in such th inkers as Alget of Litge. He nOt
only provides a bridge hetween the unperfccted sacramental vocabu-
lary 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 think-
en 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:tho<io", position, and a certain Roger, who appears bemused by
the Bercngarian "heresy,'"
Guirmund first gives us a pen-po:Irtrait of B~~ngar, whom he sees
as a pompous autodidact. The minute of fact and fiction is instruc-
tive. When &,rengu was a schoolboy, wi tfltlSCS report, he was 50
impressed by his own brilliaoc~ thal he paid little BII~ntion to anyonc
.. ' Cf. 101..",100. ~oi- " lUo ...... ",, .,"" lim i.. <I.. 'O""N< IQ do,""i"" .
... Dt C..,..., c. 20, ~ j9A. ." JI>iJ., c. ". ~ '9"" ... E.I ·, c. I. 40jlA .
 THIj .6UCU"RIST "ND N"TUkll

el.e. France was then lacking in guides to "higher philosophy·, .e-

crets ... So !w: amUKd hirnsdf by wlffiChing novel sm$eS (lfOll2"t . • .
illll'fPttatilJlUS) from what he knew, thereby appropriating to himself
a unique science ()ilfglllaris srim/iII). This, in turn, he "'-lInted pub-
lidy: ··Simulating Ihe style of a master instead of following the matter
of insrruction, he cove~ his head with a hood, and, deep within its
recesses. pretended to meditllte, deceiving many through the rasping
of his Kar«"iy audible voice." H e WIi$ set straight by Lanfranc, Guit-
mund contLn~s. but, unable to bear the humiliation and the loss of
hi, students, he turned to dissecring the sacramenrs, a subjecr ob-
viously 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 ( on-
demn inh.nn to perdition. In both (IISCS he was the devil's mouth-
piece.· 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 employ-
ing the distorted logic (rtlliIl1lfllt.) common to all subverten of ortho-
doxy, 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<kntly distorting his J'Iluistic ,"utceS. Guit-
mund pro~ to dispure his logic and his authorities on whether
nature does not permit such a change ( IUIt'"" hIIw: flUltllti_ lUll
pwhlwr).··'
Not all Berengar's followers err in the s.ame way. All Btmtg"""";
... l). Co,,.. ... l.oof.;.... Cl,,;,,; v~;. £00600 ...... bk. ' . PI. '49. '4>aA.< •
... liU.• ' 4'9A. ... ItiJ.• t. '. '4.18. - ItiJ. , ,.6.A.
... IOJ., '.'9[).,o". - ItiJ. , 14'''''. ..' 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 Bu-
engar, nonetheleu make U$C' of hi s arguments, stating [hat the brt"ad
and wine ate changed in part and remain unchanged in part . Finally,
there are thost who do not find the Lord's straightrorward W1.lrds ad-
equate and prefe r to seek meanings on their own. Among other things
they state that, while the bread and wine are wholly tl"llturormed,
they revert to mere lIesh and blood whell the unwonhy come to re-
ceive communion.'"
But all Bttmgm4"i oppose orthodoxy with the same idea, that
there is no cssential change of bread and wine.··· Guitmund's reply
is to extend the notion of God's omnipotence to what &erengar rc-
gards u the realm of nature. His oppoBC'nn maintain, or so he af-
firms, th.t nature cannot permit such a tnlluformation. BUI, "what-
ever the Lord pleases, he does"_ v.:nC' of the Pulms, he adds, they
qUOle but do no( understalKi.·... If tbey did not believe God omnip-
otem, they could not argue that he violated nature. And, if not om-
nipotent, then he is not God at all. Nature un permit such a change
ifhc wills it. For this "nature," which in its-df is litenlly 1I0thillg, is
bfflught into beif18 and form$ 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.«I<r<q, .. _~ ........,iq ..
infdi. d< Goi",... od d'A ...... ," Rbrn 17 ('947), >1 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 re-
demption.""
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 mys-
tery of the many in the one. Moreooer, the mystery, Guitmund ar-
gues, 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, ttatUi-
wry 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-interpreta-
tion. 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 . "" Simi-
larly, 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 med-
icine of in cerior light. " The sacrament, therefore, works amf,. m_.
For the senses often deceive, as ilI\cient philosophy and everyday ex-
perience 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. "" ~.• 'H IB-C. - l jiJ. , J~,6 ".
'" 1J;i.• 1>1<.1 . I ~~B-C . ,.. In '0." . '" u.. ,~ . ,6.
"' Qo C~. 'HH8-C .

'"
 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 IUb-
stantial changes, as, for example, wMn Moses's rod became a ser-
pt'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 ema-
nates 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. ,.0
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 ex-
ample 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 "four-
fold substantive or effcctive ptinciple of change." Ollt principle is that
by which all things we~ made into what they a.re from ttOIhing. A

,., I~., .~,8C-,~B . ... IJiJ.• ['HoB . "' f.md 7 ,[O.

3'4
 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 an-
other.'"
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<U, the eucharist is a m::ol1c<:tion and re-enactment. Relating
the powion signifies the passion itself; in that sense, the celebration
of rhe body and blood is t~ Jigftum of the passion. The sign, by
implication, is both physical aoo spiritual, physical in reanimating,
spiritual in meaning. For, unlike the sacrifices of the Old Testament,
the eucharist must not be understood "servile and infirm I{(ording to
the letter." When we say "Cbmtlll i"",watllr," we refer to a signifying
commemoration of an act tb'eady completed f.ia"' !,"adar signijicativa
(Dm_I1rI"~). Augustine often speaks in such figllrata l(I(utio. But that
does nOt mean the sacrament is a mere figure. The reference is to the
spiritual meaning of physical events. The "Umbratiti,"' who assert that
the eucharistic body is only the shadow of the historical, misinterpret
his words. 'lM purpose of the eucharistic ceremony is 10 m::all the
crucifixion ro mind (two/mdll'" in _I)f"ia). The eucht.tist is a signum
or figllra in the sense of a Jtl(rum lignu"" that i" a sPra oblati~.'"
lsa.iah said, "Where is the lettered?"' (Uhi 1St /itttr"atllJ?), thar is, the
"judge of words."'" The gr_tiri and di(l/,niri may ridicule ord i·
nary Ullage (qllPliJianuI MSW) .'·· But that sa.me experience ultimately
gives the eucharist its meaning.

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"'.. 1~l4C.,8A .
'" h.;lh H . • I: 1«. m.. [~6lB . '''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 lim-
ited 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 discus-
sion 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'lln-
sub5tantiatioo 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 Poi-
tiers, he adds that one should speak of tbe sacrament not JIIMta1lti4litlr
' " /IU., '440""0; cf_ I.. G.qoi ... ''Cu;tn>O/Od of A_.-N_ c.d.Jit eAJ .r, &, >01.
" S!ll·

,,6
 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 fidel-
iry 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 eutha-
tist is not the same as <;..,d's intendC<l meaning. Understanding the
mystery, as Ambtose suggnts, is ~ill8 it without anything to cover
it up (;Iruqllt IIIlD wL.mim)y9 Therefore, nothing is beyond nature
(praettr" Nllllram) in Christ's being represented by objects like a stone,
a lamb, and so rorth. But the sense of su(h figures must be confirmed
by Scripture.'''' Even miracles, to the de8rtt they are m::orded, are
admissible as evidentt.'"
Not surprisingly, the issues raised by authors like Guibert and
Guitmund found an echo in twelfth-century treatises dt1llin8 with
more J(ientific up«ts of nature. One can of course propose th.t stu-
dents of the eucharist and of the natural world utili2ed similar sourees
for their doctrines on subjects like appearance and reality. However,
an argum ent can also be made fot parallel modes of thou8ht. for, in
many areas of twelfth-century natural phi!osophy, (titetia of validity
,. , I~.•
bk ,. ' 47611-C.
'" I~.• bk >, ' 4\>(;, 0: ."0 bot,.,ic. mali,;", bocci ......,...1,,,•.,"0._ .. pt<OI>u<.
Qoom i.""".i.. i",.. oudocia • ..., .. ",,,,t, I)"i ,,,,,..,,olarn ....;"Ott.. in ...,...i<ndo .,...'i_
"",;"'1 . .. •.
'··I~. , ~, 147, A: ."Qmnt, ",,;pp. homo fi"""" lUi. i" '1'" .ihil d< "'too"...;,. .... '''.
r.... _,.-
'''/1*1.• ' 47.0.
,MI"". . '41l A.
'" /..,;.• '479A: ··Non ocI ..... pnoedicci •• """",i..,ibu.o. O<d <t ",.Id. quO«\>< mi..culi< ..i_
dontu.imj.. ..,'-"i~ ..r "",n" ... ",,:.

"7
 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 dis-
cussiQOS 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 clas-
sical fo-ttr and progressed without intel'$C(ting the rise of other in-
terpretive: 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 Phi-
Irn"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<hi~ I", Mi",w, ... ," Rm .. ·. " r. t . . . . ,6 Cl!>.. ), ,,?,,6; M.. T. d"AI .. m" "(.0
<OcmoiI .rmboliql>< 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<ru-.
la .....i _ _ du XII< .iklo, - ;" Lr "Hi;, .... I ' 1 UIrIo, '?', [;
S. Slid, 101.,111 .,Ua-.,
dto. H: oad 1'. Df<;JW, F-.u. ~;.u rAt Uw <! M-pIJ;' M.&.i pI. ' . (Loidm
and CooioK ... 1914).
p, s.. B. 11<1"'1, ''Narun. Id bt Dous, A Coo< ol Jutiocic p.",m.w..1" J - ' """ HimI?
<! 1_ '4 ('96)). m · >l; G. I'00I, 1""""' ;. 101.""-' L.pJ T..... (P,"""'".... '964). 494'
,6,; P. Wri ....... , "Dirlqil<iorh< Literarur . . . ," in H . Coi." H"toM.d • •"'r;,"" • ..."..
5 ' !'" "4"'.
'" 5« L. 'll'hi" Jr., "N.. um S<irnce and N..uroIi.. ic An. i. [he Middle ~'" - AM. ' • •
Il ' .• ' R";'" ,0 (1947), ."·n.

3"
 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 pop-
ular 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. p. '77-7"'--"
j', ._.-
: ...... fUJCKO! no< c.......... . "'
". /1<1.• , I. '99-)"": '"' the to"", ... T. Si[~nt<i". "'Ekmentatum; ].. Appcoran« AlOOIIg
,he T...!ftI<-C<1IfUlJ' ~""im. ·· Mw , .'"' 5,,,,,;., , 6 ('9}4). , ,6-6. and Scock, M"h ~""
.r.--. JH~" and ' 70£""'·

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 decreue<l by .. small
amount, the proponion beins comparable to the relationship bet... ~n
adjective and noun.'" Reason, Willio.m dedares, is to be sought in
all rhings.'" Yet, like the more sophisticated theorists of the sacra"
ments, hi. MtiD is i~le from [he 10g;01, lingui$tic and mean-
ingful relations of ten.I. Even the story of creation is .. myth whO$e
kernel of truth is a byprodua of interptetarion.m
Similar ideu ... ~ reiterated and developed in his GIIUM IIlJNf' PI4-
t_, which, )eauneau nQ(es, "occupy .. cenrn.l place in his philo-
sophical ~."'''' William'$ l..lSumption throughout is that one can
unravel the secrets of nature by deciphering the code of the Tim"tJIJ
as transl ..ted. and interpreted by Calcidius. Pl..to·, original taSk is Sttn
as positive rather than natural justice;,)9 as such, he deals with m.. n-
nude knowledge and. permits an intellectual equation between crea-
tion ana interpretlltion. ~ simple definition of philosophy in the
PhilowJlhia MmuIi is thereby expanded into .. full division of the Ki-
mces.- !he ...o.-ki is known through the kllOWlible, thar is, the
rllti_ of each science in iu ordered place.'" The TiltlM1lJ, he adds,
was difficult for the early com.mentaton, not because: PI ..to ... rote ob-
KUCely, but bc:ca"S'" his raiders were isllOf"a/lt of the disciplines n«'ded
[0 interpret it. For, when dealing with the problem of creation, the
author made mention of many Klences "accordins to the propenies
of each, adding pJ:QO(s ...,.. .Each "art" therefore !>Q 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'" "do... , ai _

'" /H.I.• p. " , 6,4! : "N.......... od li ......... <"de"d ......., deo.>m _ "Toe pn ........
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.
 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 focusC<! on the "Pla_
tonic"' qWllity of tM pcrsonific.ations, that is, thc manncr in whi ch
the AJlegorical goddesses symbolize inncr abstracrions.H. Bur, from
the oucse-t, Alan emphasizes the interdependence of structures of rcal-
icy aoo of tCXts. The prostituting of Nature's laws is due to "magical
ar!"':'" the learned is contrasted with the pagan, the sanctioned with
the blasphemous. The natural is the normative: wht:~ , the dreamer
asks, have fled "the grace of nature , tht: form of customs, the precepts
of decency"?'" GrAmmatical crror l"eprest'ntS sexual deviance. The sex
of the active degenerates into tbe pasiiive genus. Man "becomes both
predicate and subject. ,. Grammar's JIIWS are ··ovet-n;tcndcd." L;lter,
types of unnatural sexuality ate even catalogued according to gram_
mll" of love and of logic. And man's denial of his own manhood is
looked upon as a "barbarism, ,. thus inteKonnecting written IlIw (lex)
IInd his correct image of himself. Again, as a fornicator, man is not
pleased by genuine an (ars) but by a mete trope (/roplfl), which is in
reality a degraded figure. As such, he is only a manipulator of words
(1tIDd" I<'gUtu). And " the simple conversion of his art brings about the
loss of nature's laws. "",6 Thus, his "hammer of invention" deforms irs
own anvil; the form in the womb is imprintt<:l upon no wa iting mat _
ter. Alan returns again and again to such J>llrallels. 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 precon-
nected verbal al(hetypes. "',
Alan also rcAcets an aspect of the orthodox position in the eucha-
ristic 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..."" (Pr,,,,,,.,,.'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. <I» . • '
1£0,,,,,,,....
}. Pot 0 ««"t ~k-w of ."",lfth..;..,t"" 01 .. ..,.;.;.1 H . w ...... TIIo e..........,
.., lIIm_, c.,.J~', "I>. 1'1"",;;'" ",,, . . oM ,. ~, Sit_: A en';'.! ft/;_, cIiso. ,

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. 8.,(H,B).

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 alle-
gory, 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 or-
der 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 pIlt-
temins of forml~ matter is microcosminlly imitated by the cogni-
tive activities nf man, who ptoceeds from the concrete to the ahstrllCt,
and, through rc:acling aoo meditation, gradually repairs hi, fallen na-
ture. 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 re-
Recll 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<l
either to improve our nature or to mOikrate {he defects of our present
life. Imperfections moreover He rcpaj~ through knowledge and vir_
tue (slim/i" et rima). From these two alone arises our likeness to
divine substance. For, although man is composed of mortal and im-
mortal elements, he "[[uly exists·' through the second alone.'" Am!
... H"l""i' JlS.... V_~.S,""" UpJi. "...r.,i..od. c. H. Bu,,;'n... { lVa<iI·
in,!;ton. D.C.• 19}9l. [.J.
" ' IJiJ., !.[.pp .•• , .
'" IJiJ., ,. " p. " .

3'3
 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 rheto-
ric, 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 pref-
erable. For usase (~*1) relates words, nature, and thinss. The one is
the voice of men (""" bomi_); the orher, the voice of God tOW&l'<b
men (MIlr Dti.vi bMiws). Mm: wotds, 0DCt uttem:l, perish, but things,
11 crated. end~.
Moreover, the voice is the physical sign of che $enscs (1fOta Jtll./ll_);
tbe thing is the likencu of • divine original {JitJi_ ,..,;,,,;s
JiwulLr-

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 ;nSu-
enced 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 eum-
pies, an attempt was made co draw ancntion to broa<kr i$Sues: in
Chapter Two, the qucstion was IitCl'II.Cy a.nd social organiution; in
Three, the formation of religious intclle<ruaiism, the questioning of
ritual and symbol, and the ernergrnce of empirical attitudes.
W e now turn to purely philO5Ophic and theological activity, ;nro
which by I1 ~ o many of the problems n;5C'<:! during the eleventh (en-
tury by m:fffics, reformers, and scholastic commentators had been
channelled. For the sprc.d of liten.cy not only brought about perma-
nent chans"ll in tbe interaction between popular and learned twliIion.
EqU2l1y profound transformations took place in learned discipline$
therruelv"ll. What emerged 8$ a (entnl subject for discussion was the
relationship between language, te:a:U, and rHiity, and, as a conse-
quence, the potential uses of knowledge. Of COUlW, thinkers had al_
waY$ disting:ui.shcd between diffirent funcdoru--the active and the
contemplative, the practical and the theoretical. But the nudy of texts
provided a ncw focal point for discussion and iKllated the approaches
from each other 8$ never before.
The intellectual efflorescence may bt viewed from within individual
disciplines 'IKh as law, philosophy, and theology. Yet, it is recog-
nized, the " renaissance of the twelfth century" was a unified intellec-
tual development in which the principles of factual otglltlization from
one branch of knowledge were attied over without much change to
 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY

Ot~r$.' The "scholastic method·· is jllSt what its name suggestS, not
a group of doctrines bur a set of techniques for evaluating and =n-
ciling oppom:! positions. Subjuts in the arts curriculum evolved at
varying rates of progms. Theology and canon law achievtd coherent
systems of ciauitication long bf,fo~ history, natural philosophy, or
literary cridcism. In this respect the rwelfth cemury continued what
the eleventh began .
In comparin.g the £wo centuries, one diKerns the u.se and reuse of
familiar dichotomies, such as visible and invisible, material and spir_
itual, image and reality, and, of course, word and teu. What wu
novel after 1100 was the setting, the diversity of application, and the
bread th of the implications. & textual andysis emerged as a general
methodology, many thinken began to speculate along the lines of a
semiotics of cuJ{U~. Phenomenal manifesratiOf\$ of meaning _re looked
upon as a series of signs and symbols whkh could be interpreted once
one broke the code of thei r .gnmmar, logic, and rhetnric. One only
had to search for the interior unity (ollCealtd hc:neath the exterior
·'integument." Using Latin, that is, the writren, as a prororype, t_lf1:h-
century authors implicitly or explicitl y developed. formal Ianguagn in
many ateI5 of cultu~in art, architec ture, litenlure, music, and
philosophy_gainst the ba.::kground of which they invariably con·
ttaSttd local, popular, and nral traditions. Indeed, wit hout the emer-
.gence of such official cultures, the distinction htrwe<:n learnoo and
popular wou!d have made little sen$/:.
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 nom-
inalists IIZgoed, merely "d~ breathing of the voice· ? The accumulation
of factual information from t"«ordablt sources and the evident ne<:<!
for • method of organil:8tion c~ated aoother problem, namely, the
, N .·D . o.."~. "La 06..'''' .. rmm",., .... no;tca<K< du XH< .;«It:· Lo ,'''''.,. .. J...u...
,.1. (Potil, '9)7), ' 9"", oH·S I. O. Ph. o.!t.)'<. ··L·"'J*"w,j"" _ ......... XIIt ~« Ie: ·
",-6Il.
T .,.,/;,;, S (, l'41 J.

3'7
 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 de-
fensible statements about the knowable?
A mott fundamental philo<ophiod iPUC' was also at Stake. 1be twelfth
ccntwy saw a great incrtaSe in the numbers of masters and students
in Olthedral so::hools and in nascent universities. As a rc:5uit, there was
also a rise in the circulation of independent rexn treating specific
themes. & the Kholarly audience was recOD.nituted, the abstract idea
of information, that is, of factual knowledge, was gtadually Kparated
from the individual understanding. A diffcrell« was n:cogni~t<J be-
twttn the knowtr as inquiring $ubj~t and the knowledgc which was
the object of his investigations. Unlike the eastern "wise man" and
the early medieval sasc, till: rwclfth-ccntury intellC(tual did not em-
body a subj~t personally: he taught it. Being an intellectual was a
profession. even a socid rok.' Moreover, the ccntury's great divide: is
nor only along institutional lines between "monastic" and "Kholastic"
ways of thinkiog:. ) It arises as well from the: attitudes of individuals
towards texts. "If one wishes to cha...cu:ri~ the IKtio oi the Kholastic
mastcr in contI1lSt to the coIww of the monk," notes Chcnu, "we
could say that it consists above all in exegt!Sis, that is, in intcrprtta-
tion designed to set forth the obj~ti~ contents of the text. ". Among
monks, by contrast, Ledeteq reminds us , the synthesis always con-
rains a Jlft$ODaI, subj~ri~ element, which provides the point of dc-
parture for further reflection.)
Thc pte$Cnt chapter, like the tWO previous ones, proceeds by mtI.W
of enrnples. However, in the figures choscn--Anselm, Abclard, and
St. Bernard-1. dclibeme attempt is made to move away from partic-
ular issues and int<! the mainstream of early modem thought. The
book's theme thereby shim (rom individual inrerprerive rradirions to
the larger problem of interpretltion iuelf.
In St. Anse[m, twO questions prominent in mt<Jieval philosophy
made their appearance. 1be basic question was mat of language versus
• J. Lt Golf. LIr; • '!.t.h M _ . 196'), 6J-68.
(PviI.
'1'0><_...,.,,_ ", •• "' .... _ .... J. "" ' ...... .",. I....,...J o{~.- in It. L.
IkhiOil ODd G . Comtabk, oc!o ., Ih';:; .. _11--';" <hi T""'Iu. C....." 68-87. Fao- on

....
...,....,. ." .,, ___ .... G. "'~. ·1.... H<omp ..• : ,.. . . . . & - . . . . .. . ,

• "Leo~. La ......... ~iqut ; - ~tJ.IJc... ' ,b.,wu. ~ .

, ~ '-no. Ronnoa.I, - p. 77 . Foo-. briof ~ '" pooirions for and <pi.... dio.lec<;': , ...
J . • Gbo!~<><k . "Oiookaiqur: Of.qm. .... X~XIi< .ikIoo. ~.r'1 -. _ ,- P.".. . . .
C. B, b<IoI_. ' 9" )' .w· '. 19-99·

",
 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 autono-
mously 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 thor-
oughly renewed the mon.astic tradition of meditation and inn~r reflec-
tion. But he alSQ ordered aoo diSC:iplineci the subjectivity of the clois-
ter; m unite<! its personal qualiti~s to the larg~r spiritual goals of the
Ciste~;an Ord~r, which Wll$ the period·, must successful ··textual
community." Above all, he transformed th~ sort of symbolism evolved
by orthodox commentarors on th~ eucharist into a vehicle capable of
bringing together the individual, the monastic (ommunity, and the
sacram~nta.l process.

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<i the abbey of Bee in Io6o and succeeded Lanfranc
as archbishop of Canterbury ;n March 1093. Despite a (OJ"ffr preoc-
cupied with ecclcsiastic-l business, he completed over a dozen theo-
logical treatiscs. 6 Grabmann called him ··the fath~r of S(holasticism,'·
but in reality h~ embraced both "monastic·' and "S(oolastic·· ways o(
thinking. ' H~ fervently believed in pray~r, mysticism, and 5uprem~
• ""'. «"",bbi< ,tu<!, of .........1"'.. ~ """ tfttou&h< .... R. w. $outh<tn. »NN A_'.
~OtI w Bi.. ..... b... A SI"'" I{ MMmK Lifo 4"" T....,.. '<>j9 .... ".10, <11'. pp. j.,,6.
, DH G~ . . "!.Ut,,,,/:,.. ,"",W, 001 . 1 (Fr<;bu<~.im.B .. ;'8'~. 1909). >l8. n.. bib-
l;"'~, '" ,1. ....1"'·. lir.:""" ~bl i, abut>da",. """ <0,"_ b< full, """""tize<I
hen. The
Nil, ii,,.,,uur<" ii,,<d by J. So; ....i ••• ,I.Dt<lmI". " on: I .'. col . '~9. ,nd io tJebt .. ".

3"
 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
Goyer. C.",J,oW ,., c........ ,., ,.",,.,,,6•. 1" . , (Bet!in. '9'S), 6,1.7<'0. AI> .",..,wo<
bib!iovaP/I, '" ,"" ~ _ , phil<ooophial 1;...... _ ';U "" 10uad in J. tloplciM. A e_
J-o_ M,IJoS..,t{S,. A-'.(M~ •• "7'). :tIl'-n.'od i. ""' ........ udtor'.,~.
A. . . tfc,.,. ... ,.,,). 001 . ~ (1""'''0 ond N ... y..tr.. '976). 149"61. A SC""n.! bibliOjl"'f'/l,
alto oppean In A...""'" A"''';'''''' 1 (,!l69). ,6,-80 .m , ('97<». "l-'.· Po<. 8wa. '"
= •• bomos iD "'" dioctusi"" of A...<lm·. phi'->pll,.m 1beoIop. I« ,,,,,...no...
..,J_
of AIIoI.-t,o A""''';'''''' • .m '" • tumII\Ol)' of __ Wotld '011.. n in«mu. Slifihli_ S . I.. ' / ,
e..... ~;.",J "" IX. ........... '" , _ to..... _ k CB«.m ...n._ '''9)'

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 _,uty ;""1 ..... A. lAad-
, .., "Oot G<-h';'Uiub<.. ilr 101 . AAo.]", •. cuWbu'l' un.! ..u.. IItdtutullfl fUr die Thoo-
iofI;' .!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<iu.. .."
AndttopoIor;. Arudmt - . Canr«bu'l';' in L SlIxlr..,k .11.• ed. .• 1VdrMt - ' \'d. I-
,,,,,,. Ma.J Sd '"'.- 70. C.... ' . (Nuo-i<h •• 967). 001 . '. 7Su-98; o..,d G. R. b ....
A... - ' . "- C, , _ <Otd'"ocd . '980). 101_ opc<ifi< *"'<I;" OIl _1fi1>-«8<utJ \tJinb"
i""I....., A. Horrn. "'l< ...... il<<< hi....... j ........ « Gilbott de la _ : AHOUI"A .Q-II
(1,,,-,6). ,6-.01; N._T. d' AI......,.. ".4.dIord do uint y;rn,,-. Mq.... d·A....nd·.... dio<iplo de
Ni", Amd",,;' .h.,*," A .. bj , , ('97"). >17-"; and I.. D. V<ruoe. " " - i " , A"III .....
..,do...,..;,: DiKiplt of ~," iIiJ.• • .• ('9n). ')'-)9· l'ot. 'U;.. of ,"" rhl,...mb-
....,...,. dilOlOOion '" "'" '"'t%sicol .."..-n..... A. 00, ..10. Q-I~ - ' U..............
_CW ...... Gou<t"""'" ;",Mtj! rJ"Jo'. ' • .;, t;;; ', a Ba rf,O:6ti(..,_ A1f-
;. hott.r- .. hi. 11-'"' (Miionoter. ,_) ODdJ. Chkillon. "0. Guiu.- d·A.-..l Ni...
Thomao d"Aquu. ]"uJIlII>OI"l de Nint Anodttx ct... 1<0 p......;." orohtt;qu.. du Xllk Ji"'I •• -
fJiri"ci- _ , . l09-ll.
bibI.,.npIt,. _].
t I'ot "'" ....... ieI Hapkins. C; ' . ,6'-6$. and, foo • ...:oat hi>_
tori<oI di.....,.;.,... "'" pop:n in AIIoI.-t,o AouI"...... 4. 1 ('9n). ll)-,6.t .
• l'ot ... nctI......... infOCob< quntioct, ... 101, Coli"'. T" M_tf'--(N<w H ... n.
'968). <1>. >: "So. Aruol"., Tht o.6nirioa oC "'" WOO<!. 7 0tIxt 'i4!oJ/ia.o. di......- mehod<,
M. Gnbmonn. "Di< ~.!or IdIi"d.lmol;a.... SpnchJosilt." MIIt<IM"";d,,, 1 J . i J " , 1 !
• (Mufti<h, '9,6) • • 06-.,
bot An. elm _ Contubuor." s.hJ
(<nit .. ;", primuy 1OIIt«O~ V. Wunodt, "Won ut>d Wid:li<hkoi.
.a j •• _, p;, I'M ," 1.(; ( 19<".(;» •• I1.J 6; M. del
Pro. ~ • -'M. M_ Ji J ' ,.
I , 1lIui. '97-V (a fWI. lucid OIpOCirion); 11.. 8etIinp-•
•-z", s,-tt.-.phplk AnI<I ... - . c.-buty-. ~i ... ~;..., bplikMiO<J;' 11-" A""'·
_ _ ,(19J6). 99-111 (win-. m..."",,);..-.l G. 11. . E...... A"".tJ T~""" GJ
(Orixd. 1978). '7-'S, SI-M, " ,_". oncI " 8-,,.

'"
 I.ANG U AGE , TEXTS, AND REAI.ITY

!he-ology, cerrain basic issues in his work have not yet rKeived ade-
quale treatment. Some of thcsc--the notion of audi ence, of conv<'n-
tional 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, satisfac-
tory 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<! "'ork, which was com-
plett<! in the second half of 1076.'0 In his preface, Ansclm makes a
numhcr of observations on the oral and th e written which can SC~
as a prologue to his otllVl'll as a wh ole.
In this well-known Statement, Ansclm tdb us that, at the request
of his fdlow munks," he is writing down a ·'meditation·' which for-
merly exisled only in verbal form. His line of thin king, he adds,
depends nQ{ on Kriptural authOJity_lthough, he is quick ro point
OUt, he holds no opinions contrary to the Bible or the fathen, espe-
cially Augustine''-bur on rC"iSOn alone (jola 'tlliolU). Wc may make
f. S. Se/om;". "Zur a.""",~;. do, w... k, do. hi . ... ".dm _
~ Co..,..""".-
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<Ul> t h;, «lit;"'. ) E..Im« d<K-til>« rlI< lit .... ., ,_pool'i,",
of ,h< M...hf ... oM th< p..,11f;'" io .;,,"'!I, ido .. K>.l "",.,.: Vi<o A."I,.;. c. '. od. I.. w.
Souch<, n (idinbu' lh. ,.,.6.). 19-)0: , f. iM. Sr. "''''''or • • ''' 11..,....,..~9-,~. n.. 1"""<'"
of i"",;o< ,u, fOrmo,ion i,..,1I m""",,«I '" 0.-.,;' 9, AJ ~• ., p".. ... vol. ,. p. }C, 8·
" . Whilo ...... In> <p<ab 01-"0 oM "'. the ,~, _~ i~ t<IwUdo.....,.<><I
;",,.r;'. V.lib A ....I"'·. rlUlo- rlJ<Otl.<><I ,1w»i"t!ft:aI ...,.ko. 'h< pt.y<" Wft< . . idolr....r oM
imi'aud: on ,boi, .•"",[" app<al .... S",,,,,,,". SI. A.w.. ,,_,8.
" M ....",.... JR/., p. 8, d. El. 17. AJ I-o/,...,..,,.,,j. ). p . '99. dio<u>'«l.". s""rlI<.n.
SI. AOHI., ,I. On Al>I<lm·, ~ .. of Script~,.. lOO 'h< <horouJ!h uud, 01 s . TOrtini. ."La o<,i""",
.. U. ".,.....;",,,,,,;0,,,d; S. A..... I...."'""",'0. poIi.lot>< •• 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<t IN",·) l'Iatoni,m ... : · ~ . , '(' 96\». H-n. 0.. Anod",· ..... of AIqI""in<" d .. wh<rt.
_ in ~I K. F'-h ••;0.. philoooptli.d... Aruat. "'"' ... nO<lm .... Contetbutr in M_ , ; " "

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 ,.. ... Jam- ,14
ok" .. ;). '. 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. n.e
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),"

....d";n Vert.l!..,;,...." A.,....aRiottloo tk'lP"~""",- iIU." (097<').

ti . . . . . _ ..... ,he ,.,........ ir. 1 ....,........, ... obo¥r oil Th: A. Awdoet, ··U..
tiN<ano do 1·"",...- <I< _ ~, - In]. /tIuicoJa. al., t"- G~· JIIi....... Ii
-.m:_.
".-4"'" Aujpoo.

a..... (PvU, '9'19), 10,.......

•, Tb< li..... , '-;0011'1 01 moditOtion ;. wdJ qhii'lt"d I. ( » _ .... N ,.... .. , Jft4pt,
..x. J, p. J: -0...:. ,;,. ,........... _ -' ';ptoo ount, """"iom od ..."iot ......... lepDt;,
men ..... od dei ..... "u m ci,_,,,,..... od"';"", dioc " ·'"t''' odi... """. _ ....., hi< '
'" """"lru, Md la qw...,.- <un.I"' .. wIoc ...., oed pou1otlm """ i _ .. _ modi_
......... No< dolo.< la..- ht. locUlI • q...a<libt< .-un -... po ........ otd q.......... ""''' oibi
..... odiu_ .......... "",eo'" .'''' a!l<num ......ti. od .,....""" ;11"", dolte ..... ~ cr. l..
hqon, "S<N<nIr< et <0000:, .... <I< 10 pritre ~ ...:. in H . KoI-Jt,tbt ..... K .• S_
NIiMI: A..-...stlllli. fii- . . . 1'. S. SeMi" CStIl<lplT, 1970). uI_n.,_ _
.. n.e _Ill" 01 ""-Im·'.."....... .-he 1;';0 _ _ kop: ..... ,beooo io:. A. N. }ocqu;o,
."\..of. ........,. _ "ci'" do oal", Anoehnr,- MM ~ . M " "n. 2 (Psrio, 19)0), 7' ,
dra... _ to CoooiooIonoo·, di>tinctioo. be.. tea _, 'W _ ........ , . ' J"/,. MO-
LClCdioa""" Cio:a-on.ioI>.,....,. It< - " " bJ J. do Ghdlindc. "Oi&kctiq.w:" dos .... """ ~X11t
.....:.l'osq,oJ. ..• c. e '.9<'-9' . !'<It IUrtIw:r biblq<ap/<J. _ c. V,..lnl. -,--
hoootioo .... I"&tioon _" .. do I&i", ADIdmt ...... 10. cWdot;. .... _Iono lri";"';,.. do
aainl n-,- S)rl,· Boil I. ,0'119. Fa< • • ".,n.i ,.".;.,.. 01 ok functiolo 01 ' ''''' ;0
AMoIm,_N.GnIomonoo,o;,C ' . ' , . " ". I Nil f,I"7'_n>.'A.Sdturr,m.
BC;? , , . ' . ' /EJ.rdoA _ _ C. I .,,, ... £ .... . . . ....,..i.....
G,'sd... .

v""...""3tu, -R"';' In S. AnodIllO d"Aowo. - N~ . ..

I 9H), 6,-19. !'<It. dc[",.. 01 Gad". -, .....
0-,....,,_
(So:unptl, 191\6). 36-6,; H. IIAld. ~, $;.;{itM . . /tMio <B-o, '!»>.), "7·7" ..... 5.
Mill... (t""'"'

~.J l)i. ): A I .." ., ';" <f'" 0 ,d, . ',-.J .... "'".~ Fri'
. .... IP """ (J.o SoUt, Ill.•
191\,), 6-,. ,0>-",
...cl 4' .... " "' . . . ,it. 01 Katto' ,,,., idou, _ O. A. hilio, .......
1o"""",""", s..r.., 01 Owla Hattobotno·, Woet. ... ,be Oou::Ic:wlal Ar.-, - A.....

. .. _.""Th<
A '". ., (. 969). '~'_l2' . ";110 t:o;bj·'d
._.
- -. _.J A. . . . . '-icolGad·,. N.. '1
1',.
>I!>-",. to;. pcom, 10;101 """"'"'. _
--. ,- '--.-PAi' I. f

'"
 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 read-
ing 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<lllJtTibnr . . .). '7
The written product wu intended. to be of practical U5C. and, there-
fore. presumably. subjecT to further discussion. Yet. as a tnt, it com-
prised a statement of principles rather than a rcrordtd int erchange
hctwccn a muter and his Students. Moreover, the monasti( audience
wu assumed in parr at last t(l be less erudite than the author. The
treatise can therefore be uswned to have bttn designed tu bridge the
gap betwccn the more and less lamed. monks.
To put the matter another way. there ace tW(! types of audience,
onc real, the other Jinive. The real audience consists of his bmhren.
The naive m.&y once again be undentood in twO setlSCS. 1bere is a
fictivc dialoguer with whom Ansclm engages in conversation inside
his own mind, and there is a wider audience which constitutes a
potential readership. The audience within the mind is in principle
oral; tbe wider public is prnumcd. to be dtpendcnt on writing. Through
the latter. AnRlm becomes one of the first authon to conceive of a
reading public in the modern Je~. Indeed, the assumption of an
abstnlCt audience helps to guide the presentation of his thought, as
the Mtmlllogilm progtcSSCS.
The trealise, therefore. must be looked upon as a work of literature
as well as philosophical theology. But by what steps was it actually
produced? To this question Anselm provides only a partial .ns..... er.
The Mon%gion artlSC, as be puts it. from meditations on divinity·s
essence (de mdit.nda divinirariJ usmri4). It was then written down,

•, 1tf-41.... 1<oi .• p. 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 Vcs-
tiges of this period in the evolution of his thinking are sclluere<!
thtOllghout his books. ' 9 As a consequence, when he states, in rnpoII$e
to his brethren', demands, that he inteads to support his position not
at all through .scriptural authority VtlKtorilalt scriptllra, pmilllS "ib;/), ...
we mU$t understand, not a rejection of the Bible, but an attempt to
move beyond simple reading and discussion to a more logical, aDstr&Ct
consideration of biblkal texts. The approach is made c!eax in chapter
six of the EpisfiJla de [fI{<'mtl.til»ll Vtrbi, which was completed sometime
before September 109.:1. Here, the commitment to "necessary reason
without scriptural authority" in the Mon%gilm and the ProJ'~giM was
reilt'tated. His intention, he adds, was not to try (Q improve on the
ancients, but to discuss matlt'rs which had. not suffiCiently attracttd
their attention. Aod, it wu precisely in this sense that the two works
were designed 11$ aids to t!>oK "humbly des.iring to understand what
they firmly believed.""
The essential term of this well-known expression is understanding:
by it, AII$elm means, in effect, to discuss, (Q comment upon, .nd to
produce a new tCXt . In other words, the text is the bridge between
rtttio and alKlmw. 1brough the interior dialogue, a summary of bib-
lical and patristic authority becomes a "text"' before actually being
writren down. The "cogency of rcuon" III which he refers is in reality
this text's principle of Olganiution. AII$elm, therefore, plays the role
(pm_> of someone in convcrsation with himself" who both intet-
nali~ 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,
.. ~","'1. I. p, 'n. .. E.,. , Prwt.,;., c, I . ""_ I, pp. 99-100.
R
'" "'1_
"_ . ,. _' _• p. 7.
"El. '" /-- __ Vri>', c. 6, ..... >, pp . ..,.21.
" ~;",. ".w., p. 8 .
.. Fat. [hi...,., '" ["" J;m.,y 1'" 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 diStinc-

tions 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 pre-
viously ;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<h, so to speak, is a kind of theological popular culture. Logical
reasoning is the tquivalem of [<'arned wllUre. By proc::ccding rhrough
a verbal process tOWllrds reason, onc establishes a concrete verbaliza-
tion which is for all inrents and purposes a tcxr. By establishing a
teIt, that is, a discoucsc modelled on wrinen language, onc proc~ds
towards reason.
Bc£ore we discuss the MOIIologiofJ (urther, it may be useful to sum-
marize the essentials of these rdationship$.
L For AtUtim, the text ilCts as an intermediary for <liscussion within
his own mind; that is, words in the mind constitute a mental ttIt,
and this in turn eventually gives riilt to a rcal wtiuen t CIt.
2. The wtitten ttIt also acts as an intetrne<liary between Ansdm
and his TC1II and 6ctive audienCl'S. It is a focal point for both dialogue
with his brethren and, ;" <lil$lr<ldo , with a putative reading public.
3. While schi~ving these positive purposes, tCXt produCtion is
nonetheless a rcductive process.
The tCXt, Ansclm proposes, refines ordinaty convelUtioll into log-
ically coherent diKOUrsc; that is, individual vtrbal investigations, which,
as nored, are them$elves taking shape as textS, atC systematically or-
ganized into one ten.
However, this articulation, which i5 a prerequisite of communica-
tion, ultimately leads Anselm to reassert the superiority of the oral
mode. In arguing that the text pt"oducer n=ls "a plain style, ordinary

'"
 LANGUAGE, TIIXTS, AND B.EALITY

arguments, and simple disputation," he implicidy devates ,he inte-

rior 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 argu-
ment 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 exist-
ence 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 differ-
ently 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 individ-
ually; 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. Al-
though som<: narur<"S are ,u~rint to othen, this narun: must be cnn-
ceived 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 be-
t~n the C!"<:ator and the c!"<:ate<!. This, ;n turn, brings Antelm to •
definition of (rI(Ilio '" ,,;hilo whi ch inVQlves the structure of langu&l!c.
In what tense, he 3510, may things be said to have been c!"<:ate<! by
th<: highest natun:~ Verbal nuances arc put aside: there is no differ-
ence, he argues, jn stating that something is created frnm it (IX ip;(I)
or through ie {Jm' ipsam).! ' The only valid distinction is betw~n cre-
ator and created. For the highest natun: exists from or through itself;
all other things exist from or through irY .
But what does this distinction really mean~ Everything which ell'ists
through something else, ~ states, nists ei ther through an effcctinl!
agent, through matter, or through 5I)me other form of assistance, a.s
if by means of t«hninl aid I,JHf' ifficims (1111 ptr maltri..", (1111 ptr .liqllf1l1
(llilld tUii_Illm, vdlll ptr ifl!l"'''''''IIIII1). l! But, jf someth ing is created
in this way, iu existence is posterior to and in some way less than
that which created. it." TIle supreme nature could not have been brought
into ~ing in th is manner, since nothing is antC(C'dent to it or greater
"I~" '~"l, " I""., <. j , I,r. " IOW., p. ,6, ,8" 1.
,. I!>;J.• c. ,. p_ ,H. "I!>;J_. c_6. r· ,8K. "lkJ" p_ ' 9, '.} .
.. /~-. '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 sltMis-
ImJ) . JI The remainder of creation, Anselm adds, exists through some-
thing 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 SOIDe-
thingpl By way of explanation AnseLm once again turns to meta-
phots. 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
"11iIt.• '0. ".,6. On A.... I"'·.
mc,"""" 0/"Ii8"'. _ H. K. Kohlcnb.t,.... "Zur Mot ..
P/>l'ik dn Vi."dJ." bet A.... Jm _ c...mbwy,",\-.,. .4."",--" ('969), " •• ,. Gen<nl
bibli<>flropby is listed on p. 'SDI4. a. F. S. Schmi", .. A"",,[m "od der (N.....) Plarorr.;,muo ...
6,~ .
.. "'........... c. 7. p .
""4 .
>0, "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." '" '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 Yis-
ualized 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! con-
sideration of those same signs; 01', putting aside "'Mib!e and non-
sCnsible signs, by forming an "rxprnsion" of things themselves in the
mind , either thrO<lgh an image of corporeal things or a conceprion of
them ." Take a man: I may pronounce th e ....ord " man"; I may think
of the word "man" silendy; or I may form a physical or mental image
of a man in my mind. In the fint two " sa I am concerned only with
the name (,,~) man , while in the last I consider tbe man himse lf
(iJ ip;l).06 Following Boelhius," Anselm classifies the first tWO lin-
guistic descriptions as being composed of words found in specific lan_
guages, whi ch vary with time and. place. But tbe third is "natunl":
it i, Ihe same among all nations. Since .11 other words owe their origin
10 tho:se, where they exist no other tetm is necessary for the re<:ogni-
tion of a thing (ad rrm rognoscmda",). Where they art absent, nO word
sufficl'!S for its delineation. Wor.n, thertfore, may be said to be "trueT"
CM more they are like the things they represent or the more deady
they signify their obiects. For. a~n from words which merely indi-
cue sounds (like the letter "a"), no word is 50 like a thing or SO
accurately describes it !IS the natural language cog itated in the mind.
On that account it should be called the proper and primary verbal
expression of the thing (proprillln er pr"i1Kipal , rri ","" II",).oij
Anselm next spec ifies what he means by "expression. " Above he
argued tbat the i",i_ I/Xlllio in th e aCAtor', mind i, like the d esign
of a future obiect in the thO<lghts of a craftSman. Now he seff much
., I~. , c. 10. p . '4. >4-' 7·
M lOiJ" n-JO- Cf. 1'. Vi,""", "St,,,,,....<f .. "' .. • • " ' OH'3 .
"M..J.,.,." c . •0. p. ' 4. ""1'. ' S. 4: "Aut.rum ~ loquimu, ' ifni' .. ,..ibu,. id." q ....
...,it.... <Ofp"''';' ".,i,i ",,",un< ..... ibih... u.Md<.: ,.It """'" ",NI, quo<."is ..... il;.;l.. 'u~' ,
i.m 001 i.,....,ibili .. , rosi .. Ddo: . tn .,.., oem.ibili"" n« i.... "'ihill«' hi. ,i,ni, UI<Mo. ,od
,.. i _ ""I <0<1" '''''. ;"'"IIi ... ,;.,.,.", tUioni. '.",Ike.u ptO ",rum ipo"""" di..... t ... i. . ....
in no.m ...."",dicrndo.- On .hink;"" in .. om, ond iQ im>,ll" in A<>O<tm, ... in 8<"<,,1 G. R.
r
E"*,,,. 10"",_ ""'" ,Jji . "'-' G,J. "-29.
"I~., 2" 4'7 .
., C__ . ,. t;f.,n. 10"""",,, P'" ....." . .. r. '. c_ I, od. C_ Mt,,,, (1<''''';1 . '!t),I. I. 31 -
.. MJ" .I,pw, <. 10, p . • " 10-».

. 39
 LANGUAGI!, TI!XTS, AND RI!ALlTY

that is "dissimilar" in this "~jmilitudc ." FOf" the highest nature rook
from oowhele ~ISl' a model for his WO""
whereu the crafcsman has
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 con-
cept 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 aist-
ence 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 crea-
tion;" 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 dis-
cussion 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 uni-
versa1s and particulars, as. for eumple, being a man may be distin-
guished 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 •

.. /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 <quipollont P'OOfo ......... in poniculot M . Col"".
Mm.. of r-,_. 138.• 6.
8,.,.
,. M - u' , .... c. '4. pp.• "IHi_ . c. ,6. p . ••• 7.,..
Tilt

"/jiJ.. p- ••• ,,,,,, .

" /jiJ.. c. ' 7. P. 4S. 60 ' 0.
 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND II.EAlITY

which exists simply, perfecdy and absolutely," unaffe(:leJ by (em-

po",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$.6' Thus
we may say that the highest spirit (Jummlls spirillll) and its expression
(I«Blio) are consub.nantial, since the spirit, however we call it, is one
and indivisible.6> It consists of onc: word, through which all things
~re made. 6,
Anselm then turns tu the natute of the divine word itlelf, stating
that, in his view, it is not the likeness of created things but the reality
of t!>tir being (mm sit ,;",ifiIB,u jacfurllm ,d wnla, mt1l/w) .... All words
of th e type by which \VC express obje<:ts in the mind are the likenesses
and images of the obje<ts to which they cotrespond. 6 , The likeness is
"(ruer" the more dO$dy it ~mbles in obje<:t, But the word of the
creator is not a likeness of th is kind. If it were an image of mutable
things, it itself could not be immutable. 66 One must therefore distin-
guish between tht' word of the (lntor, which is th e true and simple
essence of things, and the word in things created, which is an imper-
feet imitation of them.6-,
.. r~.• c. i~. p . ~s·p · ~6. ~. "I~" ~6. ' ''' 3' · .. I~.. <. '9. p . • 1 ,9-" .
.. On ,'''' J;"inc';O<I I><IWfttI ",is_ and i""'li,.,.., ... P. MKiuud-Quont;n, " N"'<I .ut I.
~Ia;", p>yd>oI.,iqo< <i< ...... A ..... ""'.- S~ _ _ ' . ,,-') .
.. M...J.,_, c. '9, p. 41. ".p. 4 Q.).
o, I~., c. 30. p. 48. .. INi.. c. " , p. 48. ' • .
.. ItiJ" 48. , B·;o: -E,..,;", omn," hui",""'<! i oabo quibu> m quulib<t _ , dicim... id
Ott <"ti, ....... , .imil i,udi ..... <I ;....,i .... oun' trto .. """un> ...... . "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 corre-
spond, 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$S itself by one word
and Cf"CIlte by mtf.n5 of anothtr~" No: the word by which the creator
exprtSStS himself (1jJMJ uips_ difit) is evidently identical with himself
(tuemt 111 itJips_ us,). The word by which he expresses himself and
the word by which he nJln:sses creation ha\'(" the same ,,.jJt4/1lia. Dut
there are nonetheless twO words. Fot the creator, who sptaks thest
words, shares substance with them, and yet is not the word himself.
Identity of substance does no< necessarily imply a uniformity of
expression. 1 ' To explain this, Anstlm clilboratts Il little further the
llOIion of a word as a mcntal concept. No one, he srates, C&lI deny
that when a rational mind conceives of itself in meditation the imase
of itself rises in its thoughtS, or rIlther, the thought is its own image,
as if formed by impression." The rationlll mind, then, when it con-
ceivts of itself in thought, brings folTh an image of irself, the likeness
so (0 speak of ifS own thought, evcn though the mind cannot, except
in tnought, be separated from its image, which is its word." By the
same token the supreme wisdom, when it conceives of itself by ex-
pressing itself, gives rise to a likeness "consuh$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 'u"'''".. ..o"""',
ill< .,.,j....!<ut est it........ ,..; memo<
... et intdliP' x.od ,imilitudi""" mmt" ,..., ...Ii" imm<> """.od "1Ii", ~miJitudi..",. xd
m. priDCipoiit<, .. ",..,. ... moli • .od .r", ,imllitud;...", .-
- Ih</., ", 1,· '1 . .. /-.J.• e. Jl. pp. .... ~.
" IW. • p. )'. '~'p. )'. 6.
" IW., s'. " ·' 1: "Nun "ull. tar ..... ",gasi _ . <'IIm mm> ,.."""'Ih ""pouD COf;i,ando
iBmli3it , im&,>lu...n ipciu> IIMCi in ..... <Of'''''''''';I.n".,. ipoom ~iu'ionom tq.j """ .......
I..... intm.od .1..... imiJi'udi .... tamq ..... Cl! <iu> 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", ...: .
 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 them-
selves, 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

" I~_ , H .•• 6: cf_ ,.,.,~.

<. ') , p. ' [7. ~. 0.. th< r>eopi>"''';o d<",."" ;A, ....I~ ....
~ . .". _ _ .... f . S. 5<Iom;!<. "A,mdm unci d .. (N..,·/PIMonism ... : · 60-6• .

,,,
 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 any-
thing" 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 intercon-
nected 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

.. Cf. A. Slob, "Du ~ .... hI. ....... Im. - n....., (I9H). H'-H-
"U. P. Vi&_, "[.0 mlitl...a .. . •" In- Il .
.. "",,,,*,. ,., . ,"'&. I. P. 1>1, 2' 10.
,. a.
.. A. ikoI.. "000 ~""'-' WO .
,.r·~
" _ , no .. p. 9), 13-19. .'U ' _.• p. 9).'o-p. H .'.

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'$hip, which was urged by Hugh of Lyons, and
the contributions to his thought! by his readen."'
The commitment to written language is maintained in the Prwlo-
gio,,', argument. The point of depaIlure as every rtader Ittalls is Psalm
14:I: "The fool has said in his heart, the~ is no God:' For A~lm,
the very act of thinking about God negatn any potential denial of his
existence. But this involves a change from impreci~ spoken to ta_
tional forms of thought and a ~cognition of the d;fk~nce between
JII1"ba and m . The same fool, he smtn, on hearing the words "some-
thing than which nothing greater can be conceived" understands both
what be bean and what he understands is in his mind, even though,
at that point, he may nOt underst'and what is in his mind to exist.
For it is one tbing for an object to be in the undentanding, another
to understand rhat it exists."
To illustrate his point An~lm once again draws on the analogy of
the artist from Augustine'S V, DlKtrillll Chrisli41J4." When a painter
thinks out ahad of time what he is about to draw, he already hILS the
futu~ dnign in his undentanding; but he does not undentand it to
exist, since he has nOt yet broughr it into being. However, once it is
drawn or painted, he both has ir in his mind and undentands it to
exist, because of (oune he made it. "; 'TIlectfore, in Anselm's view,
efth a fool nn comprehend the grearnr conceivable thing. For, wben
be bean it spoken in W()(ds, he undCl'$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 state-
menr? 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'
m
. d< ho>< II*''' do qulbo ..... "1iI,, "'" pt...,... """".i.
triJ'" " .. m,,,,.,,,,,, con..",_
od

Synon. "P""'" PI<d ond ........ m·.

~. Friuell (Now Vod<. 193,). >7<>-8' ,
.~~
. ' ~ ... - . p.~ .
in S_.
pbndum doum et """",,,,io I""UiJ... qoo.l <mll., oubdi",m K".,.i """",ul"",.·· In ,b i.
'''.,,,. ,he J>.osi<c_ ha> m""h i. common wi<lr """Im', ",bot m<diwi .. ""1"";"'~' t. .
"'u,n..:' B.fon GoI. «I. A. FlnhI ond

.. l!ii., Co >, p. ,.[, ,.[Q: "Sed «rre lpot;dem i.wp;.o., <1.Im .udi. '"" i.,.WD 'I"O'i di<o:
·.!iquid qllO muus nihil COIIitvi _ : inrtlliJ;' <!"<l<I wdie: .. quod i""lIi.i' i" i .... llenu

--
eiu .... , "i,,,,oi ..... intdlipt illud ........ liud"'m .. , «"' .... 10 i-u.c.u, .!iud l"'tlll",,,,

., ' ·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 ration-
ality 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 woros
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,

"1Nl., c . • • p. 10,. ,8" 9; " AJiw ",,;m cot;_ "" ""'" _ .... ...",iIiaom cotl .. _.
o.Ii", <wn .. ipoum quod r<I <01 j""'Ui.!l;o .... -
.. On tb< ~ion <L _ c..
...... ift ,b< DoJos H_, ... R. Roqu<$, "DtriJio. S;",p#.
M,u, I.. ~, \1,0",.. i ~. "'. _ our la wminolot:;. do ..;'" "-.... ,...." I. '_"-01 0;""
MIJnrts . . . H. ,. LM« (Puio, ' 9Ii,)."". >• .f1-6I .
.. On ADw!m·. ODd c..,..;1o'. """"'" <onluoiooo of ..... ......... """,ioN. _ J, Hopk; ....
-"' ..... "'•• Dmote "ith GowIiIo,- "'..t.a. "'. ._ , (1976). >'-:H. I'<w. lidl ...... of
Gounilo', .."...,.... .... Ill , dot] P ... T,.h ,.."JU. i7.$ , .
.. QoOl ___ 'Ill' ,', . " , _ ,.. ;",;p-. c. ' • ..,.. '. p ...,. '._,,: nQlo:>d hoc: iam
... die."., iQ i -'Io<t~ ' -...... 01> o.Iiud rti<i quio jd...,...l d;';; .........Wro.-
.. I....... , . "-'1. " 'Nl.. ..,. 17-.0.

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 de-
scribed fOr me, how do I know that I am not being deceived? Simi-
larly, 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 («<il alldit4t ligni/lfa-
lio). Ytt, again, onc cannot gfllSp the meaning of something with
which onc is totally unfamiliar. The mind, on hearing such a word ,
may attempt to form In image of the purported reality, but it will
not succeed. Hence, when I merely hear the wotd "God,·' God is not
necessarily in my underst1lnding: he ;s present ill ~iJ, not ill "'. '00
,. ., /MJ.. ,,6. ,. ,. "'MJ.. ,,6.
.. ,ftI., .. , .•o- .~. 8,,~.
"'MJ.• c. ,. p. ,.6.• 8_
." ...inr. T_ . io,_. 1. ,6. PI. "
~ . • jllt .
.. ,ftI., ,,6. >,-.,. " 'hi., <. 4, p. ,.6, '"H'. " 7. I}.
- IMJ. . " 1. 14·').

347
 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<lise superior to all other placa on earth. Its hypothetical
existence is not in doubt . But how can one be lure it redly aisu?' "
One can in fact tum AlUt'lm·s logical solution upside down: if the
SUPleme being is so great that negllting ill existence is litera.lly un-
thinkable, then, by the same token, t .... supteme '-""ing cannot truly
be undenrood. '''' Pot, if Gaunilo is caMt, no -.J object is so gnspo:i
by the mind.
Anselm replied Ilt length to Gaunilo. His point of departure. as in
the Prtrs!,g_ , is that God mstl. ' ... His Iogkal. demonstration is largely
a confirmat ion, the text once &pin having the status of lll1 evidential

.-.
document. But he .Jso takes pllins to point out where Gauni ]o went

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 as-
sumes, 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
... I~., c. ' , I'. "7 , 2)"1' ,,8, 7·
'M l W, t. 6. p. >28 . .., IW. , c. 7. po 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, An-
selm statn, it would not eIilt at all. '" If anyone says that he con-
ceives 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 impos-
sible: 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 (inul-
IiGI) 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>.
" ' /!,;J.• " •••,.,8.
"" I*M., ",. IS-I)>, >.
".
11U. , ( . ,. p . ' jj. ,-u.
"" ~.• Co
..-
>. p.
11U.• " '.
I,,,.,8.
..[~.> ..

'" Cf. P. N id",I>d-Q,wt,jB, - Not .. :· 10<'<;'.• aod. 011 It.. -"IMC<..dcn.. l..".,..iru<i.... ....
1'<"" of A....lm·. din;"""ion. A. S<b ... , QN Sq.,. f C, 7).$6.

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 inllu-
enced. 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 sys-
tematic 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, an-
other. 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 <hop<... kou, ... ni... /I....!"' ........ .......-
obi«t_, ""'" .. mi>q>ootati<Ht, _iotmc:y, and rho rnnrriq of rh< orti>I', ~n. But ""
does """ odd ... bs'I<I,;']11 <0 """' hr hu sold abou, 1ot.J".,..-I ....Jit)' .
.., Ci. K. &nit, "'' ' '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 umkt-
sranding, which, like the design in the &nisr's mind, implies thar it
is urnkrsroocl. From AniiClm', definition of tbe supreme narure it fol-
lows 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 prob-
lem 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', B<tv>Ifj-'iJ_ ;, oIftred "'" 1- Fio< ..... p;. Eo ....... ;,~
-" *- Q-fI'- < • sJ/; tu'"""'" ,ho,
'9' I). """41 ... Iw;> oddl
,.,.iJ. _ C. "''''"''?
A_I",', ,.o.lioti< ""''' .... ';0'''
.houId not be confuoecI .. i,h _ of lo«r ocholutko. "O>ty ... .... bosl" .. ho, ""<oil........,.
"'0[ cdJHo 1I..u.o..J...... (p. 4J).

".
 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:
(echnical framework in Dt G,.,.
£071«9, which belongs to the same
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 state-
ment (.."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 lan-
guage, diilCOUfSC, or mannet of delivery.
Aruelm then asks a funher question. Does the problem lie io the

.. , Per. brit( , .. ;e. fA A.4odm'. _ fA tosic..... S. Vanni Ilooi,bl. UNota ... f !'inll.....,.
. .• ~ cc:M 1('904). 4.,..,9, in,_ _ ....oiI, H""". T" ur<. />MS;".
... H<O<)', "0. 0.. .1>< ueu:;..•• ",I ...... '" ,I>< 0. G'n ;", ... Col"", TIlt M;,- t{
r , lP, 110>11 .
' · 111...,. ., , . ,8, pp. ,._,,, Do V.-i<ou, <. 1,001. I. p. 176.
,. Do V.m... <.'. pp. 177-80.011 whidl ,I>< ,.,._". sumrn&r)O dtp",d. . a. G . Il. I _ .
A""'-' TJ.lior __ GotI. ',-86 .
• oO a. !Ioo<hilll. I. Cd •• ;';' A.w...Jil. ',4. PL 6.4 .•8,.

",
 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY

statement as ddiVl:ml (uralio), in its meaning (si"IIjfoalio), 01 some-

whert 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<! by external faCts: it may be formally true
and really wrong.
What t~n, Amelm asks. is the statement"1 truth ? After a discus-
sion of the natUrt of utterance. he proposes a solution himself. ' " He
argu" in effect that a statement may be true because as a proposition
it perfnrms a logical task. but that it is true in anorher sense because
it signifies what is really taking place. We do not notmally call a
statement true when it rtfen to a condition which in rtality does not
exist. Nonetheless, the statemenr has a cenain "truth-' and "recti-
tud ..... sine... as a proposition. it signifi" what it shnuld. Ho~r.
when it rtkrs to an .. xisting liar... it signifies what it il taken to
signify and also what it is really signifying; that is, il achi eves its
meaning both through words alone .nd through the cOrl'd ation be-
t ........ n words and thinss."l This I~s Am.elm to a set of limple di-
chotomic.s between words and things which recall the theolog ical dis-
tinctiolUi of the Mrtllo/~ioll. Words art mutable, things immutable;
words deriVl: their meaning from accident and usage, things, from
essence. that is, from objects' reality, Ansd m adds that th .. ratio HI-
'1IaliJ which ~ finds in logically correct spoken statements (in pro-
pwil~ne fJ()(iJ) applies to all systems of signs (il'l o"",ib"J figl'liJ). whether
written in words or conveyN in sign-language by the hands.'" It is
IKlt only the voice but even g<"Stures which a~ rNuced to a textual
model.
A more systematic treatmtnt of this problem was undertaken in
v_.
... 0. c. >. p. '19. 0.. ,he i _ '" ,he 0. V _ for 11..,.1", ', tt.o.", •.
whkb CI<ItIO< he """""f«I ift It) lhott I """lrWJ' .... E. Gil"",. ··Soo .. <t ... , ~" d< l"..",,,,,,~,
d< Soi'" Atdtl"",:· AI-lOUolA 9 h9~), '''''S. 4 0,.'; E. Foinv<othe,. ·T",ttI. ) ... i«.M
M"",l B.eop>mib;l;" in ,he~. '" St. A_lm." L ' _ IS _ Jm,..""f'b It> ,.."." '"
..,.. Jp (Lou..in """ Pati •. [1)60>. J 86; ond 101 . Coli .... Tb< 1Il~ <I ,-,..,._ [,,·,6. On
.1, ....1"'·. _ ;0" '" '''''h .... K . Plaodt. ''Z.un B<!.ifF d<. WJhlt>ei, boi .1, ....1., _ C."'or_
bu",:' PbiJ.. .,A;,d", JA~ 7' (,~,), »._p """ Of> ,.,. . . l"od """"'" '" ...." i,ude. ,It< ful l
.. udy '" R. "-h<t. ~ ..ni,"" ~oI 11.",. . (Pati •• ,~) .
.. , I"".. ' 79. ,_.: '"W cum ..... ilicao: ..... quod .... <fuplj"'.... facio quod okbo.; quoniom
oipUl\cot <t quod I«eprt .ilni~ . <t od quod r", ...... - O . J .'0. fol$t><tl. '" .... .,.fti,t dtfi"ie
pot .. iot A... I"",:· R..", "'-hn 8 (1900). 4' ,_ ,8. who op<U' of • diotifK1"'" bn ...... ...,."'"
,~;..u and "'""" .,;0;,;, .
•" I.... p. [79. "~ op. ,80. l . O . c. 9. 189. "4 : "'Namqu< """ ooIum in j" q...... gno
oak", ... di~. o<d <t it> .dji. """ub,,, q_ d;n",,,. ", ';I,,;6<O,;0 .. n.d {.to.. ..
 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 'lfl<llli(aJ are not incompatible.'" The demonstration
however tequite$ that one ahaU$t the l'Inge of logical puuibilitiel
implied in the tWO propositiO!l5.
This is essentially what the dialogue does. First Anselm takes up a
set of consequences of the statement that an apett in grammar, or,
as we shall call him, a literate, is a rnM."O Two faisifications are
proposed, which result in tbe nonsensical statement, " No li~rate is a
man. " This, says Anselm, i. impossible, for, while animals can be
understood without rationality, mM cannot.'" A second set of syl-
logi= is then constructed. around the antitheses animal/non-rational
and manlrational, concluding in the sutement, "No mM is an ani-
mal." The student now realizes that his master's motive was to offer
him rwo similar setS of syllogisms in which the premises were valid
but the conchuiolU faJsc,. >1' In a further exelCi$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

•., D . P. Hmt,. n.
0. G. ,'"" «$•. A ....... (N",~ Do<n<. '\1'64), li0-ii'; ...., ri>l u,;,
«$/. A_. ,6.,8; .. ,06,. . Tht .-.;,. _ tboua:ht .". cod, hil ......... to b< of [;"It ..t .....
"".. """"" of It.: ~_, ... L. Stri&«, "Cooo:"" oyJIofima; Ob<r d;" K ..... ' und
- . u " , dcr T"",k b<i Anocl.,." A...ua.. A-t_ , (,\>69). ' ''7"""l .
... 00 Gr, ';n. <. ' ...... ' . p. ,~S. ~ .6; on ",w,.",,,, ...,,,,,,,
of ,bt -;,;t . ... HODI)'.
T"ht14i<. ".,6.
n, C-.., ...... •. ,; 1-1<...,.. r .. 0. G, .. o.. 80 .
. " [lOt"'" H<tItJ' I. '''''''[ori''lr , . " " ....[; ......-; fOr ~io _ .... ri>llJcit. ~
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 efini-
tion.'" Thus, by their O$Knces alone:, wc might know WM.t is an
animal and what a man. He tearnmges the previously discussed syllo-
gisms, 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 gram-
flWti{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 ......... [;" ... ,*"",,,,. Si<u, <nim "~iI J6citur. ,I """"' .... is ... in """" et _ in ,.",."
if' ni~ ; 1 _ , •• i <I, ;n i... II«<. et non in pro>Io<ion<. Son, ... ,;, qu;pp< li5" . yl .... lomurn .
""" ...rt>o:. Cf. Scei,.... " Ob« d .. "om,,,' "7·.8.
'" l~. • c. ,. '49. ,6-" .
•"'~.• '49 . "'n' "Sod,; It> '.,<IIIA'" , ......,...""" """ ... ..,.,.,. w;:.i d.",[u]; I, ..n·
mat ..... non .. , loItm quod homo. ;.I ... non hob<n,......xm o.tini,ion.<m' .... to< roncl",io.-
'" {"'.• c. 6. 'so. 29"10' "1'1_ od hox prObondum quia _n,i. _in~ non ........ ,ia
Ilraauno1ici. habo, NfUm .i~nifin<io ',,'h""""'" , .. minum .·
." {"'. • c. 7 . ", . 'or"; '11<... .... ,m I.,dl",; ",,;.I 1"'1"""" mi~; .itnifi<>=. o<d idi!"urn
quod . i,nifj,..bo,""" bo<>< <O<JCirl<n.i, ""is quomodO m. docip<f<' i,..,......·
'" /1iJ.• Co 8. ' l' . • 8· lO.
-IMJ.• 'H. [}·.o.

",
 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 in-
tention. 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, • • ,6-,,,, ".
'''J~. • <. ", . ". " • • 6 .
... ,..... ,,6. "I " ''Q!ooolom ....... q"; i"",ni~ il .-.m .ronum.i<l. i.I;-..t ."",...,;cu,n
,;p;£i<uc horn;""" .. .......".n<SllO. .. ,.".." o.i IlK !ldu.:io ""fm.. ia populo diu",: ",ili.
>citntio .... _ituJ. '... t: ""'" .ac """'" .. ,_I""",: """ .....um ~ru,
"..,......;ri • ...t .. ridc~"", ..... i<i. NIlII' d .... it1>qu<<mIam ..... oliq.. al .. rotioao<......."..
to"",,"" ..... _
d .. et , . . . . . ~ in ..... librio ><:<ipsWe. qlO<l<lldom ipoi <Oilo~_.a". d~
....1 KU"". - O. HOOU)'. Tilt l.tJti<. , ; ' ••" .
.., IIW.. 1,6, '}'I4 onc! 19-"'.

,,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 dia-
logue. 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$tance, without which
other qualities would not suffice. For, there is no characteristic of
substan~ (dif/tmlli(f JIIMt(fnti(f') in whose absence substance cannot
also be fOund, whereas, if subscance is absent, no characteristic nn
exist. lhc.cfvte, although all the qualities takw together signify "man:'
forming, 50 to speak, a unity wit h a unified meaning, the name is
nonetheless principally a signifier (Jigni}it(flivllm) and appellativc (pp-
ptlialiWllf) of substance. Thus, it is correct to say "Subsl\loce is man"
hur not "Rationality is man. " or vice versa .••9 By contrast, literate
dotS not signify man and litcracy wholl y and at once; it signifies
literacy through itself and man thlOugh something else. ,."
Gr,smmaficIlJ. then, is .. "omm, an appcllative but not properly
speaking a signifier. Funher, althoogh literate signifies literacy, it is
not the ap(><,ilative of literacy. The general tule is as fnllows : the
appellative name of a thing ({fp~f!{ffifl,"" lIomm m) is what the thing
is called in everyday usage (/tJ/tJ !fJI{umd.). Statements like "Literacy is
litera~" run counter to such usage. '"
The nudent is not yet convinced. What , he asks. i$ 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 po-
sition, 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 signifiC1l-
rion, that is, the signifiC1ltive (!ig"ijic(ffivlII1I, "" 11) and the appcllalive
' .. IfiJ.• <. ". 1,6, "_').
·" IHJ.. Is6. '(;.')1. ..
........
'"'' c. n. I", l_ . .." ,."•.. ,HoI_ . <_ '3 . ' S1 . ,<>- ,1.
..... • ' n. 10-').
"'I~_. a; . '3- ' • • p. ,,, . ,sop . • ,~. 1$.
,."
'" .....• <)1. ''''
." JjjJ. • 'S9.• ~.
" ' 1.
 WP-lIl1liW1lf, fin' a/i",>. '>6 An~lm explains how a wO«! may name
something it does not signify by Wling tbe cxatnple of a white horse
and a black bull. If, standing before both, someone gave tbe order,
"Strike tbe white one," the hea~r would al.ltomaticaUy strike the
horse. Yet "white" in itself don not signify "horse. "'n Therefo~, an
adjective may name a thing which it don not signify. ' " The stl.ldent
reaIizo tbat wbat -i. tcue of this eampIe is valid for all denominative
terms, !xJ(h nouns and verbs. " , The name, Anselm adds, is accidental
to signifiCllnr utterance (~ 5ignjfo.JlilJM) , while the signifier is sub-
stantial. ThllS W;l' JigllijiCtJliWJ meam nothing but signification pw SI. "SO
Finally, Ansdm rounds out the disclWion by returning to Aristotle,
wno, he argues, refen to words by the name of tbe things th~ sig-
nify, not by the names of their appellarivei.,6. He then emphasizes
that this is a diffe~nce common to grammarians and logicians. Gram-
marians say one thing IICwrd ing to the foon of the word , another
according to the natu~ of the thing. ,6. Logiciaru write one way about
words insoflU as tbey arc' signifiers, but use them in another in ordi-
nary speech insofar as theyarc' appellative5.
By a diffe~nt route, then, we return to the problem of written
language, and, in a logiul sense, ro the StatllS of ora! utterana within
it. The lA Grlfmm#tiro has as its principal SuhjKt the difference be-
tween tbe ordinary use of iangWl8e (1Jj1Jj ioqllt1lris) and logically sig-
nificant statemenr (tIInI" J;gn~lItw.u, siglli{Kalu," 14). ,6, The distinc-
tion parallels that ~ uri.z and. m in the MtRlfJilJgiM, the Pros/ogimt,
and lA Vwitak, providing a "systematic unity .. ' .... of method which
underlies the treatment of diverse theological issues.
The Dt Gr,,_liro, despite itS sptdali~ed appeal, abo marked an
important stage in clarifying the philosophical difference between the
spen:h habit$ 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. *,60. 3- " ,hi. Fre!", $... and B ' .... , .. ~ I.,. S. Vonni Ro-
.w.;, ..N<rta .. . ," CCN 7 ('<P4), 4>71
•" 1/dJ.• 160, 3· ,6,. 4- '''1",. . c. I,. , 6,.6-8. '''IHi.• ,6•. ''''3.
·"I/dJ.• ,6,. '4"', ,.. I",.. <. '7, pp. ,6>~, .
... IHtI., <. ,8, '6.f, 7" 0: - Non Oftim _ .. " _ dobt< quooI dia!«<i<i 0/;.., «,;b.In, do:
_ibw ~ quod """ 1i3n;!iO<lm.. olKer .it ~1Il.n<I<r IoqIoon<Io oocundum quod ... n<
'!'Peltm-, si .. P"""";';; .B..I dkwo< ~ bmom _ . 01 ..... __ nd~ ... "rwn
..,unm."
... Cl. &0.,. rh< ""i<.... ,~ .
'. "" ....• "9·

".
 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<U. The COotrl1St may be put as follows. While
popular speech has rules governing irs written furms, they are usually
empirical geOCr1llizations based on oral usage. Whil e, in theory, tKh_
niC'al language is srill a spoken form, or, at least, exists in a form thar
can be spoken, its rules are logically in~rconnKted and iodependent
o£local or individual variation. logical discourse cao, and, at times,
must be "nOIlSl."n5e," which Iiflif loqllmdi never is. Aruelm applied this
distinction ro all non-logical langw.~ , including siglU and gestum.
Wh.enever the student of the dialogues protested that the master was
violating customary usage, Anselm replied as he did in De Caill Dia-
/:K;1i that many things are "improperly expressed" in ordinary language
(MllllA "'''''f{"t
ill n,mmtmi (lXtI./irme di("lm/llr imprfJ/!rir). ,6) This tenet, in
turn, provided a basis for further analysis. We should not, he argue<!,
ding ro inappropriare words that merely conceal truth (impropritlai
vrrbonnn vtri"'/tm frgtfJ1), but rather Iftk to d iscover rhe proper trut h
of philosophical rea.]jry hidden beneath the many-faceted usages of
everyday spe«h fJwoprirt,u _i/a/is slIb 1II1I1/imo4o grnrrr oo/iOll"'" 14-
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<din, who had
abjured uitheism at Soissons in 1092 only to lapse inro heresy again
shordy afterwards, ,60 Anstlm therefore felt compel!td to embark on a
lengthier ~futatiOfl uf nominalism (han he had attempted in his (1( -
ClLSional colTt'Spondence with John the Monk or fuko of Bauvais. ,60
In the course of his rebuttal he spoke of many of the same fOl(es
which ha.rl brought ..bout the composition of the MOl/%gio" and the
Protlogiotl: rhe entreaties of his brethren that he solve Ihe problem (ut
,IF c. ", ...... " p. 'H, '9> ><>' cf. H....,.. Th.I-ofi<, '}.
''' I~., c. " p. '}), 8-", H...,.,., pp. ' l· '4: ,84-8,.
,., s.. F. S. S<h",;", .'C;"'l~"" do I'Ep;m.I. d< l<no_ion< V",b; <k S. Ao.<Im< d<
C.,,,,,rbtlJ:· Rbm) . (''.1:19) •• 1).81 .
,," E./UioU '" I~ V..f;, c.• , ...... " p. 4, '9· f<>f JI.-.hn·, .;owo in """'por;_
w;rb A....1m on<! Abolud, ... 11. Ad.Ihodt, ··R_et;. on<! s.- ...,...Im:' Pbi4llfbi..mJtJb<.
W .0 ( ' 907), ... ",6; .,..
ROO«"/in', doc.rin ... >« rh< ..Jul ,«>up of.<lIt> ;n F. P;''''',
R""",, ,m/,',,'" " tMht~ (Pt.ri., Ij)l I), " ' ·n·
'.. 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 be-

lieved; .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 diKus-
sion. 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 '"bap-
tismal'" theory of atonement.'" In other words, in pJacil78 Christ's
$lCri6ce at the centre of the stage, Ansclm inevitably Created a man-
oriented theology: the pauive .cccptlnCe of a divinely inspimi his-
torical 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
·" EI."/ 1"', Vrio'.<. •• p.,.s .
.,. Sot in..-aJ r. s. S<hmitt. - Die w' tKiothlidt< McdtOdt Anda>I"Oor 0... Honoo: -
S~ · 8" " . .H~7<' • ...tII.Iloq.... ,A""'''C .. M",""r,.,iD;"','."'iI __
(hrio, ' 96Y. 47-'jIO. The ..... ioo·. ir>r<1lo<rnoJ ~ io abq pt ,ud by I.. W . .5ouoJo.
...... S•. A,a&w, ,...... ,. 1'0<. <:ri<iqtto ol _ _ .... <0 dIt -to.... J. Md...,....
Sf. 11._
.... "' CriJks. A ItN ' I' , 0 r( '" "Car Dau H_" aNWlon, '9H). '17-'04. OD tho
"'''[. ""«I'.
OK J. lI.iri<re, " I." 'bptioo," DTC ".'. '11+"""44 <bibLqnopbJ,"". -968). """
iMf. u ..... ., J., r! " .............. _"",,(hrio. '9)4). 6,~ .
." C. Dau H_. <. I. YOI. 2. p. 48. ,.6 .
.. , Sf. II....J. . . M BUs, p' ,97 .
•,. G. H. Wilm-. 11...... C, ', . . Ar "' (St. u...io, ,'1'60). 1).1. >6.6:0. •
•" OD AMt!tt>., middle pctoi,ion bc, Ea" ..n,. , ,. •aI -. hj oi •• " ond J....- """'ir.-aI . """
jottift- d_in ol-./ntioot, ... 8. l'unkt, G..
.. M. it.....too _ c.,. e.,
'9<>Y.
J .... V - . . . .
' - J; E. ~. Dit LMz _ Fm..
I. TciI (MiInotet.
_Ht••' " ;,
_AuoIoa_c ,.)~ , '9'4) ., ~,;...JI..~. -Veoi ... _ _
. . . •-787-11[·
 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY

about without a mLSSeUment of th....,logy's rdation to written l~n_

guage. An$elm 's dialogues all proceoed. from meditation to meditative
tCXt and depend upon incrnsingly intetUive n:petitions of the her-
meneutlc process. They oscillate like his famous pn.yen between word
and re:Jlt, between the activitie$ of intima IlXUtio and cogiklrtlinttllign.
In each cue the opposite numben in the dialogues--Boso, for in-
stance, 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 experi-
ence, an extension, &0 to speak, of eucharistic aod sacramental " real-
ism ... ,,., 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 ex-
cluded 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 . .. ,ha,
k>t St.

'" .... blioh br tu. "'lumen'," a. K. Duth, """'.!

A.... lm ,h< .redo .,....id<o ,be irtuJl;p.J.., or "><1' ',04., .... ro",d",iono .. bKh be _""" ..
FiJIs Qu.,,", I...JI«,_. '1>-'0. 2'_'~ .
.,. a. G. 11, . E...... " .... _ T~ Hr»d GoJ. ".,~.
' " S. Vam ; ~, ··L·.. iao di S. A....tmo. " A...r.n.. ,, _ _ ,(,969).". Tho i..... «<I
pkr...: ;, rn, _".
,.. d . P. bd,....;".,.. · t·_, apop/>o.,iq"" d< r ...!!""'<o, de ...;'" A"",!lno.- S,mr.,j"",
B _ I. '3i: "1.< ·rN]i"""'· ... uj", AI>I<Im< ..;0;"' b _ion !i"'''iq ..... ~iqu< d~
·.ymbo[.,·. Si un .Iil! .... 1'<'" ~;I.u6« · nit... uO< ..... """ . . . u .. ,yml>o]., con, ..", toujoun
u"" ccn ...... p~. "" 'ymbolUo! .. .."

,6,
 LANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND REALITY

ImPIImI, IIJ1ln1tiftl pagi1lll, aJldllTita1, fIX, and so forth,oS< clearly indi-

uring 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<r<).
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 I<rim".,- 74'n, ~roti '" • «>mpIet< liar: J .uct. .......;0<11.
,.. Tb. ~ ia ,969 oi ~ impOrtM< """'"' J AbeIotd ",.J.eo" full ".it.
of ,la.
,"hi. . ., supe,~ . '" p.,.. Abe/ard', 'ochooJ" ood ia iduonu ;. ,la. o-lfth =tI<lJ'....
D. £. I, 5"""la., n. $dJooI of,.... ),~. Tiro 1-, " AIIIJ, T...... ;" IIro I'.MiJ ~
p.n.J (C""..,.., '969), ,.;m. bihli<l8rapby pp. ,,6-4' . o.r
Abdord', ir>l<llo«ua1 "-lop.
_ . -J. JoI,...., ArlY "" IW"" ~....... AIII"I.ooo/(Pui>, '969)· Ad...ic...-lf - " _~,
oi Abel....r. phil'· pi., """ 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 ,I.'.
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~, ",.. ), ,,.,6 (;"
robulor b-fIlJ "'" .. ,-
S, (ift del";!). A (u11 inlJoduaion '" ,be q,;c ;, L N . de lI.ijk, ' - A~ rn.J.a....
PPoi C J"" 1)Ji';"". P"';';" {of ,. . ' ..m ".1•• j .,... 2<K1 od. (A,soM,
JlC'Fiii; • briof but <xc<JIm. IIUY<J ;. N. old Pn., P_ A'" oD, xritri ~ . . (Mibn.
'''<», ;.-
'9'4). i._~i;. UO<fuJ '''''''' '" ,.... iI -...blcd""" , ............ by}. }<>liYn. AIlIPJ _ ""
I""hpi .. .",., t. ~ (Par;', ,96\:); "' .... ,.....u;. W. ood M. Kneok, TJ. 0-1.,...,
of
Lop" (OVord, ,96'). >0"'4. Four r<Cent <0«£........ which "";"w i...... ondot du..:.-iO<I "'"
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<iUon (Pui>,
'97)) (iD whidt ...... slIoWd b< rakm oi tho import' ............ ....,. oiN. N . HiJi,,!!, "Abcl..d
y .......,""" T....." .. pp. J.4'",O}); P_ AI ' '" (''''19-''4_'. 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 -
Ditt....,
" . Par ........ ,..,.,., .... ....,., ... L Ninio-Pol...!Io, "AboiJord," ofS<itMjfo B;"'~
'. ' .... _ _ the .. Jo • full iior '" 00;0. ~ "i_, pp. , ....

,6,
 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
$enst .<peated itstlf: the C()IJnci] It Sens in 040 rei terated a similar
injustice as took place during fkrengar', various triab in pronouncing
guilt on tne buis of ullllubstantiated qUOtations or mere hearsay. Only
since the actual range of Abc:lard 's teaching Will! revealed by O. E.
Luscombc: and his linguistic theories fully analysed by Jean Jolivet
and L. M. de Rijl.: have wc been in a position to undertake an eval-
uation of his overall achievement. Not only have the accusations of
heresy withered under the relentless pressure of hisrorical rescaKh;
new dimensions havc also been added to the understanding of his life,
his career, the spread of his ideas, and his treatment by his contem-
poraries. To early historians he appeared by and large to be R th inker
who fought a resolu te if losing battle against the traditional values of
his age, Nowadays, it would be more appropriate to speak of him as
a pioneer of two notions within the field of txegnis which with in a
century of his death had. bc<:ome the norm: namely, the extensive ust
of reason in interpretation and. tne harmoniution of contrary views by
a "dialectical hermentutic" ' fJ involving accurate quotations from pa-
trisdc sources. Indeed., Luscombe argues, "the conRicts between Abe-
lard and the two leading monastic theologians of the day (i.e., St.
Ikrna.cd and William of St. Thierry) should be seen not merdy as
disputes between the upholders respectively of faith and reason but as
the effeclS of the realization of structural differences between two tra-
di tions of thtological analysis and reflection. ",,,<
The purpose of the following di$Cussion of Abe/ard and BernarJ is
to offer a clarification of these struc tural differenc~, and, in particu-
lar, to go beyond the content of their respective positions, together
with the ronttoversies surrounding tnem, in an effort to contrast their
views on such matters ail the status of oral di$Coune, the subjective
versw objective aspects of hermeneutics, and the mort general USC1 of
factUlli (i.e., textually established) knowledge in questions inVQlving
faith .
In Abelard's case, the range of interest in Iitera<y's uses was of
COUnt very broad. His twenty or 50 genuine students were attaChed
,., Luoromb<, TI•.sdMJI" Ptw 10""'''. " l .
·.. ,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 tend-
encies. His biblical commentaries, and, above ill, the glOiSS on Ro-
mans, 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 ref-
erential 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&te-
menrs on belief. The fifty-eight groups of quotations were to be eval-
uated 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 disputa-
tion. questioning, or dialogue invariably took place against the back-
ground of a putative library, .. tt5(lUrce collection ftom which a logi-
cally 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 the-
or
ory whose relationship to lbe various revisions his theology will DOt
be rully clarified until the manuscript venions or his many commen-
taries 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 per-
spectives also seemed to be opened onto the real. At ·the centre or
rhese insighu was a notion of signification in which langUlse effec-
tively acted lIS .. bridge between m and i"ltlltctllJ.

~ I~., ,.
... So< E. BonoIa. · 1 r"edt",1 .11Iri(; cIt1 m<todo <l<1 "Si< ... N... • d; Abei&tdo.- R_ J;
J"'~ _...u..u" (1901.), 279. for. ''';.. of,b< _""', ... J. ]<>I;_,,t,., J. ~
It !( 'e" "- ,t/&tttJ. ~l.
,., Sit .. H.., I' 'iW, PL '78.1'400-" D; eel . B. B. ~ &Dd I. . Mc:Komt (OIi<qo and
Londot>, ,976-n), p. 91, I. Hop. ~,J. 8~ .
,.. ]<>I;"",,t,., "" I er, "}·n .
 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 Aris-
totle'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 ma-
ximlls 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 br-
rwttn 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 disjunc-
tions between the spoken and the written, Boethius provided onc of
Abelard's main points oC deponure for a reversal of eenain late clas-
sical 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.n-
guage against the background of which spoken discouue could re-
create meaning Out of pattercu of sound. Before taking up Abe!anfs

... On 'h< o.' inl . I fulJow M.BuY""'"

lotrt><lu<tion '0 CCCM r r... ii i.,.... .
... On rh< "",n"",,,pt ~IK< of Ab<lw·. und<l'1<Aftdin, of Ario<o<I., lOO rh< o.rN bur
MiII....tu! "'"'l' of B. Gcy<r. - O;."ton b tf;nn.:h<n Ob.n.r~ der ori ..",eliM"'" A... •
Iytik. Topik ut>d ~Ionch;k. " 'I»~""" } ..A,1 .. 6 ~ (191 7/. " ·H-
'" C . M..... "n.. Dn><lopnon< of 'h< Th<oI<>sioo of ....... AMI. m." ,,,",, AJwJ",;.J..... r8<:
'9' -9~ ·
'" T""",,,Y '''''I..... , . rH. CCCIol ". p_ "9 ( - PL ' 78 . , 16~ A)_

,6,
 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"twpnl<lt;O/N.'·' Let us first look ar 8oethius's translation of the tat
and then discUSil his commentary on it.
The uanslation of the relevant passage runs as follows. ,,.., AristOlle
fint lays OUt the book's general theme, which. in order. treats the
nOWl ( _ ) and the verb (vtrloum), negation (rug"tu.) and affirmation
VuijirmAtio), and a statement (t1flllKulilJ) and a senreoce (l1/'"t>Jio). 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 af-
fec;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 in-
clude "man" O!" "white" when they Stand alone. the words being nei-
ther 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
'O, p,j • . " .60. On Ariatotk', ......,;1\11. in am<nJ J. L AdtriU. AmwV,
If< r*l.,,"
...t Do I ,,~, " • ,n.! od. «bkItd. 1#). "1)'"4. onol. on Bo.tbI",', ..",plikal;"" of
Aris«d<', ~ """ ""1"10. .. _ . If< N. Ktu._, "NI_k on $poI«n Sou.od
$;a<lilionl hr eo,,, .... ""'," ;" J. Corn:nlI. od .• , , _ up...t in ltI.. . . /-. ,. ' ....... 1D<w.
~redI, and Ro",... 1974). ,and 18-11)116 .
... C ' ;; ;. '.' ... ~;, I',j MM "" od. C. Mm... -d. I (l1!77). t. 1,
pp. N·
." 11«1.• ..::.1. 2 pt. 1(1880), bk. '. pp. 4<6.

,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 men-
tal 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 pro-
duced, 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 cor-
rect 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 tran-
scribable in written characters (jllJ(TjM (illtr# /'Wsit). POt spc-e<h to have
meaning, there must in addition be a mental image intended to sig-
nify (Jigmfit",/Ji imagiMlu,l, through which the objttt (id qwd) is brought
£onh in the voice ne the scalement. Thus, in addition to sound, specx:h,
and a written point of reference, signifio.tion demands a ceruin ca-
pacity for creati08 images in the mind.
What is notable about these introductory remarks ;$ the reaection
upon the Aristotelian connection betwten the 'poken and the written.
Sound, in effect, ilChie~s mea.ning, if not only in relation to letters,
certainly with a knowledg~ of textual equivalents in mind. Boethius
pursued this line of thinking in his subsequent discussion of inl"fWt-
laljo. ''''';
At the OUtset he attempts to lim it the subject. An interpretarion,
he states, is an articulated sound signifying something thtough itself
(wx M1irJIlata ptr It ipJ4m sjgnijica"t).'" Of course, not all voar and
l«utiollD are illltrpntatiollD. Some ha~ no meaning; in others, the
sense is not established and maintained through the verbal ronStfUC-
... t.u., ..,j. '.', 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 mean-
ingfuJ. elements in butnan rommunicatiOl'l in ....hkh the ia= .... ere
"superimpxer\" on the former.
Neither 1VOrk. however. concerned iuelf specifically .... ith the logi-
cal 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 .... hat-
om:-t arises ftotn the mind'l intellections (qlliliqlliJ 0/;" 111/;"'; ;.l"lrr-
lib-.s). ' .. He did not restrict himself to relations between the spoken
and the .... ritten, but, .... ith grammatical conespondences as a foun-
dation. _nt on to the ilSue of significa.tion, In this sense, he devel-
oped 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 intel-
lections; 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. Fi-
nally, Aristol:le called intellections (i"tel,lICtIU) the eventl, receptions,
or movrments of the soul (pan,,,.,,,, ."i_>,
ttfttrins chiefly to their
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 essen-
tial 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

""'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 .
""'"'<pt......
.... milD ob inrdlocno coocipi.... , .... ftfO onimi iMdlocNlljllO 'ilni/icu, ipsi
wro io..llect", ..u""'ipi"'" .
u~ G.. "" ... ~oil!.;u,.., • ~buo . . .. Quotrum q""'l"
quidd&m _. 'I'"> ......._ _ ",;,...n, id ........ - ' H'..... "

,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 intellec-
tions. 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
$poh.. there are abo tn.: wrinen forms of word" that is. the written
cxptn5ion of the SIII.II.J1csr linguist;c elements disdnguishing words
from each other.
Thac matter-of-fact observations on a rather complklted. Aristo-
telian teXt are then illustrated. by a set of simple parallels.'"'" I( a
people employ the sarm alphabet and phonetic system, BOIethius sug-
gestS, they will also use the same nouns and grammatical construc-
tions. It folJowl that thq will expfts$ the same mental conceptions.
And rhis implies that they have rhe same reality in mind. The con-
elusion. 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<nces, he argues, if a
thing exis ts, so does its intellection, if not among men, then certainly
in Him whose understanding is omniscient. But, to return by • dif-
~ 'lhJ.. 20, '~'1.
.., 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: " Ho<ninibus """""" qui li, .., .. it"""'" ""I).m """"" q-ua<likr _...
men .. >i,lni6c..... <I'IiPP'" q .... nctCi .... ..
- /IOJ.• p . 21. "'1'. ,2, 2 . .., 11Mf..... , , ~,

,"
 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 dif-
ferent .•'"
Following Aristode, Boethius next reviews a number of ancient
approaches to sounds and signs. >00 He then IIlOVI:S on to the interre-
lationship of language with sense, imagination, and understanding.
Buttressed by a passage from Or All;'"",'" he proposes the follow-
ing 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 "'et_
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 writ-
ten 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

-[~.• u . • •, . -[~. , .. , , ] " . . . /. ... p.•" ',' p. '1, 6 .

,-7.
.. . [lNI.• • 8. 0. A. . . ,.a.
.,-28.
... /!.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<_
................ _iooIn, ........... KJibi - " <.leA".''', .hcnm q _ _ • ","'d. j. ~
_ COJj ... ioDc <Onc<:ri. uounq... in.ellectibus, 01_ YOU, I<rti.", 1in.riJ contin<ri"·
' '' I. .. , p. , OO, ' 7.... ,0, ,.
 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
.pe<ific prOp"nies: they are, SO to speak, ·'impressed" with conven _
tional signification. ", What Aristolle says about wriw: n signs, Boe_
thillS adch, can he understood along similar li nes . Once again, he did
not intend to id~ncify the physio.l obiect, the letters, with the wrinen
form of the verbal stltement. that is, ··what is in writing. "",
In the same fashion, ~thius arsurs. AristOt"le Slates Ihat ··what is
in sound" represents "the signs of the sours affections'· For. as noted
previously, what exists in sound signifies both things and int~llec­
cions. principally, of course, intellections. and things through them.
But these very products of the mind gentra.te intd lectio!l5 in their
walce. The Pl"QCess is as follows. When we experience a thing, its
reality is gt7isped by the mind. We then try to say wha! it is. More
pre..:isely. we first experience the thing through a mental image, after
which foUows a certain affection or perception in the mind itself. A
second phase of mental Ktivity is then initiated by the will. Through
the fo= of inner reason the original understanding is perpetuated and
refined; that is, the discourse, through an effort of its own , explains
and elaborates those things which first provided a foundation for un-
derstanding through the soul's activity. Or, mon' accurately, the de-
vdopmcnt of signification and discourse proc:ttd together in ,. dialec-
tical manner."9 This PI"QCes5. toO, is iih imprescsing a coin. bUI in a
purely intellectual sense. For every recept ion in the soul reHeers che
na!ure of reality, and the j>tmilllJlj 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. J', 'J-P. l .h '· •. , 10iJ.• ll, '·'4 ·
.~ f;;J.• H. "·'11· ,., 10iJ.• p. ).c4. ".p. 3'. >l .

37'
 LANGUAGE, TIiXT$, ANO III!ALITY

thrwt of his argument, which amounts to a recognition of a disjunc-

tion 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$Criptioo in physical sound (JfI1I*l ipsi*l
itucriptiolliJ).· .. Yet. in thus differentiating text and. word, he none-
thdess underlinn his interest in the written, both as a. rckfC'nce point
and as a £nunework of anaJ)'5is. He maintains with Aristotle that
written depend Dn spoken words, and these in tU1n 00 intellectioru
of things. But he also iUe1$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 correspond-
ing 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 funda-
mental 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. .., lOiJ.. ' 0 •• ,_Hi. "'IHJ.. • ~. "_U.
"-H.
, ' s.,..
'" IMt•• ".
A - " '" 1_,..""...... od . M. dol P.., P... AW ' •. .mm .... n .

,p
 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$ly in two senses, gtam-
malically to mean a sentence and linguistinlly to refer to meaningful
discourse.
There are somc dear panllds ~tw~n the tWO authors. In A~lard'$
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<t under quantity,'"
spnking of UI'..tio u the name of a certain measure of the air making
noise and sound. Its quantitativc upe<:rs arc usessed by the sense of
i1earing.''9 As in Boethiw, Ul'4tio unites the oral and lhe written: it
represents both the divuible and indivisible combinations of clemcnts,
that is, of letters, which appear as syllables. words, or senten(es.',Q
The name ma sound, so to speak. is transkrred 10 quantities bearing
significance.'" That. in A~lard'5 view, is why Aristotle speaks of
orat;~ u sound signi£yiflg" a convention m speech (wx rigllijiuti .... ad
placitum). 'I' A~lard does not deny the interdcpeadctKc of meaningful
discourse .... ith the grammar of the written t~t. But. in his view, thc
tenor of .speech does !lO1 correspond precisely 10 scribal norms. U, he
says, I say "a"' or VQke some other "Iiteral element,"' whi(h Priscian
calls an "individual sound,"' the written charactcr does not rnat(h
what is spoken or heard. The air is struck many times by the tOll8uc,
and each striking may be calle.:! an individual sound; but the sense of
hearing does not distinguish anyone among them. For. just as sight
does not per(eive invisible bodies, 50 the eal"$ do not hear the individ-
ual elements of sound. These ifllliJihilt.f tmNtJ arc thc true, primary
pans of dis-rouI"5C (tl~m~ta Ul'lZtiQlljs tamqlt4m pri_ part"). Of wurse,
to tbe degree that a lctter ftpresents "invisible"' sound, it tOO may be
called a primary element. But th~re arc ~lemenlS of spe«h whi(h have
!'\o equivalent in letters.'H
A further exposition of thcse idellil takcs pia<:c in the DiIIltrtita.'YI
Recapitulating his own and others' views. A~lard asserts that theft
is much djsag~ment amoog previous authorities on oratiQ's mean-
u, GI,,_ ;w C~.,.n.u • .d. M. dol Pro. Pm.. /t1J.t,J., 6,. ,," YI .
,,. S",,", h .. &.,,. A,,;p.,Ji> • .d. 8 . G<ytl (NUns ... , 'S» ,I, ' ] J']4.
,., tNJ., 'H. "9· ·" ,NJ.• IH, ""9. .,. 10iJ.• 'n. >9"JI.
". JNJ., 'Il. H"H.~; o;;Ij~ Ati_It. in C_''''';i . .d. M.i...., vol . '. p.~. ,,6. p.
,. " .
'" INJ.• 11~.""'9·
' .. DU.nu ...... D< 0._. od. L. M. do !l.ijk. 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 re-
ducible 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 sense-
data, 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. Par-
ticles 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 mean-
ingful sound. 1bese minuscule motions an: sound·s simplest puts.
Individualletten are n(J( ··indivisible"; they llte rehICed ro other Itrik-
iogs 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-

." llU.• 6" .,-66,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, <d, 101. Hen. ;a H_ Keil. G,,,. 'm
!.Mi.;. (,88,). , .• .
•,. IftJ., 6" '·4 .
... 1141,. 6" S.,(I; p<tIJ<po Will;'" '" Chunpooo,D. do: Ilijl<. 6,al. 0. lilt jwri« of Ab.!&rd.,
«i<i<iom '" _'<niP"""!' ..... m>. I « E. Bc",/o. "Le <,;,i<1>o cIi AbolN<lo od I.."d"", cIi Loon
od • Gqlj.""" di ~," R;,;n" '" /4Itf. _"" ...b " (,960), sn.
,.. ,ftJ.• 67. '<)o Il. ." IH/.. 61 .•.,.... '"'IJ.iI., 67. ""4.
~'/..., .• 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 "0"
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 "'"KIte. 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
'~/NJ. • 67. n'~' ... /~.• 68 . j"~'
.. , / NJ.• 68 , 2,·).01 .

'"
 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 $Omeone trying to picture it. Further, if by
"signifying" we understand, flOt a formal quality of rt'llity, but "an
intellection genefRte<i through i~If," then it follows that a statement
hu meaning just as long as any single verbal element within it makn
sense to the hearer. Significance, in other wor<U, is produted by the
ordering of physical sound, but it is establishc<i and maintained by
means rf .. conventional asrttment bc:twttn the spraket and the lis-
tener ....
In sum, in disclWing the manner in which sounds signify, Abelard
is much more ovenly linguistic in approach tb.n BoethiU$. Of course,
for both, as for Aristotle, there is a significance in iodividual worW
and the written are the reflections of the spoken forms. A sentence is
• group of such woNs in which the .tense of each is trans«nded by
the meaning of the whole. But, for Ahelard in particular, a ST:ltement
is .Iso a set of linguistic conventions uniting the speaker and the
hearer in .. nerus of meaning independent of both. This meaning,
inspired by.spoken lansuage. has .. no less objective reality than the
things to which the wor<U ILCtually refer. The union of spo~n and
written languages takes place in the miod, where, through the im-
position of established conventions, the temporal structure of [he sen-
tence is r«reated and given an intellectual context.

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<ieaV1)ur co rwatio mu_
lialilVl, and, more particularly, co the study of prop0i5itions· truth or
falsehood.'" But, frum the ou~c, he enlargtS the inq uiry , distin-
guishing as his trn'ntor dOl'S not berWttn Priseian', and Aristotle',
notions of signification. ", Priseian, he points out, held that sound's
sense (lIg"jfoatnw wx) can be related back co cbe speaker"s intentions,
which are put forth as words.'\) Yet Aristotle, in treating nouns and
verbs, refers borh to rhings (m) and intell.-.::tions (i,,/tlftnla). Things,
in his view, create meaning by establishing a mental awareness of
their nature or propc'rties. This Ilndentanding is rhe same wherher it
is wd to come from the speaker or the hearer. In response to Priseian,
Abelacd notes that a dog·s barking may have an intended sense, but
human beings cannot comprehend it. It is only ··natural sound .. ·'"
Therefore, following Aristotle, he distinsuishes becween ·'articulated"
and ·'signified." Signification arises only when the sense intended hy
the s~aker and heard by che listener are a8~ to be the same. As
chis cannot be determined from the speaker aione, he prefers, with
Aristode, co refer significance ultimately tn tb.- hearer·, und~rst3nding
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., ,0].
'4·,08, I~.
'" 1101. r;,_., ' .'. «/. H.",. p . ,. 6; "'' <f.rd.
!.t. tir .• ~. r ·4 ·
'" s.,.. , ..i .ON""",. ,08. '<)oH ; d. 0 ..1",;" 1.).1 . P. '14 . ,e>-".
",s.,." ..i " .. .", )08, ' 7"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 tran-
sitory, 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 UD-
derstanding (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 imagina-
tion , 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<libonn<li,
"I""i .. "iq~jd q_i ....;quo. _ .... ...t p'¥io,.,. <0< ;., .....
.., (Ni. , l'\ . ,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 ima-
gi'lrs, "/IIA,,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 intellec-
tions, 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

.., l~.. , .,. }I·" •• 6. '" ,",,, " '1 .

7".,
.., I",. ."'1, '7 .• 8. "'IU., )1 • •• 6·".
-lbU.. ,,, .•8.)4' "Non <nim »tOpt<I.imil;rudi,... "'WJI .... prop«l ,n ..II«,w 11",.1.·
<od, ...... ..,.,.. 1<»<_ "''''. I<d ""''' p""p''' i _ ... '" ..,..,m 'n«U«tuI. u' riddio:t do
Im.Im Mm," "omi""", {IK<t<.'. non do h.oi",modi "5"...., ... , <I i.,ell<C'lw do . - . <MS';_
'n<m>I, ..". "" fi,,,,,,",,,, O<d tan",m pe< fig",...... "",ndo P'" ,ebu> _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,//rr-
t~) 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, Abe-
lard 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 co-
gil4w), 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, lOO-
smrKt, 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 intel-
lect, as Aristotle maintained. >71 Aristotle further united all sounds as
"'"/W.. p. )". )7'P' ),6. 16.
•" I .... " , . '?'

".,......~
"1"" ~,.,. .
." _hi",. 0./- P' I"b p. 28. 21; Abdotd • .,.
, . ) ' • 2)")'
"R
m_. ,,6. )0-)'7. 7-

,80
 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 un-
detSfaoding 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 fit'
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_
." I"" .. )'9. ,6.).-1 . '" I~" '[9, .,_.6.
·" lhJ.• "1, '8·...
• " IliJ" p_ P l, ,6-p. , ••• [4 .

,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-<onsidering, so w speak, matter, form, substllnce,
and images--there is nonetheless onc simple action (~..., J;",plo: (.I(lio),
appropriarely called "understanding," through whi,h one thinks of
everything at once, one's thoughts bolh infurming the living reality
and differentiating it from others .•8, If on the othet hand one hears
"a rational mortal animal," onc gr.ups what was initially cnnceived
through a single act of understanding by means of scvcllli ilCts. For,
in exprasions, individual words too ha~ their own meanings. Al-
though "man" and "rational morral animal" indic..cc one object, the
understanding of the name is simple while the definition is composed
of mo~ than one thing. In other words, the name signifies torally
through iuelf, not through iu pans. But the definition requires $CV-
ellll acts of understanding. Whcn(C, it follows, the undentanding of
words is always simple, while that of expressions' is wmplex, al_
though, paradoxically, the twO may describe the same thing. ,8.
Further, the understmding of a word can he of things united «(9"-
;/llf(frml"l) or divided (IMJ,,,.,.,,.), hut never at once united and divided.
for, one who hears the word "man" or "non-man" grasps the rerm ill
a wtality or not at all. But, ant who hean "rational morral animal"
in pla<:e of "man': understands the unity through the expression's sig-
nificance. For, "uniting" and "disunitins" are complex mental oper-
ations, bolh for language and for understanding. For instance, to Iht
expression "rational mortal animal" we mlly oppose iu logical oppo-
site, "non_rational, non_monal aniftllll." In both, the menta! unity ;$
made by the mind in the course of understanding the clp~ssion. The
significance dotS nOt arise from tht individual wows, fat, in that case,
as Abelard noted, (he wbole meaning would be 81'2Sped at once. A
similar set of distinctions may be made with respect to undtrstanding.
It tOO is eithtr simple or complex: simple, inasmuch 115 it unitt~ like
the word "man" stveral "memhl:ors" in a single "person"; complex,
.,. I"., )'~' .).• 8.
•" /MJ_. ,.4, >'9"40. quo<i., _\d.Do I .. " ....., ><>. ,6-,,_
-1J.iJ., 3". ,,.'0. .., I~_. 3'~. '9-1} . ... f"".. 3". 'i·n.

,8,
 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<t's
truth. ",11 Otherwise, no recoI.le<tion of the past or prediction of the
futUrl' would be a corrrc:r "intelle<rion." Furrber, if, while thinking
in the pn-sent, ~ conceivr the past or future, the truth or falsehood
of the intellect's undellltanding is DOt inVQlved..·· In that sense, truth
and falseness in the intellect do not deprnd on the conceiving of
images but on the (OCI,lsing on things through images; that is, we
esublish images on behalf of signs not 50 much for signifying things
as fot bringing the mind. to beat on them.·..,
Beginning, then, with Aristotle and Boethius, Abdud concludes
by applying rationalism to the real. He is mon: ovenly interested in
linguistic or, one should pe1"haps say, semanti~ phenomena than
either of his authorities. Accordingly, he introduces the norion of the
wrinen, not, as in BoethiUll, as Il srable reference point (rom which
to interrelate words and rhing5, but chiefiy in order to comment on
the $ttucture of langl1&8e itself. Language, therefore, is considered
independently of thingl and intcllr(:rions.
To cret.te an undellltanding in the mind, one must signify through
words. Words have a dual character: as sounds (1«'1:1), they a/fcc::t the
sense of hearing; as Sigilli (sip4, _ ) , they are intetpn:tt'd by the
mind. In Abelanrs view, a sentence sa)'3 50mething through a group
of words, but this something is not Il real thing: it is a qUJ; m. It
expresses the manner in which thingl relate to each other. When
interna.liud in the mind, the same sentence represena; not things said
(tlkt.) but thing5 in tne: form of intellections (m ;" ;",dl«ht).
In onc sense, then, the ontological sphere of language is reduced.
Language is what can be studied through logic and linguistics. In
another sense, however, ia; range i5 increased. Words, in Abelard's
vi_, are not cret.ted on IlCCount of images, which merely act as a
bridge between the .senses and the mind. They are the verbdiutions
of man's inner conceptions 0( re.liry. Iu meaningful sounds, won:ls
or sentences ind..ic:ate theit meaniD8 in spe«h, I:S tats, and lIS thought:!! .
... IMJ., ,,8. ,&'08: ''Qulbuscum""" er,tO ima.!:ini!ow UIamut od quodlodo ... dioponmNl.
n.il mm od ..,1 ....... lmelle< ..... obnmodo a=oo;" diocreriooJ ..... .
- /MJ.. ~'8. '''''Ho
,pt""""
... 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<irui",,,, nor> ... 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
Uru-..L .... , _ Md : '. "9.

'"
 I.ANGUAGIl, TIlXTS, ANI) REALITY

As in Aristotle and BQethius, the essential identity is establishe<l be-

tWffn things and intdle<:tioflll, Language, in this ~nse, remained for
Abelard as for his pm::\ecesson a set of conventions . However. thc
structure of the written, or, more particularly, of grammar and logic,
led Abt-lani to free lang uage from its former immobility with respect
to .-er and inulltctliS and to cOl1$ider it as op"rating potentiaBy in ac-
cotd with irs own laws. Language. as invented. utiJiud in discount.
and internaliaod as thought, was thereby made the official mediator
between reality and mental experiencc.'9'

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 think-
ing. 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 experi-
cnce. Once again he Stll:S5n that a thing's nature is revealed through
a word expressly designc<l to perform "the office of signifying." Such
signs, he says, are v«t.I slIpr4pt»itt; they all: words "platt<l upou" things
by means of intellections.
This COIKCpt plays a largc rolc in his theory ofunivenab. His most
important discussion of the (juestion took pl~ in his commentary on
Porphyry's b,trotilKtirm to the C4trgrwitl, ~ translated and in!frpm:ed
by Bocthius. The major lines of Abclard's approach art well known.
In general, be fint refuted overly simplistic, realist argumenU, his
reasoflll in somc cases paral!ellng Bcrengar"s rejecrion of cuCharistic
phY$iu,lism. H e then determined that universais well: ~cribable "(0
.. ' )oIi ..,. A", ,. i.tqqf. 1•. Ab... .-d . ... """ • ...,.,Id ""'" '0 ",'idpol........= .• oh-
~.-.d _t. C... '" Ii"f~ ' - " ". p. 98' ..~ . i..... Ii••• i,,;q.,. uni, _ ..... <I."..
<t un nom. mo.i. UB <.n.p' et un< i""'l!' """""i~ ..: ·
- Do.J.ji<. ). J. J. p. J" , '3-P. J", .,. Not '" ""J<' ,110 d ;.......,. of oi",iw ""'" in
• IN '111''''''';'; floshioo in ,he CI_ .... ~ib.no P.1b,.i; _""""' V...~ko. «i . C. Ou.';'no.
in T",; ....n-li ;"";;1; <P<>o, .. Ambroo. .i•• 01, 3, FI"",tIU at>d Milan. '9J}>.

,8,
 LANGUAGE, TIiXTS, ANO REALITY

words alone, ",., that il, to the nexus of words, things, and intcllee-
tions 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<i

without reference to hi' major authoriri~, against whose vicws he w:u
often reacting. Boethius', In Porp/ryrilllll did for tbe problem of uni-
~rsals what his Dt b.ttfpmatiOlfl did for signification: it provided a
languagc of analysis and $oC't Abelard on the road to original insights.
Porphyry had declined to ((Immcnt on universal,,'" preferring in-
stead to give his readcn a brief introduction to tbe carego(i~ under
five headings. namely genus. species, difference. property, and acci-
dent, thc standard terms which his predecessors agteed could be pted_
ic&ted of a subjeo: and were the.efvre essential to defining iu nature
as • thing.
Boethiw introduad the question by purring tbe whole matter in a
broader ((Intot. He first described tbe thrtt-fold power of tbe soul,
that is, supporting life. judging per«ptions, and providing a foun-
dation fot tlltional thought ..,c; The critical functions, of course, are
1mJ1fl, i-gill4tu, and rl#i~ as elaborated in his ((Immemlry 00 lA
IllmprrratwlN.·'" Cotn'Sponding to this tria.d ue thttt intc!lectualac-

cd. B. v.,.... (NiI"'l<f, '9'9). , ... " , , , Re..., "' hui""""<li

... Gt..-""" r.~,,;_.
~;" ...... di. ~buo ..... rilan,"',
- no. li~ .... re=Jd, born '"~ by /01, M, T. 101<, AJ",;/pI .. u•......"
CAmo<ccdam. [~). ,-I>. ""o.dotn<ft"" ..mai", B, G<r<t. "0;. mU..... Abot.... iD ,x,
Un.imooJ~.-h ........ h....... "';(t!;m.., Tn«t>." iD F~ , . , c, e ..., ..... '.
[<> ["7 , A b<id' eqmi,"" is provid<d by J, G. Si"". r_ ,0.'_;1 J(Umb<ida<. '9"). ch ,
I. pp, ~I 12 . ...d • , ...id mol"';. b, J, p , »ok,. -Aboi!ard ...d tho Prcblcm of Uni_b.-
J..... "tM His.." of rN'''''' ' /I~Y. )7-' [, A.op<a. of m. pmbIem bo .. re<eftd, born
diocuuod by W,L Gombocz. "AbooIardo II<<!<uIU''301du<> &Is Sch!iiou<l zum U";-..Iirn_
bJom: r .._ ... ' , h.' n-l>.!. ot>d K . Jacobi, 't);I<',",'"",n Gbor Pri.dibciono,b<o<" in .....
to.!i><I'Irn Schrif'teo dco
Pttruo Aboilatduo. - iMJ" [6~'79, !'or.-. tItetIli", lat"""""""
... Ta I 10, cho, , 1lHl~, pp. ~>I' ..... )01;""', ....... ( ,.,., R,., ",
A """"" " ' _
to T.....w. is G. Kiln,. - A!>tlll<! .. I.. ~ ocru<I ... ..". la qutsI_ ....
ut>l....."':. in M,
,x G.no:!illoc ... M" cdl, . ... """", Lt .. Dw. ... - pp, 99"04 ,
... Bonbi",. I. ""*,,,'_ . 1>1< , '. pt 6..j,e.A_B,
"'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$ent, and inquiring into things unknown . In the
application of reason, Boethiw ",n(inues, it is tall' for the mind to
be mislt<! into belitvill8 that whilt is logically (Orffir is factually UIH'.
But, what is encountered in the How of words (JmIIMNm dNII1'SIIJ) i~
not illwilYs establisht<! in nature (1I41"ra jixNm)."" In Boethius"s view,
onc CliIn only proceed to a true understilnding of reality after learning
the rudiments of thinking. This, in turn, impliC$ a knowledge of
disputation, that is, of invention and judgment, ,,>. 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<!. Although Porphyry, he not es, re-
fust<! to take a position, he fl":ll.med the i"ues as th~ interde~ndent
questions. BoethiU$ accordingly responds in three stages. He first re-
phl":ll.5tS Porphyry's well-known questions in his own term'. He elim-
inates what he considen to bt his luthority's ambiguities, and, with
the aid of Alexander of Aphrodisial, attemptS to resolve the matter.
His "solution" has been criticized for its vagueness and lack of
philosophic rigour. - In reality, it restS leu on a foundation of logic
than of common sense. Throughout book one of 111 PorphyriNm, Boe-
thius builds a cue for disrill8uishing between things and thoughts
about them through the different mentlll operations appropriate to
each. His appmach to unive rsals is a s~dfic application of these re -
lationship$. camouflaged at times under technical terminology. In a
nutshell, he proposes that genera and species , and, by implicat ion,
other universals, appear in reality in onc form, namely as individuals,
and arc represented in the mind in another, namely as principles of
classification. !o '
This, clearly, was an approach which Abc."lard could nor acc~t,
however broadly it influence<! the direction of his own thoughts. But,
for this rtason, it merits a brief exposition.
Porphyry, BoethiU$ relates, asks of genera and species (I) whether
they subsisl in l'NIlry or arc brought forth 115 "bare ideas"; (2) whether,
if subsisrill8, they are corporffi or incorporeal; and (3) whether, as a
corollary, they txisl.. sepiltlltely from sensible things or are located in
them. """
"' I~.. 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 $pedcs, he asks,
CI.tegories of understanding, or do they exist in things in rn.lity? In
his view , this is tantamount to asking whether they arc uooersrood
by the mind thf0U8h the dual operations of con«:iving (ilddllftll (mI -
dpn-r) and rnsoning (rt#titnw tiGfrii>rrr), or wh~bet Ihey a.., a vacant,
uoconhC(led image (--.t, 4ISU i_gilltlliD) which the mind " paints"
for itself.)01 Secondly, if they exist, what is their IIItulC? Por all things
arc either corporn.l or incorporeal. "" FinaJ.ly, do they exist in connec-
tion with bodies 01" beyooo them? To take an example: God, mioo,
and the IIOUl exist incorporn.lly and outside bodies, bur line, surface,
and numl:ll:'r do not. The latter inhe.., in other things. Scp&rated from
bodies, tbey no longer truly exist.)'»
In short, wbercu Porphyry had restricted his discuSllion to tbe Cllt-
cgOfies, as evidenC«!, for illSrance, by his derivation of sltIJsiJurw (corn
SIfNltflltitl,"" Bocthius moves in the di~tion of signification, as illus-
trated by his continued use of tbe key terms U1UIU, ilMgilWtifl, i"td-
UttIU, aoo ISSI. 1he questioll$ 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. ,., /W . • H>l).8~ .

,... See T. " Ide, .ti.iI..J .. U ...=+, 4+-66, ,,110> "'8.... _ 1:Io<t~1 ... •• _ la dift<t<n<
from Potpb,.,· •. I ... _ 6!1d tht O'ridtnce <'OI'I<I",M .
... I. Pap_,, ' i, 8,8-0. "",10.1., 8)A-84B.
"',10.1., 8)A: Gn:oon. .. spocito ..... """ .. subs;"",. ou, intelk<", .. ooIa (08itariono
""-"'..... . . .

,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 snme-
thing 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$ol'lvcs. Fnr this fCason genera can be: said tn have no absolute
e>::istence; tMY cannot be derived from things alone.''' The mind
plays a role in understanding what they are. In facr, gelH'fll and spc-
cin are 1'11'1 different from nther intellections in nnc sense. WMn they
are grasped as subjects rcpresenring things in the mind- wherher nr
nnt the thi ng exisu in reality-the idea nf genus and species exists
like other ideas, and comes in tn being as the thing is estab lished in
the mind, nr, at least, is understood tn be established. In that sensc
they arc IH1t nnly placed in the mind, but, tllrough the mind, arc
placed in the reality of things. In nther words, the essence nf things
cnrresponds to the inner forms of thought in the mioo.J" In Soc-
thius·s view, tMn, the problem of universals is both logical and 1'11'1-
tological. In what sense, he asks, can wc pled;';ar! existence of genera
and species, sioce they neither exist absolutely nor represent a truth
derivable from real things?
1bc answer he proposes is to scpal:ate ~xi$tence in reality from ex-
istence 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 re-
spect 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 di-
vi 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. , .. 1j,iJ. • 8}B-C; . .. hob<t ..,i ';n'lili.udin<n>.
, .. lbY. • 8)(·D. ,,, l~.• 8, D-l4A. ,., lbY. • 84B.
, ., IhiJ., 14B-C

,8,
 LANGUAGti, TEXTS, AND REALITY

mind is no less rn.l to the mind on accou.nt 0( iu lack of correspond-

ence 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, uld-
mar: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 cogi-
tation (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( human-
ity.'"
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 lex-
ical 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 def-
inition being made (jim),1" relating the one to gathering lexical
meanings, the Other to tbe interdependent ui>der:sranding of the es-
sence of things. At the back 0( his thoughts art the connections be-
tween sense, imagination, and thought, hecwttn .... hich. il$ in ~ l"t".
~, wrirten langua&e provides, once again, uninvcstigated links .

... IhJ.• 8.((;..D. .,' L4<.<il.

,.. /Ni. , 8,B-C. ,RIMf., 86A.
~. a. T. GttJO<)'. '"Cof>sjdmtioN .... Rooio .. Nuun. ,lie, Ab!Iud:"_ AIi/MJ, , _
'- '" ' _.L
. . ." • TV • • • • 'H-n.
'u I. ""~,,;'., 19C-D.

''''
 I.ANGUAGE, TEXTS, AND IIEAUTY

Porphyry's tripartite questiOn rejl;arding universals. which was In_

["n<k<i [0 b.. limited (0 the o.legories, thus becomes a larger 'ssue
involving rality, abstraction, and the wnrkinjl;s of the mind ,

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 uni-
versal, 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 tcx-
tuality, rationality. and the nature of rality. For that reason his often-
studied 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<ompassed in the names desiS-
lUlling univemls, But the same authors abo sptak of universals a$
words. Atistode, for instance, sa)'l that genus "det~rmines quality
with respen to $ubsmnce" and BOcthiul, his interpreter, writes of it
as "the unitary likeness of many species." Further, the verbs the pair
~ a~ sig"ificart and 1fI(J1fJlrart: the one pertai!lS to words. the other
more properly to thinss. Asain, Bocthius states that genus is a noun
predicated of $<"Veral other nQl.lns, thus employing: the analogy of th"
parts of speech io defining genus and species. In Abelard's view, he
errs, for a noun and a uni~rsa! are not the same thing. Univemls are

~'GI.. _,."., '",",,,i_. p. 7, ~-p. 8. 8.

""/iiJ.. ~. ,8..0. q_'"". ",p«""!, , 800:th'u •• I~ P"; " ....... cd. C. M...... YOI . l.
p. l~'. >,.""" I./..,~ .. Poo~i;;, cd. S. BruMk. CSEL48,.oI. >. p. 18).7 .

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 phil-
osophical argument as .. springbnatd for his own solution to the pr0b-
lem 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 Soc-
tatn 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 acci-
dl'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.
<It. J. pp. ~IJ2; sw.. ;,- .... lop:oI proo6 om Ta : [ It unn lKKhiOfl .be. A full
.....ty oL .... _ - ' d be,.fu,[ "'" _ _ be ... etnpI<d hoto .
.., G'" s.,.,- ;0..11>,,,•• 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

1lI11lC'man harbour contraries nor can it be ar8u~ that the paradOll;

rationallirn.tional ~(en only to W(lrd$ and not to things. For propo-
sitions 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 posi-
tiol1$. 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 individ-
uals. 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. Abc-
lard has little more patienc~ with the third option. In his view, the
proponents simply (Onfu.st universaliry and individuality. To be pred-
icllted 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
'" IW.. p. 11. ' s·p. 12 . ,6, Oh ,11< IoskO! ;mplieo'''''''' .... T~I., IIlwjI..,J .. u........
uh.9'I-'0II.
w IlOJ.• I,. )"7. '" /ftI.• p. I,. I~ ,.p. I~, 6. ''' ,MJ.. J~. g.
'" IW. . ,~. ,lI-" . ' '' IW.• I~. ,).,; . '" IW. . p. 14. -40-P. 'S."
'''IIiJ., P. '1. ,6-p. ,6, ,8. '''/IoiJ., ,6, 1\>"" .

"3
 LANGUAGI!, TEXTS, AND RI!AI.ITY

ro spoken languag~. GrammarialU, he stares, call JOme no\Ul$ .ppel-

lative, that is, designators of a class, while others are proper, rhat is,
drsignawn; of individual things. Similarly, logicians call $Om.. un-
c:omp:rundC'd speech forms (si""lius m 1'II'1f) universal and othel'$ par-
ticular. 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 predi-
cation. 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., wros
are correct and the resulting sen-
- I.... ,oS. '!I'JI. Toed,I<. 1o"'/IvJ .. U.~. '4' .... ,. <Ii.. i~u""" bt, ..." _
(u" ... ncel. 0" (..pn,· _I). Bu, Ab<1atd·, t<m>it........ , it "'" cons;"·
hint (woN). ond _
,... ,_ For. dio<uKion .. _ ond _ ......... pp. H'·7oS. ondJoIi ...... 1\>1:1 tilt """",. 11'
01 I-l. 10-71 i_ ond _~ ..... 89-9<> i~ Ab<w.I hi.....,f" I Lll1 L<I ha .. ,.";,d
h.ir " .. ~ in 'h< Loof"" "N__ ,..,;,""" $..-.-
Oft .. """,i,.. ,I... (IQ Ptirph,..,..
«l_
B. ~ (Ni ...... '9"), ,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 ""rocit<t.; .... m .... K>rIit
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<iMm. rti slalu",). By Con[nsl, pm;i;ution pertains tu the nalll~
of the thing aoo to the illWltntion of its actual Sn[e (ad rmnn IWf",am
~/ill"" ad IItrilaltm s/alll-J). Thus, the sentence " A man is a s[one"
is grammatically correct and appca." to WIf: predication through cat-
egories correctly. Yet, with respect 10 reality, it makes no se nse.""
Having so described "universal"' and "'particular," Abelard turns to
the property of universals a.:5 spoken words (ulliflmA/illm ""o.m pr-opri, -
1a.I)."" H ere, his objections (0 80ethius be«lme clearer. 8octhius, he
hokls, voiced doubts about their capacity to signify. Do they, he
asked, have anything as IMir subject-thing (tW sIIbj«ta) or . ny sound
meaning (inldUcIIl-J samlJ)?",6 Thty art not directly impose<l on things,
because, as established abo:m: , things nist as individuals. Nor do things
tMmselves "a.gm:" in a manner perm itting pledicatinn.'·' One might
therefore conclude with certain of the ancients that universals derive
none of rheir meaning from things, I!$pecially since , in thcmS(!lves,
they do not constitute things' understanding. At least, Abe!ard adds,
that appears to be Bocthius's view, both in Vr Divisio~1 and in h is
commentary on Porphyry. In particular, in the lattt t book, he main-
tains that every understanding devolves from a subject-thing, wh ether
the thing is being apprehended by the mind at [hat poillt nr nnt. For,
he says, an idea cannOt be created without a subject .''19
Abelard argucs that this ootion, which would make univenab ali en
to si8"i60tion, i5 incorrect. For universals ill his view signify by
naming things: not by forming an understanding ..risillg from them
bur by forming onc which per/aiM to each ."O The word "man" names
individual men fOI the r..ij~1I d'it.-r which they.U ,han', namely , being
mell. On this ""count '"man" may justly be called a univeual. The
understanding established in the mind is not proper or specific but
common; that is, it n']a(<"5 to the individuau whose common likeness
(tD_Nflis siff/ili/lldD) it conceives.
Universals, then, as Abelard sees them, really involve Ihn-e prob-
lems at once: (t) the common (aUII: (rommuII;S (ll1IJ4) ac(Ordin,ll; to
which the univenal is imposed; (2) [he mental concept ion nf the un-
derstanding nf the common likeoess (tDlltt/llio ill/dlmus romlllllnis simi-
/i/lldillil); and (3) whether the term h'Wlbll/llm) is called common be-

"'IUtI.• 17. 12_.8. "'10;.1.• p. 18. I'P, 19. I} .

... 10;.1" 18. 6--9. ,., s.. """"'. p. 19'f. ... PL ~ . I\8sIB .
... Gu.- '''1" ",,:NI' i .... 19 .• -6; Ront.;",. /. 1'00#:>' i .... 001, >. p. 16}. 1.
"'CImM. '9.8--9: " , . non «>no.i,,,,,ncIo ,.",.., ;n'.Ik<-< ..... de .it IU'I""''''. ot.!'"
"'.,.uw pmi ......... :·

'9)
 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
<pmpter .Q122l11litlUM ~ti_), or because of both I.t once. ' " In OI:her
terlll5, Abelud wisbes to investigate tbe cause, the likeness, and their
relationship to tile univenal as a word.
He fint rurru to tbe common cause.'" Individual men, be repeats,
are entirdy distitKt (rom each 04:ber both in essence and in rorm. Yet
they are united in being men. What then does "to be men" logically
mean? The e~ression fulfiUs none of tbe requirements Ari5tode sets
down ror subiunces. To be a man is not the same as "man"; that is,
"not to be in tbe subj«t" is DOt any actual thing. Nor does "to be
men" admit contlaJies of being greater or less. 1bcrt:fort:, the apm-
sion "to be man" is I>()( 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 bottU-
IJ(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 in-
sights 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<I.~ ""'.... ig .... -
... 11ItI.. 2<>. 12 .
... '''''. , ><>, ["'4: -s.-- q _ bon>i.,q m i _ It> ....... Iooonian ........... -..... ...
oppe!w.. _ ~m ....... >imi~ ".d ineno ill< 'I" .pi •• qui -.i>ulum ;",__ i,."
.., liOJ.,.o, 'S· [1. '''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.at-
isfie<! with the likeness of things (rei fi",ilitltd~), which the mind con-
figures for itself and. towards which it directs in actj~ thought. To
~turn to a previous ima.ge: one may destroy a tower but ~tain an
ima.ge of it in one's mind. The sense data pus away, but the likeness
remains, .,9
Yet Abdard reconceives both sense and undentanding somewhat
di«e~mly than do his mentors. The scnst, in his view, does not
consist of the thing perceived (m srntita), but rather the activity of
the mind directed towards the thing , Similarly, the undemanding is
not the form of the thing it conceives if"""" ... rei qll4l11 (oncipit).
Rather, inl,II,a.s is a cerrain activity of the soul, whence it is exprt'S-
sib!e by the p~nt paniciple inltfligt1/J.Yi» The form towards which
this activity is directed is an imaginary and fictive thing (....s i_g;"a~ia
qll4MaIll et fora) which the mind conStruCtS for itsclf when and how it
wishes, like the artist's model. a city seen in a dream, or any ot:her
image nt copy of a thing to be rormed (i1lJ1a~ " amrpLz, ....i forma,,-
d.u),)6, As such, it hu neither substance nor a«idents. Some thinkers,
he adds, apparemly rollowing Aristotle, identify the image and the
reality. They say that the form of a tower in the mind is somehow
the physical building itself. But it is really only a likeness of the
thing . ~·
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 $quar~ness and height out of which (he
tower in turn is formed. These, in his opinion, compri~ the intellc<-
tion's true form <vr.-a fonna i"u/fertlts), Yet, he ;s quick (0 add, square-
ness and height cannot exist apart from bOO;es. for , as proven abo~,
neither an essence nor an undentanding can be created from a finive
quality.J6.0 Perhaps this form is like a mirror image, which i$ the
subject of sight but is itself troly nothing_ Asa;n. if I see a stone,
does my mind reac( to the reality or to an ;mage),6, In Abelard'S
view, when the reality is present, the mind has no ne«l of an image.
On the other hand, he opposes the view that, wheIT there is only
sense. there is no undentllnding. For the mind often perceives one
thing and thinks o( another.
,,. s... ....... , p.
' 79. "'"GIo.s.... 20 . • 8." . ,.. 11<11. , 20, ".,6.
-", 11iJ.• u. " 1. -", 11<11.. u. 6"7 .
... :;.. abo.< , p_ ~,f. ,., G...... ". ,11-.6.

397
 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 reply-
ing 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<i image, while the particular produces the specific or in-
dividual furm. Let uS compare " man" and "SocIlltes.·· When I hear
"man," an image (ilaf4r) arises in my mind which is common to all
lIH'n and proper to oone. But, wben I hear "SocIlltes:' a fOrm r.fo'rm-)
arises which exptess.es the likeness of an individual person. nUll, as a
word (wuhllilllll), SocratH brings to mind the proper form of one
thing, whkh it certifies and delimits (artifialllr If dmrmi1wfllr), while
"man" signifies neither Socrates nor any other man, since no single
man is specified by the term', force (0: vi "01'#";1), although, in fact,
it names particulars,
Socrates, however, not only names a particular thing bur also de-
termines a subj«t-thing.,I6, B~hius, of COl.ltS"', said that every un-
derstanding has a subject-thing,,161 and this applies to univef$llb. For
the thing which is the subject of understanding is eitber the substance
of the naI thing as received by sense 01" the conceived form of a thing
when the reality is absent; and this form may be common, as in the
case of many things, or proper, as in the case of one. FOJ example, to
depict a lion WC' may dIllW a picrurc of what is common to all lioru
or what is proper to one in various situations. Bur, if the universal or
particular refet b&ck to reality, the name also looks to the form to-
wards which the understanding is dir«rcd.''o This, Abelard ..lds, was
also the view of Priscian, who m.inClined that universals signified
both common imposition and common form.'''' And, bc{(lI:t they come
forth in bodies, tbey are produced in the divine mind. To illustrate
the point, Abelard once again has rerowx to Priscian's image of God
as an arri5c or artisan.'"
The CMNIUI"is ((JllUjlrio, then, i5 ascribable to God. not to man. Such
"general ,",'Orks" or "special ctonditions of nature" are not produced. by
a mundane crut$man. Concepti, therefore, like man, soul, or stone
a~ proptr to rhe deiry, those like house DC sword, 10 man: the lat~r
arc not W1ltks of nature (""'IIffM oprr.,), nor do their refer ro worm
substan~ (1Itr M'U' II«aIJllia JllbJta"riM /11111). Rather, tbey are acci-

... rlW.• ". >7·,8 . ... rjiJ. , p. ". >7"1'. >l, 6 . oM s.. alo<:M. p. J9) .
... GIouM .... 7'24. ,'" ,.". G._ . • '7 .... ..... >, p. 'n. 7·
". GI.u..... }1-2" •.

,,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~ impute<! to t h~ divine mind by
absttll(:tion (",b$t~"'(lio) . Men learn of most things through the senses
and scarcely ev~r rise to such an intellectual awareness. They are pre-
vente<! from knowing the natu~ of thing! in th eir mOllt ttfine<i statc
by exterior sensation (txlmll1' sntJl4Iljlill). God, however , distinguishes
the individual states in themxlves (Iing,.li ll",t/IJ ;'/. u). Further, when
O«Iinary mort.1s are deprive<! of the senses' eviden(e, all too often
they reason not by understanding (inttlligtllti4 ) but by opinion (opi _
IIio).'" Similarly, men have only an "opinion" of such intrinsic forms
3$ Ntionalify, mOfNlity, and fatherhood, which do not arrive ;n the
mind via the senses. Yet, the namn of existing things 8enel>lte un-
derstanding 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 Iisten-
er'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 uni-
versals 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 ap-
proaches, Alxlard urges, are reconcilable. For, when Aristotle argues
that univenais exisi in sensible things, he speaks of actuality or to-
ward 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 signi-
lYing 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"".• ' ) . ' 8, '~.
, ,, fOY. • '). ) 0 - )3 ; IIoo;th .... . f. f'~ ... 001. '.p_ , 67. 3-
'" IOY.. ' 3. 3~·'4 . 2; I. , ..,.";,, ... vol. ' . P. , 67 .1.

3"
 LANGUAGE, TexTs, ANO RIlAI,ITY

addition to the thing and the undentandins, a third element in mean-

ing, 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 $Omerhing away" from its
composite state in ordet to rdlect upon its natun: alone. The opposite
to this state of affilin, of course, is thinking in terms of unity. Take,
for instance, a "man", he is at once body, animal, and man, and is
invested with infinite forms. If onc igoom the fornu and concenttates
on his mlUtfial csscncc, onc dfcctivdy bring, about an understanding
by means of abstraction, If, howo:ver, one thinks of both his essence
and his body simultaneOusly, one thinks in tttms of a unity. Yet, one
can think evcn of thest twO in isolation from his other characteristi",
in which case the result once again il undtrsu.nding tbto\l8b abstrac-
tion,'·'
Such conceptions mlly appeat to be false, sincr thq envisage the
thing in terms other than those in which it sllbsuntivcly exists. Not
so, Abelard. argues; for the abstraction does (I()( violate the nature or
property of d>e thing icsclf. It pertains to the mind's application e,.t.
UIJIio), (I()( to the mode of es:isrencr (.,tV' s"bsutmril).J&, Otherwise,
Ilndenrwdill8 icsclf WQuid be devoid of meaning. After all, it is nO(
the thing alone which posscssts such an idea; tather, attention is fo-
cused on it to d>e degree tUt t~ form inhem in it. And, in a anain
sense, as Boethius says, it il uooentood differently from how it is.
But this O(~mess is OOt a stare; it is only a mode of undentanding.
In Other words, through the p£OCCS$ of abstraction, ~ thing is under-
stood 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. , ,~. )~J.
,.. /iiJ., p .• ~, ''1'. ' 1, ,. ""liiJ., ." ,.",
... /W... ,. " .
 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<h;....... " ' - . p_ PI ,
•., I~".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.
 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 ap-
plied, 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 Pris-
cian with his own insighrs on the nal~ of language and reality. His
rdationship 10 the notion of written language is complelt, and ope-r-
ates 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 (Por-
phyry) 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. "'IW.. l'. ,.".

4°'
 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<liOG quilibu, si ,ha,intem haoo, ....!de d","u, <1t.

-r,_, "" S..", Virnt'"",, 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--<an aid Onc to understand
higher theological realities.
Abdatd then:by places himself at one pole of lwdfth-century Mt.
me~ufic development, while Se SC'rnatd,"" together with other

... no. ..rl, !iutMu.. "" fI<, ....... i, "'i<!l, ,wn"",';...! by E. Voooodotd . ..a......... (s...n" .-
me " ' , 18.j·8, o.nd ..,..... 'i.dr by L. j ....._k. 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 d<r II<mbotdfond>u"ll:' /Smt.
Jt-J ... CL.;" " MM.-.J Al1";..... . , , <W~, 'l»'). 3'43. Mort <p«:io.l'...! tHbli.,.
~ Ini .... ;ndl><k E. T . K< .... ~ . .",. '0. <"",,;om.""" of SI. a..".td ofCloj .... UlI
and th< p~ in ,11< m;,j. r ... lfch CM,uI)" A a .. ,-.,. ofSclooUNltip. ·· T,Mi,io ' l (1j167). 7J-
"I; A. H . Bo ' . G. "So . 11<.-""'; and ,11< Hi"""'" .... 54i .. 1Wud <l e"';""""" ... (Kala_
.......,.,. M;ch .• '917). '7.6>; ond. on ,11< """....:np.. of a..-.........
- no. ,he ...;...., "ndi«
of J. L,d«<q, R""'" ,,1tWt> '''' S. B...-.J .. '" mu. , ",10. (Rom< •• jI6., '?li6. ,\>69).
F..ndom<n,o.l «I .... Ifudy of Ik>-....td.• Ilk. ,"""&h'. <od ,,,8,,,,,,,,. ""
tu. "". i, E. Vo<andud.
Vii M $";'" 8......J. ,nd «I.. , 001 •. (h<i •• ,897). 8,;00 <<I<Y<k'p,,,Ii, ..,;';1<0 i",,)I><k: _ .
DTC '.'. H6--8,. A. I. lIoil, "lI<motd (Soim), Ditt~" ";,,."""ill, _;,p.. .. ""~ ,
('9H). '."'-519 (wi'" ut . .",. .i ... tHJ.I",*"plI,. ,.S*w). P. Ro<h ,,'" N. 11en>Id. "&<n.
hotd. AIx ..... aaifYlUll ," R"'I....,u.,u;./.. ",,"W.,k<iJ< T/w4ril .od If:..-m. ., (0,'-39. and
F. Opp<nhtim.nd K. Ra'ht. ··B., .... tdo di Ch;.... .. I.. : ( ... '; L ,.,to/u •. 'i'3.j6 . In
oddi""" ro ,I>< """lIfCSKt li"od above. imporrut, ..."n, <om"",....,..ioM of fI<,natd ,"dudo:
5.U<ot B,=,J ,~;,.. -I...t.... S"-'; (),Ji." ( i,_,;, l> (, 9,,). F"'KbNf' ..... 800-j_""''''
J«hI";''' T.J.o 8woJ>.tJJ .." C~ (Vi<nna, '9H) (d<>.ii"ll ..... nl, "'<h -I,,,,, ..... """,.
"""i..), MIInp S".", ~ ... (Dijon . '9'. >' 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.

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 Ber-
nard'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...
fi~1IiJ tbat c1ennth- and twelfth-
century authon began to evolve differing DOI:ioos of the text:. Ansclm,
for his pm, bad bridged the morwtic and scholastic realms by sug-
gesting that the establishment of logico-linguistic r.cn was not in-
compatible 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_
cbopter. In: tan, , .. iEw ... hi> inH"" .... 011 mtdlnal ' ...... '" DO< ....... iantd !:>do.- _,
J.Oo\'ilJoo., "L·jDIIIlil1lH do: s. BeIii'oN iUl 10 pe ',_.;que ... 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~" s.
V""'; R.. i3~i .
•"S. 1I..... do. 10 ~1".,,60.:· $. 80_"", .,•.,,, . ...,j 8. Bell>I •• s.. ...... "" .". ......
... ,'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'<I Hill , .~,), '7-60; on Cioi=io:l ido:abo im 'Oi,,...n_
.-id! 00 .... nodfih-
<tfttoI.,.onion.... C. w. 81"_. "Tbt Ciomcioto . ....... ,pt ... of Corn<»IIIIi,,:·
"icJ R....., 1St (19n), '7)-86 .
11...-01 T....

... T .... i_ M _ . , . ". . . . . .

N . H~, ··Abolatd y .....,., "'" Todoy:·

_ .. ill <urn< to d.. older it,'" ..}.
r..., . . .
O. I!.! • ,.,,100, Ti><SdMJ<fP_ A~. 10"4', ond
J. )4J-". 0.. Abolord·,
Cottiau.. -u. ,_........ do 10 _losiE<bo, Ab&rd,-
,""oIoA,.
IlHE ,8 (IU'). ' H.<;I" H'-". """ 788-8.8. !mp",,"" ... ..". ",iE .. ol the hiototial
'1'''' ;"".. io A. Bont. ""AblIord uar:\ Bttnbold. - Hi, , .,.l<itJt!ri/<
,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., orti""*' ...................
iciocn it S. Vonnl Rooripi, ""So:<
8oonootdo.1o it",..,.., - S- __ "" (Mi"". Ill,.). .,...t<>.
:For. !... 01 ob<~...
s.r...rd .• atado:_ .. ~ ....... iono, ... J. l.e<J.tcq, "100"", __ , ....
do la Itru<-
m.i'" do S. &mon! n.;' Abaatd: lboot 78 ('968). ~J .
... Uo~;' -"sit-""';" &,=o'(I'aoW, '9)04).
 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 be-
twt('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 struc-
tun: 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 con-
suuctS 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 to-
wards the reform of outer action, &$ it d id not in schol&$tic analysis.
Physical symbolism, too, if allegorized, n:mained within a framework
that was essentially titualistic, although such rituals, now dependent
on subjective interpn:rarion, ~n:, like the gr()Up inccractions of ear-
lier reformers, byproducts of an intensiv~ly literary experience. The
externalization of the ascetic ideal was thus brought about by a si-
muhancoU$ 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,

tI':Xt, ...hich
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 tuch-
ing 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 sym-
bolism. 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 partic-
ular (rorn penance. Hence , his names for the triune God are ;"'/"'P';"
(W 2). He daims tbat the holy spirit 00." not .rise '"from the sub-
stance" 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
... [110 .. _ cb< comcn>:nt....".,..,. ofE. Ln.Jo, "Bcmard onc! Abe!mI It .he Coun<i[ '"
S<no, 114<',- in _ J r{CJ.itwa. S"-;" Pi.. I .. JA.J_ L..1mf [Washi ........ , D.e.,
197V. SN' . Tbe _ _ • edi,;"" ;o tho< "'N. ~. "Di< v......m..<;.pi.w. ~
~ri Abodatdi," C _ I ( Is>/IO), ~, . ,~. The .[J • ,iat_ below . . '" Will;""', ("90') onc!
Ikonud', (8) liI<t. N "', J»iP<IO" i, pu...." "" ".-.p .. ...... '" __ cb< ..,... '" ..t.1o:h
.b< . . . .t. oct ••II,. dixuoo Al:cW<I", tndoinl; 011 dd. n-, ... cb< .~ ..... _ '"
~. Tht S"-I. 1" ..... Don> l.«1<tcq n<UI ('~ M''''''''' p. ''''~ 'n. q.u ""'< ...
o-p;.w.1 On .. ~ lot .".ibuo< .... ,(doo; ...... do 0.;....,.. Il .. ntblt pl..... io<rrot~ .....
qu·il,"';"" J"~ d. V-:i.Io do s......H

,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 p0-
lemical 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$tion
was "philosophical" or "theological"' did not matter as much as what
Wa5, in his view, a rasonable solution. In Bernard's case, as We shall
see, just the opposite was true. Fact, as he saw it, was already esrab-
li$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:peri-
cna. 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 de-
Kribed as the acting out of an intensely personalized ritual. But Btr-
nard 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<U pronounced,
hearing what is ca.lled 'the voicCl of the !Moges.' " In this "acoustical
reading, "- Ugen had the sensc of a.gittm 01' (D1IJMtrrnr, that U, onc
thought about the ten as onc read it a.loud. In the monastic environ-
ment texts a.lso influenced "the practica.l or even mora1 order. "4<>' 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 insep-
arable 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. <nnI. c_ MJuahi (N.... Yod<. 19'51)••,. ••.
Cl_ J- ....,•. "I..«tio dm ..... I«nu.: Jpiri<udlo::' O>tc>oo . .." ,. ,,·,itoMiII• ..... 9, 48,~ .
A IimpJe lis< a( otI<hon ill ,"0,;J,4 ~ J. 1obI,-. -A 1«.io dioi...• _ ... ""'" 1_ I,tic... do
..... Idode NMiII.- $"w/u lif-m,., ('m). ,67-81: for. NU '";..,. "' ..... ...bjo<., ... ".
Voadosobmub. "U _ d,.,; ... ... I" OIl '¥ »ktt. - iJiJ.• 8 (1966). 267-93 . On the """.
ti.,..;,y with uoc;'" ltOdilll pranim. _1. Bdoth. - 'V_ I'..r' .. '.. . :. p~' 'C" 6.
(1"1). 14-'", • ..,2'40 ...... G. 1- 11.,0010' L_. - A""imt !looJilll,- T. Cw,UlJ--' .)
('9'9). ,8,'96. On ."'" n>k IX'''''' ~ '" God.... the 1npotLan< anodr IX D. 1'arbaloIvr.
L'i.~ j, ,.;..,. fliml... ..;... ~ ~ lis (,~ ,. ""'" 1l...,oi(lI.o<n<. I~). ' 1-". On a.n...r.
0<}'It IX bihlicol ql.:nli,," in the So. . . CnSU .... J. 1zc:klC\j. ''S. s.m..d .. la .mi.ion
bibliqIot d·apn. ... SuB""" "'" Leo CMiliq ..... - s-;, boJiri I' ('96<». u,..s.
w'., .• ,.
... LocI<l'C\j. 'I1ot u... ( I
- J&tJ.• 78. Cl. St. 1It11_d. hi 0,. . Ea' w, _ ,.,. S.llto_ ..'q,.... od. J. Ib;1"'q.
C. H. Tolbo< ...... H. M. Il<odoail (~. 1s>68J, ""'-. ,. p. ",. 10-'3. A I l _ i _ ..m
bt .... fto<n do;' odirion """ clred ~ """-. pq ....... lino,
 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. Sacrt<l and profane srimliu
might provide aids to understanding, but the grasping of the inner
meaning depende.! largel y un his ability 10 come 10 grips with what
W1lS before him on the page. The interaction took place betw«n the
text, his self, and his faith .
Bemard', intentiOI1$ are confirmed by what =
know of his manncr
of composition, dclivery, and publication. Like many twclfth-ulllury
preachers, he did !lOt circulatc precisely what he said.- His sermons
were both oral and rherorical performances . bur on different occasions.
In the fifty-fourth of his StmW1IU I llfm' C.ll/lira, which wtre written
between 11 3~ and 1 1 ,3,"",1 he made one of his rare statements on thc
matter. As his tCJ;t, hc noted, was the same as on the prnious day,
there wu no need for him to repear himself. The message could IIOt
have be<!n forgotten in so short a time. Even if it wen: , recovcry would
be easy, since his words, as was his habit, wcre written down (Kripla)
as they were spoken (tiil1ll), that is, reco rded by pen (tMr/JIa stylo). , 06
Elsewhere, he indicated that the diffcn:nt Stages of litcrary production
were tbemselves indepe ndent. In one letter he spoke of three phases,
composition (tiinarr), tral1$cription (jra>lSffibt), and publication (<<i-
idl).'" In another, he rm.ntioned ora! presentation in small groups
(twI/m"rl, writing out (striiJm), rcvis iol1$ for correction (fflogitarr, CM"-
rigm), and [he purting Out of an anthology ({tf,tlldlml pratbml.""'" These
rough indicators of his methods of composition are confirmed by his
contemporariet, who often served as hi$ notllriet, (oIJettors, or imi_
tators, and may be summed up as follows: a purely verbal delivery;
transcription, usually by Other hands; revision and editing by himself;

.. , I...:I'I«!. TO. '-" t{ f_iorr. 8, . n- quo,.,;.. .... "'" ... i,,",,,, r>ppxt ..i... tfibal
.. Ii,;o,,; ... P. R,.". ··SI. 1I<rnuol ..... ,I>< ~ndi on ,I>< Nom< "'God,"' Bwo.mI t{ Cf.t,,.,...,,,
">"[4 ·
- l.<d....:q . ""So.if'll II<mud et 0<1 - . / , . ; ...: ' lI.onmJ ' . Pr · 3·~·
... 5 _ ,... Cnti<.. [, n. 0.. ,I>< _.~~ f-O ... J. 1.«1<ro:! . ..t.o ..... du 1<,1<'tM<!
.... I< c....jq"" <In (a".iq"",:· S"'" s...-J .",,~... Warn. '9-18). 4110.8, .
"'S- H · I.!, ¥OI . " ' 0' . ".,, : ··Non ... OpUS .... p<tiota .. _ ... q_ "";0;'" ..,..
.. bi,,,,. in.am brni. Si ql>Ominl>l wn<1I. I<1"iptl "'M '" diet ...... , .. "':<plO ",k>,
ok .....
.....,.........ri .... I'o.<il. """P'"'<t"' quo< fOrt.: ...:io;k.i, .- Cl. I-«I<I«!. 7·
... E,. [H, S. Bmom6. np-, vol . 7 (1974), }60 ( .. pt [8>. " ~_B). Cl. l«1<r<q. "Soin,
B<""'td ............i ...:· 8.
"'"Wl<r<q. ~.• " .
 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 influ-
ence. <" 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 "tex-
tual 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<i as follows .• '.
Monies, Bernard states, requitt other nourishment than those living
in the world. and their instruction must be given in a different man-
ner. PauJ said that Oldinasy ..... ·1· should be given "'milk, not meal..... ,
But elsewhere he noted, "We speak ftOt in the leachings of human
wisdom but in the doctrine of the spirit, comparing spiritual things
with spiritual. " .. 6 And he added, "We speak wisdom among the per-

... /0iJ.• >}-> • . 0 . P. l l _ . "'Oit ,.."u.; St. Botnhut\I _ CI.;.......,..- s,~ """
Mi#oi~ _G.>H6I..,S, q,;~ H ('9,,1. 61~.
, .. L«lm:q. - Ion toq>o> _ • • ," " • •
, .• I"".. ,,6.'7 .
". J- 1<d<1«1. "'l.<o s...- "" 1<0 Coa<i<j...,. _·il> ttt ....""""..t.r R."""'- '. '9l·>U.
0.. KJli<ri< 'I'I'<R"'"" i~ .......J .... J. Lerl«oq. ""So.i .. ikn>onI 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<t<q. " Un ... do S. 1Im:wd, bi.I,"" "" !iflhwlw<,"
$,,,,J; ,. 'i U ('97'1. "H- 0.. &ma.d', win . ... C. ~."()t ".,;0,.. "" la
Ion""" .. ",I<
I. dt ..in' Bcrnud. " in S..
"fie i. ' .... od moo-< !".. t:tI1r br Ii. Po_. '*' Cnhco. l'OI . • (19)8). ;'·XlIII:iii. Bomud'.
"Son B«...do «ri,...... - S,Jj I. S.... B.......
• 6"19""" by E. A.IC,bkh. ~ t..,___ in PoMic. 7""78 .
.. , n.: IoIlo.-i,.. "",..1Otdnmy euli .. ....r. "E>q>orirnce. Prax". Work ond Plato.,;"!! in
8t<fW<I of 0.; ....... , 0bs<rtaci0nII OIl ,he $.,,, _ c.. .....,"
io in J . .e.
Mottdoch 000 E. D.
$f!I>..... T!. CJ"",J C.._ . M howl~., (DoNt.<t". '9":)... ~.
,., $,y.. c-.... s_ '. l'OI. '. pp . , ·8.
,., ,er.- ,_, ••; H<I>t , . U" 4_ ,~ ,er.- •.1, .
 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<liding evil and doing g<)O<I, and no good
work is possibk without obeying commandments. Having thus rid
them~lves of world ly ncess, the monks can turn 10 such a sacred,
theoretical di$COI,Irse, a text which is, as suggested, the fruit of the
ot her tWO. Irw:i..-ed, this "sacred reading" could not ha~ been under.
taken before th., flesh was subduc.:! And the world's vanit;tI spurned.
The blind man cannol see light; "the animal man does not ~r(eive
what is of th., spirit of God. "".
But who will brf:ak this third loaP For, it is written. "Know the
Lord in Ihe breaking of the bread. ",,~ Not I, says Bernard: his breth_
ren must "look upon" him as if to "look for" nothing from him. He
himself begs for enlightenment into the Song's myster ies. He asks
God to "break the bread" by his own po~r, if through his hands.
Moreover, 5pHking of interpretation, he asks, of whom and to whom
is it said, "Let him kiJS me with th e kiss of his mouth)"'" Why this
in!Crj~tion at the OUtSet? For the words are spoken as if in reply to
anOther person. Further, why a kis$ "of hiJ mouth"? It is, after all, a
charming Wlly to begin, to entice the reader, and to lure him towards
rhe text's hidden senses. In short, one is immediately struck, as }kr-
nard puts it, by this "beginning without a beginning," which pro-
vides clear ev idence lhat the work was oot of human OUt divine in-
SPiratIOn.
The dtle tOO has ;($ own meaning. In Hebrew, Solomon signifies
~ace. The canticle begins with a kiss, a mken of pHce; and only

." , 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
which has the same mcanins, that is, when liBel of frttdom sans:
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 com-
pox the Song. It ill a uniquo: picce of writing, celebrating as it does
tbe marriage of Chrilt and the church,'" thereby embodying the SI-
cred 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 com-
bats of C'tet}'day life, tbe monb ling their gratitude for small viCto-
rie. 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. "4_'
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 .
... For on",.) ..ion vi ct. .. ,ho.... , ... 1'. ~, "L·<cd... ;";"." dr S. 1Iemud," SMOI
- "",,",-, '36-90·
... Po 118:,•.

4"
 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 phys-
ical.
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 com-
munication (alII artt alilt/'" dia/lda JIIIII). And the otherness rhus in-
spiml 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 funda-
mental 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
... Cl<> ,ho ""'1;"" <1<"",", ;n s,. &rn.rd', ''"'-'l!h, ...... h, onl, 'h< .....do,ed "udr ~
G. P,;..hm .... {)it 1-iittUdJ. K......... io;" F....,;p.;, BmJ..," _ cr.'- (~.

J9H)·

4'3
 L,..NGUJl.GE, TEXTS, ,..ND IlE,..LITY

into action. In thi5 wly ~haviou[ is both improved Rod reformed

<_.z; U ;,,/_ZI), the ll!rer rerm effeo;rively (ornbining both in-
struction 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). Sacra-
mental bread and physkality art thus linked to inner truth, and the
pair of Old Testament booio are made Steps in moral reform. Prov-
erbs, he adds, teaches fear of God IlIld obedience to his command-
ments. 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<tuaIiry and innerworidliness.
The two books, then, lead to the third as stllges of personal, mys-
tical a5CC"Dt. Having passd through their steps in rd'onn. one can
approach the threshold of tbe WCft' Ih«wiaIJqlU J""'~ , '" which is t~
fruit of both. This is texrved not only for the sober "i n mind" but

"".,1"........
.. , 8«...-4', id<oJ <If ..... born d~ '"«Om ...... " " ' " m,.... """' ..... ol
poinn ol"';". Ot> "'" Gm!< o\oIntn,. "'" d......,. ol J. o...i&u ao>d J ..IoI. Db:hou>rt i.
s..;", s.-..... J ~_ u ....1 u m.....u.. i .....rip<ion ol). PJrs, "Die Kooottmpla< ............
nodi d<r Lthtt des hi. 8tmt00.td.- J ....b fir fhil... ~Io;, .. . '3 (0909). '10-78 ao>d "'" .......
""""",,0.. puJi<6. uo.. ill ui_ Elltwidtht.,,,JI(,,, _h "" lMn "" N. 80 ' " IP",ibuI,.

_1I. Bo ! ,,_ct·..
u..."",;.,..., '51<'6). All _ , pbt,,,,,,,,, >108;00[ opp ..... ~ ..... J. .$dud:, 0.. "";pi,. e,.,."
'9"), ,1-10', i . Gibm', u ,! (
"". F.;,,!I,;....., .... c "'.",,~,-c... :fOI .,('WOiI!obut8.
C , " ..",.., .It _ - * _ !lit JUbjen <If • cri,,,,,,,, '"
JI. . d·,.. ... , "k ",,..iciom< do<"';", Bomud;' R.... .. ""...- 'vU,.,.." "('93'). ~7i14
(. ~pri"l: KI . . . . . . ,I>< ;'" " ' ;"3 bo,o, _fuxd ..... olr. _""). I'oc ... ;,_.. , ......
_ ........ "'" dill"m,,, !Un<t;o", ol m1";o.m .... "'1 ..... ...., in J. loIoudoch ond E.
Syll., M .• n. CIIh_ C _ t( ... I'" ,J! . ; ... , ond,_ -JI '" J. Scmmeriekh, -n..
ipis,,,,ocqinl V.I .... ol M,..;c;.m 10 "'" n.oo,h< ol8tn>otd ol 001 ......... " $.... iot ...""'-I
c.Jum I (,~), .... ,S. ao>d "a..riun&tic.,.j G ........ Ltod<nIIip in ,loo n.....pc olll<motd
ol Oo.inau:<, - 8<=" t( C~, 73""90: d . E. Ke_. '·......
ilbt<lo """ Ataum<n. in ,lit 0.
c-n! ''',..,'' ;fU., 9"'''9. lbht" -.....w at.., loo .-It of 'h< O<w!ioo ol P. 0<1/"1 __ ond
S . ..,., ,"""'" i. 1..;", _ , ' 01/;1.... and.hI: wotfuJ. "m"ducti"" of R. 1.inhu<It. 0;, 101,..,,'
"" N. &rd " _ Cw.-" {biuni<h, '9'Y, "'71'.

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 E<ri_. l '. p .

'" S - '+,. p. " " . " , '·E, q.od<m iu<~I>d"", ~i."" q..od'" <>o<u1o pri<.<ipi....,
"reM"m.
• ....,i., .. bl.oo.. ipu. q.-lam S<ripto ... foei .. lot;" aA\<i, .. . 11i<~ od ita., quoad
in .. I".. dm« .... iOln <wn Iobo.. in.... 'i8 .... ... t.,iso< inquml>di fort< diffi<uh», '" doquii
, .. vi"" ..... krt .. •

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 ex-
pressly 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 begin-
ning," 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 ex-
presses 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 inexpe-
rienced "burn with desire," not so much for knowing as for experi-
encing (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<rm.rd"•• mphooio "" np<tirnct ha> b«n dj....-! bt-. numbe. '" <OI'nm<n".ton . Sec
,bon oil J. MoutoWl. "Sur In cridt<s d< r .. pkiM« ."i..;.o<Il< d·opr<. I................. I<
Ca..tiqo.>e d<t , ....;q.,...- $"; .. s..-J <IoioJoejpt. 'Sl-67; &loo, Ill. Suodoon. "1..0 .pi.j""Ji.f
do .. i", &.rtu..d; · S. 1JmtioW . . . , 46-.~ ond E. Wols.... ·"Soi". Ikmard mystiq ..... doc=or
d< .. "'T";q"':' iMJ. > 67>10· Gumi< d·lJ"n, . who beotd 11< .......... ptrt<h ••pool. of ini,i,,;on
in", Scril'm ... u ",';oi~ ,be I;"",. .m.,;,; I. N.wi ~...... """ ,, ".oIi. _ l . l. J>L
,8,. ,9,0. An ..p!kj. _ _ '" Il<mood', ptin<ipld .... modo hr Will;.", "'St. n.;"..,..
T...w", ill Nil... " ~ A_ 'Q.,'. 1'1. ,8.t'lwA·B, 01>1, ...... b.«I...d dixuued b!'
Ill. o.uno..i«. $.;" 11 ...... ,1 ., ~ 1I!W< (Pori • • ' 9H). 9'"98; d .• _ ,.........!J.
J. H.,.....;,,' •
•"s. B<mord .. Gu.ilLa.".,. de Soln,·Thiorty dono lo'Ubtt de A....... : .. S.illl s..-J <NoU,ia.
»'·}l· Fw • 10.11 =<11' ""I"" of lI<.nord·, .... pt<i<n< ••• '" S<dp<o",. >« 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 ac-
tive 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 "mis-
erable 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, isa-
iah, and Jeremiah, were all tOngueiess (uinKlles). Their utterances COlI-
tained 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""'" <O,I;i' ..... com_ et COItfuodor in " ..... ,jpoo>.
... /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 tan-
gibly, 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<i....,.di. d<.;i;':otI,ut _ _ C<Bt. . " ..... ; •• te·
e""""'" ",km ptof>cimtj!>w ;..:10'«<'01. pot'" ,onium ""'. <>perieto' .. fU. pe,fu,"."

4'9
 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 su-
preme (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 cwtom-
ary 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 cor-
p!)!'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 corpo-
real, 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 ,
.., IW. • p. , ~. " ' P, '9. , .
... _ 4.,. 4. p. '9 • • &.p. "", n .
 LANGUAGIi, TEXTS, AND REALITY

to 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 cor-
porality; 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 ulldentand-
ing (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
•.. S..... S.I.I.p. U . 9-I<I. -1lorn',"<I .
... S..-- , .1.1 . p . " . _21: ... . . ........ ,., P<' <os""'" in'"''II><nlUm''''' in _ .. n>

... .. p." , ".p. u

/~ • •. - S_ ,.1 . '. p. " , 11-12 .
,,' lbU. • >2. " . '.=-l .. iokrio< '.1 ""'quo "Piri"" prop<i is ..... 1 ~ ib... <8,at. oed ,.,.,,""
qui"'" i"""M, """ ..i.... n.w...,."
... /~.• , . , ·l. p. " • .,.,.. , ··Ill. ." ,,,,. u' '''''' ........ . m. or plo . ,' ,,";01 ..... 1>0 rroc..!
dubio ",is -'bus """ ut i~:·
" . /t.iJ. • " . '''-lo; I Co< 7.) 1.

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 contem-
plation, 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 $Cparate the wheat from th~ chalf, to
prn.s win~ from grapes, or oil from olivC"S ~ By rhis manner of thinking
Berna.rd comes to another conclusion. While lower and higm,r spirits
utilize bodies, neither benefits from them "in Requiring what makes
rhe spiritual creature bl~.·· The brute is incapable of enlighten-
ment, the celeStial spirit has no need of it.' )'
wm.t then of man, whom Bemard, in the traditional metaphor,
sees as occupying a midpoint between the highest and the lowesa'!'
His spirit needs a body both for his own advancement and for the
benefit of othen. m Bemard asks how he could instruct his brethren
without a tOll8ue. It follows that every created spirit, and not just
man's rmioll4IiI ."hM, requires the ~ of the body, either for others
or for itself and others. , .. Some living things seem to have no human
~, but that belief is an illusion. Often, Bernard argues, they perform
more beneficia.! services as objects of reflection than in fulfilling cor-
poreal needs. m Some in h et are harmful, like poisonoUs plants. Bill,
even if they do not provide food or serve another /Unction, they ofTer
matter for exercising the intelligence (i"gmillm ",trrmJo). For IllI who
U$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 an-
other 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< ......
<bn S. 1Iemud," s",;., BmMnI u.u,;.", Il~''''
... s...., , . ' .~ ,p . ' J, J_".
""~ , ' 3, ''"'3' -C... <fti,., inf<" , _ op<n,,w,," o<nof<""lut ......... """,;B libto .....
.. oboq"" <_rod.,.;"'" I<,i, ... oboq ... diftkuk... ;okUi",r
.,. IoU., ' l, ' l -lt . ..' 11iJ., ,. ' .), p. • " .,." .
'" 11iJ. •J,. 2.:" . . . u' ob.q"" ... (<<><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 _ _ ."
·" 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 om-
nipotent, 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<ampk.
Sce, M Jays to his brethren, how he now instllKu you through my
corporffi tongue, when doubtless M coold inform you directly with
greater facility .·60 He employs the human vnice, he adds, not as a
"need" but as an "indulgence." He thereby advan~s the monks' in-
tet"C$t! while advancing his own.'" And, if God has 00 real need of
ITlC'n, he has eV1:n Jess use for crc-aCUTn chat lack sense Of I't'aSOn. He
takes up lower spirits not for rheir "efficacy" but th~ir "congruence,"
sin~ he knows from what causes the moot su itable physical mults
ensue. oN Such bodies obey him, but he has no neOO of a body.'"
That is how things always were, although, befo~ Christ's com ing,
ITlC'n wen" generally ignorant of the fact. Accordingly, sermnn si",
recapitullUes c-arlier religious history as an C1<ample for the present.·6<
In ~tnard' s view, the ancients "'experienced" God's benefits, yet
their "'benefactor was cort(c-aled"' from them. They lived in ignotan~
("u(i"""t): they Wf:~ from Him but not with Him; they lived by
Him but not for Him; they had a uste of Him but not Him Himself.
In short, they we~ alit'lali, i"grali, ilfJt1IJ4li.<I» They attributed what
they were, what gave them life, and what they kn ew to nature rather
." /IOJ.• ' .' .7. '4.
p. '4'>' ,
'" ,~. . ,.>.8. p, >4. ,6-p. >" . . ·" 'Id.. , .~.8-9. p . • ,. ~., ,,.
""IOJ.• >,. ,0-,>; " F,". ml>i ~,., ... quod ti"&"",,, m<OID <orp<><.I<rn . ..u m"", nun< in
_ "''''''. <10« .. oidolk« _ . ""'" por J< oboquo dubM> 60<;"" ..... ;""11'< id p<>o. ;,. "
..' I~.. >" " · '4. "",;aJ.. , ., .10. p. >" ., .•6. "" "-I.. •,. }"
... On ,,,. ..,ion of Ill< Wool in hi",,,,)', Of< 11. McGinn. '"$o;nt IIrtnotd ond Eocho'o/<>e:r.··
8....-J "' C~, '7,.8, .
"'S..-, 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 in-
volving "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 mira-
cles, 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;- !«Itoio<. •. :. 0". 101 . Cord;"". "'L> op;mo......, od" ";l. 'Pi-
rituok '" .ok.!. &.mardo,- DiMI T..... " ('947). ,ar-ol.
,.. /Mt., 8.• . ,. p. l8. ".,6: Tri_ C;= """" ..oil;"";" 1<tfutxIi .ibl "..iam . _"",,
qWdnn cop in ...... mortoli J>O«S<. '" ._ pori •• <urn ooculum petit .
.. ' !Mt., p. )8 ....... ). " ' !I.<>m<:,.. "'5_.8.).,. p . }8. ""7·
' .. r eo. 8:1.
 I. ANGUAGIJ, TEXTS, ANU REAliTY

Bernard ends sermon eight with a word on the limits of interpre-

tadon. In inqui ring into deeper senses ( ill arra"is $m$ibtn), the monks
should not attempt «l fathom what lil"S beyond their modest abili-
ties.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 sur-
piI»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, desir-
ing 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, I,.
... Whu lOll""" ",mm",; ... 9 · [ . [-,.;. pp. p, " 'p. 4 ), "1 .

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
sleeps. J ask, I bc8, I implore, 'ut
him kin me with the lris:s of his
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 con-
stantly, and held vigils against temptation. I have uwunted my~"
in the bitterness of my $OuI.oo, I have lived in common and obeyed
my superior. I have not coveted othe,,' goods; I hllw given my own,
and myself with them. I ""VI:
ea.ten my bread in the ,wea.t of my
brow. '" Yer, in plau of sweetness, I have known only routine ((Oil'
J1«fIIIiM. Am 1 a useless servant who only 0l:qs?4J! Is my soul to
remain in thint?"....
Of course SlOt, But, as Bct!W"d subtly shifts from her desius to his
own, from the carnal to the spiritual, from the female to the male,
and from drama to meaning, wc, as readen, like his monastic COnfem-
potaries, al$O recreate in living images the theme of tile soul's ad-
VIlDcement. 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 uoacr-
standing. With uncknu.nding as .. guide, wisdom "YOU" whllt it
apprehends. oll6
Sermons nine to twdve tIlke up .. theme implicit in much of Bcr-
nud', 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, COntri-
tion, 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

... to ,8",. ... Gal "'9. '" 1< 17:10. ... PI '9:4 .
... s..- 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<n~...., ..p....... ~'"' ,,;....., q..,.j ;",d""'~ --'"'ndt,;... -
... 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 CJ<perienct of what I speak.
Frequenrly, we appfOllCh the alur with dry and tepid h~rts. Yet, by
penisting in prayer, we are unexpectedly infused with grace. Our
breasts swell and we are filled to ovcrllowing with pious thoughu.
Were $Om~ ro prtU our breasts, the milk of sweemen would surely
begin tu pour forth . ".9"
Truly, then, the groom mily say: "My wife, you rettived what you
"ked fur, namely, the proof (.Ii(1II111') that your breast$ are bener than
wine, better, that js, than the impure draught of soxular knowledge
(jUf7IUII S(ll£Jtlllris), which inebriates with curiO$iry , nO( charity. "."
Bemaro elaborates the process a lin[e further in ~ribing the making
of the 6tst and $C'(ond ointments. The snul, he says, trapped by sin,
begins ro refloxt upon in ways. Colloxting the "many and VIlricd spe-
cies of sin," it crushes them in the mor(lJ.r of CO!lKience. later, when
they are melted in the h~rt's crnc ible, the dnrout can say with the
p$&lmist, "My hean h3.$ grown bo<: .... ithin me and my fire flames with
inner thoughts_ "...... These ct!nvmiollir primordia, whi ch .-.:prescnt the
feefs ointment, foreshadow the stCOnd unguent, whi ch i5 made from
more pr«ious material cultiVllted in the garderu of our own con-
sciences. Unlike the fint , the $C'(ond is nor produced by man alune ,
hut "descends from the father of lights. "." Crushed once again, il is
applied to the head, th.t is, to Christ. Using the second oi ntmell1
requires withdraw.!, reminiscence, and the cksirc for spiritual ad_
vancement. 115 effects begin in confusion, but proc eed to .n antici-
pation of divine goodnen. Bernard sees the KCo nd unguent rtalpi _
tul.dng man's progress from sin to the foretaste of grace.· ... Sin, he
states, ~uircs sorrow, hut, in the end, gives way to clemency. ' ·' As
man ascends, the sours powers, reason, will, and memory, pl.y their
paf1.~ But, in such matters, reas<:>n is o:uily deceived , the will de-
feated, and memory obscured. ·.., Yet , God manages to penetrate the
- On 'his u...,..y, ... c. wo. By"""" .~ ..... .. Mott.<t .R<l .\bbot .. ""'..." Som< -n..,.,..
in T""f,l>-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 ~,_), nour-
ishes when rhousht about (IMdJi.iIIIllI1If), and [nnquiJli~a when in-
voked. (;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)-',. ""iiJ. . • ,.,.6. p. a,. ,11.-'9.
"' 11<11•• 86 • • _. ; Epb,.8. "" "-1.• 86-4- ' ~ 1".,86. 7 .

4"
 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\" mean-
ing. 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 myster-
ies (dimmio Jacramll7tonll1'). he confesses, took him longer than o.ntic-
i~ted. He thought to pass in one day from the dark, shaded. hidden
wood of allegory (JilV<UJ1U ilta IImbrtna laltbrosaqlll "l/tt",j"'II1/I) to thc
open plain of the moral senses VuI pumititltl ",,,,,,/ill'" snaJ/l/o'NI). that is,
m proceed from a contemplation of the text to a Jtate of r~adine$$ for
II(tion.,,6 Christ is envis.ag:ed as one potent in both woxk and word
CpwmJ i" ~"'" et smtUJ,"),' " providing Bernard with a model from
above. The physical imagery even invades his momcnt of hermeneutic
reflection, "I ruminate. " he notes ....... ith delight": Christ'$ mysteries
replenish his breast, fatten his innards, and cause his very bones to
break into praise. In a sense, the church transfoxffiS every(lne; but we,
he saY! to his brethren, sense it 10 be a(t i vat~ daily in {)UrselV\"S
individually. The light of intell i8ence is offered to the heart, the word
of ~i/ication to the motlth, and thc .... ork of justice to the hands."·

,. . 11iJ. • 8OS.8 ,,, IMJ., 8OS ••6.

'" I~. 86, 17-'&"S; ""a......... ..p. ",it.;. ni,i ks"'" ib; !....... Si diopu'",,,,, «KO-
_ . '"'" 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
 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 $0 fat provide a rough paradigm for ",fonn
in Bernard's theology which involves the word, the text, and experi-
ence. The starting point is the word. Enunciated by the Spirit, it is
fonnalized as a text. And that, of caune, III in the Song', case, is how
it is fint experienced. Howevtc, through active meditation, it is re-
vivified lIS WOtd. In the prtJCt:s5, psydlological reform is brought about.'O<
The manner in which this comes to pus is treated in detail in
subsequent sermoru_ The question has many faceu , and Bcmard no-
where pulls his thoUBhu together III a single doctrine. Yet , if possed
in rt'View, sermons seventttn to twenty-duee tell U$ 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, pene-
trated far enough into the J41IdIlllri_ [),j~ Have we sufficiently Kru-
tiniIed the ",#abiu JIKr""""/...? Or should we now proceed further in
the investigation of inner truths <IIIi ;"ltrhr"P For the holy spirit DOt
only examines men's beans but also the deep mitten of God. Se-
curely, he adds, we follow the spirit's beacon into earthly Ill" divine
regions, praying only that God keep our hearts alld minds on the
right course. We can ",main ignorant of God's ways without im~.
illins our cttances of salvation. But, the inability to recognize wha
he comes or goes is fraught with danser.''' .
Onc~ again, the Iitre5Sins of physical signs, both external and in-
ternal, is the oppDOlire of the $(:holastic appfOllCh, which, in BerenglU"
and .Abelard, begins with man's rational capacities. To illustrate his
point, Bernard men
to the last con~mtiOll between Elisha and Eli_
' '' I~. , 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 ..... <onIirma. "
~ . I~. , p. !IO, .S.p. ~". , ."Oo oti owIH:nlt. i ....... Iftopi __ i~ r..:;.,., --. 'I· oo:ulurn

. i ..... >cd....,.iorio qown p'Lmo: """ prim<> qllidm! in"';"""" .mat.... CJ~. .i, mc,..cundo

'" 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 con-
dition. 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 visi-
ble signs, which we must acknowl~; and, although the spirit op-
eflues 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 false-
hood. 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 ;h-
bimtJ, 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 as-
IK"ning whar one does not know and simply affirming what is proba-
ble. 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<!. w fans, is also a byprodlKt of will a.pd intention.
What. he asks, does dlC holy spirit dCnl(lnstrate to us about oucsel"Yl."S
in the tat, "Your name is as oil poured. OUt"? Chic!ly, the experience
of his twofold operation. which fortifies us intcriw:iy with virtueS fot
our own sdw.tion and adorns us exterioriy with his gifts for the saI.-
ntion of otben.,><I We obtain faith, hope, and charity fot oursel~,
and, for others, "the word of wi.5dom or knowledge, the grace of
curing, the gift of pwphccy," etC.,·1 These operations of the holy
spirit Bcrnard OOiJ respectively infusion (i"/-.#9) and effUsion (iffJiJu).
W~ must take care, he notes, not to give away to others what is
reserved for oucselva, nor to retain for oucselvtS what is destinr<!. for
others.'" In metaphoric terms, he asla his brethren w be ""YCS5eIs"
I1lthet than "cha.pnels" for the divine spirit. For a vcsscl waits until it
is filled up before it gives anything away.'" Onc should remember
Solomon's warning: " A fool speaks all his mind (Jpiriuu) at once; the
wise man retains something (or I; later time. ",,0 The pn:sent church,
Bcrnard add5, has many channels but kw vessels. Many wish to pour
OUt (iff-"""') what has !lot yet been poured in (j_/-~), to speak
rather than to listen, to tnch radlCr than be IllUght. Alth0U8h unable
to govern themselves. t!.ey gla.dly agree to rule over others.'"
Yet true reform, Bemard maintaLlllI, requires a tCSU"IIcruring o( ex-
periCTl(e, and, in particular, an acceptance of tbe physical and. hilto!"_
iOO Christ. He turns to this issue in sermon ""enty, where he once
again identifies the reason for Chris!"s presence 00 earth as the need
to enlighten the spiritually ignorant. Paul says, "Ifany man does not
love Christ. let him be anathema."U' But what, Bcrnard asks. does

'" l;w.• '7.'·3. p.!III...-p. '00. '2.

,,, l;w.• ,8.,.,. P. ' 03. ,~ . , ,: ..,.."..,..... q..od inttoim om ,,";,. semi- cui""""'" ....
_;0"" ~:
rJtcriUl _ . """ fori. _
"";uo q....... """ _ 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 re-
fUsn to Jive for Christ, as Paul states, is dead; he who has no under-
standing 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 com-
plete 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 ,
who, after all, did not represent them but rather them. "'. Therewa,
are, Bctnard adds, three stages of love, carnal, rational, and spiritual
(CA'7IIIliJ, r<ltilJlW/is, and rpiritu/is). Carnal love, by beginning with the
fiesh, enables us to overcome the world. As it advat>Ce$, it becomeJ
rational and then spiritual. For Bernard, rationality is literalism; that

'" 110</., [ [~. [.' " o.oOq<o< qu.id ... homo. ~ ... Q~io <~ '""",ui>[i ti1"'
, ,. PI [4l') ,,' P".. 16'4 ,,. S - >0. 1.2 , p. 1 ' 1, J-' .
" , /10</•• , [,. 7.<J ·
- 110</•• n" [4" '·
,., I.... ><0.,.6. p. [ [8, [l- [' : "E, ..... """""m cotdi, quodotnmodo> .... cu ......... ~
""Ai •• ,~. "",...." Ott'I<;, et _ i,.
j• ..,... o.riI<UI M.... i' ..I ju .. CO< hum ....... 0«.:;',. "
,., I~.. ,[8. >< _.6. '" IliJ., ,,8 . ' 7-11 9. j. ,.. I . ... , ,,.,.B, p. 1>0. 4.8.

'"
 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...<iMPr), proceed.s as it wishes, either slowly or quickly.'"
MOitonJ, who.t happens from the outside, Bemard mm, the monks
may, if they pay iluendon, ltarn from the inside, that is, from thdr
own eIperie~ ....1 Whenever they feel ttwpw, QaJiA, or tMdi~, they
should simply follow the example of the spouse ....• For, if at times of
tempn.tion or the wilrs failure, one shows faith in the spirit, running,
$() to speak, after "the odours of its ointments, ,. then one may, despite

the vid$$itudes of time, ahibit an image of eternity. mirroring

changelessness by the constancy of one's own 5(lUP'" In this sense.
one atrains a similatly eternal stare (/M"""'is . . . i_ _ kUi!il4,;s
stmm).'" In the same p~s. one automatically begins to renew (rr-
nm:m) and to reform (rrjlW1llAfI) oneself into the ancient, remarkable
likeness of the eternal God, in which there is neither change nor
change's shadow. In other words, JIllIn is capable through reform of
imitating eternity himself.
Bernaro thereby underlines another COntrast with a more scholastic
approach to tbe question. Man does not pa.pi~!y rellect his divine
""001. . 20.S.'. p . 1>0. »..p. 12 ' . , . ... c.." I. • .
.., $.... U .} . 4. p. 1>4. 20-'4.
""001.• 124 •• ~ •• ,: •• p,.,.
quod bo< ;p...m. ,; ....0<1;,;, ........ ...t>io <.tp<rioo.';' j", ...
.. ___ hi quod <'" fori.Ioquor:·
"'(J;,I.• 21 . 1·'. p. "4.26-27.
, .. 1"-1., 'I. J.6, p. us.
'S" 7: " . .. tfisq"" i ..... """""'" ., od.,,_ ",,,,obil;,,,,, wn..,.
two> «<><01 q"""*'n o«em;,.,;' imo&-;no:m. Uliqu< "'''' iMdaloiImo .. ,...--no <GM""""
onl"" """"" ;tll<"'. . . ."
"' ,."
.... . p. us. '9-20.
 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, orig-
inally 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 quadri-
vium. 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."'" More-
over, 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)' de-
generated 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

". fliJ. • p. ,.,. '9·": .I"", «<utp<t;' ...."..,. '" <dOt...... ,. ,.,;p
illud ... d.
mi!,."","" .......
n •• •

Q""'" .. i Doi. opud 'Iocrn """ ... 'r&lUm~ .. tio nK Yici .. ;too;.i. otH.ml:>ta.
f;"...
' " flY. • p. ",. 'l·']; Rom .. ',; 8:>8. '" c.n. ' ''; r~ .
"'S_ '}.1 .}. p. '40. '1)010. ''' 1;;,/.. " . ' . 4. p. '40, " ·'4, " ' Pt " , .
,,' S .... '),'·4. p . ".' •• -6 .
'''IIiJ.• '3+ '. p. 14'. ".']. ,oo11iJ.. 14'. ,., .
 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 cel-
lars 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 under-
standins 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 sweet-
ness 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

.. ' IhiJ.. ,., • •• ,6. ,.. Ps ,,." _ ... s... .,_,_,. p. '.' . " ·'9.
... ,... , .)_,.8. p. '.) , ,,_ ... ,. ._. '0. • ,.>,_ ... ,.... l~., , .•.
... ,.... '3 ·.·9. po '44. '<)-13· ... , .... . ) .•. ll , p. ' . , ••• _
... ,~.. '." "-,.6,.. ," c..., ,:>. "·s ... ""." ', p. ,.6. ,<>-" .
". IOM•• ,)., . ,.; p. ,.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 prepa-
ration 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!'lln-
quillity, 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· '" ,IW. . ", S"4, p. ' 41 . .. -p. '4B. I } ,
" ' 1",. .• , .6 .• ), p. 148•• 8 . '" IIW.• , ). 6.• 6. p . ' ~ 9 .• ,-,6.
 LANGUAGE, TilXTS, AND REALITY

convenient n:fen:rKe point fur ~iewing hi.i <:encca! thoughcs on ex-

perierKe 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 mysti-
cally 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 assim-
ilares bach. Grace, then, as man mystically experiences it on earth, is
bot:h the fifUll application of diJcipliDt' and the appropri&tion of na-
ture. We may speak of ir as a kind. of "praxis," that is, an identin-
cation of objo:ct and subjc<t. For the word, appet.ring as ten, lw
effectively been both ;ncemaljzed and re-t'Xcernalized.

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' ...<li« '-1, "E.pe.;' ..«. Work • ...cI PIanni~, .. .•"
,,,,, ... 6.
,,. a. OWI"""--"'*' fJM..t,. CoW "" ~,.I_. ;~J, WH.<kel ........
M.. Webo ••
<cl" ~ w.... 0;. ,,,,,.InI"'*' fJM I (H0mbur3, l~H), I ",.~, .

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 $Cnse, bUI rath~r a spiritual, that is, a rectitude of the heart
or mind VpiritltAlil , id lIt animi rKtitlltUJ). , I> ··F,,! it is th~ spirit which
speaks, comparing spiritual to spi ritual. · ·,tj Th~rd"on: , with resptct
to his h<'1lrl 01 mind (animllJ), not his corruptible frame, God made
man '·upright"·
Man·s likeness to God is an image of His right~lUsneu , and, it is
in m .... ·s ··spiritual portion·· that God·, image is {O be preserved ur
repaired (Dti Iimililltdi"tm romwwn""", Iillf nparandam). fa! " God is
spirit;· and those who wish to be lik~ him must find th~ way into
thei r own hearts and become active in the same spirilual business.''''
Tru~, God also gave: m .... uprightness of body. Perhaps, B~roard rea-
5(105, he wished that tht viler "II~rior rt(Ommend the worthier inte_
rior patt, the body's comeliness, so to speak, acting a!! a foil to the
soul's "dcf"rmity." Indeed, he ,tates. it is pcrverlo/: that the base body
should ha~ the Olpaciry to look upwards towards the heavens while
th .. celestial spirit loweR its "interior senses and aff«tions·· to rhe
ground, and, like a pig, embfllces what il most earthly. '"
"Blush, my soul, ,. says the body in Bernard·s woNs, "for trading
a divine for a bt,t;al image, a 'Slellar· for a ·cindtr.· Creatrd upright
lik.. the creator, you ha~ me 1$ 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;" _"'i 4·' '. PL ,8, .3" ·
", c... I., .
... 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<T in',,'" od <or ... quo;" "';,i'" id "',Of;; Kti" .... .
..
,., /0iJ.• 2•.•. 6. p. " " , 0>-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 con-
cludes his address by the body to the soul by observing that .. 0<nW
om- cannot be the bride's lover, sintt it is tssmtially "0£ the world ......
But herf' the paradox of the spiritual in the physical ~ again makes
iuelf felt. ental
seeks things of this world, rtCtilllliD, those above.
Yet, for righteousness to be "perkct," it must afTe<:t both thoughts
aoo actions (fi ncu ill _ihltf fmli(IJ tl fM/a _ JUse./itIJ). The soul's
condition, invisible to man, must be "announced" by both foW and
aaitJ. And the tWO, Berrwd advises his brethren, must not be 1Iq>d.-
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
m 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."" There-
fore, not everything that is black is deformC'<!. Black gems and hair
are Imactive in themselves; and, while many things are "discoloured
on the surface," they are "truly beautiful in nukeup. " Such is the
case of thr: bride in her "pia« of pilsrimagc": it shall be otherwise in
her " native land," where she will puse,,! herself without bkmish.
Analogies like these, ,.,hich, of COUnt, merely restate traditional
lnI"dieval. c:nlour symbolism, tum up in SChilOlI twtnty~gh[, in which
Bcrnard turns to the significance of the CUm.iM.'''' They are really
those of the king's tent, he proposes, which are blackened from ex-
posure to the elements. Yet they protect the tent's inner dccotation.,9)
FQr this reason, the text does not speak of the bride'lj denying bet
blackness, mereJy bet excusing it. '''' Indeed, Bttnard adds, through
solicitude, "tbe darkness of one makes many bright." JUSt liS one man
"'1"-1.. ,,8, , .... "9,'. ,., 1!iJ., ••.• . , .... I", ,.6.
" ,... , '4.'.7, p. "9, '<>-p. ,60, ,; iIM., ~.,.8, p. ,6 •. ,_.:""Mon Woi ... ~
cui, .. j,. c...!i. in o.riontmll'oc CItrisIj opon.. UI ";'" IId...,,", fide", "'"'" dilectio ..........
pro/>et "'......
... c.., ''4. ... $..... 2,.2.,. p. lE.!. 12.
,., I~. , ,E.!, ,._••: "'PI""", umpli<c< .In, qw i.-r ~ Of fOtmom d~ .. DOll
"""'"""", <WlO _ od <""lp"'j,......" p<rti_. <>iJrodo <Ob " , ."
-c.... ".. -S-,8., .I.p. '9' . ,II-p. '9'.'. "',WJ,,'9,.,·•.
 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$S "rhe furm of our denigrated nature," that
is, the very clothing with which our first parents covered their naked-
nns. ",' These same garments, he adds, are full of the promise of our
··inheritance. ",96
To highlight the difference bctwttn appeo.rances and reality Ber-
nard !;Urns to the rontrast be!;W~n se<:ing and hearing. As in (rtm'sis,
one may, like blind lsaac, be easily fooled. But the word is heard by
faith, a5 is i!IustratC<i by a number of examples. I'of instll.lltt, the
centurion who stood over ChIi${ acknowlC<igC<i his div inity on the
expiring of his voice. '"He knew tb.: Lord not by his face but by his
sound"';>91 hearing discovered what a5 yet escaped the eye.'''' For, !O
look aI, Christ was weak, miscnlble, and mortal; but the ear rc<og-
ni~ed him to be tb.: son of God. , .. Again, Peter cut off the servant's
ear so that the truth could find its way in.600 For "faith comes by
hearing. "60, True, it would be more appropriate for truth to enter tb.:
mind via the eyes. But that is reserved for the nel(t life, when we
shall ~ God "face to face." Meanwhile, man', "remedy" follows the
same tmcks as his "disease," light travelling, so to speak, through the
paths of darkness. "The ear, death's first gateway, shall open up life.
Hearing, which bore life, restores sight. For, unless wc believe, we
cannO! understand. "60.
For Bernard, then, bearing alone gfilSp5 the truth ,6o, since it un-
derstands through the word. "'" But what is the relatiunship of the
word to God in an ob;cctive sense?
The answer is bound up once again with the experience of biblical
reus, as is evident in sermon thirty-one. "Word," BernaM argues,
appears as "bride" in biblical texts, but not always in the same fash-
ion."" In fact, among the instances of the word's mystical presence,
the Bible p~s.ents several pouiblc "visions."'1.:<\ Th e loftiest occurs at
the end of time, when the elC<I ,h.all sce God "as he is." God, of
course, underg<)C$ no change; and , Dernard adds, wheti' the /1mII4 is
immutable, the I);S;O must also remain the same."" But, 10 ~ God
,., I. .... , . , .2, p. [93.6--'3· "'lhJ., " ". 3. p. [""l. 7'[C; '" •. 8.
'" IftJ.• ,8" .4. p. '9). i'7; Mc ',.)9. ''''IiJ ..
,$ .• . ,. p. '9'.9·'Q.
'" lftJ.. [9'. ,.,.". ... ...""" 1','" ...
5..... ,8 . • . ,. p. [9). [.,,8;
Rom [C. ' l ·
." l~", [9'. >0-'" '" I~..• 8.• .6--,.8. pp. '96-99.
"'/hJ.• • ~ .•. @. p. '97. ,I: '"Sol", I\ob<, ."";,.. >ttum. qui pomp;' ..!bum."
... 1i;J .• Jl '" I. p. "9, 8'9 .
... Fot • diK ............ E. _ IYinb. "r.. "'''''' ''''' do I.."", ..Inn S. !Iemo.rd:' ur.. Ihruti
,bOtJ""'" 20J-06 .
.., S - , .. ' . ' . p. ,,~. J-".

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 advann-
in 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 impor-
tant 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 testi-
mony. It is nor I. physical vision: [ake cue, he admonishes, ro under-
staod that he is DOl making "[he mixture of word and soul something
corporeal ()(' undetstandable through graphics. "6.) He metely uses hu-
nu.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 mys-
tical 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 medita-
tive 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 .
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.., .-. • 3" .4. p. H [.
' ' '' . >, .. ." .,.
_~ .. QU' nport'" ....
' H

'" r~., ,,- •. 6. p. H), ,.>: ··vOk .... _ '~. lit qui<I .... .. 1000< V<rlM ....~ ",.,..
mi .. iono '''p><.o.m .... i"'"llinariwn .... ti .. "''''ilDOl.-
... IH.I., "3. ,.,.
'" IH.I.• ".,.6. p. ",. '4", 6,
H • • qo><> i<>lW!. """ foris. v..t>wn ..."'P' .... non_.
•

!<d .... , .. " ....; """ Joquu . Md <fi<a>: ; """ obortq:oM< . oribos. !<d oII«ribos bIond;"".-

44'
 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.: pto-
cess, 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 ror-
mented 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 <our"".
he ~ptats. it is not easy for one to distinguish b.-twte n ··what he
hcars" Ind ··what the heart brings fonh from within. ··6•• But there is
plentiful eviaenc.- in tbe Bible that oo.:h evil and good. thoughtS spring
up insid~ man. TIlt difference is this: the evil in our hearts is our own
•.• !hi.•

" .. nru, in hio . "" pn I.o< ! ~ >pi,i ,.

.. , ION.• »6 ••• • .. 7. , .
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·
",ion<> ... wo _ .. i<>qui,i:·

•• , 100J.• ~ • . • . ,.). p. »6. 6· ,8.

'" IMI.• H8. j" : ··An .... N<p<,..,m<fO oK .... um"" . '" si< «p«imu, "",nf<"O. 001 qUI
""",i> q""ddioo adhuc ..~ibos "",,mu,
_".ibuo. """"'mu. p ..... rid.···
- !Wi.. ,,8. ''''j;I.6, .,.
D. ItiJ.• ,,8. ' j" • .
... lhi., ' • .•. 4, p . ..8. ,(,.26.
ft , 1"-1., , •.• . ,. p. "9. ,.6: ·'Tu ''I'> cum 'ibi ..1>. ooI.i ... "'''' .... , i •. """ . ....... "'"'t..
<Ofi,,,i ....... , O<d ilium ..._ . loq"" ... m.. . ••
•~ "Uf.•
V"'tod. in
1'.,.,.p. "9.8+,0: ··SimiUi ..... rnim NM
Ir>qutn.i" n<r [0<;" qui, di"",'m'l
nobi> '1"""
'.,.u", '''''.... "...",. ..
""""it....
imuo PO'"'' co< 'Uu"'. quid>< . udi ...
";0< qu; """"',,~ ........ i ' [)gm; .... '" in EnD!"';" koq""''',m . .

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 $CrJnOns thirty.live «> thiny-eight. Ber-
nud', main text throughout is Song of Songs 1:17: Si ip,mu, tgmUn
... (If you art: ignorant, go forth , .. ), Sermon thitty.6ve interprets
the verse lIS a contrast between the spirit and dlf' tlesh. Sermon thirty-
six turns to the implications of knowing our own thoughts and those
of our mmr. The following two 5etmOll$ 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. ,~, ' ."}: "Cum ...8" mdo. iB ~ .......... , """'.. <osi.. io .." ..
bono. 0.; Kt _ _ -

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'd . 'I.",,"';' .,
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444
 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 rhet-
oric 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 "use-
ful" 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-

...,.
Ai<uo< , .... S. IIemord. " $_ fI«-_J tI>ioI4r*. '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·

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J. Sommod.l.h, .. ~l«moIotY. £dua,[ion and SlxW. Thoory in .1>< l"ho:IuIh. of Ikmord of
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'" , 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 neigh-
bour.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 begin-
ning of wisdom, the second its perfection, so the two kinds of igno-
rance 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

"'1J,jJ" ~ . • . ), p. " ""4. .., I~" n.l.4. p. IJ.1-11 .

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Joc.imi. """'. _ ""ten> Do; " ....". in ....d;.."
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 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 inten-
tions. This is the topic of sermon forty, Bernard·. rext is, "Your
cheeks ar1: beautiful as. the turtle dove·s. "0,. At these words, he 0b-
serves, the bride must have blushed. For the soul, which she r1:pre-
sent$, 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 com-
pare 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 striv-
ing 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;, «<oJ""
~ _ dic"un"", p«I!>fi"'l"" ~"''''''' '0""'''''';'''' od in'<lti&<""i.... ", .. ,"<IIat<."
... Cam 1:9. ." J _ 4<>. ' . ', p. '4, 'H. " , I. ... 1n4., 4<>.2.2, p. ". J '.'} .
." JjjJ. , 40.' .4, p . ,6, ,0+1> . ... /tfJ. , '7, ,~ .
." IW., 4<>·' ·', p. ' 7, ,6-'9. ... lOiJ.• '7. ' 0. .., Un, ,:0'0.

447
 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 min-
isters 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\'<! momentarily (Q a higher StAte. It petceivn the im.gistic
like~~ (i_g;"'ltJfhu sitlliliIIlJi_) or
inferior thinss, which help to
mala, the divine "more tolerable" and "more acceptable. , - Suoch im-
aga, he repeats, temper divinity's pure ooian«:661 01' perhaps they
are part of what Paul saw as 1/1fUt/,I'" t#~ _igllla.
But what happens when the bride and groom meet face to face~
This possibility is bricfty taken up in sermon fony-five. Btrnard's teJ:t
15, "Behold, you are fair. . .. Your eyes arc those of doves. "661 Love,
he explains, is the SOlIrtt of the bride's presumption as well liS the
groom's displeasure. But he also sees in thi5 vcnc a recapitulation of
the soul's thteefold spiritual progress. "For presumption is foJlowM
by reproof, reproof by correction, and. C{)tI'CCtion by reward.'~ All
formality and ctrcmony are put off: the Word and the soul, like rwo
Ions-standing neighboun, now entoY !4111i1i.,ris ronjll6l1lmio. &10
Moreover, the soul is now "&it" in two Rnscs, that of humiJity
and innocrnce.6)o· But what of the conversation itself? As in d~ case
of the "gold and silver chains," Bcrnard continues, their wotch do not
"odom the body's ears" but "infonn the hearing o( the heart." As the
soul's heart is more pudned from the faith which comes from bearing.
or
she hersdf is made mote capable seeing what previously lay beyond
... s.... 41.'." p. 30, 11- . ,. .., 30. ".,,; , Cor " .12.
,~.•
""toJ.,}O. 'S·'9. "" c..- " .n;'Cor " .'9. "' S-4""}' p.)O. " " 1·
... I~.• ,0. 27-29. - w, .. '4 .
... $..- 4,·'·1. p. 49, ' • • 26. ... I. .. . ,0, , .
.. ' ''''., 4, .1.2, p. , 0. "'16; 4,.2." p. ", 1,'1,.

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<h, inferior to t~ real prcscnce in the afterlife.
But Bernard is ttying to convert his monastic brethren now, and, in
order to attribute value to his vision, returns to t~ Song·s words,
··Behold, you are fair, my love, ..od comel y.'· The bride, he reasons,
has evidently ~n enlred, as she now claims the 8room as !Hr bc_
lovcd.6"?, I think , he ad<h, that then" is nothing here of images of a
RtlSOI)' nat~, either of the lksh, the cross, or other COlpOiC;aJ things.6>·
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
." I~.. 4S. 3·'. p. S>. ,6."" .. ~, ,; pIa<"'. opcm .. ...r.... ",,"'ulurn pi ....... ad HI. q..,.j
poul<> ..... 10 + 01 . . n>W"I>m\Il .. ,i fO<<I' ''It'''' promi."""", non int.oo.n,,,, u, ,ur>< doeui,
omo ....... ""J>Ori" ..cl iol"ornu .. auditwn roodi •. Potui, ;'"'1"" """. ut Iid., quI< .. ' ."
ouditu, <urdo .... pl iw mundoto. ad yider>dum, qlOOd an .. non po<<ral, i.."ucriot r«Id<t.tur:·
'" I'",.••S.J.6. •. 6. p. H. ," 0.
'" I~.. 4,·.·6. p . H, 'foil : ··F.Ii"i"", <nim M<j""'luam t...: -n.:, ri,. ....... bu. irnpDrU'"
i"'"llill<l COlni •• our <...:i •• "", .Iiu quoscwnqu, cGrpornnun .imili.udi ... in~""",um. ·'
'" I~.. H. "''1 .
"' I~.• 4'.' ·7. p. H , S·'o: .. .Quo /I, ..... ...two V""," fOC1' ad ..,imom ........ ",ut...
tunum ... imo. od Vorbum, u, ilia oudiori, .... " .. !oqurnti. li~ " p<thibMl i. qlOOd I"'kh ..
" ,, . ;.:mimql>O idrnI ~ium "'" ....", mldido", Io..mrori! Quom<><Io """,,,Of'*" ""ti?
Nam """" loquimut. non ",,<bum l'"'Iui,u" h.mqu< ."i..... """
t.obOI .od< IOq ..,ur. ,,;,; ""
,i,
rotpo<is .ibi ..m. /or"", .. ad Ioqu<AduM:··
.., IMJ., H, J , ' ' . : Quati .. proindo audio od Iqi. V<t!>um""l'" Hlinwn pori«' rollOqui.
.... in.in", in""'i. noli nbi i","<!"i"'; <fIWi rorpo .... in,«<Ut"" _". ";CUI nK <.. po....
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 dis-
cretion (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.a. J.-M. D6:tIontt, .. ~ <hriotoloaio d. S. Bemord,HWot s.-"
.. ' Coo, • .., ... $..-- 49· '·4, p. n. 14·,6,
"'1'>.,8.91 . ... $. . . . . 9·2.'. p. n. '7'P, 76, '7 ·

'"
 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<U cannot be implemented by lfflings alone. One
can put the nuner anodlCf _y by stating that active charity brings
about merit, affective charity, reward . Bernard does not deny that
anticipations of grace occur in the present. But life', consummation
remains a future ideal. Why, then, did God give man an order which
he can only partially carry out? God ",..,11 knew that: bUI he thought
man should be reminded continuously of his insufficiency and pre-
sc:nted with unattainable goals. The ultim&te goal of God's actions
was to increase our humility . -
When the Lord gave command, like "Love your neighbour," and
"Love your enemies," he added that we were to make an external
demonstration of charitable works. This was active, IIQ( affective, charity.
For, by nroering us to olxr the commandmenu, God effectively di-
rected us towuds w01"ks. As in the casc <:If the law, if his love were
only a maner of feeling, works would be supcrfluous .6f> Of (ourse,
Bernard does nO( iIodvisc his monks to e)<l:rcise their hands and not
their hcatts.~· There arc, he States, three sons m affective chatiry
which t~ can practice: onc which flesh imtils, anOlher which reason
rules , arxla third which wi5dom es tablishes. The first is subject to no
law, while the second is law's byproJucr. The third, by implication,
eliminates the need for the first and rewards the second. h it then
effective or affective charity which the bride "orders ' " Both, <MfNa/is
fint, then 4/ttfllllliJ. 6t • Naturally, Bcrnard admitS , wc are normally
preoccupied with "peace on ClIrth" rather than "glory on high. " We
minister !itde to the soul, much to the body.""" (n this sc:nsc, "ne-
cn.sity has no law_"60' Effective charity simply pursues its course. But,
for affective impulses to be released, we must d emand , not the "truth
m
of Charity" but the "charity truth." Once again, both law and text
are transo:ettded by the Wocd.

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, ,"_
p . 19. , . ""hiJ.. 19. ,_.0.
. , ,0 . .. " p. TII, ,._p. •.
OY • •.
... IW. . ,0. ' ·4 . p. 80. $_10.
""W., ,0.'.,. p. 80. ' 9- p. 8" I. - '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 sacra-
ments. 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 ser-
moo. 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<tif .. uano-
p:,kD>/Id, <'OK" tbli'" ..... tt" q...o< <e ~ • .!ono I<> " - .in... .-
'" a. J. MciunJu:J:, .. s....1e:. <ri..... de rapbimn: ",,"'otlle .. _ ,H~, >6'.(;7 .
... D.Fotbolo!.,: >j1 .' _"
I':: r__. '7 .
... IW. , 4' .
... Par • diKuuiooo, _ N. Dws""'''''", hirII s.. _ " ~ BiN<, '}O"'~ -

4l'
 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«<nIIIJ Itn'UII11I in the Augustinian fashion, .... but he nearly alWllyS
illustl<1tes $acramenta1 realities by means of the physical rather than
the abstract. Unlike Later scholastics, he does mM divide the sura-
mental process into twO operations, the one consequent upon "efli-
cient causes . . , craued in the soul," the other upon "material caU$C$."
that is. "dispositive causes of sanctifying gl'llce."''''' Instead, he main_
tains I. position which mou. erudite, thirtttnth-century thinkeR called
"~ramental clusality."
For J.W'amtlfta, he argues, following Radberr, au. signs wit h exter-
nal manifntations. As such, they paraUeI the mode of operation of
other rites of investiture, {Of' in$tlIn~, the !l(lrmal ~d esiastica! cere-
moni.., involving the book, the staff, and the ring.'o, The "disp05i-
tive" element is oral, rangible, and con~ed by the principles of gift
~change, One may think of the sermons on the Song of Songs as
Bemard's ffiO$t extmsive documentarion of this belief. which, as 00«d
earlier in this wlume, does not consist of a simple renaissance of
liu.racy but, in addition to that, of an accuitur;:ation of oral tradition.
Therefore, although otilizing sophisticated methods of interpretation,
the sermons are in fa« just the opposite of an a!»rran separation of
.., L';.u,m..;.,. M rE";,..., 60 .
... u... H-"~ ' '101. 03' , '00-": <f. R.j. H«bt". "So'n'""ond« I·<u<!wi .. i<."
' ,p_
MIInps uilll 80""" .t. ,60>-(;>, ...d . on B<motd', "",ion of _ . - . ...... J. t~d'«q . ."Cht ....
,_hloIS' .nd $ok"",.,,, in <In ~i. 00 beili!'" llernhud," 1\"," fir Lit",.,;"";"", .
JdJ.fi @( '~ 3 1. '941, 68'1' , 0.. ,ht p loo:. of 'h< .."""'" in 'ht 1i'"Off ....If. ... 11. 1l<KfW•
...d J. L.<I'l<q, " La • ...ai..... o!n .."""", li,..,.(iqueI de S. Boroud:' sm,o..;_ 'I (1\16 ,),
'4<>-84·
... I. C_ /hot;";, c. 0, $" "'= . 001 . • (!loo><. '963). p_ <\9, " .
,.. w. J. eo...tt<oOy, """Th< K;~ ..,.) "'" l<o<kn Coin' 11>< l<ooomic Boc""~ of'Si ...
'I'" ""n' ew..li<y." T,oJi''',8 ( ' 97'), ' 9" .
... ,. C_ Dolo;";. c. " p. 68. ,S·p. 69. " "'Ad hoc .... ,;"'.....,,' omnia ..mm. Ma.
od hoc tudtlti,,'" porrici,,",io. . . Si<u< ... im in ..terioribod >UN 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 libn!m. &bbos p<1" bootktm. <piocopus pt. M<.i.M .. alIw.m
'imw--•• icu,. ;"'1"""'. in Iwi~i ..bw at • • i< .. di.i,.",., 8,,'iatum diftHis "odi,..
• "'" ",_fi'is ." Fao- "" ob!< d~. "" W . J. CoortftU.1 •. 'Soc .......... Symbol • .,.d
C._li" 'Q II«nu<l of ct.i .......:. 1H>_.t of CI-i, '''. " ... S.
 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 <kspj~ differences of personality and doctrine the
two had in common a starCh for theological truth through textS-
which merely led them in difftrent directions .
... Cl. P. Dd"',., uI'wII!. MU" ",;"" -.It"'" S. Iw.... i".JM ~ ut _ 1 1 - '
"' .-.... (No,,,,... , 19S7). n.

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 disci-
plines. 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 anal-
YSls.
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( lan-
guage 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 illus-
trate them through the p..ttem! imposed on life by typical individu-
ab. "!'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 narra-
tor'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 diJ-
course, 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 .. by-
prod\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 pat-
terDS, 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 inrerprtta-
lion, 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 in-
dividual from collective activity, visible from invilible call$;ll fOl"Ces,
nr rituab and symbols in aperieoce from textual models of interpre-
tation imposed upon them.
As an empirical historillll, therefore, Glaber leaves much to be de-
sired. He rells hi5 "$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 con-
n«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 ap-
plied this homespun equivalence of ausal mechanisms both to mate-
rial 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<asant and
rural societies. But he was also making use of the principle of causaliry
as he understood it. The natural, human, or supernatural ag~nc ies
which p<riodioJly wrought destruction wen: all o.lDs idercd from an
eschatological standpoint.
The harmonization of types of chan~ with a mind to their long-
term effects helps to elucidate a number of otherwise puzzling aspectS
of hi5 imag ination. Perhaps the easiest to tt«lgnize is his over-
simp!ifiarion of the Significance of the millennium and of itS symbolic
associations. But theft art' other elements: his intermingling of the
scientific, based on faCt, and the superstitious, bas.ed on hearsay; his
denomination of all spiritual troubles, whethe r heretical nr orthodox,
lay or eo:clesiastical, peasant or noble, under the same rubric; aoo his
reworking of collecrivt' ideas such as p<nal)(e, pilgrimage, and the
peace of God nor meuly as abstrlKtions but as rnlities informing the
otherwise meaningless lives of historical IU:tors. To this notion of en-
acrment, we may add his habit of juxtaposing local and uni~rsal
events: he devotes little IfI()!"C space to the conversion of Hungary than
to the my$terious rain of p<bbles It the di$puted farm of I certain
ArI~baud at J oigny on the Yonne. He not only rt'lates evenu which
dassical canons of taste would have considered inappropria te. He also
n:fu.o;es to separate the oral aod the written record. Yet, curiously, this
odd mix{un: of events and emotions takes us to the centre of e1eventh-
century feau, ftUJlttatiofl$, aod unfulfilled n:pe<:tatiOfl$ .
• s... J.
frs"" •• ..Tb< Ojyj ... Quuemity 01 Rodull.. Gksbt<.- SUNIi. hi.."". '7 ('97'),
,~,_, &M. "" ,10< _ ..... P. o.n"•. ··1..,..1 Glob",·, Cl< Diri,. 12... ,";1Mr. An u""",;".d
koodi~ 0( !ili..,....·, T""""",,, 0( ,10< Afdit.. 01 10< .. ;", ... ,be ~." M..6"...1 $,,",",
4' (198<». H'-H ·
 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 be-
tween 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 civ-
iliution.
In book three, despite new disasters, the tdigious revival foreshad-
owed 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 move-
ments. 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 con-
scious 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->' .

Sd_od;. on<! .. brr ni ..........

pl/,,,,,f.... l<tm!n do 1"." mill<."
,,6-'9)' P. om.
R_.
• It ;, ,.,... ..;dd, _nix<! tboI oh< millo:""ium' •• iI;oifinmct ..... cnumad I.,. 1010.1<1.
"--,"'1 ""'''';....
q :_ .w-·,
p", .iJniIat <""d ..... , It< •• PIoi". ...~
'l (,8n), ,~,~ ("" G!ab«,
"L'"""" 1oIillo:. (Sou;' d; "';';'" .. on.). - RmM --.. ;"Ji,,_ • ( . !lII1). ,_
,6 (on Globcr ••
I.,,*, "" h'J'
".oIl: .. ,.ncnU"
d """"' P. Lot, "Lo m,.m. do. tenoun do r." mill<," in
.. P. !.At. vol. , (Goetono.oo:I Porio, 10;068), l~I •. A ...t..I <OI1e«ioo of
..... Is,iocoo "';,b '''''''''"'''"''1 i. G. Oubr, t·......1lI ("""', '967). n.. ,lot .... of esdIo.tOlctr.
Anticbriu. -t ..,pi.. ottto<t«/ ..rli... Gm.oon h;,tnti...., ... It. Gru.od. Vir Ad i ,n ""
~... GloW io __ HL,," (Gf<ifnroId, '9''') ond me bv , 1 """"l' of E. Wodouln,
0;, ~ 11 i' fII .. A .......>-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 •.
 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 individ-
ual 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 cXlIm-
pl~ 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 impe-
rial rnponsibility fe ll on the .... Ofthy shoulders of Otm I, whose fron-
tiers were unfortunately subj<:(t to Moslem incursions. On ooe occa-
sion, Maieul, the abbot of Cluny, wa..s kidnapped fur a ransom of a
rhou$l:nd poun<h. Woonded in rh.: hand, the abbot ....rote for help,
and, .... hile held prisoner in the mountains, he impressed rhe heathen
with his saintly behaviour. He refused their bread, whereupon he wa..s
made a fresh loaf; and an Anob who trod on his Bible was repri_
manded, larer losing his foot in a quarrtl. The ransom wa..s finally
plIid, and the Arabs were sIaughrered ar La Garde Freine[ by William
of Arles. 6
This Story is follo....ed by an episode from the reign of Ono II
telling of the martyrdom of Adalbert, b ishop of Prague , He had bttn
making progTC$S in his missionary .... ork among the Prussians, but one
day announced rhat he had a premonition of death. Shortly afterwards,
he ordered a lacred tree by a river to be cue down and had a Chriscian
alrar bui1[ in its place. The unconvened shot arrows at him, and,
.... hen he had complett'd the inaugural ceremony, he diN!. H is disci -
ples carried his body back to PtlIgue, .... ~re, Glaber adds, it has since
performed many be neficial acts.'
'HiJUriM 1.4 . 8, p . , <>.
• /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<D Ptu .. ~ on ,I>< B.olti< <001<, Adoolb<rt

'"
 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 emper-
or'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 be-
sieged 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". Con-
SCiously or OthttwiJe, then , GI&.ber pbced alJUlj-ot event in each mon-
arch'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 ... ,ie.
f1l tIoo .. i,x,;.., _ f . Do.nil<, M I' i.n. «
C-..I ... & ,; •
~. ~»d. od. (Albotiy, "7"", "'· H. on.! p. D, ~ S. Miokutski, Mis~ fN1U

."",. _
j . . ,.., ..L.>.
' ''k
",. - -. ',...,
I His " . . .. 4. 1>. R>. '1" ' . Oa " ......... f1lc...c...tioo ..... _ of Co " : ,J, ~ dr n-.
...... ..t.o .... kiJlo<! bt' A.." III "" ., Apoij "s. _ P. 1'edeI<. .. I ;, .... " .. p<f la...,.;, di
Romo..!Id popot<l rod _ X,·· .tm.;.;, JJt. RMl.S«io<II ~ Ji S"';" P"";".M (1911 ),
40(1.'1; G. Iloai, I C. .;. C..... I P .JJ. IWM JJ 9<><> J IOU (V.,;"", Ciry, 1 91' ~
C. Cc«IotU.i, ["C...,,';, I StwoiJi, i c-i~, '942); """ O. G<ntmbon:s. """S<ud;oo, lur
~ de. """-- AdeI, ion .I.......... de. ' 0. ]ohrlo·.. odc, ... - H ;', ' VW1J;.6,,,1 if<
l' (1'17). 1 ·~6. GoaoI brief ,"inn f1l tIoo ig luh,,,,,n, <JI ,hi eo-...,;;. ill _ pOIitks ""
iOuod in B. Hsmiltof!, '-c:.."",jj,~ N .... Cd,· Ca; " 6. 4 ..... J ..... W . with L&lLi«
"'hP ...
' _ , M . P.k..,40"''"<:t '". • 11 .• W .. . iW'_ , ....t. ' , ••
~o . 00. ~ . .0' et..
run! bistofy <JI LMhu" d..n.,: tIoo p«iod f1l "!,,,,.. al, ... o!.:M all P. T<I<Ihtrt, UJ "'.......
L.li- ,/"' ', ...... "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 counterbal-
ance 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 rela-
tionship 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-
, Cl. ~.Vi ....... Tb. IUi< <f 11_. pp. I. ,0., ,.
.. £ .•.. lroW ..d «1I •• b. Ju.bo, "EI" <fll", • • i ...... ino. I)cmjni ....... _ ...- h ·H~. p.
"). AdoIben', body bcorows,u..;- ~ (' . 4.11 , 1>. ' I ).
I" /hJ . • ' .• . 1> .1>. ').

46 ,
•
 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 " unptec-
edentt<l hanhness . . . , when many of the common people were worD
by hunger .rid perished . . . , when men ate the ftcsh of unde:ln
anirnals and reptiles as well as of meo, women, and children."" This
is followed by a scene of suffering of a differeot rott, namely the heroic
resistance of a certain William, called duke of Navarre, against al-
Man~ur." The juxtaposition of the two episodes a1loWJ Glaber re pre_
sent an image of extreme penury among ordinary people, followed by
onc of group solidarity by knights against a. common CIternal enemy.
Purification is thus made a prelude to deliverance. The scrond narra-
tive also focuses more dearly on the experience of the group. & Gla.-
ber puts it, '"It happened in these daily bIltdcs that many rcligious
among the Christians were ,lain. TI.ey desired ro enrer the struggle
not fur hollow pet$On&1 renown but for the love of fno.ternal charity
(H fr"l..-- C4n/tllliJ "...",..,..)."" This Iargcr ethical concern unites the
peasant and the noble, the layman and the monk, creating a universal
brothcrhood.
The notion of spiritual coofrarcmity, together with the participa-
tion of the dead in the religious lives of the Jiving, is more speci&aily
dealt with in the remarkable vision of VuJferilH, which followl. A
monk of Moutitrs-St.-Jean in the diocese of Langres, Glllber namttes,
he had wirhdrawn on Triniry Sunday to pno.y alooc .fret- matins. when
he saw the church fill up with men wcarins white robes aDd purple
stoles. They ~med serious; and preceding them with. crou was onc
who !tyled himself "the bishop of many po:op!es.·· He ilI\d the Others
d,~datt<l that they had been present invisibly that ocrave day. The
mysterious bishop then prepared to celebtate mass at St. Maurice's
altar. But at this point Vulferius asked him ",ha he was, where he

" 11iJ.. ' .9. 17 . p. 4-4 .

"JIiJ. • '.9.18. p . ~~. n.. .. ,",u ... io u> oI-U.,..a •• i • .• Ibo. Ab! 'Ami. Mo/Iomme<I. b .
9~ •• lawyer from c... ...... .-.., and..olJr ""urped ,11< <........ ,. 1oI000i'" Spoin of, ... Ih< dndt
,. Habm !J .. O:nobot .~ . H< _ <1_ ' [ br hi< fo, ..... i ......... Ghllib. oh ... 978. "'"
...... formin,!: an oIlian<r .. i,h ,'" C/lriltiaa rukn l.amim HI of Uoo. Son<ho 11 of No"""" •
...d o..c .. F.,nMd< ............. ,. Caatil• . Ghilib .... drf..rod in boor,1< "" '0 Ju[y 98, . SoI><fHo
H • ..too tt;,IJO<! (""" 97C u> 994. ;. <oIkd ..-ilI"'-' "" N~ ,;, (p. 4-4) . ........ of """"".
G~ hu ~ him ..ilk Mo """ ..... ; .... [.... WiIliam of G-onr. Kti .. ;Q bot,!. apimI
dI< M ..lim. i. ' CIO. 0.. s...:too 11. "'" ~. u.i.P,.. .,w. Et od. _ " ' - ..,." r.. "'"' JJ
uti{'" " C. . . . f1 "oJOJl "l·C. ). l h! od. (M.drid. ,967). 416- 17; J P. O"CalIofban . A
Hit'"?
" -.-<I M""-i/ ~
......
(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 Mou-
tiers. 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 celebra-
don 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\une<!
to earth to prophesy universal brotherhood through a similar sacrifice.
On eanh they are wande~rs or exiles, ....ho are compelled to move
from place to pll.ce without rest. Like all pilgrilJU, {hey hl.ve at olKe
a tangible and a spiritual goal: hence their appeannce IS living beings
yet bearing & symbolic message. After the cdebntion of mass, the
monks of Moutiers Ire forewarned that many ....iIl follow in t~ir foot _
steps. '9 These strangers, then, have suddenly become JtrangcJy famil-
iar; the "othen" are now .. brothen ... •o In an I.tmOSFhere charged with

., I WI., '.9. '9, pp. ~,.~6 .

•, Similorl,...""",1>01 b.ter. lIctnud 01 Tin" ... fu<"", pr<O<Ioi"ll .. Iomokl in , .iJioo in
.h;'h h< .... , -',;,. . _ ; Vi.. B. _ r....""""c. ' .17. Pl '7'. ' 319 ...·H.
" / , ; _ E,mM, <. 39· t, «I. O . Pti •• (Hridclb<rg. ,..,60), ~8'49'
,. H _ _ •. ~. r ~, p. 4'.
" I~.. 46 .
.. a. v. T~ ..... , 0.-... FiJJJ. - ' M~ , ,86090.

,6,
 JI,ITUALS, SYMIIOLS, AND INTEIlPRETATIONS

[he unexpened, the lay and the religious, the present and the OIher-
worldly, 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 re-
turned 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 sym-
bolic 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)'$"" known as a clever
man, and so tn.:: monks do not belit¥t him when he says he has little
time lefr. His vision esu.blisbes se.::urity in place of doubt. ') He is
assured of a certain reward. but he must pay a certain price, his life.
When he is dying. the other monks pay him a visit 1«"1U/_ mtJtTm.
They perform his last ritts ex M/M. And the pious layman gelS up for
matins "I JQ/elJat.·· Hu vision. toO. arises out of everyday experience
and ;nrolves somro~ dose to him. his neighbour. Even here the
customary order of things is overturned. In Glabcr"s view. these :are
confirmations thac the lay world is suffering from new rdigious anx-
iety.
Should one chen conclude that. for Glaber, wha! is new must brellk
violently with what is customary) Only in books one and two. Later.
change acquires ethical respectability; so. in in cumext. does It. ceru.in
amount of individuality. which is sternly condemned in the heretics
Leutard and Vilgard. But the acmosphere is al$O diffcrcnc . From book
three. change not only takes pla(:e in a world undergoing monl dis-
solution. 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

.. /HJ. • 46. -u< " " ..mp« .Ioa;"''''f<

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 ass0-

ciations.
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 gov-
ernments 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 back-
ward 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<rmIlI:
,, 6-,~ .

"Cf. G. 0ubJ . .""" la..... la po;. de Dj",:' H_" ,,, '.u "" _It., "1--40 .
.. HiJ..n.. ,., .... p. 6 • . Ptai .... p. • ~81., po;n .. "'" .1I",.II< ......m.t is _ • ..,..bJ«ronot<
cl ",bot .,..,.Ji"" ood <1u<NU<l<n •• uct. .. tb'"", cl F..... I1', Odot..n ..... of Scm, t.dmw cl
a..bonnn, Mo.itul '" Cl""". Al>bo '" FiNly. or s.rnwold '" Hildeob<im.
~ H~ ,, ' ,'7. pp. 66-67.
'" 10iJ. . """. pp. 60-6 •. Ort tfI< ......i_ion, K"< P. Cwtin, A"- "F~,""lMrr
(Pori<. ' 9'4). 17.·88.
" 10iJ.• , .• . L,. p. 6 •.
.. (!U., , .4 . '4, p. 6). Glob.;. is tfI< d>id' >Out« cl inlor""" .... b H..w; b . d~ .
"" G. Oury, '1.i<IfoI. ~ don. It. vi< "n" . 10. U bietftumtx H<n<! de T""" ( t ' .,..).-
I .... MMilIoot " /I9M). 4"9·
"Nil..n.. , .,. ,6. pp. 6,-66.
 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 inno-
celKe, 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 sur-
vives. 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«<!. But he also saw MQSCS's staff and the judaizing heresy
35 forces fur change. In the case of the relics, the relation becween
 RITUAL S, SYMBOL S , A.ND INTERPRJlTATlON S

and 1IWII1II, the hidden and the discovered, il roug:hly typological.

fJtIIt.J
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 bene-
ficial, 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 con-
duct. 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 p0-
sition 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 Mo-
5CS'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 sensi-
bility 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

.. I~., , .6.' 9, p. 68. Glabor <>pIoins ,t.. ~ ..... , iMJ. , ,. 1. 10, pp. , ..... .

468
 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<l in
black. They remained aner her departure, and their leader, possibly
the devil in person, claimed affiliation with the disreputllbJe duke of
Carinthia, Conrad I, whom he said was now emperor, and Michad
IV, who had murdered his predecessor, Basil, in the East. When
Hugh, the knight, pledged faith to Chris t, the hoard vanished.
"No o~ W<)uld doubt, " GlalX"r adds, "that the vision was intended
for us as well as for him." Bot in what .serue? Its purpose was not ro
draw attention to a threat to Christendom but I11ther to awaken group
obligation in living Christians. Hugh·s weak lay piety is thus able to
nimulate firllll:r rewlve among Glaber·s readen, who, through the
inVOClltion of Judaism, Islam, and Byzantium, can relate their spirit·
uliity to larger issues.
Scenes like this form a prelude to the chapren which may justly be
viewed as the Hi!fwia,'s dimlll[, book four, chapters four to six, which
tell in turn of the famine of the early IO}OS, the plentiful harvests
marking the anniversary of the crucifixion, the movements towards
the peace of God, and the upsurge of pilgrimages to Jerusalem, to·
gether with their attendant signs, omens, and tribulations .
.As the year 1033 apptOllched, G!alX"r relales, the whole uf the
Christian world expttienccd a severe fam ine. Severa! illustrious men
passed away as the date came near, as if to Wlltn of the impending
doom. They included .Bcnedict VIII, Fulben of Chanres , and Wi!·

" ,&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<Io • <10", .. j ....... G. o.m,. ""e... lob «.)0. po;.. do Din,' ~.ti<.

470
 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 pro-
duced 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 reform-
ers, those who were, in his words, among (he chief modd. (or conduct
"' in the prestnt age." Glabcr himself had written a little Ittatise cd-
ebracing 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 rhere-
fOte 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<i •• i'; od ....... i""'m ...

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 Gla-
ber 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 atti-
tudes towards change between twO peaks of KDsibility, namely, the
later CarolingillD empire and the consolid..cion of the duchy of Nor-
mandy 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 con-
fronted 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 unjudi-
cious 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 pP-
gIlD 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 psy-
choanalysis 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 instru-
ments 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<h, fI-'J S..." ...... I, p. loll.

47'
 IIITU"'LS. SYMIIOI.S. "'NO INTEIIPIIET"'TIONS

be said of the evly Middle Ages in general: men had Mt yet discov-
ered "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 deal-
ing 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 investi-
gations 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 success-
ful. 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 bound-
aries 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." Nov-
elty did oot generate enthusiasm but fear, not adaptation but ~si5t­
Ince.
fnd«<l, throughout the tenth .nd eleventh centuries, as the tempo
of soda! change increased in nonhwest Europe. so, to some degttt,
"For. ,boomDl ....;.., '" Iho i....... Of< "' . Sd... ", TO. r .., .....". <f ... Soti-' .-..IiI.
t,.." •. G . Wol,!..,.d F. ~ .... (~.."" .... Ill .. '961) • • ,..,., .

.. Cf. G. Duby. L'n ";1/, (Pori •• 196,). '9.60; 6, .

.. 1!.8'.o.m.",.. Vital,• • H~ &rI.~"", ,. ,~. «I. Q,ibooll ( '97>1, '1>; 8. 1 (;91,).
,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<uladon, of COUf3e, varied inVttS<'ly with the quanrity of objec-
tive documenration. To take Normandy, around which, our following
discussion is chielly oriented:'" from the nnt twO dukes, RoUo (d.
931) and William Longsword (d. 942), we pCl5sess no official ICts .t
all. Richatd I, the third duke, reigned for ~r fifty ytaB from 942
to 996 but left only thrtt diploma.s. Acts become a little more plen-
tiful from the time of Richard 1I (d. 1026) and Roberr the MIgnifi-
~nt (d. 103'), but they do noc: come to light in any real abuodantt
until the time of William the Conqueror. A ttttain amount of infor-
mation can be gleaned from saints' lives. But the early chronicles are
disappointing. Dudo of Sr. Quendn, the official spokesman of the
first three dukes , is virtually silent on institutions bryond obvious
feudalloyllities. WiJliam of Jumi~ges, who continued his history into
suttreding reigns, is hardly more instructive. The earliest genuine
inventory of ducal righn and powen is found in In inquc:st made by
his $OIU after the Conqueror's death in 1091." But its funnion WIS
merely "to record" wUt had alWllys been said and done; only with
caution could its principles be applied to earlier duchies, or for that
matter to William's Own ascendancy.
The legislation of the later Carolingians provides a similou pict~
of evw.pot'Iting documentation. 11Ie laSt capirulary of the kings of
F,,,nriaJ)aidt,,t,,liJ is from 884." During tbe tenth century the num-

.. Hill. I!td.. 11_;' 4. 14. MCH S/i 'l , p. ,no

.. ~'I'. KodulfGlohor, Hi" . . '." '7·"" ..,j. p",." pp.' 7·'0,
.. So>mmari ...... from J. Y ...., "/.n pnmifta inKi .... iom du d"d.1f de Ncwmandio;· I N_
_ • t.,.,. ~ .. £on,t.o..u.. ,. • ($p>Ioto, 1969). _l66.
" c.H. H..JU ... , N..... /.,.;_ (C&rat:orids<, M... .. '9>,), Append;, D. p. • 8,.
P MCH u,... S<nio 11; CI/Ji""-io 11.,_ Fro ..., ....... p<. '. No .•87. pp. H '-n ,

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 sertie-
ment 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 >Od 1IotI<.1ty. '96.d. 98- JIo< ... ~ ~
odIob.no'>ip sin« w. vOJd', ,906 dotsi ..... <\. d'tbet>e<u:·!.co in_""" norrna<><ko da",
r'mp;'" r. ....... IX, ~l<," 1 No< m, 'n1)8- n.. ...... q.... 'iooo ;, ...... ...,J ' - " brl<£,
br P. H. So""'" rh< AI< <f ... Vi.h<p. 211d od_ (london, '97 I). dI, 6 (pp. nO"7), Or. ,loo
<on,;""i'T ~ Cuolin~*, ,nd N",,,,,," ........... """" , 11 L, Mu_. "L.. domajn .. d, t· ...
_ fru>qu< .. I.. .x..iMo> du rtli .... <Ioon&nitJ," 8011#;. " r.. S«iiti tit< ~",;,p ', ~ .-
N......ft.9 (l\Ml·~~I. 7-97 ; on ,11< «HMi.";..,. 0( ,be 6", C&ptti ... , ... J. F. I.."",bpli •• ,
"SI""' . ..... _ i q ...... "",,:tum pOIl';q"", do ... 10 Pr..« <le 10 1\0 du X ....... dtbu" du
XI. ,i'd•• " 11 _ioN on'''''' " 1'_, r.. f-';"'" Mlr.. dotl.. "","""'-d, (Spol...,. '9nl.
.. p. }60--6,. }~.oo .
,. C-ili_ 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 disap-
pearance 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 pro-
vide 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, .",. r.;;. of !.&nin"'''';''' Ki .... bip: H<fII)' 1 ODd
PhiUp .....,....... ,- 8"9 go.
 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<l.ualJy ~gan to
be looked upon in another light. 60 While retaining iu older mean-
ings, "wandering" al$O started to function as a symbol of psycholog-
ical indecision. PhysiCal movement, so to speak, gave individuals a
period of reflection, not only between the poll'$ of birth and death,
but, as became increasingly dear, ooween the apIJ'Uently immobile
modds for behaviour inherited from their an(l'$tors IIJ1d the new forms
towards whi.:;h they wtre not always successfully groping . It WIIS a
timt of tt5ting, of tJlJt1ltllrr. And, for both sexes, the period of insta-
bility was yooth.
Here, as we have elsewhere emphasized, the early feudal age marks
a dividing lint between two contrasting mmldlitis.
In the world of ~rmanic folklore, movement W1U an intimate part
of the social ethic itSelf. The essential featurn of this belief were
beautifully swnmed up in the Anglo-Saxon poems The W"IIIU,.,,. and
TIN SMj"rtr. Th e warriors regret. the Iou of their kinllmen, th~ warm
hearth, and the mead-hall of their "protCClOfS," but d~y are com-
pelled to lead a life of restless exile over "the dark waves:' where
"frost and snow ace failing , mingled with hail." A similar atmO$phere
surrounds the judicial exile of the clltly med ieval pilgrima~ . The
Pmittllfi,,/ if SI . CrJlttlflWfll1 states that a cleric who commits murder
without making sufficient retribut ion "may nevt t again be rntortd to
his native land, but, like u.in, mu5t roam the earth a wan<krer and
fugitive (lIaPl t l pmj*gw). "6. Other examples of socially inspired
movement come easily to mind: at the tOp of the social scale, fu r
" "'" • btief ,"i..... _ J. A. Bt.lNia&•. Ill"';..,,! c.._ """" ~'" "" C~ (Modi"", .
,969/. )0"' .
,. So< B. d< Ga;f&«. -P<Iori....,. .. ",lI. dos ..in'"
l!>of"" d '"n """3...;' E'..... <>i';,_
"
~h.q;"''''''';' ~~;, (B",... I•• '?ti71, ! I ' j.4 . U,.{ul ;n<roductiono ... ,Ix pir~rimas< idool
ind..de H. "" Cam"",,,",,,,,,,. "'[);o uh,;":1x H.imotlosi,k<i, im ol,kir<~li""'" und (Ri""',,·
..Ial""r...... n ~_hlum. " rept. in T.diliH nJ '-'Mo. 1:"'111 It< Kmb<opclJidm. Att{Wlu nJ
V_.tt (Heid<!b<,S. '9ful. J.O,. '7; J ~Itr<q. ""loIonoc~i""" .. pitf8,in........ • ....... _
'" ~ ","Iuli" ....""141<. E"'IW" _ _ (Pal". I~). ,,"'90; and G . Co...... bl<. ""M"",, ·
<hi........ po!l<ti...,. au MO)' ... ""'." R._ ~.. ' S8 ('97)). "'7· On abut< of <be i<ko. •
.... G. Consub)•• ''Oppooirion 10 Pi~i""'lI" in IIx Middl< ""'." Su.JM G",t;" ... 19 (1916).
"S""<I 6 .
or
.. f", "" uMOphi .. iot«l .~ Ib< li "",.", .... M. !Iocklhum. ""","_.oJ BMo",.,
'*'.. p_ittJotWtS
V"I!~' _ _ ;. '" """.~
. CoI--"';.
1("""
B. • •
""
MituUhm U...... '9.,1. H -7 ' .
od . 1.
Bi . .... Tb. l';'. P..;wtUh (Dublin. ' ?till. ')8. Tht
di",,,,,.,., b<'!W<e<l ~ and."...,; hod 1><". ,.. <Ommon b)" .Ix d.",",b <m<ul)'; • ., ..
Per<t- !)&min. 0. r:_,,; V;~ C P...... . .. . c. 3. PL I ~ ~ . ~ 07C-D .

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.m-
ilies." 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 Augus-
tus, who died in Ill3 .61 Bur, by rhis date, "wayfaring," was well on
the way «l bKoming .. disreputable son of IICriviry. Did the aristO-
cratic Otro of Freising not deriu the name of the Norman soldier of
fortune, "Guiscard," from wanderer or n.gabond (do lid",. 1It/ ginf-
t",.J,'" pointedly recalling an ancient monastic opprobrium? It is not
dear JUSt when the turning-point came. A Jur gasp of thl' older ide-
alism with respe« ro physiC'lI movemenr can still be kit in the Chil-
dren'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 gat-
menu; 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 unau-
thorized 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 .. conve-
nient 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-
H

"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,. 1l<Ii>tm."
T"'· _ .... of Jh.1I.~ Hi,-..J $....,.
,It! S<.;.. ..... . JO (l.o<>don, (980). i~,6.

",
 RITU"lS, SYMBOLS, "NO INTJ:;RPRIlT"TIONS

rights. In the north, they infilulItr<i the councils devoted to the peace
and truce ofGod.66 Making their lint efkctive appearance in medieval
history, rhey breathed new life into the conventional connection be-
r~n displacement through space or time and spirit ual improvement.
"Wandering,"' in this context, illumates a typically medieval and
early modern cultural process, the manntr in which one model of
behaviour works its way down the social scale while anorher begins
to move upwards, both dependent on putative exemplars, which, for
the W<e of simplicity, may be c.lIed "texts. "
A related process is the formation of new bonds of solidarity within
well-defined social categories, the mOSt remarkahle example of which
in the later eleventh centwy is the crisis of "youth ."
In every society, of C(RUle, thl:> pauage from youth to maturity is
i.J\ important rite. Cros.sing the frontier from one stage of life to an-
other 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 cen-
tury. 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$e the tensions
of socialization. There, despite the presence of a knightly class, youth_
ful energies found outlets in lly piety, vernacular literature, and even
heresy.M William IX sublimated Noule into poetry: the conilins of
the real world were tratulOrmed inro a vehicle for ~lving the op-
positt$ 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<o-m><h-C<",,,'Y Pna MO>'<·
",."':. SJm<I_ S ([93'». [fI6.w; G. Oubr. "!.eo 1000 .. I. PO;I J. 0;"".- ;~ Il_"
, _.. '" "'...,...",., "7-40 .
.. ,,_ .an Go""'1'. rh< Ru.. ., ".-p. It. .,._ M. 11. Vi ........ ood G_ L c.lk< (o.~.

[~), ,." .,t;. Pur • ...,..... ......... of 'h< iIwn, ... S. P. Moor< and O. G . Mrerflolf. -s..:ul...
JU,,,",, """'" and M..,.i,.,.:· i" Ht_'" R;,..J. j., •• and tb< .. trn>i.. b;blioJ ......, . >9,'9"
.. G. Volp< , M .. :...,; "'if;";' "'It - u l i ""t. ~ -..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!]·

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 agree-
ment, lsid~ of Seville placed ;II.-111S between the ages of fifteen and
fifty," Later authorities imitated his cllISSification of the MlaW /mni-
If. . 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 Struc-
ture,"'" 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, con-
stitutro. 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 pri-
mogeniture. 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<im<;., ... " .......
iuvenil, s.na: Zoom V«>!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 ....

L'' _
.."'" IOr J<iUdl in III,'io,ol """"" 10.. , I.. N .... 'l.'mfan, do... le dIOi. UlDiiql>< mldXnl, "
:u",m., ~ dE' ~;I
" .or v.... $... '.4. od . G. _.in 7 I ..(8Nooeio. ,916), 12" 4.
(PaN, '907~ '4' -
.. G. Duby, ·'Lea;.u- duo. .. lOci&! Llistocra!iqu< doni 10 _ dot NOfd.a....- ... xu.

"N. BIo<II, "...MI $...,.

oikI<;' H _ .. <A.,", . . . _

.. "Leo jeoI_, - "4''1 .

.... >'4_
I •• }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 ·

" This ;. po";'''!>'!' , .... cl Otdtci{', ..<....,: N . Ch.,bnalL Tb< &t1t!"Jlir./Hi,...,. 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", '*. '.
<d . M. Ilok (loodoa. ,8lI.), .8, ,,!to..,..h , ;m;lorl, cl "'" <JtOU!;, ;-'IU. Of ''''''I<,no<
",,[y 'h< N _ r" "~ ....., «;,;c;oed fo< Ion~ hai•. G._a cl Comb" .; " ",,1 1oxI rh< .. n«
dwg< .. ,lit ....... j'" juds<d i R 'O '~ ; At.. SJooIi .... ~J h, <. ,. I'L ,., . ,,860. s.. ........
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-lc-
Rechin, 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$Crvcd
for penitents, prisoners, and pilgrims. Hli image was apt, for, con-
IIdously or unconsciously, these young: men had broken with the ways
of thcir fatben. Thf;y had become "wanderers" of a new type. Orderic
fclt tbat in his own day "thc older life-style had almOSt cntirely httn
given up for novel diversions ." In his view, the outwatd appearance
of Rufus's companions mirrored tbe shallowness of tbeir inner lives.
Ycr, leaving aside the allcgatiolU of de~""mcy, how characteristic
is Ordenc's picture: of thc moral pm:Ii~nl? It is instructive to
comJ*e his observations with a diffc~nt SOrt of personality crisi.
rc:lat.-d in Guibcrr of Nogenr's MtfM;n in which thc social mili~u is
somewhat simiJu.79
Guiberr told the story as part of a largcr diSCl1S:lion of " the coDdi-
tions of religious life and tbe conversions" he saw in his day. Thc
hero was Evrard of Breteuil, ....ho died in I095 . Evrud was "in the
Bower of youth" and known rhrouahouc Normandy for his wealth and
re6ncmcnt. However, at lcng:th, Guiberr tclls us, he began to re8.ect
on the purposelessness of his eltist~nce, which, in the narrator's rerms,
consisted of noching "but coruumiog .nd being consumed ."
He talked over the problem with some of his fricnds, md lhey
decided to punue the ~Iigious life together as memhcrs of Il lay con-
fratcrnity. Leaving thc comforts of their great hOUSC$, 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 $O.rlet cloak, fan(y
silk trousers, and obscenely short leggings. His hair, parted in front,
s""ept down girlishly over his shoulders: he looked, Guibert notes,
"more like a lover tban a traveller." Evrard, ""ho had kept his own
identity 11 seem, ""as eager to IClrn who this i'C'cson WlLi. When a.sked,
the young man replied: "You mun nO! tell anyone, bul I am actually
Evrard of Breleuii! I was once a count, but I have voluntarily gone
into exile to do penan(e foe my sins." Evrard was shocked , but inter-
preted the meeting as a divinely inspired sign that his period of "wan_
dering" was finished. Ac(Ordins:ly, he and his (ompanions immedi-
ately left for Marmoutier, where they ~me monks.
Even if we put aside the moralities of the tWO au!hors, there is a
fundamen{;l.l similarity and an important difference in the two stories.
In both, the life-style of the previous generacion is rejl!(ted, even
though inheritance poses no problem. BUI the twO groups are at sep.
arate s{;I.ges of their diuociation from traditional norms of !>ehavi!)ur.
William Rufus's court has merely left them behind, while Evrard and
his friends, at least in Guibert's vie"", have found their ( hosen soa!.
Perhaps he was overly optimistic: even so, their youthful "rites of
passage" involved the isolation from onc set of relations, a transiti!)nai
or liminal stlse, and incorporation into a new ··family.·· Territorial
displacement thereby symboliud spiritual growth.
These storiC$ 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<k;'tory o/",Iot ideo. i, .....;o-d br 8 . d,
Go.iffit,. ··HI3~"p~i. " hi_io«,"""i,,.· U _:..,-..ji<I JtJ , ,"-.!c, '4 ' -4 ' and br P. Gn .... ,
""So<Oalpt<ho<h, liche tu"",« dn li"ll;o,nop/>;' <In M,rowingc,....,...J Karo/;n«"Iti' . Oit Vi, ••
dn H,i1ia<tl dn oIldalmw>n;",h<fI l , .",... nod 4i, "'P ...."'''' Ad,I."';lis<n : · in A. 8on<,
«I .. M"""",,". ~I""'. AIfJ ..... G,. ' ..,.... '*' K/" "" RoiJo .. (Si8m"';""". "n4 ),
'~1 ·76. Ol '"'Pi,,1 itnpo><U<>C< ;, ,lot ....,.,,,,hot', VO/1, Hwnd....J H,;/ipt , .. R,;d, ""
..,...w'
M ....... (P"C"" [96~). D. 11Im<r poi ... "'" 'hM. in <011' .... 10 .00 ... , pncI"". [lot
M,l(IOi<llj;'" kniah. ,..,.. '0 coon ... ··,..,."h··, ·oz.m Probl.", dot f .... ,..;I"'iom~nIot i ..n
im ""_""lli",..... P"nkon .... h,.· L ·--t0." ,.,.,,;.. 1;...,. ~".....m... '46.
~ On .Iot fOpUS . . . . E. Il. Curti",. f .. tfM' Li...""",.rrJ ,lit u,i. Mi/Jk o1z<J. 98-1 0 ' .

,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 hagi-
ography. 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 coun-
try 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

.. 11.. T .......... "AdaIborn. BKbop '" Uoo. ... s.... ;"

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..!< <he> Adalbboo do ' - ." A ..
_ . 8OS.C .• H ('nB). 683~. 69'. and G, Dubr. Ut,..., .... ""i>Mf_""fMU/i_.
63.66· .

,."Abl' ·'El''';l r

• /........ '3-'<4,
Ij,C , ""R ...... 11:.... 1, _.).HP ...... , , " .... ,_

.. CooI~ •• A.!aib<ro, BiIhop ol r-.." 72-74.

,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'e<hm-. Cl• .,. AJ.J..u v..... s".;;.. _ J.r Vrii/,,,;, ... n.s"" ..... So.lao/to (9'0.' ,,6)
(SoU", ..... ,y66). G. Toll<-nbo<h, od., $....u..",,; v,..-,"_ """ G."bitIJI< ... ,...,fiij.tbritlt
",.; ~ AIMIt (F""bu'8.im._..... , 1~1), .<>d, from Iho _ i < ponp<C,m,
H. Gturodma"". "A4<I.b<I<. h"'''8<» ;1n 1-1_;,,,10.1,,,. "'loo,..-:·
C.......,; u<>d ... ,..;,; 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,.

,8,
 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 success-
fully 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 Or-
deric'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< <tu P''''CU. ., cl<
~ .... b ~ 1IO.i_." J";" 7 (19.6), "'·H .
.. /(~ /I.. , o'h';".. I." RO<IMiI, ...... ), H'·}'. 0.. Godo{,<)', ,.,.,m .... H. GIoc ..... '.
'"<lookIiold cl< Bouillon. ~oo.i"'l \ ... m>Miocltr " "'HE '9 (t~V, 1 '''''0.
- T"""""'hy amJUfttI of ,he Fin, Cruood< «COrd • 1IWDb<t of,.,. i<o_nooI"",;"" of ...,.
...... ic diM;ipl ..... On dot bo<tpound,"'''''''''oU C. Erdmom, TMo.;r.t(1M [. . t(C. . -,
<bo .• ond 1.
",',LH'
""'_. _. >, 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 adoles-
cence."'''' 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 Nor-
man 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 excep-
tional 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 ap-
parent 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 (on-
dition 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 imper-
manent. 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 psycho-
logica! bankruptcy. Ov.-rindulgence in ascetic exercises was one an-
swer 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"",...,,,;, , . ,~. "'<OH SS 8. p. 8, .

••• HUt. Etda. , 6.8 ...... ,. p. 'H.

'"
 RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTHRPIlHTATlONS

sill8le penon, dramuicdly uniting t~ notions of wandering and re-

furm, Throughout the eleventh century, mOll2Stic confnterniry of-
fered 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 as
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<ltJtl DttI,
or, as was more likely, on finding a rich wife, he mended his ways,
scopped consorting with rowdies, and, adoptins monastic habiu, at_
tempted "to procure by his own hands' lRbour all that was nKCS$aty
(or his aisrcnce, "H, His newly IlCquired goods were used for chari-
table purposes: he gave alms, supported hermits, and kept only the
ban' necessities for himself. Later, be asked for and was gramed con-
fraternity with St. Evroul. " 4
Literary tau lilre these &le notoriously UDn'liable indicaton of real
social changes. Yet, at least onc intef'l'Sting pattern is n'iterared.
Its m<'5( t\"markable feature is the manner in "",hich social and cul-
tural values became interlocked. The behavioural sequence normally
began with a /<1",;1;. that had temporarily or permanently broken
do"",n, It was replaced by an equally impermanmt pttr group, a loose
organi;r;ation "",ruch delimited the p"SS9ge from adolescence ro youth
or from youth to manhood. Eventually .. new I_it;. ot fr<ltmtitaJ was
fonned. Only in the last phase were kin and ethical boDds reunited:
that &CroUnlS, perhaps, for its appeal.
Yet the wandering between two periods of relative stability was
also es5C'ntial. It was, so to speak, every rouns man', personal BiI-
tDtJKiflllfWJI, through which he ,~reatM, int~rpreted, and re~r' wd
his individual development for himself It WlI5 a henncneutic aercisc
whose text WlI5 life imlf. Usually it involved phys.ical d.isplaamcnt
or • chanse in station, as in the case: of Evn.rd of Bretcuil. But the
period of uncertainty provided an opportunity for inu05pC:Ction. It
forced. m~n onto their own resources and. tested. th~m out. As a con-
sequence, they were compelled. to adapt older "lues to new circum-
Stances. Manual labour, self-denial, and voluntary poverty well' fa-

'" H_Il.]. ~, -v...,.,. ODd c...r_i'T -.-j,b 0"",." J--' <f to.' ;.. ';..' Hu..,
,6 ('!l61), 'n-~4. 16•.
, .. 500 in ",,",,,, I;. Ammut 0Bd A. o.n-. L'lQu. ""''' ...,,. ,, 1;>0" (B88-lo17) (IV;',
1<)4'). '960}I" }tl.64.
'0, Hill. &dor .• 6 . '0, ...t. ,. p. }t•.
'" tM.dI.

,88
 RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND I NTERP RETATI ONS

miliar tMJJle$, &$ was the tension between family, whose bonds oper-
ated 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 sense-
lcu 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<! of Evrud of Smeuil ut the cuurt of
Witli~ Rufus were designed by their authon as poinu of reference
in an age of transition. Yet they bore witness t1) a genuine paradox.
During the eleventh century life expectancy was still short. ··Old age:.
remarked Marc Sloch, "seemed to begin very carly , as early 115 mature
adult life with Ul. This world, which .. . cOluidered iudf very old,
was in facl governed by young men ... , ,6
Youth , &$ a cun.sequence, was not OfIly a time of instability in the
rnl world . It also IOW a deep imp~ion on the poetic and uncon-
scious lifi. of the period. It u a common theme in the literature of the
south and rhe nonh of France. The earliest work in Proven~a! , the
eleventh-century PIIiIm $/11" Bota, opens with a relien ion on the [oflia
of nru jOVf OIfI"t, who have apparently desertM the ethical models of
the past and think it nothing to betray one·, parenn. '" A ,imilar
disregard for inherited values by aqlltft [oil jwmt i, ec hoed in rhe
contemporary ChamUII rU SU. F~i. "I The manysided problems of youth
were profoundly explored by the early troubadoun, as witness the

'" F<If. boIoot.d ...... mtnt , ... R. w. Swtho",. ··Ronulf Pbrnbord:· M.m...i H-';""
..JOI""S,,.u,,(o.tOnl. '970), ,8,-"",.
, •• FwuW sori<tJ. vol . I. 1'-73.
" , U .• -8. «I. C. App<I. "-""i"'" C..._bi. (Morhu'3. '?<'<O) • •.
pff,.,
,,' u .•• 8.". «I. ~. H.... (Pari •• 19,6). '9'"94.
 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 sub-
tlety 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&<tion is Ion,
Joy deserted,
,nd love troubled.
", A. J.Dmomy, "J.,..."., the Nooion J youth """"'11 ,h< T"",bodoun. i,. M.."il\ll oM
Soum::' AI,ii ' S,.,&, " (1949). ,.". Pot op<aoI ..;.-".. ,h< -">l< _iaJ Ofi,;",. lOO
E. K6hlcr • •'Stm .. fonction "" mm< .jeu...... dons Jo. pObi< do> ..... '''"''''''n."
MfIMpJ R.

tidIo. H~ o~.,.
UopUtiJI7 (1977)·
. ..
c..... (Foi,;"' , 1!166l, 001. '. )~}; ud, ""'" JeII<fIlIy. ,h< ....idto odi .... bJ' W. Hwb-
I -. #1:... ito F..wmo-! mIlK h' . if> flir U-"",." ! r/i - '

'.. Dmom" "J~'" ,"l, dUcusoeo the 1Vo3<.

'" Ed. ].,..1.. Do~. Pobi.I' Vl'vJ. T_I,! ,AI .... ,1. (T........... 1_), , ..... H'

".
 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 chil-
dren. UJ Although Syriac and Byzantine "if,,,
existed, the utin life
aoo cult can be t~ no further back than the tenth century.'" The
life, therefore, although ~ on an ancient nory, achieved its pop-
ularity 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 line-
agc). ,.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 develop-
mem 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"

••• 1'0< • bhof .... ;n., ... L. ... J. .... AAtci<, ..t. c. &tot.., (o.food, ,~6). "'·aii; on
_ul&t ..... iom 0( athu eI<ftn,b-an,ulJ .. in'" I; ....... 11 . d. Gailb. •• "L"hq:iOC"P/>< ..
OM po>bji' ,~XI< oltd<: "';""~_II~ .. . /.. _ '" e.- (P,,;' ond 11 ......10. ,~,).
I. "6-,,.
,., Se. 11. Mi,liorini, TIN ''''';'''' Utqul', .... "'" '''M. T. G . (ir;/li,h (" nd"". '966),
, [·n·
'" "Th< win I;"" ... d....i6N by M. RbWr. Dit f,..,.,_ '"AIt:<,,,,,UpoJ. (V;. .... , , ,..,,)
pp. ,,-,6; on fl>o ""If, ... L. INth<on<. "No<" JU( I>. f"POS""";' d< R""", ,. ~IA:'
VII: I<> illI'Rd<o cb.... i.,..... d< I"A ..... in. " M~" rfni' fr.~u. '" /(_ ,0 (11I9<>~. 'H'
,0.
'" In[<tp ..... ,;o.. on: tn'M:W<d btidly by 11 . d< (io.iffi<r. "In,,,,,m 'J'<l"W" rd;fHJU<DJ. A
""""'" d< to vi< d< S. Ab;..·· 11 ..... B"'''-'i<' ... 6, ('~ 1). [)1.6, .
... L. >,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
overil.ppings between Aleris'$ n'"
and her life led OI:to Picht to re-
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 • meaning-
ful 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-Carolin-
gian ~, 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. Bern-
wald 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 conti-
nuity with the put. But, in the nat genentrion, the same hagio--
graphic conventions could symbolize a break with custom. For in-
stmce, 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
·
h.m. --'.'
.mulll...... "'H
A literary work which came at the question of youth, movement,
and. spiritual growth from a different angle, but which nonetheleu

,.,,,,. <homo iI fulIr o><pIotod b)r c. J. _~, "O!riKi,. Dfu.n.,...,· ia D. - . . ,

od .. M.J.¥wJ W_ (O.t"'d. '978), '\lO'9>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<oonmod .....
- Abl ... in U"".o., loWo<n and 0;.;""""."
z,;,,' ill fiir' 1 • , PIiJ.4P J' ('\1'56), ,~.
~ .

'.,."
•" Viu Son"" tli, c. 4, NGH:SS IV. "9·
_ . , c. ,.
'" Viu i 0... ',. c. I. pt "',89\ICo Pi, iole' .......lIi... <OIJoqui ...... , jot";'" IMiori
... "'" prod;, 1 'h,i""'i ....... "']A'" I;.... pemo.., modi, "",'bus potutt;,...;.om i_flli,
..,imwn.
s.
,,. V.... ViI.¥U, c . 2, od. _" ~ BoII.- 'i.- 1 , (I88.), ,60.
' .. Vn. S. 800 ......, ' .7, PI. ' 7' " ~74B<.

49'
 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 Lothatin-
gia.' " 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$, Brittany, and England.
His life and adventures inspired an Irish i_am (a sea voyage inter-
spersed .... ith remarkable events), .... hich involved t ....o visits to the
threshold of ·'the land of promise.·· One .... as made by Brendan's fellow
monk, Barimhus, who told him about it on his return. Barinthus 5aid
that he had travelled over IiC:iI to the Isle ofDdights to visit his hermit
son Mernoc. There he found a large number of monks living in com-
plete spiritUll harmony. To the ~t, he ~s told, lay another island,
the terra rqwumiJJil.l1'ff, a marvdlous place of prc<.:ious stones, eternal
blooms, and ever_ripening fruit, whue physical n~$ 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 four-
t~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. "'<IT;,",. od •.• T" Il.p.-N_ V.,.,.. "ft. BmrJ..o (Mand.. ".<.
[979). 1.

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), after-
wards.
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. en-
ticed 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 in-
ner 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<u was guided
there b)' his more intensely spirirual son, MemO(. Brendan wu told
he was neu his journey's end by a iJl1Ullis.'''' In his Anglo-Notman
version, Bencdeit ebborated. the point: Brendan -.5 given two guides,
"a whitt-haircd man, his eyes youthful," who followed the boat and
provided food, and "" jlM1Kli, an angelic personage at paradi5C" door-
'" Sdmot, N"';'.u., ..ii.
," P. "'l~. l.4 CbrfliIoII" fUlit"" . ,M, «I . .... Duproa'. 1 '701 •• (J'or;I. '~i.

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<trred his way
aoo shouted from his horse that he was [0 proc~ no furth er.
Then Walchdin bore wifl~» to a lengthy purgatorial procession.
First, a great crowd pass ·d on (00£, carrying domesric animals, doth-
ing, and bouuhold uteIlllils like so much booty, nagging one another
as they hurtied alons. Among their num~r Wakhelin [e(ognized
iooividua.ls from his own diocese who had. ruen[]y died . Now, Ilt
reasoned, they werr paying for their sins.
The spirits who followed were more b izarre. Wakhelin stood in
amazement as some thousand men walked by, each pair supporting a
litter on which.sat a dwatfwith a large, barrel _like head. Behind thi,
troop came two hugr blacks carrying a man bound to a rree-trunk;
on rop of him rod e a fierce demon who pcriodical!y Ihrust a hot poker
inw his genitals. Walchelin re.:ognized him as well : it was a certain
... Ed . Shon ond N.,ri..... r<tpo<."ti.-.lr [I. ,,611". (.nooun<eeI H I. ' 401 ond U. '7' l iJ. For
",.,,1.. , (""" ....."" ,!-c """",row . . ample> of ,"" "'f'OI in A'lII[.,.N""",n [it<nlu", ... ,be
dOdo,"" bot_"'
Le",.
•" 101. D.
. . llMJond r-r_ in ~ ,,, .., Pit<. eel . B. S. M<"iI.ft ((>./OftI. '97<>1.
A.t..N...,.. Li _ _ ~,.J it> 80< . ....... " .
." Ea"". H il•. , 8. '7. '>"01. 4. pp. ' 36-,0.
.., UiJ.. , }II .

."
 tI.lTUA.LS, SYJoI"OLS , A.ND INTliIlPllIl TA.TIONS

St~phen, 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.

that he had been observing the /_/;. or _.ft

After tbe immense army of till: dead had pessed, Walchelin m.lized
of Hellequin. Ac-
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<kd him fur inter_
fering with the bones. Three of them were on the point of raking
boki of him, but the fonh alIked them to leave off, as he wanted the
priest to take 11 meuage to his wife. He was , he said, William of
Glos, and his sin was usury. He had once Ic:-ned 11 poor man some
money and had taken his mill all 11 pledge. When the debt: was DOt
repaid, he annexed the mill and. eventually willed it to his heiD. As
punishment fot his sin he wu forced to carry 11 burniog mill-shaft
perpetually in his mouth. He asked Walchelin to rdl his wife and son
ro return the illegally acquired propeny to its rightful ownen.
Walchclin 'IWS undecided as to what he should do. Whefher Wil-
liam merited consideration or not, he concluded, delivering such a
message was a risky business. WiJliam continued to repeat his re-
qUl.'St, and finally the priest prrtended to usent in order to be rid of
him. But William, being .. spirit, immediately saw through the du-
plicity and threatened Walchelin ...ith attack. The priest rapidly re-
dted a prayer to the Virgin and was ~ by. mysterious horseman
who appeared out of nowhere bearins • large sword.

49 6
 RIT U ALS, SYMSOlS, AND INTERPRETATIONS

When all the other knighn had passed, Walchelin noticed a soli-
tary 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, Rob-
en, 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<l. being slain for trying to steal onc
of Hellcquin·s honts. Only prayer had saved him. Finally, he added
a word of advice. Their father, he stated, had only escaped in part
from purgatory when Walchclin lIlIlg his first mass. Therefore, he
must conti nue to be a good priest and to pray for them borh.
This vision is rich in associations, and effectively blends a number
of themo:s from popular religion ;n the eleventh century. In the back-
ground su.nd the absolures of good and evil : the four medlars, possi -
bly representing the apostlcs, aJ:C balanc«l by the four condemned
riders of the miniature apocalypse. Pn-yer is a pr;mirive "science"
whose efficacy in the external world is immediate. Although, as in
any d~m, def2ils fmm fact and finion arc interwoven, Walchclin,
or, as is more likely, Orderic himself, arranged them from oral record
so tbat they fitted the literary genres of the vision and the cstatcs
!-atire. The aeton, all persons lately deceased, are p laced in a laml$cape
made up of Christian symbolism and the folklore of Hellequin, a
figure who also makcs a shadowy appearance in Waiter Map, William
of Malmeshury, and Peter of Blois. '" Among the commoners in the
procession Wakhdin recognizes some ne(ghbou~; among the clergy,
Hugh of. Lisieux, Mainer of SI. Evroul, and Gerbert of Wandrille;
and among the nobility, as ooted, landry of Orbec and William of
Glos. Moreover, the va.rious classes and their typical sins are listed in
order: the peasantry, who simply disccgard law and order; the women,
who arc given over m sensual pleasures; the clergy, who desert their
flocks; and the nobility, who a~ guilty of abuses of power. The fat-
... I~.. 1'(11) .. _to. U. C. Gt...... '8 . ..0-;..,;. _ i ...,... ju~il«. , .........._ : .
in J. L< Go« ...cl J.-C.S<tt""",«1>. , lA d .-.,.; (PoriJ, ,.,e, l. ,~.,6 .

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 per-
sonal 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 or-
dained; 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 af-
fecting his life make themselves felt. Religious reform is just beneath
the su.rface: the condemned cleriC$ Irt in fact all black monks. Fur-
ther, 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 Mos-
lem 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...,; ...,. _

Ij. .. "Gis"",' ...,. "Dwsdil': A R, ' ';0" of Popular
CuI", .. ?" j--..l r(
'o' Hill. 1l«I<t., p .•
N""
l'w' 'li 76 «979), Ho-~~; "" 1Ietmrd.... bc)o." 1'. "1·
,8.
~'F,.8 .. RoI.m of A,bo·-d. v..... c. >. AASS >,~ . .".. 6. 610E_'; Yi.. Il. &00 Jj
Tm.ioIuir, c. ,,'0,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
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 prcs-
ent 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 be-
gun to live longer than men, reversing an early medieval trt' nd .' '''
Population growth overcrowded the marriage market with young la-
dies who had no dowri es and hencc litde possihility of attracting a
suitable mate. Consensual marriage was not yCt thc rule,'" and de-
cision-making was generally a family rather than an individual re-
sponsibility. Am ong (he lower strata, suict monogamy was not al-
ways 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 Gre-
gorian reforms demanding strict derical celibacy deprived many of
their sole means of support.
On the positive side, older boundaries began, if not to be obliter-
ated, 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<dih,. -J.jft hp«ut><;e, fo< w"""," i~ M«Iion! 50<;'1,:' in R. T. ~.
«I ..n. Rw <I '1'_ ;. , .. MiJ./h /Lp (A(boa,. 191 j ), 9-1 I .
.,. s... M. M. Sboo:hon. "'<h>ke '" M ...;os< 1'>,,,,,,,
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. •
• ...... (...... ' 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
~en 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-<iimensiolJ2lity. An
example is Mabel, the notorious nie« of the bishop of~, who was,
Ordak 1lIXeS, "very ~Olceful and world.iy, ciner, quick with her tOll8ue,
and above all cruel. •. ,"
The most popular woman in transition in the: entire age is undoubt-
edly Htloise, while the most fervent reformer is Hildegacd of Bingen.
But the most typical of the tensions of thc later eleventh cenruty is
perhaps the mother of Guibert of Nogent .•"
Guibert's portrait tUrms an important part of his M_in, which
were written in 111,. ,,9 His mothtt's conversion is interwoven with
his own spiritual development, .bout which he gives the reader some
insights in the opening chapters. The first image is that of perpetual
movement between two Clttremes, th.t is, dtntn1lJ and nit/tnllS, a con-
tinual falling into sin and attempted recovery. ,,,-> 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 un-
derstand 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

.,. 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<lotd .. A....

.....,
'obios", h" . Tbt _ ........ )I.... ~ of ,bt Story 01 ttIt c.Jo.n;.in.·· $IOI... ~, ('96J).

... J.
.
F. Bmf<l<l. SJf"" $..,;.1\1....... f_. ')1 .
... Drt V.. S.... '.'. od. Dour,ie, p. , . Cl. F. Nnor7, .",. COdf(,dwlOl &.op.nt"""" .. of
GWI><rt of NOI''''', Vii<>, - C,... ;l 1\1'" & ., ('964), " '-H .
1."
,.. Guibtrt, Dt V':" $ ..... Cl. jjiJ. , p. , 0: Nihil io .. oolidua, nihil <Ol'4tsru bobW.
 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, al-
most 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$," he wrore, "the ev il deeds
of my childhood and adolescence, which still smoulder in this, my
mature stage of life, the deep-rooted. longing. after forbidden pleas-
Urt'5, which, despite the weariness of my frame, have never Ceased." '6.
Guibtrt was over 6fty when he wrote these words. '''' He was looking
back on his "youth" as weJJ as on btOllder problems whi ch wen: in-
dim::t1y conn«ted 10 his own spiritual development, namely, reli-
gious revivals, civil disobedience, and the breakdown of formerly ir-
reproao::hable codes of conduct. Even his style bri1l8!llogether the penonal
and the general. The Mmro;,., have no linear design; each episode is
linked. emotionally to the next . Each, as well. involves many feelings
at once: dignity and shame, charity and Il:gll:t, attract ion and revul-
sion, His Story, in short, is an efforr ro bring order to the chaos of
his own experience through literature. ,6, It does not alwllys succeed.
Similarly, in real life, he was continually struggling to be frtc:: but
he never was.
Nor was his mother. But her anxieties well: IlQ{ the s.ame lIS his.
Guiberfs turmoil was almost entirely internal; hers arose in large part
from her treatment in a male-dominate<i world, Insight, when it came
to her, came as OtlC by one society', supports were denied her.
The details of her predicament are not clarified. until the twelfth
chapter o( book one. By then, Guibert has acquainted the reader with
his own tensions, as well il$ the new fashion for religious conversion
in men like St. Bruno and Evrard of Brtteuil. Ironically. he adds, his
mother '·did not ~ understand what hope, what cett:ainties, she ought
to have derived" from faith : , 66
As he depictS his mother, the intense desire for solid relation$,
which was unden::ut by her inability to control her fate, engendered
... IMf.• .. ,. 1'," I,S-6. pp. ,~""
'" IMf,. 1.1, 1', ': d . Amotr. -rho ~~I SUp< ..... """u .. ,-· 2>~·~o,
'.. Bt""". S,q Ri s.,;,ry. 'B. ,., Dt Vir;, Sow 1. 1' , p. ~I,
·"'Mf.• 1. 7 , p . >2 .
 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 mu-
ria.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 re-
mained unconsummated.
Her hu,b..nd, questioned reputedly by his rehdYe$, at length re-
vealed 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<h material and spiritual questions, retired when he wu twtlVC' to
.. house near the monasrery of Clermont-en-Beauvaisu. His turor be-
came a monk in the same abbey and later its prior. '7<> 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 psy-
chohistory.'" A v;rt.-lly fatherleu child, he looked fOr strong sup-
port 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
... IW..• , .... pp . ~H. ... Ut.m. ... Ut.m.
"" I~., , . , •. ". pp .• B-,a. " . IhJ., , . ". Po H .
•" On. <h<",..;" qJ p,": • • iaI i~ i "" .... Bt~__" StIf MS..." ""j.

•" 0. Vu Sa. ' .• , p. 'j; 1.11, p . .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<to dons Guiben ... N_,· u M.,.. /\tt, 5'd _ . , ('9~). 8.·
t-,. On. tIoo hi_icd «M ..... " ... L 1Uiph<ft, "Un 1"1 ,,,.... - A , , _ f.a..w.J._~
( Porio • • ,,0), an·8s.
",. 0. v.... S.... •. u. pp. ,..(;.

'"
 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 SCl<U2lity. Ne81~t, p<"rhap$, also provided the spring, for
his unceasing search for someone Ot something to ding to during
p<"riods of anxiety and ind.~ision.
These contn.dictory forces produced. a deeply troubled p<"fsonality.
Hc had a tendency towards authoritarianism whi ch occasionally mal-
quetaded as priltriotism. He loathed. hcmics"'" ancI )~,' ~ upon whose
comparatively innocent rn-ads he often brought down his pent-up
aggression. Like Augustine, he transformed the dist inction I>I-tween
body and soul into a series of poetic images describing the most un-
pleasant 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,

'" U. Il00_. 5Jf ~OJ s......, .• .

~
. " 0.. hi. ....." , 0. Vi.. S .. J.~. p. I~:· 'Vod<: mq.,;I, 'od .. m. qui, iot< .. piu,.""""
.",."''''' n,." .. Or. h.. _ ' . .. ,6. p. '9' '"Cu; ( ..... ,;) <um .k ""'"' jJ<r<f<m. ut ..: null,·
"""" ""P""" . .. -
'" IIN.. ).'7.!'P. "2-I S. ". E.,., 1.1,.
p. ,6.
 RITUAI.S, SYMI:IOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS

just as, centuries before, t~ desert fathers struggled against hoards of

demon!. Thirdly, conve[$ion is !>Ot only directed towuds the other-
W1ltld; it ~rges from Ktive engagement ... ith the world, and, at
least in part, remains innerworldly in orientation. 1besc features of
the ell~rimce are united in the converts' minds by the invoking of
models from the disc'lnt PUt, Ihat is, by looking upon unprecedented
activity IS something structuted long ago.
Conversion then, in the cases of Simon of Valois, St. Stuno, or
Evrud ofBretl.'UiI, iIIustntes the sense of cultural diSCOlldnuity which
we see emerging e,,",here. "Wha.t W:IS achieved," Guibert Doted,
"W2$ 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 in-
stances. pcnonal relatiot\5 provided a point of dcpo.rture for the cven-
rnaJ 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. Through-
out 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 con-
venion, the rumour was .pread about that her loins were be-
witched.''''' Was tbe jUIt'lposition not: significant? The world of sexual
liberty seems to have become a SOrt of underSround governed by de-

.'''/jiJ.. " ".,. 11.

,'"_ .. "'J. .~
pp. 4""",
-I~.• •. 1). pp. 4J--44.
••• I.... . . u. p_ )8 .
.~,. ..
_ .• 1.19. p.• 4 .
." I. .. . ' ,' 4.,· 47 ·
.~, ..
''' ,""" ._ .. . ,. J' .
_ . •• .• ,. pp. ,,·,2.

'"
 R!TUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTERPRETATIONS

monic powers. Guibert', mother could not 6nd the stability she de-
sired 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 moth-
er'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 $0.
called virgins, woo, "by tlleir sly business operations, turned true
lovers into windbags in the public market"·' "
The flaw, of COUrIC, in Guibcn·s thinking is his associalion of vir-
rue in the put with scxual puritanism, a familiar theme of many
ascttic utopias. How far back did his information go) Only far enough,
the evidence sugge${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 im-
mobility. Similarly, he read hi5 own nced fot certainty into his moth-
er·$ conven;on. In his mind, lIS, very possibly, in hers, proper behav-
iour 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 emo-
tions: "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<ision a number of rhem~ which one 6nds expressed ebewh<'"f'C
in the M_in and in rhe other lives we havc discussed . Con~rsion
involves internal reflection (delibm). An impermamnt journey (dnoi-
pp) is a prdude to .. permanent chan8e in life-style, imply ing the
abandonment of ties of kinship and theit replacement with .piritual
values. But it is also a consciousness filled with reminiscences of things

". Ift.!., ' .' 4, p. 48 .

' .. Ift.!.• 49.
 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<kd an interpretin model into
which the stages of her spiritual developmem could co nnniently be
fined. However, nO( all interpretations of !'tal or imaginary "events"
in the period revw so thomugh a grasp of the sitWltion, JUSt the
opposite is often tne case: older traditions . re superseded by radical
forces, but, 'pilrt from God's ineffable wa.ys, f\Q obviow explutation
can be found.
Either reality and hermeneuric, temain rather far apart; or, what is
perh.ps wone, the interprefi~ pr0ce5S gives the impres.sion of coher_
ence and continui ty where thtre is none. Also, as the inability to
analyse increases, the modes of explanation themselves inevitably be·
come more and more archaic. And, as attempts to interpl\'t and to
e:xpillin evenu grow, so does the com plexity of interplay between so·
ciety and ideas. Incomprehensibility, in this sense, reaches beyond the
lack of undentanciing among inciividWlis and utains the status of a
literary topos.
Nowhere in the period's writings is the inability to acCOUnt for
historical changes henet demonsrrated than in Guibert's account of
the mucd~r of ~rard of Quieny and the subsequent socia l d isocder
in Laon in I I I 2, which comprise , hapt~rs one In six of his MtmtJir's
third book .'"
Guiben's initial explanation of the '.use5
of the civil Jtrife once
again takes us into tilt symbol; c realm of youth and old age. In his
view, the entire problem went back tn the time of Adalbero, bishop
from 977 to I O}O , who betrayed the imerests of Charles of Lorraine
in favour of H ugh Capet. He thereby increased the bishopric's weal ch
but red\KM its spi ritual credibility. For, whi le he won the loca[llo-
biliry's piltronage, he eff~tivdy beuayNf his king whil e he was st ill
a boy. Sooner or later, Guibcrr reasoned, God would punish such
infidelity. ' ...

.. , a, J. o..."...d, "z... """'''1'';00 d< r hi"";,, de wib<" d< ~n' ( ' 0 " - "'4)," )90-
91 , ond, OQ ,lot 1<01. in Guit...!', ima,!:i .... ;.... I><..,..,n ,I>< o<Iual ~ 01 hil _ ', <10.,
.nd th< CO<Ij.!,sol probl<ms in r.... ..... G. 000" t"_{;.,, ,. t - .. {, "".. ( Pot;', .?It,),

'~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, Gui-
ben noted, the bishopric's mon.l force was further weakened. Heli-
nand 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 $ur-
~nder of revenues by those woo guaranteed his elec::tion. To make
matten worse, Enguerrand. was a worldly man, bereft, in Guiberfs
opinion, of true piety, who lpent a good dtal of his time spreading
idle gossip. The gradual accumulation of.bUXII provided what rhe
narratO£ called "opponunities foe the destruction of the town and. its
churches, opportunities for which, as it turned OUI, there were not
happy endings. ",.,
About tbis time the~ appeared on the scene Enguc:rrand of Soves,
the bishop's lint (owin, who was generous to the churches but also
an inveterate philanderer. An elckrly man, unfortunate in marriage,
he finally IItt his sights on Sybille, the wife of Godcfrey, the youthful,
handsome count of Nunut. Guiben argues that GodJrey might h.""
incurred his wife's enmity through the ttniiness with which he paid
off an inherited nurtiage debt. Enguerrand seclocecI her, aoo pro-
ceeded to disavow his own spouse by accusing her falsely of adultery.
Then, to everyone's coO$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, to-
gether with the churchmen, favwred a candidate on the king 's side,
Gaudry, chancellor to Henry I. Hut, as Anselm of Unn raised. legit-
imate 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~ re-
gion. ",.,
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 disparage-
ment was Sybille. Before her marriage to Enguerrand, she had b<:o:n
his lover. On marrying, he had StOPped ~ing her, but she, he main-
rained., 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 inev-
itable 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 explana-
rlOn 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 uncon-
vinced by his o..... n analysis. He never really steps back from the grip-
ping 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, includ-
ing ~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 wtong-
doings 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 some-
thing definitely has.

Symw/J Unearthed
The theme of old age and youth not only made Il frequem appear-
ance 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 em-
peror's anniversary was nor celebrated the~ by a speciallitulgy.
Otto's dream is an interesting specimen of in.erplay betwccn p0p-
ular 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 •• S.N.. .... »96. Fot: "''''',
ftrIioru in,""i, hior",kIIJ ""i"" .... R. 1'01" U i _ i . " ~ l..orf<o"" J.~, 87~l.

,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<i to a distioctive cultural period in
the past. He himself dlerefoce represented modernity. 1bc hianu was
symboliud. by the n:eed to dig up the body and to verify its physical
aistellCt!. Yet, in distancing himself from his illustrious predecessor,
Ono nonetheless interrel.re<! the pur and the pruent in a nn< ..... y.
For the revelation only lOok platt after In interlude of purification
lnd psychological rransfornu.tion. The entire search, therefore, may
be viewed. as a eire, the fint stages coll5isting of the dream and the
fast, the second of the unearthing and the IUbseqU!'nt observances.
The story in &.::r is told on two levels at once. For higher culture,
Charlemagne remains a $fmbol; for popular culture, at least as Adc-
mar CQnceives it, he is simply a sign. Although aging and possibly
forewarned. of his o.... n death, Ono found the emperor's body ilKOmlp-
Ill•. This, as 1lOled., was a reailirmarion of the CQminuity between the
rwo dynuties which supe~ed. the temporal gap between them. But,
even to those ....ho knew nothing of the dream or could not interpret
it, the discovery had deep significance. In their case, the relation
between the pan and the present was made clear through e~rnally
sanctioned differences in social levels. On the one hand, popular par-
ticipation Wa.!I encouraged.. Adalbert, a mere canon, tried. on the im-
perial crown and compared leg sizes. By implication, any oroirwy
persotl look.ing on or hearing later of the o:vt"nt cOllid imagine doing
the WIle. On the other hand, higher culture was ~fini~ly reasKrted..
Adalbert's boldness was. minor sacrilege; Jivill4l1irtm, Ademar II()(es,
punished. him with lameness. Funber. once exhumed., Chademagne
was placed. in a gilded. crypt jUlt behind John the Baptist, who, of
course, announced. Christ's coming just as the Caroljngian pr«ed.ed.
the Ottonian emperors. 11te popular element was retained.: the crypt'S
richness made it a natural shrine, where, it was said, many iJln~
were eventua.lly cured. As a final unifying touch, one is told that
Ctw-lemasne's anniversary is celebrated. ..ulUJlltfi .on. Although di·
vine, the emperor is thus made pc:nonable , approachabl~, and under-
standable.
Rarely, however, wen:. impedal remaill5 the $fmbols that unired.
the past and the present. As Glaber suggesu, more ofren they were
physical objects which had acquired Unpo'Ullt · ~.iar.ions in the past.
Reappearing in the present, they offered. men still stlOngly influenced
by ritual ~ tangible guides through the vicissitudes of a chansing
universe of interpretation.
One of the most n:.nowned objects of this kind in the Middle Ages

'"
 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 com-
bined 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 inter-
prcntion 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«<iwI onlt boi<f ""'~ in ""h<r h;,,"'i... . s.. P.... Too.bod<, {. '0,
R""';} Ms~ 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<ry, u ClwfliMH It f iMt '" """",,, ""'-. [ . Po [0,. ,j............, ion '0
,he """"la, .lm'I<!It> in ,he """"Y"""" G" .. 0.; 1<' 1'•••,,", [..11 10<.. ,,,., tl>< 0«000' ......,
btirf (T'" h AN","'''. c. ,. Rn<il ... . ..,.. }. [H)· FOt. <'Ii.;",1 """",,0' of the >Out«<,
le< S. Rur><irun, -n.. Holy I...n<o Found at Anlioch." .1..1_ 8J~JU 68 (,9)0), '91'
'0\>; <I. H . !'ich....... , '-z,..., Il<I;q..irn.....,.. im fril~ Milt.lal", ,"· MII:iG- 60 ( [9"). 1' .
78-7\1; .nd. (IfI,h. ",w;oo, of.t...p1Od. ro o<he. miono ofth< Fi,.. Cruood< .... H . Hop •.
m<y<I', ~ "'O! " "1- ,Itr Piom po.,.,;,., [........ F. Ro.,...oo (PuiJ, ,SSl), 74-'0' .

... Se< P. Alp/w1dtrr. u Ch<himl, I, ,0, -<>" and. "" • djf!<ftn, ...... E. 0. Blm, .",.
fot.... ,i(IfI . . , ... "O\ooadt Idoo: " j - t ., ~i",,~ JIi'"" ,t ([97<'1. ' 0 . fot ... ;" ....
""" ..ion whi<:h plK.. ,he rpiood< in the .;do, """"" 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<!" -
in B. K. u.clrnn ,rod K. 11. !'ki!ip, ..:I •. • rh< W.;,., p _ , W'" M-"'I ua",., (Auotin and
Loodoo. 19781. " · H .
.... s..mmui';~ Il.ymond d·J!.suil .... Hi-"o F •• • " ... pi C.,...,., I~. « . '0-, [.
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 hesi-
t:ated: surely, he reasoned, in such harsh times, the COOn!. W1)uld ac-
cuse 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 him-
self 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, accom-
panied by twelve crusaders, invaded the church of St. Peter. BartllC-
lemy dug up the lance, aDd St. Andrew reappeared to COlllirm the
discovery's significance. Thus cmboldcned, Raymond d'Aguilers con-
dudes, 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 par-
ticularly, 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<Iiction and fulfilment. It links old age and youth, ncx only through
the physical symbol of the lance but abo throush the figures of Sf.
Andrew and Chri.t. The simplest rypological connection is between

"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 main-
tained 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 m-
plai 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 explana-
tion: this is the lance, he rdatC1, which pierced Christ's side and

-, H~, t . 10 , p . 'H-
... ""_6._
,.,
 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 inu-
th'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 Bar-
thclemy 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 gar-
ments. 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. Src-
phen's vision, which is interjected after Ptta's abonive attempt to
escape to Cyprw, provides a necessary coofirmation of divilH' inten-
tions, 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 Ray-
mond 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 van-
tage 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 cul-
ture. 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 stand-
ing 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 fol-
lowed 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 " Littr_...J'''~i. MJI4I< Apr. ""n 0I>d E. ~nn.
A.,;,p; .N Mo"*"" .. Mi,,,",,,," (Paderbom. '9741. 9- '9.
". M.tt.J,,_ 3·4 . od. e.c.]. Wd>b ((),J;,.d. '9>91. '3(\. ' 3-'7 ·
". f . J ....... u. .. ·N..,;
.;8 .... "'" ~umo:ril ;"';oX",": Eooo; d·;."''P' ..... ;on do Ikmu<I do
0-..... * Viovri_, (19671, ,(1.60. a. H. Sil...,.", . .. 'QuatI,o ion ....... "n", pt ..pi< ..........
Ante«d<n .. i. I> Qu<r<IJc <la I....i<no .. de. Mod ..... ," in RKWiI , . ' ......if . . . J. ru.i<mil/
1.00 •• ._ J. 1(;",...... (Lw"';n 0I>d hri •. 19<1/1) •• J6.37 •• , . -" . An i"'pott'n" on_i, od 0"
of PriKian'. romp"doon ;1 found in )0110 of F<comp. e...(mio FiJ.i J .40. pt " " . '<>8.4'\'.
'" 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 Li",.""" -" 9 . bi. I~m 1>. J.... hon.d<n." io
A. Zimm<rrnwn. od .• A........ o\I..,r,."i . T...Ji,;"H.-IIJ,,; •• N f"'KI;n....... ""'''''";,.".,.''"
ftlitlUJ,.,. (Dtriin. '974), " .

,-7
 RITUALS, SYMBOLS, AND INTBRPRETATIONS

Paschasius Radbenus, whose euchatinic theories reimerp~ted the tra-

ditional 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 at-
tributed 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$OJ>by. and the plastic am ...6 n.e
"n:naiuance" was in part an awa~nen of progrns through diffe~nce.
Wherevet ancient mode15 wen: f«ognizcd as such, their n:levance
to contemporary intetpl'Wltion therefort' became it subj«t of inquity.
In general, tnoJmtllJ retained negative connOtatiOIU; innovation was
often equated with unwelcome novelty. '" However, some wdters had
a more nuanced view. Adalbold of Utrecht, for insunce, took up the
question briefly in the preface to his life of Henry n, which was begun
around l 004. Everywhere. he lemarked. we are taught to venerate
"'lrtif{illitm and to disfl'lD8e 1If1IIitm. But all that we call ancient was
once new. "Nwil#S merely p..:ceded in older that what we call alrti-
f{iIIiJaJ might follow." Spurning innovation, thelefore, was largely a
m.tter of plejudice: "For rarely is a river sought by a thirsty man
when he possesses it$ source." The .ru:ienrs and the modems. he con-
cluded, 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<I do 11...,manWnt c.tOIi.,;",.." C.....,.....,.~. 1~Q0r.4"
." W. Hartmann ... 'N' ' ....... ..,.[ ·Antiq ..... ,' - ,8.
,,. So< in ,...... l. J. SpOtl. "Do.< Ah. und .... /'hut 1", ",1".loh.. I·/I." H ..........,}·" !
,0 (1930). '97')011. 4911-, ••• and N .·D. o.mu. ' ' ( j • El" do I'~ittoi .... 'btoioaie,- In
I...t ~;. d 1 • '1 JikJ.. 60-91 . 0.. pIoil'.i"" ... 0-... "Antiqui. Modorn1," RSPT 11
('928). 82-901: """ _ !.".ralJ,. (i6oommn. AMiftri...J "'..-.,;, cbs.•-,.
'" E.,., AOod_ of .k.....u. V;... $. ArWJi. c. I. MGH SS )0." p. '.,,0.
," V;'" HfirIrid 11. NOH SS 4. p. 68,. ""42 .
... G.o .. Cl :oJi / 4 . D, trJ" «I. H. Bruolw. ,I'll «I. (~r. '9'9). ,.
- /H.I., ,-6.
-. 0. C";tu;,,, S-t..... V........ i10 F.~u., I,.. }. PL 149. • 48oA.

,,'
 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 appro-
priate 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/.,•• .1..,- J. '9' , ... . W . S.ubbo (/..otodon. ,AA?) ..... _,. p . H)-
... ~j 1.6, I'L ,S!!.'
1~9A .
...o.,,~ N",_. /H>¥ 8 .... _ N. lilrina. p. 86,. "9.
'" lAC " (of ~"PI -(, u..n..m" G,,,n. v..,.. L&m ArIJ' .... ~_ ) ..... f_ $_
Schm;tt. 0,..-. 0-... 001_ 0 (Ilomt, I~). '69. 0,8.

"9
 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 Gil-
bert 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 be-
come 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 reli-
gion 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" 1'M6'" V_MIo, YOI, 1, p. ,8
(. PL'II9·9JC-98<\)·
HO Ott.is 'l/i>t>IIi Fritj..,..i, Cl , ,;,• . . . . cd. A. Ko/inei ..... (l-l ......., aod 1hp>1a. '91» •
•• 6, '4"'.
,.. J)j.,p ,-,Pllil. ,' ". l_d~__ .. C"""'_ _ • <d. Il. n-.u (Srut.....·BodCannsrat<.
1910). p . 44, 11. 80-89.
·.. /w., U. 9''9}.
 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:, $3IIle
way; and he who is said to be the m<.>St firm in faith is the one who
does not go beyond the common thoughts of the people.··'"
These statements on the nature of modernity do not add up to a
distinctive view of the world, but they take us far from the monolithic
eschatology of Rooulf Glaber, with which our reflection.! began. For
each in its way acknowledges the possibility of cultural progress, even
if incorporating it into a recognizable metaphorical fram<:W{).k. The
Stress on continuity with the: past is of course in pan a plea for rea5-
surance. By admitting the rnlity of change, a Bernard of Chartres ot
an OttO of Freising alw suggestS that the world o.n never be quite
the same again. The situation of Abelard's Philosopher is particularly
teUing. The text on natural law which he invents through reason is
answered. by the already established texts of the Jew and the Christian.
The debate between the three is mainly over the foundations of ethics,
but the questions often spi!! over into areas treated elsewhere in this
volume, such as custom versus law, external versus intetnal forms of
worship, and of (OUrK ageless tradition versus youthful innovation.
& the DiafogJ't end, before a final judgmen t is rendered., we are not
sure JUSt where Abelard stood on many of these problems, which were
central to a period that was even less sure of inMrited certainties than
himself.
' '' 1"-,.. p. 4'. 11. '07· '~.
' r' I~. , p. 4 '. U. ,J1·'~ : ·"Quod Oftim mirabil ..... <um p<t .... urn ... ,;om <t COmi"l"'M
,,,,,",,,ionrnr t..",,,,n. in , ..n«i, «bw r... ';' ;n«Ui$<nri. '''''''. in 6<1<. cuh" <rroori, ,"",mum
p<ticulum imm;Mf, nuliu, eo' p«>fect",. Sod <qI>< mi...".. ur moiotr>. <qI>< "",ki "r li",,,,,;
do: ha<: .. ot;« ....... mnr •• r ;11e ~rm;roirt"" in 6<k d "'iru •• "'" """""""'''' pOpUli ..,. ««d;,
..........,...

'"
 CONCLUSION

This W 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
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.u-
enc: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 educa-
tional 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 be-
haviour.
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'<l by textual tncans.
The search for precedent with its scholastic overron" supplanted the
experiential relationship bctwecn theory and prac{ic~, for which no
better defence could often bc fouM tlu.n that things had always been
done that way . Laymen, as it turns Out, played a larger role in such
groups than has frequenrty been supposed. They were rareiy among
the literate or clerical organizers, but, as in the casc of the Pataria ,
they comprised the mass of 16S·lcttercd followers, whose unsystemat;c
thoughts were transformed into a platform for change by means of a
~rba.tly transmitted text. TItc principles embodied in such pro-
gtammes, tathe. than the aBegedly underlying social, economic, or
even religious discom ents, provided perhaps the Il105I radi(:ll.i chal.
leng~ to authority .
From the formation of communities to implement ideas and 10
dtaw up lines of debate, it was a short step tn focusing on inhetited
attitudes towards rit ual and symbol and 10 the evol ution of a critiqu~
of the nature of o~rvable reality.
An obvious coru.oquelKe of the risc in gencnJ levels of literacy was
the new appeal of a sysl~matic, reRective theology, whi ch grad ually
emerged as the most cohesive intellectual force of th~ eleventh cen·
tury. The idea! of a higher religiow culture was the~by extended
beyond. a small group of professional5 , effect ively expressing cooli.
denc~ in indigenous achievem~nt but militatiog against the preser·
vation of the local, the particular, and the unwritten. If the "great"
did not actually prcdomillllt~ over · ·th~ li tt le traditions·· in Rcdfield·s
terms,' it offered what the unlettered often considered an acceptable
•• " . . Scw;i&l Ora'fti,.,.,., af T..,j;';g". · in P_ s.;." P'<I'.I,.... ,,- .......bnfW""'"
/ljp<o«b" C;,,;I;_ (Ch;<>$<>. 19,6). 1().1• .

"3
 CONCLUSION

alternative, and contributed. by its universalism another dillCourage-

ment to "popular" culture. More specifically, the rKognition of dif-
ferent 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 sus-
tained 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 eu-
charistic 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 configure<i by the objects pitscnt, an explanation had
to be found for an imponant phenomenon of observable nature:. The
~ntative inquiries into relations between naN~ and texts--how, for
example, changes in reality paralleled those of logic-set the stage for
a broader inVfttigation of nature in scholastic science.
A full account of the development of naturalism lay outside the
central interest of the study. Yet, it is impDItant to recognize certain
parallels between the isolation of learned and popular elements in the
eucharinic debate and in the growing discussion of nature and change.
The pDliitions may C()Dveni~ntly be viewed from the vantage point of
the early twelfth century, that is, the period. in which a genuinely
scientific appreciation of nature first emerged.. As in the broader de-
velopment of literacy, 'Ne may speak. of two points cL view from within
medieval tradition. From tbe perspt\:dve of literate culture, the con-
sequence 'NiS a "discovery of nature," a penetftltion of "the idea of
nature" into Latin and vernacular literature, political philosophy, and
theology, in soon, the much studied "desacralization" of the natural
universe.' However, from within oral culture: the issues were: seen
'N._D. O>enu, " La _ _ .. l"bonunt. 1.0 Rmoi ....... du Xllt >*1< .. ' in Lo '~H_
'D·: Mrlt, 2I-}O.

"4
 CONCI.USION

differently. ODI tradition accepted without question nature"s physi-

cality. 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 occasion-
ally 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 in-
rentions, 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 IC-
cusations of heresy lay a growing a..... areness of the subjective and ob-
jective 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 doc-
uments, they set down an oral diKOU~ in writing without signifi-
cantly 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 in-
terre/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 presup-
poses 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 sub-
sequent 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-sacra-
mental 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$, commentaron gradually built up an invenrory of imer-
preted experiena and evolved both personal and general styln of her-
~neutiC$. n.e effectS were nOI only felt in the intellectual domain,
where one saw a prolifi,ration of exegesis, hisrorical writing, philoso-
phy, and theology. As noled, Ihe new structures also fed into and
were in turn nourished by the world of liff<! eXp"rience.· It was not
only the edUcaled, who were in direct contan with classical or Chlis_
tian tudition, who began to adopt textual models for belu.viour.
Through prHChing and other ffrbal communication, the unletteml.
were also affected. Texu gradually acquired the capa(ity to shape ex-
perience itself and 10 operate as intermediaries betw~n orally trans-
mitted idea.s and soc:ial change.
Eleventh-century mmtalill therefore reveals orientations similar 10
heresy, reform, and inteUccrual debate. The stardng point of Chapter
Fiff is the Hisrm.u of Rodulf Glabcr, in which action is largely sym-
bolic and interprecation an afterthought. However, as the cenlury
progress.w, and, i~ panicul,r, during the literary revival which fol-
lowed the consolidation of the Norman duchy by William the Con-
queror, tn.ditional .and modernistic pauerns of conduct were ron-
uv.sred more direcdy. Perhaps the most popular Jmtaphor for portraying
change was the notion of ·'old age and youth," a well-known rhetor-
ical topos which was reworked in a variety of eircumsranees. Fre-
quently, in fact, changes were viewed as unprecedented events, and
the perceived novdty "Wa5 difficult for thoK used to a sratic universe
to accept. As a result, there arose a ~ries of imaginative attempts to
fit eOlltemporary experience into models from the distant past- tO $«
youth, so to speak, a.s old age-in which the TlWii,.;, that is, the
more recent thinkers, gudually distinguished their attitudes and hab-
its of mind from the a,.tiq,.i. The a.... renes5 of similarities and differ-
ence, be(Yo'~n the present and the past offeml. for the lint time in
some two centuries the a1t~rnativ~s normally open to a voluntarist
society: either to recognize the ncwness of the '·modern" ag~, or, as
many preferred, to reshape what it actually was in the image of what
it was once thought to be.

The $ubjecrs chooen for this study arc not of course the only pos-
sible illusrratioru of literacy's ramili.cations during the eleventh and
• U. A. S<hu" and T. lud""."" . T10r s~ •.•'" of 'N Uf<- WwIJ (E•• _ . Ill .• '91J). J.
6"~.

"7
 CONCLUSION

twelfth centuries. For reas(/ll$ of sJ-ce, such important topics as mu-

sic, 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 ma-
terial 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 in-
rerronncctioD5 between theories of b.ngus.ge 1.00 theology, as wit-
I)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 so-
dal 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. consid-
eration of Iansuage, texu, and reality at a mocc abstract level, as well,
indirectly, to the polarization of attitudes towards textual methodol-
ogies in such wtiters AS Abclard and Bcrnard. Their discussions, which
represent high peaks of development in their respective fields, con-
tributed. 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 con-
ceflU 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<it grammar, llDd common, at least in theory, to many members
of a group, aoo an outer, spcakill8-capaciry, chidly auociated with
the YemKuiars, which demanded individual pctfonnancc and flexible
social allegiances. On tbe onc hand, contaCt with tau caused "deeply
rooted" layen of onal tradition to be .niculated both in spoken and

",
 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<l to say one thing and
to mean another. Everywhere, the presence of textS forcC<l the ele_
ments of culture embeddC<l in ora! discoune 10 rC<lefine their bound_
aries wilh respect to a different type of human exchange. This in"r-
iably resul!C<l in COntrasts between the ··popular'· .nd the "learned··
which were themselva the byproducu of literate sensibilities. Other
oppositC$ a!.so became polariaC<l: custom versus law, things versus lin-
guistic id9S, synchrony versus diachrony, and sense Vef3Ul1 interprctC<l
experience. In many casn, the persistence, if somewhat transformC<l,
of orality was merely disguised by mC<lieval textua!ity and its later
mechanization in the age of print. 6
The story can be told ill 111«1 ;n the gntdual expansion of the notion
of ritual . Europe after the eleventh Century crea tC<l a cultural distance
from a cerrain type of ritualism, wh ich was cJassifiC<l as primitive by
such critics of popular religion as Bernard of Angers and Guibert of
Nogent. Similatly, by the mid_t_lfrh century, monarchy centred
upon wriuen law took the place of the legitimation of royal authority
through sacral rilC$. Customary ritual, in sum, was on the wane, often
demoted to met!: ceremonial. However, the same period saw the growth
of new ritual activities, wbich had nothing in common except. loose
adherence to 110 textual boose. As textS gntdually invadC<l the institu-
tional sphere of life, experience in all domllim was restructured to
conform to ext~rnal DOrms of behaviour, and these were alm05t invar-
iably independent of the individual. The inAuence of textually ori-
entC<l rituals on group conduct was particularly dramatic. Among
he~ticalllnd reformist communities, ritual was chieAy exprcsstd as a
form of interaction among the members; that is, rhe rules or dicta
were wriuen, but the consequences we~ aCtC<l our orally. The verbal
yet struCtured level of hermeneutic activil)' was a means of sepaHring
the old from the new, of defining world-renouncing as oppose.! to
world-embraCing views of the religiOUS life. At anorher level, rituals
also began to work within society as a whole by means of texts that
were transmittC<l by word of mouth. Obvious examples of this phe-
oomenon arc the widespread notions of pilgrimage and crusade, through

' U. C. Gin,b.!" . 11 fi.'-uu ,;..,.;. 11 ...... ii "" _tOYio "" "}OO, I)) .
• U . N. z. o.Tio. ··Pti~d"ll ond , ... Poopt.:·;n $"""~,.J C.I,_ .. E-/J AI",*,"" F,_.
189·..6.

>'9
 CONCl.USION

which texts united in symbolic action peoples who had Iiule in com-
mon 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 vis-
ihle and the invUihle. The inteUcctual roots lay in Christian Pbton-
ism, 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 ar-
rangement, 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 her-
meneutics 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 dem-
onstrate, 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 . - . FiJJs.~"" M_V' '. , 66-
'10.
 CONCLUSION

The prncnce of It number of different theoretical concerns relevant

(0 history, literature, and the social sciences naturally raiscs t~ ques-

tion 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~ vol-
ume 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 soci-
ety, 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. Experi-
ence 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 l-

edge , 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 evo-
lution. 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«'"S-
ervation 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 fac-
tors have priority.

53'
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 SELECTeD BIBLIOGRAPHY

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,,6
 INDEX

......
/lactim , " If
~
Abbo '" 1'l<u1J': :H~. 88 • • SS,.66o>
Moo 01 Monti........ , : n. 41)
odul.OfY: '47.470.47'
",,,, -,~, >". 'n. ~I 9. ~i8
i\.bd.....l. Po«" >6, Hh, )28, J2jI, "9". "'.hot;.; ~ 61
,62'40} • • 061. 4H •• ", pd, " ', 4fim.t: 4 '9. 4'0. 417. 4 )8 • .. ,01
,2,f, ,28, 0;.1 ,;.. , ,6" HJ·7ti. H7, AI£mo",. 01..: .. 6
}lis; f:It .. • 04: G'--: io C~, AJb<n 01 Ai" ,'}D
373ft; $.,.. Ani' ",. .. I~.
H2 ft; i.,.. S.,..
U/" , ,8,n; ",,,,,,,';;,,
LA<.. p..,b)';! 'Rn doh .. V...
~_
AI ... 01 !.ill<: 1. 6. l> 'f. 1". 49'. I' 9.
".
Akwn: '4 •• ,. 78" •• 6)
}Hm; $""" p,,; " ....... 311-8,; ...
"'-ni, Epi"l< ... tftt Romono, ~; Up.
A~.J .: 63ft
AJnan<k, 01 ApkroOi,"', ,87 , ~
I~;;". ,6,; up:.. ..N ......... PIti· AI< .. n.der 11 , 16 • • 60. 200. 201. >0 >. >"4.
s;.,,; $.';._." }94ft; $;'" N... 6" 401. .06. »600. 228; JIt .I,. A"",lft'I 01 JIofWo
'2', TJ.kr;" CM";""'" ,6.; TMI'f,'" AI..... St. , 491f
·'s,w.;_,'· . 04 AI,... oll.itC<: >H. >'9 •• 8 •• 1"9. 1.6
.o.buhom: 249. >"
obooIu ...... (rom un, ",;.c,"",0I: '4'
A/halm: ,., Ibn aI·H,i","",
0.I;"-~: 117. ,.,. '49. 4". 440. 4...
ob.tro<. ",n", OOP<m.; 279. 301. ,.of. .~,

0.110,.".,.: 9' . '''. ",. " 0. '11. ' 481•

."
"",""",iofI: 8,r. 101f, n6. J.<I}, }99. 40R, "Sf. 'l' .• nf. '4', '4 g• "of. >H.
4Hr .Hr .,S•• Hr H' 2'~. ,6,1. ,68' 70. 278. ,So. 288.
occultutotm: [00ft . 2.} , 2,., .60, 4H, of .>90. '94, l" r. 40,. 4". 422. 4'4.
w,it;",. 1>-10, 48 4>91'. ·452. Pol. ,2,; ",..u. ,,,,,,,ri"ll. 01·
},chill, J.: ,66n l<801;'.1 . "',.,
Aa.. S,-Jj AmJvJnnU: ,,0-)9. 48 1ft 0.1·101''''0': __ I"" AbJ 'Amil Moha:nmN
Adalb.ro "I..oo: 4141, ,07. ,,0 All'<" '" M=: 97ft, 499
Adalb.rc, obboo: olCo<vey::>6, Alph>ndo!<)', P. : '0}D. 494ft, "S'1ft
Adalb.", 11."0, <OIlII< of Milan: I S9 Al.i< 01 AMi : '40. '4'
Ada.lb.n of Pn,d<, Sc .: . '9 ••60, 46. AJ';";m. f .: .on
Adalbold "'U.-hl, ,,8 AIoob.riu. 01 M.. " ' 90
Ad~"" obboo: of k . ro, 01 Conq ... : 7' AIrIbroo< B;/!\,,: '9''''' 's>!!. 206. " ' 7
Ad"", '42. '44. ",. }'4. 40] •• ,8; and A..w_. 5<. , ,020. 129. 140, .,6. 'H.
En, >07 ' ]4. 176f. ' 78. ,80. 18 •• ,8 •. ,8,.
Adun, 11:.; 'n" .88. '8? '92. '9' .• s>!!.~. '''9. '".
Adam of B<en><n: H .... "1. " 4. " 4 .•}C'. 2,8. ,6,.
~.J - ' no .66f. >67~ .•6/1.
'7>. 27 8 •• 80 . >90.
Adel".."nofliq., 113. >nl, 28" '8,~
Adc ...... bi."", 01 to Pur: "1.
"~. ,,,,
'9'. '9'. >9-\. 3' 7: Dt
firi;'. '77: 0. s.. .....",.
B_.
2"9; 0. Of·
}C''' fix " ...
Adomotola..bon ..... , 97 . '07 .• oRn. " I ' '07"
'7 . 1,0. ~66n. ,,,f AmI>nosioni. A.: ,,11<0
Ad<rold. 5<.: 'OlU AmoJo.. i . M .: ~oa. 4'ft
Adlhocb. S .; Jl9B Ami ... K. _ , " "

m
 I NDEX

""""",,, E... nd. 78<1. 14911 •• 6lA • ..sao AIn.., .. )

~. P. : ,,,.,.,, , 0 '0 ArioJ,I, . 60. 16, . ,67 •• 61. '7<'. ' 90. ",.
~ofA""": '11 ' f), '94. '96. '97. ,jIS, 20', .06, " 0.
Antu. P.: 770. 71n '''. "'-1' .• ,6, ')7. '}II. l'>9;"
.."';c..... <be: '0). ,,•• ' 99. '43. 3'3. .Jso hun.
)11'.)91. 399,414, ".u.. ,,;,.. AI_ '41. 149. 177 •• '94 a"
, ' .... " . _6,.66.61.77.17. Arib<ft U. 0Id0bi0h0p 01 Ni....: ')t. '4"
ul. ,.,. ')0. 'n. '46f. '48. ,,>. 4'. "4, 1,1. ')9.
,60 •• 6 •• •~. '7'.
' 99.207. '4" ."f.
117• • 14, .,...
4>'v. ..u.
'H. " )I'. '7'. ,I,..,... " •• 20), 21).
)}04. 4.1.
.. .u. '" 1'1'
4190 "7,11. ' )D;

ILII<Id of Floury: ,oh. •"

'" ,,,r.
AriModz: " ••• ))4.
,n"".)90, "'. .196. '94 •
J}6a, "t, " ' •
'97· )91,
.......... prito< ... WilMI: .06 .•07. "",,'0 A.. _ , )68, et' .""'. "'. )68; Or
.\DdmIo<lS! ....... I: ~. ,6•• ,6, a. 'jIS. no, Ptri " ,6'-7'
""1'. >H • • ,6. »9.
And<t-w. S!,: ... ,. "). "4-"
,.In ~
A ......
01 Im<.: ')4f
/I.moId 01 kbodooor. 480
....

~U7,49) /I.moId 01 GI"';" 487

A>II;1o S ,I; ..
"'_. la.. .u. AI'INIf I. 0Id0bitlI0p .... Nilooo; ,6,
, r: ' .... ' 4, . 4)9 .........,.01101:;,.,,:7).74.119."'... ,6"
,~T"", W;" , print: ,jIS. '99 "7. .6,-'4, ••••, " 7, .". ,'" " 7, ' 20.
..... Il10 al~ ,60. ,6, • •,... "'''1'. u,•. 'n. '}7. ''','40
'91 • •00. 'n.• )I; .. .u. ..... _ . • 11 Ano!ItIl.~oIWa-: ",. ,.)
"'-Iao 01'-"': .060.1". ).,..
A-"" of C...... l....,: .6.4. ,,,. )'f'6>.
,,- ...... "'I 01: ")"7

40_. _ . ~20. 4)'. C,., 0-,.,f;

H_ , Jfi0..6.: M. ' ••. H'· .... ,)1 .
Ap<dit:: 41,. "'7
"'"_ e·mH, hms, i.:
)9, '46, ,,0, .68, ,27, 2)4
~,,.,,. 99. I,g,

" •. ,,,. ",. "9, ",.,..., )).4. ).44-

od......,.110..•,.- : '7). '7.p. "7
om .....: in Mi l.... "4, 'll, .,1.. ,8. ,81;
.6. ).411. " • • )}I. 1", Do c-r~.
),g, Do G, 7'it" "._", Do v_. /I.ocrIin tilt
),.. ",r. )1'; fI. '" • V...... ... it . e · 9'. 99. ,>6. ' 77, ')', ",,
,)9f,
r

H4. fI· '" r, 'io f • - . I,", , ~, HI), d . .. ,. ')7 • ..".4",

'.0"; EW,. n".; 00 ,. • n ' •. H'.
"'-Iaof'Ia, 1' 9
I' . : ,M . '"...tIOntarf: 94. ' 0 1. , ..
.......
~ .... '--: ,'-'.)aII Aooj: " ,. 469
1("'"
"'-Im .... ~ l0}ll. '47-,0
Alllclm of t..cc.: 17, ..So
A1IIOId. _ of I'tm 01' NaIIlrr ", 486
...
- . 10(.:

.... 00
.I~"
'., Pcok", jc, 14
A",idlrit" 97 • • ,aa. 47) ,. 'I., ., ).4. ,6., ,.s.
_",.". "',. . _. '4,. '7'. 'f". '9'. A..... T.: I)'.
Jt11, "7-",
.... -..;.i... ' . ".
'.7;- ....... 247, ).1
.obo}tw>
)0)< . .
.. ,.I' ..... : 68, 71. n. 110. ",. 121. '46,
'IirI. ,(;P. riJ. :o6J. pi, I)', ))Jr,
A"';. c.: 94ft )11,. 4H. "); ood w . - . . , H),
ud ... .'uo. ,lr6
'n'
""", Up' 2)1
' •• - ...... ..-li". ... . t't ,"" ••. "0. ".,1 .... I!., : ........ 4 . 000.1"""

.
Hl. 116(. "7, ,0;, 114 •• ,., " ,. .......-;.., So.: .), ,8,}O. ". " . " •.
• ~ .•61. '77. "" 'jIS. )'7. )n. +4'. "f, 'P. 'J). '4.r. 'n. ')7_". >60 •
' ,,6
"'tuilm:
..6" >66 •• 67, .68, '7 ' ••". ,,6, '7' •
.~, •.•110, .'" 290. >9). , ,6. '99.
"""..... , Thoont:o: . " )00.)0'. )0'. )0).)04. )0). 101. 'CIf.
Aquiw .... hernia ia: 97. jIS. 470 )". "1. 11'. ))8/"• .,~. )0 •• 1°'·
_~" *S, .... , ... ..1: 148. "" )" ')0; Or 0.... C,""r. ,,, •• ,.,; Do
ud ':10' 20, .61.m. "1 Tno .. 09 1, T,..,. ;'j_" Bb. ).47

-_.
Ardzric.OUlIIa: .,6 • • "
......., 97. '<>7-'" •I,. I '" ,., .obo Or·
Awbtn., St.: H
_he . ......, 67. ,.f, .....
>4)-" • • 61 •
••• . ),6. 4)' . ,." ........ it,' 11 ,. 6:tf:

".
 INDEX

ofpopoJ !NIh. 6" - . h -hoooIoII,. .88. '119. '90. ' 9' .•,. . •.,.t;-}". ,, 6.
2)0" " UN;" , ~" ........ ' " . ) '7. U O. ~J. ~" )f l. 4" >. , , 8. " . ,
,- Do s- c-.. 'H . ' 17"" JOln; ~.
AIOICfft, 464 "'_ , . 7«. ' 9') . >9110. ,."... JO' •.
A..u.. D'A.' •• , JO"', )<>4". ""0. )060. ,07; foI_ ..
A,.... A., >H" afT ' U . \101'
Auo. , ........ ~ candidot.: [6 • • 1Iorkou,. e.: ~,n
B<'~ . l .: ,,.,.
'"
e ' [. E. dr.
ed' k,. A.: "0
.,&.. 'n_
.......... . P.: . " .
.
•• id of ~
"
,..D, 64·, •••.a. '1).
• ,_d afCl>orrtn, ,,, ..... 4~ . ''7. , '9
8o,_d ofa.u.,."", ". 90. 103". , •• n •
1Ilum1. P. H.' h. '9.800 ,.8. "9. ~,. ,u. ",r. "I,
40)" 4.
Booo.>mk ... 0 ., "[. """ ...... of corn.,...i'. ond doli....,.
8ool1. E. It: .... 3" .."t; Sw T' .... c-;.:., " 4"911, 4 ,Or
- , }.: )'\11' 17; t: .,81; ):4'91'; 4 : ."If," 4' I");
BoIbi. Gio'.woi: . , . 6; ~''''; ': "4f; 9 ; ,0," 7; ' 0; 4'7 : " .
8ddrii: of Dolt. ' 0 ). 4',.f, rJ : •• 8, ' " . , .; ,6, 4~; [7 :
a.u.i•. J. W .: ,..,. 41~. 47,," 4 ~)" , 0, . ,• . ,..; 2 0: 414f, ' 3 : 4)\'
8.lo3h. J.: 408ft )1, '4' 4}81'; .,: 4 .... ' .S, ... 01'; 3" 44,f,
bopfisno: 78. [U. ,,8. ' }O.
143. , " . 11 •• "3 • •• ) ••~,
I, S.
So •
".r.
.,6.• ,I: ...,... . '
H : 4".; ,,: 4 .... f; ,6: ..,f,
)1: 446; }\I' 4461, ...,: 44 7; 4 " ..... 7f, ."
• 86, )01 . ,60. ,,6;
~ion of. 98, ..... . ,'" 4 9' ')0; )0: . , . ; )4 : _ .

U
" ' , n) . .. ,. u6. ..,
_ ..... mrr. p '" ... .l I
: .4> D '•• .,,~ ,
'n/...,.;
.... 91'; I t: .... I" .... ,.; I, c-
DJ. lrior.. _ , .
8.nti. G.: 'H" ~oII~ ; El· '''' 4<>S1
B..,h. K., ".,.,. ,6," Bt.-d '" Tiron: .nr. 46,~ .• 9'
B...d,..,.,. e.: ". 1Itt¥t<k. M .: 40l.
!IoW 11 , ....... _ , _ m;".J. ... lOt l Or Bt"'..... af H ildnlwim: .660.. 4"
_ _ Ill . 469 8o"d ,;". "'.: ,6, ft
_ . So .: ., • • .,., Bt. J,. I .: J6,u0. 'H~. _ ~
lI...dtiof ....JWOiI: ,.).
.08. '09". It' . .
P" d " . l .: ' 7. '9"
Bo.ot;.r, . l .·H.: ' ''7., Bnra, E.: 'HR
"9" Bibk. ,he; ... 60. 78. 79 . 8,. 9' . 911. 99.
' 0' , .", . [(" . ,06. ,011, "4. ,,8. ").

_, ,,2. ,6,.
_ " " ...... Phili""" do: "
~. M ·: 4J7n "9. 'n . •". ,)8 . ' )0, ,/16,
Bod! . H .: .,. 16f..JO. "'. >col. " 7 . .." ',W . •• , .
~t. c" I,m '47. ' )0. ,,600.
>6 • • >64r. 'n . • ~.
_ . ",. V",." bh : Ik. ' 90 '7'. ' 7')•• 80. '9' .•Ilo . ..,,[. '9<1. "".
bteo, . 't" tol" '0 •. '0'·10" ' 4' )07. ,,,. )'4. ) IT , "4. "'. ,,6. ,W,.
bcba...,..,..
"mbDIk '9[, 4", 46.~. )44. )SI, ,6,r. ,64. 407. 4' I. 4".
"7, ,.~; .. .t.._1t ." • • [4, 420. 4)9, 44' ..... ,. 419. " <> ,
s.u..·NiotI...., H .: _ ...... '191'. ,,6; .. Old "'" S ... T..........., ••
Bt=ditir. _ 4)'. _; ___ N... Too .. '.' . , Old
, . . I'm VHI. pap" " • • 69 T.... , "' ...... i. . ..do.! book.
Bt lin. So., , ,", bili.,.w;...., {'"",.. ond tooti•• ,6j,;n MiI·
1Imodi<, ,he I-t-t"" 61 ...... ,,,,,.rn. ' 9l
Bmodik, ..... J. : ,6" ai,(\,,,/f. B.: ' 0.
""
lIkI~ ....
Pu_~
So., ......"., of: d.
l . L : )4ft. M n. '4\111. J.80
Bto_, } .: ....... jOOIl. ) 0' . )0' • • , " ) .
,
Bishop. T.A."'. : }In
..•.
bid • _;".I ..:....... of: '4>
,..." Doo!l>, 8,
e af . " . ". 10 BIMt, .E., ,.)It
PI, ,.." l .: """ 8iod>. M.: to, 49". "n. 412ft. 08<>r> . • 89
&m>rrofT......' 98. " •. [)2. ')J. "9· Bioi!. D. ; 4. ft
' 11. '7'. ' n.a l .• 8•.• S, . ,S ••• S7. 1Iodotd. C, 444"
 INDEX

"" ",5.:2".: 11< "C.j 'O,s., ",,", _ . }.: SJa"

.. S· buIlo. ptpI: l,r; -;"'" of,6a
~"" 61, s.., )", }'4, "os...)6,. Purdoord of Wamn: 6" 17
)76. ,n, nB,)80. ,I'. )1 •. )'HII. ~: ,,6. 'H, ,64
)9' . 19', )96, )97. J98. J9!1, 400, ..... .
..... ; e_. ;" c.... A...., " ... ''H:
B.., ..". I .: )6 ....
""'!/j0l•• H.: .66
,'s.
e_. ;. I ., _ ",; • '1'. )}9. JIi6- lit ,... c. W . : _ 4>1"
7'.Jb., ,&>", ,&6. "... 19'.· }SIot: B, I' 'M : ,,.6. ' H , 466. 48" 4"
C -. ;. ....,." . , )861" m", }99:
0.0;;. • m e ·s'" L c. -= .6a.. n •. ,1, ",.
B,,_w, G.: .,,,.
'"
<10",
;';'''n. •• 6;._ . . <..~_
+ ,
c./ooo: '.', 417
0'
o.J<i<INo:"
, 1'.: • ••
):to;." Pbto
8010<, }.; ~
8, ,- ," . Ici.." 46001
0, 4 ..... . 1'.·110.:
~.H . _: 4170
>,.... " 9". 'nll
~,Y. : HII c-ua, " " - <boudt.: .6 • •• 08 ...91".
...... ofT-r: .64.• 66 'n
e· ;"of5"..i : .6}, ,6&0, ,680. 194D.
•98. "'''. " , ,,,
B""I7'I, £. : "" ....
.,a...• }6. >91" e."..
Op/Io. C.: .U•

c 'O.... }GM:)O
7,.. 4~

- , } .•P.: .Il" ' ch 'l" ')7, "9

! ., .,

e.··... G.: J600

'4'·.
C C' "'.0.: ".. ..
, 6800. '1OOf.
..... A. : 9>.... , ...., '<>71', ' J9I'. 17 ' •• '7,.. .n ... '<>4". ~JII. ' 7I1l:
rn... 2no> • • a.a. .1,.
.m··..
' 41·._
A.: ' )4
1Ioooi. G. : 46000 _ ...Hi.,.•
r
- 'V "". •' "' ..." , .. , I
66. ",0
110«<,11.: ' H" ...di.... cia.,. (of N IlatJ): [6.:, ,6" ."-
B........ W. <It: H"
-..I, A. do: 4 ' . 4'ft. 41& '"
......uq; ) , <1, 4l}r; .. jonioa of, ..6. ' n,
, 'r.J.'P' ; ,6801
e ,m.., A.: )4'1. 6.ta '4'. '4'. ,'S
c-.,. J.: "'}to
la , }.'" la CIuU!: 40l" c h i ..'....,... .. PO' ! . !iSI". )8. ,.. .
- ' KM, L : ,... " " 76• • " , ,.6" 412, 47 ..... 418. 419 . .... .
1IoJIt, L t.: " . . ...., "~a ..,.. , •• r
B ".1'. : . ... c ,.a.: ....
80 ' o. A : ....,. -=)1 . ,.6; .... Iitfri• .s; '"' Io. n.
8: 10 • • St..: 49'-9'
8 _ . I..: 4!l<> '.'
Bmcio: 'H, .n Colt"""""
c-I. 0 .: .66ft.
Orotrt: '"
3004n
B, "le .. , H .: )}n. _ . 4.0>. 4!l<> OM ' , . ...: 6" '\PO. H.n. S'7
Bn.-i. J.: 47D Cathoriom: 9.... 99, .0>.469
0 . .... _ . St.: )O
Bril....,., 49}, 49'5
• , , z. N .: 091" Ca. .• S.t ._
bo ' hoo4:46), ...... _ ; . _ ... h N r j. ...t <lion. 4)9; ........... iaol
...m"Ii .... , <' •• , 41 • • " ' ; _.... ' . " 1;;'
Btowo. P.; y:>7a .. , .. . . ,. : , ... Hiof;
le ... , ....: loo '
. . . ., Li.L: 49" ....... Iot •• • 66; pi.... u.... 4J7; ....·
8n:h. P.: ,~ 1 C. 4H
1Inod:_. A.: .... Cotorlli. C.: 46001
1In'h1, Co: 6 ••
~. J. : 417"
" .....,a. , 'S: «Iebtotioa •• 67
<oIlt.cy. dorinl ' '94. ,,2 , 499: • ..u.
_ . H.: 4'. 49", '9'> _ .... 100.....,
_ o f T ..... " CtIouo. St.. nO I' M, cl: ['9,'"
_ . St.: "". ¥'4 c..-u. G.: _
 INDEX

,tit"",,,,: 'S, Sol, ",. '40, 'p,

• 67,480; and ...1 ",,1'''',17; ODd po!",1
.,60. .,.n, 'j4, '44, '47, ,,0, 'H, ,66 .
• 67 . • 69, '70, ']1 , 'n, 176. ,So.•a, .
b<lU" ,,; in low, 47; "'i«';"" 01, ,,8 .s.. .• 8,.
,86, ,88.
'91, '9', .~. '96,
c.n..u, M. <1< : '4n '99.301. }<><I. ,0" )06. }<>8. ~J<>. l",
a.lloo.w ...·M..... , hemy at: \1'8, U} l". "4. ,,6. )60.4001.4",416,
<ll&n<.n..: rise of, 61; ..".... ,6(; -.lu.;.., 4,8. 4'~. 4 " . 4'i, 4>7 ••• S. 4)'. "",
)7, -.It..ii, }/I; '" ~ noruiat< H'. 446. 44\1. 4'S, 46" 4611. ~", "1,
<har"s.: ...,icipu:ioo 01, 468, on,""'" <0> S'S. ~,6. P4
word., 47"76; oul' ...... , "); iourfi:>1d pri'" Chrilti.". W . h . Jr.: 7'ft
dpk 01. ".f; bmoricol, 461, in "" .... ChriKi... '" Mo"'".,.: 491f
_ . '69, "4, ,,6, .8, .•8" '1>', diu""', ,to.: ,,8, thy"' .... , ,,8, hm~.
'\>', .'jI9i, }<», }<><If, ,'0, '''''4; in '9'. >0']. "4,Gtftk, >06<>. "4' ,h"",h
,to. Hr. "dt 01 a.. ... , }<>,;;n _~, ....t ..e,. ,66. ,68. 176. ISj. >08. "4,
• 80, .88f, 107(, "Y, ,,6, }40. S>4; "9. .". ,07; </ooJrdI and..e ... <1<6 .....
~, 'W; ~, >76, ••pl; ...... by T_I ..<h, ""f: Q/ Milan, dno:'iprion
p/Ion of, H6; phJsic.J, P4; ph,.ioIo!i.
<tJ, l' ,; ooxiol, p6(: '1P<' Q/, 4";
,to. halF spi' i' •• >9; ,.,J" ..... hariM, "..
.i. 01• •89/', p,;m;,;"" 4'4: ~j«tioq Q/,
"1.
C;"..o: .8•• 87. ,,,n,
'j4. >)>; uni., oI_i", in.•• ,
,6,. ,6,. '79
t~, ri,,,,, GpOIla. C,; ',n
.......... " '''''' H Ciotftciaft Ord<r. 9", "'. l'l>. 4<>1r, 41(' •
C'-- J. RoI.oJ: p, 8,
C'-- J. S,".·F';: 480)
"," ,.>" .• ". ',w
<ioa:
cIoNi"",,: 90, .04f, ,.8, 1}8. 1)0, ')7, CIano:hy. /11 . C. : "~no '4Q •• ,n.,JOa, ,8ft.
168, 176, ,88, ,80), "9. S, 6 H". HO. ,8ft.74"
Chorlemo!n<: .6, ." H, 78, 81, '78, CIuk . F.; >H"
S' ,I: &lid ot.. s.-, ,6]: i<!<fI<i "'. CW-O, P.' )7, 4"'.
Hn. 4'''. 4,8"
486: I<,iol .. ioq on -n....
4' cI ... i"'-,"",: .,...,.,..,. 01. '4 ; ptift<,p/" 01,
Charl<o Q/lDI ..i...: SO], "0 &lid "";.....10. ,87 ; ,.,;,jn8" ..... '" cf,
Qlul.. ,to. Bold: .68,474.4"
a..rtta: '07. ,08. "0, I. " '1S: ..1>o<>I •
Cl<udiom; 491
", 6.j, 6, Cl<yron. J.' 94n
d..,.i,,: 17~ , '911, '09, 49': """"" to."" O' .... n' '" ko>nt, '9"
. i{o, 14'; '" ~ «Iillo<" man;q. in a.""O.IIom·s..u..wo. """"'''Y of: SQ'
d,.., d<riti: .. H, ....... , J': dwiti li,..._ ~r;,

a...jllooo, J.: "on, J6.n •• Oo!n

a..u......J. }.: '44n, ,07
a.tnon. E.: "n, Hn
"
dmt.: .. Ii",. ", 16,; .. _,108: ,Ib-i,

o....u, M.·O.:
,,8n, ,.8, ,.4n
n", ,IBn, "7n, }l8, "
CJcno&l. h .: 6.4n
dock •• to. m«Mni<:aI: 8)
O>on<y, Co : '9" Ch"". 0. .... "', 89. 'Wo 4s..
OlibnaU, M. : Hn, ]60, 48,n. 486 code: "], 4U; w,lI;", .., 4, . 8
Q,H<I<, G.: l" C... f"';';'_: 46f
OUId<ri< Ill : 18 "'1_ j4'n. }46. ,80. )90. 418, and;"
.~ild"'m: '00, ~,,'O, 49'. "0, '''; "'I;p... j4ln, j49. '6 . ;."d ..... 408;
...d .to.l6C~", ,,6, Jl8, .,,; po .on.:. "Iillri _ """. '47, }4B.
damned, "0; <,h"'ation "', '4j>;"_ " ' : _#Mt, 4.8

.
In, •...!.•66; I.d, '" unden,andi", in,
.. 6; ml1hlo:mi, ~,lOin' .. child, 6.j,

(hrki"" <I< Troyu; 8,

(loriK.] .....: .8, 68 , 90, 'Oo! , '". "'.
Coi",. H .: .... )i"
CoIish. W. : Hon. }4Qn.
c..I"""" It. V.: 478. ,B«
CJom. """'...
CoIumbo. /I. : '75"
4&_, "
,,>n.
H)n

"l. "4, ,,6. ',0. "],

'}4. I". ,,6. comm<nduioo. ,,« "';
SQ. 4"
'40. '4', l.s. '76, .08, >0\1 ... 6. '17. <otntI>IInr ,6,. 'j4, '40. S'o; in "'ilan.
"I>. n,. '21, .."
018. »6. »8. "'.
'"
,8.
 INDEX

commwU<"ioo>, ap«t ..., .f, 9, 11. ,4, CO",,,,...., G .: 4"". 4,n

.6, ~~, 1', 9<\, 99, '0" "9, 'VI. '4', Got". Erl<:mbo.ld: 'B. ,6" ,6., '7'. ' 74,
'49, ",. ,6). >66. '74, ,~, ,9<\, ,'}B, '<)0, '9 '. '00. 10', ><>)!, .06. ' 07,
'09. >OS, n~ .• ).... 'H, 'n. '40 • »0 .• uf, "', .. 6, "7B, .,6, ,,8.
• 8,. ,8), .8,,)09. , •• , H'. J'lf. .87"
40' •• '), 4,8, 4491'. ",, ,.Bt; romtnQ' Got .., Uodulf: 167. ,68. '7<'.'1', '90 .
..;.;.,;"., ond '''hoaF. 8,-87, IOt,.J,. OI'II!_ '9', '9'. 1~. 196. 191. 198. 199, '0'.
;", Ji......." , ......ti'T '0', '01. ",3."6, ''', " l •• ", .,6.
"""",,~Mm.
Como;
~,onl:8c
'S" ,6,
""*" M=;": '4'
Got<iau>:, J., _0
.}ll: ... "'0''. of. 16$-10

council. (ind..di.", .ynodo); 11_ (,on ),

....,...:84 S4: 0Ill0n0. (8,,). 17' "",",,,...., (or NO'
"..,.;.: )8,. }ll8: n;';. )18;-m. >SIa)("'n)' 16<>. '71. '<)0, >00. '0'.
m,)~ OO'. '<>4, OOJ: G<-ioleben (10,8). )4: laI·
<vuctj><ual;:wio<t. of - ' " &no:! dti"lO: ~6f <ran. JI.omo (n, ,)••,,; I.<>ndooo (114').
wm: .....,.,; ,,8: IS liWUJ' _ . SO" in 55"; Nltb..",., (1<>4'). ,,, Orl.. N

_w... 41: priowr<. 78(, ~jec''''''''' ('0"'),1»' Pu.. (,,,,,, •• a,: Po ...
98. u,
<OfI8Kt: in !<Illion , <)0, '" <..... ". 1 '7.
('00'). 'j.II: hUno (81,), ' " Ilftmo
(10<19), '46, ,87: Rome (1<.,0). ,6<>.
"a, '" _ion>... '9> , '14. '710 .•8" JI.omo h"'9), "9,
oonftu.mit,: 48,f, ~7 : .pirituol. 46 • .64 'n. 'n, .~, '78, .8, ••• 87, ," •
Cot\,I! ... Y .: '49", ,,,B. 4"B.• "n • 91\: JI.omo h<>7..>. 16.: lton>< (' <>78l .
C"""".., 64-71 'n; Rorne ('079), 'H. '11". ,8.: SeI,-
c-n.t I. duke of Cuinrlolo: '40. '4'. 469 ,......d, (,00.), 54: s.... ("40), )6,.
Connd II, ,m_: ,,6, ,,8 . "9. I .... 40600; Toledo (l"9d, '4: T"" .. (8'3l.
,6,. 17'. 183, 184 ", 11: ToutS (1",4), )6. 'n. >76 •• 80:
c-n.t Ill. of H........,wfrn: 16. TroI; (909l. 4"; V""' .. ~ hos<». '74.
c-r." M. : 54B 218. ,8, ....8.
Q "" ...... C.: 4' •• ,._, 60ft, "s., ••"'10. c.-uno1. W.: 4'''''
m"
0- ... _e.
<n. 107. "3
.,.,mo. .... re .. ,. t It obe 1'...... ,
_ _ ovpl, ;n En&W>d. Ht": ..

'"
c-.:•. P.:.66n
;,......w,

Gono, ... ,'''' ,he Gono-: H. 6<> C-....... , c.: .,1"

Com,""unopi<:; '47, 4&6 .....,;",. oIlqor;o.J : ' ' ' , '48, 249 .• ,0,
c-ti"",,'" f'..m. of lOll' ,,6f. ,,8.
'84f, '9'
.. t: 6,.10. "" '.,. )04 •• ,6: iii-
... --, ~.
,¥.--
'--';",uN .... >"-".-
,
IIl"sorT.
eo..d"". w.--
.69. )06, ,,,(, ",. "", " S; ,..ho
IUi.j.: 37", .,60>,
''''''' '9'" .•02,. , .0}ft,.880
IHB, "9".

,mu, z.... '1': MM """""

III
",,,,,.mpl,t*'-: ."', " ' •• ,6, 344, 4'4.
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«><h, 'H:_MM~
,.."',;: ........, .~ .. iliiflouli,.,*,
"""..,.io<t, .. I....... , "', ..6. 148. 1~',
'03. ,,6, '31. 426(, 4S7. 446(, 491,
",)I", .. GWben'. "-"".
CooIHI3e, 11..: 4840
Corbi<:. obboy of: >6" .68
Cnocco, G.: 920. '430. '1'". ","
<rJ<..,....; God ... H~O: ond pia<!, 347:
in \'cioc .... , ,'J8
ct<atiod: ) ' 4. H7-.0, 4l4f, ,6,. "".
,I!If; and w.,lIIfr<. "Sf, ond modd.
31'; &no:! WOtd, ._,,: .. 0111,.,.,.. ,><>:
n' . ,8" «.m.u.. Htt". )#: pIo"""8" "",,>Poor
of. 'P:"""*"'.l41 f .• ,.
c.:a....n.:
...I...'H. "9. '9'
c....:. : ,8,. #. 46.
en,,;.,,;, N .: ,6,... ,6],., .6&
,00."", ~ ,,8, ,,6. ,~, .08, "9, '11. ')7.
>6',46'.46, .•1>4, " I, S.); .. ...,...
n=. I)S. "ja';"'1 <i, '}B. '0'; IIt.m
<tucilWon, .pnboI;"". pIoyoQl
erou... R.: HOO

,8,
 I NO.,,,

.......;r..;..,. dIo: 21'. 'B. >69. ,88.

>9). N., 49&n
0... ....
,0,. JOIi. }<J8. l" . l60, 469. ~1' o.,ioHou.. J., 4'4n
• . . . -, 17. 'H, 478 • • ,.. : .,,,kipotlooL of. DUI;.! ...... , ) jOn
.6.~: Ot.ild:n" CnLood.t. 478:.n.aodrt O'i .... ""~"ilbop of Mil ... , In
.. pil"int. 417; "'.1.. Fi... en-d.. 0...1.1, M., .6601 •• 67n
piLari ..... Onio. N. Z., I,n. "n. IDOII,»9I>
cul..,...: .. titudeo --.I . •0: diflUaian of, Do.i>. I .H.C., .8 ,.
'90;"",," . .,..111 ; "",,",. .. . ')6: Dkt.ano..- . JA.. . , 4 ' 'In . ... ,0. t!""
I I In . u •• ,,66. ~. 7d, 7 •. , ,,. do<V ' ~""i008' . 0 . , ')11.
4". 4)8. 4\19.
, , 6. "', 'F. 14' . 100, '1 ' . 'I). ~
•• 61. '48. '.w. •, •.•. ' 11, ,", D<I. " ..U• • E , ' H "
}Ot. ,t,. "]. "If.pOpOl&r . biblios·
.....,. of. '''''''. ""'"'* ....... . . .
01<.
, iao !..&<in ••11; pop"" ""I, ......... cndt
Odf........ P.' 4 ,.n
0."",., 1'., )' 7n • • )4"
0.-.") " 490"
f<'IIiiom, .80; popu.Ju <ul................,. . o...Ido.). , Ion
90. [06; P"I"' .... <"l!,~ ..... I ........... . Doocona. it""" : 41. f
4'; .."...Jot <Ukt.ort ..... It.......,.. 68f. Dnidni... , ' 18
....... _ _ _ ndntr<. .W.........
,I.. cul""""",, ottJ cul""", '. _
'''4. 10,
Dr..Lodotdil: 6J
.....~ . rho: '04 ... 6. " ,. IH, 1)7. 14cf•
1)6. 'I'. '4' . '46. [,... " '. , , 8, ' 79, '79. ' ' ' . _ . J ' O. t60. 406. ~ '4, ~ ,
.1). 01'. n o . .. ,r. '4'. '«"'.
064f. ,.&,. 4f>9; po .... cf, ,041
.,.,. >" , .~ 6 ?I. ) .6. "I. In. , .. . d·H ..... ,... A.: ( 7)"
P,.
-- --..,.,..
"4" 7. " 4f, ,>9. , }O; .iditiol diaIoai<s: ~,. " •• )64. " . ; limil1 cf.
cul",....... .".. rinm ..... 41 )001; lI""jriooo '0. ,.6.
'12. " " )1"
- ,60. 407; '" JH loll<
C.....:bmlftn, M.: _ d_ ......" )I'
Curtl... , E. !l. ; "~n o 1601. ,,11ft, .8)ft . di>lo!;"" 4,6; In AruoIm . ,6[

_
"7": , }I' di.""'..,
Oikhn. G.: 'Hn
24

C\lM_: ". 69. 88. 90 . ..,. ",. 164. D ' " ~N'"'. . __ 1"'_'
. "n, 1..,,,,,,
' 67, ",. ' 71. ts.. ""
'Ip. '90. '9<. 0 ' " ;.... 5< .. ........... cf: ,)9.• 9'I . " .
><>0, 20) • .." . 201 . 210. "7 . 'U. ' .. ,. Din..,... D.' ,a..
' )0. 'H. )I'll. )O'1f. J'4. 'U. ,,,.
410 .46). 468. 411. 4\1' . 48, . 4,.. )OtI;
..... 10... 4)t'. ,61. 6, . 166.•011. '.'.
, .,; 00..1
o· -
4_w....ity. ,""_, 10. ,,0; _.1» ,_1-

ok, . .... _ .. poh, ;o.I, '0'/.

' 7' . ' 74. ,80. ,S,-'7, "', "I, "4 •
16t . •66.

,.a; OIl<!
m}'tlo. " " """ _ _ • '9) .
cui""". '7: coJiko,,,,,,, of.
oroJ • )6. ,,9i. 4". 46. , .68. ~ 119 . • ".
,6; Gnmonk •• " londo of. , 6: klio!. S"". ,01. ' O"I"~
INoC)' of. ,":
""........ ia. 49.
c....oIo .....: '71n
,.f.
...;.c,"",
,61"
of. ..6. ,,8. I ,9; di>l.imilinldt . .. , Ion cl: •••
di",,,,~"',,,,,,: u ., ' ••• '7': _ JH _
..... Md f<'IIi;"
....

C,.,n... 5<.: '17 di...-.e: ond - , . , ,"! : .. .J.. ......

10 '.
c"n.: "'I . , ,6 al
...... orjoniooe
ohm.,,, . ". "9i;..- cf. • 8
o t, &M: "
n...
Ooc I ".DSt. : "
_· ._" lft Dw 0 t C_ ",,-, 60
""'0.1,.In... .,
4'4"
L : 6Jn
tlonaIiot" ' )1
Dondooi .... It .: 99. "'D
Dol,. L.. "'" B., 6.n n-w. C., )In
d·...1....,. M.·T.' 1 ' ''''.))0<1 00u,tJ .. . 0 , C.: 47) ", 4760
Dam ..... Pun-; ><}<I. l o... ",. ,61.• ,6.
477n
~ I .~"
0. " ' . doo: 7f:>
-
d ....... , )U, 4S8. 4,... '0) ,

0...., cf Patio: .8,

Owo./uo. P.' ) . !In
S"r,,..,","

"3
 INOJ!X

'0'. '~I .
<N.Iiam: 9\1.
Catho<iam. ~
[~6. [',;

OubJ. G.: '7'" ~9D. " ... "ft, 86n. ",11..

",.n..
'.,
.,._. HI'
08n. 46&0. 47"". 47)". 47911 ... 84ft.
4801", 4S, ... m
0uCau,p: 204"
«hia: .6,.
&0.- de GuIondo: )8
,.vI,
i.n~, }6I

ODd .. c. L. : 49'11. ouchoris<: 'OO. "'. '"3. " •. 'Hf. ,}6.

o..do vi St. QDr<Iti ..: 760. 474 ')8. ''', '.,. ' .... n. '4""'. J60.
[)o.uon. J.: lion
D.ikiclil>l, So. : 64
4"". ~06, .'9.
4"". '"4.
EucIoa ol awt..., ..61
,.8, "9
0....-. A.: '60 . . . . Euda ol So. s,tr.ptKKim; ..... '49
DumWI. G.: ,,0 ~ .. , orchbiIlIop 01 ~;I ... ; '78
o. __ i«. N. : 4'70, 4,.n E....-: ''', 272. '9"
[)up<oru. A.: 91' ..,,1.[ do. 0_ b<m:ics: [4J
Durmd vi T",."., 11'. ,8., 287•• ~ E...... , A. P.: 9)n. !I6n, 107ft . lun. . .60.
Do.>tItb<im. E.: '4 '4411.
1)00"0'" P.: ~Hn F...... , G. R.: ~""'. n!l<t. H'D, }6'R
o.omtk. P.: 46000 F~"""', P. : }6[D
chnJi""" pan, 01 ...... 1 : ~9', 49i. Eft: 207. "4
"7, "9; '" Jso 0D<ienn oacI o:nodo .... P.Y_ olllooteWl: .. 8.f. 488, ..lIsI. '''h
J!odtnet: 6•• H'-. 48,11.
Ebd, W. : 49"
'"'
E".d • ...,.;....... a...a..:
E......!. St.:}'6; ~"'-PI tt, 11 0 '07.
ol. 488; Ultt/H
~,. ' .....: '9\1. 201. uJ OIduit Vi<>l;.
&t!..;M"': 4", ~Il. 4'4 ~: """ _...Jcor:iutr, 8,--3}. nol;
F.deoo: IIJ; .. "'- Adorn Pt. ~H;.,...boLi<. ,01"
Uitt" Mu..: "
_ . lirurl1 af. JO', ,,6
tw: , .... Ill , IIJ.
,}6, J}I. 466; f,
'jIof.
'9'6. '4~'
I"~ " ' ,}44,
E.i-';_, E. L.: '31' ,)of; , ....;},; . '=IlII.;.,
Find. '!IV,: 2)1> ",; _ _ , '11"', ,'*'t-,
flea, ,be: ,IIJ. 22d l79; ;Ie ...., 41 ,
, . : 0I1«re<, "9;"
.....:I, J7'. H}, 'H;"
M 'ld, 314; 01
. '., ~Ipf
<>:ik: 'H. 44'. 46}, .n.
~" 48 •. 4j1of
czisr<n<e: ;0 "'-I"" n6l; ;a rnli'r or.! ;0
iJioo: .,. .""",hI, J88"9' ut tt/H .,,,
El,jo/I' .. )Of "I ::ith«.•", 47'; md "b",. 4).f; onc!
Elisho: .. ~ ~j",. HI; "upr or Jiocd.
ompiri<ioM; 11, 'H-. ,,6.
~,6, 4J}; u...o. jl~, }'7, 465, ",; ""Ilkol. 412. 4" ;
..wed ••• ,: "'tt/H ........ oItbo:!<D, 4, 4'!i, 4' 7 . 4J9, "", ,,,;
"_'"xut. '91',
_ . '9'; ol _ _ ,
,06.
4n; ODd .. CIIO<'I'
,,8 , ".24'.4'9>0,,; [1".}'7
aporimm ...."" .a....ik: 24J
Eoodtu, J : '46ft. '?9" I .,," 4'7 , 4><>, 44"o;",JJo imdptUo-
...""dopediom. ;" """ , .."lirion: IJ. 80
EQFb. P. : 9} lit le ,';" 01 i.'''F"''otioo, 19
E",...,.....I ol_: ,08. "" ,08
~~ol:41~
~ olCou<-y, I.Oo!q> vlI.aoa: 'If'" " ..
Ionrio, ~}9I", olh;ab<o<oo;b.
ion de i'Etoile: " ' •• " - . )4"'0
Erb,o.l , N .: 9)n nlu;o, ;,/ ; }99, ~H ...,S;", Js. ;-non"
c.: •.."., .7. ... .a6n
E...!_oo.
Eriuc< ' . J......... S<ottuo: 118, '''. "9';
............ """ .• 0 01, 274. '79
hupcnIo. So. : 2,0
Eyrork, .... doD. 0. : ',.R
_00"81· 4H •• ,800. ,2' Iloi............ E.: nV'
Eamoia. A.: "a,'an, ".,
_: _. H8, _. ,)8. )Ill: .... dtfini·
"n. ,6. n. 6oitb: '4', .69. 286, }06, otO"/; on.: (ft>
w,.,." ""; ond inotLiocn&l _ _ •
'"'" ol. ,H, hi •• H8. H}; ........ Ji- ,or; orrd..-xl, '47. 26,., "!17. "'},

,..
 INDEX

"9, ,,....
_
*,.
).44; ...... 'Pi,'o. ~40; ,n
_ • ,8,. )I}f
F1_ .... . : In"
~ho,..J .,D. : 3)'"
FoJeo, N .: ~6on J'ol..,.... M. , 8.4"
f~: >S" If< .I,. forF'}' J'ob, l.: ./161>, " ,.
FMu Dtc.rtJJ: 6cI i'ono<p. c : "9<1
f - : 611, 106, '9", 19iI. ~68, '" J. bNr, ~ . P. : 80n
-,
f-:tw-· 48<>; ...... 1-0;.... ~88; ...... fa-
~_'" 64 ••• 8; .. horfty. 79; in I....
.71'. Ho S8; '" Jto .ymbo[;"". phyriocrl
phot, .88f; of Hdloqujm, ~!16 ..........10<. in.,..J ,..,.;!;,;"..: 'l
famil, : ..... opboJ of, 478. ~8<>. 48,: , .....,.,. p" 'J.~ 47
-.iolo' •• SO"l0?; ll O ....F'}': 60-4>.;
of lA: /01 ..... 6,f
fomi".: '8.4 . , 88. ,!\g. 46 •• ~69. 470. 47' 1'<-: H8. } 117; and ";'if. 441;" m<mal
Fotbs&[.,. D. : 408 •. ~I,n. 4170. ~S,f ,"'"«< of ...... )79; ; " . , . , 4' 1 ; In-
!-" ri: '99; If< JJ. m>«'< _,. '67; ......, H8
Fuoli. G.: 'H •. 'J& Fooo.i<c, R.: 'O'n
foo'i~: '4>. ,~S. 49' Foudla- of o..n...: n
&1hm.oIo" B. 6" 66. 67. 68. H. 78. fuUlIIi<r, P.: H" , lIn. 6",
79. 14}!. 148. IS', '96. »6. '~'. ,6,. fur. St.: "-4'7 '
.6, •• 6, .•66. ,68, '7 ' . '7'. 'n. '78. frinkd . E. : >On
'79. '90. "'. ,,... ",. "". }08, }'O. f ......., J., ~H"
}'7, H'. 'H.)44. ,6}. ,64. 401, ~Il, ftuk. R.: 7'i!
.,8. 4". ~'. 48.4. 498, )04. ll7f foo, .."i.,: h<mi<al •• ,,; of r-t', 490; {ra,
F.... ;,.". 11.. : HO «maU"". 46> ;fo." ,,;W, 488; '" J ..
1'«..... , J.: """n brod.<tIoood. .....c.......
ity
~J., P. : 460. Frod.ri<k I. oml"'ror: 16.0
F"'5"""', W . K. : " . Froduptd of S, . liqui<r: ,6, •. 26,
mm. L.: ' 7Sn. I n n. '79<1 mP. G .: ,,811
/a_I: .7.'" fm--. 49; " " " - . "
!NdoH,ID: 10. '1. 4'. 45>"". 86. ' 0>, ')4'
Fmod. S.: I,
friodtMu., G .: ~I}lt
H. 18,f. "'.2<>4. '}S, 47'. 499 Fmmocod, <Ou<lt of 5< ...: 461
Fi<h ..... u . H.: 4' • • "-40. ",. frug<rtH . .... : '7'"
fo/I>: . , 6; .. _ . ~O; {tJJ<s, 126. foIJot .od f'u[umanll, H. : ,6n.
6on. 6 , 0\
i;Hh, u8'3<>; foIJ~. 1iJ9; foIJ;.... 'l9 fulba-t. "",..,.ofG.-ratd J: B
AA .. ,,' ,~,. '64; ,. Jto allqr><y Fulb<n of 0 -...: 6,. 71. 10'''. " 0.

l'S , ,16. and

F'-q" '~
_irUf. ~.n..
fit-. ,6'0. ,680 • .". '79. ,,}. 3<>8.
66; and
• • '9;.<><1 _ . "0; and Mr'
'8.4. '90. ~69, ,'~n
Puko of Boa"""", "9
FuJ_iuo: ' 1'
_ . ",; a.o.d ,ri<r.IIlW•• M ••,.., " 1; Ft.nk<:, B. : , 6on
and ...... 3<>'. 110; .<><1 ....... , ,6,(.
,66.268, >70. ' 7'. ,,... ,I,. n o; fi. Goirr..., B. .... , 6 ,". 7'11. B . • n~. 48, •.
,.,...• • '1'}f. }'I'''' Jto 6&- 49'·
filII"'; '91, '94. ,' I,
l", 4,1; and..,d· G.Jh<" of BnrJd: ~o
.". )u ; in eu.chuj". ,60; of opee<h. Golbtoilh. V. H. : '}It.
48ft.,9<'I
'9} ••,.. lOO, 3<>' ; ......... ,,,,,h. 9' ; Ht Gondjllo.c. M. do: ,6,n
J MN-. oJ~ Gonohol. F. L. : 16n. 46n. 49. SO<!, ~4" •
Fin""."". R. : 80n • 67.
finlOCm<. R.• "-4. Guo<><l. M.-C.: '~n
'i", C<usod<: 20,n. 48,. S"" 7 Gu.oJ. E....." 40,"
"'D
Fj.m. •• ) .:
FJu<h. K.: ,6n. H , n. llJ.n
Gwci<mtt, J.: ~4 "
Go,..".. biohop ofUron: ,08, J "I>, ,,0
FIe<hru,rin, J.: "4" Gounilo of Na.J",o.,,;,.,,: d..... ",iolo Amdm .
FIodootd:: 474 ,,6 • .'44 . 146-Jl
-~: 'H. 'lI) Goery. P.: ~n
fIew,-: ,08 Gol>uin. bi.mp, '0'. 104, , 06

'"
 INDEX

~lmoon. j. : .,.,.. •• 6,n. ,67a. ' 7,a. ,J6o. ,61. ,.aB. ,\19, .0'. 4<1«• • _.
'n a
GeIMi .... 11. _ : ,6
411 . 414.4 ". 4,8.4' 9.42". 4U. 4".
"4••• 6. 428. 4)0. 4". iH. 4,6. 4)1.
G...." 6. i~ A'IIIa s...... : 90 439.44'. oH' . oH) ........... 6..... 7. 4".
c..-; •. b::>aI< 01: '94. 441. 47' 46,.467 . in. """. ,.". ,06. '0'1. ,,,.
GotIr>ep. A. ¥an: 479. "sol. ''''. ,,6; ...... _, 4,a-,.; .. ""'-
Gft-= '79 iII: ......;..", 19II; lS .... ionaI .. io<l. }i'(;
Gonrd I. bnbopol Arru-Cambn.i: 1'. ,:0<>- .. on. produ<ct. 4"; ..ill ... ",, >60.
'9. ,],.4".
Gonrd. t.o.<:ti< .. Wcx ....... : 18. 'i'-4'.
" ' • ..... y.
Gentd il. bishop 01 ~i:
Gent<! <lOM f' : , . 6
'j' ....-
'79. ,87. '''. ' ' ' . ,,6. "9. 4.... 44'
"""... inmi ..... objo<u: 4'4;'" MM ....

Godo:fny • • bboo of St. Dao"'i .... Nilao:

."
Gent<!ofQo~: '0'1"0 G<:odof"ny ••,d,bishop of Nilan: .6,. 16:>.
Gonrt\, St .• of Autilbc: .hurdl oi. 70; lif. ,8•. '90. 201 . "" . "0. '"
01. 48, Godo:fny .. IIoWlloto: 486
G«b<n oL AwiJloc: 8, Godtf.., oL N"",...: , 10
Ge,bo .. of Wondrilk: i97 ~ d'A~: 439"
GerdotIUI • .bbot.,( H;~"' : 492 GeoIr.., of Neu£motdoI: "l]
Getmoin. St .• d'AUft<l<, ,_ wcry of; 464 ~. E. ; jI 7~ . ,,8ft
Gonuabn•• 0. : 460. G<o<n:. G. : 6u
G_ Dti,.,
F_: ",.
G_ SJII*Ii Ah I 'mit: ,0&.'0; ''''
CaIIOrt. W. : 6, •• 6.
GoIEonoao. E.: , .. ~
~T"""" .,.,
...."",; ", ,6,,,. ,0. ,8. 90. 169. "7.
GoIdooIon, !I.: 4!n
Gooo,h"... W. L.: ,8600
lH. "9. 460
Ce,er. B. ; }Ii, •• l86ft
Ge.oofTortOftI, ' 7'
GIotlUod.) ...: 2'., '"n, .,600. "71'.
,_.
GoodJ, J·: '4". lion
8' I ". dodo< ...... ioto of: 'H; '" MM N...

God ... boret, .: 911

~.
,.8n.M. : 6... 6,n, .67n,
H'R .......
'72R. >1I,R.
Co< ,n, Th. : .~a
Gocho •• ho:: 46. ,80
Go<hi< lfdIi«<tut<: 8,f
~'"
,if<: ........,. ,of, 86, 4ll. 477 ; ""ri, ..... Gourud. L.: 7"" •• n n

-'}O. "I, "i, '49. 4ll:'" MM <>1_

Gilbo .. , botoili: ,.0

GUbon: .. Poit;.,.: 6 •• 6,. ,.8
,6.n. ,.,
Gt.b.nonn. M. : )29. HOD. H'O,

(IfOU: 9" 'J.4. "9. ,~, "'. 4". 4'7.

41' •• )8, 4" ; oncI _ _ ....., I).;
,6,.

Gikhriot,)., HR. 6, •• 2970

Cibo<o. E.: ,,,0, 4~. 4'4n. 444n
Gimbut,. C. : '''''''. 491 •. "911
.,.
ond (......

G"",," _
m."9/"; merit. ond oa/Ya.ioco.
..: .,
8<U\1OW: 6. 8. ,~. 2if. ,6, 6" '4). 279.

c-"
,s..
Gioomni S<ribo; 4'
Gi.,.. A.;
486<0
' 9'.) 01 . ,21. ,.6.,,6. H '. ,,0. ,R,.
'\I4f. ,.6, ,.8; op i_ . ,,,; !to AnoriQ>.
Gliouo. G.:.6,.
H.,
",..&>; li min of. 'I'"
GiMu?ofLsJJ, ' s
G'--1 <f .w....: 2,
'" ·"wo. 66. 97. ,," a<>d owtittd. ,,6;
wh<obo. """"_ .. ~'" H4-'9
<f
G/IoJI 11. ...& -: ., G"- c-....... 0( N",......tJ: 11
God, 11. 79, 87. 90. '0'. "4. I ,8, "0. G.atian: )7. ,,0, ". 6,
,,,. ' i' , I.'. 'H. ,68. , ,6. <78. ,82. Gtauo. F. : 48}n
,8,. 188. '89. 19>. ' 07. 209, "0. u6. G,,,,obe'8.j . H.: '9n
",. "'0. '''. 12'. U,. " •. ' P. 'H. Grtpion lI.dorcn: }6I. 4' .". 'H. 499
'46. '41 • • 66 •• 8 • . ,8, .• s" ,&6 •• 87. G~,.. R.: ,,600
.!Iso. )06.)0\1. "0. "7. "9. ,2,. )'7. Grtp)rofT....... '0, . '\14
Grt"", VII : JOII. #. ,6,. 16,. '9'. >10.
p8, ~'.)44. ~,. j.oI6. }if. " ' . "'.

,86
 INDF,X

......
>26, .)., '}-4,

C"p" T, : " Sa,,9"'"

.R • . 48 ,; ,.. .I.. Hild ... Houbci<ho, W .: 4_
H.""k, A. : ,6}t1
lh'l'<lo<k. E. A.: .,n
G ...,..., ,hoGrn!: 78, 19 , 'll, 148. ,,1, H~, A.: 330<'
.,.f, ' 7' . ,8), .!16, ~, '"", ,o!I: Hutl';"., H . D, : 47R, 48 , 490.' ....
~,416-, H....I. . . ;" f ..... "~n .......,: ."., '4', ", , ,8" )0' . 363,
Grdn<, V. :
~,I..: 8)
.,61> 4S7 . 468, ,0" ,08. )"'"
l-\oi .........., 11.. : 330<', ,600
Groool. P.: ,6ft Hrlpod of FI<uty: 484. 48,
C - . G,: ',Mn H<lloqJin: 4111>. 491, 4<08, 499, so<>
Gnond, le.: 4)Ba H<!l.....d, bi.I"'!' '" ' -: ,oB
Crun<!",o..n, H.: !Sa, '.0. '1. 30<' , 9,n, H.Lono: Hn
!16ft, 100, .8,..
GuariR. IHIhop of-. ... : ' 4, '2}
Ho tri~. C. L.: 40"'"
Heoty, D. p, : 31[n. )l2R, "4 . "Sa.
Gumo!., 11. : Hn
Guen-ie .r~nf: 4'7"
",.
Honty [of~lond: 38, .78, ,oB
Guibott, u,lode"""" in Mit.:.: ,06, 1O1 H....,. I of f...- [7 . 38
Gwib<tt of 1'1.......: ,60, }I), J19. P4. Henty 11 ofGcr ...I>y: ,,6, ,,8
,,6. 480, 4B.f, 491, "9' 0. 1';"... iNs Horwy III '" Gnmo<o,:
.,s.60, 'n.
"n.
[47, ' . 9, [17,
s.. ........ _44'1'; 0. Vi.. S.... 499"107 [(,6, '8B, ' 9' , '9'
GWben , phoot AI C"H, ...: 6<) . 66, 6li MOR.,. IV ofCorma..,.: ,6 ., 16,
Gudo do Vdstr. I,Sf, ,60, 166. 'H, 190, Hmty of r.u..n",,: 2'"
ug, .,6.•:to'.
'9', ><><>.
" 204,

Guido Llndriw<NiJ; :t01

'''1.
214, ,,6, '01 . He/b<", chop ..i" <0 .....w.: 97, '07. 109,
".
HOfbon, <""ft[ ofTroyoo : 467, 468
Guido of Pornpoot.: "9 ho, .. , : ", ", 79, ' 74, .88 , 214, .. 6,
I~ild: '9, 'B ,,6,16),411. 468, 41'. 419. ,03 ,
Guioatd, I.obon: 478, 481, 486 , ..f, ,." '~7 , \28, 1>9. HO:'od
Gui,mun.d of A.....: 'H, ')9, '7', .8., c.... 'i" , 14'; and " iminolity. ,.) ; and
'81, )0\1"', '-4, ,,1 dioboli<ol in6uo<><n, ,,6(, ' 40(, '49,
Gu..dulfo, holftic: 97f, '2 " "7 194. 198. 296: and d ...."i<. 360; and
eur.-.-~, A.: 47R 'II<~, "[, '7' , 'Hf '71, .s,.f,
Gum, le. : '44R, '491> >9<'. '9'. 'g.!, '\>9, JO'rI [; and fobio.,
0' "477";"' .bo --.deri", , ,t;; and form..iIm, 79; and 8""'P in ...•
0<1;"", 88--g., "'.469: . nd hotmonou·
}Ud,"", I. """": 1]8 'in, ,oa, "of, "4, "7 , [42 .... , '41.
Ho1phm. L : ,'>2n 148. [6" '98; and;dol .....,b;p, '40,
Hlti"3, N" or flui",. N.: ,660, ,8,". ' 47; and jjli.....", )0, ,06; and incom.·
)Is", ¥l2n, 404". 40600 600. '04. and i ....... it)'. 123, 199; .....
l-Uu.lIi"l, A. A.: .68.0 ]...ai"", 140. 467; and tnqi< •• [0 ,
~,G.: ,600 ,,6(. " 3' and Nocw T...... "",. " 1' and
Hofe..".,er, H.: "}<l ordi .... ""'. ,,6, and "'Silo'ie I""<'ic .. ,
[' 0 , I ,6, [4R, and onfotxlo:n<y, ", , I,, ;
";n .. and _lot ...1",... g9f, 106, 116, " ' .
Hoim<> ofl'l<u.,.: 466<0 [46, 168; onc! ptndoinj-, '7); and p«lph-
tu.lb<ncIoo, M .: ,," ocr, 118, I,[ ,and .. om><,pi.... '98f.
HOil, 11. . A. J', ; :tOn ,.o••nd ,ho _ ".,"'o!. ',l;....t ,or_
HMnil,..,., 11 .: 46000 , ..... , n., ") , '4>: ond _ n , " 1 ,
!hBni"" All.. ...."
IUrt.~,
W. , 8'R. 4g2ft
22n, '78n
140, 141, ')'. )10: and~,
'[1;" di ..... , " 1, 190, 1[0: Of "' ......,
fUn ...... , W. : "7n, ,,110 67f; biotoriot!., of, 9-"'01, ' 46, .pf,
Hatnhomo, C.: H.n ,83, ori.Jifll 01, 91-'0', ,,0, '94
HwulII, C. K : 1]. HR, 74 , 414R. 471 I-V;.ibo!d of "''''''''''' '7 [
H..,i"l, ",.,...,: 471 Koo-ib<n, otdIbio!oop 01 CoIof;nt' 17, 78

,8,
 INDBX

Herlpollobb-- ' 7,f H...,...." .,. ,80. 4H. 47', )00;-"

Hct1.ihJ, D.: 499" ;..., •• 6
t.. "" "" ... ;';s: Ion •• 0 •• 108. ",. 1~9. H.-d. E. : 47.f
I •• f. I,.f. 217 . "IH'. 2~. 2019. " ' • H",._. " .B.e. : ' 11R. '840
• 60. t6)f. 271f, 'n. 278. '191•• 8•.
.84. '9¥. 3'>1.)051.3.7. J>O. }6,• [ton Ab!'A..nir Nobornmod: 4MB
.... )-06.4.',4.91• •
)2'. ,,... HI; . . . .
...u,)07. ,21.
,>.u....,.. iDlorpR-
Ibn oI_lhithotn: h£
in "rn: 10,; ond '-'" 102
~ ideM. _ , 1 ... 4H, 4,8, 47'; _ ...
.......i" life 01. 103: ri&fIt co pm+. '3¥ Ia,,'pltl.. ion
&n>dia; u6 ....., .8-.30. 7", '99. 124"....... '98.
, ......
u •. ..•....
•3 0 4<',; .. iklCDt. 88; .. iDi_, '7. 68.
H<m!. 0"1' . I I 01 .......: 4n 166•• ,,; .. ~. 117.149:"
"-"f de Bcoqdiw: 6, ' .... m... ;n .................. JOB; "' ...
Hetben, II. ••J.: .H" li......,.. iIlitenq, ..........
Iko'''!, L: ,.,... "n ;,w_.,.: 424
idoIo. """*'if> 01: '4<'; _ MM - ,
'*"'-. 11..: 274". '9011. 'K"-

....-
lk,,"... /1..: 471>.''''' 1&"'·Wo; .....,..u..I. 4'"; ond odf-"'-I_
HiIooJ oI""'cion: '90 •• ~. ,.6 q. . .....-41: """"" ~i... • ,V: HI Ms.
H;ldcbt.><I: J6I", .60. '74. '97.200. lOI,
202, 006. 210. 2.1. 216; _ Ms. Gtt...,. l\orino do Ioli_ ~3a. 97n. '07ft. "s.,
."
Hildqar<! oIBi..,..: "'"
119Il, 127n, 139<1. I~ n •• 0 .
ill;.....,.. 7. "9. 6,n. '00. ''''. '32 ... "
Hild..;., ....... oIM .....: .,&.80 22,c. •86. 2"\14••96 . ..a" ,11. ,,,; 0Ift<i
Hi..-- 01 I.ei.....: %90
TT fobIa. ,,6; ond I00I ...... )46; ...d ......
H~~Aq;,p' ;': 61 pt,!< ..... ,6,; .. bJptdutt oIli...."..
HiIo. W.: 4"11, 4+4" 24' •• <hiidl I. 126; .. j I ;,...w.
H6dl. L: 2nR ..., 7~ dd"od br li,,,...,
0--8; Itp!.

::':"r:;;;
• H. M.
H : .~
.:,,-,""
1iuIi,.ojp [' .....
H6Ilwdz. F.: rlO8z>
48001
.,-4,:." litencf
#1_ '7. 68. 13'" .)6. '49... , •• 6"
26); ....li. Ha:..-i. 406:" iJiIIM,
11oIdo .... dI. e. J.: 4~'" .,'; .. .., ... , " "; P. ... iw. I71n. ZOO;
lin" "co±....... $., "n
11 'l"P .... C. W. : )7JA. 476z.. 4780
"''''''.,#' w,;...._
lillDer. D.: ~Q. 'OOIl • ..a,n
-..,0: ,u W..... _ioft: 99 •• 0, . 10" 110, Ill. 114.
U,_". )'. )) "9. 12~, 14" "'1. "0•• n, ..,. ,.,.
Honantuo•• <101: 'iIIcp 01 Milon: '7&.80 4", 4"~, 4~. 408. 4'9
I _i .. U: ,6, """'": "~ u..."... diYiD<, u8; i _ ond
H"*",,, }.: H"".
IkcOCl:. , 0 . . .
J.46z> "m-,)O}, "). )41 ••", 4,11-".
,}O: i"..,a • ....,.... fOr WLioe,...,j..
Hourlitt. I .: 4'7" I}6/": ~ ","-,ion. ". )10, )18.
1I..bt1'f. J .; 'Y>" }IIo. ,aV. iOIIf. ~'. ~a; i _.........
H..btI'f. St .• obbq 01: 60 ul, 191. 40'; oI ... p<ItGIi dlin,ll, 319;
Hu.ah. _w ' p' ,. of LJ<a: ~, ..... )4'. 3'19. 3B3; v.;, _n-o •• 8:
Huab c..p..: )8. 484, ' 07 ....11 ............. 70; ~. ,7:18; as
H1\I1oo 01 Boq.mdJ: .6.t f I _ _ . , . . )80; ,, __ , ,80;
H.,.to of J..oo.s- '1". alb • • 8,-89. 29' 'if jL 'f, 367; '1 C' F'i<v.6sr
H.,.to .,(1 js"""" .97
Hup oISt. Victor: 1t7 •• ". ,,6. , ....,.
lzeriution ofam.., n •.
.- " rN. JO). 493
»,...
8. _HQ;

,'7. ...._:4" ;_ ... ~

,0.1
Hu&hoo, It.: 4,,0
H...,..m. of!'iso: 6J ,'R.
Hnmbon of Wn ...d;": 276. '78, .80.
,....
.- I '..: .301. ,08; "' . . j",ftJ"tI'''iooo,

....pooi<.... oIhondo: I".

'~7
.1'.29'.291.299. }06 "-'<otiorn: 1)4. " ' ; '" .... 1i<ta1

,88
 INDEX

ionw: '~l . ~l<>

i...... i-n. btM._: ~11 . JOI: " MM dot-
,.61. ,••.H"di_W ......
\osi<.'nf; ..
, .....ica<;".,. '., ood
,...... ..
~,
, w....mokin, ....h lo, 79; in Plul • • 91: "I'P"'i'"", '0,
I......... bo8'nni"3"": 6, >9'. ,061'. 401. 4", 41):~. ' 01.
In<li.;duoJi ....: 'I. 22,. 'l.f. 0191'• • , •• .08: .......1, "9' ~' l~. ,6,.
2H. 297f. J09. I'''. )11. ~'9 • ...d ....... '41. p', iVII _, ...., .. ),a. m-6!J. '78;
Ofi,""" .",.01; " . ,60: ..... ~ loo",. ..It.ht...........oe,
,..,. ')04. '""""'...... ,: _ _ ."....
• _ , __ • ""It •
_ _ .... UoeIi", .... : ..
' - • • ,6 .............. , . ,6 •• '91 . ')" ')4 , " '.
h ' i.... V-=., .,.. Ul
i I .... .. iat ...... . "'_ont. 4" ; . b. """'H
iUi........ 68. 74, '" __ V 'D. ho.p,, · [ ""'-.;.,pt- ,.
.
[....,.; . . . . . . n
I · of'
I , ••, "
i";.;.....: 4.6-,8. ~n. iJO. 41' i....iouIioy: 4". )O" ... "J,. li<et><}' .....
Jr.ftio. 11 . A.: .6n , iorwlioy
1_.... Ill: n. 6, I.... , 44'
i"""ioirioo : S, •• 04. " ,. Ill. 1>". ,,~. lII,beI <L CondoH: ) 00
u6f.•• , : ~,;,;,. ;" 10.. . )9 I.. w.: ,It. )'), •.
1, 4.1
w-lry; '<J9; -1IonnJo. ''''4 • • 06 • .. ,. cl
h' ' .. Snillf: ,,,. 267. ,76 . ..so
..... pi., .,01;'". ' 16 w."., '). 4)9 . • 6 •. 4611', .. _ ' . 46, .
• ., • '_ .~a ; .. __ (cO(.i ... ....JOfinl ." . • ,e
i __ ...,.... I..... : ",. "41 . ,,>. " ........ . I..." ,I,; "" -........,. . • I f; " _ " J
.... >.'. "'. '#. ,60. ,.,. )0). " " '. horct,.1I1. n). n,. '4'.'IO_cl
...,. 124. H" ""''''' 466: .. ___ 01 hi"",. 410
iMIJ.rw: "4. "" '14. ,66. )16. }96f. 1Yinb, ~ . """, 4 ' 4~. 44'"
4,0; . "'iMallo. n8-80; .... " .., Iw"Chortrn:)7.6.
,6.f . ,n. ,aIf•• -.s, ,80; .i,:...,,..
............ '44 .......... )68; i olOl_
;rwoI_: .Ilf:,., Ms. ...... _ ...

-
_ ...... }118; ..,.;".~.
,__
, _. H• ,4'". ' ..J'
" _ ".
,n;
•
'isf "lo:' J1<1uon. 1'1 . D.: »'"
]0«Ib;. F. .: ""
....1...,.., l4'.~; "'_=.)041; ioItI· J"";';. "'.,
I.,., l49. "c; ...... l4.a, ,6 , J....n. fr. N.: ,6la.
)116<0
JP"
_ _ : " ' . U' p. ..... ,; n>nI. .. B. J -. So.: 'JO
4,. , <L .... ' , )6+; .......... )77 J- .1 l. L : ~O)ll
1I.."iooil'p': 11f. ...... ' S, ,.B. ')0. In. J_. H .: _
''' . ')S, "" H', ,,.,~. 4"'. 4)0' J _ . B.: )'0. "7"
}Il. 4S' . 4,.. ,,9>1. '''I; ..............."
n. 79, ..... 90, Ill, I" •• .,6. 'U, "4.
J«>k,;_, 11 .: ••
Jrttmialr.: ..6, •• 8
, . 8, '49, .,of. 'Hr. '19, .6,f. ,66. J•..,.... 5<. : .,... 19. 'l), '11". '1' .•,8.
• 69 •• &6, '9 ', ,." p o, }olf. ,.,.
,., . H', r4OI. 4061', 4" . 4'7 , .,..
",
)=.'1",,: . c,. ,,6, .6). 466. 468 • • 69.
4". u,. «Iif. )1>'. ,a<. )}o. H' , i .... 470: ... "",..,d "",iNal. 4904
............. dWiot !Wc.. , • • • J-- 6? VI , ." . ..... '4' . 4<>1, -t68I',
; '1"""""" l . n . ...... 8 •• ,.., , ••• 0 . , 49 '. 'lI , onc! ......,. . '04:;" Som.
i )',
' 04. 'o,. ,06. 'cl. " 4. "9. " 1. " •. M : loa'H,M 01. >11' ... ' ",... ... ,.of
•6,. ,67. ,68. '1'o!I. ' H . •76. "" .96 .
.,e. n o. "1, .46, •.,. "',
2,,..6. , .6.4-66, .6,1, "M, .,6,.,0.".
.•,1. J""". ....
• t<>• • ,t;. ')7. '4' . ' . '. '1". "' . 'I' . Joli_. J.: ,6... )6)11. )6.4 •• )la... )8,n •
So .: "J. • I " .69. '19. • 80. '9' ,
'904 ••• 0
.801• • 8" .9 ) • • sa, '11'. '9)1'.• 516, J""" a..,,,,,."': .,.,
'98. '99, ,ao, ,01. ) ,M, )'){' ).6, J.... Goal"'", •• ,
)*". ),8. )4.4. )6,. }1.41. 404 , 4 '4.
4", 4})I'. 0)1. 411 . 4)~, 4n . 476.
J""" cl Hu."p' .&.{. ,"ft
J""" of Goo<r. 'O}~
,01. ,.0. I". )". 1'1. " 7·". l') , J""" .. l<i..: 11

,8<j
 INDEX

J""" tL kip<>ll: <n,I01B, ,0/1<1 K.OhIor. E.: i _

}oM tL So. Atftui{: IB}n KPh'on.buj«. H .: '''0, nBn
J""" ... SoJ.....,., H, 'H, ).6. "1 ",,", M.: i80
Jot.. l'o<bom: 8, Kftumano, N.: J66n
Joba ,he Boptioc: I, ... 216. '41, " '. , .. Kq, G.: ,860
}<Ibn ,he 0" .....: .~ Kuolool. W.: ~, i,A
}obn tile )I .....: " , K.... _, S' : 'i"
j ..... , C. W .:""
; ;' .' 418
}ordoa Ri.... : "4, ,,6 t.othon<I. J . ....: no
J..u....., H.: "9<' 1 _, E. I..: 6goo
J -, M. :
i--; "90;
.'ftIII ~ i. ,. .... , ,.,..m
ua..;.-, 8. : 7i
~1I1: 2 n
j ..... lo<ariot: .,•• 4" , .I W', G. B.: Ha, "n, [600
J..doc. So. , hermJ... tL: .o6n lAi......, M .L W.: "0
j ........... n,j. A. : .67n Loi.<y: 020. 12[. ,02 ; obuoeo"', in rdiplo,
j ....i.,;on, l<a;oI...,.,"': . " ". i2, H , 4-4, ,.6; .. im........, '7; ;0 Milul, ' 07; in
i', 46, ,0, ,}n. 2,8, ,61 tile M.ilooes. d>!Itdt, ,1I9f; mtile PIIII";,.
;-ia: abuse tL, i68; ... bo!X&, u,; pool, .,,'n; po>t;,;ipotlon tL. in ~ion, '03,
.Jftft.......tunI,
1)0 •• 0', 'o" »6
,.o,p.m,w..128,

;""ibioo: 126. 108, '29, I,., 'H. ' } l •

on, .,,; ... ~;w pool,iono. "9-3'
.. ....,
r-
• ri. 2>'(, .,8; p;.ry"" 419; oopontioa
prira •• '}O; opiritllali., tL. »6: _

lambort, M.: 9'0.

1460.. a,2n, '3)"
96<0, 9fIn. 107". "9",

Kaiorr, E.: ,6.D Lombc" ... Hmldd: '41"

!Camaow i<&. H .: 'iD Lornma, P.: ,6 ... , aI,,,
w..., holy: ""'1
Itao<r, M.:
Kwt,q., K .: "
.,n. 'n"
Kaq>iDlIt;. L C: Sin
~tOf, A. M .: 61n, 'Ha, ,}OIl, ~<>4ft
u.r..Jty tL Orbec: 496, 491, #
Keht, P.: "0
H. E., _ ,
!(diet,
~, E. T.: iO)l', .'iD
."n,
'Ha, ,,,.
I.ot>d..If 11, otdobiohop ... Miluo: ''', • 19,
,64, '1', 178, I8I-8J
lMMItdfSo";"': '}9, 'i"
n, 119, 98 .• o.~.
lCNMr,j · P.: i""
kiB: bond. ..., 488; and .,..' .... ,...,] ,ioo,
.3. " •. ' }4. 'HO, .6 •. 161_, .68n.,
'H'' ' ' . .,6, "7, 220, '21n...6, " 7.
498f.)06 .", .,6, 'n, .,8, 481"
k...: .. «>km ... _ , • "I; .,mboI;c. i", I.anfw.:: .", 'H . 2,9. 072, 'H, '14,
i", 418(. il9/'•• 24, ... ,1; .ymboI;'. in .76, '17, '18, '19, .80, .87. '9,<}09.
''0, ,'S, "9, no, '>i. ,.8
Klud, G. : "'" r.aftonr, cl.,;,; tL So. Cdouo. MilO<l: "7
kit"""", E. : 8.
~. A.: i86o
~
~: and
.""""""uo.ii>ati<o>,
,a. 40. iY, i6,,S.,
119
,8,(;
"4,0
K~. 11.,
KIotritJ;, H.
W.:
Kneolo, W. and M .:
"n )&20
and
l'O. l8<>-8" 4"-'-f, ,.,f;
~~i<z. ,.,: and rroJity, ", '78,
"""",Miom"',
H'; diftni'1 tL, ,69; 8""" ..... jg/•• 20;
kaiah'bood: ~ ..., 480; id< li ..... lilllits .... )84, 4042, ii9; lOIicld _ ...,
+&,-86;,., MM OlmiD<ndoolon. fu,b:y, "Sf, ... nuaJ, l4,; Otdi.....,., ..6, "9,
hocno,!<, """h ,,6; tL .q;"" .&6; ...... iilc:, and oij: ....
~: and und<n<ond.i,,&, i'i; idooJ, '''; "nxtute<l, ' ' '; .ime. 0lId ...,...;'1.
H'; foonOoI, },8; iolla<;,y; and iOberi"" .,i"''''
404'; limit. tL, 404'; ...,..ical, 412:'" ><If,
,.y, .,y, 4 ' 7, .,0,
4404,,6; . . . tL,
YI,f,
,J-4, ,,8. ,6.,
8, l41, 344-46. 3)0, l" .
)6,. }80-8,. 191;'" MM
on.li'1, lifetl!Cy
O2o-n, u]f, , ..,.6 • • ",f. ill: ",W'1
tL, 446; ,.,.Jso ..,..,;.
"-Pt 11><1","", }n.
t.noo, Iood« tL ci_:
,.8
,,8. "9, '7}, .88,
Kom., I..: 37" 192. zoo, XI,. "."J6
 INDEX

Uoon. dilo<dt" ". , ••• ' :107-'0

..
t.a1et •• P. : ~In
Ias, .upper: 'H. ')7n •• S,. '&9. 'Ill ; lit
~
_;.<_[W,.'"
,-,u.t. M""" h<m i<; 89. 97 . 98, '01_
106.
48
Leoy. E.: .. " 44" . .. ,n, 460
1.Jo,,1>am. R. E.: ~ 9" .•98n lbr. J. P.: ,8n
Lotio: 61• ••• 8,.1>9. 'H. [)8. ')9. ,69. lbi.p,o ..",,",. E.: 46."
~. ,d. ll<I<i lho ..........,. ~"'fI<>. u-,;,s,....... C.: ",n
1\)-,0. ODd Ilomonla, " . ,,; &nd "",no<_ Lowis, C. S ; " 6n
...... "->7... 8: r.. ... f; J;teruy. ,2 ; la: ' 7' , '74, '8,. '<>9.
PI , .nd _ ,6>:
_ ~. 'H. '96. >0600 . 'H. ~. ___ • Hn; ODd ,,{,_. »6;..-.J JOO.
l~; ut MJ. ~_, W';lfft>. and 1;-, ~~ , 126, ,,8; D'Ii. 4'" ,.. ,J" 10 ..

I
K' R"... of So:oi--= "
d
fA>< Ri" m.: 46
u,..I•• J.: IhB
10.: '''9. '". "'. ,~8. ,,8: and """"". uw_"""'~: ~.
~2, ')8.'''.,,9> ODd ""th. HO; An· ii;m.,: .,8 .• 60. , 87. '9'
,k>-5uDn. "'......... 461; SW.undi...
~8; U<b<ociIo,., H. : "s"
.6;"""". ~ . 68. ''''4 •• VI; dioior. 484; ~.., ho«o"1; 99. " ,
family •• 4 •• 6; ktIandi<. 80; liMits of. {jot';, "",hbioh<op of Son" 467
4'1; M.....,.;n'iul. 10; ... tunl. "4. '9'. lifo<),<Ir. $l0fn~' 47&..99
• ",. "of. ",. oflana_, ,B,p; of no, li8ht, U rn<l"f'l-: '30, "Sf, H[ .....
ru ... "" ,,8. )'" Old T.. ' ....... ,. of ,}8, 4'4. 4,8
!>,'''''d. ,[f.,... .•68; _ i n g i_i«. lindbo:r,. D.: 8,"
[lOo poi .... , 4,f. '" p<iTat<. it! Roowo {jn_. I..; 4'iB
<mpi...."4'; R..... n. ,B. 6, ; Soli<. ~ 7; liooi •• ",non ~ s.•.
.(;tQi., QrWmo, 97.
......... ~io_, .'9;
Yisiphi<, 461; lit ,<>8. '17, lIB
MJ. custOm. ko< li .. nq: , - ' 0, '3·[8, .,,(; ond ,bstt"" ;,,...
Loun.o. 67. 78 8S. 3'9; ODd odmini>[ra[ion, 17, IB, 3',
t-h. E. JI.: &!n ", 37. 38. ,.,; an<! aI~, 91 ; ,nd
Lobon. J.; '70n; ';,n A ... i,hriot. 67 ; on..! ."him;fUt< , 8[ ,61'
J,.o8 .... G.; Hn. nn ,nd .... 81-1i,; .nd oniliciol ""'''''''7, 31.
l.«1o.<q. J ' 4.n. !In. '460. '71n. , Bln. H: oM ,.[OOoi<,. [6(•• 8; and bil;~ ...I,
l"n. ,,8. 4<>l". 4<>4n •• 060 ... <>8. ...... }8o:.nd dI""«i .. , .\4,,6: ,nd
409". 4'0<1, ~Hn. 4n " <nino.!I •• 8S; ond ,w.ift<o' ioa, 6,(; and
kfM, 7'. ",, , , ). ,,8. 4<>8; .nd ,.. .;.", 00ftl"","'''''', 8 i; and ,,",,,, .. uoIi.Olioo,
H• • • 68: .. ink;., ..... 4'6-.8; ....... 68. "0; &nd <01111."", i '; ODd , ultllh.l

.,0.
"g;" <W*tip<. ~; JM.... ' O} • • <>8.
'I", ~l9. 487; i. m..~.
4'9; ",,J,, he<"..,....,icI. im.rpte< ......
dill'.,ion. ,,, and culrurol _ ..... .".-,
86f; oM ,he dt.-il, 67; an<! «onomi< ""
,i...", ' 7; and ,t.. ~'oI_. i >: ond S""'-
1..I:mn<. It.; '~, n. "on <Mt, 314-'9: an<! hem,. go. ''', .,81',
t..,....u S.oai $ikorJlTi: 60 >00, 4", ... 07; """ hi~htr ""It.,", '"
I.oW, ld . D. : 1.1". 49"Jn 67; ODd tu,,,,",,;,,,",,,, ' 01 : ODd 'h< holy
Lt Golf. J.:
1'9n.3,1l<t
'OR.
14". ,0. ,
In. jI6<>. loon. .,toi" • Ilf. '76: i<l<to, .rod ""io". '[.
4"f; and iII;.<f"O<J', ,66. "\)-ll. 456.
I.oja,. P.' '760 "l: and ,ndi,.;.juoli", 67. 9', ,,0: ond
Lc ...... i,lini«. J. P.: 4nn ,t.. ''''I,,;,i,ion. SS : ond in.."i[" 1<>6;
1.0 It", t.duri<. E. : g, .nd iBtttiori<y. 7 '. 77'79; ODd ""Ioi",
La> I;.go 186. ',*"". "'; and La.i • •• 6(, " ,
La> IX, }6. '461'. 'in 8[f, "9, 'H. 'H. ,"', ,>s; and loo ....
La> ofVmelli: .,6. '01. lO'.
''''4. '0' ,6t:, 4'/' ,, ' ". ,81', [701', "7/. • ,IJ(.
I.oopnnd. Psutmeptidt; ,,,,. ' " •• ,6 '4' , , .. ; ll<I<i litu"li<Il .lUdo!dimion,
r-ulf of N_; 67 6,; ODd mani., •• "4; onJ ,he .......d!on.
Lo.i"". G. E. : '77n , ..... [7; ond oh. _ophot of the hfo.
kttot ODd opi,;t: ,<>"/, '49. 4", .n, ',0; <1<1•• ,66; and mod<. ~ proof, 4'. 66;
ut,J., Idoo......"i< •• inl" ...... "'" and ,he _or;"., H'4>: and obi<c< ... i".

".
 INDBX

u..1atJ • .) ~. T.: " 70

19; ..... rti•• n;...d pmolItO. 17'79; l.Odkr. H .: '9<>. '4R •• ,0
...d _it dKtiooo. ,0>; ond 1<1 ' I.. coJ· Lodc., 5<.: .. " "). 4"
<w"<, 66. 7ee; ..... fA. 'h;.., •• 96f• • o,r. l.uoa>mbt. D. E.: ,600. ,6,._0
>24. n6;""" priodq, .~; """ rarionol·
i.,.}<>-J,4 • • 7, 10•• so, }.8, H).
otId .6:><.u, ,61.7 ' , 88. 90. "7 •• ,.-
",f; Mob;l,"""
N_
J: 60., <jll,
'··Id, A. J.: .6,D, 'l'D, 'HR, 'nD,
2.4<'.4O"),...d the Ilcb"'..;..... '3 ; &Ad ' n o, '18<1 ••8000., '87u, "?9"
oocia.l.........-.•. ".. 8 ... . '1.
8&-• ..." ..."r, .6}. , •• 1. ,.,. &Ad ""ri,.
MtGinD, B.: 4"u, ,. ,..
Md...,...J. : }6on.,61n
'9}D,

"'[ity, 9O;..,d ...... <1:." ~; ...d ca- MocK.....,.. L. Co : 4790

-.l aicCiom. 601"; 1I>ou3b<. onc! ",,;0... Md.ou.IliliIL, N. : , 000
.,,1; onc! ....... 8,1;...d .........u.,. Nd,. .•• N .: 'SD
.48,....d.-ioud ocdor. 8. ;,..ts. I~. N •• obi<oJ: .8
cnIl.,. «ZrIlOI.i., ..... i<: 8. , <'0• • ,6{. u,. 14(Ii, '99, " I.
/;-. '4,, ;166. ,67. J72 '46. , ..
I...... : 6. 26C. '7R. ,,6.• " , .6), ,." MainLI, obbor of Oun,: 419, 46,. 466<1,

,... ,..,
44',...J i/JiI_,
"]
Utd<. E.: 4060.
'!i'\l. "]0.
:o6j. 360. .~
~~ , F. lV .: SlR
Iobi_ of 5<. E_: 491
ti""V, me Chriati ..., " ...8 • • ,01. '.'. NiLiIlZ. N,"';U at: 91
'7> .•9'. ' "; ,h<" h";,,. ,J'I. '18.
.uf; iD me eudwi... ." , of I!oom-. bu.dkli' " &at ......,. ,.,..."
• tI • • " ; .Ms. ad .... "" __ • •J
ulo''' .L""" 41 •
t.m ... ~ .., Noli...,.....;. B.: ,,,"
_ _ ,80, """, H9, ~J , 4.6,. /ms. 1obI1ooo.J.: Hn
, 61; dj. ,,9,111= d',. "';_. w.-...... Co: 'nn
H'. ,l8-40. ~,. )6.; _ • ..,..,.... Mmi: '41, '49
,\00, ....... 06>0; Vd. 4,0 ~ 91. Jl6C, '47, 'n . •81, .8S ,
l,ooI;: 'n, ,6,. ' 7" i94; .. .ts. Cot/Iaism, dI>oIiom
UI&tcd<. I .: n. Un ManoPd of laIoc...b.:h: ,lOCI
JOoI. "". ,'0.
Josic >.,. >7<', '7Sf••80. ~. ~l h- . 4~
lU. 3"'. H'-. lW. ,}6. 140, ',0, M.dial.... dkik of AMi . ,...,. 14'
,61, }6" ,8,. lW, ,26, ,.8, opinM, Mo..iriuo, .... : .6zn
.iJ.4, ..... <h< _ . 'Wo on.! I.." ...· ........: '1'. ~,. >94. ,.. •• 4'9; ,., "'"
.....rica."6;....,,..,.,
...... , .,8; be~
oR<i
"9;
0/, )'4;
the
in An·
~
""'",Ui. k. : g.8Io, '49<>. " ...
""",,, ",-60; limit. 0/. !IO'. 1'4, pI , . .d".
41
...,>; the "old," ,6,; _ _ .-li.,. 387 lrio><oI.", 490
Jeh • . ,... E.: ,600> !>I.Xl..!, k. : .,.a..
~: '40, _ oloo Milan ~. the: otId U......,. 8s4]; me..,...
........... "" . 0 ....... i<, ')4
. . . 11., S. : '7R. . ., . Notbo, k ..... : "90
Lord ..... 11.: 8000. m,.,.: " , u8, ')8.461 • • 8,. 49'.
L<>c, F.: }lo. 4'''' 499. )0 •• ,.,a;""" odu!my • ..,,; on.!
l<>d>: .76 homt-, "4;""" ~i_, _, Iftd
~iJo: 8.4 • .". 49' opJri.,..!i." '0]. n.; sod of. "9; ilL
lott;",. 0."." , _ Tondk""·. bet<o,. 'n; ;" the m.,.
1.oLaio IV: 47} ' l } •• 76, '71 •• s,f, 200. '<>4, 206- .0,
u.w., I..: ,Mo
Loiaio VI: " , 38, '46
"4, .,,1. '4' , 4"',' n,
,,8. "l·2S , IW.
4~ ...je<-<io<o 01.
'41 . J IO; IOCr&-
u.uis the Pi<ILII: 6. ...... 01. 4.6
Luhec, H. do: ",ft. ,,,0.•,&. .......;..I, me. """ ilL me <burc~: >24f
Loo:a.; IlIJ. 194, . ,6 Nu""" HA. ' _. P

,.'
 INDEX

I>Urowo<on. J.: ']A mill<""iurn. 11><: ",~ . 88. 96, [00\. 119,
Mon:in. s.:., '},. '47, d!utct. of. Too... 1)9. 4n, 46" 466 ••1). )[ ' . 130
."
""""room: 46,.~; 01. Nidd. ""' ]
Ni l""". S,f,C.: H"
MinS-. E. ..,"
Nin;"'Po.I ...IIo. L ;
,.on. ",n.
'46n
,6,.
Moro..,. . in'" .. "";"" oi ...... y in: 9,f
"'''''' St. : '~9/'. 496. "~; "",,IOu oi. /of;'",rJ.. $, s.-!;'#: ~. """
Aoctorn.)II mi"",I ..: '9, ~·7'. 94f. ",. 'll. I~.
101..,. MI,s<ioI .... : }'3 178. ,88, ,,6, '.,. '46. 'SO. >90. '~'.
........ ho. ",;":'ioo. 01: , ,8 ''7.4'4. Hof, 4'9. 467. 4 70. 49 ' ,
M ....etl;. c . /1..: [9',on. "n ,,, , d«>i,1of. "'. II~ . "9. "c,of
'Ol . 199. 'H. 4,8f. 418;,.,
maK<S . . . . . : CIuU<, 78. ,~ , of ....huix. '61, '94f.
~,. mowmm"
Motbon. G.: '~n. ,B }n. },a...
) ,8n
,Y>6f. "4
IIIi.....,.. N .·D,; '440
_ , ....... 10(,: 'Hn Ioti ...;,. H .: 44"
III .. ,how. So ,: [H. ~ m<delo, "",,;.n.. ' 0 . ,,~, boht..iotottJ .~ . 4,
...."""'. J.: 408ft 4S6. 46t1 ••73 . ~77, 479 . 4/1,.8,. )0'.
",""ri«. s..: 46 ••• 463 ,04f, ""h~tol oM li•......,.. 34; fo< <1<'0'
1IIwro. T. do: ,on .ion, HSf. B9/'. H7. H9, fo<.-" ODd
M...... Ill, : "n pntri«. 77; innop,.ti..." '[ . 'S,f. '4,f,
Mooi"""' .... G:mkuot: 1 [8 ~S', S07. S ' O; Io,inl psop<tt:i<sof, ' 41;
Mo"". T. , 49". [,4n men.al , in iocq!O&/l<. '97 ' of oral ~i,·
_ . 344f; 0'-1. in ",ind, 3n; .. ,i,.
Me<lar.!.. St .• _ecy of: ."
medi,.rioft: 10,. 'p.
'JO. }'l, 3.8, 3'9. _.~. IH. 'lS. 34,f. 48,; ... ~ 11«.
H['H, 34'-46. }6 •• 408. H O, .,.;.<><1 ~~

']>.
nodi"", .<>IIf ~ry, 10 ,
,0,.MM6, .• ~ 6 .• ~R. 4S6.
101_",.". G . G .: 'Hn
"'.,;". ...,non"';'. '4'; ....._
~.
"""""'Y: ~.
• ,,, •• '- L;,. -
74f. '44. " , . '1' .•• 6,
.... , '49,
ioo, l"
,,0.
479. ,,,..
H. '4', >of
,
" I •• , . . , ' ' [ , '~"
Noht. W .: " ,n
«odi,;on
4ll , ''7 .
S", S'7f; ond «odition,

>" .•'7;.,..j <Om""' ....... i .... l<>sf. M~n. C. , 'l<>R. " •• ' ll. 4' ''''
l"; oM ""t£m<ft'ol ,;, ..... Il,; and MoUud, /1. .: '0'.
-..d ,i.i1>3 ",... i1>3 OV<' 'itn<. 371 f ....,...,<i< ....'" Id,..I... k : ,.8, "9, , ' l
M, nofndn P>Jol, Il .: ,," ""onfon •. 1><... , ." 89. 98. 101 •• ,08 ,
",«<loon,>: ' 4. 99. "4. " ,. [,8. ,88. ' l9-41. ,.6. 'SO. 'S7. 18,. IS. .•06.
1119,211.418 ; in Mdlll. ' Hf >10. HI. "7. '3'
101""';1>3"''''' 38 Nonod. B.: '44"
Ntffilm. 11 . L 4~0 Non«Ioo. J. <1<: "9", .6,0. ' 7}11. '7)".
N ........ Il . le 6n ' 76R. '7~". ,8... ,8,0, '9,R, '970.
Mm. Il .: 4ilon '930. ""n. ,o,n. ""n. ,06". }<n ft.
/1(..... C. : -i61n )08". J09"
N<)'fIiol. IL ,60. Mon_i"", 41l
Me • ..borbo. P'«<t. hiobopdfk.. ,o:<: 'H M...... k. I,: "". 9,n. 960>. 980. 99".
Mi«o!i. G, : [68<0. ",n. ,,,n. ''',
")'1, '0,•. ,06<>. 107 •. ,,6<1. "70. "9".
",n. "7R... l!fo. "9", 'wn
Mi<h<I<" Jnl .. : 4'1iIo, 476
"'ft, 126<>. " 7n. 128<0, 4180. ~ 79"
101"""" S. f ., '4'0. 471>"
/l(kho<lIV, <m""",,: '40, 14',469 Mot, G. C.: ')4ft
NkhoO>d-Qow>rin. P.: }41n.}49<> Mor-d<k. H .: S4n
N;.l<unIci, S.: 4600 MOIfiU. E. de: '49"
Nilon: n, l1li, '39. 14', 14} , '4'. ",. M<qf><n, R.: 94", 97", 980,!I9. I1'R
'40; hi''''fJ' 01.. [H-6, Morin, G. : 6,"
MilIliori .. , 11. : ',n, 49,n _: w. 1]0. 4.0. 46,. 49'. " ,;rrr~
";/i,;": >01. ' 0). ,,8 "".tom
M,11l> V.Uk..,..., J.: 14ft Moo<s: , ,,, 'n. •
~, '94, "4 . 411 ••• 8.
mill<fwi .. iotn: 118, '40, 14'.'" 4.8. 449; ju!J;l« of. 41" "all' of. (6)(

'"
 INDEX

M _ . }.: 4'7B. 4,'B

,............ in Getmoni< litem .... : 477
~ i ..........""'..... 01. "7-,,,
N~'::' .
::;_:.....'
Ni<odta_ ..,
bo: .". 80
.ucoI&lti..." 'H . •,6. ,60.• 6•.• 68. 'n.
....... 'P<>.
46.~;
•76. ,,,. '4'
rtli.""". '1'. '1<'• '9'. '9' • • 0(\..'0. "4. 226.• ,,:,. JIf
morri.
Mumkord.l..:&..,. Niools. S. G. } •. : Son
101 ........ ;.1.. A. : '1'". '71 Nier....,.... J. F. : .9"
M.......,.. A.: t~f. 8,~ N«k. A. 0.: 'H ••• ,6n
M....... l.. : 471" ~" K. : 14"
N"". }.: 9'". g.8<I. '''7m NDif<IW:.J. -N. : 12 ••
101".1..... B. G.: '4'". 4nn _ : ood "'. ,,6; .. ';ao. ')9; ood ......
"',....,.. Christ;.,.: ,9i. u~. II6. ".f. . . . '66: ...... 4'9
'4'. • " ..
.86. ,0'. ~.
.,tIn.JOtI. )08..67.4.6..68.4,0;'79.01
.(In. , ph ';' H8. ,!j6. 40'
nooUDOliun: '19. "7. })', ,.6
no<hario<. 2{\, •• 6sI. '89. '9'. '97. _",10. ,_""......,. ofo ,~6

Y>«. ,.H.'H.,.,: poa.....".6.:..,H

')7: ...... ~'47'. ~7.·76. 479. ~" 496.
.... m..,. ,}6. ')4f• •
dmntiom 01. • ,4f; ",1lH_,
;'••
'"
Nof....... ' ' 07, ' 78. 0(8 •• 486-118. ' "
m)'1ri<isrn ' t ... "9 •• 6" 'n.•B,. "9. No... li.........: ,91
409 • .po. Oil. «,f. 00. 4". ,.6 __ }79; ._'
_, }66. HIl; ... .u...,_
•• }>. ; .... " " , - - -

Nri. 11.: 36>~ _ori .... the: '9'4'. n. ,,... '11. ')1.
N..t.. M.: 8,~ .JII. 4"9
- . ., "4••118, 292. '9J. J'O, ,"a. ...mw: 46 ••90 '4'. "'. H7
,,,. "4, H7f,~, m· ,0;18. 4'0, No<U<, biohnp ofLiCse: 10,. '~9
4,6: ptuo"itiod. , •• f:,. "'.. _ , .... No.opo"loo. J. A.: '4B
~. """"" _11..... , )904: ODd wrbo, '70. lJ'
_: "4. '42, >66. '0'. l'4. 'H._. """"'1' •• 6, ,,0, 4,6. ,,8, ,.,. _.Jso
4)1f. 46 •• ",; ODd o:tIanf< • • 881. ,'0. " 1 IFu'T
l". '.4: ...... <III,urt. "7: ood <""""'.
3'4. ,., ; ODd God·.... W. ".;ood ......
" '; ood , _..... '21 ; ODd tens. 'd. _~: ,T. '10. "'. '7,. ,8•. '9J. ,,8£.
l""', '24: booIi «, "0; ~n.oI;"''''' .66.., }04 • •6,. ~.6; &Dd _, ....
•n .... of•• 601", o:yd< of, ,.9£: cIaoo<.t.I .. ''''-17. >6.-6>
"'.... 01. "4;~' in AnId .... ",- ex 777.. '. 1-1.; ,oon
40, H6f. n': b...- .•6•. , .. f: icleo 0"Gd.l0,I ...... J. F.: 46.>0
of. ,.8. ,.4f; ..... '74. ,.,. ,,,:
of. 0010 0/" Cl",,!,: 48.4. 49'
........ &.l ..... , ... . ,. - ' i.... I<'F! " ... 0.10 0/" CI""l" )Or'. , 060.; Lifi t{ C.-iJ t{
, .... 01. '4,; prcbIe .... of, '4.f; ",i.,,,;,, A.mJJ.. 411,
_iooc! 01. 2118, "7-". "4' ..... " of• Qdo"",,,,,,, 0I.sen., .080, 4660>
... ,. ,2(>-l2: '" M.. nuut>Jw.. ""'..,. ,t..- of: 4U'91
,.......Jw..: 'd. " '. )09. 4)9. "4f: 01&.. Jcl"" 48
<pi.... ~f; ond ~it,. '49: "' .... - "" . .• uf• •• ,;J. f ", '.. "7
.;k ....,f 0,&.. C. K.: ,601
No" i ' it S. S .. ',.,;: .9}-91 old • &lid ,.,...,b, ,,,"- of: ,., ,..""h
N...no. "'....... 10,......: ,60. >16. '''. Old T.... "'..: '91. ,.,. ",. 4'4. 47',
lIl ... 8 •• J.8 , ,8; .. jc<.od br Ixo(l;o. 9/1; toOW"C< for
N ......... So.: 19J. 198 lIoftta. '4'. '44:".Jso Bib!<
Ne""",. _ of St. Am_ ..: 'lO. o..a. W.}.: T,n
"", ord,q,. &Dd ouchoriKi< ,...!;.,.". ' 1<':.od
Ne-w
re.. _in.
T...........: '97. 'Sf. '4""-
.1It r .... ia.
99. "7. '4' . '44. ,,0; ..
I7~, "",.>08, 218(, 22" JII
Ji .....,. 11. '30:
,~

.,;.;.: ",. '99; .... M.. ~

"""'Iosia.l .............

IlH lIibIe ~ ... F.: ~o'_

>9,
 INDEX

op<i< •• ociof>« cl, 3,f od'd ."'IdJi ....: .. ,of. 4' 3. 46.4
optimism. <o>1• ..,.u, 96(. 4)1 OU" J: .,. 180. ,8,. ,81. ,86. 4"
on.l cui", ..: )-1 '. ".,8. 7\1. 1,6{. '69, 0 ..011: 18•• a"~. 46<>
'n, H6; ond. ""ul,~ ...""'.
48: ond. roo- 0.10 Ill: .60. 46,. )llf
~. n' onc! cul"",,1 di'&'_rmmt. O<lOclFr<i.illfl: 478. )'''. )1'
"" ond.m.m.. 74. ,o,f: ond <ncy- o.rl_. P., 47n
<koptdism. 110; ond cP;c pO<IIJ. l.f:...d aw,-. C•. : 466<1
<fit _is<. )0" }01f, • ..d kudoliuJ>.
49'H' N'><l ""ions, 65.1)6: and b-,...,..
60; and 8<""". "; ,od bofJ ..... ph,. P";",bo"" ,6,
'4'~7; oM boroioo: .od.." 81 ; ond ...... • Pi<hz. 0., 49'
".ioa. 'J.oI; o.nd i_iNt<, 49: ono! jooI. "",Ill;"'" .64. ,8, .•••. 46,
JIout>. 16:...cI law. 4S·.9. H. ,I. 90. "'-ilin. D. " .. 331n
"9' orod ~i<. 8,."l; ..,d """,~. pai.';IIfI: .. <nlIdd in <...,;"". j.oIl; ......... .
", ond. -.-,.. I,. 6,. 6,. HI. 90. p«I<il oI.tt(h ... in ..II.«;"" ............
,<>8£.1+4. »7. »8. "'. '46; .Bd ,~

_lis. ". '1'. 'H. 18., '93 • • J.8l.

,03(; ond. Otdoolo. H; ond. pt,,,",,,",,,,,",
"'-l<rmo: 481
Pal".... I.. E. : IQR. ,""
3' , 3"; p<tSill __ of. '4; ,Bd popu.lu "'-no&k)r, E. : 8,. a,.
cui'''''' " . '9. I~. "'; ond. ",oplot<,. pope<)': 3) . 113. 174. '76. ' 71 . '7B, I~).
7•• 10" ond m:ord. '4'. '46.468, ond '97(. ,01. '09.• , 6. ,,8. '1'. 'n.
Iq_li. ...,.,. '4. l~; ond oft;.;. . '+4' 470. S)O' and ,mp'''. '111-63. '9'. "0,
,.;.od rit ... l. ',.6.4. "9; ,Bd ,t.. ')'. 'j.oI, 4601'
....... , 81. '6.V; ond "">W)'. 101"; ........ Pap;,,: 6,
riority of. in Amftm. ),,1; ond .,.mboi. PIt:O< ...... ron .. m of: 314. 404. ,.,
;",,: _ s,mbol;",,; oM Yi";ORI. 14;.nd puodis<, 46,. 493(
the writi". of hi,toty. 66. ni, ond WJi,· "'-Of<. E.: 4'on
.... <o>1Nt<. 7"\1. ,...-, . 34). 346. H6{. Purnt.J ..N .: ,,8B
"al. )66.
Nt< in ...,....,,1< ond
on.lilJ:'" _I <uh"",
_i. .
)7'. W'. 40.f.•o8f. 41,1.
4n. 472. 497. I"')' : oM wriom. <uI·
J671

_;.: '4' .• ,0. ,,,. 368; .... nmIC., ,66.

170. lB. ,n; """"""..... ,68. In.
. ".. j~ Abelud. )1'-76; i-n th< G""k>.
lH. ;/I,
~,.8. 36. 90, ,68. "7
oocIool" H. ,8. 66
ord<o, .s8; tcdniurinJ. '17; ~;.
W. H,,;at. "9: of <bafi',. no;"';.
<"'i60:. no
0nI<ri< Vi .... ;" 14'77. '03B, ,060.. 4Hn.
490<1 •• 81 .•8,. 486-l18. 4""99. ""'.
"'-'''. G. : 'In
",-..... \Jru .... i,y of: 1"
P. ..... N . B.: 13n. 6,ft
Pit.,.; 119
P"";' <f ,J. t,..- S.Ji<.: n
Pan""'. N . P. : 74n
Poochol IJ: )08. ,0
Paochui ... I.odben-... , '.'. 'H. ''''7>.
']4. >76. '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<. '7'.
'99. '00,

'"
oro.n: oflaym<n ond. d ..ico. "B; f<J~""'.
I I" "-<. i. ,t.. church, "4f
,~

P.,,,,h . E.: Hn
Paul. St. : 6,. 90. "'. 19>\1. 'li.
'~o. '~9.
ordi_ : n8. 1811, of. ,,8
",it<t;.", .,0. '16. ,60 •• 6, •• 6•• ,81 •• 86. '" .
...., ."f. "S, »6. ')9. 'S7: u/!.aaiotri,. .,.. ,<2, .,0(. 413. 4.0. 4". 4".
)8>; _ _ •• 66: ~. ' 49: "". 4H •• " •• ,8 •• 4_. 44'. 446. 441. 448.
tilt _ _ _ il •• .,.: ... .wo order
. ,_. ' ' ' . 1.1"; .. i...plUion '" .......,.
0.1tan<. ~, 0" 811. ". 99. ,060'0. n •. <21. 129; .. imp;",;.", 0( ""'rmt>. '}7;
'46. 'jO.
,68. "7 . ' j.oI. 469. S" 01 u,i!i=! b-, 'h< Po .......... '7<>. '07.
Oni. P., 4's.. ,08. '40 , mi>iM"pI<',J. '1<>0, on;'/;·
Oobmp. H .P."., lion •• 9}- _ . ,H.)O
 INDI'iX

PluI of St_·~ • Chottroo: 77, 99, •.,.,. P;~I. J-

N. :
'J.
~. 53
10,.
'~. [,0
Poa>LitI", of M= .8, Pippirc
Piroru>o. H. : '7. ,0, '15'1
1 , =: .,6. >H, CMmi. 88. ')0: ",.IN fI«iI-: ><:>6. ""'7 ...", "', .JII. '1)
F,a" _ . P.: 4,aa, 466..
Pnio.: 'H. ,,6. "7, .6 •.• 14 .•8,, '9j pIoztio:: ..... the: , ,8
~J.God:
."
,:S •• l1li. ,n7 •• (Jp. 410, .7'.
..,
PIozo: H. 'BsI. 1", )20, )JP. J9.2, '99,

J.: u. J'I ... ,i_: , .... ",. HC

p"liku..
PdIt";I>l. C.: .. ,n
pc . ": n·19. '04...8 •• ", 'JII •• 69/".
.0.,
P1i",:
"- _ a-.
." Poo .......: .BsI
•• " u'. 29'(' ,60. 406. 412. 4,6. 4n, , "I: An..<!1o 5 ",. 800.; opio::. 74; epic ood
,.6" 484. 41", '04, , .,; rej<c<ion. of. ....... ....._14, ..-.J .... 8.; lyric. H;
118, '2,..', .• ~ Old None, 8.
P'-;w""'-«St.CJ :.71 l't:IIaayi. K. : 8,4
,.q.n;: 4". 4.8 PIoIlocIo:. Sit f. : nn
pc,,,", 7 <t. In -"'"' ..,.,.."""itiet. ,'f; of poll",*" rinool: '12; "'.",. ~*"
N ........ p.;alri.... ,0. ,.,.; o f _
.......... ,Sf; otaI •• " 110". pabIio:. ion. law.
4': publi<, of mint'"". 69
'""
l'00I0, A. L.: 478
Pode. t.. L : "n)6<o, 60n
P<ri ......... doot: '10,__ ~_ papo. <br, " * ' of: '4'; "'.JJ. po, ,
,.. ', ,...;_J.i ..",pcelO.:*' Popt. MF K .: sOO
pc._i6coo:Icoo: , .. pc:r 'W' aoJ .....: ,., aoInrre
_ . St.: 29> '99 •• "" .. 6. '24, ..8. 1><1 'W' m'&iOn: III idllioa
....., 44'. ~.n; druid; al, "'nioda. "4. ~4 "1: 97. ,)6, "" '67 •• 68, .(Jp, q,f.
,'6/"; dItud!. of........, 118. 41:1; mt<d- '74. ,84, .a, .•86-88. '90, '9'. '92,
ard of•• 11; "' . . "';'4 """ 214. 018. . . ".. '29 •• "n.
• )6, '}7 • • ,.,. ,,8 • .-,6. ,.,: .. ... h
'j04 •
_a.llbeltoa,: ""'7
,...,. • . 0' 4:6)
no. ,8,.
1cbi.. <Jl.}l8f:}W' '" UfI ..... 19
P<tct of Bioi/.: 497 F\wplq.): ,~
P<tct ofll...,., 2~ ~. e .: ,60m
P<tctofu..l<: ,0,...
.s6 -"""'m. B.: n n
,...,. tbe Hcnnic: .~ PoOl. G. : ,.""
,...,. the Voaonblo: '"'" Pootaa, N . M.' 8,,,
- . Tudobodo: ,.,..
.... ouo:ri. A.: 4"". 4'
""""bc., •.
PO,"" .....
: J:lJ"
[!SI. '84. ,86 •
'(1. ,,,.
Pbu' • the: 68 .88. '90. '97. '990 '00. '30.• ,(if.
PIoillp A..,.......: ,9, 478 478, "4; .oI.........,.,}C. 88. 217. "7.
Philip I: ,8, :1<>8 .,6.48)•• 88 ••9'
l'IoiJiipo, H.: 8jn Po.dl. J. N . : 48n
Pioana: 'H •• ". ' " Powi<t... P. M.: "4
Picaftt. P. : ",.. Pro.. W. <id; HO<I. "'00. J6.n
• , ond rIo< •• r to,.,.,f" ' 'i,. ,96, ", ...6. 'n.

.-
plo",,,,. rIo<: '7". 4" , 4':1:'PI""
...!. 24A-)O, .,,: ",Ms. "",Wi.m, 4.8; ,.,.IN J>f"Kf<inI

10.,. 36, "9, '27, '4'. '91, 46• .0" Pn&ue:

~'I""
4"
.,. '28.......84... ,. 'J', '47.
piety.
4'" ,tic. 4.6(; p"p", ....
M-' 6600.. '~244"_' .60. • 6,.
"4 367,
'12. '29. 44.f. 497. 498:...cI _"'._.
_ .• ", _.;....t. _ hoe<.<i<o. '4':
.69, .". '79. "',)C4A;' " •. 64. in A.eiJa. ~'D; 'it' I", Ioom:in,
,~

,u,ri-ae: 69. 72, n, '92, 11)11••

.. 6, .,., 'H •• ,.&, 2,0, 4'". #0. 4:17,
c,. ~: '" 9.f. ,,6. '48. '49 •• ,t.
,60 •
,66, .68 •• ]"CS. '9' . '9""'97. '99 • ..".
460, 46" .6,.•
69. 4]Of. 477. 494.
,.,; pi ......., .6,. 467. 471. 478, .8.
,a6,"",... , ...6. "7"'. 237. '3"
40 • .,.s, 4'8. 478. ,[jlf. '''. "). " 1;

,,6
 I NDEX

,. A""Id. ,,).,8, in Iotil.., •• 6.<1; wonder· a.nd:sU. D.J.IL '7"

i~ ",_!:><n. ~JA •• 904 Ran~I{ P!&mbotd : 4~
.. " .. d .....,.,: '" 1I.....1 .11t Monk: ' n
~un.,.,." >9> ; J.,.I>o.ypolofy 11.....,... P.: 4'''''
prtii~: 6. ,~; IIt.u. liunq , _ 'H. '96.• <>8. '46, >" •• ~, .6"
P\<"""",,,~ Ordor. "> 'H. ' 76. ,8 •.•". >96. )<>1, ,09. l'O.
"",,run. W .: }9<> 3'<>. 3'}. 3> •• ",. H'n. ,,8, n,..,
priode. ti. of: ~ 6, )<I'. )<13. 3H, ,60. 36,. 388. }90. 4' ••
pheo.u, in P>t.rN •• ,6; reje<.ion,.. 1.'. 4" . 4". H 6: ond _wo '91. )<>8f.
'. j.
prim. q<'" .6. ,.,
,~, . 2)3

pmo...: nl. 3H. Pl. ,,~. w-I . 396.

H 4;'od -«.M, 6,; and wiO<Jo,n. "3; /i.
.'.,3.4; ..... )<14; 4pI,.nod ",loo ••
""'; ",.,100;' _;"." 61 , )j', J)<I. )<I';
)9B. )99. 4<>'. ""'. ) 17n ..J... '.'. '47. n'; "",,,", H , ,,8,
~in: 68. '46 }60. 390'....n-/" IOW. 4'" , _
Pf'OS'<SO: cuI""'l. 8. B<>; .piritual • • ". n.. 'S" '" .Js. IWionoIitJ, .... .wi'J
~l<>. 4.6. 4'7. H4. ~". -HS. ~)8. 483 . ..,i.onoli'l" ,,~. '.1, '49, 1,<>, ><>8. " '.
S04. ,,,,;.ia kno..l~. ~'} ,6 , . 'nf, '18, n,.•8<>, ,01, ,'0,
...,.,.,: '41••• 8. H'. ,,6; A_Imk. J.404. )<I >, )<16, JH, ,6,. H 8. ,s..
406f.
36" GeT"""';'. ,8. 66 4ll' ' '' oad ml",i<ism, ~,.f; oad Tht
pn>pheq: >9. 74. ,(13. , , 8. "'. ,681'. ......., of ....11.'(I.
",f, "'. H'. ~),
117 . '96. 219. '46. '51. 44'. 448. 46.\ . '9'. )lol. ,." ",,11,. tenua.ii"
.~ L,ht, E., . <>}n
_ i .... ion: '09. I". ~8, Ram.. ofV .......: I O'n
. """"1,,,. So .. ch~n:h of. Milan: ,8, Ra,,,,,,,,,,,,of CorW: ' . ' •• ". " 9"1 ' .
p"",. '.1.:
!JR. ~)6 • 88. 40' . )'4; mia,.un fo< Eti",.....
."
..,
P"" .. bo. 41 I . 4'), 4'4
Pndtmi., ~ R..... "", ,)6, 1, 9, '64; ht,..,". 91, 9I!.
"'-in." 6, .• ,of, '4" '9', ~, .• ", ~,~.
4'1. ,,6 R.y. R. O,;76n
~o...io: 8,. '}l R.,T1 ....~ d'~o.iltto: ,T,·q
po<o<io:>.Joido«, 6 , • . '90 Roymon.d .rH•......,.,!: ,I,n
p<lbii<, <ht: ....... the pofnte. , ,6. '99. lI.oymond ofS< . .(;iU.. , «<1M ofT_ _

.,
, " .• ,8 •• 61'• • )<1 . ' }9; pM" {tMJ, 39. I" . " 4. , ,6. '"
by .... ...! d< r..., •. G. ; , >I n
_ , H. c. : 99. '''n .... pnTe<l«, ,he: 1>,. 26, •• 69. ' 7(1•• 8,.
p- _ .• opoo of: ~8}; If<.u. .,..,.."h m. )<>8; ut .u._1wiIt. ttantubo, ....
""~. E.: ,,..
pwifi< .. i",,: 9'. 13', ' )}. '4', 21'. "}. ....iom: 'I"', J"f. "" "4' ond li .. loIilm.
Oll .••8. 'l'. "", .,6-,8.
~9-4. ,,, ' 78, <nod<, in I.w, -Hf; li",i .. of. '9 1 ~l'
pw,"""" ,horn< of: 49'''99 oppooi,ion w. ,8,. 406; _toI.
", •. N .: 9-4n "', ,,6, "7, '}9. '.'. >60 ••8].
"'«XI. St. : '46 .9Of. '99, )6,
....;", >4). >7<>; ond .10"".«.... )36; .....
Quin.il;": ,8, ,0'. 61~"" 30<>; and ht""""""jc mnhod,
\.<>; ltKI i"'"l". 391' ond ;"..110< •• ,88;
bbik ..... k.. , P.: }6n and l........ '78, ',0, ,~, ,!!<HI,;
Rtbonuo Mo""", .1Ion and .,mboI. ,8<>. "'); in •• II;"ible • • ' "
Raftil. J. A., 9,n
lloi...,d. ,ount of s.n., 467, ~6.<I
,~ ·nabk. '4' . ' 7 1, ""'"objn:.i
)86; ........11, de/ined, '4' .• ,8{. ...
,uf.
RoIptI ...... Ilan oflobn«t: 486 «,
RoIpt1 of Corn: 48, _ , 8• • ,)6. '~",06. )<19, 46 , : on.d
R.lpll <ht Fail: ~91 "",hori'l'. '78. 301;'od ....... , "4; ot>d
Jtam;htd: '}' ...... , >"; and tall. )3' ; .. law. ,.<>;
a-;"" 1lI of Uon: 46'R .... ht ... i<atnI. '." diTin<, .,,, in A...
 INDEX

.....,., (,M.) I.ictwd •. I. "-: , 6.0

.. hll, }4" ~onin d. >&" '8,-811. 306. 1lkIII. P.: '78 , .... 'HO
(";"" ='1. lP, ,6.!; ';J~ ond-.rl· Ri<bt:, 0{ Roj"",: 8,
...,. . • '7;'" m. ..,io, .. noa..t;., Richm-. D. : 14'~
_ on.! &.id!: lOO will kM:h,~. M .: .60>
_.m.: iD ..... n 1Joo. J.: 414"
ll<d'-ld,IL r6<>, ,>, lijlc. L M. <1<: &40, ,6>n. ,6,. ,114ft
,,"'" ...... lit ..... , 4. ~" 1[,. "I, "1. l;..qimrnlO • .., 'n
129•• , •• 'H. '47. '49. I!'-H. "7. nw. d - . : 49-1. ,06; '" """ ,.,..,~
"9. l~, ,6"/-10. 'll. 'no '77 •• 8,f,
186,19[,19', '95, '91. _, '0'-:104 .
rinW: I f . I , . H. 47f.•9. SO. H. ,a. 64,
69. ", 1POf. 100. ,06. "0. '". "4.
• 06-,0. Zl4. 11,",1, ..6, 'H. '}CI, ,,6. lIS. ",. "9. ,}Ot. 'H. 'n.
'B.•6, .•6" .].f, "" .• '4. 4"£' " " 140. 14'. >l2f.•,0{. 231. '4'.
4~,a. ,n8. ,,6,(, 47<'. 47' •• 88. 498. 2.' .•6, .•67. 'H .•8, . .,•. 29'J . 'S>iI,
,11, , ..f, ,." ,21-,0. ,,,,pm, 4.M. )0,.}04 , 107. ,.a" 408. 41&. 4 ' 7. 4.6-
m 28.0" 4nf. 460. 478, '''. ,.,.~.
92, 'p, 'H"
Roformujoo, ..... : .,8-)0;""" It.: N<Mrist•• 6, .•66. '89.
P..p.ld "Echoa/ruoo" 437 " , ; """ 0« ' - =_.• ".,8
tep<en: ""....1. ~; -W, ., f; popo1. r.;.,;,m. J. : ,600
,6l: popo1, "Gr<,...,
VII, "
',r,
..1;';0: 7"'. 72. 90. '44-" . ,,,. 466f.
Id", 6ellfmo: . "
I.ob<n 0{ AIbo-;..t, JOYl •• H. 49ik>
.&8.47'>. )I'. ")->11 1.'1 t of , . ;"Uo: 481
'''Won. _hr: 4#. ,.,; _.u. """"'" aobot< 11 ......... of FIa<od«s:'B
lWmiofA~." Roben ...... oflWph. ,,," fair. 497
....u.....c.: "Cu<:>li.......,•• ,; JuM~. J ""lh<!bpifi<Mt:4H
.,; li....,., and "_'1', lIf; "hi..... aob<n m. Monk: 486. " , .
diociplinrs. "n;
01 10_. "f; ".he
~(. Iobm: m. P....., '7. ,S. '07. 110. Ill.
_ k <cDIW)'. 21; of rho ..."u;~ UM"'T. ,,8. 467 • • &4 • .a,
10. ,.6. "1.'" MM
,,,,,,.aJ, mjH~ .. mil~
,"""m R"'-. e. A. : '6.0
lodo. F. : 4"'.
le,~ '"ni. Y.: ,,,n, [6,,,,
I." .69, '>1, 431: Il'td/- I "
U;:';"..,. ,'9; lodoW. H. M .: "n.•"n
t.o.h.LfGLober: 64.178. 97n. 98. ,e,f.
onc! ;.,,1",-, nol, ,~, )77. ,SIr,
",

ono! ift......,.... 447: ond _ . )00. ,,6.

,s..; '0" '04. IO'h ,06. '07, It,.
"7. ')9.
14"'. '.,. "O. '48 • • ,6-7', 474". 479.
402: _ . - i. " .• 86. :IO.f. ~: onc! 48). '". , ... ,01. ,.,
';'-. >,Hf. 'n .•88, ,a.: and .m/i· 1601«. N.: 491 •
.... '66;""" .......
_ . H9 •• 02; imtu,
H'·P._;.u.
,,8:"""
.81:
11._ !locoo. 8,
Ilnr<>' r. Ho·.., '" OIiloRt-ou<·ltWn,,, ,.,
"'; _,..;. ,8,. '91: 14:4"=. ,,,,: _ _ 11. ~ ofCbllono· .... ·Ma .... : '47'
all ", ", ~
~:
.....,ttn;.,. mc: I,...•8.•6,. ,69, .".
... i....,. J.os« '" Skil,: 48,
" ' . _i&l: '4. 9'. ,.8

...
"". ,06. ''', ,,6
IniwJ. td~i-= .,8, 'C,. "':'" """ ~.

It.qoold '" T...,.: 67

1le,1WlId.o. k. i.: 6,n
Itoll". duke ofN........Jy: 414
1 _ _ .... lh<: 8 •

'*'
~ Ill. =_
Il....-: ,iSo. ,6,. ,,8, 49'. ,O!); Ht..tu po.

'4C. 469«
rbno<ir: ,&, .n.•8. ,6. H. 6,. H, ' .. , Ilomuooi. C.: 'n
,6,~. ~. '4}. '.9.
'64. '&4, '91. aoq ..... I.: H,n • .w6n. ,&>n
JCC. )04. l 'C. Pl. ,.,. l;\.n. '"" J.oouIi •• J~
R.oo><n: Io8n. "7.4"
,,91
'"
I.ithotd I. dukt: "'NIXmand" n4
lio:had u. dub- '" Not.nandy: '1>'/, 108,
louot. I . """ 101.: 6.~. 6)
11...... ) .: 40&
118. 414 J".'" kt. P. : 4'4D
I.idwd "'So. V.......: '01 r - . S. TrWtl dj, MiioD: u7n •• ,60

,98
 INDEX

RuI. So., <ktutb of, "oi,_: )09 SomiF<lltt, L. : nn

R~'"", of Aquiloio,: .~ ...,;,.,;., "9. 437. 439. 44'. 484
NI<: ')'. Ht; IIocoodk(in<, 9'. 48" 487; s.u..u... F, do: ,Oft, ,8,n , ),8
of~." Canonk>, »91'. '39 So""". P, H ,: 4Hn
"""""': ,8,. '47, '46 S<ao>mdl, j .: 499t>
Rund ....... S., "}II 5cb.i..,..mli, L,: .)n. 40
R.,..., of o...u:; J64 1<"""', ',), '4' ; If< ~IO ........,
R..... Il. J.; 9'0, 9'''. 96n. 98<>. '07".
,080 . ,,80, ,><><I. "'n. 1>60, '46<1,
' 41n, .,.n, 'H"
""';,;: '), '7, 611. ""n,'4,n. '48.• ,6;
• illimot<O, >7 • • 06<1, '98, )'0;"
..
s.:hmid •. '1.;

5ct>min,J.-C. : ,DO!!
odu>Wri<""" 86•• ".
,6ft, 19,,,
Sohmjt<. P, S. : "~,no H~n . n 8n. ,l 43n.
,
,». ,.9. "". 4Q.j·
<Ouotty....... '4', 1)9. ,6,,", ' 19. '97; ~, 4'4. 434r. H8f, 4". 4)). ,.,
.. _10. 97. ,,6, '47, 17'. 'n. ')0; s.:ho/I«, H ,: 80D
...t.. dtpondi"ll Oft ,hI: ........
3'9;" 5c11triner. K, ; 60ft
,t.. i,.-.... of 8,.,.,,,..,.. n6; .. 110< s.:huck.J ,; .'4"
..-Iu<attd. '0,; _tihw ....ri«, 69; ...· s.:hul". A.; 48,"
tU" ",'Ii_.>,n;JllMo;M" Sdn...t. A,: ll>n, 349"
""t:iriIM;...d hI:....,.. ""';
o.nd "",,,I;.bi li'1. s.:hutl. A ,: 4H", ))7n
"o;...d _01... , '7; in <'_i,,'
lahn, I<i."",,: d'oi,i"", 01, ,:1<1; p<imi'; .... 497: ""
", ..u. noru« . .m.tko
""'ricirJ': •• pta>""" of.
,~;
>"f; of diJro."...
N5ti(J. 67f. 70. '7S, '93' " ""'- "' .. , .".
l<it>trill' . 09. 4' '. 4", 4H ' and "",,,,. 1>1;
~ ~~
.. "'''''''''1. '4 ; "If" "
",.un., aDd ;Ol_. 4,8: I""j" 01. '>4;
347;
""tit;
RT*". p, ; 409" 1;',.,,_. " ' , •• , ; _ . ,20; <Ifri.
R,d> .... j, : 800 _".ani<. "S; -.,u.;,. 4';; -
-*/;, tit< ,.tn...JiJ. 3'4:,n,. ,,;.....
4";" MIO It... kdg.-
s.:kommod ... , H ,: 49'"
,,"~iorii: ,). ~8; "" M.. _lfia"
".w: .0; '" ~.. ~.
"""'"" ,,6. ,66. ,6J, 370, 4"}; ;..m.....
367 ; ;"",;,.;., }7'
.';1'-: " dot<ummI. ,8: ...... I.tj.. ,..,.
,if", ..
",.;pnm.; .. 61'. 70. "', '44, "?", »6,
" __ .. 0. ,6,. _iao.
"'. I,., '12. '»'"
4[6; ","'if!"" 611;

.,8, >49. ' n·,a>.

--.u ...; 9'.
S9. ,6,(. ,661', ' 7'. >7S,
'}-!I.
67, ,80; .. J..
S..r_. Th<: 477
.,i"..,
.86, '9', '\19. JO[. '0'. JO', )04(. ...... i..,;'m: 1]9, 180. ,S,. ,08, '1'. '34.
)08, 4['. +>\If. • ", .. ,w. ••"'''''''.... 2~; '" ~IO d .."do and O<CI
_,ilKe: [)4. '67. '9'. >94, ,0.,(. ", Sdme,. C.; " 91" ... ~n
, '8
Sohli ..... M, '
s; ...... So" _ 01:
$" AI""", PUll"" .91f
.S. ......... in: in Ahl:Iu<I • .Y4
..mio!n "S. 32J
50 ... , ,08; <a[hod"'''... 67
..i..... cui, of;~. 7"7), \1". ' 37. »6. ,69, '70, ' 78, ,86(, ,[6•
........ <ho: ,fill,
.,t. " of. ''''''''. "7, , ' 9. 'I': ..it<.
'Mm 01. ,,8, '"
"1. p o . H9. ,88. ,;.9, 4". 4~" .)1;
..".. and np«i.... <. "9' aDd i....II.".
SoJJI>I<: '"
501«<.1,.: 6,n
.86, ,90. 4" ; and "r""••. )lI,: and
oound. H4; and .pili•.• ,,,.od
'bou.!:b<.
ooJ_ion: "'. ,68f. [\19. "~I, ."', '4), ",.-, and undrrnltld.iDjj. 1110; ..........
'46, >)7, ,88 •• 2Ir. 43', .". 44'.
,[6. )'0
hl:si"nins of mY"i<aI <>per""". 4 "; «.
<<pIi"",". 1 [3: 01 s.:,ipro", '34. 4'9,
Sunooo: '}4 4" ; it! <be eu<hori ... " ,f. , [4; in modi_
s..""."I: ." , .. ion. 409: limin "tt.:. 1" . '[9. ' ' ' .

'"
 INOI!X

........ ,t.. """.1 ',>, 'H, .,6, "'4', .,0, .4}6,

,.,_".,e · ..
)70. 444; _ _ _ • '76. ,,8, .0,. .. 8, "9,
.71f, ,011
,; 4/i,,· .. ~, "7, " •• ,,61',
.1" . ' ,m; ....
__ ••• . .,,,""
"~ , _. '1'9.
>4", 2", .6" 440; '" JJ...",
2SO; ' "Pt.,af "ioIbirtb"'Ooriot, oimpliritJ: """ ph,uwiom, '7'; 0( &irhlul,
.6.4; 0( ; ' - ' , ~

,
' ••• 14(
_ , 4"; _ dv. l'l; b ii...... onc! ....
.... ].86; ,.,J,. ....... . ,
Si"""", O.
¥On: 8.n
.. . '-·7', ".,}79
_ H2, .',. 4'" ODd _. j~ "kThp~.
nB: .. diocauno, , •• : .. .....d, }14; J;_
.;.., .6,: _ It. i . 4'.
Si" di, ] ....:
5Io:wpki, J.:
.,!In
Si"'" PO"' ...E prinI; " , . U1f, "'D.'H

'.20
s..au., St.: ' "
S'" £.l. : 64n
,s;,wloy, 8 .: '71n
5. Maho V....., chuodl 0(, MilM: '9',
Slw;d ...., M. M.: .80, 490 ••_
ShiPPtl'. T ..... : 80<1
."
SmidI, D. i., &4<0
';,-w- .,6: .. ~ VIIi, "9; ; ;~;;.. s..:.....: ;14; '" "'" PI&I<J
mtrrir, 110", .,;us;" 448; ... 6Iso ""
,-
Si:1ca [ J", . " , .n, . [6, .,2, 44"_

./t4 .~ .", 069,

i. AbeIud, )76-3, ;
)H, )6']. In. JI';
.
.400: .....
MM Siq 0( SocIp
SomDkd'cId., J.:
So [",,,m., IL: "'D
.,.n, 44'"

)47; 0:(& I ,.... ~. ~. ,&-r, nB, W'; Somi.~, c.: .6,,,

.. I' ;""1_)""'/414; .}n;ti.<i"' · .,2, .", ,.6
-
Siq 0(5 p ' .'''"'',
_and 14 ""_. H7 . ........""· ...«". ,...r, .. .t.",.,;.:
""""': 1Nl _ . "" lP: ... iculo,od __
...... 11..010<1: ",. )46-", "'0
,68, n', .... ...,uliood., '77: dlo<hroo>lc ....... 0(,
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,
,b.i.,..
')0.
,." 'f'IOI- oop«.U 0(, }74''-;-
'iY<"I, .. 0(,,,,,,,,,.t.J.i5 n
~. k. '11'. : 6211, ~n,
HIli, ,60 •• 89a
s,.;.r, "-',...,.. dci>uJ. 0(, 77"79
n<)tl,J.
'n. }. .. lH. "9. )66. H', 4'7. "" Spicq, c.,
'11"
diYi"",;po. 118, '40. JO~ .
.... tt' ~i! [",;0" ai, '3\1: pl!.JIlcol,
..a,.
SII; SpiadJi, G.: "''', ..'D
.,....,
. .
.. h_'P'"
I 1 " :rL.
..-1OIIa, }4...... ::<. •
""'""
'4«. "S. }III. J~. HI' ••". 44#. inotII~, '4'. ,..a, "7'
hoI" '.>,
4P. 466/', ".: typtO ai, :146; <es<uod, holy, 1nl! ........,....;..... 1441'; ODd
40'];
'} ••", 1l'. HR; oil" tan.suoI<, 'H; 1i<eft<J', .]is; .. h _ in«U;"":', l44f,
_ ... Iq if rio, ..,.uiatioa '.7;" rh< ~'" 0( di:
.;,-: 611, .,6. ,oB, ,.6, 'J'. lH, ,66 ,
.. Nani,
" " ' , ' • • ; ipiri. 0ftSU0 Iot<u,

)$4,
088,)02,
.'7' 004 ........ , "';....! .., >,BC,
. _W, ,20; _ , 'n,
.;"" =

'}G, ')-Jf, '." "9}, }07, .l', .",

..68, ,,., (Mo ..........); ipiriNoJ, rh<,
"" .U; _~ ....., ~17;"'MM .....o:J .... pI[,,;:.I, .60, ,66l, '79, 4'4,

'"
sw., J. G., ,b, ,g'l\
4}11; '""" rh< ......., .'};;II 1I<tmpI,
- 77; in do:...m.n... 26,; .. MM.pi' '..,
_*"_,
Silq;, G.,
sa..nmD, T. : }'9"
,.601
Si'->o, H.: 61n, ,&411, ,[7n
u.I/;"" n" 'n~, '7), '17, .80, '9'.
...
of;, '""r.." 277D; of"'; Ai..., ..
oplrinlllity: 51'>,
"mn.: _ ,
<106
}41;~, H': Io. ........d,
'93, '<)4, )00, '''4,)08, }U, }~, MO, }74; "f ' 'it. _"""', 4>'
}4', W, }4}, ,66, }71, J7g, }51'>. '9',
'97, .'9, 448; _MM imott
Si..- o(V.a.:,o.t
Si""", Mop<: • 8 ....r, ••
SpIIrl, J.: "In
...
!lj_ "I, k .' .600
_
-~
,' " ,.. ·:.'711,444"

II-.y: '0:1", I)B. ,.6. [H, ,,6. ,60. _ . it~kii'od, '., ,6, .8. "
,6" ,6>, [~. ,66, ,68, ' 7<', '7>, '9:1, _ , ill Al>elotd, ' ' ' , 196. , 9\1
_ , """ ><16, ''7, •• 8, ''''4, u6, 1>7 , 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..: " ••
",
St<phon. >Uj><rior <ri <OI[OS< of St.·Pi..,..·k·
PuoeU;". 0rIt0"" 91. [08. ,,~. "1. [[8
Std,.,. /0.. :.,60.
Stie,....,.,. J.: loon
Stock, B.: "n, Hft, ,[8n, '[Il", ~["",
.[~n, H8n, ..?IIn
Stob., /0..: '+4"
~. C : .9[n
StouK, L: ~l., .....
S_/oooot (lod" ••
S,,«I=, K.: ",,,

,.
S<ubbo, W.: 1S"
•.m;..c" i0Io8;,:, n6, ",b;.c.-<hi,,&, ,9,.
'.9. >", >91. "",. ,,It.• ',;
...bj«tiyilJ':
lI>d abje<[""1. n, 18, 1', ,8, 84, S"
86, 87, 89. ' 07, '''. [H, ,d. ~.
,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 ~ , ....
,-;..
, ... ' .. ;..: ' 76, ' 77, "7, H', n4, 'H.
,9B;.r>d ,n,m..-" ~88; -m., H B; ",.
.nw. l'9; 'iwpkt, 4"'" _ . ,07;"
_;"i'm. ' '0, ,[6:
.It,:... Ms. Jubo.<on«
~.,o""_W;,.
~ ... obtoot, S.
... 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'"" <ri <oiour,
4.0; pltrsOl. 47, 4lt, ,0, ". ,8, 6.4.
66,6!If. 7'.,..8 1,82,90.9'. 100.
[[6. 118. ",f. [ll. [}6. [H. "9,
' . 0.• 6,.
U}, UF. 218, ",. "" ')',
'H . 'H, '44, •• st. " ' •• ,9/", ,6,.
... tub, '90; u "1'",,,« ""''''. "u
'1mbol., 4['. 4' " ~ of , he ,a"
4,6, , .6; ..... , ideas •• r>d _;.". ,.61';
...... . IoJicIl ",";"'ion <ri. [4; .... nul
",n" ,}l: ",n.,.1 pt«<de"'., 88; [a,·
formation. ,.w. " '.4) >;'" ~ '0>",11·
iry. writi.,.
[ ...1>01 <omm""i'1; 44. 9O"lI', ' 4.f, ' 4Sf.
I,., 'J'.' )7 . '38. '4, f. ,.It.
40,f,
4 '0, .,6. 48 ,. F,f. ,,6
fat ... lilJ' : 6. 7. 14. H. 6,. 8., W, 101,
' 0 '. ".f. ,,61'. I,Sf, [Hf. 1,0(. " 1 .
''It.•~9f, ,~f, .wf. ,I,. , ,6. J'7,
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 r<tJi'1. '711{; lI>d ,d' "m •• jQ; aod
[i." .. lie>. '4-4-"; HI~" ......
1ha","'"' m. Suon : .9'
'/lcodH .. , CO""" <ri St. Croi •• Odto"" ,.6
T'*""'i..t Coofr. ,.
Thoodttino(~ \)8, [46. ,R7
dtoot)' ....... pna-i<C; 'd, , ••.• 'S, ,.,.
,~

.68.271. '1), .8. , .88, ,80). >9 1. '11'. Thk<nin, M. : ,<>n.

"n
'94(, >97. '98. ,08. ,,6. ,>It.
,8,. Th",,.,. of ~n' '9'
40",.06.4 14.4'., . pI'. 4H'. 448. Thi<ny '" So:. E.,.,..., n
.,.f.
,,, 4'9. 46.tf.
494. ""'"'1. , ••. ,.,. Thi<fmar <ri 101 ....1><.." 499
Th<lmo.o r\qui"", S.. ... qui ....
Synltl. E. It.., H'" Th<>mN. So:. : , .. f. 3,6
n.:.r-. Il.: 36'ft
Ttbooco:o, G .; 'HO>. I,," lllompOon. J. w ., I,,,
..0.11;"" 39/"; J_inian Je"iolor;.,n on. j9l, 1'hon>_.
., P.: [4n
ThorIby. A. : [3ft

60.
 INDEX

Tbomdikt. 1.. : 8:1" ... i....al; YelMd lotol. 4"; _ putiNlu,

Ti<meJ. 1:1.; ,,80 180. m
rime; 8y; ond c ..... ;.",. )481'. H4f; ond ....m-n.LiIm : 1I1r. "'. >,9. '+8. "'.
<lftftlqr. ,8,. )4'. -",8f.)p >n. j08f, 4,8. 46" 46,. 471.)'4
tit ........... ,.,... ,.. <>I; ,0'.
'O'j ""'-1•. poobI..., <>I: .". ,,6; ond oh-
n ....: '" I(ra:<ioa. 400:01; ond CClItlInOQ ....... j96;
TjIcIa. J. 0. : 440 ond inJdJK,iood. ,9«; in Abdud. j-I,.
TonW. S.: "'~. J6,n ~,

TapoIiold. 1... T. : 479" Uzboa 11, J6. )09

tOr<ut<: '4'. ,86 .. /. ;..r: in <bukIIol t.tito. nf; '" ..u. ...ui.
,~
Too) it. P.: .,". 46001
TOIlLowo. ""InYo" 98. ,,6 ""'lJ: ''7. 4g6. 493
TOIlmut: 47<1 .u.,.IfJ. 00); f." ,d, n7,
1tIIII: , . , . , ' . ;
T...... T. F. : 6'n ,,8. "9, 4>0; ....q..,,-.Jm,. 6,
~ ....... _ntr7:,-r, "9. ,66. '70. Utndo,. canom <>I: .,.
t7Y. ' "W. ,8" ,8 •• ,8" 'H . • nf
". . .I', •. 4~. 6.4. 8,. 9' . >4" _ . 4,f, 41; V... ad·..!. E. : )4a . ..., .
", _ , 4 ••• ,. 46. 41;,...n-. ,, ; V,""""". E.: '9ft
phyoi<ol. 46. 4\1; ",.Jso 'r"'I>oI..... ploY>' ............., ~6. 478; ,.. .Jso .......duinf;
~ Vapaiai . c.: ".0
,...ti,""" ond.. '::ni'r. 8. '7'. "7; hnk Vallun.boo(Wl1Ord<r. . " . ' "
....... ,...,. )l'; ... ..u. modc,al,y V_ f ,1iI><ouI<r. h" 4o!It>
,........., from Anhi<. ,,8; from Grt<>I<.
,,8. ,6,
V ..... i
"Sn,
1lm-iP. S.:
~,a, ~"'4.
"OIl. n>n. ".n.
, .... _ _ jot;.",: 'H. 'H. ,60. )1'1. Vonol ... J. = '48. 6600. 74"
~,6; ... ..u....:hotiK. 1ft! .. '><,.:< Vo<u<; ,60.2'7. '31
T.. A ..... c . . - 1 7 V......... A.: '000 •• 6',n
- , . 0.;: ,,; ",,Jso peoc. <>I God ')7. "9
trinity. m.-.
'4'. '4>\.
181. )'" -"".
40'). 406. 4'4; "'ita .... <>I. ,,8
,6,. _"'ism: ' j1.
fO' l'ifS: , , " ' ) ' .

hcmic •• 98; 'Pi

'4'. '~7. ' 49; ~
I. 148
TrinIwIs. C. : , ,,.,., Vonia:. herar": 98, ,.6
Trool<><h, E.: 94'96, ,na .. , . H9. ~ •. 4.0. 41j; ond -.)66,
'n'",bodoo,,,, 478, 4891"
T...,..: 467
,,8.
ond ... , H~-~I .
VqU: .8. IM. ,060.
_.Iso-.l
,~
'tu<t <>I God : '" _ <>I God V.-nt, J..P.: "D
,,,",,,, 018;ond tOl><hood. ".r, ,8,r.
,&9. V....... F.: .6,' .•6IIro
43,r; ond tOlodioooi <>1 .. ...,.....0.-.
n"
,8. ,66. )611. J77; d<6ned b,. "'-Im.
.,.ri&o:......, '.J"'. }8)
..;,.: 66 • ..." •• " .... 229". >,6 .•6,.
".; <>I ~p" .. ,iooI. '69; >=US etuoij. >68. 30>. ,.0. PI. ).4', '52. ",. '59.
tiool • • 4'; ... .Jso_ ",. '97. 4'4. 4". H', 448. 4 " ; and
T... i", ' " , '4'
T ...... V.: 69". 46)a
Toe, 101-, M. M.: )660>.
,~.

<rPOkrI7: ,,,.
,88a. '92". ,9:1" •
>" .,.".468, 4".494.
..
!MJ;w.. 4}'; and",",," •• 62{•• 66. ,68.
' 70, ']2. '94 , ",; ~"
~.
V_. horosy at: 9111". '46
,.;Ji_: .0) . ,,6; uoai 'om.
JP;"

'H •• 0 ••
"4 f "'.216.• )8
Vi""",. P.: ,-"'c, ,,9ft. J.4O<O. H4c,
UU'..... a. W.: n . ,, •. ,"". 60. ,6.n
Obe, . ... P.: ).\If Vilrud of r..........: 97. ,060.46:1
Ulpiaa: H Vi ..... '. E. : 8tn. 46'n
lJlri< <>I Owor; ,Od Violo:o ... C.: '0V'. '39'>. '.'". 'oH".
Urnhmt;cl. 1IoIl.-n of kenp<' " , '4,ft. 'HD. ')40. '''''. ,,"". 'H.
~inlI : )4'. )46. ))'. ,,8. 4,8. ., 11<0. "IW'. ,60<>.
,6.0. '640, ,67 ••
0'; ia Abdml. )8.~. in AnIolm. ,,.; <>I ,69ft, '7'0, 'nn. ,8,n. ,82n, 'l4a.
Go>I. ),pf '87·. '!IO". <9'. '94n. ' 9,0 .• 98<0.
 INDEX

:to.~, .03n, ''''4n, "~n, ",n, "3a, ..It- ;""'1;"'';', Hn; ..I"";' J-.
226<1, "'In, "Sn, "<)n, ",n, '11, ,,0: _I,.,.;",. •
- 4~; ..r,m••
f __ . 6);
,}bo, 'nn, .,S~,,~ ,.,.1. "",it;, ...18"iom
":l,in, birtb, 3'4; .. j«tm 01, II I, '44:
";'ionory. 4'-4(; " m. Msry WodK<in, E. : 4,8R
""8i";.,: '17, '!)O; al.nrd,
hurtioco, '4'; ,.,..no
doIIri.,
,o,;""""" WW6.Id, W . L : .6n.
93ft. '07n. ,,'G.
"M, [44"
.ioiblo, oho, ond "'" ia.ioiblo: n, 9'. '.0, Wokhdin, ,,,;0,,
01: .9S-W
I", '4' . '10, 'H, ni" '7)(, '89, WoJdo, I'rn1c lOO
>9',296. '99. '0'. ,..,. )04.}<>EI. "9. WolI. " ., 31n
322.3", .p ' . ~ ... ~.~ .•,,. 4H • • ,6. Wo/bet.. L >S.
~72. ,,.. Wolp<n. on:hbiobop 01 Milan: ,80(
V-.,...i. A. ; 'nn Wo/ .... ,j. ..... , .,,"
VioiJOlbo: ". ,8 Wo/~!.hp, .9J
'''ion. PtoJtrnoi,c u..o., 01: S.( IV........ Tiro: 477
oitO:w: .lI\fdic. 01 h<mioco •• I I; biblic.l, in .....om.... m.m. 01: '9", .6,. 476-~,
S<. B<tnord ... ,(: biblinJ.;" G..ibm 01 ,00
N.".,.•. " ,; i~ Aim 01 Lille, 3,01; ;. w .....I"'" 01 ~ 67
"odWfGbbr<, ~,8: oIO>mt. in~. 01 -.r. hoI" '}4;"'.I.. "",0&<1<
~, 449: 01 I.&ndulf n, 18,; 01 P<ttr w.,;~, obIxoo of eono." .63
&rd .. km" , '1-'7; 01 5<. Bm>dan, ~9'- Wunoo:h. V., HOR
9'5: 01 , ... kAi8'" H"8b. 469; 0I.h< p<OS- ""rrior ond monk. oypoI<Jsr 01: • [0, 481f
ani :ltep/Mn. ,o6n; 01 Vulf<ri ... , 464.6,; W""OOr,. W. _, 22n. '4"
01 Wokbt!ia, 49'~:
nud,4[9
'*""'"
to,. So. !Ier. ......·n>iII. , ...: 498
W'''. /.; 14n
n.....J. m.; ond """"'-'"S<.
3"".: ono! .._ W..,enbo<b. W, ; 'nn
d«. 8.; ond rl!ttoMIi" .. "o[·""i.,.
8,: W .... , A. C.: 80a
"""'-"'" "'id> ,"",riflll, 44 [ W .... 01 I.i~..: ~. '47·,0, 1)9
";16 _.~; '].4; 01 co.nom. ,,8.,.. W~,~: 10.94,9" 96. 438n
Vi... p,.;.." 1I.v41i: '" W«<llno, ...... ic: 97
V... S_II.;.,JJ;, "'_" W ';lD&(. P.; S4R. ,,8n
Vi.... p.,..;,r..-: ' 77 Wm_aot, H.: Hon
Vi..!;' 0150"'&.,.: 49' Wellert. Eo; 417n
Vi""":,,,,; ,8 W<R(U. L., «"
V""I. C.: Ha. 17ft W ........ , E.: 93". ,SII •• ' 37n
Vog<l. W. : 475ft W"'''' R, 3".
VoIp<. G .; 93ft. 94. 479" W.".. ,b«. W .: 32,n
VoItdini. H .: 41ft Wloiro. L, Jr.: }Of, pn, 3,HR. 498n
"""":_...,b Whi.tlock. 0 .: 47n. 48 •
..,., ''0, 3-4. 3_'. 3H. 366, }67. H'. W .... 01 """,,,,'" "9
37'. la.; ond illl I ' , .... 324; ond .... Witoch.-. P. : 22", 43n
39\1; 011<1_ ia Atxlud. 378; .. IOUII<I,
,66f,'" r d;"', n8. },}. }H; ........
Winoe,..,ret. H, : .6,.
...m, 'h< Io,,¥io-Su"'" 48f
i .... }SS; ~iJ, 391; ,.. ...'_, ond W;lIiun. """n, 01 Flond<tt: ,0
_ . }94 0 WIlIiam, duke 01 N...... (I ]: 46,
Vulkriu •• monk oINoutirn.-S<.-J<M: 46,- Wi[!jam Lon,; •.....d: 4, 4
~ Williom IX: 479
o'UIpr""" 6,. 20,. 1~6. '7'1, '8,. "9, WiJli.,., ht ..: "4 , S. 6
.'4: in !Min. ' l ; in 1.'0'. 4'.
461', in li,_ Williom "w: 418. 481f. 48,
.'9
"'81. 63: in p.,'uen< prn<bi"" ' 70: '" Wi[l; .... of 10,1.. ,
.I,. nI,., W;J!iaQ\ ofO""pH." 364. 374"
ouJguiulion; [9.43R WiJliam ofCooo;hn: 316. 3111-lt, H O; G.
'*4'-"': 106. ' 0'. '98. ,.9;,..;.... ''' ..... _ ' ... PI.,_. "o-,.;
P~IM""
...t,....... 'l9; "",'''';'' . , , _ , H': lrI ...... 3,8-'0
""'t_ ..... • ,0; " , , _ . il/;"''''; • • ,0; Will..." oIkhouIbJ~ 487
 INDfiX

William of C' .(W'!" 46> worda: and i....,.., 39/1:.0<1 inttilc.:,j"".,

WjJliam of GIoo: 41J&. 497. 49/1 ,24: """ _ . nil'; ond ,N"!!,. '79.
William of J""'x,o.; 474 ,'il'. H9. }41. )4" }4). }4'. 146.
W~liam of KolA' L..." n, 497, ,'9 ,n, ,,6. ,60. }68. }9'-9}. 40', ,,6.
WiIliam ofNnoI.utJh: I ) , "9; and thoufIh<l. '4). }..
f: .. _ol
Williom ofSo,_hiS"'; 466, 4~7' " ' 4 I. Wf; a -....w, )96-4<)1
William of So. 'nIltrry; }6), 406. 4'7m, ...,n,: and~ . ,>2; ond _ion,
..6; .. orwnooIlob>ur, ' - ' ' ' m<UpI>or,
'"
W~lif.m ofVolpi_
Will ..... , So,: n
,8, "91';....:><100. pod. "', '4" 4"
...tdl......, ill the MU, 'n. Inf, "7'.
WUliam tt.. C' , _ : 7600, 47>. 474. ",,",4>9,44°. ,08; ,,;oc.iou of, .oa
479,480, 48 •• jOO. "7 WriP'. IL: '4"
WiUiounI, G, K: , b .... i•• • he onlod: nf
WiU_.~ , 6000 wri, ....:...t ,he"""", of Ion_. '9. 368-
Wi!.M!. 8, I..; 9'J 71. )84. 4,6; .. p .... ...t - t ........ .
Wincid_, ) .t lOCI ,,6. 4". 4H; dispooici'" r""", ...... of.
Wipo:, 74" •• ,1, ,,8 4'.48f, 27<'. 4'1. 475, ,,6;..nJ.miol
wioclom: " 9, "}. 4'1, 4.6, 4'9. 4n. Non ..... of. 42. 6.4. 7". 119, '47. ,8>,
441,4461'.4" ,0 •.}4II. )6,. 4'.: . ..,..,.ru.-. .............
.. itd!nJt, }Cl. ,04; "' .Js.",.K. _ i<bIioI fion«i_ of. 4'(, .701. )6,. 401.
WiuIo: 8, 41.1; ........ 01 "-'''''' ..... of. ,_10. ".,8;
Woill'. A,: 4.n
w(w : and.".... i.~. 4>)1;" y.
-~-
wwodorio. P, : '!)n
Wo htr<t;,:, 469; =o<ion of. 2\101: Cui·
be",'. ~"". 499-"101 : _ '89,
"". "" "" 48.; . . . . of, JI"; and y ..... F, A, : '1"
__ ,.Iity, 4#; " I <" of """""'. , •• •.,.. : 476-89, 49)f. )01; .... i&.,>il" 49'.
"-47; iD oh< doutdo. I '4: ill .... MiIoneo< 491"W; and old .... iD ...,(i" ono! mm-
chlOld., '90: ill Iho I'>brio, '7', 20'/; lift photo H. 'l' .• 69. '79. 180, ..6. 468.
<1ijAA1MOJ' of. 499: ruJe for, ,,, 476:&9. 49'. 494f. 101, "o-n. "1;"
....d••:..: 79, 'o" .ooS. " 7. 1}6. 11". __ role, i&>; b<rno,....
of. " 0; ddj".,.j.
167.179. "', " 7, "9, '}}, 062. ,~. 480; ........., ,6,; rita of, 47<Jl. 4S).
~. >&}, '9', '9'. }'», }4>f. and .... .89; ... .Is. j I*'
_ . >7<>, .got, }CI'.}C4. 308f, }"-4, y ..... ) ,; }6n. 414"
,,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 ZoIbi. P, : 'nn, "~, ,"oo._ft
..Iiw",. 4}C>',8: of tloe ClfttOr ond.be ZtwtItr. J{, ; 4610, 418, 4IIa
word in t1UD&O. )i'. 4'0-" ; ",.Is. or- Zink. N, : 72n
olity.«nI 7.:=, .... , P, : ,, ~, Ion
u..., r{ c.,...... c...J.i. io ,.w"..;. D.u
5<<><k. IIn'ft ,
n.. implicMion. «Ii.,... ,.
Bibl~., : p.
lo<l..,.In i<><ln.
I. Wn'ltn ' .... _icMioIo-E","I"'-Hi"".,..
•. Cioili ... ;"". Ntd..-..l , 1. Ti.I< .
.,,, ·569 ,!If, 00 ' .,.' ),"'94 " ·416,6
ISBN 11-691 · L0221-'1 (ptol