I have just posted a wee discussion of the book donation list of William of St Calais and how it includes precisely the sort of books monks need to live by the Rule of St Benedict. It’s linked below. Enjoy!
Last night I had the pleasure of attending the inaugural lecture of the Durham Centre for Ancient and Medieval Philosophy (DCAMP), delivered by Prof. John Magee of the University of Toronto. I have long had respect for Magee since he taught me Greek prose composition and supervised my MA research on John Cassian back in Toronto, and it was a pleasure to see him in action, showing us what philology can do as well as the intimate links between ancient and medieval philosophy.
His lecture was about the text of Boethius’ elementary commentary on Aristotle’s De Interpretatione. Being fond of Boethius, as readers of this blog will know, I was happy to encounter an aspect of this Late Antique philosopher I was unacquainted with. What Magee did was use philology and manuscript studies to narrow our gap between the death of Boethius in 524 and the first manuscript of this commentary. This was done by considering references and quotations from Boethius in sources related to Cassiodorus’ monastic centre at Vivarium in Italy and by looking at traces of editorial intervention before the appearance of the manuscripts.
In short, what we see is Aristotle being read in Latin in western Europe, alongside Boethius’ commentary, between 580 and 800, and particular uses of Boethius’ translations being made in western Frankland. This is the sort of thing I like, and it inevitably made me think of Leo the Great and the period between his death in 461 and 600 or 700 when the first manuscripts with his letters appear. The methodology is the same.
It is also important because the way this Aristotle and this Boethian commentary were being used anticipates some of the developments in the study of philosophy in the High Middle Ages, such as the Logica Vetus. Moreover, we are reminded that parts of Aristotle were current in western Europe before 1123, and, in fact, were being read before we even have manuscripts that survive.
And, for those who are less interested in the history of philosophy, perhaps, this Aristotelian world also helps us see Charlemagne and his court and that Renaissance more clearly.
It was a pleasure to engage with a talk that brought into play philosophy, philology, palaeography, manuscript studies, and history — and even a moment of art history for good measure!
I look forward to DCAMP’s upcoming events.
Since before my Ph.D., my research has focused on a largely fifth- and sixth-century cast of characters. For my Ph.D. and subsequent research, I’ve been looking at the following players amongst others: chiefly Pope Leo the Great (of course); Emperors Valentinian III, Theodosius II, and Marcian (but also various predecessors and successors, especially Justinian); other bishops such as (as they come to mind) Hilary of Arles, Cyril of Alexandria, Nestorius of Constantinople, Flavian of Constantinople, Cyril of Alexandria, Severus of Antioch; Leo predecessors in Rome, especially Damasus, Siricius, Innocent I, Zosimus, Celestine I; successors, especially Hilarus, Gelasius I, Vigilius; other secular people such as Empress Pulcheria and Empress Galla Placidia; historical writers such as Prosper of Aquitaine, Hydatius, Marcellinus Comes, Evagrius Scholasticus, Pseudo-Zachariah Rhetor; and monks like John Cassian and Eutyches. These are only a few of the Late Antique people in my research, let alone a medieval cast including Pope Hadrian I, Charlemagne, Lanfranc of Bec, Pope Gregory VII, Gratian, and the moderns from Giovanni Bussi in 1472 to Hubert Wurm in 1939.
Now I’m working on a project involving related manuscripts, but in a very specific context — Durham Cathedral Priory. So a new cast is emerging. The texts transmitted in these manuscripts see many of the old cast — the popes, the councils, St Augustine of Hippo — but the new, High Medieval cast is taking shape for me now.
I am beginning with William of St Calais, after a monastic career in Normandy, he was Bishop of Durham 1080/1-1096. He refounded the religious house here as a Benedictine priory to which he donated at least 49 books, listed here, and some identified in modern locations here. One book not identified in that link is the Decreta Pontificum, now Cambridge, Peterhouse MS 74 — the Collectio Lanfranci.
So Lanfranc here and in the Ph.D. After a monastic career in Normandy, Lanfranc was Archbishop of Canterbury 1070-89. Lanfranc and William were both learned men, and they both used the Collectio Lanfranci in various disputes and claims regarding law and ecclesiastical custom. Of interest is the fact that, when William of St Calais was hauled before the court of King William Rufus (r. 1087-1100) in 1088, Bishop William used Lanfranc’s collection as preparation, but Lanfranc’s denied its validity in what was a secular court over feudal law. More on that once I’ve looked at their manuscripts.
Here we have a king — William Rufus, son of William the Bastard, or Conqueror (r. 1066-1087). My working through a manuscript this week has also brought me into contact with the era of the Conqueror’s other son, King Henry I (r. 1100-35), but those particular documents were largely canon law, about the Investiture Controversy, the Concordat of Worms of 1122 and the First Lateran Council of 1023 — documents by King/Emperor Henry V and Pope Calixtus II.
This I had recently read about in the Historia Regum of Symeon of Durham (d. c. 1130), who also wrote a little book about the history of the church of Durham and possibly even our primary source for Bishop William vs King William Rufus, the De iniusta vexacione, but my research into secondary materials has not got that far yet.
Others, more briefly: Anselm of Canterbury (who did not get along with William of St Calais), Pope Gregory VII, Gratian, Anselm’s biographer Eadmer. It is a new, medieval cast of characters, and some are more than a little colourful. People who use canon law are a varied lot, and we’ll see what I make of their manuscripts.
As you may know (since the 11 people who read this blog are my friends and family), I recently started a new job at Durham University after seven happy years of life, study, and work in Edinburgh. And what, you may ask, is my new job?
I have a one-year post-doctoral research post associated with the project ‘Durham Priory Library Recreated‘, focussing my research on Durham Priory’s collection of canon law manuscripts. I am starting my research with a canon law manuscript that William of St-Calais (Bishop of Durham, 1080-93) brought to Durham when he became bishop and refounded the religious house associated with the cathedral as a Benedictine Priory. He also started the rebuilding of the cathedral into its Norman/Romanesque magnificence in 1093. Bishop William brought 50 manuscripts with him, including the manuscript I’m initially looking at, a copy of Collectio Lanfranci, a canon law collection brought to England from Normandy by Lanfranc of Bec, Archbishop of Canterbury 1070-89; this collection is a trimmed version of the collection associated with the name Pseudo-Isidore (on whom/which I turn your attention to the work of Eric Knibbs). After, or alongside, William of St-Calais’ Collectio Lanfranci, I’ll be studying the cathedral priory’s other, later, canon law manuscripts.
If canon law doesn’t float your boat, perhaps William’s Bible will.
The research project is a digitisation project bringing together in one digital place all of the manuscripts and early printed books that belonged to the pre-Reformation priory. This means not only the ones at Durham Cathedral and Durham University but also manuscripts that have gone off wandering to London, Cambridge, Oxford, etc. Besides studying the priory’s manuscripts for the creation of new scholarship, I will also contribute to the project blog and engage in public outreach — public lectures, seminars, that sort of thing — besides organising a scholarly workshop in 2018 about Canon Law in Medieval Durham.
I have already settled into my new desk and started ploughing through the material about Durham and William of St-Calais, much of which was written by Symeon of Durham (d. 1129ish). Perhaps I’ll write about him soon! I’ve also visited the cathedral a couple of times and walked down by the river and generally enjoyed living in a city with a big, famous cathedral and a castle.
It looks to be an exciting year.
It’s been a while since I blogged about a manuscript. Today, I came across this blog post about the curious fact that the Durham Gospels — Durham Cathedral Manuscript A.II.17 — has five folios numbered 38! The post also includes an image from the Durham Gospels of Christ crucified, from folio 38v3. I think I read the Creative Commons Licence correctly, so here is the image:Not, I admit, the Lindisfarne Gospels, but, interestingly enough, of similar date (eighth century). Hugh Houghton says that both manuscripts ‘may have been produced in the same place, and the same corrector made alterations to both manuscripts.’ (The Latin New Testament, 73)
It’s probably just the coincidence of colours, but this page in toto reminds me of the Book of Kells (late eighth century), if less full-on. It is a common enough artistic conceit — the cross divides the page into quarters, in which we find angels. Sometimes we find the four beasts of the Apocalypse, in fact. Here, the top two quadrants have angels facing out, the bottom two have the soldiers, one with a spear, and one with the sponge of gall reaching up to Christ’s mouth in the image above. The historical and spiritual intersect; time is transcended, as in the world of Ephrem the Syrian.
Before the Gothic era, the Cross was the triumphant throne of Christ in mediaeval art (think on the Anglo-Saxon Dream of the Rood). He does not hang limp and lifeless here but stands enthroned between the angels (cherubim?). The full image is here; note that, since the Durham Priory Library Recreated Project uses IIIF, you can modify the contrast and brightness of the image using the ‘Toggle image manipulation’ button on the left, below the speech balloons. This will really help with being able to see the details of this particular page.
Not many images survive in the Durham Gospels, although the opening page of the Gospel of John is strikingly similar to the Lindisfarne Gospels:
The rest of the images seem to be the sort of illuminated initials that even canon law books get in an Insular context.
Textually, this is the Latin Vulgate but of a different tradition from the Lindisfarne Gospels.
Manuscripts such as this are important pieces of material culture and the visual arts from the age whence they come. It is clearly part of the cultural milieu of the Lindisfarne Gospels, written in a similar book hand with similar illustrations. It has been dated to the era of Bede, the Dream of the Rood, and the Ruthwell Cross. Since so few buildings survive from this era in England — having been rebuilt in Romanesque or Gothic style later on — a manuscript such as this takes on even greater importance.
I thought of making the second half of the title ‘and apostolic succession’, but the concept of apostolic succession is not under consideration in what follows, but the textual representation thereof in manuscripts.
First, the genealogies. The Bible, especially the Old Testament, and especially the King James Version, is famous for its genealogies. For example, Genesis 5 gives us a genealogy from Adam to Noah, and begins:
This is the book of the generations of Adam. In the day that God created man, in the likeness of God made he him; 2 Male and female created he them; and blessed them, and called their name Adam, in the day when they were created. 3 And Adam lived an hundred and thirty years, and begat a son in his own likeness, and after his image; and called his name Seth: 4 And the days of Adam after he had begotten Seth were eight hundred years: and he begat sons and daughters: 5 And all the days that Adam lived were nine hundred and thirty years: and he died. 6 And Seth lived an hundred and five years, and begat Enos: 7 And Seth lived after he begat Enos eight hundred and seven years, and begat sons and daughters: 8 And all the days of Seth were nine hundred and twelve years: and he died.
The Old Testament/Hebrew Bible has a variety of other genealogies in it. The New Testament continues the venerable tradition. Indeed, in its current order, the first thing you encounter in the New Testament is a genealogy, taking up Matthew 1:1-17:
The book of the generation of Jesus Christ, the son of David, the son of Abraham. 2 Abraham begat Isaac; and Isaac begat Jacob; and Jacob begat Judas and his brethren; 3 And Judas begat Phares and Zara of Thamar; and Phares begat Esrom; and Esrom begat Aram; 4 And Aram begat Aminadab; and Aminadab begat Naasson; and Naasson begat Salmon; 5 And Salmon begat Booz of Rachab; and Booz begat Obed of Ruth; and Obed begat Jesse; 6 And Jesse begat David the king; and David the king begat Solomon of her that had been the wife of Urias…
In what we might call a ‘New Testament’ context, or ‘apostolic’ context (that is, Early Christian), the genealogies of Matthew and Luke serve to tie the narrative of Jesus of Nazareth into the salvation narrative of the Old Testament, seeing Jesus as the Messiah and the culmination of Hebrew salvation history.
When a person who knows the stories of the Hebrew Bible reads Matthew’s genealogy, the stories come to mind — Abraham and the promised son, Isaac. Jacob and Laban, then his sons ‘Judas and his brethren’, including the tale of Thamar. We meet Booz (Boaz in most contemporary versions) and Ruth, Jesse and David, then David and Solomon, with a reference to Bathsheba. The genealogy leads the people of Judah through the exile. It is a reminder of the salvation history of the people of Israel from Abraham to Jesus, Son of Mary.
Jesus is the Christos, the Messiah, the Anointed One. He came to save the people of Judaea/Israel — this mission is even embedded in his name Je-sus, ‘YHWH saves’. For the Christian mind, this is the function of Jesus’ genealogies.
One common ingredient in many of the canon law manuscripts I have spent the past five years studying has been a catalogue of popes, listing each pope in turn, then how many years, months, and days, he sat upon the See of St Peter. Here’s a pope catalogue from one of my favourite canon law manuscripts, Vat. Reg. lat. 1997 (ca 840), called Collectio Teatina:
As I discussed on this blog a few months ago, canon law books, especially those arranged chronologically, are not simply reference works (although they are that as well). As Rosamond McKitterick has shown us in History and Memory in the Carolingian World and elsewhere, these canon law manuscripts are also works of history. I must hasten to add that pope catalogues such as those under discussion exist in Late Antique manuscripts, not just Carolingian ones; e.g. Paris, lat. 12097 (6th century), Collectio Corbeiensis:
History for us today is thought of as an attempt at dispassionate reading of the past, an attempt to assess with as little bias as possible the sources of the events and currents and ideas of the world as it has gone before us, and then to make that world accessible to today’s world. History for most of history has been an exercise in a variety of other purposes, classified by the ancients (e.g. Quintilian) as an art alongside rhetoric, rather than a(n attempted) scientific discipline.
For Late Antique and Carolingian Christians, history was even a theological discipline, in one way or another. Those like St Augustine of Hippo in City of God who had more nuance in their thought were careful to argue that ‘bad things happen to bad people’ makes no sense of history, and is even contrary to the Bible: ‘he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust.’ (Mt 5:45 KJV) People like Hydatius, on the other, were pretty sure the horrors through which they lived were evidence that the end was nigh, and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle cites the Norman Conquest of 1066 as God sending the French as a punishment for the sins of the English.
Nonetheless, there are other ways that subtler Late Antique and Early Mediaeval thinkers saw history theologically, and if we are to understand these canon law manuscripts and those periods of history, we must understand how they read and understood the past and what their best representatives believed, not simply lowest-common-denominator Late Antique and Carolingian thought.
Simply put, history is a grand drama, and its climax was in the incarnation of God the Word as Jesus of Nazareth, fully God and fully (hu)man. Everything BC marches up to that point, to the fullness of time, the kairos; everything AD flows from it. Everything BC is the praeparatio evangelica (to borrow the title of a book by Eusebius of Caesarea, fourth-century Christian historian), the preparation for the Gospel — this includes the Jewish nation, the Greek philosophers, the Roman Empire, the pax Augusta.
The Hebrew Bible’s geneaologies fit perfectly well within this Late Antique and Early Mediaeval praeparatio evangelica. The history of the Church, flowing from Pentecost to the day of the writers, is the continuation of the drama that had climaxed at Golgotha and the empty tomb.
The pope catalogue, I believe, takes the place of the genealogy in history as interpreted in the New Covenant of Christianity. In the world of ancient Israel, the Covenant was forged in blood — the bloodline of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, whose descendants worshipped YHWH at Tabernacle and Temple. Kinship is important, and YHWH made his ways known to people within the kin-group of the nation of Israel.
Christianity forged a New Covenant in the blood of Jesus of Nazareth (cf. Mt. 26:28), sacrificed on a Cross outside the walls of Jerusalem. It was participation in this blood that made a third race, as second-century Christians were already viewing themselves — not Jews, not Greeks/Romans/barbarians (that is, Gentiles), but something new in the world. This was a spiritual kin-group of brothers and sisters who were members of a royal priesthood with God as their Father. As Jesus had said, God could make sons of Abraham out of the stones if he desired (Mt. 3:9).
There is no place for physical, biological lineage in this new nation of the New Covenant and the new promise, forged in the drama of God’s incarnation as the Nazarene. The new lineage of the new family of God is spiritual.
The churches of Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages saw themselves as the visible representation of this great spiritual family of God. The heads of their households in the cities were bishops, and they acknowledged each other as legitimate in an international network of communities of the faithful. Bishops routinely address each other, ‘Most esteemed brother.’ They referred to presbyters, deacons, and the laity as ‘sons’, and were often referred to as ‘Father’ (pater or papa). This included a recognition of the historic, major apostolic centres of Christianity — Antioch, Alexandria, Rome, with Jerusalem added at Nicaea in 325.
These apostolic centres served as organisational structures for discipline and unity; their bishops, eventually called ‘Patriarchs’, were meant to look out for and after their own regional familial communities. In the West, Rome is held with greatest esteem, even if there were disagreements about how Roman auctoritas might play out in real life (see various fifth-century letters between Leo the Great and bishops of the Province of Viennensis).
Because the compilers of these canon law collections saw themselves and their local bishops as part of the ongoing promise of God to the human race, as part of the inheritance of the covenant forged in Jesus the Christ’s blood and recapitulated each Sunday in the Eucharist/Mass, a catalogue of popes was not merely a handy list of who’s who. A catalogue of popes was a visible representation of the cosmic history of the church from Christ’s apostles to the compiler of the canon law book, from Peter to Linus to Clitus to Clement, on to Damasus, Siricius, Anastasius I, Innocent I, Zosimus, through Leo I, Hilarus, Simplicius and then Gregory I and so forth. These men and their letters, their sermons, their tractates, their liturgies, the stories of the lives, were a living bond between the Christian in, say, Gaul and the Apostles in Jerusalem, Antioch, and Rome centuries before.
The Christian Church for the compilers of canon law books was not merely an institution with regulations as visible in the books. It was a living community of brothers and sisters in the faith, with a spiritual lineage stretching back to the salvation of the world in Jesus Christ. A catalogue of popes is a visual representation of this apostolic bond, and a genealogy of Jesus Christ is a similar visual representation of the covenant between YHWH and his people for the 2000 years from Abraham to Jesus, born of Mary in Bethlehem of Judaea.
A pope catalogue, then, is a spiritual genealogy of the theological history of the world.
A couple of weeks ago I was browsing a wee shop that sells prints of icons, and I noticed that several were images from the Rabbula Gospels; I bought the images of the Crucifixion/Resurrection, the Ascension, and Pentecost. Here are my little prints:
The Rabbula Gospels is a sixth-century Syriac Gospel codex, illuminated with quite wonderful images, as you can see. I first encountered this book in Kurt Weitzmann, Late Antique and Early Christian Book Illumination.
That evening, I was reminded in conversation of the Codex Fuldensis (Codex Bonifatianus I), a Latin New Testament containing a Harmony of the Gospels, as well as the rest of the 23 books of the New Testament canon, the Epistle to the Laodiceans, and Jerome’s Prologue to the Gospels:
Thinking on these made me consider some other sixth-century manuscripts I like, pages from which I shall show here just to make you happy. The first that came to mind was the St Augustine Gospels (before 597, now in the Parker Library, Cambridge, CCC MS 286):
This manuscript was brought to England from Rome by St Augustine of Canterbury in 597.
Next I thought of yet another Gospel book, the Rossano Gospels. This is one of the Purple Codices of the New Testament, written in Greek majuscules. Here is an image of Christ before Pilate:
More gruesome, in my opinion, is the image of the Flood from the Latin Ashburnham Pentateuch (turn of 6th-7th c):
There are, of course, many more 6th-century illuminated manuscripts on which to feast your eyes. I close now with an image of the 6th-century canon law manuscript, Collectio Corbeiensis, Paris, lat. 12097 (naturally enough):
You, too, can spend your days looking at illuminated manuscripts online! Most of these images came from the Wikimedia Commons, where you can find pages for The Rabbula Gospels, The St Augustine Gospels, The Rossano Gospels, The Vienna Genesis, and The Ashburnam Pentateuch. Collectio Corbeiensis can be found on the Bibliothèque nationale de France’s digital collections site, Gallica.