Anselm of Canterbury : communities, contemporaries and criticism 2021026741, 2021026742, 9789004468092, 9789004468238, 9004468099

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Anselm of Canterbury: Communities, Contemporaries and Criticism

Anselm Studies and Texts Managing Editor Giles E. M. Gasper (Durham University) Editorial Board Marcia Colish (Yale University) Jay Diehl (Long Island University) Bernd Goebel (University of Fulda) Ian Logan (University of Oxford) Lauren Mancia (Brooklyn College, CUNY) Eileen Sweeney (Boston College)

volume 3

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/as

Anselm of Canterbury: Communities, Contemporaries and Criticism Edited by

Margaret Healy-Varley Giles E. M. Gasper George Younge

LEIDEN | BOSTON

The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021026741 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021026742

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. ISSN 2468-4333 ISBN 978-90-04-46809-2 (hardback) ISBN 978-90-04-46823-8 (e-book) Copyright 2022 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Hotei, Brill Schöningh, Brill Fink, Brill mentis, Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, Böhlau Verlag and V&R Unipress. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Requests for re-use and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill NV via brill.com or copyright.com. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Preface and Acknowledgements ix Notes on Editions and Translations of Anselm’s Works and Other Abbreviations xiii List of Contributors xiv

Introduction 1 Margaret Healy-Varley, Giles E. M. Gasper and George Younge

prologue Anselm in Community 1

Anselm of Canterbury’s De concordia Context, Structures, and Community 13 Giles E. M. Gasper

part 1 Reading Anselm’s Environment: Justice, Evil, and Love 2

Anselm and Gilbert Crispin about Justice and Redemption Tracing Developments in Soteriological Thinking at the End of the Eleventh Century 41 Bernard J. D. van Vreeswijk

3

The Proslogion, Gilbert Crispin, and the Cur Deus homo Anselm and the Problems of the Incarnation 56 David L. Whidden III

4

Anselm and Odo of Tournai on God and Evil 71 Hiroko Yamazaki

5

Anselmian Themes and Anti-Anselmian Stances in Ralph of Battle’s Philosophical Theology 78 Bernd Goebel

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Part 2 Reading Anselm’s Environment: Politics, Canterbury and Literature 6

St Anselm and Gundulf of Rochester Brothers of Bec, One in Heart and Soul 103 Thomas R. Barrows

7

St Anselm and Friendship with Women Matilda of Tuscany 122 Hollie Devanney

8

Reading Eadmer of Canterbury in Light of Anselm 133 Stephanie C. Britton

9

Leading Everything Irregular in England Back to Due Order The Probable Theories behind Archbishop Anselm’s Political Endeavours 152 Sally N. Vaughn

10

Old English Literary Culture and the Circle of Saint Anselm 173 George Younge

Part 3 Reading Anselm in the Later Middle Ages 11

How Did Robert Grosseteste and Thomas Aquinas Read Anselm’s Definition of Truth? 199 Christian Brouwer

12

Cistercians and the Assimilation of Anselm in the Late 14th Century A Case Study of the Quaestio in vesperiis fratriis Chunradi de Ebrako (†1399) 216 Daniel Coman

13

The Admonitio morienti and a Vernacular Anselm 240 Margaret Healy-Varley

Contents

14

Beatitudo est sufficiencia sine omni indigentia St Anselm’s Compositional Model of Beatitude and its Reception in Late Medieval Scholastic Theology 262 Severin V. Kitanov Bibliography 287 Index 312

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Preface and Acknowledgements Anselm’s Prayer for Friends and Prayer for Enemies set up a three-part relationship between the supplicant, friends or enemies, and God. The dynamic entailed in this relationship is characteristic of Anselm’s meditative thought and embodies a working through of the unbearable chasm between the worthiness, loveliness, knowledge, and forgivingness of God and the inadequacy of the sinner. Unless and until this imbalance is settled, and sinfulness accounted for, both friendship and the proper forgiveness and treatment of enemies is impossible. Sin, its acknowledgement and its mitigation, principally through the atoning work of Christ, lies at the heart of the capacity for the individual to engage with others. For his friends Anselm prays to God: So love them, you source of love, by whose command and gift I love them; and if my prayer does not deserve to avail for them because it is offered you by a sinner, let it avail for them because it is made at your command.1 Having prayed for his friends, Anselm turns to his enemies. Where he seeks retribution, he asks for salvation and the grace to mend his ways. Judgment for sins would be impossible to bear if God’s aid is not forthcoming. The sinner therefore insists that the decision turns on God’s mercy, knowledge, and power. Light is sought to lighten the darkness of his enemies, truth to correct their errors, and true life to give life to their souls.2 Reconciliation to God allows harmony with the sinner. Whatever you make me desire for my enemies, give it to them and give the same back to me, and if what if I ask for them at any time is outside the rule of charity, whether through weakness, ignorance or malice, good Lord, do not give it to them 1 Anselm of Canterbury, Oratio pro amicis, ed. Schmitt, 3, p. 72: ‘Dilige ergo eos, tu fons dilectionis, qui praecipis et das mihi ut diligam eos. / Etsi oratio mea non meretur prodesse illis, quia tibi offertur a peccatore: valeat illis, quia fit te iubente auctore’. English translation from The Prayers and Meditations, trans. Ward, p. 214. 2 This language draws heavily on the formulation in The Prayers and Meditations, trans. Ward, p. 217.

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and do not give it back to me…. Let them be reconciled to you and in concord with me, According to your will and for your own sake.3 Enmity and friendship have the same guardian and are governed by the same economy. The roots of community rest in the relationship between God and the individual. The relationship of community and individual are central to understanding Anselm’s life. This emerges naturally in his Benedictine vocation: the definition of and balance within communities, as well as the role of the individual, are one of the primary functions of the Rule and the chain of constitutions, customs, and exegeses of its spirit and letter that emerged from the early Middle Ages to Anselm’s lifetime. He himself made notable contributions to the analysis of monastic community life, as recorded in his letters, in the Vita Anselmi by Eadmer, and in the record of his sermons and thoughts preserved in what became known as the Similitudines (an expansion of the earlier De moribus) and the Dicta.4 These same texts, alongside Eadmer’s Historia novorum, reveal the articulation of Anselm’s views on the broader communities, of bishopric, province, metropolitan province, and the greater church, as well as the units of secular governance, to which he belonged, to whose service he was called, and the complexities and compromises that service created. The prayers discussed above are part of the same process, pointing up the human community in its fallen state, its relation to its original created purpose, and its quest for individual and corporate salvation. To evoke Eadmer and the other monks from Canterbury and Bec who collected Anselm’s works and first articulated how his memory would be preserved is to broach immediately the complex inter-relationship of Anselm to his communities. The crafting of Anselm’s memory is one aspect to this, and one that has generated a rich historiography. Richard Southern, whose first major study of Anselm gave almost equal place to Eadmer, noted that it was the ‘complicated interaction of the two men which gives their friendship its 3 Anselm of Canterbury, Oration pro inimicis, ed. Schmitt, 3, p. 73: ‘quidquid ipse me facis desiderare inimicis meis, et illis tribue et mihi retribue. / Et si quid aliquando exopto illis extra regulam caritatis aut ignorantia aut infirmitate aut malitia: bone domine, hoc nec illis tribuas nec mihi retribuas…. sed reconcilientur tibi et concordent mihi secundum voluntatem tuam propter te’. English translation from The Prayers and Meditations, trans. Ward, p. 217. 4 Anselm, Letters; VA; for the Similitudines (De moribus) and Dicta see Memorials of St. Anselm, ed. R. W. Southern and F. S. Schmitt (Oxford: Oxford University Press for the British Academy, 1969).

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interest, and illuminates the history of English Benedictinism in is half century of unshaken confidence after the Norman Conquest’.5 Some thirty years later, Anselm took a more prominent place in the second major study, although, as Southern noted at this point, ‘Eadmer’s records are so important for our knowledge of Anselm that he and his biographer cannot be separated; and this remark applies also, though in smaller measure, to the other reporters of Anselm’s words’.6 As Southern concluded, there is no perfect solution to the how these relations are to be gauged and drawn, and their mutual dependencies identified and brought into relief. How to think about Anselm’s shaping of his communities, and how they shaped him and his memory, are areas considered within the present volume, and with wide coverage. Eadmer takes his place in the present volume, but alongside others who lived, for part of their lives at least, in community with Anselm: Gundulf, monk of Bec, later bishop of Rochester, and those preserving Old English culture at Canterbury. Community, as the Rule of St Benedict makes abundantly clear, was not always easy, and a number of essays deal with criticism levelled at Anselm. These range from the political and quotidian to the theological, with three areas singled out for particular study, Justice, Evil, and Love. As indicated above Anselm’s thought on the relation of individual, community, and God, emerges centrally within his prayers and meditations; these were relations woven powerfully into this theological reflection. In this sense the interplay between his thought, and the reception of this thought amongst contemporaries and the various communities in which this was located, forms a significant point of analysis. The reception of Anselm’s thought amongst later communities, mediated by individual thinkers, scribes, and compilers, is part of that analysis. To that end the present volume identifies key elements in that later reception. Scholastic use of Anselm is contrasted to the Cistercians, and the longer vernacular tradition preserving his meditations on fear and death. These different communities maintained the same enduring emphasis, in life and reception on God, community, and individual. The fourteen papers in this volume form, then, a cohesive set of studies focused on the theme of communities, contemporaries, and criticism, and open up new ways to understand and position not only Anselm’s thought, but the value and place given to his interlocutors. All of the papers within the volume were delivered originally at the 2015 meeting of the International Association for Anselm Studies, which took place at Boston College, USA or at a smaller gathering of the Association at 5 Southern, Biographer, p. xii. 6 Southern, Portrait, p. xv.

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Providence College, Rhode Island, in the previous year. The volume has taken longer to shape and represents a fuller thinking through of the ideas and debates surrounding Anselm and the communities he influenced. The contributors would like to thank Professor Eileen Sweeney for her considerable efforts in organising the Boston conference and Dr Margaret Healy-Varley for the event at Providence. The volume editors would like to thank Dr Sigbjørn Sønnesyn for particular oversight and translation of a number of Latin passages and for comments on several papers, and all of the contributors for their intellectual efforts, patience, and understanding. A final word of thanks is due to the team at Brill, to Alessandra Giliberto and Dr Kate Hammond, for their expert judgment and guidance, for which all of the contributors are very grateful.

Notes on Editions and Translations of Anselm’s Works and Other Abbreviations The standard critical edition of Anselm’s works (with the exception of the letter collections) is the Opera omnia prepared by Fr. F. S. Schmitt to which all authors in this volume refer, in one of two bibliographic forms: S. Anselmi Cantuariensis archiepiscopi opera omnia, ad fidem codicum recensuit, 6 vols. (the first printed at Seckau, 1938, the second at Rome in 1940, all reset for the Nelson edition) (Edinburgh: Nelson, 1946–61). Reprinted with new editorial material as: S. Anselmi Cantuariensis archiepiscopi opera omnia, ad fidem codicum recensuit, 2 vols. (Stuttgart/Bad-Cannstatt: F. Frommann, 1968–84) Anselm’s letters are the subject of a new edition and translation: Letters of Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, vol. 1, The Bec Letters, ed. and trans. Samu Niskanen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019). Niskanen’s edition replaces that of Schmitt, and re-numbers the letter collection, but for those letters not covered in volume 1, the relevant volume of Schmitt is used and indicated in the essays that follow. Most authors use Niskanen’s translation, or Anselm of Canterbury, The Letters of Anselm of Canterbury, trans. W. Fröhlich, 3 vols. (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1990–94) for the letters still available only in the Schmitt edition. The English translation used is indicated by ‘Niskanen’ or ‘Fröhlich’ or identified as the author’s own. Anselm’s works have a number of translations, the particular versions used in each essay are indicated by the authors. Other abbreviations across the volume are: HN Eadmer, Historia Novorum, ed. M. Rule, Rolls Series (1884) GPA William of Malmesbury, Gesta Pontificum Anglorum, 2 vols. ed. and trans. Rodney M. Thomson and Michael Winterbottom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007) GRA Gesta regum Anglorum, ed. and trans. R. A. B. Mynors, R. M. Thomson, and M. Winterbottom, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998) PL Patrologiae cursus completus, series Latina, ed. J.-P. Migne, 221 vols. (Paris 1844–65) VA Eadmer, Vita Sancti Anselmi, ed. Richard W. Southern, The Life of St Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1962) Southern, Richard W. Southern, Anselm: A Portrait in a Landscape (Cambridge:  Portrait Cambridge University Press, 1990)

Contributors Thomas R. Barrows Ph.D. candidate in History, Saint Louis University, USA, Department of History. Stephanie C. Britton Independent Scholar, Ph.D. in Medieval History from Durham University (2018). Christian Brouwer Professor of Medieval Philosophy and Letters, Université Libre de Bruxelles, Belgium, Centre Interdisciplinaire d’Étude des Religions et de la Laïcité. Daniel Coman Ph.D. candidate, Babeș-Bolyai University, Faculty of History and Philosophy, Romania, Centre for Ancient and Medieval Philosophy. Hollie Devanney Ph.D. candidate, University of Hull, UK, Department of History. Giles E. M. Gasper Professor of High Medieval History, Durham University, UK, Department of History. Bernd Goebel Professor of Philosophy, Fulda Faculty of Theology, Germany, Chair of Philosophy and History of Philosophy. Margaret Healy-Varley Associate Professor of English, Providence College, USA, Department of English. Severin V. Kitanov Professor of Philosophy, Salem State University, Salem, MA, USA, Department of Philosophy. Hiroko Yamazaki Professor of Philosophy, Bunkyo University, Japan, Faculty of International Studies.

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Sally N. Vaughn Professor of History, University of Houston, USA, Department of History. Bernard J. D. van Vreeswijk Ph.D. candidate, Vrije Universiteit Amsterdam, The Netherlands, Faculty of Religion and Theology. David L. Whidden III Professor of Theology, Franciscan Missionaries of Our Lady University, USA. George Younge Lecturer in Medieval Literature, University of York, UK, Department of English and Related Literature.

Introduction Margaret Healy-Varley, Giles E. M. Gasper and George Younge In 1104, Archbishop Anselm received a letter criticising him for the length of his absence in his second exile. Rather than flatter, the letter’s probable author Ernulf decided to chastise his superior. The tribulations of the community at Canterbury should be shared by their leader, of whose help and succour they were in need. That Anselm had gone into exile voluntarily is held to his account as well: since no-one forced him to leave his extended absence has even less justification. The shameful state of the kingdom and a decline is indicted by a decline in morals, the impoverishment of the old, the defiling of young women, and the marriage of clergy. Moral torpor, the corollary of disorder, is a consequence of Anselm’s flight and decision to stay away. Ernulf went on: He who takes command of a ship must be all the more vigilant the more he fears the storms. But perhaps when you the choirs of souls being led before the judgment seat of Christ, those staunchest rams of the divine flock whom no wolf could harm, nor fear of anyone turn to flight, perhaps then you will feel ashamed of having fled solely according to the will of envious people…. Holy Father, even if someone, having imprisoned and ill-treated you, tore you to pieces, you should not have withdrawn in this way. How much more so when you experienced none of these things not was your see denied to you.1 The example that Ernulf chose to contrast with Anselm’s decision to leave after failing to come to a compromise with Henry I over the issue of lay investiture, was that of Ambrose and the Emperor Theodosius. Ambrose held his ground and refused to let the Emperor come into his church in Milan to expatiate

1 Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 310, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 234: ‘Qui enim regendam navem suscepit, tanto amplius necesse est vigilet, quanto amplius procellas timet. Sed tunc fortassis pro sola voluntate invidentium fugisse pudebit, cum videris ante tribunal Christi ducentes choros animarum, illos fortissimos divini gregis arietes, quibus nec lupus nocuit nec alicuius terror in fugam vertit…. Etaim, pater sancta, si te quispiam incarceratum et afflictum evisceraret, hoc modo recississe non debueras. Quanto magis cum nihil horum expertus fueris nec sedes tua tibi negata sit …’.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004468238_002

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his guilt for ordering, in anger, the deaths of 7000 people in Thessalonica.2 Anselm’s fortitude was, Ernulf pointed out, of a rather different kind. Three letters seem to form Anselm’s reply to these charges, all of which were written at Lyons, where he stayed between December 1103 and May 1105.3 He wrote to Ernulf to explain that far from abandoning his obligations to pastoral care without reason, he was forced to stay away on the grounds that he was forbidden from contact with anyone excommunicated, on pain of danger to his own soul.4 Anselm adds that his presence in England would simply complicate matters by encouraging a compromise which would be worse than the current situation. While he would not fear martyrdom should that come to him, nevertheless conflict with the King, with Anselm present, would only make things worse. Evil should not be done to achieve good. The threat of excommunication for the King was real, and Anselm advises that the community, under Ernulf, hold itself together to face the consequences should this arise: If adversities and tribulations should increase, then grow in strength and do not desert your brothers in temptation. If anyone should demand of any monk or church any oath, any pledge of loyalty or any agreement which is against good order so as to gain some power which we call ‘obedience’, then deliberate on the matter and avert the evil as far as possible according to your understanding.5 The threat to order is to be countered with the identification of the precise circumstances in which it emerges, consultation with the community, and the exercise of reason and understanding. To the brothers of Canterbury Anselm wrote in a different tone. Current difficulties and his continued absence, he reminded them, are a test from the Lord to be endured, and a stimulus to contempt for the world. The more the world troubles the community, the more should they reject it and place their focus on that which is to come. The more oppression comes, the more the community should act together, with the examples of scripture and the figure of 2 Cassiodorus, Historia ecclesiastica tripartita, 9.30, ed. W. Jacob and R. Hanslik (Vienna: Hoelder-Pichler-Tempsky, 1952), p. 541; see Fröhlich, vol. 3, p. 10, n. 8. 3 Southern, Portrait, p. xxix. 4 Anselm, Ep. 311, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 235–8. 5 Anselm, Ep. 311, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 238: ‘Si ingruerint adversitates et tribulationes, tunc fortiores estote, et in tentatione fratribus vestris nolite deficere. Si quis exegerit ab aliquo monacho ecclesiae nostrae sacramentum aut fidei alligationem aut pactum quod contra ordinem sit, propter tenendam aliquam potestatem, quam dicimus ‘oboedientiam’: considerate, et in quantum possibile est et in quantum scitis, avertite malitiam’.

Introduction

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Prior Ernulf to guide them further. Anselm reassured the brothers that he had passed to Ernulf the whole responsibility for the pastoral care of the community and ends with an admonition to: ‘Always love the discipline of your order, maintain peace among yourselves and obedience to the Prior unharmed’.6 Within the same context of discipline and order within Christ Church, Anselm also wrote a letter to Antony, the subprior, which offers insight into Anselm’s understanding of community relations, even at a distance. While commending his zeal in enforcing the Rule, Anselm reproves him for acting too often on the assumption of evil intention when listening to monks recount their shortcomings, shortcomings which might very easily be identified as carelessness rather than malicious. The overly suspicious approach, Anselm notes, is very damaging to the community, advising that: ‘You can only punish severely a fault which is a violation of the Rule, and you should banish every base suspicion when it cannot be proved’.7 A final letter from the same period, which raises the same themes but in the broader context of the kingdom, was sent to Gundulf, bishop of Rochester.8 Anselm lays out the moral limits of his struggle with the different views of church leadership favoured by Henry I and his court. At no point, Anselm states, would he detract from his honour as archbishop in order to return to England more quickly. He goes further, he will not agree with men if that involves a disagreement with God. This position conforms entirely to Anselm’s own expressions of anxiety about sin, from the debates in Cur Deus homo over the fact that Christ’s death outweighs all sins, both in number and in magnitude, to Eadmer’s highlighting of the care with which Anselm avoided sin: We have often—and, upon my conscience, this is no lie—heard him solemnly protest that if he should see before his very eyes the horror of sin on the one hand and the bodily pains of hell on the other, and was obliged to plunge into one or the other, he would choose hell rather than sin.9

6 Anselm, Ep. 312, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 239: ‘Disciplinam ordinis vestri semper amate; pacem inter vos et oboedientiam ad priorem inviolabiliter servate’. 7 Anselm, Ep. 313, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 240: ‘Potestis enim culpam pro sola violatione ordinis acriter punire, et omnem pravam suspicionem, quando probari nequit, avertere’. 8 Anselm, Ep. 314, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 241–2. 9 Anselm, Cur Deus homo, i.14, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, pp. 113–5; VA, ii.15: ‘Conscientia mea teste non mentior, quia sepe illum sub veritatis testimonio profitentem audivimus, quoniam si hinc peccati horrorem, hinc inferni dolorem corporaliter cerneret, et necessario uni eorum immergi deberet prius infernum quam peccatum appeteret’. English translation slightly amended.

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Gundulf, a former monk of Bec and close friend of Anselm’s (see Thomas Barrows’ chapter in this collection), had asked for advice on what he should do were the king and Anselm to fail to come to an agreement. Anselm proffered an answer to all threats, tricks or promises for any unjust exaction of homage or loyalty which he himself used: ‘I am a Christian, I am a monk, I am a bishop, and therefore I wish to remain loyal to everyone according to what I owe each one’.10 These exchanges between Anselm, Gundulf and the community of Christ Church Canterbury reveal a good deal about his dealings with those whose spiritual welfare he was charged, about the ways in which those dealings were rooted in a consistent articulation of Christian belief, and the interplay of individual, community, and God, and, in their preservation, in the messages which Anselm, and his copiers, wished to leave to posterity. Anselm’s self-identification as Christian, monk, and bishop, and the implications of each of these roles in terms of duties, obligations, responsibilities, and capacities, provide a useful point of entry to the essays gathered in this volume. In what follows a number of particular themes emerge giving a specific shape and coherence to the collection. The centrality of community to Benedictine life features in many papers, in terms of praise and criticism of individuals and houses, and the identification of models for emulation and rejection. Anselm’s relations with his own communities move from pastoral care to the influence of his teaching. Bec and Canterbury both feature, although with the emphasis placed more to the period of the 1080s onwards. Assessment of contemporaries and their relation with Anselm, held in the balance with the focus on communities, include Ralph of Battle, Gilbert Crispin, Odo of Tournai, and Gundulf of Bec and Rochester, all of whom were connected to Anselm’s monastic life. A wider valance comes with consideration of different networks within which Anselm was involved or over which he and his works held influence. These incorporate church reform, and his relations with Matilda of Tuscany, and other communities of learning and devotion. Anselm himself was held up, especially by Eadmer, as the embodiment of Benedictine virtue. This aspect, as well as the continued interest in his writings, devotional and theological, enshrine the interconnectedness of community and criticism amongst new contemporaries, from readers of devotional literature in Latin and the vernacular.

10

Anselm, Ep. 314: ‘Christianus sum, monachus sum, episcopus sum, et ideo omnibus volo fidem servare secundum quod unicuique debeo’.

Introduction

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To these ends the volume begins with a Prologue, ‘Anselm in Community’, in which Gasper provides a close analysis of Anselm’s De concordia, and places that analysis in the context of the community in which Anselm conceived and wrote the last of his treatises. This community of Anselm’s students, including Eadmer, and his network of friends, including those at Bec, Canterbury, and Cluny, is widened to include the Patristic authors, especially Augustine, from whom Anselm drew, and those of the Bible. Gasper’s careful, book-by-book analysis of De concordia accounts for the eccentricities of its structure and style in relation to Anselm’s other writings, and variations of style within the treatise itself. Finally, putting this analysis in dialogue with Eadmer’s Vita Anselmi and Anselm’s letter collection, Gasper shows how this treatise written during Anselm’s physical decline and death can be read as the fulfillment of his life, his monastic vocation and spiritual leadership, in both local and universal community. The first section of the volume, ‘Reading Anselm’s Environment: Justice, Evil and Love’, explores the rich context of debate and discussion to Anselm’s later writings. In ‘Anselm and Gilbert Crispin about Justice and Redemption: Tracing Developments in Soteriological Thinking at the End of the Eleventh Century’, Van Vreeswijk revisits Cur Deus homo in relation to Anselm’s relationships with his students, arguing that ‘I believe in order to understand’ was not a solitary activity, but one that involved talking, listening, and teaching. In an analysis of Gilbert Crispin’s Disputatio Iudei et Christiani and Disputatio cum Gentili, taking Gilbert’s definition of justice as its focus, van Vreeswijk shows that Gilbert and Anselm shared a common interest in human worth and how to restore it in their respective soteriologies. Van Vreeswijk argues that Gilbert’s soteriology developed over time and, taking this argument a step further, suggests that Anselm’s own thought on these problems changed in response to Gilbert in turn, and in Cur Deus homo, Anselm gave answers to the questions of satisfaction, honour and justice that Gilbert and Anselm together had been attempting to solve. Whidden in ‘The Proslogion, Gilbert Crispin, and the Cur Deus homo: Anselm and the Problems of the Incarnation’ continues the discussion of Gilbert Crispin’s writings, closely comparing the Disputatio Iudei et Christiani with Cur Deus homo to further show how Cur Deus homo came from a robust discussion and debate while also looking at Gilbert’s thought in its own right. Whidden argues that Gilbert’s Disputatio Iudei was a ‘pivot point’ between Anselm’s earlier Proslogion and his later Cur Deus homo and De Conceptu Virginali, and can show how Cur Deus homo can be read as an apologetic for the Proslogion, why Anselm did not use Christological readings of the Old Testament but rather

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made a ‘remoto Christo move’ in his argument, and how Gilbert’s methodology in the Disputatio contributed to its discussion of the virgin birth. In this way, Whidden shows how Gilbert’s questions played a significant role in the formulation of Anselm’s two major works. ‘Anselm and Odo of Tournai on God and Evil’ (Yamazaki), moves to Anselm’s wider circle of discussion in order to challenge our understanding of Anselm on evil. In an analysis of Odo of Tournai’s writings on evil, comparing them with Anselm’s De concordia’s section on foreknowledge and free choice and the Philosophical Fragments, Yamazaki shows that both Odo and Anselm engaged with the problems of justice and evil, but differed sharply in their approach. Where Odo’s definition of justice as something and evil as nothing would seem to accord with Anselm, a close analysis of the texts shows that Anselm, rather, takes his definitions in a different direction. In this way, Yamazaki argues, Anselm put his definition of evil into a broader discussion of the relationship of God and humanity. These themes emerge again in ‘Anselmian Themes and Anti-Anselmian Stances in Ralph of Battle’s Philosophical Theology’, Goebel uses both recently published critical editions and as yet unedited works by Ralph of Battle to show how Ralph’s theological method worked as a middle way between his teachers Anselm and Lanfranc. In this analysis of the content and form of Ralph’s writings, especially in their methodology and account of the proper scope of natural theology, reason and authority, Goebel takes as the focus the question, why does Ralph choose an atheist as a dialogue partner in De nesciente et sciente? This surprising choice shows what Ralph took and what he left behind of Anselm’s teaching. Goebel further shows how Ralph was a close reader of Lanfranc, Anselm and Augustine, and while Ralph could be described as self-effacing, he remains an innovative theologian. The second section of the volume ‘Reading Anselm’s Environment: Friendship, Networks, and Literature’ continues this account of the rich context of Anselm’s writings and of his intellectual influence in showing how others in his friendship and political networks adopted and adapted his writings and teachings over time, and the active thinking through of his ideas and their implications in a number of literary genres. Barrows, in ‘St Anselm and Gundulf of Rochester: Brothers of Bec, One in Heart and Soul’, turns to Gundulf of Rochester, a fellow monk at Bec and later Bishop of Rochester who received the largest number of surviving letters from Anselm and the longest period of correspondence, written over more than thirty years. A close look at that correspondence and the Vita Gundulfi shows that the two shared a friendship that surpassed the commonplaces of monastic friendship. While Gundulf was not the only monk with whom Anselm had a close friendship, theirs is described

Introduction

7

as a union of souls in virtue that, Barrows argues, was a spiritual marriage that endured through time, geographical distance and personal circumstance. In ‘St Anselm and Friendship with Women’, Devanney provides an analysis of the friendship between Anselm and Matilda, Countess of Tuscany in order to address the larger topic of where women could fit in male-dominated friendship networks. While Anselm was not one of Matilda’s most influential or significant friends, she was so for him, particularly in the practical support of protection and hospitality that she provided him during his exile from England, their shared interest in papal reform and against Investiture, and her capacity as an intercessor with Pope Paschal II. As Devanney shows, friendships with women could perform similar functions as those between men, working within the conventions of friendship in the twelfth century: Matilda and Anselm’s friendship moved along one of the key reform movements of the twelfth century, and clearly shows the beneficial influence of women on leaders in the Church. A different aspect to the networks in which Anselm operated, and which his memory served, forms the focus for ‘Reading Eadmer of Canterbury in Light of Anselm’. Here, Britton argues that, while Eadmer’s devotion to the memory of Anselm has been recognized, the ways in which Anselm’s thought appears in Eadmer’s own writings has been under-explored. Eadmer’s incorporation of such Anselmian themes as justice and the pre-eminence of God’s will shows an active engagement with Anselm’s teaching and writing, and, while this engagement shows its final form in the Historia novorum in Anglia, Britton finds similar themes in his hagiographical writing, the Vita S. Dunstani and Vita S. Wilfridi. Here, drawing on his particular skill with dialogue, Eadmer learned to defend Anselm’s memory as the successor to Anglo-Saxon leaders and saints, and fulfilled their legacy. Vaughn puts forward a different perspective for this discussion of Anselm’s political thinking and his ability to form his approach to archiepiscopal rule as one that fulfilled the best practices of his predecessors. In ‘Leading Everything Irregular in England Back to Due Order: The Probable Theories behind Archbishop Anselm’s Political Endeavors’, Vaughn looks to Eadmer’s writings as well as Anselm’s letters to show how Anselm modeled his approach to archiepiscopal duties using the example of Lanfranc, and, like Lanfranc, using Bede, St Gregory the Great and his own observations to do so, but also, and perhaps primarily, using St Gregory’s Pastoral Rule to construct an ethical episcopal politics. Drawing on his work at Bec and molding his pedagogical approach to both monks and kings according to individual disposition, Anselm used his ‘Holy Guile’ to act as teacher to William Rufus and Henry I. Vaughn concludes by arguing that Henry I proved particularly amenable to this approach,

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adopting Anselm’s own ideals of royal and Episcopal co-rule into a political methodology for the secular world, creating a new art of politics in the Anglo-Norman court. Finally in this section, Younge, in ‘Old English Literary Culture and the Circle of Saint Anselm’, expands the sense of historical context outside Latin literature to the world of the vernacular. Younge argues that the world of Anselm, his students, friends and correspondents was not separate from Old English literary culture which surrounded Anselm at the Bec-dominated institutions of Canterbury, Rochester and St Augustine’s. Taking as his focus the Old English texts produced in the South East such as the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle at Canterbury, the lives of Saints Giles, Nicholas, Margaret and Neot, and the texts in Vespasian D.xiv, Younge identifies Anselmian themes that could be said to anticipate the adoptions of Anselmian sources in Middle English literature. He concludes by suggesting that there may have been a reciprocal dynamic at work, not simply that Old English literature may have drawn from the new energy of Anselm’s influence, but that Anselm and his contemporaries may have actively endorsed the use of Old English. The third, and closing, section of the volume, ‘Reading Anselm in the Later Middle Ages: Scholastic, Cistercian and Vernacular’, gives us Anselm as an authority, a writer cited by late medieval authors and provoking further thought, whose authority can in turn give us further insight into the writings of the thinkers who thought with him. In ‘How did Robert Grosseteste and Thomas Aquinas Read Anselm’s Definition of Truth?’, Brouwer follows the influence of Anselm’s definition of truth, and of De veritate in particular, through the writings of Robert Grosseteste and Thomas Aquinas, arguing that Grosseteste and Aquinas used Anselm’s definition at the very heart of their own writings on truth. These two major thinkers of the later Middle Ages show that Anselm had become a ‘proper authority’, and that Anselm’s definition of truth became an authoritative statement for future thinkers. In ‘Cistercians and the Assimilation of Anselm in the Late 14th Century: A Case Study of the Quaestio in vesperiis fratriis Chunradi de Ebrako (†1399)’, Coman turns to the Cistercians and their use of Anselm’s writings with the ‘logico-critical attitude’ of using logic and mathematics on doctrinal issues. Using as a specific example the Quaestio in vesperiis of Conrad of Ebrach, the last Cistercian of the fourteenth century whose commentary on the Sentences has survived, Coman analyses Conrad’s theses on original sin and supreme rectitude for their citation of Anselm as an authority. This shows the subtilitates Anglicanae at work, combined with a preference for Patristic sources that Cistercians shared with the Augustinians, which, Coman argues, lead to a distinctive configuration of the Augustine-Anselm binomial authority in fourteenth-century theology. It also shows how Anselm’s influence reached the

Introduction

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continent through the Oxford tradition, and that, above all, Anselm’s writings were useful in solutions to contemporary issues. In ‘The Admonitio morienti and a Vernacular Anselm’, Healy-Varley addresses the complex and variegated way in which Anselm’s writings and thought was received, adopted, and adapted in subsequent centuries. While it is easy to project the contemporary perception of Anselm as a great thinker and theological pioneer backwards in time, the impact Anselm’s writings had on later vernacular texts broadens and enriches our image of medieval religious literature and Anselm’s role within it. In the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, Anselm’s importance was more pastoral than speculative, and particularly tied to lay piety in preparation for a good death. Anselm’s Admonitio morienti was taken up into both Latin and vernacular texts, disseminated in compilations and collections united in their concern for the cure of souls, particularly the cure of souls in the hour of death. In these texts, it is not Anselm’s authority as a speculative theologian and philosopher that drives compilers, translators, and scribes to return to his work, but the power of his words to guide and accompany the dying in their last moments. In the last essay of this volume, ‘Beatitudo est sufficiencia sine omni indi­ gentia: St Anselm’s Compositional Model of Beatitude and its Reception in Late Medieval Scholastic Theology’, Kitanov joins the discussion on Anselm’s contributions to medieval ethics by following Anselm’s definition of beatitude in later scholastic writing. Using the specific examples of Richard FitzRalph and Adam Wodeham and their discussions of the intellect and the will, Kitanov shows how these thinkers explored Anselm’s ‘compositional’ model of beatitude, composed of corporeal and spiritual goods. Their shared conclusion was that Anselm’s model was the most adequate way of speaking about beatitude, a multi-dimensional experience that unifies and integrates a variety of components or goods that seem disconnected to our limited standpoint; in other words, that Anselm gives us the best way to think about ultimate joy. Communities, contemporaries, and criticism feature as the primary elements in all of these discussions, from the intimacy of the cloister to the wider dynamics of lordship and the exercise of power in the early twelfth century. Here again, the connections between the local community and the larger units of regnal and ecclesiastical authority are carefully drawn, the boundaries between them negotiable but increasingly, and differently defined, depending on the circumstances of the individuals concerned. All three themes of the volume are to be found the continuing reception of Anselm, his works acting as the focus for study within communities. Exploration of these wider themes add to the understanding of the complex ways in which these contemporaries took inspiration from their past, showing the diverse and different audiences touched by his thought.

prologue Anselm in Community

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chapter 1

Anselm of Canterbury’s De concordia Context, Structures, and Community Giles E. M. Gasper In the course of his description of the last years of Anselm’s life, Eadmer of Canterbury recorded the composition of Anselm’s last completed treatise, the De Concordia Praescientiae et Praedestinationis et Gratiae Dei cum Libero Arbitrio—On the Concordance of Foreknowledge, Predestination and Grace of God with Free Will. In particular Eadmer laid emphasis on the delays which beset the treatise: During this time Anselm wrote a treatise on the reconciliation of the foreknowledge, predestination and grace of God with free-will. Contrary to his usual practice he suffered some interruption in the writing of this work for, from the time he was ill at St Edmund’s until the end of his life, he was weaker in body than he had been. Hence from this time, when he went from place to place, he was carried about lying on a litter not sitting on a horse. Besides he was troubled with frequent and grievous sicknesses, so that we scarcely dared give him hope of living. But he never forgot his former way of life, and he was always occupied with profitable meditations, or holy exhortations or other acts of piety.1 Several elements are at play in this statement not least an insight into early twelfth century scholarly practice. Eadmer highlights the interruption of Anselm’s work, in this case by bodily infirmity, which might carry implications for how his usual practice is to be defined. That Anselm might have required uninterrupted periods of concentration for the composition of his works is a 1 VA, Book ii, Chapter 64: ‘Scripsit inter haec Anselmus labellum unum de Concordia praescientiae et praedestinationis et gratiae Dei cum libero arbitrio. In quo opera contra morem moram in scribendo passus est, quoniam ex quo apud Sanctum Eadmundum fuerat infirmatus donec presenti vitae superfuit, solito imbecillior corpore fuit. Quapropter de loco ad locum migrans lectica decubans non equo sedens deinceps vehebatur. Vexabatur praeterea frequentibus et acerbis infirmitatibus, ita ut vix illi vitam promittere auderemus. Ipse tamen numquam pristinae conversationis obliviscebatur, sed semper aut meditationibus bonis, aut exhortationibus sanctis, aut aliis piis operibus occupabatur’.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004468238_003

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natural supposition, and here, this can be corroborated with the accounts of his work on the Proslogion, one of his first treatises, some thirty years previously.2 A further issue, the quality of time Anselm required for theological writing, will be elaborated further in what follows. Eadmer’s statement moves immediately to the monastic context in which such activity took place. The reminder that Anselm never forgot his monastic vows and that these were given expression introspectively in the form of meditation, and externally in exhortation, preaching, and acts of piety, is also telling. The experience of monastic vocation, a lifelong endeavour, is acted out in both words and deeds. 1

Analysing the De concordia

De concordia itself is one of the less-well explored of Anselm’s works, its exposition of the themes of predestination, grace and God’s foreknowledge rather more the purview of theological and philosophical discussion than historical.3 What is proposed here is an analysis of the treatise that draws on a fuller sense of the historical and community context in which it was conceived and composed. These contexts are broader and deeper than those contemporary to the 2 For a fuller discussion see Giles E. M. Gasper, ‘Envy, Jealousy and the Boundaries of Orthodoxy: Anselm, Eadmer and the Genesis of the Proslogion’, Viator, 41 (2010), pp. 45–68. 3 Historical discussion of the treatise is extremely limited. De concordia is not discussed in either of Richard Southern’s volumes, Saint Anselm and His Biographer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963) or Saint Anselm: A Portrait in a Landscape (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990), or to any great extent in Gillian Evans, Anselm (London: Chapman, 1989). The nineteenth-century tradition of Anselmian analysis tended towards the narrative and, on the whole, follows the outlines provided by Eadmer, for example R. W. Church, Saint Anselm (London, Macmillan, 1870), pp. 348–9; Charles de Rémusat, Sainte Anselme de Cantorbéry (Paris: Didier, 1853) does not include the work at all, nor does it feature in F. R. Hasse, Anselm von Canterbury, 2 vols. (Leipzig: Engelmann, 1843). The treatise has attracted a specialist theological and philosophical analysis which focuses on issues of freedom and modal logic. Paul A. Streveler, ‘Anselm on Future Contingencies: a Critical Analysis of the Argument of the De Concordia’, in Anselm Studies: An Occasional Journal, 1 (1983), pp. 165–73; Eduardo Briancesco, ‘Le dernier Anselme: essai sur la structure du De concordia’, Anselm Studies: An Occasional Journal, 2 (1988), pp. 559–96; Katherin Rogers, Anselm on Freedom (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), pp. 146–84; Sandra Visser and Thomas Williams, Anselm (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), pp. 158–9 and 161–6; Eileen Sweeney, Anselm and the Desire for the Word (Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2012), pp. 346–68. Christian Brouwer, ‘Ratio et intellectus: l’unité de l’oeuvre d’Anselme de Canterbury’ in G. E. M. Gasper and H. Kohlenberger, eds, Anselm and Abelard: Investigations and Juxtaspositions (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2006), pp. 31–55, at 40–1 points out the lack of unity in Anselm’s final three treatises identified as De processione, the Epistolae to Walram of Naumberg, and De concordia.

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years of production: the communities of Bec, Canterbury, and others on the penumbra of Anselm’s experience such as Cluny, and individuals with whom he enjoyed closer relations and friendships and for whom his life and deeds took on particular importance, for example Eadmer. The intellectual and spiritual communities with which Anselm’s work engages can, and should, be defined widely to include Patristic authors, in this case Augustine, and the various books of the Bible, here especially St Paul and John the Evangelist. Although the codicological context of the treatise is not addressed in detail, the activity to collect Anselm’s works at Canterbury and Bec is explored.4 By examining the multiple structures and contexts for De concordia a more complete appreciation emerges of its place within Anselm’s canon, the reasons for composition, and its role in a wider theological discourse, rooted in communities local and universal. Eadmer’s remarks provide an important context for understanding Anselm’s treatise and one that has been underestimated. How the treatise fits into Eadmer’s larger narrative of Anselm’s life and example sheds light both onto the former’s construction of his narrative and to the ways in which the latter’s treatise was understood. Exploring the De concordia alongside Eadmer allows a different perspective on the significance of the treatise. De concordia allows a final opportunity for Eadmer to link Anselm’s spiritual leadership, monastic vocation, and theological acumen to the communities, monastic and otherwise that he served. As with the earlier Proslogion, however, a dialectic emerges between the treatise itself and Eadmer’s description and placement of its genesis. Anselm’s own intentions for the treatise, and the way in which it was constructed, must form the basis on which De concordia is to be analysed. Nor can Eadmer’s remarks on the treatises be fully contextualised unless in light of the treatise and its purpose. Balancing Eadmer’s intentions against a construction of the context in which De concordia emerged is not straightforward, but is revealing for both concerns. In what follows Eadmer’s narrative and the structure of the De concordia will be examined, the latter particularly with respect to its biblical and Augustinian architecture. The interlocking nature of narrative and treatise draw out the theme of community which is common to both.

4 As the recent work of Samu Niskanen on Anselm’s letter collections shows (cited below) a reconsideration of the manuscript history of Anselm’s theological works is overdue, as underlined also in R. Sharpe, ‘Anselm as Author: Publishing in the Late Eleventh Century’, The Journal of Medieval Latin, 19 (2009), pp. 1–87.

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Eadmer’s Vita Anselmi and the De concordia

Eadmer’s account of the treatise is delicately placed within the Vita Anselmi, forming part of the prelude to the scenes leading up to and after Anselm’s death. While this schema conforms to a sense of natural chronology Eadmer draws out critical aspects for his readership. Anselm’s death contains all of the features of the good death and an exemplary end to the monastic journey. Given its central place in Lanfranc’s monastic reforms it is, perhaps, not surprising that Eadmer’s description of Anselm’s passing is remarkably close to the strictures laid out in Lanfranc’s Monastic Constitutions.5 This raises again the question as to whether Eadmer’s description is naturalistic and observational, or, rather, authorial invention designed to portray the most fitting paradigm for his protagonist. Emphasising the familiarity of the sequences for death that every member of the community would, eventually, undergo, serves to underline Anselm’s position as both a member in his own right, as well its most saintly. There were voices critical of Anselm as Eadmer put together the Vita, and the episodes concerning De concordia and the death scenes are every bit as much a part of a vindication of Anselm’s achievements and his status as a monk and as a monastic leader with his wider archiepiscopal responsibilities. As the narrative is played out the onset of Anselm’s irrecoverable physical decline is contrasted to his strength of mind; no physical impairment could diminish his contemplation of God and his works. However, the community, especially those attended him most closely first feared for his health, and then grew progressively in the knowledge that his end was coming. While Anselm is characterised as strong in spirit, but progressively weaker in flesh, he is also presented as conscious of the fact that he had unfinished theological business, and almost reluctant in this connection to heed his celestial summons. His last words as presented by Eadmer were in response to a monk commenting on the likelihood of his imminent departure ‘to the Easter court of your Lord’. Anselm replied: And indeed if his will is set on this, I shall gladly obey his will. However, if he would prefer me to remain among you, at least until I can settle a question about the origin of the soul, which I am turning over in my mind, I should welcome this with gratitude, for I do not know whether anyone will solve it when I am dead. Truly I think I might recover if I could eat

5 Lanfranc, Monastic Constitutions, ed. and trans. D. M. Knowles (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1951), pp. 120–4.

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something, for I feel no pain in any part of my body, except that I am altogether enfeebled by the weakness of my stomach which refuses food.6 He did not recover, and the community took over the task of managing death in the appointed and appropriate manner. The Gospel passage for Mass that day, Luke 22 was read to him including the following: ‘And you are they who have continued with me in my temptations: And I dispose to you, as my Father hath disposed to me, a kingdom; That you may eat and drink at my table, in my kingdom’.7 Fittingly, this is part of the Passion narrative of the Last Supper, after the blessing of the bread and wine, after the identification of one amongst the disciples who will betray Christ, before Christ’s assertion to Peter that he would deny him, and before the movement to the Mount of Olives. Eadmer places into conjunction a series of scenes which are joined to the invocation of the Gospel. For example, Anselm’s inability to enjoy food which ultimately weakened him is set against the eucharist as his constant desire. This is linked with his continued intellectual engagement with questions of faith, notably and appropriately the soul; reflecting the inevitability of death and the dissolution of the body. Anselm at this point was in the care of his community and Eadmer emphasises its role in patrolling the liminal experience of the final illness. The invitation to the feast in heaven marks the removal of the individual from the community and the transformation of the signifiers of earthly existence to the untarnished reality beyond. The Gospel sentiment, to which Eadmer responds movingly, contrasts the chasm between created life and its fulfilment in death, the absence of food, the necessary precursor to a state of glory. It also highlights the fulfilment, in reality, of the last treatise Anselm composed: the question of the concordance of free-will with the predestination, the foreknowledge and the grace of God. In a similar manner to Eadmer, Anselm blended experience with biblical evocation and patristic authority. De concordia on its own terms, and in context, offers a particular opportunity to examine Anselm’s methods, intellectual and pastoral instincts, and audience.

6 VA, ii.66: ‘Et quidem si voluntas eius in hoc est voluntati eius libens parebo. Verum si mallet me adhuc inter vos saltem tam diu manere, donec quaestionem quam de origine animae mente revolvo absolvere possem gratanter acciperem, eo quod nescio utrum aliquis eam me defuncto sit soluturus. Ego quippe si comedere possem spero convalescerem. Nam nichil doloris in aliqua corporis parte sentio, nisi quod lassescente stomacho ob cibum quem capere nequit totus deficio’. 7 Luke 22:28–30.

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The Architecture of De concordia

The treatise is composed of three unequal parts, the first on foreknowledge in seven chapters, the shortest treatment is the middle part on predestination, and the third, and longest, on grace in fifteen chapters. Formally the treatise exhibits some eccentricities of style which may be coherent with Eadmer’s statement that the process of composition was interrupted. A dialogue between ‘you’ and ‘I’ is maintained at the beginning of the treatise, sed dices mihi, et ego. This dissipates quickly, lasting only until Book 1 Chapter 4, after which Anselm emerges in dialogue with himself, alternating between the first person singular and plural. Differences in style emerge within the treatise; for example, the final section on grace includes far more reference to biblical quotation than the previous sections. This reflects the subject area and Anselm’s interest in the authority of scripture, but the difference in literary construction to the preceding sections is palpable. Anselm provides no preface to speak of to the De concordia beyond a bald statement of intent to address the three questions with the help of God. Unlike the Monologion or Proslogion there is no invocation of community as a defence of the decision to write.8 There is no explanation of method as in either the Epistola de incarnatione verbi dei or the Cur Deus homo. The closest comparison would be to the three treatises on truth, freedom of will and the fall of the devil, De veritate, De libertate arbitrii, and De casu Diaboli, where the prefatory remarks are organisational. Even here, however, much about Anselm’s intended audience is revealed. He notes that the three treatises were written in dialogue and, unlike the earlier De grammatico, pertain to the study of Scripture. The presumption of unnamed individuals in copying the texts before they were completed and in the wrong order led Anselm to insist on the order in which they were conceived and implies an active and engaged audience.9 This fits the general consensus of texts written in the context of monastic education, in

8 M and P, Prefaces. All quotations from Anselm of Canterbury are taken from his Opera omnia, ed. Schmitt, with English translations of treatises from Anselm of Canterbury, trans. J. Hopkins and H. Richardson, 4 vols. (New York: Mellen Press, 1976) also indicated by work and book/ chapter division as appropriate. English translations of the letters follow Niskanen or, with emendation, The Letters of Anselm of Canterbury, trans. W. Fröhlich, 3 vols. (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1990–94) as appropriate. The following abbreviations are used: M = Monologion; P = Proslogion; DV = De veritate; DCD = De casu Diaboli; DLA = De libertate arbitrii; EDIVD = Epistola de Incarnatione Verbi Dei; CDH = Cur Deus homo; DCV = De conceptu virgin­ ali; DPSS = De processione Spiritus Sancti; DC = De concordia; and Ep/Epp = Letter/Letters. 9 Anselm, Preface [to the Three Dialogues DV, DLA, and DCD].

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this case at Le Bec. Matters are otherwise, however, with Anselm’s final treatise: for whom he was writing is a good question. Within the treatise Anselm refers to a number of his own works by name. This is not unusual in his canon: the Monologion, for example, is quoted in the opening of De veritate. However, De concordia is closely and obviously bound with the De veritate group of treatises. The definitions of justice and freedom, and the association of good with justice and evil with injustice all derive from De veritate, De casu Diaboli, and De libertate arbitrii, with the De conceptu vir­ ginali also connected by name with the definition of justice and injustice.10 That De concordia in a sense completes the questions set up by the De veritate group is indicated in the ending of an earlier recension of De libertate arbitrii: [Student:] But, because foreknowledge, predestination and the grace of God seem to contradict freedom of will, I will be very grateful, if you could make them concordant, not so much by sacred authority, which many have done in a satisfactory fashion, as much as by reason, because I do not recall in reading that it has been done sufficiently. Moreover, I do not lack the authority for this, because I sufficiently know and receive it to the extent it pertains to my question. Master: Both Foreknowledge and Predestination are similarly difficult as the question of Grace.11 De concordia was, then, over twenty years in the making.12 This shows also in the silent use of other of Anselm’s works. Earlier discussion of the place of scripture within rational discussion raised in the Monologion, Proslogion and the Cur Deus homo are revisited and summarised: ‘Sacred Scripture—in that it either clearly affirms them or else does not at all deny them—contains the authority for all rationally derived truths’.13 Discussion of time, eternity 10 11

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Anselm, DC, I.6 (DV and DLA); DC, I.7 (DCD and DCV); DC, III.4 (DLA); DC, III.12 (DV). Anselm, DLA, Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 226: ‘Sed quoniam libero arbitrio praescientia et praedestinatio et gratia dei videntur repugnare, gratissimum mihi erit, si eas illi non tam auctoritate sacra, quod a multis satis factum est, quam ratione, quod sufficienter factum nondum me memini legisse, concordare facias. Auctoritate vero ad hoc non indigeo, quia illam quantum ad hoc quod quaero pertinet, sufficienter novi et suscipio. M. De praescientia et praedestinatione similis et pariter difficilior quam de gratia quaestio est’. See VA, p. 140, n. 3, and remarks by the translator and commentator in Thomas D’Aquin, De la verité Question 2 (La science en Dieu), intro, trad. et commentaire de Serge-Thomas Bonino OP (Editions Universitaires: Fribourg Suisse, 1996), pp. 24–5. DC III.6: ‘Sic itaque sacra scriptura omnis veritatis quam ratio colligit auctoritatem continet, cum illam aut aperte affirmat aut nullatenus negat’.

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and God’s immutable, dynamic present echoes a similar discussion in the Monologion.14 The question of how to think about the created order is explored towards the end of the treatise through the matrix of the Cur Deus homo which also lies behind an early discussion of necessity and sin, and the summary of the relationship between God and man.15 De veritate is also the source of a longer disquisition on the senses.16 De concordia is, then, in no sense a retraction of Anselm’s earlier positions, it is, rather, in continuity with and a development of his previous work. Moreover, it conforms to a pattern common to his treatises of an outworking of ideas as an individual and in the context of community. 4

Patristic Structures

If Anselm’s own experience and writings form one layer of De concordia, two others play a dominant role in the structure of the piece: patristic authority, principally Augustine, and a chain of biblical quotation. Although never quoted directly, allusion to or comparison with passages from at least sixteen treatises, letters, and sermons by Augustine can be identified within Anselm’s text.17 In what form Anselm might have accessed these works is not certain, but it is worth noting in this context that in the years immediately preceding the composition Anselm had been resident at Cluny and Le Bec, which would have been sufficient by the first years of the twelfth century to supply Anselm with these sources.18 The comparisons to Augustine are evenly distributed across De concordia, present in every chapter apart from a handful.19 Distribution is dictated by relevance to the subject under discussion: Book I features De civitate Dei and De libero arbitrio most strongly, Book II the Tractatus in Iohanem, and Book III the De gratia et libero arbitrio and Contra duas epistolas Pelagianorum. 14 15 16 17

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Anselm, DC, I.5; M, 20–4. Anselm, DC, I.11, III.9. Anselm, DC, III.11. These are identified in Schmitt’s edition of the De concordia and comprise: De civitate Dei; Tractatus in Iohanem; De trinitate; De diversis quaestionibus; De dono perseverantiae; De gratia et libero arbitrio; Sermo CLXV; Epistola CXLIII; Contra duas epistolas Pel.; Sermo CLV; De nuptiis et concupiscientia; Retractiones; Enchiridion; De peccatorum meritis; Sermo CLXXVI. See Laura Cleaver, ‘The Monastic Library at Le Bec’ in Benjamin Pohl and Laura Gathagan, eds, A Companion to the Abbey of Le Bec in the Central Middle Ages (Leiden: Brill, 2018), pp. 171–205; Veronika von Büren, ‘Le grand catalogue de la bibliothèque de Cluny’ in Le gouvernement d’Hugues de Semur à Cluny (Cluny: Musée Ochier, 1990), pp. 245–63. Augustine’s writings are not present in DC, I.3 and 6; II.1; III.1, 10–2, and 14–5.

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Given the subjects at issue it is no especial surprise to find areas of similarity, or that Anselm should have had recourse to the elements of the Augustinian canon as identified. The comparisons reveal the extent to which Anselm’s questions, and his answers, overlap with Augustine’s. To take De concordia Book I, on foreknowledge, is to reveal several examples. First, in terms of form. Augustine’s De libero arbitrio is structured in the form of a dialogue between himself and Evodius; Anselm maintains his dialogue form until chapter four, which is the last point in the book at which comparison with the Augustinian text is identifiable. Closer comparisons of argument between Augustine and Anselm, include the latter’s discussion in chapter 1 of the notion of necessity and sin, for which the former’s De libero arbitrio III.3–4 is an obvious support. The two authors argue the point in different ways that yet touch each other. In more detail, Augustine, at this point in his work, broaches the issue of how it is possible to say without contradiction that ‘God has foreknowledge of all future events, and that we sin freely and not of necessity’.20 He uses the example of human happiness and God’s foresight, before moving to discussion of the fact that to foresee sin is not to cause it, ending with a reminder to praise creation, all of it, from the stars to the hairs on a human head, since God did not compel humans to sin, even though he created them.21 Anselm, by contrast, pursues the issue grammatically and logically, and with a distinction between God’s dynamic present and the temporal constraints for humanity. He ends with an astronomical analogy of the sun moving from west to east in relation to the heavens, and from east to west in relation to the earth for the notion that an event can occur from necessity and that is it compelled to be going to occur by no other necessity except that of free will.22 The unity of the heavens and the earth within a broader cosmology, if not in Augustine’s case quite to the detail of astronomy shown in Anselm, is common to both authors. The consistency between God’s foreknowledge and human freedom of choice invokes other parallels between Anselm and Augustine. De civitate Dei Book V, chapter 10, in discussion of human will and necessity, defines the latter as ‘that according to which we say that it is necessary that anything be of such

20

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Augustine, De libero arbitrio, III.3, ed. W. M. Green, CCSL 29 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1970): ‘quo modo non sint contraria et repugnantia, ut et deus praescius sit omnium futurorum et nos non necessitate, sed uoluntate peccemus’. English Translation from St Augustine, The Problem of Free Choice, trans. Dom Mark Pontifex (London: Longmans, Green and Co., 1955), p. 144. Augustine, De libero arbitrio, III.3–5. Anselm, DC, I.4.

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or such a nature, or be done in such or such a manner’.23 This and the ensuing analysis of human will are mirrored in the concerns of Anselm in De concordia I.2. A further example emerges from Augustine’s exposition of John’s Gospel, on the issue again of sin, God’s foreknowledge of sin and of necessity. Anselm in his treatise asks: But you will say to me: ‘You still do not remove from me the necessity of sinning or the necessity of not sinning. For God foreknows that I am going to sin or foreknows that I am not going to sin. And so, if I sin, it is necessary that I sin; or if I do not sin, it is necessary that I do not sin’. To this claim I reply: You ought to say not merely ‘God foreknows that I am going to sin’ or ‘God foreknows that I am not going to sin’ but ‘God foreknows that it is without necessity that I am going to sin’ or ‘God foreknows that it is without necessity that I am not going to sin’.24 God, according to Anselm, will have the foreknowledge of what will occur, without necessity whether sin is committed or not. For Augustine the issue arises in a question about why the Jews did not believe in Jesus, and in so doing appeared to fulfil Isaiah’s prophecy (53:1): ‘who has believed our report and to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed’. To those puzzled by this seeming necessity for the Jews not to recognise Christ as divine, Augustine responded, shifting the ground of debate to foreknowledge: To whom our answer is, that the Lord, in His foreknowledge of the future, foretold by the prophet the unbelief of the Jews; He foretold it, but did not cause it. For God does not compel any one to sin simply because He knows already the future sins of men. For He foreknew sins that were theirs, not His own; sins that were referable to no one else, but to their own selves. Accordingly, if what He foreknew as theirs is not really theirs, then had He no true foreknowledge: but as His foreknowledge is infallible, it is doubtless no one else, but they themselves, whose sinfulness God foreknew, that are the sinners. The Jews, therefore, committed sin, 23

24

Augustine, De civitate Dei, V.10, ed. B. Dombart and A. Kalb, CCSL 47 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1955): ‘… secundum quam dicimus necesse esse ut ita sit aliquid uel ita fiat …’. English Translation from Augustine, The City of God, trans. Marcus Dods, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, vol. II (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1979), p. 92. Anselm, DC, I.1: ‘Sed dices mihi: Non removes tamen a me necessitatem peccandi vel non peccandi, quoniam deus praescit me peccaturum vel non peccaturum, et ideo necesse est me peccare si pecco, vel non peccare si non pecco. Ad quod ego: Non debes dicere: praescit deus me peccaturum tantum vel non peccaturum’.

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with no compulsion to do so on His part, to whom sin is an object of displeasure; but He foretold their committing of it, because nothing is concealed from His knowledge. And accordingly, had they wished to do good instead of evil, they would not have been hindered; but in this which they were to do they were foreseen of Him who knows what every man will do, and what He is yet to render unto such an one according to his work.25 The same point is made here as by Anselm, though in an exegetical rather than philosophical mode. Augustine’s exegetical engagement with the issue of divine foreknowledge highlights a crucial element to the structure of Anselm’s De concordia. If Anselm and Augustine’s works provide the definitional drive for De concordia both relate to a more complex core, namely the biblical verses that dominate the treatise. A particular reason for this biblical focus is highlighted by Anselm at the beginning of the discussion of grace, in Book III: Therefore, since we find in Sacred Scripture certain passages which seem to favour grace alone and certain passages which are believed to establish free choice alone, apart from grace: there have been certain arrogant individuals [superbi] who have thought that the whole efficacy of the virtues depends only upon freedom of choice; and in our day there are many who have completely given up on the idea that there is any freedom of choice. Therefore, in regard to this dispute, my intention will be to show that free choice co-exists with grace and cooperates with it in many respects—just as we found it to be compatible with foreknowledge and with predestination.26 25

26

Augustine, Tractatus in Iohanem, Tract. 53.4, ed. R. Willems, CCSL, 36 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1954): ‘quibus respondemus: dominum praescium futurorum, per prophetam praedixisse infidelitatem iudaeorum; praedixisse tamen, non fecisse. non enim propterea quemquam deus ad peccandum cogit, quia futura hominum peccata iam nouit. ipsorum enim praesciuit peccata, non sua; non cuiusquam alterius, sed ipsorum. quapropter si ea quae ille praesciuit ipsorum, non sunt ipsorum, non uere ille praesciuit; sed quia illius praescientia falli non potest, sine dubio non alius, sed ipsi peccant, quos deus peccaturos esse praesciuit. fecerunt ergo peccatum iudaei, quod eos non compulit facere, cui peccatum non placet; sed facturos esse praedixit, quem nihil latet. et ideo si non malum, sed bonum facere uoluissent, non prohiberentur; et hoc facturi praeuiderentur ab eo qui nouit quid sit quisque facturus, et quid ei sit pro eius opere redditurus’. English Translation from St Augustine, Homilies on the Gospel of John, trans. James Innes, Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, First Series, vol. 7 (Edinburgh: T&T Clark, 1888), p. Anselm, DC, III.1: ‘Quoniam ergo in sacra scriptura quaedam invenimus quae soli gratiae favere videntur, et quaedam quae solum liberum arbitrium statuere sine gratia putantur:

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Augustine’s De gratia et libero arbitrio, composed for the monastic community of Adrumentum in Roman Africa, deals with the same issue, and the same superbi, in its opening chapters.27 In De gratia et libero arbitrio the superbi, emphasising the capacity of human free will over grace, are perhaps best identified as Pelagians, an identification Anselm probably found in Augustine’s Duas epistolas contra Pelagagorum, which is referenced a little later on in De concordia. Augustine points out that the Pelagians, ‘These proud and haughty people will not have this [grace]; and yet they do not maintain free will by purifying, but demolish it by exaggerating it’.28 Who Anselm’s contemporaries were who had given up on the idea of free choice is more difficult to identify. The description does not seem to indicate anything as serious as heresy, and the reference to ‘many’ (multi) implies a widespread anxiety, at least within Anselm’s circles of acquaintance. It is clear, however, that he meant contemporaries. He did not use the phrase ‘in our day’ (nostro tempore) often, but it featured in letters he wrote as Archbishop of Canterbury to Wulfstan, bishop of Worcester, 1094, to Pope Paschal in around 1101, and to the recently crowned King Baldwin of Jerusalem, in about 1102, all referring to the immediate present.29 5

The Biblical Map

Whoever Anselm meant with respect to a rejection of freedom of choice, it is certainly the case that biblical interpretation lies at the heart of De concordia. Structurally the bulk of the quotation is to be found in Book III, with heavy concentration in chapters 1, 3, 6, 7, 8, and 12, which focus on grace and free will, uprightness of will, obedience, sin, justice, original sin and baptism, the inclinations of will and the implications for merit and salvation. Within this concentration a wide range of biblical books are represented: Isaiah, Psalms 33, 77, 84, 93, Wisdom, and the Gospels of John, Matthew, Luke, 1 Corinthians,

27 28

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fuerunt quidam superbi qui totam virtutum efficaciam in sola arbitrii libertate consistere sunt arbitrati; et sunt nostro tempore multi qui liberum arbitrium aliquid esse penitus desperant. In hac itaque quaestione haec erit nostra intentio, ut liberum arbitrium simul esse cum gratia et cum ea operari in multis monstremus, sicut illud cum praescientia atque praedestinatione concordare repperimus’. Augustine, De gratia et libero arbitrio, 1–4. Augustine Duas epistolas contra Pelag., I.8 [iv]: ‘hoc isti nolunt elati et superbi nec purgando defensores, sed extollendo praecipitatores liberi arbitrii’. This bears comparison to Anselm’s statement quoted above, n. 16, ‘fuerunt quidam superbi qui totam virtutem efficaciam in sola arbitrii libertate consisterer sunt arbitrate’. See also, Michael Frede and Halszka Osmolska, A Free Will: Origins of the Notion in Ancient Thought (2011). Anselm, Ep. 170, 214, 235.

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2 Corinthians, Romans, Hebrews, Galatians. Amongst this selection it is, unsurprisingly, Paul with whom Anselm dwells most, moving principally between Romans, 1 Corinthians, and the Gospel of John. 6

De concordia Books I and II

Romans also frames discussion in Books I and II. Biblical quotation commences in Book 1, chapter 5, with Job 14:5 ‘The days of man are short, and the number of his months is with you: you have appointed his bounds which cannot be passed’.30 This is entirely appropriate to the contents and tenor of Anselm’s treatise, and, alongside Romans 8:28–29, have a controlling role for the discussion of Book I. Anselm points out in both cases that what scripture points to is the distinction between what God orders with respect to himself and with respect to man, the former is immutable and the latter changeable. The latter does nothing to contradict the former. The quotations from Romans are essential to the contents of Book I and also Book II at the beginning of which they are repeated. Here, Paul describes those called to be saints as God intended, and here Anselm finds the fundamental issues at stake: those whom God calls to be saints he foreknows as such, and they are predestined, justified, and glorified; this encapsulates the questions about God’s foreknowledge, predestination and grace that Anselm highlights in the title to the treatise. Sections quoted directly are indicated in italics. 28

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Scimus autem quoniam diligentibus Deum omnia cooperantur in bonum, iis qui secundum proposi­ tum vocati sunt sancti.  Nam quos praescivit, et praedestinavit conformes fieri imaginis Filii sui, ut sit ipse primo­ genitus in multis fratribus.  Quos autem praedestinavit, hos et vocavit: et quos vocavit, hos et justificavit: quos autem justificavit, illos et glorificavit [magnificavit].

And we know that to them that love God, all things work together unto good, to such as, according to his pur­ pose, are called to be saints. For whom he foreknew, he also pre­ destinated to be made conformable to the image of his Son; that he might be the firstborn amongst many brethren. And whom he predestinated, them he also called. And whom he called, them he also justified. And whom he justified, them he also glorified.

Anselm begins Cur Deus homo with a reminder of the same verse: CDH, Commendation.

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Anselm’s principal point at this juncture is to demonstrate that freedom of choice or will is not inconsistent with divine foreknowledge. In this sense he is keen to underline that Paul meant this with respect to eternity, ‘in which there is no past or future but is only a present’. His words were not meant, and are not to be taken, in their temporal sense. Anselm’s quotation from Romans come from a more extended passage (8:18–30) on suffering. As Hultgren exposits, the contrast drawn here by Paul is between the pain experienced by believers in the present and the hope of redemption in a cosmic context. Emphasis is place on the reassurance that the divine plan is worked out for believers; their trust is key.31 Verses 28–29 reinforce Paul’s understanding of ‘an electing God whose purposes humanity cannot know’. Something more than election is referred to however, with the weight placed on predestination and foreknowledge. In the case of the former Paul’s meaning is not so much that of individuals but of the body of believers as a whole. In the case of the latter, foreknowledge is connected to glory and the notion that God, by grace, knows those people that he would predestine. A deeper and broader connection to creation and the church is at play also. ‘Election’, as Hultgren puts it, ‘is for something greater than the privilege of the elect. It is in large part for the creation of a people of witness’.32 The role of the elect is to conform to the image of the Son. The powerful Christological message is here accompanied by an equally powerful ecclesiology. Without the praise and glory of the people, there would be no declaration to the world of the risen Christ. The movement from suffering to redemption that Paul makes provides an important underlying structure to De concordia, both for Books I and II, and for the treatise as a whole. The sympathy of Paul’s position to Anselm as monk, and as a Christian thinker whose Christology, not least in Cur Deus homo, was detailed and sophisticated, is clear. It follows Augustine. In response to the same verse, Augustine also emphasised the suffering of the human condition observing in on On Grace and Free Will, that this is to what ‘all things’ refers, and the aid that is required of God in this case. Augustine made the link to Matthew 11:30 and the burden, too heavy for humankind, that becomes light when carried by love. A similar movement is made by Anselm in Book III of De concordia. 31 32

Arland J. Hultgren, Paul’s Letter to the Romans: A Commentary (Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 2011), pp. 319–29. Hultgren, Romans, pp. 328–9.

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De concordia Book III

Anselm’s discussion in Book III invokes far more biblical verses, partly as noted above because of the complexities in interpretation required concerning grace and free will. Nevertheless it is Paul’s Letter to the Romans which forms a central thread across the book. Romans 9:16 and 18 underpin chapters 1 (co-existence of free will with grace), 3 (uprightness of will and grace), 5 (co-operation of grace and free will in salvation) and 8 (baptism). 16

Igitur non volentis, neque cur­ rentis, sed miserentis est Dei.

18

 Ergo cujus vult miseretur, et quem vult indurat.

So then it is not of him that willeth, nor of him that runneth, but of God that sheweth mercy. Therefore he hath mercy on whom he will; and whom he will, he hardeneth.

To this is added Romans 11:35 in Chapter 3: Aut quis prior dedit illi, et retribuetur ei?.

Or who hath first given to him, and recompense shall be made him?

Anselm then moves on to Romans 10:13–15 and 17, on which the discussion of Book 3, Chapter 6 is based, re-affirming the grace provided by the Lord, but also recognising the problems involved unless Jesus is acknowledged as Saviour. 13 14

15

Omnis enim quicumque invoca­ verit nomen Domini, salvus erit.  Quomodo ergo invocabunt, in quem non crediderunt? Aut quomodo credent ei, quem non audierunt? Quomodo autem audient sine praedicante?.  Quomodo vero praedicabunt nisi mittantur? Sicut scriptum est: Quam speciosi pedes evangelizantium pacem, evangelizantium bona!.

For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord, shall be saved. How then shall they call on him, in whom they have not believed? Or how shall they believe him, of whom they have not heard? And how shall they hear, without a preacher? And how shall they preach unless they be sent, as it is written: How beautiful are the feet of them that preach the gospel of peace, of them that bring glad tidings of good things!

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Finally, Book 3, Chapter 7, is anchored in Romans 7:7, 7:15 and 8:1. Where 8:1 enshrines the notion that ‘those who do not walk with the flesh are not condemned’, 7:7 and 7:15, provide the transformation of the law as a framework. The law is certainly not sin, but sin is known only through the law, through that which it prohibits. The paradox of the fallen human condition is voiced in 7:15: Quod enim operor, non intelligo: non enim quod volo bonum, hoc ago: sed quod odi malum, illud facio.

For that which I work, I understand not. For I do not that good which I will; but the evil which I hate, that I do.

Christ’s atonement releases humanity from the law and the guilt of sin, but the inclination towards sinful behaviour is ever-present. The need for grace, therefore, is obvious. Romans 9–11 provides an extended and continuous analysis of the place of Israel in God’s plan in the light of Christ.33 Hultgren identifies three key elements to the Pauline construction here, first that this section immediately follows the great exclamation of 8:39: nothing can separate Christians from the love of Christ, neither angels nor death, things that have been or things nor to come, nor height, depth, or any other creature. What follows then takes up the issues that arise for non-Christians and a sustained engagement with the Jews, mostly with Paul seeking to stress their common ground with the Christian community. For Anselm, the point of concern is the relationship between freedom of choice and grace; his intention is to show that the former coheres with the latter as much as was shown to be the case with foreknowledge and predestination. In other words, Anselm moves the discussion to the larger and more urgent question of salvation. What is at stake in the interpretation of the biblical verses adduced is the freedom of choice through which humans merit salvation. This pertains only to adults, not to baptised infants; Anselm notes that with respect to the latter the harmony sought between this and grace does not apply because they are unable to exercise freedom of choice.34 Around this Pauline framework Anselm presents in Book III, chapter 1, the other verses which seem to imply a singular focus on grace (John 15:5, John 6:44, 1 Corinthians 4:7) and on freedom of will (Isaiah 1:19, Psalms 33:13–15 (34:12–14), and Matthew 11:28–29). Chapter 2 on the importance of justice in

33 34

Hultgren, Romans, chapter 5, pp. 347ff. Anselm, DC, III.2. Anselm’s position that unbaptised infants are not saved is also worth recalling here: DCV, c.28.

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the operation of salvation seeks support in Wisdom 5:16 and Psalm 93:14–15. Chapter 3, which rounds off the reliance on Romans 9 with Anselm positing the primacy of grace repeats 1 Corinthians 4:7 and adds Romans 11:35 and John 1:16. The harmony of freedom of choice and grace is emphasised through scriptural exegesis in Chapter 5. Here, Anselm notes that when scripture appears to favour one it does not do so to the exclusion of the other. John 15:5 ‘I am the vine: you the branches: he that abideth in me, and I in him, the same beareth much fruit: [for without me you can do nothing]’, and Romans 9:16 ‘It is not of him who wills or of him who runs but is of God, who shows mercy’, are re-evaluated in light of this observation. The passage from John is to be understood as indicating that free choice is to no purpose without grace; that from Romans the fact that one who runs is to be credited to grace rather than free choice. As De concordia develops its arguments, Anselm’s citation of Romans takes a similar form, accompanied with additional Pauline material, and other biblical material. In Book III.6 scriptural passages are cited that appear to invite free choice to right-willing and right-working, which, as Anselm points out, is bestowed by grace. Around Romans 10:13–15 and 17 on the law finding its end in Christ, an analogy is drawn to the farmer and God’s power in the growing of plants to the word of God, which provides the seed of willing rightly. 1 Corinthians 3:9 and then 7 are offered here: ‘you are God’s husbandry’, ‘Therefore, neither he that plants is any thing, nor he that waters; but God that gives the increase’. The development of the analogy includes an important statement on the status and use of scripture, the fulfilment of Anselm’s earlier statements in the Monologion on scriptural authority and Cur Deus homo on the biblical invitation to rational investigation.35 As Anselm summarises: ‘Sacred Scripture—in that it either clearly affirms them or else does not at all deny them—contains the authority for all rationally derived truths’.36 The analogy is completed with examples of how the word is the seed from Isaiah 45:22 ‘Be converted to me’, Psalm 84:5 ‘Convert us, O God’, and Luke 17:5 ‘Increase our Faith’. In all people the word is a seed ungerminated seed unless God turns an individual’s will to willing the conversion. The wider context of the quotations confirms both the Christological exegesis and the connection to creation. Here, Isaiah returns to the prophecy of Cyrus, a type of Christ, alongside creation theology, Psalm 84 points towards the coming of Christ amidst images of the fruitful earth, and the gospel invocation is Christ teaching his disciples before Palm Sunday, leading up to the parable of the mustard seed and the mulberry bush. 35 36

Anselm, M, preface. Anselm, DC, III.6: ‘Sic itaque sacra scriptura omnis veritatis quam ratio colligit auctoritatem continet, cum illam aut aperte affirmat aut nullatenus negat’.

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Sin, its consequences for the human condition from damnation to salvation and its operations in the context of will occupy Anselm for the rest of the treatise. Book III chapter 7 deals with the issues of how those who do not accept the word of God are blamed for this, even though they cannot do so unless grace directs their wills, starting with John 16:8–9 on the Holy Spirit who will accuse the world of sin on account of unbelief. The issue of original sin is central to Anselm’s arguments here, exemplified through the case of infants, and the notion that an inability to have and understand justice is still reckoned as sin. Scriptural identification of the sinful animal appetites to which disfigured human nature is subject is then cited with Matthew 5:22 on anger, together with Romans 7:15 and 8:1 on the lusts of the flesh. Baptism is discussed in the following chapter, and the terrifying aspect of fallen humanity, that even after baptism, which releases the baptised from the consequences of the original injustice, the temptation to sin persists. Post-baptismal infraction against right will and order require grace. This scheme is mapped through Psalm 77:39 (the unsteadiness of man as the ‘wind which goes out and does not return’), and John 15:18 and 2 Corinthians 2:15–16 supporting Romans 9:18 on the necessity of God’s mercy in the context of continuing sin. Hebrews 11:39–40 ‘And all of these, approved by the witness of their faith, did not receive the promise, since God is providing something better for us, so that they are not made complete without us’, gives the spur to Anselm’s next question on the nature of sin after baptism. The penalty remains even if the original sin is redeemed at baptism; redeemed humanity does not acquire the happiness Adam had in paradise, but that which he would have had in the heavenly city. The completion of the heavenly city by men echoes Anselm’s position in Cur Deus homo, and emphasises once more the temporal nature of human existence, and, in so doing, the importance of merit for salvation.37 A final biblically grounded discussion takes place in Book III.12 on the fact that merit, whether good or evil, derives from two inclinations, or wills. These are the will for willing what is beneficial and the will for willing what is upright and just. How the merits of an individual proceed from these two wills is organized around Romans 7:22, and the notion that uprightness and justice favour the spirit over the flesh. Testimony from 2 Corinthians 2:15–16 and Galatians 5:17 deepens the analysis; if sometimes evil seems to follow from uprightness, it is not to be attributed to uprightness itself but something else. When Paul describes the disciples as having ‘the odour of death unto death’ (2 Corinthians 2:16) this is the result of others, not from their own justice. The 37

Anselm, CDH, I.16–8.

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will to will what is beneficial is not in and of itself evil; it is so only when it takes the side of the flesh against the spirit. At this point Anselm’s biblical comparisons cease and the final two chapters finish with a more philosophical discussion of will and justice and why the will is so susceptible to corruption. In this sense the end of the treatise mirrors its beginning, rational arguments fixed around a biblical core, leaving no doubt as to the source from which reason is derived or the rational nature of scripture. It is, in this sense, coherent with Anselm’s own statement on how scripture is to be used as developed in the middle of Book III. The same applies to the interweaving into the philosophical and biblical reasoning of the consistent thread of Augustinian commentary. The centrality of the bible to De concordia is clear. 8

Circumstances of Composition and Community

To return to the context of the treatise, Eadmer does not indicate how long Anselm spent composing and writing the De concordia although, as noted above, he stressed the interruptions caused by illness. Quite what the force of Eadmer’s observation that the interruptions were contrary to Anselm’s normal practice should be is intriguing. Composition at different locations was an experience which was common for Anselm as Archbishop of Canterbury, reflective of both the role and its responsibilities and the individual circumstances in which he found himself, for example, the two long periods of exile from England (1097–1100 and 1103–6). Cur Deus homo was finished in 1098 at the abbey of Telese, whose Abbot, John, was previously a monk of Bec. De conceptu virginali was completed at Cluny or Lyons c.1099. While the illness Anselm experienced in the writing of De concordia might offer a distinctive difference to the working practice, it can also be noted that though previous works were written in multiple locations these were for extended periods of time, and in places where Anselm was well-known and well-supported. The themes explored in De concordia occupied Anselm in other writing at or around the same period. This is particularly the case in a letter he wrote to the widow Basilia, who had lived at Bec since the early 1070s, and with whom Anselm had maintained correspondence. Anselm advises his addressee that Scripture, if explained, will teach her how to live, and offers the following thought: Let there always be before the eyes of your mind the fact that this life has an end and that no one knows when the last day, which he is constantly approaching day and night, will come. This life is a journey. For

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as long as man lives, he is always moving. He is always either ascending or descending. Either he is ascending towards heaven or descending to hell. Whenever he does any good deed, he makes one step up, and when he sins in any way, he makes one step down. This ascent or descent is perceived by each soul when it leaves the body. Whoever strives diligently while living here to climb by good conduct and good deeds will be placed in heaven with the holy angels; and whoever descends through bad conduct and bad deeds will be buried in hell with the fallen angels.38 The concerns of De concordia are evident in the letter: even after baptism the temptations of the world are numerous, and the ultimate end for human existence is salvation or damnation. Merit is given its due in this context, and Anselm goes on to warn Basilia that she should think carefully over all her desires and actions and whether they will aid ascent to heaven or descent to hell. She should, he enjoins, ‘draw back from every sin, great or small, and engage in holy deeds’.39 Grace is implied in this context, as De concordia shows. For whom Anselm was writing in his last treatise is a more open question than for earlier works. The letter to Basilia indicates a wider pastoral concern and a connection back to his original monastic house at Le Bec. The identification of contemporaries within the text who have given up on freedom of choice is echoed at other points in Book III of the treatise. Earlier in the first chapter Anselm notes that: … many people profess to prove by experience that a man is not at all supported by any free choice. For they feel that countless individuals put forth an enormous effort of mind and body. But because these individuals are burdened by some obstacle—indeed, by some impossibility— they either make no headway, or else after having made much headway, they suddenly and irretrievably fail.40 38

39 40

Anselm, Ep. 420, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 365–6: ‘Semper sit ante oculos mentis vestrae quia vita praesens finem habet, et nescit homo quando ultima dies, ad quam indesinenter die ac nocte propinquat, adveniat. Vita praesens via est. Nam quamdiu vivit homo, non facit nisi ire. Semper enim aut ascendit aut descendit. Aut ascendit in caelum, aut descendit in infernum. Cum facit aliquod bonum opus, facit unum passum ascendendo, cum vero aliquo modo peccat, facit unum passum descendendo. Iste ascensus vel descensus tunc cognoscitur ab unaquaque anima, quando exit de corpore. Qui sollicite studet, dum hic vivit, bonis moribus et bonis operibus ascendere, in caelo collocabitur cum sanctis angelis; et qui malis moribus et malis operibus descendit, in inferno sepelietur cum perditis angelis’. Anselm, Ep. 420: ‘ab omni peccato magno vel parvo vos retrahatis’. Anselm, DC, III.1: ‘Multa quoque alia leguntur quae soli gratiae sine libero arbitrio bona nostra opera et salutem nostram videntur attribuere. Plures etiam asserunt experimento

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This is repeated later in chapter 10, where Anselm points out that what is described as impossible is nothing more than the failure of the will to keep uprightness of will. Who these individuals were, or whether they existed at all, is difficult to say. The structure of the treatise also gives some suggestions about its audience. The references to Anselm’s works might indicate that he expected them to be available and familiar. The community of Christ Church, Canterbury, in which he died, might be presumed to be the most likely audience, but the appeal to the treatises that emerged from Le Bec, notably De libertate arbitrii, and the close relations he maintained with Bec and its denizens, not least in this context Basilia, means that they should not be excluded. Indeed, ascertaining the character of Anselm’s relationship with the Canterbury community is not entirely straightforward. Whereas for the treatises from Bec it is easy to point to an intimate atmosphere of composition, if not uncontested in the case of the Proslogion, there is less immediate connection with Canterbury. As Archbishop, Anselm moved within diverse communities and held broader responsibilities: to Christ Church and his monks, certainly, but also to his diocese, province, and church, to the people of England and, it would appear, Ireland, Wales, Scotland and the adjacent isles. His frequent absences from England, his role as archbishop-abbot with the greater emphasis placed on the Prior of Canterbury as the effective head of the community, might lead to an impression of a cooler relationship than with his monks of Bec. While it is true that Anselm’s letter collection indicates the depth of his feeling at leaving Bec, and his continued relationship with the community collectively and in individual cases, these grow fewer in subsequent years, though this also reflects the nature of the archiepiscopal letters, with their greater focus on legal, administrative, and political concerns. Emotional attachment of a similar fervour to the Canterbury monks is less apparent, but that this is also affected by the tenor of the archiepiscopal collection as well as the change in pastoral circumstance, should be taken into consideration. A series of letters on monastic discipline and devotion are addressed to Priors Henry and Ernulf and the rest of the community throughout Anselm’s archiepiscopate. It should not be forgotten that Anselm initiated a significant re-building programme at Canterbury, and, from his letters, was generous to the monastic community from his archiepiscopal revenue.41 Moreover, it was to the Canterbury

41

se probare quod homo nequaquam ullo libero fulciatur arbitrio: quoniam multos absque numero immenso mentis et corporis conatu niti sentiunt, qui quadam difficultate immo impossibilitate aggravati nihil proficiunt, aut post magnum profectum repente irreparabiliter deficient’. Anselm, Epp. 289, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, pp. 208–9 (to Prior Ernulf and the monks of Canterbury; Robert is ordered to apportion wine sent to Canterbury amongst the community as

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community in the main that Anselm turned for the compilation and copying of his works. There is some evidence that Anselm initiated a process of collecting his works in the last decade of his life, from the late 1090s to his death in 1109. In about 1100 he wrote to inform Boso that Eadmer was copying the Cur Deus homo for Bec.42 About two years later correspondence with Hildebert of Le Mans involved Anselm sending him a copy of the De processione Spiritus Sancti recently composed in its extended written form, but also, probably the De ver­ itate and the Cur Deus homo as well.43 1104 saw the dispatch of a complete set of prayers to Matilda of Tuscany, and a letter to Thidricus, monk of Canterbury asking him to add a verse from Romans to the De conceptu virginali.44 In the following year Anselm asked the Canterbury community to have ‘the books Cur Deus homo and De conceptu virginali written out for me in one volume because I wish to send them to the lord Pope. I also ask that whoever copies them should be one who writes clearly and legibly’.45 Thidricus was reminded at about the same point in time to be consistent in the books he has copied (Anselm’s authorship of which is implied): ‘When you are correcting in the books you have copied, make sure that, if any of them have been copied, it should also be corrected in them’.46 The same letter also provides evidence for Anselm initiating a collection of his own letters, a process which needs now to be seen in the light of Niskanen’s extensive investigations.47 As for Anselm’s treatises the scattered remarks in the letter collection point towards the production of a manuscript such as Bodley 271, the great Canterbury codex of Anselm’s oeuvre, produced between 1107 and 1114.48 The De concordia was

42 43 44 45 46 47 48

Ernulf sees best), and 293, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, pp. 213–4 (to Gundulf, bishop of Rochester, asking Gundulf to persuade the king to stop asking the Cathedral Priory for money since their debts are considerable and they cannot collect even half of the amount Anselm identified for the work begun on the church); see also T. A. Heslop, ‘St Anselm, Church Reform and the Politics of Art’, Anglo-Norman Studies, 33 (2011), pp. 103–26. Anselm, Ep. 209, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, pp. 104–5. Anselm, Ep. 241, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, pp. 149–50. Anselm, Epp. 325 and 334, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 256–7 and 270. Anselm, Ep. 349, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 289: ‘Precor vos ut faciatis mihi scribi librum Cur deus homo et De conceptu virginali in uno volumine, quia volo eos mittere domino papae. Et precor ut talis eos scribat, qui aperte et distincte scribat’. Anselm, Ep. 379, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 323: ‘Quod autem in libris quos scripsisti corrigis: fac ut, si qui ex illis transcripti sunt, in illis quoque corrigatur’. Samu Niskanen, The Letter Collections of Anselm of Canterbury (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011); Letters of Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, vol. 1, The Bec Letters, ed. and trans. Samu Niskanen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), pp. lxviii–clxxiv. Ian Logan, ‘Anselm and Thidricus: Revisiting Bodley 271’ in Giles E. M. Gasper and Helmut Kohlenberger, eds, Anselm and Abelard: Investigations and Juxtapositions (Toronto:

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composed then in the midst of this collective activity at Canterbury with its strong connections to Bec, which may go some way to explain the extent to which the treatise assumes knowledge of Anselm’s corpus. The letter collection offers a larger context also in which to place the treatise and its subjects: grace, free-will, uprightness of will, and the wider theme of salvation. Anselm’s wider range of responsibilities, and the anxiety they caused him are clearly indicated in the collection. The struggles with both William Rufus, and, to a much greater extent, those with Henry, challenged Anselm’s notion of uprightness of will. This was especially in the context of obedience, the struggle to maintain monastic values and to live rightly. Anselm was not alone in finding this a difficult balance as a monk-bishop. He advised Gundulf of Rochester that his response to demands from secular authority in particular should revolve around the duty owed as not only as bishop, but also as monk and Christian. The difficulty of the political circumstances in which Anselm’s archiepiscopacy was played out, and an explanation and defence of his actions, form the motivation for Eadmer’s Historia novorum in Anglia.49 Anselm’s works are not mentioned within the Historia, but it provides for them another valuable context. The period of composition for the De concordia was within the last years of Anselm’s life, from his return to England in 1106 to death in 1109, that occupy the second half of Book IV. This deals with attempts at reform, the relationship between King and Archbishop and, in most detail, the dispute between Anselm, as Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Archbishops of York, Gerard and Thomas and their recognition of Canterbury’s primacy. This for Eadmer invoked Anselm’s jurisdictional privilege over ‘England, Scotland, Ireland, and the adjacent isles’.50 The dispute occupied Anselm until his death. At the same time, during discussion of events in 1108, Eadmer records Henry I’s decision, on the advice of Anselm and other nobles, to reform the kingdom in both secular and spiritual realms. Reform of the coinage and propensities to plunder are held alongside reform of the clergy and support for the bishops in addressing clerical marriage in particular.51

49 50 51

Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2006), pp. 67–86 at p. 78 for the dating. The role of Thidricus in the production of this manuscript assumed by Schmitt, in which he was followed by many others, is not demonstrable. Samuel the scribe is identifiable for at least part of the production. HN, ed. Martin Rule (London: Longman & Co., 1884), Preface, p. 1. HN, Book IV, p. 189: ‘totius Angliae, Scottiae, Hinernae, et adjacentium insularum’. See Giles E. M. Gasper and Svein H. Gullbekk, ‘Money and its use in the thought and experience of Anselm, archbishop of Canterbury (1093–1109)’, Journal of Medieval History 38 (2012), pp. 155–82.

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Order within the kingdom and within the church, then, provide the background to Anselm’s last years. The potential for, and dangers of, disunity, disobedience, and the consequences of these opportunities for temptation and sin are bought to the foreground. Just before his death, Anselm, according to Eadmer, when asked for a response to a letter from the King sent by one of Thomas, Archbishop of York’s messengers, emphasised that he would reply directly to the King. Those taking this message were told to ask the King: … to exercise his authority as a noble and far-seeing prince to ensure that the one undivided Christian Church should not in England be torn and split into two, being, as he could be, quite certain that such a split would in accordance with the saying of the Lord result in its being brought to desolation.52 Regarding the truce suggested by Henry for Thomas, Anselm told the messengers that they were to relay to the King that he: could rest assured that Anselm would rather let his whole body be cut to pieces limb by limb than he would ever for a single hour grant him such truce in dispute in which he knew that Thomas had without any right set himself up in opposition to the long-established decrees of the holy Father and against the will of God.53 Even taking into account Eadmer’s reasons for writing in the Historia that the circumstances of Anselm’s archiepiscopal duties and the struggle for upright behaviour might inform the questions of the De concordia seems plausible. The purpose of the De concordia is at one and the same time straightforward, and more complex. It answers the questions it sets and offers a tautly controlled discussion from an exegetical core, moving to the interplay of dialectic to biblical theology. Although in Anselm’s interrogative rather than meditative mode, it is a treatise that seeks to draw together threads from earlier works. The ending of the De concordia mirrors also that of the Proslogion, less 52

53

HN, Book IV, p. 205: ‘… suae auctoritatis ingenuitate et provisione satageret ne integritas Christianitatis in duo divisa scinderetur in Anglia, certus existens quod scissionem, juxta Domini dictum, desolatio sequeretur’; English translation from Eadmer’s History of Recent Events in England, trans. Geoffrey Bosanquet (London: Cresset Press, 1964), p. 220. HN, Book IV, p. 205: ‘pro certo sciret quia prius pateretur totus membratim dissecari quam de negotio in quo illum contra antiquas sanctorum partum sanctiones se injuste et adversus Deum erexisse sciebat illas vel ad horam aliquando daret’; English translation, Eadmer’s History, p. 220.

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triumphantly, perhaps, than the earlier text, but with a note of hope however tempered and slaked with experience. Anselm ends De concordia, as he did the Proslogion, with an appeal to joy, which, while less urgent is nonetheless stated with a moving depth of feeling: I think that I can now fittingly conclude this treatise which has dealt with three difficult controversies—a treatise which I undertook in the expectation that God would help me. If I have herein said something which ought to suffice any inquirer, I do not impute it to myself, for it is not my [doing] but is [the work of] God’s grace in me. However, I do make the following claim: Had someone given me—when I was asking about these issues and when my mind, perplexed, was seeking in them a rationale— the answers which I have written, I would have been grateful, because he would have satisfied me. Therefore, since what I know about this topic, by God’s revelation, was especially pleasing to me: knowing that it would likewise please certain others if I recorded it, I wanted freely to bestow, on those who are seeking, that which I have freely received.54 With this the question of community is extended and dramatized. Anselm offers in the De concordia a statement of the unfolding, confessional nature of Christian thought which is at one and the same time grounded in, and addressed beyond, the community. Eadmer’s framing of the treatise is an important perspective in which to hold the treatise. From Bec to his more intimate companions in exile, to Canterbury and to the wider groups and individuals on whose behalf Anselm held himself still to speak, the De concordia marks the layering of the different communities he had experienced. These include the Fathers, notably Augustine, and the Bible, in this case especially Saint Paul. All of these play their part in the creation of the treatise, and its interpretation requires all to be considered. Eadmer was precise in his placing of the treatise in the record of Anselm’s life where it serves to shift attention beyond Anselm’s death to the path to salvation, his meritorious deeds, and the activity of grace. 54

DC III.14: ‘Puto me iam congrue posse finem ponere tractatui de tribus difficilibus quaestionibus, quem in spe auxilii dei incepi. In quo si qui dixi quod quaerenti cuilibet sufficere debeat: non mihi imputo, quia non ego, sed gratia dei me cum. Hoc autem dico, quia si quis mihi quaerenti de quaestionibus eisdem, quando in eis mens mea rationem quaerendo fluctuabat, ea quae scripsi respondisset, gratias egissem, quia mihi satisfecisset. Quoniam ergo quod inde manifestante deo cognovi, mihi valde placuit: intelligens quia similiter quibusdam placeret, si hoc scriberem, quod gratis accepi, gratis volui petentibus impendere’.

part 1 Reading Anselm’s Environment: Justice, Evil, and Love

∵

chapter 2

Anselm and Gilbert Crispin about Justice and Redemption Tracing Developments in Soteriological Thinking at the End of the Eleventh Century Bernard J. D. van Vreeswijk Anselm loved his circle of pupils. His love, in this respect, was an expression of his life as a monk in community with others. Believing was not an individual enterprise, but a communal endeavour.1 When Anselm says ‘I believe in order to understand’, this seeking is not understood an individual activity either. Seeking understanding means talking, listening and teaching. A good example is his work Cur Deus homo. The treatise takes the form of a conversation with his pupil Boso. This conversation reflected a common practice, in which Anselm and his pupils disputed theological themes. A dialogue was probably not only a teaching method, but also a way of exploring the truth. Although the role of the pupils would have been above all to ask questions and to put forward objections to what their teacher said, that Anselm learned too from his pupils cannot be excluded.2 In this paper another pupil of Anselm comes to the foreground, Gilbert Crispin. The interaction between Anselm and this pupil will be explored. In particular Gilbert’s thoughts about justice will be compared with those of Anselm. There are several reasons for undertaking this exercise. One of them is that Anselm developed an original approach to the concept of justice in at least two ways. In the first place, he seems to work with a threefold meaning of God’s justice, namely justice as his dealing with good and bad, justice as his dealing as befits the being that than which nothing greater can be thought, and justice as his preserving the rectitude of will for its own sake, which means preserving himself.3 The second aspect connected to justice peculiar to Anselm 1 See for this Southern, Portrait, pp. 138–65 and Ann Collins, Teacher in Faith and Virtue. Lanfranc of Bec’s Commentary on Saint Paul (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 102–3. 2 See, for the role of disputation in the works of Anselm, Alex J. Novikoff, The Medieval Culture of Disputation. Pedagogy, Practice and Performance (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2013), 40–52. 3 See Bernard J. D. van Vreeswijk, ‘Interpreting Anselm’s Thought about Divine Justice: Dealing with Loose Ends’, Scottish Journal of Theology, 69 (2016), pp. 417–31.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004468238_004

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is his vision about what is a just way to solve the problem of sin. To sin, for Anselm, is to dishonour God. God’s honour has to be restored by satisfaction. To get a clearer view of the peculiarity of Anselm’s thought on these two points in the context of his time, the comparison with the views of Gilbert is helpful. Accordingly, the similarities and dissimilarities between the concept of God’s justice in the works of Anselm of Canterbury and of Gilbert Crispin will be explored in what follows. There is, however, a further reason for a comparison between Gilbert with Anselm. It is an opportunity to gain insight onto Gilbert’s views in their own right.4 By highlighting the points at which he differs from Anselm, his own stance becomes clearer. In addition, the question of whether and how his views developed will be addressed. A conceptual approach will be taken here, meaning that the historical circumstances are only discussed when it is important to clarify the differences between Anselm and Gilbert. The primary purpose is to explain the concepts that the two thinkers use, although this is not to deny the importance of the historical context in shedding light on the meaning of a concept. Rather, because of the scope of this paper, Anselm’s and Gilbert’s use of concepts will not be related to how they functioned in their environment, nor will the historical identity of the conversation partners be pursued, in the case of Anselm the infidels and for Gilbert, the Jew and the Gentile.5 Another caveat is required, namely the difference of genres of the works of Anselm and Gilbert which are to be compared. Genre influences the content of the work and therefore adds another area for careful consideration: in a teaching dialogue between a Christian teacher and a Christian pupil the content of the faith will be presented in another way than in an interreligious dialogue between a Christian and a non-Christian. A sermon encouraging people will present its content in a different way to a treatise, the purpose of which is to search for the rationality of the faith. Therefore, different accounts of the content of the faith can be

4 There is some discussion about how Gilbert and Anselm have to be evaluated together with respect to their use of reason. Gilbert is supposed not to succeed in his following of Anselm. See for this discussion and his reply Bernd Goebel, ‘Vernunft und Autorität in den Religionsgesprächen Gilbert Crispins’, Jahrbuch für Religionsphilosophie / Philosophy of Religion Annual, 11 (2012), pp. 29–71. 5 For an introduction of the discussion about who they are and the role they play, in the case of Anselm: David. S. Hogg, ‘Christology: The Cur Deus Homo’, in Francesca A. Murphy, ed., The Oxford Handbook of Christology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2015), pp. 199–214. See in case of Gilbert Crispin Karl W. Wilhelm und Gerhard Wilhelmini, Eds., Gilbert Crispin. Religionsgespräche mit einem Juden und einem Heiden (Freiburg im Bresgau: Verlag Herder, 2005), pp. 16–8, 20–2.

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explained by the different genres used by the authors.6 This does not exclude the possibility, however, that they can also be explained by a development in the thought of a thinker. This paper takes a conceptual approach to identify possible developments, leaving a literary approach for another occasion. 1

Biography

Before starting the conceptual analysis, however, some background biography is important to establish.7 Gilbert Crispin (c.1045–1117/18) became a monk of the monastery of Bec at a very young age. In Bec he lived under the influence of two intellectually gifted individuals, namely Lanfranc and Anselm. Lanfranc and Anselm were close friends, although their intellectual relation was not without tension.8 Anselm succeeded Lanfranc as prior of Bec, when the latter was called to be abbot of a monastery in Caen in 1063, probably leaving the greater part of the responsibility of Gilbert’s intellectual development to Anselm.9 Gilbert himself became a gifted theologian and a teacher at the school of Bec.10 In 1070 Lanfranc was chosen as Archbishop of Canterbury. Gilbert was thereafter called to England to serve Lanfranc (in 1079?) and later 6

7

8 9 10

I am grateful for the remarks of Maria Lissek on this article, especially with regard to the importance of genre for the interpretation of texts. See further Katharina Heyden, ‘Dialogue. V. Christianity’, in Encyclopedia of the Bible and its Reception, vol. 6 (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2012), 736–40 and Maria Lissek, ‘… Unter Anwendung der Vernunft … Zur Funktion der Vernunft im Dialogus des Petrus Alfonsi’, in Markus Enders and Bernd Goebel, Eds., Die Philosophie der monotheistischen Religionen im frühen und hohen Mittelalter (Freiburg im Bresgau: Verlag Herder, 2019), pp. 279–92. See for the biographical notes J. Armitage Robinson, Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster. A Study of the Abbey under Norman Rule (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1911), especially pp. 1–12; The Works of Gilbert Crispin, eds. Anna S. Abulafia and Gillian R. Evans (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), xxi–xxv; Gillian R. Evans, ‘Crispin, Gilbert (c.1045–1117/18)’, Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004), , accessed 10 March 2016; Karl W. Wilhelm und Gerhard Wilhelmin, eds, Gilbert Crispin. Religionsgespräche mit einem Juden und einem Heiden (Freiburg im Bresgau: Verlag Herder, 2005), pp. 10–2; Bernd Goebel, Im Umkreis von Anselm. Biographisch-bibliographisch Porträts von Autoren aus Le Bec und Canterbury (Würzburg: Echter Verlag, 2017), pp. 174–201. For the relation between Lanfranc and Anselm see Southern, Portrait, pp. 59–62 and Collins, Teacher, pp. 192–3. Anna S. Abulafia, ‘The Ars Disputandi of Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster (1085– 1117)’, in Cornelis M. Cappon et al., eds., Ad Fontes. Opstellen aangeboden aan Professor Dr. C. van de Kieft (Amsterdam: Verloren, 1984), pp. 139–52 at p. 139. According to Goebel, Im Umkreis von Anselm, pp. 174–5.

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to be appointed abbot of Westminster (in 1085?) at Lanfranc’s instigation. This office he held until his death. Gilbert’s departure to England meant a separation from Anselm for many years, which was a great loss for Anselm.11 There is direct evidence for the exchange of theological thoughts between them.12 However, there are no sources which contain this exchange or which testify to their opinion about the thought of the other. So, it is not easy to determine the extent to which they agreed over significant aspects of each other’s thought. This is in contrast with the case of the relation of Lanfranc and Anselm where Lanfranc’s criticism of Anselm´s approach by reason alone is known.13 Besides, Gilbert left for England at a time when Anselm had not yet written the majority of his works, probably only De Grammatico (1060–63?), Monologion (1075–76) and Proslogion (1077–78). When Lanfranc passed away in 1089, Anselm became his successor as archbishop in 1093. Gilbert and Anselm were in the end united on the same soil, although, again, the extent of any contact between them is not clear for this period. 2

Definition of Justice

To begin the investigation by paying attention to how Gilbert defines justice in his works.14 Gilbert works with a clear definition of justice, namely ‘giving each his own’.15 This is a traditional definition, found in (Pseudo-)Ciceronian works and the Codex Justinianus.16 Gilbert applies this definition to God’s 11 12

13 14 15

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The Works of Gilbert Crispin, p. xxii. See these letters of Anselm: Samu Niskanen, Letters of Anselm. Archbishop of Canterbury, vol. I The Bec Letters (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), i.75, 1.90, i.113. Richard W. Southern, ‘St. Anselm and Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster’, Mediaeval and Renaissance Studies, 3 (1954), pp. 78–115; Gillian R. Evans, ‘Omnibus his litteratior: Gilbert Crispin, Noted Theologian’, Studii Medievali, 22 (1981), p. 698; Anna S. Abulafia, ‘An Attempt by Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster, at Rational Argument in the Jewish-Christian Debate’, Studia Monastica, 26 (1984), pp. 56 and 68; Works of Gilbert Crispin, ed. Abulafia and Evans, pp. xxvii–xxx; Goebel, Im Umkreis von Anselm, p. 174. Southern, Portrait, p. 59. The works of Gilbert Crispin are cited here as they are edited in The Works of Gilbert Crispin, and then by section number, line number, and page number. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili ed. Abulafia and Evans, §6, l.6–7: ‘Iustitia est dare ac ser[vare] cuique quod suum est’, p. 63. See also Disputatio Iudei, §137, l. 16, p. 46 and Disputatio cum Gentili §10, ll. 16–7, p. 64. As the last two references make clear, ‘servare’ can be left out. See for this formulation of the Ciceronian definition of justice in the Middle Ages, Alister McGrath, Iustitia Dei. A History of the Christian Doctrine of Justification, third edition

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dealing with human beings and human beings dealing with God. For example: God rewards each person according to his deeds, an evil-doer deserves punishment, and a well-doer deserves reward.17 He also uses this definition to make clear what human destination is: he is due to give himself in love to God, because God is his Creator.18 When this is compared to how Anselm defines justice, it becomes clear that Anselm very seldom uses the Ciceronian definition of justice.19 It could be he was not happy with it. He was not sure himself, it would appear, about his own definition, but it can be argued that for him the most appropriate definition, as formulated in his De Veritate, is: justice is rightness of will, preserved for its own sake.20 In the Proslogion he was perhaps already touching on this definition. In chapter IX Anselm asks himself if God’s justice does mean that in all he does, he is the being than which nothing greater can be thought, which leads in the end to justice sparing the sinner. For while sparing good people and bad people he is greater than while sparing the good people alone.21 At the same time justice retains the meaning of rewarding everyone according to his deeds, this seeming to be the meaning of God’s justice Anselm started with in the

17 18 19 20

21

(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 79. See further for Cicero and the Justinian Code (which is part of the Corpus Iuris Civilis) David D. Raphael, Concepts of Justice (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2001), pp. 56–7. The definition can be found in Cicero, De Inventione II.LIII.160: ‘Iustitia est habitus animi communi utilitate conservata suam cuique tribuens dignitatem’; [Cicero], Rhetorica ad Herennium, III.II.3: ‘Iustitia est aequitas ius uni cuique rei tribuens pro dignitate cuiusque’; Corpus Iuris Civilis: Institutes I.1.0: ‘Iustitia est constans et perpetua voluntas ius suum cuique tribuens’. For the (Pseudo-) Ciceronian works the editions of the Loeb Classical Library of the Harvard University Press are used. For the Corpus Iuris Civilis the Dutch edition of Johannes E. Spruit and others published by the KNAW Press, Amsterdam has been used. De Inventione and Ad Herenniam were important works in the intellectual environment of Anselm and Crispin, see John O. Ward, Classical Rhetoric in the Middle Ages. The Medieval Rhetors and Their Art 400–1300, with Manuscript Survey to 1500 CE (Leiden: Brill, 2018), 203. For the Corpus Iuris Civilis in the eleventh century, see Charles M. Radding and Antonio Ciaralli, The Corpus Iuris Civilis in the Middle Ages. Manuscripts and Transmission from the Sixth Century to the Juristic Revival (Leiden: Brill 2007), 73–80. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §137, l. 16, p. 46; Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §10, ll. 16–7, p. 64. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §6, ll. 6–8, p. 63, §10, ll. 16–7, p. 64. For an overview see van Vreeswijk, ‘Divine Justice’. Anselm, De Veritate, XII, ed. Schmitt, 1.194.26. All quotations from Anselm of Canterbury are taken from his Opera omnia, ed. Schmitt. Roman numerals in the citations below refer to the chapters of the works of Anselm; Arabic numerals refer to the volume, page; and line numbers in Schmitt’s edition. Anselm, Proslogion, IX, ed. Schmitt, 1.108.10–6.

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Proslogion.22 On this search for a new definition Gilbert gives no signs that he follows his master.23 For Anselm justice, with respect to human beings, means above all subjecting his own will to God.24 Although they were working with a different definition of justice, Anselm and Gilbert do agree that for human beings justice entails that they subject their will to God.25 Another point of difference between Gilbert and Anselm is that where the latter wrestles with the concept of justice the former does not or to a far lesser extent. Gilbert seems to take the traditional definition for granted, whereas Anselm is searching for a new one. The same can be seen with the relation of justice to mercy; a relation that Anselm sees as problematic. How, for example, can God spare sinners, when it is not just not to punish their sins? Anselm sets out to answer this question in the Proslogion written at the time when Gilbert was with him at Bec.26 Again, the pupil does not follow his master on this path. Later on in his life, when writing Disputatio Iudei, it was enough for Gilbert to state that both being merciful and not being merciful are just, without showing any sign that he would like to solve this problem.27 On some points Gilbert seems to develop his concept of justice and to come to thoughts more akin to those of Anselm, although care has to be taken with such conclusions because of the limited nature and smaller-scale of Gilbert’s works and because of other possible explanations for the differences between his works.28 First of all, a difference is to be identified in his definition of justice. Gilbert does not abandon his definition given in Disputatio Iudei, but in Disputatio cum Gentili he can add to it the verb ‘to preserve’ (servare): iustitia est dare ac servare cuique suum est.29 Second, in this last work he combines something being just with something being rational, even going so far that if 22 23

24 25 26 27 28 29

See van Vreeswijk, ‘Divine Justice’, pp. 420–2. According to Evans, Gilbert seems to have been familiar with De Veritate. Nevertheless, if she is right, then Gilbert does not take over Anselm’s definition. G. R. Evans, ‘Omnibus his litteratior: Gilbert Crispin, Noted Theologian’, Studii Medievali, 22 (1981), p. 698. Southern singles out Gilbert as one of the best products of Anselm’s school, although even he does not follow Anselm in his ideas about justice (Richard W. Southern, ‘St. Anselm and his English Pupils’, Mediaeval and Renaissance Studies, 1 (1941–43), pp. 3–34 at p. 14). Anselmus, De Veritate, XII, ed. Schmitt, 1.194.26. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §10, ll. 12–7, p. 64; Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.XI, Schmitt, 2.68.12. So too their mutual master Lanfranc on whom Collins, Teacher, pp. 132–3. Anselm, Proslogion, IX–XI, ed. Schmitt, 1.106.15–110.3. Disputatio Iudei, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §137, ll. 11–4, p. 46, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §34, ll. 11–2, p. 70. For a chronology of his works, see The Works of Gilbert Crispin, ed. Abulafia and Evans, pp. xxv–xli. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §6, ll. 6–7, p. 63.

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human beings had used reason properly, God would not have given his laws.30 That notion is not apparent in Disputatio Iudei. This is in line with the greater stress on reason in Disputatio cum Gentili. When discussing justice with the Gentile reason alone is used, whereas in the debate with the Jew both scripture and reason are used.31 Further, in the Disputatio cum Gentili Gilbert also gives the impression that he is somewhat more aware of the problematic meaning of saying that God is just by being merciful and by being not merciful, drawing attention to, while still not resolving, the tension in saying this, as noted above.32 In this way a development in Gilbert’s thought about justice can be suggested, and into an area in which it came to resemble more closely the thoughts of Anselm. The same can be shown with regard to the role Gilbert gives to the devil in the redemption of man, as will now be explained. 3

The Role of the Devil and Justice in Redemption

In his Disputatio Iudei, dated before March 1093 Gilbert gives the devil a role which was current in the theological thinking in his time.33 According to this common view Christ died to free man from the rightful dominion of the devil over man. God could redeem with power, but he chooses to do so by justice. Therefore, God became man. When the devil captured the God-man who had never sinned and did not deserve death, the devil acted in an unjust way by putting him to death and, in this way, the devil gave up his right to rule over humanity. However, in Sermo eiusdem in Ramis Palmarum, dated to April 1093, Gilbert seems to change his opinion slightly. He states that ‘man never did recede himself from God and he cannot so, although he does so with respect to the obedience to his bad will, but he does not so with respect to the dominion 30

31 32 33

Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §35, ll. 13–7, p. 70, §79, l. 22, p. 80. We have to reckon with the possibility that the stress on reason is linked to the different focus of Disputatio Iudaei and Disputatio cum Gentili. For the conversation with the Jew Scripture was the most important common ground, for the Gentile’s reason. However, at the same time it can point to a development in the thought of Crispin. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §8, l. 29, p. 63-§10, l. 17, p. 64 and Disputatio Iudei, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §11, ll. 27–30, p. 10, §15, ll. 18–21, p. 11. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §23, l. 25, p. 67-§25, l. 9, p. 68, §34, ll. 11–2, p. 70. Compare this with Disputatio Iudei, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §137, ll. 11–4, p. 46. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §103, ll. 1–10, p. 35. See for an overview of the current way of thinking Southern, Anselm, pp. 202–5.

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over his nature’.34 He does not explain exactly what he means by this. In the passage Gilbert leaves considerable room for the traditional role of the devil, from whom Christ saved man. Nonetheless, at the same time he appears to be sensitive to a change regarding the understanding of the dominion of human nature, perhaps pointing to the position that that this was something to which the devil cannot have a right. By the time of the Disputatio cum Gentili, dated to after March 1093, the devil has disappeared. According to Anna Abulafia he is there in the background, but the possibility that he has fallen away altogether is something which should be considered.35 Now, for Gilbert the fall of humanity is something between God and humanity. Humans have not to be redeemed from the devil, but to be restored in their dignity, which they lost after the Fall. Humanity is alone with God.36 This change gives rise to a question: if God did not become human to deliver humanity from the devil, what then was the real reason according to Gilbert? In the Disputatio cum Gentili he gives the following explanation. Humanity was created by God in a high place in the creation, just below God. When, however, humans wanted to be like God they fell to an inferior place, equal with the animals.37 The reason why God redeemed humanity, was because it was in need. Gilbert does not explain clearly what he meant by this, but two possibilities exist. First, it was necessary that humanity has to be redeemed because God does not want to leave the creature in such a misery, although Gilbert does not continue in this line of thought. Second, it was necessary that to redeem humanity, God has to become human himself, because no human being could expiate the sins of humanity. As this is within his line of thought it is most plausible that by necessity he means: if humanity has to be redeemed, it could not be in another way than by a God-man. It is fascinating that in this part of his argument for the first time, as far as can be seen, the terms honour and order are introduced in Gilbert’s soteriological thinking, and this is before they make their appearance in the works of Anselm. This is the more fascinating, because in Gilbert’s text it is not the 34

35 36 37

Gilbert Crispin, Sermo in Ramis Palmarum, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §14, ll. 8–12, p. 174: ‘Ut igitur homo redimeretur et amisse libertati atque dignitati omino restitueretur, uerbum quod creauit hominem caro factum est ut redimeret hominem. Ad eius gratiam redire potuit atque redire potest homo, nam ab eius ditione numquam recessit aut recedere potest homo. Recedit enim male uolantatis obsequio, non recedit nature domino’. I am grateful for the comments of John van Eck on the meaning of this passage. Anna S. Abulafia, ‘An Attempt by Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster, at Rational Argument in the Jewish-Christian Debate’, Studia Monastica, 26 (1984), pp. 55–74, at p. 68. As Southern notes with respect to Anselm in, Portrait, p. 211. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §70, l. 20, p. 78–§73, l.15, p. 79.

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honour of God, but the honour of man that has to be saved. The honour of God is not mentioned. It was, rather, humanity who lost honour. By the honour of humanity, Gilbert means here his very high place in the creation directly under God, but at the same time higher than the animals, implying that the human stood at the top of the creation.38 God had set an order for humanity.39 Christ has come to liberate humanity and to restore it to its original dignity. Gilbert does not speak about justice in this context. A clear development in Gilbert’s vision on redemption can be detected. In one respect he develops to a position that Anselm shows in his works. Gilbert’s remark that ‘man cannot recede himself from God, although yet by his will, but not by his nature’ can be seen as a sign that he is becoming as sensitive as Anselm to the kind of objection that Anselm has with respect to the traditional role of the devil.40 That is to say, that the devil cannot have any right over humanity, because God cannot lose his rights.41 So, in the end for Gilbert the Devil is not the problem, as he is not for Anselm. In other respects, Gilbert does not develop in the same direction as Anselm. For example, he uses the concept of honour, but in the Disputatio cum Gentili it is the honour of humanity and not of God that has to be restored. With regard to the role of justice in redemption, Gilbert takes another direction, too. In the Disputatio Iudei the necessity of a rightful solution plays a role.42 In Disputatio cum Gentili, however, it appears that justice does not play an explicit role in the argumentation, in contrast with Cur Deus homo, where justice made it necessary that the God-man suffered death.43

38 39 40 41

42 43

Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §70, l. 20, p. 78–§73, l. 15, p. 79. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §70, ll. 24–5, p. 78: ‘Posuit enim Deus homini debitum conditionis ordinem ut homo esset sub Deo, quia erat conditus erat a Dei: Deus imperaret, homo pareret’. Gilbert Crispin, Sermo in Ramis Palmarum, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §14, ll. 11–2, p. 174. Southern suggested in 1954 that in 1092 Anselm himself stuck to the traditional role of the Devil, but in his 1990 biography of Anselm Southern seemed to have changed his thoughts, since in the later work he supposed that Boso, in 1085, had caused Anselm’s doubts about the traditional role of the devil. See Southern, ‘St. Anselm and Gilbert Crispin’, p. 93 and Southern, Portrait, pp. 202–5. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §100, ll. 1–10, p. 34, §103, ll. 1–10, p. 35. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §70, l. 20, p. 78–§73, l. 15, p. 79.

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Explaining the Developments

These observations give rise to the question how Gilbert’s development is related with the thought of Anselm, with respect to the definition of justice, the role of reason, the role of the devil and of honour in redemption. As noted above, they must have exchanged their theological thoughts, although we have no sources which tell us explicitly which ideas they adopted from each other. At first sight it is to be supposed that Anselm shared his views with his close friends. Especially in the case of Gilbert a deeper influence can be supposed, because of his longer relationship with Anselm.44 But care must be taken with respect to the impact of his peculiar project of thinking sola ratione, as started in Monologion and Proslogion and set forth in Cur Deus homo. This approach was not a general one and not supported by Anselm’s predecessor Lanfranc.45 It is therefore uncertain if Gilbert during his time in Bec would have followed Anselm in this direction, or, subsequently, in others. With respect to their exchange of ideas later in their lives Richard Southern gives a convincing hypothesis, followed by Abulafia, that Anselm and Gilbert met each other in 1092.46 They had not seen each other for a long time and in that year they discussed the theme of the incarnation and the redemption with Gilbert learning from Anselm. Southern bases this on a passage apparently inserted into the earlier Disputatio Iudei. This passage has a strongly Anselmian flavour. The developments, discernible in Gilbert’s later writings, with regard to his concept of justice and to his thinking by reason alone, has the same Anselmian flavour. It can be suggested, that these works show an increasing resemblance with the thought of Anselm. 44 45

46

See for this Gillian R. Evans, ‘Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster: the Forming of a Monastic Scholar’, Studia Monastica, 22 (1980), pp. 63–82. For an overview of some important theologians of the eleventh century see Toivo J. Holopainen, Dialectic and Theology in the Eleventh Century (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1996), especially pp. 156–9. For Lanfranc as scholar Herbert E. J. Cowdrey, Lanfranc: Scholar, Monk, and Archbishop (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 50–9. For the intellectual relation between Lanfranc and Anselm see, as mentioned above, Southern, Anselm, pp. 39–66 and Giles E. M Gasper, ‘Envy, Jealousy, and the Boundaries of Orthodoxy: Anselm of Canterbury and the Genesis of Proslogion’, Viator, 41 (2010), pp. 45–68 at pp. 60–1. For a milder interpretation of the tenuous relationship between them, see Toivo J. Holopainen, ‘Logic and Theology in the Eleventh Century: Anselm’s and Lanfranc’s Heritage’, in Giles E. M Gasper and H. Kohlenberger, eds., Anselm and Abelard. Investigations and Juxtapositions (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2006), 1–16, at 12–4. Southern, ‘St. Anselm and Gilbert Crispin’, pp. 78–115; Evans, ‘Omnibus His Litteratior’, p. 698; Abulafia, ‘Rational Argument’, pp. 56 and 68; Works of Gilbert Crispin, ed. Abulafia and Evans, pp. xxvii–xxx.

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A question remains, however, why did this happen so late? Gilbert was one of Anselm’s closest friends and pupils. A natural explanation why Gilbert does not show earlier influence was his proximity to and relationship with Lanfranc, his and Anselm’s teacher. Lanfranc was very critical of Anselm’s rational project of thinking sola ratione. When Gilbert had to choose between them, it is plausible that he chose not to adopt Anselm’s project and its conclusions but to follow Lanfranc if only because Lanfranc was higher in authority for him than Anselm.47 Obedience was central to the monastic world in which Gilbert lived.48 However, by 1092 Lanfranc had passed away and perhaps Gilbert felt free to go deeper into intellectual conversation with Anselm.49 Moreover, as Sally Vaughn argues, the teaching programme developed by Lanfranc at Bec points to a great part of administration and law.50 It is 47

48 49

50

As in the case of the form of his dialogue Disputatio Iudaei. That is not a dialogue with progress of thought as in Anselm’s dialogues, but a setting side by side of opinions (Robinson, Gilbert Crispin, p. 62). Evans sees in this approach Gilbert following Lanfranc (Evans, ‘Forming of a Monastic Scholar’, p. 71). Collins makes evident that more is to be said. For Lanfranc a dialogue could be a way to search for truth, be it exegetical truth, see Collins, Teacher, pp. 93 and 204–5. Anselm set forth this method to search for truth sola ratione. It can be argued that in his Disputatio cum Gentili Gilbert follows Anselm to some extent. We cannot be certain however how heartily he did so and for how far. See for how the people around Anselm were divided with respect to the project sola ratione Gasper, ‘Envy, Jealousy, and the Boundaries of Orthodoxy’. See Southern, Portrait, pp. 254–5. Abulafia raises the question, as to whether perhaps Gilbert was encouraged by Anselm (Anna S. Abulafia, ‘Gilbert Crispin’s Disputations: an Exercise in Hermeneutics’, in Raymonde Foreville, ed., Les Mutations socio-culturelles au tournant des XIe–XIIe siècles (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1982), pp 511–20, at p. 513). She writes also that Gilbert, although his methods resemble those of Anselm, did not construct a similar intellectual approach of ‘by reason alone’ (Abulafia, ‘Gilbert Crispin’s Disputations’, pp. 513 and 518). Sally N. Vaughn, ‘Lanfranc, Anselm and the School of Bec: In Search of the Students of Bec’, in Marc A. Meyer, ed., The Culture of Christendom. Essays in Medieval History in Commemoration of Dennis L. T. Bethell (London and Rio Grande: The Hambledon Press, 1993), pp. 155–81; Sally N. Vaughn, ‘Anselm of Bec: The Pattern of His Teaching’, in Sally N. Vaughn and Jay Rubinstein, eds., Teaching and Learning in Northern Europe: 1000–1200 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), pp. 99–127 and Sally N. Vaughn, Archbishop Anselm 1093–1109. Bec Missionary, Canterbury Primate, Patriarch of Another World (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), esp. Chapter 2 ‘The Bec Background: A Missionary Mentality’, pp. 21–48. Southern’s remark with respect to Anselm as to ‘how fragmentary and occasional a part of his teaching the great treatises are, and how much he was absorbed in the ordinary necessities of monastic instruction’ (Southern, ‘English Pupils’, p. 8), can be made more complete by Vaughn’s research in the works cited above. It was not only ‘ordinary necessities of monastic instruction’ but a quite broad spectrum of subjects besides monastic instruction, that perhaps did not leave much space for the themes of his great treatises.

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therefore an open question how often Anselm talked in his lessons about the philosophical questions he addressed in Monologion and Proslogion in which he discussed the project of inquiring by reason alone and the definition of justice. It is strange as well, that, when Gilbert later, probably in the last decade of his life, looked back in his Vita Herluini on the development of Bec, he did not give the impression that Anselm made his own contribution to the pattern of teaching of Bec, as set by Lanfranc.51 That might imply that Anselm followed Lanfranc in his teaching and that his project of inquiring by reason alone had no place in his curriculum. It could have been a more private enterprise. Over and above this, Anselm appears to have been careful in disseminating copies of the Monologion. It was not suitable for everyone. This might be an indication that he did not share his approach of sola ratione in general, but that he chose consciously with whom he discussed matters in this way.52 As noted above, Gilbert’s works do not follow Anselm’s thought in all respects, for example with respect to the role of justice and the honour of God. Is there an explanation for this? Near the end of the Disputatio cum Gentili Gilbert poses questions raised by the Gentile philosopher.53 They are put in his mouth, but whose are these questions really? It might be supposed they were Gilbert’s questions, but this can be pushed a step further: it is possible that they were also Anselm’s questions of that moment. The year 1092 was not long after Boso came to Anselm at Bec in 1085 with his questions about the traditional role of the devil within soteriology. These critical questions may well have set Anselm thinking about the devil’s role with respect to the fall and redemption of humanity.54 Having this in mind the Disputatio cum Gentili can be examined more closely. The disputation is a fictitious story of a secret meeting between a Gentile philosopher and a Christian philosopher, in which the narrator is introduced. In the discussion they have he has the role of auditor.55 Abulafia suggests that Gilbert chose this literary form because he would like to prove his thoughts on this subject.56 The story can be taken a little more literally. It is a plausible interpretation that Gilbert often felt himself an observer of Anselm’s project 51 52 53 54 55 56

Gilbert Crispin, Vita Herluini, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §1, l. 1, p. 185–§141, l. 21, p. 212; Vaughn, ‘Pattern of Teaching’, pp. 112–3. See for the date of Vita Herluin the Introduction of the Works of Gilbert Crispin, ed. Abulafia and Evans, p. xl. Gasper, ‘Envy, Jealousy, and the Boundaries of Orthodoxy’, 61. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §74, l. 16, p. 79–§82, l. 9, p. 81. Southern, Portrait, pp. 202–5. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §1, l. 1, p. 61-§9, l. 3, p. 64. The Works of Gilbert Crispin, ed. Abulafia and Evans, xxxi.

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of thinking by reason alone, and that in the Disputatio cum Gentili he recorded this project. It was a project, moreover, that Anselm himself often modelled as a conversation, for example in Cur Deus homo. In the Disputatio cum Gentili the conversation was unfinished. That gives the impression that the rational project with respect to soteriology was still open.57 It is remarkable, that the conversation between the Gentile philosopher and the Christian philosopher stops abruptly. The Gentile philosopher suddenly disappears. Suddenly, but calmly.58 Perhaps this means that he would like to leave room for the Christian to think further about the questions and to think about a better argument. The Gentile philosopher leaves the discussion exactly at the point where they were discussing, alongside questions about the trinity, why it was necessary also that God became human and had to die so shamefully. At this point, it was not only unclear why God has not prevented humanity from falling, but neither was it clear why there was no other way to redeem humanity without God taking up such a shameful life and why the God-man had to die undeservedly. Satisfaction does not, in this context, come into view. After the devil’s disappearance from the scene, there was no conclusive answer to the central question why God became man. A doctrine, then, is seemingly abandoned, without there being a new one in its place. Later in Cur Deus homo, Anselm answers that question by introducing the concepts of God’s honour and satisfaction and relating them to justice. Only by undeservedly losing his life, the God-man could give the necessary satisfaction for the damaged honour of God, which justice required for a just salvation. Around 1092 not only was Gilbert himself unsure, but Anselm may not have made up his mind either.59 If this hypothesis is right, it might help to explain why Gilbert’s work Disputatio cum Gentili, unlike Disputatio cum Iudaei, was scarcely disseminated.60 When Anselm had finished his project, about five years after this conversation and after a longer time of gestation and development, Gilbert’s project became superfluous. Not, as Southern seems to suggest, or not only, because Cur Deus homo was a better piece of work, but because in this work Anselm gives the answers that Disputatio cum Gentili was trying to solve.61 The Disputatio cum Iudaei by contrast, did not become superfluous. That book contained another

57 58 59 60 61

Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §70, l. 20, p. 78–§83, l. 15, p. 87. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio cum Gentili, ed. Abulafia and Evans, §83, ll. 10–1, p. 81. Following Abulafia, ‘An Attempt by Gilbert Crispin’, p. 68 and Abulafia, ‘Ars Disputandi’, p. 146. Gilbert Crispin, Religionsgespräche, p. 25. Southern, ‘St. Anselm and Gilbert Crispin’, pp. 98–9.

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approach; one that Anselm himself did not take, but an approach that was needed and welcome. There was room enough for that book. The Disputatio cum Gentili reveals, it can be argued, not only Gilbert’s own development, albeit tentative and probably influenced by his master, but also Anselm’s changing thoughts, reflected in those of his pupil. It is difficult to determine which opinions in Disputatio cum Gentili are Gilbert’s and which are Anselm’s. Anselm was prepared to learn from his pupils as Southern suggested, convincingly, in the case of Boso, so thoughts in Disputatio cum Gentili might originally have been Gilbert’s. In any case, there is much to say for the notion that Anselm had not made up this mind until this point and that he was only on the way to his ideas about satisfaction and the honour of God, linked with justice. For it is not wholly plausible that Anselm had a coherent and cogent answer to the questions raised by Gilbert and that at the same time Gilbert did not use this answer or did not comment on it in his own work.62 Even in the unlikely case that Gilbert did not know Anselm’s views or simply ignored them, the comparison of Gilbert’s thoughts with those of Anselm’s made the latter the more salient, notably in his definition of justice and his concepts of honour and satisfaction. 5

Conclusions

A number of conclusions are to be drawn after this comparison of the thought of Gilbert with that of his master. First, Gilbert sticks to the traditional definition of justice, and he seems to take over notions from Anselm only sparingly, making Anselm’s contribution the more peculiar. Second, human worth is an important part of their common thinking, and the necessity of restoring it was an important incentive for their soteriology. The honour of God and the honour of man cannot be played off against each other. To restore one is to restore the other. This does not mean, however, that the honour of man was a sufficient explanation of the reasons of the incarnation. Third, working out soteriology in terms of honour is a late development in the thinking of Gilbert and very probably also of Anselm. Fourth, thinking in terms of honour with respect to redemption was not connected to speaking about satisfaction. Anselm seems to have shifted from the notion of the honour of man to the honour of God and to have introduced at the same time the notion of satisfaction. It seems to be a solution Anselm found for problems by which he was confronted. In Anselm’s 62

As in Raphael J. Zvi Werblowsky, ‘Crispin’s Disputation’, The Journal of Jewish Studies 11 (1960), pp. 69–77, at pp. 76–7.

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circle the connections between justice, honour and satisfaction were probably not very current, but were to be worked out. This is an indication that the connections between these concepts are not part of the general soteriological mindset of the period. Fifth, it is probable that in Gilbert’s works the development of the consciously made change from a soteriological concept in which the devil plays a central role as third party beside God and man to a soteriological concept where God and man are alone can be traced. Anselm seems, then, to have started this daring project in the circle of his beloved pupils.

chapter 3

The Proslogion, Gilbert Crispin, and the Cur Deus homo Anselm and the Problems of the Incarnation David L. Whidden III The connection between Gilbert Crispin’s Disputatio Iudei et Christiani and Anselm’s Cur Deus homo is paradoxically well established and yet under explored. As early as 1954, Richard Southern noted links between the two texts and hypothesized that Anselm had some influence on Gilbert’s argument.1 Gilbert’s Disputatio has sometimes been used to help explain the role of Anselm’s unnamed Jewish interlocutors in the Cur Deus homo, though more often Anselm’s Jews are considered to be fictive and not indicative of any real interaction between Anselm and Jews.2 When Southern compares the two texts the main points of connection are seen in the occurrence of a Jewish objection against the Incarnation using the language of the Proslogion, in a discussion of the devil’s rights, and in Gilbert’s use of an argument against the possibility of an angel or human restoring human nature. While acknowledging these elements, I will go further, arguing that the Cur Deus homo is an apologetic for Anselm’s Proslogion, and that the questions raised in Gilbert’s Disputatio also contribute to Anselm’s discussions in the Cur Deus homo of the virgin birth. Additionally, I will argue that Anselm’s tactic of removing Christ from the Cur Deus homo was developed in response to a failure in Gilbert’s attempt to offer a convincing argument for the Incarnation using the Old Testament.

1 Richard W. Southern, ‘St. Anselm and Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster’, Mediaeval and Renaissance Studies 3 (1954), pp. 78–115. 2 For a brief review of the literature on both sides of the debate about the reality of Anselm’s Jewish interlocutors, see Eileen Carroll Sweeney, Anselm of Canterbury and the Desire for the Word (Washington, DC: The Catholic University of America Press, 2012), p. 278, n. 108.

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Gilbert’s Argument

Gilbert Crispin, one of Anselm’s former fellow monks at Bec, was brought to England from Normandy by Lanfranc in 1085, where he became the abbot at Westminster. Gilbert was one of a surprising number of former Bec monks in positions of authority in the post-conquest English monastic church.3 Here Gilbert encountered members of the Jewish community who were probably installed after the Norman conquest on the initiative of the recently crowned King William.4 While there is no evidence for permanent Jewish settlement in England before 1066, the communities in Normandy were longer established and, very probably, helped to finance William’s military expedition.5 Gilbert reports that one of the Jews with whom he interacted was educated in Mainz, and that they engaged occasionally in a friendly theological discussion which served as the genesis of Gilbert’s written dispute.6 While there is some dispute over the reality of Gilbert’s interlocutor, the majority of scholars think that the Disputatio is the fruit of a genuine discussion, albeit one that Gilbert reworked and edited.7 We see remnants of this reality at the beginning of the dialogue when the Jewish speaker complains about the Christian treatment of Jews, wondering if ‘the Law must be observed, why do you compare its followers to dogs, as people to be chased away with clubs, and why do you attack us on every occasion?’8 A statement in the midst of a dispute about an interpretation of Baruch 3:37 (mistakenly identified in the text as from Jeremiah), may also indicate a genuine exchange when the unnamed Jew demands of the Christian that he: ‘drop your animosity toward us, be ashamed of the falsehoods you invented against us, and acknowledge that the foremost truth in the Law and 3 Sally N. Vaughn, ‘The Students of Bec in England’, in Giles E. M. Gasper and Ian Logan, eds., Saint Anselm of Canterbury and His Legacy (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2012), pp. 73–91 at p. 80. 4 Anna Sapir Abulafia, Christian Jewish Relations 1000–1300: Jews in the Service of Medieval Christendom (New York: Routledge, 2011), pp. 88–9. 5 Anna Sapir Abulafia, Christians and Jews in the Twelfth-Century Renaissance (London: Routledge, 2014), pp. 67–8. 6 Gilbert Crispin, The Works of Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster, ed. Anna Sapir Abulafia and G. R. Evans (London: Published for the British Academy by the Oxford University Press, 1986), secs. 3–4. An English translation can be found in Gilbert Crispin, Jewish-Christian Dialogue: The Example of Gilbert Crispin, trans. Ole J. Thienhaus (Baltimore: Publish America, 2006). 7 Anna Sapir Abulafia and G. R. Evans, ‘Introduction’ in The Works of Gilbert Crispin, pp. xxiv and xxvii. 8 Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §12: ‘Si autem lex observanda est, cur eius observatores canibus assimilatis, fustibus extrusos usquequaque insectatis?’

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the Prophets remains with us’.9 Behind Gilbert’s editing and revisions, it is possible to see a real person making objections that might not be presented by someone inventing a dialogue from scratch. Anselm was with Gilbert probably in the autumn of 1092 and he expected to spend enough time at Westminster, staying at least through Lent, to send a letter back to Bec with one of Gilbert’s monks requesting that the brothers at Bec send Anselm his Prayer to Saint Nicholas and his initial draft of the Epistola de Incarnatione Verbi. Included at the end of this letter to Bec was a salutation to Lady Eve, the mother of Gilbert, in which Anselm greets ‘our mothers’, suggesting that he was in Gilbert’s presence and speaking for Gilbert.10 Southern has laid out the probable chain of events that led to Anselm’s familiarity with Gilbert’s discussion with the Jews, suggesting that Anselm and Gilbert would have at least discussed the dispute, that Anselm might have even read an early draft, and conjecturing that Anselm added some philosophical arguments to the discussion.11 After Anselm departed from Westminster, Gilbert sent his completed text to Anselm. In Gilbert’s prologue to the Disputatio he addresses Anselm and requests Anselm’s approval for his work.12 The Disputatio itself is structured around a series of seven questions, with the Jew presenting a series of objections and the Christian offering a response. The first series of questions revolves around why Christians do not follow all of the Mosaic law, the second discusses whether or not the Messiah has come, whilst the third (and the one on which most scholars focus) concerns the problems of the Incarnation with respect to God, as well as the Virgin birth and original sin. The fourth follows the third by discussing how it would 9

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Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §120: ‘Si autem in Ieremia non inveneris, depone tantam adversum nos animositatem, erubesce adinventam contra nos falsitatem, et agnosce primam permanere apud nos in lege et Prophetis veritatem’. As we will discuss below, this objection also points to the key issue of the Disputatio, which is the proper interpretation of the Law and Prophets, an issue that Anselm will avoid by arguing remoto Christo. Anselm, Epistola i.128, Letters of Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, vol. 1, The Bec Letters, ed. and trans. Samu Niskanen (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2019), pp. 376–7 [Schmitt, Epistola 147, III: 294.13–6]: ‘Mittite michi Orationem ad sanctum Nicolaum quam feci, et Epistolam quam contra dicta Roscelini facere inchoaui, et si quas de aliis epistolis nostris habet domnus Mauritius quas non misit. Salutate matres nostras, dominam Euam et dominam Basiliam’. Southern, ‘St. Anselm and Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster’, pp. 87–92. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §6: ‘Scripsi ergo, et, tacito mei et ipsius nomine, scripsi sub persona Iudei cum Christiano de fide nostra disceptantis, scriptumque et exaratum hoc opus tue transmitto examinandum censure. Si res approbanda est, tuo placebit approbata iudicio. Si vero respuenda est, seu tota, seu pars eius aliqua, quicquid respuendum erit accipe amico dictum in aure; et quia soli amico innotuit, silentio supprimatur, nec alicui hec ad legendum pagina communicetur’.

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be possible for Christ, as one of Abraham’s descendants, to be conceived without semen in contradiction to Genesis 22:18, the fifth deals with questions of the selection, use, and interpretation of Old Testament texts by Christians, the sixth section continues the debate about allegorical interpretation of the Old Testament, and the seventh, and final, section deals with Jewish complaints about Christian idolatry found in the Christian worship of images. Near the beginning of the dispute, Gilbert describes the rules of debate, which were to be contested on the basis of the testimony of the law, understood as the whole of the Old Testament, and the evidence of reason.13 What follows is a debate that centres mostly on the interpretation of the Old Testament, but also engages with philosophical questions about the immutability of God. 2

The Proslogion in Gilbert’s Disputatio

There are important links between Anselm’s Proslogion, completed in around 1078 and Gilbert’s Disputatio. Questions raised in the Proslogion reappear in the Disputatio, and there are occasions where the divine attributes that Anselm describes are assumed to be true by Gilbert. For instance, Anselm discusses the immutability of God in Proslogion, 22.14 In the Disputatio, Gilbert introduces the issue of God’s immutability, saying that, with regard to the Incarnation, that ‘remaining, of course, immutably what he was, God took on what he was not’.15 In the following section he also introduces the question of God’s suffering (another form of mutability), when he asserts: ‘Because he [Jesus] is God, he could not die or suffer or be born; because he is man, he could be born and suffer and die, and he chose to, and through the mystery of his passion he redeemed us from death’.16

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Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §15: ‘Rationabiliter satis hec omnia tu requiris, et ea omnia queri convenit. Sed a te vice pari requiro, ut mecum animo patienti agas. Nam si modus altercationis nostre is habeatur, ut concedas quicquid tue legis pagina testatur vel ratione tam evidenti astruitur, ut a te nulla evidentiori refutetur, presto sum, ut de his tecum agam et undecunque volueris. Idque potius fidei causa et tui amore facio quam studio disputandi. Nec hominum acclamationes curo, sed vincat cui ratio attestabitur et Scripture auctoritas contestabitur’. Anselm, Proslogion, c. 22, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 116. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §73: ‘Manens quippe incommutabiliter Deus id quod erat, assumpsit quod non erat’. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §74: ‘Item, quia Deus est, nec mori nec pati nec nasci potuit; quia homo est, et nasci et pati et mori potuit, voluit, et per passionis sue mysterium a morte nos redemit’.

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In response to Gilbert’s claims for divine immutability the Jew raises an objection that: If with God there is no change like shifting shadows (James 1:17), how can so great a change of things happen with him that God becomes man, creator becomes creature, and that it is believed that the eternal has turned mortal … how is God always the same if He can become changed into man?17 Continuing his attack on the Christian idea of divine immutability and the related issue of the suffering of God with regard to the Incarnation, in the very next paragraph the Jew offers another objection to the Incarnation, which is clearly linked to Anselm’s concept of God from the Proslogion: If God is unending, how could he be circumscribed in the puny little measure of human limbs? If God is unlimited, by what kind of argument can it be said that, limited in his corporeal dimensions, he could be totally held enclosed in one maternal womb? Furthermore, if God is that which nothing greater and more sufficient can be thought [si Deus est, quo nichil maius sive sufficientius cogitari potest], by what necessity [necessitate] was he forced into participating in human misery and made sharer and sufferer in such great tribulations? Finally, if God became man, how will stand what He Himself says to Moses: ‘For man may not see me and live’? There seems to be a contradiction that God became man and could not be seen by man or even his very mother. For it may be discounted, as you assert, that about God there should have been anything absurd.18 17

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Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §80: ‘Si nulla est apud Deum transmutatio nec ulla vicissitudinis obumbratio quomodo penes eum tanta rerum fieri potest alteratio, ut Deus homo fiat, creator creatura, et incorruptibilis credatur factus esse corruptela? Quomodo, queso, accipitur: “In principio, Domine, terram fundasti, et opera manuum tuarum sunt celi; ipsi peribunt, tu autem permanebis. Mutabis eos et mutabuntur, tu autem semper idem ipse es”. Quomodo Deus semper idem ipse est, si alteratus homo fieri potest?’ Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §81: ‘Si Deus est inmensus, quomodo vili et parva humanorum dimensione membrorum potuit dimensus circumscribi? Si Deus est incircumscriptus, quo argumentationis genere dicetur quod dimensione corporea circumscriptus totus sub angusto uno matris utero potuit comprehensus teneri? Adhuc, si Deus est, quo nichil maius sive sufficientius cogitari potest, qua necessitate coactus humane calamitatis particeps et tantorum factus est consors et patiens malorum? Denique, si Deus homo factus est, quomodo stabit, quod ipse locutus est ad Moysen: “Non enim videbit me homo et vivet”? Multum repugnare videtur, ut Deus homo factus sit et ab homine vel ipsa matre sua videri non potuerit. Absit enim, ut circa Deum aliquid fantasticum

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Additionally, Gilbert relies on the omnipresence of God in section 109, a topic central to Proslogion 13, to argue against literal interpretations of Ezekiel 44:2–3.19 Gilbert also rehearses the question of the relationship of God’s justice and mercy in sections 136–7, another interest of Anselm from Proslogion 9–11. As does Anselm, Gilbert addresses how God’s mercy toward some and not others creates no contradiction in justice or truth. In this section Gilbert quotes Psalm 25:10 [24:10], the same psalm that Anselm uses to conclude his discussion of justice and mercy in Proslogion 11. Gilbert also points to Christ as the person in whom God’s justice and mercy are resolved.20 Fundamentally, however, Gilbert’s approach is different from Anselm’s in the Proslogion, as Gilbert primarily approaches the question scripturally, using the shared authority of the Old Testament with his interlocutor, while Anselm approaches the issue primarily from the logical perspective of God’s divine attributes. In section 101 of the Disputatio, Gilbert argues that a mere man, or man made into an angel, would be insufficient to restore humans to their original state, because humans would then be obliged to serve that man or angel, an idea that Anselm replicates with virtually no change in Cur Deus homo, I.5. While Southern points out the novelty of this argument, he argues that the idea probably originated with Anselm and that Gilbert borrowed it in advance of Anselm including it in the Cur Deus homo.21 More importantly, sections 100–3 in the Disputatio culminate in Gilbert accepting the Augustinian idea

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fuisse dixeris’. See also Proslogion ch. 13 (ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 110) where Anselm speaks of God as ‘unbounded’ (incircumscriptus). In the case of the Jew’s use of the Proslogion in section 81, Southern argues that Gilbert borrowed the objection from Anselm based on conversations held in the autumn and winter of 1092–3. While Southern admits that we ‘cannot precisely tell’ how much Anselm ‘contributed to the finished form of this Disputatio’, he goes on to state that he is ‘inclined to think that in the strictly philosophical passages of this dialogue there is much more of Anselm than of Gilbert, not only in their substance, but even in their wording’. See Southern, ‘St. Anselm and Gilbert Crispin, Abbot of Westminster’, p. 92. The question in this section comes from Gilbert arguing in §86 that the closed gate spoken of in Ezekiel 44:2 is to be allegorically interpreted with reference to the virginity of Mary. In sec. 106 the Jew responds by accusing the Christian of ‘twisting scripture’ for the benefit of the Christian faith. Gilbert responds in §§108–11 that a literal interpretation of this text would suggest that God is not omnipresent since it would suggest that he could come and go from one place to the other rather than being omnipresent. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §137: ‘Butirum’ igitur ‘et mel’ Christus ‘comedit, ut sciat reprobare malum et eligere bonum’ [Isa. 7 :15], hoc est, ut sciri faciat quia reprobat malum et eligit bonum, reddens unicuique iuxta opera sua, bonos remunerans et malos debita animadversionis ultione condemnans’. Southern, ‘St. Anselm and Gilbert Crispin’, pp. 85, 92–3.

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of the devil’s rights over humans, a position that Anselm would go on to reject in Cur Deus homo, I.7. In Southern’s understanding, Gilbert’s affirmation of the devil’s rights represents an early idea of Anselm’s, not Gilbert’s, that Anselm then reworked in the Cur Deus homo. Even though both topics are treated by Gilbert and then later by Anselm, Southern conjectures that their existence in Gilbert is solely the responsibility of Anselm.22 Overall, the primary emphasis of Gilbert’s dispute is on the interpretation of the Old Testament.23 While the two disputants agree at the very beginning to restrict themselves to reason and the Old Testament, what makes this dispute possible is a shared understanding of God between Gilbert and his interlocutor, a shared understanding rooted in aspects of Anselm’s argument in the Proslogion. Both seem to agree that God, and in this case the God of the Old Testament, is ‘that which none greater can be conceived’ and that consequently God must be immutable, omnipotent, omnipresent, and that mercy and justice are one in God. The question becomes whether the God of the Old Testament, with those agreed upon attributes, could become incarnate in the New Testament and how to interpret the Old Testament regarding this issue. The brilliance of the Jewish argument is to use Anselm’s great discovery from the Proslogion against the very heart of Christian teaching. If Anselm’s concept of God from the Proslogion is true, then the Incarnation presents a very difficult problem for Christians and for Anselm. If God is immutable, then it would appear that the Incarnation introduces change into God. If God cannot suffer, then how does one make sense of the suffering of the cross? If God is wise, then why would he seem to do something that even Paul 22

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Southern, ‘St. Anselm and Gilbert Crispin’, pp. 80, 91–3. Southern makes this argument based on an unwillingness to concede any possibility that Gilbert was an original or philosophical thinker, suggesting that it is unbelievable that Anselm ‘borrowed a central point in his doctrine of the Redemption from Gilbert Crispin’. (p. 91) Southern says that Gilbert was more inclined to exegetical work than speculative work, so that Gilbert was up to questions of interpretation, and, by implication, not up to the kind of work that Anselm would later do. (p. 80) Anselm, Southern argues, had ‘intellectual resources [that] were incomparably richer than those of Gilbert’. (p. 93) Southern does point out that in one of his letters Anselm does, in fact, use some of Gilbert’s work with regard to monasticism, and so Anselm was not averse to using Gilbert’s ideas when they were salutary. See Schmitt’s footnote to Epistola 95 (Schmitt III: 222.2–7). As Southern had discovered, the text inserted after Epistola 95 had its origin in Gilbert Crispin’s De Monachatu, which Southern appends to his essay on pp. 100–4. The specific text is on pp. 103–4, lines 113–20. It may also be found in The Works of Gilbert Crispin, pp. 89–94, sec. 20. Note Schmitt’s Epistola 95 is now i.135 in Niskanen’s edition. Anna Sapir Abulafia, ‘Gilbert Crispin’s Disputations: An Exercise in Hermeneutics’, in Raymonde Foreville, ed., Les mutations socio-culturelles au tournant des XIème–XIIème Siècles (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique, 1984), pp. 511–20.

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considers foolishness?24 If God is merciful, then why not just forgive humans rather than go through the complexity of the Incarnation? Upon reading the final version of Gilbert’s Disputatio, Anselm might have realized that he once again needed to make a defence of the Proslogion, this time not in response to Gaunilo, but to an unnamed Jew. Gilbert finished his first recension of the text of the Disputatio no later than 1093 and sent the work to Anselm asking him for his approval or any correction.25 We have no evidence that Anselm ever directly replied affirmatively or negatively. Anselm would begin to work on the Cur Deus homo in 1095. 3

The Cur Deus homo

While Southern suggested that the more philosophical and theologically innovative sections of the Disputatio are ideas that Gilbert borrowed from Anselm, a more plausible explanation would suggest that Gilbert and Anselm talked about this issue during Anselm’s visit with Gilbert, the original dialogue with a Jew was real, and the work of the Disputatio was Gilbert’s, who also would have been familiar with the Proslogion. It is plausible then to suggest that upon receiving the final version of Gilbert’s Disputatio, Anselm realized what a severe challenge to his concept of God had been levelled by the Jew and so took up this topic in his later work. This, then, is one likely origin of the unbelievers in the Cur Deus homo, second hand and not direct, but real nonetheless. In his own grappling with the problem of the Incarnation, Anselm adopts some of Gilbert’s ideas and amends others. Rather than having to deny the intellectual abilities of Gilbert and posit a supposed influence of Anselm at some points and not at others, a more parsimonious explanation is simply that Anselm was already aware of the argument, read the work, and decided he could do better, especially since he realized that the argument could only be decided on reason alone and not with any Christological interpretation of the Old Testament. The individual brilliance of Anselm is beyond a doubt, but nevertheless we can see in Gilbert’s use of the Proslogion in the Disputatio and in Anselm’s subsequent Cur Deus homo how Anselm’s thinking in the latter treatise emerges out of a rich context of discussion and debate in community and with individuals. In fact, at the very beginning of the Cur Deus homo Anselm mentions that he has had many requests for him to put in writing the reasons 24 25

1 Corinthians 1:18. For a discussion of the various versions of Gilbert’s text and its completion, see Anna Sapir Abulafia and G. R. Evans, ‘Introduction’ in The Works of Gilbert Crispin, pp. xxviii–xxix.

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he gives for the Incarnation, including requests by letter.26 One way of reading Gilbert’s letter at the beginning of the Disputatio is that he is one such person making this request. In fact, in addition to defending his concept of God from the Proslogion, Anselm takes up several issues in the Cur Deus homo that appear in Gilbert’s Disputatio. Some he adopts wholesale, and some he seems to engage with quite differently. In Cur Deus homo, he will take up the question of the necessity of the Incarnation, questions about the Virgin conception, the Devil’s rights with regard to humans, and the inability of humans or angels to save humans from damnation. However, there is also one other topic of the Disputatio that Anselm takes up indirectly, which is how to deal with disputes over scripture. If, as I have argued, the majority of the debate in the Disputatio has to do with the interpretation of the Old Testament, my hypothesis is that Gilbert’s lack of success in convincing this Jew is the genesis of Anselm’s remoto Christo move in the Cur Deus homo. Fundamental to the hermeneutical dispute is a question over the literal interpretation of the Old Testament versus the allegorical interpretation, with the Jew arguing for the primacy of a literal interpretation and the Christian for the primacy of the allegorical and Christological interpretations.27 The Christian points out that many of God’s commands from the Old Testament appear to be inconsistent or in conflict with one another, and since he presumes that God is incapable of behaving inconsistently, he argues that some of the rules, such as the prohibition against pork, must have an allegorical intent that points to Christ, so that the rule is no longer applicable once Christ came to fulfil the law.28 It is a classic case of a Christological interpretation of the Old Testament, and it is completely unacceptable to the Jew because it begs the very question that is in dispute about the Incarnation.29 26 27

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Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.1, ed. Schmitt vol. 2, p. 47: ‘Saepe et studiosissime a multis rogatus sum et verbis et litteris, quatenus cuiusdam de fide nostra quaestionis rationes, quas soleo respondere quaerentibus, memoriae scribendo commendem. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §35. It may seem odd to read of Jewish objections to allegorical readings of the Old Testament, given that Christians adopted much of this approach to the Old Testament from Jewish sources. In Troyes, however, contemporary to Anselm, the famed Jewish exegete, Rashi developed an approach that eschewed the allegorical for the literal. While we do not have direct evidence of Rashi’s influence on the Jewish objection to allegory in Gilbert’s Disputatio, we do not have to dismiss the Jewish rejection in the Disputatio as something that is necessarily fictive. Perhaps Rashi’s ideas had been picked up by Gilbert’s interlocutor in his travels. See Herman Hailperin, Rashi and the Christian Scholars (University of Pittsburgh, 1963) and Abulafia, Christian Jewish Relations 1000–1300, 75–6. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §47. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §§34–7, 84, 106–7, 119–20, 125.

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How can one prove the existence of Christ by assuming a Christological interpretation of the Old Testament? Anselm must have noticed the intractability of the problem and realized that he had to remove Christ from his argument in order not to beg the question. However, note that he does not remove scripture from his argument in the same manner as he does in the Monologion, but rather he removes scriptural references to Christ in the Old and New Testament. Anselm relies on a whole host of Old Testament ideas, most importantly those of creation and Fall, but not a Christological interpretation of the Old Testament, and certainly not any allegorical readings. The Jewish use of Anselm’s formula from the Proslogion is one of the key challenges to Anselm, calling into question how ‘that which a greater cannot be thought’ could be subject to change and undergo suffering. In the Cur Deus homo, Anselm and Boso repeat a version of this objection twice in the opening three chapters. In the opening chapter, Anselm says that ‘unbelievers commonly raise as an objection against us, deriding our simplicity as foolishness … [that] God did become a human being and restore life to the world by own death …’.30 In chapter 3 Boso fleshes out the objection of the unbelievers ‘who deride our simplicity [and] object that we injure and insult God when we say that he descended into a woman’s womb, was born of a woman, grew by being nourished by milk and human foods, and suffered fatigue, hunger, thirst, beatings, and crucifixion and death between thieves’.31 This second quotation has enough similarity with the Jewish objection from section 81 of Gilbert’s Disputatio that a direct influence becomes a plausible suggestion. The influence of the formulation of the Proslogion extends beyond these two examples: there are echoes of the Proslogion throughout Cur Deus homo when Anselm tries to show that the Incarnation is the paradigm case of how God is exactly ‘that which none greater can be conceived’. In places this is done in a negative way, where Anselm declares sin against God to be ‘something than which nothing is less tolerable’32 or that the intentional death of God is 30

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Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.1, ed. Schmitt vol. 2, p. 47–8: ‘Quam quaestionem solent et infideles nobis simplicitatem Christianam quasi fatuam deridentes obicere, et fideles multi in corde versare: qua scilicet ratione vel necessitate deus homo factus sit, et morte sua, sicut credimus. et confitemur, mundo vitam reddiderit, cum hoc aut per aliam personam, sive angelicam sive humanam, aut sola voluntate facere potuerit’. Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.3, ed. Schmitt vol. 2 p. 50: ‘Obiciunt nobis deridentes simplicitatem nostram infideles quia deo facimus iniuriam et contumeliam, cum eum asserimus in uterum mulieris descendisse, natum esse de femina, lacte et alimentis humanis nutritum crevisse, et—ut multa alia taceam quae deo non videntur convenire—lassitudinem, famem, sitim, verbera et inter latrones crucem mortemque sustinuisse’. Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.13, ed. Schmitt vol. 2, p. 71: ‘Nihil autem iniustius toleratur, quam quo nihil est minus tolerandum’.

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an ‘infinite sin to which no other sins can be compared’.33 In a positive vein, Anselm concludes his argument with a declaration that God’s mercy is ‘so great and so consonant with justice that it cannot be thought to be greater or more just’.34 The Cur Deus homo begins with an objection to his concept of God, dwells on the inconceivability of the sin against God, and concludes with Anselm declaring that the Incarnation shows that God’s mercy and justice are greater than we can conceive. Even the fool from the Proslogion makes a kind of reappearance when Anselm suggests that those who object to his argument are fools—in both the Proslogion and the Cur Deus homo the fool is one who denies what is logically necessary even if he does not understand why it is so.35 The Cur Deus homo, then, provides a robust defence of the Proslogion against the objections registered by the Jew in Gilbert’s Disputatio. A second way that Anselm builds upon and responds to Gilbert’s Disputatio is on the question of the necessity of the Incarnation. The Jew introduces this question in section 81 of Gilbert’s Disputatio and in section 90 Gilbert responds with the assertion that ‘the highest necessity of reason demanded that God should become man and restore us through the mystery of his incarnation to life’.36 Anselm takes this issue up and makes a great effort to show that there is in fact no necessity in God, but only in us, that we need God in order to be saved. The necessity with regard to God is only a subsequent necessity that follows from what God has willed.37 The question of the necessity of the Incarnation, particularly the suffering that occurred in the Incarnation raised in Gilbert’s Disputatio and Anselm’s Cur Deus homo, is often considered philosophical in origin, perhaps deriving from

33 34 35 36 37

Anselm, Cur Deus homo, II.15, ed. Schmitt vol. 2, p. 115: ‘Deum enim occidere nullus homo umquam scienter saltem velle posset, et ideo qui illum occiderunt ignoranter, non in illud infinitum peccatum, cui nulla alia comparari peccata possunt, proruerunt’. Anselm, Cur Deus homo, II.20, ed. Schmitt vol. 2, p. 131: ‘Misericordiam vero dei quae tibi perire videbatur, cum iustitiam dei et peccatum hominis considerabamus, tam magnam tamque concordem iustitiae invenimus, ut nec maior nec iustior cogitari possit’. Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.25, ed. Schmitt vol. 2, p. 95: ‘Anselm: Quid respondendum est illi, qui idcirco astruit esse impossibile quod necesse est esse, quia nescit quomodo sit? Boso: Quia insipiens est’. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §90. ‘Necessitas quoque summa et ratio exposcebat, ut Deus homo fieret et per humanitatis sue mysterium ad uitam nos restitueret’. Emphasis is mine. See also secs 100–4. Anselm, Cur Deus homo, II.17, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, pp. 122–6. Anselm is even more explicit about this in Meditatio redemptionis humanae (ed. Schmitt, vol. 3, p. 86, lines 69–70), where he argues: ‘Haec omnia humanam naturam, ut ad hoc restitueretur propter quod facta erat, necesse erat facere’.

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the School of Laon.38 A closer reading of the Vulgate, however, suggests that the question has a biblical basis in Jesus’ explanation of the Incarnation during the experience on the road to Emmaus and in his post-resurrection appearance to the disciples directly afterward. On the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:26) Jesus asks, ‘Was it not necessary (oportuit) that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?’ Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.39 In Luke 24:44, Jesus tells the disciples, ‘These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you, that everything written about me in the law of Moses and in the prophets and psalms must (necesse) be fulfilled’.40 Jesus’ own language points to the importance of interpreting the prophets and psalms correctly to understand the necessity of his death, a method that Gilbert attempts to follow. In fact, in chapters 9–10 of Book I of the Cur Deus homo, Anselm attends to the problem of the biblical language of necessity where he concludes a long argument begun in chapter 9 by summarizing that he [Jesus] spoke these words in order to make it clear that the human race could not be saved except through his own death, not to indicate that there was no way he could avoided dying. And all the other passages that say similar things about him should be expounded in such a way that we believe he did not die out of any necessity but of his own free will.41 The question of necessity, then, is rooted not only in Gilbert’s Disputatio, but is made theologically licit by Jesus’ declaration that his own suffering was necessary; Anselm was, simply, seeking to understand what was given to him by faith in the scriptures, yet he attempts to do it without reference to the Old Testament passages and interpretations that were rejected by Gilbert’s Jewish interlocutor. 38 39 40 41

On the relationship between Anselm and the School of Laon, see Southern, Portrait, pp. 202–5. Luke 24:26–27: ‘nonne haec oportuit pati Christum et ita intrare in gloriam suam et incipiens a Mose et omnibus prophetis interpretabatur illis in omnibus scripturis quae de ipso erant’. Luke 24:44: ‘et dixit ad eos haec sunt verba quae locutus sum ad vos cum adhuc essem vobiscum quoniam necesse est impleri omnia quae scripta sunt in lege Mosi et prophetis et psalmis de me’. Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.10, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2 p. 66: ‘Idcirco autem illa verba dixit, ut doceret humanum genus aliter salvari non potuisse quam per mortem suam, non ut ostenderet se mortem nequaquam valuisse vitare. Nam quaecumque de illo dicuntur iis quae dicta sunt similia, sic sunt exponenda, ut nulla necessitate, sed libera voluntate mortuus credatur’.

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With regard to the rights of devil, Anselm famously departs from the Augustinian tradition. While Gilbert says that humans do owe something to the devil so that the devil has rights over humans, Anselm, through Boso, rejects this position. The devil’s rights had a strong patristic history and Anselm would have been most familiar with the arguments made by Augustine in De Trinitate.42 Southern, as I have mentioned, postulated that Gilbert borrowed from Anselm an affirmation of the devil’s rights in Gilbert’s Disputatio and Anselm changed his mind later,43 where a better explanation would be that Gilbert simply adopted the Augustinian position with which he would have been familiar. Why, then, does Anselm, through Boso, reject this standard position, which he quite overtly acknowledges is the customary explanation?44 It appears that once again he is concerned to protect his concept of God. He rejects the position because it suggests that God lacks power and justice. With another echo of the Proslogion, Boso argues that God is freely able to save someone who has become unjustly enslaved to another and that if God were to rescue humans, ‘what could be done more justly?’45 Anselm wants to be clear that nothing has power over God or God’s creation and so God is free to deal with creatures in a way that is fitting with his own nature. With regard to the Incarnation, Anselm seems to be closing off as many objections to his concept of God as possible, even at the cost of rejecting a centuries old explanation. Anselm also takes up other topics from Gilbert, most prominently that of the virgin birth. In Gilbert’s Disputatio the Jew objects to the Christian interpretation of Isaiah 7:14 as the basis of the Christian idea that ‘that which none greater can be conceived’ could be enclosed in a womb. From the perspective of Gilbert’s Jewish interlocutor it is absurd enough to suggest that God could become man (multum repugnare videtur, ut Deus homo factus sit et ab homine), but it is also hermeneutically suspect to use Isaiah 7:14 as the basis of the Christian position.46 In response, Gilbert uses allegorical interpretations of Ezekiel 44:2–3 and two psalms to argue for the virgin conception and reintroduces the idea of necessity, saying that ‘the highest necessity of reason 42

43 44 45 46

Augustine, De Trinitate, bk. IV.17–8, and bk. XIII.16–9. Anselm was likely also familiar with Augustine’s idea of Christ’s death as a kind of ‘mousetrap’, which Augustine develops in Sermo 263. See also Frederick van Fleteren, ‘Traces of Augustine’s De trinitate XIII in Anselm’s Cur Deus homo’, in Paul Gilbert, Helmut Karl Kohlenberger, and Elmar Salmann, eds., Cur deus homo: Atti del Congresso anselmiano internazionale: Roma, 21–23 maggio 1998, ed. (Roma: Centro studi S. Anselmo, 1999), pp. 165–78. Gilbert Crispin, §§102–3 and Southern, ‘St. Anselm and Gilbert Crispin’, p. 93. Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.7, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 55: ‘Sed et illud quod dicere solemus …’. Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.7, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 57: ‘Quid enim iustius fieri posset, si hoc deus faceret?’ Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §§81–4.

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demanded that God should become man and restore us through the mystery of his incarnation to life’.47 In his response to Gilbert’s argument, the Jew ridicules the Christian and accuses him of twisting scripture (Scripturas intorques) to support his faith. He then asks a follow up question about how Christ could be one of Abraham’s descendants and yet be born without semen, a question that Anselm dwells on in De Conceptu Virginali.48 In response to the objections raised by Gilbert and the Jew, Anselm addresses the issue of the Virgin birth in depth in two places. In the Cur Deus homo he takes up the question in II.8 and II.16, and he takes up the question more substantially in De Conceptu Virginali et de Originali Peccato, his self-declared sequel to the Cur Deus homo.49 The problem that he is solving in the De Conceptu Virginali is rooted in the Jewish objections found in Gilbert’s Disputatio, but Anselm attempts to solve the problem without recourse to the text from Isaiah. Instead, Anselm develops arguments around original sin, issues of the will, and the relationship of Adam and Eve to all humanity. As he concludes the first half of his argument, Anselm argues that there was no necessity that the Son of God have been propagated from a pure virgin, since even if the Virgin had been full of sin, God could have purified her by faith; rather it was fitting that the Virgin be free of sin, so that she ‘should be radiant with a purity than which no greater can be thought, except for that of God himself’,50 once more echoing the language of the Proslogion. Again, we see the close connection between the ideas of the Proslogion, the objections of Gilbert’s Disputatio, and Anselm’s defence of the former without using a Christological reading of the Old Testament. To summarize, the argument presented above has tied together four texts beginning with the Proslogion, through to Gilbert’s Disputatio, into the 47

48 49

50

Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §90: ‘Ut ergo hec sine preiudicio dicta sint, quia Scripturarum testimonia loco suo servamus ponenda, necessitas quoque summa et ratio exposcebat, ut Deus homo fieret et per humanitatis sue mysterium ad vitam nos restitueret’. Gilbert Crispin, Disputatio Iudei, §§106–7. Anselm, De Conceptu Virginali et de Originali Peccato, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, pp. 139–73. Anselm, De conceptu virginali, prologue, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 139: ‘Certus autem sum, cum in libro Cur deus homo, quem ut ederem tu maxime inter alios me impulisti, in quo te mecum disputantem assumpsi, legis aliam praeter illam quam ibi posui posse videri rationem, quomodo deus accepit hominem de massa peccatrice humani generis sine peccato: quia studiosa mens tua ad quaerendum quaenam illa sit non parum provocatur. Quapropter iniustus tibi videri timeo, si quod inde mihi videtur dilectioni tuae abscondo. Dicam igitur sic breviter de hoc quod sentio’. Anselm, De conceptu virginali, c. 18, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 159: ‘Nempe decens erat ut ea puritate, qua maior sub deo nequit intelligi, virgo illa niteret’.

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Cur Deus homo and the De Conceptu Virginali, with Gilbert’s Disputatio being the key pivot point that links Anselm’s earlier and later works. While contemporary philosophers have focused their work on the Proslogion and contemporary theologians have tended to focus on the Cur Deus homo, the questions raised in Gilbert’s Disputatio help us see the close connection to the two works so that the Cur Deus homo is best understood as an apologetic work in defence of the Proslogion. Additionally, the removal of Christ from the discussion is introduced by Anselm because the insoluble hermeneutical questions of Gilbert’s Disputatio would not allow for a Christological interpretation of the Old Testament, which would beg the question for the necessity of the Incarnation. While scholars have mentioned the appearance of some Anselmian ideas in Gilbert’s Disputatio, the move by Southern to minimize Gilbert’s role and maximize Anselm’s meant that the importance of the questions raised in Gilbert’s Disputatio have been neglected, questions which I hope I have shown were plausibly a significant part of the formation of Anselm’s two major works defending the Christian concept of God and the Incarnation.

chapter 4

Anselm and Odo of Tournai on God and Evil Hiroko Yamazaki Odo of Tournai (c. 1060–1113), also known as Odo of Cambrai, was born in Orléans, and taught as a secular master (magister) at the cathedral schools of Toul and Tournai, before he entered religious life. He was the first abbot of the restored monastery of St Martin of Tournai where he reigned for more than a decade before his episcopal ordination to Cambria in 1105.1 On the grounds that they have a similar understanding concerning original sin Odo is sometimes regarded as a disciple of Anselm of Canterbury, although such a status is not certain. They both wrote treatises whose titles advertise their interest in the subject. Both are contemporary to each other and the lack of precise dating makes it difficult to work out which came first. Anselm wrote his De conceptu virginali et originali peccato between the summer of 1099 and the summer of 1109.2 Odo probably composed his De peccato originali sometime between 1095 and 1105,3 although there is also a possibility that he composed it as late as 1110.4 It is not possible, then, to determine whether Odo wrote his De peccato originali after Anselm’s De conceptu virginali et originali peccato. Both Anselm and Odo mention that God ‘causes peace and creates evil’ ( faciens pacem et creans malum), though Anselm mentions the phrase not in De conceptu virginali but in De concordia (De concordia praescientiae et praedestinationis et gratiae dei cum libero arbitrio), completed in 1109.5 In what follows how the two authors understand God and evil will be analysed, and their positions 1 Odo of Tournai, On Original Sin and A Disputation with the Jew, Leo, Concerning the Advent of Christ, the Son of God, trans. Irven M. Resnick (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1994), introduction, pp. 1–35. 2 Anselm, Opera Omnia, ed. Schmitt, vol. I of II, ‘Prolegomena seu ratio editionis’ (Stuttgart/ Bad-Cannstatt: Friedrich Frommann Verlag (Günter Holzboog), 1968), p. 60. 3 His principal work is On Original Sin (De peccato originali). Other writings include Disposition with the Jew, Leo, Concerning the Advent of Christ, the Son of God (Dispositio contra Judaeum Leonem nomine de adventu Christi filii Dei), Exposition on the Canon of the Mass (Expositio in canonem missae), On Blasphemy Against the Holy Spirit (De blasphemia in Spiritum Sanctum) and On the Canons of the Gospels (De canonibus evangeliorum). 4 Odo of Tournai, On Original Sin, trans. Resnick, p. 26. 5 We know the year in which the De concordia was completed from VA, lxiv, p. 139: ‘Scripsit inter haec Anselmus libellum unum de concordia praescientiae et praedestinaionis et gratiae Dei cum libero arbitrio. In quo opere contra morem moram in scribendo passus est, quoniam

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004468238_006

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compared. A particular focus will be placed upon the passage ‘God who creates evil (creans malum)’, and the character of Anselm’s thought. 1

Faciens pacem et creans malum: Odo and Anselm

The phrase quoted by both authors comes from the book of Isaiah 45:7:6 formans lucem et creans tenebras, faciens pacem et creans malum: ego Dominus faciens omnia haec ‘I form the light, and create darkness, I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord that do all these things’.7 Nevertheless, where both Odo and Anselm use the same text, they differ in their interpretation of creating evil in particular. 1.1 Odo Odo refers to the passage from Isaiah in De peccato originali.8 Sin, then, is the evil which God does not make. Now, something is called evil in two ways—namely, the evil that God makes, and the evil that God does not make. For this reason it is written ‘Making peace and creating evil (Isa. 45:7)’; and, ‘if there is evil in the city, God has not made it (Amos 3:6)’.9 Juxtaposing the passage from Isaiah with a quotation from Amos, Odo divides evil into: evil which God creates; and evil which God does not create. The former is the punishment for sin and the latter is sin which people enact, for

6 7

8

9

ex quo apud Sanctum Eadmundum fuerat infirmatus donec praesenti vitae superfuit, solito inbecillior corpore fuit’. As noted by Schmitt, vol. I, p. 258, ll. 25–6, note. The English translation quoted is from the Douay-Rheims translation of the Vulgate. The translation is slightly different in The New Jerusalem Bible (New York: Doubleday, 1990): ‘I form the light and I create the darkness. I make well-being, and I create disaster, I Yahweh, do all these things’. Odo’s De peccato originali consists of three books. Each book has between 15 and 24 sections. Every section is not long and has a title without numbering. The passage from Isaiah is shown in the first section after Prologue titled ‘In what ways is something called evil’ (Quibus modis dicitur malum). Odo Cameracensis, De peccato originali, I, ed., J.-P. Migne, PL 160 (Paris, 1854), 1071C: ‘Est autem peccatum, malum quod Deus non facit: nam malum dupliciter dicitur; scilicet quod Deus facit, et quod Deus non facit. Unde scriptum est: Faciens pacem et creans malum (Isai. XLV); et: Si est malum in civitate quod Deus non fecit (Amos III)’. English translation from Odo of Tournai, On Original Sin, pp. 39–40.

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instance, injustice. The citation from Isaiah corresponds to the punishment and the citation from Amos corresponds to injustice.10 1.2 Anselm Anselm’s reference to the passage from Isaiah comes in De concordia. Southern points out that the composition of such a work had been forecast at least twenty years earlier in the first recension of the De libertate arbitrii.11 This means that Anselm had considered the problem of evil and justice in the years after he wrote De veritate, De libertate arbitrii and De casu diaboli. In De concordia I.7, Anselm takes justice and injustice to deepen an understanding that all existing things derive their existence from God’s knowledge. Now, for anything to be just or good is for it to be something; but it is not the case that for a thing to be unjust or evil is for it to be something. For, indeed, to be good or just is to have justice, and having this is something; but to be evil or unjust is to lack the justice which one ought to have, and it is not the case that this lack is something. For justice is something, but injustice is nothing, as I have said…. But there is another kind of good, which is called benefit; and its opposite is the evil which is detriment. In some cases (for example, blindness) this evil is nothing; in other cases (for example, pain) it is something. When this evil is something, we do not deny that God causes it, because (as is read) He is the one who ‘causes peace and creates evil’.12 10

11 12

The citation of Amos 3:6 by Odo is translated by Resnick as above. It might be noted that the Biblia Vulgata (Biblia Sacra iuxta Vulgatam Clementinam, nova editio, quinta editio, Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos 14 (Madrid: La Editorial Catolica, S. A.: 1977)) and Nova Vulgata (Nova Vulgata. Bibliorum Sacrorum editio (Roma: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1986)) show the same verse differently: ‘Si erit malum in civitate, Quod Dominus non fecerit?’ and ‘Si erit malum in civitate, nonne Dominus fecit?’ respectively. The rather different translation in The New Jerusalem Bible ‘Does misfortune come to a city if Yahweh has not caused it?’ provokes a question for how Odo understands the passage, as an affirmative sentence or a question. Odo takes the quotation to mean that God did not make evil, while Biblia Vulgata, Nova Vulgata and The Jerusalem Bible means that God made (caused) that evil. VA, p. 140, n. 3. Anselm, De concordia, I, 7, ed. Schmitt, vol. I, p. 258, ll. 16–26: ‘… Nam omni rei esse iustam vel bonam est aliquid esse; nulli vero rei est esse aliquid iniustam vel malam esse. Si quidem bonum vel iustum esse est habere iustitiam, quod est aliquid: malum autem esse vel iniustum est non habere iustitiam quam debet habere, quod non est aliquid. Iustitia namque aliquid est, iniustitia vero nihil, sicut dixi … Est autem aliud bonum, quod dicitur ‘commodum’, cuius contrarium est malum, quod est ‘incommodum’. Hoc malum aliquando nihil est, ut caecitas; aliquand est aliquid, ut dolor. Sed hoc malum cum aliquid

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Anselm believes in two kinds of evil: evil against goodness as justice (injustice) and evil against goodness as benefit (detriment). Injustice is not something but nothing. On the other hand, evil as affliction is sometimes nothing and sometimes something. The evil which is something is occasionally evil which God uses to correct the people who commit sins. This is punishment which God gives and through this punishment man can be brought back to the good situation. 2

Comparison between Anselm and Odo

2.1 Injustice as Nothing The intellectual positions mentioned above can be analysed and summarised as follows, with accompanying biblical verses as appropriate. Odo (1) malum quod Deus facit = punishment —Faciens pacem et creans malum (Isaiah 45:7) (2) malum quod Deus non facit = injustice —Si est malum in civitate quod Deus non fecit (Amos 3:6) Anselm (3) bonum vel iustum esse = habere iustitiam: quod est aliquid malum vel iniustum esse = non habere iustitiam quam debet habere: quod non est aliquid iustitia = aliquid iniustitia = nihil (4) aliud bonum—‘commodum’ malum—‘incommodum’ aliquando est nihil (for example, caecitas) aliquando est aliquid (for example, dolor) —hoc malum cum aliquid est deum facere non negamus (quia ipse est faciens pacem et creans malum)

est deum facere non negamus, quia ipse est sicut legitur ‘faciens pacem et creans malum’. English translation from Anselm of Canterbury, Jasper Hopkins and Herbert Richardson, trans. vol. 2 of 4 (Toronto and New York: The Edwin Mellen Press, 1976), p. 194.

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Anselm and Odo hold in common the point that they consider injustice to be nothing. Odo explains that humans are punished for injustice when they have abandoned justice.13 Anselm also thinks that it is important to keep justice intact. Justice is defined as ‘uprightness-of-will kept for its own sake’.14 Uprightness (rectitudo) is central to Anselm’s thought. He applied it also to the definition of truth as uprightness perceptible only to the mind.15 Odo, by contrast, does not refer to uprightness in his writings. Anselm insists that keeping justice is related to keeping uprightness, and that once people lose uprightness, they cannot get it back without the grace of God.16 Justice cannot immediately be achieved by having uprightness of will; justice is achieved by maintaining justice.17 2.2 Evil as Nothing and Evil as Something According to Odo, justice is something and injustice is nothing. Injustice is the privation of justice. Evil is nothing because evil is a privation of good.18 At face value this seems to be the same understanding as that demonstrated by Anselm. However, it is, in fact, different, and in a profound way. Odo regards evil as nothing, whereas Anselm regards injustice as nothing. If evil is simply regarded as not something but nothing, as does Odo, evil which God creates means a lack of goodness.19 Odo writes that it is wicked to say that God has made anything evil.20 Anselm considers not only justice but also ‘evil which corrects sin’ as something. This is because if God causes the detriment, it has a positive meaning, even though it is evil. This can be tabulated, analysed and summarised as in Table 4.1. 13 14 15 16

17 18 19 20

Odo Cameracensis, De peccato originali, I: PL 160, 1076A: ‘Cum ergo pro injustitia punimur, pro justitia punimur deserta …’. Anselm, De veritate, 12, ed. Schmitt, I, p. 194, l.2: ‘Iustitia igitur est rectitudo voluntatis propter se servata’. English translation, Hopkins and Richardson, vol. 2, p. 96. Anselm, De veritate, 11, ed. Schmitt, I, p. 191, ll. 19–20. ‘Possumus igitur, nisi fallor, definire quia veritas est rectitudo mente sola perceptibilis’. Anselm, De concordia, III, 13, ed. Schmitt, I, p. 287, ll. 14–7: ‘Perdito igitur instrumento volendi iustitiam, id est rectitudine, nullo modo—nisi per gratiam reddatur—potest voluntas instrumentum velle iustitiam. Quapropter quoniam nihil debet velle nisi iuste: quidquid vult sine rectitudine, vult iniuste’. Anselm, De veritate, 12, ed. Schmitt, I, p. 195, ll. 2–4: ‘… non mox ut habetur est iustitia, nec accipimus iustitiam cum illam accipimus, sed nos servando facimus eam esse iustitiam’. Odo Cameracensis, De peccato originali, I: PL 160, 1073B: ‘Malum igitur nihil est; quia malum privatio boni est, et scit omnis qui bene scit quia privatio non est aliquid’. Odo Cameracensis, De peccato originali, I: PL 160, 1073B: ‘Nos autem econtra malum dicimus nihil esse, et nullam essentiam habere: nam nihil est, quod non fecit Deus; malum autem Deus non fecit …’. Odo Cameracensis, De peccato originali, I: PL 160, 1073B: ‘Sed Deum fecisse malum dicere nefas est’. English translation Odo of Tournai, On Original Sin, p. 42.

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Table 4.1 Odo and Anselm compared

Odo

Anselm

injustice

injustice

evil justice

justice evil which God creates

— nothing

— something

Odo explains further that each individual human is the author of their own evil. On the other hand, God is not an author of evil but a punisher of evil.21 Humanity is punished for having abandoned justice. Justice is something and humanity is punished for something.22 Humanity, in this scheme, is not punished for evil (nothing). In the Philosophical Fragments Anselm considers the meanings of aliquid, and writes of it both in the proper and informal sense.23 He writes that when it is said ‘he was punished for injustice’, injustice is spoken of as something.24 This is aliquid in the informal sense. Anselm actually regards injustice as nothing. 21 22 23

24

Odo Cameracensis, De peccato originali, I: PL 160, 1071C: ‘Malum autem quod injustitia dicitur, omnino Deus non facit, sed punit; ut ejus omnino non sit auctor, ejus est punitor’. Odo Cameracensis, De peccato originali, I: PL 160, 1076A: ‘Cum ergo pro injustitia punimur, pro justitia punimur deserta; sed est aliquid justitia, punimur ergo pro aliquo’. English translation Odo of Tournai, On Original Sin, p. 45. The Philosophical Fragments are found in a manuscript from Christ Church, Canterbury now in Lambeth Palace, London (Lambeth MS. 59). The manuscript is principally a collection of Anselm’s letters, and it is in this context that the Philosophical Fragments appeared. Henry supposed that Anselm composed them very early (D. P. Henry, The Logic of Anselm (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967), p. 154), while Serene suggests that they were written later than Cur Deus homo (E. F. Serene, ‘Anselm’s Modal Conceptions’, in Simo Knuuttila, ed., Reforging the Great Chain of Being: Studies of the History of Modal Theories (Dordrecht/Boston/London: D. Reidel, 1981), p. 151, n. 4. Anselm of Canterbury, Philosophical Fragments, eds. Richard W. Southern and F. S. Schmitt, Memorials of Saint Anselm (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969), p. 336, 21–4: ‘Dicimus enim iniustitiam aliquid, cum asserimus eum puniri propter aliquid qui punitur propter iniustitiam. Et nihil dicimus aliquid, si sic dicimus: “Aliquid est nihil” aut “aliquid non est nihil” quia si vera vel falsa est enuntiatio, aliquid affirmari dicimus de aliquo aut aliquid negari de aliquo’.

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And evil created by God, not injustice which is lack of good, represents aliquid in the proper sense.25 Anselm thinks God creates evil to try and purify just people and punish unjust people.26 For Anselm, God is not only a punisher but also a creator in order to cause peace. Where Odo and Anselm have the same understanding about sin, the difference between the two thinkers comes in their treatment of evil that God creates. Odo regards evil as the privation of good (privatio boni).27 On the other hand, Anselm thinks of evil not only as the privation of good but also as correcting sin since he thinks evil as something which follows the privation of good, too.28 As a result, Anselm thinks of evil as both nothing and something. While Odo also states that ‘God is creator of the sinful soul’, he does not say that the evil which God creates is something, that is to say, not nothing.29 3

Conclusion

Anselm’s approach to the question under scrutiny is different from Odo’s. Anselm does not place emphasis so much on whether evil is done by God or not, but on how and by whom evil emerges: the evil that humans commit (iniustitia) and the evil that God brings (aliquid). That is perhaps the reason why Anselm did not cite the passage from Amos in his text, as Odo did, and referred only to Isaiah. Anselm’s reading for ‘faciens pacem et creans malum’ could be interpreted as ‘God causes peace and for that purpose He creates evil’. On the issue of God and evil, it remains the case that Anselm operates with a wider perspective than Odo and places analysis in the broader perspective of the relationship between God and man. 25 26 27

28 29

As to aliquid both in the proper and informal sense, see Hiroko Yamazaki, ‘God who Causes Peace and Creates Evil: The Case of Anselm of Canterbury’, Silesian Historical-Theological Studies, 47 (2014), pp. 31–42, especially pp. 35–7. Anselm, De concordia, I, 7, ed. Schmitt, I, p. 258, ll. 26–7: ‘Ipse (sc. Deus) namque creat incommoda, quibus exercet et purgat iustos et punit iniustos’. Odo understands that evil is only a privation of good, while sin is the privation or absence of justice in the will of the rational soul. See, Irven M. Resnick, ‘Odo of Tournai’s De peccato originali and the Problem of Original Sin’, Medieval Philosophy and Theology, 1 (1991), 18–38, p. 27. Anselm, De casu diaboli, 26, ed. Schmitt, I, p. 274, ll. 11–3. ‘Cum igitur audimus nomen mali, non malum quod nihil est timemus, sed malum quod aliquid est, quod absentiam boni sequitur’. Odo Cameracensis, De peccato originali, II: PL 160, 1086B: ‘Sed econtra dicimus Deum et animam creare peccatricem, et non esse mali auctorem’. English translation Odo of Tournai, On Original Sin, p. 59.

chapter 5

Anselmian Themes and Anti-Anselmian Stances in Ralph of Battle’s Philosophical Theology Bernd Goebel For some sixty years now, the Norman abbot Ralph of Battle, seven years Anselm’s junior, has been established as the author of a group of texts contained in two early twelfth-century manuscripts.1 The texts comprise a collection of prayers and meditations, a spiritual work, three rather long dialogues and one meditation on theological as well as philosophical problems, and a series of theological treatises.2 Except for the prayers and meditations, which Gerberon and Migne edited under the name of Anselm and which have been re-edited and translated into French by Jean-François Cottier, the bulk of these texts had never been printed and scarcely ever been studied until fairly recently.3 However, we now have, amongst others, a critical edition with a commentary and German translation of two of his three lengthiest works, that is, the dialogues De nesciente et sciente (The Ignorant and the Knowledgeable) and De inquirente et respondente (The Inquirer and the Respondent).4 Born around 1040, Ralph entered the community of Le Bec as a novice probably in 1062, just two or three years after Anselm did.5 When Prior Lanfranc 1 Bodleian Ms Laud misc. 363, and London BL Ms Royal 12 C I. See Bernd Goebel and Samu Niskanen, ‘Einleitung’, in Ralph von Battle, Dialoge zur philosophischen Theologie, ed. Bernd Goebel, Samu Niskanen, Sigbjørn Sønnesyn, trans. Bernd Goebel (Freiburg: Herder, 2015), pp. 13 and 68–71; Samu Niskanen, ‘The treatises of Ralph of Battle’, Journal of Medieval Latin, 26 (2016), pp. 199–225. 2 For a list of Ralph’s works and their witnesses, see Goebel and Niskanen, ‘Einleitung’, pp. 13–6, and 69–70; see also Bernd Goebel, Im Umkreis von Anselm: Biographisch-bibliographische Porträts aus Le Bec und Canterbury (Würzburg: Echter, 2017), pp. 155–73; and his ‘Ralph von Battles De creatura: ein trinitarischer Abriss der Heilsgeschichte. Einführung, Edition und Übersetzung’, in Christoph Müller and Bernd Willmes, eds., Thesaurus in vasis fictilibus. Festschrift für Heinz Josef Algermissen (Freiburg: Herder, 2017), pp. 57–81. 3 Jean-François Cottier, Anima mea: prières privées et textes de dévotion du moyen âge latin: autour des ‘Prières et méditations’ attribuées à saint Anselme de Cantorbéry (Turnhout, Brepols, 2001), pp. 3–97. 4 Ralph von Battle, Dialoge zur philosophischen Theologie. 5 For the following, see Bernd Goebel, ‘The Vindication of Teaching and Theology in a Monastic Community: Lanfranc of Le Bec and his Students Anselm and Ralph’, Dianoia, Rivista di filosofia, 28 (2019), pp. 21–48. For Ralph’s life, see Goebel, Im Umkreis von Anselm, pp. 155–73.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004468238_007

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was made abbot of St Étienne in Caen by Duke William in 1063, Herluin appointed Anselm as his successor, while Ralph accompanied Lanfranc from Le Bec to Caen, where he took his vows.6 A letter from Anselm to Ralph written probably in the 1070s, from which we can gather that Ralph had pleaded with Anselm to ask archbishop Lanfranc for permission to join the community at Le Bec and that he had addressed to him questions that Anselm thought required discussion (colloquio) rather than a written response, may indicate that Ralph had entered Lanfranc’s school a few years before entering the religious life, perhaps at about the same time Anselm did.7 Ralph followed Lanfranc to Canterbury, became prior of St Andrew’s in Rochester under bishop Gundolf, and from 1107 until his death in 1124 served as the fourth abbot of Battle Abbey. Richard Southern drew attention to Ralph’s works identifying their author first as Ralph d’Escures, the abbot of St Martin in Sées and successor to Gundolf as bishop of Rochester, and subsequently as Ralph of Battle.8 He considered the two, as he called them, ‘philosophical’ dialogues De nesciente et sciente and De inquirente et respondente to be Ralph’s ‘most important’ works and believed they were ‘written under the immediate influence of Anselm’s dialogues’.9 However, the introduction of an unbeliever, an atheist who says he believes that nothing exists except what he can see or touch, in De nesciente signifies, according to Southern, a radical departure from Anselm’s method.10 Southern concludes that, on the whole, Ralph ought to be seen as an independent disciple of Augustine rather than as a follower of Anselm.11 Cottier concurs, suggesting that Ralph felt drawn towards the more conservative approach of his first teacher Lanfranc.12 6

7 8 9 10 11 12

Milo Crispin, Vita beati Lanfranci, ed. Jacques Paul Migne (PL 150), col. 38B [ed. Margaret Gibson, in Giulio d’Onofrio, ed., Lanfranco di Pavia e l’europa del secolo XI (Rome, Herder, 1993), p. 680]: ‘unum duxit secum, qui nuper habitum susceperat, sed professionem nondum fecerat, nomine Radulfum, qui postea in eo loco fecit professionem …’. Anselm, Ep. 13, in Sancti Anselmi opera omnia, ed. Schmitt, 6 vols. (Edinburgh: Nelson, 1946–61), vol. 3, pp. 117–9. Richard W. Southern, ‘St. Anselm and his English pupils’, Medieval and Renaissance Studies, 1 (1941), pp. 14–9 and 24–9, and id., Saint Anselm and his Biographer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963), pp. 206–7. Southern, Biographer, p. 207; Southern, Portrait, p. 374. Ralph of Battle, De nesciente et sciente, book I, ed. Samu Niskanen in co-operation with Bernd Goebel, in Dialoge zur philosophischen Theologie, pp. 242–321, and Southern, Biographer, p. 374. Southern, Biographer, p. 208; see also Southern, Portrait, p. 375. Jean-François Cottier, ‘Iustitia diaboli: Anselme, Gilbert Crispin et Rodulfus monachus’, in Paul Gilbert, Helmut Kohlenberger and Elmar Salmann, eds., Cur Deus homo Rome: Pontificio Ateneo S. Anselmo, 1999), pp. 253–60.

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What I propose to do here is take a fresh look at Ralph’s relation to Anselm by means of a comparative study of their subject-matters and some formal aspects of their overall work, with particular focus on the literary forms used, of some of their philosophical and theological positions, and, finally and most importantly, their methodology and account of the limits and scope of natural theology. As to the last point, I am especially interested in Ralph’s conception of the relationship between reason and authority and the question as to whether he ought to be seen as a follower of Anselm’s way of doing theology, or as some sort of Lanfrancian; or whether, perhaps, his is rather a compromise position, somehow bridging the gap that separated the theologies of his two teachers.13 This question is closely related to another one: why does Ralph pick an atheist as a dialogue partner; a choice quite unprecedented in the Latin Middle Ages? Accordingly, a major part of the last section of this essay will be an interpretation of Ralph’s philosophically most intriguing work, the dialogue with the atheist (De nesciente et sciente).14 1

Themes and Literary Forms: Anselm and Ralph

It is hardly surprising that the writings of Ralph prove to be profoundly influenced by those of Anselm. Even if we assume that he spent only little time as Anselm’s fellow-student under Lanfranc at Le Bec, it is hard to imagine that, writing probably around 1100, he could have ignored the works of his by then famous fellow monk-and-abbot. Anselm’s impact on Ralph becomes most conspicuous when we take a look at his works in their entirety, their subject-matters and the literary forms he employs.15 It has already been observed that Ralph’s prayers and meditations were attributed for centuries to Anselm. What is more, Ralph, like Anselm, composed dialogues, amongst them a work (De nesciente) confronting a Christian with a non-Christian point 13

14

15

There can be little doubt that Lanfranc did have a theology. His commentary on the Pauline epistles has recently been more fully appreciated as a work expanding on many central issues of Christian theology, propounding a doctrine of justification, a theory of redemption, a Christology, and an ethics not limited to the life of a monk. See H. E. John Cowdrey, Lanfranc: Scholar, Monk, and Archbishop (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 53–4; 76; Ann Collins, Teacher in Faith and Virtue: Lanfranc’s Commentary on Saint Paul (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 117–57. As to his dialogue with a doubting Christian (De inquirente et respondente), I have ventured an interpretation elsewhere, focussing on his attempt to demonstrate how speculative theology and the monastic life are not only compatible with each other, but complement each other in important ways. See Goebel, ‘The Vindication’. Goebel, ‘The Vindication’.

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of view, as Anselm also does in his Cur Deus homo. Now, the inclusion of an atheist in Ralph’s dialogue certainly is innovative. However, it does not seem to be a radical departure from what Anselm undertook. A non-Christian standpoint also figures in Anselm’s dialogue on the incarnation, albeit indirectly since it is represented by Anselm’s friend and disciple Boso who declares that he is firmly rooted in the Christian faith.16 Yet far more than the ‘unbeliever’ (infidelis) in Cur Deus homo deprived of his Christian representative, Ralph’s ‘ignorant’ (nesciens) is the ‘fool’ (insipiens) from Anselm’s Proslogion, transported from the psalm into a fictitious interlocution, the fool who says in his heart: ‘There is no God’.17 The novelty of Ralph’s dialogue, therefore, is not the figure of the atheist but the fact that the Christian enters into an immediate conversation with him. At the same time, Ralph’s ignorant, we may say, is the ‘nescient’ from Anselm’s Monologion, elevated to the rank of an interlocutor, the quis … ignorat who ‘either because he has not heard or because he does not believe, does not know anything’ about God and the divine properties and who ‘considers within himself things he knows not’ (quae nesciat).18 A survey of Ralph’s entire work reveals a tendency to take up Anselmian themes and concerns in more or less varied literary forms. If De nesciente may be regarded as a dialogue recasting the Monologion/Proslogion, it is possible to interpret Ralph’s Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide with its subtitle et quod multa quae secundum fidem credimus etiam secundum rationem intelligimus as his attempt to take up the project of the Monologion and Proslogion in a new way. That is to say from the perspective of a Christian as in the latter work, not, however, in the form of a prayer but as an arrangement of undisguised pieces of reasoning, as in the former. Anselm had initially called his Monologion a ‘meditation’ (‘an example of meditating on the reason of faith’).19 Toivo Holopainen, who takes the Monologion and Proslogion as ‘a pair of works with a common objective and a common methodology’, comments that according to Anselm’s Prologue to the Proslogion, ‘one could freely switch the modes of presentation in the two works or instead use some other form (say, write a dialogue)’.20

16 17 18 19 20

Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.3, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 50: ‘Boso: Patere igitur ut verbis utar infidelium’. Anselm, Proslogion, 2–4, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, pp. 101–4. Anselm, Monologion, 1, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 13. Anselm, Proslogion, Prooemium, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, pp. 94: ‘Exemplum meditandi de ratione fidei’. Toivo Holopainen, ‘The Proslogion in relation to the Monologion’, The Heythrop Journal, 50 (2009), pp. 590–602, here 597–8 and 592.

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Furthermore, it is likely that Ralph’s third large dialogue with the somewhat cumbersome title De peccatore qui desperat et de ratione quae peccatorem ne desperet confortat was inspired by Anselm’s Cur Deus homo, including Ralph’s prologue to this work, which appears to be modelled on the preface to Cur Deus homo.21 However, Ralph’s De peccatore is not a conversation between a believer and a non-believer (or, for that matter, the representative of a non-believer) but the inner dialogue of a believer with his reason. As such it is methodically almost closer to Anselm’s Meditatio de redemptione humana than to Anselm’s dialogue on the incarnation, where faith in the salvific power of Christ remains suspended for the sake of argument. In this respect, Ralph’s counterpart to Cur Deus homo is rather the first book of his dialogue with the atheist, based for the most part on reason. In the same vein, a whole group of authors in the fairly short period from 1090 to 1125 set out to write dialogues between Christians and non-Christians based in part or even entirely on reason. There are at least seven extant dialogues between Christians and non-Christians inspired by or at least related to Anselm’s Cur Deus homo.22 One of them, the Dialogus inter Christianum et Iudaeum de fide Catholica, published by Migne among the works of William of Champeaux and now usually considered as the work of an unknown author attached to the school of Laon, is quite possibly another work of Ralph.23 21

22

23

See Ralph of Battle, De peccatore et de ratione, Prologus, London BL MS Royal 12 C I, fol. 2v: ‘When I began to write this work entitled The sinner and the reason, I did not consider that it would be divided into books nor, indeed, that anybody would read it. When I was, however, editing the three books of this work, I showed them to a certain friend of mine asking him to read them in private and not to show them to anybody else. So he promised, and I therefore granted him that he might read them. Yet shortly afterwards I heard that some people had copied these same books. I did not like this, and I still do not like it’. Compare this to Anselm of Canterbury, Cur Deus homo, Praefatio, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 42: ‘Because of some people who, without my knowledge, began copying out the first parts of this work before it was finished and fully researched, I have been compelled to complete the work that follows … in greater haste than would have been opportune from my point of view…. I have named it, in consideration of its subject-matter, Cur Deus homo, and have divided it into two books’. For a list, see Bernd Goebel, ‘Rationabiliter loquenti non habeo quod rationabiliter obiiciam: Odos Streitgespräch mit dem Juden und einige weitere Religionsgespräche im Anschluss an Anselms Cur deus homo’, in Christof Müller and Guntram Förster, eds., Augustinus— Christentum—Judentum: Ausgewählte Stationen einer Problemgeschichte (Würzburg: Echter, 2018), pp. 81–112. See Bernd Goebel, ‘Menschwerdung und Dämonologie. Der dem Wilhelm von Champeaux zugeschriebene Dialog eines Christen mit einem Juden vor dem Hintergrund von Anselms Cur deus homo’, in Markus Enders and Bernd Goebel, eds., Die Philosophie der monotheistischen Weltreligionen im frühen und hohen Mittelalter (Freiburg: Herder, 2019), pp. 229–53.

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Anselmian Themes and Anti-Anselmian Stances

There are many more thematic parallels between Anselm’s and Ralph’s works, brought out by their juxtaposition in Table 5.1, which leave little doubt that Ralph’s literary output is heavily inspired by Anselm’s oeuvre. It would not be inappropriate, perhaps to think of this as an attempt at imitating, or matching, the range of Anselm’s works. In this respect, Ralph goes even farther than Gilbert Crispin, otherwise Anselm’s closest follower.24 Table 5.1

Thematic parallels between the works of Anselm, Ralph, and Gilbert

Anselm of Canterbury Ralph of Battlea (1033/34–1109) (1040–1124) Meditationes Orationes De grammatico Monologion/ Proslogion De libertate arbitrii De casu diaboli De processione spiritus sancti De conceptu virginali De incarnatione Verbi Cur Deus homo

Gilbert Crispin (1045/46–1117)

Meditationes Orationes Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide / De nesciente et sciente Sententia beati Ieronimi de libero arbitrio (…) / Quid existiment quidam (…)b Hoc quod dicitur quia spiritus sanctus amor est, et de processione eius (…) De perpetua virginitate sanctae Mariae De creatura (…) et quia filius dei (…) pro redemptione hominis carnem suscepit De peccatore et de ratione / [Dialogus inter Iudeum et Christianum]c De nesciente et sciente

De angelo perdito De spiritus sancti

Disputatio Iudaei et Christiani Disputatio Gentilis cum Christiano

a Apart from Ralph’s works mentioned in this table, the list established by Niskanen (see ‘The treatises of Ralph of Battle’, pp. 207–9) comprises several short items elaborating ‘given subjects, which are treated from another angle in their ‘mother texts’ (p. 212). It is not quite clear whether they are to be regarded as independent works, and I have not listed all of them here. b These are part of a series of three texts, referred to by Niskanen as the ‘Jerome block’ (‘The treatises of Ralph of Battle’, p. 218), which contain extracts, with comments, from Jerome. c Possibly by Ralph (see note 23 above). 24

For Gilbert’s works, see Goebel, Im Umkreis von Anselm, pp. 174–201.

84 Table 5.1

Goebel Thematic parallels between the works of Anselm, Ralph, and Gilbert (cont.)

Anselm of Canterbury Ralph of Battle (1033/34–1109) (1040–1124) De concordia praescientiae et praedestinationis et gratiae dei cum libero arbitrio [Liber Anselmi de humanis moribus, ed. Boso (?)] [Lanfranc: De corpore et sanguine Domini (possible collaboration)]d Epistolae De origine animae (planned)f De potestate (unfinished) [Sermones, reported by Eadmer]g

Gilbert Crispin (1045/46–1117)

Quare deus hominem fecit quem peccaturum esse praescivit (…) et de praedestinatione ac praescientia dei De octo a monachis observandis

De monachatu

Fides exposita de veritate corporis et sanguinis domini / Quid dicere sit Dei et quia (…) eodem verbo facto caro fit panis et vinum eiusdem verbi caro et sanguis (…) Epistolae (lost)e

De altaris sacramento

De inquirente et respondente De creatore et creatura

Epistolae (lost) De anima

Sermones (partly lost)

De illa peccatrice De simoniacis Vita Herluini Versi (Carmina)

d According to a conjecture made by Toivo Holopainen, the young Anselm ‘gave Lanfranc substantial help in the composition of De corpore’ and possibly ‘also helped Lanfranc to devise’ his theory of the Eucharist, which accounts for the fact that Anselm does not say anything concerning the Eucharistic conversion anywhere in his own writings; see his ‘“Lanfranc of Bec” and Berengar of Tours’, in Anglo-Norman Studies, 34 (2012), p. 105–28, here 108; and his ‘Logic and Theology in the Eleventh Century: Anselm and Lanfranc’s Heritage’, in Giles E. M. Gasper and Helmut Kohlenberger, eds., Anselm and Abelard: Investigations and Juxtapositions (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 2006), p. 1–16, here 10. e For one of two letters by Anselm which are responses to letters addressed to him by Ralph, see note 7 above. f VA, c. 66, p. 142. g For these, see the chapter on Eadmer in Goebel, Im Umkreis von Anselm, pp. 42 and 50.

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Doctrinal Issues: Agreement, Approximate Agreement, and Disagreement

While Ralph, unlike Lanfranc, develops a rational theology following Anselm’s example, he widely disagrees with the latter on its scope and, more generally, on the right methods theology ought to employ. This is perhaps the greatest divide between these two foremost theologians from the circle of Lanfranc, and will be examined in the last section. Here, I would like to draw attention to a few scattered points regarding which Ralph seems more or less indebted to Anselm, as well as to one other issue, less substantial than the one concerning rational theology, where he refuses to follow his lead. Most conspicuous perhaps among Ralph’s borrowings from Anselm is his account of the purpose of a rational creature in the first book of De nesciente, recalling the first chapter of the second book of Cur Deus homo. In particular, Ralph’s focus on the purpose of the faculty of reason, his insistence on the practical side of reason when describing that purpose, and the way his teleological account of a rational creature links rational insight to will and action seem to point to Anselm rather than to some common Augustinian source. Compare the following: God made the rational creature in order that it might discriminate rationally between good and bad, and that it might refrain from what is bad and do what is good. God made it in order that it might gain and eternally possess the good.25 Ralph, De nesciente, I.101

the rational creature was created upright by God, in order that, through rejoicing in him, it might be blessedly happy. For the reason why it is rational is in order that it may discriminate between just and unjust and between good and bad…. It received the power of discrimination in order that it might hate and avoid what is bad and love and choose the good.26 Anselm, Cur Deus homo, II.1

Another apparent affiliation with Anselm can be identified in Ralph’s metaphysics and concerns his theory of individuation. However, a closer look reveals that there is no conformity but only similarity here. What makes a person an individual, for Anselm, is a unique ‘collection of properties’, a position going

25 26

Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, I.101, p. 288. Anselm, Cur Deus homo, II.1, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 97.

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back to Porphyry and transmitted by Boethius, while Ralph seems to hold that a human person is individuated by a single unique property.27 … within its genus, by which it is a human being, every human being differs very much from another human being, that is, as to the propriety which it has alone—even if it is not alone in that it is a human being because a human being belongs to the same kind as other human beings.28 Ralph, De nesciente, I.145

But when we say, in a demonstrative fashion, ‘this or that human being’ or say, with the proper name, ‘Jesus’, we designate the person, who, along with the nature, has a collection of properties by which the common human being is made an individual and is distinguished from other individuals…. And it is impossible that the collection of properties of different persons be the same.29 Anselm, Epistola de incarnatione Verbi, 11

Again, an element of Ralph’s overall proof of the existence of a supreme being in the first book of De nesciente is the proof that nothing can make itself: if something made itself, Ralph argues, it would need to exist prior to itself; but nothing can exist prior to itself; therefore, nothing can make itself. This recalls what Anselm says in the sixth chapter of the Monologion concerning the impossibility of something’s existing out of nothing through itself: nothing makes itself, so that it may exist, as if it were prior to itself. For how can anything that is not make itself or anything else?30 Ralph, De nesciente, I.31

27

28 29 30 31

But nothing can exist out of nothing through itself, since if something is from nothing and through something, it is necessary that that through which it is be prior.31 Anselm, Monologion, 6

Porphyrii Isagoge translatio Boethii 7, ed. Lorenzo Minio-Paluello, Aristoteles Latinus, vol. 1, 6–7 (Bruges and Paris: Desclée de Brouwer, 1966), pp. 13–4: ‘Individua ergo dicuntur huiusmodi quoniam ex proprietatibus consistit unumquodque eorum quorum collection numquam in alio eadem erit’. Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, I.145, p. 310: ‘proprietatum collectio (…) non est in alia eadem’. Anselm, Monologion, 10, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 29; cf. Anselm of Canterbury, De processione spiritus sancti 16, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 217. Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, I.31, p. 254: ‘nulla res, veluti se ipsa prior sit, se ipsam facit ut esse possit. Quomodo enim aliqua res se ipsam vel aliud facere potest quae non est’? Anselm, Monologion, 6, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 19: ‘Per se autem nihil potest esse ex nihilo, quia si quid est ex nihilo per aliquid, necesse est, ut id per quod est prius sit’.

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Indeed, when Ralph speaks of ‘making oneself’ he seems to mean the same metaphysical relation as Anselm when he speaks of ‘existing out of nothing through oneself’. Anselm’s remark, however, is not part of an attempt at proving the existence of God as it is with Ralph. Rather, it serves to rule out a certain misunderstanding of what it is for God to exist through or by himself, a misunderstanding, that is, of the divine aseity. Still, Anselm’s point, less general yet similar to Ralph’s, may well have inspired the latter. Other similarities suggest a common Augustinian inspiration rather than Ralph’s borrowing ideas from Anselm. For instance, Anselm and Ralph both embrace divine exemplarism and concur in likening God’s creative activity to that of an artisan or builder as did Augustine, though in rather different ways.32 Yet, at times, when I consider whether I could find something which I could liken—if not wholly, so at least in some way—to this [sc. that God created everything out of nothing], I picture in this hiddenness of my knowledge that I want to build some kind of house or something the like. And so, when I think this, I first make everything which I want to make out there in the inner hiddenness of my mind ….33

But this form of things, which precedes in its [sc. the maker’s] reason the things to be created, what else is it than a certain act of speaking in reason itself, just as when an artisan who is going to make some work of his art first says it within himself by a mental conception? Anselm, Monologion, 10

Ralph, De inquirente, IX.3

On the face of it, the comparison might also be used to argue against the possibility of a divine creation from nothing. For, indeed, an analysis of the craftsman’s creative activity seems to suggest the presence of a material cause as a necessary element, which is why Augustine warns his readers that ‘[w]e must not be like those who do not believe that God the Almighty could have made something from nothing when they observe that carpenters or any craftsmen cannot fashion anything unless they have something out of which to fashion it’.34 Anselm and Ralph therefore qualify their remarks by pointing out the dissimilarities between a human and the divine maker. In doing so, Ralph seems 32 33 34

See, for example, Augustine, De Genesi contra Manichaeos, I.8.13, ed. Dorothea Weber (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1998), pp. 79–80. Ralph of Battle, De inquirente, IX.3, ed. Sigbjørn Sønnesyn in cooperation with Bernd Goebel and Samu Niskanen, in Ralph von Battle, Dialoge zur philosophischen Theologie, p. 202. Augustine, De Genesi contra Manichaeos, I, 6, 10, ed. Weber, p. 76.

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to overshoot the mark, since he submits that no likeness is implied here at all, whereas Anselm does not withdraw his analogy but speaks only of a combination of likeness and unlikeness: And therefore, as it seems to me, there is no likeness between this work of mine, which I can only make out of something else, and these works which God makes out of nothing.35 Ralph, De inquirente, IX, 5

However, I see in this likeness much unlikeness. For it [sc. the highest substance] did not by any means take up something from elsewhere…. Yet the artisan … cannot perform the work conceived by the mind in the absence of some material or of something without which the preconceived work cannot be accomplished.36 Anselm, Monologion, 11

The most notable single point of disagreement between Ralph and Anselm, apart from the more general and methodical variances depicted in the next section, bears on a subject that may seem immaterial to the modern reader, but was very much at the forefront of eleventh century theological anthropology. That is, the problem, expressly left open by Augustine, of whether the human being was made as a mere replacement for the fallen angels, or whether it was created for its own sake so that God would have made it even if no angel had sinned.37 Anselm opted for the second alternative.38 His solution, which was likewise embraced by Gilbert Crispin and the theologians at Laon, came to be almost universally accepted by the thirteenth century, and theologians eventually ceased to take much interest in the question. In the eleventh century, however, both alternatives were live positions. In De nesciente, Ralph has the ‘knowledgeable’ report: ‘Some also say that God made the human being in 35 36 37

38

Ralph of Battle, De inquirente, IX.5, p. 204: ‘nulla similitudo’. Anselm, Monologion, 11, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 26: ‘multa tamen in hac similitudine (…) dissimilitudinem’. See Bernd Goebel, ‘The Myth of the Eleventh Century: Hans Blumenberg’s Anselm’, in Gasper and Logan, Saint Anselm and His Legacy, pp. 311–7, and his ‘Besprechung von Vojtěch Novotný, Cur homo? The history of the thesis concerning man as a replacement for fallen angels’, Theologie und Philosophie, 90 (2015), pp. 611–5. In the only book-length study of this early medieval debate, Vojtěch Novotný misjudges Anselm’s position, crediting Anselm of Laon with the development of the position which the author of Cur Deus homo defended probably before him, and suggesting that Anselm of Canterbury held no clear views on the matter; see his Cur homo? The history of the thesis concerning man as a replacement for fallen angels (Prague: Karolinum Press, 2014), pp. 53–9 and 137–8; and Goebel, ‘Besprechung von Vojtěch Novotný, Cur homo?’, pp. 613–4.

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order that by it and its offspring the angels who had fallen were replaced. Yet there are others who think that God would have made the human being even if the angels had not fallen’.39 Ralph does not take sides in this issue here.40 Nevertheless, in the Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide, he admits to a predilection (libentius audio) for the anti-Anselmian position according to which God would not have created the human being if the fall of the angels had not occurred, rejecting an argument to the contrary. Still, Ralph does not claim to have settled the question (sententiam definitam inferre non audeo).41 Maybe he chose to express his opinion so delicately out of respect for his teacher, and it is perhaps no coincidence that the argument dismissed by Ralph is not one of the arguments Anselm himself uses to corroborate his position.42 3

Reason and Authority: Anselmian or Lanfrancian?

3.1 Reason A common thread in Ralph’s dialogue with the atheist is the relation between faith, or the authorities of faith, and reason. It is perhaps a natural question whether in this respect Ralph is a follower of Anselm or whether his allegiances are rather to his first teacher Lanfranc, who in his debate with Berengar of Tours expressed a deep commitment to the authorities of faith, who preferred a proof from authority to a rational one, and who in his other works mainly strove to understand Biblical authorities with the help of Patristic authorities and the liberal arts. The first thing to note here is Ralph’s extremely high opinion of reason. To read almost any of his major works, is to be struck by phrases that amount to veritable eulogies of reason. They do not seem to be indebted to Lanfranc at all. On the contrary, they are reminiscent of Berengar’s repudiation of Lanfranc’s not particularly high opinion of reason:

39 40 41

42

Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, II.76, p. 360. Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, II.76, p. 360: ‘Sed qua ratione et illi illud et isti istud quod dicunt asserant, hic ponere supersedeo’. Ralph of Battle, Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide, Bodleian MS Laud misc. 363, fols. 38v–39r: ‘De his autem duabus opinionibus si quis quaeret a me quae michi videatur verior, sententiam definitam inferre non audio, sed tamen ista quae dicit quia nisi angelus peccasset, homo non fieret, libentius audio et plus se concordat cum meo animo’. The same anti-Anselmian view on this issue can be found in the Dialogus inter Christianum et Iudaeum de fide Catholica formerly attributed to William of Champeaux. This may be due to the fact that it actually is a work of Ralph; see note 23 above.

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For even if we believe in everything that Scripture teaches us to believe…, it is still somehow more delightful for us if we can understand rationally that what we believe cannot be other than faith teaches us. Indeed, the supreme reason [summa ratio] is God, in whom lies the certain origin of every reason. The more God sees that those who seek him seek him rationally and piously and that, by his help, they live (as far as they can) a rational life and do not wish to depart from reason in every action of theirs, the more he befriends them.43 This passage and others appear to contain a justification of the rational method that goes beyond anything comparable to be found in the works of Anselm. And indeed, in the first book of De nesciente and the Meditatio cuiusdam christiani, Ralph, like Anselm, develops a rational theology himself, even if it turns out to be very different from that of Lanfranc’s more famous student. Ralph’s position in the latter work may be summarised as follows. As Paul says in his letter to the Romans (1:20), the invisible God can be known from creation. By this method, we come to see that, necessarily, some ‘eternal essence or nature’ exists. This nature the Bible calls ‘God’. Apart from God’s existence and eternity, our natural knowledge of him includes his unicity and omnipotence, his having created everything out of nothing, and his possessing the powers of rationality and volition. We also know by natural reason that the rational creature resembles God, the supreme reason, more than any other creature, and, as Ralph shows in De nesciente, that the soul of a rational creature is immortal.44 3.2 Authority At the same time, Ralph does not wish to disregard the authorities, proceeding as it were ratione, but not sola ratione. In De inquirente, the inquirer remarks that it would in his eyes be ‘sufficient to a higher degree’ if the respondent were able to support his rational arguments (which seem to have convinced the inquirer) by an authority, preferably that of Saint Augustine, whom he holds in the highest esteem.45 The respondent then satisfies his desire so completely that after a series of extended, almost interminable quotations from De civitate 43

44 45

Ralph of Battle, Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide, Bodleian MS Laud 363, fol. 33v. See also Berengar of Tours, Rescriptum contra Lanfrannum, I.1795–9, ed. Robert B. C. Huygens (Turnhout: Brepols, 1988), p. 85: ‘It belongs to the great heart to take refuge in dialectic in all matters, since to take refuge in it is to take refuge in reason, wherefore he who does not do so, since he is made according to reason in the image of God, loses his honour and cannot be renewed from day to day in the image of God’. See Goebel, ‘Einleitung’, pp. 33–4. Ralph of Battle, De inquirente, II.12, p. 88.

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Dei he feels obliged to justify his procedure. Why quote Augustine at such length? For essentially practical reasons, says the respondent: ‘To this I answer that many will be able to take this small work here, which they can very easily carry to wherever they want, more lightly than that great work of the blessed Augustine’.46 Another passage from De inquirente, where the respondent states that his explications ‘must neither be against reason nor against holy authority’, perhaps best shows what Ralph has in mind.47 Namely, a combination of rational arguments and arguments from authority somehow complementing each other while being each sufficient to establish the truth of a doctrine or proposition of faith on their own. To be sure, several rational arguments feature in the first book of De nesciente that are not subsequently backed up by the authority of Saint Augustine (as they usually are in De inquirente). It is only at the beginning of De nesciente though that any normative reference to authorities is rendered impossible by the ignorant’s lack of faith. Recognizing the force of his interlocutor’s arguments, the inquirer soon displays a more favourable attitude towards Augustine and the Bible; before long he becomes a theist and, shortly afterwards, a Christian, endowed with an orthodox longing for the authorities of faith.48 This seems to be a compromise between Anselm’s rational method and Lanfranc’s admonition that a Christian should not rely on dialectical arguments rather than on the authority of the Church fathers.49 The influence of Lanfranc becomes particularly clear when the knowledgeable declares that he is ‘more inclined to believe the sayings of the holy fathers than the verbose disputations of magniloquent men’.50 Ralph, then, deliberately does not follow Anselm in precluding arguments based on authority from theology. The ex-atheist in De nesciente, as well as the perplexed Christian in De inquirente, behave quite differently from the unnamed brethren mentioned in the preface to Anselm’s Monologion who according to Anselm had prompted him to write a book on speculative theology and insisted on his doing so using solely rational arguments, a method which Saint Augustine had refused to adopt, associating

46 47 48 49

50

Ralph of Battle, De inquirente, III.8, p. 106. Ralph of Battle, De inquirente, IV.21, p. 138. See Goebel, ‘Einleitung’, pp. 38–41. For Lanfranc’s view on the relationship between authority and reason, see Bernd Goebel, ‘Autorités sacrées ou raisons dialectiques? La querelle sur la méthode dans la théologie du XIe siècle’, in Olivier Boulnois and Philippe Capelle-Dumont, eds., Philosophie et théologie au Moyen Âge, vol. 2 of 2 (Paris: Les Éditions du Cerf, 2009), pp. 105–21. Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, I.64, p. 272.

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it with his Manichean adversaries.51 Consequently, Ralph’s texts mostly lack the apologetic air of some of Anselm’s major works (in particular the Cur Deus homo and the Monologion).52 The interpretation of Scripture occupies a far more prominent place in any of Ralph’s major works than in those of Gilbert Crispin, let alone of Anselm. Ralph demonstrates expertise in patristic exegesis and an intimate familiarity with allegorical Bible interpretation, in particular with that of Augustine.53 Although this type of exegesis is not predominant in Lanfranc’s extant work, we may surmise that it played a major role in his lost commentary on the psalms. Ralph’s predilection for De civitate Dei also points to Lanfranc, whereas Anselm’s Augustinianism is more focused on De trinitate.54 Of course, an allegorical interpretation of the Scriptures does not by itself imply the supremacy of authority over reason, as it provides the interpreter with the means to subject biblical passages, the literary meaning of which seems philosophically objectionable, to rational explanations. The larger part of Ralph’s allegorical interpretations of biblical texts, however, does not seem to be of this rational type. Apart from the Bible, the authorities to which Ralph refers are the sentiments of the ‘Catholic teachers’.55 Those teachers, he has to admit, are not always of the same opinion. They disagree for instance as to exactly when the angels were created.56 The growing awareness of conflicting authorities would favour a more rationally and hermeneutically oriented theology in the twelfth century (as for example Abelard’s Sic et non).57 Nonetheless, Ralph seems, on 51

52

53 54 55 56 57

Anselm, Monologion, Praefatio, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 7. See Bernd Goebel, ‘Foi et raison selon la théologie philosophique de saint Anselme’, in Boulnois and Capelle-Dumont, Philosophie et théologie au Moyen Âge, vol. 2, pp. 123–38, and see Augustine, De utilitate credendi 2, ed. Joseph Zycha (Vienna: F. Tempsky, 1891), p. 4: ‘Nosti enim, Honorate, non aliam ob causam nos in tales homines incidisse, nisi quod se dicebant terribili auctoritate separata mera et simplici rationes eos, qui se audire vellent, introducturos ad deum et errore omni liberaturos’. For the apologetic character of these and other Anselmian works, see Markus Enders, ‘Die Entwicklung der christlichen Auseinandersetzung mit dem Judentum und dem Islam von Anselm von Canterbury bis Peter Abälard’, in Gasper and Kohlenberger, Anselm and Abelard, pp. 223–47. Goebel, ‘Einleitung’, pp. 26–8 and 53–4. See Margaret Gibson, Lanfranc of Bec (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1978), pp. 239– 41; and her ‘Lanfranc’s notes on patristic texts’, Journal of Theological Studies, 22 (1971), pp. 435–50. Ralph of Battle, De inquirente, V. 2, p. 140. Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, II.13, p. 328. Peter Abelard, Sic et Non, ed. Blanche B. Boyer and Richard McKeon (Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1976).

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the whole, to content himself with simply juxtaposing such authorities, leaving it to the reader to decide which one to follow.58 This is part of a general tendency amongst the figures within his dialogue towards modesty and even self-effacement in accordance with the Rule of Benedict. His teachers are unpretentious, do not act in a schoolmasterly manner, and never try to appear knowledgeable or wise. In anything the ‘respondent’ in De inquirente states, he pursues the benefit of his pupil (and that of their readers) no less than his own. This is why the respondent repeatedly confines himself to offering the opinion of others, considering that he has not yet sufficiently understood the issue and cannot therefore pretend to be a competent judge.59 More often than not, he claims that his assertions do not amount to knowledge, or even denies that he is asserting anything at all. 4

The Scope of Rational Theology

An argument can be made that this un-Anselmian concern for authorities in Ralph stems from his being committed to an un-Anselmian idea of theology, from his opposing Anselm’s (and Gilbert’s) conception of a fully rational theology based on a priori arguments and the search for necessary reasons. This becomes most obvious, perhaps, when, at the end of book one of De nesciente, the ignorant requests the Christian to instruct him in the faith. The Christian’s rational arguments have convinced him of the truth of theism, but the basic tenets of faith, the divine Trinity and the Incarnation, have yet to be addressed. The ignorant then expresses what would seem a perfectly reasonable desire as to the method of his forthcoming instruction in the faith: that it will be based not only on authorities but also on rational argument.60 His suggestion does not, however, meet with his interlocutor’s approval. On the contrary, the knowledgeable bluntly rejects it, saying that he will not have it, since this is not how Christians have come to know the articles of their faith.61 This is hardly a very Anselmian point to make and begs the question how Ralph’s attitude should be accounted for. It might be thought that there is an Anselmian rationale for it after all. Maybe Ralph was just insisting on the 58 59 60 61

For Ralph’s use of authorities apart from the Bible, see Goebel, ‘Einleitung’, pp. 22–4, 38–41, 50–2, and 62. Ralph of Battle, De inquirente, VI.14, pp. 150–2: ‘I am presenting to you their opinion, because I hardly comprehend anything useful in this matter, and that is why I do not wish to assert anything about it according to my own lights’; see also De inquirente, VI.29, p. 160. Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, I.164, p. 320. Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, II.4–5, p. 322.

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proper order which our inquiry into the rational foundations of faith ought to observe, as is spelt out by Boso at the beginning of Cur Deus homo: ‘that we should believe the profundities of the Christian faith before we presume to discuss it rationally’.62 However, for Anselm and Gilbert, this ‘right order’ is an ideal. Reality at times compels the Christian to deflect from it. Confronted with an unbeliever, the Christian cannot always abide by the ideal right order. Anselm does not exclude that some extraordinarily reasonable unbeliever might become convinced of the truth of Christianity without taking the longer and safer way of learning from the authorities.63 By and large, Ralph appears more reluctant to betray this ideal priority of faith; for example, his Meditation on faith is the intellectual exercise of a Christian (as its full title already announces), whereas Anselm’s meditation on faith (the Monologion) expressly does not presuppose the faith of those who embark upon it.64 As a matter of fact, all the truths that are rationally established by the interlocutors in the first book of De nesciente, God’s existence, some divine attributes, the purpose of our existence, the immortality of the rational soul, are not specific of the Christian faith.65 When the conversation turns to the specific tenets of Christianity, the knowledgeable is no longer willing to uphold his method based on authority and reason alike. He proposes instead to rely, from this point, on authority alone. This methodological shift seems to occur for a simple reason: unlike Anselm, Ralph just does not think it is possible to prove the specific tenets of Christianity by reason alone. In his opinion, the divine Trinity does not disclose itself to one who does not believe, nor is there any argument from a few universally accepted premises to prove the necessity of God incarnate. Moreover, although reason can prove the existence of a supreme nature, it is incapable of demonstrating that it is identical with the Christian God. So, for Ralph there is no purely rational way from theism to Christianity as there is from atheism to theism. This is why in that part of his dialogue which is based on reason, the counterpart of the Christian is not a theist but an atheist. Gilbert’s Jew and his pagan philosopher as well as the Jews and Muslims represented, in my view, by Anselm’s Boso, are all adherents of other monotheistic religions who are to be convinced of the truth of Christianity by reason alone.66 Not so with Ralph. Once the atheist in De nesciente has recognized 62 63 64 65 66

Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I.1, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 48. Augustine had admitted this already: De utilitate credendi 24, ed. Zycha, pp. 29–31. Anselm, Monologion, 1, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 13. Goebel, ‘Einleitung’, pp. 33–8 and 43. See Bernd Goebel, ‘Juifs et païens. Qui sont les incroyants dans le Cur Deus homo de s. Anselme?’, in Danielle Cohen-Levinas and Antoine Guggenheim, eds., L’anti-judaïsme à l’épreuve de la théologie et de la philosophie (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 2016), pp. 77–104.

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the truth of theism (and, one must add, of a rational anthropology), reason has done its work. However, the truth of the main tenets of Christianity has not even been touched upon; the theism and rational anthropology which the ignorant has come to accept are common to all three Abrahamic religions. In Ralph’s eyes, convincing oneself of the truth of Christianity is just not possible without faith in its authorities. That is why, in the second book of De nesciente, authority must take the place of reason.67 The debate with the atheist, who believes that ‘there is nothing except for what I see with the eyes’, is an ideal setting for Ralph in order to specify the scope and limits of a natural theology.68 The same project of demarcation is found in his Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide. And here he parts company with his supposed teacher. Unlike Anselm, Ralph leaves no doubt that, to his lights, the mystery of the Trinity is wholly beyond the reach of our natural faculties of understanding; indeed, he explicitly states this to be the case.69 It is not, however, equally easy to see that this also holds true for the other major mystery of the Christian faith, the incarnation. For, in De peccatore, Ralph seems to borrow rather heavily from Anselm’s theory of atonement. He holds that we must effect satisfaction for our sins (satisfactio), without which we cannot be saved, but are unable to do so.70 He even says that it was ‘necessary’ that ‘God was made man’.71 Nonetheless, it seems that Ralph does not try to prove the necessity of the Incarnation from a priori premises in the way that Anselm does. The necessity in question does not seem to arise unless the divine will for salvation and a certain doctrine of the essence and purpose of the human being are presupposed. The former at least is not the object of a rational proof but taken from faith: ‘I know that God is almighty, and I believe that he wants to save all men’.72 Further notable divergences from Anselm are that Ralph’s theory of satisfaction presupposes the doctrine of original sin and that he holds onto the idea that humanity is freed by Christ from the

67 68 69 70 71 72

Goebel, ‘Einleitung’, pp. 63–5. Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, I.7, p. 244: ‘Quantum autem ad me attinet, ego prorsus nichil esse credo, nisi quae oculis video’. Ralph of Battle, Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide, Bodleian MS Laud misc. 363, fol. 36r. Ralph of Battle, De peccatore et de ratione, Bodleian MS Laud misc. 363, fols. 5r, 6v, 8r, 13r; and De nesciente II.13, pp. 382–6. Ralph of Battle, Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide, Bodleian MS Laud misc. 363, fol. 39v. In De nesciente he uses the term rectitudo instead with a similar meaning. Ralph of Battle, De peccatore et de ratione, Bodleian MS Laud misc. 363, fol. 6r. I wish to point out that this still unedited dialogue would need to be studied more thoroughly to verify the interpretation put forward here.

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dominion of the devil.73 The atonement through God incarnate is also briefly set out in De nesciente but does not occupy any prominent place there; significantly, it is only introduced after the ignorant has adopted the Christian faith. However, the main argument of the Dialogus inter Christianum et Iudaeum de fide Catholica, which may well be a mature work of Ralph, can be regarded as a rational proof of the incarnation, albeit a very complex one depending on many premises, some of which presumably could not be taken for granted in the debate with a Jew.74 Several things the knowledgeable says and some aspects of the ignorant’s behaviour also seem to indicate that Ralph’s atheist is probably a baptized Christian who has lost his faith.75 If this is true, the initial situation in De nesciente confronting the Christian with the atheist could be interpreted as an aggravation, or intensification, of that in De inquirente, where the respondent’s counterpart is a perplexed fellow-Christian (whose doubts on the whole seem mild and do not concern the essence of his faith). As the conversation in De nesciente evolves, the ex-atheist develops a favourable attitude towards the Christian authorities. Indeed, the Christianizing of the theist is an almost effortless pursuit for the knowledgeable, easier still than his converting him from atheism to theism, which was not overly complicated either.76 At times it would seem that the Christian authorities and the faith one is supposed to put in them are still familiar to the ignorant from an earlier stage of life, when he was still a believer. 5

Perfect-Being Theology

If Ralph does not on the whole accept Anselm’s philosophical theology, this is also because he denies the notion of God as a most perfect being a central place in his own theology. It is true that Ralph does make use of this concept occasionally. He says for instance that God ‘is so utterly perfect that it is 73

74 75 76

Ralph of Battle, De peccatore et de ratione, Bodleian MS Laud misc. 363, fol. 12v: ‘Sed hanc rectitudinem nullus homo deo potest persolvere qui nascitur de homine quia omnis homo peccator nascitur propter praevaricationem quae perpetrata est in primo homine’; id., Oratio 7, in Anima mea: Prières privées et textes de dévotion du Moyen Age latin: Autour des prières ou méditations attribuées à saint Anselme de Cantorbéry, edited by Jean-François Cottier (Turnhout: Brepols, 2001), p. 90: ‘fideles et amicos tuos … a daemonica dominatio, gloriose triumphans, misericorditer eripuisti’; see also id., Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide, Bodleian MS Laud misc. 363, fol. 41v. See also Goebel, ‘Menschwerdung und Dämonologie’. See also Goebel, ‘Einleitung’, pp. 28–9. See also Goebel, ‘Einleitung’, pp. 38–42.

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impossible that he be more perfect, which for him is impossible because he is most perfect (perfectissimus)’.77 Like Anselm he infers from this that God essentially is, rather than just has, any property which can be ascribed to him.78 The notion of God as a most perfect being is, however, far from being the pivotal point of his theology as it is with Anselm. Ralph’s proof of God is not the proof of a maximally perfect being but of a creator of everything there is (apart from itself); hence the identity of the supreme being with the Christian God becomes a mere article of faith. It is difficult to see how the notion of God as a most perfect being in Ralph’s Meditatio de fide relates to the other parts of Ralph’s theology.79 De nesciente presents Ralph’s proof of a beginningless creator of everything there is except for himself.80 This is quite a remarkable piece of reasoning combining a cogito-argument of sorts, probably inspired by Augustine (step 1 to 3), with a very early version of the cosmological argument based on the impossibility both of self-creation (5 to 9) and of an infinite regress in the chain of causes (10 to 14).81 The schema runs as follows: (1) I am certain that I can have visual and tactile perceptions. (2) I could not perceive anything in this way if I did not exist. (3) Therefore, I am certain that I exist. (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9)

I have been made either by myself or by someone else. Nothing can make itself, since if something made itself, it would need to exist prior to itself. But nothing exists prior than itself. Therefore, I cannot have been made by myself. Therefore, I have been made by someone else.

(10) The one who has made me either has a beginning or not. (11) If he has a beginning, there is a third one who has made the second one and who either has a beginning or has not; and if he has, there is a fourth one who has made the third one; and so on. 77 78 79 80 81

Ralph of Battle, Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide, Bodleian MS Laud misc. 363, fol. 35r. Anselm, Monologion 16, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1 pp. 30–1; and Anselm, Proslogion, 12, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 110. Goebel, ‘Einleitung’, pp. 34 and 65. For a full rendition, see Bernd Goebel and Christian Tapp, ‘Der kosmologische Gottesbeweis des Ralph von Battle: Rekonstruktion, Kritik und Einordnung’, forthcoming in: Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie 103 (2021). Ralph of Battle, De nesciente, I.29–36, pp. 252–6.

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(12) Therefore, there either is some person who has no beginning and who has (ultimately) made me, or there is an infinite series of makers that are from one another. (13) There cannot be an infinite series of makers that are from one another. (14) Therefore, there must be some person who has no beginning and who has ultimately made me (and everything else there is except for himself). This creator is then identified with the Christian God on theological grounds: (15) Faith teaches us that it is the triune God who has ultimately made everything there is except for himself. (16) God, i.e. the one who has made everything else there is, has no beginning and is by himself, without however having made himself. (17) Therefore, God exists. This reasoning is a far cry both from any of the proofs in Anselm’s Monologion and from his so-called ontological argument. Indeed, it does not seem altogether impossible that Ralph is the real author of the anonymous Liber pro insipiente, traditionally attributed to Gaunilo of Marmoutier, containing a series of objections to the proof for the existence of God in the Proslogion while affirming the possibility of a different, yet unspecified proof for God’s existence.82 The conclusion of its purely rational part (14) is far more restricted than that of Anselm’s proof. Anselm claims to prove by reason alone that a most perfect being must not only have real and necessary existence, but also possess the remaining attributes of the Christian God,83 whereas Ralph does not. Again, in Cur Deus homo, Anselm deduces the necessity of the Incarnation from God’s maximal perfection and other premises he takes to be a priori truths.84 Gilbert Crispin and Odo of Cambrai take up this latter proof in their dialogues between believers and unbelievers with slight modifications.85 82 83

84 85

Goebel and Tapp, ‘Der kosmologische Gottesbeweis’. Bernd Goebel, ‘Anselm’s Elusive Argument: Ian Logan Reading the Proslogion’, The Saint Anselm Journal, 7 (2009), pp. 75–96, and Richard Campbell, Rethinking Anselm’s Arguments: a Vindication of his Proof of the Existence of God (Leiden: Brill, 2018). This is also true for the Monologion. See Bernd Goebel and Vittorio Hösle, ‘Reasons, Emotions and God’s Presence in Anselm of Canterbury’s Dialogue Cur Deus homo’, Archiv für Geschichte der Philosophie, 87 (2005), pp. 189–210. See Bernd Goebel, ‘Vernunft und Autorität in den Religionsgesprächen Gilbert Crispins’, Philosophy of Religion Annual, 11 (2012), pp. 29–71.

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Ralph, by contrast, ignores it in De nesciente, seems to deprive it of its apologetic sense in his De peccatore, and, if we suppose that he is the real author of that work, replaces it by a rather different one in the Dialogus inter Christianum et Iudaeum, introducing elements of Christian angelology among its premises. 6

Conclusion

Ralph does indeed develop a rational theology albeit one that is limited; he takes the better part of theology to be inaccessible by reason alone. What is more, the proof from authority is left intact. Lanfranc, whose works were all about authorities, did not venture into the field of philosophical theology (although he did not deny its possibility either). For Anselm, theology for the most part is philosophical theology and does not need to (and indeed should not in light of his own principles) invoke authorities. Against this contemporary background, it may be stated that Ralph’s theological method represents a middle way between the methods of the two great theologians from Le Bec, an alternative stance, with its heyday yet to come.

Part 2 Reading Anselm’s Environment: Politics, Canterbury and Literature

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chapter 6

St Anselm and Gundulf of Rochester Brothers of Bec, One in Heart and Soul Thomas R. Barrows Of Anselm of Canterbury’s 475 surviving letters, twenty-two were addressed to his fellow monk of Bec, Gundulf, exceeding any other recorded recipient. Further, no other person maintained as prolonged a correspondence with Anselm, spanning some thirty years or more.1 The first letter addressed to him was written between 1070 and 1073, just as Anselm’s letter collection begins, while the last was written in either 1105 or 1106, only a few years before both Anselm and Gundulf’s deaths.2 The length and depth of their correspondence, as well as the effusive loving language used, corroborates the claim made in Gundulf’s biography, the Vita Gundulfi, that ‘so close was [Anselm’s] friendship with Gundulf that he was spoken of as another Gundulf, and Gundulf as a second Anselm, and he loved to be so called, for they had but one heart and soul in God’.3 This sentiment, the oneness of their souls, is not simply one of the commonplace expressions of love between monks found throughout the late eleventh and twelfth centuries; rather, I will argue that it is a unique characteristic of Anselm and Gundulf’s relationship constituting what the Vita Gundulfi portrays as a spiritual marriage, a union of souls. In order to understand the purpose of the portrayal of their relationship in this manner both in the Vita and in the letters, it is essential to examine the nature of eleventh century scholastic friendship and letter-writing. For Brian Patrick McGuire ‘Anselm and his followers contributed to a veritable 1 Anselm did, however, write to his sister Richeza and Ida, the Countess of Boulogne, throughout his life as well, though with fewer surviving letters than with Gundulf. For more on Anselm’s lifelong relationship with these women, see Sally Vaughn, St Anselm and the Handmaidens of God: A Study of Anselm’s Correspondence with Women (Turnhout: Brepols, 2002). 2 Anselm, Ep. i.4, in The Letters of Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, vol. 1, The Bec Letters, ed. and trans. Samu Niskanen (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2019), pp. 14–9; Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 381, in his Opera omnia ed. Schmitt, 6 vols., vol. 5, p. 324. 3 The Life of Gundulf, Bishop of Rochester, ed. Rodney Thompson (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1977), p. 30: ‘tanta Gundulfo est amicitia uinctus ut se alterum Gundulfum, Gundulfum uero alterum Anselmum diceret / et uocari gauderet’. (henceforth Vita Gundulfi). English translation from The Life of the Venerable Man, Gundulf, bishop of Rochester, trans. the Nuns of Malling Abbey (West Malling: Malling Abbey, 1968), pp. 8–9.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004468238_008

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revolution in the expression of human sentiment. This change is closely tied to the triumph of monastic reform movements in the late eleventh century’.4 Here, McGuire is not overstating the case. If the manner in which written expression developed in the eleventh century is a reflection of the evolving attitudes found within the monastic and Church reforms, then the remarkable language of Anselm’s letters places him at the forefront of the changing trends of his time. These changing trends become clear when comparing the addresses of Lanfranc and his student Anselm in their respective letters. In his only extant letter to Anselm, Archbishop Lanfranc plainly writes, ‘To Anselm, his lord and father, brother and friend, the sinner Lanfranc wishes God’s eternal salvation’.5 Lanfranc’s address is respectful to be sure, but both it and the body of the letter largely lack the intense expression which characterizes Anselm’s writing, as in his response to this letter addressed ‘the reverend lord, truly loveable and beloved father, Archbishop Lanfranc, embraceable to the catholic mother, his brother Anselm, as worthily as he possibly can be all his’.6 Central to the purpose of this highly expressive writing style was its part in the revival of Benedictine principles. Specifically, the letters were part of the Benedictine tradition of teaching by example. As mentioned in the Rule of St Benedict: Anyone who receives the name of abbot is to lead his disciples according to a twofold teaching: he must point out to them all that is good and holy, more by example than by words, proposing the commandments of the Lord to receptive disciples with words, but demonstrating God’s instructions to the stubborn and the dull by a living example.7

4 Brian McGuire Friendship and Community: the Monastic Experience, 350–1250 (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2010), p. 211. 5 Lanfranc of Canterbury, The Letters of Lanfranc, Archbishop of Canterbury ed. and trans. by Helen Clover and Margaret Gibson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), Ep. 18: ‘Domino patri fratri amico Ans. L. peccator perpetuam a Deo salutem’. 6 Anselm, Ep. i.24, ed. Niskanen, pp. 74–5: ‘Domino reuerendo, patri uere diligendo et dilecto, catholicae matri amplectendo archiepiscopo Lanfranco frater Anselmus suus quod dignius potest totus suus’. 7 The Rule of St Benedict, abridged edn, ed. and trans. by Timothy Fry (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1981), 3.7–10, pp. 28–9 (emphasis my own): ‘Cum aliquis suscipit nomen abbatis, duplici debet doctrina suis praeesse discipulis, id est omnia bona et sancta factis amplius quam verbis ostendat, ut capacibus discipulis mandata Domini verbis proponere, duris corde vero et simplicioribus factis suis divina praecepta monstrare’.

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In just this way an abbot or any monk in a position of mentor should instruct his students by his actions in every aspect of Godly behaviour including, crucially, interactions with other brothers. Inasmuch as they form much of the surviving evidence, the letters sent between monks remain prominent in these interactions. In the eleventh century, these letters were intended to be read aloud before the public and to be kept and used for instruction on the proper etiquette of letter-writing to younger monks.8 For this reason, we know that the language of high emotion, whether of love, sadness or anger, was an intentional literary device and should not be confused with spontaneous expression.9 Mia Münster-Swendsen refers to the written use of the first of these, love, as amor and traces its origins well before the eleventh century, though it is from this period that more examples survive.10 As a conceptual form of love, amor, expressed by sentiments of physical love for an individual, is distinct from caritas, a love which in the monastic tradition was to be held and expressed in common. In fact, Julian Haseldine argues that the very purpose of the affective language employed by Anselm is the promotion of communal health among monastic brethren.11 The exact nature of amor writing varied depending on the recipient. For instance, a master writing to his student uses loving, parental and even erotic language (appropriated to convey a spiritual love), while the student writes reverentially to his master.12 The student displays ‘humility and subjugation’ while the master plays the part ‘of a lover exalting his beloved’.13 In his capacity as student to Lanfranc, Anselm often wrote, especially earlier on, that he was ‘all his’ or some similar variant of submission and obedience.14 Yet when acting as teacher, Anselm enthusiastically became the mentor-lover, as he was to the

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Mia Münster-Swendsen, ‘The Model of Scholastic Mastery’, in Sally N. Vaughn and Jay Rubenstein, eds., Teaching and Learning in Northern Europe, 1000–1200 (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepols, 2007), p. 310. Mia Münster-Swendsen, ‘The Use of Emotions in the North-European School Milieus’, in Sita Steckel, Niels Gaul, and Michael Grünbart, eds., Networks of Learning: Perspectives on Scholars in Byzantine East and Latin West, c. 1000–1200 (Berlin: LIT Verlag, 2014), p. 163. Münster-Swendsen, ‘Scholastic Mastery’, p. 310. See Julian Haseldine, ‘The Monastic Culture of Friendship’ in The Culture of Medieval English Monasticism, ed. James G. Clark (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2007), pp. 177–202. Münster-Swendsen, ‘Scholastic Mastery’, p. 323. Münster-Swendsen, ‘Scholastic Mastery’, p. 323. Anselm, Ep. i.1, ed. Niskanen, p. 2: ‘suus totus’; Epp. i.19, i.48, i.57, i.130, i.133, ed. Niskanen, pp. 58, 138, 170, 380, 386: ‘frater Anselmus suus quod suus’; Ep. i.24, ed. Niskanen, p. 74: ‘frater Anselmus suus, quod dignius potest totus suus’; Ep. i.41, ed. Niskenen, p. 120: ‘suus subiectione et amore seruus et filius, frater Anselmus quod suus’.

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young Maurice to whom he writes, ‘Always I have been and am ready to devote my very self and whatever I can to you and for you. The messenger hastens. I must repress the words my soul seeks to burst out with. Yet, I add this: what I have been to you, so shall I remain’.15 In later letters to Maurice, Anselm is not as restrained and reveals the nature of his love for Maurice as distinct from his love for Gundulf. The letters Anselm addressed to Gundulf do not display the amor of either master or student; instead, they present expressions of an intense, perfectly mutual and complementary friendship between two equal monks. It is the ideal of monastic friendship between equals that these letters exemplify. Though such letters were circulated to be read aloud and though his words are in keeping with a wider, contemporary tradition of amatory language, we have no reason to doubt the sincerity of Anselm’s sentiments as mere formalities.16 As Haseldine has pointed out, the dichotomy between instrumental or merely formal language and so-called authentic affection is quite likely a false and anachronistic one.17 Instead, the fact that so many of Anselm’s letters to Gundulf were preserved, that the nature of their love language is so distinct, and that their professional relationship to one another for many years had been as equal brothers suggests Anselm intended to portray their relationship as both unique and between two men for whom difference in station matters little. Indeed, Anselm claims that despite their apparent difference in rank once Gundulf became a bishop, love ‘always elevates [Anselm] towards equality with [Gundulf]’ and vice-versa as they are ‘united by bonds of friendly affection’.18 In other words, Anselm presents his relationship with Gundulf as an ideal friendship between brothers of Bec. The character of Gundulf, however, remains mysterious in history. The greater part of what we know of his life comes from the brief Vita Gundulfi, though critical details are corroborated by Eadmer and William of Malmesbury. Alongside the Vita, both mention the lamentable state of poverty and indiscipline in which the previous Anglo-Saxon bishop Siward left the diocese, managed by four meagre canons. They further mention that fifty monks are 15 16 17 18

Anselm, Ep. i.39, ed. Niskanen, pp. 118–9: ‘Semper enim fui et sum memetipsum et quod possum tibi et pro te paratus impendere. Festinat lator, cogor quae conantur erumpere animi uerba reprimere. Hoc tamen subinfero, quod tibi fui hoc persisto’. Letters were commonly read aloud by their messenger, especially to those of high rank, Samu Niskanen, The Letter Collections of Anselm of Canterbury (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), pp. 59–60. Haseldine, pp. 193–4. Anselm, Ep. i.80, ed. Niskanen, pp. 232–3: ‘ad aequalitatem me subleuat … familiari dilectione copulentur’.

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brought to Rochester to improve piety and discipline and that these monks are well-provided for. Eadmer goes on to detail the works of charity for lepers and the infirm of all kinds undertaken in Rochester similarly mentioned in the Vita. Unlike the Vita which promotes Gundulf as the primary actor in these improvements, however, both Eadmer and William cast Lanfranc as their author with Gundulf as the agent of his will.19 Unlike Anselm and Lanfranc, Gundulf was a native of Normandy, and while he is only one place above Anselm on the profession rolls at Bec, he was ten years older than Anselm.20 In fact, their proximity in the rolls might help account for the suitability of their friendship as portrayed by Anselm despite their actual age difference. Before Gundulf became a monk, he had served the Archbishop Maurilius of Rouen for years and completed a harrowing pilgrimage to Jerusalem with the future Archbishop of Rouen William Bona Anima, the disastrous events of which inspired both of them to take up orders.21 While William later became a monk at Caen, Gundulf joined the brothers at Bec in the second half of the 1050s, perhaps c. 1057 since he died in 1108 and, according to the Vita Gundulfi, ‘he had been a monk for fifty-one years’.22 At Bec until 1063 both he and Anselm were mentored by the prior Lanfranc, a renowned teacher. When in 1063 Duke William ordered the construction of a new monastery at Caen, St Etienne, Lanfranc was made the new abbot. At least two monks of Bec travelled with Lanfranc to Caen, including Gundulf, while Anselm remained at Bec where he replaced Lanfranc as prior.23 Though separated, no surviving letters between the two remain from this period. The Vita Gundulfi also makes little of this period, only to mention that Lanfranc esteemed Gundulf enough to bring him to Caen and that there he grew in virtue, though some have argued that Gundulf served as prior at St Etienne: During this time Gundulf became very dear to Lanfranc the renowned prior of Bec, and his close friend. When William the noble duke of Normandy made Lanfranc first abbot of the monastery at Caen, he chose 19 20 21 22

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HN, p. 15; William of Malmesbury, Gesta pontificum Anglorum, ed. and trans. M. Winterbottom, 2 vols. (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2007), vol. 1, pp. 218–21. Vita Gundulfi, p. 26: ‘diocesim Rotomagensem in territorio Vilacasino suo illustrauit exortu …’. Vita Gundulfi, pp. 25–31; Gundulf, trans. Malling, pp. 3–10. R. A. L. Smith, ‘The Place of Gundulf in the Anglo-Norman Church’, The English Historical Review, 58 (1943), pp. 257–72 at p. 258; ‘monachatus uero quinquagesimus primus’ at the time of his death in 1108, Vita Gundulfi, p. 69; English translation from Gundulf, trans. Malling, pp. 73–4. The other was a monk named Ralph who would become prior, Milo Crispin, Vita beati Lanfranci in ed. J.-P. Migne, Patrologiae cursus completus Latina 150, cols. 29–58 (col 38).

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Gundulf because of his sanctity and prudence and took him with him, making him assistant in the government of that house. There the sum of his virtues increased daily and, bringing thither his own mother kindled with desire for God, he settled her in the religious life in a convent …24 The apparent silence between Anselm and Gundulf continued until after the Conquest when the first recorded letter between them appears. In 1070, the now King William invested Lanfranc as archbishop of Canterbury, where Lanfranc travelled bringing Gundulf with him. At this point, Anselm’s letter collection begins and we see in these first letters, eight of which were written directly to Gundulf, Anselm’s ‘other self in mutual love’, the language of love, friendship and the single soul which defined their relationship.25 It is this period when Gundulf served Lanfranc in Canterbury and Anselm was first prior and then abbot of Bec that Anselm penned the great bulk of the distinctive amor writing which is characteristic of his relationship to Gundulf. Once Lanfranc appointed Gundulf bishop of Rochester in 1077, the language of Anselm’s letters to Gundulf changed considerably, becoming far less effusive and unconcerned with declarations of love and friendship. It is not a coincidence that this change is first notable in Letter 69, where Anselm congratulates Gundulf on his appointment to the see of Rochester. The letter opens, ‘To his once most beloved brother, now his kindest father, once and now his reverend lord’, and its content makes no mention of the nature of their love for each other as almost all of the preceding letters had.26 Instead, Anselm focuses solely on the ways in which the hardships of higher office help to perfect a man in his holiness. Gundulf’s elevation to the bishopric cannot account entirely for the cooling of their language, however. A later letter, 80, shows Anselm addressing Gundulf, ‘To the lord and friend, father and brother, reverend and beloved Bishop Gundulf Brother Anselm as of old, as of the time when we 24

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Vita Gundulfi, p. 31: ‘Priori quoque Beccensi Lanfranco omnium eo tempore nominatissimo adeo carus, adeo familiaris Gundulfus factus est ut cum / Lanfrancum Normannorum nobilis dux Guillelmus coenobio Cadomensi abbatem primum praeficeret, hunc pro sua sanctitate et prudentia secum assumeret, secum duceret, secum in eiusdem coenobii gubernatione coadiutorem haberet. Cumque et ibi sullimitas uirtutum eius cotidiae augmentum caperet, fecit etiam matrem suam carnalem illuc uenire, et eam sancto desiderio accensam in monasterio uirginum …’; English translation from Gundulf, trans. Malling, pp. 9–10. For Gundulf as prior of St Etienne see Smith, ‘Place of Gundulf’ p. 259; H. E. J. Cowdrey Lanfranc: Scholar, Monk, and Archbishop (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), pp. 21–2. Anselm, Ep. i.20, ed. Niskanen, pp. 66–7: ‘in mutua dilectione scio esse alterum cor meum’. Anselm, Ep. i.69, ed. Niskanen, pp. 200–1: ‘Olim dilectissimo fratri, nunc duleissimo patri, olim et nunc reuerndo domino …’.

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loved each other all the more readily’.27 Having set aside the deference owed towards Gundulf’s new status, Anselm goes on to explain that, ‘no matter how much a powerful bishop and a bloodless monk might differ from each other in dignity and merit, Gundulf and Anselm shall ever be united by bonds of friendly affection’.28 Here, Anselm is playing on the bishop’s active role and the monk’s contemplative role. However, as loving as these words are, they are the last true example of amor to be found addressed to Gundulf. Some years later in ep. 137, Gundulf is potentially addressed simply, ‘To the lord and father, reverend Bishop G’; however, Samu Niskanen argues G. is more probably Gerard of Thérouanne.29 Regardless, all subsequent letters until Anselm’s election to the archbishopric of Canterbury in 1093 follow a similar style. Whether or not it was Gundulf’s appointment as bishop that can account for the shift in their correspondence, it is even more likely that Anselm’s own appointment as archbishop would have introduced a disparity in rank too vast for their previous language to remain appropriate. Despite this notable alteration in language, Gundulf remained Anselm’s friend and an ally of great significance. Eadmer tells us that, once ‘Anselm began to reside in the manors belonging to the archbishopric … the venerable Gundulf, Bishop of Rochester, lived with him and saw to it that from these manors all necessaries for his maintenance were supplied’.30 Further, during his disputes with both Kings William II and Henry I and their attendant periods of exile, Gundulf was his most dedicated and, at times, his only supporter.31 While the archbishop remained long absent, Gundulf not only performed Anselm’s offices but acted as a mediator and spokesman for the missing archbishop.32 The author of the Vita Gundulfi also tells us that during this time ‘He acted with such restraint and wisdom between both sides in their dispute that, while he remained entirely loyal to the archbishop, he in no way offended 27 28 29 30

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Anselm, Ep. i.80, ed. Niskanen, pp. 232–3: ‘Domino et amico, patri et fratri, reuerendo et dilecto episcopo Gondulfo frater Anselmus quod olim, quod ex quo magis nos dileximus’. Anselm, Ep. i.80, ed. Niskanen, pp. 232–3: ‘quantumcunque dignitate et meritis strenuus episcopus et ignauus monachus separentur, semper tamen Gondolfus et Anselmus familiari dilectione copulentur’. Anselm, Ep. i.137, ed. Niskanen, pp. 392–3: ‘Domino et patri, reuerendo episcopo …’; see note on the recipient’s identity. HN, p. 37: ‘Anselmus autem post haec in villis ad archiepiscopatum pertinentibus ex praecepto regis morabatur, conversante secum ac victui suo exinde necessaria quaeque procurante venerabili Gundulfo, Roffensi episcopo’. English translation from Eadmer’s History of Recent Events in England trans. Geoffrey Bosanquet (London: The Cresset Press, 1964), p. 38. Vita Gundulfi, p. 55. Anselm, Epp. 287, 293, 299, 300, 306, 314, 316, 330, 359, ed. Schmitt, vols. 4 and 5.

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his adversaries …’ making him especially effective at negotiation.33 In fact, the author later reveals that he was more than agreeable to the king and barons ‘and when mention was made of him among the other nobles in their conferences at the palace or elsewhere, he was reckoned among them not merely as their equal but rather as their superior and their father’.34 Exemplary of Gundulf’s services to Anselm is Letter 306, in which Anselm provides Gundulf with intricate instructions on when and how to deliver his letter to King Henry: I instruct you to greet [the king] faithfully on our behalf and to give him our seal which our messengers are bringing to you and which I am sending to him. If it pleases him to reply to me by letter, send it to me by the same messenger. If he does not wish to do this, inform in your letter of what he replies. Do not show our seal to the King before William de Warelwast has come to England, but you may secretly show William a copy of the letter which I am sending to the King. See to it that nobody else besides him, except only our prior, knows of that letter before it is given to the King. However, after the King has seen it, inform the bishops and others about it.35 These instructions demonstrate the extent to which Gundulf was trusted to handle these delicate matters. It is also quite clear from the letter that Gundulf acted as Anselm’s primary agent in England, especially regarding affairs with the king, and though Anselm does not make any reference to his and Gundulf’s spiritual union in his political instructions, while performing as the sole intermediary with the 33 34 35

Gundulf, trans. Malling, p. 48; Vita Gundulfi, p. 55: ‘inter utrosque prudenter se moderans in causis eorum, et archiepiscopo omnino fidem seruauit et aduersarios eius nequam offendit’. Gundulf, trans. Malling p. 56–7; ‘et cum de aliis nobilibus terrae in palatio aut alibi in collectionibus eorum fieret mentio, Gundulfus inter eos non ut socius sed ut superior et quasi pater reputabatur’. Vita p. 59. Anselm, Ep. 306, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, p. 228: ‘Mando autem vobis, ut eum fideliter ex nostra parte salutetis et sigillum nostrum, quod vobis nuntii nostri dant, quod ei mitto illi detis, et si illi placuerit per litteras mihi respondere, illas mihi per praesentem legatum mittite. Quod si noluerit: quidquid responderit vestris litteris mihi mandate. Sigillum autem nostrum non prius regi ostendetis, quam WILLELMUS de Warelwast veniat in Angliam, et eidem WILLELMO exemplum litterarum qua regi mitto, secrete ostendatis. Videte etiam ut nullus praeter ipsum nisi prior noster solus sciat ipsas litteras, antequam regi dentur. Postquam vero rex illas cognoverit, episcopis et aliis eas notificate’. English translation from Anselm of Canterbury, The Letters of Anselm of Canterbury, trans. W. Fröhlich, 3 vols. (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1990–4).

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king, Gundulf is in some sense ‘another Anselm’. Indeed, the only other monk in England with whom Anselm corresponded so regularly during his exile was the prior of Christ Church Canterbury, Ernulf. Unlike as it was with Gundulf, however, Anselm’s writings to Ernulf were largely concerned with the particulars of leading the monks of Christ Church and repeatedly expressing his dismay at being unable to return to England.36 While Anselm advises and orders Ernulf to carry out numerous tasks, they are largely related to the inner workings of the Canterbury cathedral. This is, of course, entirely appropriate since these affairs would be of the most direct concern to Ernulf as prior. Meanwhile, all the political dealings are left to Gundulf, fulfilling the role of chorepiscopus to the archbishop historically associated with the see of Rochester.37 In fact, even when the king attempted to interfere directly with the cathedral’s affairs, as when he sent a letter to Ernulf demanding more money from Canterbury’s treasury, Anselm writes that he will, as Ernulf himself advised, ‘ask the King through our friend, the reverend Bishop of Rochester, to permit our whole diocese to live in peace and tranquillity as he promised me’.38 Here, as before when Anselm wrote to Gundulf in epistle 80 during gentler times, Anselm reinforces the dichotomy of the ‘powerful bishop’ in Gundulf and the ‘bloodless monk’ in Ernulf.39 And while Anselm used clearly hyperbolic self-disparaging language in that letter, he did very much value the distinction in purpose between the parental role of the prior and the worldly role of the bishop, and to this end his letters to Ernulf were designed to facilitate the prior’s nurturing duties.40 In contrast, the letters to Gundulf demonstrate the immensity of the secular responsibilities entrusted to him and, considering that he faithfully and successfully carried them out, they also serve as a fitting display of the loyalty and constancy praised in the Vita. There it is mentioned that, ‘when some of the bishops, on account of sundry disagreements which had arisen between 36 37

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Anselm, Epp. 286, 289, 291, 292, 295, 307, 311, 331, 349, 357, 364, 376, ed. Schmitt, vols. 4 and 5. On Rochester and the chorepiscopus see Martin Brett, ‘Gundulf and the Cathedral Communities of Canterbury and Rochester’ in Canterbury and the Norman Conquests: Churches, Saints and Scholars, 1066–1109, eds. R. Eales and R. Sharpe (London: Hambledon Press, 1995), pp. 15–26. Anselm, Ep. 292, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, p. 212: ‘et sicut consulistis, regi per reverendum et amicum nostrum episcopum Rofensem, ut totum episcopatum nostrum in pace et quiete permanere permittat, sicut mihi promisit, mandabo’. English translation from Anselm, The Letters, trans. Fröhlich. Anselm, Ep. i.80, ed. Niskanen, pp. 232–3: ‘strenuus episcopus et ignauus monachus’. For more on the inward and outward roles of monks in the Bec tradition, see Priscilla Watkins, ‘Lanfranc at Caen: Teaching by Example’, in Sally N. Vaughn and Jay Rubenstein, eds., Teaching and Learning in Northern Europe, 1000–1200 (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006).

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Anselm and the barons of the realm, withdrew from communion with him, Gundulf remained steadfast and unwavering in his allegiance’.41 Anselm himself later in life praised Gundulf’s unassailable reliability in the telling Letter 330: Although your constancy does not need to receive frequent expressions of thanks for the good deeds which you have begun, yet lest others should think that I do not value the kindness and solicitude which you certainly display in your great labors for my sake, or that I do not esteem them as I should, I give your reverence thanks in heart and word and writing. In everything which concerns me and our affairs I perceive that you speak and act as you should as prudently and as vigorously as you can, and with the most true love. Moreover I am certain that with God’s help your good will towards me, as it has never failed since it first began, so it will never fail as long as you live.42 This letter at once demonstrates a sincere expression of Anselm’s sentiments as well as the fact of the public nature of Anselm’s letters. Anselm knows Gundulf’s loyalty is unwavering and he further knows that Gundulf knows the depths of his appreciation for it; instead, it is the ‘others’, the public audience, who must be reassured of Anselm’s love and gratitude for Gundulf. However, despite the grateful sentiments expressed by Anselm and the doubtlessly invaluable work Gundulf performed for him, the truly unique friendship they shared is most definitively expressed elsewhere in the available literature. The Vita Gundulfi directly describes their relationship better than any of the other contemporary histories where Gundulf is at the very best a peripheral character, and while some modern historians have addressed its potential unreliability as a historical document, the anonymous author did not 41

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Gundulf, trans. Malling, p. 48; Vita Gundulfi, p. 55: ‘Recedentibus enim aliis episcopis a communione Anselmi propter quasdam discordiarum occassiones quae inter ipsum et regni principes ortae fuerunt, Gundulfus dulci obsequio illi semper et firmiter et fideliter adhaesit …’. Anselm, Ep. 330, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 262–3: ‘Quamvis vestra constantia in bonis quae incepistis, non egeat gratiarum actionibus frequenter sustenari: tamen, ne alii aestement me vestram benevolentiam et vestram sollicitudinem, quas in magnis laboribus, pro meo commodo vos habere certum est, non considerare et sicut debeo magnipendere: gratias ago reverentiae vestrae corde et ore et scripto. In omnibus enim quae ad me et res nostras pertinent, intelligo vos prudenter et fortiter, quantum in vobis est, et sincera omnino dilectione loqui, sicut oportet, et facere. Certus etiam sum quia deo adiuvante, quamdiu vivetis, vestra bona voluntas erga me, sicut ex quo incepit non defecit, ita non deficiet’. English translation from Anselm, The Letters, trans. Fröhlich.

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need to invent the significance of Gundulf’s friendship to Anselm.43 Indeed, it was well-recorded throughout the early letter collection, and since the author quotes directly from the letters, we know he had at least partial access to them.44 Similarly, the author did not simply take poetic license when he wrote of Anselm and Gundulf’s spiritual interchangeability, the most distinctive feature of their friendship. In Anselm’s letters he would have found numerous references to this sentiment of oneness. In Letter 7, Anselm addresses Gundulf as ‘my other self’.45 While entreating Gundulf to look after the young monk Maurice, Anselm tells him in Letter 26 to do so ‘if you regard yourself as another Anselm’.46 In Letter 33, he writes, ‘your soul and mine can never bear to be absent from each other but are inseparably entwined, between us there is nothing we lack from each other, bar that we are not together in body’.47 Even after Gundulf was appointed bishop of Rochester, Anselm writes to tell him in Letter 80 that ‘… our hearts are always one …’ no matter their difference in station.48 So complete is their oneness that there can be no inequality between them. The spiritual strength of their oneness is so great, in fact, that Anselm assures Gundulf that they may communicate through their mutual heart. In Letter 14, he asks, ‘what will my letter tell you that you do not already know, O you my other soul? ‘Enter into the chamber’ of your heart and reflect on the affection of your true love, and you will perceive the love of your true friend’.49 Anselm’s reference here of Matthew 6:6 is paralleled in his opening prayer from the Proslogion where he admonishes the worshipper to break apart from

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Brett, ‘Gundulf and the Cathedral Communities’ p. 16. Most vehemently, Colin Flight calls the Vita ‘replete with tedious rhetoric … very thin on specific information …’ and with a ‘confused, or at least confusing’ chronology whose true purpose was not biography but an attempt to create a saint cult, Colin Flight, The Bishops and Monks of Rochester, 1076–1214 (Maidstone, England: Kent Archaeological Society, 1997), pp. 37, 47–8. Vita Gundulfi pp. 34–8; the earliest surviving compilation of Anselm’s letters which include all of those referenced in the Vita Gundulfi was very likely composed in Rochester by 1093 and shares with the Vita the textual variants of Epp. i.20 and i.33, ed. Niskanen, pp. 64–7 and 102–3; Niskanen, Letter Collections, pp. 77–81. Anselm, Ep. i.7 ed. Niskanen, pp. 26–7: ‘alteri michi …’. Anselm, Ep. i.26, ed. Niskanen, pp. 78–9: ‘si te cognoscis … alterum Anselmum …’. Anselm, Ep. i.33, ed. Niskanen, pp. 102–3: ‘enim anima tua et anima mea sese ab inuicem nequaquam esse patiuntur absentes sed sunt indesinenter se mutuo amplectentes, nichil nobis inuicem deest de nobis, nisi quia corpore non sumus nobis praesentes’. Anselm, Ep. i.80, ed. Niskanen, pp. 232–3: ‘semper unum cor sumus …’. Anselm, Ep. i.14, ed. Niskanen, pp. 46–7: ‘quid te docebit epistola mea quod ignores, o tu altera anima mea? Intra in cubiculum cordis tui et considera affectum ueri amoris tui, et cognosces amorem ueri amici tui’.

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the mundane work of the day to enter prayer.50 Though in the Proslogion this injunction is meant bring the worshipper an intentional separation from the rest of the world, here Anselm suggests such a retreat will bring Gundulf into a direct spiritual connection with him. In Letter 20 we see that Anselm can feel Gundulf spiritually communicate with him too. When asked by another monk to compose a prayer to the Virgin Mary, Anselm informs Gundulf that, while ‘that man, who lives here, asked this outwardly, you, living there, persuaded me inwardly’.51 Here, just by knowing Gundulf’s heart, Anselm in Normandy was persuaded by Gundulf in Canterbury. Their oneness is so complete, in fact, that the two of them, being the same person, share each other’s possessions. It is for this reason that Anselm says in Letter 26 that were their relationship not composed of such boundless mutual love, he would be compelled to thank Gundulf for his generous gifts. ‘But’, he explains, ‘since yours is mine and mine is yours, why should I, who receive nothing but mine, bow to you when you give something of yours to me?’52 At first glance, Anselm’s words here might appear rather conceited or at least presumptuous especially considering that Gundulf sent him gifts and crucial financial support or otherwise paid his debts consistently throughout the decades with no identifiable reciprocation.53 However, there is no reason to believe that Anselm would write so callously, especially to the man whom he held ‘among his prime friends’.54 That Anselm believes they share all their possessions is only the natural and desirable conclusion of their oneness. To be sure, Gundulf was far from the only correspondent of Anselm’s to whom he wrote with striking amor. His numerous letters to the young monk Maurice are replete with expressions of love and longing characteristic of much of Anselm’s letters to other monks. Throughout their correspondence, Anselm laments the distance between him and Maurice, rejoicing at the news that Maurice may visit him soon, as these examples reveal:

50 51 52 53 54

Anselm, Proslogion, trans. M. J. Charlesworth (University of Notre Dame Press, 1979), 102: ‘Intra in cubiculum’ mentis tuae …’. Anselm, Ep. i.20, ed. Niskanen, pp. 66–7: ‘Quod cum ipsi praesens rogaret exterius, tu absens persuadebas interius’. Anselm, Ep. i.26, ed. Niskanen, pp. 78–9: ‘Quoniam autem tua mea et mea tua sunt, cum das michi tua, ego cur tibi inclinem, cum non accipiam aliena sed quae mea sunt?’ Anselm, Epp. i.7, i.14, i.26, i.59, i.123, ed. Niskanen; Epp. 287, 300, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4. Anselm, Ep. i.4, ed. Niskanen, pp. 16–7: ‘in praecipuis amicitiae meae …’.

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Receiving your letter, loving brother, filled the soul of your friend with a greater joy—I confess—than the sorrow pressing on it when you left us …55 After having carefully read your recent, affectionate letter to the one who loves you, I was enchanted by the expression of your affection and delighted by the promise of your return …56 I always yearn for you, most beloved son, and have no doubt that you will always yearn for me …57 Irrespective of the fact that the more I love you the more I yearn to have you with me, I love you even more for the reason I cannot have you with me … Although I greatly love you and yearn for you to be with me, I wish even more steadfastly inhere in virtuous conduct.58 Anselm strongly desires Maurice’s company, writing, ‘for just as I rejoice when you respond to my love by showing me love in equal measure, so I always crave for the delight of your company, my beloved, loving friend’.59 Indeed, Anselm so longs for Maurice that he is compelled to write to him: So that this situation should not make anyone believe that our love grows cold, I think it fitting that our love should sometimes be seen burning in letters, as if springing sparkles between us. For the very reason that I cannot have you with me even though we both crave each other, I love you certainly not less but more …60

55 56 57 58

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Anselm, Ep. i.34, ed. Niskanen, pp. 104–5: ‘Susceptis dilectionis tuae litteris maior animum amici tui dilatauit laetitia, quam te, fateor, a nobis discedente contraxit maestitia’. Anselm, Ep. i.51, ed. Niskanen, pp. 146–7: ‘Perlectis dilectionis tuae nuper dilectori tuo missis litteris, et affectus tui expressione sum iocundatus et reditus tui promissione sum laetificatus …’ Anselm, Ep. i.65, ed. Niskanen, pp. 190–1: ‘Semper te, dilectissime fili, desidero, semperque te me desiderare non dubito’. Anselm Ep. i.70, ed. Niskanen, pp. 204–5: ‘Licet quo te magis diligo, eo te magis mecum uelim habere, plus tamen inde te diligo, unde te non possum habere … Quanuis nanque te ualde diligam et desiderem ut michi mecum conuersando cohaereas, plus tamen opto ut bonis moribus indissolubiter inhaereas’. Anselm Ep. i.51, ed. Niskanen, pp. 146–7: ‘Sicut enim cum diligenti michi pariter diligendo respondes congaudeo, sic dilecti dilectoris mei praesentia semper frui desidero’. Anselm Ep. i.60, ed. Niskanen, pp. 176–7: ‘Sed ne qua occasione amor ipse ab aliquo putetur tepere, expedire puto et aliquando scedulis quasi scintillis ab inuicem emicantibus uideatur feruere. Hoc enim ipso quia desideratem te desiderans habere mecum non possum, nequaquam minus sed magis te diligo …’.

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That Anselm should hope so strongly to see Maurice and believes that he may illuminate their friendship with words stands in stark contrast to what he tells Gundulf. More than once, Anselm assures Gundulf that declarations of their love are, in fact, unnecessary, much like the gratitude Anselm is compelled to express for posterity in epistle 330. Addressing some grievance of Gundulf’s which made its way to him, Anselm replies, ‘why—so I hear—do you complain so sorrowfully that you never see my letters and demand so affectionately that you should often receive them although you always have my consciousness with you? Even when you are silent, I know “you love me”, and when I do not say a word, “you know I love you”’.61 Unlike Maurice, Gundulf need not be reassured of Anselm’s love, for theirs is a permanent and transcendent love. Gundulf knows Anselm’s heart, for they share the same heart. It was perhaps Maurice’s youth which prompted Anselm to indulge him with frequent reminders of his affection while he believed that Gundulf, a fifty-one-year-old man when he was made bishop, was mature enough to understand Anselm’s love without constant reassurance. Moreover, even though in their conversations Anselm ‘more often kindled that fire of divine love by his words, while [Gundulf] … warmed himself in silence at that kindled flame’, Gundulf was not Anselm’s student, but rather his colleague and old friend.62 In contrast, Anselm was not only Maurice’s mentor but, fully embodying the archetype of parent-teacher, he considered himself a father to the young monk as well, addressing him as both brother and son in every letter sent directly to him and elsewhere.63 Indeed, when Maurice left Bec for Canterbury, Anselm wrote to Gundulf to look after him: If you regard yourself as another Anselm—not in merits by which you surpass me but in mutual affection—may Dom Maurice, my dear brother and son, feel this too. I entreat that, caring for him in all things because of the love of God and neighbour, you treat him as if he were me.64

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Anselm, Ep. i.4, ed. Niskanen, pp. 16–7: ‘Praeterea cur, sicut audio, tanto moerore quereris quod numquam litteras meas uideas et tanto amore quaeris ut eas sepe accipias cum meam conscientiam tecum semper habeas? Te quippe silente ego noui quia ‘diligis me’ et me tacente ‘tu scis quia amo te’. Vita Gundulfi, p. 55: ‘archiepiscopo tamen diuini amoris ignem frequentius accendente loquendo, episcopo uero se ad ignem illum accensum propius calefaciente tacendo.’; English translation from Gundulf, trans. Malling, p. 49. Anselm, Epp. i.24, i.26, i.34, i,35, i.40, i.51, i.55, i,60, i.65, i.70, i.85. Anselm, Ep. i.26, ed. Niskanen, pp. 78–9: ‘Si te cognoscis—non meritis quibus me praecellis, sed mutua dilectione—alterum Anselmum, sentiat hoc dilectus frater et filius meus domnus Mauritius’.

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Here we see not only another instance of their oneness, but, more strikingly, the implication that in giving Anselm’s love to Maurice through himself, Gundulf is, in effect, also acting as father to Maurice. This suggests that Anselm thought that, through their spiritual marriage, Anselm and Gundulf are the parents of their brother-child together. There is no other similar example of this shared spiritual parenthood throughout Anselm’s correspondence, but he did not speak infrequently on the topic of the unity of souls with others. In his personal correspondence, however, there are crucial differences in context and meaning between his oneness with Gundulf and with that of others. For example, when he wrote to Haimo and Rainald upon their arrival in Normandy, he told them, ‘we are one flesh, one blood; we should be one soul, one spirit’.65 Keeping in mind that the two addressed in the letter are actually blood relations of Anselm’s whom he is trying to convince to become monks, it becomes clear that Anselm is not speaking about a oneness comparable to that with Gundulf, but that being of the same mortal family, flesh and blood, they might become of the same Godly purpose soul and spirit. Another example is the novice Lanzo. Anselm writes to him that, ‘I am certain of my innermost heart and have no doubt about yours, because, no matter how many lands may separate us, charity unites our two souls into one’.66 At first, this might appear to be similar to the same soul which Anselm and Gundulf share; however, it is important to note the subjunctive mood Anselm employs in conficiat. Indeed, the different context becomes more apparent in the preceding sentence where Anselm declares he can only hold ‘hope of our everlasting union, through divine clemency, in the life to come’.67 This is not a temporal union shared in this life between two spiritual partners, but the oneness that occurs among all souls in Paradise. Though Anselm’s letters firmly establish his conception of his oneness with Gundulf, this is not necessarily the same thing as the spiritual marriage claimed in the Vita Gundulfi. However, there are a number of features of their relationship which can be understood as marital characteristics. Some of these I have mentioned already, such as Anselm’s insistence that he and Gundulf share all possessions and that together as parents they raised a brother-child in Maurice. These, however, are simply features of their marriage. More than 65 66 67

Anselm, Ep. i.105, ed. Niskanen, pp. 308–9: ‘Vna caro, unus sanguis sumus; una anima, unus spiritus simus’. Anselm, Ep. i.29, ed. Niskanen, pp. 84–5: ‘Nam certus sum de mea nec dubito de tua conscientia, quoniam quaelibet nos regionum diuersitas destineat, de duabus tamen animabus nostris caritas unam conficiat’. Anselm, Ep. i.29, ed. Niskanen, pp. 84–5: ‘in futura uita aeternam nostram coniunctionem per diuinam spero clementiam’.

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anything, their marriage must be understood as a reflection of the Western medieval notion of the marriage of Christ and His mother Mary. Just as the monastic and Church reforms coincided with the changes in emotional scholastic language in the eleventh century, so too did the nature of Marian prayer.68 While the Virgin had long been prayed to as an intercessor for a petitioner’s sins, Mary’s personality in these prayers was traditionally that of a stoic, queenly figure.69 In the eleventh century, however, Mary transformed from the emotionless intercessor, a protector during Judgment, to a vociferous grieving mother whose suffering might serve as a focus for contemplative prayer.70 Whatever may have influenced this shift, the monks of the Bec tradition had certainly adopted this new Marian imagery by the late eleventh century. Anselm in his Prayer to Christ asks of Mary: My most merciful Lady, what can I say about the fountains that flowed from your most pure eyes when you saw your only son before you, bound, beaten and hurt? What do I know of the flood that drenched your matchless face, when you beheld your Son, your Lord, and your God, stretched on the cross without guilt.71 Here, Anselm does not focus on his own misery and wretchedness, but instead explores the misery of the subject of his prayer. In her tears, Mary’s emotional appeal as a divine figure is strengthened and it is by these tears that she must necessarily be understood. Mary is only one half of the equation, however. Where traditionally Mary’s role is that of intercessor and Christ’s is that of redeemer, in Anselm’s prayers the roles are shared for, as he explains in his second Prayer to Mary: When I have sinned against the son, I have alienated the mother, nor can I offend the mother without hurting the son … Who can reconcile me to the son if the mother is my enemy, or who will make my peace with the mother if I have angered the son?72 68 69 70 71

72

Rachel Fulton, From Judgment to Passion: Devotion to Christ and the Virgin Mary, 800–1200 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), p. 215. Fulton, Judgment to Passion, p. 206. Fulton, Judgment to Passion, pp. 204–5. Anselm, Oratio ad Christum, ed. Schmitt, vol. 3, p. 8: ‘Domina mea misericordissima, quos fontes dicam erupisse de pudicissimis oculis, cum attenderes unicum filium tuum innocentem corem te ligari, flagellari, mactari? Quos fluctus credam perfudisse piissimum vultum, cum suspiceres eundem filium et deum et dominum tuum in cruce sine culpa extendi …’. English translation from Fulton, Judgment to Passion, p. 204. Anselm, Oratio ad sanctam MARIAM cum mens est sollicita timore, ed. Schmitt, vol. 3, p. 16: ‘Cum enim peccavi in filium, irritavi matrem, nec offendi matrem sine iniuria filii …

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In this way, Mary and Jesus are an inseparable and complementary pair. In fact, Mary and Jesus, just like Gundulf and Anselm, are even interchangeable. In his third Prayer to Mary, Anselm says that ‘the mother of God is our mother’ while in his Prayer to Saint Paul he asks ‘and you, Jesus, good lord, are not also mother?’73 Here, Mary and Jesus are the same, both being the mother of humanity. This fluidity of identity is, in fact, quite in keeping with Anselm’s general interest in divine gender. While he concluded in the Monologion that God is indeed primarily paternal rather than maternal, the fact that he even raised the question is indicative of a mind open to less restrictive concepts of divine gender.74 Though Jesus and Mary were considered a pair and perhaps even interchangeable, this does not in itself constitute a marriage. This understanding arose through the period’s developing Marian traditions of the Song of Songs exegesis. While the Bride of the Song had been understood to represent the Church for some time, the later twelfth century saw a new enthusiasm for literalizing the Bride as the Virgin, including quite famously Bernard of Clairvaux (1090–1153).75 Yet before Bernard broached the topic, Rupert of Deutz (c. 107580–1129) was the first of this period to do so, followed shortly by Honorius Augustodunensis (1080–1154).76 Not only did Honorius claim that the Bride represented the Virgin Mary, he argued that the Virgin and the Church were interchangeable within the Song. From his commentary, the Sigillum sanctae Mariae, he writes that: [the] glorious Virgin Mary represents the type of the Church, which exists as virgin and mother; for she is proclaimed as mother because she, fertile through the Holy Spirit, daily brings forth children through baptism. But she is said to be a virgin because, serving inviolate the purity of faith, she is not corrupted by vicious heresy … [and] therefore all that is written of the Church is suitably ascribed to her as well.77

73 74 75 76 77

Quis enim me reconciliabit filio inimica matre? Quis mihi placabit matrem irato filio?’, English translation from Fulton, Judgment to Passion, p. 235. Anselm, Oratio ad sanctam MARIAM pro impetrando eius et Christi amore, ed. Schmitt, vol. 3, p. 23: ‘Mater dei est mater nostra.’; Anselm, Oratio ad sanctum Paulum, ed. Schmitt, vol. 3, p. 40: ‘Sed et tu IESU, bone domine, nonne et tu mater?’ Sally Vaughn St. Anselm and the Handmaidens of God: A Study of Anselm’s Correspondences with Women (Turnhout: Brepols, 2002), p. 89. Ann W. Astell The Song of Songs in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990), pp. 15, 44. Astell, Song of Songs, pp. 43–4. Honorius Augustodunensis, Sigillum beatae Mariae in Patrologia Latina, vol. 172, ed. J.-P. Migne (Paris, 1895), p. 499: ‘Gloriosa virgo Maria typum Ecclesiae gerit, quae virgo et mater exstitit, etiam mater praedicatur, quia Spiritu sancto fecundata per eam quotidie

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According to Honorius, if Mary is the Church, then it is only logical that both are the object of God’s love in the Song of Songs and, therefore, the Christbride. Likewise, since God and Christ are together united in the Trinity, they are both the bridegroom and in this way the marital allegory becomes clearer. Anselm himself in his third Prayer to Mary argues that at the moment of Christ’s conception, God himself was infused with Mary’s humanity, they became one flesh, as in marriage, and thus so was all creation simultaneously transformed with Mary’s humanity. It was this transformation that made all men brothers and brothers of Christ.78 So, while Anselm did not specifically write on the Virgin being the Bride of the Song of Songs, he explored the concept of God and Christ’s union with Mary as a marriage. We cannot know the exact extent to which Anselm’s instruction directly influenced Honorius’s commentary on the Song; however, given that Rupert of Deutz’s Commentaria in Cantica Canticorum slightly predates and likely influenced Honorius, it appears that the Marian exegesis of the Song had gained currency within the first half of the twelfth century and, crucially, the time by which the Vita Gundulfi was written. While dating the Vita remains contentious, it is not possible that it was written past 1124.79 This places its writing neatly within a time frame between the writings of Rupert and Honorius. Therefore, since the Anonymous of the Vita was most probably a student of the Bec tradition, writing in one of the Bec-dominated Kentish ecclesiastical centres (Rochester, Christ Church, or St Augustine’s), and influenced by Anselm’s own explorations of divine gender, we must keep in mind the implied meaning of the comparisons to Jesus and Mary:80 It was Anselm who, having a greater knowledge of the Scriptures, spoke the more often of the two, but Gundulf, more swiftly moved to tears, wept the most. One spoke, the other wept; one planted, the other watered. One

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filii Deo in baptismate generantur. Virgo autem dicitur, quia integritatem fidei servans inviolabiliter, ab haeretic pravitate non corrumpitur … Ideo cuncta quae de Ecclesia scribuntur, de ipsa etiam satis congrue leguntur’. English translation from Honorius Augustodunensis, The Seal of the Blessed Mary, ‘Canticle of Canticles’, trans. Amelia Carr (Vienna: Peregrina Publishing Co., 1991), p. 53. Anselm, Oratio ad sanctam MARIAM pro impetrando eius et Christi amore, ed. Schmitt, Opera omnia, vol. 3, p. 23: ‘For He was born of a mother to take our nature, and to make us, by restoring our life, sons of his mother’. [Qui enim fecit ut ipse per maternam generationem esset naturae nostrae, et nos per vitae restitutionem essemus filii matris eius]. For a discussion on both the dating and purpose of the Vita Gundufi see Julie Potter ‘The Vita Gundulfi in its Historical Context’, Haskins Society Journal, 7 (1997), pp. 89–100. Rodney Thompson, ‘Introduction’ in The Life of Gundulf, Bishop of Rochester, ed. Thomson, p. 4.

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spoke divine words, the other uttered deep sighs; one took the part of Christ, the other Mary.81 Anselm with his words and reasoning is Christ the Bridegroom, and Gundulf, in his tears and sighs, is Mary the Bride. It is through marriage that they share their mutual heart and achieve their oneness. While the Vita makes it clear that Gundulf strongly identified with Mary Magdalen for whom ‘he had a particular love’, it is only the Virgin to whom he is directly compared.82 This is an essential component of the spiritual marriage given that it is the Virgin Mary, and not Mary Magdalen, who was considered the Christbride. It is, of course, incorrect to interpret this marriage in any literal sense. Just as the marriage of Jesus to Mary or to the Church was understood as a symbolic union, so too should be Anselm and Gundulf’s. The marriage allusion need not be understood in a physical or romantic sense, but is instead representative of a partnership of ideal symmetry. The spiritual marriage is Anselm’s ideal friendship, the perfect union of two souls in piety and virtue. Indeed, as their contemporary Herbert de Losinga put it, the physical marriage of man and wife is inferior to the non-physical, for ‘inasmuch as the former [is] framed in reference to a carnal, the latter [is] in reference to a spiritual union’.83 Further, since Anselm maintained no other relationships of this kind, it was even more a marriage in its monogamy: a separate, unique and superior love. 81

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Vita Gundulfi p. 30: ‘Anselmus tamen, quia in Scripturis eruditior erat, frequentior loquebator. Gundulfus uero, quia in lacrimis profusior erat, magis fletibus rigabatur. Loquebatur ille; plorabat iste. Ille plantabat; iste rigabat. Diuina ille proferebat eloquia; profunda iste trahebat suspiria. Christi uices ille, iste gerebat Mariae.’; English translation from Gundulf trans., Malling, p. 9. Vita Gundulfi, p. 56: ‘Hanc quippe speciali quodam diligebat amore …’ English translation from Gundulf, trans. Malling, p. 51. William Aird, ‘The Tears of Bishop Gundulf: Gender, Religion, and Emotion in the Late Eleventh Century’, in C. Beattie and K. Fenton, eds., Intersections of Gender, Religion and Ethnicity in the Middle Ages (New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011), pp. 62–84 at p. 67. Herbert de Losinga, The Life, Letters, and Sermons of Bishop Herbert de Losinga ed. and trans. by Edward Meyrick Goulburn and Henry Symonds (Oxford: James Parker & co., 1878), Ep. 35, p. 170: ‘quod illa de carnali conjugio, haec vero de spirituali condita est’. Herbert de Losinga, Epistolae Herberti de Losinga, ed. Robert Anstruther (London, 1846) Ep. 35, p. 70.

chapter 7

St Anselm and Friendship with Women Matilda of Tuscany

Hollie Devanney Women are generally to be found on the periphery of friendship studies. Particular restrictions exist in this domain for historians of medieval friendship. This is principally due to the fact that in studying the cases in which women were included in male-dominated friendship networks, such male to female bonds as were forged served to perform similar functions to that of male and male friendships. In what follows the implications of these dynamics will be explored in light of the famous friendship between Saint Anselm of Canterbury and Matilda, Countess of Tuscany, during the archbishop’s exile from England. In order to contextualise their epistolary relationship, the parameters and definition of medieval friendship should be laid out. The definition of friendship is dependent upon the context in which it operated, upon the conventions of friendship that pertain to a particular period of time. Within this, many notions affected the use of friendship and therefore, friendship was, as also argued by David Konstan an ‘historical variable’.1 Therefore, in recognising friendship as a fluid concept, a clear and concise definition of friendship which extends universally and timelessly cannot be determined. However, in determining the understanding of friendship, both the idea and the function, the manner in which friendship was performed within society, by the individuals who practised it in a particular era, define the convention of friendship at that time. This provides insight into the manner in which friendship was extended and practised, as well as, the affectivity, and effectiveness, of friendship. Medieval friendship, in contrast to more modern notions, was not based on emotional bonds but rather was underpinned by recognised ideological conventions which extended throughout varying levels of society. Alongside this, friendship was performative on society; it was extended with pre-determined and known obligations in mind. With this mind, medieval friendship can therefore be analysed in terms of the nature of the inclusion, for example the

1 David Konstan, Friendship in the Classical World (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 1.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004468238_009

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motivations behind an extension of friendship and the outcome of the bond and this can illustrate the manner in which friendship functioned within society. 1

Anselm and Matilda of Tuscany: Shared Interests

Saint Anselm’s inclusion of Matilda of Tuscany in his friendship network is striking, especially in view of the fact that he did not enjoy a position as one of the countesses most significant or influential friends. Her life and experience were exceptional in the twelfth century when compared to any of her female contemporaries; her wealth and influence were unparalleled. Matilda’s correspondence was accordingly wide-ranging, and shortly after her death Donizo of Canossa composed her Life, the Vita Mathildis.2 Matilda extended and nurtured friendship towards Popes Gregory VII, Urban II, Paschal II and a significant number of other bishops as well as secular authorities. Reverence for the countess continued posthumously. Her tomb was moved from her choice of burial at the Abbey of San Benedetto in Mantua, to Saint Paul’s Basilica, Rome and remains one of only five monuments devoted to a woman.3 After the death of her father, followed by her mother, and subsequently her husband, Matilda inherited lands sweeping from the Apennines to the Alps and Lombardy.4 This territory was of strategic importance during the struggles of the later eleventh century, between papacy and empires, lying as they did, between the two. However, it was the countesses’ unwavering loyalty and renowned piety that inspired the reverence, gratitude, and interest of the papacy. Matilda’s lands lay in fiefdom to the emperor but during the investiture dispute, she was a steadfast supporter of the Gregorian reform and took, consistently, the papal side. As a consequence, Matilda was placed under the ban of empire, losing all but three castles. Even in these circumstances her support for papal reform remained unwavering. This resolute support was 2 Matilda of Tuscany, Die Urkunden und Briefe der Markgräfin Mathilde von Tuszien, ed. Elke Goez and Werner Goez, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Laienfürsten und Dynasten Urkunden der Kaiserzeit II (Hannover: Hahnsche Buchhandlung, 1998), and see also the entry for, and letters of, Matilda at Medieval Women’s Latin Letters, , accessed 22 April 2020; Donizone, Vita Mathildis, ed. L. Bethmann, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores XII, 348–409 (Hannover: Hahnsche, 1856), and Donizone, Vita di Matilde di Canossa, ed. and trans. P. Golinelli (Milan: Jaca Book, 2008). 3 D. B. Zema, ‘The Houses of Tuscany and Pierleone in the Crisis of Rome in the Twelfth Century’, Traditio, 2 (1944), pp. 155–75. 4 See Penelope Nash, Empress Adelheid and Countess Matilda, Medieval Female Rulership and the foundations of European Society (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2017); Paolo Golinelli, ed., I poteri dei Canossa da Reggio Emilia all’Europa (Bologna: Pàtron, 1994).

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ultimately demonstrated by Matilda’s military support of the papacy against the emperor and also her gift to the papacy of her entire inheritance in full proprietorship, though she reserved the rights of disposal.5 It is also clear that the friendship was based on Anselm and Matilda’s shared interest; shared interest or shared virtues were common reasons behind the development of bonds of friendship. Matilda provided considerable support to the efforts for papal reform, military assistance, and acted as a propagator of the views of Pope Gregory VII.6 It may be argued therefore, that Matilda’s support of Anselm during his time in exile was grounded by a shared view on the rights of the Church regarding investiture and this aligned with Matilda’s overall activity, in support of the papacy, including and exemplified by the disputes on investiture between the Pope and the Emperor. Similarly, as a devout supporter of papal reform and a pro-active force against Investiture, it is clear, in this instance, why Anselm should have chosen to include Matilda in his friendship network. She was a devout campaigner for the interests of the Church and alongside this she yielded a great influence throughout Europe. It is clear therefore, that Anselm and Matilda were very much on the same side, and natural allies over the issues that came to a head over lay investiture. The friendship between Anselm and Matilda also served several functions which may be categorised as political, spiritual and cultural. Matilda provided Anselm with practical and political support during his exile from England. In return Anselm provided Matilda with spiritual guidance, enacted through the medium of friendship. What is clear in the case of Anselm and Matilda, is that the friendship does not fit neatly into one of the three categories suggested by medieval friendship historians.7 Rather it illustrates how different models of friendship might operate simultaneously, and the complexity of bonds of friendship. Matilda provided Anselm with practical assistance during his exile. It is clear throughout the two letters that are preserved from Anselm to Matilda that her conduct towards him aligned with the necessary obligations to ensure that a friendship bond would be created and function. In the first letter dated to 1104, Anselm thanked Matilda for her practical support during his time in exile: 5 See David Hay, The Military Leadership of Matilda of Canossa, 1046–1115 (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2008). 6 See Vita Mathildis, Donizone, Translated in Vita Mathildis, ed. L. Bethmann, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores XII, 348–409 (Hannover: Hahnsche, 1856), and Donizone, Vita di Matilde di Canossa, ed. and trans. P. Golinelli (Milan: Jaca Book, 2008). 7 See for example Julian Haseldine, ‘Friendship, Intimacy and Corporate Networking in the Twelfth Century: The Politics of Friendship in the Letters of Peter the Venerable’, The English Historical Review, 126 (2011), pp. 251–80.

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I cannot forget with what anxious prayer and entreaty you instructed me through our brother and son Alexander not to expose my body to any danger at all, and with what zeal you instructed your people to receive me with not less care, indeed if possible with even more, than your own person, telling them not to lead me by the shorter but by the safer route to a place of safety. They faithfully carried this out according to what they perceived to be your will.8 The letter was written during a period of increased tensions between Anselm, as archbishop of Canterbury and Henry I, King of England, focused on concerns around lay investiture dispute. Anselm exiled himself from England and his lands as archbishop were confiscated by Henry. In the spring of 1104, while residing in Lyons, Anselm wrote to King Henry explaining that: although ‘indeed there is no other mortal king or prince with whom I would rather live or whom I would rather serve …’, he, Anselm, would not go against the will of God in order to ‘observe the law or customs’ (legem vel consuetudinem) of Henry’s father, or Anselm’s predecessor Lanfranc.9 Furthermore, Henry must ‘reinvest me according to that same law of God with everything which you have received from my archbishopric since I left you …’.10 Queen Matilda of England also wrote to Anselm around the same period explaining that she had encouraged Henry to become more ‘welcoming and compromising’ (comodior et concordios) towards him.11 Anselm’s letter to Matilda of Tuscany makes it clear that she provided Anselm with the protection by her own men and also, it would seem hospitality. Considering that Anselm’s assets were confiscated, travelling and living 8

9 10 11

Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 325, in Opera omnia, ed. Schmitt, 6 vols., vol. 5, pp. 256–7: ‘Non enim oblivisci possum quam sollicita prece et obsecratione mihi per fratrem et filium nostrum ALEXANDRUM mandastis, ut nullo modo corpus meum ulli exponerem periculo, et quanto studio hominibus vestris mandastis ut me non minori, immo, si fieri posset, maiori cura quam vestram personam susciperent, et non per breviorem, sed per tutiorem viam usque ad securitatem deducerent’. English translation from Anselm of Canterbury, The Letters of Anselm of Canterbury, trans. Walter Fröhlich, 3 vols. (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1990–94), vol. 3, pp. 38–9. Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 319, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 247: ‘Siquidem cum nullo alio rege aut principe mortali volo tam libenter esse aut ei servite’. English translation from Letters of Anselm, Fröhlich, vol. 3 pp. 26–7. Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 319, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 247: ‘… me revestitis secundum eandem legem dei de omnibus rebs quas de archiepiscopatu meo acceipisitis, postquam a vobis discessi …’. Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 320, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 249. English translation from Letters of Anselm, Fröhlich, vol. 3 pp. 29.

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costs no doubt caused anxiety. It is clear therefore, that at a time of great strain for Anselm, Matilda of Tuscany provided him with support. The particular support that Anselm thanked her for in his letter came in the form of an escort through the region of Lucca, a region whose allegiance to the Gregorian cause in opposition to Emperor Henry IV Matilda was trying to encourage at the same point.12 The protection Matilda offered Anselm, clearly allowed him passage and protection through a region, that without her support, would probably have proved impossible for the archbishop to pass through unhindered. Her friendship was vital, then, for Anselm’s physical well-being and safety during his travels while exiled from England. 2

Matilda as Intercessor

Another function of this friendship involved Matilda’s intercessory capabilities. She acted as an intercessor between Anselm and Pope Paschal II and it may be argued that the Pope’s involvement in the investiture dispute in England increased as a direct result of this intercession. Shortly before the Lenten Synod of 1105, Matilda wrote to Paschal asking that he ‘entreat your clemency with regard to the expulsion of our father and lord Anselm, the venerable archbishop of Canterbury’.13 This was because, in Matilda’s view, Anselm was experiencing ‘tribulations and wretchedness’ (tribulationes et miserias) in his obedience to ‘the Catholic faith and Holy Roman Church’ (pro fide catholica et sanctae Romanae ecclesiae).14 In January or February, shortly after Matilda’s letter to Paschal, the Pope wrote his third letter to King Henry, demanding that the king restored Anselm to the archbishopric and protect the Churches in England, with the added threat of excommunication of the King and his advisors, should he not. It is impossible to fully measure Matilda’s influence in Paschal’s actions but it is not unfeasible to allow her intercession a deal of 12

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Donizone, Vita Mathildis, ed. L. Bethmann, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores XII, 348–409 (Hannover: Hahnsche, 1856), and Donizone, Vita di Matilde di Canossa, ed. and trans. P. Golinelli (Milan: Jaca Book, 2008), see also M. A. Spike, Tuscan Princess: The Life and Extraordinary Times of Matilda of Canossa (USA: The Vendome Press, 2004), p. 228. Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 350, From Matilda to Pope Paschal, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 289: ‘… de patris ac domini nostril Anselmi, Cantuariensis venerabilis archiepiscopi, expulsione clementiam vestram singulariter postulamus’. See also Matilda of Tuscany, Urkunden und Briefe der Markgräfin Mathilde von Tuszien, II, D, 84, p. 24. English translation from Letters of Anselm, Fröhlich, vol. 3, p. 83. Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 350, From Matilda to Pope Paschal, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 289. English translation from Letters of Anselm, Fröhlich, vol. 3, p. 83.

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credit. After all, Matilda’s unwavering support of the papacy was effective and at times, vital, in the eventual diplomatic conclusion to the investiture dispute throughout Europe.15 It is worth noting in this connection that Paschal simultaneously a message to Henry’s queen, Matilda asking for her intercession on behalf of Anselm. In a letter dated the same as that to her husband, Paschal asked Queen Matilda to intercede and persuade her husband to give up investitures or he would face excommunication.16 Anselm also enjoyed a long friendship with Queen Matilda and it is clear that both he and Pope Paschal shared a view that the queen was a useful and potentially powerful intercessor for their position with the king. An illustration, again, of the role played by women within friendship networks in early twelfth century society. A further indication that the pope became considerably more involved in the investiture dispute in England after Countess Matilda’s intercession, comes in a letter sent by Paschal to Gerard, Archbishop of York, condemning him for his lack of support towards Anselm and ordering him to publish the excommunication passed at the Lenten Synod. Donizone, in the Vita of Countess Matilda, notes that she attended the synods.17 Although the measure of the effectiveness of Matilda’s intercession on Anselm’s behalf is difficult to establish, what is certain, is that in Anselm’s fight against lay investiture in England, the countesses’ religious outlook, unwavering support and the friendship she enjoyed with the pope and other key Church figures meant that friendship with her was always likely to have benefitted Anselm. The evidence suggests that she did indeed use her influence to leverage favour for his cause. 3

Spiritual Friendship

However, alongside the more political functions of the friendship, as was common with friendship bonds, the letters were written and sent with more than one purpose and could serve more than one function, however, spiritual elements always existed. After a long time of contemplation, in 1104, Anselm sent the whole collection of his prayers and meditations, complete with his 15 16 17

See Nash, Empress Adelheid and Countess Matilda. Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 352, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 292. Donizone, Vita Mathildis, See Vita Mathildis, Donizone, translated in Vita Mathildis, ed. L. Bethmann, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, Scriptores XII, 348–409 (Hannover: Hahnsche, 1856), and Donizone, Vita di Matilde di Canossa, ed. and trans. P. Golinelli (Milan: Jaca Book, 2008).

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advice on how they should be read to Countess Matilda.18 Unfortunately this original manuscript did not survive, but a later copy did.19 In his letter of 1104 Anselm explained: ‘Your Highness has informed me through our aforesaid son Alexander that you do not have the Prayers and Meditations which I myself wrote and which I thought you had, so I am sending them to you’.20 In a second letter which accompanied the prayers Anselm provided a short guide for Matilda in how to read the texts: Though there are some among them that are not appropriate to your person, I wanted to send them all so that, if they were pleasing to someone they could take them from this exemplar. Since they were produced to excite the mind of the reader to the love or fear of god or to discussion of him, they should not be read swiftly or skimmed, but a little at a time with intense and lingering meditation. Nor should the reader attempt to read the whole of any of them, but only as much as they feel suffices to excite the desire to pray, which is what they were made for.21 Within the collection of prayers, three prayers to the Virgin Mary were included.22 Anselm clearly stated that he composed the texts for ‘different brothers’ and at ‘request’ therefore, not with the intention of appealing to a female audience. However, Rachel Fulton argued that although he did not have the Countess in mind when composing these prayers, their inclusion within

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Southern, Portrait, pp. 111–2; see for more detailed discussion Rachel Fulton, ‘Praying with Anselm at Admont: A Meditation on Practice’, Speculum, 81 (2006), pp. 700–33. Admont, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 289, fol. 21v. Southern pointed out that the illustrations in this copy are comparable to several Canterbury Manuscript illuminations Saint Anselm: A Portrait, pp. 111–2. Examples of the illuminations can be found also in C. R. Dodwell, The Canterbury School of Illumination (Cambridge, 1954), pp. 4–5. Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 325, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 257: ‘Mandavit mihi vestra celsitudo per praedictum filium nostrum ALEXANDRUM quia Orationes sive meditationes, quas ego dictavi et putabam vos habere, non habebatis, et ideo mitto eas vobis’. English translation from Letters of Anselm, Fröhlich, vol. 3, p. 39. Anselm of Canterbury, Orationes siue meditationes, Prologue, ed. Schmitt, vol. 3, p. 3: ‘In quibus quamvis quaedam sint quae ad vestram personam non pertinent, omnes tamen volui mittere, ut, si cui placuerint, de hoc exemplari eas possit accipere. Quae quoniam ad excitandam legentis mentem ad Dei amorem vel timorem seu ad suimet discussionem sunt editae, non sunt legendae cursim vel velociter, sed paulatim cum itenta et morosa meditatione. Nec debet intendere lector quamlibet earum totam legere, sed tantum quantum ad excitandum affectum orandi, ad quod factae sunt, sentit sibi sufficere’. Admont, Stiftsbibliothek, MS 289, fol. 21v.

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the set of texts, illustrates that Anselm viewed them as possible areas of interest for Matilda.23 Furthermore, however, the texts were to serve as examples (examplari), not solely for Matilda, but also for anyone who found them pleasing (placuerint). Clearly, Anselm was referring to those in close proximity, or those who enjoyed friendship with the countess. In this way Anselm encouraged the countess to share the texts, furthering the potential audience. This links with two functions of friendship networks: first, it is clear that Anselm expected the subjects of the texts to appeal to the countess and that she would benefit from reading the prayers and meditations. This fits in with the notion of spiritual guidance exchanged through friendships; in providing Matilda with prayers and mediations Anselm was caring for his friend’s soul, sharing in the love of God, and experiencing the ‘taste of heaven’ the bonds of friendship offered.24 Second, and significantly, Anselm encouraged Matilda to share his texts with those around her. In doing so, due to Matilda’s great influence, Anselm expression in his prayers and meditations, as argued by Richard Southern, of ‘his most intimate fears and hopes’, were disseminated to a wider audience and ‘became part of the common devotional property of the medieval world’.25 Friendship with Matilda enabled Anselm to project and share the accumulation of his life’s work to a wider audience. This aspect of their relationship aligns with the function of medieval friendships, that is, to propagate a view of an individual’s ability to comprehend and explain, particularly any relevant theology, and ultimately, to project superior virtue. Finally, and closely linked to the gift of his prayers, Anselm also offered the countess spiritual guidance which aligned with the view of their shared friend, Pope Gregory VII. This advice was to take the veil at the point of her death. Interestingly neither Gregory, nor Anselm, encouraged Matilda to adopt the habit before extremis, probably since she was too valuable an ally in secular affairs.26 Matilda, as countess, was too influential and loyal to their cause, and this irrespective of her gender. Anselm explained to Matilda that she was unable to adopt the habit and remove herself from the secular world, although she desired to, because she was conducting God’s work: 23 24

25 26

Rachel Fulton, From Judgement to Passion, Devotion to Christ and the Virgin Mary, 800– 1200 (Columbia University Press, 2002), pp. 232–3; and her ‘Praying with Anselm’. See J. McEvoy, ‘The theory of friendship in the Latin middle ages: Hermeneutics, Contextualisation and the transmission and reception of ancient texts and ideas, from c. AD 350 to c. 1500, in J. P. Haseldine, ed., Friendship in Medieval Europe (Stroud: Sutton, 1999), pp. 1–44, at p. 36. Southern, Portrait, pp. 111–2. See Hay, The Military Leadership of Matilda.

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I always preserve in my heart the memory of your holy desire through which your heart yearns to hold the world in contempt; but the holy and unwavering love which you have for mother Church lovingly holds you back. From this it is evident that your reverence is pleasing to God in every way and therefore, while calmly awaiting a definite sign from God, you should patiently bear the burden which you are carrying in tribulation with good hope.27 Anselm acknowledged that Matilda desired to take the veil, however, her secular activities served God’s purpose and cause further and more efficaciously than could her life as an enclosed nun. However, in caring for her soul as a friend, Anselm encouraged Matilda to take her vows on her deathbed: I presume to give you a word of advice: if you see yourself threatened by certain danger of death—which God avert!—give yourself totally to God before you leave this life, and for this purpose you should always have secretly in your possession a veil which you have prepared. Whatever I may say, I pray and desire for you that God may entrust you to nothing save his providence and advice.28 In Anselm’s view, Matilda’s social status hindered her attainment of salvation. In her taking vows on her deathbed, coupled with the piety she projected during her life, he was certain of Matilda, his friend’s, salvation. Interestingly, as mentioned above, Pope Gregory VII also provided Matilda with the same advice. She asked Gregory to grant his permission for her to abandon the world to protect her soul. Gregory discouraged her in a reply dated c. 1074, because her involvement in the protection of the church was of far greater value:

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Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 325, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 256–7: ‘Sancti desiderii vestri in corde meo semper servo memoriam, quo ad contemptum mundi cor vestrum anhelat; sed illud sancta et necessaria, quam erga matrem ecclesiam habetis, dilectio pie retardat. In quo intelligitur reverentia vestra ex utraque parte deo placere, et ideo debetis, aequo animo certum dei consilium exspectat ando, onus quod portatis in angaria cum bona spe patienter sustinere’. English translation from Letters of Anselm, Fröhlich, vol. 3 p. 39. Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 325, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 257: ‘… praesumo consulere ut, si certum mortis periculum interim—quod deus avertat!—senseritis imminere, prius vos deo omnino reddatis, quam de hac vita exeatis; et ad hoc velum semper paratum secrete penes vos habeatis. Quidquid dicam: hoc oro, hoc desidero, ut deus nulli vos nisi suae committat dispositioni et consilio’. English translation from Letters of Anselm, Fröhlich, vol. 3 p. 39.

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How great are my care and my unceasing devotion to your welfare and that of your kindred, he alone knows who searches the mysteries of the heart and who understands better than I myself. But if you weigh the matter carefully you will, I think, perceive that I ought to take care, by the love I bear you, that you should not abandon those [who belong to you] in order that you may devote yourself solely to the salvation of your own soul. For love, as I have often said and shall continue to say, “seeketh not its own”.29 Matilda’s role in the secular world was, therefore, in Anselm and Pope Gregory’s view more valuable to God than if she withdrew from the world and took her vows. Clearly this served also the interests of the Pope and Anselm. The provision of spiritual guidance, however, added a reciprocal element to the friendship between Matilda and the latter. She was able to provide Anselm with practical and political support and in return, he could provide her with spiritual guidance and the hope of salvation. These mutual benefits demonstrate neatly the numerous functions that a friendship bond could serve. 4

Conclusions

The friendship between Anselm and Countess Matilda served several functions. Anselm, for example, provided Matilda with spiritual guidance, and furthermore, bestowed upon her the accumulation of his life’s work in the monastic vineyard. On the other side was the great position of influence Matilda enjoyed, coupled with her fervent and unrelenting piety and loyalty to the Gregorian reform and the investiture dispute throughout Europe. As a key protagonist in 29

Gregory VII, Register Gregors VII, MGH, EpSel, ed. Erich Caspar, Ep.1.47: ‘Quanta sit mihi cura quantaque incessanter de te tuaque salute sollicitudo, ipse solus, qui cordis archana rimatur, intellegit et multo melius me ipso cognoscit. Tu tamen, si pensare non neglegis, ut reor, animadvertis, quia pro tantis tui curam me oportet habere, pro quantis te caritatis studio detinui, ne illos desereres, ut tue solius anime saluti provideres. Caritas enim, ut sepe dixi et dicam sequens celestem tubam, non quae sua sunt querit. Sed quia inter cetera, quae tibi contra principem mundi arma Deo favente contuli, quod potissimum est, ut corpus Dominicum frequenter acciperes, indicavi et, ut certe fiducie matris Domini te omnino committeres, precepi, quid inde beatus Ambrosius, videlicet de sumendo corpore Domini, senserit, his in litteris intimavi. Ait enim in libro quarto de sacramentis inter cetera’. English translation from Gregory VII, The Correspondence of Pope Gregory VII: Selected Letters from the Registrum, trans. Ephraim Emerton (New York: Columbia University Press, 1932), pp. 23–4. Taken from Epistolae, Medieval Women’s Latin Letters: (viewed 22/4/2020).

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the fight for the freedom of the church from secular control, Matilda was an obvious friend for Anselm. She extended and encouraged this friendship bond and included Anselm in her impressive roster of friends, both religious and lay. Although Anselm enjoyed no prominent position amongst Matilda’s more intimate friends, the origins and nature of their friendship, born from his struggle against lay investiture in England, illustrates how friendship functioned in one of the key reform movements of the twelfth century. The investiture dispute dominated the both ecclesiastical and secular thought and politics in the last decade of the eleventh and the first decade of the twelfth century. Anselm’s friendship with the two secular women considered here, Matilda of Tuscany, Matilda, Queen of England, functioned and aligned with his involvement in the larger campaign. The case study of the friendship between Saint Anselm and Countess Matilda illustrates the complex nature of friendship bonds. It is clear that friendship bonds served numerous functions and that no hard and fast, defined, separation between the lay and the spiritual existed. This is married, for example in the similar manner in which Anselm’s role as archbishop encompassed lay and spiritual responsibilities equally. However, as the case of Anselm and Matilda shows, including women in friendship networks was most certainly beneficial to leading Church figures, and male to female friendship bonds could serve comparable functions to those of male-to-male friendships.

chapter 8

Reading Eadmer of Canterbury in Light of Anselm Stephanie C. Britton Anselm of Canterbury had a large circle of friends and students, a circle which included some of the greatest and best-known scholars and religious men and women of his day. Amongst these the historian and hagiographer Eadmer, a monk at Canterbury, Christ Church, held a prominent place. While the devotion Eadmer sustained for Anselm’s memory is unquestioned, the extent to which aspects of Anselm’s thought and teachings appear in Eadmer’s texts is under-analysed. As his teacher and friend, Anselm’s life and thought had a profound impact on Eadmer, both from a personal and scholarly perspective. This is especially true where Eadmer’s writings touch on questions related to Anselm’s theories of will and justice. Eadmer’s incorporation of the Anselmian themes of the pre-eminence of God’s will and of justice into his texts reveals an active engagement with Anselm’s teachings. Eadmer’s interpretation finds its final form in his work of history: the Historia novorum in Anglia. However, the integration of similar Anselmian themes in Eadmer’s earlier hagiographical writing such as the Vita S. Dunstani and Vita S. Wilfridi reflects a broader use and development of these ideas over time. A comparison between Anselm’s own justification of his resistance to secular authority in England and various cases in Eadmer’s earlier works show that he was constructing narratives and defences based on Anselmian themes. These three texts are examined in what follows. The existence of Anselmian themes in all three of these texts suggests a close acquaintance with the practical working of Anselm’s political actions and theories. That they were written across a period of approximately fifteen years allows different stages in Eadmer’s intellectual development and literary career to be identified and analysed. The first case-study explores the parallels between Anselm’s own account of his conflict with King William Rufus as expressed in a letter to Pope Paschal II and Eadmer’s account of the Council of Rockingham in the Historia. Eadmer presents similar statement of obedience and will to those articulated to the Pope by Anselm. These appear in the reported speech attributed to Anselm, but also occur both in the responses of the king and bishops and in Eadmer’s comments on the context. Eadmer uses the opportunity to denigrate William Rufus by developing a theme of the king and Anselm’s opposing wills, drawing

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heavily from Anselmian theology. A scene containing identical reasoning appears in one of Eadmer’s earlier texts which forms the second case-study, the Vita S. Dunstani. Eadmer portrays Dunstan in a dispute parallel to Anselm’s own, and attributes a near-identical defence to the character of Dunstan. Moving back through Eadmer’s works, the third case study draws on the Vita S. Wilfridi, and a particular scene in which Bishop Wilfrid was accused of violating royal authority. Eadmer here attributes a similar defence to Bishop Wilfrid as the characters of Anselm and Dunstan are recorded to use, but relates this in terms of justice. Both cases, in the Vita S. Dunstani and Vita S. Wilfridi, can be interpreted as earlier versions of more coherent and expanded parallels to Anselm’s ideas which appear in the Historia and Vita S. Anselmi. Eadmer’s presentation of Anselmian themes in both contemporary and historical contexts forms an important element in his defence of Anselm’s memory. 1

Anselmian Themes in Anselm’s Writings

Anselm’s own explanation of his conflict with King William and a defence of his non-cooperation is present in Letter 210, addressed to Pope Paschal II. Writing in 1099 or 1100, Anselm states that: ‘The king demanded of me that in the name of righteousness, I should give my consent to his intentions which were against the law and will of God’.1 The theme of the king demanding obedience when his will was against God’s continues throughout the letter. Anselm explains the offences which were against God’s will: ‘Everyone in the kingdom, even my own suffragan bishops, refused to give me any counsel except that which agreed with the king’s will’.2 Anselm then states that he chose to go into exile rather than allow these offences to continue under his rule.3 Later in the letter,

1 Anselm of Canterbury, Ep. 210 in Opera omnia, ed. Schmitt, 6 vols., vol. 4, p. 106: ‘Exigebat enim a me rex ut voluntatibus suis, quae contra legem et voluntatem Dei erant, sub nomine rectitudinis assensum praeberem’. English translation from W. Fröhlich, The Letters of Saint Anselm of Canterbury, 3 vols. (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1993), vol. 2, Letter 210. 2 These offences include William’s refusal to recognise the Pope, his lack of church councils and the king’s gifting of Church lands to his followers. Anselm, Ep. 210, ed, Schmitt, vol. 4, p. 106: ‘In omnibus his et similibus si consilium petebam, omnes de regno ejus etiam suffraganei mei episcopi negabant se consilium daturos, nisi secundum voluntatem regis’. These offences pertain to William’s refusal to recognise the Pope, his lack of church councils and the king’s gifting of Church lands to his followers. 3 Richard Southern saw this exile as Anselm’s reaction to an impossible situation after he was forced into the role of archbishop, Saint Anselm and His Biographer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963), p. 161. An alternative view of Anselm acting in a more calculated way

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Anselm entreats the Pope not to order him to return without a change in the political circumstances: I beseech you, with as much fervour as I can, not to command me to return to England under any circumstances, unless in such a way that I be allowed to place the law and will of God and the Apostolic decrees above the will of man …4 Anselm finishes his letter by commenting that, although he has been advised by some to excommunicate the king for these offences, he believes that this action would be ‘scorned by him (King William) and turned into ridicule’.5 In this letter, Anselm presents his inability to co-operate with William in terms of a conflict between human wills and the law, and with those of God and intended by God for humanity. Anselm has to obey God’s eternal laws over the arbitrary and temporal ones dictated by an earthly king. This juxtaposition of the self-will of humanity alongside God’s will, which is both truth and justice, is a common theme in Anselm’s theological writings as well as his letters, and here is brought to use in defence of his resistance to royal control over church business.6 2

Anselmian Themes in Eadmer’s Historia novorum in Anglia

The events that led up to Anselm’s first period of exile are narrated in Eadmer’s Historia novorum in Anglia, written c. 1112.7 The conflict between William and Anselm is explored in a series of staged debates. In the Historia and especially during the account of the Council of Rockingham, Eadmer adopts the justification used by Anselm in Letter 210. Eadmer presents the conflict in terms of

4 5 6 7

is offered in S. N. Vaughn, Anselm of Bec and Robert of Meulan: The Innocence of the Dove and the Wisdom of the Serpent (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), pp. 204–7. Anselm, Ep. 210, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, pp. 106–7: ‘Precor igitur et obsecro quanto possum affectu, ut nullo modo in Angliam redire iubeatis, nisi ita ut legem et voluntatem dei et decreta apostolica voluntati hominis liceat mihi praeferre’. Anselm, Ep. 210, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, p. 107: ‘Mandatum mihi est quia mea excommunicatio, si fieret, ab illo contemneretur et in derisum converteretur’. Anselm of Canterbury, De casu diaboli, cc. 4, 7, 14 in Opera omnia, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, pp. 240– 2, 244–5, 258–9; Anselm, De libertate arbitrii, cc. 2, 5, 8, 10, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, 209–10, 214–7, 220–1, 222. For the stages of composition see Benjamin Pohl, ‘The (Un)Making of a History Book: Revisiting the Earliest Manuscripts of Eadmer of Canterbury’s Historia novorum in Anglia’, The Library, 20 (2019), pp. 340–70.

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God’s will over humanity’s, borrowing heavily from Anselm’s terminology. This is not just present in Anselm’s reported speech: Eadmer uses the characters of the bishops and king to highlight Anselm’s arguments, framing their responses to suggest that in asking for Anselm to obey his dictates over church policy William was consciously asking Anselm to turn away from the will of God. In almost all of the bishops’ responses to Anselm’s arguments at Rockingham, they demand that Anselm render obedience to William with no regard to anyone or anything else. Eadmer does not have them state that this ‘anything else’ is God’s will, but it can be inferred; later in the Historia, the bishops object to the law of God having any bearing on the king’s customs.8 Eadmer reports that the bishops at Rockingham admit that, as a result of their obedience to William, they cannot give advice to Anselm in accordance with the will of God if this conflicts with the will of the king. One example of the typical reply which Eadmer attributes to the bishops is as follows: The answer which we gave to you yesterday we give you again today, which is, that if you are willing without any reserve to turn around and devote your whole mind to the service of our lord, then we will give you prompt and unambiguous advice, advice which we have found by experience to be serviceable where we ourselves are concerned. But, if what you are looking for from us is advice in accordance with the will of God which might be any way contrary to the will of the king, then your asking is but lost labour, you will never see us upholding you in any way such as this.9 This example occurs, similarly worded, in many instances throughout the account of the Council of Rockingham, with the same emphasis on the conflict between the king’s will and God’s will.10 Eadmer’s account presents the bishops demanding Anselm’s absolute and exclusive obedience to the will of the king, which they have chosen to follow. In one of many cases where the 8 9

10

HN, p. 56. English translation: Eadmer of Canterbury, History of Recent Events in England, trans. G. Bosanquet (London: Cresset Press, 1964), p. 57. HN, p. 56: ‘Quod heri respondimus modo respondemus; scilicet, si pure ad voluntatem domini regis consilii tui summam transferre volueris, promptum et quod in nobis ipsis utile didicimus a nobis consilium certum habebis. Si autem secundum Deum quod ullatenus voluntati regis obviare possit consilium a nobis expectas, frustra niteris, quia in huiusmodi nunquam tibi nos adminiculari videbis’. English translation from Eadmer, History, pp. 57–8. HN, p. 59: ‘In cunctis actibus tuis voluntatem domini regis et jussionem expecta [in all your actions have regard solely to the will of your lord the king and to his bidding]’. English translation from Eadmer, History, p. 60.

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king refers to his own will in this scene, William commands these bishops to condemn Anselm ‘at my will’.11 In the Historia, Eadmer formulates the episcopal and royal opposition to Anselm’s position using Anselmian thought. However, Eadmer moves beyond the position adopted by Anselm in Letter 210, driving Anselm’s more moderate complaints about the unruly king to their natural conclusion. Anselm’s account in Letter 210 identifies that the king’s will is in opposition to God’s, but at no point does Anselm suggest that the William is pursuing this course of action out of deliberate impiety. By contrast, Eadmer presents William as consciously attempting to claim pre-eminence of will in his kingdom which can only belong to God. Elaborating on this theme at Eadmer’s account of Rockingham, Eadmer suggests that the king’s protection of his royal status and claim led to him refusing to acknowledge the possibility of any parts of his kingdom (for example, the church) not being under his jurisdiction: The King had, as is well known, the idea that he did not possess his royal dignity intact so long as anyone anywhere throughout his whole land was said to have any possession or any power which was not derived from the King himself, even were it ascribed to the will of God.12 This theme is developed still further in the Historia after the Council of Rockingham, and especially after Anselm was exiled. In an extended description of William’s transgressive behaviour, Eadmer explains: The king had developed such mental self-exaltation that he could not even bear to hear anyone say when speaking of any business to be undertaken by the king or at his command, that the doing of it was subject to the will of God. All acts, whether done or yet to be done, he wished to be ascribed solely to his own initiative and determination.13 11 12 13

HN, p. 62: ‘Ite, Ite, consiliamini; quia per vultum Dei si vos illum ad voluntatem meam non damnaveritis, ego damnabo vos [By the face of God, if you do not at my will condemn him, I will condemn you]’. English translation from Eadmer, History, p. 64. HN, p. 60: ‘Nec enim regia dignitate integre se potitum suspicabatur, quamdiu aliquis it tota terra sua, vel etiam secundum Deum, nisi per eum quicquam habere, nota dico, vel posse dicebatur’. English translation from Eadmer, History, p. 61. HN, p. 101: ‘Praeter haec quoque per id temporis ferebatur eum in tantam mentis elationem corruisse, ut nequaquam patienter audire valeret, si quivis ullum negotium quod vel a se vel ex suo praecepto foret agendum poneret sub conditione voluntatis Dei fieri; sed quaeque, acta simul et agenda, suae soli industriae ac fortitudini volebat ascribe’. English translation from Eadmer, History, p. 105.

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Elsewhere, William objects to the verdict of a trial by ordeal, decreeing that his own judgement should come before God’s; William complains that the will of God ‘inclines to one side or the other’.14 Eadmer appears to have expanded on Anselm’s initial explanation of conflicting wills, to portray William Rufus as consciously seeking ultimate authority in his kingdom as both judge and ruler, above the position of God. These themes of William as a jealous and consciously impious man are entirely absent from Anselm’s letter, which offers no specific reason for William’s opposition. Eadmer may have been influenced by lines of thought in Anselm’s treatise De casu diaboli in which he identifies two distinct types of willing. A rational creature can either will for justice or for what is advantageous for it: Teacher. But [the Devil] was able to will nothing except what is just or beneficial. For happiness, which every rational nature wills, consists of benefits.15 In the Historia, Anselm’s will is consistently presented as corresponding with God’s will and God’s law, and William Rufus’s is presented as opposing this mutual will of Anselm and God. Although Eadmer never draws an explicit comparison with the Devil, the connection with De casu diaboli may suggest that Eadmer saw a similarity. Eadmer recounts William’s behaviour, such as the king threatening recently converted Jews to return to their former religion in exchange for money, in alarmed detail.16 Elsewhere, Eadmer depicts William as being motivated by money, describing William’s demands for excessive ‘gifts’ of money from Anselm. This theme may represent the king’s will as being for his own personal advantage, symbolised by the material benefit of money, which is contrasted against Anselm’s will for justice and God’s law.17 When creating this narrative of the dispute in the Historia, Eadmer frequently employs bi-polar terms to build his argument. The account places the will of the king in opposition to the will of God, and also compares Anselm’s

14 15

16 17

HN, p. 102: ‘Quare per hoc et hoc meo judicio amodo respondebitur, non Dei, quod pro voto cujusque hinc inde plicatur’. English translation from Eadmer, History, p. 106. Anselm, De casu diaboli, 4, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 241: ‘MAG[ister]. Nihil autem velle poterat nisi justitiam, aut commodum: ex commodis enim constat beatitudo, quam vult omnis rationalis natura’. The concept of the two types of will is explored in Anselm’s De libertate arbitrii. The De casu diaboli is a specific case-study of willing with respect to angelic sin, but the comments on will remain valid. HN, pp. 103–5. HN, pp. 27–8, 41–2, 44–5.

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‘justice’ to ‘that creature’s (the king’s) injustice’.18 This repeated use of oppositional terms in tension is reminiscent of Anselm’s own style in his three treatises on will, in which a theological world view is built on a system where in every case there are two opposing positions: the right will or the wrong will, truth or a lie, freedom or slavery, justice or injustice.19 Eadmer may, then, have incorporated Anselm’s theory of the two wills of rational creatures into his narrative, and establishing William Rufus as the foil to Anselm’s correct will and behaviour. Eadmer’s explanation of the dispute between Anselm and the English king bears an interpretation in which took Anselm’s own ideas of God’s pre-eminence of will and humanity’s lower will (as expressed, for example, in Letter 210). However, Eadmer develops this into a presentation of William as so jealous of his own royal prerogatives as to concede nothing to God’s, a clear example of will employed in a sinful and harmful manner. While Eadmer could have been merely following Anselm’s own interpretation of the events, the cohesion of the account suggests that the narrative is more than just documentation of events. In particular, the king and bishops’ use of Anselm’s own terminology to put their case across to Anselm suggests that this is, to a large degree, a constructed debate. Eadmer appears to have moved beyond the position Anselm maintains in his letters, making further use of his theological ideas, for example those expressed in De casu diaboli, to explain William’s opposition and character. The characterisation of William Rufus’s behaviour as offensive to Christian virtues and the presence of Anselmian terminology in the reported speech of both the king and bishops form an intriguing example of Eadmer’s integration of Anselmian themes. 3

Anselmian Themes in the Vita S. Dunstani

This incorporation of Anselmian terminology and ideas into Eadmer’s historical writing of this conflict may be unsurprising, given Eadmer’s personal familiarity with his subject. What is less expected is the appearance of similar themes in Eadmer’s earlier hagiographical works which cover historic events. In both the Vita S. Dunstani and the Vita S. Wilfridi, Eadmer attributes 18 19

HN, p. 102: factum est ut et viri justitia firmius crederetur, et injustitia hominis eum non aequo judicio fatigantis …’. English translation from Eadmer, History, p. 98. Anselm, De veritate, cc. 12, 13, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, pp. 191–9. See discussion of issues of tensions and paradoxes in Anselm’s writing: Eileen Sweeney, Anselm of Canterbury and the Desire for the Word (Washington DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2012), esp. pp. 110–75.

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Anselmian-style defences to historic characters. These defences are similar to the examples discussed earlier in the Historia. They appear also to be original alterations to Eadmer’s source texts. Eadmer’s Vita S. Dunstani was probably composed between 1098 and 1106, with indirect internal evidence in the text suggesting that it was written early in the reign of Henry I.20 The manuscript evidence suggests an origin in France, making plausible a composition during Anselm and Eadmer’s second period in exile, 1103–6.21 As the Vita S. Dunstani appears to have been written in France, some of the intended audience may have been French.22 While Eadmer may have written in exile, the intended audience was probably the community at Canterbury. Dunstan was Canterbury’s premier saint, and later uses of Eadmer’s Vita S. Dunstani indicate that the text circulated in England.23 Eadmer was particularly concerned with Canterbury saints, either archbishops or with saints who had relationships with Canterbury. Eadmer’s hagiographical and historical texts follow Oda, Bregwine, Dunstan and Anselm, all archbishops of Canterbury. Wilfrid and Oswald although archbishops of York had strong Canterbury connections: Wilfrid’s remains were at Canterbury, and the Vita Oswaldi was written for Eadmer’s friends at Worcester. Oswald’s relationships with Oda and Dunstan may also have presented Oswald as a subject of great interest for Eadmer. This Canterbury-centric outlook is, then, a hallmark of Eadmer’s historical and hagiographical writing. In the Vita S. Dunstani, Eadmer relates that during Dunstan’s time as archbishop of Canterbury, a certain nobleman ‘the Count’ engaged in an unlawful marriage and would not respond to Dunstan’s reprimands or even his sentence of excommunication. This Count first secured support from King Edgar through misrepresenting Dunstan. After an ineffectual intervention by the king, the Count purchased the support of the Pope in Rome with money. The pope then ordered Dunstan to apologise to the Count and reconcile him to the church, an order which Dunstan firmly refused, responding:

20

21 22 23

This evidence relates to specific episodes: Dunstan’s punishment of three forgers, King Edgar’s rape of a nun at Wilton and a miracle supposedly performed by Dunstan at a village. All these stories have connections to events which occurred early in the reign of King Henry I, and points to a date of composition around this time. Eadmer of Canterbury, Lives and Miracles of Saints Oda, Dunstan and Oswald, ed. and trans. B. J. Muir & A. J. Turner (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2006), p. lxvii. Eadmer, Lives and Miracles, p. lxvii–lxix. Eadmer, Lives and Miracles, pp. lxviii–lxix. Eadmer, Lives and Miracles, pp. lxxxvii–xcvi.

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When I see that man who is at the centre of this undertake penance for his sin, I will willingly obey the commands of the Lord Pope. But God would not wish that he (the Count) should wallow in this sinful state and immune from ecclesiastical discipline insult us and derive joy from that. Moreover, God forbid that I should set aside the law which that same lord of mine, Christ the son of God, determined should be preserved in his church, for the sake of any mortal man or to preserve my safety.24 After hearing Dunstan’s words, the Count felt shame for his actions. Terrified of the dangers that befall excommunicated individuals he repented in full. The source for this scene is Adelard of Ghent’s Vita S. Dunstani, written c. 1006–11. Adelard briefly relates in less than a dozen lines Dunstan’s refusal to co-operate, even under papal mandate, with a nobleman engaged in an unlawful marriage.25 Adelard uses the case to comment on Dunstan’s unmoveable, adamantine, nature. Eadmer expands Adelard’s account, almost five-fold, and inserts new details such as Dunstan’s speech and the penance of the count. The editors of this work identify the expansion as a novel introduction by Eadmer, and suggest that the account may derive from an oral source.26 This extended scene in Eadmer’s Vita S. Dunstani seems to portray Dunstan in a situation parallel to the contemporary Anselm, and gives Dunstan a mirrored response to instructions which would put Dunstan in conflict with God’s law. Dunstan’s defiance is explained: unwillingness to obey a man’s will instead of God’s law. The reasoning for this, that God does not wish it, and therefore, that Dunstan could not obey even for the sake of a powerful mortal or for his personal benefit, is identical to Anselm’s own in Letter 210. Dunstan’s refusal 24

25

26

Eadmer, Vita S. Dunstani, pp. 117–9: ‘Equidem cum illum de quo agitur sui delicti poenitudinem gerere uidero, praeceptis domini papae libens parebo. Sed ut ipse in peccato suo iacaet, et immunis ab aecclesiastica discipina nobis insultet, et exinde gaudeat nolit Deus. Auertat etiam Deus a me ut ego causa alicuius mortatlis hominis, uel pro redemptione capitis mei, postponam legem quam seruandam statuit in sua aecclesia idem dominus meus, Christus filius Dei’. Adelard, ‘Vita Dunstani’, in Memorials of Saint Dunstan, archbishop of Canterbury, eds. W. Stubbs (London: Longman, 1874), pp. 53–68 at p. 67: ‘Exempli gratia; quidam illustrium pro illicito matrimonio saepius ab eo redargutus, sed non correctus, gladio tandem evangelico est a Christo divisus. Qui Romam adiens domimum apostolicum pro se Dunstano scriptis satisfacere optinuit. Hic Dunstanus iuxta interpretationem nominis sui, montanus utique lapis, ut mons immobilis, ut lapis angulari lapidi affixus, moveri non potuit: sed ipso apostolico mente altior in se solidus perstitit, “Scias,” inquiens legato, “nec capitiis plexione me a Domini mei auctoritate movendum”’. Eadmer, Vita S. Dunstani, p. 118. No reason is given for the possibility of the addition as being from an oral source. The editors state that the identity of the pope and count are unknown, and that it is unclear to which council Eadmer might have been referring.

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echoes Anselm’s defence in his dispute with the English kings, both in his own letters and in the character in Eadmer’s Historia. Eadmer deploys similar language to describe Dunstan’s objection. Not only does this scene act as a justification of Anselm’s actions, but it also creates a precedent for Anselm’s behaviour in the form of the actions of one of the most respected and famous Canterbury archbishops. If this Vita was written during Anselm’s second exile as has been hypothesised by the editors, the expansion and manipulation of this example can be seen as creating an additional defence of Anselm’s decisions to travel into exile. Anselm was criticised for the decision leading to a lengthy exile, as evidenced by angry letters asking him to return, accusing him of abandoning his flock. In 1104, an unidentified member of the Canterbury community, possibly Prior Ernulf, asked Anselm to examine the ‘order of ancient custom’, suggesting that the Canterbury community did not see Anselm acting in a traditional method. The insertion of Anselmian inflexibility and reasoning into the mouth of Canterbury’s most celebrated saint may be an attempt to create such a custom. The presentation of Dunstan as an Anselmian figure continues throughout this text. Turner and Muir have noted that Eadmer chose to omit the material in his primary source-text which relates to Dunstan’s use of bribery and Dunstan’s active involvement in lawsuits. This may represent alterations to Dunstan’s character made to highlight Anselm’s.27 In addition, at specific points in the text, Eadmer makes subtle Anselmian allusions, often appearing to refer to contemporary events.28 Giles Gasper has identified Eadmer’s attribution of an Anselmian notion of intention to Dunstan in this text, in a historic case regarding the punishing of money forgers, which had a contemporary early twelfth-century parallel.29 There are many other places in the text where Eadmer makes clear Anselmian allusions, one of which occurs in Eadmer’s comment on Dunstan’s lack of support from his community upon his exiling. Eadmer explains that Dunstan’s monks should have ‘obeyed him in the manner of good sons even unto death’ (ei usque ad mortem more bonorum filiorum obsequi deberent). This resonates with themes of obedience which Anselm 27 28

29

Eadmer, Lives and Miracles, p. lxxiii–lxxiv. Paul Hayward has examined similar contemporary inserts in the Vita S. Wilfridi and the Vita S. Petri but relating to the Canterbury primacy debate: P. Hayward, ‘An absent father: Eadmer, Goscelin and the cult of St. Peter, the first abbot of St. Augustine’s Abbey, Canterbury’, Journal of Medieval History, 29 (2003), pp. 201–18. P. Hayward, ‘St Wilfrid Ripon and the Northern Church in Anglo-Norman Historiography’, Northern History, XLIX (2012), pp. 11–35. Giles. E. M. Gasper, ‘Economy Distorted, Economy Restored: Order, Economy and Salvation in Anglo-Norman Monastic Writing’, Anglo-Norman Studies, 38 (2005), pp. 51–65.

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explores in Cur Deus homo. The comment is not present in any of Eadmer’s sources and appears to act as a reprimand for the monks of the Canterbury community who are not supporting Anselm’s position in exile.30 These two parallel cases portray the two archbishops acting in identical ways, with identical reasoning. The primary difference in the way the two situations unfold is in the response of the laymen involved. In Eadmer’s Vita S. Dunstani, the Count is filled with shame after hearing Dunstan’s words and then with terror at the prospect of suffering God’s wrath as an excommunicated man. Eadmer identifies the Count as a wicked man who repents not out of love, but out of fear of God and shame. The scene acts as a model of the correct relationships between bishops and errant laymen. Dunstan is portrayed as unmoving in his insistence on the maintenance of God’s law, inflexible in his unwillingness to compromise. Dunstan’s argument, when put to the Count, causes the wayward man to react in a fitting way and he repents. This parallel in the text of the Vita S. Dunstani reflects Anselm’s position in exile and draws on contemporary themes which are also present in Anselm’s letter to the Pope. Eadmer seems to have seen in Adelard’s brief mention of Dunstan’s refusal to obey a papal mandate an opportunity to draw a contemporary allusion and insert an Anselmian parallel into a text he was re-working, and in this way to construct a defence of Anselm’s position in exile. 4

Anselmian Themes in the Vita S. Wilfridi

An early trace of this line of defence can be seen in another of Eadmer’s hagiographical texts, the Vita S. Wilfridi. In this treatise Eadmer depicts a conflict between ecclesiastical and secular authority, and independently attributes a distinctively Anselmian defence to Bishop Wilfrid. The Vita S. Wilfridi was written primarily from three texts: Bede’s Ecclesiastical History, Frithegod’s Breuiloquium uitae uirtutum et obitus beuti Wilfridi episcopi et confessoris and the priest Stephen’s eighth-century De vita sancti Wilfrithi Deo digni Episcopi. Stephen’s text acted as a source for both Bede and Frithegod, and although it is

30

Eadmer, Vita S. Dunstani, pp. 98–9. In B’s Vita S. Dunstani, the author ‘B’ explains that Dunstan’s ‘disciples’ conspire against him. Eadmer alters this to refer to Dunstan’s Glastonbury monks, then adds in the Anselmian phrase. B, Vita S. Dunstani, 22. The phrase usque ad mortem is explained, along with biblical references in Cur Deus Homo, 1, 8–10, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, pp. 59–67.

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clear Eadmer uses all three texts, he favours Frithegod’s work, since he believed it was written by Oda, archbishop of Canterbury.31 The dating of Eadmer’s Vita S. Wilfridi is disputed. Southern suggested, in 1963, a period of composition between 1089–97, then in 1990 refining this to 1089–93.32 Turner and Muir, the editors of the text of the Vita S. Wilfridi, do not dispute Southern’s 1990 dating, but argue that it is possible that the Vita S. Wilfridi was written later, appearing to lean towards Southern’s first, and broader dating of 1089–97. They comment that Wilfrid’s ‘staunch defiance of King Ecgfrith’s secular authority would have been highly relevant at Canterbury in the period of Anselm’s bitter disputes with William II and Henry I’.33 In Eadmer’s account of Wilfrid’s life, there is an episode where Bishop Wilfrid returns to England from Rome. In the course of this scene, the bishop is stopped on his way by armed men who protest at Wilfrid’s interference in the secular affairs of the land of the Franks. In this section, Eadmer appears to be using both Frithegod’s and Stephen’s accounts, both of which depict a similar scene.34 Stephen’s text, which was the source for Frithegod’s, includes Wilfrid’s refutation of the accusations of the attacking men. Stephen records Wilfrid’s actions as motivated by kindness and common decency.35 In Frithegod’s text, the author condenses this scene and narrates how a band of robbers accuse Wilfrid of ‘violating royal authority’ and then threaten Wilfrid with death. Wilfrid denies any accusation that he has acted wrongly and his defence is recorded in a single line, including the bishop’s statement: opto pati gaudens pro nomine Christi ‘I would be pleased to suffer for the name of Christ’.36

31 32 33 34 35

36

Eadmer of Canterbury, The Life of Saint Wilfrid, eds. and trans. B. J. Muir & A. J. Turner (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1998), p. xxx–xxxiv. VW, pp. xxx–xxxiv. Southern, Portrait, p. 408. Southern, Biographer, p. 277. Eadmer, The Life of Saint Wilfrid, p. xxix–xxx. This scene is not depicted in Bede’s Historia Ecclesiastica (Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, eds. Bertram Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors, revised edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992)). Stephanus, The Life of Bishop Wilfrid, ed. and trans. B. Colgrave (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007), p. 69: ‘Veritatem dico in Christo Iesu et per sanctum Petrum apostolum non mentior, quod talem virum exulantem et in peregrinatione degentem secundum praeceptum Dei populo Israhelitico, qui accola fuit in terra aliena, auxiliatus enutrivi et exaltavi in bonum et non in malum vestrum, ut aedificator urbium, consolatory civium, conciliator senum, defensor Dei ecclesiarum in nomine Domini secundum eius promissum esset. O rectissime episcope, quid aliud habuisti facere, si exul de genere nostro ex semine region ad sanctitatem tuam perveniret quam quod ego in Domino feci?’ Fridegoda, ‘Vita Sancti Wilfridi’, in The Historians of the Church of York and its archbishops, ed. J. Raine, 3 vols. (London: Longman, 1879–94), vol. 1, pp. 105–60 at p. 136: ‘An pravum gessi, regem dum forte remisi? Inquit, et opto pati gaudens pro nomine Christi’.

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The affair, as depicted in Eadmer’s Vita S. Wilfridi, follows the details of Frithegod’s narrative. Eadmer uses Frithegod’s accusation of the attacking men, but then formulates an original defence, incorporating elements from both the priest Stephen’s and Frithegod’s accounts. In Eadmer’s Vita S. Wilfridi, the attacking men similarly accuse Wilfrid of interfering in the region’s affairs and of opposing the king and Wilfrid responds as follows: If I did not act according to justice when to the best of my ability I put back in control of his hereditary a king who had been unjustly driven from his kingdom, and a fair decision of the most just Judge in his court holds this to be the case, I concede that I should straightaway receive the punishment of just vengeance. But if I acted in this deed in no way unjustly, but rather according to justice, as the very innocence of my mind convinces me, and if you still wish to kill me, then I very willingly desire to die because I deem that having died for justice I ought to be crowned with the glory of martyrdom.37 Eadmer’s defence of Wilfrid’s actions is different to the reports of both Stephen and Frithegod and the justification of his actions appears to be an original defence. The suggestion of Wilfrid’s willingness to suffer martyrdom may be related to the very brief response in Frithegod’s text, which also includes this theme.38 Eadmer’s repeated juxtaposition of ‘justice’ and ‘injustice’ and ‘according to the law’ and ‘unlawfully’ echoes themes from the priest Stephen’s earlier version of Wilfrid’s response. The priest Stephen similarly juxtaposed opposing terms such as ‘truth’ and ‘lie’ and ‘good’ and ‘bad’ to build Wilfrid’s case, but in this case does not refer to justice, injustice or the law. In the Vita S. Wilfridi, Eadmer transforms Frithegod’s brief defence into a far stronger advocation for the legitimacy of ecclesiastical authority in secular affairs, basing this defence on what is ‘just’. Eadmer’s explanation of Wilfrid as acting according to justice and the author’s emphasis on this term may reflect a basic 37

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Eadmer, Vita S. Wilfridi, p. 80–3: ‘Si non iure, inquit, feci cum regem regno inuiste depulsum, quantum in me feit, hereditarie dignitati prefeci et hoc ita penes se esse iustissimi Iudicis equitas habet, fateor, penas iuste ultionis promptissime pendam. Quod si nequaquam hoc in facto contra ius, sed cum iure feci, uelut ipsa mee innocentia mentis mihi testatur, eo libentius, si uultis occidere, mori desidero, quo me pro iustitia occisum martyrii gloria coronandum fore considero’. I have altered slightly Muir and Turner’s translation; they translate ‘iure’ as both justice and law, but to avoid confusion with Eadmer’s uses of ‘law’ in other examples, I have rendered them as ‘justice’, although they are probably interchangeable’. Fridegoda, Vita Sancti Wilfridi, p. 136: ‘An pravum gessi, regem dum forte remisi? Inquit, et opto pati gaudens pro nomine Christi’.

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form of the theory of the opposing wills of God and of irreligious men. Holding in tension ‘justice’ and ‘injustice’ in Eadmer’s defence of Bishop Wilfrid’s case may reflect a simpler version of the opposing wills of King William and Anselm in the Historia’s narrative. Aside from the incorporation of the opposing terms of justice and injustice and the reference to the law, Eadmer also makes a particularly clear Anselmian allusion in the final lines of Wilfrid’s speech. At its close Eadmer has Wilfrid argue that if he died ‘for justice’, he would therefore die as a martyr: quo me pro iustitia occisum martyrii gloria coronandum fore considero.39 Eadmer’s mention of martyrdom may have been inspired by Frithegod’s text, but Eadmer does not use Frithegod’s words. In Frithegod’s text, after Wilfrid is threatened with death by the attacking men, Wilfrid simply replies to the effect that he would be pleased to suffer in Christ’s name.40 Closer similarities exist between Eadmer’s portrayal of Wilfrid’s willingness to be martyred in the Vita S. Wilfridi and the account of the martyrdom of another historic English bishop, Canterbury’s Archbishop Alfege, which appears in Eadmer’s later Vita S. Anselmi. Alfege had been murdered by Vikings in 1012 after refusing to ransom himself for money, an action which saw his veneration as a saint.41 A sceptical Lanfranc contested Alfege’s sanctity on grounds of the unorthodox nature of the saint’s death. In an extended scene in the Vita S. Anselmi, Eadmer records Anselm defending this bishop’s sanctity in 1079, using an argument that Alfege died ‘for justice’ (pro iustitia):42 Moreover, there is the witness of Holy Scripture, as you, Father, very well know, that Christ is both truth and justice; so he who dies for truth and justice [pro justitia et veritate] dies for Christ [pro Christo]. But he who dies for Christ is, as the Church holds, a martyr.43 This logic in the Vita S. Anselmi may be found in Eadmer’s defence of Wilfrid’s stance. Frithegod’s text explains that Wilfrid is willing to die pro nomine Christi, which Eadmer replaces with pro justitia. Eadmer is using Anselm’s reasoning; 39 40 41 42 43

Eadmer, Vita S. Wilfridi, p. 83. Fridegoda, Vita Sancti Wilfridi, p. 136. For the debate and the relevance of Alfege to Anselm and Canterbury: Southern, Portrait, p. 316. VA, p. 52. The phrase pro iustitia is repeated three times in the section which details Anselm’s defence of Alfege. VA, p. 52. Cum testante sacro eloquio ut vestra paternitas optime novit Christus veritas et justitia sit; qui pro justitia et veritate moritur, pro Christo moritur; qui autem pro Christo moritur, Ecclesia teste, martyr habetur.

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that pro iusititia is interchangeable with pro veritate so dying ‘for justice’ is sufficient reason to consider someone a saint. Eadmer represents Anselm’s argument in 1079 as being novel, which may suggest that Eadmer is making, in the Vita S. Wilfridi an allusion to the contemporary discussion surrounding Alfege’s martyrdom. It is notable that in Eadmer’s later Historia and Vita S. Anselmi, he draws a clear parallel between Alfege’s historic case and Anselm’s contemporary position, describing their resistance to unreasonable demands using similar language.44 If Anselm was struggling with his king at this point, Wilfrid’s staunch adherence to ‘the law’, regardless of his own safety, made a sharp comparison with Anselm’s contemporary position. This explanation seems to act as the bridge between Frithegod’s defence of Wilfrid’s stance as the bishop being willing to die pro nomine Christi and Eadmer’s, as being pro iustitia. Clearly, when Eadmer wrote the Vita S. Wilfridi, he had grasped the Anselmian defence of Alfege’s martyrdom. The explanation may have been recorded in the later text of the Vita S. Anselmi, but Eadmer is using the notion in the Vita S. Wilfridi. The appearance of the Alfege defence in Eadmer’s Vita S. Wilfridi strongly suggests that Eadmer wrote this text under the influence of Anselm. Although there was a Canterbury hagiography of Alfege after the 1079 debate, it was not written by Eadmer, but Osbern, and does not contain the Anselmian defence recorded in the Vita S. Anselmi, although the term ‘justice’ is used several times to explain Alfege’s refusal to buy himself off.45 The presence of the themes of royal sovereignty and of conflict between ecclesiastical and secular authorities in this scene combined with the 44 45

VA, I, xxx and II, v. The relevant passages of Alfege’s defence in the aforementioned work of hagiography written for Alfege: Osbern of Canterbury, Vita S. Alfege, trans. F. Shaw (St Paul’s Publishing: London, 1999), p. 68. The author of the Vita S. Alfege was a senior monk named Osbern, who also wrote a text of the Vita S. Dunstani. Osbern resided at Bec under Anselm prior to the writing of both of his works of hagiography, and the two men exchange letters after Osbern returned to Canterbury. Eadmer is believed to have met Anselm during the 1079 visit, but it seems unlikely that he would have fully grasped the details of the case, when the more senior monk and personal friend of Anselm could not. It seems far more likely that Eadmer would have grown to understand Anselm’s argument as Anselm’s student and the debate recorded in the Vita S. Anselmi represents Anselm’s memory of the case, as recorded by Eadmer. It is possible, therefore, that Eadmer’s Vita S. Wilfridi was written after 1093, probably in the 1093–97 period suggested by Southern in 1963. A later date of composition for the Vita S. Wilfridi would reinforce the argument that this episode is related to Anselm’s struggles with William Rufus. For the dates and details of Osbern’s works, see: J. Rubenstein, ‘The life and writings of Osbern’, Richard Eales and Richard Sharpe, eds., Canterbury and the Norman Conquest: Churches, Saints and Scholars, 1066– 1109 (London: Hambledon Press, 1995), pp. 27–40.

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distinctively Anselmian defence may suggest that Eadmer’s intention in elaborating this speech was to allude to Anselm’s situation in England 1093–97. Anselm’s initial disputes with William Rufus were over financial issues and conflicts relating to William’s regalian rights. In both Osbern of Canterbury’s Vita S. Alfege and Eadmer’s recording of Anselm’s defence of Alfege in the Vita S. Anselmi, the two authors both emphasis Alfege’s refusal to rob the church.46 The argument may be reinforced by Eadmer’s use of similar language in the Vita S. Anselmi when discussing Alfege’s case against the Vikings and Anselm’s case against Rufus. When recording Anselm’s defence of Alfege, Eadmer writes that in response to the demand for ransom, the archbishop could only have raised the money, ‘by despoiling his own men …’ (homines suos eorum pecunia spoliaret …).47 Later, in Book II, when discussing Anselm’s refusal to plunder his tenants to comply with Rufus’s demands for cash, Eadmer notes that Anselm refuse to ‘despoil his tenants’ (spoliatis hominibus suis) to make this happen. Eadmer’s use of the same verb ‘to despoil’ in the Historia is noteworthy. The insertion of the Alfege defence at a point prior to the conflict between William and Anselm pre-empts the later dispute and highlights the rectitude of Anselm’s position, without Eadmer needing to explain it during the event. This allows Eadmer to keep the Vita as a story removed from political events, but still include a full defence of Anselm’s early position.48 Eadmer seems to have connected the conflict depicted in Frithegod’s Vita S. Wilfridi where Wilfrid is accused of violating secular authority with Anselm’s case for Alfege’s sanctity in refusing to despoil the Church. Both these themes are relevant to Anselm’s early position, and the archbishop may have been using a similar, if more complex, defence to justify his resistance to William’s demands. Eadmer’s record of Anselm’s defence of Alfege in the Vita S. Anselmi and its prominent position in the text can be interpreted as reflecting the significance of this defence as the simplest profession of Anselm’s justification of his own actions. It may also represent Eadmer’s initial engagement and understanding of Anselm’s theoretical defence of his position

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Osbern, Vita S. Alfege, p. 68–9, 77; VA, p. 51–2. VA, p. 51. VA, p. 67; HN, p. 51. Anselm’s defence in the Historia is ‘… my men since the death of my predecessor, Lanfranc of revered memory, have been robbed and stripped and should I, finding them unclothed, when as yet I have contributed nothing to reclothe them strip them bare, or rather, being already stripped, flay the very skin off their backs? …’ [… homines mei, post obitum venerabilis memoriae Lanfranci antecessoris mei, depraedati sunt et spoliati, et ego cum hucusque nihil eis unde revestiri possint contulerim, jam eos nudos spoliarem, imo spoliatos excoriarem? …].

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against William Rufus, which is highlighted by its insertion in this form into the early text of the Vita S. Wilfridi. Eadmer’s defence in the Vita S. Wilfridi has distinctive Anselmian allusions but it is markedly less complicated than the defence in the Vita S. Dunstani, which incorporates ideas of obedience, the competing laws of God and humanity and the place of the Pope. Whereas Eadmer’s defence in the Vita S. Dunstani introduces the idea of the competing wills of humanity and God which also appears in Anselm’s 1099/1100 letter, the Vita S. Wilfridi reflects early Anselmian ideas of the significance of willing justice. Wilfrid’s rudimentary defence, where he points to the ‘justice’ of his actions, may reveal the more limited nature of Eadmer’s understanding of Anselm’s contemporary defence against the king at the point of composition. It is possible that Eadmer may be recording a form of Anselm’s refusal to co-operate with William Rufus, reflecting arguments Anselm himself was using long before the writing of the 1099/1100 letter. The creation of the scene in the Vita S. Dunstani and the attribution of an Anselmian justification to Bishop Wilfrid in the Vita S. Wilfridi suggest that Eadmer’s authorial ambitions were greater than his stated intention of compiling and correcting existing sources. He took opportunities to work original contemporary allusions into relevant sections in his hagiographical works, reformulating existing passages to reflect contemporary arguments that defended Anselm’s case. Eadmer’s habit is not to insert entirely new plots into these texts, but to expand on and reformulate his existing material. Eadmer’s revision and expansion of sections of his hagiographical works seem to have been paralleled in his approach to his original works, where he may have expanded or reformulated the events he was reporting. The sections where Eadmer records the uneducated King William using Anselm’s theological terminology demonstrate Eadmer’s skill at reformulating dialogue into Anselmian rhetoric. The saturation of the Historia with Anselmian language and themes suggest that Eadmer intended his audience to read some of the more impious characteristics of William Rufus as part of a literary backdrop, created to highlight the overall theme. The degree of veracity of Eadmer’s portrayal of the character of William Rufus has been debated at length by various scholars, and in the past has been seen as unfairly partisan by some commentators.49 This portrayal of William Rufus forms part of Eadmer’s

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Eadmer’s extremely partisan portrayal of William Rufus has been questioned by historians over the ages. A particularly useful summary of various major historians’ positions on what Eadmer represents is M. Philpott, ‘Eadmer, his archbishops and the English

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greater vision for the Historia as a history infused by, and illuminating the practical workings of, Anselmian theology. Eadmer’s writing of both historic and contemporary events is strongly focussed both on Anselm and on the Canterbury community. The Anselmian allusions in the Vita S. Dunstani explored in this article appear to be aimed at Canterbury monks who did not share Eadmer’s defence of Anselm.50 Further, Eadmer’s use of the case of Alfege to bolster Anselm’s position is highly relevant to the contemporary Canterbury community. Eadmer’s choice of Dunstan and Wilfrid as subjects of hagiographical works may be more than mere coincidence both bishops clashed with their secular rulers and both travelled into exile. Anselm’s conflicts with William Rufus and with Henry I led Eadmer to use his hagiographical writing to publicise and defend Anselm’s case and actions. The scenes in the Vita S. Dunstani and Vita S. Wilfridi show that Eadmer was looking to do more than just represent events, whether these were from his own experiences or from texts. The Anselmian themes in both the Vita S. Wilfridi and the Vita S. Dunstani may indicate Eadmer’s early attempts at constructing narratives and defences based on these ideas. The re-working of these established texts to include Anselmian ideas were, on this reading, a formative exercise for an author who would go on to create the Vita S. Anselmi and Historia which would be constructed specifically to defend Anselm’s life and actions, and in so doing making deliberate use of his theological thought. The fact that these expressions of Anselm’s defence are found in inserted speeches highlights Eadmer’s natural skill with dialogue; this use of conversation is characteristic of both texts. Analysed in this way, Eadmer’s works reveal the close links between Eadmer’s other hagiographical writing and the Vita S. Anselmi and Historia, showing the development over time of particular themes. The earlier Vita S. Wilfridi, for example, contain ideas expressed more completely and coherently in the later works, as demonstrated by his use of the Alfege defence. More specifically, the Historia and the Vita S. Dunstani seem to be far more closely related than previously thought. The presentation of Dunstan as an Anselmian character in Eadmer’s mature writing foreshadows Eadmer’s later development of Anselm as the successor to Dunstan; this rhetorical stratagem is developed, albeit to differing extents, in both the Vita S. Anselmi and the Historia. These texts offer

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state’ in The Medieval State: Essays Presented to James Campbell eds. J. R. Maddicott and D. M. Palliser (London: Hambledon, 2000), pp. 95–6. This is not the only case where Eadmer defends Anselm in factional disputes at monasteries. In the Vita S. Anselmi, Eadmer describes the factional problems at Bec during Anselm’s early years at the monastery. See VA, I, ix.

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a reciprocal vision: as Anselm is shaped as the new Dunstan, so too is Dunstan shaped as an earlier Anselm. In the Historia, Eadmer seems to be actively constructing a narrative based on, but moving beyond, the official position that Anselm adopted, as he does also with respect to Anselm’s own thought on the propriety of human will. Eadmer’s depiction of William Rufus as jealous and impious transforms Anselm’s unruly king into a man actively attempting to usurp the position of God in his kingdom. The narrative of Historia reflects a final, and sophisticated stage in Eadmer’s interpretation and defence of Anselm’s case; but one built on a persistent presentation of Anselm’s predecessors whose legacy he fulfilled triumphantly.

chapter 9

Leading Everything Irregular in England Back to Due Order

The Probable Theories behind Archbishop Anselm’s Political Endeavours Sally N. Vaughn In 1095, Archbishop Anselm wrote to the bishops of Ireland: ‘Once I had been … installed on the episcopal throne, I began carefully to consider what was my duty (deberem) to Christ, to his Church in this land, and to my office; and I tried to repress evils by pastoral rule (pastorale regimine), to coerce those who had unjustly taken possession, and to lead everything irregular (inordinata) as it seemed to me back to due order (ordinem debitum)’.1 He meant the Irish bishops to follow his example, explaining in detail exactly how he had come to England ‘by the secret decision of God (deo auctore praesideo) for the utility of the English church (pro utilitatibus ecclesiasticis in Angliam)’. Once there, he explained, he had been violently seized against his will, forced into the office, with the clergy and people of England joyfully acclaiming this deed. In this way he spelled out for the Irish bishops the proper procedure, the due order, by which it was clearly demonstrated to all observers, present and future, that God had chosen the ideal unwilling candidate to fill the highest of ecclesiastical offices, following a topos of episcopal reluctance stretching back to St Augustine of Hippo, St Gregory the Great, and indeed to the example of Christ himself, who pled to God that this cup of sacrifice be taken from him. Thus, Anselm demonstrated in both words and deeds to the Irish bishops, by his own example, how bishops ought to proceed to their offices. However, once a bishop, why did he indicate to the Irish bishops the importance of meditating on his episcopal duties, and how did he contemplate his 1 Anselm, Opera omnia, ed. Schmitt, 6 vols., vol. 4, Ep. 198: ‘Proinde infulatus sedule quid Christo, quid eius ecclesiae pro loco, pro officio deberem cogitare coepit et pastorale regimine vitia resecare, praesumptores coercere, et quaeque inordinate, ut mea intererat, ad ordinem debitum volui revocare’. Hereinafter Anselm’s letters will be referenced by Schmitt edition and letter number. Translations mostly derive from Walter Fröhlich’s editions: The Letters of Anselm of Canterbury, trans. Walter Fröhlich, 3 vols. (Kalamazoo: Cistercian Publications, 1990, 1993, 1994), by corresponding Schmitt edition listings. Niskanen edition identifications are indicated as needed: Anselm of Canterbury, The Letters of Anselm of Canterbury, vol. 1 (Oxford: Oxford Medieval Texts, 2019).

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actions to fulfill them? Doubtless he was naturally given to meditation as part of his monastic and theological formation; he must also have reflected on Lanfranc’s example and pattern of archiepiscopal rule, as his teacher and predecessor. Lanfranc clearly stated that he turned to the record of his own predecessors in Bede’s Ecclesiastical History, St Augustine of Canterbury and his companions and successors, as a law book for his own actions, a set of historical events originating the customs constituting and legally defining the structure of the English church.2 Lanfranc based this legal argument explicitly on the instructions of St Gregory the Great: ‘So just as Christ said to all the bishops of Rome what he said to St Peter, so what Gregory said to Augustine he said to Augustine’s successors’, Lanfranc stated, according to William of Malmesbury.3 Thus Lanfranc not only regarded Bede’s quotes of St Gregory’s letters to Augustine of Canterbury, and the archbishop and his companions’ deeds, as laws that must be followed, he also regarded Augustine’s status as head of the English church over subservient bishops as parallel to Papal status as head of the Roman church over its bishops, and their actions as setting a legal pattern of customs to be followed apparently in perpetuity. Just so Anselm would also have turned to Bede, St Gregory, and Lanfranc’s records, and to Anselm’s own observations, his eye-witnessing, of Archbishop Lanfranc’s deeds and words. ‘Anselm … carefully imitated his predecessors’ practice’, Eadmer reports.4 2 Lanfranc, The Letters of Lanfranc Archbishop of Canterbury, ed. and trans. Helen Clover and Margaret Gibson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), Ep. 4, p. 51; see also Ep. 3, and HN, p. 16; and William of Malmesbury, Gesta Pontificum Anglorum, ed. and trans. Michael Winterbottom, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), vol.1: pp. 58–9, 84–5 (henceforth GPA). I have argued this elsewhere, most directly in Sally N. Vaughn, ‘The Concept of Law at the Abbey of Bec, 1034–1136: How law and legal concepts were described, taught and practiced at Bec in the time of Lanfranc and Anselm’, in Helle Vogt and Mia Münster Swendsen, eds., Law and Learning in the Middle Ages: Proceedings of the Second Carlsberg Academy Conference on Medieval Legal History 2005 (Copenhagen: DJØF Publishing, 2006), pp. 167–80; and Sally N. Vaughn, ‘Anselm of Canterbury’s View of God’s Law in England: Definitions, Political Applications, and Philosophical Implications’, in Per Andersen, Mia Münster-Swendsen, and Helle Voge, eds., Law and Power in the Middle Ages: The Proceedings of the Fourth Carlsberg Academy Conference on Medieval Legal History, Copenhagen, May 2007 (Copenhagen: DJØF Publishing, 2008), pp. 235–56. 3 William of Malmesbury, GPA, 1, pp. 88–9: ‘Quare sicut Christus dixit omnibus presulibus Romanis quod dixit Petro, ita quod dixit Gregorius omnibus successoribus Augustini, dixit in Augustino’; see also pp. 86–7, where William of Malmesbury quotes Lanfranc as making the parallel between what Christ said to St Peter he said to his successors, implicitly, although unstated. 4 HN, p. 47. My translation. Eadmer first quotes a letter of Wulfstan of Worcester, reporting the customs of Anselm’s predecessors, then states: ‘Roboratus igitur Anselmus ex istis atquae ex multis aliorum … testimonus, secure deinceps suorum morem antecessorum aemulabatur …’.

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But even before consulting these records, both Lanfranc and Anselm would have turned for guidance to St Gregory’s Pastoral Rule, found in most English libraries,5 and also in multiple copies in the Bec library.6 In this law book for bishops, they would have found Book I chapter 1 speaking of Pastoral Teaching as the role of the episcopal ruler, and chapter 2 enjoining the ruler not to undertake his governance without due meditation of the sort that Anselm undertook, considering how he must do his duty to God, country, and office.7 Much like the abbot in the Benedictine Rule, the Pastoral Rule, Part II describing how the pastor should rule says the new episcopal rector must meditate, yet take appropriate action, in both aspects setting a good example; he must be discrete in silence, keeping some things hidden, yet useful in words; act well but with humility towards his allies, but zealously against evil doers, in all things forthright in justice; and finally he must balance carefully his inward cultivation without the least neglect of external, worldly affairs.8 While he ought to teach 5 Richard Gameson, The Manuscripts of Early Norman England (c. 1066–1130) (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999), nos. 36, 303, 693, 877, 901 for Anglo-Norman copies. At least two of these mss were Norman in origin, and thus brought to England by Normans. Interestingly, there were more Anglo-Norman mss of St Gregory’s letters in England, nos. 34, 235, 266e, 522, 526, 527, 583, 593e, 648, see also 325 and 744, two of which were from Normandy and two of which were bound together with Lanfranc’s Decreta, including one 11th century ms from Rochester, than of Pastoral Rule. Alfred the Great translated the Pastoral Rule and sent copies to each bishopric in England. Mary Frances Giandrea, Episcopal Culture in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2007), pp. 42–3. C. Schreiber, King Alfred’s Old English Translations of Pope Gregory the Great’s Regula Pastoralis and its Cultural Context (Bern: Peter Lang, 2003). Alfred also translated Gregory’s Dialogues, the vitae of which were to serve as models. Giandrea, Episcopal Culture, p. 43. 6 Catalogus librorum abbatiae Beccensis circa saeculum duodecimum, PL 150, cols 771–8, omitting the list of books added to the library by Philip bishop of Bayeux (d. 1163), cols 779–82. Laura Cleaver, ‘The Monastic Library at Le Bec’, in Benjamin Pohl and Laura Gathagan, eds., A Companion to the Abbey of Le Bec in the Central Middle Ages (11th–13th Centuries) (Leiden: Brill, 2018), pp. 171–205. Gregory the Great’s works are second on the list after the works of St Augustine, and the first book on this Gregory list is the Rule, and excerpts from the Pastoral Rule are listed three times in this list. Following the Pastoral Rule in the same volume is the Benedictine Rule. It is interesting that the Pastoral Rule comes first in this ms. Another copy of the Pastoral Rule is included with the works of Bede. Another copy of the Benedictine Rule is included after the works of Bede, which are extensive, and just before the histories of Nennius and Gildas. 7 Gregory the Great, Pastoral Rule, Liber Regulae Pastoralis, in PL 77, cols. 9–126; Preface, cols. 9–13; Book 1, cols. 13–25, on Pastoral Teaching; Book 2, cols. 25–49, on how pastors should live; Book 3, cols. 49–125, on how a ruler ought to teach by living well; Book 4, cols. 125–6. I will not replicate the whole work, but summarize it, referring to each individual book, as above. 8 Benedict of Nursia, The Rule of St. Benedict in Latin and English, ed. and trans. Abbot Justin McCann (London: Sheed and Ward Ltd, 1972), see especially Chapter 64: ‘Ordinatus autem abbas cogitet semper quale onus suscepit, et cui redditurus est rationem villicationis suae;

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to others internal values, he must set an example through his actions by not neglecting the physical care of his flock, quoting in chapter 7: ‘If any provide not for his own, and especially for those of his own house, he has denied the Faith, and is worse than an infidel’. 1 Timothy 5:8. In setting this example, pastors should ‘glow with ardor’ ( ferveant studia). Armed with Divine Law, quoting Psalm 109:97, ‘How I have loved thy Law, O Lord’, the new episcopus is the priest in the sacrifice (Exodus 23:22). The entire treatise uses the terms for pastor, ruler, governor, priest, judge, preacher and teacher interchangeably: Rector is most common, followed by pastor, praesul, sacerdos, magister, praedicator and even judex. Indeed, in Book II chapter 10, Gregory speaks of Holy Teachers (Sancti Doctores) and Holy Preachers (Sancti Praedicatores) in almost the same breath. Once again, he enjoins the teacher-preacher as bishop to ‘glow with a spirit of jealousy against delinquencies’ (contra delicta singulorum aemulationis spiritu ferveat) as zeal for God inspires the teacher’s mind; almost an enjoinder to theatricality in portraying a ‘living example’ of rightness. This paper will argue that it was these principles that Anselm as teacher and bishop applied to the successive kings of England William Rufus and Henry I as he educated them toward England’s ‘due order’, armed with the Divine Law of St Gregory, in a new kind of episcopal politics; ethical, prudent, and wholly in accord with the best practices of Lanfranc and the Church Fathers who preceded and educated Anselm himself. Pastoral Rule Book II stresses that the episcopal ruler must teach both by ‘living example’ and by words, just like an abbot in the Benedictine Rule.9 Thus, we should look at Abbot Anselm’s teaching at Bec for the foundation of Archbishop Anselm’s teaching of all the souls committed to his care; these were, certainly, comprised of all the lay people and ecclesiastics of England, sciatque sibi oportere prodesse magis quam praeesse. Oportet ergo eum esse doctum lege divina, ut sciat et sit unde proferat nova et vetera, castum, sobrium, misericordem’ [Let the abbot when appointed always consider what an office he has undertaken and to whom he must render an account of his stewardship; and let him know that it is his duty rather to profit his brethren than to preside over them. It behooves him, therefore, to be learned in the divine law, so that he may have a treasure of knowledge whence he may bring forth things new and old; and to be chaste, sober, and merciful]. 9 The Rule of St. Benedict, Chapter 2, pp. 18–9: ‘Ergo, cum aliquis suscipit nomen abbatis, duplici debet doctrina suis praeesse discipulis, id est omnia bona et sancta factis amplius quam verbis ostendat, ut capacibus discipulis mandata Domini verbis proponere, duris corde vero et simplicioribus factis suis divina praecepta monstrare’ [Furthermore, anyone who receives the name of abbot is to lead his disciples by a twofold teaching: he must point out to them all that is good and holy more by example than by words, proposing the commandments of the Lord to receptive disciples with words, but demonstrating God’s instructions to the stubborn and the dull by a living example].

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but perhaps primarily they were England’s kings. St Gregory the Great had declared in his letter to King Æthelberht that the king must rule listening to the advice of the Archbishop of Canterbury as his chief advisor, who ‘speaks for God’ (pro omnipotente loquitur).10 In this way, the English king of Kent is to learn from his archbishop the proper Christian way of ruling his people in a partnership that suggests a sense of joint rule. Moreover, since the king of Kent was not the only king in England at this time, perhaps this pattern of co-rule of the king and his archiepiscopal teacher might be replicated in other kingdoms, and this might explain why Anselm wrote with instructions and advice to the kings of Ireland as well,11 for Anselm claimed all Britain to be under Canterbury jurisdiction. In an 1101 charter to Holy Trinity, Norwich, Anselm styles himself ‘archbishop of Canterbury, primate of Great Britain and Ireland, and vicar of the supreme pontiff Paschal.12 Eadmer quotes him as styling himself as ‘archbishop of Canterbury and primate of all England, Scotland, Ireland, and the adjacent isles’.13 How did Anselm teach these kings? Both Eadmer and Anselm himself describe a teaching methodology. In both the Vita Anselmi and Anselm’s letters, we find that Anselm advises giving milk to infants, not harsh food, which they cannot digest, a dictum resonant of St Paul.14 Eadmer reports Anselm’s advice to carefully guide young boys as if they were young trees, to sturdy, straight growth ‘in the garden of the church’, and not walling them up until they are all gnarled, bent, and misshapen, nor beating them and turning them into beasts rather than men.15 He advocates shaping and molding his students 10 11 12 13 14

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Bede, Ecclesiastical History of the English People, eds. Bertram Colgrave and R. A. B. Mynors (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969), pp. 110–5. Anselm, Epp. 201, 202, 366, 426, 427, 429, 435, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, pp. 92–4, vol. 5, pp. 309– 10, 372–4, 375–6, 382–3, to or about, the kings and bishops of Ireland, over whom Anselm claimed jurisdiction. The Charters of Norwich Cathedral Priory, pt. 1, ed. Barbara Dodwell (Pipe Roll Society, London, 1974), no. 260. HN, p. 189: ‘Archiepiscopus Cantuariensis primas est totius Angliae, Scottiae, Hiberniae, et adjacentium insularum …’. Anselm, Ep.i. 58, ed. Niskanen, Letters of Anselm, pp. 172–5). This letter is modelled directly on Quintilian: S. Vaughn, ‘Anselm of Bec: The Pattern of His Teaching’, in Sally N. Vaughn and Jay Rubenstein, eds., Teaching and Learning in Northern Europe, 1000–1200 (Turnholt: Brepols, 2006), pp. 99–128, at 101. It also recalls 1 Corinthians 3, 1–2, in which Paul speaks of giving milk, not meat, to the immature. Paul and Quintilian were virtually contemporaries, so that they may well reflect common ideas on teaching in Rome at that time. The further statements which follow reflect Quintilian well beyond Paul’s statement, and indeed a copy of Quintilian was in the Bec library in the mid-twelfth century. This statement too, in which Eadmer is quoting Anselm, also reflects one of Paul’s statements in Corinthians: 1 Cor. 3:5–9 speaks of God’s garden in which Christians are growing.

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as a goldsmith gently taps and bends his work of art, and imprinting proper behavior into the young, who are still malleable, like a seal imprinting soft wax.16 Anselm carefully led the young and immature along the right path to due order, as manifested in the mature spiritual thoughts and upright behavior of his grown subjects. Eadmer describes this teaching style in detail, in his account of Anselm’s teaching of the monk Osbern.17 We very probably see the process of this teaching style in Anselm’s successive letters concerning the progress of his teaching of the Canterbury monk Osbern, in his sojourn at Bec, and Osbern’s subsequent stellar career after his return to Canterbury.18 This is exactly the style of teaching described in Gregory’s Pastoral Rule and also in the Benedictine Rule, which recommends adapting teaching according to each monk’s character and understanding, so as not to lose a single member of his flock, for he has undertaken the government of souls, and is accountable for each.19 Pastoral Rule expands on this in Book III, ‘How the Rector ought to teach and admonish subjects through the example of his well-lived life’, which describes in great detail how the souls committed to the Rector’s care are to be approached, each according to his distinctive condition. Gregory explicitly identifies the Greek father Gregory Nazianzen (330–390/91) as a source for Book III, which comprises the bulk of Pastoral Rule.20 Each chapter discusses 16 17 18

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VA, pp. 37–9 and 20–1. VA, pp. 16–7. Anselm, Epp. i.31, i.60, and i.65, ed. Niskanen, Letters of Anselm, pp. 94–9, 176–9, 190–3, and 149, 182, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, pp. 6–10, 66–7; 149 particularly mirroring Anselm’s own conception and justification for leaving Bec for Canterbury in 1093, expressed in Ep. 156, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, pp. 17–23, to the monks of Bec. Rule of St Benedict, Prologue: the monastery is ‘a school for the service of the Lord’ (Dominici schola servitii), pp. 7–14; see also ch. 2, pp. 18–9, the abbot is to show what is good and healthy by deeds more than words, words to the intelligent, deeds to harder hearts and ruder mind, now threatening, now coaxing, now stern, now loving. To coax, scold, persuade according to each one’s character. It is extremely interesting that Gregory Nazianzen was a kind of missionary bishop who wrote his first Oration as a treatise on the art of ruling and teaching. Emperor Theodosius of the Eastern Roman Empire recruited him, albeit unwillingly, to serve as bishop of Constantinople, which, according to his Vita, was all but lost to heretical Arian and semi-Arian sects. Gregory recalled the people of Constantinople back to Catholicism. The story of Gregory’s life and career somewhat loosely parallels the Life of Anselm, as told by Eadmer, in a number of its details. Anselm and Eadmer may well have acquired, or at least read, this Vita while in Rome and Benevento in 1097–8, when they surely met John of Gaeta, Cardinal Deacon and head of the papal chancery from 1088 to 1118. Anselm wrote one letter to him, Ep. 339. John, educated at Benevento as a monk of Montecassino, authored a Latin life of Gregory Nazianzen, which he adapted from the Greek original. John of Gaeta, Life of Gregory Nazianzen, ed. François Dolbeau, ‘Recherches sur les

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how each type of person ought to be taught according to his or her condition: men or women, young or old, rich or poor, joyful or sad, slaves or masters, wise or stupid, patient or impatient, good or evil, innocent or impure, humble or proud, unworthy or worthy, and so on. Both Gregorys, as well as St Benedict, expand on St Paul’s dictum in 1 Cor. 9:20–23 that, to convert souls, he became all things to all people, each according to his condition. To those under the law, he was under the law. To those without the law, he was without the law. We can see Anselm following precisely this teaching methodology at Bec and in England. Eadmer tells us that in his first visit to England, as abbot of Bec and now as a new member of the Canterbury fraternity as well, Anselm first preached to the people of England, prefiguring his archiepiscopal years and duties: ‘…. cheerful and approachable to everyone, conforming himself, so far as he could without sin, to their various habits…. to those who were without law’ he made himself ‘as without law…. For he adapted his words to every class of men’, speaking to each appropriately to their station. ‘He spoke to monks, to clerks, and to laymen ordering his words to the way of life of each’.21 He had cultivated this style of teaching at Bec. Eadmer describes Anselm’s teaching of the intellectually brilliant but morally disfigured young boy

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oevres littéraires du pape Gélase II a Une Vie inédite de Gregoire de Nazanze (BH3668d), attribué á Jean de Gaète’, Analecta Bollandiana, 107 (1989), pp. 65–127. Manuscripts of John’s Vita survive dating from 1101–50 in Paris, BNF lat. 11749 fols. 147v–170r; another dating from 1076–1100, in the Vatican, vat. Lat. 01195 fols. 118r–121r; and another dated from 1101– 1200 in Benevento, BC codex VII, fols. 291–303v. (University College London, Bibliotheca Hagiographica Latina Manuscripta, Dossier hagiographique de ‘Gregorius Nazianzenus, ep. Constantinopolitanus’, ). Anselm and Eadmer could have seen these particular mss, but other copies, dated later, also survive from the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, one at Rouen. John of Gaeta later became Pope Gelasius II, 24 January 1118–29 January 1119. It is also of interest that Aldhelm of Malmesbury, bishop of Sherborne, 640–709, a younger contemporary of Bede, who studied under Archbishop Theodore of Canterbury and Abbot Adrian of Canterbury and learned Greek, also wrote a Carmen of the life of Gregory Nazianzen. Faricius of Malmesbury, abbot of Abingdon, an Italian from Arrezzo, Tuscany, a contemporary of Eadmer who died in 1117, wrote a Vita of Aldhelm (Acta Sanctorum, May vi, 84; also edited by John A. Giles, The Works of St. Aldhelm: Letters, Charters, Life, etc. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1844). VA, pp. 54–5: ‘Solito more cunctus se jocundum et affabilem exhibebat, moresque singulorum in quantum sine peccato poterat in se suscipiebat. Nam juxta aposttolum iis qui sine lege Dei non esset, sed in lege Christi esset se coaptabat, ut lucrifaceret eos qui non modo sine lege ut putabatur beati Benedicti, sed et eos qui seculari vitae dediti in multis vivebant sine lege Christi…. Dicta enim sua sic unicuique ordini hominum conformabat, ut auditores sui nichil moribus suis concordius dici posse faterentur. Ille monachis, ille clericis, ille laicis, ad cujusque propositum sua verba dispensabat’.

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Osbern, who mordantly hated Anselm: ‘[Anselm] began with a certain holy guile (sancta calliditate) to flatter the boy with kindly blandishments; he bore indulgently his boyish pranks, and, so far as was possible without detriment to the Rule, he allowed him many things to delight his youth and to tame his unbridled spirit. The youth rejoiced in these favours, and gradually his spirit was weaned from its wildness. He began to love Anselm, to listen to his advice, and to refashion his way of life’. Anselm then loved, nurtured and cherished him, encouraging and teaching him to improve. ‘Then, slowly [Anselm] withdrew the concessions made to his youth, and strove to draw him on to a mature and upright way of life’.22 This young boy needed milk, not meat, in precisely the words of St Paul, 1 Cor. 3:1–2. The rich and varied sources upon which Anselm was drawing, correlating, and synthesizing to construct his pedagogy is remarkable: Quintilian, Gregory the Great, the New Testament, and of course his own teacher Lanfranc. Paul was contemporary to and possibly shared common views with Quintilian, who as we noted above, taught that children should be encouraged with age-appropriate rewards, through carrots like play, not sticks nor slavish flogging as Anselm clearly seems to have read.23 Quintilian also believed that teachers should take a parental attitude toward their students, strict but not austere, genial but not too familiar. The teacher himself should be a model for imitation.24 That Anselm had meditated upon this is suggested by his Prayer to Saint Paul, in which he calls Paul, as a teacher, both nurse and foster parent, with qualities of both a strong father and a loving mother,25 obliquely 22

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VA, pp. 16–7: ‘… coepit quadam sancta calliditate puerum piis blandimentis delinire, puerilia facta ejus benigne tolerare, multa illi quae sine ordinis detrimento tolerari poterant concedere, in quibus et aetas ejus delectaretur, et efrenis animus in mansuetudinem curvaretur. Gaudet puer in talibus, et sensim a sua feritate ipsius demittitur animus. Incipit Anselmum diligere, ejus monita suscipere, mores suos componere. Quod ille intuens, fovet, et ut semper in melius proficiat omnibus modis ortatur et instruit. Dehinc paulatim ei quae concesserat puerilia subtrahit, eumque ad honestam morum maturitatem provehere satagit’. Quintilian, Institutio Oratia of Quintilian, ed. and trans. H. E. Butler, 4 vols. (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1922) in vol. 1, Book I, Part 1, l. 20 ff, p. 31: ‘praemiis etiam quae capit illa aetas, evocetur’. All references below are from vol. 1, by Book, part, lines, and pages. See also Book I, 3, 9–16, pp. 59–61. Quintilian, Institutio Oratia, Book II, 2, 3–8, p. 213. Anselm, Oratio ad sanctum Paulum, in Opera Omnia, ed. Schmitt, vol. 3, pp 33–41 for the whole prayer, in which all lines are numbered. See especially ll. 6–8, and 173–96 for Anselm’s claim that Paul was both a nurse—nutrix, who brought forth her sons a second time, and thus a foster-mother; and a mother—mater; ll.6–8. ll. 204–12: Both Jesus and St Paul are ‘patres … per effectum, matres per affectum. Patres per auctoritatem, matres per benignitatem. Patres per tuitionem, matres per miserationem’. For translation see Prayer

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suggesting Paul’s milk and meat statement yet again. As Quintilian wrote: no matter how eloquent and great the teacher, he must be prepared to stoop to his pupil’s level.26 Teachers, like nurses, should provide softer food for still undeveloped minds, allowing them to fill up with the milk of the more attractive studies.27 Surely St Gregory and Anselm had drawn on these texts, and surely these are the roots of Anselm’s ‘Holy Guile’. From this it follows, in Pastoral Rule, that sometimes silence is required, and some things must remain hidden from the weak and immature. Christ tempered his speech with silence, because ‘Sometimes the truth does harm’ (John 16:12).28 Just so did Anselm, in his abbatial vows to the monks of Bec ‘surrendering himself’ to them ‘as a servant’, omit his silent reservation ‘as far as I could, according to God’s will’. He could not have promised them anything ‘against the will of God’, he told them later as he left for Canterbury by God’s will, and as he told the new bishops of Ireland, by the secret decision of God.29 Archbishop Lanfranc followed a strategy similar to Anselm’s ‘Holy Guile’, to teach England’s king. William of Malmesbury reports that ‘… King William needed only a glance from Lanfranc to quell his haughty manner…. Lanfranc managed the king with a Holy Art (sancta tractabat arte), not sternly upbraiding what he did wrong, but spicing serious language with jokes. In this way, he could usually bring him back to a right mind (ad sanitatem), and mould him to his own opinions’, adding that ‘if [Lanfranc] had thought of taking a

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to St. Paul, in The Prayers and Meditations of St Anselm, trans. Sister Benedicta Ward (London: Penguin Books, 1973), pp. 141–56. Quintilian, Institutio Oratia, Book II. 3, 7–8, p. 221. Quintilian, Institutio Oratia, Book II, 4, 4–6, p. 227. Rule of St Benedict, ch. 64, pp. 146–9, stresses the abbot’s prudent moderation in all things, lest ‘being too zealous in removing the rust he break the vessel’ (ne dum nimis eradere cupit aeruginem frangatur vas). He should imitate models of discretion like Jacob, not overdriving his flock so that they perish, following discretion, ‘the mother of virtues’ (matris virtutum), and tempering all things, ‘so that the strong may still have something to long after, and the weak may not draw back in alarm’ (ut sit et fortes quod cupiant et infirmi non refugiant), and thus implying the necessary silences on some issues recommended by St Gregory. Anselm, Ep. 156, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, p. 20: ‘Ad ea vero quibus quidam vestrum putant me potuisse rationalibilitur electioni praedictae resistere, breviter respondeo. Dicunt: Quando coactus est ut noster abbas fieret, tradidit se nobis in servum in nomine Domini…. Quid hoc intelligunt?’ Here, he defines in nomine Domini not as meaning he swore servitude, to the Bec monks, but to ‘God’s Will’: ‘Cum ergo tradidi me vobis in servum in nomine domini, tradidi me vobis in servum, quantum potui, secundum Deum’. See n. 1, above, for Ep. 198 to the Bishops of Ireland for its Latin quotation.

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hard line, he would surely have wasted his effort’.30 This comment of William of Malmesbury attests to the success of Lanfranc’s ‘holy art’. After listing all the king’s truly difficult characteristics: swelling pride, ignoring justice through his immense power, improper interference in church affairs, buying the influence of churchmen from the pope on down, robbing the wretched conquered English, all of which Lanfranc endured because he had no choice, William of Malmesbury states that in response Lanfranc studied [the king’s] character, chose time and place, and made quiet interventions and timely suggestions, chipping away at some things, and reducing the effect of others. Nor did his goodness altogether fail to bear fruit, for in his time the religious practice of monks reached a remarkable level of maturity in both provinces [England and Normandy]. And the king took pleasure in those whom he heard were fervent for God, and towards them abated his pride, showing himself restrained, humble, and godly, not least to Lanfranc, the head of the church, whom he even sometimes allowed to hold councils …31 Clearly Lanfranc too had read St Paul, Quintilian and Pastoral Rule, teaching Anselm by this example of his ‘Holy Art’ that Anselm’s similar ‘Holy Guile’ could be used to ‘manage’ kings as well as young men. Anselm observed Lanfranc in 30

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William of Malmesbury, GPA, vol. 1, pp. 90–1: ‘Porro Willelmus rex eius solius contuitu superbiam contundebat suam; quemet ille sanct tractabat arte, quod perperam fecisset nos seuere obiurgando, sed seria iocis condiendo. Itaque eum plerumque ad sanitatem reuocabat, sententiae suae conformando. Quod si rigide agendum existimaret, profecto cassus conatus consumeret’. Elsewhere William of Malmesbury recounts another example of ‘Holiest Art’ (sanctissima arte). When in the ninth century St Oswald returned to England from his studies in Fleury in France, St Dunstan persuaded the king to appoint him as bishop of Worcester. Seeing potential for good in the secular clerics there, he did not make a scene by sending them packing in favor of the monks, but ‘got around them by very holy art’ (sanctissima circumuenit arte). The episcopal see was dedicated to St Peter. Oswald built another church nearby dedicated to St Mary, and ‘installed the monks there’, living ‘happily’ with them, so that the people flocked to the new church for this holy bishop’s blessings. The secular clerics, left out on a limb, decided it was better to put on the garb of monks than to become a laughing stock to the common people. GPA, vol. 1, p. 379. William of Malmesbury, GPA, vol. 1, pp. 96–7: ‘Spectato tamen eius ingenio, captato tempore et loco, conueniebat placide, suggerebat oportune, resecans nonnulla, minuens plura non sane omnino fructu bonitatis excidit, quia temporibus suis religio monachorum in utraque prouintia splendide adoleuit. Aggaudebatque rex eis quos in bono feruere audisset, illis pacato tumore sobrius acclinis, deuotus principi religionis maxime Lanfranco, cui etiam nonnumquam permittebat celebrare concilia, quorum unum subter apponam’. These councils included the great one of 1075.

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action during his visit to England in 1080, upon his succession to the abbacy of Bec, when Eadmer reports that Anselm, ‘bound by the most intimate ties of friendship to King William’, often came to the king’s court on Bec business.32 On these occasions King William changed his accustomed brusqueness to become gracious and affable. The king held both Lanfranc and Anselm in high esteem, and ‘listened to them more readily than to all his other counselors’, abandoning his ‘natural harshness’ to work zealously to help monasteries and churches; again foreshadowing Anselm’s later archiepiscopal actions.33 This the wise and discreet Lanfranc had tactfully led the king to do (qua sagacitate … Lanfranci prudentia duxerat) often with Anselm at his side.34 I have argued elsewhere that Lanfranc and Anselm viewed themselves as missionaries charged first with the conversion of Normandy, and then with the conversion of England, in England seeing themselves as following the footsteps of the first papal missionaries to England, St Augustine of Canterbury and the monks accompanying him.35 Lanfranc read Bede’s account of St Augustine’s mission very carefully as a blueprint for Canterbury tradition.36 Pastoral Rule enjoins such bishops ‘By good living’ to ‘imprint footsteps for men to follow’ to show them the way to walk in,37 as Gregory wrote in the Pastoral Rule following the literary footprints of the missionary bishop Gregory Nazianzen. Bede’s 32 33

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HN, p. 23: ‘Hic toti Normanniae atquae Franciae pro suae excellentia sanctitatis merito notus, carus et acceptus, magnae famae in Anglia quoque habebatur, ac regi praefato necne Lanfranco archiepiscopo sacratissima familiaritate copulabatur’. HN, p. 23: Huic eum nonnumquam pro diversis ecclesiae suae et aliorum negotiis ad curiam regis veniret, rex, ipse deposita, feritate qua multis videbatur saevus et formidabilis, ita fiebat inclinus et affabilis, ut, ipso praesento, omnino quam esse solebat. Unde consilio illorum ab animi suae severitate in quosdam plurimum et saepe descendebat, et quatenus in sua dominatione ad observantium religionis monasteria surgerent studiose operam dabat’. HN, p. 2: ‘qua sagacitate, … Lanfranci prudentia duxerat’. S. Vaughn, Archbishop Anselm: Bec Missionary, Canterbury Primate, Patriarch of Another World (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 23–48. See above, nn. 2 and 3. Gregory the Great, Pastoral Rule, Book III, ch. 40: ‘Teach more by deeds than words. By good living imprint footsteps for men to follow more than by speaking; show them the way to walk in’. This statement is quoted almost verbatim in the Preface to Vita Herluini, the life of Bec’s founder (‘… let the descendants [of Bec’s founders] regard and follow the footprints of their ancestors …’, in Life of the Blessed Herluin, Preface, PL 150, cols. 695–6, trans. in S. Vaughn, The Abbey of Bec and the Anglo-Norman State (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1981), p. 67; and implied in Milo Crispin’s introduction to the Vitae of William and Boso, subsequent abbots of Bec, who were ‘very devout, endowed with many gifts of God, through which they pointed out to their followers the right path to pursue in life’, Lives of Abbots William and Boso of Bec, PL 150, cols. 713–4; trans. in S. Vaughn, Abbey of Bec and the Anglo-Norman State, p. 117. Gregory the Great, Pastoral Rule, Book III, ch. 39 states that

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Ecclesiastical History quotes Pope Gregory’s letter advising Augustine, in effect, to relax the strict laws of the church for the barbarous English: ‘For in these days the church corrects some things strictly, and allows others out of lenience; others again she deliberately glosses over and tolerates’, thereby often succeeding in ‘checking evil of which she disapproves’. Rather than destroying pagan temples, Augustine is to cleanse them with holy water, destroy the idols, and set up Christian altars with relics in them, and to substitute devout feasts on holy days for pagan sacrifices, when the people may kill beasts not for the devil, but for food in praise of and thanksgiving to God, since ‘If the people are allowed some worldly pleasures in this way, they will more readily come to desire the joys of the spirit. For it is certainly impossible to eradicate all errors from obstinate minds at one stroke, and whoever wishes to climb a mountaintop climbs gradually step by step, and not in one leap. It was in this way that the Lord revealed himself to the Israelite people’.38 Anselm may well have been quoting this passage when he asked Pope Paschal’s permission to ‘relax’ (relaxare) some laws for the barbarous English, as Pope Urban had allowed him to do. Paschal agreed.39

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deep things ought not to be preached at all to weak souls. ‘For all deep things should be covered up before a multitude of hearers, and scarcely opened to a few’. Bede, Ecclesiastical History, Book 1:27, pp. 78–103, for the instructions of Pope Gregory to St Augustine on how to govern England and deal with its specific problems: p. 84–5: ‘In hoc enim tempore sancta ecclesia quaedam per fervorem corrigit, quaedam per mansuetudinem tolerat, quaedam per considerationem dissimulat, atque ita portat et dissimulat, ut saepe malum quod adversatur portando et dissimulando conpescat’. [For in these days the holy Church corrects some things with zeal and tolerates some things with gentleness, while in her wisdom she connives [or ‘lies’? dissimulat] at other things and so by forbearance and connivance often succeeds in checking the evil which she resists.] For the cleansing of the temples, see Book 1.30, pp. 106–9. Anselm, Ep. 223, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, p. 128, Paschal to Anselm, in which Paschal replies to Anselm’s request to ‘relax’ parts of the Apostolic and canonical laws ‘in a kingdom in which nearly everything is corrupt and distorted’. Anselm: ‘Saepe necesse est aliquid de apostolicis et canonicis statutis pro compensationibus relaxare et maxime in regno in quo fere omnia sic corrupta et perversa sunt, ut vix ibi aliquid omnibus secunda statuta ecclesiastica fieri possit; peto ut per licentiam vestram possim quaedam, prout mihi discretionem deus dabit, temperare. Quod petit a domina papa Urbano, et ipse posuit in meo deliberatione’. Pope Urban had left this to Anselm’s discretion. Paschal replies that the Apostles themselves granted discretions in accord with the needs of the times and for particular people: ‘… sanctos patres nostros et ipsos apostolos pro temporum articulis et qualitatibus personarum dispensationibus usos’, clearly referring to Gregory the Great’s letters to Augustine and Mellitus, quoted above in n. 38. Anselm, he grants, may moderate the harshness of the holy canons and decrees when he needs to: ‘… tuae deliberationi committimus, ut iuxta datum tibi divinitus intellectum, cum ecclesiae, cuius praepositus es, tanta necessitas expetit, sanctorum canonum decretorumque difficultatem opportuna

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As archbishop Anselm immediately faced the fiery King William Rufus, a difficult, obstinate, and very strong adversary. Eadmer describes Anselm in the first days of his pontificate as first offering blandishments to Rufus in response to the king’s request for a donation to support his proposed invasion of Normandy. The hefty sum of £500 was Anselm’s offering milk to the savage king ‘at the suggestion of his friends’ (suasus … ab amicis suis), and hoping for the king’s protection in the future. At first, Rufus rejoiced, but at the persuasion of ‘certain ill-disposed persons (quidam malignae mentes homines), to treat Anselm’s offer with contempt, he then refused it, demanding £2000, or at least £1000. Anselm responded in person to the king that he should be satisfied with the small and frequent small gifts given as a friend, rather than treating the archbishop as a slave who owed everything to the king. Refusing to be thus taught by these blandishments to an immature pupil, Rufus refused, so Anselm gave the money to the poor as an offering to God for the benefit of the king’s soul, thankful that indeed he had given Rufus nothing, and thus avoided any hint of simony of which his enemies might accuse him.40 So Rufus got nothing. Anselm himself recounted this story in his letter to Archbishop Hugh of Lyons: Shortly after [his consecration] our king, intending to go to Normandy, required a great deal of money. Before he asked me for any, on the advice of friends, I promised him no small amount of money, God knows with what intention [intentione]. He rejected it as too little, so that I would give him more, but I refused. This was done, thanks to God who took pity on the simplicity of my heart, lest, if I had promised nothing or too little he would seem to have a just cause for anger; or if he had accepted it, it would be turned against me as a charge and a suspicion of nefarious purchase [simony].41 Then, as Rufus waited at Hastings to sail for Normandy, Anselm offered his blessing to Rufus’s Norman campaign, if Rufus would allow him to hold a

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et rationabili valeas providentia temperare’. Anselm may have asked Paschal through messengers to mitigate the decrees against homage and investiture in England also in Ep. 217, ed. Schmitt, vo. 4, pp. 118–9, perhaps with these same Gregorian dictates in mind. HN, pp. 43–5 and 67. Anselm, Ep. 176, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, p. 58: ‘Paulo post rex noster iturus in Normannium multa pecunia indiguit, Antequam a me quidquam peteret, consilio amicorum promisi illi pecuniam non parvam,—novit deus qua intentione. Sprevit quasi modicam, ut plus darem; sed nolui, Gratias deo, quo miserante simplicitatem cordis mei hoc factum est, ne, si nihil aut parum promisissem, iustam videretur habere causam irascendi; aut si accepisset, verteretur mihi in gravamen et in suspicionem nefandae emptionis’.

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council to correct the iniquities at the king’s barbarous, unchristian court. Anselm preached a public sermon against this court, where it was the custom for nearly all the young men to grow their hair long like girls, walking abroad daily with delicate, mincing steps, glancing about them and winking in ungodly fashion, and he presented the matter to the king in a revealing way: ‘I beg you ..to give help and guidance to secure Christianity in this kingdom of yours, which Christianity among the majority of the inhabitants has almost entirely died out, so it may be restored to its rightful place’.42 Thus Anselm revealed to the king his concept that he was a missionary in a barbarous kingdom, mirroring the role of St Augustine, and seemingly inviting Rufus to fill the role of King Æthelberht of Kent in Christianizing his kingdom. Discretely, as was his wont, Eadmer says, with a laser-like aim toward justice and right, Anselm ‘set himself most earnestly to see how he could provoke the king to the service of God and the maintenance of justice’.43 Thus Anselm carefully contemplated how he could teach the king. Rufus, as portrayed by Eadmer, seems to have been astounded by this idea, and by Anselm’s proposal to correct such barbarism by jointly holding a general council with his archbishop: ‘What help? What guidance?’ he asked. Anselm replied ‘let us two make a united effort, you with your power as king, I with my authority as archbishop to establish some decree against’ sodomy and other crimes involving marriage to be published throughout the kingdom to make everyone involved in such practices tremble.44 Moreover, he wanted Rufus to appoint abbots to the many vacant English abbeys. Rufus flew into a rage, and said he would do what he wished with his abbeys, just as Anselm did what he wished with his manors, and so he refused, dismissing Anselm. Anselm withheld his blessing, and Rufus’s invasion failed.45 But the lines of conflict between king and archbishop were now clearly drawn: Anselm wanted the same joint rule with the king as Pope Gregory had set up between St Augustine and King Æthelberht. Rufus wanted none of it. The king was an unwilling pupil.

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HN, p. 48: ‘… obsecro primum, fer opem et consilium qualiter in hoc regno tuo Christianitas, quae jam fero tota in multis periit, in statum suum redigi possit’. HN, p. 48: ‘Erat autem in his et hujusmodi prudenter ac libero agens, necne solius justitiae respectum prae oculis in omnibus habens, qualiter ad dei servitium justitiamque colendam regem provocaret studiosius intendit’. HN, p. 48: ‘Respondit, ‘Quam opem? Quod consilium?’; see also p. 49: Anselm: ‘Sed conemur una, quaeso, tu regia potestate et ego pontificale auctoritate, quatenus tale quid inde statuatur, quod eum per totum fuerit regnum divulgatum solo etiam auditu quicunque illius fautor est paveat et deprimatur’. HN, pp. 48–50.

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In three further instances, Eadmer shows Anselm as a living example in his efforts to teach the king and people of England. At his episcopal consecration, Eadmer describes the bishops dragging Anselm bodily, violently protesting, to the king’s bedside to receive from his hand the episcopal staff. They tried without success to pry open Anselm’s clenched fist finger by finger to force the staff into it, Anselm all the while exclaiming ‘It is a nullity!’46 Such a theatrical living example occurs even during Anselm’s abbatiate. Eadmer portrays Anselm as discoursing on the Gospels, or innocently falling asleep, during the clever and cunning court arguments of those out to defraud him. Then, wide awake, Anselm would sweep away their arguments.47 So it was at the Council of Rockingham, where the Barons who confronted Anselm as he argued his claim to name Urban pope, before the king had chosen from among the papal candidates: ‘he … just goes to sleep, and then, when these arguments of ours are brought out in his presence, with one breath of his lips he shatters them like cobwebs’.48 Here too we see Anselm in action: ‘Father Anselm, lifting up his eyes, his face all aglow (vivido vultu), in an awe-inspiring voice’, fervently vowed that he would ‘fly to the chief Shepherd and Prince of all’, St Peter himself, meaning Pope Urban, for his advice on resolving the issue. It was a vivid example of Anselm’s dramatic, and somewhat misleading rhetoric.49 For to go to Pope Urban was of course to recognize him as the legitimate pope. Finally, in Anselm’s 1097 appearance at Rufus’s court once again claiming his right to travel to Pope Urban in Rome, we see a vivid living example of Anselm’s pastoral teaching. To the king’s adamant declaration that he would never grant Anselm permission to go, Anselm replied that he would go anyway, because ‘It is right to obey God rather than men’.50 Upon being asked if he was adamant in this decision, looking him in the face, with ‘his own face aglow’ (vivido vultu), Anselm replied ‘yes, adamant’.51 In one last effort to subdue his archbishop, Rufus sent Anselm a message recalling to him his oath of homage made at Rockingham: ‘you promised that you would thenceforth in every 46 47

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HN, p. 35: ‘Nihil est quod facitis; Nihil est quod facitis’. VA, pp. 45–6. William of Malmesbury, GPA, vol. 1, pp. 106–7, likewise describes Lanfranc: ‘with a mere glance he took apart the machinations of so many powerful persons as though they were cobwebs’ (At ille auditum facinus exhorrui, et tot potentum excogitatas machinas ut casses arancarum solo intuitu dissoluit). HN, pp. 62–3: ‘…. ipse, nihil mali contra cogitans, dormit, et prolata coram eo statim uno labiorum suorum pulso quasi telas araneae rumpit’. HN, pp. 56–7: ‘Then Father Anselm, lifting up his eyes, his face all aglow, in an awe-inspiring voice …’ (Tunc Pater Anselmus erectis in altum luminibus, vivido vultu, reverenda voce …). HN, p. 81: ‘Oboedire oportet Deo magis quam hominibus’, quoting Acts 5:29. HN, p. 81: ‘At ille sciens animum viri, vivido vultu, … intentum in eum occulis, respondit: “vere stabilis”’.

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respect and at all times maintain [the king’s] usages and laws and against all men would loyally defend them’.52 Anselm, said the king, was breaking that promise by determining to go to Rome. Worse, others might follow this example. Anselm replied that it was true he made this promise, but only to uphold ‘rightly and according to the will of God’ those royal customs that were made ‘rightly and according to the will of God’, a reservation he stated he had made, but might have kept hidden at his original oath.53 For, outraged, the king and his men protested that no mention had been made of Right or of God at that oath. To this, Anselm replied, ‘God forbid, God forbid’, that any Christian should hold or defend any laws or customs contrary to right and God.54 The court was left speechless, and Rufus sent Anselm into exile, confiscating all his episcopal possessions. How much, we may ask, is Eadmer exaggerating, and how much is he actually pulling aside the veil, revealing messy details Anselm would prefer left unrecorded, as in his own two letters recounting these events very sparsely to Popes Urban and Paschal.55 Anselm read Eadmer’s writings in 1100, just after Rufus’s death, and ordered him to destroy them. After guilefully making a copy, Eadmer did so.56 It may well be these accounts of Anselm at the court of Rufus that Anselm disliked.57 Rufus would have well understood Anselm’s tactics, first because he was, as William of Malmesbury claims, raised by Lanfranc.58 Second, because the king had at his side as his chief advisor Robert Count of 52 53

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HN, p. 83: ‘… pollicitus es ipsi te usus ac leges suas usquequaque deinceps servaturum, et eas sibi contra omnis hominibus fideliter defensurum’. HN, p. 84: ‘Quod dicis me tibi promisisse usus et consuetudines tuas servaturum, et eas contra omnes homines tecum fideliter defensurum; fateor verum esse cognoscerem … per rectitudinem et secundem Deum in regno tuo possides me secundem Deum servaturum….’. HN, pp. 84–5: ‘In his verbis enim rex et principes sui caeca mente objicerent, ac jurisjurandi interjectione firmarent, nec ‘Dei’ nec ‘rectitudinis’ in ipsa sponsione ullam menionem factam fuisse;rupit voces eorum Anselmus et ait, ‘Pape, si nec Dei nec rectitudinis mentio, ut dicitis, facta fuit, cujus tunc? Absit ab omni Christiano, absit leges vel consuetudines tenere aut tueri quae Deo et rectitudini contrariae esse noscuntur’. Anselm, Epp. 206, 210, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, pp. 99–101, 105–7. VA, pp. 150–1. Although it is generally accepted that this incident involved Eadmer’s first version of the Vita Anselmi, note that in the first sentence of the preface (VA, p. 1), he states that he had previously written a work which described the events that took place between the kings of England and Anselm archbishop of Canterbury. This surely must refer to Historia Novorum, which then must have been written first, and thus it must have been this work that Anselm saw and disliked. William of Malmesbury, Gesta regum Anglorum, ed. and trans. R. A. B. Mynors, R. M. Thomson, and M. Winterbottom, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998), vol. 1, pp. 542–5.

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Meulan, who may well have been a lay student of Bec.59 For Robert’s political philosophy, as reported by Orderic, precisely mirrored Anselm’s Holy Guile: he tells King Henry I, Rufus’s successor, to soothe his potential allies with promises, promising them anything, even London or York. Such promises could easily be taken back from traitorous deserters after the victory.60 Holy Guile and Holy Art could be secularized, and a new kind of politics emerge in the Anglo-Norman court. With Robert of Meulan at his side, King Henry began his reign in 1100 by soothing the exiled Anselm with promises: he wrote to Anselm sweetly and humbly, as a son to his father, that he would give Anselm everything he had sought under Rufus if only he would return to England: ‘Indeed, I entrust myself and the people of the whole kingdom to your counsel …’.61 So Anselm went home. But he asked the king for more: to be excused from rendering homage to the king and approving lay investiture, the customs in England, because he had heard with his own ears Pope Urban’s prohibition of them.62 Henry refused, but Anselm continued to support the king, writing to Rome and eventually travelling there to try to persuade Pope Paschal to exclude England from his ban of clerical homage and lay investiture. When Anselm failed, Henry banished him from England, and there ensued a delicate, polite, elegant, and guileful correspondence between king and archbishop. Anselm to Henry: ‘[Your messenger William of Warelwast] reminded me on your behalf of the love and goodwill you have always had for me. He charged me as your archbishop that I should behave in such a way so that I might return to England so that I could be with you on the same terms as my predecessor was with your father, and that you would treat me with the same honor 59

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That both Lanfranc and Anselm accepted lay students at Bec is clearly stated in Vita Herluini, the chief account of Bec’s foundation. Vita Herluini, in The Works of Gilbert Crispin, eds. Anna Sapir Abulafia and G. R. Evans (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), pp. 183–212, at 197: when Lanfranc opened Bec’s school, ‘Clerics came running, the sons of duces … powerful laymen and many men of high nobility … bestowed a great deal of land’ [Accurrunt clerici, ducum filii,… laici potentes, alta nobilitate viri multi pro ipsius amore multas eidem ecclesiae terras contulare]; and at 204: ‘As the abbey grew, ‘the number of noble and excellent persons, clerics as well as laymen, gathered there from many parts of the world, reached into the hundreds’ [Nobilissimorum etenim atque optimorum tam clericorum quam laicorum ex multis partibus orbis illic adunatus numerus ad centenariam pertingebat summam]. Orderic Vitalis, The Ecclesiastical History of Orderic Vitalis, ed. and trans. Marjorie Chibnall, 6 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University press, 1969–78), vol. 5, p. 316. Anselm, Ep. 212, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, p. 109: ‘Me ipsum quidem ac totius regni Angliae populum tuo eorumque consilio, qui tecum mihi consulere debent, committo’. HN, pp. 119–20.

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and generosity as your father treated my predecessor …’.63 Henry wrote that if only Anselm would be with him like Lanfranc had been with his father, having of course done homage to the Conqueror, Henry would be joyful. Henry to Anselm: ‘You informed me that you were not able to come to me and live with me as Lanfranc, your predecessor, lived with my father for many years. I suffer greatly because you are unwilling to do this. If you had been willing to do this I would gladly have received you and shown you all those honors and privileges and friendship which my father showed to your predecessor’.64 Anselm then began to incorporate political allies into his soothing campaign to tame the king’s unbridled spirit, just as he had tamed the Bec monk Osbern. He sent his second-in-command at Canterbury to reinforce his blandishments: Anselm to Gundulf bishop of Rochester: Anselm instructed Gundulf to go to the king on his behalf and speak as follows: ‘My lord, the Archbishop of Canterbury offers his faithful service to you as his lord and King and has 63

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Anselm, Ep. 308, ed. Schmitt, vol. 4, p. 231: ‘Qui Willelmus, quando ab invicem discessimus, ex vestra parte commemoras amorem et benignitatem quam semper erga me habuistis, summonuit me sicut archiepiscopumum vestrum, ut talem me facerem, quatenus sic intrarem in Angliam, ut sic esse possem vobiscum, sicut fuit antecessor meus cum patre vestro, et vos me eodem honore et liberalite tractaretis qua pater vester antecessorem meum tractavit’. Anselm, Ep. 319, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 247: ‘In the letter of your highness which I recently received your Honor assured me of your friendship and that there was no mortal man whom you would more gladly have in your kingdom than me if I were willing to live with you as Archbishop Lanfranc lived with your father…. I reply that neither at my baptism nor at any of my ordinations did I promise to observe the law or custom of your father or of Archbishop Lanfranc but rather the law of God and of all the orders which I received. Wherefore if you wish me to be with you in such a way that I may be able to live according to the law of God and my rank…. if you promise me this I am prepared to come back to you in England and, with God’s help, to serve God and you and all those entrusted to me according to the office laid upon me by God. Indeed there is no other mortal king or prince with whom I would rather live or whom I would rather serve…’. [In litteris vestrae celsutudinis, quas nuper accepi, mandavit mihi vestra dignatio amicitiam, et quia nullum mortalem hominem libentius in regno vestro habere quam me velletis si ego vellem ita vobiscum esse, sicut archiepiscopus Lanfrancus fuit cum patre vestro. De amicitia et de bona voluntate gratias ago. Ad hoc quod dicitis de patre vestro et archiepiscopo Lanfranco, respondeo quia neque in baptismo neque in aliqua ordinatione me promisi me servaturum legem vel consuetudinem patris vestri aut Lanfranci archiepiscopi, sed legem dei et omnium ordinum quos suscepi. Quapropter si vultis me sic esse vobiscum, ut possim vivere secundum legem dei et ordinem meum, et si me revestitis secundum eandem legem dei de omnibus rebus quas de archiepiscopatu meo accepistis, postquam a vobis discessi, quas si praesens essem, non deberetis me nolente accipere, et hoc mihi promittitis: paratus sum redire ad vos in Angliam et servire deo et vobis et omnibus mihi commissis secundum officium mihi a deo iniunctum, ipso adiuvante. Siquidem cum nullo alio rege aut principe mortali volo tam libenter esse aut ei servire …].

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instructed me to recall to your mind that you should answer him as you said you would’. If Henry were to leave Anselm in possession of the archbishopric as he was when he left England, well and good. If Henry were to dispossesses him, Anselm would consider himself as a bishop disseised without due process of law by which a bishop is to be dispossessed ‘without lawful judgment’ (dissaisitus sine iudicio), and thus threatened a lawsuit against the king that would challenge the king’s right to act contrary to English law, recalling to Henry’s barons and great men that the king was acting unlawfully.65 Anselm replied to Henry through the queen that the king was listening to evil advisors, who were implying that his refusal to render homage to Henry meant that Anselm believed Lanfranc had acted wrongfully. As Anselm expressed this to Queen Matilda, his absence from the kingdom is not his fault. The king has called him immoderate and unreasonable, but: the prohibition which I heard and which everybody knows about is examined with an unbiased judgment and a calm mind. I uttered nothing against the king’s father and Archbishop Lanfranc, men of great and religious renown, when I showed that I had not promised either in baptism or in my ordinations to obey their law and customs, and stated that I was not going to disobey the law of God which he had heard with his own ears at the Apostolic court. But Anselm does not ascribe ‘that distorted interpretation’ of his words to the king, or to the queen, but to ‘someone with a spiteful and insincere intention, I know not who’. And that advisor surely does not love his lord the king.66 And to counter 65 66

Anselm, Ep. 316, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 243: ‘Domine, archiepiscopus Cantuariensis mandat vobis vobis fidele servitium sicut domino et regi suo, et mandavit mihi ut vobis reducerem ad memoriam, quatenus, sicut illi mandastis, respondiatis’. Anselm, Ep. 329, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 261–2: ‘Verum in litteris nostris, in quibus illa intemperies esse dicitur, nihil indiscretum, nihil absurdum, quamvis hoc mihi regiis litteris obiectum sit, esse cognoscitur, si recto intellectu et mente tranquilla quod ibi dictum est, et prohibitio quam audivi et omnes sciunt, inspicitur. Nihil enim adversus patrem regis et archiepiscopum Lanfrancum, viros magnae et religiosae famae, protuli, cum me in baptismo et in ordinationibus meis legem et consuetudines illorum non promisisse monstravi, et legem dei me non abnegaturum significavi. Nam quod a me nunc requiritur idcirco, quia illi fecerunt: ego propter hoc quod auribus meis Romae audivi, facere necqueo absque gravissima offensione…. Pravam autem illam interpretationem dictorum meorum, secundum quam absurde locutus esse dicor, non regio sensui nec vestro imputo. Rex enim benigne, sicut audivi, primatus cartam nostram suscepit, sed postea nescio quis malevola et non sincera mente per pravam interpretationem illum adversum me sine mea culpa concitavit. Quis autem ille sit nescio; sed quia dominum suum aut non diligit aut diligere nescit non dubito’.

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the king’s propaganda, he explained to Gundulf his rationale for his stance. Anselm to Gundulf: I do not know who the spiteful people are who out of the wickedness of their hearts interpreted the letter I sent to the King as if I were boasting that I had always obeyed the law of God, and had accused his father and Archbishop Lanfranc of having lived outside the law of God. Certainly, those who say this must either have very distorted or very little understanding. For the king’s father and Archbishop Lanfranc, men of great and holy renown, did certain things in their time which, according to the will of God, I am now unable to do without incurring the damnation of my soul …67 Thus Gundulf could defend his archbishop in his absence. By now, Anselm had perfected the Holy Art of politics. In exile in Lyons, on the eve of Henry’s conquest of Normandy, Anselm announced he would go to Normandy to excommunicate Henry.68 This would have lost Henry’s military allies. Anselm’s announcement and statement that he would make the journey gave the king time to arrange a meeting through his sister Adela countess of Blois-Chartres, to make a compromise.69 Their public reconciliation at Bec was a theatrical performance attended by all the Norman churchmen to display the newfound harmony between a king claiming to ‘save the Norman churches’ by taking the duchy from his incompetent brother, and an exiled archbishop claiming royal abuse, on the eve of Henry’s conquest.70 The public, theatrical display of royal and Episcopal unity at Bec was repeated in

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Anselm, Ep. 330, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, pp. 263–4: ‘Nescio qui malevoli interpretati sunt ex malitia cordis sui litteras quas misi regi, quasi ego me iactem semper servasse legem dei, et patrem eius et archiepiscopum Lanfrancum criminer vixisse extra legem dei. Sed certe illi qui hoc dicunt, aut nimis pravum aut nimis parvem habent intellectum. quaedam enim fecerunt suo tempore pater regis et archiepiscopus Lanfrancus, viri magnae et religiosae famae, Quae ego nequeo facere secundum deum hoc tempore, neque sine animae meae damnatione’. Compare Epp. 228, 246, and 265. HN, pp. 163–7. For a very much more detailed account of these events, see S. Vaughn, Anselm of Bec and Robert of Meulan: The Innocence of the Dove and the Wisdom of the Serpent (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1987), pp. 274–90. Vaughn, Anselm of Bec and Robert of Meulan, 287–95. Vaughn, Anselm of Bec and Robert of Meulan, 300–7, for all the terms of the settlement, and especially 303–4 for the public celebration at Bec; Orderic Vitalis, Ecclesiastical History, vol. 6, pp. 60–6; Anselm, Epp. 365, 387, and 369; for all the details of this long and complicated struggle, see S. Vaughn, Anselm of Bec and Robert of Meulan, 214–310.

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England at the Council of 1106 after Henry’s success in gaining Normandy.71 King and Archbishop together filled the vacant sees and abbeys of England, and some in Normandy too.72 King and archbishop now ruled for the rest of Anselm’s life in the double harness of two oxen, pulling the plough of the church through England. Here again, he was following the model of Archbishop Augustine of Canterbury and King Æthelberht of England as taught by St Gregory, and thus did Anselm, carefully following the regulae of Sts. Paul, Benedict, Gregory Nazianzen, and especially St Gregory the Great’s Pastoral Rule, teach England’s kings William Rufus and Henry I. Rufus proved an impossible pupil, and Anselm’s followers and adherents claimed, was struck down by the hand of God in a ‘hunting accident’ in the New Forest in August 1100.73 Henry I proved much more amenable to dealing with Archbishop Anselm on the archbishop’s terms, adopting in the end not only Anselm’s vision of the ideal structure of royal and Episcopal co-rule which then prevailed until Anselm’s death in 1109; but also Anselm’s teaching techniques as a political methodology viable for the secular realm as well as the ecclesiastical realm. It was in this process that Anselm brought everything irregular in England back to due order, and thus was the art of politics created and refined in the Anglo-Norman court. 71

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On the settlement at Bec, see Ralph de Diceto, summary of the Life of Anselm, in Abbreviationes Chronicorum, in Opera Historica, ed. W. Stubbs, 2 vols. (London: Longman, 1876), vol. 1, pp. 223–7, at 227: ‘And so after his goods had been confiscated a second time, a year and a half elapsed, Then, having been invited by the king, the archbishop entered Normandy. When the king and Anselm had met at Bec, before an assembly of distinguished men, as if at law, the king promised that he would not claim any privilege for himself, or for his heirs in the future with regard to the investitures of the church, and that in making elections he would not demand anything more than his mere consent, just as the judgment of the holy canons lays down. When they had been reconciled in this manner, the archbishop returned to England … having won the most resounding triumph, both in the cause of God and in the cause of Mother Church’ [Bonum itaque suis denuo confiscatis, annus elapsus est et dimidius. Postmodum archiepiscopus a rege rogatu intravit Normanniam. Cum autem Becci rex et archiepiscopus convenissent sub audientia virorum illustrium tanquam in jure professus est rex, se nichil juris vel sibi vel haeredibus suis in posterum in ecclesiarum investituris vendicaturum, nec in electionibus faciendis aliquid aliud quam solum assensum, sicut sacrorum canonum praescribit. Quibus in hanc modem pacificatis, est regressus in Angliam archiepiscopus, ubi dum in causa Dei, dum in causa matris ecclesiae victoriosissimum reportasset triumphum, in bona quiete consenuit]. Translation in S. Vaughn, The Abbey of Bec and the Anglo-Norman State, p. 115. Vaughn, Anselm of Bec and Robert of Meulan, 308–9. I have argued elsewhere that the king’s death was probably not an accident but an assassination; by whom is largely unknowable. Vaughn, Archbishop Anselm, 101–24.

chapter 10

Old English Literary Culture and the Circle of Saint Anselm George Younge In a well-known letter to Pope Alexander II, Lanfranc described himself as a ‘new Englishman’ (novus Anglus), a claim, which, while reminiscent (probably deliberately) of Augustine of Canterbury’s initial reports to Pope Gregory the Great, implies an openness to English culture.1 Anselm imitated Lanfranc’s (and Gregory’s) words at his own appointment to Canterbury, and seems to have cultivated close friendships with Englishmen, ‘creating both casual and intense ties with a number of natives’, notably with his biographer Eadmer.2 Indeed, it is Eadmer who records Anselm’s perception of himself as an heir to Pope Gregory the Great’s mission to the English in 597, a venture that was defined by a pragmatic approach to evangelism and willingness to compromise in order to connect with the Anglo-Saxons. In a sermon delivered by Anselm and written down by Eadmer in his personal manuscript, we catch a valuable glimpse of Anselm addressing the English contingent of the priory at Canterbury, which he appeals to by emphasising his status as an heir to the Gregorian legacy: Yes brothers, for perhaps some from that race are present giving ear to me saying these things—indeed I say, you English, who have been made brothers to us in the Christian faith, you received as an apostle the blessed Gregory who was predestined and sent to you by God, and, by him preaching through his envoys, you lowered your necks to the yoke of the Christian faith.3 1 This chapter was written with financial support from the Danish National Research Foundation (DNRF102ID). Lanfranc, The Letters of Lanfranc, ed. and trans. Helen Clover and Margaret Gibson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1979), Ep. 4. 2 Hugh M. Thomas, The English and the Normans: Ethnic Hostility, Assimilation and Identity, 1066–c.1220 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), p. 217. 3 (Ps-?)Anselm, De ordinatione beati Gregorii anglorum apostoli, ed. A. Wilmart in ‘Edmeri cantuariensis cantoris nova opuscula de sanctorum veneratione et obsecratione’, Revue des sciences religieuses, xv (1935), 184–219, at pp. 212–3 (ll. 224–8): ‘Eia fratres—forte enim aliqui de gente illa hæc me dicentem præsentes auscultant—eia inquam uos Angli, fratres

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004468238_012

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Anselm’s strong sense of pastoral purpose, coupled with a flexible approach to instruction and communication, emerge in the Vita Anselmi. Here, for instance, Eadmer recalls Anselm’s sensitivity to the varying educational and linguistic competencies of his audience: For he adapted his words to every class of men, so that his hearers declared that nothing could have been spoken more appropriate to their station. He spoke to monks, to clerks, and to laymen, ordering his words to the way of life of each.4 Anselm’s status as an outsider to his new archbishopric, his willingness to tailor his words and ideas to suit the level of his audience, his earlier sensitivity to the concerns of some in the Canterbury community that their saints should not be despised, combine to form the impression of a man who, while there is no direct reference to the language of the Anglo-Saxons in his correspondence or Eadmer’s works, nevertheless would not have been unaware of, or opposed to, the flourishing Old English literary culture that we now know existed in Kent in the century after the Conquest. Absence of endorsement should not be interpreted as evidence of an active disinterest. Although entirely speculative, it would be in keeping with the spirit of Eadmer’s observation that Anselm ‘adapted his words to every class of men’ if the archbishop encouraged, or at least did not impede, the instruction of English-speaking monks at Canterbury in their native vernacular. 1

Converging Currents in Scholarship

This essay brings into dialogue two areas of study that are not usually linked in scholarship. The first is Old English, the written language introduced into England by Anglo-Saxon settlers who crossed the channel after the withdrawal of the Romans. Between the fifth and the eleventh centuries, as England developed from a set of competing kingdoms into a unified polity, Old English emerged as one of the most advanced vernacular languages in Europe. Viewed nobis in Christiana fide effecti, uobis a deo prædestinatum et missum beatum Gregorium pro apostolo suscepistis, et eo per suos legatos prædicante iugo fidei Christianæ colla uestra subiecistis’. For discussion, see Paul Hayward, ‘Gregory the Great as ‘Apostle of the English’ in Post-Conquest Canterbury’, Journal of Ecclesiastical History, 55 (2004), pp. 19–39. 4 VA, Bk 1. c. 31: ‘Dicta enim sua sic unicuique ordini hominum conformabat, ut auditores sui nichil moribus suis concordius dici posse faterentur. Ille monachis, ille clericis, ille laicis, ad cujusque propositum sua verba dispensabat’.

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from a wider, continental perspective, the precocity of Old English is striking; by the time the Normans invaded in 1066, Old English was being used with confidence in roles that were, in other parts of western Christendom, the exclusive preserve of Latin: legal-codes, historical writing (especially chronicles), secular poetry, biblical translation, scientific and medical treatises, and a vast array of pastoral texts were all composed and absorbed, orally or through private study, in the vernacular.5 Since Old English can only be read with grammatical training, modern research into the language and its contexts has been undertaken primarily by specialists. As the discipline of Old English studies formed in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, the boundaries crystalized in such a way that experts have analysed Old English literature almost exclusively in relation to the political, economic and religious culture of England before the Norman Conquest.6 Historical and literary periodization have thus been conveniently aligned, with the Norman invasion situated as an epoch-defining event that marked both the end of the Anglo-Saxon period and the termination of the Old English literary tradition. One major advance has been the recent recognition that Old English continued to flourish in the century after the Norman Conquest. At the time of writing in 1992, the following statement by Patrick O’Neill was entirely uncontroversial: After the Norman Conquest the use of English for official civil and ecclesiastical purposes was generally abandoned in favour of French and Latin, and the status of English as a literary language rapidly declined. Consequently, works from the twelfth century composed in English are exceedingly rare. These changes in the fortunes of English were nowhere more obvious than in south-eastern England where Norman influence was strongest.7 5 Useful surveys of Old English that emphasise its precocity from a European perspective are Elizabeth Tyler, ‘From Old English to Old French’, in Jocelyn Wogan-Browne et al, eds, Language and Culture in Medieval Britain: The French of England, c. 1100–c. 1500 (Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 2009), pp. 164–87 and Patrick Wormald, ‘Anglo-Saxon Society and its Literature’, in Malcolm Godden and Michael Lapidge, eds, The Cambridge Companion to Old English Literature, 1st edn. (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), pp. 1–22. 6 Linda Georgianna, ‘Periodization and Politics: The Case of the Missing Twelfth Century in English Literary History’, Modern Languages Quarterly, 64.2 (2003), pp. 153–68. 7 Patrick O’Neill, ‘The English Version’, in Margaret Gibson, T. A. Heslop and Richard W. Pfaff, eds, The Eadwine Psalter: Text, Image and Monastic Culture in Twelfth Century Canterbury (Philadelphia: Penn State UP, 1992), pp. 123–38, at p. 136.

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O’Neill’s remarks about the end of Old English are premised on two orthodoxies, both widely held, and both now outmoded: that the Norman Conquest led to an abrupt decline in the use of English, and that this happened fastest in areas where ‘Norman influence’ was ‘strongest’, such as Kent, a region with long-established connections to mainland Europe. If Old English survived at all, this occurred in isolated pockets, where pre-Conquest culture persisted in the face of the Norman invasion, especially at Worcester, one of the few sees where an English bishop, Wulfstan II, remained in post. Here, in the West Midlands, the outdated narrative runs, the still small voice of the English vernacular persisted until it resurfaced in the earliest works of Middle English literature, such as the Katherine Group and the Ancrene Wisse. Over the last twenty years, this scholarly consensus has been challenged. In 2000, Elaine Treharne and Mary Swan published a ground-breaking collection of essays entitled Rewriting Old English in the Twelfth Century, which drew attention to the existence of a substantial body of Old English writing produced in the century after 1066.8 A systematic catalogue of manuscripts containing Old English subsequently revealed the scale of vernacular textual activity in the years between 1066 and 1220.9 The books in question primarily contain late versions of works composed during the ‘Benedictine Reform’ of the late tenth and early eleventh centuries, with the best-represented author being the homilist Ælfric of Eynsham (c.950 × c.1010). Many of the pre-Conquest texts in these manuscripts have been rewritten and updated by post-Conquest scribes, often in ways that reflect intelligent and pragmatic engagement with the source material, as opposed to nostalgic or antiquarian compiling. The rewritten material is supplemented by a small but important group of original compositions dating to the late eleventh and twelfth centuries, most of them pastoral in character, including saints’ lives, homilies, and other didactic works. One of the most striking conclusions to emerge from this comprehensive review of Old English book production after the Conquest is the realisation that a large proportion of the surviving codices were produced in south-eastern England, chiefly at the cathedral priories in Canterbury and Rochester.10 The existence of this body of manuscripts from the South East stands against the 8 9 10

Mary Swan and Elaine M. Treharne, eds, Rewriting Old English in the Twelfth Century (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). Orietta Da Rold, Takako Kato, Mary Swan, and Elaine Treharne, eds, The Production and Use of English Manuscripts 1060 to 1220 (Leeds and Leicester, 2013) , accessed 4 August 2020. For a survey of Old English book production in southeastern England, see George Younge, The Canterbury Anthology: An Old English Manuscript in its Anglo-Norman Context (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Cambridge, 2012), pp. 19–59.

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romantic, nationalizing image of Old English as a recusant language, holding out only in places where Norman influence was supposedly weak, such as the West Midlands; many of the last Old English books are from ecclesiastical institutions which, under the charismatic leadership of clerics including Lanfranc, Anselm, and Gundulf, lay at the heart of the new Norman church. As Old English experts have reached across the Conquest, emphasising the vibrancy of the last century of Old English, scholars working on Anselm and his circle have made steps in the other direction, exploring the archbishop’s receptivity to Anglo-Saxon culture and practical approach to teaching and learning. Susan Ridyard, Richard Pfaff, and Jay Rubenstein, for example, have argued that Lanfranc and Anselm were less hostile than once thought to local English saints’ cults, pruning rather than purging the Anglo-Saxon liturgical calendar.11 Thomas Bestul, across a number of studies, has traced the influence of Anglo-Saxon devotional practices on Anselm’s prayers and meditations, while Helen Gittos has demonstrated the continuity of pre-Conquest liturgical traditions in post-Conquest Canterbury.12 All of this feeds into, and forms part of, a more general shift in scholarly attitudes to Norman and English ecclesiastical society in the second half of the eleventh century. As R. W. Southern, Margaret Gibson, H. E. J. Cowdrey, and, more recently Sally Vaughn have stressed, Lanfranc and Anselm were church leaders of no narrow perspective; rather they were representatives of Benedictine monasticism at the height of its influence in medieval Europe, a burgeoning intellectual culture given material form in the increased production of new books, and deeply engaged with larger questions of church reform and relations between lay and clerical power.13 Saint Cuthbert, as William Aird’s study has shown, 11

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Susan J. Ridyard, ‘Condigna veneratio: post-Conquest attitudes to the saints of the Anglo-Saxons’, Anglo-Norman Studies, ix (1986), 179–206; R. W. Pfaff, ‘Lanfranc’s supposed purge of the Anglo-Saxon calendar’, in T. Reuter, ed., Warriors and churchmen in the High Middle Ages: Essays presented to Karl Leyser (London: Hambledon Press, 1992), pp. 95–108; Jay Rubenstein, ‘Liturgy against history: the competing visions of Lanfranc and Eadmer of Canterbury’, Speculum, lxxiv (1999), 279–309. Thomas Bestul, ‘St Anselm and the Continuity of Anglo-Saxon Devotional Traditions’, Annuale Mediaevale, 18 (1977); idem, ‘St Anselm, the Monastic Community at Canterbury, and Devotional Writing in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, Anselm Studies: An Occasional Journal, 1 (1983), 185–91; Helen Gittos, ‘Sources for the Liturgy at Canterbury Cathedral in the Central Middle Ages’, in Alixe Bovey, ed., Medieval Art, Architecture and Archaeology at Canterbury, The British Archaeological Association Conference Transactions, 35 (Routledge: London, 2013), pp. 41–58. Southern, Portrait; Margaret Gibson, Lanfranc of Bec (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1977); H. E. J. Cowdrey, Lanfranc: Scholar, Monk, Archbishop (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003) Sally N. Vaughn, Archbishop Anselm 1093–1109: Bec Missionary, Canterbury Primate, Patriarch of Another World (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012).

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was adopted, shrewdly, by the ‘Normans’ who assumed responsibility for his guardianship.14 On the evidence of the bilingual copy of the Rule of St Benedict, the new Durham community (established in 1083) was, to some extent, bilingual; the Eadwine Psalter, a Christ Church production with glosses in Old English, French and Latin, suggests that literary culture at Canterbury was also multilingual.15 The rest of this essay offers a survey of Old English texts produced in the South East during the century after 1066, teasing out Anselmian themes and preoccupations. While many of the observations are my own, a secondary aim of the study is to collate the comments of other scholars who have detected Anselmian influence in individual Old English texts without noticing the wider pattern. My starting point is a flurry of editorial work on the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle at Canterbury, which suggests that Old English scribes were (creatively) furnishing documentary support for Anselm’s position in the Investiture Contest and the Primacy Dispute, issues that dominated his tenure as archbishop. The political inflections in the Old English historical material set the tone for a survey of vernacular pastoral texts, which interact more subtly with Anselm’s devotional and theological interests, anticipating the use of Anselmian sources by the earliest Middle English writers. While my approach is to describe Anselm’s influence on Old English texts, this should not rule out the possibility that a more reciprocal dynamic was at work; rather than imagining a group of Old English scribes and compilers reinvigorated by the new political and devotional culture of their charismatic leader, it is equally possible that Anselm and his contemporaries actively endorsed the use of Old English, both as a language of historical record and a tool for instructing monolingual lay and religious audiences. 2

Lanfranc, Anselm and the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle

The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle is a year-by-year record of English history first compiled in the reign of King Alfred.16 Although primarily made up of terse, annalistic entries, the Chronicle is a diverse work, featuring sophisticated passages of 14 15 16

William M. Aird, St Cuthbert and the Normans: the Church of Durham, 1071–1153 (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1998), esp. pp. 100–41. Durham, Cathedral Library, B. IV. 24 (Bilingual Rule of Saint Benedict, s. xi2); Cambridge, Trinity College, R. 17. 1 (Eadwine Psalter, s. xiimed). For an overview see Susan Irvine, ‘The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle’, in Nicole Guenther Discenza and Paul E. Szarmach, eds, A Companion to Alfred the Great (Brill: Leiden, 2014), pp. 344–67.

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historical analysis and punctuated by bursts of alliterative and rhyming verse. The outlook of the Chronicle is primarily national in scope, with a focus on the emergence of the West Saxon dynasty. During the tenth and eleventh centuries, the Alfredian core of the Chronicle was copied, expanded and updated at regional centres throughout England. Following the Norman Invasion in 1066, it was translated twice into Latin (at Canterbury and Bury St Edmunds), and used as the primary source for an entertaining, versified history of England in Old French composed by Geoffrey Gaimar (1136/37).17 Today, the Chronicle survives in eight manuscripts (referred to as MSS A–G), each of which has its own complex textual history, and unique regional and political identity.18 The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle dwindled in the decades after the Norman Conquest. Manuscript D, for example, continues until 1079, when it tails of with the marriage of Margaret, scion of the house of Wessex, to Malcolm III of Scotland. Against this trend, however, the monks of Canterbury Cathedral priory took an active interest in collecting, revising and translating the Chronicle after the Conquest.19 The initial stimulus for this burst of activity was a disastrous fire in 1067, which severely damaged the cathedral’s archive. In the following decades, Christ Church sought to rectify its losses, acquiring three separate versions of the Chronicle, including the Parker Chronicle (MS A), the Abingdon Chronicle (MS B) and the exemplar of the Peterborough Chronicle (MS E), the latter probably from a northern foundation. These books were then revised by a collective of Canterbury scribes led by an industrious individual known as the ‘F-scribe’, whose hand appears across a number of manuscripts. The revised manuscripts of the Chronicle formed the basis for two secondary compilations: a bilingual version in English and Latin (MS F), and the Cronica imperfecta, a now fragmentary universal history with close ties to the Latin

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The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: a Collaborative Edition: Volume 8: MS F, ed. Peter S. Baker (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 2000) [Canterbury]; The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: a Collaborative Edition: Volume 17: The Annals of St Neots with the Vita Prima Sancti Neoti, ed. David Dumville and Michael Lapidge (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1984) [Bury St Edmunds]; Geffrei Gaimar, Estoire des Engleis, ed. and trans. Ian Short (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). Simon Keynes, ‘Manuscripts of the Chronicle’, in Richard Gameson, ed., The Cambridge History of the Book in Britain: Vol. 1: c.400–1100 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 537–52, with a helpful list of manuscripts at p. 552. The following account draws on the studies by David Dumville, ‘Some Aspects of Annalistic Writing at Canterbury in the Eleventh and Early Twelfth Centuries’, Peritia, 2 (1983), 23–57 and Pauline Stafford, After Alfred: Anglo-Saxon Chronicles and Chroniclers, 900–1500 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020).

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translation in MS F.20 The outer limits for this activity are 1073–1140, though most of the work took place between c. 1100–1114, that is during Anselm’s tenure as archbishop and the five-year vacancy before the election of Ralph d’Escures. Broadly speaking, the Canterbury scribes who worked on the Chronicle were motivated by two basic impulses. The first of these was local in orientation and the second universal, situating English history in the context of the wider Anglo-Norman realm. The localizing impulse, which concerns us here, is reflected in the scribes’ addition of material relating to the archdiocese of Canterbury. While some of the supplementary annals are politically neutral (for instance those recording the reigns of Kentish kings), other interpolations resonate with the Investiture Crisis and the Primacy Dispute, conflicts that consumed Anselm during his time as archbishop. Working around 1100, the compiler of MS F, for example, introduced a series of documents into his bilingual edition of the Chronicle that justify Anselm’s stance in the Investiture Controversy, providing historical precedent for the independence of the archbishop from the Crown in the twelfth century.21 These include a string of charters added under the years 694, 742, and 796 asserting the archbishop’s right to make ecclesiastical appointments, and tracing this back to a diploma issued by one of the early kings of Kent, Whitred: Kings must appoint earls and ealdormen, sheriffs and judges, and the archbishop must direct and counsel God’s Church, and choose and appoint bishops and abbots and abbesses, priests and deacons, consecrate and direct them with good admonishments and example, lest any of God’s flock wander or be lost.22 The Old English translation of Whitred’s grant draws a sharp distinction between the role of the king, who is responsible for secular appointments, and the duties of an archbishop, who has sole jurisdiction over bishops, abbots, and priests. The message is reinforced by subsequent documents incorporated 20 21 22

The Cronica imperfecta is in Oxford, Bodleian Library, lat. misc. d.13/14/30. The text has not been edited. The presence of these themes was first noted by Baker in MS F, pp. lxxvi–lxxix. MS F, ed. Baker, s.a. 694 (pp. 40–1): ‘Cyngas sceolan settan eorlas ⁊ ealdormen, scirireuan ⁊ domesmenn, ⁊ arcebiscop sceal Godes gelaðunge wissian ⁊ rædan ⁊ biscopas ⁊ abbodas ⁊ abbedessan, preostas ⁊ diaconas ceosan ⁊ settan, halgian ⁊ getryman mid godan mynegunga ⁊ forebysene, þe læste þe æni of Godes heorde dwelie ⁊ losie’. For discussion see Alice Jorgensen, ‘Rewriting the Æthelredian Chronicle: Narrative Style and Identity in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle MS F’, in A. Jorgensen, ed., Reading the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: Language, Literature and History (Turnhout: Brepols, 2010), pp. 113–38 at pp. 133–4.

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under the years 742 and 796, confirming Whitred’s original diploma. By inserting these charters into the Chronicle, the compiler of MS F effectively presents the unsuccessful struggle of the early kings of Kent for control over ecclesiastical foundations as a precedent for Anselm’s independence from Henry I. Whereas the compiler of MS F had the Investiture Controversy in his sights, the scribes who revised MS A offered historical support for Anselm’s position in the Primacy Dispute, the longstanding conflict between Canterbury and York over the southern archdiocese’s claim to authority over all the churches of the British Isles. Working in stints during the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries, and probably during the years when Anselm clashed with archbishops Gerard and Thomas II of York, a group of Christ Church scribes extended the annals in MS A from 1001 to 1070.23 The last Old English entry, inserted under the year 1070, summarizes Lanfranc’s earlier, successful attempt to assert the primacy of Canterbury over Thomas I of York: In that year Thomas [of Bayeux], who was bishop-elect of York, came to Canterbury to be consecrated there according to ancient custom. When Lanfranc demanded the confirmation of his obedience by oath, he refused and said that he ought not to do it. Then Archbishop Lanfranc got angry, and ordered the bishops, who had come there at Archbishop Lanfranc’s orders to perform the service, and all the monks to unrobe, and at his orders they did so. Thus Thomas went back that time without consecration. Then immediately after this it happened that Archbishop Lanfranc went to Rome, and Thomas along with him. When they arrived there and had spoken about other things which they wished to discuss, Thomas brought forward his case, how he had gone to Canterbury and how the archbishop had asked for his obedience on oath, and he refused it. Then Archbishop Lanfranc began to explain with clear reasoning that what he had demanded he had demanded legitimately, and he established the same with firm argument before Pope Alexander [II] and all the council that was assembled there. And so they went home. After this Thomas came to Canterbury and humbly fulfilled all that the archbishop demanded of him, and then received the consecration.24 23

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The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle: a Collaborative Edition: Volume 3: MS A, ed. Janet M. Bately (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1986), pp. xl–xlii (hands 7–13); Dumville, ‘Some Aspects’, pp. 41–2. The primacy dispute is described in Southern, Portrait, pp. 340–64 and Vaughn, Archbishop Anselm, pp. 49–71. MS A, ed. Bately, s.a. 1070: ‘On þam geare THOMAS se wæs gecoran biscop to Eferwic com to Cantwareberig þæt man hine ðær gehadede efter þan ealdan gewunan. Ða ða Landfranc crafede fæstnunge his gehersumnesse mid aðswerunge, þa forsoc he ⁊ sæde þæt he hit

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The same story is subsequently retold in the Acta Lanfranci, a Latin text that constitutes the final substantial entry in MS A. Viewed as a whole, the interventions made by the scribes in MS A have an obvious relevance at the time of writing, implying that the great sweep of English history recorded in the Chronicle culminated in Lanfranc’s successful, if short-lived, assertion of Canterbury’s primacy, an event that was in turn of crucial importance to Anselm when he once again clashed with Thomas’ successors, Gerard and Thomas II. As Paul Hayward notes, the significance of the modifications to MS A lie not just at the literal level of the meaning of the text, but also in the repurposing of a venerable object from the Anglo-Saxon past: ‘the physical artefact of a history book, the worn leaves and antique script of the manuscript itself … was appropriated to lend authority to a piece of propaganda’.25 As these examples show, the Old English scribes who worked on manuscripts of the Chronicle at Canterbury echoed the political concerns of Anselm and the priory’s ruling elite. The direction of influence here is open to interpretation, and the examples discussed above are perhaps best understood as a coalescing of interests: the older claims of the community and the newer concerns of the incoming elite naturally converging. In addition to the interventions in MSS F and A, other scattered pieces of evidence further enmesh Old English editors of the Chronicle in the wider culture of Primacy and Investiture concerns. Anselm, or more plausibly Eadmer, are the most likely agents for the transmission of a Latin version of the Chronicle based on MS F to St Bertin, an institution with longstanding ties to Canterbury that the archbishop visited in 1097; perhaps one or both of them used this document to press the archbishop’s case in exile.26 Eadmer drew heavily on the Chronicle

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nahte to donne. Þa gewraðede hine se arcebiscop Landfranc ⁊ bebead þam biscopan ðe þar cumene wæran be ðas arcebiscopes Landfrances hæse þa serfise to donde, ⁊ eallan þan munecan, þæt hi scoldan hi unscrydan, ⁊ hi be his hæse swa didan. Swa Thomas to þam timan agean ferde buton bletsunga. Þa sona æfter þysan belamp þæt se arcebiscop LANDFRANC ferde to Rome ⁊ Thomas forð mid. Þa þa hi þyder comon ⁊ umbe oþer þing gesprecon hæfdon umbe þæt hi sprecan woldon, þa angan Thomas his spæce hu he com to Cantuuarebyri, ⁊ hu se arcebiscop axode hyrsumnesse mid aþswerunge at him, ⁊ he hit forsoc. Þa agann se arcebiscop Landfranc atywian mid openum gesceade þæt he mid rihte crafede þas þa he crafede ⁊ mid strangan cwydan þæt ylce gefæastnode toforan þam papan Alexandre ⁊ toforan eallan þam concilium þe þar gegadered was ⁊ swa ham foran. Æfter þysan com Thomas to Cantwarebyri & eal þæt se arcebiscop at him crafede eadmedlice gefylde ⁊ syþþan þa bletsungan underfeng’. The events described actually took place in 1072. Paul A. Hayward, ‘Some Reflections on the Historical Value of the so-called Acta Lanfranci’, Historical Research, 77 (2004), pp. 141–60 at p. 160. The evidence for this speculation derives primarily from the use of a Latin text like MS F by the twelfth-century historian Lambert of St Omer, compiler of the Liber Floridus, who

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in his Saints’ Lives, a work that may also have been composed to explain the English situation to sympathetic continental neighbours.27 Most tellingly of all, one of the scribes who worked on the Chronicle at Canterbury also copied a Primacy Bull into the Athelstan Gospels. Here, the document forms one of the infamous ‘Canterbury Forgeries’, a clutch of privileges fabricated in support of Lanfranc during his dispute with Thomas I that were later ‘rediscovered’ in the Canterbury archive and presented to the Pope by Ralph d’Escures in 1123.28 The presence of the same scribal hand in the Chronicle and the Canterbury Forgeries suggests that these two projects had a similar purpose, furnishing Anselm with convenient documentary support. 3

Anselmian Themes in Late Old English Hagiography

The examples discussed above show that the Old English scribes who updated the Chronicle at Canterbury after the Conquest participated in the institutional struggles that occupied Lanfranc, Anselm and the new clerical elite. Old English, far from being marginalised within the monastic community, retained its status as a language of historical record. In this regard, the Chronicle provides an important starting point for interpreting the wider diffusion of Anselmian themes in Old English pastoral literature from the South East; just as the influence of Anselm and his circle made itself felt in Old English historical writing, so too did it permeate other genres. A good case-study of the penetration of the devotional preferences and stylistic sensibilities associated with Anselm and his circle are the Lives of

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in turn is known to have consulted the library at St Bertin. See R. Derolez, ‘British and English History in the Liber Floridus’, in A. Derolez, ed., Liber Floridus Colloquium: Papers Read at the International Meeting Held in the University of Ghent on 3–5 September 1967 (Ghent: Story-Scientia, 1973), pp. 59–70. Eadmer of Canterbury, Lives and Miracles of Saints Oda, Dunstan and Oswald, ed. and trans. Andrew J. Turner and Bernard J. Muir (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), p. xl and passim. The scribe who worked on the annals in London, British Library, Cotton Caligula A.xv, fols 132v–135r wrote the first of the privileges in London, British Library, Cotton Claudius A. iii, 7rv. The connection was made by N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing AngloSaxon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1957), p. 176. The Caligula Annals are discussed by Ciaran Arthur, ‘The Gift of the Gab in Post-Conquest Canterbury: Mystical “Gibberish” in London, British Library, MS Cotton Caligula A. xv’, Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 118 (2019), 177–210, esp. pp. 207–8, and an overview of the forgeries given in Jean Traux, Archbishops Ralph d’Escures, William of Corbeil and Theobald of Bec: Heirs of Anselm and Ancestors of Becket (Farnham: Ashgate, 2012), pp. 79–89.

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Saints Nicholas, Giles, Margaret, and Neot.29 These four hagiographies are preserved in two large pastoral anthologies: Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 303 and London, British Library, Cotton Vespasian MS D.xiv, collections compiled in the mid-twelfth century and localised to Rochester and Christ Church cathedral priories respectively.30 The anthologies, which are among our best witnesses to the continuity of Old English prose after the Conquest, mostly contain late copies of pre-Conquest sermons, especially those of the tenth-century homilist Ælfric of Eynsham. Nestled among these reissued texts, however, are a group of late eleventh and early twelfth-century translations, including the Lives of Nicholas, Giles, Margaret and Neot. This set of saints’ lives share a number of stylistic and thematic features, including a marked freedom in their treatment of Latin sources, an interest in human emotions, and a tendency to enliven the narratives of their protagonists through the use of motifs associated with romance. These characteristics set the Lives apart from earlier generations of hagiographical writing and single them out as the surviving rump of a regional revival of Old English hagiographical writing. The saints chosen by the Old English translators correspond closely to the devotional preferences of the diasporic monks of the Abbey of Bec, the Norman foundation that Anselm headed as prior and abbot before his appointment at Canterbury. Along with its English and continental dependences, Bec possessed a strongly developed sense of its own corporate identity, comparable to that of Cluny, though more informal.31 The Bec network acted as a conduit for bi-directional cultural exchange across the English Channel, bringing Norman texts and cults to England and facilitating the export of English traditions back to Normandy. With the exception of Margaret, who was widely venerated before the Norman Conquest, the translations seem to have been commissioned in response to cults that were promoted by Anselm and other affiliates of Bec. Around 1090, the monks of Bec acquired a phial of Saint Nicholas’ oil after 29

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The Old English Life of St Nicholas with the Old English Life of St Giles, ed. E. M. Treharne (Leeds: University of Leeds School of English, 1997); The Old English Lives of St Margaret, ed. and trans. Mary Clayton and Hugh Magennis (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press); Early English Homilies from the Twelfth Century MS. Vesp. D. XIV, ed. Rubie D. N. Warner (London: Kegan Paul, 1917), pp. 129–34 (Neot). See the catalogue entries for CCCC 303 and Vespasian D. xiv in Da Rold et al., eds, The Production and Use of English Manuscripts. Invaluable here are the essays in Benjamin Pohl and Laura Gathagan, eds, A Companion to the Abbey of Le Bec in the Central Middle Ages (Leiden: Brill, 2018). See also Marjorie Chibnall, ‘The Relations of Saint Anselm With the English Dependencies of the Abbey of Bec, 1079–1093’, Spicilegium Beccense, I (1959), pp. 521–30 and Vaughn, Archbishop Anselm, pp. 23–48.

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Norman sailors rescued his relics from Turkish-occupied Myra in a daring raid.32 Shortly thereafter, Anselm composed his famous Prayer to Saint Nicholas, and an anonymous monk of Bec wrote a homily in his honour and compiled an account of his miracles.33 As Marjorie Chibnall notes, following the acquisition of Nicholas’ relics, Bec quickly became the ‘most important centre for the dissemination of collections of his miracles’ in Europe.34 In England, Lanfranc established a leper hospital in Nicholas’ name at Harbledown (c.1085) and Bishop Gundulf, another Bec alumnus, dedicated an altar to the saint in Rochester cathedral, which became a focal point of lay devotion.35 Gundulf also promoted the cult of Saint Giles, establishing a further altar to this saint in the cathedral, from which he used lay donations to fund the hospital of Saint Bartholomew.36 The most dynamic example of cross-channel exchange within the Bec network is the cult of Saint Neot (d. c. 878), a Cornish hermit famed for his posthumous assistance of King Alfred during the Viking invasions of the 890s. Initially a regional saint in the west of England, Neot’s cult spread to East Anglia in the early eleventh century after the monks of Ely acquired his relics in a textbook instance of furta sacra, installing them at the dependent priory of Eynesbury in Cambridgeshire. Around the middle of the eleventh century, a monk of Eynesbury composed the first Latin biography of Neot (Vita I). Eynesbury subsequently passed into the hands of the Norman nobleman Richard of Clare after the Conquest, who re-founded the priory as a dependency of Bec and populated it with monks from the Norman mother house. Shortly after its refoundation, Anselm visited Eynesbury and inspected Neot’s relics, an occasion that he subsequently described in a letter to the bishop of Lincoln.37 Around this time, the monks of Bec acquired a relic of St Neot, and the Bec library catalogue records that a copy of his Life was preserved in the abbey’s

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Charles W. Jones, The Saint Nicholas Liturgy and its Literary Relationships (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1963), pp. 172–202. Anselm, Or. 14, ed. Schmitt, vol. 3, p. 55. Miracula Sancti Nicholai conscripta a monacho Beccensi, in Société des Bollandistes, eds, Catalogus codicum hagiographicorum latinorum antiquiorum saeculo XVI qui asservantur in bibliotheca nationali Parisiensi, 3 vols. (Paris: Bibliothèque Nationale de France, Département des manuscrits, 1889–93), II, 405–32. Marjorie Chibnall, ‘The Translation of the Relics of Saint Nicholas and the Norman Historical Tradition’, in Le relazioni religiose e chiesastico-giurisdizionali (Rome: Centro di studi sulla storia e la civiltà adriatica, 1979), pp. 33–41 at 35. HN, pp. 14–5. E. J. Greenwood, The Hospital of St Bartholomew Rochester (Rochester: Staples Printers, 1962), p. 12. Anselm, Ep. 473, ed. Schmitt, vol. 5, p. 421 (ll. 4–14).

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library.38 As I have suggested elsewhere, the refoundation of St Neots by the Clare family probably provided the stimulus for the translation of the Old English version of his Life.39 In addition to reflecting the devotional preferences of the Bec diaspora, further evidence exists that the Old English translators were responding to the new forms of spirituality promoted by Anselm and his circle. In stylistic terms, the four Lives differ markedly from pre-Conquest prose hagiography, which generally adheres to the Jeromian principle of sense for sense translation, pruning Latin sources but rarely expanding upon them. The Lives of Nicholas, Giles, Margaret and Neot, in contrast, display an unprecedented freedom in the treatment of their Latin antecedents, characterized by the introduction of romance motifs and a new interest in affect and the emotions. Hugh Magennis and Mary Clayton, the editors of the Life of Saint Margaret link this interest in the emotions specifically to the ‘influence of Anselmian spirituality’, citing the example of Margaret’s prayers, which display a ‘personal and emotional fervency’ that is both ‘unparalleled in pre-twelfth-century vernacular literature’ and closely akin to Anselm’s own meditations.40 This is particularly true of the prayers that Margaret utters privately, which possess an ardour and a focus on the love felt by the petitioner for God that is reminiscent of works such as Anselm’s Prayer to Christ: Lord God almighty … I am your pure servant and unstained by any man ever born. I dedicate myself to you unstained so that you may keep me strong and steadfast in sweetest love of you against the temptation of the devil, because my trust and my hope and my true love is in you now and always was and, with your help, always will be.41 Similar traces of Anselmian spirituality are found across the four Kentish Lives. In the Life of St Giles, to give one further example, the Old English writer 38 39 40 41

André Porée, Histoire de l’abbeye du Bec, 2 vols. (Évreux: Charles Hérissey, 1901), I, 655; Geneviève Nortier, Les Bibliothèques médiévales des abbayes bénédictines de Normandie, 2nd edn (Paris: Éditions P. Lethielleux, 1971), pp. 40–3. George Younge, ‘“Those were good days”: Representations of the Anglo-Saxon Past in the Old English Homily on Saint Neot’, Review of English Studies, 63 (2012), pp. 349–69. Old English Lives of Margaret, ed. and trans. Magennis and Clayton, p. 70. Margaret, ed. and trans. Magennis and Clayton, pp. 154–5: ‘Drihten God Ælmightig … ic eom þin þeowa clæna and ungewæmmed fram eallum mannum, þe geborene bið. Þe ic me betæce ungewæmmode þæt þu me gehealde togeanes þæs deofles sotung strange and staþolfæste on þonre ælre sweteste lufa, forþan þe to þe nu is and æfre wæs and, þurh þin help, æfre beon sceal min hiht and min hope and min soþe lufu’. The link with Anselm’s Prayer to Christ is discussed by Clayton and Magennis at pp. 70–1.

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greatly expands upon a scene found in his source in which the saint encounters a hermit. The translator’s description of the friendship that forms between Giles and the recluse represents an attempt to transpose into the vernacular the particularly intense variety of spiritual friendship promoted by Anselm and the monks of Bec: When Saint Giles heard that he [the hermit] lived the very life he himself desired, he became so happy that he embraced the man of God and kissed him with great love, and afterwards each commended the other to almighty God with holy prayers. Truly, they stayed together for three days and earnestly discussed God’s love among themselves by day and by night. Then, after the three days had passed, each took leave of the other with peace. And Giles left the man of God there and went away from him crying bitterly and praising his lord.42 Many of the hallmarks of Anselmian friendship are present in this passage, including the intimate expression of love between men and the fervent display of emotions, manifested through tears, kissing and joy. A comparable passage, for instance, occurs in the Vita Gundulfi, where the author describes Anselm’s close friendship with the Bishop of Rochester: So close was [Anselm’s] friendship with Gundulf that he was spoken of as another Gundulf, and Gundulf as a second Anselm, and he loved to be so called, for they had but one heart and one soul in God. They were often to be found conversing on spiritual topics and many were the tears they shed as they talked together.43 The parallels cited above do not provide evidence for the direct use of Anselmian sources by Old English writers; for this we have to wait for the 42

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OE Life of Giles, ed. Treharne, ll. 120–7: ‘Ða se halga Egidius geherde þæt he wunede on swylce life eal swa he self wilnode an to drohtnigenne, þa wearð he swa bliðe þæt he cleopode þone Godes mann ⁊ gecyste hine mid mycelre lufe, ⁊ swa siððan betæhte her ægðer oþer þam ælmihtigan Gode mid halige bedum. Soðlice, þry dagas hi wunodon togædere, ⁊ geornlice anledon Godes lof betweoxan heom be dæges ⁊ be nihte. Ða æfter þriora dagana fec gerece her ægðer oðerne mid sibsumnesse. ⁊ se Egidius forlet þær þone Godes man ⁊ gewende him siððan þanon sarlice wepende ⁊ his drihten herigende’. The Life of Gundulf Bishop of Rochester, ed. Rodney Thomson (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies, 1977), p. 30: ‘… tanta Gundulfo est amicitia uinctus ut se alterum Gundulfum, Gundulfum uero alterum Anselmum diceret et oucari gauderet. Erat enim illis in Deo cor unum et anima una, frequens de spiritualibus collucutio, multa inter colloquendum lacrimarum effusio’.

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earliest works in Middle English.44 Rather, the nature of the influence is diffuse and the evidence cumulative. On balance, however, it seems likely that the devotional preferences expressed by Anselm and the monks of Bec acted as a stimulus for the translation of the Lives of Nicholas, Giles, Margaret and Neot, which plugged a gap in the existing record of Old English hagiography. The style of the lives, with their emphasis on affective devotion, earnestly expressed prayers to God, and spiritual friendship broadly reflects the new spirituality promoted by Anselm in his prayers, meditations, and table-talk. 4

Networks and Connections: Old English and the Circle of Saint Anselm

In addition to Chronicles and saints’ lives produced in the orbit of Canterbury and Rochester cathedral priories, one further cluster of texts offers even more tangible evidence for the interaction of Old English translators with Anselm’s circle of friends and disciples. These are a series of items copied consecutively in the fourth booklet of Vespasian D.xiv, the mid-twelfth-century anthology that also contains the Old English Life of Saint Neot. The texts in question are an Old English version of Ralph d’Escures’ homily on the Virgin Mary (151r–158r), a brief account of the parentage of the three Marys known as the Trinubium Annae (158r), and excerpts from the Speculum ecclesiae (158r–159r) and the Elucidarius (159r–165r) by Honorius Augustodunensis. As Rima Handley first observed, the manuscript’s compiler seems to have copied these texts in sequence because they are all, in one way or another, ‘associated with Anselm’.45 Viewed as a group, they can be construed as Old English reflexes to works that were either fashionable in Anselm’s circle, or directly composed by his followers. The language and imagery of Ralph d’Escures’ homily for the feast of the Assumption of the Virgin are so close to the spirit of Anselm’s compositions that medieval compilers often mis-attributed it to him. First delivered in French to the monks of Séez, the Latin translation of Ralph’s homily circulated widely among Anselm’s coterie. Honorius Augustodunensis, for instance, summarised it in his own treatise on the Assumption of the Virgin, the Sigillum beatae

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See below, n. 65. Rima Handley, ‘British Museum MS. Cotton Vespasian D.xiv’, Notes and Queries, 21 (1974), 243–50 at p. 249.

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Maria.46 In general, the English translator follows Ralph’s original faithfully. Occasionally, however, we see him roused by the more emotive elements of the homily, as in the following passage on the Virgin’s maternal love for Christ: Þonne he hnacod wæs, heo hine bewreah mid lichame ⁊ mid reafe. Þonne he wæs hungrig ⁊ þurstig, heo hine estlice gefylde mid hire meolca. On his cildlicen unfernysse, heo hine baðede, ⁊ beðede, ⁊ smerede, ⁊ bær, ⁊ frefrede, ⁊ swaðede, ⁊ roccode … When he was naked she covered him with her body and clothing. When he was hungry and thirsty she graciously filled him with her milk. In his childhood infirmity, she bathed him and warmed him, anointed him and carried him, comforted him, swaddled him and rocked him….47 While the verbs in this tableau are conventional, their deployment is innovative. Smirwan (to anoint), for example, occurs almost exclusively in ecclesiastical contexts of anointing before the Conquest. Swaðian (swaddle) is not associated with the Virgin in the Anglo-Saxon period. Roccode is the only attested instance of the affective Old English verb *roccian ‘rock’. All three of these verbs are additions made by the English translator to the Latin source.48 The passage as a whole exemplifies the translator’s lively engagement with Ralph’s sermon and his attempt to reinvent traditional Old English vocabulary in the service of the new Marian cult. The following text, an Old English translation of the Trinubium Annae, is effectively an appendix to Ralph’s sermon, offering a brief resume of the Virgin’s relatives, in which the anonymous author asserts that the three Mary’s at the tomb are each the offspring of one of Anne’s three marriages. The Old English version of the Trinubium begins with a statement, presumably in the voice of the compiler of Vespasian D.xiv, linking it to Ralph’s sermon: ‘We now wish

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Honorius Augustodunensis, Sigillum Beatae Maria, in J. P. Migne, ed., Patrologia cursus completus: Series latina, 221 vols. (Paris, 1844–64), CLXXII, cols 495–513 (with Ralph’s sermon digested at cols 497A–D). See The Seal of the Blessed Virgin Mary, trans. Amelia Carr (Toronto: Peregrina Publishing, 1991), p. 20. Early English Homilies, ed. Warner, p. 137. Compare Ralph d’Escures, Sermo in festis Sancte Marie virginis, in J. P Migne, ed., Patrologia Latina, CLVIII, cols 647–8: ‘… nudum carne vel etiam pannis peruit, esurientem pavit, sitentem lacte potavit, infirmum per infantiam jacentem no solum visitavit, sed etiam balneando, fovendo, leniendo, gestando, frequentavit, ut merito de ea dicatur, Maria autem satagebat circa frequens ministerium [Luke 10:40]’.

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to tell you something about her close relatives who were her cousins’.49 The Trinubium was a favourite work in Anselm’s circle. During his time at Séez, for instance, Ralph d’Escures sent a copy to Gilbert Crispin, one of Anselm’s most intellectually gifted pupils, who promptly refuted it in the Probatio de illa peccatrice que unxit pedes domini (c.1085). The prologue to Gilbert’s work conveys a vivid impression of a coterie of readers engaged in animated debate about the identity of the women who witnessed Christ’s crucifixion and resurrection: Brother Gilbert abbot of Westminster sends ‘the things which God has prepared for those who love him’ (1 Cor. 2:9) to Ralph, beloved and diligent monk and cantor of the holy church of Séez. Regarding those things which you asked me via your letters, I have responded, compelled by your order and if I have not done so sufficiently, nonetheless I am not wholly beside the point or inappropriate. A little book fell into your hands [i.e. the Trinubium Annae], in which the author of the little book occupied himself with demonstrating that there were three women and not one; that sinner in the Gospel according to Luke, and Mary Magdalene, and Mary who anointed the feet of the Lord around the time of his Passion.50 While the world of Ralph d’Escures and Gilbert Crispin may seem remote from that of the compiler of Vespasian D.xiv, the presence of Ralph’s Assumption homily and the Trinubium in the Old English anthology suggests that at least one Old English compiler was keeping abreast of issues discussed in Anselm’s circle and, through translation, conveying these to a wider, Englishspeaking audience. After the Trinubium, the compiler of Vespasian D.xiv copied three Old English versions of extracts from works by Honorius Augustodunensis. Honorius’ career and relationship to Anselm are contested topics. The most compelling reconstruction of his biography is that proposed by V. I. J. Flint, who argues that Honorius (real name ‘Henricus’) was born in Germany or the northern Italian Alps (perhaps in the same region as Anselm), and spent the 49 50

Early English Homilies, ed. Warner, p. 139: ‘We wylleð eow nu sum dæl gerecen emben hyre neamagen, þe hire besibbe wæron’. Gilbert Crispin, Probatio de illa peccatrice que unxit pedes domini in Anna Abulafia and G. R. Evans, eds, The Works of Gilbert Crispin: Abbot of Westminster (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1986), p. 94: ‘Dilecto atque diligenti sancte Sagiensis ecclesie monacho et cantori Rodulfo frater Gilbertus abbas Westmonasterii, que preparuit Deus diligentibus se. Ad ea que per litteras me interrogasti iussu tuoque iussu coactus respondi, et si non sufficienter, non tamen omnino extra rem aut inconuenienter. Libellus in manus tuas incidit, in quo libelli auctor approbare satagit, quia tres sint femine non una, peccatrix illa in Euangelio secundum Lucam, et maria Magdalene, et Maria que unxit pedes Domini circa passionis sue tempora’.

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early part of his life there in the role of a regular canon. Towards the end of the eleventh century, according to Flint, Honorius travelled to England, where he overlapped with Anselm’s circle at Canterbury and visited Worcester cathedral priory, before returning to Germany, spending the rest of his life as a monk at Saint James’ Abbey in Regensburg.51 While more work is needed to confirm all aspects of Flint’s reconstruction of Honorius’ career, recent research continues to heap up support for the theory that he visited England and encountered Anselm in person, as opposed to reading his works. One particularly fruitful approach has been to relate the numerous architectural allusions in Honorius’ early compositions to specific features of the buildings he encountered at Worcester and Canterbury. In T. A. Heslop’s opinion, for example, Honorius was ‘standing in front of the imagery’ in the stained-glass windows at Canterbury Cathedral when he began work on the sermons in the Speculum ecclesiae.52 Similarly, Karl Kinsella has argued that Honorius ‘envisioned the cathedral’ at Canterbury as a ‘template for the church’ described in detail in the Gemma animae.53 In addition to art historical evidence that Honorius was responding specifically to Anselm’s cathedral at Canterbury, using a familiar building as an architectural mnemonic, recent palaeographic research suggests that he was probably not the only German visitor in the region. As Erik Kwakkel has demonstrated, evidence provided by pen-trials in post-Conquest manuscripts at Rochester shows that there were a number of individuals in the scriptorium who were ‘native to Germany, Italy, and the Low Countries’; individuals who left an even slighter trace of their presence in England than Honorius, and whose existence makes the theory of his stay in England all the more plausible.54

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This summary is based on V. I. J. Flint, Honorius Augustodunensis of Regensburg: Authors of the Middle Ages, vol. 6 (Aldershot: Variorum, 1995), pp. 95–128. Flint’s imaginative reconstruction of Honorius’ life contrasts with the scepticism of other scholars, the most extreme example being R. D. Crouse, ed., Honorius Augustodunensis: De neocosmo (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1970), p. 100: ‘We do not know his national origin, nor where he was educated. We do not know precisely where, or in what manner he lived, or where he died’. T. A. Heslop, ‘St Anselm, Church Reform, and the Politics of Art’, Anglo-Norman Studies, 33 (2011), 103–26 at p. 113. See also ‘The English Origins of the Coronation of the Virgin’, Burlington Magazine, 147 (2005), pp. 790–7, in which Heslop contends that Honorius had the Worcester Chapter House in mind when he composed the Sigillum Beatae Maria. Karl Kinsella, ‘Edifice and Education: Structuring Thought in Twelfth-Century Europe’ (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Oxford, 2016), p. 242. Erik Kwakkel, ‘Hidden in Plain Sight: Continental Scribes in Rochester Cathedral Priory, 1075–1150’, in Erik Kwakkel, ed., Writing in Context: Insular Manuscript Culture, 500–1200 (Leiden: Leiden University Press, 2013), pp. 231–61 at 253.

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The first item by Honorius in Vespasian D.xiv is an excerpt from the Speculum ecclesiae, a cycle of temporale homilies designed to be translated into the vernacular on the spot. Honorius probably completed the Speculum after his move to Regensburg, since the dedication supplied in the earliest manuscript refers to a recent stay with the fratres cantuariensis (brothers of Canterbury), implying he was writing to friends from a distance.55 The Old English fragment of the Speculum is an elaboration of a passage in Honorius’ homily for Septuagesima Sunday, in which he gives an allegorical interpretation of the seventy-year captivity of the Jews in Babylon, likening this to the ages of the world.56 While the excerpt is short, and not particularly central to the anthology, it provides crucial evidence for a direct link between one of Anselm’s most prolific disciples, Honorius, and the English-speaking contingent at Christ Church. After the Speculum ecclesiae come two excerpts from the Elucidarius, a theological primer cast in the form of a dialogue between pupil and student, probably composed by Honorius during his time in England. As Valerie Flint has shown, some of Honorius’ sources have close links with the library at Worcester cathedral priory, and he seems to have had first-hand access to Anselm’s early treatises and table talk, including his sermon De beatitudine, distilling these for a wider audience.57 Vespasian D.ix contains two excerpts from the Elucidarius translated into Old English. Together, these selections, which may have been extracted from a fuller Old English translation of the text that is now lost, are a natural extension of Honorius’ attempt to find a broader audience for Anselm’s theology, making basic Anselmian ideas accessible to monolingual English monks. The first Old English excerpt, for example, opens with a discussion of the immateriality of sin, drawing on Anselm’s De casu diaboli. Addressing his master, the student states: ‘some say that sin is nothing, and if this is true, then it is

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Honorius, Speculum ecclesiae, in Migne, ed., Patrologia Latina, CLXXII, col. 813, including the statement ‘Cum proxime nostro conventu resideres’. Flint, Honorius, p. 104. The relationship between the sermon fragment in Vespasian D.xiv and the Speculum ecclesiae was first proposed by Max Förster, ‘Der Inhalt der altenglischen Handschrift Vespasianus D. XIV’, Englische Studien, 54 (1920), 46–68 at pp. 60–1. For a more recent assessment see Stephen Pelle, ‘Continuity and Renewal in English Homiletic Eschatology, ca. 1150–1200 (unpublished PhD thesis, University of Toronto, 2012), pp. 127–33, who concludes that the Old English author ‘based his account on Honorius’ sermon, but supplemented it with his own knowledge of the typology of the Babylonian captivity and the ages of the world’ (p. 132). V. I. J. Flint, ‘The Sources of the Elucidarius of Honorius Augustodunensis’, Revue Bénédictine, 85 (1975), 190–8.

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marvellous that God condemns men for that which is nothing’.58 In response, the master offers a distinctively Anselmian definition of the nothingness of sin: All things are from God, and he made them all good, and for this reason we understand that sin is not a substance, for each substance is good, but evil has no substance, and therefore it is nothing.59 This exchange, both in the original Latin Elucidarius and the Old English translation, draws on Anselm’s discussion of sin in the De casu diaboli, a work composed between 1080 and 1086: ‘Nothing’ signifies simply non-being or the lack of all that is real. And evil is only non-good or the absence of good where good ought to be found. But that which is only an absence of reality is certainly not real. Hence evil in truth is nothing and nothing is not real.60 As Claudia di Sciacca notes in her study of the Old English translation, the question of whether evil had substance was ‘much debated within Anselmian circles’.61 The archbishop synthesised his thoughts on the matter in a letter to a favourite pupil Maurice, presumably in response to a request, and Ralph prior of Rochester repeats the argument in his own devotional treatises.62 The Old English excerpts from Honorius’ works are short snatches in a larger 58 59 60

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Early English Homilies, ed. Warner, p. 143: ‘Sum mann sæigð þæt synne nis nan þing, ⁊ gyf þæt soð is, þonne is hit wunder, þæt God fordemð þa mænn for þa þinge þe naht nis’. Ibid.: ‘Of Gode synden ealle þing, & ealle he geworhte heo gode, ⁊ for þan we understandeð þæt synne nis nan þing on antimbre, for ælc antimber is god, ac yfel næfð nan antimber, ⁊ for þan hit nis naht’. Anselm, De casu diaboli, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 251: ‘Nihil enim non aliud significat, quam non-aliquid, aut absentiam eorum quae sunt aliquid. Et malum non est aliud, quam non-bonum, aut absentia boni ubi debet et expedit esse bonum. Quod autem non est aliud, quam absentia eius quod est aliquid, utique non est aliquid. Malum igitur vere est nihil, et nihil non est aliquid’. English translation from Anselm of Canterbury: The Major Works, trans. Brian Davies and Gillian Evans (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), p. 210 The source was first identified in Yves Lefèvres, L’Elucidarium et les lucidaires: contribution par l’histoire d’un Texte à l’histoire des croyances religieuses en France au moyen âge (Paris, 1954), p. 141, n. 11. Claudia Di Sciacca, ‘Vulgarising Christianity: the Old English version of the Elucidarium’, in Alessandra Petrina, ed., The Medieval Translator: Traduire Au Moyen Age: in Principio Fuit Interpres (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), pp. 151–62 at 159. Anselm, Ep. i.85, ed. Niskanen, Letters of Anselm, pp. 244–53; Southern, Portrait, p. 375. Other echoes of the same discussion are considered elsewhere in this volume in the chapters by Yamazaki and van Vreeswijk.

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anthology, yet their importance as evidence for the diffusion of Anselm’s ideas at Canterbury cannot be overstated; these brief translations show us how ideas formulated in Anselm’s circle were absorbed and reformulated by English-speaking monks. 5

Conclusion

This essay began by suggesting that modern disciplinary boundaries have hindered recognition of Anselm’s influence on late Old English literary culture. In recent decades, two discrete movements in scholarship have been converging, with, on the one hand, a growing recognition of the vibrancy of Old English in the century after 1066, and, on the other, an appreciation of the receptivity of Anselm and his circle to Anglo-Saxon devotional and artistic traditions. While a number of scholars have noted possible or certain instance of Anselmian influence in late Old English works, these examples have, until now, not been pieced together. This survey of Old English texts from the South East reveals a compelling pattern of influence across a range of literary genres, with Anselmian themes cropping up in historical writing, hagiography, and pastoral literature. Editorial work on the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle during Anselm’s tenure shows that Old English scribes were actively engaged with the great issues of the day: the Investiture Controversy and the Primacy Dispute. While Anselm’s political concerns left an impression on Old English historical writing, the devotional preferences of the monks of Bec and the archbishop’s distinctive spirituality— his approach to friendship, prayer, and affective devotion—can clearly be felt in the last Old English saints’ lives (Giles, Nicholas, Margaret and Neot). Finally, a cluster of texts found in the fourth booklet of Vespasian D.xiv point to the existence of more direct, human ties between the anonymous monks who compiled the last Old English anthologies and the better-known members of Anselm’s circle, probably in the form of friendship, conversation, and correspondence. Here we see Old English authors translating and anthologizing works that were either in vogue amongst members of Anselm’s circle (for example the Trinubium Annae) or directly composed by them (for example Ralph d’Escures’ Assumption sermon and Honorius’ Elucidarius). The overall impression this body of material conveys is of a lively exchange of ideas and traditions. Old English writers and compilers derived new energy from the political, devotional, and theological interests of Anselm and his followers. In turn, it seems likely (though we lack this piece of the jigsaw) that Anselm and his contemporaries appreciated the value Old English as a way of

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‘adapting their words’, to borrow Eadmer’s phrase, to monolingual audiences, both lay and monastic. Anselm’s impact on southeastern writers and compilers also confirms that the ‘strength of Norman influence’, to return to the terms discussed at the beginning of this essay, had little to do with the decline or prosperity of Old English. Instead, the evidence suggests that incomers at Canterbury and Rochester were either indifferent to Old English manuscript production, or, as I have argued, actively supportive. This survey also gives increased regional definition to the last century of Old English. From the texts considered above, the outlines of a map of late Old English literary culture begin to emerge; the cosmopolitan, outward-looking material from Kent contrasting with the more nostalgic tone of some of the texts from the West Midlands.63 Such a picture is entirely in keeping with a broader view of the literary scene in Kent, which was and would continue to be, profoundly informed by the region’s ties to mainland Europe; indeed, it was partly Canterbury’s reputation as a cosmopolitan hub that made the city such a ‘fecund idea’ for Chaucer.64 The notion that post-Conquest Old English texts display regional variation also chimes with the wider emergence of regional identity as a central preoccupation in twelfth-century writing, as witnessed, for instance, in Danelaw texts such as the Gesta Herewardi or Gaimar’s Estoire des Engleis. Finally, the texts considered in this article also capture a genuine moment of transition in the shift from Old to Middle English. Certainly, important distinctions exist between the way late Old English and early Middle English authors relate to the figure of Saint Anselm. It is not until Middle English works such as the short sermons in London, British Library Cotton Vespasian A.xxii, the Trinity Homilies (Cambridge, Trinity College, B. 14. 52) and the Vices and Virtues (London, British Library, Stowe 34) that we see vernacular authors drawing directly on works composed by or attributed to Anselm.65 And it is not until the Ancrene Wisse that we find Anselm invoked as an authority: 63 64 65

For instance, the so-called ‘Worcester Fragments’ (Worcester, Cathedral Library MS F. 174, fols 63r–66v). Peter Brown, ‘Canterbury’ in David Wallace, ed., Europe: a Literary History, 1348–1418 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), pp. 191–207 at 201. Bella Millett, ‘Change and Continuity: the English Sermon Before 1250’, in Elaine Treharne and Greg Walker, eds, The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Literature in English (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), pp. 221–39, at 229 for parallels between Vespasian A.xxii, 56v–58r (Item 2) and Anselm’s Liber de humanis moribus; Pelle, ‘Continuity and Renewal’, pp. 167–8 notes the use of Anselm’s Meditatio 1 in Trinity Homily 29; Idem, ‘The Date and Intellectual Milieu of the Early Middle English Vices and Virtues’, Neophilologus, 99 (2015), 151–66 identifies two uses of Anselm’s De similitudinibus in separate passages from the Vices and Virtues.

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as Seint Anselme seið.66 In contrast, the last Old English writers were less concerned with Anselm’s status as an authority, possibly because he struck them as possessing all the usual complexities of a living or recently deceased human being, and more attuned to the world of his followers and imitators, very likely because they were actually mixing in and contributing to these circles. 66

Ancrene Wisse: A Corrected Edition of the Text in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 402 with Variants from the Other Manuscripts, ed. Bella Millett, with E. J. Dobson and Richard Dance, 2 vols. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), I, 29, 116, 129.

Part 3 Reading Anselm in the Later Middle Ages

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chapter 11

How Did Robert Grosseteste and Thomas Aquinas Read Anselm’s Definition of Truth? Christian Brouwer In the first chapter of his De veritate (c. 1080–86), Anselm suggests he has a place in the history of the concept of truth. The task, he noted, of finding a definition for truth had not, seemingly, been done before.1 Anselm’s definition, whatever its status as an event in the philosophical history of truth, became an authoritative statement for many subsequent medieval thinkers. In this paper, I will examine two stages of its use by two famous thinkers, both of historical significance. The first is Robert Grosseteste (c. 1170–1253), renowned for his many scientific tracts, his commentaries on Aristotle (among the first ones ever) and some very original positions on the subject of light. He was contemporary with the beginnings of Franciscan tradition over which he exercised a level of influence. The second thinker is Thomas Aquinas (1225–74) whose importance in medieval thought in general, and in Dominican tradition in particular, is well established. Both authors read Anselm’s definition in different ways and contexts, testifying to its role as prompting and inspiring original thought. 1

Anselm

To begin, it may be useful to recall some of the fundamental positions and methodological features of Anselm’s De veritate.2 The question that guides 1 Anselm of Canterbury, De Veritate (DV) 1, Anselm of Canterbury, Opera omnia ed. Schmitt, 2 vols., vol. 1, p. 176: ‘Non memini me invenisse definitionem veritatis’. 2 See in particular: Eileen C. Sweeney, Anselm of Canterbury and the Desire for the Word (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2012); Bernd Goehring, ‘Truth as Rightness in Anselm of Canterbury and Henry of Ghent’, in Giles E. M. Gasper and Ian Logan, eds., Saint Anselm of Canterbury and His Legacy (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2012), pp. 174–202; Kristell Trego, L’essence de la liberté : la refondation de l’éthique dans l’oeuvre de Saint Anselme de Cantorbéry (Paris: Vrin, 2010); Bernd Goebel, Rectitudo: Wahrheit und Freiheit bei Anselm von Canterbury: eine philosophische Untersuchung seines Denkansatzes (Münster: Aschendorff, 2001); Markus Enders, Wahrheit und Notwendigkeit. Die Theorie der Wahrheit bei Anselm von Canterbury im Gesamtzusammenhang seines Denkens

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the whole dialogue concerns the one and the many, a question about unity and multiplicity, about the unique Truth and many other truths. Its starting point is a verse, not explicitly quoted, from the Gospel of John 14:6 where Jesus says, ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life’.3 The unity is on the side of God and multiplicity on the side of human diverse practices and experiences. The question is about the relations between the unique truth and the many diverse things that are said to be true. There are therefore two key aspects to this question: – the first will lead to the definition of truth, in search of a concept which would give account of both ends of the truth: the unique, divine, truth, on the one hand, and the truth of the many things said to be true, on the other hand; – the second aspect is to reconcile the data of the revelation with human practices and common use, because God as unique truth is given by revelation, whereas truth of the things in the world is given by human experience. These two aspects are given solutions with the definition of truth (chapter 11) and the unity of truth (chapter 13).4 In this way Anselm fulfilled the programme initiated by the question asked. As is well known, Anselm’s definition of truth is founded on the concept of rectitude (rectitudo): rightness, righteousness, but also correctness and accuracy. For anything, to be right is to do what it ought to (quod debet). Quod debet may mean debt and duty at the same time. Anselm shows this about the truth of the statement, and related things, in which there is a double truth.5 A statement does what it ought to when it signifies, because it has received to do so. However, it does what it ought to in another way when it is saying that is what is, and that is not what is not, because it has been made for this end. We can consider the first truth as ontological, deeply rooted as it is in the very nature of the thing. The second one would be teleological insofar as the thing follows a purpose to which it is assigned. The first truth is the condition of the second. und unter besonderer Berücksichtigung seiner antiken Quellen (Aristoteles, Cicero, Augustinus, Boethius) (Leiden: Brill, 1999). 3 Anselm, DV 1, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 176: ‘Quoniam deum veritatem esse credimus …’; John 14:6: ‘Dicit ei (Thomae) Iesus: “Ego sum via et veritas et vita”’. 4 Anselm, DV 11, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 191: ‘Possumus igitur, nisi fallor, definire quia veritas est rectitudo mente sola perceptibilis’; Anselm, DV 13, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 199: ‘Una igitur est in illis omnibus veritas’. 5 Anselm, DV 2, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 179: ‘Vera quidem non solet dici cum significat esse quod non est; veritatem tamen et rectitudinem habet, quia facit quod debet. Sed cum significat esse quod est, dupliciter facit quod debet; quoniam significat et quod accepit significare, et ad quod facta est’.

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These two kinds of truth tally with the necessity and non-necessity of action. As expected, a necessary, or natural, action is right when it does what it ought to and cannot do otherwise; for example, the fire is right when it warms. However, the human being who gives alms may do otherwise and may not offer the gift. This kind of action belong to beings endowed with will and rationality; their actions may or may not be.6 This opens the wide field of ethics whose treatment begins in De veritate with the definition of justice, and from then on is explored in De libertate arbitrii and De casu diaboli. According to Anselm, the truth of the rational action is of the same kind as that of the statement when it carries out that for what it has been made. All truths of this kind have a teleological dimension inasmuch the things fulfil the purpose for which they have been created. Doing that, they are not only doing what they have received to do but also displaying the double dimension of truth. Nevertheless, one truth does not tally with this kind of truth. Indeed, one truth, the supreme truth, which is identified with the God of Scripture, does not have any debt or duty. On the contrary, all things have debt or duty to him. Nevertheless, the supreme truth is not any less rectitude. It is the supreme rectitude as it is the supreme truth, because it is the cause of the rectitude of all other things. As a result, Anselm coins his famous definition of truth: Veritas est rectitudo mente sola perceptibilis, designed to exclude all kinds of rectitude of physical objects but including rational and non-rational actions, the truth of things, and supreme truth. Finally, Anselm is able to answer the question posed at the beginning of the treatise. Truth cannot vary according to the variety of things. In other words, the rectitude cannot change following the changing of things. On the contrary, the rectitude will be maintained even if things disappear. Rectitude is a requirement to the things that exist, it is not in the things themselves. And, Anselm states, it is unique to all the things as time is unique to all things which are in the time.7

6 Anselm, DV 5, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, pp. 181–2: ‘Est quippe actio rationalis, ut dare eleemosynam; et est irrationalis actio, ut actio ignis qui calefacit. […] Unde animadverti potest rectitudinem seu veritatem actionis aliam esse necessariam, aliam non necessariam. Ex necessitate namque ignis facit rectitudinem et veritatem, cum calefacit; et non ex necessitate facit homo rectitudinem et veritatem cum bene facit’. 7 Anselm, DV 13, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 199: ‘Si rectitudo non est in rebus illis quae debent rectitudinem, nisi cum sunt secundum quod debent, et hoc solum est illis rectas esse: manifestum est earum omnium unam solam esse rectitudinem’.

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Robert Grosseteste

Grosseteste was active as an author in the first half of the thirteenth century, dying approximately at the time when Thomas Aquinas began his career.8 Grosseteste’s De veritate is probably dated to the 1220s. Without belonging himself to the Order, Robert showed spiritual affinity to the Franciscans, whom he taught at the Oxford house from c.1229 to 1235.9 Some passages from his De veritate were inserted in the Rudimentum doctrinae (or Eruditio regum et principum) of the Franciscan Parisian master Guibert (or Gilbert) of Tournai. This then remained influential in the Franciscan tradition, included, for example in the works of Bonaventura.10 Grosseteste’s De veritate offers an intriguing insight into his intellectual purposes, especially in comparison with his Commentary to the Posterior Analytics. Where the De veritate is close to the Augustinian tradition, the commentary, naturally enough, is imbued deeply with Aristotelianism. A question remains as to whether these positions can be reconciled. In this connection Christina Van Dyke argued recently that the Grosseteste’s project was to integrate Aristotelian epistemology in the framework of an Augustinian theory of truth. This is a path that seems to me interesting and fruitful. The De veritate by Grosseteste is not, clearly enough, of Aristotelian inspiration, even if the Philosopher is not entirely absent of Robert’s account of truth. By contrast, it is closely related to Anselm’s De veritate. The first words of this work formulate the same question as Anselm and use the same gospel quotation: ‘I am the way, and the truth, and the life’. Here Truth itself says that itself is truth. So, it can be doubted, not without reason, if there is any other truth, or if

8

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On the De veritate of Robert Grosseteste, I have made use of the following: Steven P. Marrone, William of Auvergne and Robert Grosseteste: New Ideas of Truth in Early Thirteenth Century (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2014, first publ. 1984); James McEvoy, Robert Grosseteste (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000); Christina Van Dyke, ‘An Aristotelian Theory of Divine Illumination: Robert Grosseteste’s Commentary on the Posterior Analytics’, British Journal for the History of Philosophy, 17 (2009), pp. 685–704; and her ‘The Truth, the Whole Truth, and Nothing but the Truth: Robert Grosseteste on Universals (and the Posterior Analytics)’, Journal of the History of Philosophy, 48 (2010), pp. 153–70. In spite of its deficiencies, it is still necessary to read the De veritate in the Baur edition: Robert Grosseteste, Die philosophischen Werke des Robert Grosseteste, Bischofs von Lincoln, ed. Ludwig Baur (Münster: Aschendorff, 1912), pp. 130–43. McEvoy, Grosseteste, p. 29. Marrone, William and Robert, p. 142; Guibert de Tournai, Le traité Eruditio regum et principum de Guibert de Tournai, ed. A. De Poorter (Louvain: Institut Supérieur de Philosophie, 1914).

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there is not any other truth than the supreme truth’.11 Grosseteste’s work seems then to have a similar intention as that of Anselm. However, the question is not completely the same. Anselm wanted to take into account the divine truth and truths that are commonly said in order to produce a definition valuable to both kinds of truths. That is to find a concept fitting for unity and multiplicity. Grosseteste, by contrast, asks about the very existence of other truths than the divine truth. In doing so, he poses the question of the possibility of the multiplicity from the unity. From the literary point of view, the two works also show substantial differences. Anselm’s De veritate is a dialogue between a student and a teacher. Grosseteste’s De veritate is a tractate that shows some features of the disputed questions. The structure of Anselm’s De veritate is more firmly built than Grosseteste’s. In the former, the question of the one/many is asked at the beginning and is answered finally in the last chapter: Quod una sit veritas in omnibus veris. Grosseteste’s De veritate, on the other hand, is more loosely structured around a series of questions followed by arguments possibly classified in pro et contra, as would be the case for disputed questions. In the following, I will set out what I consider to be Grosseteste’s core position on truth in his De veritate, before opening up a comparison with Anselm’s position.12 As is well known, the Grosseteste’s metaphysics is generally characterized in close connection with his treatment of light.13 With respect to the question of truth this implies, then, that truth, especially the supreme truth, is identified with metaphysical light. On the basis of a series of quotations from Augustine, Grosseteste states that the light of the supreme truth shows to the eye of the human mind that which is (id quod est). Everything that is known true is contemplated as true in the light of the supreme truth.14

11 12 13 14

Grosseteste, De veritate, ed. Baur, 130: ‘“Ego sum via, veritas et vita”. Hic ipsa Veritas dicit se esse veritatem. Unde dubitari non immerito potest, an sit aliqua alia veritas, an nulla sit alia ab ipsa summa veritate’? Neil Lewis, ‘Robert Grosseteste’, in Edward N. Zalta, ed., The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (2013), . The expression ‘metaphysics of light’ may be intended also as the position that the whole universe is founded on light, of some sort, as well as theological positions according to which God is light; see McEvoy, Grosseteste, pp. 87–95. Grosseteste, De veritate, p. 133: ‘Quod autem lux summae veritatis et non aliud ostendit mentis oculo id quod est, videtur ex auctoritatibus Augustini diligenter inspectis’ [Moreover, that the light of the highest truth and nothing else shows that which is to the mind’s eye can be seen from the authoritative statements of Augustine, when inspected diligently]; p. 134: ‘… omne quod cognoscitur verum, in luce summae veritatis verum contueri’ [… all truth that is apprehended [is] seen to be true in the light of the highest truth].

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In the beginning of the treatise, Grosseteste answers the one/many question. After a long series of arguments tending to prove that there are many truths, and another one which shows that truth is unique, he concludes on the unicity of truth, insofar as there is only one truth shedding light on the multiple things of the world.15 From that position, it might be asked how the things we are saying true are to be taken into account. First, Grosseteste considers the truth of statements. About statements, he introduces the notion of a double perfection of being in things, following which it is true or false. The same thing may possess the full first being but lack the second. For example, the statement ‘human being is donkey’ has the full first perfection of being, and in this sense is true, but not the second one, and it is false in this respect. So, the same thing can be true and false. Alternatively, the statement ‘human being is animal’ has the second perfection of being because it is signifying that is what is and that is not what is not. This second perfection of being is the adaequatio of the discourse to the thing or of the thing to the understanding.16 However, the inner discourse is truer than the outer discourse, and what is supremely corresponding (adaequatur) to the things is the discourse of wisdom which is spoken by the Father (Sermo Patris, Verbum). It is supremely corresponding because it is more than corresponding to the things: it is the adaequatio itself. It cannot be not corresponding to the things he says.17 The things themselves conform to this discourse. In that, their conformity is their rectitude and what they ought to be. Inasmuch a thing is what it ought to be, it is true. The truth of things, then, is their conformity and rectitude to the Word. To this extent, Grosseteste adopts the Anselm’s definition of truth: rectitudinem sola mente perceptibilem. Nevertheless, he adds some precision: the supreme truth gives the rectitude to the things, it is the rectitudo rectificans, while the truths of things are rectitudines rectificatae.

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Grosseteste, De veritate, p. 133: ‘Igitur si nihil aliud ostendit mentis aspectui esse alicuius rei, quam lux summae veritatis, non est alia veritas a summa veritate’ [Therefore, if nothing except the light of the highest truth displays the being of some thing to the sight of the mind, there is no other truth than the highest truth]. Grosseteste, De veritate, 134: adaequationem sermonis et rei, adaequationem rei ad intellectum. Contrary to ‘adéquation’ in French, ‘adequation’ is not common in English to translate adaequatio. It can be translated by ‘correspondence’, but this misses the notion of equality included in adaequatio. In Grosseteste, conformitas is used to express the relationship of things to discourse and intellect and not the contrary. The notion of adaequatio is of cardinal importance for the theory of truth in Aquinas. Grosseteste, De veritate, p. 134: ‘Nec potest hic Sermo non loqui, nec non adaequari ei, quod dicit’ [nor can this Word not be spoken, nor not become equal with what is being said].

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The last are subjected to the rectitude given by the supreme truth.18 With this remark, Grosseteste emphasizes the unity of the definition including all things, but also the diversity of nature of one truth with regard to all others. However, from the point of view of the human being trying to know the things of the world, an issue is arising. To know the truth of things, it is necessary to see what the thing is to conform to, in order to examine to what extent the thing is conformed to it.19 Grosseteste does not describe how this is possible. Rather he seems to consider that human beings cannot see the eternal Word directly and that it is necessary for the conformity to be shown to the human mind. For each thing of the world, there is a ratio aeterna in the divine mind, following which the thing is right. It is its rule (regula) and it is identified with light. The truth of the thing in the world, the created truth, appears when the ratio aeterna enlightens the thing to be known.20 The metaphor for this is that of physical light lighting the colour of a corporeal thing. The colour cannot be seen without the light and it reveals the existence of the thing which bears the colour.21 The question if the ratio aeterna also enlightens the mind of the human being who knows the truth of the thing cannot be answered clearly here. However, there is one consequence of this account of human knowledge: every human being sees the supreme truth; indeed those who are impure see the things as they are but do not see where the truth that enlightens them comes from; only the morally pure may know the supreme truth enlightening all things.22 They see it inside themselves because, as it has been said, inner discourse is truer than outer discourse. 18

19 20 21

22

Grosseteste, De veritate, p. 135: ‘Et complectitur haec definitio etiam summam veritatem, quae est rectitudo rectificans simul cum veritatibus rerum, quae sunt rectitudines rectificatae’ [And this definition also includes the highest truth, which is both the rightness that produces rightness and the truths of things, which are the rightnesses produced]. Grosseteste, De veritate, p. 137: ‘Quomodo enim conspici potest conformitas alicuius ad aliquid, nisi conspecto etiam illo, cui est conforme? [In what way can the conformity of one thing to another be seen, unless also that to which it conforms is seen?]’. Grosseteste, De veritate, p. 137: ‘Omnis igitur creata veritas intantum patet, inquantum conspicienti praesto est lux suae rationis aeternae’ [Therefore, every created truth is revealed to the same extent as the light of its eternal reason is present to the observer]. Grosseteste, De veritate, p. 137: ‘Veritas igitur etiam creata ostendit id, quod est, non in suo lumine, sed in lumine veritatis summae, sicut color ostendit corpus, sed non nisi in luce superfusa’ [Created truth, therefore, makes visible that which it is, not by its own light, but in the light of the highest truth, in the way that colour makes a body visible, but not unless it is suffused in light]. Grosseteste. De veritate, p. 137: ‘Nemo est igitur, qui verum aliquid novit, qui non scienter aut ignoranter etiam summam veritatem aliquo modo novit’ [There is no-one, therefore,

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The next and almost the final issue of Grosseteste’s De veritate is that of the possibility of the eternity of created truths. This concerns certain truths as mathematical truths or phrases like ‘something was future’. These statements are always true. However, this does not imply that they are eternal. They are solely instances of an eternal truth. In themselves they are not eternal. The only eternal truths are the rationes in the divine mind.23 The tractate comes to its close with a remark about singulars. On this level, truths are diversified according to the state of things, that is to say to the second perfection of the being of the statement. Grosseteste and Anselm hold many positions in common on this account of truth. There are also important differences. Among similarities we may identify the initial question (with the caveat mentioned above), the double truth of the statement interpreted in terms of perfection of being, the supreme rectitude to which things ought to be conform to, and the uniqueness of the supreme truth as eternal. The notion of perfection and the positions about the supreme truth imply the teleological meaning of truth that we have already found in Anselm’s De veritate. Furthermore, Anselm had already addressed the one/many issue in the sense of the unity of truth. In his arguments pro Grosseteste takes up Anselm’s analogy between the relation of time to the things that are in the time and the relation of truth to the true things. As time, truth is one and immutable whatever the true things are. Things may be removed in time, time itself remains one and unaltered. It is the same for truth.24 Nevertheless, how is truth related to true things? Here Grosseteste diverges somewhat from Anselm. For Anselm, as we have seen, this relation is founded on rectitude, that is, what a thing

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who knows some truth, who either knowingly or unknowingly also knows the highest truth in a certain way]. Grosseteste, De veritate, p. 141: ‘Nec exigit veritas talis sermonis alicuius extra Deum existentiam aut coaeternitatem. Similiter igitur cum dicitur ‘hoc verum aeternum est aut enuntiabile aeternum est’, suscipitur preadicatio haec propter formam correlativam dictioni in aeterno Verbo; propter quam tamen relationem nihil exigitur extra Deum esse. Hoc itaque modo respondebitur ad supra dictas oppositiones, aut cogemur fateri, enuntiabilia nihil aliud esse, quam rationes aeternas rerum in mente divina’ [Nor does the truth of such a discourse require the existence or co-eternity of anything besides God. Similarly, therefore, when it is said that ‘this truth is eternal’ or ‘this possible sentence is eternal’, this[sc. eternity] is predicated on account of the correlation of its form to the utterance in the eternal Word; however, nothing besides God is required to exist on account of this relation. In this way, then, it will be responded to the abovementioned objections, or we are forced to concede that utterables are nothing else than the eternal principles of things in the divine mind]. Anselm, DV 13, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 199; Grosseteste, De veritate, p. 132.

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ought to be or to do. Rectitude is intended as the act of things tending towards their end. While adopting this understanding of rectitude, Grosseteste completes it in two ways. First, he sets up a relation of conformity of true things to truth, adding a formal dimension to this relation, which dimension remained implicit in Anselm’s De veritate. Second, he integrates the rectitude doctrine into his metaphysics of light. Grosseteste does not only consider what things ought to be or to do in order to be true, but also how what the things are can be revealed to human mind. He shows how the supreme truth enlightens things so that they can be known. This does not seem to be a central concern of Anselm in treatment of truth. So, while gathering several elements of Anselm’s theory of truth, Grosseteste seems to pursue them in different orientations. 3

Thomas Aquinas

If we turn to Thomas Aquinas’s definition of truth, we find a quite different context. We are in the University of Paris, at this time a well-established institution. Let us begin with the text of the first disputed questions from Thomas’s period as Master in Theology in 1256. It offers the most explicit account of Anselm’s definition and the richest context to analyse how it was read by Thomas. Thomas was a member of the Dominican Order, traditionally associated with the study of and commentary on Aristotle’s philosophical works. However, we have seen that even if Robert Grosseteste was more influential in the Franciscan tradition, he was also renowned for his Aristotelian commentaries. Thomas was familiar also with Augustinian and Neoplatonic traditions, as transmitted by Boethius, Pseudo-Dionysius and the Greco-Arabic tradition, especially Avicenna. Thomas founded his preferred definition of truth in what is known as the deduction or derivation of transcendentals, even if Thomas did not use the term ‘transcendental’ in the same passage. Without discussing this area of metaphysics in detail, it can be said that transcendentals are modes of being accompanying all beings.25 As Aristotle had put it, being is not a genus and can only be said in several manners following the categories.26 For Thomas there 25 26

For a detailed account of this derivation and the place of truth in it, see Aertsen, Jan. Medieval Philosophy and the Transcendentals: the Case of Thomas Aquinas (Leiden: Brill, 1996), pp. 71–112 and 243–89. Thomas d’Aquin, Première question disputée: la vérité = De veritate, trans. Christian Brouwer and Marc Peeters (Paris: Vrin, 2002), pp. 50 (text of the Leonine edition), Q. 1, art. 1, resp.: ‘Sed enti non possunt addi aliqua quasi extranea per modum quo differentia additur generi vel accidens subiecto, quia quaelibet natura est essentialiter ens, unde

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are modes which can be applied to all beings whatever the category. In this way they are beyond, they ‘transcend’ the categories. Truth is one of these modes. It consists of an agreement between one being and another. However, to make this agreement possible at least one being that can become all other beings is required. That being exists: it is the soul. More precisely, as far as true is concerned, the cognitive power of the soul can become all beings. This cognitive power is the intellect.27 One series of terms determines what this agreement is: a likening (assimilatio), an accordance (concordia) and finally an adaequatio (or correspondence). In the process of cognition, the intellect is becoming similar to the thing known. This is the reason why Thomas is able to speak of agreement and adequation when speaking about this process. Clearly Thomas preferred definition of truth is veritas est adaequatio rei et intellectus. That said it is interesting to note that he inserted it in a series of nine different definitions on three different series. Indeed, following Aristotle, he insisted on the relational character of truth: primarily a thing is true only if it is in relation to an intellect, not solely in itself. This is a clear-cut divergence with the Augustinian definition verum est id quod est. Truth, then, may be defined in three ways:

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probat etiam Philosophus in III Metaphysicae quod ens non potest esse genus’. [But no, as it were, extrinsic [things] can be added to being in the way in which difference is added to a genus or an accident to a subject, because each nature is essentially being, on account of which the Philosopher also proves in the third book of the Metaphysics that being cannot be a genus.] The other power of the soul which is able to become other beings is the appetitive power. The agreement between the appetitive power and another being is the mode of good, see Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones Disputatae De Veritate, Q. 1, art. 1, resp. 150–60: ‘Si autem modus entis accipiatur […] secundum ordinem unius ad alterum hoc potest esse dupliciter. […] Alio modo secundum convenientiam unius entis ad aliud, et hoc quidem non potest esse nisi accipiatur aliquid quod natum sit convenire cum omni ente: hoc autem est anima, quae ‘quodam modo est omnia’, ut dicitur in III De anima: in anima autem est vis cognitiva et appetitiva; convenientiam ergo entis ad appetitum exprimit hoc nomen bonum, unde in principio Ethicorum dicitur quod ‘bonum est quod omnia appetunt’, convenientiam vero entis ad intellectum exprimit hoc nomen verum’. [However, if the mode of being is taken according to the ordering of one to another, this can be the case in two ways. […] In another way [it can be the case] according to the conformity of one being to another, and this indeed cannot happen unless something is taken as created for conforming with any being; this, however, is the soul, which ‘in a certain way is everything’, as it is said in On the Soul Book III: in the soul, moreover, there is a cognitive power and an appetitive [power]; and this conformity of being to what is sought, therefore, is expressed by the name of ‘good’, for which reason it is said at the start of the Ethics that ‘good is that which everything seeks’. The agreement, then, of being to what is understood is expressed by the name ‘true’.

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– first, according to what is founding the true; we find there the Augustinian definition cited above, along with two Avicennian definitions; – second, according to the very process of the true (ratio veri): here we find the correspondence definition, which Thomas attributed to Isaac Israeli, along with Anselm’s definition, and that of Aristotle: ‘we say the true when we say that is what it is, and that is not what it is not’;28 – third, according to the consecutive effect of clarification and expression; here we find definitions from Augustine and Hilary of Poitiers.29 As Jan Aertsen has shown it, the most important innovation by Thomas in transcendental theory is the introduction of the soul, and more particularly the intellect.30 Indeed, truth belongs to ‘relational’ transcendentals, those which are defined from the relation of one being to another. Nevertheless, for 28 29

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Aristotle, Metaphysics Γ 7 (1011 b 25), ed. W. Jaeger (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1957), p. 83. Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones Disputatae De Veritate, Q. 1, art. 1, resp. 176–201: ‘Uno modo secundum illud quod praecedit rationem veritatis et in quo verum fundatur, et sic Augustinus diffinit in libro Soliloquiorum ‘Verum est id quod est’, et Avicenna in sua Metaphysica ‘Veritas cuiusque rei est proprietas sui esse quod stabilitum est ei’, et quidam sic ‘Verum est indivisio esse et quod est’. Alio modo diffinitur secundum id in quo formaliter ratio veri perficitur, et sic dicit Ysaac quod ‘Veritas est adaequatio rei et intellectus’, et Anselmus in libro De veritate ‘Veritas est rectitudo sola mente perceptibilis’,—rectitudo enim ista secundum adaequationem quandam dicitur—; et Philosophus dicit IV Metaphysicae quod diffinientes verum dicimus ‘cum dicitur esse quod est aut non esse quod non est’. Tertio modo diffinitur verum secundum effectum consequentem, et sic dicit Hilarius quod ‘Verum est declarativum et manifestativum esse’, et Augustinus in libro De vera religione ‘Veritas est qua ostenditur id quod est’, et in eodem libro ‘Veritas est secundum quam de inferioribus iudicamus’. [In one way according to that which precedes the concept of truth and on which the true is founded; and so Augustine defines in the Book of Soliloquies that ‘the true is that which is’, and Avicenna in his Metaphysics ‘the truth of any thing is the proper quality of its being which is its foundation’, and some as follows: ‘the true is the undividedness of being and what is. In another way it is defined according to that in which the concept of the true is formally brought to completion, and so Isaac says that ‘truth is the mind being made to correspond to the thing’, and Anselm in his book On Truth ‘Truth is rightness only perceptible to the mind’—for this rightness is said according to a certain correspondence—and the Philosopher says in Metaphysics IV that we are said to be defining the true ‘when what is is said to be, or what is not is said not to be’. In the third way truth is defined according to a consequent effect, and so Hilary says that ‘the true is what declares and makes manifest what is’, and Augustine in the book On True Religion ‘Truth is what shows that which is’, and in the same book ‘truth is that according to which we make judgements about lower [things]’.] For the identification of the citations, see Thomas d’Aquin, Première question disputée: la vérité = De veritate, trans. Christian Brouwer and Marc Peeters (Paris: Vrin, 2002), pp. 54–6 (text of the Leonine edition). Aertsen, Medieval Philosophy and the Transcendentals, pp. 256–62.

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Thomas there is an additional condition for true to be a transcendental, that is to accompany all being. It is the existence of one being capable to become all other beings. So, for Thomas in defining truth the presence of the intellect in the definition is of crucial importance; it expresses properly what it is for a being to be true. The second series of definitions has certainly been the most important to Thomas. It is striking that he inserts Anselm’s definition just in this series. However, to consider Anselm’s definition as one of the closest to his preferred one, Thomas needed to interpret it from at least two points of view. First, he identifies the mens found in Anselm’s definition with his own notion of intellectus. There are some grounds for the interpretation of mens in this way. Anselm, following Augustine, uses mens rationalis to refer to human being as endowed with reason.31 For his part, Thomas considers intellect as the feature of human being and the truth accomplished by the intellect as its very end. In so doing, he integrates the Anselmo-Augustinian vocabulary into his own doctrine of truth. Second, Thomas gives a short précis as to what he means by rectitudo: ‘this rectitude is said according to a certain correspondence (adaequatio)’.32 Here again Thomas likens one of Anselm’s terms to one of his own, although in this case it is more difficult to interpret. One question especially arises: what does mean ‘certain’ (quandam)? Is Thomas identifying his adaequatio with Anselm’s rectitudo or is rectitudo only one kind of adaequatio? To answer this question, it is necessary to determine more accurately what is adaequatio for Thomas. As we have seen, it is a sort of likeness between two beings whose one is a soul in its cognitive power, that is, the intellect. The very term of adaequatio expresses some kind of equality between two things. In the case of the thing and the intellect, it means the correspondence between the state of affairs and what the intellect thinks.33 As Thomas puts it, the intellect 31

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This use is especially frequent in the Monologion (9 out of 14 hits across the whole of Anslem’s oeuvre, searched in the Brepols Library of Latin Texts); in the De Trinitate of Augustine, explicitly indicated as a model of some kind for the Monologion, there were 15 hits of the same expression. Thomas d’Aquin, Première question disputée: la vérité (ed. Leonina), p. 54: ‘rectitudo enim ista secundum adaequationem quandam dicitur’. Thomas d’Aquin, Première question disputée: la vérité, Q. 1, art. 6, resp. 145–61: ‘Cum enim ‘veritas sit adaequatio rei et intellectus’, ab aequalibus autem si aequalia tollantur adhuc aequalia remanent quamvis non eadem aequalitate, oportet quod, quando similiter mutatur intellectus et res, remaneat quidem veritas sed alia, sicut si Socrate sedente intelligatur Socrates sedere et postmodum non sedente intelligatur non sedere. Sed, quia ab uno aequalium si aliquid tollatur et nihil a reliquo, vel si ab utroque inaequalia tollantur, necesse est inaequalitatem provenire, quae se habet ad falsitatem sicut aequalitas ad veritatem, inde est quod, in intellectu vero existente mutetur res non mutato intellectu vel

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is somehow ‘equal’ to the thing thought. Indeed, if some inequality or disparity appears, truth turns into falsity. This happens when the thing thought is different from the state of affairs: for example, if I think that Socrates is sitting when he is standing.34 This way of thinking of truth as equality explains why Thomas prefers the term adaequatio, built on the same root than aequalitas (equality) to express the relation of truth. And there is more. As Thomas says, adaequatio pertains to the vocabulary of quantity and assimilatio to the vocabulary of quality.35 In using both terms for defining the relation of true, Thomas expresses two different aspects of this relation. As far as quantity is concerned, Thomas clarifies it with the concept of ‘common measure’ (commensuratio). In the adaequatio, there is a common measure between the thing thought and the intellect.36 The case may diverge, though, according to the intellect implied or from the thing’s perspective. Now, human intellect may be speculative or practical. Our practical intellect produces artificial things. In that process, our intellect ‘measures’ the things produced by it; the speculative intellect is informed by natural things. In this case, things measure the human intellect, in order that, in the intellection, there is a common measure between things and intellect. Nevertheless, the natural things themselves are measured by the divine intellect in which all things are. For its part the divine intellect is not measured by anything. The divine intellect measures the natural things but is itself not measured. Natural

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e converso, aut utrumque mutetur sed non similiter, proveniet falsitas et sic erit mutatio de veritate in falsitatem’. [For, while ‘truth is the mind being made to correspond to the thing’, if, however, equal [things] are taken away from equal [things], they still remain equal but not by the same equality, it follows that, when the mind and the thing change in the same way, truth remains but of a different sort; as for instance if Socrates sitting down is understood as Socrates sitting down, and when he later is not sitting down he is understood as not sitting down. But if something is taken away from one of the equal things but not the other, or unequal things are taken away from both, it is necessary that inequality results, which is to falsehood just as equality is to truth. And for this reason, if a thing existing as true in the mind is changed but the mind is not changed or vice versa, or if they are both changed but not in the same way, falsehood results and in this way there will be a change from truth to falsehood.] The discussion of truth as equality takes place in the treatment of the question whether truth may change. Thomas Aquinas, In I Sententiarum (Parma: Fioccadori, 1856; reprint New York: Musurgia, 1948), dist. 19, q. 1, art. 2, corp. 21–2: ‘Ulterius assimilari, supra hoc quod est similem esse, ponit quemdam motum et unitatem qualitatis, et similiter, adaequari, ad quantitatem’. [To be assimilated further, beyond being similar, he posits as a certain motion and unity of quality, and similarly to be made equal, to quantity.] Thomas d’Aquin, Première question disputée: la vérité, Q. 1, art. 5, resp. 185–6: ‘Veritas adaequationem quandam et commensurationem importat’. [Truth imports a certain correspondence and common measure.]

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things are measured by the divine intellect and measure the human intellect. And, finally, the human intellect is measured by natural things and measures only artificial things.37 Furthermore, still following the implications of the commensuratio, Thomas distinguishes between inherent measure and extrinsic measure. In case of bodies, inherent (or intrinsic) measures are its inner dimensions. Extrinsic measures are place, time, and external instruments used to measure it. In the case of truth, Thomas says that in the relation to divine intellect natural things are said true as from an extrinsic measure. However, as natural things inform and measure human intellect, through things human intellect is measured by divine intellect, and even statements expressing human intellection. So, by the concepts of adequation and common measure Thomas leads to the divine intellect as unique source of truth in the world and therefore in human intellects.38 What is the impact of such positions on the reading of Anselm’s definition? They imply that for Thomas Anselm’s rectitudo is not solely considered in its relation to human intellect but may also, and perhaps primarily, be considered in its relation to divine intellect. Even if the derivation of transcendentals starts with the exploration of the conditions of human knowledge, it is not excluded that the relation to divine intellect is also implied. On the contrary, there is some ground on which to establish this point.39

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Thomas d’Aquin, Première question disputée: la vérité, Q. 1, art. 2, resp. 94–9: ‘Sic ergo intellectus divinus est mensurans non mensuratus, res autem naturalis mensurans et mensurata, sed intellectus noster mensuratus et non mensurans res quidem naturales sed artificiales tantum’. [So, therefore, the divine intellect measures but is not measured, a natural thing measures and is measured, but our intellect is measured and does not measure natural things, but only things that are produced [i.e. by humans].] Thomas d’Aquin, Première question disputée: la vérité, Q. 1, art. 5, resp. 194–201: ‘Unde et aliquid potest denominari verum dupliciter: uno modo a veritate inhaerente, alio modo ab extrinseca veritate, et sic denominantur omnes res verae a prima veritate; et, quia veritas quae est in intellectu mensuratur a rebus ipsis, sequitur quod non solum veritas rei sed etiam veritas intellectus vel enuntiationis, quae intellectum significat, a veritate prima denominetur’. [Therefore something can also be called true in two ways: in one way from an inherent truth, in another way from an extrinsic truth; and so all things are named true from the first truth; and because the truth that is in the intellect is measured by things themselves, it follows that not only the truth of a thing, but even the truth of the mind and of an utterance, which signifies what has been understood, is named from the first truth.] On the reading of Anselm’s definition by Thomas see Jan Aertsen, ‘Wendingen in waarheid’, Tijdschrift voor filosofie, 49 (1987), pp. 187‑229 and Patricia Moya Cañas and Cristián Rodríguez Rodríguez, ‘La rectitud es una cierta adecuación: la noción de verdad en Anselmo de Canterbury y Tomás de Aquino’, Teologia y vida, 54 (2013): pp. 651‑77.

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Thomas had treated the question of defining truth before in his Commentary on the Sentences. Here he distinguishes between four kinds of definition: according to the expression, to the thing, to the common measure and adequation, to the appropriation to the Son. Anselm’s definition is said to include all other kinds of definition.40 Thomas immediately notes, however, that the reason for that definition to be so general is its affinity with common measure and the reason of truth. In the Quaestiones disputatae, Thomas drew out the conclusions of this remark and inscribed Anselm’s definition along with the correspondence definition. In the same Quaestiones, Thomas reads Anselm’s definition in such a manner that he emphasizes the teleological feature of Anselm’s definition. A thing is said true according to its relation to an intellect, human or divine. In its relation to divine intellect, the thing fulfils what the divine intellect assigned to it according to the world’s order (implet hoc ad quod est ordinata per intellectum divinum). And as an authority for this position, Thomas refers to Anselm and his De veritate.41 The point is even clearer in Thomas’s didactic account of Christian doctrine, the Summa theologiae. Here he distinguishes between relation per se of a thing to an intellect, and the same relation per accidens. For a natural thing, the relation per se is the relation to the divine intellect, because the being of the thing depends on it. The relation per accidens is the relation to the human intellect. The being of the thing is independent of human intellect. In the relation per se, things follow the similitude of the species preconceived in divine intellect. So, for a natural thing the relation to divine intellect is a relation to

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Thomas Aquinas, In I Sententiarum, dist. 19, q. 5, art. 1 corp.: ‘Quaedam autem datur de veritate, comprehendens omnes veritatis acceptiones, scilicet: veritas est rectitudo sola mente perceptibilis. In rectitudine tangitur commensuratio; et in hoc quod dicitur sola mente perceptibilis, tangitur ad id quod complet rationem veritatis’. [One in particular is given of truth, comprising all understandings of truth, that is, truth is rightness only perceptible to the mind. In rightness it pertains to common measure, and in that it is said to be only perceptible to the mind it pertains to that which completes the concept of truth.] Thomas Aquinas, Quaestiones Disputatae De Veritate, Q. 1, art. 2, resp. 99–105: ‘Res ergo naturalis, inter duos intellectus constituta, secundum adaequationem ad utrumque vera dicitur: secundum enim adaequationem ad intellectum divinum dicitur vera in quantum implet hoc ad quod est ordinata per intellectum divinum, ut patet per Anselmum in libro De veritate’. [A natural thing, therefore, constituted between two intellects, is said to be true by corresponding to both: for by corresponding to the divine intellect it is said to be true in as much as it fulfills that to which it has been ordained by the divine intellect, as is clear from Anselm in the book On Truth.]

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its principle.42 Thomas interprets Anselm’s definition exactly in that way: the rectitude is a concordance to the principle.43 It can be said, therefore, that Thomas considers Anselm’s definition not only from the point of view of human cognition but also, and perhaps primarily, from that of the relation to the divine mind. In doing so he perceives and emphasizes the teleological relation implied in Anselm’s definition. This is not to say that the correspondence to human mind is completely absent of Thomas’s reading of Anselm’s definition. On the contrary, it is the meaning first attributed to it. And possibly rightly. After all, for Anselm, for such things like statements, the thing fulfils its end for the reason that it is saying that is what is and that is not what is not. In this case, the fulfilment of the end and the exactitude of adaequatio coincide. 4

Conclusions

In his attempt to give a definition of truth broad enough to include all kinds of truths, it may be said that Anselm succeeded. Or, at least, it may be said that such an outstanding thinker as Thomas considered he succeeded, since he considered that it included all meanings of truth. Nevertheless, there is perhaps another reason to say it was a success since Grosseteste and Thomas used Anselm’s definition at the very heart of their doctrines of truth, albeit that their 42

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Thomas Aquinas, Summae theologiae prima pars, ed. Leonina, Opera omnia vol.4 (Roma: ex typographia polyglotta, 1888), q.16, art. 1, corp.: ‘Et similiter res naturales dicuntur esse verae, secundum quod assequuntur similitudinem specierum quae sunt in mente divina, dicitur enim verus lapis, qui assequitur propriam lapidis naturam, secundum praeconceptionem intellectus divini. Sic ergo veritas principaliter est in intellectu; secundario vero in rebus, secundum quod comparantur ad intellectum ut ad principium’. [And, likewise, natural things are said to be true in so far as they attain a likeness to the forms which are in the divine mind. For a stone is said to be true, which attains the likeness proper to a stone according to the preconception of the divine intellect. In this way, therefore, truth is first and foremost in the intellect; a secondary truth is in things, according as they are likened to the intellect as to [their] principle.] Thomas Aquinas, Summae theologiae prima pars, q.16, art. 1, corp.: ‘Ad veritatem autem rei secundum ordinem ad intellectum, pertinet definitio Augustini in libro de vera relig., veritas est summa similitudo principii, quae sine ulla dissimilitudine est. Et quaedam definitio Anselmi, veritas est rectitudo sola mente perceptibilis; nam rectum est, quod principio concordat’. [The definition of Augustine in the book On True Religion pertains to the truth of a thing according to its being ordered to the intellect: ‘truth is the likeness of the highest principle, which is without any dissimilitude’. And [so does] a certain definition of Anselm: ‘truth is rightness perceptible only to the mind’; for that is right, which agrees with the principle.]

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positions are otherwise very different. Grosseteste gathered many elements of Anselm’s doctrine and reorganized them around the issue of the role of light in human knowledge. Thomas saw the two dimensions of Anselm’s rectitude, adaequatio and teleology, and integrated them in its doctrine of truth, founded on the derivation of transcendentals and a theory of intellect. Anselm’s definition is proved to be a proper authority: it is cited in the heart of subsequent doctrines, it provoked further thought, and, finally it is central to showing the different thought-ways of those later thinkers whom it stimulated.

chapter 12

Cistercians and the Assimilation of Anselm in the Late 14th Century

A Case Study of the Quaestio in vesperiis fratriis Chunradi de Ebrako (†1399) Daniel Coman In modern historiography, the configuration of late medieval theology witnessed a paradigmatic shift: potentially misleading categories and divisions that had originally been used in structuring theology were discarded, such as the narrow and uncritical use of the concept of nominalism in a simplistic patterning of a considerable part of medieval theological thinking. The same would apply to the division of late Middle Age theology into via antiqua and via moderna, an inadequate classification considering the complex scholastic reasoning of the era. The new paradigm suggests the alternative of structuring late medieval theology into currents of thought. A first current would be that of lax or diverse nominalism that encompasses the various nuances unjustifiably excluded by the narrow approach to nominalism.1 A second current of thought leads to an Augustinian school that distinguished itself through the retrieval and reinterpretation of the Augustinian writings, in a time when Pelagianism re-emerged.2 William Ockham and Robert Holcot adopted the position of 1 Among the most important contributors are Heiko A. Oberman, The Harvest of Medieval Theology: Gabriel Biel and Late Medieval Nominalism (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1963); Mary T. Clark, ‘A new Appraisal of Late Medieval Theology’, Gregorianum, 46 (1965), pp. 733–65; William J. Courtenay, ‘Nominalism and Late Medieval Religion’, in C. Trinkaus and Heiko A. Oberman, eds., The Pursuit of Holiness in Late medieval and Renaissance religion (Leiden: Brill, 1974), pp. 26–59, and his ‘Late Medieval Nominalism Revisited: 1972–1982’, Journal of the History of Ideas, 44 (1983), pp. 159–64; Ruprecht Paqué, Das Pariser Nominalistenstatut Zur Entstehung des Realitätsbegriffs der neuzeitlichen Naturwissenschaft. Occam, Buridan und Petrus Hispanus, Nikolaus von Autrecourt und Gregor von Rimini (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2011). 2 See Damasus Trapp, ‘Hiltalinger’s Augustinian quotations’, Augustiniana, 4 (1954), pp. 412–49 and ‘Augustinian Theology of the 14th Century: Notes on Editions, Marginalia, Opinions and Book-lore’, Augustiniana, 6 (1956), pp. 146–274; Adolar Zumkeller, Das Mönchtum des Heiligen Augustinus (Würzburg: Augustinus bei Echter, 1950) and Theology and History of the Augustinian School in the Middle Ages, ed. J. E. Rotelle (Villanova, 1996); Heiko A. Oberman, ‘The shape of late medieval thought: the birthpangs of the modern era’, in Trinkaus and Oberman, The Pursuit of Holiness, his Masters of the Reformation: the Emergence of a New Intellectual Climate in Europe (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press 1981), and his

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Peter of Auriol, arguing for the presence of a negative cause (the absence of any impediment to salvific grace [obex gratiae]) within the elect regarding the involvement in his own salvation. Walter Chatton, Gerard Odonis, and Thomas of Strasbourg were more radical on this subject. They abandoned the idea of the negative cause and posited a positive contribution of the elect to his predestination. Against both views which were perceived as forms of Pelagianism, Gregory of Rimini opposed the traditional account of predestination held by Augustine: that the free will of God is the only cause of both redemption and damnation.3 Another current, less well documented than the former ones, is that of late medieval Thomism.4 The same pattern of rethinking late medieval scholasticism in terms of currents of thought may include the tendency of the fourteenth century sententiarii to recover and reinterpret Anselm’s works. Fourteenth century philosophical theology is replete with the use of the Augustinian-Anselmian binomial authority that overtakes, especially in the second half of the century, any other theological and philosophical authority.5 From the first decade of the century, there had been many voices critical of the Thomistic synthesis between Catholicism and philosophy. Thomas Aquinas himself sought to accommodate neoplatonist and Aristotelian ideas with scriptural, patristic, Augustinian, and Anselmian teaching, an attempt sometimes known as ‘Christianizing Aristotle’.6 The reaction against it was grounded on a sharp distinction between Christian faith, natural theology, and philosophy. In this regard, the Augustinian and Anselmian views were given credit for freeing theology from Greek and Arabic influences and were seen as the most rational

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Luther: Man between God and the Devil, trans. Eileen Walliser-Schwarzbart (New Haven: Yale University Press 1989); Gordon Leff, Bradwardine and the Pelagians: A Study of His ‘De Causa Dei’ and Its Opponents (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1957); Erik L. Saak, ‘The Reception of Augustine in the Later Middle Ages’, in Irena Backus, ed., The Reception of the Church Fathers in the West, vol. 1 of 2 (Leiden: Brill, 1997), pp. 367–404 and Creating Augustine. Interpreting Augustine and Augustinianism in the Later Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2012). Russell L. Friedman, ‘Peter Auriol’, in Edward N. Zalta, ed., The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Winter 2016 Edition), . Christopher D. Schabel, ‘Gregory of Rimini’, in Edward N. Zalta, ed., The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Fall 2015 Edition), . Denis R. Janz, Luther and Late Medieval Thomism, A Study in Theological Anthropology (Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press, 1983). Monica Brinzei and Christopher D. Schabel, ‘Les cisterciens et l’université: Le cas du commentaire des Sentences de Conrad d’Ebrach († 1399)’, in Anne-Marie Turcan, ed., Les cisterciens et leurs bibliothèques (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018), pp. 453–86 at 459–61. See J. Haldane et al., ‘Thomism and the Future of Catholic Philosophy: 1998 Aquinas Lecture’, New Blackfriars 80, no. 938 (1999), pp. 158–213.

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and suitable Christian doctrines that could compete against those of Greeks and Arabs. They were adopted as a standard of faultlessness and canon to be followed by the students of theology. Anselm is in this sense, retrieved and endowed with the same authority as the Church Fathers.7 The aim of this overview is to elaborate on a single significant episode of this return to the Anselmian writings in the second half of the fourteenth century. The opportunity is presented by an important step in the academic training of the Cistercian Conrad of Ebrach, Quaestio in vesperiis, debated upon in the process of obtaining his title of Master in Theology. Nevertheless, before we proceed with further considerations on Anselm’ reception in Conrad’s Vespera, a few clarifications are in order. These regard the Cistercians’ entrance on the Parisian academic stage and the role they would play on it throughout the fourteenth century, as well as the manner in which Anselm’s writing were used, primarily among Augustinian Hermits. The Hermits served as main sources for the elaboration of Conrad’s commentary on the Sentences of Peter Lombard. When the Cistercians made their appearance at the University of Paris as an innovative force in theology, the academic stage was concerned with the conflicts between the Dominicans and Franciscans regarding the way of distinguishing between the deity of God and the three persons, on the one hand, and between the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, on the other hand. The enduring rivalry between the two orders surfaced in the conflicting interpretations given to the same ancient sources with visible and immediate effects in the doctrines and principles defended in the commentaries on the Sentences. I will mention only the debate on the personal intra-Trinitarian distinction the subject of comprehensive studies by Russell L. Friedman and Christopher Schabel.8 In short, in the Filioque issue, the Franciscans supported the theory 7 One example of the esteem that Anselm’s doctrine enjoyed in the fourteenth century is to be found in Pierre d’Ally, Tractatus contra Johannem de Montesono in Charles Du Plessis d’Argentré, Collectio iudiciorum, 3 vols. (Paris, 1728), tom. I, pars II, 121b: ‘Sextum exemplum potest poni de quibusdam Doctoribus, qui non sunt Sancti canonizati, sicut venerabilis Anselmus Cantuariensis Archiepiscopus, venerabilis Hugo de Sancto Victore, et quidam alii, quorum dicta vel scripta in aliquibus reperiuntur erronea, et tamen eorum doctrina non minus videtur esse authentica, quam doctrina S. Thomae, cum ipsi communiter in actibus Scholasticis allegentur auctoritative, nec soleant negari, sed eorum dicta reverenter glossari et exponi. Quod tamen Scholastici nondum consueverunt facere de dictis S. Thomae. Et ideo praesumptuosum videtur eius doctrinam supra illos et alios Doctores sic extollere, quod non liceat credere aut asserere ipsum in fide errase, sicut alii erraverunt’. 8 Russell L. Friedman, Intellectual Traditions at the Medieval University, vol. 1 of 2 (Leiden: Brill, 2013); Christopher D. Schabel, ‘Cistercian University Theologians on the Filioque’, Archa Verbi, 11 (2014), pp. 124–89. These are only two examples, the most recent that I am aware of, out of dozens of texts published by the two. See Friedman, Intellectual Traditions, Bibliography, p. 931.

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of emanationism or the ‘processional account’ of the Father, Son, and Holly Spirit. That is, the three persons of the Trinity would differentiate themselves from one another through their origin, which also grants them a distinct way of existence as memoria, intelligentia and amor. On the contrary, Dominicans advocated the ‘relational account’, working up the opposition of relations as a differentiating factor among the Trinitarian persons. The important aspect of this debate for the current thesis is the foundation of each of these divergent positions in Anselm’s writings. Their conflict is based on an Anselmian text, the so called regula Anselmi, extracted from De processione Spiritus Sancti, c. 1, where Anselm claims that the unity of persons should be preserved where the relations of opposition do not stay in the way, and vice versa.9 The ‘rule’ did not originate from Anselm, but from Augustine, De Trinitate, VI, 2, it passed to Boethius, De Trinitate, VI as ‘substance holds together unity, while relation brings number to the Trinity’, and was linked to Anselm for the first time by Matthew of Aquasparta, as argumentum Anselmi, rendered in the following form: ‘in all respects they (the persons) are one except where there is opposition of relations’.10 Under these considerations this rule favours the Dominican interpretation of the Filioque. Subsequently, the Franciscans, particularly William of Ware, imputed to the Dominicans the decontextualization and the biased interpretation of the Anselmian text, which led to the rise of an entire tradition of erroneous interpretation. The accusation also regarded the fact that the Dominican tradition used the same authoritative texts from Anselm, which may be perceived as an underlying accusation for the indirect and mediated reference to the sources: In response to all such authoritative passages—even if there were a thousand of them—it is said that they speak about relations not only directly opposed to each other, but indirectly and disparate…. But in support of 9

10

Anselm, De processione Spiritus Sancti, ed. Schmitt, 6 vols., vol. 2, p. 181: ‘Quatenus nec unitas amittat aliquando suum consequens, ubi non obviat aliqua relationis oppositio, nec relatio perdat quod suum est, nisi ubi obsistit unitas inseparabilis’. Regarding the history of so-called regula Anselmi see John T. Slotemaker, ‘The Development of Anselm’s Trinitarian Theology’, in Giles E. M. Gasper and Ian Logan, eds., Anselm of Canterbury and His Legacy (Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2012), pp. 203–19. Boethius, De trinitate, in Boethius, De consolatione philosophiae. Opuscula theologica, ed. Claudio Moreschini (München und Leipzig: Saur, 2005), p. 180, ll. 339–40: ‘… substantia continet unitatem, relatio multiplicat trinitatem’. For Matthew of Aquasparta see Christopher D. Schabel, Fritz S. Pedersen, and Russell L. Friedman. ‘Matthew of Aquasparta and the Greeks’ in Kent Emery, Russell L. Friedman, and Andreas Speer, eds., Philosophy and Theology in the Long Middle Ages: A Tribute to Stephen F. Brown (Leiden: Brill, 2011), p. 839: ‘Pater et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus in omnibus sunt unum ubi non obviat oppositio et relatio originis’.

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the view that we at present hold, there is a passage of Anselm’s, where he says most explicitly and in accordance with what he himself thought as follows: ‘the Son and the Holy Spirit certainly have being from the Father, but in diverse ways, because the one by being born, the other by proceeding…. For even if the Son and the Holy Spirit were not different through anything else, through this alone they would be diverse’. These are Anselm’s words. Nevertheless [those holding the opposite view] do not bring up this authoritative passage.11 The cause of this state of affairs may not only be the intention of the Dominicans to reinforce their point of view through the exclusive reference to certain passages from Anselm, but most probably, responsibility lies with the lack of direct access to the Anselmian writings as well. For, in England, where these writings are available as per William of Ware’s accusation, we may identify a clear tendency of consulting the Anselmian writings regardless of the tradition followed by the commentator. This is supported by the extensive use of Anselm’s writings by John Duns Scotus, Robert Holcot, Richard de Bromwich, Robert Graystanes and others. This predilection surfaces not only in the Filioque debate, but also in multiple issues addressed in the fourteenth century.12 Starting in 1340, the Cistercian order was very well represented at the Faculty of Theology in Paris. No fewer than five Cistercian commentaries survive from the next three decades: those by John of Mirecourt, Peter of Ceffons, Gottscalk of Pomuk, Conrad of Ebrach and James of Eltville. Although less renowned, they would play an important role in scholastic theology, as current research shows.13 It is known that Mirecourt and Ceffons borrowed extensively from the Oxford tradition, (though the former did not disclose his sources). The encounter with Oxford theology, as in the case of Conrad, is not unimportant when it comes to the reception of the Anselmian writings. With respect to the Filioque issue, Schabel notes that, in a certain sense, Cistercians built their own group of thought.14 If Dominicans defended the necessity of Filioque in order to save the distinction between the Father and the 11 12 13

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William of Ware, I Sent., d. 9, q. 5, in Friedman, Intellectual Traditions, p. 335. In England, however, the ontological argument was discussed again after 1330, See also William J. Courtenay, Schools and Scholars in Fourteenth Century England (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1987), pp. 343–6. Monica Brinzei, Chris Schabel, and Mihai Maga, ‘The Golden Age of Theology at Prague: Prague Sentences Commentaries, ca. 1375–81, with a Redating of the Arrival of Wycliffism in Bohemia’, Historia Universitatis carolinae Pragensis, 55 (2015), pp. 21–42; Brinzei and Schabel, ‘Les cisterciens et l’université’. Schabel, ‘Cistercian University’.

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Son, following the regula Anselmi, they implicitly labelled the Greeks as heretics. Cistercians clarified their position by frequently referring to Dominicans. If, at the beginning, through Guy de l’Aumône, the Dominican perspective was favoured, through the mediation of the Augustinian Hermits’ perspective, subsequently borrowed by Cistercians, a transition towards the Franciscan vision took place, as materialized in Conrad’s commentary. In spite of this transition, Cistercians, as a general rule, refused to label the Greeks as heretics, but also distrusted the Dominicans’ ability to substantiate the Filioque doctrine by reason. As already mentioned, among the Cistercians and the Augustinian Hermits there was a constant transfer of doctrine. Damasus Trapp explains this exchange by suggesting the presence of a major dogmatic similarity between the two orders.15 In the same study, Trapp makes a remark concerning the use of the Anselmian authority in the fourteenth century commentaries of the Sentences. Anselm, as reflected in Trapp’s survey, is highly appreciated among the ‘Moderns’ and the ‘Modernists’, namely, among those that he includes in the category of the logico-critical attitude.16 Here he mentions two continental commentators, while the rest are from the English area: Nicholas of Autrecourt, John of Mirecourt, Richard Kilvington, John of Rodington, Roger Rosetus, Osbert Pickingham, Uthred of Boldon, Nicholas Aston, and Ulcredus of Durham. The logico-critical attitude employs logic and mathematics in doctrinal issues and is in contraposition to the historico-critical attitude that frequently references the bible and Church Fathers. Gregory of Rimini is seen as the advocate par excellence of the historico-critical attitude, and as the most knowledgeable follower and interpreter of Augustine. In direct opposition are found those who make use of subtilitates in theological debates and rely on Anselmian works. Due to the presence of these two tendencies among the Cistercians, they were placed between the two extremes. If the Cistercians shared a preference for patristic sources with Augustinian Hermits, they held in common with the Oxford scholars the use and development of those subtilitates Anglicanae in theological matters. Hence, it is in their commentaries that the distinctive configuration of the Augustine-Anselm binomial authority is most likely to be found.17 As it is well known among the Augustinian Hermits of the fourteenth century such as Gregory of Rimini, Hugolino of Orvieto, John Hiltalingen of Basel, Augustinus Favaroni of Roma and John Klenkoc, when debating and solving theological issues peculiar to this century, they borrowed their terminology, 15 16 17

Trapp, ‘Augustinian Theology’, p. 253, n. 95. Trapp, ‘Augustinian Theology’, pp. 149 and 230. See above pp. 217–8.

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form, and substance from Augustine’s writings. Or, in Trapp’s vivid language, they ‘entered the lists and fought under the shield of St Augustine’.18 In this framework, Anselm is used as an instrument; he is not important in himself. His writings are often used in order to reinforce or to clarify the Augustinian viewpoint. In the structure of a quaestio, he is either used in arguments that support the Augustinian theses and is otherwise rejected. Augustine’s authority is prevalent. This attitude was not necessarily engendered by an absolute assent, a blind confidence in the Augustinian doctrine, but it also had a historical cause: declaring Augustine of Hippo as the founder of the order had always been problematic pending its validation by pope Boniface VIII. Therefore, the historical claim had to be reinforced by the solid confirmation of doctrine.19 The fourteenth century witnesses a significant change in the composition technique of the commentaries on the Sentences, a technique known to modern commentators under several names: lectura secundum alium, intellectual bricolage, plagiarism, verbatim copying.20 The commentaries of the Cistercians are a good model for illustrating this method. The symbiotic relationship between the Augustinian Hermits and the Cistercians is materialized in these commentaries. Cistercians copied verbatim from the commentaries on the Sentences of the Augustinian Hermits while infrequently indicating their sources. This composition phenomenon led to a twofold result for the use of the Anselmian writings: first, in the commentaries of the Cistercians, a predetermined reading of Anselm, favoured precisely by the verbatim copying of some passages from Augustinian commentaries in which Anselm is quoted. This copying also maintains the sense (intentio) in which Anselmian texts are interpreted in the plagiarized passages. The second way of reading Anselm is the direct one, through which Cistercians tended to favour the Anselmian perspective, despite the fact that the broad context remained Augustinian.21

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Trapp, ‘Augustinian Theology’, p. 189. Trapp, ‘Augustinian Theology’, p. 189, n. 46; Saak, Creating Augustine. Trapp, ‘Augustinian Theology’; Paul J. J. Bakker and Chris Schabel, ‘Sentences Commen­ taries on the Later Fourteenth Century’, in Gillian R. Evans, ed., Mediaeval Commentaries on the Sentences of Peter Lombard (Leiden: Brill, 2002), pp. 425–64; Zénon Kaluza, ‘Auteur et plagiaire: quelques remarques’, in Jan A. Aertsen et al, eds., What is Philosophy in the Middle Ages? (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1998), pp. 312–20; Monica Brinzei Calma, ‘Plagium’, in Iñigo Atucha et al, eds., Mots médiévaux offerts à Ruedi Imbach (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), pp. 559–68. See Daniel Coman, ‘Reading Anselm through Cistercian Glasses: the Case-Study of Conrad of Ebrach and James of Eltville’, in Monica Brinzei and Chris Schabel, ed., The Cistercian James of Eltville († 1393). Author in Paris and Authority in Vienna (Turnhout: Brepols, 2018), pp. 215–66.

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Conrad of Ebrach is the last Cistercian of the fourteenth century whose commentary on the Sentences has reached us.22 He is known as a follower of the Augustinian Hugolino of Orvieto. The latest research identifies him as a student of the Faculty of Theology in Paris, and as a lecturer of the Sentences in three different places in Europe: he read the Sentences in Bologna 1368–69; almost ten years later in Prague, 1376–77; and then, most probably, in Vienna in 1385.23 The Quaestio in vesperiis is presented in only four of the twelve manuscripts that have preserved the Commentary of Conrad: Klosterneuburg, Stiftsbibliothek, 293; Kraków, Biblioteka Jagiellońska, 1279; Oxford, Bodleian, Canon. Misc. 573 and (olim) Warszawa, Staatsbibliothek Abt. II, Chart. Lat. Fol. I. 390.24 In this quaestio, Conrad makes Anselm the main source on which he bases his theses regarding original sin and supreme rectitude. Here, Conrad debates the proportion between sin and the separation of the will from divine rectitude: whether or not the intensional extent (latitudo) of any imaginable (imaginabilis) guilt (culpa) is measured by the separation (discessum) of the will from the supreme rule of rectitude.25 This was not the 22

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Little is known about his life and intellectual journey. However, there are some important, but divergent papers about Conrad by Adolar Zumkeller, O.E.S.A., Dionysius de Montina, ein neuentdeckter Augustinertheologe des Spätmittelalters (Würzburg: Augustinus-Verlag, 1948), pp. 24–8; Kassian Lauterer, Konradd von Ebrach S.O.Cist.(†1399): Lebenslauf und Schrifttu (Roma: Editiones Cistercienses, 1962); and Venicio Marcolino, ‘Das Nachwirken der Lehre Hugolins’, in Willigis Eckermann, ed., Schwerpunkte und Wirkungen des Sentenzenkommentars Hugolins von Orvieto O.E.S.A. (Würzburg: Augustinus-Verlag, 1990), pp. 295–481, at pp. 382–3. Brinzei, Schabel, ‘Les cisterciens et l’université’. Vespera is one of the three alleged scholastic exercises of magisterial ceremony (the last step to enter the Magisters’ Corporation), among quaestio in aula and resumpta. There were two questions disputed in vesperiis and two in aula. The first two were quaestiones disputatae which were held in the evening. Five days before the event, the bachelor had to make the four questions known to the body of masters and the other bachelors. On the day of the exposition, lectures were suspended, and both the bachelors and the masters were obliged to attend the debate. For more on this topic see Bernardo C. Bazán, ‘Les questions disputées, principalement dans les Facultés de Théologie’, in Bernardo C. Bazán et al, eds., Les questions disputées et les questions quodlibétiques dans les Facultés de théologie, de droit et de médecine (Turnhout: Brepols, 1985), pp. 15–149; Chris Schabel, ‘Parisian Secular Masters on Divine Foreknowledge and Future Contingents in the Early Fourteenth Century, Part I: John of Pouilly’s Quaestio ordinaria I’, Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie médiévales, 78 (2011), 161–219 and ‘John of Pouilly’s Quaestiones ordinariae de scientia Dei’, Recherches de Théologie et Philosophie médiévales, 81 (2014), pp. 237–72. See also Brinzei, Schabel, Maga ‘The Golden Age of Theology at Prague’, p. 24. Conrad of Ebrach, Quaestionum in Quatuor Libros Sententiarum, Ms. Kraków (Biblioteka Jagiellońska 1279), f. 216ra: ‘Utrum latitudo cuiuslibet culpae imaginabilis sit mensuranda penes discessum voluntatis a regula supremae rectitudinis’.

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first time that Conrad addressed the subject of sin: the convention of commentaries on the Sentences reserved d. 30–42 of the second book for this subject, and Conrad followed this practice. A short glance at the way in which the question of sin was dealt with within the Sentences commentary tradition will help to emphasize Conrad’s distinct attitude towards the Anselmian works in the Vespera, compared to his Commentary. Investigating the manner in which Peter Lombard himself approached the question of sin shows that in a few chapters dedicated to this question no reference is made to the Anselmian writings at all. Lombard was an Augustinian. For him, sin was something positive, defined as concupiscence, and it has the form of the corruption of nature. It was Alexander of Hales who most probably brought the Anselmian works into debate, defining original sin as guilt (culpa) and punishment (poena). Similarly, the definition of actual sin is given in terms of original sin, with a specific difference: the cause of actual sin is a person’s own will, while original sin had as its cause an external will, that of the (ancient) parents.26 Sin-punishment is defined in Augustinian terms as concupiscence, whereas, sin-guilt is referred to by Anselm as the absence of required justice. Thomas Aquinas elaborated this merger of Augustine and Anselm. The use of Aristotelian categories, the formal, material, efficient, and final cause, enabled Thomas to join the two divergent authorities. Through the material cause of sin, Thomas understood concupiscence, and through the formal cause, the lack of required justice. A third part of this larger picture is the Anselmian tradition which, based on the Augustinian theory on evil as privation of good, defined sin only in negative terms.27 This was developed by John Duns Scotus and William Ockham in order to refute the Thomistic theory.28 26

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Alexander of Hales, Summa Theologica (Quaracchi, Florence: Colegii St Bonaventurae, 1930), vol. 3, Inq. 2, tract. 3, q. 3, p. 280: ‘Ad tertium dicendum quod hoc quod dicitur ‘ex proprio arbitrio procedens’ distinguit actuale mortale a mortali originali. Originale enim, etsi sit ex libero arbitrio proprio ipsorum parentum, non tamen est ex proprio arbitrio parvulorum, qui contrahunt originale peccatum ex primis parentibus’. This tripartite division is present in the Commentary on the Sentences of Gabriel Biel, Collectorium circa quatuor libros Sententiarum, II, ed. Wilfridus Werbeck, Udo Hofmann (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1984), d. 30, q. 2, a. 1, pp. 562–8. Alexander of Hales, Summa Theologica, Inq. 2, tract. 3, q. 2, pp. 236–7: ‘Ad quod dicendum quod originale habet utumque in se: et culpam et poenam. Culpa est carentia debitae iustitiae sive deformitas quaedam, qua ipsa anima deformatur; concupiscentia vero est ipsa poena, quae in parvulis dicitur concupiscibilitas, in adultis vero dicitur concupiscentia actu.’; Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, Prima Secundae Partis (qq. LXXI–CXIV ), in Opera Omnia Iussu Leonis XIII, VII (Roma, 1892), q. 82, a. 3 p. 97: ‘Sic ergo privatio originalis iustitiae, per quam voluntas subdebatur Deo, est formale in peccato originali: omnis autem alia inordinatio virium animae se habet in peccato originali sicut quiddam materiale.’; Johannes Duns Scotus, Lib. II Sententiarum, in Opera Omnia 6.2 (Lyon, 1639)

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As previously stated, there had always been a distinct relationship between the Augustinian Hermits and Cistercians concerning the exchange of ideas. This is confirmed by Conrad’s commentary of the Sentences. In the debate over sin in the second book, d. 30 and sqq., ff. 98vb–120vb Conrad copies verbatim from Hugolino of Orvieto, a fellow Augustinian of Gregory of Rimini’s.29 Rimini inherited and approved the positive Augustinian concept of sin. Normally, in dealing with the question at hand, the most important element to be defined is original sin, a starting point for all debates on sin per se. Rimini defines original sin as concupiscence. In his commentary on the second book of the Sentences, d. 30–3, q. 1, a. 2, the definitions of original sin provided by Augustine and Anselm are set in antithesis.30 Nevertheless, before addressing whether concupiscence is a substance either of the soul or of the body, or an accident placed either in the soul or in the body, Rimini affirms and supports his preferences for the Augustinian definition. The Anselmian definition is rejected, as Rimini states that Anselm’s definition is given not according to the essence of original sin, but according to its effect.31 Defining actual sin is undertaken in two stages, each in a corresponding article.32 While inquiring into the cause of sin and asking whether God is the

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repr. Georg Olms (Hildesheim, 1968) d. 32, q. 1, p. 952: ‘… ad istud peccatum concurrunt duo, carentia iustitiae, ut formale, et debitum habendi eam, ut materiale, sicut in aliis privationibus concurrit privatio et aptitudo ad habitum’. Hugolino de Orvieto, Commentarius in quattuor libros Sententiarum, ed. Willigis Eckermann, Venicio Marcolino (Würzburg: Augustinus-Verlag, 1986), tom. 3, pp. 318–564; Conrad (Ms. Kraków). What is different from Hugolino is the form in which the content is presented and a few additions that do not alter the content. Conrad divides each of his questions in three articles, whereas Hugolino favours a dual division, which leads to a discrepancy between the two Commentaries. Moreover, when Conrad builds a question, he copies verbatim from several distinctions or questions of Hugolino’s Commentary. I have followed this relationship only concerning d. 30–44. Gregorii Ariminensis, Lectura super Primum et Secundum Sententiarum, ed. Damasus Trapp and Venicio Marcolino (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1980), tom. 6, d. 30–3, q. 1, p. 182: ‘Quid appellatur peccatum originale: Nam venerabilis Anselmus in De conceptu virginali vult quod peccatum originale nihil aliud est quam carentia originalis iustitiae cum debito habendi illam…. Beatus vero Augustinus in libris diversis, ubicumque de hac materia loquitur, per peccatum originale intelligit ipsam carnalem concupiscentiam seu fomitem vel vitium concupiscibilitatis, per quod homo inclinatur ad actualiter concupiscendum’. Rimini, Lectura, d. 30–3, q. 1, p. 184: ‘Nec tamen nego quin etiam homo careat originali iustitia, cuius est debitor, ante baptismum. Sed huiusmodi carentiam non dico esse originale peccatum, sed potius effectum originalis peccati, quemadmodum privatio gratiae effectus est actualis peccati mortalis, id est quod propter mortale peccatum privatur homo gratia, ita propter originale peccatum non infundit Deus animae originalem iustitiam’. Rimini, Lectura, d. 34–7, pp. 217–56.

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efficient cause of sin, in the first article Gregory of Rimini discusses the essence of sin as such, the second article is allocated to an inquiry into the essence of actual sin. In the first article, Rimini establishes that evil may be invested with two meanings. According to the first meaning, evil is something added to an essence, with the word ‘evil’ working as an adjective: an evil man, evil angel. According to the second meaning, evil is a noun, and therefore an entity. Rimini suggests three conclusiones to test. Two of these conclusions rely on the first understanding of evil, evil as an adjective, whereas the third one concerns the second understanding, evil as a noun. The first conclusion circumscribes evil as a privation of good, an incompleteness or defect of the required good. Privation of good, in turn, may be understood from the perspective of the categories of action or of being affected. With privation by affection, reference is made to the subject that undergoes privation of good (for example, a human-being or angel who lacks the required justice), while privation by action is understood to be an agent that deprives another of good (for example, the venom of the snake in relation to a man). The second one defines evil as a positive privation that is present in an entity, so that, for example, blindness is present in the eye or darkness is present in the air. The third conclusion defines evil as complexe significabile, which is neither a thing nor an entity, for example, the fact of being confined or for humans the fact of being robbed and for animals the fact of being deprived of food. In the second article, actual sin is analysed in the same way. Here Rimini makes a distinction between a proper (proprie) and improper (improprie) way of understanding sin. The proper way of understanding actual sin is ‘that from which someone is called a sinner’. This definition of actual sin falls under the proper meaning, emphasizing the relation between actuality (the ‘doing’ character) of sin and will, as the immediate cause of it; and that is why actual sin is described as a voluntary action or voluntary omission of action against right reason (contra rectam rationem).33 The authority that validates this definition is Augustine’s Contra Faustum, 22, 27: ‘sin, then, is any transgression in deed, or word, or desire, of the eternal law’. Rimini explains what he understands by ‘eternal law’ by referring to another excerpt from Contra Faustum, 22, 27: ‘And the eternal law is the divine order or will of God, which requires the preservation of natural order, and forbids the breach of it’.34 33 34

Rimini, Lectura, d. 34–7, q. 1, p. 234: ‘Quantum ad primum, nihil asserendo tamen sed tantum probabiliter loquendo, videtur mihi posse dici quod peccatum actuale non est aliud quam voluntarie commitere aliquid vel omittere contra rectam rationem’. Augustine, Contra Faustum, ed. Joseph Zycha (Prague/Vienna/Leipzig: F. Temsky and G. Freytag, 1891), p. 621: ‘Ergo peccatum est factum uel dictum uel concupitum aliquid

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It must be taken into account that Rimini was writing in a theological context in which the English theology of Scotus, Ockham, Wodeham, Holcot and many others posits the existence of a necessary and free God. The distinction they operate with, between potentia Dei ordinata and potentia Dei absoluta, aims at placing God outside of any restraining necessity. In his freedom and omnipotence, God can change the course of any action, present, future, or past. The supremacy of will over reason in God makes the former the cause of any good. The divine commandments are good because they are willed by God and not because they originate from God’s good nature, the highest good. In this sense, God, if he wills it, may himself become the cause of evil. Moreover, in addition to the fact that he can lie or deceive, God can even command evil; the command then loses its quality of evil, becoming good because it is willed by God. However, if God’s will is in any way subject to change, no matter how small, then God himself would be changeable, and this flaw in his nature would contradict the very being of God as the Supreme Being, which includes being immune to change. Therefore, an exaggeration of this theological principle would place creation in a radical contingency that reverberates back to the creator, which would endanger God’s position as necessary being. Within this context Rimini describes the terms of his definition of actual sin by directing his project against the uncritical use of the potentia Dei absoluta principle. As per Augustine, sinning against the divine law is the same as sinning against the divine will. In the quoted passage, God’s will is determined as the preservation of the natural order, hence within the natural order it is absurd and impossible for God to command or to commit evil, since in the cosmological order evil equals the destruction of the order itself, which stays in open contradiction with God’s initial will for preservation of the created order. If God had not been good by his nature or if he could do evil, we would have to posit another good nature, angelic or human, by which the natural order would be good. Therefore, acting against natural order as originally established, namely, acting against the right reason of angels or human-beings would be a sin.35 Therefore, actual sin is not identified by Rimini with an actual entity,36

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contra aeternam legem. Lex uero aeterna est ratio diuina uel uoluntas dei ordinem naturalem conseruari iubens, perturbari uetans’ (own italics). Rimini, Lectura, d. 34–7, q. 1, p. 235: ‘Ne putetur peccatum esse praecise contra rationem divinam et non contra quamlibet rectam rationem de eodem; aut aestimetur aliquid esse peccatum, non quia est contra rationem divinam inquantum est recta, sed quia est contra eam inquantum est divina. Nam, si per impossibile ratio divina sive Deus ipse non esset aut ratio illa esset errans, adhuc, si quis ageret contra rectam rationem angelicam vel humanam aut aliam aliquam, si qua esset, peccaret’. Rimini, Lectura, d. 34–7, q. 1, p. 248: ‘Secunda conclusio, videlicet quod nullum peccatum actuale—loquendo proprie ut supra de tali peccato—est aliqua entitas, probatur primo

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but rather with a state of affairs: the action is evil because it is directed against God qua recta rationem, not against his divinity.37 To that end, he refers to the concept of complexe significabile, which corresponds, not to a simple object, but to a state of affairs, a way of being.38 When Hugolino lectures on the Sentences, he follows Rimini, but he does so with a critical approach, disposing certain aspects of the doctrine of original sin. He inquires whether original sin is formally ( formaliter) the deprivation of original justice.39 The matter is approached with an excerpt from Anselm’s De conceptu, in which the answer to this question is assertive: I can understand this sin [original sin] to be nothing else in these infants except the above-mentioned deprivation of required justice which was caused by Adam’s disobedience and through which all men are sons of wrath.40 Augustine is opposed to Anselm through a passage from 1 Retractationes, in which original sin is identified as concupiscentia.41 In the second article of this

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ex dictis, quoniam nullum tantum complexe vel aequivalenter significabile est aliqua entitas’. Rimini, Lectura, d. 34–7, q. 1, pp. 249–50: ‘Item idem in De perfectione iustitiae, circa principium, recitat unum argumentum Coelestii, quo probare nitebatur hominem vitare posse peccatum. Sic autem arguebat ille (Augustinus): “quaerendum est, quid est peccatum, actus an res. Si res est, ut auctorem habeat necesse est. Et si auctorem habere dicitur, iam alter praeter Deum rei alicuius auctor induci videbitur. Aut si hoc dici impium est, confiteri necesse est peccatum omne actum esse, non rem. Si igitur actus est, immo quia vere actus est, vitari potest”. Hic patet quod etiam “rem” iste accipit universaliter pro entitate, quoniam alias alicuius entitatis Deus non esset auctor, sicut nec peccati; quod ipse reputat falsum, et vere, ut in sequenti patebit articulo. Concludit ergo iste primo peccatum non esse entitatem sed actum, et deinde infert quod potest vitari’. Rimini, Lectura, d. 34–7, q. 1, a. 2, prima conclusio, primum corollarium, p. 235: ‘… peccatum non est aliquid incomplexe significabile, sed complexe tantum’. For this matter see Pascale Bermon, L’assentiment et son object chez Grégoire de Rimini (Paris: Vrin, 2007), pp. 105–24. See Hugolino, Commentarius, d. 30–3, q. 2, pp. 479–500. Anselm, De conceptu virginali et de originali peccato, 27, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 170: ‘Hoc peccatum, quod originale dico, aliud intelligere nequeo in eisdem infantibus, nisi ipsam quam supra posui factam per inobedientiam Adae iustitiae debitae nuditatem, per quam omnes filii sunt irae’. Augustinus, Retractationum libri II, ed. Almut Mutzenbecher (Turnhout: Brepols, 1984), 1.15.2, p. 46: ‘Hoc enim peccatum usque adeo non est in uoluntate, ut dicat: Quod nolo hoc facio. Quomodo ergo nusquam est nisi in uoluntate peccatum? Sed hoc peccatum, de quo sic est locutus apostolus, ideo peccatum uocatur, quia peccato factum est et poena peccati est; quando quidem hoc de concupiscentia carnis dicitur, quod aperit in consequentibus

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question, Hugolino aims at establishing eight conclusions that, being complementary, are set to determine, as precisely as possible, concupiscence as original sin, a definition antithetical to the Scotist view. Even though he does not state this directly, the first two conclusions are directed against the Scotist definition which endorsed that original sin, in terms of formal cause, is the absence of original justice and, in regards to material cause, it is the unfulfilled obligation to have original justice.42 The next two conclusions have the purpose of differentiating between original sin and actual sin. The mind captive to the administration of the body through carnal desires, a servitude that had not existed in prelapsarian period, is what is meant by ‘original sin’. Therefore, the supervenient conclusion states that this definition is also suitable for actual sin. Hugolino’s fifth and sixth conclusions are a critique of Rimini’s view. No substance and no quality is formally ( formaliter) original guilt. Rimini had argued in the second book of his commentary that original sin is a quality of the soul, caused by its union with the sinful body.43 In this way, in the Augustinian vocabulary, that which is expelled by baptism is none other than the blameable feature or the quality of original sin-guilt (reatus), whereas after christening the essence of original sin (concupiscibilitas) persists as a positive concupiscible tendency in the body.44 The child is cleansed of the effect of original sin through baptism, but the appetite is still inclined towards sinful desires. In response, Hugolino supports the idea that original sin is an accident and the possibility of forgiveness through baptism is due to this fact. If it had not been an accident, original sin would have continued to exist as a quality of the soul after baptism. The fact that original sin is an accident is defended by two theses: first, original sin cannot be a quality because any quality, and any

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dicens: Scio quia non habitat in me hoc est in carne mea bonum; uelle enim adiacet mihi, perficere autem bonum non’. Duns Scotus, Lib. II Sententiarum, d. 32, q. 1: ‘… ad istud peccatum concurrunt duo, carentia iustitiae, ut formale, et debitum habendi eam, ut materiale, sicut in aliis privationibus concurrit privatio et aptitudo ad habitum’; Hugolino Commentarius, d. 30–3, q. 2: ‘Prima conclusio: originale peccatum non est formaliter et convertibiliter privatio vel esse privatum. Secunda conclusio: Originale peccatum non est formaliter debitum habendi iustitiam originalem’. Rimini, Lectura, d. 30–3, q. 1, p. 185: ‘Tertio, dicendum quod tale vitium causatur in anima ex vitio carnis seu quadam morbida qualitate, quam ex libidinosa concupiscentia coeuntium parentum caro prolis contrahit dum concipitur …’. Rimini, Lectura, d. 30–3, q. 1, p. 194: ‘Nam tollitur quoad reatum, non tollitur autem quoad essentiam, hoc est quod vitium illud sive qualitas illa, quae dicitur concupiscibilitas et est ante baptismum originale peccatum, manet quidem secundum essentiam suam etiam post baptismum, non manet autem ad reatum …’.

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substance, is created by God, and God is not the author of evil; therefore any quality is good. Second, if original sin is a quality, then it is not possible to explain its propagation, because no quality passes from one substance to the other in the same way as a substance switches places.45 Hugolino continues his argument against Rimini: in the seventh conclusion he argues that whatever is propagated through procreation is only the effect of original sin, namely, the state of aversion from God (a Deo aversa).46 Finally, in the eighth conclusion Hugolino brings forward the following definition of original sin: ‘… the mind that was turned away from God and by Adam’s sin was made captive to the administration of the body …’47 He would later explain each term of the definition and this method would be exploited extensively by Conrad in his Commentary. The consequence of these eight conclusions is a limited adoption of Anselmian teaching on original sin. According to Hugolino, the definition of original sin as the absence of required justice is an incomplete one, but sufficient for circumscribing original sin as effect and cause. If Rimini had accepted that the Anselmian definition of original sin was appropriate if understood as referring to the effect of sin, Hugolino will concede more: the Anselmian definition covers both the effect and the cause of original sin, since turning the mind away from God is not only a consequence of the original sin, that is the absence of the required justice, but also the act that led to the loss of original justice. As stated above, Conrad copies verbatim from Hugolino’s Commentary, which would suggest that Anselm would also have been included. In fact, here the aim is to pick up an essential definition (quid sit) of original sin, and Anselm is left out.48 In the beginning of the question, where Hugolino places Augustine and Anselm in antithesis, and subsequently their definitions of original sin as well, Conrad chooses to dismiss the section. Again, the final part of a. 2 where Hugolino returns to the issue posed in the introduction of 45

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Hugolino, Commentarius, d. 30–3, q. 2, p. 489: ‘Quinta conclusio: Nulla una qualitas vel essentia est formaliter culpa originalis. Sexta conclusio: qualitercumque ex dono Dei contingat mentem brutaliter captivatam et aversam, quod est de per se deformitas ipsius originalis peccati, converti in Deum et per se consequens reformari, tollitur originale peccatum et non aliter quoad deformitatem … Ex hoc patet, quod non bene dicit Gregorius dicens, quod illa qualitas ante baptismum erat originalis culpa et post baptismum non’. Hugolino, Commentarius, d. 30–3, q. 2, p. 489: ‘Septima conclusio: Non est necessarium ad contrahendum originale, quod proles concupiscentialiter a parentibus sit procreata, sed quia de moribundo ex peccato, scilicet Adae, moribundum seminatur carens subiectione consentanea, quam hereditaria donatione accepit’. Hugolino, Commentarius, d. 30–3, q. 2, p. 490: ‘… secundum mentem averti a Deo captivatam administrare corpus ex peccato Adae …’. Conrad (Ms. Kraków), d. 30–4, ff. 98vb–102va.

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the same question and makes the previously mentioned concession to the Anselmian definition, is missing from Conrad’s commentary. However, copying verbatim from Hugolino sets the ‘Conrad as he emerges in the commentary’ in the Augustinian tradition of interpretation, with original sin understood as concupiscence. Conrad’s attitude toward Anselmian thought and works displayed in Vespera is quite noticeable. The question is divided into three articles, in the same manner in which Conrad builds his commentary.49 In the first article, the terms of debate are established. He provides each term of the question with a well-established meaning in order to later reuse it to ground his debating technique against his opponent on definitions of those terms. Anselm’s works are the source that will provide him with the necessary definitions. From the beginning of the first article, Conrad employs the term culpa which he equals to peccatum. The exploitation of this word is the first clue to Conrad’s decision to use Anselm as an authority in his response to his opponent. This term is used extensively in the tradition of Sentences beginning with Alexander of Hales. However, before Anselm, and before Alexander’s use of Anselmian writings in his Summa, the common term for guilt employed in dealing with the doctrine of sin is the Augustinian one, reatus. Augustine framed for the first time the distinction between originale peccatum and originalis reatus. The repercussion of original sin, the originale peccatum, is the legacy of a mortal nature, whereas originalis reatus is what binds all people into one mass ruled by carnal concupiscence.50 The term reatus is, then, applied in relation to a positive description of sin. Anselm, subscribing to negative description of original sin, paid no attention to this Augustinian term.51 In his Vespera neither did Conrad. The first definition Conrad advances is intended to find a universal concept of sin that would include both original sin and actual sin. To this end, he makes use of the Anselmian conception that apprehends sin as belonging entirely and exclusively to a rational will. Sin is defined as the will that is disposed in a way that is not its own.52 In the subsequent explanation, Conrad quotes De veritate, c. 7 to link up the will with the definition of the rectitude of being. 49 50 51 52

For the illustration of the way in which Conrad decides to divide each distinctio and quaestio see Brinzei, Schabel ‘Les cisterciens et l’université’, Annexe, pp. 473–86. Augustine, De diversis quaestionibus ad Simplicianum, ed. Almut Mutzenbecher (Turnhout: Brepols, 1970) 1.1.10, p. 15 and 1.2.20, pp. 50–3. Kevin A. McMahon, ‘Anselm and the Guilt of Adam’, The Saint Anselm Journal, 2 (2004), p. 87. Conrad, Quaestio in vespera (Ms. Kraków), f. 216ra: ‘Culpa seu peccatum est voluntatem aliqualiter esse qualiter debet non esse’.

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Defining will, and implicitly sin, in terms of ontology, highlights the fact that sin is a universal state of affairs; only an ontological relational dependency between will and sin can explain this defective condition shared by all created beings. A complementary excerpt from the same work, c. 4, in which angelic sin is connected with the will that lacks its rectitude, is added so as to include under the same sinful condition the angelic natures. At the same time, such a definition of the will is intended to make clear that the meaning of the term ‘will’ considered here circumscribes only one of the three signification of the term in Anselm’s writings, namely, that of will as disposition.53 In the second section of the first article, Conrad develops at length the division of sin into original sin and actual sin. Original sin is further defined by summarizing a number of chapters from De conceptu.54 According to Anselm, human nature is endowed with two essential powers useful in explaining the propagation of original sin, the faculty of will and the faculty of procreation. Unlike Augustine, Anselm argues that the first sin did not change human nature into something new, its guilt is not transferred by a physical process, nor is it present in seminal matter. Humanity’s life under the rule of sin begins only at the moment of conjunction between the will and the corrupted nature that has been inherited from Adam by the generative faculty. The debt that humanity has, as a result of Adam’s sin, is particularly stressed. Conrad reproduces here, as a conclusion, a fragment from Hugolino (see Appendix). A textual comparison allows the observation that in his Vespera Conrad reads Hugolino in a critical way, and Hugolino’s work is reconstructed so as to meet Conrad’s purpose. Hugolino’s passage is part of his debate against the Anselmian definition of original sin as the privation of required justice. He reaches his conclusion by employing Augustinian sources. On the contrary, Conrad, following the amendments he makes, connects his slightly modified conclusion to Anselm in a direct and assertive way: ‘this definition is taken from different chapters of the same book of Anselm mentioned before [that is De Conceptu]’.55 Actual sin is illustrated by using the same Anselmian source, De conceptu c. 1. On this occasion, however, the definition extracted from Anselm is supported 53 54

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An expository approach of the subject can be found in Sandra Visser and Thomas Williams, ‘Anselm’s account of freedom’, in Brian Davies and Brian Leftow, eds., The Cambridge Companion to Anselm (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 179–203. Conrad (Ms. Kraków), f. 216rb: ‘Potest igitur breviter sic describi: culpa originalis est homi­ nem ex Adam secundum naturam propagandi potestati, scilicet ipsius Adae, subditam ad originalem iustitiam obligari, cuius mens a Deo aversa captivatur ad administrandum corpus ex peccato moribundum, secundum desideria carnis’. Conrad, Quaestio in vespera (Ms. Kraków), f. 216rb.

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with arguments taken from Augustine, commonplaces in the arguments built by Rimini and Hugolino.56 Actual sin is defined as a voluntary action or voluntary omission of action. Conrad is more accurate, however, than either Rimini or Hugolino and takes a step forward, for the Cistercian defines action as internal action above all. Hence, actual sin is understood as what is committed by the mind in a voluntary way.57 Most probably, when he offers these definitions of sin as a basis for the current debate, Conrad was considering first of all the Oxford tradition. The way in which definitions are encompassed and their mutual complementarity embody a doctrine on sin, and implicitly on evil, which shows Conrad rejecting errors in the English tradition of the commentaries. The errors that he refers to here, have already been discussed by Conrad in his commentary: that Christ could utter and think the erroneous; that he could err by the created will and consequently lie; that God is the cause of any act and of any defective circumstance.58 In articles two and three, Conrad discusses the issue itself: whether the separation of the will from the right reason is the appropriate criterion for assessing sin. Ever since the beginning of the scholastic debate, the subject is set forth in the terms of the calculatory tradition, advanced in Oxford. The Oxford Calculators, who included Richard Swineshead, Thomas Bradwardine, Richard Kilvington, William Heytesbury, Roger Swineshead, and John Dumbleton, approached theological problems by reformulating them in mathematical terminology and solving them by measure or calculations: how intensely (hot), what is the minimum or maximum (time), what is the distance (between two things), and so forth. Although there is no direct reference to this tradition in his Vespera, Conrad applies it directly to the matter of sin. His interaction with 56

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Conrad, Quaestio in vespera (Ms. Kraków), f. 216vb: ‘Unde Augustinus 22 Contra Faustum: ‘peccatum est factum, id est facere, vel dictum, id est dicere, vel concupitum, id est concupiscere, contra legem eternam …’. ‘Lex autem eterna’, ut dicit ibidem Augustinus, ‘est ratio divina vel voluntas Dei, ordinem naturalem servare iubens turbari vetans’. Conrad, Quaestio in vespera (Ms. Kraków), f. 216vb: ‘Culpa actualis est voluntarie agere vel obmittere, qualiter quis debet non agere vel non obmittere. […] quod est mentem voluntarie committere aliqualiter difformiter debito …’. Conrad, Liber primus (Ms. Kraków), d. 40–1, q. 2, a. 3, f. 55ra: ‘Sed quarto nego illam consequentiam propter quemdam articulum Parisiensem de novo condemnatum, qui est quod Christus potuit dixisse falsum et falsum asseruisse assertione creata tam mentali quam vocali—error. Item, propter quemdam articulum dicentem quod possibile est Christum errasse secundum volitionem creatam et mendacium protulisse—error’. Liber secundus, d. 44, q. 3, a. 3, f. 114ra: ‘Contra Bradwardinum…. Et 349 est quod Deus est causa cuiuslibet modi actus et cuiuslibet circumstantiae productae—. Item, 299, qui est quod Deus est causa aliqualiter actus demeritorii ut demeritorius est—error. Item, 309, quod Deus est causa peccati ut peccatum est—error’.

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Oxford tradition, however, is mediated by the commentaries of the Sentences of his fellow Cistercians, John of Mirecourt and Peter of Ceffons. These two both employed the techniques of measurement in purely theological matters, for example, the question of will and merit, or the debates on sin.59 The technique employed here by Conrad in order to measure the extent of a sin and to analyse it into genera and species has benefited from the contributions of Mirecourt and Ceffons. The chance to apply these techniques to the issue approached in the Vespera is presented by the arguments of a socius who states (1) that original sin deserves a lighter punishment than venial sin; (2) that mortal sin is less evil than venial sin; and (3) that a moderate (modicum) mortal sin exceeds an infinite venial sin. The first reply consists of a reference to Anselm’s authority, De conceptu c. 25, where it is argued that original sin is equally present in all humanity. An interpretation of the word iniustitia, which Anselm used regarding original sin, motivates Conrad to classify original sin as mortal sin, and the punishment for a single mortal sin is an equal and constant, but most severe one, that is, eternal punishment. The second reply consists in constructing an image that would serve Conrad as a measuring tool for the extent and gravity of sin, depending on which genera and species of sins are established.60 In line with the ontological definition of the will that he had provided in the beginning of the first article, it seems that for Conrad, quality is convertible with being: just as good is convertible with being, so evil or sin is convertible with non-being. Any change of degree in sin is followed by an equal change of degree in being. For every kind of sin there is a corresponding movement away from the Supreme Being. Given that the Supreme Being (summum gradus) is infinitely different from any other species, and species distinguish themselves from one another in an infinite way, in order for the measurement of sin to be completed, a zero degree (non gradus) needs to be posited. Starting with this zero-degree, generation and corruption, advancing in grace (gratia) or towards 59

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For a discussion on the reception and development of this tradition in Paris among Cistercians, see John E. Murdoch, ‘Subtilitates Anglicanae in Fourteenth-Century Paris: John of Mirecourt and Peter Ceffons’, in Madeleine P. Cosman, ed., Machaut’s World. Science and Art in the Fourteenth Century (New York: The New York Academy of Sciences, 1978), pp. 51–86. Conrad, Quaestio in vespera (Ms. Kraków), f. 218ra: ‘Processus latitudinis generis malitiae actualis mortalis est ymaginandus incipere ab esse puro, non includente gratiam vel mise­riam et tendere versus nichil sive non esse. Pro intellectu regulae ymaginemur purum viatorem qui nec sit in culpa nec in gratia, cuius status sit neuter sive medius, sic ‘b’. Ita quod quaelibet latitudo supra sit ymaginali quasi puncto, sic esse gratiae, et quaelibet versus deorsum infra, miseriae’.

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its opposite (miseria) divides the genus of sins into venial and mortal. Venial sin is the one that grows away from the divine rule; mortal sin is the one that grows away from divine life. The former is alienation from the Supreme Being, whereas the latter is alienation towards non-being. The species of each genus are established by using the theory of uniform and ‘difform’ motion. If a body undergoing local motion at a constant speed throughout a given time interval crosses a space, that motion is considered to be uniform. If, in the same conditions, the body starts moving from zero degree with a constant acceleration, the motion is called a uniformly difform motion. In the same way, a quality is called uniform or difform. Thus, the more a venial or mortal sin produces a bigger qualitative separation (difformitas) from or towards Supreme Being or non-being, the more it belongs to a more evil species of venial or mortal sin. The effect or the extent of a small sin repeated a hundred times equals the effect and extent of a one hundred worse single evil sin. Nevertheless, they remain different species of sin, just as the uniform and difform motion remain different species of motion, even if their result is the same. It must also be mentioned that there is no limit in advancing towards non-being. The connection between Conrad and Ceffons is more visible when the former argues for the existence of an infinite excess between the species of sins and what’s more, of the increase or decrease of individuals in a species. This phenomenon is illustrated by Ceffons in his investigation on the curvilinear angles.61 As a result, for Conrad, the genera and species of sins are of an infinite internal extent; otherwise, one species could be emptied by the exhaustion of all individuals in that species. This would state nothing other than the fact that a person cannot become more evil through the same species of sin, an argument which is rejected by the Cistercian. The limit of any genus or species of sin is an external one, because they limited one another but coexisted as if dots on a continual line. Each species has its own intensional extent (latitude of degrees) that differentiates it from other species, but these species are consecutive and gradual in degree. The description of sin in ontological terms, the use of the calculatory theory, mediated by Mirecourt and Ceffons, and overlapping of the theme of sin with the theme of the (im)perfections of being, are elements that will lead Conrad to answer the question in the affirmative: the extent of any sin is measurable through alienation from divine rectitude. However, the meaning of this alienation or privation of supreme rectitude is somewhat different than it is for 61

Murdoch, ‘Subtilitates Anglicanae’, pp. 61–7.

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Anselm. If, for Anselm, sin as privation consists of the absence of good and of required justice, for Conrad, sin is privation of the life and being of God. It is no longer about losing something that man had received from God, but about the very loss of God.62 In the end, we must remember that Conrad’s frequent reference to Anselm’s authority is only one example of the fourteenth century tendency to rely on theological authorities writing before 1200, especially Augustine and Anselm. But what is remarkable in these examples from late scholastic writings, including Conrad’s Vespera, is that the relationship between Augustine and Anselm had changed, in spite of the approach established by the Augustinian Hermits. For Conrad, Anselm is more than a necessary and effective tool in clarifying some of the Augustinian conceptions. The Anselmian works are valuable for the actuality of the matter and for the solutions to contemporary issues that may be found in them. Moreover, their content is more appropriate to the conceptions, tools and logico-mathematical type of investigation in theology brought into play by the late fourteenth century commentators. Two things which are intertwined are not contingent in this matter. First and foremost that the logico-mathematical techniques intruded into theological debates primarily where the Anselmian writings were available and where even their commentaries were found, namely, in England.63 Second, that Anselm’s views reached the continent furthest by the agency of the Oxford tradition, and that the interest of continental commentators in Anselm’s writings emerged as a reaction for or against this tradition. One last observation concerns Conrad and the Cistercians directly. As Conrad adheres, in the Quaestio in vesperiis, to his Cistercian predecessors when it comes to using mathematical techniques in solving issues related

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Conrad, Quaestio in vespera (Ms. Kraków), f. 220ra: ‘Quinta conclusio: nec dicta malitia debet mensurari penes quantitatem iustitiae, cuius quis est debitor dum peccat. Correlarium: quod nec debet mensurari penes indispositionem ad bonum, quam quis incidit ex peccato. Sexta conclusio: malitia privativa in culpa mortali est tanta quanta est latitudo privati esse Deo vivificatae et iustificatae, et penes istam debet mensurari. Illud autem privatum esse Deo est elongatio a Deo et est tanta elongatio, quanta est indignitas ex iniustitia’. The English Carmelite Baconthorp has commentaries on the following Anselmian writings: De incarnatione Verbi and Cur Deus homo. See also Bartholomaeus M. Xiberta, De scriptoribus scholasticis saeculi XIV ex ordine Carmelitarum (Louvain: Bureau de la Revue, 1931), p. 189.

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strictly to theology, we may infer, as a confirmation of the idea supported by Chris Schabel, that the Cistercians form a group in this regard, as with the Filioque issue.64 Where Conrad is concerned, the most challenging aspect from a methodological point of view is the fact that he applied these devices precisely in Vespera even though he knew about Mirecourt’s condemnation, and he was also most probably aware of John Gerson’s accusations against John of Ripa. Most of all, Conrad must have known the official admonition in the University of Paris statutes of 1366 that forbade the use of logical, mathematical and philosophical subtleties in theological matters.65 Nevertheless, Conrad applied mathematical methods specifically in the second question debated in Vespera, a question limited to theological matters by the university statutes.

Acknowledgement

This chapter is presented in light of on-going research for my PhD thesis at Babeș-Bolyai University, ‘The Reception of Anselm of Canterbury in the Commentary on the Sentences of the Second Half of the 14th Century’. I am preparing the thesis under the guidance of Professors Alexander Baumgarten (Cluj, UBB) and Monica Brinzei (Paris, IRHT) whom I would like to thank for inviting me to join this project, for offering me advice, as well as for providing access to the sources, especially manuscripts, all of which made this research possible. Access to Conrad’s manuscripts was granted by THESIS ERC project no. 313339. I provided editorial work and the apparatus criticus for Conrad’s Vespera which is in preparation for publication. This paper is a result of a doctoral research facilitated by the financial support of the Sectorial Operational Program for Human Resources Development 2007–13, and co-financed by the European Social Fund, under the project POSDRU/187/1.5/S/155383 ‘Quality, excellence, transnational mobility in doctoral research’.

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See Schabel, ‘Cistercian University’. Chartularium Universitatis Parisiensis, ed. Henri Denifle, III (Bruxelles, 1964), p. 144: ‘Item quod legentes Sententias non tractent questiones aut materias logicas vel philosophicas, nisi quantum textus Sententiarum requiret, aut solutiones argumentorum exigent, sed moveant et tractent questiones theologicas, speculativas vel morales, ad distinctiones pertinentes’.

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Appendix: The Theological Common Ground between Hugolino and Conrad in the Definition of Original Sin

Hugolino, Commentarius in qua­ tuor libros Sententiarum, p. 490 Octava conclusio: hominem ex Adam ad originalem iustitiam hereditarie obligatum secundum mentem averti a Deo captivatam administrare corpus ex peccato Adae moribundum secundum desideria carnis—hoc sic esse est formaliter peccatum originale. Ex hoc quod primo dicitur ‘hominem’, patet quod totus homo, non sola anima, sufficit ut contrahatur originale. Secundo dicitur ‘ex Adam’, quia, si esset noviter creatus, non esset originale proprie. ‘Hereditarie obligatum’, ut supra patet in probatione quintae conclusionis. ‘Ad originalem iustitiam’, per hoc sequitur quod, si baptizetur, non amplius pertinet ad Adam, sed efficitur in morte Christi mortuus peccato Adae et vivus Deo, et ideo obligatur ad vitam gratiae et esse filius Novi Testamenti. ‘Secundum mentem averti a Deo’, hoc est formaliter deformitas mortalis, quae non tolletur umquam, nisi per gratiam. ‘Captivatam’, scilicet ex unione ad corpus moribundum, non ex actu spontaneae operationis propriae personalis. ‘Administrare’ brutaliter; ecce effectus peccati originalis. ‘Corpus moribundum ex peccato Adae’; ecce causa originis vitiatae.

Conrad, Ms. Kraków, Biblioteka Jagiellońska 1279, ff. 216rb–216va … culpa originalis est homine ex Adam secundum naturam propagandi potestati, scilicet ipsius Adae subditam, ad originalem iustitiam obligari, cuius mens a Deo aversa captivatur ad administrandum corpus ex peccato moribundum secundum desideria carnis. Haec descriptio colligitur ex diversis capitulis Anshelmi in libro praeallegato […]. Ex quibus patet praedictam clausulam esse necesariam ad completam descriptionem originalis culpae. Ex quo patet quod, si quis homo de novo crearetur, non esset in culpa originali. Sed per hoc quod dicitur ‘ex Adam etc. ad originalem iustitiam obligari’ denotatur quod, si quis pertinet ad Adam ante baptismum, quando baptizatur non amplius pertinet ad Adam, nec obligatur ex Adam ad originalem iustitiam, sed erit in baptismo morte Christi mortuus peccato Adae et vivuus Deo. Vivuus, inquam, vita gratiae ad quam obligatur, propter quod efficitur filius Novi Testamenti et non plus est filius Adae terrestris primi, sed filius Adae secundi celestis. Per hoc etiam quod dicitur ‘cuius mens a Deo aversa’ ponitur deformitas ipsius culpae mortalis. Omne enim a Deo aversam voluntatem esse est esse in culpa mortali, quae culpa non tollitur nisi per gratiam. Cum vero dicitur ‘captivatur’, scilicet mens aversa, intelligitur mens sic captivari non ex actu proprio seu demerito spontaneo personali, quomodo captivatur etiam quilibet ex actuali mortali’ sed includitur illa captivatio mentis ex unione ipsius ad corpus corruptibile sive moribundum propter peccatum Adae, de quo satis dicit Anselmus ubi supra, capitulis 2, 11 et 12 coniunctim.

Cistercians and the Assimilation of Anselm The eighth conclusion: the human being ⟨descending⟩ from Adam was hereditarily compelled to have the original righteousness (according to the turned-away-from-God mind, which through Adam’s sin was taken captive by the administration of the body ruled by carnal desires)—this way of being is formally the original sin. Firstly, because it is said ‘the human being’, we know that the whole man, not only the soul, is needed for the propagation of original sin. Secondly, it is said ‘from Adam’, because, if ⟨the human being⟩ were created again, the original ⟨sin⟩ itself would not exist. ‘Hereditarily compelled’—⟨has to be understood in the same way⟩ as clearly shown above when proving the fifth conclusion. ‘To have original righteousness’—it means that if someone were baptized, he would no longer belong to Adam, for it is through Christ’s death that he is dead to Adam’s sin and alive to God, and therefore he is bound to have the life of grace and to be a son of the new covenant. ‘According to the turned-away-from-God mind’—this is formally a mortal deformity, which will never be forgiven, except by grace. ‘Was taken captive’—that is, by its union with the mortal body, not by the act of a voluntary, individual, ⟨and⟩ personal action. ‘Administering’ in a brutish way—here is the effect of the original sin. ‘The mortal body on account of Adam’s sin’—here is the cause of the faulty origin.

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The human being inherits the original guilt from Adam in accordance with the propagation faculty, that is the one subjected to Adam, compelled to have original righteousness, whose turned-away-from-God mind was taken captive by the administration of the body ruled by carnal desires. This description is gathered from various chapters of the aforementioned book of Anselm. Consequently, it is clear that the aforesaid conclusion is needed in order to have a full description of the original guilt. Therefore, if the human being were created again, it would not have the original guilt. But because it is said ‘from Adam etc. it is compelled to have original righteousness’ it is shown that if someone belonged to Adam before getting baptized, they would no longer belong to Adam when baptized, neither would they be compelled because of Adam to have the original righteousness, and it is through Christ’s death that they are dead to Adam’s sin and alive to God. Alive, I say, through the life of grace to which they are bound, because they are made sons of the new covenant, so, they are no longer sons of the first, the earthly Adam, but of the second, the heavenly Adam. By saying ‘whose turned-away-from-God mind’, the deformity of the original guilt itself is exposed; since, for the will, to-be-away-from-God is the same as to be in the state of mortal guilt. However, when it is said ‘was taken captive’, that is, the turned-away mind, it has to be understood that the mind is not thus enslaved by an individual act or by a voluntary ⟨and⟩ personal demerit as everyone’s ⟨mind⟩ is indeed enslaved by an actual mortal sin, but ⟨the expression⟩ is restricted to that enslavement of mind that emerged from its union with the corruptible or mortal body on account of Adam’s sin, of which Anselm spoke duly in the place mentioned above, chapters 2, 11 and 12 conjunctly.

chapter 13

The Admonitio morienti and a Vernacular Anselm Margaret Healy-Varley How did readers or listeners in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries encounter Anselm’s writings? What kind of authority did they think he was, if they knew his name at all? In England, he might have been known from the interrogations of the dying, a vernacular translation of his Admonitio morienti, found in twenty-eight of the twenty-nine extant manuscripts of the De visitacione infirmorum, or in the fifteen extant manuscripts of the Book of the Craft of Dying: Brother art thou glad that thou shalt dye in the feyth of cryst? The syke man aunsuerith yhe. Knowest thou wel. that thow hast not doo. as thou shuldest haue y doo? He aunsuerith yhe. Repentyst the therof? He aunsuerith yhe. Hast thou ful wille to amende the. yf thou myghtest haue ful space of lyf? He aunsuerith yhe. Byleusyt thou fully. that our lord ih[es]u cryst goddys sone deyde for the? He seyeth yhe. Thankist thou hym therof wiþ al thyn herte? He aunsuerith yhe. Byleuyst thou verraily. that thou mayst not be saued. but by cristys passyon? He aunsuerith yhe.1 The Admonitio in itself is not a marvel of theological argument, and it does not contain theological or devotional content that clearly draws from any of Anselm’s prayers and meditations, his treatises, or his letters. It is instead the call-and-response of pastoral care, a catechetical, teaching and testing moment before the dying is absolved of sin, given a blessing and can die safely in the knowledge that he or she can look forward to eternal life. On the page, it can read as flat and static, a series of catechetical questions, one-word answers, and a brief response for the attending priest to follow: ‘Do you rejoice, because you are dying in the Christian Faith? They should respond: Yes. Are you joyful because you are dying in a monastic habit? They should respond: Yes’. as the

1 The Book of the Craft of Dying in Oxford, Bodley MS 423, f.233v–234r. See also the edition in G. R. Morgan, ‘A Critical Edition of Caxton’s The Art and Craft to Know Well to Die and Ars Moriendi Together with the Antecedent Manuscript Material’, 2 vols. Ph.D. diss., University of Oxford (1972).

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text in Lambeth MS 59 begins.2 But the Admonitio scripts a highly charged, intimate moment in simple yet elevated language to lift the mind and do the work of prayer and meditation in both the priest and the dying: Act, therefore, while there still is a soul in you, place all your trust in this death alone, trust in no other thing, devote yourself wholly to this death, bury yourself in this alone, enclose yourself wholly in this death, and if the Lord should want to stand in judgement over you, say …3 The rhythm of the questions and direction to the dying, the repetition of the responses in turn, focus the attention away from what is about to be lost, and towards faith and trust in the death of Christ to stand between the sinner and the sins in the eyes of God. The attending priest is given several possible responses to the dying, whether they be in fear for their sins, or of damnation, or of God’s anger, each bringing to mind the passion and redemption. The final instruction to the dying to recite In manus tuas commendo spiritum meum ‘into your hands I commend my spirit’ three times is the final act of surrendering the will. The Admonitio had a very wide circulation in England in books for both clergy and laity in addition to the De visitacione infirmorum and the Book of the Craft of Dying, appearing in, for example, the Sarum manual; the translations of the continental Tractatus de arte bene moriendi, including William Caxton’s Art and Craft to Know Well to Die; John Mirk’s Instructions for Parish Priests; a translation into a poem, De visitatio infirmorum et concolacione miserorum, by John Audelay.4 Either Anselm’s text itself, or simply the name of Anselm, 2 London, Lambeth MS 59, f.161v: ‘Laeteris, quod in fide Christiana moreris? Respondeat: Etiam. Gaudes, quia moreris in habitu monachico? Respondeat: Etiam’. See also the edition in Memorials of Saint Anselm, eds. R. W. Southern and F. S. Schmitt (London: Published for the British Academy by Oxford University Press, 1969), p. 353. My thanks to Sigbjørn Olsen Sønnesyn for providing translations from the Latin and for correcting my own. 3 London, Lambeth MS 59, f.161v: ‘Age ergo, dum superest in te anima, in hac sola morte totam fiduciam tuam constitue, in nulla alia re habeas fidiciam, huic morti te totum committe, hac sola te totum contege, hac morte totum te involve, et si dominus deus te voluerit iudicare, dic …’. 4 See Robert Kinpoitner, ‘An Edition of De visitacione infirmorum’, Ph.D. diss., Fordham University (1974), pp. c–cx. See also Anselm of Canterbury, De Quatuordecim Partibus Beatitudinis = the Fourteen Parts of Blessedness: Chapter 5 of Dicta Anselmi by Alexander of Canterbury, with Anselmian Interpolations: The Latin, Middle English (‘The Joys of Paradise’) and Anglo-Norman Versions in Lichfield Cathedral Library MS. 16, Ff. 190r–247v, eds. Avril Henry and D. A. Trotter (Oxford: Society for the Study of Mediaeval Languages and Literature, 1994), p. 9, especially for the connection to Lichfield MS 16.

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appears to work as a sort of guarantee of efficacy, and a presence that whoever was directing the deathbed confession could take on, embody and voice: Seynt Ancelyne erchebisschop of cauntt[er]bury saith. þat a seke man langwissende to þe deth schulde of his prest þ[at] ben askede. [and] þus he ansswer. Brother art þou glad.5 Anselm was very much in ordinary people’s homes, at their bedsides, at the hour of their death as in the De visitacione infirmorum, or, as in the Craft of Dying, read as a spiritual preparation for death. Among the more thought-provoking features of any account of the life, thought and reception of St Anselm of Canterbury is in considering how many places and how many different forms Anselm could appear, both personally and textually. As Southern expressed the undertaking, To attempt to portray Anselm in all his varied activities as monk, prior, abbot, archbishop; as philosopher, theologian, writer of private prayers and meditations; in his letters of spiritual counsel and ecclesiastical policy; as man of God, friend, teacher and guide to the spiritual life; and his relations with popes, kings, episcopal colleagues, lay men and women, monks and nuns, is one of the most challenging tasks in medieval history. The number of possible combinations in which his life and thought played a part is very large.6 Anselm was many things to many people but he was so, both in his lifetime and in his posthumous reputation, while still maintaining a certain kind of integrity that could be called charisma, a talent for being an authority.7 Anselm’s talent for authority is especially evident in his prayers and meditations. Mary Edsall argues that in the letter that prefaces the collection of Prayers and Meditations that Anselm sent to Matilda of Tuscany, that well-known phrase that justifies his inclusion in the collection some prayers that would not pertain to Matilda directly, ut, si cui placuerint, de hoc exemplari eas possit accipere ‘so that, if they pleased anyone, they could have them from this exemplar’, did not mean that the reader was being invited to compose

5 Cambridge University Library MS Ff.5.40, f.117v. 6 Richard W. Southern, ‘Sally Vaughn’s Anselm: An Examination of the Foundations’, Albion, 20 (1988), pp. 181–204, at 181. 7 Within the literature on charismatic teachers in the twelfth century see especially Mia Münster-Swendsen, ‘The Model of Scholastic Mastery in Northern Europe c. 970–1200’, in Sally Vaughn and Jay Rubenstein, eds., Teaching and Learning in Northern Europe (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), pp. 306–42 and C. Stephen Jaeger, The Envy of Angels: Cathedral Schools and Social Ideas in Medieval Europe (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2000).

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other prayers and meditations on their model.8 Rather, Edsall argues, there was a sophisticated wordplay at work in this letter: ‘exemplar’ rings on several connotations at once so that the phrase directed the reader, not to use the text as an exemplar for other texts, but to imitate the experience of the saint himself in prayer, to use Anselm as an exemplar for prayer and meditation though the textual exemplar of his prayers and meditations.9 The text could, in this way, act as an extension of real presence. This is how Anselm took the monastic method of education and self-formation through imitation of the ‘real presence’, the mind and body, of a teacher, and extended it across space and across time through this highly textual pun, a pun that also drew on the energies and language of the ‘friendship network’ of the Gregorian reform movement in which he and Matilda both played a part.10 This personal presence as both teacher and friend made textual, Edsall suggests, would also account for the energy his students and followers put into recording his conversation and collecting those records during his lifetime and after his death. Not just his influence, but rather his real presence, would outlive him. 1

The Admonitio from the Twelfth to the Fifteenth Centuries: And as Ancellyne the Bishop Techith

The deathbed confession of the Admonitio morienti was neither new in Anselm’s time nor particular to his writings.11 An earlier, brief set of interrogations on 8 9 10 11

Mary Agnes Edsall, ‘Learning from the Exemplar: Anselm’s Prayers and Meditations and the Charismatic Text’, Mediaeval Studies, 72 (2011), pp. 161–96 at p. 162. Edsall, ‘Learning from the Exemplar’, p. 183–9. See, for example, Sigbjørn Olsen Sønnesyn, ‘Lector amice: Reading as Friendship in William of Malmesbury’, in Rodney M. Thomson, Emily Dolmans, and Emily A. Winkler, eds., Discovering William of Malmesbury (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2017), pp. 153–64. Neither the Consuetudines Beccenses nor Lanfranc’s Constitutions contain such a text. Nevertheless, while the Constitutions do not include a deathbed confession, the community’s response to the illness and death of a monk is set out in some detail as noted by H. E. J. Cowdrey, Lanfranc: Scholar, Monk, Archbishop (Oxford: University Press, 2003), p. 158: ‘For every monk however recruited, commitment to the monastic community must be deliberate and complete. At the end of a monk’s life, Lanfranc’s long provision for his terminal sickness and burial reinforces this expectation; there is nothing novel about the provisions, but as formulated by him they give an impression of the care of the whole community for an individual member that was especially characteristic’. Here, as elsewhere in the Constitutions, Lanfranc was following Cluny: Lanfranc, Monastic Constitutions of Lanfranc, ed. and trans. David Knowles (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1951). On the elaborate Cluniac ritual for the dead or dying monk which included a deathbed confession to the community, final anointing, and chanting and prayer until the

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the faith for use in the visitation of the sick can be found, for example, in the Decreta of Burchard of Worms, to be given immediately before the anointing: And he shall speak like this: Do you believe in God the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit? Response: I believe. Do you believe that these three persons are one God? Response: I believe. Do you believe that you will rise again on the day of judgement in the flesh in which you are now, and receive either the good or the evil that you have gestated? Response: I believe. Do you want to forgive the sins of those who have sinned against

brother’s death, see Frederik Paxton, The Death Ritual at Cluny in the Central Middle Ages: Le Rituel de La Mort à Cluny Au Moyen Âge Central. 1st ed. (Turnhout: Brepols, 2014), his ‘Death by Customary at Eleventh-Century Cluny’, in S. Boynton and I. Cochelin, eds., From Dead of Night to End of Day: the Medieval Customs of Cluny (Turnhout: Brepols, 2005), pp. 297–318, and Christianizing Death: The Creation of a Ritual Process in Early Medieval Europe (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1990). Paxton, Death Ritual, p. 15: ‘The death of a monk at Cluny commanded the attention of the whole community, completely at first and to varying degrees for some time after … Every step of the process was carefully choreographed and every prayer and chant was chosen with an eye, and an ear, to facilitating the successful passage of a soul from this world to the next’. Running to the bedside of a dying brother was one of two circumstances in which a monk was permitted to run, the other being during a fire (Paxton, Death Ritual, p. 93). The provisions for the sick and dying in the Consuetudines Beccenses, by contrast, are brief: see De unctione monachorum, from the AB text, Consuetudines Beccenses, ed. Marie Pascal Dickson (Siegburg: F. Schmitt, 1967), p. 191: ‘Item de eodem. Ad unctionem induat se sacerdos solus stola et alba sine manipulo. Sicque ordinata processione cum candelabris et thuribulo cantor incipit septem psalmos cum Gloria patri et exeant senioribus praecedentibus. Vasculum olei hebdomadarius diaconus portet in ordine suo incedens. At ubi pervenerint, sacerdos aspergat infirmum et incenset. Finitis septem psalmis subiungant Kyrie eleison ter, Pater Noster, capitula et orationes sicut scriptae sunt in libro. Deinde dicat infirmus Confiteor deo et absolvatur ad abbate vel priore et osculetur ab ominbus. Postea dicantur quinque orationes et inungatur. Dum inungitur, capellanus infirmorum vadit cum candelabris et afferat corpus domini. etc’. [Further concerning the same. For unction the priest should put on stole and alb alone, without a maniple. And when the procession has been ordered in this way, the cantor begins the seven psalms with Gloria patri and they should go out with the elders leading the way. The deacon for the week should carry the oil vessel, walking at his proper place in the order. Now, when they have reached the place, the priest should sprinkle the infirm with holy water and cense them. When the seven psalms have been completed, they should add Kyrie eleison three times, the Our Father, and chapters and prayers as written in the book. Thereafter the infirm should say ‘I confess to God’ and he should be absolved by [reading ‘ab’ for ‘ad’] the abbot or prior and kissed by all. After this they should say five prayers and a gathering should be made. While the gathering is made, the chaplain of the infirm should go with candelabra and bring the body of the Lord. Etc.]

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you? Response: That is my will. Will you emend the sins that you have committed if you are brought back to life? Response: I will.12 The questions are not identical to Anselm’s, but they share, O’Connor suggests, a similar aim ‘to arouse sentiments of faith, hope and charity’13 in the sick and dying. As O’Connor notes, those same questions are repeated in Burchard’s chapter on penance and were most likely taken from that chapter.14 The translation of a deathbed confession into the vernacular was also not particular to the Admonitio. The appearance of the deathbed confession in the English vernacular both predates and postdates Anselm’s time in England. 12

13 14

Burchard of Worms, Decreta, PL 140, col. 935C: ‘Et sic dicat: Credis in Deum patrem, et Fillium, et Spiritum sanctum? Respon. Credo. Credis quod iste tres personae unus Deus sit? Respon. Credo. Credis quod in ipsa ista carne qua nunc es, resurgere habes in die judicii, et recipere sive bonum sive malum quod gessisti? Respon. Credo. Vis dimittere illis peccata sua qui in te peccaverunt? Respon. Volo. Vis peccata quae fecisti emedare si reviviscis? Respon. Volo’. Mary Catharine O’Connor, The Art of Dying Well: the Development of the Ars Moriendi (New York: Columbia University Press, 1942), p. 33. See O’Connor, Art of Dying, p. 34: ‘Since in the early centuries of the Church extreme unction was allied to confession for the sick as a supplementary sacrament, it is not hard to see how they were transferred to the rite of last anointing’. The source for Burchard’s confession are not clear, but O’Connor suggests that the origins of interrogations of the sick can be found in the fourth canon of the Council of Nantes; the material of Burchard’s questions do not overlap with Anselm’s, but the canon does. Nantes is also suggested as a source for that material in Adolph Franz, Das rituale von St. Florian: aus dem zwölften jahrhundert (Freiburg im Breisgau: Herder, 1904), p. 198. Paxton identifies an earlier rite for the sick and dying at Lorsch, in Vatican Pal. Lat. 485 (860–75). See Paxton, ‘Bonus Liber: A Late Carolingian Clerical Manual from Lorsch (Biblioteca Vaticana MS Pal. Lat. 485)’, in Stephan Kuttner, Laurent Mayali, and Stephanie A. J. Tibbetts, eds., The Two Laws. Studies in Medieval Legal History Dedicated to Stephan Kuttner. Studies in Medieval and Early Modern Canon Law, vol. 1 (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1990), pp. 1–30 at pp. 17–8: ‘The compiler/scribe had taken note of the different focus of the Celtic ritual, in which anointing constituted a ritual preparation for death, and had given it a place within an expanded death ritual that had been developing within the Frankish church for over one hundred years. This ritual paid increasing attention to the needs of the dying person and drew on Celtic and Visigothic rites of anointing and deathbed penance for its materials’. Paxton further suggests that internal evidence indicates the manuscript was meant for secular clergy, not for use in the monastery, ‘Bonus Liber’, p. 30: ‘This effort to provide the clergy with good texts and good tools extended the ideals of the Carolingian era into a new century and bore fruit in the next generation, when others would rely on the social and religious organization of the West to expand the borders of Christendom and of an incipient Christian European civilization’. Here, the contribution of compilers and scribes was humble but crucial. See also Charles de Clercq, ‘Ordines Unctionis Infirmi Des IXe et Xe Siecles’, Ephemerides Liturgicae, 44 (1930), pp. 100–22.

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The pre-conquest manuscript MS Laud Miscellaneous 482, most likely mid eleventh-century from Worcester Cathedral, has an unusual amount of rubrication in the vernacular, giving detailed advice on the visitation and confession of the sick and dying, including direct speech for both the priest and the dying person, and an insistence that the rite was meant for both the ordained and laity.15 The rubrics in MS Laud Misc. 482 resemble the Admonitio in the provision of direct speech for the parishioner as well as the priest; in the emphasis on the priest strengthening the faith of the dying, here through Scriptural quotation; in a final prayer to be recited by the parishioner after confession that, Thompson suggests, may have been read out loud by the priest clause by clause to be repeated by the parishioner; and, most strikingly, in the provision of several responses for the priest according to the state of the parishioner, whether willing, unwilling, or even ‘the benighted soul who has no acquaintance even with the basic teachings of the Creed’.16 In this way, the ordines for the sick and dying emphasize, Thompson argues, the ‘contractual bond’ between priest and parishioner ‘by its considerations of the three-way encounter of priest, parishioner and Christ at the Last Judgement’.17 A similar insertion of a vernacular confession for the visitation of the sick can be found in London, British Library Cotton Titus D. xxiv, from the Cistercian abbey at Rufford, dating around 1170: a short confession has been added as an annotation to the manuscript in French in red ink, followed by Latin in black ink, and then English in green 15

16 17

See Victoria Thompson, ‘The Pastoral Contract in Late Anglo-Saxon England: Priest and Parishioner in Oxford, Bodleian Library, MS Laud Miscellaneous 482’, in Francesca Tinti, ed., Pastoral Care in Late Anglo-Saxon England (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 2005), pp. 106–20. Thompson, ‘Pastoral Contract’, p. 118. Thompson, ‘Pastoral Contract’, p. 109. See also Sarah Hamilton on the pastoral literature of Anglo-Saxon England that encouraged confession and penance among the laity, ‘Remedies for ‘Great Transgressions’: Penance and Excommunication in Late Anglo-Saxon England’, in Tinti, Pastoral Care in Late Anglo-Saxon England, pp 83–105, at p. 85: ‘Not only should priests encourage the laity to make regular or annual confession, they should, according to Wulfstan’s Canons of Edgar (1005x 1008), encourage the dying to make a last confession’. And also, on the eleventh-century Missal the Red Book of Darley and its similarity to Laud Misc. 482, Helen Gittos, ‘Is There Any Evidence for the Liturgy of Parish Churches in Late Anglo-Saxon England? The Red Book of Darley and the Status of Old English’, in Tinti, Pastoral Care in Late Anglo-Saxon England, pp. 63–82, at 75: ‘Darley’s uisitatio infirmorum also has some relationship to the long version of this rite in Laud Misc. 482 and shares with it some potentially idiosyncratic instructions about the demeanor of the priest, about ensuring that a layman makes some form of will, and about the placing of linen gloves on the dying man’s hands and linen socks on his feet. It also shares something else with Laud Misc. 484: language. The Red Book of Darley contains a substantial amount of Old English, written by the main scribes, including all the rubrics in the services for baptism and visiting the sick’.

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ink, continuing to the verso: […] here leue broþer cristes fles and his blod þat we þe to bringen [tr]owes tu þat it is þat ilche þing in þat is ure lif and ure hele and ure resinge of dead to liue,18 translating the preceding versions.19 It is followed by a responsio in Latin, French and then English again, now in red ink: Ic haue singed on word on thoct. on dede. mei culpe. tundens pectus suum.20 These, however, are records of spoken more than textual kinds of compositions, text that made it into writing only in specific moments, to serve a particular need represented by a particular manuscript, in the margins and gaps of the official written record. The scripted deathbed confession was, then, neither new in Anselm’s time nor particular to his writings, but the consistent attribution of the Admonitio morienti as a text to a named author was both new and particular. The attribution of the Admonitio to Anselm was consistent over several centuries of transmission, and this started with the earliest surviving two copies. Those copies, not titled but with the incipit Laeteris quod, are found in same manuscript, the oldest collections of Anselm’s writings made at Christ Church, Canterbury shortly after his death, Lambeth MS 59.21 The two copies in Lambeth 59 suggest the importance of the text in the Anselmian corpus, and foreground its later popularity. Laeteris quod appears in Lambeth 59 twice in the same hand (ff. 161v–162r and 188r) in La, the ‘a rather mixed bag’22 of Anselmian texts that follows the collection of Anselm’s letters (ff.1–160v) with some reduplication including the philosophical fragments and two poems in praise of Anselm; the first copy, with initial, follows the short text on the will Est considerandum (f. 161r–v) and is followed by Eadmer’s De beatitudine perennis vitae (f. 162r–169v), and the second, without initial, follows the added letters Ep.471 and 472 (f. 187r), 18 19

20 21 22

British Library MS Cotton Titus D. xxiv, f. 156rv. Item 201 in N. R. Ker, Catalogue of Manuscripts Containing Anglo-Saxon (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1990). Ker supplies the Latin, Catalogue of Manuscripts, no. 201: ‘Ecce frater corpus domini nostri iesu cristi quod tibi deferimus. credis hoc esse illud. in quod est salus et uita. et resurrectio nostra’. For the Anglo-Norman, see Tony Hunt, Teaching and Learning Latin in Thirteenth-Century England, 3 vols. (Woodbridge: Boydell Press, 1991), vol. 1, p. 48: ‘The French of the first formula runs as follows: ‘Este vus ici, freire, le cors Nostre Seinnur quo nus vus aportuns. Cree[z] vus iço estre cele chose en quei est nostre salud e nostre vie e nostre resurrectiun de mort? Responsio: credo’. The English translation continues to the verso of f.156 where a second formula is all but invisible. Under the ultra-violet lamp it is possible to distinguish the following: ‘Jo ai peché en parole, en penser, en ouvre, me … culpe, tuned …’. British Library MS Cotton Titus D. xxiv, f.156v. See Samu Niskanen, The Letter Collections of Anselm of Canterbury (Turnhout: Brepols, 2011), pp. 85–8 on the proposed dating of Lambeth MS 59. Niskanen, Letter Collections, p. 51.

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the second copy of Est considerandum (f. 187r–188v), several blank spaces, and Velle eisdem (f. 188r), and is followed by Ep.469 (f. 188r–v). This second appearance in the manuscript appears to have been the first to have been copied into the manuscript: the final folios 187r–190r were, Niskanen suggests, removed to allow the inclusion of new letters into the collection, with the texts it contained copied again to make a neater, more complete manuscript; the removed folios appear to have been reattached to the end of the book at a later date. As brief as Laeteris quod is, the accuracy of the text was not overlooked, either: the hand that copied and corrected the letters in Lambeth 59 with some care also both copied and corrected Laetaris quod.23 These changes bring the first Lambeth 59 copy in line with the third surviving twelfth century copy of the text in Cambridge, Corpus Christi College MS 135, from Bury St Edmunds where Anselm’s nephew was abbot, in which the order of contents mirrors the first copy of Laeteris quod in Lambeth 59, with the extract on the will preceding and Eadmer’s De beatitudine following the deathbed confession.24 The rearrangement of the manuscript and the corrections to the letters and Laeteris quod suggest that the accuracy and comprehensiveness of the archive of Anselmian writings in Lambeth 59 was the goal of this collection, and that even this small text was part of that comprehensiveness.25 Perhaps whoever collected the material in Lambeth 59 meant it as a ‘tribute of loyalty’ to his 23

24 25

Indeed, the copy of Laeteris quod on fol.161v–162r was corrected by the same scribe while the copy on f.188r was left uncorrected, suggesting that the former was meant to be the final addition to the Lambeth collection: the phrase hac sola te totum contege appears as hac sola te totu[m] inuolue in both, and both lack the following phrase ‘hac morte totum te involve’, indicating a line skip in copying, but inuoue is corrected to c[on]tege on f.161v with the missing phrase added in the left margin of the page; in both, the phrase in nulla alia re habeas fiduciam appears as ut nulla alia te habeas fiducia[m] but is corrected to the more grammatically elegant in nulla on f.161v. My thanks to Samu Niskanen for comments on the corrections in Lambeth MS 59 and the addition of La (private correspondence 11/7/15). See also Richard Sharpe, ‘Early Manuscripts of Anselm: A Discussion with Five Manuscripts’, Gazette Du Livre Médiéval, 54 (2009), pp. 49–52. See B. C. Barker-Benfield, ed., St. Augustine’s Abbey, Canterbury (London: British Library and British Academy, 2008) and the Parker Library website for a description of this manuscript: . While the most recent and thorough editor of Anselm’s letters, Samu Niskanen, suggests that Anselm himself could have used this deathbed confession, there is no indication of that with either appearance in this copy: Lambeth 59 is primarily a collection of writings, large and unwieldy, ‘possibly intended to be the instrument from which other manuscripts were to be copied’ (p. 122) and not a pastoral manual. There is no rubric indicating how Laeteris quod was meant to be used; rather, the placement of the first copy of Laeteris quod before Ep. 469 in what had been the final folios of Lambeth 59 before it was rearranged suggests that this text was added because it was written by Anselm, not because it was meant to be used in pastoral care.

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memory, as Southern speculated.26 Niskanen suggests Eadmer as the most likely compiler,27 and this might be the explanation for its circulation with Eadmer’s De beatitudine. If the appearance of this brief death-bed confession in Lambeth 59 was a meaningful part of the manuscript and not simply the copying of an undifferentiated collection of minor writings collected after Anselm’s death, it might suggest the importance of Anselm’s active role in pastoral care at Christ Church, and the significance of including this monastic pastoral moment in shaping Anselm’s posthumous identity.28 If the inclusion of such a pastoral text as Laeteris quod was intended to shape Anselm’s posthumous identity, it achieved that aim: as Niskanen notes, Anselm’s letters do not appear to have been read outside the circles of Anselm’s influence; Lateris quod was.29

26

27

28

29

On the letter collections, Lambeth Palace MS 59 chief among them, Richard W. Southern, Saint Anselm and His Biographer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963), p. 68: ‘the later letters are a business archive preserved as a tribute of loyalty to the archbishop’s memory’. Elsewhere, Southern suggested Anselm or William of Malmesbury, Portrait, p. 476: ‘I have associated the new impulse at Canterbury [of compiling Anselm’s letters] with two monks who were both devoted to Anselm: Eadmer and William of Malmesbury’. Niskanen, Letter Collections, pp. 220–5, though with reservations expressed at pp. 224–5: ‘Admittedly this argument relies more on a series of suppositions than incontrovertible evidence, and it is possible that I have overemphasized both Eadmer’s role and the negative attitudes towards Anselm held by certain monks within Christ Church. Many monks who had known Anselm personally, and continued to admire him, were active in Christ Church and its scriptorium in the 1120s. The making of the manuscripts [the letter collections of Lambeth MS 59 and Paris, BNF lat.2478] could equally have been sparked by a realization among Anselm’s ageing inner circle, many of whom we don’t know by name, that they would soon be gone; they could have therefore taken the decision to commission one last literary monument in their hero’s honour. In any case L and its copy P indicate that several scribes, half a dozen in all, participated in the project in Christ Church. The manuscripts thus reflect the prevailing literary tastes, and perceptions of the dead archbishop, at their birthplace in Canterbury’. This would, perhaps, have given Lambeth 59 a slightly polemic cast to it within Christ Church itself, since Anselm’s long absences in exile and his lack of care for the community had been unpopular there. See also Sally Vaughn on Eadmer’s work to shape Anselm’s posthumous memory, Archbishop Anselm: Bec Missionary, Canterbury Primate, Pope of Another World (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2011), p. 14: ‘Eadmer never hesitated to put the best face on Anselm’s activities. Here is an example of how Eadmer could portray Anselm as both a competent—indeed outstanding—provider for the monks, and as a detached, saintly contemplative. Eadmer made clear that as prior and abbot Anselm was responsible for seeing to the monks’ necessities for daily life, such as food, clothing, shelter, and so on—and he portrayed Anselm as providing for such needs, but in an interesting way’. Niskanen, Letter Collections, p. 59: ‘a striking feature is that the letters seem not to have gained popularity outside the spheres of direct or indirect Anselmian influence’.

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By the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, Anselm’s text had circulated widely, both in Latin and in the vernacular.30 The variations in the text itself as visible in Middle English translations show the variety of adaptations for pastoral use, and also suggest that the most vital readership of the text was secular clergy, and later women religious and lay readers. The De visitacione infirmorum, for example, which combined the Pseudo-Augustinian De visitacione infirmorum with Anselm’s Admonitio, was, as Doyle called it, a ‘quite common’ text in miscellanies for clergy and lay readers, used both by secular clergy as part of practical pastoral care, and by clergy and laity in devotional reading and meditation.31 The Middle English Admonitio is included in four of the five De visitacione infirmorum texts in England, where the De visitacione infirmorum as a whole is attributed to Augustine, but the chapter given to the Admonitio is attributed to Anselm in several versions.32 The omission of the 30

31

32

Translation into the German vernacular appears by the mid thirteenth century, which suggests a wide circulation of the Latin text on the continent. See Franz, Das rituale von St. Florian, p. 198. Rainer Rudolf, Ars moriendi: Von der Kunst des Heilsamen Lebens und Sterbens (Cologne: Böhlau, 1957), p. 60, lists ten fourteenth-century manuscripts in the German vernacular. A. I. Doyle, ‘A Survey of the Origin and Circulation of Theological Writings in English in the 14th, 15th and Early 16th Centuries: With Special Consideration of the Part of the Clergy Therein’, 2 vols., Ph.D. diss. Cambridge University (1953), vol. ii, p. 148 in a description of MS Oxford UC 97). See also his comments on the De visitacione infirmorum, ‘A Survey’, vol. i, p. 220: ‘The common De visitacione infirmorum, supposedly based on St Anselm, appears to be, and often was taken as a practical ordo, in articulo mortis, but it seems to have been copied as often for its use in ordinary piety, not merely in extremis’. The author of the De Visitatio Infirmorum was most likely Baudri of Bourgueil; see Baudri de Bourgueil: Poèmes, ed. Jean-Yves Tilliette, 2 vols. (Paris: Les Belles Lettres, 1998), vol. 1 p. xl. The versions are as following, following Robert Raymo, ‘Works of Religious and Philosophical Instruction’, in Albert E. Hartung, ed., A Manual of the Writings in Middle English, 1050–1500, 11 vols. (New Haven: Connecticut Academy of Arts and Sciences, 1986) with additions from Amy Appleford, Learning to Die in London, 1380–1540 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015) and my own observations of the manuscripts: version A is a SE Midlands text, dating to ~1400, and includes the Admonitio (not attributed to Anselm, beginning, Brother art thou glad) and parts of the Visitatio; Version B is SW Midlands, ~1400, with the Admonitio alone (attributed to Anselm, though often to Anceline ersbiscop of cantyrbery; see Bodley 423 for the mistake; Brother art thou glad); Version C is SE Midlands, early 15th century, found in one manuscript only, with no Admonitio text; Version D is SE midlands, early 15th century, but only one manuscript includes the Admonitio (Bodley MS 789, but attributed to Augustine; Brother or sister art thou glad); Version E is an expansion of version A, SE Midlands, 1400–25, and the most popular as suggested by surviving manuscripts (not attributed to Anselm; Brother or sister art thou glad). See Kinpointer, ‘De visitacione infirmorum’, for the relationships between the texts and the possible shared Latin sources, although with a correction to his sourcing:

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second question of Laeteris quod, Gaudes, quia moreris in habitu monachico? ‘Are you joyful because you are dying in a monastic habit?’, in every one of these independent translations suggests a relatively early date for its movement from the monastery as reflected in an early Latin source text for all the translations. So do the addition of the instructions to the sick man, Thynk nouth on þin wif. ne of þin childeren. ne of riches. but allone of þe passiou[n] of ih[es]u crist33 that follow the interrogations in all but one,34 and the expansion of the addressee in two versions from ‘brother’ to ‘brother or sister’.35 The questions also incorporate a larger amount of catechetical material to which the respondent is asked to assent, as well as elaboration and clarification of pastoral instruction: in one, the priest is prompted to haue þe cros afor þe [and] sey þus. I wote wel þou art not god. but þou art ymage aftyr him. [and] makest me to haue þe more mende on him aftir qwo[m] þu art ymagede;36 in another, the anointing of the sick is directed at the end of the question: Whan a sek ma[n] schal ben ennoynted; þe crucifix schulde ben brouth [and] he schulde enhowren it in þe worschepe of ih[es]u c[ri]st þat boughte hy[m] with manye harde peynes. [and] schedende of his p[re]cious blode. [and] for þe [and] me deide uppon þe cros.37 In the longest, most elaborated translation, the sick person is given more catechetical questions (Leueest þou þat ih[es]u crist suffrid harde peyne and deeþ. for oure trespas. and not for his gilte)38 and more words of comfort: And triste treweliche þat he wele of his godenes doon to þe betere þan þou kanst desire. and haue þerfore stedefastliche to þi[n] ende his passiou[n]

33 34 35 36

37 38

Kinpointer comments on the oddity of using only the first version of the Admonitio as found in the PL, and not the second, composed for non-monastics. Migne took that second version of the Admonitio from a later, fifteenth-century manuscript from Bec (Vat. lat. 1237), however. Versions A and E are the most interesting from a literary standpoint and are the focus of the first chapter of Appleford’s book; she posits version E as a rewriting of A for a larger lay audience and representing a laicisation of the priestly role. The manuscripts, however, were owned by both lay and religious, passing between the two through gifts and wills. Version B in Cambridge University Library, Ff.5.40, f.117v. Version D, in which the Admonitio is brief, not greatly elaborated. Versions D and E, as noted above. Version A, in Cambridge University Library, Ee.5.13, f.15r. See also version E, in Cambridge University Library, Nn.4.12: ‘And if þ[ou] beholde ony cros. or ymage made wiþ ma[n]nys hondes: were þou wel þat it is not god. And þ[er]for sey or þinke in þin herte. I wot wel þat þou art not god: but ymagid aftir him. to make men to haue more mynde on him. aftir whom þou art ymaged’. (ff.35v–36r). Version B in Cambridge University Library Ff.5.40, f.117v. Version E in Cambridge University Library Nn.4.12, f.35r.

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and his grete m[er]cy in þin mynde. for þer þorw onliche ben alle þin enemyes ouercome. þerfor medele þin þou3t wiþ his passiou[n]. and wrappe þe al in a cloþ in his mercy. and triste stedefastliche þer inne.39 This last was the most widely circulated version, and the one most likely to have been composed for both a religious and a lay readership. The latter may have employed the text in the absence of a cleric: the previous chapter is given the title, How a man schold cou[m]forte[n] an oþ[er] þ[a]t he grucch[e] not wa[n] he is seek,40 which places the reader, ‘a man’, in the position of a priest in ministering to the sick, and with the Admonitio in the following chapter given as an emergency measure that suggests that the reader continue in that position: Whan þou hast told him al þis. or ellis if þ[u] my3t not for haste of deþ. bigi[n]ne here. or his mynde go from hym.41 That expansion of the readership, the active reshaping of the text for the use of both secular clergy and lay readers, and the addition of pastoral material continue to be apparent in the fifteen-century Book of the Craft of Dying, … not oonly to lewd men but also to religiouse men [and] devoute p[er]sonys … a schorte man[ner] of exortacou[n] for techyng [and] co[m]fortyng of hem þat bene i[n] poynte of deth this man[ner] of exortacou[n] ought sotely to be considryd notid [and] und[er]stond in the syght of manys soule for dou3tles yt is and may be p[ro]fitable gen[er]ally to all cristen men [and] women to haue þe crafte [and] knowyng for to dye well.42 This English translation adds Anselm’s Admonitio to the third section of Jean Gerson’s Opusculum tripartitum de praeceptis decalogi, de confessione, et de arte moriendi; both the well-established pattern of putting the three parts of Gerson’s Opusculum together and the prologue to the Book itself and its emphasis on teaching as well as comforting, and the ‘profitable’ understanding for all 39 40 41

42

Version E in Cambridge University Library Nn.4.12, f.35v. Version E in Cambridge University Library Nn.4.12, f.31v. Version E in Cambridge University Library Nn.4.12, 34v. See the argument in Appleford, Learning to Die, especially chapter 1, ‘Spiritual Governance and the Lay Household’: she suggests that other texts in Cambridge University Library Nn.4.12 and others with version E reflect a laicization of the priesthood, perhaps even of the episcopate, at p. 26: ‘Several texts in these manuscripts articulate explicitly what Visitatio E presents in action, that the “lordis and housbondemen” for whom these books were made must view their role in quasi-sacerdotal terms, even comparing their double spiritual duty (to their subjects and themselves) to the “mixed life” of action and contemplation shouldered by a bishop’. Oxford, MS Rawlinson C.894, f.18v.

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cristen men + women to learn both the craft and the knowledge of how to die well, indicate the recognized place of Anselm’s Admonitio in pastoral care and education in the knowledge needed for salvation.43 While the second question of Laeteris quod is also missing from this translation of the Admonitio, suggesting secular use, Anselm’s interrogations appear to be assigned to the religious: Anselm’s text appears as one of two sets of interrogations in the third chapter, the int[er]ogacyons of hem. that drawen to the deethward. while þei haue reson with hem. [and] her speche attributed to seynt Ancelme the Bysshope,44 intended to be competent [and] suffycient to religiouse [and] deuoute p[er]sones and followed by a second set for use by alle cristen men booth seculers [and] religiouse attributed to Gerson, ‘the noble Clerke the Chanceler of paryse’.45 The intended use by both religious and lay readers is clear from the prologue, as the ownership of the extant manuscripts confirms. The manuscripts that contain the Book of the Craft of Dying appear to have circulated within metropolitan networks of lay and religious owners: BL Royal 17 cxviii appears to have been recopied into Oxford, Rawlinson C.894, both for the same owner, a laymen in London, Wylliam Harlowys; some of that set of texts were copied again in Corpus Oxford MS 220 in the same hand as Royal 17 cxviii, perhaps owned by someone connected with Markyate nunnery, soon after owned by a knight and his wife, and then later perhaps by the abbess of Lacock.46 Bodley MS 423 copied by the Carthusian Stephen Dodesham, but was later property of London laymen.47 These two most widely spread translations of the Admonitio, as judged by extant manuscripts, and the adaptations of the text, show close association with liturgical and para-liturgical use. The texts that the De visitacione infirmorum and the Book of the Craft of Dying appear to have attracted to them in their manuscripts, suggests they were also used along with and as devotional reading. 43 44 45 46

47

Indeed, the source draws from the context of ars moriendi passages in pastoral teaching texts for secular clergy and lay readers such as the thirteenth-century Miroir du monde and Somme le Roi. See Morgan, ‘A Critical Edition’, p. 117. Oxford, MS Bodley 423, f.233v. Oxford, MS Bodley 423, f.234r. See Morgan, pp. 22–32, and also Doyle, ‘A Survey’, vol. i, p. 179. On Wylliam Harlowys and Sir John and Isabel Manningham, see Appleford, Learning to Die, pp. 137–80. See also E. A. Jones, ‘The Compilation(s) of Two Late Medieval Devotional Manuscripts’, in Helen Barr and Ann M. Hutchison, eds., Text and Controversy from Wyclif to Bale (Turnhout: Brepols, 2005), pp. 79–97. See Nicole Rice, ‘Profitable Devotions: Bodley MS 423, Guildhall MS 7114, and a Sixteenth-Century London Pewterer’, Journal of the Early Book Society, 10 (2007), pp. 175– 83; Doyle ‘A Survey’, vol. i, p. 222 and vol. ii, p. 102ff. Also Morgan, ‘A Critical Edition’, pp. 54–63.

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The Admonitio in the Fifteenth Century: ‘Last Things’ Miscellanies in the Vernacular

The Admonitio morienti also traveled with Anselm’s Meditatio ad concitandum timorem in the vernacular miscellanies and compilations of the late fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, manuscripts that brought together vernacular texts for pastoral care, including Ars moriendi texts such as the De visitacione infirmorum or Book of the Craft of Dying, with eschatologically focused meditations such as the Meditatio ad concitandum timorem.48 These ‘last things’ miscellanies, first noted by Doyle, includes roughly fifty manuscripts of metropolitan production, similar enough in their medium size, neat, clear and professional hands, and standardized layout with rubricated headings and capitals to suggest a large but geographically local group of scribes working with, perhaps, a set of circulating exemplars.49 In this group of miscellanies, the De visitacione infirmorum, the Book of the Craft of Dying and the Meditatio travelled as part of a pool of texts that continued to add to the catechetical material that had joined Anselm’s Admonitio. Among them, either appearing independently or as part of longer pieces, are: an eschatologically-focused catechetical piece, such as the Memoriale Credencium, the Pricke of Conscience or the Pore Caitif, this last either whole or as selections; a translation of Anselm’s 48

49

In a thirteenth-century Clairvaux manuscripts, Troyes BM 1963, the text follows on the end of a collection of Anselm’s prayers and meditations (f.65rv); See André Wilmart, ‘Le recueil des prières de S.Anselme’, in D. A. Castel, ed., Meditations et prières de Saint Anselme (Paris: Lethielleux 1923), pp. i–xlii at xlvii. This manuscript is worth noting because ‘Laetaris quod’ follows a collection of Anselm’s prayers and meditations, whereas the other copies are identifiably practical, with other liturgical kinds of texts. A fourteenth-century manuscript from St Augustine’s, Canterbury, Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, MS 154, appends it to Eadmer’s De beatitudine and De custodia interioris hominis, so the pairing of the Admonitio and Eadmer’s writing seems to have continued from the twelfth century on. See Doyle, ‘A Survey’, vol. i. pp. 165–6: ‘They are of the staple of popular literate piety of the later Middle Ages, and the first and last [the Pricke of Conscience and Treatise of Ghostly Batayle], especially effective realisations of the immanence of the four last things (Death, Judgment, Hell, Heaven), the Redemption, and the necessity of personal humility, occur in surviving volumes by far the most frequently’. See Sarah Wood, ‘A Prose Redaction of the Prick of Conscience Part VI in Bodleian Library, MS Laud Misc.23’, Medium Aevum, 80 (2011), pp, 1–17 and also Ralph Hanna, ‘Middle English Books and Middle English Literary History’, Modern Philology 102 (2004), pp. 157–78 for a description of the manuscripts that contain ‘Six Masters on Tribulation’, ‘The Twelve Profits of Tribulation’, ‘A Treatise of Ghostly Battle’ and ‘The Craft of Dying’ in ‘complicated multi-item miscellanies joined together out of fixed textual sequences’ (p. 169): Oxford, Rawlinson C.894, BL Harley 1706, Oxford, Douce 322, BL Royal 17 C.xviii, Manchester, John Rylands University Library, MS Eng. 94, and Oxford, Corpus Christi College, MS 220.

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Meditatio ad concitandum timorem; Whanne thou shapist the to pray, in some manuscripts preceded by a commentary on Matthew 6:6 and instructions to prayer and meditation which also circulated as the ‘AB’ chapter of the Fervor Amoris;50 texts that echo and amplify the meditation’s fear of judgment with a focus on the pains of hell and joys of heaven, such as the Three Arrows of Doomsday, or a Milicia Christi text such as the Treatise of Ghostly Batayle, drawn from Paul, but more proximately from the pseudo-Anselmian De spiritualis militis;51 a translation of Peter of Blois, the Twelve Profits of Tribulation; ‘A ful good medidacion for oon to seie by hym self al oone’; and either version D or E of the De visitacione infirmorum, or the Craft of Dying. It is worth noting that a number of the texts in this ‘last things’ cluster are Anselmian in a broad sense: the meditations, especially the Meditatio ad concitandum timorem; some version of the De spiritualis militis; and the Admonitio morienti. This was, as Jill Havens suggests, the creation of a ‘new tradition’ of devotion through compilations, a new tradition that was ‘strengthened as each compiler who receives these texts maintains their unity as a group and copies them as such’.52 That means of textual transmission, expanding Anselm’s influence by cluster of texts and loose affiliation, brought his name and his writings to a new readership. One instantiation of this loose affiliation of texts is London, British Library MS Harley 535.53 Harley 535 contains the most complete surviving translation of genuine Anselmian prayers and meditations into Middle English, though they are misattributed to ‘S. Ambrose’:54 the three genuine meditations and the

50 51

52 53 54

These instructions to prayer were either part of the Contemplations of the Dread and Love of God, or the Contemplations absorbed it; see. Contemplations of the Dread and Love of God, ed. Margaret Connolly (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993). On which see Valerie Murray, ‘An Edition of A Tretyse of Gostly Batayle and Milicia Christi’. Ph.D. diss., Oxford University (1970), and the edition in Carl Horstmann, ed. Yorkshire Writers: Richard Rolle of Hampole, an English Father of the Church, and His Followers. 2 vols. (London: Swan Sonnenschein, 1895–96), vol. 2, pp. 420–36. See Jill Havens, ‘Instruction, Devotion, Meditation, Sermon: A Critical Edition of Selected English Religious Texts in Oxford, University College 97’, D. Phil. diss. University of Oxford (1995), p. 47. Here I am making use of Evelien Hauwaerts, ‘The Middle English Versions of Saint Anselm of Canterbury’s Meditations’ in Gasper and Logan, Anselm and His Legacy, pp. 258–78 as well as my own observations of the manuscript. British Library MS Harley 535, f.142r. Hauwaerts, ‘The Middle English Versions’, p. 274, suggests that this misattribution is attached to ‘Whanne thou shapist’, not the Anselm texts; indeed, it is more usual for Anselm’s works to circulate under his name or that of Augustine or Bernard, not Ambrose. However, Jean de Fécamp’s prayers and meditations circulated under a number of names, including Ambrose’s. See André Wilmart, Auteurs

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Prayer to Christ, preceded by ‘Whanne thou shapist the to pray’.55 Though this manuscript does not contain an Ars Moriendi text, its contents indicates that it is part of this larger grouping of ‘last things’ vernacular manuscripts:56 the presence of meditations in the vernacular, the Meditatio ad concitandum timorem in particular, prefaced by ‘Whanne thou shapist’ and following a pastoral, catechetical text such as the Memoriale Credencium is consistent with ‘last things’ miscellanies, as are the careful, professional design, possible owner, and probable location of production. The manuscript is careful and professional, written in two fifteenth-century hands, with indications that it was produced at a London commercial workshop: quire numbering suggests that copying was done by booklet, consistent with the other ‘last things’ manuscripts, and closely resembling Harley 2398 which also contains the Memoriale Credencium and ‘Whanne thou shapist’, in addition to the De visitacione infirmorum. Anselm’s meditations have overrun their booklet, and a waste bifolium has been reused to accommodate the additional text; on the back is a short Latin fragment of a sermon by Fulgentius, neatly copied in a different hand and waiting for an initial before it was reused for the vernacular miscellany. As with other ‘last things’ miscellanies, Harley 535’s original owner was most likely a member of the secular clergy, one involved at a local level of administration in London. Two of the other texts in the book, added by a later hand, are administrative, one being the Constitutions of Roger Niger in English that were ratified and supplemented by Arundel in 1397, which stipulated how much every Londoner should give as tithes to the Church, which was to be read at mass four times a year by the rectors, vicars and curates of the city. Following that is a short text in Latin mandating that the decisions about the renovation of church furniture belong to the rectors and parsons of a church and not to the parishioners, again suggesting that the owner belonged to the secular clergy.57

55

56 57

Spirituels Et Textes Dévots Du Moyen Âge Latin; Études d’Histoire Littéraire (Paris: Bloud Et Gay, 1932), pp. 173–201. The incipits are as follows: f.121r: ‘My lyf makeþ me agast’ (Meditatio 1); f. 125r, ‘My soule. mescheuous soule’ (Meditatio 2); f.129v, ‘Cristyne soule. arerd f[ro]m dedlich slepe’ (Meditatio 3); f.136v, ‘Lord ih[es]u c[ri]st my rau[n]sum. my m[er]cy. myn helthe’ (Oratio 2). On Meditatio 1 in penitential literature, see Thomas Bestul, ‘Chaucer’s Parson’s Tale and the Late-Medieval Tradition of Religious Meditation’, Speculum, 64 (1989), pp. 600–19. As Hauwaerts suggests in her comparison of Harley MS 535 with Oxford MS 97: Hauwaerts, ‘The Middle English Versions’, p. 271. Perhaps one with a fractious flock. See J. A. F. Thomson, ‘Tithe Disputes in Later Medieval London’, The English Historical Review, 78 (1963), pp. 1–17. Also see the description of these additions to the manuscript in Hauwaerts, ‘The Middle English Versions’, pp. 272–3, and her conclusion that the readership was secular clergy.

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The book does appear to have been designed to be useful and it was used well: all the texts have been corrected, and there are page markers pasted at the beginnings of texts, and particularly useful passages are noted in the margins, for example, those on confession in the Credencium. The grouping of pastoral and meditative texts is particularly thoughtful and deliberate: as Hauwaerts notes, this translation of the Meditatio is more fluent than the one in Oxford UC 97, and the compiler and owner have worked to bring the texts into closer affiliation through marginal notations and markings.58 The Memoriale and Meditatio fit together especially neatly: the Memoriale contains an introduction to the practice of meditation and contemplation, drawing from the Speculum Ecclesie, while marginal notes through the meditations emphasize the everlasting fire of hell,59 the fear of judgment,60 sins and pleas for forgiveness,61 which echo the Memoriale on the knowledge of the self as sinner in meditation and its passages on penance and God’s mercy. Where a citation of the cursed barren fig tree in Matthew 21 is given a marginal notation in the Memoriale in the hand of the original scribe;62 another notation of the scriptural source of Matthew 3 and Luke 3 is made in the margin of the meditation in the same hand, where Anselm’s meditation refers to the tree that does not produce good fruit: But whi make I dep[er]tyng. of barayne and da[m]pnable? If h[it] is barayne: h[it] is also da[m]pnable. Sooþ hit is þ[at] cr[i]st saiþ i[n] þe gospel. Eu[er]eche tre þ[at] makiþ no good fruyt: schal be hewe adou[n] [and] be cast i[n] to þe fuyr.63 The group of ‘last things’ miscellanies can also account for the replacement of Whanne thou shapist for Anselm’s letter as preface to the three meditations.64 Booklet affiliations in these manuscripts pair the Meditatio ad concitandum timorem with texts that make meditation more accessible to a larger audience: Whanne thou shapist which precedes it in Harley 535 as well as in Arundel 197 and Laud Misc 23 provides steps to prayer (Whan þou schapist 58

59 60 61 62 63 64

The text’s presence in this grouping of miscellanies suggests that there were other copies of this translation made; a correction made to My soule. mescheuous soule (Anselm’s second meditation) in a different hand (f.127r) also suggests that there was more than one copy of this Middle English translation. British Library MS Harley 535, f.122v, with the first meditation. British Library MS Harley 535, f.124r, also with the first meditation. British Library MS Harley 535, f.128r and f.138v, with the second meditation. British Library MS Harley 535, f.47v, in the bottom margin: ‘Exem Mt 21// Ensau[m]ple of the fig tree that almi3ty god cursis hi[m] self: for hit baar onelich leefis and no fruyt’. British Library MS Harley 535, f.121r. In MS Harley 535, these are copied together as one unit: f.117r begins a new quire for the AB chapter, but there is no catchphrase on 116v, as there are for the quires before and after it.

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þe to pray or to haue eny deuociou[n]) that, in some ways, recall in part the first chapter of Anselm’s Proslogion: instructing the reader to find a private place to sit or kneel (fonde to haue a p[ri]uey place fram al mane[r] noyse [and] tyme of rest w[iþ] outen eny lettyng. Sitte þe[re] or knele as is þi most ese), think of how God made him or her (be þ[u] lord be þou lady: þenk wel þat þou hast a god þ[at] made thee of nou3t which haþ i 3yue þee þi ri3t witt[es]), think of his or her own sinful nature and how God has endured those sins, and then providing a passion meditation that invites the reader to feel compunction in imagining the passion (bihold wiþ þi gostly eye),65 and a prayer to Christ asking for forgiveness. Anselm’s meditation that follows it, then, provides a longer example of the kind of meditation the reader has been taught to use. Perhaps more surprising is the appearance of Anselm’s three genuine meditations only, and none of the pseudo-meditations that had joined that corpus in the thirteenth century: the source text to these translations may be the second recension of the collected Prayers and Meditations produced at Christ Church, Canterbury during Anselm’s lifetime, which added the third meditation to the existing collection. Most of the manuscripts from this recension do not include the prologue, which also may explain its lack and replacement in Harley 535.66 The manuscript can also suggest another Anselmian presence in the ‘last things’ miscellany in particular, and English vernacular devotional literature in general: the joys of heaven and pains of hell. This particular association of Anselmian texts, namely the joys of heaven and pains of hell and the Meditatio ad concitandum timore, had longer precedent than the ‘last things’ miscellanies. A look to the sources of the catechetical literature that circulated with the Admonitio and the Meditatio shows that this association was a commonplace in thirteenth century catechetical and devotional texts in England, both in English and in French, before they were adapted to new use and new readers in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. The Memoriale Credencium, for one, was largely derived from Pecham’s Ignorancia Sacerdotum, William of Pagula’s Oculus Sacerdotis (itself partially derived from the Ignorancia), and Edmund of Abingdon’s Speculum Ecclesie; the chapters on meditation and contemplation in the Memoriale appear to be taken from the Speculum, which includes in the third degree of meditation the dowers of joy and pains of hell taken from Honorius’s Elucidarium, itself borrowing from Anselm.67 The Prick of 65 66 67

British Library MS Harley 535, f.117rv. This recension was copied into the fifteenth century; see Wilmart, ‘Le recueil des prières de S.Anselme’, pp. xix–xxxiii. See Memoriale Credencium: A Late Middle English Manual of Theology for Lay People, ed. J. H. L. Kengen (Nijmegen: Katholieke Universitein, 1979), p. 218 for this sourcing. In British Library MS Harley 535, this passage is noted in the margin, ‘De dotibus a[n]i[m]e

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Conscience offers a similar association between the joys of heaven and pains of hell with a meditation, within a catechetical text that circulated in ‘last things’ miscellanies along with the Meditatio and the Admonitio. One manuscript of the Prick of Conscience, Litchfield MS 16, includes a trilingual version of Alexander’s Dicta 5 that follows the catechetical text.68 The Prick of Conscience itself also contains fourteen joys of heaven and fourteen pains of hell, with the most proximate source for that passage in the Peines de Purgatorie, supplementing the Anglo-Norman source with another source, language unknown, but which looks much like the version in De custodia interioris hominis as it appeared in pseudo-Hugh of St Victor’s De anima.69 The Prick of Conscience also includes excerpts from Anselm’s Meditatio ad concitandum timorem, again perhaps taken from the Anglo-Norman Peines de Purgatorie.70 In this way, through the Elucidarium, but also through vernacular texts such as Edmund’s Speculum, the Prick of Conscience, the Memoriale Credencium and others, Anselm’s joys of heaven and pains of hell began to appear as part of pastoral care given by secular clergy: a subject for meditation by clergy and lay readers, but also a kind of para-catechesis, never part of an official syllabus such as Pecham’s, but often appearing alongside syllabus materials, and often accompanied by the Admonitio and the Meditatio ad concitandum timorem. Indeed, this combination of Anselm’s Meditatio ad concitandum timorem with the joys of heaven as it appears both in the Pricke of Conscience and its proximate source, the Peines de Purgatorie, also appears in Ancrene Wisse, which has several small quotations from the meditation and also makes use of the joys of heaven as ‘doweris’. Ancrene Wisse also includes the image of Christ as knight, though perhaps not taken from the Similitudines, since by that time the allegory was a commonplace.71

68 69 70 71

+ corp[or]is’. (f.106r). For the joys of heaven as dotes, see Margaret Healy-Varley, ‘Anselm’s Afterlife and the Middle English De custodia interioris hominis’ in Gasper and Logan, Anselm of Canterbury and His Legacy, pp. 239–57. See also Ralph Hanna, ‘Sir Thomas Berkeley and His Patronage’, Speculum, 64 (1989), pp. 878–916, for his description of the Memoriale and its possible association with Thomas Berkeley. See De Quatuordecim Partibus Beatitudinis, ed. Henry and Trotter, p. 9. See Ralph Hanna and Sarah Wood, eds., Richard Morris’s Prick of Conscience: A Corrected and Amplified Reading Text. EETS OS 342 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), p. lvi. See Hanna and Wood, Prick of Conscience, p. liii and Robert J. Relihan, Jr., ‘A Critical Edition of the Anglo-Norman and Latin Versions of Les Peines de Purgatorie’, Ph.D. diss., University of Iowa (1978), p. 64–8. See Catherine Innes-Parker, ‘Ancrene Wisse and The Wohunge of Ure Lauerd: the thirteenth-century female reader and the lover-knight’, in Lesley Smith and Jane H. M. Taylor, eds., Women, the Book, and the Godly: Selected Proceedings of the St. Hilda’s Conference, 1993 (Cambridge: D. S. Brewer, 1995), pp. 137–47.

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This textual cluster or clusters, individual parts of which have a long history of travelling together, demonstrates several forms of textual transmission and several forms of authorial influence with respect to Anselm: attribution seemingly without theological or devotional content, as with the Admonitio morienti; content with false attribution, as with the meditations and prayer attributed to Ambrose in Harley 535; and content without attribution, likely through a long history of transmission that turned that content into commonplaces, as with both De spiritualis militis and the joys of heaven and pains of hell. These clusters also show how Anselm’s more affective texts like the Meditatio ad concitandum timorem circulated in the centuries after his death, and in what contexts they made it into the vernacular and to a larger, lay readership: through the secular clergy, along with catechetical and pastoral ones such as the Admonitio morienti. The mechanics of the spread of a more affective devotion (or at least an Anselmian affective devotion) is in these combined, recombined, overlapping, interpenetrating, and translated clusters of texts. One long-term side-effect of the Admonitio, in other words, was a new, secular tradition of Anselm’s Prayers and Meditations. Anselm’s prayers and meditations became enormously influential in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and Anselm was one of the authors of the twelfth century whose writings found new readers with the rise of a more affective devotion and the expansion of literacy to a larger proportion of the laity. A motivating factor in that authorial influence was his name as author: as Southern argued, ‘Far from being esteemed because they were part of an ancient deposit of liturgical texts, they were valued from the beginning because they had Anselm’s name attached to them—falsely in many cases as we now know, but that was not Anselm’s doing’.72 One of the particular challenges of medieval intellectual history, however, is that textual transmission can take many forms, especially with devotional texts such as prayers and meditations: these texts were transmitted both whole and in excerpt; in combining whole texts or excerpts into compilations; in recombining them into new compilations, in interpolating other texts into those compilations; in translation from Latin to the vernacular; in translation into another vernacular or from the vernacular into Latin again. As a result, every individual instantiation of a text can be located somewhere on a spectrum between being a copy and being a distinctly new work. In other words, how can we account for authorial influence, or give the history of a named author, when it is mediated by these many forms of textual transmission? 72

Southern, Portrait, p. 93.

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This is where attention to vernacular compositions, including and especially anthologies, miscellanies and compilations, can give us better insight into their Latin sources, and a more complete account of an influential authority such as Anselm. These products of complex textual transmission histories encourage the discovery of more than individual instances of textual adaptation: they can indicate long-standing patterns of transmission of their sources, patterns with varying degrees of intention and agency and awareness of those sources. These patterns can suggest how many, even most, readers or listeners encountered an author’s writings, and what kind of authority they thought that author had—if they knew that author at all, and if that author had any surviving presence. It requires a few centuries, centuries of design and centuries of contingency, to create a major author of the twelfth century like Anselm. Southern was, perhaps not unexpectedly, correct, but this does not ask for a history of personal inspiration, the ictus intelligentia of the men who were the authors of their cultures, or a narrative of certain ‘catalysts’ of cultural change.73 Manuscript transmission history shows that there is no such thing as charisma in a vacuum, and when tracked through time, the charismatic author gives no simple ‘great men of history’ kind of history.74 That kind of history must necessarily include a long line of authors, adaptors, compilers, scribes, a history of readings and responses. 73 74

Rachel Fulton, From Judgment to Passion: Devotion to Christ and the Virgin Mary, 800–1200 (New York: Columbia University Press, 2002), pp. 2–3. My thanks to Sarah McNamer, who, with great generosity, warned me from reproducing that historical narrative many years ago. See her Affective Meditation and the Invention of Medieval Compassion (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2010).

chapter 14

Beatitudo est sufficiencia sine omni indigentia St Anselm’s Compositional Model of Beatitude and its Reception in Late Medieval Scholastic Theology Severin V. Kitanov It is asked among humans, what is it on account of which the saints of God despise earthly things, scorn all glory and worldly pleasure, and subject themselves to deprivation and many different kinds of affliction, and it is said in response that they do it for the sake of divine approbation (commodum) or beatitude. And it is said that what they thus seek is what ‘no eye has seen, nor ear has heard, nor has entered into the heart of man’. Dicta Anselmi, Ch. V1

⸪ 1

St Anselm’s Account of Beatitude

Fr Fortin argued, in an article from a little over a decade ago, that ‘[a]lthough Saint Anselm never wrote a systematic treatise on heaven, the concept of heaven, as it is found in several of his writings, is robust; it is rich in meaning and content’.2 The same can be said to some extent about St Anselm’s concept of beatitude. St Anselm never wrote a treatise on beatitude, yet there are 1 Alexander of Canterbury, Dicta Anselmi, c. V, in R. W. Southern, and F. S. Schmitt OSB, eds., Memorials of St. Anselm (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1969), p. 127, ll. 17–22: ‘Quaeritur inter homines, quid sit quamobrem sancti dei terrena despicuunt, gloriam omnemque delectationem mundi contemnunt, seseque parcitati multisque tribulationibus diversi generis dederunt; et respondetur, quia propter commodum, propter beatitudinem hoc faciunt. Quam cum quaesierint, dicitur quia “nec oculus vidit nec auris audivit nec in cor hominis ascendit”’. With the exception of two lines from the Proslogion, all other translations from Latin are mine. 2 John R. Fortin, OSB, ‘Saint Anselm on the Kingdom of Heaven: A Model of Right Order’, The Saint Anselm Journal, 6 (2008), pp. 1–10, at 1.

© Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, 2022 | doi:10.1163/9789004468238_016

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elements of a robust account of beatitude already in chapter XXV of Anselm’s early work, the Proslogion, and there is evidence of a much more elaborate account of beatitude twenty years later, in three separate works originating from a small group of St Anselm’s closest friends and disciples, principally the monks Eadmer and Alexander of Canterbury: the Liber Anselmi archiepiscopi de humanis moribus, Alexandri monachi Cantuariensis liber ex dictis beati Anselmi, and Eadmeri monachi Cantuariensis scriptum de beatitudine perennis vitae. In what follows, we will examine St Anselm’s original account of beatitude and compare it with that found in the works of his disciples. We will suggest subsequently how his disciples’ account of beatitude can be accommodated within Anselm’s theological project. The interest that the topic of beatitude generated in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries and the literary and academic context within which beatitude was discussed will also be indicated. Last, we will present two early 14th-century witnesses to the relevance of St Anselm’s account in the context of late scholastic debates concerning beatitude in general, and beatific joy in particular. If we now turn to St Anselm’s authentic account of beatitude found in Proslogion XXV, we can see that the rudiments of a concept of beatitude have already been firmly established. In the beginning of the chapter Anselm announces that heavenly beatitude will consist of both goods of the body and goods of the soul. By grounding this general thesis in Isaiah 64:4 and 1 Corinthians 2:9, Anselm suggests that the goods in question will be nothing less than extraordinary.3 A modest but elegant sketch is then given of the different kinds of goods to be attained and enjoyed in heaven. There are two remarkable features of the account: (1) its hypothetical language, and (2) the determined effort to anchor each of the mentioned corporeal and spiritual goods in Scripture. The hypothetical language of the chapter takes the form of expressions such as ‘if beauty delights thee, there shall the righteous shine forth as the sun’, or ‘if it is wisdom that delights thee, the very wisdom of God will reveal itself to them’,4 and so forth. In addition to evoking the sentiment of a highly speculative meditation, the recurring hypothetical expressions on the one hand invite the reader to consider the open-ended character of any sincere reflection on the nature of the kingdom of heaven and, on the other hand, appeal to each reader’s unique individuality by offering them the opportunity 3 Anselm of Canterbury, Proslogion, c. XXV in Opera omnia, ed. Schmitt, 6 vols., vol. 1, p. 118, ll. 12–9. 4 Anselm, Proslogion, c. XXV, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 118, l. 20: ‘Si delectat pulchritudo: “fulgebunt iusti sicut sol”.’; p. 119, l. 4: ‘Si sapientia: ipsa dei sapientia ostendet eis seipsam’. English translation from St Anselm, Basic Writings: Proslogion, trans. S. N. Deane, 2nd edn. (Chicago, La Salle, IL: Open Court, 1962), pp. 76–7.

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to identify with their most cherished good. In terms of scriptural support, Anselm’s meditation relies on powerful and memorable eschatological images and pronouncements drawn from the Old and New Testament. For instance, those who seek bodily agility, strength and freedom will be like the angels of God, endowed with a spiritual body (1 Corinthians 15:44).5 Those who seek pure pleasure will drink from the stream of God’s pleasures (Psalms 36:8).6 Those who seek honour and riches will become God’s faithful servants and rulers of many things (Luke 12:42).7 What particular corporeal and spiritual goods then await the blessed in heaven, according to Anselm? The list of corporeal goods comprises beauty (pulchritudo), swiftness or agility (velocitas), strength ( fortitudo) and bodily freedom (libertas corporis), long and healthy life (longa et salubris vita), satiety, the quenching of thirst (ebrietas), melody and pleasure (voluptas).8 Among the spiritual goods, Anselm includes wisdom, friendship, harmony (concordia), power, honour, riches, security and joy (gaudium).9 In the later account of beatitude, however, it appears that Anselm has changed his mind somewhat since the single corporeal category of long and healthy life is now split into health (sanitas) and prolonged existence (diuturnitas/longaevitas), and the goods of satiety, quenching of thirst and melody are absent. As for the category of the spiritual goods, the later account is essentially the same as in the Proslogion. Nevertheless, of all the corporeal and spiritual goods listed in the Proslogion none receives as much attention as joy. Not only does joy signal the completion of one’s own beatific experience; an individual’s joy is also greatly intensified as a result of the realization that the shared space of heaven encompasses the joys of innumerable angelic and saintly companions.10 As mentioned above, the fully developed account of beatitude is found in three separate works produced by a small group of Anselmian disciples. The first work was widely known in the Middle Ages under the title De similitudinibus, although the actual text was an expanded and revised version of an earlier tract which R. W. Southern and F. S. Schmitt titled De moribus in order to distinguish it from the accretions of the De similitudinibus.11 According to Southern and Schmitt, the De moribus was either written and left unfinished by Anselm or put together after Anselm’s death by an anonymous secretary 5 6 7 8 9 10 11

Anselm, Proslogion, c. XXV, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 117, ll. 20–3. Anselm, Proslogion, c. XXV, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 119, ll. 2–3. Anselm, Proslogion, c. XXV, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 119, ll. 12–5. Anselm, Proslogion, c. XXV, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 118, l. 20–p. 119, l. 3. Anselm, Proslogion, c. XXV, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 118, l. 4–p. 120, l. 4. Anselm, Proslogion, c. XXV, ed. Schmitt, vol. 1, p. 120, ll. 1–20. Southern and Schmitt, Memorials of St. Anselm, pp. 11–3.

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on the basis of Anselm’s discourses. On the basis of a detailed palaeographical analysis of Ms. Bodley 271, a manuscript of major importance for establishing the canon of authentic Anselmian works, Ian Logan has suggested that works such as the De moribus were not included in the canon because ‘Anselm and/or those close to him considered [them] unfinished or unready for publication or simply not worth retaining in the canon’.12 In any case, the De moribus constitutes a thoughtfully organized treatise on the virtues and vices that Southern and Schmitt characterized as ‘the first attempt at a systematic study of the psychology of religious life’.13 The other two works containing detailed treatments of beatitude are Alexander’s Dicta Anselmi and Eadmer’s Scriptum de beatitudine perennis vitae. Although the author of the Dicta Anselmi is not identified in the extant manuscripts of the work, Southern and Schmitt confidently ascribed the work to Alexander, a monk of Christ Church, Canterbury.14 Southern and Schmitt also dated the composition of the Dicta to around, or not long after, the time of Anselm’s death in 1109.15 We learn about the authorship and occasion of composition of the Scriptum de beatitudine from the prologue of the work, where the author, Eadmer, tells us that he was at Cluny while Anselm had delivered a sermon on the joys of eternity and that he, Eadmer, was asked by a certain brother, William, to write down what Anselm had said. Eadmer also states that he had found it much more difficult than expected to reconstruct the sermon from memory and expressly regrets his own ‘uncouth and contemptible’ rendition of such ‘pure and pleasant subject-matter’.16 Southern and Schmitt proposed Eadmer’s first two visits to Cluny, in December 1097 or in the spring or summer of 1100, as the most likely occasion for the delivery of Anselm’s sermon.17 The chief dissimilarities between the treatments of beatitude contained in the three works mentioned above consist in the slightly different ordering of the spiritual goods. For example, De moribus treats honour prior to power whereas the Dicta and the De beatitudine discuss power before honour. The De moribus contrasts each of the fourteen goods with the corresponding evil of the reprobate whereas the Dicta and the De beatitudine expound upon the 12 13 14 15 16 17

Ian Logan, ‘Ms. Bodley 271: Establishing the Anselmian Canon?’, The Saint Anselm Journal, 2 (2004), pp. 67–80, at p. 78; see also n. 37. Southern and Schmitt, Memorials of St. Anselm, p. 4. Southern and Schmitt, Memorials of St. Anselm, p. 20. Southern and Schmitt, Memorials of St. Anselm, p. 26. Eadmer of Canterbury, Prologus scripti de beatitudine perennis vitae, in Southern and Schmitt, Memorials of St. Anselm, p. 273, ll. 18–21. Southern and Schmitt, Memorials of St. Anselm, pp. 31–2.

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miseries of the reprobate separately, immediately after the completed account of the parts of beatitude. The treatment of the fourteen parts of beatitude and misery in the De moribus also involves brief descriptions of the intermediate or mixed states of being in the present life. For example, in contrasting the sixth part of corporeal beatitude, that is pleasure (voluptas), with the corresponding sixth part of corporeal misery, that is anguish (anxietas), the author of the De moribus points out that those who seek pleasure in this life cannot acquire it without being at the same time anguished, either because the actual pursuit of pleasure is difficult or because the excessive enjoyment of pleasure leads eventually to distress.18 Furthermore, in juxtaposing the tenth part of spiritual beatitude and misery, that is harmony and discord, the author states that human beings seldom enjoy harmony in this life since their souls and bodies are frequently at odds with each other and pull them in opposite directions. In heaven, however, the body and soul of the saints will live in complete harmony, a harmony similar to the perfectly synchronized movement of the human eyes.19 When it comes to the De similitudinibus, it should be noted that it is, in effect, a significantly revised and lengthened version of the De moribus made on the basis of Eadmer’s De beatitudine, Alexander’s Dicta Anselmi, and Anselm’s Proslogion, chapter XXV. However, if we examine more closely the text of the De moribus in comparison with the texts of Alexander’s Dicta and Eadmer’s De beatitudine, interesting and important differences emerge. For instance, the discussion of beatitude in the introductions to the Dicta and the De beatitudine is launched on the basis of the definition of beatitude as ‘abundance of goods without any lack’ (sufficientia commodorum sine omni indigentia). This definition is absent from the De moribus, but it is found both in St Anselm’s De concordia III.13 and Cur Deus homo I.24.20 It represents, to some extent, a paraphrase of Boethius’s definition of the highest good (summum bonum) in the De consolatione philosophiae.21 18 19 20

21

Anselm, De moribus, c. 55, in Southern and Schmitt, Memorials of St. Anselm, p. 59, ll. 24–31. Anselm, De moribus c. 63, p. 61, ll. 10–23. Anselm, De concordia, c. 13, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 285, ll. 19–22: ‘In beatitudine autem, secundum omnium sensum, est sufficientia competentium commodorum sine omni indigentia, sive angelica intelligatur beatitudo, sive illa quam habebat Adam in paradiso’. Anselm, Cur Deus homo, I. c. 24, ed. Schmitt, vol. 2, p. 93, ll. 7–9: ‘Nullus autem iniustus admittetur ad beatitudinem, quoniam quemadmodum beatitudo est sufficientia in qua nulla est indigentia, sic nulli convenit, nisi in quo ita pura est iustitia, ut nulla in eo sit iniustitia’. Boethius, De consolatione philosophiae, Opuscula theologica, ed. Claudio Moreschini, Bibliotheca Teubneriana (Munich and Leipzig: K. G. Saur, 2000), 3, p. 60, 2,2–3, ll. 5–11:

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The implicit reference to Boethius is significant for two reasons. First, the reference reveals that Anselm embraces Boethius’s view of beatitude as the all-encompassing good.22 The highest good is a collection of goods such that having all desired goods included in the collection leaves nothing else to be desired. In this sense, beatitude is to be understood as a kind of fulfilment. Indeed, Jorge Gracia and Jonathan Sanford have pointed out that St Anselm’s conception of happiness appears to be one according to which happiness is not just the absence of different types of suffering or distress, since this kind of conception would be negative and rather limited one, but also the satisfaction of every need and the possession of an abundance of goods.23 In any case, Boethius seems to be the origin of the ‘compositional’ view of beatitude. However, as John Marenbon has demonstrated, this ‘compositional’ view clashes with, what Marenbon calls, the ‘monolithic’ view of happiness, since later on in book III of The Consolation of Philosophy, Lady Philosophy proceeds to argue that the most perfect and enduring happiness is equivalent to or identical with God, and that, in acquiring this ultimate happiness, the human being becomes divine.24 Nonetheless, the premise on which Lady Philosophy’s argument rests is that we can judge the existence and nature of true happiness (species verae beatitudinis) by discerning its flawed appearance in the present life.25

22

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‘Id autem est bonum, quo quis adepto nihil ulterius desiderare queat. Quod quidem est omnium summum bonorum cunctaque intra se bona continens; cui si quid aforet, summum esse non posset, quoniam relinqueretur extrinsecus quod posset optari. Liquet igitur esse beatitudinem statum bonorum omnium congregatione perfectum’. Sønnesyn points out that Anselm defines happiness in several different ways, but we are mostly concerned with the definition of happiness/beatitude as a collection of goods and ultimate fulfillment. See Sigbjørn Olsen Sønnesyn, ‘Ut sine fine amet summam essentiam’: The Eudaemonist Ethics of Saint Anselm’, Mediaeval Studies, 70 (2008), pp. 1–28, at p. 8: ‘Throughout Anselm’s preserved works we may find explicit definitions of, as well as implicit reliance on, certain notions of happiness; and we may find formal as well as substantive—and general as well as specific—discussions of the concept: God is supreme happiness essentially; happiness is to enjoy God; happiness is the sufficiency of goods without any deficiency; happiness is the end of all action and volition, and what everybody wants’. Jorge J. E. Gracia and Jonathan J. Sanford, ‘Ratio quaerens beatitudinem: Anselm on Rationality and Happiness’, in Jiyuan Yu and Jorge J. E. Gracia, eds., Rationality and Happiness: From the Ancients to the Early Medievals (Rochester, NY: The University of Rochester Press, 2003), pp. 199–215, at 202–6. John Marenbon, ‘Rationality and Happiness: Interpreting Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy’, in Yu and Gracia, Rationality and Happiness, pp. 175–97, at 184–6. See also Boethius, De consolatione philosophiae, 3, p. 95, 12,31–2, ll. 81–6. Boethius, De consolatione philosophiae, 3, p. 58, 1,4, l. 14–p. 59, 1,7, l. 24.

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The second reason why the implicit reference to Boethius matters is because, if we read Boethius’s definition contextually, we will find that Anselm’s list of goods is partly based on that found in Boethius. Lady Philosophy argues that all men seek happiness although they entertain different notions about it. Some think that happiness entails lack of need (summum bonum esse nihilo indigere) and, consequently, identify the greatest good with wealth. Others think that happiness is found in honour, or power, or glory. There are also those who equate happiness with the joy or delight that follow upon the acquisition of the aforementioned goods; they, therefore, can be said, in the manner of Epicurus, to be ultimately concerned with the pursuit of pleasure. Wealth, honours, power, glory or fame, and pleasure appear then to be among the most universally sought after human goods.26 According to Lady Philosophy, all remaining bodily goods can be connected with or subsumed under one or another of the mentioned universal goods. For instance, beauty (pulchritudo) and swiftness (velocitas) can be associated with fame, whereas health (salubritas) can be linked with pleasure. Lastly, there is also friendship (amicitia), a good that Lady Philosophy characterizes as the most sacred of all (sanctissimum quidem genus est).27 Therefore, with the exception of glory and wealth, Boethius’s catalogue of goods has been incorporated into St Anselm’s far more comprehensive catalogue, with the goods of beauty, swiftness, health and pleasure categorized as corporeal goods and the goods of honour, friendship and joy classified as spiritual goods. In comparison with the texts of Alexander’s Dicta and Eadmer’s De beatitudine, the text of the De moribus is a bit terse and uninspiring, which is probably as a result of the author’s intention to treat the material more by way of a treatise than that of a sermon. However, the artificiality of the exposition is often enlivened by touching rhetorical questions. For example, in discussing beauty, the author of the De moribus asks: ‘Is there any human beauty that does not pale in comparison with the beauty of a little flower? Who can glitter like a lily or blush like a rose?’28 In describing the condition of incomplete human freedom in this life, the author writes: ‘Free is the man whom nobody can force toward things that he rejects or prevent from getting the things that he wants. But who among the living can have such freedom? Is there anyone who does not suffer daily on account of things he rejects or anyone who gets everything

26 27 28

Boethius, De consolatione philosophiae, 3, p. 60, 2,4–8, ll. 11–28; p. 61, 2,12, ll. 44–9. Boethius, De consolatione philosophiae, 3, p. 60, 2,9, l. 28–p. 61, 2,10, l. 38. De moribus, c. 50, p. 58, ll. 9–11: ‘Quaenam enim est illa speciositas hominis, quae multo est minor pulchritudine flosculi? Quis enim ut lilium candet, quisve ut rosa rubet?’

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he wants?’29 In reflecting upon the limitations of human wisdom, the author exclaims: ‘But what is the wisdom of those who fail to know themselves? Who can know perfectly what kind of thing the human soul is? And who can know what his body is like on the inside or what the outside [of his body] will be later on?’30 Let us take a closer look, now, at each of the fourteen goods constituting beatitude in order to at least imagine the heavenly bliss of angels and saints. In Alexander’s Dicta and Eadmer’s De beatitudine we are told already at the beginning that heavenly bliss is beyond comprehension, since ‘neither eye has seen, nor ear has heard, nor has entered into the heart of man what God has prepared for those who love Him’ (1 Cor. 2:9), but that just as infants whose food ought to be broken down into small pieces and given slowly, so also our uncomprehending minds can be given an intimation of heaven by revealing its various dimensions gradually and one by one.31 Let us first consider the seven dimensions of corporeal beatitude. The beauty of the glorified human body will be as intense as sunlight. In fact, the light emitted by our body will be stronger than the light of the seven days of creation. Brightness ( fulgor) and transparency (claritas) will be the two chief distinguishing characteristics of the beautiful saintly body.32 In addition to its astounding beauty, the glorified body will also acquire the characteristic of agility or lightness, so much so, indeed, that it will be capable of moving at the speed of a ray of light. Just as the light of the rising sun moves instantaneously 29 30 31

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De moribus, c. 53, p. 59, ll. 2–6: ‘Liber est ille, qui cogi non potest ad ea quae nolit nec prohiberi ab eo quod velit. Sed quis in hac vita valeat esse, qui hanc possit libertatem habere? Quis non cotidie patitur quod nollet, quisque valeat assequi omne quod vellet?’ De moribus, c. 59, p. 60, ll. 21–3: ‘Quis enim perfecte agnoscere valeat, cuiusmodi res sit anima sua? Quisve novit, quale sit corpus eius interius, vel quale posterius etiam exterius?’ Alexander of Canterbury, Dicta Anselmi, c. V, p. 128, l. 23: ‘Beatitudo itaque, quae promittitur sanctis, tam magna est tamque mirabilis, ut eam “nec oculus viderit nec auris audierit nec in cor hominis ascenderit”.’; p. 129, l. 32–p. 129, l. 5: ‘Et quia hoc ita est occultum, ita inclusum et multum ab infrimis mentibus separatum, conemur de tam excellenti gloria aliquid elicere, et illud in plures partes ut limpidius clareat dividendo statuere. Profecto si grossum infanti ad mandendum malum porrigitur, prae nimia teneritudine sui parvuli oris illud mordere nequit. Quod si particulatim inciditur, parvulus inde reficitur. Et quod prius intelligere cuius saporis esset non potuit, iam per frusta divisum cum sapore comedit’; Eadmer, De beatitudine, p. 274, ll. 18–23: ‘Puerorum more cibandos existimo, qui si quando grossum aliquod pomum edendum percipiunt, illud ob dentium teneritudinem et oris angustiam absumere nequeant, si pro illorum capacitate primo non fuerit particulatim divisum. Itaque dividamus in partes magna quae diximus, ut inde possint ad vitam nutriri de quibus agimus’. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 129, l. 27–p. 130, l. 11.

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from east to west, so also the body will be able to traverse any given distance in an instant. Alexander also tells us that the parts of the resurrected body will be reassembled in the blink of an eye, even in the extreme case in which the mortal body has been devoured by beasts or its members have been scattered in different regions of the world.33 Furthermore, the glorified body will be strong, free and healthy. It will enjoy phenomenal physical strength. Alexander assures his readers that it will be capable of lifting the entire mass of the earth with a single digit. That a glorified body can perform such astounding feats should not be surprising. After all, if the Devil can cause earthquakes and storms, we should expect God’s elect to be endowed with an even greater physical strength.34 Moreover, the saintly society (sancta societas) will be free to move and go anywhere they like. The movement of the glorified body will not be prevented by any kind of material obstacle. The saints will be able to pass through anything solid or liquid. They will even be able to enter the scorching flames and pitch of hell and remain unharmed. Most importantly, however, the saints will be free of the devastating effects of sin.35 Psychosomatic health is the fifth major dimension of corporeal beatitude, and the term ‘psychosomatic’ is especially appropriate in the context of the Dicta Anselmi because, as Alexander avers, the saints will not only have incorruptible flesh (nulla laesio supervenire poterit) but their memory of any past injury or suffering will either be entirely deleted or overshadowed by great cheerfulness (tanta abundantia iucunditatis ibi erit).36 Eadmer speaks only of the resurrected body’s everlasting immunity to infirmity and disease.37 Finally, the glorified human body will enjoy pleasure and perpetuity or endless existence. Pleasure is especially important insofar as it adds a certain strongly felt quality to corporeal beatitude. Without pleasure, Alexander notes, all other corporeal goods will be unproductive or fruitless (si saporem non habent, quasi penitus infructuosa sunt). Since it is difficult to imagine what it feels like to be engulfed and inebriated by the torrent of divine pleasure, both Alexander and Eadmer present a graphic contrast with excruciating bodily pain. ‘Verily’, Alexander says, ‘if someone pierced the pupil of my eye with a burning hot sword, I will not be pained just a little. And if he inflicted the same torment upon my other pupil, my pain will be even more intense. What do you think will happen if I felt the same pain throughout all my bodily 33 34 35 36 37

Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 130, ll. 16–28. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 131, ll. 10–6. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 131, ll. 22–31. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 132, ll. 8–13. Eadmer, De beatitudine, c. 5, p. 278, ll. 6–17.

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members? Wouldn’t I go insane?’38 Eadmer sharpens the horrifying impression of agony by prompting us to imagine pain seeping through our intestines and bone marrow.39 By way of juxtaposition, an image of ecstatic bodily pleasure also is conjured easily. According to Eadmer, heavenly delight will flood every single fibre of our body, eyes, ears, nose, mouth, hands, legs, throat, heart, liver, lungs, bones, brain, each of them separately, and all of them taken together.40 Alexander echoes Eadmer’s emphasis on the holistic aspect of bodily pleasure by noting how, unlike transitory earthly pleasure, heavenly pleasure is experienced throughout one’s entire body and soul.41 At last, there comes everlasting life, the crowning perfection of bodily beatitude. However, there is not much to be said other than, without the component of endless duration, heavenly beatitude will not be true beatitude. What did St Anselm and his disciples think about the seven dimensions of spiritual beatitude? The first dimension of spiritual beatitude, wisdom, consists in knowing God and the natures of everything that God has created. Alexander and Eadmer offer a much more nuanced and absorbing account of the wisdom of the blessed than the author of the De moribus. Alexander, for instance, promises that the saints will know everything past, present, and future. They will also know all languages, creatures, and arts as well as see each other’s thoughts. There will be no secrets, since each will know everyone’s past deeds. And having one’s deeds known by everyone else will not give rise to shame, since one would have already made satisfaction in the present life through penance.42 Once everything has been revealed to everyone and once everything has been forgiven, we can see how effortlessly friendship and harmony will reign unchallenged in the sacred society of saints. Since everyone will be equally a member of the one body of Christ, and since Christ Himself is peace and head of all, the saints will be drawn to one another as naturally as the parts of a single body. Moreover, the saints will love each other as much as they love their own self, whereas God will love each of them much more than they are capable of loving Him.43

38

39 40 41 42 43

Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 133, ll. 13–6: ‘Profecto si quis mihi pupulam ignito ferro transforaret, non modicum dolorem haberem. Et si aliam simili tormento infigeret, multo maior mihi dolor esset. Quod si per omnia membra eadem paena mihi fieret, idem dolor teneret, quid putas esset? Nonne insanirem?’ Eadmer, De beatitudine, c. 6, p. 279, ll. 11–5. Eadmer, De beatitudine, c. 6, p. 279, ll. 19–21. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 133, ll. 21–5. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 134, ll. 10–8. Eadmer, De beatitudine, c. 9, p. 282, ll. 12–21.

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With friendship comes harmony. Being one church, one bride, and one body, the holy community of saints will also have a single will, so much so, indeed, that whatever is wanted by a single saint will also be wanted by every other saint. The image of a perfectly unified human body goes a long way toward illuminating the nature of heavenly harmony. Every part of the human body has its own proper function, yet the proper functioning of one part cannot occur without the proper functioning of another part, and the proper functioning of each part is more or less integral to the proper functioning of the entire human body. The eyes, for instance, enable both hands and feet to do their own job well, and eyes, hands and feet together help the body as a whole, by either allowing it to move or keep its balance or reach the various things it needs to survive and flourish.44 Furthermore, each bodily part does what it is meant to do and does not encroach upon the duty of any other part. Alexander writes that ‘just as in the human body the hand does not perform the duty of the foot, nor the eye wants to be a nose, nor the ear wants to do the smelling … thus in that glorious establishment of the city of God no one wants to change their given post for a higher rank’.45 In addition to wisdom, friendship and harmony, the saints will also enjoy power and honour. The saints’ power will be of such magnitude that they will be able to accomplish anything they set their mind upon in heaven, on earth, at sea or in the chasms of hell. ‘What we say seems incredible’, Alexander says, ‘but if we consider well where we will find ourselves then and to whose head we will be attached as members, and [recall] that nothing will be taken away from those who love God, [then] none of these things will be incredible’.46 In essence, the saints will have acquired the divine attribute of omnipotence, and both Alexander and Eadmer assert as much when they write that the will of the saints will be omnipotent.47 The saints will be honoured beyond comprehension. To help us grasp the magnitude of this divine recognition, Alexander and the author of the De moribus ask us to imagine a sick servant who is being healed, freed and treated by the king as equal to the king’s son, for instance,

44 45

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Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 136, ll. 8–20. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 137, ll. 14–8: ‘Nam sicut in humano corpore nec manus fungitur officio pedis, nec oculus petit esse nasus, nec auditus odoratus, nec auricularis medius vel pollex, sic in illa gloriosa compositione civitatis dei nemo statum suum gradu potiori volet mutare, in tantum quisque quod suum est amabit quia sibi sufficiet’. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 133, l. 29–p. 139, l. 2: ‘Mirum fortasse videtur quod dicimus, sed si bene consideratur ubi tunc locati vel cuius capitis membra tunc erimus, et quia nihil deerit iis qui deum diligunt, nequaquam erit incredibile’. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 138, l. 4; Eadmer, De beatitudine, c. 11, p. 283, l. 25.

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to the prince.48 Eadmer compares the glorious honours of the blessed to the stature of a destitute and chronically ailing pauper whom a compassionate and mighty king has ordered to be fully restored to health, dressed up in regal attire, adopted as a second son, and made co-inheritor of the kingdom.49 The radical change of status envisioned in the examples of the servant and the pauper is that of the process of deification. In this way, the honour of which St Anselm’s disciples speak is nothing less than the restoration of our fallen humanity to the status of divinity. The last two dimensions of spiritual beatitude are security and joy. Security can to some degree be viewed as the psychological counterpart of everlasting life, which is the last seventh dimension of corporeal beatitude. In essence, security is the psychological assurance or conviction that heavenly beatitude will never be compromised and lost. Eadmer, for instance, notes that the word ‘security’ brings about a certain jubilation of the heart (mota est in te quaedam iubilatio cordis).50 Both Alexander and Eadmer speculate that beatitude can be lost either through individual desire, or if God decides to take it away, or if someone more powerful than God invades the Kingdom of Heaven and takes away beatitude by force. However, since the proposed three ways of losing beatitude are obviously irrational and do not amount to genuine possibilities, the saints can be certain that beatitude will be theirs forever.51 And then there is joy, the ultimate seventh dimension of beatitude. Alexander tells us that the joy of heaven will be something unimaginable and unprecedented since no one in this life has ever experienced such joy (nemo in praesenti vita illud expertus est).52 The crucial factor that accounts for the incomparable magnitude of heavenly joy is that joy is a shared or communal experience. The saints take delight in each other’s joy, so much so, indeed, that one’s awareness of the joy of another is at the same time a progressively expanding circle of awareness of the joy of the entire heavenly multitude. The saints will not only rejoice in the happiness of their friends and family, but also in the happiness of those next to them (de nobis ipsis gaudeamus et de proximis nostris gaudeamus).53 ‘Just as the fish in the sea are surrounded by sea on all sides’, Alexander writes metaphorically, ‘so also the saints of God will be surrounded by that magnificent sweetness of joy on all sides, of which it is 48 49 50 51 52 53

Eadmer, De moribus, c. 65, p. 61, l. 34–p. 62, l. 2; Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 138, ll. 8–18. Eadmer, De beatitudine, c. 12, p. 283, l. 31–p. 284, l. 2. Eadmer, De beatitudine, c. 13, p. 285, l. 12. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 139, ll. 13–20; De beatitudine, c. 13, p. 285, ll. 13–21. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 139, ll. 26–8. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 139, l. 28–p. 140, l. 5.

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said “enter into the joy of your Lord”’.54 Eadmer also embellishes Alexander’s metaphorical description by adding that there will be a wondrous and ineffable abundance of exultation: ‘Hence there will be in them joy inside and out; joy downward as well as upward; joy round about and everywhere’.55 2

St Anselm’s Concept of Beatitude and the Biblical Promise of Heavenly Bliss

What is especially striking about the account of beatitude presented above is its ambitious scope, comparable perhaps to St Anselm’s celebrated ontological argument. The account is rich and complex, and it represents a significant effort on Anselm’s part and/or on the part of those closest to him to think through and develop a solid theological concept to do justice to the biblical promise that life in heaven will surpass all mundane expectations. Putting aside the question of the authoritative character of the texts wherein beatitude is examined in substantial detail, we may ask what theological advantage there is to having a clear and distinct account of heavenly bliss. The advantage is nothing less than a meaningfully expanded perfect-being theology, to use Brian Leftow’s characterization of Anselm’s theological project, that is to say a theology that does justice not only to God’s perfect being, but also to the summit of God’s creation, humanity itself.56 We submit that a discussion of beatitude from the standpoint of the human being is a discussion made possible by the distinction between created and uncreated beatitude, and that a sound theology is a theology that addresses both kinds of beatitude. Nevertheless, familiarity with the guiding principles of St Anselm’s theological ethics should prevent us from overstating the importance of beatitude as the crucial factor motivating human action, especially so if we construe beatitude solely as something created. According to Brower’s deontological interpretation, Anselm distinguishes two types of value or goodness: advantage and 54 55 56

Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 140, ll. 7–9: ‘Sicut pisces maris undique circa se habent mare, sic sancti dei illam magnificam suavitatem gaudii circa se undique habebunt, de quo dicitur, “intra in gaudium domini sui”’. Eadmer, De beatitudine, c. 14, p. 286, ll. 9–11: ‘Gaudium ergo erit eis intus et extra; gaudium sursum atque deorsum; gaudium in circuitu et ubique’. Brian Leftow, ‘Anselm’s perfect-being theology’, in Brian Davies and Brian Leftow, eds., The Cambridge Companion to Anselm (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 132–56, at 132. For a masterful effort to weave Anselm’s notion of happiness/beatitude into Anselm’s perfect-being theology, see Sønnesyn, “Ut sine fine amet summam essentiam”’, pp. 1–13.

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justice. Anselm’s emphasis on justice as the general or underlying disposition/ habit that inclines the human will to, when required, choose the right action for the right reason, even if that entails sacrificing individual happiness, distances Anselm’s theological ethics from eudemonism and brings it closer to deontological ethics.57 We suggest, therefore, that Anselm’s response to the opening question of Alexander’s Dicta Anselmi, namely ‘Why the saints of God do what they do?’ cannot simply be ‘Because they desire beatitude’.58 The saints of God do desire beatitude, since, after all, the affection for the advantageous is, according to Anselm’s moral psychology, an indelible property of the will of rational agents in general.59 What makes the saints of God saints, however, is the rectitude of their will, or, more precisely, their willingness to do what is right for its own sake. In doing the right thing, the saints also, inevitably, gain beatitude.60 According to the eudemonist reading advanced by Rogers and Sønnesyn, the motivation to pursue justice for its own sake is not fundamentally at odds with the motivation to pursue happiness. On the basis of Harry Frankfurt’s distinction between first- and second-order desires, for example, Rogers argues that the affection for justice plays the role of a second-order desire with respect to the affection for the advantageous, which she construes as a first-order desire.61 Rogers also shows, convincingly in our opinion, that it is mistaken to attribute to Anselm’s two affections a Kantian-type opposition between moral obligation and self-interest/natural inclination. The objects of the two affections relate to each other within a hierarchical scheme which allows one object to be seen as ‘nested’ within the other, although Rogers does not specify whether the object of the affection for justice is ‘nested’ within the object 57

58 59 60 61

See Jeffrey E. Brower, ‘Anselm on Ethics’, in Brian Davies and Brian Leftow, eds., The Cambridge Companion to Anselm (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 222–56, esp. 233–49. For a clear account of the way in which the affection for the advantageous and the affection for justice enter into Anselm’s understanding of free choice in particular, see Sandra Visser and Thomas Williams, ‘Anselm’s Account of Freedom’, in The Cambridge Companion to Anselm, pp. 179–203, esp. 186–94; see also Calvin G. Normore, ‘Picking and Choosing: Anselm and Ockham on Choice’, Vivarium, 36 (1998), pp. 23–39, esp. 27–31. For a summary of the essential secondary literature on St Anselm’s ethics in chronological order, and for an assessment and a perceptive critique of the deontological interpretation advanced by Brower, see Sønnesyn, ‘Ut sine fine amet summam essentiam’, pp. 2 (n. 3) and 3–16. Alexander, Dicta, c. V, p. 127, l. 20: ‘… quia propter commodum, propter beatitudinem hoc faciunt’. See Brower, ‘Anselm on Ethics’, p. 244. See Brower, ‘Anselm on Ethics’, pp. 246–9. Katherin Rogers, ‘Anselm on Eudaemonism and the Hierarchical Structure of Moral Choice’, Religious Studies, 41 (2005), pp. 249–68, esp. 249–59.

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of the affection for the advantageous or vice versa.62 Sønnesyn corroborates Rogers’ eudemonist account by stressing the Augustinian basis of Anselm’s understanding of happiness. For St Augustine, true happiness is essentially a God-directed activity; it involves the love and enjoyment of God.63 Put differently, if we understand beatitude as equivalent with God, that is, if we take beatitude in the sense of uncreated beatitude, it follows then that the beatitude the saints aim at when they love and enjoy God is not their own beatitude, that is created beatitude, but uncreated beatitude. It is in this very pursuit of the ultimate telos of human life, a telos interpreted along Augustinian lines and deeply rooted in the specifically Christian notion of happiness, that the saints also achieve their own, created beatitude. Created beatitude is nothing less, however, than participation in God’s beatitude.64 3

Beatitude in the Later Middle Ages

Let us project the conceptual framework of the account of beatitude found in the Proslogion, the De moribus, Alexander’s Dicta Anselmi and Eadmer’s Scriptum de beatitudine upon later scholastic, thirteenth- and fourteenthcentury discussions of the state of the blessed in heaven. If we do so, we will discover that, in many ways, later scholastic treatments of beatitude represent a rigorous effort to think through an entire host of issues that emerge as a result of filtering the biblical promise of salvation and eternal life via the lenses of Aristotelian natural philosophy (physics, psychology, ethics) and metaphysics. Most of these issues were discussed in the context of lecturing on Peter Lombard’s Sentences, and some were also addressed within the venue of university quodlibetal disputations, or in the form of disputed questions. The majority of beatitude-related questions medieval scholastics discussed in the context of quodlibetal disputations pertain to the status of the glorified body. For instance, theologians asked whether the glorified body moves and 62

63 64

See Rogers, ‘Anselm on Eudaemonism’, p. 258. Although Sønnesyn refers to Rogers’ ‘nested’ objects (Sønnesyn, ‘Ut sine fine amet summam essentiam’, p. 26, n. 98), his own careful analysis demonstrates that the object of the affection for justice is nested within the object of the affection for the advantageous. See Sønnesyn, ‘Ut sine fine amet summam essentiam’, p. 24: ‘The explicit possibility of having a just will to happiness, iusta beatitudinis voluntas, shows that the two kinds of goods cannot be absolutely distinct. Rather, iustitia must be encompassed by commodum in such a way that you can will for what is commodum without willing for what is just, but not vice versa’. Sønnesyn, ‘Ut sine fine amet summam essentiam’, pp. 9, 18–9, 21–2. See Sønnesyn, ‘Ut sine fine amet summam essentiam’, p. 25.

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has colour (Alexander of Hales); whether the agility of the glorified body is simply the absence of gravity (John of Naples); whether the resurrected body is numerically identical with the body of the previously existing human being (Thomas Aquinas, Ranulphe D’Homblieres, Nicholas Trivet, Peter of Auvergne, Eustashe, James of Viterbo); whether an inanimate glorified body is capable of motion (Gerard of Abbeville); whether two glorified bodies can exist simultaneously in one and the same place (Aquinas, Peter of Trabibus).65 To give just one example of a disputed question, the Franciscan theologian, William of Falegar, who studied theology at Paris in 1271–72, authored the following disputed questions on beatitude: (1) ‘Whether the vision of the divine essence pertains to the beatitude of a rational creature’; (2) ‘Whether the distinct cognition of the persons of the Trinity pertains to the essence of beatitude’; (3) ‘Whether the love of the divine goodness pertains to the essence of beatitude’; (4) ‘Whether after the day of judgment any of the blessed see the whole universe in the eternal exemplar, i.e. the divine essence’; (5) ‘Whether the cognition of [all] things in the eternal exemplar pertains to the essence of beatitude’; (6) ‘Whether God is seen by the blessed through some species or created similitude informing their intellect’.66 Theologians discussed beatitude usually in connection with book IV, distinctions 44 and 49 of Lombard’s Sentences on the status of the glorified body and the beatific vision respectively.67 If we look at one of the major Parisian Sentences commentaries of the 13th century, namely St Bonaventure’s monumental Commentaria in quatuor libros Sententiarum magistri Petri Lombardi (1250–52), we will see that the question of the nature of beatitude is discussed in great detail.68 The sole article of distinction 49 contains the following six questions: (1) What is beatitude? (2) In what way is beatitude desired? (3) In what subject does beatitude reside? (4) Does beatitude reside in the soul according to substance or according to power? (5) In what powers is the act or operation of glory to be found? (6) Do all [saints] have equal beatitude? In answering the first question, St Bonaventure aims to secure a middle ground 65 66 67 68

See Richard Cross, ‘Appendix. Natural Philosophy: An Analytic Index’, in Christopher Schabel, ed., Theological Quodlibeta in the Middle Ages: The Fourteenth Century, vol. 2 (Leiden: Brill, 2007), pp. 701–58, at 712, 720, 739, 743. See A. J. Gondras, ‘Guillaume de Falegar. Ouevres inédites’, Archives d’histoire doctrinale et littéraire du moyen age, 39 (1973), pp. 185–288, at 193–4, 245, 249, 254, 257, 263, 268. For a brief discussion of the chief questions that preoccupy Lombard in the context of distinctions 44 and 49, see Philipp W. Rosemann, Peter Lombard (Oxford, New York: Oxford University Press, 2004), pp. 181–2 and 188–91. For a more comprehensive discussion of Bonaventure’s understanding of beatitude, see William O. Duba, ‘Seeing God: Theology, Beatitude and Cognition in the Thirteenth Century’, Ph.D. dissertation, University of Iowa, 2006, pp. 28–40.

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between two diametrically opposed positions, the first maintaining that beatitude is a created good and the second claiming that beatitude is an uncreated good. St Bonaventure argues that beatitude can be understood as an end of the appetite in two different ways depending on whether we think of it as an object that motivates the appetite (sicut obiectum) or as the condition of the soul when impacted by the object (sicut informans est ipsa influentia Dei in anima). Taken in the first sense, beatitude is identical with the uncreated good or God alone. Taken in the second sense, beatitude refers to the created good, that is, the soul’s condition of deification or divinization (deiformitas) and satisfaction (satietas). What is particularly interesting, however, is that St Bonaventure enlists the authority of Aristotle in support of the claim that beatitude is an uncreated good. Two of the five arguments in oppositum presented in the beginning of the first question are clearly Aristotelian or can be said to rely on well-known Aristotelian premises. The first of these two arguments defends the thesis that beatitude is an uncreated good on the basis of the identification of beatitude with Aristotle’s ultimate end and first principle. The second argument points out that beatitude cannot be in the genus of quality because Aristotle defines happiness in the Nicomachean Ethics as an act.69 In St Bonaventure’s treatment of beatitude, we also come across evidence anticipating the great scholastic debates of the first half of the fourteenthcentury regarding whether beatitude is a single good or a collection of goods.70 69 70

Bonaventura, Commentaria in quatuor libros Sententiarum magistri Petri Lombardi, Tomus IV, In quartum librum Sententiarum (Rome: Ad Claras Aquas (Quaracchi), 1889), d. 49, a. unicus, q. 1, pp. 1000–1. Even though it is not properly speaking theological literature, Jean Buridan’s question-style commentary on Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics represents an important witness to the kinds of philosophical problems that theologians aimed to resolve in attempting to clarify the Christian ideal of beatitude and differentiate it from the Aristotelian philosophical notion of the happy human life. Questions 4 and 5 of Buridan’s commentary on book X of the Ethics are of particular significance in this respect. Question 4 asks whether human happiness consists in one act or many, and question 5 asks whether happiness consists in an act of the intellect or in an act of the will. In the body of question 4, for instance, Buridan explains that there are two different ways of speaking about happiness: (1) by way of composition, and (2) by way of resolution or division. In the way of composition, happiness is an aggregate of powers, virtues and activities of soul and body and of exterior goods conducive to the unhindered exercise of activities in accordance with virtues of soul and body. In the way of resolution or division, happiness is the best part or element of the aggregate of interior and exterior goods if this aggregate is broken down into distinct components by a procedure of rational discrimination. See Jean Buridan. ‘Questions on Book X of the Ethics’, in Arthur Stephen McGrade, John Kilcullen, and Matthew Kempshall, eds., The Cambridge Translations of Medieval Philosophical Texts, vol. 2 (Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 498–586, at 545–7.

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In discussing the subject of beatitude in the third question, Bonaventure raises and engages with the Anselmian thesis that beatitude is a collection of goods of the body and goods of the soul. The thesis is used in support of the view that the subject of beatitude is the soul-body composite (totum coniunctum) rather than the soul alone. Bonaventure responds that beatitude is more correctly said to be the joy (gaudium de bonis) derived from the plurality of spiritual and corporeal goods.71 4

Richard FitzRalph and Adam Wodeham: Two Early 14th-Century Witnesses to St Anselm’s Influence

Finally, we would like to explore two major early fourteenth-century witnesses to the influence of St Anselm’s account of beatitude: the secular Irish theologian Richard FitzRalph (ca. 1300–60) and the English Franciscan theologian Adam Wodeham (d. 1358). What makes FitzRalph (also known as Doctor Hibernicus) an important witness is the fact that he was not only a reputable theologian, one of eighteen theologians to have been asked by Pope Benedict XII to correct the erroneous views of Pope John XXII on the beatific vision, but also a distinguished university administrator (he served as Chancellor of Oxford University in 1332–34) and churchman (he was appointed Dean of Lichfield in 1335, and, consequently, elected Archbishop of Armagh in 1346).72 One of the most thought-provoking aspects of FitzRalph’s life and career is the fact that, later in his life, FitzRalph experienced a profound religious conversion as a result of which he rejected the scholastic training of his youth and devoted himself more fully to prayer and the study of scripture. Michael Dunne has suggested that this conversion experience was provoked by ‘a personal reading 71 72

Bonaventura, In quartum librum Sententiarum, d. 49, a. unicus, q. 3, pp. 1004–5. For FitzRalph’s view of the beatific vision, see William O. Duba, ‘Conversion, Vision and Faith in the Life and Works of Richard FitzRalph’, in Michael W. Dunne and Simon Nolan O. Carm., eds., Richard FitzRalph: His Life, Times and Thought (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2013), pp. 103–27, esp. 111–27. For the details of FitzRalph’s life and career, see esp. Katherine Walsh, ‘Fitzralph, Richard (b. before 1300, d. 1360)’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford University Press, Sept 2004; online edn, May 2010), , accessed 7 July 2010); Katherine Walsh, A Fourteenth-Century Scholar and Primate: Richard FitzRalph in Oxford, Avignon and Armagh (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1981); Michael Haren, ‘Richard FitzRalph of Dundalk, Oxford and Armagh: scholar, prelate and controversialist’, in James McEvoy and Michael Dunne, eds., The Irish Contribution to Scholastic Thought (Dublin: Four Courts Press, 2009), pp. 88–110; Michael Dunne, ‘Fitzralph, Richard (c. 1299–1360)’, in Thomas Duddy, ed., Dictionary of Irish Philosophers A–Z, (London: Continuum, 2006), pp. 129–32.

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of Augustine’, and it might be wondered whether FitzRalph’s rejection of scholasticism was simply an expression of dissatisfaction with excessive philosophizing in the realm of theology or whether it was also a wholesale dismissal of the Anselmian project of fides quaerens intellectum.73 FitzRalph is perhaps best known for his two great dialogues, the Summa de quaestionibus Armenorum (1340), which deals with the creed and practices of the Armenian church, and the De pauperie salvatoris (1350), which is devoted to the problem of apostolic poverty. However, FitzRalph’s first major theological work is his Sentences commentary based on lectures he delivered at Oxford in the years 1328–29. Proof of the import of FitzRalph’s Sentences commentary is provided by Adam Wodeham’s own Oxford lectures (delivered in the years 1332–34). With the exception of William of Ockham, who is the principal modern authority Wodeham engages, FitzRalph is the most frequently cited modernus in Wodeham’s lectures. Of course, the frequency with which Wodeham discusses arguments and positions derived from FitzRalph’s Sentences commentary can be explained away as a courtesy to a regent master and, eventually, university chancellor. However, closer examination of Wodeham’s engagement with FitzRalph’s work reveals that Wodeham was a very careful reader of FitzRalph’s texts, and at different times critical of FitzRalph’s views and arguments, as well as being sympathetic and supportive of his opinions. As far as Wodeham’s place in scholastic thought is concerned, nothing best captures Wodeham’s reputation in the late Middle Ages and beyond than the words of the illustrious sixteenth-century Scottish philosopher and theologian, John Mair. In Mair’s De gestis Scotorum, Wodeham is characterized as ‘a moderate man, but of no less learning and intelligence than Ockham’ (vir modestus, sed non inferioris doctrinae aut ingenii quam Ockham).74

73

74

See Michael Dunne, ‘Richard FitzRalph’s Lectura on the Sentences’, in Philipp W. Rosemann, ed., Mediaeval Commentaries on the Sentences of Peter Lombard, vol. 2 (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp. 405–37, at 436. For an illuminating discussion, see Duba, ‘Conversion, Vision and Faith’, pp. 105–11. Quoted in Courtenay, ‘Wodeham, Adam (c. 1295–1358)’. Biographical accounts of Wodeham can be found in John T. Slotemaker and Jeffrey C. Witt, ‘Adam de Wodeham’, in Edward N. Zalta, ed., The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2012 Edition), accessed 4 September 2015; William J. Courtenay, ‘Wodeham, Adam (c. 1295–1358)’, in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography (Oxford University Press, 2004), accessed 27 October 2010; R. Wood, ‘Introduction’, in R. Wood and G. Gál, Adam de Wodeham, Lectura secunda in librum primum Sententiarum, 3 vols. (New York: St Bonaventure, 1990), vol. 1, pp. 5*–49*, at 7*–8*; W. J. Courtenay, Adam Wodeham: An Introduction to His Life and Writings (Leiden: Brill, 1978).

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Before we examine FitzRalph’s treatment of beatitude, we ought to describe briefly the context in which this treatment is found. FitzRalph’s remarks on beatitude appear in the context of FitzRalph’s discussion of beatific enjoyment ( fruitio beatifica). Following Peter Lombard’s lead, medieval scholastic theologians explored the topic of beatific enjoyment in the body of the first distinction of book I of Lombard’s Sentences. Considering the conceptual proximity between the notion of beatific enjoyment, discussed typically in book I, d. 1, and that of beatific vision and beatitude in general, discussed in book IV, d. 49, FitzRalph’s comments on beatitude as such are not entirely out of place. FitzRalph devotes two questions to the topic of the first distinction. Each question is divided into four articles. The first three articles explore problems related to the principal question, whereas the last fourth article contains FitzRalph’s response to the principal question. The first principal question is whether only the Trinity is to be enjoyed, and the second principal question asks whether beatitude is an act of the intellect or the will. The first article of q. 2 is whether the intellect is a nobler faculty than the will. The second article is whether joy or pleasure are the same as volition.75 The third article is whether joy or pleasure is beatitude. FitzRalph’s structural division of the second principal question suggests that whether beatitude is an act of the intellect or the will depends in part upon establishing a clear axiological difference between the faculties of the intellect and the will, and in part upon whether beatitude is an active or passive volitional state. His response to the sub-question of the third article allows for a much broader framework within which the problem of the nature of beatitude can be properly addressed and resolved. It is in this third article that FitzRalph differentiates two models of beatitude, namely, beatitude as a single good, which, following John Marenbon, we will call the ‘monolithic’ view of beatitude, and beatitude as a collection of parts, or what we have called earlier in this paper the Anselmian ‘compositional’ view of beatitude. According to the first model, the term ‘beatitude’ refers either to God, or to the vision of the divine essence, or to the love of the divine essence, or to the joy or pleasure derived from the vision of the divine essence. FitzRalph bypasses the sense in which beatitude is identical with God, and he does so, apparently, because his primary aim is to give an account of created beatitude, rather than uncreated beatitude. According to the compositional model, beatitude is the sum total or 75

For a more detailed discussion of q. 2, a. 1 and a. 2, see Severin V. Kitanov, ‘Is it better for the King of England to be a King of England than a Duke of Aquitaine? Richard FitzRalph and Adam Wodeham on whether Beatific Enjoyment is an Act of the Intellect or an Act of the Will’, in Dunne and Nolan, Richard FitzRalph, pp. 56–78, at 64–6.

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collection of parts (aggregatum) among which we can count vision, love, joy/ pleasure as well as, FitzRalph says, ‘everything else that pertains to the status of the blessed that Anselm enumerates in the book De similitudinibus, c. 49’.76 For FitzRalph, St Anselm’s model is the most adequate way of speaking about (created) beatitude insofar as the model conceives of (created) beatitude in its most complete or wide-ranging meaning. For, beatitude does not signify merely the vision of God, or the love of God, or the delight the blessed derive from seeing God face-to-face; beatitude refers to a multi-dimensional experience, an experience that unifies and integrates a variety of essential components or goods that appear disconnected beyond repair from the limited standpoint of our present existence (in via). Surprisingly, FitzRalph singles out joy/pleasure as the best part or aspect of beatitude, and he even goes as far as to contend that, of all the parts of beatitude, joy/pleasure is most truthfully called beatitude.77 As the title and content of the fourteenth question of Adam Wodeham’s extensive treatment of beatific enjoyment suggest, FitzRalph’s second 76

77

Ricardus FitzRalph, Lectura in Sententias, liber I, dist. 1, q. 2, a. 3 (Paris, Bibl. Nat., MS 15853, fol. 16rb): ‘Ad istum articulum nihil asserendo dico sic, quod beatitudo accipitur multipliciter in modo loquendi auctorum. Uno modo pro obiecto beatifico, scilicet Deo, et sic loquitur Boethius III libro De consolatione, prosa 10 probans Deum esse summam beatitudinem. Alio modo pro visione clara essentiae divinae, et sic loquitur Dominus in Evangelio Ioannis, cap. 17 “haec est vita aeterna”, et cetera. Alio modo pro actuali amore illius essentiae divinae, et sic loquitur Augustinus innumerabiles locis vocans fruitionem Dei beatitudinem. Tertio modo accipitur pro delectatione vel gaudio quod habetur ex visione clara essentiae divinae, et sic loquitur Augustinus in libro De vera innocentia, prop. 180, ubi diffiniens beatitudinem dicit quod est “gaudium de veritate quae Deus est”. Quarto modo et maxime proprie accipitur beatitudo pro aggregato ex omnibus istis et aliis pertinentibus ad statum beati, qui numerat Anselmus in libro De similitudinibus, cap. 49, et sunt septem pertinentes ad animam, et septem ad corpus, et sunt secundum ipsum ibidem—pulchritudo, agilitas, fortitudo, libertas, sanitas, voluptas, longevitas,— haec ad corpus. Ad animam—sapientia, amicitia, concordia, honor, potestas, securitas, gaudium—ecce septem, et vide ista tria sapientia, amicitia, gaudium. Ideo Anselmus talem beatitudinem describens in libro De concordia praescientiae et praedestinationis, cap. 23 dicit quod “beatitudo secundum omnem sensum est sufficiencia competentium commodorum sine omni indigentia”, et Boethius describit beatitudinem quod est “status omnium bonorum aggregatione perfectus”’. FitzRalph, Lectura in Sententias, liber I, dist. 1, q. 2, a. 3 (Paris, Bibl. Nat., MS 15853, fol. 16rb– va): ‘Unde pro articulo in se dico quod inter istas partes ipsa delectatio est pars ultima et optima. Unde Augustinus ubi supra ipsum gaudium ponit ultimam partem beatitudinis, quia per ipsam ultimate satiatur mens rationalis de suo creatore. Unde ista septem argumenta ad istam partem concludunt verum, scilicet quod delectatio est ultima beatitudo et optima loquendo de beatitudinibus partialibus et simplicibus. Tota tamen aggregata est melior, nec aliquod argumentum probat oppositum huiusmodi’.

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principal query must have occasioned Wodeham’s own investigation of the axiological difference between the intellect and the will and their corresponding acts. Wodeham’s comments and response to the principal question, namely whether fruitio is an act of the intellect, are subtle and ingenious.78 Unlike FitzRalph, however, Wodeham discusses the various senses of beatitude in the context of a question that asks whether fruitio is really distinct from pleasure. This is in fact question 4 of Wodeham’s commentary on distinction 1, book I of Lombard’s Sentences, and Wodeham’s remarks on beatitude can be found at the very end of the question, in response to the sixth dubium, which asks whether or not beatitude consists in a single act. According to Wodeham, the activity of the soul of the blessed with respect to beatitude presupposes at minimum two distinct parts in beatitude, namely the clear vision of God, on the one hand, and the enjoyment of that vision, on the other. It is at this juncture that Wodeham summons, approvingly (tangit quidam doctor, et bene), FitzRalph’s distinction between the several senses of beatitude (Figure 14.1). Wodeham cites FitzRalph’s Lectura verbatim. Not only does Wodeham enumerate the seven Anselmian corporeal and spiritual parts (or gifts) of beatitude as found in FitzRalph, but he also concurs with FitzRalph that pleasure is the supreme and most fulfilling portion or dimension of beatitude (quaedam plena beatitudo).79 78 79

For a discussion of Wodeham’s comments, see Kitanov, ‘King of England’, pp. 70–6. Adam Wodeham, Ordinatio Oxoniensis, liber I, dist. 1, q. 4 (Paris, Bibl. de la Sorbonne, MS 193, fol. 23ra–b): ‘Sextum dubium esse potest an tota ipsa beatitudo stet in uno actu qui est Dei visio, et Dei fruicio, et delectacio beatifica de Deo. Et hic est dicendum quod si ⟨add. mg. beati anima se⟩ habeat active ad aliquam partem suae beatitudinis essentialis, sunt ibi ad minus duae partes distinctae, scilicet, clara Dei visio, et respectu eius fruicio vel gaudium, sed secundum modum sustinendi conclusionem principalem, utrum autem anima active se habeat respectu beatitudinis suae, tractabitur in alia quaestione ⟨q. 10⟩. ⟨add. mg. Nota quot modis dicitur beatitudo⟩ Hic tamen est notandum sicut tangit quidam doctor ⟨i.e. FitzRalph⟩, et bene, quod beatitudo multipliciter sumitur. Uno modo pro obiecto beatifico, et sic secundum eum loquitur Boethius, 3o Libro, De consolatione, prosa 10, probans ibi Deum esse summam beatitudinem. Alio modo sumitur pro visione clara essentiae divinae, et sic loquitur Christus in Evangelio Ioannis 15, ‘haec est vita aeterna’, etc. Tertio modo sumitur pro actuali amore istius essentiae clare visae, et sic loquitur Augustinus in locis innumeris vocans frucionem Dei beatitudinem. Quarto modo accipitur pro delectacione vel gaudio quod oritur ex fruicione essentiae divinae clare visae, et sic loquitur Augustinus in libello De vera innocentia, propositione 180, cum dicit beatitudinem seu vitam beatam esse gaudium, etc. Quinto et magis proprie accipitur pro toto aggregato ex tribus praedictis, et omnibus pertinentibus ad statum beati, quae pertinentia ennumerat Anselmus, De similitudinibus, c. 49. Et sunt septem dotes pertinentes ad statum corporis, scilicet, pulchritudo, agilitas, fortitudo, libertas, sanitas, voluptas, et longevitas. Et septem ad animam, scilicet, sapientia, amicicia, concordia, honor, potestas, securitas, et gaudium. Inter que habens sapientiam, amiciciam et gaudium, de

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Figure 14.1

Kitanov

Adam Wodeham’s discussion of the corporeal and spiritual gifts of beatitude according to St Anselm—Ordinatio Oxonienis, book I, dist. 1, q. 4 (Vat. lat, MS 955, fol. 31r) With permission of the Vatican Apostolic Library

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5

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Conclusion

As we have seen, much can be said about an Anselmian ‘compositional’ model of beatitude. Although not fully developed in Anselm’s authentic works, the model is nevertheless present at least in outline. Anselm’s disciples improved upon this outline and wrought it into a full-fledged account of beatitude. Theologically, the account is not only consistent with scripture, but it is also in unison with the idea of the greatest conceivable being. The complexity of St Anselm’s theological ethics makes it difficult to determine whether, and if so, to what extent the evangelical promise of incomparable supernatural happiness ought to play a role in the life of the religious believer. This complexity gives rise to rival interpretations of St Anselm’s works. Nonetheless, emphasis on the Augustinian basis of Anselm’s view of beatitude, namely the notion that beatitude consists in the activity of loving and enjoying God for God’s sake, shows that what motivates (or ought to motivate) the believer is the desire to participate in God’s goodness. Furthermore, later medieval scholastic theologians such as FitzRalph and Wodeham found Anselm’s ‘compositional’ model of beatitude not only compelling and worth discussing, but also fully adequate to the task of grasping the scope of created beatitude. Whether later continental theologians also thought very highly of St Anselm’s ‘compositional’ model of beatitude remains to be determined. It would be quite astonishing if this profound account of beatitude left no trace in European theological debates. After all, medieval scholastics did not believe that heaven is overrated. quibus prius isto modo loquitur Anselmus describens in libello De concordia beatitudinem, dicens quod ‘beatitudo secundum omnem consensum est sufficiencia competencium commodorum sine omni indigentia’, et Boethius describit eam, quod est ‘status omnium bonorum aggregacione perfectus’. Et illo modo tensio seu securitas est bene intrinseca pars beatitudinis, sicut sumitur beatitudo maxime proprie secundum eum, quia tamen omnia talia saltem quae pertinent ad essentialem beatitudinem inseparabiliter comitantur. Sed ideo auctoritates quamlibet illarum partium essentialium vocant beatitudinem quandoque, et utuntur, secundum eum, parte pro tota beatitudine. Ipsa tamen, ut dicit, et bene in hoc, delectacio est pars ultima et optima beatitudinis, et optima partialis beatitudo. Et hoc habeo ego dicere, quia illa est, aliis circumscriptis, quaedam plena beatitudo, licet non eque plena sicut aggregatum praenotatum, nec sit aliqua partium aliarum, ut visum est’.

Bibliography

Manuscripts

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Cambridge University Library MS Ff.5.40. Cambridge University Library MS Ee.5.13. Cambridge University Library MS Nn.4.12.

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British Library Cotton Titus D. xxiv. British Library Harley MS 535. Lambeth Palace MS 59.

Oxford

Bodleian Library Bodley MS 423.



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Index Abelard. See Peter Abelard Abulafia, Anna 48, 50, 52 Acta Lanfranci 182 Adam Wodeham 9, 227, 279–85 Ordinatio Oxoniensis (Commentary on the Sentences) 280, 283–84 Adam, patriarch 30, 69, 228, 232, 238–39 Adela, countess of Blois-Chartres 171 Adelard of Ghent Vita S. Dunstani 141, 143 Admonitio morienti 9, 240–61 attribution to Anselm of Canterbury 247, 250 deathbed confession 243, 245, 248 Ælfric of Eynsham 176, 184 Aertsen, Jan 209 Æthelberht, king of Kent 156, 165, 172 Aird, William 177 Alexander II, pope 173, 181 Alexander of Canterbury Dicta Anselmi 259, 262–63, 265–66, 268–76 heaven, joy of 273 hell, pain of 270–71 Alexander of Hales 277 actual sin, definition of 224 original sin, definition of 224 Summa Theologica 224, 231 Alfege, saint 146–48, 150 Alfred, king of Wessex 178, 185 Ambrose, saint 1, 255, 260 amor. See spiritual love. See also Anselm of Canterbury: spiritual love Amos, Book of 72, 74 Ancrene Wisse 176, 195–96, 259 Anglo-Saxon Chronicle 8, 178–83, 194 Anne, mother of the Virgin Mary 189 Anselm of Canterbury aliquid (something) 73–77 archbishop 33, 35, 155, 164, 172, 180 as an exemplar 243 as author 260–61 as authority 8, 58, 63, 195–96, 215, 217–18, 221–23, 231, 234, 236, 242, 261 authority of scripture 18–19, 29 beatitude 9, 262–85

compositional model of 9, 267, 281, 285 corporeal 263–64, 266, 273, 283–84 corporeal, seven dimensions of 269–70 definition of 266 spiritual 263–64, 266, 283–84 spiritual, seven dimensions of  271–74 Bec abbot of 155, 160 prior of 43, 107 canon of authentic works 265 christology 26, 29 death of 16–17 devil rights of 56, 62, 64, 68 role of 49–50, 52 dying, pastoral care of the 9, 240–42, 245 English saints 177 episcopal duties 7, 36, 152, 158 ethics 201, 274–75, 285 evil 6 as nothing 77, 193 as something 77 God and 71–77 exile 1, 7, 31, 109, 111, 122, 124–26, 134–35, 140, 142–43, 167–68, 171, 182 fallen angels 32, 88 fides quaerens intellectum 280 free will 13, 17, 24, 26, 35, 67 and grace 27–29 and necessity 21 friendship network 5, 122–24, 126–27, 129, 131–33, 173, 187, 194, 243 God aseity of 87 concept of 63, 66, 68, 70 foreknowledge of 6, 13–14, 17–19, 21–23, 25–26, 28 honour of 42, 52–54 immutability of 20, 25 mercy and justice of 66 will of 36, 125, 134–39, 141, 160, 167, 171

Index grace 13–14, 17–19, 23–26, 30, 32, 35, 37, 75 happiness 30, 138, 267, 276, 285. See also beatitude heaven 32, 262 joy of 255, 258–60, 263–64 kingdom of 263 hell 32, 257 pain of 3, 255, 258–60 Henry I conflict with. See Henry I, king of England reconciliation with 171 holy guile 7, 159–61, 168 honour 5, 55, 265 incarnation 5, 56, 62–68 necessity of 66, 70, 95, 98 influence 8–9, 43, 50, 178, 186, 194–95, 242–43, 255, 260 injustice as nothing 74, 76 joy 9, 37. See also heaven, joy of justice 5, 24, 28, 30, 41–42, 49, 54–55, 73, 75, 133 definition of 6, 19, 41, 45–46, 50, 52, 54, 201 Lanfranc relation to 105, 155, 159, 161 monastic vocation 5, 14–15 ontological argument 98, 274 origin of the soul 16 original sin 24, 30, 69, 71, 225, 228, 231, 238–39 and procreation 232 as injustice 234 definition of 230, 232 politics 7–8, 155, 171 preaching 14, 173 predestination 13–14, 17–19, 23, 25–26, 28 primacy of Canterbury 35, 156, 178, 180–81, 183, 194 pupils of 5, 41, 51, 54–55, 71, 116, 133, 190, 243, 263 reception 9, 218, 220, 242, 276–85 rectitude 41, 200–201, 206–7, 210, 212, 214–15, 275 reform 7, 35 remoto Christo 6, 56, 64–65, 70 salvation 24, 28, 30, 32, 35, 53, 130

313 satisfaction 5, 42, 53–55 similitudes 259, 264, 282 simony, avoidance of 164 sin 42, 193, 224 angelic 232 avoidance of 3 sola ratione 44, 50–53, 63, 90–91, 94, 98 soteriology 5 spiritual friendship 127–32, 187–88 spiritual love 105–9, 114–17, 121 support for Pope Urban II 166 teaching method 7, 41, 156, 157, 158–60, 165, 172, 174, 243 theory of individuation 85–86 theory of the two wills 139 truth 199–215 definition of 8, 75, 199–201, 204, 209, 214 supreme 201 unity of 200 uprightness 30. See also rectitude of will 24, 27, 33, 35, 75 vernacular 9, 195, 240–61 virgin birth 6, 56, 68–69 will 133, 138 and original sin 232 as disposition 232 inclinations of 24 William II, conflict with. See William II Rufus, king of England works Cur Deus homo 3, 5, 18–20, 26, 29–31, 34, 41, 49–50, 53, 56, 61–70, 81–83, 85, 92, 94, 98, 143, 266 De casu diaboli 18–19, 73, 83, 138–139, 192–193, 201 De conceptu virginali 5, 19, 31, 34, 69–71, 83, 228, 232, 234 De concordia 5–6, 13–37, 71, 73, 84, 266 De grammatico 18, 44, 83 De incarnatione verbi 18, 58, 83, 86 De libertate arbitrii 18–19, 33, 73, 83, 201 De processione spiritus sancti 34, 83, 219 De veritate 8, 18–20, 34, 45, 73, 139, 199–203, 206–7, 213, 231–32

314 Anselm of Canterbury (cont.) letters 1–5, 24, 31–35, 58, 79, 84, 103–17, 124–28, 130, 133–35, 137, 139, 141, 152, 156–57, 160, 163–64, 167–71, 185, 193, 247–49 Meditatio ad concitandum timorem 254–60 Meditatio de redemptione humana 82 Meditationes 83 Monologion 18–20, 29, 44, 50, 52, 65, 81, 83, 86–88, 91–92, 94, 98, 119, 210 Orationes 83 Philosophical fragments 6, 76, 247 Prayer to Christ 118, 186, 256 Prayer to Mary, second 118 Prayer to Mary, third 119–120 Prayer to Saint Nicholas 58, 185 Prayer to Saint Paul 119, 159 Prayers and Meditations 177, 242, 243, 255, 258, 260. See also Ralph of Battle: works: Meditationes;Orationes Proslogion 5, 14–15, 18–19, 33, 36–37, 44–46, 50, 52, 56, 59–66, 68–70, 81, 83, 98, 113–14, 258, 263–64, 266, 276 Anselm, abbot of Bury St Edmund’s, nephew of Anselm of Canterbury 248 Antony, subprior of Christ Church, Canterbury 3 Aquinas. See Thomas Aquinas Aristotle 207–8 Nicomachean Ethics 278 truth, definition of 209 Athelstan Gospels 183 Augustine of Canterbury 153, 162–63, 165, 172–73 Augustine of Hippo 15, 87, 92, 152, 203, 210, 221, 233 as authority 90, 222, 236 fallen angels 88 influence on Anselm of Canterbury 5, 20 original sin 231 definition of 228 predestination 217

Index true happiness 276 truth, definition of 209 will of God 217, 226 works Contra duas epistolas Pelagianorum 20, 24 Contra Faustum 226 De civitate Dei 20–22, 90–92 De gratia et libero arbitrio 20, 24, 26 De libero arbitrio 20–21 De trinitate 68, 92, 219 Retractationes 228 Tractatus in Iohanem 20, 22–23 Augustinian Hermits 8, 218, 221–22, 225, 236 Augustinus Favaroni of Rome 221 Avicenna 207 truth, definition of 209 Baldwin, king of Jerusalem 24 Barrows, Thomas 4, 6–7, 103 Baruch, Book of 57 Basilia, widow 31–33 beatitude fourteen goods constituting 269 Bec, abbey of 5, 15, 19, 33, 43, 46, 52, 57–58, 78–80, 99, 103, 107, 157, 162, 168, 171, 184, 187, 194 dependencies 185 library 154, 185–86 profession rolls 107 Bede 7, 154 Ecclesiastical History 143, 153, 156, 162–63 Benedict XII, pope 279 Benedictine monasticism, influence of 177 Berengar of Tours 89 Bernard of Clairvaux 119 Bestul, Thomas 177 Boethius 86, 207 beatitude 267 influence on Anselm of Canterbury  267–68 Lady Philosophy 267–68 works De consolatione philosophiae 266–67 De trinitate 219 Bologna 223

315

Index Bonaventure 202 beatitude as created good 278 as uncreated good 278 Commentary on the Sentences 277–79 Boniface VIII, pope 222 Book of the Craft of Dying 240–42, 252–55 Boso, monk of Bec 34, 41, 52, 54, 65, 68, 81, 84, 94 Britton, Stephanie 7, 133 Brouwer, Christian 8, 199 Brower, Jeffrey 274 Burchard of Worms Decreta 244–45 Bury St Edmunds 179, 248 Caen St Étienne, abbey of 43, 107 calculatory theory 235 Canterbury 8, 79, 144, 179 Christ Church priory 1, 3–5, 15, 33, 111, 120, 133, 140, 142, 150, 157, 169, 176, 178–79, 184, 188, 191, 194–95, 247, 249, 258, 265 English monks 173–74, 192 scribes 179–83 St Augustine’s abbey 8, 120 Canterbury Cathedral 111, 191 Chaucer, Geoffrey 195 Chibnall, Marjorie 185 Cistercians 8, 216, 218, 220–23, 225, 233–37 Clayton, Mary 186 Cluny 5, 15, 20, 31, 184 Anselm’s sermon at 265 Codex Justinianus 44 Coman, Daniel 8, 216 Conrad of Ebrach 220, 235 degrees of sin and degrees of being 234 original sin 8, 223, 232 original sin, definition of 238–39 sin and motion 235 sin as loss of God 236 sin, definition of 231 supreme rectitude 8, 223 works Commentary on the Sentences 8, 218, 223–25, 230, 233, 238–39 Quaestio in vesperiis 8, 216, 218, 223–24, 231–37

Cottier, Jean-François 78–79 Cowdrey, H. E. J. 177 Cuthbert, saint 177 De custodia interioris hominis 259 De humanis moribus 84, 263 De moribus 264–66, 268, 271, 276 incomplete human freedom 268 limitations of human wisdom 269 the fourteen parts of beatitude and misery 266 De similitudinibus 266. See also Anselm of Canterbury: similitudes De spiritualis militis 255, 260 De visitacione infirmorum 240–42, 250, 253–56 deathbed confession 242 Devanney, Hollie 7, 122 Di Sciacca, Claudia 193 Dialogus inter Christianum et Iudaeum de fide Catholica 82–83, 96, 99 Dominicans 199, 207, 218–21 Donizone Vita Mathildis 123, 127 Doyle, A. I. 250, 254 Dunne, Michael 279 Duns Scotus. See John Duns Scotus Dunstan, saint 134, 140–43, 150–51 Durham Cathedral Priory 178 Eadmer of Canterbury 3–5, 13–15, 18, 34, 84, 133, 177, 195, 249 copies his account of Anselm 167 ecclesiastical authority in secular affairs 145 heaven, joy of 274 hell, pain of 271 intellectual development 133 Latin version of Anglo-Saxon Chronicle  182 works De beatitudine perennis vitae 192, 247–49, 263, 265, 266, 268–74, 276 De ordinatione beati Gregorii anglorum apostoli 173 Historia novorum in Anglia 7, 35–36, 107, 109, 133–40, 142, 146–51, 153, 156, 162, 164–67

316 Eadmer of Canterbury (cont.) Lives and Miracles of Saints Oda, Dunstan and Oswald 183 Vita S. Dunstani 7, 133–34, 139–43, 149–51 Vita S. Oswaldi 140 Vita S. Wilfridi 7, 133–34, 139, 143–47, 149–50 Vita Sancti Anselmi 5, 13, 16–17, 134, 146–48, 150, 156–59, 166, 174 Eadwine Psalter 178 Ecgfrith, king of Northumbria 144 Edgar, king of England 140 Edmund of Abingdon Speculum Ecclesie 258–59 Edsall, Mary 242–43 Ely 185 Epicurus 268 Ernulf, prior of Christ Church, Canterbury  1–3, 33, 111, 142 eudemonism 275–76 Eustashe 277 Eve, matriarch 69 Eve, mother of Gilbert Crispin 58 evil as a privation 224, 226 Exodus, Book of 155 Eynesbury, priory of 185 Ezekiel, Book of 61, 68 Fervor Amoris 255 filioque 218–21, 237 Flint, V. I. J. 190–92 Fortin, John 262 Franciscans 199, 202, 207, 218–19, 221, 277, 279 emanationism 219 Frankfurt, Harry 275 Fridegoda. See Frithegod Friedman, Russell 218 Frithegod Vita Sancti Wilfridi 143–48 Fulgentius 256 Fulton, Rachel 128 Gasper, Giles 1, 5, 13, 142 Gaunilo of Marmoutier 63, 98 Geffrei Gaimar Estoire des Engleis 179, 195 Gerard Odonis 217

Index Gerard of Abbeville 277 Gerard, archbishop of York 35, 127, 181–82 Gesta Herewardi 195 Gibson, Margaret 177 Gilbert Crispin 4–5, 83, 88, 92, 94, 98 abbot of Westminster 44, 57 angels 61 biography 43–44 devil rights of 62 role of 48 God honour of 49, 54 immutability of 59–60, 62 justice and mercy of 61–62 omnipotence of 62 omnipresence of 61–62 honour of man 49, 54 incarnation 57–63 justice 41–42, 49 and reason 46, –7 definition of 5, 44–47, 54 Mosaic law 58 Old Testament, interpretation of 59, 62, 64 original sin 58 pupil of Anselm of Canterbury 41 redemption 47–49 relation to Lanfranc 51 soteriology 5, 53 virgin birth 58 works De altaris sacramento 84 De angelo perdito 83 De anima 84 De illa peccatrice 84, 190 De monachatu 84 De simoniacis 84 De spiritus sancti 83 Disputatio cum Gentili 5, 44–49, 51–54, 83 Disputatio Iudei et Christiani 5, 6, 45–50, 53, 56–70, 83 Sermo in Ramis Palmarum 47–49 Sermones, partly lost 84 Versi (Carmina) 84 Vita Herluini 52, 84 Giles, saint 185, 187 Gittos, Helen 177

Index God freedom of 227 omnipotence of 227 potentia absoluta 227 potentia ordinata 227 Trinity 53, 93–95, 218–19, 277, 281 will of 227 Goebel, Bernd 6, 78 Gracia, Jorge 267 Gregorian reform 123, 131, 243 Gregory I the Great, pope 7, 152–53, 156, 159, 163, 165, 173 Pastoral Rule 7, 154–55, 157, 160–62, 172 Gregory Nazianzen, saint 157, 162, 172 Gregory of Rimini 217, 221, 228, 233 Commentary on the Sentences 225–27, 229 original sin 229 definition of 225 Gregory VII, pope 123, 124, 129–31 Guibert of Tournai Rudimentum doctrinae 202 Gundulf, bishop of Rochester 3–4, 6, 35, 79, 103, 106–14, 119–21, 169, 171, 185, 187 chorepiscopus 111 Guy de l’Aumône 221 Handley, Rima 188 Harbledown 185 Haseldine, Julian 105–6 Hastings 164 Hauwaerts, Evelien 257 Havens, Jill 255 Hayward, Paul 182 Healy-Varley, Margaret 1, 9, 240 Hebrews, Letter to the 25, 30 Henry I, king of England 1–3, 7, 35–36, 109–10, 125–27, 140, 144, 150, 155, 168–70, 172, 181 Henry IV, emperor 126 Henry, prior of Christ Church, Canterbury 33 Herbert de Losinga 121 Herluin, abbot of Bec 79 Heslop, T. A. 191 Hilary of Poitiers truth, definition of 209 Hildebert of Le Mans 34 Holopainen, Toivo 81

317 Holy Trinity Cathedral Priory, Norwich 156 Honorius Augustodunensis relation to Anselm 190–91 works Elucidarius 188, 192–94, 258–59 Gemma animae 191 Sigillum sanctae Mariae 119–20, 188–89 Speculum ecclesiae 188, 191–92 Hugh, archbishop of Lyons 164 Hugolino of Orvieto 221, 223, 23–33 actual sin 229 Commentary on the Sentences 225, 228–33, 238–39 original sin and procreation 230 as concupiscence 229 definition of 230, 238–39 Hultgren, Arland 26, 28 investiture controversy 1, 7, 123–27, 131–32, 168, 178, 180–82, 194 Isaac Israeli 209 Isaiah, Book of 22, 24, 28, 68, 72–74, 263 James of Eltville 220 James of Viterbo 277 Jean Gerson 237, 253 Opusculum tripartum de praeceptis decalogi, de confessione, et de arte moriendi 252 Jesus Christ 22, 26, 59 and Virgin Mary 118, 119–20 as bridegroom 121 as saviour 27 atonement 28 cup of sacrifice 152 Last Supper 17 road to Emmaus 67 way, truth and life 200 Job, Book of 25 John Audelay De visitatio infirmorum et concolacione miserorum 241 John Dumbleton 233 John Duns Scotus 220, 224, 227 Commentary on the Sentences 229 original sin, definition of 229 John Hiltalingen of Basel 221

318 John Klenkoc 221 John Mair De gestis Scotorum 280 John Mirk Instructions for Parish Priests 241 John of Mirecourt 220–21, 234–35, 237 John of Naples 277 John of Ripa 237 John of Rodington 221 John Pecham 259 Ignorancia Sacerdotum 258 John the Evangelist, saint 15 John XXII, pope 279 John, abbot of Telese 31 John, Gospel of 24–25, 28–30, 160, 200 Kinsella, Karl 191 Kitanov, Severin 9, 262 Konstan, David 122 Kwakkel, Erik 191 Lanfranc 7 abbot of Caen 43, 79, 107 and authorities 89, 91 and sola ratione 50 archbishop of Canterbury 43, 108, 153 as teacher 6, 51–52, 107 authorities 99 Canterbury Forgeries 183 English saints 146, 177 holy art 161 influence 43 primacy of Canterbury 153, 181–82 prior of Bec 78 works De corpore et sanguine Domini 84 letters 104, 173 Monastic Constitutions 16, 243 Lanzo, monk of Cluny 117 Laon, school of 67, 82, 88 Leftow, Brian 274 Letter to the Hebrews 25, 30 Logan, Ian 265 Luke, Gospel of 17, 24, 29, 67, 190, 257, 264 Lyons 2, 31, 125, 171 Magennis, Hugh 186 Mainz 57 Malcolm III, king of Scotland 179

Index Manuscripts British Library Cotton Claudius A. iii 183 Cotton Titus D. xxiv 246–47 Cotton Vespasian A.xxii 195 Cotton Vespasian D.ix 192 Cotton Vespasian D.xiv 8, 184, 188–90, 192, 194 Harley 535 255–58, 260 Royal 17 cxviii 253 Stowe 34 (Vices and Virtues) 195 Cambridge Corpus Christi College 135 248 Corpus Christi College 303 184 Trinity College B. 14. 52 (Trinity Homilies) 195 University Library Ee.5.13 251 University Library Ff.5.40 251 University Library Nn.4.12 251–52 Klosterneuburg, Stiftsbibliothek, 293 223 Kraków, Biblioteka Jagiellońska, 1279 223 Litchfield 16 259 London Lambeth 59 241, 247–48 Oxford Bodleian 271 34, 265 Bodleian 423 240, 253 Bodleian Canon. Misc. 573 223 Bodleian Laud Miscellaneous 482 246 Bodleian Rawlinson C.894 252–53 Corpus Christi College 220 253 Rome Vat. lat. 955 284 Warszawa, Staatsbibliothek Abt. II, Chart. Lat. Fol. I. 390 223 Marenbon, John 267 ‘monolithic’ view of beatitude 281 Margaret, queen of Scotland 179 Mary Magdalene 121 Matilda, countess of Tuscany 4, 7, 34, 122–32, 242, 243 Anselm’s prayers and meditations 128 influence 124, 126, 129 support for papacy 123–24 tomb 123 Matilda, queen of England 125, 127, 132, 170

319

Index Matthew of Aquasparta argumentum Anselmi 219 Matthew, Gospel of 24, 26, 28, 30, 113, 255, 257 Maurice, monk of Bec 106, 113–17, 193 Maurilius, archbishop of Rouen 107 McGuire, Brian 103–4 medieval friendship, social function of 122 Memoriale Credencium 254, 256–59 Middle English 8, 176, 178, 188, 195, 250, 255 Milicia Christi 255 Muir, Bernard 142, 144 Münster-Swendsen, Mia 105 Myra 185 Neot, saint 185 Nicholas Aston 221 Nicholas of Autrecourt 221 Nicholas Trivet 277 Nicholas, saint Lanfranc 185 relics of 185 Niskanen, Samu 34, 109, 247–49 nominalism 216 Norman Conquest 57, 175–76, 179, 185 O’Connor, Mary Catherine 245 O’Neill, Patrick 175–76 Oda, saint 140, 144 Odo of Cambrai. See Odo of Tournai Odo of Tournai 4, 6, 71–77, 98 De peccato originali 71–77 justice, definition of 6 Old English 8, 174–78, 180–84, 186–96 hagiography 183–88 Orderic Vitalis Ecclesiastical History 168 original sin Anselm’s definition rejected 225 as concupiscence 224–25 Osbern of Canterbury Vita S. Alfege 147–48 Osbern, monk of Bec 157, 159, 169 Osbert Pickingham 221 Oswald, saint 140 Oxford 9, 220–21, 234, 236, 280 Calculators 233 university of 279

Paris, university of 207, 220, 223, 277 statutes of 1366 237 Paschal II, pope 7, 24, 123, 126–27, 133–34, 156, 163, 167–68 Paul, saint 15, 25, 156, 161 works Romans 25–30, 34, 90 1 Corinthians 24–25, 28–29, 158–59, 190, 263–64, 269 2 Corinthians 25, 30 Galatians 25, 30 1 Timothy 155 Peines de Purgatorie 259 pelagianism 216–17 perfect-being theology 96, 98, 274 Peter Abelard Sic et non 92 Peter Auriol 217 Peter Lombard 218, 222, 277 original sin 224 Sentences 276–77, 281 Peter of Auvergne 277 Peter of Blois The Twelve Profits of Tribulation 255 Peter of Ceffons 220, 234–35 Peter of Trabibus 277 Peter, apostle 153 Pfaff, Richard 177 Pore Caitif 254 Porphyry 86 Prague 223 Pricke of Conscience 254, 258–59 Pro insipiente, authorship of 98 Psalms, Book of 24, 28–30, 61, 155, 264 pseudo-Dionysius 207 pseudo-Hugh of Saint Victor De anima 259 Quintilian 161 Institutio Oratia 159–60 quodlibetal disputations 276 Ralph d’Escures, archbishop of Canterbury 79, 180, 183, 190 homily on the Virgin Mary 188–90, 194 Ralph of Battle 4, 6, 78–99 abbot 79 atheism 6, 79–82, 89, 94–96

320 Ralph of Battle (cont.) authorities 89–93, 95–96, 99 fallen angels 89 incarnation 93–96 natural theology 95 original sin 95 proof of existence of supreme being 86 proof of God 97–98 reason 82, 85, 89–95, 99 relation to Anselm 80–89, 91–99 theory of atonement 95 theory of individuation 85–86 theory of satisfaction 95 works De creatore et creatura 84 De creatura 83 De inquirente et respondente 78–80, 84, 87–93, 96 De nesciente et sciente 6, 78–81, 83, 85–86, 88–99 De octo a monachis observandis 84 De peccatore et de ratione 82–83, 95, 99 De perpetua virginitate sanctae Maria 83 Fides exposita de veritate corporis et sanguinis domini 84 Hoc quod dicitur quia spiritus sanctus amor est 83 Meditatio cuiusdam christiani de fide 81, 83, 89–90, 94–97 Meditationes 83 Orationes 83 Quare deus hominem fecit 84 Quid dicere sit Dei 84 Quid existiment quidam 83 Sententia beati Ieronimi de libero arbitrio 83 Ralph, prior of Rochester 193 Ranulphe D’Homblieres 277 Regensburg, abbey of St James 191–92 regula Anselmi. See Anselm of Canterbury: works: De processione Richard de Bromwich 220 Richard FitzRalph 9, 279–80, 285 beatitude. See Anselm of Canterbury: beatitude: compositional model of two models of 281

Index works Commentary on the Sentences 280, 282–83 De pauperie salvatoris 280 Summa de quaestionibus Armenorum 280 Richard Kilvington 221, 233 Richard of Clare 185 Richard Swineshead 233 Ridyard, Susan 177 Robert Graystanes 220 Robert Grosseteste 8, 199 adaequatio 204 commentaries on Aristotle 199 metaphysics of light 203, 207, 215 ratio aeterna 205–6 rectitude 204–7 truth 202–7 definition of 204–5 supreme 204–5, 207 unicity of 204 works Commentary to the Posterior Analytics  202 De veritate 202–7 Robert Holcot 216, 220, 227 Robert, bishop of Lincoln 185 Robert, count of Meulan 167 politics 168 Rochester 8 St Andrew, priory of 79, 107, 120, 176, 184, 188, 195 scriptorium 191 Rockingham, council of 133, 135–37, 166 Rodulfus monachus. See Ralph of Battle Roger Niger 256 Roger Swineshead 233 Rogers, Katherin 275–76 Rubenstein, Jay 177 Rufford 246 Rufus. See William II Rufus, king of England Rule of Saint Benedict 93, 104, 154–55, 157, 172, 178 Rupert of Deutz 119 Commentaria in Cantica Canticorum 120 Saint Giles, Life of 8, 184, 186, 188, 194 Saint Margaret, Life of 8, 184, 186, 188, 194

321

Index Saint Neot, Life of 8, 184, 186, 188, 194 Saint Nicholas, Life of 8, 184, 186, 188, 194 Saint-Omer St Bertin, abbey of 182 Sanford, Jonathan 267 Schabel, Christopher 218, 220, 237 Schmitt, F. S. 264–65 Séez St Martin, abbey of 188, 190 sin, actual 224–27, 231–33 Siward, bishop of Rochester 106 Song of Songs 119, 120 Sønnesyn, Sigbjørn 275, 276 soteriology 41–55 Southern, Richard 50, 53–54, 56, 58, 61–63, 68, 70, 73, 79, 129, 144, 177, 242, 249, 260–61, 264–65 Speculum Ecclesie 257 spiritual friendship 113 spiritual love 105 spiritual marriage 7, 103, 117–21 St Martin of Tournai, abbey of 71 Stephen De vita sancti Wilfrithi 143–45 Stephen Dodesham 253 Swan, Mary 176 textual transmission 260–61 Theodosius 1 Thidricus, monk of Canterbury 34 Thomas Aquinas 8, 199, 202, 207–15, 224, 277 ‘Christianizing Aristotle’ 217 adaequatio 208–15 Aristoteleian causes 224 assimilatio 208, 211 commensuratio 211–12 soul and intellect 208 transcendentals 207–10, 212, 215 truth 207–14 definition of 207–8 relational character of 208 works Commentary on the Sentences 211, 213 De veritate 207–13 Summa theologiae 213 Thomas Bradwardine 233

Thomas I, archbishop of York 35–36, 181–83 Thomas II, archbishop of York 181–82 Thomas of Strasbourg 217 Thompson, Victoria 246 Three Arrows of Doomsday 255 Tractatus de arte bene moriendi 241 Trapp, Damasus 221 Treatise of Ghostly Batayle 255 Treharne, Elaine 176 Trinubium Annae 188–89, 194 refuted by Gilbert Crispin 190 Turner, Andrew 142, 144 Ulcredus of Durham 221 Urban II, pope 123, 163, 166–68 Uthred of Boldon 221 Van Dyke, Christina 202 van Vreeswijk, Bernard 5, 41 Vaughn, Sally 7, 51, 105, 152, 177, 184 vernacular. See Anselm of Canterbury: vernacular; Middle English; Old English Vienna 223 Virgin Mary 118–20 as bride 121 Visitatio Infirmorum. See De visitacione infirmorum Vita Gundulfi 6, 103, 106–10, 112–13, 116–17, 120–21, 187 Vita S. Dunstani 143 Vulgate 67 Walter Chatton 217 Whidden, David 5–6, 56 Whitred, king of Kent 180–81 Wiiliam, duke of Normandy. See William I, king of England Wilfrid, saint 140, 143, 145–46, 150 William Bona Anima, archbishop of Rouen  107 William Caxton Art and Craft to Know Well to Die 241 William de Warelwast 110 William Heytesbury 233 William I, king of England 57, 79, 107–8 relation to Lanfranc 160–62, 169–71

322 William II Rufus, king of England 7, 35, 109, 133–39, 144, 146, 148–51, 155, 164–68, 172 death 172 relation to Lanfranc 167 William Ockham 216, 224, 227, 280 William of Champeaux 82 William of Falegar Disputed questions 277 William of Malmesbury 166 works Gesta pontificum Anglorum 107, 153, 160–61 Gesta regum Anglorum 167

Index William of Pagula Oculus Sacerdotis 258 William of Ware 219 Commentary on the Sentences 220 William of Warelwast 168 Wisdom, Book of 24, 29 Worcester Cathedral 246 priory 191 library 192 Wulfstan, bishop of Worcester 24, 176 Wylliam Harlowys 253 Yamazaki, Hiroko 6, 71 York 181