An Illustration of Merlin advising Arthur; Gustav Doré

The Synagogue's Influence in Early Medieval Christian Music

In the beginning of Music in the Medieval World, Albert Seay writes about music's role in early Christianity. Many of the early Christian's liturgical practices were inspired by elements in the Jewish temples and synagogues. On the first page of the book Seay writes, "As Jews, the Apostles had been accustomed to a certain succession of liturgical acts; after their conversion, their major goal was not the construction of a completely new order of services but rather the addition of purely Christian elements to an already existing Jewish framework" (7). Early Christians were influenced by the temples' liturgical arrangement and ritual. But as important as the temple was to the early Christians, the synagogue's influence became paramount. Music in the early synagogue services was important, "for music had long been a traditional way to set apart the religious act and its texts from the every day" (9). This continued to be true in Christian services as well.

As aforementioned, the Church was influenced by the synagogue service's emphasis on liturgical organization. Certain days of the year were more important than others in the Church, just as they had been in the synagogue, and the service was shaped to fit the particular day. And like the synagogue, the Church used psalms, Biblical readings, sermons, and prayers and songs. Many of the melodies used by the early Church were heavily inspired by melodies from the Jewish faith. Other elements of synagogue musical performance-such as responsorial, direct, and antiphonal singing-were incorporated into Christian services. And Christians, like the Jews, limited singing to vocal only, for they both associated instruments with paganism. Christian services, however, did grow to differ from Jewish services in some ways. The biggest difference was the addition of the Eucharist. By the third and fourth Centuries, the Christian service was divided into two parts, the Synaxis, which was open to everybody, and the Eucharist, which was reserved for Christians only. At this time the congregation still took part in psalm singing, singing the Synaxis psalms responsorially and the Eucharist psalms antiphonally. As the Church grew, though, music became more and more reserved for the clergy. Music schools, called schola cantorum, were established.  Popes Leo and Gregory are credited in particular with organizing music in the Church, with Gregory composing many of the chants used later on.

Jacopo da Bologna

I'll be bringing in a short song in the Italian madrigal style written by Jacopo da Bologna around 1350. It is a tune set to the words of Petrarch's Non al suo amante. The poem-turned-lyrics is reproduced below, along with an English translation.

Non al suo amante più Dïana piacque,
quando per tal ventura tutta ignuda
la vide in mezzo de le gelide acque,

ch’a me la pastorella alpestra e cruda
posta a bagnar un leggiadretto velo,
ch’a l’aura il vago e biondo capel chiuda

tal che mi fece or quand’egli arde ’l cielo
tutto tremar d’un amoroso gielo.

2. Translation by Mark Musa (1996):
Diana never pleased her lover more,
when just by chance all of her naked body
he saw bathing within the chilly waters,
than did the simple mountain shepherdess
please me, the while she bathed the pretty veil
that holds her lovely blond hair in the breeze.
So that even now in hot sunlight she makes me
tremble all over with the chill of love.

The Last Cathars from Sean Martin's The Cathars

Last Cathars are thought to hid in the Piedmont, but were eventually exterminated by the Inquisition in the late fourteenth century. The last two major Cathars are Antonio di Galosna (a former Franciscan friar) and Jacob Bech. From the initiation ceremony of di Galosna it seems that at that point the Cathar ceremonies and believes were conflated with those of Waldensians, who were also a persecuted group. The testimony of Bech further exposes the deformation of the original beliefs. For example, the newly initiated would now have been either suffocated, or could choose to fast for three days (without being able to drink cold water as traditionally allowed in the proper endura). In case the initiate survived the fast, he or she would have to return all their possessions to the one who consoled them. This account clearly shows that the end of Catharism, at least in Italy, is marked by the utter distortion of the initial beliefs and calculated use of the religion for personal gain as the most basic tenet of Catharism – that of poverty – is clearly negated. As the religion cannot function without moral leaders, it is not surprising that Catharism in Italy became extinct soon after that.

On the other hand, it seems to have survived in other parts of Europe, as Bech discloses some information about Cathars in Bosnia, a country which had had a long reputation of a country supportive of heretical movements. Already in early thirteenth century the Pope called the rulers of the region to actively suppress the heretical Christian sects. The major trouble, however, was the lack of knowledge of proper Catholic practices among the clergy, even holding such high offices as bishops. The inability of local representatives to even recognize the diversion turned the Pope Gregory IX to the use a military solutions. The campaigns between 1234 and 1246 were hence another Crusade (as named by the pope himself). However, none of these efforts to eradicate the heresy were successful. Moreover, the Bosnian Church (at least partially, if not entirely, Cathar) flourished throughout the fourteenth century. It is only the Ottoman threat that eventually forced a Bosnian king to actively persecute heretics in order to secure alliances with the Western powers. He tried in vain though, as the country was conquered in 1463. The Cathars and other heretics, even though some eventually converted to Islam, are thought to enjoy a long existence under the sultanate with last references to the sect recorded in 1867.

Medieval Heresy in Toulouse

In chapter fifteen of The Perfect Heresy, Stephen O'Shea shares a very disturbing story. In 1234 Toulouse, A wealthy, elderly woman lays on her deathbed. She is a Cathar and hoping to end her life with blessings from a Perfect. Most of her servants set out to find one. They do find one, he comes to the elderly woman's house to provide his blessings, and quietly leaves. But one servant does not search for a Perfect. Instead, he finds a Dominican inquisitor named William Pelhisson and Raymond du Fauga, the Dominican Bishop of Toulouse. The servant tells them that an elderly Cathar woman is near death and that her soul is in danger. The Bishop arrives at her house with a Prior as well as other Dominicans. The elderly woman, in her weakened state, thinks he is a Cathar.The Bishop plays along and pretends to be a Cathar so the woman will admit to her faith. Once she does, he sentences her to execution. Her bed is taken out of the house and into the street. She still lays dying on it. They bring her bed beyond the city gates and to a bonfire, where, " A large crowd assembled, then watched, openmouthed, as a barely conscious woman, with just hours left in her natural life, was thrown into the flames" Afterwards, the Dominicans who committed the execution returned to the refectory, give thanks to God and St.Dominic, and enjoy a meal. Incidentally, the day of the execution, August 5th, 1234, was the first time a feast day was held in honor of St. Dominic.

Unfortunately, the intolerance exemplified in this story has plagued the reputation of the Middle Ages for centuries. The heretical aspect overshadows much of Medieval history. People still associate the term Medieval with the dark and the bloodthirsty. When we think about religion in the Middle Ages (when I say we, I mean modern society) we immediately conjure up the term hypocrisy. These men, like the Dominicans in the Toulouse story, were committing the worst human atrocities in the name of God. That is not to say all religious people during the Middle Ages were committing such atrocities. After studying the Medieval era for months, I know that is not the truth. But it is the intolerant Medieval man who has come to represent the time period. As students and scholars, we need to find out why and how that perception can be expanded to include all fractions of Medieval religious society.

Gafney on Pegg; A Most Holy War

Gafney on Pegg, A Most Holy War

As I read Pegg’s account of the beginning of the Albigensian Crusade, I was struck by his characterization of the murdered Peire de Castelnau as a second Christ figure:

Peire de Castelnau was transformed (by torturous papal prose) into Jesus Christ; his damp death on the Rhone (by a lance, not a sword) became the redemptive crucifixion on Golgotha; his sacrifice a sign to a corrupt generation (Pegg, 6).

Of course, any medieval martyrdom bore a comparison with Jesus’ self-sacrifice. But here, the association has significant implications for the way that Christians in the 11^th century saw themselves as social, political, and spiritual members of a particular and sanctified community. 

Much of the medieval Christian’s sense of himself or herself as a member of the Christian community (which, of course, intersected with and stood in for a variety of other communities) was predicated on the New Testament and the teachings of the early Church fathers. Paul’s letters were particularly instrumental in this process of identification of the self with a greater Christian community; Paul was instructing various prospective or newly converted peoples in what kind of life a Christian was expected to lead. Paul’s letters, however, imagine a community of Christian citizens that was to exist on earth for a very short time. Indeed, in his second letter to Timothy, Paul describes the end times, which he imagined would come within the first century following Jesus’ death. Moreover, Paul’s letters and the gospels in general cast Christians as a chosen people, but as a people who must endure persecution, torment, and suffering. And, the position of the early Christians was often a perilous one; in fact, when the Thessalonian converts endured Roman persecution, they believed that the end of the world had come.  So, a community of Christians, for Paul, was a community of the brave who defied worldly, political, and social norms, and instead cleaved together to form another group that would endure torment until they were redeemed by the second coming of Jesus.

Though Paul’s teachings remained important to medieval Christians, the position of those Christians was entirely different from the position of those Paul addressed in his letters. Instead of being a marginalized group, the Christians had become overwhelmingly powerful in every aspect of life in Western Europe. I believe that this prominence and power, when coupled with the still-relevant teachings of the early Christians, produced a kind of collective guilt in Christian communities, and produced in them the desire to reenact the early days of the Church, in order to imagine themselves to be a persecuted minority standing up for their beliefs. The move to transform Peire de Castelnau into not only a martyr, but rather a Christ figure, fits neatly into this paradigm. The victim is not only a “sign to a corrupt generation,” but also allows those who presume to fight in his cause a standing analogous to that of the early Christians. This move also recasts the enemy as not only non-Christian, but anti-Christian, heretical.

Silvia's response to Weinberg's - Ch. 3 - The Mystical Element

A Short History of Medieval Philosophy
-Julius
R. Weinberg

Chapter III
The Mystical Element in Medieval
Thought: Pseudo-Dionysisu and John Scotus Eriugena

Weinbergsucceeds in chapter III in presenting clearly and succinctly a host of
philosophical notions and resolutions on the nature of God, the Good, and
creation as posited by Pesudo-Dionysius and John Scotus Eriugena. One of the most salient characteristic features of the medieval philosophical and religious tradition was the importance of contemplative mysticism in the life of faith and reason. This chapter situates the origins of this tradition in the Neo-platonic writings of Dionysius the Areopagite, who was a
companion of St. Paul. However, the earliest reference to Dionysius appears in the sixth century. Dionysius’ writings bring together Neoplatonic mysticism and Christian doctrine; the harmonious synthesis profoundly influenced medieval thought and culture.
However, the author notes that Dionysius’ mystical language joins a
pantheistic sensibility to a Christian philosophical view in which God, though distinct and separate from the world, permeates the world or rather the world is a derivation of God. At times this was found to be in conflict with the view of a transcendent God which was the favored orthodox position.

The first fundamental thesis presented is the absolute incomprehensibility of
God. Weinberg quickly moves to explain the various theological approaches to the understanding of the divine and its activity in the world despite God’s incomprehensibility.
The first approach is what is called affirmative theology based on what is
revealed in Scripture about God – good, one, living, omnipotent, etc . The affirmative is tempered by a negative theology which denies such descriptive language of what He is because of
God’s incomprehensibility and His remoteness in nature to anything in the
world. The third way, called symbolic or superlative theology, views God as Super-being, Super-goodness, Super-life and so forth from which all being, goodness, and life derive from;
hence God is “superlatively everything” in the world, of which originates in
God. The world becomes then a symbolic manifestation of God, though falling short as an effect of God and not the cause of its own existence.

Another notion is that the universe as it exists contains a hierarchy of being ranging
from angels and man to the inorganic elements. This corresponds with the ecclesiastical hierarchy of the Sacraments and sacred office from Bishop to laity. There is also the idea that everything proceeds from God who is the Super-substance. From God’s excess of Goodness the whole universe emerges and partakes of the divine. The endless procession ends in the return to its source, the Super-essential God. Thus we find the concept of “divine yearning” in creation and in souls as a desire for union, that is, a return to its source in God, the Super-essence.

John Scotus Eriugena’s work, influenced by Pseudo-Dionysius and the Church Fathers
both Greek and Latin, is the first great synthesis of philosophy and theology
of the early medieval period. In Eriugena, faith and reason emerge as paths to the same end, even though for the Irish theologian, faith precedes reason. (In heaven though, reason will replace faith since it will have been fulfilled.) True philosophy and true religion are not contradictory but the same, since faith and reason flow from the same source in God and the divine Logos is the source of all true authority.

If God is ineffable and incomprehensible in Himself, that is, in His nature, then
how do humans come to know God? According to the philosopher, the Godhead becomes comprehensible by its manifestations in nature and in the symbolic language of Scripture which is a condensation comprehendible to the human mind. The great gift of Divine Wisdom which
descends from God aids in illumination. Since knowledge means the mind knowing its object, the human mind becomes in a certain sense one with it. The knowledge of God which is ultimately fulfilled in the final vision of God in heaven implies union with God and thus man’s deification. Hence “wisdom” is the means of union with God.

There are many other rich concepts in Eriugena’s mystical thought and philosophy
presented in this short chapter. I will only mention the concepts or conceptual system: the division of nature and things as “to be” and “not to be” – distinctions of being and not being - based on hierarchy of being; the meaning of nothing as an attribute of God; beginning and end of creation; effects and causes; God’s revelation of Himself as theophanies or divine appearances; God as the only absolutely real being; the concept of God as “Super-essential”; the “necessity” of God’s nature; the Neo-platonic concepts of Unity, Goodness, and Being; the Logos of God as the medium and instrument of creation and the source of the “primordial causes” as distributed by the Holy Spirit; multiplicity of effects and its order for the mind; God’s causal (hence creative) knowledge; man as microcosm – the summation of creation and all things created in man; essential being of things and its two fold existence – as idea and body; creation in the Divine Mind and illumination by Divine Grace; the principle of plentitude; divine
emanation; the necessary return and the ultimate repose and restoration; authentic knowledge innate and sensible and so forth.

Weinberg introduces these concepts in a clear and manageable form which delights my
mind; I end the chapter with a great desire to further explore medieval philosophy or at least move on to the next chapter in enthusiastic anticipation of more savory ideas about the divine and life.

St. Augustin

St. Augustin was born in Numidia in 354. His father was pagan and his mother was Christian. The first major philosophical work by which he was influenced was now lost work of Cicero, whose basic premise was that wisdom of life can be achieved. After some philosophical struggles with that idea St. Augustin turned to Manicheism but eventually, after arriving in Rome, he was influenced by St. Ambroise. Eventually he became Catholic (387), and after returning to Africa he became a priest and eventually a bishop of Hippo in 395. His main philosophical works were written between 386 and 390. His works written after 395 treat mostly the subject of heresies. He died in 430.

St. Augustin is famous for formulating the main problems of Christian philosophy. The utmost authority for St. Augustin were scriptures and their his teaching was based on their interpretation, which was guided by Platonism and Neoplatonism. St. Augustin saw philosophy as having ethical and religious purpose, but asserted that knowledge of the natural world is valuable only as long as “it helps to understand symbolic sense of Scriptures and reveals vestiges of its Maker” (Weinberg, 1964). The acceptance of the Scriptures is the first step of the investigation. 

St. Augustin also investigated the idea of God. For him God is the only Being that truly is as everything else is mutable, subject to change, and limited. According to his reasoning humans are able to partially grasp God through traces he leaves in His work, for example, he sees in nature and humans indications of the Trinity. This thought greatly influenced Medieval philosophers who for generations argued that the universe and everything it includes are the symbols of its Creator. This view, influenced by Platonic idea of physical world as reflection of ideal forms, ultimately was used to support the allegorical interpretation of Scriptures.

Gafney on Aquinas

Thomas Aquinas, 1224(?)-1274

Thomas Aquinas was simultaneously both philosopher and theologian, in the senses that we use these terms today. His most well-known, and likely his most significant, addition to the development of Christian thought and philosophical thought in the 13th century was his fusion of Aristotelian thought with Christian ideas. Aquinas wrote purely philosophical texts, most of which were commentary on Aristotle. But, his most significant works are those in which he explores Christian doctrine using an Aristotelian lens, as it were, to understand the theology better, and also to express it to others more clearly. His Summa Theologiae comprises a number of carefully crafted proofs which defend various principles inherent to the Christian tradition, such as God's existence, God's limitlessness, and God's oneness. Aquinas is not predominantly interested in using philosophy to prove these truths- they must already exist and be understood to exist without proof. This is Christian faith. I find, however, that in this Aquinas also imitates or embodies the teachings of Aristotle. The Nicomachean Ethics cannot teach one how to be a good person, for example. Rather, they reveal to such a person, already good, more about why goodness is the way it is. Similarly, for Aquinas philosophy cannot prove the truths of the Christian faith or explain all of its mysteries. Rather, philosophy proves a medium for an expression of those truths.

Erigena

Erigena, full name John Scotus Erigena (810 A.D.-877 A.D.) was an Irish born philosopher. He arrived in France to serve in the court of Charles the Bald in 850, and studied Augustine, Origen, Marius Victorinus, and Ambrose among others. He also translated almost all of Pseudo-Dionysius, as well as the works Ambigua by Maximus the Confessor, De hominus opificio by Gregory of Nyssa, and de fede by Epiphanius. His most famous work is De division naturae (the division of nature). In this text, he defines nature as, "the universality or totality of all things that exist, as well as those that do not" (220) He goes on to explain the five ways in which nature can be thought of; 1) through intellect and the senses, that whatever we can discern or sense exists and therefore is in being. Conversely, whatever we cannot discern or sense does not exist and is in nonbeing (thus God is in nonbeing by his definition) 2) being and nonbeing is defined though a hierarchy system from "creator to the least creature" where, in the example given in the book, a person would be in nonbeing compared to a celestial being and a celestial being would be in nonbeing compared to a person 3) something is being or nonbeing through actualization, in which something that is thought of or has potential, but hasn't come to fruition, is a form of nonbeing 4) something's status of being or nonbeing is determined by perception. anything known by intellect is a form of being, but anything only known by senses is a form of nonbeing 5)Lastly, being and nonbeing is determined by one's closeness to God's image. Sinners, because they separate themselves from God through sin, are nonbeing, and redemption is what can make them being. In order to understand Erigena, we cannot take the term nature too literally. According to Popkin, Erigena's concept of being, "denotes all reality, including God and all supernatural entities" (220)

Erigena also classifies nature into four categories. The first category is nature that creates but is not created, with God being the creator of all things. The second category is nature that creates and is created, that is ideas created by God that can go on to create things themselves. The third category is nature that is created but does not create itself, which is essentially the "things themselves" named in the second category. And finally the last category is nature that does not create or is created. Erigena sees the first category of nature as God, the second as creatures, the third as creatures, and the last as God. According to Erignea, God is the beginning, the end, and the channel through which all entities travel through and exist. He writes that God, "contains and comprehends the nature of all sensible things, not in the sense that he contains within himself anything beside himself, but in the sense that he is substantially all that he contains, the substance of all visible things being created in him" (222) God does not come from nature, and is what is referred to as "superwise" By "superwise" Erigena is saying that God has a wisdom that cannot be understood in human terms, and does not fit into an earthly concept of "wise" or "not wise" Often, Erigena uses mystical elements in his writings, and was accused of pantheism. His writing is also influenced by the neoplatonic, especially when using a water fountain as a metaphor to describe the creation of all individual things. He believes that all creatures have an ultimate goal of becoming one with God and thus returning to their most "real" state.
Although De division naturae was read, it did not start a philosophy school of its own. Erigena's neoplatonic influenced philosophies was not like most of Medieval Christian Philosophy, which was more influenced by Aristotle. But his translations were very important in Medieval philosophy in later centuries, and his philosophies had a strong impact on the the mystics.

Printing in Poland: Kasper Straube

Kasper Straube

Kasper Straube is currently thought to be the first to introduce printing to Poland. Straube, like many other early printers in Poland, came from the West, in this case Bavaria. This shows that the technology designed by Gutenberg in Holy Roman Empire started to spread East about twenty years after its invention, and was transmitted mostly by itinerant German printers, who in turn passed the skill to the locals. Straube's printing shop in Cracow was opened during his four-year stay in Cracow (1473 – 1477). In 1477 Straube is thought to leave the city for an unknown destination. Similarly, we do not know if he continued printing in the new location. While in Cracow, however, Straube published four works. The earliest was the Cracovian Calendar (Almanach Cracoviense), followed by treatise on usury by Francis de Platea, Explanatio in Psalterum by John Turrencremata, and St. Augustin's Opuscula. The Cracovian Calendar, considered the earliest Polish incunabula, is a single sheet astronomical calendar written in Latin. In fact all of the texts published by Straube are printed in Latin. This is not surprising as the vernacular literature gained relative popularity only in the sixteenth century. Straube used Gutenbergian printing technique that was the most advanced for the time. This placed Poland in seventh place in Europe among the countries who started using this sophisticated technology.

Wynkyn de Worde

Wynkyn De Worde  (Jan van Wynkyn, 1477-1530) was William Caxton's assistant at the Westminster Press and successor after Caxton's death in 1491. Born in Alsace, he came to England with Caxton in 1476. Although he followed in Caxton's footsteps by printing classics, such as his edition of Trevisa's translation of  De proprietatibus rerum in 1495, his contributions to printing differ from Caxton's in some important ways. Unlike Caxton, who printed and translated literature pieces primarily for the upper class, de Worde branched out and printed inexpensive textbooks for the masses, as Textual Scholarship recalls when he moved his printing press to Fleet Street after 1500, "de Worde  began to to issue practical, cheap textbooks rather than the literary masterpieces of the earlier period. His was probably the first publishing house in which the school textbook division (grammars, primers,etc.) became the most profitable part of the organization" (107). He also helped shaped Modern English. In his edition of De proprietatibus, he replaced many older Middle English terms with the modern versions, as Textual Scholarship states, "But instead of merely reproducing all of its readings in fidelity to the text, de Worde consistently modernizes- changing, for example, cleped to called, wende to go, wone to dwell, ydedled to divided, fonge to receive" (107) Wynkyn's modernizing brought the English language closer to the English we recognize today. In terms of typography, he introduced italic type, and used type ornaments as well as greek and arabic typefaces. If I had to choose from all of the aforementioned, however, I would say his most significant contribution was printing educational books. By printing educational books and aiming them towards people outside the elite classes, de Worde reached a part of English society Caxton did not.

William Caxton

William Caxton (c. 1422-1491)

First English printer; established a printing press in Westminster in 1476.

(1) Caxton’s biography demonstrates a link, which we have seen before, between mercantilism and intellectual growth. Caxton was a merchant and became an influential member of the trading groups in northern Europe; we may suggest that his interest in printing was influenced by his interests in trade. He learned printing at Cologne and was eager to employ the new technology in England, especially as he knew firsthand how difficult and tedious copying by hand was. In addition to being the first printer, Caxton was also the first retailer of printed books. In Caxton, the intellectual and mercantile elements of printing are blended nicely.

(2) The first book Caxton printed was the Recuyell of the Historyes of Troye, which he had translated himself from the French. That this is the first book printed in English points to two things: the importance of the Trojan heritage to even late medieval and early modern English, and the continuing importance of translation in the literary world of fifteenth century England. Caxton himself translated 24 books, though not particularly well, it seems.

(3) Caxton promoted the vernacular; he printed nearly all the English literature that was available to him. He printed Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales and other poetry, Gower’s Confessio amantis, and much of Lydgate, for example. Printing these works helped to solidify the basis of the English canon.

Silvia's Response to Intro to Manuscript

Chapter 11:
The Bible and Related Texts

It is no surprise that the
Bible was the most studied book in the Middle Ages. However, what is most impressive is what this chapter reveals about the world of Biblical scholarship during this
period. It reveals an extraordinary ingenuity in the organization and creative methods employed for the compilation of biblical passages into reference guides for the study of the Bible. It also reveals the vast learning of the medieval exegetes who created these study tools. The compilation methods and organization of passages reveal a complex and multifaceted world of Biblical scholarship whose methods paved the way for the later development and use of chapter divisions, table of contents, and indexes so commonly found in today’s books. The chapter gives a clear outline of the development and types of Biblical manuscripts and reference tools.

Lectio divina, that is, the reading of the Bible was understood to contain various levels of meaning comprising of the literal (historical) and spiritual senses: allegorical, tropological (moral) and anagogical (mystical or eschatological). This was further distinguished by its
extrinsic (historical/Jewish) meaning and its intrinsic (hidden/Christian)
meaning revealed by Christ and interpreted and explicated by Christian exegetes. A good example of an intrinsic exegetical approach is the typological reading and exposition found in the Speculum humanae salvationis (The mirror of human salvation); its page-spreads are divided into four sections in which the first depicts a New Testament scene followed by three images from the Old Testament that are understood to be a type or prefiguration of the New
Testament one. Many biblical scholars of the Middle Ages turned to Jewish rabbinic sources (though critically) to ascertain the literal (historical) meaning of the Old Testament texts while the Church Fathers were considered the primary source for understanding the spiritual
sense of Scripture.

Commentaries took various forms such as the Glossa ordinaria (a compilation of commentaries from earlier sources, including the Church Fathers which are penned on the margins (marginal
gloss) or under the lines (interlinear gloss). Postillae, commentaries that encompassed the whole of a biblical book, incorporated or contested earlier commentaries and often provided a new understanding of the text. Several other reference methods were also developed and employed to facilitate the study of Sacred Scripture. These included glossaries with an alphabetical
arrangement of Hebrew names and their etymologies, lists of incipits of the Biblical chapters, and list of the names of the patriarchs and generations stemming from Adam to Noah and to Christ. Other study aids included short summaries of Biblical history such as
the Historia scholastic of Peters of Comestor, the division of the Bible into numbered sections, and the use of Canon Tables to indicate the concordant and parallel passages of the Gospels; this led to other arrangements such as the four column Gospel harmony and later the handier verbal and subject concordances favored by the preaching mendicant orders.

The creative methods for referencing Bible texts – its organization, commentaries, and compilations - reflect the passion for learning and systematization in the Middle Ages. This chapter presents a brief but fascinating summary of their accomplishments.

"Writing Supports" and "Text and Decoration" from Clemens and Graham's Introduction to Manuscript Studies

In the first two chapters, “Writing Supports” and “Text and Decoration,” Clemens and Graham discuss the various titular supprots available to the medieval scribe. These included: papyraus, wood, metal, was, parchment, and paper. Each of these were used simultaneously in the medieval period depending on the task at hand.The writing support's choice was often goverend by practical matters (but that is not to say that aesthetic or ideological concerns were completely eschewed). Durability, ability to survive harsh weather conditions, allowance for corrections, aesthetic concerns all played an important role.

For example, as a writing support, papyrus survived until eleventh century, and was used for specialized documents such as charters (with the last dated copy, the papal bull, dating to 1057), and was often associated with prestige. On the other hand wax was purely utilitarian medium, first employed in the West from seventh century, it continued to be used up until nineteenth century!

Many of the features of the earlier media would also be applied to the new, improved ones, once they were invented. Therefore, the wooden books display a lot of features that would be later transfered to parchment manuscripts (such as fixing by sawing). Parchment also quickly replaced the less durable paper, especially in the context of production of more luxurious works as it was prestigeous and marked the sophistication and high-status of the owner (many courts even introduced laws against the use of paper!). In addition, some preached against paper for regligious reasons (arguing that it came from infidel lands – I actually wonder if paper was the only target, and if any other products from these lands were also boycoted).

Clemens and Graham emphasize that the knowledge of parchment's preparation is crucial in assessing its authenticity, provenance, and date of the manuscript. The preparation of the parchment is a long and multi-step complex process that requires not only the skilled craftsmen but also a large resources such as sheep, calfs, or goats. Because the average single skin could produce 3.5 leaves, the amount of animals sacrificed for the purpose unavoidably rendered the entire endeavour as extremely costly.

The ready manuscript page was written upon with a quill pen. In addition, the scribe had to use a penknife and ink (most commonly made of oak-gall). The text would be written at first in black ink and the initials or titles would be filled in later (possibly by someone else). The copying of a book required an exemplar that in case was missing from the given monastery could be borrowed from somwhere else (or the monk traveled to copy it) implying that such precious and often heavy books traveled with a relative ease. The titles would be normally renedered in red (process called rubrication, from Latin ruber - red). The colors used for intials often included red and green (green was acidic and sometimes ate through the parchment causing hole in the manuscript). However, during the Gothic period red and blue became the standard. In addition to colord intitial, some were decorated with human figures and narrative scenes (so called historiated initials). These often depicted events presented in the text but also may have been entirely unrelated.

The Origins and Preservation of Medieval Texts

In chapter seven of Introduction to Manuscript Studies, titled "Encounters with Damaged Manuscripts" Raymond Clemens and Timothy Graham present the many ways in which a manuscript can be damaged over time. They are divided into two sections; intentional damage and unintentional damage. The unintentional damage to a manuscript can result from a number of misfortunes, including fire and water damages, insect (such as worms, roaches, and silverfish) and rodent bites, acidic erosion depending on the ink used (over time the erosion would burn completely through the paper, leaving nothing but a hole in the shape of the original letter), and poor storage conditions.

The intentional damage inflicted resulted from recycling of parchment, rebinding, combining pages of different manuscripts together to create a new text, and censoring words no longer acceptable once the manuscript falls into the hands of a later era, one where the political, religious, and social climate has changed. The most obvious instance of such a censorship is during Henry VIII's reign, when papal references were omitted from most manuscripts in order to erase the Catholic church's presence. Of course this points to the most interesting aspect concerning damaged manuscripts; that the damage itself tells a history as much as the manuscript does. It gives the modern medievalist a glimpse into the mindset of the people who were handling these books, as Clemens and Graham recognize, "Ironically, however, a damaged manuscript may contain more useful information than a well-reserved one. Damage can provide important evidence about the history of a book, including its provenance and the type of use to which it was put."

However, there were times when intentional damage was done with the intent of preserving the text, but attempts ended up being counterproductive (and perhaps popular methods of preservation used now are counterproductive and we do not realize it?). It is also worth noting how many of the manuscripts were decorated with words and images from later time periods, or how many lost pages were supplemented with pages from other manuscripts. These additions produced what Clemens and Graham refer to as a hybrid text. These hybrid texts can be deemed aesthetically awkward in that they display handwriting and designs not always harmonious with one another (I saw an example of one of these texts at the exhibit at the Met) and I would imagine they are frustrating and inconvenient for to work with. Yet I personally find hybrid texts to be beautiful, for they represent the relationship between two time periods and/or different places. They ultimately create a unique work representing two histories, the history of the original text's time, and the history of the later time reinterpreting it.

In chapter eight, titled, "Assessing Manuscript Origin and Provenance" Clemens and Graham inform the reader on the various methods employed to detect a manuscript's time and place of origin. These include scribed colophons (a type of signature), evidence within the contents, presence of a known scribe, coats of arms (often from laypeople), ownership inscriptions, library shelf marks, and medieval library catalogs. They also address the distinction between the terms "dated" and "datable"  (a "dated" text means the actual date of origin is traced, "datable" means the scholar must rely on context clues in the manuscript for a general time frame).

When tracing a manuscript's origin, one of the issues that inevitability confronts scholars is forgeries. When reading about forgeries, I was particularly interested in the poilitical manipulation that was attempted through them. That is not to say all forgeries carried sinister purposes. Sometimes their intent was to replace a lost document of monastic or ecclesiastical importance. Nevertheless, while not all forgeries were based on such self serving interests, Clemens and Graham point out that, "but in many cases they were the results of efforts by institutions to establish a bogus claim to land or to demonstrate that a piece of land had been given to them much earlier than was truly the case" (123) This book is not about Medieval history but rather Medieval manuscripts, so the authors did not provide many examples. But I think this would make an interesting topic for class. I wonder how often this claim was successful, how often it failed, and what was the penalty for the guilty party when the forgery was discovered.

Anna Akasoy, Convivencia and its Discontents: Interfaith Life in Al-Andalus

The Medieval Go-Between in Iberia

I was particularly struck by Akasoy’s discussion of Michelle Hamilton’s work on the motif of the go-between in medieval Iberian literature. For Hamilton, the go-between stems from Ibn Hasm’s The Dove’s Neck Ring, and occupies a particularly prominent place in the medieval literary tradition of convivnecia Iberia. Akasoy writes:

Hamilton recognizes in this figure not only a unique feature in the Arabic poetic tradition cherished by Andalusi rulers that was not part of the considerable common ground it shared with classical Arabic poetry in the East; she also sees a quintessentially Andalusi notion- the idea of the person in between cultures, religions, languages, social spheres, and even genders (Akasoy, 495).

The assertion that the go-between figure is a “unique feature” demands a bit of attention, I think. The figure of the go-between, particularly as that figure appears in medieval literature, is typically traced to Ovid’s Ars Amatoria; Ovid’s lena is thought to influence such intermediaries as the anus in Pamphilus di Amore, the “Vieille” in the Roman de la Rose, and Chaucer’s queer Pandarus. The lena figure may also be viewed as a foil for the elevated and typically youthful go-betweens in the Arthurian romance tradition, such as Lunete in Chrétien’s Yvain and Galehot in the Prose Lancelot. What interests me, then, is the way in which this Ovidian figure intersects with the figure that Hamilton describes as a part of the Arabic literary tradition, and the way in which a possible synthesis, or at least, a reinterpretation, of the go-between figure(s), appears in medieval Iberian literature and gives the go-between in this tradition the especial valence that Hamilton attributes to it. We can, for instance, inscribe Trotaconventos from the Libro de Buen Amor within the Ovidian framework, but this figure also possesses the kind of shifting and transitory nature that Hamilton attributes to the go-between figure stemming from the Arabic poetic tradition. Trotacoventos is always on the border, always moving among social spheres and assuming at times a masculine role, and at times a feminine one. She is granted access to places that more traditional figures may not enter, and receives information that others are not privy to, but she has no home base, just as she has no fixed identity.

Silvia's Response to Cantor's Civilization of the Middle Ages, Ch. 15

Chapter 15
Moslem and Jewish Thought: The Aristotelian Challenge
The chapter provides an approachable summary to the intellectual challenges that Aristotelian philosophy brought to Moslem and Jewish thought during the Middle Ages and subsequently Christian doctrine. As is widely recognized, the Islamic translations of the Greek master via Spain were pivotal in producing one of the most creative and fertile periods of Christian philosophy and theology: the great Scholastic systems of the High Middle Ages. Yet some of Aristotle's concepts contradicted certain doctrines adhered to by all three religious traditions: 1. He taught that world had no beginning in time, but that it has exited eternally. 2. God had no concern for the world 3. There was no personal immortality 4. Proposed an ethical system that was based primarily on self love and self fulfillment 5. Aristotle’s philosophy was basically naturalistic and left little room for the supernatural (or Grace from a Christian perspective).

It is interesting to note that Avicenna (980 1037) and Averroes (1126 – 1198), both Muslim scholars and great Aristotelian commentators never found a way to integrate and reconcile the problematic Aristotelian principles into their Islamic faith tradition, proposing instead the dichotomy of the “two truths” systems: what is true for philosophy can be false in theology and vice versa. Consequently, the Aristotelian philosophicalsystem was never incorporated or influenced Islamic and Jewish theology in a significant way (It was met with great resistance and even opposition.) The author briefly discusses the challenges brought by the philosophy of Aristotle to Jewish thought, explaining the resulting shortcomings due to the restrictive social and economic situation of the Jews in Western Europe. Cantor also points to the rise and influence of Talmudic studies as a conservative reaction to the pagan/ancient philosophical systems; it ultimately served to curtail the development of a distinctive Jewish school of philosophy.

In the case of Christianity, the eventual embrace of Aristotle is a startling contrast to the
other two faith traditions. One of the great achievements of the University of Paris in the 13th century - by way of St. Albert the Great and St. Thomas Aquinas - was precisely to reconcile
and incorporate Aristotelian principles into a systematic Christian theology
later known as Scholasticism. Ironically, what was first seen as a danger to faith
became in the hands or rather the genius of Aquinas the premier intellectual
approach or foundation for doing Christian theology in the Catholic tradition. The Aristotelian way supplanted the olderNeo-platonic/Augustinian approach to theology.
Aquinas’ Aristotelian approach served to clarify the relationship
between Faith (Revelation) and Reason (Philosophy), to espouse the principle of
non-contradiction (what is true for one must also be true for the other) which
led to his arguments for the existence of God, his account of the power and limits
of human reason, his understanding of human nature and ethics.

Cantor’s concise summary, part of the sweeping narrative to a vast and complex
period, has some shortcomings. Like all the chapters, there are no citations
provided. It is the book’s most salient weakness and not being able to decipher the author’s sources is very frustrating. If I could add something to Cantor’s narrative in Chapter 15, it would be to acknowledge the important contribution of Raymond of Toledo. As the Archbishop of Toledo from 1125 to 1152 and contemporary of Averroes, he was responsible for establishing what became known as the Toledo School of Translators at the Cathedral. He ordered the recovery and translation of numerous classical texts from antiquity including translations from Arabic versions into (Old) Spanish and Latin, thus paving the way for the dissemination of Aristotle’s works in Europe and advances in medicine, algebra and astronomy. (See Michele Goyens’ Science Translated: Latin and Vernacular Translations of Scientific Treatises in
Medieval Europe.)

Gafney Response to Cantor

Cantor, "Ecclesia and Mundus"

In his chapter, “Ecclesia and Mundus,” Cantor describes the way in which the world of the church and the political (and to a large extent, social) worlds of the medieval feudal state were inexorably bound together. He summarizes his position neatly as follows:

Ecclesiastical and secular political ideas, leadership, and resources were inextricably joined together in the creation and progress of these states. The same interpenetration of ecclesia and mundus, the church and the world, can be seen at work all over tenth-century Europe… (Cantor, 205).

In faithfully recounting the symbiotic relationship of church and political governing structures in the Norman feudal state, the Ottonian Empire, and the Cluniac system, Cantor gives credence to his assertion. The chapter is as useful as a historical review as it is a piece of critical literature.

While I feel that Cantor is mostly right, I do wonder whether the way in which the tensions between the church and the world are described and the attempts at reconciling such tensions that we see over and over in romances and chivalric literature do demonstrate a certain ambivalence about the linking of ecclesia and mundus that might have been even generally felt. Wolfram’s Parzival, for example, may be read as a chivalric narrative that posits the “worldy” court of King Arthur against the (arguably) superior “spritiual” court of the Grail King. Though Cantor is right that the church and the world were intimately related, and that that relationship was instrumental in the founding of the feudal state, I think that examples like Parzival demonstrate some serious misgivings about this linkage.

Closing the Gap between the Church and European Society in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries

  In "Varieties of Religious Experience" Norman Cantor writes of the increasing demand on the Church to close the distance between itself and society in the eleventh and twelfth centuries. Religious orders were discovering the problems that resulted from living a secluded, contemplative life. They also had to acknowledge the growing need to cater to the individual, as the emerging urban European society was searching for a more personal type of religious experience. The conflict between monastic withdrawal and community involvement, then, could be seen as a representing a larger conflict between idealism and practicality. This signified a different idea of contact; not contact merely through written words or rites, but contact through direct communication (like sermons). The clergy was discovering that complete separation between Church and society was not working anymore; in fact it could damage religious orders. The Cisterians are proof that exposure to the ways of the world was necessary for the Church to survive with its surroundings; if they had learned how to navigate the system earlier, they would have been less susceptible to being overwhelmed by corruption. Cantor is more or less saying that if the Cisterians had learned about business from the beginning, they would have developed a type of tolerance to corruption, a better understanding of how to manage it, which would have prevented corruption from gradually overtaking them the way it did. Cantor sees the Church's forms of asceticism as ultimately incompatible with the demands of Urbanized Medieval Europe, "The failure of both puritanism in the eleventh-century and monastic withdrawal in the twelfth-century to achieve their aims encouraged the increasing prominence of a new kind of religious order that was a compromise between the two extreme variants of asceticism" (380).

The problem for Cantor, though, isn't that the Church did not know how to be savvy. The problem was in the Church's priorities. Cantor feels that, had the Church devoted more time to bridging that gap between the clergy and society, rather than concentrating on the crusading military, it could have had a more positive impact, "It would have been fortunate for the Church and for European civilization in several respects if some of the energy and wealth that were given to supporting the crusading military orders in the twelfth-century had been accorded instead to the regular canons" (382) Personally, I think Cantor could have followed up his statement with more details to strengthen his point (how specifically could the regular canons have benefited the public?), but I think he is right in that the Church viewed success more through power and control than through reaching people.

Response to Cantor's Heritage of the Ancient World

In his Chapter 1 (The Heritage of the Ancient World) of the Civilization of the Middle Ages Norman Cantor lucidly describes the evolution that lead to the formation of the basic tenets of the Medieval Europe. I found his discussion of philosophy and religion especially illuminating. Cantor shows that the Medieval world drew upon two conflicting traditions: one descending from Classical world and one from Judaism.

The figure that was most influential on Medieval thinkers was Plato whose theories of eternal forms and unchangeability as well as ugliness and corrupt nature of the material world (including the body) seem to have permeated deep into the unconscious of the Medieval men. They not only influenced Christian thought that rejected physicality but also, as Cantor explains, were to blame for the peasants' high tolerance of abuses they suffered from the elites (Cantor claims that the rarity of uprisings and social upheavals was caused by men's belief that the order in which they lived in not only ordered by god but also permanent and even ahistorical). I felt that in this case his interpretation is going too far as I don't really see how Plato's teaching could even indirectly reach the lowest levels of the society (Cantor does not really elaborate how that could have happened).

On the other hand, Cantor invokes the Judaic tradition with its very unique traditions of: universal omnipotent and omnipresent God and believe in perpetual change (importance of history and the essential role of people in fulfilling the covenant). This tradition, as Cantor argues, was crucial for all the radicals within or outside the dominant Church (heretics, variety of dissenters and visionaries). At the same time Church embraced the idea of the covenant and saw itself as the heir that is very close to fulfilling it. This in turn strengthen the missionary zeal and lead the authorities to justify the use of violence and force against the non-Christians. These two disparate forces dominating the Medieval world seem to clash most pronouncedly in philosophy that developed through the urge to try to understand the Bible, and in turn lead to one of the most important inventions, the establishment of universities.

Cantor's idea of two strains of thought systems, Platonism and Judaic tradition, intertwined and oftentimes at battle with each other truly seem to somehow evoke the spirit of the Middle Ages with its highly stable and ordered hierarchies on the one hand, and with the frequent outbreaks of dissident activities (heretics, new social initiatives e.g. Franciscans etc). Cantor's theory seems very convincing in evoking the complexities and contrasts of the period but I just wonder if his generalizations are not too sweeping. How did the balance between them change throughout the long period between 300 and 1500. When was one or the other more dominant? What was the role of other, especially indigenous, pagan traditions? Also, what I don't entirely grasp is how do we get from this theoretical level (let's say attainable for "intellecutals" of Middle Ages) to the practical dimension (daily interactions of simple people including peasants and aristocrats). 

Gafney Response to Hanawalt, “At the Margins of Women’s Space in Medieval Europe”

Gafney Response to Hanawalt, “At the Margins of Women’s Space in Medieval Europe”

In this chapter in her 1998 Of Good and Ill Repute: Gender and Social Control in Medieval Europe, Barbara Hanawalt describes the ways in which women are morally and socially judged based on their adherence to patriarchal and church organization of gendered space. As Hanwalt writes, “This exercise finds less significance in separating respectable women and marginals than in studying the spaces that they occupied…By limiting the physical spaces that women could occupy and controlling women both within those spaces and outside of them, medieval men defined spatial locations for women that made those who moved beyond those boundaries more clearly marginal” (73). Women who did move beyond these spatial strictures, such as some prostitutes, beggars, and certain non-conformist religious, were also “subject to harassment” (74). Space restrictions were physical as well as intangible; silence, for example, was imposed as one of the restrictions that Hanawalt identifies as coexisting with and reinforcing spatial boundaries.

I agree with Hanawalt’s general depiction of adherence to physical gendered space norms as directly influencing general opinion of women in the Middle Ages; her scholarship is sound and her arguments are convincing. I am interested in the ways in which medieval literature, particularly that of the fourteenth century, articulate various “escapes” from the spatial strictures imposed on medieval people. (Hanawalt rightly focuses on the restrictions of women, as opposed to the greater physical liberties of men, and I will also limit my discussion to these restrictions. It is worth noting, however, that the gendered spaces described here may have alienated men from the home, “restricting” them in a certain sense as well.) I’ll briefly list these imagined “escapes” below:

(1) Sanctioned travel or movement: Pilgrimages and other forms of sanctioned movement, as in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, provide more acceptable ways for women to move about the world and interact with men (though, as Hanawalt points out, these trips were somewhat risky for a woman to undertake alone).

(2) Pagan settings/ Chivalric settings: Stories set in classical times, or in the time of King Arthur are often “Christianized” but are also removed from various structures of the Church. Female characters in these stories generally enjoy much greater liberty of movement.

(3) Cross dressing: Certain female saints that had cult followings in the Middle Ages, such as Saint Eugenia, dressed as men in order to teach, preach, and preserve their virginity.

(4) Tale-telling games: Tale-telling games, such as those found in Chaucer and Boccaccio, often coexist with abnormal but sanctioned movement that includes women. Tale-telling represents and opportunity for overcoming the restrictive silence imposed on women in the domestic sphere.

In the chapter of her book, Whose Story Was This? Rape Narratives in Medieval English Courts Barbara Hanawalt related the striking court practices in cases of rape victims. The first striking procedure is that women had to prove that they were raped and, in addition to the oral testimony, they needed to corroborate the evidence by showing their wounded bodies at least on three different occasions (first to men they trusted – as soon after the crime, then to local officials, and eventually during the public hearing in the court). Although Hanawalt does not discuss that, it may have been one of the reasons why so many women chose not to register the case at all. On top of that, such viewing, could easily encourage the male officials to disbelieve the account and force the victim to provide more and more unquestionable evidence (resulting in victim being “raped” repeatedly, as the testimony had to be made in front of males in a public setting - showing unclothed body, blood, wounds etc).

On top of that, it is striking how highly formalized appeals were required of women ( they needed to retell the story in very specific format multiple times). Even the tiniest blunders could result in accusation of false testimony (even thought the mistake was purely formulaic, and not factual). I was wondering if the formalization was the norm in the court cases in general or was it the specific requirement of rape cases. Or in case it was the standard, were the rape victims, unlike others, especially punished for minor mistakes in the standard formulas. In other words were the judges stricter in case of rape victims?

Women reporting rape had a very little chance of success. About 50% of women did not follow the first appeal and dropped the case risking being fined or imprisoned. I was shocked to read that so much of them decided to withdraw. Hanawald contends that they may have been paid off or threatened, but I am not entirely satisfied with this answer. The bride seems not too likely, as Hanawald's example shows, as after the dropped appeal the raper himself could sue the victim for much more than the potential bribe. I was wondering if any other forces could be at work, for example the role of family members, neighbors, community?

Beyond that, Hanawald mentions that only about 10% of cases ended in conviction (with shockingly light sentences), which does fit the generally patriarchal structure of Medieval society, but it is important to remember that she also recalls the statistics for homicide which are barely at 12%. That seems to point to the general ineptness or unwillingness of courts to persecute despite the gender. I think that it would be important to know the statistics and specific court cases in which the women were trial and then to compare them with the rate of conviction for males for the same crime.

Nevertheless, undoubtedly the rape victims were greatly disadvantaged, and often, the only compensation they could attain (in certain limited cases) was defaming the perpetrator in his community that would force him to flee – and of course, avoid the punishment.

The Relationship Between Women's Bodies and Religion in Medieval Times

A paradox emerges from Women in the Middle Ages by Joseph and Frances Gies, in that women embody weakness and wickedness simultaneously. For centuries (and I do believe even now), women have been deemed intellectually underdeveloped and incapable of rational thought equal to men; yet at the same time, they have also been labeled cunning and have been blamed for the world's evils. Of course, there were women who were strong, pro-active, and effective in military affairs. However, the Gies note, it was never viewed as proof of their abilities, for their success was attributed to adopting a masculine mindset. Any quality that was considered purely GOOD, of God, was only possible if it's source was a man. Men only fell from grace when lead astray by the wiles of a woman.

Certainly, what I found most interesting in the text was the uneasiness in which society viewed the female body. While a woman's body could produce healing properties in medicine, it could also be a liability. According to the Gies, a woman's menstruation was seen as especially destructive:

"Most powerful of all, however, was menstrual fluid 'contact with it turns new wine sour, crops touched by it become barren, grafts die, seeds in gardens are dried up, the fruit of trees falls off, the bright surface of mirrors in which it is merely reflected is dimmed, the edge of steel and the gleam of ivory are dulled, hives of bees die, even bronze and iron are at once seized by rust, and a horrible smell fills the air; to taste it drives dogs mad and infects their bites with incurable poison' During the moon's eclipse, sexual intercourse with a menstruating woman brought disease and death" 

 That menstrual blood was seen as an inherently sinister force in a woman's body, to the extent where it could kill men and make dogs rabid, points to a larger belief prevailing in Medieval times; women, while not strong or adept in mind, were nonetheless always holding within them the supernatural (I don't know know if that is the exact right word to use, but for the purpose of explaining my thoughts, it is the closest I can think of), a supernatural that did NOT originate from God but did possess power. Rules that Hebrew men change their clothes after coming into contact with a menstruating women, that a Christian man not have intercourse with a menstruating woman, or that a Christian woman undergo "churching" before being readmitted into the church seemed meant for self-protection more than anything. These rules do not, in my opinion, merely point to disgust; they point to a fear of being overpowered by a perhaps demonic (?) threat, and a need to suppress that threat as soon as possible. That women were perceived as carrying this type of corrupt power leads me to this question; could women in Medieval times ever be truly  accepted by their respective religions, by the cultures that were manipulating those religions to their liking? Could a Christian woman who practiced Christianity be accepted as a true Christian, and could a Jewish woman who practiced Judaism be accepted as true Jew?  Even if they were model citizens and never erred in their lives, were they ultimate failures of their religions due to these inexplicable "forces" that manifested in the forms of bodily fluids and their beauty? If not, then how was salvation for women attainable?

The Black Death and the Transformation of the West

Silvia Espinosa's Response

1 Bubonic Plague: Historical Epidemiology and the
Medical Problems

The chapter gives an adequate
introduction to the medical, economic, and social issues surrounding the
academic discourse around the Black Death.
However, I have some serious misgivings with the Malthusian and Marxist
approaches.

According to Herlihy, the
Black Plague, “Europe’s greatest known ecological disaster” and the population
collapse that ensued brought forth a social response that shielded Europe from
comparable disasters until today. According
to the author the loss of so many lives, in places up to 80% of the population,
necessitated new ways to further social and economic development as a result of
the food and labor shortages that followed the disaster. The culprit
has been identified as the microbe bacilli.
Bacilli caused three types of plague in the 14th century –
bubonic, pneumonic, and septicemic. Symptoms
included glandular inflammations, high fevers, bloody coughs, and severe skin
rashes or lesions. However, Herlihy
raises many epidemiological and etiological questions as to the source and type
of disease it really was for in many reports there appear to be inconsistencies
and contradictions. The origin and
nature of contagion is also questioned: was
it caused by rat-flea bites or by mere contact with an infected person, room,
water, hence an airborne disease. And why
did it diffuse so quickly among so many nations?

Various accounts and descriptions
of the disease and its symptoms have led some medical scholars to propose other
alternative diseases as the cause: anthrax, typhoid, typhus, tuberculosis,
Yersinia pseudo-tuberculosis or enterocolita, among others. It is thus clear that the present
understanding of the medical nature of the plaque is incomplete or inadequate.

The author raises another question
as to why medieval Europe was so vulnerable to a disease of this kind. Dissatisfied
with the medical explanations, many scholars have turned to social
factors. The social factors proposed as explanations
for such a catastrophe are rooted in Malthusian and Marxist principles.

I have a few objections to
these theories. Malthusian theory places the cause of the problem in what it
perceived to be an “over population” and diminished food supply; in this view,
natural disasters including epidemics provided the “positive check” in
violently reducing the numbers of persons in a community. Yet, I question whether calling them “positive”
is appropriate. This apparent “corrective”
implied a balancing of demand and available food supplies. Many historians see the 14th
century as experiencing a “Malthusian crisis”- or overpopulation problem - right
before the start of the plague. They ask
as how a medieval town could possibly sustain so large a population with its supposed
“poorly productive economy and stagnant technology.” Yet, I would argue instead, that the so
called “overpopulation” – what I would call natural growth - would instead force communities into creative problems
solving and come up with new solutions to meet the growing needs of a
population increase. In fact, a growing
population is often a sign of a growing economy and standard of living. The mere presence of more people might have brought
on earlier rather than sooner a production or industrial revolution. Perhaps capitalism, market economies and incentives, in addition
to international trade would have appeared earlier in European history had the
plague not reduced so much of its population. The sheer need would have necessitated the
development of technology to meet the increased demand for resources and food. Education would have been the natural
balancing check, as history shows that the better educated a population is, the
greater the tendency to have lower and manageable birthrates, without having to
go to the often violent and immoral extremes
proposed and even perpetrated by supporters of Malthusian theories. On the contrary, the decline of population after
the plague ushered in a period of stagnation and slower development. Perhaps the “Renaissance,” capitalism and
technology would have developed sooner, had it not been for the devastating
plague. The shortage of labor and human resources,
including creative individuals, would have caused an imbalance in labor wages…
affecting management, increasing product and supply prices and also slowing consumption
and thus slowing rather then developing an economy. For these and other reasons, I reject the
Malthusian explanation of “overpopulation” as inadequate and simplistic… and
anti-human.

The Marxist approach roots the
problem in the balance of classes and class struggle as the agent of historical
change - exploitation and not overpopulation is seen as the crisis of a society
and economy. Hence for a Marxist, “insurrection,
and not contraception, is the right response.” Yet, like the author states, the fact that the
plague affected and killed people from all states in life, classes, and gender
and in disparate economies and countries makes a Marxist explanation untenable.


On the other hand, it does seems
plausible to me that the plague and its effects created new opportunities for
invention and approaches to solving the economic, social and legal problems
left by so many vacancies. Peasants and otherwise marginalized people,
like women, for instance, would have been obliged out of necessity to get more
involved in the work force and even attain skills that might have been denied
to them before. With new skills gained,
higher income follows, and hence standard of living rises.

What is Medieval history? By John H. Arnold

Silvia Espinosa's Response
Chapter 4: Debating the Middle Ages

I find Arnold’s chapter,
Debating the Middle Ages, interesting and useful as survey of issues and problems
facing students and scholars of medieval culture. It certainly brought many to my attention.

In the chapter, Arnold
declares from the beginning that “History is a collaborative enterprise” and an
“ongoing argument” (respectfully of course) based on “differences in evidence,
view point, perspective and insight.” These
points are succinctly summarized in his survey of essential issues and themes
debated by medievalists. The themes
examined indicate ways in which they could form a common ground to work with
across the interdisciplinary spectrum of Medieval Studies. Naturally, the author does not pretend to
cover all of these in this brief essay, but highlights a few of the shifting
weight of issues that flash back and forth in the discourse on the Middle
Ages. Some of these include: the role, value and place of ritual within
medieval society and politics; the meaning of “feudalism” and its role in
constructing “Social structures”; the place and boundaries of cultural
divisions in defining “cultural Identities” such as the sacred as opposed to the
low (or popular) culture, the folk vs the official, oral vs literary culture
and so forth; and finally the role of royal power and other figures of
authorities (localized or centralized) across the medieval period. Before surveying these themes, the author
begins by stressing a few points for the medieval historian to consider: the
importance of understanding the wider historiographical contexts within
specific arguments; the question of how historians use sources and how these
sources construct rather than reflect the historical realities; and how different
methodologies and ideologies influence how historians propose and form
arguments.

The theme that was of most interest
to me was that of “ritual” as experienced in a myriad of settings and thus imbued
with diverse meanings. As the chapter
shows, rituals play important roles in the politics of conquest and submission
and in defining and confirming status and hierarchy. Rituals are also experienced as a language of
gestures with political and social implications and objectives. Whether formal and “scripted” or unstructured,
rituals as symbolically meaningful action permeated medieval society. Arnold gives several examples of civic,
social and political rituals. Some
affirmed courtly status and obligations which included gift giving and
receiving; these relied on communication through bodily movements as in gestures
of the body, head, and hands or even as found in the kiss of peace. Arnold also discusses rituals manifested in a
public forms: ritual punishments, religious and civic processions centered around
daily life or the Church calendar. More mundane
and common ones were mentioned too as in folk rituals of courting, birth and
death, marriage and harvest. Arnold also
considered rituals that employed a legalistic language and diplomacy. Of course, in the context of religion, the
Liturgy was paramount, having a written code from the earliest times. Other public
manifestations were equally central to medieval life such as private and public
blessings, processions and the sacraments, to name a few examples.

Questions open to debate are
those concerning the importance of ritual in society in general and more
specifically in the areas of politics, social relations, and in the Christian
faith. Civic
rituals raise the question of how it represents or reflects a town or city and
whether these were occasions for unity or tension? Author
points to another problem facing historians: the heavy reliance on text – chronicles for instance. It is important to consider how much it
reflects the interest of the individual chronicler/author or those of the wider
community and participants. Hence, ritual
becomes something to be “decode” and its meanings drawn out of varying contexts
and individuals. Yet textual sources are fewer as one delves into earlier
periods and there is always the problem of any text being deliberately
misconstrued for political purposes or other interests. Arnold reminds us of some of the difficulties
in constructing meaning out of rituals from past periods so different from our
own.

Another area disputed by
medievalists is that of “Social Structures,” commonly associated with “Feudalism”
– a term whose meaning has been much contested, but which now encompasses a
wider spectrum of issues of civil life, family, gender, status and
socioeconomic conditions and stratification.
Historians attempt to approach related questions “objectively” but the lack of sources and shifting terminology present
problems of interpretation. Arnold goes on to highlight the challenges
involved in interpreting and constructing what the Middle Ages is in the areas
of “Power” and “Cultural Identities” preparing the student of medieval studies
with a basic framework to build from.

History, Imagination, and The Black Plague

I think John Hatcher makes an interesting compromise between history and imagination in his book The Black Death: A Personal History. Rather than relying on historical documents alone, Hatcher decides to incorporate facts into a fictional piece. He chooses the town of Walsham for his setting, and uses the known government and religious procedures of the time to frame a story about a town's experience with the Black Plague. Hatcher is quick to emphasize the necessity of the general, for Medieval historians are missing the particulars needed to complete the whole picture.

It is easy to see, from the preface and introduction, that Hatcher is a historian at heart. He's almost apologetic at having to create fictional characters in order to fill the gaps history has left behind. He is more comfortable describing the real life history of Walsham than he is describing Master John, who Hatcher freely admits is a Chaucer inspired invention. I almost get the sense that Hatcher is resentful of the fiction writing process, that he must turn to fiction in order to personalize the devastation of the Black Plague. I for one think he is a bit hard on himself; while the human imagination cannot present  facts the way a document can, documents cannot always capture human thoughts, fears, hopes, and expectations. Many of these feelings are universal and timeless. If fiction can help contemporary readers understand the gravity of the situation, then the book has served a noble purpose. Also, if the book inspires readers to learn more about the Black Plague, which was Hatcher's intention, than it IS effective in advancing the cause of history. The relationship between facts and imagination can be a beneficial one, provided people understand that imagination is a way of interpreting history, not a way of replacing it.

Response to Kelly's “Oh Ye of Little Faith”

In general Kelly's book is a very thorough and informative account of the Black Death. The author treats both the social and cultural effects of the plague, relates the first-hand responses of the afflicted, as well as discusses the scientific accounts of its possible origin.

In chapter 11 Kelly focuses on plague-ravaged Germany which gave rise to two phenomena. One, already known from other parts of Europe (such as France and England), was the rise of antisemitism that took particularly cruel form in the German-speaking countries. The other, the formation of groups of so called flagellants was particularly unique to that region. Besides numerous valid and interesting points that Kelly makes in this chapter I was rather disappointed that he does not really get into the discussion of the possible causes of such particularly strong response to the plague. The author briefly mentions the particularities of the Teutonic soul, so different in character from other nations. In general, throughout Kelly's book we can witness that he tends to see different nations in very stereotypical ways and use these “innate” characteristic as means to explain certain historical facts (for example he also sees English as generally phlegmatic). Why did the flagellant movement caught on in Germany and no other countries? Instead of seeing it as character of Teutonic soul, couldn't we just explain it as part of politics? For example, the French king explicitly banned the flagellants to enter his domain, preventing the populace from being mesmerized by these highly visual spectacles. The other important question is where the movement originated in the first place? Even though the first groups were seen in Italy over hundred years before the plague was the German movement the same? What particular economic, social, and cultural factors provoked the German-speaking populace to turn to such drastic measures?

Another aspect of Kelly's book that bothered me is his frequent reference to modern history that strike me as rather anachronistic. Quite often when discussing cases of antisemitism, Kelly weaves in the poems or accounts of victims of World Ward II German concentration camps. These constant references made me rather uncomfortable as the circumstances of persecution were very different – the Black Death violence seems rather to be a spontaneous action of mad folk rather than elaborate ruthless plan carefully organized by the government. The origins of that hatred also seem to be quite different, even though some of the twentieth-century ethnic hatred had its roots in the medieval thought. It is also interesting to ask why is Kelly using these comparisons? Is to bring us closer to experience of the medieval Jew? in other words, does it serve as an apparatus of better understanding of the history, or is it to evoke a purely emotional response from the reader (as these accounts are frequently highly personal). It just seems to me that too often Kelly is trying to access the medieval individual with all the thought and emotions. That move, however, turns his book into a fictional narrative loosely tied to historical facts, rather than a documentary study of the epidemic.

Gafney response to Herlihy, "The New Economic and Demographic System"

Response to Herlihy, “The New Economic and Demographic System”

In this lecture, Herlihy uses various types of evidence to suggest that the Black Death of 1348 contributed to a demographic shift in Western Europe that planted the seeds of modern technological and consumer-driven society, as well as contributing to a shift in the demographic structure of the population. As his last paragraph reads:

The great population debacle of the late Middle Ages did not, in sum, introduce an entirely new demographic system. But it did redistribute the population between the two tiers of the traditional system. Depopulation gave access to farms and remunerative jobs to a larger percentage of the population. High wages and low rents also raised the standard of living for substantial numbers. They became acquainted with a style of life that they or their children would not want easily to abandon. For a significantly larger part of society, the care of property and the defense of living standards were tightly joined with decisions to marry and to reproduce… Out of the havoc of plague, Europe adopted what can well be called the modern Western mode of demographic behavior. (57).

Much of Herlihy’s argument makes intuitive sense. A population-stressed Europe would, after recovering from the shock of loosing one third to one half of its population, of course seem to revive in such a way that those remaining would have a better quality of life than they had had before. More land would be available for few people, meaning that more animals could be raised and various types of crops pioneered. Also, significantly, the smaller population size and resultant wage hike would certainly encourage technological advances that would save labor. Labor became, in essence, a commodity, and was treated as such, both in the payment of high wages for services that once cost very little, and also in the imagining that human labor could be replaced by labor done by a machine, or done by human beings in conjunction with machines.

Herlihy’s arguments also seem to make sense in the context of plague and post-plague literature in Europe. Boccaccio describes plague-infested Florence as a kind of apocalyptic city; his young protagonists in their verdant retreat, with their self-made courtly way of structuring their time, seem like the remnants of a previous condemned civilization who will create a new way of life for themselves in the idyllic countryside. Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales may also be read as a description of post-plague England; the social shiftings and meldings of estates that nearly all of the pilgrims display could by attributed to demographic upsets of the plague.

I do feel, however, that Herlihy focuses on the “positive” effects of the plague, while only hinting at some of the more devastating and unfortunate effects of the population loss, which might not have been recovered from so quickly. For example, Herlihy describes the loss of skilled practitioners that most professions suffered as a result of the population devastations of the plague: “Short years of service before death intervened, rapid turnover in members, wide recruitment of new persons, affected the quality of the product or service the professions provided” (45). Herlihy notes these changes as impetus new developments in technology. He does not, I think, give sufficient importance to these observations, preferring to give a more optimistic account of post-plague Europe. It may indeed have been the case that workers could charge more and could therefore enjoy different kinds of clothes and food, as well as access to education and other forms of improvement. But, if necessary tasks such as city organization and construction, doctoring the sick, and religious work were done poorly, the general quality of life in Europe may have declined in other significant ways, and may not have been able to “bounce back” as quickly as Herlihy would have us believe. Even such essentials as food and clothing, if not well raised and well made, would contribute little to the general wellbeing of a worker who survived the epidemic. And, with fewer checks and balances, less training, and higher demand, doctors, priests, and teachers could have taken advantage of a ravaged social system to influence people and make money without providing the services their professions require. The gross abuses of power by Catholic officials, such as the selling of false relics and absolution for sins, may well have been made possible by just such a demographic imbalance that Herlihy here describes in mostly positive terms.