The Oxford Handbook of Christian Monasticism 0199689733, 9780199689736

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T h e Ox f o r d H a n d b o o k o f

C H R IST I A N MONA ST ICISM

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The Oxford Handbook of

CHRISTIAN MONASTICISM Edited by

BERNICE M. KACZYNSKI Advisory Editor

THOMAS SULLIVAN, OSB

1

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1 Great Clarendon Street, Oxford, ox2 6dp, United Kingdom Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and in certain other countries © Oxford University Press 2020 The moral rights of the authors have been asserted First Edition published in 2020 Impression: 1 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by licence or under terms agreed with the appropriate reprographics rights organization. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Data available Library of Congress Control Number: 2020937380 ISBN 978–0–19–968973–6 Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, cr0 4yy Links to third party websites are provided by Oxford in good faith and for information only. Oxford disclaims any responsibility for the materials contained in any third party website referenced in this work.

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Preface

To leave the world in order to seek salvation, to consecrate oneself to God, and to find a way of life that sustains such aims—these are impulses that have been shared by count­ less men and women over the centuries. Monasticism has a very long history, and it has existed in many forms. It is to be found in Christianity, and in Buddhist, Hindu, Jain, and other religious traditions as well. The subject of this Handbook is Christian monas­ ticism, which is itself a complex and variegated case. The Christian experience of monasticism is fluid, for it has evolved differently in the Catholic, Eastern Orthodox, Oriental Orthodox, Protestant, and Anglican traditions, and its evolution continues in the contemporary ecumenical movement known as ‘new monasticism’. It is the intention of this book to bring together, for the first time in one volume, the multiple strands of Christian monastic practice. It is a further hope that, by presenting a broad range of approaches to the subject, the book will embolden readers to move beyond their accustomed disciplinary boundaries and to consider new possibilities and new ways of thinking about monasticism. Titles in the Oxford Handbooks Series are not meant to be encyclopedias; nor are they meant to be seen primarily as useful collections of information. A Handbook, as the publisher remarks, is intended to serve ‘as a dis­cip­ line map’. It surveys a field, it indicates debates and controversies, and it points to areas that are likely to repay further research. The forty-four essays in the volume span a period of nearly two thousand years— from late ancient times, through the medieval and early modern eras, on to the ­present—and, in fact, to the future, for some contributors have reflected on what might lie ahead. The book’s organization is for the most part chronological, and it is expansive. Its purpose is not, however, to construct a narrative history, but rather to attempt to bal­ ance some essential historical coverage with examples of what is significant and mean­ ingful in current discussions of monasticism. The tendency of medievalists, for instance, to approach their work from a multidisciplinary perspective is instructive. Contributors have come from a variety of backgrounds, and they have addressed their topics in dis­ tinctive ways; readers of this book will note differences in outlook as well as method. We must remember, too, that monasticism is a site both of lived experience and of academic enquiry, a circumstance that gives this project a deeper resonance than might otherwise be the case. A number of contributors belong to monastic and religious orders, and their descriptions of religious life are at times especially eloquent. Most readers will probably see the Handbook, at least initially, as a place to investi­ gate one or two topics that are of particular interest to them. Few will open it with the intention of reading from beginning to end. Yet for me, in the course of planning the

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vi   preface book and seeing it through to publication, it was the full array of topics that, increas­ ingly, held my attention. I have found the contemplation of these broad vistas—of his­ torical time, of geographical space—to be enormously appealing. There are recurring themes: for instance, the tension between an ideal of contemplative withdrawal from the world and the necessity of living in it; the formation of life in a community; subse­ quent demands for reform and their aftermath; an inclination to recover the monastic practices of an earlier age. Then there is the perennial question: what does it mean to be a monk, to be a nun? The chapters in the book are perhaps best understood as a series of loosely linked epi­ sodes, forming a long chain of enquiry, and allowing for multiple points of view. Their very diversity challenges the notion that it might be possible to construct, for the history of monasticism, a narrative of continuous and orderly development. The teleological paradigms once so prevalent in monastic historiography are now falling out of fashion. These chapters suggest a more complex and far more interesting state of affairs. In the particularity of their detail, they remind us that historical realities were often more con­ tingent than we might at first suppose. That is why, if we take the essays one at a time, they seem to complicate our understanding of Christian monasticism. On the other hand, if we put them all together, we may find that what they describe is a deep-rooted human experience, familiar in some ways and remote in others, but animated always by men and women pursuing—and seeking to define—a common vocation. Many people have shared in the making of this Handbook, and it is a pleasure to acknowledge them. The colleagues who contributed their essays represent a range of constituencies. Some are well-known senior scholars, while others are promising begin­ ners, still at relatively early stages in their careers. They include members of Roman Catholic, Greek Orthodox, Anglican, and ‘new monastic’ religious communities. They come from a number of countries: Canada, the United States, Australia, England, Scotland, Ireland, Sweden, France, Germany, Italy, Greece, and Israel. I thank them all for their excellent work, and for the good grace with which they met the ups and downs that attend any such collaborative undertaking. Thomas Sullivan, OSB, served as Advisory Editor, and I am immensely grateful to him. He brought to the project both scholarly acumen and a profound appreciation of contemporary monastic life, and without him the book could not have achieved its present form. At Oxford University Press, I thank Tom Perridge, Senior Commissioning Editor, who encouraged and guided the work from its outset. I am much indebted to three anonymous reviewers, whose constructive interventions early on helped to improve the book’s overall shape and design. I have been fortunate, too, in working with Karen Raith, Rebecca Stubbs, Marilyn Inglis, Venkatesan Thulasiraman, and others at the press, who have seen the project through to completion. It is, finally, with the greatest affection that I thank my family, and most especially my late husband, Richard Everett Morton, who was at my side for nearly all of this long endeavour. Bernice M. Kaczynski Hamilton, Ontario

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Contents

Preface List of Illustrations List of Abbreviations List of Contributors

1. Introduction: Towards a New Monastic History

v xi xiii xvii

1

Bernice M. Kaczynski

PA RT   I   A S C E T IC I SM A N D M ONA S T IC I SM I N E A R LY C H R I S T IA N I T Y 2. Asceticism before Monasticism: What the First Monks Owed to the Early Christian Churches

19

Richard Finn, OP

3. Holy Men and Women of the Desert

35

David Brakke

4. The Architecture of the Ascetic Body

51

Lynda L. Coon

5. The Literature of Early Eastern Monasticism

66

Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony

6. The Literature of Early Western Monasticism

85

Columba Stewart, OSB

7. Archaeological Evidence for the Study of Early Monasticism Stephen J. Davis

101

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viii   contents

PA RT I I   E A ST E R N M E DI E VA L M ONA S T IC I SM A N D T H E ORT HOD OX C H U RC H E S 8. Spirituality and Prayer in the Eastern Traditions

123

Andrew Louth

9. Monasticism in the Byzantine Empire

138

Peter Hatlie

10. Monasteries, Society, Economy, and the State in the Byzantine Empire

155

Kostis Smyrlis

11. Monasticism in the Oriental Orthodox Churches

168

Samuel Rubenson

12. The Archaeology of Monastic Households

185

Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom

PA RT I I I   A . W E ST E R N M E DI E VA L M ONA ST IC I SM : F OR M S OF M ONA S T IC A N D R E L IG IOU S L I F E 13. Monasticism in Early Ireland

207

Westley Follett

14. The Benedictines

218

Scott G. Bruce

15. The Cistercians

232

Anne E. Lester

16. The Military Orders: Templars and Hospitallers

248

Jochen Burgtorf

17. The Early Mendicants

264

Frances Andrews

18. Religious Women: Secular Canonesses and Beguines

285

Sigrid Hirbodian

19. Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages Kathryne Beebe

300

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contents   ix

PA RT I I I   B. W E S T E R N M E DI E VA L M ONA ST IC I SM : A P P ROAC H E S TO M ONA S T IC L I F E A N D C U LT U R E 20. Prayer

317

Rachel Fulton Brown

21. Musical and Liturgical Practice

333

James Grier

22. Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation of Religious Experience

349

Thomas E. A. Dale

23. Monastic Narrative Practices

372

Katherine Allen Smith

24. Friendship, Family, and Community

388

Julian P. Haseldine

25. Sickness and Healing

403

Peregrine Horden

26. Landscape, Land Use, and the Environment

418

Richard Oram

PA RT I V   E U ROP E A N D T H E W I DE R WOR L D : F ROM T H E E A R LY M ODE R N E R A TO T H E T W E N T Y- F I R ST C E N T U RY 27. The Dissolution of the Monasteries: England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales

437

James G. Clark

28. Monasticism in Early Modern France

452

Daniel-Odon Hurel

29. Monasticism in Early Modern Germany

462

Edeltraud Klueting T.OCarm

30. Monasticism in Early Modern Italy and Spain Elizabeth A. Lehfeldt

471

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x   contents

31. Russian Orthodox Monasticism from 988 to 1917

478

Scott M. Kenworthy

32. Monasticism in the Early Modern Atlantic World

495

Dominique Deslandres

33. Monasticism in the United States

511

Margaret M. MCGuinness

34. Monasticism in Latin America

526

Bonar L. Hernández

35. Monasticism in Africa South of the Sahara

541

Catherine Higgs

36. Christian Monasticism in Asia

558

Matteo Nicolini-Zani

PA RT   V   C ON T E M P OR A RY P E R SP E C T I V E S 37. The Eastern Traditions Today: Greek Orthodox Monasticism

577

Chrysostom Koutloumousianos

38. The Eastern Traditions Today: Russian and Romanian Orthodox Monasticism590 Scott M. Kenworthy

39. The Protestant Tradition

606

Inge Mager

40. The Anglican Tradition

621

Adam D. MCCoy, OHC

41. The ‘New Monasticism’

634

Douglas E. Christie and Bernadette Flanagan

42. Lectio Divina: Opening to God’s Word

645

Gregory J. Polan, OSB

43. Monastic Interreligious Dialogue

658

Fabrice Blée

44. Contemporary Monasticism: Challenges and Opportunities

672

Michael Casey, OCSO

Index

689

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List of Illustrations

7.1

Coptic dipinto containing a petition to the monastic saint Shenoute written by a local monk named Iō: residence B, room 3; Monastery of John the Little, Wādī al-Nat ̣rūn, Egypt.



(Yale Monastic Archaeology Project)

7.2

Painting of the monastic leader Shenoute (identified in an accompanying Greek inscription): underground tomb, northern face of the barrel vault; White Monastery, Sohag, Egypt.



(Yale Monastic Archaeology Project)

7.3

Coptic dipinto containing the date AM 702 (985/6 ce): residence B, room 3, northern face of a niche in the western wall; Monastery of John the Little, Wādī al-Nat ̣rūn, Egypt.



(Yale Monastic Archaeology Project)

7.4

Air shafts made from pieces of ceramic pots, set within a window frame: residence B, room 4 north; Monastery of John the Little, Wādī al-Nat ̣rūn, Egypt.



(Yale Monastic Archaeology Project)

12.1

Quarry road made of stone boulders leading to the entrance to the wadi monastic community of the Topos of Apa Phoebammon in the Rock, south of Thebes, Egypt.



(D. Brooks Hedstrom, 2008)

12.2

Purpose-built buildings at the coenobitic White Monastery in Sohag, Egypt.



(D. Brooks Hedstrom, 2003)

12.3

Mud brick structures at the coenobitic monastery of Dayr al-Bala’yzah in Middle Egypt.



(Heather Badamo, 2006)

12.4

Private kitchen with a three-burner stove and a small oven at a monastic residence in the Monastery of John the Little, Wādī alNaṭrūn, Egypt.



(D. Brooks Hedstrom, 1996)

12.5

Modern oven outside the homes in a shared courtyard at Gurna, Egypt.



(D. Brooks Hedstrom, 2008)

106

107

114

116

189

190

191

193 194

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xii   list of illustrations 22.1

Reliquary Portrait of Sainte Foy, Abbey of Sainte-Foy, Conques, carved wooden core, c.900, with gold revetment and inset gems and later additions.

350

(Zodiaque) 22.2

Historiated capital with monstrous heads devouring human torsos, Abbey of Saint-Michel de Cuxa (now at The Cloisters, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York), marble, c.1130–1140.351



(The Cloisters Collection, 1925 (25.120.582) Photo © Metropolitan Museum of Art)

22.3

Saint Gall Plan, c.820 (Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen, Codex Sangallensis 1092).



(Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen)

22.4

Abbey of Sainte-Foy, Conques: exterior of choir showing ambulatory and radiating chapels.



(Thomas Dale)

22.5

Fontenay Abbey: interior of nave to east, 1139–1147.



(Frank Horlbeck, Visual Resources Collection, Department of Art History, University of Wisconsin-Madison)

22.6

Rothschild Canticles, c.1320 (Yale University, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, MS 404), fol. 18v, 19r. Embrace of Sponsus and Sponsa (upper register, left-hand page); Sponsa (lower register, left-hand page) gazing upon the wounded body of Christ the Bridegroom (right-hand page).

353

354 355

359



(Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University)

22.7

Morgan Madonna, from Auvergne, walnut wood with polychrome, twelfth century.



(The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1916 (16.32.194)/Photo © Metropolitan Museum of Art)

22.8

Crucifix from Palaencia, white oak and pine with polychrome, gilding, and applied gemstones, c.1150–1200.361



(The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Samuel D. Lee Fund, 1935 (35.36a,b)/Photo © Metropolitan Museum of Art)

22.9

Saint-Pierre, Moissac: south porch reliefs with Dives and Lazarus (frieze), punishment of Avarice and Lust, limestone, c.1100–1115.363



(Thomas Dale)

360

22.10 Sainte-Madeleine, Vézelay: central narthex tympanum of Pentecost, limestone relief, c.1125.365

(Frank Horlbeck Archive, Department of Art History, University of Wisconsin-Madison)

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List of Abbreviations

ABR ACW ANF BETL BHO BMGS CC CCCM CCSA CCSG CCSL CFHB CH CHR CISAM CPG CPh CS CSCO CSEL

American Benedictine Review Ancient Christian Writers (Westminster, MD: Newman Press, 1946–1962; later New York: Paulist Press, 1962– ) Ante-Nicene Fathers Series (available online at the Christian Classics Ethereal Library and New Advent ) Bibliotheca Ephemeridum Theologicarum Lovaniensium (Louvain, 1947– ) Bibliotheca Hagiographica Orientalis, ed. P. Peeters (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1910, repr. 1970) Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies Corpus Christianorum (Turnhout: Brepols, 1953– ) Corpus Christianorum, Continuatio Mediaevalis (Turnhout: Brepols, 1966– ) Corpus Christianorum, Series Apocryphorum (Turnhout: Brepols, 1983– ) Corpus Christianorum, Series Graeca (Turnhout: Brepols, 1977– ) Corpus Christianorum, Series Latina (Turnhout: Brepols, 1953– ) Corpus Fontium Historiae Byzantinae (Berlin; Washington, DC; Brussels; Vienna; and elsewhere: Association Internationale des Études Byzantines, 1967– ) Church History Catholic Historical Review Centro italiano di studi sull’alto medioevo Clavis Patrum Graecorum, 5 vols, eds M. Geerard and F. Glorie (Turnhout: Brepols, 1974–1987); Supplementum, eds M. Geerard and J. Noret (Turnhout: Brepols, 1998) Classical Philology Cistercian Studies Series (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications; Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1968– ) Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium (Louvain: various imprints, 1903– ) Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum (Vienna: various imprints, 1866–2011; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2012– )

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xiv   list of abbreviations CSQ CWS DOP ECF EHR EME EO FC

Cistercian Studies Quarterly Classics of Western Spirituality (New York: Paulist Press, 1978– ) Dumbarton Oaks Papers Early Church Fathers (London: Routledge, 1996– ) English Historical Review Early Medieval Europe Échos d’Orient Fathers of the Church (New York: Fathers of the Church, 1949–1960; later Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1962– ) GCS Die griechischen christlichen Schriftsteller der ersten Jahrhunderte (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1897–1941; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1953–1969; Berlin: de Gruyter, 1969– ) GOTR Greek Orthodox Theological Review HAHR Hispanic American Historical Review ICCoptS International Congress of Coptic Studies IFAO Institut français d’archéologie orientale IFEB Institut français d’études byzantines IJSCC International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church JAC Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum JAH Journal of African History JBL Journal of Biblical Literature JECS Journal of Early Christian Studies JEH Journal of Ecclesiastical History JMEMS Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies JMH Journal of Medieval History JMMS Journal of Medieval Monastic Studies JRA Journal of Roman Archaeology JRS Journal of Roman Studies JTS Journal of Theological Studies MGH Monumenta Germaniae Historica (Hannover, 1819–1874; Berlin, 1875–1945; Munich, 1949– ). Available online (texts in print for more than three years) at the digital Monumenta Germaniae Historica (dMGH)

MGH PLAC Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Poetae Latini Aevi Carolini MGH SS Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores MGH SS rer. Germ. Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Scriptores Rerum Germanicarum in usum scholarum separatim editi MIDB Monastic Interreligious Dialogue Bulletin MS Monastic Studies Mus Muséon: Revue d’études orientales NHS Nag Hammadi Studies (Leiden: Brill, 1971– )

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list of abbreviations   xv NPNF1 NPNF2 OCA OCM OCP OECS OECT OHM OLA OTM PETSE PG PL PMS PO POC PPS PTS RB RBén RGRW RHE RM RSH SA SAC SC SEA

Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Series 1 (available online at the Christian Classics Ethereal Library and New Advent ) Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Series 2 (available online at the Christian Classics Ethereal Library and New Advent ) Orientalia Christiana Analecta (Rome: Pontificium Institutum Orientalium Studorium, 1935– ) Oxford Classical Monographs Orientalia christiana periodica Oxford Early Christian Studies (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993– ) Oxford Early Christian Texts (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971– ) Oxford Historical Monographs (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1965– ) Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta (Louvain: Peeters, 1974– ) Oxford Theological Monographs (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1983– ) Papers of the Estonian Theological Society in Exile (Stockholm: ETSE, 1951– ) Patrologia Graeca, 162 vols, ed. J.-P. Migne (Paris: Garnier, 1857–1866). Patrologia Latina, 224 vols, ed. J.-P. Migne (Paris: Garnier, 1844–1864) (available online at the Patrologia Latina Database ) Patristic Monograph Series, North American Patristic Society (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press) Patrologia Orientalis (Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1903–1966; Turnhout: Brepols, 1968– ) Proche-Orient Chrétien Popular Patristics Series (Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 1977– ) Patristische Texte und Studien (Berlin: de Gruyter, 1963– ) Regula Benedicti (Rule of Benedict) Revue Bénédictine Religions in the Graeco-Roman World (Leiden: Brill, 1962– ) Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique Revue Mabillon Russian Studies in History Studia Anselmiana (Rome, 1977– ) Studies in Antiquity and Christianity (Claremont, CA: Claremont Graduate University, Institute for Antiquity and Christianity, 1981– ) Sources chrétiennes (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1942– ) Studia Ephemeridis Augustinianum (Rome: Institutum patristicum Augustinianum, 1967– )

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xvi   list of abbreviations SH STAC StPatr Suppl.VC TaS TCH TM TTH TU VC WA WSA ZPE

Studia Hellenistica (Louvain: Peeters) Studien und Texte zu Antike und Christentum/Studies and Texts in Antiquity and Christianity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1999– ) Studia Patristica (Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1957–1976; Louvain: Peeters, 1984– ) Vigiliae Christianae Supplements (Leiden: Brill) Texts and Studies: Contributions to Biblical and Patristic Literature (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1891–1963; repr. Nendeln, Liechtenstein: Kraus repr., 1967) Transformation of the Classical Heritage (Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 1981– ) Travaux et Mémoires Translated Texts for Historians (Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1985– ) Texte und Untersuchungen zur Geschichte der altchristlichen Literatur (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1882–1941; Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1951–; now Berlin: de Gruyter) Vigiliae Christianae Weimarer Ausgabe (=Weimar edition of Luther’s works), i.e. D. Martin Luthers Werke: kritische Gesamtausgabe (Weimar: H. Böhlau, 1883– ) The Works of Saint Augustine: A Translation for the 21st Century (Hyde Park, NY: New City Press, 1990– ) Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik

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List of Contributors

Frances Andrews  is Professor of Mediaeval History at the University of St Andrews, Fife, Scotland. Kathryne Beebe  is Associate Professor of History at the University of North Texas, Denton, Texas. Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony is Martin Buber Chair in Comparative Religion at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Fabrice Blée  is Associate Professor in the Faculty of Theology at Saint Paul University, Ottawa, Ontario, and an adviser of the North American Commission of Monastic Interreligious Dialogue. David Brakke  is Joe  R.  Engle Chair in the History of Christianity and Professor of History at the Ohio State University, Columbus, Ohio. Darlene  L.  Brooks Hedstrom  is Myra and Robert Kraft and Jacob Hiatt Associate Professor in Christian Studies at Brandeis University, Waltham, Massachusetts. Scott G. Bruce  is Professor of History at Fordham University, Bronx, New York. Jochen Burgtorf is Professor of History at California State University, Fullerton, California. Michael Casey,  OCSO, is a monk of Tarrawarra Abbey, Yarra Glen, Victoria, Australia. Douglas E. Christie  is Professor and Chair of Theological Studies at Loyola Marymount University, Los Angeles, California. James G. Clark  is Professor of History at the University of Exeter. Lynda L. Coon  is Professor of History and Dean of the Honors College at the University of Arkansas, Fayetteville, Arkansas. Thomas E. A. Dale  is Professor of Art History at the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Stephen J. Davis  is Professor of Religious Studies and of Near Eastern Languages and Civilizations at Yale University. Dominique Deslandres  is Professor of History at the Université de Montréal, Montréal, Québec.

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xviii   list of contributors Richard Finn, OP,  is Fellow of Blackfriars Hall, Oxford. Bernadette Flanagan is Professor of Spirituality at the Waterford Institute of Technology, Waterford, Ireland. Westley Follett is Associate Professor of History at the University of Southern Mississippi, Long Beach, Mississippi. Rachel Fulton Brown  is Associate Professor of History at the University of Chicago, Chicago, Illinois. James Grier  is Professor of Music History in the Don Wright Faculty of Music at Western University, London, Ontario. Julian P. Haseldine  is Senior Lecturer in Medieval History at the University of Hull. Peter Hatlie  is Professor of Classics and Dean, Director, and Vice-President of the Rome Campus, University of Dallas. Bonar L. Hernández  is Associate Professor of Latin American History at Iowa State University, Ames, Iowa. Catherine Higgs is Professor of History at the University of British Columbia’s Okanagan Campus. Sigrid Hirbodian is Professor and Director of the Institut für Geschichtliche Landeskunde und Historische Hilfswissenschaften at the Eberhard Karls Universität Tübingen. Peregrine Horden  is Professor of Medieval History at Royal Holloway, University of London. Daniel-Odon Hurel  is Directeur de Recherche au Centre national de la recherche scientifique (CNRS), Paris, Laboratoire d’études sur les monothéismes. Bernice  M.  Kaczynski  is Professor Emerita of History at McMaster University, Hamilton, Ontario, and Adjunct Professor in the Centre for Medieval Studies at the University of Toronto. Scott  M.  Kenworthy  is Associate Professor of Comparative Religion at Miami University, Oxford, Ohio. Edeltraud Klueting T.OCarm,  is a member of the Carmelite Third Order and Head of the Forschungsinstitut der Deutschen Provinz der Karmeliten, Bamberg. Chrysostom Koutloumousianos  is a hieromonk of the Holy Monastery of Koutloumous, Mount Athos, Greece. Elizabeth  A.  Lehfeldt  is Professor of History at the Cleveland State University, Cleveland, Ohio. Anne E. Lester  is John W. Baldwin and Jenny Jochens Associate Professor of Medieval History at Johns Hopkins University, Baltimore, Maryland.

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list of contributors   xix Andrew Louth  is Professor Emeritus of Patristic and Byzantine Studies, University of Durham. Inge Mager  is Professor Emerita of Church History at the Universität Hamburg. Adam D. McCoy, OHC,  is a monk of the Episcopal Benedictine Order of the Holy Cross and Prior of Mount Calvary Monastery in Santa Barbara, California. Margaret M. McGuinness  is Professor of Religion at La Salle University, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Matteo Nicolini-Zani  is a monk of the Community of Bose, Magnano, Italy, and coordinator of the Italian Commission of Monastic Interreligious Dialogue. Richard Oram  is Professor of Medieval and Environmental History and Dean of Arts and Humanities at the University of Stirling, Stirling, Scotland. Gregory J. Polan, OSB,  is Abbot Primate of the Benedictine Confederation. Samuel Rubenson  is Professor of Church History in the Centre for Theology and Religious Studies at Lunds Universitet, Lund, Sweden, and Senior Professor of Eastern Christian Studies at Stockholm School of Theology/Sankt Ignatios College. Katherine Allen Smith is Professor of History at the University of Puget Sound, Tacoma, Washington. Kostis Smyrlis  is Associate Professor of History and Hellenic Studies at New York University, New York, New York. Columba Stewart, OSB,  is Executive Director of the Hill Museum and Manuscript Library and Professor of Theology at Saint John’s University, Collegeville, Minnesota.

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chapter 1

I n troduction Towards a New Monastic History Bernice M. Kaczynski

Christian monasticism is a complex phenomenon, with a long history and an unknowable future. Its parameters are indistinct. If we try to imagine it in its entirety, we find ourselves ranging across vast stretches of time and space. From the ascetic settle­ ments of Mediterranean antiquity to the exuberant monastic landscapes of the Middle Ages, from the vicissitudes of the early modern period to the still more rapid trans­form­ ations and the global reach of men and women in religious life today, the monastic pro­ fession continues, and it merits our attention. Few movements in the history of Christianity have had such lasting importance. Why is it that, for so many years and in so many places, people have chosen to spend their lives ‘seeking God through prayer and community’?1 It is a compelling question, and it is one of many that are addressed in this book.

Current Approaches Recent years have seen rapid advances in the academic study of monasticism. Scholars have added a repertoire of topical themes and approaches to the traditional disciplines. The pace has been especially brisk in the late ancient, medieval, and early modern fields, probably because in these eras monastic persons and monastic institutions were more integral to society than they have been in the times since. Monasticism has been studied for as long as scholars have given formal attention to the premodern past. It is im­pos­ sible to make sense of the thousand-year history of the European Middle Ages, for 1  The phrase is Michael Casey’s; this volume, p. 682.

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2   Bernice M. Kaczynski instance, without taking monasteries into account. The same holds true for the Byzantine East, where their essential and multifarious activities also extended beyond the spiritual realm into the spheres of the economy and the state, as well as art, music, and literature. The historical fields of study therefore represent a research environment that is highly developed. Contemporary scholarship is characterized by an attentiveness to narrative, to social relationships, to nature, landscape, settings, and space, to gender and the human body, and to the multiple dimensions of religious experience. An interest in the connections between religion and society, for instance, has led to fresh investigations of family rela­ tionships and the social composition of religious communities, of networks of influ­ ence, and of the economic and environmental impact of monastic settlement. Perhaps the most consequential of the new approaches lies in the area of gender, where enquiries into the role of women have, on the one hand, prompted reassessments of the historical experience of monasticism and, on the other, added to debates about the nature of reli­ gious commitment in the modern world. There is another essential stream of writing, on the subject of monastic spirituality, which has contributions primarily from members of established monastic and religious communities. These works are in the first instance intended for those who live in mon­ asteries, though they are also consulted by others who are interested in monastic spirit­ ual disciplines. The Second Vatican Council, held from 1962 to 1965, gave the first, and major, impetus for the current wave of publications, at least in the Catholic West.2 The decree Perfectae Caritatis called upon monastics to ‘return to the sources’ of their faith, to draw upon Scripture and the writings of the Church Fathers in order to adapt and renew the religious life.3 ‘The results of these labours’, notes Michael Casey, ‘have ­trickled down to hundreds of books on monastic spirituality, producing not only scholarly monographs but also works suitable for ordinary readers (this volume, p. 675)’. The interest in such texts is widespread; it is shared by monastics, by laypeople, and by individuals who belong to a variety of religious or spiritual communities. This is a significant turn of events. In the years since the Second Vatican Council, Western monks, nuns, and sisters have been markedly more willing to participate in the wider world. The process of globalization has also had its effect. Two trends, in ­particular, seem to account for the heightened interest in monastic spiritual writing. One has to do with a greater openness to all world monasticisms. Christian monks and nuns have begun to engage in dialogue with those of other religions.4 Discussions with ­contemplative practitioners from the Buddhist and Hindu traditions are ongoing. These encounters, both practical and theoretical, have led monastics of differing faiths 2  The circumstances of Eastern monasticism are different; see Chrysostom Koutloumousianos, this volume, pp. 583 and 588. 3  For the text of Perfectae Caritatis (Decree on the Adaptation and Renewal of Religious Life), see the Vatican website: 4 See the website of Dialogue Interreligieux Monastique/Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (DIMMID): . In addition: ‘While the natural dialogue partners of Christian monastics are monas­ tics of other religious traditions, DIMMID also engages in spiritual dialogue with adherents of religions that do not have an institutionalized form of monasticism, for example—and in particular—with Muslims.’

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Introduction   3 ‘to reflect upon the question of a common or essential nature of monasticism’ (Reichl 2014: 202). At the same time, in the world beyond the monastery, we are witnessing the spread of other, more generalized forms of spiritual life. As Douglas E. Christie and Bernadette Flanagan observe, ‘The postmodern. . . world we now inhabit allows for and even cele­ brates certain modes of religious and spiritual improvisation, habits of mixing, and exploration that cannot always be fitted easily into more classic forms of religious prac­ tice and belief (this volume, p. 639)’. The movement known as ‘new monasticism’, for instance, brings together people who are dedicated to contemplative living, but who seek to reimagine the ways in which it is practised. New monastic communities offer alternatives to trad­ition­al patterns of monastic observance; they build upon the older customs in order to create distinctively contemporary forms of spiritual experience. Of course, writing about monastic spirituality is not something new. The vitae, or lives, of notable ascetic and monastic figures were a popular literary genre in late an­tiquity. Their teachings were transmitted in various forms, most famously the Apophthegmata Patrum, or Sayings of the Fathers. Compilations of this sort continued to circulate for centuries thereafter, and they find committed readers in monasteries and convents even today. Other works, such as the fifth-century Mark the Monk’s Counsels on the Spiritual Life, once enjoyed similar recognition, but are no longer widely known. The sources of early monasticism, written in Latin, Greek, Syriac, Coptic, and other lan­ guages, constitute a set of fundamental expressions of the principles of monastic life. They have been much studied over the years. We have seen, especially in the past few decades, an increasing number of critical editions of the texts, as well as more transla­ tions into modern languages. It is an active area of research. Scholars have shown them­ selves to be remarkably open to new approaches to the primary source materials. The heightened scrutiny of the lives of holy men and women, the re-examination of accus­ tomed monastic foundation narratives, the effort to bring textual and archaeological evidence into closer alignment—these are among the ways in which current investiga­ tions are transforming our view of monasticism in the premodern world. Scholars of monasticism have given less attention to the more recent historical ­periods. This is understandable, since monastic institutions no longer, or only rarely, occupy central positions in society. Here too, however, there has been progress, as scholars begin to adopt more varied investigative tools. In the past, for the most part, the research emphasis of those working on monasticism tended to correspond to the research priorities generally prevailing in their home disciplines. They made little use of interdisciplinary methods. But the situation is likely to change, and a particular prompt has come from the social sciences, where there is growing interest in present-day monastic communities.5 The work of sociologists holds considerable promise for other researchers in the field. Of special interest is the attempt to explain the difficulty of 5  The publications of Jonveaux and Palmisano (2017a and 2017b) and Jonveaux, Pace, and Palmisano (2014) signal a revitalized interest in monasticism on the part of social scientists. In a review of earlier scholarship, they observe: ‘Social sciences literature on monasticism is not only not very developed but also fragmented. It divides quite neatly along geographical lines: anthropologists, with very few excep­ tions, have studied monasticism in Asia, primarily in Buddhist societies; sociologists have examined Christian monasticism, predominantly in Europe and North America’ (Jonveaux and Palmisano 2017a: 1).

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4   Bernice M. Kaczynski defining monasticism, a familiar and perennial challenge, but one to which the implements of sociological analysis seem well suited (Jonveaux and Palmisano 2017a: 2–3). What these scholars, and monastics, have in common is their concern for the impact of modernity on traditional forms of monastic existence. In their different ways, they address some similar themes. How have monks and nuns adapted to the increasingly secularized world in which they live? (And, one might add, to what extent have monas­ tic persons and monastic ideals had an effect on secular societies?) So, for instance, his­ torians and other scholars study the transition from colonial to postcolonial societies in places around the globe; they analyze the social, economic, and political repercussions of secularization; they explore shifting perceptions of sex and gender and consider their implications for male and female monasticism; and they examine the role of monasti­ cism in postmodern culture. Such questions lead almost inevitably to another: what is the future of monasticism as an institution? For today’s religious, the issue is pressing. Their discussions usually appear in specialized publications—journals or essay collec­ tions intended mainly for monastic readers. But conversations among practitioners should find a wider audience, and those of us who inhabit universities rather than clois­ ters should take note of them. When monks and nuns reflect on their way of life, and on its future, they permit us a glimpse, however fleeting, of what as academics we are inclined to overlook—the meaning they find in the monastic vocation.

The Handbook: Aims Many people are interested in monasticism. They are drawn to it for varied reasons: an academic interest in the subject itself or in the societies or histories of which it is a part; a personal commitment to the monastic life; or perhaps simply an interest in religion or spirituality. There are scores of publications on the subject. But the vast aggregation of writings on monastic spirituality, monastic history, and all the other monastic topics is curiously partitioned. Those who contribute to one field seem hesitant to explore what might be found in another. (The distinguished line of monastic scholars, whose work bridges the spheres of religion and academe, forms a notable exception.) Even within the latter there is a fair amount of insularity. Many scholars, especially those in the pre­ modern areas, have adopted interdisciplinary methods, but few of them have ventured into unfamiliar historical periods. If disciplinary boundaries have loosened, the chrono­ logic­al ones have not. University-based scholars, for the most part, seldom move beyond the historical eras in which they received their professional training. Among today’s students of monasticism, however, there is a growing tendency to seek broader perspectives. This is probably the result both of a new openness to the wider world on the part of monastics, and of the current reorientation of the scholarly com­ munity towards a more capacious, global approach. It is a welcome development. There is something to be said for stepping back from one’s own preoccupations and taking in a fuller view. A global perspective entails the exploration of different monastic cultures,

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Introduction   5 and it compels a consideration of other times and places. It introduces new kinds of evi­ dence, new bibliographical resources, and new modes of analysis. It is likely to unsettle established categories of scholarship and to upset familiar habits of thought. It will cer­ tainly suggest new ways of looking at monasticism. But those who choose to set out on such a course face an immediate obstacle. The vol­ ume of writing on monasticism is already quite large, and it is growing all the time. Much of the scholarly publication is highly technical and not easily understood without some prior background. Colleagues who hope to broaden their horizons, and to venture more confidently into the far reaches of monastic studies, may find themselves at a loss when they begin their projects. There is no up-to-date and reliable guide to the specialist literature. Nor is there an obvious place to go for those who wish to situate their own research in broader frames or contexts—there is no ‘work of first resort’ to provide them with readily accessible and coherent overviews of unfamiliar topics. This book aims to address these issues. It is intended to be an introduction to important themes and topics in monastic studies, as well as to some possibilities for reinvigorating enquiries that are already underway, or that are planned for the future. The Handbook proposes a framework for new ways of thinking about Christian monasticism. It begins with a recognition of its long historical arc, of monasticism’s longue durée. The chapters in the book span nearly two thousand years, and, as they advance through the decades, they trace out for us shifting patterns of continuity and change. Time is one important factor, and place is another. Christian forms of monasti­ cism have stretched across the globe, from the lands around the ancient Mediterranean, on through medieval and early modern Europe (western, central, and eastern) and into Asia, and then across the oceans to new destinations in sub-Saharan Africa, China, India and Southeast Asia, and the Americas. It may be too soon to speak of a ‘global turn’ in monastic studies, but perhaps we can begin to imagine what a global monastic history might look like. What readers will find here is a series of specialized studies, which, when taken together, offer enlarged and varied perspectives on the theme. To view one’s work in broader contexts is a useful exercise. It is not only wider temporal and spatial frames that encourage a revised outlook, but also a more generally untethered attitude towards multidisciplinary approaches. Contemporary scholarship is greatly enlivened by these methods, and many of the contributors to this book make skilful use of them. Each of the chapters is intended to introduce the reader to a significant theme or topic. The chapters normally begin with a brief survey of the subject at hand. They pre­ sent an overview of the current ‘state of the question’, and they indicate ongoing debates and controversies. Some readers may be surprised to find that issues they had thought specific to their own disciplines are, in fact, found in others. The essays then turn to what lies ahead. Contributors were asked to consider the direction their fields were likely to take in the future, and to identify new and promising lines of enquiry. Here again, ­readers may find unexpected parallels in the research agendas suggested by scholars in different fields. The essays conclude with reviews of the relevant literature and extensive bibliographical listings. While individual authors may choose to emphasize one or the

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6   Bernice M. Kaczynski other element, the intention is always to provide readers with good starting points for further enquiries. This is the role of volumes in the Oxford Handbooks Series. Their purpose is not to replicate the great taxonomic enterprises of nineteenth-century scholarship, but to address the very different needs of the twenty-first. Hence the current Handbook does not claim to present an encyclopaedic summary of Christian monasticism. The subject is too large, the number of publications now too abundant and too varied. It offers instead a map of the terrain; it tries to balance some essential historical coverage with a representative sample of important and interesting contemporary approaches. The study of monasticism is entering a new phase. The creation of institutes of monas­ tic studies, the formation of international research groups, and the growing number of university courses, at both graduate and undergraduate levels, attest to its vitality. Recent years have seen the publication of numerous specialized studies, as well as col­ lections of essays and conference proceedings. The international research groups, in particular, have fostered the publication of collections of interdisciplinary essays. Scholarly collaborations have become more frequent, and, as a result, innovative pro­ jects are being envisioned and brought into being. It is a propitious set of circumstances, and one that seems likely to continue. At the same time, a consideration of monasti­ cism’s longue durée has much to offer those who are in religious life today. The recovery of tradition is a persistent theme in the discourse of contemporary monastics. As monks, nuns, and sisters strive to ‘return to the sources’ of their faith, and to reconnect with earl­ ier forms of spiritual practice, the merits of research into the common monastic past become ever more apparent.

The Handbook: Organization The chapters in the Handbook span a period of nearly two thousand years, ranging from late antiquity to the present day. They are gathered into five parts, set in loose chrono­ logic­al order. The time frame is flexible, and section headings are more a matter of organizational convenience than they are an affirmation of traditional historical ­periodizations. In the same way, place names used in chapter titles are sometimes a bit ana­chron­is­tic; they are intended to indicate broad geographical swathes and not neces­ sarily national or political entities. The first of the parts, ‘Asceticism and Monasticism in Early Christianity’, opens with an exposition of Christian ascetic practices during the first three centuries. The part as a whole is concerned with the beginnings of eremitic and coenobitic ways of life in the lands around the Mediterranean. The questions that arise from these topics are among the most intensively researched in all of Early Christian studies. Analysis of the source materials, whether textual or archaeological, frequently presents complications. Two chapters examine the state of the textual evidence, one in the eastern Mediterranean and another in the western Mediterranean, and a third chapter reviews the findings of

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Introduction   7 c­ urrent archaeological excavations. The written, or, broadly speaking, literary, sources are of several kinds—saints’ lives, canon laws, letters, treatises, and monastic rules or regulae. Few of them can be read in a straightforward fashion, because, in addition to the predictable vagaries of their textual history, they are subject to multiple modes of ­in­ter­pret­ation. Chapters that discuss the themes of sanctity, gender, and the ascetic body give examples of such diverse readings. Authors of these essays, like those writing else­ where in the book, generally call for an integrated approach to the study of the past, one that brings together both literary and material culture. The second part is entitled ‘Eastern Medieval Monasticism and the Orthodox Churches’. Throughout the Middle Ages, the Byzantine Church dominated the religious landscape of the East. Chapters here give attention to spirituality and prayer in Byzantium, as well as to the ways in which monks and monasteries assumed key func­ tions in the running of the empire. This tradition was inherited by the Slavs, and add­ ition­al chapters in parts four and five of the Handbook take up the later history of the legacy. The Oriental Orthodox Churches constitute a separate, and lesser-known, set of monastic traditions. The churches within the Oriental Orthodox communion are quite distinctive. To this day, their monasteries remain essential sites for the preservation of  their countries’ Christian cultural heritage. Finally—and this aspect is easily ­overlooked—how did the inhabitants of the early monastic settlements go about their daily lives? The last chapter, on the emerging field of household archaeology, provides some answers. The third, and the largest of the parts, ‘Western Medieval Monasticism’, is divided into two sections: ‘Forms of Monastic and Religious Life’ and ‘Approaches to Monastic Life and Culture’. The Middle Ages represent the most prolonged era of monastic history, and the one in which scholarship is most thoroughly developed. The part begins with an overview of some characteristic forms of medieval community: the monks and nuns of early Ireland; the Benedictines; the Cistercians; the military orders of Templars and Hospitallers; the mendicant orders of Dominicans, Franciscans, Carmelites, and Augustinians; and a rather remarkable array of religious women’s groups. A further aspect of the period, now gaining increasing notice, is the spread of Observant reform across late medieval Europe. Contributors emphasize the diversity of customs to be found within each of the groups, and they caution against assumptions of uniformity, of regularity, of normativity. They are attentive to local circumstances. They find evidence that monasteries and other religious communities were often in a state of flux, as they accommodated themselves to the changing demands of the world around them. Such studies present a challenge to those who see the history of Western monasticism as ­simply—or even primarily—a history of the progressive development of orders. Medievalists, because of the centrality of monasticism to the spiritual and material life of the period (Nelson 2001: 583–586), are well acquainted with the subject. Their work has sometimes reframed or redefined some of the standard tropes of monastic ­history. It is at the moment an exceptionally lively field of research. The second section, ‘Approaches to Monastic Life and Culture’, demonstrates some of this activity. The ­methods tend to be interdisciplinary, as in the treatment of monastic prayer, or in

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8   Bernice M. Kaczynski the exploration of the role of architecture and material images in fostering religious ­sentiments. We see a similar blending of disciplinary approaches in the discussions of music and liturgy; monastic narrative; friendship and love; sickness and healthcare; and monastic environmental practices. There is much here to interest those whose academic proclivities lie outside the realm of the Middle Ages. At the same time, those who work in the period might wish to consider the benefits of a critical engagement with the research of colleagues who specialize in other historical eras. It is perhaps understandable that medievalists, with their long experience, have tended to assume a proprietary interest in the study of monasticism. But many of the problems they discuss are not uniquely medieval. As it happens, a new monastic scholarship, one that is informed by a broader perspective, would reflect a tendency that is beginning to be discernible else­ where in the study of medieval religion (Arnold 2014a: 37–39). The fourth part, ‘Europe and the Wider World: From the Early Modern Era to the Twenty-First Century’, surveys both the later development of European monasticism and the waves of expansion that carried it to distant parts of the globe. The first five chapters account for the particularities of events in the British Isles; in France, Germany, Italy, and Spain; and in the somewhat different circumstances of Orthodox Russia. For the regions of western Europe, whose experiences included the Protestant Reformation, the Catholic Reformation, and the Enlightenment, these were years of sometimes precipitous change. It was from western Europe as well, that Christian forms of monasticism spread across the oceans, to the colonies of the New World, to sub-Saharan Africa, and to Asia. The next several chapters take up the theme. There is now considerable interest in the work of Catholic monastic and religious orders in the settlement of the Americas. Less attention is given to their efforts in Africa and Asia. In general, however, the Europeans often found that traditional models of monastic culture were poorly suited to local conditions. In fact, in many cases the rules that had guided their conduct at home hindered their work in the missionary fields. What were they to do? The dilemma was real, and it meant that those who settled in these faraway places tended to find themselves involved in a continuing process of accommodation. Contributors to this part of the Handbook foresee numerous opportunities for fur­ ther research. The approach to the monasticism of these centuries has typically been a regional one; comparative or thematic perspectives remain largely unexplored. The next step, therefore, is for more broadly based investigations. They point to several areas where fresh perspectives would be useful—comparative studies, for instance, of the dis­ solutions of monasteries throughout the British Isles and the European mainland, or, in the later period, of the role of monasteries in colonial and postcolonial societies. Another important point of comparison has to do with the relative positions of men’s and women’s communities, a recurrent theme in this volume. Such research might well lead to a more methodical and balanced understanding of the history of religious insti­ tutions in general. Like contributors to previous sections, these scholars see variations in monastic practice as responses both to local conditions and to religious and social movements in the world at large.

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Introduction   9 The fifth part, ‘Contemporary Perspectives’, brings descriptions of monasticism in East and West forward to the present day and draws attention to some emerging trends. Here, perhaps more than in earlier parts of the book, we note recurring strands of con­ tinu­ity and change. Two chapters address the Eastern traditions. A chapter on Greek Orthodoxy remarks on the timeless quality of its monastic observance. The example used is that of Mount Athos, the sole monastic republic in the Christian world, and the only place where three types of ancient monasticism—the coenobitic, the eremitic, and the semi-eremitical lavra—continue to coexist today. A chapter on Russian and Romanian Orthodoxy explores the fate of monasticism in Russia during the Soviet period and after, and of Romania before and after the collapse of communism. As for the West, Germany provides an interesting case. There, some forms of conventual life lin­ gered on long after the Protestant Reformation. But it was not until the twentieth cen­ tury, in the wake of two world wars, that the German Protestant churches turned again to the old monastic heritage and began to found their own brotherhoods and sister­ hoods. In England, on the other hand, the Reformation led to an interruption in monas­ tic life that lasted three hundred years. The Oxford Movement brought about a revival in the 1840s, and there are now Anglican religious orders throughout the world. As these brief descriptions suggest, monastic ways of life have undergone many trans­ form­ations over the years. Their existence has sometimes been imperilled. Yet they con­ tinue to evolve and adapt. What is the outlook for the twenty-first century? The next few chapters look at a number of recent developments. One of the most visible is the ‘new monasticism’, a loosely defined series of initiatives and experiments in communal living. Another is a tendency, seen among the laity as well as professed religious, to turn for guidance to the spiritual teachers of the past. The recovery of the ancient monastic prac­ tice of lectio divina, the prayerful reading of Sacred Scripture, is a demonstration of this impulse. Still another venture is the movement for Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (MID), which proposes a new paradigm, an optimistic and creative way of moving for­ ward in a diverse religious environment. The Handbook concludes with an overview of the current situation. During the past half-century, Christian monasticism has experi­ enced rapid and unprecedented change. This is, in the Catholic West, largely a conse­ quence of the Second Vatican Council. Elsewhere too, as we have seen in previous chapters, monks and nuns have found themselves responding to events in the world around them. The author of the book’s final chapter identifies some of the most serious and immediate challenges to the contemporary institution, and proposes an ‘action plan’ for securing its future.

The Handbook: Implications Despite the vagaries of its history, monasticism remains one of the most enduring fea­ tures of Christian religious life. That is why it is important to consider its full historical arc, its longue durée. It brings with it a heightened awareness of the past, the future, and

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10   Bernice M. Kaczynski the present moment. This Handbook therefore takes a new approach to the study of monasticism. It is intended not only to present research in specialized areas, but also to enable more wide-ranging enquiries. Writings on monasticism are too numerous to be counted, and they appear in a bewildering variety of publications. Their contents are often directed to a specialized readership and are not generally accessible to those in other areas. This may be the reason for the oddly paradoxical state of monastic studies. While very different groups of persons are attracted to the subject, there has been little dialogue between them. Should they wish to communicate with one another, they may not know where to begin. The Handbook aims to address this difficulty. It offers a con­ spectus of monasticism’s far reach, and it draws upon the work of academics from vari­ ous university departments and members of several religious communities. Each chapter gives an introduction to a particular area of interest. It includes a litera­ ture review and a selected bibliography. The book’s utility lies both in the content of the individual essays and in their unified presentation. It establishes a framework within which single items may be viewed and combinations tested. Readers will find, in any single essay, a reliable guide to their chosen topic. They will also be able to set and observe it in a shifting series of frames—of subject, time, or place. Monastic prayer, for instance, is a theme that runs through nearly every contribution to the volume. It is examined from many perspectives: its religious significance; its history from late ancient times to the present; its role in the Christian traditions of East and West; its expression in art, architecture, music, liturgy, and poetry; its material environments; and its social functions. Readers familiar with any one of these aspects should be able to situate their own work within multiple frames of reference. The book provides a scaffolding, a place to perch and look and to see familiar things from unexpected angles. Its intention is to give those with an interest in monasticism the resources they need to move beyond their own areas of expertise. It also advances the proposition that, by enabling such ex­plor­ ations, they will be encouraged to come into more frequent and rewarding dialogue with one another. So the chapters in the Handbook form a linked series of episodes, act­ ing as invitations—or possibly provocations—to begin thinking about monasticism in new and different ways.

Definitions and Other Issues We turn here to some of the principal issues that underlie contemporary discourses on monasticism. Most are definitional. What is monasticism? And—a separate question— what is a monk? A nun? On such fundamental matters there is a surprising lack of ­consensus. In fact, those who are concerned with the subject spend a great deal of time discussing the terminology surrounding it. Readers of these chapters will find that their authors have interpreted the term ‘monasticism’ variously. Their working definitions— sometimes implied, sometimes explicit—range from carefully circumscribed views of the traditional cloistered orders (excluding thereby Franciscan and Dominican friars, and others whose vocations involve them in the world); through the numerous and

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Introduction   11 occasionally irregular associations of late medieval women; to the more open-ended community structures being created by today’s ‘new monastics’. The fluidity of in­ter­pret­ ation reflects the general state of scholarly writing on monasticism today. How does one make sense of it? Is it useful—is it even possible—to gather together such varied strands of religious experience into one ‘monastic’ bundle? The situation is such that some scholars now prefer to speak of ‘monasticisms’ in the plural (Diem 2013: 432, 442–443; Berman  2014: 377–395; Jonveaux and Palmisano  2017b: 135, 155, 170; Beach and Cochelin 2020; Vanderputten 2020). Several factors account for the ambiguity. The words themselves are problematic. The abstract noun ‘monasticism’ did not enter the conversation until the sixteenth century, and then in its French form monachisme, while it does not begin to appear in English documents until the eighteenth century. Its connotations were unhappy; ‘monasticism’ was something to be dismissed, if not in fact abhorred (Sullivan 2000: 1:337–341; van Wyhe 2008:1–2; Stewart 2017: 351). The basic problem, though, is that the term is ana­ chron­is­tic, and it cannot be expected to describe conditions in the twelve or thirteen centuries that came before. What words were used in the early years, in the Christian environs of Mediterranean antiquity? The most recognizable vocabulary derives from the Greek adjective monos, meaning ‘solitary, alone’. In its origins, therefore, the Greek term monachos, along with the feminine form monachē, referred to a solitary person. Its meaning expanded over time, and came to include both those who lived in solitude and, increasingly, those who participated in some form of communal life. We should not, however, oversimplify the manifold religious experimentation of the late ancient period. Additional terms appear in the sources—apotactites, anchorites, coenobites, ascetics—and they designate still other variations on a monastic style of life (Harmless 2008: 493; Davis 2018: 4–12). As these practices spread to the Latin-speaking regions in the west of the empire, so too did the terms used to describe them. The first attestations of the transliteration monachus occur in the ecclesiastical Latin of the late fourth century.6 Thereafter, as Christianity came to dominate the religious landscape of medieval Europe, we often find the sub­ stantives monachus and (later and less frequently) monacha. One might suppose, then, that the vocabulary of the Latin Middle Ages would be replete with their derivatives. They are easy enough to find in modern treatments of medieval religion: the adjective monasticus, ‘monastic’, the expressions vita monastica, ‘monastic life’, or disciplina monastica, ‘monastic discipline’, or vita regularis, ‘life according to the rule’. Such lan­ guage implies a common set of ‘monastic’ beliefs and practices, and it furthers a sense of regular, or normative, patterns of ‘monastic’ behaviour. But medieval writers rarely used these words (Diem 2013: 442–443). Should we not be more cautious in our reconstruc­ tions of the past? Many contributors to this volume have made precisely this point: that communal religious life, not only in the premodern period, but also in more recent times, has been far more diverse than the standard narratives might suggest. 6 On monachos/monachus, see Peter Stotz, Handbuch zur lateinischen Sprache des Mittelalters, vol. 1: Einleitung, Lexikologische Praxis, Wörter und Sachen, Lehnwortgut (Munich: C. H. Beck, 2002), 433–434, 545.

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12   Bernice M. Kaczynski If the terminology is troublesome for academics, it is no less so for the men and women who pursue religious vocations today. Jean Leclercq speaks for them when he writes, ‘We know—at least monks know—how difficult it is to define the monastic life, at least to enclose it in a single brief formula, still more so in a word or expression’ (Leclercq  1968: 168; 1978: 164). The difficulty is characterized by the sociologists Jonveaux and Palmisano as stemming from ‘the instability of the research object’ (2017a: 3). Sociologists who investigate contemporary monastic communities struggle with the problem. Monks and nuns, when asked by their interviewers, ‘Who is a monk or a nun today?’ offer a variety of responses. The ‘indeterminate nature of the concept for the [social] actors themselves’ presents researchers with an initial and quite serious impedi­ ment (Jonveaux, Pace, and Palmisano 2014: xvi; Jonveaux and Palmisano 2017a: 2). What, then, do we have in mind when we talk about ‘monasticism’? There is no clearly documented precedent for the term; its semantic history is muddled. The concept itself is given to many fine distinctions, and, among those who wish to enact its ideals in their own lives, there are individual ways of understanding it. Yet this word, and others asso­ ciated with it, has embedded itself in our language. If we are to continue using it, as of course we will, it is important to remember that the term is essentially multivalent. Attempts to arrive at a definition of Christian monasticism share significant elements, but differ in some details. Monastics are men and women who leave the world in order to seek salvation, who consecrate themselves to God, and who observe a way of life that they believe will sustain these aims. Every definition of monasticism includes a measure of withdrawal, of voluntary departure from ordinary human society. Early examples might be the desert fathers, hermits, recluses, those who choose to live as solitaries. More often, however, and especially today, descriptions of monasticism imply some form of communal existence. Monks and nuns accept a shared religious purpose, and they live with like-minded brothers or sisters in communities that, to a greater or lesser degree, are set apart from the secular society around them. Members of other, more peri­pat­et­ic orders (Augustinians, Franciscans, and Dominicans, for instance), who engage more fully with the world, are properly called friars, rather than monks. It is increasingly the case, though, that in historical scholarship the distinction is muted, and surveys of monasticism more often than not consider mendicants along with the enclosed religious orders (e.g. Melville 2012, 2016). In addition to the element of with­ drawal, there is also the quality of renunciation. There are things that must be cast aside if one is to draw nearer to a state of spiritual perfection. Hence the acts of renunciation associated with monastic life: the commitments to poverty and celibacy. Prayer is intrin­ sic to this vocation. ‘The whole purpose of the monk’, wrote John Cassian (d. c.435), ‘and indeed the perfection of his heart amount to this—total and uninterrupted dedication to prayer’.7 Ascetic practice and prayer are the means by which Christian monastics hope to attain salvation. 7  John Cassian, Conference 9, quoted by Brown, this volume, p. 319. On Cassian, see Stewart, this volume, pp. 93–94.

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Introduction   13

New Directions The phenomenon of monasticism, in its immense variety, allows for many possible lines of research. Contributors have called attention to developing trends in their own fields and recommended further, often broadly comparative, approaches and methodologies. It is evident, however, that the progress of scholarship in the various fields has been un­even. This is to some extent a reflection of the importance of monasticism in any par­ ticular society—thus the long-standing interest in the premodern world and the more sporadic attention given to later historical periods. Here we see the benefit of a longue durée approach. Scholars who work along these lines may discover, possibly for the first time, what it is that is most memorable about their own subject areas. It is the compari­ sons that are instructive. And when they begin to view their work in broader terms, as part of a continuous historical sequence, they may find new meaning in circumstances that once seemed to them rather ordinary. A wider outlook is also likely to benefit mem­ bers of present-day religious communities, especially those who seek to form bonds with monastics of other faiths. When Christians, Buddhists, and Hindus talk about monastic spirituality and practice, they are able to enter into a multifaceted vision of their profession. The future of monastic studies lies in the continued pursuit of special­ ized research, in the increased use of comparative approaches and methods, and, finally, in the willingness of scholars and Christian monks and nuns to engage with both the traditions and the persons of other world monasticisms.

Suggested Reading In the chapters that follow, contributors provide summaries of the essential publications in their specific areas of research. The titles reviewed here are intended to serve as gen­ eral resources for monastic studies, and to enable further exploration of some of the themes and issues discussed in this Introduction. For recent treatments of particular historical periods, see the essays in Harvey and Hunter (2008), Arnold (2014b), and Beach and Cochelin (2020), as well as the works by Melville (2012, 2016), Stewart (2014 and  forthcoming), and Talbot (2019). Johnston’s Encyclopedia of Monasticism (2000) is a basic and useful publication, and includes entries on Buddhist as well as Christian topics. In a brief but wide-angled survey, Davis (2018) gives a comparative treatment of monasticism in Christian, Jain, and Buddhist traditions. A good way to keep abreast of current trends in scholarship is to refer to the collections of inter­dis­cip­ lin­ary essays and conference proceedings sponsored by international research institutes. See, for instance, Melville and Müller (2007) and Nouzille and Pfeifer (2013). There has been especially rapid movement on the subjects of women and gender; see McNamara (1996), Mooney (2005), Evangelisti (2007), van Wyhe (2008), and, more recently, the

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14   Bernice M. Kaczynski essays in Bennett and Karras (2013). As several contributors have noted, the investiga­ tion of women’s pursuit of the religious life, in all eras, has done much to destabilize the received narratives of monastic history. Increased attention is also being given to Protestant theologies of monasticism. For examples, consult Jaspert (2005–2011) and Peters (2014,  2018). The works of Jonveaux and Palmisano (2017a and  2017b) and Jonveaux, Pace, and Palmisano (2014), as well as Davis (2018: 101–122), address the state of monasticism in the contemporary world. Monastics discuss their own future in the essay collections edited by Hart (2006) and Posa (2017).

Bibliography Armitage, David and Jo Guldi (2015). ‘The Return of the Longue Durée: An Anglo-American Perspective’. Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales (English Edition) 70: 219–247. Arnold, John  H. (2014a). ‘Histories and Historiographies of Medieval Christianity’. In The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Christianity, edited by John H. Arnold, 23–41. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Arnold, John  H. (ed.) (2014b). The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Christianity. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Beach, Alison  I. and Isabelle Cochelin (eds) (2020). The Cambridge History of Medieval Monasticism in the Latin West. 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bennett, Judith M. and Ruth Mazo Karras (eds) (2013). The Oxford Handbook of Women and Gender in Medieval Europe. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Berman, Constance H. (2014). ‘Medieval Monasticisms’. In The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Christianity, edited by John H. Arnold, 377–395. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Davis, Stephen J. (2018). Monasticism: A Very Short Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Diem, Albrecht (2013). ‘The Gender of the Religious: Wo/Men and the Invention of Monasticism’. In The Oxford Handbook of Women and Gender in Medieval Europe, edited by Judith  M.  Bennett and Ruth Mazo Karras, 432–446. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Eckerstorfer, Bernhard  A. (2017). ‘Monasticism in an Age of Transition: A European Perspective’. In A Not-So-Unexciting Life: Essays on Benedictine History and Spirituality in Honor of Michael Casey, OCSO, edited by Carmel Posa, 331–349. CS 269. Collegeville, MN: Cistercian Publications, Liturgical Press. Evangelisti, Silvia (2007). Nuns: A History of Convent Life, 1450–1700. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Gröning, Philip, dir. (2005). Into Great Silence. Zeitgeist Films. Harmless, J. William (2008). ‘Monasticism’. In The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, edited by Susan Ashbrook Harvey and David G. Hunter, 493–517. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Hart, Patrick (ed.) (2006). A Monastic Vision for the 21st Century: Where Do We Go From Here? Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook and David G. Hunter (eds) (2008). The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Jaspert, Bernd (2005–2011). Mönchtum und Protestantismus: Probleme und Wege der Forschung seit 1877. 5 vols in 6. St. Ottilien: EOS Verlag.

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Introduction   15 Johnston, William  M. (ed.) (2000). Encyclopedia of Monasticism. 2 vols. Chicago, IL and London: Fitzroy Dearborn. Jonveaux, Isabelle and Stefania Palmisano (2017a). ‘Introduction. Monasticism: Crucial Questions’. In Monasticism in Modern Times, edited by Isabelle Jonveaux and Stefania Palmisano, 1–9. New York: Routledge. Jonveaux, Isabelle and Stefania Palmisano (eds) (2017b). Monasticism in Modern Times. New York: Routledge. Jonveaux, Isabelle, Enzo Pace, and Stefania Palmisano (eds) (2014). Annual Review of the Sociology of Religion, vol. 5: Sociology and Monasticism, Between Innovation and Tradition. Leiden: Brill. Lawrence, C. H. (2015). Medieval Monasticism: Forms of Religious Life in Western Europe in the Middle Ages, 4th edn. London and New York: Routledge, Taylor & Francis Group. Leclercq, Jean (1968). Aspects du monachisme, hier et aujourd’hui. Paris: Éditions de la Source. Translated by Mary Dodd as Aspects of Monasticism. CS 7. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1978. Leclercq, Jean (1957). Amour des lettres et le désir de Dieu: initiation aux auteurs monastiques du Moyen Âge. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Translated by Catharine Misrahi as The Love of Learning and the Desire for God: A Study of Monastic Culture, 3rd edn. New York: Fordham University Press, 1982. McGuckin, John  A. (ed.) (2015). Orthodox Monasticism Past and Present. Gorgias Eastern Christian Studies 22. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. McNamara, Jo Ann Kay (1996). Sisters in Arms: Catholic Nuns through Two Millennia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996. Melville, Gert (2012). Die Welt der mittelalterlichen Klöster: Geschichte und Lebensformen. Munich: C. H. Beck. Translated by James D. Mixson as The World of Medieval Monasticism: Its History and Forms of Life. CS 263. Collegeville, MN: Cistercian Publications, Liturgical Press, 2016. Melville, Gert and Anne Müller (eds) (2007). Mittelalterliche Orden und Klöster im Vergleich: Methodische Ansätze und Perspektiven. Vita regularis 34. Münster: LIT Verlag. Mooney, Catherine  M. (2005). ‘Nuns: Christian Nuns and Sisters’. In The Encyclopedia of Religion, 2nd edn, 15 vols, edited by Lindsay Jones, 10: 6763–6765. Detroit, MI: Macmillan Reference. Nelson, Janet  L. (2001). ‘Medieval Monasticism’. In The Medieval World, edited by Peter Linehan and Janet L. Nelson, 576–604. London and New York: Routledge. Nouzille, Philippe and Michaela Pfeifer (eds) (2013). Monasticism between Culture and Cultures: Acts of the Third International Symposium, Rome, June 8–11, 2011. Rome: Pontificio Ateneo Sant’Anselmo; Sankt Ottilien: EOS. Peters, Greg (2018). The Monkhood of all Believers: The Monastic Foundation of Christian Spirituality. Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Publishing Group. Peters, Greg (2014). Reforming the Monastery: Protestant Theologies of the Religious Life. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books. Posa, Carmel (ed.) (2017). A Not-So-Unexciting Life: Essays on Benedictine History and Spirituality in Honor of Michael Casey, OCSO. CS 269. Collegeville, MN: Cistercian Publications, Liturgical Press. Reichl, Timon (2014). ‘Contemplative Spirituality and the Intermonastic Encounter Movement’. In Annual Review of the Sociology of Religion, vol. 5: Sociology and Monasticism, Between Innovation and Tradition, edited by Isabelle Jonveaux, Enzo Pace, and Stefania Palmisano, 185–205. Leiden: Brill.

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16   Bernice M. Kaczynski Stewart, Columba (forthcoming). Between Earth and Heaven: Interpreting the First 1000 Years of Christian Asceticism and Monasticism. New York: Oxford University Press. Stewart, Columba (2017). ‘Musings of a (Post) Modern Monastic Historian’. In A Not-SoUnexciting Life: Essays on Benedictine History and Spirituality in Honor of Michael Casey, OCSO, edited by Carmel Posa, 350–373. CS 269. Collegeville, MN: Cistercian Publications, Liturgical Press. Stewart, Columba (2014). ‘Re-thinking the History of Monasticism East and West: A Modest tour d’horizon’. In Prayer and Thought in Monastic Tradition: Essays in Honour of Benedicta Ward SLG, edited by Santha Bhattacharji, Rowan Williams, and Dominic Mattos, 3–16. London and New York: Bloomsbury. Stewart, Columba (2010). ‘The Origins and Fate of Monasticism’. Spiritus: A Journal of Christian Spirituality 10: 257–264. Sullivan, Donald D. (2000). ‘Critiques of Western Christian Monasticism’. In Encyclopedia of Monasticism, 2 vols, edited by William M. Johnston, 1: 337–341. Chicago, IL and London: Fitzroy Dearborn. Talbot, Alice-Mary (2019). Varieties of Monastic Experience in Byzantium, 800–1453. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Vanderputten, Steven (2020). Medieval Monasticisms: Forms and Experiences of the Monastic Life in the Latin West. Berlin: de Gruyter Oldenbourg. van Wyhe, Cordula (2008). ‘Introduction’. In Female Monasticism in Early Modern Europe: An Interdisciplinary View, edited by Cordula van Wyhe, 1–8. Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate.

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PA RT I

A S C ET IC ISM A N D MONA ST IC ISM I N E A R LY C H R IST I A N I T Y

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chapter 2

Asceticism befor e Monasticism What the First Monks Owed to the Early Christian Churches Richard Finn, OP

Introduction In a sermon for the fourth Sunday of Easter, Martin Luther displayed violent ambivalence towards ascetic good works: he acknowledged that ‘one may exalt and extol the life and piety of all men, the chastity of virgins, the discipline and asceticism of hermits’ and ‘whatever may be described to pious people’, but denied that the worth of such works could ever ‘equal a Christian’ (Luther, trans. Lenker 1995: 3: 150). He further argued in an Ascension Day sermon that the same ‘chastity of virgins’ counted for nothing in the absence of faith (trans. Lenker 1995: 3: 186). Luther’s doctrine on justification by faith effectively regarded good works as extrinsic to Christian identity, with the result in particular that ‘all monastic life’ was ‘in conflict with faith’ (trans. Lenker 1995: 7: 28). Luther’s views and those of other Reformers profoundly influenced what scholars expected to find in the New Testament and in early Church history. Ascetic strands in the Scriptures and churches of the first three centuries after the birth of Christ became occluded.1 In this the Reformation interacted with the traditional presentation of St Antony of Egypt as the ‘Father of Monks’ in the late third and early fourth centuries. The continuity of monasticism with the forms of asceticism practised by earlier Christians was obscured. This in turn made the origins of monasticism deeply mysterious. Scholarship of the past thirty years has done much to escape this baleful influence, but has not yet done enough. David Grummett and Rachel Muers (2010: 3, 17) have 1  In this instance, asceticism means the voluntary abstention by individuals or communities from foods, sex, or wealth, whether permanently or at specific times.

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20   Richard Finn, OP noted how the failure of scholars ‘to recognize the importance of fasting and asceticism generally in scripture’ has led to an under-estimation of Scripture’s influence on early Christian asceticism; yet they themselves overlook the practices and ideals to be found in the earliest churches. Their account of Christian asceticism opens with the desert fathers before describing ‘the movement of asceticism from the desert into the city, and from the monastery into the world’. This chapter, by contrast, discusses early Christian ascetic practices and their significance in the urban churches before the late third century, when these developing practices and ideas were finally carried out into the desert and the cloister.

A Gospel Asceticism? If the Four Gospels are to be believed, Christian asceticism is as old as Christianity, because it was taught by the Christ. When Jesus was baptized at the Jordan he immediately withdrew from village life and entered the wilderness. There he reportedly fasted alone for forty days and nights (Matt. 4:2). His fast recalled that of Moses before he received the Law at Sinai. Jesus relived for readers of the Gospel the hunger of the Hebrews on their Exodus from Egypt. He withstood the temptations to which they succumbed. He called people to abandon their livelihoods, and to undertake missionary journeys on which they depended on others for food and shelter (Matt. 10:5–10). Although Jesus’ disciples did not fast in the manner of the John the Baptist’s disciples (Matt. 11:18–19), the Gospels revered the Baptist as a holy man whose ascetic diet of locusts and wild honey (Matt. 3:4) stood in dramatic counterpoint to his execution during a royal banquet, when his head was brought in on a platter like a dish at a meal (Matt. 14:3–11). John’s restraint contrasts with a tyrant’s monstrous appetite for evil. Jesus taught that if his disciples did not fast when he was with them, like a bridegroom with his guests, they would soon fast in his absence (Matt. 9:15). What of Jesus’ teachings on sex and wealth? Two canonical Gospels present Jesus as virginally conceived by Mary through the gift of the Holy Spirit (Luke 1:34–35; Matt. 1:18). Nowhere do the canonical Gospels portray him as having married or otherwise entered into sexual relationships. Matthew has Jesus explicitly advocate celibacy for those disciples who can embrace permanent sexual abstinence (Matt. 19:10–12). It is noticeable that ‘unlike his prophetic predecessors, the one miracle that Jesus does not do is cure infertility’, while his call to become like little children may refer to the way these are ‘marked by virginity and lack of sexual shame’ (Levine 2005: 521). The Synoptics relate that Jesus invited a wealthy man to sell his possessions and give the proceeds to the poor (Matt. 19:21–22; Mark 10:21–22; Luke 18:22–23). Luke opens by moving swiftly from a revelation in the Temple to a theophany witnessed by poor shepherds in the hills and then to a Messiah cradled in a feeding trough (Luke 2:8 and 16). Luke’s version of the beatitudes opens with a blessing on the ‘beggars’ (οἱ πτωχοί) and is followed by four woes addressed to the rich (Luke 6:20 and 24–26). He further ascribes to the Baptist an

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Asceticism before Monasticism   21 ethic of radical almsgiving (3:11) which may amount to the self-dispossession of wealth. In Acts the Jerusalem Church adopts such self-dispossession in mutual charity (Acts 4:32). It may be objected, however, that the canonical Gospels are not necessarily reliable guides to the actual practices and teachings of the figures they portray. As literary texts probably composed in the final three decades of the first century, they seek to communicate divine revelation by bringing different episodes into a symbolic nexus. The Baptist’s head on a dish in part prefigures the words and actions of Jesus at the Last Supper, where he speaks of the bread and wine as his body and blood, which he gives to his disciples to eat and drink (Matt. 26:26–28). Social memory theory holds that what is remembered is partly conditioned by present circumstance, and may not be a reliable guide to events as they happened (Assmann  2006). The nineteenth-century biblical scholar Julius Wellhausen argued that Jesus’ teaching at Matt. 9:15 was inserted by the early Church to justify its own practice (Muddiman 1975: 273). The authority of these texts as a ‘fourfold’ Gospel and witness to Christ (τετράμορφον καὶ τὸ εὐαγγέλιον) was asserted by Irenaeus in his Against the Heresies in the late second century, but non-canonical Gospels are known from this time and perhaps earlier, some of which contain anti-ascetical teachings (Haer. 3.11.8; SC 211: 168). In Logion 6 of the Greek Gospel of Thomas, the disciples ask Jesus how to fast, pray, and give alms. He responds by urging them not to lie or perform hateful deeds. In Logion 14 of the later Coptic version, Jesus warns them that ‘If you fast, you will give rise to sin for yourselves’ (trans. Robinson 1996: 128). This suggests a rejection of fasting. These logia do not prove the canonical Gospels to be misleading, but show that asceticism was a contested topic among some Christians by at least the second century. How many shared this rejection of fasting is unknown, but few fragments of the non-canonical Gospels are dated earlier than the third century. This should prompt caution before presuming that these texts circulated widely. Furthermore, few of the noncanonical fragments (unlike their canonical counterparts) are found in codices rather than scrolls, which may suggest their lesser status for copyists and readers (Hill 2010: 14–18, 26–28). It is therefore helpful to examine the earliest securely dated texts from the New Testament: St Paul’s letters (normally placed between ad 49 and the late 50s). These show that several ascetic practices and the teachings associated with them were already controversial. Some Christians abstained from eidōlothuta, meat ritually butchered for pagan sacrifices. While the apostle urged his readers to avoid these rituals (1 Cor. 8:1–13), he was reluctant to impose abstention from such meat on all believers. In 1 Corinthians 8 and Romans 14 Paul allows for both abstention and consumption, but requires those who would otherwise eat meat to abstain on occasion for the sake of those who do not. In Colossians, a letter which may be from Paul or from the late first century, the writer wishes to prevent the imposition of specific forms of fasting on those who do not practise them, and to prevent such practices from becoming criteria for right living. At Colossians 2:16–23, Paul defends the Church at Colossae from criticism over its dietary practice in relation to annual and monthly festivals, and to the Sabbath. He warns against listening to a speaker who appeals to ‘humility’ and ‘not sparing the body’, which

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22   Richard Finn, OP in context probably refers to the fasting advocated by some on these days in the Jewish calendar. What of sexual renunciation in St Paul’s letters? Scholars still dispute the significance of the apostle’s counsel on marriage and sexual continence in 1 Corinthians 7. Most agree that where Paul was traditionally heard as asserting that ‘it is good for a man not to touch a woman’ (7:1), he is quoting from a letter sent by his correspondents (Collins 1999: 252). Paul moderates a dispute among Christians at Corinth on the proper form and meaning of sexual asceticism. Those couples who were already married might agree to abstain for a time from intercourse for the sake of prayer, but were not obliged to do so. Some interpret Paul at 1 Cor. 7:7 as wishing that everyone were celibate as he was, but this is not explicitly stated; his primary concern is to recognize the variety of gifts given by the Spirit for the good of the community. Those who have become Christian since marriage are not obliged to leave a non-Christian partner. Those currently unmarried, including those who have been widowed, do well to remain single as Paul has done, but should marry if they would otherwise experience overwhelming sexual temptation. In particular, those who have never married do well to devote themselves to discipleship. Some of the couples whom Paul discusses are seemingly betrothed but have yet to consummate their marriage. Less probably they may be living together as celibates (anticipating the later practice of syneisaktism, or spiritual marriage). These, too, do well to remain sexually abstinent, but are also free to marry. St Paul’s attitude to wealth is evident first in his own practice: a voluntary poverty in which he worked to support himself wherever possible, rather than rely on gifts from the communities to which he ministered (1 Thess. 2:9; 1 Cor. 4:11–12). As Jerome Murphy O’Connor observed (2002: 192), the apostle’s disdain for his own trade reveals someone ‘whose inherited status [had previously] preserved them from physical work’. Paul’s understanding of wealth is also seen in his collection of alms for the support of the Jerusalem Church. At Romans 15:25–27 this almsgiving by the Gentile churches in Macedonia and Achaia becomes a sign of their integration in the new Israel under Christ. Meeting ‘the needs of the saints’ expresses shared membership in Christ’s body (Rom. 12:13). Yet almsgiving, associated in some strands of Second Temple Judaism with expiation of sin (Garrison 1993), is not here given redemptive value. Neither is almsgiving identical with self-dispossession of wealth, nor with common ownership. There is a difference between Paul’s own ascetic practice of radical impoverishment and his teaching on almsgiving, as well as a difference of emphasis between the Lukan and Pauline approaches to wealth. Paul’s ascetic ethics are nonetheless broadly consistent with the teaching of Jesus as presented in the canonical Gospels, while some whom he addressed thought that all Christians were called to sexual renunciation and to certain forms of fasting. The Pauline letters give little support to any who see the Gospels as introducing ascetic ideas previously absent from the earliest churches. Rather, Paul, or those who later wrote under his name, must work hard to convince readers that the ascetic practices under discussion do not define the community’s boundaries; they instead have value within it when adopted by certain individuals. That said, Paul’s letters and the so-called Pastoral

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Asceticism before Monasticism   23 Letters are products of the Gentile mission: they give no insight into Jewish–Christian communities, who will have conducted themselves differently.

Fasting in the Early Church The Didache indicates the role which communal fasting soon played in some early Christian circles. The original date and nature of this work remain contested, but some scholars place it (in part at least) in the final third of the first century. The Didache (Did. 8.1; SC 248: 172) stipulates that Christians should fast two days a week, on Wednesdays and Fridays, whereas ‘hypocrites’ fasted on Mondays and Thursdays. Evidence that many Jews fasted on Mondays and Thursdays suggests that fasting here demarcated the Christian community from a wider Judaism, but also hints at the Jewish origins of this practice. The text took a stricter line than Paul on abstaining from sacrificial meats, which it required of all the baptized, thereby demarcating the Church from wider pagan culture (Did. 6.3; SC 248: 168). How many individuals or communities in the second century observed twice-weekly fasts is unclear. It would be imprudent to generalize on the basis of limited evidence, but the Didache was a popular item in later collections of ‘Church orders’, models of Church organization which circulated widely into the fifth century. The Shepherd (Similitude 5.1.1–2, ed. Whittaker 1967: 52), a text from before the mid-second century which many regarded as inspired, tells of Hermas, a married Roman freedman and recipient of prophetic visions, who kept a ‘customary’ fast or ‘­station’, during which he rose early to pray and abstained from food, though it does not specify when this happened, nor whether it was widely observed by Christians at Rome. Tertullian’s On Fasting (10.1; CCSL 2: 1267) reveals voluntary fasting until the ninth hour on Wednesdays and Fridays at Carthage by the early third century. Tertullian himself belonged to a New Prophecy movement, which advocated longer and compulsory fasts on these station days. On Fasting also advocated xerophagy, a vegetarian regimen without juicy fruits or wine, which the movement observed for two weeks a year except on Saturdays and Sundays. A great many Christians fasted in some fashion before celebrating what we now think of as Easter. Scholars debate how these celebrations developed. For numerous churches of Asia Minor the crucifixion and resurrection were marked in the late second century by a Paschal festival on the day of Passover, 14 Nisan, when a communal fast was held (Stewart-Sykes 1998: 160–172). At some point, however, Montanists moved to a fixed celebration of Easter on 6 April when this fell on a Sunday, or on the Sunday immediately following (Sozomen, Church History 7.18.12–14, ed. Hansen 2004: 902–904). In the Latin West the resurrection was commonly celebrated by the late second century on the Sunday following Passover, and was preceded by a fast of varying duration. Some fasted for one day, others for two or more, some for a day comprising forty hours (Eusebius, Church History 5.24.12–13; SC 41: 70). Bishop Victor at Rome attempted to excommunicate those who did not observe Easter on the Sunday but was strongly rebuffed

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24   Richard Finn, OP by Irenaeus. Tertullian’s On Fasting (13.1 and 14; CCSL 2: 1271 and 1272–3) reveals a twoday fast at Carthage in the early third century, and this is the total fast advocated in the extant versions of the Apostolic Tradition, a Church order which was perhaps drawn up in the early third century. According to a widespread interpretation of Mark 2.19–20 and Luke 5.35, these were the days on which Christ, the bridegroom, was absent and Christians abstained from food in accord with his command. However, different groups might have further rules. Two tables inscribed on a statue base at Rome in the early third century indicate the dates of Passover from ad 222 to 333, and note the corresponding date of Easter. This fell either on the following Sunday, or (if 14 Nisan fell on a Saturday or Sunday) on the Sunday which fell seven or eight days later. An inscription required the faithful to refrain from fasting when the Passover occurred on a Sunday (Brent 1995: 3, 64–77). Later conciliar or synodal legislation shows that much remained in dispute over the next century. There was still no universal agreement on the timing of Easter in ad 325 when the Council of Nicaea adjudicated in favour of a Sunday celebration. Canon 18 of a council at Gangra in the mid-fourth century registered an abiding concern to ban fasting on Sundays (Hefele  1907: 1040). Nonetheless, the Didascalia (21, trans. StewartSykes 2009: 220), another Church order with a complex redactional history, indicates the development of more extended Lenten fasting. A section likely to be third century in origin prefaces the total two-day fast immediately before Easter by a period of less intensive fasting from the Monday of Holy Week. On these days an evening meal of bread, salt, and water could be taken. This is mirrored by a six-day fast mentioned by Dionysius of Alexandria in the late third century. The bishop noted that people observed different parts of the fast with varying strictness (Dionysius, Letter to Basilides 1, ed. Feltoe 1904: 101–102). Church orders are not windows onto any known place and time. Yet, they witness to shifting ideals of Lenten observance. Catechumens commonly fasted before baptism, whether at Easter or at other times of the year. According to the Didache (Did. 7.4; SC 248: 172), the person administering baptism, and others in the community who were able, were to fast alongside the catechumen for one or two days. The Apostolic Tradition (20.7, trans. Bradshaw et al. 2002: 106) in its extant versions envisages a Friday fast by the catechumen before baptism on the Saturday, though it is unclear whether this was the Saturday morning, or at a vigil on the Saturday evening. For Marcionite catechumens (those joining the churches established by the second-century heretic Marcion) this was also the beginning of what, in theory at least, was a lifetime’s abstention from meat. What did fasting mean for most Christians? For many it expressed a sinner’s humility before God, something early Christianity owed to its Jewish roots. Fasting was a part of humble prayer. Clement’s Letter to the Corinthians (53 and 55; SC 167: 184, 188), which was sent on behalf of the Roman Church to fellow Christians in Corinth at the end of the first century, twice uses the phrase ‘fasting and humility’ to describe how Moses and Esther win salvation from God for the Jewish people. Likewise, in the Shepherd (Vision 2.2.1 and 3.1.2, ed. Whittaker 1967: 5 and 7) Hermas fasts for fifteen days when entreating God to reveal the meaning of the sacred text he has been given. An old woman who is a

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Asceticism before Monasticism   25 figure of the Church tells him in a vision that ‘every enquiry needs humility. Fast therefore, and you will receive what you ask from the Lord’ (Vision 3.10.6, ed. Whittaker 1967: 17). Ptolomeus’ Letter to Flora (5.13; SC 24: 61), however, reveals that for an educated minority fasting was merely an external symbol of the essential abstention from evil.

Sexual Renunciation An unknown number of early Christians practised some form of permanent sexual renunciation. The presence of these men and women was variously lauded in different churches across the Graeco-Roman world. They embodied Christian holiness. In Syria numerous churches expected the baptized to abstain from all sexual activity. Fragments from their baptismal liturgies have been detected in fourth-century sermons by Aphrahat and Ephrem (Griffith 1995: 236–7). Their many Marcionite neighbours held the same ideal: baptism was restricted to virgins, widows, and those married men and women who separated from their spouses, because marriage was ‘a traffic in unchastity’ (Tertullian, Against Marcion 1.29.5, ed. and trans. Evans 1972: 82–83). Here (and prob­ ably elsewhere) sexual renunciation had a competitive edge, as versions of Christianity rivalled one another in claims to holiness. The motif of sexual renunciation upon conversion was found in popular apocryphal texts. In the Acts of Andrew (Passion 14–23, ed. and trans. MacDonald 1990: 343–354), the convert Maximilla, supported by the apostle, incurs her husband’s wrath by avoiding intercourse. In the Acts of John (63 and 82, ed. and trans. Junod and Kaestli 1983: 253, 287), another convert, Drusiana, refuses to sleep with her husband Andronicus, who later becomes Christian and accepts her abstinence. Jean-Daniel Kaestli has proposed that the work originally opened with three attempts by the apostle to marry, with each attempt frustrated by Christ’s intervention (1981: 262–263). The fifth-century Epistle of Pseudo-Titus relates that John attended a marriage in order to preach the evils of sexual intercourse and urge that the wedding be abandoned. This, too, may attest to a nonextant version of the Acts of John (Junod and Kaestli 1982: 101). In one version of the Acts of Peter four concubines renounce sexual relations with the Roman prefect Agrippa on hearing Peter preach, while a number of married men and women ceased to sleep with their spouses (Actus Vercellenses 33–34, ed. and trans. Schneemelcher and Wilson 1992: 2: 313). Scholars struggle to relate this literary motif to social practice. It cannot be a simple window on practice, but we know of one instance in the mid-second century where a married convert divorced her pagan husband seemingly to avoid sexual relations. Justin Martyr’s Second Apology (2.1–2.15, ed. and trans. Minns and Parvis 2009: 272–278) may suggest that he in turn delated her teacher Ptolemaeus to the Roman authorities. Did life imitate art or art life? While much remains conjectural, including the dates and readership of these apoc­r yph­al texts, they entertained early Christians with their tales of brave converts who miraculously defied pagan violence. If probably few imitated their sexual

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26   Richard Finn, OP renunciation, the texts popularized an association between that abstention and purity of heart, a c­ ondition that brought the believer close to God. So, they exalted the status of whoever did practise sexual abstinence. In the Acts of Paul and Thecla (5, ed. and trans. Schneemelcher and Wilson 1992: 2: 239–240), the apostle elaborates on the beatitude ‘Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God’: Blessed are they who have kept the flesh pure, for they shall become a temple of God. Blessed are the continent, for to them God will speak. Blessed are they who have renounced this world, for they shall be well pleasing unto God. Blessed are they who have wives as if they had them not, for they shall be heirs to God.

Similar ideas circulated elsewhere and invested individuals with prophetic authority. In the Shepherd (Vision 2.2.3, ed. Whittaker 1967: 5), the visionary Hermas learns that he must live with his wife as though she were his sister, that is, without intercourse. The Montanist prophetess Prisca was said to have separated from her husband, and her action may be explained by an oracle attributed to her: ‘purification produces harmony, and they see visions, and when they turn their faces downward they also hear salutary voices, as clear as they are secret’ (Tertullian, Exhortation to Chastity 10.5, trans. Heine 1989: 5). The second-century theologian Tatian read 1 Corinthians 7:5 as supporting the view that marital intercourse prevented prayer and amounted to spiritual fornication (Clement of Alexandria, Stromata 3.12.80–81, ed. Stählin and Früchtel 1960: 232). On expulsion from the Roman Church, Tatian returned to Asia Minor and became a widely read author. In the mid-third century Origen taught that marital intercourse, though not sinful, was not graced by the Spirit’s presence; it made the bedroom a dubious place to pray (Homilies on Numbers 6.3.7; SC 415: 154–156; On Prayer 31.4 , trans. O’Meara 1954: 133). Indeed, Origen thought that those who wrongly believed total sexual renunciation was required for salvation greatly benefited from their error (Homilies on Jeremiah 20.4; SC 238: 268). Other writers, such as Clement of Alexandria, followed the Pauline defence of marriage and argued for the goodness of sexual relations within marriage for procreation (Paedagogus II, 10.94–102; SC 108: 180–192). Nonetheless, they often considered sexual renunciation a higher form of life. Thus, Athenagoras (author in the late second century of what was probably a fictive petition to the emperors) defended Christianity from charges of atheism and immorality in part by asserting that many men and women grew old ‘unmarried in the hope of being united more closely with God’. Athenagoras allowed that Christians could marry and procreate, but stressed that they did not permit a ­second marriage after divorce, even if the first wife had subsequently died (Embassy 33, ed. and trans. Schoedel  1972: 81). As Judith Lieu notes, ‘in Athenagoras, asceticism becomes an intrinsic part of Christian self-presentation’ (2004: 202). In this, he drew upon the work of Justin Martyr, who had likewise condemned remarriage after divorce and boasted of the elderly men and women ‘of sixty and seventy who from childhood

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Asceticism before Monasticism   27 were disciples of Christ and remain pure’ (1 Apology 15.5-6, ed. and trans. Minns and Parvis 2009: 115). Tertullian even argued that remarriage by the widowed amounted to adultery, and in this he probably speaks for the New Prophecy movement (Exhortation to Chastity 9 and On Single Marriage 1.1 and 10; CCSL 2:1027–1029, 1229, 1242–1244). Amid such currents, distinct groups or orders of Church widows and virgins who vowed to remain single soon emerged. The author of 1 Timothy put strict conditions on who might be enrolled. They should be at least sixty years of age and without a family to support them. Those young enough to be tempted by remarriage should be encouraged to remarry. Not every Christian community kept to these prescripts, but many did. The Didascalia dropped the minimum age to fifty, though a fourth-century Church order, the Apostolic Constitutions, sought to restore the supposedly Pauline requirement of sixty (Krause 1996: 119–120). Enrolled widows expected to be fed at least partially by the Church. As monarchical bishops rose to prominence and authority they gained responsibility for the care of these women. In the Apocalypse of Paul (35, ed. and trans. Schneemelcher and Wilson 1992: 2: 731), which probably dates to the third century, a vision of hell contains a bishop being stoned in a river of fire for not showing compassion to widows and orphans and not giving them justice. Such women were to pray for their benefactors and for the Church generally. Polycarp wrote that they must ‘intercede continually for all . . . knowing that they are God’s altar . . .’ (Letter to the Philippians 4.3, ed. and trans. Bihlmeyer 1956: 116). That image of the widow as an altar on which the donor laid his sacrifice was used by a number of writers in promoting almsgiving to the poor. Women dedicated to life-long virginity also formed a distinct body. By the end of the second century it was customary in many Greek-speaking Churches for virgins to be invested with a veil. It was still not universal practice in Roman North Africa, however, where Tertullian campaigned for its adoption (On the Veiling of Virgins 2–3; CCSL 2: 1210–1212). Canon 3 of the Council of Carthage in 390 shows the concern of African ­synods in the fourth century to establish the bishop’s right to preside at the consecration ceremony, which suggests that at an earlier period the local presbyters held this role (Concilia Africae 13 and 102). Councils sought to prevent young girls from being coerced into a vow which they could not keep, but there was no agreed minimum age. By the fourth century it was sometimes necessary for the woman to be at least twenty, sometimes twenty-five years old (Concilia Africae 33 and 139). How did these virgins conduct themselves? Most probably lived secluded within the family home except when they attended services. Those who lost their families and home risked poverty. They had either to be taken in by another household or join together with other orphaned virgins (Concilia Africae 42). At Carthage Cyprian tried to stop them from frequenting weddings or the public baths, where they might incite lust in male onlookers (On the Dress of Virgins 18–19; CSEL 3.1: 200–201). Syria saw the emergence in the third century of so-called ‘Sons’ and ‘Daughters of the Covenant’, dedicated celibates, some of whom lived at home, others of whom lived apart from the family (Harvey 1996: 35). Eusebius indicates that by the late third century clergy in Asia Minor, including Paul of Samosata, were living with celibate women later termed syneisaktes or

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28   Richard Finn, OP subintroductae (Church History 7.30.12–15; SC 41: 216–218; Elm 1994: 47–50). Scholars are uncertain when and where this custom emerged. It was practised by some whom Irenaeus considered Gnostics in the late second century, though he accused the men of secretly sleeping with the women (Against the Heresies 1.6.3; SC 264: 96). The practice is attacked in the Pseudo-Clementine Letters, which probably originated in mid-third-­century Syria, but were revised in the early fourth century. Complaints by leading clerics in the fourth century attest to the ubiquity of a practice from which clerics gained a housekeeper, and women some security.

Cutting Away Wealth Among the Shepherd’s visions, Hermas saw the Church as a great tower under construction with white round stones lying beside it that could not as yet be fitted into the building. He was told that the stones were Christians whose wealth had to be cut away, just as stones had to be squared or dressed, before they could be incorporated into the rising edifice (Vision 3.6.5-7, ed. Whittaker 1967: 13). Early Christians generally recognized the need for almsgiving by the rich, but differed on whether it was right to dispossess oneself wholly of wealth, while scholars differ on whether such gifts amount to an ascetic self-denial. In the late second century Clement of Alexandria advocated almsgiving by the wealthy, but strongly argued against a reading of Mark 10:17–22 that located perfection in the dispossession of wealth and its gift to the poor: ‘Sell your possessions. What does this mean? Not as some bluntly take it, that He orders one’s property to be thrown away and the renunciation of wealth, but the expulsion from the soul of ideas about wealth, affinity for it, excessive desire, excitement by it and sickness, anxieties, the thorns of life, which stifle the seeds of life.’ (Quis dives salvetur 11.2, eds Stählin, Treu, and Früchtel 1970: 166). Whose views, though, did he thus dismiss? The views which Clement attacked can be observed in the extant Acts of Thomas, which probably originated in the Syriac East in the early third century (Bremmer 2001: 77). Like Clement, the Acts of Thomas strongly commend almsgiving (85. trans. Klijn 2003: 164). But the apostle at the centre of the Acts also asserts his absolute destitution as a ‘wanderer’ in Syriac or ‘stranger’ in Greek (ξένος) ‘without possessions or wealth’ other than Christ Himself (113, trans. Klijn 2003: 218). Thomas already unites in his person the characteristic ascetic traits later manifest in Antony of Egypt: absolute poverty, fasting, a diet of bread, salt, and water, and the possession of a single garment (20, trans. Klijn 2003: 65). What here is the relationship between literature and life? For Daniel Caner, ‘as Jesus provided the example for Thomas’ voluntary poverty and homeless wanderings, so Thomas’ apostolic way of life provided a model for his readers’ imitation’ (2002: 61). Yet, the converts who renounce marriage within the Acts do not imitate Judas Thomas in this further way. As with the impact of the apocryphal Acts on sexual renunciation, we are largely left to guess how an ideal influenced practice. At some point between 244 and 249 Origen wrote a Commentary on Matthew (Eusebius, Church History 6.36.2; SC 41: 138). He offered two interpretations of Matt.

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Asceticism before Monasticism   29 19:16–22. One followed Clement, but in the other Origen took Christ’s instruction ­literally. Since loss of wealth exposed one to temptation, Origen asked how Jesus could still invite such impoverishment as leading to perfection. Did God immediately infuse full virtue? Origen thought this solution consonant with faith, but doubted that it was the true answer. Instead, he drew on Clement’s theological underpinning of almsgiving: the prayers offered by the recipients of alms for their donors win a progressive acquisition of virtue (Commentary on Matthew 15.16 and 17: PG 13: 1301a–b and 1304a). If the pagan Crates gave up his wealth, Christians should not claim this is too difficult for them. And Origen presumed a literal reading of Matthew 19:21 elsewhere, just as he adopted a literal reading of Luke 14:33, though he claimed not yet to have achieved in full what Christ there commanded (Homilies on Joshua 9.9; SC 71: 266; and Homilies on Genesis 16.5; SC 7: 256). It is possible that Origen himself renounced as a youth what little property he had in response to Christ’s words in the Gospels, though this was not how Eusebius later presented the sale of his books.

Origen and the Ascetic Struggle for Holiness Origen would be important for more than his advocacy of voluntary poverty. We have already seen that by the early third century periodic fasting and permanent sexual renunciation were significant features of many churches, while self-dispossession of wealth to some degree was a recognized part of holiness. Fasting, celibacy, or continence within marriage, were all widely thought to aid prayer. What has not yet been shown is any widespread belief that these forms of asceticism entered into a personal struggle for holiness, a psychomachy in which the victorious found sanctity by virtue of their ascetic practices. This, however, was the understanding developed by Origen in his allegorical exegesis of Scripture. The story that he castrated himself as a youth when inspired by Matthew 19:12 may be no more than a slur given undue credence by Eusebius (Church History 6.8.1–3; SC 41: 95–96).2 Yet Origen’s ascetic theology, which drew deeply on the Greek philosophical tradition of spiritual exercises, was formative of later monastic understanding. Origen taught how the heart had to be purified through a specifically Christian ­as­ceti­cism. The soul was like a well which the devil’s agents had choked with the rubbish of earthly thoughts and carnal passions (Homilies on Genesis 13.3; SC 7: 222). Anger and the other passions prevent us from perceiving God’s glory (Homilies on Jeremiah 5.9; SC 232: 302). To undo the damage, we must take to heart through ‘memory and exercise’ the Divine Word found in Scripture, and act on his commands (Homilies on Jeremiah 5.13; SC 232: 312–14). Such intellectual work is aided by disciplining bodily desires through abstention. Christ’s victory over temptation through fasting in the desert indicates how 2  Origen condemned this violent response to Matt. 19 in his Commentary on Matthew 15.3 (PG 13: 1257).

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30   Richard Finn, OP certain demons were likewise to be subdued by ‘prayer and fasting’, an allusion to a variant text of Mark 9: 29 (Homilies on Exodus 2.3; SC 321: 78). Just as the Israelites left Egypt by way of Rameses (Exod. 12: 37), so the Christian had to part from the wealth attacked by the moths or worm indicated by this place name (Homilies on Exodus 5.2; SC 321: 152). Fasting and prayer, together with ‘all the pain of abstinence’ in its different forms, cut the hamstrings of the horses which symbolize our sensual pride (Homilies on Joshua 15.3; SC 71: 336–338). Mortification of the flesh brought victory symbolized in Jael’s killing of Sisera (Homilies on Judges 5.5; SC 389: 140). Origen’s influence is visible in Methodius’ Banquet. This radical Christian adaptation of Plato’s Symposium was composed at the end of the third century, when Antony had already begun his monastic withdrawal into the desert. It tells how a group of ten virgins met in a hilltop garden to discuss chastity under the symbolic shade of an agnus castus tree. Each offers an encomium to virginity, which God has now revealed as the summit of virtue (Methodius, Banquet 1.2.18; SC 95: 58). While God’s original blessing on marriage still holds good, all are called to holiness in imitation of Christ, and personal perfection is found in embracing Christ’s virginity (Banquet 3.10.76 and 3.8.73–74; SC 95: 112 and 108–110).

Concluding Remarks Ascetic practices were variously undertaken, understood, promoted, and contested by Christians long before the first monks entered the desert. Asceticism was not alien to Christianity; its place within the churches and lives of individuals developed under the  diverse influences of New Testament texts, popular literature, and theological ­controversy. Those who advocated more extreme forms of communal asceticism, Marcionites and perhaps Montanists, would find themselves further separated by their group practices from what we now hold to be orthodox Christianity. Within what we recognize as mainstream churches, communal fasting and the honour accorded to widows and virgins became a backdrop against which individuals sought perfection in ­sexual renunciation and voluntary poverty. What waited on the monks was the recognition by them and by the laity who supported them of where perfection was best sought, in withdrawal from the urban churches and the society they kept in the Graeco-Roman cities. Future research may shed valuable light on what prompted that withdrawal.

Suggested Reading A good introduction to asceticism generally is Harich-Schwarzbauer et al. (2007). Krawiec (2008) gives a helpful discussion of the concepts involved and focuses on the early Church. Much has been written on individual aspects of Christian asceticism, with examples given

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Asceticism before Monasticism   31 in the bibliography below; relatively few works locate early Christian practice within the context of Jewish and pagan asceticism. This is the aim of Finn (2009), though the New Testament writings feature only as they were interpreted from the second century onwards. For a detailed introduction to works on biblical asceticism, see Finn (2012).

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Acts of Andrew. Greek text and Eng. trans. D. MacDonald, The Acts of Andrew and The Acts of Andrew and Matthias in the City of the Cannibals. Atlanta, GA: Scholars Press, 1990. Acts of John. Greek text and French trans. E. Junod and J.-D. Kaestli, Acta Iohannis, CCSA 1–2. Turnhout: Brepols, 1983. Acts of Paul and Thecla. Greek text and Eng. trans. W.  Schneemelcher and R.  McLachlan Wilson, New Testament Apocrypha, rev. edn, vol. 2: 239–270. Cambridge: J.  Clarke; Louisville, KY: Westminster, 1992. Acts of Thomas. Eng. trans. A.  F.  J.  Klijn, The Acts of Thomas: Introduction, Text, and Commentary, 2nd rev. edn. Leiden: Brill, 2003. Actus Vercellenses. Greek text and Eng. trans. W. Schneemelcher and R. McLachlan Wilson, New Testament Apocrypha, rev. edn, vol. 2: 271–321. Cambridge: J. Clarke; Louisville, KY: Westminster, 1992. Apocalypse of Paul. Greek text and Eng. trans. W. Schneemelcher and R. McLachlan Wilson, New Testament Apocrypha, rev. edn, vol. 2: 712–746. Cambridge: J. Clarke; Louisville, KY: Westminster, 1992. Apostolic Tradition. Eng. trans. P.  Bradshaw, M.  Johnson, and L.  Phillips, The Apostolic Tradition. A Commentary. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2002. Athenagoras, Embassy. Greek text and Eng. trans. W. R. Schoedel, Athenagoras. Legatio and De Resurrectione, OECT. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972. Clement of Alexandria. Greek text O. Stählin, U. Treu, and L. Früchtel, Clemens Alexandrinus, vol. 3, GCS 17. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1970. Clement of Alexandria, Paedagogus. Greek text and French trans. C.  Mondésert, Clément d’Alexandrie. Le Pédagogue II, SC 108. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1965. Clement of Alexandria, Stromata. Greek text O. Stählin and L. Früchtel, Clemens Alexandrinus, vol. 2. Berlin: Akadamie Verlag, 1960. Clement of Rome, Letter to the Corinthians. Greek text and French trans. A. Jaubert, Clément de Rome, Épître aux Corinthiens, SC 167. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1971. Concilia Africae a.345–a.525. Latin text C. Munier, CCSL 149. Turnhout: Brepols, 1974. Coptic Gospel of Thomas. Eng. trans. J.M. Robinson, ed., The Nag Hammadi Library in English, 4th rev. edn. Leiden and New York: Brill, 1996. Cyprian, S. Thasci Caecili Cypriani Opera Omnia. 3 vols. Latin text W. Hartel, CSEL 3. Vienna: Geroldus, 1868–1871. Didache. Greek text and French trans. W. Rordorf and A. Tuilier, La Doctrine des douze apôtres (Didachè), SC 248 bis. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1998. Didascalia. Eng. trans. A.  Stewart-Sykes, The Didascalia Apostolorum: An English Version. Turnhout: Brepols, 2009. Dionysius of Alexandria, Letter to Basilides. Greek text C. Lett Feltoe, Dionysiou Leipsana: The Letters and Other Remains of Dionysius of Alexandria. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1904.

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32   Richard Finn, OP Eusebius, Church History. Greek text and French trans. G. Bardy, Eusèbe de Césarée, Histoire ecclésiastique, SC 41. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1955. Irenaeus, Against the Heresies I. Greek text and French trans. A. Rousseau and L. Doutreleau, Irénée de Lyon. Contre les hérésies, SC 264. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1979; repr. 2006. Irenaeus, Against the Heresies III. Greek text and French trans. A. Rousseau and L. Doutreleau, Irénée de Lyon. Contre les hérésies, SC 211. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1974. Justin Martyr, Second Apology. Greek text and Eng. trans. Denis Minns and Paul Parvis, Justin, Philosopher and Martyr. Apologies, OECT. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Luther, Martin, Sermons. Eng. trans. J.  N.  Lenker et al., The Sermons of Martin Luther. Electronic Edition, vol. 3: Sermons on Gospel Texts for Pentecost, and vol. 7: Sermons on Epistle Texts for Epiphany, Easter, and Pentecost. Charlottesville, VA: InteLex Corporation, 1995. Methodius, Banquet. Greek text and French trans. H. Musurillo and V.-H. Debidour, Méthode d’Olympe, Le Banquet, SC 95. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1963. Origen, Homilies on Exodus. Latin text and French trans. M. Borret, Origène, Homélies sur l’Exode, SC 321. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1985. Origen, Homilies on Genesis. Latin text and French trans. L. Doutreleau, Origène. Homélies sur le Genèse, SC 7. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1943. Origen, Homilies on Jeremiah. Greek text and French trans. ed. P. Nautin and trans. P. Husson and P. Nautin, Origène, Homélies sur Jérémie. 2 vols, SC 232, 238. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1976–1977. Origen, Homilies on Joshua. Latin text and French trans. A.  Jaubert, Origène: Homélies sur Josué, SC 71. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1960. Origen, Homilies on Judges. Latin text and French trans. P. Messié, L. Neyrand, and M. Borret, Origène: Homélies sur les juges, SC 389. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1993. Origen, Homilies on Numbers. Latin text and French trans. L. Doutreleau, Origène. Homélies sur les Nombres, vol. 1, SC 415. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1996. Origen, On Prayer. Eng. trans. J.  J.  O’Meara, Prayer: Exhortation to Martyrdom, ACW 19. London: Longmans, 1954. Polycarp, Letter to the Philippians. Greek text and German trans. K.  Bihlmeyer, Die Apostolischen Väter, vol. 1, 2nd edn. Tübingen: Mohr, 1956. Ptolemaeus, Letter to Flora. Greek text and French trans. G. Quispel, Ptolémée, Lettre à Flora, SC 24 bis. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1949; repr. 1966. Shepherd of Hermas. Greek text M. Whittaker, Der Hirt des Hermas, GCS 48. Berlin: Akademie Verlag, 1967. Sozomen, Church History. Greek text and German trans. G.  Hansen, Historia Ecclesiastica -Kirchengeschichte, vol. 3. Turnhout: Brepols, 2004. Tertullian, Works. Latin text E.  Dekkers, Tertulliani Opera CCSL 1–2. Turnhout: Brepols, 1953–1954. Tertullian, Against Marcion. Latin text and Eng. trans. Ernest Evans, Tertullian, Adversus Marcionem, vol. 1: Books 1–3, OECT. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972.

Secondary Sources Alviar, J.  José (1993). Klesis: The Theology of the Christian Vocation According to Origen. Blackrock: Four Courts Press.

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Asceticism before Monasticism   33 Assmann, J. (2006). Religion and Cultural Memory: Ten Studies. Translated by Rodney Livingstone. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Behr, J. (2000). Asceticism and Anthropology in Irenaeus and Clement. OECS. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Bremmer, J. N. (2001). ‘The Acts of Thomas: Place, Date and Women’. In The Apocryphal Acts of Thomas, edited by J. N. Bremmer, 74–90. Louvain: Peeters. Brent, A. (1995). Hippolytus and the Roman Church in the Third Century: Communities in Tension before the Emergence of a Monarch-Bishop. Leiden and New York: Brill. Brown, P. (1989). The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity. London: Faber and Faber. Burrus, V. (1987). Chastity as Autonomy: Women in the Stories of Apocryphal Acts. Lewiston, NY: Edwin Mellen Press. Caner, D. (2002). Wandering, Begging Monks: Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late Antiquity. TCH 33. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Collins, R. (1999). First Corinthians. Sacra Pagina Series 7. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Elm, S. (1994). ‘Virgins of God’: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Finn, R. (2009). Asceticism in the Graeco-Roman World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Finn, R. (2012). ‘Asceticism’. In Oxford Bibliographies: Biblical Studies, edited by C. Matthews. Oxford: Oxford University Press. DOI: 10.1093/OBO/9780195393361-0110 Garrison, R. (1993). Redemptive Almsgiving in Early Christianity. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press. Griffith, S. (1995). ‘Asceticism in the Church of Syria: the hermeneutics of early Syrian monasticism’. In Asceticism, edited by V. Wimbush and R. Valantasis, 220–245. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Grumett, D. and R. Muers (2010). Theology on the Menu: Asceticism, Meat and Christian Diet. London and New York: Routledge. Harich-Schwarzbauer, H., J.  Ries, T.  Podella et al. (2007). ‘Asceticism’. In Religion Past and Present: Encyclopaedia of Theology and Religion, vol. 1, A-Bhu, edited by H.  D.  Betz, D. S. Browning, B. Janowski, and E. Jüngel, 433–440. Leiden: Brill. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook (1996). ‘Sacred Bonding: Mothers and Daughters in Early Syriac Hagiography’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 4: 27–56. Hefele, C. (1907). Histoire des conciles d’après les documents originaux, vol. 1. Paris: Letouzey et Ané. Heine, R., ed. (1989). The Montanist Oracles and Testimonia. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press. Hill, C. (2010). Who Chose the Gospels? Probing the Great Gospel Conspiracy. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Junod, E. and J.-D.  Kaestli (1982). L’histoire des Actes apocryphes des apôtres du IIIe au IXe siècle: le cas des Actes de Jean. Cahiers de la Revue de Théologie et de Philosophie 7. Geneva: Imprimerie La Concorde. Kaestli, J.-D. (1981). ‘Les scenes d’attribution des champs de mission et de départ de l’apôtre dans les Actes apocryphes’. In Les Actes apocryphes des apôtres, edited by F. Bovon, 249–264. Geneva: Labor et Fides. Konstan, D. (1998). ‘Acts of love: a narrative pattern in the apocryphal acts’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 6: 15–36.

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34   Richard Finn, OP Krause, J.-U. (1996). ‘La Prise en charge des veuves par l’église dans l’antiquité tardive’. In La Fin de la cité antique et le début de la cité médiévale, edited by C. Lepelley, 115–126. Bari: Edipuglia. Krawiec, R. (2008). ‘Asceticism’. In The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, edited by Susan Ashbrook Harvey and D. G. Hunter, 764–785. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Levine, A.-J. (2005). ‘The Word becomes flesh: Jesus, gender, and sexuality’. In The Historical Jesus in Recent Research, edited by J. Dunn and S. McKnight, 509–523. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Lieu, J. (2004). Christian Identity in the Jewish and Graeco-Roman World. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Muddiman, J. (1975). ‘Jesus and Fasting: Mark ii. 18–22’. In Jésus aux origines de la christologie, edited by J. Dupont, 271–281. BETL 40. Louvain: Louvain University Press. Murphy-O’Connor, J. (2002). St. Paul’s Corinth: Texts and Archaeology, 3rd rev. and expanded edn. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Stewart-Sykes, A. (1998). The Lamb’s High Feast: Melito, Peri Pascha, and the Quartodeciman Paschal Liturgy at Sardis. Leiden: Brill. Wimbush, V.  L. and R.  Valantasis (eds) (1995). Asceticism. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press.

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chapter 3

Holy M en a n d Wom en of the De sert David Brakke

The traditional story of Christian monasticism begins in the Egyptian desert: the pioneering Antony left his Egyptian village in the late third century and, through a gradual progression away from the settled land, became the first desert hermit. Inspired by his example, a multitude of Christian men (and some women) followed him into monastic life after imperial persecution of Christianity ended in the early fourth century. The Egyptian desert ‘was made a city’, as Athanasius of Alexandria’s Life of Antony puts it (Life of Antony 14). From here monasticism spread to the deserts of Palestine and Syria, to the countryside of Asia Minor, and eventually to the Latin-speaking West. Thanks to the Life of Antony, the Apophthegmata Patrum (Sayings of the Desert Fathers), and other works, the holy men and women of the desert continued to inspire monks and nuns in both Eastern and Western Christianity. Although few scholars doubt the enduring influence of the classic literature of desert monasticism, scepticism about and revisions of the traditional narrative concerning the origins of Christian monasticism in the Egyptian desert characterize recent and current work in this field. Many of these new approaches reflect the so-called ‘linguistic turn’ in historical studies in general: we are less likely to read early Christian literature as a transparent window to the social reality of its time, and we are more likely to attend to the cultural and rhetorical effects of literary constructions (Clark 2004). Students of early monasticism, for example, must be alert to the way authors attempted to shape their readers’ understandings of landscape, gender, and holiness rather than simply reporting the facts on the ground. In addition, papyrological and archaeological evidence provides checks on the literary sources that have been so central to monastic studies (Wipszycka 2009). Because of such work, historians have become more cautious about replicating in their own reconstructions ancient presentations of desert monks as fully withdrawn and separate from society and culture, or of desert monasticism as a ‘simpler’ and therefore more ‘genuine’ expression of Christian faith. Instead, we are more likely now to see early monks as fully engaged with the wider society that they also resisted

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36   David Brakke and to see monasticism as one among several significant transformations in the philosophical life of late antiquity. These two themes, engagement with the world and continuity with philosophy, figure prominently in recent work on desert monks, along with the abandonment of a linear narrative of monastic origins, changing notions of ‘the holy man’, and studies of women and gender.

Decentring of Egypt and the Elimination of Founders The traditional narrative placed the origins of desert monasticism precisely in Egypt, and it highlighted certain individuals as the founders of monastic life in their regions. In Egypt, Antony founded eremitical monasticism in the third century (living alone as a hermit), while in the fourth century Pachomius founded coenobitic monasticism (living with ­multiple monks under a rule), and Macarius the Great, semi-eremitical monasticism (a lifestyle of relative independence midway between the previous two options) (Chitty 1966). From here monasticism in these three forms spread to other regions, who then had their own founders—for example, Julian Sabas in Syria, Chariton in Palestine, and Martin of Tours in Gaul. This story, however, is far too clear and orderly. We no longer trace all of Christian monasticism to Egypt; rather, recent work explores how forms of monasticism arose independently in particular geographical regions with their distinctive religious cultures. So too, the focus on single founding figures has given way to a model of diverse experiments in ascetic living, with the founders understood to be literary creations intended to serve as canonical role models. In any case, ‘desert’ monasticism developed in different ways in the three regions whose landscape suited it: Egypt, Syria, and Palestine. Evidence from Egypt, for example, indicates that a variety of ascetic innovations emerged during the late third and early fourth centuries. As the Life of Antony depicts it, Antony made his decision to move well away from the settled land (and eventually across the desert to the area near the Red Sea) while interacting with other ascetics (‘men of zeal’) living on the outskirts of villages (Life of Antony 3–4). We have, of course, no way to verify the claim that he was the first monk to settle in the desert. The anchoritic life that Antony symbolizes grew out of an older pattern of Christian men called ‘renouncers’ (apotaktikoi) or simply ‘monks’, who practised asceticism alone or in loose communities in cities and villages (Judge 1977; Goehring 1999: 53–72). Such men imitated Christian women (‘virgins’), who had been doing the same thing since at least the early third century. Antony’s desert withdrawal, then, should be understood as lying on a continuum of ascetic settlements from the centre of cities and villages to the wilderness of the inner desert. More remote and formally organized monastic communities appealed to Church leaders and others who valued order and stability, and thus prominent authors such as Jerome and John Cassian labelled the traditional renouncers as false monks, even as they admitted their ubiquity (Choat 2004).

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Holy Men and Women of the Desert   37 Likewise, it is improbable that Pachomius was the sole pioneer of the coenobitic life in Egypt. Other organized ascetic communities similar to the classic monastery emerged at the same time as Pachomius was forming his organization and gradually devising the idea of a rule. Some of these contemporary monasteries appear to have been affiliated with the ‘schismatic’ Melitian church (whatever such affiliation might have meant in practice), which accounts partially for why later sources honour Pachomius, but fail to mention similar ascetic organizers (Goehring 1999: 187–195). Other new ascetic communities disturbed bishops and clergy with their innovations: Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria condemned as heretical the monk Hieracas of Leontopolis, who brought men and women into a single community that allegedly rejected worship shared with married Christians (Brakke  1995: 44–57; Goehring  1999: 110–133). Like Antony for eremitical monasticism, Pachomius became the single canonical representative of a uniform coenobitic monasticism, a trend that was in fact diverse and the work of numerous ‘founders’. Although works such as the immediately popular Life of Antony served to disseminate Egyptian models across the Christian world, inspiration from Egypt cannot account for the origin and variety of new forms of monasticism in different geographical regions. Christianity in Syria and Mesopotamia, for example, had a long tradition of ascetic commitment, dating back to the Gospel According to Thomas, which originated in the late first or early second century, probably in Edessa, and depicts Jesus advising his followers, ‘Be passersby’ (Gospel of Thomas 42). The third-century Acts of Thomas accordingly presented its hero as a wandering ascetic and evangelist. This ‘apostolic’ model of ascetic itinerancy and preaching persisted well into later antiquity, even as Church councils and leaders condemned it (Caner 2002). In the city of Edessa, meanwhile, ‘sons and daughters of the covenant’ emerged in the early fourth century (and possibly in the third): these Christians devoted themselves to an ascetic life of fasting, prayer, and charity within the urban community; celibacy may not have been a requirement at all times (Griffith 1998). Forms of devotion that were more removed from congregational life developed only later in the fourth century. The monastic legislation attributable to Rabbula of Edessa (bishop 412–435) reflects the peculiar development of urban ascetic life into ‘desert monasticism’ in Syria– Mesopotamia. A set of fifty-nine Commandments and Admonitions for the Priests and the Children of the Covenant addresses together priests, deacons, and the sons and daughters of the covenant as ‘sons of the Church’. The rules, composed in the third person (e.g. ‘the priests and deacons shall/shall not’), establish ascetic expectations for all these persons, with special attention to relations between the sexes, financial matters, and liturgical roles; the sons and daughters of the covenant resemble the clergy by having an important role in Church life and not living in rigidly organized communities. Admonitions for Monks, while it resembles Commandments and Admonitions in literary form and style, gives twenty-six rules that envision the emerging paradigm of c­ oenobitic monasticism: it speaks of monastic officers (e.g. ‘head of the monastery’), uses ‘monastic’ terminology, and concerns all-male communities that are separate from towns and villages. Rabbula’s rules permit us to glimpse the transition from the traditional Syrian

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38   David Brakke ascetic pattern of sons and daughters of the covenant, who lived at the centre of town and village Church life, to the new, pan-Mediterranean standard of the cloistered singlesex monastery outside the city, that is, in ‘the desert’ (Stewart 2013: 215–220). Although monastic communities in Syria and especially in Egypt attracted adherents from other regions of the Mediterranean, desert monasticism in Palestine was a cosmopolitan affair from the start. Ascetically inclined aristocrats from the West such as Jerome and Paula played important roles in the establishment of communities close to the holy places near Jerusalem, and others from outside the Holy Land moved there to take up the monastic life. ‘Foreigners’, then, may have made up the majority of Palestinian desert monks in the fourth and fifth centuries. They did so because Christians remained a minority of the population in Palestine longer than in other regions and because the holy places attracted pilgrims and ascetics who wished to live near them (Perrone  1995). Moreover, starting at the turn of the fifth century, as ‘barbarians’ began harassing monastic settlements in northern Egypt, numerous monks moved from there to Gaza and other regions of southern Palestine. And thus desert monasticism in Palestine became the site for the consolidation and literary composition of traditions from Egypt, most importantly, the Apophthegmata Patrum or Sayings of the Desert Fathers (Regnault 1981; BittonAshkelony and Kofsky 2000). These collections of sayings of and anecdotes about desert monks survive under different organizational schemes—by the names of monks (‘alphabetical’) or by topics (‘systematic’)—and in multiple languages (Greek, Latin, Coptic, and others) (Harmless 2004: 167–192). Recent scholarship has questioned the use of them to reconstruct desert asceticism (Rubenson 2013a). The correspondence of Barsanuphius and John, two reclusive holy men from sixth-century Gaza, has emerged as a precious source of information about numerous aspects of a single monastic community, including its relations with lay admirers and its handling of crises and transitions in leadership (Hevelone-Harper 2005). Recent scholarship has explored how the topography of Palestine shaped desert monasticism there and gave it a character distinct from that of Egypt. As we shall see, Egyptian monastic literature could set in stark opposition ‘the desert’ and ‘the city’, but Palestinian sources often refer to the Judean desert as ‘the desert of the Holy City’, that is, of Jerusalem: the Holy City was not the desert’s opposite, but its political and spiritual centre (Hirschfeld 1992: 10). Traffic between Jerusalem and the monasteries was continual, and the patriarchate of Jerusalem was much younger than that of Alexandria: the prominence of that bishop rose in tandem with the nearby monasteries, and he exercised far more influence over them than did his Alexandrian counterpart over those in Egypt (Sivan  1990). Settlement in the caves along the Judean desert’s rugged cliffs encouraged the formation of communities that were not as close-knit as those in Egypt and even Syria. These monasteries, then, featured greater theological diversity and less solidarity, which may help to explain the outbreak and virulence of the sixth-century Second Origenist Controversy among Palestinian monks and the lack of a vigorous monastic opposition to the pro-Chalcedonian views of the patriarchate (Binns 1994). Not only did all desert monasticisms not originate with Antony in Egypt, neither were all deserts and their monasticisms the same.

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Holy Men and Women of the Desert   39

Monasticism as a Transformation within Late Ancient Philosophy It has been traditional to consider Antony and other early desert monks as uneducated, even anti-philosophical—figures such as Evagrius Ponticus (c.345–399) would then represent the later intellectualization of an originally more rustic phenomenon. Inspired by the work of Pierre Hadot, Michel Foucault, and others, scholars now see monasticism as a philosophical movement from the outset. Monasticism participated in the larger transformation of philosophy in late antiquity, and forms of monastic literature represent variations on traditional philosophical genres. Several literary sources suggest that the majority of desert monks were rustic and uneducated Copts, at least at first. The Life of Antony tells how Antony gave up school at a young age and later dazzled philosophers with his wisdom, despite having no formal education (Life of Antony 1, 80). Historians concluded that he was an illiterate Copt and that he must have been typical of the men who settled in desert areas: their simple, uncomplicated responses to biblical imperatives must have motivated their withdrawal. Confirmation for this view came from the so-called ‘anthropomorphite controversy’ at the turn of the fifth century: when Archbishop Theophilus of Alexandria taught that God did not have a human form and should not be so mentally pictured, monks from Nitria and Scetis travelled to the city to protest and persuaded the patriarch to change his mind. Some years later John Cassian depicted as his exemplary anthropomorphite an elderly monk named Serapion whose ‘ignorance and rustic naiveté’ led to the error of imagining that God has a human body (Cassian, Conferences 10.1–4). The anti-­anthropomorphite ‘Origenist’ monks whom Theophilus expelled from the desert monasteries would have been later foreign additions to an originally simple Coptic community. More recent scholarship suggests, however, that many of even the earliest monks, including Antony, are likely to have been literate and at least moderately educated. Most, if not all, historians now accept the authenticity of the letters attributed to Antony, which show that a somewhat sophisticated theology and spirituality indebted to Origen lay behind his anchoritic lifestyle (Rubenson 1995). Documentary sources, archaeological remains, and more attentive readings of literature provide further evidence for literacy, at least a basic education, and relative wealth among a significant number of desert monks (Wipszycka 2009: 355–365). The possible monastic origins of the Nag Hammadi codices suggest monks with esoteric philosophical interests (Lundhaug and Jenott 2015). Even anthropomorphism, the contemplation of God in human form, may reflect a learned tradition of exegesis of and speculation on biblical passages that suggest the vision of God in a human body (Golitzin 2003; Patterson 2012). Although Hadot mistakenly believed that monasticism originated among the poor, illiterate, and uneducated, he nonetheless pointed to continuity between the practices of monasticism and what he called the ‘spiritual exercises’ that Greek and Roman philosophers had recommended to their disciples for centuries. Ancient philosophy, Hadot

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40   David Brakke pointed out, was a way of life meant to make the practitioner more virtuous, rather than a purely theoretical pursuit of doctrines or logical thinking. Monasticism likewise combined teachings about God, the cosmos, and the good life with exercises such as meditation and memorization in order to form more virtuous persons (Hadot 1995). Inspired by Hadot, Foucault constructed an unfinished history of ancient sexuality, in which he found Christian monastic literature to be continuous with pagan philosophical and medical literature, even as it differed from these traditions in significant ways; he interpreted monastic practices as a ‘technology of the self ’, akin to the programmes advocated by philosophers (Foucault  1988). Even as they reject many of Hadot’s and Foucault’s specific arguments, historians increasingly understand Christian monasticism as one of the ways in which philosophy transformed in the centuries after Constantine. Traditional ‘school’ patterns gave way to new communal forms. Platonism of the fourth and later centuries, Edward Watts argues, was ‘characterized by communities of adherents who, despite different levels of intellectual and doctrinal sophistication, felt bound to one another by personal relationships and a set of behavioural standards governed by Platonic philosophical principles’ (Watts 2011). If one substitutes ‘Christian’ for ‘Platonic’, then this statement applies equally well to Christian monasticism of the same period. After all, Christian authors frequently called monasticism simply ‘philosophy’. When they are viewed together, works such as the History of the Monks (Historia monachorum) and Eunapius’s Lives of the Sophists, both from the 390s, demonstrate how Christians and non-Christians alike were reimagining and literarily presenting the traditional links among a philosopher’s teaching, his virtue, and the profit he offered his students (Miller 2000). Most of the genres of monastic literature, then, have their roots in pedagogy, the work of training others in the virtues, as well as of presenting ideas about God and the world. Such traditional philosophical genres as the epistle, the life (bios), the anecdote (chreia), the notebook (hupomnēmata), and the commentary took on new forms as monastic Christian authors adapted them to their ascetic goals and to the specifically Christian literary legacy embodied in the Bible and works of the first few centuries. Innovative recent work on monastic literature, especially hagiography, emphasizes the pedagogical functions of this literature (Rapp 2010). For example, the sayings and stories in the various Sayings of the Desert Fathers, which have served as key sources for reconstructing the lives of desert monks in northern Egypt, may be compared to chreia, short anecdotes that educators used to train students in composition, rhetoric, and virtue (McVey 1998; Larsen 2006). Stories of simple, uneducated monks who gave away their books may have been useful anecdotes for monks to ponder rather than accurate representations of their experience. The recovery and interpretation of the works of Evagrius Ponticus have been one of the most remarkable achievements of recent scholarship and have raised most acutely the question of monasticism’s relationship to philosophy (Brakke  2006b: 112–114). Evagrius, who died in ce 399, was by far the most important theorist of desert monastic spirituality in late antiquity, but his birth and education in Asia Minor and his obvious

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Holy Men and Women of the Desert   41 debt to non-Christian philosophy and to learned Christian theologians such as Clement of Alexandria and Origen led historians to see him as anomalous or even foreign to authentic Egyptian monasticism. In reaction to this view, some scholars took the opposite position: Evagrius was simply a monk, who subordinated any interests in philosophical questions to his ascetic goals. New approaches to monasticism as itself a mutation of philosophy have contributed to overcoming these dichotomous perceptions, but so too have specific studies of Evagrius, which have emphasized his relationships with leading Egyptian monks and have demonstrated how he integrated theological speculation into an overall plan for the monastic life (Driscoll  2003; Stewart  2001; Guillaumont 2004). Practices such as prayer and demonic combat were as central to Evagrian spirituality as biblical exegesis and mystical contemplation, and it proves impossible to disentangle intellectual theory and embodied discipline (Dysinger 2005; Brakke 2009). Although Evagrius must have been exceptional among the desert fathers, his exceptionality lay in the breadth of his learning and the depth of his engagement with philosophical questions and biblical exegesis, not in his interest in intellectual pursuits as part of the monk’s self-forming discipline.

The Myth of the Desert The concept of ‘the desert’ suggests that monks were isolated and little involved in the wider world politically, socially, and economically. This impression applies most fully to Egypt, where the boundary between the desert and the settled land is most visible. The steep cliffs that mark the beginning of the high desert—in Coptic, the desert is often called ‘the mountain’—appear, if not insurmountable, then at least intimidating enough to keep ‘desert’ and ‘world’ clearly apart. Of course, it does not take much thought to realize that such complete separation was practically impossible: the simple need for food and drink required either that the monk travel regularly to nearby villages or that devoted followers bring supplies to him or her. Still, the powerful image of the desert can lead scholars to exaggerate the extent to which ‘desert monks’ were in the desert (rather than, say, in a walled community in a village) or, even if they were geographically distant, to underestimate their continued involvement with the society around them. Overcoming this imaginative distortion has required multiple strategies. On the one hand, James Goehring (1999, 2003, 2013c) has carefully traced how early monastic literature, such as the Life of Antony, constructed a ‘myth of the desert’. He shows how this myth shaped monastic spirituality even in places without any kind of desert at all (for example, Gaul) and how it has misled historians as they have interpreted the ancient sources. On the other hand, the papyrologist Ewa Wipszycka (1975, 1994, 2009) has led the way in documenting how Egyptian monks maintained lively social and economic ties with cities and villages. It may be argued that the monastic vocation itself, which included the need to engage with and encourage others in the quest for

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42   David Brakke virtue, motivated some monks to seek disciples among laypeople (‘worldly’ people) (Rousseau 2007). The ongoing rediscovery of the career of Shenoute (c.348–465), who led a monastic federation near Atripe in southern Egypt, has provided a clear example of a desert hermit engaged with the world. Shenoute would seem to have been unlikely to have gained a public profile, for early in his monastic career, after a traumatic series of events, he chose to withdraw from the shared living quarters of the White Monastery and to live in a desert cell as a hermit affiliated with the monastery (Emmel 2004a). But in the 380s he became the leader of a federation of two monasteries for men and one for women. Shenoute’s Discourses (Logoi), edited into eight volumes by his monks after his death, reveal that, even though he remained a hermit, he gradually emerged as a major player in the economic life and religious culture of the region around Panopolis (Brakke and Crislip 2015). A steady stream of prominent politicians, military leaders, and Church officials came to pay him their respects and ask him questions (Hahn  1991; Behlmer 1998). Shenoute took on the role of a prophet, who exhorted pagans to give up their idols and embrace Christ, Christians to reform their behaviours and abandon residual pagan practices, and rich people to stop oppressing the poor (Brakke 2007). He preached his message in occasional public sermons, which attracted large crowds of monastic and non-monastic hearers, and he made rare and dramatic forays outside the monastic compound—for example, to purge with fire the (most likely no longer active) temple to the goddess Triphis. Shenoute engaged in a lengthy controversy with Gesios, a former provincial governor and wealthy landowner in Panopolis, whom he accused of worshipping pagan gods in secret and of exploiting his labourers and other poor dependents. The monk railed against Gesios in his sermons, wrote open letters to condemn him, and broke into his house more than once to search for ‘idols’ (Emmel 2002, 2008). This conflict shows how the growing social and economic power of desert monasteries could bring them and their leaders into competition with traditional urban elites (López 2013). Shenoute described himself as living ‘in the desert’ (Emmel 2004b: 11), but his monastic vocation was hardly pursued apart from ‘the world’.

The Rise and Functions of ‘The Holy Man’ The ‘holy man’ whom Peter Brown studied in his seminal 1971 article ‘The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity’ was not identical with the desert monk, for very few monks ever gained the status and prestige of someone such as Simeon the Stylite. This essay nonetheless galvanized and gave impetus to several of the trends that we have seen. For one thing, Brown carefully noted the differences in landscape and social patterns among Egypt, Syria, and Asia Minor, while also tracing the connections among the ascetic practices in these regions. His detailed account of rural patronage

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Holy Men and Women of the Desert   43 embedded the supposedly withdrawn holy man in his socio-economic environment. Comparative studies of exorcism in more recent cultures brought to life the drama of power played out in the monk’s battles with possessing demons. And yet the essay never lost sight of the religious dimension of this phenomenon: the ‘stranger’ par excellence, the holy man represented a distinctive era in the religious history of the Mediterranean, one in which a special human being could mediate between other people and God. Brown and other scholars have subsequently modified his original model in important ways. They now emphasize the holy man’s role in the transition from paganism to Christianity: as a creative blender of old and new religious traditions and practices, the holy man facilitated the very religious transition that he represented (Brown 1995: 65–68; Frankfurter 2003). He was, it is now recognized, not as separate from the rest of humanity or from social institutions as Brown’s notion of ‘the stranger’ suggested (Brown 1998): the original article even hesitated to call the holy man human in sociological terms. Among other means, the liturgy exemplified his close ties to the wider Church (Harvey 1998). The holy man was not only a spiritual patron, mediating between God and humanity, but also a focus for community life and an exemplar of shared values (Brown 1983). It has been argued that the holy man seldom functioned as a mediator; healing, including exorcism, was his primary social role (MacMullen 2019). Finally, historians take more seriously the propagandistic nature of the sources that Brown originally used in historical reconstruction, and thus we are less certain than Brown was in 1971 that hagiographical details correspond to social reality (Brown 1995: 59–60; Clark 1998). In general, recent works have been less willing to distinguish clearly (and in traditionally Weberian terms) between the ‘charismatic’ authority exercised by the desert monk and the ‘institutional’ authority wielded by the bishop and his fellow clergy. There may have been as much integration of monastic and ecclesiastical institutions as tensions between them (Giorda 2010). The bishop, too, displayed ascetic virtue and charisma (Rapp 2005), while monks such as Shenoute could gain power and prestige based on their control of large and economically formidable institutions and perhaps also on their learning and rhetorical skills (Brakke and Crislip 2015: 2–23). Although monastic literature voices a nearly unanimous opposition to ordination and ecclesiastical office as temptations to pride and thus dangers to the monk’s ascetic discipline, monks increasingly joined the clergy and served as bishops in cities both large and small. The monkbishop developed as an admired and powerful variation on the holy man of the desert (Sterk 2004).

Holy Women? The issues and problems that ‘the holy man’ raises lead one naturally to ask, was there a ‘holy woman’? If by this term we mean a woman who exercised the same kind of public and internationally recognized power that a man such as Simeon the Stylite did, then the answer is no. But there certainly were holy women, women who pursued monastic

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44   David Brakke lives in ‘desert’ settings, whether alone or in monasteries. The study of female desert monastics has followed a path familiar from other areas of feminist inquiry (Clark 2001). An initial period of excited rediscovery (‘desert fathers and mothers’) gave way to chastened reflection on the relative paucity of such women and the highly rhetorical (and thus historically ‘unreliable’) nature of our sources for them. The best recent work continues to recover and reconstruct the lives of monastic women, but it also interrogates the fictive character of literary accounts and explores the role of gender in the legitimation and organization of monastic life, in monastic spirituality, and in the shaping of female ascetic experience. The recovery of evidence for female monks began in the 1970s and continues to the present day. At its most elementary, this work has involved simply noticing and taking seriously the presence of women in sources that have long been familiar (Elm 1994). That is, Sarah and Theodora are among the desert monks of the Apophthegmata Patrum, and more attentive reading of works such as Palladius’s Lausiac History and the pseudoAthanasian Life of Syncletica provides glimpses into the lives and practices of female monks. Newly edited literary sources, such as the works of Shenoute, have disclosed new information about women in large monastic organizations (Krawiec  2002; Layton 2011). But historians have also learned to look beyond literary works to documentary evidence, such as letters and papyri, to get around, so to speak, what ancient male authors chose to include and exclude (Wipszycka 2002). Still, the evidence for female desert monastics remains sparse and often highly rhetorical in nature. Two or three named women among ‘the desert fathers’ are very few, and other women appear in highly charged and stereotypical scenarios—for example, as former prostitutes who have taken up desert asceticism as a form of repentance or as transvestites, apparently male monks revealed to be women at their deaths (Ward 1987; Davis  2002). These considerations, along with the widespread linguistic turn in the humanities, have led some scholars to question both whether a significant number of women were involved in desert asceticism (as opposed to the long-standing lifestyle of the urban virgin) and whether even the women who do appear in our sources are real or simply ‘charming fictions’ (Wipszycka 2002). Perhaps all that historians can do with literary accounts of holy women in the desert is study how male authors manipulated gender and representations of women in order to serve their theological and rhetorical goals (Clark 1998; 2001; 2004:173–181). Several historians argue, however, that the situation is not so grim. On the one hand, the work of recovery and reconstruction can go on, even with a more chastened sense of the literary and contrived character of many of our sources. Older and newly recovered literary sources as well as documentary evidence do provide compelling grounds for locating ascetic women in non-urban and non-coenobitic monastic settings, especially if we are willing to look for modes of life that fall outside such traditional categories as ‘anchoritic’ and ‘semi-eremitical’ (Schroeder 2014). Tenacious prosopographical work can reveal numerous named female monks as well as communities of women (Albarrán Martínez 2010). On the other hand, even highly gendered rhetoric and probably fictive

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Holy Men and Women of the Desert   45 works that depict women stereotypically shaped monastic communities and spiritualities in ways that must have had significant effects on real women—and on holy men of the desert as well. That is, gendered representations influenced how male and female monks understood themselves and certain virtues and behaviours as masculine or ­feminine; they and their leaders organized their practices and institutions accordingly (Behlmer 2002; Brakke 2003, 2006a: 182–212).

Directions for Future Research All of these issues remain fertile areas for new research. Truly innovative work, however, will most likely not simply argue for fresh readings of familiar sources, but bring ‘new’ sources into the discussion and integrate sources that are usually investigated separately. Many scholars are editing and translating literary and documentary texts that have not been fully available for wide discussion. For example, just as the edition and translation of the Barsanuphius and John correspondence have enabled new work on monasticism in Gaza, so too ongoing projects on the works of Evagrius and Shenoute and on monastic letters and papyri will provide new windows into the desert monasticism of Egypt (e.g. Emmel 2004b, Layton 2014). Moreover, the study of early monasticism has often been segmented among papyrologists, archaeologists, philologists, and historians who work primarily with literary sources. Although these areas do require the efforts of scholars with specialized skills, the field will make considerable advances as studies integrate these different forms of evidence into more comprehensive pictures and read each of them more carefully (Brakke 2013, Brooks Hedstrom 2013, Choat 2013, Goehring 2013a and 2013b, Rubenson 2013b). The landscape may appear intimidating and dangerous, but rewards await those historians who are willing to imitate the ancient holy men and women of the desert by venturing into unknown territory.

Suggested Reading No work in English has replaced Chitty (1966) as a comprehensive study of ‘desert monasticism’, and perhaps none will, given the shifts in perspective traced above. For Egypt, however, good places to start are Harmless (2004) in English and Wipszycka (2009) in French. Perrone (1995) provides a concise introduction to Palestinian monasticism, and Stewart (2013) does much the same for Syria. Brakke (2013), Brooks Hedstrom (2013), Choat (2013), Goehring (2013a and 2013b), and Rubenson (2013) discuss the problems and possibilities of reading the diverse sources (literary, ­archaeological, etc.) for Egyptian desert monasticism. Brooks Hedstrom (2017) provides a theoretically informed introduction to the archaeology of desert monasticism.

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46   David Brakke

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Apophthegmata patrum. Alphabetical Collection. Greek text PG 65:76–440. Eng. trans. John Wortley, Give Me a Word: The Alphabetical Sayings of the Desert Fathers, PPS 52. Yonkers, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2014. Apophthegmata patrum. Systematic Collection. Greek text and French trans. Jean-Claude Guy, Les Apophthegmes des pères, Collection systématique, SC 387, 474, 498 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1993, 2003, 2005). Eng. trans. John Wortley, The Book of the Elders: Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Systematic Collection, CS 240. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2012. Athanasius of Alexandria, Life of Antony. Greek text and French trans. G. J. M. Bartelink, Vie d’Antoine, SC 400 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1994). Eng. trans. Tim Vivian and Apostolos N. Athanassakis, The Life of Antony: The Coptic Life and the Greek Life, CS 202. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2003. Gospel of Thomas. Coptic and Greek texts Bentley Layton, Nag Hammadi Codex II,2–7 Together with XIII,2*, Brit. Lib. Or.4926(1), and P. Oxy. 1, 654, 655, NHS 20, 38–128 (Leiden: Brill, 1989). Eng. trans. Bentley Layton, The Gnostic Scriptures: A New Translation with Annotations and Introductions, 376–399. Garden City, NY: Doubleday, 1987. John Cassian, Conferences. Latin text and French trans. E. Pichery, Les Conférences, SC 42, 52, 64 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1955–1959). Eng. trans. Boniface Ramsey, John Cassian: The Conferences, ACW 57. New York: Paulist Press, 1997. Rabbula of Edessa, Admonitions for Monks. Syriac text and Eng. trans. Robert R. Phenix Jr and Cornelia B. Horn, The Rabbula Corpus: Comprising the Life of Rabbula, His Correspondence, a Homily Delivered in Constantinople, Canons, and Hymns, Writings from the GrecoRoman World 17, 94–101. Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2017. Rabbula of Edessa, Commandments and Admonitions for the Priests and the Children of the Covenant. Syriac text and Eng. trans. Robert R. Phenix Jr and Cornelia B. Horn, The Rabbula Corpus: Comprising the Life of Rabbula, His Correspondence, a Homily Delivered in Constantinople, Canons, and Hymns, Writings from the Greco-Roman World 17, 102–117. Atlanta, GA: SBL Press, 2017.

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Holy Men and Women of the Desert   49 Griffith, Sidney  H. (1998). ‘Asceticism in the Church of Syria: The Hermeneutics of Early Syrian Monasticism’. In Asceticism, edited by Vincent L. Wimbush and Richard Valantasis, 220–245. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Guillaumont, Antoine (2004). Un philosophe au désert: Évagre le Pontique. Paris: Vrin. Hadot, Pierre (1995). ‘Ancient Spiritual Exercises and “Christian Philosophy” ’. In Philosophy as a Way of Life, translated by Michael Chase, 126–144. Oxford: Blackwell. Hahn, Johannes (1991). ‘Hoher Besuch im Weissen Kloster: Flavianus, Preases Thebaidos, bei Schenute von Atripe’. Zeitschrift für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 87: 248–252. Harmless, William (2004). Desert Christians: An Introduction to the Literature of Early Monasticism. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook (1998). ‘The Stylite’s Liturgy: Ritual and Religious Identity in Late Antiquity’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 6: 523–539. Hevelone-Harper, Jennifer  L. (2005). Disciples of the Desert: Monks, Laity, and Spiritual Authority in Sixth-Century Gaza. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Hirschfeld, Yizhar (1992). The Judean Desert Monasteries in the Byzantine Period. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Judge, E.  A. (1977). ‘The Earliest Use of monachos for “Monk” (P.  Coll. Youtie 77) and the Origins of Monasticism’. Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 20: 72–89. Krawiec, Rebecca (2002). Shenoute and the Women of the White Monastery: Egyptian Monasticism in Late Antiquity. New York: Oxford University Press. Larsen, Lillian I. (2006). ‘Pedagogical Parallels: Re-reading the Apophthegmata Patrum’. PhD dissertation, Columbia University. Layton, Bentley (ed.) (2014). The Canons of Our Fathers: Monastic Rules of Shenoute. OECS. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Layton, Bentley (2011). ‘Punishing the Nuns: A Reading of Shenoute’s Letters to the Nuns in Canons Book Four’. In Christianity in Egypt: Literary Production and Intellectual Trends, edited by Paola Buzi and Alberto Camplani, 325–345. SEA 125. Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum. López, Ariel G. (2013). Shenoute of Atripe and the Uses of Poverty: Rural Patronage, Religious Conflict, and Monasticism in Late Antique Egypt. TCH 50. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Lundhaug, Hugo and Lance Jenott (2015). The Monastic Origins of the Nag Hammadi Codices. STAC 97. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. MacMullen, Ramsay (2019). ‘The Place of the Holy Man in the Later Roman Empire’. Harvard Theological Review 112: 1–32. McVey, Kathleen (1998). ‘The Chreia in the Desert: Rhetoric and the Bible in the Apophthegmata Patrum’. In The Early Church in its Context, edited by Abraham  J.  Malherbe, Frederick W. Norris, and James W. Thompson, 245–255. London: Brill. Miller, Patricia Cox (2003). ‘Is There a Harlot in This Text? Hagiography and the Grotesque’. Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 33: 419–435. Miller, Patricia Cox (2000). ‘Strategies of Representation in Collective Biography: Constructing the Subject as Holy’. In Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity, edited by Tomas Hägg and Philip Rousseau, 209–254. TCH 31. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Patterson, Paul  A. (2012). Visions of Christ: The Anthropomorphite Controversy of 399 CE. STAC 68. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Perrone, Lorenzo (1995). ‘Monasticism in the Holy Land: From the Beginnings to the Crusaders’. Proche-Orient Chrétien 45: 31–63.

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50   David Brakke Rapp, Claudia (2010). ‘The Origins of Hagiography and the Literature of Early Monasticism: Purpose and Genre between Tradition and Innovation’. In Unclassical Traditions, vol. 1: Alternatives to the Classical Past in Late Antiquity, edited by Christopher Kelly et al., 119–130. Cambridge: Cambridge Philosophical Society. Rapp, Claudia (2005). Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity: The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition. TCH 37. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Regnault, Lucien (1981). ‘Les apophtegmes en Palestine aux Ve–VIe siècles’. Irénikon 54: 320–30. Rousseau, Philip (2007). ‘The Desert Fathers and their Broader Audience’. In Foundations of Power and Conflicts of Authority in Late-Antique Monasticism: Proceedings of the International Seminar, Turin, December 2–4, 2004, edited by A. Camplani and G. Filoramo, 89–107. OCA 157. Louvain: Peeters. Rubenson, Samuel (2013a). ‘The Formation and Re-Formations of the Sayings of the Desert Fathers’. Studia Patristica 55: 5–22. Rubenson, Samuel (2013b). ‘Response: To Tell the Truth: Fact and Fiction in Early Monastic Stories’. Cistercian Studies Quarterly 48: 317–324. Rubenson, Samuel (1995). The Letters of St. Antony: Monasticism and the Making of a Saint. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Schroeder, Caroline T. (2014). ‘Women in Anchoritic and Semi-Anchoritic Monasticism in Egypt: Rethinking the Landscape’. Church History 83: 1–17. Sivan, Hagith (1990). ‘Pilgrimage, Monasticism, and the Emergence of Christian Palestine in the 4th Century’. In The Blessings of Pilgrimage, edited by R. Ousterhout, 54–65. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Sterk, Andrea (2004). Renouncing the World, Yet Leading the Church: The Monk-Bishop in Late Antiquity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Stewart, Columba (2013). ‘The Ascetic Taxonomy of Antioch and Edessa at the Emergence of Monasticism’. Adamantius 19: 207–221. Stewart, Columba (2001). ‘Imageless Prayer and the Theological Vision of Evagrius Ponticus’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 9: 173–204. Vööbus, Arthur (1960). Syriac and Arabic Documents Regarding Legislation Relative to Syrian Asceticism. PETSE 11. Stockholm: Etse. Ward, Benedicta (1987). Harlots of the Desert. CS 106. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Watts, Edward (2011). ‘Doctrine, Anecdote, and Action: Reconsidering the Social History of the Last Platonists (c.430–c.550 C.E.)’. Classical Philology 106: 226–244. Wipszycka, Ewa (2009). Moines et communautés monastiques en Égypte (IVe–VIIIe siècles). Journal of Juristic Papyrology Supplement 11. Warsaw: Warsaw University and Raphael Taubenschlag Foundation. Wipszycka, Ewa (2002). ‘L’ascétisme féminin dans l’Égypte de l’antiquité tardive. Topoi littéraires et formes d’ascèse’. In Le rôle et le statut de la femme en Égypte hellénistique, romaine et byzantine. Actes de colloque international, Bruxelles—Leuven 27 au 29 novembre 1997, edited by Henri Melaerts and Leon Mooren, 355–396. SH 37. Louvain: Peeters. Wipszycka, Ewa (1994). ‘Le monachisme égyptien et les villes’. Travaux et Mémoires 12: 1–44. Wipszycka, Ewa (1975). ‘Les terres de la congrégation pachômienne dans une liste de payements pour les apora’. In Le monde grec: Pensée, littérature, histoire, documents. Hommages à Claire Préaux, edited by J. Bingen et al., 625–636. Brussels: L’Université Bruxelles.

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chapter 4

The A rchitect u r e of the Ascetic Body Lynda L. Coon

An early medieval monk in Europe visualizing the imagined landscapes of late ancient Egypt, Syria, and Palestine, could discover in the desert and its spiritually fecund as­cetics both a promise and a threat. The promise held out to a monk such as Walahfrid Strabo of Reichenau (d. 849) was twofold. First, he and his brothers could capture the potency of desert bodies through regulated rituals of silence. After all, late ancient texts portray the desert as a ‘huge silence’ and a space where sublime speech—Psalms, Torah, gospels—emptied ascetic bodies of profane discourse. Second, the clods of desolate soil displayed in monastic crypts and the relics of famous hermits collected by ambitious abbots extended the promise of the desert across the Alps to northern climes as did the space of the early medieval cloister itself. The threat represented by the desert to the monasteries of the North was singular: perfectibility through the body was the legacy of a bygone era in which superhuman ascetics metamorphosed into dazzling vessels of the divine, bridging the distance between the heavens and the earth. Carolingian monks knew intuitively what scholars of late antiquity now recognize: far from being an obstacle to the angelic life or second-class citizen to a domineering soul, the body was front and centre in the ascetic imagination of the later Roman Empire. Current research emphasizes the lush, sensory aesthetic accompanying portraits of ascetics as well as the manner in which churchmen drew from classical cultures of spectacle, theatre, and visual pleasure to build a new Christian body. In this alternative construction of the human body the desert functioned as a stage for corporeal transformation and a contrastive arena for viewing ascetic bodies as part of a meditative practice. The audiences for these texts could survey in their imaginations a dizzying range of corporeal styles: bodies practising long periods of stillness, converting them into fleshly statues; bodies mirroring the resolve of the chaste athletes of ancient Rome, preserving their seminal fluid to ensure future victory; bodies achieving intimacy with their Creator on the tops of desert mountains after Hebrew prophets. The spectacular nature of these bodies wounded by severe mortifications and exhibited to the world like

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52   Lynda L. Coon women and men under a sentence of death (1 Cor. 4:9) functions in part as a memory prompt for the pious. The very strangeness of the desert and its feral inhabitants immortalizes and enshrines the body of the second covenant. The ascetic body of the new dispensation embraces—at least in the realm of literary fiction—a large sector of the class system of the later Roman Empire as well as a diversity of gendered styles, from hyper-masculinized female to effeminate demon. They also contain a wealth of ethnicities, encompassing the huge territorial reach of the empire. Ascetic bodies are imperialist over the landscape, exhibiting vertical and subterranean modes of domination, from the thirty-six cubit column that served as the celestial abode of the renowned Simeon Stylites, whose pillar intruded on the space of the heavens, to the catacombs of Rome, where pilgrims from all classes and both sexes communed with the remains of the heroic dead, and did so within the space of a chthonic shrine. Simeon’s lofty pillar itself became an object of virtual practice early on: fifth-century shopkeepers in Rome set up miniaturized columns crowned by portraits of the Syrian holy man and situated these at the entryway of shops, a Christian reworking of the apotropaic Herm, the square shaft of a statue with a pronounced phallus standing as guardian over travellers, distances, and boundaries (trans. Doran  1992: 75). Virtual spirituality like that exhibited by Simeon as phallic Herm expanded the power of the desert well beyond geographical boundaries or even historical time. This chapter is divided into two sections: ‘Fortress of the Ascetic Body’ and ‘Spatial Practice of the Ascetic Body’. The first section surveys ways in which the Christian body vanquished its classical counterpart through sensory, material, and spatial techniques. The second part of the chapter applies the corporeal theory established in the first section to assemble the ‘architecture of the ascetic body’, a new direction for future scholarship in the field. The essay concludes by suggesting ways in which the material, sensory, and architectural world of late ancient asceticism travelled across the Alps to the monasteries of the early medieval North, where the ideal of the desert became part of the every­day experience of monks.

Fortress of the Ascetic Body Recent scholarship has changed how historians of religion view the ascetic body and its disruptive habits. Instead of an inwards, pathologized attack on the body, asceticism represents an outwards, political assault on the empire. Nowhere is this corporeal im­peri­al­ism more pronounced than in the victory of the ascetic body over ancient understandings of sensory culture. Asceticism activates the five senses to demonstrate the sensuality of the Christian body. In this regard, the ascetic body participates in a broader imperial culture of spectacle and sensation, but reconfigures the space for sensory activity within a new epistemological framework. Desert texts offer up a retinue of ascetics, paraded in front of readers like ‘processions of verbal icons’, images that are not portraits of individual hermits but rather parts of a collective body of the new covenant

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The Architecture of the Ascetic Body   53 (Miller 2009: 59). Various vitae highlight how asceticism recalibrates the five senses in extraordinary ways, both for the subject under study and for the audience consuming these texts. The overall effect is a testimony to the extent to which Christianity has conquered the classical body. In the prologue to his Religious History, Theodoret of Cyrrhus (c.393–466) builds the fortress body of a desert ascetic complete with a reactivated sensory world (trans. Price  1985: 5–6). Here, the language of a military stronghold under threat of siege becomes a metaphor for the body of a new epoch. Theodoret begins his exploration of ascetic sensory culture by describing a fortified citadel with a walkway atop its curving walls surrounded by a deeply cut moat. This fort is unassailable unless an enemy—an internal traitor—grants access to hostile forces through a concealed breach in the ­barricade. Drawing from the rich language of besiegement detailed in Hebrew Scripture, Theodoret explains that the ascetic body is a similar type of martial edifice. Divine grace functions as a curtain wall around the body, and the senses operate as flashpoints through which the Evil One might gain access to the interior and vanquish the purity of mind. Theodoret informs his audience that ‘death has come through the windows’ (Jer. 9:21), a testimony to the porousness of the ascetic body and its openness to exterior pene­tra­tion. A Syrian ascetic, he reckons, has positioned bolts, bars, and barricades around the senses, openings of the body potentially accessible to demons through traitorous thoughts. From this vivid portrait of moat, curtain wall, fissure, and traitor, Theodoret stands back and analyzes the senses in terms of the level of their vulnerability to the outside world. Certain organs connected with sensory perceptions, the eye and the ear, come ready-made with curtain walls. The eye, known in antiquity for its power to wound victims of its insidious gaze (invidia) as well as its own quality as an orifice to be infiltrated, appears here as a postern, a concealed gap in a fortified wall of the body. Yet unlike the ear and the nostrils, which lack natural barriers and are subject to invasion from the outside, the pupil of the eye receives protection from the fluttering lid, and the limber lips guard the tongue—and hence the Word—with a defensive wall. Yet the natural defences of certain orifices, like the eyelid which guards the peeping pupil, can exert unhealthy influence on the body, such as when the lids force the eye into dense and persistent slumber, a condition described by Theodoret as slavery with lid as master to servile pupil. Both the eye and mouth register most visibly the architecture of the ascetic body and its tense surveillance of inside and outside, of fortification and breach, of inviolability and violability. The other organs of sensation—ear and nostrils—are troubled by a lack of fleshy walls, for instance the defensive layer of a lid or lip, and consequently are more exposed to worldly phenomena. The ear canal must monitor what goes inside the cavity of the body, repelling frivolous noises and consuming only salvific sounds. In this meta­phor­ ic­al system, the ear most perfectly replicates the power of a desert hermit to discern evil spirits from numinous ones. Similarly, the nose, an orifice subjected to intense olfactory pleasure, fragrances capable of softening the body and making it limp, must be cut off from luxurious scents and moored to redemptive smells (Caseau  1999: 101–109).

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54   Lynda L. Coon The stomach, a tyrannical organ ruled by pleasure and satiation and often serving in an­tiquity as a trope for the elite class, must be tamed through a refashioning of the ­palate. The ascetic sense of taste thus should move away from voracious appetite to a craving for controlled sufficiency. Touch is perhaps the most vexing and vulnerable of the five senses because it can affect any part of the body including the interior space of a human being. Within an ascetic context, touch manifests itself in different ways, from the pangs of hunger sparked by fasting to the gentle caress of the deity. Ascetic practices, such as depriving the body of sufficient food, sleeping on the hard ground, or singing the Psalms for hours on end, continue to be interpreted as ‘masochistic’ or ‘anti-body’. Yet these practices are better understood as routinized processes through which ascetics recalibrate the senses, thereby restoring the uneasy balance between body and soul. Continuing his bellicose, somatic rhetoric, Theodoret writes that asceticism enables its practitioner to terminate the war between soul and body by declaring an edgy détente between these ancient sparring partners (trans. Price 1985: 5). Once the senses are sufficiently shielded through this complex mental discipline of layering orifices with defensive structures and making a treaty between body and soul, only then is the ascetic body free to engage in a sensual world of biblical enchantments. Each of the five senses produces its own ascetic history and does so on biblical terms. Seeing, which has a brilliant history in Scripture, now takes on a life of its own in the desert. Whether as a spectacle witnessed during a transfiguration, a ‘visual revelation’ of divine presence, or a ‘billboard’ of imperial might lifted up high in the air on the cross, Jesus’ body is an object of intense gaze in the Gospels, thereby enabling the ascetic body to create its own visual culture (Jensen 2005: 132; Marcus 2006). Far from being in­access­ ible on account of their location in the wilderness, ascetic bodies transmute into public actors capable of achieving notice in ways designed to attract and repel late Roman audiences. The attraction comes from the ascetic reliance on cultures of spectacle and ex­hib­ ition, visual systems embedded in late ancient society. As part of that culture of spectacle, ascetic writers play off a classical rhetoric of militarism and athleticism as well as philosophical discourses centred on resistance to corporeal excess which elites considered lower class, feminine, and servile. Churchmen ensure that the spectacle of the ascetic body, exhibited to audiences in the manner of athletes in the amphitheatre or Jesus on the cross, is one of virile potency (Marcus 2006). The repulsive qualities of the ascetic body express themselves in the nature of the desert actors themselves: tortured, lower class, female—humans made monstrous through excess, in this instance, an excessive mortification of the body. On the one hand, the rhetoric of the desert would have been recognizable to ancient audiences because it simulates classical forms: constancy, impenetrability, superhuman endurance. On the other hand, cultural resonances between classical and Christian styles of the body clash through the intrusion of the society of the cross. Like Paul who introduces the cross of Christ’s crucifixion as a ‘stumbling block’ to disbelief in what is otherwise a classical harmony speech (1 Cor. 1:23), desert writers provoke their audiences by queering familiar discourse: the ‘suffering self ’ of recondite philosophical rhetoric along with the athlete, the orator, and the soldier now dwell together in bodies oozing with pus, tortured

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The Architecture of the Ascetic Body   55 through demonic warfare, and emaciated, victims of an eternal passion now visualized among the spaces of empire (Martin 1995: 38–68; Cardman 2008). In addition to confronting a late Roman audience with a repellent group of heroes, desert texts provide a fascinating range of spaces, which function as theatrical backdrops for bodies performing asceticism in front of a diverse set of viewers. Audiences include imagined spectators, that is, literary depictions of visitors to ascetic cells. The devotees of the cult who heard the hagiographies of the desert read aloud or read them privately comprise yet another layer of audience. There are the ascetics themselves, who often conform their style of conversion to the models set by the ‘icons’ of the desert. Another readership is the churchmen, who at times wrote themselves into the narrative of asceticism by recounting their trips to the desert as well as their allegiance with the hermits. Any reader of the desert corpus is struck by the number of times travellers to the deserts of Egypt and Syria simply stand and stare at the bodies of ascetics: In Historia monachorum in Aegypto ‘[Abba Or] looked just like an angel. He was about ninety years old and had a snowy white beard down to his chest. And his face was so radiant that the sight of him alone filled one with awe’ (trans. Russell 1981: 63). Abba Or has become less a human actor in the desert and more a visual icon of the faith, and an object to be gazed at and a saint who returns that salvific gaze. Along with sight, asceticism has the power to compel the other senses to its c­ ommand. Hearing emerges as an essential attribute of the ascetic body precisely because Christian texts were made to be read aloud (Harrison  2013). Hagiographers suspend hermits between the stillness of the desert and the angelic sounds of the liturgy, between the quiet of ascetic solitude and the clamour of demonic warfare. In urban centres, the voices of thousands of monks overwhelm the profane spaces of cities with their tran­ scend­ent oratory (trans. Russell 1981: 67; Goehring 1993: 286). Certain collections of desert vitae feature the ascetic ear as the star orifice: silence prepares hermits to receive the deity through the ear by heavenly command. Celestial chant, shaped and projected by pure ascetic tongues, transforms cohorts of monks into angelic choirs (Leyser 2000). Ascetics live solely ‘off the hymnody of David’, which sustains and nourishes their bodies (trans. Price 1985: 24). Desert fathers who expel the distractions of sound save that of prayer and chant become the Word, and, through the power of the logos, they transfer that Word to others. Like Abba Antony, these ascetics end their lives on remote mountain tops. They are embodiments of the logos, fleshly tablets exhibiting God’s commandments to those who come to learn from them by reading their bodies. They stand as impregnable fortresses to demonic, aural penetration which threatens to engulf the desert with its ‘roaring’, ‘clashing’, ‘thundering’, ‘gnashing. . . ’ yet do so as portals to divine understanding for the faithful. While desert ascetics shift over the course of their lives from human actors to cosmic manifestations of liturgical sounds, the senses of smell, taste, and touch too play a crit­ic­al role in the refashioning of the new self of a Christian age. Although by no means stable and hegemonic, philosophical discourses in antiquity produced a standard hierarchy of the senses, with the masculine and spiritual attributes of sight and sound dominating the more feminine sensations of taste, touch, and smell, which propelled humans

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56   Lynda L. Coon into the mucky realm of the corporeal. Ascetic texts sanctify even the feminine senses. In the Syrian tradition, stylites shadow so perfectly the disembodied qualities of the liturgy that they end their lives as elements of the Mass, especially incense, with sweet smells emanating from their shrivelled flesh, bodies rejecting the ‘stink of Adam’, and embracing the ‘very fragrance of paradise’ (Harvey 2006: 203). Equally, touch punctuates the narratives of the desert. The desert itself caresses ascetic bodies with sizzling heat and mind-numbing cold. The invisible Godhead manifests its presence by probing the interior space of the ascetic body either through pains prompted by severe fasting or through the euphoria resulting from prayer marathons. Alternatively, ascetics succumb to thrashings by demons, who trace on the human body a map of Christ’s passion, which then serves as a proof-text of the existence of these incorporeal foes. Taste, which could prevail as the ultimate temptation for ascetics enduring long ­periods of fasting, is reconfigured in the desert corpus as a pre-lapsarian sense. Eating uncooked legumes, wild lettuce, and dried figs during earlier stages of ascetic practice leads to a later life when hermits plant gardens abounding with paradisal food. Gifted hermits in their later years cause the desert itself ‘to green up’ on account of the presence of their spiritually fecund bodies (Brown 1988: 219–224; Miller 1994). Rituals of fasting, too, invite the cross of the crucifixion to encroach upon ascetic space. Because Jesus was betrayed on a Wednesday and crucified on a Friday, ascetics must keep the fasts on these days, using their bodies as vehicles for remembering Christ’s last week on earth (trans. Russell 1981: 78). In spite of these weekly fasting cycles, desert ascetics are plagued by the bestial pleasures of food, desires dangerously close to sexual yearnings, which induce the Christian self to luxuriate in the abyss of the flesh. Hagiographers offer their audiences tales of monks coming together for meals but hiding their faces and mouths under heavy cloaks because the act of seeing a neighbour eat, a fellow-ascetic immersed in the body—slurping, licking, and swallowing—could potentially incite other carnal appetites to saturate the soul (trans. Russell 1981: 65). The tableau of the ascetic body confronted pilgrims in ways designed to provoke all the senses. Similar techniques of visualization facilitated mastery over space in vertical, horizontal, and subterranean modes of domination in keeping with the movement of the Saviour’s body: across the desert, into the depths of Tartarus, and out again to ascend the celestial highway. Ascetic bodies inhabit holes cut into the earth. They take up residence in ancient tombs and cisterns. They persist in wooden coffins with dimensions smaller than their bodies, theatrical spaces designed to perform how asceticism enlarges the soul so that the body can hardly contain it. Ascetic bodies move across the landscape from the ‘green zone’, that is, the edge of human habitation which bumps up against the haunt of demons in the boundless wilderness (Brown 1988: 215–216). They lift themselves high above the desert, displaying their bodies in cliff dwellings, abandoned military forts, city gates, towering columns, or rivers over which they miraculously float. A number of desert texts position the bodies of hermits at the entryway of caves, openings into the shadowy underworld, ‘permeable frames’ enveloping holy men (trans. Russell  1981: 69; Peers  2004). These rocky frames focus the viewer’s attention on the ascetic body while at the same time mimicking the porousness of that body. Like the

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The Architecture of the Ascetic Body   57 frame of a Byzantine icon of a later era, the geological border encircling the hermit accentuates the centrality of the holy body and calls attention to the physicality involved in acts centred on purifying the spirit: psalming, bending up and down obsessively, and engaging in long periods of stillness. Therefore, the ascetic body appears on a natural stage—a cave—cordoned off and enframed for the spectator’s pleasure and spiritual benefit. The hermit framed by a cave is a Christian reworking of the iconic image of the emperor outlined by a fastigium, a design motif often featured at the threshold of a public building. Whereas the emperor’s body is framed by a refined late classical architectural vocabulary, the arculated lintel, the ascetic body is showcased by the rugged cave maw, itself a feature of the architecture of the wilderness (Parada López de Corselas 2013). Although they take different shapes across the narratives of the desert, ascetic cells remain united by features such as a ‘prayer slit’, that is, an opening into the hut where pilgrims receive blessings from immured holy women or men (Brooks Hedstrom 2009). Votaries of the cult often burrow their way into the cell to confront the ascetic body directly. These windows or holes into ascetic space present occasions for both passive and active interaction with the desert cult. Openings into cells also mirror the relationship between text and audience because the seemingly bounded space of the written page dissolves upon meditation on desert tales, coercing the reader or hearer, that is, the virtual pilgrim, to embody their spiritual injunctions. Puncturing ascetic space either through a slit in the wall or meditation on a vita makes pilgrims, virtual or real, objects of salvific speech and gesture as well as engrossed voyeurs into the private, prayerful world of the hermits. Through a hole in the wall or a window into the cell, viewers or readers discern female bodies wrapped in heavy veils and weighed down by iron chains (trans. Price 1985: 183–189). They see, too, the marks of demonic torture inscribed on ascetic flesh, an interior struggle exploding on the exterior of the body as well as legions of ‘creeping things’ crawling about anchoritic space. They are privy to a display of ascetic bodies and their parts: skeletons covered by a thin veil of skin, gleaming eyes, teeth worn down to the gums. These parts are then scrutinized by the witnesses in the desert who come to understand the commanding presence of physicality in the religion and the progress of the body of the second covenant as it moves out of a classical subjectivity and into the very different interior world imposed on humanity through the agency of Christ’s crucifixion (Miller 1994: 140). Desert voyeurism has a sound basis in Scripture. In addition to the spectacle of Christ’s body transfigured and lifted up, the poetic stanzas and startling prose of the prophet Ezekiel provide a platform from which to gratify the five senses. Ezekiel sees divine beings in the skies, he hears the Thunderer, he feels the touch of the godly winds, he tastes the scroll of prophecy, and he smells the smoke of offerings. At one point in the Book of Ezekiel (8), the deity, depicted in quasi-anthropomorphic form—a figure ‘like a human being’ but with fire for loins and an amber torso—reaches out to Ezekiel and touches a lock of his hair, lifting him up between the heavens and the earth to show him a vision of the defiled Temple at Jerusalem. To perceive the entire range of abominations infecting sacred space, God orders Ezekiel to dig through the hole in the wall and to peer into a secret place in the Temple, an idolatrous cell where images of ‘creeping things’ are

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58   Lynda L. Coon splattered onto sanctuary walls, underscoring the depths to which numinous ground has been contaminated. At the same time, the prophet receives a personal tour of the restored Temple and apprehends the ritual activities housed therein. The experience of desert pilgrims parallels that of Ezekiel’s interaction with the divine: they see heavenly creatures, they dig into sacred space, they peer into the crack in the wall, and they withstand the onslaught of demonic beasts. These same pilgrims witness the interplay between the scriptural virtue of being ‘upright’ (yashar), most perfectly embodied by the column-dwelling stylites, and its spiritual antithesis, the quality of being ‘crooked’ (petaltol), expressed by hermits who have lost their uprightness by wallowing in sin. Travellers to the desert behold the effects of divine power on the ascetic body: a light beam emanating off the head of the most ancient and sage of ascetics or the stylite body transformed into a hallowed ‘lampstand’, a universal beacon for a new House of God that extends across the empire and even beyond into barbarian lands (trans. Price 1985: 39; trans. Doran 1992: 77). Resembling Ezekiel, desert pilgrims witness depravity imposed on priestly bodies: a hermit attempting to mount sexually a demonic feminine presence within the intimate space of his cell, a memorable per­form­ ance of the unfettered libido (trans. Russell 1981: 57). Pilgrims possess the ability to read desert bodies as if there were ‘libraries of Scripture’ through the emulation of heroic deeds of the prophets, apostles and even the crucified deity within the dramatic backdrop of desolate terrain. Simultaneously, observers of desert practice contemplate the full range of human apostasy acted out by labile desert players, abominations set off and enframed for the viewer’s edification.

Spatial Practice of the Ascetic Body The actualization of Scripture in the desert led to a spatial theory of the ascetic body deployed over the geography of the eastern wastelands. The fortified citadel of the ascetic senses described by Theodoret of Cyrrhus translates materially into the built environment. Syrian ascetics often dwell in the open air, yet they encircle their bodies with layers of natural barricades: circular walls, stones piled on top of one another without mortar, ditches carved into the ground, rings of curtain walls surrounding the anchoritic body as it bends up and down or stands uncannily still. In his vita, Simeon the Stylite’s call to the life of self-abnegation begins with a divine command: ‘dig, deepen the ditch, build. . .' (trans. Doran 1992: 70). Syrian hermits carve out theatre-like spaces with demarcations between the arena set aside for ascetic action and the requisite space for onlookers, who are every bit as important to the project of asceticism as the hermits themselves. Moreover, the open-air feature of Syrian asceticism alters the reading of the barren landscape. Rather than the badlands of an otherwise luxuriant empire, the desert becomes a wilderness substitute for the amphitheatres of Roman cities, the site of its  own lavish gladiatorial combat with a three-tiered set of audiences: God, the

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The Architecture of the Ascetic Body   59 ­ ltimate spectator; pilgrims and churchmen, who witness the combat; and readers or u hearers of desert vitae, who possess awareness of the theology behind each performance. In the theatre of the desert, ascetics take center stage as heroic contestants in a cosmic struggle, which occurs on physical and metaphysical levels. The interior struggle between soul and flesh is acted out through rituals of mortification designed to wound the body and to display those repugnant injuries to enthusiastic observers. Simeon the Stylite opens his body up for close inspection: a gaping wound in his waist dripping with blood, an oozing ulcer on his left foot, and a leg maimed by an iron fetter sheltering twenty large insects, physical traces written on the body and serving as proof of the stylite’s spiritual battle (Miller 1994: 147). The language applied to the bodies engaged in these gruesome acts is suggestive: ‘wrestlers’, ‘athletes’, ‘contestants’, ‘combatants’, who wear the crown of eternal victory and don the armour of Scripture. Simeon Stylites is akin to the Jesus of Luke, an otherworldly hero who goes to his death ‘as if in a contest’ against demonic foes (White  2010: 338). Theodoret and his company of ascetic chroniclers characterize asceticism as a ‘spectacle’, and they do so on classical and biblical terms. Their spectacles attract the deity’s gaze. As Simeon advances in his spectacular brand of asceticism, he gradually weans himself off the fortifications and layers he originally had built around his body. The stylite’s body comes to be the spectacle in itself. Simeon destroys most of the enclosing wall around his performative space; he dismantles the doors from his prayer hut; he stands night and day in plain view of spectators, bending up and down innumerable times giving homage to his deity by acting out the infinite nature of the divine (trans. Doran 1992: 81). He mounts a column of ever-increasing size—six, then twelve, then twenty-two, and finally thirty-six cubits—materializations of his drive to pierce the heavens (trans. Doran 1992: 75). Even in death, Simeon embodies the quality of uprightness: ‘His soul had gained heaven, but even so his body could not bear to fall and it remained upright in the place of his contests, like an unbeaten athlete who does not want any of his limbs to touch the ground.’ (trans. Doran 1992: 83). He has become the column. Simeon’s uprightness vividly captures the imperialistic nature of Christian asceticism through the purposeful violation of the programme of Roman building. Roman architecture was predicated on order and control. Buildings ushered bodies through space by means of carefully orchestrated sequences. Vistas were limited. Nature itself was expelled from Roman interior space save in the case of gardens, which could be imported into the built environment but only when they were cordoned off and bounded by architectural settings. Complex systems of vaulting also kept the outside world at bay, removing from interior spaces any vestige of the chaotic presence of nature. Roman architects designed vaults to contain space, to keep human eyes from peering beyond their concave forms, thereby educating all the senses in the moral order of empire with its fixed and inflexible code as well as its heavy grip on the body (MacDonald 1982: 1: 176–179; 2: 251–252). Whereas Roman architecture sought to contain space and the bodies within it, Simeon bursts through that space, bumping up against the divine within the uncontained sphere of nature. He punctures the vault of heaven. Simeon’s pillar endures as an

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60   Lynda L. Coon anti-monument, reversing the meaning of classical commemorative columns by summoning the heavens down to earth to enshrine the unwashed ascetic body in the here and now (Gagarin 2010: 2: 266–268; Eastmond 1999: 98–100; Miller 2009: 139–142). The rise of the column in the desert with the ascetic body atop it establishes a keen sense of boundary, however, between this world and the next. Yet the boundary formed between Simeon’s body and the limitless sky above should not to be read as a stopping point for the eye, but rather ‘that from which something begins its presencing’, in this instance, the deity (MacDonald 1982: 1: 251). Standing on the top of his column, Simeon achieves intimacy with his Creator, and he does so through a rebellious spatial medium. Viewing the sunset from atop his column, Simeon ‘begins his conversation with God’ (trans. Doran 1992: 83). While Simeon thrusts his body up higher and higher towards the stars, his spatial practice propels him into the gloom of the underworld. Simeon’s askêsis replicates the culture of the cross: verticality, torture, blood, death, burial, salvation. He stands with his arms stretched out to the heavens, extending the column’s push into the skies. His hagiographer connects Syrian ascetic practice directly to the torments and tortures of biblical characters, including Jesus’ death on the cross (trans. Price 1985: 193–199). On account of this association, Simeon’s column ‘decrypts’ hypogeal practice; that is, the column takes the space of the subterranean tomb and brings it out into the stunning clarity of the world above ground, where, through the medium of the ascetic body, the column and the space around it play essential roles in healings and exorcisms as well as ushering in concord among quarrelling communities. Akin to the underground crypts of early martyrs’ cults, Simeon’s column joins together the heavens and the earth but does so not through the efficacy of relics, those tangible remains of the holy dead, but through the physicality, movement, and athleticism of the holy man (Brown 1981: 1). Simeon and his column are part of a larger Christian aesthetic in which the wizardry of darkness, the bottomless pit, the fertility grotto, the eerie mausoleum—underworld sites of death, decay, and rebirth—now break through the earth’s surface ‘here and there—wherever the Church had a seat’ (Lefebvre 1991: 255). The column is Simeon’s altar; his body is the offering on the celestial sacrificial table; the space around his pillar transmutes into an open-air basilica. Simeon’s ascetic practice brings the Church and its liturgy to the wilderness. For the actual fifth-century cruciform shrine dedicated to Simeon Stylites, the builders positioned an octagonal crossing on the site of the saint’s column, the base of which is still visible. Therefore, Simeon’s column lives on as a temple within a temple. The dimensions of this shrine would have been enormous (east/west 95 metres; north/south 85 metres) with four basilicas radiating out from the crossing, liturgical spaces verifying the saint’s ecclesial style. Architectural historians have hypothesized that the original octagon may have been open-air (Mango  1976: 79–87; Eastmond  1999: 93–94). The building technique reflects the open-air ethos of the saint and is the antithesis of the vaulted enclosed Roman interior. Moreover, the construction of a shrine over the site of Simeon’s column confirms the fact that ascetic practice produces sacred space and does so either in the open air through the medium of the saint’s body atop his pillar or

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The Architecture of the Ascetic Body   61 e­ ventually behind the walls of a cruciform memorial. Simeon’s body, signified by the column at the centre of the shrine, metamorphoses into the vertical spine of the building from which the four arms of the cross spring forth as if to embrace the world. Simeon’s actual body was transferred to Antioch after his death; his mountain-citadel simply housed the column with the ascetic body haunting its summit. The two structures, body and column, had become interchangeable. Simeon’s spatial practice possesses the power of bringing cosmic forces down to the precise ground on which he stood. Because of this cosmological mooring, the saint’s corporeal rituals and the space they produce read as if they are a building programme as well as a ‘handbook of Church order’ alongside a life embedded in the liturgy (Harvey 1998: 532). Simeon persists in his vita not as a human actor, but as a salvific altar around which liturgical action happens: ‘prostrations, signing with the cross, anointing’ (Harvey 1998: 533). He lived in a Syria in which the authority of urban bishops extended into rugged rural regions, and where local communities participated in open-air li­tur­ gic­al rites as part of a strategy of moving the faith throughout the landscape by means of stational liturgies and religious processions (Harvey  1998: 524, 538). His cruciform shrine therefore is a materialization of both the architecture of the ascetic body and the intimate connection between that body and liturgical rites.

Export of the Ascetic Body The imperialistic nature of the ascetic body, beautifully communicated by Simeon’s vertical style, eventually found itself an object of dominion among the abbeys of the pas­ tor­al North. The architecture of early medieval monasteries and the liturgies they housed metaphorically sucked in the vital energy of the Eastern wilderness and contained that dynamism within carefully orchestrated building programmes. Visitors to a Carolingian abbey could penetrate the depths of a crypt, where they would view the relics of desert ascetics now immortalized in a monastery’s treasure trove and accompanied by little poems requesting votive prayers from the pious (MGH PLAC 2: 205–208). Desert anchorites cum relics existed within the context of the North as antiquities of the faith as well as spectacles in themselves, ones capable of attracting ‘Christ’s gaze’ (Hahn 2012: 78). As objects of ancient lore, the ascetic body acquired yet another home on the library shelf, scattered amid the folio pages of hagiographical codices. Monks could check out these tomes and read the bodies of hermits within the contemplative space of the cloister, itself a desert in miniature ruled by cosmological silence (Coon 2011: 99–101). Continuing the pilgrimage through monastic space, visitors would emerge from the gloomy underworld of the crypt, the home of the numinous dead, to enter the luminous basilica above, where a series of carefully positioned altars dedicated to the heroes of the faith—prophets, apostles, martyrs, ascetics, and churchmen—bid penitents to zigzag horizontally through the church, following in their bodies the progress of Christianity

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62   Lynda L. Coon as it shadows the route of the sun, from East to West (Coon 2011: 208–215). Pilgrims could then exit the basilica and mount the precipitous stairways leading up into the heights of the monastic westwork, an angelic tower marking the entryway to an abbey complex and standing in stark contrast to the horizontal mass of the basilica below. Harnessing the verticality of the Eastern stylite to the sublime oratory of the desert, the monastic Westwork framed the bodies of chanting monks as they collectively pressed up against God’s starry abode (McClendon 2005: 188–194). The Dark Age cloister had evolved into the splendid heir—and owner—of the ascetic body of late antiquity.

New Directions in Research The history of asceticism is at a critical juncture. Nowhere is this more apparent than in the realm of gender and sexuality studies. In many ways, scholarship on late ancient asceticism problematized gender norms for the contemporary era, because ascetic texts celebrate the fluidity of feminine and masculine desert styles, their visible ability to rework human identities, and their public performative qualities. Past scholarship in the field was built on contesting modern medicalized readings of male versus female and even cultural dualities of masculine and feminine. At this moment in history, however, categories of gender and sexuality, including medicalized ‘norms’, are shifting radically and rapidly. In the United States, college and university application forms represent a case in point. No longer the simple ‘check the box for male or female’ appears here. Rather, a multiplicity of genders and identities can be found, including pansexual, unsexed, intersex, asexual, gender-fluid, questioning, unsure, and the like. Therefore, the historical singularity of the ascetic body and its kaleidoscopic gender must be called into question. While scholarship has lauded desert asceticism for its imaginative, unbounded techniques of gender, this chapter also hints at the imperialistic core of monasticism. Future directions in the field undoubtedly will explore the darker side of a seemingly radical story, especially the exploitive tendencies of desert asceticism, with its classed privilege, authoritarian nature, and subjugation of women. In so doing, researchers will reinvigorate the social and economic history of the desert so prominent in mid-twentieth century scholarship, but do so with a twenty-first century cultural twist.

Suggested Reading The subject of the ascetic body has produced a lively corpus of scholarship. For the early Christian body, consult Martin (1995), Marcus (2006), and Glancy (2010). On the subject of spectacle and monstrous bodies, see Frilingos (2004) and Barton (1993). On the sexed and gendered body of classical antiquity, refer to Bartsch (2006), Langlands (2006), and

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The Architecture of the Ascetic Body   63 Edwards (1993). Ascetic bodies in late antiquity have an impressive array of scholarship: Harper (2013), Schroeder (2007), Brakke (2006), Martin and Miller (eds) (2005), Shaw (1998), Rousselle (1988), among others. Ascetic sensory culture has received much attention in recent scholarship, including Harvey (2006), Miller (2009), and Harrison (2013). For spatial theory and visual culture, see Lefebvre (1991), Miller (2009), Brooks Hedstrom (2009), Peers (2012), and Hahn (2012). Leyser (2000), Diem (2005), and Coon (2011) trace the export of desert corporeality to the early medieval West. The classic work on the ascetic body remains Brown (1988).

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Athanasius, Vita Antonii. Eng. trans. Robert C. Gregg, Athanasius: The Life of Antony and the Letter to Marcellinus. New York: Paulist Press, 1980. Historia monachorum in Aegypto. Eng. trans. Norman Russell, The Lives of the Desert Fathers, CS 34. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1981. Hrabanus Maurus, Carmina. Edited by Ernst Dümmler, MGH PLAC 2: 159–244. Berlin: Weidmann, 1884. Theodoret of Cyrrhus, Historia religiosa. Eng. trans. R.  M.  Price, Theodoret of Cyrrhus: A History of the Monks of Syria, CS 88 (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1985). For translations of the Greek and Syriac lives of Simeon, see Robert Doran (1992), The Lives of Simeon Stylites. Walahfrid Strabo, Carmina. Edited by Ernst Dümmler, MGH PLAC 2: 267–423. Berlin: Weidmann, 1884.

Secondary Sources Barton, Carlin A. (1993). The Sorrows of the Ancient Romans: The Gladiator and the Monster. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Bartsch, Shadi (2006). The Mirror of the Self: Sexuality, Self-Knowledge, and the Gaze in the Early Roman Empire. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Brakke, David (2006). Demons and the Making of the Monk: Spiritual Combat in Early Christianity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Brooks Hedstrom, Darlene L. (2009). ‘The Geography of the Monastic Cell in Early Egyptian Monastic Literature’. Church History 78: 756–791. Brown, Peter (1988). The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity. New York: Columbia University Press. Brown, Peter (1981). The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Cardman, Francine (2008). ‘Early Christian Ethics’. In The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, edited by Susan Ashbrook Harvey and David G. Hunter, 932–956. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Caseau, Béatrice (1999). ‘Christian Bodies: The Senses and Early Byzantine Christianity’. In Desire and Denial in Byzantium, edited by Liz James, 101–109. Aldershot: Ashgate. Coon, Lynda L. (2011). Dark Age Bodies: Gender and Monastic Practice in the Early Medieval West. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press.

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64   Lynda L. Coon Diem, Albrecht (2005). Das monastische Experiment: Die Rolle der Keuschheit bei der Entstehung des westlichen Klosterwesens. Münster: LIT. Doran, Robert (1992). The Lives of Simeon Stylites. CS 112. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Eastmond, Antony (1999). ‘Body vs. Column: The Cults of St Symeon Stylites’. In Desire and Denial in Byzantium, edited by Liz James, 87–100. Aldershot: Ashgate. Edwards, Catharine (1993). The Politics of Immorality in Ancient Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Frilingos, Christopher  A. (2004). Spectacles of Empire: Monsters, Martyrs, and the Book of Revelation. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Gagarin, Michael, ed. (2010). The Oxford Encyclopedia of Ancient Greece and Rome. 7 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Glancy, Jennifer  A. (2010). Corporeal Knowledge: Early Christian Bodies. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Goehring, James E. (1993). ‘The Encroaching Desert: Literary Production and Ascetic Space in Early Christian Egypt’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 1: 281–296. Hahn, Cynthia (2012). Strange Beauty: Issues in the Making and Meaning of Reliquaries, 400— circa 1204. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press. Harper, Kyle (2013). From Shame to Sin: The Christian Transformation of Sexual Morality in Late Antiquity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Harrison, Carol (2013). The Art of Listening in the Early Church. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook (2006). Scenting Salvation: Ancient Christianity and the Olfactory Imagination. TCH 42. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook (1998). ‘The Stylite’s Liturgy: Ritual and Religious Identity in Late Antiquity’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 6: 523–539. James, Liz (ed.) (1999). Desire and Denial in Byzantium. Aldershot: Ashgate. Jensen, Robin (2005). Face to Face: Portraits of the Divine in Early Christianity. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Langlands, Rebecca (2006). Sexual Morality in Ancient Rome. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lefebvre, Henri (1991). The Production of Space. Translated by Donald Nicholson-Smith. Oxford: Blackwell. Leyser, Conrad (2000). Authority and Asceticism from Augustine to Gregory the Great. Oxford: Clarendon Press. MacDonald, William L. (1982). The Architecture of the Roman Empire: An Introductory Study. 2 vols. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Mango, Cyril (1976). Byzantine Architecture. New York: Harry N. Abrams. Marcus, Joel (2006). ‘Crucifixion as Parodic Exaltation’. Journal of Biblical Literature 125: 73–87. Martin, Dale B. (1995). The Corinthian Body. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Martin, Dale  B. and Patricia Cox Miller (eds) (2005). The Cultural Turn in Late Ancient Studies: Gender, Asceticism, and Historiography. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. McClendon, Charles  B. (2005). The Origins of Medieval Architecture: Building in Europe, A. D. 600–900. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Miller, Patricia Cox (2009). The Corporeal Imagination: Signifying the Holy in Late Ancient Christianity. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Miller, Patricia Cox (1994). ‘Desert Asceticism and the “Body from Nowhere” ’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 2: 137–153.

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The Architecture of the Ascetic Body   65 Parada López de Corselas, Manuel (2013). ‘The Arcuated Lintel and the “Serlian Motif ”: Imperial Identity, Architectural and Symbolic Interactions in Ancient Rome’. In SOMA 2012. Identity and Connectivity, edited by L. Bombardieri et al., 479–486. BAR International Series 2581. Oxford: Archaeopress. Peers, Glenn (2012). ‘Object Relations: Theorizing the Late Antique Viewer’. In The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, edited by Scott Fitzgerald Johnson, 970–993. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Peers, Glenn (2004). Sacred Shock: Framing Visual Experience in Byzantium. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press. Rousselle, Aline (1988). Porneia: On Desire and the Body in Antiquity. Translated by Felicia Pheasant. Oxford: Blackwell. Schroeder, Caroline T. (2007). Monastic Bodies: Discipline and Salvation in Shenoute of Atripe. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Shaw, Teresa (1998). The Burden of the Flesh: Fasting and Sexuality in Early Christianity. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. White, L. Michael (2010). Scripting Jesus: The Gospels in Rewrite. New York: HarperCollins.

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chapter 5

The Liter at u r e of Ea r ly E ASTER N Monasticism Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony

Eastern monastic texts do not clearly reflect the world that produced them (Rousseau 2000: 748). How then can we read these sources in order to reconstruct the historical development of the monastic movement? What obstacles for historians are embedded in the texts—written variously in Egypt, Sinai, Palestine, Cappadocia, and East and West Syria—upon which we must rely?

Traps and Intertextuality in Monastic Sources In reconstructing the history of early Eastern monasticism (from the fourth to the ­seventh centuries), we must take into account both the inaccuracies and misrepresentations in the written sources and the often significant gaps between the dates of their composition and the events they purport to describe. Indeed, these hindrances have a direct bearing on the question of the origins of monasticism in Egypt, Syria, and Palestine. For example, most of the sources dealing with Pachomius (d. 346) in Upper Egypt were composed at least a generation later, during the lifetimes of his disciple Theodore (d. 368) and his successor Horsiesius (d. c.380) (Rousseau 1999). Similarly, the Life of Chariton, an anonymous hagiographical text written in Palestine after 550, relates the early fourth-century hero’s life and achievements and presents him as the founder of Palestinian monasticism, a crown that Jerome (d. 420) had previously reserved for his own hero, Hilarion (Life of Hilarion). As a result of such limitations, and of competing monastic discourses, it makes sense to eschew ‘the quest for the origins of monasticism’

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The Literature of Early EASTERN Monasticism   67 (Goehring 1999: 35), and to focus instead on the texts themselves—how and why do they conceive of the origins of monasticism in their local settings? Of course, such an approach must consider that the literary sources differ not only in their historical reliability, but also in their genre (e.g. hagiography, rules, canon law), language (Greek, Syriac, Coptic), theological stance (Chalcedonian, anti-Chalcedonian), monastic ideology, and level of intertextuality. Moreover, once we recognize that the monastic movement formed an integral part of Eastern Christian society, we can give fuller attention to the development of ancient Christian discourse and to the rhetorical devices and tendencies embedded in Christian literature (Cameron 1991). Monastic sources reflect not only contemporary concerns, but also contemporary cultural and, especially, rhetorical trends. Scholars now attend to the perceptions, metaphors, symbols, and images contained in these sources as reflections of various aspects of late antique monastic culture (Brown 1971, 1998). Current historians also increasingly highlight the role played by memory in the production of monastic ideologies. Thus, for example, the spatial imagery of the desert and the sacred travel narratives in Syriac monastic texts offer elements that constitute monastic identity and charismatic authority (Goehring 2013; Bitton-Ashkelony 2010). Goehring has convincingly demonstrated that the ‘myth of the desert’—as reflected, for instance, in the Life of Antony and the Life of Shenoute—drew its power, in part, from its association with historical figures. Accordingly, we can clearly see that selective memory worked in conjunction with the selection of historical evidence in creating ascetic myths. Parsing and contextualizing the imaginary with corroborative material helps to decipher its historical meaning and function. This method, now being applied to monastic literary sources, stimulates new readings of well-known and previously neglected texts. At the same time, it expands the classic repertoire of monastic topics and brings to light new perspectives (Goehring 2011; Miller 2013). Such an approach contributes to an awareness of the complex dialectic between symbolic elements found in monastic texts and the historical developments occurring in monastic movements. Pious third- and fourth-century popular texts championing asceticism also affected monastic sensibilities. The legendary Acts of Paul and Thecla, for example, idealized charismatic female virginity, while the late fourth-century Syriac Book of Steps divided the community into the ‘Upright’ (who followed the minor commandments), and the ‘Perfect’ (who adhered to the major ones). Philoxenos of Mabbug (d. 523), a powerful theologian and prolific author, the bulk of whose epistolary oeuvre was intended for a monastic audience, made use of the idiosyncratic ascetic concept and terminology of the Book of Steps in his own ascetic Discourses (Heal and Kitchen 2013; Brock 2011b: 124–127). The writings of Aphrahat (d. c.345), especially his Demonstrations 6–7, and the hymns and homilies of Ephrem the Syrian (306–373) bear witness to the role of the bnay/bnat qyamâ (son/daughter of the covenant) and îhîdayê (singles/solitaries or celibates) in the Syriac proto-monastic stage (Brock 1973; Griffith 1995). In the early period of the history of the Church in the Syriac-speaking world, the bnay qyamâ ‘were not properly speaking monks, but their institutions and their traditional vocabulary were ready to contribute to the growth of monasticism when it appeared in Syria’ (Griffith 1995: 238).

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68   Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony Basil of Caesarea’s ascetic corpus also belongs to this category of ascetical writings. Basil did not write primarily for monastic communities, but for a wider audience. His work thus reflects a set of ideals aiming to shape the behaviour of a larger Christian community, emphasizing the living relationship between the master and his audience, yet without relying on a monastic vocabulary (Rousseau 1994: 191). Although most of the Basilian rules were diffuse in nature and not rules in any legislative sense, they supported the institutionalization of ascetic discipline. It is no surprise, therefore, that Basil’s ascetical writings attained a quasi-canonical status in late antique monastic contexts. Probably, as Philip Rousseau has argued, it was precisely this lack of specificity in the Basilian rules that facilitated their far-reaching influence. By contrast, the detailed prescriptions of Pachomius’ actual rules, far less plastic, were ‘more difficult to transfer unchanged to other settings’ (Rousseau 2000: 761). Basil’s ascetical writings, which were translated into both Latin and Syriac, affected monastic cultures in the West and in the East (Fedwick  1981). His Questions of the Brothers, whose Greek original has been lost, is preserved in a very early Syriac version ‘possibly even from the 370s’ (Silvas 2014: 22), and in a Latin translation by Rufinus (d. c.401). Yet, as Anna Silvas has noted, the Syriac translator takes a non-literal approach, and he himself composed quite a bit of the text (Silvas 2014: 37). Such an approach to translation testifies to the development of intertextuality and literary stratification that is characteristic of many later monastic writings. The important Syriac version demonstrates the extent to which, even in his own lifetime, Basil’s teachings influenced ascetic discourse and contributed to his great authority in Syriac-speaking communities. At the end of the fifth century, John Rufus, author of the Life of Peter the Iberian, remarked that on the eve of his death (in 491), Peter transmitted his spiritual will to his disciples, instructing them to meditate on and read Basil’s ‘book on asceticism, the Questions of the Brethren . . . straighten out your ways of life and your manners according to [Basil’s] holy ordinances and his legislation’ (Life of Peter the Iberian 179: 261). This literary dynamic— the circulation of formative texts from one region to another, and their tendency to cross linguistic, ideological, and theological boundaries—makes demands upon readers. Scholars must draw a distinction between monastic theories and the historical development of the movement, and in many cases this requires a meticulous assessment of the history of the transmission or translation of each text. The distinction between traditions and events is particularly important in the case of sources from the sixth and seventh centuries, when many monastic authors were intensively engaged in interpreting the ascetic lore. In the same way, any assessment of monastic sources should ponder the mimetic character of early Christian literature, noticeable in apocryphal treatises that seeped into them, as exhibited in the hagiographic literature. As Averil Cameron has put it, ‘Written Lives were mimetic; real ascetic discipline in turn imitated the written Lives’ (Cameron 1991: 57). The Life of Macrina, written in 382 by Gregory of Nyssa, for instance, should be read, inter alia, in light of the Acts of Paul and Thecla. From its inception, monastic discourse promoted a polarization between the desert and the city, and embraced the ideals of simplicity and poverty—a socio-economic

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The Literature of Early EASTERN Monasticism   69 ­ osture sometimes contradicted by the extant material evidence (e.g. papyri and p ostraca). Documentary sources from Egypt attest to buying, renting, and selling monastic cells, as well as to taxation and other fiscal problems related to monks (Boud’hors et al. 2009). These sources clearly reveal that monks and monasteries were part of their surrounding communities. They interacted with ecclesiastical institutions (Wipszycka 2009; Giorda 2010), and they sometimes took part in economic and political activity (Cyril of Scythopolis, Life of Sabas). The Canons and Discourses of Shenoute of Atripe ( c.385–465 ce), the head of a monastic federation in southern Egypt, consist of public sermons, letters, rules, and other texts (Emmel  2004). The fact that these writings addressed both the monks in Shenoute’s federation and the wider public reflects the significant integration of monastic life into the larger society (Krawiec 2002; Orlandi 2002; Schroeder 2007; Layton 2014). In addition, the more than 2,000 letters written in Greek by Isidore of Pelusium (d. c.450) provide a glimpse into the preoccupation of this erudite ­monk-bishop with the Hellenistic culture of Egypt. Isidore interacted not only with ­sinful monks, peasants, local deacons, and bishops, but also with sophists, rhetors, and  ­grammatikoi—not to mention imperial and ecclesiastical representatives in Constantinople and Alexandria. Moreover, Nilus of Ancyra’s (c.390–430) Ascetic Discourse, On Voluntary Poverty, and On the Superiority of Solitaries are important sources that show the extent to which the monastic movement was grounded in its society. These texts, which react to certain ‘corrupters of cities’ in fifth-century Ancyra, reflect not only deliberations on an extreme form of asceticism, but also the interactions of monks with their urban environment (Caner 2002: 177–190). Monastic discourse cherished the ideal of ‘ignorance’, a rhetorical trope already apparent in the Life of Antony, which inaugurated the hagiographic genre, and which functioned as an archetype for many later writers (e.g. the compiler of the Life of Epiphanius and Jerome’s Life of Hilarion and Life of Paul). It is unclear to what extent the Life of Antony portrays an Athanasian Antony, whose image was shaped to serve the interests of the author (Brakke 1998: 253–265; Hägg 2011), and to what extent it reliably portrays a simple Egyptian monk. Yet from the Letters of Antony (which have survived only in Arabic, Latin, and Georgian translations), the hero emerges as a philosopher who contrasts sharply with the illiterate Athanasian Antony (Rubenson  1995), and who provides a superior educational alternative to the neo-Pythagorean revivals (Rubenson  2012: 493–495, 499). These contradictory representations in the literary sources cannot be ignored; in fact, the literary sources stymie any attempt to identify the educational and intellectual level of the anchorite in this early period of Egyptian monasticism. Some scholars have relied on later sources to resolve the questions concerning Antony’s familiarity with the Greek language (e.g. Wipszycka 2009: 227–237). I suggest that instead we focus on the ways in which such discourses compete to construct new models of sanctity (Alexandre 1996). This early monastic literature embodies a living and multivocal tradition of images of such charismatic figures, and their representations vary according to the needs of the later authors. For example, in the late seventh century, the erudite Syriac monastic author Dadisho‘ Qatraya made

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70   Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony sophisticated use of the image of the ignorance of Antony and Paul the Simple in his Discourse on Stillness. This image tells us not about the ‘historical’ Antony, but about the later and specific historical scholastic context of Syriac monasticism (BittonAshkelony 2012: 209–213).

Women in Monastic Sources Women were an integral part of the early Christian ideology of chastity and virginity, as is apparent from major treatises On Virginity composed by prominent authors during the third and fourth centuries. From the fourth century on, female virginity and virgins were more than mere metaphors for the Christian life. Athanasius of Alexandria’s exaltation of virginity (cf. First and Second Letters to Virgins) bears witness to the need to regulate women’s ascetic impulses in Alexandria (Brakke 1998: 274–309; Elm 1994). Evagrius Ponticus (d. 399) composed in the Egyptian desert a text entitled Exhortation to a Virgin, probably written for the monastic community on the Mount of Olives headed by Melania and Rufinus (Elm 1990). He also produced a few letters, preserved in Syriac, which discuss proper monastic behaviour for women (Letters 7, 8, 19, 20). It is worth noting that Evagrius prescribes the same discipline for male and female celibates (Ad Monachos). However, beyond the fact that monastic rules tend to describe monastic structure and behaviour as static, the very need to regulate virgins in urban life in Jerusalem and Alexandria at that period is significant. Since the late 1970s, the emergence of gender studies has empowered scholars of late antiquity to develop new methodologies for studying female monasticism in particular and historical women in general (e.g. Patlagean  1976; Davis  2002; Kraemer  2008; Behlmer  2011). Elizabeth Clark, among others, has demonstrated the great extent to which representations of female figures in literary sources reflect the social and theological agendas and the literary patterns of their male authors. Such representations do not provide us with historical depictions of real late antique women (Clark 1994, 1998). Historians have frequently cited Gregory of Nyssa’s Life of Macrina as an exemplary case of how males constructed the females that they needed. As one scholar appropriately notes, ‘What Gregory chose to report about her [Macrina] may say more about him and his concerns than hers’ (Herrin 2013: XV; Elm 1994: 78–105). In the last decades, women in Shenoute’s corpus have begun to attract scholarly attention (Krawiec 2002), with such specific topics as ‘Punishing the Nuns’ (Layton 2011). In these sources, the nuns break the hagiographic shell; at the same time they reflect Shenoute’s interference in their quarrelling and his desire to exert control over them. The burgeoning field of Syriac studies has brought about new interest in women in the Syriac Orient, drawing on sources that previously had not been discussed in the context of Eastern monasticism (Brock and Harvey 1987). A recent example is Florence Jullien’s ‘Le monachisme féminin’ (2010a), in which she underscores the role of nuns as spiritual

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The Literature of Early EASTERN Monasticism   71 guides and learned teachers in Syrian Christianity, while making use of the early ­seventh-century Book of Perfection by Sahdona (Martyrius) and the History of Rabban Bar-Edta.

Instructions for Shaping the Ascetic Self The inner struggle and the care of the self are another theme in Eastern monastic sources. Certainly, Evagrius Ponticus created the most developed and refined theory of inner life in all of late antiquity. His impact on monastic culture is due not so much to his instructions for monks and virgins, as to his merging of desert psychology with his mystical theology, apparent in such works as The Foundations of the Monastic Life, On the Eight Thoughts, Praktikos, Chapters on Prayer, Reflections, To Eulogios on the Confession of Thoughts and Counsel, and On the Vices Opposed to the Virtues. Central to understanding Evagrius’s desert psychology is his influential monastic handbook for combating demons, the Antirrhêtikos. It survives only in Syriac and Armenian manuscripts, though there are fragments in Georgian and Sogdian (Guillaumont  2004: 242–265; Brakke 2006). Although Evagrius was condemned at the Council of Constantinople in 553 as an Origenist, his writings were translated quite early (fifth century) into Syriac and were widely read and quoted. Later Syriac monastic authors, among them Babai the Great, Isaac of Nineveh, and Dadisho’ Qatraya, greatly appreciated his work. At the end of the fourth century and throughout the fifth, a number of pedagogical treatises dedicated to inner progress were written by authors about whom we know very little; their cultural environments, specific social settings, and individual circumstances remain obscure. The writings of Pseudo-Macarius, Diadochus of Photiké, and Mark the Monk are representative of such authoritative literature. The homilies of PseudoMacarius, for example, were widely diffused and translated from Greek into Syriac in the sixth century, and later into Arabic, Georgian, Latin, and Slavonic (Stewart 1991). The peculiar Macarian terminology and images of the inner experience, sensations, and mingling with the divine influenced later authors, among them Diadochus of Photiké (c.400–487 ce). Diadochus introduced his method of spiritual guidance in his One Hundred Gnostic Chapters, which also included visions, and questions and answers. His writings marked a noticeable turn in Eastern Christian discourse towards the personal experience of ascetics, wherein ‘nothing is more miserable than a Godless mind philosophizing about God’ (Gnostic Chapter 7). In a similar vein, Mark the Monk, about whom we know very little (except that he was probably active during the last two-thirds of the fifth century) provided a sort of code of behaviour for monks in Greek that had great influence on the Syriac monastic milieu. The earliest translation of his writings into Syriac dates to the early sixth century (533/4), and Babai the Great (d. 628) wrote a commentary on Mark the Monk’s treatise ‘On the Spiritual Law’ (CPG 6090).

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72   Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony

Canons and Institutionalizing Monastic Values The tendency to institutionalize values related to the daily life of monks is noticeable, for instance, in the corpus of more than five hundred monastic rules embedded in the Canons of Shenoute. The Canons provide an early witness to Egyptian monasticism, falling more or less in the tradition of Pachomian monasticism. Scholars concede that Shenoute is not the author of these rules, at least not all of them. The rules, as Bentley Layton has pointed out, ‘are our most extensive, detailed, first-hand evidence for how a Christian monastery actually worked in the early centuries’ (Layton 2007: 46). Drawing on sociology of knowledge, Layton analyzes what the rules reveal about the individual experiences of monks and about the larger institutional structures of monasticism. He finds ideas of ‘world replacement and resocialization’, unfolding a dialectical process of shaping and maintaining new monastic identities. Layton’s refreshing methodological approach allows him to raise new questions, especially pertaining to the function of rules in the process of monastic resocialization. Likewise, Caroline Schroeder has recently read these rules through the lens of postcolonial theories of ideology, power, and knowledge, in order to examine the ritualization of Shenoute’s discourses on the body (Schroeder 2007: 54–89). The same tendency to institutionalize monastic values can be seen in fifth-century Palestinian sources. After 451, Abba Isaiah of Scetis (d. 491) wrote in Greek the Asceticon, a code of behaviour for the monks who lived with him. The text became popular in Eastern Christianities. It was translated into other languages, including Syriac, with about fifty extant manuscripts of several Syriac versions, the earliest of which dates to the sixth century (trans. Draguet 1968). Didactic though unsystematic, the Asceticon shares important themes with Egyptian monastic literature and transmits the accumulated experience of previous generations. It constitutes a manual of instruction for the semi-anchoritic monk, along with ascetic commentary on select passages from the Scriptures that have a bearing on various situations in monastic life. The Asceticon reflects the quest at the end of the fifth century for an innovative treatment of the complex challenges and problems arising from the monastic setting and its interaction with the external world. From the fifth century on, the translation of Greek texts into Syriac fostered an important literary and social dynamic in Eastern monasticism. Abba Isaiah’s Asceticon provides an excellent example. It was translated into Syriac in the sixth century, but its life in Syriac monastic circles did not end with this translation. Dadisho’ Qatraya (d. c.690), a monk and learned author in the Syriac Church of the East, wrote a long commentary on Isaiah’s Asceticon that enjoyed wide circulation. By commenting on the Asceticon—one among many of the monastic manuals available in the seventh-century Mediterranean monastic world—Dadisho’ was creating his own monastic style with links to the prestigious Palestinian and Egyptian traditions. We must take this process into account in order

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The Literature of Early EASTERN Monasticism   73 to distinguish between the making of monastic literary tradition and local historical developments.

Monastic Compilations The development of the Eastern monastic tradition is evident in the fifth- to seventhcentury production of monastic collections and compilations that link stories and monastic paideia. Among such compilations are Palladius’s Historia Lausiaca (written in Greek; there is also a long version in Coptic), the Historia Monachorum in Aegypto, and the Apophthegmata Patrum. These compilations, intended to memorialize monastic pioneers and promote their charismatic authority, primarily reflect the cultural environment of the epoch in which they were composed. In several cases, however, they preserve precious information from earlier periods. The primary biographical details available to us about Evagrius Ponticus, for example, are found in Chapter 38 of the Historia Lausiaca. The redactional history of the Apophthegmata Patrum is still debated, and there is serious doubt about whether it can be used for reconstructing the history of monastic practices. Yet its educative function, achieved through systematization of the sayings under different headings (alphabetic and thematic), is apparent (Gould 1993; Monastica Project at Lund University). Likewise, the Spiritual Meadow, written by the wandering Palestinian monk John Moschus (c.550– c.634), portrayed famous ascetics, including monks in Sinai, in an eclectic and anecdotal fashion. Although the Spiritual Meadow contains some historical data, it mainly reflects the cumulative power of monastic discourse. It would, therefore, be a mistake to attempt to delineate the organic development of the monastic movement and its culture in the Eastern Empire from the perspective of such collections, or through a selective gallery of their images. The same is true for the popular composition Ladder of Divine Ascent, written by John Climacus (d. c.650) for the monks of Rhaithou in Western Sinai at the peak of the monastic enterprise. Only recently have scholars come to appreciate this moral collection in terms of rhetorical argumentation, gnomic conventions, affinity with earlier monastic literature, and textual monastic formation (Rydell Johnsén 2007; Parrinello 2007: 73–83). Scholars have long used Greek, Syriac, and Coptic hagiographical texts to reconstruct the social history of late antique monasticism (Brown  1971,  1998; Patlagean  1976; Efthymiadis 2011, 2014). New methods for reading hagiography with an eye to extracting historical information are continually being offered and debated (Frankfurter 2006; Barnes 2010; Efthymiadis 2011). Hagiography, written in a variety of literary genres, in prose and also in poetry, seeks to present ascetic heroes and monastic values in a particular style and in a specific local setting, using multiple rhetorical strategies and images. Hagiographers of the fifth to seventh centuries, aiming to educate their readers during the Christological controversies of their day, used their narratives as a form of propaganda (Steppa  2002). This feature is noticeable in many Lives, including the

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74   Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony ­ iography of Rabbula, bishop of Edessa (BHO 1023), the sixth-century Life of John of b Tella (BHO 524), and the Life of Peter the Iberian (BHO 955). As might be expected, these texts differ in their historical value (Brock 2008, 2011a; Flusin 1996, 2011).

Regional and Collective Hagiographies The fifth century also yielded a series of regional hagiographies. Around 440, Theodoret of Cyrrhus (393–466) wrote a deliberately selective Religious History, in which he depicted the holy life of twenty-eight Syrian monks and three female virgins. About the latter he remarked: ‘Despite having a weaker nature, they display the same zeal as the men and free their sex from its ancestral disgrace’ (Religious History 29: 183). Theodoret selected his materials intentionally, which reveals the problem inherent in using hagiographic sources for understanding the history of late antique monasticism. Theodoret’s aim—shared by many hagiographers—was not to record local monastic history, but to offer his readers ‘models of philosophy’ in a way that is analogous to how painters use models to guide their depictions (Religious History 30: 188). New approaches to the formation of Christian literature encourage modern readers of Theodoret’s Religious History to set aside the positivistic pursuit of ‘what actually happened’ and to examine instead the author’s narrative strategies. At the same time, such approaches shed light on a prime rhetorical mechanism of the hagiographical genre—namely, its mimetic biblical nature (Krueger  2004: 15–32). The intertextual relationship of late antique Christian hagiography to the Bible occasionally masks certain historical figures, but it nonetheless reveals the creative interplay of the authors with their subjects (Rousseau  2004; Bitton-Ashkelony 2005). The Lives of Monks of the Judean Desert, a collective regional hagiography written by Cyril of Scythopolis (c.525– c.559), contains a considerable amount of reliable information about monastic settlements in the fifth- and sixth-century Judean Desert. These data are corroborated in many instances by archaeological materials from the region (Hirschfeld 1992; Patrich 1995). However, Cyril wrote mainly about monastic leaders of the ‘desert of the Holy city’ and the ecclesiastical and political centres of power in Jerusalem and Constantinople. He is entirely silent about the flourishing contemporary monastic centres in the region of Gaza and Sinai (Dahari 2000; Flusin 2011: 215–218; Caner et al.  2010). His silence distorts the historical picture of Palestinian monastic development. Moreover, even with regard to the Judean Desert, about which Cyril provided a detailed picture dotted with names, dates, and geographical locations, we have to confront his omissions. For instance, Cyril does not allude to Khirbet Ed-Deir, one of the largest monastic complexes located in the heart of the Judean Desert, south of Jerusalem (Hirschfeld  1999). One can surmise that this remote coenobium did not attract his attention because it was far from the ecclesiastical affairs of the Church of Jerusalem, and perhaps deviated from its theological standpoint. In other words, we must appreciate how eclectic, and even deliberately selective, are our extant sources.

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The Literature of Early EASTERN Monasticism   75 Similar caution should be applied to the subject of female monasticism in sixth-­century Palestine, about which Cyril said very little. Given Cyril’s criteria for selecting his heroes—that is, their leadership and ecclesiastical and imperial ties—it is not surprising that he wrote mainly about aristocratic women and their involvement in the construction of churches and monasteries (Life of Euthymius 30; Life of Theodosius 6; Life of Theognius 1). Recent archaeological discoveries, including inscriptions, from Khirbet Hani—located along the western fringes of the lowlands of southern Samaria, in the district of Lod—attest to the existence of a women’s community, which flourished from the end of the fourth up to the eighth century. The written sources tell us nothing about this monastery, which was located far from the sacred landscape of Jerusalem and its desert (Dahari and Zelinger  2014). As Bernard Flusin has demonstrated, Cyril was steeped in the literary model of Theodoret’s Religious History and wished to do for the prestige of Palestine what Theodoret had done for the history of monasticism in Syria, all the while borrowing widely from earlier sources (Flusin 1983: 35, 41–86).

Monastic Rules and Questions and Answers The tendency to reinterpret ancient monastic traditions is also apparent in monastic rules written in the sixth century. The rules of Abraham of Kashkar (c.500–588), founder and abbot of the ‘Great Monastery’ on Mount Izla, were written in 570/571 and offer a good example of this tendency (published in Vööbus 1960; Chialà 2005). The authors of these texts proclaim that they have simply interpreted the earlier traditions and have not invented new rules (Chialà  2010: 115). Yet such monastic rules contained original ­materials. For example, the monastic legislation of Dadisho’ (published in Jullien 2008: 134–148), the successor of Abraham of Kashkar as superior in the monastery (588–604), stated that only monks who knew how to read the Scriptures could be admitted to the monastery. Such an uncommon precondition for monastic life was specifically tied to the scholastically oriented monastic milieu of the author. A particularly significant source for the social history of the Eastern Syrian monastic world in the Sasanian and early Islamic periods is the Synodicon Orientale, a collection of reports and canons of synods held between the years 410 and 775/6. The canon rules in the Synodicon Orientale express Church policy towards the monastic communities: reticence towards female monasticism and towards interactions between female and male monasteries, as well as disapprobation of monks’ pilgrimages to the holy places for various motives. The Erotapokriseis literature (Questions and Answers), real and fictitious, prevalent from early Christianity on, is another important source for the study of Eastern ­monasticism. One of the well-known collections is the valuable correspondence between  Barsanuphius and John, two sixth-century recluses and spiritual

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76   Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony fathers from the monastic community in Gaza. Psychological and personal in tone, these 850 questions and answers provide a rare glimpse of in situ spiritual direction (usually oral and private) in action ( Perrone 2004; Hevelone-Harper 2005; Bitton-Ashkelony and Kofsky  2006). Their well-educated disciple Dorotheus of Gaza (sixth century) maintained a steady epistolary relationship with Barsanuphius and John that included over a hundred letters. Later, Dorotheus himself bequeathed Discourses and Sayings to his monks, a sort of spiritual literature, which in turn infiltrated Byzantine monasteries. In both the Correspondence and Dorotheus’ Discourses there are ad verbum and ad sensum quotations from Abba Isaiah’s Asceticon. Indeed, in these sources the borrowing of ascetic theory and codes of behaviour between monastic compositions seems ­obvious. The Gazan monks’ close reading of the Asceticon, and their reliance on his precise injunctions, attest to Abba Isaiah’s remarkably authoritative posthumous voice in the community. We can approach these intertextual dynamics in terms of textual communities, microsocieties organized around a common understanding of monastic traditions both written and oral (Stock 1983, 1997; Bitton-Ashkelony 2017). The continuous shaping of monastic traditions and their literary dynamics were facilitated by the fact that monasteries were centres of book production. Many Egyptian papyri and archaeological materials (Kotsifou 2007; Froschauer and Römer 2008), as well as Syrian literary texts (Debié 2010), attest to the prominence of monasteries in late antique book culture.

New Directions in Research As this brief survey demonstrates, recent work on previously neglected monastic ­corpora—Syriac traditions, Evagrius Ponticus, Shenoute, Gazan monasticism—has generated major shifts in the study of Eastern monasticism. Indeed, the field has transformed radically since the publication of Derwas Chitty’s The Desert a City in 1966. Scholars now recognize the limitations of the literary sources, and they eschew positivistic approaches to history. Rather, they canvas the written sources together with papyrological data and archaeological evidence in their quest for better access to the social, intellectual, political, and spiritual worlds of the ancient monks.

Suggested Reading The primary sources relevant to the topic are too numerous to be listed in full; I ­mention here only the sources that are discussed in this chapter. For Egyptian monastic literature, see Wipszycka (2009), and the excellent reports published in the proceedings of the International Congress of Coptic Studies (ICCoptS). For lists of primary sources on Palestinian monasticism, see Hirschfeld (1992), Bitton-Ashkelony and Kofsky (2006), and Flusin (2011). For a general introduction to Syriac monastic

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The Literature of Early EASTERN Monasticism   77 l­iterature, see Brock et al., The Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage (2011), which includes many entries on individual monastic figures and texts. The bibliography by Kessel and Pinggéra (2011) is extremely valuable for editions and translations of Syriac sources. The essays collected in the various volumes of Études Syriaques address a wide range of topics on Syriac monastic literature. A comprehensive Syriac bibliography is available at: http://www.csc.org.il

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Abraham of Kashkar. Syriac text and English trans. Vööbus, Syriac and Arabic Documents regarding Legislation relative to Syrian Asceticism. Stockholm: Etse, 1960. Apophthegmata Patrum. Alphabetical Collection. Greek text: PG 65: 76–440, Eng. trans. B.  Ward, Sayings of the Desert Fathers, CS 59 (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1975), and J. Wortley, Give Me a Word: The Alphabetical Sayings of the Desert Fathers, PPS 52. Yonkers, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2014. Apophthegmata Patrum. Systematic Collection. Greek text and French trans. J.-C. Guy, Les Apophthegmes des Pères, Collection systématique, SC 387, 474, 498 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1993, 2003, 2005). Eng. trans. J. Wortley, The Book of the Elders: Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Systematic Collection, CS 240 (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2012). For the Apophthegmata Patrum, see also the Monastica Project at Lund University (http://monastica.ht.lu.se) and the Syriac Reference Portal (http://syriaca.org). Athanasius, Second Letter to Virgins. Syriac text and French trans. J.  Lebon, ‘Athanasiana Syriaca II: Une lettre attribuée à saint Athanase d’Alexandrie’, Muséon: Revue d’études orientales 41 (1928): 169–216. Eng. trans. Brakke, Athanasius and Asceticism 1998: 292–302. Athanasius, Life of Antony. Greek text and French trans. G. J. M. Bartelink, Vie d’Antoine, SC 400 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1994). Eng. trans. R. C. Gregg, The Life of Antony and the Letter to Marcellinus. New York: Paulist Press, 1980. Barsanuphius and John, Letters. Greek text and French trans. F. Neyt, P. de Angelis-Noah, and L. Regnault, Correspondance, SC 426–427, 450–451, 468 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1997–2002). Eng. trans. J.  Chryssavgis, Barsanuphius and John: Letters, FC 113–114. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2006–2007. Basil of Caesarea, Longer Rules. Greek text PG 31: 889–1052. Shorter Rules. Greek text PG 31:1051–1305. Eng. trans. M.  Monica Wagner, Basil of Caesarea: Ascetical Works, FC 9. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1962. Basil of Caesarea, Questions of the Brothers. Syriac text and Eng. trans. A. M. Silvas. Leiden: Brill, 2014. Book of Steps. Syriac text and Latin trans. M. Kmosko, Patrologia Syriaca, 1. 3 (Paris: FirminDidot, 1926). Eng. trans. R. Kitchen, The Book of Steps: The Syriac Liber Graduum, CS 196. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2004. Cyril of Scythopolis. Greek text E.  Schwartz, Kyrillos von Skythopolis, TU 49.2 (Leipzig: Hinrichs, 1939). Eng. trans. R. M. Price, Cyril of Scythopolis: Lives of the Monks of Palestine, CS 114. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1991. Dadisho’ Qatraya, Commentary on the Asceticon of Abba Isaiah. Syriac text and French trans. R. Draguet, Commentaire du livre d’Abba Isaïe (logoi I–XV) par Dadišo Qatraya (VIIe s.). 2 vols, CSCO 326–327, Syr. 144–145. Louvain: Peeters, 1972.

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78   Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony Dadisho’ Qatraya, The Discourse on Stillness, Syriac text and Eng. trans. A. Mingana, Early Christian Mystics, Woodbrooke Studies 7 (Cambridge: W. Heffer, 1934), 201–247 [Syriac], 76–143 [trans.]. New edition by F. del Río Sánchez, Los cinco tratados sobre la quietud (šelyā) de Dādišō’ Qat rāyā, Aula Orientalis Supplementa 18. Barcelona: Editorial Ausa, 2001. Diadochus of Photiké, Chapters on Knowledge. Greek text and French trans. É. des Places, Diadoque de Photicé: Oeuvres spirituelles, SC 5bis (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1966). Eng. trans. C. Ermatinger, Following the Footsteps of the Invisible: The Complete Works of Diadochus of Photiké, CS 239. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2010. Dorotheus of Gaza. Greek text and French trans. L. Regnault and J. de Préville, Dorothée de Gaza: Oeuvres spirituelles, SC 92 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1963). Eng. trans. Eric P. Wheeler, Dorotheos of Gaza: Discourses and Sayings, CS 33. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1977. Evagrius Ponticus. For references to the Greek corpus, critical editions, and translations, see R. E. Sinkewicz, Evagrius of Pontus: The Greek Ascetic Corpus. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2003. Evagrius, Antirrhêtikos. Syriac version W.  Frankenberg, Euagrius Ponticus, Abhandlungen der Königlichen Gesellschaft der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen (Berlin, 1912), 472–544. Eng. trans. D. Brakke, Evagrius of Pontus: Talking Back: A Monastic Handbook for Combating Demons, CS 229. Collegeville, MN: Cistercian Publications, 2009. Evagrius, Letters. Syriac version Frankenberg 1912. German trans. G. Bunge, Evagrios Pontikos. Briefe aus der Wüste, Sophia 24. Trier: Paulinus-Verlag, 1986. Historia monachorum in Aegypto. Greek text and French trans. A.-J.  Festugière, Historia monachorum in Aegypto, Subsidia Hagiographica 53 (Brussels: Société des Bollandistes, 1971). Eng. trans. N. Russell, The Lives of the Desert Fathers, CS 34. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1981. Isaiah of Scetis, Asceticon. Greek text: Augustinos Monachos (Jerusalem, 1911; 2nd edn, S. N. Schoinas [Volos, 1962]); French trans. L. Regnault and H. de Broc, Abbé Isaïe, Recueil ascétique, 3rd edn, Collection Spiritualité Orientale 7 (Maine & Loire: Abbaye de Bellefontaine, 1985). Eng. trans. J. Chryssavgis and P. Penkett, Abba Isaiah of Scetis: Ascetic Discourses, CS 150 (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 2002). For the Syriac versions R. Draguet, Les cinq recensions de l’Ascéticon syriaque d’abba Isaïe, CSCO 289–290, 293–294 (Louvain, 1968). For the Coptic fragments: A. Guillaumont, L’Ascéticon copte de l’abbé Isaïe (Cairo, 1956); Y. N. Youssef, ‘Un complément de l’Asceticon copte de l’Abbé Isaïe’, Vigiliae Christianae 55 (2001): 187–190. Isidore of Pelusium, Letters. Greek text and French trans. P. Évieux, Isidore de Péluse: Lettres I–III, SC 422, 454, 586. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1997, 2000, 2017. John Moschus, The Spiritual Meadow. Greek text PG 87/3: 2847–3116. Eng. trans. J. Wortley, CS 139. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1992. John Climacus, The Ladder of Divine Ascent. Greek text: PG 88: 631–1161. Eng. trans. C. Luibheid and N. Russell. New York: Paulist Press, 1982. John of Ephesus, Lives of the Eastern Saints. Syriac text and Eng. trans. E. W. Brooks, PO 17–19. Paris: Firmin-Didot, 1923–1925 ; repr. Turnhout: Brepols, 2003. John Rufus, Life of Peter the Iberian. Syriac text and Eng. trans. C. B. Horn and R. R. Phenix Jr., John Rufus: The Lives of Peter the Iberian, Theodosius of Jerusalem, and the Monk Romanus. Atlanta, GA: Society of Biblical Literature, 2008. Mark the Monk, Counsels on the Spiritual Life. Greek text and French trans. G. M. de Durand, Marc le Moine: Traités, SC 445, 455 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1999–2000). Eng. trans.

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The Literature of Early EASTERN Monasticism   79 T. Vivian and A. Casiday, Counsels on the Spiritual Life: Mark the Monk, PPS 37. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2009. Nilus of Ancyra, Ascetic Discourse. Greek text: PG 79: 719a–810d; On Voluntary Poverty. Greek text: PG 79: 968c–1060d; On the Superiority of Solitaries. Greek text: PG 79: 1061a–1093c. Pachomius. For sources, see Rousseau (1999: 37–55), Goehring (1999: XIX–XX), and Wipszycka (2009: XIV–XV). Palladius, Historia Lausiaca. Greek text C. Butler, The Lausiac History of Palladius, TaS 6. 1–2 (1898–1904). Eng. trans. R. T. Meyer, Palladius: Lausiac History, ACW 34. New York: Paulist Press, 1964. Philoxenos of Mabuug, Discourses. Syriac text and Eng. trans. E. A. W. Budge, The Discourses of Philoxenus, Bishop of Mabbôgh, A.D. 485–519. 2 vols (London: Asher & Co., 1893–1894). Eng. trans. R. A. Kitchen, The Discourses of Philoxenos of Mabbug: A New Translation and Introduction, CS 235. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2013. Shenoute of Atripe. For sources, see Emmel (2004) and Layton (2014: 349–350). Synodicon Orientale. Syriac text and French trans. J.-B.  Chabot, Synodicon Orientale, ou, Recueil de synodes nestoriens. Paris: Imprimerie Nationale, 1902. Theodoret of Cyrrhus, Religious History. Greek text and French trans. P. Canivet and A. LeroyMolinghen, Theodoret de Cyr, SC 234, 257. Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1977–1979. Eng. trans. R. M. Price, Theodoret of Cyrrhus, A History of the Monks of Syria, CS 88. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1985.

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80   Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony Boud’hors, A. (2012). ‘The Coptic Tradition’. In The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, edited by S. F. Johnson, 224–246. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Boud’hors, A., J. Clackson, C. Louis, and P. Sijpesteijn (eds) (2009). Monastic Estates in Late Antique and Early Islamic Egypt: Ostraca, Papyri, and Essays in Memory of Sarah Clackson. American Studies in Papyrology 46. Cincinnati, OH: American Society of Papyrologists. Brakke, David (2006). Demons and the Making of the Monk: Spiritual Combat in Early Christianity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Brakke, D. (1998). Athanasius and Asceticism. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Brock, S. P. (2011a). ‘Syriac Hagiography’. In The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography: Vol. I: Periods and Places, edited by S. Efthymiadis, 259–283. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Brock, S. P. (2011b). ‘Radical Renunciation: The ideal of msarrqûtâ’. In To Train his Soul in Books: Syriac Asceticism in Early Christianity, edited by R. D. Young and M. J. Blanchard, 122–133. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Brock, S.  P. (2008). ‘Saints in Syriac: A Little-Tapped Resource’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 16: 181–196. Brock, S. P. (1973). ‘Early Syrian Asceticism’. Numen 20: 1–19. Brock, S. P. and Susan Ashbrook Harvey (1987). Holy Women of the Syrian Orient. TCH 13. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Brock, S.  P. et al. (eds) (2011). The Gorgias Encyclopedic Dictionary of the Syriac Heritage. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. Brown, P. (2008), The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity. New York: Columbia University Press. Brown, Peter (1998). ‘The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity, 1971–1997’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 6: 353–376. Brown, Peter (1971). ‘The Rise and Function of the Holy Man in Late Antiquity’. Journal of Roman Studies 61: 80–101. Buzi, P. and A. Camplani (eds) (2011). Christianity in Egypt: Literary Production and Intellectual Trends: Studies in Honor of Tito Orlandi. SEA 125. Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum. Buzi, P., A. Camplani, and F. Contardi (eds) (2016). Coptic Society, Literature and Religion from Late Antiquity to Modern Times. 2 vols. OLA 247. Louvain: Peeters. Cameron, A. (1991). Christianity and the Rhetoric of Empire: The Development of Christian Discourse. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Caner, D. (2002). Wandering, Begging Monks: Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late Antiquity. TCH 33. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Caner, D. with contributions by S. Brock, R. M. Price, and K. van Bladel (2010). History and Hagiography from the Late Antique Sinai. TTH 53. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Chialà, S. (2010). ‘Les règles monastiques Syro-Orientales et leur caractère spécifique’. In Le monachisme syriaque, edited by F. Jullien, 107–122. Études syriaques 7. Paris: Geuthner. Chialà, S. (2005). Abramo di Kashkar e la sua comunità: La rinascita del monachesimo siroorientale. Bose: Edizioni Qiqajon. Chitty, D. J. (1966). The Desert a City: An Introduction to the Study of Egyptian and Palestinian Monasticism under the Christian Empire. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press. Clark, E. A. (1998). ‘Holy Women, Holy Words: Early Christian Women, Social History, and the “Linguistic Turn” ’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 6: 413–430.

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The Literature of Early EASTERN Monasticism   81 Clark, E.  A. (1994). ‘Ideology, History, and the Construction of “Woman” in Late Ancient Christianity’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 2: 155–184. Dahari, U. (2000). Monastic Settlements in South Sinai in the Byzantine Period: The Archaeological Remains. Jerusalem: Publications of the Israel Antiquities Authority. Dahari, U. and Y. Zelinger (2014). ‘The Excavation at Horvat Hani: Final Report and a Survey on Nuns and Nunneries in Israel’. In Knowledge and Wisdom: Archaeological and Historical Essays in Honour of Leah Di Segni, edited by G. C. Bottini, L. D. Chrupcała, and J. Patrich, 179–203. Milan: Edizioni Terra Santa. Davis, S. J. (2002). ‘Crossed Texts, Crossed Sex: Intertextuality and Gender in Early Christian Legends of Holy Women Disguised as Men’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 10: 1–36. Debié, M. (2010). ‘Livre et Monastères en Syrie-Mésopotamie d’après les sources syriaques’. In Le monachisme syriaque, edited by F. Jullien, 123–168. Études syriaques 7. Paris: Geuthner. Efthymiadis, S. (ed.) (2014). The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography: Vol. II: Genres and Contexts. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Efthymiadis, S. (ed.) (2011). The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography: Vol. I: Periods and Places. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Efthymiadis, S. and V. Déroche (2011). ‘Greek Hagiography in Late Antiquity (Fourth–Seventh Centuries)’. In The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography: Vol. I: Periods and Places, edited by S. Efthymiadis, 35–94. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Elm, S. (1994). ‘Virgins of God’: The Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Elm, S. (1990). ‘The Sententiae ad Virginem by Evagrius Ponticus and the Problem of Early Monastic Rules’. Augustinianum 30: 393–404. Emmel, S. (2004), Shenoute’s Literary Corpus. 2 vols. CSCO 599–600, Subsidia 111–112. Louvain: Peeters. Fedwick, P. J. (1981). ‘The Translations of the Works of Basil before 1400’. In Basil of Caesarea: Christian, Humanist, Ascetic: A Sixteen-Hundredth Anniversary Symposium. 2 vols, edited by P. J. Fedwick, 2: 439–512. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. Flusin, B. (2011). ‘Palestinian Hagiography (Fourth–Eighth Centuries)’. In The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography: Vol. I: Periods and Places, edited by S. Efthymiadis, 199–226. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Flusin, B. (1996). ‘L’hagiographie palestinienne et la réception du concile de Chalcédoine’. In Leimōn: Studies Presented to Lennart Rydén on His Sixty-Fifth Birthday, edited by J. O. Rosenqvist, 25–47. Uppsala: Uppsala University. Flusin, B. (1983). Miracle et histoire dans l’oeuvre de Cyrille de Scythopolis. Paris: Études augustiniennes. Frankfurter, D. (2006). ‘Hagiography and the Reconstruction of Local Religion in Late Antique Egypt: Memories, Inventions, and Landscapes’. Church History and Religious Culture 86: 13–37. Froschauer, H. and C. Römer (2008). Spätantike Bibliotheken: Leben und Lesen in den frühen Klöstern Ägyptens. Vienna: Phoibos-Verlag. Giorda, M. (2010). ‘Le désert devint une ville’: À la recherche d’une identité monastique en Égypte dans l’Antiquité Tardive. Saarbrücken: Éditions Universitaires Européennes. Goehring, J. E. (1999). Ascetics, Society, and the Desert: Studies in Early Egyptian Monasticism. SAC. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Goehring, J.  E. (2013). ‘Remembering for Eternity: The Ascetic Landscape as Cultural Discourse in Early Christian Egypt’. In Ascetic Culture: Essays in Honor of Philip Rousseau,

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82   Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony edited by B. Leyerle and R. D. Young, 201–228. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Goehring, J. E. (2011). ‘The Ship of the Pachomian Federation: Metaphor and Meaning in a Late Account of Pachomian Monasticism’. In Christianity in Egypt, edited by P. Buzi and A. Camplani, 289–303. Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum. Gould, G. (1993). The Desert Fathers on Monastic Community. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Griffith, S. H. (1995). ‘Asceticism in the Church of Syria: The Hermeneutics of Early Syrian Monasticism.’ In Asceticism, edited by Vincent  L.  Wimbush and R.  Valantasis, 220–245. New York: Oxford University Press. Guillaumont, A. (2004). Un philosophe au désert: Évagre le Pontique. Paris: Vrin. Hägg, T. (2011). ‘The Life of Antony between Biography and Hagiography’. In The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography: Vol. I: Periods and Places, edited by S. Efthymiadis, 17–34. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Harmless, W. (2004). Desert Christians: An Introduction to the Literature of Early Monasticism. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook (2005). ‘Revisiting the Daughters of the Covenant: Women’s Choirs and Sacred Song in Ancient Syriac Christianity’. Hugoye: Journal of Syriac Studies 8.2: 125–149. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook (1990). Asceticism and Society in Crisis: John of Ephesus and the Lives of the Eastern Saints. TCH 18. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook and D.  G.  Hunter (eds) (2008). The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Heal, K. S. and R. A. Kitchen (eds) (2013). Breaking the Mind: New Studies in the Syriac Book of Steps. Studies in Early Christianity. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Herrin, J. (2013). Unrivalled Influence: Women and Empire in Byzantium. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Hevelone-Harper, J. L. (2005). Disciples of the Desert: Monks, Laity, and Spiritual Authority in Sixth-Century Gaza. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Hirschfeld, Y. (1999). The Early Byzantine Monastery at Khirbet Ed-Deir in the Judean Desert: The Excavations in 1981–1987. Jerusalem: Institute of Archaeology, Hebrew University of Jerusalem. Hirschfeld, Y. (1992). The Judean Desert Monasteries in the Byzantine Period. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Jullien, F. (2010a). ‘Le monachisme féminin en milieu syriaque’. In Le monachisme syriaque, edited by F. Jullien, 65–87. Études syriaques 7. Paris: Geuthner. Jullien, F. (ed.) (2010b). Le monachisme syriaque. Études syriaques 7. Paris: Geuthner. Jullien, F. (2008). Le monachisme en Perse: La réforme d’Abraham le Grand, père des moines de l’Orient. CSCO 622. Louvain: Peeters. Kessel, G. and K.  Pinggéra (2011). A Bibliography of Syriac Ascetic and Mystical Literature. Louvain: Peeters. Kotsifou, C. (2007). ‘Books and Book Production in the Monastic Communities of Byzantine Egypt’. In The Early Christian Book, edited by W.  E.  Klingshirn and L.  Safran, 48–66. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Kraemer, R. Shepard (2008). ‘Women and Gender’. In The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, edited by Susan Ashbrook Harvey and D.  G.  Hunter, 465–492. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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The Literature of Early EASTERN Monasticism   83 Krawiec, R. (2008). ‘Asceticism’. In The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, edited by Susan Ashbrook Harvey and D. G. Hunter, 764–785. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Krawiec, R. (2002). Shenoute and the Women of the White Monastery: Egyptian Monasticism in Late Antiquity. New York: Oxford University Press. Krueger, D. (2004). Writing and Holiness: The Practice of Authorship in the Early Christian East. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Layton, B. (2014). The Canons of Our Fathers: Monastic Rules of Shenoute. OECS. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Layton, B. (2011). ‘Punishing the Nuns: A Reading of Shenoute’s Letters to the Nuns in Canons Book Four’. In Christianity in Egypt, edited by Paola Buzi and Alberto Camplani, 325–345. Rome: Institutum Patristicum Augustinianum. Layton, B. (2007). ‘Rules, Patterns, and the Exercise of Power in Shenoute’s Monastery: The Problem of World Replacement and Identity Maintenance’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 15: 45–73. Leyerle, B. and R. D. Young (eds) (2013). Ascetic Culture: Essays in Honor of Philip Rousseau. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Miller, P.  C. (2013). ‘Adam, Eve, and the Elephants: Asceticism and Animality’. In Ascetic Culture: Essays in Honor of Philip Rousseau, edited by B. Leyerle and R. D. Young, 253–268. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Orlandi, T. (2002). ‘The Library of the Monastery of Saint Shenute at Atripe’. In Perspectives on Panopolis: An Egyptian Town from Alexander the Great to the Arab Conquest, edited by A. Egberts, B. P. Muhs, and J. van der Vliet, 211–231. Leiden: Brill. Parrinello, R. M. (2007). Giovanni Climaco: La Scala del Paradiso. Letture cristiane del primo millennio 41. Milan: Paoline. Patlagean, E. (1976). ‘L’histoire de la femme déguisée en moine et l’évolution de la sainteté féminine à Byzance’. Studi Medievali, ser. 3, 17: 597–623. Patrich, J. (1995). Sabas, Leader of Palestinian Monasticism: A Comparative Study in Eastern Monasticism, Fourth to Seventh Centuries. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Studies. Perrone, L. (2004). ‘The Necessity of Advice: Spiritual Direction as a School of Christianity in the Correspondence of Barsanuphius and John of Gaza’. In Christian Gaza in Late Antiquity, edited by B. Bitton-Ashkelony and A. Kofsky, 131–149. Leiden: Brill. Rousseau, P. (2004). ‘Moses, Monks, and Mountains in Theodoret’s Historia religiosa’. In Il Monachesimo tra Eredità e Aperture, edited by M. Bielawski and D. Hombergen, 323–346. Rome: Centro Studi S. Anselmo. Rousseau, P. (2000). ‘Monasticism’. In The Cambridge Ancient History, vol. 14: Late Antiquity: Empire and Successors, AD 425–600, edited by A. Cameron, B. Ward-Perkins, and M. Whitby, 745–780. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rousseau, P. (1999). Pachomius: The Making of a Community in Fourth-Century Egypt. TCH 6. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rousseau, P. (1994). Basil of Caesarea. TCH 20. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rubenson, S. (2012). ‘Monasticism and the Philosophical Heritage’. In The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, edited by S. F. Johnson, 487–512. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rubenson, S. (1995). The Letters of St. Antony: Monasticism and the Making of a Saint. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress. Rydell Johnsén, H. (2007). Reading John Climacus: Rhetorical Argumentation, Literary Convention and the Tradition of Monastic Formation. Lund: Lund University. Schroeder, C.  T. (2007). Monastic Bodies: Discipline and Salvation in Shenoute of Atripe. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press.

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84   Brouria Bitton-Ashkelony Silvas, A.  M. (2014). Basil of Caesarea, Questions of the Brothers: Syriac Text and English Translation. Texts and Studies in Eastern Christianity. Leiden: Brill. Silvas, A.  M. (2005). The Asketikon of St Basil the Great. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Steppa, J.-E. (2002). John Rufus and the World Vision of Anti-Chalcedonian Culture. Piscataway, NJ: Gorgias Press. Stewart, C. (1991). ‘Working the Earth of the Heart’: The Messalian Controversy in History, Texts, and Language to AD 431. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Stock, B. (1997). Listening for the Text: On the Uses of the Past. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Stock, B. (1983). The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Vööbus, A. (1960). Syriac and Arabic Documents Regarding Legislation Relative to Syrian Asceticism. PETSE 11. Stockholm: Etse. Wipszycka, E. (2009). Moines et communautés monastiques en Égypte (IVe–VIIIe siècles). Journal of Juristic Papyrology Suppl. 11. Warsaw: Warsaw University and Raphael Taubenschlag Foundation.

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chapter 6

The Liter at u r e of Ea r ly W E STER N Monasticism Columba Stewart, OSB

Though we rely heavily on texts to understand the rise and development of monastic asceticism, they give us only a partial view. Not everything was written down, and not everything that was written down has survived until the present. The texts that con­ tinued to be copied through the centuries give access to a controlled narrative, a norma­ tive view of monastic history and spirituality that must never be mistaken for a comprehensive and impartial record of the early centuries of monasticism in the West. Furthermore, it must not be forgotten that the texts used for the study of early Western monasticism differ from their Eastern counterparts in several important ways. First, despite the many spoken vernaculars of the Latin Christian world, the monastic litera­ ture in this early period is entirely Latin. This simplifies the linguistic aspect of research but can easily obscure profound cultural variations from region to region. Second, the relative paucity of archaeological evidence available to complement the texts means that the Latin literature plays an even more dominant role in historical investigation than is the case with early Eastern monasticism. There is always a risk in severing texts from material culture; for early Western monasticism, in contrast both to its own medieval period and to the early period in the East, there is little surviving material culture to which they can be related. Many important Latin monastic writings were created within tight personal networks that spanned the Mediterranean. The interactions of major figures such as Jerome, Rufinus, Ambrose, Paulinus, and Augustine had an impact across the Western world. Through their translations of Greek texts, original compositions, and letters, all dissem­ inated through such networks, they seem to rule the monastic landscape. It is important to look beyond and alongside them wherever that is possible. The same major figures also played leading roles in several theological controversies in the West during this period, controversies that had a profound effect on the course of Latin monasticism.

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86   Columba Stewart, OSB Texts translated from Greek, and Latin writings based on Greek models, were obvi­ ously central in the emergence of monastic asceticism in the West. Latin monasticism also made a distinctive contribution with a new monastic genre, the monastic rule or regula, which created a vehicle for monastic instruction and governance less obviously tied to a particular personality than are hagiography, letters, or treatises. The full implica­ tions of this development would become evident only in the medieval period with the creation of a monastic norm based on the Regula Benedicti, but its roots are in the late fourth and early fifth centuries.

The Ascetic Background The development of Latin monastic literature falls into fairly distinct phases. First was the pre-monastic promotion of virginity in Roman Africa, Spain, and Italy, which gave increasing form and regulation to one kind of asceticism. In the very early third century, Tertullian writes of lifelong virginity chosen by both men and women in his treatise On the Veiling of Virgins (De virginibus velandis; see Hamman 1992; Dunn 2005), but as is evident in his title and in later writings by Cyprian, bishop of Carthage, the focus of their attention was usually on female virgins and their behaviour. Cyprian devotes On the Dress of Virgins (De habitu virginum, c.249) and his Letter to Pomponius (Ep. 4) to the conduct suitable for dedicated (dicatae) virgins, who were living in various domestic arrangements, whether in their family home, in households together, or more contro­ versially, with ascetic men or clerics. From the early fourth century onwards, canons regulating the life of dedicated virgins appear in ecclesiastical legislation, beginning with the Council of Elvira in Spain (305 or 306). The canons specify the appropriate age for dedication to permanent virginity and designate who should witness the vow, nor­ mally the bishop (see Concilia Galliae; Concilia Africae; Concilios visigóticos; Hess 2002). Complementing the fourth-century legislation was the continuing promotion of vir­ ginity by bishops such as Popes Liberius (d. 366) and Damasus (d. 384) in Rome, and Ambrose (c.340–397) in Milan (Brown 1988: 341–365). Ambrose’s sister Marcellina had been consecrated to virginity by Pope Liberius in the early 350s. In Milan, consecrated virginity was apparently not yet widespread, but Ambrose made it a central theme of his episcopate. Soon after becoming bishop in 374, he wrote On Virgins (De virginibus, dedi­ cated to Marcellina) and its briefer sequel, On Virginity (De virginitate). Ambrose exhorted young women to refuse marriage and rebuked any parents who resisted their daughters’ option for virginity. Ambrose mentions inter alia a group of twenty virgins in Bologna who had left their parental homes to live together, a notable early indication of a women’s ascetic community (De virginibus 1.60–61). Although Ambrose occasionally mentions the new ascetic mode of male monasticism, he said relatively little about it. But by promoting lifelong virginity as a recognized and approved ‘order’ in the Church of Milan, he contributed to the growing momentum of ascetic life in the West, which was acquiring its own distinctive literature and vocabulary.

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The Literature of Early Western Monasticism   87

The First Generation of Latin Monastic Literature From at least the mid-fourth century, the well-established tradition of female virginity in the Latin West and the less advertised but equally ancient practice of male virginity were being complemented by a new ascetic paradigm from Egypt. Two early Latin trans­ lations of the Life of Antony made this new paradigm accessible to Western audiences and sparked an Egyptian monastic fever from which the West never fully recovered. This literary influence was complemented by personal contacts with Egyptian monas­ ticism. During the Arian controversy, pro-Nicene Western bishops were exiled to the East, and Eastern bishops to the West. Eusebius, bishop of Vercelli in Italy (c.283–371), spent the late 350s in Syria, Cappadocia, and Upper Egypt, gaining first-hand experience of the ascetic developments in those regions. Ambrose praised Eusebius for gathering his clergy around him in a quasi-monastic community (Ep. 63.66–74). Such monasticizing of the episcopate was the shape of things to come. Moving in the reverse geo­graph­ic­al direc­ tion, Athanasius’ successor Peter spent the early 370s in Rome, where he piqued interest in Egyptian monasticism among ascetically inclined Roman widows such as Marcella. Another Roman widow, Melania, visited Egypt in the same decade, touring Nitria and other monastic sites. There she met Rufinus of Aquileia, who would become her compan­ ion and theological advisor. The news about Egyptian monasticism spread more slowly in other circles. It was only in the summer of 386 that Augustine, then living in Milan and coming under the influence of Ambrose, first heard about Antony. Seemingly little aware of or interested in monasticism until then, Augustine was stunned by the impact of the story upon other educated and ambitious young men like himself. Hearing about Antony propelled Augustine into the crisis that ended in his conversion (Conf. 8.14–19). Melania founded communities of women and men on the Mount of Olives in Jerusalem, where Rufinus spent a quarter century in residence (Murphy  1945; Murphy 1947; Clark 1992). Jerome and his patroness, Paula, settled in Bethlehem, estab­ lishing monasteries and caring for pilgrims (Rebenich 1992, 2002). They maintained a vigorous correspondence with leading theologians, bishops, and monastic figures in the Greek and Latin worlds. The men were energetic translators of Greek theological and monastic literature into Latin, which would lead to their epic battle over Origen at the end of the fourth century. Jerome’s letters chart the introduction of monastic concepts and rhetoric into the Latin world. The extant correspondence consists of more than 120 letters written over forty years, which were widely copied by monks in later centuries (Cain 2009). Jerome’s correspondents included popes, bishops, ascetic women and men, patrons and friends. Among them were Rufinus, Augustine, and Paulinus of Nola. At times quite personal and often polemical, the letters reveal a brilliant and difficult figure. Jerome’s efforts to present himself as a supreme authority on biblical, ascetic, and theological topics border at times on the pathetic, but the depth of his knowledge and the reach of his network were

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88   Columba Stewart, OSB r­ emarkable. The famous Letter 22 to Eustochium was addressed to Paula’s daughter, but it was intended as a manifesto promoting virginity. Much of it is devoted to a conventional exposition of the delights and duties of virginity, but it also contains a dramatic narrative of Jerome’s experience as a hermit in Syria (Letter 22 to Eustochium, ch. 30) and a seminal discussion of the kinds of monastic life found in Egypt (chs. 34–36). The latter became the template for the typology described by John Cassian (Conf. 18) and then adapted as the first chapter of the anonymous Rule of the Master (Regula Magistri), in turn used by Benedict (RB 1). Several other letters composed throughout Jerome’s lifetime address ascetic and monastic topics, notably Letters 2, 14, 52, 125, and 130. In the 370s and 380s, Jerome crafted a series of Latin vitae as counterparts to the Life of Antony. The subjects were all from the East (Lives of Paul, Malchus, Hilarion, ed. and trans. Leclerc 2007). The three vitae were enormously popular in the West, and were also translated into Greek; there are even Syriac versions of those of Paul and Malchus (Oldfather 1943; Van den Ven 1900, 1901). This rare example of Latin Christian literature translated into Eastern Christian languages testifies to Jerome’s success in playing off the model provided by the Life of Antony. Such examples of ascetic renunciation inspired dramatic conversions among mem­ bers of the aristocratic and governing classes. Paulinus, a native of the Aquitaine, was drawn to asceticism along with his Spanish wife, Therasia (Trout 1999). In the early 390s, after Paulinus’ baptism, they spent a period of ascetic preparation on their estates in Spain before moving to Italy, where they settled in the south at Nola. Their renunciation was grand enough to attract the notice and praise of Ambrose (Ep. 58.1–3). They devel­ oped a monastic community of men and women at the shrine of St Felix; the surviving complex of buildings is a rare instance in which textual evidence for early Western monasticism is complemented by archaeological remains (Lehmann 2004). Their com­ munal life bridged the traditional asceticism of consecrated virginity (or in their case, marital celibacy) and the newer paradigm of monasticism. In western Gaul, Martin of Tours (316–397) left an enduring cult of a saintly monkbishop, though his influence on the course of monastic life in the West was less than his hagiographer, Sulpicius Severus, might have hoped. The accounts of Martin’s life and miracles in Sulpicius’ Life of Martin, written soon after Martin’s death, and supple­ mented a few years later by further examples of Martin’s miracles in Sulpicius’ Dialogues (c.403–404), present Martin as the rugged counterforce to the effete paganism of a decayed empire (Stancliffe 1983; ed. and trans. Fontaine 1967, 2006). Martin’s actual ­monastic life is only sketched. Initially he lived with a single companion on an island off the Italian coast, subsisting on wild plants (Life 6). From there he moved to a site near Poitiers to be close to his mentor Hilary; after becoming bishop of Tours, he founded a monastic com­ munity in which the younger monks copied manuscripts to support their elders devoted entirely to contemplation (Life 10). Martin’s disdain for episcopal protocol and privileges made him a controversial fig­ ure, as did the promotion of his miracles of healing, upstaging of pagans, and raising the dead. Sulpicius counters the antagonism towards Martin by arguing that he should be considered equal or superior to the Eastern monks, especially given his added accom­ plishment of combining ascetic virtue with episcopal duties (Dial. 1.24). In the

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The Literature of Early Western Monasticism   89 Dialogues, the intention of Sulpicius is to raise Martin’s profile, but his opening view to the East for the sake of comparison suggests the direction Latin monasticism would take, as it received and adapted Eastern models and terminology.

Translating Eastern Monastic Texts In the years around 400, Rufinus and Jerome considerably expanded the corpus of Latin monastic literature with their translations of major Greek works (on Rufinus as transla­ tor, see Hammond Bammel  1996 and Chin  2010). Rufinus was the more prolific and adventurous translator. Monastic literature complemented his principal project of trans­ lating Origen’s writings. Rufinus contributed a Latin version of Basil the Great’s Small Askētikon (ed. and trans. Silvas 2013), an early edition of a work that survives in a later, more ample, form in its original Greek. Rufinus’ version was the ‘rule’ of Basil known in the Latin world, mentioned by Benedict in his closing chapter (RB 73.5). Basil is in fact the only monastic authority Benedict cites by name. Rufinus’ translation of the major writ­ ings of Evagrius Ponticus, great theoretician of the Egyptian desert, was a more obvious accompaniment to his work on the corpus of Origen’s writings, creating an collection of philosophically oriented monastic literature in Latin that would be augmented in the fifth century by the Evagrian translations of Gennadius of Marseilles. Sadly, all of this was lost in the ensuing phases of the Origenist controversy (Stewart 2016: 207–216). Jerome contributed a collection of translations of Pachomian literature that included the ‘rules’ of Pachomius, based on a Greek version of the original Coptic, as well as letters by Pachomius and his successors, and a treatise by one of them, Horsiesios (Boon 1932). When added to the existing translations of the Life of Antony, these contributions by Rufinus and Jerome provided a substantial body of Eastern monastic literature at a cru­ cial point in the development of monastic asceticism in the West. The literature created or translated by the pair smoothed the evolution of asceticism from the domestic focus of virginity to the new paradigm of monastic communities. It would soon be augmented by Cassian’s synthesis of Eastern monastic theology and practice, and then by further translations, including a partial Latin version of the Lausiac History of Palladius and, in the sixth century, by selections from the sayings of the desert monks of Egypt, the Apophthegmata Patrum. These writings, along with Jerome’s biographies, circulated in Latin manuscripts of the ‘Lives of the Fathers’ (Vitae patrum) a generic term already used by Benedict to describe the literary heritage proper to monasticism (RB 73.5).

Augustine and the First Regula Contemporary with this look to the East was the appearance on the monastic scene of a purely Western figure, Augustine of Hippo. The pre-eminent theological figure of the Latin world, Augustine (354–430) played a key role in monastic literary history with texts later

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90   Columba Stewart, OSB known as the ‘Rule of Augustine’ (Verheijen 1967; Lawless 1987). This is the first known instance of a distinctively Latin monastic literary form, the regula, which provided con­ cise guidelines for monastic life in a clearly structured format. Augustine’s ‘rule’ as it cir­ culated in later tradition was a composite of several texts, most likely written by Augustine himself. Two of them, often combined, fit the profile of regulae. Both are known by their Latin titles. The first was the Praeceptum, a succinct but profoundly pas­ toral text now thought to be Augustine’s original ‘rule’. The text refers to itself as a ‘pam­ phlet’ (libellus). The Praeceptum has been dated to around 397, early in Augustine’s episcopate. Written for his monastery of clerics at Hippo, it demonstrates keen aware­ ness of the dynamics of communal life, particularly as they can be warped by differences in social origin among the members. One finds the keynotes of all later Western monas­ tic rules: a shared life based upon renunciation of private property and common owner­ ship of goods; rules for prayer, physical ascetic practices, dress, behaviour outside the monastery, work, care of the sick, correction of faults and reconciliation, the role of the leader of the community, and the authority of the text itself. The second text, the Ordo monasterii, adds details about the times and contents of liturgical offices; the schedule for work, meals, and rest; and further observations about monastic decorum. Augustine’s guiding principle is unity in charity: ‘live in the house in harmony (uniani­ mes), and let there be among you one soul (anima) and one heart in God’ (Praec. 1.2). The key biblical texts are Acts 4:32 and 35, where the life of the earliest Christian commu­ nity in Jerusalem rests upon mutual dependence for material needs. The same biblical passages occur in Augustine’s references to monastic life—and its challenges—as he comments on the Psalms (Enarr. in Ps. 99.11–12; in Ps. 132.6–7). The psychologically astute Augustine of the Confessions is evident in the Praeceptum. Only someone who had climbed his way up the social ladder could have written so acutely about the respective challenges of those born wealthy and those born poor. Taken together, the Praeceptum and Ordo monasterii anticipated and, in some cases, directly influenced, later regulae, including that of Benedict. Augustine’s anxiety about monastic integrity and transparency, especially with respect to property, was a recurring theme. A few years after the Praeceptum, he wrote against monastic mendicancy in On the Work of Monks (De opere monachorum, c.401). With its critique of monks who shirked manual labour and a strong emphasis on monas­ tic self-sufficiency, it addressed a perennial issue in monastic life that touches on both ascetic discipline and the proper relationship between monks and the broader Christian community. Honest monks, says Augustine, work hard to support themselves, rather than using spiritual or pastoral duties as an excuse for avoiding humble labour.

Theological Controversy The course of Western monasticism was strongly shaped by late fourth- and early fifthcentury controversies and the literature they generated. Asceticism had long generated tensions. As noted earlier, the encouragement of virginity by Cyprian and Ambrose in

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The Literature of Early Western Monasticism   91 North Africa and Italy in the third and fourth centuries was countercultural. An array of questions continued to recur: was asceticism the preferred, or even the only, path to sal­ vation? How did ascetic movements relate to ecclesiastical authority? What kind of theo­logic­al anthropology did asceticism presume or propose? Reconstructing the issues and events of any early Christian controversy is almost impossible, given the frequent lack of direct information about the losing side and problems of textual survival. That these controversies were important in the history of asceticism and then monasticism, however, is indisputable. The first major controversy over asceticism in the West was the late fourth-century debate over the teachings of the Spanish ascetic Priscillian, later bishop of Ávila (d. 385; Vollmann 1965; Burrus 1995). Priscillian took a severe view of Christian duty, and his emphasis on asceticism found both support and resistance from Iberian bishops. After his opponents appealed to Pope Damasus, a council held in 380 at Sarragossa issued canons that suggest the lineaments of Priscillian’s teaching even as they condemn it. He and some of his supporters travelled to Italy to rally support, and despite failing to see either Pope Damasus or Ambrose, they found some relief through the intervention of secular officials. An edict by the usurping emperor, Magnus Maximus, in 385 that ordered the execution for heresy of Priscillian and several companions, including two bishops, showed how fraught the controversy had become. Subsequent protests against the capital sentence by Martin of Tours and by Ambrose demonstrate that this had become a controversy embroiling several regions of the Western world. The shadow of the Priscillianist controversy lay over the subsequent debates that shaped Western monasticism, and the recurrence of highly charged debates about the place and effects of asceticism is a striking difference from the east. The first of these arose from the teaching of Jovinian, a monk who arrived in Rome in the late 380s. He publically renounced asceticism (though not his own celibacy), arguing that since the grace of baptism was all-sufficient for Christians, additional practices or disciplines were unnecessary (Hunter 2007). In his view there was no reason apart from personal preference to undertake consecrated virginity or monastic life. These positions directly challenged advocates of asceticism, and Jovinian’s claims were duly condemned in 390 by synods in both Rome (under Pope Siricius) and Milan (under Ambrose). Jerome weighed in with the treatise Against Jovinian (Ad Jovinianum), written in 393, which attracted the interest of Augustine. In his On the Good of Marriage (De bono coniugali) and On Holy Virginity (De sancta virginitate), Augustine articulated a view of celibacy and virginity that privileged sexual renunciation but did not negate the benefits and enduring validity of Christian marriage. The Origenist controversy, most intense from 399 to 405, was not directly about the place of asceticism in the Church, but was played out in monastic environments. The principal figures were Greek-speaking, and the impact was felt most directly in the East. However, it drew in the Latin monk-theologians then living in Palestine, Jerome and Rufinus, leaving enduring marks on Latin monastic literature. Allegedly about the teaching of Origen, the controversy was from the start highly politicized, setting bishop against bishop, convulsing monasticism in Egypt and Palestine, and ultimately leading to the downfall of John Chrysostom in Constantinople. It irretrievably destroyed

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92   Columba Stewart, OSB r­ elations between Jerome and Rufinus, both of whom had translated writings by Origen. This first phase of the Origenist controversy, and another round of it in the mid-sixth century, had a devastating impact on the survival of Origen’s works in their original Greek, though many were preserved in Latin. The second phase encompassed the legacy of Evagrius Ponticus as well, with the result that the Latin translations of Evagrius’ works by Rufinus and Gennadius ceased to be copied. Ironically, however, the influence of both Origen and Evagrius on Western monastic theology was ensured by the diaspora of Origenist monks from Egypt after 399, which included John Cassian (discussed later in this chapter). The Origenist controversy led into, and overlapped with, an exclusively Western con­ flict, the Pelagian controversy. This had a more explicitly ascetic focus, while raising theo­logic­al questions about the mechanisms of salvation. Pelagius, a monk from Brittany who lived in Rome from the 380s, argued that true Christianity required asceti­ cal renunciation of marriage, thus opposing Jovinian’s view. Like Jovinian, however, Pelagius had a generous understanding of human potential, arguing that the capacity for ascetic discipline lay within the natural, God-given, ability of every human being. Jovinian had focused his teaching on baptismal grace; Pelagius was more interested in theological anthropology. His claims, however, brought to a crescendo several decades of conflict about the role and scope of human choice in the practice of the Christian life (Lamberigts 2008). By making the obligation of asceticism universal, Pelagius created a pastoral problem for bishops with largely married flocks. And then by arguing that the practice of asceticism was widely achievable, he created a theological problem for those who believed he had minimized the prior necessity and continuing role of divine as­sist­ ance (‘grace’) in the practice of the Christian life. The theological problem attracted the attention of Augustine, Jerome, and others. Jerome saw it as the continuation of the Origenist controversy, linking Pelagian opti­ mism to Evagrius’ teaching on apatheia (Ep. 133). Augustine was driven to the severe view that the fallen human will is utterly unable to choose good without God’s prior election. Pelagius and his follower Caelestius were condemned by bishops of Rome in 417 and again in 418. Even after those condemnations, Augustine continued the fight. The arguments affected at least one monastery in Africa, at Hadrumetum, where monks previously sheltered from the theological battles waged back and forth across the Mediterranean were confounded to learn that Augustine’s position seemed to vacate their efforts to strengthen and refashion a weakened, but not utterly impotent, capacity to choose virtue through ascetic discipline (Brown 2000: 400–410). The fight to correct the monks of Hadrumetum was Augustine’s last battle, waged against the backdrop of the approaching Vandal assault on Roman Africa. It is difficult for the modern reader to reconcile the monastic Augustine of the Praeceptum with the later polemicist of the Pelagian controversy, and impossible to understand fully the circumstances in which he hardened his views on human freedom. After his death, the controversy continued and spread to southern Gaul, with criticism of monks or monasteries considered to be soft on these matters by partisans of Augustine. In the early 430s, Prosper of Aquitaine wrote in response to John Cassian’s

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The Literature of Early Western Monasticism   93 Conference 13, which had addressed some of the controverted issues through the lens of the monastic pursuit of chastity (Stewart 1998: 77–81). In Prosper’s view, Cassian’s typ­ic­ al­ly Eastern monastic approach to the problem of human effort and divine grace had found unacceptably wide agreement among monks in Marseilles and elsewhere in southern Gaul. Prosper’s treatise, commonly known as Against the Conferencer (Contra Collatorem; see Weaver 1996; Casiday 2007), joined to the dominance of Augustine in the Western theological imagination, had the consequence of denying Cassian the ­honour of official sainthood in the West, though not in the Byzantine East, where he is one of the few Latins to be so honoured. The monastic controversy continued for another century, until the Council of Orange in 529. The bishops gathered there under the presidency of the monk-bishop Caesarius of Arles affirmed the Augustinian position. However, the form in which this was done, and in which it was propagated by Caesarius afterwards, left room for human response by ascetic disciplines to the sacramental grace conferred through baptism (Klingshirn 1994: 137–143). In practice, Western monasticism retained an Eastern view of the therapeutic value of ascetic practice while accepting the theological authority of Augustine’s position against Pelagius and his followers. The fundamental tension would endure, manifesting itself in Reformation-era debates about the role of ‘works’, and later within the Roman Catholic world in episodes such as the Jansenist controversy.

The Consolidation of the Literary Tradition The Institutes and Conferences of John Cassian (c.365–c.435), offered nascent monasti­ cism in southern Gaul a carefully crafted presentation of monastic theology and prac­ tice based largely on Egyptian sources. There is no doubt, however, that Cassian knew both Greek and Latin monastic literature and had personal experience of various forms of monastic life in several regions: Palestine, Egypt, Constantinople, and southern Gaul. According to plausible tradition he ended up in Marseilles, where he wrote his monu­ mental compendium of monastic instruction. The prefaces to his writings reveal a rich network of bishops and abbots to whom he offered himself as an expert eager to help efforts to establish or reform monasticism. His approach has been read as a critique of Martin’s charismatic asceticism, preferring the well-established practices of Eastern monasticism to any less-rooted Western varieties. Cassian’s writings were designed as a kind of user’s manual for monasticism, and cover a vast array of topics both spiritual and practical. Major influences on his thought were Origen and Evagrius Ponticus, though he used their ascetical rather than specula­ tive teaching (Stewart 1998, 2003). Cassian planned his work in two parts: ‘institutes’ (instructions) organized topically in twelve books; and three sets of ‘conferences’ attrib­ uted to various Egyptian monks. His stated plan was to devote the Institutes to the ‘outer

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94   Columba Stewart, OSB person’ represented by coenobitic discipline, and the Conferences to the ‘inner person’ represented by the eremitical life. The Institutes begin with an exposition of the monas­ tic habit (Inst. 1) akin to Evagrius’ Letter to Anatolios, the preface to his basic work on asceticism, the Praktikos. Cassian then offers two treatises on monastic prayer (Inst. 2–3) and another on the process of entry and training for monastic life (Inst. 4). A presenta­ tion of the Evagrian scheme of eight generic thoughts follows (Inst. 5–12); Cassian describes them as endemic vices (vitia), paving the way for their repurposing as seven deadly sins. The Conferences, originally planned as a set of ten dialogues with Egyptian hermits featuring the young Cassian and his slightly older friend Germanus, expand the horizon of topics covered in the Institutes even as they revisit some of them. The most significant for later Latin monasticism are Conference 1, on the goal of monastic life; Conferences 9–10 on unceasing prayer, heavily indebted to Evagrius; Conference 13 on grace and free will (the target of Prosper’s ire, as mentioned earlier); Conference 14 on the spiritual interpretation of the Bible (a recapitulation of Origen’s teaching and of Evagrius’ Gnōstikos); Conferences 18–19 on the kinds of monastic life and the respective goals of anchorite and coenobite. Cassian was a synthesizer, not a highly original thinker, though his descriptions of mystical prayer introduce a counterpoint to the intellectual approach to prayer he learned from Evagrius (Stewart 1998: 100–132). Despite suspicions about his views on free will and grace, Cassian’s writings were widely copied and highly valued.

Further Development of Monastic Regulae: Lérins, Arles, and Italy If North Africa was the home of the first known monastic regula, southern Gaul very soon became the site of further development of this Western literary form. Beginning in the early fifth century, a series of regulae emanated from the region, the earliest of these associated with a coenobium on the island of Lérins. The community was founded around 410 by Honoratus, later bishop of Arles, in succession to the eremitical life for­ merly practised there (see ed. and trans. Vogüé 1982). These regulae from southern Gaul, along with Augustine’s Praeceptum, were the building blocks used by sixth-century le­gis­la­tors such as Caesarius of Arles, the anonymous author of the Rule of the Master (Regula Magistri) in central Italy, and then by Benedict to construct their versions of coenobitic monasticism. The preservation of these and later rules by the ninth-century Frankish monastic reformer Benedict of Aniane in his Codex Regularum, a compen­ dium of earlier legislation from which the monks were to read aloud each morning (Bouillet 1965; Semmler 1983), ensured their survival in the Western literary tradition. The earliest and most important of these regulae is the Rule of the [Four] Fathers (Regula sanctorum patrum, abbr. RIVP), associated with Honoratus’ leadership at Lérins in the early fifth century. According to the Life of Honoratus (written by his successor as

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The Literature of Early Western Monasticism   95 bishop of Arles, Hilary), he had been to Greece, Palestine, Egypt, and Italy on monastic pilgrimage. Widely travelled in the east like Cassian (who dedicated the second set of Conferences to him), Honoratus was the sort of well-born, educated monastic type that would lead the Church of Gaul in the fifth century and beyond. The Rule of the Four Fathers begins with a stylized conversation among elders with typically Egyptian names: Serapion, Macarius, Paphnutius, and ‘another Macarius’. The device is superficial but the point is clear: ex oriente lux. It differs from Augustine’s Praeceptum in emphasizing the role of the leader (not yet termed ‘abbot’, but simply is qui praeest, ‘the one who presides’) as guardian of unity and order in the community. This would become typical of Latin rules. The Rule of the Four Fathers also speaks to issues such as reception of new members, hospitality to guests, the daily schedule of prayer and work, transfer of monks from one monastery to another. All of these would become standard features of subsequent regulae. A slightly later rule in the same trad­ ition, the Second Rule of the Fathers (Altera Regula Patrum, abbr. 2RP) builds upon the earlier one and shows the evolution of monastic institutions: the superior now has a title, praepositus (‘prior’, which will soon yield to an Eastern import, abbas, ‘abbot’); the monks are to have time each day for ‘meditation’ (2RP 5), the repetition of biblical texts, a practice characteristic of Egyptian monasticism emphasized by Cassian (the Rule of the Four Fathers had simply given the monks time ‘free for God’, RIVP 10). A section on deportment at common prayer (2RP 6) includes phrases that will be reused again and again, including the Rule of Benedict (RB 43). Third in the series is the Rule of Macarius, around 500, which uses the Second Rule of the Fathers and shows the further develop­ ment of monastic terminology: the superior is now called abbas (Reg. Mac. 27). Other sixth-century regulae from elsewhere in Gaul continue the Lérinian line of development while showing the influence of Pachomian tradition (the aptly named Regula Orientalis) and the increased clericalization of monasteries (the Third Rule of the Fathers). Because many monks from Lérins became bishops in Gaul, it had an outsized influ­ ence. Famous authors such as Vincent of Lérins and Salvian of Marseilles were monks at Lérins, and at the end of the fifth century Caesarius spent some (difficult) years there before ultimately becoming bishop of Arles. Caesarius’ substantial monastic regulae for both women and men parallelled contemporary developments in Italy, where the Rule of the Master (Regula Magistri) and its offspring, the Rule of Benedict, built on the same earlier traditions. Caesarius of Arles (470–542) lived for about a decade at Lérins, serving as cellarer of the monastery before suffering a breakdown from overly severe practice of asceticism. He was sent to Arles, where the bishop was a relative, to recover his health. Within three years, Caesarius had succeeded him as bishop. He founded a community for women near the city that soon had to be brought within the city walls for protection from marauding forces at this time of social collapse. Caesarius attached the monastery directly to the cathedral, and established strict enclosure for the nuns. They did not leave the monastic complex, and few visitors were allowed in to see them. Such a practice was not entirely new, though the absolute nature of its enforcement in Arles was notable. Caesaria, the bishop’s sister, and then their niece (also named Caesaria) served as

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96   Columba Stewart, OSB s­u­per­iors of the monastery. Despite enclosure, the nuns had a considerable degree of autonomy within the walls. The regula Caesarius created for them blends the Eastern sources of Cassian, Pachomius, and the Lérinian tradition with Augustine’s Praeceptum and Caesarius’ own thoughts (half of Caesarius’ Rule for Virgins is based on the Praeceptum and Ordo monasterii). Caesarius was alert to the vulnerability of monastic women to epis­ copal meddling, and sought to protect the nuns from other bishops after his death. He secured a guarantee of their independence from Pope Hormisdas, the first instance of such ‘papal enclosure’ (Testament 8; Ep. Hormisdae). He prepared an abridged form of the rule for men. Later generations of monastic rules in Gaul were based on his work. It would be Benedict’s accomplishment to blend the Egyptian tradition of the Master, based as it was on Cassian (however idiosyncratically interpreted), with the Augustinian tradition of the Praeceptum. The synthesis of the two streams, ascetic and pastoral, would prove extraordinarily durable in the Western monastic tradition.

Future Directions of Research The textual history of Western monasticism is well-tilled soil. There are probably few texts left to discover, but ways of reading them will surely continue to change. The major shifts have already occurred, as interest has moved beyond a narrative shaped by the eventual dominance of Benedictine monasticism to engage with the other forms of ascetic and monastic life that flourished in the late antique West. Equally significant is the fact that even the canonical texts of the mainstream monastic tradition are now being read by scholars who are not themselves members of monastic orders, or condi­ tioned by the interests and concerns of the Western ecclesiastical tradition. For them the ultimate triumph of Benedictine monasticism was neither inevitable nor providential, but the result of complex religious and political forces channelling the pluriform ascetic and monastic traditions described in these pages in unexpected ways. Monastic writers can be interrogated to tease out their motives and anxieties, and the intervention of bishops and secular authorities can be studied in terms of social and political concerns that often had very little to do with the theological agenda that dominated the official rhetoric. With such reading comes keener appreciation that monasticism has always been very much a human project, even as monks, nuns, and their writings have appealed to spiritual values to anchor and guide them.

Suggested Reading There is no single introduction to the literature in English, though the summaries and references in Di Berardino (1986) are very helpful. In French, the exhaustive overview by Vogüé (1991–2008), which ultimately reached twelve volumes, provides meticulous descriptions of the texts included here and many others.

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The Literature of Early Western Monasticism   97

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Ambrose, Letters (Epistulae). Latin text: PL 16: 876B–1286A; O. Faller and M. Zelzer, CSEL 82/1–4 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1968–1996). Eng. trans. (selections) H. De Romestin, NPNF2, 10: 411–473; (complete) M. Beyenka, FC 26 (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America, 1954). Note that there are several systems for numbering the letters: Ep. 63.66–74 (as in PL 16: 1207A–1209C and NPNF2, 10: 457–473) = extra collectionem 14.71–14.74 in CSEL 82/3 (pp. 273–274) = Letter 59 in FC 26 (pp. 347–349, without section numbers). Ambrose, On Virginity (De virginitate). Latin text: PL 16: 265–302. Ambrose, On Virgins, to Marcellina (De virginibus ad Marcellinam). Latin text: PL 16: 187–232. Eng. trans. H. De Romestin, NPNF2, 10: 363–387; B. Ramsey, Ambrose, ECF, 73–116. London and New York: Routledge, 1997. Athanasius, Life of Antony. Latin trans. 1) anonymous version: G. Garitte, Un témoin im­port­ ant du texte de la Vie de S. Antoine par S. Athanase (Rome: Academia Belgica, 1939); 2) by Evagrius of Antioch: PG 26: 834–976, accompanying the Greek text. Augustine, Confessions. Latin text: L.  Verheijen, CCSL 27 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1981). Eng. trans. Henry Chadwick, Confessions. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1991. Augustine, On the Good of Marriage (De bono coniugali). Latin text: J. Zycha, CSEL 41: 187–231 (Vienna: Geroldus, 1900). Eng. trans. R.  Kearney, WSA I/9: 33–61. Hyde Park, NY: New City, 1991. Augustine, On Holy Virginity (De sancta virginitate). Latin text: J. Zycha, CSEL 41: 235–302. Eng. trans. R. Kearney, WSA I/9: 68–107. Hyde Park, NY: New City, 1991. Augustine, Expositions of the Psalms (Enarrationes in Psalmos). Latin text: E. Dekkers et al., CCSL 38–40 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1956). Eng. trans. (Enarr. in Pss. 99–120) E.  Hill, WSA III/19 (Hyde Park, NY: New City, 2003); (Enarr. in Pss. 121–150) M. Boulding, WSA III/20. Hyde Park, NY: New City, 2004. Augustine, On the Work of Monks (De opere monachorum). Latin text: J. Zycha, CSEL 41: 531–596. Eng. trans. M. Muldowney, FC 16: 321–394. New York: FC, 1952. Augustine, Ordo monasterii. Latin text and Eng. trans. Lawless 1987: 74–79. Augustine, Praeceptum. Latin text and Eng. trans.: Lawless 1987: 80–103. Augustine, Sermons 355–356 (Sermones). Latin text: PL 39: 1568–1581. Eng. trans. E. Hill, WSA III/10: 165–183. Hyde Park, NY: New City, 1995. Basil of Caesarea, Rule. Latin text and Eng. trans. A. M. Silvas, The Rule of St Basil in Latin and English: A Revised Critical Edition. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2013. Benedict of Nursia, Rule (Regula Benedicti). Latin text and French trans. A.  de Vogüé and J. Neufville, La Règle de saint Benoît, SC 181–186 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1971–1972). Latin text and Eng. trans. T. Fry et al., RB 1980. The Rule of St. Benedict in Latin and English with Notes. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1981. Caesarius of Arles, Letter of Hormisdas to Caesarius (Ep. Hormisdae). Latin text: G. Morin, Sancti Caesarii episcopi arelatensis Opera omnia (Maredsous, 1942), 2: 125–127; with French trans. A. de Vogüé and J. Courreau, SC 345: 352–359. Eng. trans. W. Klingshirn, Caesarius of Arles: Life, Testament, Letters, TTH 19, 120–122. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 1994. Caesarius of Arles, Rule for Monks. Latin text: Morin, 2: 149–155; with French trans. A.  de Vogüé and J. Courreau, SC 398: 204–227. Caesarius of Arles, Rule for Virgins. Latin text: Morin, 2: 101–124; with French trans. A. de Vogüé and J. Courreau, SC 345: 170–273. Eng. trans. M. McCarthy, The Rule for Nuns of St.

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98   Columba Stewart, OSB Caesarius of Arles: a Translation with a Critical Introduction, 170–204. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 1960. Concilia Africae a.345–a.525. Latin text: C. Munier, CCSL 149. Turnhout: Brepols, 1974. Concilia Galliae a.314–a.506. Latin text: C. Munier, CCSL 148. Turnhout: Brepols, 1963. Concilios visigóticos e hispano-romanos. Latin text and Spanish trans. José Vives. Barcelona: Consejo Superiod de Investigaciones Científicas, Instituto Enrique Flórez, 1963. Council of Orange. Latin text and French trans. J. Gaudemet and B. Basdevant-Gaudemet, SC 353: 154–185; with Eng. trans. F.H. Woods, Canons of the Second Council of Orange, A.D. 529. Oxford: Thornton, 1882. Council of Sarragossa. Latin text: PL 84: 315–318. Cyprian of Carthage, Letter to Pomponius (Ep. 4). Latin text: G. F. Diercks, CCSL 3/B: 17–26 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1994–96). Eng. trans. E. Wallis, ANF 5: 356–358 (=Ep. 61). Cyprian of Carthage, On the Dress of Virgins (De habitu virginum). Latin text: W. Hartel, CSEL 3/1: 185–205 (Vienna: Geroldus, 1868). Eng. trans. R. E. Wallis, ANF 5: 437–447. Hilary of Arles, Life of Honoratus (Vita Honorati). Latin text and French trans. M. D. Valentin, SC 46 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1977). Eng. trans. F. Deferrari, FC 15: 361–394. New York: FC, 1952. Jerome, Against Jovinian (Ad Jovinianum). Latin text: PL 23: 211–338. Eng. trans. (selections) W. H. Fremantle, NPNF2, 6: 346–416. Jerome, Letters (Epistulae). Latin text: I.  Hilberg, CSEL 54–56; 2nd rev. edn. M.  Kamptner, CSEL 56/1, 56/2 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1996). Eng. trans. (selections) W. H. Fremantle, NPNF2, 6: 1–295; (Ep. 1–22 only) C.C. Mierow, ACW 33. New York: Newman Press, 1963. Jerome, Lives of Paul, Malchus, Hilarion. Latin text with French trans. P. Leclerc et al., Trois vies de moines (Paul, Malchus, Hilarion), SC 508 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2007). Eng. trans. W. H. Fremantle, NPNF2, 6: 299–318; R. Deferrari, FC 15: 225–297. New York: FC, 1952. John Cassian, Conferences (Conlationes). Latin text: M. Petschenig; 2nd rev. edn. G. Kreuz, CSEL 13 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2004). Eng. trans. B. Ramsey, John Cassian: The Conferences, ACW 57. New York: Paulist Press, 1997. John Cassian, Institutes (De institutis coenobiorum). Latin text: M. Petschenig; 2nd rev. edn. G.  Kreuz, CSEL 17 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 2004). Eng. trans. B. Ramsey, John Cassian: The Institutes, ACW 58. New York: Paulist Press, 2000. Pachomian literature. Latin trans. Boon 1932. Eng. trans. A. Veilleux, Pachomian Koinonia. 3 vols, CS 45–47. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1980–1982. Paulinus of Nola, Letters (Epistulae). Latin text: G. Hartel; 2nd rev. edn. M. Kamptner, CSEL 29 (Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1999). Eng. trans. P. G. Walsh, The Letters of Paulinus of Nola, ACW 35–36. Westminster, MD: Newman Press, 1966–1967. Prosper of Aquitaine, Against the Conferencer (Liber contra Collatorem). Latin text: PL 51: 213–276. Eng. trans. J. R. O’Donnell, FC 7: 343–418. New York: FC, 1949. Regulae of Lérins and associated texts. Latin text and French trans. A. de Vogüé, Les Règles des saints Pères, SC 297–298 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1982). Eng. trans. C. Franklin et al., Early Monastic Rules: the Rules of the Fathers and the Regula orientalis. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1982. Rufinus, History of Monks (Historia monachorum). Latin text: Eva Schulz-Flügel, PTS 34 (Berlin and New York: de Gruyter, 1990). Eng. trans. N.  Russell, The Lives of the Desert

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The Literature of Early Western Monasticism   99 Fathers (Historia monachorum in Aegypto), CS 34 (Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1981); see pp. 139–155 for Rufinus’ additions to the Greek. Sulpicius Severus, Dialogues (Dialogi or Ad Gallum). Latin text and French trans. J. Fontaine, Gallus: dialogues sur les ‘vertus’ de saint Martin, SC 510 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 2006). Eng. trans. A. Roberts, NPNF2, 11: 24–54; B. Peebles, FC 7: 61–251. New York: FC, 1949. Sulpicius Severus, Life of Martin (Vita Martini). Latin text and French trans. J. Fontaine, Vie de saint Martin, SC 133–135 (Paris: Éditions du Cerf, 1967–69). Eng. trans. A. Roberts, NPNF2, 11:3–17; B. Peebles, FC 7: 101–140. New York: FC, 1949. Tertullian, On the Veiling of Virgins (De virginibus velandis). Latin text: E. Dekkers, CCSL 2: 1207–1226 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1954). Eng. trans. S. Thelwall, ANF 4: 27–37.

Secondary Sources Boon, Amand (1932). Pachomiana latina: règle et épitres de s. Pachome, épitre de s. Théodore et ‘Liber’ de s. Orsiesius. Louvain: Bureaux de la Revue. Bouillet, M. E. (1965). ‘Le vrai «Codex regularum» de saint Benoît d’Aniane’. Revue Bénédictine 75: 345–349. Brown, Peter (2000). Augustine of Hippo: A Biography, rev. edn. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Brown, Peter (1988). The Body and Society: Men, Women, and Sexual Renunciation in Early Christianity. New York: Columbia University Press. Burrus, Virginia (1995). The Making of a Heretic: Gender, Authority, and the Priscillianist Controversy. TCH 24. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Cain, Andrew (2009). The Letters of Jerome: Asceticism, Biblical Exegesis, and the Construction of Christian Authority in Late Antiquity. OECS. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Casiday, Augustine (2007). Tradition and Theology in St John Cassian. OECS. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Chin, Catherine M. (2010). ‘Rufinus of Aquileia and Alexandrian Afterlives: Translation as Origenism’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 18: 617–647. Clark, Elizabeth A. (1992). The Origenist Controversy: The Cultural Construction of an Early Christian Debate. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Di Berardino, Angelo (ed.) (1986). Patrology: The Golden Age of Latin Patristic Literature from the Council of Nicea to the Council of Chalcedon. Westminster, MD: Christian Classics. Dunn, Geoffrey  D. (2005). ‘Rhetoric and Tertullian’s “De Virginibus Velandis” ’. Vigiliae Christianae 59: 1–30. Hamman, Adalbert  G. (1992). ‘Ascèse et virginité à Carthage au IIIe siècle’. In Memoriam Sanctorum Venerantes. Miscellanea in onore di Monsignor Victor Saxer, 503–514. Studi di Antichità Christiana 48. Città del Vaticano: Pontificio Istituto di Archeologia Cristiana. Hammond Bammel, Caroline P. (1996). Origeniana et Rufiniana. Vetus latina: die Reste der Altlateinischen Bibel. Aus der Geschichte der lateinischen Bibel 29. Freiburg i.B.: Herder. Hess, Hamilton (2002). The Early Development of Canon Law and the Council of Serdica. OECS. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Hunter, David G. (2007). Marriage, Celibacy, and Heresy in Ancient Christianity: The Jovinianist Controversy. OECS. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Klingshirn, William E. (1994). Caesarius of Arles: The Making of a Christian Community in Late Antique Gaul. Cambridge Studies in Medieval Life and Thought 22. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press.

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100   Columba Stewart, OSB Lamberigts, Mathijs (2008). ‘Pelagius and Pelagians’. In The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Studies, edited by Susan Ashbrook Harvey and David G. Hunter, 258–279. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Lawless, George (1987). Augustine of Hippo and His Monastic Rule. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Lehmann, Tomas (2004). Paulinus Nolanus und die Basilica Nova in Cimitile/Nola: Studien zu einem zentralen Denkmal der spätantik-frühchristlichen Architektur. Spätantike, frühes Christentum, Byzanz. Reihe B, Studien und Perspektiven, Bd. 19. Wiesbaden: Reichert. Murphy, Francis Xavier (1945). Rufinus of Aquileia (345–411): His Life and Works. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Murphy, Francis Xavier (1947). ‘Melania the Elder: A Biographical Note’. Traditio 5: 59–77. Oldfather, William Abbott (1943). Studies in the Text Tradition of St. Jerome’s Vitae Patrum. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Rebenich, Stefan (1992). Hieronymus und sein Kreis: Prosopographische und sozialgeschichtli­ che Untersuchungen. Historia—Einzelschriften 72. Stuttgart: F. Steiner. Rebenich, Stefan (2002). Jerome. ECF. London: Routledge. Semmler, Josef (1983). ‘Benedictus II: una regula - una consuetudo’. In Benedictine culture 750–1050, edited by Willem Lourdaux, 1–49. Louvain: Louvain University Press. Stancliffe, Clare (1983). St Martin and His Hagiographer: History and Miracle in Sulpicius Severus. OHM. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Stewart, Columba (2016). ‘Evagrius Beyond Byzantium: The Latin and Syriac Receptions’. In Evagrius and His Legacy, edited by Joel Kalvesmaki and Robin Darling Young, 206–235. South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Stewart, Columba (2003). ‘John Cassian’s Schema of Eight Principal Faults and His Debt to Origen and Evagrius’. In Jean Cassien entre l’Orient et l’Occident, edited by Cristian Badilita and Attila Jakab, 205–219. Paris: Beauchesne. Stewart, Columba (1998). Cassian the Monk. Oxford Studies in Historical Theology. New York: Oxford University Press. Trout, Dennis  E. (1999). Paulinus of Nola: Life, Letters, and Poems. TCH 27. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Van den Ven, Paul (1900). ‘S. Jérôme et la Vie du moine Malchus le captif, I’. Muséon: Revue d’études orientales 19: 413–455. Van den Ven, Paul (1901). ‘S. Jérôme et la Vie du moine Malchus le captif, II’. Muséon: Revue d’études orientales 20: 208–326. Verheijen, Luc (1967). La Règle de saint Augustin. Paris: Études augustiniennes. Vogüé, Adalbert de (1991–2008). Histoire littéraire du mouvement monastique dans l’antiquité. 12 vols. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Vollmann, Benedikt (1965). Studien zum Priszillianismus. Die Forschung, die Quellen, der fün­ fzehnte Brief Papst Leos des Grossen. Kirchengeschichtliche Quellen und Studien 7. St. Ottilien: Eos Verlag. Weaver, Rebecca Harden (1996). Divine Grace and Human Agency: A Study of the SemiPelagian Controversy. PMS15. Macon, GA: Mercer University Press.

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chapter 7

A rch a eol ogica l Ev idence for th e Stu dy of E a r ly Monasticism Stephen J. Davis

Introduction The study of archaeological evidence related to early Christian monasticism has a vexed history. Unwarranted claims about the identification and dating of monastic sites have resulted in historical assumptions that do not always stand up to critical scrutiny. Thus, before one can even begin to compile a catalogue of extant remains, it is necessary to address certain problems related to inconsistency in archaeological fieldwork and interpretation. The primary task of this chapter is to present a cautionary tale, to identify how material evidence has been misused in the writing of monastic histories. But it also has a constructive aim: to establish reliable criteria and sponsor more scholarly self-awareness regarding the choices historians make in the interpretation of archaeological data.

Archaeological Practice and Interpretation: Three Stages/ Approaches Archaeology has undergone significant shifts over the past century and a half. One can identify three major ‘stages’ in its development as a modern discipline (Ashmore and Sharer 2000: 35–54), each with a different approach to archaeological interpretation and

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102   Stephen J. Davis practice. But, in fact, these stages (and their corresponding approaches) have overlapped in history and in application. Older methods have continued to be applied even into the twenty-first century, often with problematic outcomes for the archaeology of Christian monasticism. The task here is to separate these strands, in order to enable historians to understand how archaeological knowledge is generated and what constitutes solid evidence for monasticism ‘on the ground’.

Stage One: ‘Cultural-Historical’ Archaeology The nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth were characterized by a hodgepodge of field methods and by a general ‘cultural-historical’ approach to interpreting data yielded in excavations (Boast 2009). A great number of the missions conducted during this period were characterized by an inconsistent scientific method. ‘Excavation’ frequently consisted of wholesale ground clearing with the aim of discovering monumental architectural forms and valuable artefacts, with little attention to the subtleties of stratigraphy (the examination of deposition layers to establish relative chronologies). In the process, much material—and much information—was irretrievably lost. For example, the obsession that nineteenth- and early twentieth-century archaeologists had with Pharaonic-era remains in Egypt ended up leading to the largescale destruction of later Coptic monastic settlements at sites such as Dayr al-Bah·arī near Luxor (Godlewski 1986: 13–20). The traditional ‘cultural-historical’ obsession with periods of origins has not only resulted in the loss of evidence; it has also had a deleterious effect on the dating and identification of material remains. Even where missions have prioritized monastic settlements, one finds a tendency among some researchers to push chronological estimates for dates much earlier than the archaeological evidence supports. There has been a rush to judgement in identifying sites as ‘monastic’ without definitive proof. One reason for this is the misuse of non-archaeological information to interpret results in the field. Later, this chapter will discuss examples of how such non-archaeological information has skewed the interpretation of late ancient monastic material evidence. These include: an over-reliance on ancient typologies of monastic practice and corresponding assumptions of evolutionary historical development; an uncritical appropriation of literary evidence in interpreting evidence in situ; and a tendency to appeal to cataclysmic events as contexts for dating remains, even when there is no specific connection indicated in the finds. In these ways, ‘cultural-historical’ archaeologists and interpreters have drawn on extraneous information to construct historical narratives around otherwise undercontextualized archaeological remains. One of the primary purposes of this chapter is to show that these narratives can be unreliable and should

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Archaeological Evidence for the Study of Early Monasticism   103 not be used as a basis for drawing firm conclusions about early Christian monastic material culture.

Stages Two and Three: Processual and Post-processual Archaeology Since the 1960s, there have been two successive and yet overlapping revolutions in the field of archaeology. These are identified as stages two and three in this brief history of modern archaeological practice and interpretation. The second stage was related to the rise of the ‘processual’ approach (the ‘New Archaeology’). Building on mid-twentiethcentury advances in the physical sciences, processual archaeologists have promoted the more rigorous application of scientific methods in the processing of material remains (Johnson 2009: 74–80). This has meant not only a more systematic emphasis on establishing stratigraphy, but also the integration of various scientific sub-specialities from cognate fields such as biology, geology, physics, and computer science. The guiding assumption was that dispassionate scientific methods could yield more empirically objective conclusions and that archaeological data could be used to determine standard patterns and mechanisms of cultural change in the past (Jones 2002: 11–17). As a result, fruitful new lines of inquiry have emerged, among them the archaeozoological analysis of bones, the archaeo-botanical study of organic material as a source for reconstructing monastic diets, and the use of GPS, magnetometry, and satellite imagery to produce more accurate and more versatile survey maps. The third stage has involved a theoretical critique of certain processualist assumptions. This critique is therefore labelled ‘post-processual’. Post-processual archaeologists continue to employ modern scientific methods, but they reject universalizing, positivist assumptions about patterns of social change. They are sceptical about the possibility of achieving objective results apart from subjective acts of interpretation. Post-processualists have cited many examples of how interpretation is embedded— already frontloaded—in the science of archaeological practice, and in light of this they advocate for more reflexivity and self-awareness when it comes to recognizing how choices made in the field determine particular kinds of results (Johnson 2009: 80–84; Hodder 2012: 1–14; also Brooks Hedstrom 2013 and 2017: 60–62). Such post-processual theoretical perspectives have certainly not impacted all areas of archaeological practice and interpretation: there has been heated resistance in some quarters, and many practitioners still employ ‘cultural-historical’ or ‘processual’ methods. Nonetheless, the post-processual critique has given archaeologists and historians a more flexible toolset for evaluating the consistency (or inconsistency) of archaeological practice and interpretation, and it informs this author’s own analysis of previous scholarship.

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104   Stephen J. Davis

Problems in the Identification of Monastic Sites What criteria are used in identifying particular sites or settlements as ‘monastic’? Unfortunately, this is a question that is not consistently posed in a rigorous, reflexive way among field archaeologists. In a number of cases, sites have simply been assumed to be monastic in character either on the basis of local oral traditions, or on the basis of monastic geographies presented in literary sources. While such working assumptions have often been confirmed by material evidence from surveys and excavations, they also sometimes prove to be misleading, and as a result some sites have been mislabelled as early Christian ‘monasteries’. In what follows, this chapter first discusses selected examples of sites that have been falsely identified as monastic and/or identified as such without sufficient warrant, beginning with a discussion of the Latin West, and then citing selected cases from Asia Minor and Syria. After considering such problems, the chapter turns its attention to the question of what criteria might best be applied in using archaeological evidence to identify early Christian monasteries.

Monasteries That Aren’t In discussing early Christian remains in the West, Kim Bowes (2008: 598) observes that ‘there exists no “monastic archaeology” per se in the fourth through seventh centuries’, a sober evaluation that contrasts sharply with other scholars’ readiness to see physical traces of late ancient monasteries in even the most meagre material remains. What accounts for the disparity between Bowes’ epistemological scepticism and the assessments she critiques? At issue are different criteria for determining what constitutes sufficient evidence. Part of the problem lies in the difficulty of distinguishing between monastic and non-monastic domestic architecture and artefacts. In some cases, the identification of a site as a monastery is motivated primarily by topographical inferences drawn from literary sources, with little or no corroborating physical data (Bowes 2011). Thus, in Italy, the church of San Martino di Copanello has been associated with Cassiodorus (Zinzi 1994), and remains at Subiaco have been connected with Benedict (Carosi 1956; Fiore Cavaliere et al. 1999). These associations are based on textual sources: the archaeological evidence is not forthcoming. A similar situation pertains to San Sebastiano at Alatri (Fentress et al. 2005: 33–70; Hodges 2007), a site associated with Gregory the Great. In fact, at both Alatri and San Vicenzo al Volturno (Hodges 1993–1995) there is no hard physical evidence for monastic communities before the eighth or ninth century. Sites connected with Martin of Tours at Ligugé in France (Février and Duval 1996) and Augustine at Hippo in North Africa (Février 1972, 145–150; Bizot 2005) follow the same pattern: late Roman churches with residential architecture in the vicinity are conjectured to be eponymous monastic

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Archaeological Evidence for the Study of Early Monasticism   105 f­ oundations, despite the fact that no definitive monastic remains can be traced to the era in question. Archaeologists working in the eastern Mediterranean have fallen into similar traps when it comes to contiguous remains of churches and residences. Two cases in point are Cappadocia and northern Syria. In the first decade of the twentieth century Ramsay and Bell (1909/2008) came to Cappadocia and engaged in a series of ad hoc ‘excavations’, involving the cleaning of foundation walls with no systematic recording of stratigraphy or finds. Instead, they focused on architectural typologies, interpreting complexes of buildings as monasteries on the basis of comparisons to analogous (but still understudied) structures in Syria. Almost half a century later, Tchalenko (1953) conducted surveys in northern Syria outside Antioch, focusing primarily on rural village settlements. Despite his self-­admitted difficulties in determining the use of specific structures in the absence of inscriptions, Tchalenko identified around eighty monastic foundations. When combined with results of earlier and later studies, the tally subsequently reached 135 (Hull 2008: 91). But the core elements of these ‘monasteries’—a chapel, a cemetery, structures for habitation (when present), and perhaps a rectangular hall—were features shared in common with local ­village architecture and non-monastic ecclesiastical assemblages such as colleges of presbyters and pilgrimage centres. How to tell the difference? Ousterhout (2008, 2011) and Hull (2008) have recently called into question the overconfident conclusions drawn by Ramsay, Bell, and Tchalenko. On the basis of several campaigns in Cappadocia, Ousterhout concluded that ‘there is virtually no evidence for  monastic settlements that may be securely dated before the tenth century’ (Ousterhout 2011: 5; see also Kalas 2004, 2009). With respect to Syrian monastic sites, Hull has presented a spatial and morphological analysis, crucially reconsidering the question, ‘How do we know that a particular set of material remains on the ground really was a monastery in Late Antiquity’? In reassessing the evidentiary basis for the identification of monasteries in northern Syria, he concluded that only 61 out of the 135 possible sites were ‘likely’, ‘very likely’, or ‘certainly’ monasteries. For the remainder of sites—55 per cent of the original number—the evidence for domestic or ecclesiastical architecture was missing or ambiguous, or the site was unpublished, inadequately documented, or destroyed (Hull 2008: 92–95).

Criteria for Identifying Monastic Sites Hull listed five ‘material correlates’ for determining the monastic identity of a site (inscribed crosses, purpose-built churches, enclosed space, domestic activity, subsistence and/or production), and then applied them to a sliding scale of probability. The more elements present at a particular site, the more likely the site was a monastery. Similar assemblages have been identified at Monte da Cegonha in central Portugal, Parc Central outside Tarragona in Spain, and Saint-Julien-en-Genevois near Geneva. In all these cases, the archaeologists discovered churches in the vicinity of residences and

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106   Stephen J. Davis graves (Lopes and Alfenim  1994; Mar and Salom i Garreta  1999: 175–177; M.  and R. Colardelle 1995). Yet in the absence of other evidence, such assemblages and their attendant features could still just as easily be aligned with non-monastic settlement patterns. In the end, Hull’s underlying criteria are, by his own acknowledgement, still imperfect. What then constitutes definitive material proof that a particular archaeological site is monastic? Here, a hierarchy of evidentiary value needs to be established. The only truly conclusive testimony comes from epigraphic and other documentary evidence: inscriptions, papyri, or ostraca found in situ with specific references to the local monastery itself and its inhabitants. At the Monastery of Epiphanius at Thebes, large numbers of ostraca were discovered—pottery sherds used by the monks to record letters, legal documents, financial accounts, school exercises, and prayers (Winlock and Crum  1926–1933; O’Connell 2007). In the case of an early medieval mud-brick residence in Wādī al-Nat·rūn (ancient Scetis) excavated by the Yale Monastic Archaeology Project (Brooks Hedstrom, Davis et al. 2010), concrete evidence has come in the form of dipinti: prayers and petitions painted on walls and in niches that testify to the name of the local monastery (‘the monastery of John [the Little]’) and to the names of local monks commemorating the memory of their deceased brothers (Kotsifou 2012; Davis 2015), as can be seen in Figure 7.1. In some contexts, visual markings of local space may also strongly suggest the monastic character of the community resident there. Hull mentions inscribed crosses, but while crosses can indeed signal monastic practice, they are also found in non-monastic houses and churches. Figural wall paintings and other visual culture can also provide contextual clues. The aforementioned Yale excavation of a residence in Wādī al-Nat·rūn, for example, has revealed a painted programme featuring Egyptian desert fathers and early Christian martyrs (Davis et al. 2012; Davis 2013). This juxtaposition of images closely recalls the

Figure 7.1  Coptic dipinto containing a petition to the monastic saint Shenoute written by a local monk named Iō: residence B, room 3; Monastery of John the Little, Wādī al-Nat·rūn, Egypt. (Yale Monastic Archaeology Project)

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Archaeological Evidence for the Study of Early Monasticism   107 v­ isual culture of other late ancient and early medieval monastic residences and churches discovered throughout Egypt—elsewhere in Scetis and at Kellia in the north (Evelyn White 1926–1933; Leroy 1982; Guillaumont et al. 1991; Kasser and Bridel et al. 1983–2003), and at Esna and Bawit in the south (Sauneron et al. 1972; Leroy 1975; Clédat 1999). Other notable examples come from Sohag in Upper Egypt, where an image of the archimandrite Shenoute was painted on the barrel vault of a subterranean tomb beneath a trichonch chapel at the White Monastery (Davis et al. 2010; Bolman, Davis et al. 2010, 2011), as can be seen in Figure 7.2, and where the late ancient church at the Red Monastery contains an ­extensive visual programme featuring local monastic leaders alongside Christian apostles, martyrs, and patriarchs (Bolman 2006, 2009, and 2016).

Figure 7.2 Painting of the monastic leader Shenoute (identified in an accompanying Greek inscription): underground tomb, northern face of the barrel vault; White Monastery, Sohag, Egypt. (Yale Monastic Archaeology Project)

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108   Stephen J. Davis Unfortunately, due to environmental factors, artistic and documentary evidence does not always survive in some regions, and so archaeologists are left to piece together other, less definitive factors—e.g. churches, enclosure walls, domestic space, and evidence for ­subsistence/production—in interpreting sites as monasteries. This can cut both ways, however, especially when regional trends are taken into account. For example, at Middle Saxon sites in Britain, certain craft-working tools are found indiscriminately at both monastic and non-monastic settlements while, by contrast, those connected with glassworking and stone sculpture are found almost exclusively at monasteries (Loveluck 2001: 112). Sometimes other factors further complicate matters. At Saint-Julien-en-Genevois in Switzerland, for example, analysis of human burial remains has revealed that 84 per cent of the sexed adults at the local cemetery were men (Bowes 2011: 319–320). Does this ratio increase the likelihood that the settlement was a male monastic foundation? Or does the mere presence of female graves throw the conclusion into doubt? While these questions remain unresolved, the interpretation of such a site as ‘monastic’ should at the very least be considered only provisional. Hull’s work represents a step forwards in recognizing relative probabilities for ­identifying monastic sites. What is proposed here is a model involving a hierarchy of evidentiary value. This model involves a more thoroughgoing recognition of the epistemological limitations that archaeologists face, and the diverse material forms and configurations of early Christian monastic communities (McNally 2001).

Problems in Writing an Archaeological History of Monastic Sites Having addressed the question of how monastic sites are identified, we now turn to the problems involved in writing histories of monastic sites, and how an over-reliance on certain literary and historical frameworks has circumscribed and skewed the interpretation of material diversities in the field. The final section of this chapter has three components. First, it addresses literary ‘wrong turns’, focusing on the misuse of typologies and evolutionary schemas derived from early Christian literature. Second, it interrogates historical ‘wrong turns’, focusing on scholarly obsessions with tracing origins, appeals to historical continuities without regard to the material record, and arguments related to catastrophic events as markers of chronological discontinuity. Third and finally, it addresses the question of what evidentiary-based criteria might be most productively applied in the dating of confirmed monastic sites.

Literary Wrong Turns: Typologies and Evolutionary Schemas In an article about the archaeology of Christianity, Paul Lane (2001: 149–150) critiqued the way that archaeological methods are too often ‘used principally as a means of

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Archaeological Evidence for the Study of Early Monasticism   109 v­ erifying written historical sources’. Writing the same year, Chris Loveluck (2001: 121) emphasized the point: ‘The essential problem remains . . . that it is seldom possible to marry textual and archaeological evidence’. These critiques are cogent: indeed, such ‘text-driven’ approaches have exerted a widespread and undue influence on the archaeology of early Christian monastic sites (Brooks Hedstrom 2013: 300 and 303). Thus, for example, in their work on San Sebastiano at Alatri, Fentress (2005: 22) and Hodges (2007) have each in turn criticized the misuse of literary sources and the pasting of prepackaged historical frameworks onto material data. Let us address some of the infelicitous ways that literary models have been used as a lens through which to view the history of monastic sites. These include, most notably: an over-reliance on misleading social typologies and evolutionary schemas; and unexamined assumptions about periods of origin and architectural continuities. In scholarship on early Christian monasticism, one encounters a very familiar typology employed for analyzing social organization. According to this schema, the ancient monastic world was divided into three distinct types of practice: eremitic (practised by hermits who lived largely solitary lives), semi-eremitic (characterized by small clusters or networks of monks living in master-teacher arrangements), and coenobitic (large communities of monks usually governed by a shared rule and discipline). This typological framework derives from the late fourth-century writings of Jerome, who discussed these ‘three classes of monks’ in a letter to the young virgin Eustochium (Ep. 22. 34–36). Jerome’s categories have since been taken up wholesale by modern historians and archaeologists, who have commonly read his system of classification as a straightforward description of what the monastic landscape looked like in late antiquity. A closer reading, however, shows that Jerome’s typology was more prescriptive than descriptive. There is a clear hierarchy among the three types, with eremitic and coenobitic monasticism valued most highly. With regard to the middle category—monks who ‘live together in two and threes . . . and are bound by no rule’—Jerome had a decidedly negative opinion. He regarded them as ‘a very inferior and little regarded type’. Jerome’s aim therefore was not simply to describe the kinds of monasticism that were practised in Egypt: it was to authorize two (and only two) forms of practice and to derogate (or ignore) all others. Despite its tendentious nature, modern archaeologists and historians have tried to force the field data to fit Jerome’s typology, often in conjunction with linear theories of evolutionary architectural development. Thus, in his study of monastic remains on Kharg Island in the Persian Gulf, Steve (2003: 87–90) called the individual monk’s cell ‘the fundamental element of monasticism’ and on the basis of hagiographical sources traced the cell’s organic ‘evolution’ and ‘expansion’ into larger-scale coenobitic enclosures. The archaeology of monasticism in the Judean Desert has followed a similar interpretive pattern. Hirschfeld (1992: 69–70; 1993), for example, used saints’ vitae extensively as archaeological guides and established an evolutionary schema for reading material remains. Thus, in discussing monasteries thought to be founded by the monk Euthymius, Hirschfeld described a ‘guru pattern’ by which an experienced ascetic would go into seclusion and attract a small cadre of disciples, who would (in yet another development) eventually ‘constitute the core of a new community’ (1992: 69). In this way, he considered

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110   Stephen J. Davis as conventional ‘the conversion of the hermitage into a monastery’ and used this developmental model as a lens through which to analyze the monastic archaeology he surveyed. Patrich (1995: 62–63), in his work on the Palestinian monastery of Mar Saba, likewise argued for different stages of construction on the basis of literary references, beginning with the cell of the founder and continuing with increasingly complex and expansive building projects that resulted in the coenobium known as the ‘Great Lavra’. It is necessary to scrutinize such typologies and evolutionary schemas, especially when posited in the absence of stratified archaeological evidence. While sometimes partially explanatory, theories of linear development leave insufficient room for the description of hybrid and heterogeneous forms that blur, transgress, and subvert the distinction between solitary hermits and monastic communities (Goehring  1999: 39–52, 73–88; McNally 2001; Aravecchia 2001; Wipszycka 2009: 111–116). Such models fail to take enough account of local complexities found at the intersection of architectural adaptation and monastic practice, such as the adaptive reuse of caves, quarries, temples, and tombs, or the quotidian renovation of purpose-built, residential structures (Brooks Hedstrom 2001 and 2017). The problem of reading literature into the landscape manifests itself in other ways as well. This happens, for example, when archaeologists try to match up details in ­hagiographical sources with topographical or architectural features on the ground. Thus, Patrich (1995: 62) noted topographical details mentioned in the vitae of local Palestinian saints and then scoured the landscape for local remains ‘best fitting this description’. In one example, he claimed that an account of a fruit orchard, path, and wadi in the Life of John the Hesychast ‘remarkably matche[d] the remains located at the top of a narrow, elongated, and nameless hill’ (1995: 145). The effect of this method was to obscure temporal difference—to align the time frame of the saints’ vita with what could be observed in the present-day landscape. In the absence of datable material evidence, the use of hagiographical literature for reconstructing the physical layout of sites requires more circumspection. Another way that texts can be misapplied is when archaeologists hypothesize about the function of buildings within monastic assemblages. Architectural remains frequently lack on-site markers that might indicate how individual structures were used. Nonetheless, many archaeologists attempt to label the buildings anyway, and they often do so not on the basis of material data in situ, but rather by relying on their knowledge of building types known from textual sources. Tchalenko (1953: 19–20), commenting on monastic material evidence from northern Syria, observed the difficulties involved in reconstructing the specific usage of buildings without the help of inscriptions or literary references as archaeological guides. Yet he sometimes exerted a free hand in filling those evidentiary gaps. Thus, despite a lack of evidence for residential architecture at one Syrian site, he still thought it ‘necessary to believe that the monks lived dispersed in huts that did not leave any trace’ (1953: 20). In an Arabic-language article on the Syrian monastery at Qinnisre, Yūsif al-D·ābit·ī (2007: 87–92) likewise conjectured about the original social function of extant architecture: in one instance, he surmised that a rectangular space was a chapel, ‘perhaps’ the Church of St Thomas familiar to him from ‘some

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Archaeological Evidence for the Study of Early Monasticism   111 historical sources’. A similar method of labelling buildings is found in Steve’s publication on Kharg Island. Despite his acknowledgement that ‘it is difficult . . . to localize with surety certain components that compose the monastery’, he still used literary accounts of local saints to trace an architectural evolution at the site and thus claimed to have identified the monastic library, refectory, place of catechesis, and scriptorium, with little material evidence to support his identifications (Steve 2003: 90, 106–112). The cumulative result of this method of labelling buildings unfortunately ends up being more than the sum of its parts. Readers come away with the impression that sites are populated with identifiable institutional structures, when in fact the archaeology remains mute on the subject. The material evidence speaks in an inaudible whisper, while literary accounts of monastic communities echo loudly in archaeologists’ ears as they try to reconstruct topographies and terrains.

Historical Wrong Turns: Origins, Continuities, and Catastrophic Change in Archaeological Interpretation Two additional, oft-encountered problems relate to latent assumptions about continuity and change. The first of these involves an obsession some archaeologists have with periods of origins and the assertion of temporal and geographical continuities as a way of recovering these origins. We see this impulse, for example in Martin’s work on Dayr al-Dīk at Antinoe (1971). Martin dated the surveyed remains on the basis of typological parallels: he compared decorative crosses, the style of the niche in the church apse, and the presence of a tower to sixth-century comparanda found in other excavations in Egypt (1971: 45–48). Yet having argued for this time frame, Martin then went on to suggest that the monastery’s establishment ‘could have been earlier’, imagining an idyllic scenario of origin—‘a spiritual master gathering together a community that perseveres in his spirit and keeps his memory alive’. The result was an analysis that assumed a physical continuity between what was actually found in the ground and an earlier, hypothetical, ‘more modest period of establishment’ (1971: 50). Martin is by no means alone in asserting such continuities. In discussing the Monastery of John the Little in Wādī al-Nat·rūn, Grossman (2009: 167–170) has also felt compelled to date a set of rooms under the archaeological church to the earliest period of monasticism in the region, even though ‘no datable material’ had been found there to indicate a late fourth-century date. In an article on monastic refectories, Popović (1998: 283) has similarly sought to trace their ‘spatial disposition’ back in time ‘to the very beginnings of monasticism in Egypt and Palestine’. Her argument hinged on an assumption about continuity in monastic architecture and practice: that the relationship between places of eating and worship observable today at medieval monasteries would have closely mirrored the physical layout of communities in the fourth century. In his work on Mar Saba in Palestine, Patrich (1995: 62) has likewise presumed that what could be observed in the present-day stands in continuity with the natural and built environments of earlier eras. Recalling an account about a spring in the saint’s vita, he sought to

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112   Stephen J. Davis ‘confirm’ the story by way of present-day markers: ‘The monks of Mar Saba have preserved as a holy site until the present day this small fountain, which is located below their monastery’. Such arguments repeatedly reassert historical continuities not specifically documented in the material evidence. But assumptions about architectural and topographical continuities are not the only stumbling block: discontinuities have also posed a problem for archaeologists attempting to reconstruct the history of monastic sites. One example is the way that archaeologists habitually appeal to ‘barbarian’ raids as the reputed cause of destruction at monastic sites. The problem is that the archaeology itself typically does not explicitly support such arguments. Even in cases where the investigators find a layer of ash or other indications of fire or burning in stratigraphic context, there are usually other explanations ready-tohand, including the everyday reality of domestic fires that sometimes blazed out of control. Yet the practice of blaming the barbarians has become common parlance in the interpretation of archaeological evidence from Egypt to western Europe. In his study of monasticism in Wādī al-Nat·rūn, Evelyn White attributed the absence of early material evidence there to the utter destruction wrought by nomadic tribes. At St Macarius, the fifth-century monastic buildings were supposedly ‘swept away by barbarian raids’ on three separate occasions, and ‘all the other [seventh-century] buildings of the monastery were either totally destroyed or reduced to gutted ruins’ (1933: vol. 3, 31, and 35). At the Monastery of St Bishoi, the seventh-century buildings ‘all perished’ in these raids and ‘no trace of them can now be recognized’ (1933: vol. 3, 134). He narrates a similar history at the Monastery of Barāmūs, which purportedly went through four stages of destruction at the hands of raiders. Unfortunately, none of these incursions are grounded in local archaeological evidence: instead, they are extrapolated on the basis of literary accounts that refer to events taking place at different geographical locations across Egypt. Evelyn White’s approach to monastic history has been adopted in more recent archaeological work conducted at Wādī al-Nat·rūn as well. Innemée (2006: 63), reporting on excavations at Barāmūs, has attributed a partial ‘destruction and levelling of buildings’ to ‘the events that took place around 817, when a Bedouin invasion took place’. His hypothesis was based on an account in the medieval History of the Patriarchs, but again, no definitive links to this event have been found in the architecture or small finds. This perpetuation of a mythology regarding the catastrophic changes allegedly wrought by ‘barbarian’ invaders has taken on a life of its own and has seeped deeply into the cultural memory of historical and archaeological scholarship (Luckritz-Marquis 2012: 148–194). The Bedouins of the Egyptian Western Desert are not the only scapegoats for archaeologists seeking an explanation for sites that fell into ruin. In southern Europe and Asia Minor, there were other invaders to blame. At Ligugé in France (Février and Duval 1996: 280) and Subiaco in Italy (Carosi 1956; Fiore Cavaliere et al. 1999), investigators pinned the demolition of buildings on barbarian tribes from the north. At Monte de Cegonha (Vidigueira) in Portugal and at Cappadocia in Asia Minor (modern-day Turkey), Arab armies have been fingered as the cause of destruction. Thus, Lopes and Alfenim (1994:

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Archaeological Evidence for the Study of Early Monasticism   113 496, 499) attributed the abandonment of Monte de Cegonha to a ‘Muslim invasion’, drawing this conclusion only on the basis of a burn layer and an incomplete study of tenth- to twelfth-century ceramic finds. Ramsay and Bell, in their work on what they thought were Cappadocian monasteries, assumed that local fortifications ‘must have been constructed . . . [when] the Arabs were a constant terror’, and that certain kinds of Christian ornamentation were unlikely ‘to have survived the Arab raids . . . when the older art and civilization of the plateau seem to have been destroyed’ (1909/2008: 542). They thereby granted the Arab incursions of the eighth and ninth centuries ‘a primary role as agents for the changes evident in the archaeological record’ even though there seems to have been ‘no independent physical evidence’ to back up their historical reconstruction (Ousterhout and Jackson 2008: xxi, xxvi). Such ‘mono-causal explanations for cultural change’ end up reinscribing a historical framework that (like Jerome’s typology) has its roots not in material realia but in early Christian literary subjectivities. This is not to say that catastrophic events must simply be ruled out of hand, only that archaeologists should be expected to tie such chronological and causal arguments to the specific stratigraphy and material evidence in situ. Something more closely approximating this has occurred in the work conducted by Hodges at San Vincenzo (1993: 27–34; 1995: 153 and 161; 2012: 63), where the discovery of Saracenic arrowheads within a stratigraphic burn layer across the site provides more compelling, corroborative evidence linking these finds to an Arab invasion that took place in 881 ce. Another promising example is the use of ‘palinological analysis’ to track shifts in local agricultural activity in Anatolia—shifts that match up with the Arab occupation of the area ca. 670 to 950 ce (Ousterhout 2011: 2–3). Unfortunately, when it comes to monastic sites, theories about nomadic invasions are too often detached from the kinds of archaeological data that would constitute convincing evidence for the claims being made.

Criteria for Dating Monastic Sites How then might archaeological practitioners and interpreters avoid these wrong turns in their historical analysis of early Christian monastic sites? What reliable criteria do we have for dating and contextualizing architectural and artefactual evidence? This chapter has emphasized the importance of establishing and documenting stratigraphic relationships. But taken on its own, stratigraphy does not serve as a method for absolute dating: it only establishes relative benchmarks for determining what was deposited earlier and what was deposited later. To determine more specific dates (or date ranges) for excavated material, archaeologists must turn to other methods, each of which has its own limitations. At early Christian monastic sites, the most definitive method is via the discovery of inscriptions containing specific dates. Thus, the Yale excavators in Wādī al-Nat·rūn have found two inscriptions with dates—anno martyrum 673 and 702 (= 956/7 and 985/6 ce)—both within established stratigraphic contexts (Davis 2008: 24–25; Davis et al. 2012: 11), the latter of which is shown in Figure 7.3. These provide a specific time frame during which we know monks

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114   Stephen J. Davis

Figure 7.3  Coptic dipinto containing the date AM 702 (985/6 ce): residence B, room 3, northern face of a niche in the western wall; Monastery of John the Little, Wādī al-Nat·rūn, Egypt. (Yale Monastic Archaeology Project)

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Archaeological Evidence for the Study of Early Monasticism   115 were writing commemorative petitions on the walls of the building. But it is rather rare to come across such dated inscriptions during the course of an excavation. Dated papyri or ostraca are just as rare, but when found they can also help in dating the buildings in which they were discovered. But this is true only under certain conditions. Such portable items could travel far and wide before arriving at their final resting place, and may in some cases have been discarded or deposited after a building’s abandonment (another reason why establishing stratigraphy is so important). In any case, the survival of writing on plaster, papyri, and ceramic sherds is highly dependent on environmental factors: such media are usually preserved intact only in arid climates. Apart from epigraphical and papyrological sources found in situ, archaeologists can turn to other methods of ‘absolute’ dating, including radiocarbon dating (Carbon-14) and dendrochronology for organic materials (e.g. wood or seeds), and geomagnetic dating and thermoluminescence for inorganic materials (e.g. ceramics). These methods, however, have been applied only rarely to early Christian monastic remains due to several factors, including cost, complications involving permissions, lack of local access to technological equipment, or insufficient sample sizes. While geomagnetic dating can yield results within plus or minus fifteen to sixty years, other methods such as C-14 are sometimes limited by a range of variables and statistical uncertainties, meaning that the resulting date ranges are sometimes measured not in decades, but in centuries (Wolfman 1984: 363–458; Ashmore and Sharer 2000: 147–168). More commonly used methods of dating at monastic sites have focused on coins, paleography, and (especially) ceramics and glass, but these too have important restrictions. The discovery of a dated coin in a stratigraphic context does not give us a definitive date for that deposition layer, because coin usage often continued over long periods, in variable supply and distribution (Loveluck 2001: 118). Instead, coins provide researchers with a terminus post quem, a chronological starting point. Paleographical analysis of otherwise undated writings on plaster, papyri, and pottery can also sometimes provide date estimates within one or two hundred years, but this varies depending on the surviving condition, language, style, and provenance of the writing. The analysis of ceramics and glass depends on the study of historical patterns related to composition, style, and dissemination. These methods can also provide date estimates within a century or two, as shown in the documentation of ceramic and glass finds at Egyptian monastic sites such as Esna and Kellia (Sauneron et al. 1972, vol. 3; Egloff 1977; Henein and Wuttmann 2000; Kasser and Bridel et al. 1983–2003). The Yale excavation in Wādī al-Nat·rūn provides another example: in the monastic residence, pottery was found in situ, either in stratigraphic context within sand fill or reused architecturally for ventilation and light, storage, cooking, and general construction (Pyke and Brooks Hedstrom 2013), as can be seen in Figure 7.4. The analysis of this ceramic assemblage has shown that the use of domestic pottery ceased before the end of the ninth century. The implication is that the building no longer functioned as a full-time residence after 900 ce. How can this be reconciled with the aforementioned evidence of tenth-century petitions written on the walls of the same building? It probably means that the petitions were recorded by local monks visiting the abandoned residence for the purpose of ­praying in its ‘oratory’ (room 3), which featured a painted

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Figure 7.4  Air shafts made from pieces of ceramic pots, set within a window frame: residence B, room 4 north; Monastery of John the Little, Wādī al-Nat·rūn, Egypt.

(Yale Monastic Archaeology Project)

programme of saints, martyrs, and monks (Davis 2015 and 2017). This example shows how different kinds of data and dating criteria need to be considered in reconstructing the history and social function of monastic structures.

Conclusion So where does all this leave us? It should be clear by now that archaeological remains do not speak for themselves. We find them always already embedded not only in complex stratigraphies (or devoid of them), but also in complex interpretive frameworks that sometimes require further unpacking to get at what such finds can actually tell us about monastic material histories. This chapter has therefore had a primarily critical and deconstructive aim, with the goal of giving historians new eyes to see some of the traditional blind spots connected with the archaeology of late ancient and early medieval Christian monasteries. When it comes to matters of preservation, conservation, and heritage management, things get even more complicated (Davis 2019). But that is a subject for another day. For now, let us simply close with a word of caution. When an archaeologist identifies a site as a monastery,

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Archaeological Evidence for the Study of Early Monasticism   117 or narrates the chronology of a monastic site, one should always ask the question, ‘On the basis of what criteria are such identifications and chronologies made’? The answer to this question will help determine whether the evidence under discussion truly constitutes a material source for the study of early Christian monasticism.

Bibliography Aravecchia, N. (2001). ‘Hermitages and Spatial Analysis: Use of Space at the Kellia’. In Shaping Community: The Art and Archaeology of Monasticism, edited by S. McNally, 29–38. Oxford: Archaeopress. Ashmore, W. and R. J. Sharer (2000). Discovering Our Past: A Brief Introduction to Archaeology, 3rd edn. Mountain View, CA: Mayfield. Bizot, B. (2005). ‘La basilique et ses abords’. In Hippone, edited by X. Delestre, 193–215. Aix-enProvence: Édisud. Boast, R. (2009). ‘The Formative Century, 1860–1960’. In The Oxford Handbook of Archaeology, edited by B. Cunliffe et al., 47–70. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Bolman, E. S. (2016). The Red Monastery Church: Beauty and Asceticism in Upper Egypt. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press and the American Research Center in Egypt. Bolman, E. S. (2009). ‘Reflections on the Red Monastery Project: 2000–2008’. Bulletin of the American Research Center in Egypt 194: 9–13. Bolman, E. S. (2006). ‘Late Antique Aesthetics, Chromophobia, and the Red Monastery, Sohag, Egypt’. Eastern Christian Art 3: 1–24. Bolman, E. S., S. J. Davis, and G. Pyke (2010). ‘Shenoute and a Recently Discovered Tomb Chapel at the White Monastery’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 18.3: 453–462. Bolman, E. S., S. J. Davis et al. (2011). ‘The Tomb of St. Shenoute? More Results from the White Monastery (Dayr Anba Shenouda), Sohag’. Bulletin of the American Research Center in Egypt 198: 31–38. Bowes, K. (2011). ‘Inventing Ascetic Space: Houses, Monasteries and the “Archaeology of Monasticism” ’. In Western Monasticism Ante Litteram: The Spaces of Monastic Observance in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages, edited by H.  Dey and E.  Fentress, 315–351. Turnhout: Brepols. Bowes, K. (2008). ‘Early Christian Archaeology: A State of the Field’. Religion Compass 2.4: 575–619. Brooks Hedstrom, D.  L. (2017). The Monastic Landscape of Late Antique Egypt: An Archaeological Reconstruction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brooks Hedstrom, D.  L. (2013). ‘Models of Seeing and Reading Monastic Archaeology’. Cistercian Studies Quarterly 48.3: 299–315. Brooks Hedstrom, D. L. (2001). ‘Your Cell Will Teach You All Things’: The Relationship between Monastic Practice and the Architectural Design of the Cell in Coptic Monasticism, 400–1000. PhD dissertation, Miami University of Ohio. Brooks Hedstrom, D. L., S. J. Davis et al. (2010). ‘New Archaeology at Ancient Scetis: Surveys and Initial Excavations at the Monastery of St. John the Little in Wādī al-Nat·rūn’. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 64: 1–11. Carosi, P. (1956). Il primo monastero benedettino. Rome: ‘Orbis Catholicus’, Herder. Clédat, J. (1999). Le monastère et la nécropole de Baouît. Edited by D. Bénazeth and M.-H. Rutschowscaya. Cairo: IFAO.

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118   Stephen J. Davis Colardelle, M. and R. Colardelle (1995). ‘Saint-Julien-en-Genevois. Chapelle Saint-Martin’. In Les premiers monuments chrétiens de la France, vol. 1, edited by N. Duval, 301–304. Paris: Picard. D·ābit·ī, Yūsif al- (2007). ‘Iktishāf Dayr Qinsirayn – Monastery of Qinnisre’. Mahd al-H· ad· arāt 2: 83–99. Davis, S.  J. (2019). ‘Manuscripts, Monks, and Mufattishīn: Digital Access and Concerns of Cultural Heritage in the Yale Monastic Archaeology Project’. In Ancient Manuscripts in Digital Culture: Visualisation, Data Mining, Communication, edited by D.  Hamidović, C. Clivaz, and S. Savant, 70–83. Digital Biblical Studies 3. Leiden: Brill. Davis, S.  J. (2017). ‘Curriculum Vitae et Memoriae: The Life of Saint Onophrius and Local Practices of Monastic Commemoration’. In From Gnostics to Monastics: Studies in Coptic and Early Christianity, edited by D. Brakke, S. J. Davis, and S. Emmel, 383–391. Orientalia Lovaniensia Analecta 263. Leuven: Peeters. Davis, S. J. (2015). ‘Shenoute in Scetis: New Archaeological Evidence for the Cult of a Monastic Saint in Early Medieval Wādī al-Nat·rūn’. Coptica 14: 1–19. Davis, S. J. (2013). ‘Completing the Race and Receiving the Crown: 2 Timothy 4:7–8 in Early Christian Monastic Epitaphs at Kellia and Pherme’. In Asceticism and Exegesis in Early Christianity, edited by H.-U. Weidemann, 334–73. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Davis, S. J. (2008). ‘The Arabic Life of St. John the Little by Zacharias of Sakhā (MS Göttingen Arabic 114)’. Coptica 7: 1–185. Davis, S. J. et al. (2012). ‘Life and Death in Lower and Upper Egypt: A Brief Survey of Recent Monastic Archaeology at Yale’. Journal of the Canadian Society for Coptic Studies 3: 9–26. Davis, S. J. et al. (2010). ‘Archaeology at the White Monastery, 2005–2010’. Coptica 9: 25–58. Duval, N. (1986). ‘Les témoignages archéologiques du monachisme en Afrique du nord’. In Le site monastique copte des Kellia. Actes du colloque de Genève, edited by P. Bridel, 273–287. Geneva: Mission suisse d’archeólogie copte de l’Université de Genève. Egloff, M. (1977). Kellia. La poterie copte. Quatre siècles d’artisinat et d’échanges en Basse Égypte. Geneva: Georg. Evelyn White, H. G. (1926–1933). The Monasteries of the Wadi ‘n Natrûn. 3 vols. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Reprinted by Arno Press, 1973. Fentress, E. et al. (eds) (2005). Walls and Memory: The Abbey of San Sebastiano at Alatri (Lazio), from Late Roman Monastery to Renaissance Villa and Beyond. Turnhout: Brepols. Février, P.-A. (1972). ‘Les sources épigraphiques et archéologiques et l’histoire religieuse des provinces orientales de l’Afrique antique’. Corsi di cultura sull’arte ravennate e bizantina 19: 131–158. Février, P.-A. and N. Duval (1996). ‘Ligugé. Église Saint-Martin’. In Les premiers monuments chrétiens de la France, vol. 2, edited by N. Duval, 278–283. Paris: Picard. Fiore Cavaliere, M. G., Z. Mari, and A. Luttazzi (1999). ‘La villa di Nerone a Subiaco e la fondazione del monastero benedettino di S.  Clemente’. In Il Lazio tra antichità e medioevo. Studi in memoria di Jean Coste, edited by Z. Mari, M. Teresa Petrara, and M. Sperandio, 341–67. Rome: Quasar. Godlewski, W. (1986). Le monastère de St Phoibammon. Warsaw: PWN—Éditions scientifiques de Pologne. Goehring, J. E. (1999). Ascetics, Society, and the Desert: Studies in Early Egyptian Monasticism. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Grossmann, P. (2009). ‘On the Architecture at Wādī al-Nat·rūn’. In Christianity and Monasticism in Wadi al-Natrun, edited by M. S. A. Mikhail and M. Moussa, 159–184. Cairo: AUC Press.

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Archaeological Evidence for the Study of Early Monasticism   119 Guillaumont, A. et al. (1991). ‘Kellia’. In The Coptic Encyclopedia, vol. 5, edited by A. S. Atiya, 1396–1410. New York: Macmillan. Henein, N. H. and M. Wuttmann (2000). Kellia. II. L’ermitage copte QR 195. I. Archéologie et architecture. Plans. Cairo: IFAO. Hirschfeld, Y. (1992). The Judean Desert Monasteries in the Byzantine Period. New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. Hodder, I. (ed.) (2012). Archaeological Theory Today, 2nd edn. Cambridge and Malden, MA: Polity Press. Hodges, R. (2011). ‘A Postcard from San Vincenzo al Volturno’. Current World Archaeology 47: 60–63. Hodges, R. (2007). ‘Making Memory into History? A Re-interpretation of San Sebastiano at Alatri’. Journal of Roman Archaeology 20: 705–712. Hodges, R. (ed.) (1993–1995). San Vincenzo al Volturno. 2 vols. London: British School at Rome. Hull, D. (2008). ‘A Spatial and Morphological Analysis of Monastic Sites in the Northern Limestone Massif, Syria’. Levant 40.1: 89–113. Innemée, K. (2006). ‘Excavations at the Site of Deir al-Baramus 2002–2005’. Bulletin de la Société d’archéologie copte 44: 55–68. Johnson, M.  H. (2009). ‘The Theoretical Scene, 1960–2000’. In The Oxford Handbook of Archaeology, edited by B.  Cunliffe, C.  Gosden, and R.  A.  Joyce, 71–88. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Jones, A. (2002). Archaeological Theory and Scientific Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kalas, V. (2009). ‘Challenging the Sacred Landscape of Byzantine Cappadocia’. In Negotiating Secular and Sacred in Medieval Art: Christianity, Islam, and Buddhism, edited by A. Luyster and A. Walker, 147–173. Farnham, UK: Ashgate. Kalas V. (2004). ‘Early Explorations of Cappadocia and the Monastic Myth’. Byzantine and Modern Greek Studies 28: 101–119. Kasser, R., P. Bridel et al. (1983–2003). EK 8184. 4 vols. Mission Suisse d’archéologie copte de l’Université de Genève. Louvain: Peeters. Kotsifou, C. (2012). ‘Copyists of Dipinti, Copyists of Manuscripts: Scribal Practice at the Monastery of St. John the Little’. Paper presented at the Tenth International Congress of Coptic Studies, Rome. Lane, P. (2001). ‘The Archaeology of Christianity in Global Perspective’. In Archaeology and World Religion, edited by T. Insoll, 148–181. London and New York: Routledge. Leroy, J. (1982). Les peintures des couvents du Ouadi Natroun. Cairo: IFAO. Leroy, J. (1975). Les peintures des couvents du desert d’Esna. Cairo: IFAO. Lopes, M. C. and R. Alfenim (1994). ‘A villa romana do Monte da Cegonha’. In Arqueología en el Entorno del Bajo Guadiana, edited by J.  Campos, et al., 485–502. Huelva: Grupo de Investigación Arqueológica del Patrimonio del Suroeste, Universidad de Huelva. Loveluck, C. (2001). ‘Wealth, Waste and Conspicuous Consumption. Flixborough and Its Importance for Middle and Late Saxon Rural Settlement Studies’. In Image and Power in the Archaeology of Early Medieval Britain, edited by H. Hamerow and A. MacGregor, 79–130. Oxford: Oxbow. Luckritz-Marquis, C. (2012). ‘Haunted Paradise: Remembering and Forgetting Among Ascetics of the Egyptian Desert’. PhD dissertation, Duke University.

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120   Stephen J. Davis Mar, R. and C. Salom i Garreta (1999). ‘Via, villa i basilica del Parc Central’. In Del Romà al Romànic: Història, art i cultura de la Tarraconense mediterrània entre els segles IV i X, 175–77. Barcelona: Enciclopèdia Catalana. Martin, M. (1971). La Laure de Dêr al Dîk à Antinoé. Cairo: IFAO. McNally, S. (2001). ‘Introduction’. In Shaping Community: The Art and Archaeology of Monasticism, edited by S. McNally, 3–14. Oxford: Archaeopress. O’Connell, E.R. (2007). ‘Transforming Monumental Landscapes in Late Antique Egypt: Monastic Dwellings in Legal Documents from Western Thebes’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 15.2: 239–273. Ousterhout, R. G. (2011). A Byzantine Settlement in Cappadocia. Rev. edn. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks/Harvard University. Original edition 2005. Ousterhout, R. G. and M. P. C. Jackson. (2008). ‘Editors’ Foreword’. In The Thousand and One Churches, edited by W. M. Ramsay and G. L. Bell, ix–xxviii. Repr. edn. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Patrich, J. (1995). Sabas, Leader of Palestinian Monasticism: A Comparative Study in Eastern Monasticism, Fourth to Seventh Centuries. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Popović, S. (1998). ‘The “Trapeza” in Cenobitic Monasteries: Architectural and Spiritual Contexts’. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 52: 281–303. Pyke, G. and D.  Brooks Hedstrom (2013). ‘The Afterlife of Sherds: Architectural Re-use Strategies at the Monastery of John the Little, Wadi Natrun’. In Functional Aspects of Egyptian Ceramics in Their Archaeological Context, edited by B. Bader and M. F. Ownby, 307–325. Louvain: Peeters. Ramsay, W. M. and G. L. Bell (1909/2008). The Thousand and One Churches. London: Hodder and Stoughton. 2008 repr. edn, edited by R. G. Ousterhout and M. P. C. Jackson. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Museum of Archaeology and Anthropology. Sauneron, S., J. Jacquet et al. (1972). Les ermitages chrétiens du désert d’Esna. 4 vols. Cairo: IFAO. Steve, Marie-Joseph. (2003). L’Île de Khārg: Une page de l’histoire du Golfe Persique et du monachisme oriental. Neuchâtel: Recherches et publications. Tchalenko, G. (1953). Villages antiques de la Syrie du Nord: Le massif du Bélus a l’époque romaine, vol. 1. Paris: Paul Geuthner. Winlock, H. E. and W. E. Crum (1926–1933). The Monastery of Epiphanius at Thebes. 2 vols. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Wipszycka, E. (2009). Moines et communautés monastiques en Égypte (IVe–VIIIe siècles). Warsaw: Warsaw University Faculty of Law and Administration and Institute of Archaeology. Wolfman, D. (1984). ‘Geomagnetic Dating Methods in Archaeology’. Advances in Archaeological Method and Theory 7: 363–458. Zinzi, E. (1994). Studi sui luoghi cassiodorei in Calabria. Catanzaro: Rubbettino.

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PA RT I I

E A ST E R N M E DI E VA L MONA ST IC ISM AND THE ORT HOD OX C H U RC H E S

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chapter 8

Spir itua lit y a n d Pr ay er i n th e E aster n Tr a ditions Andrew Louth

The most thorough and scholarly accounts of prayer and spirituality in the Eastern traditions have been by Roman Catholic scholars such as Irénée Hausherr (1960) and especially Tomaš Špidlík (1986, 2005). Špidlík’s books, in particular, are conscious of the variety of Eastern traditions, which include, besides the dominant Byzantine tradition inherited by the Slavs, a variety of traditions, defined mostly linguistically: Syriac, Coptic, Georgian, Armenian, etc. It is clearly not possible in a brief chapter to do justice to all these traditions, so this chapter will concentrate on the tradition of Byzantine and Slav Orthodoxy. There are no accounts from within the tradition comparable in scholarship and breadth to the works of the Catholic scholars already mentioned, though rather personal accounts of this tradition can be found in Gillet (1945; 2nd edn 1978) and Ware (1999).

Private and/or Public Prayer In all Christian prayer and spirituality there is a tension between private or individual prayer and corporate or public prayer and, in Catholic and Orthodox spirituality, too, between monastic prayer and prayer in the world, secular or lay. In Orthodox spirituality these tensions have not been institutionalized and are regarded as antinomies in which each of the opposites is to be affirmed without diminishment, thereby producing a fruitful tension rather than apparent alternatives. As Nicolas Zernov put it in his ‘Explanatory Notes’ to a widely used Manual of Eastern Orthodox Prayers: An Eastern Christian does not approach God as an isolated individual; he worships him as a member of the Body of Christ. His supplications do not rise up like the

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124   Andrew Louth voice of a solo singer, they form a part of a great choir in which all the Saints and all the sinners have their share. (Manual 1945: xi).

It might be argued that the holding together of these two tensions—private and public, monastic and lay—is the fruit of transcending a further tension, that between angel and man, heaven and earth. This points to the fundamentally liturgical aspect of prayer in the Eastern traditions, for it is above all in the Divine Liturgy of the Eucharist that heaven and earth are brought into union, notably in the Sanctus, in which earthly voices sing in harmony with the heavenly choir of angels.

Earliest Reflections on Prayer: Liturgical and Cosmic To bring out this dimension of prayer and spirituality in the Eastern traditions, let us start by looking at what is one of the earliest accounts from the Eastern Church of the aims and nature of what came to be called Christian monasticism. This is found in the letter, preserved as Ep. 2 in Basil’s correspondence, which he sent to his friend, Gregory of Nazianzus, in about 359. The date of the letter is significant, for it is earlier than any other evidence we have for monasticism in the East. Basil makes a number of important points in his letter, beginning by remarking that, though he could leave behind his life in the city, he has not yet been able ‘to leave himself behind’ (Ep. 2.1). What is needed is separation from the world altogether, but what this means is not so much bodily separation, as separation from sympathy, fellow feeling, with the body and its concerns. To this end solitude (ἐρημία) is very valuable, as it calms the passions and affords the reason leisure (σχολή) (cf. Ep. 2.2). Basil goes on to speak of the purifying of the soul, and how it is enabled to relinquish this world and ‘to imitate on earth the anthems of angels’ choirs; to hasten to prayer at the very break of the day, and to worship our Creator with hymns and songs’ (Ep. 2.2). The beginning of this purification of the soul is tranquillity (ἡσυχία). To achieve this reading of and meditation on the Scriptures is valuable, for they contain not just precepts to follow, but examples to imitate. This tells us a great deal about the sources and nature of spirituality and prayer at the very beginnings of what was to be thought of as the Eastern monastic tradition. First of all, most of it could have been said by a pagan philosopher, talking about the higher life of thought: the emphasis on tranquillity, the sense of distance from the world ushering in proximity to heaven and heavenly beings (Hadot 1995); again, Basil’s account of appropriate dress for the Christian ascetic recalls the accounts of the cynic philosophers. But the classical style and allusions are shot through with language that is distinctively Christian: describing the Christian monk’s dress in terms of the cynic philosopher, Basil calls them ‘mourners’, or ‘those who grieve’ (οἱ πενθοῦντες), using a word that had already become a technical term

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Spirituality and Prayer in the Eastern Traditions   125 for an ascetic in the Syrian tradition (Patrucco 1983: 272). Christian i­nspiration is found at the beginning of the letter, when Basil, agreeing with Gregory that solitude on its own is useless, says that we need ‘to keep close to the footsteps of Him who pointed the way to salvation’, quoting Matt. 16:24. Basil seems to stand quite unselfconsciously at the interface between classical culture and the message of the Gospel. But he is certainly facing in one direction—towards the Scriptures; for he affirms that, ‘the best way to the discovery of what is needed is meditation on the Scriptures inspired by God’ (Ep. 2.3). It has recently been argued that it was his elder sister Macrina who brought home to him the crowning significance of the Scriptures (Silvas 2005: 70). Secondly, however, we find something else that is to become characteristic of Basil: viz., the way in which our relationships with one another become an ascetic way. As well as entailing inward transformation, asceticism is something that involves others, something that is tested and furthered by our relationships with other people. In this letter it is very striking, for however much the language recalls the ideal of the ‘alone returning to the alone’, the letter closes with several pages concerned with how we are to live together, how we are to behave towards one another. So, in this letter we find classical and scriptural inspiration. We find, too, various glimpses of the role of prayer in what we have called ‘what was to be thought of as the Christian monastic life’. That periphrasis is necessary, for nowhere in the letter, or indeed elsewhere in his writings, even those works that make up what came to be called the ‘Rule of St Basil’, do we find any mention of monks. We can take this observation a little further. We mentioned that the centrality of Scripture for St Basil has been attributed to the influence of his elder sister, Macrina. We are also told that it was Macrina who persuaded Basil to embrace the ascetic life, and abandon the life of the rhetor, for which he had just completed his training in Athens, by joining her community at Annisa. What Basil is describing is something he discovered, not something he established. The features of this experiment in family-based ascetic life, as described by Gregory of Nyssa, are strikingly similar to what Basil describes in Ep. 2 to Gregory: the communal life of these ‘virgins’ (as they are described), called ‘philosophy’, enabled them to be free from the cares of life and from worldly trivialities, and brought them into harmony with the life of the angels. They possessed nothing; their life was occupied with ‘attention to the things of God, prayer without ceasing, and the uninterrupted chanting of the Psalms, which was extended equally in time through night and day, so that for the virgins it was both work and rest from work’ (Vita Macr. 382: 15–19; trans. Petersen 1996: 60). We learn, too, that within the community of virgins, ‘all differences of rank were removed’ (Vita Macr. 381: 26–27; trans. Petersen 1996: 59). The nature of their life of prayer is described here only in general terms—continuous repetition of the Psalter is m ­ entioned; at one point orientation, facing east, for prayer is alluded to—elsewhere we learn that there was an evening office at the lighting of the lamp (Vita Macr. 399: 1–3), and we can presume there were other offices throughout the day. Although there is no direct reference, it is clear that this life is meant to recall the apostolic community in Acts 2:42–47, in which the Apostles held all in common and shared in a life of prayer. The notion of what is sometimes called ‘incipient’ monasticism is a recognized feature of early Syriac Christianity, and has been much studied (Brock 1973; Murray 1975: 13–17);

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126   Andrew Louth this chapter looks briefly at what we know about early Christian prayer and spirituality from more mainline texts. These texts are two of the treatises on the Our Father from the preNicene Church: works by Tertullian and Origen, the latter very likely known to Macrina, as Basil and Gregory must have had texts by Origen to work from when they compiled the Philokalia at Annisa (though De oratione is not one of the texts excerpted in that work). Works on the Our Father must in some way reflect the catechetical teaching of the Church, as the Lord’s Prayer and the Rule of Faith (later the Creed) formed the basis for the final stage of the catechetical instruction; we are, therefore, looking at ideas fundamental to Christian formation in the early Church. From these texts we can glean both teaching about prayer—what it is, what it entails—and teaching about how to pray—posture, gesture, when, and how. Very briefly, both texts underline that the prayer addressed to ‘Our Father’ teaches us that we address God as his sons and daughters in Christ, and contain teaching about what kind of disposition is required of those who pray. Tertullian adds the point that praying as sons and daughters also acknowledges the role of Church as mother (Or. 2). Both reckon that prayer requires tranquillity, which entails struggle against the passions, not least anger: hence the petition for forgiveness as we forgive (Tertullian, Or. 11–12; Origen, Or. 28). There is also teaching about the practice of prayer: facing east, with hands raised in an orans posture; kneeling to acknowledge our sinfulness. Both mention the apostolic injunctions to pray at every time and in every place, to pray unceasingly (Eph. 6:18; 1 Tim. 2:8; 1 Thess. 5:17); from them both we can glean that there were set hours of prayer observed privately by Christians—morning and evening, at the third, sixth, and ninth hours, and at night (vide Jay 1954: 3–44, esp. 36–41). There are a couple of points worth underlining about all this. First of all, the whole approach to prayer we find here avoids any split between the individual and the corporate. Prayer certainly involves individual struggle, but it is never private: we pray as sons and daughters in Christ, in our mother the Church, to God the Father. This corporate dimension of prayer is underlined by the physical gestures recommended—­ facing east, standing, with arms raised—which align us with other Christians, ensure that we are engaging in a common activity. We see, too, the beginnings of what were to become regular hours of prayer, as a way of making practical the apostolic injunction to ‘pray without ceasing’. Furthermore, prayer is not only individual and corporate or ecclesial; in prayer Christians are united with the angelic hosts of heaven, become, in some sense, enrolled among the angels (angelorum . . . candidati: Tertullian, Or. 3), or equal to the angels. Prayer is, therefore, not just human; it has a cosmic significance, something expressed beautifully in the peroration with which Tertullian closes his treatise: Even the angels pray, all of them. The whole creation prays. Cattle and wild beasts pray, and bend their knees, and in coming forth from their stalls and lairs look up to heaven, their mouth not idle, making the spirit move in their own fashion. Moreover the birds now arising are lifting themselves up to heaven and instead of hands are spreading out the cross of their wings, while saying something which may be supposed to be a prayer. What more then of the obligation of prayer? Even the Lord himself prayed: to him be honour and power for ever and ever. (Or. 29; trans. Evans 1953: 41).

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Spirituality and Prayer in the Eastern Traditions   127 This sense of the unity of prayer—individual and corporate, human and cosmic— remains fundamental to spirituality and prayer in the Eastern traditions. Nevertheless, to go into any more detail, it will be necessary to treat them separately. We shall start with the practice of corporate prayer, the celebration of the Divine Liturgy and the daily hours, and then discuss the dynamics of individual prayer.

Prayer: Time and Place The corporate worship of the Church—the Divine Liturgy and the Divine Office—has a context, both in space and time. These are not just matters of convenience—one has to pray in a place, and it takes time—but ways in which the cosmic significance of prayer is expressed. Public prayer takes place in a church building. In the early days this would be a building or a room adapted for Christian use; what little early evidence there is (e.g. the domus ecclesia at Dura Europos) suggests that the adaptation was of a permanent nature with frescoes, for example, and some attempt made to provide for prayer facing east. After the end of the period of persecution (and in some places even before), specially built churches begin to appear; Eusebius of Caesarea’s homily at the dedication of the basilica in Tyre around 314, just after the end of the Great Persecution, which he included in his Church History (HE X.4), gives one some sense of the grandeur of such churches, and the symbolic significance invested in them. By about the seventh century, the church building came to be regarded as, symbolically, a miniature cosmos (μικρὸς κόσμος), in which the created order was reflected. In the ninth century, after the end of the iconoclast controversy (and probably before), the structure and decoration of the church reflected the idea of the church as a microcosm, with the icon of Christ Pantokrator (ruler of the universe) looking down from the central dome, while in the apse at the end of the sanctuary there was an icon (in mosaic or fresco) of the Mother of God: both the vertical axis and the horizontal axis were understood as leading from earth to heaven (or paradise, in the east), and the movement of the liturgy expressed the drawing of earthly concerns into the worship of the heavenly courts. This shaping of space was capable of various forms of development, some of which we shall mention later, though nothing like the liturgical geography that determined the architectural structure of the Cistercian monastery. This cosmic setting for Christian worship was expressed more elaborately in the ­development of the Church’s Year, which incorporated various cycles—both cosmic and liturgical. The cosmic cycles were those of the day, the month, and the year; the lack of fit between these three cycles produced a shifting correspondence which was integral to the Christian year because of the centrality of the celebration of Easter. Easter was to be held on the first Sunday after the first full moon, after the spring equinox—linking the cycles of the week, the month, and the year, and producing a shifting feast of Easter, or Pascha, the fulfilment of the Jewish Passover (or Pascha), on which came to depend an increasingly elaborate series of liturgical celebrations dependent on Easter. The way in which the

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128   Andrew Louth s­ tructure of the Church’s Year depended on the intermeshing of lunar and sidereal cycles (in a geocentric universe, the year is seen to be dependent on the movement of the stars, rather than on the sun, which is held rather to determine the day) lent cosmic significance to Christian liturgical time. Two liturgical cycles were dependent on these cosmic cycles: the liturgical cycle associated with Easter, and that associated with Christmas, the Feast of the Nativity of Christ, or, more probably, with the Feast of the Annunciation, nine months earlier, which were linked together by the conviction (or conceit) that the beginning of the Incarnate life of Christ at the Annunciation and His death of the Cross on Good Friday coincided with the days of the creation of the world at the vernal equinox: thus making Christ’s Incarnation and saving Death the axis about which the cosmos turned. Other cycles lie behind the more intimate and immediate structuring of the weekly and daily cycles of prayer. Christians inherited the Jewish cycle of the week (a liturgical cycle without immediate cosmic significance), but radically altered it by making its focus the first day of the week—the Lord’s Day, the Day of Resurrection, Sunday—in contrast to the Jewish focus on the Sabbath or Saturday. The first day of the week becomes the culmination of the week, the eighth day, the day that opens on to eternity, illumined by the ‘light without evening of the Kingdom’, as it is expressed in Byzantine liturgical texts. The week now moves from the Resurrection to the Resurrection, from the Resurrection as the recapitulation of Creation to the Resurrection as the first day of the Recreation, the eighth day. This is reflected in the experience of the week, in which the cycle of the week finds fulfilment, not in the end, with the Sabbath, but in the beginning, with the Resurrection. Another kind of cosmic significance is found in the interplay of creation and recreation. The week itself is marked by two days of fasting (save during fasting periods which extend throughout the week): Wednesdays and Fridays, a tradition first witnessed in the Didache (Did. 8. 1). Saturday and Sunday are days of rejoicing, so that, even during fasting seasons, the fast is mitigated. In the daily cycle, a true cosmic cycle, the liturgical day begins in the evening, with the service, lucernarium—at the lighting of the evening lamp—the evening service (hesperinon, vespers), the focus of which is the bringing of a lighted candle into the church as the rays of the sun die away. The liturgical day moves from darkness to light, from the darkness that supervenes on the close of the day towards the light of the new day that is to dawn. This is given symbolic significance, especially on Sunday, when Saturday evening, bringing the week to a close, leads through darkness into the light of the new creation, the Resurrection, the ‘unfading light’—to use another text—‘of the Kingdom’. Vespers therefore begins, in the Byzantine rite, with Ps. 103, the psalm of creation: Bless the Lord, my soul! O Lord my God, you have been greatly magnified. You have clothed yourself with thanksgiving and majesty. . . making spirits his Angels and a flame of fire his Ministers, establishing the earth on its sure base; it will not be moved to age on age . . .

The psalm continues to run through the whole of the created order. Further psalms follow leading to the entry of a lighted candle, the light of Christ that shines in the

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Spirituality and Prayer in the Eastern Traditions   129 c­ reated order. Vespers begins a sequence of prayer—compline, midnight office, dawn office (‘matins’), and praises (‘lauds’)—that leads into the Day of the Resurrection and the anticipation of the coming of Christ at the Second Coming. The yearly celebration of Easter or Pascha is the Great Day of the Resurrection, just as the daily celebration of vespers is an echo of darkness turning to light in the weekly celebration of the Resurrection on Sunday. Lesser hours—at the first, third, sixth, and ninth hours (prime, terce, sext, nones)—link the dawn of day with beginning of the following liturgical day at vespers. In the early centuries, the correspondence of hours of day and night with the hours of light and darkness was strict: day and night were each divided into twelve hours, so that the hours of the day were longer in summer and shorter in winter, and vice versa for the night.

Public Prayer: ‘Cathedral Office’ and Monastic Office What therefore might be called a cosmic shaping of time, so that time is not just a succession of indiscriminate days, but shaped by the various cosmic and liturgical cycles, provides the context in which the spirituality of the Christian traditions expresses itself in the public prayer of the Church. As it developed from beginnings about which we know all too little, the public prayer of the Church in the world—in practice, in the city—and the communal prayer of the developing monastic groups came to take distinct forms. The form of prayer in the secular churches is generally called the ‘Cathedral Office’ to distinguish it from the cycle of services found in monasteries. In some, perhaps many, cases, these services took place in the same buildings and overlapped, or encroached on, each other; for example, from the account of the Spanish abbess Egeria’s travels to the Holy Land, we gather that the Church of the Resurrection in Jerusalem harboured both an early form of the Cathedral Office, and also the monastic prayer of the monastic community attached to that church (Itinerarium Egeriae 24–44). In their early forms, the two cycles of public prayer seem to have been very different. The Cathedral Office comprised two major services: an evening service associated with the lighting of the evening lamp and a morning service that greeted the rising of the sun, the light in both cases symbolic of Christ, the light of the world. The monastic office, in contrast, had no particular relation to the time of day, but simply punctuated the passage of time; it consisted largely of psalmody recited in continuous blocks, leading into a period of private prayer, concluding with a short prayer, a collect, and a reading from the Scriptures—it was intended to provide a stimulus to the monks’ life of continuous prayer (see Taft 1986: 211–213 for a summary). Both these forms of prayer developed over the centuries, and borrowed from each other; eventually the Cathedral Office was swallowed up by the Monastic Office, which is the situation today in the Byzantine rite (Lingas 1995). The detail of this history does not concern us; what does concern us in

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130   Andrew Louth this chapter is how these developments provided opportunities for the expression of spirituality and prayer in the Eastern traditions of monasticism (primarily in the Byzantine tradition, which was also adopted by the Slavs).

Hymns in Worship: the Kontakion and the Canon The development of both traditions is, as one might expect, one of increasing elaboration; in particular, both traditions came to incorporate singing. There is no real evidence of early resistance to singing, as some maintain, though later on some in the monastic tradition came to claim resistance to singing in the early centuries, mainly, probably, to gain support against the unprayerful encroachment of the Cathedral Office. Early singing was likely quite simple. The first elaborate form of singing occurs in the Cathedral Office and has been known from the ninth century as the kontakion (earlier more general terms, hymn or song, were used). It is a sermon in verse which was proclaimed by a singer as part of the ἀσματικὴἀκολουθία (sung service), a vigil service that lasted through the night as preparation for the celebration of the Divine Liturgy on Sundays and great feasts. The most famous, and greatest, composer and performer of kontakia was a deacon from Berytus (modern Beirut), Romanos the Melodist, who arrived in Constantinople around the time of the accession of the Emperor Justinian (r. 527–565) and lived there for most of his reign. Romanos was very probably the originator of the kontakion in the Greek world, and it is quite likely that he brought this form from his native Syria (he was originally from Emesa, modern Homs); the stanzas of the kontakia are called οἶκοι, ‘houses’ (usually spelt in English ikos/ikoi), which reflects the terminology of Syriac prosody (Brock 1989). The kontakion consists of a prelude, which sets the tone for the kontakion, and provides the refrain, which is repeated at the end of each ikos, a set of stanzas of identical metrical structure, usually with the initial letters forming an acrostic (in Romanos’ case, often: OF THE HUMBLE ROMANOS). The verses would have been chanted from the pulpit (to tunes now lost) and the refrain most likely repeated by the choir (and congregation). The subjects of the kontakia are drawn mostly from the Scriptures, in keeping with their character as verse sermons: from episodes from the life of Christ, following the principal feasts of Christ and the events and parables reflected in the Gospels found in the Byzantine lectionary, as well as accounts of notable Old Testament figures and other subjects. They are, then, not just verse sermons, but liturgical sermons, and often seem to constitute a prolonged meditation on the mystery proclaimed in the Gospel. The sermons employ, as one would expect, the kind of exegesis through figures and allegory typical of the Fathers, something to which the verse form of the kontakion lends itself. Take, for example, the prelude of Romanos’ second kontakion on the Annunciation: Joseph was awestruck, as he beheld a sight beyond nature in your conception without seed, Mother of God,

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Spirituality and Prayer in the Eastern Traditions   131 and he called to mind the rain on the fleece, the bush burning with fire, but unconsumed, the sprouting of Aaron’s rod. And in witness, your betrothed and protector cried out to the priests, ‘A Virgin is with child, and after giving birth still remains a virgin’. (Kontakion 37: ed. Maas-Trypanis 1963: 289; trans. mine)

In this kontakion, Romanos speaks in the person of Joseph, expressing his wonder at what has happened at the birth of Christ. Traditional prefigurations of the virgin birth are invoked—in the prelude: the rain on Gideon’s fleece (Judg. 6:3), the burning (or strictly, the unburned) bush (Exod. 3:2–4), Aaron’s rod (Num. 17:23)—so that the mystery of the Virgin Birth is presented in the form of images, in a very similar way to which the Virgin Birth is alluded to in icons; indeed, the kind of prayer—meditation on symbolic images—envisaged by many of the kontakia is strikingly similar to kind of prayer evoked by icons. The kontakion remained a prominent feature of the ἀσματικὴ ἀκολουθία as long as the Cathedral Office lasted (in some places such as Thessaloniki until well into the fifteenth century), but few kontakia seem to have been composed after the seventh or  eighth century. One kontakion remained, and remains a prominent feature of worship in the Byzantine tradition: the kontakion to the Mother of God known as the Akathist Hymn (‘not sitting’ [= ἀκάθιστος], perhaps in procession). In the Akathist Hymn, ikoi and verses now called ‘kontakia’ are interspersed, each with their own refrain—the refrain for the ikoi being ‘Hail, Bride without Bridegroom!’, the refrain for the kontakia being ‘allelluia!’; the whole hymn is much longer than normal kontakia, long though many of these are. The Akathist Hymn constitutes the acme of devotion to the Mother of God in the Orthodox tradition. Each ikos, after a brief narrative introduction, continues with an anaphora, based on the word, ‘Hail’ (Χαῖρε, translated, literally, ‘Rejoice’ in the Slav version), concluding with the refrain. So the second ikos reads thus: The Virgin seeking to know what is beyond knowing, calls to the ministering spirit, ‘From my pure womb how can a son be born? Tell me.’ To whom he spoke in fear, but crying thus: Hail, initiate of unutterable counsel, Hail, faith requiring silence. Hail, prelude of Christ’s miracles… Hail, Bride Unwedded! (trans. mine)

Public chanting of the Akathist is rare nowadays (save in the Greek tradition, where it is sung during Lent as part of Friday Compline), but it forms part of the prayer rule of most monks, being recited privately daily. The introduction of sung compositions into the monastic office was somewhat later. What are called canons began to be composed towards the end of the eighth century, and knew an initial efflorescence in which many of the most famous canons were composed.

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132   Andrew Louth The writers of these early canons included St Andrew of Crete (who composed the Great [Penitential] Canon), St Kosmas of Maïuma, and St John of Damascus: they all hailed from Damascus, and spent much time in Jerusalem, which was where the genre of the canon originated. A canon consists of a series of verses, often arranged in an acrostic, originally interspersed between the verses (or concluding verses) of the nine canticles or odes that came to form the central part of matins, or the dawn office (ὄρθρος). The first eight canticles are from the Old Testament, beginning with the song of Moses at the overthrow of the Egyptians in the Red Sea (Exod. 15:1–18) and ending with the song of the Three Children (Dan. 3:57–88), the ninth canticle consists of two New Testament Canticles, known in the West as Benedictus and Magnificat (Luke 2:68–79; 46–55). Nowadays, apart from the Magnificat and during Lent, the canticles are not sung, having been replaced by the verses of the canon. The canon seems to have been inspired by the kontakion, and some of the early ones preserve the narrative structure often found in kontakia, but they seem to envisage a different kind of meditative prayer. The most famous, and one of the earliest, canons is the one John of Damascus composed for Easter, which begins: The day of Resurrection, let us shine splendidly, O peoples! The Pascha of the Lord, Pascha! For from death to life, and from earth to heaven, Christ God has led us across, singing the triumphal song. (My translation from the Pentekostarion)

In contrast to Romanos, who draws directly on the Scriptures, John Damascene more usually makes a cento of passages from the homilies of the Fathers, especially St Gregory the Theologian (for a more detailed analysis of this canon, see Louth 2002: 258–268). In both the kontakion and the canon, we find ways in which the mysteries of the Faith, expressed in scriptural imagery and the homiletic rhetoric of the Fathers, are turned into meditative verse.

The Eucharist: the Divine Liturgy The public prayer of the Church culminates in the Divine Liturgy of the Eucharist. As is already evident from the account given of the enmeshing of various temporal cycles in the experience of liturgical time, the Eucharist is a critical moment, when the age to come breaks into the present age and the Church finds itself on the threshold of the coming Kingdom. The liturgical action of the Eucharist is characterized by circular movements, especially the censing of the Church at the beginning of the liturgy and at points throughout the liturgy—a feature also of the principal services of the day, matins and vespers. This circular movement through space picks up the temporal cycles, and as the movement of the liturgy moves beyond this age to the age-to-come, the temporal cycles are redeemed of their potential to underline the aimlessness of life on earth, and become themselves cycles, or spirals, that heal and lend meaning.

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Spirituality and Prayer in the Eastern Traditions   133 The public worship of the Church, the communal worship of the monastery, is performed by a community of persons, each of whom has a personal role to play in the action of the community. The structure of the community, whether Church or monastery, is expressed through hierarchy, a word coined by Dionysios the Areopagite, to express not just rank, but equally knowledge and activity that promotes assimilation to God, deification (cf. De Ecclesiastica Hierarchia 3.1), which speaks of hierarchy as ‘a sacred order and knowledge and activity’), for hierarchy characterizes a society, marked by diversity, in which all can find a place and a role. As St Maximos puts it in his Mystagogia: For many and of nearly boundless number are the men, women and children who are distinct from one another and vastly different by birth and appearance, by race and language, by way of life and age, by opinions and skills, by manners and customs, by pursuits and studies, and still again by reputation, fortune, characteristics and habits: all are born into the Church and through it are reborn and recreated in the Spirit. To all in equal measures it gives and bestows one divine form and designation: to be Christ’s and to bear his name. (Mystagogia 1: 165–174, ed. Boudignon)

All are called, ‘reborn and recreated in the Spirit’, to assimilation to God, deification. The achievement of this requires personal commitment and central to this commitment is prayer—personal prayer—by means of which what is celebrated in the worship of the Church, pre-eminently the Divine Liturgy, is assimilated in the life of each Christian. Personal prayer is, then, not separate, detached from—still less independent of—the public prayer of the Church. As to the forms of personal prayer, we are inevitably much better informed about the personal prayer of the monk than of the layperson, for whom, often enough, we can do little more than guess. Perhaps this points to a deeper truth, that there is no difference of kind between the personal prayer of the monk and of the layperson: prayer is the same, whether for monk or layperson, it is simply that the greater capacity for wholehearted commitment to prayer available to the monk enables one to see more clearly what prayer entails.

Personal Prayer Personal prayer has two aspects: what it is that we do when we ‘say our prayers’ and something that lies beyond this, a sustained reaching out of the heart to God. In the Eastern traditions—perhaps in all Christian traditions—what we do when we say our prayers draws heavily on the public prayer of the Church. For the monk, saying prayers consists largely of the divine office, stretched out through the night and day to provide a kind of supporting framework for the ideal of unceasing prayer. The personal prayer of the layperson utilizes elements of the public office, both in the sense of prayers, what is said, and by creating a sacred space, on analogy with the Church. In creating a sacred

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134   Andrew Louth space, often with very minimal materials, we provide somewhere set apart, devoted to prayer. In Orthodox practice, this can mean creating an icon corner—a beautiful corner, krasny ugol, the Slavs call it—where images of Christ, the Mother of God, and the saints recall the truth that in invoking the name of God we are already in the presence of the saints. The prayers said—the various Orthodox traditions have various books of private prayer—are drawn from the prayers and psalms used in the office of the Church; the practices—a sacred place and words to put on our lips—are aids to assist us in making real to ourselves the presence of God. Prayer requires that we turn aside from our everyday life and seek God. As we noted at the beginning of this essay, Basil recognizes that finding the right place and conditions of tranquillity are not enough: he found it difficult ‘to leave himself behind’. Indeed, this is true of any kind of prayer, whether the offices of the Church or attempts to be alone quietly with God: we cannot leave ourselves behind, our hopes and fears, worries and anxieties, longings and desires, come with us and demand our attention. This is something universally recognized, and one can find help with achieving tranquillity, freedom from ‘passions’, that is, thoughts and feelings that affect us, in the writings of some, at least, of the philosophers of antiquity, and in the traditions of other religions. There is a striking family resemblance about the advice given, for all are concerned with the dynamics of a human quest for tranquillity. Within the Christian tradition, consideration of the demands of prayer is mostly a monastic preoccupation, though the exceptions (e.g. Augustine’s Ep. 130 to Proba) suggest, as we would expect, that there is no fundamental difference in a monastic and a lay approach to prayer. Within the Eastern Christian tradition, the most searching and influential writer on the conditions for prayer is Evagrius, ‘the philosopher of the Desert’ (d. 399), who provides an elaborate analysis of the way in which distraction from prayer plays on our psychological structures: he outlines a schema of λογισμοί, trains of thought that stimulate the passions or temptations, that lead the monk away from his vocation to prayer—gluttony, avarice, sexual temptation, anger, listlessness, grief, vainglory, and pride (see Bunge 2002). We also find a more practical way to deal with distraction in prayer, though nothing can be achieved without dealing with the problems revealed by the various λογισμοί, namely, the use of short prayers—prayers of a single phrase, μονολόγιστος προσευχή—to drive away the distractions and draw the praying mind back to God. Such phrases are often drawn from the psalms, for instance, ‘O God, come to my help’, but in the Eastern tradition, primarily in monastic circles, there developed the use of a short ‘monologistic’ prayer, known as the Jesus prayer: ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me [a sinner]’. Largely because among those who wrote about this, much was taken for granted, including the precise ‘formula’ of the prayer, it is difficult to trace this history of the prayer, but it seems possible to trace it back to the fifth century, though there are many in later centuries who seem unaware of the practice (on this see Ware 1977; Hausherr 1960). Over the centuries, the practice of the Jesus Prayer came to be linked to ways of breathing and posture, also with praying in the dark. In the fourteenth century, claims by monks, especially of Mount Athos, that use of the Jesus Prayer could lead to a vision of the uncreated light of the Godhead led to controversy, in which, defended by St Gregory Palamas, the monks were vindicated by local synods, generally granted near-ecumenical status by most

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Spirituality and Prayer in the Eastern Traditions   135 Orthodox. As the prayer involves invocation of the name of Jesus, it has been linked with the way in which God is said to place his name in the Temple in the Old Testament, so that the name is regarded as an ‘energy’ of God, in which God is encountered. The enthusiasm for this by Russian monks on Mount Athos led to further controversy, this time at the beginning of the twentieth century. The practice of the Jesus Prayer, originally almost entirely confined to monastic circles, has, in the course of the twentieth century, spread throughout the Orthodox world, and indeed beyond. In the Eastern Church, prayer, often defined as ‘conversation with God’, is seen to involve a demanding commitment to inner transformation that will make possible the tranquillity required to maintain attention to God. This personal dimension of prayer is, however, set in the context of a human response to God’s love for us in creation and recreation, in the Incarnation and the Cross, that has ramifications beyond the simply personal or even simply human, but is ecclesial and indeed cosmic.

Further Lines of Reflection Where might reflection and research on prayer and spirituality in the Eastern traditions now proceed? The last century saw, through careful scholarship applied to traditions often considered immemorial, the emergence of a sense of the variety of traditions of prayer in the Christian East, together with some sense of their susceptibility to (often slow) change over time, and indeed differences owing to geography. The extent to which traditions of ‘philosophy as a way of life’ (to use Hadot’s phrase) among classical philosophers were taken up in the bosom of Christian spirituality became apparent. More recently there has been a growing sense of the parallels, and maybe mutual influence, between the spiritual traditions of not just different strands of Christianity, but between the spiritual traditions of different religions: this is an area in which more research could be done, though often resisted owing to the claims to exclusivity often found most sharply articulated by those committed most deeply to the practice of prayer. In the West there has been major change in the (especially liturgical) traditions of prayer; in the East there have been changes, though less radical and more organic: there are differences over the wisdom of this, though an appreciation of the value of liturgical conservatism is deeply rooted and widespread.

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Basil of Caesarea, Letters. 4 vols. Greek text and Eng. trans. Roy  J.  Deferrari. London: Heinemann, 1926–1934. Basilio de Cesarea, Le lettere, I. Greek text and Italian trans. Marcella Forlin Patrucco, Corona Patrum 11. Turin: Società Editrice Internazionale, 1983. Egeria, Itinerarium. Eng. trans. John Wilkinson, Egeria’s Travels, 3rd edn. Warminster: Aris & Phillips, 1999.

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136   Andrew Louth Gregory of Nyssa, Vita s. Macrinae. Greek text: V. Woods Callahan, Gregorii Nysseni Opera Ascetica VIII.1 (Leiden: Brill, 1952), 345–414. Eng. trans. Joan M. Petersen, Handmaids of the Lord: Contemporary descriptions of feminine asceticism in the first six Christian centuries, CS 143, 41–86. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications, 1996. A Manual of Eastern Orthodox Prayers. London: Published for the Fellowship of St Alban and St Sergius, SPCK, 1945. Maximos the Confessor, Mystagogia. Greek text: Christian Boudignon, CCSG 69. Brepols: Turnhout, 2011. Origen, On Prayer. Eng. trans. Eric George Jay, Origen’s Treatise on Prayer. London: SPCK, 1954. Pentekostarion. Athens: Apostoliki Diakonia, 1836, frequently reprinted. Romanos the Melodist. Greek text: P. Maas and C. A. Trypanis, Sancti Romani Melodi Cantica: Cantica Genuina (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963). Eng. trans. Archimandrite Ephrem Lash [St Romanos the Melodist,] On the Life of Christ: Kontakia. San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1995. Tertullian, De Oratione. Latin text and Eng. trans. Ernest Evans, Tertullian’s Tract on The Prayer. London: SPCK, 1953.

Secondary Sources Brock, Sebastian (1989). ‘From Ephrem to Romanos’. Studia Patristica 20: 139–151. Repr. in Brock (1999). From Ephrem to Romanos: Interactions between Syriac and Greek in Late Antiquity, No. IV. Aldershot: Ashgate. Brock, Sebastian (1973). ‘Early Syriac Asceticism’. Numen 20: 1–19. Repr. in Brock (1984). Syriac Perspectives on Late Antiquity, No. I. London: Variorum. Bunge, (now Archimandrite) Gabriel (2002). Earthen Vessels: The Practice of Personal Prayer according to the Patristic Tradition. Translated by Michael  J.  Miller. San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press. Gillet, Lev [A Monk of the Eastern Church] (1945). Orthodox Spirituality: An Outline of the Orthodox Ascetical and Mystical Tradition. London: Published for the Fellowship of St Alban and St Sergius, SPCK. 2nd edn (1978) Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press. Hadot, Pierre (1995). Philosophy as a Way of Life: Spiritual Exercises from Socrates to Foucault. Oxford: Blackwell. Hausherr, Irénée (1960). Noms du Christ et voies d’oraison. OCA 157. Rome: Pontificium Institutum Orientalium Studiorum. Lash, Archimandrite Ephrem (2009). An Orthodox Prayer Book. Oxford: Fellowship of St Alban and St Sergius. Lingas, Alexander (1995). ‘The Liturgical Place of the Kontakion in Constantinople’. In Liturgy, Architecture, and Art in the Byzantine World, Papers of the 18th International Byzantine Congress (Moscow, 8–15 August 1991) and Other Essays Dedicated to the Memory of Fr John Meyendorff, edited by Constantin C. Akentiev, 50–57. Byzantinorossica 1. Saint Petersburg: Publications of the Saint Petersburg Society for Byzantine and Slavic Studies. Louth, Andrew (2002). St John Damascene: Tradition and Originality in Byzantine Theology. OECS. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Murray, Robert (1975). Symbols of Church and Kingdom, A Study in Early Syriac Tradition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Spirituality and Prayer in the Eastern Traditions   137 Silvas, Anna  M. (2005). The Asketikon of St Basil the Great. OECS. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Špidlík, Tomaš (2005). Prayer: The Spirituality of the Christian East, vol. 2. Translated by Anthony P. Gythiel. CS 206. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Špidlík, Tomaš (1986). The Spirituality of the Christian East, vol. 1. Translated by Anthony P. Gythiel. CS 79. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Taft, Robert (1986). The Liturgy of the Hours in East and West. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Ware, Kallistos (1977). The Power of the Name: the Jesus Prayer in Orthodox Spirituality. Fairacres Publication 43. Oxford: SLG Press. Ware, Kallistos (1999). The Orthodox Way, rev. edn. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press.

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chapter 9

Monasticism i n th e Byz a n ti n e Empir e Peter Hatlie

Introduction Although its general historical outlines and basic facts are known, Byzantine monasticism as a subject of study is still a work in progress. Text editing and translation, fact-finding, and historical description are strong points in the historiographical tradition, while a reluctance to explain historical phenomena, interpret them, and explore new methodologies and questions are weak points. Given the latter, making sense of the subject is still as much a challenge today as it was decades ago, when the distinguished scholar Cyril Mango declared, ‘it is not an easy matter to give an account of Byzantine monasticism in terms that would be understandable to us today’ (Mango 1980: 105). Contemporary scholars frequently draw attention to this gap between expectations and results. More than thirty years since Mango’s verdict, there is still a sense that Byzantine monasticism deserves a better narrative than it currently has. An impressive collection of original source materials provides reason for hope that one day a better picture of Byzantine monasticism will emerge. Serious gaps in the historical record certainly exist—a scarcity of documentary sources, and the loss of many material remains over the centuries. Despite these shortcomings, written sources for Byzantine monasticism abound. They include monastic rules, letters and sermons, legal texts, hagiography, ascetical and spiritual treatises, chronicles, poetry, liturgical texts, and even satirical portraits of monks (Talbot 2005: 119–120). Although each of these genres carries its own interpretative problems, the body of useful commentary and source criticism is growing, most especially in the difficult area of hagiography (e.g. Efthymiadis 2011–2014). But even before facing these challenges, future scholars will need to generate a comprehensive list of the relevant sources, for no such inventory is now available.

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Monasticism in the Byzantine Empire   139 Assuming that all of these challenges can be met, what would a general history of Byzantine monasticism look like? One option would be a chronologically ordered account set within a strong analytical and interpretative framework. Another would be a thematic and analytical approach, but with sufficient chronological coverage to draw out some of the general patterns of the monastic experience. The present chapter adopts the second of these approaches. Byzantine monasticism1 will be observed from three points of view: its defining elements and constant factors, varieties and innovations, and areas of conflict and dramatic change.

Defining Elements and Constant Factors in Byzantine Monasticism Monasticism played a role in the very earliest days of the Byzantine Empire, and it remained an active element in society to the very end. As expected, many traditions and patterns of life changed over time in response to the empire’s shifting fortunes, redrawn borders, and emerging and displaced peoples. What is more surprising perhaps is how tenaciously Byzantium’s rulers and people held to their basic tenets of life, many of which looked back to late Roman and early Christian models. If this was generally true of Byzantine civilization on the whole, it was even more true for Byzantine monks, who lived partly in the world and partly outside it.

Fidelity to the Fathers A strong sense of nostalgia and respect for the founding fathers of monasticism developed very quickly. In the case of the Egyptian desert fathers, the wisdom literature and holy biographies associated with their eremitical way of life circulated widely and exerted great influence by the sixth century. In the case of prominent regulators of the coenobitic life, such as Pachomios and Basil of Caesarea, a similar phenomenon can be observed. By the end of the early Byzantine age (c.650) something close to a canon of monastic literature had developed. Essential elements of the wisdom-hagiography canon included the Life of Anthony, Sayings of the Fathers, Lives of the Desert Fathers, and Palladius’s Lausiac History. These works appealed to monastic audiences and instructed them for centuries afterwards (Rapp 2010: 124–129). The Sayings, for example, resurfaced in one of the largest and most influential manuals of the middle Byzantine period (c.650–1050), a huge book called the

1 Unless otherwise indicated, in this context I take the terms ‘monasticism’ and ‘asceticism’ to be ­synonymous. Furthermore, ‘monk’ and ‘ascetic’ are synonymous as well as gender-inclusive terms.

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140   Peter Hatlie Evergetinos, which was composed in eleventh-century Constantinople at the Theotokos Evergetis monastery (Jordan and Morris 2012: 7–8). Most monastic libraries would have included one or more of these essential works. The Monastery of St John the Theologian on Patmos, one of a handful of monasteries whose collection we know about, is a case in point. Of the 330 manuscripts that it contained in c.1200, many were of the wisdomhagiography type, including a copy of Palladius’s Lausiac History. Yet it would be a mistake to think that the list of monastic authorities in this area and related areas of monastic spirituality was limited to the above works and remained static over time. The very same library collection reflects a select number of works from more recent cen­tur­ ies, including John Klimakos’s Ladder, Antiochos the Monk’s florilegium called the Pandektes, and Theodore of Stoudios’s Catacheses, along with the spiritual treatises of Symeon the New Theologian (Angold 1995: 363–366). A high degree of fidelity to early fathers carried over to monastic regulatory literature proper. Yet here too, conservative accommodations were made to the canon of au­thor­ ities formed over the years. Basil of Caesarea’s Rules and Pachomios’s Precepts stand out as the most authoritative early texts, even if they enjoyed different degrees of influence in later centuries (Thomas and Hero  2000: 21–38). Such was Basil’s influence on Theodore of Stoudios (fl. 800), one of Byzantium’s greatest coenobitic reformers, that he explicitly cited Basil’s authority in his own Testament (PG 99: 1816c, 1819c) and frequently cited him in his other monastic teachings (see Sermons II: 546; Letters: 973–975). Yet while Theodore’s reforms owed much to Basil’s inspiration, he also drew freely upon the teaching of other early fathers, notably the Palestinian figures Dorotheos of Gaza and his teacher Barsanouphios (Leroy  1979; Thomas and Hero  2000: 87–88). More broadly still, he was fond of associating his movement rhetorically with a long list of other early monastic fathers, among them Anthony of Egypt, Pachomios, and both Euthymios and Sabas of Palestine (Sermons I: 2–3, 87). Ultimately, Theodore’s monastic teachings would themselves be recognized as a new and authoritative voice within the tradition. Among the many later figures who borrowed from Theodore were Athanasios of the Great Lavra on Mount Athos and, to a degree, Paul of the Evergetis Monastery (Thomas and Hero 2000: 87–90; Jordan and Morris 2012: 41–45, 78). Both of these figures were themselves in turn recognized as authorities in later ages, not because they were beholden to the Stoudite model or particularly innovative and reform-minded, but rather because they worked successfully within the entire tradition.

Engagement with the World Starting with Anthony of Egypt, even the most earnest attempts of monks to withdraw from and renounce the world (anachoresis-apotaxis) met with mixed success. Material renunciation proved to be in some sense easier than renouncing the world of social ties, spiritual bonds, religious and political controversy, and the call of people in need. For Anthony and other early hermits, the world either came to them in the form of visitors to their places of retreat, or they themselves took the unusual step of rejoining the world

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Monasticism in the Byzantine Empire   141 temporarily to right a wrong or meet a crisis. For Pachomios and other early coenobites, a wall separated monks from the outside world, but significant levels of engagement persisted across that wall, notably through their works of charity and service. Later cen­ tur­ies saw no significant change to these patterns of worldly engagement. Overly enthusiastic expressions of engagement were frowned upon and sometimes suppressed, notably when monks wandered about in violation of the rule of stabilitas loci and disturbed the peace. For the rest, many such encounters were not only tolerated through the centuries, but even condoned and institutionalized. The most visible type of monastic engagement was generally in the political arena. Mass monastic protests for or against an emperor and the official Church were a commonplace c.350–850, as both Church and emperor struggled to manage any number of explosive public controversies, particularly those over Church doctrines on the Trinity (c.300–400), Christology (c.400–650), and icons (c.700–850). During these centuries, it was not uncommon for hundreds of monks to descend upon imperial cities in order to engage in protests, which occasionally turned violent (Bacht 1953; Dagron 1970). Later centuries were relatively calm by comparison. For the most part, large and unruly demonstrations disappeared, and thus mass monastic political activity diminished. But even if their communities normally stayed at home, monastic leaders continued to be pol­it­ic­ al­ly active, either to win favours and concessions for their communities or to contest specific policies. Symeon the New Theologian (fl. 1000) was one of those who struggled bitterly with Church officials over a serious principle of ecclesiology, and as a result spent much of his later life in exile (Meyendorff 1979: 73–75). About a century later, a small group of Athonite monks came to Constantinople to protest the presence of young boys and eunuchs in their communities, and they were in turn arrested and punished by imperial officials (Angold 1995: 280–281). During the middle and late Byzantine cen­tur­ ies, such sporadic episodes of outright protest lessened, as the monks more frequently resorted to softer approaches. Christodoulos of Patmos (c.1100), for instance, succeeded in obtaining a series of imperial grants and immunities for his communities—an achievement not lost on his successors, who in later decades went on to confirm and expand their privileges with other emperors (Thomas and Hero 2000: 565–568). The difference between the revolutionary politics of the early centuries and the more discreet lobbying efforts of the later period is striking. In another area of worldly engagement, social outreach, and service, Byzantine monasticism sustained and formalized patterns that had existed from early days. By c.600 Byzantine monks were recognized, along with the official Church and lay as­so­ci­ ations, as one of the main providers of social services to the public (Patlagean 1977: 188–195). Almsgiving had long been a virtual requirement for all monks, including hermits. But it was communal houses that took community service a step further and developed a range of philanthropic institutions. An emphasis on the monk’s call to serve the poor, sick, troubled, and otherwise needy was already present in the Pachomian tradition, and it took on still greater definition and importance in the teachings of Basil. In later cen­ tur­ies, levels of commitment to monastic service differed from place to place, though they never even remotely matched Franciscan levels of service. Groups who viewed

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142   Peter Hatlie s­ ervice as a priority typically lived in big cities and along pilgrims’ routes. Monks maintained shrines and ran numerous hostels in the Holy Land for pilgrims throughout the sixth century, for example (Binns 1994). At the same time, similar types of philanthropic activity appeared in places like Syria, Asia Minor, and Constantinople (Vööbus 1960: 361–383; Mitchell  1993: 116–117; Hatlie  2007: 159–160). An immediate incentive for a wider application of monastic philanthropy appears to have come from Monophysite monks, whose solidarity with and service to common people seized the attention of the public (Harvey  1990; Hatlie  2007: 127–150). Their example may well have impressed even monks outside of Monophysite circles—the majority of Byzantine monks, in other words—and yet it had only limited long-term impact. Monastic philanthropic enterprises were frequently hindered by fear of scandal and by a lack of resources. Houses that possessed the organization, the will, and sufficient means, on the other hand, went on to provide a wide range of services, including hostels, hospitals, old-age homes, leper sanatoria, pre-vocational or perhaps primary education, prison space for people under house arrest, bathing facilities, bridge repair, and perhaps even burial services (Dagron  1993: 280–294). The Stoudios Monastery in ninth-century Constantinople pointed the way ahead by developing a modest array of such services (Hatlie 2007: 394). It was only in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, however, that monastic foundations, helped by imperial grants, played a truly central and important role in institutionalized philanthropy. The Pantokrator Monastery in Constantinople, with its attached hospital and old-age home, was the most celebrated, but there were several other well-appointed institutions (Miller 1985: 12–21; Angold 1995: 308–314; Thomas and Hero 2000: 465, 495–496, 615, 734–735 et passim). Given the scarcity of sources, it is difficult to calculate what proportion of monks at different times would have had regular contacts with laypeople through these activities. It seems that almsgiving was a constant phenomenon over the years, whereas institutional philanthropy took centuries to develop, peaking in the middle Byzantine period before falling off sharply in the last days of the empire. Anyone who has ever been within a secluded monastic setting knows how eager some monks can be to exchange ideas and discuss news from the world. Even brief and temporary encounters can swiftly become friendly and personal. Perhaps one can dare to imagine that both the providers and the users of Byzantium’s monastic social services had similar experiences. Even if sources are not helpful in this regard, it certainly seems likely that the monk’s engagement with the world was enhanced by such encounters. The same may be said of the frequent encounters monks had with laypeople on the streets of cities and along country roads as they carried out external duties for the monastery, such as agricultural work, transport, and purchasing. Outbreaks of monastic political activity and persecution, monastic attendance at pilgrimage shrines, and the disruptions associated with the empire’s many wars also put some monks face-to-face with strangers. Finally, one of the most constant occasions for high-impact relations between monks and outsiders was the existence of monastic networks, ranging from friendship and family ties to spiritual counselling and kinship. All of this and more points to a relationship between monk and world that has rightly been characterized as ‘both firm and fluid’ (Morris 1993: 273–274 [quotation]; Morris 1995: 83–119).

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Monasticism in the Byzantine Empire   143

Numbers, Gender, Class, and Ethnicity Monks played a central role in Byzantine society throughout the centuries (Charanis 1971). Their importance over so long a time and within so many domains— politics, economics, culture, and religion—can be attributed in part to the overall appeal of their ideals and values, in part to the efforts and support of some extraordinary personalities, and finally to their efforts to make themselves important by engaging the world around them. Yet another factor came into play, however, and that was the monastic movement’s fundamental relationship to the existing social order. Its footprint in society was unmistakable. Among other things, if you were not a monk yourself in Byzantium, then you certainly knew one (Angold 1995: 265). While attempts to estimate the number of Byzantine monks as a proportion of the population have proved difficult, most scholars acknowledge that at any given time their numbers were substantial. Indeed, an estimate of one to two per cent of the total population has seemed reasonable to some (Dagron  1970: 253; Hussey  1967: 179–180; Charanis  1971: 73–74; but Morris  1995: 181–182 and Haldon  1997: 295). But monastic demography may not be the only or even most important reason why monasticism was so visible within and integral to the Byzantine social order. The particular social com­ pos­ition of the monastic cohort—which represented a cross-section of society and replicated existing social structures—was an equally important factor. Gender patterns within monasticism were, for example, relatively inclusive. During the early centuries, women’s presumed part in such radical ascetical movements as the Eustathians and their frequent association with mixed-gender or double monasteries drew scholarly attention (Dagron 1970: 246–253; Pargoire 1906). More recently, however, women’s participation in the foundation and development of monasticism itself through c.600 is seen as significant (Elm 1994). In truth, such findings are not based on much source material in comparison to that about men. In later centuries the same is true—much more information is available about male than about female monks—and yet there is still good reason to believe that the relatively inclusive patterns of the early Byzantine age persisted. With the exception of Kassia in the ninth century and Anna Komnena in the twelfth, nuns rarely spoke out in the first person. Yet they are known to have been addressed frequently, both orally and in writing, by the likes of Theodore of Stoudios (fl. 800), the solitary Isaiah (fl. c.1250), and Theoleptos of Philadelphia (fl. 1300) (Rapp 1996: 322–329). Such evidence refers to aristocratic women, typically as the heads of communities or as their founders. In order to understand the bigger picture, the question is how many female foundations were there and how many women were in residence? About ten per cent of extant monastic foundation charters (typika) are composed for female monasteries, and another handful allude to female houses associated with male ones (Thomas and Hero 2000: xviii). Repeated condemnations of double monasteries add more evidence for convents that needs to be taken into account. Finally, a greater focus on the range of written and material sources, together with a better understanding of women’s motives for entering convents, is gradually improving our ability to estimate the role of nuns in the monastic movements. Female monasticism especially

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144   Peter Hatlie prospered in the twelfth century (Angold 1995: 204–206, 295–298). More generally, on the basis of statistics collected for the number of convents, women appear to have made up at a minimum twenty-five per cent of all monks (Talbot  1985; Gerstel and Talbot 2006). Although this number may not seem terribly high by modern standards, when it is taken in the context of women’s overall participation in public life (e.g. in education, the Church, the court, the army), it looks considerably more impressive. In addition to gender, Byzantine monasticism replicated and therefore reinforced the existing social order to a significant degree in two other respects: first, from at least c.600 onward the aristocracy consistently had deep investments and influence, whether as founders, members, patriarchal and imperial officers, or lay curators; and second, throughout the centuries it was surprisingly cosmopolitan ethnically and/or culturally. As far as social class is concerned, the economics, management, and patronage needs of Byzantine monasteries favoured aristocrats as the necessary (if not always natural) leaders of the movement. Smaller, family-based monasteries were deeply aristocratic, consisting mainly of family members and their servants. Larger institutions, such as the Stoudios Monastery in Constantinople or the Great Lavra on Mount Athos, surely had a more broadly based constituency of commoners, even if the power remained within the hands of a few (Charanis 1971: 76–78; Déroche 1993: 243–245; Kountoura-Galaki 1996: 57–75, 163–204). Another characteristic feature of Byzantine monasticism was its multicultural ­dimension. Mount Sinai, Palestine, and Constantinople were models of diversity in the early centuries (Binns 1994: 91–95; Hatlie 2007: 74–76 et passim), while Mount Olympus and especially Mount Athos represent later examples (Charanis 1971: 78–79). In addition to such internal developments, the empire also exported its monastic rules, art and artistic traditions, liturgy, and much else abroad. Southern Italy and Sicily were havens  for cen­tur­ies (Parrinello  2012: 100–125), as were the Balkans and Russia (Obolensky 1971). This virtual monastic commonwealth had roots in the multiculturalism of Byzantium itself and was an important element in what has been called the Byzantine Commonwealth.

Divergence and Variation in Byzantine Monasticism No equivalent to the Benedictine order appeared in the Byzantine monastic tradition. Certain rules, such as that of Stoudite and Evergetis, were considered more authoritative than others, and therefore they circulated widely. Furthermore, different groups of monasteries occasionally formed alliances with one another, which sometimes bordered on federations. Yet the proposition that Byzantium allowed for a greater degree of organizational and operational variety and never developed Western-style monastic orders still holds. Without the authority of rules and orders as fixed reference points, differences over policy were common. Serious and prolonged intercommunal strife was atypical, however, as were disruptive reform movements within particular communities.

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Monasticism in the Byzantine Empire   145

Approaches to Monastic Life: Hermits, Coenobites, Lavriotes Monastic authorities expressed different opinions about such issues as the minimum age for a monastic vocation, whether progress from early to mature stages in the monastic life ought to be marked by a change in monastic habit or schema, how much mobility monks should have outside their communities, and what the principal responsibilities of a good abbot were. An overall consensus developed around each of these issues, but no strictly defined and generalized principle ever appeared. Above and beyond these technical questions was the much bigger issue of the optimal way of life for monks. Over the centuries, three basic traditions evolved and coexisted in either pure or hybrid form—the eremitic, the coenobitic, and the lavriotic—each having its supporters and critics within a general climate of tolerance and respect. The eremites included desert hermits, recluses, and anchorites in the tradition of Anthony of Egypt, along with a wide variety of other types of solitaries, including ­column-dwellers (stylites), tree-dwellers (dendrites), grazers (boskoi), holy fools (saloi), and just plain wandering monks. In the early years such figures distinguished themselves by being quasi-laypeople unattached to any community, and they were common both in the countryside and in the towns. By c.850, however, the number of monks following an exclusively eremitic way of life had fallen drastically everywhere, and had all but disappeared in cities. Only on monastic mountains such as Athos and Latros, or in isolated parts of Greece (as evidenced by the early career of St Loukas of Steiris [d. 946]), were they found in significant numbers (Parrinello 2012: 73–74). As the purely eremitic form of life declined in popularity, the coenobitic way emerged as dominant. The influence of Pachomios, Basil of Caesarea, and the notable coenobitic reformer Theodore of Stoudios partly explains this phenomenon. Other factors also favoured its success and development, including a historical shift in models of sainthood and the growth of coenobitic-friendly monastic patronage (Kazhdan  1985). A definitive turning point came in c.800, when Theodore of Stoudios redrew the prin­ ciples of coenobitic life and made a great success of his own community. He attracted as many as a thousand monks to his doors and became a hugely influential public figure. The names of hundreds of coenobitic monasteries across the empire have come down to us from the age of Theodore and continuing into subsequent centuries, including numerous well-appointed houses with imperial patronage together with those known primarily from their reputation for integrity and excellence. Byzantium was unusual in developing alternatives to—or perhaps better put, a middle way between—pure eremitism and pure coenobitism (Papachryssanthou  1973; Morris 1995: 37–39). One was the lavra, a type of community that allowed monks to live their daily lives independently, as solitaries, with the requirement that they accept the authority of an abbot and come together regularly as a community to celebrate the liturgy and receive both instruction and supplies. Inspired by the famous communities of Chariton, Euthymius, and Sabas in fourth- and fifth-century Palestine, numerous lavras appeared in the later Byzantine countryside from the mid-ninth century onwards, most notably the Great Lavra of Mount Athos. In a second and closely associated d ­ evelopment,

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146   Peter Hatlie coenobitic houses of middle and late Byzantium might reserve space for solitaries within their communities, whether in internal cells or outlying hermitages. Even the self-consciously proud coenobitic Stoudios Monastery, whose Abbot Theodore openly discussed the superiority of communal over solitary asceticism, housed hermits within its midst (Hatlie 2007: 330–331, 342–343). This was not duplicity on Theodore’s part. Rather, he was simply reflecting a pattern of monastic leadership that accepted variety as long it conformed with general patristic teaching.

Learning, Labour, or Liturgy Syrian, Basilian, and Pachomian traditions of early Byzantium esteemed both manual labour and basic learning. A preference for labour over learning was common outside these traditions, notably where economic self-sufficiency was either recommended or necessary. Furthermore, at least in some circles, notably in Palestine, there was an even greater emphasis put on prayer, psalming, and their associated liturgical practices over all other activities (Taft 1986: 75–91). It would be wrong to view the rest of Byzantine monastic history as trapped in an ideological tug-of-war over these three standards. For one thing, it was recognized that some level of literacy was useful for prayer and li­tur­gic­al practice, just as certain literary pursuits (e.g. book copying) and types of prayer (e.g. incessant psalming) fulfilled the salutary function of labour. On the other hand, in striking contrast with the Benedictine model, most monastic leaders of later centuries were uninterested in holding learning, labour, and liturgy together in balance. Nor are there even many examples of learning and labour adopted jointly as basic community standards. Although the issue needs more study and focus, current research suggests that the highly positive value once attributed to manual labour and education diminished over time. Or at the very least, monastic leaders promoted these standards less vigorously than before and rarely in combination with one another, whereas singular support for the value of prayer, ritual, and liturgical activity gradually became more pronounced (Thomas and Hero 2000). An extreme example of the pro-liturgy stance was seen in the fifth-century Akoimetai Monastery of Constantinople, where manual labour was openly frowned upon. Among the few communities known to have adopted a more even-handed approach were the Stoudios and Evergetis in Constantinople, where basic education, work, and liturgical commitments were all validated to a significant degree.

Relations between Monks and the Church Ps. Dionysios’s well-known classification of monks as the most exalted category of laymen within the earthly Church yet separate from and below the status of clergy captures some of the ambiguity of the early relations between monasticism and the Church (De Ecclesiastica Hierarchia 117.1–15). An excellent body of scholarly work has outlined the main areas of cooperation, tension, and lingering uncertainty in this developing

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Monasticism in the Byzantine Empire   147 r­elationship (Sterk  2004; Rapp  2005). The extent to which monks bowed to Church authority on dogma, discipline, and presumed episcopal prerogatives, offered themselves for ordination and high office, and cooperated with Church and imperial officials to defend and expand the faith, are all areas of interest. By c.600, there was still much distance between monks and churchmen on all of these fronts, but there was also reason to expect more collaboration in future. An ambitious campaign by the powerful emperor Justinian (d. 565), who wished to regulate the monastic life in line with the Church’s needs and standards, was one reason for optimism (Frazee 1982). Although the scholarship for later centuries is far from complete, there are indications that the relationship between monks and the Church varied greatly from one time, place, and situation to the next, thus remaining fairly uncertain to the very end. From c.800 onward the interests of the two institutions converged, as far as appointments of monks to ecclesiastical offices were concerned. Even if the number of monastic clergy overall remains difficult to calculate, the fact that so many monks over the centuries came to hold episcopal and patriarchal office is striking (Charanis 1971: 84; Dagron 1993: 247–148). Missionary activity and the copying of liturgical texts for Church use indicate other areas of mutual cooperation, as do those occasions when churches and Church officials owned, managed, or patronized monasteries with positive results (Angold 1995: 291–295). Just as frequent as such instances of cooperation, however, are those that suggest distance, distrust, and even mutual antagonism. Property and revenue disputes, quarrels over Church teaching, struggles over monastic claims to autonomy, and even personality conflicts were all too common. Commenting upon the large amount of evidence about monk–Church relations from monastic charters (typika), for example, John Thomas has concluded that ‘bishops were more often presented in the typika as a source of difficulty than protection’ (Thomas and Hero 2000: xxxv). On occasions when relations were particularly strained, old stereotypes of greedy and worldly churchmen or wandering and disorderly monks could easily re-emerge in either camp for the purpose of discrediting the other (Morris 1995: 267–280; Angold 1995: 346–359). This was hardly the kind of relationship that Justinian had envisioned when he sought to har­ mon­ize the activities of monks and churchmen.

Conflicts and Controversies It was one thing for monks to feel uncertainty about bishops, but it was more serious yet for them to feel at odds with the family of monks. The various ways in which Byzantine monasticism both accommodated variety and tolerated difference contributed to a general environment of mutual respect and identification among monks. But struggles did occur, some of them serious. Bouts of tension can be identified as the result of rivalries between individuals and communities, territorial disputes, differences in approaches to the monastic life, and much else. These were local disputes, however, that might have required the ­intervention

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148   Peter Hatlie of high-ranking monastic, Church, and imperial officials but that never got out of control. Deeper and irreconcilable divisions between monks happened more rarely. The Christological controversies of the fifth and sixth centuries marked an early example of a complete breakdown in monastic solidarity (Bacht 1953; Hatlie 2007: 90–132). Two other controversies also deeply divided groups of monks, and thus for a time com­prom­ ised their corporate loyalties and identity.

Iconoclasm (c.700–850) Byzantine authors of the iconoclastic and immediate post-iconoclastic periods whose works survive were almost uniformly iconophile in their sympathies, and many of them were monks. A common theme in their discourse was the noble defence of icons by the fiercely persecuted monastic orders, a theme that an older generation of scholars accepted largely without question. A growing body of recent research has cast doubt on both the severity of iconoclasm as a specifically religious crisis, and on the identification of monks with the iconophile party (Hatlie 2007). What is clear is that monks needed to take sides in response to any number of official Church and state policies, and that they did so independently of one another, not as a bloc. John of Damascus (d. 749) and Theodore of Stoudios (d. 826) stood out as the most prominent of the iconodule theologians. Theodore went one step further and organized an impressive protest movement against not only iconoclasm but also other religious policies sponsored by Church and state. He got support from hundreds of his own monks, along with about one hundred other monks and some clergy (Hatlie 2007: 473–485). However, large numbers of his fellow monastic leaders and their monks, probably a majority, remained either neutral or indeed opposed to Theodore and his causes. One of his fiercest opponents in the iconoclast controversy, the patriarch John Grammatikos, was in fact a former monk. In the persecutions that accompanied iconoclasm, more­over, it was not uncommon for one monastic group to act as jailor and enforce punishments on another (Hatlie 2007: 370–379).

Hesychast Controversy (14th century) The hesychast controversy, a dispute over a particular method of ‘quiet’ (hesychia) monastic prayer that was said to facilitate a direct personal experience of the transcendent God, gripped the Byzantine world for decades. Church synods met repeatedly between 1341 and 1351 to decide the matter; several high-profile figures suffered excommunication and persecution; and it even got entangled in a late-Byzantine civil war (1341–1347). Hesychast monks on Mount Athos were its protagonists and victors, including such forerunners as Nikephoros the Hesychast (fl. 1300) and Gregory of Sinai (d. 1346), culminating with the movement’s greatest defender and exegete, Gregory Palamas (d. 1359). These hesychasts were opposed by, among others, Barlaam the Calabrian (d. 1348), Gregory Akyndinos

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Monasticism in the Byzantine Empire   149 (d. 1348), and Nicephoros Gregoras (d. c.1360), all of whom suffered some form of punishment as the result of the ultimate triumph of hesychast practice. Modern scholars have attributed many things to the two parties in the controversy, Palamites and anti-Palamites, respectively. For instance, an older tradition cast the Palamites as fundamentally a monastic party and their opponents as humanists or secularists (Meyendorff  1979: 76–78). The difficulty with this position technically is that some of the most prominent anti-Palamites were themselves monks, including the above-mentioned Barlaam and Gregory, along with the prominent Constantinopolitan abbess Irene Eulogia Choumnaina (d. c.1355). Even on Mount Athos, with Prochoros Kydones (d. 1369) and others, hesychasm had its opponents among the monks. Was hesychasm then fundamentally a showdown between different factions within the monastic order? The controversy is too complex to be reduced to such narrow terms, since it came to include debates about many more issues than prayer, and it drew in many combatants from the world beyond the monasteries. Still, there can be no doubt that in the course of the crisis at least three monastic factions vied with one another over the basic issue of hesychast prayer and its implications for current practices of monastic life and discipline. In addition to the hesychasts, there were traditional ascetics who prioritized the liturgy and the renunciation of the flesh, as well as those who saw intellectual activity as compatible with the monastic vocation. The victory of hesychasm did not spell a complete end to these two factions. Yet according to one recent and authoritative interpretation, it weakened them enough to produce ‘a narrowing of the rich Byzantine spiritual tradition’ and it fostered an approach to monasticism that ‘assumed a distinctly fundamentalist character’ (Krausmüller 2006: 102, 125–126).

Conclusion By the time of the hesychast controversy, Byzantium had long since become a divided, impoverished, and weakened society and state. Not surprisingly, monasticism too lacked the strength in spirit and the numbers that it had once enjoyed. The sheer difficulty of these circumstances may help to explain why this last chapter in Byzantine monasticism took such an unusual, even extreme, turn. In essence, some long-standing patterns of Byzantine monastic life suddenly changed. For one thing, the concept of hesychia certainly had roots in the patristic tradition, but the hesychast prayer technique attributed to it was arguably quite new. For another, much of the spirit of accommodation characteristic of earlier centuries now grew rigid. Finally, although the issue would need more study, the socially broad recruitment patterns of earlier centuries appear to have narrowed considerably, partly due to the difficulties in society at large and partly in response to the stricter codes of monastic life. One pattern that remained was the trad­ ition of monks holding high positions in the Church. In fact, monks with hesychast sympathies played a significant role in ecclesiastical life and politics right to the end of the empire.

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150   Peter Hatlie

Directions for Future Research Scholars of the last half century should be applauded for their leaps of progress in the specialized areas of philology, literary and historical criticism, and historical fact-­finding and analysis. Hundreds of monastic texts have appeared in authoritative editions and in translations that were previously accessible to only a few. The rhetorical complexity and interpretative challenges of all genres of monastic literature are well understood today, and new approaches have superseded the simplistic and often positivistic reading of texts of earlier generations. Scholars have also worked diligently on probing and teasing available texts for historical details and insights on an impressive range of topics, from monastic economies and cultural activities, to gender and class patterns within monastic ranks. There is still considerable work to be done in all of these areas. To limit future studies only or even mainly to such endeavours, however, would be a mistake. At a minimum, the current emphasis on highly specialized historical analysis and textual criticism should not take precedence over advancing our knowledge through broad historical interpretation. Asking more broadly why, how, and with what consequences monasticism came to occupy the distinctive position it did in the Byzantine world should be just as important, in other words, as describing and analyzing what that pos­ition was in minute details. In a best-case scenario, future researchers will take up the challenge of writing broadly conceived regional, thematic, and diachronic historical monographs of Byzantine monasticism rather than expecting the unassembled puzzle of specialized scholarship to speak for itself. One conspicuous example of a book waiting to be written, in the wake of decades of concentrated research on the subject, is a history of female monasticism in Byzantium.

Suggested Reading For brief surveys by period or in general, see Hussey (1967), Mango (1980: 105–124), Talbot (1987, 2005), and McGuckin (2008). For detailed studies of certain periods or themes, see Hatlie (2007), Morris (1995), Smyrlis (2006), and Angold (1995: 265–384). The only attempt at a comprehensive history is the short and selective survey of Parrinello (2012). For useful if dated inventories of individual monasteries, including historical background for each, see Janin (1969, 1975). For Theodore of Stoudios and the Stoudios Monastery, see Pratsch (1998). As a starting point for the Evergetis Monastery, see Mullett and Kirby (1994). On female monasticism, browse Talbot (2001). Perhaps because the subject is too vast, no comprehensive study dedicated to art, architecture, or archaeology exists. Note that a recent important book on the subject by Alice-Mary Talbot (Talbot 2019) came to press too late to be considered for this chapter. Thomas and

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Monasticism in the Byzantine Empire   151 Hero (2000) present a remarkable collection of monastic charters (typika) in English translation. Although dated, the best reviews of theological, hagiographic, and ascetical literature are still Beck (1959) and Ehrhard (1937–1939).

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Antiochos the Monk, Pandektes. Greek text: PG 89: 1420–1856. Dionysios the Areopagite (Ps.), De Ecclesiastica Hierarchia. Greek text: B. R. Suchla, G. R. Heil, and A. M. Ritter, Pseudo-Dionysius Areopagita: Corpus Dionysiacum. 2 vols. PTS 33 and 36, vol 2: 61–132. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1990–1991. Isaiah, Abbot, Meterikon. Eng. trans. Matericon: Instructions of Abba Isaiah to the Honorable Nun Theodora. Safford, AZ: St. Paisius Serbian Orthodox Monastery, 2001. John Klimakos, The Ladder of Divine Ascent. Greek text: PG 88: 631–1161. Eng. trans. C. Luibheid and N. Russell. New York: Paulist Press, 1982. Kassia, Poems. Greek text and Eng. trans. A. Tripolitis, Kassia: The Legend, the Woman, and Her Work. Garland Library of Medieval Literature 84. New York: Garland, 1992. Paul Evergetinos. Eng. trans. Bishop Chrysostomos et al., The Evergetinos: A Complete Text (Etna, CA: Center for Traditionalist Orthodox Studies, 2008). The translation is based on an old edition: Paul of Evergetis. Evergetinon or Synagoge. Greek text: Makarios of Corinth and Nikodemos Hagioritis (eds). Venice 1783; reprinted in Athens: 1996–1997 in 4 vols. Theodore of Stoudios, Letters. Greek text: G.  Fatouros, Theodori Studitae Epistulae. 2 vols. CFHB 31. Berlin: de Gruyter, 1992. Theodore of Stoudios, Sermons, I. Greek text: G. Cozza-Luzi, Novae Patrum Bibliothecae, 9:2, 1–217. Rome, 1888. Theodore of Stoudios, Sermons II. Greek text: A.  Papadopoulos-Kerameus, Tou Hosiou Theodôrou tou Stouditou Megalê Katêchesis, Biblion Deuteron. St Petersburg, 1904. Theodore of Stoudios, Testament. Greek text: PG 99: 1813–1824. Theoleptos of Philadelphia. Greek text and Eng. trans. R. E. Sinkewicz. Theoleptos of Philadelphia: The Monastic Discourses. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 1992.

Secondary Sources Angold, M. (1995). Church and Society in Byzantium under the Comneni, 1081–1261. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bacht, H. (1953). ‘Die Rolle des orientalischen Mönchtums in den kirchenpolitischen Auseinandersetzungen um Chalkedon (431–519)’. In Das Konzil von Chalkedon. 3 vols, edited by A. Grillmeier and H. Bacht, 2: 193–314. Würzburg: Echter-Verlag. Beck, H. G. (1959). Kirche und theologische Literatur im byzantinischen Reich. Handbuch der Altertumswissenschaft 12:2.1. Munich: C. H. Beck. Binns, J. (1994). Ascetics and Ambassadors of Christ: The Monasteries of Palestine, 314–631. OECS. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Caner, D. (2002). Wandering, Begging Monks. Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late Antiquity. TCH 33. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

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152   Peter Hatlie Charanis, P. (1971). ‘The Monk as an Element of Byzantine Society’. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 25: 61–84. Dagron, G. (1993). ‘Le christianisme byzantin du VIIe au milieu du XIe siècle’. In Histoire du Christianisme, IV: Évêques, moines et empereurs (610–1054), edited by G. Dagron, P. Riché, and A. Vauchez, 7–371. Paris: Desclée. Dagron, G. (1970). ‘Les moines et la ville. Le monachisme à Constantinople jusqu’au concile de Chalcédoine (451)’. Travaux et Mémoires 4: 229–276. Déroche, V. (1993). ‘L’autorité des moines à Byzance du VIIIe au Xe siècle’. In Le monachisme à Byzance et en Occident du VIIIe au Xe siècle: Aspects internes et relations avec la société, edited by A. Dierkens, D. Misonne, and J.-M. Sansterre. Maredsous: Abbaye de Maredsous (Published as Revue Bénédictine 103: 241–254). Efthymiadis, S. (ed.) (2011–2014). The Ashgate Research Companion to Byzantine Hagiography. 2 vols. Farnham: Ashgate. Ehrhard, A. (1937–1939). Überlieferung und Bestand der hagiographischen und homiletischen Literatur der griechischen Kirche von den Anfängen bis zum Ende des 16. Jahrhunderts. 3 vols. TU 50–52. Leipzig: Hinrichs. Elm, S. (1994). ‘Virgins of God’: the Making of Asceticism in Late Antiquity. OCM. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Frazee, C. (1982). ‘Late Roman and Byzantine Legislation on the Monastic Life from the Fourth through Eighth Centuries’. Church History 51: 263–279. Gerstel, S.  and A.-M.  Talbot (2006). ‘Nuns in the Byzantine Countryside’. Δελτίον Τῆς Χριστιανικῆς Ἀρχαιολογικῆς Ἑταιρείας (= Deltion of the Christian Archaeological Society) 27: 481–490. Haldon, J. (1997). Byzantium in the Seventh Century: the Transformation of a Culture, rev. edn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Harvey, Susan Ashbrook (1990). Asceticism and Society in Crisis: John of Ephesus and the Lives of the Eastern Saints. TCH 18. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Hatlie, P. (2007). The Monks and Monasteries of Constantinople, ca. 350–850. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hussey, J. M. (1967). ‘Byzantine Monasticism’. In The Cambridge Medieval History, 4.2, edited by J. M. Hussey, 161–184. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Janin, R. (1975). Les églises et les monastères des grands centres byzantins (Bithynie, Hellespont, Latros, Galèsios, Trébizonde, Athènes, Thessalonique). Paris: IFEB. Janin, R. (1969). La Géographie ecclésiastique de l’Empire byzantin, 1: Le siège de Constantinople et le patriarcat oecuménique, 3: Les églises et les monastères, 2nd edn. Paris: IFEB. Jordan, R. H. and R. Morris (2012). The Hypotyposis of the Monastery of the Theotokos Evergetis, Constantinople (11th–12th Centuries): Introduction, Translation and Commentary. Farnham: Ashgate. Kazhdan, A. P. (1985). ‘Hermetic, Cenobitic, and Secular Ideals in Byzantine Hagiography of the Ninth (and Tenth) Centuries’. Greek Orthodox Theological Review 30: 473–487. Kountoura-Galaki, E. (1996). Byzantine Clergy and Society in the Dark Centuries. Athens: Institute for Byzantine Research, National Hellenic Research Foundation. Krausmüller, D. (2006). ‘The Rise of Hesychasm’. In The Cambridge History of Christianity, vol. 5: Eastern Christianity, edited by M.  Angold, 101–126. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Leroy, J. (1979). ‘L’influence de saint Basile sur la réforme studite d’après les Catéchèses’. Irénikon 52: 491–506.

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Monasticism in the Byzantine Empire   153 Mango, C. (1980). Byzantium: The Empire of New Rome. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. McGuckin, J. (2008), ‘Monasticism and Monasteries’. In The Oxford Handbook of Byzantine Studies, edited by E. Jeffreys, J. Haldon, and R. Cormack, 611–620. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Meyendorff, J. (1979). Byzantine Theology: Historical Trends and Doctrinal Themes. New York: Fordham University Press. Miller, T. S. (1985). The Birth of the Hospital in the Byzantine Empire. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Mitchell, S. (1993). Anatolia: Land, Men, and Gods in Asia Minor, vol. 2: The Rise of the Church. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Morris, R. (1995). Monks and Laymen in Byzantium, 843–1118. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Morris, R. (1993). ‘Spiritual Fatherhood and Temporal Patrons: Logic and Contradiction in Byzantine Monasticism in the Tenth Century’. In Le monachisme à Byzance et en Occident du VIIIe au Xe siècle: Aspects internes et relations avec la société, edited by A.  Dierkens, D. Misonne, and J.-M. Sansterre. Maredsous: Abbaye de Maredsous. (Published as Revue Bénédictine 103: 273–288.) Mullett, M. and A.  Kirby (eds) (1994). The Theotokos Evergetis and Eleventh-Century Monasticism. Belfast Byzantine Texts and Translations 6.1. Belfast: Belfast Byzantine Enterprises. Obolensky, D. (1971). The Byzantine Commonwealth. Eastern Europe, 500–1453. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Papachryssanthou, D. (1973). ‘La vie monastique dans les campagnes byzantines du VIIIe au XIe siècle: Ermitages, groupes, et communautés’. Byzantion 43: 158–180. Pargoire, J. (1906). ‘Les monastères doubles chez les Byzantins’. Échos d’Orient 9: 21–25. Parrinello, R. M. (2012). Il monachesimo bizantino. Rome: Carocci. Patlagean, E. (1977). Pauvreté économique et pauvreté sociale à Byzance, 4e–7e siècles. Paris: Éditions de l’École des hautes études en sciences sociales. Pratsch, T. (1998). Theodoros Studites (759–826)—zwischen Dogma und Pragma. Berliner Byzantinistische Studien 4. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Rapp, C. (2010). ‘The Origins of Hagiography and the Literature of Early Monasticism: Purpose and Genre between Tradition and Innovation’. In Unclassical Traditions, vol. 1: Alternatives to the Classical Past in Late Antiquity, edited by C.  Kelly, R.  Flower, and M. S. Williams, 119–130. Cambridge Classical Journal Supplement 34. Cambridge: Cambridge Philological Society. Rapp, C. (2005). Holy Bishops in Late Antiquity. The Nature of Christian Leadership in an Age of Transition. TCH 37. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rapp, C. (1996). ‘Figures of Female Sanctity: Byzantine Edifying Manuscripts and their Audience’. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 50: 313–344. Smyrlis, K. (2006). La fortune des grands monastères byzantins (fin du Xe—milieu du XIVe siècle). Paris: Centre de Recherche d’Histoire et Civilisation de Byzance. Sterk, A. (2004). Renouncing the World Yet Leading the Church. The Monk-Bishop in Late Antiquity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Taft, R. (1986). The Liturgy of the Hours in East and West. The Origins of the Divine Office and Its Meaning for Today. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Talbot, A.-M. (2019). Varieties of Monastic Experience in Byzantium, 800–1453. Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press.

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154   Peter Hatlie Talbot, A.-M. (2005). ‘Monasticism’. In Palgrave Advances in Byzantine History, edited by J. Harris, 119–132. Houndmills: Palgrave Macmillan. Talbot, A.-M. (2001). Women and Religious Life in Byzantium. Aldershot: Ashgate. Talbot, A.-M. (1987). ‘An Introduction to Byzantine Monasticism’. Illinois Classical Studies 12: 229–241. Talbot, A.-M. (1985). ‘A Comparison of the Monastic Experiences of Byzantine Men and Women’. Greek Orthodox Theological Review 30: 1–20. Thomas, J. and A.  C.  Hero (eds) (2000). Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents: A Complete Translation of the Surviving Founders’ Typika and Testaments. 5 vols. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library. Vööbus, A. (1960). History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient: A Contribution to the History of Culture in the Near East, vol. 2: Early Monasticism in Mesopotamia and Syria. Louvain: Peeters.

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chapter 10

Monaster ies, Societ y, Econom y, a n d th e State i n th e Byz a n ti n e Empir e Kostis Smyrlis

In order to understand how monasteries came to occupy the central position they did in the spiritual and material life of medieval Byzantium, it is necessary to analyze the role they played within their society. This chapter will address two topics. First it will consider the multiple functions monasteries fulfilled and their relations with laypeople and the state. The second topic, the monasteries’ economic activities and their place in the larger Byzantine economy, is, properly speaking, part of the first, but it deserves special treatment because of its many ramifications. The study of monastic wealth and its exploitation enables us to understand the power and longevity of certain establishments, as well as their impact on the economy. In addition, the evidence regarding their economic activities forms the basis of all work on the Byzantine economy for reasons related to documentation. Indeed, Byzantine monasticism is exceptionally well­documented, thanks to the remarkable endurance of the Orthodox Church and of several monasteries. The body of evidence regarding these institutions is significant, and it includes hagiographies, archival documents, and material remains. This chapter offers an overview of Byzantine monastic history from 843 to about 1500, with an emphasis on the monasteries’ relations with society and state as well as on their economic activities, noting some important scholarly trends. The period under discussion can be divided into three parts. The first, extending from the ninth to the early fourteenth century, was characterized by demographic and economic growth, at least in the European lands of the empire, and by the existence of a strong and pervasive state. The second, beginning around the middle of the fourteenth and lasting until the early ­fifteenth century, was a time of political fragmentation and instability, as well as

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156   Kostis Smyrlis ­ emographic and economic decline. The third period, corresponding to the early d Ottoman rule, was one of renewed political stability and centralism, this time under a Muslim government. Most of this chapter is concerned with the first period, though it also discusses the transformations that took place during the period of crisis and the early Ottoman rule.

Monasteries, Society, and the State Monasticism in Byzantium gained new momentum with the end of the iconoclast dispute in 843, when the monks came to be seen as champions of orthodoxy. Monasteries profited from their increased spiritual capital, and also from the general upturn of the economy that occurred at around the same time. Some of the increased wealth of the state, of the aristocracy, and of society at large was funnelled into the creation and patronage of monasteries. The foundation of monasteries was a mass phenomenon from at least the tenth century on, as shown by a law of 996, and it remained so for most of our period. Not only wealthy persons, but also more modest individuals—including ­villagers—supported the numerous establishments that populated the countryside and the cities. Some scholars have attempted to estimate the number of monasteries and the importance of the monastic population (Charanis  1971: 63–73; Bryer  1979: 219–221; Koder 1993/1994: 34–36). The fact that the present chapter focuses on the influential and better-documented great monasteries should not obscure the fact that most establishments were modest. Constantinople contained some of the most powerful and famous monasteries of the empire, as a result of donations and privileges given by the emperor and the high aristocracy who lived in the capital. The sack of the city in 1204, however, dealt an enormous blow to their wealth. Their recovery after the Byzantines retook the city in 1261 was only partial, as the empire and its ruling class never regained the economic position they had held in the twelfth century (Talbot 1993, 2001a, 2004; Smyrlis 2006: 176). Monasteries were a familiar feature of the Byzantine countryside. Recent scholarship has given attention to the issue of the factors that determined their location. Apart from the obvious constraints imposed by natural resources, the monastic ideal of isolation had to be somehow satisfied, and visibility, accessibility, and association with a holy site were necessary in order to maintain links with society and lay patronage. The proximity to cities, with which monasteries were in economic symbiosis, or the need to assert imperial control and ensure the defence of a region, have also been put forward as deciding factors (Koder 1993/1994: 14‒22; Talbot 2007: 50‒62; Kiousopoulou 2003; Bakirtzis 2012; on the issues of control and defence of a territory see later in this chapter). Of special note among the rural monasteries are those founded in remote but imposing ‘Holy Mountains’, such as Mount Athos in northern Greece, all of which were under a loose common government (Papachryssanthou 1992; Bryer and Cunningham 1996; Talbot 2001b; Soustal 2009; To Agion Oros ston 15o kai 16o aiona 2012).

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Monasteries, Society, Economy   157 The last decades of the previous century saw considerable scholarly interest in the relations of monasteries with society, in an effort to explain the proliferation, prominence, and continuity of monasteries in medieval Byzantium. This research analyzes the mechanisms that permitted this by looking at what it was that monasteries and monks had to offer to society and the state. The most accomplished work on the topic is Rosemary Morris’s Monks and Laymen in Byzantium (1995b). Scholars have inquired into the motives behind the foundation and patronage of monasteries, as well as into the monasteries’ exchanges with, and functions within, lay society (Morris 1995b: 90‒142; Mullett 2007; Kaplan 2010). Monasteries were founded both by ‘professional monks’ and by laypeople, who were sometimes recently tonsured monks. According to Catia Galatariotou (1987), the pursuits of ‘aristocratic’ founders were essentially worldly, while those of ‘non-aristocratic’ or monastic founders were of a more spiritual nature. However, this distinction is not always meaningful. The longevity of all monastic establishments largely depended on their connections with laypeople—the emperor, aristocrats, churchmen, and common people—from whose ranks came recruits, donations, and protection. People founded or patronized monasteries in order to obtain or recognize the important services these establishments could offer. Several, often complementary, motives have been identified. Prime among them was the desire of the Byzantines to secure the salvation of their souls after death. Creating or endowing pious establishments and receiving the concomitant prayers of the monks were regarded as being particularly efficacious means for achieving this. The monks also catered to the needs of the living, praying to obtain protection or keep evil away, providing spiritual guidance, and offering intercession with the authorities. Some miracle-working monks could also heal disease or predict the future, but this was exceptional. Most of the above functions of monasteries or monks concerned the whole of society, from the peasant to the emperor. But expectations from monasteries could also vary according to a person’s rank. Many wealthy Byzantines wished to retire and be buried in monasteries, both for the spiritual benefits that could be obtained from joining such establishments and being commemorated after death, and also for the more practical considerations of material security and immunity from political persecution offered by the monasteries. Family monasteries, which could be joined by family members or dependents, provided foci of a clan-type devotion. They were also a way of preserving intact a part of the family fortune, which would otherwise be exposed to the threat of subdivision among heirs or, in some cases, confiscation (Lemerle  1977: 65‒191; Talbot 1990). Aristocrats could confirm or enhance their positions within society by founding or patronizing monasteries. Prelates also stood to gain from their association with influential monks or monasteries. Nevertheless, relations between monks and local bishops were often antagonistic. The bishops disliked the diminution of their authority and revenues that occurred every time monasteries managed to become independent from them by, for instance, placing themselves under the jurisdiction of the patriarch or the emperor (Morris 1995b: 148‒154, 262‒266; Moulet 2008). The exchanges of monks with the less prosperous or powerful members of society have received relatively little attention in spite of their importance. Especially in

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158   Kostis Smyrlis ­ rovincial rural contexts, monasteries, which included relatively educated and somep times charismatic monks, offered spiritual guidance to the common people and could emerge as foci of collective devotion and leaders of local societies (Galatariotou 1991: 168‒183, 247‒259; Morris 1995b: 90‒119; Benoit-Meggenis 2012). Monks in the countryside provided valuable functions—among them intercession with the authorities, defence of territory, and economic help. At the same time, many rural monasteries were powerful landowners exercising (sometimes oppressive) authority over their dependent peasants (paroikoi), who owed them taxes, rents, and labour services (LaiouThomadakis 1977: 24‒71, 142‒222; Smyrlis 2010). The relations of monasteries with the emperor or the state were particularly complex and have received considerable attention in recent scholarship (Morris 1995b: 90‒142; Benoit-Meggenis 2010: 171‒306; Smyrlis 2011: 61–68). It is hard to overemphasize the role of the ruler in recognizing the prominence of monastic founders and ensuring the prosperity of monasteries (Magdalino  1981). All truly powerful establishments owed their position to imperial patronage, which consisted in donations of estates, concessions of annual subventions, exemptions from taxes, and protection. All this, however, did not come for free. The monasteries offered equally important services to the rulers— services related to their imperial functions, not to those that concerned them on a personal level. The foundation or patronage of monasteries offered emperors an opportunity to display their piety as well as their philanthropy, as in the case of institutions that housed hospitals or made daily distributions at the gates such as the Pantokrator in Constantinople (Cormack 1985: 200‒214). Emperors, especially if they had usurped power, could legitimize their rule in the eyes of the population through the support of prestigious monasteries. Byzantines in general believed that the prayers of monks could protect society and the empire from all sorts of dangers and could help imperial troops prevail over their enemies. Rulers were expected to see to it that the monks prayed and to thank them for it. The emperors certainly appreciated the role monasteries could play in asserting imperial authority in newly conquered or contested territories (Svoronos 1987; Morris 1995b: 119; Kiousopoulou 2009), in organizing the defence of lands exposed to raids, and in exploiting an area’s resources (Haldon 1986; Oikonomides 1996a: 243; Bakirtzis 2013; Smyrlis 2016). They therefore promoted the foundation of new monasteries in such regions or conceded resources to existing houses. In general, rulers could gain from the support of the monasteries, while they stood to lose if they failed to do so. Monks could indeed be formidable adversaries to imperial policy, as was demonstrated by the two failed attempts at Church union in the thirteenth and fifteenth centuries. An interesting aspect of the relationship between monasteries and the state is the issue of the confiscation of monastic lands, a recurring phenomenon that could acquire great significance in times of trouble (Smyrlis 2009). These expropriations have been interpreted as instances of crisis in the antagonistic relation between monks and emperor, in which the latter tried to control the territorial expansion of the monasteries that threatened state resources; or, on the contrary, as part of a normal process of transfer of land from one public sector, in this case the monasteries, to another public sector,

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Monasteries, Society, Economy   159 the fisc (Charanis 1948; Patlagean 2007: 213, 245–247 and passim). Neither interpretation is satisfactory. The idea that monastic wealth and privilege grew to an extent that state resources were seriously affected cannot be supported by a critical study of the evidence. Moreover, in spite of the frequency and relative ease with which the confiscations were accomplished, it is hard to accept that monastic estates were in fact public land, given that they were in almost all respects indistinguishable from private property, and that the emperor often had to justify the expropriations (Smyrlis 2011: 65‒66).

The Monasteries as Great Landowners Much of the interest in the economic significance of the monasteries has sprung from the broad emphasis on economic and social relations that characterized Byzantine historiography for the greater part of the twentieth century. A great deal has been written about the monasteries as wealthy landowners. Information on lay and state property is scarce, so that the relatively well-documented monasteries have been used for general studies of landownership during a time when large estates came to dominate the Byzantine countryside. The original focus was on the political and social implications of the expansion of great landownership; this was seen as a process that weakened central authority and led to the subjection of the peasantry to powerful lords. George Ostrogorsky’s Pour l’histoire de la féodalité byzantine (1954) is the best example of this type of scholarship. More recently, monastic sources have been used extensively in works studying the evolution of Byzantine economy and settlement (Harvey  1989; Lefort 2002). What is common to all such studies is that, although they are primarily based on monastic evidence, they usually only discuss monasteries to the extent that they can be considered characteristic representatives of great landownership. Relatively little has been said about the attributes that distinguish monastic estates and their management from the lay and state ones. This is largely the result of deficiencies in our sources. Nevertheless, it is clear that this scholarship has greatly furthered our understanding of the material aspects of monasticism. As a result of donations from the emperor, from the aristocracy, as well as from more modest individuals, some monasteries came to possess numerous estates. Their own tendency to invest most of their surplus in the purchase of land also helped to increase their fortunes. Of course, this process could also be reversed, and monasteries might sometimes become impoverished or disappear altogether, on account of internal troubles, confiscations, and foreign invasions. In the aggregate, monasteries must have played a significant role in the economy, especially in regions with a high concentration of monastic properties, such as coastal Chalkidike in northern Greece, where the Athonite houses held many estates. Apart from owning and exploiting lands, some monasteries also owned boats, with which they transported their products and engaged in speculative trade, thereby contributing to the provisioning of cities and stimulating commercial exchanges. Potentially

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160   Kostis Smyrlis significant (though almost entirely invisible) was their role as money lenders, in particular with merchants and farmers. Most of the money they acquired from the exploitation of their properties and from donations was returned to the economy through the purchase of lands and consumption goods, payments for construction projects, and charity. The most important question regarding monasteries as economic agents concerns the way they managed their landed fortunes. All indications suggest rather efficient management. The monks, however, seem to have invested most of their surplus in acquiring additional land rather than in improving productivity. The actual effects of this attitude are very hard to gauge, and it is not certain that it seriously affected the economy. In any case, monastic estates must have been among the best exploited ones in Byzantium, thanks to the continuity of ownership and the monasteries’ relatively important resources. One of the greatest contributions of monasteries lies in their role as stable structuring elements of the countryside, especially in the period of troubles that started around the middle of the fourteenth century (Smyrlis 2006, 2011: 53‒61; Smyrlis, Banev, and Konstantinidis 2015).

The Time of Troubles and the Early Ottoman Period, c.1350–c.1500 Before discussing the late medieval crisis and the early Ottoman rule, it is necessary to review the fate of monasteries in regions that had been lost to the Turks since the eleventh century. The conquest of Asia Minor after 1071 led to the destruction of many monastic establishments. The fate of those that survived the Turkish invasion is mostly unknown, but we can be sure that, overall, privileges and donations diminished because of the change of rule, and because of the displacement or gradual conversion of Christian populations (Vryonis 1971: 169–179, 194–198 and passim; Smyrlis 2006: 169–170). The latter development would eventually lead to the extinction of the monasteries. In the parts of Asia Minor that the Byzantines soon recovered, the blooming of the later twelfth and thirteenth centuries was interrupted at the turn of the fourteenth century by the second and definitive Turkish conquest. This conquest had effects similar to those of the first. In Europe, troubles began in the 1320s, especially in the coastal zone which was exposed to disruptive Turkish raids. Conditions deteriorated rapidly in the 1340s on account of the civil war, the Serbian conquest of Macedonia and Greece, and the arrival of the plague. The remainder of the fourteenth century and the beginning of the fifteenth were characterized by frequent warfare, political instability, recurring waves of the epidemic, and severe economic and demographic decline. The direct destruction of monasteries, the scarcity of manpower, and the general insecurity affected the capacity of the monks to exploit their lands. Moreover, they also suffered confiscations under the Serbs

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Monasteries, Society, Economy   161 and the Byzantines. The most notable of these confiscations was carried out by the Byzantines after 1371, when they took half the monastic estates in Macedonia. Nevertheless, monasteries generally fared much better than did secular landowners, who typically suffered expropriations at every change of regime. In addition, the monks’ resources allowed them to maintain some degree of exploitation in their estates, by building fortifications and resettling peasants (Smyrlis 2012a: 145–147). The impact on monasteries of the Ottoman conquest of European lands in the last three decades of the fourteenth century is only partially known. It appears that several monasteries, most notably those of Mount Athos, were spared the sacking and were allowed to keep many of their properties. Their protected status and relative stability allowed them to collect, by way of donations, some of the wealth of the dying Christian aristocracy of the Balkans in the later fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries (Oikonomides  1996c; Zachariadou 2008; Smyrlis 2008, 2012b). Apart from offering crucial economic stability, monasteries, along with the Church, also provided ideological and religious continuity in a rapidly changing world. This was especially true after the middle of the fifteenth century, when the Ottomans were firmly established in Europe and all traces of the Byzantine secular establishment had disappeared. In many ways, the monasteries and the Church perpetuated Byzantium, and this was of greatest significance for the Christian populations. As their position became more secure, the attitude of the Ottomans towards the monasteries hardened. As the Athonite evidence shows, soon after the second and definitive conquest of Thessalonike in 1430, the Ottomans carried out wholesale confiscations in Macedonia, which took away the largest part of monastic lands and all of their dependent peasants (Smyrlis 2012b: 38‒44). Despite the dramatic reduction of their wealth, many monasteries survived. The Ottomans in fact afforded them a tolerable and at times favourable regime, protecting them from abuses and conceding them limited privileges. The sultan, as had the emperor before him, clearly recognized that these establishments offered him a valuable tool with which to govern his subjects (Kolovos 2005). Unlike in Asia Minor, the population in the European provinces remained largely Christian, and they remained attached to the monasteries at least as much as before. The donations of the Christian subjects of the sultan, the subventions by Danubian princes, and the general demographic and economic growth of the second half of the fifteenth century allowed the monasteries to begin a slow recovery (Mount Athos in the 14th–16th ­centuries 1997; To Agion Oros ston 15o kai 16o aiona 2012; Smyrlis 2012b).

Directions for Future Research There is still much that can be done with the relatively rich monastic source material. Research is particularly needed in two areas. The first concerns the monasteries’ function within rural society and especially their exchanges with ordinary individuals, those who were not powerful. Although information is not always plentiful, we need to try to

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162   Kostis Smyrlis understand the services that the monks and their establishments offered to such persons, in particular the monks’ pastoral function and their role as spiritual leaders. Closely related to this is the issue of the many modest establishments that were typically short-lived, and that never acquired wealth or prominence, but were nonetheless ubiquitous and must have played a significant role in the countryside. Another matter that requires further study concerns the ways in which the Ottoman conquest transformed the monasteries’ significance. Here the work of Catia Galatariotou (1991), which examines the functions Saint Neophytos and his foundation came to fulfil in Cyprus under Latin rule, may be used as a guide. It suggests new ways of exploring the role played by monasteries in a Christian society deprived of its secular leaders and needing to come to terms with the extinction of the Roman Empire. At the same time, more research is also needed to understand the reasons why and the ways in which the Ottomans instrumentalized monasteries in order to rule their Christian subjects.

Suggested Reading There exists a vast literature on the history of monasticism and of specific monasteries in medieval Byzantium. Good discussions of some of the main historical and institutional questions can be found in the publications of Alice-Mary Talbot (1987, 1990, 2001a‒c, 2004, 2007, 2011). For the history of specific establishments, Raymond Janin’s books on the monasteries of Constantinople and certain provincial centers of monasticism (Janin 1969, 1975) are indispensable. The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium (Kazhdan et al. 1991) is an informative reference work. Also useful are the introductions on different monasteries given in the volumes of the Archives de l’Athos series (1946‒ ).

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166   Kostis Smyrlis Papachryssanthou, Denise (1992). Ὁ ἀθωνικὸς μοναχισμός. Ἀρχὲς καὶ ὀργάνωση [O athonikos monachismos. Arches kai organosi]. Athens: Morphotiko Idryma Ethnikis Trapezis. Patlagean, Évelyne (2007). Un Moyen Âge grec. Byzance, ixe-xve siècle. Paris: Albin Michel. Saint-Guillain, Guillaume (2004). ‘L’Apocalypse et le sens des affaires. Les moines de SaintJean de Patmos, leurs activités économiques et leurs relations avec les Latins (xiiie et xive siècles)’. In Chemins d’outre-mer. Études d’histoire sur la Méditerranée médiévale offertes à Michel Balard, edited by Damien Coulon, Catherine Otten-Froux, Paule Pagès, and Dominique Valérian, 765–790. Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne. Smyrlis, Kostis (2016). ‘Estate Fortifications in Late Byzantine Macedonia: the Athonite Evidence’. In Hinter den Mauern und auf dem offenen Land. Leben im Byzantinischen Reich, edited by Falko Daim and Jörg Drauschke, 189‒205. Mainz: Leibniz-WissenschaftsCampus Mainz. Smyrlis, Kostis (2012a). ‘Byzantium’. In Agrarian Change and Crisis in Europe, 1200–1500, edited by Harry Kitsikopoulos, 128–166. New York: Routledge. Smyrlis, Kostis (2012b). ‘Mount Athos in the Fifteenth Century: Crisis and the Beginning of Recovery’. In Tο Άγιον Όρος στον 15ο και 16ο αιώνα [To Agion Oros ston 15o kai 16o aiona. Praktika ST Diethnous Epistimonikou Synedriou Agioritikes Estias], 33–55. Thessalonike: Aristotle University of Thessalonike. Smyrlis, Kostis (2011). ‘Τα μοναστήρια στο ύστερο Βυζάντιο: οικονομικός ρόλος και σχέσεις με το κράτος (13ος–15ος αι.)’ [Ta monastiria sto ystero Vyzantio: oikonomikos rolos kai scheseis me to kratos (13os‒15os ai.). In Μοναστήρια, οικονομία και πολιτική. Από τους μεσαιωνικούς στους νεώτερους χρόνους [Monastiria, oikonomia kai politiki. Apo tous mesaionikous stous neoterous chronous], edited by Elias Kolovos, 53–68. Heraklion: Crete University Press. Smyrlis, Kostis (2010). ‘ “Our lord and father”. Peasants and monks in mid-fourteenth-century Macedonia’. Travaux et Mémoires 16: 779–791. Smyrlis, Kostis (2009). ‘The State, the Land and Private Property. Confiscating Monastic and Church Properties in the Palaiologan Period’. In Church and Society in Late Byzantium, edited by Dimiter Angelov, 58–87. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications. Smyrlis, Kostis (2008). ‘The First Ottoman Occupation of Macedonia (c. 1383–c. 1403). Some Remarks on Land Ownership, Property Transactions and Justice’. In Diplomatics in the Eastern Mediterranean 1000–1500, edited by Alexander Beihammer, Maria Parani, and Chris Schabel, 327–348. Leiden: Brill. Smyrlis, Kostis (2006). La fortune des grands monastères byzantins (fin du xe—milieu du xive siècle). Paris: Centre de Recherche d’Histoire et Civilisation de Byzance. Smyrlis, Kostis, Guentcho Banev, and Giorgos Konstantinidis (2015). ‘Mount Athos and the Economy of Chalkidike, Tenth to Fifteenth Century’. In Η εξακτίνωση του Αγίου Όρους στον ορθόδοξο κόσμο: τα μετόχια—Mount Athos: Spreading the Light to the Orthodox World. The Metochia, 35‒59. Thessalonike: Mount Athos Center. Soustal, Peter (ed.) (2009). Heilige Berge und Wüsten. Byzanz und sein Umfeld. Referate auf dem 21. Internationalen Kongress für Byzantinistik, London 21–26 August 2006. Vienna: Verlag der Österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften. Svoronos, Nikos (1987). Ἡ σημασία τῆς ἵδρυσης τοῦ Ἁγίου Ὄρους γιὰ τὴν ἀνάπτυξη τοῦ ἑλλαδικοῦ χώρου [I simasia tis idrysis tou Agiou Orous gia tin anaptyxi tou elladikou chorou]. Karyes: Panselinos. Svoronos, Nicolas (1965). ‘Les privilèges de l’Église à l’époque des Comnènes: un rescrit inédit de Manuel Ier Comnène’. Travaux et Mémoires 1: 325–391.

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Monasteries, Society, Economy   167 Talbot, Alice-Mary (2011). ‘Personal poverty in Byzantine monasticism: ideals and reality’. Travaux et Mémoires 16: 829–841. Talbot, Alice-Mary (2007). ‘Founders’ choices: monastery site selection in Byzantium’. In Founders and Refounders of Byzantine Monasteries, edited by Margaret Mullett, 43–62. Belfast: Belfast Byzantine Enterprises. Talbot, Alice-Mary (2004). ‘Monasticism in Constantinople in the Final Decades of the Byzantine Empire’. In 550th Anniversary of the Istanbul University. International Byzantine and Ottoman Symposium (XVth Century), 30–31 May 2003, edited by S. Atasoy, 295–308. Istanbul: İstanbul Üniversitesi. Talbot, Alice-Mary (2001a). ‘Building Activity in Constantinople under Andronikos II: The Role of Women Patrons in the Construction and Restoration of Monasteries’. In Byzantine Constantinople, edited by Nevra Necipoğlu, 329–343. Leiden: Brill. Talbot, Alice-Mary (2001b). ‘Les saintes montagnes à Byzance’. In Le sacré et son inscription dans l’espace à Byzance et en Occident, edited by Michel Kaplan, 263–275. Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne. Talbot, Alice-Mary (2001c). Women and Religious Life in Byzantium. Aldershot: Ashgate. Talbot, Alice-Mary (1993). ‘The Restoration of Constantinople under Michael VIII’. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 47: 243–261. Talbot, Alice-Mary (1990). ‘The Byzantine Family and the Monastery’. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 44: 19–129. Repr. in Talbot (2001). Women and Religious Life in Byzantium, No. XIII. Aldershot: Ashgate. Talbot, Alice-Mary (1987). ‘An Introduction to Byzantine Monasticism’. Illinois Classical Studies 12: 229–241. Repr. in Talbot (2001), Women and Religious Life in Byzantium, No. XI. Aldershot: Ashgate. Thomas, John P. (1987). Private Religious Foundations in the Byzantine Empire. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library. Thomas, John P. and Angela Constantinides Hero (eds) (2000). Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents: A Complete Translation of the Surviving Founders’ Typika and Testaments. 5 vols. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library. Vryonis, Speros Jr. (1971). The Decline of Medieval Hellenism in Asia Minor and the Process of Islamization from the Eleventh through the Fifteenth Century. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Zachariadou, Elizabeth (2008). ‘Mount Athos and the Ottomans, c.1350–1550’. In The Cambridge History of Christianity, vol. 5: Eastern Christianity, edited by Michael Angold, 154–168. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Zachariadou, Elizabeth (1997). ‘Some Remarks about Dedications to Monasteries in the Late 14th Century’. In Mount Athos in the 14th–16th centuries, 27–31. Athonika Symmeikta 4. Athens: National Hellenic Research Foundation, Institute of Byzantine Research. Živojinović, Mirjana (1991). ‘The Trade of Mount Athos Monasteries’. Zbornik radova Vizantološkog instituta 29/30: 101–116. Živojinović, Mirjana (1968). ‘Adelfati u Vizantiji i srednjovekovnoj Srbiji’. Zbornik radova Vizantološkog instituta 11: 241–270 (in Serbian with English summary).

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chapter 11

Monasticism i n th e Or ien ta l Orthodox Ch u rches Samuel Rubenson

Characteristics of the Monastic Tradition of the Oriental Orthodox Communion The Christian monastic tradition has its origins primarily in late antique Egypt and Syria (including Palestine and Mesopotamia). It was here that earlier forms of asceticism and communal devotion—whether within a prophetic, educational, ecclesiastical, or family setting—found new expressions that gradually came to be identified as ‘monastic’ (Dunn 2000; Rubenson 2007). From Egypt and Syria, monasticism spread to the lands east and south of the Roman Empire: to Ethiopia, Arabia, Armenia, India, Central Asia, and China. As a result of the Christological controversies at the Councils of Ephesus in 431 and Chalcedon in 451, and the later Arab Muslim conquests, the churches in Egypt and Syria as well as in Ethiopia, Armenia, India, and Central Asia developed independently of the Latin and Byzantine traditions. They are represented today by the Oriental Orthodox Churches and the Assyrian Church of the East. The Oriental Orthodox communion now consists of the Coptic Orthodox Church, the Armenian Apostolic Church, the Syrian Orthodox Church, the Malankara Orthodox Syrian Church in India,1 the Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church, and the Eritrean Orthodox Tewahedo Church. The enduring importance and specific role of monasticism in these Christian traditions of the Orient is yet to be fully explored. It is, however, 1  In India there are also the Syriac Orthodox Church of India, which is an autonomous part of the Syrian Orthodox Church, and the very small Malabar Independent Syrian Church.

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Monasticism in the Oriental Orthodox Churches   169 evident that it is deeply rooted in some of the characteristic features that were conductive for the emergence of monasticism in Egypt and Syria.

Geography A first, and most likely decisive factor, is the geographical proximity to the desert and to a nomadic lifestyle, especially in Egypt. In almost all early monastic accounts, the contrast between the inhabited and the uninhabited land, as well as the desert location of the monks, are important themes (Chitty  1966; Goehring  1993; Caner  2002). In late antique Egypt and Syria this contrast was further underscored by the cultural and social differences between the Graeco-Roman cities and the more rural societies of the Coptic and Aramaic peoples. Recent scholarship has questioned the earlier literal interpretations of the early monastic tradition (Wipszycka 1994, 2011; Larsen 2013b; Rubenson 2012) and has demonstrated that the polarization and the emphasis on the desert are largely literary constructs (Goehring 1993, 2005). Nevertheless, the literary tradition has had a lasting impact on monastic identity in the Orient. Thus the notion of the desert has remained central to the monastic life of the Coptic and the Syrian Churches, as has the inaccessible wilderness to the Church of Ethiopia. In contrast to the Latin and Byzantine worlds, monasteries have, for the most part, not been established in or near major centres of population. The urban setting of late antique monasticism in Asia Minor, for example, with its emphasis on care for the poor and needy (Hatlie 2007), and familiar to us from the writings of Basil of Caesarea, is less significant for the Oriental Churches, as is the identification of monasticism with communal life within an enclosed building complex, or a walled monastery. In the traditional Oriental understanding of monasticism, monastic life needs distance from the secular world, a distance that cannot simply be created by a wall.

Language and Literature Secondly, the early Christian tradition in Egypt and Syria was bilingual. Greek, the official language of the early Church, co-existed with the ancient languages of the region. Since Christianity emphasized reading and texts, translation was essential, as was education in both Greek and the local languages. In contrast to the Greek and Latin worlds, however, the Coptic and Syriac lacked the educational structures necessary to support and promote their languages and literature. Here the monastic movement, with its emphasis on education, became crucial for the development of Christian literature and culture (Rubenson 2000). References to bilingual basic education in some of the early Egyptian sources (in the Pachomian texts, for example) are corroborated by the recent re-evaluation of ­archaeological remains (Larsen 2013a). The monasteries were the first—and most probably the only—non-Greek schools of any importance in late antiquity. Therefore they also became centres for literary production and cultural formation in oriental Christianity.

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170   Samuel Rubenson With the advent of Islam and the shift to Arabic as the lingua franca of the Middle East, the monasteries of Egypt and Syria assumed a crucial role in the preservation of the linguistic and literary heritage. While Coptic ceased to be used in Egypt, and much of the Coptic literary heritage was lost (Rubenson 1996), the monasteries in Syria remained centres of Syriac studies (Becker 2006). For the Armenian nation as well, with its turbulent history in which Arabic, Byzantine, Persian, Latin, and Russian influences have had a significant impact, the monasteries have played a major role as custodians of language and literature (Matthews  2000; Dum-Tragut  2018). The fragmented character of the Christian kingdom in Ethiopia, largely due to its geography, its multi-ethnic character, and its linguistic diversity, also contributed to making the monasteries the sole centres of learning until modern times (Haile 2000; Chaillot 2002).

Ecclesiastical Power Thirdly, the early Coptic and Syriac Christian traditions were never strongly attached to the ruling elite in the Roman Empire, and their ecclesiastical leaders were never the most powerful. As a result of imperial ecumenical councils and the emergence of a more centralized and standardized Church in the fourth and fifth centuries, the Coptic and Syriac Churches tended to become peripheral. The aftermath of the Council of Chalcedon, in 451, confirmed their marginal status. Without access to strong secular or ecclesiastical resources, the Oriental Christian traditions came to rely on the monasteries as centres for the Church. The importance of the monasteries for the Churches was further strengthened by the advent of Islam. In both Egypt and Syria, the patriarchate, which was the central authority of the Church, moved from the city to a monastery, only to be re-established at a later date in a political centre (Swanson 2010; Palmer 1990). Within the millet system, according to which non-Muslims were regarded as separate nations headed by their Church leaders, the heads of the Churches became strongly dependent on the Muslim rulers. On the other hand, the greater political independence of the monasteries enhanced their role. Although modernization has led to more centralized power for the patriarchs, recent developments in the Middle East have once again strengthened the link between the patriarchates and the monasteries as centres of identity in Egypt as well as in Syria. The head of the Ethiopian Church has always held very limited power and has been almost entirely dependent on his relations with the rulers. (A canon falsely attributed to the Council of Nicea stated that the head of the Ethiopian Church had to be a bishop consecrated in and sent from Egypt, which meant that he would always be a foreigner.) Consequently the ecclesiastical authority and the political influence of the Church in Ethiopia have rested mainly with the major monasteries and their leaders (Tamrat 1972). It is only in Armenia, with its strong national ties between Church and state, that the monasteries can be said to have shared in political power (Matthews  2000; Dum-Tragut 2018).

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Monasticism in the Oriental Orthodox Churches   171

Charismatic Authority A fourth shared characteristic of Oriental monasticism, in particular in the Coptic, Syriac, and Ethiopic traditions, is a strong emphasis on individual monastic pursuit, on the holy man or holy woman, and on charismatic rather than institutional power. Monasticism was formed and transmitted through stories about holy men and women, and it was through biographical accounts that it was demonstrated to be superior to ancient religions (Urbano 2013). Although communal monasticism in one form or other soon became widespread, it remained a preliminary and less authoritative way of life in the Oriental tradition compared to the life of the hermit, the ideal monk. A consequence of this emphasis on the holy man or woman is a lack of ­institutionalization. Unlike the Latin world, the Oriental monastic tradition does not have monastic orders. Nor does it have many of the standardized forms of communal life, rituals, or general monastic rules that are found within the Byzantine traditions. Each monastery has traditionally been more or less independent, and within the monastery prayer as well as work has to a large degree remained a matter of individual responsibility. In the Coptic and Syriac traditions, the monasteries have only recently been put under the jurisdiction of a bishop, who, however, is usually not a diocesan bishop, but a monk of the monastery. In Ethiopia the monasteries remain largely independent of the bishops. Notwithstanding these common characteristics with their deep roots in late antiquity, monasticism has developed differently and independently in each of the four major Oriental Churches. The Coptic, Syrian Orthodox, Ethiopian, and Armenian Churches will be treated separately in what follows.

The Coptic Church History As Egypt is seen as the cradle of monasticism, then to a large degree, monasticism can be seen as the cradle of the Coptic Church. Although Christianity was well established in Egypt prior to the emergence of monasticism, it was only during the fourth century that Coptic came to be used for Christian literature and then gradually the primary language of the Church in Egypt. It was, moreover, most probably with the spread of monasticism that Christianity gained a firm ground outside the Greek cities. It was a period of considerable growth, with large monastic communities being established in cities as well as in desert areas. The schism that resulted from the Council of Chalcedon and, in particular, the persecution of non-Chalcedonian Christians in the late sixth and early seventh centuries, created deep divisions between the Greek and Coptic communities and also within the monastic movement. In the end, the Greek-speaking monastic tradition in Egypt was extinguished (with the exception of the monastery of St Catherine in Sinai).

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172   Samuel Rubenson At the same time, the conflict strengthened the role of the monasteries within the Coptic Church, since they became the refuge for deposed or not recognized bishops. The monasteries gradually became the centres of the Church. The process was accelerated by the Arab Muslim conquest in the mid-seventh century. Although the monasteries were often situated in or on the border to the desert, they were not cut off from society, but were rather the ultimate source of power as well as refuge for the Coptic Church. Conflicts between the Christian population and the Muslim rulers led to a period of decline in the ninth and tenth centuries, but the Coptic Church and its monasteries experienced a revival in the eleventh to fourteenth centuries (Swanson 2010). During this period, the Coptic heritage was translated into Arabic, and the close cooperation of secular Coptic scholars and the monasteries led to the birth of a new Copto–Arabic ­literature (Rubenson  1996). The number of monasteries dwindled during the later Middle Ages due to a lack of security, as well as diminishing resources, with monasteries being abandoned or destroyed. Only some eight desert monasteries and a few female monasteries in Cairo remained active at the end of the nineteenth century.

Three Centres Coptic monasticism has developed mainly in three areas, which have clearly identifiable characteristics. In the north there are the monasteries of Wadi Natrun, situated at the edge of what was once the widespread community of thousands of monks in Kellia, Nitria, and Scetis (Mikhail and Moussa  2009). The sites are well known from early monastic literature, especially from the Sayings of the Desert Fathers, as well as from recent archaeological excavations (Brooks Hedstrom  2007,  2017). Of the numerous monasteries in the area, only four have survived—the monasteries of al-Baramus, alSuryani, Anba Bishoy, and Abu Maqar (St Macarius). Probably because of their proximity to Alexandria and Cairo, these four have provided the Church with a majority of its patriarchs in modern times. As a result of the monastic revival movement, but also the easy access resulting from the construction of a desert highway from Cairo to Alexandria, and an increased population, the monasteries have experienced rapid growth and expanding influence in the past fifty years. The second area includes the two so-called Red Sea monasteries, the monastery of Anba Antuniyus (St Anthony) and the monastery of Anba Bula (St Paul). Situated some 200 kilometres from Cairo on the foothills of the al-Jalala mountain range, and at a distance of less than forty kilometres from one another, they have been closely related throughout their history. They emerged from fourth-century monastic life and flourished in the early and high Middle Ages, only to experience a period of decline and even abandonment in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries. The monastery of St Anthony enjoys a reputation as the home of the first monk, as well as considerable wealth derived from its ownership of large amounts of land in the Nile Valley. Despite its isolated location, it has played a significant role in the life of the Church, providing some of the most important leaders. It also houses one of the largest monastic manuscript libraries in

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Monasticism in the Oriental Orthodox Churches   173 Egypt. Throughout its history, probably due to its location not far from the Red Sea pilgrim route, it has been an important link between the Coptic and the Ethiopian Churches, as well as a destination for travellers. The third area consists of the monasteries at the edge of the desert in Middle Egypt, mainly between Minya and Luxor (Gabra and Takla 2008). It includes the large monastery of al-Muharraq, but also numerous early monasteries that were abandoned in the Middle Ages—some of which have recently been re-established (including the monasteries of the Pachomian federation and the famous White and Red monasteries). Situated adjacent to agricultural land and a rural population, these monasteries have been of crucial importance for the development of Coptic identity, Coptic literature, and Coptic art. The White monastery, which must once have had an impressive library, has yielded the largest single collection of early Coptic texts. The monastery of alMuharraq (but with its ancient Coptic designation al-Qusqwam) is well known in Ethiopian tradition as an important station on the pilgrimage route for Ethiopian Christians travelling on the Nile.

Monastic Revival The Coptic monastic tradition has experienced a significant revival, which began in the mid-twentieth century. At the roots of the revival we find a reaction against Western influence as well as against the decline within the Coptic Church in general and the monastic tradition in particular (O’Mahony 2007). Important inspiration came from the revival of Orthodox tradition and patristics in the West as a result of the exile of many Russian theologians after the Russian Revolution. A major figure was Father Matta el-Meskeen (1919–2006), known both for his personal struggle with the Church authorities and his numerous publications (Rubenson 1997, 2013). Several factors have combined to promote the revival: easy access to the monasteries by modern roads, the spread of monastic publications (especially from the monastery of Abu Maqar), an interest in the early traditions, and the discrimination against Copts by all levels of Egyptian society. As a result, the number of monks in Coptic monasteries has increased tremendously. The influx of young monks with a modern education has in its turn led to an impressive activity in building construction, restoration of ancient buildings and objects, development of agriculture and various crafts, as well an interest in archaeology, literature, and theological studies, much of it facilitated by international contacts, especially with the large Coptic population living in the West.

Female Monasteries Although most Coptic literary sources stress the male experience, Coptic monasticism has from the beginning had a female component. The lives and words of female monastics have been transmitted in the sources, and women’s communities are regularly

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174   Samuel Rubenson ­ entioned in the historical records. Women were discouraged from living as hermits, m but it is not rare to find such accounts. Most references to female monastics, however, suggest that they inhabited settled communities in towns or cities. In medieval Islamic society, women, especially those who were unmarried, were discouraged from appearing in public, and the Coptic women’s communities became closed in on themselves. The recent monastic revival has, however, opened up the female monasteries to more interaction with the outside world. It has also contributed to the emergence of a new socially active dimension, in which women develop their own traditions under the jurisdiction of the diocesan bishop (Doorn-Harder 1995).

Importance The importance of the monasteries and the monastic tradition for the Coptic Church can hardly be exaggerated. In addition to the role of the monasteries in preserving and promoting the values and ideals, the historical records and archaeological remains, and the theological traditions of the Church, monastic life is deeply present in the liturgical, literary, and imaginary world of the Copts. The tension between desert and city is vividly present, as is the tension between the Islamic culture of the nation and the Coptic Christian tradition (Doorn Harder and Vogt 1997). In this situation the monasteries tend to become places for retreat as well as for holidays for Copts of all ages and from all backgrounds. For Copts in exile, they have become ideal points of reference as well as recipients of donations made to preserve Coptic identity. An important factor in promoting the monastic identity of the Church, moreover, is the strong presence of monks in the life of the Church, even outside the monasteries. Coptic bishops, like other Orthodox bishops, are normally drawn from the monasteries, and as bishops many of them continue to demonstrate their monastic identity. The end of the twentieth century witnessed a rapidly growing number of bishops in the Coptic Church, both because dioceses were being divided and because a large number of assistant bishops were being consecrated. This has led to an increased monastic presence and influence. At the same time, many Coptic monks (and this is the case in other Oriental Churches) regularly serve the Church administration at various levels, both in Egypt and abroad.

The Syrian Orthodox Church History Our sources for the early history of Syriac monasticism are less rich than those for Egypt. The literary sources refer to a kind of proto-monastic tradition of consecrated men and women serving the community, the so-called sons and daughters of the

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Monasticism in the Oriental Orthodox Churches   175 c­ ovenant (Brock 1992), as well as to wandering ascetic preachers (Caner 2002). In the late fourth and fifth centuries, conciliar documents and polemical writings provide evidence for tensions between the ecclesiastical authorities and the emergent monastic tradition, anathematizing some groups and teachings as ‘Messalian’ (Stewart 1991). On the basis of early Greek sources, especially the Historia Religiosa by Theodoret of Cyrrhus, early Syriac monasticism has been regarded as extreme in its asceticism and individualism (Vööbus  1958–1988). But recent research (Westergren  2012) has questioned this interpretation and has emphasized the civic ideals of the monastic traditions. Other evidence from the late fourth to the sixth centuries points towards the establishment of monastic centres of learning. An impressive amount of early monastic literature originating in or relating to Egypt was translated into Syriac in the later fifth and early sixth centuries. Archaeological evidence shows the construction of major monastic complexes in the same period. The conflicts over the Councils of Ephesus in 431 and Chalcedon in 451 divided Christianity in Syria into three streams: the Assyrian or ‘East’ Syrian (so-called ‘Nestorian’), the Syrian Orthodox or ‘West’ Syrian (so-called ‘Jacobite’ or ‘Monophysite’), and the Byzantine (or ‘Melkite’). Though there is ample evidence for good relations between the three monastic traditions, the separation had negative consequences for the monasteries, because they frequently became implicated in conflicts over hierarchy and imperial support (Palmer 1990). The Arab Muslim conquest led to a centralization of monastic life, and larger monasteries came to serve as centres of episcopal power. Under Abbasid rule, beginning in mid-eighth century, Syrian monasticism flourished again. Monks of the East Syrian tradition played an important role in the spread of Christianity to Central Asia and China (Tang and Winkler 2013; Nicolini-Zani 2016). The writings of East Syrian mystics of the seventh to ninth centuries, especially Isaac of Nineveh, made a vital contribution to the global Christian tradition (Alfeyev 2000). The migration of Turkish peoples and the establishment of Turkish rule in Anatolia and northern Syria in the tenth century posed new threats to Western Syrian monasticism. Additional problems were caused by the twelfth-century Crusades, in which the Syrian Christians were caught between the Catholic crusaders and their Muslim rulers. The Mongol conquest of the Middle East in the thirteenth century, finally, severely weakened the Syrian Churches and resulted in the destruction and abandonment of many monasteries. The Syrian monastic tradition was preserved in only a few larger monasteries, which also acted as seats of the patriarchs and bishops. The decline continued after the establishment of Ottoman rule in the early sixteenth century. The Syrian Christians were initially made subjects of the Greek Orthodox Patriarch of Constantinople, and they only gained independent status in 1882 (Joseph  1983). European colonialism and missionary activity compelled several prominent Syrian Orthodox bishops to accept Roman Catholicism, which led to an inter-Christian rivalry for Ottoman recognition. Although this further weakened the position of the Syrian monasteries, it also resulted in a resurgence of educational and literary activity.

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Schools The Syriac monastic tradition is characterized by its emphasis on learning, because the monasteries served as schools and centres of research and literary production. It was the bilingual nature of early Syriac Christianity that fostered this development. Philosophical and theological debates called for the translation of a great many Greek works, both pagan philosophy and Christian theology, into Syriac. The monasteries, with their emphasis on reading and intellectual pursuits, responded to this need. Late fourth-century sources began to refer to the Syrian monasteries as schools. The fifth and sixth centuries saw an increasing engagement in contemporary theological and ecclesiastical conflicts, which further strengthened their role. The theological emphasis on the Church as a school, a feature characteristic of the Syrian tradition, further promoted education as a main obligation of the monasteries. Although schools and monasteries are often conflated in our sources, it is also clear that relations between them were complex and sometimes led to tensions (Becker 2006). Political turmoil and the subsequent loss of social position denied many Christians access to alternative institutional frameworks. The monasteries therefore became essential for the provision of an educated clergy, and for the Church community in general. It was the monks who preserved and transmitted the educational and literary legacies, and who produced most of the manuscripts (including many secular texts). In contrast to the Byzantine and Western monastic traditions, which strongly discouraged the presence of non-monastic pupils, the Syrian monasteries welcomed both secular teachers and children. The monasteries have served as refuges in times of crisis, and they have become crucial in identity formation and in the preservation of the Syriac language and literature. Because they are situated close to villages and other secure places in an oftenhostile Muslim environment, the monasteries have today become popular centres of recreation for the Christian population. Unlike monasteries in Egypt, where Arabic has replaced Coptic, the Syrian establishments have retained their own language, and so they have played a significant role in the preservation of Syriac as a living language.

Mission An important aspect of monasticism in the East Syrian tradition is its role in the transmission of Christian faith, rituals, and literature to India, central Asia, and China. The early tradition of wandering monks continued throughout the Middle Ages, when Syriac monks associated with merchants and travellers. Archaeological evidence as well as literary fragments in Syriac and the Uigur and Chinese languages testify to the role of monks in the translation of Christianity to the East (Nicolini-Zani 2016). This expansion is part of the East Syrian monastic tradition, which uses the same written language as the Syrian Orthodox (though with a slightly different script), and it has resulted in considerable cross-fertilization, most notably in the translation of Greek literature into Arabic. The process is usually associated with the intellectual milieu of Baghdad under

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Monasticism in the Oriental Orthodox Churches   177 the Abbasids, but would not have been possible without the Syrian and the Assyrian monastic schools.

Prominent Monasteries Of the many prominent late antique and medieval monasteries, only a few continue today as centres of learning in the Syrian Orthodox Church. The two most important are the monasteries of St Gabriel and St Ananias (commonly known as Der ul-Zafara’an Monastery), both close to the Syrian border, in what is today south-eastern Turkey. The monastery of St Gabriel, established in the late fourth century, was the recipient of imperial donations and rapidly became an important Christian centre. It once housed a distinguished library of Syriac literature. Der ul-Zafara’an, situated a few kilometres outside the town of Mardin, was founded at the end of the fifth century, and from 1160 to 1932 it was the seat of the Syrian Orthodox patriarch. Also eminent is the monastery of St Matthew (Mor Mattai) in present-day Iraq, dating back to the fourth/fifth century. It too has been an intellectual centre and once housed one of the most important collections of Syriac manuscripts.

The Ethiopian Church History Monasticism has played a crucial role in the Ethiopian Orthodox Church from the very beginning. Its position is so central that Ethiopian Christianity, which includes the recently independent Eritrean Orthodox Church, can be characterized as a monastic religion (Haile 2000). Although no precise figures are available, there are approximately a thousand monasteries in Ethiopia and Eritrea, ranging from solitary hermitages to communities with up to one hundred monks. There is, however, relatively little scholarship on the subject (Persoon 2007). Limited written source material is available for the early period, and few archaeological sites have been investigated. Our main evidence is found in the hagiographic tradition. The accounts of European travellers, beginning in the sixteenth century, provide some additional material. The civil war that led to the end of imperial rule in 1974 radically impacted the monasteries, resulting in numerical decline and impoverishment. In recent years, however, there have been signs of a revival and a renewal of the tradition. Little is known about early Ethiopian Christianity, except that the religion was accepted by the rulers of Aksum in northern Ethiopia in the mid-fourth century, and that there were reports that Athanasius of Alexandria consecrated a bishop in the same period. There are, however, good reasons to think that monasticism was established

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178   Samuel Rubenson quite early, and that monks played a significant role in the spread of Christianity. The monastic Rule of Pachomius of Egypt (d. 346) is one of the earliest texts known to have been translated into the Ethiopic language, suggesting a close link to the Coptic tradition. One of the first known monastic figures in Ethiopia, Abba Libanos, or Matta, is said to have been a disciple of Pachomius. The Ethiopian Church, closely tied to the Coptic and Syrian Churches, sided with the opponents of the Council of Chalcedon. Probably as a result of this, and of the Roman persecution of non-Chalcedonian Syrians, many Syrian monks and teachers came to Ethiopia during the sixth century. Later sources attest to their impact on the Ethiopian Church. Syrian influence was also fostered by close contacts between Ethiopia and Arabia in the pre-Islamic era. According to Cosmas Indicopleustes, a sixth-century Alexandrian, scholars, monks, and hermits were found in both Ethiopia and southern Arabia. It is also likely that Ethiopian Christians played an important role in the cities of Mecca and Medina at the time of the rise of Islam (Shahid 2006). The establishment of Muslim rule in Arabia, Palestine, and Egypt in the mid-seventh century served to isolate Ethiopian Christians from those in the conquered territories. Greek and Latin sources ceased to mention Ethiopia, and Coptic historical works mentioned it rarely. We have some archaeological remains that are still not properly studied, and a few dedicatory notes in manuscripts. Otherwise, there are few reliable sources for a history of the Ethiopian Church and its monastic life before the end of the thirteenth century. The translations of Greek, Coptic, and probably also Syriac texts, and the production of manuscripts that include illuminations do, however, indicate a vital monastic tradition. Several still-surviving monasteries, such as Debre Damo, most probably date back to the sixth/seventh century (Haile 2000). The establishment of a strong political power in the Lasta region in the twelfth century is closely linked to a revival of the Ethiopian Church and its monastic life (Tamrat 1972). The evidence from the famous churches of Yimrihane Kristos and of Lalibela clearly indicates lively relations with Egypt and Jerusalem in the time of the Crusades. This is the earliest period for which there is good evidence for an Ethiopian monastic presence in Jerusalem. In the thirteenth century, two monastic figures, Iyyesus Mo’a and Tekle Haymanot, stand out as missionaries and as founders of important monasteries in central Ethiopia, Debre Hayq and Debre Libanos (Haile 2000). Their activities are also linked to the establishment of a new dynasty claiming to be an heir of the Solomonic kingdom of the Hebrew Bible. The monastic revival stimulated literary activity. Monastic scholars translated an impressive number of early Christian works from Arabic to Ethiopic, and they also produced some important, but largely overlooked, original Ethiopic theological, historical, and canonical texts. The close link between the most important monasteries and the rulers resulted in growing monastic power and wealth. In the early fifteenth century, a radical monastic movement led by Abba Istefanos demanded a return to a more ascetic and less political tradition, but this movement was harshly repressed. In 1529 the Ethiopian Christian highlands were invaded by the sultan of Adal, who looted and destroyed numerous monasteries and churches, including Debre Hayq and the

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Monasticism in the Oriental Orthodox Churches   179 church in Aksum. He was defeated in 1543 with the help of Portuguese forces. The Portuguese presence in Ethiopia had begun in the 1490s, and it led to attempts to unite the Ethiopian Orthodox and the Roman Catholic Churches. The arrival of Jesuit missionaries intensified these attempts. The monasteries became deeply involved in the theological and canonical debates incited by the Jesuits, with the central issue being the Chalcedonian Definition. The encounters with Catholic teachers and the ensuing debates created new divisions within the Ethiopian Church, where different monasteries became strongholds for different positions. Although the Jesuits were expelled from Ethiopia in 1634, the dissension they provoked continued until the late nineteenth century. The process of modernization initiated by European missionaries and other European interests was strongly promoted by Emperor Haile Sellassie (1928–1974). Urbanization, the opportunity for alternative paths of learning, the establishment of a hierarchy independent of the Coptic Church, as well as a more centralized Church administration, have gradually combined to lessen the influence of the monasteries. In addition, the nationalization of land after the 1974 revolution radically impoverished them, since monastic life had benefited considerably from large land grants made over the centuries. More recent developments have been somewhat more favourable to the Church, and there are signs of a new revival.

Character The Ethiopian monastic tradition is characterized by a high degree of personal freedom and an absence of general or standardized monastic rules. Each monastery follows its own rules, and many monks live semi-autonomous or totally independent lives. Monks are thus not confined to monasteries, but also live as hermits in the wilderness as well as in towns and cities. Because the Ethiopian Church in general esteems ascetic and monastic ideals, monks are highly respected, and they are influential as personal spiritual guides and teachers. Hermits regularly leave their places of retreat and appear in towns and cities for a period of preaching. Monasteries are often found in inaccessible places on hilltops, small islands, or in the harsh wilderness, and occasionally they are adjacent to towns. The monasteries are normally organized as small villages, with the church and common facilities surrounded by individual cells, which may be set at some distance from each other. The monasteries are not enclosed by walls, but they are often situated in places where they are sheltered by the landscape. Male and female monasteries are frequently found close to one another. Like the Syrian monasteries—and unlike the Coptic ones—the Ethiopian communities often function as schools for children. In the countryside boys and girls sometimes enter monastic life at a young age. Elderly men and women, especially widows, retreat to monasteries near the end of their lives. Individual monasteries are known for their excellence in various fields of learning, and eager students spend time at several of these during their training. The monasteries are entirely independent of the Church hierarchy.

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180   Samuel Rubenson

Prominent Monasteries Some of the most prominent monasteries of the Ethiopian tradition date back to the pre-Islamic period. They are generally situated in the north, including what is today Eritrea. The most famous is the monastery of Debre Damo, allegedly founded by one of the nine saints commemorated as Syrian missionaries of the sixth century. The monastery has been and remains a leading centre of monastic education in Ethiopia. Another ancient monastery is Abba Garima, close to Adwa, which is known for its ancient Gospel manuscript. The monastic revival of the thirteenth and fourteen centuries saw the foundation of numerous monasteries, with the most important being Debre Bizen in Eritrea, Hayq Estifanos in Wello, and Debre Libanos in Shewa. The two latter communities were richly funded by royalty and rapidly became centres of education and evangelization, sending young monks to establish monasteries in the southern part of the kingdom. Other well-known and still-important establishments are the monastery of Weldebba, known for its numerous attached hermitages, and the monastery of Mehabere Sellassie, as well as the monasteries on the islands of Lake Tana (Chaillot 2002).

The Armenian Church Among the monastic traditions of the Oriental Churches, the Armenian is the one that is least studied in Western scholarship. Although its history remains to be written, there is no doubt that monasticism has played a major role in the history of the Armenian Orthodox Church (Dum-Tragut 2018). As with Armenian Christianity in general, Armenian monasticism has its roots in both the Greek and the Syrian monastic traditions. Early Armenian historians refer to solitary monks leading the kind of eremitic existence familiar to us from the early Syrian sources. It seems that eremitic monastic life remained restricted to southern Armenia, an area with strong ties to Syria, while in northern Armenia monasticism tended to ­follow the coenobitic pattern of the Greek monasteries of Asia Minor. The monastic writings of Basil of Caesarea, in particular his rules, were translated into Armenian very early, and they have played a significant role in Armenian monasticism since (Matthews 2000; Hovhannisyan 2018). In 387, as a result of the Persian–Roman wars, Armenia was divided between Persia and Rome. Monasticism flourished in Western Armenia or Armenia Minor, which was a Roman province, but the situation in Eastern Armenia was more difficult, because of Persian support for Zoroastrian practices. After the Arab conquests, Armenia was reunited as a semi-independent emirate under the Muslim caliphate. Monasticism prospered during the emirate and after the establishment of independence in the late ninth century. Several of the most important monasteries were built during this period— St Thaddeus in present-day Iran, Makenyats near Lake Sevan, Narek south of Lake Van in present-day Turkey, and Glajor, which became a major seat of intellectual life in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.

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Monasticism in the Oriental Orthodox Churches   181 The establishment of Seljuk rule after the Battle of Manzikert in 1071 again divided Armenia, as many monks and scholars fled to Cilicia and began new monasteries there. With the support of the Crusaders, an Armenian Kingdom of Cilicia was established in 1198. Situated on the mainland Crusader route from Asia Minor to Syria, Cilician Armenia became a first centre for cultural exchange between Western and Armenian Christianity. The exposure to Western tradition and Catholic influence through the Crusader movement led to a revival and a period of intellectual flowering, in which the monastic schools of Glajor and Tat‘ew were the leading centres. Nineteenth-century modernization, missionary activity, and migration led to a decline of traditional monasticism. Finally, as a result of the Armenian genocide at the time of the First World War, and the subsequent incorporation of Armenia into the Soviet Union, monasticism in the Armenian Church became restricted to the ecclesiastical centres and their celibate clergy (Hovhannisyan 2018).

Future Directions in Research The rich history and great cultural heritage of the monastic traditions of the Orient are still largely unexplored. Egypt is, of course, the exception, since it has had a long history of archaeological investigation, and there are at the moment several ongoing projects. But the work that has been done on monastic sites elsewhere in the Orient is very limited. Recent discoveries of monastic settlements in Syria, Arabia, and Central Asia need to be thoroughly excavated and studied in relation to one another, in order to map the transmission of the tradition. Ethiopia has a very rich monastic history, and yet almost no archaeological studies of its monastic sites have been done (Finneran 2007). The main emphasis has instead been on the monastic manuscript collections and on the paintings in the churches (Marx and Neubauer 2007). Here more extensive archaeological excavations could help to situate the paintings and manuscripts in the internal development of monastic life, as well as to illuminate its external relationships. In addition to archaeological remains, the Oriental Orthodox Churches possess an abundant written heritage, mainly from monastic sources. This heritage, preserved in thousands of manuscripts—in Armenian, Arabic, Syriac, and Ethiopic, and, to a lesser extent, in Coptic—is still largely unexplored. There are essential Oriental witnesses to texts common to all monastic traditions, such as the Apophthegmata Patrum, which remain unpublished (Rubenson 2011) and need to be integrated into the study of monasticism as a whole. Attempts to do this are represented by the Monastica Project at Lund University (http://monastica.ht.lu.se) and the Syriac Reference Portal (http://syriaca.org) and will need to be developed further. In addition, the plentiful monastic literature in Armenian, Arabic, Syriac, and Ethiopic needs to be catalogued and studied. In view of the important role of monasticism in transmitting ideas and contacts across ethnic, political, and religious boundaries, these texts constitute important sources for studies of cultural exchange through the centuries. They are critical to understanding the various ways Christianity has adapted to its social context, and to understanding its relations with the neighbouring religious traditions of Islam, Hinduism, and Buddhism.

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182   Samuel Rubenson The monasteries of the Oriental Orthodox Churches have been instrumental in the preservation of a Christian cultural heritage, and therefore it is important to consider them in relation to recent social and political developments in their countries. For the Christian minorities in Egypt, Syria, Iraq, and Turkey, the monasteries are essential sites for the preservation of identity, and in Ethiopia they constitute a strong defence of tradition over and against the impact of globalization and Western culture.

Suggested Reading In spite of the importance of monasticism for the history and present life of the Oriental Orthodox Churches, scholarship on the subject is limited. The early period is fairly well covered both by summaries in handbooks and encyclopaedias and by studies devoted to early monasticism (Chitty 1966; Dunn 2000). The best-studied tradition is the Coptic (Meinardus 1989; Doorn-Harder 1995). The early period of the Syriac tradition has been studied in detail (Palmer 1990), and the Eastern Syriac tradition is gaining increased attention (Tang and Winkler 2013). The general literature on Christianity in the Orient has little to say about monasticism (Atiyah 1968). The Ethiopian Orthodox monastic tradition is briefly depicted in a general book on the Ethiopian Church (Chaillot 2002), but the Armenian tradition has received notice in only a few specialized articles (DumTragut 2018). There are numerous articles on the art and architecture of the Oriental churches. The manuscript traditions, too, have been treated in specialized articles— many for the Coptic and Syriac texts, and fewer for the Ethiopic, Arabic, and Armenian.

Bibliography Alfeyev, Hilarion (2000). The Spiritual World of Isaac the Syrian. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Amadouni, Garabed (1958). ‘Le rôle historique des hiéromoines arméniens’. In Il monachesimo orientale, Atti del Convegno di Studi Orientali, 279–305. Rome: Pontifical Oriental Institute. Atiyah, Aziz (1968). A History of Eastern Christianity. London: Methuen. Baum, Wilhelm and Dietmar W. Winkler (2003). The Church of the East. A Concise History. London: Routledge. Becker, Adam H. (2006). Fear of God and the Beginning of Wisdom. The School of Nisibis and the Development of Christian Scholastic Culture in Late Antique Mesopotamia. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Blid, Jesper (2016). ‘Excavations at the Monastery of St Antony at the Red Sea’. Opuscula: Annual of the Swedish Institutes at Athens and Rome 9: 133–215. Brock, Sebastian (1992). The Luminous Eye. The Spiritual World Vision of Saint Ephrem the Syrian. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Brooks Hedstrom, D. (2017). The Monastic Landscape of Late Antique Egypt: An Archaeological Reconstruction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brooks Hedstrom, D. (2007). ‘Divine Architects: Designing the Monastic Dwelling Place’. In Egypt in the Byzantine World, 300–700, edited by R.  Bagnall, 368–389. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Monasticism in the Oriental Orthodox Churches   183 Caner, Daniel (2002). Wandering, Begging Monks: Spiritual Authority and the Promotion of Monasticism in Late Antiquity. TCH 33. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Chaillot, Christine (2002). The Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church Tradition. Paris: InterOrthodox Dialogue. Chitty, Derwas (1966). The Desert a City. Oxford: Blackwell. Doorn-Harder, Pieternella van (1995). Contemporary Coptic Nuns. Columbia, SC: University of South Carolina Press. Doorn-Harder, Nelly van and Kari Vogt (eds) (1997). Between Desert and City: the Coptic Orthodox Church Today. Oslo: Novus. Dum-Tragut, Jasmine (2018). ‘The Cultural Impact of Armenian Monasticism. A Brief Note on the Role of Armenian Monasteries in Medieval Armenian Society’. In Monastic Life in the Armenian Church. Glorious Past – Ecumenical Reconsideration, edited by J. Dum-Tragut and D. Winkler, 25–41. Zürich: LIT. Dunn, Marilyn (2000). The Emergence of Monasticism: From the Desert Fathers to the Early Middle Ages. Oxford: Blackwell. Finneran, Niall (2007). The Archaeology of Ethiopia. Abingdon: Routledge. Gabra, G. and H. N. Takla (eds) (2008). Christianity and Monasticism in Upper Egypt. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Goehring, James (2005) ‘The Dark Side of Landscape: Ideology and Power in the Christian Myth of the Desert’. In The Cultural Turn in Late Ancient Studies: Gender, Asceticism, and Historiography, edited by Dale B. Martin and Patricia Cox Miller, 136–149. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Goehring, James (1993). ‘The Encroaching Desert: Literary Production and Ascetic Space in Early Christian Egypt’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 1: 281–296. Haile, Getatchew (2000). ‘Ethiopia’. In Encyclopedia of Monasticism, edited by William  M. Johnston, 454–460. London: Fitzroy Dearborn. Hatlie, Peter (2007). The Monks and Monasteries of Constantinople, ca. 350–850. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hovhannisyan, Hovhannes (2018). ‘Brief History of Monasticism in Armenia’. In Monastic Life in the Armenian Church. Glorious Past – Ecumenical Reconsideration, edited by J. DumTragut and D. Winkler, 17–23. Zürich: LIT. Joseph, John (1983). Muslim-Christian Relations and Inter-Christian Rivalries in the Middle East. The Case of the Jacobites in an Age of Transition. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press. Larsen, Lillian (2013a). ‘On Learning a New Alphabet: The Sayings of the Desert Fathers and the Monostichs of Menander’. In Early Monasticism and Classical Paideia, edited by S. Rubenson, 59–77 (= Studia Patristica 55.3: 59–77) Louvain: Peeters. Larsen, Lillian (2013b). ‘Re-drawing the Interpretive Map: Monastic Education as Civic Formation in the Apophthegmata Patrum’. Coptica 12: 1–34. Marx, Annegret and Alexandra Neubauer (eds) (2007). Steh auf und geh nach Süden. 2000 Jahre Christentum in Äthiopien. Tübingen: Legat Verlag. Matthews, Edward  G. (2000). ‘Armenia’. In Encyclopedia of Monasticism, edited by William M. Johnston, 81–87. London: Fitzroy Dearborn. Meinardus, Otto F. A. (1989). Monks and Monasteries of the Egyptian Deserts, rev. edn. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Mikhail, M. and M. Moussa (eds) (2009). Christianity and Monasticism in Wadi al-Natrun. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Nicolini-Zani, Matteo (2016). Christian Monks on Chinese Soil: A History of Monastic Missions to China, translated by Sophia Senyk and William Skudlarek, OSB. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press.

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184   Samuel Rubenson O’Mahony, Anthony (2007). ‘Tradition at the Heart of Renewal: the Coptic Orthodox Church and Monasticism in Modern Egypt’. International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church 7: 164–178. Palmer, Andrew (1990). Monk and Mason on the Tigris Frontier. The Early History of Ṭur ‘Abdin. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Persoon, Joachim (2007). ‘Ethiopian Monasticism’. International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church 7: 240–245. Rubenson, Samuel (2013). ‘Matta el-Meskeen’. In Key Theological Thinkers. From Modern to Postmodern, edited by S. Kristiansen and S. Rise, 415–426. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Rubenson, Samuel (2012). ‘Monasticism and the Philosophical Heritage’. In The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, edited by S. F. Johnson, 487–512. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rubenson, Samuel (2011). ‘The Apophthegmata Patrum in Syriac, Arabic, and Ethiopic. Status Questionis’. Parole de l’Orient 36: 305–313. Rubenson, Samuel (2007). ‘Asceticism and Monasticism I: Eastern’. In The Cambridge History of Christianity, vol. 2: Constantine to c.600, edited by A. Casiday and F. W. Norris, 637–668. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rubenson, Samuel (2000). ‘Philosophy and Simplicity: The Problem of Classical Education in Early Christian Biography’. In Greek Biography and Panegyric in Late Antiquity, edited by T. Hägg and P. Rousseau, 110–139. TCH 31. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Rubenson, Samuel (1997). ‘Tradition and Renewal in Coptic Theology’. In Between Desert and City: The Coptic Orthodox Church Today, edited by Nelly van Doorn-Harder and Kari Vogt, 35–51. Oslo: Novus. Rubenson, Samuel (1996). ‘Translating the Tradition. Aspects on the Arabization of the Patristic Heritage in Medieval Egypt’. Medieval Encounters. Jewish, Christian and Muslim Culture in Confluence and Dialogue 2: 4–14. Shahid, Irfan (2006). ‘Islam and Oriens Christianus: Makka 610–622 ad’. In The Encounter of Eastern Christianity with Early Islam, edited by E.  Grypeou, M.  Swanson, and David Thomas, 9–31. Leiden: Brill. Stewart, Columba (1998). Cassian the Monk. New York: Oxford University Press. Stewart, Columba (1991). ‘Working the Earth of the Heart’: The Messalian Controversy in History, Texts, and Language to ad 431. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Swanson, Mark (2010). The Coptic Papacy in Islamic Egypt (641–1517). Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Tamrat, Taddesse (1972). Church and State in Ethiopia 1270–1527. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Tang, Li and Dietmar W. Winkler (eds) (2013). From the Oxus River to the Chinese Shores: Studies on East Syriac Christianity in China and Central Asia. Zürich: LIT. Urbano, Arthur  P. (2013). The Philosophical Life: Biography and the Crafting of Intellectual Identity in Late Antiquity. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Vööbus, Arthur (1958–1988). History of Asceticism in the Syrian Orient: A Contribution to the History of Culture in the Near East. 3 vols. Louvain: Peeters. Westergren, Andreas (2012). Sketching the Invisible: Patterns of Church and City in Theodoret of Cyrrhus’ Philotheos Historia. PhD Dissertation, Lund University. Wipszycka, Ewa (2011). ‘Resources and economic activities of the Egyptian monastic communities (4th–8th centuries)’. Journal of Juristic Papyrology 41: 159–163. Wipszycka, Ewa (1994). ‘Le monachisme égyptien et les villes’. Travaux et Mémoires 12: 1–44.

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chapter 12

The A rch a eol ogy of Monastic Households Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom

Introduction The theoretical framework of household archaeology offers a new way of viewing monastic settlements. Household archaeology combines methodologies from archae­ ology, anthropology, geography, and history. Its application enables us to read the archaeology of monasticism with greater sophistication, so that the artefacts and the places of ordinary life can be interpreted alongside other more familiar sources, such as monumental architecture, images, and texts. It gives us the ability to provide a thick description of what domestic space was in the past and how it came to be built and used. Monastic settlements are rich subjects for the study of household archaeology, and they illustrate the value of microhistory, which seeks to recover lost voices from the past through the detailed study of one aspect of a community. The analysis of domestic archi­ tecture is aided significantly by the anthropological view of domestic spaces as house­ holds, which are composed of relationships framed by the spaces of the residence and linked activity areas (Samson 1990; Wilk and Rathje 1982; Wilk and Ashmore 1988). This chapter explores how these methodologies permit a more complex reading of late antique monastic archaeology in Egypt and Palestine.

Domestic Architecture and Household Archaeology Domestic space includes physical ‘structures, facilities, activity and work areas, and arti­ facts’, which can be understood in relationship to each other (Aldenderfer and Stanish 1993: 2). Since the 1980s, the archaeology of the household has emerged as an

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186   Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom interdisciplinary approach that weaves together a better understanding of structures, spatial configurations, and artefact analysis (Steadman  1996). There are two central challenges for undertaking the study of household archaeology: how to determine the parameters of a premodern household, and how to study a household space through time (Alexander  1999: 78–81). In practical terms, archaeologists must view the built environment as serving several generations, and they must develop strategies for assess­ ing temporal changes in the built environment that may reflect multigenerational occu­ pation (Hirth 1993: 23–26). To study monastic domestic space is to move beyond the study of monumental archi­ tecture and public spaces to a microhistory of private and daily life. Monastic settle­ ments offer discrete collections of buildings and spaces in which the inhabitants conduct their daily activities. The sites suggest to us some of the ways in which the built environment contributes to the construction of a community’s identity. Daily monastic tasks of cooking, sleeping, praying, weaving mats, greeting visitors, and reading, all contribute to reinforce a monk’s identity within his or her dwelling space (Kent 1984). Considering monastic architecture as a form of domestic architec­ ture, therefore, can provide new avenues for reading monastic archaeological remains (Lavan et al. 2007: 187–188). If domestic structures are ‘culturally laden with signifi­ cance’ (Izzet 2007: 146), it is also important to remember that excavated buildings do not preserve a single moment in time, but rather represent a settlement with multiple periods and phases. For example, the identification of a loom pit exposed through excavation does not mean that the community always practised weaving. The chal­ lenge is to find a balance between the identification of all the domestic tasks under­ taken at a site and the recognition that not all activities were practised concurrently (Ellis 2000). Mark Aldenderfer and Charles Stanish (1993) identify three ways in which examin­ ing domestic architecture furthers the writing of microhistory. First, unlike transport­ able goods that can be removed from a site, structures are permanent and reflect a local or regional style. This is particularly true for monastic settlements in Egypt and Palestine, where the physical topography encourages the use of mud brick, quarried stone, wood, and plaster in structural design. Second, domestic architecture provides an opportunity to cluster a group of buildings and associated areas for analysis. We can therefore identify spheres of particular activities and tasks undertaken at the monastery as a community. Third, domestic architecture offers a finite analytical unit for comparison with other domestic spaces (Lavan et al. 2007: 5). When we compare monastic and non-monastic built environments, we can see differences in the pres­ ence of kitchens or in the location of workshops (Brooks Hedstrom  2017b). For monastic settlements in Byzantine Egypt, the presence of kitchens within the resi­ dence became a new component that was not common before (Brooks Hedstrom 2017a). In the case of workshops, many non-monastic artisans and crafts­ men had their workshops on the first floor of their houses, while in monastic settle­ ments the workshops were not spatially linked to the sleeping quarters.

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The Archaeology of Monastic Households   187

Monastic Settlements as Monastic Homesteads Monastic settlements are often not regarded as spaces with significant domestic compo­ nents, because they tend to be seen as entirely ‘other’ from non-monastic settlements. The presence of chapels and churches seems to suggest spaces whose function is solely religious. In addition, early monastic literature portrays all the activities of a monas­ tery’s inhabitants—whether planting crops, preparing food, weaving baskets, or main­ taining canals—as being imbued by spiritual purpose. But documentary sources give little practical information about the daily routines of monastic life. There are, nevertheless, two reasons for viewing monastic settlements as extended households and as objects for study as domestic spaces. First, while monastic archae­ ology is in general framed by a study of religious behaviours, household archaeology draws attention to how individuals led their daily lives and how they used material objects (Allison 1999; Brusasco 2004; Foster and Parker 2012; Hendon 1996; Kent 1990; Weiner 2010; Wilk et al. 1984). By shifting our focus from the expressly religious struc­ tures, and by considering the monastery as a site with complex domestic activities, we can build a more comprehensive view of the monastic settlement. In many instances, the dwellings have been cleared of all transportable goods. We see the sites in a ‘decluttered’ state, in which the spaces and their functions are elusive to us as viewers, because we are required to ‘reclutter’ the spaces with objects and people in order to understand how they once were organized (Olsen 2010). Therefore one way to reimagine the history of monastic life is to consider domestic activities, the spaces for domestic work, and how these spaces contribute to the settlement as a whole. Monastic literature tends to blur such details. Archaeological remains offer a fresh perspective for reading monastic settlements as complex households or homesteads, and they permit us to write a more nuanced history of monastic life.

Monastic Households Securely dated monastic habitation before the mid-sixth century in Egypt and in Palestine is rare in comparison to the data available for monastic settlements built in later periods (Brooks Hedstrom 2007; Patrich 2004). Earlier attempts to date monastic settlements were marred by assumptions about the relative dating of archaeological evi­ dence, by unclear criteria for the identification of monastic settlements, and by an over­ dependence on literary traditions. In many cases, urban settlements were simply overlooked as potential locations for monastic communities (Brooks Hedstrom and Dey  2019). In addition, earlier scholars struggled to distinguish between male and

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188   Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom female monastic communities. Very little physical evidence could be mustered (aside from gendered readings of combs and mirrors) to assert why one community was home to women instead of men (Donald and Hurcombe 2000). Literary and documentary evidence describes women residing in the homes of senior mothers, in places like Alexandria or Jerusalem, or in villages. In most cases, then, their monastic homes might be completely indistinguishable from those of other Christians (Gilchrist  1994; Rapp 2011; Wipszycka 2002). In rare cases, as in the Monastery of Apa Apollo and the Monastery of Apa Jeremias in Egypt, archaeological evidence suggests that women may have lived in satellite communities located within walking distance of larger male com­ munities. Because it is difficult to recognize women’s communities in the archaeological record, settlements examined in Egypt and Palestine were generally assumed to belong to men, unless there was epigraphic evidence to suggest otherwise. In Egypt, monks built their settlements along the Nile Valley near the villages, on the borders between the cultivated areas and the sharply rising desert cliffs, and—less ­commonly—in remote ‘inner’ desert locations, near desert caravan or quarry routes, as can be seen by the quarry road leading to the Topos of Phoebammon in the Rock in Figure  12.1 (Bachatly  1961–1981). Monastic authors were relatively silent about the ­landscape or environment of their communities, but the archaeological evidence of ­hundreds of sites testifies to a great diversity in Egyptian monastic settlements and loca­ tions. The formation of the sites also varied. Many communities built entirely new settlements with purpose-built structures made specifically for monastic living, as can be seen at the White Monastery in Sohag, Egypt (Figure 12.2). Other sites evolved from the long-held practice of reusing abandoned tombs or quarries in the nearby desert cliffs for domestic habitation using mud bricks, wood, and plaster, as can be seen at Dayr alBala’yzah in Middle Egypt (Figure 12.3). Still others, far fewer in number, sought the more remote high desert, and used natural caves to live in greater isolation. In many cases, a wall enclosed the buildings of the monasteries, and so they came to be identified with coenobitic monasticism. The monastic settlements of Palestine offer a wide array of sites that exhibit the same regional variations characteristic of Egyptian monasticism. With one centre located along the Mediterranean coast in Gaza and the other inland at the heart of the Judean Desert, there is enough evidence to explore the ways in which monks created house­ holds with varying degrees of access to local communities (Brooks Hedstrom  2019; Perrone 1995, 2012; Bitton-Ashkelony and Kofsky 2006; Tzaferis 2001). As they had in Egypt, monks in Palestine built complex structures reflecting regional and environmen­ tal preferences. Gazan monks modified existing structures such as farmsteads for monastic habitation. In the Judean Desert, monks modified natural caves for churches and built their residences, bakeries, wine presses, and refectories on terraces. They often built monasteries along the major Roman roads, where Christian pilgrims passed regu­ larly on their way to Jerusalem. As religious tourism for pilgrimage to the Holy Land gained in popularity, both Gazan and Judean monasteries began to offer hospitality, with bathhouses, refectories for guests, and housing for pilgrims, and many monastic households equipped themselves to accommodate guests.

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The Archaeology of Monastic Households   189

Figure 12.1  Quarry road made of stone boulders leading to the entrance to the wadi monastic community of the Topos of Apa Phoebammon in the Rock, south of Thebes, Egypt. (D. Brooks Hedstrom, 2008)

Different Modes of Monastic Living and Building The coenobitic life was one in which all the monastic structures were enclosed by a boundary wall. Although Pachomius (c.292–347) is often regarded as the founder of the coenobitic way of life in Upper Egypt, he was not the only Egyptian monk to establish a permanent form of coenobitic monasticism (Goehring 1986; Rousseau 1999; Veilleux 1980–1982). Some thirty years after Pachomius made his first foundation, a former Pachomian monk named Pcol established his own federation on the west bank of the Nile near modern-day Sohag. His community included two coenobitic settlements for men and one for women. The third leader for Pcol’s community was Shenoute of Atripe (c.347–465) and he imbued the federation with his own ideals. Shenoute’s community, known as the White Monastery Federation, was in fact far more successful than that of Pachomius, whose community evaporated after the sixth century (Gabra and Takla 2008; Krawiec 2002; Schroeder 2007; Goehring 2012; López 2013). Shenoute’s pro­ lific recording of his sermons, treatises, and rules, produced in Coptic, demonstrates a

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190   Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom

Figure 12.2  Purpose-built buildings at the coenobitic White Monastery in Sohag, Egypt. (D. Brooks Hedstrom, 2003)

uniquely Egyptian form of monasticism that was not known outside monastic commu­ nities in east Africa (Emmel 2004; Layton 2014). In Palestine, the Cappadocian monk Sabas (c.439­–532) relocated to the deserts out­ side Jerusalem to establish one of the desert’s most famous monasteries. Sabas’s new settle­ment, located in the Kidron Basin, is known today as the Great Laura, or Mar Saba, and it became a monastic centre to rival the great Egyptian communities. His biog­ raph­er Cyril of Scythopolis (c.525–559) helped solidify Sabas’s reputation as a great monastic leader of coenobitic living. By the mid-sixth century, the Great Laura had expanded, as had the settlements of Pachomius and Pcol in Egypt, to include several coenobia and more independent settlements (Patrich 1995). While the monasteries created by Pachomius, Shenoute, and Sabas are quite famous, there are also hundreds of lesser-known settlements throughout Egypt and Palestine. Often only recently documented, the efforts to survey and excavate several of these unnamed communities have added greatly to our knowledge of monastic life in late antiquity (Patrich 1990, 1991; Patrich et al. 1993; Hirschfeld 1990, 1992, 1993, 2002). Smaller and independent monastic settlements, sometimes called laurae, are far more commonly represented in the archaeological record than the famous coenobitic ­settle­ments. The smaller monastic sites differ in their spatial configuration from non­monastic towns and villages, where the residences are contiguous. Instead, most of the

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The Archaeology of Monastic Households   191

Figure 12.3 Mud brick structures at the coenobitic monastery of Dayr al-Bala’yzah in Middle Egypt. (Heather Badamo, 2006)

monastic residences are set apart from one another, sometimes by two to five metres. The shift in settlement planning reflects a conscious effort to provide a minimal, but significant, distance between residences. The settlements were not physically delineated by a wall. Gatehouses, so typically a hallmark of late-antique coenobitic communities, were not used at these sites, and no single residence appears to enjoy a dominant pos­ ition in the settlement. In Palestine, earlier surveyors identified smaller monasteries as farmsteads, because their physical design did not conform to the more familiar coeno­ bitic model. The residential houses included private kitchens, storage areas, rooms for religious devotion, sleeping quarters, and sometimes facilities for housing guests. In Egypt, the monastic residence was referred to as ma nšōpe in Coptic (Černý 1976). The term means ‘the place of dwelling’, and it is used to indicate a monastic house, in contrast to oikos (Greek) or ri (Coptic), the terms commonly used for a house in lay communities (Layton 2004; Brooks Hedstrom 2017b). The ma nšōpe is the monastic equivalent of a household, and the physical structure includes many domestic areas. Unlike in later Byzantine Greek monasticism, very few monastic foundation charters, or typika, can be found in Egypt to describe the monastic community or its spatial con­fig­ ur­ation (Thomas 1987; Thomas and Hero 2000). Aside from mosaic inscriptions, exca­ vated documentary and inscriptional evidence is meagre for the Gazan and Palestinian communities. The Egyptian documentary material therefore becomes even more important for rebuilding a sense of daily monastic life.

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192   Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom Monks structured their days with two kinds of activities: prayer and assigned work. At the White Monastery, for example, coenobitic monks were expected to attend prayer, and not to use work as an excuse to abandon spiritual obligations. The knocking of a board provided the auditory signal for a change of activity (Layton  2014: 269). Pachomian rules outlined similar expectations for the division of prayer and labour as devotional and domestic activities: ‘One shall not neglect the times of prayer and psalm­ ody, whether he is on a boat, in the monastery, in the fields, or on a journey, or fulfilling any service whatever’ (Veilleux  1982: 166). The archaeological remains of the White Monastery still exist next to the modern monastery of St Shenoute in Sohag, and we can observe the physical design of the monastery over several periods (Brooks Hedstrom  2005; Brooks Hedstrom et al.  2011/12; Davis et al.  2012; Grossmann et al. 2004, 2009). Unfortunately, not a single Pachomian community has been discovered. The archaeological evidence of Shenoute’s White Monastery Federation is all the more important, then, because it represents the only coenobitic community for which we have both substantial textual and artefactual evidence (Grossmann  2002: 528–536; Grossmann and Lease 1990). Mar Saba has remained continuously occupied as a monas­ tic community since its foundation, which makes it difficult to distinguish between periods of occupation at the site. Khirbet ed-Deir, in contrast, is a single-period settle­ ment in the Judean Desert that offers a rare glimpse of a small, independent monastic community that was likely abandoned after a severe earthquake. Though the Egyptian and Palestinian monastic communities enjoy a rich literary heri­tage, the surviving documents tell us little about the daily routines of monastic life. Fortunately the archaeological evidence is extensive, and it enables us to observe the physical features of the spaces in which monks cooked, worked, and slept. Kitchens, workshops, washing facilities, and sleeping quarters all provide tangible illustrations of the domestic life led by the inhabitants of these early communities.

Kitchens and Bakeries In the majority of smaller monastic settlements, monks resided in modest houses, and each residence had at least one kitchen. In the larger, communal monasteries, cooking and baking were supervised and monitored by a staff in the kitchen, so that everyone followed the same rules for food and drink. Cooking in private was strictly forbidden in communal settings. Private kitchens from Egyptian monastic residences contained a mud-brick ledge with a u-shaped cooking feature, small enough so that the arms of the ‘u’ could hold a cooking pot. A small fire would burn below, within the ‘u’, and fuel was stored on the floor or in a nook in the mud ledge installation. Three or four of the heat­ ing features were built into the ledge, so that a cook could stand and monitor the cook­ ing of food, much like a modern stove, as can be seen in the dwelling from the Monastery of John the Little, Wādī al-Nat ̣rūn, Egypt (see Figure 12.4). The kitchen might include a beehive-shaped oven, built directly on the floor and standing to waist height (roughly

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The Archaeology of Monastic Households   193

Figure 12.4  Private kitchen with a three-burner stove and a small oven at a monastic resi­ dence in the Monastery of John the Little, Wādī al-Nat ̣rūn, Egypt. (D. Brooks Hedstrom, 1996)

75–100 cm high), as can be seen in a modern equivalent from Egypt (Figure 12.5). The oven was open at the top (diameter 40 cm) to allow for a baker to place items on the walls of the feature or to hold a large cooking pot over high heat. A baker or cook could tend the fire with a flue at the base of the oven. At the monastic site of Naqlun, fifth- and sixth-century private monastic kitchens were cut deep into the cliffs, with ovens placed along the back walls of rooms. This place­ ment meant that the room would not become overly heated, since the structure was insulated from the rays of the sun (Godlewski 1998, 2000, 2008). The kitchen was placed far away from the sleeping quarters, in an apparent attempt to regulate the temperature of other spaces where monks worked and slept. The same spatial design is present at Kellia, the ancient monastic site known as The Cells. Excavators there identified over 1,500 monastic residences, with the earliest excavated material dating to the early fifth century (Bridel et al.  1999,  2003; Daumas and Guillaumont  1969; Henein and Wuttmann 2000; Kasser 1967, 1984). At least one private kitchen was present in each building. When some residences were expanded to accommodate large numbers of pil­ grims, additional kitchens were built directly onto the visitors’ rooms. The presence of private kitchens signifies a form of monastic life that is different from the coenobitic communities represented in the monastic rules of Shenoute and Pachomius. For ex­ample, at the Monastery of Jeremias, a sixth-century coenobitic community built near

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194   Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom

Figure 12.5  Modern oven outside the homes in a shared courtyard at Gurna, Egypt. (D. Brooks Hedstrom, 2008)

the famous Step Pyramid of Djoser by Memphis, monks built nine bakeries, and not a single residence held built-in stoves for food preparation (Quibell 1907–1913). However, since the excavation work was completed in the early twentieth century, archaeologists did not investigate smaller cooking elements or domestic areas, as they were deemed less interesting and not as important for historical examination.

Wells, Cisterns, Bathhouses, and Collecting Water Water was necessary for many domestic tasks. Tableware and clothing needed to be washed either daily or once a week. In Pachomian monasteries, laundry was done once a week. Only boatmen and cooks were allowed to wash their clothing more frequently. Water was also an essential tool for the daily work of softening fibres in order to produce monastic handicrafts, such as rope, mats, hair shirts, and baskets (Wipszycka  2011). Monks also needed water to soak reeds collected from marshes or leaves from palm trees. The monk then soaked the materials in water collected from either his own cistern

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The Archaeology of Monastic Households   195 (if he lived in an independent residence), or from a community’s large well. The arch­ aeo­logic­al record attests to both types of water collection facilities. Both the Red and White Monasteries have large red brick wells built in the fifth century (Brooks Hedstrom et al. 2011/12; Blanke 2019). One block of rooms at the White Monastery includes handbuilt ceramic containers lined with lime plaster, embedded directly into the walls of the rooms. These installations might have held the water necessary for soaking the reeds used later in the houses. Large and small cisterns also appear in the courtyards at Kellia and at the Monastery of Jeremias at Saqqara. In the semi-subterranean dwellings at Esna and Adiama, cisterns were placed in hallways or in storerooms (Sauneron 1974: 189–190). Excavations at the Monastery of Epiphanius recovered impressive remains of handicrafts made by the monks, including fishing nets, brushes, brooms, baskets, and sleeping mats (Winlock and Crum 1926: 71–75). Another use of water in a monastery’s domestic life called for the construction and maintenance of bathhouses, which were a large part of Gazan and Judean monastic sites. Founded in the sixth century, the Monastery of Hilarion at Umm el-’Amr had a Byzantine-period church, chapel, tomb for Hilarion, a bathhouse, hostel, and monastic cells (Elter and Hassoune 2004; Elter and Abd el-Rhadan 2007). Near Khirbet Jemameh, the sixth-century Monastery of Seridus had a bathhouse and hospice as a central part of the coenobium (Humbert 2000; Humbert and Hassoune 2005). As in the case of the Monastery of Hilarion, the community maintained the bathhouse in order to offer the hospitality of healing for pilgrims to the Holy Land. At the Monastery of Martyrius (Khirbet el Murassas), monks built a complex underground cistern and associated water containment facilities to preserve water in the desert location (Patrich 2004: 429). Water collection involved continual maintenance, as the monastery hosted a bathhouse for guests and a hostel for pilgrims.

Workshops Another area of domestic life involved workshops for activities not easily performed within a monk’s living quarters. At the Monastery of Apollo at Bawit, monks built rooms to salt fish, to make fishing nets, and to store fishing equipment (Clédat 1999; Van Neer et al. 2007). Other rooms reflect the practical need for designated areas for particular crafts, such as linen weaving, stonework, tanning, and icon painting. At the Monastery of Epiphanius, monks cut loom pits into the shale floors of abandoned tombs to make facilities for weaving flax garments (Winlock and Crum  1926: 68–71; Wipszycka  2002). Documentary evidence from other sixth-century monastic sites near Thebes confirms that textile production was a significant component of monastic handcraft (Winlock and Crum  1926). Impressive textiles with embroidered borders and fig­ural panels from Byzantine Egypt still exist; many of them bear Christian iconography and may be the products of monastic textile communities (Carroll  1988; Fluck and Helmecke  2014; Thomas 2007). Weaving provided just one of many workshop spaces in monastic sites.

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196   Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom In the Lausiac History, Palladius reports that fourth-century Pachomian monks engaged in a variety of crafts, each of which required a special area for work, such as tan­ ning, weaving, fulling, and blacksmithing (Brooks Hedstrom 2017b). A seventh-century workshop and residence of a monastic bookbinder was excavated in the cliffs of Western Thebes at the site of an abandoned pharaonic tomb (Tefnin 2002). In addition to imple­ ments for tanning leather and binding books, the residence also had a loom pit. The monk’s personal archive documents his work crafting leather aprons, binding books, and plaiting ropes (Boud’hors  2007). Recent excavations at the sixth-century site of Dayr al-Bachit, also in Thebes, produced extensive remains of a purpose-built Monastery of Apa Paulos on the plateau of a desert cliff (Eichner and Fauerbach 2005; Burkard et al. 2003). The monastery is the largest in Thebes and has communal features such as a large enclosure wall, a refectory with circular refectory tables, a boundary wall, and a residential building. One room included two loom pits, which indicates that the monastery was also involved in Thebes’s textile production. Numerous leather shoes, book bindings, and other leather objects were found at the monastery, suggesting that the community engaged in the skin processing and tanning industry (Veldmeijer 2011). The best example for comparison in Palestine is the site of Khirbet ed-Deir. The site dates to the late fifth to mid-seventh century (Hirschfeld 1999). It contains monastic resi­dences, a chapel, stables, gardens, and facilities for a variety of agricultural tasks. The community had enough facilities to be self-sufficient and to offer some hospitality to those travelling through the desert monasteries. The site of Khirbet es-Suyyagh in the Judean Shephelah offers an example of a rural coenobitic settlement with wine and olive oil workshops (Taxel 2009). Khirbet es-Suyyagh is the first fully excavated rural monas­ tery in Byzantine Palestine. Its domestic spaces include a kitchen, a separate bake house, workshops for wine and oil production, and a residential area. The rural monastery had more facilities for wine and oil production than other desert monasteries. It may be that it was simply easier to grow grapes and tend to olive groves in the countryside than in the Judean deserts, where only small gardens could be grown.

Sleeping Quarters Cooking, pressing olives, tanning leather, cutting stones, and weaving linen are all day­ time activities, and they are easily discerned in the archaeological record. But domestic life also includes the night-time activity of sleeping. Where did monks sleep in their monasteries? The places for sleeping and storage are difficult to identify, because the bedding has not survived. The earliest accounts of monastic behaviour do not detail sleeping habits as often as they speak to relationships with non-monastics. It is not until the fifth and sixth cen­tur­ ies that we see an emphasis on the regulation of relationships within the monastery (Schroeder 2006; Wilfong 2002). Monastic rules from Shenoute and Pachomius outline several concerns about sleeping behaviours and appropriate behaviours whenever two

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The Archaeology of Monastic Households   197 monks are together in a room. The rules reflect a recognition that sexual temptation was a threat to a community’s harmony. Proper sleeping behaviours were needed. Pachomius prohibited even two monks sitting on a mat or floor covering together. By regulating sleeping time and spaces, monastic communities could supervise same-sex activities and ensure that all members were participating in the life of the community. Residential quarters at monasteries vary greatly, and there is little to differentiate the rooms that were used for sleeping. In the case of coenobitic communities at Saqqara, Dayr al-Bachit, Dayr al-Bala’yzah, and Sohag, archaeologists identified the sleeping quarters by reasoning that rooms thought to accommodate two monks would be uni­ form in size. At Dayr al-Bachit, for instance, a hall with a series of rooms each measuring 2.0 x 2.80 metres was identified as the sleeping area. At other sites, such as at Bawit, Kellia, and Wādī al-Nat ̣rūn, the sleeping rooms are frequently identified as the rooms that are furthest away from the main entrance, on the basis that the intimate space of sleeping would be at furthest remove from public areas. The uniformity of room size at coenobitic Palestinian monasteries also follows this pattern. Another limitation to iden­ tifying monastic sleeping quarters is the fact that few rooms contain any evidence that they were, in fact, used for sleeping. The rooms identified in excavation reports are fre­ quently devoid of wall paintings, inscriptions, and artefacts. They often do not even have a shelf for holding a lamp, or a bone or antler hook for hanging items. The interpretative assumption is that sleeping quarters do not merit the same wall treatment as places for prayer, or areas for communal gatherings. Recent work with textiles and adornment of rooms indicates that fabric and decorated textiles served as curtains or passage cover­ ings to create privacy between public and private spaces (Clarysee and Geens 2009). In rare cases, mud brick beds, complete with headrest, are found at monastic sites, offering tangible proof that a room was used for sleeping. At Dayr al-Bachit three clay beds were still in situ and built against the cell walls. In one room, archaeologists found fibres of a mat that once covered the bed (Eichner and Fauerbach 2005: 148). A similar design for coenobitic housing also appears at Dayr al-Bala’yzah. The sixth-century monastery sits nestled in the cleft of a desert escarpment, as can be seen in Figure 12.3. The settlement was surrounded by a boundary wall and contained a massive cistern, workshops, and several communal buildings (Grossmann 1986, 1993). Texts recovered from the site indicate that the monastery’s domestic life and its economic activities were integrated with the community beyond its walls (Kahle 1954). At Kellia, in contrast, the division of the work areas, kitchens, and sleeping areas follows a regular floor plan with the sleeping quarters always one-third the size of the oratory (Henein and Wuttmann 2000). Bedrooms at the sixth-century monastic site of Esna were identified on the basis that the spaces lacked any decoration and could not be lit by either direct or indirect light (Sauneron and Jacquet 1972). The beds that once filled the space were likely reed mats or linens that have not survived. In the absence of such portable goods, it is difficult to state with certainty that we know where the monks slept at Esna. Roofs, for example, could also be used for sleeping, especially in the warmer months. Identifying monastic sleeping quarters in Palestinian monasteries also depends on the monastery’s mode of asceticism. In coenobitic monasteries, residential quarters for

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198   Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom monks may seem similar to those in hostel accommodations. Spatial relationships pro­ vide the solution: rooms near the refectory are likely to be monastic quarters, while those closer to the bathhouse are more likely be guest accommodations. In independent desert residences, the Judean and Egyptian ground plans are similar. The most deeply cut rooms, devoid of wall treatments, are thought to be sleeping areas. (It is also possible, however, that such spaces were used for storage.) A further complication arises from the fact that sleeping areas might be fluid, and subject to seasonal and environmental factors, which would alter the use of particular spaces.

Conclusion: A Microhistory of the Monastic Household Household archaeology offers new insights into how we read monastic settlements and understand the daily life of monks in early communities. Archaeological evidence from a diverse body of monastic settlements in Egypt and Palestine demonstrates how monks lived in their communities. They produced textiles, tanned animal skins, wove mats, pressed olives, and tended to their guests by offering food and housing. All of these activities shaped daily life, but they were not often the subject of the literary and docu­ mentary traditions associated with monastic living. Monks were engaged in the same types of domestic work as the local villagers who worked in similar trades. In examining the location of sleeping quarters, workshops, water facilities, and kitchens, we can begin to look at the monastic household in a more sophisticated way. By using household archaeology, we have enhanced our understanding of the archaeological evidence for the design of monasteries as complex spatial settlements and as physical households imbued with monastic social and cultural ideals.

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The Archaeology of Monastic Households   199 Blanke, Louise (2019). An Archaeology of Egyptian Monasticism: settlement, economy, and daily life at the White Monastery Federation. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Boud’hors, A. (2007). ‘L’Apport de papyrus postérieurs à la conquête arabe pour la datation des ostraca coptes de la tombe TT 29’. In From al-Andalus to Khurasan: Documents from the Medieval Muslim World, edited by P. M. Sijpesteijn et al., 115–126. Brill: Leiden. Bourdieu, P. (1977). Outline of a Theory of Practice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bridel, P. et al. (eds) (2003). Explorations aux Qouçoûr Hégeila et ‘Éreima lors des campagnes 1987, 1988 et 1989. EK 8184, vol. 4. Louvain: Peeters. Bridel, P. et al. (eds) (1999). Explorations aux Qouçoûr el-Izeila lors des campagnes 1981, 1982, 1984, 1985, 1986, 1989 et 1990. EK 8184, vol. 3. Louvain: Peeters. Brooks Hedstrom, D. (2019). ‘The Archaeology of Early Monastic Communities’. In The Oxford Handbook of Early Christian Archaeology, edited by David  K.  Pettegrew, William R. Caraher, and Thomas W. Davis, 147–165. New York: Oxford University Press. Brooks Hedstrom, D. (2017a). ‘Monks Baking Bread and Salting Fish: An Archaeology of Early Monastic Ascetic Taste’. In Knowing Bodies, Passionate Souls: Sense Perceptions in Byzantium, edited by Margaret Mullett and Susan Ashbrook Harvey, 183–206. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks Research Library and Collection. Brooks Hedstrom, D. (2017b). The Monastic Landscape of Late Antique Egypt: An Archaeological Reconstruction. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brooks Hedstrom, D. (2007). ‘Divine Architects: Designing the Monastic Dwelling Place’. In Egypt in the Byzantine World, 300–700, edited by R.  Bagnall, 368–389. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brooks Hedstrom, D. (2005). ‘An Archaeological Mission for the White Monastery’. Coptica 4: 1–26. Brooks Hedstrom, D. and H. Dey (2020). ‘The Archaeology of the Earliest Monasteries’. In The Cambridge History of Medieval Western Monasticism, vol. 1, edited by A.  I.  Beach and I. Cochelin, 73–96. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brooks Hedstrom, D. et al. (2011/12). ‘The White Monastery Federation Project: Survey and Mapping at the Monastery of Apa Shenoute (Dayr al-Anba Shinūda), Sohag, 2005–2007’. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 65/66: 333–364. Brusasco, P. (2004). ‘Theory and Practice in the Study of Mesopotamian Domestic Space’. Antiquity 78: 142–157. Burkard, G. et al. (2003). ‘Die spätantike/koptische Klosteranlage Deir el-Bachit in Dra’Abu el-Naga (Oberägypten). Erster Vorbericht’. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo 59: 41–65. Carroll, D. L. (1988). Looms and Textiles of the Copts. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press. Černý, J. (1976). Coptic Etymological Dictionary. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Clarysee, W. and K.  Geens. (2009). ‘Textiles and Architecture in the Graeco-Roman and Byzantine Egypt.’ In Clothing the House: Furnishing Textiles of the 1st Millennium AD from Egypt and Neighbouring Countries: Proceedings of the 5th Conference of the Research Group "Textiles from the Nile Valley" Antwerp, 6–7 October 2007, edited by A. de Moor and Cäcilia Fluck, 38–47. Tielt, Belgium: Lannoo Publishers. Clédat, J. (1999). Le monastère et la nécropole de Baouît. Edited by D.  Bénazeth and M.-H. Rutschowscaya. Cairo: IFAO. Daumas, F. and A. Guillaumont et al. (eds) (1969). Kellia I, Kom 219. Fouilles exécutées en 1964 et 1965. Cairo: IFAO.

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200   Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom Davis, S. et al. (2012). ‘Life and Death in Lower and Upper Egypt: A Brief Survey of Recent Monastic Archaeology at Yale’. Journal of the Canadian Society for Coptic Studies 3: 9–26. Donald, M. and L. Hurcombe (eds) (2000). Gender and Material Culture in Archaeological Perspective. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Eichner, I. and U. Fauerbach (2005). ‘Die spätantike/koptische Klosteranlage Deir el-Bachit in Dra’ Abu el-Naga (Oberägypten). Zweiter Vorbericht’. Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo 61: 139–152. Ellis, S. (2000). Roman Housing. London: Duckworth. Elter, R. and A. Abd el-Rhadan (2007). ‘Le monastère de saint Hilarion: évolution et dével­ oppement architectural d’un sanctuaire de pèlerinage dans le sud de Gaza (Palestine)’. Les Cahiers de Saint-Michel de Cuxa 38: 121–136. Elter, R. and A. Hassoune (2004). ‘Le monastère de Saint-Hilarion à Umm-el-’Amr (bande de Gaza)’. Comptes rendus des séances de l’Académie des Inscriptions et Belles-Lettres 148: 359–382. Emmel, S. (2004). Shenoute’s Literary Corpus. 2 vols. Louvain: Peeters. Fluck, C. and G.  Helmecke (2014). ‘Egypt’s Post-Pharaonic Textiles’. In Coptic Civilization: Two Thousand Years of Christianity in Egypt, edited by G. Gabra, 237–260. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Foster, C. P. and B. J. Parker (eds) (2012). New Perspectives on Household Archaeology. Winona Lake, IN: Eisenbrauns. Gabra, G. and H. N. Takla (eds) (2008). Christianity and Monasticism in Upper Egypt. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Giddens, A. (1984). The Constitution of Society: Outline of the Theory of Structuration. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Gilchrist, R. (1994). Gender and Material Culture: The Archaeology of Religious Women. New York: Routledge. Godlewski, W. (2008). ‘Naqlun (Nekloni). The Hermitages, Cemetery and the Keep in the early 6th century’. In Graeco-Roman Fayum: Texts and Archaeology, edited by S. L. Lippert and M. Schentuleit, 101–112. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. Godlewski, W. (2000). ‘Naqlun. The Hermitage of Phibamo’. In Les civilisations du bassin méditerranéen: Hommages à Joachim Śliwa, edited by K. M. Ciałowicz and J. A. Ostrowski, 91–98. Krakow: Uniwersytet Jagielloński. Godlewski, W. (1998). ‘Naqlun. Excavations 1997’. Polish Archaeology in the Mediterranean 9: 77–86. Goehring, J. (2012). Politics, Monasticism, and Miracles in Sixth Century Upper Egypt. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Goehring, J. (1986). The Letter of Ammon and Pachomian Monasticism. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter. Grossmann, P. (2002). Christliche Architektur in Ägypten. Leiden: Brill. Grossmann, P. (1993). ‘Ruinen des Klosters Dair al-Balaiza in Oberägypten’. Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 36: 171–205. Grossmann, P. (1986). ‘Die Unterkunftsbauten des Koinobitenklosters “Dair al-Balayza” im Vergleich mit den Eremitagen der Mönche von Kellia’. In Le site monastique copte des Kellia, edited by P.  Bridel, 33–40. Geneva: Mission suisse d’archéologie copte de l’Université de Genève. Grossmann, P. and G. Lease (1990). ‘Faw Qibli: 1989 Excavation Report’. Göttinger Miszellen 114: 9–16.

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The Archaeology of Monastic Households   201 Grossmann, P. et al. (2009). ‘Second Report on the Excavation of the Monastery of Apa Shenute (Dayr Anba Shinuda) at Suhag’. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 63: 167–219. Grossmann, P. et al. (2004). ‘The Excavation in the Monastery of Apa Shenute (Dayr Anba Shinuda) at Suhag: With an Appendix on Documentary Photography at the Monasteries of Anba Shinuda and Anba Bishoi, Suhag’. Dumbarton Oaks Papers 58: 371–382. Hendon, J.  A. (1996). ‘Archaeological Approaches to the Organization of Domestic Labor: Household Practices and Domestic Relations’. Annual Review of Anthropology 25: 45–61. Henein, N. H. and M. Wuttmann (2000). Kellia. II. L’ermitage copte QR 195. I. Archéologie et architecture. Plans. Cairo: IFAO. Hirschfeld, Y. (2002). ‘Deir Qal’a and the Monasteries of Western Samaria’. In The Roman and Byzantine Near East, edited by J. H. Humphrey, 155–189. Portsmouth, RI: Journal of Roman Archaeology. Hirschfeld, Y. (1999). The Early Byzantine Monastery at Khirbet ed-Deir in the Judean Desert: The Excavations in 1981–1987. Jerusalem: Hebrew University. Hirschfeld, Y. (1993). ‘Monasteries and Churches in the Judean Desert in the Byzantine Period’. In Ancient Churches Revealed, edited by Y. Tsafrir, 149–154. Jerusalem: Israel Exploration Society. Hirschfeld, Y. (1992). The Judean Desert Monasteries in the Byzantine Period. New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press. Hirschfeld, Y. (1990). ‘List of the Byzantine Monasteries in the Judean Desert’. In Christian Archaeology in the Holy Land. New Discoveries, edited by G. C. Bottini et al., 1–90. Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press. Hirth, K. (1993). ‘The Household as an Analytical Unit: Problems in Method and Theory’. In Prehispanic Domestic Units in Western Mesoamerica, edited by R. Santley and K. G. Hirth, 21–36. Boca Raton, FL: CRC Press. Hodder, I. and C.  Cessford (2004). ‘Daily Practice and Social Memory at Çatalhöyük’. American Antiquity 69.1: 17–40. Hodder, I. and S. Hutson (2003). Reading the Past: Current Approaches to Interpretation in Archaeology, 3rd edn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Humbert, J.-B. (ed.) (2000). Gaza méditerranénne. Historie et archéologie en Palestine. Paris: Errance. Humbert, J.-B. and A. Hassoune (2005). ‘Brefs regards sur les fouilles byzantines à Gaza’. In Gaza dans l’Antiquité Tardive, edited by C. Saliou, 1–11. Salerno: Helios. Izzet, V. (2007). The Archaeology of Etruscan Society. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kahle, P. E. (ed.) (1954). Bala’izeh: Coptic Texts from Deir el-Bala’izeh in Upper Egypt. London: Oxford University Press. Kasser, R. (ed.) (1967). Kellia 1965. Geneva: Georg. Kasser, R. et al. (1984). Le site monastique des Kellia (Basse–Égypte). Louvain: Peeters. Kent, S. (ed.) (1990). Domestic Architecture and the Use of Space: An Interdisciplinary CrossCultural Study. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kent, S. (1984). Analyzing Activity Areas: An Ethnoarchaeological Study for the Use of Space. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Krawiec, R. (2002). Shenoute and the Women of the White Monastery. New York: Oxford University Press. Lavan, L. et al. (eds) (2007). Objects in Context, Objects in Use: Material Spatiality in Late Antiquity. Leiden: Brill.

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202   Darlene L. Brooks Hedstrom Layton, B. (2014). The Canons of Our Fathers: Monastic Rules of Shenoute. OECS. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Layton, B. (2004). A Coptic Grammar. Wiesbaden: Otto Harrassowitz. López, A.  G. (2013). Shenoute of Atripe and the Uses of Poverty: Rural Patronage, Religious Conflict, and Monasticism in Late Antique Egypt. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Nevett, L. C. (2010). Domestic Space in Classical Antiquity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Olsen, B. (2010). In Defense of Things: Archaeology and the Ontology of Objects. Lanham, MD: AltaMira Press. Patrich, J. (2004). ‘Monastic Landscapes’. In Recent Research on the Late Antique Countryside, edited by W. Bowden et al., 413–445. Leiden: Brill. Patrich, J. (1995). Sabas, Leader of Palestinian Monasticism: A Comparative Study in Eastern Monasticism, Fourth to Seventh Centuries. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Patrich, J. (1991). ‘The Sabaite Monastery of the Cave (Spelaion) in the Judean Desert’. Liber Annuus 41: 429–448. Patrich, J. (1990). ‘The Cells (Ta Kellia) of Choziba, Wadi el-Qilt’. In Christian Archaeology in the Holy Land: New Discoveries, edited by G. C. Bottini et al., 205–226. Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press. Patrich, J. et al. (1993). ‘Monastic Cells in the Desert of Gerasimus near the Jordan’. In Early Christianity in Context: Monuments and Documents, edited by F.  Manns and E.  Alliata, 277–296. Jerusalem: Franciscan Printing Press. Perrone, L. (2012). ‘Byzantine Monasticism in Gaza and in the Judaean Desert: A Comparison of their Spiritual Traditions’. Proche-Orient Chrétien 62: 6–22. Perrone, L. (1995). ‘Monasticism in the Holy Land: From the Beginnings to the Crusaders’. Proche-Orient Chrétien 45: 31–63. Quibell, J. (1907–1912). Excavations at Saqqara (1905–1910). Cairo: IFAO. Rapp, C. (2011). ‘Early Monasticism in Egypt’. In Female vita religiosa between Late Antiquity and the High Middle Ages: Structures, Developments and Spatial Contexts, edited by G. Melville and A. Müller, 21–42. Zurich: LIT Verlag. Rousseau, P. (1999). Pachomius: The Making of a Community in Fourth-Century Egypt. TCH 6. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Samson, R. (ed.) (1990). The Social Archaeology of Houses. Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh Press. Sauneron, S. (1974). ‘Les travaux de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale en 1973–1974’. Bulletin de l’Institut français d’archéologie orientale 74: 183–233. Sauneron, S., J. Jacquet et al. (1972). Les ermitages chrétiens du désert d’Esna. 4 vols. Cairo: IFAO. Schroeder, C. (2007). Monastic Bodies: Discipline and Salvation in Shenoute of Atripe. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Schroeder, C. (2006). ‘Prophecy and Porneia in Shenoute’s Letters: The Rhetoric of Sexuality in a Late Antique Egyptian Monastery’. Journal of Near Eastern Studies 65.2: 81–97. Steadman, S.  R. (1996). ‘Recent Research in the Archaeology of Architecture: Beyond the Foundations’. Journal of Archaeological Research 4.1: 51–93. Taxel, I. (2009). Khirbet es-Suyyagh: A Byzantine Monastery in the Judean Shephelah. Tel Aviv: Tel Aviv University. Tefnin, R. (2002). ‘A Coptic Workshop in a Pharaonic Tomb’. Egyptian Archaeology 20: 6.

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The Archaeology of Monastic Households   203 Thomas, J. P. (1987). Private Religious Foundations in the Byzantine Empire. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Thomas, J.  P. and A.  Constantinides Hero (eds) (2000). Byzantine Monastic Foundation Documents: A Complete Translation of the Surviving Founders’ Typika and Testaments. Washington, DC: Dumbarton Oaks. Thomas, T. K. (2007). ‘Coptic and Byzantine Textiles Found in Egypt: Corpora, Collections, and Scholarly Perspectives’. In Egypt in the Byzantine World, 300–700, edited by R. Bagnall, 137–162. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tzaferis, V. (2001). ‘Early Christian Monasticism in the Holy Land and Archaeology’. In The Sabaite Heritage in the Orthodox Church from the Fifth Century to the Present, edited by J. Patrich, 317–322. Louvain: Peeters. Van Neer, Wim, et al. (2007). ‘Salted Fish Products from the Coptic Monastery at Bawit, Egypt: Evidence from the Bones and Texts’. In The Role of Fish in Ancient Time, edited by H. H. Plogmann, 147–159. Rahden: Verlag Marie Leidorf. Veilleux, A. (trans.) (1980–1982). Pachomian Koinonia: The Lives, Rules and Other Writings of St. Pachomius and His Disciples. 3 vols. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Veldmeijer, A. J. (2011). Sandals, Shoes, and Other Leatherwork from the Coptic Monastery Deir el-Bachit: Analysis and Catalogue. Leiden: Sidestone Press. Weiner, S. (2010). Microarchaeology: Beyond the Visible Archaeological Record. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wilfong, T. (2002). ‘Friendship and Physical Desire’: The Discourse of Female Homoeroticism in Fifth-Century CE Egypt’. In Among Women: From the Homosocial to the Homoerotic in the Ancient World, edited by N.  S.  Rabinowitz and L.  Auanger, 304–329. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Wilk, R. and W. Ashmore (eds) (1988). Household and Community in the Mesoamerican Past. Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Wilk, R. and W. L. Rathje (1982). ‘Household Archaeology’. American Behavioral Scientist 25: 617–639. Wilk, R. et al. (1984). Households: Comparative and Historical Studies of the Domestic Group. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Winlock, H. E. and W. E. Crum (1926–1933). The Monastery of Epiphanius at Thebes. 2 vols. New York: Metropolitan Museum of Art. Wipszycka, E. (2011). ‘Resources and Economic Activities of the Egyptian Monastic Communities (4th–8th century)’. The Journal of Juristic Papyrology 41: 159–263. Wipszycka, E. (2002). ‘L’ascétisme féminin dans l’Égypte de l’antiquité tardive. Topoi littéraires et formes d’ascèse’. In Le rôle et le statut de la femme en Égypte hellénistique, romaine et byzantine. Actes du colloque international, Bruxelles-Leuven, 27 au 29 Novembre 1997, edited by H. Melaerts and L. Mooren, 355–396. Louvain: Peeters.

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pa rt I I I

A .   W E ST E R N M E DI E VA L MONA ST IC ISM : FOR M S OF MONA ST IC A N D R E L IGIOUS L I F E

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chapter 13

Monasticism i n E a r ly Ir el a n d Westley Follett

Introduction Prior to the introduction of foreign religious orders in the twelfth century, monastic life in Ireland flourished in both communal and solitary forms. Yet it was without adherence to a common standard such as obtained in Carolingian Francia or Anglo-Saxon England. The Benedictine Rule was known in pre-Norman Ireland, though its impact was minimal. Still, early Irish monks and nuns had far more in common with their European confrères and consoeurs than they had in distinction. Contemporary sources to investigate Ireland’s early monastic past are scant. Lacking an Irish Cassiodorus, Gregory of Tours, or Bede, we are dependent upon hagiography, prescriptive texts, and chronicles for our knowledge. These tell us much, but used uncritically they may also mislead. Some of the last century’s most frequently cited studies of early Irish monasticism relied upon saints’ Lives written centuries apart and 500 years or more later than their subjects to produce seemingly timeless descriptions of religious life (Ryan 1931; Chadwick 1961; Bitel 1990). Such hagiographical mash-ups can obscure change over time and may mistake localized practice for widespread observance. Unquestioning reliance upon texts written elsewhere than Ireland as evidence for circumstances within Ireland is also problematic. For example, for some modern and especially sectarian writers, Bede (d. 735) has been prima facie evidence for the existence of an idiosyncratic ‘Celtic Christianity’ that unified Ireland, Scotland, and Wales in a common theology and praxis (Bradley 1999: 25–30). Drawing upon his Ecclesiastical History and saints’ Lives, enthusiasts have characterized ‘Celtic’ monks as innately attuned to the natural world, anti-hierarchical, and remarkably unconcerned with power, among other allegedly non-Roman traits (Meek 2000: 82–88). In recent decades, scholars of the early insular Churches have argued forcefully against the existence of a historic ‘Celtic Christianity’ or ‘Celtic Church’ (Hughes 1981;

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208   Westley Follett Davies 1992; Márkus 1997; Bradley 1999; Meek 2000; Corning 2006), but neither concept has disappeared from academic discourse (Herren and Brown  2002; Harrington 2002). Similarly, while ‘Celtic monasticism’ is now better understood as a collective label for pre-Benedictine monasticism in Celtic-speaking lands (O’Loughlin 2000a), some still regard early Irish monasticism as distinctively ‘Celtic’ in its character. One recent study of the ‘cultural roots’ of Irish monasticism maintains that early Irish monks possessed a ‘Celtic consciousness’, evidently meaning they retained something of a pre-Christian Weltanschauung (Thom 2006: 7–18). Absent documentary evidence from the pre-Christian period, however, it is impossible to compare aspects of Irish paganism and early Irish monasticism meaningfully. The proper context of the latter is within late-antique monastic thought and practice, particularly in Gaul and Italy.

Origins and Influences The earliest promotion of monastic life in Ireland was apparently in the fifth century, not long after the introduction of Christianity. We know from the Chronicle of Prosper of Aquitaine that by 431 there were already enough ‘Irish believing in Christ’ for Pope Celestine I to send them their first bishop, Palladius, possibly a deacon from Auxerre. Lacking contemporary Irish sources for his episcopacy we cannot be certain if he sought to establish monasticism in Ireland, but there is cause for speculation in light of the possibility that he experienced religious life prior to his episcopacy (Ó Cróinín 2000; Thomas 2004). We are on firmer ground with Palladius’s fellow bishop and younger contemporary, the Briton Patrick, who undertook the conversion of the pagan Irish. Writing in the second half of the fifth century, he observed that ‘the sons and daughters of Irish underkings are [now] seen to be monks and virgins of Christ’ (Hood 1978: 50 § 41). However we might understand his usage of the terms monachi and virgines Christi, it is not yet possible to speak of conventional monasteries in Ireland, that is, enclosures of religious men or women living in distinct communities apart from secular society. Patrick says nothing about the common life or the renunciation of one’s family and kin. Sexual abstinence, on the other hand, was paramount. Patrick encouraged celibacy among his Irish converts and celebrated those who embraced it. His virgins appear to have remained at home with their unsympathetic families, and his monks were likely celibate deacons and presbyters who sang psalms in addition to fulfilling the responsibilities of the clericate (Herren 1989). For Patrick, monasticism could be pursued while one was still in the world and interacting with lay Christian and pagan society. At some point prior to his episcopacy Patrick must have obtained an appreciation of the religious life, but where this might have been is debated (Sheehy 1962; Binchy 1962: 88–90; Dumville 1993: 25–28). A recent contribution (Herren 2013) makes a strong case for Gaul, where Patrick, writing late in life, said he wished to go ‘to visit the brethren and to see the visage of the holy men of my Lord’ (Hood  1978: 50 § 43). The reasonable

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Monasticism in Early Ireland   209 i­ nference is that he had previous experience with the brethren in Gaul and longed to see them again before he died. Also, Patrick’s Christian community in Ireland, headed by a bishop presiding over monasticized clergy, virgins, and other laity, including widows and continent folk, had ready models in central and northern Gaul. A combination of monasticism and the clericate similarly characterized the episcopacies of Martin of Tours (d. 397), Victricius of Rouen (d. c.407), and Germanus of Auxerre (d. c.448). A Gaulish sojourn for Patrick would have given him a template for his monasticized mission in Ireland. While there is no evidence of monasteries in Ireland in the fifth century, by the end of the sixth there were many flourishing religious communities, as at Armagh, Kildare, Clonmacnoise, Clonard, Bangor, and Iona in the Scottish Hebrides, to name the most prominent. Our most informative sources from the sixth century do not yield details about specific locations, but in general terms suppose the existence of monasteria inhabited by place-bound monks under the authority of abbots and practising ascetic activities in order to attain corollary virtues (Bieler 1963: 59 § 34, 85 § 30; Gildas 1978: 80–82 §§ 2–5; Herren 1990; Follett 2006b: 28–37). The sixth-century sources also bear witness to the continued influence of British churchmen on Ireland after Patrick. The Penitential of Finnian is ascribed to a British cleric named Uinniau (Finnian is an Irish form) who appears to have taught Columba (d. 597), later the founder of Iona, and who may himself have been the founder of Movilla (Dumville 1984a; Charles-Edwards 2000: 291–293; see also Clancy 2001). In response to a query from Uinniau, Gildas, a British ecclesiastic best known for his diatribe On the Ruin of Britain, proffered monastic advice that survives in fragments; the expatriate Irish abbot Columbanus (d. 615) approvingly cited Gildas in his own missive to Pope Gregory I (Columbanus  1957: 9 §§ 6–7; Sharpe 1984a). None of this, however, is to say that early Irish monasticism was inherently British in character. Much as one can look past Patrick to discern Gallic models for religious life in Ireland, behind Uinniau and Gildas one may perceive the influence of works published in southern Gaul in the early part of the fifth century: the Institutes and Conferences of John Cassian (d. 435) (Wright 1991; Follett 2006b: 34–37; Lake 2011). Cassian’s role in transmitting Egyptian monastic traditions to the Latin West is well known, and has received ample attention in Irish monastic studies (Ryan 1931: 328–333; Chadwick 1950: 201–203; Ó Néill 1987; 207–208; O’Loughlin 2000b: 53). Some recent work, however, has questioned whether his impact on Irish forms and thought has been overstated (Herren and Brown 2002: 145–146; Follett 2006a; Lake 2011). For example, few early Irish monasteria much resembled Cassian’s conceptualization of a coenobium. The latter was an enclosed community of religious whose regulated common life and removal from the outside world prepared them to undertake the contemplative life at a hermitage. An Irish religious settlement, however, could be home to many others than coenobitic monks or nuns, as at seventh-century Armagh, where there were also clergy, penitents, and anchorites (Bieler 1979: 187 §§ 15–16). Married laity appear to have been ubiquitous at Irish monasteria. Often referred to in vernacular tracts as manaig (literally ‘monks’ but better understood as ‘ecclesiastical tenants’), they maintained quasi-­monastic lives, observing, for instance, periodic sexual continence, and rendered tithes and

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210   Westley Follett offerings in return for pastoral care (Etchingham 1999a: 239–289, 363–454). To call such mixed communities ‘monasteries’ gives rise to misassociation with the Cassianic or Benedictine understandings of the term (Etchingham 2010: 327–328). Furthermore, the Irish effort to impose a degree of religious life among the laity points to a continued desire for a monasticized society, something that did not concern Cassian.

Past, Present, and Future Directions Much of the scholarship of the last three decades has addressed two long-standing misconceptions. The first concerns the nature of ecclesiastical organization in pre-Norman Ireland. The received wisdom is that from the sixth century forwards the Irish Church was fundamentally ‘monastic’, meaning that powerful abbots held primacy over ‘monastic paruchiae’ or confederations of monasteries, and bishops performed little more than sacerdotal functions (Hughes 1966: 57–90). Though it has shown remarkable tenacity, this view has been discredited in favour of an integrated model of Church governance that restores bishops as the pre-eminent ecclesiastical authority over territorial dioceses but admits the presence of non-clerical or even non-monastic superiors who oversaw temporalities that could include monastic properties (Sharpe 1984b; Etchingham 1999a; Charles-Edwards 2000: 241–281). As elsewhere in Europe, many early Irish churches were proprietary and those who exercised lordship over them often did so by hereditary right. Kinship ties between church heads sometimes resulted in networks of affiliation, as in the case of Iona and other Columban foundations at Derry and Kells (Herbert 1988). The second misconception pertains to ascetic reform. Scholars past and present, relying upon penitentials and hagiographical accounts of extreme privation and mortification, have regarded harsh asceticism as a hallmark of the early Irish vocation (see now Auslander 2009). The conventional understanding, however, also maintains that by the eighth century, rising secularity in Ireland’s churches had brought on a general decline in religious discipline and piety. In reaction, an association of monks who called ­themselves Céli Dé (‘clients of God’), later anglicized ‘Culdees’, instigated a movement that sought to restore earlier standards of ascetic practice and penitential rigour (Kenney 1966: 468–71; Hughes 1966: 157–193; O’Dwyer 1981). This narrative has now been challenged on nearly all points (Etchingham 1999b; Lambkin 1999; Follett 2006b; Haggart 2006–2007; Rumsey 2007). While certainly asceticism was important to early Irish monks and nuns, there is no evidence of a general departure from or a return to an earlier standard of practice. Prior to the twelfth century, such Rules as existed in Ireland’s religious houses, including that of the Céli Dé at Tallaght, did not attain widespread observance. Recent scholarship considers a wide range of other issues, such as monastic fasting and diet (Wooding  2003; Follett  2013), the Divine Office (Jeffery  2000; Follett 2005; O’Loughlin  2006; Rumsey  2007), monastic learning and literacy (O’Loughlin 2001; Johnston  2013), the experiences of female religious (Bitel  1986; Hall  1999;

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Monasticism in Early Ireland   211 Harrington  2002; Auslander  2009; Bitel  2009), and even the form of tonsure (McCarthy 2003). Considerable attention has fallen upon the topic of monastic voyaging or peregrinatio, particularly as articulated in Adomnán of Iona’s seventh-century Life of Saint Columba and the ninth-century Voyage of Saint Brendan (Wooding  2000; Wooding 2007; Follett 2007). The urban (or proto-urban) character of Ireland’s religious settlements has generated much interest (Doherty  1985; Graham  1987; Bradley  1998; Valante 1998; Swift 1998), while the study of specific sites continues apace, as now with Clonmacnoise, Glendalough, and Derry (King  1998 and 2003; Doherty, Doran, and Kelly 2011; Lacey 2013). The great question is: to what extent were early Irish religious innovators? This chapter seeks the middle ground, suggesting that while monasticism in early Ireland was not dramatically distinctive (let alone ‘Celtic’), neither did it exactly replicate forms prevailing elsewhere in western Europe. This perspective can be tested in a number of ways, not least through demonstrating the diversity of religious thought and practice within Ireland during this period. One hopes that future treatments of early Irish monasticism will eschew the one-size-fits-all approach found in some prior scholarship. A great deal can be learned from focused investigations of individual monastic communities. We inadequately understand the ties between monastic communities and the polities in which they stood, and would benefit from further study of their personnel, from the bishops, abbots, and abbesses down to the lay tenants who supported them with their labour and offerings. There is scant consideration of early Irish anchorites and hermits. Comparative examinations of Irish religious houses with Gallic monasteria and Anglo-Saxon minsters could shed additional light on the factors that shaped monastic life in Ireland. Similarly, the experiences of Irish religious abroad ought not to be excluded from the picture. Aside from the question of how representative the vocation and writings of people such as Columbanus are of monastic training and education in Ireland, it would be worth exploring how Irish peregrini may have been the conduit through which religious forms and practices observed elsewhere found place in Ireland. Lastly, the final word has surely not been spoken on either Church organization or asceticism in early Ireland.

Suggested Reading For the past half-century, the two most authoritative treatments have been Ryan (1931) and Hughes (1966). Both are now badly outdated, but contain much that is still useful and have not been superseded by Bitel (1990). Sharpe’s (1995) introduction and notes to his translation of the Life of St Columba by Adomnán of Iona are enormously valuable. Etchingham (1999a) provides a reconsideration of the ‘monastic’ structure of the early Irish Church. His eighth chapter, ‘Monasticism in its Primary Sense’, is especially valuable. The second chapter of Follett (2006b) assesses Irish ascetic observance prior to the ninth century. The indispensable survey of Ireland’s early and medieval ecclesiastical sites great and small remains Gwynn and Hadcock (1970).

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212   Westley Follett

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Adomnán (1995). Adomnán of Iona: Life of St Columba, translated by R.  Sharpe. London: Penguin Classics. Adomnán (1991). Adomnán’s Life of Columba, rev. edn, edited and translated by A. Anderson and M. Anderson. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Bieler, L. (ed. and trans.) (1979). The Patrician Texts in the Book of Armagh. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies. Bieler, L. (ed. and trans.) (1963). The Irish Penitentials. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies. Carey, J. (ed.) (1998). King of Mysteries: Early Irish Religious Writing. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Clancy, T. and G. Márkus (eds and trans.) (1995). Iona: The Earliest Poetry of a Celtic Monastery. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Columbanus (1957). Sancti Columbani opera, edited and translated by G.  Walker. Dublin: Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies. Davies, O. (trans.), with T. O'Loughlin (1999). Celtic Spirituality. New York: Paulist Press. De Paor, L. (trans.) (1993). Saint Patrick’s World: The Christian Culture of Ireland’s Apostolic Age. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Gildas (1978). Gildas: The Ruin of Britain: and Other Works, edited and translated by M. Winterbottom. London: Phillimore Press. Gwynn, E. (ed. and trans.) (1927). The Rule of Tallaght. Dublin: Hodges, Figgis, and Co. Gwynn, E. and W. Purton (eds and trans.) (1911). ‘The Monastery of Tallaght’. Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy 29 C: 115–179. Hood, A. (ed. and trans.) (1978). St. Patrick: His Writings and Muirchú’s Life. London: Phillimore Press. Ó Maidín, U. (trans.) (1996). The Celtic Monk: Rules and Writings of Early Irish Monks. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications.

Secondary Sources Auslander, D. (2009). ‘Living With a Saint: Monastic Identity, Community, and the Ideal of Asceticism in the Life of an Irish Saint’. In Negotiating Community and Difference in Medieval Europe: Gender, Power, Patronage, and the Authority of Religion in Latin Christendom, edited by K. Smith and S. Wells, 17–32. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Binchy, D. (1962). ‘Patrick and his Biographers, Ancient and Modern’. Studia Hibernica 2: 7–173. Bitel, L. (2009). Landscape With Two Saints: How Genovefa of Paris and Brigit of Kildare Built Christianity in Barbarian Europe. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Bitel, L. (1990). Isle of the Saints: Monastic Settlement and Christian Community in Early Ireland. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Bitel, L. (1986). ‘Women’s Monastic Enclosures in Early Ireland: A Study of Female Spirituality and Male Monastic Mentalities’. Journal of Medieval History 12: 15–36. Bourgeault, C. (1983). ‘The Monastic Archetype in the Navigatio of St. Brendan’. Monastic Studies 14: 109–122.

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Monasticism in Early Ireland   213 Bradley, I. (1999). Celtic Christianity: Making Myths and Chasing Dreams. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Bradley, J. (1998). ‘The Monastic Town of Clonmacnoise’. In Clonmacnoise Studies, vol. 1: Seminar Papers 1994, edited by H. King, 42–55. Dublin: Dúchas, The Heritage Service. Byrne, P. (1985). ‘Clonard from the Sixth to Twelfth Centuries’. Peritia 4: 157–173. Chadwick, N. (1961). The Age of Saints in the Early Celtic Church. London: Oxford University Press. Chadwick, O. (1950). John Cassian: A Study in Primitive Monasticism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Charles-Edwards, T. (2000). Early Christian Ireland. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Clancy, T. (2001). ‘The Real St Ninian’. The Innes Review 52: 1–28. Corning, C. (2006). The Celtic and Roman Traditions: Conflict and Consensus in the Early Medieval Church. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Curran, M. (1984). The Antiphonary of Bangor and the Early Irish Monastic Liturgy. Dublin: Irish Academic Press. Davies, W. (1992). ‘The Myth of the Celtic Church’. In The Early Church in Wales and the West: Recent Work in Christian Archaeology, History and Place Names, edited by N. Edwards and A. Lane, 12–21. Oxford: Oxbow Books. de Bhaldraithe, E. (1983). ‘Obedience: the Doctrine of the Irish Monastic Rules’. Monastic Studies 14: 63–84. Doherty, C. (1985). ‘The Monastic Town in Early Medieval Ireland’. In The Comparative History of Urban Origins in Non-Roman Europe: Ireland, Wales, Denmark, Germany, Poland, and Russia from the Ninth to the Thirteenth Century, 2 vols, edited by H. Clarke and A. Simms, 1: 45–75. Oxford: BAR International Series. Doherty, C. (1982). ‘Some Aspects of Hagiography as a Source for Irish Economic History’. Peritia 1: 300–328. Doherty, C., L.  Doran, and M.  Kelly (eds) (2011). Glendalough: City of God. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Dumville, D. (1984a). ‘Gildas and Uinniau’. In Gildas: New Approaches, edited by M. Lapidge and D. Dumville, 207–214. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer. Dumville, D. (1984b). ‘Some British Aspects of the Earliest Irish Christianity’. In Irland und Europa: Die Kirche im Frühmittelalter, edited by P.  Ní Chatháin and M.  Richter, 16–24. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Dumville, D. et al. (1993). Saint Patrick, A.D. 493–1993. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer. Etchingham, C. (2010). ‘Bishops, Church and People: How Christian was “Early Christian Ireland”?’ In L’Irlanda e gli irlandesi nell’alto medioevo: Spoleto, 16–21 aprile 2009, 325–348. Settimane di Studio del Centro Italiano di Studi Sull’Alto Medioevo 57. Spoleto: Presso la sede del Centro. Etchingham, C. (1999a). Church Organisation in Ireland, AD 650 to 1000. Maynooth: Laigin Publications. Etchingham, C. (1999b). ‘The Idea of Monastic Austerity in Early Ireland’. In Luxury and Austerity: Papers Read Before the 23rd Irish Conference of Historians Held at St Patrick’s College, Maynooth, 16–18 May 1997, edited by J.  Hill and C.  Lennon, 14–29. Dublin: University College Dublin Press. Firey, A. (1983). ‘Cross-Examining the Witness: Recent Research in Celtic Monastic History’. Monastic Studies 14: 31–49.

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214   Westley Follett Flower, R. (1932). ‘ “The Two Eyes of Ireland”: Religion and Literature in Ireland in the Eighth and Ninth Centuries’. In The Church of Ireland, A.D.  432–1932: Report of the Church of Ireland Conference held in Dublin, 11th –14th October, 1932, edited by W. Bell and N. Emerson, 66–75. Dublin: Church of Ireland Printing and Publishing Co. Follett, W. (2013). ‘Women, Blood, and Soul-Friendship: A Contextual Study of Two Anecdotes from the Tallaght Memoir’. In Gablánach in Scélaigecht: Celtic Studies in Honour of Ann Dooley, edited by S. Sheehan, J. Findon, and W. Follett, 53–68. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Follett, W. (2007). ‘An Allegorical Interpretation of the Monastic Voyage Narratives in Adomnán’s Vita Columbae’. Eolas 2: 4–27. Follett, W. (2006a). ‘Cassian, Contemplation, and Medieval Irish Hagiography’. In Insignis Sophiae Arcator: Medieval Latin Studies in Honour of Michael Herren on his 65th Birthday, edited by G. Wieland, C. Ruff, and R. Arthur, 87–105. Turnhout: Brepols. Follett, W. (2006b). Céli Dé in Ireland: Monastic Writing and Identity in the Early Middle Ages. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer. Follett, W. (2005). ‘The Divine Office and Extra-Office Vigils Among the Culdees of Tallaght’. Journal of Celtic Studies 5: 81–96. García Vivas, G. (1998). ‘El monacato irlandés y su desarrollo insular y continental entre los siglos V y IX: Un estado de la cuestión’. Estudios eclesiásticos 73: 307–321. Graham, B. (1987). ‘Urban Genesis in Early Medieval Ireland’. Journal of Historical Geography 13: 3–16. Gwynn, A. and R. Hadcock (1970). Medieval Religious Houses: Ireland. London: Longmans. Haggart, C. (2006–2007). ‘The Céli Dé and the Early Medieval Irish Church: A Reassessment’. Studia Hibernica 34: 17–62. Hall, D. (1999). ‘Towards a Prosopography of Nuns in Medieval Ireland’. Archivium Hibernicum 53: 3–15. Harrington, C. (2002). Women in a Celtic Church: Ireland 450–1150. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Herbert, M. (1988). Iona, Kells, and Derry: The History of the Hagiography of the Monastic Familia of Columba. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Herity, M. (1984). ‘The Layout of Irish Early Christian Monasteries’. In Irland und Europa: Die Kirche im Frühmittelalter, edited by P.  Ní Chatháin and M.  Richter, 105–116. Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta. Herren, M. (2013). ‘Patrick, Gaul, and Gildas: A New Lens on the Apostle of Ireland’s Career’. In Gablánach in Scélaigecht: Celtic Studies in Honour of Ann Dooley, edited by S. Sheehan, J. Findon, and W. Follett, 9–25. Dublin: Four Courts. Herren, M. (1990). ‘Gildas and Early British Monasticism’. In Britain 400–600: Language and History, edited by A. Bammesberger and A. Wollman, 65–78. Heidelberg: Carl Winter. Herren, M. (1989). ‘Mission and Monasticism in the Confessio of Patrick’. In Sages, Saints and Storytellers: Celtic Studies in Honour of Professor James Carey, edited by D.  Ó Corráin, L. Breatnach, and K. McCone, 76–85. Maynooth: An Sagart. Herren, M. and S. Brown (2002). Christ in Celtic Christianity: Britain and Ireland from the Fifth to the Tenth Century. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer. Hughes, K. (2005). ‘The Church in Irish Society, 400–800’. In A New History of Ireland, vol. 1: Prehistoric and Early Ireland, edited by D. Ó Cróinín, 301–330. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hughes, K. (1981). ‘The Celtic Church: Is This a Valid Concept?’ Cambridge Medieval Celtic Studies 1 (Summer): 1–20.

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Monasticism in Early Ireland   215 Hughes, K. (1966). The Church in Early Irish Society. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Hughes, K. (1960). ‘The Changing Theory and Practice of Irish Pilgrimage’. Journal of Ecclesiastical History 11: 143–151. Hughes, K. and A. Hamlin (1981). Celtic Monasticism: The Modern Traveler to the Early Irish Church. New York: Seabury Press. Ireland, C. (1997). ‘Penance and Prayer in Water: An Irish Practice in Northumbrian Hagiography’. Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies 34 (Winter): 51–66. Jeffery, P. (2000). ‘Eastern and Western Elements in the Irish Monastic Prayer of the Hours’. In The Divine Office in the Latin Middle Ages, edited by M.  Fassler and R.  Baltzer, 99–143. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Jestice, P. (2000). Encyclopedia of Irish Spirituality. Santa Barbara, CA: ABC-CLIO. Johnston, E. (2013). Literacy and Identity in Early Medieval Ireland. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer. Joyce, T. (2000). ‘Ireland: Sites’. In Encyclopedia of Monasticism, 2 vols, edited by William M. Johnston, 1: 662–665. Chicago, IL: Fitzroy Dearborn. Kenney, J. (1966). Sources for the Early History of Ireland: An Introduction and Guide: Ecclesiastical, rev. edn. Dublin: Irish University Press. King, H. (ed.) (1998 and 2003). Clonmacnoise Studies. 2 vols. Dublin: Dúchas, The Heritage Service. Lacey, B. (2013). Medieval and Monastic Derry: Sixth Century to 1600. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Lake, S. (2011). ‘Usage of the Writings of John Cassian in Some Early British and Irish Writings’. Journal of the Australian Early Medieval Association 7: 95–121. Lambkin, B. (1999). ‘Blathmac and the Céili Dé: A Reappraisal’. Celtica 23: 132–154. Lapidge, M. (ed.) (1997). Columbanus: Studies on the Latin Writings. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer. Leask, H. (1955–1960). Irish Churches and Monastic Buildings. 3 vols. Dundalk: Dundalgan Press. Lucas, A. (1967). ‘The Plundering and Burning of Churches in Ireland, 7th to 16th Century’. In North Munster Studies: Essays in Commemoration of Monsignor Michael Moloney, edited by E. Rynne, 172–229. Limerick: Thomond Archaeological Society. MacDonald, A. (1984). ‘Aspects of the Monastery and Monastic Life in Adomnán’s Life of Columba’. Peritia 3: 271–302. MacDonald, A. (1981). ‘Notes on Monastic Archaeology and the Annals of Ulster, 650–1050’. In Irish Antiquity: Essays and Studies Presented to Professor  M.  J.  O’Kelly, edited by D. Ó Corráin, 304–319. Dublin: Four Courts Press. MacGinty, G. (1983). ‘The Influence of the Desert Fathers on Early Irish Monasticism’. Monastic Studies 14: 85–91. Mac Shamhráin, A. (1989). ‘Prosopographica Glindelachensis: the Monastic Church of Glendalough and its Community Sixth to Thirteenth Centuries’. Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland 119: 79–97. Manning, C. (1995). Early Irish Monasteries. Dublin: Country House. Márkus, G. (1997). ‘The End of Celtic Christianity’. Epworth Review 24: 45–55. McCarthy, D. (2003). ‘On the Shape of the Insular Tonsure’. Celtica 24: 140–167. Meek, D. (2000). The Quest for Celtic Christianity. Edinburgh: Handsel Press. Ó Carragáin, T. (2010). Churches in Early Medieval Ireland: Architecture, Ritual, and Memory. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.

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216   Westley Follett Ó Corráin, D. (1989). ‘Early Irish Hermit Poetry?’ In Sages, Saints, and Storytellers: Celtic Studies in Honour of Professor James Carney, edited by D.  Ó Corráin et al., 251–267. Maynooth: An Sagart. Ó Cróinín, D. (2000). ‘Who was Palladius, “First Bishop of the Irish”?’ Peritia 12: 205–237. O’Dwyer, P. (1981). Céli Dé: Spiritual Reform in Ireland 750–900, 2nd edn. Dublin: Editions Tailliura. Ó Fiaich, T. (1989). ‘Irish Monks on the Continent’. In An Introduction to Celtic Christianity, edited by J. Mackay, 101–139. Edinburgh: T & T Clark. Ó Laoghaire, D. (1983). ‘The Celtic Monk at Prayer’. Monastic Studies 14: 123–143. O’Loughlin, T. (2006). ‘The Monastic Liturgy of the Hours in the Nauigatio sancti Brendani: A Preliminary Investigation’. Irish Theological Quarterly 71: 113–126. O’Loughlin, T. (2001). ‘Monasteries and Manuscripts: The Transmission of Latin Learning in Early Medieval Ireland’. In Information, Media and Power Through the Ages, edited by H. Morgan, 46–64. Dublin: University College Dublin Press. O’Loughlin, T. (2000a). ‘Celtic Monasticism’. In Encyclopedia of Monasticism, 2 vols, edited by William M. Johnston, 1: 265–268. Chicago, IL: Fitzroy Dearborn. O’Loughlin, T. (2000b). Celtic Theology: Humanity, World, and God in Early Irish Writings. London: Continuum. Ó Maidin, V. (1980). ‘The Monastic Rules of Ireland’. Cistercian Studies 15: 24–38. Ó Muraíle, N. (1983). ‘Notes on the History of Doire na bhFlann’. In The Derrynaflan Hoard: A Preliminary Account, edited by M. Ryan, 54–61. Dublin: National Museum of Ireland. Ó Neill, P. (1987). ‘The Date and Authorship of Apgitir Chrábaid: Some Internal Evidence’. In Irland und die Christenheit: Bibelstudien und Mission, edited by P. Ní Chatáin and M. Richter, 203–215. Stuttgart: Klett-Cota. O’Reilly, S. (1997). Irish Churches and Monasteries: An Historical and Architectural Guide. Cork: Collins Press. Rumsey, P. (2007). Sacred Time in Early Christian Ireland: The Monks of the Navigatio and the Céli Dé in Dialogue to Explore the Theologies of Time and the Liturgy of the Hours in preViking Ireland. London: T&T Clark. Ryan, J. (1973). Clonmacnoise: A Historical Summary. Dublin: Stationery Office, National Parks and Monuments Branch, Office of Public Works. Ryan, J. (1940). ‘The Abbatial Succession at Clonmacnois’. In Féil-sgríbhinn Eóin Mhic Néill: Essays and Studies Presented to Professor Eóin MacNeill, D.Litt., on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday, 15 May 1938, edited by J. Ryan, 490–507. Dublin: Three Candles Press. Ryan, J. (1931). Irish Monasticism: Origins and Early Development. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Sharpe, R. (1992). ‘Churches and Communities in Early Medieval Ireland: Towards a Pastoral Model’. In Pastoral Care Before the Parish, edited by J. Blair and R. Sharpe, 81–109. Leicester: Leicester University Press. Sharpe, R. (1984a). ‘Gildas as a Father of the Church’. In Gildas: New Approaches, edited by M. Lapidge and D. Dumville, 193–205. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer. Sharpe, R. (1984b). ‘Some Problems Concerning the Organization of the Church in Early Medieval Ireland’. Peritia 3: 230–270. Sheehy, M. (1962). ‘Concerning the Origin of Early Medieval Irish Monasticism’. Irish Theological Quarterly 29: 136–144.

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Monasticism in Early Ireland   217 Smyth, A. (2002). ‘The Golden Age of Early Irish Monasticism: Myth or Historical Reality?’ In Christianity in Ireland: Revisiting the Story, edited by B.  Bradshaw and D.  Keogh, 21–29. Dublin: Columba Press. Stancliffe, C. (1982). ‘Red, White and Blue Martyrdom’. In Ireland in Early Medieval Europe: Studies in Memory of Kathleen Hughes, edited by D.  Whitelock, R.  McKitterick, and D. Dumville, 21–46. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Swift, C. (1998). ‘Forts and Fields: A Study of “Monastic Towns” in Seventh and Eighth Century Ireland’. Journal of Irish Archaeology 9: 105–125. Telepneff, G. (2001). The Egyptian Desert in the Irish Bogs: The Byzantine Character of Early Celtic Monasticism, 2nd edn. Etna, CA: Center for Traditionalist Orthodox Studies. Thom, C. (2006). Early Irish Monasticism: An Understanding of Its Cultural Roots. London: T & T Clark. Thomas, C. (2004). ‘Palladius and Patrick’. In The Island of St Patrick: Church and Ruling Dynasties in Fingal and Meath, 400–1148, edited by A. Mac Shamhráin, 13–37. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Valante, M. (1998). ‘Reassessing the Irish “Monastic Town” ’. Irish Historical Studies 31: 1–18. Vogt, H. (1982). ‘Zur Spiritualität des frühen irischen Mönchtums’. In Die Iren und Europa im früheren Mittelalter, edited by H. Löwe, 26–51. Stuttgart: Klett-Cota. Warren, F. (1987). The Liturgy and Ritual of the Celtic Church, 2nd edn, with an Introduction by J. Stevenson. Woodbridge: Boydell and Brewer. Wooding, J. (2007). Saints and Seafarers: Peregrinatio and the Ocean Desert in the Celtic Lands. Lampeter: University of Wales Press. Wooding, J. (2003). ‘Fasting, Flesh, and the Body in the St Brendan Dossier’. In Celtic Hagiography and Saints’ Cults, edited by J.  Cartwright, 161–176. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Wooding, J. (ed.) (2000). The Otherworldly Voyage in Early Irish Literature: An Anthology of Criticism. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Woods, R. (2000). ‘Ireland: History’. In Encyclopedia of Monasticism, 2 vols, edited by William M. Johnston, 1: 657–661. Chicago, IL: Fitzroy Dearborn. Wright, N. (1991). ‘Gildas’s Reading: A Survey’. Sacris Erudiri 32: 121–162.

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chapter 14

The Ben edicti n e s Scott G. Bruce

Since the seventeenth century, historians have used the term ‘Benedictine’ to describe communities of cloistered men and women, who lived between the sixth century and the present. The name derives from the indebtedness of most monks, both male and female, to the religious principles outlined in the Rule of Benedict (Regula Benedicti, hereafter RB). A sixth-century handbook for the organization and orchestration of cloistered communities written in Latin by an Italian abbot, the RB became the most authoritative word on monastic practice in Europe after it was endorsed by the Carolingian rulers in the early ninth century. The RB is without question one of the most influential and enduring monastic texts written in the Middle Ages, but the term ‘Benedictine’ is not medieval in origin, and thus it requires some qualification by scholars who use it. This chapter begins by examining the early history of the RB and its reputed author, Benedict of Nursia (c.480– c.545), in order to pinpoint where and when the text achieved the designation of regula sancta in the Middle Ages. It also considers how recent scholarship has called into question many of the received traditions about the author of the RB, the date of its composition, and the authenticity of the earliest texts that mention it, particularly works long attributed to Pope Gregory the Great (c.540–604). The chapter then turns its attention to the word ‘Benedictine’ and its history. The application of the term to medieval cloistered communities is useful insofar as it distinguishes monks inspired by the principles espoused in the RB from other religious vocations in the Christian tradition (mendicants, canons, hermits, etc.). But it regrettably obscures the rich diversity and historical development of monastic practice in the Middle Ages, because its use implies that all Benedictine communities shared the same relationship with the RB and the same reverence for its author. In fact, abbeys and nunneries across medieval Europe frequently braided selections of the RB with prescriptions culled from other rules, and they habitually amplified and nuanced its tenets with discrete revisions, silent omissions, and sprawling commentaries. These accommodations were due, in no small part, both to the laconic character of the RB itself and also to changes in Christian devotional practices that had no precedent in Benedict’s time. In short, despite the widespread adoption of principles inspired by the RB, several

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The Benedictines   219 e­ xamples will show that each community’s relationship with this influential text was different. Lastly, this chapter draws attention to three neglected areas of research in the premodern Benedictine tradition. First, it identifies the later Middle Ages (c.1200–1500) as a period of monastic activity which has until recently received little notice from historians (Heale 2009 and 2013 are welcome exceptions). There are several reasons for this. The rise of the new mendicant and military orders claims the lion’s share of scholarly attention in this period. The Cistercians are also a popular subject of historical inquiry, but scholars almost always treat them as distinct from the Benedictine tradition rather than as an integral part of it (Clark 2011; Burton and Kerr 2011). Moreover, despite evidence to the contrary, there is a tenacious narrative arc in scholarly literature that depicts a decline of traditional monasticism in the later Middle Ages. This has made it challenging for historians to frame questions about the influence of cloistered monks in the ­thirteenth century and beyond. Second, this chapter argues for a more systematic inclusion of female religious in the history of the Benedictines. It is worth remembering that some of the very earliest evidence for the use of the RB in the seventh century appears in rules of conduct written specifically for women. The choices made by the authors who redacted the RB for their female charges promise to tell us a great deal about the differences that they perceived and constructed between the monastic project as pursued by men and women. Third, the chapter casts light on monastic poetry as an unrecognized source for the history of Benedictine culture and spirituality in the Middle Ages. Recent research has underscored the centrality of Latin verse in the programme of monastic education that was familiar from the Carolingian period well into the twelfth century. Despite its evident importance in the social, religious, and political lives of monks, medieval monastic poetry remains an uncharted landscape, which only a few intrepid explorers have begun to explore.

The Rule of Benedict and its Author The RB is a normative guide for cloistered monks written in the early sixth century (Benedict of Nursia 1971–1972, 2008, 2011). It is a concise work comprising a prologue, seventy-two short chapters, and an epilogue, which combine theoretical reflections on the goals of the monastic vocation with practical insights about the day-to-day workings of a small religious house, based on the first-hand experience of its author. The RB presumes a group of like-minded laypeople, who renounced their families, social status, and personal wealth to live in prayerful simplicity with the goal of meriting their own salvation before God. According to the RB, monks achieved their aim by cultivating the virtues of obedience, humility, and silence while taking part in manual labour, sacred reading, and rendering praise to God in liturgical offices distributed throughout the day and night. During these offices (vigils, lauds, prime, terce, sext, none, vespers, and compline), monks gathered as a community to recite Psalms and hear readings from

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220   Scott G. Bruce Scripture and from patristic authorities, working their way through the 150 psalms of the Psalter in a week’s time. They conducted this way of life under the watchful eyes of their abbot, who acted as the spiritual advisor, teacher, and administrator of the entire community (de Vogüé 1979). The RB drew its inspiration from the collective wisdom of the desert fathers, mediated through the writings of Basil and John Cassian, and borrowed freely from handbooks written for other monastic communities, most notably the near contemporary Rule of the Master (hereafter RM). The RB, however, stood out from other rules of the time due to its author’s sense of moderation, his consideration of contingencies such as climate, and his compassionate view of human weakness. Medieval readers never questioned the authorship of the RB. They attributed the work to Benedict of Nursia, an otherwise obscure Italian abbot who flourished in the early sixth century, and who left no other writings that bear his name. In the twentieth century, however, some scholars called into question received traditions about the RB and its author. This discussion began with the relationship between the RB and the RM, which share the same prologue and several early chapters on the spiritual programme of the abbey. Monastic historians had always presumed that the RM was ‘an interpolated and somewhat eccentric enlargement’ of the RB until 1940, when Augustin Genestout argued just the opposite: that the author of the RB had read the RM and judiciously pruned its contents for use in his own rule (Sillem 1980: 29; Genestout 1940; Knowles 1963: 139–195; Jaspert 1977). In recent decades, other scholars have challenged traditional assumptions about the RB and the earliest witnesses to the life of Benedict of Nursia. Against much opposition, Francis Clark has argued at length that the Dialogues of Gregory the Great were the work of a seventh-century forger and therefore do not provide evidence of the pope’s esteem for Abbot Benedict and his rule for monks (Clark 1987 and 2003; Boesch Gajano 2017: 26–27 provides a summary of rebuttals to Clark’s thesis). Moreover, Adalbert de Vogüé has shown that the attribution to Gregory of the Commentary on 1 Kings that bears his name, which includes a very early citation from the RB, is not secure. In all likelihood, the author was Peter of Cava-Venosa, a twelfthcentury abbot who braided his own commentary with some of Gregory’s lost writings (de Vogüé 1996; Clark 1998). If we jettison Gregory’s Dialogues and Commentary on 1 Kings as the earliest independent testimonies for the RB and the historical Benedict, then the first evidence for its use only appears in seventh-century Francia. There we know that some cloistered communities, both male and female, adopted a rule of this name, either on its own or (more commonly) excerpted and grafted onto other monastic legislation, like the Rule of Columbanus and Caesarius of Arles’ Rule for Virgins (Dunn 2000: 158–190). Despite the controversies surrounding its early history, it is clear that the RB became very popular in the Carolingian period, in no small part due to imperial sponsorship (de Jong  1995). At the Aachen Assemblies of 816/817, Emperor Louis the Pious’ advisor Abbot Benedict of Aniane promoted the adoption of one rule and one custom (una regula, una consuetudo) in all Frankish abbeys. The one rule was the RB; the one custom was Benedict of Aniane’s supplementary regulations to the RB (Semmler 1983). While this legislation was not entirely successful, owing to the tenacity of local monastic

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The Benedictines   221 t­ raditions, from this point onwards the RB overshadowed all other ancient rules as the most authoritative guide to governing a cloistered community. Its authority was not challenged until the emergence of the new monastic orders of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

The ‘Benedictine Centuries’ Given the prominence of Benedict and his rule in the lives of early medieval monks, scholars have occasionally referred to the span of European history between 600 and 1100 as the ‘Benedictine centuries’ (Newman 1906; Knowles 1969). Indeed, in almost every aspect of cultural production in this period—manuscript creation and scribal innovation, artistic creations across diverse media from book illumination to monumental sculpture, literary industry in a wide array of genres, the development of Christian music and liturgical chant, the writing of history, medicine, and even scientific inquiry—we find the guiding hands and acquisitive intellect of cloistered monks. But the phrase ‘Benedictine centuries’ remains troubling as a generic appellation, because it implies a uniformity of religious practice in early medieval abbeys that did not exist, and it thereby veils the rich diversity of local traditions observed, cherished, and protected in cloistered communities across western Europe. An anonymous late twelfth-century continuator of Folcuin’s Deeds of the Abbots of Lobbes stated plainly that the brethren at the abbey of Lobbes in the 1120s did not follow the RB to the letter and, for that matter, neither did any other cloistered community! (Arndt  1869: 320; Vanderputten 2007). We cannot dismiss this kind of testimony lightly. No one can deny that the ‘Benedictine centuries’ witnessed the rise of Benedict of Nursia as a significant saint in the Christian tradition and the ascent of the RB as the most authoritative guide to the monastic life in this period. We must nonetheless agree with John Howe’s assessment that ‘[i]f Benedictinism is literal adherence to the Rule, then the so-called “Benedictine Centuries” saw precious little of it’ (Howe 1997: 92). The RB was a useful and inspiring document of practice for medieval monks, but it was clearly not sufficient on its own. Indeed, its combination of theoretical principles, pragmatic advice, and fair-minded consideration of the frailty of individuals was a strength that contributed to its enduring appeal. In its long history, however, we find very few cloistered communities that adopted the RB to the exclusion of supplementary customs, that is, local and idiosyncratic responses to practical and devotional issues that find no expression in the RB. From the eighth century onwards, monks expounded on those portions of the RB that defied an easy interpretation, while at the same time collecting and writing down their community’s traditions in documents known as customaries (Boynton and Cochelin 2005; Malone and Maines 2014). The implication of their industry is clear: the precepts of the RB were not self-explanatory to medieval readers, and they did not carry the same value in every cloistered community. The passage of centuries and the emergence of a new readership of the RB in northern Europe

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222   Scott G. Bruce only contributed to the problems attendant upon the recovery of its author’s original meaning. The term ‘Benedictine centuries’ also masks the significant developments in monastic practices between 800 and 1100 that had little or no precedent in the RB. First and foremost, the size of monastic communities increased dramatically in the Carolingian period (de Jong 1995), due in no small part to the patronage of royal sponsors such as Charlemagne and Louis the Pious, who directed monks to pray for their well-being. They took an active interest in regulating and standardizing religious practice in their kingdom to ensure the efficacy of those prayers. From the eighth century onwards, the goal of the monastic vocation broadened to include not only the salvation of the individual monk but also the spiritual health of the entire Christian community, especially the royal family. This new role increased the prestige of the monastic vocation and swelled the demand for new recruits, especially those who were untainted by contact with the secular world. Carolingian families responded to this need by offering their children as oblates (‘offerings’) to cloistered communities, where they would spend their entire lives as religious specialists in the prayerful intervention that had become so important in Carolingian society (de Jong 1996). While the RB devoted a chapter to the entry of children into the abbey (RB 58), a sixth-century abbot such as Benedict could scarcely imagine that monasteries would become bustling communities like the one imagined in the ninth-century Plan of St Gall. The Plan numbered hundreds of monks and a comparable number of secular artisans, servants, and helpers, who took care of the mundane needs of the brethren whose time was increasingly consumed by the demands of corporate prayer at the expense of manual labour (Sullivan  1998; Constable 2009). Moreover, this period also saw the rise of new expressions of Christian devotion that the RB could not have anticipated, including the clericalization of monks and the development of the cult of the dead, which placed a significant importance on the near constant celebration of funerary masses in abbeys across western Europe (Iogna-Prat 1990; Constable 2000). The brethren of the great Burgundian abbey of Cluny, founded in 910 by Duke William of Aquitaine, epitomized how monastic communities could both esteem the RB but also augment its precepts in creative ways to accommodate both the devotional developments and the practical realities of their time. The Cluniacs cultivated the discipline of silence in their abbeys, as the RB recommended, but they also developed a silent language of hand signs that had no precedent in early medieval monasticism in order to safeguard their tongues from sinful words when they interacted with one another in the kitchens, the refectory, or the oratory (Bruce 2007). Influenced by the emphasis on liturgical intervention that characterized the Carolingian reforms of monasticism, the brethren of Cluny earned renown for their commitment to an exhausting regime of liturgical prayer that far exceeded the recitation of 150 psalms a week usual in late antique abbeys (Hallinger 1979). They did so, however, at the expense of manual labour, which was mostly undertaken by servants, even though the RB stated that ‘[i]t is when they live by the work of their hands, like our fathers and apostles, that they are truly monks’ (RB 48). In the eleventh century, the Cluniacs composed massive books of

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The Benedictines   223 c­ ustomary legislation to augment the guidelines of the RB, both as a way of imposing order on received traditions and as a template for other monasteries that desired to emulate their particular way of life (Boynton and Cochelin 2005). Cluny’s fame did not protect its brethren from criticism, however. In the twelfth century, Cistercian monks condemned the practices of the Cluniacs because their customs had strayed too far from the literal meaning of the sacred authority enshrined in the RB. As Idung of Prüfening wrote in his Dialogus duorum monachorum: ‘[T]he customs of Cluny are a deviation from the law given to us by God, that is, from the Rule. And thereby they bring dishonour on the giver of the law, that is, on God, and on the expounder of that law, that is, on Saint Benedict’ (Huygens 1980: 102). Given the prevalence of the term ‘Benedictine’ in academic discourse, it may come as a surprise that premodern monks never used this word to refer to themselves. While some in the later Middle Ages referred to themselves as monks of the Order of Saint Benedict (ordo sancti Benedicti), much of the ambiguity surrounding the term ‘Benedictine’ when applied to medieval cloistered communities arises from the fact that it is an anachronism, first coined in the seventeenth century (Leclercq  1964: 30). It emerged as a category of historical analysis only in the late nineteenth century, through its use by pioneering historians of Benedictine monasticism such as Cardinal John Henry Newman and Cuthbert Butler. The currency of the term increased because of its adoption in the title of one of the foremost venues for the publication of research on monastic history and literature, the Revue Bénédictine, founded in 1884 at the Abbaye de Maredsous in Belgium. The term thus owes its popularity to the success of the so-called ‘Benedictine revival’ of the 1800s, which witnessed the recovery of the black monks from the dark days of the French Revolution and the reorganization of Benedictine houses under an international governing body known as the Benedictine Confederation of the Order of Saint Benedict, established in 1893 by Pope Leo XIII (Rees 1980). How, then, did cloistered men and women of the Middle Ages refer to themselves if they did not use the term ‘Benedictine’? The most common name for monks in medieval Latin sources was monachus. The word first appears in fourth-century papyrus documents from Egypt, and its meaning was widely discussed throughout the Middle Ages (Judge 1977). According to Giles Constable, ‘[m]ost writers agreed that the first part (mona-) meant “one” in the sense of alone, single, or, more rarely, united, but they were less certain about the second part (-chus), which they thought might come from cor or oculus, since monks were supposed to have one heart, like the apostles in Acts 4.32, and a single eye, as in the Gospels, which saw no evil and was directed toward heaven’ (Constable 1996: 8). In addition to monachus, monks were also commonly referred to as fratres (‘brethren’). Comparable names applied to cloistered women (sorores, in particular), but they were most often called sanctimoniales, from the noun sanctimonium (‘piety’), or simply moniales. Medieval Benedictines were also called ‘black monks’ (monachi nigri) due to the dark colour of their woollen robes. The term was primarily descriptive, but in the twelfth century the colour of monastic clothing became a source of contention between traditional brethren such as the Cluniacs and reform-minded monks such as the Cistercians, who

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224   Scott G. Bruce considered the liturgical opulence and material extravagance of large abbeys like Cluny to be at odds with Benedict’s precepts (Constable 1996: 188–189). Agitating for a return to the literal observance of the RB, which did not specify the colour of monastic clothing (RB 55), the early Cistercians wore robes of undyed wool, which contemporaries described as white or grey in colour. The plain habits of the white monks broadcast both their disdain for the world and their loyalty to a literal reading of the RB. For their part, the black monks dismissed this convention as a superficial conceit. In his commentary on the RB, the early twelfth-century theologian and exegete Rupert of Deutz wryly speculated that ‘[p]erhaps if we had used white clothes, they would now use black’.

New Avenues of Inquiry Historians have marked the end of the ‘Benedictine centuries’ in the decades around 1100 and have viewed the rise of new religious orders (such as the canons regular, the military orders, and the mendicants) as responses to the ascetic laxity and material prosperity of traditional monasticism, which contemporary critics (like the Cistercians) claimed had strayed from the ideals of the RB. But in an important revisionist article published in 1986, John Van Engen scrutinized the notion of a ‘crisis of coenobitism’ in this period by evaluating the health of traditional monastic communities in the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries based on some important metrics. He concluded that ‘[i]n four crucial areas—recruitment, revenue, quality of personnel, and leadership in the Church—the evidence indicates rather that Benedictine houses held their own or even increased in prosperity during the years 1050–1150’ (Van Engen 1986: 275–276). Nevertheless, the lingering influence of the idea that Benedictine monasticism suffered a decline in the twelfth century has had a lasting impact on modern scholarship. As a result, inquiry into the religious and political activities of cloistered monks in the period between the thirteenth century and the Reformation has fallen far behind recent advances in research that characterize the study of monasticism in the early Middle Ages and the Enlightenment (Dunn 2000; Beales 2003; Lehner 2011). The later Middle Ages are fertile ground for inquiries into the intellectual influence, political power, and devotional and administrative practices of traditional monastic communities in western Europe (Melville 1990; Riche 2000). Like bees who leave the safety of their hive but do not forget their common purpose, Benedictine monks were active in the vibrant and often turbulent intellectual culture beyond their cloister walls. In the thirteenth century, they flocked to the universities in significant numbers. Between 1229 and 1500, scholars have identified by name over 650 monks who were students or teachers of theology or canon law at the University of Paris alone (Sullivan 1995). Many of them returned to their cloisters with new literary tastes and clandestine interests, including the practice of natural magic (Clark 2004; Page 2013). The tissue of evidence for the lives of most of these individuals is very thin, but some of them rose to positions of authority in monastic and ecclesiastical hierarchies.

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The Benedictines   225 None rivalled the heights reached by Abbot Mathieu of Vendôme (Jordan 2009: esp. 25–35, 66–73, and 130–134). Despite the fact that he did not receive a university education and rose through the ranks as a simple monk, in 1258 Mathieu was elected abbot of the royal monastery of Saint-Denis in Paris, one of the richest and most influential religious communities in western Europe. As abbot, Mathieu defended the interests of his community in disputes with other religious institutions and lay lords, even with the government of Louis IX, while at the same time promoting the cult of Saint Denis through the translation of relics and the founding of new feast days formalized and encouraged through the creation of opulent service books. The abbot’s responsible stewardship of Saint-Denis earned him respect and authority at the highest levels of secular society. Towards the end of Louis IX’s reign, Mathieu sat as a judge at the Parlement of Paris, the highest court of appeal in the French kingdom. Even more significantly, when the great king embarked on his second and final expedition to the East in 1270, he named the abbot of Saint-Denis as one of the two co-regents of his realm (the other was the lay aristocrat, Simon of Clermont, Lord of Nesle). When Louis died in Tunis later that year, Mathieu’s final service to his king was to act as the executor of his last will and testament. Another lacuna in the history of Benedictine monasticism is the application of the RB in communities of religious women. Mostly ignored in monastic historiography until the 1970s, when the feminist movement drew scholars to the topic of female spirituality, the devotional practices of medieval Christian women and their active role in the production of manuscripts have become subjects of intense and fruitful discussion for the past three decades (McNamara 1996; Beach 2004; Bennett and Karras 2013; Lifshitz 2014; Bugyis 2019). Even so, despite this surge of interest in a wide array of topics relating to premodern female monasticism, the meaning of the RB for cloistered women remains an open question. The lack of attention to this problem is even more puzzling when one considers that some of the earliest evidence for the adoption of the RB in northern Europe appears in the context of female houses. These include the rule for women compiled by Bishop Donatus of Besançon as well as the anonymous Regula cuiusdam ad virgines, both composed in the mid-seventh century (Zimmerl-Panagl 2015). These two early witnesses to the use of the RB raise the same question: to what degree can we consider the RB to have been a rule appropriate, in theoretical and practical terms, for women as well as for men? (Diem 2007, 2012). The issue of the applicability and adaptation of the RB for women persisted long after its adoption in the ninth century as the legal foundation for all cloistered communities (de Seilhac 1982; Bodarwé 2011; Vanderputten 2018). At the turn of the twelfth century, there was acute concern about whether religious women could live according to the RB. In a well-known letter to her spiritual advisor Abelard, Abbess Heloise of the Paraclete (near Paris) requested that he compose a new set of monastic precepts suitable for the women of her community. She stated that the RB was ‘clearly written for men alone [and as such] it can only be fully obeyed by men’ (Luscombe 2013: 221; Mohr 1976). Heloise drew attention to those precepts of Benedict that were inappropriate for women, including the frequent mention of clothing worn exclusively by men, the practice of wearing tight-fitting tunics and woollen garments that were impractical during a woman’s

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226   Scott G. Bruce ­ enstrual cycle, and the liturgical and social responsibilities of the abbot, which an m abbess could not hope to emulate. There was no unanimity among medieval legislators about how to deal with these problems. Some addressed the issue with a minimum of intervention, like the author of an early thirteenth-century Old French translation of the RB written for an unidentified female Cistercian community near Dijon, who simply changed the gender of the male pronouns to female and otherwise left the substance of the text unaltered (Guignard 1878). A final avenue of inquiry that remains little explored in the history of Benedictine monasticism is poetry. From late antiquity until the end of the Middle Ages, black monks composed thousands of lines of Latin verse on moral and devotional themes and recast hundreds of saints’ lives in heroic meter (Dolbeau 2002; Taylor 2013b). Only in the last two decades have monastic historians advanced with tentative steps into this promising field of inquiry. A path-breaking contribution is Anna Taylor’s Epic Lives and Monasticism in the Middle Ages, 800–1050, which examines the social, political, and didactic value of saints’ lives written in epic verse in post-Carolingian abbeys (Taylor 2013a). This study reveals an intensely literary world in which the consumption and composition of poetry in the monastic classroom played a formative role in the cultivation of friendships, the currying of favour with powerful patrons, and the devotional reading practices of the brethren. Despite the central importance of Latin verse in Benedictine cloisters, the history of monastic poetry in the Middle Ages has not yet been written. Fortunately, an increasing number of case studies of individual poems written between the tenth and twelfth centuries have highlighted the virtuosity of monastic poets and the importance of their literary works for our understanding of how medieval monks thought about themselves, their bodies, their place in a world dominated by powerful laymen, and their hope of a life to come (see, for instance, Bruce 2006, and Jones and Bruce 2016). To take one example, Odo of Cluny’s 5755-line Occupatio, an early tenth-century spiritual meditation that provided its monastic audience with an object of moral and intellectual rumination, has been examined recently by Christopher A. Jones as an expression of the anxieties attendant with the danger of homosexual longing in the cloister (Jones 2007). Seldom integrated into the wider context of Cluniac spirituality, in no small part because it is so prolix and challenging to read, the Occupatio emerges in Jones’ study as a formative statement of tenth-century ideals and concerns about monastic sexual conduct that no historian of medieval Christianity can afford to ignore. Likewise, the rehabilitation of verse saints’ lives is also underway, as scholars realize that the recasting of prose texts in Latin meter provided cloistered poets with the opportunity to confront and resolve issues of contemporary concern. Reginald of Canterbury’s late eleventh-century poetic rendering of Jerome’s fourth-century Life of Malchus is a good example of the promise that these poems hold as topics of historical research (Reginald of Canterbury 1942; Jerome 2007). In Jerome’s story, Malchus was a monk who endured captivity among Saracens in the desert, where he had to overcome his temptation for the female captive that his new master bestowed upon him as a wife. The primary message of the Life of Malchus was explicitly an exhortation to chastity. Centuries later, when Reginald retold the story in a sprawling work of 3344 rhymed

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The Benedictines   227 ­ exameter lines organized into six books, he expanded on themes that had no precedent h in the original but that had a strong currency in the age of the Gregorian reform. These included not only the importance of celibacy for monks, but also the value of domestic and agricultural labour, which Reginald couched in Virgilian allusions borrowed from the Georgics (Parsons and Townsend 2012: 433–437).

Conclusion The men and women who found inspiration for their cloistered vocation in the precepts outlined in the sixth-century RB were the most numerous and influential monks in the premodern Christian tradition. Despite the antiquity of their calling and the vitality of their devotional practices, the Benedictines remain difficult to define beyond their mutual esteem for Benedict as a legislator inspired by God and their common use of his rule, which they believed to have been established by the Holy Spirit. In recent decades, scholars have recognized that this shared observance did not constitute a Europeanwide monastic order, as it would develop in later centuries. Rather, the Benedictines were like the stars in the night sky: seemingly numberless; variable in their luminosity; on the move yet constant in their collective ambition; singular yet often allied with their neighbours and far-flung friends. Beyond esteem for the RB and reverence for its holy author, it is the diversity of monastic customs as responses to local conditions and broader changes in Christian devotion that best characterizes Benedictine communities in the millennium after Benedict composed his rule. Future inquiry into the history of Benedictine monasticism should concentrate on the evidence for local and regional adaptations of the RB. These adaptations were expressions of the creativity and resourcefulness of monastic legislators in the face of innumerable practical and devotional contingencies that had no precedent in Benedict’s handbook for monks.

Suggested Reading There are many serviceable introductions to the history of Benedictine monasticism, including Butler (1919), Schmitz (1942–1956), Lawrence (2001), Brooke (2003), Clark (2011), and Melville (2016). Unfortunately, none of these surveys escapes the teleological paradigms so common in monastic historiography. Vanderputten (2020) provides a welcome corrective, while Beach and Cochelin (2020) offer an indispensable starting point for all future study of medieval Benedictine traditions. De Vogüé (1991–2008) presents an exhaustive treatment of monastic literature written between the years 356 and 830, but no comparable survey exists for later periods. There is as yet no adequate study of the spread and influence of the cult of Benedict in the Middle Ages, though Head (1990) remains a useful point of departure. Studien und Mitteilungen zur Geschichte des Benediktinerordens und seiner Zweige (1880– ), Revue Bénédictine (1884– ),

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228   Scott G. Bruce Revue Mabillon (1905– ), The American Benedictine Review (1950– ), and The Journal of Medieval Monastic Studies (2012– ) are the primary venues for the publication of scholarly research on the history of the Benedictines. The Bulletin d’histoire bénédictine, published annually as a fascicle of the journal Revue Bénédictine, provides a useful bibliography of current publications (including book chapters) on monastic history.

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Arndt, W. (ed.) (1869). Gesta abbatum Lobbiensium (continuatio). MGH SS 21: 307–333. Benedict of Nursia (2011). The Rule of Saint Benedict, edited and translated by Bruce L. Venarde. Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library 6. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Benedict of Nursia (2008). The Rule of Benedict, translated by C. White. New York: Penguin Classics. Benedict of Nursia (1971–1972). La Règle de saint Benoît, 7 vols, edited and translated by A. de Vogüé and J. Neufville. SC 181–186. (vol. 7 [1977] not included in SC series). Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Gregory the Great (1978–1980). Grégoire le Grand: Dialogues, 3 vols, edited by A. de Vogüé and translated by P. Antin. SC 251, 260, 265. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Guignard, P. (ed.) (1878). ‘Ancienne traduction française des Ecclesiastica officia, Instituta generalis Capituli, Usus conversorum et Regula sancti Benedicti, publié d’après le manuscrit 352 de la bibliothèque publique de Dijon’, in Les monuments primitifs de la règle Cistercienne, 407–442 (Appendix I). Dijon: Imprimerie Darantiere. Huygens, R. B. C. (ed.) (1980). Le moine Idung et ses deux ouvrages: ‘Argumentum super quatuor questionibus’ et ‘Dialogus duorum monachorum’. Spoleto: CISAM. Jerome (2007). Jérôme: Trois vies de moines (Paul, Malchus, Hilarion), edited by E. M. Morales and translated by P. Leclerc. SC 508. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Jones, C. A. and S. G. Bruce (eds) (2016). The Relatio metrica de duobus ducibus: A TwelfthCentury Cluniac Poem on Prayer for the Dead. Turnhout: Brepols. Luscombe, D. (ed. and trans.) (2013). The Letter Collection of Peter Abelard and Heloise. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Malone, C. M. and C. Maines (eds) (2014). Consuetudines et Regulae: Sources for Monastic Life in the Middle Ages and the Early Modern Period. Turnhout: Brepols. Reginald of Canterbury (1942). The Vita Sancti Malchi of Reginald of Canterbury: A Critical Edition, edited by L. Lind. Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press. Zimmerl-Panagl, V. (ed.) (2015). Monastica 1: Donati Regula, Pseudo-Columbani Regula monialium (frg.). CSEL 98. Berlin: Walter de Gruyter.

Secondary Sources Beach, A. (2004). Women as Scribes: Book Production and Monastic Reform in Twelfth-Century Bavaria. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Beach, A. and I. Cochelin (eds) (2020). The Cambridge History of Medieval Monasticism in the Latin West, 2 vols. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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The Benedictines   229 Beales, D. (2003). Prosperity and Plunder: European Catholic Monasteries in the Age of Revolution, 1650–1815. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bennett, J. M. and R. M. Karras (eds) (2013). The Oxford Handbook of Women and Gender in Medieval Europe. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bodarwé, K. (2011). ‘Eine Männerregel für Frauen: Die Adaption der Benediktsregel im 9. und 10. Jahrhundert’. In Female ‘vita religiosa’ between Late Antiquity and the High Middle Ages: Structures, Developments and Spatial Contexts, edited by G. Melville and A. Müller, 235–272. Münster: LIT. Boesch Gajano, S. (2017). ‘Gregorio Magno agiografo’. In Hagiographies: Histoire internationale de la littérature hagiographique latine et vernaculaire en Occident des origins à 1550, vol. 7, edited by M. Goullet, 11–94. Turnhout: Brepols. Boynton, S. and I. Cochelin (eds) (2005). From Dead of Night to End of Day: The Medieval Customs of Cluny/Du coeur de la nuit à la fin du jour: Les coutumes clunisiennes au moyen âge. Turnhout: Brepols. Brooke, C. (2003). The Age of the Cloister: The Story of Monastic Life in the Middle Ages. Mahwah, NJ: HiddenSpring. Bruce, S. G. (2007). Silence and Sign Language in Medieval Monasticism: The Cluniac Tradition, c.900–1200. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bruce, S.  G. (2006). ‘Nunc homo, cras humus: A Twelfth-Century Cluniac Poem on the Certainty of Death (Troyes, Médiathèque de l’Agglomeration troyenne 918, fols. 78v–79v)’. Journal of Medieval Latin 16: 95–110. Bugyis, K. (2019). The Care of Nuns: The Ministries of Benedictine Women in England during the Central Middle Ages. New York: Oxford University Press. Burton, J. and J. Kerr (2011). The Cistercians in the Middle Ages. Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell. Butler, C. (1919). Benedictine Monachism: Studies in Benedictine Life and Rule. London: Longmans, Green and Co. Clark, Francis (2003). The ‘Gregorian’ Dialogues and the Origins of Benedictine Monasticism. Leiden: Brill. Clark, Francis (1998). ‘Authorship of the Commentary In 1 Regum: Implications of A.  de Vogüé’s Discovery’. Revue Bénédictine 108: 61–79. Clark, Francis (1987). The Pseudo-Gregorian Dialogues, 2 vols. Leiden: Brill. Clark, James G. (2011). The Benedictines in the Middle Ages. Woodbridge, Suffolk: Boydell. Clark, James. G. (2004). A Monastic Renaissance at St. Albans: Thomas Walsingham and His Circle, c.1350–1440. Oxford and New York: Clarendon Press. Constable, G. (2009).‘Carolingian Monasticism as Seen in the Plan of St. Gall’. In Le monde carolingien: Bilan, perspectives, champs de recherches, edited by W. Fałkowski and Y. Sassier, 199–217. Turnhout: Brepols. Constable, G. (2000). ‘The Commemoration of the Dead in the Early Middle Ages’. In Early Medieval Rome and the Christian West: Essays in Honour of Donald A. Bullough, edited by J. M. H. Smith, 169–195. Leiden: Brill. Constable, G. (1996). The Reformation of the Twelfth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Diem, A. (2012). ‘New Ideas Expressed in Old Words: The Regula Donati on Female Monastic Life and Monastic Spirituality’. Viator 43: 1–38. Diem, A. (2007). ‘Rewriting Benedict: The regula cuiusdam ad virgines and Intertextuality as a Tool to Construct a Monastic Identity’. Journal of Medieval Latin 17: 313–328.

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230   Scott G. Bruce Dolbeau, F. (2002). ‘Un domaine négligé de la littérature médiolatine: les textes hagiographiques en vers’. Cahiers de Civilisation Médievale 45: 129–139. Dunn, M. (2000). The Emergence of Monasticism: From the Desert Fathers to the Early Middle Ages. Oxford: Blackwell. Genestout, A. (1940). ‘La Règle du Maître et la Règle de S. Benoît’. Revue d’ Ascétique et de Mystique 21: 51–112. Hallinger, K. (1979). ‘Überlieferung und Steigerung im Mönchtum des 8. bis 12. Jahrhunderts’. In Eulogia: Miscellanea Liturgica in onore di P. Burckhard Neunheuser O.S.B., 125–187. Rome: Editrice Anselmiana. Head, T. (1990). Hagiography and the Cult of the Saints: The Diocese of Orléans, 800–1200. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Heale, M. (2013). ‘The Benedictines from 1100’. Oxford Bibliographies: Medieval Studies, ed. P. Szarmach. New York: Oxford University Press (www.oxfordbibliographies.com). Heale, M. (2009). Monasticism in Late Medieval England, c.1300–1535. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Howe, J. (1997). Church Reform and Social Change in Eleventh-Century Italy: Dominic of Sora and His Patrons. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Iogna-Prat, D. (1990). ‘Les morts dans la compatibilité céleste des moines clunisiens autour l’an mil’. In Religion et culture autour de l’an mil: Royaume capétien et Lotharingie, edited by D. Iogna-Prat and J.-C. Picard, 55–69. Paris: Picard. Jaspert, B. (1977). Die Regula Benedicti-Regula Magistri-Kontroverse, 2nd edn. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg. Jones, C. (2007). ‘Monastic Identity and Sodomitic Danger in the Occupatio by Odo of Cluny’. Speculum 82: 1–53. de Jong, M. (1996). In Samuel’s Image: Child Oblation in the Early Medieval West. Leiden: Brill. de Jong, M. (1995). ‘Carolingian Monasticism: The Power of Prayer’. In The New Cambridge Medieval History, vol 2: c.700–c.900, edited by R.  McKitterick, 622–653. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Jordan, W. C. (2009). A Tale of Two Monasteries: Westminster and Saint-Denis in the Thirteenth Century. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Judge, E.  A. (1977). ‘The Earliest Use of Monachos for “Monk” (P.  Coll. Youtie 77) and the Origins of Monasticism’. Jahrbuch für Antike und Christentum 20: 72–89. Knowles, D. (1969). Christian Monasticism. New York: McGraw-Hill. Knowles, D. (1963). Great Historical Enterprises: Problems in Monastic History. London: Nelson. Lawrence, C. H. (2001). Medieval Monasticism: Forms of Religious Life in Western Europe in the Middle Ages, 3rd edn. New York: Longman. Leclercq, J. (1964). Aux sources de la spiritualité occidentale. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Lehner, U. L. (2011). Enlightened Monks: The German Benedictines, 1740–1803. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lifshitz, F. (2014). Religious Women in Early Carolingian Francia: A Study of Manuscript Transmission and Monastic Culture. New York: Fordham University Press. McNamara, J. A. (1996). Sisters in Arms: Catholic Nuns through Two Millennia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Melville, G. (2016). The World of Medieval Monasticism: Its History and Forms of Life, translated by James D. Mixson. Collegeville, MN: Cistercian Publications. Melville, G. (1990). ‘Cluny après Cluny: Le treizième siècle: un champ de recherche’. Francia 17: 91–124.

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The Benedictines   231 Mohr, R. (1976). ‘Der Gedankenaustausch zwischen Heloisa und Abaelard über eine Modifizierung der Regula Benedicti für Frauen’. Regulae Benedicti Studia 5: 307–333. Newman, J.  H. (1906). ‘The Benedictine Schools’. In Historical Sketches, vol. 2: 433–487. London: Longmans, Green, and Co. Page, S. (2013). Magic in the Cloister: Pious Motives, Illicit Interests, and Occult Approaches to the Medieval Universe. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press. Parsons, S. and D.  Townsend (2012). ‘Gender’. In The Oxford Handbook of Medieval Latin Literature, edited by R. J. Hexter and D. Townsend, 423–446. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Rees, D. (1980). ‘The Benedictine Revival in the Nineteenth Century’. In Benedict’s Disciples, edited by D. H. Farmer, 282–307. Leominster: F. Wright. Riche, D. (2000). L’ordre de Cluny à la fin du Moyen Âge: Le vieux pays clunisien, XIIe–XVe siècles. [Saint-Étienne]: Publications de l’Université de Saint-Étienne. Schmitz, P. (1942–1956). Histoire de l’Ordre de Saint- Benoît, 7 vols. [Maredsous]: Éditions de Maredsous. de Seilhac, L. (1982). ‘L’Utilisation de la Règle de saint Benoît dans les monastères féminins’. In Atti del 7o Congresso internazionale di studi sull’alto Medioevo: Norcia, Subiaco, Cassino, Montecassino, 29 Settembre–5 Ottobre 1980: San Benedetto nel suo tempo, vol 2: 527–49. Spoleto: CISAM. Semmler, J. (1983.) ‘Benedictus II: Una regula, una consuetudo’. In Benedictine Culture, 750–1050, edited by W. Lourdaux and D. Verhelst, 1–49. Louvain: University Press. Sillem, A. (1980). ‘St. Benedict (c.480–c.550)’. In Benedict’s Disciples, edited by D. H. Farmer, 21–40. Leominster: F. Wright. Sullivan, R. (1998). ‘What was Carolingian Monasticism? The Plan of St. Gall and the History of Monasticism’. In After Rome’s Fall: Narrators and Sources of Early Medieval History, edited by A. C. Murray, 251–287. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Sullivan, T. (1995). Benedictine Monks at the University of Paris, A.D. 1229–1500: A Biographical Register. Leiden: Brill. Taylor, A. (2013a). Epic Lives and Monasticism in the Middle Ages, 800–1050. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, A. (2013b). ‘Hagiography and Early Medieval History’. Religion Compass 7: 1–14. Van Engen, J. (1986). ‘The “Crisis of Cenobitism” Reconsidered: Benedictine Monasticism in the Years 1050–1150’. Speculum 61: 269–304. Vanderputten, S. (2020). Medieval Monasticisms: Forms and Experiences of the Monastic Life in the Latin West. Berlin: de Gruyter Oldenbourg. Vanderputten, S. (2018). Dark Age Nunneries: The Ambiguous Identity of Female Monasticism, 800–1050. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Vanderputten, S. (2007). ‘A Time of Great Confusion: Second-Generation Cluniac Reformers and Resistance to Monastic Centralization in the County of Flanders (c.1125–1145)’. Revue d’histoire ecclésiastique 102: 47–75. Vogüé, A. de (1996). ‘L’auteur du Commentaire des Rois attribué à Saint Grégoire: un moine de Cava?’ Revue Bénédictine 106: 319–331. Vogüé, A.  de (1991–2008). Histoire littéraire du mouvement monastique dans l’antiquité, 12 vols. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Vogüé, A.  de (1979). Community and Abbot in the Rule of St. Benedict. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications.

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chapter 15

The Cisterci a ns Anne E. Lester

In the early years of the twelfth century, when the first Cistercian monks characterized their religious aspirations, they described themselves ‘drawing the integrity of the Rule [of Benedict] over the whole tenor of their life—in liturgical observance as well as daily living—they aligned their steps to the footprints traced by the Rule; thus having stripped off the old self, they rejoiced to have put on the new’ (Waddell 1999: 434; Matarasso 1993: 6).1 The story of renewal recounted in the Exordium Parvum became the foundation narrative for every monk and every house associated with the Cistercian way of life. The early text came to define the spiritual identity of the fledgling community of twentyone monks, who gathered together in 1098 in the woods of northern Burgundy to found the community of Cîteaux (Cistercium in Latin, which gives us the name Cistercian). The foundations of La Ferté (1113), Clairvaux (1115), and Morimond (1115) soon followed. Reacting against perceived monastic decadence, the first Cistercians imagined themselves returning to the deserts of antiquity, where undisturbed they could concentrate on living out the precepts of the Rule, ‘following in the footsteps’ of Benedict himself, living as ‘the new soldiers of Christ, poor with the poor Christ’ (Waddell 1999: 435). This narrative of retreat and reform had great persuasive force. Within the first fifty years of Cîteaux’s foundation, by the death of Saint Bernard (1153), the Cistercians counted 350 houses in their affiliation; by 1200 there were over 500, and by 1500 over 740 houses of monks, with a nearly equal number (estimated at more than 654) of female convents (Southern 1970: 317 n19; Berman 1999: 839).2 By the 1220s, a German Cistercian monk graced with a vision of heaven saw the Virgin Mary who ‘open[ed] her cloak . . . [and] showed him an innumerable multitude of monks, lay-brothers and nuns’ from the Order inside, cherished under her special protection (Caesarius of Heisterbach  2009: Bk 7: 64; Caesarius of Heisterbach  1929: 546). By that time the 1  The translations are my own. 2  Although inexact, such estimates communicate the exponential rate of growth and the appeal of the Cistercian way of life.

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The Cistercians   233 order included not only monks, but also nuns and laybrothers and sisters (conversi and conversae). The monk’s vision demonstrated the exponential growth and transformation of the order, which unlike other orders included men and women, noble and poor, all governed under the Rule of Benedict and the shared customs of Cîteaux. The young monk’s vision also reflected how the Cistercians saw themselves by 1220: as an open and em­bra­cing order that enjoyed a privileged place under the guidance of the Virgin. Many in thirteenth-century Europe shared this perception. In 1215, when he convened the Fourth Lateran Council, Pope Innocent III used the Cistercian order as a model for the administration of other religious orders, prescribing the same system of ­filiation and encouraging the adoption of an annual chapter meeting to oversee the monastic networks of other orders (Tanner  1990: 1, 240–241; Lester  2011: 90; Freeman 2018). The rapid expansion of the Cistercian order has long enthralled scholars. Why did it appeal so quickly and fiercely? How did it produce such a profusion of houses and how were they joined together as a unified order with such success? And what was lost in doing so? Moreover, the perception that the Cistercian order changed, or, worse, was corrupted by its expansion ignited debate and harsh criticism of the order. Within this dynamic of expansion and critique, three major areas of research have characterized contemporary Cistercian scholarship. The first concerns the very definition of the order (ordo in Latin). When did the Cistercian order come into being, and what was meant by the term ‘order’? Second is a long-standing debate about the role of women among the Cistercians. When and how were women’s communities incorporated into the order, under what juridical form, and what were the effects of such associations? Finally, the perception that the order’s monks had become embroiled in the world around them by the late thirteenth century has led to an ongoing scholarly evaluation of the tensions between Cistercian ‘ideals’ and the ‘realities’ of monastic life. Recently, however, scholars have come to recognize the Cistercians’ remarkable adaptability as they responded to the religious changes and spiritual needs of the later Middle Ages. In this sense, because of the applicability of the order’s constitutional texts and the administrative mechanisms devised by the monks for oversight and adaptation, the transformation of the order can be framed in a more historically grounded manner. Along these lines, in the past two decades, scholars have produced new editions and translations of texts (Waddell 1999, 2000, 2002, 2007; Ward, Savage, and Elder 2012), brought to light a wealth of new archival information (Veyssière et al. 2004; Pipon  1996), and undertaken transformative comparative studies (Jamroziak 2011). At the heart of this new research is a commitment to contextualize and to look beyond the legislative and narrative documents produced for and by the early abbots of Cîteaux and Clairvaux, to consider documents of practice, such as ­charters and privileges, as well as chronicles, exempla collections, sermons, letters, material culture, and ­architectural and artistic evidence (Kinder 2002; Kinder and Cassanelli 2014). A more complex and detailed image of the order in all its diversity and fullness is beginning to take shape.

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234   Anne E. Lester

Narratives of the Order: Cistercians and Textual Community Traditional scholarship on the order, often written by monks in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, interpreted the first Cistercian texts literally, taking them as descriptions of the process of foundation (Grélois 2016). Only in recent decades, influenced by developments in literary theory, textual criticism, and feminist scholarship, have ­scholars begun to analyze the narrative strategies at work in these texts. It is now clear that from the start Cistercian authors crafted stories that gave coherence to their monastic identity and facilitated the dispersal of their ideas (Burton and Kerr  2011; Freeman  2002a). The first attempts at such a narrative began with abbot Stephen Harding, who wrote (c.1113) parts of what came to be called the Exordium Parvum, the ‘little’ (that is, shorter) story of the Cistercians’ ‘beginning’.3 Stephen’s Exordium related the story of the first monks’ arrival at Cîteaux (chs I–II) and then wove in the legal priv­il­ eges they received from the pope, and from the bishops of Lyon and Langres, and recounted the election of the community’s second abbot, Alberic (chs IV–XIV). This early text may have been composed as a religious and administrative guide to be copied and disseminated at the time the first ‘daughter’ houses, that is, the next generation of monastic communities, were established (Burton and Kerr 2011; Waddell 1999). Some time later, perhaps between 1134 and 1147, during the abbacy of Raynard of Bar, other pieces were added to the Exordium that told of the forced return of the order’s founder, Robert, to his original house at Molesme, the election of a second and third abbot, and their struggles to maintain new recruits until ‘the grace of God sent . . . many clerics, learned and noble, so many laymen, powerful in the world’, and the community grew exponentially and twelve new abbeys were founded. A section (ch. XV) was also added, called ‘The Institutes of the monks of Cîteaux’ that legislated the constitutional aspects of the Cistercian way of life. It prescribed the monks’ adherence to the Rule of Benedict, the location of abbeys far from urban centres, their commitment to austerity and economic self-reliance, and the organization of their properties into granges to be worked by laybrothers (conversi), who laboured differently from monks. Taken as a whole, as Janet Burton has explained, the Exordium Parvum ‘crafts a careful history, giving authenticity to the narrative by the inclusion of documents. Of eighteen chapters, nine are narrative and nine take the form of letters, privileges, or statutes’ (Burton and Kerr 2011: 11). Although probably generated as a result of the foundation of new abbeys, the early texts never use the word ordo to describe the affiliation of abbeys connected to Cîteaux. In most early Cistercian manuscripts a version of the Exordium was followed by the Carta caritatis (given papal approval in 1119), the charter that ‘elucidated and decreed . . . by what covenant . . . [and] with what charity [the] monks throughout abbeys 3  Exordium, meaning to begin a web, or to weave.

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The Cistercians   235 in various parts of the world, though separated in body, could be indissolubly knit together in mind’ (Waddell 1999: 442). This was to be a charter of charity ‘because, averting the burdensome levying of all exactions, its statute pursues only charity and the advantage of souls in things human and divine’ (Waddell 1999: 442). What was remarkable about the Cistercian organization and what distinguished it from other congregations adhering to the Rule of Benedict was that it was a group of abbeys, each independent of one another but working towards a mutual purpose. During the Middle Ages, there were no Cistercian priories. Each house had an abbot or abbess and each abbey adhered to the same narrative of foundation woven together in the Exordium and the Charter of Charity (Newman  1996). All independent foundations were thus unified through a common history and covenant based on mutual love and equality (Berman  1999: 836; Freeman 2002a: 441). No other congregation of monks or nuns was organized in this manner. By the 1130s and 1140s two other developments further affected the texts produced at Cîteaux to be disseminated to their network of abbeys. First was a reform of the li­tur­ gic­al texts and chants. In the 1130s Bernard of Clairvaux produced a new liturgical customary that came to be known as the Ecclesiastica officia. It became standard to copy a version of the Exordium with the revised Ecclesiastica officia, followed by the Summa Carta caritatis, and the early Capitula (the first rulings or decrees of the General Chapter). These documents became required texts for all houses following the customs of Cîteaux. The rapid expansion of the order accelerated the standardization and dissemination of this common corpus. As most scholars have recognized, 1147 represented a watershed moment for the Cistercians, for in that year the congregations of Obazine and Savigny were incorporated into what could now be called the Order of Cîteaux. As Constance Berman has argued, this established a precedent for the incorporation of independent regulated communities and congregations (Berman 2000 and 2018). As the order expanded, the monks agreed to certain measures to ensure commonality of purpose and uniformity of practice among their houses. All houses consented to send representatives, typically their abbot and a companion, to the annual meeting of the General Chapter held each September beginning on the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross (14 September) at Cîteaux. There, abbots addressed issues of pressing importance to the order as whole. When they reached a conclusion or a response to a grievance, they set forth their ruling in a statute or decree that would be transmitted to the ‘daughter’ houses of the order. To create uniformity within the order, all abbeys were required to own the same set of books including: the Rule of Benedict, and the standardized Cistercian liturgical texts comprising the Missal, Epistolary, Bible, Gradual, Antiphonary, Hymnal, Psalter, Night-Office Lectionary, Martyrology, and Calendar (Waddell 1999; Freeman 2002b).4 Moreover, all churches of the order were dedicated to the Virgin Mary, who was the monks’ special patroness. In 1147, the abbots of the General Chapter also produced a comprehensive constitutional text known as the Instituta Generalis Capituli, that formed the basis for the order’s customary (Waddell  1999). 4  The full list of books first appears in the Institutes of the General Chapter from c.1147.

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236   Anne E. Lester Cistercian nunneries did not generate their own monastic customs, but followed the same texts produced for male houses of the order, creating a unity of purpose that cut across gender lines (Lester 2011; Jordan 2012). A common narrative and set of legislative texts meant that the order functioned as a textual community with a shared intellectual inheritance and religious adherence. Common liturgical usage fostered the special praise of God, sung in the same manner, at the same pitch, at the same moment in a resounding and unified Cistercian voice: corporate prayer at its best. And yet, the Cistercian order was based on something more than a shared legislative corpus. Martha Newman (1996), Marsha Dutton (1987, 1992), Megan Cassidy-Welch (2001), and Elizabeth Freeman (2002a) have eloquently demonstrated that membership in the order also required a mental realignment, a shift in perspective and comportment to live with and in the spirit of charity. Much of this spirit was cultivated through shared stories and edifying exempla, through preaching and listening, and through an engagement with work in the world. The literature Cistercian monks produced, especially the theological treatises and sermons of Bernard of Clairvaux and Aelred of Rievaulx, eloquently conveyed the spiritual orientation of the order. Cistercian authors emphasized an abiding commitment to understanding the human condition as a reflection of Christ’s human and divine nature. Hagiographical narratives depicted the early founders of the order acting in the world, extending charity and spiritual care to men and women, the young and old, the infirm and possessed, and provided models for a common Cistercian spirituality. The simple and austere spaces monks and nuns inhabited focused the mind on the presence of God in the world. Such an aesthetic was used to retrain the self to become a Cistercian (Cassidy-Welch 2001; Bonde, Maines, and Killian 2011). In this way narratives and aesthetics played a powerful role in shaping the habits and piety that defined the order.

Charity Unbound: Women, Conversi, and the Annual Statutes Although the order’s early texts offer an eloquent witness to the evolution of Cistercian ideals, they are notably silent about the role of women in the order. Before the 1980s this was not a topic that drew much attention. As scholars began to consider the patterns of monastic expansion, however, it became clear that women were crucially important in the development of the order. From early in the twelfth century women played a key role in supporting Cîteaux and its network of affiliated abbeys. Women inspired and encouraged their male kin to become Cistercian monks, and female communities often grew up in close proximity to Cistercian men’s houses. Hagiographical and epistolary sources make clear that nuns inspired men to deeper religious understanding, provided a focus for their pastoral commitments, and broadened the reach and spiritual dimension of the order in turn (Bynum 1982).

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The Cistercians   237 In 1115 when Bernard of Fontaines-les-Dijon, later known as Bernard of Clairvaux, joined the Cistercians, a formidable group of kinsmen and companions-in-arms accompanied him. As a member of the knightly class whose family was in service to the lords of Châtillon, he had ties by blood, marriage, and service to the lords of Montbard, La Ferté, Beaudement, La Roche-Vannea, Montréal, Sombernon, and Arcy-sur-Cure, among others—all prominent aristocratic families in the principalities of Burgundy and Champagne and many of whom also joined the order (Newman 1996: 171–190). This ‘Bernardine Network’ imbricated the order within the spiritual needs and ambitions of the regional aristocracy (Schenk 2012: 96–103; Newman 1996; Bouchard 1987, 1991). In many cases, women were the vital nodes of these familial–monastic networks. Indeed, it was women with connections to the monks of Cîteaux who populated the convent of Jully, founded shortly after Molesme as part of the reform impulse behind the new movement. Bernard’s mother and sister formed the core group of women who founded the nunnery of La Tart, the first female community with established ties to Cîteaux (Schenk 2012: 97). These patterns were replicated among regional aristocratic networks across Europe. In recent work, scholars have traced similar associations linking male and female communities throughout medieval Wales, Yorkshire, Normandy, Burgundy, Provence, the Rhineland, Poland, and Greece. Documents of practice, including foundation grants and charters of gifts and sales, reflect the ties that flourished between male abbeys and houses of nuns, as well as a growing interest on the part of lay patrons to support women in the order. In 1147, when the congregations of Savigny and Obazine, which had been founded as ‘double houses’ with men and women living together, were brought under Cistercian jurisdiction the order was forced to accept a more formal role in the administration of female abbeys (Berman 2000; Grélois 2011). Yet during most of the twelfth century women’s houses remained curiously absent from recorded discussions in the General Chapter and in the formal institutional structure of the order. As a consequence, earlier histories that relied only on the juridical and legislative texts never recognized the role of twelfth-century Cistercian women. Because nuns did not appear in the Cistercian statutes at this time scholars assumed that women were not officially or juridically part of the order. We now realize this is far from the case. Male houses such as Clairvaux and Morimond, for ex­ample, oversaw many convents and maintained close, if local, spiritual friendships and administrative ties with women (Grélois 2011). Only when the tasks of the cura monialium—the spiritual administration of these female communities—became burdensome do we begin to hear about nuns and their nunneries in the statutes. In the 1190s the abbots began to legislate definitive norms governing the order’s nunneries, and thus women begin to appear in the statutes and in the traditional scholarly discourse. The inclusion of nunneries in our understanding of the order has led scholars to reconsider the meaning of class differences and marginal status in the order and consequently to re-envision the role of Cistercian conversi. Conversi/ae took vows that connected them to the order, but that accommodated for a greater desire or inclination to labour outside the cloister walls to attain their connection to God. Conversi took part in a similar—if more humble—regime of prayers while they worked in the fields, tended

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238   Anne E. Lester flocks, cared for the sick and poor, or worked in the business of the order (Waddell 2000). In 1188 the Cistercians prohibited members of the nobility from holding conversi status, and a more pronounced class difference came to separate generally literate monks from illiterate conversi (Canivez 1933–1941: 1, 108, no. 8). In their origins conversi had much in common with lay donats or confratres and consorores, as other orders named them: men and women who remained somewhat in the world although they had vowed themselves and much of their possessions to a particular abbey and a monastic way of life (Schenk 2012: 31–74). Cistercian conversi were instrumental in facilitating many of the connections and the day-to-day working of abbeys and especially nunneries. In female houses, conversi took on many of the administrative tasks that normally drew abbots, cellarers, and porters outside the cloister. Some conversi were granted permission to use their abbess’s seals and to travel and act in public on official business. Later foundation charters for new nunneries included detailed clauses about the numbers, roles, habits, and privileges extended to conversi of the order’s nunneries (Lester 2011). Within larger male abbeys, conversi acted as administrative agents and managed the grange agriculture system the Cistercians had perfected (Berman  1986). While monks prayed, read, wrote, and preached, conversi ensured the functioning and economic well-being of the order, living in the order’s rural granges or in the townhouses that many abbeys maintained in larger urban centres. By the middle of the thirteenth century, conversi became important figures in diplomatic negotiations and served in aristocratic and baronial households (Noell 2006). As Martha Newman has shown, many conversi, much like religious women, were believed to possess a deeper degree of spiritual humility and found heightened favour with God (Newman 2003b). Conversi often appear in Cistercian exempla and hagiography as intermediaries between God and monks or patrons, much as they worked as intermediaries in the world between abbots, abbesses, monks, nuns, and laymen and women. A reflection of the changes shaping the order can be seen in the numbers of Cistercian abbots and holy men and women who gained renown for their asceticism, spiritual discernment, visions, and intimate connection with the divine. Their examples provided another means of educating Cistercian novices and inspired imitation. The vitae of the order’s avatars were compiled and circulated inside the order and far beyond its cloisters and motivated new generations of monastic converts. Moreover, abbots and some monks grew adept at writing and delivering sermons, which functioned as another genre for disseminating exemplary ideas. Networks of spiritual friendships developed between monks and nuns and even semi-religious women such as the beguines. These connections were solidified through the sharing of manuscripts and stories (McGuire 1980, 1981; Newman 2003b). Bernard of Clairvaux’s sermons on the Song of Songs were widely read and copied into countless manuscripts found in male and female houses of the order (Bondéelle-Souchier 1994; Evergates, 2016). The Cistercians also compiled letters, spiritual treatises, and exempla collections that offered a kind of sacred assemblage of the order’s history and ideals. In the early thirteenth century, Conrad of Eberbach rewrote the foundation narrative of the order and stitched it together with a wealth of stories about Bernard of Clairvaux and the early abbots, the lives and inspiring tales of the

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The Cistercians   239 monks of Clairvaux, and proper examples of how to die well. His text became known as the Exordium Magnum (The Great Beginning) and presented an updated narrative of the order that included the deeds of women and conversi among the virtuous pursuits of its monks (Conrad of Eberbach 2012). Closely related to Conrad’s text was Caesarius of Heisterbach’s detailed instruction on the life of the cloister, the Dialogue on Miracles. Cast as a dialogue between a novice and his master, in twelve books Caesarius portrayed the monk’s progress from conversion, through temptation, to the ­apprehension of miracles, and the preparation for a good death (Caesarius of Heisterbach 1929, 2009). A distinctive Cistercian spirituality took shape and inspired others to convert to the Cistercian way of life, to join abbeys if they were able, or to live in imitation of the Cistercians, wearing undyed or white habits, tending charitably to the poor and sick, and living as Christ had lived. During the thirteenth century, these ideals appealed especially to women, who took up a religious life and imitated the Cistercians, or founded and patronized houses of Cistercian nuns. Such women appear first in local documents of practice: in donation charters, in episcopal grants, and in legal agreements formed between women, urban and knightly patrons, and local clerics detailing the location of new nunneries, arrangements for spiritual care, division of tithes and other payments. Often small communities of women, comprised of neighbours or sisters and aunts, gathered with little official oversight, reading the Psalter together, living in or nearby leper houses and small hospices known as domus-Dei where they cared charitably for the poor and sick. As these communities gained a measure of recognition among the laity, bishops and patrons petitioned the order for the incorporation of these new communities as Cistercian nuns so that the women could live by a prescribed rule and set of customs and be assured a certain measure of guidance and administrative care (Lester 2011). Between 1200 and 1250 hundreds of female communities were incorporated into or associated with the Cistercian order. After about 1208 and certainly by 1215, the administrative procedures for incorporating new convents became standardized. The abbots developed strict requirements for new houses: women had to wear the specific habit and cowl of the order, to follow the Rule and customs of the monks of Cîteaux, and offer obedi­ence to local bishops and the order’s monks (Lester  2011). Nunneries begin to appear regularly in the formal legislation (Lucet 1977). During the first half of the thirteenth century, in any given year the statutes record between five and fifteen petitions for the incorporation of new nunneries. Women brought with them a commitment to the religious life that aligned with a new interest in the imitation of Christ and the vita apostolica. Like Saint Francis, these women believed in the spiritual importance of active charity, poverty, and mendicancy. They were at the forefront of what Herbert Grundmann identified as a ‘women’s religious movement’, which saw the proliferation of semi-religious women, anchorites, penitents, and beguines (Grundmann 1935). In turn, the creation of new convents in the thirteenth century changed the Cistercian order, opening it to a new group of patrons, a new set of administrative challenges, and contemporary modes of devotion and spirituality that emphasized affective piety. Just as the twelfth century had produced a wealth of male Cistercian saints, the thirteenth century saw the expansion of female sanctity transform the order.

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240   Anne E. Lester

Reality and Exigency: Transformation and Adaptation of the Order The widespread incorporation of women and conversi among the Cistercians has often been seen as indicative of other changes afoot that transformed the order after the  mid-thirteenth century. Traditional scholarship interpreted such shifts as signs of the corruption of the core eleventh-century Cistercian commitment to reform and simplicity (Lekai  1977). The Cistercians, according to this perspective, had become overly burdened by the cares and distractions of the world, forcing them to cede their status as the paragons of monastic virtue to other up-and-coming orders such as the Franciscans and Dominicans. And yet, as Martha Newman has argued, the compulsion to enact charity in the world, to bring the ideas of the Carta caritatis outside the cloister to the larger community of Christendom, lies behind the choices many Cistercians made as they engaged with the broader issues of their day (Newman 1996). The role of the Cistercians outside their cloisters, within the ecclesiastical hierarchy, in promoting the Crusade movement, in defending their privileges of tithe exemption, in providing welfare for the laity in life and after death through monastic burial, and in aesthetic choices, are areas in which the order adapted to the changing demands of the later medieval social world. Although it seemed to contradict the formative ambitions of the Cistercians, from early on monks recognized for their holiness rose to positions of prominence as bishops and archbishops, and even as pope by embracing the spirit of caritas—love and charity for those around them—outside the cloister (Newman 1996). Cistercian monks were likewise called upon to promote the Crusades both in the Levant as well as in Europe. Bernard of Clairvaux preached the Second Crusade (1147–1149) and was a powerful advocate for the Knights Templar. Generations of abbots and monks followed him in preaching subsequent Crusade expeditions through the end of the thirteenth century. Closely tied to Crusade preaching was the Cistercian involvement in campaigns against heresy in southern France. Indeed, before the advent of the Friars, the Cistercians were the main preaching arm of the papacy. Their treatises on heresy and sermons written to censor wrong belief came to define what heresy was between the Rhône and Garonne rivers and outlined how it could best be resisted and extirpated (Kienzle 2001). Complex arguments that relied upon creative readings of Scripture and the Church Fathers offered eschatological interpretations of events in the past and present. Such careful interpretative and exegetical work positioned the Cistercians to take part in the growing university communities that developed in Europe during the thirteenth century. The College of Saint-Bernard, founded in Paris in the mid-thirteenth century, was expressly designed as an institution that allowed monks to gain exposure to the new theological discourses current in the French capital. The College drew monks from across the order and throughout Europe and exposed them to a common curriculum, training them to read, write, preach, and debate in the most rigorous manner.

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The Cistercians   241 As the Cistercians served beyond their cloisters they also attracted the committed admiration of laypeople, and especially of princes, barons, and knights, all of whom sought close ties with the order and the benefit of the corporate prayers that the Cistercians promised by means of their unified liturgy. From the beginning of the thirteenth century the Cistercians agreed to admit lay burials within their abbeys and even within their churches (Hall 2005; Hall, Sneddon, and Sohr 2005). Consequently, nearly all the royal families of Europe founded Cistercian abbeys that served as familial necropolises (Dimier 1954; Coomans 2005; D’Emilio 2005; Kratzke 2005). Families of lesser barons and knights also petitioned the order for prayers and space within their churches for their honoured dead. The afterlife of laymen and women came to be entwined with the liturgical amplifications of the monks and nuns. After 1187, as the Crusade movement faltered in the East, a succession of popes implored the order to add special li­tur­ gic­al services, hymns, and prayers to benefit the Holy Land, the Latin Empire in Byzantium, and the cause of the Reconquista (Lester  2009). The annual statutes are punctuated with the petitions of kings, queens, countesses, and others imploring the order for anniversary masses after their deaths and on behalf of their kin (Dimier 1954; Canivez 1933–1941 [1937]; Lester 2017). The Cistercians responded rigorously to the changing needs and devotional habits of the later Middle Ages. Although many Cistercian churches remained committed to an ideal of simplicity and eschewed complex decorative sculpture programmes, the order’s relationship to the materiality of devotion was shifting (Norton 1986). Tomb effigies and inscriptions abounded in Cistercian churches and cloisters. The monks converted the laity’s gifts of coinage, plate, and jewellery into monumental reliquaries, liturgical vessels, and altar ornaments that were carefully enumerated in treasury inventories (Lalore 1875; Veyssière 2006). By the later thirteenth and fourteenth centuries in some German convents an interest in active devotion to Christ and the cross found vibrant visual and material expression in book illuminations, wall paintings, and sculptures in the round. In the convent of Wienhausen, for example, the nuns dressed and undressed, adorned and embellished small sculpted statues of Christ and Mary as a form of devotion throughout the liturgical year. A life-sized sculpted relief of Christ laid out in the tomb after the crucifixion offered a highly evocative and intimate focus for the nuns’ devotions, especially during Easter and Corpus Christi (Mecham 2014; Hamburger and Marti 2008; Hamburger 1998). Likewise, the expansive cycle of wall paintings in the Roman monastery of Tre Fontane gave expression to later Cistercian interpretations of the human condition and the natural world (Aavitsland 2012). To say that such practices deviated from the ideals of the order’s founders is to miss the Cistercians’ ability to adapt to new religious impulses that were at the forefront of continued spiritual renewal. As one scholar has noted, change for the Cistercians, and for many in the medieval world, was always tied to the ideal of reform (Jamroziak 2013). Moreover, if one looks to the borders of Christendom, the Cistercians played a powerful role in spreading the core ideas of Christianity and the pastoral reform. Their success in doing so was linked to their ‘ability to accommodate themselves to very different economic, social, and geographical settings’. In practice, ‘[t]here was no inherent tension between this flexibility

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242   Anne E. Lester and the maintenance of “Cistercian standards,” because this adaptability was itself a part of the monastic ethos’ (Jamroziak 2011: 47). More than an ideological reorientation, it was the exigencies of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries that profoundly changed the Cistercians. War, famine, taxation, fiscal hardship, all spurred organizational realignment. During the period of the Hundred Years War (1328–1453) Cistercian communities in France suffered bitterly. The General Chapter was often unable to convene at Cîteaux. Many monks and nuns were forced to abandon their claustral buildings and seek refuge in towns or cities. Beginning in 1399, communities with fewer than twelve monks or nuns were suppressed and converted into priories of the order, an institutional practice that the early monks had spurned, but which became necessary for the maintenance of the order by the turn of the fifteenth century (Lester 2005; Jamroziak 2013). The press of taxation to fund crusades and other wars among the French, English, and Germans likewise weighed heavily and frequently on the order’s houses, both great and small (Buczek 1969; King 1985). Abbots were in constant negotiation to protect the privileges of tax and tithe exemptions that had early on been accorded to the order (Jordan 2005). These real and deeply felt material challenges brought to bear the most profound modifications to the order’s governing structures and to evolving ideas of reform. Through it all the Cistercians retained their integrity as an order and used the administrative institutions they had pioneered to accommodate for such challenges.

Future Directions in Research Research on the order has advanced a great deal in recent years, and three major themes are discernible. First, new work on the development of the religious orders and their connection to religious movements suggests that the lines that once separated formal orders from informal religious groups must be re-evaluated. Approaches to the study of religion are increasingly influenced by social network theory, sociology of religion, friendship networks, and kinship structures, and they have the potential to place the growth of the Cistercian order in a fuller and more complex context. The mediating role of conversi, nuns, and lay religious men and women needs to be further explored. Likewise, a study of the material, commemorative, and devotional interactions between Cistercian monks and nuns and the lay world promises to modify our understanding of Cistercian concepts of caritas and the practice of Apostolic ideals. Secondly, the sources for the study of Cistercian history have shifted. Far less emphasis is given to juridical texts and customs, i.e. prescriptive documents, than to descriptive texts such as charters, inventories, exempla collections, sermons, and material sources. Close readings of the latter group are beginning to yield different conclusions about patterns of foundation, filiation, and competition. No longer do scholars argue for the eclipse of one order by another, but rather they are finding evidence for collaboration, compatibility, and consolidation. Happily, new texts continue to come to light that offer evidence for our

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The Cistercians   243 understanding of the Cistercians in the medieval context. Many Cistercian manuscripts, as well as collections of charters and bound cartularies, have yet to be edited or even inventoried. Such work would require collaboration to complete, but it promises a deeper understanding of the connective role of the order in medieval Europe. The future of monastic scholarship will clearly have a digital humanities component. New studies of Cistercian houses will profit from the enhanced ability to map monastic domains with precision; catalogue and analyze patterns of donations, sales, and purchases; and aggregate textual data, scripts, and parchment used by different monastic houses. Finally, a growing interest in the material world of monasticism is changing the kinds of questions and types of analysis that scholars are taking up. The study of objects has much to say about the practices, habits, devotions, ideals, and beliefs of medieval monks and nuns and those within the orbit of the cloister. Monastic houses were troves for objects of great value, freighted with communal and personal memory, and scripted with sacred significance. The insights of materiality and social network theory promise to further enhance how we understand the place of the Cistercian order in the world that fostered it.

Suggested Reading Several useful surveys of the Cistercian order have appeared in recent years. See, for example, Burton and Kerr (2011), Bruun (2013), and Jamroziak (2013), as well as the magisterial overview by Kinder (2002). These volumes substantially update and nuance the older and more traditional survey of the Order by Lekai (1977). For the development of the order, traditional accounts include those of Lekai (1977) and Mahn (1982). Recent reappraisals include Newman (1996), a controversial monograph by Berman (2000), and Freeman (2002a). For the role of women in the order, Constance H. Berman has pioneered this area of study (1995, 1998, 1999, 2002, and 2018). Regional studies include Jordan (2006), Lester (2011), Nichols and Shank (1984–1995), and Barrière, Henneau et al. (2001).

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Caesarius of Heisterbach (2009). Dialogus Miraculorum. Dialog über die Wunder. Lateinischdeutsch. 5 vols, edited and translated by Nikolaus Nösges and Horst Schneider. Turnhout: Brepols. Caesarius of Heisterbach (1929). The Dialogue on Miracles. 2 vols, translated by H. von E. Scott and C. C. Swinton Bland. London: Routledge. Canivez, J.-M. (ed.) (1933–1941). Statuta Capitulorum Generalium Ordinis Cisterciensis ab anno 1116 ad annum 1786. 8 vols. Louvain: Bureaux de la Revue. Conrad of Eberbach (2012). The Great Beginning of Cîteaux: A Narrative of the Cistercian Order: The Exordium Magnum of Conrad of Eberbach, translated by Benedicta Ward and Paul Savage, edited by E. Rozanne Elder. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press.

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244   Anne E. Lester Lalore, Charles (1875). Le trésor de Clairvaux du XIIe au XVIIIe siècle. Troyes: J. Brunard. Lucet, Bernard (1977). Les codifications cisterciennes de 1237 et de 1257. Paris: C.N.R.S. Matarasso, Pauline (ed. and trans.) (1993). The Cistercian World: Monastic Writings of the Twelfth Century. London: Penguin. Pipon, Brigitte (ed.) (1996). Le chartrier de l’Abbaye-aux-Bois (1202–1341). Étude et edition. Paris: École des Chartes. Tanner, Norman (ed.) (1990). Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils. 2 vols. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Veyssière, Laurent, Jean Waquet, and Jean-Marc Roger (2004). Recueil des chartes de l’abbaye de Clairvaux au XIIe siècle. Paris: C.T.H.S. Waddell, Chrysogonus (2007). The Primitive Cistercian Breviary: (Staatsbibliothek zu Berlin, Preussischer Kulturbesitz, Ms. Lat. Oct. 402): with variants from the “Bernardine” Cistercian Breviary. Fribourg: Academic Press. Waddell, Chrysogonus (ed.) (2002). Twelfth-Century Statutes from the Cistercian General Chapter. Latin text with English notes and commentary. Brecht, Belgium: Cîteaux: Commentarii cistercienses. Waddell, Chrysogonus (ed.) (2000). Cistercian Lay Brothers: Twelfth-Century Usages, with Related Texts. Studia et Documenta 10. Brecht, Belgium: Cîteaux: Commentarii cistercienses. Waddell, Chrysogonus (ed.) (1999). Narrative and Legislative Texts from Early Cîteaux. Latin text in dual edition with English translation and notes. Studia et Documenta 9. Brecht, Belgium: Cîteaux: Commentarii cistercienses.

Secondary Sources Aavitsland, Kristin B. (2012). Imagining the Human Condition in Medieval Rome: The Cistercian Fresco Cycle at Abbazia delle Tre Fontane. Farnham: Ashgate. Barrière, Bernadette, Marie-Elizabeth Henneau et al. (eds) (2001). Cîteaux et les femmes. Paris: Créaphis. Berman, Constance  H. (2018). The White Nuns: Cistercian Abbeys for Women in Medieval France. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Berman, Constance  H. (2002). Women and Monasticism in Medieval Europe: Sisters and Patrons of the Cistercian Reform. Kalamazoo, MI: Medieval Institute Publications for TEAMS. Berman, Constance H. (2000). The Cistercian Evolution: The Invention of a Religious Order in Twelfth-Century Europe. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Berman, Constance H. (1999). ‘Were There Twelfth-Century Cistercian Nuns?’ Church History 68: 824–864. Berman, Constance H. (1998). ‘Cistercian Women and Tithes’. Cîteaux 49: 95–128. Berman, Constance H. (1995). ‘Cistercian Nuns and the Development of the Order: The Abbey of Saint-Antoine-des-Champs Outside Paris’. In The Joy of Learning and the Love of God: Studies in Honor of Jean Leclercq, edited by E.  Rozanne Elder, 121–156. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Berman, Constance H. (1986). Medieval Agriculture, the Southern French Countryside, and the Early Cistercians: A Study of Forty-Three Monasteries. Philadelphia, PA: American Philosophical Society. Bonde, Sheila, Kyle Killian, and Clark Maines (2011). ‘The Earliest Church at Ourscamp and the Long History of Cistercian “First Churches” in France’. Cîteaux 62: 5–34.

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The Cistercians   245 Bondéelle-Souchier, Anne (1994). ‘Les moniales cisterciennes et leurs livres manuscrits dans la France d’Ancien Régime’. Cîteaux 45: 193–136. Bouchard, Constance Brittain (1991). Holy Entrepreneurs: Cistercians, Knights, and Economic Exchange in Twelfth-Century Burgundy. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Bouchard, Constance Brittain (1987). Sword, Miter, and Cloister: Nobility and the Church in Burgundy, 980–1198. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Bruun, Mette Birkedal (ed.) (2013). The Cambridge Companion to the Cistercian Order. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Buczek, Daniel S. (1969). ‘Medieval Taxation: The French Crown, the Papacy and the Cistercian Order, 1190–1320’. Analecta Cisterciensia 25: 42–106. Burton, Janet and Julie Kerr (2011). The Cistercians in the Middle Ages. Woodbridge: Boydell. Bynum, Caroline Walker (1982). Jesus as Mother: Studies in the Spirituality of the High Middle Ages. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Cassidy-Welch, Megan (2001). Monastic Spaces and Their Meanings: Thirteenth-Century English Cistercian Monasteries. Turnhout: Brepols. Coomans, Thomas (2005). ‘Moniales cisterciennes et mémoire dynastique: Églises funéraires princières et abbayes cisterciennes dans les anciens Pays-Bas médiévaux’. Cîteaux 56: 87–145. D’Emilio, James (2005). ‘The Royal Convent of Las Huelgas: Dynastic Politics, Religious Reform and Artistic Change in Medieval Castile’. In Studies in Cistercian Art and Architecture, vol. 6: Cistercian Nuns and Their World, edited by Meredith Parsons Lillich, 191–282. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Dimier, Anselme (1954). Saint Louis et Cîteaux. Paris: Letouzey & Ané. Dutton, Marsha (1992). ‘The Face and the Feet of God: The Humanity of Christ in Bernard of Clairvaux and Aelred of Rievaulx’. In Bernardus Magister: Papers Presented at the Nonacentenary Celebration of the Birth of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, edited by John R. Sommerfeldt, 203–223. CS 135. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Dutton, Marsha (1987). ‘Intimacy and Imitation: The Humanity of Christ in Cistercian Spirituality’. In Erudition at God’s Service: Studies in Medieval Cistercian History, XI, edited by John R. Sommerfeldt, 33–70. CS 98. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Evergates, Theodore (2016). Henry the Liberal, Count of Champagne, 1127–1181. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Felten, Franz J. (2009). ‘Waren die Zisterzienser frauenfeindlich? Die Zisterzienser und die religiöse Frauenbewegung im 12. und frühen 13. Jahrhundert: Versuch einer Bestandsaufnahme der Forschung seit 1980’. In Norm und Realität: Kontinuität und Wandel der Zisterzienser im Mittelalter, edited by Franz J. Felten and Werner Rösener, 179–223. Vita regularis 42. Münster: LIT. Freeman, Elizabeth (2018). ‘The Fourth Lateran Council of 1215, the Prohibitions against New Religious Orders, and Religious Women’. Journal of Medieval Religious Cultures 44: 1–23. Freeman, Elizabeth (2006). ‘Cistercian Nuns in Medieval England: Unofficial Meets Official’. Studies in Church History 42: 110–119. Freeman, Elizabeth (2002a). Narratives of a New Order: Cistercian Historical Writing in England, 1150–1220. Turnhout: Brepols. Freeman, Elizabeth (2002b). ‘What Makes a Monastic Order? Issues of Methodology in The Cistercian Evolution’. Cistercian Studies Quarterly 37: 429–442. Grélois, Alexis (2016). ‘Tradition and Transmission: What is the Significance of the Cistercian General Chapters’ Statutes? (Twelfth to Fourteenth Centuries)’. In Shaping Stability: The Normation and Formation of Religious Life in the Middle Ages, edited by Krijn Pansters and Abraham Plunkett-Latimer, 205–216. Turnhout: Brepols.

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246   Anne E. Lester Grélois, Alexis (2011). ‘Abbé-Père et Abbesse-Mère: Noirlac, L’Éclache et leur fondation de Bussière (vers 1188–1238)’. Cîteaux 62: 141–185. Grélois, Alexis (2009). ‘L’expansion cistercienne en France: La part des affiliations et des moniales’. In Norm und Realität: Kontinuität und Wandel der Zisterzienser im Mittelalter, edited by Franz J. Felten and Werner Rösener, 287–324. Vita regularis 42. Münster: LIT. Grundmann, Herbert (1935, rev. 1967). Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter. Berlin: Ebering. Translated by Steven Rowan as Religious Movements in the Middle Ages. South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995. Hall, Jackie (2005). ‘The Legislative Background to the Burial of Laity and Other Patrons in Cistercian Abbeys’. Cîteaux 56: 363–371. Hall, Jackie, Sheila Sneddon, and Nadine Sohr (2005). ‘Table of Legislation concerning the Burial of Laity and other Patrons in Cistercian Abbeys’. Cîteaux 56: 373–418. Hamburger, Jeffrey (1998). The Visual and the Visionary: Art and Female Spirituality in Late Medieval Germany. New York: Zone Books. Hamburger, Jeffrey and Susan Marti (2008). Crown and Veil: Female Monasticism from the Fifth to the Fifteenth Centuries. New York: Columbia University Press. Jamroziak, Emilia (2013). The Cistercian Order in Medieval Europe, 1090–1500. London and New York: Routledge. Jamroziak, Emilia (2011). Survival and Success on Medieval Borders: Cistercian Houses in Medieval Scotland and Pomerania from the Twelfth to the Late Fourteenth Century. Turnhout: Brepols. Jordan, Erin (2012). ‘Gender Concerns: Monks, Nuns, and Patronage of the Cistercian Order in Thirteenth-Century Flanders and Hainaut’. Speculum 87: 62–94. Jordan, Erin (2006). Women, Power, and Religious Patronage in the Middle Ages. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Jordan, William Chester (2005). Unceasing Strife, Unending Fear: Jacques de Thérines and the Freedom of the Church in the Age of the Last Capetians. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Kienzle, Beverly Mayne (2001). Cistercians, Heresy and Crusade in Occitania, 1145–1229: Preaching in the Lord’s Vineyard. Woodbridge: York Medieval Press. Kinder, Terryl N. (2002). Cistercian Europe: Architecture of Contemplation. Grand Rapids, MI: W. B. Eerdmans. Kinder, Terryl N. and Roberto Cassanelli (eds) (2014). The Cistercian Arts: From the 12th to the 21st Century. Montréal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. King, Peter (1985). The Finances of the Cistercian Order in the Fourteenth Century. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Kratzke, Christine (2005). ‘Mittelalterliche Sepulkraldenkmäler in den Klöstern der Zisterzienser und Zisterzienserinnen in Mecklenburg-Vorpommern: Typenspektrum, Mikroarchitektur und Memorialfunktion’. Cîteaux 56: 259–321. Lekai, Louis  K. (1977). The Cistercians: Ideals and Reality. Kent, OH: Kent State University Press. Lester, Anne E. (2017). ‘Saint Louis and Cîteaux Revisited: Cistercian Commemoration and Devotion during the Capetian Century, 1214–1314’. In The Capetian Century, 1214–1314, edited by William Chester Jordan and Jenna Phillips, 29–47. Turnhout: Brepols. Lester, Anne  E. (2011). Creating Cistercian Nuns: The Women’s Religious Movement and Its Reform in Thirteenth-Century Champagne. Ithaca, NY and London: Cornell University Press.

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The Cistercians   247 Lester, Anne E. (2009). ‘A Shared Imitation: Cistercian Convents and Crusader Families in Thirteenth-Century Champagne’. Journal of Medieval History 35: 353–370. Lester, Anne E. (2005). ‘Cleaning House in 1399: Disobedience and the Demise of Cistercian Convents in Northern France at the End of the Middle Ages’. In Oboedientia. Zu Formen und Grenzen von Macht und Unterordnung im mittelalterlichen Religiosentum, edited by Sébastien Barret and Gert Melville, 423–444. Münster: LIT. Mahn, Jean-Berthold (1982). L’ordre Cistercien et son gouvernement des origines au milieu du XIIIe siècle (1098–1265). Paris: Éditions E. de Boccard. McGuire, Brian Patrick (2002). Friendship and Faith: Cistercian Men, Women, and their Stories, 1100–1250. Aldershot: Ashgate. McGuire, Brian Patrick (1981). ‘The Cistercians and the Transformation of Monastic Friendships’. Analecta Cisterciensia 37: 1–63. Repr. in McGuire (2002). Friendship and Faith: Cistercian Men, Women, and their Stories, 1100–1250, no. III. Aldershot: Ashgate. McGuire, Brian Patrick (1980). ‘Friends and Tales in the Cloister: Oral Sources in Caesarius of Heisterbach’s Dialogus Miraculorum’. Analecta Cisterciensia 36: 167–247. Repr. in McGuire (2002). Friendship and Faith: Cistercian Men, Women, and their Stories, 1100–1250, no. II. Aldershot: Ashgate. Mecham, June  L. (2014). Sacred Communities, Shared Devotions: Gender, Material Culture, and Monasticism in Late Medieval Germany, edited by Alison I. Beach, Constance H. Berman, and Lisa M. Bitel. Turnhout: Brepols. Newman, Martha G. (2005). ‘Text and Authority in the Formation of the Cistercian Order: Re-assessing the Early Cistercian Reform’. In Reforming the Church before Modernity: Patterns, Problems and Approaches, edited by Christopher Bellitto and Louis I. Hamilton, 173–198. Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Newman, Martha  G. (2003a). ‘Real Men and Imaginary Women: Engelhard of Langheim Considers a Woman in Disguise’. Speculum 78: 1184–1213. Newman, Martha G. (2003b). ‘Crucified by the Virtues: Laybrothers and Women in ThirteenthCentury Cistercian Saints’ Lives’. In Gender and Difference in the Middle Ages, edited by Sharon Farmer and Carol Pasternack, 182–209. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Newman, Martha G. (1996). The Boundaries of Charity: Cistercian Culture and Ecclesiastical Reform, 1098–1180. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Nichols, John  A. and Lillian Thomas Shank (eds) (1984–1995). Medieval Religious Women. 4 vols. in 3. CS 71, 72, 113. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Noell, Brian (2006). ‘Expectation and Unrest Among Cistercian Lay Brothers in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries’. Journal of Medieval History 32: 253–274. Norton, Christopher (1986). ‘Table of Cistercian Legislation on Art and Architecture’. In Cistercian Art and Architecture in the British Isles, edited by C. Norton and D Park, 315–393. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rudolph, Conrad (1990). The ‘Things of Greater Importance’: Bernard of Clairvaux’s Apologia and the Medieval Attitude Toward Art. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Schenk, Jochen (2012). Templar Families: Landowning Families and the Order of the Temple in France, c.1120–1307. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Southern, Richard  W. (1970). Western Society and the Church in the Middle Ages. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Veyssière, Laurent (2006). ‘La tombe découverte à l’abbaye de Clairvaux en 1820: Est-elle celle de Guillaume de Joinville archevêque de Reims (d. 1226)?’ Bibliothèque de l’École des chartes 164: 5–41.

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chapter 16

Th e M ilita ry Or ders Templars and Hospitallers Jochen Burgtorf

Origins and Context The Cistercian Bernard of Clairvaux was so impressed with the Templars that he claimed to be ‘almost in doubt whether they ought to be called monks or knights’ (Bernard of Clairvaux 1990: 72), thus foreshadowing their future label as ‘monks of war’ (Seward 1995). However, since he addressed this statement (c.1130) to the ‘knights of the Temple’ in a treatise praising the ‘new knighthood’, his near-doubt was rhetorical: the Templars were truly ‘Christian’ knights with an attitude and lifestyle resembling that of monks. In medieval society, divided into those who prayed, those who fought, and those who worked, the military orders belonged primarily to the fighting category. Their members used actual weapons in addition to spiritual armour for their defining ac­tiv­ ities, namely the protection of pilgrims and the defence of Christendom. Yet they did so in permanent service to God, having taken vows of obedience, chastity, and poverty, and following a rule that governed their communal life and liturgical practices. This distinguished them from secular knights and made them appear similar to monks or regular canons. The Hospitallers, moreover, who retained their original dedication to hospital care, were not just knights, but also nurses. While scholars refer to the members of these orders as ‘professed religious’ (Riley-Smith 2010) or ‘semi-religious’ (Elm 1992), their medieval contemporaries usually spoke of them as the ‘knighthood of the Temple’ (mil­ itia Templi) and the ‘house of the Hospital’ (domus Hospitalis). Under the leadership of Hugh of Payns, a knight from Champagne, the Templars had been founded in 1120 in the Crusader kingdom of Jerusalem as a military escort for pilgrims travelling to the holy sites. They were supported by the patriarch of Jerusalem, as well as the king; the latter gave them their eventual headquarters in the al-Aqsa mosque (then considered the location of Solomon’s Temple), from which they took their name. In 1129, at the Council of Troyes, they received a rule inspired by the Benedictine rule,

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The Military Orders: Templars and Hospitallers   249 and, in 1139, Pope Innocent II issued the bull Omne datum optimum, which elevated them to the rank of an exempt order. The Hospitallers were founded in Jerusalem around 1080 by merchants from Amalfi to provide care for pilgrims, and they were named after their charitable facility. They were older than the Templars as a community, but not as a military order. In 1113, Pope Paschal II addressed a bull, Pie postulatio volun­ tatis, to Gerald, the Hospital’s leader, and granted apostolic protection to his institution. Due to the notorious lack of manpower in the Crusader states, the Hospitallers were soon drawn into military activities, perhaps initially by staffing a field hospital and later by accepting responsibility for fortifications on the Muslim frontier. In 1139–1140, Pope Innocent II, in an early version of the privilege Quam amabilis Deo, noted that the Hospitallers were employing men to ensure the safety of pilgrims, an imitation of early Templar practices. Yet when, some time before 1153, Pope Eugenius III confirmed the Hospitaller rule, a document inspired by the Augustinian rule,1 and when in 1154 Pope Anastasius IV granted the bull Christianae fidei religio (and thus the status of an exempt order) to the Hospitallers, there was no mention of military activities, even though contemporary chronicles observe that the Hospitallers, just like the Templars, were gar­ rison­ing fortresses, fighting battles, and serving as the standing army of the Crusader states. The military orders owed their genesis to a combination of factors. Their existence was inextricably linked to Christian pilgrimage, an expression of piety that had ori­gin­ ated in the fourth century, placed Jerusalem at the centre of the Christian world, and experienced a strong surge due to the increase of international mobility even before the First Crusade (Angenendt 1997: 208–212; Phillips 1998). It was therefore no coincidence that the Hospitallers began their history as a hospice for pilgrims in Jerusalem, and that the Templars emerged after a Muslim attack on Christian pilgrims near the Jordan River. The orders also would have been inconceivable without the eleventh-century Church reform. Christian contemplation was not enough to protect the new ‘Peace-of-God’ movement or to fight excommunicates, schismatics, heretics, and non-Christians. The Augustinian just-war theory had therefore to be reframed to turn armed service into a means of achieving a ‘deeper religious commitment’ (García-Guijarro Ramos  2008; Rother 2014). This prepared the way for a ‘Christian’ knighthood and a ‘holy war’, only considerably later to be called a ‘crusade’, launched by the pope with his increasingly global reach from Reconquista Iberia to the Levant, and it gave Jerusalem a place in the ‘mental world’ of chivalry (Keen 1984: 44–63). However, while the orders were products of the Crusades and soon to be participants in them, they were not crusading orders. Their members could not take the cross to become crusaders, because the vow and protected status of a crusader was temporary, while that of the professed member of a military order was for life (Hiestand 2008). Finally, whereas Cistercians, Premonstratensians, and Carthusians, three orders that came into being around the same time as the first military orders, owed their existence to the initiative of individuals, both Templars and 1  The Hospitaller rule’s reference to ‘the poor of our Lord’ (Delaville Le Roulx 1894–1906: vol. 1, 63, § 2) appears to derive from the Benedictine rule (RB 53), based on Matt. 25:31–46.

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250   Jochen Burgtorf Hospitallers owed their existence to community initiatives. This provided the military orders with considerable stability in the insecure environment of the Crusader states (Hiestand 1997). While there were critics of the orders (Nicholson 1993), most of those who interacted with them were impressed, as evidenced by the donations they received. Moreover, additional military orders were founded in Iberia to aid the Reconquista and in the Baltic region to support missionary expansion, as well as in the Holy Land, chief among them the Teutonic Order (Forey 1992: 6–43). Over time, both Templars and Hospitallers developed structures that allowed them to grow into international organizations. Each order was led by a master, assisted by a group of senior officials in the central convent. The orders’ European holdings were consolidated into Templar provinces and Hospitaller priories, represented at their respective order’s general chapters (Burgtorf 2008). The orders’ key administrative units were the local commanderies (Luttrell and Pressouyre 2002). Apart from knight brothers (who wore a white mantle with a red cross in the Temple and a black mantle with a white cross in the Hospital), sergeant brothers, and clergy, both orders had cobrothers (confratres) and employed turcopoles (originally non-members who served as light infantry), as well as servants. Both orders also admitted cosisters (consorores), and the Hospitallers had female convents (Nicholson 2001c). The orders’ headquarters were in Jerusalem until Saladin’s conquest of the city (1187), then moved to Acre until that city fell to the Mamelukes (1291), whereupon they relocated to Cyprus. From there the Hospitallers launched their conquest of Rhodes (1306–1310), while the Templars became the victims of proceedings (commonly referred to as their ‘trial’) initiated by King Philip IV of France (1307). The proceedings were extended throughout Christendom by Pope Clement V, and were deliberated by the Council of Vienne, where the pope, with his bull Vox in excelso (1312), dissolved the order, not because it had been found guilty, but because its reputation had been tarnished beyond repair. With his bull Ad providam (1312), he transferred the Templars’ possessions to the Hospitallers (Menache 1998). According to a comparative synthesis of the military orders, the Templar trial did not spell the end of all military orders, but those who survived became mere shadows of their former selves (Prutz 1908: 519).

Comparative Historiography Whether the Templars had enough time to develop their own historiography during the less than two hundred years of their existence is debatable; the inventories of their possessions, compiled during the trial against the order, at least reveal that the occasional history book was kept in their local commanderies (Legras and Lemaître  1991: 102; Burgtorf 2010: 114). Towards the end of the thirteenth century, the Hospitaller William of St Stephen assembled materials pertaining to the history, legal tradition, and liturgy of his order, but the Hospitallers’ historiographical activities did not begin in earnest

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The Military Orders: Templars and Hospitallers   251 until Giacomo Bosio (1544–1627) wrote a three-volume history of the order (Luttrell 1966). Scholarly interest in the military orders surged in the nineteenth c­ entury, when ‘scientific’ historians began systematically to visit the archives and edit sources. For the Hospitallers, Joseph Delaville Le Roulx (1855–1911) compiled a four-volume ­‘cartulary’ of legal documents and normative texts for the period until 1310 and wrote the first scholarly monograph on the order (Delaville Le Roulx 1894–1906, 1904). For the Templars, a similar effort was undertaken by André d’Albon (1866–1912), but cut short by his untimely death, at which time one volume of Templar documents for the period until 1150 was publishable (Albon  1913). Over seventy manuscript volumes of his transcriptions and notes remain preserved in the French National Library ­ (Burgtorf 2008: 7–8). While research on the military orders has become quite popular, there are only a few scholarly comparative syntheses that include the minor orders and are not limited to a specific theme or regional concentration, namely those of German historian Hans Prutz, the British historian Alan Forey, and the French historian Alain Demurger (Prutz 1908; Forey 1992; Demurger 2002).2 In their discussion of the orders’ origins, Prutz, Forey, and Demurger distinguish between the three main regions where these communities were active: first the Holy Land, then Iberia, and ultimately the Baltic region, and Demurger explicitly links the first to pilgrimage, the second to the Reconquista, and the third to missionary expansion. All three authors concentrate on institutional history. While military exploits are woven into the narrative, they receive no dedicated space from Prutz, less than twenty per cent of the text from Forey, and just over five per cent from Demurger. The Templar trial, on the other hand, receives its own chapter from Prutz, but only a short sub-chapter from Forey, and an even shorter one from Demurger. Prutz is particularly interested in the contributions by the orders to the medieval economy, arguing that the Hospitallers were primarily dedicated to landed estates and the Templars to banking. Both orders, however, were involved with royal finances and participated in Mediterranean commerce and the transport of pilgrims (Prutz 1908: 394–449). Forey analyzes how the context for the orders changed during the thirteenth century: contemporaries increasingly misinterpreted their willingness to coexist with the Muslims as an ideological betrayal of their mission and failed to comprehend the resources required to maintain a ‘defensive’ (let alone ‘offensive’) force on the Muslim frontier (Forey 1992: 204–225). Demurger emphasizes that the orders were a new spiritual experience in Western Christendom, reconciling meditation with action (Demurger 2002: 299). In their overall assessment, Prutz, Forey, and Demurger agree that the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were the heyday of the military orders, and that they rose and fell with the public interest in the Crusading movement.

2  A fourth comparative work, written for a general audience, is not considered here (Seward 1995). Comparative studies with a specific theme or regional concentration include those on the military orders’ image and self-perception (Nicholson  1993), southern France (Selwood  1999), Sicily (Toomaspoeg 2003), their central convent (Burgtorf 2008), and their religiosity (Riley-Smith 2010).

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252   Jochen Burgtorf To a certain extent, the shortage of comparative studies on these orders has been remedied by scholarly conferences.3 After two global wars had considerably slowed the scholarly dialogue across European borders, two international conferences in Germany (1977 and 1978) rekindled the conversation and yielded a collection that remains essential: it opens with a study of Bernard of Clairvaux’s justification of the military orders; it features contributions regarding the origins of the Templars, Hospitallers, Teutonic Knights, and Spanish orders; it continues with articles about the orders’ regional development in the Near East and Europe, including their role in Crusader politics, European wars, the Hanseatic League, and ecclesiastical history. It then moves to the Templar trial and the end of the Teutonic Knights’ ‘order state’ during the Reformation, and concludes with a study of Emperor Frederick III’s Order of St George, an attempt to revive the military orders as orders of chivalry in late medieval Europe (Fleckenstein and Hellmann 1980). To continue this international conversation, a biennial conference was established in Toruń (Poland) in 1981, generating fifteen volumes and, since 2011, an annual journal on a wide range of topics,4 including the orders’ contributions to spirituality, culture, literacy, commerce, and regional history; their self-perception; their role in the medieval Church in times of change and crisis, as well as in war and peace; and their networks (Nowak 1983; Czacharowski 1984; Nowak 1985, 1987, 1990, 1991, 1993, 1995, 1997; Nowak and Czaja 1999, 2001; Czaja and Sarnowsky 2003, 2005, 2007, 2009). The Toruń conferences’ comparative studies show, for example, the dichotomy between the ‘idea’ and the ‘reality’ of the military orders: their Western recruits had to adjust to Eastern realities, which could even manifest itself in the learning of Eastern languages and ultimately resulted in a pragmatism that focused on preserving the Crusader states and facilitating the pilgrimage to the holy sites, rather than promoting ‘holy war’ (Favreau-Lilie 2001). The self-perception of the orders emerges from a variety of source types: the saints they venerated, including female saints to emphasize humility and patience, as well as martyr-saints to communicate the reality that all fighting brothers were potential martyrs (Nicholson 2005); the formulae they employed in their documents, reflecting a tension between striving for humility and belonging to the nobility, a dedication to order and peace, and a pragmatic attitude towards crusading and crisis management (Burgtorf 2005); and the coins and seals they utilized, portraying their claims to lordship and ties to the Holy Land, even after the loss of the Crusader states (Sarnowsky 2005). Contrary to the perceptions of their contemporaries, Hospitallers and Templars were not engaged in constant quarrels: in several thirteenth-century

3  In addition to the conference cycles discussed here, there have been several conferences on specific topics, such as the commandery (Luttrell and Pressouyre 2002), international mobility (Burgtorf and Nicholson 2006), memories of origin (Josserand and Olivier 2012), the medieval city (Carraz 2013), and islands (Buttigieg and Phillips 2013). 4  The journal is titled Ordines Militares: Yearbook for the Study of the Military Orders. Previous efforts to establish journals dedicated to the military orders include the Militarium Ordinum Analecta (Portugal, since 1997), Sacra Militia: Rivista di storia degli ordini militari (Italy, since 2000), and the Revista de las órdenes militares (Spain, since 2001).

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The Military Orders: Templars and Hospitallers   253 c­ onflicts, they only took sides for pragmatic reasons and, more often than not, functioned as mediators (Josserand 2012; Sarnowsky 2012; Burgtorf 2013a). It has been a primary goal of these international conferences to promote analytical comparisons of the various military orders, their regional involvements, and their different activities. Since their inception in 1989, the military-orders conferences in Palmela (Portugal) have brought forth several comprehensive collections (Pacheco and Antunes 1991; Fernandes and Pacheco 1997; Fernandes 1999, 2005, 2009, 2012, 2018). Research presented at Palmela highlights, among other things, the international exchange between centre and periphery. For example, using sources for the Hospitallers, it can be shown how the order, after crises in the East, worked with its Western priories to replenish its ranks and rebuild its resources (Bronstein 2005). Based on material pertaining to the Templars, one can see how the Western provinces of this order facilitated communication between Europe and the Holy Land, especially in the context of pilgrimage and Crusade (Bellomo 2012). However, judging from the historiography on the Templars’ Western provinces, it is also clear that work remains to be done on this order’s extensive networks (Josserand 2009). Since 1992, the ‘London Centre for the Study of the Crusades’ has also been the sponsor of international conferences (Barber 1994a; Nicholson 1998; Mallia-Milanes 2008; Upton-Ward 2008; Edbury 2012; Schenk and Carr 2017; Morton 2019).5 As in Toruń and Palmela, the comparative studies presented in London suggest similarities, rather than differences, between Templars and Hospitallers. With regard to ecclesiastical history, they played a similar role in the papal crusading efforts by placing their communication networks at the pope’s disposal and serving as the Crusades’ financial agents (Hiestand 2008). With regard to economic history, they were unable to solicit donations on the basis of ‘profile’ because they were not sufficiently different in the eyes of their contemporaries, and so they had to rely on political allegiances and family traditions (Borchardt 2008). With regard to intellectual history, they were less dedicated to the written word than traditional monastic institutions, but their international character necessitated correspondence, their spiritual life required liturgical texts, and the administration of their possessions implied at least rudimentary writing skills (Forey 1998). With regard to cultural history, their perhaps unexpected role in thirteenth-century romance literature as assistants to romantic lovers indicates that, despite their religious lifestyle, they retained a foothold in the world of chivalry (Nicholson 1994). The 700th anniversary of the Templar trial (1307–1314) was accompanied by a scholarly debate on the problem of ‘guilt or innocence’, as well as the question of why the Templars fell and the Hospitallers survived. The charges levelled against the Templars included the denial of Christ, errors in the areas of confession and penance, homosexual practices, the lack of a novitiate, a neglect of charity, and a failure to reform. During the interrogations, torture was used, some confessions were obtained, and these confessions 5  New discoveries presented in London include a twelfth-century text describing the Hospitallers’ Jerusalem hospital (Kedar 1998) and a twelfth-century fresco, uncovered in the Hospitallers’ castle of Margat in coastal Syria in 2007 (Major and Galambos 2012).

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254   Jochen Burgtorf seemed to suggest that illicit practices had spread from some French commanderies to convents elsewhere. It has been proposed that such practices had been able to spread because the Templars had seen a decline in their recruitment, did not know their normative texts well enough, had inadequate administrative structures, and had not found something meaningful to do after the fall of Acre, while the Hospitallers had launched the conquest of Rhodes and continued their charitable activities (Riley-Smith 2004a, 2004b). In response to this, it has been argued that the Templars may well have restricted their recruitment; that adequate knowledge of normative texts was not just a Templar problem; that both orders demonstrated considerable flexibility in their administrative structures; that the very different sources available for the Templars (no surviving central archive, but extensive trial records) and the Hospitallers (no trial records, but a surviving central archive) complicate the comparison; that it took the Hospitallers fifteen years to embark on the conquest of Rhodes, while the Templars had been consistently active in Armenia, temporarily occupied the island of Ruad, and stayed on Cyprus with the intent to return to mainland Syria to continue their original mission; and that it would have been impossible to conceal the Templars’ alleged illicit practices for decades (Forey 2009, 2010). The debate, which is likely to continue, illustrates the merit and vibrancy of comparative research, and helps us to better understand the military orders’ identity.

Defining Identity To establish the difference between the Templars’ and the Hospitallers’ identity, reference is often made to a statement of the Templar Master James of Molay (c.1306) that the Hospitallers were founded on ‘hospitality’ (hospitalitas), whereas the Templars were founded on ‘knightly service’ (militia). However, Molay expressly made this point to explain to Pope Clement V why the two orders should not be merged, an idea in circulation since the thirteenth century, and went on to say that the Hospitallers had added ‘knightly service’ to their portfolio, while the Templars were giving alms three times a week and continually donating a tithe of their bread to the poor. A merger would therefore result in a reduction of services, ostensibly both military and charitable (Delaville Le Roulx 1894–1906: vol. 4, 104). Templar hospitality appears in the order’s statutes. It was assumed that the Templars’ high officials would host members of the nobility in their tents. In the central convent, the preceptor of the house was responsible for accommodating the order’s guests, and the most prominent visitors included the German king Conrad III (1148, in Jerusalem), the French king Philip II (1191, in Acre), and Raymond Lull, the famous Catalonian theologian (1302, on Cyprus). The Hospitallers, too, did not just extend their hospitality to the poor, sick, and downtrodden. Their Jerusalem hos­ pital featured quarters for special guests (nobiles peregrini), and, in 1286, one of their conventual buildings in Acre hosted two weeks of festivities for the new king of Jerusalem on a scale that suggests that they, too, were no (or no longer) strangers to the

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The Military Orders: Templars and Hospitallers   255 world of chivalry (Burgtorf 2008: 29, 32, 87, 91, 134, 223, 254). Yet Templar hospitality reached the lower echelons of society as well. By 1160, for example, they were maintaining a hospital in Valenia in the principality of Antioch, and by 1182 a second hospital in the same city was apparently also theirs. The Hospitallers eventually took over the area, but the Templars maintained a presence in Valenia well beyond 1262 (Burgtorf 2013b). During their trial, the Templars were accused of neglecting charity, but evidence to the contrary surfaced, especially on Cyprus. The interrogated brothers insisted on their track record of almsgiving and hospitality to visitors in Nicosia and Limassol, and nonmembers spoke of the order’s almsgiving to the poor in Limassol and Famagusta (Gilmour-Bryson 1998: 187, 195, 198, 425, 436). All this does not mean that the Templars’ hospitality was anywhere near that of the Hospitallers, or that they included care for the sick. However, hospitality as a component of Templar identity is still waiting to be studied in a comparative context. Research on the Hospitallers’ military identity has usually focused on the origins of this identity, such as the first fortified holding, the first knight brother, or the first reference to military activities in different types of texts. Just as important, however, may be the question of when this identity was fully developed. In 1170, the Hospitaller Master Gilbert of Assailly resigned, most likely because he had stretched his order’s obligations beyond their limits by investing in military campaigns against Egypt and accepting responsibility for dilapidated fortresses on the Muslim frontier. But not all Hospitallers accepted his resignation, and the pope was asked to intervene. Whether this was a constitutional crisis or an identity crisis, in which some favoured the order’s military ac­tiv­ities and others its charitable roots, is debatable (Burgtorf 2008: 65–74; Riley-Smith 2012: 32–37; Murray  2015: 18–21). In 1172, Pope Alexander III issued the mandate Constitutis in praesentia which stipulated that future masters should adhere to the statutes of the community’s early leaders and seek their chapter’s counsel, especially when agreeing to take on fortresses on the Muslim frontier (Hiestand 1984: 227–230). The pope neither criticized nor prohibited the Hospitallers’ military commitments. In 1178–1179, his bull Piam admodum admonished the Hospitaller master to focus on his order’s original charge, namely to care for the poor, and only to engage in military activities when the banner of the Holy Cross was raised to defend the realm or besiege a city of the pagans (Delaville Le Roulx 1894–1906: vol. 2, 360–361). However, the pope was well aware that the latter was an ongoing scenario at the time, and in 1179, when he heard of the defeat of the Christians at Jacob’s Ford, he wrote a letter to all prelates (Ad vestram non), urging them to provide assistance so that Christianity would be preserved through both Templars and Hospitallers (Albon 1908–1911). A tentative response to the question of when the Hospitallers’ military identity was fully developed may be the year 1206, when the order, at a general chapter held at its frontier castle of Margat, in its own lordship, agreed on statutes that did not just mention military activities in passing but, rather, resembled the Templars pre-1187 statutes, apparently following the leadership of a master, Alphonso of Portugal, who may have been handpicked by Pope Innocent III for his military ex­ pert­ ise and family connections (Luttrell 2014; Burgtorf 2008: 115–121).

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256   Jochen Burgtorf The development of the ‘order state’ has generally been considered a phenomenon of the fourteenth century, manifested by the Hospitallers’ settlement on Rhodes and the Teutonic Order’s establishment in Prussia. The Templars, it appears, did not participate in this transition, which, according to some, spelled their doom. Yet the basis of this transition may perhaps be found in Pope Innocent II’s 1139 bull Omne datum optimum which prohibited the Templar master and brothers from swearing feudal oaths (Hiestand 1984: 67–103). The Hospitallers did not receive this restriction until 1186, when Pope Urban III issued a revised version of their bull Christianae fidei religio (Hiestand 1984: 104–135). This papal injunction against the swearing of feudal oaths actually enabled the military orders to accept donations of territory in which they could then exercise their own lordship rights, something they realized right away. By 1152, the Templars had lordship rights in Tortosa in the county of Tripoli; by 1187, only one year after Pope Urban III’s revision of their bull, the Hospitallers followed suit in Margat; in 1191, the Templars took over the island of Cyprus, albeit only for a short time; in 1260, they became the lords of Sidon; and, in 1300, they occupied the island of Ruad off the coast of Tortosa for two years with the clear intention of reconquering their former mainland territory (Hiestand  1997: 148–151). It is conceivable that the Templars had been leading the charge towards the development of an ‘order state’ since the twelfth century, and that this endeavour may, in fact, have to be considered a defining feature of the military orders’ identity almost from the very beginning. In 1290, the Franciscan Fidenzio of Padua wrote a treatise in which he listed Cyprus, Acre, Ruad, and Rhodes as potential places to anchor a crusading fleet (Paviot 2008: 144). Thus, given the loss of Acre and the volatile political situation on Cyprus, both the Templars’ occupation of Ruad (1300–1302) and the Hospitallers’ conquest of Rhodes (1306–1310) appear to have resulted from their shared identity as military orders, which, of course, does not make them identical communities.

Future Research Future research on Templars and Hospitallers falls into two categories: fundamental and applied. With regard to the former, considerable archival work remains to be done (Toomaspoeg 2018). A critical edition of the Templar rule and statutes is in preparation (Cerrini 1998), and a catalogue listing the papal documents for the orders is underway. The number of manuscripts of Hospitaller statutes not considered when these statutes were first published also suggests the need for a critical edition (Luttrell 2003). New work on the military orders in southern France points to extensive archival holdings of unedited charters (Carraz 2005), and the same is true in Iberia. The records of the British Templar trial have recently been presented in a critical edition and translation (Nicholson 2011), underscoring the need to revisit the dated editions and unpublished inventories of other trial records. There is no prosopographical database for the orders as a whole and no accurate survey of ‘Templar and Hospitaller properties in all regions’ (Bryson  2008). Much of this fundamental work is far-reaching and will require col­lab­ora­tive effort.

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The Military Orders: Templars and Hospitallers   257 When it comes to the military orders, the whole, as always, is greater than the sum of its parts, meaning that more comparative work on the ‘family’ of military orders is required (Demurger 2002: 7). Thus, as far as applied research is concerned, it must be noted that there is, to date, no comprehensive comparative military or naval history. Preliminary studies of the military orders’ naval history suggest that this a promising field of research (Jacoby 2007; Sarnowsky 2008). Nor is there a religious history of the military orders. Perhaps military historians have viewed these orders, due to their religious lifestyle, as the purview of ecclesiastical historians, while the latter have con­ sidered them, due to their military pursuits, the responsibility of the former. Interdisciplinary research may hold the solution, and work that is currently underway on the concept of martyrdom and material culture in these orders may bring the two camps together. Finally, while there are many thematic avenues that can be pursued, it is a welcome trend that historians of the military orders have begun to pursue various forms of biographical work in an effort to rediscover the ‘personalities behind the names’ (Forey 1992: 4; Luttrell 2005; Burgtorf 2007; Barber 2008; Forey 2008).

Suggested Reading The Dictionnaire européen des ordres militaires au Moyen Âge (Bériou and Josserand 2009) provides orientation on a wide range of matters pertaining to Templars and Hospitallers, including an essay on their historiography since c.1500. The Dictionnaire is also a starting point for research on the other military orders, namely the Teutonic Order; the smaller orders launched in the Holy Land, such as St Lazarus, Mountjoy, and St Thomas of Acre; the orders primarily active in Iberia, such as Avis, Calatrava, Santiago, Alcántara, and Merced; the orders associated with the Baltic region, such as the Swordbrothers and the Order of Dobrin; and the successors of the Templars, such as the Order of Christ in Portugal and the Order of Montesa in Valencia. Annotated surveys of primary sources and scholarship on the military orders can be found in two syntheses (Forey  1992; Demurger 2002), and the journal Crusades features an annual bibliography which lists new publications on the military orders. Apart from the comparative works and conference cycles discussed earlier, as well as the works listed in the notes herein, which are all suggested reading, there are stimulating scholarly works on the Templars (Bulst-Thiele 1974; Demurger 1993; Barber 1994b; Nicholson 2001b; Borchardt, Döring, Josserand, and Nicholson 2017); the Hospitallers (Riley-Smith 1967; Nicholson 2001a; Riley-Smith 2012); the Templar trial (Barber 2006; Burgtorf, Crawford, and Nicholson 2010); women in the military orders (Born 2012); and the archaeology of the military orders (Boas 2006). Some of the primary sources for the orders are available in English (King  1934; Upton-Ward  1992,  2003; GilmourBryson 1998; Barber and Bate 2002; Nicholson 2011), as are those for their crusading context (Allen and Amt 2014; see also Ashgate’s [now Routledge’s] ‘Crusade Texts in Translation’ series).

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258   Jochen Burgtorf

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Albon, A. d’ (ed.) (1913). Cartulaire général de l’ordre du Temple, 1119?–1150. Paris: Champion. Allen, S. J. and E. Amt (eds) (2014). The Crusades: A Reader, 2nd edn. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Barber, M. and K. Bate (eds) (2002). The Templars: Selected Sources, Translated and Annotated. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Bernard of Clairvaux (1990). Éloge de la nouvelle chevalerie, translated by P.  Émery. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Delaville Le Roulx, J. (ed.) (1894–1906). Cartulaire général de l’ordre des Hospitaliers de S. Jean de Jérusalem (1100–1310). 4 vols. Paris: Leroux. Gilmour-Bryson, A. (trans.) (1998). The Trial of the Templars in Cyprus: A Complete English Translation. Leiden: Brill. Hiestand, R. (1984). Papsturkunden für Templer und Johanniter, Neue Folge. Vorarbeiten zum Oriens Pontificius 2. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. King, E. (ed.) (1934). The Rule Statutes and Customs of the Hospitallers, 1099–1310: With Introductory Chapters and Notes. London: Methuen. Nicholson, H. (ed. and trans.) (2011). The Proceedings against the Templars in the British Isles, vol. 1: The Latin Edition; vol. 2: The Translation. Farnham: Ashgate. Paviot, J. (ed.). (2008). Projets de croisade, v.1290–v.1330. Paris: Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres. Upton-Ward, J. (trans.) (1992). The Rule of the Templars: The French Text of the Rule of the Order of the Knights Templar. Woodbridge: Boydell. Upton-Ward, J. (ed. and trans.) (2003). The Catalan Rule of the Templars: A Critical Edition and English Translation from Barcelona, Archivo de la Corona de Aragón, Cartas Reales, MS 3344. Woodbridge: Boydell.

Secondary Sources Albon, A. d’ (1908–1911). ‘La mort d’Odon de Saint-Amand, grand-maître du Temple’. Revue de l’Orient latin 12: 279–282. Angenendt, A. (1997). Geschichte der Religiosität im Mittelalter. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Barber, M. (2008). ‘The Reputation of Gerard of Ridefort’. In The Military Orders, vol. 4: On Land and by Sea, edited by J. Upton-Ward, 111–119. Aldershot: Ashgate. Barber, M. (2006). The Trial of the Templars, 2nd edn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Barber, M. (ed.) (1994a). The Military Orders, vol. 1: Fighting for the Faith and Caring for the Sick. Aldershot: Ashgate. Barber, M. (1994b). The New Knighthood: A History of the Order of the Temple. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bellomo, E. (2012). ‘Templari, oriente, e crociata: Percorsi di ricerca in Italia settentrionale’. In As Ordens Militares: Freires, Guerreiros, Cavaleiros, edited by I. C. F. Fernandes, 799–822. Palmela: Município de Palmela.

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The Military Orders: Templars and Hospitallers   259 Bériou, N. and P. Josserand (eds) (2009). Prier et combattre: Dictionnaire européen des ordres militaires au Moyen Âge. Paris: Fayard. Boas, A. (2006). Archaeology of the Military Orders: A Survey of the Urban Centres, Rural Settlements and Castles of the Military Orders in the Latin East (c.1120–1291). London: Routledge. Borchardt, K. (2008). ‘Competition between the Military-Religious Orders in Central Europe, c.1140–c.1270’. In The Military Orders, vol. 4: On Land and by Sea, edited by J. Upton-Ward, 29–34. Aldershot: Ashgate. Borchardt, K., K. Döring, P. Josserand, and H. Nicholson (eds) (2017). The Templars and their Sources. London: Routledge. Born, M. (2012). Women in the Military Orders of the Crusades. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Bronstein, J. (2005). ‘Cambios estructurales y económicos en la Orden de San Juan de Jerusalén en la primera mitad del siglo XIII’. In As Ordens Militares e as Ordens de Cavalaria na Construção do Mundo Ocidental, edited by I.  C.  F.  Fernandes, 227–234. Lisbon: Edições Colibri. Bryson, D. (2008). ‘The Hospitaller and Templar Houses of Périgord: Some Observations’. In The Military Orders, vol. 3: History and Heritage, edited by V.  Mallia-Milanes, 167–173. Aldershot: Ashgate. Bulst-Thiele, M. (1974). Sacrae domus militiae Templi Hierosolymitani magistri: Untersuchungen zur Geschichte des Templerordens, 1118/19–1314. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Burgtorf, J. (2013a). ‘Der antiochenische Erbfolgekrieg’. Ordines Militares: Yearbook for the Study of the Military Orders 18: 219–239. Burgtorf, J. (2013b). ‘The Hospitaller Lordship of Margat’. In East and West in the Medieval Eastern Mediterranean, vol. 2: Antioch from the Byzantine Reconquest until the End of the Crusader Principality, edited by K. Ciggaar and V. van Aalst, 11–50. Louvain: Peeters. Burgtorf, J. (2010). ‘The Trial Inventories of the Templars’ Houses in France: Select Aspects’. In The Debate on the Trial of the Templars (1307–1314), edited by J. Burgtorf, P. Crawford, and H. Nicholson, 105–115. Farnham: Ashgate. Burgtorf, J. (2008). The Central Convent of Hospitallers and Templars: History, Organization, and Personnel (1099/1120–1310). Leiden: Brill. Burgtorf, J. (2007). ‘A Mediterranean Career in the Late Thirteenth Century: The Hospitaller Grand Commander Boniface of Calamandrana’. In The Hospitallers, the Mediterranean and Europe: Festschrift for Anthony Luttrell, edited by K. Borchardt, N. Jaspert, and H. Nicholson, 73–85. Aldershot: Ashgate. Burgtorf, J. (2005). ‘Das Selbstverständnis der Templer und Johanniter im Spiegel von Briefen und Urkunden (12. und 13. Jahrhundert)’. In Selbstbild und Selbstverständnis der geistlichen Ritterorden, edited by R. Czaja and J. Sarnowsky, 23–45. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Burgtorf, J., P. Crawford, and H. Nicholson (eds) (2010). The Debate on the Trial of the Templars (1307–1314). Farnham: Ashgate. Burgtorf, J. and H.  Nicholson (eds) (2006). International Mobility in the Military Orders: Twelfth to Fifteenth Centuries. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Buttigieg, E. and S. Phillips (eds) (2013). Islands and Military Orders, c.1291–c.1798. Farnham: Ashgate. Carraz, D. (ed.) (2013). Les ordres militaires dans la ville médiévale (1100–1350). ClermontFerrand: Presses Universitaires Blaise-Pascal.

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260   Jochen Burgtorf Carraz, D. (2005). L’ordre du Temple dans la basse vallée du Rhône (1124–1312): Ordres mili­ taires, croisades et sociétés méridionales. Lyon: Presses Universitaires de Lyon. Cerrini, S. (1998). Une expérience neuve au sein de la spiritualité médiévale: L’ordre du Temple, 1120–1314: Étude et édition des règles latine et française. Thèse de doctorat, Paris IV-Sorbonne. Czacharowski, A. (ed.) (1984). Prace z dziejów państwa i Zakonu Krzyżackiego. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Czaja, R. and J.  Sarnowsky (eds) (2009). Die Rolle der Schriftlichkeit in den geistlichen Ritterorden des Mittelalters: Innere Organisation, Sozialstruktur, Politik. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Czaja, R. and J. Sarnowsky (eds) (2007). Die Ritterorden als Träger der Herrschaft: Territorien, Grundbesitz und Kirche. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Czaja, R. and J.  Sarnowsky (eds) (2005). Selbstbild und Selbstverständnis der geistlichen Ritterorden. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Czaja, R. and J. Sarnowsky (eds) (2003). Die Ritterorden in der europäischen Wirtschaft des Mittelalters. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Delaville Le Roulx, J. (1904). Les Hospitaliers en Terre Sainte et à Chypre (1100–1310). Paris: Leroux. Demurger, A. (2002). Chevaliers du Christ: Les ordres religieux-militaires au Moyen Âge, XIe–XVIe siècle. Paris: Éditions du Seuil. Demurger, A. (1993). Vie et mort de l’ordre du Temple, 1120–1314, 3rd edn. Paris: Éditions du Seuil. Edbury, P. (ed.) (2012). The Military Orders, vol. 5: Politics and Power. Farnham: Ashgate. Elm, K. (1992). ‘Die Spiritualität der geistlichen Ritterorden im Mittelalter’. In ‘Militia Christi’ e crociata nei secoli XI e XII: atti della undecima Settimana internazionale di studio: Mendola, 28 agosto–1 settembre 1989, 477–518. Milan: Vita e pensiero. Favreau-Lilie, M. (2001). ‘Vorstellung und Realität: Die Ritterorden in den Kreuzfahrerstaaten’. In Vergangenheit und Gegenwart der Ritterorden: Die Rezeption der Idee und die Wirklichkeit, edited by Z.  Nowak and R.  Czaja, 11–37. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Fernandes, I. C. F. (ed.) (2018). Entre Deus e o Rei. O mundo das Ordens Militares. Palmela: Município de Palmela. Fernandes, I. C. F. (ed.) (2012). As Ordens Militares: Freires, Guerreiros, Cavaleiros. Palmela: Município de Palmela. Fernandes, I. C. F. (ed.) (2009). As Ordens Militares e as Ordens de Cavalaria entre o Ocidente e o Oriente. Palmela: Câmara Municipal. Fernandes, I. C. F. (ed.) (2005). As Ordens Militares e as Ordens de Cavalaria na Construção do Mundo Ocidental. Lisbon: Edições Colibri. Fernandes, I. C. F. (ed.) (1999). Ordens Militares: Guerra, Religião, Poder e Cultura. Lisbon: Edições Colibri. Fernandes, I. C. F. and P. Pacheco (eds) (1997). As Ordens Militares em Portugal e no sul da Europa. Lisbon: Edições Colibri. Fleckenstein, J. and M.  Hellmann (eds) (1980). Die geistlichen Ritterorden Europas. Sigmaringen: Thorbecke. Forey, A. (2010). ‘Could Alleged Templar Malpractices Have Remained Undetected for Decades?’ In The Debate on the Trial of the Templars (1307–1314), edited by J.  Burgtorf, P. Crawford, and H. Nicholson, 11–19. Farnham: Ashgate. Forey, A. (2009). ‘Notes on Templar Personnel and Government at the Turn of the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries’. Journal of Medieval History 35: 150–170.

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The Military Orders: Templars and Hospitallers   261 Forey, A. (2008). ‘The Templar James of Garrigans: Illuminator and Deserter’. In The Military Orders, vol. 3: History and Heritage, edited by V. Mallia-Milanes, 107–114. Aldershot: Ashgate. Forey, A. (1998). ‘Literacy and Learning in the Military Orders during the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries’. In The Military Orders, vol. 2: Welfare and Warfare, edited by H. Nicholson, 185–206. Aldershot: Ashgate. Forey, A. (1992). The Military Orders: From the Twelfth to the Early Fourteenth Centuries. London: Macmillan. García-Guijarro Ramos, L. (2008). ‘Ecclesiastical Reform and the Origins of the Military Orders: New Perspectives on Hugh of Payns’ Letter’. In The Military Orders, vol. 4: On Land and by Sea, edited by J. Upton-Ward, 77–83. Aldershot: Ashgate. Hiestand, R. (2008). ‘The Military Orders and Papal Crusading Propaganda’. In The Military Orders, vol. 3: History and Heritage, edited by V.  Mallia-Milanes, 155–165. Aldershot: Ashgate. Hiestand, R. (1997). ‘Templer- und Johanniterbistümer und -bischöfe im Heiligen Land’. In Ritterorden und Kirche im Mittelalter, edited by Z. Nowak, 143–161. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Jacoby, D. (2007). ‘Hospitaller Ships and Transportation across the Mediterranean’. In The Hospitallers, the Mediterranean and Europe: Festschrift for Anthony Luttrell, edited by K. Borchardt, N. Jaspert, and H. Nicholson, 57–72. Aldershot: Ashgate. Josserand, P. (2012). ‘Grenze(n) und geistliche Ritterorden in der lateinischen Welt des Mittelalters’. Ordines Militares: Yearbook for the Study of the Military Orders 17: 7–16. Josserand, P. (2009). ‘Et succurere Terre sancte pro posse: Les Templiers castillans et la défense de l’Orient latin au tournant des XIIIe et XIVe siècles’. In As ordens militares e as ordens de cavalaria entre o ocidente e o oriente, edited by I. C. F. Fernandes, 413–434. Palmela: Câmara Municipal. Josserand, P. and M. Olivier (eds) (2012). La mémoire des origines dans les ordres religieuxmilitaires au Moyen Âge. Münster: LIT. Kedar, B. (1998). ‘A Twelfth-Century Description of the Jerusalem Hospital: A Provisional Edition of Clm. 4620, fol. 132v–139v’. In The Military Orders, vol. 2: Welfare and Warfare, edited by H. Nicholson, 3–26. Aldershot: Ashgate. Keen, M. (1984). Chivalry. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Legras, A. and J. Lemaître (1991). ‘La pratique liturgique des Templiers et des Hospitaliers de Saint-Jean de Jérusalem’. In L’écrit dans la société médievale: Divers aspects de sa pratique du XIe au XVe siècle, Textes en hommage à Lucie Fossier, edited by C. Bourlet and A. Doufour, 77–137. Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique. Luttrell, A. (2014). ‘Afonso of Portugal, Master of the Hospital: 1202/3–1206’. In Deeds Done Beyond the Sea: Essays on William of Tyre, Cyprus and the Military Orders Presented to Peter Edbury, edited by S. Edgington and H. Nicholson, 197–206. Farnham: Ashgate. Luttrell, A. (2005). ‘Ermengol de Aspa, Provisor of the Hospital: 1188’. Crusades 4: 15–19. Luttrell, A. (2003). ‘The Hospitallers’ Early Statutes’. Revue Mabillon 14 (75): 9–22. Luttrell, A. (1966). ‘The Hospitallers’ Historical Activities: 1291–1400’. Annales de l’Ordre Souverain Militaire de Malte 24: 126–129. Luttrell, A. and L. Pressouyre (eds) (2002). La commanderie: Institution des ordres militaires dans l’Occident médiévale. Paris: Comité des travaux historiques et scientifiques. Major, B. and É. Galambos (2012). ‘Archaeological and Fresco Research in the Castle Chapel at al-Marqab: A Preliminary Report on the Results of the First Seasons’. In The Military Orders, vol. 5: Politics and Power, edited by P. Edbury, 23–47. Farnham: Ashgate.

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262   Jochen Burgtorf Mallia-Milanes, V. (ed.) (2008). The Military Orders, vol. 3: History and Heritage. Aldershot: Ashgate. Menache, S. (1998). ‘The Hospitallers during Clement V’s Pontificate: The Spoiled Sons of the Papacy?’ In The Military Orders, vol. 2: Welfare and Warfare, edited by H.  Nicholson, 153–162. Aldershot: Ashgate. Morton, N. (ed.) (2019). The Military Orders, vol. 7: Piety, Pugnacity and Property. London: Routledge. Murray, A. V. (2015). ‘The Grand Designs of Gilbert of Assailly: The Order of the Hospital in the Projected Conquest of Egypt by King Amalric of Jerusalem (1168–1169)’. Ordines Militares: Yearbook for the Study of the Military Orders 20: 7–24. Nicholson, H. (2005). ‘Saints Venerated in the Military Orders’. In Selbstbild und Selbstverständnis der geistlichen Ritterorden, edited by R.  Czaja and J.  Sarnowsky, 91–113. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Nicholson, H. (2001a). The Knights Hospitaller. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer. Nicholson, H. (2001b). The Knights Templar: A New History. Stroud: Sutton. Nicholson, H. (2001c). ‘The Military Orders and Their Relations with Women’. In The Crusades and the Military Orders: Expanding the Frontiers of Medieval Latin Christianity, edited by Z. Hunyadi and J. Laszlovszky, 407–414. Budapest: Central European University. Nicholson, H. (ed.) (1998). The Military Orders, vol. 2: Welfare and Warfare. Aldershot: Ashgate. Nicholson, H. (1994). ‘Knights and Lovers: The Military Orders in the Romantic Literature of the Thirteenth Century’. In The Military Orders: Fighting for the Faith and Caring for the Sick, edited by M. Barber, 340–345. Aldershot: Variorum. Nicholson, H. (1993). Templars, Hospitallers and Teutonic Knights: Images of the Military Orders, 1128–1291. Leicester: Leicester University Press. Nowak, Z. (ed.) (1997). Ritterorden und Kirche im Mittelalter. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Nowak, Z. (ed.) (1995). Ritterorden und Region: Politische, soziale und wirtschaftliche Verbindungen im Mittelalter. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Nowak, Z. (ed.) (1993). Die Spiritualität der Ritterorden im Mittelalter. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Nowak, Z. (ed.) (1991). Das Kriegswesen der Ritterorden im Mittelalter. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Nowak, Z. (ed.) (1990). Die Ritterorden zwischen geistlicher und weltlicher Macht im Mittelalter. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Nowak, Z. (ed.) (1987). Werkstatt des Historikers der mittelalterlichen Ritterorden: Quellenkundliche Probleme und Forschungsmethoden. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Nowak, Z. (ed.) (1985). Die Rolle der Ritterorden in der mittelalterlichen Kultur. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Nowak, Z. (ed.) (1983). Die Rolle der Ritterorden in der Christianisierung und Kolonisierung des Ostseegebiets. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Nowak, Z. and R. Czaja (eds) (2001). Vergangenheit und Gegenwart der Ritterorden: Die Rezeption der Idee und die Wirklichkeit. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Nowak, Z. and R. Czaja (eds) (1999). Der Deutsche Orden in der Zeit der Kalmarer Union, 1397–1521. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika.

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The Military Orders: Templars and Hospitallers   263 Pacheco, P. and L.  Antunes (eds) (1991). As ordens militares em Portugal. Palmela: Câmara Municipal. Phillips, J. (1998). The Medieval Expansion of Europe, 2nd edn. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Prutz, H. (1908). Die Geistlichen Ritterorden: Ihre Stellung zur kirchlichen, politischen, gesells­ chaftlichen und wirtschaftlichen Entwicklung des Mittelalters. Berlin: Haude & Spener. Riley-Smith, J. (2012). The Knights Hospitaller in the Levant, c.1070–1309. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Riley-Smith, J. (2010). Templars and Hospitallers as Professed Religious in the Holy Land. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Riley-Smith, J. (2004a). ‘The Structures of the Orders of the Temple and the Hospital in c.1291’. In The Medieval Crusade, edited by S. Ridyard, 125–143. Woodbridge: Boydell. Riley-Smith, J. (2004b). ‘Were the Templars Guilty?’ In The Medieval Crusade, edited by S. Ridyard, 107–124. Woodbridge: Boydell. Riley-Smith, J. (1967). The Knights of St. John in Jerusalem and Cyprus, c.1050–1310. London: Macmillan. Rother, J. (2014). ‘Embracing Death, Celebrating Life: Reflections on the Concept of Martyrdom in the Order of the Knights Templar’. Ordines Militares: Yearbook for the Study of the Military Orders 19: 169–192. Sarnowsky, J. (2012). ‘Die Ritterorden und der Krieg von St. Sabas’. Ordines Militares: Yearbook for the Study of the Military Orders 17: 69–80. Sarnowsky, J. (2008). ‘The Military Orders and Their Navies’. In The Military Orders, vol. 4: On Land and by Sea, edited by J. Upton-Ward, 41–56. Aldershot: Ashgate. Sarnowsky, J. (2005). ‘Ritterorden als Landesherren: Münzen und Siegel als Selbstzeugnisse’. In Selbstbild und Selbstverständnis der geistlichen Ritterorden, edited by R.  Czaja and J. Sarnowsky, 181–197. Toruń: Wydawnictwo Uniwersytetu Mikołaja Kopernika. Schenk, J. and Mike Carr (eds) (2017). The Military Orders, vol. 6.1: Culture and Conflict in the Mediterranean World. Abingdon, Oxford: Routledge. Selwood, D. (1999). Knights of the Cloister: Templars and Hospitallers in Central-Southern Occitania, c.1100–c.1300. Woodbridge: Boydell. Seward, D. (1995). The Monks of War: The Military Religious Orders, rev. edn. London: Penguin. Toomaspoeg, K. (2018). ‘The Archives of the Military Orders: Some Introductory Remarks’. In Entre Deus e o Rei: O mundo das Ordens Militares, edited by I.  C.  F.  Fernandes, 29–42. Palmela: Município de Palmela. Toomaspoeg, K. (2003). Templari e Ospitalieri nella Sicilia medievale. Taranto: Centro Studi Melitensi. Upton-Ward, J. (ed.) (2008). The Military Orders, vol. 4: On Land and by Sea. Aldershot: Ashgate.

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chapter 17

The E a r ly M en dica n ts Frances Andrews

The term ‘early Mendicants’ is a composite which requires careful dissection. For most writers it is shorthand for the male clerics who thought of themselves as Dominican and Franciscan friars and whose orders took shape in the early thirteenth century. It is less often understood to include Carmelites and Augustinian Hermits, the short-lived Sack and Pied brethren, or those whose Mendicant status is more ambiguous, such as the Servites. Nor do those using the label generally have in mind the nuns, tertiaries, and penitents who frequently outnumbered the friars. In this chapter, however, though there can be no attempt at comprehensive coverage, fully professed Mendicants of all varieties will appear. This should be read as an indication of the multiplicity of experiences involved, not that what is said about one necessarily applies to all—a frequently problematic assumption in this field (Şenocak 2012). Like the modern labels, much of the normative language of the late medieval sources for the Mendicants seeks to describe clear, stable distinctions, as it does for all religious orders. A new recruit encountered a particular rule, with constitutions to be formed by, music and prayers to learn, a habit to wear, a superior to obey and, eventually, an order to which to belong (‘order’ acquiring new meaning in this period). Once founders had acquired approval for a form of life, change could be enacted by further legislation, visible in the acts of routine provincial and general chapters or in papal bulls agreeing to or imposing dispensations and reforms. Such reference to rules and rule-makers was one part of attempts by medieval women and men to shape and understand their lives and relationships. The language of the Church was a deeply embedded and powerful tool in this process. Distinguishing these multiple rules and how they developed among the Mendicant orders was also a key objective for many of the writers of standard textbooks, some of whom were also investigating the history of their own identities as Catholic scholars, if not as modern friars. Rules and constitutions help(ed) shape religious communities and are important clues to expectations. However, they capture only a partial version of lived experience

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The Early Mendicants   265 and often lag behind other types of evidence. Moreover, most fixed, stable distinctions are largely the invention of historians, in this case a tool to anchor the vast and complex history of Mendicant women and men and to differentiate them from other religious. Historians working to correct previous misconceptions, particularly about female communities, continue to make significant contributions to our grasp of the textual rules by which medieval Mendicants lived. Most, however, also articulate fresh ways of thinking about the Mendicants tout court (e.g. Wehrli-Johns  2001; Lehmijoki-Gardner  2004; Knox 2008; Field 2013). They explicitly acknowledge the engagement of women in meeting their own spiritual and practical needs and, more generally, the different players involved in creating and shaping experiences of the religious life. One effect has been to recognize much greater fluidity than focusing on rule-based models would allow. Of all the medieval religious, the Mendicant orders have perhaps most often been written about in terms of engagement beyond the cloister, tracing their silhouette in the society around them, a response to the explicitly evangelical role most friars advocated. In the 1960s and 1970s, an international line-up of historians was thinking about the wider impact of the friars and assessing their urban mission (Emery 1962; Le Goff 1970; Vauchez 1977; Little 1978; Elm 1981; Pellegrini 1984). These and other fundamental questions have since been probed in countless different investigations, of which only a tiny sample can be mentioned here. The different ways of writing about the early Mendicant orders reflect the diverse purposes, perspectives, and experiences of the women and men engaged in these movements, as of the historians doing the writing. Details of some of these are provided in ‘Suggested Reading’. This chapter instead aims to convey something of this diversity while focusing on what it meant to be a Mendicant in the thirteenth century. It does so by considering the interlinked issues of poverty and begging, the location of the Mendicants, and the multiplicity of forms religious mendicancy might take. The discussion begins, however, with questions of continuity, central to much recent research.

Continuity? In historiographical terms, there is a gulf between the earlier regulars and Francis of Assisi or other Mendicants. One reason is the bulk of sources available, leaving limited space in most work for serious comparison (Andrews 2017). Another is the keen interest of many modern Mendicants in the history of their own orders, driving journals, multivolume series, and (re-)editions of the sources. The conventional account of the origins of the Mendicants, which explains them as ‘revolutionary’ (Lawrence 1994/2013: 1),1 and emphasizes their refusal of property, abandonment of the cloister for the world, and dependence on begging, also remains appealing. 1  Lawrence first published in 1994. A slightly revised version came out in 2013, reflecting ongoing acceptance of this perspective.

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266   Frances Andrews The roots of Mendicant radicalism have usually been explained in terms of growing towns and the profit economy, engendering disquiet and, in some, a rejection of wealth and especially of money. A more demanding and more literate laity, in part a result of earlier reform efforts, sought a better match between religious aspiration, practice, and understanding, a renewed engagement with a lost ideal often associated with the ­‘primitive Church’. In what Marie-Dominique Chenu described as an ‘Evangelical Reawakening’, poverty came to seem ‘the proper institutional condition of the Kingdom of God’ (Chenu 1957/1968: 242). An important motor of these changes lay in late twelfthcentury Paris, where Masters such as Peter the Chanter (d. 1197) debated practical questions of ethics and the means to more effective pastoral care (Baldwin 1970), providing the intellectual basis for renewal efforts extended by a dynamic papacy under Innocent III (1198–1216) (Oberste 1999). Such transformations, so historiographical convention has it, together inspired and fed Mendicant success in the thirteenth century. The idea of Mendicant radicalism has been challenged in recent years by underlining the continuities. The ideas and questions driving them had not lacked a large-scale response before the 1200s. The 1100s had seen numerous ascetic preachers deeply engaged in the world, men who recruited large followings and established flourishing new orders (for example, at Fontevrault, Grandmont, and Prémontré). Renewing earlier traditions in the Church, they variously pursued extreme poverty, asceticism, manual labour, and begging, alongside energetic preaching and pastoral care, sharing in what Giovanni Miccoli termed a ‘pauperist–evangelical’ form of life (Miccoli  1974: 609; Maleczek 2012). Augustine Thompson has labelled such preachers ‘proto-Mendicants’ (Thompson 2011: 6–14). Others became Christianized knights or chose to live as penitents, part of a ‘social disestablishment of the Church’ (Chenu 1957/1968: 245). Other important precursors were the Augustinian canons who settled in urban contexts in the twelfth century. Confraternities too, may have been important, particularly for Francis. As Herbert Grundmann argued, ideas of poverty and itinerant preaching also energized some who were to be censured as heretics (Grundmann 1935/1995). Condemned preachers such as Henry of Lausanne (d. c.1148) belonged to the same pauperist–evangelical world as Francis or Dominic. Immediate precursors for papal acceptance of lay Franciscans, as also for the Mendicants’ eventual incorporation of lay tertiaries, were the Humiliati of northern Italy, who included canons, monastics, and lay brethren (Andrews 1999). For the Friars Preacher, meanwhile, a direct early model was the Cistercians preaching against heresy in the Languedoc, whose mission Diego, bishop of Osma (d. 1207), and his companion Dominic took over and expanded. The Cistercians also preceded the Dominicans as the architects of monastic organization most trusted by the popes (Tanner 1990, 1: 241). Continuity was further re-enforced by canon law. The Fourth Lateran Council in 1215 required those wishing to establish a new form of religious life to adopt an already approved rule (Tanner 1990, 1: 242), a veto on invention with mixed results, even in the short term. The Friars Minor claimed prior oral recognition from Innocent III c.1209/10, and in 1223 acquired definitive approval for a new rule. The Friars Preacher adopted the Rule of Augustine to which, as a canon of Osma, Dominic had already professed, but

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The Early Mendicants   267 they also borrowed Premonstratensian Institutes (and liturgy), which were soon modified in their primitive constitutions (1220–1228). These never required papal approval, giving them no obligation under sin, though even in the revised form introduced by Raymond Peñafort in 1241 they would prove a problematic guide for later reformers (Andrews 2009). Despite these innovations, it should be clear by now that continuists have come to dominate assessments of early Mendicants. In 2010 Donald Prudlo concluded that Francis and Dominic are now more often understood as ‘religious conservatives bringing the pauperistic–evangelical movement to a successful and officially sanctioned zenith’ (Prudlo 2010: 1276; cf. Thompson 2011). If this is right, it is worth asking what form these conservatives’ success took and why it was accorded official sanction. What had happened to Chenu’s ‘dis-established Church’? The followings of Francis and Dominic swelled quickly, including men and women from prosperous backgrounds and many university recruits. By 1224 the Franciscans had reached as far as England. By the late 1230s they could designate thirty-two provinces. Contemporaries must have found their ideas convincing, even exciting. The Friars Preacher’s expansion seems to have been more circumspect. Just as Francis reportedly first began with a female house (San Damiano), so Dominic’s first foundation was a rural community for women at Prouille (Tugwell 2004; Smith 2009). Dominic and his followers, however, soon focused on larger urban centres. By 1228 they had twelve provinces in Western Europe (Tugwell 2000). The itinerant model of engagement outside the cloister, moreover, was to be imitated in mid-century by the Carmelites and Augustinians, as well as the ill-fated Sack and Pied Friars (Andrews 2006, 2017). One element permitting this spectacular growth must have been the unprecedented papal privileges that friars were to obtain, enabling them to operate across the boundaries of the secular Church. Papal dispensations also, however, document a still more direct reason for the success of the followers of Francis and Dominic in particular: their close ties with the papacy in a period when papal government was expanding and centralizing. The visual traditions of Francis and Dominic were to develop in different directions (Cannon 2013: 93–96, 359), but the pairing of the two men and of their followers in the papal narrative of the Mendicants occurred early, as underscored by recently discovered large-scale frescoes painted in the 1240s or 1250s in the Roman hall of a papal vicar at SS. Quattro Coronati (Draghi 2006: 294–317). The saints are portrayed facing each other, perched on the shoulders of twinned allegorical virtues, Francis on ‘Heavenly love’, Dominic on ‘Godly jealousy’ (the need to remain virginal), and both tower over archheretics: Julian the Apostate and Simon Magus. The iconography arguably encapsulates the curial conceptions of the two saints and their orders, signalling their orthodoxy, linked with the papacy in its struggle with another ‘arch-heretic’, Frederick II (d. 1250) and his heirs. It also augments continuist arguments, associating Francis and Dominic with age-old monastic virtues—divine love and virginal purity—without allusion to begging, itinerancy, or poverty. Above all, it links the two saints just as their form of life was beginning to be adopted by others, the orders whose history vastly complicates what it could mean to be a Mendicant.

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268   Frances Andrews In 1245–1246, Innocent IV began urging his bishops and all Christian faithful to assist the prior and hermits of Mount Carmel, who had been brought together under a single rule by Albert, patriarch of Jerusalem (d. 1214). They were now being forced to move by incursions which would eventually lead to the fall of the Latin Kingdom of Jerusalem. Such backing was essential because, Innocent’s bulls explain, the Carmelites possessed nothing, depending on alms. The central years of the century also saw revisions of their rule, undertaken with the advice of prominent Dominicans and opening the way to a more itinerant and pastoral form of life, a transition sufficiently large that it prompted some brothers to leave (Andrews 2009). The Carmelite transformation was similar to that undertaken by the Augustinian Hermit friars, whose origins lay in hermit congregations which had emerged in the woods of central Italy from the mid to late 1100s and whose organization into a single, more outward-looking entity took place over the 1240s and 1250s. Some of the earlier hermit groups had engaged in preaching and even in begging, activities that gradually became fundamental to their role (Andrews 2006). Understanding the extent to which they can be seen as Mendicants, entails deeper consideration of what the label means.

Poverty and Begging: The Essence of ‘Mendicancy’? The English word ‘Mendicant’ derives from the Latin mendicare, to beg, like the destitute, seeking a gift without being able to offer anything material in return. Choosing to live on alms acquired by begging, with the humiliation this entailed, and accepting corporate poverty, are generally assumed to be defining features of early religious mendicancy. Both aspects of this early characterization have, however, recently been challenged in compelling ways. Although Francis of Assisi did not invent extreme poverty as a religious practice, he did emphasize the need for divesting oneself of property or any concern with it. His Testament, compiled in the final years of his life, recalled the ‘holy poverty’ of the early companions (Francis of Assisi 1999–2002, 1: 125). Hagiographers underscored both the saint’s strict injunctions against touching coins and his radical identification with the destitute. In a newly rediscovered, abbreviated version of Francis’ life, dated c.1232–1239, Thomas of Celano wrote that Francis ‘conformed in everything with the poor’, frequently sharing with them any tunic he was wearing and mending his own clothing ‘with the bark of trees or plants’ (Dalarun 2015: 55–56). In his Testament Francis demanded that the brothers seek no dispensations from the rule that had been approved in his lifetime. A central provision of Gregory IX’s bull Quo Elongati (1230) nonetheless set aside the Testament and granted that although the friars made use of things, ownership (dominium) belonged to the popes. It was a solution that was to generate much discussion (Flood  2014) and eventually heated conflict

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The Early Mendicants   269 (Burr 2001). The gifts of the laity and from recruits, moreover, were such that within a generation, the Franciscans, like other regulars, were faced with managing property and, in keeping with their rule, turning to laymen to act on their behalf. Some later brothers saw this as a betrayal, as have some modern critics. Other brothers defended the need for property to support the mission of the friars, as have different modern writers. Yet others, led by Peter Olivi (d. 1299), advocated limited use of goods (usus pauper), a provision rejected by his superiors as too vague to be observed as a rule under sin (Burr 2001). David Burr has argued that the idea that poverty was key to Franciscanism was largely a product of reading back from later controversies and the emergence of the ‘Spirituals’. Part of his reassessment is driven by acknowledging the personal and polemical qualities of the History of the Seven Tribulations by the Franciscan Angelo Clareno (d. 1337), an account of persecutions of his order, in which absolute poverty plays a prominent role (Angelo Clareno 2005). For Francis, instead, what mattered was selfemptying, a deep humility that required not just poverty but also unhesitating obedience to superiors and the fullest possible rejection of the world (Burr 2001). Tracing how poverty became the ‘quintessential feature of Franciscanism’, Neslihan Şenocak has shown that it was the work of learned Franciscans (Şenocak 2012: 124; 2013), a transition she follows in the documentation of the order after 1230. Celano’s abbreviated vita adds an early step in this process. Having to focus on writing only what was useful forced Celano to make revealing selections, including the virtual excision of Clare of Assisi and the Poor Ladies, yet stressing the saint’s love of poverty. In partially unseating ‘Lady Poverty’, historians have also challenged the tenure of begging as the essence of early mendicancy. Not only are claims to Mendicant ­radicalism undermined by the evidence for begging by earlier religious, but the idea of the early  friars begging on a regular and sustained basis has also been questioned (Thompson 2011). The first evidence for begging is Dominican, which may mean this order paved the way (Thompson 2011: 17): the chronicler Peter of Vaux-de-Cernay writes enthusiastically of Diego, Dominic, and Ralph (a Cistercian like Peter himself, another reminder of continuities), preaching in 1206–1207 ‘and begging their daily bread from door to door’ (Peter of Vaux-de-Cernay 1998: 25–26). Decades later, during Dominic’s canonization process, brother Rudolph testified that the saint had intended his followers to support themselves by daily begging, but would not allow it when ‘they had enough in the house to support the brethren for the day’ (Tugwell 1982: 77). Other witnesses again identified begging as important to Dominic and to the friars’ way of life, but they were describing Dominic once he had reached Italy, not in the early days in Languedoc. Jordan of Saxony (d. 1237), Master General after Dominic and author of the first account of his order, writes that Diego, whom he describes as the inspiration for the Friars Preacher, had recommended only that those preaching against heretics should give up the ‘trappings of wealth’. Dominic originally accepted properties, including tithes, and only later chose to reject them and the revenues usually welcomed by religious communities. Thomas of Cantimpré, a Dominican writing c.1257–1263, records that by that date the Franciscans were begging daily, but Dominicans were going out begging after August each year to

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270   Frances Andrews collect what they needed in one go, ‘so that their study [would] not be hindered’ (Tugwell  1982: 134). This chimes with the prologue of their primitive constitutions, which authorized priors to dispense brothers, ‘especially in those things which seem to obstruct study, preaching, or the good of souls, since it is known that our Order was founded, from the beginning, especially for preaching and the salvation of souls and our study should be directed primarily so that we may be useful to the souls of our neighbours’ (Galbraith 1925: 203–204). For Dominican friars, begging, like poverty, seems to have become exemplary, a pastoral tool and later an obligation kept carefully under control. The Dominicans may or may not have led the way in begging. It might be objected that we lack equivalent early sources for the Franciscans. The first papal bull is dated to 1219 (Sbaraglia 1759: 2–3), before which we have Jacques de Vitry’s letter, describing fratres minores et sorores minores (language never otherwise used for Clare and her ‘Poor Ladies’) living in hospices near Assisi and already enjoying papal support (Jacques de Vitry 2000: 553; Mooney 2011). The earliest evidence for Franciscan begging is also complicated, if in different ways. In the earlier rule of 1221 (Francis of Assisi 1999–2002, 1: 68–69), those ‘who know how to work’ are to continue in their profession, and ‘when it is necessary they may seek alms like other poor people’. The succinct papally approved 1223 version modified this: ‘those friars, to whom the Lord has given the grace of working may work faithfully . . .’ and . . . ‘serving the Lord in poverty and humility let them go seeking alms with confidence and . . . not be ashamed’ (Francis of Assisi 1999–2002, 1: 102–103). Depending on individual capacity, begging might or might not be a Franciscan friar’s primary activity, but it was certainly to be a spiritual virtue putting poverty on show and enacting humility. The first commentaries on the rule give some idea of how Franciscans responded. In 1241, when friars were asked to identify any problems with observance, the four masters who answered for the French province included poverty and begging among points in need of clarification. Perfect poverty, they agreed, ‘depends on what God provides. And that is called the poverty of the beggar. The poverty thereby defined seems to be the poverty of the lesser brothers [Franciscans] . . . they are not to receive anything fixed as income . . . [and] they are to have poverty as regards use, so they be poor such that they be beggars’ (Flood 2014: 26). Forty years later, John of Wales’ rule commentary briefly mentioned begging, but as a spiritual exercise. Brothers should seek alms, ‘having rid themselves of worldly glory’. Manual labour had now also disappeared, in favour of biblical study, preaching, charity, and the business of the order. John criticized brothers who ‘cannot suffer her [poverty] in the same house . . . nor any sign of her’ instead complaining about any lack of food, heat, light, books, or space. He concluded, dryly: ‘if anyone would treat his wife this way, he would seem to repudiate her’ (Flood 2014: 242, 244–245). For John, the marriage of poverty and the Mendicants was crucial, while also (as ever) under threat. Begging was less implicated. Having undermined the association between early Mendicants and routine begging, Thompson has further argued that the emergence of an identifying link between the

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The Early Mendicants   271 Franciscans and Dominicans as a ‘new type of religious’, labelled by begging and preaching, was a product of the criticisms of secular masters during controversies in Paris in the mid-1200s. He links this to Alexander IV’s privilege of 1254 renewing the Friars Preacher and Minor’s permission to preach and hear confessions without prior episcopal licence, a disputed privilege eventually confirmed by later popes (Thompson 2011: 7, 21–22). The connection may equally have begun within the Curia itself, witness the images of the two saints in SS Quattro Coronati, Rome. It is in any case significant that it was in these years, when the two first Mendicant orders were pushed into asserting more distinct identities, that other orders too adopted forms of life modelled on the Dominicans and Franciscans. In 1256, for example, the Augustinian Hermit Friars acquired just such a new form of life in their magna unio (great union) (Andrews 2006: 72–89). In the wake of the Secular-Mendicant controversies, the legal status of Mendicants was brought into sharper focus by the Second Council of Lyons of 1274 and its aftermath. Recalling the 1215 prohibition on new orders, the Council revoked ordines Mendicantes that had not obtained papal approval (on ordo here cf. Dannenberg 2008: 136). Those that had acquired approval after 1215, but whose profession, rule, or constitutions forbade appropriate revenues or possessions, requiring them to acquire food by public alms-gathering and the ‘uncertainty of begging’, were no longer to accept new recruits. The Franciscans and Dominicans were exempted because of their obvious utility to the Church (echoing the Dominican constitutions). The Carmelites and Augustinian Hermit Friars were given a stay of execution. The status of others was less clear (Andrews 2006, 2007). The perception of an ordo mendicans was further articulated in the 1280s by the Franciscan Salimbene de Adam, commenting on Lyons II (Thompson  2011: 28). Salimbene, however, backdated the ban on Mendicants, reframing the 1215 prohibition on new orders: ‘. . . the pope decreed that in future no Mendicant order (religio mendicans) might arise’. In a caustic remark he also observed that ‘We and the Friars Preacher taught all men how to beg, and anyone who puts on a hood wants to write a Mendicant rule (regulam mendicantem)’ (Salimbene de Adam 1998–1999: 31, 366; Andrews 2017). The mid-century disputes had attacked the privileges of the friars and highlighted begging as an objectionable feature of their way of life (Cusato and Geltner 2009). Lyons II gave this Mendicant identity new canon legal meaning, and Salimbene seems to have had in mind a distinct idea of the religious life close to that of modern conceptions of Mendicants, as Thompson suggests (2011: 28), though the Franciscan gave it a much longer pedigree. Evidence for another order and its reactions to the Lyons II decree, however, while confirming the difficulties of defining religious mendicancy as begging, also signals the gaps that were to emerge between legal definitions, the self-conceptions of men such as Salimbene, and the quotidian behaviour of religious. The early Servants of Mary (Servites) grew from a group of seven Florentine lay penitents of mercantile origins, who adopted a life of voluntary, collective poverty, started apostolic activity c.1257 and soon gathered followers, male and female (Dal Pino 1972). The 1274 curb on mendicancy put this in jeopardy and led their Prior General to seek to prove that his followers did not belong to ‘the Mendicant family’ (Citeroni 2009: 65).

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272   Frances Andrews In juridical terms this was to mean that Servite Mendicant status was recognized only in 1304, but without great clarity either then or later. In 1327 a lawyer brought in by Franciscans in Verona during a dispute with Servite neighbours, observed of the latter that they ‘carry out the act of begging . . . and when preaching continually allege their mendicancy in the sermons themselves, but in court they deny that they are of the order of Mendicants (ordo mendicantium)’ (Citeroni  2009: 77). In practice—as the lawyer indicated—the Servites were begging regularly. Extant Servite account books (which are precocious compared to those surviving for other Mendicants) confirm that this had, moreover, long been the case. The earliest, from 1286, opens with the sums collected in Florence one November Saturday by the last surviving founder, fra Alessio, and his companion. The registers show begging to be a regular duty, carried out every Saturday, for which the brothers were paid a small sum (Citeroni 2009: 78, correcting Andrews 2006: 2). Meanwhile, the Prior General had been requesting legal opinions about whether the Servites could be counted among the orders struck down by the 1274 decree. Guidance had already been sought in February 1277 from curial advocates, who advised that the Servites were exempt for several reasons, based in part on Lyons II, including that neither their rule, profession, nor constitution forbade property or revenues and that some of their houses were known to have property. The background to this legal opinion conditioned its content: the Lyons decision had made it unwise to self-identify as begging religious. A decade later, in February 1287, a further legal opinion phrased this differently, arguing that the Servites were not ‘to be numbered among the Mendicant orders’, nor to be subject to the Lyons decree ‘which legislated only about Mendicant orders’ (Florence, Archivio di Stato, Diplomatico, SS. Annunziata: 8 February 1277 [a single copy of the different consilia]; Citeroni 1998: 143). The core of these legal opinions is that not owning property must be what defined religious mendicancy. This thinking echoes that of Clement IV in 1268, who had defined religious houses which must lie 140 canne (rods) apart as those ‘founded in poverty’ (Andrews 2006: 27), now a critical definition for Mendicants. After Lyons II, begging might remain significant enough to be undertaken regularly, while also needing to be overlooked. At the same time, the extant Servite registers show that property was essential, since the alms collected were insufficient to support the large Florentine community (Citeroni 2009: 78–79). Despite the difficulties created by 1274, begging friars were familiar in the late Middle Ages, as portrayed in poetry and prose and in later images deploying begging bags to characterize them (Cannon 2006). This familiarity is also confirmed by the need for limits, or termini, agreed territories within which questers from a specific Mendicant house (Chaucer’s lymytours) were exclusively allowed to preach and beg for alms (often linked to hearing confession) (Riedel 2014). How this developed in following centuries, with the construction of termini houses in smaller settlements as collection points for a central priory, has been a thought-provoking subject of recent research (Henryot  2012; Hoven van Genderen 2012: 149–156). Observants’ enthusiasm for what they considered the original Mendicant practice of begging also deserves further investigation. Nonetheless, the key point here is that religious mendicancy took shape slowly, and early Mendicants did things in diverse ways.

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The Early Mendicants   273

Locating the Mendicants In defining how much continuity there was with earlier movements and what the Mendicants might be, the location and nature of settlements is another essential feature. Once again historians have sometimes concentrated on rules: the Dominicans after all, laid down clear regulations for founding new houses (Sundt 1987) and broad patterns can be detected. Early Franciscans usually chose small, semi-urban, or urban locations, as did many early Dominicans. Social and spiritual purposes seem to have been important drivers of the Mendicants’ initial suburban calling, the cost of land or lack of space only part of the reason for choosing peripheries, as the concentration of houses in particular districts sometimes shows (Trio 2010). It is, however, important to keep in mind the prior settlement in urban centres of earlier monasteries and, as the orders multiplied, earlier Mendicants (Vauchez 2001; Fritsch 2008). The towns and cities of Europe were by no means tabula rasa. Whatever the strategies of general chapters, or the prevailing settlement patterns, the location of Mendicant communities of all orders depended most of all on local responses. Clare of Assisi’s experience offers an extreme case of the precariousness of early life as a follower of Francis, while also confirming the importance of homegrown support. Her career can be reconstructed using a cluster of texts, including the Legenda  S.  Clarae, penned by Thomas of Celano (as confirmed by Guida  2010). Composed in 1255, the Legenda, which uses the witness statements of the canonization process, underlines how Clare had struggled against her noble family’s expectations to follow Francis (Clare of Assisi 2006). Having received the tonsure c.1212, she took refuge first with Benedictine nuns and then in a less formal community of women, before settling in some sort of abandoned outbuilding just outside Assisi. The site was to develop into the monastery of San Damiano, erected around a church reputedly rebuilt by Francis. Like most regular houses, the early survival of this community hinged on family ties and local recruits. Of the twenty witnesses at Clare’s canonization process in 1253, at least five were female relatives and two were childhood friends: all seven had joined her in San Damiano. The ‘Poor Ladies’ thus included the daughters of nobles and prominent citizens, several of whom were also family. A few of the first sisters shared in supervising other houses, building a network dedicated to Clare’s Franciscan understanding of an enclosed, Gospel-based religious existence founded on poverty. Her reputation reached as far as Prague, where Agnes of Bohemia sought to imitate her form of life, encouraged by letters from Clare herself. They faced early resistance from Hugolino, Cardinal Bishop of Ostia, later Pope Gregory IX (1227–1241), who sought to incorporate San Damiano into his own, more Benedictine, ‘Hugolinian’ form of life (Alberzoni 1995/1998; Knox 2008: 34; Mooney 2016). The Legenda of Clare constructs a context for a series of papal bulls which underline the saint’s resolute insistence on a specific ‘Damianite’ rule, with an emphasis on extreme poverty, eventually approved at the end of Clare’s life by Pope Innocent IV. Among the Franciscans, it may have been Clare for whom extreme

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274   Frances Andrews ascetic poverty became the essential, defining quality. But Clare’s form of life was not to have wide purchase and was overtaken by other texts. As well as the ‘Hugolinian’ rule, these included a rule composed by Isabelle of France for her community of sorores minores at Longchamps near Paris—approved by Urban IV in July 1263—and the rule of Urban himself, issued in October of that year, which created the ‘Order of St Clare’, but was similarly ignored by many women (Felskau 2008; Field 2013; Roest 2013). Like Clare—but not the Longchamps sorores minores or Agnes of Bohemia, who moved into purpose-built houses—at first male Mendicants also usually lived in temporary housing, or in buildings loaned or gifted to them by other churchmen, such as the church of Saint Romain in Toulouse, given to Dominic in 1216 by the Cathedral chapter following encouragement from the papal curia. Both Francis’ and Dominic’s early reactions to property owning were allegedly spectacular (Tugwell  1982: 76; Francis of Assisi 1999–2002, 2: 157, 285), but uncertainty characterized the way of life of most male Mendicants, as of the women, for a relatively short time. Between the 1220s and 1270s innumerable initial settlements were abandoned, or rebuilt and expanded (Bruzelius 2014). Already by 1229 the Dominicans in Toulouse were acquiring land on which to build the echoing basilica still standing in the city, while a property received from a convert in 1216 became the headquarters of the local inquisition. The backing of churchmen was important to the successful establishment of the early Mendicants, but testamentary legacies, often the first clue both to their arrival in a location and to the move towards more stable buildings, show that lay support was still more fundamental. One example may stand for many. The appearance of the Franciscans in Venice can be traced from November 1227 when Achilia, wife of Angelo Singnolo, left them ten lire. In September 1228, just weeks after the canonization of Francis, the doge himself, Pietro Ziani, bequeathed at least ‘100 lire’ (Sorelli 1988: 136). A still larger donation from Jacopo Michiel in March 1233 gave the friars the lagoon island now known as San Francesco del Deserto. Michiel’s will articulates a specifically Mendicant image, describing the Franciscans as having ‘recently arisen in the Church to be a pillar of the whole Catholic religion, by whose example in word and deeds many are inspired to perform the fruit of penance . . .’ (Bianchi and Ferrari 1970: 59). The wording underscores the Franciscans’ special status in a Universal Church and their ascetic poverty, as well as their insertion into the pastoral and charitable networks of Venice, even as they acquired the security that came with property. The idea of the Mendicants as pillars sustaining the whole Church was to acquire allegorical formulation (c.1246) as a papal dream of Dominic or Francis propping up the Lateran Basilica, and was frequently represented visually (Cooper and Robson 2013; Cannon 2013; Frugoni 2015). The phrasing of another Venetian will, stipulated in 1253, returns us once more to continuities. The testator, Marco Ziani, son of doge Pietro, bequeathed a vineyard, church, and workshops to six brothers. These were to be either Franciscans, Dominicans, Cistercians, or, if these could not be found, other brothers at the discretion of the lay executors, acting on the advice of a Franciscan minister (Sorelli 1988: 68). The church went to Franciscans, but the insertion of alternatives indicates that, however keen to engage in the economy of salvation, lay donors recognized that they might not be able to

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The Early Mendicants   275 set the pace. It also implies that it was reasonable to place early Mendicants, Cistercians, or ‘other brothers’ in the same frame: the distinctions need not be as widely felt as canonists or historians might expect. By the mid-thirteenth century the Franciscans and Dominicans had dispersed across much of Latin Europe and beyond; the Augustinian Hermit, Carmelite, and Sack Friars too were growing capillary networks, sometimes including rural houses, a reflection of their more eremitical origins. Friars were also often looking for better locations, shifts which were frequently contested. Clement IV’s 1268 requirement that houses be 140 rods apart symptomizes the pressure on space: any move took careful planning and not just because of Mendicant neighbours. A well-documented example comes from Verona in 1262: the newly united Augustinian Hermit friars had been living outside the walls, but now, with the support of the bishop and commune, moved to the church of S. Eufemia on the River Adige. A crowd of churchmen and laity, female and male, including notaries, a communal lawyer, and the city trumpeter, were summoned to hear a friar of the order ask whether they were scandalized by the Augustinian Hermits taking over the church. He repeated the question three times and three times the gathering proclaimed loudly that they were pleased. Mass was sung and the friars required the notaries present to draw up a legal record (Rigon 2011: 249–250n). The exchanges worked within and beyond the community as a way to build cohesion; the written document worked to ensure this was not forgotten. Transfers like that of the Augustinian Hermit friars into Verona were replicated all over Latin Europe from the mid-thirteenth century onwards, when in most cities the friars—and not just the Dominicans and Franciscans—were starting to eclipse other regulars. Early medieval monastic communities remained powerful, and the parish clergy must have been providing most pastoral care: in some parts of Europe parish churches were becoming substantial. Yet it was the friars who were building vast cloisters with basilicas which came to dominate skylines, outranked only by cathedrals in scale and ambition, and sometimes, like cathedral builders, drawing their communities into serious debt. As friars filled their churches with art, opened up squares for preaching, officially incorporated third orders, and became the pivot around which confraternities rotated, so the urban topography of many localities adjusted to fit.

Multiplicity The disjunctures in the Servite experience illustrate one drawback of relying only on rules or legal identities to understand what ‘mendicancy’ might mean. Servites owned property and were not legally Mendicants until 1304, yet lived ascetic lives and regularly went begging. Since they themselves sought repeated clarification of their status, it seems unlikely that most lay neighbours made much of the legal distinctions between them and other friars, or indeed the Cistercians, who often also established urban

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276   Frances Andrews houses and engaged in some pastoral care. Canon law was an important tool in controlling (and protecting) religious identities and interactions, but other sources are critical in understanding what it meant to be a Mendicant. What they point to is a great variety of ‘mendicancies’ (Prudlo 2011), a use of the plural which reflects much recent historywriting in general and is particularly pertinent here. That mendicancy was malleable and multiform is particularly evident in documentation for women. Despite curial tendencies to treat the Order of St Clare as a single entity by the early 1300s, Sean Field and Bert Roest have shown how female Franciscan identity was never fully harmonized, a product of different origins or local privileges, sometimes of benefactors’ interventions (Field 2013: 41; Roest 2013: 67–4). Some houses were under episcopal supervision, others were exempt. Some grew from communities of bizzoche or penitential communities involved in hospital work (Roest 2013: 69). Others, like Clare’s ‘Poor Ladies’, were strictly enclosed, as were those adopting the rule of Isabelle of France (Field 2013: 25, 92–93). Clare of Assisi and Isabelle of France sought to bind the friars close to their communities. The rules of Isabelle, who consulted Franciscan Masters of Theology, required visitation to be undertaken by fratres minores. Her revised, papally approved, second rule deepened the bond, naming Francis in the vow of profession and calling the women sorores minores to echo the status of the brothers (Field 2013). Isabelle, like Clare, considered her sorores Franciscan. Agnes of Bohemia not only sought male Franciscan support, but also built a friary next to her house to provide it. Early Dominican women, such as Diana d’Andolo, similarly developed close ties with male brethren, as evident in Jordan of Saxony’s letters to her and her sisters as he travelled across Europe in search of recruits (Vann 2006). Jordan’s enthusiasm was not shared by all his brothers, but other Dominican nunneries, including San Sisto in Rome, had dual communities of men and women (Barclay Lloyd 2003). The buildings for Mendicant women, like those for men, again indicate great variety. Carola Jäggi has outlined the diversity from Poland to Italy, including use of existing churches by Dominican and Franciscan nuns, and the importance and rich decoration of nuns’ choirs, a marker, as she observes, of the women’s autonomy (Jäggi 2006). Jäggi’s work also reminds us that by the fourteenth century many of these houses had become burial places for high status patrons, just as friars’ churches acquired ever more chapels to accommodate the altars and tombs of local elites (Bourdua  2004; Bourdua and Dunlop 2007). Diversity is also evident in comparative settlement patterns for women’s houses. In England, Dartford Priory, founded in the 1340s, was the only medieval Dominican convent for women (Lee  2000). By contrast, there were numerous female Dominican houses in Germany already in the 1200s. Some of these were later documented in the distinctive and sophisticated literary world of Sister-books, spiritual biographies of Dominican women produced in houses across modern Alsace, Switzerland, Swabia, and Bavaria (Lindgren 2009). Contingency, localism, and the extent of ecclesiastical and lay support come to the fore when tracing how the Mendicants, male and female, succeeded.

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The Early Mendicants   277 Evidence for diversity could also be enumerated in regard to male Mendicants, as could the contrasting careers of men attached to Mendicant houses. From penitents and tertiaries absorbed in local communities, to leading intellectuals engaged in the universities and royal courts, or contemplatives seeking withdrawal in continuation of earlier ideals, the variety was considerable.

Conclusions and New Questions Were it not for the label which emerged in the thirteenth century, there are many other features of early mendicancy which might be thought of as quintessential. For the men, itinerancy and preaching were central to what Thomas of Aquinas would seek to define as a ‘third order’; for the women, it would be enclosure and poverty; for both men and women, devotion to particular founding saints and their successors was an essential element, as it was in the construction of all monastic identities. If begging is no longer so central to definitions of early mendicancy, accepting the claims of women as belonging to the same movement as the friars is more straightforward. Humility was an ideal emphasized by all the religious mentioned here; poverty was an ambition which some women—starting with Clare, Agnes, and Isabelle—probably enacted more determinedly than some men. The variety of ways of being a Mendicant gradually acquired more distinct outlines from the mid-thirteenth century, as Burr (2001), Thompson (2011), and Şenocak (2012, 2013) have variously demonstrated. Just in that moment of becoming distinctively, newly Mendicant, other orders began to imitate the Franciscans and Dominicans. This did not mean that these orders all lived by the same rules, but that they might be understood as parts of a single trend, as is evident in the work of Humbert of Romans, Dominican Master General (d. 1277). In preparation for Lyons II, he wrote of the multiplication of poor religious as a scandal for the Church, in need of restriction to a level that ‘the world can comfortably support, and that protects the honour of religion’ (Gratius 1690, 2: 224). Humbert seems to have been worried by the common ground: the Franciscans and Dominicans were already flourishing, other orders ‘founded in poverty’ were not needed. Whereas some previous historians sought refuge in the clarity of rules, and others wrote of social disestablishment, more recent work has seen a social ‘re-establishment’ of the early Mendicants, identifying much greater diachronic and synchronic continuities and the reality of a multiple phenomenon. A single model based on later canon law definitions is no longer sufficient. Mendicant women adopted diverse ways of life. Multiplicity also defined what the male Mendicants wanted to be: as Cantimpré put it (having first differentiated secular clergy, canons, and monks), the Dominicans and Franciscans ‘seem to follow all three ways of life . . . they study with the clerics, they devote themselves to the Divine Office with the canons, and in common with the monks and other religious, they practise

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278   Frances Andrews c­ommunity life with its accusations and beatings and fasting . . . and apart from all that, they have chosen to live without owning any properties at all’ (Tugwell 1982: 133–134). To do justice to this complexity, many questions require fuller answers. Exactly what was the balance between these three elements in the lives of most Mendicants? How routine was pastoral care? When and how far did friars become regular beggars? Itinerancy was key to the early lives of Francis and Dominic. Was it less central to the later Mendicant image because of its associations with monastic wanderers, the gyrovagues criticized by Benedict for their restless lack of stability? How did all this change over the course of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries as Observant congregations took hold and the missions of the friars spread to the New World? The voices of early Mendicants were quickly drowned out by their later brethren, busy rewriting their past and their saints to fit new contingencies (Jotischky 2002; DubreilArcin 2011), selecting among early practices to construct a coherent model of evangelical perfection. It is up to modern historians to continue to listen hard to the diversity those brethren sought to overcome.

Suggested Reading The primary sources for the friars make rewarding reading, and many of those cited here are available in translation. Francis of Assisi (1999–2002) and Tugwell (1982) are good starting points. Broad perspectives on the orders are offered by Burr (2001), Andrews (2006), Ames (2009), Prudlo (2011). Research on the various Mendicants is energetically pursued in most European languages: in addition to the themes discussed in this chapter, scholars have addressed numerous issues which the friars made their own, such as their attitudes to wealth (e.g. Todeschini 2004/2009; Società internazionale di studi francescani 2004) and poverty (e.g. Heimann et al. 2012), or revised our understanding of ‘Mendicant’ settlement in particular regions (e.g. Specht and AndraschekHolzer  2008). Others have rethought Mendicant teaching and engagement in the universities (Mulchahey  1998; Roest  2000; Saak  2002: 345–466), preaching (Bériou 1998), liturgy (e.g. Sedda 2015), inquisition (e.g. Hoyer 2004; Ames 2009), the problems of obedience and anti-fraternalism (Geltner 2012; Röhrkasten 2014), and relations with non-Christians (e.g. Vose 2009; Schiel 2011). Women’s religious experience has been more adequately acknowledged, though without yet resolving long-standing debates about the attitude of friars to the cura monialium (Piatti  2007; Ríos de la Llave  2008; Hirbodian  2014). Explorations of the fringes of mendicancy, male and female, have combined in work exploring the affiliation of penitent ‘semi-religious’ as well as tertiaries and confraternities (Van Engen 2006; Simons 2009; Makowski 2012). On the other hand, some friars’ self-identification with Joachite ideas about change towards spiritual ends has drawn attention to their interests in apocalypticism and in history itself (de Fraja 1999; Burr 2001; Andrews forthcoming 2018).

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Bibliography Manuscript Florence, Archivio di Stato, Diplomatico, SS. Annunziata: 8 February 1277.

Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Angelo Clareno (2005). A Chronicle or History of the Seven Tribulations of the Order of Brothers Minor, translated by D.  Burr and E.  Randolph Daniel. St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications. Clare of Assisi (2006). Clare of Assisi. Early Documents, edited and translated by R. J. Armstrong, rev. edn. New York: New City Press. Dalarun, J. (2015). ‘Thome Celanensis Vita beati patris nostri Francisci (Vita brevior). Présentation et édition critique’. Analecta Bollandiana 133: 23–86. de Fraja, V. (1999). ‘Usi politici della profezia gioachimita’. Annali dell’Istituto storico italogermanico di Trento 25: 375–400. Field, S.  L. (2013). The Rules of Isabelle of France: An English Translation with Introductory Study. St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications. Flood, D. (trans.) (2014). Early Commentaries on the Rule of the Friars Minor, vol. 1: The 1242 Commentary, Hugh of Digne, David of Augsburg, John of Wales. St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications. Francis of Assisi (1999–2002). Francis of Assisi. Early Documents. 4 vols, edited and translated by R. J. Armstrong, J. W. Hellmann, and W. J. Short. New York: New City Press. Gratius, O. (ed.) (1690). Humbertis de Romanis Opus Tripartitum. In Fasciculus rerum expetendarum et fugiendarum. 2 vols, edited by E. Brown, 2: 185–229. London: Chiswell. Repr. Tucson, Arizona: Audax Press, 1967. Online at www.mgh-bibliothek.de (accessed 2 November 2015). Jacques de Vitry (2000). Lettres de Jacques de Vitry (1160/1170–1240), évêque de Saint-Jeand’Acre. Édition critique, edited by R.  B.  C.  Huygens. CCCM 171: 491–652. Turnhout: Brepols. Peter of Vaux–de–Cernay (1998). The History of the Albigensian Crusade: Peter of les Vaux–de– Cernay’s ‘Historia Albigensis’, edited and translated by W.  A.  Sibly and M.  D.  Sibly. Woodbridge: Boydell Press. Salimbene de Adam (1998–1999). Salimbene de Adam. Cronica. 2 vols, edited by G.  Scalia. CCCM 125–125A. Turnhout: Brepols. Sbaraglia, G. (ed.) (1759) Bullarium Franciscanum, vol 1. Rome: Typis Sacrae Congregationis De Propaganda Fide. Sedda, F. (ed.), with J. Dalarun (2015). Franciscus liturgicus. Editio fontium saeculi XIII. Padua: Editrici Francescane. Tanner, N. (1990). Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils, vol. 1. London: Sheed & Ward; Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Tugwell, S. (trans.) (1982). Early Dominicans: Selected Writings. New York: Paulist Press. Vann  G. (trans.) (2006). To Heaven with Diana! A Study of Jordan of Saxony and Diana d’Andalò with a Translation of the Letters of Jordan. 2nd edn. New York: IUniverse.

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280   Frances Andrews Secondary Sources Alberzoni, M.  P. (1995). ‘ “Nequaquam a Christi sequela in perpetuum absolvi desidero”. Chiara tra carisma e istituzione’. In Chiara d’Assisi e la memoria di Francesco, edited by A. Marini and M. B. Mistretta, 41–65. Rieti: Petruzzi. In English as ‘ “Nequaquam a Christi sequela in perpetuum absolvi desiderio”. Clare between Charism and Institution’, in Greyfriars Review 12 (1998): 81–122. Ames, C.  C. (2009). Righteous Persecution. Inquisition, Dominicans and Christianity in the Middle Ages. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Andrews, F. (2018). ‘The Influence of Joachim in the Thirteenth Century’. In The Brill Companion to Joachim of Fiore, edited by M. Riedl, 190–226. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Andrews, F. (2017). ‘The Sack Friars and the Problems of a Comparative History of the Mendicants’. In Gli studi francescani: prospettive di ricerca, 147–185. Spoleto: CISAM. Andrews, F. (2009). ‘Gli ordini mendicanti tra peste nera e osservanze’. Memorie Domenicane 40: 7–33. Andrews, F. (2007). ‘Il secondo concilio di Lione (1274), gli Agostiniani e gli ordini soppressi’. Analecta Augustiniana 70: 159–185. Andrews, F. (2006). The Other Friars. The Carmelite, Augustinian, Sack and Pied Friars in the Middle Ages. Woodbridge and Rochester, NY: Boydell Press. Andrews, F. (1999). The Early Humiliati. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Baldwin, J. W. (1970). Masters, Princes, and Merchants: the Social Views of Peter the Chanter and his Circle. 2 vols. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Barclay Lloyd, J.  E. (2003). ‘The architectural planning of Pope Innocent III’s nunnery of S. Sisto in Rome’. In Innocenzo III: Urbs et Orbis. 2 vols, edited by A. Sommerlechner, 2: 1292–1311. Rome: Società Romana di Storia Patria and Istituto Storico Italiano per il Medio Evo. Bériou, N. (1998). L’avènement des maîtres de la Parole. La prédication à Paris au XIIIe siècle. 2 vols. Paris: Institut d’études augustiniennes. Bianchi, C. and F. Ferrari (1970). L’Isola di San Francesco del Deserto. Ricerca storica e intervento di restauro. Padua: Istituto di Architettura dell’Università di Padova. Bourdua, L. (2004). The Franciscans and Art Patronage in Late Medieval Italy. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Bourdua, L. and A. Dunlop (eds) (2007). Art and the Augustinian Order in Early Renaissance Italy. Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Bruzelius, C. (2014). Preaching, Building and Burying. Friars and the Medieval City. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Burr, D. (2001). The Spiritual Franciscans. From Protest to Persecution in the Century after Saint Francis. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Cannon, J. (2013). Religious Poverty. Visual Riches. Art in the Dominican Churches of Central Italy in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Cannon, J. (2006). ‘Panem petant in signum paupertatis: The Image of the Quest for Alms Among the Friars of Central Italy’. In Armut und Armenfürsorge in der italienischen Stadtkultur zwischen 13. und 16. Jahrhundert. Bilder, Texte und soziale Praktiken, edited by P. Helas and G. Wolf, 29–53. Frankfurt am Main: P. Lang.

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The Early Mendicants   281 Chenu, M.–D. (1957). La théologie au douzième siècle. Paris: Vrin. In English as Chenu, M.–D. (1968). Nature, Man, and Society in the Twelfth Century: Essays on New Theological Perspectives in the Latin West, translated by J. Taylor and L. K. Little. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Citeroni, R. (2009). ‘Les comptes des couvents des Servites de Marie à Verone et à Florence (xiiie–xive siècle)’. In Économie et religion. L’Expérience des ordres mendiants (xiiie–xve siècle), edited by N. Bériou and J. Chiffoleau, 63–99. Collection d’Histoire et d’archéologie medievale 21. Lyon: Presses Universitaires de Lyon. Citeroni, R. (1998). L’ordine dei Servi di Santa Maria nel Veneto. Tre insediamenti trecenteschi: Venezia (1316), Verona (1324), Treviso (1346). Rome: Edizioni Marianum. Cooper, D. and J.  Robson (2013). The Making of Assisi. The Pope, the Franciscans, and the Painting of the Basilica. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Cusato, M. F. and G. Geltner (eds) (2009). Defenders and Critics of Franciscan Life. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Dal Pino, F. A. (1972). I frati Servi di S. Maria dalle origini all’approvazione (1233 ca.–1304). 2 vols in 3. Louvain: Bureau du Recueil, Bibliothèque de l’Université. Dannenberg, L.-A. (2008). Das Recht der Religiosen in der Kanonistik des 12. und 13. Jahrhunderts. Vita regularis. Abhandlungen 39. Münster: LIT. Draghi, A. (2006). Gli affreschi dell’aula gotica nel monastero dei Santi Quattro Coronati. Una storia ritrovata. Milan: Skira. Dubreil-Arcin, A. (2011). Vies de saints, légendes de soi: l’écriture hagiographique dominicaine jusqu’au ‘Speculum sanctorale’ de Bernard Gui (†1331). Turnhout: Brepols. Elm, K. (ed.) (1981). Stellung und Wirksamkeit der Bettelorden in der städtischen Gesellschaft. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot. Emery, R. W. (1962). The Friars in Medieval France: A Catalogue of French Mendicant Convents, 1200–1550. New York: Columbia University Press. Felskau, C.-F. (2008). Agnes von Böhmen und die Klosteranlage der Klarissen und Franziskaner in Prag: Leben und Institution, Legende und Verehrung. 2 vols. Nordhausen: Bautz. Fritsch, S. (2008). ‘Augustiner in der Stadt. Ansiedlung, Position und Aufgaben der Augustinerklöster in spätmittelalterlichen Städten’. In Bettelorden in Mitteleuropa, edited by H. Specht and R. Andraschek–Holzer, 98–210. St Pölten: Bischöfliches Ordinariat St Pölten. Frugoni, C. (2015). Quale Francesco? Il messaggio nascosto negli affreschi della Basilica superiore ad Assisi. Turin: Einaudi. Galbraith, G. R. (1925). The Constitution of the Dominican Order, 1216 to 1360. Manchester: Manchester University Press; London: Longmans. Geltner, G. (2012). The Making of Medieval Antifraternalism: polemic, violence, deviance, and remembrance. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Grundmann, H. (1935). Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter. Berlin: Matthiesen Verlag. In English as H. Grundmann (1995). Religious Movements in the Middle Ages, translated by S. Rowan. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Guida, M. (2010). Una leggenda in cerca d’autore. La Vita di santa Chiara d’Assisi. Subsidia Hagiographica 90. Brussels: Société des Bollandistes. Heimann, H.-D., A. Hilsebein, B. Schmies, and C. Stiegemann (eds) (2012). Gelobte Armut. Armutskonzepte der franziskanischen Ordensfamilie vom Mittelalter bis in die Gegenwart. Paderborn: Ferdinand Schöningh.

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282   Frances Andrews Henryot, F. (2012). ‘Les franciscains et la quête aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles: théories et pratiques d’une économie de l’Évangile’. In Religione e istituzioni religiose nell’economia europea, 1000–1800, edited by F. Ammannati, 293–305. Florence: Firenze University Press. Hirbodian, S. (2014). ‘Pastors and Seducers: The Practice of the Cura monialium in Mendicant Convents in Strasbourg’. In Partners in Spirit. Women, Men, and Religious Life in Germany, 1100–1500, edited by F. J. Griffiths and J. Hotchin, 303–337. Turnhout: Brepols. Hoven van Genderen, B. v. d. (2012). ‘Een gat in de markt? De komst van de karmelieten naar Utrecht en hun rekeningen (1468–1492)’. Jaarboek voor middeleeuwse geschiednis 15: 83–197. Hoyer, W. (ed.) (2004) Praedicatores, inquisitores, vol. 1: The Dominicans and the Medieval Inquisition. Rome: Isituto storico domenicano. Jäggi, C. (2006). Frauenklöster im Spätmittelalter. Die Kirchen der Klarissen und Dominikanerinnen im 13. und 14. Jahrhundert. Petersberg: Michael Imhof. Jotischky, A. (2002). The Carmelites and Antiquity. Mendicants and their Pasts in the Middle Ages. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Knox, L. S. (2008). Creating Clare of Assisi: Female Franciscan Identities in Later Medieval Italy. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Lawrence, C. H. (1994). The Friars. The Impact of the Early Mendicant Movement on Western Society. London and New York: Longman; (rev. edn 2013) I. B. Tauris. Lee, P. (2000). Nunneries, Learning and Spirituality in Late Medieval English Society. The Dominican Priory of Dartford. Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer. Le Goff, J. (1970). ‘Ordres mendiants et urbanisation dans la France médiévale’. Annales 25: 924–965. Lehmijoki–Gardner, M. (2004). ‘Writing Religious Rules as an Interactive Process: Dominican Penitent Women and the Making of Their “Regula” ’. Speculum 79: 660–687. Lindgren, E.  L. (2009). Sensual Encounters: Monastic Women and Spirituality in Medieval Germany. New York: Columbia University Press. Little, L. K. (1978). Religious Poverty and the Profit Economy in Medieval Europe. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Makowski, E. (2012). ‘A Pernicious Sort of Woman’: Quasi-Religious Women and Canon Lawyers in the later Middle Ages. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Maleczek, W. (2012). ‘ “Nackt dem nackten Christus folgen.” Die freiwillig Armen in der religiösen Bewegung der mittelalterlichen Gesellschaft’. In Heimann et al., Gelobte Armut, 17–34. Miccoli, G. (1974). ‘La storia religiosa’. In Storia d’Italia, vol. 2 (1): Dalla caduta dell’impero romano al secolo XVIII, edited by R. Romano and C. Vivanti, 431–1079. Turin: Einaudi. Mooney, C. (2016). Clare of Assisi and the thirteenth-century Church: Religious Women, Rules and Resistance. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Mooney, C. (2011). ‘The “Lesser Sisters” in Jacques de Vitry’s 1216 Letter’. Franciscan Studies 69: 1–29. Mulchahey, M.  M. (1998). ‘First the bow is bent in study’: Dominican education before 1350. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. Oberste, J. (1999). ‘Predigt und Gesellschaft um 1200. Praktische Moraltheologie und pastorale Neuorientierung im Umfeld der Pariser Universität am Vorabend der Mendikanten’. In Die Bettelorden im Aufbau. Beiträge zu Institutionalisierungsprozessen im mittelalterlichen Religiosentum, edited by G. Melville and J. Oberste, 245–294. Münster: LIT. Pellegrini, L. (1984). Insediamenti francescani nell’Italia del Duecento. Rome: Laurentianum.

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The Early Mendicants   283 Piatti, P. (2007). Il movimento femminile agostiniano nel Medioevo: momenti di storia dell’ordine Eremitano. Rome: Città Nuova. Prudlo, D.  S. (ed.) (2011). The Origin, Development, and Refinement of Medieval Religious Mendicancies. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Prudlo, D. S. (2010). ‘The Friars Preachers: The First Hundred Years of the Dominican Order’. History Compass 8/11: 1275–1290. Riedel, P. (2014). ‘Termineien im ‘Bettelordensland’ Brandenburg. Zugleich ein Beitrag über Nutzen und Grenzen von Klosterbüchern’. In Das Mittelalter endet gestern. Beiträge zur Landes-, Kultur- und Ordensgeschichte. Heinz-Dieter Heimann zum 65. Geburtstag, edited by S. Bütow, P. Riedel, and U. Tresp, 191–223. Berlin: Lukas Verlag. Rigon, A. (2011). ‘Mendicant Orders and the Reality of Economic Life in Italy in the Middle Ages’. In The Origin, Development, and Refinement of Medieval Religious Mendicancies, edited by D. S. Prudlo, 239–276. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Ríos de la Llave, R. (2008). ‘La Cura Monialium en los monasterios de monjas dominicas de la Castilla del siglo XIII: un análisis comparativo entre dos comunidades’. Hispania Sacra 60 (121): 47–65. Roest, B. (2013). Order and Disorder: The Poor Clares between Foundation and Reform. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Roest, B. (2000). A History of Franciscan Education (c.1210–1517). Leiden and Boston: Brill. Röhrkasten, J. (2014). ‘Franciscan Obedience and Disobedience in Practice’. In Rules and Observance. Devising forms of communal life, edited by M.  Breitenstein, J.  Burkhardt, S. Burkhardt, and J. Röhrkasten, 107–128. Berlin: LIT. Saak, E.  L. (2002). High Way to Heaven: the Augustinian Platform between Reform and Reformation, 1292–1524. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Schiel, J. (2011) Mongolensturm und Fall Konstantinopels. Dominikanische Erzählungen im diachronen Vergleich. Berlin: Akademie Verlag. Şenocak, N. (2013). ‘The Making of Franciscan Poverty’. Revue Mabillon 24: 5–26. Şenocak, N. (2012). The Poor and the Perfect: The Rise of Learning in the Franciscan Order, 1209–1310. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Simons, W. (2009). ‘On the Margins of Religious Life: Hermits and Recluses, Penitents and Tertiaries, Beguines and Beghards’. The Cambridge History of Christianity, vol. 4: Christianity in Western Europe c.1100–c.1500, edited by M. Rubin and W. Simons, 311–323. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Smith, J. A. (2009). ‘Prouille, Madrid, Rome: The Evolution of the Earliest Dominican Instituta for Nuns’. Journal of Medieval History 35: 340–352. Società internazionale di studi francescani (2004). L’economia dei conventi dei frati minori e predicatori fino alla metà del trecento. Spoleto: CISAM. Sorelli, F. (1988). ‘I nuovi religiosi. Note sull’insediamento degli ordini mendicanti’. In La Chiesa di Venezia nei secoli XI–XIII, edited by F. Tonon, 135–152. Venice: Edizioni Studium Cattolico Veneziano. Specht, H. and R. Andraschek–Holzer (eds) (2008). Bettelorden in Mitteleuropa: Geschichte, Kunst, Spiritualität. Referate der gleichnamigen Tagung vom 19. bis 22. März 2007 in St. Pölten. St Pölten: Bischöfliches Ordinariat St Pölten. Sundt, R. A. (1987) ‘Mediocres domos et humiles habeant fratres nostri: Dominican Legislation on Architecture and Architectural Decoration in the 13th Century’. Journal of the Society of Architectural Historians 46: 394–407.

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284   Frances Andrews Thompson, A. (2011). ‘The Origins of Religious Mendicancy in Medieval Europe’. In The Origin, Development, and Refinement of Medieval Religious Mendicancies, edited by D. S. Prudlo, 3–30. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Todeschini, G. (2004). Ricchezza francescana: dalla povertà volontaria alla società di mercato. Bologna: Il Mulino. In English as Todeschini, G. (2009). Franciscan Wealth: From Voluntary Poverty to Market Society, translated by D.  Melucci. St. Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications. Trio, P. (2010). ‘What Factors Contributed to the Establishment of the Mendicant Orders in Thirteenth–Century Ypres?’ In Franciscan Organisation in the Mendicant Context: Formal and Informal Structures of the Friars’ Lives and Ministry in the Middle Ages, edited by M. Robson and J. Röhrkasten, 97–111. Berlin: LIT. Tugwell, S. (2004). ‘For whom was Prouille founded?’ Archivum fratrum praedicatorum 74: 5–125. Tugwell, S. (2000). ‘The Evolution of Dominican Structures of Government, II: the First Dominican Provinces’. Archivum fratrum praedicatorum 70: 5–109. Van Engen, H. (2006). De derde orde van Sint-Franciscus in het middeleeuwse bisdom Utrecht: Een bijdrage tot de institutionele geschiedenis van de Moderne Devotie. Hilversum: Verloren. Vauchez, A. (ed.) (1977). Les ordres mendiants et la ville en Italie centrale v.1220–v.1350. Mélanges de l’École Française de Rome. Moyen Age–Temps Modernes 89: 577–773. Vauchez, A. (2001). ‘Gli ordini mendicanti e la città nell’Italia dei comuni (XIII–XV secolo). Alcune riflessioni vent’anni dopo’. In Ordini religiosi e società politica in Italia e Germania nei secoli XIV e XV, edited by G. Chittolini and K. Elm, 31–44. Bologna: Il Mulino. Vose, R.  J.  E. (2009). Dominicans, Muslims, and Jews in the Medieval Crown of Aragon. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wehrli-Johns, M. (2001). ‘L’osservanza dei Domenicani e il movimento penitenziale laico: studi sulla “regola di Munio” e sul terz’ordine domenicano in Italia e Germania’. In Ordini religiosi e società politica in Italia e Germania nei secoli XIV e XV, edited by G. Chittolini and K. Elm, 287–329. Bologna: Il Mulino.

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chapter 18

R eligious Wom en Secular Canonesses and Beguines Sigrid Hirbodian

It is as difficult to fit the identity of medieval religious women into a simple scheme— whether of an order, as orthodox or heretical, or in some regional configuration—as it is for religious men. Indeed, correlating the formal elements of women’s religiosity (membership of an order, type of institution, e.g. monastery, convent, beguinage, or hermitage) with the women’s conception of themselves may be even more problematic. Such elements were often predetermined by a male-dominated environment, and only a minority of women’s communities were able to exercise free choice in their institutional particularities. Hence it is essential to examine specific ways of life very closely, and to consider their regional as well as their chronological contexts, if we are to understand the diversity and the self-image of women’s religious communities in the Middle Ages. This chapter explores how the identities of religious women in the late Middle Ages were projected and perceived. It does not follow a particular theological or spiritual approach, but casts a gaze that is strongly shaped by social history. It draws upon evidence from German-speaking regions. Examples from Alsace (mainly the town of Strasbourg) and south-western Germany serve to present mostly women who were not institutionalized in orders, and who therefore were not routinely labelled ‘nuns’, or ‘Cistercian’ or ‘Dominican’ or ‘Benedictine’ sisters. The focus is much more on women who, in terms of Church law, belonged somewhere between the secular and the religious, but who thought of themselves as leading religious lives; Kaspar Elm (1998) coined the somewhat misleading term ‘semi-religious’ to describe them. Many regional sources commonly described these women as ‘beguines’ (on this concept, see most recently Böhringer et al. 2014). Another way of life open to women, to be discussed here, consisted of being ‘secular canonesses’ or Stiftsfrauen. Such women participated in a very old form of religious life—the majority of the communities of canonesses still in existence in the late Middle Ages had been established in the early Middle Ages. But they had to fight constantly for the right of their communities to exist, as canonesses led neither an enclosed life, nor made permanent vows, that is, under certain circumstances

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286   Sigrid Hirbodian they could return to secular life. Yet they considered themselves religious women, sanc­ timoniales, whose most important duties were to serve in the choral Divine Office and in the commemoration of the dead. The chapter is organized in three parts. The first attempts to find a better way to define the forms of life led by canonesses and beguines, setting them more precisely within their spiritual and secular environment and establishing their position within the spectrum of forms of religious life open to women. The example of Strasbourg will be used to demonstrate the varieties of women’s religious communities existing at a given time (here the second half of the fifteenth century) inside a single city. The second part ­considers the secular canonesses, focusing on the question of their religious self-image. The third part turns to the beguines, and here again the discussion centres on their ­religious identity.

Religious Women’s Communities in Fifteenth-Century Strasbourg The city of Strasbourg provides a good illustration of the various institutions open to religious women in the second half of the fifteenth century. Strasbourg will continue to feature in the discussion, for two reasons. First, the religious scene in late medieval Strasbourg was especially lively and diverse for both men and women (Rapp 1974). This it owed to the history and importance of the city, which was located on the Upper Rhine on the frontier between the Roman and Germanic worlds, to its tradition as a Roman foundation and early bishop’s seat, and to its favourable location on major communication routes. The episcopal town developed into a ‘free city’ in the thirteenth century; it was ruled by a council, which was at first composed entirely of members of the patrician class and later of patricians and members of guilds. To this day, the cathedral of Strasbourg remains the most impressive testimony of the religious, economic, and political importance of the Alsatian metropolis, a symbol of both its religious self-image and an awareness of the power of its late medieval urban ruling class. Second, a focus on the religious life of a city and its surroundings illustrates the ­methods of Landesgeschichte, or regional history, an approach that is quite prevalent in German-language scholarship. It examines historical phenomena by scrutinizing the sources intensively and closely, initially in a narrowly defined, regionally limited setting, in order to understand and situate them in their historic context. Only when this first stage has been completed can an interregional comparative study be attempted (Hirbodian 2013). This way of proceeding seems particularly appropriate here, because the diversity of religious life can only be understood against the background of a tightly defined social and ecclesiastical disposition. I refer especially to my own regional studies on religious women in Strasbourg (Schmitt 2008a, 2008b; Hirbodian 2012, 2013, 2014).

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Religious Women: Secular Canonesses and Beguines   287 Strasbourg is striking for having an exceptionally high number of women’s convents belonging to the mendicant orders: besides a very ancient convent of canonesses, there were seven Dominican convents, two communities of Poor Clares, and a convent of the penitent order of St Mary Magdalene, founded in the thirteenth century. The various women’s communities will be grouped here according to the degree of integration into, or withdrawal from, the world that they practised, using the type and severity of en­clos­ ure as a guide. This overview of religious women in Strasbourg therefore begins with St Stephan’s, a convent of canonesses founded in the seventh century (Klapp  2012b: 400–431). Apart from the thirty—and later fewer than sixteen—canonesses, four canons responsible for the Divine Office and for handling the sacraments also held benefices there. They, like the canonesses, were under the authority of an abbess chosen by the chapter. The women of this congregation developed a way of life that they had to defend against persistent external interference. It was characterized by a relatively open kind of enclosure: they were allowed to leave the convent and receive visitors in the convent under certain circumstances and for specified periods of time. They led a life that was only lightly shaped by the vita communis: in particular they could keep their own possessions, they could dispose of the proceeds of their benefices, and at times they could live in their own curia. Further, they were free to leave the convent, especially for the purpose of marriage (Märtl 1995: 365–405). In St Stephan’s in the fifteenth century, it was exclusively women of the lower nobility from the surroundings of Strasbourg who led this way of life—religious, but open to the world. Despite derogatory comments, which mainly came from the urban clergy’s reforming circles (Gailer von Kaisersberg spoke of them as whores who squandered the Lord’s income1), the ladies of St Stephan’s were well regarded in the city. This was due to the antiquity and dignity of their church and to the high social prestige of the canonesses and their families. In fifteenth-century Strasbourg, a convent-like life was open not only to ladies of the lower nobility but also to patrician ladies and to women from the ranks of the guilds: they could enter one of the roughly seventy beguinage houses of the city (Phillips 1941). Unlike in the Low Countries and Belgium, no large beguine estates (Simons 2001) developed in the Empire; instead there were small convents of three to (exceptionally) twenty women. There were also some beguines who lived by themselves, leading pious lives in their parents’ or relatives’ houses in self-imposed chastity. The beguines were not regarded as sanctimoniales, but rather as ‘semi-religious’ and even in Church law, as laypeople. Yet in terms of lifestyle, the beguines of the fifteenth century offered patrician women and daughters of craftsmen opportunities similar to those enjoyed for centuries by the noble ladies of the canonesses convents: a religious life closely connected to the secular world, led in varying degrees of austerity depending on the statutes of the congregation, supported by benefices and private property, and retaining the possibility under certain circumstances to return to full secular life. Besides religious houses which ensured that the daughters of the richest families remained among each other, in 1  Rapp (1974: 361). The older literature follows this line of argument entirely uncritically: see for ex­ample Kothe (1903: 46–48) and Pfleger (1937).

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288   Sigrid Hirbodian exchange for a very high entry fee and the right to co-opt those in receipt of a benefice, there were also congregations open to women from less wealthy families. The wellordered beguine organization of fifteenth-century Strasbourg was under the authority of the town council and had little in common with the diversely configured original religious movements of the late twelfth century. In Strasbourg this state of affairs was largely the result of the persecutions of beguines that took place at the beginning of the fourteenth century. In this phase, the urban patrician families had given protection to some of the beguines and turned them into important custodians of the families’ memoria (Schmitt 2008b). The houses of the beguines allowed women of all social classes in the city to lead a religious life within a secular world. For daughters of the city’s wealthiest and noblest fam­ ilies who wished to (or had to) become sanctimoniales, a further facility was available, one that did not demand a strict separation from urban life. The Dominican convent of St Marx, together with the former Dominican convent of St Johannes, had been transferred in 1475 by the city council to the inner city to protect it from the advancing army of Charles the Bold. The nuns had been coerced into giving their consent to this merger, with the explicit promise that their convent would never be forced to follow the Dominican Observance. In 1518 they obtained a further concession, which freed them from the Dominican order and placed them directly under the authority of the bishop of Strasbourg.2 This suggests that the women of St Marx modelled their life very much on that of the secular canonesses, including a lenient approach to enclosure and the ability to keep private possessions. The two convents of the Poor Clares, St Klara am Roßmarkt and St Klara auf dem Werth, also belonged, like the Franciscan monastery in the city, not to the Observant but to the Conventual branch of the order (Rapp 1962). Life in these convents in the late fifteenth century, however, did not in any way show signs of the immorality that had been alleged by the Observants. On the contrary, it looks as though reforming measures had been put in place during the course of the fifteenth century, and that these brought about a stricter regulation. This applied especially to the maintenance of enclosure and the prohibition of private property, both issues that had led to complaints and scandals at the beginning of the century (Hirbodian 2014). In the late fifteenth century, the Poor Clares of Strasbourg led a well-ordered life true to their Rule, in the spirit of the Conventual branch of their order. They had both active and passive enclosure, without being forced into strict isolation from their environment—for example, visits from relatives at the parlour’s grille were permitted under the supervision of other sisters. While the convent of St Klara am Roßmarkt offered a conventual life in the traditional mould mainly to the patrician women of the city, the convent of St Klara auf dem Werth was also open to the women of guild families (Klapp 2012a: 225–231). 2  Archives Municipales de Strasbourg, Archives Hospitalièrs: no. 1340 (10 November 1517); no. 1339 (17 November 1517); no. 1341 (12 April 1518); no. 1342 (12 April 1518); see also the parallel process in the former monastery of Dominican nuns at Klingental in Basel some one hundred years earlier (Weis-Müller 1956).

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Religious Women: Secular Canonesses and Beguines   289 At the end of the fifteenth century, St Katherina’s occupied a special position among the original seven Dominican monasteries of Strasbourg. While St Marx, which had been amalgamated with St Johannes, was on the way to becoming a convent of canonesses, St Katherina’s appears to have adopted a way of life much closer to that of the city’s Poor Clares. Though their convent was subjected to a major reform in the 1470s, it seems that it was not the Observant but the Conventual Dominicans who were in charge (Wittmer 1943). Accordingly, enclosure at St Katherina’s must have resembled that of the Conventual Poor Clares rather more than that of the Observant Dominican nuns. The social profile of the convent was somewhat above average, i.e. its members were mainly the daughters of wealthier craftsmen and only a few daughters of patricians. The sisters of the convent of the penitent order of St Mary Magdalene were quite distinct from the Dominican sisters of the city (Pfleger 1937). Although their history gives evidence of two attempts to incorporate them into the Dominican order, they remained faithful to their original order up to the dissolution of the monasteries in the wake of the French Revolution. The second of these attempts to place the Sisters of St Mary Magdalene under the authority of the Dominicans was linked to an Observant reform effort. The intention of the Observant Dominicans to use the reform to gain possession of the convent failed because the families of the nuns intervened, but the reform itself succeeded. St Mary Magdalene’s developed a way of life that was close but in no way identical to the Dominican Observance, which was characterized by strict rules of enclosure—a regular manifestation of the vita communis—as well as a flourishing spiritual life. The nuns of this convent were traditionally recruited from the circles of craftsmen’s families rather than from the leading families of the city (Schmitt 2008a: 167–168). The city’s two Observant Dominican convents were undoubtedly the most cut off from the outside world: St Nikolaus in Undis and St Agnes, the latter forcibly amal­gam­ ated with St Margareta’s by the city council after the relocation of the monasteries in the Burgundian Wars of 1475 (Barthelmé 1931). Observance in these convents consisted primarily in the introduction of an extreme form of enclosure: not only were the nuns expected to be completely cut off and enclosed in a space that was inaccessible to out­ siders, they were also not allowed to be seen or to see their relatives or other outsiders on the rarely permitted occasions of visits. The parlour’s grille was therefore not merely a lattice; in addition cloths were hung on it to prevent any eye contact between the persons sitting opposite each other. This extreme form of enclosure was intended to prevent the souls of the nuns from encountering anything but spiritual images; they should be entirely shielded from worldly impressions—in the literal sense of ‘impression’, in other words preventing the impressing of secular images on the clean surface of the nuns’ souls—as Lentes (1996) has shown. Even the membership of the convents changed after the introduction of Observance: whereas the patrician families had previously dom­in­ ated the convents, now it was the guild families and their daughters who made up the convent’s membership (Hirbodian 2012). This overview of the sacred topography of Strasbourg shows how extensive and how various women’s choices for leading a spiritual life in a fifteenth-century city might be. Each of these convents had its own ‘social profile’, offering to women of all social classes

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290   Sigrid Hirbodian in the city and its surroundings every manner of religious life: a life without strict en­clos­ ure in the canonesses’ convent of St Stephan’s for the noble women; for the urban upper classes there was St Marx; for all social groups, the various beguinages; a traditional conventual life with active and passive enclosure at St Klara am Roßmarkt for women from leading families; a second Poor Clares’ convent, as well as St Katherina’s, for the members of other urban families; and a life of strict Observance in the two Observant Dominican convents and in the convent of St Mary Magdalene. For women from the poor and poorest families, life as a choir sister was out of the question, as they were not in a position to pay the entrance fees, which varied but were high. If these women wanted to lead a religious life, then the only possibilities were to enter a convent as a lay sister or to find a place in a house for poor beguines. Other towns of the late medieval Regnum Teutonicum also offered a variety of opportunities for women to lead a religious life. Cologne, the largest city in the Empire north of the Alps, had around 150 beguinages; three convents of canonesses; one convent each of Penitents, Dominicans, Poor Clares, and Augustinians; two regular Augustinian choir convents; two Benedictine monasteries; and three Cistercian monasteries (Böhringer 2009). As for the religious identity of the female communities mentioned here, it would be interesting to establish how membership in the different orders, or a lack thereof, came into being. Were such choices the result of intentional actions by the founders of the convents, or by the religious women themselves? Or were they influenced by regional trends and traditions, or by decisions internal to the politics of the orders? How did certain orders come to dominate a landscape, and what were the actual conditions that governed the distribution of convents in a town or a region? In recent years German scholarship has concerned itself intensively with these questions, under the rubric of (women’s) monastic landscapes (Felten, Müller, and Ochs 2012: 157–405, especially 157–191). For example, the remarkable density of convents of Cistercian nuns in Württenbergian Franconia (between Mergentheim, Heilbronn, and Schwäbisch Hall) was only able to emerge because the noble founders and their daughters, who took on the running of the convents, worked in tandem with the bishop of Würzburg, Herrmann von Lobdeburg. During his tenure (1225–1254), ten convents of Cistercian nuns were established in the diocese as daughter houses or granddaughter houses of Maulbronn (Rückert 2012: 232). In Upper Swabia (between Lake Constance and the Upper Neckar), on the other hand, six convents of Cistercian nuns came into being between 1212 and 1240, because older double monasteries were dissolved and the already existing communities of beguines assumed a regulated convent life. In this case it was not the relevant bishop, but the abbot of Salem, Eberhard von Rohrdorf (1191–1240), who made it pos­sible to absorb a great many of the women’s communities into the Cistercian order (Rückert 2012: 238–240). In Strasbourg, too, the remarkable number of seven convents of Dominican nuns, founded very rapidly between 1225 and 1240, was due at least in part to the incorporation and regularization of previously existing communities of beguines. Here it was the patrician families and the ministeriales of the Strasbourg environs who, together with some influential members of the high nobility and with the help of Pope Innocent III, acted to overcome the initial refusal of the Dominicans to receive women’s convents into their order

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Religious Women: Secular Canonesses and Beguines   291 (Grundmann 1935: 274–279). In sum, we must realize that regional circumstances, along with the support of influential religious and secular personalities, shaped the various monastic landscapes and largely defined the religious identity of the women’s communities. In general, it is very difficult to determine the extent to which these communities were able to choose their own institutional affiliations.

The Secular Canonesses Let us now turn to the canonesses’ convents and consider their way of life and their religious self-image. Their communities differed from the women’s convents of the mendicant orders that had arisen since the thirteenth century, for they were not always—indeed they were rarely—established in towns. To be sure, there were such female congregations in a few episcopal towns—besides Strasbourg they were present in Cologne, as well as in Metz, Regensburg, and Augsburg. Mainz and Trier had women’s convents which must be interpreted as having, at least gradually, become canonesses’ convents. Most women’s convents, however, emerged in rural areas, and settlements in nearby towns then followed (for example in Essen, Quedlinburg, and Buchau). The most famous female monastic landscape in the Regnum Teutonicum is located in Saxony, where a great many such congregations were founded in the Ottonian period. These convents are particularly well studied, not least because the Ottonian dynasty placed their own closest relatives there and sometimes arranged for them to undertake im­port­ ant political duties (Parisse 2011; Hoernes and Röckelein 2006). Until recently, the women’s convents of Alsace stood in the shadow of these famous churches and their royal abbesses, although they were hardly less important. The Alsatian foundations can be traced back to as early as the seventh to ninth centuries. Only the abbey of Hohenburg on the Odilienberg (Mont Sainte-Odile) has generated much interest—especially among English-speaking scholars. In the twelfth century, after a transitional period when it was a convent of Augustinian female canons regular, it became a centre of education and piety for women under the abbesses Relindis and Herrad. The Hortus deliciarum compiled at Hohenburg is rightly regarded as one of the most significant scholarly works to come out of a religious women’s community in the high Middle Ages (Griffiths 2007). The late medieval Alsatian convents, on the other hand, have been almost completely neglected by researchers. Sabine Klapp has recently brought this aspect of monasticism to the attention of scholars with her examination of the abbesses who ruled these convents (Klapp 2012b). In the late Middle Ages, such communities were exclusively the sphere of the nobility. The canonesses of St Stephan’s swore never to admit any woman from the city’s urban population to their ranks, presumably in response to attempts by urban patrician families to gain benefices for their daughters via costly papal provisions.3 3  22 February 1363: Straßburger Urkundenbuch, vol. 5.1, no. 566.

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292   Sigrid Hirbodian The canonesses’ way of life had been a source of contention in Church law ever since the reforming councils of the eleventh century: as early as 1059 a Lateran synod proscribed secular canonesses, who allegedly existed in only a small part of Germany (Klapp 2012b: 64). The synods of 1139 (Second Lateran) and 1148 (Reims) also tried to eliminate the status of canonesses (Makowski 2012). On the other hand, as late as the fifteenth century there were papal bulls in which, for example, Andlau Abbey was expressly described as an ecclesia secularis canonicarum with a privileged way of life (Klapp 2012b: 460). In light of the new ideals of enclosure and piety espoused by the Cistercian, Dominican, and Poor Clares’ foundations of the thirteenth century, the secu­lar ladies’ convents felt considerable pressure to account for themselves. How did they justify their way of life? An important source for understanding the self-image of the canonesses can be found in the Strasbourg convent of St Stephan’s. It dates to 1359: that year Junta von Landsberg, a noble girl, was to enter the convent of the canonesses, as a benefice was soon to become available through the marriage of another canoness, Katharina von Lützelstein.4 In this instance hostilities must have broken out, either because she was forbidden to marry or because she was denied the right to dispose of her property. The most important argument on the prosecuting side was that the women were Augustinian nuns who took permanent vows and gave up their private property. The canonesses countered that their status was accepted by custom, and that they had lived as secular women (mulieres secu­ lares) for centuries. To investigate the case a very long protocol of the court hearing was produced: the roll (rotulus) of the records kept in the Archives Départementales du ­Bas-Rhin in Strasbourg is fourteen metres long!5 Both the clerics in the convent’s milieu and the canonesses themselves were interrogated. First the canoness Katharina von Lützelstein stated that she was about to marry the knight Ludwig von Kirkel. She explained that the community of St Stephan’s was led by an abbess, that the women served in the choir together with the canons, and that they wore a black pallium with a rod sown into the nape of the neck (another witness adds: like the Jews in their synagogue) only during the choral Divine Office, and not outside it. Outside the choir they wore worldly clothes. Although the convent had a dormitory and a refectory, they did not sleep or eat there, but in their own houses on the convent’s estate, while the canons lived in curiae beyond the convent’s grounds. They were free to dispose of their own possessions: they could bequeath their property at will at their death, as Katharina demonstrated by examples, and while they were living in the convent they could count on their own property, as well as on a prebend which was managed by the servants of the abbess, and on the attendance fee that they received for serving in the choir. They were free to leave the convent; only when they wanted to leave the city did they have to ask the abbess for permission. If the latter refused to grant it, they asked the dean of Strasbourg Cathedral, and only if he too withheld his permission were they prevented from travelling. Their lives were not governed by the rule of any order, but by the statutes of the convent to which they belonged. They took part in processions in the city, unlike the 4  29 November 1359: Straßburger Urkundenbuch, vol. 7, no. 944. 5  Archives Départementales du Bas Rhin H 2628, copy certified by a notary in 1368.

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Religious Women: Secular Canonesses and Beguines   293 nuns and Augustinian female canons. According to another witness, these processions took place jointly with the canons of the secular convents of Jung St Peter (Saint-Pierrele-Jeune) and St Thomas in Strasbourg on high feast days and during the Dies rogationes, the three days before Ascension Day. The canonesses could leave the convent even if they had served God there for years, and they could be legally married. Several witnesses produced examples that demonstrate that there was no need to obtain a papal dispensation for such marriages, and that no one doubted their legal status. These statements were confirmed by the abbess and several other canonesses, as well as by some canons and secular priests in the convent’s milieu (see also Klapp 2014). This document makes it clear that the canonesses and those in their sphere argued against the attempt to consider them Augustinian canons regular. Therefore a greater emphasis might have been placed on the secular aspects of their lives than would normally have been the case. For example, the protocol does not give us any particulars about the core of the canonesses’ religious life, namely their choral duties in the Divine Office. The convent’s statutes, which were renegotiated several times in the course of the fifteenth century, are more informative on this matter. These statutes must not be seen as a longterm, binding, and permanently valid constitution for the convent, as has often been assumed in older studies. Rather, as Sabine Klapp has shown, they represent rules that were constantly being revised as and when conflicts arose, regulating the conduct of the convent’s members with one another and as a community. The women and those in their milieu were bound by them, but the statutes could be renegotiated and modified as necessary (Klapp 2012b: 110–116). In 1436, following an internal dispute, reformed statutes were worked out for St Stephan’s by the Council of Basel, which reinforced the authority of the abbess over her canonesses and, among other measures, was also intended to improve the conduct of the choral Divine Office. As we know from other sources, the women of St Stephan’s prayed the canonical hours according to the Augustinian Rule; now they were compelled to turn up on time at choral prayers, to recite the Psalms slowly and carefully, to rise and bow at every Gloria Dei, and to bow their head each time the Trinity or the name of Christ was mentioned.6 A fifteenth-century liber ordinarius of the sexton of St Stephan’s provides a further illustration of the exercise of piety performed by the women of St Stephan’s; it shows the close connection between male and female participants (see also Klapp 2014). For the night before Easter, for example, the sexton noted the following sequence (where he naturally emphasized the tasks he had to prepare or perform himself, such as arranging the incense, cloths, and caps, as well as ringing the bells). During the night, the canons and canonesses are awakened at one a.m. Then the abbess, the canonesses, and the canons, together with the priest of St Stephan’s, recite prayers and psalms standing in front of the High Altar before the procession sets off, first to the shrine of the holy sepulchre in the choir: then the women [the canonesses] and the men [the canons] process with two lit candles through the cloister and through a side-entrance into the church and around the church up to the ossuary; there they read and they must have incense and holy water 6  Archives Départementales du Bas Rhin G 1601, 4.

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294   Sigrid Hirbodian with them, nothing else, and when that is over, the bells for Matins are rung together, and after that [the bells are rung] in the choir once again together, and when the last [bell] falls silent two men go down and put on two caps and sit in front of the tomb; then the Marys [i.e. the women who represent the Marys at the tomb of the Lord] arrive with two lit candles, and the two [men] sing ‘quem queritur’ at the tomb and the Marys sing ‘Jhesum Nazarem’, then both say ‘non est hic’ and sing ‘venite et videte locum’ and pull the cloth [from the tomb, which should have been covered beforehand], then one of them looks into the tomb with a censer and sings ‘surrexit’. After that we go up to the choir and the “laus’ has to be rung for Lauds, and the priest, who should be wearing the green cap, passes the censer and after that the relics are taken out. And no early Mass is sung, and Prime is being rung, when it is time.7

Such reports were compiled for each of the many feast days (Beuckers 2012). They gave details of processions (which often took place outside the convent), rituals, and public presentations of relics, in which canonesses and canons together played a central and active role. The secular canonesses undoubtedly saw themselves as religious women. Still, they felt closer to the secular canons than to enclosed nuns. The Divine Office in the choir and the schooling it required constituted the religious elements of their lives; but living in their own curiae with a relaxed interpretation of active and passive enclosure and, especially, the absence of permanent vows, clearly distinguished them from nuns and female canons regular. Their dual status as religious and secular women is clear not only from their self-definition as dominae and canonicae, it is also reflected in their clothing. As the protocol of 1359 repeatedly stresses, in the choir the canonesses wore pallia nigra a tergo baculo insuto (a black pallium with a rod sown into the back) but outside the choir they wore vestes seculares, i.e. worldly clothes. The canonesses themselves defended this way of life. But it was above all their families, manifestly interested in keeping these institutions as they were, who defied the opposition of the reformers and the papal Curia.

The Beguines The emergence of the beguines in the early thirteenth century was a completely different religious phenomenon, but by the end of the Middle Ages at least some beguinages had features that very much resembled those of the canonesses. This was the case of the houses of the so-called ‘cloaked damsels’ (Mantelfräulein) in Strasbourg. These were wealthy communities of beguines, whose members—like the secular canonesses of St Stephan’s—were committed to the religious life, but who lived in close association with the secular world. They were able to dispose of their own property and leave their house as required, especially if they wished to marry. But unlike the canonesses, who, as we 7  Archives Départementales du Bas Rhin H 2624.

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Religious Women: Secular Canonesses and Beguines   295 have seen, did not permit any Strasbourg townswomen to join them, these wealthy beguinages were mainly occupied by the city’s patrician women. However, the basic difference between the beguines and the canonesses and, of course, also the nuns, was the absence of choral prayers. Instead, the women in beguinages were repeatedly instructed to say fixed sets of the Ave Maria and Pater noster. In this respect the beguines resembled the lay sisters in monasteries, who also met their religious obligations by reciting the Ave Maria and Pater noster. Herein lies the fundamental difference between the canonesses, who, despite all the emphasis on the secular dimension of their existence, were nonetheless considered sanctimoniales, and the Beguines, who were considered laypeople, even in Church law. Alongside the grand houses of the ‘cloaked damsels’, which visibly assumed the prestigious lifestyle of the canonesses and which, because they owned considerable property, are well documented in the records, there were other women’s communities whose members were described as beguines. These were the so-called ‘poor beguines’. (In Cologne, beguines of this type became known as sisters or swestriones; see Böhringer 2014: 151–186). In the early days of the movement, the term was applied not only to the genuinely poor, but also to those who were ‘voluntarily poor’ and who, following the model of the mendicants, freely gave up their possessions, trying to subsist on begging. Some of these women seem to have been close to the ‘Bread through God movement’, which was considered heretical; this is why beguines were persecuted in Strasbourg at the beginning of the fourteenth century in the wake of the Council of Vienne (Schmitt 2008b: 113–115). The persecutions brought an end to the begging and wandering beguines in the city. From then on the term ‘poor beguines’ was understood to refer only to those who lived in the beguinages that had been established specifically for honourable poor women. Such foundations were often endowed with a small but regular income to provide for the maintenance of the buildings and for firewood. The beguines of these houses were required by their founders—members of the Strasbourg patrician class—to recite the Pater noster and Ave Maria at regular intervals in order to ensure the salvation of their (the founders’) souls. The foundations of beguinages by Strasbourg’s patrician class grew to an unprecedented level in the first decades of the fourteenth century. Generally these establishments had several purposes: they were often founded for the patricians’ own unmarried daughters or other close relatives, so that they could lead pious, chaste, and honourable lives in the world. A foundation also guaranteed that the founders would be com­mem­ or­ated, since the beguines were required to pray for them after death and look after their graves. Finally, the beguinages themselves, which bore the names of their founders, ensured their honourable remembrance in perpetuity; in fact the foundation of a beguinage became a matter of prestige for Strasbourg’s patrician class, just as the foundation of a monastery was prestigious for the nobility. Only the wealthy houses of the ‘cloaked damsels’, with their large property holdings, could provide beguines with benefices which, along with their own assets, enabled them to live without having to work. All other beguines had to support themselves through

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296   Sigrid Hirbodian employment; some foundation deeds stipulated that this work had to be honourable and quiet, so that the women would not disturb one another at prayer. Many beguines specialized in tending graves. Necrologies have survived for two Strasbourg beguinages, and they set out the women’s obligations. The register of Gürtelers Gotteshaus was compiled in 1456. The most important and most extensive duties were those owed to their founder Elsa Gürteler and her family, in exchange for which they had the use of the house and a modest income. But they received a salary for praying at the graves of other benefactors, for example when they prayed in the Franciscan church on St Bartholomew’s day: Also, they should go to the barefoot congregation [i.e. the Franciscan church] on the day of the holy Apostle Bartholomew at the time [i.e. the day of commemoration of the death] to commemorate Master Burkhard Korbecker of Offenburg and Katharina, his beloved wife, and all their children. And six sisters must be at the grave in the evening and in the morning for the Mass for the repose of their souls. And the Franciscans must give us fifteen pennies for the above commemoration and [provide] three candles at the gate, which will be set on the grave. These three candles and three pennies (which will be stuck in the candles) [we shall] offer from the fifteen pennies named above (Guth 1985: 103).

The six Beguines thus earned fifteen pennies, of which they gave up three but could keep the rest. Their duties consisted in nearly every case to go ‘over the grave’ on commemoration days, to light candles, and to offer money. The graves were located in various Strasbourg churches, not just in the nearby Franciscan church. Sometimes the necrologies give the precise location of the graves, or the coats of arms on the graves, so that the women could find the right ones. While nuns were entrusted with praying for the deceased, holding vigils, and saying masses for the repose of their souls, the beguines—who moved freely about the town—were expected to provide graveside services. Other beguines specialized in attending the dying and the dead, washing their corpses, and sewing them into shrouds. The cities in the Empire that probably had the greatest number of beguines were Cologne and Strasbourg. Yet in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, at least along the Rhine, there was probably no town, large or small, that did not have some beguines. In other regions their concentrations varied: in the area around Lake Constance, there were beguinages in both towns and rural areas (Wilts 1994).

Conclusion Beyond the life led by regular nuns, the Middle Ages saw the emergence of many different opportunities for women who wished to lead religious or ‘pious’ lives. Secular ca­non­ esses drawn mostly from the ranks of the nobility had a prestigious form of life, in old and often very wealthy churches. The late medieval beguines, on the other hand, scattered

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Religious Women: Secular Canonesses and Beguines   297 throughout cities, small towns, and even the tiniest rural settlements, represented a mass phenomenon. Throughout the Late Middle Ages, the canonesses and the beguines were subject to attack from the world around them; their chastity was suspect, as was their religious commitment. Female religious communities that were not enclosed no longer corresponded to the norm in terms of Church law, at least since the papal decretal Periculoso (1298). Attempts at ‘reform’ were therefore aimed at eradicating the canonesses’ longestablished way of life, and to bring them into conformity with the Rules followed by nuns and female canons regular. The beguines faced curial, episcopal, and authoritarian civic attempts to regulate and control their lives. Yet the way of life for both the canonesses and the beguines was ultimately protected; the former by the power and influence of their families, and the latter by the needs of urban society and by their integration into the local religious culture. During the Reformation and long thereafter, ‘secular women’s convents’, where unmarried noble damsels could lead comfortable lives, persisted in Catholic regions, and ‘evangelical women’s congregations’ emerged even in Protestant areas, where to some extent they fulfil a similar purpose until today. And in many places even the institution of the beguines survived the Reformation—though there has been hardly any research at all on this topic. Any attempt to deny all of these women their own religious identities would be to misunderstand the diversity of religious life in the late Middle Ages—and very likely in later centuries as well.

Suggested Reading The way of life of the secular canonesses, especially during the Late Middle Ages, is little known beyond specialist academic circles. Märtl (1995) and Klapp (2012b) have made important contributions to our understanding of the subject. Research on the history of women’s communities from the perspective of cultural studies and art history can be found in the series ‘Essener Forschungen zum Frauenstift’ (12 volumes to date); Schilp (2004) serves as an excellent introduction to the theme. As for the beguines, scholars have tended to concentrate on particular towns or regions, because their forms of life varied considerably from place to place. A first, though not entirely convincing, comparative regional overview is offered by Reichstein (2001). On the question of ter­min­ology and the diverse manifestations of religious life, see Böhringer, Deane, and van Engen (2014).

Bibliography Barthelmé, Annette (1931). La réforme dominicaine au XVe siècle en Alsace et dans l’ensemble de la province de Teutonie. Collection d’études sur l’histoire du droit et des institutions de l’Alsace 7. Strasbourg: Heitz. Beuckers, Klaus Gereon (ed.) (2012). Liturgie in mittelalterlichen Frauenstiften. Forschungen zum “Liber Ordinarius”. Essener Forschungen zum Frauenstift 10. Essen: Klartext.

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298   Sigrid Hirbodian Böhringer, Letha (2014). ‘Merging into Clergy: Beguine Self-Promotion in Cologne in the 13th and 14th Centuries’. In Labels and Libels: Naming Beguines in Northern Medieval Europe, edited by L. Böhringer, J. Kolpacoff Deane, and H. van Engen, 151–186. Turnhout: Brepols. Böhringer, Letha (2009). Geistliche Gemeinschaften für Frauen im mittelalterlichen Köln. Libelli Rhenani Series Minor 5. Cologne: Erzbischöfliche Diözesan- und Dombibliothek. Böhringer, Letha, J.  Kolpacoff Deane, and H.  van Engen (eds) (2014). Labels and Libels: Naming Beguines in Northern Medieval Europe. Turnhout: Brepols. Elm, Kaspar (1998). ‘Vita regularis sine regula. Bedeutung, Rechtsstellung und Selbstverständnis des mittelalterlichen und frühneuzeitlichen Semireligiosentums’. In Häresie und vorzeitige Reformation im Spätmittelalter, edited by František Smahel, 239–273. Munich: Oldenbourg. Felten, Franz  J., Harald Müller, and Heidrun Ochs (eds) (2012). Landschaft(en): Begriffe, Formen, Implikationen. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Griffiths, Fiona J. (2007). The Garden of Delights: Reform and Renaissance for Women in the Twelfth Century. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Grundmann, Herbert (1935/1977). Religiöse Bewegungen im Mittelalter. Berlin: Ebering. Repr. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Translated by Steven Rowan as Religious Movements in the Middle Ages. South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 1995. Guth, Morand (1985). ‘Das Gürtler-Gotteshaus der Stadt Strassburg und dessen Jahreszeitenverzeichnis’. Archives de l’Eglise d’Alsace 44: 97–110. Hirbodian, Sigrid (2014). ‘Pastors and Seducers: The Practice of the Cura monialium in Mendicant Convents in Strasbourg’. In Partners in Spirit. Women, Men, and Religious Life in Germany 1100–1500, edited by Fiona  J.  Griffiths and Julie Hotchin, 303–337. Turnhout: Brepols. Hirbodian, Sigrid (2013). ‘Was ist Landesgeschichte? Überlegungen am Beispiel einer spätmittelalterlichen Klosterchronik’. In Trier—Mainz—Rom—Stationen, Wirkungsfelder, Netzwerke, edited by Anna Esposito, Heidrun Ochs, Elmar Rettinger et al., 27–44. Regensburg: Schnell und Steiner. Hirbodian, Sigrid (2012). ‘Dominikanerinnenreform und Familienpolitik. Die Einführung der Observanz im Kontext städtischer Sozialgeschichte’. In Schreiben und Lesen in der Stadt. Literaturbetrieb im spätmittelalterlichen Straßburg, edited by Stephen Mossman et al., 1–16. Kulturtopographie des alemannischen Raums 4. Berlin and Boston: de Gruyter. Hoernes, Martin and Hedwig Röckelein (eds) (2006). Gandersheim und Essen. Vergleichende Untersuchungen zu sächsischen Frauenstiften. Essener Forschungen zum Frauenstift 4. Essen: Klartext. Klapp, Sabine (2014). ‘Negotiating Autonomy: Canons in Late Medieval Frauenstifte’. In Partners in Spirit: Women, Men, and Religious Life in Germany, 1100–1500, edited by Fiona J. Griffiths and Julie Hotchin, 367–400. Turnhout: Brepols. Klapp, Sabine (2012a). ‘Pragmatische Schriftlichkeit in Straßburger Frauenklöstern des späten Mittelalters’. In Schreiben und Lesen in der Stadt. Literaturbetrieb im spätmittelalterlichen Straßburg, edited by Stephen Mossman et al. Kulturtopographie des alemannischen Raums 4, 213–238. Berlin and Boston: de Gruyter. Klapp, Sabine (2012b). Das Äbtissinnenamt in den unterelsässischen Frauenstiften vom 14. bis zum 16. Jahrhundert. Berlin: de Gruyter. Kothe, Wilhelm (1903). Kirchliche Zustände Straßburgs im vierzehnten Jahrhundert. Ein Beitrag zur Stadt- und Kulturgeschichte des Mittelalters. Freiburg i. Br.: Herder.

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Religious Women: Secular Canonesses and Beguines   299 Lentes, Thomas (1996). ‘Bild, Reform und cura monialium. Bildverständnis und Bildgebrauch im Buch der Reformatcio Predigerordens des Johannes Meyer (†1485)’. In Dominicains et Dominicaines en Alsace XIIIe–XXe s. Actes du colloque de Grubwiller 8–9 avril 1994, edited by Jean-Luc Eichenlaub, 177–195. Colmar: Conseil Général du Haut-Rhin. Makowski, Elizabeth (2012). ‘ “A Pernicious Sort of Woman”: quasi-religious women and canon lawyers in the later Middle Ages’. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Märtl, Claudia (1995). ‘ “pos verstockt weyber”? Der Streit um die Lebensform der Regensburger Damenstifte im ausgehenden 15. Jahrhundert’. In Regensburg, Bayern und Europa. Festschrift für Kurt Reindel zum 70. Geburtstag, edited by Lothar Kolmer and Peter Segl, 365–405. Regensburg: Universitätsverlag. Parisse, Michel (2011). Religieux et religieuses en Empire du Xe au XIIe siècle. Les médiévistes français 11. Paris: Picard. Pfleger, Lucien (1937). ‘Geschichte des Reuerinnenklosters St. Maria Magdalena in Straßburg’. In St. Magdalena in Straßburg. Geschichte des Klosters und der Pfarrei, edited by Eugen Speich, 1–84. Strasbourg: self-published. Phillips, Dayton (1941). Beguines in Medieval Strasburg. A Study of the Social Aspect of Beguine Life. PhD Dissertation, Columbia University. Rapp, Francis (1974). Réformes et Réformation à Strasbourg. Église et société dans le diocèse de Strasbourg (1450–1525). Paris: Ophrys. Rapp, Francis (1962). ‘Straßburg. Franziskaner-Konventualen’. Alemania Franciscana Antiqua 8: 1–30. Reichstein, Frank-Michael (2001). Das Beginenwesen in Deutschland: Studien und Katalog. Berlin: Verlag Dr. Köster. Rückert, Maria Magdalena (2012). ‘Fromme Frauen, weltliche Stifter und geistliche Förderer. Zur Verdichtung Württembergisch Frankens und Oberschwabens zu “Frauenklosterlandschaften”‘. In Landschaft(en). Begriffe, Formen, Implikationen, edited by Franz J. Felten, Harald Müller, and Heidrun Ochs, 223–244. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner Verlag. Schilp, Thomas, ed. (2004). Reform, Reformation, Säkularisation: Frauenstifte in Krisenzeiten. Essener Forschungen zum Frauenstift 3. Essen: Klartext. Schmitt, Sigrid (2008a). ‘Die Auflösung der Straßburger Frauenklöster in der Reformation. Eine Umformung der Urbanität?’ In Urbanisierung und Urbanität, edited by Helmut Flachenecker and Rolf Kiessling, 157–185. Zeitschrift für bayerische Landesgeschichte, Beiheft 36. Munich: Beck. Schmitt, Sigrid (2008b). ‘Verfolgung, Schutz und Vereinnahmung. Die Straßburger Beginen im 14. Jahrhundert’. Rottenburger Jahrbuch für Kirchengeschichte 27: 111–136. Simons, Walter (2001). Cities of Ladies: Beguine Communities in the Medieval Low Countries, 1200–1565. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Weis-Müller, Renée (1956). Die Reform des Klosters Klingental und ihr Personenkreis. Basler Beiträge zur Geschichtswissenschaft 59. Basel: Helbing & Lichtenhahn. Wiegand, Wilhelm and Aloys Schulte et al. (eds) (1879–1933). Urkundenbuch der Stadt Straßburg. 5 vols. Strasbourg: Trübner. Wilts, Andreas (1994). Beginen im Bodenseeraum. Bodensee-Bibliothek 37. Sigmaringen: Thorbecke. Wittmer, Charles (1943). ‘Reformversuche im Dominikanerinnenkloster zu Straßburg 1492–1493’. Archiv für elsässische Kirchengeschichte 16: 419–425.

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chapter 19

Observa n t R efor m i n the L ate Middl e Age s Kathryne Beebe

The study of the history of Observant reform—the history of the orders and their reform in the late Middle Ages—currently presents a paradox. Cutting across order, language, and geography, what modern scholars now see as the ‘Observance Movement’ had its roots in a ‘back-to-basics’ demand among several individuals and communities in the late 1300s, whose impetus continued to be felt for more than two centuries after. The call for reform varied in its strictness, and ‘reform’ in fact took many forms, as its ideals were adopted across Europe by the likes of Catherine of Siena, Jiménez de Cisneros, even Martin Luther, and reshaped to suit local interests. Yet, scant modern attention for this late medieval development in religious and secular life has belied its actual importance. On the one hand, as Kaspar Elm argued as long as four decades ago, Observant reform was central to the sweeping changes that modern scholars view as fundamental to the history of late medieval Europe (Elm 1980). From the economic revival following the Black Death, to the changes in power that saw older, ‘aristocratic’ interests gradually give way to the growing dominance of towns and territorial princes, to the intellectual and spiritual revival that inspired an interest in new forms of devotion and humanist learning—one cannot explore these issues without coming upon Observant reform, its impact, and its ‘afterlives’. However, on the other hand (and herein lies the paradox), modern scholars have traditionally devoted only minor attention to this most fundamental of religious and intellectual movements of late medieval Europe, preferring instead to focus on pre-1300 religious movements, or to speed ahead to the changes wrought by the Reformation and the Council of Trent (Rosenwein 2001). Yet in the last twenty years or so, inspired in part by Elm and his students, and carried forward by a new generation of scholars, an increasing number of studies have begun to remedy that neglect. These studies, bound by geography, language, and subject matter, increasingly recognize the influence of the reform of the orders. Despite

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Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages   301 this positive development, as one scholar at the vanguard of this trend has lamented, the study of the Observant reform in the late Middle Ages has neither coherence, nor a strong sense of itself as a ‘field’ (Mixson 2013: 203). Excitingly, new work is poised to remedy this c­ondition. Recent studies dealing specifically with Observant reform tackle a variety of questions ranging from the meaning of poverty and its intersection with political and economic power; the status of women, women’s spirituality, and the laity; humanist interest in civic virtue, history, and the nobility of spirit; the inquisition and persecution of Jews, heretics, and witches; and even the formation of the early modern Atlantic world. Despite this encouraging development, however, several steps must be taken to shape this stimulating new work into a coherent field—including the production of basic ­readers and introductory volumes, such as the kind published by James Mixson and Bert Roest (2015). At this early stage, the field must also consider intently what is meant by ‘Observance’, both when modern scholars use the term and when their sources do so. The task of producing histories of the formal ‘movement’ conceived independently (or at least, critically separate) from what the reformers’ own histories would have us believe is still before us, as is the task of separating what was particular to ‘Observant’ ideals and practices from what may have been merely part of wider late medieval spiritual trends in general. It is the aim of this chapter to draw connections between recent scholarship on Observant reform and to highlight the essential questions and issues that drive its study. This chapter also evaluates the current challenges presented by a methodology and conceptualization of a field still in formation. Finally, the chapter argues that while greater collaboration between scholars and the production of basic overviews are needed, we should also think carefully about how to understand those who professed or embodied Observant ideas and practices—not just from the viewpoint of our own labels and concepts, but how to understand them in their own terms.

Essential Questions and Issues In the past few decades, despite being fragmented and incoherent as a field, the study of Observant reform in the late Middle Ages has taken inspiration from Herbert Grundmann’s and Kaspar Elm’s work to produce a number of studies in line with the directions that they had suggested. These studies cover a number of different interests, ranging from questions about poverty, to status, to power—be it political, economic, or social power. They also explore the question of women’s involvement in reform and the impact gender had upon reform. Other studies encompass Observant preaching and education, and how these influenced persecutions of Jews, witches, and heretics. Still others examine the interactions of reform with other preoccupations of fifteenth­century cultural history, such as Humanism. Finally, in an area very much in its infancy,

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302   Kathryne Beebe a few studies interrogate the links between Observant reform and the European expansion within the Atlantic world. Among those concerned with questions of poverty, the local focus of older studies, such as an important 1997 article by Bernhard Neidiger, which looks at the south­western Dominican province of Teutonia, finds broader application in more recent works (Neidiger 1997). For example, James Mixson’s study of the question of poverty and reform in late medieval Germany and Austria uses the Observant critique of possessions and property to assess wider questions about the origins and practice of reform, as well as the intellectual and spiritual challenges faced by both reformers and the unreformed (Mixson  2009). Mixson also helpfully attempts to change the scholarly discourse about reform—away from a traditional narrative of supposed crisis and decline that then generates reform, towards a more nuanced view of the real drivers of attitudes promoting a return to stricter interpretations of an original Rule. Such an attempt to challenge this traditional narrative of the motives and reasons behind ‘Observance’ also takes centre stage in Michael Vargas’s 2011 study, Taming a Brood of Vipers, which argues that the ‘reality of reform’, instead of being the ‘steady progress towards increased discipline and rigor’, was rather made up of ‘false starts, considerable trial and error, disagreement about means and ends, and no little dissent’ (Vargas 2011: 21). Anna Campbell, in her essay on Colette of Corbie, has shown that Colette’s emphasis on strict poverty became the precise source of hostility between the Franciscan Observants of Mirebeau and Colette’s own style of ‘observant’ reform (Campbell 2014). This approach to the material, with its attention to the various factions and tensions among reformers themselves, builds upon the sensitivities of earlier studies, such as that of the Franciscan Observant reform and its many strands offered by Duncan Nimmo, and Bert Roest on the Poor Clares (Nimmo 1987; Roest 2011). Disagreements and dissent also mark recent work concerned with the intersections of economic and political power (and its sometimes violent uses) in the service of reform, as Mirjam Schaap has argued in her investigation of Philip the Good’s involvement in the reform of Franciscan houses in Mechelen and Amsterdam (Schaap  2005). F.  Thomas Luongo’s study of Catherine of Siena strives to elucidate the ‘social and political tensions’ that surrounded the creation of her sanctity (Luongo 2006:3), while Mixson’s work situates questions of poverty and property within the balance carved out between political factions represented within university circles, Church councils, and territorial rulers (Mixson 2009). Following more general trends in the study of the later Middle Ages, women, too, have become a focus of much work centring upon Observant reform, although women as a subject of study are not entirely new to this area, as over the past three decades Kaspar Elm produced several foundational articles concerning women and religion (Elm  1981,  1994, among others). Important among recent works is Anne WinstonAllen’s Convent Chronicles (2004), a study based on women’s writings within Observant reform, and significantly, the resistance of some to that reform. Jeffrey Hamburger’s The Visual and the Visionary, which itself inspired several other studies, explored the interrelationship between female visual culture, spirituality, and those (often Observant reformers) who strove to delineate female spiritual life (Hamburger 1998; Mecham 2006

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Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages   303 and 2014). Several works, such as those by Regina Schiewer, Kate Lowe, and Wybren Scheepsma, drawing upon Grundmann’s studies, have focused on women’s vernacular writing within Observant circles and similar reform movements (Grundmann  1936; Schiewer 1998; Lowe 2003; Scheepsma 2002). Claire Taylor Jones (Jones 2012) departs from the usual focus on women and the vernacular to argue that Latin liturgy and learning also had a significant place in shaping nuns’ understanding of Observant reform in southern German houses (although for a contrasting view, see Ehrenschwendtner 2004). As part of this expansion of interest, the laity, as well as women, have increasingly come into focus, as John Dahmus, Pietro Delcorno, and others have shown (Dahmus 1983; Delcorno 2015; Beebe 2014). Preaching, whether to male or female, lay or religious audiences, and its interconnections with Observant education and persecution of those deemed ‘undesirable’ (such as Jews, heretics, and witches), also provides scholars with continuing questions. The impulses generated by preachers such as Savonarola, Vincent Ferrer, John of Capistrano, and Bernardino of Siena bore serious consequences, not only in persecution, but in raising issues of civic and moral responsibility, social status, and economic anxiety (Lesnick  1989; Debby  2001). Michael Bailey’s study of the connection between Observant reform and heresy and witchcraft in the work of Johannes Nider in Germany, and Franco Mormando’s investigation of Bernardino of Siena offer just two significant examples of works exploring these concerns (Bailey 2003a; Mormando 1999). Finally, as James Mixson has shown in his recent assessment of Observant studies—a concept that will be investigated in the following section—other issues that have come increasingly to occupy scholars of the late Middle Ages, such as Humanism and even European expansion within the Atlantic world, have all found resonance with Observant scholars. Kaspar Elm, Katherine Walsh, and Bert Roest have investigated how trad­ ition­al Humanist concerns of civics, ethics, antiquity, education, economics, and the ‘nobility of spirit’ were debated and considered both by Observant reformers and their critics (Elm 1976; Walsh 1980; Roest 2003). The connections between an Observant legacy and the activities of missionaries and reformers in the so-called ‘New World’ are also increasingly becoming an issue of importance. Allan Greer, Jodi Bilinkoff, and the authors collected in their volume Colonial Saints have just begun to explore this rich subject, as has more recently Bert Roest in an essay on the evolution of Observant thought ‘from Reconquista to mission’ (Greer and Bilinkoff 2003; Roest 2015).

Crucial Debates in the Field One of the first concerns in the field of Observant reform is its evolving idea of itself as a ‘field’. Given the foundations laid by Grundmann in the 1930s, and by Elm over the past several decades, it is surprising that only now are we beginning to sense a growing cohesion among once quite separate studies of Observant reform. This can partially be attributed to the barriers of language and geography that have delineated past efforts:

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304   Kathryne Beebe scholars tended to work within their own linguistic areas of expertise, with little crossover. Many of Elm’s seminal studies, for example, are only now being translated for Anglophone readers (Elm 2016). Studies of the local contexts of Observant reforming ideals in Spain, Italy, Germany, and elsewhere abound, as we saw earlier, but again, the local nature of these rich and valuable studies nevertheless precluded more far-ranging considerations of wider geographical networks of reforming impulses. Boundaries encouraged by order affiliation have also played a part in keeping studies fragmented and localized. Friar-historians, both medieval and modern, focused on the histories of their own communities, and secular scholars followed suit (Hinnebusch  1966, 1973; Moorman 1968). While in 2009, ‘Observant Reform’ could claim its own entry in an overview of the history of Christianity in western Europe, another standard reference work from 2010 directs readers searching for an entry on the ‘Observant Movement’ to a single mention within an entry of the history of one specific order.1 For there to be crucial debates in a field, significantly, a ‘field’ must first exist. Inroads are being made in this direction—most critically with the production of Mixson’s and Roest’s Companion volume of essays already cited—but much more synthesis of the disparate strands of scholarship within geographic, linguistic, and community boundaries is necessary. The debates that are currently taking shape will have the power to fashion the direction of the field to come, and key in this respect is the definition of the subject itself. What, exactly, do we mean when we write of ‘Observance’? Can it be called a coherent ‘Movement’, with all the weight, authority, and intentionality that capital letters bestow? There was a sense, among some reformers at least, that ‘Observance’ as an ideal both to achieve—and to fail to reach—represented a coherent set of ideas and practices. ‘O Poor Observance!’ lamented one Dominican reformer in the late 1470s or 1480s, about the earliest phase of reform that he felt was now lacking in application, ‘and the old customs that the old Observants brought forth!’2 Yet although Johannes Nider, another southern German reformer of the fifteenth century, certainly presented a broad call for reform and strict observance of original Rules across the orders, not just for his fellow Dominicans, in his 1431 Tractatus de reformacione status cenobitici, he was also vague about it as a coherent ‘movement’, or even as an idea that was reified by the label ‘Observance’.3 As Michael Bailey has commented, ‘only careful analysis’ will reveal the extent of Nider’s true conception of the variety of reform that he intended and the results that he wanted to achieve (Bailey 2003a: 76). To take a further step and speak of an acknowledged, defined, and ‘official’ ‘Observance Movement’ is perhaps too hasty and overlooks the very real tensions, dissensions, and multiple strands of interests and aims among all who advocated various types of reform in this era. Because of the varieties of reform advocated by a number of those in the late Middle Ages (not all of whom even identified themselves specifically as ‘reformers’), scholars should read carefully and 1  See Roest 2009 and The Oxford Dictionary of the Middle Ages, edited by Robert E. Bjork (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), respectively. 2  Augsburg, Universitätsbibliothek, Oett.-Wall. Cod. III.1.8º 42, ff. 332r–333r. 3  No modern edition exists, but see MS Basel, Universitätsbibliothek, B.  III. 15, ff. 186v–248v and Bailey 2003a, chapter four.

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Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages   305 deeply before forging ahead with assumptions that may come more from the twentyfirst century than from the fourteenth and fifteenth. However, despite the challenges and pitfalls of using terms such as ‘Observance’ and ‘Observance Movement’, there is perhaps a way to use them as useful, work-a-day terms in establishing a field of study. Just as Alexander Murray (2004) has argued not to abolish the term ‘Middle Ages’ for similar reasons, the use of terms such as ‘Observance’ and ‘Observance Movement’ can create a sense of shared vocabulary that allows us to build on current findings, with all due attention to the particularities, the embedded social context of calls for ‘Observance’, and the ‘messiness’ of the multiple strands and interests of reforms. Too much reliance on one type of source, too, can limit the perspectives of our own histories. Vargas, otherwise keenly sensitive to the need for bringing a critical eye to sources that claim an unbroken and straight path of ‘success’ for Dominican reform, himself assumes a slightly reductionist mode when the sparse mention of women’s houses in his chosen body of sources (the annual chapter acts of the Dominican Province of Aragon) leads him to assert that ‘in short, male leaders suffered a com­bin­ ation of fear and dismissiveness towards their female counterparts’ (Vargas 2011: 32). Such an assertion does not take into account the intense interaction and collaboration of male and female religious evident in the work of medieval reformers such as the Dominican Johannes Meyer’s Buch der Reformacio Predigerordens or the Augustinian Johannes Busch’s Liber de reformatione monasteriorum, or in the work of modern ­scholars such as Anne Winston-Allen, Jeffrey Hamburger, Meri Heinonen, Claire Taylor Jones (in the introduction to her translation of Meyer), and others (Winston-Allen 2004; Hamburger 1992, 1998; Heinonen 2013; Meyer 2019). We must be as alive to what sources for Observant reform do not tell us, as much as what they do, and not assume that an absence in one particular type of source means something in particular about reform in general, without careful comparative work. Taking reformers’ own words too much at face value raises issues surrounding another growing debate in studying Observant reform in the late Middle Ages: while we must be sensitive to our sources and strive to understand them in their own terms, very often those sources themselves (as historians are well aware) contain within them the limitations of their own perspectives and biases. A tendency to read histories of reform (here again Meyer’s Buch der Reformacio and Busch’s Liber de reformatione serve as examples), as reflections of the way things ‘actually were’ is to ignore the possible rhet­ oric­al functions of those histories. Just as it is important to understand Observant sources in their own terms, we must be sensitive to their social, political, and economic contexts, as well as—as far as we can determine—the impulses and intentions of the creators themselves. As Van Engen and Mixson have observed, a ‘tradition of reform historiography’, which can be traced to early Observant histories, itself has tended to shape the field (Van Engen 2002). ‘Unaware of the temptations’, cautions Mixson, ‘we too often unwittingly reproduce the narrative, categories and assumptions of the reformers themselves, whose works first impose a false “reforming” coherence on countless untidy particulars’ (Mixson 2013: 205). Those who challenge the ‘fictive history’ of these inherited narratives, as do Dieter Mertens (1996) and Alison More (2015), or who confront them

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306   Kathryne Beebe to point out the messy, uncertain nature of the course of reform (Vargas 2011) or resistance to that reform (Winston-Allen 2004; Mixson 2009, 2013), engage in some of the most critical debates in the field today. Another key debate concerns the nature of resistance to Observant reform. While some scholars call for greater attention to the resistance to reform—not just from ‘Conventuals’, but from many factions within late medieval society, both religious and secular—many are already working in that area (Mixson 2015; Vargas 2011). However, attention to resistance has not yet been adopted generally throughout the field, and those who do investigate it tend to do so from one particular perspective: they primarily focus on the perspective of nuns and other religious women who, sometimes violently, resisted reformers’ efforts to increase observance of a particular Rule, and strict en­clos­ ure in particular—with Vargas’s work on male Dominicans being the exception that proves the rule. Resistance, violent or otherwise, was not unusual: the Benedictine sisters of Urspring, near Shelklingen in south-western Germany, for example, barricaded themselves in the infirmary, preparing their resistance with rocks and sharp objects, while a nun of Derneburg locked reformer Johannes Busch in a cellar for a time.4 Regina Schiewer’s and Anne Winston-Allen’s work both look in this direction (Schiewer 1998: 78–79; Winston-Allen 2004). Still others, such as Marie-Luise Ehrenschwendtner and Kathryn Rudy, in their discussions of the Dominican nuns of St Katherine’s, Augsburg, and the various communities of women living in the Netherlands and Germany, re­spect­ive­ly, as well as June Mecham’s work on the nuns of Wienhausen, all touch in varying degrees upon a presumed female ‘resistance’ to male calls for enclosure via the practice of virtual pilgrimage (Ehrenschwendtner  2009; Rudy  2011; Mecham  2005). Such work often draws, though never explicitly, upon anthropologist James Scott’s concept of ‘hidden transcripts’, where subordinate groups (in this case, religious women) find ways to resist domination through actions invisible to those dominant (Scott 1990). And yet, as Winston-Allen has also made clear, women such as Ursula Haider and Katharine von Muellheim found positions of power within reforming circles. Often those women who came to power through Observant reform belonged to a new merchant stratum rather than traditionally aristocratic families, and sharp dichotomies between male reformers and female resistors soon fall apart. The challenge for future research will be not to see more resistance to enclosure and Observant reforms than can be supported by the evidence, no matter how attractive the ‘hidden transcripts’ of ‘transgressive’ virtual pilgrimages might be to modern scholars. Likewise, scholars must also be careful to read against overly optimistic accounts of reform created by the reformers themselves. In sum, work is currently being done to chronicle resistance to Observant efforts and challenge the traditional triumphalist narrative of a smooth path to reform in the fifteenth century among a variety of orders—but it depends on where one looks (and which sources one chooses to consider). 4  Felix Fabri, Fratris Felicis Fabri Tractatus de civitate ulmensi: de eius origine, ordine, regimine, de civibus eius et statu, ed. Gustav Veesenmeyer, Bibliothek des Litterarischen Vereins in Stuttgart 186 (Tübingen: Literarischer Verein in Stuttgart, 1889), 185. For Busch, see Winston-Allen 2004: 129–130.

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Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages   307 Finally, and here we return to the definition of the subject of the field, separating out what constitutes ‘Observant’ ideals or spirituality is both a current debate and a future task for the study of Observant reform. Researchers are already, in the topics they choose and in the definitions of ‘Observance’ that they employ, implicitly debating what makes ‘Observant’ reform distinct from other late medieval trends: creating a more intense personal devotion to the divine; calling for stricter observance of the rules of religious life; fostering the emergence of new forms of piety, such as rosary devotions; or debating questions about property, justice, or moral conduct. Should we view Catherine of Siena and Giovanni Dominici primarily as models of Observant ideals, for example, or as representative of even wider trends of late medieval society? What is lost and gained with each approach? Observant reforms directly influenced late medieval issues of economic revival after the Black Death; the new learning inspired by Humanist scholars; and changes in economic and social power. Yet, so often, Observant reform remains conspicuously absent from modern scholarly assessments of this period. There seems to be a temptation to view the era only in reference to earlier or later reforms, or only in reference to the well-trodden scholarly ground of the twelfth or the sixteenth centuries. It is a temptation to be resisted. Much can be gained by studying these impulses in their own right.

Directions for Future Study Studies of Observant reform, with its important links to late medieval social, cultural, political, and economic history, are currently at a very dynamic point. Several scholars are working to extend and connect the issues and the debates surveyed in this chapter, and there exists a growing sense of the field of study as a field in its own right. While an overarching conceptual framework of Observant reform is lacking, some are already striving to suggest lines towards creating and defining such a framework (Mixson 2015). ‘Reform’ as a general concept is also increasingly coming under scrutiny, and a more refined use of the concept will help not only to separate out the difficulties of multivalent, vague, and conflicting sources, but will also help scholars to separate out ideas of reform inherited from generations of historiography from the ideas of the reformers themselves (Ladner 1959; Bellitto and Flanagin 2012; Vargas 2011). In addition to the work of conceptualization, scholars are poised to expand the field of Observant reform in exciting thematic, geographical, and chronological directions. Just as histories of the Observant connection to the inquisitorial activities of Observant reformers are gaining ground, attention to the work of Observant missionaries in the Americas, primarily by mendicants trained in Observant ideas of using spiritual reform to enhance pastoral care, presents a particularly promising avenue of research (Herzig  2008; Tavuzzi  2007; Roest  2015). Work by Martina Wehrli-Johns, Gabriella Erdélyi, and others in a collection of essays edited by Maria Crăciun and Elaine Fulton on the course of Observant ideals in central Europe offers a welcome addition to the

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308   Kathryne Beebe subject—and a much needed one, if a more complete picture less constrained by modern concepts of geographical boundaries is to be created (Erdélyi 2011; Wehrli-Johns 2010). While striving to resist an inherited historiography that views Observant reform as merely the first signs of a new Reformation spirituality (Martin Luther was, after all, an Observant Augustinian Hermit himself), the thread of Observant ideals and activities nevertheless has its place in histories of the sixteenth and seventeenth cen­tur­ies, too, and can help problematize strict divisions of ‘medieval’ and ‘early modern’ that may obscure a fuller understanding of both eras (Saak 2002). Given the extensive geographic and social networks of reformers across Europe and beyond, closer attention to the benefits to be gained from the explicit incorporation of social network theory, international collaborative research projects, and perhaps even the digital humanities, might prove fruitful. For example, the ‘Mobility of Ideas and Transmission of Texts’ (MITT) Project, a cooperative research endeavour of the Università di Salerno, the Universiteit Antwerpen, the University of Oxford, the AlbertLudwigs-Universität, Freiburg, and the Universiteit Leiden, with its aim to study ‘the medieval transmission of learning from the ecclesiastical and academic elites to the wider readership that could be reached through the vernacular’, models just such a successful traditional (non-digital humanities) collaborative research project, some of whose efforts already touch upon or even deal explicitly with Observant subjects.5 ‘The Making of Charlemagne’s Europe (768–814)’ project based at King’s College, London, while earlier in scope, offers another possible model for future research, especially in its goal to use the tools of network visualization within the digital humanities better to understand social networks in the reign of Charlemagne.6 Johannes Preiser-Kapeller’s working paper on ‘visualizing’ medieval communities through network analysis and relational sociology also provides several examples of the study of networks through traditional and non-traditional methodologies of the humanities and digital humanities that might provide useful models for future scholars of Observant reform (Preiser-Kapeller 2012). Rather than being confined by the boundaries of an already-established field, studies of Observant reform in the later Middle Ages have the opportunity—and the challenge— to define an area of study that in time will be recognized as central to questions that drive scholarship of the later Middle Ages as a whole. This chapter has only been able to touch upon the most prominent issues of debate currently in play today, and the future direction of research remains exhilaratingly open. Taking impetus from the work of Herbert Grundmann and Kaspar Elm, scholars have not only followed on their ori­ gin­al ideas about the place of women and the laity within official (and unofficial) channels of institutional Church reform: they have also expanded the scope of research to attend to the workings of evolving late medieval attitudes towards property, heresy, and persecution. New scholarly interests also look towards the changes wrought by 5  See, for example, Dlabačová  2008 and 2014. View the full description at ‘Mobility of Ideas and Transmission of Texts’, Universiteit Leiden, last modified 21 June 2020, accessed 23 June 2020, https:// www.universiteitleiden.nl/en/research/research-projects/humanities/mobility-of-ideas-and-transmissionof-texts#tab-1. 6  King’s College London, ‘The Making of Charlemagne’s Europe (768–814)’, King’s College, London, accessed 23 May 2014, http://www.kcl.ac.uk/artshums/depts/history/research/proj/charlemagne.aspx.

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Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages   309 e­ conomic and political shifts in power. In addition, scholars seek to measure the sweeping transformations of fifteenth-century cultural modes, including those brought about by increased persecution of those defined as somehow ‘Other’, as well as changes in preaching, education, and Humanist thought. The new directions in which scholars propose to take this research—across the boundaries of geography and periodization, as well as boundaries of concept and methodology—into the heart of central and eastern Europe, across the Atlantic, and across the medieval/early modern divide, via new conceptual frameworks and using both traditional and digital humanities methodologies, are only a small hint at the rich possibilities of this emerging field. Such research will not only benefit those interested in religious change within institutions; by uncovering the social, intellectual, economic, and political ramifications of Observant reform, its reformers, and its resistors, it will materially aid all those seeking to understand the whole of the late Middle Ages and beyond.

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Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages   311 Herzig, Tamar (2008). ‘Bridging North and South: Inquisitorial Networks and Witchcraft Theory on the Eve of the Reformation’. Journal of Early Modern History 12.5: 361–382. Herzig, Tamar (2007). Savonarola’s Women: Visions and Reform in Renaissance Italy. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Hinnebusch, William (1966, 1973). The History of the Dominican Order. 2 vols. Staten Island, NY: Alba House. Jones, Claire Taylor (2012). ‘Rekindling the Light of Faith: Hymn Translation and Spiritual Renewal in the Fifteenth-Century Observant Reform’. Journal of Medieval and Early Modern Studies 42.3: 567–596. Ladner, Gerhart B. (1959). The Idea of Reform: Its Impact on Christian Thought and Action in the Age of the Fathers. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Lesnick, Daniel R. (1989). Preaching in Medieval Florence: The Social World of Franciscan and Dominican Spirituality. Athens, GA: University of Georgia Press. Lowe, K.  J.  P. (2003). Nuns’ Chronicles and Convent Culture in Renaissance and CounterReformation Italy. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Luongo, F.  Thomas (2006). The Saintly Politics of Catherine of Siena. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Mecham, June (2014). Sacred Communities, Shared Devotions: Gender, Material Culture, and Monasticism in Late Medieval Germany, edited by Alison I. Beach, Constance H. Berman, and Lisa M. Bitel. Turnhout: Brepols. Mecham, June (2006). ‘Breaking Old Habits: Recent Research on Women, Spirituality, and the Arts in the Middle Ages’. History Compass 4.3: 448–480. Mecham, June (2005). ‘A Northern Jerusalem: Transforming the Spatial Geography of the Convent of Wienhausen’. In Defining the Holy: Sacred Space in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, edited by Andrew Spicer and Sarah Hamilton, 139–160. Aldershot: Ashgate. Mertens, Dieter (1996). ‘Monastische Reformbewegungen des 15. Jahrhunderts: Ideen— Ziele—Resultate’. In Reform von Kirche und Reich zur Zeit der Konzilien von Konstanz (1414–1418) und Basel (1431–1449), edited by Ivan Hlaváček and Alexander Patschovsky, 157–181. Constance: Universitätsverlag Konstanz GmbH. Meyer, Johannes (2019). Women’s History in the Age of Reformation: Johannes Meyer’s Chronicle of the Dominican Observance. Translated by Claire Taylor Jones. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. Mixson, James D. (2015). ‘Observant Reform’s Conceptual Frameworks between Principle and Practice.’ In A Companion to Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages and Beyond, edited by James D. Mixson and Bert Roest, 60–84. Leiden: Brill. Mixson, James  D. (2013). ‘Religious Life and Observant Reform in the Fifteenth Century’. History Compass 11.3: 201–214. Mixson, James D. (2009). Poverty’s Proprietors: Ownership and Mortal Sin at the Origins of the Observant Movement. Leiden: Brill. Mixson, James D. and Bert Roest (eds) (2015). A Companion to Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages and Beyond. Leiden: Brill. Moorman, J. R. H. (1968). A History of the Franciscan Order: From its Origins to the Year 1517. Oxford: Clarendon Press. More, Alison (2015). ‘Dynamics of Regulation, Innovation, and Invention.’ In A Companion to Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages and Beyond, edited by James D. Mixson and Bert Roest, 85–110. Leiden: Brill.

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Observant Reform in the Late Middle Ages   313 Schiewer, Regina D. (1998). ‘Sermons for Nuns of the Dominican Observance Movement’. In Medieval Monastic Preaching, edited by Carolyn Muessig, 75–92. Leiden: Brill. Schreiner, Klaus (1986). ‘Benediktinische Klosterreform als zeitgebundene Auslegung der Regel’. Blätter für württembergische Kirchengeschichte 86: 105–195. Scott, James C. (1990). Domination and the Arts of Resistance: Hidden Transcripts. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Tavuzzi, Michael (2007). Renaissance Inquisitors: Dominican Inquisitors and Inquisitorial Districts in Northern Italy, 1474–1527. Leiden: Brill. Van Engen, John (2008). ‘Multiple Options: The World of the Fifteenth-Century Church’. Church History 77.2: 257–284. Van Engen, John (2002). ‘The Future of Medieval Church History’. Church History 71.3: 492–522. Vargas, Michael (2011). Taming a Brood of Vipers: Conflict and Change in Fourteenth-Century Dominican Convents. Leiden: Brill. Walsh, Katherine (1980). ‘Papal Policy and Local Reform. Congregatio Ilicetana: the Augustinian Observant Movement in Tuscany and the Humanist Ideal’. Römische Historische Mitteilungen 22: 105–145. Wehrli-Johns, Martina (2010). ‘Bildexegese und Sprachreflexion im Dienste der Kirchenreform. Predigten zum Fest Mariä Heimsuchung aus dem Umfeld des Prager Reformkreises und der dominikanischen Frühobservanz’. In Die Predigt im Mittelalter zwischen Mündlichkeit, Bildlichkeit und Schriftlichkeit/La prédication au Moyen Age entre oralité, visualité et écriture, edited by René Wetzel and Fabrice Flückiger, 109–131. Medienwandel—Medienwechsel— Medienwissen 13. Zürich: Chronos. Williams-Krapp, Werner (1993). ‘Frauenmystik und Ordensreform im 15. Jahrhundert’. In Literarische Interessenbildung im Mittelalter. DFG-Symposion 1991, edited by Joachim Heinzle, 301–313. Stuttgart: Metzler. Winston-Allen, Anne (2004). Convent Chronicles: Women Writing About Women and Reform in the Late Middle Ages. University Park, PA: The Pennsylvania State University Press.

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Pa rt I I I

B . W E ST E R N M E DI E VA L MONA ST IC ISM : A PPROAC H E S TO MONA ST IC L I F E A N D C U LT U R E

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chapter 20

Pr ay er Rachel Fulton Brown

Monks prayed. Just as knights fought (pugnant) and peasants, artisans, and townspeople laboured (laborant), so monks, nuns, canons, canonesses, mendicants, hermits—in short, all those who were members of religious orders—prayed (orant). Such, at least, were the divisions of society first formulated by certain monastic authors of the late tenth and early eleventh centuries and on which modern historians have typically depended in describing the role of monasticism in the medieval West (Constable 1995: 279–288). Monasteries were, as the popular mid-twentieth century phrase goes, ‘powerhouses of prayer’, sources of energy for the community as a whole, generators of spiritual light and heat benefiting all of society, as monks and nuns lifted their voices to God in petition and praise, praying for others as well as themselves.1 And yet, strictly speaking, monks spent relatively little time in prayer. As Benedict of Nursia (d. c.547) himself had insisted in his Rule, prayer (oratio) ‘ought to be short and pure (brevis et pura), unless it happens to be prolonged by an inspiration of divine grace. In community, however, let prayer be very short, and when the Superior gives the signal, let all rise together’ (RB 20)—suggesting, by the by, that the monks should assume a humble posture, whether bowing, kneeling, or lying prostrate as they prayed (on these postures, see Tugwell 1985). The problem, if there is one, would appear to lie in the definition of prayer. Prayer for medieval monks and nuns was at once a way of life, something to be done always (1 Thess. 5:17), and a specific activity, something to be done at specific times and for specific reasons. This dual understanding of prayer has made it difficult at times to distinguish from the monks’ and nuns’ other activities of reading (lectio divina) and manual labour, as well as from the work (opus Dei) that they performed in the choir. Paradoxically, most general histories of medieval monasticism give relatively little 1 According to the Google Books nGram Viewer, the phrase ‘powerhouses of prayer’ first appeared in 1947, in an article by the Rev. Bonnell Spencer, OHC, published in the Anglo-Catholic magazine The Living Church. In the singular, it was invoked in 1944 by the Rt. Rev. Spencer Leeson in his Oxford lectures on Christian education. It seems to have entered the medievalists’ lexicon in 1978 through an article by P.  A.  Stafford on the Church in the age of the Anglo-Saxon abbot Aelfric of Eynsham (d. c.1010), himself one of the first to speak in terms of the tripartite division of society.

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318   Rachel Fulton BROWN a­ ttention to the monks’ and nuns’ life of prayer, either subsuming it under the work of the liturgy or subordinating it to the exercises of reading and contemplation, the latter often conflated with certain more extraordinary experiences of mysticism. Typically, only a few paragraphs are given to the actual practice of prayer, with the caveat that it is difficult to know what the monks or nuns thought or felt as they prayed (e.g. Lawrence 1984: 109–110; Burton 1994: 161–163; McNamara 1996: 327–328; Foot 2006: 189–191, 208–210; Heale 2009: 26–33, 144–146; Kerr 2009: 183–185). In his magisterial study of the religious orders in England, Dom David Knowles (d. 1974) noted simply that in the legislative literature of the monks there is almost no reference to specific times set aside for ‘meditation’ or ‘mental prayer’ (Knowles 1963: 470–471). The provisions that do appear suggest that during winter the monks were expected to stay in choir between Matins and Lauds, presumably so as to pray. At other times, those who wanted to pray privately might do so outside the choir at side altars or elsewhere in the church. Benedict himself noted only that the oratory (oratorium) should be a place set aside exclusively for prayer and that those who wanted to pray privately (secretius) should be allowed to remain there when the work of God was ended so long as they prayed ‘not in a loud voice, but with tears and fervor of heart’ (RB 52). As the order that prayed, monks and nuns were above all expected to offer prayers for the patrons who supported the monastic ‘powerhouses’ with their donations. But here again there are paradoxes. Thanks to the charters and wills recording the bequests of their donors, along with the lists provided by necrologies and confraternity books, historians have learned a great deal about the networks of charity binding those who prayed with their relatives and neighbours who laboured and fought, as well as those living with those who had died (see McLaughlin 1994; Iogna-Prat 1998; Hendrix 2010). Nuns in particular were supported on the basis of their ability to offer prayers, their virginity a physical sign of the prayerfully effective holiness that the monks could achieve only through rigorous ascetic discipline (Brown 2003: 226–227). Particularly in the tenth and eleventh centuries, during what many consider to have been the heyday of monastic intercessory prayer, monastic writers described themselves as both joining with the angels in their praise of God and battling against the demons for the souls of the dead. Their masses and prayers, as the chronicler Radulfus Glaber (d. c. 1047) put it, seemed ‘more angelic than human . . .so that scarcely any day passes in which this activity does not snatch souls from the power of evil demons’ (cited by McLaughlin 1994: 231). And yet, to judge from the prayers which they copied into their own psalters and prayer books, even the monks felt themselves in need of prayer so as to say the psalms correctly, while by the later eleventh century they were praying with Anselm of Canterbury (d. 1109) to saints such as the protomartyr Stephen: ‘For I am fearful, knowing the wrath of the strict judge, for I am a sinner, a prisoner deserving punishment, and I need someone to help me’ (Anselm 1973: 174). As the monks themselves might put it, paraphrasing Juvenal, ‘Quis orat pro ipsis oratoribus?’ Who prays for those who pray? There is yet a further paradox impinging upon our understanding of monastic prayer. On the one hand, because monks and nuns not only prayed, but wrote, we have arguably more sources for the history of monastic prayer than almost any other aspect of

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Prayer   319 .

­ edieval life. On the other hand, because what monks and nuns wrote was above all the m same texts over and over again—particularly psalters—we have alternately tended to assume that there is very little to say about their life of prayer other than that they prayed the psalms, or to look in places other than the psalms for what they ‘actually’ prayed. By far the greatest amount of research still to be done is on the way in which monks and nuns thought about and practised saying the psalms, starting with a study of their psalters and commentaries on the psalter (see Dyer  1999; Black  2002,  2003; MayrHarting 2014). Even more pressing, however, is the need to recover a sense of the way in which medieval Christians understood the effects of prayerful speech, not just on their bodies (that is, as an exercise of asceticism), but also on their minds and souls.

Prayer as a Way of Speaking ‘The whole purpose of the monk’, as the great monastic founder John Cassian (d. c.435) put it in his Collationes, themselves specifically recommended in Benedict’s Rule as reading for all those striving for perfection in the monastic life, ‘and indeed the perfection of his heart amount to this—total and uninterrupted dedication to prayer’. And yet, Cassian acknowledged, ‘in any art or discipline, perfection can be reached only from beginnings which are necessarily very simple’. To help the monks keep God always in mind as they prayed, Cassian recommended the use of simple formulae taken from the psalms; whenever they felt themselves assaulted by the demons, they should take hold of such formulae as a shield against temptation, reciting them over and over until they felt themselves ‘seized of the identical feelings in which the psalm was composed or sung’ (Cassian 1985: 101, 130, 137). For Benedict, this harmony of thoughts, feelings, and words as the monks sang the psalms was to become the norm. ‘Let us take part in the psalmody in such a way’, he admonished his brothers, ‘that our mind may be in harmony with our voice’. For, he reminded them, as the prophet says, we should ‘serve the Lord in fear’ (Ps. 2:11) and ‘sing praises wisely’ (Ps. 46 [47]:8), mindful that the divine presence is everywhere but most particularly when we are singing praises in the sight of the Godhead and his angels (Ps. 137 [138]:1). Likewise, Benedict insisted, the monks should comport themselves in prayer with proper humility, reverence, and devotion, even more so than they would if making supplications before earthly princes or other persons of high station (RB 19–20). But what, even taking the psalms as a given, should they say? To judge from many modern discussions of prayer, particularly since the end of the nineteenth century, it shouldn’t matter, so long as the monks prayed with great feelings of devotion; indeed, as William James (d. 1910), following Auguste Sabatier (d. 1901), would have it, it would be better if they used no words (‘no mere repetition of certain sacred formulae’) at all (James 1902: 464). According to the monks themselves, however, prayer (oratio) by definition began in speech. In his commentary on the psalms, itself second only to Augustine of Hippo’s (d. 430) in its authority for the monks, Cassiodorus (d. c.585) defined prayer according to its ancient etymology as a matter of reason and speech

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320   Rachel Fulton BROWN (‘Oratio est oris ratio’) (Cassiodorus 1990–1991: 1: 395, 2: 327). For, as Isidore of Seville (d. 636) explained in his Etymologiae, ‘orare is to speak (loqui) and to say (dicere). Oratio is the coherent structure (contextus) of words with meaning (verborum cum sensu)’ (Isidore 2009: 241). Likewise, in his pedagogical dialogue on the ars grammatica, the Carolingian abbot Alcuin of York (d. 804) defined oratio as an arrangement of words (ordinatio dictionum) exhibiting well-formed and fitting meaning (congruam sententiam perfectamque demonstrans) (PL 101: 858A). As Smaragdus of Saint-Mihiel (d. c.840) put it in his commentary on the Benedictine rule, supplication (supplicatio) and petition (petitio) are called prayer (oratio) because prayer is the reason of the mouth (oris ratio), for if the structure of words has no meaning, there is no speech (oratio) (Smaragdus 2007: 65, citing Isidore). By the twelfth century, prayer was theorized explicitly as a rhetorical art, most famously by the Augustinian canon Hugh of St Victor (d. 1141). His treatise on the power of prayer (De virtute orandi) was very popular, surviving by one recent count in over 260 manuscripts, almost half of which date to as late as the fifteenth century, when it was regular reading among the communities associated with the Observant reform (Hugh of St Victor 2013: 317; Edstam 2014). According to Hugh, there are three kinds of speech (oratio) addressed to God: supplicatio, or humble and devout prayer (precatio) that makes no specific request; obsecratio, or a narrative (narratio) including a specific petition (petitio); and suggestio, or a signifying of one’s wishes by narration alone without a petition. The different kinds of speech are themselves further distinguished by their grammatical structure. As Hugh explains it, pure prayer (oratio pura) is a form of supplication relying on nouns alone, whereas insistence (insinuatio) uses verbs, and seeking favour (captatio benevolentiae) uses both nouns and verbs. All of these kinds of speech may be instanced in Scripture (Hugh gives examples drawn largely from the psalms), their common purpose being not so much to instruct or persuade God (who needs no instruction) as to arouse those praying to appropriate feelings of love and devotion and instruct them to understand better what they need. In similar fashion, the Franciscan David of Augsburg (d. 1272) distinguished three modes of prayer in his popular handbook on the religious life (De exterioris et interioris compositione hominis, extant in close to 400 manuscripts): 1) vocal prayer (oratio vocalis) based on words taken from the psalms, hymns, collects, and other prayers and praises ‘composed for exciting devotion and absolving sin’; 2) prayer based on words shaped by particular feelings (oratio per verba ex proprio affectu formata) in which the soul assumes various persons and voices (servant, beggar, son, bride of God), typically taken from the psalms; and 3) mental prayer (oratio mentalis), in which the mind opens itself to the desire of God and the heart embraces him in love and adoration, sustained in its elevation by the words of the prayer (per verba orationis sustentata) (Roest 2007: 419–421). Writing in the fifteenth century, Dionysius the Carthusian (d. 1471) would summarize this tradition, citing ‘Bernard’ (presumably Bernard of Clairvaux [d. 1153], although his source is more likely not Bernard): ‘Prayer is a rational utterance of the mouth made when we speak orally with God. From this it follows that the speeches of an orator are

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Prayer   321 called “oration” and those who practise the art of rhetoric are called orators. So prayer (oratio) in its proper sense . . . is called “divine rhetoric” ’ (Dionysius 2005: 202).

Prayer as Attention It was one thing to know the words, which, given that it was their office to say the psalms, most monks and nuns did, even if they did not always understand the Latin in which they said or sung them (on the monks’ various levels of comprehension, see Stephen of Sawley  1984: 125–127). It was wholly another to say the words correctly. Perhaps the most famous criticism of this tradition of ‘divine rhetoric’ came in the sixteenth century, when reformers like the former Augustinian friar Martin Luther (d. 1546) would insist that ‘the kind of babbling and bellowing that used to pass for prayers in the church was not really prayer’, only ‘singing or reading exercise’, but Luther was hardly the first to worry about whether the psalms and prayers offered by the monks and nuns were ‘real prayer’ (Luther 1959: 65). As Cassian himself cautioned his monastic brothers, ‘he prays little who prays only while he is on his knees; he prays never who, even though on his knees, is distracted by the idle wanderings of his heart’ (Cassian  1985: 139, with changes). In speaking to God, or so their novice masters insisted, monks and nuns should give God their full attention, praying at once with their mouths and hearts, their feelings (affectus) and intellect (intellectus), their tongues and the understanding of their mind. For, as the Dominican Jordan of Saxony (d. 1237) warned (citing Hugh of St Victor), ‘God does not hear the prayer of one who prays without attention, something which is often caused by the promptings of the devil’ (Jordan 1993: 198–199). Indeed, as the Benedictine Gertrude of Helfta (d. c.1302) once learned in a vision, the devil took positive delight in the mistakes that the nuns made in reciting the psalms. ‘Well has your creator, your saviour and your lover, employed his gifts in giving you such facility of speech’, he chided her. ‘You can make eloquent discourses on any subject whenever you want, but when you speak to him your words are so hasty and careless that just now in this psalm you left out this number of letters, this number of syllables, and this number of words’ (Gertrude 1993: 205). Rather than giving the devils the satisfaction (as the fifteenth-century Brigittine Myroure of oure Ladye told it) of filling great sacks with all of the letters, syllables, and words dropped from the psalms, monks and nuns devised various techniques for helping themselves pay attention in prayer (ed. Blunt 1873: 52–54). Following Cassian, Jordan of Saxony suggested that at the beginning of the canonical hours the brothers should fortify themselves with the sign of the cross against the devil’s attacks, and say, ‘O God, come to my aid’ (Ps. 69 [70]: 2) (Jordan 1993: 202). Fifteenth-century Carthusians were known for using their hands as if playing on a harp to hold their attention while they recited the psalms, while the Augustinian canon Jan Mombaer (d. 1501) devised an elaborate Chyropsalterium or mnemonic hand for keying the rhetorical structure and voices of the psalms to the affect of the one praying. Seventeenth-century editions of Ignatius

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322   Rachel Fulton BROWN Loyola’s Exercitia spiritualia (first published 1548) would adopt a similar hand for remembering the parts of the examination of conscience (see Fulton Brown  2012). Likewise, by the fifteenth century, the Carthusians and Dominicans were promoting the use of prayer beads or rosaries for sustaining the attention of monastics and laity alike as they prayed (see Fulton 2007). Above all, Mombaer advised his brothers, it was necessary to prepare oneself properly before beginning to pray, much as one would warm up before playing an instrument, so as not to appear before the Lord tepid or idle (Mombaer 1603: 125). As the Venerable Bede (d. 735) had put it, ‘one who enters a church to pray, and neglects to drive away from his mind its usual superfluous thoughts while he [pours forth] his words of entreaty, is like a person seeking the Lord without bringing with him the spices he has prepared’ (cited by DeGregorio 1999: 15). No more than they would attempt to address an earthly prince without preparing themselves to speak, so, Dionysius the Carthusian cautioned, monks should prepare themselves to speak to God by clearing their minds of distractions and considering the importance of prayer (Dionysius 2005: 214–219, 226–228).

Prayer as Service to God, Self, and Neighbour Just as rhetorically prayer might take a number of forms both vocal and mental, so prayer had various purposes. Commentators from Cassian to Dionysius typically took as a starting point the four divisions of prayer listed in 1 Timothy 2: 1 (supplications, prayers, intercessions, and thanksgivings), but practically speaking the purposes of the prayers offered by the monks and nuns were understood as threefold: to praise God, to beg pardon for one’s sins, and to intercede on behalf of one’s neighbour, most particularly against the attacks of the devil.

Praising God Monastic life was first and foremost a preparation for the service offered to God daily in the choir. While, as we have seen, attention was key, this service was bodily as much as it was vocal and mental. Monks and nuns were expected to discipline themselves so as to be able to stand in the sight of God and his angels cleansed of all distracting thoughts, composed in body—its members, movements, and gestures—as well as in mind. The hermit Peter Damian (d. 1072) insisted with characteristic vehemence that monks should stand while saying the Divine Office (Peter Damian 1998: 248–257). Jordan of Saxony concurred: ‘When the brothers stand in choir for the divine office each one should be on his guard against being lazy and disinterested. Rather he should compel

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Prayer   323 his spirit to stand in reverence and eagerly to sing to God before the angels who are present there, saying with the psalmist: In the sight of the angels I shall sing to you (Ps. 137 [138]: 1)’ (Jordan 1993: 197). It was particularly important, Mombaer insisted, that the monks should sing clearly, fully (without syncopation), and harmoniously, while standing facing the altar, attuned to the words that they were singing, for, as the Carthusian Ludolph of Saxony (d. 1378) reminded them (as cited by Mombaer), just as Christ suffered for their behalf on the cross, so the monks should stand in his service (Mombaer 1603: 130). Prayer from this perspective was understood above all as a form of sacrifice, offered in body and voice as well as in heart and mind. As Cassiodorus explained in his commentary on Psalm 68 [69]:32: ‘Praise poured out from a pure heart is much more acceptable to God than the slaughter of cattle can please Him’ (Cassiodorus  1990–1991: 2: 157). Commenting on Psalm 49 [50]:21, Augustine concurred: ‘All God demands of us is a sacrifice of praise . . . The offering of this sacrifice consists in giving thanks to him from whom you have every good thing you have, to him by whose mercy whatever evil you have from yourself is forgiven you . . . The Lord delights in this sweet fragrance’ (Augustine 2000–2004: 2: 399–400). ‘Let my prayer come before you like incense’, the psalmist prayed, ‘the raising of my hands like an evening sacrifice’ (Ps. 140 [141]:2). Monastic commentators on their life of prayer consistently emphasized that monks and nuns should comport themselves in choir as if singing before the angels, ‘praying and singing [as Pope Benedict XVI has eloquently put it] in such a way as to harmonize with the music of the noble spirits who were considered the originators of the harmony of the cosmos, the music of the spheres’ (Benedict XVI 2008). Dionysius the Carthusian put it if anything most succinctly: ‘To praise God is a most noble, heavenly and angelic act. It is worthier than the prayer of supplication’ (Dionysius 2005: 259).

Begging Pardon Monks and nuns might insist in the charters that they made for their donors that their prayers were the more effective because they were praying the prayers of the angels (McLaughlin 1994: 228–230), but in the privacy of their psalters, monks acknowledged that they needed prayer as well. Arguably the most significant contribution to our understanding of monastic prayer in recent decades has involved the study of collections of prayers (so-called libelli precum) that the monks copied into the psalters with which they learned to pray. Although earlier twentieth-century scholarship tended to distinguish sharply between the communal prayers offered in the liturgy and the individualized prayers recorded in the libelli, closer study of these so-called ‘private’ prayers has shown how much they, too, were intertwined with the monks’ experience of praying the psalms (see Boynton 2007, 2008). Nor, it has more recently been argued, was there as sharp a distinction between the famously affective prayers of the later Middle Ages, particularly those modelled on the prayers written by Anselm of Canterbury

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324   Rachel Fulton BROWN (d. 1109), and the purportedly less self-conscious or emotional prayers of earlier ­centuries (for this discussion, see Fulton 2006; Edsall 2010; McNamer 2010; Choy 2014; McGuire 2014). Monks and nuns throughout the Middle Ages prayed conscious of themselves as sinners in need of God’s mercy, much as the psalmist himself had prayed: ‘Have mercy on me, O God, according to thy great mercy . . .Wash me yet more from my iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin’ (Ps. 50 [51]:3–4). In his commentary on the psalms, Cassiodorus singled out seven (Ps. 6, 31 [32], 37 [38], 50 [51], 101 [102], 129 [130], and 142 [143]) as specifically ‘penitential’, which Alcuin would later recommend as especially beneficial for stirring the mind to the hope of God’s mercy (Driscoll 2000). From the ninth century, these seven penitential psalms began to be copied into psalters as a group along with additional prayers of confession. In the tenth century, the Regularis concordia for England enjoined the communal recitation of these same psalms three times daily in three groups in addition to the regular Office: the first three psalms were to be said for oneself, the next two for the queen and her associates, and the last two for the dead (Symons 1953: 81–82). Far from giving the monks little opportunity to reflect upon themselves as individuals, such communal psalmody demanded it, as the psalms themselves made every monk conscious of his responsibility to pray with proper attention and affect. Accordingly, monks prayed specifically that their psalms be acceptable to God precisely because they knew themselves to be sinners making the offering. As one of a series of prayers copied into a late eleventh-century psalter from the abbey of Farfa petitioned: May you deign to receive, Lord God omnipotent, these consecrated psalms, which I, a wretched and unhappy sinner, have sung in honour of your name for myself, a sinner, and for all my benefactors, and for those whom I shall commend in my prayers, and for all Christians living and dead, grant, Lord Jesus Christ, that these psalms obtain for us salvation and doing true penitence (cited by Boynton 2007: 920–921).

If, by the twelfth century, such introspection was to be more explicitly theorized (as, for example, by Hugh of St Victor), it had long been a concern of those standing to sing the psalms in the sight of God and his angels.

Doing Battle But, of course, it was not only God and his angels who were listening to the monks’ and nuns’ prayers and singing. The devil and his demons were likewise present, eager to gather up not only dropped syllables, but also souls. Far from living lives of comfort in contemplative retreat, medieval monks and nuns took their motto from Job. ‘Man’s life on earth is a warfare (militia)’ (Job 7: 1), the patient sufferer had warned, and so monks and nuns entered the choir expecting to fight. Just as the great monastic founder St Anthony of Egypt (d. 356) had gone into the desert to battle the demons, so Cassian described the monk as a soldier of Christ (miles Christi) who ‘ought always to walk with his loins girded’ (Cassian 1894: bk.1, c. 1). Likewise, Benedict urged his brothers to recognize

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Prayer   325 the monastery as a scola, not simply a school, but a training ground for warriors armed with the ‘strong, bright weapons of obedience’ so as ‘to do battle under the Lord Christ, the true King’ (RB, prologue). While early medieval commentators on this imagery emphasized rather the ascetic struggles in which the monks were engaged, under the Carolingians in particular this warfare was to take on a more specifically intercessory role. Just as their knightly brothers fought in the secular world with physical swords on behalf of their king, lord, and people (at least, ideally), so monks and nuns fought with the spiritual sword of prayer on behalf of the living and the dead whom they inscribed in their memorial books (libri memoriales) or ‘books of life’ (libri vitae) (De Jong 1995: 649–650). As the charter granted in 966 by King Edgar of England to the monks of the New Minster at Winchester colourfully put it: The abbot is armed with spiritual weapons and supported by a troop of monks anointed with the dew of heavenly graces. They fight together in the strength of Christ with the sword of the spirit against the aery wiles of the devils. They defend the king and the clergy of the realm from the onslaughts of their invisible enemies (cited by Southern 1970: 224–225).

In the twelfth century, this spiritual warfare was to be taken up by the physically armed monk-knights of the Temple and the Hospital of St John, but arguably even they needed the help of their spiritual brothers and sisters in arms to resist the temptations of the enemy. As Dionysius the Carthusian reminded his brothers, they must be ‘sober and watchful’ in their prayers, ‘for’, as the apostle warns, ‘your enemy, the devil, goes round like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour’ (1 Peter 5:8) (Dionysius 2005: 219). Precisely how to read this metaphoric militarization of the monks’ life of prayer has been the subject of some speculation. Edward Gibbon (d. 1794), of course, insisted that it was the asceticism of the monks that ultimately weakened and, therefore, brought about the collapse of the western Roman Empire (by the by raising the question for whom, exactly, they were praying) (Gibbon 1782: vol. 3, ch. 37). In contrast, more recent scholarship has pointed to the way in which the ritualized aggression of the monks’ liturgical life made psychologically possible the physically violent life of their natal brothers still in the world (Rosenwein 1971). Once again, however, it helps to recall what exactly it was that the monks were singing as they parried ‘the aery wiles of the devils’ with their prayers. According to the psalms, the LORD they served was a ‘Lord of armies’ (Dominus virtutum) (Ps. 23 [24]:10; 45 [46]:8, 12) and ‘God of hosts’ (Deus virtutum) (79 [80]:5, 8, 20; 88 [89]:9), ‘mighty in battle’ (Ps. 23 [24]: 8), a warrior armed with sword, shield, and bow, who rode in a chariot surrounded by ten thousand hosts (Ps. 7:13; 17 [18]:15; 34 [35]:2–3; 44 [45]:4–6; 67 [68]:18), who protected all who trusted in him and taught them how to fight (Ps. 17 [18]:31–35; 19 [20]:8; 26 [27]:3; 34 [35]:1–3; 36 [37]; 43 [44]; 45 [46]:8–12; 88 [89]) (Smith 2011: 24–25). Given that the earliest Christians identified Christ with this same LORD, it took arguably but little effort on the part of the commentators to convince the monks and nuns that they were the very same warriors of which they sang (on this identification of Jesus, see Barker 2007: 73–98).

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326   Rachel Fulton BROWN

Prayer as Devotion There remains the question of what the monks and nuns felt as they sang and prayed. It was a concern that went back through Jesus himself to the prophets: ‘Well did Isaiah prophesy of you’, Jesus told the Pharisees, ‘when he said: “This people honours me with their lips, but their heart is far from me” ’ (Matt. 15:7–8, citing Isa. 29:13). Ever after, Christians would be haunted by the fear of hypocrisy, monks and nuns perhaps even more so than others, standing as they did day after day to sing praises to God. Throughout the Middle Ages, monastic reformers would urge their brothers and sisters to pray the psalms with both understanding and feeling, ever anxious that they be accused (as, indeed, they so often have been) of praying only with their lips (on this anxiety, see Constable 1986; Dyer 1999: 62–65). According to Augustine, they were to take their cue from the psalms: ‘If the psalm prays, pray; if it groans, groan; if it rejoices, rejoice; if it hopes, hope, and if it is afraid, be afraid’ (cited by Feiss 2013: 347). The ideal, as Cassian had put it, was for the monks to recognize their own experience and emotions in the psalms ‘as in a mirror’, so that by praying the psalms they would give birth to these same feelings ‘in the depths of [their] hearts as if they were feelings naturally there and part of [their] being’ (Cassian 1985: 138). Likewise, the mid-ninth century treatise De psalmorum usu attributed to Alcuin urged its readers: ‘If you look with an attentive mind, in the psalms you will find prayer so intimate that you cannot imagine it by yourself. In the psalms you will find the intimate confession of your sins and the whole supplication of divine mercy’ (cited by Boynton  2006: 86; cf. Black  2002: 50). In similar fashion, Anselm of Canterbury designed his prayers to be read ‘a little at a time, with deep and thoughtful meditation’ so as ‘to stir up the mind of the reader to the love or fear of God, or to self-examination’ (Anselm 1973: 89–90). While Anselm is often credited with inventing a new ‘affective’ style of prayer, his prayers in fact borrow many of their most ‘affective’ expressions directly from the psalms (see e.g the prayer to Christ, with borrowings from Ps. 72 [73]:25–26; 76 [77]:3; and 26 [27]:8–9 [Anselm 1973: 97–98, ll. 149–157]). Long before the modern era’s much celebrated (not to say, self-congratulatory) emotional and experiential turn in religiosity, ‘real prayer’ (pura oratio) was identified in the monastic tradition with feelings of devotion, with the significant difference that premodern monks and nuns were happy to acknowledge that such feelings might be stimulated by the exercise of the intellect on the spoken and written word. As Hugh of St Victor would put it, ‘prayer is nothing else than devotion of the mind (mentis deuotio), that is, turning toward God with a loving and humble feeling (per pium et humilem affectum), supported by faith, hope, and charity’. More to the point, Hugh would insist, ‘all the power of prayer (omnis uirtus orandi) is in feelings of piety (in affectibus pietatis)’— examples of all of which (love, wonder, joy, humility, sadness, fear, indignation, zeal, and healthy assurance) might be found in the psalms (Hugh of St Victor 2013: 333, 341–343). According to the system famously articulated by Guigo II the Carthusian (d. 1188),

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Prayer   327 prayer (oratio) is best understood as the third rung of the ladder (scala) by which monks are lifted up from earth to heaven. While reading (lectio) teaches the monk what it is he seeks and meditation (meditatio) enables him to perceive it, he cannot achieve the height of contemplation (contemplatio) without prayer, for it is through the ‘burning words’ of prayer that the soul ‘enflames its own desire, makes known its state, and . . . . seeks to call its spouse’ (Guigo 1979: 72–73). Later commentators on the monastic life would further articulate this relationship between the words of prayer and the feeling of devotion, without, however, feeling any need to suggest that what they were describing was anything new. For the Franciscan David of Augsburg, prayer was (in Bert Roest’s words [2007: 422–423]) ‘the purest if not the only proper gate towards God’. As David described it, the path of spiritual progress consists of seven steps, beginning with 1) vocal prayer, giving intense attention in the mind to the words spoken by the lips, and ascending through 2) rumination on the Scriptures with mouth and heart such that 3) the heart is filled with the desire for God, 4) the mind is illuminated with a light of pure understanding, 5) the heart is intoxicated with the contemplation of God, and 6) the spirit of the one praying is joined to God in ecstasy of mind. While for everyone other than Paul and the Virgin Mary the seventh stage of prayer or visio beatifica by which the angels and saints see God face to face must typically await the afterlife, according to David prayer in this life grounded in understanding and devotion was the surest path to this vision in the next. As Mombaer put it in his instructions on how to prepare for prayer, all religion is arid without devotion; devotion is the fat without which the soul dies. Without devotion, all prayer is mute, like a sound without voice; just as singing without modulation resembles the grunting of pigs, so prayer without devotion is like the mooing of cows. Devotion is like the oil burning in the lamps of the wise virgins, for it illuminates the understanding, inflames the affections, enkindles love, provides fat for the holocaust of prayer, pleads with the angels, and opens the heavens (Mombaer 1603: 150–151). Dionysius would concur: ‘Prayer purifies the mind . . . informs and defends us . . . penetrates to heaven . . . pours out consolation . . . refines the intellect, warms the heart . . . [and] checks the passions’. In a word: ‘It joins us to God’ (Dionysius 2005: 233).

Prayer as an Opportunity for Future Research While a great deal of work has been done in recent decades on the less verbal, more bodily or sensory stimuli that monks and nuns used to help focus their attention and affect as they prayed (e.g. images), far less attention has been given to the way in which speaking structured their experience of prayer. In part, there remains the problem of sources, of editing and translating the vast corpus of medieval prayer, including the psalms and

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328   Rachel Fulton BROWN prayers copied into that bestseller of late medieval book production, the Book of Hours, itself modelled on the monastic psalter (see Reinberg 2012). Far more problematic, however, remains the post-Romantic privileging of prayer as a spontaneous expression of feeling, not to mention the corollary post-Enlightenment rejection of (spoken) prayer as (merely) social performance (a rejection itself echoing, if unconsciously, Jesus’ criticism of the hypocrites). Coupled with a contemporary preference for mental, non-verbal prayer more akin to what Westerners imagine Eastern styles of meditation are like, this prejudice against prayers made with words has made it almost impossible for most modern scholars to appreciate the structured address to God, his angels, and saints at the heart of medieval monastic worship, intercession, and devotion. Nor has it helped that so much of this prayer was embedded in a liturgical structure even more daunting in its complexity than the rhetorical forms of the prayers themselves. Nevertheless, to recover this practice will take more than just editing the words of the prayers and deciphering their rhetorical forms (already a formidable task). It will also take a willingness to enter into the prayers as they were intended to be spoken and read: not as barriers, but as gateways to God, their words rising like incense from the burning coals of the heart. To do so will require reacquainting ourselves not only with the forms of speaking in which the monks and nuns were trained by their long association with the psalms, but also with the content of the psalms, including their theology. This is not a process without peril, for (I predict, on the basis of my own current studies of the psalms sung in praise of the Virgin Mary) it will oblige us to rethink almost everything we think we know about the history of Christianity, most particularly its relationship to the LORD in whose praises the psalms were originally sung. If for many following Sabatier and James, such prayer has seemed merely a ‘vain exercise of words’, for the monks and nuns of the medieval tradition as well as for their benefactors, it was the very fuel powering the world. Perhaps it is time we figured out why.

Suggested Reading There are many excellent studies of the structure and content of the medieval monastic liturgy, but no one comprehensive study of medieval monastic prayer, and many of the studies which do exist are available only in more specialized scholarly publications. Leclercq (1982) remains the most accessible introduction to the monks’ formation for a life of prayer, while Jaye (1992) provides an introduction to some of the rhetorical handbooks on prayer that the monks used. More in-depth overviews of the history of monastic prayer may be gleaned from the collections of articles in Cottier (2006), Johnson (2007), Hammerling (2008), and Bhattacharji et al. (2014), all of which also provide further bibliography. Wilmart (1932) includes important studies of individual prayers, while Cottier (2001) traces the transmission and reception of the prayers attributed to Anselm of Bec.

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Prayer   329

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Alcuin of York (1851). De grammatica. Latin text: PL 101: 849-902. Anselm of Canterbury (1973). The Prayers and Meditations with the Proslogion, translated by Benedicta Ward. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Augustine of Hippo (2000–2004). Expositions of the Psalms. 6 vols, translated by Maria Boulding. New York: New City Press. Benedict of Nursia (2001). The Rule of Benedict [RB], translated by Leonard Doyle. (accessed 14 April 2020). Cassiodorus (1990–1991). Explanation of the Psalms. 3 vols, translated by P. G. Walsh. ACW 51–53. New York: Paulist Press. Dionysius the Carthusian (2005). ‘Prayer’. In The Spiritual Writings of Denis the Carthusian, translated by Íde M. Ní Riain. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Gertrude of Helfta (1993). The Herald of Divine Love, translated by Margaret Winkworth. New York: Paulist Press. Guigo II the Carthusian (1979). The Ladder of Monks: A Letter on the Contemplative Life and Twelve Meditations, translated by E.  Colledge and J.  Walsh. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Hugh of St Victor (2013). ‘On the Power of Prayer’, translated by Hugh Feiss. In Writings on the Spiritual Life, edited by Christopher Evans, 317–350. Victorine Texts in Translation 4. Turnhout: Brepols. Isidore of Seville (2009). Etymologiae, selections. In Medieval Grammar and Rhetoric: Language Arts and Literary Theory, AD 300–1475, translated by Rita Copeland and Ineke Sluiter. Oxford: Oxford University Press. John Cassian (1985). Conferences, translated by Colm Luibheid. New York: Paulist Press. John Cassian (1894). Institutes of the Coenobia, translated by Edgar C. S. Gibson. NPNF2, 11. (accessed 14 April 2020). Jordan of Saxony (1993). The Life of the Brethren, translated by Gerard Deighan. Villanova: Augustinian Press. Luther, Martin (1959). The Large Catechism, translated by Robert H. Fischer. Philadelphia, PA: Fortress Press. Mombaer, Jan (1603). Rosetum exercitiorum spiritualium et sacrarum meditationum. Milan: Apud H. Bordonum & P. M. Locarnum. The Myroure of oure Ladye (1873), edited by John Henry Blunt. Early English Text Society, e.s. 19. London: N. Trübner. Peter Damian (1998). Epistola 111. In The Letters of Peter Damian 91–120, translated by Owen Blum. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Smaragdus of Saint-Mihiel (2007). Commentary on the Rule of St. Benedict, translated by David Barry. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Stephen of Sawley (1984). ‘On the Recitation of the Divine Office’. In Treatises, translated by Jeremiah F. O’Sullivan. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Symons, Thomas (ed. and trans.) (1953). The Monastic Agreement of the Monks and Nuns of the English Nation. London: Nelson.

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330   Rachel Fulton BROWN Secondary Sources Barker, Margaret (2007). Temple Themes in Christian Worship. London: T&T Clark. Benedict XVI (2008), Address to the Collège des Bernardins, Paris, 12 September 2008 (accessed 14 April 2020). Bhattacharji, Santha, Rowan Williams, and Dominic Mattos (2014). Prayer and Thought in Monastic Tradition: Essays in Honour of Benedicta Ward, SLG. London: Bloomsbury. Black, Jonathan (2003). ‘Psalm Uses in Carolingian Prayerbooks: Alcuin’s Confessio peccatorum pura and the Seven Penitential Psalms (Use 1)’. Mediaeval Studies 65: 1–56. Black, Jonathan (2002). ‘Psalm Uses in Carolingian Prayerbooks: Alcuin and the Preface to De psalmorum usu’. Mediaeval Studies 64: 1–60. Boynton, Susan (2008). ‘Libelli precum in the Central Middle Ages’. In A History of Prayer: The First to the Fifteenth Century, edited by Roy Hammerling, 255–318. Leiden: Brill. Boynton, Susan (2007). ‘Prayer as Liturgical Performance in Eleventh- and Twelfth-Century Monastic Psalters’. Speculum 82: 896–931. Boynton, Susan (2006). Shaping a Monastic Identity: Liturgy and History at the Imperial Abbey of Farfa, 1000–1125. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Brown, Peter (2003). The Rise of Western Christendom: Triumph and Diversity, AD 200–1000, 2nd edn. Malden: Blackwell. Burton, Janet (1994). Monastic and Religious Orders in Britain, 1000–1300. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Choy, Renie (2014). ‘ “The Brother Who May Wish to Pray by Himself ”: Sense of Self in Carolingian Prayers of Private Devotion’. In Prayer and Thought in Monastic Tradition: Essays in Honour of Benedicta Ward, SLG, edited by Santha Bhattacharji, Rowan Williams, and Dominic Mattos, 101–120. London: Bloomsbury. Constable, Giles (1995). Three Studies in Medieval Religious and Social Thought. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Constable, Giles (1986). ‘The Concern for Sincerity and Understanding in Liturgical Prayer, Especially in the Twelfth Century’. In Classica et Mediaevalia: Studies in Honor of Joseph Szövérffy, edited by Irene Vaslef and Helmut Buschhausen, 17–30. Washington, DC: Classical Folia Editions. Cottier, Jean-François (2006). La prière en latin de l’antiquité au XVIe siècle: Formes, évolutions, significations. Turnhout: Brepols. Cottier, Jean-François (2001). Anima mea: Prières privées et textes de devotion du moyen âge latin. Turnhout: Brepols. DeGregorio, Scott (1999). ‘The Venerable Bede on Prayer and Contemplation’. Traditio 54: 1–39. De Jong, Mayke (1995). ‘Carolingian Monasticism: The Power of Prayer’. In The New Cambridge Medieval History, vol. 2: c.700–c.900, edited by Rosamond McKitterick, 622–653. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Driscoll, Michael  S. (2000). ‘The Seven Penitential Psalms: Their Designation and Usages from the Middle Ages Onwards’. Ecclesia Orans 17: 153–201. Dyer, Joseph (1999). ‘The Psalms in Monastic Prayer’. In The Place of the Psalms in the Intellectual Culture of the Middle Ages, edited by Nancy van Deusen, 59–89. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press.

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Prayer   331 Edsall, Mary Agnes (2010). ‘Learning from the Exemplar: Anselm’s Prayers and Meditations and the Charismatic Text’. Mediaeval Studies 72: 161–196. Edstam, Torsten (2014). ‘From Twelfth-Century Renaissance to Fifteenth-Century Reform: The Reception of Hugh of St. Victor in the Later Middle Ages’. PhD Dissertation, University of Chicago. Foot, Sarah (2006). Monastic Life in Anglo-Saxon England, c.600–900. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Fulton Brown, Rachel (2012). ‘My Psalter, My Self; or How to Get a Grip on the Office According to Jan Mombaer: An Exercise in Training the Attention for Prayer’. Spiritus 12: 75–105. Fulton, Rachel (2007). ‘Praying by Numbers’. Studies in Medieval and Renaissance History, 3rd ser. 4: 195–250. Fulton, Rachel (2006). ‘Praying with Anselm at Admont: A Meditation on Practice’. Speculum 81: 700–733. Gibbon, Edward (1782). The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire (accessed 14 April 2020). Hammerling, Roy (ed.) (2008). A History of Prayer: The First to the Fifteenth Century. Leiden: Brill. Heale, Martin (2009). Monasticism in Late Medieval England, c.1300–1535. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Hendrix, Julian (2010). ‘The Confraternity Books of St. Gall and their Early Liturgical Context’. Revue Bénédictine 120.2: 295–320. Iogna-Prat, Dominique (1998). ‘The Dead in the Celestial Bookkeeping of the Cluniac Monks Around the Year 1000’. In Debating the Middle Ages, edited by Lester Little and Barbara Rosenwein, 340–362. Malden: Blackwell. James, William (1902). The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature. New York: Longmans, Green. Jaye, Barbara (1992). Artes Orandi. Typologie des Sources du Moyen Âge Occidental 61.2. Turnhout: Brepols. Johnson, Timothy (ed.) (2007). Franciscans at Prayer. Leiden: Brill. Kerr, Julie (2009). Life in the Medieval Cloister. London: Continuum. Knowles, David (1963). The Monastic Order in England: A History of its Development from the Times of St Dunstan to the Fourth Lateran Council, 940–1216, 2nd edn. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lawrence, C. H. (1984). Medieval Monasticism: Forms of Religious Life in Western Europe in the Middle Ages. London: Longman. Leclercq, Jean (1982). The Love of Learning and the Desire for God: A Study of Monastic Culture, trans. Catherine Misrahi, 3rd edn. New York: Fordham University Press. Mayr-Harting, Henry (2014). ‘Praying the Psalter in Carolingian Times: What Was Supposed to Be Going on in the Minds of Monks?’ In Prayer and Thought in Monastic Tradition: Essays in Honour of Benedicta Ward, SLG, edited by Santha Bhattacharji, Rowan Williams, and Dominic Mattos, 77–100. London: Bloomsbury. McGuire, Brian Patrick (2014). ‘John of Fécamp and Anselm of Bec: A New Language of Prayer’. In Prayer and Thought in Monastic Tradition: Essays in Honour of Benedicta Ward, SLG, edited by Santha Bhattacharji, Rowan Williams, and Dominic Mattos, 153–165. London: Bloomsbury.

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332   Rachel Fulton BROWN McLaughlin, Megan (1994). Consorting with Saints: Prayer for the Dead in Early Medieval France. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. McNamara, Jo Ann Kay (1996). Sisters in Arms: Catholic Nuns Through Two Millennia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. McNamer, Sarah (2010). Affective Meditation and the Invention of Medieval Compassion. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Reinburg, Virginia (2012). French Books of Hours: Making an Archive of Prayer, c.1400–1600. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Roest, Bert (2007). ‘The Discipline of the Heart: Pedagogies of Prayer in Medieval Franciscan Works of Religious Instruction’. In Franciscans at Prayer, edited by Timothy Johnson, 413–448. Leiden: Brill. Rosenwein, Barbara (1971). ‘Feudal War and Monastic Peace: Cluniac Liturgy as Ritual Aggression’. Viator 2: 129–158. Smith, Katherine Allen (2011). War and the Making of Medieval Monastic Culture. Woodbridge: Boydell. Southern, R. W. (1970). Western Society and the Church in the Middle Ages. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Tugwell, Simon (1985). ‘The Nine Ways of Prayer of St. Dominic: A Textual Study and Critical Edition’. Mediaeval Studies 47: 1–124. Wilmart, André (1932). Auteurs spirituels et textes dévots du Moyen Age latin: Études d’histoire littéraire. Paris: Bloud et Gay.

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chapter 21

M usica l a n d Litu rgica l Pr actice James Grier

Introduction Monastic communities of the Middle Ages devoted enormous resources, material and human, to the celebration of the liturgy, the opus Dei, as Saint Benedict calls it. The liturgy occupied a large portion of monastic daily life and a central place in the monks’ preoccupations, spiritual, aesthetic, and ascetic. Liturgical practice, therefore, formed an essential part of monastic identity, both corporate and individual. In the first instance, a great deal of latitude existed in how each monastery could shape its own liturgy, and, in the second, all members of the community could, in some way, put their personal stamp on the ceremonies in which it consisted. Consequently, the study of the medieval monastic liturgy reveals a good deal about monastic life beyond its ritual aspects and how monks and their communities viewed themselves, about the larger secu­lar and ecclesiastical worlds in which they participated, and about their interaction. No general treatment of the monastic liturgy exists. The best surveys treat regular and secular usages together, carefully distinguishing between the two practices (Vogel 1975; Hughes  1982; and Harper  1991). René-Jean Hesbert (1963–1979), drawing equally on secu­lar and monastic witnesses, attempted to create a tool to help scholars reconstruct the form of the Divine Office that the Franks of the Carolingian era adopted from the Romans, a goal whose quixotic nature even Hesbert had to admit (Hesbert 1963–1979: vol. 5, v; Grier 2013b: 37). Another dominant strain of research sees scholars trace the history of liturgical developments at a single monastery, abandoning overview for the specific case history. The series of monastic customaries published in Corpus Consuetudinum Monasticarum (1963– ) forms an essential base for such investigations. Significant examples of individual synthetic studies include those of Saint Denis (Robertson 1991) and Farfa (Boynton 2006). These last two have generated an invitation to investigate the role of liturgy in soliciting and maintaining secular patronage from

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334   James Grier powerful royal, imperial, and aristocratic families, to investigate, as it were, the political economy of the liturgy, its attendant music, and the relics that often support it. Benedict of Nursia defined in his Rule the role of the liturgy in Western monastic life, requiring that all monks participate in the ‘intoning of the Psalms’ (ad psalmum inponendum, RB 63.4) (Benedict of Nursia 1977, ed. Hanslik: 160), but that only those should read or sing during the Office who can fulfill the tasks in such a way ‘that those hearing it would be edified’ (ut aedificentur audientes, RB 47.3) (Benedict  1977: 125). These provisions regulate participation in the celebration of the Office, which Benedict describes in detail (RB 8–20) (Benedict 1977: 58–83). The form he here lays out accords with that adopted in documents of the monastic Office in the Latin West from the ­eleventh century onwards. Surviving monastic witnesses from the ninth and tenth centuries, however, exhibit either the secular form of the Office or a blend of both secular and monastic forms. The biggest single difference between the two falls in the arrangement of the constituent Psalms with antiphons, and lections followed by responsories, of Matins (Collamore 2000). The Compiègne and Hartker antiphoners, Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS latin 174361, (Huglo 1993; Jacobsson 2000) and Saint Gall, Stiftsbibliothek, MSS 390–391 (facsimile PalMus ser. 2, 1; MPG 4, 1–22; Pouderoijen and de Loos 2009), respectively, exhibit the secular form of the Office, while the antiphoner of MontRenaud, Paris, Private Collection (facsimile PalMus 16; Robertson 1991: 425–434), mixes secular and monastic forms. The earliest monastic manuscript known to the author that preserves the form of the Office as prescribed by Saint Benedict originated at the abbey of Saint Martial, Limoges, in the second decade of the eleventh century: Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS latin 10853 (Grier 2000). Hesbert posited that the monastic form of the Office practised in the Frankish empire descended from the secular, and the evidence of Compiègne, Hartker, and Mont-Renaud would seem to confirm his view (Hesbert 1963–1979, vol. 5, 28–31, 233–258). That secular version of the Office may descend from the Roman version imported into the Frankish realm under Pippin the Short and Charlemagne.4 But why did abbeys, apparently beginning in the eleventh century, move or indeed move back to the form promulgated by Benedict? Clearly, a renewed devotion to the Rule would explain the appearance of its form of the Office in monastic establishments. Such an initiative occurred early in the reign of Louis the Pious under the reforms advanced by Benedict of Aniane in the Concordia regularum (Benedict of Aniane 1999), yet that measure predates all three of these early sources, Hartker, by nearly two centuries. It is true that monasteries were slow to embrace the requirement. Saint Martial, which produced Paris, Bibliothèque nationale 1  Reproduced at 2  Reproduced at 3  At 4  Regarding chant, the chief text is the Admonitio generalis 78, of 23 March 789 (Mordek, ZechielEckes, and Glatthaar 2013: 230). On the eighth-century Frankish reform of the liturgy, see Klauser (1933); Vogel (1965 and 1979); Bernard (1996: 639–709); and Hen (2001: 42–95).

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Musical and Liturgical Practice   335 de France, MS latin 1085 in the early eleventh century, adopted the rule in ad 848, a generation after Benedict’s initiative (Pertz 1829: MGH SS 2: 251; compare the situation at Saint Denis, Robertson 1991: 33–38). Nevertheless, it is difficult to believe that those who produced Compiègne, for the dedication of the chapel at the imperial palace of Charles the Bald in Compiègne, ad 877, could have ignored a stipulation issued under the authority of the emperor’s father if anyone was still adhering to it. And with the diminishing central authority of the Carolingian administration through the ninth century to its disappearance in the tenth, monasteries would feel less compulsion to comply with an imperial mandate issued early in the ninth century. We need to look to a series of local reforms that occurred in the tenth century, most notably that of Cluny, which rapidly built an empire of dependencies in this period, including an informal connection with Saint Martial in the tenth century, and eventually its outright possession in the eleventh (Lasteyrie 1901: 422, 426–429). In the context of this renewed enthusiasm for the Rule in the tenth century, monks, including those at Saint Martial, applied the liturgical practices it stipulated to their own ceremonies.

The Shape of the Monastic Liturgy The sources of the Benedictine liturgy create a bifurcation between the liturgy of the Eucharist and the daily cycle of the Divine Office, often placing texts for each in different books (Grier 1995). Each of the ceremonies in the Office revolves around the singing of Psalmody, each Psalm framed by an antiphon, a brief chant, and concluding with the Lesser Doxology (Gloria patri, sung as the final two verses of the Psalm). Lauds and Vespers add, after the Psalmody, a canticle from the New Testament, the Benedictus (Luke 1: 68–79) in the former and the Magnificat (Luke 1: 46–55) in the latter. An antiphon and the Lesser Doxology frame these texts, which use a more elaborate musical setting than the Office Psalmody (Ademar 2012, II.1, II.3, and II.8, 1: 78–80, 157–173, and 191–193; 2: 18, 41–49, 57, 218, 235–238, 240). Most of the daily Offices include a reading, but Matins incorporates several, as many as twelve on Sundays and feasts, each followed by an ornate chant, known as a responsory, that affords a musical backdrop for a moment of contemplation on the reading (Ademar 2012, II.2, 1: 81–156, 2: 19–40, 218–235; App. F.3, 2: 170–172, 387). The responsories constitute the most complex music of the Office. The Mass, whose liturgy Benedict does not discuss, employs a greater variety of music, differentiated principally according to function, that also allows more scope for virtuosic performance, particularly in the Gradual, Alleluia, and Offertory. The Mass opens and closes with chants of similar construction; the Introit accompanies the procession to the altar, and the Communion coincides with the symbolic communion of the congregation. Both chants comprise an antiphon (as in the Office) with one or (in the case of the Introit) sometimes several verses (often drawn from the Psalms) and the Lesser Doxology, this time sung as a single final verse. The Gradual and the Alleluia both employ responsorial form and occur between the readings from the Bible that form the

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336   James Grier instructional portion of the Mass, where they offer a moment of contemplation, like the responsories of Matins. The Offertory, which also uses responsorial form, accompanies the symbolic offering (Ademar 2012: II.9, 1: 194–204, 2: 58–59, 240–243). In addition, choral chants mark the arrival of the celebrant at the altar (Kyrie), the end of the introductory section of the Mass (Gloria), the conclusion of the instructional portion (Credo, the communal affirmation of faith), the elevation of the host (Sanctus), and the celebrant’s communion (Agnus dei). The structure of these ceremonies varies with the season. For example, during the penitential season of Lent, the Mass omits the Gloria, and the Tract, a chant consisting of several Psalm verses sung without refrain, replaces the Alleluia. Moreover, the day and rank of feast governs the choice of text and melody for a specific item. The choral chants of the Mass, Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus dei, collectively known as the Ordinary of the Mass, have fixed texts but the melodies assigned to them change according to the rank of the feast. The other five chants of the Mass use texts and melodies specific to the feasts on which they occur. Liturgists employ the terms ‘common’ and ‘proper’ to describe these relationships (Hughes 1982: 44–49). In the strictest sense, a common item occurs on every day of the liturgical year, a proper one only once. In practice, however, the two terms define the ends of a continuum with many gradations in between. For example, the Gloria is certainly common, but is not sung in penitential seasons, as noted earlier. And many proper chants appear on several days of the year, as the chants for the various Marian feasts exemplify. To maintain control of this very complex cycle of ceremonies, the monks exploited two principal resources: human and written. The monastic community depended a great deal on its preserved communal memory and the responsibility for controlling, maintaining, and preserving it eventually devolved upon the cantor, a formal officer within the administrative structure of the abbey. This individual directed the celebration of the liturgy, organized the chants and readings for the individual feasts, chose the monks who performed them, and oversaw the production and maintenance of the liturgical books (Fassler 1985; Grier 1995). He would have been a skilled singer, but the office itself carried largely administrative duties rather than performing. By the second half of the eleventh century, the abbey of Cluny had combined the offices of cantor and armarius, the keeper of the monastic library, a merger that indicates the importance of books for the successful fulfilment of the cantor’s duties (Fassler 1985: 43–51). The cantor had at his disposal a range of books, in the production of which he usually played a significant role. These included the sacramentary (prayers for the Mass), lectionary (readings for Mass and Office, often in separate books), breviary (texts of the Office), Psalter (the Psalms, of course, and the canticles from both Old and New Testament, all for the Office), missal (texts of the Mass), as well as the chant books, ori­ gin­al­ly called antiphoners, for both Mass and Office. Later the Mass book acquired the name gradual (Vogel  1975; Hughes  1982: 100–244; and Palazzo  1993). Many of these begin with the kalendar, in which the scribe recorded the cycle of feasts and observances particular to the house that produced the book. The antiphoners hold the greatest

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Musical and Liturgical Practice   337 importance for the organization of the music that animated these ceremonies (Huglo 1988), and two manuscripts produced at Saint Martial early in the eleventh century in order to record all of the repertories of liturgical music in use at the abbey demonstrate some of the possibilities for their organization. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MSS latins 1085 and 11205 contain the music for Office and Mass, respectively. The author believes that Roger de Chabannes, cantor of the abbey until his death in 1025, directed their production, and the author tentatively identifies his hand in the main text of the former codex (Grier 1995: esp. 68 and 82). That witness, the Office antiphoner, exemplifies the kind of manuscript the cantor would find useful for planning the liturgy, daily, weekly, or by the season: for the most part, it contains lists of the chants for each feast of the year, identified by textual incipit with very sparing musical notation (Grier 2000). Where fuller notation does occur, it usually provides the musical setting for the verses of the Matins responsories, music sung by one of the soloists of the abbey’s musical community. Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS latin 1120, on the other hand, the book with chants for the Mass, contains several genres of chants, each in its own section (libellus in codicological terms, or ‘little book’), arranged by the liturgical year: proper tropes, ordinary tropes, prosae, processional antiphons, Offertories, and antiphons (Grier 1995: 108–109). (Tropes are newly composed passages of music, text, or both added to existing pieces of chant, the Introit, Offertory, and Communion in the proper, the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus, and Agnus dei of the ordinary; prosae are fully texted sequences, the independent chant sung after the Alleluia.) This arrangement does not facilitate the planning of the liturgy the way Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS latin 1085 does. Chants proper to a single feast occur in four of the sections (proper tropes, prosae, processional antiphons, and Offertories), and the cantor would select appropriate chants from the fifth (ordinary tropes). The layout of this book does, however, fulfil another need within the monastic mu­sic­al community, that of the singer who aspires to become a soloist. All the genres in it contain a significant amount of music, often very challenging from a technical standpoint, for the soloist, and the music scribe has written the soloist’s sections of the melodies in full. A musician could work through the melodies of a single genre in the appropriate section of Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MS latin 1120, learning the chants for the entire year at the level that might generate an invitation from the cantor to sing a solo as part of the Mass. In fact, the order of the genres suggests a peda­ gogic­al programme as they progress from the simpler proper and ordinary tropes through the prosae, which present certain problems of diction with their syllabic settings (i.e. a single note generally sets each syllable of text), to the more ornate and technically more difficult processional antiphons and Offertories, a veritable set of gradus ad parnassum (Grier 2006c: 45–48; and 2013a: 621–622). The memory and expertise of the abbey’s musical community, above all its cantor, and books such as Paris, Bibliothèque nationale de France, MSS latins 1085 and 1120 5  At

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338   James Grier s­ upported the celebration of the liturgy in all its complexities through the daily, seasonal, and annual cycles. As the public display of the abbey’s spiritual life, the liturgy assumed a central position in asserting monastic piety. In many houses, that spiritual life centred on the local cult of saints, especially those supported by relics (Grabar  1943–1946; Boussel 1971; Herrmann-Mascard 1975; Van Dam 1985: 177–300; and Geary 1990). These local cults served to distinguish among monastic communities in their ceaseless and ever escalating competition for prestige, patronage (especially from the laity), and the universally important pilgrimage traffic. Each factor affected the others, of course, and all directly influenced the economic health of the house.

Pilgrimage, Patronage, and the Political Economy of the Liturgy Two incidents recounted by Ademar of Chabannes (989–1034), monk of Saint Cybard in Angoulême, historian, homilist, and musician also active at Saint Martial in Limoges, indicate the importance of relics and pilgrimage for monastic communities. He narrates the discovery of the skull of Saint John the Baptist at the abbey of SaintJean d’Angély in 1016 and the ceremonies convened by the Duke of Aquitaine to authenticate a clearly false relic (Ademar 1999: 13–14 and 175–177; Landes 1994: 35–36; Landes  1995: 47–49). The duke summoned relics from across Aquitaine, including those of Saints Cybard and Martial, whose presence lent weight to the object. One can measure the importance of such relics by a second incident that occurred two years later at Saint Martial. A large crowd of pilgrims assembled in front of the abbey one Sunday morning during Lent 1018. When the doors of the basilica opened, some fiftytwo of them died in the crush (Pertz 1829: MGH SS 2: 252; Ademar 1999: 169; [Ademar] 1874: 7; Itier 1998: 12–13; Landes 1995: 67–68). One can only imagine the size of the crowd that would have caused this tragedy, but its magnitude gives some idea of the attraction Saint Martial had as a pilgrimage destination, fueled by its relics, local cults, and the liturgy that celebrated them. These pilgrims represented a significant economic factor for the holy sites they visited and the communities that hosted them, as they purchased the badges and tokens that symbolized the sites, availed themselves of lodging, and consumed nourishment (Sumption 1975: 203–210; Albert 1999: 423–426; and Webb 2002: 33–38). The monastery may not have benefited directly from all this activity, but as the principal reason for the pilgrimage and as one of the principal landholders in the communities (as many monasteries were), it certainly derived some economic advantage from pilgrims’ traffic. All of these factors potentially led to an ascending spiral, as a higher volume of pilgrims increased the prestige of the place that, in turn, served to encourage even more traffic. And the sanctity of the site, generated in large part by the relics it preserved, formed the basis of this prestige, but the liturgy became its public face.

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Musical and Liturgical Practice   339 The history of three abbeys indicates the manner in which sanctity, patronage, power, and pilgrimage interacted, all through the medium of the liturgy. From the death of Hugh Capet in 987 until the revolution, the abbey of Saint Denis, on the northern outskirts of Paris, served as the place of interment for the French kings. Hugh had an im­ port­ ant precedent in the Merovingian king Dagobert, who died in 639 (Robertson 1991: 13–18). A century after Hugh’s death, when his descendant Philip I (d. 1108) chose the abbey of Saint-Benoît-sur-Loire as his place of burial, Abbot Adam of Saint Denis devised an elaborate service for the anniversary of King Dagobert’s death to encourage all subsequent kings to be buried at Saint Denis. We can measure his success through the fact that only two kings, between Philip I in the early eleventh century and the demise of the monarchy in the French Revolution at the end of the eighteenth, chose other places of interment, Louis VII (d. 1180) and Louis XI (d. 1483) (Robertson 1991: 46–48 and 83–101). A similar story unfolded at Farfa, just north of Rome. The monks there embraced several strategies within their liturgical practices to foster patronage from the German emperors, among them ceremonies for the commemoration of the emperor (beginning with one for Henry IV in 1082), for the entrance of the emperor to the abbey, and a special consideration for the liturgy of the Assumption, an event that the emperors con­ sidered to be comparable to their own ascent to heaven (Boynton 2006: 148–162). Thus, these two abbeys actively sought patronage from powerful lay rulers that in turn conferred prestige and power on the abbeys. In return, the abbeys offered the sanctity of their precincts, especially for the Frankish monarchs who chose to be buried at Saint Denis, and permanent remembrance in the liturgy. The third abbey that used its liturgy as a lever to acquire power and prestige was, of course, Cluny. It originated in the early tenth century as the gift of a lay patron, Duke William of Aquitaine, who ceded the election of its abbot to the monks themselves and proprietorship to the pope. It rapidly acquired a network of dependencies through the reputation of the spirituality of its monks (Sackur 1892–1894; Mager 1959; Hunt 1967: 124–194; Cowdrey  1970: 67–118, 191–252; Valous  1970: 2: 45–114, 167–271; Cluny in Lombardia 1979–1981; Violante et al. 1985; Rosenwein 1989; Racinet 1990; Wollasch 1996: 141–197; Poeck 1998; and Méhu 2001). The chief public demonstration of Cluniac spir­itu­ al­ity lay in the celebration of the liturgy (Schmitz 1960; Hunt 1967: 99–123; Valous 1970: 1: 327–372; Rosenwein  1971; Hallinger  1977; Tirot  1981; Resnick  1988; and Boynton and Cochelin 2005). Scholars agree that the opus Dei occupied so much of the day at Cluny that most monks did not engage at all in the opus manuum, manual labour. Many monastic patrons would find this level of engagement in the liturgy a welcome obstacle to other, less holy pursuits that might distract the monks from their most important task, prayer. Consequently, although the liturgy does not receive much discussion in accounts of the growth in this network, it would seem obvious that the Cluniac practices would rank high among the incentives for patrons to invite the Cluniacs to reform monasteries under their jurisdiction (Hunt 1967: 139–140; and Cattaneo 1979–1981). The relationship between the dukes of Aquitaine and the abbey of Saint Martial reflects the tensions that emerged between aristocrats and ecclesiastical institutions in

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340   James Grier the quest for power and prestige. The coronation of Charles the Child, son of Charles the Bald, as king of Aquitaine at Saint Martial in 855 (Ademar 1999: 137) appears to have generated on the part of the monks the hope that lay aristocrats, such as the dukes who succeeded Charles, would seek confirmation of their position from the abbey. The dukes did subsequently cultivate a relationship with the abbey but did not habitually hold their installation there. In the early eleventh century, for example, Duke William the Great, who, as count of Poitou, kept his seat at Poitiers, nevertheless used Saint Martial for various purposes. On his return from an expedition to Rome in 1010, he hosted a group of Aquitanian, Frankish, and Italian nobles at the abbey (Ademar 1999: 168; Landes 1995: 65), and on two occasions, sought acceptance for bishops of Limoges whose elections were irregular by engineering their first prominent public appearance in Limoges at Saint Martial. Duke William arranged that Bishops Gerald (in 1014 or 1015) and Jordan (in 1023) received confirmation from the archbishop of Bordeaux, who owed his office to the duke; the diocese of Limoges lies in the province of Bourges, whose archbishop usually derived his appointment from the reigning monarch. William clearly thought that the liturgy and the general sanctity of Saint Martial would provide the appropriate setting in which to present and seek acceptance for these irregularly elected bishops (Ademar 1999: 168–169, 178, 301–303, 311–312; Aubrun 1981: 136–138; Landes 1994: 32–34; Landes 1995: 66 and 119–120). In the twelfth century, the Angevin kings of England continued their relationship with Saint Martial in their capacity as dukes of Aquitaine through Henry II’s marriage to Eleanor of Aquitaine. The chronicler Geoffrey of Vigeois notes that the monks of Saint Martial received Henry with a solemn procession, although his visit to Limoges ended with conflict between Henry’s retainers and the civic population: ‘Dehinc abiens ad Sanctum Martialem, à Monachis ac populo solemni processione recipitur’(‘Going away from there to Saint Martial, he was received by the monks and the people in a solemn procession’) (Geoffrey of Vigeois  1657: 308). Geoffrey provides significantly greater detail for the installation of Richard, Henry’s son, as duke in 1172. Geoffrey describes two ceremonies, first at Saint Hilary in Poitiers (‘according to custom’, iuxta consuetudinem), and then in Limoges, where he too received a procession and then the ring of Saint Valérie, Martial’s first convert in Limoges (Geoffrey of Vigeois  1657: 318–319; Barrière 1999; Callahan 2005; and Pépin 2009). He does not specify the location of the ceremony in Limoges but, as a former monk of Saint Martial, he seems to imply, through the association of Valérie with Martial, that it took place at the abbey. To this hint, Geoffrey adds the information that the ceremony at Poitiers used the responsory O princeps egregie, ‘taken from Saint Martial’ (sancto Martiali subripuêre). This chant occurs in the liturgy for the feast of Saint Martial practised at the abbey, where it falls last among the responsories in Matins.6 In both instances, the responsory 6  Ademar revised this chant slightly for use in the liturgy for Martial he devised to advocate the saint’s apostolic status; see Grier (2006a: 47–50); also Ademar (2012, II.2.3.G, 1: 153–156, 2: 40, 234–235). Interestingly, Geoffrey specified the older version of the responsory, as used in the liturgy that recognized Martial as a confessor-bishop. See Ademar (2012, 2: 234).

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Musical and Liturgical Practice   341 and Valérie’s ring, the chronicler is attempting to link the installation of the duke with the liturgy and cults associated with the abbey of Saint Martial. This testimony would seem to reveal two tensions: first, a hope, which perhaps originated in the coronation of Charles the Child in the ninth century, to make it seem that the abbey plays an essential role in the coronation of the duke, at least those ceremonies that take place in Limoges, as opposed to Poitiers; and second, competition with the cathedral of Limoges, dedicated to Saint Stephen, for prestige within the urban setting. That rivalry dates back at least a century, to the period when Ademar was promulgating the apostolicity of Martial; the cathedral canons sabotaged the inauguration of his apostolic liturgy by recruiting a Lombard monk, Benedict of Chiusa, to renounce the liturgy as a heresy as the Mass of the day was about to begin at the cathedral (Ademar, Epistola de apostolatu, PL 141: 92D–97A; Saltet  1925; Landes  1995: 238–246; and Grier 2006b). Most of the citizens of Limoges knew the accusations to be true, none more than Ademar, the foremost historian of his generation in Aquitaine. Such was the contentious nature of the relationship between the city’s two leading ecclesiastical institutions. The competition had not abated by the late twelfth century, as a document that records an installation ceremony for a duke of Aquitaine, the Ordo ad benedicendum ducem Aquitaniae, shows (Besly 1647: 183–187; Pépin 2009: 58–61). Jean Besly found it in a martyrology of the Limoges cathedral, apparently now perished (Besly 1647: 17), and its text attributes authorship to Hélie, praecentor of Limoges, evidently an officer of the cathedral (Besly 1647: 186; Pépin 2009: 60). Guilhelm Pépin, noting that many persons with the name Hélie served the cathedral in the twelfth century, identified the putative author as one Hélie Gautier, canon and praecentor of the cathedral in the mid-twelfth century, and therefore dated the Ordo to the period when Henry II assumed the office of duke (Pépin 2009: 42–44). The text makes it clear that the bishop of Limoges functions as the central cleric in the ceremony and that the ceremony takes place in ‘sanctam Matricem Beati Prothomartyris Stephani Lemouicensem Ecclesiam’ (‘the holy mother Church of the blessed protomartyr Stephen’), which can only be the urban cathedral (Besly 1647: 186; Pépin 2009: 60). Rivalry with the abbey lurks in the text. It specifies that the ring of Valérie reposes ‘in sacrario Lemouicensis Ecclesiae’ (‘in the sacristy of the church of Limoges’) and the duke receives it from the bishop (Besly 1647: 186; Pépin 2009: 61). The author would not need to be so precise if there were any doubt as to the provenance of the ring. Moreover, the dignity and authority of the cathedral derives from Beatissimi Martialis Apostoli (‘the most blessed apostle Martial’; Besly 1647: 186; Pépin 2009: 60). In light of the fact that the abbey receives no mention at all in the Ordo, these references to Martial and Valérie reveal the lengths to which the cathedral canons went to benefit from the association with these saints and their cult while suggesting that the abbey that was home to their cults played no role in such an important civic ceremony. The Ordo, then, claims for the bishop and his cathedral the exclusive authority to install the duke of Aquitaine, a claim intended to augment the prestige and authority of the cathedral in a ceremony that depends, in part, on the liturgy used in it and through which the bishop confers the duke’s legitimacy as a ruler.

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342   James Grier The orders that originated in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries evinced an ongoing concern with the public representation their liturgies provided. Soon after the foundation of the Cistercian order at the beginning of the twelfth century, its monks undertook a reform of the chant they practised to make it conform to the austerity they had adopted in their communal life. Bernard of Clairvaux took a leading role in the reform (Maître 1995). They began by emulating the chant used at Metz, under the impression that it preserved the form transmitted to the Carolingian empire from Rome in the eighth century. But the reformers soon adopted the opinion that the more recent documents from Metz they consulted contained corrupt versions of the chants, and so they embarked on a second project of reform. This time, they focused on the internal consistency of the chants and above all the imposition of the modal system according to a rational organization of the tonal materials and language of chant. By these means, they adopted a manner of singing that lent gravity and authority to the texts it set as part of the liturgy. In the thirteenth century, both the Franciscans and the Dominicans devoted special attention to their respective liturgies because of the manner in which it constituted their public representation. The Franciscans based their liturgy on that of the papal chapel, and the subsequent liturgical history of the two entities in the thirteenth century remained intertwined. Before mid-century, under the direction of Haymo of Faversham, Minister General of the order in the early 1240s, the Franciscans reformed their liturgy in order to present a more consistent practice that would accommodate their peripatetic membership (van Dijk and Walker 1960). And these reforms became the basis of papal practice in the second half of the century. Shortly after these developments in the Franciscan order, the Dominicans formed a committee of four to compare the diverse uses within the order and create a composite that all provinces could adopt (Boyle et al. 2004). After some negotiation, the order produced, by ad 1260, a master copy, now Rome, Santa Sabina, Archivum Generale Ordinis Praedicatorum, MS XIV L 1, that was to serve as the source for all Dominican books. The order’s intention, under Humbert of Romans, the Master of the Order who oversaw the work, was to present a uniform liturgy across the entire order so that, no matter where one witnessed or participated in a liturgical ceremony at a Dominican house, one would hear, recite, or sing the same texts. With the international prestige the Dominicans had already attained by the middle of the thirteenth century, such consistency aided significantly in creating an identity for the order. As these examples show, the liturgy provided religious communities with an im­port­ ant medium through which to demonstrate to the outside world their piety and commitment to worship. Accordingly, the monks devoted considerable resources and energy to the cultivation of the liturgy, some to create a more splendid observation, ­others to demonstrate the tenor and demeanour of the order or specific community. The liturgy, then, served many purposes within the monastery, first and foremost as an instrument of worship and vehicle for the monks to express their piety, both individually and within the context of their community. But it also served as a window through which members of the outside world could behold the monastic life and contemplate its significance for their own spiritual realities.

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Musical and Liturgical Practice   343

Future Directions in Research Further research in the origins of the monastic liturgy is unlikely to bear many results, barring a spectacular and unanticipated discovery of a previously unknown eighth- or ninth-century document. Still, we could know more about the historical context in which the Carolingian rulers introduced Roman practices to the Frankish realm and its monasteries, particularly from the point of view of their political motivations. More fruitful will be research in the development of the liturgy in individual houses and orders. Much remains to be done in that area, especially the study of the sources for the liturgy and the practices they document. Even more important, I believe, will be efforts to understand how liturgical practices at these houses and in these orders situated themselves in their political, economic, social, and cultural contexts. One especially promising area for research lies in the connection between the liturgy and the architectural setting in which it took place.

Suggested Reading The best general introductions to the medieval liturgy remain Vogel (1975), Hughes (1982), and Harper (1991); each treats both the secular and regular usages, but offers much guidance on the differences between the two practices. Hesbert (1963–1979) reproduces important source material for the practice of the Divine Office, particularly vol. 2, which gives the synoptic contents of six early and important witnesses of monastic usage. Foremost among the studies of individual houses are Robertson (1991) (on Saint Denis) and Boynton (2006) (on Farfa). Ademar, Opera liturgica et poetica, ed. Grier (2012), gives several examples of the musical items used in the monastic liturgy at Saint Martial in Limoges, both Mass and Office, and Grier (2006c) offers a detailed investigation of the activities of a single (and singular) monastic musician of the early eleventh century, Ademar of Chabannes. The study of the liturgy at Cluny has generated a number of studies, including Schmitz (1960), Hunt (1967), Valous (1970), Rosenwein (1971), Hallinger (1977), Tirot (1981), Resnick (1988), and Boynton and Cochelin (2005). The office of cantor held an important place in the development and execution of the liturgy, on which the most important studies are Fassler (1985) and Grier (1995).

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Ademar of Chabannes (2012). Opera liturgica et poetica: Musica cum textibus. 2 vols, edited by James Grier, in Ademari Cabannensis Opera Omnia Pars II. CCCM 245, 245A. Turnhout: Brepols.

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344   James Grier Ademar of Chabannes (1999). Chronicon, edited by P. Bourgain, with R. Landes and G. Pon, in Ademari Cabannensis Opera Omnia Pars I. CCCM 129. Turnhout: Brepols. Ademar of Chabannes (1853). Epistola de apostolatu sancti Martialis. PL 141: 89–112. Ademar of Chabannes (1874). Commemoratio abbatum lemovicensium basilice S.  Marcialis apostoli, in Chroniques de Saint-Martial de Limoges, edited by H. Duplès-Agier, 1–27. Paris: Mme Ve Jules Renouard. Benedict of Aniane (1999). Concordia regularum. 2 vols, edited by Pierre Bonnerue. CCCM 168, 168A. Turnhout: Brepols. Benedict of Nursia (1977). Regula, edited by Rudolf Hanslik, 2nd edn. CSEL 75. Vienna: Hölder-Pichler-Tempsky. Besly, Jean (1647). Histoire des comtes de Poictou et ducs de Guyenne. Paris: Gervais Alliot. Corpus Consuetudinum Monasticarum (1963– ). Siegburg: F. Schmitt. Geoffrey of Vigeois (1657). Chronica, edited by Philippe Labbe, in Novae bibliothecae manuscriptorum librorum, 2: Rerum aquitanicarum, praesertim bituricensium, uberrima collectio, 279–342. Paris: Sébastien and Gabriel Cramoisy. Hesbert, René-Jean (ed.) (1963–1979). Corpus antiphonalium officii. 6 vols, Rerum Ecclesiasticarum Documenta, Series Maior, Fontes 7–12. Rome: Herder. Itier, Bernard (1998). Chronique, edited and translated by Jean-Loup Lemaître. Les Classiques de l’Histoire de France au Moyen Age 39. Paris: Les Belles Lettres. Mordek, Hubert, Klaus Zechiel-Eckes, and Michael Glatthaar (eds) (2013). Die Admonitio generalis Karls des Großen. MGH Fontes Iuris 16. Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Pertz, Georg Heinrich (ed.) (1829). Annales lemovicenses. MGH SS 2: 251–252. Hannover: Hahn; repr. Stuttgart and New York, 1963.

Facsimile Editions MPG 4, 1 = Die Handschrift St. Gallen Stiftsbibliothek 390 Antiphonarium Hartkeri. Monumenta Palaeographica Gregoriana 4, 1. Münsterschwarzach: Internationale Gesellschaft für Studien des Gregorianischen Chorals, n.d. MPG 4, 2 = Die Handschrift St. Gallen Stiftsbibliothek 391 Antiphonarium Hartkeri. Monumenta Palaeographica Gregoriana 4, 2. Münsterschwarzach: Internationale Gesellschaft für Studien des Gregorianischen Chorals, n.d. PalMus 16 = Le manuscrit du Mont-Renaud, Xe siècle: Graduel et antiphonaire de Noyon. Paléographie Musicale 16. Solesmes: Abbaye Saint-Pierre de Solesmes, 1955–1956. PalMus ser. 2, 1 = Antiphonale officii monastici écrit par le B.  Hartker: No 390-391 de la Bibliothèque de Saint-Gall. Paléographie Musicale, ser. 2, 1. Solesmes: Imprimerie SaintPierre, 1900; 2nd edn, ed. Jacques Froger (Berne: H. Lang, 1970).

Secondary Sources Albert, Bat-Sheva (1999). Le pèlerinage à l’époque carolingienne. Bibliothèque de la Revue d’Histoire Ecclésiastique 82. Louvain-la-Neuve: Collège Érasme; Leuven: Universiteitsbibliotheek; Brussels: Éditions Nauwelaerts. Aubrun, Michel (1981). L’ancien diocèse de Limoges des origines au milieu du XIe siècle. Publications de l’Institut d’Études du Massif Central 21. Clermont-Ferrand: Institut d’Études du Massif Central. Barrière, Bernadette (1999). ‘L’anneau de Valérie, mythe ou réalité?’ In Valérie et Thomas Becket: De l’influence des princes Plantagenêt dans l’oeuvre de Limoges, edited by Véronique Notin, 11–18. Limoges: Musée municipal de l’Éveché/Musée de l’Émail.

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Musical and Liturgical Practice   345 Bernard, Philippe (1996). Du chant romain au chant grégorien (IVe–XIIIe siècle). Patrimoines Christianisme. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Boussel, Patrice (1971). Des reliques et de leur bon usage. Paris: Balland. Boyle, Leonard E. and Pierre-Marie Gy, with Pawełs Krupa (eds) (2004). Aux origines de la liturgie dominicaine: Le manuscrit Santa Sabina XIV L 1. Collection de L’École Française de Rome 327, Documents, Études et Répertoires 67. Paris: CNRS Editions; Rome: École Française de Rome. Boynton, Susan (2006). Shaping a Monastic Identity: Liturgy and History at the Imperial Abbey of Farfa, 1000–1125. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Boynton, Susan and Isabelle Cochelin (eds) (2005). From Dead of Night to End of Day: The Medieval Customs of Cluny/Du coeur de la nuit à la fin du jour: les coutumes clunisiennes au Moyen Âge. Disciplina Monastica 3. Turnhout: Brepols. Callahan, Daniel F. (2005). ‘Eleanor of Aquitaine, the Coronation Rite of the Duke of Aquitaine and the Cult of Saint Martial of Limoges’. In The World of Eleanor of Aquitaine: Literature and Society in Southern France between the Eleventh and Thirteenth Centuries, edited by Marcus Bull and Catherine Léglu, 29–36. Woodbridge and Rochester: Boydell Press. Cattaneo, Enrico (1979–1981). ‘Riforma liturgica cluniacense e civiltà comunale’. In Cluny in Lombardia (1979–1981), 1: 447–461. Cesena: Centro Storico Benedettino Italiano. Cluny in Lombardia: Atti del Convegno storico celebrativo del IX centenario della fondazione del priorato cluniacense di Pontida (22–25 aprile 1977) (1979–1981). 2 vols. Cesena: Centro Storico Benedettino Italiano. Collamore, Lila (2000). ‘Prelude: Charting the Divine Office’. In The Divine Office in the Latin Middle Ages: Methodology and Source Studies, Regional Developments, Hagiography, edited by Margot E. Fassler and Rebecca A. Baltzer, 3–11. New York: Oxford University Press. Cowdrey, H. E. J. (1970). The Cluniacs and the Gregorian Reform. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Fassler, Margot  E. (1985). ‘The Office of the Cantor in Early Western Monastic Rules and Customaries: A Preliminary Investigation’. Early Music History 5: 29–51. Fassler, Margot E. and Rebecca A. Baltzer (eds) (2000). The Divine Office in the Latin Middle Ages: Methodology and Source Studies, Regional Developments, Hagiography. New York: Oxford University Press. Geary, Patrick  J. (1990). Furta sacra: Thefts of Relics in the Central Middle Ages, rev. edn. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Grabar, André (1943–1946). Martyrium: Recherches sur le culte des reliques et l’art chrétien antique. 2 vols. Paris: Collège de France; repr. London, 1972. Grier, James (2013a). ‘Adémar de Chabannes (989–1034) and Musical Literacy’. Journal of the American Musicological Society 66: 605–638. Grier, James (2013b). ‘Editing the Divine Office’. In Early Music Editing: Principles, Historiography, Future Directions, edited by Theodor Dumitrescu, Karl Kügle, and Marnix van Berchum, 31–48. Collection «Épitome musical». Turnhout: Brepols. Grier, James (2006a). ‘The Music is the Message II: Adémar de Chabannes’ Music for the Apostolic Office of Saint Martial’. Plainsong and Medieval Music 15: 43–54. Grier, James (2006b). ‘An Urbane Fraud: Limoges and Adémar de Chabannes’ Liturgy for Saint-Martial, 3 August 1029’. In Saint-Martial de Limoges: Ambition politique et production culturelle (Xe-XIIIe siècles), edited by Claude Andrault-Schmitt, 455–467. Limoges: Presses Universitaires de Limoges. Grier, James (2006c). The Musical World of a Medieval Monk: Adémar de Chabannes in Eleventh-Century Aquitaine. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Grier, James (2000). ‘The Divine Office at Saint-Martial in the Early Eleventh Century: Paris, BNF lat. 1085’ In The Divine Office in the Latin Middle Ages: Methodology and Source Studies,

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346   James Grier Regional Developments, Hagiography, edited by Margot E. Fassler and Rebecca A. Baltzer, 179–204. New York: Oxford University Press. Grier, James (1995). ‘Roger de Chabannes (d. 1025), Cantor of St Martial, Limoges’. Early Music History 14: 53–119. Hallinger, K. (1977). ‘Das Phänomen der liturgischen Steigerungen Klunys (10./11. Jh.)’. In Studia historico-ecclesiastica: Festgabe für Prof. Luchesius G. Spätling O.F.M., edited by Isaac Vásquez, 183–236. Bibliotheca Pontificii Athenaei Antoniani 19. Rome: Pontificium Athenaeum Antonianum. Harper, John (1991). The Forms and Orders of Western Liturgy from the Tenth to the Eighteenth Century: A Historical Introduction and Guide for Students and Musicians. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hen, Yitzhak (2001). The Royal Patronage of Liturgy in Frankish Gaul to the Death of Charles the Bald (877). Henry Bradshaw Society, Subsidia 3. London: Boydell Press. Herrmann-Mascard, Nicole (1975). Les reliques des saints: Formation coutumière d’un droit. Société d’Histoire du Droit, Collection d’Histoire Institutionnelle et Sociale 6. Paris: Klincksieck. Hughes, Andrew (1982). Medieval Manuscripts for Mass and Office: A Guide to Their Organization and Terminology. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Huglo, Michel (1993). ‘Observations codicologiques sur l’antiphonaire de Compiègne (Paris, B.N. lat. 17436)’. In De musica et cantu: Studien zur Geschichte der Kirchenmusik und der Oper. Helmut Hucke zum 60. Geburtstag, edited by Peter Cahn and Ann-Katrin Heimer, 117–130. Musikwissenschaftliche Publikationen, Hochschule für Darstellende Kunst 2. Hildesheim: G. Olms. Huglo, Michel (1988). Les livres de chant liturgique. Typologie des Sources du Moyen Age Occidental 52. Turnhout: Brepols. Hunt, Noreen (1967). Cluny under Saint Hugh, 1049­–1109. London: Edward Arnold. Jacobsson, Ritva (2000). ‘The Antiphoner of Compiègne: Paris, BNF lat. 17436’. In The Divine Office in the Latin Middle Ages: Methodology and Source Studies, Regional Developments, Hagiography, edited by Margot  E.  Fassler and Rebecca  A.  Baltzer, 147–178. New York: Oxford University Press. Klauser, Theodor (1933). ‘Die liturgischen Austauschbeziehungen zwischen der römischen und der fränkisch-deutschen Kirche vom achten bis zum elften Jahrhundert’. Historisches Jahrbuch 53: 169–189. Landes, Richard (1995). Relics, Apocalypse, and the Deceits of History: Ademar of Chabannes, 989–1034. Harvard Historical Studies 117. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Landes, Richard (1994). ‘Autour d’Adémar de Chabannes (d. 1034): Précisions chronologiques au sujet du Limousin vers l’An Mil’. Bulletin de la Société Archéologique et Historique du Limousin 122: 23–54. Lasteyrie, Charles de (1901). L’abbaye de Saint-Martial de Limoges: Étude historique, économique et archéologique précédée de recherches nouvelles sur la vie du saint. Paris: Alphonse Picard et fils. Mager, Hans-Erich (1959). ‘Studien über das Verhältnis der Cluniacenser zum Eigenkirchenwesen’. In Neue Forschungen über Cluny und die Cluniacenser, edited by Gerd Tellenbach, 169–217. Freiburg i.Br.: Herder. Maître, Claire (1995). La réforme cistercienne du plain-chant: Étude d’un traité théorique. Cîteaux, Studia et Documenta 6. Brecht: Cîteaux, Commentarii Cistercienses. Méhu, Didier (2001). Paix et communautés autour de l’abbaye de Cluny (Xe–XVe siècle). Collection d’Histoire et d’Archéologie Médiévales 9. Lyon: Presses Universitaires de Lyon.

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Musical and Liturgical Practice   347 Palazzo, Éric (1993). Le moyen âge: Des origines au XIIIe siècle. Histoire des Livres Liturgiques. Paris: Beauchesne. Translated by Madeleine Beaumont as A History of Liturgical Books from the Beginning to the Thirteenth Century. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1998. Pépin, Guilhem (2009). ‘Les couronnements et les investitures des ducs d’Aquitaine (XIe–XIIe siècle)’. Francia 36: 35–65. Poeck, Dietrich W. (1998). Cluniacensis ecclesia: Der cluniacensische Klosterverband (10.–12. Jahrhundert). Münstersche Mittelalter-Schriften 71. Munich: W. Fink Verlag. Pouderoijen, Kees and Ike de Loos (2009). ‘Wer ist Hartker? Die Entstehung des Hartkerischen Antiphonars’. Beiträge zur Gregorianik 47: 67–86. Racinet, Philippe (1990). ‘L’expansion de Cluny sous Hugues Ier de Semur’. In Le gouvernement d’Hugues de Semur à Cluny: Actes du Colloque scientifique international, Cluny, septembre 1988, 93–131. Cluny: Musée Ochier. Resnick, Irven M. (1988). ‘Peter Damian on Cluny, Liturgy and Penance’. Journal of Religious History 15: 61–75. Robertson, Anne Walters (1991). The Service-Books of the Royal Abbey of Saint-Denis: Images of Ritual and Music in the Middle Ages. Oxford Monographs on Music. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Rosenwein, Barbara H. (1989). To Be the Neighbor of Saint Peter: The Social Meaning of Cluny’s Property, 909–1049. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Rosenwein, Barbara  H. (1971). ‘Feudal War and Monastic Peace: Cluniac Liturgy as Ritual Aggression’. Viator 2: 129–157. Sackur, Ernst (1892–1894). Die Cluniacenser in ihrer kirchlichen und allgemeingeschichtlichen Wirksamkeit bis zur Mitte des elften Jahrhunderts. 2 vols. Halle: M. Niemeyer. Saltet, Louis (1925). ‘Une discussion sur Saint Martial entre un Lombard et un Limousin en 1029’. Bulletin de Littérature Ecclésiastique 26: 161–186, 279–302. Schmitz, Philibert (1960). ‘La liturgie de Cluny’. In Spiritualità cluniacense, 12–15 ottobre 1958. Convegni del Centro di Studi sulla Spiritualità Medievale 2, 85–99. Todi: Presso l’Accademia Tudertina. Sumption, Jonathan (1975). Pilgrimage: An Image of Mediaeval Religion. Totowa, NJ: Rowman and Littlefield. Tirot, Paul (1981). ‘Un “Ordo Missae” monastique: Cluny, Cîteaux, La Chartreuse’. Ephemerides Liturgicae 95: 44–120, 220–251. Valous, Guy de (1970). Le monachisme clunisien des origines au XVe siècle: Vie intérieure des monastères et organisation de l’ordre, 2nd edn. 2 vols. Paris: A. et J. Picard. Van Dam, Raymond (1985). Leadership and Community in Late Antique Gaul. TCH 8. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. van Dijk, S. J. P. and J. Hazelden Walker (1960). The Origins of the Modern Roman Liturgy: The Liturgy of the Papal Court and the Franciscan Order in the Thirteenth Century. Westminster, MD: The Newman Press. Violante, Cinzio, Amleto Spicciani, and Giovanni Spinell (eds) (1985). L’Italia nel quadro dell’espansione europea del monachesimo cluniacense: Atti del Convegno Internazionale di storia medievale, Pescia, 26–28 novembre 1981. ‘Italia Benedettina’: Studi e Documenti di Storia Monastica a Cura del Centro Storico Benedettino Italiano 8. Cesena: Badia di Santa Maria del Monte. Vogel, Cyrille (1979). ‘Les motifs de la romanisation du culte sous Pépin le Bref (751–768) et Charlemagne (774–814)’. In Culto cristiano politica imperiale carolingia, 9–12 ottobre 1977. Convegni del Centro di Studi sulla Spiritualità Medievale 18, 9–41. Todi: Presso l’Accademia Tudertina.

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348   James Grier Vogel, Cyrille (1975). Introduction aux sources de l’histoire du culte chrétien au moyen âge. Biblioteca degli «Studi Medievali» 1. 2nd edn. Spoleto: CISAM. Revised and translated by William G. Storey and Niels Krogh Rasmussen, with John K. Brooks-Leonard, as Medieval Liturgy: An Introduction to the Sources. Washington, DC: Pastoral Press, 1986. Vogel, Cyrille (1965). La reforme cultuelle sous Pepin le Brèf et sous Charlemagne (deuxième motitié du VIIIe siècle et premier quart du IXe siècle). Graz: Akademische Druck- und Verlagsanstalt. Webb, Diana (2002). Medieval European Pilgrimage, c.700–c.1500. Houndmills: Palgrave. Wollasch, Joachim (1996). Cluny—«Licht der Welt»: Aufstieg und Niedergang der klösterlichen Gemeinschaft. Zurich: Artemis und Winkler.

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chapter 22

Monastic A rt, Sacr ed Space , a n d th e M edi ation of R eligious Ex per ience Thomas E. A. Dale

Bernard of Clairvaux’s Apologia addressed to William of Saint-Thierry (c.1125) offers a stinging rebuke against ostentatious monastic architecture and works of art, which ‘.  .  .  deflect the attention  .  .  .  of those who pray and thus hinder their devotion’ (Rudolph  1990a: 278–283). He singles out ‘relics cased in gold’ (see Figure  22.1) and carved stone cloister capitals depicting unclean apes, double-bodied lions, monstrous centaurs, half-men, fighting knights, hunters, and monstrous hybrids (see Figure 22.2). Bernard questions the expense, but his principal complaint concerns the distraction of the senses, emphasizing that ‘we (monks) have counted but dung . . . all things fair to see or soothing to hear, sweet to smell, delightful to taste, or pleasant to touch, in a word, all bodily delight’. Bernard’s Apologia reveals ambivalence within monasticism over the role of architecture and material images in religious life. As a proponent of Cistercian asceticism, Bernard spurns material images and the physical senses in favour of interior visualization and contemplation. He also underlines a particular anxiety about idolatry originating in the early Church, which associated sculpture with Roman religion and imperial cult images. It was precisely the appeal to the senses, however, that made sculpture a compelling mediator of religious experience for Bernard’s contemporaries. Bernard himself understood art’s seductive power, admitting that bishops are justified when ‘they stimulate the devotion of a carnal people with material ornaments’ (Rudolph 1990a: 104–105). What is more, most monastic communities valued visual images as salutary aids to devotion, especially for novices. Beyond the celebrated encomium to art’s anagogical (upward-leading) role, voiced by the worldly Abbot Suger of Saint-Denis (Panofsky  1979), even more ascetic-minded Cistercians, including William of

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350   Thomas E. A. Dale

Figure 22.1  Reliquary Portrait of Sainte Foy, Abbey of Sainte-Foy, Conques, carved wooden core, c.900, with gold revetment and inset gems and later additions. (Zodiaque)

Saint-Thierry, advocated the use of sculpted crucifixes in meditation as a first step towards contemplation by novices. William suggested that while they were still in their spiritual infancy, they were bound to contemplate the incarnate Christ with the physical senses, before progressing towards a purely spiritual contemplation of divinity (PL 180:235D–236A; Frese 2006). The Benedictine Rupert of Deutz goes further, recounting visions of mystical union with Christ, who embraces and speaks to the devotee through a sculpted Crucifix (see Figure 22.8). Stimulated by sculpted images and the sensuous language of the Song of Songs (Newman 2005), such mystical encounters complement a broader shift in medieval religious culture that valorizes materiality and embodiment of the spiritual, and emphasizes real presence in the Eucharist, material continuity in the resurrected body, and the interconnections between exterior and interior senses (Bynum 2011). It will be suggested here that the efflorescence of sculpture in the round and architectural sculpture between the late ninth and twelfth centuries was predicated on its very materiality or corporeality, and its capacity to engage multiple senses of the devotee within ritual spaces. The present chapter thus participates in the ‘sensorial turn’ within medieval studies that advocates the primary epistemological role of the senses in religious culture (e.g. Nichols et al. 2008; Hourihane 2010; Pentcheva 2010; Dale 2019).

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Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation   351

Figure 22.2  Historiated capital with monstrous heads devouring human torsos, Abbey of Saint-Michel de Cuxa (now at The Cloisters, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York), marble, c.1130–1140. (The Cloisters Collection, 1925 (25.120.582) Photo © Metropolitan Museum of Art)

What follows is a selective historiography focusing on how architecture and material images shape monastic spirituality and devotional practices. The twelfth-century tympanum of the Pentecost at Vézelay is then offered as a case study.

Monastic Sacred Space Medieval monasticism was defined by enclosure—claustrum refers both to the enclosed garden at its heart and the larger monastic complex and its community (Meyvaert 1973). Architecture thus fashions monastic identities and rituals, and mediates between the sensual and the suprasensory. Although ‘sacred space’ was once conceived in terms of architectural typologies, medievalists have recently emphasized a more dynamic concept of space, defined by rituals and multisensory stimuli, by portable reliquaries, altars, and images, as well as monumental shrines and images (Lidov 2009; Palazzo 2008, 2014).

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352   Thomas E. A. Dale Scholarship on monastic architecture has long been preoccupied with the origins and morphology of monastic space, and its adaptation to the needs of distinct orders (Braunfels 1972; Legler 1989). While distinctive monastic complexes can be traced to the early fifth century in Gaul and Ireland, it is generally agreed that a paradigmatic plan for later monastic enclosures only emerges in the Carolingian Empire, as witnessed by the celebrated Saint Gall Plan (see Figure 22.3), sent by Abbot Haito of Reichenau to Abbot Gozbert of Saint Gall in the wake of the monastic reforms of 816–817 (Horn and Born 1979; McClendon 2005: 166–168). The modular layout focuses on a central cloister, where the monk spent much of his time reading and meditating. The cloister further facilitates the monks’ movements to the primary spaces of quotidian rituals: the monastic church to the north, the dormitory to the east, the refectory to the south, and the cellar to the west. Guesthouses and practical structures such as granaries and the infirmary are relegated to the outer margins. Of particular interest in the present context is Carruthers’ theory (1998: 228–231) that the plan served as a diagram for mediation. The monastic layout would have offered a ductus or pathway through both physical and notional space, connecting monastic spaces with the loca sancta in Jerusalem, and the contemplation of the heavenly Jerusalem. Rituals reinforced these connections. The twin-towered Westwerk, for example, a frequent feature of Carolingian and Ottonian monastic churches, besides facilitating the attendance of itinerant imperial courts, provided a symbolic gateway for the ritual re-enactment of Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, and its internal space served as the backdrop for re-enactment of the burial and ­resurrection of Christ at Easter (Heitz  1963; Collins  2012). Spaces for paraliturgical ­re-enactments were often reinforced through painted and sculpted narratives, and micro-architecture representing the Holy Sepulchre (Dale 2004: 19; Sheingorn 1974). On a larger scale, entire monastic complexes such as Santo Stefano in Bologna recreated the topography of the Holy Land to allow individuals to re-enact and contemplate the Passion and Resurrection (Ousterhout 2009). From late antiquity onwards, monasteries also created a broader sacral landscape. Before the Carolingian reforms, relics were largely hidden from view in small subterranean crypts, sometimes visible only indirectly through visual images. The Saint Gall Plan reveals how monastic churches facilitated a more active engagement with relics. Emulating the confessio of Old Saint Peter’s, a subterranean crypt provided access to the shrine via vaulted passageways, supporting belief through touch as well as vision (Hahn 1997). Eventually the need to accommodate mass pilgrimage led to the introduction of larger hall crypts that could also serve as oratories and chapels or to enlarged choirs incorporating ambulatories and radiating chapels. Conant (1979: 157–175) highlighted a canonical group of five pilgrimage churches en route to Santiago de Compostela, from the late eleventh and early twelfth centuries, that share the distinctive plan with a monastic choir comprising transept, ambulatory, and radiating chapels, clearly visible from the exterior (see Figure 22.4). The idea of a canonical ‘pilgrimage church type’ has been critiqued primarily on the grounds that it obscures the great variation in the design of pilgrimage churches along the route to Compostela itself and elsewhere (Gerson 2019). What debates about morphology have obscured is

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Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation   353

Figure 22.3  Saint Gall Plan, c.820 (Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen, Codex Sangallensis 1092). (Stiftsbibliothek St. Gallen)

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Figure 22.4 Abbey of Sainte-Foy, Conques: exterior of choir showing ambulatory and ­radiating chapels. (Thomas Dale)

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Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation   355 that the new ambulatory scheme, which was also used at Cluny III, visibly highlighted the presence of relics in each chapel altar as the focus of pilgrimage and endowed masses of the dead, a custom promoted by Cluny to relieve the soul’s time in Purgatory (LeGoff 1984; Schmid and Wollasch  1967). The bold sculptural quality of Romanesque monastic churches, its insistent measuring of space with regular bay systems, and its pronounced acoustic effects, support Dominique Iogna-Prat’s thesis (2006), that the building itself was the physical embodiment of ‘ecclesia’ and the worshipping ­community. Iogna-Prat makes this case on the basis of the Gregorian reform’s emphasis on real presence in the Eucharist and the introduction of rites that consecrated churches in the image of the Heavenly Jerusalem. A recent study of Romanesque churches in Auvergne has likewise interpreted architecture as the materialization of the sacred, and its carved capitals as ‘living stones’, activated by ritual (Baschet, Bonne, and Dittmar 2012). The relationship between style and ascetic outlook is another significant historiographical strand. Early Cistercian churches such as Fontenay (see Figure 22.5), characterized by modular planning, a flat-ended sanctuary, unadorned capitals, grisaille lancets, and pointed barrel vaults, have been linked with Bernard’s asceticism (Braunfels 1972; Kinder 2002; Fergusson 2019). While the ‘Bernardian aesthetic’ has been questioned, as Bernard never articulated a positive theory of art and architecture (Frese 2006), Cistercian legislation did

Figure 22.5  Fontenay Abbey: interior of nave to east, 1139–1147. (Frank Horlbeck, Visual Resources Collection, Department of Art History, University of Wisconsin-Madison)

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356   Thomas E. A. Dale condition architectural form. Rather than focusing on ascetic constraints, Cassidy-Welch (2001) has argued that strategic lighting and rhythmic proportions focused the monks’ attention on space and light, thus fostering mystical contemplation. Recent research has further suggested that the vaulted spaces of Cistercian churches shaped religious experience by fostering a particular acoustic affect (Graves 2007). Gender is another significant factor. Although early medieval convents are difficult to distinguish from male monasteries, the stricter enforcement of clausura for nuns under Boniface VIII from 1298 encouraged the gendering of monastic space. In Clarissan, Cistercian, and Dominican convents, nuns avoided visual contact with male priests by receiving communion through a grill and by worshipping in a separate nuns’ choir. Whether walled off from the sanctuary and situated further east or set within a separate gallery, the nuns’ choir permitted them to hear but not see the celebration of communion (Bruzelius 1992; Hamburger 1998). Frequently, passageways conveyed male clergy from sanctuary to outside world without seeing or being seen by the nuns (Gilchrist 1994). Such strict partitioning was not universal, however, and it has been observed that enclosure could be construed in more positive terms as it offered women a certain agency in the patronage of art and architecture (Schulenburg 1984). Another significant formal innovation was the development of the Gothic style in the Île-de-France. The unified, light-filled space in the ambulatory of Saint-Denis has long been interpreted as reflecting Abbot Suger’s engagement with Christian neoplatonism (Panofsky 1979; Von Simson 1956). Von Simson also stressed Suger’s personal friendship with Bernard of Clairvaux as a conduit for Cistercian influence on a mystical understanding of geometry, proportion, and light in this early example of Benedictine Gothic architecture. The mystical interpretation of architectural change at Saint-Denis is complemented by the complex allegorical imagery of Suger’s windows, as well as the meaning of their material (Kessler 2000: 190–205). But recent scholarship has questioned Suger’s direct knowledge of neoplatonist thought, proposing connections with Victorine and liturgical texts on light symbolism instead (Rudolph 1990b; Speer 2006). Rudolph argues that the new architecture and stained glass responded to Bernard’s Apologia, creating an environment of sensory saturation that supported meditation and spiritual vision for its monks through both its forms and complex allegories (Rudolf 2011). Speer dismisses the search for a Hegelian ‘common idea’ underlying the emergence of Gothic, arguing that Suger’s building programme was motivated by more practical concerns— facilitating access of pilgrims to the relics of the patron saints of France, strengthening the connection with the royal house, and serving the liturgy (Speer 2006), but these functional rationales explain planning rather than the aesthetics and effects of style.

Art, Ritual, and Contemplation The rituals and contemplative activities that defined the spiritual lives of medieval monks and nuns were actively shaped by both monumental and portable images. Although Pope Gregory the Great’s dictum (c.600) famously associated narrative art on

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Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation   357 the walls of churches with the education of the ‘unlettered’ laity ‘who read in them what they cannot read in books,’ from at least the fifth century, material images were used by monks and lay Christians alike to foster conversion and stimulate contemplation (Kessler 2006; Kiely 2004). While devotional images are often associated with panel paintings, manuscript illumination, and portable sculpture, mural paintings could perform that role, either in the form of iconic images of the saints or more complex theophanies (Palazzo 2014: 364–375). In later medieval Cistercian and mendicant convents, it was often the case that nuns occupied a space either in a gallery or otherwise behind a wall adjacent the sanctuary to reinforce a visible separation from male priests celebrating the Mass and lay congregations; painted images on the walls became a significant focus, reinforcing Eucharistic or visionary themes for communal devotion (Bruzelius  1992; Hamburger 1998: 35–110). Monastic spaces were also furnished with more intimate paintings in service books and commentaries from which the monks and nuns read or sang. Images in biblical books were crucial aids to conversion during early monastic missions and markers for ritual performance (de Hamel 1997: 14–41). While past scholarship focused on iconographic sources, recent literature has emphasized the interpretive role of visual images, showing, in the case of the Carolingian Bibles produced at Tours, how typological or Christological understandings of Jewish Scriptures are visualized to highlight the idea of ‘spiritual seeing’ with images (Kessler 2000: 149–189). Architectural diagrams were also included for devotional purposes by the sixth century in the Codex Grandior, a one-volume Bible commissioned by Cassiodorus at the abbey of Vivarium in South Italy (Carruthers 1998: 234–237). Both Cassiodorus’ manuscript and its celebrated AngloSaxon copy, the Codex Amiatinus (c.700) made at Wearmouth-Jarrow, included images ‘so that what the text of divine Scripture says of them might be put before our eyes and revealed more clearly’. The Venerable Bede, in turn, used the temple diagram as the basis for his own exegesis on the temple (Collins 2012: 28–34). This marks the beginning of a long monastic tradition (Carruthers 1998: 237–254; Rudolph 2014). The period around 1100 was a watershed in the development of new modes of affective prayer and meditation. Visual images were deployed both to model distinctive prayer gestures, such as St Dominic’s seven prayer attitudes (Schmitt  1990), and to provide material for meditation and reminders of the biblical and liturgical formulae which helped train the devotee for affective prayer (Fulton 2006). Hamburger has shown that the earliest extant illustrated German prayer book, focusing on devotion to Christ’s Passion, was created for female religious (Hamburger 1998: 149–195); but other kinds of books with images, including psalters and biblical commentaries were used by monks. The monstrous initials of the Cîteaux Moralia in Job, for example, may have been designed to visualize the monk’s daily struggle against his animal nature (Rudolph 1997). It has also been shown that the new-found interest in representing the natural world in monastic books of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries was predicated on a desire to meditate on the human condition in relation to the spiritual image of God in the soul. This applies to illustrated bestiaries which combined physical description with moralization (Hassig  1995; de Hamel  2008), and anatomical diagrams of the human body, such

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358   Thomas E. A. Dale as those found in the ‘Salomon Glossaries’ from Prüfening Abbey (Cohen 2009). The monk, who was enjoined by the Rule to remain within the claustrum, could undertake a virtual pilgrimage to the loca sancta by turning the pages of a pilgrim’s itinerary, such as the one created by Matthew Paris (Connolly 1999). Although it was once thought that late medieval devotional images (Andachtsbilder) were inspired by lay piety, Hamburger has recovered the origins of the tradition in the pastoral care of nuns, who, male clergy believed, required the crutch of images to stimulate contemplation (Hamburger 1998, esp. 35–110). He has also explored the role of the mendicants in fostering new forms of devotional images from the thirteenth to fifteenth centuries inspired by the bridal mysticism of commentaries on the Song of Songs. In the Rothschild Canticles, for example, one illumination, spanning adjacent folios, depicts the Sponsa in the guise of a nun holding a lance, as she gazes upon the wound in Christ’s side, suggesting the nun’s ‘wounding love’ for, and mystical union with Christ (see Figure 22.6) (Hamburger 1998: 111–145). That such images functioned less as ‘illustrations’ than as visions to be contemplated is clear from earlier manuscripts of Hildegard of Bingen, which prioritize visual images over texts that comment on the visions (Caviness 1998). Italy was exceptional in focusing on panel painting as the primary medium for devotional images before 1400. Adapting Byzantine traditions, the mendicant orders fashioned vita icons of their patron saints and Passion images that engaged viewers through emotive content and formal innovations, designed to foster the kind of empathetic projection explicitly encouraged by Meditations on the Life of Christ (Belting  1994; Derbes  1996; Bennett  2001). Mendicant perspectivists also connected the process of physical vision to spiritual contemplation (Biernoff  2002) and this knowledge was applied to devotional painting in the geometry of visible rays and representations of interior space (Ziehr 2006; Tachau 2006).

Sculpture in Devotional Practice Sculpture occupies a singular place within the debates about material images: long associated with idolatry, it also had a particular capacity to stimulate religious imagination. At the dawn of the Reformation, monastic and conventual churches were filled with sculpted images of varying scales and functions: life-sized crucifixes, images of the Madonna and Child and the Pietà (Vesperbild), metal reliquary portraits, and portable images of Christ in the sepulchre, and smaller scale ‘doll-like’ images of the ChristChild, the crib, and the Visitation group (Hamburger and Suckale 2008). Large-scale polychrome sculptures of the Pietà and bleeding Crucifixes have been associated with the particular devotion of female religious to the Passion of Christ and the empathetic projection of Dominican nuns and beguines on the figure of Mary, through both vision and touch (Hamburger  1998; Ziegler  1992). Smaller-scale figures of Mary, of the Visitation Group with rock crystal wombs, and of the Christ-Child in a crib, have been

(Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Yale University)

Figure 22.6  Rothschild Canticles, c.1320 (Yale University, Beinecke Rare Book and Manuscript Library, MS 404), fol. 18v, 19r. Embrace of Sponsus and Sponsa (upper register, left-hand page); Sponsa (lower register, left-hand page) gazing upon the wounded body of Christ the Bridegroom (righthand page).

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Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation   359

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360   Thomas E. A. Dale connected to visionary experience, serving as props by which nuns explored their own spiritual motherhood and union with Christ through a form of devotional role-playing (Hamburger  1998; Rublack  1996). They also enhanced the apparent animation of sculpted images by dressing them with textiles of their own making (Mecham 2014). Transcending the purely visual, these small-scale sculptures stimulated multiple senses, moving from vision and imagined hearing to the more intimate senses of touch and taste (Jung 2010), fostering visions in which they appeared to come alive (Freedberg 1989). If recent literature has underlined the role sculpture played in the devotional lives of nuns, it must be emphasized that male monastic communities prepared the way. The ninth century saw the emergence of portable wood and metalwork sculptures in the round with three distinctive functions: portrait reliquaries of the saints (see Figure 22.1); figures of the enthroned Virgin and Child known as the Sedes Sapientiae or ‘Throne of Wisdom’ (see Figure 22.7); and crucifixes (see Figure 22.8). Drawing on the Liber miraculorum of Sainte Foy, scholars have long argued that relics justified the reinvention of larger-scale sculpture in the round, constituting a form of ‘real presence’ complemented

Figure 22.7 Morgan Madonna, from Auvergne, walnut wood with polychrome, twelfth century. (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Gift of J. Pierpont Morgan, 1916 (16.32.194)/Photo © Metropolitan Museum of Art)

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Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation   361

Figure 22.8  Crucifix from Palaencia, white oak and pine with polychrome, gilding, and applied gemstones, c.1150–1200. (The Metropolitan Museum of Art, Samuel D. Lee Fund, 1935 (35.36a,b)/Photo © Metropolitan Museum of Art)

by a portrait (Dahl 1978; Büchsel 2010). By contrast, Forsyth (1972) has shown that both reliquary portraits and images of the Sedes Sapientiae drew upon a Roman idea of sculpted portraits as proxies for the absent ruler, and she posits portable ruler portraits, documented from the ninth century, as a connecting link. Considering the Sedes Sapientiae, Forsyth likewise notes that these wooden sculptures stood in for Christ and Mary in the paraliturgical Epiphany Play (Officium Stellae), in which the monks performed the other roles. Büchsel has recently emphasized the special position held by the Crucifix: whereas reliquary portraits were initially suspect as appealing primarily to ‘rustici’ through paraliturgical rites and miracle-working cults, the Crucifix, with or without relics, was already considered a ‘liturgical image’ confirming the real and mystical presence of Christ in the Mass promoted as early as the ninth century by Paschasius Radpertus (Büchsel 2010). By the late eleventh century, however, such distinctions were no longer sustained, as life-sized polychrome sculpture and metalwork crucifixes had become a proxy for the body of Christ in the paraliturgical rites of the Deposition of the Cross, the Adoration of the Cross, and the Visitation of the Sepulchre (Parker  1978; Schüppel 2005); while life-sized bust-length reliquary portraits were placed on the altar.

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362   Thomas E. A. Dale The engagement with the image of Christ was fostered by the ritual adoration of the Cross, which included kissing different parts of the corpus and addressing specific prayers to the image (Boynton 2007: 911–919; Dale 2019: 18–32). Recent scholarship has shifted from questions of origins to consider materiality and response. The preference for radiant metal and gems in reliquary images, crucifixes, and images of the Virgin and Child has been tied to the radiance of the heavenly dwelling place of the saints and the future resurrection, to the incorruptibility of the sacred body, and further to the virtues of the saint, thus highlighting the saint’s role as heavenly intercessor through the physical encounter (Dahl  1978; Fricke  2007: 172–188, 206–235). Examining these images within a broader anthropological framework of response, David Freedberg addressed the particular power the sculpted image had in the medieval imagination, drawing on monastic vision collections to document the apparent capacity of three-dimensional images to come alive for devout viewers (Freedberg 1989). Éric Palazzo (2014) and Jacqueline Jung (2010) have added historical nuance to Freedberg’s theory, demonstrating the particular role of medieval sculpture in inspiring multisensory visionary experience within ritual space, guiding the viewer from vision and hearing, to a more intimate experience of the depicted figure through the senses of smell, touch, and even taste. Although it has long been known that small-scale sculpted images were used as a form of spiritual play to stimulate the intimate experience of the incarnate Christ among nuns in the late medieval convents of Northern Europe, there is now a greater emphasis on how these objects engaged the physical senses to cultivate the spiritual imagination (Hamburger 1998: 111–148; Mecham 2014). It is also recognized that sculpted images worked on the imagination of male monks. Best known is the case of Rupert of Deutz, who experienced highly sensual visions in which he was embraced by, and kissed a sculpted Crucifix (see Figure 22.8) that came to life (Fulton 2002: 309–311, 336–344; Lipton 2005: 1175–1182; Dale 2019: 27–28). Informed by the sensual language of the Song of Songs, as well as the ritual Adoration of the Cross which animated the image (see Figure  22.8), Rupert of Deutz’s highly sensual experience of the Crucifix was unusual but not entirely isolated in male religious experience. Bernard of Clairvaux is said to have experienced a vision of a crucifix that came alive and embraced him while he was praying before it, but in this case the image was generated initially by his own prayer; nonetheless, Bernard accepted the veneration of sculpted crucifixes in monastic churches and even urged the monks to observe closely the wounds on depicted body (Lipton 2005: 1189–1190). Furthermore, monastic sources from the ninth to thirteenth centuries document other instances in which sculpted images, including the Crucifix and the Sedes Sapientiae, fostered prayer and visionary experience (Palazzo  2014: 364–375). What needs to be further explored is the way in which the ritual engagement of portable sculpture prepared the imagination of monks and nuns in experiencing architectural sculpture. Around 1100, architectural sculpture, recently revived, was ubiquitous in Benedictine churches throughout Northern Europe and Spain. Carved tympana featuring theophanic visions adorned principal entrances on the exterior of monastic churches (see Figure 22.9) and newly invented historiated or narrative capitals (see Figure 22.2) were

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Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation   363

Figure 22.9  Saint-Pierre, Moissac: south porch reliefs with Dives and Lazarus (frieze), ­punishment of Avarice and Lust, limestone, c.1100–1115. (Thomas Dale)

displayed in the narthex, nave, and sanctuary of the church, as well as in the monastic cloister. While the formal, technical, and iconographic origins of architectural sculpture have been extensively investigated (Maxwell 2019), little attention has been devoted to what motivated its re-invention within monastic culture. Émile Mâle (1922), though focused on recovering iconographic sources in illuminated manuscripts, also sought to characterize the ‘monastic imprint’ in sculpture, establishing connections with liturgical drama, dream collections, and pilgrimage, thereby opening pathways for understanding architectural sculpture’s potential devotional functions. The idea of distinctive imagery for monastic audiences has been explored especially for cloister sculpture, as these images were specifically addressed to monks in the heart of the monastic enclosure. A monastic ‘mentality’ has been discerned in the choice of subjects emphasizing the apostolic life as model for monasticism (Forsyth  1986; Horste 1992); in the projected architectural spaces of narrative capitals of the Passion at La Daurade that support interior visualization and ‘pilgrimage of the mind’ (Seidel 1988; Horste 1992); in the inscriptions of Moissac, which suggest an engagement of the monastic penchant for word play and memory exercises (Rutchick 2004; Forsyth 2008); or in

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364   Thomas E. A. Dale monstrous devouring mouths, which may refer to monastic ruminations on Scripture (Camille 1992: 61–65). Likewise, historiated capitals within monastic churches such as Vézelay have been related to monastic habits of mind, including liturgy, sign language, and the struggle for ascetic perfection (Ambrose 2006). By contrast, it has been assumed by many commentators that the apes, double-bodied lions, hybrids, and monstrous mouths in certain cloisters such as Saint-Michel-de-Cuxa (see Figure 22.2) that match so well Bernard’s catalogue of distracting imagery, were primarily ornamental (Mâle 1922: 341ff) or served at best as a deliberate manifestation of variety designed to distract the monk from otium, or boredom (Carruthers  2013). Schapiro suggested that these monstrous carvings were the product of a lay artist’s ‘thoroughly unreligious imagination’ (Schapiro 1947). Yet monsters were so deeply embedded in monastic imagination as representations of spiritual struggle and diabolical phantasms, that they likely served more significant purposes in the cloister, possibly to warn monks of spiritual deformity in bodily form, and neutralize the monsters’ seductive power by imprisoning them in stone (Dale 2001; Dale 2019: 125–158). Schapiro likewise associated the innovation of the more public sculpture of monastic portals with secular culture, suggesting that moralizing imagery of virtues and vices, and the parable of Dives and Lazarus at Moissac (see Figure 22.9) were a form of sermon ‘confronting the secular world’ (Schapiro 2006: 24–31, 108–113). What he didn’t consider was how such powerfully sensual imagery would have affected both lay and monastic viewers.

Romanesque Architectural Sculpture and the Senses: The Case of Vézelay Linda Seidel prepared the ground for considering the affective qualities of architectural sculpture in her analysis of the cloister capitals of La Daurade. She argued that the inclusion of interior space and the emphasis on the senses of sight and touch within the Passion scenes in the cloister capitals supported the monk’s imaginative projection into the narrative, with the physical senses explicitly leading to spiritual seeing (Seidel 1988). More recently, it has been shown that the Doubting Thomas relief in the cloister of Silos echoes the wording of the liturgical texts for the Sunday after Easter, evoking the senses of touch, sight, and hearing to encourage the monk to identify with the apostle in his encounter with the risen Christ (Valdez del Álamo 2012: esp. 118–127). It has also been proposed that the form and content of the high-relief sculptures of Moissac (see Figure 22.9) stimulated a multisensory devotional experience, informed by the words sung while processing through the space of the portal; text and image contrast carnal indulgence below (e.g. Lust and the banquet of Dives at left), with the purified vision of the celestial liturgy in the tympanum above (Dale 2010; Dale 2019: 182–190). Vézelay offers another compelling case study (see Figure 22.10). The central tympanum of the narthex depicts the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, interpreted

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Figure 22.10  Sainte-Madeleine, Vézelay: central narthex tympanum of Pentecost, limestone relief, c.1125. (Frank Horlbeck Archive, Department of Art History, University of Wisconsin-Madison)

through the ecclesiological lens of Ephesians 2: 11–22 (Low 2003). Christ is enthroned at centre within a mandorla of light, his lower body actively turned to one side as he stretches out his arms to transmit the power of the Holy Spirit in the form of rays of light that strike the heads of each of the twelve Apostles, whose bodies appear to be animated in response. Christ bridges heaven and earth, his lower body in the midst of the Apostles in Jerusalem, his upper body within the clouds of heaven. The targets of apostolic ­mission—Greeks, Romans, and monstrous races—are assembled in the compartments and lintel framing the tympanum, with Christ’s head forming the cornerstone. The composition expands into the doorway below with Apostles on the jambs and sides of the trumeau, and John the Baptist on the central trumeau holding the Paschal lamb in anticipation of the Eucharistic sacrifice inside the church. Finally, the cosmic significance of the Pentecostal foundation of the Church is conveyed by the zodiac calendar and labours of the months in the outer archivolt. What has not previously been considered is how the actions of the Holy Spirit are conveyed to the corporeal senses (Dale 2019: 205–212). Not only are sight and hearing implicated, but also touch. Visible rays emanate from the hands of Christ to touch the Apostles, who respond with dramatic twisting poses and gestures that suggest the visible impact as well as the sound and touch of the blowing spirit that prompts their ecstatic speech. The sculpture complements the texts of sermons and liturgical antiphons for Pentecost used at Cluniac monasteries, including Vézelay (Étaix 1976: 105–106). Light,

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366   Thomas E. A. Dale which features prominently in the form of straight rays extending from the tips of the fingers of Christ to the heads of his disciples, is evoked frequently. In the hymn Veni Creator Spiritus (http://cantusdatabase.org/id/008407), sung during Pentecost at terce, the fourth stanza bids the Holy Spirit to ‘ignite the light in our senses and to pour love into our hearts, firming up with virtue the infirmity of our bodies’. The phrase ‘Accende lumen sensibus’ refers both to making sense of (understanding) the Holy Spirit and quite literally to illuminating or igniting the senses. The haptic quality of light is conveyed at Vézelay by the twisting poses of the disciples that react to the entry of the Holy Spirit into their bodies. That light touches the bodies as well as the minds of the Apostles reflects a long-held view in Christian theology, already manifested in Augustine’s Treatise on the Trinity, that seeing involves rays of light grasping or touching objects, and returning through the eye to physically imprint the image in memory (Biernoff 2002). The powerful touch of God is also highlighted in another stanza of the Veni Creator which describes the Holy Spirit as the ‘finger of the Father’s right hand’, which bestows the gifts of the Holy Spirit. The sound of the ‘inspiration’—the breathing-in of the Holy Spirit—is highlighted in the antiphon Factus est repente de caelo sonus (http://cantusindex.org/id/002847): ‘Suddenly there came a sound from heaven like a violent wind coming’ (Acts 2:2). This comparison of the Holy Spirit to the sound of the wind is captured at Vézelay by the windswept draperies of the Apostles, including whirling highlights over knees, hips, and elbows. Furthermore, the ecstatic speech of the Apostles emphasized in the antiphon, Repleti sunt (http://cantusdatabase.org/id/004613) is visually communicated at Vézelay by the animated gestures of the Apostles, which contrast with the gestures of incomprehension among the monstrous cynocephali on the margins of Pentecost (Ambrose 2006: 29–33). That the physical senses have the capacity to apprehend the invisible inspiration of the Holy Spirit is suggested in the sermon literature on the Pentecost. According to Raoul Glaber, the advent of the Holy Spirit is demonstrated by two signs (PL155: 1935D–1940D). The wind, like the Holy Spirit, is invisible, and yet brings the sound to the ears of the individual Apostles and also penetrates their hearts, inciting them to knowledge of the Spirit. He further notes that ‘spiritus’ (spirit) is equivalent to ‘spiritus’ (breath), as to ‘ventus’ (wind) and ‘cantus’ (song or chant), as well as to the Greek term ‘pneuma’. The Holy Spirit manifests itself to touch, sight, and sound by a second sign, the tongues of fire which melt the cold, hard hearts, illuminate the shadows within, and finally breathe into the Apostles the speech of various tongues. The appeal to the senses through high relief sculpture is integral to a newly intensified interest in the relationship between body and soul during the late eleventh and twelfth centuries. In William of Saint-Thierry’s treatise On the Nature of the Body and Soul (PL 180:695–726), the human body is characterized as a psychosomatic unity in which the soul, neither entirely corporeal nor entirely spiritual, offers an intermediary between human flesh and the Divine. The senses themselves, though tied to specific parts of the physical body, are activated by, and demonstrate the power of the soul. They communicate between body and soul, and ultimately provide a pathway to knowledge of the

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Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation   367 divine through the ‘spiritual senses’. Within the Cluniac ambience to which Vézelay belonged, Peter the Venerable expressed the view that seeing and hearing, and to a lesser extent, taste and touch, were essential to arousing love of, and union with God in the sacrament of the Eucharist (Appleby 1998). Peter speaks of unity of material and spiritual in the sacrament of communion, but his incarnational interpretation of the Eucharistic image complements a broader understanding of the role of material images in monastic thought and practice. As the Vézelay Pentecost reveals, visual images could shape religious experience for monks and lay worshippers alike, projecting a mystical union with the depicted body of Christ, leading from the realm of the senses to the spiritual and intellectual vision of the divine.

Bibliography Ambrose, K. (2006). The Nave Sculpture of Vézelay: The Art of Monastic Viewing. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. Appleby, D. F. (1998). ‘The Priority of Sight according to Peter the Venerable’. Mediaeval Studies 60: 123–157. Baschet, Jérôme, Jean-Claude Bonne, and Pierre-Olivier Dittmar (2012). Le monde roman: pardelà le bien et le mal : une iconographie du lieu sacré. Paris: Arkhê. Belting, H. (1994). Likeness and Presence: A History of the Image Before the Era of Art. Translated by Edmund Jephcott. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Bennett, J. (2001). ‘Stigmata and Sense Memory: St Francis and the Affective Image’. Art History 24.1: 1–16. Biernoff, S. (2002). Sight and Embodiment in the Middle Ages. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Boynton, S. (2007). ‘Prayer as Liturgical Performance in Eleventh- and Twelfth-Century Monastic Psalters’. Speculum 82.4: 896–931. Braunfels, Wolfgang (1972). Monasteries of Western Europe: The Architecture of the Orders. London: Thames and Hudson. Bruzelius, C. (1992). ‘Hearing is Believing: Clarissan Architecture, ca. 1213–1340’. Gesta 31.2 (Monastic Architecture for Women): 83–91. Büchsel, M. (2010). ‘The Status of Sculpture in the Early Middle Ages: Liturgy and Paraliturgy in the Liber miraculorum sancte Fidis’. In Current Directions in Eleventh- and TwelfthCentury Sculpture Studies, edited by R. Maxwell and K. Ambrose, 47–60. Turnhout: Brepols. Bynum, C. W. (2011). Christian Materiality: An Essay on Religion in Late Medieval Europe. New York: Zone Books. Camille, M. (1992). Image on the Edge: The Margins of Medieval Art. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Carruthers, M. (2013). The Experience of Beauty in the Middle Ages. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Carruthers, M. (1998). The Craft of Thought: Meditation, Rhetoric, and the Making of Images, 400-1200. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Cassidy-Welch, M. (2001). Monastic Spaces and Their Meanings: Thirteenth-Century English Cistercian Monasteries. Turnhout: Brepols. Caviness, M.  H. (1998). ‘To See, Hear, and Know All at Once’. In Voice of the Living Light: Hildegard of Bingen and Her World, edited by B. Newman, 110–124. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

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368   Thomas E. A. Dale Cohen, A. S. (2009). ‘Making Memories in a Medieval Miscellany’. Gesta 48.2: 135–152. Collins, S. (2012). The Carolingian Debate over Sacred Space. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Conant, J. K. (1979). Carolingian and Romanesque Architecture, 800–1200, 2nd integrated edn. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Connolly, D.  K. (1999). ‘Imagined Pilgrimage in the Itinerary Maps of Matthew Paris’. Art Bulletin 81.4: 598–622. Dahl, E. (1978). ‘Heavenly Images: The Statue of St. Foy of Conques and the Signification of the Medieval “Cult-Image” in the West’. Acta ad archaeologiam et artium historiam pertinentia 8: 175–191. Dale, T.  E.  A. (2019). Pygmalion’s Power: Romanesque Sculpture, The Senses, and Religious Experience. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Dale, T.  E.  A. (2010). ‘The Nude at Moissac: Vision, Phantasia, and the Experience of Romanesque Sculpture’. In Current Directions in Eleventh- and Twelfth-Century Sculpture Studies, edited by R. Maxwell and K. Ambrose, 61–76. Turnhout: Brepols. Dale, T.  E.  A. (2001). ‘Monsters, Corporeal Deformities, and Phantasms in the Cloister of St-Michel-de-Cuxa’. Art Bulletin 83.3: 402–436. Dale, T. E. A. with J. Mitchell (eds) (2004). Shaping Sacred Space and Institutional Identity in Romanesque Mural Painting: Essays in Honour of Otto Demus. London: Pindar. De Hamel, C. (2008). Book of Beasts: A Facsimile of MS Bodley 764. Oxford: Bodleian Library. De Hamel, C. (1997). A History of Illuminated Manuscripts, 2nd edn. London: Phaidon. Derbes, A. (1996). Picturing the Passion in late Medieval Italy: Narrative Painting, Franciscan Ideologies, and the Levant. New York and Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Étaix, R. (1976). ‘Le lectionnaire de l’office à Cluny’. Recherches Augustiniennes 11: 91–159. Fergusson, Peter (2019). ‘Cistercian Architecture’. In A Companion to Medieval Art: Romanesque and Gothic in Northern Europe, edited by C.  Rudolph, 857–879. 2nd edn. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Forsyth, I. (2008). ‘Word-Play in the Cloister at Moissac’. In Romanesque Art and Thought in the Twelfth Century: Essays in Honor of Walter Cahn, edited by C.  Hourihane, 154–178. Princeton, NJ: Index of Christian Art. Forsyth, I. (1986). ‘The “Vita apostolica” and Romanesque Sculpture: Some Preliminary Observations’. Gesta 25.1: 75–82. Forsyth, I. (1972). The Throne of Wisdom. Wood Sculptures of the Madonna in Romanesque France. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Freedberg, D. (1989). The Power of Images: Studies in the History and Theory of Response. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Frese, T. (2006). Die Bildkritik des Bernhard von Clairvaux: die Apologia im monastischen Diskurs. Bamberg: Arthis. Fricke, B. (2007). Ecce Fides. Die Statue von Conques, Götzendienst und Bildkultur im Westen. Munich: Wilhelm Fink Verlag. Fulton, R. (2006). ‘Praying with Anselm at Admont: A Meditation on Practice’. Speculum 81.3: 700–733. Fulton, R. (2002). From Judgment to Passion: Devotion to Christ and the Virgin Mary, 800– 1200. New York: Columbia University Press. Gerson, P. (2019). ‘Art and Pilgrimage: Mapping the Way’. In A Companion to Medieval Art: Romanesque and Gothic in Northern Europe, edited by C.  Rudolph, 881–905. 2nd edn. Malden, MA: Blackwell.

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Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation   369 Gilchrist, R. (1994). Gender and Material Culture: the Archaeology of Religious Women. London: Routledge. Graves, C.  Pamela (2007). ‘Sensing and Believing: Exploring Worlds of Difference in PreModern England: A Contribution to the Debate Opened by Kate Giles’. World Archaeology 39.4: 515–531. Hahn, C. (1997). ‘Seeing and Believing: The Construction of Sanctity in Early-Medieval Saints’ Shrines’. Speculum 72.4: 1079–1106. Hamburger, J.  F. (1998). The Visual and the Visionary: Art and Female Spirituality in Late Medieval Germany. New York: Zone Books. Hamburger, J. F. and A.-M. Bouché (eds) (2006). The Mind’s Eye: Art and Theological Argument in the Middle Ages. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Hamburger, J. F. and S. Marti (eds) (2008). Crown and Veil: Female Monasticism from the Fifth to the Fifteenth Centuries. New York: Columbia University Press. Hamburger, J. F. and R. Suckale (2008). ‘Between this World and the Next: The Art of Religious Women in the Middle Ages’. In Crown and Veil: Female Monasticism from the Fifth to the Fifteenth Centuries, edited by J. F. Hamburger and S. Marti, 76–108. New York: Columbia University Press. Hassig, D. (1995). Medieval Bestiaries: Text, Image, Ideology. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Heitz, C. (1963). Recherches sur les rapports entre architecture et liturgie à l’époque carolingienne. Paris: S.E.V.P.E.N. Horn, W. and E. Born (1979). The Plan of St. Gall: A Study of the Architecture & Economy of & Life in a Paradigmatic Carolingian Monastery. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Horste, K. (1992). Cloister Design and Monastic Reform in Toulouse: The Romanesque Sculpture of La Daurade. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hourihane, C. (ed.) (2010). Looking Beyond: Visions, Dreams, and Insights in Medieval Art and History. Princeton, NJ: Index of Christian Art. Hourihane, C. (ed.) (2008). Romanesque Art and Thought in the Twelfth Century: Essays in Honor of Walter Cahn. Princeton, NJ: Index of Christian Art. Iogna-Prat, D. (2006). La Maison Dieu: Une histoire monumentale de l’Église au Moyen Âge (v. 800–v. 1200). Paris: Seuil. Jung, J. (2010). ‘The Tactile and the Visionary: Notes on the Place of Sculpture in the Medieval Religious Imagination’. In Looking Beyond: Visions, Dreams, and Insights in Medieval Art and History, edited by C. Hourihane, 202–240. Princeton, NJ: Index of Christian Art. Kessler, H. L. (2006). ‘Gregory the Great and Image Theory in Northern Europe during the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries’. In A Companion to Medieval Art: Romanesque and Gothic in Northern Europe, edited by C. Rudolph, 151–172. 2nd edn. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Kessler, H. L. (2000). Spiritual Seeing: Picturing God’s Invisibility in Medieval Art. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Kiely, M. (2004). ‘The Interior Courtyard: The Heart of Cimitile/Nola’. Journal of Early Christian Studies 12: 443–479. Kinder, T. (2002). Cistercian Europe: Architecture of Contemplation. Grand Rapids, MI: W. B. Eerdmans. Klein, P. (ed.) (2004). Der mittelalterliche Kreuzgang : Architektur, Funktion und Programm. Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner. Le Goff, Jacques (1984). The Birth of Purgatory. Translated by Arthur Goldhammer. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press.

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370   Thomas E. A. Dale Legler, R. (1989). Der Kreuzgang: Ein Bautypus des Mittelalters. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang. Lidov, A. (ed.) (2009). Hierotopy. Comparative Studies of Sacred Spaces. Moscow: Indrik. Lipton, S. (2005). ‘ “The Sweet Lean of His Head”: Writing about Looking at the Crucifix in the High Middle Ages’. Speculum 80.4: 1172–1208. Low, P. (2003). ‘ “You Who Once Were Far Off ”: Enlivening Scripture in the Main Portal at Vézelay’. Art Bulletin 85.3: 469–489. McClendon, C. (2005). The Origins of Medieval Architecture: Building in Europe, A.D. 600–900. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Mâle, É. (1922). L’art religieux du XIIe siècle en France. Paris: A. Colin. Maxwell, R. (2019). ‘Modern Origins of Romanesque Sculpture’. In A Companion to Medieval Art: Romanesque and Gothic in Northern Europe, edited by C. Rudolph, 439–462. 2nd edn. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Maxwell, R. and K. Ambrose (eds) (2010). Current Directions in Eleventh- and Twelfth-Century Sculpture Studies. Turnhout: Brepols. Mecham, J. (2014). Sacred Communities, Shared Devotions: Gender, Material Culture, and Monasticism in Late Medieval Germany, edited by Alison I. Beach, Constance H. Berman, and Lisa M. Bitel. Turnhout: Brepols. Meyvaert, P. (1973). ‘The Medieval Monastic Claustrum’. Gesta 12.1/2: 53–59. Newman, B. (2005). ‘What Did it Mean to Say “I saw”? The Clash between Theory and Practice in Medieval Visionary Culture’. Speculum 80.1: 1–43. Nichols, S., A. Kablitz, and A. Calhoun (eds) (2008). Rethinking the Medieval Senses. Heritage, Fascinations, Frames. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Ousterhout, R. (2009). ‘ “Sweetly Refreshed in Imagination”: Remembering Jerusalem in Words and Images’. Gesta 48.2: 153–168. Palazzo, É. (2014). L’invention chrétienne des cinq sens dans la liturgie et l’art au Moyen Âge. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Palazzo, É. (2008). L’espace rituel et le sacré dans le Christianisme : la liturgie de l’autel portatif dans l’Antiquité et au Moyen Âge. Turnhout: Brepols. Panofsky, E. (1979). Abbot Suger on the Abbey Church of St-Denis and Its Art Treasures, 2nd edn, ed. by Gerda Panofsky-Soergel. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Parker, E. (1978). The Descent from the Cross: Its Relation to the Extra-liturgical ‘Depositio’ Drama. New York: Garland. Pentcheva, B. (2010). The Sensual Icon: Space, Ritual, and the Senses in Byzantium. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Rublack, U. (1996). ‘Female Spirituality and the Infant Jesus in Late Medieval Dominican Convents’. In Popular Religion in Germany and Central Europe, 1400-1800, edited by R. Scribner and T. Johnson, 16–37, 210–214. New York: Saint Martin’s Press. Rudolph, C. (ed.) (2019). A Companion to Medieval Art: Romanesque and Gothic in Northern Europe. 2nd edn. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Rudolph, C. (2014). The Mystic Ark: Hugh of Saint Victor, Art, and Thought in the Twelfth Century. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Rudolph, C. (2011). ‘Inventing the Exegetical Stained-Glass Window: Suger, Hugh, and a New Elite Art’. Art Bulletin 93.4: 399–422. Rudolph, C. (1997). Violence and Daily Life: Reading, Art, and Polemics in the Cîteaux Moralia in Job. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Rudolph, C. (1990a). The ‘Things of Greater Importance’. Bernard of Clairvaux’s Apologia and the Medieval Attitude Toward Art. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press.

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Monastic Art, Sacred Space, and the Mediation   371 Rudolph, C. (1990b). Artistic Change at St-Denis: Abbot Suger’s Program and the Early TwelfthCentury Controversy over Art. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Rutchick, L. (2004). ‘Visual Memory and Historiated Sculpture in the Moissac Cloister’. In Der mittelalterliche Kreuzgang: Architektur, Funktion und Programm, edited by P. Klein, 190–211. Regensburg: Schnell & Steiner. Schapiro, M. (2006). Romanesque Architectural Sculpture: The Charles Eliot Norton Lectures [1967], edited by L. Seidel. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Schapiro, M. (1947). ‘On the Aesthetic Attitude in Romanesque Art’. Reprinted in Meyer Schapiro, Selected Papers I: Romanesque Art. New York: G. Braziller, 1977. Schmid, K. and J.  Wollasch (1967). ‘Die Gemeinschaft der Lebenden und Verstorbenen in Zeugnissen des Mittelalters’. Frühmittelalterliche Studien 1: 365–405. Schmitt, J.-C. (1990). La raison des gestes dans l’Occident médiéval. Paris: Gallimard. Schulenberg, J.  T. (1984). ‘Strict Active Enclosure and its Effects on the Female Monastic Experience, 500–1100’. In Distant Echoes: Medieval Religious Women, edited by J. A. Nichols and L. T. Shank, 51–86. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Schüppel, K. (2005). Silberne und Goldene Monumentalkruzifixe. Ein Beitrag zur mittelalterlichen Liturgie- und Kulturgeschichte. Weimar: Verlag und Datenbank für Geisteswissenschaften. Seidel, L. (1988). ‘Medieval Cloister Carving and Monastic Mentalité’. In The Medieval Monastery, edited by A. MacLeish, 1–16. St. Cloud, MN: North Star Press. Sheingorn, P. (1974). ‘The Easter Sepulchre: A Study in the Relationship between Art and Liturgy’. PhD Dissertation, University of Wisconsin. Speer, A. (2006). ‘Is there a Theology of the Gothic Cathedral? A Re-reading of Abbot Suger’s Writings on the Abbey Church of St.-Denis’. In The Mind’s Eye: Art and Theological Argument in the Middle Ages, edited by J.  Hamburger and A.-M.  Bouché, 65–83. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Tachau, K. H. (2006). ‘Seeing as Action and Passion in the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Centuries’. In The Mind’s Eye: Art and Theological Argument in the Middle Ages, edited by J. Hamburger and A.-M. Bouché, 336–359. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Valdez del Álamo, E. (2012). Palace of the Mind: The Cloister of Silos and Spanish Sculpture of the Twelfth Century. Turnhout: Brepols. Von Simson, O. (1956). The Gothic Cathedral. New York: Pantheon. Wirth, J. (1999). L’image à l’époque romane. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Ziegler, J. (1992). Sculpture of Compassion: the Pietà and the Beguines in the Southern Low Countries, c.1300–c.1600. Turnhout: Brepols. Ziehr, W. (2006). ‘Die Perspektive, Alhazen und Thomas von Aquin’. Archiv für Kulturgeschichte 88.1: 23–44.

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chapter 23

Monastic Na r r ati v e Pr actices Katherine Allen Smith

An autobiographical story from Peter the Venerable’s collection of miracles makes a good starting point for an examination of monastic narrative practices in the central Middle Ages. This is an account of two dreams the author had while visiting the Roman curia in the last days of 1145.1 Knowing his monastic audience would be rightly sceptical about the veracity of dreams, Peter begins by reminding them that, ‘as our holy father Odo wrote in his vita of that holy man Gerald [of Aurillac], “visions [conveyed] in dreams are not always false” ’. Moreover, Peter continues, ‘The Pentateuch makes the same point in its first book, Genesis (37:6): “Hear this dream which I have dreamed,” and there is another proof, as everyone knows, in the Gospel (Matt. 1:20–25, 2:13, 2:19–20)’. It is in this spirit that we should listen to Peter’s story. A few months earlier, Peter’s friend William of Roanne had died under suspicious circumstances—poisoning was ­suspected—while serving as prior of Charlieu, where the monks had chafed under his strict rule. Peter had undertaken an investigation of William’s death, but was called to Rome on pressing business before he could complete his enquiries. After his arrival in Rome, this unfinished business continued to weigh heavily on Peter’s mind. One night, William appeared twice in spirit to Peter, who, though sleeping deeply, ‘felt as if he had awoken and was not aware of being asleep’. The dreamer even had the presence of mind to follow Saint Antony’s excellent advice and interrogate the apparition. The spirit, who spoke with the living William’s characteristic stutter, confirmed that he had indeed been poisoned and helpfully named his murderer. But he also assured Peter that, as befitted one who had ‘suffered persecution for the sake of justice (Matt. 5:10)’, he now enjoyed the company of the saints in heaven. Following this remarkable oneiric exchange, Peter woke up briefly but promptly fell asleep again, whereupon he experienced a second, identical visitation that convinced him of the vision’s authenticity. Peter subsequently returned to Cluny, discovered the culprit, and sentenced him to perpetual exile. 1  The account is from Peter the Venerable, De miraculis libri duo, 2.25, ed. Denise Bouthillier, CCCM 83, 142–146 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1988).

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Monastic Narrative Practices   373 Peter’s reportage is suggestive of the workings of the medieval monastery as a textual community (Stock  1983), in which written narratives kept alive the memory of the house’s past and defined the shared values that bound together its members in the pre­ sent. It demonstrates the degree to which a common body of texts—and, equally im­port­ ant­ly, agreed-upon interpretations of them—conditioned religious men and women to respond to situations in particular ways, and shaped their retrospective assessments of their actions. The Scriptures, the writings of the Fathers, and the Lives of the saints col­ lectively constituted the lens through which Peter and his contemporaries saw their world, and provided them with the language and symbolism to describe it. In addition, as Peter’s reference to Odo of Cluny’s vita of Gerald of Aurillac attests, each monastic community preserved its own textual patrimony, in the form of local annals, foundation legends, saints’ vitae, and sermons that linked its members to their past history and devotional traditions. This is not to say that monks and nuns lived exclusively in the past, cut off from the concerns that animated society in their own day, or that they saw no difference between the past and the present, but rather that the past was, for them, vibrantly alive. This dialectic between past and present is a key feature of medieval monastic narratives. The story of William of Roanne’s return from the dead also highlights the major themes around which monastic narratives clustered: sanctity, communal life, and the relationship between the cloister and the world. This is a story worth telling, in part, because it allows Peter to extoll the virtues associated with monastic ideals of holiness. William was, we learn, ‘a monk of angelic purity and mercy, with a special regard for the poor’, who ‘spent half of each day in prayer and tears’ and lived strictly according to the rule. It is also a story about the trials of communal life that juxtaposes Charlieu, a priory of ‘false brethren’ whose pride and laxity William opposed with reforming zeal, with the order and justice of Cluny (which had, nonetheless, been torn by civil strife within living memory). Finally, it is a story that illustrates the monastery’s status as a space set in and yet apart from the world. William is, according to a hagiographical commonplace, ‘noble according to the flesh but nobler still in the spirit’, and combines assiduity in prayer with a talent for administering the monks’ temporal goods. For his own part, Peter is a powerful and noble man who knows that a secular court would have con­ demned William’s poisoner to die ‘by the sword, the rope, or the fire’, but who, as befits a man of God, sentences him to perpetual penance and exile. Forty years ago, scholars might have mined this sort of narrative—if they read it at all—for information about the institutional history of Cluny and its dependencies, the reformist career of William of Roanne, and Peter the Venerable’s connections to the curia of Pope Eugenius III. While we might thereby fill in gaps in our knowledge of the twelfth century, such questions arguably miss the point of Peter’s story and use his text in a way he never intended. In the past three decades, medievalists have accorded much greater value to miracles, as well as to the other narrative genres that are the subject of this chapter, and have become increasingly attentive to issues of genre, authorial intent, and reception. Many of these texts have now been edited and translated, and we have also become accustomed to asking a wider range of questions of them. A reader familiar

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374   Katherine Allen Smith with recent trends in medieval monastic studies might use Peter’s tale as a point of departure from which to explore the histories of monastic attitudes towards dreams, crime and punishment in the monastery, or the didactic and commemorative functions of miracle-collections, to name only a few possibilities. But we are still very far from having exhausted all that these texts have to tell us. In the following discussions, I have adopted a broad definition of ‘monastic narrative’ as encompassing all narratives produced in monastic contexts, whether by men or women religious, by Benedictines, Cistercians, or regular canons. But since a con­sid­er­ ation of all monastic narrative genres and practices is beyond the scope of this chapter, this work has focused on examples from north-western Europe during the central Middle Ages (here defined as c.900–c.1200), and on some of the most common textual byproducts of the regular life in the medieval Latin West: hagiography and miracle col­ lections, foundation legends, and institutional histories. This focus reflects the author’s own expertise and the abundance of recent scholarship dealing with these cultures and genres. As a result, many worthy topics have necessarily been relegated to the sidelines. For instance, little attention is paid to monastic traditions of visual narrative, and I have barely touched upon several common types of texts that often contain narrative elem­ ents, such as liturgical offices, sermons, and biblical commentaries.

Master Narratives Medieval monastic life was very much a life of the word, lived through and for Christ as the Word. The inner lives of individual monks and nuns were mediated by communion with the written and spoken word, and the external life of the religious community was staged against a rich textual backdrop. Any discussion of monastic narrative practice must begin with the Scriptures, which occupied a central place within the text-centred culture of the monastery. Individual readers encountered the sacred texts in private devotional reading (lectio) and exercised their memories by using the Scriptures as a point of departure for meditation (meditatio) and prayer (oratio), while scribes lingered over the holy words as they copied the biblical books. Testing one another’s knowledge of Scripture with riddles, or joca, was a popular pastime in the cloister (Dubois 1984: 264–270). But above all the Scriptures were encountered orally and aurally, in the com­ munal context of the Divine Office, which entailed the recitation of a significant portion of the Bible’s contents over the course of the liturgical year (Dyer 2012: 659). Indeed, many of the biblical references that dot monastic narratives likely derive from the lit­ urgy, and only indirectly from the Scriptures. The Scriptures offered monastic writers a model of Latin expression, a rich symbolic vocabulary, and a repertoire of grand his­tor­ ic­al dramas, biographies, prophecies, and wonders—many presented in narrative form—that could be appropriated to meet present needs. In short, the Scriptures served as a durable master narrative, defining the standard of truth against which all other nar­ ratives must measure themselves.

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Monastic Narrative Practices   375 If the Scriptures supplied much of the raw material of monastic narrative, their inter­ pretive traditions, which had by the central Middle Ages grown into master narratives in their own right, taught religious men and women to interpret the stories they heard, and to construct narratives that could be read on multiple levels. Patristic and early medieval homilies, sermons, and biblical glosses were studied by individuals, but also read aloud at vigils and during Matins on Sundays and feast days, and featured prominently among the texts read in religious houses during meals and collations. For example, we know that the twelfth-century monks of Saint-Martial, Limoges would have heard selections from the works of Augustine, Cassian, Gregory the Great, John Chrysostom, and Odilo of Cluny as they ate.2 Exegetical works took up substantially more space on the shelves of monastic libraries than narrative genres, judging by the inventory of Cluny’s great library taken in c.1100, which lists some 150 volumes of biblical commentaries and hom­ ilies, compared with fifty-four of hagiography and twenty-six of history.3 From patristic and Carolingian exegetes, later monastic readers learned not only to interpret the Scriptures, but to cultivate an exegetical mindset that emphasized attention to language, sustained engagement with texts—a way of reading which was, to borrow a monastic metaphor, like a leisurely process of consumption and digestion—and openness to mul­ tiple levels of meaning. Nor were the linked practices of biblical exposition, preaching, and teaching the exclusive province of men; some abbesses preached, a few (that we know of) wrote formal commentaries, and women’s houses possessed glossed Bibles and works of biblical commentary, though we do not yet have a clear sense of how these works fit into the intellectual and scribal culture of women’s regular life (Kienzle 2000). And yet, for all the attention scholars have paid to the development of monastic hagi­ og­raphy and historiography, we often forget that the authors of these works were not first and foremost biographers or historians, but lifelong students of the sacred page. More than half a century after Dom Jean Leclercq lamented that the substantial output of monastic exegetes in the central Middle Ages remained largely unedited and unknown (Leclercq 1961: 71), little has changed, and the study of biblical commentary remains the province of a small number of specialists. A few studies of individual monastic writers who produced commentaries as well as narrative works are suggestive of how much historians and literary specialists miss by analyzing chronicles, hagi­og­ raphy, and other kinds of narrative in isolation from the exegetical and homiletic works which were very much at the forefront of medieval (but not modern) intellectual endeavour (for example, Rubenstein 2002). While much recent work by medievalists has focused on restoring monastic narratives to their original institutional, social, and political contexts, most scholars continue to overlook this major piece of the intellectual and spiritual context in which these works were produced. Paying closer attention to 2  RB 1980: The Rule of St. Benedict in English and Latin with Notes, 9.8, Timothy Fry (ed.) et al., 204– 205 (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1981); Donatella Nebbiai-Dalla Guarda, ‘Les listes médiévales de lectures monastiques. Contribution à la connaissance des anciennes bibliothèques bénédictines’, RBén 96 (1986): 275–277. 3  Leopold Delisle, Inventaire des manuscrits de la Bibliothèque Nationale: Fonds de Cluni, 337–373 (Paris: Champion, 1884).

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376   Katherine Allen Smith patterns of biblical citations in monastic histories and hagiography, or evaluating how works of monastic exegesis parallel or diverge from narratives of reform, are just a few strategies that would enhance our understanding of monastic narrative practices.

Narratives of Holiness Since social and cultural historians ‘discovered’ hagiography in the 1970s, its study has become one of the liveliest subfields of medieval studies. Scholars have used saints’ vitae and miracle collections as witnesses to the ongoing development of new models of holi­ ness and saintly virtus (which is, arguably, what these sources ‘want’ to tell us about), but have also mined hagiography in ways medieval authors never intended: for evidence of medieval understandings of gender difference, childhood, marriage, disease, and pol­it­ ical authority (among many other topics). Approaches to biographical narratives of sanctity have changed markedly in the past two decades, as scholars have become less concerned with seeking original versions of vitae and more interested in the process and products of hagiographical revision, and have questioned the distinctness of hagi­og­ raphy as a genre separate from history, especially prior to the twelfth century (Lifshitz 1994). It is now commonplace to describe saints’ vitae and collections of mir­ acles as the products of particular institutional or communal agendas, reflecting the concerns and aspirations of their authors at specific historical moments, even as they incorporated centuries-old tropes from the Lives of earlier holy men and women. Much recent work goes further, approaching the subjects of hagiography not as holy in­di­vid­ uals so much as authorial constructs, and emphasizing the instability of narratives of sanctity that were subject to reinterpretation for and by different audiences (for ex­ample, Herrick  2007). This view has particularly influenced analysis of female saints’ Lives authored by men, though disagreement persists over the recoverability of women’s experiences from such texts, and the extent to which hagiographical voices should be read as gendered (Mooney 1999; Koopmans 2005). In the Latin West before the thirteenth century, the vast majority of sacred biog­raph­ ies were composed in monastic contexts. Thanks to careful investigations of local and regional hagiographical traditions, we now understand how vitae and miracle collec­ tions could serve as written responses to political or economic crises, as reminders of past patronage or appeals for future support, or as blueprints for spiritual renewal (Farmer 1991; Head 1990). Other aspects of this narrative tradition have yet to be fully explored. We have only begun to appreciate the relationship between written hagi­og­ raphy and oral tradition, but it seems clear that oral narratives rather than texts were the main vehicles through which the posthumous reputations (famae) of saints spread, and that the oral/aural experience of the liturgy played an important, though underappreci­ ated, role in the dissemination of specific Lives as well as models of sanctity (Gaposchkin  2008; Koopmans  2011). The relationship between distinctive monastic reading practices and approaches to language and hagiographical production is another

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Monastic Narrative Practices   377 area in which substantial work remains to be done if we hope to understand how these narratives shaped, and were shaped by lived monastic culture (Diehl 2012). A little studied twelfth-century life, the vita of Amadeus of Hauterives composed at the Cistercian abbey of Bonnevaux within a few decades of the subject’s death in c.1150, offers a point of entry into a monastic hagiographical aesthetic. While much attention has been paid to the ‘super saints’—figures with widespread cults and impressive textual pedigrees—Amadeus is more typical of the hordes of average monastic sancti and beati; he was chiefly commemorated in his own community, and his vita survives in a single copy.4 Yet his Life can tell us a great deal about monastic hagiographers’ motivations and narrative strategies. In the opening lines, Amadeus’ anonymous biographer introduces the great themes of his narrative: humility (humilitas) and love (caritas), the virtues with which the cloistered combat the sin of pride (superbia). Just as its subject displayed humility and love in all he did, the vita’s prologue declares, so, too, did the hagiographer embrace humility in his own enterprise; though he would have preferred to keep silent, he humbly acceded to his abbot’s wish that he write Amadeus’ life, undertook the task with brotherly affection (caritative), and modestly invited future readers to correct any errors they might discover. If we dismiss this as mere posturing, we overlook a narrative strategy that takes us to the heart of monastic hagiography’s devotional function: the author, who is clearly writing for fellow monks, not only presents his subject as a model of monastic virtue but affiliates himself with this same ideal. He invites his imagined readers to share his devotion, but also to witness his own imitation of the holy Amadeus, and by extension, his imitation of Christ, whose life was the ultimate inspiration of all hagiography (Zimbalist 2012). If this sort of imitation feels timeless, the account of Amadeus’ abandonment of wealth and power and conversion to monastic life is firmly rooted in the distinctive spir­ itual landscape of twelfth-century France and the history of Bonnevaux, even as it par­ takes of familiar tropes. A member of the upper aristocracy, Amadeus entered the cloister at the height of his martial prowess, together with a retinue of sixteen retainers and his only son and heir. A veritable epidemic of similar conversions affected elite fam­ ilies in this period, and the saint’s actions speak to the anxiety of Amadeus’ peers about their spiritual futures (and may have reminded the vita’s monastic readers of their worldly pasts). The hagiographer’s depiction of Amadeus’ conversion from worldly mili­tary service (militia mundi) to the soldiery of Christ (militia Christi) reflects the contemporary view of the callings of knight and monk as opposed, yet complementary. The vita, moreover, reflects the competition between religious orders characteristic of these decades. Amadeus rejects initial suggestions that he should join the Templars (as that would merely entail ‘changing one’s clothes’), or a traditional Benedictine house (on the grounds of the order’s alleged laxity), and is repelled after a brief spell at Cluny where he witnesses first-hand the brothers’ soft living. At the climactic moment when the saint throws off his rich robes and runs, weeping with shame, from the choir at Cluny, crying 4 The vita is edited by M.-Anselme Dimier, ‘Vita venerabilis Amedaei Altae Ripae (+ c.1150): auctore monacho quodam Bonaevallensi synchrono et oculato’, Studia monastica 5 (1963): 265–304.

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378   Katherine Allen Smith out that only the ‘harsh order of Cîteaux’ will do for him, the vita joins the famous debate between proponents of these two models of monastic life. In the remainder of the vita, Amadeus’ sainthood is developed along recognizably Cistercian lines, as he embraces a life of poverty and manual labour, allowing himself only the roughest clothing and most meagre food, and tirelessly promoting his new order. In its broadest outlines, Amadeus’ Life is a typical monastic narrative of holiness; it presents the familiar story of sin, repentance, and reform repeated in all Christian devo­ tional biography from the Life of Antony onwards. But twenty-first-century historians steeped in the traditions of microhistory and the linguistic turn will be more likely to concern themselves with the details that reveal the hopes of the text’s author and his community, and treat it as a historical and literary work rather than a spiritual biog­ raphy. Attuned as we are to the ways in which monastic writers used hagiography as a means of defining order-specific spiritual models (and projecting these back onto a mythic past), we will notice the vita’s heavy-handed insistence on the superiority of the Cistercian to the Cluniac habitus, and the hagiographer’s evocation of a heroic ‘golden age’ of Cîteaux in the days of Saint Bernard (Mula 2010). Without denying the devo­ tional functions of hagiography, we have become concerned with the economic and political functions of such texts, and so will observe that the hagiographer affirms the legitimacy of land-grants Amadeus made to Bonnevaux, and discern hints that the monks hoped to promote a cult of their patron, whose body they possessed. For scholars of gender who have used hagiography to reconstruct complex, unstable, and multiple medieval models of femininity, and are now turning their attention to contemporary masculinities, the Vita Amadaei could serve as a point of departure for a history of fatherhood, the ascetic male body, or the dialectical relationship between monastic and knightly masculinity (Coon 2011; McLaughlin 1999; Smith 2011). Finally, we might pay attention to the language of the text—a workman-like Latin shot through with allusions to the Scriptures, hagiographical topoi, and vernacular inflections—which is evocative of the Latin spoken as a second language by men with little formal schooling who embraced the religious life as adults. This was the everyday language of medieval ­monastic storytelling.

Narratives of Community Narratives, particularly narratives about the past, also played a central role in the con­ struction of communal monastic identities, whether of orders or individual houses. Inspired by groundbreaking theoretical and historical explorations of memory in the 1980s and 1990s, many recent studies have focused on the social memories of monastic communities, casting a sceptical eye on monastic presentations of the past that previous generations of scholars often took at face value. Political crises and changing spiritual ideals prompted religious men and women to reassess their pasts, and to recreate insti­ tutional memories through strategic commemoration and forgetting (Bouchard 2012;

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Monastic Narrative Practices   379 Lifshitz 1995). In some cases, the authors of these texts deliberately omitted or destroyed earlier texts, or crafted narratives that filled in voids in their communities’ histories, in their efforts to produce new pasts tailored to their present-day needs (Geary  1994; Remensnyder 1995). But as we move forwards, we must take care not to be too utilitarian in our analysis of monks’ created pasts; their historiographical strategies often served their communities’ material or patronal interests, to be sure, but were also informed by the ever-present agenda of spiritual renovatio, which we should not take lightly. Accustomed as we are to regarding monasteries as the great producers and guardians of written records in medieval Europe, it is easy to forget that relatively few religious houses possessed written histories at the turn of the millennium; most only acquired their own chronicles, foundation legends, and cartularies over the course of the next two centuries (Vanderputten  2004). While many universal histories authored by monks have been edited and studied, and the works of a handful of monastic historians, such as Orderic Vitalis and William of Malmesbury, are now familiar to virtually all medieval­ ists, most local house-histories have attracted little attention, and these sorts of texts continue to occupy a marginal place within the study of medieval historiography.5 It would seem that monastic historians’ work has interested us most when it addresses the wider world outside the cloister, a world of kings and conquests rather than abbots and local land disputes. We know that monastic historiography virtually exploded after 1000, when medieval elite society more generally ‘came to recognize itself through documents’ (BedosRezak 2002: 59), but much work remains to be done on the working methods of monas­ tic historians. The ways in which monastic historians made use of oral testimony and texts as primary sources, the influence of other genres, such as hagiography, necrologies, homilies, and biblical commentaries on monastic approaches to the past, and the trans­ mission and use of house-histories over time are just a few issues that would repay fur­ ther study. In addition, we are only beginning to appreciate how the narrative structure of these communal histories was shaped by monastic reading practices and the liturgical experience of sacred time (Vanderputten 2001). The interplay between liturgical pro­ grammes, historical memory, and communal monastic identity has emerged as another promising area of research in the past decade, though thus far historical musicologists have been more willing to work with historical texts (for example, Boynton  2006; Fassler 2010) than most historians to tackle liturgical material. The formal distinctions we make between medieval narrative genres belie the shared purposes of hagiography, foundation legends, chronicles, and even charters, all of which helped preserve (and create) communal memory and clarify institutional identity. In the central Middle Ages, such texts were often copied together as part of self-consciously mnemonic textual projects. The twelfth-century cartulary of the famous Norman abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel illustrates how texts from disparate eras and genres could be 5  For example, just seven pages are dedicated to monastic chronicles in Elisabeth M. C. Van Houts, Local and Regional Chronicles, Typologie des sources du Moyen Âge Occidental 74: 27–33 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1995).

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380   Katherine Allen Smith pressed into service to create a unifying and unified—albeit episodic and highly im­agina­tive—vision of corporate history (Insley 2011). Probably commissioned during the brief abbacy of Geoffrey I (r. 1149–1151), and left unfinished after his death, the cartu­ lary is a time capsule of the community’s concerns at a particular moment, when the monks’ struggle for independence from the Norman ducal house was at its height.6 It opens with a series of pictorial and written accounts of key events from the abbey’s past: the Mont’s legendary eighth-century foundation by the Archangel Michael and Aubert, a Neustrian bishop; the displacement of the allegedly now-corrupt original canons by Benedictine monks in c.965; and major donations of lands and privileges by the Norman dukes. Since they are not charters, these opening folios were traditionally not treated as part of the cartulary, but the manuscript’s modern editor has convincingly argued that the prefatory material was carefully selected and ordered in such a way as to constitute an introduction to the charters that follow.7 This monastic memory book suggests how hagiography and miracles could be comfortably aligned with political and economic events along a single narrative continuum. Further, it reminds us of the importance of considering the manuscript contexts of monastic narratives, which were neither com­ posed nor copied as isolated texts. Narrative strategies similar to those by which individual religious houses constituted their histories were employed on a larger scale to define membership in monastic orders or signal (sometimes retroactively) allegiance to programmes of reform. The central Middle Ages saw the emergence of many new models of monastic life, all of which developed their own historical and spiritual narratives. Scholars have increasingly ques­ tioned the usefulness of the term ‘order’ to describe the internal organization of these new monastic collectives. When writing of Cluny and its vast network of dependencies in the tenth through twelfth centuries, scholars now tend to speak not of an ordo but a Cluniacensis ecclesia or ‘Church network’ (Iogna-Prat  2002: 32–33). More controver­ sially, Constance Berman has questioned whether a ‘Cistercian order’ existed as such prior to the end of the twelfth century (Berman  2000). Whatever terminology we employ to describe these reinterpretations of the monastic ideal, it is clear that they depended on the production and dissemination of new narratives. Narratives were also used to define communal identities in gendered terms. Religious men used exempla and sermons as textual spaces within which to work out ideas about women and explore perceived differences between men and women’s devotion to Christ (for example, Newman 2003). While imagined women might serve as foils to demon­ strate men’s (imagined) spiritual superiority, actual interactions between the sexes were considerably more complex. Recent work has highlighted men and women’s collabora­ tive approach to monastic reform, forcing us to rethink the long-standing assumption that most monks regarded the care of women religious (cura monialium) as an unwel­ come burden. As Fiona Griffiths has shown, abbesses curated textual programmes that 6  Katharine S. B. Keats-Rohan (ed.), The Cartulary of The Abbey of Mont-Saint-Michel (Introduction) 14–26 (Donington: Shaun Tyas, 2006). 7 Keats-Rohan, Cartulary of Mont-Saint-Michel, 26.

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Monastic Narrative Practices   381 constituted eloquent arguments for women’s right to equal participation in the spiritual and intellectual renovatio of the twelfth century (Griffiths 2007). The work of Alison Beach and Julie Hotchin attests to the vibrancy of nunneries’ scriptoria in this period, when monastic women were actively building their own libraries as copyists and il­lu­ min­ators (Beach 2004; Hotchin  2007). Innovative recent studies have also demon­ strated how we might ‘excavate’ the remains of historical and hagiographical works by English nuns buried within male-authored texts (Watt 2012; Bugyis 2016). Such studies remind us that women religious constituted textual communities in their own right, and were by no means passive recipients of pre-packaged ideological programmes. But until scholars do further spade work in the archives of individual houses, and carry out more cross-cultural comparisons, we will not fully understand how different kinds of texts did the narrative work of memory-shaping and history-making in women’s monasteries (Blanton, O’Mara, and Stoop 2013).

Narratives of the World The monastic ideal was forged in contemptus mundi, in despair over the fallen condition of humanity, and its adherents sought to foster environments that were intensely inward-looking (Pranger 2003: 23). But although their members often presented the world and the cloister in oppositional terms, medieval religious were by no means iso­ lated from the intellectual currents, political manoeuvrings, and social upheavals that took place beyond their walls. Monastic men and women left their houses to preach, carry letters and mortuary-rolls to neighbouring communities, attend chapter meetings and councils, supervise building projects and agrarian work, and undertake pilgrim­ ages. Foundation legends, charters, saints’ lives, and house-histories are well stocked with characters who might be called ‘worldly’, in the sense that they offer commentary on ‘the world’ as a monastic construct. In the past three decades historians have attended to how these narratives present the world not only as a source of lay adversaries and allies, but as a repository of ideas and images that were good to think with, insofar as they helped monastic writers better understand their own calling. Pioneering studies in the 1980s and 1990s used insights from anthropology and soci­ ology, especially regarding conflict resolution, ritual exchange, and responses to social stress, to shed new light on monastic sources (for example, Rosenwein 1982 and 1989). Further, by meticulously reconstructing how individual communities negotiated webs of lay patronage and land ownership, this generation of historiography demonstrated how profoundly monasteries’ relationships to the world were shaped by local politics and economic realities (for example, Johnson 1981). In a landmark study of monastic disputes, Barbara Rosenwein, Thomas Head, and Sharon Farmer surveyed the range of strategies available to communities whose security, property, or autonomy was threat­ ened by outside forces (Rosenwein, Head, and Farmer 1991). The lessons monks drew from these conflicts, they found, were preserved in various narrative formats.

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382   Katherine Allen Smith Charters recounted tales of multigenerational feuds, and included penalty clauses in which monks imagined gruesome fates for their enemies; miracle collections empha­ sized the protection saints gave their familiae, which included faithful laypeople as well as monks, but also warned of the saints’ readiness to avenge insults to their cults or servants. Crucially, this work recognized that monks’ relationship with the world was not sim­ ply adversarial, and that the line between lay enemies and allies was extremely fine; monastic narratives were conceptually roomy enough to accommodate the trans­form­ ations of predators into patrons, or of knights into monks. We are only beginning to appreciate that these transformations did not entail abandoning one mode of life for its opposite. This is clear from the numerous vitae of knightly converts which emphasized these men’s pre-conversion martial talents—strength, courage, steadfastness—as the very qualities which made them exemplary monks (Smith 2011: 166–176). Further, it is increasingly clear that monastic writers wrote stories about laypeople not only to emphasize the superiority of the monastic life to a life lived in the world, but because they identified with their subjects. Mathew Kuefler’s reassessment of the vita of Gerald of Aurillac, for instance, proposes that its author, Odo of Cluny, saw in the pious count’s experiences ‘an uncanny reflection of [his] own life’ (Kuefler 2014: 56). Such narratives of transformation merit further consideration, as they will help us further complicate the divide between the cloister and the world. While we have so far focused on how monastic narratives responded to and repre­ sented the world for institutional purposes, scholars have increasingly questioned whether such texts were intended solely for internal audiences, and are recognizing that they served as vehicles for the dissemination of monastic values among outsiders. Studies of miracle collections have emphasized the prominence of laypeople in such stories from at least the eleventh century, which may indicate the texts’ intended function as source­ books for monastic preaching to lay audiences (for example, Rollason 1985). Furthermore, the careful records English abbeys kept of lay burials in their precincts, according to Jennifer Paxton, were meant to help future generations of monks advertise the advan­ tages of such mortuary arrangements to lay benefactors (Paxton 2004: 132–137). Another area in which monastic narratives may have influenced lay contemporaries’ perceptions is in their portrayals of Judaism, Islam, and Christian heresies. The narra­ tive construction of religious difference has been a major concern of medievalists for decades, but scholars have only recently explored the roles of individual monasteries and networks in shaping discourses of persecution and intolerance that are a hallmark of the later Middle Ages. Thus far most of this work has focused on the contributions of Cluny and Cîteaux’s affiliates. In a magisterial study whose implications are still being worked out, Dominique Iogna-Prat accorded Cluny a central role in the process by which ‘persecution and demonization of the Other [became] a “structural necessity” for Christian society’ in the twelfth century (Iogna-Prat 2002), and Scott Bruce’s work on Cluniac hagiography has identified earlier precedents for anxieties about Islam among Cluny’s leaders (Bruce 2015). The Cistercians’ role in recruitment for the Second Crusade (Gervers 1992) is well known, while Beverly Mayne Kienzle has shown how influential

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Monastic Narrative Practices   383 Cistercian preachers were in constructing the image of heresy in Occitania prior to the Albigensian Crusade (Kienzle 2001). In short, we can no more maintain that the world was of little relevance to monks than we can hold that monastic spirituality had little impact on medieval society more generally (versus Milis 1992). Another important function of monastic narratives was to define spaces, those of the physical, bricks-and-mortar variety as well as imagined and metaphorical ones. Few scholars have as yet tackled these definitional processes. In a pioneering study, Lynda Coon has argued that Carolingian monastic architecture was envisioned as a setting for the performance of a monastic masculine ideal echoed in contemporary liturgical prac­ tices and commentaries on the Rule (Coon 2011). Looking ahead to the thirteenth cen­ tury, Megan Cassidy-Welch has shown how text, ritual, and architecture worked together to delineate boundaries and related spiritual hierarchies within Cistercian monasteries (Cassidy-Welch 2001). While such studies have so far dealt mostly with non-narrative sources, and have focused on how spaces facilitated the production of identity within the monastery, such interdisciplinary approaches would lend themselves equally well to narrative-driven explorations of the monastery’s external boundaries, or of the points within the monastery where the world impinged, such as guesthouses or lay burials within monastic cemeteries. Finally, when monks wrote about ‘the world’, modern scholars have long assumed they were referring to the social and political world of human actors, and have largely left unaddressed the issue of how monastic narratives responded to the natural world. With the advent of environmental history as one of the fastest growing areas of historical inquiry, we are becoming aware of the ways in which a monastery’s relationship with its natural surroundings shaped its communal identity as well as its sense of place within a landscape. Ellen Fenzel Arnold’s groundbreaking study of the twin Benedictine houses of Stavelot-Malmedy in the Ardennes discerns in several generations of the communi­ ty’s hagiography an ‘environmental exegesis’ which assigned multiple meanings to important features of the monks’ natural surroundings (Arnold 2013). Our understand­ ing of monastic cultural landscapes is still in its infancy, and Arnold’s example should encourage scholars to revisit familiar monastic narratives and consider what they might tell us about, for instance, efforts to tame or otherwise transform nature, or the use of the ‘natural’ as a source of spiritual inspiration. Medievalists who have become accustomed to carving out in their work what his­tor­ ian William Cronon famously called ‘a place for stories’ have only recently (re)learned something that no medieval monastic writer needed to be taught. Stories comprised the very fabric of devotional life and institutional identity in medieval European monaster­ ies, and monastic storytellers were equally at home in the Braudelian sweep of salvific history and in microhistorical accounts of individual lives. The monastic habitus encouraged the reading, glossing, composition, and performance of many kinds of nar­ ratives, and the men and women who took these tasks to heart became, in a sense, living books (Cochelin 2011). Monastic narratives reflect their authors’ training in the art of the sacred page and the textual practices of the cloister, which had taught them to read texts with an eye for hidden significance and to seek larger meanings in the smallest

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384   Katherine Allen Smith l­inguistic details. Monastic narratives treat the individual life on earth, the bonds of community, and the world beyond the cloister as rich texts that could be subjected to this same kind of close reading.

Suggested Reading While there is currently no overview of medieval monastic narrative practices, there are some excellent studies of the modes of reading that shaped these practices (for example, Robertson 2011) and the ways in which these shaped the memories of indi­ viduals and communities (for example, Lundhaug 2014). Some of the most stimulating recent work in the field has focused on individual narrative genres, such as foundation legends and miracles, as these were used by communities in one region during a set period (for example, Remensnyder  1995; Koopmans  2011; and Ashley and Sheingorn 1999). The work of narrative in representing and justifying monastic reform movements is another rich and growing area of study (for example, Vanderputten 2013 and 2015; Helvétius 2014).

Bibliography Arnold, Ellen Fenzel (2013). Negotiating the Landscape: Environment and Monastic Identity in the Medieval Ardennes. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Ashley, Kathleen M. and Pamela Sheingorn (1999). Writing Faith: Text, Sign, and History in the Miracles of Sainte Foy. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Beach Alison I. (2004). Women as Scribes: Book Production and Monastic Reform in TwelfthCentury Bavaria. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Bedos-Rezak, Brigitte (2002). ‘Towards an Archaeology of the Medieval Charter: Textual Production and Reproduction in Northern French Chartriers’. In Charters, Cartularies and Archives: The Preservation and Transmission of Documents in the Medieval West, edited by Adam  J.  Kosto and Anders Winroth, 43–60. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. Berman, Constance Hoffman (2000). The Cistercian Evolution: The Invention of a Religious Order in Twelfth-Century Europe. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Blanton, Virgina, Veronica O’Mara, and Patricia Stoop (eds) (2013). Nuns’ Literacies in Medieval Europe: The Hull Dialogue. Turnhout: Brepols. Bouchard, Constance B. (2012). ‘High Medieval Monks Contemplate Their Merovingian Past’. Journal of Medieval Monastic Studies 1: 41–62. Boynton, Susan (2006). Shaping a Monastic Identity: Liturgy and History at the Imperial Abbey of Farfa, 1000–1125. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Bruce, Scott  G. (2015). Cluny and the Muslims of La Garde-Freinet: Hagiography and the Problem of Islam in Medieval Europe. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Bugyis, Katie Ann-Marie (2016). ‘Recovering the Histories of Women Religious in England in the Central Middle Ages: Wilton Abbey and Goscelin of Saint-Bertin’. Journal of Medieval History 42.3: 285–303.

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Monastic Narrative Practices   385 Cassidy-Welch, Megan (2001). Monastic Spaces and Their Meanings: Thirteenth-Century English Cistercian Monasteries. Turnhout: Brepols. Cochelin, Isabelle (2011). ‘When Monks Were the Book: The Bible and Monasticism (6th–11th Centuries)’. In The Practice of the Bible in the Middle Ages, edited by Susan Boynton and Diane J. Reilly, 61–83. New York: Columbia University Press. Coon, Lynda L. (2011). Dark Age Bodies: Gender and Monastic Practice in the Early Medieval West. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Diehl, Jay (2012). ‘Harmony Between Word and World: Anselm of Canterbury, Aelred of Rievaulx and Approaches to Language in Twelfth-Century Monasticism’. In Saint Anselm of Canterbury and His Legacy, edited by Giles E. M. Gasper and Ian Logan, 95–113. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. Dubois, Jacques (1984). ‘Comment les moines du Moyen Âge chantaient et goûtaient les Saintes Écritures’. In Le Moyen Âge et la Bible, edited by Pierre Riché and Guy Lobrichon, 261–298. Paris: Éditions Beauchesne. Dyer, Joseph (2012). ‘The Bible in the Medieval Liturgy, c.600–1300’. In The New Cambridge History of the Bible, vol. 2: From 600 to 1450, edited by Richard Marsden and E. Ann Matter, 659–679. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Farmer, Sharon (1991). Communities of Saint Martin: Legend and Ritual in Medieval Tours. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Fassler, Margot E. (2010). The Virgin of Chartres: Making History Through Liturgy and the Arts. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Freeman, Elizabeth (2002). Narratives of a New Order: Cistercian Historical Writing in England, 1150–1220. Turnhout: Brepols. Gaposchkin, M. Cecilia (2008). The Making of Saint Louis: Kingship, Sanctity, and Crusade in the Later Middle Ages. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Geary, Patrick J. (1994). Phantoms of Remembrance: Memory and Oblivion at the End of the First Millennium. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Gervers, Michael (ed.) (1992). The Second Crusade and the Cistercians. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Griffiths, Fiona J. (2007). The Garden of Delights: Reform and Renaissance for Women in the Twelfth Century. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Head, Thomas (1990). Hagiography and the Cult of Saints: The Diocese of Orléans, 800–1200. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Helvétius, Anne-Marie (2014). ‘La Passio de sainte Maxellende et la réforme d’une commu­ nauté féminine en Cambrésis’. In Normes et hagiographie dans l’Occident latin (VIe–XVe siècles), edited by Marie-Céline Isaïa and Thomas Granier, 167–181. Turnhout: Brepols. Herrick, Samantha (2007). Imagining the Sacred Past: Hagiography and Power in Early Normandy. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hotchin, Julie (2007). ‘Women’s Reading and Monastic Reform in Twelfth-Century Germany: The Library of the Nuns of Lippoldsberg’. In Manuscripts and Monastic Culture: Reform and Renewal in Twelfth-Century Germany, edited by Alison  I.  Beach, 139–189. Turnhout: Brepols. Insley, Charles (2011). ‘Remembering Communities Past: Exeter Cathedral in the Eleventh Century’. In Cathedrals, Communities and Conflict in the Anglo-Norman World, edited by Paul Dalton, Charles Insley, and Louis J. Wilkinson, 41–60. Woodbridge: Boydell Press. Iogna-Prat, Dominique (2002). Order and Exclusion: Cluny and Christendom Face Heresy, Judaism, and Islam, 1000–1150, translated by Graham Robert Edwards. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

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386   Katherine Allen Smith Johnson, Penelope D. (1981). Prayer, Patronage, and Power: The Abbey of La Trinité, Vendôme, 1032–1187. New York: New York University Press. Kienzle, Beverly Mayne (2001). Cistercians, Heresy, and Crusade in Occitania, 1145–1229: Preaching in the Lord’s Vineyard. Woodbridge: York Medieval Press. Kienzle, Beverly Mayne (2000). ‘Hildegard of Bingen’s Teaching in Her Expositiones evangeliorum and Ordo virtutum’. In Medieval Monastic Education, edited by George Ferzoco and Carolyn Muessig, 72–86. London: Leicester University Press. Koopmans, Rachel (2011). Wonderful to Relate: Miracle Stories and Miracle Collecting in High Medieval England. Philadelpha, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Koopmans, Rachel (2005). ‘Dining at Markyate with Lady Christina’. In Christina of Markyate: A Twelfth-Century Holy Woman, edited by Samuel Fanous and Henrietta Leyser, 143–159. London and New York: Routledge. Kuefler, Mathew (2014). The Making and Unmaking of a Saint: Hagiography and Memory in the Cult of Gerald of Aurillac. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Leclercq, Jean (1961). The Love of Learning and the Desire for God: A Study of Monastic Culture, translated by Catharine Misrahi. New York: Fordham University Press. Lifshitz, Felice (1995). The Norman Conquest of Pious Neustria: Historiographic Discourse and Saintly Relics, 684–1090. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. Lifshitz, Felice (1994). ‘Beyond Positivism and Genre: “Hagiographical” Texts as Historical Narrative’. Viator 25: 95–113. Lundhaug, Hugo (2014). ‘Memory and Early Monastic Literary Practices: A Cognitive Perspective’. Journal of Cognitive Historiography 1.1: 98–120. McLaughlin, Megan (1999). ‘Secular and Spiritual Fatherhood in the Eleventh Century’. In Conflicted Identities and Multiple Masculinities: Men in the Medieval West, edited by Jacqueline Murray, 25–43. New York: Garland Publishing. Milis, Ludo  J.  R. (1992). Angelic Monks and Earthly Men: Monasticism and Its Meaning to Medieval Society. Woodbridge: Boydell. Mooney, Catherine M. (ed.) (1999). Gendered Voices: Medieval Saints and Their Interpreters. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Mula, Stefano (2010). ‘Twelfth- and Thirteenth-Century Cistercian Exempla Collections: Role, Diffusion, and Evolution’. History Compass 8/8: 903–912. Newman, Martha G. (2003). ‘Crucified by the Virtues: Laybrothers and Women in ThirteenthCentury Cistercian Saints’ Lives’. In Gender and Difference in the Middle Ages, edited by Sharon Farmer and Carol Pasternack, 182–209. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Paxton, Jennifer (2004). ‘Textual Communities in the English Fenlands: A Lay Audience for Monastic Chronicles?’ Anglo-Norman Studies 26: 123–137. Pranger, M. B. (2003). The Artificiality of Christianity: Essays on the Poetics of Monasticism. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Remensnyder, Amy (1995). Remembering Kings Past: Monastic Foundation Legends in Medieval Southern France. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Robertson, Duncan (2011). Lectio Divina: The Medieval Experience of Reading. Collegeville, MN: Cistercian Publications. Rollason, D. W. (1985). ‘The Miracles of St Benedict: A Window on Early Medieval France’. In Studies in Medieval History Presented to R. H. C. Davis, edited by Henry Mayr-Harting and R. I. Moore, 73–90. Oxford: Hambledon Press. Rosenwein, Barbara H. (1989). To Be the Neighbor of Saint Peter: The Social Meaning of Cluny’s Property, 909–1049. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.

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Monastic Narrative Practices   387 Rosenwein, Barbara H. (1982). Rhinoceros Bound: Cluny in the Tenth Century. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Rosenwein, Barbara H., Thomas Head, and Sharon Farmer (1991). ‘Monks and Their Enemies: A Comparative Approach’. Speculum 66: 764–796. Rubenstein, Jay (2002). Guibert of Nogent: Portrait of a Medieval Mind. New York: Routledge. Smith, Katherine Allen (2011). War and the Making of Medieval Monastic Culture. Woodbridge: Boydell. Stock, Brian (1983). The Implications of Literacy: Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Vanderputten, Steven (2015). Imagining Religious Leadership in the Middle Ages: Richard of Saint-Vanne and the Politics of Reform. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Vanderputten, Steven (2013). Monastic Reform as Process: Realities and Representations in Medieval Flanders, 900–1100. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Vanderputten, Steven (2004). ‘Benedictine Local Historiography from the Middle Ages and its Written Sources: Some Structural Observations’. Revue Mabillon, n.s. 15: 107–129. Vanderputten, Steven (2001). ‘Pourquoi les moines du moyen âge écrivaient-ils de l’histoire? Une approche socio-constructiviste du problème’. Studi medievali 3rd ser. 42: 705–723. Watt, Diane (2012). ‘Literature in Pieces: Female Sanctity and the Relics of Early Women’s Writing (500–1150)’. In The Cambridge History of Early Medieval English Literature, edited by Clare A. Lees, 357–380. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Zimbalist, Barbara (2012). ‘Imitating the Imagined: Clemence of Barking’s Life of St. Catherine’. In Reading Memory and Identity in the Texts of Medieval European Holy Women, edited by Margaret Cotter-Lynch and Brad Herzog, 105–134. New York: Palgrave Macmillan.

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chapter 24

Fr ien dship, Fa mily, a n d Com m u n it y Julian P. Haseldine

Introduction The defining paradox of medieval monasticism is its apparent embodiment of precisely those human involvements which the convert to religious life undertook to renounce: personal affections, family, and ties to the world. Friendship and love became, over these centuries, increasingly central both to the articulation of the spiritual experiences of European monks and nuns and to the mediation of their relationships within and beyond the community. Family was longer-established as the principal nexus of elite inter­ actions with religious establishments: recruitment, patronage, burial, commemoration, the whole integument of mutual dependency between Western aristocracies and the religious was woven on the loom of kinship. Through these activities, individual communities of religious men and women functioned not just as discrete administrative and  ritual entities, but as foci for local, regional, and regnal communities, shaping the economy, rhythms of life, and religious experience of many Europeans. They were also centres for literary and educational activity, devotion, and pilgrimage. Bonds of friendship and family were central to these interactions and have been the subject of much recent research, while the study of monastic community has expanded from a focus on the internal histories of individual communities and orders—the developments of liturgy, organizational structures, estates, architecture, and so forth—to the study of their complex and interdependent relations with the wider community. This research has also contributed to challenges to the traditional narrative of Western monastic history as one of successive waves of spiritual fervour and decline, each driven by one of a succession of reforming initiatives, each represented by the rise and decline of one or more separate orders, each led and defined by men and attracting derivative female vocations in its wake. Historians are increasingly approaching the great changes in Western monasticism over these centuries from the perspective of the experiences of

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Friendship, Family, and Community   389 Europeans living both in and with a religious order embedded in Western society and shaped by its changing social and cultural imperatives, creating a picture at once more complex yet more coherent. Many of the new insights for this revision have come from research into these areas of social interaction and shared experience. Friendship, family, and involvements with the wider community were, for the religious, meaningful areas of ethical engagement, and the responsibilities and consequences of institutional wealth and political ties presented not distractions or threats but compelling moral imperatives. The successive reforms, be they Carolingian, Cistercian, Gilbertine, mendicant, beguine, or any of the many other male, female, or joint initiatives, are coming to be viewed not in terms of a periodically renewed struggle against recurrent failures, each seeking to restore purity to a compromised vocation, but rather as part of a continuum of engagement with the problems and experiences of a society that underwent profound economic, political, and social changes over this period. Research into friendship, family, and community has thus helped move the focus from explaining the apparently paradoxical position of the religious in these centuries, withdrawn from yet engaged with a dynamic and expanding culture, to recovering the experience of monastic institutions and their members as integral parts of Western societies.

Friendship ‘Friendship is hardly a subject that seems conducive to academic treatment.’ These are the opening words of the preface to the book, first published in 1988, which did more than any other to establish the place of friendship within medieval studies, Brian Patrick McGuire’s Friendship and Community: The Monastic Experience, 350–1250 (McGuire 1988: vii). All scholars of the subject, including those whose conclusions have differed most from McGuire’s, remain in his debt for this. Friendship was a subject of considerable importance to members of the religious orders in the Middle Ages, who produced a sizable literature devoted to it. One of the most striking features of the many collections of medieval letters which survive is the frequent exchange of elaborate and warm expressions of friendship between monks, nuns, and others, who commonly addressed one another as dearest, most beloved, or most desired friends. Treatises on the theology and spiritual benefits of friendship sought to integrate with Christian thought and practice the ancient tradition of friendship, known to the medieval West principally through Cicero, to a lesser extent through Seneca, and later through Aristotle —a philosophical tradition which presented true friendship as the union of the virtuous operating for the common good, a bond at once social and personal and functioning in ways which some modern commentators have characterized as essentially political. Here true affections arose from shared virtue and the pursuit of the common good, rather than from strong personal attachments, which could just as well be attributes of false friendship, whose ends were purely private pleasure or gain (see e.g. Verboven  2011; Williams  2012; McEvoy  1999.) A different culture of friendship developed among the military

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390   Julian P. Haseldine a­ristocracies of post-Roman Europe, involving formal codes of behaviour through which allegiances and rivalries could be mediated, as discussed later in this section, and which the religious encountered as a prominent political reality even if its traces in the written sources are less articulated. The medieval religious were not alone in the cultivation of friendship, but they dominated its literary expression. Their attempts to integrate earlier traditions and bring them into accord with coenobitic practice and with Christian theology thus engendered the dominant paradigm of Christian friendship. A particular issue for the religious was  the Rule of Saint Benedict’s prohibition of exclusive or particular bonds among members of the community, which naturally affected their views on friendship (amicitia). But friendship was also part of the broader theology of love, of the complex of ideas conveyed also by terms such as caritas and amor, which had been the subject of theological exposition since the early Church and which were concerned with the place of individual affections in religious vocation and in the ordering of Christian society. Friendship was thus experienced in the Middle Ages as both personal affection and political bond, as indeed it is today, but weighted in a different ethical balance. Here it was a central and explicitly formulated political principle: personal affections had the potential to contribute to the perceived good, be that Church reform or monastic purity, but also to undermine it, in which case they could be deemed false friendships however strong the emotional bond. By contrast, modern society has tended to idealize friendship as a primarily personal bond and to regard political or public solidarities as incomplete or artificial forms of friendship. It is important to note, as sociologists have long argued, that neither of these idealized models reflects lived experiences of friendships, as ­discussed later on in this chapter. Determining the nature of the actual relationships which existed between those who exchanged the highly emotional expressions and declarations of friendship which we find in the sources is the central problem for the historical analysis of friendship, particularly as the same language was commonly used between individuals with greatly varying degrees of personal acquaintance, including strangers, and frequently employed the conventions of the ancient and medieval arts of rhetoric. McGuire was not the first to address this question, but he offered a comprehensive survey of monastic literature concerned specifically with friendship, exploring it as a historically developing experience rather than an ahistorical constant, tracing the changes in the human experience of the emotions and sentiments of friendship. Interest in the history of the experience of friendship through the analysis of individual bonds and their literary articulation continues and has contributed to the emerging histories of the emotions and of sexuality (see e.g. Leclercq 1945 and 1989; Southern 1990: 138–165; Clark 2009). The study of political and courtly friendship, influenced by the seminal works of Gerd Althoff and Stephen Jaeger, where formalized friendship and its associated rituals, rules, and codes of behaviour were seen as constituting a political language through which allegiances could be formed and power relationships expressed (Althoff  1990; Jaeger  1999), also informed approaches to monastic friendship. Here, a particular ­influence methodologically was also the work of Byzantinist Margaret Mullett, whose

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Friendship, Family, and Community   391 network study of the letter collection of Theophylact of Ochrid and articles on Byzantine friendship advocated the systematic application of social network analysis techniques to medieval evidence (Mullett 1988 and 1997). This work inspired a number of studies of Western friendship networks, focusing principally on letter collections. These were characterized by attempts to correlate systematically the use of friendly language (terms such as amicus, ‘friend’, and amicitia, ‘friendship’) with the social and political contexts in which it was used. Case studies took into account factors such as the relative social status of correspondents and the circumstances in which friendship was invoked, for example in requests for material aid, appeals to political allies, or exchanges of sentiments among intimates. They also attempted to survey entire letter collections, looking at the many brief invocations alongside the few richly expressive and well-documented individual correspondences which had often been studied in detail before (e.g. McLoughlin 1990; Haseldine 1994; Ysebaert 2001). This led to a view of friendly language as revealing not of close personal bonds but of effective social and political networks. Such approaches also adapted the sociological concepts of affective and instrumental relationships to account for the variety of contexts in which friendship was encountered. In 2010 McGuire returned to review the field in a new introduction to a reprint of Friendship and Community, restating his agenda of seeking evidence for the expression of real emotions, but arguing that the two main directions in which friendship studies had since moved, the spiritual or emotional on the one hand and the political on the other, should be seen as complementary. He also identified four key areas of scepticism, or, as he put it, ‘manner[s] of dismissing friendship’: a ‘literary-psychological question’, that is determining whether the literary commonplaces or topoi by which friendship was expressed were ‘clichés with no connection to human feeling’; a ‘power question’, asking whether inequalities in social or gender status precluded real friendships; a ‘sexual question’, asking whether literary friendships were disguised expressions of sexual relationships, and an ‘existential question’, asking whether genuine friendships could have been combined with religious vocation (McGuire 1988, 2010 repr.: lxiii–lxxi). These are live questions, but not all researchers have seen in them in such pessimistic terms; they do, however, focus our attention sharply on the underlying question of how we can define ‘real’, ‘genuine’, or ‘true’ friendship. The first question concerns the literary expression of friendship and in particular the use of rhetoric, long recognized as central to medieval education and literary composition. The commonplaces or topoi of rhetorical doctrine and practice are no longer generally regarded as clichés, empty of meaning or of emotional content, but as effective means for the communication of ideas and feelings; only by understanding the shared conventions which writers used and the meanings which they expected to be conveyed to their readers can historians understand the implications of expressions of affection and friendship in the sources. Rhetoric as a key to effective communication is being ever more systematically addressed, as a very few representative examples can indicate. Gillian Knight saw epistolary friendship in part as an effective diplomatic strategy which permitted controversial or divisive matters to be raised and conflicts resolved

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392   Julian P. Haseldine (Knight  2002). Wim Verbaal applied Brian Stock’s influential model of ‘textual ­communities’—groups whose social solidarity is created through shared identification with and interpretations of bodies of texts—to propose, among other things, a typology of friendships based on genre, language, and personal and social relations (Stock 1983; Verbaal 2008). Marc Saurette’s studies of Peter the Venerable’s use of friendship draw on Barbara Rosenwein’s equally influential concept of ‘emotional communities’—groups with shared interests, values, and goals which they articulate through commonly accepted modes or norms of emotional expression—to interpret friendship as a rhetorical construction which is at once rational and affective, provoking a genuine emotional response through reference to the shared values of monastic reform which it aims to promote (Rosenwein  2006; Saurette  2010a and  2010b). The shared conventions and modes of expressing emotion are thus the key to understanding the nature and range of friendly relations evidenced in the sources. It is even possible to speak of a ‘turn to rhetoric’ in the doctoral topics and conference papers of younger scholars among whom an appreciation of monastic sources as rhetorical products is now increasingly common. McGuire’s other three questions are all variations on the question of what we can mean by a ‘real’ or ‘genuine’ friendship—whether sexual relations, social inequality, or vows to a community, and so by extension other emotional attachments, political involvements, economic dependencies, or ideological positions preclude the degree of sentimental attachment or emotional engagement which defines friendship. These questions take us beyond distinguishing when terms refer to affectionate bonds and when to pragmatic allegiances, to the question of which relationships can be considered genuinely emotional or affective. The social network and correlational methods discussed earlier have identified relationships which contemporaries called friendships in many contexts and between those with very different degrees of acquaintance; rhetorically informed approaches have shown that appeals to shared interests or beliefs had a genuine emotional content, without which their use would be inexplicable historically. There is thus no direct or simple relation between affection and friendly language; effective and genuinely affective bonds existed far beyond the context of sentimentally attached pairs of individuals. In place of any simple distinction between affective and instrumental friendships, a more realistic if complex view is emerging of all such relationships as inextricable from wider social relations, recognizing that the sorts of close pair-bonds which modern society idealizes as true friendship cannot exist outside other social relations that determine choices of friends and the emotional content of relationships. Indeed, these are not even primary determinants of relationships, since political or business transactions can engender personal emotional bonds as much as the other way around. What are commonly referred to as ‘real’ or ‘true’ friendships in modern idiom are thus only one type of friendship, and while it is valid to seek to identify these cases, it would be misleading to regard other types of friendship as empty or devoid of emotional power. This is because such bonds do also engage beliefs and emotions and are not just the products of rational calculation, and are thus in principle neither less stable nor less important in influencing behaviour and decisions. This is a view s­ uggested by the historical evidence and informed by sociological ideas such as embeddedness, but which

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Friendship, Family, and Community   393 also accords with lived experience. Indeed, the evidence suggests that personal affection was not the most important origin of the historical phenomenon of friendship evidenced in the sources, and so of the networks which monastic writers cultivated, and their purposes in so doing, which were often broadly political or connected to the needs of their communities, and of the ways in which they experienced their friendships (e.g. Haseldine 2011).

Family While friendship expressed a wide range of ties and allegiances, the influence of family was even more pervasive in the life of monastic institutions. Individual religious houses frequently had close links with particular families which might last through many generations, as the relatives and descendants of founders consolidated mutual ties and obligations. Patronage, gifts, child oblation, and practical support, witnessing charters or giving aid in disputes, could be reciprocated with commemorative prayers, counter gifts, political mediation, or various forms of association with the community, such as confraternity, entry to the community late in life, in retirement, or when close to death, and burial. The bonds between particular families and individual monasteries were often fundamental to the fortunes of monasteries, dictating their patterns of growth, success, or failure, and indeed, it has been argued, equally crucial to the fortunes of the patron families. These bonds could also exhibit remarkable continuity through successive periods or movements of reform. The term ‘family’ and its equivalents in modern European languages, however, convey a range of meaning quite different from the Latin term familia, from which they derive. Familia in classical Latin meant primarily a household, including all of the slaves, dependents, and others associated with the establishment, which could be a very large economic unit. In the Middle Ages the term likewise referred to types of household, including religious communities, where it would commonly include, besides the monks or nuns themselves, lay brethren, tenants, servants, pensioners or corrodians, and others with various economic or social relations to the institution. Family in the more restricted sense of spouses and children could be conveyed by domus, but this term, less frequently encountered in this sense, and whose root meaning was ‘house’, itself incorporated a wider range of meanings. This is not a purely semantic question, because it suggests not only that people saw themselves primarily as members of households rather than of what in modern terminology we would call ‘nuclear families’, but that the act of leaving one’s family to enter a monastery would have been experienced not as the move from a small intimate group to a large institution, but from one institution to another (possibly even from a larger to a smaller, if a large aristocratic household and a small religious cell were involved), and moreover into one in which one might still be living with close relatives. Familia could also refer to groupings or associations of monasteries, and in this sense is one of a range of terms, including affiliation, congregation,

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394   Julian P. Haseldine and order, which reflected different degrees of informal, formal, legal, or cultural connections, of equality or subordination, between religious houses. The changes over time in the uses of such terms may reflect increasing administrative centralization within religious orders, but this is a complex question. Unlike friendship, family has not been treated as a discrete phenomenon specifically within monastic studies, although there are very many studies and models of family and family structure, and of marriage, childhood, and so forth, written from demographic, sociological, and economic perspectives, from which historians of the religious orders have borrowed. Family has, however, been central to the study of monastic patronage and of the relationships between the laity and the religious, which itself has been one of the major developments of recent decades. This has been part of a shift in emphasis from the internal development of religious houses and orders—their distinctive conceptions of cenobitic vocation, their structures and organization—to their external relationships. This has involved both tracing the bonds between families and particular monasteries over generations and examining the nature of the transactions and interactions upon which these relationships were built. These are now seen as more than simple exchanges of lands for spiritual benefits, involving many other types of transactions, social relationships, and mutual obligations. The customary exchange of gift and countergift, for example, has been of particular interest. Older views that these were crudely veiled economic transactions, a spiritual veneer for corporate expansion, gave way before empirical studies of the multiple exchanges involved. Similarly, influential models imported from anthropology, such as the ‘gift-exchange economy’, famously popularized by historians such as Georges Duby, have come to be regarded as inadequate to explain gift exchange in the specific legal and literate contexts of medieval monasticism. Landmark works such as Barbara Rosenwein’s study of Cluny’s relationships with its neighbours, which saw gifts and property transactions as ‘social events’ creating or consolidating ties between the monastery and local families, and Constance Brittain Bouchard’s work on the Cistercians, which presented economic transactions as formative of relationships not with individuals primarily but with families, who in turn had genuinely spiritual motivations and were instrumental in driving forward reform, contributed to a more detailed picture of families’ involvements in the lives of the religious (Rosenwein 1989; Bouchard 1991). The debate over the nature of these multiplex spiritual, legal, and political relationships remains live and has taken the form of a now very considerable number of local or regional case studies, many of monograph length, often focusing on individual monasteries, as well as the introductions to a now large number of critical editions of cartularies, illuminating the mutual interdependence of families and religious communities and situating monasteries in the social and economic setting of their localities. A very few recent examples can serve to illustrate the variety of contributions and theses in this diverse field. In her study of Rievaulx Abbey, Emilia Jamroziak sees phenomena such as gifts and countergifts as simultaneously eschatological, social, and political transactions which are not merely exchanges but are themselves the medium for the identification of families with a monastery (Jamroziak 2005). John Nightingale, in his

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Friendship, Family, and Community   395 study of ­tenth-century Lotharingia, has demonstrated remarkable continuities of family ties through periods of ostensibly radical reform (Nightingale 2001). The editors of the twelfth-century charters of Clairvaux described the familial nature (‘Le caractère familial’) of a foundation traditionally depicted as marking a critical stage in the launch of an international, ideologically driven reform initiative (Waquet, Roger, and Veyssière 2004). Hans Hummer argued that patronage of and influence over monasteries was the basis of the power of aristocratic families and dynasties themselves in the early Middle Ages, until displaced by the reform movements from the tenth century onwards, while Valerie Ramseyer, in a study of southern Italy, suggested that support for reform was itself yet another instrument of family policy (Hummer  2005; Ramseyer 2006). Such research takes us beyond the ambit of family and patronage to considerations of the relationship between the religious community and ‘the wider community’, but it has also had a number of further impacts which it is first worth noting. By illustrating the complex networks of ties which connected monastic communities and local families, it has contributed to challenges to the traditional narratives of the autonomous development and international expansion of successive religious orders. This model had been based largely on the legal, administrative, and other normative texts produced by the orders themselves, including accounts of their foundations and origins, their organizational dispositions, customaries, institutes, or legislative pronouncements, as well as hagiographies of leaders. Through such texts, orders, congregations, or communities sought to project images of themselves as unique embodiments of the monastic ideal and to reinforce their distinctive communal identities, and these works have sometimes been characterized as ‘official’ productions. This engendered a historiography framed in terms of ideals versus reality, in which new reform initiatives found institutional form in successive new orders, which spread and in their turn declined, often as a result of the very spiritual reputations which attracted pious donations and led them into wealth and corrupting worldly entanglements—of which the Cistercians have provided the classic example, as discussed later. The cumulative effect of these detailed local studies has been for challenges to this traditional narrative to become the new norm, and these do provide a more plausible explanatory framework for the notable continuities in Western monastic history. The focus on the circumstances and networks of individual houses has also included the study of female houses on their own terms, and thus provided empirical evidence of the autonomy and of the economic, political, and ideological agency of communities which had tended to be treated as institutionally dependent on and ideologically derivative of male monasticism. A landmark study was Penelope  D.  Johnson’s Equal in Monastic Profession, which argued that female houses functioned socially, eco­nom­ic­ al­ly, and spiritually in the same ways as male houses and thus occupied the same place in medieval culture. Johnson also proposed a ‘family model’ of medieval monasticism, in which the links between kin groups and specific monasteries, involving not just patronage but kin professing in the same houses, created strong familial bonds within as well as around the cloister, and she proposed direct links between later demographic

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396   Julian P. Haseldine changes affecting family structures and a decline of female monasticism (Johnson 1991). Constance Berman’s controversial thesis about Cistercian origins (discussed later) emerged originally from a study of communities of Cistercian nuns, in which she argued that far from being admitted to the order only much later and reluctantly, as the retrospectively composed accounts of the order’s origins suggested, women were integral to the early Cistercian movement and to its reforming agenda, a view which is now widely accepted even by those who have challenged other aspects of her thesis and her methodology (Berman 1999 and 2005: 217–248). Sean Field’s minutely detailed analyzes of the sources for Isabelle of France and the foundation of Longchamp depict an active and creative contribution, securing a considerable degree of autonomy for the house and influencing the direction of the Franciscan Order (Field 2006).

Community Historians of family and community have often seen themselves as sailing between the Scylla of microhistory and the Charybdis of anthropological structuralism, but in monastic studies all of these approaches come out of a move to look at orders less as discrete wholes and more as groups of religious embedded in and shaped by their inter­ actions with local communities. In 2006 Emilia Jamroziak and Janet Burton brought out a collection of papers which emphasized the active and creative role of the laity in religious life (Jamroziak and Burton, 2006). This shifted the focus from topics such as the laity’s material support for monasteries, and their motivations for this, including patronage, donation, oblation, and the receipt of spiritual benefits, to a new emphasis on lay expectations of and negotiations with religious houses and on the ways in which lay needs and initiatives structured religious community life. This was an emphatic formulation of recent tendencies in scholarship to recover the lay perspective on these relations and to reverse traditional views in which the laity received spiritual benefits defined and produced exclusively by the religious. Such approaches are increasingly reflected in broader accounts of medieval religious culture, as for example in Sarah Hamilton’s recent survey, where the structuring and formative role of lay initiatives in shaping monastic life and driving reform is given prominence (Hamilton  2013: 119–160). The shift in emphasis from the internal histories of the religious orders to their external context, and thus to the nature of the relationships between individual communities and the wider community, calls attention again to problems of definition. Modern discourses tend to juxtapose ‘the community’, a variably cohesive economy of culture, outlooks, and mutual interdependence, whose terms of inclusion and boundaries, whether national or regional, are contested, with ‘communities’, defined by anything from sexuality or eth­ni­ city to shared interests or economic status, which are often overlapping and which exist within and pervade society. In the Middle Ages communitas (not in any case the only or even the most common term used for a religious community) frequently denoted a

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Friendship, Family, and Community   397 ­ iscrete and exclusive group, legally defined, with specific common interests and whose d conceptual boundaries were often reinforced by boundaries of masonry—the city wall, the close, the cloister. For the religious, the community was also a means to realize a vocation conceived explicitly in terms of separation from the world. So while we are right, as many historians have cautioned, not to expect in actual monastic institutions impossibly ideal standards of isolation, we must not discount the impact of this central motivation. If understanding individual religious communities as integral parts of wider society is ne­ces­sary, we must also take into account the shared ideals and explicit goals which shaped their governance and organization and drove reforming agendas. In practice this means balancing the study of community as it was conceived by and affected members of the religious orders with historical analyzes of the phenomenon of community. Two models have been particularly influential for the historical analysis of community, Brian Stock’s ‘textual communities’ and Barbara Rosenwein’s ‘emotional communities’, both of which, as noted earlier, have been applied to the study of friendship. Families, monasteries, and monastic orders can also be analyzed in these terms, allowing us to understand the ways in which community identities were created and perpetuated. Here the normative texts of the orders, which may be misleading guides to their historical development, are central as, by the same token, they provide exceptional insights into this process. Perhaps the most obvious such texts are the accounts of origins and foundations, mostly written retrospectively and after a degree of stability had been achieved. The Cistercians have provided the classic example of the ana­ lysis of this process in modern scholarship. Both Chrysogonus Waddell and Constance Berman offered conflicting redatings of the early texts containing what are increasingly termed the foundation myths of the order. In doing so, they challenged the traditional view of the sudden appearance of a well-organized, radically ascetic order separated from society which then went on to be corrupted by the wealth and influence which its own piety attracted and declined from its early idealism, to be displaced by the mendicant orders, which in turn followed a similar trajectory. This in essence was the ideal versus reality paradigm, promoted influentially by Louis Lekai in the later twentieth century.1 The cartulary might not appear an obvious vehicle for the creation and projection of communal identity, but a fundamental revision of the nature of these documents, once regarded as simple repositories of title deeds (although they frequently include other material), has led to their being read as sophisticated literary productions which em­bodied the institutional memory of a monastery. The organization and structure of cartularies has been taken as evidence for the community’s view of its place in the world and for its network of relationships with patrons and others, constituting its institutional identity and helping assert its claims in the world. The shaping of legal deeds and other material into such ‘memorial documents’ has been termed ‘cartularization’, and dates back to projects organized by the Institut de Recherche et d’Histoire des Textes (IRHT) from the early 1990s. In a recent example of this approach, Emilia Jamroziak took the cartulary of 1  The complex debates on Cistercian origins are usefully summarized in Jamroziak (2013: 19–24).

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398   Julian P. Haseldine Rievaulx as the focal point for a reconstruction of the development, the network of relations, the identity, and the claims of the community, while seeing patronage and other external relations in turn as explaining the structure of the cartulary itself.2 The monastic understanding, experience, and organization of community is the central focus of an important current initiative in monastic history, that of the Forschungsstelle für Vergleichende Ordensgeschichte (FOVOG—The Research Centre for the Comparative History of Religious Orders), based now in Dresden. This acts as an umbrella organization coordinating a series of specific research projects, promoting international collaboration, running a graduate school and publishing its own series, Vita regularis, which includes monographs and volumes of collected papers commissioned to address its key methodological themes. The aim of the FOVOG is to establish a basis for the comparative study of the development and organization of forms of institutional religious life. The programmatic volume of papers which arose from its inaugural conference, held in 2006, set out the agenda. The goal of the project is to establish methodological bases for the comparative history of the medieval religious orders, involving comparative approaches to terminology and definitions, sources, and organization (Melville and Müller 2007). Almost every key term relevant to the religious orders had a variety of meanings and connotations in different contexts and at different times—ordo itself, for example, could refer to a specific religious order in a constitutional sense, or to its defining customs and practices, or even to the ethos or way of life of a community or movement. The study of the normative texts of the orders, in which such terms were deployed both to organize community life and to create and project community identity, and their genre conventions, is thus important to the ultimate goal of a comparative study of the organization of religious life in medieval Europe. Central to this approach is the important emerging idea that reform was a constant condition of the religious experience, not a periodic reaction to decline (e.g. Wollasch 1999), an idea linked uniquely here with Gert Melville’s theory of religious cloisters as ‘laboratories of innovation’ (Innovationslabore). For Melville, the medieval cloister, as the unique intersection of individual spirituality with organized community life, became the locus where the relationship between the individual and the community was both theorized and put into practice systematically, and where the demands of individual and society were addressed through the application of rational principles of economic organization and literate governance in ways which did not subordinate one to the other, and so paved the way for the development of modern statehood (see Melville and Müller 2007: vii–viii). This approach draws on systems and institutionalism the­or­ ies which explore how institutions or organizations can themselves be treated as independent actors, influencing society as well as the behaviour of their members, which are determined by them, not vice versa. Here the monastic community itself, as a cultural and economic system, with reform as a constant condition of its existence, is not a microcosm of European culture but a driving force, creative of rational systems and 2  Jamroziak (2005); Guyotjeannin, Morelle, and Parisse (1993) was a landmark publication with contributions from a number of pioneers in the field; see also Chastang (2006).

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Friendship, Family, and Community   399 g­ overning the relation of the individual to society and so influencing the systematic organization of human society, a view very different from that outlined earlier of the religious order as driven and shaped by its external relations.

Future Directions in Research Friendship studies has moved from a focus on intimate bonds between pairs of individuals to the recognition of a wider range of relationships which can be regarded as valid and emotionally engaging forms of friendship. Along with this has come a fuller appreciation of the nature of rhetoric in communicating ideas and emotions, and a move away from concerns to separate sincere expressions from supposedly merely manipulative rhetorical ploys. Debates are no longer limited by the artificial dichotomy between af­fect­ive and instrumental relationships, a development which should encourage and inform further network-wide studies of friendships and larger comparative studies of friendly language across different sources and genres. The systematic application of social network analysis, with the increasing availability of dedicated software, is an area of notable future potential. The approach to friendships now emerging, as complex emotional and political bonds embedded in social relations, is also converging with the now vast and growing academic field of trust, opening up also the possibilities of analyzing friendships as a form of social capital (e.g. Haseldine 2011). New approaches to family and community have drawn on a range of sociological and anthropological models, in the process displacing older narratives of the development of the religious orders. In the fruitful if diverse array of local studies and critical editions which has resulted, some common trends are discernible: the longevity and multiplicity of the ties between families and monasteries, the analysis of communities as social and organizational phenomena, reform as a permanent condition of the existence of religious communities. These offer explanations of the continuities evident in monasticism and its mutually creative interdependence with lay society. In the eternal his­torio­graph­ ic­al see-saw of continuity and change, continuity is currently dominant, indeed with new views of monastic reform, even the continuity of change itself, and there is a risk of revising away the explicit concerns and claims of the reformers. The rejection of older narratives, however, does not mean a lack of coherence. A particularly seminal, and extraordinarily frequently cited, contribution to medieval ecclesiastical history was Timothy Reuter’s vision of a history of episcopal Europe, looking at the Church hier­ archy and its estates not as subordinate units of kingdoms but as constitutive of particular social and political worlds with their own distinctive cultures (Reuter 2000). Perhaps the cultural and economic worlds revealed by the new approaches to friendship, family, and community could point towards a new history of monastic Europe, not one of organizations within society but of pervasive social and cultural entities which framed the life experiences of many Europeans—a history not just of the professed religious within society but of life in the Europe of the monasteries.

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400   Julian P. Haseldine

Suggested Reading The themes of friendship, family, and community have each generated extensive academic literatures which go far beyond monastic studies. The following suggestions are restricted to some of the works which deal specifically with monastic subjects or which offer overviews and more detailed bibliographies. For a comprehensive overview of monastic friendship, and a view of recent trends in scholarship, see the introduction to the new edition of McGuire (McGuire 1988, 2nd edn. 2010). For an alternative view of research into friendship networks, see Haseldine (2013). The conference volume by Haseldine (1999) is still often cited; Viator 38.2 (2007) included a special section ‘The Theory and Practice of Friendship in the Middle Ages’: 319–397. For a recent overview of the field, see Classen and Sandidge (2010). There are very many textbooks of monastic history and of individual orders, but a good starting point with a strong focus on community as a social phenomenon is Constable (2004). For family, patronage, and community, the landmark studies of Rosenwein (1989 and 2006), Johnson (1991), and Bouchard (1991) provide accessible introductions, and there is a good introduction to recent developments in Jamroziak and Burton (2006); see also Stöber (2007). The FOVOG maintains a website in German and English which sets out its activities and publications at ; see also Melville (2012).

Bibliography Althoff, G. (1990). Verwandte, Freunde und Getreue: zum politischen Stellenwert der Gruppenbindungen im früheren Mittelalter. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft. Translated by C. Carroll as Family, Friends and Followers. Political and Social Bonds in early Medieval Europe. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Berman, C.  H. (ed.) (2005). Medieval Religion: New Approaches. New York and London: Routledge. Berman, C.  H. (1999). ‘Were there twelfth-century Cistercian nuns?’ Church History 68: 824–864. Bouchard, C. B. (1991). Holy Entrepreneurs: Cistercians, Knights, and Economic Exchange in Twelfth-Century Burgundy. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Chastang, P. (2006). ‘Cartulaires, cartularisation et scripturalité médiévale: la structuration d’un nouveau champ de recherche’. Cahiers de civilisation médiévale Xe–XIIe siècles 49: 21–31. Clark, D. (2009). Between Medieval Men. Male Friendship and Desire in Early Medieval English Literature. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Classen, A. and M. Sandidge (eds) (2010). Friendship in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age. Explorations of a Fundamental Ethical Discourse. Berlin: de Gruyter. Constable, G. (2004). ‘Religious Communities, 1024–1215’. In The New Cambridge Medieval History, 4.1: c.1024–-c.1198, edited by D. Luscombe and J. Riley-Smith, 335–367. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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Friendship, Family, and Community   401 Field, S. L. (2006). Isabelle of France. Capetian Sanctity and Franciscan Identity in the Thirteenth Century. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Guyotjeannin, O., L.  Morelle, and M.  Parisse (eds) (1993). Les cartulaires. Actes de la table ronde organisée par l’École nationale des Chartes et le G.D.R. 121 du C.N.R.S. Paris: École des Chartes. Hamilton, S. (2013). Church and People in the Medieval West, 900–1200. London: Routledge. Haseldine, J.  P. (2013). ‘Friendship Networks in Medieval Europe: New Models of a Political Relationship’. Amity: the Journal of Friendship Studies 1: 69–88; online at Haseldine, J.  P. (2011). ‘Friendship, Intimacy and Corporate Networking in the Twelfth Century: The Politics of Friendship in the Letters of Peter the Venerable.’ English Historical Review 126: 251–280. Haseldine, J. P. (ed.) (1999). Friendship in Medieval Europe. Stroud: Sutton. Haseldine, J. P. (1994). ‘Understanding the language of amicitia. The friendship circle of Peter of Celle (c.1115–1183)’. Journal of Medieval History 20: 237–260. Hummer, H. J. (2005). Politics and Power in Early Medieval Europe: Alsace and the Frankish Realm, 600–1000. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Jaeger, C. S. (1999). Ennobling Love: In Search of a Lost Sensibility. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Jamroziak, E. M. (2013). The Cistercian Order in Medieval Europe, 1090–1500. London and New York: Routledge. Jamroziak, E. M. (2005). Rievaulx Abbey and its Social Context, 1132–1300: Memory, Locality, and Networks. Turnhout: Brepols. Jamroziak, E. M. and J. Burton (eds) (2006). Religious and Laity in Western Europe, 1000–1400: Interaction, Negotiation, and Power. Turnhout: Brepols. Johnson, P.  D. (1991). Equal in Monastic Profession: Religious Women in Medieval France. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Knight, G.  R. (2002). The Correspondence between Peter the Venerable and Bernard of Clairvaux. A Semantic and Structural Analysis. Aldershot: Ashgate. Leclercq, J. (1989). ‘Friendship and friends in the monastic life’. Cistercian Studies 24: 293–300. Leclercq, J. (1945). ‘L’amitié dans les lettres au moyen âge’. Revue du moyen âge latin 1: 391–410. McEvoy, J. (1999). ‘The Theory of Friendship in the Latin Middle Ages: Hermeneutics, con­ text­ual­iza­tion and the transmission and reception of ancient texts and ideas, from c.AD 350 to c.1500’. In Friendship in Medieval Europe, edited by J. P. Haseldine, 3–44. Stroud: Sutton. McGuire, B.  P. (1988). Friendship and Community. The Monastic Experience, 350–1250. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Reissued with a new introduction, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2010. McLoughlin, J. (1990). ‘Amicitia in Practice: John of Salisbury (c.1120–1180) and his Circle’. In England in the Twelfth Century, Proceedings of the 1988 Harlaxton Symposium, edited by D. Williams, 165–181. Woodbridge: Boydell. Melville, G. (2012). Die Welt der mittelalterlichen Klöster: Geschichte und Lebensformen. Munich: C. H. Beck. Translated by J. D. Mixson as The World of Medieval Monasticism: Its History and Forms of Life. CS 263. Collegeville, MN: Cistercian Publications, Liturgical Press, 2016. Melville, G. and A.  Müller (eds) (2007). Mittelalterliche Orden und Klöster im Vergleich: Methodische Ansätze und Perspektiven. Vita regularis 34. Münster: LIT Verlag.

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402   Julian P. Haseldine Mullett, M.  E. (1997). Theophylact of Ochrid. Reading the letters of a Byzantine Archbishop. Aldershot: Variorum. Mullett, M. E (1988). ‘Byzantium: A friendly society?’ Past and Present 118: 3–24. Nightingale, J. (2001). Monasteries and Patrons in the Gorze Reform: Lotharingia, c.850–1000. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Ramseyer, V. (2006). The Transformation of a Religious Landscape: Medieval Southern Italy, 850–1150. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Reuter, Timothy (2000). ‘Ein Europa der Bischöfe: Das Zeitalter Burchards von Worms’. In Bischof Burchard von Worms, 1000–1025, edited by W. Hartmann, 1–28. Mainz: Selbstverlag der Gesellschaft für mittelrheinische Kirchengeschichte. Translated as ‘A Europe of Bishops. The Age of Wulfstan of York and Burchard of Worms’. In Patterns of Episcopal Power: Bishops in 10th and 11th Century Western Europe, edited by L. Körntgen and D. Wassenhoven, 17–38. Berlin: de Gruyter, 2011. Rosenwein, B. H. (2006). Emotional Communities in the Early Middle Ages. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Rosenwein, B.  H. (1989). To Be the Neighbor of Saint Peter. The Social Meaning of Cluny’s Property, 909–1049. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Saurette, M. (2010a). ‘Peter the Venerable and Secular Friendships’. In Friendship in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age: Explorations of a Fundamental Ethical Discourse, edited by A. Classen and M. Sandidge, 281–308. Berlin: de Gruyter. Saurette, M. (2010b). ‘Thoughts on Friendship in the Letters of Peter the Venerable’. Revue Bénédicine 120: 321–346. Southern, R.  W. (1990). Saint Anselm. A Portrait in a Landscape. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Stöber, K. (2007). Late Medieval Monasteries and their Patrons: England and Wales, c.1300–1540. Woodbridge: Boydell. Stock, B. (1983). The Implications of Literacy. Written Language and Models of Interpretation in the Eleventh and Twelfth Centuries. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Verbaal, W. (2008). ‘L’amitié et les lettres: le douzième siècle et le cas de Bernard de Clairvaux’. In La société des amis à Rome et dans la littérature médiévale et humaniste, edited by P. Galand-Hallyn, S. Laigneau, C. Lévy, and W. Verbaal, 351–381. Turnhout: Brepols. Verboven, K. (2011). ‘Friendship Among the Romans’. In The Oxford Handbook of Social Relations in the Roman World, edited by Michael Peachin, 404–421. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Viator (2007). Viator: Medieval and Renaissance Studies 38.2 (2007) included a special section ‘The Theory and Practice of Friendship in the Middle Ages’: 319–397. Waquet, J., J.-M.  Roger, and L.  Veyssière (eds) (2004). Recueil des Chartes de l’Abbaye de Clairvaux au XIIe siècle. Paris: C.T.H.S. Williams, C. A. (2012). Reading Roman Friendship. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wollasch, J. (1999). ‘Monasticism: the first wave of reform’. In The New Cambridge Medieval History, vol. 3: c.900–c.1024, edited by Timothy Reuter, 163–185. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Ysebaert, W. (2001). ‘Ami, client et intermédiaire: Étienne de Tournai et ses réseaux de relations (1167–1192)’. Sacris Erudiri 40: 415–467.

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chapter 25

Sick n ess a n d H e a li ng Peregrine Horden

The View from Clairvaux ‘There is one thing your venerable abbot has asked me about’, Bernard of Clairvaux wrote to the monks of St Anastasius in the Roman Campagna, ‘which does not seem to me at all good’: I fully realize that you live in an unhealthy region [proverbially malarial] and that many of you are sick, but remember who said . . . ‘When I am weakest then am I strongest of all.’ I have the very greatest sympathy for bodily sickness [he continued, himself chronically sick], but I consider that sickness of the soul [no mere metaphor] is much more to be feared and avoided. It is not at all in keeping with your profession [as monks] to seek for bodily medicines, and they are not really conducive to health. The use of common herbs, such as are used by the poor, can sometimes be tolerated, and such is our custom. But to buy special kinds of medicines, to seek out doctors, and to swallow their nostrums, this does not become religious . . . and is especially inconsistent with the decency and simplicity of our order . . . The proper medicine is humility and the most suitable prayer is ‘purge me of my sin . . .’ This is the health you must try to obtain (Letter 345; Bernard 1957–1977, vol. 8: 286–287; Bernard 1998: 458–459).

Elsewhere, Bernard defended his decision to receive into the Clairvaux community a resolute refugee from a Benedictine house: ‘He told us that his abbot used him not as a monk but as a doctor [non monachum, sed medicum] . . . that in order to curry favour with the princes of this world he was made to attend tyrants, robbers and excommunicated persons’ (Letter 67; Bernard 1998: 96). This placed him ‘in great danger’—spiritual danger (Letter 68; Bernard 1998: 98). The message was reinforced in one of Bernard’s sermons on the Song of Songs: ‘Consider, I beseech you, that you are a monk, not a medical man, and that you should be concerned with your profession, not with [medical ideas of] your complexion’ (Bell 1989: 140; Bernard 1957–1977, vol. 1: 218).

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404   Peregrine Horden The relation between monasticism and sickness and healing seems clear. Monks, especially of the ultra-reformed purity of the Cistercian order, are special. They are not lay people active in the world. They must adopt a correspondingly special attitude to their body and its ailments. Bernard’s cardinal reference, as in the letter to the monks of St Anastasius, is St Paul, whose ‘thorn’ was often taken to have been a physical illness inflicted on him by providence, and thus not to be mitigated (Crislip 2013: 20, 31): that I might not become too elated, a thorn in the flesh was given to me, an angel of Satan, to beat me . . . Therefore, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and constraints, for the sake of Christ; for when I am weak, then I am strong (2 Cor. 12: 1–10).

In medieval Christendom illness was not a good in itself, but enduring illness submissively could be. Suffering was a potential source of spiritual progress, defined in this case by diminishing the body’s claims on the soul.

Bernard in Context Was Bernard’s a solitary voice crying out against rampant medical secularism? His writings, just quoted, suggest as much. For him, medicine of the soul—prayer, submission to the divine trial or judgement that illness could represent—from Christ as the true ­physician—was the only reliable remedy, and for physical ailments too. Yet in his time, religious houses, Cistercian as well as Benedictine, were turning to costly medicines and doctors. Not just consumers, monks were also becoming purveyors of medicine, a new kind that was popular with the ‘princes of this world’. This new medicine was informed by the ancient learning becoming available in Latin translations from the Arabic. And the leading translator was the man known to Europe as Constantine the African, who made his final home in the archetypal Benedictine abbey of Monte Cassino. Copies of the collection of basic texts of education in the new medicine survive in Western European manuscripts dating from every decade of the twelfth century (Green 2009: 222; Green 2018). They were certainly known in early Cistercian houses (Bell 1989: 146). Those under a rule, canons regular as well as monks, presumably felt their medical interests quickened by the fresh opportunities to become professionals in the modern sense, to the detriment of their profession in the religious sense. The prostitution of his medical skill from which Bernard saved that runaway monk was, to judge by canon law, a powerful temptation. The Second Lateran Council of 1139 observed: ‘monks and ­canons regular, after having received the habit and made profession . . . study jurisprudence and medicine for the sake of temporal gain . . . The care of the soul being neglected . . . they promise health in return for detestable money and thus make themselves physicians of human bodies’. Such behaviour is forbidden and punishable (canon 9; Amundsen 1996: 227–228). Yet this canon was not incorporated in any authoritative collection of canon

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Sickness and Healing   405 law. What was so incorporated, in the Decretals of Gregory IX (1234), was an elaboration of the more limited decree of the Council of Tours (1163), at which Pope Alexander III asserted that monks and canons regular were not to leave their institutions to study law and medicine (literally, ‘weighing medical concoctions’) (Amundsen  1996: 230). But there was nothing to stop them practising within the monastery the skills they might have acquired. A similar decree was adopted by the Cistercians in 1157, that is, only after St Bernard’s death (Le Blévec 1987: 181 n.22). So again we see that his own order was by no means immune to medical professionalizing. The only unqualified prohibition at this stage was the recourse to (rather than the practice of) surgery (Rawcliffe 2002: 46). As for the patients: infirmaries, hospitals for sick or infirm monks, were ubiquitous if often unobtrusive in the Cistercian houses of St Bernard’s Europe as they were in all but very small Benedictine houses. In the thirteenth century, moreover, many of them would be rebuilt as massive stone structures (Cassidy-Welch 2001: 133–166). There were two recognized categories of infirmi. Those extra chorum were suffering a minor, transient, ailment. Though excluded from the choir they continued to assist at the daily offices in a special part of the church. But they were dispensed from the night office and did no manual work. If after two or three days they had not recovered, then, on the abbot’s command, they entered the infirmary and thus transferred to the infirmi de infirmitorio. They resided in the infirmary under the constant eye of the infirmarer, who could take part in the regular offices only if one of his patients was strong enough to be left in charge. They all recited the hours, and those who could get out of bed went to pray in the infirmary’s oratory. Unless addressing the infirmarer, the patients had to maintain the silence enjoined on healthy brothers. The diet in the infirmary was superior to that of the main refectory and included eggs, fish, white bread, and even meat (though not at every meal, and not if the patient could recover without it). What was the infirmarer’s role? The mid-twelfth-century early version of the Customary accords him only a few lines, while making it clear that he would not necessarily have any great medical learning (Bell 1989: 145). And, regardless of his skill, what medicines should be available? Perhaps oddly, there was no clear stipulation in the various early regulations (Le Blévec 1987: 175). In the exhortations quoted earlier, Bernard seems, however, to provide answers: basic herbal remedies, nothing fancy or expensive; no summoning of doctors with their inflated fees; and no concern with medical theory—complexions, a key element in learned medicine (Jones 2013). He is thus far from condemning all medicine. The monks of the Campagna were not to endure bouts of malaria fever untended; but whatever remedies they used had to be subordinated to the medicine of the soul. In the sermon passage about being a monk, not a medical man, his target is not so much the sick as the over-careful eaters: observatores ciborum, who complain that one food is bad for the eyes, another for the heart; that beans make them flatulent, and so forth; those who show that their master is Hippocrates, not Christ (Bell 1989: 141). For the truly unwell, as distinct from the hypochondriacs, Bernard showed only compassion. When the monk Humbert was mortally ill Bernard ordered him to retire to the infirmary and take a little wine. Humbert had of course to obey, but, more rigorist than

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406   Peregrine Horden his abbot, he diluted the wine into coloured water (Bell 1989: 143–144). When another monk, Malachy, was on his deathbed, Bernard tells us that everyone was searching for medicamenta and fomenta (poultices), and that doctors were present. The saint himself, chronically vexed by gastric problems, was attended by homines medici, medical men, and on at least one occasion was ordered to the infirmary (Le Blévec 1987: 177). This is not to convict him of hypocrisy, or to rate him less highly than other leading figures of his order, such as Ailred of Rievaulx, who endured his final illness without taking any of the medicines he had formerly accepted (Walter Daniel 1950: 49). Nor is it to accuse those who sought admission to the infirmary of choosing a soft option. For every advantage to the body—a less austere diet, more rest and comfort, basic medication—there was a danger to the soul from exclusion from the choir, the pollution of the blood in the meat dishes, the general relaxation of the Rule. For all of this, penance would be required upon recovery (Le Blévec 1987: 177). There was thus nothing simple about sickness and healing. Everything depended upon the physical and spiritual state of the individual. No uniform stance towards medicine was possible anyway, for despite the professionalizing of some healers, the availability of the new learning, and the rise of university medical faculties, there was no one definition of what medicine or medical practice included. The question of what a monk should think and do when sick was central not just to the lives of the religious. It was, or ought to have been, central to the life of any lay Christian. In that sense, contrary to a tradition that runs from Church Fathers such as Origen to much recent historiography, monks are not special people. Monasteries responded subtly yet perceptibly over time to the pressures and inducements of a world beyond the cloister—a world from which they nonetheless proclaimed their separation. More than that, it is suggested here, monastic medicine often shows us medicine of the period in its most fully achieved form. One way in which we can come to appreciate that is to look back from the twelfth century to the origins of monasticism in Egypt, Palestine, and Syria from the late third to fourth centuries onwards. The focus will be on the monastic infirmary, not because it is the only provocation for debates about sickness and health, but because it reveals those debates at their sharpest.

Origins Right from the start all is ambivalence. Should individual hermits or monks worry about sickness? On the one hand their asceticism ought to have been a means to restore pre­ lap­sar­ian health and to achieve longevity (Crislip 2013: 40). The gatekeeper of one early Egyptian monastery would reportedly claim that his monks ‘were such saints that all could work miracles and none of them ever fell ill before he died. On the contrary, when the time came for each to depart, he announced it beforehand to all the others and then lay down and fell asleep’ (Russell 1981: [101], no. XVII). On the other hand, asceticism

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Sickness and Healing   407 was a means of intensifying the transcendence of bodily concerns (rather than their elimination), a Foucauldian technology of the self. John Chrysostom gave eight reasons why God does, after all, allow holy men and women to fall ill: to prevent their becoming arrogant, to show their humanity, to reveal God’s power through their weakness, to show that they do not seek earthly rewards, and so on (Crislip 2013: 20; Amundsen 1996: 137–138). Neither of these alternatives seems to require care of the sick. Yet the sick were cared for. How that happened in monasticism of the ‘lavra’ type, with monks dispersed in individual cells, is hard to determine. Presumably there was sick visiting, to provide solace and help prepare food rather than to dispense medicine, and some evidence suggests the use of the monastery’s church, the only communal space, as a place where ailing brothers might be offered a bed (Crislip 2005a: 12–14). By the sixth century this had developed into the building of a specific room off the church, nicely illustrating the place of looking after the body in the overall spiritual economy, subordinate but not negligible. It is also clear that the earliest coenobitic monasteries developed some separate fa­cil­ ities for the sick, and that care of them was seen as the highest expression of the mutual support that was meant to characterize the monastic community (Crislip  2013: 46; Crislip 2008; Layton 2014: 53, 55, 57). Among Pachomian monasteries (Pachomius, like St Bernard, being a chronically sick leader) we cannot tell whether this happened in the time of the founder or after his death. But one of the ‘houses’ into which his monks were divided was a house of stewards for the sick, whom they presumably tended under its roof (Crislip 2005a: 17; Horden 2012: 720). Such areas could be large. The footprint of what may be the remains of one, attached to a monastery southwest of Cairo, has been estimated at 540 square metres (Crislip 2005a: 10). Whether doctors were working in them, and if so whether they were monks or people brought in from outside, is unknowable. But if doctors were indeed involved, we should, again, not make the mistake of assuming that they represented anything like a medical profession or that they necessarily deployed a kind of treatment that was seen as superior to nursing. The one medical handbook known to have been used in a monastery (the same one as has been excavated near Cairo) shows only simple herbal remedies (Crislip 2005a: 32–33), although some ascetics might submit, in extreme suffering, to (for example) sophisticated surgery (Horden 1985). The elder in charge of a Pachomian monastic infirmary was, however, more likely to be concerned with matters of discipline, such as excessive chatter, than with therapeutics; with the fundamental discernment of whether the monk was malingering, ill of natural causes, or afflicted by some demon, and thus with whether the in­firm­ary was the appropriate place (Crislip  2005a: 19, 78). Care of the soul was of greater moment than medicine. ‘Do not think’, Pachomius is made to say by one of his Coptic biographers, ‘that bodily healings are [true] healings’ (Crislip 2013: 120). Overall, a range of opinions about medicine and the meaning of sickness was pos­ sible. If we turn from the world of Pachomius to that of St Basil, the other great monastic founder of the fourth century in the eastern Mediterranean (and yet again a chronically sick man, more obsessed with his body than oblivious to its protests), we find on the whole a greater acceptance of therapy, albeit carefully delimited.

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408   Peregrine Horden To paraphrase the Longer Rules, 55, the last and longest of the answers to questions about the coenobitic life which are more exhortations than rules and directed as much at secular Christians as at ascetics in monasteries (Silvas 2005: 264–269): we should take care to use the medicine, if we need it, not investing in it the whole responsibility for our health or sickness, but as redounding to the glory of God. We should neither repudiate this art nor place all our confidence in it. We call in the doctor, but we do not cease hoping in God. (The ministration of the doctor in setting a suitable diet is indeed for Basil very close to the requirement of the ascetic life [Crislip 2013: 93].) But when the illness is inflicted by God as a punishment for sin or inflicted by Satan upon the innocent (like Job) there is clearly no benefit to be had from medicine. And even in cases where medicine is allowed, we should not allow our whole lives to revolve around solicitude for the flesh. The fundamental value of medication is that it is a metaphor for the therapy of the soul (Crislip 2013: 92).

Western Approaches The subject of early ascetic attitudes to, and institutions for, the care and treatment of the sick is not of course a remote prehistory, detachable from the main story of European monasticism. Visitors, tourists, pilgrims, wandering ascetics, and above all translators such as Jerome and Rufinus, all variously moving between East and West (mainly Italy and Gaul), turned the texts and ideas we have been looking at into the foundation of monasticism in early medieval Europe. Between them Pachomius, Basil, and others established a repertoire of often cautiously sympathetic attitudes to sickness and healing that we can see being drawn upon in varying ways from the fourth century to the time of St Bernard and beyond. For the long-term future of European monasticism, the key text is of course the Rule of St Benedict (RB 36): Care should be taken of the sick before all and above all, so that they should be served as indeed Christ would be . . . There should be a separate room designated for sick brothers and a server [under the authority of the cellarer? RB 31] who is Godfearing, attentive, and caring. Use of baths should be offered to the sick as often as is expedient . . . The consumption of meat should be allowed to the gravely ill for the sake of their recovery [as it was forbidden to the healthy: RB 39] (Benedict 2011: 130–131).

Sick care is a fundamental expression of the mutual charity that binds the brothers into a community, as it was for Pachomius (RB 4). Not all the sick will be in the infirmary. Some will be able to do a little work, even though excused kitchen service (RB 35, 48). The young and the elderly should have special meals on a relaxed diet before the other monks, and should be entitled to the same loving consideration as the sick are (RB 37).

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Sickness and Healing   409 This carefully modulated approach is the therapeutic counterpart of the spiritual ­medicine of compassion that the abbot dispenses to delinquent monks ‘as a wise doctor’ (RB 17), medicine of the body here providing, as it did for St Basil, a model for the medicine of the soul. The Rule gives no detail of the types of treatment to be expected in the protoBenedictine infirmary, apart from a special restorative diet, and the bathing—which would, to those with some medical knowledge, have been intended not simply to cleanse but to open the pores and evacuate corrupt humours. The generally positive view of secu­lar medicine implied is of a piece with that of Cassiodorus in his Institutes for his house-monastery, the Vivarian (named for its fishpond), on his Calabrian estate. Here the brothers ‘carry out the duties of blessed compassion’ for passing pilgrims and, surely in the monastery also, they are to ‘serve the sick with genuine devotion in accordance with the teachings of your art . . . Learn therefore the properties of herbs and study the mixtures of drugs carefully [a syllabus of books will be recommended in the next paragraph]; but do not [the crucial qualification] put your hope in medicines and do not seek health in human counsels’ (Cassiodorus 2004: 165–166). Benedict’s Rule did not of course become paradigmatic until the Carolingian era. Before then, monastic arrangements for, and attitudes to, the sick were, as other early medieval rules show, highly diverse. The so-called Rule of the Master, for instance, strikes a very different note from that of Benedict. It starts from the premise that some supposedly sick monks will actually have been malingering and prescribes a diet of liquids and eggs that the truly sick will not be able to swallow, thus enabling their identification (chs 69, 70; de Vogüé 1964–1965, vol. 2: 296–303). If, as is once again being argued after many decades of an opposite consensus, the Master’s Rule postdates Benedict’s, and is in some ways a reaction to it, it is tempting to see here a critique of the gullibility that Benedictine compassion might induce and a withdrawal of special facilities which were thought rather too com­fort­ able (Dunn 1990). Columbanus, with whose conception of monasticism the Master may have had some affinity, is similarly tough on sickness. His biographer Jonas reports that he left his solitary wilderness to return to his house near Luxeuil to deal with an outbreak of illness (Vita Columbani 1.12; Jonas  1905: 172–173; Jonas  2017: 120–121). Those who obeyed his command to rise up and get on with the threshing were suddenly cured; those who disobeyed found that their afflictions became chronic. This is in keeping with the Rule attributed to the saint, which has nothing about infirmaries and is more concerned to punish a brother who, perhaps ill, vomits up the consecrated host (XIII.9; Columbanus 1989: 136). In more relaxed vein, whoever framed one of the fifth- to sixth-century Gallic rules, the third Rule of the Fathers, felt the need to stipulate that sick monks should not be allowed to leave the monastery to be cared for by their families (12; de Vogüé 1982; Dunn 2000: 85). For his part, Caesarius of Arles, in the first surviving Latin rule for female religious, echoes Benedict in urging the sick to take baths without murmuring, that is, without protesting at its effect on their asceticism, ‘following the advice of a (female) doctor [de consilio medicinae]’ (Caesarius 1988–1994, vol. 1: 210–211). The sick nun may have a cell

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410   Peregrine Horden and even a kitchen of her own, and the very ill may eat meat. Here, as in the parallel rule for monks, the aim is speedy convalescence, by whatever means. That outlook is close to Augustine’s, in the portfolio of texts known as his Rule: ‘Whenever a servant of God says he is not feeling well, take his word without hesitation even if the source of the pain is not apparent. If it is unclear whether the remedy he desires would make him better, a doctor should be consulted’ (Lawless 1987: 96).

The Carolingian World Such variety would not be significantly reduced until the Carolingian reforms of Benedict of Aniane began to take effect. Yet even then, in the ninth century, it is not clear quite what arrangements or changes in attitude were entailed by the attempted normalization of the Benedictine Rule in Frankish monasteries. The famous ‘St Gall plan’ shows a large and elegantly laid out monastery with an elaborate therapeutic complex in its north-western corner. Besides the usual infirmary, its ancillary chambers, and its own chapel, it includes a mansio, or house for the doctors, and even a separate room for the head medicus; a domus valde infirmorum (house for the critically ill, virtually an intensive care unit); a kitchen, bath, and herb garden; and a house for blood-letting (phlebotomy, a procedure to which we shall return) (Horn and Born 1979, 2: 175–188; 3: 52). The novice monks are also housed in this quarter, echoing St Benedict’s grouping of the young and the old with the sick, all of them allowed an unusual regime of baths and food (D’Aronco 2007: 241). The level of detail is extraordinary—down to the medical herbs to be grown and the disposition of the privies. So also is the apparent level of medicalization, in terms of the number of doctors and the sheer scale of the ‘hospital wing’. But it is not clear why the plan was drawn up (Coon 2011: 165–169). It presents an ideal layout, reflected in no known European monastery of the time; thus as a model it apparently had limited appeal. The exemplar of the ninth-century manuscript may even have been drawn up much earlier (if there is any force in controversial pleas for an English origin: Noll 1982, with Meaney 2000). It is difficult then to see the plan as clearly marking a new stage in monastic health care. Although medical texts were copied in monasteries of the Carolingian period, it cannot be said that there was a Carolingian renaissance of medicine (though compare Leja 2016). Attempts to enrol medicine in the liberal arts encountered resistance. The so-called Lorsch Book of Medicines is mostly a standard compendium copied at the abbey of Lorsch in the early ninth century (earlier than the St Gall plan), but it is prefaced by an unusually lengthy and fervent defence of medicine against charges of impiety. A good doctor, it proclaims, should not boast of the power of medication, because while medicine is not to be spurned, real cure comes from God. But this defence may be of much earlier origin (some of it repeats Cassiodorus, as quoted earlier, and its broad thrust is very familiar). Nor can it be aligned with the Carolingian reform programme so as to turn it into the manifesto for a court health policy, as some of its more enthusiastic commentators have claimed (for critique, Fischer 2010).

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Sickness and Healing   411 The Carolingian age does, however, mark some major changes. Granted, medicine was not centrally directed in any sense; whether or not medical anthologies or compendia were compiled or copied in a given monastery depended very much on the abbot; and many surviving library catalogues of the ninth century list no medical codices (Glaze 1999: 102–104). Still, what has been called Carolingian scriptomania did extend to medicine. Monasteries were the centres of book production and in that sense the Carolingian age is the first age of monastic medicine. But it should not be assumed that medical texts were copied for medical purposes; they could be valued for their classical style or as parts of a wider scientia—as perhaps with the gynaecological writings that seem to have been kept in a number of male monasteries. Still less can we assume that they were generally used to guide care in the infirmary (Horden 2011: 12–13). On two fronts, however, there is a specific link between the texts and monastic practices of healthcare. The first of these is in the area of regular prophylactic bloodletting, minutio. This occurred several times a year at fixed points, each point followed by several days of rest and relaxed diet. All monks received the treatment, regardless of whether or not they were liable to sickness from the build-up of corrupt humours, in order to ‘diminish’ the production of semen, believed to come from blood (Yearl 2007; 2011). Bloodletting as a medical procedure, both therapeutic and pre­vent­ ive, had a long history in late ancient and early medieval medicine, inside and outside the monastery, as did seasonal or monthly regimens and lists of days on which such treatment was thought imprudent. But there is no evidence of this regular monastic procedure for all members of a house until the Carolingian age, specifically until a synod that in 816 attempted to impose common adherence to the Benedictine Rule on Carolingian houses—an ambition perhaps reflected in the bloodletting house on the St Gall plan. It was already clearly being honoured in the breach by that time, however, in that monks were said to be giving blood when they wanted, rather than on appointed dates. Yet it is not mentioned in any of the early rules or customaries, and when it does emerge it seems indifferent to the usual medical prescriptions about timing and to follow a religious timetable. This is, though (pace Yearl), in a sense a precocious mani­fest­ ation of a medieval medical regimen, exactly suited to the needs, health risks, and institutional context of its target group. The other area in which monasticism of the Carolingian age gives a new twist to inherited medical ideas concerns death. There was an apparent boom in the copying of texts such as that known as the Ivory Casket. This supposedly transmitted the secrets left by the moribund Hippocrates in a casket and found by ‘Caesar’. In actuality, from the ninth century on, it was of use to those watching over a sick monk, whether in his cell or in the infirmary. They needed to know his prospects of survival so that they could summon the other brethren for his last rites if and when the time came (Paxton 1993). These Carolingian developments point us into the high Middle Ages, with which we began. From St Gall and Carolingian reform to Cluny, with its ever larger infirmaries (the grandest of their time), and its elaborate rituals surrounding the passing of individual monks is a straight road that there is no need to retread here. From the Lorsch defence of medicine, it is not far conceptually to the nuanced advice on healthcare of

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412   Peregrine Horden St Bernard. From the routine of preventive phlebotomy already upheld at the Aachen Synod to the seyney houses (from saignée, bled) of the high Middle Ages and the phys­ ic­al and spiritual recreation that came to characterize them is an even shorter journey. Unusually, a surviving letter from Nicholas of Clairvaux (who would be disgraced as Bernard’s secretary) to Peter, abbot of Celle, describes how Nicholas was not allowed to work, pray, read, or even be read to, following his bleeding. It also shows that he used the period of incapacity for theological reflection (Nicholas, Letter 49, 2018: 208–210; with Yearl 2011: 240). The letter illustrates the interplay of medical ideas of prevention and a superior therapeutics of the soul, to which all good Christians, not only monks, should aspire.

The Later Middle Ages Where does all this lead within the Middle Ages? Having started in medias res with St Bernard and then having looked back to Pachomius, Basil, Benedict, and the Carolingians, we should round out the picture by taking a final example from the later Middle Ages. Probably one of the best documented and certainly one of the best studied monastic infirmaries of the later Middle Ages is that of Westminster (for all that follows see Harvey 1993; 2000). No comparable level of detail about any later medieval public hospital in England is available. Westminster is an important example for a further reason. With Pachomius et al. we are in the vanguard of monastic and spiritual life. By the time we encounter the Benedictines of Westminster in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries they have long since abandoned all claims to trend-setting. They identify themselves less with primitive austerities and more with the way of life of the gentry, aristocracy, and courtiers with whom they rub shoulders. They have persuaded themselves that regular meat-eating, under carefully contrived conditions, is permissible (Kerr 2009: 48–50). They are wealthy, in England second only to Glastonbury in net income on the eve of the dissolution of the monasteries. They are thus a large community, of around fifty monks in their last decades. Almost half of them are privileged, to some degree exempted from the liturgical round, living in their own cells rather than communally, sometimes because of age (reflecting Benedict’s original ruling about elderly brothers) but also in many cases because of their social distinction. (In Britain separate cells in the infirmary are not necessarily new: there is some evidence of them already in Anglo-Saxon times: Meaney 2000: 226; Foot 2006: 108.) The Westminster brothers’ diet was not by modern standards healthy; it is likely that they tended towards the stereotype of obesity (compare Patrick 2014). The infirmary to which the sick were sent had, since the 1360s, been a two-storeyed building around a cloister with its own chapel, lying to the south of the chapter house and at the eastward end of the whole complex. There was a garden further south for those mobile enough to take the air. They could wander in its orchard (which was in part a commercial venture) and enjoy the refreshing sights of the vines growing, the fish circling in the pond, and

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Sickness and Healing   413 the healthy monks practising in the archery butts. In the late stages of convalescence, monks might be despatched ‘into the country’: sent off to houses on the abbey’s manors at Hendon, Hampstead, and Wandsworth, highly regarded for their pleasant and re­stora­tive air. The infirmary chambers were adorned with cushions and historiated hangings. Some rooms were taken up by elderly monks, others by corrodians, laymen who had purchased annuities and a retirement home. But for the sick, admission remained a serious matter, not an easy step, just as it had done in the earlier Middle Ages. Except in emergency (such as a sudden attack of gout) permission had to be sought from the prior and assembled brothers at the daily chapter meeting. Whether admitted as a day patient, and thus temporarily removed from the choir monks (extra chorum), or as an inpatient, thus bringing his own bedding (cum pannis), the sick brother enjoyed the attention of an infirmarer. This official had presumably accumulated medical skill, but he nonetheless called in a doctor ad hoc, a doctor retained with a substantial annual fee and a livery (such as a fur-trimmed robe). The infirmarer also selected as necessary from a number of surgeons on the books (for dealing with fractures, ulcers, and the like), and he commissioned apothecaries to supply complex remedies. Remarkably, some of these at­tend­ ant professionals were women. In addition there was a roster of non-monastic servants who kept watch over the sick at night. Expensive medication was dispensed. (Some lists of recipes survive arranged by patient.) There were ‘seyneys’, both for the sick and, on a rota, for the healthy, usually not in the infirmary but in a room within the bathhouse. Yet it seems that treatment in the infirmary relied in the majority of cases on diet, characterized now not by the special inclusion of flesh meat but by sensitivity to individual needs, in a manner that continued to reflect the best medical advice of the time, as it had in earlier centuries. In May 1352, at Rogationtide, the principal apothecary Thomas Walden unusually administered a digestive syrup to every member of the community, sick or healthy, a common form of prophylactic to see them through their consumption of a rich diet at this time in the liturgical year. It is easy to scoff, to think in terms of lamentable decline from a founder’s ideal, and to wonder what St Benedict, let alone St Bernard, would have made of it. Better to conclude, non-judgementally, that monasticism had evolved, even as some of its essential features had remained. And in the specific case of attitudes and responses to sickness it had evolved in a way that reflected the wider evolution of medicine and the medical profession.

Future Directions in Research To repair some omissions and look ahead to future research: first, obviously, this has been almost throughout a chapter about men. The bias is in the nature of the surviving evidence. Rules for women, where they survive, mostly but not entirely reflected those

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414   Peregrine Horden for men. That was so right from the beginning. Pachomius established a parallel house for women, as did Caesarius. There were numerous double houses, for example in Anglo-Saxon England. Nonetheless, it would be a very interesting exercise (not to my knowledge so far attempted with any comprehensiveness) to restrict discussion to the direct evidence for women (though see Smith 2016; Bodawé 2002). On the medical front, the famous name is of course that of Hildegard of Bingen, the only known female author of medical writings of the Middle Ages apart from Trotula of Salerno. That is why we as yet have no clear monastic context for her, for all the scholarship lavished in recent years on medieval women healers of all kinds. It is only an assumption, however plausible, that she learned her medicine in the nuns’ infirmary at Disibodenberg (Sweet 2006: 50–56). Her theological refashioning of humoral medical theory is a striking though not wholly extreme version of that intermingling of medical and religious ideas that we have seen at several points within this chapter. It needs to be made part of a larger story rather than seen in isolation as one facet of the achievement of an undoubtedly singular woman. Second, the architectural history of monastic sickness. We have one monograph on infirmaries (Seiler 2001), but more detailed study combining iconography and archae­ ology with textual evidence would be welcome so that the infirmary emerges as a type of religious institution to rival, in the new depth of our understanding of its workings, the public charitable hospital. Then, the textual history. What if anything was monastic medicine: is it at all sep­ar­ able from other kinds? What is the overall trajectory of monastic collections of medical texts in the central and later Middle Ages, when the vanguard passes to the cathedral school and the university medical faculty? As yet we have only partial answers (NebbiaiDalla Guarda 1994). And, looking to the fringes of medical learning, why did monks collect magical or other occult texts when it was widely known that they described wholly illicit practices? Was it that their readers felt that their vows protected them from diabolical influence, a further dimension to monastic conceptions of health (Page 2013)? Next, occupational health. There is evidence and an opportunity not yet fully seized to bring together the cultural and the material in the history of the ailments arising from the monastic lifestyle. Accidie, acedia, the disease of dissatisfaction with the rigours of that lifestyle has a cultural history that may have been conceived in too straightforward terms (Crislip 2005b). And palaeopathology is starting to reveal the effects on the joints of the diet and posture prevalent in even the more relaxed institutions (Gilchrist and Sloane 2005; Patrick 2014). These two kinds of history merit thorough integration. Finally the further, more systematic pursuit in the monastery of a ‘total therapeutic environment’ in which gardens, water courses, music, and imagery all have their place alongside the ministrations of doctors, surgeons, and apothecaries and such topics are interpreted in terms of a confluence of medical and theological ideas about an in­sep­ar­ able medicine of the soul and that of the body. In the early thirteenth century an anonymous author described the immediate setting of an infirmary: numerous trees laden with fruit forming a forest-like orchard, no small relief for sick monks who could stroll in the shade, their sufferings mitigated when they

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Sickness and Healing   415 breathe in lungs-full of the air scented by hay. Their ears are agreeably struck by the sweet and harmonious concert of the birds. ‘For the remedy of just one disease, the divine piety provides many forms of relief ’ (PL185: 569B–570A). That was written not of some louche later medieval house, but of the place where we began this exploration, Clairvaux. It is a perception of sickness and its remedies of which scholarship has yet to take the full measure.

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Benedict of Nursia (2011). The Rule of St Benedict, edited and translated by Bruce L. Venarde. Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library 6. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Bernard of Clairvaux (1998). The Letters of St Bernard of Clairvaux, translated by Bruno Scott James. Thrupp: Sutton. Bernard of Clairvaux (1957–1977). Sancti Bernardi Opera. 8 vols, edited by Jean Leclercq, Charles H. Talbot, and Henri M. Rochais. Rome: Editiones Cistercienses. Caesarius of Arles (1988–1994). Césaire d’Arles, Oeuvres monastiques. 2 vols, edited and translated by A. de Vogüé and J. Courreau. SC 345 and 398. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Cassiodorus (2004). Cassiodorus, Institutions of Divine and Secular Learning and On the Soul, translated by James W. Halporn, with introduction by Mark Vessey. TTH 42. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Columbanus (1989). Saint Columban, Règles et pénitentiels monastiques, translated by Adalbert de Vogüé. Bégrolles-en-Mauges: Abbaye de Bellefontaine. Jonas of Bobbio (2017). Life of Columbanus, Life of John of Réomé, and Life of Vedast, translated by Alexander O’Hara and Ian Wood. TTH 64. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press. Jonas of Bobbio (1905). Ionae Vitae Sanctorum Columbani, Vedastis, Iohannis, edited by B. Krusch. MGH SS rer. Germ. Hannover and Leipzig: Hahn. Nicholas of Clairvaux (2018). The Letter Collections of Nicholas of Clairvaux, edited and translated by Lena Wahlgren-Smith. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Russell, Norman (trans.) (1981). The Lives of the Desert Fathers. CS 34. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Vogüé, Adalbert de (ed. and trans.) (1982). Les Règles des saints Pères. SC 297–298. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Vogüé, Adalbert de (ed. and trans.) (1964–1965). La Règle du Maître. 3 vols, SC 105–107. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Walter Daniel (1950). Walter Daniel, The Life of Ailred of Rievaulx, edited and translated by F. M. Powicke. London: Thomas Nelson.

Secondary Sources Amundsen, Darrel W. (1996). Medicine, Society, and Faith in the Ancient and Medieval Worlds. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Bell, David  N. (1989). ‘The English Cistercians and the Practice of Medicine’. Cîteaux: Commentarii Cistercienses 40: 139–173. Bodarwé, Katrinette (2002). ‘Pflege und Medizin in mittelalterlichen Frauenkonventen’. Medizinhistorisches Journal 37: 231–263.

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416   Peregrine Horden Cassidy-Welch, Megan (2001). Monastic Spaces and their Meanings: Thirteenth-Century English Cistercian Monasteries. Turnhout: Brepols. Coon, Lynda L. (2011). Dark Age Bodies: Gender and Monastic Practice in the Early Medieval West. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Crislip, Andrew (2013). Thorns in the Flesh: Illness and Sanctity in Late Ancient Christianity. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Crislip, Andrew (2008). ‘Care for the Sick in Shenoute’s Monasteries’. In Christianity and Monasticism in Upper Egypt, vol. 1: Akhmim and Sohag, edited by Gawdat Gabra and Hany N. Takla, 21–30. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Crislip, Andrew (2005a). From Monastery to Hospital: Christian Monasticism and the Transformation of Health Care in Late Antiquity. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Crislip, Andrew (2005b). ‘The Sin of Sloth or the Illness of the Demons? The Demon of Acedia in Early Christian Monasticism’. Harvard Theological Review 98: 143–169. D’Aronco, Maria (2007). ‘The Benedictine Rule and the Care of the Sick: The Plan of St Gall and Anglo-Saxon England’. In The Medieval Hospital and Medical Practice, edited by Barbara S. Bowers, 235–251. Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Dunn, Marilyn (2000). The Emergence of Monasticism: From the Desert Fathers to the Early Middle Ages. Malden, MA and Oxford: Blackwell. Dunn, Marilyn (1990). ‘Mastering Benedict: Monastic Rules and their Authors in the Early Medieval West’. English Historical Review 105: 567–594. Fischer, Klaus-Dietrich (2010). ‘Das Lorscher Arzneibuch im Widerstreit der Meinungen’. Medizinhistorisches Journal 45:165–188. Foot, Sarah (2006). Monastic Life in Anglo-Saxon England, c.600–900. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Gilchrist, Roberta and Barney Sloane (2005). Requiem: The Medieval Monastic Cemetery in Britain. London: Museum of London Archaeology Service. Glaze, Florence Eliza (1999). ‘The Perforated Wall: The Ownership and Circulation of Medical Books in Medieval Europe, ca. 800–1200’. PhD Dissertation, Duke University. Green, Monica (2018). ‘Medical Books’. In The European Book in the Twelfth Century, edited by Erik Kwakkel and Rodney Thomson, 277–292. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Green, Monica (2009). ‘Salerno on the Thames: The Genesis of Anglo-Norman Medical Literature’. In Language and Culture in Medieval Britain: The French of England c. 1100– c. 1500, edited by Jocelyn Wogan-Browne, 220–231. York: York University Press. Harvey, Barbara (2000). ‘Before and After the Black Death: A Monastic Infirmary in Fourteenth-Century England’. In Death, Sickness, and Health in Medieval Society and Culture, edited by Susan J. Ridyard, 5–33. Sewanee, TN: University of the South Press. Harvey, Barbara (1993). Living and Dying in England, 1100–1540: The Monastic Experience. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Horden, Peregrine (2012). ‘Poverty, Charity, and the Invention of the Hospital’. In The Oxford Handbook of Late Antiquity, edited by Scott F. Johnson, 715–743. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Horden, Peregrine (2011). ‘What’s Wrong with Early Medieval Medicine?’ Social History of Medicine 24: 5–25. Horden, Peregrine (1985). ‘The Death of Ascetics: Sickness and Monasticism in the Early Byzantine Middle East’. Studies in Church History 22: 41–52. Horn, Walter and Ernest Born (1979). The Plan of St Gall: A Study of the Architecture and Economy of and Life in a Paradigmatic Carolingian Monastery. 3 vols. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

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Sickness and Healing   417 Jones, Peter Murray (2013). ‘Complexio and Experimentum: Tensions in Late Medieval Medical Practice’. In The Body in Balance: Humoral Medicines in Practice, edited by Peregrine Horden and Elisabeth Hsu, 107–128. New York and Oxford: Berghahn. Kerr, Julie (2009). Life in the Medieval Cloister. London: Continuum. Layton, Bentley (2014). The Canons of Our Fathers: Monastic Rules of Shenoute. OECS. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Lawless, George (1987). Augustine of Hippo and His Monastic Rule. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Le Blévec, Daniel (1987). ‘Maladie et soins du corps dans les monastères cisterciennes’. In Horizons marins, itinéraires spirituels (Ve–XVIIIe siècles), edited by Henri Dubois, JeanClaude Hocquet, and André Vauchez, 2 vols, 1: 171–182. Paris: Sorbonne. Leja, Meg (2016). ‘The Sacred Art: Medicine in the Carolingian Renaissance’. Viator 47: 1–34. Meaney, Audrey (2000). ‘The Practice of Medicine in England about the Year 1000’. Social History of Medicine 13: 221–237. Nebbiai-Dalla Guarda, Donatella (1994). ‘Les livres de l’infirmerie dans les monastères médiévaux’. Revue Mabillon 66 (new series 5): 57–81. Noll, Günter (1982). ‘The Origin of the So-Called Plan of St Gall’. Journal of Medieval History 8: 191–240. Page, Sophie (2013). Magic in the Cloister: Pious Motives, Illicit Interests, and Occult Approaches to the Medieval Universe. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Patrick, Pip (2014). The ‘Obese Medieval Monk’: A Multidisciplinary Study of a Stereotype. Oxford: Archaeopress. Paxton, Frederick S. (1993). ‘Signa Mortifera: Death and Prognostication in Early Medieval Monastic Medicine’. Bulletin of the History of Medicine 67: 631–650. Rawcliffe, Carole (2002). ‘ “On the Threshold of Eternity”: Care for the Sick in East Anglian Monasteries’. In East Anglia’s History: Studies in Honour of Norman Scarfe, edited by Christopher Harper-Bill, Carole Rawcliffe, and Richard  G.  Wilson, 41–72. Woodbridge: Boydell. Seiler, Roger (2001). ‘Für die kranken Brüder werde ein eigener Raum bestimmt’: Klosterinfirmarien des hohen Mittelalters. Zürcher medizingeschichtliche Abhandlungen 291. Dietikon: Juris-Druck und Verlag. Silvas, Anna (2005). The Asketikon of St Basil the Great. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Smith, Julie Ann (2016). Ordering Women’s Lives: Penitentials and Nunnery Rules in the Early Medieval West. Abingdon: Routledge. Sweet, Victoria (2006). Rooted in the Earth, Rooted in the Sky: Hildegard of Bingen and Premodern Medicine. New York and London: Routledge. Yearl, Mary K. K. (2011). ‘Bloodletting as Recreation in the Monasteries of Medieval Europe’. In Between Text and Patient: The Medical Enterprise in Medieval and Early Modern Europe, edited by Florence Eliza Glaze and Brian K. Nance, 217–243. Florence: Sismel-Galluzzo. Yearl, Mary  K.  K. (2007). ‘Medieval Monastic Customaries on Minuti and Infirmi’. In The Medieval Hospital and Medical Practice, edited by Barbara S. Bowers, 175–194. Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate.

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chapter 26

L a n dsca pe , L a n d Use , a n d the En v ironm en t Richard Oram

Until the later twentieth century, the notion of a distinct ‘monastic landscape’ was an almost universally accepted element in discussions of medieval Benedictine and Augustinian monasticism. The concept extended from simple matters of location to more complex issues of organization and management of monastic estates. Generalized characterizations concerning location also extended to the nature of eco­ nomic regimes which supported communities and types of property from which estates were constructed. Older Benedictine and newer Cistercian houses were often stereotyped as possessors of expansive properties upon which Cistercians, especially, practised intensive, direct, and mainly arable cultivation. Cluniacs and Augustinians, in contrast, were caricatured as rentiers with little involvement in directly managing their real property resources. There is, moreover, a pervasive impression, framed by traditional notions of the Cistercians’ efforts to secure physical isolation ‘in places unfrequented and remote’ (Matarasso 1993: 7), of monastic estates as discrete ter­ri­tor­ ies comprising islands of agricultural innovation and ‘best practice’, distinct from the farming traditions of surrounding districts, within which the monks were cocooned in spiritually secure seclusion, insulated from the corrupting influence of secular society. In both academic and popular literature, that model of Cistercian practice has seen monastic estates generalized as zones which provided communities with all the resources necessary for their self-sufficiency and where they could practise pioneer­ ing land management and agricultural techniques. More recent research has revised that perception, and claims of monastic precocity as transformers of landscapes have been tempered by an acknowledgement that laypeople were equally innovative and ambitious agents of change.

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Landscape, Land Use, and the Environment   419

Monasteries, Manorialism, and Grange Agriculture Possession of land estates had been a feature of monasteries since their emergence in early medieval Europe. Founded and endowed by kings who wished to broadcast sup­ port for Christianity, many early communities received large, formerly Roman ‘public’ estates that these rulers had acquired as the empire disintegrated. St-Germain-des-Prés outside Paris, for example, received much of the 32,700 hectares that it owned by the ninth century from the Merovingian kings who had founded it in the mid-sixth century, mostly formerly Roman public demesne (Milis 1992: 17). Likewise at Canterbury, Kent’s Anglo-Saxon kings endowed St Augustine’s monastery with land likely appropriated from formerly public property. The character of these estates, however, did not change with the transfer into monastic hands: they continued to operate as manors, as they had done as Roman public or royal demesne, worked by labour service provided by ­dependent peasant tenants who were gifted along with the land, and who delivered prod­uce to be consumed by the estate’s lords. Monasteries founded post-1000 generally received more limited endowments than the early communities, but it has been argued that the newer houses were more efficient organizers and exploiters of their estates (Milis 1992: 21–22; Lawrence 2015: 117–119). The Cistercians, through their development of consolidated estates organized as granges worked by their own labour in a rejection of the lordship and land-management systems of manorialism, were viewed as builders of something that could truly be labelled a ‘monastic landscape’. It was, furthermore, accepted as fact that much of the land of these newer monasteries was won from waste into fruitful productivity through the labour of the monks and the application of their innovative agricultural techniques. In contrast to the supposedly inferior technology and wasteful practices of lay estates and their stub­ bornly conservative cultivators, these new monastic landscapes were idealized as ­models of innovation and productivity, organized for maximum efficiency in the monastic quest for self-sufficiency and independence from the secular world.

Challenging the Cistercian Land Use Model Later twentieth-century scholarship began to question both the assumption of a stark difference between monastic and non-monastic estate-management practices and also the supposed opposition of early Benedictine and Cluniac approaches to those of the newer orders. Challenges, principally to the Cistercian model but also to the traditional paradigm of monasteries as agricultural pioneers generally, accelerated in the 1980s.

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420   Richard Oram Critiques of twelfth- and thirteenth-century accounts of the opposed management styles reinterpreted them as largely polemical tools, weighted heavily in symbolic terms and lightly in realities, in the bitter doctrinal conflict between the Cistercians and Cluniacs. The challenge was led by Robert Fossier, who rejected the image of Cistercians as exclusively agricultural colonizers and pioneers engaged directly in large-scale break­ ing of land, toiling in the wilderness to make a fruitful paradise of the barren desert (Fossier 1983). Instead of a vision of plantations in unpopulated wastelands, which they converted into flourishing farmland, Fossier argued that most Cistercian abbeys in north-east France were established at or near previously settled locations, built their estates on pre-existing economic units, and often could have removed indigenous popu­ lations to create the ‘desert’ from which the monastic tradition had sprung. Constance Berman’s analysis of estate acquisition and management practices in forty-three south­ ern French Cistercian abbeys added substance to Fossier’s thesis (Berman 1986). Neither questioned the general nature of Cistercian estates and management practices; their tar­ get was traditional presentations of the estates as products of monastic direct labour in clearing woods, draining marshes, and breaking the waste to form well-ordered agricul­ tural land. By the mid-1990s many studies of monastic estates were advancing this thesis as the new model (Bartlett 1993: 139–144). Current debates emphasize that Cistercian approaches to land management were more complex than either the traditional or the Fossier models might suggest. While it is clear that the idealized image of profitable farms being created from unexploited wil­ derness solely through the monks’ physical labours is largely mythical, there is plentiful evidence of pioneering monastic development operations and extension of agriculture or livestock management through their own labour. For every Clairvaux or Henryków, where foundation narratives excise memories of previous cultivators to create the ideal­ ized desert setting for their communities, there is a Ten Duinen or Glastonbury (Termote 1992; Rippon 2004), where land was won from marginal districts in projects undertaken by monasteries and their tenants. It is equally clear, however, that monaster­ ies were neither unique nor particularly innovative in pursuing such strategies, for the age of monastic expansion coincided with an era of great population growth and agri­ cultural colonization across Europe.

The Desert Ideal and Practical Realities Can we, then, speak of such a thing as a ‘monastic landscape’ distinct from the wider rural landscapes of medieval Europe? It was certainly an ideal, with at its root the quest present in all monastic orders to create their vision of the desert into which the first monks in Egypt and Syria had withdrawn to pursue lives of spiritual retreat and prayer. Few places north of the Mediterranean can deliver the same desert experience as Sinai

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Landscape, Land Use, and the Environment   421 or the Negev, but early medieval Europe abounded with secluded locations and alterna­ tive forms of ‘desert’ where those seeking lives of extreme asceticism and prayer could secure the isolation that they craved. It was the desire to retrieve the desert experience that led in the early eleventh century to the foundation of the paired valley-bottom abbey and hill-top hermitage at Camaldoli near Arezzo. The same ideal inspired north­ ern European clerics who were seeking more spiritually fulfilling lives, among them Robert of Molesme, who, along with several of his monastic brethren, sought their ‘desert’ in the Forêt de Colan, and the scholar Bruno of Rheims, who joined them briefly before withdrawing to a site of even greater seclusion, which became known as La Grande Chartreuse. Those he left behind also found their desert ideal in what they described as ‘a place of horror, a vast wilderness’ (Conrad of Eberbach 1994), which became the abbey of Cîteaux. This description, which evoked the imagery of the Egyptian desert, became embedded in Cistercian self-identity and was a motif that fig­ ured regularly in the foundation narratives of many Cistercian daughter-houses. The deserts found by the brethren at Camaldoli, La Grande Chartreuse, and Cîteaux were not arid, unproductive wastes. Indeed, barren desert was contrary to the needs of communities who sought to sustain themselves through their own direct labour. Accounts of the quest to find a suitable site for his monastery by St Bernard of Thiron clearly illustrate the delicate balance between a desire for solitude and a requirement for access to the resources necessary to support a community. A first site at Arcisse, near Nogent, offered to Bernard by Count Rotrou of Perche, was described as having: fertile soil, surrounded by forests on all sides, watered by streams and springs, noted for its pleasant meadows, fit for cultivating vines and constructing buildings, and suitable for every need. The [count of Perche’s] ancestors had built a chapel, dug a fishpond and planted orchards (Geoffrey Grossus 2009: 71).

This was no ‘desert’, but a well-developed component of Rotrou’s demesne. The site Bernard accepted at Thiron-Gardais was equally far removed from ideals of remote wil­ derness, being praised by his hagiographer for its beautiful location, meadows and ­rivers, abundant vines, and fertile soil (Geoffrey Grossus 2009: 73). Although removed from the seats of secular power in Perche, and so meeting Bernard’s desire for greater solitude, Thiron-Gardais was already developed economically and provided the incipi­ ent Tironensian order with a sound platform for expansion. Bernard’s selection of a beautiful and economically productive location for his abbey contrasts starkly with the supposed preference of contemporary Cistercians for remote and previously undeveloped sites. Accounts of the foundation of Cîteaux and its col­ onies refer frequently to the horror of the chosen sites and their physical location in vast wildernesses, a vision embedded into the Exordium Cistercii, upon which the order’s philosophy and self-identity was constructed (Lekai 1977: 26). The language is drawn from Deuteronomy 32, where Moses reminded the Israelites of their punishment and purgation in the wilderness for turning to false gods. The biblical symbolism was immensely powerful for an order that sought to achieve spiritual purity through

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422   Richard Oram s­ eclusion and self-denial. The use of Old Testament imagery in descriptions of the mon­ asteries’ sites, however, clashes with the evidence for earlier socio-economic develop­ ment in these places. The foundation account of Duiske in Ireland, for example, using language redolent of Cîteaux, called it ‘a place of horror and a vast solitude, a cave of rob­ bers, and the lair of those who lie in wait for blood’ (Butler and Bernard 1918: no. 6), yet its founding endowment consisted of established agricultural communities (Butler and Bernard 1918: no. 3). Henryków in Silesia presents a similarly contradictory record. On the one hand, its site was described as uninhabited and undeveloped wasteland which the monks cleared and cultivated through their own efforts, but on the other, it was home to a long-established Polish farming population (Górecki 2007: 147). A recurring theme in discussions of monastic insertion into anciently settled regions is the construction of ‘desert’ through removal of peasant communities in order to cre­ ate monastic seclusion (Poole 1955: 187). It was a charge levelled against some orders by at least the early thirteenth century, when Walter Map referred to the Cistercians’ predi­ lection to ‘make a solitude that they may be solitaries’ (1983: ch. 25). It might be said that such clearances created ‘monastic landscapes’ where the monks could develop their management systems free from constraints. Rather than spiritual detachment, however, the prime objective was avoidance of the socio-economic bonds of manorialism which underpinned secular lordship in the central medieval period. Instead of peasant tenants who worked an annually changing share of the villages’ common fields and provided labour for their lords’ demesne, laybrothers worked the fields and delivered the entire yield to sustain the monastic community. The most frequently cited illustration of this approach is Revesby Abbey, founded in 1143, whose initial endowment comprised three existing manors (Stenton 1930: 1–7). To enable the establishment of granges, Revesby’s peasant tenants were encouraged to take holdings elsewhere. As a result, two villages disappeared and were redeveloped as laybrother-managed grain-producing farms.

Exploitation Regimes in an Era of Expansion The flourishing of the reformed monastic orders and the more rigorous exploitation of their estates occurred in the context of the complex interplay between European eco­ nomic expansion, population growth, and the generally benign climatic conditions of the Medieval Climate Anomaly. As Europe’s population grew, cultivation and intensive grazing expanded to meet demand; monasteries were major beneficiaries of this devel­ opment. Many received gifts of cleared land or capitalized on peasant land hunger to bring undeveloped portions of their estates into intensive exploitation. Generally, their practices mirrored those of lay landowners who were also benefiting from the demands of a burgeoning population. Cistercian management practice ran counter to the trend of harnessing peasant land hunger within traditional manorial structures, but their

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Landscape, Land Use, and the Environment   423 granges were readily integrated into regional markets for grain and livestock products. Regardless of ideals of separation from the corrupting influence of the market economy, monks of all orders benefited from easy disposal of their agricultural surpluses during the era of growth that lasted into the late 1200s. Granges apart, did monastic estates have a distinctive landscape character? Those of the older French Benedictine monasteries, for example, assembled through extensive grants of formerly Roman public demesne, were physically compact properties consist­ ing of an estate centre to which was attached both real property and seigneurial rights over local peasant populations. As in the case of Arcisse, these were established estates with vineyards, meadow and pasture, timber for building and fuel needs, and access to water for domestic purposes and fishing. Predominantly, however, they were arable landscapes. Elsewhere, structures of lordship were more fragmented, with once-unitary properties partitioned between several lords. There, monastic estates might comprise manifold small parcels of real property scattered throughout a landscape of similar small parcels, include shares in commonly held rights—for example to pasture—and percentages of profits attached to seigneurial rights. Such holdings were inextricably bound into local manorial systems. Their development as monastic properties followed lay estate management trends, with some maintained as demesne to support the house­ hold and the remainder set at rent or, in the later Middle Ages, feued to lay tenants. In the first wave of new foundations in the late 1000s and early 1100s, founding endowments were often entire pre-existing manorial properties such as Thiron-Gardais. Thus, the late eleventh-century Benedictine colony at Dunfermline was located on an existing royal manor and received further grants of similar properties nearby (Innes 1842: no. 1). Such estates consisted of both arable and pastoral land, where the pasture was at least sufficient to sustain the draught animals of the peasant tenants. In neither physical terms relating to topography nor structural terms relating to patterns of exploitation or settlement form, nor indeed more abstract terms of legal and fiscal geog­ raphy of lordship other than where grange agriculture was practiced, did these estates differ significantly from their secular neighbours. Prima facie, apart from the scale of the real property acquired by Cistercian houses relative to other types of property or rights in their portfolio, it is impossible with mon­ asteries founded after 1100 to differentiate between estate portfolios assembled by differ­ ent orders. While the Cistercians preferred significant localized blocks of real property as their founding endowment, and refused at first to accept control of parish churches or income from mills or labour service from peasant tenants, the Tironensians likewise sought extensive landed property, as at Kelso Abbey, which secured blocks of royal demesne as its founding endowment (Innes 1846: iii–vii, and document nos 1 and 2). While Augustinians accepted a diverse mix of resources, including cash payments and income in kind, they also sought real property gifts. Although possibly more widely dis­ persed, they did include concentrations of land close to the monastic precinct, where they practised something akin to grange agriculture (Ratcliff 2013; Oram 2012). Even twelfth-century Cluniac foundations followed this real property-based model. Paisley, for example, possessed tracts of arable and pasture alongside appropriated churches,

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424   Richard Oram rents from urban properties, timber and fuel resources, and fisheries (Innes 1832: 1, 5, 11). Augustinian granges apart, the chief divergences in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries appear to lie between the Cistercians and Premonstratensians on one hand and the Benedictines, Cluniacs, and Augustinians on the other, with the former favouring grange-based approaches to management and the rest following the manorial model. Even with the Cistercians, however, already in the early twelfth century granges were neither ubiquitous nor the sole response to land management, and as the recruitment of lay brethren declined in the thirteenth century, grange agriculture also declined. Most orders held significant arable properties—granges or peasant-worked demesne—close to their precincts and pursued and expanded arable interests on remoter possessions. The Augustinian Bolton Priory in upland Yorkshire, for example, progressively expanded grain production from small beginnings in 1120, and by the early 1300s it was a major player in the regional corn economy (Kershaw 1973: 19–30, 132–160). By the early 1200s, Cistercian St Mary’s Dublin was consolidating scattered holdings and developing concentrations of arable near the city into granges. Upland pasture on the northern edge of the Wicklow Mountains had been acquired before 1171 (Gilbert 1884, vol. 1, no. 86) and was expanded, but their main properties were in the grain-yielding lowlands. This arable focus was policy, for St Mary’s was assured of a mar­ ket for grain surpluses in Dublin. The monks were not passive beneficiaries accepting what patrons chose to give, but discerning entrepreneurs who sought to consolidate their interests to maximize financial returns. Rising demand from urban consumers and export merchants, as much as the nature of the land which benefactors gave St Mary’s into the thirteenth century, together influenced the character of its estate. Environmental conditions and market opportunities often combined in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries to influence strategies in property acquisition. The interplay of these forces saw Cistercian abbeys in areas of limited arable capability adopt strategies exemplified by Fountains Abbey in Yorkshire, where upland sheep pasture was sought in preference to lowland arable (Wardrop 1987: 67–132). Monasteries of other orders also identified the economic potential in such specialization (Kershaw  1973: 79–112). An additional factor in such choices was proximity to market outlets, such as the fair at Boston for the wool-producing lowland Benedictine and Cistercian houses of Lincolnshire and East Anglia, which pursued sheep farming on their fenland margins. Most Scottish houses traded wool through Berwick, which from the early 1100s had been supplying the Flemish weaving industry (Ditchburn 2001: 162–176). The records of Melrose and Coupar Angus reveal strategies of acquisition of hill grazing on which they developed sheep-focused granges (Fawcett and Oram 2004: 221–228; Easson 1947: nos XLI, LXX, LXVI; Rogers 1879–1880, vol. 2, 236, 261–262). By the 1290s, both abbeys had flocks of 12,000–15,000 sheep, and Melrose had also developed separate cattle-based granges (Fawcett and Oram 2004: 228–240). Enthusiastic pursuit of the profits from livestock management led to the creation of extensive monastic-owned sheep runs and cattle ‘ranches’ in marginal districts. As with arable properties, such developments were neither unique to particular orders nor the sole preserve of monastic landlords—even at their peak it is unlikely that monastic

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Landscape, Land Use, and the Environment   425 flocks delivered more than ten per cent of wool exports from the British Isles—but the generally better preservation of monastic rather than lay accounts has shaped a vision of monasteries as pioneers in this sector as well. In northern England and southern Scotland, monasteries of different orders, especially Cistercians and Augustinians, were energetic developers of large-scale livestock operations in upland zones that were already experiencing settlement expansion and intensifying exploitation in the twelfth century (Aston 2000: 140–141). As with their arable granges, the Cistercians have been presented as exceptional practitioners of exclusive pasture management, seeking to assemble consolidated blocks of grazing to which they had sole rights. Where e­ xclusivity could not be secured, there was rigorous—and occasionally destructive—­ex­ploit­ation of shared rights in common resources alongside lay tenants. Melrose, for example, was pursued at law by tenants of a royal estate where they had shared common grazing rights, charged with overstocking which had degraded the grassland. Other patrons sought to regulate the size of Melrose’s flocks on such commons in line with the carrying capacity of the land or, to protect the interests of other users, prescribed tight bound­ar­ ies for the ranges within which they could graze their animals (Oram 2011: 262–263). Across Europe, monastic accounts record in detail the processes by which such divi­ sions of the resource were agreed. In places such as the north-western English fells, the bank-and-ditch boundaries constructed to separate them physically can still be seen (Aston 2000: 140).

Conflict, Clearance, and Over-exploitation Monastic ambitions for estate development could be curtailed by the alternative landuse strategies of neighbouring lords. For Dunbrody in Leinster, expansion of farming operations was restricted by the presence of the Marshal lords of Leinster’s hunting for­ est of Ross, but also by competition from many lesser Marshal lay tenants. Rigorous application of forest law prevented expansion of arable beyond what had existed before the creation of the afforested zones, restricted the intensity of grazing within forest areas, and required the removal of livestock from pasture within the forest at designated times to avoid disturbing the deer. Assarts in forest areas were licensed, but at heavy financial cost to those wishing to make the clearance. Pressure to expand assarts within the Forest of Ross eventually led to Richard Marshal deforesting a substantial area in the early 1230s and permitting new assarts and enclosures in return for a one-off payment of 600 marks (Gilbert 1884: vol. 2, no. III). Richard lost hunting land but secured signifi­ cant compensation for his loss. Designation as hunting forest—a label that signifies a legal condition rather than a physical one—does not reveal the existence of extensive woodland, although the forests in which some early Cistercian or Premonstratensian houses were founded—such as the

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426   Richard Oram Forêt de St Gobain—remain heavily wooded even today. Frequent reference to named woods in monastic records, however, suggests landscapes of open ground with scattered wooded areas rather than woodland with scattered open areas. Across northern Europe, much of that transformation was the result of woodland clearance to create arable or grassy ‘lawns’ for grazing, mostly driven by peasant land hunger, but with monasteries from Burgundy to Poland and the British Isles contributing significantly. Monastic landlords sought to clear land for direct exploitation, but also to capitalize on the income potential from peasant tenants who performed the labour of clearing and then provided rental income. Undeveloped wooded landscapes could thus become a subject of rivalry between monastic communities with ambitions to expand their directly managed and tenanted property portfolios. In Denmark, for example, woodland clearance and the economic opportunities it created contributed to a long-running dispute between the abbey of Vitskøl and the chapter of Viborg Cathedral over forest land on the island of Læsø (McGuire 1982: 130–131). Both wished to make clearances and to benefit from the arable and pastoral potential of the cleared land. The dispute was resolved through liti­ gation, resulting in a clearly demarked allocation of portions of the forest. Clearance was then advanced by tenant labour, as land hungry peasants took up holdings on the Church property and carved fields from the woodland. How was clearance achieved? The often-reproduced manuscript images of Cistercian laybrothers felling trees and splitting logs record the human labour processes, which in regions such as Poland were practised alongside more ancient traditions of ‘swidden’ or ‘slash-and-burn’ clearance for agriculture (Górecki 2007: 40). Pigs, whose disturbance of the ground by rooting (which prevented seedling growth and scrub regeneration) was well known, were used widely to begin and complete clearance processes. One consequence of this was a progressive expansion of zones of cleared land around monastic centres and outlying grange properties. While this process increased arable and pastoral productivity, boosting monastic incomes, it also had negative environmental impacts. Most notably it led to the erosion of the exposed light brown forest soils or the friable upland soils, as well as to increased water run-off carrying a greater sediment load than previously, resulting in siltation and flooding downstream. More prosaically, it created building timber and fuel wood supply difficulties. The right to take timber from their patrons’ demesne woods as well as their own for building purposes and for fuel was a privilege enjoyed by many com­ munities. In heavily wooded landscapes such as upland Silesia, this right remained uncon­ troversial. In Scotland, however, Lowland woods were already reduced to probably under ten per cent of land cover. There, the expansion of peasant agriculture in the Lowlands in the twelfth century resulted by 1200 in severe shortages of building timber and firewood. Despite their reputation as skilled resource managers, monasteries contributed to this unsustainable extraction. This is illustrated by a dispute in 1250 between Kelso Abbey and the descendants of one of its benefactors concerning depletion through the monks’ actions (Duncan 1975: 417–419). Melrose’s complete destruction within ten years of the woodland resource allocated to it by a bene­fac­tor as fuel for a saltpan is a more extreme example (Fawcett and Oram 2004: 243). Taken together, such examples challenge ideas that the monks practised sustainable woodland management.

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Landscape, Land Use, and the Environment   427 Caution has rightly been urged in discussion of the scale of monastic woodland clear­ ance (Aston 2000: 133), but such operations undoubtedly had profound and lasting con­ sequences for both the landscape and for human economies. In addition to landscape degradation and its attendant risks of flooding and siltation, inroads into woodland in some parts of Europe affected future supplies of building timber and fuel. Fuel shortage through forest clearance, however, had a limited and perhaps highly localized impact in France, Germany, and Poland. In Scotland before 1200, however, depletion of fuel wood resources hastened a transition to peat-burning as the main source of thermal energy (Oram 2013: 360–363). Coal was being mined around the Firth of Forth in the 1100s. By the early 1200s Culross (Cistercian), Dunfermline (Benedictine), Holyrood (Augustinian), and Newbattle (Cistercian) all owned mines, but poor transport infrastructure prevented bulk carriage for long distances. Melrose lay remote from coal-producing districts, and though it had properties in coal-yielding areas by the early 1200s, it was only after 1400 that coal was carted to the abbey. Until then, Melrose systematically stripped peat on its property and, when threatened by depletion of that resource, sought new peat and brushwood supplies. Such voracious extractive policies left a legacy of degraded landscapes, where all exploitable peat was stripped before 1500, often leaving behind only poor-quality subsoils incapable of supporting agriculture and bearing thin and erosionsusceptible turf layers.

Water Management and Wetland Drainage Equally transformative landscape interventions were made by monasteries through water management. Inadequate water at sites given to communities by their founders, even where the places were otherwise suitable, accounted for most failures or reloca­ tions. Low-lying locations on or near significant natural watercourses, or at springs, were the main solution to water needs, as for example at Tintern in Wales, Clairefontaine in Belgium, or Tre Fontane in Italy. It was not simply proximity to water that mattered, but the ability to transport it in adequate quantities to where it was required. This necessitated sophisticated and above all reliable catchment deliv­ ery and drainage mech­an­isms (Pressouyre and Benoît 1996). The well-known plan of the mid twelfth-century water-distribution system at Canterbury illustrates the scale and complexity of hy­draul­ic arrangements within a large precinct, but the works of engineering by which water might be delivered to such systems were more impressive still. Separate provision for domestic uses and for flushing drains or industrial pro­ cesses required water to be de­livered by aqueduct or pipe over considerable distances. At Melrose, a weir was constructed on the River Tweed 0.5 km west of the precinct, from which a lade brought water to power the mill and flush tanneries, with second­ ary channels cleansing the monastic latrines, before discharging into the river over

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428   Richard Oram 2 km downstream of the weir (Fawcett and Oram 2004: 69–72). A similar scale of operation can be seen at Rievaulx, but there not only was the mill-driving and latrineflushing supply delivered by a lade diverted from the River Rye, the river was itself diverted into a new channel several hundred metres south and west of its old course to permit the enlargement of the monastic precinct. Remarkable ingenuity was deployed at Obazine, where water reached the precinct via channels partly cut into and partly cantilevered out from the cliff face overlooking the abbey (Barrière 1996). Such op­er­ ations transported water on a scale that transformed surrounding landscapes, as seen strikingly in Yorkshire, where the Cistercians of Byland and the Augustinians of Newburgh collaborated to remodel local stream and river catchments to deliver re­li­ able supplies to their precincts as well as to extend their usable land resources through drainage (Jecock et al. 2011: 46–59 and 78–84). Cistercians rightly have acquired a high reputation for the scale and sophistication of their water-management systems, illustrated in the prodigious canal engineering and land drainage schemes at the Danish houses of Øm, Sorø, and Ryd (McGuire  1982: 103–104). In Friesland, drainage of coastal wetland has been seen traditionally as Cistercian-led, but recent research has shown that other orders were equally active reclaimers (Mol 2013). Indeed, some of the largest medieval wetland drainage schemes were the work of Benedictine communities. In England, Benedictine houses drained and brought substantial areas of East Anglian fenland into cultivation or intensive pasture through the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, while in Kent, Christ Church Canterbury drained salt marsh to extend sheep pasture resources. The most ambitious English scheme, however, was Glastonbury’s draining of the Somerset Levels. In both East Anglia and Somerset, the monasteries were located on slight elevations that were literally islands amidst marshes or flood-prone low ground, often where hermits had sought solitude in earlier centuries. From these isolated ‘highland’ bases, the monasteries’ labour force worked outwards, constructing dykes and embankments, digging ditches and canals, and canalizing or diverting rivers (Aston 2000: 136–137). But as with so many aspects of what has been seen traditionally as largely monastic-driven landscape transformation, such drainage and coastal reclamation schemes were also advanced by lay interests. In Flanders, long regarded as a region where monasteries led drainage efforts, it is now widely recognized that monastic proprietors were among several players in a process that was directed principally by the counts of Flanders and their lay tenants (Tys 2013). As with the impact of woodland clearance, the success of such drainage operations as evidence of monastic landscape transformation can also be overstated. There is no ques­ tion of the scale of investment made by the Cistercians of Meaux in the Hull Valley in eastern Yorkshire, where soon after 1160 the monks began drainage of the wetland around their marsh-island monastery (Aston 2000: 137). Increased arable exploitation of the higher ground of the Hull’s catchment, however, led to a heavier sediment load in the river which caused regular blocking of the drains and sluices that the monks had constructed to manage water discharge. Consequently, little of the reclaimed land was capable of intensive exploitation, and substantial improvement for agricultural pur­ poses was not undertaken here until after the Reformation.

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Landscape, Land Use, and the Environment   429

Retrenchment Most programmes of land clearance and drainage in north-western Europe were undertaken during the relatively benign climatic conditions of the Medieval Climate Anomaly, when mean annual temperatures were higher, storminess at a low frequency of incidence, and precipitation generally moderate. That position began to change in the second half of the thirteenth century, and significant episodes of storm surge and coastal flooding occurred from the 1260s onwards around the southern end of the North Sea and along the east coast of the Irish Sea. Upland properties, too, were hard hit, with increased rainfall bringing problems of erosion and waterlogging, while colder winters and delayed springs affected livestock operations. The position wors­ ened in the mid-fourteenth century and deteriorated further in the course of the fif­ teenth century. High summer rainfall and winter snow, low temperatures, and increasing storm frequency contributed to the abandonment of fields once won from coastal and inland wetland and upland areas. Along the North Sea and Atlantic littoral, stronger and more regular seasonal winds brought problems of both erosion of sandy soils and overwhelming of fields by drifting sand to intensively worked coastal proper­ ties along the exposed margins of the North Sea. Increased exposure to inundation through river floods and marine transgression in the 1400s saw Holyrood withdraw from reclaimed estuarine wetland which had been won from the Forth before 1250 (Oram  2013: 372). Similar abandonment occurred on the Cumbrian coast, where Holmcultram’s reclamation efforts stalled in the fourteenth century and then went into decline in the fifteenth. In many areas of the British Isles where monasteries have been associated traditionally with reclamation of coastal marsh, the existing fields stem from a more effective drainage of these flood-prone districts that was achieved only in the post-medieval period. Abandonment of past coastal reclamation efforts was part of wider retrenchment in monastic land management in the later medieval period. Upland landscapes were equally susceptible to the climatic deterioration that affected reclaimed wetlands and monastic management strategies may have exacerbated the situation. Techniques intended to increase the quantity and quality of upland pasture, such as muirburn (where grassland was burned in the spring to stimulate new growth), contributed longer term to acidification of the land, formation of impermeable soil layers which resulted in waterlogging, and a decline in both ecological diversity and general biomass production in what had once been rich pastures (Tipping 2004: 15–17). Adherence to the higher stocking levels that had been carried on pasture before c.1300 added to the problem, with animals accelerating the deterioration of the grassland through over­ grazing, often through breaking down the root mat and starting rapid erosion of hill­ sides, but also through the trampling and ‘pocking’ of saturated ground. As the carrying capacity of pasture declined through the 1300s and 1400s, many monasteries began a long withdrawal from the direct management of large-scale livestock granges. These

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430   Richard Oram granges had already received a severe knock in the 1310s and 1320s from the impact of the European cattle panzootic (Newfield 2009) that had devastated herds and from recurring episodes of sheep scab that had affected flocks. This reduction of exposure in the livestock sector was matched by a reduction of their economic exposure to direct management of arable production. Expansion and intensification of exploitation of the resources available to the monasteries had been buoyed on the back of increasing populations across Europe through the latter stages of the Medieval Climate Anomaly. Potentially high profits from market disposal of surpluses lured monastic estate managers into more inten­ sive exploitation of their landed resources—as granges and directly managed demesne—in the thirteenth century and to accompany lay landholders and their land hungry peasant tenants in their extension deeper and higher into marginal zones. Rapid degradation of the marginal land had long exposed the fallacy in visions of boundless potential paradises in these notional deserts, but the dramatic and sus­ tained decline in annual mean tem­per­at­ures and rise in rainfall experienced through­ out Atlantic Europe from the later 1250s, accompanied by increasingly arid conditions further south, accelerated and exacerbated the degradation and drew a line under such expansionist policies. Demand-led agricultural expansion, however, still underpinned most monastic economies down to the mid-fourteenth century, providing the income which paid for ambitious building programmes undertaken by communities at all levels in the economic spectrum. Sustained demand for grain and wool, in particular, encouraged many monasteries to continue their direct manage­ ment policies on existing properties into the mid-fourteenth century, until the col­ lapse in European population levels caused by the Great Mortality and the subsequent pandemics of the later fourteenth century removed that incentive. Grange agricul­ ture was continued by some orders into the fifteenth century, especially by the Carthusians with their distinctive correrie complexes. In most cases, however, granges were converted into farms worked by dependent peasant or landless, waged labourers, and remained nominally components of monastic estates down to the Reformation. In their mode of exploitation and physical organization, however, there was otherwise little to distinguish a late medieval monastic landscape from that of estates in lay possession.

Future Directions in Research The study of landscapes forms a significant component of research into medieval monasticism. The long-established tradition of text-based analysis, resurgent since the 1970s, has largely targeted the cartularies and account books of individual houses, but it also embraces critiques of chronicles and narrative records, and it continues to pro­ vide  new opportunities to examine monastic property portfolios and the economic regimes based upon them (Harvey 1977; Wardrop 1987). Such studies deliver a better

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Landscape, Land Use, and the Environment   431 ­ nderstanding of the decisions and processes—both internal and external to the monas­ u tic community—which underpinned estate construction and which affected their development and transformation over time. Some notable exceptions apart (Górecki 2007, 2015), these studies have tended to adopt conventional socio-economic methodologies and anthropocentric and teleological approaches. They have, moreover, been dominated by studies of major Benedictine and Cistercian men’s communities. It is essential to continue such work, but its scope must be broadened to include not only other orders—as has begun to happen with the canons regular (Burton and Stöber  2011)—but also smaller, poorer, and female houses. Studies of this kind have begun to expose greater commonalities between orders than the often polarized earlier discussions of Cistercian land-management practice have implied (Ratcliff  2013). Document-based studies, however, must form part of wider interdisciplinary research that draws together historical, archaeological, and environmental records to produce integrated, long-chronology synthetic analyses of the physical forms and environmental impacts of monastic landscape practices (Addison 2006). As the interactions between anthropogenic and wider en­vir­on­men­tal agency become better understood, and critical readings of the medieval discourses on ideal monastic landscapes become more refined, scholars will be able to explore the construction and subsequent mutation of these land­ scapes, both physical and idealized.

Suggested Reading Key scholarship on the monastic landscape commences with works influenced by critiques of the Cistercians’ founding ideals, exemplified by Louis Lekai’s history of the order (Lekai 1977). It was Robert Fossier’s and Constance Berman’s assaults on the trad­ition­al notion of Cistercian estate structures, however, which released a wave of new research (Fossier 1983; Berman 1986), and their work remains essential for any modern critical reading of monastic landscapes. Their influence is best seen in single community studies, as, for example, Piotr Górecki’s analyses of Henryków Abbey in Poland (Górecki 2007, 2015). Other recent advances, however, have been in the areas of archaeological and environmental history, which have moved the debate beyond the polarized, text-based views of ideal monastic landscapes. The works of Mick Aston (2000) and James Bond (2004) are accessible archaeological studies, more popular in style than academic. In a key strategy paper, Roberta Gilchrist reviews past scholarship and proposes future research priorities (Gilchrist 2014). Her primary focus, however, remains the built environment of the precinct. A wider analysis of landscape and environment, especially of the shifting interactions between human and natural agency, is absent. Work on climate change seems at present to come in the form of short studies (e.g. Addison 2006). A com­ prehensive study of the environmental transformation of medieval monastic land­ scapes remains to be written.

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432   Richard Oram

Bibliography Primary Sources: Texts and Translations Butler, C. M. and J. H. Bernard (eds) (1918). The Charters of the Cistercian Abbey of Duiske in the County of Kilkenny. Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy 35. Dublin: Hodges, Figgis. Conrad of Eberbach (1994). Exordium Magnum Cisterciense sive Narratio de Initio Cisterciensis Ordinis, edited by B. Griesser. CCCM 138. Turnhout: Brepols. Easson, D. E. (ed.) (1947). Charters of the Abbey of Coupar Angus. Edinburgh: Scottish History Society. Geoffrey Grossus (2009). The Life of Blessed Bernard of Tiron, translated by R. Harwood Cline. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Gilbert, J.  T. (ed.) (1884). Chartularies of St. Mary’s Abbey, Dublin: With the Register of Its House at Dunbrody, and Annals of Ireland. 2 vols. London: Rolls Series. Górecki, P. (ed.) (2007). A Local Society in Transition: The Henryków Book and Related Documents. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Medieval Studies. Innes, Cosmo (ed.) (1846). Liber S Marie de Calchou: Registrum Cartarum Abbacie Tironensis de Kelso, 113–1567. 2 vols. Edinburgh: Bannatyne Club. Online at https://catalog.hathitrust​ .org/Record/100584513 Innes, Cosmo (ed.) (1842). Registrum de Dunfermelyn: Liber Cartarum Abbatie Benedictine S.S. Trinitatis et B. Margarete Regine de Dunfermelyn. Edinburgh: Bannatyne Club. Online at https://archive.org/details/registrumdedunfe00bann Innes, Cosmo (ed.) (1832). Registrum Monasterii de Passelet. Edinburgh: Maitland Club. Online at https://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/012239461 Matarasso, P. (ed. and trans.) (1993). The Cistercian World: Monastic Writings of the Twelfth Century. London: Penguin. Rogers, C. (ed.) (1879–1880). Rental Book of the Cistercian Abbey of Cupar-Angus. 2 vols. London: Grampian Club. Stenton, F.  M. (ed.) (1930). Facsimiles of Early Charters from Northamptonshire Collections. Lincoln and London: Northamptonshire Record Society. Walter Map (1983). Walter Map,‘De Nugis Curialium’: Courtiers’ Trifles, edited and translated by M. R. James; revised by C. N. L. Brooke and R. A. B. Mynors. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

Secondary Sources Addison, K. (2006). ‘Changing Places: The Cistercian Settlement and Rapid Climate Change in Britain’. In A Place to Believe In: Locating Medieval Landscapes, edited by C. A. Lees and G. R. Overing, 211–238. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Aston, M. (2000). Monasteries in the Landscape, 2nd edn. Stroud: Tempus. Barrière, B. (1996). ‘Les Cisterciens d’Obazine en Bas Limousin (Corrèze, France): les trans­ formations du milieu naturel’. In L’Hydraulique Monastique, edited by L.  Pressouyre and P. Benoît, 13–33. Grâne: Éditions Créaphis. Bartlett, R. (1993). The Making of Europe: Conquest, Colonisation, and Cultural Change, 950–1350. London: Penguin. Berman, C. (1986). Medieval Agriculture, the Southern French Countryside, and the Early Cistercians. A Study of Forty-three Monasteries. Philadelphia, PA: Transactions of the American Philosophical Society.

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Landscape, Land Use, and the Environment   433 Bond, J. (2004). Monastic Landscapes. Stroud: Tempus. Burton, J. and K. Stöber (eds) (2011). The Regular Canons in the Medieval British Isles. Turnhout: Brepols. Ditchburn, D. (2001). Scotland and Europe: The Medieval Kingdom and its Contacts with Christendom, c.1214–1545. East Linton: Tuckwell Press. Duncan, A. A. M. (1975). Scotland: The Making of the Kingdom. Edinburgh: Mercat Press. Fawcett, R. and R. Oram (2004). Melrose Abbey. Stroud: Tempus. Fossier, R. (1983). ‘L’économie cistercienne dans les plaines du nord-ouest de l’Europe’. In L’économie cistercienne: Géographie—Mutations du Moyen Âge aux Temps modernes, 53–74. Flaran 3. Auch: Comité départemental du tourisme du Gers. Gilchrist, R. (2014). ‘Monastic and Church Archaeology’. Annual Review of Anthropology 43: 235–250. Górecki, P. (2015). The Text and the World: The Henryków Book, Its Authors, and their Region, 1160–1310. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Harvey, B. F. (1977). Westminster Abbey and its Estates in the Middle Ages. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Jecock, M. et al. (2011). Byland Abbey, Ryedale, North Yorkshire. Archaeological Survey and Investigation of Part of the Precinct and Extra-Mural Area. Portsmouth: English Heritage. Kershaw, I. (1973). Bolton Priory: The Economy of a Northern Monastery, 1286–1325. London: Oxford University Press. Lawrence, C. H. (2015). Medieval Monasticism, 4th rev. edn. London: Routledge. Lekai, L. J. (1977). The Cistercians: Ideals and Reality. Kent, OH: Kent State University Press. McGuire, B.  P. (1982). The Cistercians in Denmark: Their Attitudes, Roles, and Functions in Medieval Society. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Milis, L. J. R. (1992). Angelic Monks and Earthly Men. Woodbridge: Boydell Press. Mol, J.  A. (2013). ‘Monasteries and Water Management in the Frisian Coastal Plain. The Reconstruction of Landed Property as a Trigger for New Research on the Chronology of Embankment and Drainage’. In Landscapes or Seascapes? The History of the Coastal Environment in the North Sea Area Reconsidered, edited by E. Thoen et al., 267–285. Turnhout: Brepols. Newfield, T. (2009). ‘A Cattle Panzootic in Early Fourteenth-century Europe’. Agricultural History Review 57. 2: 155–190. Oram, R. D. (2013). ‘Estuarine Environments and Resource Exploitation in Eastern Scotland c.1125 to c.1400: A Comparative Study of the Forth and Tay Estuaries’. In Landscapes or Seascapes? The History of the Coastal Environment in the North Sea Area Reconsidered, edited by E. Thoen et al., 353–377. Turnhout: Brepols. Oram, R.  D. (2012). ‘Cambuskenneth Abbey and its Estate: Lands, Resources and Rights’. Forth Naturalist and Historian 35: 99–112. Oram, R.  D. (2011). Domination and Lordship: Scotland, 1070–1230. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Poole, A.  L. (1955). From Domesday Book to Magna Carta, 1087–1216, 2nd edn. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Pressouyre, L. and P. Benoît (eds) (1996). L’Hydraulique Monastique: Milieux, Réseaux, Usages. Grâne: Éditions Créaphis. Ratcliff, G. B. (2013). Scottish Augustinians: A Study of the Regular Canonical Movement in the Kingdom of Scotland, c.1120–1215. PhD dissertation, University of Edinburgh. Rippon, S. (2004). ‘Making the Most of a Bad Situation? Glastonbury Abbey, Meare, and the Medieval Exploitation of Wetland Resources in the Somerset Levels’. Medieval Archaeology 48: 91–130.

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434   Richard Oram Termote, J. (1992). ‘Wonen op het duin: de bewoningsgeschiedenis van de westduinen vanaf het Neolithicum tot de Franse Revolutie’. In Tussen Land en Zee: het duingebied van Nieuwpoort tot De Panne, edited by R. Billiau, et al., 46–87. Tielt, Belgium: Lannoo. Thoen, E. et al. (eds) (2013). Landscapes or Seascapes? The History of the Coastal Environment in the North Sea Area Reconsidered. Turnhout: Brepols. Tipping, R. (2004). ‘Palaeoecology and Political History: Evaluating Driving Forces in Historic Landscape Change in Southern Scotland’. In Society, Landscape and Environment in Upland Britain, edited by I. D. Whyte and A. J. L. Winchester, 11–20. [Great Britain]: Society for Landscape Studies. Tys, D. (2013). ‘The Medieval Embankment of Coastal Flanders in Context’. In Landscapes or Seascapes? The History of the Coastal Environment in the North Sea Area Reconsidered, edited by E. Thoen et al., 199–239. Turnhout: Brepols. Wardrop, J. (1987). Fountains Abbey and its Benefactors, 1132–1300. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications.

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pa rt I V

EU ROPE A N D T H E W I DE R WOR L D : F ROM T H E E A R LY MODE R N E R A TO T H E T W E N T Y-F I R ST C E N T U RY

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chapter 27

The Dissolu tion of the Monaster ie s England, Ireland, Scotland, and Wales James G. Clark

For the peoples of Britain the dissolution of monasteries was the principal scene of the century-long Reformation drama. It was in the places and personnel of their monastic communities that the meaning of change in religion, and its confessional, cultural, social, and political implications were first and most clearly focused. The discontinuities intended by the Tudor regime were visible immediately—and in many regions, only—in the monastic landscape. The disturbance of the social community was demonstrable only in the vicinity of their precincts: not only in England but also in Ireland and Scotland, the only significant armed aggression of the early Reformation ran from or to the gates of a monastery. The first efforts at a history of reformations in Europe fixed the fate of the monasteries as the conspicuous marker of a transformation whose reach and real significance was still only dimly understood. The enduring status of dissolution as an unequivocal turning point has curtailed crit­ ic­al discussion for generations. It remains the most neglected and least understood episode in almost a millennium of monastic history in the British Isles, conveying a profound irony that the departure of monastic religion should be shrouded in greater obscurity than its arrival. In fact, a history of the dissolution in the British kingdoms and dominions is hampered by the very nature of the process. In England and Wales its speed was startling: it was perhaps the greatest achievement of the Henrician revolution in government that the suppression of more than 650 foundations and secularization of perhaps ten to twelve thousand personnel was accomplished in four years: in Lutheran Saxony it was the work of a generation. The destructive force of an undertaking carried out on such a scale and at such a pace should not be underestimated, not only in respect of the ruin of buildings and archives, but also the failure of the state to retain a reliable record of its

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438   James G. Clark doings. By contrast, the nature of dissolution in Ireland and Scotland was gradual, ­generational; even the few monasteries within the Pale properly subject to the authority of an English commissioner (or juror) did not pass through a straightforward process of closure. Their steady attrition and (re)assimilation into sparsely populated, rural so­ci­ eties, however, has left no better records; not only do we not know when certain monasteries ceased to be but sometimes whether they were ever there at all. Yet these slightest of sources have also witnessed the most new growth. The re­organ­ iza­tion of both national and regional archives, which in the case of the latter has meant the cataloguing of some collections for the first time, has brought unknown (or at least long forgotten) monastic records of the dissolution era into focus.1 Fresh interpretations of existing archaeological remains, and some notable discoveries, have urged a reconsideration of the condition of monasteries at the point of their closure and the precise course that it took (Morris 2011; Gaimster and Gilchrist 2003: 221–298). A greater awareness of the passing of monastic religion across the European mainland, perhaps the one shared experience of a continental Reformation, has also brought a sense of perspective to what was for too long regarded in wholly insular terms.

Monastic Britain at the Dissolution The experience of dissolution was as diverse as were Europe’s monastic societies themselves. Nowhere was this more conspicuous than in the British Isles. The principal trends in the monasticisation of Christendom were each represented in its kingdoms. Monastic England and Anglo-Wales were dominated by unreformed Benedictines whose antiquity, privilege, and patrimony invested them with a national prestige and local influence quite unlike any other institution of the secular Church. The regular ­canons rivalled them in the number of their houses and their geographical reach, but not in their population or their proprietorial presence. Reformed monasticism had been held largely under rural horizons; latterly it was an urban enterprise centred on the capital city. The monastic landscape of Welsh Wales was moulded by Cistercian abbeys, which wielded an influence, political and economic as much as spiritual and cultural, greater than any in England (Williams 2001). Ireland’s monastic profile was shaped by the mission of Malachy of Armagh (d. 1148), and what material and numerical strength it could claim by the sixteenth century was in the orders of the Gregorian reform, the Cistercians, and the Regular Canons. Scottish monasticism had been touched by the Norman and the Gregorian reforms, but it was also the only British kingdom to see a creeping secularization of monastic foundations that was widespread in late medieval Europe. Scotland’s pre-Reformation monarchy strengthened its ‘Auld Alliance’ with France, and with it came an alignment of the monastic estate.

1  See

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The Dissolution of the Monasteries   439 The structural differences of these four monastic societies did much to determine their experience of dissolution. Yet it was also shaped by one key aspect of their condition common to all: there was none of these constituencies which could be claimed to have entered the era after 1517 on the point of collapse. The venerable Benedictine abbeys and priories of England, Wales, Borders and Lowland Scotland were the notable victors of Britain’s post-Black Death economy. The principal Cistercian convents in England and Welsh Wales were comfortable and, although not so well documented, there is no sign of chronic decline in the network of canons. The splendour of their Tudor fabric, such as the new Lady Chapel at Westminster, the tower at Fountains, and the gatehouse at Thornton (Lincolnshire) reflect a rising confidence. Scotland’s monasteries also seemed secure. Secular commendators robbed them of control of their income, but not of their livelihood itself (Dilworth 1995: 42–48). Ireland was different, undoubtedly. The unstinting demands of the Crown, and its magnate allies and enemies had damaged the material condition and diminished the independence of the monastic network. Yet while some convents were semi-secular or stood almost empty (Athassel, Rosscarbery), others still prospered, presiding over many thousands of acres (Fore) (Bradshaw 1974: 22–23; Gwynn and Hadcock 1970: 106–107; Ó Clabaigh 2005: 100–104). The social and cultural power of this monasticism also seemed resilient. For better or worse, monasteries were embedded in their provincial societies, and had achieved not only an accommodation with secular elites but a seigniorial and economic compact. Their cultural leadership was not as limited by the vigour of secular, urban, and ver­ nacu­lar culture as is sometimes suggested, and in rural Ireland, Scotland, and Wales, and in England, they were still a focus for schooling and scholarly exchange (Dilworth 1995: 67–68; Murray 2009: 67; Orme 2006: 255–287). A measure of their continuing cultural value was a marked recovery in recruitment in England and, more patchily, in Scotland (Knowles 1959: 49, 67, 70; Holmes 2007: 48). There was no headlong decline of monasticism in Britain, but it would be wrong to represent its monastic societies as set apart from the forces economic, social, and pol­it­ical, which charged the European mainland at the beginning of the sixteenth century. In fact, in many ways the leaders of Britain’s monasteries were more fully engaged with these developments. In England and Wales, the contraction of the monastic imperium was a reality which their leaders had already accepted. Benedictine and Cistercian su­per­iors already acted on their own initiative to suppress their dependent houses (Heale 2004). They had readily cooperated with the flurry of collegiate foundations carried forward by early Tudor prelates which had required the redeployment of dozens of monastic endowments. To assure the future of the parent house they commuted into cash their outlying holdings in Ireland (Knowles  1959: 157–158; Ó Clabaigh  2005: 92–100). The greater monasteries in Ireland’s cities—Armagh, Dublin—secured themselves at the expense of their wide catchment of churches (Gwynn and Hadcock 1970: 105). Scotland’s reduced monastic constituency during the fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries had reached a settled coexistence with commendators and the closer oversight of the Stewart crown. In some respects their reconciliation with a changing world raised their public status. Under Henry VIII, Benedictine abbots aimed at diocesan leadership, 150 years after the

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440   James G. Clark last monastic primate in England. In England and Scotland they were a greater presence in parliament and even counselled the monarch and his ministers (Carleton 2001: 71–73; Goodare 2003). Ireland’s greater Cistercian and Canon houses commanded significant public authority, and as such they were a frontier in the struggle for power in the Pale during the Kildare rebellion of 1534–1535 (Bradshaw 1974: 42).

The Causes and Courses of Dissolution in Britain In each of the four monastic societies, however, decisive and enduring change was introduced by external forces. When it began in Britain, the closure of monasteries and the reassimilation of their people and property was already an established measure of public policy. The first suppression of a monastery in Henrician England that was not part of the pattern of redeployment, the Augustinian priory of Holy Trinity, Aldgate, took place in 1532 when a new template was already presented in mainland Europe. Monks and mendicants had been turned from their convents in Denmark and Sweden nearly five years before, and Landgrave Philip the Magnanimous of Hesse (1519–1567) had effected the systematic extinction of the entire monastic estate. These interventions in turn took their inspiration from Luther’s Saxony, where the monasteries that survived the Peasant uprisings of 1525 had been secularized (Scott-Dixon 2002: 155–158, 160). In these years, the English Crown had determined to play the role of bulwark against Reformation; even as policy shifted as the divorce crisis deepened, and turned decisively after the formal rejection of the papal supremacy, there is no evidence to suggest that either the king, or his principal minister, Thomas Cromwell, regarded the programmes of the Protestant princes as a blueprint. Nonetheless, there is every likelihood that there was a ready awareness of the process and machinery which had secured the Saxon, Scandinavian, and Hessian suppressions. Cromwell through his agents corresponded with well-placed witnesses to these spectacles, including Philip Melancthon (Brewer et al. 1862–1932: 9, 281, 294, 299, 300, 545–546; 12/1, 541). The king himself was so confident in his scheme that he proffered unsolicited advice to his Stewart nephew (Scarisbrick 1968: 427). It is a tempting counterfactual to question whether suppression in England and its dominions and, later, in Scotland may have taken a different course had it not been for the precedent of Protestant Europe. The legislative assault in both kingdoms advanced in much the same way as it had in Scandinavia and Hesse, the English and Scots governments pursuing the same sequence of objectives, to investigate the state of the regulars, to limit, then to extinguish their independence, to sequester their primary resources, and to compel their members to secularize. Whether or not Europe’s precedents pressed upon them, the English undertaking to employ parliamentary statute as the principal instrument represented a new departure. Earlier impulses to intervene in the governance of monasteries had been

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The Dissolution of the Monasteries   441 channelled into clumsy and generally unsuccessful attempts to direct the orders’ own governing authorities. Scarcely more than a dozen years before the Henrician Act of Supremacy (1534), Cardinal Wolsey had failed to force the Benedictine Chapter to reform (Pantin 1931–1937: 3. 117, 124). In this respect the English experience contrasted with its mainland neighbours: Philip of Hesse’s use of state machinery to act against the monasteries continued a pattern which had been established by his father, when the aim had been reform, not Reformation (Cahill 2001). The break with the past was not as stark in Scotland, since its parliament had already shown an inclination to pursue reform by statute, although this hardly assisted the legislation of 1560, which seemed insecure even before Queen Mary’s return. Although a new statutory framework was constructed for action against the monasteries (1534–1536), to put into effect (first) their subjection and (subsequently) their suppression, both governments to a great extent relied upon the customary instruments of the orders themselves. In England, to implement the supremacy, the Crown’s agents relied on the authority of the superior to act for the corporate body of the monastery, enabling individual evasions. In Ireland, the local status of some su­per­iors ensured at least the short-term survival of their monastery (Bradshaw 1974: 124). The principle of the royal visitation of 1535 was founded on the Supremacy, and its scope, encompassing all perpetual foundations, regular and secular, was unprecedented, but in effect it followed established monastic practice, and it was surely the fact that custom—the chapter meeting, the individual interview, the collective injunction—was closely adhered to that did much to secure the cooperation of convents. In fact, from their recorded responses, it would seem the inviolable nature of the visitation injunction weighed above the obvious discomfort of some of their more novel demands. In England, Wales, and Ireland the Crown continued to use the corporate authority of the monasteries to the end: the terminal grants of properties, privileges, and rights were made under the conventual seal, the final endorsement of which was the superior and convent extinguishing itself in a formal ceremony in chapter. In the first reforming states of the European mainland, legislative instruments were used in conjunction with the machinery and resources of provincial governors. There was no such partnership in England and its dominions, or Scotland. The civic elites of provincial England provided sporadic aid to the Crown in the supremacy campaign, the repression of rebellion and, at the last, in the custody of suppressed houses (Brewer et al. 1862–1932: 13/1, 1432, 1456; 14/1, 1458; 15, 19, 36). Generally, however, they were not governing bodies mature enough either to ensure enforcement or to mobilize opposition. To a greater degree than their European neighbours, both the English and Scottish governments advanced their objectives in the face of an uncertain seigniorial response. Before the last of the suppressions at least, in England there was no focused, factional opposition and the Crown engaged in piecemeal negotiation. Generally, English magnates remained neutral on the principle of suppression but also patently partisan on its material consequences. The necessity of continuing this negotiation shaped the course of the suppression in both kingdoms and in many respects defined

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442   James G. Clark its consequences. Where support for the English Crown was weak in Wales, the Pale of Ireland, or non-existent among the Irish lordships, the effect was to limit the extent of the change, if not in religion then in its associated proprietorial arrangements. Where the politics of dissolution differed from Europe’s reforming states perhaps above all was in the absence, at the apex of the state and in the centre of government, of a principled, indeed ideological opposition to monasticism. Henry VIII’s confessional convictions continue to be debated, but it cannot be disputed that he had little sympathy either for the institution of monasticism or for its individual representatives. However, Henry was no convert of the kind that were his predecessors in dissolution, Christian IV of Denmark, Gustav of Sweden, Frederick of Saxony, or Philip of Hesse. He took a personal interest in the enforcement of the supremacy among the regulars, and in sequestration of their buildings, their treasures, and their properties, but there is no trace of his watch over the injunctions of 1535, or the secularizing of individual religious. An attachment to the idea of intercession lingered enough in 1537 for him to authorize the refoundation of the Augustinian house at Bisham (Buckinghamshire) to assuage his loss of Jane Seymour (Knowles 1959: 350, 357). Arguably, James V of Scotland governed with a greater detachment from the accustomed interests of the institutional Church, although his personal affiliation to regular (particularly mendicant) religion appears to have been more sustained and sincere (Ryrie 2006: 40–41). Under Henry there was no antimonastic—or pro-reform—lobby in the king’s council, nor was there any trace of such in parliament. Between 1534 and 1538 his government was charged by a reforming fervour originating with Cromwell but transmitted through his network of agents implementing policy in the provinces. The anger of these men at the very idea of monasticism was stirred repeatedly in the course of their mission, but it rarely erupted in direct action and never sparked a popular disturbance of the kind seen in mainland Europe. There were spor­ad­ic attacks on monasteries in Ireland when the Crown’s agents sought to implement suppression, but here it was an extension of the seigniorial violence that was never far from the surface (Gwynn and Hadcock 1970: 124, 133, 141). In Scotland those sympathetic to reform can be identified in the counsels of the king, in parliament, and among the magnates, but even under the mounting pressure of crossborder propaganda after James’ death, it could be clearly pinpointed only on a local canvas: St Andrew’s emerged as something of a Protestant enclave but not one capable of mobilizing a wider revolt (Dilworth 1995: 81). The fleeting prospect of rapid reform in 1543 roused antimonastic violence at Aberdeen, Arbroath, Dundee (Lindores), and Perth, although the scenes and the targets suggest burgeoning urban ambition was as powerful an impulse as confessional faith. It returned even more briefly in 1559–1560, and again it was the urban presence of the mendicants which was the main source of complaint (Ryrie 2006: 65–66, 73, 156–66; Foggie 2003: 229). The effect of a climate quite distinct from the Protestant mainland determined the character and the course of dissolution in both kingdoms. In England, Wales, and Ireland, it was the governing vision of the supremacy which urged the pace both of the preliminary steps, the commissions, the statutory instruments, and the final sequence of closures. Where a priority was attached to obedience, not conversion, there was no

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The Dissolution of the Monasteries   443 scope for the gradualism that marked the Lutheran states, where convents, while closed to new entrants, were given time to secularize (Scott-Dixon 2002: 160). It was the assault on the lordship of the monasteries, and their material strength, and not any iconoclastic impulse, elite or popular, which accelerated the destruction of their fabric. As case studies have suggested, if not always subscribing to the policies of the Crown, regional ­communities showed a parallel commitment to the rebalancing of authority under their own horizons (Shagan 2003: 162–196). In Scotland, the absence of any ideological ascendency arrested change. In fact, as true radicals were few and, St Andrew’s notwithstanding, never concentrated, even in the volatile years of the regency, it was the voices of conservatism which were raised more distinctly and with greater effect. Between 1543 and 1560, the provincial councils of the Kirk issued injunctions intended to renew Observant monasticism (Ryrie 2006: 97–98). While they did not secure it against the suppressions initiated in 1560, it may be a measure of their impact that institutional life was sufficiently rooted for some to survive to the end of the 1560s and even beyond (Dilworth 2010: esp. 55–75, 105–113). Where there was confessional fervour in the British Isles, it was for traditional religion and for the time-honoured functions of the monasteries and their personnel. Discussion of the rapid and effective development of the Tudor government machine has somewhat skewed our understanding of the resistance that arose. The Crown was never vulnerable in these years, but the opposition to its objectives was no less real. The popular view of monasteries as ‘beauties of this realm’ may have been seized opportunistically by the leaders of the Pilgrimage of Grace to lend a cloak of unity to their cause, but this cannot contradict the fact that they were a source and stimulus of direct action (Hoyle 2001: 47–49). The Pilgrimage was the only sustained opposition witnessed before England’s dissolution was over, but briefer outbursts of direct action occurred at regular intervals and were threatened more frequently; more significantly perhaps, a degree of local disturbance did not easily subside: there was still lively talk of a Dissolution rebellion in the summer after the last of the suppressions in 1540, and it is clear in the testimony of the 1549 rebels that there was a living link between past and present grievances (Wood 2007: 31–32, 60–61, 94). In Ireland, as during the Pilgrimage of Grace in England, the monasteries were appropriated as an arena for challenges to advancing authority of the English state, but in some of the most violent episodes—such as the torching of Ballyboggan and its iconic crucifix in 1538—there seems little doubt that there was a confessional dimension on both sides (Scott 2006: 35). Arguably as important as direct action in defence of monasticism were the currents of counter-reform, stronger in Britain at the opening of the Dissolution era than has been recognized, and sustained for longer, even in Henrician England. Although the monastic congregations in England never adopted a common reform comparable to the European unions, by 1534 among the principal orders there were monastic prelates—superiors and those promoted to sees—and scholars who subscribed to an Observant, pastoral, and learned programme which might make for a new role within the English Church (Clark 2011: 319, 322; Erler 2013: 126–143 at 126). A trace of their vision may be seen in their responses to the first salvos in the Crown’s assault; some articulated it more precisely in their final efforts to stay the suppression (Knowles 1959: 341). The comparative weakness of the

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444   James G. Clark congregations’ governing chapters in England prevented these views being transposed into corporate action, but in Ireland and in Scotland there was greater central direction. Perhaps the most effective collective action was taken not by the monastic orders but by their mendicant colleagues, whose sustained preaching campaigns appear to have roused pro-monastic feeling almost where there was none (Ryrie 2006: 18). In Ireland, as may be expected, it was most successful on the fringes of English authority, although again the friars outperformed their claustral colleagues (Bradshaw 1974: 94–95, 207–211). In Scotland, however, it does appear to have passed into the public sphere and the proceedings of the Kirk’s provincial councils. The monks did make their contribution in Scotland especially, where, just at the moment of the regency’s gestures at evangelical change, model convents of m ­ odish reform—Kinloss, St Andrew’s—were celebrated by Catholic reformers. As the ­canons of the provincial councils appeared to promise a new departure for reformed monasticism, in 1558 Abbot Quintin Kennedy of Crossraguel was moved to publish his Compendious tractive, a defence of the Roman Church (Dilworth 1995: 79–80; 2010: 55–56; Donaldson 1960: 45; Ryrie 2006: 12–13, 100–105). On the eve of its parliamentary reformation, there was every indication that monastic society was well prepared for confrontation, if not openly combative. It was the perceived strength of these counter currents that caused the governments in England and Ireland, and in Scotland, to reinforce their measures with summary just­ ice. Their use of such machinery again set them apart from the prince-converts of Germany and Scandinavia. While it might be objected that in Saxony, certainly, and to a lesser extent in neighbouring regions pursing reform, princely authority presided as the monastic order suffered violent repression, such an assault was never made a policy of the state. In England, the resort to summary justice was apparent from the first efforts to enforce the royal supremacy in 1534 to the final moments of dissolution six years later. Of course, the radicalism of this repression should not be overstated, since the Crown had applied justice of this kind to prelates and their clergy in earlier generations whenever its authority was threatened. Yet there can be no doubt that the prospect of statutory punishment infected the climate of the houses confronting the supremacy, the visitation, and the pressure for surrender or suppression, and influenced their action. The repressive force of royal authority was no less apparent in Ireland, where the early execution of John Travers, Augustinian Chancellor of St Patrick’s Cathedral, Dublin, presents a contrast with the prevarication over the punishment of the London Carthusians (Gwynn and Hadcock 1970: 129, 160; Murray 2009: 89). In Scotland, the only instances of summary justice were at a local level, although for the fortunes of the monasteries they were no less impactful than the public spectacles in England. The citizens of Perth ‘punished’ their resident religious as representatives of the ‘foreign’ faith of the regent Guise (Ryrie 2006: 161–162). Even the violence of statutory justice could not deliver a definitive end to the struggle over monasteries. In Ireland and Scotland no definitive end to the monastic presence was ever achieved. In England and Wales there are also signs that it was a more gradual, organic transformation than the spectacle of the Tudor state would suggest. Here too the experience of change in Britain contrasted with much of the reformed mainland.

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The Dissolution of the Monasteries   445 In England, Wales, and Ireland there was, as in so many fields of Henrician policy, a gulf between conception and execution. The Act of Supremacy adeptly articulated a new dispensation for the regular and secular Church, but its full realization required a level of inviolable royal authority quite beyond the machinery available to the Crown and its ­officers. In England from the first steps in the enforcement of the supremacy, to the Valor survey, the visitation, the suppressions under the act of 1536, and the assault on the remaining houses thereafter, the government confronted not only conspicuous resistance, but vary­ing degrees of interference which reflected the wide variety of authorities, affinities, and jurisdictions still coexistent with its own. In the absence of a regional network of royal appointees, success depended on Cromwell’s personal network of agents—zealous for decisive change, but as such generally unpopular—as well as the still immature structures of civic government, and regional magnates whose levels of self-interest never wavered; the general circumvention of diocesan authority also invited interference. The first effect was often to arrest, sometimes even to reverse, the enforcement of the king’s will. In York, the pique of the overlooked metropolitan redoubled the resistance of regulars; in Dublin the struggle between Archbishop Browne and Lord Deputy Grey saw masses continue at St Mary’s (Brewer et al. 1862–1932: 9, 158, 1005; Murray 2009: 109). What followed was the weakening, if not unravelling, of the process of dissolution itself: partial and poor preparation for the suppression of a house, misinformation regarding property and personnel; the disappearance of both before royal agents could account for them, resulting in degrees of chaos on the day of surrender and costly losses to the Crown in the long term. Above all, acts conceived as an emphatic statement of an im­per­ ial monarchy too often reflected its limits, as local society demonstrated the effective agency of its own barons, and even the capacity of individuals to prosper in covert schemes of their own. Repeatedly in Ireland, suppression showed how far local lordship might carry where the writ of the Lord Deputy had failed (Gwynn and Hadcock 1970: 126; Ó Clabaigh 2005: 102, 119). It is true that the efforts of the suppression agents in Wales were underpinned by the formal Union of 1536, yet the advance of English government in the principality also offers a yardstick for the absence of effective authority, and a governing strategy, in Ireland (Bradshaw 1974: 178–180). Beyond the colonial centres, it could not even be said that the dissolution of monastic religion became a matter for local lordship, as nothing so uniform followed. Rather, the religious houses were recast by the local political, economic, social, and confessional forces prevailing in their immediate environs unaffected by the authority of a distant monarch. The weakness of government authority in Scotland limited not only the execution of a suppression policy, but also its design. Even at the moment of its greatest confidence as a reforming regime in 1560, the aim was not to match the revolutionary ambitions of the Henrician era, but to achieve a negotiated settlement, which curtailed the material resources and jurisdictional reach of the remaining monastic communities, but stopped short of their extinction. Even in the parliament of 1563, there were still four monastic superiors among the presiding prelates. Such tentative steps were enough to ensure the continuation of some even before the cause of reform itself was eclipsed by the Marian revival in 1567 (Goodare 2003: 385).

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446   James G. Clark

The Impact of Dissolution The dissolution of monasteries in Britain exposes the fault lines in its governing regimes, arising as much from the seigniorial struggles of the past as from the present confessional conflict, yet they do not diminish its impact. In respect of its human effects, the pursuit of suppression in England, Wales, and (even) Ireland brought about a displacement of people and livelihood that was more intense than in any region of the European mainland. Provincial society in England and Wales had not witnessed such human traffic since the Norman Conquest; for Anglo-Ireland not since its own conquest; for the clergy in the English dominions neither of these conquests had carried with them such sudden change. There was no precedent for the coerced secularization of professed men. Uniquely, members of the greater abbeys and priories were assigned royal pensions, graduated according to rank and years in religion (although for Ireland the rates uniformly fell below the English levels). An adroitly reformist measure, sealing the recipient’s secular identity, their rate, if not always their administration, certainly eased the passage of the pensioned out of the precincts. Their return to the world may have been assisted by a dearth of secular priests at the end of the 1530s and by the persistence (until 1547–1549) of chantry religion. The profile of the secular priesthood in mid-Tudor England was mixed, but relatively few of the ex-religious could be said to have been truly poor. In fact their presence and profile in the first years of the Reformation Church has been underestimated. In England they filled the new, and renewed, cathedral chapters, and the sees that the chapters served (Knowles 1959: 389–392, 409–412). In Scotland, it was regular scholars who raised the educational foundations of the new church at Edinburgh (Robert Reid) and St Andrew’s (Robert Richardson). It was once-professed men there that were early exiles for their reformed faith (Dilworth 1994: 166–168). Although in the absence of systematic records, comparisons are perilous, the impression is that England’s monasteries were more densely populated than in many regions of Europe. They sustained an extended community of employees whose numbers in ratio to the professed may have been as high as 1:3. The removal and reassimilation (or failure to do so) of these populations was the effect of dissolution in the Tudor domain that touched the greatest number of the king’s subjects. The Scots’ experience may have differed significantly, at least outside its urban centres: in the heartland of the old abbeys and their satellite estates, it may have been more than a generation or two since commendam grants had robbed the personnel of much of their regular identity. The human face of the Tudor Church changed suddenly, but its physical environment did not. Later generations remembered the dissolution as a destructive force, certainly, but in doing so they conflated the transformations of two generations. Those that witnessed it may have been struck more by the fact that, in spite of the suppression, the buildings of the monastery, churches, and conventual spaces remained a presence in their lives. In rural England and Wales the removal of Observant religious only extended a space for worship which had long been shared; even among the refined parish iden­ tities of cities and towns, monastic churches did not immediately recede, although some,

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The Dissolution of the Monasteries   447 certainly, were soon turned over to secular use (Gaimster and Gilchrist  2003: ­221–289). Overall, a case may be made for an attachment to the material traces of monastic religion which Henry’s subjects carried with them into the reformed era. Such an outlook set them apart from their Protestant neighbours. The greater presence of evangelicals in Scotland likewise may explain the earlier and sharper discontinuities, although there was still a marked difference between the urban environment and the rural provinces, where demonasticization was made real only by the passing of the generations. The continuities surrounding the British dissolutions are strengthened by the absence of any sustained scheme for educational or social reform. The prospect of reformation had stimulated the same public discourse as elsewhere, but it had not been transposed into action as the suppressions advanced. Ironically, the opportunity for measures of reform had proved an early and enduring point of contact between the regulars and those guiding their governments’ policies. In England as late as 1538, superiors of the greater abbeys proposed to reform them as college foundations (Knowles 1959: 357). Their hopes may have been encouraged by no less a figure than the vice-gerent, Cromwell, whose papers are filled with half-formed plans for institutional change. The Crown’s representatives in Ireland likewise voiced an interest in such schemes (Murray 2009: 67). The renewal of war, and of the king’s conservatism at the turn of the decade, as well as Cromwell’s fall, stifled these plans. Although some school foundations surfaced in Edwardian England, root-and-branch reform of schools, universities, and hospitals was not given the attention of other reforming governments; advances in the Irish and Welsh dominions were greater (Bradshaw 1974: 223–225; Williams 1997: 299). The new commonwealth imagined by the humanists was not suddenly conjured from the proceeds of dissolved monasteries. It is the absence of a new dispensation for education, social welfare, and worship in the English domain, or in Scotland, which must explain the pervasive survivalism apparent in the old monastic centres. Recent searches among the archival fragments have found former communities cleaving together after their closure through cor­res­ pond­ence and even cohabitation, continuing for nearly forty years in the case of Monk Bretton (Yorkshire) (Cross 1990; McShane 2017). It has often been observed that of the known monastic populations of England and Wales, and Scotland, hardly any held to their original vows and went into exile. The prospect of joining a foreign monastic society, already disturbed by Reformation, was surely a powerful deterrent, quite apart from the scrutiny of a government with a proven record of aggression. Yet there may have been a positive compulsion to remain, as old monastic ties appeared to prosper in the provinces, even under Edward. The Marian regime’s guarded support for a formal res­ tor­ation in 1557 may have seemed too slight—and insecure—a substitute for those who had lived with the traces of their monastic tradition for two decades (Cross 1990; Cross and Vickers 1995: 9–10, 22–29, 143–152, 577–579; Clark 2011: 337–338). In Ireland there were communities, or fragments, of each of the principal orders, which endured, at least in some form of conventual life. The Augustinian canonesses of Grace Dieu (Co. Dublin) continued to live in community at least until 1577 (McShane 2017: 364–370).

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448   James G. Clark There were Cluniacs at Athlone until about 1567; in spite of its institutional secularization, that is the surrender of the corporate rights of the superior and convent, the monastic presence at Cistercian Abington and Holycross (Newry) appears to have continued beyond 1600; the Augustinian presence at Armagh was protected by the ruling O’Neills until the same time (Gwynn and Hadcock 1970: 57, 110, 126, 134; Bradshaw 1974: 176–177; Ó Clabaigh 2005: 119). Here survival stirred revivalism. Irishmen professed in Spain returned intending to re-establish Benedictine convents at Fore and Waterford. Formal claims for restitution were made during the Confederation of Kilkenny in 1646; the last trace of this revived Benedictinism was still visible almost twenty years later (Ó Clabaigh 2005: 120).

Conclusion The British kingdoms did not build reformed churches in the sixteenth century following the blueprint of their Protestant neighbours. Their early experience of Reformation was shaped rather by the ambitions of volatile royal authority, or, in Ireland and Scotland, the seigniorial response to its absence. Just as there was no easy beginning for the confessional communities sought by the reformers, nor was there a definitive detachment from the institutions and identities associated with the Catholic tradition. Monastic institutions were closed in England and Wales, but in Ireland and Scotland they were more commonly changed in nature and not closed. Monastics were secularized, but only in England was it systematic, and it did not follow that they were dispersed. Even in the heartland of Tudor England there is evidence of monastic affinities cultivated almost half a century after the final suppressions occurred. The persistence of monasticism’s social and cultural profile owed much to the continuing presence of its fabric. Monastic Britain was not razed in one, or even two generations. The ‘spoiling’ of abbeys, a motif which in later generations animated even loyal members of the reformed Church, was an index of the enduring imaginative power of the islands’ most ancient Christian tradition.

Future Directions in Research The indisputable fact of the dissolution of Britain’s medieval monastic foundations and, framed by Church reformations, its assumed inevitability, have for generations acted to discourage research. Since it is only in the most recent waves of revisionism that Reformation scholars have returned to the matter of the monasteries, there are still important aspects of the experience in need of further study. The degree of pre-dissolution change, in governance, in the management of properties and income, and internal discipline—in short, the indications of a progressive clericalization, if not outright secu­lar­iza­tion of the monastic milieu—in Wales and (even) England as much as Ireland and Scotland, are yet to be evaluated.

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The Dissolution of the Monasteries   449 The response of England’s, Wales’s, and Scotland’s monasteries to the first phase of reform, and in particular to their initial reconstitution under royal and parliamentary codes, has not been studied in depth. The expressions of interest in cultivating a reformed mode of conventual life that readily acknowledged and even contributed to the new imperatives of government which appear in monastic and mendicant papers after 1529 should be pursued. It may be that the creative engagement with the aspirations of the reformers shown by the rump of Britain’s regulars—beyond the handful of ­con­spicu­ous converts whose transformations are already well-known—has been underestimated; or at least the extent of their resistance against or resignation to their fate has been overblown. It follows from this that there is also a need to trace the effects of the suppressions on attitudes to vocations, vows, and forms of common life for men and women. Evidence of survivalism—former monks and nuns recovering some level of an Observant life, led in common—continues to come to light, and its significance in a British context, and the European parallels, should be addressed. Dissolution did not fossilize ideas of the religious life. The last generation of novices of sixteenth-­century Britain lived (for the most part) to see not only the modes of priesthood promulgated, in England, Wales, and Ireland under Edward, Mary, and Elizabeth, and in Scotland under the authority of Parliament, but also the new orders (clerical and lay) promoted by the Tridentine Counter-Reform. The evolution in thought and practice of the ­professed life from 1535, perhaps to the end of the Jesuits’ English mission, deserves a study of its own. There is much about the material process of suppression, the (re)assimilation or removal of monastic infrastructure—both standing buildings and created and managed landscapes—and the pace of these changes that remains to be investigated, and here the potential of new digital methods and tools is still to be realized. Quantitative analysis of the transposition of people and resources and its variable effects in each of the British regions is required, and can now benefit from the model provided by studies of secu­lar­iza­tion, and the attendant changes in tenure and the concentration of social capital in other spheres and eras, such as Western Europe at the passing of its anciens regimes, Imperial and post-Imperial China, and Soviet Russia. In general, further comparative reflection on the diverse courses of the dissolutions both across the British regions and between them and the European mainland is required if the significance of the monastic drama is to be duly acknowledged in the received Reformation narratives.

Suggested Reading For narrative outlines of the fast-moving developments across the complex and crowded English landscape, Woodward (1966), Youings (1971), and Knowles (1959) still provide an anchorhold. There is no exact equivalent for Ireland, but Bradshaw (1974), along with the short surveys of Ó Clabaigh (2005, 2019), Lynch (2010), and Browne and Ó Clabaigh (2019)

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450   James G. Clark can provide an overview. For Scotland and Wales, the surveys of Dilworth (1995, 2010) and Williams (1997) are the best starting-points. Fresh readings of the forces of change in each region are found in Bernard (2011), Scott (2006), and Williams (2001). Clark (2011) presents a contextual picture.

Bibliography Bernard, G. W. (2011). ‘The Dissolution of the Monasteries’. History 96: 390–409. Bernard, G.  W. (1999). ‘The Piety of Henry VIII’. In The Education of a Christian Society: Humanism and the Reformation in Britain and the Netherlands, edited by N.  S.  Amos, A. Pettegree, and H. van Nierop, 62–88. Aldershot: Ashgate. Bradshaw, B. (1974). The Dissolution of the Religious Orders in Ireland under Henry VIII. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brewer, J.  S., J.  Gairdner, and R.  H.  Brodie (1862–1932). Letters and Papers, Foreign and Domestic, of the Reign of Henry VIII, Preserved in the Public Record Office. 22 vols in 35. London: Longman, Green, Longman, & Roberts. Vaduz: Kraus Reprint, 1965. Browne, Martin and C. Ó Clabaigh (eds) (2019). Households of God. The Regular Canons and Canonesses of Saint Augustine and Premontré in Medieval Ireland. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Burton, J. and K. Stöber (eds) (2013). Monastic Wales: New Approaches. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Cahill, R. A. (2001). Philipp of Hesse and the Reformation. Mainz: P. von Zabern. Carleton, K. (2001). Bishops and Reform in the English Church, 1520–1559. Studies in Modern British Religious History. Woodbridge: Boydell. Ó Clabaigh, C. (2005). ‘The Benedictines in Medieval and Early Modern Ireland’. In The Irish Benedictines. A History, edited by M. Browne and C. Ó Clabaigh, 79–121. Blackrock, Co. Dublin: Columba Press. Clark, J. G. (2011). The Benedictines in the Middle Ages. Woodbridge: Boydell. Cross, C. (1990). ‘Community solidarity among Yorkshire religious after the Dissolution’. In Monastic Studies: The Continuity of Tradition, edited by J.  Loades, 245–254. Bangor: Headstart History. Cross, C. and N.  Vickers (1995). Monks, Friars and Nuns in Sixteenth-Century Yorkshire. Yorkshire Archaeological Society Record Series 150. Leeds: Yorkshire Archaeological Society. Dilworth, M. (2010). Monasteries and the Reformation in Scotland. Edinburgh: Aquhorties. Dilworth, M. (1995). Scottish Monasteries in the Late Middle Ages. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Dilworth, M. (1994). ‘Canons Regular and the Reformation’. In The Renaissance in Scotland: Studies in Literature, Religion, History, and Culture offered to John Durkan, edited by A. A. MacDonald, M. Lynch, and I. B. Cowan, 164–182. Leiden: Brill. Donaldson, G. (1960). The Scottish Reformation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Erler, M. (2013). Reading and Writing during the Dissolution. Monks, Friars and Nuns, 1530–1558. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Foggie, J. P. (2003). Renaissance Religion in Urban Scotland: the Dominican Order, 1450–1560. Leiden: Brill. Gaimster, D. and R. Gilchrist (eds) (2003). The Archaeology of Reformation, 1480–1580. Leeds: Maney. Goodare, J. (2003). ‘The Scottish Political Community and the Parliament of 1563’. Albion 35.3: 373–397.

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The Dissolution of the Monasteries   451 Gwynn, A. and R. N. Hadcock (1970). Medieval Religious Houses: Ireland, With an Appendix to Early Sites. London: Longman. Heale, M. (2004). ‘Dependent Priories and the Closure of Monasteries in late Medieval England, 1400–1535’. English Historical Review 119: 1–26. Holmes, A. (2007). ‘Sixteenth-Century Pluscarden Priory and its World’. Innes Review 58.1: 35–71. Hoyle, R. W. (2001). The Pilgrimage of Grace and the Politics of the 1530s. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Knowles, D. (1959). The Religious Orders in England, vol. 3: The Tudor Age. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lynch, B. (2010). A Monastic Landscape: The Cistercians in Medieval Ireland. Bloomington, IN: Xlibris Corporation. MacCulloch, D. (1995). ‘Henry VIII and the Reform of the Church’. In The Reign of Henry VIII. Politics, Policy, and Piety, edited by D. MacCulloch, 159–180. London: Macmillan. McShane, B. A. (2017). ‘Negotiating religious change and conflict: Female religious communities in early modern Ireland, c.1530–1641’. British Catholic History 33.3: 357–382. Morris, R. (2011). ‘The Gothic Architecture of Coventry Cathedral and Priory: Keeping up Appearances?’ In Coventry: Medieval Architecture and Archaeology in the City and its Vicinity, edited by L. Monckton and R. Morris, 67–103. British Archaeological Association Conference Transactions 33. Leeds: Maney. Murray, J. (2009.) Enforcing the English Reformation in Ireland. Clerical Resistance and Political Conflict in the Diocese of Dublin, 1534–1590. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Murray, P. J. (1995). ‘The Lay Administrators of Church Lands in the Fifteenth and Sixteenth Centuries’. Scottish Historical Review 74.197.1: 26–44. Orme, N. (2006). Medieval Schools: From Roman Britain to Renaissance England. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Pantin, W.  A. (ed.) (1931–1937). Documents Illustrating the Activities of the General and Provincial Chapters of the English Black Monks, 1215–1540. 3 vols. Camden Third Series 45, 47, 54. London: Royal Historical Society. Ryrie, A. (2006). The Origins of the Scottish Reformation. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Scarisbrick, J. J. (1968). Henry VIII. London: Eyre & Spottiswoode. Schofield, J. (2006). Philip Melanchthon and the English Reformation. St Andrews Studies in Reformation History. Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Scott, B. (2006). Religion and Reformation in the Tudor Diocese of Meath. Dublin: Four Courts Press. Scott-Dixon, C. (ed.) (2002). The German Reformation: The Essential Readings. Oxford: Blackwell. Shagan, E. H. (2003). Popular Politics and the English Reformation. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Williams, D. H. (2001). The Welsh Cistercians. Leominster: Gracewing. Williams, G. (1997). Wales and the Reformation. Cardiff: University of Wales Press. Wood, A. (2007). The 1549 Rebellions and the Making of Early Modern England. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Woodward, G. W. O. (1966). The Dissolution of the Monasteries. London: Blandford. Youings, J. (1971). The Dissolution of the Monasteries. London: George Allen and Unwin.

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chapter 28

Monasticism i n E a r ly Moder n Fr a nce Daniel-Odon Hurel

Up to the 1980s or 1990s, the history of monasticism in early modern France was ­presented from the perspective of a historiographical tradition which can be traced back to the scholarship of the nineteenth century, or even to that of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. These historians held that—with the exception of the Congregation of Saint-Maur—the monasticism of early modern France was marked by a long decline; for them, medieval monasticism represented a golden age, especially as seen in the cases of Cluny and Cîteaux. The rise of religious anthropology and the desire to understand all aspects of the history of Christianity between the Reformation and the French Revolution—a history that itself forms part of the general evolution of society in the Ancien Régime—has led to the recognition of the particularities of early modern monasticism. The works of such scholars as René Taveneaux, Dominique Julia, Bernard Dompnier, and Dominique Dinet were fundamental. They informed the research of, among others, Marie-Élisabeth Henneau, Daniel-Odon Hurel, Bernard Hours, Isabelle Brian, Jean-Marie Le Gall, and Benoist Pierre, who, in the 1990s, began to publish works specifically addressing the monasticism of the period (Hurel 2001).

Early Signs of Monastic Reform Monasticism in France—as elsewhere in Europe—underwent profound changes from the fifteenth century onwards; these transformations were directly related to the birth of the modern state and the reform of the Church, particularly the reforms of the Council of Basel (1431–1439). The monasticism inherited from the Middle Ages faced not only demands to reform the Church, but also a Protestant Reformation which called into question the very existence of monastic life. The period between 1480 and 1560 saw a fundamental rethinking taking place within the Roman Catholic Church. This affected

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Monasticism in Early Modern France   453 monasticism directly, as much in its institutions and organization as in the life of its members. Between 1480 and 1525, monastic reform developed first in and around Paris but also throughout France, as attested by the reform of the Order of Fontevraud (or Fontevrault) and the creation of the congregation of Chezal-Benoît, itself largely influenced by the Benedictine reforms of Saint Justina of Padua and later of Monte Cassino. The reforms begun at Fontevraud by Marie de Bretagne and approved by Pope Sixtus IV in 1475 were implemented under the abbacy of Renée de Bourbon (1491–1534) in some thirty convents of the Order. On the Benedictine side, it was Chezal-Benoît (named after an abbey in central France) that opened the era of modern congregations, from the beginning of the fifteenth century up to the foundation of the Congregation of ­Saint-Maur in the 1620s. This period saw the introduction of such measures as fixed-term tenure of the abbacy, unity of abbatial and communal revenues, and the re-­establishment of discipline and communal life, as well as general chapters. Some fifteen monasteries and a few women’s convents were touched by these measures. The reformers of the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries were often men and women with very high ideals. There were some delayed vocations among them, including men of letters and university scholars such as Guy Jouennaux and Jean Raulin. Among them, too, were members of royal or princely families, such as Jeanne de France, who founded the Order of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, and Renée de Bourbon, abbess of Fontevraud. These reformers, returning to a ‘literal’ reading of the Rule of Benedict, found themselves in direct opposition to the ‘old school’, who thought of themselves as the heirs and guarantors of traditions and customs as old as the monasteries themselves. These latter were regarded by the reformers as ‘deformers’ of monastic life. Hence recent historical studies examine the discourse of both the reformed and the ‘deformed’ (Le Gall 2001). The reforming movements of the early sixteenth century, i.e. before the Protestant Reformation, were accompanied by a growth in vocations and, above all, they were extensively supported by royal power—and this even before the Concordat of Bologna was signed in 1516. (The Concordat would consecrate and impose an alliance between the king, the bishops, and the religious communities.) Étienne Poncher, bishop of Paris, is no doubt one of the best exponents of the trend, rewriting the statutes of the Benedictine women’s houses in his diocese (Chelles, Jouarre, etc.). These statutes became the standard reference for many a community’s reforms of conventual life in the sixteenth and even the seventeenth centuries. Their reforming ideas were steeped in devotio moderna, which was characterized by the rise in importance of the individual’s inner life and the need to integrate it into the community’s spiritual life. Such individualism explains the growth and widespread appeal of devoting time to communal daily meditation in addition to the more traditional lectio divina, as demonstrated by a close reading of the evolution of prayer within a monastic milieu, especially that of the Benedictine communities (Hurel 2010). The confrontation of the burgeoning early sixteenth-century reform movement with the upheavals brought about by religious conflict, especially in France, in the second half of the century, left its mark. Many monasteries and communities, especially those of women, were hard hit on a material as well as spiritual level, especially in the 1560s. The

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454   Daniel-Odon Hurel disbanding of communities and the destruction of monasteries weakened religious unity and endangered many communities, even Cluny. This weakening went hand-inhand with a rise in anti-monasticism, Protestant and non-Protestant alike, already present in the works of Erasmus, Rabelais, and, of course, Luther.

The Seventeenth-Century Reforms Nevertheless, it was from those early sixteenth-century reforms that the second wave of reforms in the early seventeenth century drew its energy and its models, both structural and spiritual: amalgamation and centralization and oversight of both revenues and the accounts of those holding obediences, periodic changing of obediences, a rereading of the Rule, and the rediscovery of medieval monastic sources. All this was backed by papal, royal, and episcopal power (e.g. Richelieu in the context of Cluny; Père Joseph and both Fontevraud and the Benedictines of Our Lady of Calvary; Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld and his mission to reform the religious orders of France in 1622). Recent scholarship has made a significant contribution to historical studies by highlighting the interconnection between religion and politics; the Cistercian congregation of the Feuillants, founded at the end of the sixteenth century by Jean de la Barrière, provides a particularly illuminating example (Pierre  2006). Moreover, at the beginning of the seven­teenth century, the challenges of implementing reforms while maintaining the equilibrium of the communities were the same as those faced a century earlier. They included establishing stabilitas in loco or in a congregation, maintaining a common life faithful to the Rule, implementing structures that took account of the commendam system, renewing and simplifying the liturgy, and re-establishing and keeping enclosure, especially in women’s communities. Important as well was the affirmation of a particular group’s ‘spirit’. Defining this spirit meant emphasizing the precepts of the Rule and the writings of medieval authors, whose rediscovery was largely the work of the humanists. The notion of ‘spirit’ is reflected in the numerous works of spirituality or meditation whose publication increased throughout the seventeenth century at the same time that stable monastic entities were being founded; such congregations included the Benedictines of Saint-Vanne and of Saint-Maur, and their influence reached numerous women’s communities. The works of Philippe François, in the 1620s a monk of the Congregation of Saint-Vanne, intended for Benedictine monks and nuns, can serve as an example. So too can the adaptation made by Catherine de Bar, founder of the Benedictine nuns of the Blessed Sacrament (or Benedictines of Perpetual Adoration), of the Practique de la Règle de saint Benoît, written around 1680 by Dom Claude Martin, a monk of the Congregation of Saint-Maur. This then is the context—political, religious, as well as papal (in particular the Council of Trent)—that triggered a never-before-seen reorganization of monasticism, especially between 1580 and 1620, once the tumult of the Wars of Religion had died down. All the medieval religious orders, whether Benedictines or canons regular or mendicants,

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Monasticism in Early Modern France   455 ex­peri­enced demanding reform movements which resulted, especially for the male communities, in the creation of new houses. Examples of this include the Cistercian Feuillants, who were particularly well established in the political circles of the Catholic League as well as in the pious circles of the early decades of the seventeenth century (marked by preaching and spiritual direction). Another new group was the Benedictine Congregation of Exempts of France, established in the 1580s in response to royal demands and to those of the Council of Trent, and which brought together up to fiftyfive abbeys. It is also important to note the Benedictines of the Société de Bretagne (1603–1628) and the Benedictine Federation of Saint-Denis (1607–1633). These two reform congregations, together with the reform congregation of Chezal-Benoît, joined the Congregation of Saint-Maur, which had been founded in 1618. The congregation of Saint-Maur is in a sense a daughter of the Benedictine Congregation of Saint-Vanne and Saint-Hydulphe in Lorraine (the ‘Vannistes’, founded in 1604), which at the end of the seventeenth century joined together around fifty houses in Lorraine and eastern Champagne. In 1700 the Congregation of Saint-Maur, with its 190 abbeys outside the Cluniac sphere, represented the culmination of the centralizing drive of the early modern French Benedictines, and it would serve as a model for the European Benedictine world. Vannistes and Maurists left little space for other congregations, save on the margins of the Kingdom of France: examples include the Benedictine Congregation of Alsace (1606) and the Congregation of the Allobroges in the Savoyard Alps (1624–1673). Parallel to these institutional ‘creations’, internal reform movements also took place within the two great medieval Benedictine families of France, often on the initiative of influential individuals, such as Laurent Bénard in the 1610s and 1620s. Bénard was prior of the Collège de Cluny in Paris and was undoubtedly one of the personalities who contributed most profoundly both to the Cluniac reform and to the creation of the Congregation of Saint-Maur. Discussions among the Cluniacs extended for nearly a century (1620–1705). Indeed there were several attempts, sometimes imposed by royal authority (Richelieu, Mazarin), to establish a Cluniac Strict Observance similar to that of the Vannistes or the Maurists. The Cluniac Strict Observance was allowed a separate existence within the Cluniac family, with its own annual assemblies, autonomy for the appointment of superiors, and independent recruitment (Hurel and Riche  2010). A simi­lar quarrel between two types of observance requiring the intervention of the authorities rose among the Cistercians during the seventeenth century. It ended in 1680 after a papal intervention, with a regulation that allowed each observance of the Rule to follow its own inspiration but with the maintenance of a common general chapter.

Aspects of Female Monasticism Thanks especially to the work of M.-E. Henneau (1990), considerable attention has been paid in the last two decades to the structural, spiritual, and institutional aspects of female monasticism. While the aspiration to return to regular observance was shared by

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456   Daniel-Odon Hurel men and women, in practical terms their situations differed. Women’s communities were restrained by an all-pervasive ecclesiastical oversight, which sought control over all initiative. Thus, structurally, most of the women’s monasteries remained subject to episcopal authority. Nevertheless, certain abbesses (such as Marie de Beauvilliers in Montmartre) undertook deep reforms of their communities, and these served as ­models for others. This was also the case in the Cistercian reform of the abbey of Port-Royal, which came to exert a profound spiritual influence on contemporary society. Nuns from reformed houses were sent to live in other monasteries or other large abbeys in order to instruct them. Catherine de Bar was one such nun: a victim of the Thirty Years’ War in Lorraine, she experienced an extended period of monastic wandering, and then founded, around 1652–1654, the Institute of the Benedictines of the Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament (or the Benedictines of Perpetual Adoration) in Paris (Poutet 2013). Submission of women’s communities to episcopal authority also meant the renewed imposition of enclosure on the nuns and, in the case of many isolated rural houses, transfer to an urban setting, mainly for the purpose of security. Seventeenth-century France also saw, in the feminine contemplative sphere inherited from the Middle Ages, the creation of a few centralized congregations or institutes, on the model of teaching sisters or hospital sisters such as the Ursulines or the Order of the Visitation of Holy Mary (Visitandines). The Benedictines of Our Lady of Calvary, for example, were founded in 1618 on the initiative of Père Joseph (the éminence grise of Richelieu) and of Antoinette de Orléans, who first entered the Feuillantines and was then compelled by royal and papal authority to reform Fontevraud (with some twenty monasteries located mainly in western France). There are also the Benedictines of the Perpetual Adoration, who, at the death of their founder in 1698, had some ten religious houses. Among Cistercian nuns, internal tensions led to the creation of two quite simi­ lar entities: the Bernardines of Divine Providence, founded by Louise de Ballon in 1622, with some thirty houses by 1650, located in Savoy, Provence, Valais, the Lyonnais, the Bourbonnais, and Franch-Comté; and the Bernardines of the Precious Blood, founded in 1625, with three houses in Isère and Paris.

The Reforming Current The canons regular did not absent themselves from this renewal, and they too ex­peri­ enced tensions between the reforming trends and the traditions inherited from the later Middle Ages. Some of the ancient congregations, however, did not go through an authentic renewal, which suggests that they were no longer able to keep in step with a developing society. We see this in the case of the Canons Regular of Saint-Ruf, of ­Val-des-Écoliers, of Hérival, and of Saint-Victor. The Victorine canons rejected the reforms engendered by the mission of Cardinal de la Rochefoucauld in 1622. Others, however—such as the Order of Chancelade in southern France and especially the Canons Regular of Sainte-Geneviève, fully embraced the seventeenth-century reforms.

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Monasticism in Early Modern France   457 From 1625 onwards, Sainte-Geneviève emerged (much as Saint-Maur had among the Benedictines) as the premier congregation of canons regular in early modern France, numbering 110 religious houses by 1670. This congregation—though with intermittent debate—managed the combination of life as a religious community with pastoral services in their parishes (Brian 2001). At the same time, Pierre Fourier, with the support of both the bishop of Toul and the duke of Lorraine, created the Congregation of Our Saviour in Lorraine, which, beginning in1628, reformed some fifteen monasteries and numerous parish priories. Just as at Cluny and Cîteaux, the Order of Prémontré (the Premonstratensians) instituted a strict observance of their Rule, known as the ‘Antique Rigueur’, of which the abbey at Pont-à-Mousson became the focus. Apart from the strictly Benedictine families and the congregations of canons regular, other monastic families, such as the Carthusians, felt the effects of reforming trends in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, though to a lesser degree. The Paris Carthusians, for example, took part in the reform in the first few decades of the seven­teenth century. Also noteworthy were the work and personality of Dom Innocent Le Masson, prior-general of the Carthusians between 1675 and 1703, whose correspondence has recently been published (Le Masson 2003–2005). The strength of the reforming current can be measured by a quantitative analysis— taking the Benedictines as an example—of the French editions of the Rule of Saint Benedict, its principal commentaries, and other regulatory instruments (Statutes, Declarationes, Constitutiones, etc.). Several relevant studies are available (Albareda 1933; Kapsner 1962; Broekaert 1980; Jaspert 1983; Hurel 2020). These tell us that nearly twenty editions of the Rule were published in France in the sixteenth century, almost all in Paris and almost exclusively in the Latin-French version compiled by Guy Jouennaux. The rediscovery of the Rule gained momentum in the seventeenth century, only to wane in the eighteenth. Indeed, the seventeenth century saw a multiplication, even an explosion, of editions. This went hand-in-hand with the reforming current: fifty-eight editions of the Rule, supplemented by some thirty editions of medieval and contemporary commentaries (Edmond Martène, 1654–1739), and, most importantly, nearly seventy normative texts for men and women. These works coincided with the monastic reforms and revivals of male and, especially, female communities. (Most of the prominent women’s monasteries that had reformed themselves saw the publication of new constitutions based on the Rule.) While the sixteenth century rediscovered the Rule, it did not comment on it very much, confining itself to republishing a few traditional commentaries, like those of Torquemada. As for the eighteenth century, it merely republished seven­teenth-century editions from time to time, while giving much prominence to the Vanniste Dom Augustin Calmet’s commentary on the Rule, published in 1734. It is therefore the profound monastic renewal of the seventeenth century that gave structure to Benedictine and Cistercian monasticism, as well as to that of the canons regular, right up to the time of the French Revolution. Early modern French Benedictine and Cistercian monasticism was nourished by humanism, especially by the rereading of patristic and medieval texts. Some of the Maurist Benedictines such as Mabillon (1691, trans. McDonald  2004; see also

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458   Daniel-Odon Hurel Hurel 2007; and Hurel, Leclant, and Vauchez 2010) undertook to edit the texts of the important Church Fathers and to devise philological and historical methods which would have significant historiographical repercussions. Their intellectual engagement and their monastic commitment led many Benedictines and other monks to lean towards a form of Jansenism tinged with Gallicanism. A similar situation arose among the Canons Regular of Sainte-Geneviève. Hostile reactions to the papal bull Unigenitus (1713), in addition to the destruction of Port-Royal (1709), led to lasting crises of authority within the congregations themselves, resulting in forced exile and disciplinary sanctions. Among the most recalcitrant nuns, especially those of Our Lady of Calvary, the prohibition on receiving the sacraments was occasionally extended into the 1740s. The Jansenist confrontation with authority (1710–1740) was not without consequences for the gradual secularization of scholarship and for the rise of a certain individualism characteristic of the Enlightenment. A form of monasticism took shape that was solidly embedded in society through social, familial, and political networks, as well as through a range of activities that extended beyond contemplation and the celebration of the liturgy: preaching, catechesis, spiritual direction, scholarship, and studies in history and theology. Such a monastic life combined reason and faith. It manifested itself not only in the liturgical recasting of breviaries (of Saint-Vanne in 1777 and Saint-Maur in 1787) and in taking on a number of colleges, but also in a long-term integration into learned societies and other provincial academies, which went as far as allowing the presence of Masonic lodges in some monasteries. At the same time, at the initiative of the religious families themselves, a more rational management of the communities began to take shape. At Cluny, for example, the general chapter, as early as the 1710s, attempted to reduce the number of smaller monasteries to allow for the existence of real communities, even if limited to a few individuals. It must be remembered that during this period, even at Saint-Maur, the majority of communities consisted of only around a dozen monks or nuns. (Saint-Germain-des-Prés, Saint-Denis, and a few large abbeys in provincial towns remained exceptions.) On two occasions the desire for better management was supported and reinforced by royal authority. A first commission, known as the Commission des Secours, was established in 1727; its purpose was to grant, after careful scrutiny, subsidies to the women’s convents in the greatest financial difficulties. A few decades later, between 1766 and 1780, a Commission des Réguliers focused on the entire regular clergy. This commission was charged with drawing up an inventory of each monastic family; it required the drafting of new constitutions as well as the abolition not only of several dozen monasteries but also of whole congregations that were in total decline. The latter included the Cluniacs of the ‘ancienne observance’, the Order of Grandmont, and the Celestines. The resistance of large congregations such as Saint-Maur to the Commission des Réguliers ensured the survival of some monasteries or at least the postponement of their closure. The French Revolution (1789–1792) suppressed all religious orders and their monasteries, and sold their properties. Secularized monks and nuns sought different solutions for themselves, quite often agreeing to be integrated into the new regime, and sometimes choosing exile or resistance. A true restoration of Benedictine monasticism would only take place in the 1830s, when Dom Prosper Guéranger refounded the abbey of Solesmes (Oury 2001).

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Monasticism in Early Modern France   459

Future Directions in Research Research over the last thirty or forty years has focused on the discovery of early modern monasticism as a subject in its own right. This his­torio­graph­ic­al revival opens numerous avenues of inquiry for both France and other European countries. In the territory occupied by modern France, historians have undertaken to deconstruct the notion of monastic reform by carefully scrutinizing the discourse both in favour of and opposed to reform. These scholars have eliminated the term ‘decadence’ from their vocabulary, preferring instead such terms as ‘crisis’ or ‘difficulties in adjustment [to political and cultural transformations]’. The analysis of the relationship between monks and the champions of the Enlightenment (Holmberg  2017) provides an example. Moreover, this reinvigorated research climate has promoted further studies of the relationships between monastic life, hagiography, and liturgy (Davy-Rigaux, Dompnier, and Hurel 2009). Thus the prospects for new research are plentiful, because they involve both an analysis of monastic structures and a more sociological approach to individuals and communities. For instance, it would be rewarding to examine the monastic configurations that preceded the establishment of large congregations such as Saint-Vanne or Saint-Maur, i.e. in the period between the Council of Trent and the 1620s. It would also be useful to inquire into the reasons behind the waning and disappearance of some of the communities and families that were of medieval origin. Since monastic life relates to all facets of life, whether material or spiritual, it is appropriate to adopt and pursue a diversified approach and a return to original sources (secular archives, chronicles, normative texts, and correspondence) in order to reconstruct a complex history, a history in which France cannot be isolated from the rest of early modern Catholic Europe.

Bibliography Albareda, Anselm  M. (1933). Bibliografia de la Regla benedictina. Montserrat: Monestir de Montserrat. Berlière, Ursmer (1927). L’ascèse bénédictine des origines à la fin du XIIe siècle. Essai historique. Maredsous: Abbaye de Maredsous. Bornert, René (2009–2011). Les Monastères d’Alsace. 6 vols. Strasbourg: Éditions du Signe. Brian, Isabelle (2001). Messieurs de Sainte-Geneviève, religieux et curés, de la Contre-Réforme à la Révolution. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Broekaert, Jean-Damascène (1980). Bibliographie de la Règle de saint Benoît, éditions latines et traductions imprimées de 1489 à 1929. 2 vols. Rome: Editrice Anselmiana. Chaussy, Yves (1989–1991). Les Bénédictins de Saint-Maur. 2 vols. Paris: Institut d’Études Augustiniennes. Chaussy, Yves (1975). Les Bénédictines et la Réforme catholique en France au XVIIe siècle. 2 vols. Paris: Éditions de la Source. Cîteaux, documents primitifs: texte latin et traduction française (1988). Introduction and bibliography by François de Place; translation by Gabriel Ghislain and Jean-Christophe Christophe. Cîteaux: Commentarii Cistercienses.

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460   Daniel-Odon Hurel Cottineau, Laurent-Henri (1935–1970). Répertoire topo-bibliographique des abbayes et prieurés. 3 vols. Mâcon: Protat frères. Reprint Turnhout: Brepols, 1995. Davy-Rigaux, Cécile, Bernard Dompnier, and Daniel-Odon Hurel (2009). Les cérémoniaux catholiques en France à l’époque moderne: une littérature de codification des rites liturgiques. Turnhout: Brepols. Dinet, Dominique (2011). Au coeur religieux de l’époque moderne, études d’histoire. Strasbourg: Presses universitaires de Strasbourg. Dinet, Dominique (1999). Religion et société: Les réguliers et la vie régionale dans les diocèses d’Auxerre, Langres et Dijon: fin XVIe–fin XVIIIe siècles. 2 vols. Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne. Dinet, Dominique (1988). Le recrutement des Réguliers dans les diocèses d’Auxerre, Langres et Dijon, XVIIe-XVIIIe. Paris: Economica. Dompnier, Bernard (2016). Missions, vocations, dévotions. Pour une anthropologie historique du catholicisme moderne, Recueil d’articles présenté par Bernard Hours et Daniel-Odon Hurel. [Lyon]: LARHRA, Laboratoire de recherche historique Rhône-Alpes. Dompnier, Bernard and Marie-Hélène Froeschlé-Chopard (eds) (2000). Les religieux et leurs livres. Clermont-Ferrand: Presses universitaires Blaise-Pascal. Gruys, Albert (1976–1978). Cartusiana. Un instrument heuristique. A heuristic instrument. Ein heuristischer Apparat. 3 vols. Paris: Éditions du CNRS. Hasquenoph, Sophie (2009). Histoire des ordres et congrégations religieuses en France du Moyen Age à nos jours. Paris: Champ Vallon. Henneau, Marie-Élisabeth (1990). Les cisterciennes du pays mosan. Moniales et vie contemplative à l’époque moderne, preface by Jean Leclercq. Brussels: Institut historique belge de Rome. Holmberg, Linn (2017). The Maurists’ Unfinished Encyclopedia. Oxford University Studies in the Enlightenment. Oxford: Voltaire Foundation. Hours, Bernard (2016). Des moines dans la cite: XVIe-XVIIIe siècle. Paris: Belin. Hurel, Daniel-Odon (ed.) (2020). Les Bénédictins. La Règle de saint Benoît. Collection «Bouquins». Paris: Éditions Robert Laffont. Hurel, Daniel-Odon (2019). Saint-Benoit. Paris: Perrin. Hurel, Daniel-Odon (2010). Prières des bénédictins. Paris: Le Seuil. Hurel, Daniel-Odon (ed.) (2007). Le moine et l’historien: Dom Mabillon, oeuvres choisies. Collection «Bouquins». Paris: Éditions Robert Laffont. Hurel, Daniel-Odon (ed.) (2001). Guide pour l’histoire des ordres et congrégations religieuses: France, XVIe–XXe siècles. Turnhout: Brepols. Hurel, Daniel-Odon and Denyse Riche (2010). Cluny: De l’abbaye à l’ordre clunisien, Xe–XVIIIe siècle. Paris: Armand Colin. Hurel, Daniel-Odon, Jean Leclant, and André Vauchez (eds) (2010). Dom Jean Mabillon, figure majeure de l’Europe des lettres. Paris: Académie des inscriptions et belles-lettres. Jaspert, Bernd (1983). Bibliographie der Regula Benedicti, 1930–1980: Ausgaben und Übersetzungen. Hildesheim: Gerstenberg Verlag. Julia, Dominique (1982). ‘Les Bénédictins et l’enseignement aux XVIIe et XVIIIe siècles’. In Sous la règle de Saint-Benoît. Structures monastiques et sociétés en France du Moyen Age à l’époque moderne. Abbaye bénédictine Sainte-Marie de Paris, 23–25 octobre 1980, 345–400. Hautes Études médiévales et modernes 47. Geneva: Droz. Julia, Dominique and Lin Donnat (1979). ‘Le recrutement d’une congrégation monastique à l’époque moderne: les Bénédictins de Saint-Maur, esquisse d’histoire quantitative’. In ­Saint-Thierry, une abbaye du VIe au XXe siècle: Actes du colloque international d’histoire

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Monasticism in Early Modern France   461 monastique, Reims—Saint-Thierry, 11–14 octobre 1976, edited by Michel Bur, 565–594. SaintThierry: Association des Amis de l’Abbaye de Saint-Thierry. Kapsner, Oliver (1962). A Benedictine Bibliography: An Author-Subject Union List. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Krailsheimer, A.-J. (2000). Armand-Jean de Rancé, abbé de la Trappe. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Le Gall, Jean-Marie (2001). Les Moines au temps des réformes: France, 1480–1560. Seyssel: Champ Vallon. Le Masson, Innocent (2003–2005). Correspondance. 4 vols, edited by Augustin Devaux. Analecta Cartusiana 206. Salzburg: Institut für Anglistik und Amerikanistik. Mabillon, Jean (2004). Treatise on Monastic Studies: 1691. Translated with an introduction by John Paul McDonald. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Oury, Guy-Marie (2001). Dom Guéranger: moine au coeur de l’église, 1805–1875. Solesmes: Éditions de Solesmes. Pacaut, Marcel (1993). Les Moines blancs: Histoire de l’ordre de Cîteaux. Paris: Fayard. Pierre, Benoist (2006). La bure et le sceptre. La congrégation des Feuillants dans l’affirmation des États et des pouvoirs princiers (vers 1560–vers 1660). Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne. Poutet, Yves (2013). Catherine de Bar (1614–1698). Mère Mectilde du Saint-Sacrement: moniale et fondatrice bénédictine au XVIIe siècle. Paris: Parole et Silence. Taveneaux, René (1960). Le Jansénisme en Lorraine, 1640–1789. Paris: J. Vrin.

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chapter 29

Monasticism i n E a r ly Moder n Ger m a n y Edeltraud Klueting T.OCarm

Monasticism in the Holy Roman Empire from the Reformation to the Council of Trent Martin Luther’s critique of monasticism and his rejection of monastic vows in De votis monasticis iudicium1 of 1521–1522, together with the 139 theses entitled Iudicium de votis2 targeted the entire religious establishment, but primarily the mendicant houses.3 Luther criticized the monastic vows as expressions of self-righteousness (Thesis 37) and of the Antichrist (Theses 33 and 139), although he considered it theoretically possible that monasteries should continue to exist as educational establishments without the requirement of taking vows and as centres of Christian learning (Theses 90 and 91, and Luther’s correspondence with the abbot of the Benedictine monastery of Oldenstadt-Uelzen)4. But his propositions were not received in all their complexity; instead his position hardened into an anti-monastic stance and became a veritable powder keg in the political and social context of the Empire. Anti-clericalism and a long-simmering hostility to the 1 Martin Luther, De votis monasticis iudicium, 1521, in D.  Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe, vol. 8 [=WA]. Weimar: Hermann Böhlau, 1889, 573–669. 2  Martin Luther, Iudicium de votis, in WA 8 (1889), 323–335. 3  Martin Luther, An den christlichen Adel deutscher Nation von des christlichen Standes Besserung, 1520, in WA 6 (1888), 438: ‘Die bettel Closter, ja wolt got sie werenn alle abe, odder yhe auff zween odder drey ordenn hauffet!’. (‘The Mendicant houses, would to God they were all done away, or at least given over to two or three orders!’ [Works of Martin Luther, translated by J. J. Schindel and C. M. Jacobs, Project Gutenberg EBook of Works of Martin Luther 2011: taken from ]). 4  Martin Luther to Heino Gottschalk, abbot of Oldenstadt near Uelzen, 28 February 1528, in WA Briefe 4 (1933), 390-391, no. 1228.

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Monasticism in Early Modern Germany   463 special role of monasticism became entangled with economic interests and erupted in a storm that brought monastic life in the lands of the Reformation to an end. The excesses of the Peasants’ War of 1525 resulted in the ruin of all the monasteries in Swabia, Franconia, and Thuringia, as well as in Alsace and in the Swiss Thurgau. The looting and burning of religious houses, and violence against their occupants—who suffered eviction, violation, and murder—left behind a swathe of devastation. In the parts of the Empire that kept the old faith, monasteries and convents were able to survive, but the size of their communities was decimated, because many monks and nuns broke their vows and left their convents. As for the rulers and towns that had embraced the Reformation after the Diet of Speyer in 1526, they dissolved the monasteries and appropriated their property: this was the case in the landgraviate of Hesse, in Ernestine Upper Saxony, in Albertine Saxony, in the principalities of the Guelphs, in Württemberg, in the margraviates of Ansbach and Kulmbach, in Mecklenburg, Pomerania, eastern Frisia, and even in towns such as Nuremberg. The monastic assets partly became the special property of the state (the so-called ‘common chest’ or ‘Gemeiner Kasten’), and were partly used for education, for universities, and for the care of the poor and the sick (H. Klueting 1996a). In 1555, the Peace of Augsburg, following the resolutions of the Diet of Speyer (1544), sanctioned the confiscation of Church property. A particular kind of development took place in the north-west of the Empire, in the area of the Guelphs, in Schaumburg, and in certain parts of Westphalia. There local landlords allowed a number of women’s convents to remain, in order to fulfil the socio-economic function of providing for unmarried daughters of the nobility in (partly ecumenical) ‘secular congregations of ladies of rank’ (‘freiweltliche adelige Damenstifte’).

Reception and Effects of the Council of Trent The resolutions of the Council of Trent ensured a concurrent revival of the Church in the Catholic areas of Europe. The monasteries, unified into national and regional congregations, became significant agents in this renewal. Monastic life was not only preserved in all its diversity, but new communities with different orientations also appeared. Some—like the Jesuits—directed their attention to the universal Church, while others— such as the Capuchins—sought to complete the reforms of the traditional orders. Education in Catholic countries was almost the sole prerogative of the Jesuits, Franciscans, and Minorites, who maintained the universities and high schools. The social, charitable, or educational women’s orders founded in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, such as the Ursulines, the Mary Ward Sisters (the Congregation of Jesus), or the Vincentines (Daughters of Charity of Saint Vincent de Paul) were a new departure. Because a decree of the Council of Trent had reinforced the requirement for enclosure in female monasteries, their founders found themselves in conflict with the

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464   Edeltraud Klueting T.OCarm Curia. In Munich, in 1627, Prince-Elector Maximilian I of Bavaria invited the ‘English ladies’, or the Mary Ward Sisters, to found schools, and other Catholic rulers followed his example. On the other hand, a countermovement against the apostolic activities of the women’s orders grew in momentum, in the form of a return to eremitism. The male and female hermits who wished to live as recluses withdrawn from the world in prayer and contemplation, upholding the original monastic ideal of solitude, are a feature of baroque religiosity. The cultural achievements of the religious orders in the eighteenth century are impressive. Numerous new buildings of the baroque period attest to their newly regained self-confidence. The spiritual and ministerial life of the convents led them to become the sites of intense baroque piety and culture. During the eighteenth century, monasticism and conventualism had a profound influence on Catholicism in the empire. The monasteries of the old orders of prelates, the Benedictines, Cistercians, Augustinian Canons, and Premonstratensians, often came directly under the jurisdiction of the empire, exercised full sovereignty over their territories, and had seats at the imperial Diet—like the twelve Benedictine imperial abbeys and the convents of canons regular at Berchtesgaden and Ellwangen. They cultivated the arts, music, and science, and were the builders of many grand monasteries and churches. Individual members of the orders were able to gain remarkable influence as the confessors of Catholic rulers.

Monasticism in Light of the Dissolution and the Enlightenment Grave threats to baroque monasticism appeared in the late eighteenth century. From about 1760 onwards, in reaction to displays of the old orders’ prestige and to the intellectual dominance of the Jesuits and mendicants, Enlightenment writers began to compose anti-monastic tracts. Criticizing monks and satirizing monasteries became popular literary activities. The growing criticism targeted mainly the mendicants and the role played by priests, especially the Jesuits, in education. Other champions of the Enlightenment objected to the landowning (funded) monasteries, whose wealth stood outside the ordinary economic cycle. The anti-monastic reformers considered the agricultural operations of the monasteries a decisive obstacle to necessary agrarian reforms. Friedrich Nicolai, a Berlin proponent of the Enlightenment and author of the twelve-volume Description of a Journey through Germany and Switzerland in the Year 1781, greatly influenced public opinion by his polemical stance against clericalism in the area of southern Germany and Austria and by his mordant objections to ex-Jesuits and other clerics.5 5  Friedrich Nicolai, Beschreibung einer Reise durch Deutschland und die Schweiz im Jahre 1781. 12 vols (Berlin/Stettin, 1783–1796).

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Monasticism in Early Modern Germany   465 The Enlightenment and its narrow conception of utility called into question the very basis of monastic life, and hence the right of the monasteries to exist. This utilitarian approach was to culminate in the secularization of monasteries, and the transfer of their properties to fund universities. This was the case when, at the initiative of the chapter and knights of the prince-bishopric of Münster, the Benedictine monastery of St Marien Überwasser was dissolved in order to found a state university (1774), and when the assets of three secularized monasteries in the prince-archbishopric of Mainz were used to fund the university (1781). In 1773 the papal brief of Pope Clement XIV Dominus ac redemptor suppressed the Jesuits throughout the Catholic Church, as had been demanded by several states. The dominant position of the Jesuits in Catholic higher education, including the universities in the old Holy Roman Empire, thus came to an abrupt end. In the second half of the eighteenth century, under the prince-electors Maximilian III Joseph and Karl Theodor, the Bavarian state Church was strongly influenced by the ideas of the Enlightenment: in 1768 a monastic mandate decreed that the monasteries’ assets were to be reported to the state, and a mandate to reform the orders limited, among other measures, the dis­cip­lin­ary powers of the abbots. In Austria, Joseph II pursued the policy of Church reform begun by his mother Maria Theresa, and after 1780 he dissolved a third of the monasteries throughout the kingdom (between 700 and 800 religious communities). It was mainly the contemplative communities and mendicant houses that fell prey to the utilitarian ideas of the Enlightenment, whereas the monasteries engaged in pastoral duties, in education, and in working with the sick were spared. In this anti-monastic spirit, the archbishops of Cologne, Mainz, Salzburg, and Trier composed the ‘Punctation of Ems’ in 1786, a programme of reforms intended to enhance their hold over the monasteries and to give them the right, among others, to dissolve religious houses. This did not pass without objection; one prominent critic, for example, was Damian August Philipp Karl von Limburg-Styrum, the bishop of Speyer. The fallout of the French Revolution and the French occupation of the left bank of the Rhine led to a great wave of monastic dissolutions at the beginning of the nineteenth century. While French law applied in the area left of the Rhine, on the German side the Imperial Recess of 1803, or the Reichsdeputationshauptschluss, set the legal basis for secu­lar­iza­tion. Paragraph 35 enabled the ‘respective landlords’ to dissolve the monasteries independently and to use Church property for discretionary purposes, and obliged them to pay the pensions of former members of the monasteries. Most notably Bavaria, Baden, Württemberg, and the smaller Protestant ruling houses took full advantage of the Church’s assets, while Prussia proceeded more cautiously. At any rate, the social repercussions for members of the affected congregations were momentous. The fate of the priests was cushioned by the fact that they could be absorbed into the secular clergy. The nuns, on the other hand, had literally nothing, their only meagre prospect being that of living in private retirement. The socio-economic consequences of the so-called secularization of property must be evaluated from region to

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466   Edeltraud Klueting T.OCarm region.6 While they resulted in profound changes in property and social upheavals in the regions ceded to France on the left bank of the Rhine (Schieder 1991), the economic significance of secularization on the German side is considered rather modest (H. Klueting 1996b). Nevertheless, this secularization eventually caused the demise of the historically multifaceted orders of the old empire. Research published on the subject has established that it took place with hardly any protest, and that, with a few isolated exceptions, neither the local population nor the members of the congregations offered any resistance.

The Revival of the Orders in the Nineteenth Century The renewal of monasticism in Germany began hesitantly at first under the influence of the Romantic movement and with the support of specific restoration ventures. A literary backlash against the monastic satires of the Enlightenment began—even before secu­lar­iza­tion—with Wilhelm Heinrich Wackenroder’s Outpourings of an Art-Loving Friar (Herzensergießungen eines kunstliebenden Klosterbruders) (1797), one of the earliest works of German Romanticism. Wackenroder, in the guise of a monk, paints an idealized picture of monastic life. A new type of congregation developed after the demise of the imperial Church, initiated by the papal reinstatement of the Society of Jesus in 1814 and the return of the Jesuits to Germany. This resurgence was ushered in by the arrival of orders that previously had not owned property in Germany or Austria (for example the Redemptorist congregation of Clemens Maria Hofbauer), by the restoration of monasteries, and by specific new foundations. During the reigns of Ludwig I in Bavaria (1825–1848) and of Friedrich Wilhelm IV in Prussia (1840–1861), new monasteries emerged in both states, and old religious houses, the so-called dying monasteries, were revived. For example, in 1841 Ludwig I of Bavaria consented to reopen the Carmelite monastery of Straubing, when there was only one member of the old congregation living there. Even before then, from the 1830s onwards, the great old Benedictine abbeys had been revitalized. In 1862, in the Principality of Hohenzollern, the prince’s widow, Katharina von HohenzollernSigmaringen, acquired the buildings of the Augustinian Canons’ abbey of Beuron (which had been dissolved in 1803) in order to found a new Benedictine congregation (the Beuron Congregation, 1884). The revitalized monastic orders, along with the mendicants, also became involved in the missionary activities of the Church. In 1864, two Carmelites from Straubing, Cyrillus Knoll and Franz Xaver Huber, established a 6  The distinction between secularization of property (confiscation of Church property) and secu­lar­ iza­tion of domains (dissolution of the territorial rights of imperial estates) goes back to Ernst Rudolf Huber, Deutsche Verfassungsgeschichte seit 1789, vol. 1: Reform und Restauration, 1789 bis 1830, reprinted 2nd edn (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1995), originally published in 1957.

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Monasticism in Early Modern Germany   467 c­ ongregation in Leavenworth, Kansas. It developed rapidly; the Province of the Most Pure Heart of Mary, founded in 1890, grew out of this and is today the largest province of the Carmelite order in North America. The Benedictine abbey of St Ottilien, founded in 1884, became the head of the missionary Congregatio Ottiliensis. The establishment of new congregations is a novel element on the German monastic scene, and a consequence of the reorganization of ecclesiastical life. After Popes Leo XII and Gregory XVI facilitated the admission of new congregations (Pope Gregory XVI approved the legal status of women’s congregations in 1834), the female orders grew with unexpected vigour. The social and societal transformations of the nineteenth century led to a feminization of monasticism. Numerous women’s congregations dedicated to social, charitable, and educational apostolates emerged in this, the greatest wave of foundations in the history of religious orders. The new foundations recognized by the Church followed the Rule of the Sisters of Charity, or the Third Order Rules of Saint Augustine, Saint Francis, or Saint Dominic. They were (and are) organized on a large scale as centralized associations. The Superior General (or Mother General) heads the organization; larger congregations are subdivided into provinces with mother houses and dependent daughter houses. Among the communities that are not bound by strict rules of enclosure, one of the fundamental principles of the Church, the diakonia, is implemented through the sisters’ work in education, and care for the poor and the sick. These socially accepted activities led to a process of emancipation and to access to professional occupation by women, a development whose significance is still often underestimated. In Prussia the Congregations Act of 3 June 1875, which formed part of the Kulturkampf, abolished the religious orders, with the exception of those engaged in caring for the sick. Legislation passed on 29 April 1887 ensured that all congregations, except for the Jesuits, were once again permitted in the German Empire.

Current and Future Directions in Research Whether the Reformation movement unleashed by the Augustinian Eremite Martin Luther represented a continuation of late medieval monastic reforms or, rather, an abrupt departure from them, is a contentious issue. Joseph Lortz’s dictum that the fundamental upheaval in all aspects of life brought about by the Reformation was partly the result of long-term historical changes since 1300 and partly due to Luther himself (‘the other part is called Luther’) (Lortz 1982: 7) describes two polarized positions, which continue to frame the debate today. Wolfgang Reinhard sees Luther’s Reformation as the ‘culmination of two hundred years of striving for reform’ (Reinhard 1983: 259), thereby emphasizing the links between the late medi­eval reform and observance movements and the early Reformation. Bernd Moeller also draws attention to the fact that the monastic legacy of the fifteenth century affected the early Reformation in many ways.

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468   Edeltraud Klueting T.OCarm The wide participation of former members of monastic congregations in shaping the early Reformation, the strong response that Luther found in the monasteries, and the fact that many proponents of the Reformation came from the ranks of the monastic communities support this thesis (Moeller 1998). Ulrich Köpf pointedly observes that ‘Luther’s Reformation in some way [marks] the apex and fulfilment of the monastic reforms of the Middle Ages’ (Köpf 1994: 246). Inge Mager further notes that Luther’s family life was much influenced by monastic continuity, most especially because Luther’s wife Katharina von Bora had been a Cistercian nun (Mager 2001). But Berndt Hamm considers the Reformation to have been a ‘radical change’ which, while ‘integrated in a long-term continuum of change’, shows that ‘the period of the Reformation together with the later Middle Ages was a stage in a wider cultural-historical, institutional, intellectual, and religious era’ (Hamm 2000: 486–487). Gottfried Seebass, on the other hand, regards the profound upheaval as epoch-making (Seebass 2006). There are convincing arguments in favour of both perspectives—radical break or gradual transformation—and they will continue to be debated in discussions of early modern religious orders and congregations, although one suspects that there will be no conclusive resolution. Discussion of the prehistory of secularization during the Enlightenment and of the consequences of the great dissolution of monasteries in 1802–1803 was given an im­port­ ant stimulus in 2003, with the commemoration of ‘200 Years since the Imperial Recess of 1803’ (‘200 Jahre Reichsdeputationshauptschluss’), when major exhibitions, colloquia, and conferences took place (overview in H. Klueting 2008). This opened up a broad spectrum of mutually contradictory but closely argued opinions. We should not expect a uniform picture, although there seems to be agreement that secularization represented the most momentous break in the history of early modern monasticism. A review of research on the vexed question of the consequences of secularization must be limited here to just a few key points. It is primarily the economic and social repercussions that have been most debated. Up to the mid-1970s, scholars approached the losses of the Church and the negative effects of the confiscation of Church property, as well as the cultural revolution brought about by secularization, from a perspective that focused on the demise of Germania sacra. More recently, however, they have emphasized the modernizing drive released by secularization in such areas as pastoral care and education, which also made mortmain religious properties economically productive. Other scholars lament, in this very instance, the decline of the Catholics’ role in education—a decline that lasted into the twentieth century—and draw attention to the material losses suffered by churches, monasteries, archives, and libraries. The social consequences of the dissolution of the monasteries for members of the congregations, for their employees, and for artists have been neglected by older scholarship. Only recently have these emerged as issues worthy of attention and been subjected to detailed research. A comprehensive and systematic study, however, is still outstanding. The recent consensus in scholarship on secularization is that it paved the way for the transfer of the Church from the nobility to the people, in the sense that it freed the Church from its worldly ties and ended the monopoly of the nobility over the appointment of bishops and cathedral chapters. The fact that the Church could concentrate on its spiritual purpose gave a new impetus to monastic congregations in the nineteenth century.

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Monasticism in Early Modern Germany   469 In addition to its academic significance, the debate also has a political dimension, which concerns the relationship between Church and state in present-day Germany. In the future, such measures as the state allocations granted to bishops and cathedral chapters will need to be examined, in view of the limitation imposed by Art. 35 of the Imperial Recess of 1803 (Reichsdeputationshauptschluss) concerning the authority of secular landlords to dissolve and expropriate all the monasteries within their territory with ‘the exception of the fixed and permanent fixtures of the cathedral churches which must be kept’. A further trend ­consists of releasing the state (i.e. the individual German Länder) from the obligation to ­maintain the buildings of churches and monastic buildings. The parliament of NordrheinWestfalen recently cancelled four school and study funds which had been set up in 1773– 1774 with former Jesuit and other monastic resources in order to finance the education and formation of Catholic clerics. The justification being given is that living conditions have changed, and that responsibility for education has now been assumed by the state.7 As for the new congregations formed after secularization, research has singled out four ways of life and fields of activity: first, the contemplative life in enclosed monasteries; second, pastoral care within local communities and in foreign missions; third, the role of male and female congregations in the care of the poor and the sick; and, finally, education and schooling. The best survey of these issues is to be found in Gatz (2006).

Suggested Reading For English-speaking readers, Whaley’s recent general overview (2012) is a good place to start. Beales (2003) and King (1999) provide concise introductions to monasticism in early modern Germany. No work in English or German has replaced McNamara’s comprehensive study on female monasticism (1996). Leonard (2005) provides a detailed case study of a cloistered community of Dominican nuns in Strasbourg and their battle against Protestant reforms. Lortz (1939, 6th edn 1982), Moeller (1998), Hamm (2000), Mager (2001), and Seebass (2006) address various problems of Reformation and monasticism in Germany. Schieder (1991) provides exhaustive sources for the secularization of monastic properties on the left bank of the Rhine, while the studies of Harm Klueting (1993, 1996a, 1996b, 2008) consider the significance of secularization in sixteenth- and nineteenth-century Germany.

Bibliography Beales, Derek (2003). Prosperity and Plunder: European Catholic Monasteries in the Age of Revolution, 1650–1815. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Gatz, Erwin (ed.) (2006). Geschichte des kirchlichen Lebens in den deutschsprachigen Ländern seit dem Ende des 18. Jahrhunderts. Die katholische Kirche, vol. 7: Klöster und Ordensgemeinschaften. Freiburg i.B.: Herder. 7  Landtag Nordrhein-Westfalen, Drucksache 16/3969.

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470   Edeltraud Klueting T.OCarm Hamm, Berndt (2000). ‘Wie innovativ war die Reformation?’ Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 27: 481–497. King, Peter (1999). Western Monasticism. A History of the Monastic Movement in the Latin Church. CS 185. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Klueting, Harm (2008). ‘Zweihundert Jahre Reichsdeputationshauptschluß. Säkularisation und Mediatisierung 1802/03 in der Literatur um das Gedenkjahr 2003’. Historische Zeitschrift 286: 403–417. Klueting, Harm (1996a). ‘Enteignung oder Umwidmung? Zum Problem der Säkularisation im 16. Jahrhundert’. In Zur Säkularisation geistlicher Institutionen im 16. und im 18./19. Jahrhundert, edited by Irene Crusius, 57–83. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Klueting, Harm (1996b). ‘Die sozio-ökonomischen Folgen der Säkularisation des 19. Jahrhunderts im rechtsrheinischen Deutschland’. In Zur Säkularisation geistlicher Institutionen im 16. und im 18./19. Jahrhundert, edited by Irene Crusius, 102–120. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Klueting, Harm (ed.) (1993). Katholische Aufklärung—Aufklärung im katholischen Deutschland. Hamburg: Meiner. Köpf, Ulrich (1994). ‘Heilige und Modelle des Verhaltens in der protestantischen Gesellschaft’. In Modelli di santità e modelli di comportamento, edited by Giulia Barone, 243–262. Turin: Rosenberg & Sellier. Leonard, Amy (2005). Nails in the Wall: Catholic Nuns in Reformation Germany. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Lortz, Joseph (1939; 6th edn 1982). Die Reformation in Deutschland, vol. 1: Voraussetzungen. Freiburg i.B.: Herder. Mager, Inge (2001). ‘Vom Mönchs- und Nonnenkloster zum Wittenberger Familienkloster’. In Rezeption und Reform: Festschrift für Hans Schneider zu seinem 60. Geburtstag, edited by Wolfgang Breul-Kunkel and Lothar Vogel, 35–48. Darmstadt: Verlag der Hessischen Kirchengeschichtlichen Vereinigung. McNamara, Jo Ann Kay (1996). Sisters in Arms: Catholic Nuns through Two Millennia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Moeller, Bernd (1998). ‘Die frühe Reformation in Deutschland als neues Mönchtum’. In Die frühe Reformation in Deutschland als Umbruch, edited by Bernd Moeller, 76–91. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Reinhard, Wolfgang (1983). ‘Zwang zur Konfessionalisierung? Prolegomena zu einer Theorie des konfessionellen Zeitalters’. Zeitschrift für Historische Forschung 10: 257–277. Reprinted in Wolfgang Reinhard, Ausgewählte Abhandlungen. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot (1997), 127–147. Schatz, Klaus (2013). Geschichte der deutschen Jesuiten. 5 vols. Münster: Aschendorff. Schieder, Wolfgang (ed.) (1991). Säkularisation und Mediatisierung in den vier rheinischen Departements, 1803–1813. Edition des Datenmaterials der zu veräußernden Nationalgüter. 5 vols. Boppard: Boldt. Seebass, Gottfried (2006). Geschichte des Christentums, vol. 3: Spätmittelalter, Reformation, Konfessionalisierung. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Whaley, Joachim (2012). Germany and the Holy Roman Empire 1493—1806. 2 vols. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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chapter 30

Monasticism i n Ea r ly Moder n Ita ly a n d Spa i n Elizabeth A. Lehfeldt

Introduction Until about thirty years ago, institutional histories, histories of specific religious orders, and biographical studies of charismatic founders dominated our scholarly understand­ ing of the history of monasticism—male and female—in early modern Italy and Spain. The common denominator of these works was an inward focus: single institutions, par­ ticular orders detached from larger religious trends, and exceptional individuals isolated from their peers. This had significant consequences. One was to limit our knowledge of the experience of monasticism and what it was like to make a profession and live in these institutions. Another was that we lacked a sense of where the institutions fit into the larger social and religious landscape. Two historiographical developments have radically transformed the nature of schol­ arship on early modern monasticism: the rise of social history and the concomitant rise of women’s history. The methodology of social history provided an opportunity to examine the place and meaning of monastic foundations within their larger communi­ ties. Scholars increasingly presented monasteries and convents as part of a larger social matrix that included local families, patrons, and civic leaders. Social history also shifted the attention away from exceptional individuals and extended the study of monasticism beyond the walls of the cloister. This made it possible to examine the social background of those who entered religious communities and to trace out the ways in which they maintained connections with their families and other persons in the surrounding area. These developments have led to a new interpretation of monasteries and convents not as remote and withdrawn, but as well integrated into the life of neighbouring cities and towns. Advances in women’s history have contributed to an explosion in the study of

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472   Elizabeth A. Lehfeldt convents. Convents were communities composed entirely of women, and they often controlled considerable material and financial resources. They therefore offer prime research opportunities for scholars seeking a fuller understanding of the role of women in early modern Europe.

Convent Culture in Italy and Spain The most immediate impact of both historiographical approaches has been in the increased attention given to convents, in Spain as well as in Italy. Jodi Bilinkoff ’s The Avila of Saint Teresa (1989) became the model for such work. Bilinkoff situated the monastic reform movement and charisma of Teresa of Avila within highly specific social networks of family and patronage in Avila and the surrounding region. The book contextualized Teresa and her reformed discalced Carmelite institutions, and thereby initiated a spate of studies that sought to connect monastic institutions to the broader society. Works inspired by Bilinkoff ’s methodology focused on a wide array of convents in particular locales (e.g. Lehfeldt 2005). In the last decade, however, the pace of these studies has slowed. Studies of Italian convents also benefited from the twinned methodologies of social and women’s history. Jutta Sperling’s Convents and the Body Politic (1999) employed anthropological theory to advance the provocative argument that the Venetian patriciate forced women into convents as part of a strategy to represent itself as immaculate and pure. Studies by Renée Baernstein (2002), Mary Laven (2003), and Helen Hills (2004) situated convents in their sociohistorical milieux of Milan, Venice, and Naples, respectively, and drew clear connections between these institutions and their families and patrons. The recent monograph by Sharon Strocchia in many ways represents the apogee of this approach. She has both provided a social context for these institutions and has analyzed the ways in which the convents themselves shaped the social and economic fabric of Renaissance Florence. She finds, for example, that an ascendant urban patriciate used their ties to convents and related property to craft political spheres of influence (Strocchia 2009: 39–71). Silvia Evangelisti’s work has added texture to the examination of Italian convents through her study of the built environment—­specifically, nuns’ cells— and the material culture of convent life (Evangelisti 2004, 2006, 2007). Such studies dem­ onstrate the ambivalent ties that nuns maintained to material goods. Sometimes nuns even replicated familiar domestic styles in their convents. Finally, studies of Italian con­ vents have been particularly attentive to the questions of forced monachization and enclosure. The enclosure decrees of the Council of Trent have provided an excellent ana­ lytical point of departure for scholars of female monasticism. Trent sought to enclose all religious women more strictly. This created a flash point at which male ecclesiastical expectations often came into conflict with the traditions of convents that had not previ­ ously observed claustration. Most studies of Italian convents conclude that nuns experi­ enced monasticism as a repressive institution. Helen Hills, for example, refers to nuns as

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Monasticism in Early Modern Italy and Spain   473 ‘inmates’ and to their profession as ‘incarceration’ (Hills 2004: 8, 63). Studies of Spanish convents, on the other hand, have interpreted enclosure as a more flexible and less restrictive ecclesiastical expectation. The study of early modern Italian and Spanish monasticism has benefited—especially in comparison to studies of monasticism in other parts of Europe—from the contributions of scholars of literature and art. An appreciation of monks and nuns as producers, consumers, and patrons of the written word and the visual arts has deepened our understanding of their lives and institutions. But here, too, far more research has been done on female communities than on male ones. Art historians, literary scholars, and music historians have given energy to the study of convents in early modern Italy. As women’s history shifted attention towards the con­ vent as a distinctly female space, art historians began to explore the implications of patronage and of the artistic programmes of convents. Such work has deepened our understanding of life in the convent and the art that surrounded its occupants. Architectural historians have further deepened our understanding of how women moved through and inhabited their built environments. Where there is room for further study is in the exploration of the role of nuns as artists. In a similar fashion, the study of literary production and music in convents has deep­ ened our knowledge of convent life and its ties to the broader society. The works of Robert Kendrick (1996), Craig Monson (1995), and Kimberlyn Montford (2006) have examined the musical performance and production of Italian nuns. Nuns wrote accom­ plished musical pieces, which might be performed within the convent to audiences that often included secular visitors. Musically proficient young women were highly valued recruits to the religious life. Music in the convent, however, became a significant point of contention. Male ecclesiastics objected to choir nuns being visible in the convent churches, and they rearranged the architecture and the nuns accordingly. Increasingly, in the early modern period, nuns’ choirs were separate and largely invisible spaces, cre­ ating a curious situation in which their voices were heard, but they themselves were not seen. There were also significant attempts, especially after the Council of Trent, to limit the types of music that the nuns could perform. It was deemed inappropriate, for ex­ample, for them to perform polyphony. Convents afforded women the opportunity for an education they otherwise might not have received. As a result, nuns used the convent as a literary space. Nuns were active in a variety of genres, including convent dramas (which were sometimes performed for visiting secular guests) and chronicles. The works of Elissa Weaver (2002) and K. J. P. Lowe (2003) have demonstrated the range of topics and concerns addressed by Italian nuns. The research on Spanish convents, on the other hand, has given less attention to the art commissioned and produced by nuns. More vigorous has been the study of the role of patronage, and these analyses occasionally include an examination of artistic com­ missions (Taggard  2000; Goodman  2005). Music in Spanish convents has received important attention in the work of Colleen Baade (2008). Studies of Spanish convents have excelled in the examination of nuns’ literary efforts. Here, too, we find a rich

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474   Elizabeth A. Lehfeldt ­ iversity of genres, with nuns penning plays, spiritual autobiographies, and poetry. The d rhet­oric­al analysis of this work by modern scholars has also flourished, spurred on by Alison Weber’s groundbreaking analysis of the rhetorical strategies of Teresa of Avila (Weber 1996).

Male Monasticism in Italy and Spain Women’s history has provided most of the recent impetus for the study of monasticism in Italy and Spain. The extensive body of work on convents, however, is not matched by scholarship on male monastics and their monasteries. The only notable exception to this trend is in the area of Jesuit historiography. We otherwise know very little about the operations of male monasticism and the reactions of monks and monasteries, for ex­ample, to the changes wrought by the Council of Trent—an issue that has been central to the study of their female counterparts. There is very little current research on either the established religious orders that embraced contemplative monasticism, such as the Benedictines, or the new male orders of the period (the Capuchins, for example). The few existing studies tend towards a trad­ ition­al methodology. Barry Collett’s Italian Benedictine Scholars and the Reformation: The Congregation of Santa Giustina of Padua (Collett  1985) explores the intellectual foundations and influence of a single Benedictine house. Anne Leader’s 2012 study of the art and architecture of the Badia monastery of Florence is limited by its focus on only one institution. It does, however, suggest new approaches to the operations of enclosure at a male institution and the interactions between the male monastic house and its sur­ rounding community. Such scholarship on male monasticism was undoubtedly spurred on by the boom in studies of the Catholic Reformation in the 1990s. Anxious to reclaim a tradition of reform and renewal that predated the more reactionary developments of the CounterReformation, scholars documented the proliferation of new religious orders or move­ ments intended for men. Many of these movements, however, embraced an ethos of active service that set them apart from the contemplative model of monasticism. This may explain, in part, the lacuna in the scholarship on early modern male monasticism, as traditionally defined. With the exception of the Ursulines (who were themselves eventually strictly enclosed), the inability of women to participate in such movements may also account for the lively scholarly interest in convents. For men, however, nonclerical associations such as the Spanish Hospitallers of St John of God or the Theatines presented a non-monastic outlet for spirituality. In addition, there were groups that began as reforms of existing orders, such as the Italian Capuchins, a Franciscan reform movement. For Spain, the activity of the dis­ calced Carmelites is noteworthy, especially since—despite its female founder, Teresa of Avila—this branch of the order was quickly taken over by the male leadership (Weber 2000). Overall, though, the scholarship on these and other reformed religious

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Monasticism in Early Modern Italy and Spain   475 orders is quite traditional in nature, focusing either on influential founders or on the early history of the orders. We learn little of the actual experiences of the participants, and instead much about administrative structures and early organizational meetings. Not surprisingly, however, it is the hallmark male movement of the period, the Society of Jesus, which has received the most attention. John O’Malley’s groundbreaking The First Jesuits (O’Malley 1993) charted an important way forward. He examined the rise of the Society and drew attention to facets of the early movement that had been neglected, or had been the stuff of myth-making (because of the charismatic shadow of Ignatius of Loyola and the eventual renown of the Society). O’Malley’s work has led to an outpour­ ing of interdisciplinary scholarship that has included studies of the Jesuits’ influence on art and on their missionary reach (Bailey 1999; Brockey 2007).

Future Directions in Research The future research agenda for the study of early modern Italian and Spanish monasti­ cism will need to answer to developments both within and without the field. To begin with, we need to address the imbalance in the progress of research on men’s and women’s communities. We should strive for a truly gendered history of monasticism—one that would hold in comparative tension the experiences of male and female religious and their institutions. From outside the field, the study of monasticism in both Italy and Spain needs to acknowledge the complexity of monasticism in the early modern period. Studies of pre- and post-Tridentine religious life have highlighted the rise of new and reformed orders, as well as the proliferation of different monastic lifestyles. A full under­ standing of this variety and its place alongside the traditional contemplative orders is necessary to complete our understanding of the role of monasticism in early modern Italian and Spanish society. Because the history of early modern male monasticism lags considerably behind the work done on convents and nuns, it is essential to come to terms with it. One of the most important future directions for work in this field, therefore, is to reinvigorate the study of monasteries. To see the methodology of the work pioneered by Jodi Bilinkoff applied to male institutions would enable us to discern the connections between patrons and families and male monastics. Interestingly, there are good examples of this for the medi­ eval period in Charles Hilken’s Memory and Community in Medieval Southern Italy (Hilken 2008) and Susan Boynton’s Shaping a Monastic Identity: Liturgy and History at the Imperial Abbey of Farfa, 1000–1125 (Boynton 2006). Such studies would provide, at long last, a more complete picture of the religious landscape of early modern Europe— one in which we could comprehensively examine convents, monasteries, parish churches, confraternities, and other religious associations. Were we to enrich the field of early modern monasticism by applying the methodo­ logical approaches currently being used for the study of convents to the study of monas­ teries, we could also begin to arrive at a gendered history of monasticism. Hints of such

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476   Elizabeth A. Lehfeldt scholarship have begun to appear. The most noteworthy of these is Anne Jacobson Schutte’s work on the monks and nuns across Europe who petitioned the papacy for release from their monastic vows (Schutte 2011). Perhaps because of better access to advocates and other resources, more monks than nuns registered such petitions. Both men and women cited familial pressures and attendant fears as the cause of their unwill­ ing professions. The ability to juxtapose the patronage patterns and familial associations between monasteries as compared to convents would contribute to a better understand­ ing of the social meaning of these institutions. From there we could proceed to compare other categories—musical production and artistic programmes, for instance—between monasteries and convents of particular regions or religious orders. It would be useful, too, to compare the size and the finances of male versus female institutions. Scholarship on both genders would benefit from a thoroughgoing assessment of the place of monasticism in the period from the Catholic Reformation through the eight­ eenth century. Even the rich historiography on convents falls off precipitously after the mid-seventeenth century. We need a clearer picture of the place of all of these institu­ tions on the eve of the modern era. There are some notable lacunae in the scholarship of early modern monasticism in Italy and Spain, but all of the directions for future research identified here will benefit from the methodological and analytical models provided by the work produced in the last thirty years.

Bibliography Baade, Colleen (2008). ‘Music and Misgiving: Attitudes Towards Nuns’ Music in Early Modern Spain’. In Female Monasticism in Early Modern Europe: An Interdisciplinary View, edited by Cordula van Wyhe, 81–95. Aldershot and Burlington, VT: Ashgate. Baernstein, P.  Renée (2002). A Convent Tale: A Century of Sisterhood in Spanish Milan. New York: Routledge. Bailey, Gauvin  A. (1999). Art on the Jesuit Missions in Asia and Latin America, 1542–1773. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Bilinkoff, Jodi (1989). The Avila of Saint Teresa: Religious Reform in a Sixteenth-Century City. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Boynton, Susan (2006). Shaping a Monastic Identity: Liturgy and History at the Imperial Abbey of Farfa, 1000–1125. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Brockey, Liam Matthew (2007). Journey to the East: The Jesuit Mission to China, 1579–1724. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Collett, Barry (1985). Italian Benedictine Scholars and the Reformation: The Congregation of Santa Giustina of Padua. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Evangelisti, Silvia (2007). Nuns: A History of Convent Life, 1450–1700. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Evangelisti, Silvia (2006). ‘Rooms to Share: Convent Cells and Social Relations in Early Modern Italy’. In The Art of Survival: Gender and History in Europe, 1450–2000, edited by Ruth Harris and Lyndal Roper, 55–71. Past & Present Supplement 1. Oxford: Oxford Journals. Evangelisti, Silvia (2004). ‘Monastic Poverty and Material Culture in Early Modern Italian Convents’. Historical Journal 47: 1–20.

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Monasticism in Early Modern Italy and Spain   477 Goodman, Eleanor (2005). ‘Conspicuous in Her Absence: Mariana of Austria, Juan José of Austria, and the Representation of Her Power’. In Queenship and Political Power in Medieval and Early Modern Spain, edited by Theresa Earenfight, 163–184. Aldershot: Ashgate. Hilken, Charles (2008). Memory and Community in Medieval Southern Italy: The History, Chapter Book, and Necrology of Santa Maria del Gualdo Mazzocca. Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies. Hills, Helen (2004). Invisible City: The Architecture of Devotion in Seventeenth-Century Neapolitan Convents. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Kendrick, Robert  L. (1996). Celestial Sirens: Nuns and Their Music in Early Modern Milan. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Laven, Mary (2003). Virgins of Venice: Broken Vows and Cloistered Lives in the Renaissance Convent. London: Viking. Leader, Anne (2012). The Badia of Florence: Art and Observance in a Renaissance Monastery. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Lehfeldt, Elizabeth (2005). Religious Women in Golden Age Spain: The Permeable Cloister. Aldershot: Ashgate. Lowe, K.  J.  P. (2003). Nuns’ Chronicles and Convent Culture in Renaissance and CounterReformation Italy. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Monson, Craig (1995). Disembodied Voices: Music and Culture in an Early Modern Italian Convent. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Montford, Kimberlyn (2006). ‘Holy Restraint: Religious Reform and Nuns’ Music in Early Modern Rome’. Sixteenth Century Journal 37: 1007–1026. O’Malley, John (1993). The First Jesuits. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Schutte, Anne Jacobson (2011). By Force and Fear: Taking and Breaking Monastic Vows in Early Modern Europe. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Sperling, Jutta (1999). Convents and the Body Politic in late Renaissance Venice. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Strocchia, Sharon (2009). Nuns and Nunneries in Renaissance Florence. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Taggard, Mindy Nancarrow (2000). ‘Art and Alienation in Early Modern Spanish Convents’. South Atlantic Review 65: 24–40. Weaver, Elissa (2002). Convent Theatre in Early Modern Italy: Spiritual Fun and Learning for Women. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Weber, Alison (2000). ‘Spiritual Administration: Gender and Discernment in the Carmelite Reform’. Sixteenth Century Journal 31: 123–146. Weber, Alison (1996). Teresa of Avila and the Rhetoric of Femininity. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

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chapter 31

Russi a n Orthodox Monasticism from 988 to 1917 Scott M. Kenworthy

The scholarship on medieval and modern Eastern Christian monasticism remains far less developed than that on Western Christian counterparts, and studies in Western languages are few. There are several reasons for this neglect: for one, the Orthodox Church was typically omitted from or given only marginal consideration in traditional histories of Christianity. The number of Western scholars interested in Russian religious history before the twentieth century was negligible. After the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 and seventy years of communist domination, the apparent disappearance of religion in the Soviet Union translated into a lack of interest in Russia’s pre-revolutionary religious history. Influential scholars of medieval Russia argued that the Church had only a marginal influence on Russian culture, either elite or popular. The situation was even more extreme for those who studied Imperial Russia (1700–1917), where the Church was dismissed a priori. Many works were published in pre-revolutionary Russia, most of which were histories of individual monasteries or biographies of individual monastic figures, though there were certainly high-quality studies of medieval monasticism. During the Soviet period, studies of Orthodoxy were driven by a rigidly Marxist schema. Most studies of monasticism therefore focused on monasteries as feudal landowners, the ways in which they exploited the peasants, and the resulting class conflict. As a consequence, during the twentieth century a few Russian émigrés produced virtually the only studies, most notably the broad survey by Igor Smolitsch (1953). The collapse of the Soviet Union has resulted in renewed interest among both Russian and foreign scholars, and the past few decades have seen an upswing in relevant publications. The study of Russian monasticism is a nearly wide-open field, with very rich sources that have barely been tapped, and where either old paradigms are challenged or there are no paradigms at all. This also presents difficulties, however, because often even the most basic issues have yet to be investigated (see Kenworthy 2009b; Goldfrank 2012; Spock 2015).

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Russian Orthodox Monasticism from 988 to 1917   479

Kyivan Rus Monasticism came to the Eastern Slavs with Grand Prince Vladimir of Kyiv’s conversion to Christianity in 988. The Eastern Slavs received Christianity from the Byzantine Church, and Byzantine models set the general pattern. Two paradigmatic forms emerged: the coenobitic, or communal form, and the anchoritic, more solitary way of life pursued by the hermit. In addition, a hybrid form emerged, especially connected with ‘sketes’ and hermitages, which consisted of communities that brought together monks for periodic collective worship but kept the focus on individual prayer life. The monastic ‘rule’ was quite diverse in both Byzantium and Russia, and most communities adopted and flexibly adapted some hybrid model in between the coenobitic and the idiorrhythmic (Spock 2008). Monasteries in Kyivan Rus were mostly founded in or near cities and were closely connected with the political and cultural life of those cities. The greatest flowering of monasticism in this early period was in the Kyivan Caves Monastery, which also produced the first spiritual writing among the Eastern Slavs (especially in the form of Paterika or Saints’ Lives), the most important of which have been translated into English (Hollingsworth 1992; Heppell 1989). Indeed, the two founders of the Kyivan Caves Monastery exemplified the different types of monastic life: Antony initially dug himself a cave above the Dneiper River that was to serve as his retreat from the world as a hermit, but when his fellow seekers grew to a large enough number, Feodosii (Theodosius) founded a coenobitic community above the original caves. Although there was quite a flowering of Christianity in Kyivan Rus, most of the monasteries were destroyed with the Mongol invasion in 1240, and it took some time to recover (Fennell 1995; Senyk 1993).

St Sergius and Muscovite Monasticism The greatest flowering of medieval Russian monasticism began in the mid-fourteenth century, especially with the figure of St Sergius of Radonezh (1314–1392). Sergius retreated into the Russian equivalent of the ‘desert’, namely the uninhabited wilderness, to pursue the solitary life of contemplative prayer. He combined humility, profound spirituality, and an ability to be an advisor to princes that inspired an upsurge of Russian spirituality on the eve of Russia’s liberation from Mongol domination and unification around Moscow. As a consequence, St Sergius came to be venerated as a patron saint of Muscovy and the monastery he founded its holiest site (Gonneau  1993; Kloss  2013; Miller 2010). Although contemplative in orientation, Sergius eventually established the coenobitic rule in his monastery (according to the vita, on instructions from the Patriarch of Constantinople via Metropolitan of Moscow Aleksii), a pattern that would be followed in his wake. Given the importance of the Trinity-Sergius Monastery, it

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480   Scott M. Kenworthy would eventually become one of the largest landowners in medieval Russia and served as a shrine on a national scale comparable to no other (Miller 2010). The two great monastic leaders and writers of the generation after St Sergius were Joseph Volotskii (1440–1515) and Nil Sorskii (1433–1508). The view inherited from nineteenth-century historiography pitted them as opposites, even opponents. ­ According to the traditional view, Joseph emphasized the coenobitic rule of strict personal poverty on behalf of the monks while defending the monastic community’s right to own land; he also emphasized corporate liturgical prayer and obedience to the abbot. By contrast, Nil Sorskii advocated a looser model of communal life that emphasized the personal contemplative prayer of the monks, and therefore he did not support monastery land­owner­ship. According to the traditional view, the ‘Possessors’ (Josephites) came into conflict with the ‘Non-Possessors’ (Nil’s followers), with the first camp ultimately victorious and Nil’s tradition of monasticism largely marginalized (for recent treatments, see Sinitsyna  2005: 116–149). Although there certainly were conflicts over monastic land­owner­ship in the first half of the sixteenth century, recent scholarship has challenged the notion that Nil and Joseph were in conflict (Ostrowski 1986 and 2012). Indeed, the path-breaking work of David Goldfrank has demonstrated that Nil and Joseph knew and respected one another’s work and shared more than they differed (Goldfrank 2007). We are also indebted to Goldfrank’s translations of the main works of both these monastic leaders (Goldfrank 2000 and 2008). By contrast with the Kyivan period, when monasteries were founded by princely families in or near cities, the monasteries of the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries were founded by monks in remote forests and generally with a stricter, usually coenobitic, rule. The most famous have been the subject of recent studies: the Kirillo-Belozerskii (Romanchuk  2007), Solovetskii (Spock  1999), and the Iosifo-Volokalamsk (Dykstra 2006) monasteries. Spock and Dykstra have focused on their social histories; in effect one can conclude that there was a spectrum from such elite institutions as TrinitySergius to places such as Solovki (whose monks were previously traders, trappers, and fishermen), with Iosifo-Volokalamsk falling somewhere in between. In monasteries such as Kirillo-Belozerskii or Iosifo-Volokalamsk, at least in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the brothers were generally united by their commitment to the ascetic ideal rather than divided by social privilege, even as the communities continued to expand as landowners. Robert Romanchuk has explored the intellectual life of Kirillo-Belozerskii Monastery and demonstrated that, contrary to the usual image of medieval Russian monasticism, there was a lively school of book production and study that ranged much more broadly than the typical ascetical and liturgical literature, even venturing into secular subjects, though such a spirited intellectual atmosphere likely characterized only some monasteries. In comparison to the monasticism of the fourteenth through sixteenth centuries, that of the seventeenth has received considerably less attention (though see Goldfrank 2012: 173–246; Thyrêt 2010). Church Councils from the mid-sixteenth to the mid-seventeenth centuries reveal Church authorities struggling with abuses to the ideals of monastic life. The state endeavoured to gain control over the vast landholdings in 1649, when it

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Russian Orthodox Monasticism from 988 to 1917   481 e­ stablished the Monastery Chancellery. There is a sense that the spiritual authority of monks declined in favour of bishops (Bushkovitch 1992), and Georg Michels (1992) has explored the relationship of monasteries to the Schism of the Old Belief in the seventeenth century and their role in the violence of the age. In general, Russian monasticism in the seventeenth century, much as in the West, seems to have grown rather lax, ­perhaps in part precipitating the crisis of the eighteenth century. Much more research, however, is needed to gain a fuller picture.

Eighteenth-Century Crisis Medieval Muscovy witnessed the flowering of Russian monasticism, but there were also tensions with the Russian state over monastic landownership. In the eighteenth century these tensions came to the forefront as Russia’s rulers came to emphasize rationalism and secular justifications for governing. Russia’s elites and rulers regarded monasticism as suspect not only because of its wealth and landownership, but because they viewed it as socially useless. Peter the Great (1682/1696–1725), in particular, regarded monastics as social parasites and sought to harness monastic wealth for the state. He therefore sought to close or amalgamate smaller monasteries, placed restrictions on founding new monasteries, established higher minimum age requirements for monastic tonsure (thirty for men, forty or fifty for women), and forced monasteries to perform socially useful functions. Peter’s restrictive policies were continued by his successors, especially Empress Anna I (r. 1730–1740), who not only prohibited the tonsure of new monks and nuns, but also sought to reduce the number who had already joined, even drafting some into the army. The number of monks and nuns (about 25,000 in 1724) was reduced by some forty per cent as a result of these efforts (Andronik, Bovkalo, and Fedorov 2000: 326–327; Smolich 1997: 264–668; Lisovoi 2005: 186–222; Muller 1972: 76–77, 80–82; Cracraft 1971: 251–261). Catherine the Great (r. 1762–1796) carried out a much more far-reaching reform in 1764. Catherine confiscated all of the monasteries’ landed estates (nearly nine million hectares with a million ‘souls’ or adult serfs) and transferred them to state ownership. She promised to compensate monasteries from the income of those estates for their support; monasteries were categorized in different ‘classes’ according to their size and received a corresponding amount. Out of more than 1,000 monasteries on the eve of secularization, however, only 272 received state funding. An additional 195 monasteries remained open, but were deprived of both their land and state support (Vodarskii and Istomina 2009: 48). The remaining monasteries—more than half—were closed, and the monks and nuns relocated to other monasteries (Burbee 2000). The number of monks and nuns fell to a mere 5,450. Monasticism in Russia stagnated for the next half century and looked as though it might never recover. Not only did the state restrict the establishment of new monasteries, but monasteries themselves were reluctant to recruit more members than allotted by the state because that would dilute the income levels.

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482   Scott M. Kenworthy The devastation of Catherine’s reforms was not the whole story, however. There were individual figures, most notably Tikhon of Zadonsk, who would have a significant influence on Russian spirituality. But the most significant movement took place outside the Russian Empire: the Philocalic revival inspired in the Slavic lands by Paisii Velichkovskii. Paisii rejected the scholastic theology taught in Kiev, and went instead to Mount Athos, the inter-Orthodox monastic republic in Greece (on Russia and Mount Athos, see Fennell and Speake 2018). There he discovered ancient manuscripts on prayer, which he began to collect and translate. He eventually settled in Moldavia and attracted a panOrthodox group of Russian, Ukrainian, and Romanian monks (see BriskinaMüller 2018), who were engaged in translating Eastern Christian spiritual classics into Slavonic and reviving traditions of contemplative prayer and spiritual guidance. Paisii had begun his efforts before a similar effort by the Greek monks Nikodemos the Hagiorite and Makarios of Corinth, although his translations only circulated in manuscript form. After Nikodemos and Makarios published the Greek Philokalia (Venice, 1782), Paisii used the published version for further translations, and the Slavonic version (the Dobrotoliubie) was published in St Petersburg in 1793. Paisii’s translations and his disciples proved instrumental in the revival of contemplative spirituality in nineteenthcentury Russia (Featherstone 1989; Chetverikov 1980; Nichols 1985). There are a number of contested points in interpreting the fate of monasticism in eighteenth-century Russia. One of the perpetually debated issues in Russian history is the degree to which Peter the Great’s reforms represented continuity with the past or rather a radical break from it, together with the degree to which they were inspired by Western examples. These issues are pertinent to state policy with regard to monasticism. A second key historiographical issue is the intent and impact of Catherine the Great’s reforms. V. V. Lisovoi (2005), in a balanced and insightful survey of the period, argues that cultural shifts in seventeenth-century Russia prepared the way for Peter, whose reforms were motivated in part by a legitimate need to address real problems and need for reform, but that this was combined with a complete lack of sympathy (partly under Protestant influence) for the monastic project. Lisovoi further argues that Catherine was able to accomplish her secularization reform because the Russian bishops were willing to exchange property for a fixed salary from the state. Lisovoi laments Catherine’s ­secularization—and the closure of many ancient monasteries left to decay—as a historical tragedy. At the same time, he argues that Catherine’s policy was a sort of ‘middle way’, that there were those who would have taken the reform much further. Early twentieth-century monastic leaders criticized the continued state allowance for monasteries as detrimental to spiritual life; though meagre, they constituted a kind of ‘salary’ for monastics who received them, which—among other things—­ created two classes of monks and nuns (those who did and those who did not receive a state salary) (Kenworthy 2010: 233). Catherine’s reforms can be compared to those of the Habsburg emperor Joseph II two decades later, though Joseph specifically targeted contemplative orders, and redirected the income from confiscated properties to other needs of the Church, rather than to the state. The situation in Russia, however, was far less dire than it had been in Revolutionary

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Russian Orthodox Monasticism from 988 to 1917   483 France, where all religious communities were liquidated in 1792. It is indisputable that the consequences of the eighteenth-century policies towards monasticism, especially those of Catherine, were devastating. At the same time, Catherine’s secularization of monastic estates was a significant factor in the low level of anticlericalism in nineteenthcentury Russia (because monasteries were not serf owners for a century before the emancipation of the serfs in 1861). Moreover, it freed monasteries from the burden of administering estates and severed the aristocratic dominance of monasticism, allowing a democratization of monastic recruitment of individuals who came for reasons other than, say, family ties to monastic properties. In short, Catherine’s reforms nearly put an end to monasticism in Russia, but at the same time the nineteenth-century revival is hard to imagine without them (Kenworthy 2010: 111­–168).

The Revival of Monasticism in Nineteenth-Century Russia Monasticism in Russia stagnated for over half a century after Catherine the Great’s secularization, but from the early nineteenth century until the outbreak of war and revolution it enjoyed a profound resurgence. Unlike nineteenth-century Western revivals, which were orders focused on charitable activities and predominantly female, the Russian revival included men and women oriented to both contemplation and social service. In 1825, the number of monasteries had not substantially changed since Catherine’s reforms: there were 377 men’s and ninety-nine women’s houses (476 total). By 1917 the number of monasteries exceeded that of the pre-Petrine period, with a total of 1,256 monasteries of all types throughout the Russian Empire. The rate of growth became exceptionally large after 1880, with an average of twelve monasteries founded every year; most were women’s communities, corresponding to a sharp increase in female recruits. The number of tonsured monks and nuns was also roughly the same in 1825 as after Catherine’s secularization, with 3,727 monks and 1,882 nuns (5,609 total), although the number of novices who had not yet taken monastic vows had grown to an equivalent number (2,015 male and 3,456 female novices, 5,471 total). The total number of monks, nuns, and novices doubled between 1825 and 1860 (21,797 total, with 11,202 monks and male novices and 10,595 nuns and female novices). Between 1860 and 1917 that number shot up to 105,000. There were more monks than nuns before 1860, but in the second half of the century the number of female monastics increased at a far more rapid rate than the male monastics (to 77,585 nuns and female novices in 1917). As with the number of monasteries, the rate of growth was particularly rapid after 1880, especially of female novices, who counted more than half of all monastics by the early twentieth century (Vodarskii and Istomina 2009: 79). Orthodox monasticism was not divided into distinct orders, as in Western monasticism, but individual monasteries had certain freedom to establish their own monastic

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484   Scott M. Kenworthy rule with distinct emphases. Some monastic communities focused more on liturgical worship, others on contemplative prayer, others which had relics of revered saints functioned to serve pilgrims, while others served the populace through operating schools, hospitals, almshouses, or missionary outreach. The Trinity-St Sergius Lavra continued to be one of Russia’s most important monasteries, as it had been in the medieval period, and it can serve as a microcosm for many facets of the nineteenth-century revival. Trinity-Sergius was fortunate to have excellent leadership for most of the nineteenth century and flourished under its guidance. Most influential were Filaret (Drozdov, 1782–1867), Metropolitan of Moscow, and his close coworker as prior of the monastery, Archimandrite Antonii (Medvedev, 1792–1877). Metropolitan Filaret was inspired by impulses toward pietism and the ‘return to the sources’ that dominated Russian elites at the turn of the nineteenth century, but he sought to root these in the Eastern Church Fathers (Racheotes 2019). Archimandrite Antonii was a disciple of the famed elder Serafim of Sarov and was inspired by classical models of Eastern Christian spirituality. Together, Filaret and Antonii successfully adapted these classical models to the context of nineteenth-century Russia. Antonii, in particular, fostered the development of Trinity-Sergius’s life in all spheres: he renovated buildings, ensured the solemnity of liturgical services, transformed Trinity-Sergius into a pilgrimage destination on a massive scale, created spaces for the pursuit of contemplative prayer, and established a whole range of philanthropic activities at the monastery. In 1830, the number of monks and novices remained at the level stipulated by Catherine’s reforms (100 monks and 20 novices). By 1870, there were 370 monks and novices, and the number would continue to grow (Kenworthy 2010: 33–72). In addition to the main monastery itself, however, five new communities were established under the auspices of Trinity-Sergius in the nineteenth century, each of which also grew substantially. In these cases, which reflected broader patterns, the monastic communities were established by monastic leaders rather than ecclesiastical authorities; in other words the inspiration came from below, not from above. Church and state authorities, if anything, hampered these movements because of the complex bureaucratic procedures required to establish new monasteries. Archimandrite Antonii and Metropolitan Filaret established the first such community, Gethsemane Skete, as a place set aside for the pursuit of contemplative prayer. It was, by design, to be smaller, stricter, and quieter, with fewer pilgrims and monks. When Antonii and Filaret first established the Skete, it was clearly an experiment, and they had no idea what the response would be and how many monks would be attracted to such a model. The response far exceeded all expectations, and Gethsemane grew so rapidly that it lost its character as a small, isolated community, though it did not lose the strictness of its ascetic ideal. In a pattern comparable to the medieval one, monks from Gethsemane who sought greater isolation and solitude than Gethsemane could provide created new spaces, resulting in the foundation of several more hermitages that also flourished. Such new communities not only found positive response from monks seeking such a model of spiritual life, but also from the laity; wealthier nobles and merchants donated the funds for the construction new buildings, while those from all classes frequently visited in search of spiritual direction.

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Russian Orthodox Monasticism from 988 to 1917   485 This contemplative ideal was a major factor in attracting new monastic recruits and establishing new men’s monasteries and hermitages (Kenworthy 2010: 73–110).

Patterns of Monastic Growth Medieval Russian monasteries owned estates populated with serfs that provided their major source of support. Indeed, it was precisely because monasteries had become such extensive landowners that they came under the scrutiny of the state. Catherine replaced the income from the estates with a meagre state budget that was important in the decades after secularization, but which became increasingly insignificant with time. Different types of monasteries found different means of support. In the course of the nineteenth century, monasteries were once again allowed to own land, and began to receive land as donations and to purchase it themselves. Most of this was forested rather than arable land, however, and generally it did not serve as a major source of income (Zyrianov 2002). Some monasteries, like the Trinity-Sergius Lavra, were major pilgrimage centres and received the majority of their income precisely from pilgrims. These were, on the whole, not large donations from the wealthiest pilgrims, but rather from the sale of small items such as candles that cost only a few kopeks each—such was the massive scale of pilgrimage. Monasteries and convents that did not receive large numbers of pilgrims often supported themselves through their own labour, especially agriculture and handicrafts. Although a few monasteries such as Trinity-Sergius were very wealthy, and the wealth of the few attracted the ire of secular (and even parish clergy) critics who called for its expropriation or redistribution, most monasteries were relatively poor (Zyrianov 2002: 75-90, 179–195, 296–300). Moreover, as the income of a monastery such as TrinitySergius grew, so did its expenses, especially its charitable outreach. By the early twentieth century the majority of monasteries and especially convents operated a school, an almshouse, or a hospital or infirmary that served pilgrims and the local population (Kenworthy 2010: 23–24, 44–72, 169–220, 273–274; Meehan 1990; Miller 2009). Monasticism was dominated by social elites in medieval Russia, as in the West. Catherine’s secularization reform severed the tie between aristocratic families and monasteries and allowed their composition to be democratized. Thus by the middle of the nineteenth century, aristocratic recruits fell to a small percentage, and recruits came from a great variety of social classes: children of parish clergy, townspeople, and increasingly the peasantry. By the early twentieth century, the vast majority of new recruits came from the peasantry. In the nineteenth century, the age for monastic tonsure was fixed by civil law at thirty for men (with some exceptions) and forty for women. The majority joined a monastery or convent in their twenties instead of marrying (although there was also a pattern of those who joined after having had families). They would live in the monastery for a period ‘on trial’ before being formally accepted into the novitiate. Although the novitiate had to last at least three years, in fact it was typically considerably

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486   Scott M. Kenworthy longer, especially for women. Even the monastery hierarchy was democratized, and it was not unusual for a former peasant to become head even of prominent monasteries (Kenworthy 2010: 111–168; Miller 2009: 102–140; Wagner 2006: 812–822). Scholars of religion in Imperial Russia have been particularly interested in the upsurge of pilgrimage in nineteenth-century Russia (Robson  2007; Worobec  2007 and  2009; Greene 2012). In general, pilgrims were drawn to the relics of a revered saint or a particular icon regarded as miracle-working, most of which were housed in monasteries. Thus the revival of monasticism was intimately connected with the upsurge of pilgrimage: not only did pilgrimage provide many monasteries with important means of financial support, but also exposed potential recruits to the monastic life. Monastery presses published saints’ lives and tales of miraculous healings that inspired both pilgrims and monastic recruits. Such literature was the popular type of reading for the lower classes, as literacy spread in the second half of the nineteenth century. Moreover, although there were sometimes tensions or conflicts between the Church hierarchy and expressions of popular piety in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century Russia, monasteries often provided meeting places where there were no clear-cut distinctions between ‘popular’ and ‘official’ religion, and influences travelled both ways (Kenworthy 2010:169–220).

Hesychasm and Spiritual Elders One distinctive feature of the revival of monasticism in nineteenth-century Russia was the centrality of contemplative spirituality. Eastern Christian spirituality, notably hesychasm, was known in medieval Russia but had largely disappeared by the seventeenth century. Such forms of spirituality included ascetical practices, such as fasting and keeping vigil, combined with solitude and silence. The practitioner focused the mind on God, often using a short prayer such as the ‘Jesus Prayer’ (‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me’), in order to dispel temptations, purify the heart, and open up the person to God’s presence. Typically such practices also involved spiritual guidance, whereby monks more advanced on the spiritual path would offer guidance to those less experienced. Although both hesychasm and spiritual eldership had largely disappeared in seventeenth- and eighteenth-century Russia, they were revived by Paisii Velichkovskii on Mount Athos and Moldavia in the eighteenth century and brought to Russia in the nineteenth century by his disciples (Bolshakoff 1980; Fedotov 1948). The nineteenth century witnessed the transformation of spiritual eldership from a more or less strictly monastic phenomenon into a popular one. Many elders, beginning with Serafim of Sarov and the elders of the Optina Hermitage, gained wide reputations as living holy men endowed with gifts of spiritual guidance, healing, and foresight. Some would be visited by hundreds of visitors a day. The authority of the elders was personal and charismatic rather than institutional or hierarchical. Indeed, it was not unusual for there to be tensions or conflicts with the established hierarchy. At the same time, as both Irina Paert and the author of this chapter have recently argued, they were able to adapt

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Russian Orthodox Monasticism from 988 to 1917   487 flexibly to changing needs of Orthodox believers and served to maintain the vitality of Orthodoxy, despite the less than ideal conditions of the institutional Church. Although it was a revival of ancient traditions, those traditions were transformed in a modern context. Indeed, as seen even in Dostoyevsky’s Brothers Karamazov, many resisted the spread of spiritual eldership on the grounds that it was an innovation. By the end of the century, however, it came to serve as a symbol of Russian national character and Orthodoxy’s deep spirituality (Kenworthy  2010: 94–110, 221–253; Paert  2010; Kuchumov  2013; Nichols  1985 and  2000–2001; Smolitsch  1952; Engelstein  2009: 125–150).

Female Monasticism In recent years, considerable attention has been given to the explosion of female monastic recruits in the last decades of pre-revolutionary Russia (Wagner 2014; Worobec 2006). After Catherine’s reform resulted in the closure of many convents, women inclined towards religious life would often form semi-formal religious communities that were less restricted by the authorities. In several articles, Brenda Meehan explored how these communities functioned as convents, but without the taking of formal vows. They were accessible to women of diverse social backgrounds. Women themselves often founded such communities, though male spiritual elders frequently played an important role. Typically communities founded in rural locations would be supported by the local popu­la­tion, from where the communities also drew their recruits. William Wagner has devoted a series of articles to women’s monasticism, exploring how convents normally supported themselves by their own labour, such as handicrafts or agricultural work. Most convents and religious communities were also engaged in some form of philanthropic activity, such as teaching, or caring for the poor or the sick. The communities also enabled women (who frequently came from peasant backgrounds) to receive some education and exercise positions of authority (see also Miller 2009; Sinitsyna 2005: 245–284; Charipova 2012 and 2014).

The Early Twentieth Century As often seems to happen in Christian history, the very success of a monastic revival eventually leads to a sense of crisis: monasticism’s successes bring in so many new recruits that the quality of spiritual life declines as the original spiritual impulse fades. Whether there was in fact a real decline in monastic discipline by the early twentieth century, or merely the perception of decline, is hard to determine, but there is no doubt that even monastic leaders themselves felt there was a crisis at hand. As the century opened, an intense debate raged in ecclesiastical journals about the meaning and

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488   Scott M. Kenworthy ­ urpose of monasticism in the modern world, in particular whether monasteries p should be devoted to philanthropic services for society or whether their primary purpose was the traditional pursuit of contemplative prayer and asceticism. At the same time, the Holy Synod of the Russian Orthodox Church ordered a thorough assessment of the condition of all men’s monasteries, with a similar review of convents coming a decade later. In 1909, monastic leaders convened a congress to discuss the problems and measures of reform. Many of the same issues would be raised again at the All-Russian Church Council in 1917–1918 (Kenworthy 2008, 2009a and 2010: 221–253; Zapal’skii 2016). On the eve of war and revolution, a significant theological controversy erupted over the hesychast teaching and prayer of the Russian monks on Mount Athos. One of the Russian Athonite monks published a book on prayer and the spiritual life, In the Caucasus Mountains, in which the author asserted that ‘the Name of God is God Himself ’. This phrase sparked controversy, and though the teaching was condemned by both the Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople and the Russian Holy Synod, many monks refused to recant. In the end, the controversy was ‘resolved’ when a Russian warship forced hundreds of monks to return to Russia from Athos. Nevertheless, the leading theologians of the age, such as Pavel Florensky and Sergius Bulgakov, continued to ruminate on the intersection of language, spiritual experience, and theology (Kenworthy 2020). Monasticism continued to expand in Russia up until the First World War and the Revolution of 1917. The war meant the cessation of recruitment for men’s monasteries, as potential male recruits and even novices were drafted into the army, but the number of female recruits continued to rise unabated. Monasteries in western Russia fell in occupied territories and were evacuated. Monasteries responded to the crisis of war by operating or assisting infirmaries, taking in refugees from the front, or caring for orphans. There were increased financial strains and a decrease in pilgrimage (Kenworthy 2004). The cataclysm of the Bolshevik Revolution would fundamentally alter conditions for monasticism in Russia, and within a decade monastic life would be all but eradicated in the Soviet Union.

Future Directions in Research The study of the history of Russian monasticism is entering a new and exciting phase. Some periods of its history, especially the fourteenth to the sixteenth centuries, have received considerable attention since the nineteenth century, but in recent years there have been new studies that challenge inherited paradigms and open up new questions. Other periods, especially the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, have as yet received little attention. The modern period is only just beginning to be investigated, though it promises to be a fruitful area of research. The subject can be approached in several ways: through the study of key monastic leaders or spiritual elders such as St Sergius of

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Russian Orthodox Monasticism from 988 to 1917   489 Radonezh in the medieval period, or Serafim of Sarov or the Optina elders in the ­modern; the study of key monastic theoreticians and their writings, such as Nil Sorskii and Joseph Volotsky in the medieval period or Ignatii Brianchaninov and Theofan the Recluse in the modern; or the study of individual communities. Other studies focus on broader phenomena such as women’s monasticism. Some examine the social history of monasteries or convents (social background of recruits, administration, economics, etc.), others the political significance or role as pilgrimage centres, while still others explore the intellectual, cultural, or spiritual life of monastic communities. All of these approaches can deepen our knowledge of Russian monasticism through the ages and therefore add a rich and heretofore missing dimension to our understanding of Christian monasticism.

Suggested Reading For an overview of Russian Christianity, see Agadjanian and Kenworthy (2021). For a survey of recent historiography on Russian monasticism, see Kenworthy (2009b). David Goldfrank (2012) and Liudmila Naidenova (2013) have edited special journal issues focused on Russian monasticism in various periods; Naidenova’s volume gives English translations of an important survey by leading Russian specialists (Sinitsyna 2005). A collection of essays edited by Ines Murzaku (2015) covers Russia and other Eastern European and former Soviet territories. These items should be consulted first; individual articles will not necessarily be cited in the bibliography below. To date the only comprehensive history of Russian monasticism remains Smolitsch (1953). Translations of key texts from various periods can be found in Fedotov (1948). For the earliest, Kyivan period of Eastern Slavic monasticism, the best places to start are general histories of the Church (Fennell 1995 and Senyk 1993) together with translations of original texts (Hollingsworth 1992 and Heppell 1989). Jennifer Spock (2015) provides a broad discussion of monasticism in the Muscovite period (thirteenth to seventeenth centuries), with citations of relevant literature. Anglo-American scholars working on the period include David Goldfrank, David Miller, Paul Bushkovitch, Tom Dykstra, Jennifer Spock; European scholars include Pierre Gonneau and Ludwig Steindorf; and Russian scholars include Boris  M.  Kloss, Elena Romanenko, S.  V.  Sinitsyn, Gleb Zapal’skii, and many others.

Bibliography Agadjanian, Alexander and Scott  M.  Kenworthy (forthcoming 2021). Understanding World Christianity: Russia. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Andronik (Trubachev), A. A. Bovkalo, and V. A. Fedorov (2000). ‘Monastyri i monashestvo, 1700–1998 gg’. In Pravoslavnaia entsiklopediia: Russkaia pravoslavnaia tserkov’. Moscow: Tserkovno-nauchnyi tsentr ‘Pravoslavnaia entsiklopediia’.

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490   Scott M. Kenworthy Bolshakoff, S. (1980). Russian Mystics. CS 26. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Briskina-Müller, Anna (2018). ‘L’Ospitalità come opera spiritual: Paisij Veličkovskij e la sua comunità multetnica’. In Il Dono Dell’ospitalità, edited by Adalberto Mainardi, 183–200. Magnano: Edizioni Qiqajon. Burbee, Carolynn (2000). ‘Catherine and the Convents: The 1764 Secularization of the Church Lands and its Effect on the Lives of Russian Nuns’. PhD Dissertation, University of Missouri-Columbia. Bushkovitch, Paul (1992). Religion and Society in Russia: The Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. New York: Oxford University Press. Bushkovitch, Paul (1986). ‘The Limits of Hesychasm: Some Notes on Monastic Spirituality in Russia, 1350–1500’. Forschungen zur osteuropäischen Geschichte 38: 97–109. Charipova, L. V. (2014). ‘Spare Ribs? Early Modern Female Monasticism in the East Slavic Lands’. History Compass 12: 51–61. Charipova, L. V. (2012). ‘Virgins and Widows: Imperial Legislation and Practices of Admission to the Novitiate and Profession in Ukrainian Women’s Monasteries (1722–1786)’. Slavonic and East European Review 90: 262–287. Chariton of Valamo (1966). The Art of Prayer: An Orthodox Anthology, translated by E. Kadloubovsky and E. M. Palmer. London: Faber & Faber. Chetverikov, S. (1980). Starets Paisii Velichkovskii: His Life, Teachings, and Influence on Orthodox Monasticism, translated by V. Lickwar and A. Lisenko. Belmont, MA: Nordland Publishing. Cracraft, James (1971). The Church Reform of Peter the Great. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Dunlop, J. B. (1972). Staretz Amvrosy: Model for Dostoevsky’s Staretz Zossima. Belmont, MA: Nordland Publishing. Dykstra, T.  E. (2006). Russian Monastic Culture: ‘Josephism’ and the Iosifo-Volokolamsk Monastery, 1479–1607. Munich: Otto Sagner. Engelstein, L. (2009). Slavophile Empire: Imperial Russia’s Illiberal Path. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Featherstone, J. M. E. ( trans.) (1989). The Life of Paisij Velyčkovs’kyj. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Fedotov, G. P. (ed.) (1948). A Treasury of Russian Spirituality. New York: Sheed and Ward. Fennell, John (1995). A History of the Russian Church to 1448. London: Longman. Fennell, Nicholas and Graham Speake (eds) (2018). Mount Athos and Russia, 1016–2016. Oxford: Peter Lang. Goldfrank, D. (ed.) (2012). Essays in Russian Monasticism, Special Issue of Russian History 39.1–2. Goldfrank, D. (ed. and trans.) (2008). Nil Sorsky: The Authentic Writings. CS 221. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Goldfrank, D. (2007). ‘Recentering Nil Sorskii: The Evidence from the Sources’. Russian Review 66: 359–376. Goldfrank, D. (ed. and trans.) (2000). The Monastic Rule of Iosif Volotsky, 2nd edn. CS 36. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Gonneau, Pierre (1993). La Maison de la Sainte Trinité. Un grand-monastère russe du MoyenÂge tardif (1345–1533). Paris: Klincksieck. Greene, R. H. (2012). ‘Bodies in Motion: Steam-Powered Pilgrimages in Late Imperial Russia’. Russian History 39: 247–268.

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Russian Orthodox Monasticism from 988 to 1917   491 Heppell, Muriel (trans.) (1989). The Paterik of the Kievan Caves Monastery. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Hollingsworth, Paul (trans.) (1992). The Hagiography of Kievan Rus’. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ignatius (Brianchaninov) (1991). The Arena: An Offering to Contemporary Monasticism, translated by Archimandrite Lazarus. Jordanville, NY: Holy Trinity Seminary Press. Kenworthy, Scott M. (2020). ‘The Name Glorifiers Controversy’. In The Oxford Handbook of Russian Religious Thought, edited by Randall Poole, George Pattison, and Carolyn Emerson. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kenworthy, Scott  M. (2010). The Heart of Russia: Trinity-Sergius, Monasticism, and Society after 1825. New York: Oxford University Press; Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press. Kenworthy, Scott  M. (2009a). ‘Abbess Taisiia of Leushino and the Reform of Women’s Monasticism in Early Twentieth-Century Russia’. In Culture and Identity in Eastern Christian History: Papers from the First Biennial Conference of the Association for the Study of Eastern Christian History and Culture, edited by R.  Martin and J.  Spock, 83–102. Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press. Kenworthy, Scott M. (2009b). ‘Monasticism in Russian History’. Kritika 10: 307–331. Kenworthy, Scott M. (2008). ‘To Save the World or to Renounce It: Modes of Moral Action in Russian Orthodoxy’. In Religion, Morality, and Community in Post-Soviet Societies, edited by M. D. Steinberg and C. Wanner, 21–54. Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press; Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Kenworthy, Scott M. (2004). ‘The Mobilization of Piety: Monasticism and the Great War in Russia, 1914–1916’. Jahrbücher für Geschichte Osteuropas 52: 388–401. Kloss, Boris M. (2013). ‘Monasticism during the Formation of a Centralized State: Sergius of Radonezh and the Trinity Monastery’. Russian Studies in History 52: 5–37. Kuchumov, V. A. (2013). ‘Eldership in Russia: Some Consequences of the Petrine Reforms’. Russian Studies in History 52: 38–65. Lisovoi, V. V. (2005). ‘Vosemnadtsatyi vek v istorii russkogo monashestva’. In Monashestvo i monastyri v Rossii, XI–XX veka: Istoricheskie ocherki, edited by N. V. Sinitsyna, Moscow: Nauka. Meehan, B. (1993a). Holy Women of Russia: The Lives of Five Orthodox Women offer Spiritual Guidance for Today. San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco. Meehan, B. (1993b). ‘Popular Piety, Local Initiative, and the Founding of Women’s Religious Communities in Russia, 1764–1907’. In Seeking God: The Recovery of Religious Identity in Orthodox Russia, Ukraine, and Georgia, edited by S. Batalden, 83–105. DeKalb, IL: Northern Illinois University Press. Meehan, B. (1990). ‘From Contemplative Practice to Charitable Activity: Russian Women’s Religious Communities and the Development of Charitable Work, 1861–1917’. In Lady Bountiful Revisited: Women, Philanthropy, and Power, edited by K. D. McCarthy, 142–156. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Meehan-Waters, B. (1991). ‘The Authority of Holiness: Women Ascetics and Spiritual Elders in Nineteenth-Century Russia’. In Church, Nation and State in Russia and Ukraine, edited by G. A. Hosking, 38–51. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Michels, Georg (1992). ‘The Solovki Uprising: Religion and Revolt in Northern Russia’. The Russian Review 51: 1–15. Miller, D. (2010). Saint Sergius of Radonezh, His Trinity Monastery, and the Formation of the Russian Identity. DeKalb, IL: Northern Illinois University Press.

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492   Scott M. Kenworthy Miller, M. L. (2009). ‘Under the Protection of the Virgin: The Feminization of Monasticism in Imperial Russia, 1700–1923’. PhD Dissertation, Brandeis University. Muller, Alexander V. (trans. and ed.) (1972). The Spiritual Regulation of Peter the Great. Seattle, WA: University of Washington Press. Murzaku, Ines (ed.) (2015). Monasticism in Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Republics. London: Routledge. Naidenova, Liudmila (ed.) (2013). Monasteries and Monasticism in Russia, Special Issue of Russian Studies in History 52.1. Nichols, R. L. (2000–2001). ‘Orthodox Spirituality in Imperial Russia: Saint Serafim of Sarov and the Awakening of Orthodoxy’. Modern Greek Studies Yearbook 16/17: 19–42. Nichols, R. L. (1985). ‘The Orthodox Elders (Startsy) of Imperial Russia’. Modern Greek Studies Yearbook 1: 1–30. Ostrowski, Donald (2012). ‘The Letter Concerning Enmities as a Polemical Source for Monastic Relations of the Mid-Sixteenth Century’. Russian History 39: 77–105. Ostrowski, Donald (1986). ‘Church Polemics and Monastic Land Acquisition in SixteenthCentury Muscovy’. Slavonic and East European Review 64: 355–379. Paert, I. (2010). Spiritual Elders: Charisma and Tradition in Russian Orthodoxy. DeKalb, IL: Northern Illinois University Press. Parppei, Kati (2011). ‘The Oldest One in Russia’: The Formation of the Historiographical Image of Valaam Monastery. Leiden: Brill. Racheotes, Nicholas S. (2019). The Life and Thought of Filaret Drozdov: The Thorny Path to Sainthood, 1782–1867. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Robson, R.  R. (2007). ‘Transforming Solovki: Pilgrim Narratives, Modernization, and Late Imperial Monastic Life’. In Sacred Stories: Religion and Spirituality in Modern Russia, edited by M. D. Steinberg and H. J. Coleman. 44–60. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Robson, R. R. (2004). Solovki: The Story of Russia Told Through Its Most Remarkable Islands. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Romanchuk, R. (2007). Byzantine Hermeneutics and Pedagogy in the Russian North: Monks and Masters at the Kirillo-Belozerskii Monastery, 1397–1501. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Romanenko, Elena (2003). Nil Sorskii i traditsii russkogo monashestva. Moscow: Pamiatniki istoricheskoi mysli. Schmähling, Angelika (2009). Hort der Frömmigkeit, Ort der Verwahrung: Russische Frauenklöster im 16–18. Jahrhundert. Stuttgart: Franz Steiner. Senyk, Sophia (1993). A History of the Church in Ukraine. Rome: Pontificio Istituto Orientale. Senyk, Sophia (1983). Women’s Monasteries in Ukraine and Belorussia to the Period of Suppressions. Rome: Pontificio Istituto Orientale. Sinitsyna, N.  V. (ed.) (2005). Monashestvo i monastyri v Rossii, XI–XX veka: Istoricheskie ocherki. Moscow: Nauka. Sinitsyna, N.  V. (2000). ‘Russkoe monashestvo i monastyri, X–XVII vv’. In Pravoslavnaia entsiklopediia: Russkaia pravoslavnaia tserkov’. Moscow: Tserkovno-nauchnyi tsentr ‘Pravoslavnaia entsiklopediia’. Smolitsch [Smolich], I.  K. (1997). Russkoe monashestvo, 988–1917; Zhizn’ i uchenie startsev. Moscow: Tserkovno-nauchnyi tsentr ‘Pravoslavnaia entsiklopediia’. Smolitsch, I. K (1953). Russisches Mönchtum: Entstehung, Entwicklung und Wesen, 988–1917. Würzburg: Augustinus-Verlag. Smolitsch, I. K. (1952). Leben und Lehre der Starzen, 2nd edn. Cologne: J. Hegner.

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Russian Orthodox Monasticism from 988 to 1917   493 Spock, Jennifer B. (2015). ‘Monasticism in Russia’s Far North in the Pre-Petrine Era: Social, Cultural, and Economic Interaction’. In Monasticism in Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Republics, edited by Ines Murzaku, 285–307. London: Routledge. Spock, Jennifer B. (2008). ‘Regarding the Good Order of the Monastery: The Tipik Solovetskago and the Integration of the Spiritual with the Temporal in the Early 17th Century’. In Rude & Barbarous Kingdom Revisited: Essays in Russian History and Culture in Honor of Robert  O.  Crummey, edited by Chester  S.  L.  Dunning, Russell  E.  Martin, and Daniel Rowland, 251–67. Bloomington, IN: Slavica Publishers. Spock, Jennifer B. (1999). ‘The Solovki Monastery 1460–1645: Piety and Patronage in the Early Modern Russian North’. PhD Dissertation, Yale University. Stanton, Leonard J. (1995). The Optina Pustyn Monastery in the Russian Literary Imagination: Iconic Vision in Works by Dostoevsky, Gogol, Tolstoy, and Others. New York: Peter Lang. Steindorff, Ludwig (1994). Memoria in Altrußland: Untersuchungen zu den Formen christlicher Totensorge. Quellen und Studien zur Geschichte des östlichen Europa 38. Stuttgart: Steiner. Thaisia, Abbess (1989). Abbess Thaisia of Leushino: The Autobiography of a Spiritual Daughter of St. John of Kronstadt. Platina, CA: St. Herman of Alaska Brotherhood. Theophan the Recluse (1998). The Path to Salvation: A Manual of Spiritual Transformation, translated by Seraphim Rose. Platina, CA: St. Herman of Alaska Brotherhood. Thyrêt, Isolde (2010). ‘Economic Reconstruction or Corporate Raiding? The Borisoglebskii Monastery in Torzhok and the Ascription of Monasteries in the 17th Century’. In Everyday Life in Russian History: Quotidian Studies in Honor of Daniel Kaiser, edited by G. Marker, J. Neuberger, M. Poe, and S. Rupp, 103–125. Bloomington, IN: Slavica. Tsurikov, Vladimir (ed.) (2005). The Trinity-Sergius Lavra in Russian History and Culture. Jordanville, NY: Holy Trinity Seminary Press. Vodarskii, Ia. E. and E. G. Istomina (2009). Pravoslavnye monastyri Rossii i ikh rol’ v razvitii kul’tury (XI-nachalo XX v.). Tula: Grif i K. Wagner, W. G. (2014). ‘Religion in Modern Russia: Revival and Survival’. Kritika 15: 151–168. Wagner, W.  G. (2010). ‘Fashioning Ideals of Monasticism and Womanhood: The Nizhnii Novgorod Convent of the Exaltation of the Cross, 1802–1857’. In Everyday Life in Russian History: Quotidian Studies in Honor of Daniel Kaiser, edited by G. Marker, J. Neuberger, M. Poe, and S. Rupp, 85–102. Bloomington, IN: Slavica. Wagner, W.  G. (2007). ‘Female Orthodox Monasticism in Eighteenth-Century Imperial Russia: The Experience of Nizhnii Novgorod’. In Women in Russian Culture and Society, 1700–1825, edited by W. Rosslyn and A. Tosi, 191–218. Basingstoke: Palgrave MacMillan. Wagner, W.  G. (2006). ‘The Transformation of Female Orthodox Monasticism in Nizhnii Novgorod Diocese, 1764–1929, in Comparative Perspective’. Journal of Modern History 78: 793–845. Wagner, W. G. (2003). ‘Paradoxes of Piety: The Nizhegorod Convent of the Exaltation of the Cross, 1807–1935’. In Orthodox Russia: Belief and Practice under the Tsars, edited by V. A. Kivelson and R. H. Greene, 211–238. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Worobec, C. (2011). ‘Cross-Dressing in a Russian Orthodox Monastery: The Case of Mariia Zakharova’. Journal of the History of Sexuality 20: 336–357. Worobec, C. (2009). ‘The Unintended Consequences of a Surge in Orthodox Pilgrimages in Late Imperial Russia’. Russian History 36: 62–76. Worobec, C. (2007). ‘Miraculous Healings’. In Sacred Stories: Religion and Spirituality in Modern Russia, edited by M.  D.  Steinberg and H.  J.  Coleman, 22–43. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.

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494   Scott M. Kenworthy Worobec, C. (2006). ‘Lived Orthodoxy in Imperial Russia’. Kritika 7: 329–350. Zapal’skii, G. M. (ed.) (2016). Dokumenty sviashchennogo sobora pravoslavnoi rossiiskoi tserkvi 1917-1918 godov, volume 19: Dokumenty Otdela o monastyriakh i monashestve. Moscow: Novospasskii Monastery. Zyrianov, Pavel N. (2002). Russkie monastyri i monashestvo v XIX i nachale XX veka. Moscow: Verbum-M.

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chapter 32

Monasticism i n th e Ea r ly Moder n Atl a n tic Wor ld Dominique Deslandres

To cast light on the historical experience of early Atlantic monasticism is to explore the multiple meanings of the migrations of Catholic religious orders in the Atlantic world between the sixteenth and early eighteenth centuries. The chapter is divided into three parts, allowing the reader to take into account the recent historiographies of various times and spaces as they intersect with the traditional history of the monastic orders. The first section explores the distinctiveness of monasticism in the early modern Atlantic basin. The second surveys the implantation of monastic institutions in the Atlantic world, underlining common traits and differences among monasticisms in both the Old and the New Worlds. The final section compares the Iberian and French female forms of the vowed life in the Atlantic world in the context of recent his­torio­ graph­ic­al developments.

The European Atlantic Expansion Establishing a precise definition of what constitutes early modern monasticism is problematic. At present, the word ‘monastic’ tends to refer to all forms of consecrated religious life. Monasticism thus takes numerous distinctive forms in which the religious person is dedicated either to contemplation or apostolic works. It can be traditionally monastic, mendicant, or apostolic; it can include men and women living in secular institutes or as hermits. It can be coenobitic or er­em­it­ic with communities adopting a lifestyle somewhere on the coenobitic–eremitic continuum. The European Atlantic expansion coincided with a turning point in Christian monasticism. The political and religious context of the sixteenth and seventeenth ­centuries—the rise of the nation state, the Protestant Reformation, and the Catholic

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496   Dominique Deslandres Reformation and Counter-Reformation—led to a noteworthy reorganization of European monasticism. The reaction embodied by the Council of Trent and the ­subsequent ‘Tridentinization’ of the Catholic world led to a thorough reformation of the medieval orders, manifest in new branches following the strict observance. This transformation is especially noticeable in the pre-Tridentine Spain of Cardinal Cisneros and in Cardinal Richelieu’s France, which experienced a ‘mystical invasion’ at the beginning of the seven­teenth century. Both countries played a prominent role in the developing Atlantic world, exporting religious orders now imbued with a mission­ ary spirit. While some religious groups distinguished themselves by elaborating a the­ ology of the mission to the pagans, many opted for the actual mission itself, including the Mercedarians, Dominicans, and Franciscans, followed by the newly created Jesuits. These orders were the first to join the missionary front lines inside and outside Europe. In the ‘dark Indies of the interior’, as they called ignorant Europe, the missionaries roamed countryside and city looking for lukewarm Catholics, heretics, and relapsed heretics—all of whom they judged ‘pagan under a Christian guise’—to convert. Simultaneously, these missionaries went global, reaching out to the rest of the planet (Deslandres 2003). One of the main characteristics of the first male evangelizers who worked on both sides of the Atlantic Ocean is that they worked outside the cloister, leading a ‘mixed life’. Another is their experience of the power contest between Church and state, revealed when Rome attempted to regain the powers delegated to the Iberian crowns and began naming apostolic vicariates. In 1622, Rome created the Congregation de Propaganda Fide with the goal of reaffirming its direct authority over the missionary orders operat­ ing outside regular diocesan structures and episcopal control. In the long history of Christianity, monastic institutions often challenged the diocesan fabric of the Church, which they had often preceded on the frontiers of the Christian world, while the facultates received from Rome endowed them with clerical responsibilities usually reserved to the episcopacy. At the time of the first missionary encounters with the Kongolese on one side of the Atlantic and the Aztecs and Incas on the other, the best-prepared missionaries were the mendicants, who could claim three hundred years of missionary work in distant Asia and Africa. Their apostolic tradition and rejection of wealth meant they were well prepared to deal with the material and spiritual paucity they expected to find among the indigenous populations. The colonial powers, however, favoured the finan­ cially self-sufficient orders that would not live off the newly discovered countries’ resources as was the habit of the mendicants in Europe. They called on the orders of independent financial means, especially the Society of Jesus, which soon took centre stage in the evangelization and encounter with the natives. Missionaries of both types were active in approaching non-Europeans, and in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries they powerfully influenced the lives of peoples across and around the Atlantic basin. We may consider them as the early modern forerunners of globaliza­ tion. In effect, their migration must be regarded as ‘catholic’, with a sense of the uni­ versalism the word conveys. A desire to reach out to the whole planet, however,

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Monasticism in the Early Modern Atlantic World   497 marked the expansion in the Atlantic world. The multiple networks woven by and among the religious orders, their superiors, and Rome, then passed beyond the Atlantic rim. Marie (Guyart) of the Incarnation, for example, founder of the first Ursuline convent in America in 1639, dreamed of going ‘to the Indies or to China or to the Iroquois’ (Deslandres 2003: 379). The understanding the various European kingdoms had of the relationships between sovereignty, conquest, and religion also shaped the Atlantic migration of their monastic institutions. The Portuguese thought the expansion of Catholicism was a matter of negotiations and alliances between kings. The Spaniards, who conquered the Americas at the same time as the completion of the Reconquista of the Iberian peninsula, imposed Catholicism on those they conquered and attempted to destroy all signs of their new subjects’ former religions. Both Spain and Portugal shared the same medieval view of how and by whom conversion was to be accomplished. Both chose orders of preachers with a long tradition of evangelization. Unsurprisingly, the Franciscans and Dominicans did as they always did: converting the elites first and imbuing indigenous symbols with Christian meanings, while often resorting to baptisms en masse. For its part, France’s trauma in 1598, after forty years of religious and political warfare, explains the French crown’s assiduous attention to making allies of the natives and to considering their conversion to Catholicism a token of their political loyalty. From the first decades of the seventeenth century on, Recollects, Jesuits, and Capuchins, all em­an­ ations of the Council of Trent, conducted conversion campaigns in the Atlantic basin for Christ and the French King.

From the South-Eastern Atlantic to the Americas Although the Canary Islands and Africa must be considered the training grounds for the spiritual conquest of the Americas and the rest of the early modern world, they are still the parents pauvres of missionary historiography. Both areas are mentioned only in passing, even though it was there that the expansion of early modern monasticism was first experienced and then exported to the other side of the Atlantic. Few historians have studied this region. We owe our understanding of the implementation of Catholicism in the south-eastern Atlantic to Richard Gray (1983), Adrian Hastings (1994), and John Thornton (2012). The fact that Christianity was almost extinct in the area by the midnineteenth century has led many scholars to assume that the missionary impact of the sixteenth century was superficial and a failure. But these apparent false starts are of interest, since they demonstrate the evolution of religious and political objectives and the methods of early modern monasticism in the Atlantic basin. Few know, for example, that all the missionary religious orders had planned to settle in Africa well before going to America.

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498   Dominique Deslandres

Azores, Madeira, Canary Islands The Portuguese Azores and Madeiras and the Spanish Canary Islands became stepping stones to both Africa and the Americas. Their conquest, evangelization, and coloniza­ tion set the pattern for the Iberian colonies in the Americas and the rest of the world. In the fifteenth century, the Portuguese—in search of a sea route to the Indies—easily took possession of the uninhabited Azores and Madeiras, thanks to the ideology of terra nullius; the Spanish had a more difficult time subduing the Guanches of the Canary Islands. The conquistadores, traders, and missionaries on their way to the Americas were mo­tiv­ ated by a spirit of conquest and self-enrichment, which profoundly influenced monasti­ cism. The fourteenth-century expeditions to convert the Canary Islands exemplify the pattern. Information about these veritable crusades—popes granted indulgences to their participants and urged the Iberian monarchs to provide material assistance—is hard to come by and can be found only in traces left in the records of the monastic orders. We know that between 1350 and 1386 at least five missions were sent (or planned), including Franciscan missionaries from Majorca and twelve converted Catalanspeaking natives who established a centre of evangelization on Gran Canaria. While the use of interpreters signals the influence of the Llullian method of evangelization, the idea of an evangelizing centre heralds the famous American ‘reductions’ (FernándezArmesto 1987: 151–158, 258). The conversion of natives was powerfully inspired by the crusading spirit against the influence of nearby Islam and also by the quest for tribute—slaves and gold. The fullscale Spanish invasion of the Canary Islands in 1404 set the pattern for military incur­ sion, submission of populations, capture of kings, and conversion en masse in the sixteenth century. The complete ‘pacification’ of the islands was only achieved in 1495, leading to the ultimate extermination of the Guanche peoples through war, disease, enslavement, or forced labour on the islands’ sugar plantations. These events set a pre­ce­ dent for the sad fate of the Carib, Maya, and Inca peoples. In this instance, the aim of the religious orders was more political than religious, for it legitimized the conquest.

African Atlantic Christianity spread along the Portuguese trading posts on the island of Arguin, off the coast of Mauritania (1445), to Guinea’s Elmina (1481–1482) and São Tomé (1483)—these latter both became ecclesiastical centres—and to Kongo and Angola by the end of the century. In the sixteenth century, Christianity spread in the Kingdom of Warri (in ­modern-day Nigeria) and scattered communities in West Africa, around modern-day Guinea-Bissau, and the Slave Coast (modern Togo, Republic of Benin, and Western Nigeria) to reach the Senegambian and Sierra Leone regions. There it came into contact with an increasingly militant Islamic wave moving south and west (Hastings 1994: 46, 72–73; Thornton  2012: 397). Elsewhere in this volume, Catherine Higgs discusses monasticism in Africa from its beginnings to the present. This chapter will focus on

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Monasticism in the Early Modern Atlantic World   499 locating the presence of the various orders during the early modern period. It is a diffi­ cult task, since information about them is sparse and vague; scholarship has been more interested in the impact of Christianity than in the particular monastic orders and their activities. It is difficult to produce a synthesis of the early modern period because of the intermittent presence of numerous religious orders, as well as the fact that Christianity ultimately became an African creation. In this context, the Kingdom of Kongo provides a useful example. There the expan­ sion of religious orders differed from the Canaries, as indeed from all of Spanish America, in that conversion did not take place in the course of conquest. The European clergy was used and controlled by the Kongolese, who demonstrated remarkable agency in creating a new religion. Kongo was in effect opened to Christianity by Diogo Cão in 1483, through trade and political alliance. Franciscans, Canons of Saint John the Evangelist, Dominicans, and diocesan priests were first to arrive, but their memory is obscured by the fame of King Mvemba Nzinga, baptized as Afonso in 1491, who became the ‘apostle of Kongo’ and imposed conversion on his subjects. He made Christianity the state religion and controlled the Church organization, especially regarding the tithe and resistance to Portuguese subordination. The monarchy supported the building of churches in the capital and integrated the performance of Christian rituals into the national religion (Hastings 1994: 79–82; Thornton 2012: 414–416). The success of Catholicism must be attributed more to the Kongolese themselves than to the Portuguese clergy, for the shortage of priests was acute from the beginning. During Afonso’s reign, only a few and wholly unprepared priests were sent out from Portugal. In fact, Portugal believed from the start in training native priests. A consider­ able number of African men were therefore sent to Lisbon to be educated and ordained. If most of them failed to succeed—because of issues of celibacy, marriage, and health— some were quite remarkable. Prime examples are Afonso’s son, Henrique, who became the first bishop of the Kongo Kingdom in 1521, or the young Jesuit mestiço, Diogo Gomes, who composed the first Kikongo catechism. Moreover, in their attempt to control the Church and the slave trade, Afonso’s successors tended to quarrel, sometimes bitterly, with the missionaries who embroiled themselves in local political and economic strife. For most of the second half of the sixteenth century, the Kongo remained priestless, because the various religious orders were barely able to maintain a long-standing mis­ sion. Harsh material conditions, political instability, the struggles of transmitting the Catholic faith, and a high mortality rate among the Europeans militated against them. The arrival of Italian Capuchins in the 1640s brought change, for they established a direct link with Rome, thereby undermining Iberian dominance. Together with the decreasing number of secular priests and a handful of Jesuits, the Italian Capuchins pro­ vided the Sacraments to the Kongolese Christians until 1835 (Thornton 1984: 148, 164; Gray 1983; Hastings 1994: 77–85; Alden 1996: 75–78; Devlin 2015: 323–324). Because of conflicts over slavery, Portuguese interest shifted from Kongo to the Kingdom of Angola where, in 1575, the Jesuits organized their mission around a pro­ gramme of evangelization based on healthcare and education. From the foundation of the College of Luanda in 1595 until the suppression of the Society of Jesus in Portugal in

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500   Dominique Deslandres 1759, they trained numerous priests among the Europeans and the Africans and devoted themselves to the conversion of slaves (Croegaert 1996: 13–15; Iko Kabwita 2004: 69–71; Leitão 1993: 49–73). Their activities in Africa established a pattern that would be fol­ lowed by French Jesuits in the Western Atlantic. In the late sixteenth century, Augustinian friars from São Thomé arrived in the Kingdom of Warri, to be replaced by a group of Franciscans, succeeded in turn by Capuchins between the 1650s and a final mission in 1770. At the conclusion of the eight­ eenth century, most of Warri’s rulers and their courts were baptized, though not the ­people of the interior. The episodic presence of the missionaries allowed the native catechists to keep ritual practices alive, though not without syncretic additions. For its part, the Kingdom of Mutapa (part of modern Zimbabwe and Mozambique) and the Zambezi Valley witnessed Jesuit missionary activity in the late sixteenth century and more numerous Dominican ventures in the seventeenth century. A comparison with the Kongolese situation reveals that, while the Italian Capuchins in Kongo were detached from Portuguese imperialism and served what was, in reality, a genuine African Church, the Portuguese Dominicans in Zimbabwe clearly remained an appendage of colonial power (Hastings 1994: 129–131).

Iberian Atlantic In Spanish America, the migration began with the mendicant orders: the Franciscans in Mexico and Peru in 1500, the Dominicans in 1509, the Mercedarians in 1514, and the Augustinians in 1533. As they spread from Central to South America, each group claimed its own sphere of influence. Because of their late arrival in 1565, the Jesuits worked mostly in the southern and northern reaches of the Spanish empire, becoming prominent scholars and preachers in all the colonies. The orders entangled themselves in the material and spiritual conquest of the Americas, just as they had in the Iberian Reconquista. With the configuration of the Patronato, which placed all ecclesiastical benefices within the king’s jurisdiction, the conversion of the natives legitimized the conquest and the establishment of the universal monarchy of the Spanish Habsburgs (Deslandres  1997 and 2003; Armstrong 2007; Greer and Bilinkoff 2003; Greer and Mills 2007; Mills 2011). Scholarship in recent years has turned its attention to the effect of the New World mis­ sions upon the Old and vice versa (Deslandres 2003; Pardo 2006; Greer 2006). Scholars note that evangelization in America unfolded at the same time as the renewed attempt to Christianize the many fallen Christians of Spain: sinners, new Christians, and conversos of Muslim and Jewish origins. The failures of the Franciscan, Dominican, and Jesuit mis­ sions to the Moriscos led Philip III to expel the Moriscos from Spain in 1609 (Garrido Aranda 1980). In these evangelizing efforts on both sides of the Atlantic, the orders both collaborated and clashed with the secular clergy, especially after the Council of Trent, which empowered bishops to supervise the education of the clergy, the administration of the sacraments, preaching, and parish organization. A peculiarity of all Spain’s missions was recourse to the Inquisition in matters of faith and relapse (Payne 1984: 48–60).

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Monasticism in the Early Modern Atlantic World   501 In America as in Spain during this period, the regular orders outnumbered the secu­ lar clergy and often filled the pastoral roles and functions of parish priests, particularly when diocesan structures remained weak and insufficiently staffed. For the faithful, the regular orders remained the primary religious authority even as bishops were appointed and dioceses erected (Starr-LeBeau  2014: 69–72). In almost all the cities of Spanish America, the Franciscans, Dominicans, Augustinians, and Mercedarians baptised en masse, erected churches in the centres of the communities on the pattern of the Spanish parishes, and attempted to create a native priesthood by training young indigenous con­ verts. The Franciscans, in particular, tried to preserve their converts’ innocence from the harmful influence of the Europeans by isolating them in doctrinas—ancestors of the Jesuit reducciones. There the doctrineros converted the native power structures and induced their converts to work in communal enterprises. Soon the independence of the friars threatened the royal authority; Philip II secularized the doctrinas, which became Indian parishes. The ordinances of 1572–1574 declared that settled areas no longer needed missionaries, and that the secular clergy would replace the religious. The friars would expand the empire by pacifying the natives along New Spain’s northern frontiers, among the Guarani of Paraguay and into southern Rio de la Plata and Chile. For the sake of cultural and religious uniformity, some missionaries tried to destroy the memory of the ancient gods, most notably during the extirpation of idolatry campaigns in Peru between 1609 and 1750 (Mills 1997). An increased interest in social and cultural history has prompted scholars to turn their attention to the organization of convents and monasteries, and to the daily exist­ ence of those within them. Well-integrated into the socio-economic and political life of the various Iberian Atlantic societies, these institutions influenced all levels of colo­ nial society. While pacifying the natives they converted, they also penetrated the life of the Church through Third Orders, confraternities, choirs, and schools, as well as participation in various administrative boards. They played a significant role in local economies, because of the immense tracts of land they held, and in public life, espe­ cially in the celebration of local saints’ cults. The Jesuits, extraordinarily mobile, con­ trolled the formation of the empire’s elites through their first-rate educational institutions, establishing from the 1560s on scores of colegios in both Europe and the Americas. The colegios, alongside local seminaries and universities, helped to train their own local clergy. Between 1600 and 1750, colonial society witnessed the arrival of other orders devoted to the care of the urban sick and poor: the Hospitaller Friars of Saint John of God, present from 1602 in New Spain and Peru, who were joined by the Hospitaller Friars of Saint Anthony, beginning in 1628. The Carmelites, Hieronymites, Trinitarians, and Minims did similar work, but since they had no royal authorization to remain in the Americas, they remained small in number and were not well repre­ sented in the cities. As a result, they soon went back to Spain. Occasionally, Spanish friars would come to the Americas to promote devotions and to collect funds to main­ tain shrines in Spain. Diego de Ocaña, for instance, travelled through South America from 1599–1606 to promote the cult of the Virgin of Guadalupe of Extremadura (Mills 2003: 51–74).

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502   Dominique Deslandres Benedictines from Montserrat arrived in Lima in 1592 and in Mexico in 1602, where they promoted the cult of the Black Virgin of Montserrat while collecting alms for their monastery. In Brazil, however, they distinguished themselves in pastoral, educational, and cultural work. The implantation of the religious orders in Brazil was inextricably linked with colonization, and was entrusted to four orders financed by the Padroado: Jesuits, Franciscans, Carmelites, and Benedictines. Two other orders would join them: the Capuchins and the Oratorians, both dependent on the Roman Congregation de Propaganda Fide (Deslandres 1997: 629–630). The financial power of the regular clergy in Iberian America was significant. Their holdings of haciendas, sugar mills, and slaves, which had been granted through donation and bequest, allowed them significant independence. These establishments occupied a considerable portion of the urban landscape, since they were often the original nucleus of city development. Their magnificent baroque churches and the richness of the decoration of their convents and monasteries bear witness to the wealth that allowed them to enter the business of finance: buying, selling, and lending. At the source of Jesuit power was their outstanding managerial ability, their networks of specialized production and distribution, their head for business—and their use of slavery. All these op­er­ations financed their colleges, mis­ sions, and ‘reductions’ (Deslandres  1997: 630–631). In Brazil, the four orders founded missionary establishments called aldeamentos near indigenous villages. First financed by the Padroado, the religious orders gained economic autonomy thanks to the revenues from their farms and sugar mills, all worked by African slaves (Hoornaert 1984: 543–545). From the late sixteenth through the mid-eighteenth century, the regular clergy of the Spanish Atlantic was numerically at the height of its size and power. On both sides of the Atlantic, they engaged in similar pastoral work and on both sides the numbers of urban versus rural establishments and diocesan versus regular were comparable. As society in the Americas became more racially complex in light of the large Creole and Mestizo populations, the orders confronted a different set of challenges. This evolution gave new meaning to the limpieza de sangre (blood purity) that was of such concern to the Spaniards. As a result, tensions between Spaniards born and educated in the New World (Criollos), considered an inferior class, and those born and raised in Spain and holding all the positions of authority (Peninsulares), occurred within most religious orders working in the Spanish Atlantic. As the early missionary Church transformed itself into a Creole Church, the friars of European origin retained a level of authority dispropor­ tionate to their smaller numbers. The problem became so acute that a compromise was necessary: positions of power were entrusted alternatively to a Peninsulare and a Criollo. It is evident, however, that favouring the Peninsulares was a way for officials in Spain to control an increasingly self-regulating American clergy. The mid-eighteenth century saw considerable changes brought about by the establishment of state primacy over the Church, the expulsion of the Jesuits from Spanish territories, and the abandonment of the mendicant doctrinas into the hands of the secular clergy (Deslandres 1997: 631–636; Melvin 2014: 75).

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Monasticism in the Early Modern Atlantic World   503 A major contribution to our understanding of monastic life has been made by ­scholars working in the field of women’s history. Indeed, the publication of detailed studies of women and their agency and empowerment in the religious orders seems sometimes to draw attention to how relatively little we know about the lives of men (Bilinkoff 1992; Burns 1999; Lehfeldt 2005; Lavrin 2008; Arenal and Schlau 1989, rev. edn 2010). Women’s branches of the mendicant orders in Spanish America led lives of contemplation, consti­ tuting a unique alternative to marriage. The personnel of these houses counted Criollas primarily and some Mestizas (women of mixed blood). Though never on an equal foot­ ing with Criollas, Mestizas and indigenous women were sometimes admitted to the con­ vents. They performed manual labour and were frequently denied the monastic habit. Mestizas and indigenous women, however, more often engaged in religious life outside the female orders. As Third Order Franciscans or Augustinians, they transformed houses into convents, where they devoted themselves to prayer, penance, and sometimes charitable works. Two canonized Spanish American women belong to this category: Rose de Lima (1586–1617) and Mariana de Jesús de Paredes (1618–1645). Others would become beatas, a form of religious life considered inferior to that of the major orders and which first appeared in New Spain with the aim of Christianizing and civilizing indigenous women. The first female convent in Brazil was founded in São Salvador da Bahia de Todos os Santos in 1677. Prior to its foundation, postulant nuns had to enter convents in Portugal or in the Azores. An additional three convents were founded in Salvador da Bahia during the following century. These establishments were an important asset for large landowners, who believed that the marriage of their daughters threatened the integrity of their domains. Between 1680 and 1797, the great Bahianese families placed seventy-seven per cent of their girls in convents (Deslandres 1997: 632–633; Soeiro 1974: 209–232).

French Atlantic Research since the 1950s has considerably revised the history of the ‘heroic age’ of the religious orders in French America (Trigger  1985; Deslandres  2003; Greer 2006; Deslandres et al. 2007). This historiography gives back to the indigenous nations full agency in their encounter with the French. As a result, new light has been cast on the monastic experience, moving it away from hagiography on the one side and anticler­ icalism on the other. It acknowledges the unprecedented wave of missionary fervour in the seventeenth century and places it in the larger context of the expansion of French sovereignty. In 1611, two Jesuits founded the first French mission in Port-Royal Acadia, bringing the zeal of the Council of Trent to the conversion of the Mi’kmaq First Nations. When the crown shifted its colonial strategy to the Saint Lawrence Valley, missions were estab­ lished there first by the Recollects (1615–1629) and then by the Jesuits (1625–1629). These two very different orders collaborated closely, sharing the same buildings and cooperat­ ing on missionary expeditions to the indigenous peoples. It was the Jesuits, however, who controlled the religious destiny of the colony from 1632 through the 1650s. They

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504   Dominique Deslandres aided both settlers and converts and called on female religious orders to complete the tasks of conversion. The Hospitaller and Ursuline nuns settled in Québec City in 1639. In the 1650s, the Church—even though missionary in essence—quickly turned its ener­ gies to the settlers. Marguerite Bourgeoys’s Congregation of Notre Dame of Montréal pro­ vided female educators for the entire colony of New France. Priests of the Society of Saint-Sulpice managed the destiny of Montréal Island. François de Laval, appointed apos­ tolic vicar in 1658, became the first French bishop in America in 1671. As a result of this appointment, the Jesuits lost their hold on the faithful and were relegated to the mission to the Indigenous peoples and to the Western frontier, which they explored as they catechized. Thanks to the Jesuits, eighteenth-century French territory in America stretched westwards from the Atlantic coast of Canada to the Rocky Mountains, and from Hudson Bay to Louisiana in the south. The continental expansion of French sovereignty over indigenous territories—neither purchased nor conquered—was made possible by a process of subjec­ tion based on alliances, which transformed the indigenous people into French subjects and their lands into French possessions (Deslandres 2003, 2011; Deslandres et al. 2007). While the willing conversion of some African leaders to Christianity played a significant role in establishing diplomatic relationships between the European powers and the African elite, the French of New France soon realized the necessity of alliances with the natives, with­ out whom it was impossible to survive. Contrary to the Spanish concern for limpieza de ­sangre and the policy of exploitation of resources by native labour, the French king and his ministers kept a keen eye on the religious orders’ mission. in­di­gen­ous First Nations would play a vital role in the crown’s strategy of unifying the French and the natives into ‘one people and one blood’. Recent research has shown that both Jesuits and Ursulines moulded the crown’s plan according to ideals modelled on the primitive Church. As early as 1637, the Jesuits founded reductions similar to the Spanish Jesuits’ reducciones as a way to isolate the indigenous peoples from the abuses of the French. At the same time, the Ursulines received young natives into their cloisters to convert and educate them and to marry them to handpicked French settlers or Christian natives (Deslandres 1996, 2003, 2011). Slavery existed in all the French Atlantic colonies. In the southern regions, it involved mainly black slaves working on plantations owned by religious communities, such as the Ursulines in New Orleans and the Dominicans and the Jesuits in the Antilles (Clark 2002; Rushforth 2012). In the northern regions of New France, both domestic and rural slavery involved numerous indigenous and blacks owned by the religious communities. While the clergy may have criticized the poor conditions in which the slaves lived and worked, that same clergy sustained slavery as a way of conversion to Christianity (Deslandres 1997: 706–727).

English Atlantic Scholars sometimes suggest that the arrival in 1727 of French Ursulines in Louisiana marked the beginning of monastic life in what has become the United States. If we

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Monasticism in the Early Modern Atlantic World   505 define monasticism to include institutes of ‘mixed life’, however, we can identify monastic activity in English America as early as 1634. English Catholic missionar­ ies—not having the support of the state—were obliged to move stealthily into English America, since the crown had identified them as potential traitors subject to fines, incarceration, and even death. Some English colonies, though, afforded a respite from anti-Catholic persecution: Maryland, Pennsylvania, and Delaware. At the geo­ political level, we can observe the presence of Spanish missions in present-day Georgia, South Carolina, and Virginia, and we can see French missions in presentday Maine, Vermont, New York, and Pennsylvania. French territories that had fallen under British control in 1713 and 1763 as a result of the treaties of Utrecht and Paris remained part of the diocese of Québec (Pyne 2012: 411–415; Devlin 2015: 335–336). Of particular interest is the case of Maryland, where the Society of Jesus sent 150 Jesuits of the English Province between 1634 and 1776. Initially invited by Cecil Calvert, 2nd Lord Baltimore and Proprietary Governor of the Province of Maryland, the Jesuits used Maryland as missionary headquarters for the territory between New York and Virginia. They received the assistance of a small number of secular priests funded by the Baltimore family as well as some Franciscans whose mission lasted for nearly fifty years (1672–1718). After Maryland became a royal colony in 1690 and legislation was passed in 1700, the Jesuits were forbidden to proselytize and engage in pastoral activities—Mass had to be celebrated in private homes. Jesuit plantations became important centres of Catholic life in the colony. The Jesuit missions in British America were financed by pri­ vate funds, by the profits of their plantations—often worked by African slaves—and by bequests from the faithful. After their suppression in 1773, Jesuits continued their work as secular priests and were joined by European Jesuit refugees, such as John Carroll, the first Catholic bishop in the United States. In New York, under Governor Thomas Dongan’s policy of toleration, the English Jesuit Thomas Harvey established a mission in 1683, only to see it terminated five years later because of the Glorious Revolution. Harvey and his companions then ministered more or less secretly to Catholics in Delaware, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey. Facing a growing number of Irish and German Catholic immigrants, they established a mission in 1729 in Pennsylvania, while regularly visiting the Delaware settlements and creating missions. As in French America, the continuing involvement of the Jesuits had a great impact on the development of the Catholic Church in the English colonies. Recognizing the centrality of family and the domestic Church to the survival of the Church in English America, the Jesuits emphasized doctrinal and sacramental orthodoxy, good works, confraternities, popular devotions, the rosary, and spiritual reading. In this underground context and because there were no seminaries or convents in the English col­onies, the Catholic gentry had their children taught at home or in Europe. Some of those sent abroad remained to pursue religious vocations and eventually returned as Jesuits to aid the mission. Some took the veil in Europe, and three returned in 1790 to establish the first community of women religious in the United States, the Discalced Carmelites at Port Tobacco in Maryland (Pyne 2012; McMahon 2000: 241).

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506   Dominique Deslandres

Becoming the Bride of Christ in the Iberian and French Atlantic An exciting new direction of research is the comparative study of early modern monas­ tic women. As an illustration of this trend, we may consider an overview of recent ­scholarship on Iberian and French forms of vowed life for women. Such a comparison demonstrates both a common set of values shared by religious women in the two so­ci­ eties, as well as considerable differences in their views of female agency and empower­ ment. Traditionally, these two patriarchal, Catholic, and gendered societies gave significant social and political functions to convents. Though the Council of Trent rein­ forced the cloister in an attempt to limit the nuns’ apostolic, business, and intellectual roles, religious women found ways to carry out their vocations according to their own wishes and designs. The French creation of apostolic women’s orders in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries baffled Iberian society. It had not experienced such changes in female religious and educative roles, nor had it seen the altered notion of cloister that accompanied the French developments. Instead, the Iberian churches exported to their colonies the medieval idea that women should achieve salvation through prayer, and should remain within their convent walls. The inculcation of Christian doctrine was the responsibility of the male clergy (Deslandres 2003; Lehfeldt 2005; Lavrin 2008). The mission of the French Ursulines and Hospitallers was in direct opposition to Spanish Atlantic ideas about women’s and nuns’ activities. If, in both the Iberian and French worlds, mysticism was the initial driving force for female religious empowerment, the Spanish world’s most influential model was Teresa of Avila’s reform of the Carmelites. Her reform focused on a life of contemplation; the French model centred on the ‘mixed life’, that is, action as well as contemplation. Marie of the Incarnation’s dedication to both mystical experiences and practical deeds as well as to missionary work is representative of the French model. In both worlds, convents were institutions designed to preserve family honour and to secure social prestige. In France and its colonies, however, concerns for education and practical charity were added. In Spanish American convents, prayers rather than actions were the means to save both heretics and heathens. The nuns’ primary purpose was to mould the daughters of the elite into models of Iberian femininity and to confirm the traditional social hierarchy. The first monastery for women founded in the New World was that of the Conceptionist order established in Mexico in 1541. Houses for Augustinians, Cistercians, Discalced Carmelites, Dominicans, Franciscans, and Hieronymites followed, all of them cloistered, so that their prayer and intercession would remain robust (Bilinkoff 1992; Burns 1999; Arenal and Schlau 1989, rev. edn 2010; Clark 2013). Convents in the French Atlantic in the closing decades of the sixteenth century, how­ ever, promoted a new and active female piety that redefined the boundaries of cloister to facilitate the nuns’ involvement in religious activities. French female monasticism

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Monasticism in the Early Modern Atlantic World   507 re­defined nuns as apostolic agents who, as social and religious activists, responded to the pressing needs created by decades of religious warfare in the French kingdom. French religious women thus developed a movement which may properly be called a religious feminism, which reminded women of all social conditions and in the name of gender equality that they had the ‘same obligation to use their time’ as men did. They were to make ‘themselves useful to the public’ by engaging in study, manual labour, and works of charity, including education, nursing, and the missions. The glory days of this feminism lasted from the end of the religious wars through the reign of Louis XIV, when the French crown pursued both the internal reconstruction of the kingdom and sim­ul­ tan­eous­ly constructed a New France in America. The double ‘humanitarian’ movement inside and outside France required substan­ tial financial and personal participation by women who, in so doing, promoted female agency. On both sides of the Atlantic, ‘orthodox’ nuns could now be found both inside and outside the cloister, using papal approval for the modification of traditional en­clos­ure to teach and care directly for the people. In this context, the French Ursuline and Hospitaller sisters became the first female missionaries in the history of the Atlantic. In 1639, the Ursulines, led by Marie of the Incarnation, founded their first convent in America devoted to the education of indigenous girls. At the same time, the duchesse d’Aiguillon sent three Augustinian Sisters of the Mercy of Jesus to ­establish the first Hôtel-Dieu, with the specific objective of meeting the healthcare needs of the in­di­gen­ous First Nations. These two institutions were to be ‘the bait that covers the hook of the faith’; they would help to convert and make French the indigenous First Nations as key elements of the crown’s plan to subject the native peoples (Deslandres 2003: 356–389, 2011).

Conclusion The history of monasticism in the early modern Atlantic world appears to be as vivid and as varied as the many religious orders that journeyed across the ocean. While there were significant differences between the French, British, Spanish, and Portuguese ex­peri­ences, there remain some common themes. Two issues have animated current historiographical debates: the economic power of monasteries and convents based on indigenous and African slavery and, more recently, the empowerment given by the cloister to the nuns. Monastic institutions were active players in defining colonial culture, clashing as they did with the secular clergy (especially when bishops were to be named). Their involve­ ment in the societies in which they settled often challenged not only other colonists, who viewed clerics as economic competitors and political obstacles, but also the Catholic monarchs, whose religious agendas require further examination in order to understand the ins and outs of the monastic world—or rather worlds—around the early modern Atlantic.

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Suggested Reading Because no synthesis yet exists on the subject of early modern Atlantic monasticism, one must glean information from works dedicated either to larger themes, such as the expansion of Christianity in the Atlantic basin, or to more specialized topics, such as a particular religious order in a particular colonial region. The best introduction to the world and definitions of monasticism remains Lemoine (1976) and more recently Johnston (2000), but both concentrate on Europe and not the colonies. The demand for transatlantic comparative works is growing, but to date most scholars have adopted a geographical rather than a thematic approach. In so doing they have stud­ ied the impact of Christianity in the Americas, as in Greer and Bilinkoff (2003), or Africa, as in Gray (1983), Hastings (1994), and Thornton (1984, 2012). Few have been brave enough to attempt a study of the Atlantic world as a whole. Armstrong (2007) offers a broad his­torio­graph­ic­al view of the nature of religious traditions in the Atlantic context, but focuses on the Spanish and French experiences and not on monasticism per se. Only a few studies compare all the different areas of the Catholic Atlantic world: Deslandres (1996, 1997, 2003), Thornton (2012), and Greer and Mills (2007), though monasticism itself is not the focus. Even fewer scholars analyze and compare the life and spirituality of the various Catholic monastic traditions. A rare exception is the tour de force by Clark (2013), which reveals the poignant differences in the convents of the Spanish and French Ursulines in Louisiana. The following bibli­ ography reflects the uneven character of the historiography on monasticism in the various Atlantic regions.

Bibliography Alden, Dauril (1996). The Making of an Enterprise. The Society of Jesus in Portugal, Its Empire, and Beyond, 1540–1750. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Arenal, Electa and Stacey Schlau (eds) (1989). Untold Sisters: Hispanic Nuns in Their Own Works (rev. edn 2010). Albuquerque, NM: University of New Mexico Press. Armstrong, Megan (2007). ‘Transatlantic Catholicism: Rethinking the Nature of the Catholic Tradition in the Early Modern Period’. History Compass 5.6: 1942–1966. Bilinkoff, Jodi (1992). The Avila of Saint Teresa: Religious Reform in a Sixteenth-Century City. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Burns, Kathryn (1999). Colonial Habits: Convents and the Spiritual Economy of Cuzco, Peru. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Clark, Emily (2013). ‘When is a Cloister not a Cloister? Comparing Women and Religion in the Colonies of France and Spain’. In Women and Religion in the Atlantic Age, 1550–1900, edited by Emily Clark and Mary Laven, 67–87. Farnham: Ashgate. Clark, Emily (2002). ‘Peculiar Professionals: The Financial Strategies of the New Orleans Ursulines’. In Neither Lady Nor Slave: Working Women of the Old South, edited by Susanna Delfino and Michele Gillespie, 198–220. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press.

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Monasticism in the Early Modern Atlantic World   509 Croegaert, Luc (1996). L’évangélisation du royaume de Kongo et de l’Angola. Rome: Editrice Pontificia Università Gregoriana. Deslandres, Dominique (2011). ‘ “Et loing de France, en l’une & l’autre mer, Les Fleurs de Liz, tu as fait renommer.” Quelques hypothèses touchant la religion, le genre et l’expansion de la souveraineté française en Amérique aux XVI–XVIIe siècles’. Revue d’histoire de l’Amérique française 64.3–4: 93–117. Deslandres, Dominique (2003). Croire et faire croire: Les missions françaises au XVIIe siècle (1600–1650). Paris: Fayard. Deslandres, Dominique (1997). ‘Le Christianisme dans les Amériques: Amérique latine, Amérique française, Amérique britannique et Amérique de l’esclavage’. In Histoire du Christianisme IX: L’Âge de raison, 1620/30–1750, edited by M. Venard et al., 615–736. Paris: Desclée-Fayard. Deslandres, Dominique (1996). ‘La mission chrétienne: Français, Anglais et Amérindiens au XVIIe siècle’. In Transferts culturels et métissages. Amérique/Europe, XVIe–XXe siècle, edited by Laurier Turgeon, Denys Delâge, and Réal Ouellet, 513–526. Sainte-Foy, Québec: Presses de l’Université Laval. Deslandres, Dominique, John Dickinson, and Ollivier Hubert (eds) (2007). Les Sulpiciens de Montréal. Une histoire de pouvoir et de discretion, 1657–2007. Montréal: Fides. Devlin, Eoin  L. (2015). ‘Catholicism’. In The Atlantic World, edited by D’Maris Coffman, Adrian Leonard, and William O’Reilly, 321–346. Abingdon: Routledge. Fernández-Armesto, Felipe (1987). Before Columbus: Exploration and Colonization from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic 1229–1492. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press. Garrido Aranda, Antonio (1980). Moriscos e indios. Precedentes hispánicos de la evangelización en México. Mexico City: Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México. Gray, Richard (1983). ‘ “Come vero Prencipe Catolico”: The Capuchins and the Rulers of Soyo in the Late Seventeenth Century’. Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 53.3: 39–54. Greer, Allan (2005). Mohawk Saint: Catherine Tekakwitha and the Jesuits. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Greer, Allan and Jodi Bilinkoff (eds) (2003). Colonial Saints: Discovering the Holy in the Americas, 1500–1800. New York: Routledge. Greer, Allan and Kenneth Mills (2007). ‘A Catholic Atlantic’. In The Atlantic in Global History, 1500–2000, edited by Jorge Cañizares-Esguerra and Erik  R.  Seeman, 3–19. Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson. Hastings, Adrian (1994). The Church in Africa, 1450–1950. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hoornaert, Eduardo (1984). ‘The Catholic Church in Colonial Brazil’. In The Cambridge History of Latin America, vol. 1: Colonial Latin America, edited by Leslie Bethell, 541–556. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Iko Kabwita, Kabolo (2004). Le royaume Kongo et la mission catholique, 1750–1838, du déclin à l’extinction. Paris: Karthala. Johnston, William M. (ed.) (2000). Encyclopedia of Monasticism. 2 vols. Chicago, IL: Fitzroy Dearborn. Lavrín, Asunción (2008). Brides of Christ: Conventual Life in Colonial Mexico. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Lehfeldt, Elizabeth A. (2005). Religious Women in Golden Age Spain: The Permeable Cloister. Aldershot: Ashgate.

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510   Dominique Deslandres Leitão, José Augusto Duarte (1993). ‘A missão do Pe. Baltasar Barreira no reino de Angola (1580-1592)’. Lusitania Sacra, 2nd s., 5: 43–91. Lisbon: Centro de Estudos de História Eclesiástica. Lemoine, Robert (1976). L’époque moderne (1563–1789). Le monde des religieux. Histoire du droit et des institutions de l’Église en Occident 15.2. Paris: Cujas. McMahon, Patrick Thomas (2000). ‘Carmelites: Female’. In Encyclopedia of Monasticism, 2 vols, edited by William M. Johnston, 1: 240–242. Chicago, IL: Fitzroy Dearborn. Melvin, Karen (2014). ‘Clergy (Spanish America)’. In Lexikon of the Hispanic Baroque: Transatlantic Exchange and Transformation, edited by Evonne Levy and Kenneth Mills, 73–76. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Mills, Kenneth (2003). ‘Diego de Ocaña’s Hagiography of New and Renewed Devotion in Colonial Peru’. In Colonial Saints. Discovering the Holy in the Americas, 1500–1800, edited by Allan Greer and Jodi Bilinkoff, 51–75. New York: Routledge. Mills, Kenneth (1997). Idolatry and Its Enemies: Colonial Andean Religion and Extirpation, 1640–1750. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Pardo, Osvaldo (2006). The Origins of Mexican Catholicism: Nahua Rituals and Christian Sacraments in Sixteenth-Century Mexico. Ann Arbor, MI: University of Michigan Press. Payne, Stanley  G. (1984). Spanish Catholicism: An Historical Overview. Madison, WI: University of Wisconsin Press. Pyne, Tricia T. (2012). ‘Roman Catholicism in the English North American Colonies, 1634–1776’. In The Cambridge History of Religions in America, vol. 1: Pre-Columbian Times to 1790, edited by Stephen J. Stein, 410–428. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Rushforth, Brett (2012). Bonds of Alliance. Indigenous and Atlantic Slaveries in New France. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Soeiro, Susan (1974). ‘The Social and Economic Role of the Convent: Women and Nuns in Colonial Bahia, 1677–1800’. Hispanic American Historical Review 54: 209–232. Starr-LeBeau, Gretchen  D.  (2014). ‘Clergy (Spain)’. In Lexikon of the Hispanic Baroque: Transatlantic Exchange and Transformation, edited by Evonne Levy and Kenneth Mills, 69–72. Austin, TX: University of Texas Press. Thornton, John  K. (2012). A Cultural History of the Atlantic World, 1250–1820. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Thornton, John K. (1984). ‘The Development of an African Catholic Church in the Kingdom of Kongo, 1491–1750’. The Journal of African History 25.2: 147–167. Trigger, Bruce G. (1985). Natives and Newcomers: Canada’s ‘Heroic Age’ Reconsidered. Montréal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press.

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chapter 33

Monasticism i n th e U n ited States Margaret M. M C Guinness

The 1727 arrival of twelve members of the Company of St Ursula (Ursulines) in the French colony of New Orleans marked the beginning of monasticism in the United States. Although the sisters were originally asked to staff the city’s public hospital, they quickly initiated a ministry of education after discovering that the colonists were as eager for teachers as they were for nurses. A surprise attack by the Natchez Indians that killed many of those stationed at nearby Fort Rosalie led the Ursulines to expand their work and begin caring for girls whose parents were killed in the battle (Clark 2007: 65–75). On 19 April 1790, shortly after the ratification of the US Constitution, four Carmelite nuns—three of whom were born in the colonies—arrived in the United States from Europe; they hold the distinction of being the first women religious to establish a foundation in the former British colonies. The first male monastics to attempt to establish a US foundation were a group of French Trappists (Cistercians) who landed in Baltimore in 1803. They struggled to establish settlements in several places, including Kentucky and Pennsylvania, before joining a group of monks in New York City, where they founded a monastery and orphanage. This first group of Trappists, however, returned to France in the aftermath of Napoleon’s defeat in 1815 to begin the process of re-­establishing monasteries in that country. John Carroll, who was named the first US bishop in 1789, did not prohibit contemplative nuns and monks from settling in the new nation, but was much more interested in attracting women and men willing to engage in an active apostolate (McGuinness 2013: 15–40). As a result, he offered encouragement and support to convert Elizabeth Ann Bayley Seton and the four women who joined her to form the first congregation founded in the United States, the Sisters of Charity of St Joseph (now the Daughters of Charity) The history of monasticism in the United States is a complex story of men and women religious—active and contemplative—who settled throughout the country in order to engage in a variety of ministries. By the 1820s, European immigrants were creating a demand not only for churches and priests, but for schools, hospitals, and institutions

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512   Margaret M. MCGuinness dedicated to meeting the material and spiritual needs of those struggling to survive in their new country. Since there were very few men and women religious in the United States at this time, bishops and their emissaries often travelled to Europe hoping to persuade congregational superiors to send members willing to work in their dioceses. Many of these European communities eventually separated from their original congregation in order to govern and minister in a more efficient manner. Histories of US monasticism were traditionally written from the perspective of specific congregations. Religious communities wanting to preserve their stories for future generations often assigned one of their members to write their history. Before the latter decades of the twentieth century, these monographs focused on the expansion of ministries under the guidance of leaders who were always described in positive and affectionate terms. In an attempt to document the work of the congregation, bishops and priests often received an inordinate amount of attention, and little notice was given to the women and men who staffed the schools and hospitals or visited those in need. The story of US monasticism, however, is more than a list of ministries, superior generals, and members of the hierarchy—although they are all necessary components of any scholarly, historical study. By the 1980s, some histories of religious congregations were placing them within the context of the Catholic Church and US culture. In Spirited Lives: How Nuns Shaped Catholic Culture and American Life, 1836–1920, for instance, Carol Coburn and Martha Smith (1999) noted that one important aspect of the history of the Sisters of St Joseph of Carondelet was the struggle to Americanize a French congregation of women religious. If the French sisters wanted American women to enter the community, rule books and constitutions had to be translated into English, and the sisters had to be perceived as ‘American’ by potential novices. Christopher J. Kauffman, in his 1999 study of the Society of Mary (Marianists), also explained the US history of the congregation within the context of American culture. Kauffman devoted an entire chapter to the Americanization of the Marianists, and detailed the ways in which this European community ensured that the boys studying in their secondary schools were Americanized as well as educated. A later chapter included a discussion of the ways in which the Marianists began to deal with the issues of racial justice in and integration of their schools and community. Other scholars writing about monastic men and women highlighted their service to groups that are not traditionally viewed as a part of the US Catholic population. Joel Rippinger’s The Benedictine Order in the United States, for example, included a chapter on the Benedictine missions to Native Americans and African Americans.

The Model of European Monasticism in the United States Women and men religious—both those whose communities had roots in European countries and those who joined congregations founded in the United States—were expected to follow the traditional model of monasticism. Although many sisters and

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Monasticism in the United States   513 nuns were able to modify some aspects of the rule—such as modifying a habit designed for the climate in France to one suitable for New Orleans summers—other details were more problematic. Several congregations found it difficult to adhere to the ecclesiastical law requiring women religious to be cloistered. Sisters could not attend Mass at the parish church, for instance, without the permission of the local Ordinary. Since priests were few and far between, especially in rural areas and on the frontier, religious communities did not usually have a resident chaplain. Unless they could attend Mass at the local church, sisters and nuns probably could not fulfil their Sunday obligation (Ewens 1984: 83). Religious congregations often struggled to follow rules based on those of European communities. Those first French Trappists who attempted to establish a US foundation in the early nineteenth century adhered to a rule that was developed and refined in France, but discovered that ‘in the climate of Kentucky, these rigid austerities were not compatible with health’ (Guilday 1922: 514). Although they were founded in the United States in 1812 and were engaged in teaching the area’s Catholic children and caring for orphans, the Sisters of Loretto in Kentucky were expected to live a lifestyle compatible with European monasticism. Members of the community were required to perform farm labour, dress in a habit that was inappropriate for the climate, go without shoes for much of the year, and eat sparingly. Benedict Flaget, Bishop of Bardstown at the time, believed that living under these harsh conditions caused the sisters to be susceptible to tuberculosis, and he modified certain aspects of their rule. Other aspects of a congregation’s rule could put at risk the children for whom the sister-teachers were responsible. Sisters sometimes found themselves supervising break times from windows, because their rule prevented them from leaving the cloister. Perhaps the most difficult part of the rule, especially for US women religious, was the requirement that a convent be physically separate from the world. Mother Philippine Duchesne, a member of the Society of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, described the problem in a letter written from St Charles, Missouri, in 1818. ‘As to enclosure’, Duchesne explained, ‘there is not a wall within a thousand miles of here; and the wooden fences keep out animals, but not men. Our enclosure consists in remaining at home’ (Ewens 1984: 62–63). Bishops and pastors hoped—and sometimes required—that women and men religious would be willing to move beyond their traditional ministries to serve Catholics in need. The history of the Daughters of Charity exemplifies a pattern that has been repeated over and over in the history of religious congregations in the United States. A community began by focusing on one particular ministry, but soon found itself involved in additional work as members responded to the needs of Catholics living in their area. Mother Seton and her sisters first developed a ministry of education when they began teaching day students and boarders at St Joseph’s Academy in Emmitsburg, Maryland. In 1814, three sisters journeyed to Philadelphia to administer and staff the city’s first Catholic orphanage, and in 1823 the community entered into a ministry of healthcare when they agreed to manage the Baltimore Infirmary. As long as the request did not force them to violate their rule—and assuming there were enough sisters, monks, or

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514   Margaret M. MCGuinness brothers available—religious communities often agreed to serve the needs of US Catholics in a variety of ways, including teaching, nursing, and caring for the poor, elderly, and orphans. Although men religious have not received the same attention from historians and sociologists as sisters and nuns, it is possible to offer some generalizations about their ministry in the nineteenth-century United States. Priests, including some affiliated with religious orders, had been present in what is now the United States since English Catholics arrived in Maryland in 1634, but European male monastic congregations did not establish permanent foundations as early as their female counterparts. Monastic communities of men began arriving in the United States during the mid-nineteenth century. Boniface Wimmer, OSB, settled in Pennsylvania in 1846 to begin a ministry of education and pastoral care to German immigrants living in the vicinity of Latrobe. Unlike contemplative communities such as the Trappists, who had no interest in either parish or missionary work, the Benedictines ‘were primarily intent upon planting an activist missionary model of monasticism rather than a cloistered or contemplative one’ (Rippinger 1990: 211). Although Wimmer’s own Benedictine experience reflected the culture of European monastic observance, he believed that Benedictines involved in an active apostolate were needed to meet the needs of the Church in the United States. Ten years later, the Benedictines from St Vincent’s in Latrobe established a new foundation in Minnesota. Despite enduring a harsh winter, food shortages, and a plague of grasshoppers, the new abbey survived and flourished. St John’s Abbey in Collegeville would become the largest Benedictine monastery in the world. In addition to German Benedictines, monks from Switzerland arrived in Indiana in 1854 to administer a small seminary, which they named St Meinrad’s, and to conduct parish work. Like women religious, male monks and brothers were often invited to a diocese in need of their specialized ministry. The Christian Brothers, founded by John Baptist de la Salle in 1680 to educate young boys, especially those defined by society as poor, founded Calvert Hall, their first school in the United States, in Baltimore in 1845. By 1850 the congregation had established ministries in New York and St Louis. In 1849, Leo Meyer, a member of the Society of Mary, assumed responsibility for the boys’ school connected to Holy Trinity parish in Cincinnati, Ohio, which marked the beginning of Marianist education in the United States. The Marianist ministry quickly expanded to include teaching boys at the city’s St Mary’s and St Paul’s schools. Since the rule of many congregations of women religious prohibited them from teaching boys—or required them to stop teaching them after a certain grade—teaching-brothers and priests filled an im­port­ant need in the Catholic Church in the United States. At times, male religious congregations—like their female counterparts—discovered that a rule developed to meet the needs of European Catholics in a previous century hindered the success of their ministry in the United States. In the case of the Christian Brothers’ rule, the issue was not regulations governing a lifestyle incompatible with their work in nineteenth-century America, but a provision that impacted their ability to provide an appropriate education to the young men attending their schools. The rule of the Institute prohibited the Brothers from offering courses in the classics (including Latin)

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Monasticism in the United States   515 in their schools because John Baptist de la Salle wanted to ensure that the congregation remained faithful to its mission of teaching religion and ‘basic subjects’ to boys in ­seventeenth-century France. The classics, de la Salle believed, would not help the students in his schools secure gainful employment. This aspect of the rule created a dilemma for the congregation in 1854, when Archbishop Peter Kenrick asked the Brothers to teach Latin at their academy in St Louis in order to prepare some of their students to enter the sem­in­ary. The community’s leadership granted the necessary permission, and the Brothers began offering Latin at many of their US secondary schools. European Brothers, however, expressed concern over this apparent change in the sort of education that was being given to American students. In 1894, the Congregation voted to continue to prohibit the teaching of Latin in schools, a decision that had grave ramifications for those Christian Brothers ministering in the United States. Enrolment dropped precipitously in many schools, and it was not at all clear how long many of them would remain open without a place in the curriculum for Latin, which had become a mainstay in American secondary education. The controversy was not finally resolved until 1923, when Pope Pius XI ordered the Christian Brothers to offer Latin in their schools regardless of the socio-economic status of their students. Unlike women religious, who often engaged in a variety of ministries, it appears that most congregations of men chose not to expand their apostolates. The Alexian Brothers, a community dedicated to a ministry of healthcare and healing that traces its roots to the Middle Ages, first arrived in the United States in 1866 under the leadership of Brother Bonaventure Thelen, who had been appointed ‘Rector of America’ (Kauffman 1978: 77). After attempting to settle in Cincinnati, Milwaukee, St Louis, and Quincy (Illinois), he received permission to work in Chicago. Within about six months, Brother Bonaventure had collected enough money to erect a small hospital—with room for only six beds—for men and boys. Several days after the hospital opened, a Brother and a novice arrived from Germany to join Brother Bonaventure and a US novice, forming the first Alexian community in the United States (Kauffman 1978: 77). Although the Brothers established a number of hospitals and other facilities focused on healing, they remained committed to healthcare defined in a manner that included tending to those wounded in battle, caring for the sick and burying the dead during epidemics, and nursing men suffering from physical and mental illnesses. Other male religious remained focused on a particular ministry, but expanded their work as they sought to meet the needs of those they believed they were called to serve. Although the Christian Brothers remained dedicated to education—establishing a number of secondary schools and seven institutions of higher education throughout the country—they willingly accepted responsibility for caring for and educating ‘wayward boys’ at St Gabriel’s Protectory, located in Audubon, Pennsylvania, in 1899. Like women religious ministering to orphans and children in need, by the latter half of the twentieth century the Christian Brothers were administering multiple sites connected to St Gabriel’s that included day treatment centres, vocational schools, and a variety of programmes designed to help troubled youth. This work, they believed, was consistent with the congregation’s mission—to provide education, especially for the poor.

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Contemplative Monasticism Despite John Carroll’s desire for women religious willing to help build the Church in the US by engaging in active apostolates, contemplative monastic communities also established foundations throughout the United States in the nineteenth century. Like congregations engaged in apostolic ministries, contemplative nuns and monks found themselves having to adapt their lifestyle to the American situation. The Carmelite nuns who settled in Maryland in 1790, for instance, found it impossible to construct a monastery surrounded by high walls designed to separate the women from the world. Their first contemplative monastery in the United States consisted of eight one-story buildings; all of the rooms—with the exception of the infirmary—were unheated. In addition, Teresa of Avila, who had worked to reform her Spanish congregation in the sixteenth century, did not believe nuns should accept financial support from wealthy patrons, but the American Carmelites had no means of sustaining themselves other than to accept donations from European Catholics. Carroll’s view on contemplative congregations was shared by other members of the hierarchy, who worried that these men and women would be unable to support themselves and would come to depend on either diocesan support or contributions from wealthy Catholics whose money was needed for the establishment of schools, hospitals, and orphanages. In 1874, the Benedictine Sisters of Perpetual Adoration opened a monastery in Missouri, but despite their commitment to contemplative life, they were not only expected to teach and take up the collection at Sunday Mass, but were required to act as servants for the pastor, a job that included taking care of his horse and chickens. Although the nuns understood that teaching was the best way to support their community, by the 1920s they were living a contemplative lifestyle and adhering to a strict rule of enclosure. Their first Constitutions mandated that the primary occupation of the congregation was worship and adoration of the ‘Eucharistic God’. In addition, they were not to ‘engage in any . . . occupation which necessitates their absence from the monastery of perpetual adoration’ (Dowling 1988: 18, 75). A group of French Cistercians (Trappists) arrived in Kentucky in 1848 and established Our Lady of Gethsemani near Bardstown, arguably the most well-known monastery in the United States. Other groups of Trappists founded abbeys in Iowa and Rhode Island during the nineteenth century. Monks living in these communities were expected to follow the rule of the Cistercian Order of the Strict Observance, which adheres to the Rule of Benedict. The monks balanced their day between work, reading, and study, and each monastery was expected to be able to support itself. Some contemplative communities struggled to establish themselves in the United States because bishops were reluctant to allow them to reside within their diocesan boundaries. In 1875, Poor Clare Sisters Maddalena and Constance Bentivoglio, who were biological sisters, asked New York Archbishop John McCloskey for permission to begin a contemplative ministry in New York City. McCloskey denied their request.

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Monasticism in the United States   517 He was not interested, Sister Maddelena reported, in ‘mendicant orders “that do not assist the neighbour” ’ (Flanagan 2011: 100–101). After attempting to settle in Cincinnati and New Orleans, the nuns finally arrived in Cleveland, Ohio, in 1877. Foundations dedicated to contemplative religious life in the United States began to increase during the years following the end of the Second World War. In 1950, Benedictine monk Damasus Winzen founded Mount Saviour in Elmira, New York, a monastery which emphasized manual labour and community prayer. French Benedictine nuns arrived in the United States in 1947, and established Regina Laudis monastery in Bethlehem, Connecticut (Rippinger 1990: 218). The community is well known to many twenty-first century Americans because of Mother Dolores Hart, OSB, who entered the community after a successful career in film. By the middle decades of the twentieth century, active and contemplative religious congregations of men and women were a visible presence on the United States landscape. Congregations with European roots, as well as those founded by Americans, were administering and staffing schools (for boys and girls) at all levels, hospitals, and a var­ iety of institutions to care for children, women, the elderly, and the poor. In addition, contemplative monastic communities—male and female—were engaged in a ministry of prayer for the world and its people. The post-Second World War years, however, brought a number of significant transformations to monastic life that had a great impact on the shape of religious congregations at the close of the twentieth century.

Transitions and Transformations in Monastic Life The early 1950s saw the beginning of changes in United States monasticism. Pius XII (1939-1958) was worried about the declining numbers of women entering religious life on the European continent. The situation, the pontiff believed, was due to sisters’ and nuns’ ‘remoteness from the world’ (Briggs 2006: 50). His concern led to an international meeting of men and women religious in 1950. The pope exhorted the group to ‘revitalize their communities’, and suggested two ways by which this task might be accomplished. First, religious were to receive the appropriate professional and theological credentials to perform the work they were assigned; and second, they were to enter the modern world by eliminating ‘outdated customs and clothing that estranged them from those they served’ (Briggs 2006: 50). The pope’s admonitions to the religious congregations gathered in Rome eventually led to the formation of the Sister Formation Conference (SFC), under the leadership of Sister Emil Penet, IHM. The SFC marked the beginning of a new way of looking at the education and formation of women religious in the United States. A group of fifteen ­sisters helped design an educational plan known as the Everett curriculum, which they  hoped would provide women religious with the necessary tools for interacting

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518   Margaret M. MCGuinness s­ uccessfully with an increasingly interconnected world. The SFC also planned to improve the formation experience for women religious, and the publication of the conference’s newsletter, the Sister Formation Bulletin, became a vehicle that allowed sisters and nuns to share ideas on both the education and formation of their members (Kennelly 2009: 21). In 1960, Sister Emil Penet was succeeded by Sister Annette Walters, CSJ, a trained clinical psychologist who hoped to ‘apply the insights of the psychological discipline to religious life’ (Briggs 2006: 55). In an article entitled ‘The Local Superior as Spiritual Leader’, published in the spring 1963 issue of the Sister Formation Bulletin, Walters suggested that superiors of religious communities should treat members of the congregation as unique individuals, rather than as ‘more or less useful cogs in an apostolic machine’ (Briggs 2006: 56). Some superiors were offended by the article, and claimed that it expressed undeserved criticism of the style of governance found in most religious congregations. Several of these sister superiors contacted the Sacred Congregation for Religious, and suggested that Walters’ views were incompatible with Church teaching on religious life. The Congregation appointed Archbishop Paul Philippe and Father Bernard Ransing to investigate the complaint, and although Philippe expressed his agreement with Walter’s views, the SFC was placed under the direction of the Conference of Major Superiors of Women (later the Leadership Conference of Women Religious, or LCWR) (Briggs 2006: 55–56). The Sister Formation Conference was renamed the Religious Formation Conference (RFC) in 1976 to reflect the fact that it now included both secular institutes and male congregations among its members. In that same year, the RFC entered into a partnership with the Bergamo Center for Lifelong Learning in Ohio and cosponsored a workshop on the topic of ‘ongoing formation and life-growth issues’ (Siegfried 2009: 61). In addition, the RFC sponsored—and continues to sponsor—workshops on topics such as: final commitment, the future of religious life, and ‘Ongoing Formation: Roles/ Resources, Context’ (Siegfried 2009: 64). Programmes and workshops sponsored by the RFC were open to both male and female religious. At the same time as women religious were embroiled in this internal controversy, the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965) was beginning to promulgate some of the documents that would have a profound effect on religious life. ‘The Dogmatic Constitution on the Church’ (Lumen Gentium), formally issued in 1964, clearly stated that religious life was neither a higher nor a better calling than that received by a layperson. Men and women religious were not more holy than their lay coworkers; they were simply called to a different way of life. All religious congregations began internal processes designed to determine how they should respond to the decrees of the Council. Each religious congregation, male and female, responded to Pius XII’s challenge and the Second Vatican Council in its own way. By the time the Second Vatican Council formally opened, the Alexian Brothers, for instance, were already experimenting with new trends in prayer and liturgy and were focusing on scriptural prayer as a way to enhance their communal spiritual life. In addition, members of the community were now professional nurses, having received the necessary education and professional training to ensure that they could compete with others working in the field of healthcare

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Monasticism in the United States   519 (Kauffman 1978: 287). By the mid-1960s, most of the Brothers approved of the changes that had been implemented both in prayer life—reducing communal devotions and increasing the time spent in personal communion with God—and in lifestyle, including a revision in governance and a change in the format of the recreation period. More trad­ ition­al members stressed the need for caution and moderation, and expressed a concern that any expansion into new ministries would hinder efforts to maintain their trad­ ition­al apostolate of hospital work. Many congregations undertook a detailed examination of every facet of their rule in order to determine its relevance for religious life in the late twentieth century. The Marianists established a Provincial Academic Council in 1962 to discuss, evaluate, and plan a programme for forming a priest or brother from postulancy (the first step to entering religious life) through graduate school (Kauffman 1999: 244). Religious communities also studied their rules—many of which had not been revised for several centuries—in order to help men and women improve the ways in which they served those in need. The rule of some communities, for instance, prevented their members from interacting with professional peers. Sister Thomas Roach, a Sister of St Joseph involved in healthcare, reported that when members of her community attended professional meetings, they were not allowed to join their colleagues at lunch. Instead, she explained, they sat in the limousine hired to transport them to and from the meeting and ‘ate the sandwiches we had brought with us, while the driver kept circling the parking lot so he wouldn’t block traffic. That was to help us stay away from talking to strangers’ (Briggs 2006: 33–34). By the late 1970s, many congregational rules had changed to reflect a more contemporary lifestyle that allowed men and women religious to minister more effectively to those in need. Contemplative congregations also began to scrutinize their prayer schedule and lifestyle in the aftermath of the SFC and the Second Vatican Council. The Holy Spirit Adoration Sisters, also known as the Pink Sisters, were able to remain in their monastery while completing courses in moral theology, biblical exegesis, and liturgy. Carmelite nuns in Indiana removed grilles and grates that had separated them from visitors for centuries, and were allowed to leave the monastery for appointments with doctors and dentists (Weaver 2002: 82–83). Other monasteries expanded their ministry of prayer by opening retreat centres that offered programmes designed to appeal to laypeople. The example of Trappist monk Thomas Merton demonstrates the very different directions in which some contemplative religious moved in the aftermath of Vatican II. Although Merton’s life as a Cistercian is not representative of contemplative women and men, it does illustrate a way in which an individual monk was able to adjust his lifestyle to the vocational call that he continued to receive. Merton received permission to ­withdraw from Cistercian community life—and to relinquish his assignment as novice master—in order to live in a hermitage on the abbey’s grounds. In 1968, he was allowed to travel to Thailand and address the first Pan-Asian Monastic Conference. After presenting his paper and returning to his quarters, Merton was found lying on the floor of his room. He was pronounced dead a short time later. Thomas Merton remains the most famous contemplative religious in the history of United States Catholicism; many of his books—which have sold millions of copies—remain in print in the twenty-first century.

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520   Margaret M. MCGuinness As men and women religious struggled to re-examine their mission and ministry, they sometimes found themselves in conflict with the institutional Church. When the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart (California) voted to modify their rule in 1967, Los Angeles Cardinal James McIntyre challenged their decisions to permit members to select their own apostolates and style of dress. The sisters, led by Mother Mary Humiliata (Anita Caspary), claimed that they were under the jurisdiction of the Vatican, not their local Ordinary, and refused to accede to McIntyre’s demands. When they learned that the Sacred Congregation of Religious had ruled in favour of the Cardinal, the majority of sisters elected to form a secular or non-canonical community known as the Immaculate Heart Community, and to continue to engage in their traditional ministry of education. The new congregation answered neither to the Vatican nor to local bishops. During the years following Vatican II, the numbers of those seeking to enter religious life declined, and a significant number of religious chose to leave their congregations. Although some male and female religious left because they believed they were more suited to marriage and a family, others were simply dissatisfied with the state of religious life. In a 1967 article, Time magazine suggested that many women religious were leaving their congregations because they were not changing quickly enough. A former sister seemed to support this contention when she remarked that ‘There seemed to be such great conservatism and such lack of promise from updating my community that I felt there was no point in waiting around for the next fifty years’ (‘Roman Catholics’ 1967). According to the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate (CARA) at Georgetown University, 12,271 religious brothers and 179,954 women religious were serving the US Catholic Church in 1965. Ten years later, that number had dropped to 8,625 and 135,225 respectively. An aging population of religious, combined with attrition and the fact that fewer men and women were seeking to enter religious life, led to a continued decrease in numbers. In 2015, 4,200 Brothers and 48,546 women religious— many of them retired—were a part of the American Church.

The Vatican and American Women Religious Any historical account of religious life in the United States must include the relationships of men and women religious to their bishops and to the pope. These relationships have sometimes involved conflict, especially when a member of the hierarchy was displeased with the way in which sisters and brothers chose to serve those in need. John Paul II was clearly worried about the direction in which American women religious were moving, and believed that they were becoming increasingly critical of Church policy and teaching. He organized the Papal Commission on Religious Life (known as the Quinn Commission, because Archbishop John Quinn was selected to

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Monasticism in the United States   521 lead the group) to determine if the declining numbers of sisters and nuns was related to their perceived disagreement with Catholic doctrine. Commission members concluded that women’s religious congregations were continuing their work of serving the Church in appropriate ways, but some members of the hierarchy continued to criticize the ways that religious life had changed during the decades following Vatican II. In January 2009, the Vatican announced plans to conduct an apostolic visitation of US women religious. Although the reasons behind this decision were unclear, many speculated that Church leaders remained concerned that women religious were not sufficiently supportive of teachings related to sexuality, including abortion and samesex relationships, and planned to force sisters to revert to a more traditional monastic lifestyle. Neither contemplative nuns nor male religious were scrutinized during the investigation, which was conducted under the leadership of Mother Clare Millea, Superior General of the Apostles of the Sacred Heart of Jesus. Women religious, all of whom were willing to swear a loyalty oath to Rome, were appointed to visit specific congregations and interview members on a variety of issues related to lifestyle and ministries. Sisters in the United States vehemently objected to the investigation, claiming that they had simply followed the directives of Pius XII and Vatican II. Many congregations had adapted traditional clothing in order to engage more effectively in apostolic work, for instance, and believed this decision was compatible with Church directives, some of which were found in the Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of Religious Life: ‘[Habits] should meet the requirements of health and be suited to the circumstances of the time and place as well as to the services required by those who wear them. Habits of men and women which do not correspond to these norms are to be changed’ (Massa 1999: 184). Others explained that, although their apostolates had changed, members of the congregation were remaining faithful to the vision of their foundress. Fewer sisters may teach in parochial schools, but many were involved in various adult education and literacy programmes that were receiving financial support from congregational treasuries.

Conclusion: New Directions in the Study of Monasticism in the United States Volumes have been written on the history of monastic religious life in the United States, but much more work remains to be done. A small group of women—religious and lay— came together in 1988 and organized what has become the Conference on the History of Women Religious (CHWR) to promote research and scholarship on women religious, with a particular emphasis on the American experience. In addition, historians of women religious are becoming more aware of those looking at this topic from the perspectives of other disciplines, such as English, sociology, and art history. There is no similar group—unfortunately—devoted to the study of men religious.

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522   Margaret M. MCGuinness It is somewhat surprising that so little has been written about male monastic congregations. Although it is impossible to explain the reason for this apparent lack of interest on the part of scholars outside the monastic world, the fact that there are many more women religious than men is probably at least part of the explanation. The sheer number of women religious involved in the growth and history of the parochial school system in the United States, for instance, means that for many American Catholics, sisters and nuns were the face of their Church. In addition, women religious were involved in the education of boys—at least to a certain extent—but their male colleagues did not often teach girls until after the mid-twentieth century. Among male monastic congregations, the Benedictines can probably take credit for being the most prolific historians. In addition to the work of historian Joel Rippinger, OSB (1990), one can find biographies of Boniface Wimmer, OSB, an important figure in the establishment of the Benedictines in America (Oetgen 1997), as well as a historical study of St John’s Abbey, the largest Benedictine foundation in the United States (Barry 1990). Other congregations of male religious appear less interested in en­cour­ aging historical research on their history and work. The last historical monograph on the Christian Brothers in the United States, for instance, was published in 1976. Scholars and community historians are beginning to examine how congregational life was shaped by the events—secular and religious—of the 1960s and 1970s. Thomas McCabe’s history of St Benedict’s Prep in Newark, New Jersey (2011), looks at the decision made by the Benedictines to close the school in 1972. In the aftermath of the 1967 Newark riots, many white, ethnic, Catholic families fled the city for the safety of the suburbs, and the number of students attending the school dropped. About a year later, a group of Benedictine monks—those who had not moved to a suburban monastery—reconsidered the decision. The Benedictine vow of stability and the virtue of adaptability allowed them to remain in the heart of the city and to continue serving those who otherwise would not have the opportunity to receive a quality education. McCabe’s history sets the Benedictines within the context of changes in the Church and societal upheaval, and explains why the decision to reopen the school was faithful to the congregation’s mission (McCabe 2011: esp. 190–223). Beginning in the 1970s, religious communities often had to make difficult decisions concerning the closing and consolidation of schools and hospitals. Scholarship on this aspect of religious life in the late twentieth century is just beginning. Some of this history is related to aspects of congregational governance; but a decrease in members combined with an ageing population has also been a factor in this chapter of the story. Although writing the history of this period in the life of religious congregations is not easy, it does offer new insights into the ways in which congregations that followed a rule and lifestyle rooted in European monasticism continued to adapt to changes in both the Catholic Church and US society during the latter half of the twentieth century. Some more recent scholarly works focused on women religious have taken a more collective approach to the topic. Amy Koehlinger’s The New Nuns: Racial Justice and Religious Reform in the 1960s (2007) places US women religious in the context of the struggle for racial justice in the 1960s. Her cross-congregational study demonstrates

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Monasticism in the United States   523 that any account of the ways in which sisters embraced the racial apostolate cannot be separated from the work of the Sister Formation Conference and the decrees issued by the Second Vatican Council. In Across God’s Frontiers: Catholic Sisters in the American West, 1850–1920, Anne M. Butler (2012) offers a comprehensive look at the ways in which women religious shaped and were shaped by their experience in the American West. In addition to collective studies of women religious, African American sisters and nuns are receiving scholarly attention that is long overdue. Diane Batts Morrow’s (2002) study of the Oblate Sisters of Providence, Persons of Color and Religious at the Same Time: The Oblate Sisters of Providence, 1828–1860 offers a comprehensive overview of the oldest congregation of African American women religious in the US. Historical research that examines the experience of religious men and women from a comparative perspective is sorely needed if we are ever to understand truly the complexities of monastic life in the United States. Barbra Mann Wall, whose work focuses on the role of religious congregations in US Catholic healthcare, is one of the very few scholars who takes this approach. In 2009, Wall published an article entitled ‘Catholic Nursing Sisters and Brothers and Racial Justice in Mid-20th-Century America’, which examined the place of men and women religious in the civil rights movement of the 1960s. Two years later, Wall published American Catholic Hospitals: A Century of Changing Markets and Missions, which documented the changes and transitions in Catholic healthcare institutions from the perspective of a number of religious congregations, including the Alexian Brothers, Sisters of Mercy, and Sisters of Providence. Additional studies examining religious life from the perspective of a variety of congregations—men and women—will shed further light on the place of men and women religious in the growth and development of US Catholicism. As scholars continue to research the rich history of monasticism in the United States— and as congregations encourage historians to take advantage of their valuable archival resources—we will come to understand better the complex story of the place of men and women religious in the American Church. From the 1727 arrival of the Ursulines in New Orleans to new contemplative monasteries that are being established in the second decade of the twenty-first century, women and men religious have worked and prayed for the people they are committed to serve—Catholics and non-Catholics—in many ways. Some remained committed to traditional apostolates of teaching, healthcare, and social services; others have found that they are called to minister to death-row inmates, protest the proliferation of nuclear weapons, and call attention to the way that proposed government budgets neglect the poor, the underserved, and the undocumented. It is, of course, impossible to predict the future of religious life in the United States, but it is clear that this way of living will continue to exist in some form in the American Catholic Church.

Suggested Reading Although there are many histories of specific congregations of women religious, readers interested in the history of female monasticism in the United States are advised to start with some more general works. For a good overview of women religious in the

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524   Margaret M. MCGuinness US, see McGuinness (2013). Butler (2012) gives an excellent introduction to the history of the role women religious played in building the US Church. Readers interested in the background of the controversy between the Vatican and the Leadership Conference of Women Religious will find Briggs (2006) especially enlightening. For an excellent art­icle detailing the changes in the historiography of US women religious, see Coburn (2004). Although male monastics have not received the attention they deserve from his­tor­ ians of US Catholicism, interested readers will be able to find several very useful sources. Barry (1990) and Rippinger (1990) are both good introductions to Benedictines in the United States. Those interested in monasticism in the United States, however, should certainly read Thomas Merton’s autobiography, The Seven Storey Mountain (1948), as well as Mott (1984). The works by Kauffman (1978 and 1999) remain important secondary sources in this area.

Bibliography Barry, Colman  J., OSB (ed.) (1990). A Sense of Place II: The Benedictines of Collegeville. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Battersby, W. J. (1963). History of the Institute of the Brothers of the Christian Schools in the Nineteenth Century (Part Two), 1850–1900. London: Waldegrave. Beane, Marjorie Noterman (1993). From Framework to Freedom: A History of the Sister Formation Conference. Lanham, MD: University Press of America. Briggs, Kenneth  A. (2006). Double Crossed: Uncovering the Catholic Church’s Betrayal of American Nuns. New York: Doubleday. Butler, Anne M. (2012). Across God’s Frontiers: Catholic Sisters in the American West, 1850–1920. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Cary, Ann (1997). Sisters in Crisis: The Tragic Unveiling of Women’s Religious Communities. Huntington, IN: Our Sunday Visitor. Caspary, Anita M. (2003). Witness to Integrity: The Crisis of the Immaculate Heart Community of California. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Clark, Emily (2007). Masterless Mistresses: The New Orleans Ursulines and the Development of a New World Society, 1727–1834. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Coburn, Carol K. (2004). ‘An Overview of the Historiography of Women Religious: A TwentyFive Year-Retrospective’. U.S. Catholic Historian 22: 1–26. Coburn, Carol K. and Martha Smith (1999). Spirited Lives: How Nuns Shaped Catholic Culture and American Life, 1836–1920. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Currier, Charles Warren (1890). Carmel in America: A Centennial History of the Discalced Carmelites in the United States. Baltimore, MD: John Murphy. Dowling, Dolores, OSB (1988). In Your Midst: The Story of the Benedictine Sisters of Perpetual Adoration. [St Louis, MO]: Congregation of the Benedictine Sisters of Perpetual Adoration. Ewens, Mary, OP (1984). The Role of the Nun in Nineteenth Century America. Salem, NH: Ayer. Flanagan, Eileen (2011). ‘Poor Clare Life Incompatible with American Lifestyle, 1876–1888: Mother Maddalena Bentivoglio Challenges the Perception’. U.S.  Catholic Historian 29: 95–111. Guilday, Peter (1922). The Life and Times of John Carroll, Archbishop of Baltimore (1735–1815). New York: Encyclopedia Press.

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Monasticism in the United States   525 Isetti, Ronald Eugene (1990). ‘The Latin Question: A Conflict in Catholic Higher Education between Jesuits and Christian Brothers in Late Nineteenth-Century America’. Catholic Historical Review 76: 526–548. Kauffman, Christopher  J. (1999). Education and Transformation: Marianist Ministries in America since 1849. New York: Crossroad. Kauffman, Christopher J. (1978). The Ministry of Healing: The History of the Alexian Brothers from 1789 to the Present. New York: Seabury Press. Kennelly, Karen M., CSJ (2009). The Religious Formation Conference, 1954–2004. Silver Spring, MD: Religious Formation Conference. Koehlinger, Amy (2007). The New Nuns: Racial Justice and Religious Reform in the 1960s. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Massa, Mark, SJ (1999). Catholics and American Culture: Fulton Sheen, Dorothy Day, and the Notre Dame Football Team. New York: Crossroad. McCabe, Thomas  A. (2011). Miracle on High Street: The Rise, Fall, and Resurrection of St. Benedict’s Prep in Newark, N.J. New York: Fordham University Press. McGuinness, Margaret M. (2013). Called to Serve: A History of Nuns in America. New York: New York University Press. Merton, Thomas (1948). The Seven Storey Mountain: An Autobiography of Faith. New York: Harcourt Brace. Morrow, Diane Batts (2002). Persons of Color and Religious at the Same Time: The Oblate Sisters of Providence, 1828–1860. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Mott, Michael (1984). The Seven Mountains of Thomas Merton. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin. Oetgen, Jerome (1997). An American Abbot: Boniface Wimmer, OSB, 1809–1887, rev. edn. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Rippinger, Joel, OSB (1990). The Benedictine Order in the United States: An Interpretive History. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Schneiders, Sandra M., IHM (2011). Prophets in Their Own Country: Women Religious Bearing Witness to the Gospel in a Troubled Church. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. Siegfried, Regina, ASC (2009). ‘Religious Formation Conference: “Education for Deepening Relationships: theological/communal/societal/cultural/ecological” ’. American Catholic Studies 120: 55–71. Time Magazine (1967) ‘Roman Catholics: The Restive Nuns’ 13 January 1967. Wall, Barbra Mann (2011). American Catholic Hospitals: A Century of Changing Markets and Missions. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Wall, Barbra Mann (2009). ‘Catholic Nursing Sisters and Brothers and Racial Justice in Mid-20th-Century America’. Advances in Nursing Science 32: E81–E93. Weaver, Mary Jo (2002). Cloister and Community: Life within a Carmelite Monastery. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press.

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chapter 34

Monasticism i n L ati n A m er ica Bonar L. Hernández

Recent decades have witnessed a revival in the study of religion in modern Latin American societies. Long accustomed to institutional approaches that mostly centred on the turbulent history of Church–state relations, historians have more recently begun to examine the development of popular (or non-official) religious manifestations and the emergence of non-Catholic religious traditions (Román and Voekel 2011). This historiographical shift can be traced to concrete epistemological trends. The ‘linguistic turn’ and the accompanying rise of cultural history have paved the way for the production of archive-based works that have re-evaluated Latin America’s past through the lens of culture, including the study of religious beliefs and practices (for example, Van Young 1999). In addition, the ‘Protestant explosion’ in Latin America has forced his­tor­ ians to revisit the role of religion during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (Garrard-Burnett and Stoll  1993; Martin  1990; Lalive d’Epinay  1969). In this light, ­scholars of religion in Latin America have directly and indirectly engaged Keith Thomas’ argument about the decline of religion in the modern age (Thomas 1971). As they point out, historical narratives that posit secularization as a zero-sum game do not fully capture the religious reality of the societies of the Global South, including modern Latin American societies (for example, Parker 1996). Historians of the monastic experience in Latin America have not been immune to these historiographical configurations. They have provided interpretations that focus on the symbiotic relationship between monasticism and the cultural, social, and pol­it­ ical realities of Latin America. Long-standing and recent historical approaches have emphasized the extent to which monastic orders influenced the development of postcolonial societies and, in turn, underwent major institutional transformations as a consequence of Latin America’s tumultuous post-independence history. This dual reality came to the forefront in the aftermath of the wars of independence in the 1810s and 1820s, when anticlerical governments projected secular political programmes that undermined, often in drastic ways, the institutional power of the Catholic Church.

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Monasticism in Latin America   527 Although postcolonial monastic orders never recaptured the ‘golden age’ of the early colonial period, they continued to play significant religious, social, and economic roles in Latin America.1 This chapter provides an entry point into the major trends in the historiography of the Catholic monastic experience in Latin America after independence. Due to the vastness of the region and the uneven nature of the historiography, the chapter must necessarily be synthetic and selective in nature. It centres on major tendencies in the current literature as they pertain to a selected number of countries. Certainly, there exists no theoretical or methodological consensus among historians of Latin American monasticism. They have tackled the subject of monasticism from various vantage points, in the process employing techniques and concepts drawn from political, social, and cultural history. Nonetheless, some major trends can be discerned. Above all, historians put the rapidly changing political and intellectual environment of modern Latin American societies at the centre of the study of monasticism. They invite us to visualize monasticism’s postcolonial history—a history partly marked by institutional crisis and decline— as part of the increasingly secular spirit of the late colonial and early national periods. How did this context affect male and female monasticism? What was the impact of secularization on the functioning of monastic orders? How did it impact the relationship of monastics with society? The historiography has largely focused on these central questions, thus shedding light on monasticism’s adaptation to the progressively secular pol­it­ical milieu of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The history of change and adjustment stands as the analytical pivot of the majority of the archive-based investigations surveyed in this work. Such studies emphasize the multifaceted nature of monasteries, including those aspects that might be construed strictly as ‘religious’ in nature and that put monasteries at the heart of the political and social development of modern societies. What this means is that the existing scholarship has placed much emphasis, first, on the continuing relationship between monasteries and society, and, second, on the role of religious institutions, including convents, as a source of autonomy and religious identity. The advent of secularization, particularly its impact on monasticism, has also given rise to studies that consider monasteries as complex religious institutions, and that examine the gradual revitalization of Latin American monasticism after the late nineteenth century. These works have tied monasticism’s postcolonial fortunes to global trends, especially as they relate to the influx of foreign religious missionaries to many parts of rural Latin America. By the turn of the twentieth century, in this respect, Latin American monasticism underwent a renewal of beliefs and practices. In some cases, religious revitalization transformed monasteries into arenas of missionary activity and social activism. 1  The history of monasticism during the colonial period has received much more attention than is the case for the modern period. Muriel, through her research on female religious orders, paved the way for subsequent scholarly works on female monasticism (Muriel  1946; Lavrín  2008). For a more general approach that spans both the colonial and modern periods, see Linage Conde (1977), Guarda (1973), and Borges (1992).

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528   Bonar L. Hernández What this also means is that current historiography calls attention to the porous boundary between what scholars have labelled the ‘spiritual’ and the ‘material’ spheres of life. In terms of the history of monasticism, this might be understood as a tension between a life of seclusion and contemplation on the one hand, and a life of social engagement on the other. As the discussion here seeks to demonstrate, an understanding of the fluid character of this religious–material binary is essential for coming to terms with the diversity of monastic experiences in the world of postcolonial Latin America.

Monasticism in a Modern Age To a large extent, research on the history of monasticism has followed general trends in the historiography of religion in modern Latin America. The latter has explored the ­liberal–conservative split of the post-independence period and its overall impact on the postcolonial Church. The anticlerical movement of the nineteenth century, as historians have long observed, led to the separation of Church and state, the expropriation of Church property, and the abolition of religious orders. Anticlericalism resulted in a generalized scarcity of clerics throughout the region and, in the long term, it greatly reduced the Church’s ability to influence the social, economic, and political life of Latin American societies (Mecham 1966). In many cases, too, the institutional weakness of the Church gave way to the revival of popular religious manifestations. This was the case in the Mexican and Brazilian countryside, where rural men and women challenged Westernized notions of religious orthodoxy and gained unprecedented control over the religious rituals that dictated their everyday lives (Wright-Rios 2009; Vanderwood 1998; Levine 1992). During this period, the region’s monastic orders, just like other religious institutions, lost much of the religious and social authority and power they had exercised during most of the colonial period. Historical scholarship has linked these changes to postcolonial anticlericalism, as well as to the political and intellectual environment brought about by the secularizing trends of the late colonial period. Influenced by a burgeoning scholarship that has focused on the crisis of the ancien régime in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries, scholars of religion have emphasized both the ruptures and continuities experienced by Latin American monasticism in the aftermath of independence. They have woven together a broad historical quilt consisting of three key periods, starting with the age of reform brought about by the Enlightenment, continuing with the wars of independence, and ending with the process of nation-building during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (Halperín Donghi  1985; Domínguez  1980; Hamnett 1978). Their research gives us a long-term viewpoint of the history of monasticism and other religious forms and practices during Latin America’s modern age. This analytical framework sets the study of the decline of the monastic orders against the background of modernity and its accompanying secular spirit. In Latin America,

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Monasticism in Latin America   529 adherents of modernity supported a political programme that gave the modern nation state sovereignty over all religious institutions and spaces, including those controlled by monastic orders. In Mexico and Brazil, for instance, liberal reformers sought to remove burial sites from the control of religious orders, in the process paving the way for the secularization of hitherto Church-controlled sacred sites. Eighteenth- and nineteenth-century reformers interpreted the secularization of cemeteries as a way to put into practice the ideals of the Enlightenment, to improve sanitation, and to rationalize the collection of state revenues. Moreover, they viewed cemetery reform as consistent with their efforts to regulate, if not abolish, the lavish burial practices that had become synonymous with the ‘baroque’ brand of Catholicism of the colonial period. Religious groups such as the Franciscans, Carmelites, and Dominicans opposed this project. Their members saw Church burials not only as a key requirement for the preservation of the religious and social order, but also as a basis for the continuing financial prosperity of their establishments. João José Reis (2003) has linked the secularization of cemeteries to the crisis of the ancien régime. For him and other historians, this conflict brought to light the appearance of two antagonistic notions of piety, one that sought to preserve the corporate privileges of the colonial Church, and another that gave precedence to state control—or sovereignty—over the inner workings and economies of religious institutions (Voekel  2002; Sullivan-Gonzáles  1998; Staples  1986). Latin American monastic orders found themselves at the centre of these religious and political debates. Given the effects of such political battles on Church finances, historians have paid considerable attention to the declining economic fortunes of Latin America’s monastic orders. Seen from this perspective, the decline of postcolonial monastic life stemmed, not necessarily from the liberal–conservative conflict of the nineteenth century, but rather from the general crisis of the old colonial order and, subsequently, the tumultuous process of nation-building.2 Francisco Morales (1975, 1983, 1998) has related the financial decline of Mexican monasticism to the secularizing spirit of the modern age. For him and other scholars of the Mexican Church, Benito Juárez’s 1859 anticlerical le­gis­la­tion mandating the suppression of all male religious orders and monasteries represented the culmination of a long-term process that had its origins in the last decades of the eighteenth century. It originated in the ‘enlightened’ policies of Spain’s Bourbon monarchs, particularly in the 1749 royal decree ordering the secularization of rural parishes (doctrinas). This royal order marked a turning point, for it removed monastic orders, including the Franciscans, from the Mexican countryside and thus cut them off from the sources of revenue that came with the rural properties and religious spaces they had controlled during the early part of the colonial period. Thereafter, their religious presence among Mexico’s indigenous communities progressively waned. In Mexico and in other countries, these changes resulted in a gradual erosion of convent finances and religious vocations, which, in the aftermath of independence, created 2  For an analysis of the liberal–conservative context of the first part of the nineteenth century, see Hale (1968), and, more recently, Mijangos y Gonzáles (2014).

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530   Bonar L. Hernández institutional stagnation and thwarted the expansion of native monastic traditions (Tibesar 1982; Clune 2008). While generally in agreement with this long-term viewpoint, other scholars have spelled out in greater detail the nineteenth-century economic downturn of cloistered life. The ascent of the modern nation state, they contend, had devastating effects on the economy of monastic orders. In other words, nation-building and the resulting unstable political climate of the early nineteenth century reinforced the secular spirit of the late colonial period (Carbajal López 2007). In Mexico, even in the aftermath of the 1749 royal decree, the greatest damage inflicted on convents’ finances took place under the tutelage of conservative and liberal regimes. In their attempt to exert their authority over religious institutions and raise state revenues, both conservative and liberal governments continuously dipped into the coffers of monastic orders. Mexican Carmelite and Augustinian convents experienced a gradual yet steady financial decline under the conservative regimes of the first half of the nineteenth century. This took place precisely as conservative governments demanded an increasing number of loans from monasteries, taxed convent property, and limited convents’ ability to sell their properties, particularly during the war with Texas (1836) and Mexican–American War (1846–1848). Traditional sources of income—including profits from rental properties, interest on loans, and ­dowries—declined in significant ways, to the extent that, by the 1850s, Carmelite and Augustinian cloistered nuns found themselves financially strained, to say the least. It is certainly the case that monasteries managed to survive economically, and that some of them remained economically relevant in the aftermath of independence. This was possible because female monastics relied more and more on income from rents on urban properties. Nonetheless, as Asunción Lavrín (1971, 1972, 2008), Silvia Arrom (1985), and Elisa Speckman Guerra (1998) have argued, the advent of the modern age and the secularization of religious spaces prevented monasteries from raising additional sources of income and, equally important, from recruiting new members. In the long term, shrinking finances became synonymous with declining religious vocations and institutional weakness. In this respect, monasticism’s economic decline should be understood as part of the age of modernity and the process of nation-building during the nineteenth century. During this period, the depleted finances of monastic orders undermined religious actors’ ability to recreate the religious spaces and influence of the colonial past.

Monastic Experiences But, if modernity set the stage for the erosion of religious institutions, this reality did not prevent monastic orders from playing a religious and social role in the emergent postcolonial societies. The emphasis on the history of economic crisis, therefore, does not fully capture the totality of monastic experiences. Indeed, as recent scholarship has revealed, monastic sensibilities and traditions expanded even as the political trappings of mod­ ern­ity made their appearance and spread throughout Latin America. Historians have

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Monasticism in Latin America   531 explored the inner workings and social influence of monastic orders, thereby shedding light on the process of adaptation that characterized many of these institutions after independence. They have called for a re-examination of ‘monastic experiences’, spe­cif­i c­ al­ly by tracing the historical development of monastic life, and, more generally, the relationship between monastic institutions and the broader social context. In the process, too, the scholarship has described the spiritual and socio-economic dimensions of Latin American monasticism. In other words, the long-term religious changes caused by the crisis of the ancien régime have led scholars to reassess the multifaceted nature of postcolonial monasticism. Studies that examine the financial fortunes of monasteries are part of this trend, as are histories that delve into the varieties of lived experiences that transpired both inside and outside the walls of urban monastic institutions (for ex­ample, Morales 1998: 328, 333, and 356). Beneath the bleak institutional picture of the years immediately after independence, historians have found a gradual process of adjustment, whereby religious orders adapted in a number of ways to the exigencies of the new age. Certainly, secularization and the concomitant emergence of the nation state often prevented them from influencing the religious, social, and economic life of Latin America, as they had done during the colonial era. This was evident within the confines of monasteries, particularly as the internal divisions common among monastics led to the relaxation of religious life and to the loss of the religious idealism and piety of the colonial period. Even so, monasteries, including women’s institutions, continued to function as places of spiritual contemplation. Perhaps inevitably, the life of Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz has attracted much attention among scholarly and literary circles (for example, Merrim 1999; Paz 1995). The research conducted after the 1940s by the Mexican historian Josefina Muriel (1946) has set the agenda for this line of inquiry, at least insofar as it concerns the study of colonial monasticism. Following her lead, historians of the postcolonial Church have deployed the tools of hagiography to examine the evolution of monastic spirituality. They have, for instance, emphasized the particularities of Carmelite spirituality, primarily by focusing on the life of the Discalced Carmelite Teresa de los Andes. The life of this cloistered nun—and especially the elevation of Teresa de los Andes as one of South America’s most popular saintly figures—points to the vibrancy of monastic spirituality in Chile and other parts of South America. One finds in these works a tendency to depict nineteenthcentury monasticism not only as a career option, but also as an important source of religious identity (for example, Barrios Valdés 1994; Varas Arias 2010; Sánchez Carazo 1987; Lavrín and Loreto 2006). Cultural historians have examined the history of monastic spirituality and what it meant for the creation of religious identity by calling attention to the ‘lived experiences’ of clerics and how their lives evolved over time. Kathryn Burns (1999) has written about the ‘life course’ of convents, thus providing us with a chronology and a conceptual framework for assessing the rise, evolution, and decline of monastic life in South America. Following Michel de Certeau’s explorations into ‘the practice of everyday life’, she has traced the different ways monasteries ‘produced and reproduced themselves’ across time and space, which, as she points out, they accomplished by creating and then

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532   Bonar L. Hernández nurturing close ties with society. Diana Romero Swain (1993), Mark Douglas Zellmer (1991), and Speckman Guerra (1998) have followed Burns’ lead. In her study of the Convent of Santa Clara de Gracia in Guadalajara, Mexico, Swain pays attention to the major stages of monastic life, beginning with the process of admission to Santa Clara de Gracia, continuing with the vows of profession made by aspiring monastics, and ending with the full incorporation of nuns into the internal and external life of the convent. Many such narratives reconstructed by cultural historians seek to capture the rituals and values that produced and sustained monastic spirituality and identity. Monasteries, therefore, emerge as complex religious institutions. The focus on the course of monastic life exposes the variety of functions performed by cloistered nuns after independence. Scholars of religion in Latin America have moved beyond characterizations that depict convents as isolated paradises far removed from the outside world, or as repressive religious institutions in which women lost the ability to shape their lives. In her most recent research monograph, Margaret Chowning (2006) forces historians of female monasticism to revisit the merits of this duality. She has combined the tools and methods of social history and feminist literary theory in order to complicate our understanding of the lives of female monastics. In exploring the history of La  Purísima Concepción in Michoacán, Mexico, she delves into the evolution of ­nineteenth-century monastic spirituality and, in the process, documents long-standing conflicts between the advocates of the ‘common life’ (vida común) and the ‘private life’ (vida privada). As Chowning demonstrates, these divisions transcended the walls of La Purísima and, therefore, speak to broader historiographical issues related to the history of the Latin American Church. They show how the lives of cloistered nuns were affected by the increasingly secular climate of the nineteenth century, which, in the context of anticlericalism and modernity, undermined the vida privada tradition of the colonial period. Chowning, in this sense, makes a convincing case for exploring the history of convents as a way to gain a more nuanced perspective about the evolution— or the ‘life course’—of monastic orders within the secular milieu of the nineteenth century. This approach, of course, reinforces the view of monastic orders as entities that nurtured a life of spiritual contemplation, promoted female autonomy, and contributed to the formation of cultural identity. But it also leaves us with the view of convents as religious spaces that encouraged the blossoming of apparently divergent monastic beliefs and practices. The history of religious contemplation and adaptation remains incomplete without a better understanding of the enduring socio-economic impact of monastic orders on Latin American societies. Monastics remained intricately tied to local power structures during the early decades of independence. This is precisely what social and cultural his­ tor­ians of female monasticism have indicated in recent years. For them, female monastic orders played a crucial role in the production and reproduction of socio-economic privilege at the local level. This was the case in late colonial and early republican Cuzco, Peru, where cloistered nuns, including Carmelites, acted as key religious and social actors. They did so by running educational institutions, acquiring and managing property, and providing much-needed credit to the cuzqueño elite. Their functions as spiritual agents,

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Monasticism in Latin America   533 administrators, and bankers enabled them to create what Burns (1999) calls a ‘spiritual economy’, to retain much autonomy, and, in the long-term, to reinforce local power networks. Cuzco’s convents saw their spiritual and socio-economic influence considerably undermined during the republican era, and this was so because, in Peru, as in other countries in Latin America, the postcolonial state assumed an increasingly central role in the realms of education, charity, and economic development. But, as Burns tells us, the decline of monastic orders in cities like Cuzco took place gradually. The complete erosion of the convents’ religious and socio-economic power did not come about until the second part of the nineteenth century. José Refugio de la Torre Curiel (2001) has taken a similar tack in his work on Franciscan religious groups in Santiago of Jalisco, Mexico, where the Franciscans promoted regional economic development mainly though the production of key staple products. Their socio-economic role disappeared as Mexico entered the age of modernity, but as Torre Curiel also reminds us, monasticism’s nineteenth-century economic decline only took final form under the liberal regimes of the 1850s. A survey of the historiography, therefore, reveals the porosity of spiritual and material boundaries. It also highlights the changing and multifaceted lives or experiences of religious actors in the Global South during the modern age.

Renewed Monastic Experiences Research on the spiritual and socio-economic aspects of monasticism has also led ­scholars to parse in greater detail the changes that affected many monastic orders during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Adaptation, historians tell us, resulted in a renewal of monastic beliefs and practices. The rituals and everyday patterns of monastic life did not remain untouched during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. Such transformations often originated in historical events that transcended the walls of the monasteries themselves. For Silvia Arrom (1985: 14–52), convents’ postcolonial realities partly derived from incipient nineteenth-century notions of women’s ‘social utility’. This meant that cloistered women, whose socially prescribed roles theoretically limited them to a life of spiritual contemplation and abnegation, now found themselves at the forefront of various social projects, particularly in the fields of education, healthcare, and charity. The ‘service-oriented’ female monastic orders of the late nineteenth century constituted a manifestation of women’s changing social roles. In a more general sense, they were a reflection of new notions of social citizenship in the aftermath of independence. Thus, these religious institutions and the monastic rituals that supported them signalled the emergence of new monastic traditions. Adjustment also took the form of a renewed missionary brand of monasticism.3 The scarcity of clerics brought about by the anticlerical reforms of the nineteenth century pre3  This, of course, was not a novel occurrence, for it was reminiscent of sixteenth-century developments. See, for example, Torre Curiel (2001) and Phelan (1970).

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534   Bonar L. Hernández vented the institutional Church from influencing the religious beliefs and practices of urban and rural parishioners. By the second half of the nineteenth century, many rural regions witnessed a revival of ‘popular religion’, with the consequence that religious life became largely autonomous and independent of the authority of Church leaders. But as historians of religion in Latin America point out, this period of institutional weakness was followed a long-term era of adaptation, expansion, and renovation. The late nineteenth century witnessed the rise of a new generation of clerics who undertook the task of evangelizing or ‘re-Christianizing’ rural people. Many of them formed part of an influx of missionaries from Europe and the United States who would continue to arrive in significant numbers until the second half of the twentieth century. Their arrival and their continuous presence in many parts of the Global South depended greatly on the initiative of the Holy See, which viewed the missionaries as agents of religious orthodoxy. The appearance of male monastics dedicated to the work of evangelization epit­om­izes the gradual ‘Romanization’ of the Latin American Church after independence. From this vantage point, therefore, Latin American monasticism emerges at the centre of the global missionary movement that affected various parts of Latin America beginning in the late nineteenth century (Krebs 2002; Dussell 1992; Pomerleau 1981). These global trends helped spark an era of institutional renewal and reinvention within Latin American monasticism. The revitalization was a symptom of the process of adaptation characteristic of monastic orders in modern Latin America. In the words of one author, it represented ‘an alternative form of being a religious male in the Church’ (Ludueña 2008). This description also applies to many aspects of the attitudes of female monastics after independence. As male monastics arrived from various European countries to proselytize the indigenous populations of South America, the religious orders often transformed themselves into missionary enterprises. Their missions became most visible in rural areas, particularly where the institutions of the nation state were weak. During the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, European orders, including the Dominicans, Augustinians, and the Discalced Franciscans, sent missionaries to Peru’s Amazon jungle to bring indigenous peoples into the Catholic fold (Klaiber 1992). During the same period, Catalan Capuchins arrived in southern Colombia to carry out missionary work among indigenous groups, particularly among the Inga and Sibundoy communities. This venture led them into unexpected paths: they established extensive agricultural projects, built roads, and created the foundations for towns, in the process acting both as pastors and social actors (Bonilla 1972). Other studies link the renewal of monasticism not necessarily to religious mo­tiv­ ations, but more directly to secular factors. As these works indicate, monastic orders often functioned as a crucial space of interaction between the rural frontier and the nation state. This is the point that Langer (2009) recently made in his book on the Franciscans in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Bolivia. For Langer, the Franciscans proved essential to the socio-economic development of Bolivia’s southern frontier society, as well as to the expansion and consolidation of the postcolonial state. They did so by working as missionaries and, more concretely, by establishing a mission system among the Chiriguano indigenous villages of the frontier. It was on Bolivia’s frontier that

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Monasticism in Latin America   535 Franciscan missionaries sought to instill the sacrament-driven form of Catholicism extolled by Vatican officials and to expand the power of the Catholic Church in the countryside. It was also on the frontier that the Franciscans served as intermediaries between indigenous rural peoples and the Bolivian national government. In this way, historical research underscores the adaptation of Latin America’s monastic orders to the political and social realities of the post-independence period. This line of inquiry brings to light the continuing relationship between monastic institutions and broader social—and even political—changes during the twentieth century. For, as Ludueña’s study of male monastics demonstrates, Benedictine monks in South America entered into a dialogue with the ‘history, tradition, and symbolic re-interpretation of the monastic past’ that engaged many sectors of the global Church after the Second World War (Ludueña 2008: 45). They often embraced Pope John XXIII’s call to bring about updating—or aggiornamento—of the Church. It is against this background that a ‘social monastic’ model emerged and expanded among monastic orders and other Church institutions during the 1960s and 1970s. Perhaps the best-known example of the new monastic model appeared in the Christian community of the Island of Solentiname, Nicaragua. Created in 1966 under the leadership of the Trappist monk Ernesto Cardenal, the community became a space in which rural Nicaraguans began to interpret their everyday lives in light of the message of the Gospel, the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965), and the country’s long-standing history of socio-economic in­equal­ity and political exclusion during the Somoza dynasty (1934–1979). Cardenal’s early spiritual formation in the Trappist monastery of Gethsemani, Kentucky, under the direction of Thomas Merton, speaks to the long-standing transnational ties of Latin American monasticism. In Nicaragua, too, Capuchin monks responded to material realities and the scarcity of priests in the countryside by training lay community leaders, establishing agricultural cooperatives, and undertaking healthcare initiatives, just as monastic orders had done during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. They became fully engaged with their immediate social and political surroundings and became part of a grassroots Christian social movement that coalesced around Liberation Theology and, ultimately, around so-called Christian Base Communities. By the 1970s, these forms of social engagement and commitment put many monks at the epicentre of a Christian opposition movement against the Somoza dictatorship (Kirk  1992; Williams  1989). Monastics’ activities, in this sense, spilled over into the social and even political realms.

New Directions The advent of the modern age has brought to the fore the porous nature of spiritual and material categories. Scholars have shed light on the institutional and economic trans­ form­ations experienced by Latin America’s religious communities after independence. They have sought to capture the changing realities of monastic orders in the context of secularization during the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. During this period,

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536   Bonar L. Hernández ­ onasteries served as spaces that promoted spiritual contemplation and socio-economic m activity. In the process, they became foci of religious identity and autonomy. Modernity, too, resulted in a period of reconfiguration and renewal for monastics, for many of them embraced new definitions of what it meant to be a monk or a nun in modern Latin American society. This period also witnessed the arrival of foreign monastic orders in Latin America. Many of these religious groups assumed the task of evangelization among rural communities and, after Vatican II, became part of Christian grassroots social and political movements. What are we to conclude from the current state of scholarship? First, it is clear that the literature of monasticism has developed alongside more broadly based approaches to the history of the Latin American Church. Scholars, in other words, have come to the history of monasticism from a variety of methodological perspectives, including those characteristic of institutional, social, and cultural history. It is also clear, however, that archive-based, fine-grained works on the monastic experience remain scarce. More numerous are studies that focus on the history of Church–state relations, or on the history of popular, non-official religious movements. Certainly, more research is needed on the history of the ‘social monastic’ model of the post-Vatican II period. Other promising areas of research include the various ways in which monasticism had an impact on the production of culture. With the exception of brief passing references in general histories about religion and culture, little attention has been paid to monasticism’s many contributions in the realms of literature and the arts in modern Latin America. Wilson (1998: 270–276) and Ocasio (2004: 206–208) are among the few scholars who have addressed the issue. More research is also needed, specifically, on the relationship between indigenous peoples and monastic orders, and, more generally, between monastic orders and Catholic lay associations during the twentieth century.4 Finally, scholars need to treat Latin American monastic experiences as mani­fest­ ations of both local and global currents. Why should not historians of monasticism draw more detailed connections between monastic orders in Latin America, on the one hand, and the United States, Europe, and other parts of the Global South, on the other? This approach would put historians of male and female monasticism at the centre of a transnational perspective that visualizes Latin American monasticism (and the Latin American Church) as part of both a local and a global story. A greater emphasis on multi-archival and multinational research, as well as on the continuing role of the Vatican in the evolution of monasticism in Latin America, would be a useful starting point. One hopes that future generations of scholars of religion in Latin America will build upon the historiographical trends described here, and also push against longestablished approaches in order to come to a more nuanced understanding of the history of religious institutions in postcolonial societies. 4  For an example of the role of indigenous women in colonial monastic orders, see Gallagher (1978). In countries such as Guatemala, historians have paid much attention to the relationship between lay­ people and members of religious orders. See Hernández (2016, 2018), Fitzpatrick Behrens (2009, 2016), and Falla (1978).

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Monasticism in Latin America   537

Suggested Reading The works listed below are meant to highlight significant trends in current scholarship. The bibliography provides an introduction to institutional, social, and cultural approaches. At the same time, it reflects the uneven character of the current literature, as well as the paucity of fine-grained, archive-based works. The history of monasticism in Mexico, Peru, and a few other countries of South America is most heavily represented. This is in part a result of the legacy of the colonial period, when, in Mexico and Peru, then the centres of political and economic power, monastic institutions developed stronger traditions than they did elsewhere in the region.

Bibliography Arrom, S. (1985). The Women of Mexico City, 1790–1857. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Barrios Valdés, M. (1994). La espiritualidad chilena en tiempos de Santa Teresa de Los Andes: 1860–1930. Santiago, Chile: San Pablo. Bonilla, V. D. (1972). Servants of God or Masters of Men? The Story of a Capuchin Mission in Amazonia. Translated by Rosemary Sheed. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Borges, P. (1992). Religiosos en Hispanoamérica. Madrid: Editorial MAPFRE. Burns, K. (1999). Colonial Habits: Convents and the Spiritual Economy of Cuzco, Peru. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Carbajal López, D. (2007). ‘Sospechosos comunes: los frailes de Veracruz bajo la vigilancia del gobierno federal, 1824–1833’. Revista Complutense de Historia de América 33: 177–195. Chowning, M. (2006). Rebellious Nuns: The Troubled History of a Mexican Convent, 1752–1863. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Clune, J. J. (2008). Cuban Convents in the Age of Enlightened Reform, 1761–1807. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. Domínguez, J.  I. (1980). Insurrection or Loyalty: The Breakdown of the Spanish American Empire. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Dussell, E. (1992). Historia de la Iglesia en América Latina: medio milenio de coloniaje y liberación, 1492–1992. Madrid: Esquila Misional. Falla, Ricardo (1978). Quiché rebelde: estudio de un movimiento de conversión religiosa, rebelde a las creencias tradicionales, en San Antonio Illotenango, Quiché (1948–1970). Guatemala City: Editorial Universitaria de Guatemala. Fitzpatrick Behrens, S. (2016). ‘The Maya Catholic Cooperative Spirit of Capitalism in Guatemala: Civil-Religious Collaborations, 1943–1966’. In Local Church, Global Church: Catholic Activism in Latin America from Rerum Novarum To Vatican II, edited by S. C. Andes and J. G. Young, 275–303. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Fitzpatrick Behrens, S. (2009). ‘Maryknoll Sisters, Faith, Healing, and the Maya Construction of Catholic Communities in Guatemala’. Latin American Research Review 44.3: 27–49. Gallagher, A.  M. (1978). ‘The Indian Nuns of Mexico City’s Monasterio of Corpus Christi, 1724–1821’. In Latin American Women: Historical Perspectives, edited by A. Lavrín, 150–172. Westport, CT: Greenwood.

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538   Bonar L. Hernández Garrard-Burnett, V. and D.  Stoll (eds) (1993). Rethinking Protestantism in Latin America. Philadelphia, PA: Temple University Press. Guarda, G. (1973). La implantación del monacato en Hispanoamérica, siglos XV–XIX. Santiago, Chile: Universidad Católica de Chile. Hale, C. A. (1968). Mexican Liberalism in the Age of Mora, 1821–1853. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Halperín Donghi, T. (1985). Reforma y disolución de los imperios ibéricos, 1750–1850. Madrid: Alianza Editorial. Hamnett, B. (1978). Revolución y contrarrevolución en México y el Perú. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Hernández, Bonar L. (2018). Guatemala’s Catholic Revolution: A History of Religious and Social Reform, 1920–1968. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Hernández, Bonar L. (2016). ‘The Revival of Latin American Catholicism, 1900–1960’. In The Cambridge History of Religions in Latin America, edited by V. Garrard-Burnett, P. Freston, and S. C. Dove, 331–345. New York: Cambridge University Press. Kirk, J. M. (1992). Politics and the Catholic Church in Nicaragua. Gainesville, FL: University Press of Florida. Klaiber, J. (1992). The Catholic Church in Peru, 1821–1985: A Social History. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. Krebs, R. (2002). La Iglesia de América Latina en el siglo XIX. Santiago, Chile: Ediciones Universidad Católica de Chile. Lalive d’Epinay, C. (1969). The Heaven of the Masses. London: Lutterworth Press. Langer, E. D. (2009). Expecting Pears from an Elm Tree: Franciscan Missions on the Chiriguano Frontier in the Heart of South America, 1830–1949. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Lavrín, A. (2008). Brides of Christ: Conventual Life in Colonial Mexico. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Lavrín, A. (1972). ‘Mexican Nunneries from 1835 to 1860: Their Administrative Policies and Relations with the State’. The Americas 28.3: 288–310. Lavrín, A. (1971). ‘Problems and Policies in the Administration of Nunneries in Mexico, 1800–1835’. The Americas 28.1: 57–77. Lavrín, A. and R.  Loreto (eds) (2006). Diálogos espirituales. Manuscritos femeninos hispanoamericanos. Siglos XVI–XIX. Puebla, Mexico: Universidad Autónoma de Puebla. Levine, R. M. (1992). Vale of Tears: Revisiting the Canudos Massacre in Northeastern Brazil, 1893–1897. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Linage Conde, A. (1977). El monacato en España e Hispanoamérica. Salamanca: Instituto de Historia de la Teología Española. Ludueña, G. A. (2008). ‘Tradition and Imagination in the Creation of a New Monastic Model in Contemporary Hispanic America’. International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church 8.1: 43–55. Martin, D. (1990). Tongues of Fire: The Explosion of Protestantism in Latin America. Oxford: Blackwell. Mecham, J. L. (1966). Church and State in Latin America: A History of Politico-ecclesiastical Relations, rev. edn. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Merrim, S. (1999). Early Modern Women’s Writing and Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press. Mijangos y Gonzáles, P. (2014). ‘Una desamortización velada: antecedentes y fracasos de la reforma de regulares en México, 1854–1855’. In Política y religión en la Ciudad de México,

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Monasticism in Latin America   539 siglos XIX y XX, edited by F. Savarino, B. Bravo Rubio, and A. Mutolo, 201–221. Mexico City: IMDOSOC. Morales, F. (1998). ‘Mexican Society and the Franciscan Order in a Period of Transition, 1749–1859’. The Americas 54.3: 323–356. Morales, F. (ed.) (1983). Franciscan Presence in the Americas: Essays on the Activities of the Franciscan Friars in the Americas, 1492–1900. Potomac, MD: Academy of American Franciscan History. Morales, F. (1975). Clero y política en México, 1767–1834: algunas ideas sobre la autoridad, la independencia y la reforma eclesiástica. Mexico City: Secretaría de Educación Pública. Muriel, J. (1946). Conventos de monjas en la Nueva España. Mexico City: Editorial Santiago. Ocasio, R. (2004). Literature of Latin America. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Parker, C. G. (1996). Popular Religion and Modernization in Latin America: A Different Logic. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. Paz, O. (1995). Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz, o, Las trampas de la fe. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Phelan, J. L. (1970). The Millennial Kingdom of the Franciscans in the New World. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Pomerleau, C. (1981). ‘French Missionaries and Latin American Catholicism in the Nineteenth Century’. The Americas 37.3: 351–367. Reis, J. J. (2003). Death is a Festival: Funeral Rites and Rebellion in Nineteenth-century Brazil. Translated by H. Sabrina Gledhill. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Román, R. L. and P. Voekel (2011). ‘Popular Religion in Latin American Historiography’. In The Oxford Handbook of Latin American History, edited by José C. Moya, 454–487. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Sánchez Carazo, J. M. (1987). ‘Teología encarnada de dolor. El Beato Ezequiel Moreno y su cristología del sufrimiento’. Mayéutica 13: 197–273. Speckman Guerra, E. (1998). ‘Las órdenes femeninas en el siglo XIX: El caso de las dominicas’. Estudios de Historia Moderna y Contemporánea de México 18: 15–40. Staples, A. (1986). ‘Secularización: Estado e Iglesia en tiempos de Gómez Farías’. Estudios de Historia Moderna y Contemporánea de México 10: 109–123. Sullivan-Gonzáles, D. (1998). Piety, Power, and Politics: Religion and Nation Formation in Guatemala, 1821–1871. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Swain, D.  Romero (1993). One Thousand Sisters: Religious Sensibility and Motivation in a Spanish American Convent, Santa María de Gracia, 1588–1863. PhD Dissertation, University of California, San Diego. Thomas, K. (1971). Religion and the Decline of Magic: Studies in Popular Beliefs in Sixteenth and Seventeenth Century England. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Tibesar, A. (1982). ‘The Suppression of the Religious Orders in Peru, 1826–1830 or The King versus the Peruvian Friars: The King Won’. The Americas 39.2: 205–239. Torre Curiel, J. R. de la (2001). Vicarios en entredicho. Crisis y desestructuración de la provincia franciscana de Santiago de Xalisco, 1749–1860. Zamora, Michoacán: El Colegio de Michoacán. Van Young, E. (1999). ‘The New Cultural History Comes to Old Mexico’. Hispanic American Historical Review 79.2: 211–247. Vanderwood, P. J. (1998). The Power of God against the Guns of Government: Religious Upheaval in Mexico at the Turn of the Nineteenth Century. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press.

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540   Bonar L. Hernández Varas Arias, J. M. (2010). Centralidad de la figura de Jesucristo en los escritos de Santa Teresa de los Andes. PhD Dissertation, Universidad de Navarra, Pamplona. Voekel, P. (2002). Alone Before God: The Religious Origins of Modernity in Mexico. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Williams, P. J. (1989). The Catholic Church and Politics in Nicaragua and Costa Rica. Pittsburgh, PA: University of Pittsburgh Press. Wilson, J. (1998). ‘Poetry since 1950’. In A Cultural History of Latin America, edited by Leslie Bethell, 261–290. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wright-Rios, E. (2009). Revolutions in Mexican Catholicism: Reform and Revelation in Oaxaca, 1887–1934. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Zellmer, M. D. (1991). A Clarist Convent in Caracas, 1637–1874. PhD Dissertation, University of Colorado at Boulder.

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chapter 35

Monasticism i n A fr ica Sou th of th e Sa h a r a Catherine Higgs

Introduction Christianity came late to sub-Saharan Africa—the great Sahara Desert proved an effective impediment to travel. The missionary merchants who followed the oases across the desert and brought a new interpretation of monotheism to North and West Africa beginning in the seventh century ce were Muslims, not Christians. By the eleventh century, much of North Africa was Muslim, though Orthodox Christianity and its monastic traditions would survive in Ethiopia and Egypt. In the early fifteenth century, the Portuguese would begin using Arab sailing techniques to navigate south along the West African coast. They brought Catholic priests with them and inaugurated a first wave of Christian missionizing. The results were uneven and faded as Portuguese imperial influence declined. Protestants entered the mission field in the late eighteenth century, but they too encountered little success in attracting converts. This pattern extended into the era of European colonialism that began in the late nineteenth century and introduced a new political and capitalist model—and a few Catholic monastics who, as they adapted to it, became missionaries. By the early twentieth century, Christianity, in both its colonial and African forms, became a way to cope with, adapt to, and in some cases, to confront oppressive states. These factors help explain the exponential growth of Christianity; in the early twenty-first century, perhaps 450 million Africans are Christians, most of whom live in sub-Saharan Africa. They include a few Anglican and more Catholic monastics (Steed 2009: 493, 511–513). Capturing the immense diversity of the African Christian experience is impossible. This chapter explores the interplay between missionary outreach, political and commercial concerns, and the African reception and adaptation of Christianity south of the Sahara.

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542   Catherine Higgs

Portuguese Explorers and Christianity in Sub-Saharan Africa The Portuguese began sailing down the west coast of Africa in the 1420s in search of gold. West Africa had caught the attention of Europe in the early fourteenth century, when Mali’s king, Mansa Musa, spent so much gold in Egypt on his way to Mecca that he depressed prices for several years. Muslims controlled the Saharan route to Mali; the Portuguese solution was to go around them. Having successfully adapted Arab naval technology, Portuguese sailors tacked south down the west coast into northerly winds. They reached the Gulf of Guinea in the 1470s and built a fort at Elmina where they acquired gold in exchange for cloth, copper, and brass. The Portuguese also engaged in an intra-African slave trade, supplying the Akan goldfields with captives purchased further south in the Niger Delta. In the 1480s, the Portuguese discovered two uninhabited islands they named São Tomé and Príncipe. By the early 1500s, the islands would become major producers of sugar cane, harvested by slaves acquired from the mainland (Shillington 2012: 105–106, 176–179). Catholic priests accompanied the Portuguese on these voyages. In 1483, they reached the mouth of the Congo River. By 1491, the Kongo Kingdom was negotiating a trade monopoly with the Portuguese crown. Kongo elites proved surprisingly receptive to Christianity. The Kongo king who took the name Afonso I converted in 1506 and then used the new faith to extend his authority via appointed officials who had also converted to Catholicism (Newitt 2008: 23). How deep this conversion was is open to some interpretation. The term nganga described both old Kongo religious practitioners and new Catholic priests. An nkisi became a cross and the nzo a nkisi, the graveyard where the ancestors had been buried, became a church. Ordinary people may not have initially noticed these changes. What they may have noticed was the way the Kongo kings paid for luxury goods imported from Europe: by trading in slaves. For the most part, as was the case in the great majority of African states and communities, these slaves came from beyond the boundaries of the Kongo Kingdom (Isichei 1995: 65). Africans did not sell their kin—their brothers and sisters—they sold their enemies, most of whom were war captives. When demand for African slaves increased in the Americas after 1532, so too did the pressure on the Kongo Kingdom. Indeed, it was this close association between Christianity and the Atlantic slave trade that helps explain the general failure of conversion before the early nineteenth century, by which point most European countries and the United States had banned their citizens from trading in slaves (if not slavery itself) (Shillington 2012: 180–185, 204–206). In 1498, the Portuguese had sailed into the Indian Ocean, and then north along Africa’s east coast. From the Muslim-led Swahili city states dotting the coast, they exacted tribute, either by treaty or by force. By 1520, Portuguese diplomats were present at the Orthodox Christian court of Ethiopia. When Muslim Adal invaded Ethiopia in 1529, the Portuguese sent soldiers. In 1543, a combined Ethiopian–Portuguese force

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Monasticism in Africa South of the Sahara   543 defeated Adal. Portuguese attempts to reshape Ethiopia as a Catholic kingdom in the aftermath of the Protestant Reformation in Europe proved much less successful (Shillington 2012: 121). Emperor Galawedos (r. 1540–1559) thanked the Portuguese for their support by writing his Confession of Faith, a defence of Orthodoxy, in 1555. When Emperor Za Dengel’s (r. 1603–1604) secret conversion to Catholicism was revealed, he was immediately deposed. His successor Susneyos (r. 1607–1632) also converted secretly and, when found out, abdicated in favour of Fasilidas (r. 1632–1667), who expelled Catholic missionaries from Ethiopia early in his reign (Marcus 1994: 39–40). Along the west coast, Catholicism continued to enjoy a degree of success. On the islands of São Tomé and Príncipe, an African clergy emerged, and survived even after most Portuguese sugar planters relocated to Brazil in the early 1600s (Harms 2002: 286–287; Hodges and Newitt 1988: 20–21). In the Kongo Kingdom, elites worked to distance themselves from the Portuguese crown, a process made easier by Portugal’s decline in the face of Dutch and English competition. To address the small numbers of Catholic priests in the Kongo and to settle disputes over the appointment of bishops, Kongo and Portugal agreed to accept Italian Capuchins as missionaries to the Kongo Kingdom. The first Capuchins arrived in 1645 (Isichei 1995: 66). The Capuchins were friars inspired by the rule of St Francis; they were not monks, but rather, ‘contemplatives in action’1. In the Kongo, they lived simply, grew their own food, and owned no land (Isichei 1995: 54; Thornton 1998: 66). In the early 1700s, the newly assigned Fr Marcellino d’Atri clashed with the Catholic King Pedro IV—one of four rival leaders vying to unify the kingdom—over the priest’s insistence that the king recognize the high status of the priests accorded them when they had arrived five decades earlier. D’Atri and King Pedro reached a diplomatic compromise, even as the priest rejected many of the rituals honouring the king observed in the Kongolese Mass (Thornton 1998: 61–66). In 1706, d’Atri and a fellow priest found themselves embroiled in the controversy over a young African mystic, Dona Beatriz Vita Kimpa. Baptized a Catholic and trained as an nganga, she claimed to have died and then been reborn as St Anthony. She insisted that Jesus was black, and she preached against slave trading. In a kingdom wracked by factionalism, she attracted followers among ordinary Kongolese and from the elite. Despite the misgivings of King Pedro, the Capuchins burned Dona Beatriz at the stake for heresy. Many of her followers were sold into slavery; some, the historian John K. Thornton has proposed, may have ended up in the English New World colony of South Carolina (Thornton 1998: 2, 177–188, 203). A limited Catholicism survived the tumult in the Kongo Kingdom. Local preachers continued to read services and oversee schools. In the early nineteenth century, English sailors visiting the port at Soyo met a married Kongo Catholic priest still saying the Mass in Latin. The man also had five mistresses, a reality that suggested considerable wealth (Isichei  1995: 67). Priestly vows of celibacy and poverty—and to a lesser extent, 1  For a discussion of the concept of ‘contemplatives in action’ see Fr Jack Rathschmidt, OFM Cap. ‘Capuchin Charisms’ (White Plains, NY: Province of St. Mary of the Capuchin Order, n.d.), (accessed 10 May 2020).

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544   Catherine Higgs ­ bedience—had proved an obstacle to creating an African Catholic clergy from the o ­outset and would remain considerations for Africans contemplating whether to enter religious orders into the twenty-first century.

Explorers and Missionaries The second wave of European Christian missionizing in sub-Saharan Africa was in­aug­ ur­ated by evangelical Protestants in the late eighteenth century. The many missionary societies founded included the non-denominational London Missionary Society (LMS) in 1795, and the Church Missionary Society (CMS), founded by evangelical Anglicans in 1799. American Congregationalists joined them in 1810 with the American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM). Methodists from the Wesleyan Missionary Society arrived in southern Africa in 1816. Like the Catholic priests from the first wave, most missionaries were men. Many were of humble origins: shoemakers, joiners, and artisans. Their funders tended to be wealthier, though small donations remained key to the survival of mission stations for Protestants and Catholics alike. Protestant missionaries sought to ‘convert the Heathen’. As a group, the historian Elizabeth Isichei has suggested, they ‘understood African societies most imperfectly’, but they ‘probably came closer to Africa, especially a knowledge of its languages, than most other foreigners have done’ (Isichei 1995: 75). Like their Catholic forbearers, however, Protestant missionaries had little success in converting Africans (Isichei 1995: 76–77). Among the most famous of the Protestant explorers was the medical missionary David Livingstone of the LMS—whom Henry Stanley would famously ‘find’ in 1871. In 1853, after twenty-two years in southern Africa, Livingstone sent his wife and children to England so that he could explore for new mission sites. He remained suspicious of the few Africans who did convert, concluding they mostly did so to gain access to the goods and services offered by mission stations: ploughs, schooling, and even protection (Hibbert 1984: 256–257, 261–262). The anthropologists Jean and John Comaroff offer qualified support for this interpretation, but stress in addition the need to consider ‘the significance of conversion to Africans themselves’, which could not ‘be assumed to conform to European preconceptions’ (Comaroff and Comaraoff  1991: 246–249, 250 [quotes], 251). Livingstone was devoted to the idea that Christianity, commerce, and (European) civilization would free Africa from its perceived ills. These included a still-active slave trade in East Africa, whose most successful trader, the Afro-Arab Tippu Tip, had been hired as a guide by both Livingstone and Stanley (Jeal  2007: 191). Casting aside this irony, Livingstone hoped that opening Central Africa to commercial development would end the slave trade. He claimed that the Zambezi River, which he had not completely charted, was fully navigable (Hibbert 1984: 261–262). For the missionaries who followed, the Zambezi rapids killed that dream (Isichei 1995: 138–139).

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Monasticism in Africa South of the Sahara   545 Still, Livingstone’s vision inspired others, including the German Catholic Benedictine Andreas Amrhein, who read the Scotsman’s 1857 Missionary Travels and Researches in South Africa in German translation.2 Amrhein founded a Benedictine congregation with a branch for men in 1884 and another for women in 1885, where brothers and sisters trained as monastics before becoming missionaries (Walter 1987: vol. 1: 31–41, 45–46). In 1887, they established a mission station at Pugu, near Dar es Salaam in German East Africa (modern Tanzania), where many Africans were Muslims. Their neighbours included German and Austrian settlers, and 500 Africans living in Pugu village (Walter 1987: vol. 1: 113, 116, 118). The mission was burned to the ground in 1889 as part of a protest against German colonial rule; in February 1890, the Benedictines began rebuilding in the coastal city of Dar es Salaam (Walter 1987: vol. 1: 129, 131; Walter 1992: vol. 2: 32–34). Perhaps unsurprisingly, missionaries enjoyed the greatest success among populations, who—depending on their context and perspective—saw in Christianity and its European cultural framework both the opportunity to succeed in a new and changing world and a partial explanation for the loss of the old. This underpinned the embrace of Christianity and English literacy by the free black Britons who settled in Free Town in Sierra Leone at the end of the eighteenth century and by the free African Americans who founded Monrovia, Liberia in the early nineteenth century. Among the Sierra Leone settlers subsequently recaptured by the navy off the West African coast after the British banned slave trading in 1807 was Samuel Ajayi Crowther, who helped found Fourah Bay College in Sierra Leone and became the CMS’s first black bishop (Shillington 2012: 243–246, 298–299). In the Cape Colony (later part of South Africa), early Christian adherents included the Mfengu, who were most likely refugees from the expansion of the Zulu state in the early nineteenth century. In 1835, the Mfengu aligned themselves with the British Cape Colony and were granted land along the southern border of the Xhosa polity, which had initially taken in the Mfengu as clients. The Mfengu embraced Christianity, promised to educate their children, and swore allegiance to the British. In three subsequent frontier wars between 1846 and 1877, the Mfengu sided with the British colonial government against their former Xhosa hosts.3 The Xhosa had long experience of European colonialism. Dutch settlers had first arrived in Cape Town on the south-west coast in 1652. They gradually expanded east in search of farm land and pasture for their cattle. In 1779, Dutch ranchers fought the first of three wars with the cattle-keeping Xhosa. The British acquired the Dutch colony in 1806 (Thompson, xix–xx, 73). The LMS missionary J. T. van der Kemp worked among the Xhosa in the early 1800s. The historian J. B. Peires describes the missionary as an eccentric, who unlike his peers, ‘ate Xhosa food and lived in Xhosa huts’ (Peires 1982: 2  Livingstone’s book was published in English in 1857 and translated into German the next year (Walter 1987: vol. 1: 21). 3 This is a point of some contention. Cobbing (1988) argued that the Mfengu were fleeing a ­missionary-supported slave trade along the East African coast, an interpretation rejected by Eldredge (1992).

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546   Catherine Higgs 77). More conventional missionaries advocated square houses and European clothing as essential parts of embracing Christianity. Van der Kemp’s mystical Christianity did not dismiss Xhosa beliefs outright and may have influenced—along with the teachings of other missionaries—the theology of the Xhosa Christian prophet Ntsikana, who preached peace. Most of van der Kemp’s converts, however, were drawn from the edges of Xhosa society rather than from its core, where adherents observed Xhosa beliefs (Peires  1982: 73, 77). Only after the cataclysm of the 1856–1857 cattle-killing would mainstream Xhosa begin to convert to Christianity. Deadly lung sickness infected the Xhosa herds, killing the majority in a society built around cattle. Pressured from the north by the Zulu, and from the south by the British, and mourning the loss of their cattle, many Xhosa embraced the millenarian vision of a young girl. Nongqawuse promised that if the Xhosa killed their remaining cattle and burned their crops, their society would be born anew. Many believers starved to death. Survivors sought refuge in the Cape Colony where they worked for British settlers and listened to missionaries who perhaps offered an explanation for the tragedy that had befallen the Xhosa (Peires 1982: 75; Thompson 2000: 79–80). Catholic missionaries had been excluded from southern Africa, first by the Calvinist Dutch and then by the Anglican British. The first Catholic bishop arrived in Cape Town only in 1838, part of a rebirth of Catholic missionizing, albeit one condoned by his Protestant hosts (Brain 1975: 12; Isichei 1995: 83). In 1879, the British defeated the Zulu, the military state to the north of the Xhosa. Exploiting deep factions among the Zulu, the British split the state into thirteen regions, each with its own chief. Some Zulu lands were administered by the British Natal Colony; the defeated king, Ceteshwayo, was assigned a small territory (Thompson 2000: 125). In late 1882, the Trappist (Cistercian) monk Fr Franz Pfanner purchased a farm at Pinetown, near the port city of Durban in Natal. He was welcomed by Chief Umanzini of the Shozi reserve, whose people lived around the mission station Pfanner would name Mariannhill (Brain 1975: 164–167). Pfanner and his fellow German monks proved a curiosity to European settlers and Africans alike. Within days of purchasing the farm, the monks began building Mariannhill, clearing land for planting and for roads. As they would have done in Europe, they worked in the fields six to nine hours per day in complete silence, with the balance of the day devoted to prayer and meditation (Brain  1975: 167). The sight of ‘numerous White men working for long hours in the sun’ amused the local Zulu (Brain 1975: 170). It perturbed a local German Lutheran minister, the Rev. C. W. Posselt, who worried that the Trappists intended to convert the Zulu. Pfanner, however, allowed Posselt’s assistant Lukas to continue evangelizing around Mariannhill (Brain 1975: 167, 169). At least initially, converting the Zulu to Catholicism was beyond Pfanner’s cap­abil­ ities. His focus was growing enough food to feed a population of monks that numbered eighty-one by late 1884. Only a few spoke English and none spoke Zulu. Direct outreach was impossible. Furthermore, the Trappist monks were not technically missionaries (Brain 1975: 169–170). It was the Zulu who reached out to the Trappists in 1883. Fotsholo Dube, another of the Rev. Posselt’s evangelists, visited with a message from the Shozi Reserve asking for a priest to visit a sick man. The priest baptized the man and when he

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Monasticism in Africa South of the Sahara   547 died shortly thereafter, he was buried at Mariannhill with the Shozi Zulu in attendance (Brain 1975: 170–171). This intimate encounter did little to deter the monks’ racism. They thought the local Zulu ‘dirty, idle and disorderly’ (Brain 1975: 170). Pfanner’s interpretation of what Africans were thinking as they watched the monks plant crops, and build a mill, roads, and bridges, revealed his approach to conversion: All this astonished the Blacks, who are very susceptible to externals. They think our dams work like the rod of Moses . . . Soon they ask to work for us. This is our or­din­ ary way of bringing them to the mission. When they want to join in, we tell them it is impossible unless they go to school. So they send their children and hear about God from them (Brain 1975: 170).

Schooling proved the key to spreading Catholicism. Ultimately Pfanner would open a school for boys, recruit the Austrian and German women who became the Mariannhill sisters to teach girls, and build a boarding school (Brain 1975: 171–173). In early 1885, the Trappists baptized eleven boys, two men, and a woman. The next year, helped by donations from Europe, Pfanner began building settlements affiliated to Mariannhill throughout the south-east in lands still occupied by the Zulu, the Pondo, and the Thembu, and among the Xhosa in the Transkei. By 1903, Mariannhill and its outstations had baptized 10,000 Africans. The monks had moved far from their contemplative roots. In 1909 they redefined themselves as the Congregation of Missionaries of Mariannhill (Brain 1975: 171–172, Brain 1997: 199–200; Bate 2000: 165). In 1910, the Natal Colony and the Cape Colony joined with two Afrikaner republics—the Orange Free State and the Transvaal—to form the Union of South Africa. Granted independence by Britain, South Africa emerged as a segregated state where politics and business were overseen by a white minority composed predominantly of the Protestant descendants of Dutch and British settlers (Thompson 2000: 154–176).

Colonialism, Independence, and Monasticism As Pfanner continued building Mariannhill, a very different process of expansion began in sub-Saharan Africa. This was the European scramble for Africa that would prompt the burning of the Benedictine mission at Pugu by Africans opposed to the German colonization of East Africa. The scramble was a more systematic process than the one that had defeated the Xhosa and the Zulu of Southern Africa. Europe was ten years into a deep depression; Africa seemed to hold the promise of wealth, especially after the discovery of diamonds in the Cape Colony in 1867. In late 1884, the German chancellor invited representatives of Britain, France, Portugal, Spain, Belgium, and Italy to meet in Berlin. In the mid-1850s, Livingstone had expressed his dismay over the persistence of slave trading by Africans, Arabs, Afro-Arabs, and Afro-Europeans in East Africa. In

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548   Catherine Higgs Berlin, almost three decades later, the British argued for the need to eliminate slavery and slave trading in Africa; their fellow European representatives ‘balked at the administrative requirements of administering such a policy’ (Miers 1975: 173). Signatories to the 1885 General Act of the Berlin Conference, pledged instead to introduce the civilizing effects of free labour and commerce, and then redrew the map of Africa in the scramble to exploit its resources, known and imagined (Shillington 2012: 312–316). The scramble for Africa implicated the explorers, whose maps European colonizers used. To a lesser extent, it also implicated missionaries, whose opposition to slavery provided cover to colonial policymakers in Europe. Missionaries also complicated their relationships with local Africans even before the scramble by appealing for help from their home governments, as happened when German missionaries got caught up in the 1880 war between the Nama and the Herero along the south-west coast in what is now Namibia (Shillington  2012: 338–340). More often, missionaries found themselves at odds with rapacious and drunken European settlers, and colonial administrations they considered oppressive (Isichei 1995: 92). The historian Jeff Guy has chronicled the struggles of both John William Colenso and his daughter Harriette Colenso on behalf of the Zulu against the British Natal Colony (Guy 2002). In most places, the European colonization of sub-Saharan Africa was violent, as British, French, German, and Portuguese armies ‘pacified’ African states and populations. Europeans had superior military technology but their victories were not necessarily easy. Many Africans fought valiantly, even as they negotiated treaties in the attempt to maintain their independence. It was not until 1910, for example, that the British finally subdued the Igbo of south-eastern Nigeria (Shillington 2012: 311–327). Amidst all the violence, there were lines that could not be crossed. When it emerged that Africans were being forced to harvest rubber under threat of death in the Congo Free State—then the private fiefdom of the Belgian king, Leopold II—the other European colonial powers objected. The huge territory became an official colony of Belgium in 1908, which ended the most egregious practices (Hochschild 1998: 1, 161–162, 164–166, 190–191). Also in the early 1900s, missionaries helped expose the questionable trade in labourers from Portuguese Angola to the islands of São Tomé and Príncipe. Workers signed five-year contracts to harvest cocoa, but none appeared to return home, a situation remedied only in 1916, again following international pressure (Higgs 2012: 149). Having conceded the immorality of slave trading, colonizers were faced with the reality of securing labour for farms and mines. Most Africans were already occupied as farmers. One loophole was to make vagrancy illegal; anyone seemingly without a job could be compelled to work. The historian Frederick Cooper has documented the failed British attempts to turn former slaves into wage labourers on the island of Zanzibar, though this did not prevent the French and the Portuguese from pursuing similar pol­ icies (Cooper 1980: 116–121; Cooper 2000: 119–121). More effective in the long run were policies that introduced a cash economy that required Africans to pay taxes to colonial administrations in money rather than in crops or other goods, thus pushing them into a wage economy. This too could seem akin to slavery, as with the infamous chibaro system of forced recruitment to the gold mines in the British colony of Southern Rhodesia

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Monasticism in Africa South of the Sahara   549 (Zimbabwe) (Van Onselen  1976: 98, 99n). In colonies with large European settler populations—including Kenya, Zimbabwe, and independent but white-led South ­ Africa—land was seized from Africans who often ended up as workers and sharecroppers on land they had previously farmed (Shillington 2012: 361–370). In this context, an Africanized Christianity could serve as a conduit for protesting colonial oppression and foreshadow an emerging nationalism. Two such movements emerged in British Nyasaland (Malawi). In 1908, Elliot Kamwana, a Jehovah’s Witness convert, founded his own Watchtower sect and preached that the second coming of Christ would end colonialism. British administrators deported him but could not stop the expansion of the Watchtower in neighbouring Northern Rhodesia (Zambia). John Chilembwe, also from Nyasaland, was influenced by the African American National Baptist Convention. He founded the Providence Industrial Mission in the Shire Highlands, which had been claimed by white farmers. He was killed in 1915, leading a protest against recruiting Africans to fight along the northern border with German East Africa (Tanzania) during the First World War (Shillington  2012: 353–355; Isichei  1995: 249–250). In contrast, Simon Kimbangu’s ministry in the Belgian Congo was not nationalistic, but the crowds he drew by preaching: ‘Bless all peoples of the earth, great and small, men and women, whites and blacks’ worried administrators. They im­prisoned him in 1921; he died in jail thirty years later (Isichei 1995:199–200). For German missionaries in Africa, the First World War was a turning point. By 1913—the year before the war began—the Benedictines who had weathered the destruction of Pugu in 1889 had built seventeen mission stations and attracted 12,500 converts; 500 schools enrolled 24,300 students (Sieber 1995: 7). British forces occupied Dar es Salaam in late 1916. Germany lost its colonies after the war ended in 1918. German East Africa became a League of Nations trust territory under a British mandate. After failing to persuade the British of their loyalty, German Benedictine missionaries were expelled in 1920 (Sieber 1995: 10, 16, 19, 21, 23–24, 26, 28, 40). Several sisters relocated to South Africa but most returned to Germany. In 1926, sisters were granted permission to return to southern Tanzania, and also established a mission in former German Southwest Africa (Namibia), then under a South African mandate (Walter 1992: vol. 2: 253–254). Priests and brothers meanwhile explored mission opportunities in independent South Africa. Despite concerns over a conflict in the Benedictines’ St Ottilien congregation in Germany about whether the order continued to demonstrate sufficient ‘monastic discipline’, Rome supported the South African mission (Sieber 1995: 50). The Benedictines bought Mooi Plaats farm in Zululand in 1922, and the monks began to build Inkamana Abbey. (Sieber 1995: 64, 66–67). Many Catholic missionary orders hesitated over the need to create an indigenous priesthood; indeed, the Ugandan historian Fr John Mary Waliggo follows Richard Gray in arguing that the ‘lack of indigenous priests was one of the chief reasons for the failure of the Catholic missions to make a deeper and lasting impact on Africans’ through the end of the nineteenth century (Waliggo 1988: 3; Gray 1991). Racism was one barrier to Africans who wished to join religious orders in colonial Africa and

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550   Catherine Higgs especially in South Africa, where seminaries were segregated, as were most (but not all) women’s religious orders for much of the twentieth century. There were exceptions to this general rule. From Mariannhill, Pfanner—despite his prejudices—sent several Zulu seminarians to Rome in the late 1800s. Fr Edward Mnganga was ordained in 1898, but remained a junior priest, his career restricted by segregation. Fathers Alois Mncadi (ordained in1903), and Julius Mbhele and Andreas Ngidi (1907) all served at Inkamana (Sieber 1995: 111–113, 163–165). In British Uganda, French White Fathers ordained their first African priests at Katigondo in 1913 (Waliggo 1988: 37, 50). More common was the experience of the Nigerian John Cross Anyogu, who was denied entry to a Holy Ghost Fathers’ seminary in England in 1910. When a Catholic seminary opened at Igbariam in Nigeria in 1924, Anyogu was one of nine students, including two Irishmen, admitted (Isichei  1980: 26–27). Inkamana Abbey in South Africa, despite its support of the Mariannhill Zulu priests, welcomed its first African Benedictine applicants only in 1964 (Denis 1999: 126–133). For those not attracted to ministry, Christianity offered a route to social mobility. Colonial administrations and businesses needed workers literate in European languages. The secular French provided limited access to government schools and the Catholic Portuguese even more limited access to mission schools—most run by expatriate Protestants, including from the ABCFM. In British Nigeria, missionaries had a virtual educational monopoly, running 99 per cent of the schools and teaching 97 per cent of all students. Thus missionaries, even when critical of colonial administrations, became agents of enculturation, if not necessarily of imperialism (Isichei 1995: 233, 269–270, 321). Many missionaries embraced this cultural role, as did the Catholic priest Fr Bernard Huss, who served as principal of St Francis College at Mariannhill from 1915 to 1927 in independent minority-ruled South Africa. The literary theorist Bhekizizwe Peterson has argued that ‘the first step in the “metamorphosis” of pupils at Mariannhill was to literally scrub their bodies of the muck that was symbolic of their culture’ (Peterson 2000: 25). By 1915, St Francis College had become a highly regarded agricultural and industrial training school, even as Huss saw all around Mariannhill the misery caused by land alienation. He loudly criticized South African government policies as the cause, and presented the Church, in keeping with late nineteenth-century Catholic social teaching, as the protector of souls against the dispossession caused by capitalism. Yet the role Huss defined for himself was layered with irony (Peterson 2000: 26–27). Through the mid-twentieth century, mission schools in South Africa—often the only educational option open to Africans—were supported in part by government grants that stopped short of funding the last two years needed to earn the matriculation certificate necessary to apply to university. Mission schools trained South Africa’s black industrial work force (Thompson 2000: 172). Elsewhere in colonial Africa, schools were not always welcome. Sr Magdalene Walker, an Irish Sister of Charity, opened a Montessori school for Efik and Igbo girls in Nigeria in 1924. Educating boys produced teachers and clerks; what educated girls might do was less clear. The local bishop hoped ‘that the numbers will remain low’ (Isichei 1995: 272). Walker trained African women as teachers and then set up a religious teaching order for

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Monasticism in Africa South of the Sahara   551 African sisters, the Handmaids of the Holy Child Jesus. In 1931, they were joined by three sisters from the Holy Child Sisters, founded in Philadelphia in the United States. Whether the two orders were kept separate is unclear (Isichei 1995: 271)4. The colonial period in Africa proved relatively short. After a Second World War fought to preserve democracy, colonialism proved no more defensible than slave trading had been in the nineteenth century. Nor could devastated European economies afford the cost of developing African colonies in an effort to keep them. Britain, France, and Belgium had withdrawn by 1960; Portugal followed in 1975 (Shillington 2012: 389–396, 402–413). White South Africa ceded power to the black majority only in 1994 (Shillington  2012: 426–432). The European impact had been considerable: the political, economic, and cultural map of Africa had been redrawn. Many of the African nationalists who negotiated the independence of their new states had been educated in missionary schools. In this sense, missionaries critical of colonial administrations had sown the seeds of their own destruction. Missionaries were not blameless; as Isichei notes, Christianity had grown at the expense of ‘traditional religion’ (Ishichei 1995: 323–324). The continuing difficulty of attracting African men to the Catholic priesthood was evident in 1960. There were 8,703 expatriate priests in sub-Saharan Africa. In 1972, Patrick Kalilombe, the Catholic bishop of Lilongwe, Malawi, reported that sixty-six of seventy-six priests, nineteen of twenty brothers, and sixty-one of 132 sisters in his diocese were foreign-born. To continue in the manner his congregants had come to expect, Kalilombe needed donations from abroad (Kalilombe 1978: 80–89). He could not agree with the Cameroonian Jesuit priest, Fabien Boulaga, who favoured the complete withdrawal of foreign missionaries from Africa. Europeans, Boulaga insisted, should evangelize in their home countries (Isichei 1995: 325–327). From decidedly secular France, the demographer Elizabeth Dufourcq identified 2,167 French sisters still living in sub-Saharan Africa in 1985; another 838 lived in North Africa. Their average age was sixty. Together they represented fourteen per cent of 21,678 foreign sisters still living in Africa. Another 12,000 sisters were Africans, 10,000 of whom belonged to African orders (Dufourcq 1988: 46, 63). Missionary clergy, Jo Ann Kay McNamara has observed, had a long history of ‘trivializ[ing] women’s aspirations’, an accusation that applied equally to male Protestant ministers and Catholic priests (McNamara 1996: 611; Ishichei 1995: 333). Everywhere in Africa, the vows of celibacy and poverty expected of Catholic religious men and women proved problematic. Africans were expected to marry, and women to bear and raise children. Many Africans—Catholic or not—found the concept of celibate women religious laughable, though some sisters did manage to redefine themselves as ‘mothers’ in service to the broader community (Burke  1993: 263; Brain and 4  For a brief history of the Handmaids of the Holy Child Jesus in Nigeria, see the order’s website at (accessed 10 May 2020). For a brief discussion of the Society of the Holy Child Jesus in Africa, see the order’s website at (accessed 10 May 2020).

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552   Catherine Higgs Christensen 1999: 271; Isichei 1995: 328, 329; Higgs 2011: 8). Yet vows of celibacy did not necessarily protect African sisters; a 2001 Vatican study confirmed that some African priests ‘who often live with one or two nuns in isolated villages, are said to fear contracting HIV, the virus that causes AIDS, from prostitutes and other high-risk groups. They often turn to nuns, the reports said’ (Hedges 2001). Such threats might have contributed to the ‘upsurge of contemplative foundations for women’ in independent Africa. A.  K.  H.  Weinrich, an anthropologist (and Dominican sister), counted 110 monasteries in 1974 whose members included perhaps 500–1,000 African women. They represented less than ten per cent of African women religious, themselves a minority. Weinrich visited Carmelites in Rwanda, Cistercians (Trappists) in Uganda, and Poor Clares in Malawi. She focused on ‘the two problems of cultural adaptation and religious poverty’ after the 1962–1965 Second Vatican Council (Weinrich  1978: 555). Vatican reforms had opened some space for enculturation (Isichei 1995: 328, 329, 333). The French-speaking Carmelite abbey, which dated to 1934, had embraced African housing and food but had made ‘only a moderate attempt . . . to adapt monastic values to the spiritual values of African society’ (Weinrich 1978: 563–565, 567 [quote], 569). In Uganda, eight Dutch Cistercians had welcomed seven Africans. Though silence and enclosure were observed, the abbess allowed cloistered African nuns to greet visitors, and to visit sick relatives. African nuns were members of the council, but overall, the orientation of the Cistercians also remained Western (Weinrich 1978: 560–561). The Poor Clares had moved furthest in Africanizing their abbey in Lilongwe, founded in 1960. French nuns learned Chewa, and in 1972 they helped translate the liturgy and compose African hymns and dances to accompany it. In 1975, an African nun became abbess. Since many African sisters and nuns who entered missionary and monastic orders increased their material standard of living by Western standards, Weinrich found the contemplative Poor Clares’ celebration of vowed poverty, and simplicity in housing, food, and decoration, particularly moving (Weinrich 1978: 572–574). By local standards, however, African Poor Clare nuns were indeed poor: they had ‘no land, no cattle, no house, no relatives, no family and no children’ (Wübbels 2009: 6, 7). Perhaps in answer to Boulaga’s criticism that ‘people became missionaries as much to meet their own subjective needs as to serve Africa’ (Isichei 1995: 326), each abbey provided some service to the surrounding community— food, transport, medicine—even as European and African nuns likely interpreted the meaning of this service (and its connection to their vow of poverty) differently (Isichei 1995; Nwagwu 2008: 132–151). In February 1989, the archdiocese of Kinshasa, Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of Congo), hosted an international colloquium on monastic life and enculturation in sub-Saharan Africa (Vie Monastique 1989: 11). The setting was somewhat ironic: Zaire was a failed state, run by a corrupt president who had artfully manipulated Cold War politics to stay in power and steal from his own people (Young 1998: 97, 117, 119, 123). Fifty-one delegates attended from Angola, Benin, Cameroon, the Congo, Nigeria, Senegal, and Togo; the majority was from Zaire. Most were priests, but they included a few academics from Belgium and France, and eleven religious

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Monasticism in Africa South of the Sahara   553 women. Participants presented thirty papers on theology, enculturation, and their personal experiences of monastic life. Some delegates pointed to the difficulties of grafting an essentially European monastic model onto the new churches of West and Central Africa. Others argued that monastic life was an equally valid way to achieve an understanding of God regardless of where one was living. Colloquium participants concluded that however much monastic life spoke to them individually, its growth in Africa would continue to be slow (Vie Monastique 1989: 83–84, 246, 265–274, 441–443). Writing in 1990, Martin O’Reilly concurred: ‘There is no other continent today, apart from Africa, where male monastic life is so weak’ (O’Reilly  1996: 72). Still, he was encouraged by the establishment of six monasteries in West Africa since 1960. This trend has also been documented by the historian Christopher Steed, who notes the growth of Trappist monasteries, from one in 1940 to twenty-one in 2009: ‘twelve for monks and nine for nuns, mainly in Nigeria, Cameroon, Angola, and Rwanda’ (Steed  2009: 512). German Benedictine sisters remain active in Tanzania, Namibia, Angola, Kenya, and Uganda. Anglican Benedictines have also founded monasteries for women in Cameroon and Ghana (where sisters run a medical clinic) and for men in South Africa, where a guest house helps support the monks, and introduces visitors to the contemplative life (Steed 2009: 511)5.

Conclusion Contemplative and monastic orders have always been a minor strain in sub-Saharan African Christianity (Vie Monastique 1989: 83). In the late twentieth and early twentyfirst centuries, evangelical Protestantism has drawn the most converts. The embrace, in particular, of the ‘Gospel of Prosperity’ in many countries beginning in the 1970s has made the vow of poverty taken by Catholic monastics and missionaries seem ana­chron­ is­tic. The exponential growth in Christianity has come largely from the African independent and indigenous churches, a process documented by David Chidester and Jean and John Comaroff. Blending aspects of African religions—resurrected and ­reimagined—with interpretations of American and Brazilian Pentecostalism, this new gospel of consumerism answers the dislocations and anxieties of global capitalism with the promise of success (Chidester 2006; Comaroff and Comaroff 2004: 27–40). Though Catholic populations survive and even thrive, especially in Nigeria and Kenya, monasticism remains a fragile plant in Africa south of the Sahara (Vie Monastique 1989: 84; Jonveaux 2017, 2019).

5 For the current outreach and contemplative activities of the Missionary Benedictine Sisters of Tutzing, see the order’s website at (accessed 10 May 2020).

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554   Catherine Higgs

Future Research Directions Recent regional studies on Catholicism include Morier-Genoud (2006) on Mozambique and Creary (2011) on Zimbabwe. Steed (2009) points to the growth (albeit small) of monasteries for men and women in contemporary Africa, and to the publication of modern histories of monasticism by Sieber (1995) and Walter (1987–1992). Aside from Walter, Weinrich (1978), and Burke (2001), Steed also notes the absence of sustained scholarship by and about African Catholic nuns and sisters in sub-Saharan Africa, a lacuna that recent work by Nwagwu (1992, 2008), Martin (2009), Higgs (2011), Higgs and Evans (2008), Higgs and Kelly (2012) and Jonveaux (2017, 2019) seek to address.

Suggested Reading Isichei (1995) and Hastings (1979,  1989,  1994) provide excellent introductions to Christianity and Catholicism in Africa; Sundkler and Steed (2000) explore the growth of African Christian churches. The scholarly articles collected in Fasholé-Luke et al. (1978) chronicle the first fifteen years of Church and Christian history after most European powers withdrew in 1960. Shillington (2012) offers an accessible one-volume history of Africa, illustrated with maps and photographs, and includes suggestions for further reading.

Bibliography Bate, Stuart  C. (2000). ‘Points of Contradiction: Money, the Catholic Church and Settler Culture in Southern Africa, 1837–1920. Part 2: The Role of Religious Institutes’. Studia Historiae Ecclesiasticae 26.1: 165–188. Brain, J. B. (1975). Catholic Beginnings in Natal and Beyond. Durban: T. W. Griggs. Brain, Joy (1997). ‘Moving from the Margins to the Mainstream: The Roman Catholic Church’. In Christianity in South Africa: A Political, Social, and Cultural History, edited by Richard Elphick and Rodney Davenport, 195–210. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Brain, Joy and Mary Christensen (1999). ‘Women in the Church’. In The Catholic Church in Contemporary Southern Africa, edited by Joy Brain and Philippe Denis, 265–293. Pietermaritzburg: Cluster Publications. Burke, Joan F. (2001). These Catholic Sisters are all Mamas! Towards the Inculturation of the Sisterhood in Africa, an Ethnographic Study. Leiden: Brill. Burke, Joan F. (1993). ‘These Catholic Sisters are all Mamas!: Celibacy and the Metaphor of Maternity’. In Women and Missions: Past and Present: Anthropological and Historical Perceptions, edited by Fiona Bowie, Deborah Kirkwood, and Shirley Ardener, 251–266. Providence, RI: Berg. Capuchins Franciscans, Province of St Mary, White Plains, NY at

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Monasticism in Africa South of the Sahara   555 Chidester, David (2006). ‘African Christian Communities’. In The Oxford Handbook of Global Religions, edited by Mark Juergensmeyer, 349–356. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Cobbing, Julian (1988). ‘The Mfecane as Alibi: Thoughts on Dithakong and Mbolompo’. Journal of African History 29.2: 487–519. Comaroff, Jean and John L. Comaroff (2004). ‘Privatizing the Millennium: New Protestant Ethics and Spirits of Capitalism in Africa, and Elsewhere’. In Religion, Politics, and Identity in a Changing South Africa, edited by David Chidester, Abdulkader Tayob, and Wolfram Weisse, 23–44. Münster: Waxmann. Comaroff, Jean and John  L.  Comaroff (1991). Of Revelation and Revolution: Christianity, Colonialism, and Consciousness in South Africa. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Cooper, Frederick (2000). ‘Conditions Analogous to Slavery’. In Beyond Slavery: Explorations of Race, Labor, and Citizenship in Post-emancipation Societies, edited by Frederick Cooper, Thomas  C.  Holt, and Rebecca  J.  Scott, 107–149. Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press. Cooper, Frederick (1980). From Slaves to Squatters: Plantation Labor and Agriculture in Zanzibar and Coastal Kenya, 1890–1925. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Creary, Nicholas M. (2011). Domesticating a Religious Import: The Jesuits and the Inculturation of the Catholic Church in Zimbabwe, 1879–1980. New York: Fordham University Press. Denis, Philippe (1999). ‘Clergy Training’. In The Catholic Church in Contemporary Southern Africa, edited by Joy Brain and Philippe Denis, 124–150. Pietermaritzburg: Cluster Publications. Dufourcq, Elisabeth (1988). ‘Approche démographique de l’implantation hors d’Europe des Congrégations religieuses féminines d’origine française’. Population (French Edition) 43.1: 45–76. Eldredge, Elizabeth (1992). ‘Sources of Conflict in Southern Africa, c.1800–1830: The “Mfecane” Reconsidered’. Journal of African History 33.1: 1–35. Fasholé-Luke, Edward, Richard Gray, Adrian Hastings, and Godwin Tasie (eds) (1978). Christianity in Independent Africa. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Gray, Richard (1991). Black Christians and White Missionaries. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Guy, Jeff (2002). The View Across the River: Harriette Colenso and the Zulu Struggle against Imperialism. Charlottesville, VA: University Press of Virginia. Handmaids of the Holy Child Jesus in Nigeria at Harms, Robert (2002). The Diligent: A Voyage through the Worlds of the Slave Trade. New York: Basic Books. Hastings, Adrian (1994). The Church in Africa, 1450–1950. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Hastings, Adrian (1989). African Catholicism: Essays in Discovery. London: SCM Press. Hastings, Adrian (1979). A History of African Christianity, 1950–1975. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Hedges, Chris (2001). ‘Documents Allege Abuse of Nuns by Priests’. New York Times, 21 March 21: A10. Hibbert, Christopher (1984). Africa Explored: Europeans in the Dark Continent, 1769–1889. Harmondsworth: Penguin. Higgs, Catherine (2012). Chocolate Islands: Cocoa, Slavery, and Colonial Africa. Athens, OH: Ohio University Press. Higgs, Catherine (2011). ‘Silence, Disobedience, and African Catholic Sisters in Apartheid South Africa’. African Studies Review 54.2: 1–22.

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556   Catherine Higgs Higgs, Catherine and Jean N. Evans, RSM (2008). ‘Embracing Activism in Apartheid South Africa: The Sisters of Mercy in Bophuthatswana, 1974–1994’. Catholic Historical Review 94.3: 500–521. Higgs, Catherine and Margaret Kelly, OP (2012). ‘The Cabra Dominican Sisters and the “Open Schools” Movement in Apartheid South Africa’. International Studies in Catholic Education 4.1: 4–15. Hochschild, Adam (1998). King Leopold’s Ghost: A Story of Greed, Terror, and Heroism in Colonial Africa. Boston, MA: Houghton Mifflin. Hodges, Tony and Malyn Newitt (1988). São Tomé and Príncipe: From Plantation Colony to Microstate. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Isichei, Elizabeth (1995). A History of Christianity in Africa: From Antiquity to the Present. Grand Rapids, MI: William B. Eerdmans. Isichei, Elizabeth (1980). Entirely for God: The Life of Michael Iwene Tansi. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Jeal, Tim (2007). Stanley: The Impossible Life of Africa’s Greatest Explorer. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Jonveaux, Isabelle (2019). ‘Future of Catholic Monasteries on New Monastic Continents: The Case of Africa’. In Religions 10.9: 513. . Jonveaux, Isabelle (2017). ‘Does Monasticism Still have a Future? Demographical Evolution and Monastic Identity in Europe and outside Europe’. In Monasticism in Modern Times, edited by Isabelle Jonveaux and Stefania Palmisano, 46–62. New York: Routledge. Kalilombe, P. A. (1978). ‘The African Local Churches and the World-wide Roman Catholic Communion: Modification of Relationships, as Exemplified by Lilongwe Diocese’. In Christianity in Independent Africa, edited by Edward Fasholé-Luke, Richard Gray, Adrian Hastings, and Godwin Tasie, 79–95. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Marcus, Harold G. (1994). A History of Ethiopia. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Martin, Phyllis  M. (2009). Catholic Women of Congo-Brazzaville: Mothers and Sisters in Troubled Times. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Maxwell, David (1997). ‘The Spirit and the Scapular: Pentecostal and Catholic Interactions in Northern Nyanga District, Zimbabwe in the 1950s and early 1960s’. Journal of Southern African Studies 23.2: 283–300. McNamara, Jo Ann Kay (1996). Sisters in Arms: Catholic Nuns through Two Millennia. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Miers, Suzanne (1975). Britain and the Ending of the Slave Trade. New York: Africana Publishing. Missionary Benedictine Sisters of Tutzing at Morier-Genoud, Eric (2006). ‘The Catholic Church, Religious Orders and the Making of Politics in Colonial Mozambique: The Case of the Diocese of Beira, 1940–1974’. PhD Dissertation, State University of New York at Binghamton. Newitt, Malyn (2008). ‘Angola in Historical Context’. In Angola: The Weight of History, edited by Patrick Chabal and Nuno Vidal, 19–92. New York: Columbia University Press. Nwagwu, Mary Gerard (2008). ‘Religious Vows in Traditional African Context’. African Ecclesial Review (AFER) 50.1–2: 132–151. Nwagwu, Mary Gerard (1992). ‘Challenges Facing Women Religious in the Evangelization of Africa’. African Ecclesial Review (AFER) 34.3: 146–157. O’Reilly, Martin (1996). The Challenge of Being a Religious in Africa Today. Eldoret, Kenya: AMECEA Gaba Publications.

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Monasticism in Africa South of the Sahara   557 Peires, J.  B. (1982). The House of Phalo: A History of the Xhosa People in the Days of Their Independence. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Peterson, Bhekizizwe (2000). Monarchs, Missionaries, and African Intellectuals: African Theatre and the Unmaking of Colonial Marginality. Trenton, NJ: Africa World Press. Rathschmidt, Jack, OFM, Cap. (n.d.) ‘Capuchin Charisms’. White Plains, NY: Province of St. Mary of the Capuchin Order at . Shillington, Kevin (2012). History of Africa, 3rd edn. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Sieber, Godfrey (1995). The Benedictines of Inkamana. St Ottilien, Germany: EOS Verlag. Society of the Holy Child Jesus in Africa at . Steed, Christopher (2009). ‘Some Remarks on Writing African Church History: Then and Now’. Swedish Missiological Themes 97.4: 491–516. Sundkler, Bengt and Christopher Steed (2000). A History of the Church in Africa. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Thompson, Leonard (2000). A History of South Africa, 3rd edn. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Thornton, John  K. (1998). The Kongolese Saint Anthony: Dona Beatriz Kimpa Vita and the Antonian Movement, 1684–1706. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Van Onselen, Charles (1976). Chibaro: African Mine Labour in Southern Rhodesia, 1900–1933. London: Pluto Press. Vie monastique et inculturation à la lumière des traditions et situations Africaines: Actes du colloque international, Kinshasa, 19–25 février 1989 (1989). Kinshasa: Archidiocèse de Kinshasa et Aide Inter-Monastères. Waliggo, John Mary (1988). A History of African Priests: Katigondo Major Seminary, 1911–1986. Masaka, Uganda: Katigondo National Major Seminary. Walter, Bernita (1987–1992). Sustained by God’s Faithfulness: The Missionary Benedictine Sisters of Tutzing. 2 vols. St Ottilien, Germany: EOS Verlag. Weinrich, A. K. H. (1978). ‘Western Monasticism in Independent Africa’. In Christianity in Independent Africa, edited by Edward Fasholé-Luke, Richard Gray, Adrian Hastings, and Godwin Tasie, 554–576. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Wübbels, Johann Theodor (2009). ‘The Paradox of Vowed Poverty to African Religious’. MA Thesis, Maryknoll Institute of African Studies, Saint Mary’s University, Nairobi. Young, Crawford (1998). ‘Zaire: The Anatomy of a Failed State’. In History of Central Africa: The Contemporary Years since 1960, edited by David Birmingham and Phyllis M. Martin, 97–129. London and New York: Longman.

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chapter 36

CHR ISTI A N Monasticism i n Asi a Matteo Nicolini-Zani

Recording and Assessing Past History A comprehensive history of Christian monasticism in Asia has not yet been written. Except for a few entries in dictionaries and encyclopedias (Davis 2001; Pennington 2001; Perez and Ponchaud 2001; Laboa 2003), accounts of Christian monastic life in the particular Asian countries where monasticism spread are also very scanty. It is therefore not an easy task to map the landscape of the Christian monastic presence in Asia, whether in the past or in the present. Historical accounts and detailed information often do not overcome the boundaries of monastic orders and congregations, and primary sources linger nearly untouched in the archives. Moreover, Raimon Panikkar’s assessment of Asian Christian monasticism—which is substantially true but excessively negative—remains influential: The contribution of Christian monasticism in Asia to the Church at large is min­ imal, not to say practically nil. Christian monasteries, where they exist, have been almost ‘air-lifted’ ante litteram, so that they become enclaves, colonies of western Christianity. In spite of strenuous effort, immense goodwill, and even holiness, the history of monasticism in Asia is a sad page in the life of the Christian Church (Panikkar 1975: 74).

In the same vein, the well-known Trappist Thomas Merton (1915–1968) wrote regretfully that the Christian monasteries in the Orient were blatantly ‘colonial’, since they ‘became missionary branch offices of the big mother house[s] in Europe’, and the native monks who entered those monasteries had to become ‘pseudo-Europeans’ (Merton 1984: 339). Christian monastic life is indeed a marginal phenomenon in Asia, and scholarly research on Asian Christian monasticism has been a neglected topic in the last decades. Nevertheless, a few scholars have given historical, literary, and theological attention to a

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CHRISTIAN Monasticism in Asia   559 reconstruction of the different phases of Christian monastic history in Asia. Their research shows that the history is not quite so dismal, and that it is worth recording and evaluating. For reasons of space and consistency, this chapter covers only institutions that are stricto sensu ‘monastic’ and people who are institutionally recognized as ‘monastics’, i.e. Benedictine monks and nuns, Cistercian and Trappist monks and nuns, as well as the Carmelite sisters. Mendicant orders (Dominicans, Franciscans, Augustinians, and Carmelite friars), therefore, are not included in the survey.

Documenting Early Foundations and Further Developments The initial step for research on Christian monasticism in Asia is, of course, the historical reconstruction of the process that led to the foundation and development of Christian monasteries on Asian soil. Such work requires first and foremost indepth research in the archives of the mother houses in Western countries, that is, the places from which the monastics set out on their journeys. For a long time, the people who did such research were mainly those who lived in the Asian monasteries or their confrères. It is only recently that a wider range of scholars has begun to take an interest in the field of his­tor­ ic­al and missionary research. The three relatively better-documented countries are Sri Lanka, China, and Korea. In the case of other Asian countries, scholarship on monastic foundations, if it exists at all, is still at a preliminary stage (e.g. for Vietnam: Bui-ThiNga 1979; Drouet 1979b; Huerre 1989; for Cambodia: Drouet 1979a, 1989). The earliest Roman Catholic monastic mission to Asia was the Sylvestrine ‘Benedictine mission’ to Ceylon (Sri Lanka), and it seems to be the best documented. First linked to the vicariate of Colombo (1845–1883) and then to the vicariate of Kandy (1883–1972), its history has been reconstructed mainly through the monumental work of Bede Barcatta (Barcatta  1991–1994,  1994,  1995; Hyde  2010; Kanakunnel  2012; Paoli 2012). This literature suggests that the Benedictines in Sri Lanka have long given greater emphasis to their more active pursuits, namely pastoral and educational work aimed at building up the local Church, than to traditional ideals of contemplation and seclusion. Several scholars draw attention to the monastic values underlying the missionary activity of the Benedictines in Sri Lanka, at least from the time a monastery was established in Kandy in 1873. They attempt to refute the opinion that the Sylvestrines were not concerned with monastic life and formation (Cingolani 1890; Filipponi 1980; Barcatta 1996; Pantaloni 2013). In any case, the long history of the Benedictine presence in Sri Lanka clearly shows the inevitable tension between monastic life and missionary work conceived as direct pastoral ministry. As concerns Far Eastern Asia, contemporary research on the history of Christian monastic foundations in China and Korea has brought unexpected results. For China, a comprehensive history of Christian monasticism did not appear until 2014 ­(Nicolini-Zani 2014), with an English translation arriving two years later (Nicolini-Zani 2016). The work offers an overview of the many and different pages of Chinese monastic history, and it paves the way for future, more detailed research on each of the ‘monastic

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560   Matteo Nicolini-Zani families’ that lived there until the 1950s—Carmelites, Trappists, Benedictines, and the Little Brothers of Saint John the Baptist. (The Little Brothers, a Chinese congregation with a strong monastic character, were founded in 1928 by the Belgian missionary Vincent Lebbe, CM). Nicolini-Zani’s book reviews and gives quotations from a large body of literature and it uncovers the existence of extensive unpublished (archival) and published ma­ter­ial (Nicolini-Zani 2016: 355–380). This literature was mainly but not exclusively written or sponsored by the monastic orders (e.g. Limagne 1911; Hubrecht 1933; Muehlenbein 1980; Scanlan  1984; Delcourt  1988; Beltrame Quattrocchi  1991; Élisabeth de la Trinité  1998; Oetgen  2000: 281–406; Papeians de Morchoven  2002: 183­–221, 272–285; The Discalced Carmelite Nuns of Chiung Lin 2004; Dysinger 2013). Nicolini-Zani’s volume stands as a reference bibliography for future research and shows how the archives of monastic congregations still await deeper and more thorough investigation. Research on Christian monasticism in Korea began in the 1970s (Kaspar and Berger 1973; Kim 1979; Sung 1979). It has advanced greatly in recent years through the tireless efforts of the German scholar Johannes Mahr. His three-volume history of the German Benedictine mission to Manchuria and Korea (Mahr 2009) is a brilliant demonstration of how rewarding it can be to do research in this previously neglected field of monastic and missionary history.

Rediscovering East Syrian Monasticism in Asia Roman Catholic monks and nuns were not, however, the first monastics to reach Asian soil. Long before their arrival, Asia had already been traversed by East Syrian monks. The last thirty years have seen increasing academic interest in the role of the Church of the East (often called the Nestorian Church) in central and eastern Asia. New publications (monographs, collections of essays, and articles) have appeared in various languages; they bring a fresh approach, based on an extensive use of primary sources and with a broad philological foundation. The new perspectives have resulted in a more detailed and documented evaluation of the monastic character of the Christian presence in Asia, especially in China, between the seventh and the fourteenth centuries (Nicolini-Zani  2013b,  2016: 47–57,  2017a; Tang 2019). Literary studies and archaeological research have cast new light on Christian monastic sites in central Asia and China (Drake 1936–1937; Ligeti 1972; Leslie 1981–1983; Lala Comneno  1995; Borbone  2000; Gillman and Klimkeit  1999: 205–298; Guglielminotti Trivel 2005; Nicolini-Zani 2006: 112–123, with reference to the related literature in Chinese). Unfortunately, the same is not yet true for India. What primary sources and secondary studies show is that at an initial stage (Tang dynasty, 618–907), groups of monks and individual clerics were sent from Persia and central Asia to China. Their purpose was to provide for the liturgical and spiritual needs of Christian communities, whose members were mostly foreigners who had come to China for commercial or political reasons, and who occasionally settled in colonies

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CHRISTIAN Monasticism in Asia   561 within Chinese towns. As long as these communities (which were structured around the monasteries) were growing, they welcomed a limited number of Chinese converts to Christianity. Although the Church of the East long continued to ordain Mesopotamian, Persian, or central Asian missionary monks as bishops, and to send them to the ecclesiastical provinces of the Far East, some local Chinese and later (Yuan dynasty, 1272–1368) Öngüt and Mongol men became monks. Recent studies also indicate that monastic communities in Tang and Yuan China, while characterized by traditional monastic elements (such as ascetical practices and common monastic prayer chanted seven times a day), were influenced by contacts with Buddhist monastic communities. At that time, Buddhism was the most visible and most powerful religious institution in China. Christian monks derived most of the vocabulary they used to define their identity, institutions, and their monastic offices from Buddhism (Nicolini-Zani 2013a, 2013b). The new scholarship has also revealed that, during the early period of the Christian presence in China, Christian monastic literature had already begun to spread in the territory of the empire. Texts were translated into Chinese and into at least one other language, namely Sogdian, which was spoken by some Christian monks and central Asian immigrants who settled in China for politics or trade. Since this literature was translated from Syriac into Sogdian by monks and for the monks’ spiritual ­nourishment, it also included a significant group of spiritual writings that were clearly intended for those who lived the Christian monastic life in China (Sims-Williams 1973, 1981, 1985, 1995; Kessel and Sims-Williams 2011; Pirtea 2019). The texts were probably then translated into Chinese by central Asian monks who were skilled in Chinese, or who served as an inspiration for new spiritual texts written in Chinese. The spiritual and theological l­exicon found in this literature borrowed extensively from Buddhist and Daoist ter­min­ology and testifies to early contacts between Christian and nonChristian monastic traditions in eastern Asia (see, for example, the annotated translation of the ‘Sino-Nestorian’ literature of the Tang dynasty in Nicolini-Zani  2006: 185–307; also Nicolini-Zani 2010: 300–304).

Rethinking Monasticism in the Asian Context The Role of Asia in Shaping a ‘Monastic Missiology’ The ‘call of Asia’ to monastic orders in Europe began as a spiritual movement among Carmelites and Trappists, aimed at supporting missionary work in the Far East with prayers. With the foundation of the first Asian Carmel in Saigon (in 1861), and the first Asian Trappist monastery in Yangjiaping, China (in 1883), the spiritual movement grew

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562   Matteo Nicolini-Zani into direct missionary engagement. From the 1920s on, it also involved the Benedictines. This engagement was encouraged by Pope Pius XI’s encyclical Rerum Ecclesiae (1926), which asked monastic orders to establish coenobia in missionary lands and to introduce monastic life to countries, particularly in Asia, where people ‘by their nature incline to solitude, prayer, and contemplation’. To the pope’s call were added the efforts of the monastic organization Contemplation et Apostolat and the journal Bulletin des Missions, both based in the Benedictine St Andrew’s Abbey in Bruges, Belgium. In a few decades, Asia entered the Christian monastic world, and in the ensuing ‘monastic missiology’, Asia would play a prominent role (Nicolini-Zani 2016: 1–31). In the first half of the twentieth century, several monastic authors developed new reflections on the ‘monastic soul’ of the Asian people, on the compatibility between Christian monastic life and Asian culture and spirituality, and, consequently, on the urgent call of Asia to Christian monasticism (Nève  1926; Neut  1928–1929; Guébriant  1929; Haverbèque 1935; Delacroix 1947; Sortais 1954). Insights coming from the Indian and the Chinese contexts have been the most significant (for India: Le Saux 1956, 1958; Le Saux and Monchanin  1951,  1957,  1964; Griffiths  1966a,  1966b,  1979,  1981,  1984; for China: Brun 1933; Nicolini-Zani 2016: 32–45). In the past sixty years, the organization Alliance for International Monasticism (AIM) has played an important role in the debate on the nature and style of the Christian monastic presence in Asia. Founded in 1961 as ‘Aid in the Implantation of Monasticism’, in 1976 it changed its name to ‘Aid for International Monasticism’, and in 1997 it took a new name, ‘Alliance for International Monasticism’. Soon after AIM began its involvement with Asia, it became clear that there could be no monastic mission without dialogue with Asian cultures and religions, notably Hinduism and Buddhism (Floris 1979; Leclercq 1986; AIM 2012, in particular Dabalus 2012). AIM sponsored three monastic meetings held in Asia: conferences in Bangkok in 1968 (proceedings in Moffitt 1970; see also Leclercq 1969a, 1986: 67–84); Bangalore in 1973 (proceedings in Bangalore 1974; see also Leclercq 1986: 103–114); and Kandy in 1980 (proceedings in Kandy 1981; see also Leclercq 1986: 159–182). The conferences drew attention to this awareness, and laid the foundation for the future self-understanding of Christian monasticism in Asia. The Bangkok conference set three parameters: the reorientation of monastic life in the Asian context, cultural adaptation, and interreligious dialogue (Acharya  1970; Hardjawijata 1970; Ngoc-Hoang 1970). It also initiated groundbreaking discussions on formation in the monastic life, on the place of monasticism in the local Church communities, and on the organization of monastic communities in Asia and their relation to their countries (Moffitt 1970: 277–321). The Bangalore conference brought representatives of monastic communities throughout Asia into a deeper relationship with Eastern spiritualities, thereby helping participants to recover the contemplative essence of Christian monasticism. A discussion on the place of Asian Christian monasticism within the Church and its social responsibility began in Bangkok and was continued in Bangalore (particularly relevant are D’Souza 1974 and Panikkar 1975). The exchanges at Kandy emerged from a confrontation of Asian Christian monasticism with poverty, which was understood both as the social condition of many Asian peoples and as the

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CHRISTIAN Monasticism in Asia   563 essential spiritual dimension of all ascetics, whether Christian or non-Christian (particularly relevant is Veilleux 1980). The three intermonastic conferences held in Asia brought increasing awareness to the dimension of interreligious dialogue between monastics belonging to different religious traditions and later gave rise to a new institution born out of AIM, namely Dialogue Interreligieux Monastique/Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (DIM/MID) (Blée 2011). These developments have led to a progressive shift from the idea of monastic mission as a process of ‘implantation’ of the mostly Western-shaped monastic life on Asian soil to an effort of ‘adaptation’ and ‘inculturation’ of monastic life into the local cultural context, with the aim of ‘reshaping’ it through an authentic dialogue with the ‘Asian spirit’. In other words, in response to the many challenges posed by Asia, Christian monasticism worldwide was encouraged to rethink itself according to the new model ‘different but in dialogue’. For these reasons, the Bangkok conference of 1968 is seen as the event that drew ‘a new charter for monasticism’ (Moffitt 1970: xiv), while the Bangalore conference of 1973 is considered ‘the Pentecost of the monastic world’ (Cornelius Tholens, quoted in Blée 2011: 25).

Issues Connected with Key Figures of the Past In Bangkok in 1968, Jean Leclercq put forward the notion, in theoretical terms, that it would be necessary to ‘dehellenize’ and even to ‘de-Benedictinize’ Western monasticism in order for it to become truly Asian and not simply something Western in Asia (Leclercq 1968a, 1968b, 1970). His vision started to become reality in the following years, when social, cultural, and religious conditions in some of the Asian countries challenged the traditional Western frameworks and spirituality of Christian monastic life. Slowly but decisively, Christian monastic communities in Asia have become aware of the need to ‘transplant’ and ‘adapt’ monastic life and observances to a new living context, that of Asia (Hardjawijata 1970). This process is evident in three main areas, which research has only recently started to explore and evaluate. In the first main area, the ‘ideal’ of the Christian monk and Christian monastic spir­itu­ al­ity is being revisited and reshaped in dialogue with the non-Christian ascetic traditions of Asia. It is in India that there has been the deepest, most interesting, and most fruitful encounter between Christian monasticism and Asian asceticism, in the form of Hindu sannyāsa. The process of integration can be attributed to three pioneers: Henri Le Saux, OSB (Abhishiktananda, 1910–1973), Bede Griffiths, OSB (Dayananda, 1906–1993), and Francis Mahieu, OCSO (Francis Acharya, 1912–2002). Their personal experiences and those of the ashrams they founded or led gave rise to what Wayne Teasdale calls ‘sannyasic monasticism’ (Teasdale 2003: 42). Literature on the subject is scarce (Leclercq 1969b; Vattakuzhy  1981; Teasdale  2003: 17–42, 157–171; Skudlarek  2011), although the three men wrote a great deal about their efforts to ‘translate’ Benedictine monasticism into a ­sannyasic form in order to find an existential synthesis or ­convergence between them (Le Saux 1956, 1958; Le Saux and Monchanin 1951, 1957, 1964; Griffiths 1966a, 1966b, 1979, 

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564   Matteo Nicolini-Zani 1981, 1984; Acharya 1970, 1974, 1994, 2011). Promising areas for future research will be the reconstruction, presentation, and critical evaluation of their contribution to a new understanding of Christian monasticism in the Indian context. The second main area under re-examination concerns the adaptation of the liturgical and architectural style of Christian monastic existence to Asian culture and its religious spirit. Indian Christian ashrams are the clearest example of a Christian form of sannyasic observance. Life in the ashrams is based on typically Indian ascetic practices, especially those of poverty, renunciation, vegetarianism, sitting and sleeping on the floor, and wearing the kavi, the garb of a sannyāsi. There are not many comprehensive studies of the nature and development of Christian ashrams in India (Vandana  1978; Goel 1988; Somaratna 2001). The Saccidananda ashram in Tamil Nadu (founded in 1950, incorporated into the Benedictine order in 1982) and the Kurisumala ashram in Kerala (founded in 1958, incorporated into the Trappist order in 1998) represent the most relevant, serious, and careful attempts to develop a Christian sannyāsa. In the case of Kurisumala, the founder himself described the development of its foundation in several publications (Acharya 1972, 1974, 1994). But for the most part, it is only recently that scholars have endeavoured to reconstruct the history of the two communities and to evaluate their degree of inculturation (Jacquin 2002; Saccidananda 2002; Veilleux 2005; Mahieu-De Praetere 2007). As for liturgical inculturation, today the finest Asian example is probably the Kurisumala ashram. Its liturgical life has resulted from the convergence of a Benedictine-oriented experience of prayer with the great liturgical traditions of the Syriac Church, as well as with the contemplative ways of Hindu mysticism (Kilroy  2012). Francis Mahieu Acharya, the ashram’s founder, spent many years shaping such an inculturated liturgical life (Veilleux 2005; Mahieu-De Praetere 2007: 216–229, 268–269, 316–320), which includes the monastic office (Acharya 1980–1986), a monastic rite of initiation (Acharya 1999), the ritual of Bhāratīya pūjā (i.e. the Indian Eucharistic celebration), and the organization of the liturgical year. Armand Veilleux suggests: ‘It would be worthwhile to study at greater depth this experiment [. . .] of monastic experience rooted in western Christian tradition, open to the teachings of the eastern Christian tradition, and deeply respectful of the three-thousand-year-old monastic tradition of India’ (Veilleux 2005: 291). China provides an interesting case study for a comparison of the approaches taken by different monastic communities in dealing with the issue of architectural adaptation. The Trappists in Yangjiaping chose to live in a structure modelled almost completely after their mother house in France (Limagne 1911; Nicolini-Zani 2016: 114–169). The Benedictine monastery of Saints Peter and Andrew in Xishan (founded in 1929, then moved to Chengdu in the 1940s), on the other hand, was a pioneering project to build a priory that was, ‘from every side, a Chinese house’ (Jehan Joliet,  1870–1937; see Delcourt 1988; Nicolini-Zani 2016: 190­–218, with pictures). More recently, the Trinity Benedictine Monastery in Fujimi, Japan (1999­–2016) has represented one of the rare examples of harmonization between a ‘timeless’ Christian monastic architecture and the local natural and cultural environment. It was made

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CHRISTIAN Monasticism in Asia   565 ­ ossible through an intensive dialogue between the mainly foreign monastic commup nity and the Japanese architect (Takagaki 2001; Skudlarek 2009; Paur 2016). In Vietnam, Cistercians and Benedictines are trying to express their own Vietnamese identity by means of artistic, liturgical, and spiritual inculturation (Huynh-QuangSanh 2000; Minh Tuy 2018; Les sœurs bénédictines de l’Épiphanie 2018), in the footsteps of the founder of the Cistercian Congregation of the Holy Family, Henri Denis Benoît Thuan (1880–1933; see Le Van Doan 2018). In the third main area under examination, the Christian monastic tradition is being challenged by new demands resulting from the particular cultural, social, and historical context of Asia. This has produced a stimulating, but often difficult to manage, tension between tradition and innovation, between belonging and independence. Catholic monastic orders have dealt with the issue in different ways. In general, Carmelite nuns seem to have been and to remain most resistant to adapting their monastic traditions, customs, and observances to the Asian cultural milieu, while Benedictines have shown a higher degree of readiness to engage in such dialogue. There has been very little research on this subject. Scholars who wish to pursue it will have to seek documentation in the archives of both Asian monastic foundations and their mother houses. Only two cases have so far been explored in depth: the Xishan Benedictine priory in China and the Kurisumala ashram in India. The first case has revealed how much the success of a new monastic foundation depends on its being granted latitude for experimentation and adaptation (Delcourt 1988; Papeians de Morchoven 2002; Nicolini-Zani 2016: 202–218, 2017b). The second shows the sensitivity needed to maintain a proper equilibrium between the Western monastic order (here the Cistercian) and the local Church and its peculiar liturgical rite, the Syro-Malankar Church and its Antiochene rite, as well as the local cultural and religious context, namely the Indian and Hindu traditions (Mahieu-De Praetere 2007).

Mapping Today’s Landscape In recent years, four main challenges to monastic life in some Asian countries have emerged. They must be considered against the background of a general need for deeper inculturation for the Asian monastic communities. Firstly, the number of Christian monasteries and monastics in Asia has increased in the last fifty years (AIM 2012: 194–198), as explained here and shown in more detail in Table 36.1. Quite unexpected is the proliferation of monastic vocations and monasteries in South Korea (Sung 1979; Timpte 2007) and Vietnam (Pham 2013; Raymond 2018a). Statistics show that after almost a hundred years of Christian monastic life in Vietnam, and a ban on receiving vocations from 1975 to 1988, there has been remarkable growth. In 2015, the number of Cistercian monks and nuns in that country was 835, which represents about one third of the total number of monastics in the entire Cistercian order

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566   Matteo Nicolini-Zani Table 36.1  Christian monasteries in Asia arranged by orders and by countries. Benedictine1 male Bangladesh

female

Cistercian male

female

Trappist male

female

1

China P.R.

3

21

37

Indonesia Japan

1

4

Korea Rep.

7

46

1

1

1

1

1

1

31

2

1

54

2

5

9

1

9

Malaysia Philippines

2 5

37

1

Singapore

1

315 1

Sri Lanka

6

6

Taiwan

2

1

Thailand

1

3 1

2 4

Timor East Vietnam

female

1

Cambodia India

Carmelite2

1 4

2

9

3

5

Sources: AIM website () figures updated to 2012; OCist website () statistics updated to 2013; OCSO website (); OCarm website () statistics updated to 2009; OCD websites ( and ); India and Sri Lanka 2014. 1 Asian Benedictine monasteries are grouped in two federations, namely the Indo-Sri Lankan Benedictine Federation (ISBF) and the Benedictines of East Asia and Oceania (BEAO). 2 If not specified, figures refer to OCD monasteries. 3 Hong Kong and Macau. Underground communities in Mainland China are not included in this number. 4 Three OCD monasteries and two OCarm monasteries. 5 Twenty-two OCD monasteries and nine OCarm monasteries.

(2450).1 Nine communities for men and three for women in Vietnam, plus one in Switzerland and two in the United States, today form the Cistercian Congregation of the Holy Family. To these figures must be added the considerable number of Benedictine monks and nuns living in the six Benedictine communities in Vietnam. It seems that the Vietnamese, who are naturally inclined to interiority, and who have a natural penchant for monastic life, find a strong appeal in the familial spirit of monastic existence (Le Thi To Huong 2007; Phan Van Hien 2007; Jean de la Croix 2012). 1  See http://www.ocist.org/ocist/images/pdf/statistichegenerali2015.pdf.

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CHRISTIAN Monasticism in Asia   567 A result of this thriving trend is the establishment of new monastic settlements in South-East Asian countries such as Cambodia (Carmelite nuns from Korea), Burma (Benedictine nuns from India), and Thailand (Benedictine and Cistercian monks from Vietnam: Raymond 2018b) at the beginning of this third millennium. Secondly, there has been a lack of formation and a need for monastic literature in the local languages. This is particularly evident in Vietnam, as a result of the rapid development of monastic life in a short period of time (Pham Si An  2002; Vuong Dinh Lam 2001, 2003). It is also true for most of the Asian countries (Sadhana 1996). As for inculturation, monastic formation needs to be more open to the local cultural mindset and to include an introduction to the different Asian spiritual traditions in the monastic curriculum (for Vietnam: Vuong Dinh Lam 2003: 107). In view of the scarcity of monastic literature in many of the Asian languages (for China: Nicolini-Zani 2010; for Japan: Furuta 2002: 13–16), priority is to be given to the difficult but urgent task of translating Western monastic sources and developing a Christian monastic literature in the local Asian languages. Thirdly, the Christian ashrams in India functioned well during the lifetime of their founding fathers, but they seemed to lose their vision after the founders’ deaths. They came into existence through the devotion and the inspired vision of one or two pioneers of strong character and clear conviction, but interest has dwindled in the second and third generations, and they now struggle to attract new members (Somaratna 2001). Fourthly, the case of China is problematic. After a promising past of eighty years of Christian monastic presence (c.1869–1949), China has now become probably the most challenging of the Asian countries. Christian monasticism was uprooted from Chinese soil in 1949 and since then it has not been officially permitted by the Chinese government. Nevertheless, Christian monastic life has not disappeared entirely underground. Several projects have been set up in the last three decades, but it is clear that the process of re-establishing Christian monasteries in China remains difficult. Since the 1990s, the Benedictine engagement with China has been particularly noteworthy (Wolf 1996, 2003). A Benedictine China Commission (BCC) was established in 1996 (Koss 2000).

Suggested Reading Given the broad scope of the topic, both geographically and historically, it is not surprising that there is no comprehensive overview of Christian monasticism in Asia. For the history of monastic foundations in the different Asian countries, the following books are recommended: on Sri Lanka, Barcatta (1991–1994); on Manchuria and Korea, Mahr (2009); on China, Nicolini-Zani (2014 and 2016, with exhaustive bibliography). For key figures of Christian monasticism in Asia and their distinctive careers, the following studies are recommended: on Jehan Joliet, Delcourt (1988); on Henri Le Saux, Vattakuzhy (1981); on Bede Griffiths, Rajan (1989); on Francis Mahieu Acharya,

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568   Matteo Nicolini-Zani Mahieu-De Praetere (2007). For the history of Christian monasticism in the various Asian countries, collections of introductory essays are in many cases the only available materials: Terzo mondo (1979) and Leyser and Williams (2013). This field of research is relatively new, and therefore many of the works referred to in the Bibliography will serve as starting points for further explorations and research. The best tool for following the development of Christian monasticism in Asia is the AIM Bulletin, with parallel editions in seven languages—French, English, Spanish, Portuguese, German, Italian, and Dutch (the last two are abridged editions). The Bulletin publishes regular chronicles and contributions about life in the Asian Benedictine, Cistercian, and Trappist monasteries (see AIM website: http://www.aimintl.org).

Bibliography Acharya, Francis (2011). Cistercian Spirituality: An Ashram Perspective. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Acharya, Francis (trans.) (1999). The Ritual of the Clothing of Monks. Kottayam: St. Ephrem Ecumenical Research Institute (SEERI). Acharya, Francis (1994). ‘Quest for Monastic Inculturation in India: Forty Years at Kurisumala Ashram’. Cistercian Studies Quarterly 29.3: 345–362. Acharya, Francis (1984). ‘Kurisumala Ashram after Twenty-Five Years’. AIM Bulletin 36: 41–64. Repr. in Indian Theological Studies 21.2: 139–160. Acharya, Francis (ed.) (1980–1986). Prayer with the Harp of the Spirit: The Prayer of Asian Churches. 4 vols. Vagamon: Kurisumala Ashram. Acharya, Francis (ed.) (1974). Kurisumala: A Symposium on Ashram Life. Kottayam: CSM Press. Acharya, Francis (1972). Kurisumala Ashram: Chronique de douze années, 1958–1970. Vanves: Secrétariat AIM. Acharya, Francis (1970). ‘Reorientation of Monastic Life in an Asian Context’. In A New Charter for Monasticism, edited by J. Moffitt, 109–124. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. AIM (Alliance for International Monasticism) (2012). So far yet so near: Monasticism for a New World. Alliance for International Monasticism 1961–2011. Sankt Ottilien: EOS. Bangalore (1974). Les Moines chrétiens face aux religions d’Asie: Bangalore 1973. Vanves: Secrétariat AIM. Published in English as Christian Monks and Asian Religions: Proceedings of the Second Asian Monastic Congress, Bangalore, 14 to 22 October 1973 = Cistercian Studies 9.2–3. Barcatta, Bede (1996). ‘The “Benedictine Mission” in Sri Lanka’. Inter Fratres 46: 78–107. Barcatta, Bede (1995). The Sylvestro-Benedictine Prelates and the Sri Lankan Church. Ampitiya, Kandy: Montefano Publications. Barcatta, Bede (1994). Giuseppe Maria Bravi (1813–1860): Primo vicario apostolico europeo di Colombo. Contributo per la conoscenza della storia della chiesa in Sri Lanka nell’Ottocento. Bibliotheca Montisfani 23. Fabriano: Monastero San Silvestro Abate. Barcatta, Bede (1991–1994). A History of the Southern Vicariate of Colombo, Sri Lanka: Being also the History of the Apostolate of the Sylvestrine-Benedictine Monks in the Island. 2 vols. Ampitiya, Kandy: Montefano Publications.

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CHRISTIAN Monasticism in Asia   569 Beltrame Quattrocchi, Paolino (ed.) (1991). Monaci nella tormenta: La ‘passio’ dei monaci trappisti di Yan-Kia-Ping e di Liesse, testimoni della fede nella Cina di Mao-Tze-Tung. Cîteaux: Ordo Cisterciensium Strictioris Observantiae, Postulatio Generalis. Blée, Fabrice (2011). The Third Desert: The Story of Monastic Interreligious Dialogue. Translated by W. Skudlarek and M. Grady. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Borbone, Pier Giorgio (2000). Storia di Mar Yahballaha e di Rabban Sauma: Un orientale in Occidente ai tempi di Marco Polo. Turin: Zamorani. Brun, Louis (1933). ‘La vie contemplative en Chine’. In Une trappe en Chine, edited by A. Hubrecht, 74–113. Beijing: Imprimerie des Lazaristes. Bui-Thi-Nga, Maria (1979). ‘Il monastero delle benedettine di Thu Duc (Viet-nam)’. In Il monachesimo nel terzo mondo, 154–159. Rome: Edizioni Paoline. Cingolani, Leo (1890). Trent’anni di missione nel Ceylan. Naples: Stab. Tip. dell’Unione. Dabalus, Irene (2012). ‘AIM: Fifty years and more, Supporting the momentum of monastic life in Asia’. In So far yet so near: Monasticism for a New World. Alliance for International Monasticism 1961–2011, 126–136. Sankt Ottilien: EOS. Davis, Thomas  X. (2001). ‘Trappists’. In A Dictionary of Asian Christianity, edited by S. W. Sunquist, 853–854. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Delacroix, Jean (1947). ‘Possibilités monastiques aux Indes et en Extrême-Orient’. Contemplation et Apostolat 12: 7–13. Delcourt, Henri-Philippe (1988). Dom Jehan Joliet (1870–1937): Un projet de monachisme bénédictin chinois. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. The Discalced Carmelite Nuns of Chiung Lin (2004). It Is Good to Be Here: The Story of Our Foundation. Chiung Lin, Taiwan: Discalced Carmelite Monastery. Drake, Francis S. (1936–1937). ‘Nestorian Monasteries of the T’ang Dynasty and the Site of the Discovery of the Nestorian Tablet’. Monumenta Serica 2: 293–340. Drouet, Ernest (1989). ‘La fondation au Cambodge’. In Enquêtes sur La Pierre-qui-Vire. 2 vols, 2nd edn, edited by D. Huerre, 2: 283–296. La Pierre-qui-Vire: Typescript. Drouet, Ernest (1979a). ‘Il monachesimo in Cambogia’. In Il monachesimo nel terzo mondo, 129–137. Rome: Edizioni Paoline. Drouet, Ernest (1979b). ‘Il monachesimo nel Viet-nam’. In Il monachesimo nel terzo mondo, 119–128. Rome: Edizioni Paoline. D’Souza, Patrick (1974). ‘Monasticism in the Church in India’. Cistercian Studies 9.2–3: 317–319. Dysinger, Luke (2013). ‘The Benedictine Foundations in Xishan and Chengdu, 1929–1952’. In Mission and Monasticism, edited by C. Leyser and H. Williams, 185–195. Rome: Pontificio Ateneo Sant’Anselmo; Sankt Ottilien: EOS. Élisabeth de la Trinité (1998). Partir: Vers la Chine, en Chine, à Dieu la Chine. Saint-Rémy: Monastère Saint-Élie. Filipponi, Osvaldo (1980). Un monaco in Sri Lanka: Ricordi di un missionario. Bologna: EMI. Floris, Robert de (1979). ‘Il monachesimo nel terzo mondo’. In Il monachesimo nel terzo mondo, 19–34. Rome: Edizioni Paoline. Furuta, Gyo (2002). ‘Réflexions sur monachisme et culture en Asie’. Bulletin de l’AIM 74: 5–16. Gillman, Ian and Hans-Joachim Klimkeit (1999). Christians in Asia before 1500. Richmond: Curzon. Goel, Sita Ram (1988). Catholic Ashrams: Adopting and Adapting Hindu Dharma. New Delhi: Voice of India. Griffiths, Bede (1984). ‘The Ashram and Monastic Life’. Monastic Studies 15: 117–123.

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570   Matteo Nicolini-Zani Griffiths, Bede (1981). ‘The Benedictines in India’. Indian Theological Studies 18: 346–353. Griffiths, Bede (1979). ‘The Monastic Order and the Ashram’. American Benedictine Review 30.2: 134–145. Griffiths, Bede (1966a). Christ in India: Essays towards a Hindu-Christian Dialogue. New York: Scribner. Griffiths, Bede (1966b). ‘Monastic Life in India Today’. Monastic Studies 4: 117–135. Guébriant, Jean-Baptiste de (1929). ‘Le monachisme en pays de mission’. Annales des Missions Étrangères de Paris 190: 241–252. Guglielminotti Trivel, Marco (2005). ‘Tempio della Croce – Fangshan, Pechino. Documentazione preliminare delle fonti epigrafiche in situ’. Orientalia christiana periodica 71.2: 431–460. Hardjawijata, Frans (1970). ‘Western Observance and the Asian Mentality’. In A New Charter for Monasticism, edited by J. Moffitt, 91–108. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Haverbèque, Gérard (1935). ‘Pourquoi des monastères en Extrême-Orient’. Contemplation et Apostolat 6: 230–234. Hubrecht, Alphonse (1933). Une trappe en Chine. Beijing: Imprimerie des Lazaristes. Huerre, Denis (1989). ‘Les fondations au Viêt-Nam’. In Enquêtes sur La Pierre-qui-Vire. 2 vols, 2nd edn, edited by D. Huerre, 2: 217–282. La Pierre-qui-Vire: Typescript. Huynh-Quang-Sanh, Stéphane (2000). ‘Le monachisme bénédictin au Vietnam et l’inculturation’. Bulletin de l’AIM 70: 85–90. Hyde, Laurence (2010). A Short Historical Review of the Sylvestrine Monks in Ceylon from 1845 to 1920. Supplement to Inter Fratres 60.1. India and Sri Lanka (2014). ‘Communautés bénédictines – India & Sri Lanka (novembre 2013)’. Bulletin de l’AIM 107: 66. Jacquin, Françoise (2002). ‘L’ashram de Saccidananda, Shantivanam, Inde’. Bulletin de l’AIM 75: 77–81. Jean de la Croix [Benedictine monk of Thiên An, Vietnam] (2012). ‘La vie de communion fraternelle du monastère de Thiên An’. Bulletin de l’AIM 102: 105–111. Kanakunnel, Pio (2012). ‘Un jubilé: Congrégation sylvestro-bénédictine: 50 ans de présence en Inde’. Bulletin de l’AIM 103: 89–96. Kandy (1981). Asian Monastic Conference: Kandy, Sri Lanka, 18 to 24 August 1980. Vanves: Secrétariat AIM. Kaspar, Adelhard and Placidus Berger (eds) (1973). Hwan gab: 60 Jahre Benediktinermission in Korea und in der Mandschurei. Münsterschwarzach: Vier-Türme-Verlag. Kessel, Grigory and Nicholas Sims-Williams (2011). ‘The Profitable Counsels of Šemʿōn d-Ṭaibūtēh: The Syriac Original and Its Sogdian Version’. Le Muséon 124.3–4: 279–302. Kilroy, Bernard (2012). ‘Interreligious Monastic Spirituality at Kurisumala: “Fulfilment Theology” in Reverse’. Dilatato Corde 2.1–2: 89–94. Kim, Bosco (1979). ‘Il monachesimo in Corea’. In Il monachesimo nel terzo mondo, 138–149. Rome: Edizioni Paoline. Koss, Nicholas (2000). ‘La Commission bénédictine pour la Chine, 1996-2000’. Bulletin de l’AIM 70: 92–93. Laboa, Juan María (2003). ‘Monasticism in Oceania and Asia’. In The Historical Atlas of Eastern and Western Monasticism, edited by J. M. Laboa, 260–261. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Lala Comneno, Maria Adelaide (1995). ‘Cristianesimo nestoriano in Asia centrale nel primo millennio: testimonianze archeologiche’. Orientalia christiana periodica 61.2: 495–535.

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CHRISTIAN Monasticism in Asia   571 Le Saux, Henri (1958). ‘Christian Sannyasis’. Clergy Monthly Supplement 4.3: 106–113. Le Saux, Henri (Swami Abhishiktesvarananda) (1956). ‘Le monachisme chrétien aux Indes’. Supplément de La Vie Spirituelle 38: 283–316. Le Saux, Henri and Jules Monchanin (1957). Ermites du Saccidânanda: Un essai d’intégration chrétienne de la tradition monastique de l’Inde, 2nd edn. Église Vivante. Tournai: Casterman. Le Saux, Henri and Jules Monchanin (1951). An Indian Benedictine Ashram. Tiruchirapalli: Saccidananda Ashram. Rev. edn, A Benedictine Ashram. Douglas [Isle of Man]: Times Press, 1964. Le Thi To Huong, Agnès (2007). ‘Qu’est ce qui attire les jeunes à la vie monastique? Quelles valeurs?’ Bulletin de l’AIM 89: 11–18. Le Van Doan, Jean de la Croix (2018). ‘Le père Benoît Thuân: Vie monastique et culture vietnamienne’. Bulletin de l’AIM 115: 69–84. Leclercq, Jean (1986). Nouvelle page d’histoire monastique: Histoire de l’AIM 1960–1985. Vanves: Secrétariat AIM. Leclercq, Jean (1970). ‘Present-Day Problems in Monasticism’. In A New Charter for Monasticism, edited by J. Moffitt, 23–44. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Leclercq, Jean (1969a). ‘Le rencontre des moines d’Asie à Bangkok (décembre 1968)’. Parole et mission 12: 390–404. Repr. in Collectanea cisterciensia 31: 90–96. Leclercq, Jean (1969b). ‘Impressions sur le monachisme en Inde’. Parole et mission 12: 405–424. Leclercq, Jean (1968a). ‘Problèmes monastiques d’Extrême-Orient. Rapport de synthèse’. Rythmes du monde-Bulletin des Missions 16.4: 214–232. Leclercq, Jean (1968b). ‘Problèmes du monachisme chrétien en Asie’. Collectanea cisterciensia 30: 15–52. Leslie, Donald  D. (1981–1983). ‘Persian Temples in T’ang China’. Monumenta Serica 35: 275–303. Leyser, Conrad and Hannah Williams (eds) (2013). Mission and Monasticism: Acts of the International Symposium at the Pontifical Athenaeum S. Anselmo, Rome, 7–9 May 2009. SA 158, Analecta Monastica 13. Rome: Pontificio Ateneo Sant’Anselmo; Sankt Ottilien: EOS. Ligeti, Louis (1972). ‘Les sept monastères nestoriens de mar Sargis’. Acta Orientalia Academiae Scientiarum Hungaricae 26.2–3: 169–178. Limagne, A. (1911). Les Trappistes en Chine. Paris: J. de Gigord. Mahieu-De Praetere, Marthe (2007). Kurisumala: Francis Mahieu Acharya, a Pioneer of Christian Monasticism in India. Translated by S.  Van Winkle. CS 214. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Mahr, Johannes (2009). Aufgehobene Häuser: Missionsbenediktiner in Ostasien. 3 vols. Sankt Ottilien: EOS. Merton, Thomas (1984). ‘The Inner Experience: Prospects and Conclusions’. Cistercian Studies 19: 336–345. Minh Tuy, Philippe (2018). ‘L’organisation spatiale d’un monastère bénédictin au Vietnam’. Bulletin de l’AIM 115: 91–100. Moffitt, John (ed.) (1970). A New Charter for Monasticism: Proceedings of the Meeting of the Monastic Superiors in the Far East, Bangkok, 9 to 15 December 1968. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Muehlenbein, M.  Wibora (1980). Benedictine Mission to China. Saint Joseph, MN: Saint Benedict’s Convent.

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572   Matteo Nicolini-Zani Neut, Édouard (1928–1929). ‘Le Christ apôtre cherche des contemplatifs’. Bulletin des Missions 9: 297–311. Nève, Théodore (1926). ‘De la fondation de monastères en terre de mission’. In Autour du problème de l’adaptation: Compte rendu de la quatrième semaine de missiologie de Louvain (1926), 36–46. Louvain: Éditions du Museum Lessianum. Ngoc-Hoang, Marie-Joseph (1970). ‘Toward a Vietnamese Monasticism’. In A New Charter for Monasticism, edited by J. Moffitt, 199–211. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Nicolini-Zani, Matteo (2017a). ‘Da Seleucia a Chang’an: monaci cristiani sulla Via della seta nel primo millennio’. In Uomini e religioni sulla Via della seta, edited by E. Giunipero, 61–75. Milan: Guerini e Associati. Nicolini-Zani, Matteo (2017b). ‘ “The Monastery Will Be a Chinese House”: The Inculturation of the Church in China from the Perspective of the History of Catholic Monasticism’. Religions & Christianity in Today’s China 7.3: 41–53. Nicolini-Zani, Matteo (2016). Christian Monks on Chinese Soil: A History of Monastic Missions to China. Translated by S. Senyk and W. Skudlarek, OSB. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Nicolini-Zani, Matteo (2014). Monaci cristiani in terra cinese: Storia della missione monastica in Cina. Magnano: Qiqajon. Nicolini-Zani, Matteo (2013a). ‘Luminous Ministers of the Da Qin Monastery: A Study of the Christian Clergy Mentioned in the Jingjiao Pillar from Luoyang’. In From the Oxus River to the Chinese Shores: Studies on East Syriac Christianity in China and Central Asia, edited by Li Tang and D. W. Winkler, 141–160. Orientalia–patristica–oecumenica 5. Münster: LIT. Nicolini-Zani, Matteo (2013b). ‘Eastern Outreach: The Monastic Mission to China in the Seventh to the Ninth Centuries’. In Mission and Monasticism, edited by C.  Leyser and H. Williams, 63–70. Rome: Pontificio Ateneo Sant’Anselmo; Sankt Ottilien: EOS. Nicolini-Zani, Matteo (2010). ‘Christian Monastic Literature in China. Preliminary Survey and Bibliography’. In Light a Candle: Encounters and Friendship with China. Festschrift in Honour of Angelo Lazzarotto P.I.M.E., edited by R. Malek and G. Criveller, 297–327. Sankt Augustin: Institut Monumenta Serica. Nicolini-Zani, Matteo (2006). La via radiosa per l’oriente: I testi e la storia del primo incontro del cristianesimo con il mondo culturale e religioso cinese (secoli VII–IX). Magnano: Qiqajon. Oetgen, Jerome (2000). Mission to America: A History of Saint Vincent Archabbey, The First Benedictine Monastery in the United States. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press. O’Hanlon, Daniel (1974). ‘Les moines d’Asie découvrent l’Asie’. Bulletin de l’AIM 16: 7–27. Panikkar, Raymund (1975). ‘The Contribution of Christian Monasticism in Asia to the Universal Church’. Cistercian Studies 10.2: 73–84. Pantaloni, Andrea (2013). ‘The Sylvestrine-Benedictine Congregation: A Monastic Pioneer in Modern Benedictine Mission’. In Mission and Monasticism, edited by C.  Leyser and H. Williams, 133–142. Rome: Pontificio Ateneo Sant’Anselmo; Sankt Ottilien: EOS. Paoli, Ugo (2012). ‘Tentativo di un progetto missionario in comune tra silvestrini e sublacensi in Sri Lanka’. Studia Monastica 54: 131–164. Repr. in Inter Fratres 63 (2013): 19–53. Papeians de Morchoven, Christian (2002). L’abbaye de Saint-André Zevenkerken, vol. 2: Un défi relevé par dom Théodore Nève. Tielt: Lannoo. Paur, Roman (2016). ‘La fermeture du monastère bénédictin de la Trinité à Fujimi, Japon’. Bulletin de l’AIM 111: 105–110. Pennington, M.  Basil (2001). ‘Cistercians’. In A Dictionary of Asian Christianity, edited by S. W. Sunquist, 180–182. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.

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CHRISTIAN Monasticism in Asia   573 Perez, Bernardo and François Ponchaud (2001). ‘Benedictines’. In A Dictionary of Asian Christianity, edited by S. W. Sunquist, 70–73. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Pham, Anthony (2013). ‘Unexpected Flourishing of Cistercians in Vietnam’. In Mission and Monasticism, edited by C.  Leyser and H.  Williams, 217–221. Rome: Pontificio Ateneo Sant’Anselmo; Sankt Ottilien: EOS. Pham Si An, Clément (2002). ‘La formation monastique à la lumière de mes propres expériences’. Bulletin de l’AIM 74: 17–25. Phan Van Hien, Dominique (2007). ‘Attrait des jeunes au Vietnam pour la vie monastique’. Bulletin de l’AIM 89: 5–10. Pirtea, Adrian (2019). ‘Isaac of Nineveh, Gnostic Chapters’. In From Liturgy to Pharmacology: Christian Sogdian Texts from the Turfan Collection, edited by N. Sims-Williams, 117–144. Berliner Turfantexte 45. Turnhout: Brepols. Rajan, Jesu (1989). Bede Griffiths and Sannyāsa. Bangalore: Asian Trading Corp. Raymond, Nathalie (2018a). ‘Impressions sur la vie monastique au Vietnam’. Bulletin de l’AIM 115: 43–53. Raymond, Nathalie (2018b). ‘Les monastères bénédictin et cistercien en Thaïlande: saint Benoît au pays de Bouddha’. Bulletin de l’AIM 115: 101–108. Saccidananda (2002). Saccidanandaya Namah: A Commemorative Volume, 1950–2000. Shantivanam: Saccidananda Ashram. Sadhana (1996). Monastic Sadhana: Benedictines in Formation, an Indo-Sri Lankan Approach. A Summary of the Seminar, Asirvanam Monastery, Bangalore, India, 1st–10th January, 1995. ISBF Monastic Series 2. Bangalore: Indo-Sri Lankan Benedictine Publications, Asirvanam Monastery. Scanlan, Patrick J. (1984). Stars in the Sky. Hong Kong: Trappist Publications. Sims-Williams, Nicholas (1995). ‘Christian Sogdian Texts from the Nachlass of Olaf Hansen, I: Fragments of the Life of Serapion’. Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 58.1: 50–68. Sims-Williams, Nicholas (1985). The Christian Sogdian Manuscript C2. Berlin: Akademie-Verlag. Sims-Williams, Nicholas (1981). ‘Syro-Sogdica I: an Anonymous Homily on the Three Periods of the Solitary Life’. Orientalia christiana periodica 47.2: 441–446. Sims-Williams, Nicholas (1973). ‘A Sogdian Fragment of a Work of Dādišoʿ Qat ̣rāyā’. Asia Major [n.s.] 18.1: 88–105. Skudlarek, William (2011). ‘Abhishiktananda’s Understanding of the Monk: Essentially Contemplative, Ideally Eremitic, Naturally Dialogic’. Dilatato Corde 1: 132–145. Skudlarek, William (2009). ‘Projet et réalisation du monastère bénédictin de la Trinité, Fujimi, Japon’. Bulletin de l’AIM 94: 33–37. Les sœurs bénédictines de l’Épiphanie (2018). ‘Liturgie au Vietnam – liturgie monastique’. Bulletin de l’AIM 115: 85–89. Somaratna, G. P. V. (2001). ‘Ashram Movement’. In A Dictionary of Asian Christianity, edited by S. W. Sunquist, 43–44. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Sortais, Marie Gabriel (1954). ‘Fonction des ordres contemplatifs en pays de missions’. Contemplation et Apostolat 22: 1–16. Sung, Maria Paulo (1979). ‘Monachesimo benedettino femminile in Corea’. In Il monachesimo nel terzo mondo, 150–153. Rome: Edizioni Paoline. Sunquist, Scott  W. (ed.) (2001). A Dictionary of Asian Christianity. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans.

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574   Matteo Nicolini-Zani Takagaki, Kenjiro (2001). ‘L’architecture éternelle. Le monastère bénédictin de la Sainte Trinité, Fujimi-Machi, Yatsugatake au Japon’. Bulletin de l’AIM 71: 112–114. Tang, Li (2019). ‘Monastic Movement as a Driving Force in Syriac Christian Missions along the Ancient Silk Road’. In “Make Disciples of All Nations”: The Appeal and Authority of Christian Faith in Hellenistic-Roman Times, edited by L. T. Stuckenbruck, B. Langstaff, and M. Tilly, 189–198. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Teasdale, Wayne (2003). Bede Griffiths: An Introduction to His Interspiritual Thought. Woodstock, VT: SkyLight Paths. Terzo Mondo (1979). Il monachesimo nel terzo mondo. Teologia 27. Rome: Edizioni Paoline. Timpte, Thomas (2007). ‘La vie monastique en Corée’. Bulletin de l’AIM 88: 46–51. Vandana, Sister (1978). Gurus, Ashrams and Christians. London: Darton, Longman & Todd. Vattakuzhy, Emmanuel (1981). Indian Christian Sannyāsa and Swami Abhishiktananda. Bangalore: Theological Publications in India. Veilleux, Armand (2005). ‘Kurisumala: An Example of Inculturation’. Cistercian Studies Quarterly 40.3: 279–292. Originally published in French as ‘Kurisumala: un exemple d’inculturation’, in Liturgie 122 (2003): 103–118. Veilleux, Armand (1980). ‘Asia Listening to the Cry of the Poor’. Cistercian Studies 15.4: 403–419. Vuong Dinh Lam, Jean (2003). ‘Rapport sur la congrégation de la Sainte-Famille au Vietnam’. Bulletin de l’AIM 77: 101–107. Vuong Dinh Lam, Jean (2001). ‘Congrégation cistercienne de la Sainte Famille au Viêt Nam’. Bulletin de l’AIM 71: 77–80. Wolf, Notker (2003). ‘In Geduld Ängste abbauen: Das Engagement der Benediktiner im heutigen China’. Forum Weltkirche 1: 20–23. Wolf, Notker (1996). ‘Mission als Partnerschaft: Die Mitwirkung der Benedektinerkongregation von St. Ottilien in der Diözese Jilin’. In ‘Fallbeispiel’ China: Ökumenische Beiträge zu Religion, Theologie und Kirche im chinesischen Kontext, edited by R. Malek, 665–676. Sankt Augustin: China-Zentrum; Nettetal: Steyler.

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pa rt V

C ON T E M P OR A RY PE R SPE C T I V E S

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chapter 37

The Easter n Tr a ditions Today Greek Orthodox Monasticism Chrysostom Koutloumousianos

Submitting Christian monastic renunciation to analytic study is by definition pre­ carious; for an academic study hardly pierces deep into the secrets of an institution that transcends its institutional limits. Monasticism is a mystery—a living mystery. Its sem­ inal characteristic is to anticipate the age to come, and its roots lie in very ancient ground. This means that there is always something that outdoes inquisitive intellect and academic confidence. Its understanding becomes more complicated if such an endeav­ our is confined to short-term approaches. Just as an anatomical study cannot allow entrance into the depths of a living person, in the same way a purely synchronic and external approach is likely to create distorting mirrors, wherein the essence is lost to ephemeral manifestations. Accordingly, in terms of methodology, a critical study is likely to misread silent scripts (or be misled by flippant published bits and pieces), if cut off from living experience or the interpretative involvement of a living witness. On the other hand, a non-textual approach would create the suspicion of subjectivity and even partiality. In the following discussion a synthetic method has been applied, using the evidence of personal monastic writings and official legislation, but also resorting to liv­ ing witnesses and to experienced reality ad intra. Accepting these limitations, we embark in trepidation, shedding a faint light upon a multilayered picture.

Geographical Map Greek monasticism covers the most ancient parts of Christian monasticism, which was born and flourished in the Greek-speaking geographical areas of late antiquity. It thus incorporates legendary historical monasteries, including St Catherine of Sinai,

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578   Chrysostom Koutloumousianos St Sabba in Palestine, St John the Theologian on the island of Patmos, the monastic complex of Meteora, and the monastic state of Mount Athos. The conquest of Asia Minor by the Turks caused the elimination of the most thriving part of the monastic world, though the geographic territory of modern Greece is well-populated with flourishing monastic houses, many of which have been functioning for more than twelve centuries. But the term ‘Greek Orthodox’ should not be held to the semantic restriction of nation or language. It is meant to define monasticism that belongs to the ‘Greek’ branch of the Orthodox Church, which comprises the four ancient Patriarchates and their dioceses worldwide, as well as the Archbishopric of Finland and the Churches of Greece, Cyprus, and Albania. In recent times Orthodox monasticism has been expanded through the foundation of new houses all over the world. The Greek mainland alone boasts of more than 500 monasteries. Most of these belong to the local bishoprics, except for the au­tono­mous monastery of Sinai, the self-governed Athonite republic and its dependencies, and the Stavropegic and Patriarchal monasteries (old or newly established), which are directly connected with the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople (as, for example, the Patriarchal Stavropegic Monastery of St John the Baptist near Maldon, Essex).

Mount Athos The monastic community of Mount Athos is the sole monastic republic in the Christian world. According to the ‘Constitutional Charter of the Holy Mountain’, which is enshrined in the constitution of Greece and recognized by European and international law, Athos is, in accordance with its ancient privileged status, a self-governed part of the Hellenic State, belonging spiritually to the ecclesiastical jurisdiction of the Patriarchate of Constantinople. The general lines of its life and administration are formulated in the aforementioned ‘Charter for the Holy Mountain’, which codified regulations and administrative dispositions stemming not only from written sources (typika, royal chrysobulls, patriarchal letters, etc.) but also from tradition and customary law. The administration of the entirety of Mount Athos—the monasteries’ self-government being safeguarded—is exercised by the Holy Community, which consists of representa­ tives of the twenty monasteries, elected by their own communities for one year. The supreme legislative organ (which meets twice a year) is the Holy Assembly, consisting of the abbots of the twenty monasteries. Finally, with regard to the administration of just­ ice, disciplinary matters are adjudicated initially by the individual monastic authorities, secondly by the Holy Community, and thirdly by the Synod of the Ecumenical Patriarchate. Today about 2,000 monks live in the twenty sovereign monasteries, the sketes (clusters of houses with semi-independent status), and the smaller monastic houses (kellia) scattered over the peninsula. Athos is inaccessible to women, but this has nothing to do with misogynism in monastic consciousness: its society is ‘matriarchal’, since the Mother of God is recognized as its superior, protector, and steward.

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Greek Orthodox Monasticism   579 The three types of ancient monasticism, namely the coenobitic, the eremitic, and a type of lavra, are to be found commingled today only on Mount Athos. Community life, either in a coenobium or a small house, is still presented as the royal road, although it sometimes leads to the hermitage. But the monk should not, by his own will, cut himself off prematurely from the brotherhood for the sake of ultimate withdrawal. Still, the value of eremitism remains undisputed; it means not only the presence of the eremitic type of a life of withdrawal per se, but also the influence of the desert spirit on the coeno­ bitic communities.

Decline and Rebirth The history of modern Greece has a black page. During the Greek War of Independence against the Ottoman Empire and the constitution of the new Hellenic State in 1830, the country suffered the dissolution of almost all female monasteries and the prohibition of establishing new ones. According to an edict enacted by the Bavarian government in 1834, nuns under the age of forty were to be invited by the local bishops to give up their vows. Not only was it a strike against monasticism, it meant a shift to a new kind of men­ tality, thoroughly imbued with (and shaped by) the values of rationalism, utilitarianism, and ‘this-world asceticism’. It was a period of a Babylonian captivity for Orthodox the­ ology and the Church, which had become a kind of ministry for the German kingship. Undoubtedly, the liminal state of monks had always been a challenge to ‘worldly’ Christian minds. But the urbanization and secularization of Greek society produced a different kind of scepticism and a strong prejudice against the institution of monasti­ cism, which came to be considered as anachronistic and irrelevant. In this social and ideological context, Athonite monasticism experienced a signifi­ cant decline in population after the Second World War. For all that, the ideal of sanctity was never far removed from the Greek heart; perhaps because Eastern Christianity had remained essentially monastic over the ages. Then, a spiritual revolution occurred in the 1970s (Mantzaridis  1982: 373–380;  1999: 403–404). For reasons not fully understood, young people started to be attracted by the life that is both old and new. Individuals of spiritual status and outstanding charismatic qualities came to pick up the baton from the aged guardians of tradition. But it was the spiritual weight of certain holy men that immensely called forth, supported, and diffused the monastic movement all over the world. Elder Joseph the Hesychast (d. 1959), Saint Porphyrios (d. 1991), Elder Sophrony (d. 1993), Saint Paisios (d. 1994), and Elder Ephraim of Katounakia (d. 1998) are among those who were pillars of encouragement and guidance, and who have acquired fame for their spiritual gifts (such as prophetic vision), words of consolation, clairvoyance, spir­ itual discernment, and—above all—for their love and self-denial. They were also con­ nected with the foundation of new establishments for nuns as far away as South Korea and the USA, either by establishing or instigating their foundation, or by offering in­spir­ ation and guidance. Yet Mount Athos does not hold a monopoly on holiness. In the

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580   Chrysostom Koutloumousianos 1970s, the elders Amphilochios Makris and Philotheos Zervakos re-established deserted monastic houses and founded nunneries that became beehives of prayer and worship. If we should now detect some reasons for the unexpected flourishing of monasticism (apart from God’s providence), we could include the presence of charismatic per­son­al­ ities, the deep secularization of Christian society, the pursuit of a more authentic and less bureaucratic spiritual life, and the rediscovery of the monastic spirit of the Church Fathers. But what are the factors that turn young candidates’ minds especially towards Athos? Mount Athos is a legend, by virtue of its inaccessibility to women, its relative separation from the rest of the world (as well as its independence from any external ecclesiastical power), the presence of experienced and enlightened guides, and the strength of a tradition going back to the mystical springs of the desert. Thus, it helps aspirants to realize the ideal of renunciation and to cultivate a new consciousness as members of the large world family and the larger heavenly family.

Monasteries and Bishops Today, beyond Mount Athos, Greek monasticism finds itself in a troubling predicament. This situation, within the matrix of relations between monasteries and the local bishops, has created difficulties for the entire Church. Not only the development of the monas­ teries, but their very existence and character, more or less rely upon the personal pre­ conceptions and dispositions of the bishops who are supposed to protect them. Although Church leaders have embraced the monastic ideal, nevertheless in the legisla­ tive activity of the synods provisions are made that threaten to pull the monastic world entirely into the orbit of episcopal sovereignty. Episcopocentrism appears to be a strongly developed tendency today. Many bishops appear to be rather sensitive on the matter of the canonical relationships between monasteries and the local Church leaders, displaying, in fact, a highly competitive spirit. Thus, in cases of an argument, a rivalry, or any imbalance in such relationships, only the ‘immature’ and ‘inexperienced’ abbots are normally to take the blame, with any other possibility excluded!1 Accordingly, the fourth canon of the Fourth Ecumenical Council, which defines the general principles of the relationship between the bishops and the monastic communities, is interpreted in favour of an amplification of the bishop’s rights. Although, according to the Constitutional Charter of the Church of Greece, the administration of the monastic establishment is regulated by the Rule of the specific monastery and is assigned to the hands of the monastic council, every rule is almost swept away by an overwhelming demand for obedience to the bishop. Every initiative on the part of monastic superiors seems to render them a priori guilty of exceeding their spiritual and canonical authority. (For the small number of monastic establishments that are under the jurisdiction of a remote ecclesiastical authority, such as the Ecumenical Patriarchate or the Holy Synod of the Church of Greece, the situation is more secure.) Saint Paisios refers to ‘chance 1  See

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Greek Orthodox Monasticism   581 bishops who may intervene like good mothers-in-law and create problems’ (Elder Paisios  2002: 51–52). Such behaviour was earlier indicted by the well-known Abbot Gabriel of Dionysiou Monastery. Along the same lines, Abbot Aimilianos of Simonos Petras Monastery argues that the arbitrary and whimsical interference of bishops is a cause of multiple impasses. As he insists, the monastery is a family with its own life and its own rhythm. He presents Mount Athos as having the most balanced and successful organizational structure (Archimandrite Aimilianos 1999: 53–55, 35–36, 71). Having said that, the unbroken tradition and the generic tendency of the Greek psyche towards free­ dom, democratic values, and personal relationships mean that the state of monasticism in the Greek jurisdiction today is much better than it is in other Orthodox Churches.

Female Monasticism The Orthodox Church has never distinguished between the value of the ascetic life for men and women (Patriarch Bartholomew 2008: 62–63). Female monasticism began to blossom again at the beginning of the twentieth century. This blossoming was due to committed and charismatic women who dedicated themselves, within the painful context of the twentieth century, to the regeneration of deserted establishments, and who left their posthumous charismatic presence as a precious dowry to their nuns. Some of them launched schools or other activities to meet intense social demands. Female monasticism has seen continuous progress. Among the most thriving convents we may name the ancient Stavropegic Monastery of St John the Baptist at Kareas, the Monastery of St Stephanos in Meteora, the Patriarchal Monastery of Chrysopigi in Chania, the Coenobium of the Annunciation in Ormylia, the Monastery of the Annunciation in Patmos, the Monastery of St John the Baptist in Makrinos, and the Monastery of Dormition of Theotokos in Panorama. Yet in the Orthodox mentality, thriving is associated more with purity of heart and sympathy than with numbers or buildings. Indeed, every corner of Greece hides a precious diamond, a lively beehive of nuns working, offering hospitality, living the sacrament of monastic life, transmitting joy and ‘repleteness’. The sisters ply the traditional monastic crafts: icon and fresco painting, embroidery, book publishing, beekeeping, the production of incense, etc. It is noteworthy that the Monastery of Chrysopigi in Chania was the first institution in Greece to emphasize organic farming and ecological consciousness, thus becoming a model for the entire country.

Organization and Daily Schedule The Greek Orthodox monastery—the Athonite establishment taken as an exemplar—is administered by the abbot and the Council of the Elders. The abbot is elected for a life term by all the members of the brotherhood who have completed six years since their

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582   Chrysostom Koutloumousianos tonsure. This rule points to the importance of the one spirit uniting the brothers around one father. The members of the Council are elected to office for a life term. Decisions are taken by a simple majority, with the presiding abbot having the casting vote in the event of a tied ballot. In the nunneries the administration is entrusted to the person of the abbess, who works with a Council of senior nuns. Should the Council judge the superior to be living against the monastic ethos, he or she may be removed by a majority of twothirds of its members. The whole community may meet at any time for spiritual edifica­ tion or if convoked to deal with important matters. The novitiate takes one to three years and leads to the tonsure. All is shared and held in common. The coenobites are continu­ ously being trained in renunciation, resignation, and the repudiation of personal profit, possessions, power, greed, and their very selves, in order to find their true identity and life in the incarnate Logos. According to the ancient custom, the daily regime is divided into communal worship, work, private prayer and study in the cell, and recreation. A monk keeps vigil in church every day and, burning with love for Christ, he praises Him and thanks Him for and on behalf of the whole world. He knows that prayer keeps himself and the whole world alive. The Divine Office begins at about 3:00 a.m. with the Midnight Service, followed by Matins, Hours, and the Holy Liturgy. In the afternoon the Ninth Hour and Vespers are sung, and Compline is read at sunset. All-night vigils are performed on certain feasts, during which the natural light of the chandeliers and the voices of the cantors and ­readers create a mystagogy, into which all may enter easily, and the most suitable condi­ tions for spiritual elevation and communion with God are offered. The meal in the refec­ tory, shared by monks and pilgrims, is considered to be a continuation of the Office. During the meals a monk is assigned to read from a patristic text while standing at the pulpit. After the closing prayer, the abbot stands at the door blessing the people walking out, while on the other side the brothers in charge bow as a sign of asking forgiveness for any deficiencies. During the small hours of the night, the monk in his cell repeats the so-called ‘Jesus prayer’ or ‘prayer of the heart’: ‘Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me’, normally accompanied by rhythmical bowings and the sign of the cross. It is a living encounter with God in stillness. Instead of being self-centred, this prayer is the cry of all humanity, indeed, of all creation, to the Creator. The monk emerges from this encounter with God ‘as from a fiery furnace which is in flames but does not burn. Such personal development forms the structure and training of the “body” ’ (Archimandrite Aimilianos 1999: 121). But this short prayer is on his lips wherever he is, whatever he does. At the beginning of the year each monk is appointed to a functionary or ‘service’, through which he promises to serve the brotherhood, while some tasks are carried out in common. The Greek tradition prefers the word diakonema, which implies willing and loving service rather than obedience. But the working hours are fixed, for the monk also needs the hours of prayer and study. Although work is a kind of prayer, when ac­com­pan­ ied by mental prayer and offered out of love, still it is never equal to prayer in stillness. Priestly service is included among the functionaries. A priest is not invested with l­ eading

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Greek Orthodox Monasticism   583 authority, nor does he assume a pastoral role, and he may even undertake menial work. Indeed, there is a high degree of equality in the monastic community, which does not allow for a clear-cut division between the clergy and the ‘lay-monks’. Hospitality is revered not only as an integral part of monastic tradition but also as an essential monastic virtue. The Athonite monasteries offer pilgrims bed and food, as well as the opportunity to participate in the whole spectrum of monastic life, making them feel at home. The elders used to say that nobody visits the monastery by accident, but that God has brought him there.

Spiritual Map Unity and Plurality In Greece there has never been a disruption in monastic tradition. An important feature that lies at the centre of monastic consciousness is a strong sense of unity and diachronic continuity: synchronic unity of all monastic communities and forms of renunciation, and diachronic unity with all predecessors, due to an unbroken chain of experience going back to the ancient desert, even to John the Baptist or Prophet Elias. Such unity with the past is considered to be of great importance, because Orthodox theology does not espouse an evolutionary approach to the revelation of truth, but holds rather that it was fully granted to the God-bearing Apostles and Fathers. Moreover, monasticism meets the present not simply with the dignity of a glorious past but also with the fresh­ ness of a tradition that has room for everyone and has not become fossilized. The foregoing leads to another fundamental characteristic of Orthodox monasticism: unity-in-plurality. Eastern monasticism never saw its identity in external forms and institutional elements, but in the very essence of renunciation and dedication to God. The monastic regimen is withdrawal, fasting, meditation, prayer, struggle against per­ verse passions, and acts of love, in order to abet the transfiguration of the self and the whole world in Christ. But there is not a single, exhaustive Rule that might be ac­know­ ledged as a general constitution. There is, indeed, one single unwritten rule, the Gospel, and simultaneously a multitude of Rules offering general principles and advice—the most revered among them undoubtedly the Rule of St Basil of Caesarea. In addition, each monastery may have its own typikon, which, moreover, often submits its regula­ tions to the judgement and discretion of the superior for their appropriate, or humane, application. As a consequence, each monastery has its own character due to its particu­ lar practices and traditions; and yet, they are the same. Accordingly, no separation into religious ‘Orders’, associated with specific vocations and formative of stereotypes, is to be found. Although life is efficiently organized, still unity lies not so much in organiza­ tional perfection or uniformity (contrarily, the Greek spirit appears to be allergic to sys­ temization and authoritarian patterns), but rather a shared vision of sanctity gives shape to a harmonious picture. It is the ties of spiritual kinship that make the community

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584   Chrysostom Koutloumousianos strong and efficient, despite the centrifugal powers of individualism. Christ is the centre point around which monastic life revolves, and this creates an order of another kind. The order at which the rules aim is the harmonious relationship between the members of a loving family, or of a living organism in spontaneous and constant motion. Saint Paisios criticized the phenomenon of ‘worldly order with its military discipline’, and uses the example of the unsystematic dispersion of the stars that gives rest, in contrast with the worldly, neatly ordered lights (Elder Paisios 2002: 97–98). In the hidden world of Mount Athos even folly for Christ may be found as a part of the most extreme and free expression of renunciation.

A Life of Prayer and Ascesis The essence of monasticism is one’s free personal and internal vow to follow Christ. Such internal commitment is officially confirmed in the ritual of monastic tonsure, where the candidate, after a period of trial, pledges himself or herself to keep the three vows, namely obedience, chastity, and possessionlessness; the latter is not limited to poverty or shared property, but rather expresses detachment from the very idea of possession. The daily cycle of doxology, along with the private prayer of the heart, and obedience form the monastic consciousness. The Liturgy offers a high aesthetic experience, and it is also meant to provide spiritual initiation through the images and symbols of uncre­ ated beauty. Ascesis, meaning greater effort for Christ, must be a product of divine eros, since it is the fire of love that spurs to sacrifice. And when we say effort, we mean primar­ ily prayer during the night. (Elder Porphyrios 2005: 167–170). Fasting is an integral part of the spiritual method; a part of disciplined training for a monk to learn to monitor his impulses and master or even transform his passions, expelling what is contrary to nature. Ascesis and Liturgy are the basic constituents of spiritual life, yet they are not considered the ultimate goal per se; they are means to union with God and shadows of eschatological realities. With the reading of the Gospel, the hymns, the Eucharist, fer­ vent prayer, and the cultivation of virtues, a monk aims at his deification by grace. Purification of the heart from the cult of narcissism prepares the inner man for the royal virtue of love and the union with God. Although erudition is not downgraded and is now an attribute of most monks, it is considered to be irrelevant to the method and ideals of purification and illumination. The art and science of prayer, love, and humility make the monastery an institution of the true higher learning.

Spiritual Parenthood But the spiritual road requires a spiritual guide, a person who has progressed in know­ ledge and discernment. With him monks or laymen can share their inner thoughts and reveal their deepest concerns. This function is carried out by the abbot in the

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Greek Orthodox Monasticism   585 c­ oenobiums, or by an elder living with his small brotherhood, or even by a hermit. He is a father and a soul-friend, more than an instructor. That is why the abbot is elected by the brothers and not appointed by any ecclesiastical government. The charisma of spir­ itual paternity may also be recognized in the experienced and enlightened monk who is not in priestly orders and who is therefore not authorized to administer the sacrament of confession. Spiritual motherhood in the women’s monasteries is viewed in this con­ text. Obedience to the spiritual father or mother has priority over asceticism, at least for the beginner (Elder Paisios 2002: 105). Monastic obedience is a ‘mimesis of a perfect action’: it does not subject a human being to another’s narcissistic neurosis. Nor is it a blind and disciplinary conformity; for spiritual parenthood is a cooperation between the monk and the elder, aimed at training in spiritual freedom and the discovery of the true self, through the uprooting of the ego­ centric will that amounts to changing self-love into love. After all, obedience must be ‘the outcome of love, not coercion’ (Elder Porphyrios 2005: 12, 24). The loving, mutual, and free relationship of monks with their spiritual parent, along with their common faith and vision, makes them all one (Matt. 18: 20); and the grace of God invigorates them continually, so that they experience unity in the Church. In fact, Orthodox monas­ ticism speaks of a mutual obedience that makes the monks servants to each other, not through any necessity or constraint, but rather by their free will. Like an umbilical cord, monastic obedience is an interpenetration that renders the brothers equal, where ‘no individual puts forward his own will, but all together in the one Holy Spirit are seeking the will of their one Lord Jesus Christ’.2

The Monk and the Doctrine In the Orthodox tradition, ascetical life and mystical consciousness have never been viewed as experiential states prior to or beyond any particular doctrine. Thus, Orthodox monastics are normally quite sensitive to matters of faith. Each monk or nun is a person ‘of doctrine, for the monastic life is a recapitulation of the whole content of Orthodox dogma’ (Archimandrite Aimilianos 1999: 266). Genuine monastic life is seen as a byproduct of the true faith. This is because dogma in the Orthodox mentality is a way of life that is put in words, rather than a metaphysical speculation. The foundations of dog­ matic cognizance are laid when man experiences God’s grace. Thus, ‘freedom and beauty are found through prayer and right faith’ (Symeon Grigoriatis 1983: 23). By main­ taining its liminal place in self-sacrifice, prayer, and the struggle for the purity of the heart, monasticism functions as a counterweight to the often intellectual enterprise of interchurch dialogue. Yet precisely because dogmatic consciousness is the fruit of spir­ itual experience, beginners in monastic life are not encouraged to wrestle with profound theological issues, lest they be left with abstract knowledge that breeds uninformed zeal and swelling pride. 2  Basil of Caesarea, Περὶ κρίματος Θεοῦ 4, PG 31: 660CD.

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The Monk and the Mission Orthodox monasticism remains expressive rather than instrumental. Monasticism is an embodiment of the Gospel ideal through hesychia, purification, and deification. Spiritual struggle is initially and unceasingly an introverted motion aiming at regaining peace, composure, and the power of contemplation. The monk knows that unity, as well as alienation, takes place within the human person before it manifests itself in society. He therefore turns to his own inner landscape, where he fights self-love and self­centredness. There, in his deep heart he brings together the whole world in God’s unify­ ing light. ‘Their struggle is not so much to become preachers through words or activists through actions’, but to receive the ‘letter inscribed in the heart, known and read by all’ (2 Cor. 2:3) and the inner vision of the divine light (Patriarch Bartholomew 2008: 58–59). Thus, the missionary spirit is primarily activated in a mystical way, pointing to the dynamics of sanctification and contemplative prayer: a monk is someone who prays for the whole of creation, and ‘the reverberations of his prayer reach everyone, even if they are far off ’.3 He is called to be the ‘radio operator’ of the Church, and so his departure from worldly distractions results in a better contact with God for the benefit of the world (Elder Paisios 2002: 32). Moreover, a genuine monastery is not only the quiet ­antipode of the city, but also ‘an icon of the Church’, indeed, an icon of the entire world; so the monastic does not evade social responsibility: ‘he or she seeks a deeper response to the meaning of life, in the recreation and reformation . . . of the world, by silently changing water into wine through Christ . . . Saints cleanse their surroundings by spill­ ing into them the grace of God that permeates and fulfills everything’ (Patriarch Bartholomew 2008: 72–73).

Modern Perspectives Although the monastic ideal is that of personal sanctification rather than recruitment to the missionary work of the Church, some monasteries now appear to be more socially oriented. This is evident even on Mount Athos, which has become a sine qua non for the male international pilgrim and the pursuer of mystical truths. Due to the ingress of the spirit of social activism, technology, and the temptation of worldly power, some monas­ teries or monks display a zeal for a social profile and material achievements.4 Yet, though signs of secularization are sometimes evident within the monastic world, the traditional ideals, as still practised and verified in living experience, remain essentially undistorted. Besides, in places where monasticism is absent, Christian communities are much more affected by the technocratic spirit. Monasticism, with its eschatological character, pro­ tects, renovates, and guarantees the charismatic dimension within the floods of 3  Elder Paisios (2002: 171, 80). Archimandrite Sophrony (Sakharov) (1991: 407–408). 4  See the criticism of Elder Paisios (2002: 55, 57–58).

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Greek Orthodox Monasticism   587 s­ ecularization that threaten the Church identity. Monks and bishops from all over the world visit Mount Athos with a view to retrieving a lost tradition. The monasteries today have become centres of spiritual replenishment and refreshment, through spiritual counsel and sacramental confession. Certainly, in our troubled times monasticism does not seem to have a powerful influence even in the traditionally Orthodox countries. We may mention here the occasional tensions caused by claims over monastic properties in Greece, the terrorist threat hanging over monasteries in the Middle East, and the ongoing enslavement of governments and peoples to global markets. In the new, thoroughly manipulative world order, where the human being is depersonalized, isolated, and dealt with as a spare mechanical part, a free monasticism based on uncompromising Christian values will probably remain a dissonant voice. At the same time a hindrance is created by the over-exalted individualism and the general confusion that affects the power of deter­ mination in young aspirants and recruits. For all that, monasticism seems to maintain its vitality and optimism. As a most pivotal as well as sensitive part of the Church, monasticism remains a voice and a vision from the desert, a presence outside the world, a kind of Archimedean point. The true monk ‘puts into practise Archimedes’ principle, which says: give me a point to stand on and I will move the earth’.5 The goal remains the transformation or trans­fig­ur­ation of the self and the world—not through an ideology of an earthly city of God, but through the inner struggle for the therapy of the heart and the acquisition of selfless love in God’s uncreated grace. Herein lies the power, the message, and the social dynamism of the monastic institution and its relevance to our society. In the postmod­ ern environment of this-world asceticism directed to endless financial investment and an enduring slavery of man to impersonal structures of power as well as self-delusions, monasticism insists on another kind of self, on a different notion of community, on a life of mutuality and co-inherence, through the interchange of personal gifts for the unity of all.

Areas for Further Research Productive lines of inquiry would include exploring the relationship between spirit­ ual and ethnic identities on Mount Athos and the connection between its Hellenic character and its universality; the impact of monasticism upon the secular Church and society; its place and role within postmodern culture; the model of sanctity and its manifestations; the monastic sensitivity to the environment and related activities; and the relationship between the monasteries and the Church hierarchy in Greece and worldwide.

5  Anestis Keselopoulos, Introduction to Epistles, by Elder Paisios (2002: 12).

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Suggested Reading Scholarly interest is mostly focused on the ancient and medieval sources of Greek monasti­ cism, with a view to exploring the fundamental principles around which monastic life is organized, as well as the customs and behaviours through which those principles are mani­ fested. The reason that so little work has been produced on contemporary monasticism is partly because no ‘evolution’ or ‘development’ has occurred over the ages, other than the construction of contemporary facilities and the adoption of some technological innovations. Greek monasticism not only looks at but lives with its past, and it can be understood only through comprehending and living its spiritual sources. Apart from short articles in Greek by a few academic scholars, focusing on the role and function of monasti­ cism as centre of prayer, spiritual renewal, and an example of authentic community, there is a limited English-speaking bibliography on the legacy of monasticism, its trajectory, and its contribution to spiritual life. It includes works by Patriarch Bartholomew (2008: 57–74) and Archimandrite Aimilianos (1999), who give a vivid overall picture; Graham Speake (2014), who provides an up-to-date survey of Athonite monasticism in all its dimensions; Alexander Golitzin (1995), who merges ancient and contemporary voices; and Graham Speake and Kallistos Ware (2015), who offer a collection of essays on the tradition of spirit­ ual fatherhood. In addition, a number of non-scholarly works have been produced by con­ temporary monastic leaders offering images of the more hidden spiritual life. Among those writings lodging the charismatic theology of contemporary monasticism and also giving the place of monasticism in our world, we recommend the Epistles of Elder Paisios (2002), and the brief treatises of Archimandrite Vasileios of Iveron Monastery, published in English translations by Alexander Press, Montréal. For an inner glimpse into contemporary monastic sanctity, see Hieromonk Isaac’s wonderful book on Elder Paisios (2012), and the charming and profound account by Elder Porphyrios (2005). Another genre in which con­ temporary monasticism is delineated is the ‘guide’ published by many monasteries covering their own lives, treasures, and traditions; that published by the Monastery of Chrysopigi (2009) is one example. The atmosphere of the contemporary nunnery is rendered by Constantina Palmer (2012) in her modern-day Materikon. A record of day-to-day life, and images of the encounter of contemporary Mount Athos with the ‘world’ can be found in the Annual Reports of the Friends of Mount Athos (1991–2019). On the character of Mount Athos’s constitution and its legal status within Europe and the Hellenic State, see Holy Community of Mount Athos (1996), A. E. Tachiaos (1993), and I. M. Konidares (2003).

Bibliography Aimilianos (Archimandrite, Abbot of the Holy Monastery of Simonos Petras) (1999). Spiritual Instruction and Discourses, vol. 1: The Authentic Seal. Ormylia: Ormylia Publishing. Amis, Robin (2014). Views from Mount Athos. Chicago, IL and Bristol: Praxis Institute Press. Bartholomew (Ecumenical Patriarch) (2008). Encountering the Mystery: Understanding Orthodox Christianity Today. New York: Doubleday.

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Greek Orthodox Monasticism   589 Christodoulos (Archimandrite, Abbot of Koutloumous Monastery) (2011). The Presence of Monasticism in the Contemporary World. Mount Athos: Koutloumous Monastery. Chrysostom Koutloumousianos (2015). The One and the Three: Nature, Person and Triadic Monarchy in the Greek and Irish Patristic Tradition. Cambridge: James Clarke. Conomos, D. and G. Speake (eds) (2005). Mount Athos, the Sacred Bridge: The Spirituality of the Holy Mountain. Oxford and New York: Peter Lang. Friends of Mount Athos. Annual Reports (1991–2019). Golitzin, Alexander (ed.) (1995). The Living Witness of the Holy Mountain: Contemporary Voices from Mount Athos. South Canaan, PA: St Tikhon’s Seminary Press. Greenfield, Richard P. H. and Alice-Mary Talbot (eds and trans.) (2016). Holy Men of Mount Athos. Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library 40. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Holy Community of Mount Athos (1996). Τὸ Καθεστὼς τοῦ Ἁγίου Ὄρους Ἄθω [The Status of the Holy Mountain Athos]. Mount Athos: Holy Community of Mount Athos. Isaac (Hieromonk) (2012). Elder Paisios of Mount Athos. Chalkidiki: The Holy Monastery of Saint Arsenios the Cappadocian. Kavadias, Demetrios (2005). Μοναζουσῶν Σύναξις. Θαυμαστόν γυναικεῖον γεροντικόν τοῦ εἰκοστοῦ αἰῶνος [Synaxis of Nuns. Anthology of Wondrous Deeds and Sayings of Nuns of the Twentieth Century]. Athens. Konidares, I. M. (2003). The Mount Athos Avaton. Athens: Ant. N. Sakkoulas. Mantzaridis, Georgios (1999). Κοινωνιολογία τοῦ Χριστιανισμοῦ [Sociology of Christendom], 5th edn. Thessalonike: Pournaras. Mantzaridis, Georgios (1982). ‘Das athonitische Mönchtum’. In Kultur und Institution: Aufsätze und Vorträge aus der Sektion für Soziologie, edited by H. J. Helle, 373–380. Berlin: Duncker & Humblot. Markides, K. C. (2001). The Mountain of Silence: A Search for Orthodox Spirituality. New York: Doubleday. Monastery of Chrysopigi (2009). A Pilgrim’s Guide to the Holy Patriarchal Stavropegic Monastery of Our Lady of the Life-Giving Spring. Chania, Crete: Monastery of Chrysopigi. Paisios (Elder) 2002. Epistles. Souroti, Thessalonike: Monastery of the Evangelist John the Theologian. Palmer, Constantina  R. (2012). The Scent of Holiness: Lessons from a Women’s Monastery. Chesterton: Conciliar Press. Porphyrios (Elder) (2005). Wounded by Love: The Life and the Wisdom of Elder Porphyrios, edited by the Sisters of the Holy Convent of Chrysopigi. Limni, Evia: Denise Harvey. Sophrony (Sakharov) (Archimandrite) (1991). Saint Silouan the Athonite. Maldon, Essex: Monastery of St John the Baptist. Speake, Graham (2014). Mount Athos: Renewal in Paradise, 2nd rev. edn. Limni, Evia: Denise Harvey. Speake, Graham and Kallistos Ware (eds) (2015). Spiritual Guidance on Mount Athos. Bern: Peter Lang. Symeon Grigoriatis (Hieromonk) (1983). The Holy Mountain Today. London: Alexandria Press. Tachiaos, A. E. (ed.) (1993). Mount Athos and the European Community. Thessalonike: Institute for Balkan Studies. Vasileios (Archimandrite, Abbot of Iveron Monastery) and G.  Mantzaridis (1999). The Meaning of Typikon, 2nd edn. Montréal: Alexander Press.

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chapter 38

Th e E aster n Tr a ditions Today Russian and Romanian Orthodox Monasticism Scott M. Kenworthy

At the beginning of the twentieth century, Russian Orthodox monasticism reached the pinnacle of a revival that had lasted much of the prior century, and then began a process of total collapse. That collapse did not come of its own accord, however, but at the hands of a militant anti-religious government, which had closed every monastery in Soviet territory before the outbreak of the Second World War. The war brought about a reversal of Soviet policy towards the Church from one of destruction to one of limited toleration combined with strict control. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, however, there has been a significant revival of monastic life, with the Moscow Patriarchate claiming 600 monasteries in the former Soviet Union within a decade of the collapse. The fate of Orthodox monasticism in various countries in the past century has varied substantially, but Romania has arguably the most thriving monasticism in the contemporary Orthodox world. The Orthodox Church in Romania experienced a much briefer period of both communism and persecution, and in the last decades the Church was regarded with much more tolerance than it was in the Soviet Union. The result was that, by the time com­mun­ism collapsed in 1989, there were still living representatives who had been shaped by Orthodox culture before the advent of communism and could pass on a living tradition to the next generation. If scholarship on the history of Eastern Orthodox monasticism is underdeveloped, that on contemporary monasticism is virtually non-existent. Before 1990 Soviet scholarship was driven by anti-religious ideological concerns and Western scholars were uninterested. Since the collapse of communism, archives have become more accessible (though archives for the post-Second World War period are still not easily accessible to foreign researchers in Russia) and a handful of studies have appeared. There has been prodigious publication of writings especially by and about famed elders and spiritual figures in both Russian and Romanian, and a fair number of sensationalist accounts

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Russian and Romanian Orthodox   591 exposing scandals, but as yet very little academic analysis of contemporary monasticism in either Russia or Romania. What follows, then, is only a preliminary sketch and an invitation to further research.

Russian Monasticism in the Soviet Period On the eve of the Bolshevik Revolution, there were 1,256 monasteries of all types in the Russian Empire and over 105,000 monks, nuns, and novices. The number of monastics and monastic clergy had risen continuously since the 1830s, but the number especially of female monastic recruits and new convents rose sharply beginning in the 1880s right up to 1917. Though there was already a sense of crisis from the beginning of the century, the growth of monasticism continued unabated until the outbreak of the First World War (Kenworthy 2015). More serious challenges came with the fall of the monarchy in February 1917. Monasteries were generally conservative, but, at least formally, they accepted the new order. Monastic congresses were held in various dioceses and a central one was held in the summer, consisting of elected as well as appointed delegates. The democratic ethos in society generally and also in the Church generated certain tensions: monasteries called for the renewal of ancient practices of electing their own leaders, which also corresponded well to the times. At the same time, calls for elections for superiors, or delegates to congresses, sometimes generated factionalism within monastic communities. The breakdown of civil authority in the course of 1917 left monasteries with a sense of insecurity, and indeed peasants sometimes seized monastery lands and local authorities sometimes seized other monastery property, including the most important printing houses. On the whole, therefore, the period between the February and October Revolutions was a time that seemed to offer new possibilities for renewal within the Church, especially with the convening of the All-Russian Church Council in August 1917. At the same time, though, the instabilities and uncertainties caused great anxiety (Kenworthy 2016; Zapal’skii 2016). The Bolsheviks, who seized power in October 1917, had a programme that included not only political and social revolution, but a complete ideological reconstruction of society based upon a ‘scientific atheism’ that allowed no room for religious beliefs and institutions. When they seized power, however, they did not have a clear plan of how to deal with the Orthodox Church. The Bolsheviks spe­cif­ic­ al­ly targeted monasticism because it enjoyed great influence among the people and because they considered it a potentially counter-revolutionary threat. The Decree of Separation of Church from the State and from Schools (23 January 1918) deprived the Church and monasteries of any legal standing. This in effect nationalized all monastery property, though exactly what this would mean in practice remained unclear. The first direct, official offensive against a monastic institution was the attempt to seize the

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592   Scott M. Kenworthy important Aleksandr-Nevskaia Lavra in Petrograd on 19 January 1918, though at this early stage a massive group of believers came to the defence of the monastery and succeeded in rebuffing the assault. Thus the first year after the Bolshevik Revolution was one of heightened insecurity, anxiety, and financial crisis, but some monasteries were able to continue more or less as before. The situation began to change in August 1918, however, when the Commissariat of Justice published instructions on how to implement the decree of separation of Church and state, directing its ‘Liquidation Department’ to seize all property, capital, buildings, and land belonging to monasteries. The period of the civil war (1919–1921) saw the first great wave of monastery suppressions. The majority of monasteries, especially the most revered ones, were closed, their inhabitants expelled, their property often pilfered, and the complexes turned to other uses such as prisons. A few of the most famous monasteries were transformed into museums, preserving them at least from destruction. By 1921, sixty-five per cent of the monasteries (722 of 1,103) in the Soviet Union were closed (Kenworthy 2010: 292–328; Kenworthy 2016). Many rural monasteries were able to remain open by transforming themselves into agricultural collectives. Since many were already engaged in agriculture and accustomed to collective life, such a transformation was not necessarily difficult. In principle, Soviet authorities opposed such transformations so long as the leadership, lifestyle, and membership of the communities remained the same, though in practice there was tremendous local variation, and some were able to preserve their monastic way of life. By 1921, 116 were officially recognized as ‘state farms’. There were sporadic closures throughout the 1920s, but a number survived in this way until the end of the decade, in keeping with the ‘New Economic Policy’ that constituted a compromise with the peasantry (Kenworthy 2010: 329–346; Kenworthy 2016; Wynot 2004). A second wave of monastery closures accompanied the collectivization of agriculture and the intensification of the anti-religious campaigns in 1929–1931. At that point, all remaining monasteries (and agricultural collectives based on monastic communities) were systematically closed. Monastics themselves were either deprived of their dwellings or, worse, arrested and sent either into exile or to the Gulag. During the Great Terror of 1937–1938 clergy and religious activists were specifically targeted. The security services, known as the NKVD, systematically rounded up former monks and nuns. Monks, especially if they were ordained, were typically executed, while nuns and lay supporters were sent to the Gulag. For example, the NKVD rounded up all the former monks of the Trinity-Sergius Lavra who remained in the region, accused them of belonging to a ‘secret monastery’ and therefore a ‘counter-revolutionary organization’, and executed them in late 1937 and early 1938; the only ones who survived were those already in the Gulag or in exile. Thus on the eve of the Second World War, not only had the Soviet authorities closed all the monasteries, they had also eradicated its representatives (Kenworthy 2010: 346–367). Within a year, however, dramatic reversals began to take place. After the Nazi–Soviet non-aggression (Molotov-Ribbentropp) pact of 1939, the Soviet Union seized parts of Western Ukraine, Belorussia, the Baltics, and Moldova that had once been part of the

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Russian and Romanian Orthodox   593 Russian Empire but fell outside the Soviet Union. These territories—especially Western Ukraine and Moldova—included a great many churches and monasteries. The Soviet authorities were beginning to implement the same type of anti-religious policies there when the Nazis invaded the Soviet Union in June 1941, after which Soviet religious policy became much more tolerant in an effort to unite the Soviet populace against the Nazis. The result was that churches and monasteries that were open in the newly acquired territories and those reopened during the war (especially in Nazi-occupied territories) remained open after the war. By the end of the Second World War, therefore, there were one hundred monasteries in the Soviet Union. Some forty of them were reopened in Nazi occupied territories, and sixty in the regions not part of the Soviet Union in the interwar period. The change was significant: throughout the 1930s, simply being (or having been) a monk was all the evidence necessary to convict one of being ‘anti-Soviet’. By the mid-1940s internal government reports assessed that the functioning monasteries did not display any ‘disloyal attitude towards the Soviet regime’. Moreover, monasteries were allowed to keep the land they had (so long as the monastics themselves worked it), and central authorities directed local authorities not to interfere with their lives (Kenworthy 2012). Patriarch Aleksii I (Simanskii) specifically requested that the Trinity-St Sergius Lavra, Russia’s most important monastery, be reopened, which the government permitted in 1946. It was the only such monastery in central Russia to be open for forty years following the war. The monastery faced enormous challenges in reconstituting monastic life. The first monks mostly came from exile or the Gulag, together with novices who were mostly war veterans. Despite the challenges, it operated with surprising freedom for at least a few years. In addition, the monastery continued to receive new recruits, including young men, and also increasing numbers of pilgrims. There is significant evidence of a religious revival during the war that continued in the decade after (Kenworthy 2012). The period during which monasteries were allowed a degree of freedom was shortlived: by 1948 there was already a shift in policy towards greater restriction, and some openly activist monks were removed from their monasteries and exiled. Moreover, though there was not a reversal of policy for another decade, there was a gradual reduction of monasteries. In 1956, there were sixty-four monastic communities, of which twenty were for men with 878 inhabitants and thirty-seven were for women with 3686 inhabitants (plus an additional seven sketes). More than half were in Ukraine, and a large number were in Moldova. Although the Khrushchev period is usually associated with the ‘Thaw’, that is, a ­relaxation in the cultural sphere and a more critical relationship to Stalinism, de­Stalinization also meant a reversal of the late Stalinist toleration of the Church and a renewed anti-religious campaign. Although never as brutal as the 1930s, the government closed massive numbers of churches and monasteries between 1958 and 1964; by the end of the campaign, only eighteen monasteries were left. By the end of the 1960s, there were only some 1,300 monks and nuns, compared to around 4,600 in the mid1950s. Soviet authorities also exercised a much greater control over the lives of the monasteries. For example, monks at the Trinity-Sergrius Lavra who were seen as too

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594   Scott M. Kenworthy active—in recruiting young people for monastic life, preaching to pilgrims, and engaging with foreign tourists—were exiled or sent to more remote monasteries. The status quo was maintained for over two decades after Khrushchev. Dramatic changes began in the Soviet Union under Mikhail Gorbachev’s Perestroika. The turning point came when Soviet authorities permitted the Orthodox Church to prepare a massive celebration for the millennium anniversary of the Christianization of Russia in 1988. As Soviet ­authorities eased restrictions, the Church immediately sought to regain and reopen its monasteries. In the West, an image prevails of the Russian Church as totally compromised to the Soviet authorities, and its clergy virtually as KGB agents in cassocks. Research in former Soviet archives, however, reveals a much more complex picture, though one that is only beginning to emerge. First of all, a fundamental divide must be made between the preand post-Second World War eras. To be sure, there were collaborators and informants in the 1920s and 1930s, but resistance (even if passive) and persecution were the far more dominant story. During the war and the decade following the war, the Church was by no means ‘free’, but neither was it completely crushed: clergy were able to pursue the Church’s interests within narrow boundaries. The activities of the priors of the TrinitySergius Lavra are very revealing in this regard: some, like Archimandrite Pimen (Khmelevskii, prior 1957–1965), were quite adroit in obfuscating and deferring decisions to higher Church authorities in order to avoid fulfilling Soviet demands to restrict their ac­tiv­ities. The local officer of the Council of Religious Affairs, far from being an allpowerful KGB agent, had to place requests through the central office, which then had to put pressure on the Patriarch, and all these levels of authority created spaces for negotiation and compromises that had to be made on both sides (Kenworthy 2012). The fates of individual monasteries in the Soviet period varied considerably. Outside the Soviet Union, St Panteleimon, the Russian monastery on Mount Athos, was home to one of the most highly esteemed Russian spiritual figures of the twentieth century, Silouan the Athonite (Sophrony 1999), though the monastery declined progressively over the course of the century. One important monastery succeeded in remaining open: the Pskov Caves Monastery, which fell on Estonian soil in the interwar period. During the war it was under German occupation, but remained open after the war. Even in the late Soviet period it was famed for living spiritual guides such as Ioann Krestiankin. The Valaam Monastery in the midst of Lake Ladoga fell on Finnish territory after 1917 and continued to function until the Winter War between Finland and the Soviet Union in 1939–1940, at which point the monks fled to Finland and established the ‘New Valaam’ Monastery. While the New Valaam Monastery continued some of the pre-revolutionary traditions, it also adopted the Finnish language in liturgy and the Gregorian calendar. The Kiev Caves Monastery was closed after the revolution, reopened in German-occupied Kiev, then closed again under Khrushchev. The Pochaev Lavra in Western Ukraine was part of Poland in the interwar period and remained open. Soviet authorities placed enormous pressure on the monastery, until finally the KGB arrested the monks. Monks and believers, however, submitted petitions to the World Council of Churches and the

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Russian and Romanian Orthodox   595 United Nations and raised an international scandal, so that Soviet authorities left the monastery open.

Monasticism in Post-Soviet Russia The collapse of the Soviet Union resulted in a large number of monasteries being opened or reopened. In 1988, there were twenty-two monasteries open in the Soviet Union. Within a decade, that number had escalated to 600, and by 2009 the Moscow Patriarchate claimed 804 monasteries. Of those monasteries, 478 were in the Russian Federation (234 for men and 244 for women), with the rest in former parts of the Soviet Union still under the Moscow Patriarchate, especially Ukraine and Moldova. Although statistics vary depending upon the source, it appears that the Ukrainian Orthodox Church (Moscow Patriarchate) had over 200 monasteries with around 5,000 inhabitants (3,600 of whom are tonsured monks and nuns), about two-thirds of whom are women. In 2019, a decade later, 972 monasteries (474 for men, 498 for women) belonged to the Moscow Patriarchate (including Ukraine, Moldova, and Belarus), with 5,883 monks and male novices and 9,697 nuns and female novices (). Assessing monastic life in post-Soviet Russia, however, is more difficult. John P. Burgess has examined manifestations of monastic life in three case studies, suggesting that different monasteries have different foci. Although Orthodox monasticism traditionally concentrated on contemplative withdrawal, Burgess observes that contemporary Russian monasteries also engage in a variety of social outreach. Some engage in drug rehabilitation. A monastery such as Solovki in the far north serves as a site of memory of Soviet persecution, since the monastery itself had been turned into one of the first—and most notorious—prison camps of the Gulag system. The Sretenskii Monastery in the heart of Moscow concentrates its energies on ‘churching’ the Russian population of nominal Orthodox believers through its publishing and educational ac­tiv­ities (Burgess 2007 and 2011). A key feature of the nineteenth-century monastic revival was the centrality of starchestvo or spiritual eldership. The Soviet assault on institutionalized monasticism resulted in an intensification of attachment to individuals separated from monastic communities, who gathered around themselves groups of believers, thereby forming spiritual families. This phenomenon has become very pervasive in post-Soviet Russia, and having a ‘spiritual father’ is now considered a sine qua non for devout Orthodox. Church hierarchs, however, are concerned by self-proclaimed elders who gain excessive control over their followers’ lives, and who may be at odds with Orthodox teaching (Paert 2014). Irina Aster has contributed the most extensive study of contemporary Russian monasticism to date (Aster  2010), which combines sociological and cultural analysis and is based in part on interviews and surveys. Aster’s central argument is that the revival of Orthodoxy in post-Soviet Russia is more an indicator of identity (i.e. Orthodoxy as an

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596   Scott M. Kenworthy integral part of Russian national identity) and less an expression of the rise of active religious faith. Thus, rather than ‘Orthodox’ being a subset of the general category ‘believer’, the situation is reversed—‘believer’ has become a subset of the general category ‘Orthodox’. Whereas in the Soviet period, identifying oneself as atheist was the social expectation and norm, identifying oneself as Orthodox has become the new social expectation and norm. The rise of monasticism in contemporary Russia, she argues, must be placed in the context of the revival of Orthodox culture, and not necessarily regarded as an expression of intense religious faith. With regard to monasticism per se, Aster has found a variety of ideas and attitudes, sometimes contradictory, about monasticism in contemporary Russian society. In surveys conducted in the St Petersburg region, some 35.8 per cent of respondents indicated they had at some time visited a monastery. Some respondents were attracted by the monastery’s peacefulness, or by its aesthetics, or by the grace they seemed to find there, but there were also many who found the monastery gloomy and sombre, or even dull. In terms of authority, 33.2 per cent said they would turn to a psychologist to help them solve personal problems, and 30.2 per cent said they would turn to a monastery elder (Aster 2010: 115–116). As for what attracts contemporary Russians to the monastic life, Aster has concluded that many of the motivations are the traditional ones. Some personality types are inclined towards solitude and withdrawal rather than towards family and the bustle of the world. Others are those whom life has somehow ‘broken’, or have not found a place for themselves in the world, while others seek to live only for God. Aster also finds that a major factor precipitating the decision to join a monastery is some sort of conflict, whether interpersonal or internal. Others are drawn by the external rites and forms of monastic life or seek a monastic career. A significant number of men have ‘read’ their way into monasticism, studying the Church Fathers and spiritual literature and thereby seeking to replicate the ancient practices of inner prayer in search of mystical experiences. In contrast, Aster finds that the monastery particularly emerges as an option for women in their mid-thirties who are not married and do not have children or a career. At the same time, she suggests there are a significant number of people (men and women) joining the monastery at a younger age (25–30), so one cannot simply say that the monastery attracts those who have ‘failed’ at life. Finally, she draws attention to socio-economic conditions. As these improve, individuals have a greater array of choices, and fewer may take the monastic alternative. Aster cites approvingly a church leader who observes that the number of people joining monasteries has begun to taper off (Aster 2010: 121–131).

Monasticism in Romania Although there is some evidence that monasticism came to the territory of Romania in the early centuries of Christianity, there are virtually no written and few archaeological records for the millennium after the withdrawal of the Romans from the region.

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Russian and Romanian Orthodox   597 The  Romanian lands formed in the fourteenth century, when the principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia were established (the third main region where the Romanian language was spoken, Transylvania, was ruled by Hungary and then the AustroHungarian Empire until 1918). The princes of Wallachia and Moldavia in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were great builders of monasteries. The princely support for monasticism coincided with the spread of hesychasm throughout the Orthodox world in the aftermath of the Palamite controversies, so that, according to Metropolitan Serafim Joantă, hesychasm made a deep impression on Romanian monasticism from its formative period (Joantă 2013). Moreover, the fall of Bulgaria, Serbia, and the Byzantine Empire to the Ottomans in the fifteenth century meant that the principalities of Wallachia and Moldavia were (aside from Muscovy) the only remaining Orthodox territories not under Ottoman rule. Muscovy regarded the downfall of Constantinople as just punishment for the Greek ‘betrayal’ of Orthodoxy in the union with Rome at the Council of Florence in 1439, and therefore as final proof of the superiority of Russian Orthodoxy. The Romanian lands, by contrast, received many Greeks and Slavs fleeing the Ottoman conquest, and also maintained close contact with—and provided substantial support for—the patri­arch­ ates and monasteries under Ottoman control. Indeed, the princes of Moldavia and Wallachia were not only great supporters of monasticism in their own lands, they were also great supporters of Mount Athos, and they dedicated entire monasteries—with vast landholdings—for their support (Joantă 2013). A second key moment in the flourishing of Romanian monasticism came in the eighteenth century. The Philocalic revival inspired by Paisii Velichkovskii, well known for its decisive role in nineteenth-century Russian monasticism, also had a tremendous impact in Romania. Metropolitan Serafim argues that the importance of Paisii Velichkovskii lay not only in his personal activities, but also in the collective work of translation that he inspired. It resulted both in the publication of the Philokalia in Slavonic, and in many translations of patristic literature into Romanian. Another result of Paisii’s influence was to combine the contemplative practice of interior prayer (normally associated with eremitical or semi-eremitical monasticism) with the communal, or coenobitic, approach. Paisii’s spirituality even had an impact on the Romanian episcopate, and the Paisian ‘rule’ spread to many monasteries. The modernizing, secularizing approach hit Romania in 1863 shortly after Moldavia and Wallachia united to form the modern Romanian nation. The architects of the reform had little sympathy for the monastic project, and were interested primarily in the needs of a modern state. Romanian monasteries into the nineteenth century owned a significant proportion of the country’s land, and—even more egregious in the eyes of the reformers—was the amount of land owned by ‘dedicated’ monasteries under the control of the Orthodox patriarchates and monasteries under Ottoman rule. (The Patriarchate of Jerusalem alone had thirty such monasteries in Romania.) As a result, much land was controlled ultimately by those outside the new nation state, which siphoned off a substantial proportion of its wealth (D’Alessandri 2015). The assault on monasticism in the

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598   Scott M. Kenworthy 1860s had a devastating impact on monasticism in Romania that lasted more than half a century. Both before and after the Second World War, there was a broadening of the concept of hesychastic spirituality beyond the boundaries of the monasteries, which dovetailed with the rise of intellectual movements that approached the problems of contemporary Romania from the perspective of Eastern Orthodoxy. These intellectuals perceived a sharp difference between Orthodox south-eastern Europe and the West, and this divide was rooted in the contrast between the mystical and organic approach of the Orthodox world versus the rationalistic and materialistic modern West (Clark 2012; Hall 2008). The great twentieth-century theologian Dumitru Stăniloae (1903–1993), though not a monk, translated into Romanian the fullest version of the Philokalia, along with extensive commentary, published between 1946 and 1991 (Louth 1997; Staniloae 2003). The Romanian experience under communism was radically different than that of the Russian experience. For one, Romania became communist at the time of Stalin’s more tolerant post-war religious policy, which was then adopted in Romania. Further, Patriarch Justinian Marina, patriarch from 1948 to 1977, had observed the fate of the Orthodox Church in the Soviet Union, and evidently concluded that cooperation was better for the Church than extermination. To be sure, many clergy associated with interwar right-wing movements were arrested between 1948 and 1958, but there was no mass persecution of the Church or campaign against monasteries. Patriarch Justinian reformed monasteries, ensuring that the monks and nuns laboured in agriculture or in making crafts, thereby making them palatable to the communist regime. Indeed, the number of monastics and monasteries actually increased in the post-war decade, from some 150 monasteries and 4,000 monks and nuns at the end of the 1930s to 190 monasteries and 6,400 monks and nuns by the mid-1950s (Enache and Petcu 2009). In 1958, however, Khrushchev’s anti-religious policy in the Soviet Union was also adopted in Romania. Between 1958 and 1964 there was a wave of monastery closures and arrests or expulsions of monks and nuns, many of whom were subject to brutal prison camps. The end of the Khrushchev era coincided with Ceaușescu’s ascent to power in the mid-1960s. Ceaușescu set a course independent from Moscow and sought to create a ‘national communism’ that included the Orthodox Church as a positive part of Romanian history and identity. Thus, from the mid-1960s until the late 1970s, monasteries in Romania enjoyed a surprising degree of freedom. In 1975, the Church reported 122 monasteries and 2,200 monks and nuns. Indeed, a Western nun who visited Romania in the mid-1970s wrote that ‘it is the seduction of Western secularism which poses the chief threat’ to Romanian spiritual culture ‘far more’ than the communist system. ‘The historic monasteries’, she continued, ‘are preserved with state assistance, are visited by many thousands of Romanian tourists as well as pilgrims each year, and so play a valu­ able part in building up a sense of national identity and pride’ (Sr Eileen Mary 1980)—a function which the state appreciated as much as the Church. Such a situation persisted until the late 1970s, when Ceaușescu became more hostile towards the Church and re­invig­or­ated anti-religious policies that resulted in the closure and destruction of a number of monasteries.

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Russian and Romanian Orthodox   599 The collapse of communism was followed by an explosive growth of monasticism in Romania. At the end of 2013, the Romanian Orthodox Church reported 736 monastic communities, including 531 monasteries (278 for men and 253 for women) and 190 sketes (124 for men and 66 for women). Further, there were 8,831 inhabitants in these monasteries, including 2,398 monks, 3,915 nuns, and 2,518 novices (male and female). Thus Romania had (at that time) more monasteries and monastics than Ukraine and nearly as many monasteries as Russia, despite the larger populations of the latter.1 The differences between monasticism in Romania and the former Soviet territories no doubt have much to do with the historical experience of the twentieth century. In the Soviet Union, there was total rupture: the complete closure of monasteries by 1930 followed by the systematic persecution of monks and nuns. Even if monasticism was allowed to exist in the post-war Soviet Union, from the mid-1960s to the mid-1980s there were fewer than twenty monasteries in the entire country, the majority of which were geographically isolated. Thus there is no practical continuity between the experience and traditions of the pre- and post-communist periods. Moreover, most churches were closed, there were few priests, and people who went to church even the late Soviet period faced consequences (discrimination at work or in their studies). The situation of low church attendance has continued after the collapse of communism, especially in Russia. Hence the people who might be entering monasteries in Russia since the collapse of the Soviet Union might have little experience of ordinary church life—something that Russian Orthodox Church leaders regard as a source of concern. By contrast, Romanian monasticism did experience persecution under communism, but never to the same extent (not all monasteries were closed nor all of their inhabitants repressed), nor for as long. The most intense period of persecution lasted only from 1958 to 1965, and most of those imprisoned later returned to their monasteries. Most churches remained open throughout the country, and even if there was far less religious practice than previously, society as a whole was not entirely divorced from Church life. The majority of people were still baptized, married, and buried in the Church. Since the collapse of communism, religious participation has been much higher in Romania, and— more than elsewhere—monasteries can therefore be considered part of the fabric of normal religious life. A characteristic feature of Romanian monasticism is the presence of numerous highly respected elders who were formed in their monastic practice before communism and lived to see its collapse. The most famous of them, Cleopa Ilie (1912–1998), first entered a monastery as a youth in 1929. He was tonsured a monk in 1937 and became abbot in 1945. He repeatedly disappeared into the mountains, for the first time in 1948 and on several later occasions (for the longest period between 1959 and 1964) to avoid arrest. From 1964 until his death he remained at Sihastria Monastery, where he gained renown as a confessor and 1  According to the 2011 census, some 16.3 million Romanians identified themselves as Orthodox; the Russian Orthodox population is notoriously difficult to calculate, and is estimated at between 60 and 100 million. The Ukrainian Orthodox Church (Moscow Patriarchate) had some 4,800 monks, nuns, and novices with a comparable or larger population (estimating religious adherents to various branches of the Orthodox Church in Ukraine is also extremely difficult).

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600   Scott M. Kenworthy spiritual guide (Bălan 2001; Stebbing 2003: 45–86). Several important figures were associated with the Rugul Aprins, or ‘Burning Bush’, movement in post-war Bucharest around the Antim Monastery. This movement, inspired by hesychast spirituality, included both intellectuals and monks. The founder of the movement, Sandu Tudor (1896–1962), died in the notorious Aiud prison. Others who were part of the movement, such as Arsenie Papacioc (1914–2011), were released in 1964 and continued their monastic careers afterwards; one of them, Roman Braga (1922–2015), eventually went to the United States where he helped cultivate Orthodox monasticism in the new world. There were many other elders, including Arsenie Boca, Teofil Părăian, Andrei Scrima, and Nicolae Steinhardt, whose experience varied but who contributed through their lives and teaching to nourish Romanian monasticism and the Romanian Church during the twentieth century (Dumbravă and Tătaru-Cazaban 2019). Nicholas Stebbing, an Anglican priest-monk who spent time in Romanian monasteries in the 1990s, has drawn a unique portrait of contemporary Romanian monasticism (Stebbing  2003). Stebbing conducted interviews not only in monasteries, but also among non-monastics in order to understand the meaning of monastic spiritual fathers for the laity. Stebbing argues that there is an intimate link between traditional rural culture, the piety to be found in the villages, and life in the monasteries. Romanian monasteries, he writes, are neither strictly coenobitic nor idiorhythmic, but rather something in between; indeed there might even be variations within a single monastery. What would be regarded as chaos in a Western monastery, he suggests, is accepted in the more flexible environment of the Orthodox monastery. The approach is more personal, allowing the spiritual father to adapt the norms to the needs of the individual rather than for­ cing the person to conform to external norms (Stebbing 2003: 42–44). According to Stebbing, the true monks are doing what all Christians are called to do, and therefore they represent a challenge to ordinary believers—and this is what attracts people. There is a less individualistic, more collective, conception of spirituality than is found in the West, according to which the monk not only prays for people, but prays on their behalf, in a sense offering the prayers people would like to give (but do not have time, or cannot do as well). Stebbing asserts that ‘Orthodox Christians regard the monks as standing between heaven and earth, reflecting the light of heaven down to the people in the world and drawing people towards God’ (Stebbing 2003: 93). The monks gained particular respect because of their experience during the communist period, when ­bishops and priests were forced to make compromises but the monks more often did not (and paid the consequences). Stebbing draws a complex picture, however; some of the laity have negative attitudes towards married priests who might serve as cultic functionaries but not as experienced spiritual guides. Such people are drawn to the holy lives of monastic spiritual fathers. Others, however, maintain that married priests are better in offering spiritual guidance to lay believers, because monks are unable to understand life in the world and are too rigid in the demands that they impose on the laity. Finally, some see their roles as different: the parish priest is like a ‘general practitioner’, to whom a believer should go for confession in normal times, but if one is struggling with some particular spiritual or moral issue, it may be necessary to turn to a monastic elder who is

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Russian and Romanian Orthodox   601 therefore a kind of ‘specialist’ (Stebbing 2003: 87–114). Stebbing found that people often come to monastic spiritual fathers at particular moments: a major life decision, a spiritual crisis, a sense of spiritual longing or hunger. Stebbing also acknowledged the particular challenges of a rapidly changing Romania, as secularism, consumerism, and pluralism arrive from the West. The situation requires careful navigation, and a simplistic retreat into traditionalism (a temptation for some monasteries) would be insufficient (Stebbing 2003: 283ff). Because of the large number of monasteries in contemporary Romania, they are spread throughout the country in both urban and rural areas and therefore play a great variety of social and pastoral roles. Monasteries provide for the sacramental and li­tur­ gic­al needs of many faithful; particular monasteries are engaged in activities for the benefit of the sick, for those recovering from alcohol or drug addiction, or they minister to nearby hospitals, military bases, or prisons. Some have set up homes for the elderly, operate orphanages, or organize summer camps for disadvantaged children (Nica 2009).

Monasticism and Society in Russia and Romania Both Russia and Romania have experienced important monastic revivals since 1989, and ordinary people have become more conscious of it. There has been an increase in the publication of literature about monastic spirituality. Indeed, Tikhon Shevkunov’s book Everyday Saints, largely about his personal experiences and those of monks he knew at the Pskov Caves Monastery, became a bestseller, selling a million copies in the first year (Shevkunov 2012). Maya Kucherskaya’s Faith and Humor is written in the style of a Paterikon (ancient stories of the desert fathers), but provides irreverent and humorous sketches of monks, nuns, and clergy (Kucherskaya 2011). Pavel Lungin’s 2006 film The Island (Ostrov) was endorsed by the Russian Orthodox Church and was also a boxoffice success. The setting is a monastery in the Soviet period, and the main character is a mix of an elder and holy fool. Cristian Mungiu’s 2012 film Beyond the Hills (După dealuri) provides a radically different portrayal of a contemporary Romanian convent. The film was based on an actual case in which a young woman died in 2005 after the priest and nuns performed an exorcism. Although it has been interpreted as a condemnation of the ‘fanaticism’ to be found in Romanian monasteries (D’Alessandri 2015), the film is in reality much more complex and ambiguous. It portrays the same intimate connection between the convent and the village that Stebbing notes, but in this case, rather than celebrating the connection, the film portrays rural Romania as impoverished, backward, and riddled with superstition. However, the film also shows how integrated the monastery is in society, supporting the local orphanage when the nuns do not even have enough for their own needs, and also taking in women who literally have nowhere

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602   Scott M. Kenworthy else to turn. The film is not simply an indictment of the convent, but also indicts the entire society of which it is a part, which failed to care for a vulnerable young woman. The film perhaps represents a certain ambivalence about the renewed power and authority of the Orthodox Church in contemporary Romanian society, an ambivalence also present in Russia. Monasticism has thus undergone radical transformations in both Russia and Romania in the last century, from persecution under communism to remarkable revival after communism’s collapse. The Soviet Union never succeeded in eradicating faith, but it did succeed in cutting off most people from contact with living Orthodox practice and traditions. Although there has been a dramatic upsurge in the percentage of Russians who identify themselves as Orthodox, the level of religious participation remains low (Agadjanian and Kenworthy 2021). Monasteries have been reopening at an astonishing rate, but often it may be more a matter of the Church’s reclaiming its property and legacy than an expression of widespread religious enthusiasm. Moreover, the break of the communist period means that the effort to reconstitute monastic life is uneven. The Romanian experience, though similar in its pattern of persecution followed by revival, is substantially different. The communist period was briefer, and the persecution of monasticism not nearly as extensive. As a consequence, ordinary religious practice was more widespread, and there was no complete rupture in monastic tradition and practice. Monasticism is therefore more organically connected to Church life as a whole, which itself is more broadly integrated with social life. A common feature of both Romania and Russia is that the type of spirituality represented by hesychasm, though contested in the nineteenth century, has not only come to be regarded as normative for monastic spirituality but has become familiar even to religiously active laity. Some spiritual elders of the late communist period gained renown in both Russia and Romania, and books by or about them are popular reading. Although monasticism continued to expand in both Russia and Romania in the quarter century following the collapse of communism, it is impossible to predict whether that trend will continue. Some analysts link the resurgence of monasticism to the difficult socioeconomic conditions that followed the collapse of communism. As standards of living rise and consumerism spreads, it remains to be seen whether the monastic impulse will continue to be attractive.

Future Directions in Research The history of Orthodox monasticism under communism and since remains virtually unexplored (though archival access varies from country to country). Methods of soci­ ology and particularly ethnography offer promising possibilities for the study of contemporary monasticism.

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Russian and Romanian Orthodox   603

Suggested Reading For an introduction to Christianity in Russia, see Agadjanian and Kenworthy (forthcoming 2021). A survey of monasticism in the modern period can be found in Kenworthy (2015). Very little research on Orthodox monasticism in the past century is available in English, though the bibliography below indicates the most important titles. George Enache has studied monasticism in modern Romania. Russian scholars such as Irina Aster, Daria Dubovka, and Ksenia Medvedeva have recently begun to produce new ethnographic and sociological research on contemporary monasticism.

Bibliography Agadjanian, Alexander and Scott  M.  Kenworthy (forthcoming 2021). Understanding World Christianity: Russia. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. Aster, Irina (2010). Sovremennoe russkoe pravoslavnoe monashestvo: sotsial’no-filosofskii analiz. St Petersburg: Arkhei. Bălan, Ioanichie (2001). Elder Cleopa of Sihastria: in the Tradition of St. Paisius Velichkovsky. Lake George, CO: New Varatec Publishing. Briskina-Müller, Anna (2011). ‘Zwischen Nichtexistenz und Blüte: Orthodoxes Mönchtum in Russland nach 1988’. In Logos im Diologos. Auf der Suche nach der Orthodoxie. Gedenkschrift für Hermann Golz (1946–2010), edited by Anna Briskina-Müller, Armenuhi Drost-Abgarjan, and Axel Meissner, 173–189. Berlin: LIT. Burgess, John P. (2011). ‘Monasticism as a Force for Religious and Cultural Renewal in PostCommunist Russia’. Journal of Religion in Europe 4: 225–244. Burgess, John  P. (2007). ‘Community of Prayer, Historical Museum, or Recreational Playground? Challenges to the Revival of the Monastic Community at Solovki, Russia’. International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church 7: 194–209. Clark, Roland (2012). ‘Orthodoxy and Nation-Building: Nichifor Crainic and Religious Nationalism in 1920s Romania’. Nationalities Papers 40: 525–543. D’Alessandri, Antonio (2015). ‘Orthodox Monasticism and the Development of the Modern Romanian State: From Dora D’Istria’s Criticism to Cyclical Reevaluation of Monastic Spirituality in Contemporary Romania’. In Monasticism in Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Republics, edited by Ines Murzaku, 173–189. London: Routledge. Dubovka, Daria (2018). ‘Struggling Bodies at the Crossroads of Economy and Tradition: The Case of Contemporary Russian Convents.’ In Praying with the Senses: Contemporary Orthodox Christian Spirituality in Practice, edited by Sonja Luehrmann, 192–211. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Dubovka, Daria (2017). ‘The Power of a Spiritual Elder’s Words: The Communication of Charismatic Authority’. Forum for Anthropology and Culture 13: 163–185. Dubovka, Daria (2016). ‘Forgotten Time, or Techniques of Self-Transformation in Contemporary Russian Orthodox Convents’. State, Religion and Church 3: 6–25. Dumbravă, Daniela and Bogdan Tătaru-Cazaban (eds) (2019). André Scrima: Expérience Spirituelle et Langage Théologique. Rome: Pontifical Oriental Institute.

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604   Scott M. Kenworthy Eileen Mary, Sister (1980). ‘Orthodox Monasticism in Romania Today’. Religion in Communist Lands 8: 22–27. Enache, George (2013). ‘The Monastic Issue in Modern Romania: Between the Liberal Indifferentism and the Communist Denial’. Studii Teologice Nr. 4: 29–52. Enache, George and Adrian Nicolae Petcu (2009). Monahismul ortodox și puterea comunistă în România anilor ‘50 [Orthodox Monasticism and the Communist Authorities in Romania in the 1950s]. Galati: Editura Partener. Hall, Christine (2008). ‘Pancosmic Church’—Specific Românesc: Ecclesiological Themes in Nichifor Crainic’s Writings Between 1922 and 1944. Uppsala: Uppsala Universitet. Joantă, Metropolitan Serafim (2013). Treasures of Romanian Christianity: Hesychast Tradition and Culture. Whitby, ON: Cross Meridian. Kenworthy, Scott M. (2016). ‘Monasticism in War and Revolution’. In Russia’s Home Front in War and Revolution, 1914–22, Book 2: The Experience of War and Revolution, edited by A. Lindenmeyr, C. Read, and P. Waldron, 221–249. Bloomington, IN: Slavica Publishers. Kenworthy, Scott  M. (2015). ‘Monasticism in Modern Russia’. In Monasticism in Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Republics, edited by Ines Murzaku, 265–284. London: Routledge. Kenworthy, Scott M. (2012). ‘The Revival of Monastic Life in the Trinity-Sergius Lavra after World War II’. In State Secularism and Lived Religion in Soviet Russia and Ukraine, edited by C. Wanner, 117–158. New York: Oxford University Press. Kenworthy, Scott  M. (2010). The Heart of Russia: Trinity-Sergius, Monasticism, and Society after 1825. New York: Oxford University Press; Washington, DC: Woodrow Wilson Center Press. Kucherskaya, Maya (2011). Faith and Humor: Notes from Muscovy. Montpelier, VT: Russian Life Books. Louth, Andrew (1997). ‘Review Essay: The Orthodox Dogmatic Theology of Dumitru Stăniloae’. Modern Theology 13: 253–267. Medvedeva, Ksenia (2016). ‘Labour Discipline in a Christian Orthodox Sisterhood in Russia’. Culture and Religion 17: 92–108. Murzaku, Ines (ed.) (2015). Monasticism in Eastern Europe and the Former Soviet Republics. London: Routledge. Nica, Emilian (2009). ‘The Social and Pastoral Role of Monasticism in the Romanian Society’. Journal for Interdisciplinary Research on Religion and Science 5: 167–183. Păcurariu, Mircea and Nicolae Edroiu (2014–2016). Monahismul ortodox românesc: Istorie, contribuții și repertorizare [Romanian Orthodox Monasticism: History, Contributions, and Typology], 2 vols. Bucharest: Editura Basilica. Paert, Irina (2014). ‘Mediators Between Heaven and Earth: The Forms of Spiritual Guidance and Debate on Spiritual Elders in Present-Day Russian Orthodoxy’. In Orthodox Paradoxes: Heterogeneities and Complexities in Contemporary Russian Orthodoxy, edited by Katya Tolstaya, 134–154. Leiden: Brill. Shevkunov, Tikhon (2012). Everyday Saints and Other Stories, translated by Julian Henry Lowenfeld. Moscow: Pokrov Publications. Shkarovskii, Mikhail V. (2012). ‘The Russian Orthodox Church in 1958–1964’. Russian Studies in History 50: 71–95. Sophrony, Archimandrite (1999). Saint Silouan, the Athonite. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press.

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The Eastern Traditions Today: Russian and Romanian Orthodox   605 Staniloae, Dumitru (2003). Orthodox Spirituality: A Practical Guide for the Faithful and a Definitive Manual for the Scholar, translated by Jerome Newville and Otilia Kloos. South Canaan, PA: St Tikhon’s Seminary Press. Stebbing, Nicholas (2003). Bearers of the Spirit: Spiritual Fatherhood in Romanian Orthodoxy. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Timberlake, Charles (1995). The Fate of Russian Orthodox Monasteries and Convents since 1917. Donald  W.  Treadgold Papers in Russian, East European, and Central Asian Studies 103. Seattle, WA: Henry M. Jackson School of International Studies, University of Washington. Wynot, Jennifer  J. (2004). Keeping the Faith: Russian Orthodox Monasticism in the Soviet Union, 1917–1939. College Station, TX: Texas A&M University Press. Zapal’skii, G. M. (ed.) (2016). Dokumenty sviashchennogo sobora pravoslavnoi rossiiskoi tserkvi 1917–1918 godov, vol. 19: Dokumenty Otdela o monastyriakh i monashestve [Documents of the Holy Council of the Russian Orthodox Church, 1917–1918, vol. 19: Documents from the Department on Monasteries and Monasticism]. Moscow: Novospasskii Monastery.

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chapter 39

The Prote sta n t Tr a dition Inge Mager

Introduction The Reformation did not bring the monastic system in Germany to a complete standstill. Many convents adhering to Protestant principles remained in existence until the Thirty Years’ War, and others lasted until the beginning of the nineteenth century. Some few convents continue to exist today as so-called Protestant women’s foundations, and newly issued monastic orders regulate their common external and spiritual life. While life in the cloister initially served as a means to care for and accommodate single (and mostly noble) women, their maintenance today is secured through retirement plans and pensions. Even monastic property was not entirely dispersed, and today it is reserved primarily for educational, cultural, and social purposes, as well as for the maintenance of buildings. Moreover, an aspiration for more intense forms of devotion, as well as for alternative ways of communal living, endured throughout the post-Reformation era, despite Martin Luther’s rejection of life-long vows. An early implementation of these aspirations succeeded under the influence of the Erweckung (the ‘Great Awakening’), and was given impetus by the discussion of the ‘social question’ in the deaconess or­gan­ iza­tions of the nineteenth century. But it was only after the catastrophes of two world wars that the Protestant Churches began to recover the monastic dimension for themselves, with the founding of brotherhoods and sisterhoods. They are all joined together by the effort to base faith and behaviour in everyday life firmly on the Gospel and, at the same time, to be active in mission, social welfare, and pastoral counselling in a society that is otherwise largely alienated from the Christian tradition. This chapter, then, addresses the Protestant tradition in Germany.1

1  This chapter is translated by Dennis L. Slabaugh.

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The Protestant Tradition   607

Monastic Life and Reformation Many monasteries in the Holy Roman Empire had joined a reform congregation or an observant movement by the end of the Middle Ages, and most were in a satisfactory condition. The influx into the orders remained strong, since many people regarded a life led behind monastery walls according to the evangelical counsels as a more reliable route to salvation than an everyday life in the world following the Ten Commandments (Frank 1985: 133–159). It was precisely this two-fold model of Christian existence that the monk Martin Luther rejected.2 For him, salvation was not to be earned through taking vows or performing good works, but rather was to be received in faith as a gift of grace. Moreover, he believed that monastic vows, which had been invented by humans, were already contained in the biblical baptismal vows. Nevertheless, he did not fundamentally reject asceticism and enclosure when they were freely chosen: ‘Go ahead and wear the habit . . . but only if you do not connect it with the expectation of being saved’.3 It was on this basis that Luther found it possible to imagine the continued existence of the monasteries as places for praising God, for intercession, and for Protestant education.4 Still, his criticism of monasticism induced many to leave the monasteries, and it ­awakened a princely interest in monastic property. Unfortunately, he often fought in vain against disrespect of ecclesiastical property. With the establishment of the Reformation, the Landesherren (regional rulers), had taken over the shattered episcopal administration of the churches, and the cura religionis (state rule of the Church), including the monasteries, was incumbent upon them. Their policy in regard to the monasteries, however, was varied. As a consequence all the monasteries in certain areas were shut down—in the Saxon principalities, in Hesse, and in East Friesland, for example. The inhabitants were compensated and the remaining monastic possessions were used primarily for refurbishing the state treasury (Schilling  1997; Beyer  1989: 91–112). Monasteries and foundations directly subject to the emperor, though, were withdrawn from princely authority. The princes yielded to monastic resistance in most cases, as well as to protests by numerous women’s convents. These, in turn, were supported by the Landstände (noble landed estates), who were interested in the continued monastic accommodation of their unmarried daughters. As a result, a policy friendly to the monasteries arose in several regions of the empire (Vollrath 2012). There has been considerable research on Luther’s criticism of monasticism, but for the most part the scholarship does not give due regard to his statements on the con­ tinued existence of a Protestant monasticism. 2 Martin Luther, De votis monasticis iudicium, 1521, in D.  Martin Luthers Werke. Kritische Gesamtausgabe, vol. 8 [=WA] (Weimar: Hermann Böhlau, 1889), 573–669. 3  Martin Luther, Predigt am 25 February 1523, in WA 11 (1900), 35, 8–9. 4 Martin Luther, Ordnung eines gemeinen Kastens. Ratschlag, 1523, in WA 12 (1891), 11–30; Die Bekenntnisschriften der Evangelisch-Lutherischen Kirche, vollständige Neuedition, ed. Irene Dingel (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2014), 738, 15–18.

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608   Inge Mager

Protestant Monasteries after the Reformation Some of the foundations and monasteries that were not abolished in the sixteenth century have preserved the memory of the once rich monastic tradition to the present day, in the form of Protestant women’s foundations. This is primarily due to the Guelph princes in northern Germany, who did not confiscate monastic property, but rather used it for the maintenance of the remaining convents and, on the Württemberg model (Eberl 2013: 21–38), for higher and lower Latin schools, for the education of girls, and for social welfare and other ecclesiastical purposes. Monastic regulations issued from time to time ordered a quasi-monastic existence that preserved some medieval customs for many years. Above all, the hours of canonical and intercessory prayer remained—even in many school monasteries—until far into modern times. Within the borders of today’s federal state of Lower Saxony, there are still seventeen Protestant women’s foundations (one even denominationally mixed), in which single women offer a diverse range of spiritual and cultural programmes, and are also responsible for the preservation and display of the monasteries’ artistic treasures (Heutger 1998: 25–34). Among these, the ones with the greatest public presence are the six so-called Heideklöster (heathland cloisters) of Ebstorf, Lüne, Isenhagen, Medingen, Walsrode, and Wienhausen, and the five Calenberg cloisters of Barsinghausen, Mariensee, Marienwerder, Wennigsen, and Wülfinghausen. The assets of these medieval foundations, along with the remaining monastic estates in Lower Saxony (land and forest properties) that had never been alienated, are in the custody of the Klosterkammer (Chamber of Monasteries) in Hanover. This institution emerged at the beginning of the nineteenth century as a result of the sixteenth-century Guelph policy of monastic preservation (Boetticher 2011: 248–258). It is an institution unique in Germany and, as an independent public corporation, it is responsible for the maintenance of monastery grounds and church buildings, as well as for additional ecclesiastical, cultural, and social welfare projects, including the administration of assets for the spiritual and financial support of the women’s foundations. The only Protestant men’s monastery to have survived, with an abbot and a small differently composed convent, is the Cistercian abbey of Loccum, also in Lower Saxony. Loccum was founded in 1163 as a monastery directly subject to the emperor (Hirschler, Otte, and Stäblein 2013). The practice of the canonical hours (hora) never ended there, and it is conducted at least once a day. Because the convent soon included external members, the practice of prayer was maintained at times by young theologians from the monastery hospice and later by candidates at the preachers’ seminary, and recalls the monastic trad­ition cultivated there for more than 850 years. Under the leadership of the celibate abbot Gerhard Walter Molan (1677–1722), the idea of a Protestant monasticism was upheld by the young theologians staying at the cloister. Molan also strove for the reunification of the Churches. In modern times abbot and convent see themselves as belonging not only to the Evangelical–Protestant regional Church, but also, as members of the

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The Protestant Tradition   609 ‘Community of Protestant Cistercians’, as remaining loosely connected with the Cistercian order. Since 2000, they have been permitted to take part as special guests at the General Chapter in Rome. The regional bishops in Hanover have held the office of abbot of Loccum since 1928. The afterlife of monasticism in individual Protestant territories has drawn increasing scholarly attention, but it has been within the framework of regional Church history, rather than in the more general history of the Church. What is lacking is an empire-wide survey of the various forms of monastic policy since the sixteenth century. There has been a recent first attempt to do just that (Vollrath 2012).

Quasi-Monastic Community Life in the Modern Period The continued foundation of Protestant secular endowments for women as late as the eighteenth century shows that a shared spiritual life remained attractive, especially to noblewomen, who thereby retained their accustomed social status. Different Pietist attempts to deepen the Protestant life of faith through the formation of conventicles and asceticism, however, remained sporadic, or were opposed by the regional churches as a form of separatism (Zeller 1973: 17–30; Holze 1995: 167–186). Not until the nineteenth century was there any open regret about the Reformation’s abandonment of alternative forms of spiritual life. Johann Hinrich Wichern (1808–1881) was one such who did speak out. The Hamburg founder of the Inner Mission wrote during a visitation in the Rhineland in 1852: It is a dreadful loss that the Reformation threw the orders overboard instead of reforming them in a Protestant spirit, which it could have done if it had had an idea of the value of what was being demolished. The orders are not an instrument of the Roman Church, but rather of the true Catholic Church; insofar as our Protestant Church belongs to the Catholic Church, it must be able to engender them anew from its midst.5

At this point, the Rauhes Brüder-Haus in Hamburg-Horn (1833), as well as the Deaconess Mother House in Kaiserswerth, founded by Theodor Fliedner (1800–1864) in 1836, were already in existence. Wilhelm Löhe’s (1808–1872) deaconess institute was established two decades later in 1854, in Neuendettelsau. These were all attempts to bring together in a Protestant spirit a binding and celibate Christianity, a cultivation of personal and communal piety, social responsibility, and professional social welfare work. The deaconess system, which is in decline today, can be seen as a late equivalent to the 5  See Johann Hinrich Wichern, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 2: Briefe und Tagebuchblätter 1849–1857 (Hamburg: Agentur des Rauhen Hauses, 1901), 259.

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610   Inge Mager Catholic hospital and nursing orders. On the other hand, the system can also be seen as a pious community of service, representing a bridge to the intentional communities of the twentieth century. Further impulses for the formation of pious communitarian groups in Protestantism emanated from, among others: the High Church liturgical awakening, the Oxford Movement, the early brotherhoods stimulated by both, and by the youth movement. Finally, manifold personal, ecclesiastical, and communal experiences during the National Socialist regime, in the Kirchenkampf (Church struggle), and during the Second World War led those who were in opposition to radically rethink their personal Christianity. As early as 1938, Wilhelm Stählin (1883–1975) recalled Martin Luther’s Preface to the German Mass (1526), in which he mentioned ‘those who seriously want to be Christians and who confess the Gospel with hand and mouth’.6 At the first commitment ceremony of the Brotherhood of St Michael, Stählin then said: ‘In the whole history of Protestantism, the fact that Luther thought that he did not have these people, and for this reason his Church also did not make a serious effort to gather them, has had fateful consequences. Must we not today recover what was missed at that time?’7 Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906–1945) also took up these ideas for his Preachers’ Seminary of the Confessing Church in Finkenwalde (1935–1937). He wrote from London in 1935: ‘The restoration of the Church must surely come from a kind of new monasticism that has in common with the old monasticism only the refusal to compromise in a life led according to the Sermon on the Mount in the discipleship of Christ. I believe it is time to gather people together to do this’.8 This occurred in many places and with different practical objectives, but only after the collapse of the Third Reich. In retrospect, the priorities that emerge are contemplative, faith-deepening, and diaconal-social and missionary-­evangelistic tasks. In addition, the kind of membership varies from a loose affiliation in which there are several yearly meetings to a shared communal life. Finally, the degree of commitment stretches from a community of values to the taking of oaths. After 1945, the desire to escape from spiritual isolation, to find new communities of prayer and action, to contribute to the atonement for National Socialist injustice, and to have a stimulating effect on the congregations was in the air. Yet the foundation of brotherhoods, communities, and spiritual partnerships still required an inspiring and energetic personality with strong leadership abilities. Previous research on the community movement exists primarily in the form of selfportrayals. There is hardly any discussion, however, of its connection to the idea of monasticism as it had been kept alive in post-Reformation Protestantism. It is impossible to portray all of the approximately 120 quasi-monastic Protestant communities in Germany today (Zimmerling 2003), so only a selection among the most significant can be made. They follow here in the order of their chronological origin. 6  Martin Luther, Deutsche Messe, in WA 19 (1897), 75, 5–6. 7  See Wilhelm Stählin, Die Regel des geistlichen Lebens (Kassel: Johannes-Stauda-Verlag, 1964), 87–88. 8  Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Gesammelte Schriften, vol. 3 (Munich: Chr. Kaiser Verlag, 1966), 25.

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The Protestant Tradition   611

Communauté de Taizé The community founded by the Reformed theology student Roger Schutz (1915–2005), in Taizé in Burgundy, is the model for all German brotherhoods and communitarian organizations. In Taizé, in 1939–1940, a small circle of like-minded people combined the piety of the monastic vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience with active support for those who were persecuted, deprived of their rights, poor, orphaned, or homeless. The year 1949, when the first brothers took their vows, is regarded as the foundation date of the Communauté, which acquired worldwide recognition under Prior Roger Schutz. It is open to members of all denominations and nations. Today the over one hundred brothers perform service in proclamation and in the accommodation of guests, as well as in numerous community institutions and projects at home and abroad. The source of strength and the central reference point for the spiritual as well as practical work are the three worship services held daily, in which the sung praise of God is most important, along with meditation and prayer. Young people, above all, take inspiration from this. The ecumenical impulses springing from Taizé are comparable to those imparted in the Middle Ages by the nearby Benedictine abbey of Cluny (Präger 1964: 198–209).

Evangelische Michaelsbruderschaft (Evangelical Brotherhood of St Michael) Inspired by the High Church Association, theologians and laypeople from the youth movement met from 1923 to 1928 at the estate of Berneuchen in the Neumark. Their intention was to discuss the liturgical reform of the worship service and the deepening of the Church’s spiritual life. In 1931 some of them united under the leadership of Wilhelm Stählin in Marburg to form the Evangelical Brotherhood of St Michael. The basis was an obligatory spiritual order of life, expressed in the Berneuchener Buch of 1926. All members sought and seek to make their contributions in the three main dimensions of the Christian life: proclaiming the word of God (martyria), worship and prayer (leiturgia), and exercising the ministry of charity (diakonia). This can occur through regular attendance at worship, daily prayer and Bible reading, brotherly intercession, and mutual pastoral care. Several times a year, the brothers meet in the Franconian cloister of Kirchberg for periods of introspection, celebrations of the Eucharist, biblical meditations, and lectures. In this way, they were able to exert a de­cisive influence on liturgical development in post-war German Protestantism and to contribute to the deepening of congregational life. The ‘Berneuchen Circle’, which is loosely connected with the Evangelical Brotherhood of St Michael, is also open to women (Reimer  1999: 75–78).

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612   Inge Mager

Pfarrer-Gebetsbruderschaft (Pastors’ Prayer Brotherhood) The Pastors’ Prayer Association, founded in Halle in 1913 under Pietist and Awakened influence, reconstituted itself in 1945 as the Pastors’ Prayer Brotherhood. In 2001, it adapted to what had become by then the normal practice of both men and women in spiritual office by renaming itself the ‘Women Pastors’ and Pastors’ Prayer Association’. The original goals of the association—spiritual community, pastoral exchange, and the encouragement of personal piety—have been modified and supplemented repeatedly in accordance with changing conditions in theology, Church, and society. According to the ‘Guidelines’ composed in 1957, the members commit themselves to daily Bible reading, the practice of intercessory prayer, mutual pastoral care, practical assistance, and the willingness to make financial sacrifice. They are networked closely together and, in addition, they meet several times a year in smaller or larger groups in order to refuel intellectually and spiritually, to keep up with current theological discussions, and to pass on suggestions for congregational work with the goal of furthering a reawakening within the Volkskirche (people’s Church). Pastors such as Ernst Modersohn (1870–1948) and Erich Schnepel (1893–1986) have had a lasting influence on the Brotherhood (Reimer 1999: 99–101). The counselling of theological students, begun by the latter, has increased in recent times.

Evangelische Marienschwesternschaft (Evangelical Sisterhood of Mary) The beginnings of the Evangelical Sisterhood of Mary, founded in Darmstadt by the psych­olo­gist Dr Klara Schlink (1904–2001) and the welfare worker Erika Madauss (1904–1999), reach back to the year 1944 when, after the bombing of the city, there was a revival in the girls’ Bible circle led by the two women. Three years later this led to an agreement among seven young girls to lead a communal life together. They agreed to renounce property, family, and their own life plans, and to find their purpose in the love of Christ and His way of the Cross, daily penance, the worship of God, atonement for the injustice perpetrated on the Jews in the Holocaust, and in the proclamation of faith. The unparalleled growth of the Sisterhood and the expansion of the buildings began in 1948, when the Methodist Paul Riedinger consecrated Klara Schlink as Mother Basilea as leader of the contemplative community. Young women who wish to join the group must prove themselves for two years as ‘way sisters’ (Wegschwestern) and then for five years as ‘cross sisters’ (Kreuzschwestern), before they can be consecrated as ‘bride sisters’(Brautschwestern). At this point, they must promise to yield their own will and self-determination ‘to God’s will’. The day is defined by intervals for personal prayer and intercession, daily devotions at the hour of Jesus’ death, worship on Sundays at the hour of Jesus’ Resurrection, intercessory prayer for Israel on Friday evenings,

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The Protestant Tradition   613 worship ­services in praise of God, and devotional meetings. The rest of the time is devoted to prac­tical work in the house, in the art workshop, in the printing shop, in the care of guests, and in worship services of proclamation. In the early years, the wellknown Rufer-Spiele, or ‘caller plays’ were especially meaningful. Characteristic of the group’s piety are the weekly ‘communities of light’, which are conducted in complete seclusion. During these periods, all offences and weaknesses are openly confessed and discussed. During Mother Basilea’s lifetime, only she could grant absolution, which followed after a visible show of repentance, or after a successful performance of atonement. Her charismatic brilliance lent her unique authority. Her theology of penance and her eschatology, together with an unshakeable certainty in faith and prayer, marked the Sisterhood for half a century. Basilea Schlink’s devotional tracts and her  aphorisms, which were translated into many languages, made her known far beyond Darmstadt (Reimer 1999: 130–132). At the same time, there was no shortage of ­criticism—above all of an unevangelical propensity for legalism. There was displeasure, too, within her own ranks (Jansson and Lemmetyinen  1998). The Evangelische Kirche in Deutschland (Evangelical Protestant Church of Germany) had and has a ­cautious attitude with regard to the Sisterhood. Since the death of both founders, the women’s community has found itself in a critical period of reorientation. The revised version of the statutes formulated in 2000, while Mother Basilea was still alive, states: ‘The Evangelical Sisterhood of Mary, Inc., is a quasi-monastic association whose ­members, hearing the call of God, have decided of their own free will to live in poverty, ­obedience, chastity, and humility . . .’ (Zippert 2007: 88).

Christusbruderschaft Selbitz (Brotherhood of Christ, Selbitz) Pastor Walter Hümmer (1909–1972) and his wife Hanna (1910–1977) called the Brotherhood of Christ into life in Schwarzenbach in Upper Franconia on 1 January 1949, along with seven sisters and four brothers. The rectory proved to be too small for the growing community, and in the same year they moved to the Wildenberg in nearby Selbitz. The Franciscan spirituality of the founders, who were organizationally as well as artistically talented, imprinted upon the community its concentration on the symbol of the Cross with a crown of thorns and a heart. A tertiary community, living apart and subject to the Brotherhood’s guidance, supports the full members with prayers and offerings. It takes several years for members to progress from the stages of postulancy, novitiate, juniorate, and temporary profession of the oath to the final profession. Since 1954, they have built a chapter house with chapel, a guesthouse, and, with the aid of the district government, a retirement and nursing home. The Bavarian regional Protestant Church quickly abandoned its initial reserve towards the group and now supports its work, from which the Church benefits.

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614   Inge Mager The death of Walter and Hanna Hümmer plunged the community into crisis. The secession of the Brotherhood of Christ (Falkenstein) in 1984 gave those remaining in Selbitz an occasion to renew previous structures and spiritual principles. This decampment led in the 1990s not only to the formulation of a new set of regulations, but also to the founding of several external stations in Germany and in Botswana (Bibra and Wenzelmann 1999).

Communität Casteller Ring (Casteller Ring Community) In the night before Easter 1942, Christel Schmidt (1892–1970), a kindergarten teacher and youth worker,together with seven Christian Girl Guides—among them the congregational assistant Maria Pfister (1923–1990)—swore mutual fidelity to a life in the ‘dis­cip­line of the Lord Jesus Christ’. This occurred in Lower Franconia, in the cemetery of the noble family Castell. A rented room in the widow’s castle soon became the secret focus of the women’s group, which from the beginning was spied on by the Gestapo. Various efforts from outside—from Neuendettelsau, the High Church Association, Berneuchen, Friedrich Heiler (Marburg), and the Benedictine abbey at Münsterschwarzach—led to the emergence of the Casteller Ring Community in 1950. Its symbol, a cross within a circle, represents the path from the German youth movement to the ecclesiastical altar. From 1957 on, the castle at nearby Schwanberg developed into the spiritual centre of the rapidly growing community. Along with performing personal and communal spiritual exercises (canonical prayer four times a day), the sisters work energetically in various community institutions. These include a conference and educational centre, as well as a private vocational school for women with an attached boarding school. There are also urban stations for two or three sisters in Munich, Nuremberg, Augsburg, Hildesheim, Magdeburg, and Erfurt. In order to be free for God and their fellow human beings, the Casteller sisters observe poverty, chastity, and obedience, and they hope through their spiritual life to contribute to the building of the Church of Jesus Christ. They do not see themselves, however, as aloof and withdrawn religious authorities, but rather as a sisterly community of life, faith, and service in the daily life of the world. Although the path from postulancy, novitiate, and temporary profession of the oath to the final profession takes several years, its goal is not to constrict individual salvation, but rather to assure the readiness to make oneself freely available to God. After the death of the two founders, Mater Felicitas (Christel Schmidt) and Sister Prioress Scholastica (Maria Pfister), the Casteller Ring Community, too, was faced with the necessity of rethinking its previous development and its regulations. Here, the Conference of Protestant Communities (in existence since 1976) and the representative of the Evangelische Kirche in Deutschland (EKD) proved their worth as conversation partners (Halkenhäuser 1989).

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The Protestant Tradition   615

Ansverus-Bruderschaft/Communität (Ansverus Brotherhood/ Community) In 1955, a group of north German students committed themselves to an uncompromising Christianity intended to have an impact upon local congregations. From this emerged the Ansverus Brotherhood, whose members do not live together, but are bound by a spiritual rule. Since 1963, weekly meetings for silence, prayer, and the Eucharist have taken place in the chapel of the renovated Ansverus House on the outskirts of Hamburg. Women have been members since 1984. The organization renamed itself the Ansverus Community in 1995. Since 2003, it has been supported by a woman pastor appointed as Spiritual Director by the North Elbian Church, and offers an extensive programme to individuals and groups. These include, for example, a six-month trial period leading to a possible binding membership. A small communitarian group recently began to live permanently in Ansverus House, which has been converted into a foundation. In the words of the Ansverus Psalter, it keeps ‘the hearth fire of prayer . . . burning’ and practises the singing of psalms.9 Most members of the community, however, remain integrated in their prior everyday lives. The choice of the name Ansverus, a Benedictine monk killed in 1066 by heathen Wends and buried in the cath­ edral at Ratzeburg, underscores the north German origin of the community. In addition, it maintains close contact with the ‘Northern Church’, formed in 2012 by the fusion of three EKD regional churches (Reimer 1999: 52–53).

Communität Koinonia (Koinonia Community) Dr Olav Hanssen (1915–2005), pastor and teacher of the Hermannsburg Mission Seminary, was enthusiastic about the youth movement of the 1960s, but at the same time he was offended by the emerging sense of protest. In 1962, he interested some of the mission students in the possibility of a strongly ascetic brotherhood with a missionary and contemplative orientation, one that ran counter to the spirit of the times. As the contemplative aspect began to assume greater importance, he and his group split off from the others and in 1979 formed the Gethsemane Brotherhood. They took up residence in the surviving buildings of the former convent of the Augustinian Canons in Goslar. The group that remained in Hermannsburg added new members and then spread out in the form of small mixed communities (married and single persons, all of whom pursue their own careers) in various places. Obligatory guidelines exist for the domestic and spiritual life of those living together. The early Church and Taizé serve as their models. In addition, there are study houses in three university cities for the spiritual support of 9  Ansverus-Psalter, edited by Karl Heinrich Ehrenforth, 2nd edn (Hamburg: Ansverus-Communität, 1995).

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616   Inge Mager students. Both the communal life and the work with these young academics fulfil the missionary goals of the group. The external Koinonia Brother- and Sisterhood, which lives according to the same principles, provides protection and support for community members (Reimer 1999: 175–178).

Diakonische Basisgemeinschaft Brot und Rosen (Diaconal Grassroots Community Bread and Roses) In the 1990s, a group of young people who had recently completed their training or schooling, and who were on the verge of entering professional life, worked together to develop ‘a concept for a Christian life partnership while exercising the ministry of charity’. They found themselves completely engaged with the contemporary world and its problems. They were inspired by, among others, the ideas and practical commitment of Dorothy Day (1897–1980) and by experiences with the Open Door Community and the Catholic Worker houses in the USA, as well as by similar experiments in Germany— in Wolfshagenerhütten, near Kiel, for example. In late 1996, they began to convert a former parsonage and parish hall in Hamburg into a ‘house of hospitality’, primarily for refugees, asylum seekers, and the homeless. The goal of their grassroots community was and is to contribute to greater justice and humanity ‘in the context of total capitalism in our Western world’ through the ‘combination of a common life, social service, political activity, and lively faith’. In the process, ‘action and contemplation’ are to complement one another. The hosts—the founding married couple, along with their children, and several other individuals—are able to offer hospitality to up to seven persons, to house them, and to support them in their efforts to be integrated in society. The responsibilities of the communitarian life are reviewed and discussed every year. Everyone derives strength and instruction from the Bible, regarded as their ‘most rad­ ical book’. Members of the community earn their own livelihoods; aid projects are financed through donations (Gerstner 1997: 323–33).

Community Life in Old Monasteries (Amelungsborn, Erfurt, Halle, Riechenberg, Volkenroda, Wülfinghausen) The entry of communitarian groups into monastery buildings preserved since the Middle Ages could be interpreted as a kind of reconciliation between monasticism and the Reformation. In 1990, the Evangelical Gethsemane Monastery moved to Riechenberg. In 1994, sisters of the Brotherhood of Christ (Selbitz) opened a House of Silence in Wülfinghausen. In the next year, brothers of the Brotherhood of Christ (Selbitz) and

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The Protestant Tradition   617 the Jesus Brotherhood rebuilt Loccum’s mother house Volkenroda, in Thuringia. Sisters of the Casteller Ring Community occupied Luther’s Augustinian monastery in Erfurt from 1996 to 2011. In 1999, brothers of the Brotherhood of Christ (Selbitz) took up residence on the Petersberg in Halle, and in 2012 they were joined by some sisters who support them. An abbot was appointed to the Cistercian abbey of Amelungsborn in 1960, and a community was assembled there. At the same time a society (Familiaritas) comprising both theologians and laypeople was established. Both external groups meet several times a year in the abbey for canonical prayers and worship services.

Summary The Protestant regional churches initially took up a reserved position in regard to these quasi-monastic communities, which were misunderstood as a critical ‘competition’. Nowadays, however, most of the communities and spiritual associations that exist within the regional churches are welcomed as assets, even as ‘treasures’. Since 1979, there has been a representative from the EKD responsible for liaison with the Protestant communities, both for the exchange of information and for building mutual trust. Now that the generation of the founders is gone, the older communities see themselves called to be prepared for change, according to the ecclesiological principle ‘ecclesia semper reformanda’ (‘the Church must always be reformed’). Whether the future of German Protestantism remains characterized by the type of the Volkskirche (people’s Church), or will be inspired by those who, according to Luther, ‘seriously want to be Christians and who confess the Gospel with hand and mouth’, remains an open question.

Suggested Reading There was neither a uniformly German Reformation of the Church nor a uniformly German reformation of the monasteries (Jaspert 2005–2011). Each region responded differently to the promptings of Martin Luther (Lohse  1963). This diversity, which resulted from the loose association of the German territories, is also reflected in the regional emphasis of the research literature (Schilling 1997; Vollrath 2012; Eberl 2013). In both men’s and women’s communities, some individuals were willing to leave, while others chose to maintain their vows. The latter ensured that some convents and women’s foundations would continue to the present day (Mager 1998). The same is true of the Cistercian monastery of Loccum, at one time directly subject to imperial

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618   Inge Mager control (Otte  2013; Ulrich and Sosnitza  2015). The desire for a Protestant-based monasticism never died out completely (Zeller 1973; Holze 1995), and the growth of the deaconess houses in the nineteenth century can be regarded as an approximation of this ideal. But it was not until after the crisis of the Second World War (Faithful 2014) that women and men united for obligatory communal discipleship in intentional communities and brotherhoods. This movement, with its particular range of responsibilities for each community (Halkenhäuser 1978; Reimer 1999), continues to enrich the Volkskirche today.

Bibliography Beyer, Michael (1989). ‘Die Neuordnung des Kirchengutes’. In Das Jahrhundert der Reformation in Sachsen. Festgabe zum 450jährigen Bestehen der Evangelisch-Lutherischen Landeskirche Sachsens. Im Auftrag der Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Sächsische Kirchengeschichte, edited by Helmar Junghans, 9–112. Berlin: Evangelische Verlagsanstalt. von Bibra, Reinhild and Adelheid Wenzelmann (1999). Christus Bruderschaft Selbitz. Ein evangelischer Orden unserer Zeit. 50 Jahre—die Geschichte der Communität. Selbitz: Christusbruderschaft Selbitz. von Boetticher, Manfred (2011). ‘Von der Reformation im Fürstentum Calenberg-Göttingen zur Entstehung des Allgemeinen Hannoverschen Klosterfonds’. In Herzogin Elisabeth von Braunschweig-Lüneburg (1510–1558), edited by Eva Schlotheuber, Birgit Emich, Wolfgang Brandis, and Manfred von Boetticher, 248–258. Quellen und Darstellungen zur Geschichte Niedersachsens 132. Hanover: Verlag Hahnsche Buchhandlung. Brecht, Martin and Hermann Ehmer (1984). Südwestdeutsche Reformationsgeschichte. Stuttgart: Calwer Verlag. Bultmann, Christoph, Volker Leppin, and Andreas Lindner (eds) (2007). Luther und das monastische Erbe. Spätmittelalter, Humanismus, Reformation 39. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Eberl, Immo (2013). ‘Die evangelischen Klosterschulen des Herzogtums Württemberg. Katholische Klostertraditionen in evangelischer Theologenausbildung 1556–1806’. In Evangelisches Klosterleben. Studien zur Geschichte der evangelischen Klöster und Stifte in Niedersachsen, edited by Hans Otte, 21–38. Studien zur Kirchengeschichte Niedersachsens 46. Göttingen: V & R unipress. Faithful, George (2014). Mothering the Fatherland: A Protestant Sisterhood Repents for the Holocaust. New York: Oxford University Press. Frank, Karl Suso (1985). ‘Ordensreform und Verlust der gesellschaftlichen Funktion im späten Mittelalter’. In Kloster Amelungsborn 1135–1985, edited by Gerhard Ruhbach and Kurt Schmidt-Clausen, 133–159. Hermannsburg: Missionshandlung. Gerstner, Dietrich (1997). ‘Zwischen Wohngemeinschaft und religiösem Orden. “Brot und Rosen. Diakonische Basisgemeinschaft” ’. In Hamburg als Chance der Kirche: Arbeitsbuch zur Zukunft der Kirche in der Großstadt, edited by Sebastian Borck et al., 323–334. Kirche in der Stadt 8. Hamburg: EB-Verlag. Halkenhäuser, Johannes (ed.) (1989). Abenteuer mit Gott. 40 Jahre Communität Casteller Ring. Schwanberger Reihe 15. Rödelsee: Communität Casteller Ring.

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The Protestant Tradition   619 Halkenhäuser, Johannes (1978). Kirche und Kommunität. Ein Beitrag zur Geschichte und zum Auftrag der kommunitären Bewegung in den Kirchen der Reformation. Konfessionskundliche und kontroverstheologische Studien 42. Paderborn: Verlag Bonifatius-Druckerei. Heutger, Nicolaus (1998). Die evangelischen Frauenstifte und -klöster in Niedersachsen. Forschungen zur niedersächsischen Ordensgeschichte 3. Braunschweig: Reichhold. Hirschler, Horst, Hans Otte, and Christian Stäblein (eds) (2013). Wort halten—gestern, heute, morgen. Festschrift zum 850-jährigen Jubiläum des Klosters Loccum. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Holze, Heinrich (1995). ‘ “Evangelisches Mönchtum” im 17. und 18. Jahrhundert bei Gerhard Wolter Molanus und Gerhard Tersteegen’. Wort und Dienst. Jahrbuch der Kirchlichen Hochschule Bethel 23: 167–186. Jansson, Marianne and Riitta Lemmetyinen (1998). Wenn Mauern fallen . . . Zwei Marienschwestern entdecken die Freiheit des Evangeliums. Bielefeld: Christliche Literatur-Verbreitung. Jaspert, Bernd (2005–2011). Mönchtum und Protestantismus: Probleme und Wege der Forschung seit 1877. 5 vols. in 6. St Ottilien: EOS Verlag. Klosterkammer Hannover (ed.) (2009). Evangelische Klöster in Niedersachsen. Rostock: Hinstorff. Die evangelischen Kommunitäten (1997). ‘Bericht des Beauftragten des Rates der Evangelischen Kirche in Deutschland für den Kontakt zu den evangelischen Kommunitäten’, Bischof i.R. Prof. Dr Ulrich Wilckens. EKD-Texte 62. Kürschner-Pelkmann, Frank (ed.) (2007). Kommunitäten. In Gemeinschaften anders leben. Jahrbuch Mission 39. Hamburg: Missionshilfe Verlag. Lexutt, Athina, Volker Mantey, and Volkmar Ortmann (2008). Reformation und Mönchtum. Aspekte eines Verhältnisses über Luther hinaus. Spätmittelalter, Humanismus, Reformation 43. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck. Lohse, Bernhard (1963). Mönchtum und Reformation. Luthers Auseinandersetzung mit dem Mönchsideal des Mittelalters. Forschungen zur Kirchen- und Dogmengeschichte 12. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Mager, Inge (2004). ‘Spiritualität und gemeinsames Leben in deutschen evangelischen Kommunitäten’. In Askese und gemeinsames Leben, edited by Hans-Olof Kvist, 117–136. Studier i systematisk teologi vid Åbo Akademi 28. Åbo: Akademis tryckeri. Mager, Inge (1998). ‘Niedersächsische Frauenklöster und Damenstifte in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart’. In Geistliches Leben und standesgemäßes Auskommen. Adlige Damenstifte in Vergangenheit und Gegenwart, edited by Kurt Andermann, 115–131. Tübingen: Bibliotheca Academica Verlag. Otte, Hans (ed.) (2013). Evangelisches Klosterleben. Studien zur Geschichte der evangelischen Klöster und Stifte in Niedersachsen. Studien zur Kirchengeschichte Niedersachsens 46. Göttingen: V & R unipress. Präger, Lydia (ed.) (1964). Frei für Gott und die Menschen. Evangelische Bruder- und Schwesternschaften der Gegenwart in Selbstdarstellungen. Stuttgart: Quell-Verlag. Reimer, Ingrid (1999). Verbindliches Leben in evangelischen Bruderschaften und kommunitären Gemeinschaften. Giessen: Brunnen Verlag. Schilling, Johannes (1997). Klöster und Mönche in der hessischen Reformation. Quellen und Forschungen zur Reformationsgeschichte 67. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus.

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620   Inge Mager Sparn, Walter (2005). ‘Christel Schmid/Mater Felizitas (1892–1970)’. In Frauen-Profile des Luthertums. Lebensgeschichten im 20. Jahrhundert, edited by Inge Mager, 373–389. Die Lutherische Kirche—Geschichte und Gestalten 22. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Vollrath, Markus (2012). Welfische Klosterpolitik im 16. Jahrhundert. Ein Spiegelbild der Fürstenreformationen im Reich? Quellen und Darstellungen zur Geschichte Niedersachsens 135. Hanover: Hahnsche Buchhandlung. Ulrich, Ludolf and Simon Sosnitza (eds) (2015). Neue Forschungen zum Zisterzienserkloster Loccum. Kiel: Solivagus-Verlag. Zeller, Winfried (1973). ‘Die kirchengeschichtliche Sicht des Mönchtums im Protestantismus, insbesondere bei Gerhard Tersteegen’. Erbe und Auftrag 49: 17–30. Zimmerling, Peter (2003). Evangelische Spiritualität: Wurzeln und Zugänge. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht. Zippert, Christian (2007). ‘Evangelische Kommunitäten—ein Überblick’. Jahrbuch Mission 39: 85–92.

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chapter 40

The A nglica n Tr a dition Adam D. Mc Coy, OHC

For three hundred years after the dissolution of the monasteries, there were no vowed religious, monasteries, or convents in the Church of England. Then, ignited by the Oxford Movement (1833–1845), monastic life revived. Between 1840 and 1900 more than ninety women’s communities were founded, and thousands of women had taken their first steps as novices. During the same period, some twenty-nine men’s communities were established. By 1900, there were some sixty surviving women’s and men’s communities, with a total membership, including novices, of between 3,000 and 4,000, and Anglican religious life had spread to most of the English-speaking world (Mumm 1999: 3). Since then many more communities following traditional monastic forms have arisen around the Anglican world, as well as numerous non-traditional communities. It is now a recognized feature of the Anglican Church’s life.

Anglican Monasticism: History and Themes Since the Reformation, the Church of England had regarded monastic life with profound suspicion. There were, however, some early stirrings of interest, notably in the family community of Nicholas Ferrar at Little Gidding (1626–1657). Refugees from the revolution in France exposed many to the practical, charitable work of Sisters of Mercy and of Charity, as did the German Lutheran deaconess movement, which had begun in 1836 at Kaiserswerth. Admiration grew for women who devoted themselves to education, caring for the sick, and aiding the disadvantaged. In 1829 the poet laureate Robert Southey called for the establishment of Anglican Sisters of Charity to meet the growing

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622   Adam D. McCoy, OHC needs of both the industrialized and the rural poor (Allchin 1958: 15–51; Anson 1964: 1–28). Anglican religious life was closely tied to the Anglo-Catholic movement. Its first foundations in the Tractarian and Ritualist eras (1833–1890) were followed by Anglican missionary expansion, liberal theological, and Anglo-Papalist movements (1890–1920), and a long period of mature Anglo-Catholicism (1920–1963). The influence of modern theology, history, sociology, and psychology culminated in the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965), marking the acceptance of Anglo-Catholicism’s liturgical goals and its decline. The past sixty years have seen growth in Anglican religious life in Africa and Melanesia and loss in numbers in many other areas. Controversy dominated the early years of Anglican religious life. Fear of Roman Catholic influence was widespread. Early objections were raised to life-long vows, to the alienation of family property, and to the contemplative life, which was regarded as socially useless. While these particular objections have faded, Anglican monastic and religious life has remained peripheral to the main concerns of the Anglican Church. The first generations of Anglican monasticism were outward looking. Women’s communities ignited an explosion of educational, medical, social, and charitable institutions and ministries, while men’s communities challenged established patterns of parish and institutional life and often advocated social justice. As time has passed, Anglican monasticism has concentrated more on inner spiritual life, with a particular emphasis on recovering traditional historical forms of monastic life, theology, and practice.

Tractarians and Ritualists: 1833–1890 The beginnings of Anglican monastic life may be dated to 6 June 1841, when Marian Rebecca Hughes vowed her life to God in the presence of Edward Bouverie Pusey, Regius Professor of Hebrew at Oxford and a leader of the Tractarian movement. For family reasons she pursued her vocation alone until 1847. In America Anne Ayres followed a similar path when, inspired by a sermon of Rev. William Augustus Muhlenberg, a prominent proponent of the social gospel, she dedicated herself on All Saints Day, 1845, and pursued her vocation alone until 1852. The first enduring Anglican communities were established for women in the 1840s. By 1860, some eighteen communities had been founded in England, and another thirtythree by 1890, as well as sixteen in the United States and Canada, three in Africa, and two in Australia. They shared three characteristics. Each embraced charitable work at its core; almost all were founded as cooperative efforts of clergy, interested laity, and the founding women themselves; and all adapted the post-Reformation Roman Catholic forms of charitable sisterhoods rather than the earlier, more traditional forms of the monastic life. Men’s communities began later, were fewer in number, and remained much smaller.

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The Anglican Tradition   623 The work of the early sisterhoods included nursing, home visiting, rehabilitation of women in prostitution, and education, particularly of poor children. Nursing was in its infancy as a profession, and nursing sisters were in the vanguard of a profession made famous by Florence Nightingale in the Crimean War (1853–1856). The selfless work of Anglican sisters among the sick and dying, and among the poor in desperate industrial slums and isolated rural areas, earned the sisterhoods the respect of many who were otherwise prejudiced against the religious life. The ways by which the first religious communities were founded were recognizably Anglican. Over the years a typical pattern emerged: a clergyman concerned for the welfare of a distressed area conceived the need for help. He would then assemble clergy and leading laity, who would identify suitable buildings, initiate a funding plan, and invite interested women to form the community, of which he would be temporal guardian and spiritual advisor. Bishops might or might not be consulted, but most gave consent and blessing once the undertaking was on a firm footing. This pattern of founder-­committeeleader-church approval is, in fact, how most Anglican organizations and works are usually formed. So, although it was not well noted at the time, the religious life began and flourished in characteristically Anglican patterns from the beginning. Before 1860 only the energetic and authoritarian Priscilla Lydia Sellon acted independently when she founded her ‘Devonport Sisterhood’ in the slum areas of Plymouth. But even she acted in response to a public plea for help by the bishop of Exeter, and received his personal encouragement (Williams 1965). The first attempt to organize religious life for women in the Church of England was Pusey’s Sisterhood of the Holy Cross (SHC), in 1845 (Williams and Campbell 1965). It was followed in quick succession in 1848 by Sellon’s Society of the Most Holy Trinity at Devonport, by William John Butler’s Community of St Mary the Virgin (CSMV), and by the nursing Sisters of St John the Divine. Another fifteen communities were founded by 1860, among them the All Saints Sisters in 1851, the Community of St John the Baptist (CSJB) in 1852, founded by Thomas Thelusson Carter with Harriet Monsell, and John Mason Neale’s Society of St Margaret (SSM) in 1855. The wider context of early Anglican efforts to establish monastic life was strongly conditioned by anti-Roman Catholic anxieties. From 1829 to 1867, a number of public acts upset the old religious order in England: the Catholic Emancipation Act (1829); the Irish Temporalities Bill (1833); controversy over government endowment of Maynooth, an Irish Roman Catholic seminary (1845); John Henry Newman’s conversion (1845); the Gorham judgement, reinstating an Anglican clergyman who taught conditional baptismal regeneration (1850); the re-establishment of the Roman Catholic hierarchy in England (1850); an attack by the Prime Minister, Lord Russell, on Tractarians as papists (1850); and criminal prosecutions of ritualist clergy (1867). The suspicion that the new religious communities were crypto-Roman Catholic often led to controversy and in some cases to public and disorderly protest. Three elements of traditional monastic life were missing in these early foundations: the rule and structures of the religious life, vows, and practical, lived experience.

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624   Adam D. McCoy, OHC Experience would accumulate as the years passed, but rules and forms of vows had to be sought elsewhere, or constructed anew. The first rule written for an Anglican religious community was by Pusey for the SHC. It was based on the rule of the Visitation Sisters, founded by Francis de Sales in 1610. Pusey’s rule incorporated sections on visiting the sick and the poor drawn from the rule of the widely admired Sisters of Mercy of Dublin, founded by Catherine McAuley in 1831. Butler’s rule for CSMV was likewise based on the rule of the Visitation Sisters, with additions gleaned from his wide researches and travels. Charitable sisterhoods provided a pattern for many other Anglican communities well into the twentieth century. Early Anglican rules mandated both the full monastic office and full-time work. This com­bin­ ation became normative for Anglican religious life, lending a Benedictine quality even to non-Benedictine foundations. In their independence, Anglican communities have freely modified their early rules and developed their own customs and traditions over the years, and so are not easily classified into types. Non-dispensable lifelong religious vows were for centuries at the core of Protestant criticism of the religious life, encompassing both high-minded scriptural and theo­ logic­al questions and a rich and inventive literature of scandal. The fear was that the young, impressionable, and enthusiastic would be manipulated by unscrupulous or fanatical leaders into making ill-advised commitments under vows, depriving them of freedom, family, and property. The public commitments of the earliest sisters were therefore made in general and time-limited terms, although many women made the traditional vows for life in private. Public profession of the vows for life was still controversial in the 1880s. The greatest early episcopal supporter of the religious life, Samuel Wilberforce, bishop of Oxford from 1845 to 1870, made his position clear: vows were valid only as long as the person making them chose to continue (Anson 1964: 300–304). In spite of these obstacles, religious communities flourished and multiplied. In the first twenty-five years, from 1845 to 1870, some 230 women made final vows. Greater growth and influence followed: by one calculation another 1,530 British women finished their novitiate training and made vows between 1870 and 1900 (Mumm 1999: 220). For Anglican women in Britain the religious life was by 1900 a sizeable and established fact. The first non-British communities arose in New York City: Anne Ayres’ Sisterhood of the Holy Communion in 1852, and the Community of St Mary (CSM) in 1865. CSM’s distinguished history includes not only extensive growth and ministries, but also perhaps the first Anglican monastic martyrs. In 1878 CSM sisters remained in Memphis to nurse the sick during a yellow fever epidemic, knowing that their lives would likely be given in that service. Four died, with others inspired by their example (Mary Hilary 1965: 97–109). SSM established a house in Boston in 1873, and CSJB a house in New York City in 1874. Another American women’s community, the Sisterhood of the Holy Nativity, began in 1882. Foundations soon began throughout the British Empire. In 1874 Alan Becher Webb, the bishop of Bloemfontein, founded the Community of St Mary and All Angels (CSM&AA), one of whose sisters, Henrietta Stockdale, is revered as the founder of ­modern nursing in South Africa. Ten years later Bishop Webb and Cecile Isherwood

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The Anglican Tradition   625 initiated the Community of the Resurrection of our Lord in Grahamstown, to pursue educational, pastoral, and social work. And in 1887 the Society of St John the Divine was established in Natal. In 1884 Hannah Coome began the Sisterhood of St John the Divine in Toronto, whose members earned respect from the sceptical by their nursing work during the 1885 North-West Rebellion. In Melbourne, Emma Caroline Silcock founded the Australian Community of the Holy Name in 1888, and the foundation of the Society of the Sacred Advent followed in 1892. As for Anglican men’s communities, the first were John Henry Newman’s community at Littlemore, near Oxford, and Nashotah House, a missionary community in Wisconsin, both founded in 1842. Littlemore did not long survive Newman’s departure to Rome in 1845. Nashotah became a semi-monastic seminary. Richard Meux Benson initiated the first enduring Anglican men’s religious community. Benson, since 1850 the vicar of Cowley, adjacent to Oxford, was attracted to both the study and practice of the ascetic life. Scholarly and self-denying, he was also a natural and effective parish priest. A friend of Butler and Carter, he knew the CSMV and CSJB communities near Oxford well. He was a student of the Jesuit Spiritual Exercises, and Ignatian spirituality would be prominent in the community he founded. In 1865 he and two friends joined to form the Society of St John the Evangelist (SSJE). They based themselves at Cowley, and on 27 December 1866 they made lifelong vows of celibacy, poverty, and obedience. They made their vows, not before Bishop Wilberforce, whose convictions they respected, but before each other. SSJE began work in America in 1870, in India in 1874, and in South Africa in 1883. The second lasting men’s community was American, begun in 1881 by James Huntington, a young social activist priest, and two friends. Influenced and sponsored by CSJB, the first work of the Order of the Holy Cross (OHC) was with German-speaking immigrants in the Lower East Side of New York City. OHC combined the work with the poor that was characteristic of the early sisterhoods with the preaching, mission, and spiritual direction characteristic of SSJE. OHC added Benedict’s Rule to Huntington’s rule in 1984, and these dual energies have remained at the core of its identity. In 1863 Joseph Leycester Lyne, charismatic, romantic, persuasive, and possibly a bit mad, began the first substantial Anglican Benedictine community. Guided by Sellon and Pusey, he served briefly as deacon to Charles Lowder, the famous slum priest of St Peter’s, London Docks, who disapproved of his monastic habit. Calling himself Fr Ignatius, Lyne issued a pamphlet in 1862 calling for the restoration of monasticism in the Church of England, and then entered on a career of itinerant preaching to attract followers. His community found a home in 1869 near Llanthony in the Black Mountains of Wales. In time, he drifted into an attempted revival of the ‘ancient British church’, neodruidism and the beginnings of Wicca, British Israelitism, and flat earth beliefs, as well as more serious efforts to restore the Welsh language. Ordained priest by the episcopus vagans Joseph René Villatte in 1898, Lyne remained loyal to his own sense of vocation, died in 1908, and is buried at Llanthony.

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626   Adam D. McCoy, OHC

Liberals and Papalists: 1890–1945 The publication in 1889 of Lux Mundi, edited by Charles Gore, himself soon to be a monastic founder, proclaimed a new Anglo-Catholic era. It was a revolutionary attempt to reconcile biblical studies and liberal thinking with Christian theology through the Incarnation. A new generation, influenced by visions of wider social inclusion, as well as by the colonialist expansion of European power, sought to embody these values in new religious communities. Some twelve communities for men came into being in this period, notably the Community of the Resurrection (CR) in 1892, founded by Gore and other Christian Socialist clergy, while in 1893 Herbert Kelly founded the Society of the Sacred Mission (SSM) for the training of middle- and working-class men for the ministry. The Society of the Holy Cross, an association of celibate Anglo-Catholic clergy, had been founded by Charles Lowder in 1855. The Oratory of the Good Shepherd, founded in 1913, organized community life for dispersed celibate clergy. In the United States, Eva Lee Matthews founded the Community of the Transfiguration (1898), and American SSJE inspired the Order of St Anne (1910). A generation after Fr Ignatius’ efforts, Benedictine life was established on a firmer basis by Aelred Carlyle at Caldey Island (1896). He and most of his community became Roman Catholic in 1913. But his work bore lasting Anglican fruit when, in 1914, a former member, Denys Prideaux, helped found Pershore, later Nashdom, Abbey. The Society of St Paul, now Alton Abbey, founded in 1889 to aid distressed sailors, began to follow the Rule of Benedict in 1893. Under Carlyle’s influence, the first women’s Benedictine community, founded by Jessie Park Moncrieff, adopted the Rule of Benedict and the Latin office. Those who remained Anglican founded Malling Abbey in Kent in 1916. Many communities founded under Anglican rules have since adopted the Rule of Benedict. Today some two dozen communities identify themselves as Benedictine. Roman Catholic influence on Anglo-Catholics took a new direction with the 1896 publication of the bull Apostolicae curae by Leo XIII, in which he declared Anglican orders ‘absolutely null and utterly void’. Anglicans who had hoped for reunion with Rome on the basis of mutual recognition formed a new party, loosely called AngloPapalism. It intended to fashion Anglican worship and forms as closely as possible to Roman models, so that the Church would be ready for reunion if the 1896 teaching were ever to be superseded. Anglo-Papalism flourished in England until the Second Vatican Council. Religious communities played an important role in the Anglo-Papalist movement, in their symbolic role exemplifying Anglican catholicity, but more, as communities giving daily reality to its spiritual values. The Nashdom Benedictines were strong adherents from the beginning, and several women’s communities came under their influence, including Malling Abbey and the Society of the Precious Blood, founded in 1905. Beginning in the 1930s CR became engaged in the movement as well. Individual adherents were found in many communities.

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The Anglican Tradition   627 Franciscan community life first emerged with the Society of the Divine Compassion (1894). The women’s Community of St Francis was formed in 1905; the American Order of Poor Brethren of St Francis in 1919; and the English Brotherhood of St Francis of Assisi in 1921. Anglican Franciscan life eventually amalgamated into the Society of St Francis (SSF), with additional communities now also in Brazil, Korea, and Melanesia. One of the most remarkable forms of monastic life for men began in Australia in 1897, when the first of some twenty Bush Brotherhoods was formed. Founded to provide ministry to isolated communities in the Outback, many of their members were young, enthusiastic Anglo-Catholic clergy looking for the adventure of mission. They vowed celibacy, poverty, and obedience, usually for five years, and attended a general community reunion several times a year. In 1972 the assets of the last three Brotherhoods were merged into the Brotherhood of the Good Shepherd, now a social service agency for rural life. The Bush Brotherhoods are an important part of the self-image of Australian Anglicanism. Anglican religious life entered perhaps its most influential period after the First World War. This was the era of the great Anglo-Catholic Congresses of the 1920s and 1930s, which brought together tens of thousands for mass celebrations, speeches, and meetings, prominently featuring members of Anglican religious orders. During the early part of this period many communities reached the height of their membership, some having hundreds of members and dozens of houses. Nursing and education, social welfare work, and scholarship were thriving. Confidence in the principles of Anglican Catholic life as it was then understood was never higher. In 1925 Ini Kopuria, a former policeman and devout Anglican from Guadalcanal in the Solomon Islands, founded the Melanesian Brotherhood. Devoted to overcoming ethnic conflict in Melanesia, the Brotherhood has played a significant role in ethnic reconciliation. Seven brothers suffered martyrdom for this cause in 2003 (Carter 2006). The Melanesian Brotherhood is the largest Anglican religious community in the world, at its height numbering many hundreds and now counting some 282 brothers under vows and more than 170 novices (Dunstan  2017: 88). In 2004 it received the Pacific Human Rights Award for its peace work. In the late 1950s SSF began work in Papua New Guinea, and it now numbers some sixty-one friars there and in the Solomon Islands. Melanesia now claims the largest number of Anglican religious. Asian men’s communities began in India as early as 1877 with the Brotherhood of the Ascended Christ, and with the Brotherhood of the Epiphany in 1880. They were followed by the Sisterhood of the Epiphany in 1902, the Sisterhood of St Mary, and the St Andrew’s Brotherhood, both in 1911, and then the Christa Prema Seva Sangha in 1934. In 1929 the Bangladeshi Sisterhood of the Epiphany was founded, and in 1948 the Order of Women of the Church of South India. In Korea the Society of the Holy Cross was founded by the English Community of St Peter (1925). Their Sr Mary Clara, killed in North Korea in 1950, is considered a martyr. In Africa the Community of the Sacred Passion (CSP), founded in 1910 by Bishop Frank Weston, soon began work throughout Tanzania. In 1924 the South African CSM&AA established the Community of St Mary at the Cross (CSMC) in Leribe,

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628   Adam D. McCoy, OHC Lesotho. Eleven years after its UK foundation at Whitby in 1915, the Order of the Holy Paraclete (OHP) began work in Ghana, now at Jachie, near Kumasi and Sunyani. And in 1936 the CR fathers helped found what became the Holy Name Community (CZR) in Zimbabwe.

Mid-Century to Millennium: 1945 to the Present Trends that would be validated by the Second Vatican Council had been on the horizon for a decade or more, including new biblical, liturgical, and theological studies, as well as new ideas of psychology, community, and authority. Some Anglican monastic orders ignored these changes, but the council made further resistance almost impossible. Anglo-Papalists seemed stranded, and some, like Nashdom, struggled. Its American daughter, St Gregory’s Abbey, continues. Most communities successfully adapted to the new environment. Anglican liturgical reforms came to embody many Anglo-Catholic goals, but in that process Anglo-Catholicism lost much of its cohesiveness as a distinct movement. Most Anglican communities have since entered into the mainstream of Anglican life. Many first-world communities founded in this period have remained small, though some have prospered, such as the Order of St Helena in the United States. Women’s communities have generally declined in numbers, partly because careers are now widely available to women, and partly because requirements for education, health, and social work have become too complex for many communities to manage. Women’s ordination has brought greater sacramental autonomy, reducing the need for outside clergy. Many gender-specific characteristics of women’s communities have disappeared. Women’s and men’s community growth dynamics have become more and more similar. Institutional independence and smaller community size, traditionally characteristic of Anglican men’s communities, are now shared by both men and women. As the millennium drew near, Anglican growth shifted to Africa and the developing world. In 1970 the Sisters of the Church, founded in 1870, began work in the Solomon Islands, and now number some fifty sisters. Ten years later the Community of Sisters of Melanesia began, complementing the Brotherhood, with some fifty members as well. The other burst of growth is in Africa. A notable African connection was begun by the English Community of the Holy Name (CHN), founded in 1865. CHN began work in 1931 with OHC in Bolahun, Liberia. In 1959 they absorbed the indigenous CSMC in Lesotho. CHN was subsequently established in Zululand (1969), Mozambique (1980), Zimbabwe (1982), and South Africa (1993). CHN communities now number some ninety sisters. A second connection grew from the Holy Name Community (CZR) founded by the CR fathers in Penhalonga, Zimbabwe in 1935, which engendered two other communities in Zimbabwe, at Bonda and Harare. CSP founded the Chama cha

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The Anglican Tradition   629 Mariamu Mtakatifu (CMM) in 1946, now with eighty-five sisters in twelve houses in Tanzania and Malawi. Contemporary interest in monastic life and spirituality has led to new forms of religious life, including communities in which both men and women live together under traditional vows. A hermit movement has emerged, with solitaries generally making vows to their diocesan bishops. New companies of celibates living and ministering apart have sprung up. Professing vows reinterpreted for members living and supporting themselves, some celibate and some not, an almost kaleidoscopic variety of communities, began to emerge in the 1960s. New Monasticism, whose members are largely evangelical from both within and beyond Anglicanism, is the most recent of these dynamic movements.

Areas for Further Research Anglican monasticism is an underdeveloped field of study. In narrative history, biog­ raph­ies and histories of communities predominate, but many communities remain undocumented or chronicled only by brief internal histories. Archival resources and access vary widely. The close connection of Anglican monasticism to Anglo-Catholicism has been recently explored by Pickering (1989), Reed (1996), Yelton (2005), Gunstone (2010), and Kollar (2011). No general narrative history of Anglican monasticism has appeared since Anson’s Call of the Cloister (1964). Analytic history has been slow to develop. This is due partly to the relatively small size of Anglican communities, and partly because Anglican polity does not give a central place to monasticism. Consequently the study of Anglican monasticism is rich in scholarly opportunity. Academic historians have begun to bring sociology and other analytic tools to focus on Anglican religious life, including interest in legitimation (Hill 1973) and in women’s history (Mumm 1999). Anglican monastic communal organization and psycho-social development are undeveloped fields. Because of early sensitivity to Roman influence, Anglican monastic rules at first did not follow classic models. Influenced by the widely admired Visitation and Daughters of Charity movements, early rules were generally revised over time by community process, which presents challenges to anyone who wishes to edit them. Vaggione’s work (1996) on OHC’s rule is exemplary, though for the most part distinctively Anglican rules await research. Explicitly Benedictine and Franciscan communities were founded beginning in the late 1800s, and the impact of Anglicanism on these traditions likewise awaits study. Early Anglican monastic theology was largely authored by non-monastic founders and tended to be theoretical, rhetorical, occasional, and polemic. A later stage consisted largely of devotional works, especially retreat addresses. More systematic theological works were slower to appear, and were often based on traditional Roman Catholic

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630   Adam D. McCoy, OHC ­ odels, epitomised by S. C. Hughson’s The Fundamentals of the Religious State (1915). m After the 1960s, contemporary psychology and forms of thought replaced older methods, as in Andrew Marr’s commentary on Benedict, Tools for Peace (Marr 2007). A sympathetic treatment of earlier theologies, identifying distinctively Anglican elements, remains to be done. Ecclesiological research is in its infancy. As the Anglican Communion comprises thirty-eight autonomous provinces with no central magisterium, governance of monastic communities is subject to the canons and customs of each province. In the Church of England official discussions of religious communities frequently took place in Convocation beginning in 1861, and at the Lambeth Conference of 1897, but no formal legislation ensued (Allchin 1958: 157–180). The American Episcopal Church enacted a canon on the religious life in 1914, but most communities, regarding it as too restrictive, continued without ecclesial recognition. In lieu of official canons, in 1935 the Church of England created a representative Advisory Council, which issued a handbook of guidelines in 1943, now in its fifth edition (Advisory Council 2004). Most Anglican provinces follow this model. In the United States an improved canon on the religious life was enacted in 1976, augmented in 1985 with a section for non-traditional communities. For internal governance, most Anglican communities adopt a rule and constitution and make policy through regular legislative meetings, which elect the superior. They also choose a bishop visitor, who safeguards the community’s governing processes. In liturgical practice, Morning and Evening Prayer from The Book of Common Prayer (BCP) have always been normative for devout Anglicans. So the revival of the monastic office for Anglicans was a matter more of elaboration than of innovation. As monastic communities evolved, each developed its own specific adaptations, and over time several liturgical books became standard (Williams  1950). Several communities have recently produced their own breviaries. Revisions of the BCP often enshrine monastic practice in four-fold Daily Office form. Communal monastic eucharistic practice has been influential as well. Anglican monastics have always given parish missions, retreats, confession, and spiritual direction, and more recently they have been influential in the promotion of contemplative and meditative practices. Major writers from Anglican monastic communities include R. M. Benson, Charles Gore, Father Andrew, Walter Frere, Shirley Carter Hughson, Gregory Dix, A. G. Hebert, Bonnell Spencer, Barnabas Lindars, H. A. Williams, Benedicta Ward, Andrew Marr, and many others. The growing interest in Benedictine spirituality seen among laypeople has roots in Anglican monasticism, particularly in Esther de Waal’s Seeking God (1984), which initiated the now important genre of lay Benedictine spirituality.

Suggested Reading After more than fifty years Allchin (1958) and Anson (1964) are still fundamental. The best brief guide to contemporary communities is the biennial handbook Anglican

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The Anglican Tradition   631 Religious Life, edited by Petà Dunstan (2017). A new generation of community histories which place their subjects in wider contexts has arisen. They include works on OHC (McCoy 1987), Australian CHN (Strahan 1988), CR (Wilkinson 1992), SSM (Mason 1993), Aelred Carlyle (Kollar  1995), SSF (Dunstan  1997), Nashdom (Dunstan  2009), CSJB (Bonham 2012), and SSJE (James 2019). Allchin (1958) has short introductions to the founders Carter, Butler, Neale, and Benson. There are fuller introductions to Benson in Smith (1983), to Pusey in Butler (1983), to Neale by Chandler (1995), to Fr Ignatius in Allen (2016), and to Gore by Waddell (2014). Benedicta Ward and Barnabas Lindars wrote on monastic theology for the 150th anniversary of the Oxford Movement (Rowell 1986: 199–225). John Henry Newman’s widely accepted narrative framework for the Anglo-Catholic movement from his Apologia pro Vita Sua has begun to be re-evaluated, notably by Nockles (1994), Faught (2003), and Brown and Nockles (2012). For general background on Anglicanism, see the chapters in Strong’s Oxford History of Anglicanism (2017–2018).

Bibliography Advisory Council on the Relations of Bishops and Religious Communities (2004). A Handbook of the Religious Life, 5th edn. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Allchin, A.  M. (1958). The Silent Rebellion: Anglican Religious Communities, 1845–1900. London: SCM Press. Allen, Hugh (2016). New Llanthony Abbey: Father Ignatius’s Monastery at Capel-y-ffin. [Oxford]: Peterscourt Press. Anson, Peter F. (1964). The Call of the Cloister: Religious Communities and Kindred Bodies in the Anglican Communion, rev. edn. London: SPCK. Bonham, Valerie (2012). A Joyous Service: The Clewer Sisters and their Work, 2nd rev. edn. Oxford: CSJB Books. Brown, Steward F. and Peter B. Nockles (eds) (2012). The Oxford Movement: Europe and the Wider World 1830–1930. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Butler, Perry (1983). Pusey Rediscovered. London: SPCK. Carter, Richard Anthony (2006). In Search of the Lost: The Death and Life of Seven Peacemakers of the Melanesian Brotherhood. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Chandler, Michael (1995). The Life and Work of John Mason Neale, 1818–1866. Leominster: Gracewing. de Waal, Esther (1984). Seeking God: The Way of St Benedict. London: Fount. Dunlop, Sheila Smith (2014). Some Suitable Women: A study of an Anglican religious community for women: Its work with the mission to the streets and lanes in Melbourne and beyond 1888–2013. Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock. Dunstan, Petà (ed.) (2017). Anglican Religious Life 2018–19. A Yearbook of Religious Orders and Communities in the Anglican Communion, and Tertiaries, Oblates, Associates and Companions, 11th edn. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Dunstan, Petà (2009). The Labour of Obedience: The Benedictines of Pershore, Nashdom and Elmore. A History. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Dunstan, Petà (1997). This Poor Sort: A History of the European Province of the Society of St Francis. London: Darton, Longman, and Todd.

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632   Adam D. McCoy, OHC Faught, C. Brad (2003). The Oxford Movement: A Thematic History of the Tractarians and their Times. University Park, PA: Pennsylvania State University Press. Gunstone, John (2010). Lift High the Cross: Anglo-Catholics and the Congress Movement. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Hill, Michael (1973). The Religious Order: A study of virtuoso religion and its legitimation in the nineteenth-century Church of England. London: Heinemann. Hughson, Shirley Carter (1915). The Fundamentals of the Religious State. New York: Longmans, Green and Co. James, Serenhedd (2019). The Cowley Fathers: A History of the English Congregation of the Society of St John the Evangelist. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Kollar, Rene (2011). A Foreign and Wicked Institution? The Campaign against Convents in Victorian England. Eugene, OR: Pickwick Publications. Kollar, Rene (1995). Abbot Aelred Carlyle, Caldey Island, and the Anglo-Catholic Revival in England. New York: Peter Lang. Marr, Andrew (2007). Tools for Peace: The Spiritual Craft of St Benedict and René Girard. New York: iUniverse. Mary Hilary, Sister (1965). Ten Decades of Praise: The Story of the Community of Saint Mary During its First Century, 1865 to 1965. Racine, WI: DeKoven Foundation. Mason, Alistair (1993). History of the Society of the Sacred Mission. Norwich: Canterbury Press. McCoy, Adam Dunbar (1987). Holy Cross: A Century of Anglican Monasticism. Wilton, CT: Morehouse-Barlow. Mumm, Susan (1999). Stolen Daughters, Virgin Mothers: Anglican Sisterhoods in Victorian Britain. London: Leicester University Press. Nockles, Peter  B. (1994). The Oxford Movement in Context: Anglican High Churchmanship, 1760–1857. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press. Pickering, W.  S.  F. (1989). Anglo-Catholicism: A Study in Religious Ambiguity. London: Routledge. Reed, John Shelton (1996). Glorious Battle: The Cultural Politics of Victorian Anglo-Catholicism. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press. Rowell, Geoffrey (ed.) (1986). Tradition Renewed: The Oxford Movement Conference Papers. Allison Park, PA: Pickwick Publications. Smith, Martin (ed.) (1983). Benson of Cowley. Cambridge, MA: Cowley Publications. Stebbing, Nicholas (ed.) (2003). Anglican Religious Life: A well kept secret? Dublin: Dominican Publications. Strahan, Lynne (1988). Out of the Silence. A Study of a Religious Community for Women: The Community of the Holy Name. Melbourne: Oxford University Press. Strong, Rowan (ed.) (2017–2018). The Oxford History of Anglicanism. 5 vols. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Vaggione, Richard Paul (1996). The Rule of James Otis Sargent Huntington and his Successors. West Park, NY: The Order of the Holy Cross. Waddell, Peter (2014). Charles Gore: Prophet and Pastor. Charles Gore and His Writings. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Wilkinson, Alan (1992). The Community of the Resurrection: A Centenary History. London: SCM Press. Williams, Thomas Jay (1965). Priscilla Lydia Sellon: The Restorer After Three Centuries of the Religious Life in the English Church, rev. edn. London: SPCK.

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The Anglican Tradition   633 Williams, Thomas Jay (1950). Anglican Versions of the Breviary. Cambridge, MA: Society of St John the Evangelist. Williams, Thomas Jay and Allan Walter Campbell (1965). The Park Village Sisterhood. London: SPCK. Yelton, Michael (2005). Anglican Papalism: An Illustrated History, 1900–1960. Norwich: Canterbury Press.

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chapter 41

The ‘N ew Monasticism’ Douglas E. Christie and Bernadette Flanagan

Introduction The complex and wide-ranging phenomenon known as ‘new monasticism’ has become an important part of the contemporary religious landscape. Still, it is not easy to say precisely what kind of phenomenon it is. Nor is it easy to understand why it is emerging and growing at this particular historical moment or what the particular nature of its appeal is. Much of the difficulty in addressing these questions has to do with the wide diversity in origins, influences, styles, and aims of the various communities and initiatives loosely grouped under the name ‘new monasticism’. Also challenging is the range of different ways these diverse initiatives are entering into and shaping the contemporary conversation about spiritual meaning. Is what we now refer to as ‘new monasticism’ best understood as a way of living, modelled on but also departing from classic, communal monastic forms? Or is its significance to be found more in its central ideas and practices, drawn from monastic traditions but gaining new life and meaning from the distinctive contexts from which they are now emerging and to which they are responding? Also, how should we assess the role new monasticism is playing in providing a critique of and response to certain pervasive and destructive social, cultural, and political patterns? And its efforts to offer an alternative vision of life rooted in enduring contemplative ­ideals? A rich array of ideas and communal experiments has emerged in the last fifty years loosely gathered around the idea of new monasticism. In what follows, we offer a description and analysis aimed at helping us locate the new monasticism, both in ­relation to so-called ‘old’ monasticism and in relation to the shifting historical, religious, and cultural context from which it is emerging and to which it is offering its own response.

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The ‘New Monasticism’   635

Background Inspiration to New Monasticism Although a wide range of positions may be occupied by new monastic communities in the contemporary religious landscape, there are certain commonalities regarding their foundational inspiration. Four key figures who have anticipated and/or influenced the emergence of new monasticisms are Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906–1945), George MacLeod (1895–1991), Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1881–1955), and Thomas Merton (1915–1968). One of the most significant sources for the linguistic expression ‘new monasticism’ has been provided by the Lutheran pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer in his book The Cost of Discipleship (Bonhoeffer 1959). Prior to writing this book, Bonhoeffer had expressed his conviction that authentic Christian living required uncompromising integrity in the face of vastly changed sociocultural circumstances. This insight arose for him from the unique challenges he encountered in living Christianity under the political oppression of the Third Reich. In a letter to his brother Karl-Friedrich in 1935 he asserted: ‘The restoration of the church must surely come only from a new type of monasticism . . . I think it is time to gather people together to do this . . .’ (de Gruchy 1997: 48). When he became director of a seminary for the Confessing Church, which was founded to oppose the collusion of the official German Protestant churches with Nazism, Bonhoeffer had the opportunity to work out his new monasticism vision concretely together with six or­din­ ands. Coinciding with the awakening of Bonhoeffer were the efforts of George MacLeod, who founded the Iona Community in Scotland in 1938. MacLeod was a Church of Scotland pastor who organized out-of-work stonemasons and carpenters in Glasgow to rebuild the medieval abbey on the island of Iona. His dream was to close the gap between work and worship by integrating a busy, active life with a rhythm of awareness of God at work in all dimensions of daily involvement, a vision embedded in the Celtic tradition. In a Catholic context, the Jesuit priest Pierre Teilhard de Chardin saw the future of religion as symbolized by a kind of rapprochement between human life as lived within monastic settings and human life lived outside monastery walls. This vision was embedded in his cosmic evolutionary vision. In his 1927 work Le Milieu Divin (The Divine Milieu) he intuited that a time was coming when ‘there will be little to separate life in the cloister from life in the world’ (de Chardin  1978: 67). Similarly, the Trappist monk Thomas Merton anticipated in his own spiritual consciousness some of the changes we are currently witnessing in the birth of new monasticisms. Merton uniquely captures the shift in spiritual consciousness involved in the development of new monasticism in a notable account of his own awakening, described in his book Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander. Merton describes the originality of his insight as ‘waking from a dream of separateness, of spurious self-isolation in a special world, the world of renunciation and supposed holiness’ (Merton  1989: 156). It seemed clear to him that in the future the monastic spirit would flourish both within and beyond its traditional walls.

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636   Douglas E. Christie and Bernadette Flanagan

Categories of New Monasticism The synchronic intuitions of Bonhoeffer, MacLeod, de Chardin, and Merton served as important inspirations for the emergence of what is variously called the ‘new monasticism’, ‘monasticism without walls’, ‘invisible monasticism’, ‘portable monasticism’, ‘secular ‘monasticism’, ‘lay monasticism’, or ‘everyday monasticism’. As these different descriptors make clear, ‘as a movement new monasticism is not coherent or unified; it operates in a low-key way, and generally at a grassroots level’ (Adams and Mobsby 2009: 55). Because of this, the work of describing and analyzing the stages of its unfolding, as well as the forms and types of expressions of this new spiritual vision remains immensely challenging. Nevertheless, it is possible to identify three broad types of new monasticism (based on the sources on which they draw, rather than the era/wave to which they belong): conceptual, classical, and contextual.

Conceptual New Monasticism Conceptual new monasticism encompasses those groups who develop rules for Gospel living under the influence of some of the seminal thinkers named earlier. This category therefore includes those people who personally came under the influence of Thomas Merton. Dorothy Day (1897–1980), founder of the Catholic Worker Movement, and Catherine deHueck Doherty (1896–1985), founder of Friendship House in New York and Madonna House in Canada, both belong to the group of new monastics who sought to bring the naked presence to God, characteristic of monasticism, alive in the circumstances of social poverty and alienation. The new monastic expressions influenced by Bonhoeffer also belong to this cluster. The Northumbria community, which has its community hub in the north-east of England and was founded in 1995, aligns, for example, the community story with Bonhoeffer’s vision. The influence of Bonhoeffer is also evident in the Community of the Transformation at Geelong, Victoria, Australia, which was established in the early 1970s. New monasticism clusters within the Protestant evangelical tradition that are having a global impact may also be located within this conceptual category. Their writings often acknowledge the influence of the Scottish moral philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre. MacIntyre’s ethical writings articulated a politics that provided a framework for communities of people who aspired to sustain a way of life, based on traditions of virtue, in the midst of the corrosive effects of ultra-liberalism. Jonathan Wilson-Hartgrove and his wife Leah are representative of founders of such communities. Shortly before the United States began the bombing of Iraq in 2003, they travelled to Iraq as members of a Christian Peacemaker Team determined to witness to the Iraqi people that not all American Christians supported the war. Their experiences became the subject of a book entitled To Baghdad and Beyond (Wilson-Hartgrove 2005). In this book they tell the story of their ultimate conversion to the lived reality of ‘new monasticism’ when they experienced

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The ‘New Monasticism’   637 extended hospitality in the village of Rutba in Iraq after the jeep in which they were travelling had an accident. On their return home they set about establishing Rutba House, a local neighbourhood community of hospitality that prays, eats, and lives monastic hospitality in the setting of a family home. Two significant influences on the turn of Jonathan and Leah to monastic spirituality values for the purpose of expressing full-hearted Gospel living in daily life were the Catholic Worker Movement and Leah’s father, Jonathan R. Wilson. The latter had refreshed the contemporary usage of the term ‘new monasticism’ in his 1997 book, Living Faithfully in a Fragmented World: Lessons for the Church from MacIntyre’s ‘After Virtue’ (Wilson 1997: 68). There has been an explosion of groups with similar inspiration—the Simple Way, led by Shane Claiborne in Philadelphia; the Nehemiah Community in Springfield, Massachusetts; and the Mennonite-affiliated Reba Place Fellowship in Evanston, Illinois; as well as many other establishments in North America.

Classical New Monasticism Classical new monasticism embraces classical traditions of monasticism for practical inspiration. Some groups emerging within this category have a strong association with classical monastic rules such those lived by the Camaldolese, Cistercian, or Benedictine orders. ‘Monasteries of the Heart’, for example, begun in April 2011 by the Benedictine Sisters of Erie, Pennsylvania, is rooted in the conviction that the Benedictine Rule can support the growing quest for spiritual community in Western society today. Concurrent with the emergence of these new living expressions of monasticism, there is a vibrant and diverse literature which supports the movement. The Welsh scholar Esther de Waal (de Waal  1984), as well as the widely published authors Kathleen Norris (Norris 1996), and Beverly Lanzetta (Lanzetta 2014) have all made significant contributions to translating monastic wisdom into daily life commitments and practices. Among the structures of classical monasticism which have been translated within the new monasticism movement is the skete arrangement. This approach to sharing support in the spiritual journey can be traced back to the Egyptian desert monastic movement. The arrangement consists in the geographical clustering of persons who are on a common monastic-inspired spiritual journey. Philip Roderick has described it as ‘connected solitude’ (Roderick 2010). This category also includes groups who seek to translate the extinct Celtic monastic tradition into contemporary expression. An ex­ample of this is the Franciscan Order of Céli Dé, where the Rule of St Francis written in 1221 (Regula non bullata) and the teachings of the Celtic saints inform their way of life (Flanagan 2013: 25).

Contextual New Monasticism Contextual new monasticism is a category of new monasticism which embraces those groups for whom a new expression of some monastic commitments is an effort to bring the Gospel into dialogue with the hopes and anxieties of recent decades. The Second

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638   Douglas E. Christie and Bernadette Flanagan World War, for example, provided a catalyst for new experimentation with monasticism. Brother Roger (1915–2005), who sowed the seeds of Taizé, and Chiara Lubich (1920–2008), who founded Focolare, both established their communities of rec­on­cili­ ation and inclusion within an environment of war, distrust, religious intolerance, and violence. Other groups embraced the artistic turn in contemporary culture as a key resource in nurturing contemplative consciousness. This expression has a tangible mani­fest­ation in the work of Christine Valters Paintner who has developed the online monastery ‘Abbey of the Arts’. Similarly, Ian Adams, the founder of mayBe community in Oxford, England, has communicated his new monastic vision in poetry, art, pho­tog­ raphy, and music (Adams 2010). Included in this category of new monasticism are those initiatives that seek to find expression in abandoned places such as prisons. At Kumla, which is in central Sweden and is the location of one of Sweden’s three high security prisons, there is a special div­ ision called the Monastery. This division was opened in 2003 by a Lutheran minister and a Jesuit priest. At the Monastery, prisoners may participate in a silent retreat in the Ignatian tradition. The aim of the Monastery project is to support prisoners in gaining the courage to stop denying their demons and in accepting their true beauty before God (Sizoo 2004, 2010). Finally, this category embraces a cluster of expressions of new monasticism which reflect emerging new frontiers in spirituality, such as eco-spiritualty and inter­spirituality. In the former category, an initiative such as Green Mountain Monastery identifies itself as the sixth major epochal expression of monasticism—desert, community, mendicant, intellectual, activist, planetary/cosmological—and as such is a necessary and fundamental development in monasticism’s form for our present time of ecological concern. In the inter-spiritual variety of new monasticism, the foundations of community are built on the spiritual wisdom of multiple religious traditions. A significant figure for this form of new expression of monasticism is Wayne Teasdale, who captured his vision in the image of the ‘mystic heart’ (Teasdale 2002). In this image Teasdale has emphasized that the encounters between religions today must, for the well-being of humanity, go beyond an intellectual connection to one where the direct mystical experience of reality is known together.

Interpretive Lens: New Monasticism as Lived Religion It is useful to consider the diverse and wide-ranging phenomenon of new monasticism through the lens of two key questions that have emerged in contemporary scholarship on religion. First, in what way can discussions about the ambiguous relationship between ‘spirituality’ and ‘religion’ help us understand the emergence, appeal, and meaning of new monasticism? Second, how might the concept of ‘lived religion’ be brought to bear in illuminating some of the characteristic means employed by new

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The ‘New Monasticism’   639 monasticism of seeking spiritual meaning? What these questions have in common is their attention to the at times fraught, and always complex, relationship between more classical or traditional forms of religious practice and belief and those ideas and practices emerging on the margins of, or beyond, such forms. They also point to the need to attend carefully to a cultural-historical moment in which many traditional sources of spiritual meaning have begun to erode, and in which the improvised blending of ideas and practices from different traditions has become commonplace. The very name ‘new monasticism’ suggests a debt to older, more traditional forms of spiritual life and practice, while at the same time proposing a strong presence of new ideas and practices that will serve to extend, critique, or otherwise revise those older forms. Exercising deep attention to the location of new monastic endeavours mirrors, for example, the intentional seeking of the desert space within early monasticism. Today, however, challenges such as the global ecological crisis set the scene for the integration of ecological ethics into the architecture, work, and food practices of new monasteries (Taylor 2007). The postmodern (or hyper-modern) world we now inhabit allows for and even celebrates certain modes of religious and spiritual improvisation, habits of mixing and exploration that cannot always be fitted easily into more classic forms of religious practice and belief. New monasticism, with its creative blending of traditional monastic forms, ideas, and practices and non-traditional and non-monastic forms, ideas, and practices provides a vivid reminder of just how fluid, eclectic, and dynamic the emergence of new spiritual movements can be; also how supple and open our interpretive responses to them must be. How best to understand what kind of movement the new monasticism is, and what its characteristic contributions are to the ongoing project of monastic living and (as at least some of its proponents advocate) to the possibility of social, cultural, and political renewal? A consideration of the evolving understanding of the relationship between ‘spirituality’ and ‘religion’ and the emerging importance of the idea of ‘lived religion’ is essential to this work. To access, describe, and interpret the often-hidden and idiosyncratic spiritual lives of actual human beings in the contemporary moment, one must be prepared to travel far beyond the conventional maps of religious belonging and ask questions for which we are only just beginning to develop a vocabulary. In some cases, this entails recognizing that spiritual identity often exists independent of, even in opposition to, classic forms of religious belonging; this sensibility is reflected in the increasingly recognizable idiom by which a person describes herself as being ‘spiritual but not religious’, that is spiritually alive but not tied to a traditional religious organization or ideology. Still, much analysis of the public turn to spirituality (Fuller 2001; Schneiders 2003) suggests that such simple juxtaposition of the religious and the spiritual is often inadequate to describe the complex blending of religious idioms and practices that characterizes the spiritual ex­peri­ ences of growing numbers of contemporary people, including those drawn to participate in the new monasticism. Spiritual identity can and often does exist outside or in opposition to traditional forms of religious belonging. However, deepening spiritual awareness often serves to enliven the more formal dimensions of religious belonging and is in turn given weight

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640   Douglas E. Christie and Bernadette Flanagan and substance by being understood in relation to historical religious traditions. So too there is a growing awareness of the danger of identifying spirituality too closely with the so-called ‘inner’ dimension of religious identity, and thus neglecting its complex relationship with critical social and material dimensions of existence. In practice, spirituality does often refer to the felt sense of the transcendent grounded in the deepest part of one’s being; still, it is increasingly apparent that such spiritual awareness arises in response to concrete social, political, economic, sexual, or ecological dimensions of existence and in turn informs a person’s capacity to respond to these realities. Understanding the meaning and significance of spirituality within contemporary ex­peri­ence requires an ability to develop language and categories adequate to the task of tracing and interpreting what is without question a fluid, changing, and increasingly influential dimension of religious life. It has particular importance for understanding how adherents of new monasticism are attempting the delicate but important work of retrieving past monastic practices and ideas (Buschart and Eilers 2015), while also giving them new form and meaning in the contemporary world (Palmisano 2016). The idea of ‘lived religion’, which has become an increasingly important category for describing and analyzing contemporary spiritual experience, can also help us understand the particular style, approach, and appeal of new monasticism. Taking its name from a long-standing idea in the French tradition of sociology (la religion vécue), ‘lived religion’ (indebted to sociological theory and methods while also drawing on cultural and ethnographic approaches to the study of religion to interpret religious thought and practice) is defined by one of its proponents as: ‘religion as practiced . . . the everyday thinking and doing of lay men and women’ (Hall 1997: vii). The advantages of adopting this approach in seeking to understand and interpret new monasticism are many, not least of which is a greater ability to track what Wade Clark Roof, following Mary Catherine Bateson, has called ‘the arts of improvisation’ that have become so important to its various expressions. One of the most significant expressions of such improvisation, Roof suggests, is the ‘creative refocusing of religious resources’, or ‘recombination’ of partly familiar symbols and practices, often in response to personal or collective crisis (Roof 1999: 133). Roof notes that ritual is often a primary means by which this creative recombination of religious symbols occurs, whether this takes the form of the creative reimagining of ancient rituals or the invention of new rituals (Roof 1999). The im­port­ ance of improvisation or ‘blending’ of traditions also comes through strongly in Meredith McGuire’s important study, Lived Religion: Faith and Practice in Everyday Life. She calls attention to the importance of what she calls the ‘logic of lived religion’, the fact that in the lived experience of persons and communities, one does not always observe logically coherent belief systems, but instead a creative blending of traditions and practices that requires and calls forth from both people and communities a ‘practical coherence’ (McGuire 2008: 15). This careful attention to what works, to what enables a person or community to make sense of the often wildly disparate elements of the world and culture in which they live, is one of the hallmarks of much contemporary spiritual practice. The renewed attention to the complex relationship between spirituality and religion and to the importance of ‘lived religion’ can help us understand and interpret the

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The ‘New Monasticism’   641 s­ till-emerging phenomenon of new monasticism, especially in its ambiguous location in a kind of borderland space between spirituality and religion, but also in its own dis­ tinct­ive ‘arts of improvisation’. The question of location is one of the most challenging to assess, given the range of positions new monastic communities occupy in the contemporary religious landscape. Relative proximity to classic monasticism provides one such marker. In some cases, as with those who adopt the identity of monastic oblates, there is an effort to align themselves as closely as possible with the ideas and practices of the particular monastic community from whom they draw their inspiration. Here, spirituality and religion complement and reinforce one another, even if the new context (family life; an urban setting; working with and for the marginalized) gives the relationship between them a distinctive meaning. In other cases, as with the mayBe community in Oxford, England, ties with a particular monastic community are less important than the con­tinu­ous effort to translate monastic ideas and practices faithfully into a non-monastic setting. In still other cases, as with the Northumbria Community, there can be a conscious decision taken to keep a certain distance between the new monastic community and both the forms and ideals of organized religion—a distance often borne of scepticism and disillusionment. Here the new monastic ethos celebrates its position on the margins, serving as a critical, prophetic voice that challenges both the Church and trad­ition­al monasticism to engage in a profound spiritual renewal.

Conclusion As for the ‘arts of improvisation’, new monastic communities bear witness to the myriad ways it is possible to live in response to classic monastic ideas and practices (forms of prayer, ways of living in community, embodied spiritual practices such as fasting and silence), while also reimagining and recasting them to give shape to a new, authentic, and sometimes prophetic form of life. One question that invariably arises amidst this improvisational process: is it meaningful to call these communities monastic? Or is it better to understand them simply as drawing inspiration from monastic ideas and forms? How ‘portable’ are monastic practices once you are no longer working to maintain the structures and rhythms of traditional monastic living? And how eclectic can such forms of living be in their inspiration and ideals without eventually losing hold of the foundational ideas that have long given shape to Christian monasticism? Even posing the questions in this way can seem unnecessarily critical or sceptical. Why must the new monasticism adhere to any particular ideals or forms? Why can’t it evolve and develop on its own terms, adapting the ancient monastic ideals and practices to the particular cultural, geographical, and historical needs that are arising in the present moment? Why can’t the work of evaluation and assessment wait until sufficient time has passed to enable us to consider more carefully how this new movement is related to (and perhaps departs from) the older forms of living that preceded it? Of course, it can and

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642   Douglas E. Christie and Bernadette Flanagan must. But these questions are arising as a necessary part of the dialogue currently taking place between new and old monasticism, and as part of the effort to understand why these particular arts of improvisation are emerging in the present moment, and what they might mean for the future of monasticism, the Church, and the world.

Suggested Reading The readings suggested here serve to illustrate a diversity of perspectives on new monasticism. The span of the phenomenon may  be seen by reading a  classic evangelical Protestant text such as School(s) for Conversion (Rutba House  2005), followed by a Roman Catholic expression, The Monastery of the Heart (Chittister 2011), and, finally, an inter- spiritual presentation in The New Monasticism (McEntee and Bucko 2015). Texts which provide a critical overview of this diversity include Living the Hours (Grimley and Wooding  2010), as well as The Deconstructed Church (Marti and Ganiel 2014), and New Monasticism as Fresh Expression of Church (Cray, Mobsby, and Kennedy 2010). Two texts written by those directly involved in new monasticism provide an insider’s perspective on the phenomenon: Totally Devoted (Cross  2010) and Punk Monk (Freeman and Greig 2007). Finally, Raimundo Panikkar’s classic, Blessed Simplicity—The Monk as Universal Archetype (Panikkar 1982), sets new monasticism within a cultural-historical framework.

Bibliography Adams, Ian (2010). Cave, Refectory, Road: Monastic Rhythms for Contemporary Living. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Adams, Ian and Ian Mobsby (2009). ‘New Monasticism’. In Fresh Expressions in the Sacramental Tradition. Ancient Faith, Future Mission Series, edited by Steven Croft and Ian Mobsby, 52–65. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Bonhoeffer, Dietrich (1959). The Cost of Discipleship. Translated by R. H. Fuller, rev. edn. New York: Macmillan. First published in 1937 as Nachfolge. Bourgeault, Cynthia (2007). Love is Stronger than Death: The Mystical Union of Two Souls. Telephone, TX: Praxis. Buschart, W.  David and Kent  D.  Eilers (2015). Theology as Retrieval: Receiving the Past, Renewing the Church. Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press. Chittister, Joan (2011). The Monastery of the Heart: An Invitation to a Meaningful Life. London: SPCK. Cray, Graham, Ian Mobsby, and Aaron Kennedy (eds) (2010). New Monasticism as Fresh Expression of Church. Ancient Faith, Future Mission Series. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Croft, Steven and Ian Mobsby (eds) (2009). Fresh Expressions in the Sacramental Tradition. Ancient Faith, Future Mission Series. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Cross, Simon (2010). Totally Devoted: The Challenge of New Monasticism. Milton Keynes: Authentic Media.

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The ‘New Monasticism’   643 de Gruchy, John W. (ed.). (1997). Bonhoeffer for a New Day: Theology in a Time of Transition. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. de Waal, Esther (1984). Seeking God: The Way of St Benedict. London: Collins. Fitz-Gibbon, Jane Hall and Andrew Fitz-Gibbon (2012). Secular Monasticism: A Journey. Milton Keynes: XLibris. Flanagan, Bernadette (2013). Embracing Solitude: Women and New Monasticism. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock. Freeman, Andy and Pete Greig (2007). Punk Monk: New Monasticism and the Ancient Art of Breathing. Ventura, CA: Regal Books. Fuller, Robert (2001). Spiritual but not Religious: Understanding Unchurched America. New York: Oxford University Press. Grimley, Anthony and Jonathan Wooding (2010). Living the Hours: Monastic Spirituality in Everyday Life. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Hall, David D. (ed.) (1997). Lived Religion in America: Toward a History of Practice. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Jonveaux, Isabelle, Enzo Pace, and Stefania Palmisano (eds) (2014). Annual Review of the Sociology of Religion, vol. 5: Sociology and Monasticism, Between Innovation and Tradition. Leiden: Brill. Lanzetta, Beverly (2014). Nine Jewels of Night: One Soul’s Journey into God. San Diego, CA: Blue Sapphire Books. Main, John (2006). Monastery without Walls: The Spiritual Letters of John Main. edited by L. Freeman. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Marti, Gerardo and Gladys Ganiel (2014). The Deconstructed Church: Understanding Emerging Christianity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McEntee, Rory and Adam Bucko (2015). The New Monasticism: An Interspiritual Manifesto for Contemplative Living. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis. McGuire, Meredith (2008). Lived Religion: Faith and Practice in Everyday Life. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Merton, Thomas (1989). Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander. New York: Image Books. Norris, Kathleen (1996). The Cloister Walk. New York: Riverhead Books. Palmisano, Stefania (2016). Exploring New Monastic Communities: The Re(invention) of Tradition, rev. edn. Abingdon: Routledge. Panikkar, Raimundo (ed.) (1982). Blessed Simplicity—The Monk as Universal Archetype. New York: Seabury Press. Plaiss, Mark (2007). The Inner Room: A Journey into Lay Monasticism. Cincinnati, OH: Saint Anthony Messenger Press. Ponzetti, James (2014). ‘Renewal in Catholic Community Life and New Monasticism: The Way of a Contemporary Religious Communal Movement’. Journal for the Sociological Integration of Religion and Society 4.2: 35–49. Roderick, Philip D. (2010). ‘Connected Solitude: Re-Imagining the Skete’. In New Monasticism as Fresh Expression of Church. Ancient Faith, Future Mission Series, edited by Graham Cray, Ian Mobsby, and Aaron Kennedy, 102–119. Norwich: Canterbury Press. Roof, Wade Clark (1999). Spiritual Marketplace: Baby Boomers and the Remaking of American Religion. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Rutba House (ed.) (2005). School(s) for Conversion: 12 Marks of a New Monasticism. Eugene, OR: Cascade Books.

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644   Douglas E. Christie and Bernadette Flanagan Schneider, Rachel C. (2018). ‘ “A Web of Subversive Friends”: New Monasticism in the United States and South Africa’. Religions 9: 184–201. Schneiders, Sandra  M. (2003). ‘Religion vs. Spirituality: A Contemporary Conundrum’. Spiritus: A Journal of Christian Spirituality 3: 163–185. Simpson, Ray (2009). High Street Monasteries: Fresh Expressions of Committed Christianity. Stowmarket: Kevin Mayhew. Sizoo, Lysanne (2010). ‘Kumla Prison Monastery: Taking the Next Step’. The Way 49: 93–104. Sizoo, Lysanne (2004). ‘When Cell Doors Close and Hearts Open’. The Way 43: 161–168. Taylor, Sarah McFarland (2007). Green Sisters: A Spiritual Ecology. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Teasdale, Wayne (2002). A Monk in the World: Cultivating a Spiritual Life. Novato, CA: New World Library. Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre (1978). The Divine Milieu: An Essay on the Interior Life. Translated by Bernard Wall. London: Fontana Books. Wilson, Jonathan R. (2010). Living Faithfully in a Fragmented World: From ‘After Virtue’ to a New Monasticism, 2nd rev. edn. Eugene, OR: Cascade. Wilson, Jonathan, R. (1997). Living Faithfully in a Fragmented World: Lessons for the Church from MacIntyre’s ‘After Virtue’. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press. Wilson-Hartgrove, Jonathan (2005). To Baghdad and Beyond: How I got Born Again in Babylon. Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock.

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chapter 42

Lectio Di v i na Opening to God’s Word Gregory J. Polan, OSB

The purpose of the practice of lectio divina is to bring a person into communion with God. Essential to this endeavour is a faith that believes God speaks to us today through the revealed word of the Scriptures (Binz 2008: 18–20). More than a spiritual exercise, lectio divina has as its objective a personal encounter with the living Word of God, Jesus Christ. Jerome describes it to Eustochium, daughter of Paula, in Letter 22: ‘When you pray, you are speaking with your Spouse. When you read [the Scriptures], He is talking to you . . .’ (trans. Mierow 1963: 158). Since the twelfth century, lectio divina1 has been understood as taking place in four stages, each one building on the other: lectio (reading), meditatio (meditation), oratio (prayer), and contemplatio (contemplation). The actual practice of lectio, however, appears in pre-Christian Judaic and early Christian practices of reading the Scriptures in this slow, deliberate, and faith-oriented way. Fundamental to Christian belief regarding lectio is the understanding that it is always God who originates the conversation (lectio and meditatio); our response to the divine initiative then follows in prayer (oratio) and action (incarnatio), the reader’s role in the divine–human dialogue. The author of the Epistle to the Hebrews reminds us that these sacred writings, despite their antiquity, remain living documents speaking to those reading them: Indeed, the word of God is living and active, sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart. And before him no creature is hidden, but all are naked and laid bare to the eyes of the one to whom we must render an account (Heb. 4:12–13).

1 The author would like to thank Margaret Mary Funk, OSB, a member of Our Lady of Grace Monastery in Beech Grove, Indiana, for her suggestions regarding the history and practice of lectio divina.

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646   Gregory J. Polan, OSB At times the divine word instructs us, at times it consoles us, at other times it judges us, and at still other times it encourages us. The French theologian Louis Bouyer suggests that lectio divina is: a personal reading of the word of God which aim[s] at the assimilation of its whole substance, a reading in faith, in the spirit of prayer, in which God was believed to be actually present, speaking to the individual through the text in question, and in which the person at prayer strove to make himself present to God in a spirit of obedi­ence and of complete abandonment to [God’s] promises and also his demands (Bouyer 1961: 18–19).

In communion with God and in union with Christ, lectio divina guides the reader to living, speaking, and acting ‘in Christ’ for the glory of God (1 Cor. 2:12, 15–16; Phil. 2:5; Eph. 4:20–24; Col. 3:12–17; 1 Thess. 1:4–7; see also Vatican Council II’s Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation Dei Verbum 8–9 [Witherup 2014: 27–30]). It is important to highlight the central position of the Holy Spirit in this sacred endeavour (Casey 1996: 47). The Holy Spirit, the Spirit of Jesus given to the Church at Pentecost, resides within each baptized person. The Scriptures as well are imbued with the Holy Spirit, who has ‘inspired’ them (2 Tim. 3:16). Early Christians remarked that in the prayerful reading of the Scriptures ‘Spirit speaks to Spirit’. When the sacred texts are read, the Spirit present in the texts speaks to the Spirit present in the one who reads. In the practice of lectio divina, the guidance of the Spirit opens the individual to hear the voice of God; from this flows prayer, the human response to the divine initiative. This is communion, the goal of lectio divina.

The Sacramentality of the Word of God Dei Verbum, promulgated by the Second Vatican Council, grounds our appreciation for the profound importance of the word of God in the life of the Church. The text states that the veneration accorded to the Word of God is on the same level as that accorded to the Eucharist itself. ‘The nourishment for the faithful’ comes from ‘both the table of the word and the table of the Eucharist’, a teaching originating in the patris­tic period (Witherup 2014: 49–51). In his Homilies on Exodus, Origen explains that the word of God is no less ‘venerable’ than the body of the Lord: You who are accustomed to take part in divine mysteries know, when you receive the body of the Lord, how you protect it with all caution and veneration lest any small part fall from it, lest anything of the consecrated gift be lost. For you believe, and correctly, that you are answerable if anything falls from there by neglect. But if you are so careful to preserve his body, and rightly so, how do you think that there is less guilt to have neglected God’s word than to have neglected his body?’ (trans. Heine 1982: 380–381).

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Lectio Divina   647 The teaching of Dei Verbum, in concert with these early Christian sources, invites us to pursue an ever-deepening appreciation of what God’s word is for us. In the Eucharist, the risen Christ is present though veiled in the form of bread and wine; in the Scriptures, he is present though veiled in human words. This theology of the word invites the person of faith to acknowledge that divine power is present in the revealed Scripture. To approach the practice of lectio divina from such a faith-perspective emphasizes lectio’s nature as an encounter with God. The task for the one approaching the divine through lectio is to allow the power in the word to penetrate our hearts and shape our lives, that we might become one with that word. Herein the sacramentality of the word is dis­cern­ible: the word of God becomes a living word in our actions and speech, shaped by our encounter with the Scriptures. When the practitioner of lectio divina becomes so identified with the word of God as to be transformed by its power, that person becomes the ‘living word of God’ in our midst. Practised individually or together by members of a community, the impact of lectio divina manifests itself in the fruit of good works. The community and its individual members, or individuals themselves, become a sacra­ment of the word—signs pointing to the reality of God’s creative word in our midst, signs showing forth the transformative power of God’s word in our world. What must be kept in mind when one embarks on the practice of lectio divina? Three considerations: a basic knowledge of the Scriptures, an awareness of the manner by which one ‘listens with the heart’ to the word of God, and the experience of what lectio divina accomplishes in one’s life.

A Basic Knowledge of the Scriptures A charming story recounted in the Tales of the Rabbis (Dorff 1988: 22–23) provides a narrative model comprising these considerations. The first part of the story—slightly edited for length—begins: There once was a young boy named Mordechai, the perfect child, except for one thing: he refused to study the Word of God. He would not do it. His parents promised him anything he wanted and threatened him with everything he didn’t want— if only he would study Torah. But young Mordechai would not study the Word of God. One day, his parents heard that the Great Rabbi was coming to visit their village. They were delighted. ‘Surely he will be able to get Mordechai to read Torah’, they said. When the Great Rabbi arrived, the parents took young Mordechai to him. ‘Our son is a fine boy’, they explained, ‘except for one thing. He refuses to study the Word of God’. ‘You give this boy to me’, the Rabbi shouted, ‘and I will teach him a lesson he will never forget!’ Though the parents were frightened by the Rabbi’s rage, they handed young Mordechai over to the Rabbi (Dorff 1988: 22–23).

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648   Gregory J. Polan, OSB This first part of the story dramatizes the first element necessary to the practice of lectio: the study of the word of God. For an enrich­ing and prayerful reading of the Scriptures, one should have an informed understand­ing of the word of God. This precept does not suggest a kind of intel­lectualism in relation to Scripture, but rather the conviction that fruitful prayer arising from our reflection on the Scriptures must begin with an informed reading of the word according to one’s own capacity. A greater ­fa­mil­iar­ity with the Scriptures fosters fruitful lectio; we come to that familiarity through study. The contemporary explosion of resources for Bible reading makes numerous introductions to and commenta­ries on the Scriptures available at every level of appreciation. Daily and Sunday missals often provide brief introductory paragraphs for the daily readings at the Eucharist, situating them in their biblical context. Such tools, available for every level of education or understanding, allow anyone to come to a basic understanding of the Scriptures appropriate to his or her own situation.

The Manner of Listening The rabbinic tale continues: The Rabbi grabbed Mordechai, led him into the next room, and slammed the door behind them. Young Mordechai stood in the corner of the room trembling. The Rabbi stood there looking at him. ‘Mordechai’, he whispered, ‘come here’. The young boy inched his way over to the Great Rabbi who stood with arms wide open. Without saying a word, the Rabbi folded his arms around the young boy and held him silently, against his heart. Then, all of a sudden, he flung open the door and threw the young boy into the room where his parents were waiting. ‘I have taught the boy a lesson he will never forget!’ the Rabbi shouted. ‘You mark my words. From this day forward he will come to know Torah’ (Dorff 1988: 22–23).

This second section is perhaps the most captivating and yet the most mysterious. At play here is the nature of ‘listening’. The listening here described is an interior dis­pos­ ition, a listening ‘from the heart’. Like Mordechai, we must learn to listen in the midst of an embrace, with the ‘ear of our heart’, as Benedict teaches his monks in the first verse of the Prologue to his Rule (Fry et al. 1981: 157). To listen with the heart is to listen with extraordinary openness. So much of our day can be filled with voices of complaint, concern, ques­tion, request; we are likely to listen only half-heartedly to such a barrage of voices. It is a struggle to listen to every­thing with equal attention, with focus and readiness. This is why we must strive to listen to the word of God with intensity and peace, with care and focus. When we listen to the word of God consistently and with devotion, we provide a space where we welcome God’s voice and are ready to respond to it. As a result, we often hear the call to conversion of heart, to make an examination of our lives, and to a more intense experience of being loved by God.

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Lectio Divina   649

The Fruits of Lectio divina The rabbinic tale concludes: And so it was. Young Mordechai studied the Word of God as no one in the village had ever studied it before. He learned it all by heart. His parents were so proud of him. As the years went by, Mordechai himself became a great Rabbi. People would come to him with their problems and would marvel at the breadth of his wisdom and the depth of his compassion. They would often ask, ‘Rabbi, who taught you to read the Torah?’ Mordechai would smile and say, ‘I first learned to read Torah when the Great Rabbi held me and taught me to listen from my heart . . . to listen . . . from my heart’ (Dorff 1988: 22–23).

We see here demonstrated the power of the word of God to transform our lives, en­ab­ ling us to bear the fruit of goodness and mercy, compassion and kindness: to bring the Scripture to life in the practitioners’ daily lives (Bianchi 1998: 81). Mordechai learned to take the word of God to heart by reading it ‘from the inside out’. Reading it this way en­ables the reader to encounter the ‘heartbeat’ of the message: the lifeblood of the Spirit pulsating through the body of the Scriptures. The person engaged in lectio experiences a process of being formed anew by the word. The word of God schooled Mordechai in divine wisdom and formed him by divine compassion; he, in turn, generously offered this compassion to others. The sacramen­tality of the word becomes apparent: the ‘proclaimed word’ becomes a ‘living word’. How a person absorbs and appropriates the divine word makes all the difference in what will happen when the word emerges in one’s actions. Simple, humble, and genuine faith constitutes the necessary prerequisite for lectio’s most powerful effects and this faith is transformed by the encounter with the word of God.

A History of the Practice of Lectio divina Christians appropriated the method of prayerful reading of the Hebrew Scriptures so deeply rooted in the Jewish tradition (Studzinski  2009: 22–28). The Torah was read aloud; the people listened and responded (Neh. 8:1–12). The Jews took for granted that Scripture was to be memorized and proclaimed; thus Jesus of Nazareth knew and proclaimed the Hebrew Scriptures in the synagogue (Luke 4:16–30). As the Christian Scriptures took shape in the first century ce, the practices of reading aloud, memorizing, and reverencing the living words embodied in the text gave birth to the new expression of Judaism of which Paul speaks (Rom. 11:25–32). The New Testament provides examples of the fresh and compelling mandates to read from both the Hebrew Scriptures and the emerging Christian New Testament (Heb. 1:1–18).

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650   Gregory J. Polan, OSB One of those who read and reflected most productively on the Jewish and Christian Scriptures was Clement of Alexandria (150–215 ce). Captivated by the simplicity and wisdom of the Bible (Magrassi 1998: 33–40), Clement and other Christian authors— whose writings were rooted in personal prayer in encounter with the Bible—wielded significant influence on the lives of those who had taken to the desert to live out their Christian calling. The monastic and ascetic practice of reflecting on biblical texts maintained an emphasis on the centrality of the Bible for Christ­ian living; a vision of the end of Christian life as a transformation through grace, that makes possible a human embodiment of God’s likeness; and an openness to God’s grace through Baptism, the Eucharist, and Christian prayer. Origen of Alexandria (185–254 ce) was the most influential leader of the Catechetical School following Clement. A biblical scholar, theologian, and philosopher, Origen’s methods for reflecting on Scripture and using Greek thought as a tool for interpreting the Christian faith were influential. He taught that reading and contemplation of Scripture initiated a dialogue in which God is truly present to the reader and the reader is changed in his or her inner being. From the writings of Origen we know that Scripture was understood as a sacrament, an outward form (human words) pointing to a deeper reality (divine communication). Immersed in the search for deeper mean­ing of the sacred text, the reader discovers in the text a message that penetrates to the heart. The reader’s goal in doing lectio divina is communion with God, and the Bible is a fundamental source of that communion. Origen’s writings, the fruit of his contemplative life, influenced many monks, including Antony the Great of Egypt and Evagrius Ponticus. Benedict of Nursia (c.480–c.550) prescribes three hours of lectio divina every day for his monks, with an extra hour during Lent, to be completed along with the other prescribed observances on Sunday (Casey 1996: 24). The Rule of the Master prescribed three hours a day as part of the monk’s work. Pachomius established a coenobitic monastery where Scripture was to be learned by heart. If the aspirant could not read, then instruction for literacy was the first requirement for entrance. One was expected to learn by heart at least the New Testament and the Psalms. Monks were not only required to memorize Scripture so that they could recite extended passages by heart, but were trained to know it in the heart, to dwell on and savour the meaning of the text. Though the fourfold method of lectio divina (reading, meditation, prayer, and contemplation) was not described until the twelfth century, its elements are attested to in the patristic tradition. The writings of the Fathers indicate clearly that they were in fact doing lectio divina before the method had been explicitly established. Magrassi suggests that ‘the ancients apparently distrusted methods that were too rigid [and] that bound the human mind to a series of well-defined attitudes’. The method was first developed and classified by Guigo II, prior of the Grande Chartreuse (d. 1188); he provided form and order to what had been a natural process of reading, reflecting, and praying from the Scriptures (Magrassi 1998: 161–183). From the thirteenth century to the period before the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965), other systematic prayer practices emerged, such as the Spiritual Exercises of Ignatius of Loyola, the contemplative prayer of the Carmelites, and the mental prayer fostered by Sulpician spirituality. The exercise of lectio divina declined in the cloister;

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Lectio Divina   651 spiritual reading persisted, but rarely with the same spirit or method of the earlier practice. The discipline, however, was revived in the period immediately after the Vatican Council in response to the ressourcement recommended by the council fathers, that is, a ‘return to the sources’ of the Christian faith: namely, Scripture and the writings of the Church Fathers. Monks, nuns, and sisters, particularly in communities following the Rule of Benedict, began drawing again from their earliest sources, rediscovering the spiritual wealth available in the practice of lectio divina. Around 1985, interest in lectio divina began to extend beyond monastic communities, finding a place in both Roman Catholic and Protestant communities among Christians desiring to ponder and pray with the sacred Scriptures. In the past thirty years there has been an explosion of interest, generating countless books and articles inviting people to discover for themselves the rich fruits of lectio divina.

Preparations for the Practice of Lectio divina Silence In most venues of contemporary life, silence seems to be in short supply. In places of both work and recreation every second is filled with words and sounds. It almost appears that we need to be surrounded by noise to be comfortable; ear buds have become a de rigueur accessory for modern youth. If such is the case in our culture, then the silence so necessary for the practice of lectio divina suggests that it is a countercultural practice (Casey 1996: 17–18). For many people, to sit still without motion, conversation, the background chatter of radio or television, or even the activity required by a cup of tea or coffee, is something almost impossible to attain. And yet to enter that state of communion with God which is the goal of lectio divina demands a heart and mind that have been calmed and quieted by silence (Casey 1996: 27). As Augustine of Hippo states at the conclusion of the first paragraph of his Confessions, ‘You have made us and drawn us to yourself, and our heart is unquiet until it rests in you’ (Conf. 1.1; trans. Boulding 1997: 39). A few moments of silence before commencing with the sacred reading serves to calm the mind and heart, preparing one for a careful listening to the word. If nothing else, the effort required to quiet one’s mind brings to the surface the manifold thoughts, concerns, and worries competing for our attention. In the practice of lectio divina, a person strives to attend to the one voice emerging from the word of God: the divine voice, often discerned as no more than a whisper. For the person of faith, silence prepares the heart to be open to the movement of the Holy Spirit within us, a divine breath within, forming words that resonate with the Spirit-filled word of the Scriptures. Again, ‘Spirit speaks to Spirit’ when the grace-giving Spirit within a person is in concert with the Spirit-filled word of God. Attaining this space of silence prepares the heart to listen, to listen with the heart.

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652   Gregory J. Polan, OSB

Listening While the Rabbinic tale recounted earlier deals with the topic of ‘listening’, there remains more to be considered on the practical level (Boulding 2000: 67–85). If we truly listen to the voice of God in the experience of lectio divina, then, so the history of the practice tells us, we are likely to be surprised at what we hear. Many of the lives of holy men and women recount how, upon hearing the Scriptures, a forceful stirring rose within them as to give new direction to their lives; in some instances, an utterly new and different direction. This is ‘deep listening’, the kind of attentive awareness to the act itself that readies the heart to hear whatever may come, even when the message is unexpected or even disturbing. The perdurance of human weakness and frailty means that ‘continual conversion’ may be understood to encompass the need for each of us and all of us to turn from former ways to God and the divine law (Hall 1988: 36). Silence prepares the heart to listen with unaccustomed openness, helping us to overcome the half-hearted listening in which we are usually engaged. This attitude is not altogether foreign to our experience: when people care about us and are concerned for our welfare, we listen to the encouragement they offer; we attend to their advice, their suggestions, and even their corrections with a willingness to accept their words and reflect on them seriously. The same kind of listening must accompany lectio divina. The One whom we encounter is none other than the God who created us, who desires our good, our growth, and well-being. Such a mindset allows us to listen with that singular openness by which we hear and absorb whatever comes to us in the experience of the divine–human encounter (Hall 1988: 22–23).

Lectio divina: The Method Considerable space in this essay has been given to preparations for the practice of lectio divina. We are now ready to consider the method as outlined by the twelfth-century Carthusian prior, Guigo II, in his The Ladder of Monks (trans. Colledge and Walsh 1981: 67–74). It is worth reiterating the principle that rigidity of method in the execution of the practice is always to be avoided, lest the goal of communion with God be thwarted by any attempt, voluntary or involuntary, to control or restrain the action of the Spirit in this holy undertaking.

Reading In the practice of lectio divina, the act of reading is carried out slowly, with deliberate intent, thoughtfully, and above all quietly, with a sense of the silence necessary for the exercise to be fruitful. One reads a sacred text with a disposition actively attentive to the

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Lectio Divina   653 gentle stirring of the soul when distinct ideas, images, or thoughts arise from the words being read. One never skims over a passage to get to the end; rather a careful reading allows the conscientious reader to pause on the potential meaning and significance even of a single preposition, which may reveal a particular idea about the nature of one’s relationship with God. In the practice of lectio divina, the act of reading takes on a unique character very different from the usual way of reading a newspaper, a novel, or even a textbook (Bianchi 1998: 76). Any word can bring the reader to pause and attend to the stirrings of the heart. It is not uncommon for a familiar scriptural passage to say something new and surprising when read in this way. In lectio divina ‘to read a passage’ is to do so over and over again in a single sitting. This principle was commonly understood and enunciated in different ways in the early tradition: in prayer, one speaks to God; in the reading of Scripture, it is God who speaks (Colombás 1993: 5–10). The reading is done from a perspective of faith. Many of life’s experiences come to mind when the word of God is read; God’s presence is detected in those experiences just as it is in the Scriptures. Reflective reading is a rich and fruitful meditation on God’s word.

Meditation Reading a personal letter always calls to mind the person who wrote it. The same dynamic is true in the practice of meditatio. In meditatio the reader considers the One who communicates: What does Scripture communicate about God? What does it say about the manner in which God acts? What does the act of reading call forth from the one reading, who receives the message from none other than God? God remains eternal Mystery, but is nonetheless made known in a unique way through Jesus Christ, the vis­ ible image of God (Eph. 1:15). Just as the reading of a poem demands time for silence, so that the meanings behind the words, rhythms, and rhetorical patterns be grasped, so too does the reading of a scriptural passage demand silent reflection in order to ponder the divine message that comes uniquely to the individual who hears the word in faith. This practice, highly developed in the Middle Ages (Robertson 2011: 133–155), can even today teach the modern seeker a great deal if used appropriately. Frequently a single word can throw open the floodgates of living waters abiding in the Scriptures. To pause, to ponder, and to ruminate, is the process of meditation. The Bible itself provides a perfect image of this meaning when the prophet Ezekiel is told to take a scroll provided by God and eat it (Ezek. 3:1–3). In other words, consume and digest the word you read, allow it to become part of you by reflecting on it and discovering its res­on­ance with your own experiences of faith, hope, and love. Too many people today find the task of meditation an almost impossible endeavour. However, one can only meditate as one is able; whether extensive or brief in duration, we strive by meditation to appreciate how the word of God speaks to individuals, to a community, and to the Church.

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654   Gregory J. Polan, OSB

The Practice of Lectio Divina Meditative Prayer. If the seeker believes that God speaks through the Sacred Scriptures, then his or her response to the voice of God, coming through the Scriptures, is prayer. Prayer is thus the goal of lectio divina, communion with God. On a human level, conversation always entails an initial statement and a subsequent reply. How much more important, then, is the response to what God proclaims through the biblical texts (Hall 1988: 41). As God’s Spirit addresses us uniquely and intimately through the sacred word, the same Spirit which lies within us prompts an intimate response, for conversation with God is marked by unique intimacy. The words of the Psalms are often a response to God’s initial invitation to union through the covenant. We find in the Psalms words of pleading and praising, thanksgiving and trust, curses, confidences, and accounts of life’s varied experiences, all presented before the God who creates and forms both us and our experiences. The Psalms provide models, ways in which the reader can personally respond to God’s message with candour and words from the heart. This stage can be described as ‘meditative prayer’; it arises from what is read and reflected on in the sacred texts. The Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation of the Second Vatican Council, Dei Verbum, proclaims of the Scriptures that ‘these books contain a wonderful treasury of prayers’ (Dei Verbum 15, Witherup 2014: 42) not only when God is addressed directly in the Psalms and elsewhere in Scripture, but as an assertion that all the texts of Scripture lead the heart to reply to God’s invitation to a personal relationship through obedience, praise, gratitude, and conversion of heart (Magrassi 1998: 178). The scriptural texts themselves teach us how to pray and what to pray for. Such prayer, arising from an encounter with the source of the Scriptures, should emerge as authentic converse with God, a response to the word that has been spoken. Contemplation. After having read, meditated, and prayed on the texts of Scripture, the reader then tastes the fruits of this spiritual exercise in contemplation (Masini 1998: 431–439), sitting quietly, absorbed in the wondrous mystery of divine–human conversation and communion. God speaks words that are challenging or corrective; God searches the heart and grants the reader the divine desire that leads back to God. God’s words also console and comfort, calling forth a response made in gratitude for this source of hope and divine life closer to the readers than they are to themselves. While not explicit in the traditional four-fold method of lectio divina mentioned earl­ier, there remains an essential fifth stage of this practice: incarnatio. The reader is to embody and live out the message he or she hears from God and takes into the heart. It is not sufficient to stop at meditation and prayer, satisfying and enriching as they may be. The person of faith must carry forth those intentions of the heart in the practical terms of daily life, holding fast to Jesus’ words: ‘My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and do it’ (Luke 8: 21). The Master tells us that, having taken in the word of God, we are expected to act upon that word with conviction (Binz 2008: 95–107).

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Conclusion The practice of lectio divina requires an attitude of faith that believes that the words of the Bible are the voice of God speaking to us today. Such an important conversation requires a heart comfortable in silence, ready to listen to whatever words God may address to us. Biblical studies per se are not the same as lectio divina, for the latter is not simply about learning but rather about communion with God. Study helps us to understand a text, but its message can remain ever new. The attitude of faith makes all the difference in approaching the word of God. Through the ancient practice of reading (lectio), meditating (meditatio), prayer (oratio), and contemplation (contemplatio), one is first led into communion with God, and then into the incarnation of that experience in a conscious love of God and neighbour.

Bibliography Late Ancient and Medieval Sources Augustine of Hippo (1997). The Confessions, translated by M. Boulding. Hyde Park, NY: New City Press. Benedict of Nursia (1981). RB 1980: The Rule of St. Benedict in Latin and English with Notes, edited by T. Fry et al. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Caesarius of Arles (1956). Sermons, vol. 1: 1–80, translated by M. M. Mueller. FC 31. New York: Fathers of the Church. Guigo II the Carthusian (1981). The Ladder of Monks: A Letter on the Contemplative Life and Twelve Meditations, translated by E. Colledge and J. Walsh. CS 48. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Jerome (1963). The Letters of St. Jerome, vol. 1: Letters 1–22, translated by C. C. Mierow. ACW 33. Westminster, MD: Newman Press; London: Longmans, Green. John Cassian (2000). The Institutes, translated by B.  Ramsey. ACW 58. New York: Paulist Press. John Cassian (1997). The Conferences, translated by B. Ramsey. ACW 57. New York: Paulist Press. Nikodimos of the Holy Mountain and St Makarios of Corinth (1979–1995). Philokalia: The Complete Text. 4 vols, translated and edited by G. E. H. Palmer, P. Sherrard, and K. Ware. London: Faber and Faber. Origen (1982). Homilies on Genesis and Exodus, translated by R. E. Heine. FC 71. Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press.

Modern Sources Bianchi, E. (1998). Praying the Word: An Introduction to Lectio Divina. Translated by J. W. Zona. CS 182. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications.

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656   Gregory J. Polan, OSB Binz, S.  J. (2008). Conversing with God in Scripture: A Contemporary Approach to Lectio Divina. Frederick, MD: The Word Among Us Press. Boulding, M. (2000). The Coming of God, 3rd ed. Conception, MO: Printery House of Conception Abbey. Bouyer, L. (1961). The Word, Church, and Sacraments in Protestantism and Catholicism. New York: Desclée. Breck, J. (2001). Scripture in Tradition: The Bible and Its Interpretation in the Orthodox Church. Crestwood, NY: St. Valdimir’s Seminary Press. Burton-Christie, D. (1993). The Word in the Desert: Scripture and the Quest for Holiness in Early Christian Monasticism. New York: Oxford University Press. Casey, M. (1996). Sacred Reading: The Art of Lectio Divina. Liguori, MO: Triumph Books. Colombás, G. M. (1993). Reading God: ‘Lectio Divina’. Translated by G. J. Roettger. Schuyler Spiritual Series 9. Schuyler, NE: BMH Publications. Dorff, F. (1988). The Art of Passingover: An Invitation to Living Creatively. New York: Paulist Press. Foster, D. (2006). Reading with God: Lectio Divina. London and New York: Bloomsbury Publishing. Funk, M.  M. (2013a). Lectio Matters: Before the Burning Bush, rev. edn. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Funk, M. M. (2013b). Discernment Matters: Listening with the Ear of the Heart. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Görg, Peter  H. (2011). The Desert Fathers: Anthony and the Beginnings of Monasticism. Translated by M. J. Miller. San Francisco, CA: Ignatius Press. Grün, Anselm (1999). Heaven Begins within You: Wisdom from the Desert Fathers. New York: Crossroad. Hall, T. (1988). Too Deep For Words: Rediscovering Lectio Divina. New York: Paulist Press. Harmless, W. (2004). Desert Christians: An Introduction to the Literature of Early Monasticism. New York: Oxford University Press. Laird, M. S. (2006). Into the Silent Land: A Guide to the Christian Practice of Contemplation. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Lubac, H.  de (1998–2000). Medieval Exegesis: The Four Senses of Scripture. 3 vols. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Magrassi, M. (1998). Praying the Bible: An Introduction to Lectio Divina. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Masini, M. (1998). Lectio Divina: An Ancient Prayer That Is Ever New. New York: Alba House. Merton, T. (1973). The Climate of Monastic Prayer. CS 1. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Merton, T. (1960). The Wisdom of the Desert. New York: New Directions. Pennington, M. B. (1998). Lectio Divina: Renewing the Ancient Practice of Praying the Scriptures. New York: Crossroad. Polan, Gregory (2003). ‘Lectio divina: Reading and Praying the Word of God’. Liturgical Ministry 12: 198–206. Ramsey, B. (2012). Beginning to Read the Fathers. New York: Paulist Press. Robertson, D. (2011). Lectio Divina: The Medieval Experience of Reading. CS 238. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Salvail, G. (1996). At the Crossroads of the Scriptures: An Introduction to Lectio Divina. Boston, MA: Pauline Books and Media.

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Lectio Divina   657 Schneiders, S. M. (1985). ‘Scripture and Spirituality’. In Christian Spirituality: Origins to the Twelfth Century, edited by B. McGinn and J. Meyendorff, with J. Leclercq, 1–20. New York: Crossroad. Stewart, C. (1998). Cassian the Monk. New York: Oxford University Press. Stinissen, W. (1999). Nourished by the Word: Reading the Bible Contemplatively. Liguori, MO: Liguori Publications. Studzinski, R. (2009). Reading to Live: The Evolving Practice of Lectio Divina. CS 231. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Ward, B. (1987). Harlots of the Desert: A Study of Repentance in Early Monastic Sources. CS 106. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Ward, B. (1975). The Sayings of the Desert Fathers: The Alphabetical Collection. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Witherup, R. D. (2014). The Word of God at Vatican II: Exploring Dei Verbum. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press.

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chapter 43

Monastic I n ter r eligious Di a l ogu e Fabrice Blée

Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (MID) is a new, creative, but still somewhat small movement within the monastic family of Saint Benedict, a movement which is explored within this chapter1. It developed at a time when the decline of European powers in the wake of two world wars signalled the end of one world order and the emergence of another. It came into being precisely because Benedictines and the two branches of the Cistercian family were willing to respond to a general call to mission launched in 1957 by Pope Pius XII, in his encyclical Fidei Donum. Pius was concerned about the situation of the Church in a world marked—especially in Africa—by decolonization, the rise of communism, and a revival of Islam. In response to this situation, monks created AIM (Aid for the Implementation of Monasticism) in 1960. The driving force behind its cre­ ation was the Dutch Benedictine, Cornelius Tholens. Instead of aligning himself with the effort to spread the ‘true faith’ that—according to the encyclical—stood in opposition to other religions, he proposed that ‘before anything is put in place, it is necessary that the abbots recognize, on behalf of the Order, the duty of the monks of the Order of Saint Benedict to interact with peoples, races, and religions’ (Leclercq 1986: 8). That set the tone. Monks who were sent to the missions (some of them, at least) were intent on opening up a way of dialogue for a Church locked in its universalist pretensions and at a loss in the face of profound social transformations. This bold initiative predated the openness of the Second Vatican Council, which in its Pastoral Constitution Gaudium et Spes (GS) in 1965 urged the Christian community to acknowledge its solidarity with humankind and its history. In the report of the pan-monastic conference held in Bangalore 1  Translated by Father William Skudlarek, OSB, monk of Saint John’s Abbey, Collegeville, Minnesota, and Secretary General, Dialogue Interreligieux Monastique/Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (DIMMID).

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Monastic Interreligious Dialogue   659 in 1973 under the aegis of AIM, we read: ‘The world today thirsts for liberation. To address any current problem without taking into account the situation of the entire world would be wrong from a methodological point of view. The monk should not be a narrow-minded person, but one with a planetary consciousness’ (O’Hanlon 1974: 20). Early on, monks recognized their unique role in the encounter between East and West and in providing the spiritual foundations of a dialogue for peace. This outlook characterized the meetings held at Loppem (Belgium) and Petersham (USA) in 1977 and led to the creation of MID as a subcommittee of AIM that would be dedicated to dialogue with monks of other religions, mainly Buddhists and Hindus. Despite their compliance with the spirit of the Council, members of MID had to gain credibility within the larger family of Saint Benedict, which sometimes suspected them of betraying the Christian faith by favouring a syncretistic and relativistic attitude. But MID was not a marginal movement made up of a few monks in thrall to exotic spiritual­ ities. On the contrary, strongly supported by Catholic authorities since its inception, it promoted a new ecclesial consciousness based on an approach to hospitality that was shaped by the Gospel commandment to love others unconditionally. This chapter focuses on the meaning of that approach. It will not deal with the history of MID—its chronology, key figures, and important events—since that has already been done in my book, The Third Desert. The Story of Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (Blée 2011). Rather, the chapter intends to highlight certain aspects of the dialogical attitude that character­ ize MID and to point out its relevance for a Church and a world in crisis. It will show that MID, far from straying into questionable practices, paves the way for the ‘open-hearted Christian’ (chrétien hospitalier) by proposing a new religious paradigm able to respond to the theological and social challenges of our time. To do this, we will proceed in two stages. First, we will investigate the significance of this new approach to other religions and its roots in the monastic tradition. Then we will look at the challenge it places before the Christian community and how it contributes to the development of a new world.

The Way of the ‘Open-hearted Christian’ As a result of the 1983 exchange programme in Japan between Christian monks and Zen monks, the Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue (PCID) added a fourth type of dialogue, the dialogue of religious experience, to the three dialogues of life, action, and theological exchange. This type of dialogue is defined as ‘dialogue where people rooted in their own religious traditions, share their spiritual riches, for instance with respect to prayer and contemplation, faith and ways of searching for God or the Absolute’ (PCID 1991: 42). Such a dialogue cannot be reduced to talking about one’s spiritual journey or listening to one another, let alone to a purely bookish study of another’s beliefs. Rather, this form of dialogue calls one to know another’s religion

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660   Fabrice Blée ‘from the inside’, to embrace another religious experience. Henri Le Saux, Thomas Merton, Christian de Chergé, and Bede Griffiths are pioneers of MID, and are among the best examples of it. Raimon Panikkar calls this dialogue ‘intrareligious’. The docu­ ment of MID, ‘Contemplation and Interreligious Dialogue. References and Perspectives Drawn from the Experiences of Monastics’ (Béthune 1994) defines it as the act by which a Christian engages ‘in a practice of contemplative silence developed in another religion’ (Béthune 1997: 99), with the reminder that the adoption of these spiritual practices means welcoming generations of spiritual searchers without whom they would not exist. This welcoming approach is considered by MID as the sine qua non for authentic knowledge of another religion and true dialogue. Others, however, are uneasy about this way of engaging in dialogue, believing that it involves syncretistic and relativistic prac­ tices that are contrary to the Christian faith. As renowned a theologian as Hans Urs von Balthasar (1983: 152, 160–161) went so far as to refer to it as treason. As for Louis Bouyer, he agreed with Robert Charles Zaehner, who looked on it as the ‘work of the devil’ (Balthasar 1983: 152, 160–161). However, Christian identity is not the monopoly of those who feel they must protect themselves from any outside influences. In fact, ‘contempla­ tion is not more Christian’, wrote Béthune, ‘because it is less influenced by the outside’ (Béthune 1997: 104). This is how monks in dialogue answer those who ask, ‘How can you reconcile exclusive devotion to Christ with your offer of unconditional hospitality?’ (Béthune 2007: 15). The response of MID is not timid. It claims to be the bearer of the great Christian trad­ition founded on hospitality and love of others. In doing so, it allows many believers, those who are monks and those who are not, to claim their membership and their rights in the Church. At the same time, it promotes a new way of being Christian in the world, a different way of understanding their following of Christ—a way we refer to as the way of the ‘open-hearted Christian’, or the new Hospitaller. There is nothing original about this expression (chrétien hospitalier). Hospitality is, after all, a fundamental virtue of Christianity. And yet in this lies its strength, for it emphasizes that the monk who engages in dialogue gives contemporary expression to this virtue. Jesus is the first to set an example. He welcomes strangers and is welcomed by them. In addition, institutions of hospitality appear very early in the history of the Church, specializing in service to the sick, the poor, and pilgrims. Monks are particu­ larly sensitive to the practice of hospitality, making it one of their principal charisms, as can be seen from the fact that an entire chapter is devoted to it in the Rule of Benedict (RB c. 53). At one and the same time, MID ensures continuity with this traditional prac­ tice and marks a break with it by being open to religious otherness. In order to take into account the relationship between continuity and rupture, we must contrast the dialogic way of monks with one of the most radical expressions of Christian hospitality in defence of the faith, the Knights Hospitaller of Saint John of Jerusalem. While there is obviously a great difference between this medieval military order and MID, there are also significant similarities between the two movements: the defence of pilgrims and the use of the sword in the service of the faith.

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The Defence of Pilgrims The Order of Hospitallers was established in Jerusalem in the eleventh century by the Benedictine, Brother Gerard, as a xenodochium, an establishment to welcome and care for pilgrims who came from throughout the entire Christian world to pray at the holy places. In a similar way, monks engaged in dialogue head east, going as far as India and Japan, in defence of pilgrims, but their approach is poles apart from that of the Hospitallers. We can note three major differences. First, they are the protectors of pil­ grims symbolically understood. In the literature of MID, pilgrimage is often used to des­ ignate not a geographical route, but a journey within. As Mary Margaret Funk, OSB puts it, ‘No need to go on pilgrimage if I am not present to where I am!’ (Funk 2003: 54). In saying this, she echoes mystics such as Meister Eckhart and Johannes Tauler, for whom it is useless to run off on pilgrimage. In the words of Tauler, ‘Let me tell you the route that is the shortest and most direct: enter into your depths’ (Durel 2009: 321). The pilgrim is one who sets off in search of his or her own heart, that intimate part of ourselves open, here and now, to the divine presence that both transcends and elevates our true nature, or as Merton says, our ‘real journey in life is interior: it is a matter of growth, deepening, and of an ever greater surrender to the creative action of love and grace in our hearts’ (Merton  1975: 296). Monastic interreligious dialogue belongs to this journey to the Kingdom. Here the Christian life does not primarily consist in adherence to a static set of doctrinal formulations. In contrast to a theological approach that imposes a clear and unambiguous picture of the goal, it is instead inspired by the image of a way to be fol­ lowed and a quest that demands faith and courage. What is claimed is the right to begin the journey and to discover for oneself, humbly and at a pace that is one’s own, the mys­ tery underlying all creation. As they make their way, pilgrims can drink from sources located outside their own religion. Merton shows the way when he describes his reason for travelling to Asia. He is, he says, a pilgrim ‘anxious to obtain not just information, not just “facts” about other monastic traditions, but to drink from ancient sources of monastic vision and experience’ (Merton 1975: 312–313). Herein lies the second difference between monks in dialogue and the Hospitallers of St John. The latter defend the pilgrim against the pagans; the former defend their right to walk with them. This right needs to be protected not from attacks made by the adherents of other religions, but from the pretension that separates us from them, namely, the con­ viction that we alone possess the truth. For monks in dialogue, the divine reality goes beyond what any tradition is able to say about it. If monks of various religious traditions recognize each other as companions, supporting one another on their respective jour­ neys, it is because they are engaged in the same spiritual quest towards the mysterious reality that gives life to all but can never be contained. The third and final point concerns the very notion of defence. Unlike the military order, MID does not stand in opposition to anyone, whether that be on the battlefield or on the field of doctrinal controversy. Its purpose is not to defend any particular dogma. During the first interreligious meeting at Gethsemani Abbey in 1996, the mandate of the Christian monks vis-à-vis their Buddhist dialogue partners was not to speak in the

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662   Fabrice Blée name of their Church or official Church teaching, but from the ‘silence of deep religious experience’ (Mitchell and Wiseman  1997: xv). Can one rightly speak of ‘defence’ from the MID’s point of view? The question arises when one con­siders the position of Le Saux with regard to his awakening to the living God on the holy mountain of Arunachala at the spiritual heart of Hinduism: ‘I have now accepted, if it be pleasing to the Lord, to be nothing else henceforward than a true Christian sannyasi, to be willing to remain forever in silence in my cave, without any desire to give witness’ (Le Saux 1986: 44). If open-hearted Christians seek neither to condemn nor to convert, that does not mean they are indifferent or resigned. On the contrary, they assert that such liberty is needed if one is to come to a self-awareness that makes it possible to listen and to be challenged by both the Wholly Other and religious otherness. In response to ac­cusa­tions of relativism and syncretism, monks point to two great truths—not dogmatic, but pastoral—that flow from their experience of dialogue. The first is that it is no longer possible to speak of oneself as a Christian without reference to other religious experiences. Meeting one another allows us to come closer to the truth and to become better Christians. Interreligious encounter purifies us of our pretensions, the necessary condition for arriving at the second truth: humility and simplicity with regard to the ineffability of God. The expression of one’s faith is freed by a rejection of pre-established truths that immediately set themselves up as law and demand adherence. Basically, what is being defended is access to God rather than simply a creed, doing so in reference to the virtue of the Christian, which, according to Merton, is ‘something creative and spiritual, not simply a fulfilment of a law’ (Merton 2003: 139).

The Sword in the Service of the Faith Even when the Order of Hospitallers of St John of Jerusalem became militarized, the Order maintained its primary vocation of caring for pilgrims. Theological justification for the soldier-monk was given by Saint Bernard, who, writing about the Knights Templar in De laude novae militiae (1129), said that ‘the reason they carry a sword is because they are the executors of the divine will, both to punish evildoers and to glorify those who do good. When they put a criminal to death, it is not homicide, but, I dare to say, malicide’ (Richard 1969: 141). The taking up of weapons is obviously irreconcilable with the mission of MID, except perhaps in a symbolic sense. Symbolic warfare is part of the Christian imagination. Saint Paul’s Epistle to the Ephesians speaks of the virtues needed to wage the interior spiritual combat to which the disciple of Jesus is called (Eph. 6:10–19). The sword is a metaphor for the Spirit of Christ, and it is precisely this metaphorical sword that is taken up by monks in dialogue. The role of the Holy Spirit is a central theme in the literature of MID, and it is thanks to the Spirit that the monk opens a new path to the mystery of God through an encounter with religious otherness. It is by the strength and courage given by the Spirit that monks can accept the injunction of Saint Bernard, who prohibits the knight of Christ to retreat even in the face of three enemies (Sicard 1992: 8). The monk in

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Monastic Interreligious Dialogue   663 dialogue also does not flee from the enemy, the one whom the Church traditionally understood to be the person who believes and prays differently, the pagan outside the Church, the heretic within. Béthune speaks of taking the risk of welcoming the enemy, the stranger (Béthune 2013: 45). Here, however, one approaches the enemy, not to defeat or trouble him, but to love him, doing so for the sake of reciprocal hospitality and with­ out any ulterior motive, except for the sake of better understanding one’s intimate rela­ tionship with the divine. This is where the welcoming attitude of MID begins, in the act of being welcomed by the other even before we welcome them, in a willingness to let ourselves be challenged by the difference of the other. But this attitude is not without difficulties; the questioning it gives rise to can ­sometimes lead to unbearable anguish, as Henri Le Saux discovered. As is the case for the soldier-monk, here too, confrontation is real and danger is involved (Béthune 2005: 17). The risk of getting lost is inherent in interfaith dialogue. Being introduced to other ways of believing and praying can cause confusion and may even lead to a decision to change one’s religion. The way of dialogue is not without pitfalls. For this reason MID insists on being well prepared, on coming to interreligious dialogue with a good under­ standing of one’s own tradition and a deepened relationship with Christ through prayer. This requirement leads to another that is also true for the soldier-monk. Combat does not allow a bracketing of one’s faith. The knight wages war and does so justified by faith. Similarly, monks in dialogue do not forget who they are, nor do they forget their rela­ tionship to Christ, when they are being welcomed by Buddhists or Hindus. According to Panikkar, the suspension of judgement, understood as the act of temporarily putting on hold what characterises me as a believer, is impossible in interreligious dialogue, because it is precisely my faith that sustains me in the encounter with the other (Panikkar 1999a: 73–81). Béthune captured this idea in his paraphrase of the Gospel: ‘But strive first for the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and dialogue will be given to you as well’ (Béthune 1997: 113). Dialogue is not something that is added to my faith, but the way it is expressed. It is the new name for love (Ecclesiam Suam 73). Those who are seeking the Kingdom awaken to it and through it become agents of the works of right­ eousness (GS 72. 2). MID does not conceive of hospitality without seeing it in relation to transcendence. It is not natural to offer a fearless welcome to the stranger who can threaten my well-being, unless I am supported by the love and strength that comes from the Spirit. Hence the allimportant role of contemplative practice, because, as Merton recalls, the ‘contemplative seeks to liberate his soul from all external control . . . and to surrender it to the truth and creative freedom of the Holy Spirit’ (Merton 2003: 129). In North America, therefore, MID has been a promoter of ‘centring prayer’, so that Christians are prepared to engage more fully in a spiritual dialogue with the traditions of Asia. If, as Le Saux maintains, only ‘a contemplative spirituality can be the proper founda­ tion for a pluralistic theology’, contemplative prayer does not of itself lead to an attitude of hospitality towards other religions. The example of the Desert Fathers is illuminating here. It is not uncommon that monks who engage in dialogue with Eastern traditions rediscover the spirituality of the desert (Le Saux 1981: 213). However, Fabrizio Vecoli

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664   Fabrice Blée shows that there is a disparity between the Desert Fathers and monastic interreligious dialogue with regard to welcoming the stranger. There is no doubt that the former made hospitality a key element of their spirituality, but it was offered to a minority, usually hermits who were passing through, while pagans and heretics were often rejected and identified with demons (Vecoli 2011: 167). Saint Bernard’s contention that destroying evil justifies the killing of the one who bears it would seem to be applicable here. It can be argued that contemplative practice does affect the way one relates to religious otherness, but it does so in terms of the theological categories used to articulate the way religious otherness is understood. Note that for most of the Desert Fathers, the miraculous power of pagan masters is real, but it is evil and therefore must be combated. MID breaks with the exclusiveness of the first monks in its openness to ascetic practices that were devel­ oped in other religious traditions, for example Zen and Tibetan Buddhism. Concretely, this means that the hospitality extended to religious otherness becomes itself an ascetic way. It is the way to mysticism (Béthune 1997: 34). This relationship to other believers can be spoken of as the desert of otherness (désert de l’altérité), the third desert after the desert of sand (from which Christian monasticism emerged), and following that, the desert of stone that is the monastery. Like Jesus, monks engaged in dialogue are driven by the Spirit to this desert, where they are tried by adversity, in this case, the adversity of religious difference, and asked to reaffirm their choice for God. The demons vanquished by the monk in the space established by rela­ tionship are not demonic forces ascribed to non-Christian practices, but the human ten­ dency to identify God with our understanding of God. The opportunity is given to break from the bonds of self-sufficiency that ultimately make it impossible to hear the various ways the divine mystery reveals itself to humans, while, at the same time, veiling itself from their sight.

Challenges and Promises of the New Paradigm The monastic life has always found ways to flourish, even when attempts were made to eradicate it. Even more, it has been able to bring a breath of new life to society, especially in times of crisis. The way of the open-hearted Christian proposed by MID is one way it can be expressed today, when it is so easy to meet people from other religions. Note that this expression is just one way of articulating the experience of MID and, as such, does not in any way exhaust its richness and diversity. Monks in dialogue have different ex­peri­ ences of religious otherness and different reasons for engaging in dialogue. However, there is what could be called a typical profile of a monk in dialogue. Experience alone has little impact; reflection is needed if it is to have coherence and meaning. In other words, people are aware of MID because of the writings of those who report on interreligious encounters and systematize their understanding of monastic dialogue by giving it a

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Monastic Interreligious Dialogue   665 t­ heological foundation and orientation. MID is greatly indebted to a small number of people, the pioneers, of course, and also their successors such as Pierre-François de Béthune, OSB (the first Secretary General); Jean Leclercq, OSB; Pascaline Coff, OSB; James Wiseman, OSB; Mary Margaret Funk, OSB; and William Skudlarek, OSB. With limited resources and representing only a minority of the Christian monastic world, this organization dedicated itself to dialogue and worked to bring a new ecclesial consciousness to a society in crisis by promoting a spirituality that respects differences. If Christian monks who offer a welcome to followers of other religions are the hope of a better world, they are first and foremost a source of renewal within monasticism itself. They propose a monastic ideal between interiority and a dialogue that challenges a complacent routine. In their meeting with other contemplatives, monks in dialogue rediscover in a new light the experience of God as the centre of their life. It was precisely the experience of God that was adopted as the theme of the pan-monastic conference that was held in in Bangalore in 1973. Panikkar, one of the participants, defined it as the unmediated con­ sciousness of ultimate reality. The conference signalled a return to the basics of monastic life, which, according to Merton, do not consist of monastery walls, or the habit, or even the rule, but refers to something deeper, namely, full inner transformation. All the rest exists simply to serve this purpose (Merton 1975: 340). This is not without consequences for what it means to live the monastic life. Called to live in the presence of the Ultimate, a monk cannot regard anything other than God as absolute. Monks, then, are by definition nonconformists, exiles with nowhere to lay their heads. As a witness to impermanence and universal relativity, simplicity, and the spirit of childhood, a monk is not attached to any religious formulation, accepting sooner or later the call to make a solitary leap into the darkness of the heart without any­ thing to hold on to, having no recourse other than allowing oneself to be led by the Spirit to unknown places, without worrying about tomorrow or one’s Christian identity. These few characteristics of the monk, as they are depicted in the literature of MID, suffice to show that MID is itself a critique of a monastic structure that pays scant attention to contemplative prayer (Merton 2003: 214) and is not attuned to the modern world. MID continues to reflect on the type of monastic life that can meet current needs and the challenges faced by the Church and the world.

Towards a New Ecclesial Conscience The type of Church that is latent in the paradigm of the open-hearted Christian can only develop in the context of an appropriate theology, some aspects of which can be found in the literature of MID. The theological foundation for openness to otherness is primarily to be found in the dialogue of salvation that God initiates with humanity and that springs from the intrinsic relational nature of the Trinity. The providential nature of cultural and religious pluralism is another theological foundation. But what seems even more funda­ mental is the role of the Holy Spirit. In his speech of 22 December 1986—a text that has become foundational for MID—Pope John Paul II said that the Spirit is the source of all

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666   Fabrice Blée true prayer, Christian and other (John Paul II 1987: 69). This idea is not new; it can already be found in the writings of the Fathers of the Church. The difference, however, is that the monk in dialogue refuses to limit the work of the Spirit to planting seeds of the Word. The Spirit does not wait for Christianity to expand its presence in other traditions, but invites Christians to deepen their awareness of its mysterious presence in dialogue with religious traditions that the Spirit has raised up outside the Church. ‘Is it not incumbent on Christians’, asked Le Saux, ‘to try to understand the presence of the Spirit outside the boundaries that it so readily places around its activity?’ (Le Saux 1966: 38). Approaching otherness in this way inevitably leads to a fundamental questioning of our theology, or better, to the theological renewal that MID calls for. This renewal is in line with recent theological developments that recover the role of the third person of the Trinity, going so far, in some cases, as to give the Holy Spirit the primary place (Phan 2013: 21–41). However, we still have to take into account Le Saux’s assertion that a theology of the Spirit is impossible (Le Saux 1998: 336). Le Saux is basically warning against the temptation to define what cannot be defined. The risk is to make the Spirit into a concept, even though the Spirit is first and foremost, but not exclusively, an ex­peri­ence that shatters any formulation. Hence the paradox: the increasing awareness of the action and bounty of God that comes through contact with religious otherness is accompanied by an apophatic the­ ology that leads to a ‘mutual impoverishment’ and the impossibility of giving a name to the Ultimate. Humility before the greatness of God allows us to appreciate the many and varied forms of religion, even those that are foreign to us. The open-hearted Christian invites us to reclaim the divine in its immanence and transcendence. Many who have been involved in exchanges with Buddhists and Hindus call for a return to a more embodied spirituality. Through the practice of yoga or Zen, one becomes aware of the body and its importance in relation to God. Moreover, the spirituality of the monk is more embodied when it is anchored in the reality of a dialogical relationship with ­others. On the other hand, engaging in a contemplative way of another religion might lead to the experience of non-duality, as was the case for Le Saux, or emptiness, as was the experience of Merton. For both, their involvement with another contemplative practice deepened their appreciation of the ineffable nature of God. Finally, one is brought to the realization that the presence of Christ far surpasses what Christian piety has to say about it. ‘I believe that the Church is still a child’, writes Christian de Chergé. ‘The Christ in whom she lives is far, far greater than she imagines’ (quoted in Leray 2012). The theological necessity of preserving the mystery of God fosters a Church that is still evolving, that refuses to base its identity on an arrogant attitude of disrespect for the other. This is a Church that chooses to be vulnerable in order to discern the signs of the times and act as leaven (GS 40.2), a Church that is willing to recede so that everything that is true, good, and beautiful in the human community may be elevated (GS 76.6). This certainly does not imply a weakened view of one’s Christian identity. It is rather an affirmation of love for the master, Jesus, who became a little one with the little ones and who asks us to deny ourselves in order to follow him. By calling the Church to become poor, MID urges it not to confuse unity with uniformity and to stop preaching the cat­ ech­ism against people, as Henri de Lubac said. How often have theologians denigrated

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Monastic Interreligious Dialogue   667 the religion of others in order to validate their own? The open-hearted Christian rejects any approach to other religions that would simply disqualify them by characterizing them as pantheistic, polytheistic, or animistic, often doing so without taking into account the way they are actually practiced, or—even more often—without any genuine dialogue with them. This Western propensity to categorize a priori has hindered the development of certain aspects of Christianity. Hence, according to Panikkar, the his­ torical mission of contemplatives and, in particular, of the monk in dialogue is to ‘liber­ ate the Christian faith from the limitations of Western culture’ (Béthune 2005: 15). What is needed, according to MID, is a pragmatic approach: we need to live something before we name it; we need to listen carefully and non-judgementally to what is different before proposing a systematic understanding of it. The primary intention of this pragmatic approach is not that we will be enriched by new ways of representing the divine mystery through our contact with other religions, but that our way of representing it may be impoverished and Christ may be stripped of the Western clothing that we have put him century after century. At the pan-monastic conference in Bangkok in 1968, Leclercq already spoke of a ‘dehellenization’ of Western monasticism, and even of the need to ‘debenedictinize’ Christian monasticism so that it could become a truly Asian form of monasticism and not Western monasticism in Asia. The monk in dialogue is, therefore, not afraid of novelty. On the contrary, as Béthune has written, ‘we must let God create something new among us’ (Béthune 1997: 95). The open-hearted Christian, therefore, aspires to a world Church that strives to bring together people of good will so that the Spirit of Christ will be free to accomplish its work of bringing individuals and the whole human family to the full realization of their dignity and reverence for their respective belongings. Perhaps this will be a way of fulfilling the hope expressed by the Second Vatican Council: ‘ . . . thus, with the needed help of divine grace men who are truly new and artisans of a new humanity can be forthcoming’ (GS 30. 2).

Towards a New Age of Peace In their promotion of dialogue, monks defend the image of a Church that does not care so much about itself as about the common good (GS 3. 1–2). For Le Saux, the purpose of dialogue ‘is not, at least in the first place, the promotion of the temporal or spiritual wel­ fare of anyone of the groups which share in it. It aims first at the spiritual (and where necessary, the temporal) well-being of the whole of mankind, indeed of every member of the human family, in his actual situation and environment’ (Le Saux 1981: 209). Very early on, MID was aware that the crisis in the world was such that the survival of the human race was at stake and that its role was to lay the foundations for a spirituality that could serve a newly emerging humanity. The human family is now united to a degree that it has never been before. We are entering a new stage of history (GS 4. 2), an age cer­ tainly full of promise, but one that is threatened by the powers of darkness (GS 37. 2). While open-hearted Christians are not opposed to the emergence of a global world, they propose that it comes into being in a culture of peace. In this sense, they are being

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668   Fabrice Blée f­ aithful to the Pastoral Constitution Gaudium et Spes. They are attentive to the signs of the times and respond to the call to engage in a dialogue with cultures and religions (GS 4. 1), and to do so without any hidden agenda. Moreover, they refuse any attitude that infringes upon the dignity of persons and peoples (GS 25. 1). The risk inherent in globalization is the erasure of the diversity and richness of the dif­ ferent identities that it represents in favour of a uniformity or standardization that serves the interests of a dominant elite. This is what Panikkar condemns when he asks: ‘ . . . is pluralism the stratagem to induce people to give up their own identities in order to create a new world order in which all cats are grey, all differences abolished under the pretext of tolerance and peace?’ (Panikkar 1999: 28–29). The intrareligious dialogue that he pro­ motes, and that is promoted by monks as well, is based, rather, on a recognition of the irre­ ducible character of otherness. MID does not urge its dialogue partners to gather around a common standard, whether that be ethics, theology, a humanitarian or en­vir­on­men­tal cause, or even an experience of the Ultimate, and even less that it submit to ‘pure reason’. It does not aspire to be an organization of united religions or to strive for a single world reli­ gion, but to create a space for ‘mutual trust’ (GS 81. 4), which alone can bring about peace, doing so naturally and with respect for the specificities of each. A common ground is, however, necessary. What is the basis for the open-hearted Christian’s proposal that differ­ ent believers engage with one another? Contrary to much current understanding, dia­ logue gives reason for hope not because it reveals how similar we are, nor because it looks for ways to overcome differences, but because dialogue, in fact, elicits tension and draws us into the third desert. Christian de Chergé mused, ‘Do our differences actually mean com­ munion?’ (de Chergé 1997: 111). Following a meeting with Tibetan monks, a Benedictine remarked, ‘We could not really understand the Tibetans, and they did not seem very inter­ ested in our views’ (Corless 1991: 11). That comment does illustrate the difficulty of dia­ logue, but certainly not its impossibility. For Béthune, elements that cannot be resolved create a ‘force field’ that eventually undermines our certitudes and leads us to deeper ques­ tions (Béthune 2014: 32). It is in this space of questioning, which coincides with the desire for a better understanding of self, of others, and of the mystery that unites them, that the monks meet. The open-hearted Christian is interested in the opening of oneself, aware that peace and unity cannot be forced, for that would run the risk of violating the dignity of persons. What can be done is the activation of one’s own ability to welcome the other. That is the fundamental appeal of MID: that everyone creates in the self a space to receive and to be received in conformity with the spiritual and theological categories of their own tradition. It is in the fertile convergence of people making themselves available to one another that hospitality becomes possible and leads to a spontaneous dialogue that results in friendship and makes possible a heart-to-heart relationship. A relationship of this kind signals the passage from communication to communion. For the open-hearted Christian, the reason such a passage is not only possible, but has actually been experienced by a Merton, a Le Saux, a Griffiths, and a de Chergé, is our primordial unity. In the words of Merton, ‘( . . . ) we are already one. ( . . . ) What we have to be is what we are’ (Merton 1975: 308). It should be noted that for MID, this unity is not the result of dialogue, the culmination of an effort to overcome differences. It is the ­starting point, from which it is possible to arrive at an understanding and appreciation

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Monastic Interreligious Dialogue   669 of these differences. This is a far remove from a universalist perspective that erases all particularities in an experience of the Ultimate located in a ‘beyond’ of all religions. It is precisely in the tension between the universal and the particular, between the one and the many, that the heart-to-heart union of the dialogue partners unfolds. It is in this common space that all of them, rooted in their respective traditions, recognize each other, not in a standardized vision of the Ultimate, but in their ardent desire to submit to it with ever greater humility. For the theologian Ewert Cousins, who had served as an advisor to the North American Commission of MID, this unity is the foundation of uni­ versal peace. It is there, he says, that each one discovers anew the wisdom of his or her religious heritage and releases the creative energy for renewed harmony among peoples (Cousins 1992: 178). MID thus lays out a middle way between, on the one hand, the risk of a world order that degrades the human person by cutting it off from its roots and its relationship to transcendence and, on the other, that of a return to Christendom, which, in reaction to this global order, adopts an anti-dialogic attitude, accusing the Church of Vatican II of complicity. In short, the open-hearted Christian does not seek to abolish borders or to push them back in order to extend power, but to cross over them in quest of mutual understanding between rootedness and openness.

Concluding Remarks The dialogue of monks is at the level of prayer and recalls the medieval dictum, ‘If the heart does not pray, the tongue labours in vain’ (‘Si cor non orat, in vanum lingua laborat’) (Béthune 2014: 24). This approach to dialogue is unexpected in a Church that has long held to another dictum: ‘As we worship, so we believe’ (‘lex orandi, lex credendi’). However, this kind of dialogue at the level of prayer is actually one of the most fruitful forms of dialogue, because it encapsulates the spirituality of the Gospels (Béthune 1997: 61). The principle of dialogue is truth and its way is love (Le Saux 1981: 211). To the various interreligious initiatives supported by the Church, MID contributes the dimension of gratuitousness, without which dialogue runs the risk of being reduced to negotiation, diplomatic activity, or a conversion strategy. Each of these activities has its own rationale, but they are unable to initiate the kind of change that is needed to respond to the signs of the times. Allowing themselves to be guided by the Spirit at the heart of religious other­ ness, monks are motivated by nothing other than the desire to do the will of God. That is why their involvement with Hindu or Buddhist meditation goes well beyond a personal practice or a monastic exchange. It contains the seeds of a theological renewal, a new ecclesial consciousness, and social transformation. Monks also act as prophets by the fact that they recognize that other believers have a prophetic function to help them, the monks, come to a better understanding of their own identity. In this regard, Merton, Le Saux, Griffiths, and de Chergé are models, not necessarily to be imitated, but whose spirit needs to be preserved. That is what MID is doing by opening the way of the open-hearted Christian to everyone. Monks are far from being the only ones who are committed to this way, but by their charism and the structure of their dialogue, they preserve and promote

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670   Fabrice Blée it for the whole Church. Being both at the heart and on the margins of the Christian tradition gives them an unrivalled position, combining creativity and cred­ibil­ity in order to give humanity the means of survival, as they have often done in past times of crisis.

Bibliography Balthasar, Hans Urs von et al. (eds) (1983). Des bords du Gange aux rives du Jourdain. Paris: Éditions Saint-Paul. Béthune, Pierre-François de (2014). ‘Prière chrétienne et prière bouddhiste’. Voies de l’Orient 130: 22–35. Béthune, Pierre-François de (2013). ‘Monastic Inter-Religious Dialogue’. In The WileyBlackwell Companion to Inter-Religious Dialogue, edited by C. Cornille, 34–50. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley. Béthune, Pierre-François de (2007). L’hospitalité sacrée entre les religions. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Translated by Robert Henrey as Interreligious Hospitality: The Fulfillment of Dialogue. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2010. Béthune, Pierre-François de (2005). ‘Propos sur le dialogue interreligieux monastique. Notes prises au cours d’une conférence du Prof. Raimon Panikkar (Montserrat 28 novembre 2004)’. Voies de l’Orient 96: 14–19. Béthune, Pierre-François de (1997). Par la foi et l’hospitalité. Clerlande: Publications de SaintAndré. Translated by Mary Groves as By Faith and Hospitality: The Monastic Tradition as a Model for Interreligious Encounter. Leominster: Gracewing, 2002. Béthune, Pierre-François de (ed.) (1994). ‘Contemplation and Interreligious Dialogue. References and Perspectives Drawn from the Experience of Monastics’. Monastic Interreligious Dialogue Bulletin 49: 12–19. Reprinted in The Attentive Voice: Reflections on the Meaning and Practice of Interreligious Dialogue, edited by William Skudlarek, 143–164. Brooklyn, NY: Lantern Press, 2011. Blée, Fabrice (2011). The Third Desert. The Story of Monastic Interreligious Dialogue. Translated by W. Skudlarek and M. Grady. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Bouyer, Louis (1983). ‘Mystiques cosmiques et mystiques interpersonnelles’. In Des bords du Gange aux rives du Jourdain, edited by Hans Urs von Balthasar et al., 150–153. Paris: Éditions Saint-Paul. Chergé, Christian de (1997). L’invincible espérance. Paris: Bayard/Centurion. Corless, Roger (1991). ‘Sense and Nonsense in Buddhist–Christian Intermonastic Dialogue’. Monastic Studies 19: 11–22. Cousins, Ewert (1992). Christ of the 21st Century. New York: Continuum. Durel, Bernard (2009). Le nuage de l’inconnaissance. Une mystique pour notre temps. Paris: Albin Michel. Funk, Mary Margaret (2003). ‘Winter Snows Thaw’. Monastic Interreligious Dialogue Bulletin 70: 53–54. Henry, Patrick  G. and Donald  K.  Swearer (1989). For the Sake of the World. The Spirit of Buddhist and Christian Monasticism. Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press. John-Paul II (1987). ‘Discours aux Cardinaux de la Curie, 22 décembre 1986’. Bulletin du Secretariat pour les non-chrétiens 64: 62–70. Le Saux, Henri (1998). Ascent to the Depth of the Heart. The Spiritual Diary of Swami Abhishiktananda (1948–1973). Delhi: ISPCK.

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Monastic Interreligious Dialogue   671 Le Saux, Henri (1986). La montée au fond du coeur. Le journal intime du moine chrétien-­sannyasi hindou, 1948–1973. Paris: O.E.I.L. Le Saux, Henri (1981). ‘The Depth-Dimension of Religious Dialogue’. Vidyajyoti 45: 201–221. Le Saux, Henri (1966). La rencontre de l’hindouisme et du christianisme. Paris: Éditions du Seuil. Leclercq, Jean (1986). Nouvelle page d’histoire monastique. Histoire de l’A.I.M., 1960–1985. Paris: Publications de l’A.I.M. Leray, Yvonne (2012). ‘Christian de Chergé et l’islam’, viewed 18 March 2014: Merton, Thomas (2003). The Inner Experience. Notes on Contemplation. New York: HarperCollins. Merton, Thomas (1975). The Asian Journal of Thomas Merton. New York: New Directions. Mitchell, Donald W. and James Wiseman (eds) (1997). The Gethsemani Encounter. A Dialogue on the Spiritual Life by Buddhist and Christian Monastics. New York: Continuum. O’Hanlon, Daniel (1974). ‘Les moines d’Asie découvrent l’Asie’. Bulletin de l’A.I.M. 16: 7–27. Panikkar, Raimon (1999a). The Intrareligious Dialogue, rev. edn. New York: Paulist Press. Panikkar, Raimon (1999b). ‘Religious Identity and Pluralism’. In A Dome of Many Colors. Studies in Religious Pluralism, Identity, and Unity, edited by Arvind Sharma and Kathleen M. Dugan, 23–47. Harrisburg, PA: Trinity Press International. Panikkar, Raimon (ed.) (1982). Blessed Simplicity: the Monk as Universal Archetype. New York: Seabury Press. Paul VI (1964). Ecclesiam Suam. Encyclical of Pope Paul VI, On the Church, 6 August 1964.

Paul VI (1965). Gaudium et Spes, Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World, promulgated by His Holiness, Pope Paul VI, on 7 December 1965. . Reprinted as ‘Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World (Gaudium et Spes)’. In Vatican II: The Essential Texts, edited by Norman Tanner, 189–298. New York: Image, 2012. Phan, Peter (2013). ‘L’Esprit Saint comme fondement du dialogue interreligieux’. In Le dialogue interreligieux. Interpellations théologiques contemporaines, edited by Fabrice Blée and Achiel Peelman, 21–41. Montréal: Novalis/Bayard. Pius XII (1957). The Encyclical Fidei Donum of Pope Pius XII. New York: Society for the Propagation of the Faith Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue (1991). Dialogue and Proclamation: Reflection and Orientations on Interreligious Dialogue and the Proclamation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Rome: Holy See. Richard, Jean (1969). L’esprit de la Croisade. Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Sicard, Germain (1992). ‘Le moine et les princes’. Bulletin de Littérature Ecclésiastique 93.1: 7–16. Skudlarek, William (ed.) (2011). Dilatato Corde, Vol. 1, Nos 1 & 2: January–December. Vecoli, Fabrizio (2011). ‘The Other in the Spirituality of the Desert Fathers’. In The Quest for a Common Humanity. Human Dignity and Otherness in the Religious Traditions of the Mediterranean, edited by K. Berthelot and M. Morgenstern, 159–178. Leiden: E. J. Brill. Wiseman, James (1992). ‘Christian Monastics and Interreligious Dialogue’. Cistercian Studies Quarterly 27: 257–271.

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chapter 44

Con tem por a ry Monasticism Challenges and Opportunities Michael Casey, OCSO

The most obvious characteristic of Christian monasticism in recent years is that it has undergone unprecedented change. This is especially true in the Catholic West due to the impact of the Second Vatican Council. In almost all countries and cultures, however, all kinds of monks and nuns have had to accommodate themselves to social changes. This chapter will have as its principal focus the various Western forms of monastic life which are based on the Rule of Saint Benedict.1 Other chapters in this Handbook have described the present situation of Orthodox, Oriental Orthodox, Protestant, and Anglican monasticism. Similar challenges and opportunities, with local variants, will face most of the groupings. There is no Benedictine order as a single juridical entity. The Benedictine Confederation is an umbrella organization which in 2013 included twenty congregations (with a total of 7,827 monks). There are seventy-four congregations or federations of Benedictine nuns and sisters (with a total of 15,438 members.) In addition, there are 2,450 monks and 825 nuns in the nineteen congregations of the Cistercian Order; and 1,934 monks and 1,657 nuns in the Cistercian Order of Strict Observance.

1  Since the period covered in this chapter coincides with the author’s monastic life, descriptions are based on direct observations in many male and female monasteries of different observances in various countries. Extrapolations and interpretative comment have been documented where possible. Most of what is said about monks applies equally to Benedictine nuns (with solemn vows and strict enclosure) and to many Benedictine sisters (with simple vows and apostolic commitments).

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Contemporary Monasticism: Challenges and Opportunities   673

Monastic Life in 1960 At the beginning of this period most monastic communities inherited as their ideal the nineteenth-century version of a medieval monastery: a multistoried building enclosing a cloistered quadrangle. For example, new monasteries built in Azul (Argentina) in 1958 and Kipkelion (Kenya) in 1956 (which has since moved to Uganda) scrupulously followed the European plan and scale. Most monasteries were or had been located in rural areas and were surrounded by extensive working farms. Established communities usually had at least fifty members and many numbered over a hundred. The spiritual life of the monastery revolved around what was then termed the ‘Divine Office’, celebrated in Latin several times daily. At least a substantial portion of the liturgy was sung in Gregorian chant. A ‘High Mass’ was celebrated for the community daily, and priests celebrated private Masses at purpose-built side altars. ‘Spiritual Reading’ was not greatly emphasized, and consisted of the standard works of piety then available, perhaps with the addition of the works of Abbot Columba Marmion. Studies were mainly cler­ic­al or, in the case of those involved in education, professional. ‘Monastic spirituality’ was considered the domain of the eccentric few (Casey 2008a: 229–245). Communities following the Benedictine Rule were characterized by a certain formality in lifestyle as well as in liturgy. Superiors were considered to hold the place of Christ and held absolute authority. Monastic habits were worn everywhere and, in many congregations, the monastic tonsure was customary. Community exercises were marked by seniority, processions, deep bows, and Latin prayers. Many congregations made provision for a Chapter of Faults to ensure a high level of compliance. Silence was an ac­know­ledged value, even though its observance was often weak, except among the Trappists, who maintained a sign language as the normal means of communication. Enclosure was strictly observed, under pain of excommunication, and members of the opposite sex were not admitted into the internal spaces of the monastery. Exits from the enclosure depended on the external activities undertaken by particular monasteries. The monastery precincts often followed the village model. Although few communities managed to be completely self-sufficient, most took pride in the number of different occupations and services performed on site, and in the range of skills to be found among the members. Arts and crafts flourished and most communities were happy to have skilled artisans who could work on building projects and maintenance. The high esteem in which monasteries were held contributed to good morale. Monastic life was seen as exotic, unchanged for centuries. This perception was reinforced by the writings of Thomas Merton, who presented an attractive, if idealized, picture of monastic life in the twentieth century.

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674   Michael Casey, OCSO

Transition The 1960s were a period of vast social change. There was a general feeling that change was in the air, a prospect embraced with a widespread sense of optimism. Among Catholics this enthusiasm fed into the excitement generated by the Second Vatican Council, held from 1962 to 1965. During these years and for a decade following, monasticism was open to experimentation as a means of responding to ‘the signs of the times’. Monastic orders moved more slowly than modern congregations, retaining the habit and most traditional structures but, for all, the reality of change was unavoidable. Beneath the froth of visible social movements strong currents were active. ‘Secularization, individualization and pluralization have proved to be irreversible everywhere’ (Küng 1995: 773). Charles Taylor notes, however, that ‘the story here is in­cred­ ibly complicated, with wide variations between different countries, regions, classes, milieux, etc.’ (Taylor 2007: 424). Monastic communities found themselves under pressure to become more ‘normal’, less distinctive. Enclosure became more permeable. Under the prevailing influence of functional rationality many customary rituals were discarded and slowly the symbolic universe in which monastic life operated was fractured. Corporate identity became weaker. More scope was available for individual lifestyles, and ‘personal responsibility’ often substituted for what had previously been governed by hierarchical directives. Observance became less uniform within communities, and variations occurred within congregations. An example of this change can be found in Hillery’s sociological study of the Trappist monastery of New Melleray Abbey in Iowa during the period 1969 to 1984 (Hillery 1992). A renewed interest in the eremitical or solitary life seems to have been a temporary reaction to over-institutionalization. Carthusians alone were exempt from the pressure to adapt. These changes were not, in the euphoria of the moment, always subjected to careful analysis. As Joel Rippinger has pointed out: What was being accomplished in American Benedictine houses during this postconciliar period was nothing short of a self-questioning of the entire monastic world view and a reformulation of each community’s reason for existence. That such questioning led to excesses and overreactions in certain instances is clearly borne out by historical hindsight (Rippinger 1990: 252).

The aggiornamento, or ‘updating’, mandated by the Second Vatican Council, was often reduced to material adaptation with little thought for underlying beliefs and values. In many cases ‘renewal’ seems to have been regarded as no more than raising the standard of living to a common level, allowing for more participation in governance, and removing observances that no longer seemed meaningful, especially detailed ceremonial prescriptions and practices that stemmed from the piety of a previous century. These processes ran parallel to the short-lived contemporary movement of ‘secularization theology’.

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Contemporary Monasticism: Challenges and Opportunities   675 The Second Vatican Council enjoined a return to the sources. In the half century since the end of the Council there has been a vigorous revival in monastic studies, with critical editions of major texts, scholarly translations, congresses, studies, courses, and doctoral theses. The results of these labours have trickled down to hundreds of books on monastic spirituality, producing not only scholarly monographs but also works suitable for ordinary readers. The most important result was that the upcoming generation of monks is now formed less by compliance with customary observances, as in the past, than by immersion in the monastic tradition and by internalization of its beliefs and values. Monks and nuns in the twenty-first century have unprecedented access to the sources of their spirituality.

Fifty Years Later After the period of transition most communities settled down in an effort to reconcile their updated lifestyle with their centuries-old traditions. Several factors had an im­port­ant influence on the outcome. Obviously, their impact varies from place to place, and there are differences between male and female monasteries, because monks are often ordained priests, and also because different rules of enclosure apply to monasteries of nuns.

The End of the Laybrothers To sustain the economic base of the monastery many monasteries had, from medieval times, relied on laybrothers and, to a lesser degree in monasteries of nuns, laysisters, and externs. A single community contained two distinct classes with clear demarcation between them. Although they were consecrated religious, laybrothers and laysisters followed a daily round of many hours of work and simple prayer, without much time spent in liturgical worship. They were freer to spend long hours in manual labour and to attend to business outside the monastic enclosure. It was accepted that the core of their vocation was work. Many of the monumental monasteries built in the nineteenth century were the fruit of laybrothers’ industry and toil. Movements towards universal literacy and a classless society were probably factors in the numerical decline of applicants for this form of life. Economic conditions have changed since the nineteenth century, and even in those places where agriculture is still viable, there is less reliance on manual labour. The renewed interest in the liturgy and the transition to the vernacular meant that all members of the community were encouraged to full liturgical participation. Numbers of candidates fell throughout the first half of the twentieth century and then virtually disappeared (Southey  2008: 266–277; Rippinger 1990: 147–158). The effects of this were not immediately apparent, since those who had entered earlier continued to perform their customary functions.

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676   Michael Casey, OCSO As the distinctive contribution of the laybrothers and laysisters was discontinued, the community lifestyle underwent substantial modification. Without laybrothers the functions they had previously performed had either to be terminated, assigned to others in the community, or outsourced. This reassignment often involved a loss of cohesion in the lives of the choir religious. Additional tasks were added to what had previously been their principal occupations: the celebration of the liturgy, administration, priestly and intellectual work. The result was an increase in the workload and a subjective sense of being overworked. This became acute as new arrivals became scarcer.

Fewer Entrants Apart from some countries with special circumstances, such as Nigeria and Vietnam, where vocations are numerous, most regions are reporting less interest in pursuing a monastic vocation. For example, in 2012, the twenty monasteries of the AmericanCassinese Congregation had twenty novices, and in 2013 the thirteen houses of the English Benedictine Congregation had seven novices. In 2015 the Cistercians of the Strict Observance had 105 male and sixty-five female novices, and sixty-one male and fifty-four female postulants in 102 male and seventy-six female communities. (The higher numbers probably reflect the longer period of initial formation.) This is particularly true in those places with a declining birth rate. Populations are ageing, and the pool of potential candidates is shrinking. In addition, with enlarged opportunities for the involvement of the laity, there now exist many more options for living a fervent spiritual life and working for the Church without joining a religious order. The typical culture of the industrialized West is permissive, consumerist, and individualist. It is not a likely seedbed of monastic vocations—except by way of their rejection of ambient values. Moreover the ‘globalization of superficiality’ means that there is less interest and, progressively, less aptitude for engaging in serious issues or in considering life-and-death options. The transition to monastic life has become more radical. Even without considering the possible effects of substance abuse and eating disorders, a person who has been socialized to pursue status, celebrity, money, and entertainment will need a substantial change of outlook before the thought of lifelong monastic commitment arises. It needs to be noted, however, that those who do enter are usually older; they bring with them enhanced skills and greater maturity but, often, they carry more wounds and are more resistant to the internalization of monastic beliefs and values. Another factor in the decline of religious and monastic recruitment has been a widespread disaffection with the institutional Church. Members of Generations X and Y have been influenced by a culture that regards religion as unimportant, and by new and aggressive forms of atheism. Even those who maintain some level of religious practice are often referred to as ‘believing but not belonging’, affirming that they are ‘spiritual’ rather than ‘religious’. Growing up in a world of impermanent commitments, young people generally embrace a policy of keeping their options open. There has been a growing mistrust of institutions previously considered worthy of trust: the scandal of sexual

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Contemporary Monasticism: Challenges and Opportunities   677 abuse in the Catholic Church has made many reluctant to become permanently associated with any part of its organizational structure. A further factor in the reduced interest in religious vocations has been the changed attitude to sexuality. Compared with potential candidates in the early 1960s, the upcoming generations have been more sexually active and at an earlier age. Their sexuality is an important part of their personal identity, and the notion of voluntary lifelong celibacy is often incomprehensible to them. Furthermore, an appreciation of celibacy has become more difficult when young people have considerably less personal contact with priests and religious than their forebears. It could also be argued that religious instruction in the Catholic Church since the Second Vatican Council has concentrated too little on the experiential or devotional aspects of religion. The resulting ‘piety void’ makes it less likely that young people have been initiated into regular devotional practice than they were fifty years ago. The spiritual experience that leads young people towards a religious vocation habitually occurs in the context of serious devotional practice. Where this is weak the energy that motivates the practical steps towards a monastic vocation is lacking.

Ageing Communities The fact that monks and nuns, like the rest of the population, are living longer should be a cause for celebration. When, however, longer lives are combined with fewer entrants, the average age of communities begins to climb. As the centre of gravity moves upwards there are fewer able-bodied persons available for vigorous work, and there are more elderly members needing increased levels of care. Although pensions and other government aid packages may help, the number of those available to assume responsibility in income-generating occupations and industries is reduced. In many precarious communities there is little sense that the members are earning their living by their own work, and this often leads to an erosion of morale. A more serious drawback in ageing communities is the resultant loss of ability to deal with changes coming from contemporary society. When the majority of the members of chapters and councils are the same people who served in these decision-making bodies twenty or thirty years ago, the likelihood that they will arrive at fresh initiatives diminishes. Too often survival has become the major preoccupation; any proactive sense of mission has faded. Ageing is a necessary consequence of a long life; it cannot be avoided but it can be managed. Since monasteries do not have a mandatory retirement age, many monks and nuns continue doing a full day’s work even into their eighties. This is especially so when their assigned tasks do not require new learning but rely on already-gained cognitive expertise, routine, competence, and experience. As a result, the real impact of low recruitment is often disguised by the fact that the tasks necessary for community life continue to be performed by members who are long past normal retirement age.

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New Technologies Monasteries are run on traditional lines, and many monks and nuns appreciate the archaic elements in their lifestyle. Even the most withdrawn of contemplative communities, however, profit from modern technology. Labour-saving machines compensate for reduced numbers in the communities, telephone answering devices relieve the community of having somebody permanently on standby, and online marketing makes possible the marketing of goods without the need to leave the monastic enclosure. Computers, the Internet, and email have found their niche in most monasteries, though practice varies widely, from the glumly tolerant to the enthusiastic. What is worrying to many monastic communities is less the technology itself than the culture it has engendered. Those responsible often experience a difficulty in forming newcomers to be less reliant on their various communication devices. In the first place this means recalibrating the desirable proportion between face-to-face encounter and virtual relationships via electronic media. Joining a monastic community is not merely a change of residence; it involves sincere interaction with other people and the willingness to become part of a new family. Furthermore the seriousness of this endeavour is often challenged by the state of distractedness to which heavy Internet usage often leads, ‘the permanent state of distractedness that defines the online life’ (Carr 2010: 112), and an impatience to arrive at quick answers without the labour of logical analysis. ‘The fundamental assumption of that world is not coherence but discontinuity’ (Postman  2006: 110). The subtlety of relationships within a long-term monastic community is a deep challenge to those conditioned by the electronic media.

Institutionalized Individualism The individualism of the industrialized West is commonly acknowledged and sometimes eulogized. As persons who have come under this influence enter monasteries, they bring with them a mindset that is less able to respond positively to a corporate and communitarian lifestyle. As a result they experience a need for a certain amount of space to ‘do their own thing’. Just as the formation of community requires from each the acceptance of restrictions, so the loosening of those restrictions beyond a certain point can lead to a weakening of both the sense and the reality of community. When meeting these individual needs becomes paramount, community life effectively ceases to exist. This is how one postmodern group of religious describes itself: ‘The community life is loosely structured and flexible in order to develop and utilize the talents of each individual and avoid any risk of depersonalization’ (National Religious Vocation Conference 1992: 61). To what extent has individualism made inroads into monastic life? Professor Michael Hochschild, who conducted a detailed survey and analysis of several monasteries and

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Contemporary Monasticism: Challenges and Opportunities   679 presented his findings to the international congress of Benedictine abbots in 2012, has summarized his findings thus: A perfectly average monk constantly strives after a maximum of self-determination and at the same time for a minimum of determination by others. This means that every monk would prefer to be his own boss and where this is not possible—as in community life—the potential for conflict arises. An outside observer would expect to find humility and obedience in monastic life, but too often, in reality, individual autonomy and self-fulfilment are paramount. In all monasteries, the values associated with these latter attitudes are markedly higher than the average in society (Hochschild 2013a: 33).2

Although this sociological observation was based on a limited number of Benedictine monasteries within a particular region, the diagnosis applies more generally even in those cultures where social cohesion has hitherto been stronger. Lamenting individualism is not enough, a creative response must be found. ‘In this sense, monastic communities no longer have a choice. They are faced with monastic individualism, but  they can also, by their own means, become reconciled with this phenomenon’ (Hochschild 2013b: 38). Because of the widespread desire for self-determination, many communities have become reluctant to be appropriately prescriptive about details of the common life for fear of provoking indignation, conflict, or rebellion. A doctrinaire attitude of laissezfaire, termed ‘rigorous minimalism’ by Hochschild (Hochschild  2013b: 33), creates a very undemanding community in which to live, but tends to undermine progress towards corporate solidarity. By letting members go their own way, individualism is institutionalized and becomes a permanent feature of the community’s lifestyle. External rituals and customary activities are not everything, but they are not nothing. It is through participation in common exercises that newcomers are incorporated into the community so that they feel at home and, thereby, become receptive of its beliefs and values. In a situation where communal activity is minimal it is doubtful whether a community has sufficient cohesion to be formative of newcomers and, so, to project itself into the future.

Hyphenated Monasticism Candidates come to the monastery seeking God. What they find is a community, a concrete group of people conditioned by their history. The longer a monastery has been in existence the more it becomes involved in various worthwhile activities, either within the monastic precincts or outside: so involved that it becomes identified with them. This, in turn, can result in an external pressure to continue the works undertaken in the past, despite dimin2  Translation by the author of this chapter.

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680   Michael Casey, OCSO ishing numbers and changing circumstances. This constraint is more likely to occur among Benedictine communities with apostolic responsibilities than among groups such as the Trappists who avowedly follow an enclosed life, and it is more common among male communities with a high proportion of priests than among communities of nuns. Where there is a situation where monks become missionary-monks, teacher-monks, pastor-monks, farmer-monks, cheesemaker-monks, and the like, there will be an in­ev­it­ able tension between the components of the formula. Hyphenated monks are divided within themselves and among themselves. The demands of the alternative activity are usually more urgent and more interesting than the daily round of coenobitic life. As a result, those involved will often find more of their personal identity in their work than in their monasticity. In all communities, however, where those in search of maximum self-determination choose to invest the bulk of their energies in their particular occupation, there exists a danger that the community’s signature activities will be sidelined, neglected, or receive only perfunctory attention. ‘If one thinks only of oneself and one’s work then meals and prayers in community rapidly become secondary’ (Hochschild 2013b: 31). Although St Benedict prescribed that nothing was to be preferred to the Work of God, other ac­tiv­ ities are often regarded as more urgent or more important so that, in some places, significant members of the community are frequently absent from the liturgy. Those who are regular in their participation are perceived as persons of lower status in the community: novices, retirees, and the less competent. Signature activities are those which are characteristic and distinctive of the group. They are the principal source of the group’s identity. Performed well they create a high level of morale among members of the group and serve as a means of attraction to potential candidates. On the other hand, when signature activities are downgraded morale falls, energy is dissipated, priorities are unclear, and the identity of the group is confused. Since the Second Vatican Council many monastic communities and congregations have embraced a measure of pluralism as a means of responding to the particularity of local circumstances and the variety of needs and aspirations among their members. For instance, in the 170 monasteries belonging to the Cistercians of the Strict Observance the tendency to decentralization has led to the formation of regional subgroups, each with its own distinctive character (Friedlander 1988). While there is no doubt that this change of direction has been both necessary and fruitful, among its side effects has been a tendency to place less emphasis on the primary carriers of identity, generating an uncertainty about the relative importance of particular activities to the overall health of the community or congregation.

Expanding Boundaries Fifty years ago autonomous monastic communities had relatively little contact with those outside their immediate circle, and the different monastic congregations and orders sought as little interaction as possible. Today, in most regions, there is much

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Contemporary Monasticism: Challenges and Opportunities   681 more contact and cooperation between the different groups and, as a consequence, a greater bond of solidarity (Casey  2013b). There have also been closer ties between male and female monastics, notably among the Cistercians of the Strict Observance who, in 2011, finally won the approval of the Vatican to unite parallel orders of monks and nuns into a single order following the same Constitutions and with a single General Chapter. A greater sense of openness has also marked monastic interaction with the wider world (Merton 1971a: 129–142). Monks and nuns who were hitherto fully enclosed are more aware of what is happening and have greater opportunity to participate in educational and cultural activities outside the enclosure. Monastic guesthouses are flourishing, monastic spirituality is no longer regarded as esoteric, and associate and oblate programmes are attracting unprecedented numbers of participants. Many monasteries have become significant centres of ecumenical and interreligious dialogue. Parallel with this change in attitude has been the geographical expansion of monasticism, already foreshadowed since the nineteenth century, but evidenced strongly following the Second World War and still continuing. Apart from those countries in which Eastern Orthodoxy predominates, monasteries belonging to the Benedictine tradition have been implanted almost everywhere. Cistercians of the Strict Observance, for ex­ample, are found in forty-five countries. Complementary to this development, and partly as a result of the globalizing effect of the Internet, candidates are no longer restricted to those living within relative proximity to a monastery. Today many, and perhaps most, monasteries have members who have come from foreign countries. This expansion and the pluralism it entails have had an invigorating effect especially on those groups that were previously restricted to Europe or North America, but it has not always been easy. In the first place, especially since the 1970s, the challenge of inculturation has occasioned the need for a serious discernment of what is essential to monastic life and must be retained, as distinct from those observances that are open to prudent adaptation. Secondly, there is serious difficulty in providing appropriate formation, especially in those countries such as Nigeria, where there are large numbers of candidates and an insufficient supply of those with the requisite skills to help them. Thirdly, it is feared that monastic values are only skin-deep. Beneath the placid surface of some cultures there are hidden currents of tribalism, animism, superstition, and other social conditionings which run counter to monastic life and which are so strongly ingrained that they prove resistant to efforts to negate them. Finally, the transition of authority from colonial founders to local members has often been fraught with difficulty and has not infrequently occasioned a painful period of division and conflict. The unavoidable evolution towards pluralism and a wider openness has not been without benefits. Because of it, however, community members sometimes experience a reduced sense of the specificity of their vocation. In the past, a monocultural organization with a policy of uniformity and a network of customary practices created a strong and visible identity. Now a corporate identity has to be created by subtler means, bringing together disparate strands within the community.

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Monasticism under Threat? Institutionalized monasticism has existed in the West for more than 1,500 years. Any attempt at calculating the likelihood that monastic life will survive must be made in the context of this long history which has included so many vicissitudes, as previous chapters have shown. The resilience exhibited by the monastic institution during past cen­tur­ ies may be taken as an indication that monasticism possesses an innate power of recovery that enables it to survive difficult times. How healthy is the situation of present-day monasticism? Here some distinctions are necessary. The monastic tradition has never been more accessible to ordinary monks and nuns. Monastic personnel, having survived the upheavals of the past half-century, are generally committed to their vocation, stable, and hard-working. The monastic impulse or the attraction to a life spent seeking God through prayer and community is probably as strong as it ever was though the linkage to membership of an established community may be more fragile. The monastic institution is probably at a crossroads. Where it demonstrates itself capable of creative adaptation and in harmony with contemporary aspirations it will probably flourish. Where a monastery that does no more than prolong the customs of a previous generation it may find itself reduced to a kind of pious theme park, exciting the curiosity of visitors but not attracting many recruits. Failures in recruitment and the dwindling monastic population are the main sources of anxiety for those responsible for the future of monasticism. The word ‘precarious’ has been co-opted to describe the situation of the many communities that have not attracted sufficient candidates to maintain their way of life or to project into the future. Some of these communities have been or will be closed and their members relocated. Michael Hochschild has made a distinction regarding the kind of tactics required to increase recruitment (Hochschild 2013a: 38). In some cases what is needed is to provide greater opportunity for the community to become known to the pool of potential candidates. This is done by improved public relations, websites, brochures, and live-in programmes. In other circumstances, these measures will not produce the desired result. It is motivation that needs strengthening. This is done by upgrading the quality of the community life and lifestyle so that potential candidates are more attracted to it and more satisfied if they do eventually enter. Enhanced publicity cannot take the place of authenticity of practice. Although population collapse can lead to a species becoming extinct, in the case of monks and nuns, lower numbers are not necessarily the beginning of the end. Nor, for that matter, is reduced membership a serious obstacle to following the monastic regimen. A community of four can express the monastic charism as well as a community of forty. The challenge faced in reduced communities is to create a lifestyle that embodies the monastic charism in a manner suitable for their concrete conditions, and not to attempt to prolong a form of life more suitable for a much larger group. With these and with all monastic communities the challenge is to make the necessary adaptation to reality.

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Contemporary Monasticism: Challenges and Opportunities   683 Such adaptation is always required but, in times of crisis, it becomes more urgent and radical. This is not merely an administrative or organizational issue, but it belongs to the spiritual order. The obstinate refusal to face reality and to accommodate corporate structures to it represents a failure to live in the present moment and a preference for routine over reality. The changed conditions of our time need not be a death sentence for monasticism, they are simply a summons to a more rigorous self-evaluation and to a clearer corporate vision of the nature of monastic existence.

The Future of Monasticism In his Lenten letter for 2014, Abbot General Mauro-Giuseppe Lepori, OCist writes, ‘From my frequent visits to our communities . . . I deduce a growing uncertainty about where the coming years and decades will lead us’. This section will focus on what needs to be done to shape monasticism’s future and to make it less uncertain. It will not attempt to predict what shape that future will take; this has been done already (Hart 2006). It proposes an action plan. Four areas will be examined: the need for consistent and cre­ ative leadership, the strengthening of the mystical dimension of monasticism, the formulation of a new asceticism, and appropriate adaptation.

Leadership Monastic history demonstrates that periods of growth are usually the result of charismatic leadership. The style of leadership that works varies from one epoch to another but what is common to all is that successful leaders communicate an energy to their followers which enables them to change their attitudes and their behaviour in an unanticipated direction. People become leaders because others are attracted to them and are prepared to follow them. Successful leaders are agents of change. Initial recruitment is only one aspect of effective leadership. The more significant challenge consists in motivating the members of the community to persevere in a lifelong commitment to monastic practice and, within that stable framework, to be ready to take whatever steps are necessary to renew their lifestyle so that it is in more effective accord with contemporary aspirations. In accordance with Pope Francis’ Apostolic Exhortation Evangelii gaudium, this means including some form of evangelization within the monastic agenda. The Rule of Saint Benedict specifies three channels by which an abbot is able to exercise his authority. He is to teach, to make policy, and to give instructions (RB 2.5: docere, constitutere, iubere). In consultation with the monastic chapter and his council the abbot is responsible for reminding his community of the beliefs and values which support a Gospel manner of living, for translating them into everyday community policy, and for ensuring that the policies are implemented. The foundation of the whole process is

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684   Michael Casey, OCSO c­ onsistent and ongoing teaching by the abbot. This creates a climate of meaning in the community from which a corporate vision emerges that enables goals and objectives to be determined. Leadership is easy to recognize but difficult to define. It is much easier to catalogue the dire effects of its absence. Usually, good leadership grows out of effective administration in a functional community. Often it is a gradual process that follows a stage of tacit negotiation between the leader and the community. In part leadership depends on the antecedent willingness of the members of the community to be led. Nowadays it depends also on the willingness of a superior to activate and coordinate leadership cap­ abil­ities within the community. An abbot who attempts to lead by acting apart from the community consensus will be less successful than one who subtly leads from within, although much depends on the particular character of the community. Good leadership means abandoning a laissez-faire attitude to community regimen and embracing positive and consensual goals. It may well involve restricting the range of community engagements so that priority is given to its signature activities. Almost inevitably such initiatives will impose hardship on some members of the community. A good leader will provide an abundance of compassionate and affectionate support during necessary transitions and will be skilled in creating positive alternatives to what is perceived as loss.

Mystical Orientation Although Benedictine monasteries have, in the course of history, undertaken a wide variety of missionary, pastoral, and educational activities, their principal occupation has been the search for union with God through a disciplined life which devotes substantial time to liturgy, lectio divina, and personal prayer. This spiritual component needs to become more of a reality if the future is to be secured. As former Abbot General Bernardo Olivera notes, ‘Any process of monastic renewal must return to what is ­essential—namely, steering all one’s existence toward the Mystery and the mystical experience that this involves’ (Olivera 2012: 124). In line with what Pope Francis seems to be asking of the Church as a whole, the monastic institution may need to invest less energy in differentiating itself from prevailing secularism and more in strengthening its attachment to its primary purpose. This is affirming no more than what was said by the theologian Karl Rahner: ‘The Christian of the future will be a mystic or he will not exist at all’ (Rahner 1981: 149). A life given to prayer is the special occupation of the monk beyond any external activity. This may mean that many monasteries will have to dehyphenate their lives or, at least, re­assess their priorities. This is how Thomas Merton explained the proposition: Obviously the future of monasticism depends first of all on the monks (including ‘nuns’) being monks and not something else . . . (T)he monk is a person who in trad­ ition­al language ‘seeks God’ or seeks by metanoia and inner revolution to deepen his

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Contemporary Monasticism: Challenges and Opportunities   685 consciousness and awareness in such a way that he ‘experiences’ something of the ultimate ground of being and to [sic] the saving power of the Spirit and witnesses to this in some way (Merton 1971b: 218).

These past decades have witnessed greater attention to the contemplative dimension of monastic life. The translation of the liturgy into vernacular languages has made the content more accessible. There has been a rediscovery of lectio divina as a typical Benedictine method of praying with the Scriptures. Many monasteries have become centres of contemplative meditation, communicating the monastic tradition to those seeking deeper prayer. All this augurs well. The great threats to the renewal of the contemplative life are two: the pressure of overwork and the misuse of mass media. Both these issues undermine the kind of fruitful leisure needed for the living of the contemplative life, which demands hours of prayer and reading every day. The Internet and other sources of entertainment can engulf ­periods once set aside for spiritual exercises. Increasing the workload also edges out prayer. In both cases there is also interior damage: excessive use of the media generates acedia and makes the mind restless and unable to be still. Overwork creates anxiety which divides the heart and constantly intrudes itself into moments meant for silence. For the contemplative life to flourish practical steps must be taken to promote and ­protect it.

A New Asceticism Bernardo Olivera insists on asceticism. ‘Without asceticism and discernment of one’s desires, no spousal mysticism or heartfelt prayer (intentio cordis) is possible, nor can there be a human heart stretched out toward God, nor any union of wills in the love of the risen Christ’ (Olivera 2012: 84). In speaking of ‘asceticism’ there is reference less to severe penance or mortification than to the discipline imposed by the acceptance of a particular goal. Monastic asceticism is a matter of having objectives and practices that are conducive to its goal. As will be discussed in the next section, this will often involve reviewing the effectiveness of current practices in facilitating the ultimate purpose of contemplative living. Such renewal will often summon communities first to reclaim and reinvigorate their spirituality. This will entail focusing on the specific values of Saint Benedict’s Rule and devising strategies to embody these values in practices that are meaningful to the upcoming generations. This new asceticism will necessarily be community-based rather than a matter for individual choice. It will also be non-dualistic in the sense that training in outward observances will not be divorced from training in the relevant interior dispositions. The kind of asceticism that is required is one that will dissociate itself from particular disorders in contemporary society. It will be an asceticism that is both traditional and countercultural. Thus monastic life will be characterized by abstemiousness in food

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686   Michael Casey, OCSO (eating disorders), abstemiousness in drink (alcohol and drug abuse), chastity (sexual permissiveness and abuse), simple living (consumerism), responsible stewardship (exploitation), environmental awareness (throwaway culture), truthfulness (political spin and weasel words), honest and transparent governance (corruption). What will make these practices into components of a spirituality is their capacity to change the monk’s experience. To live thus is to experience life differently. Monks and nuns become living, but not necessarily vocal, witnesses to a different way of living; monastic life becomes prophetic.

Appropriate Adaptation Many of the changed circumstances in the daily lives of monasteries have not been primarily the result of initiatives proposed by the monks and nuns themselves, but were their reactions and responses to changes in the ambient society and in the Church. Now a different kind of adaptation is required—a deliberate policy of reviewing and reshaping daily life to render it more effective in enhancing its contemplative dimension. Bernardo Olivera has proposed seven areas in which the possibility of adaptation needs to be discerned: • size of buildings • economic structure • work • inculturation of liturgy • simplification of the forms of authority • meaningfulness of symbols, rituals and customs • new expressions of traditional values (Olivera 2006: xvi) Such a complete overhaul of the outward shape of monasticism would provide the maximum opportunity for the vigorous survival of the institution into the foreseeable future. It would require effective leadership and a clear vision both of monasticism’s purpose and of the means necessary to achieve it. In the light of history it is likely that those parts of the monastic world that embrace the project of adaptation will survive and thrive. Those that do not will probably fade into graceful insignificance.

Suggested Reading The best means of arriving at an understanding of the vicissitudes of monastic life in the last century is the two-volume history of the Cistercian Order of the Strict Observance edited by Augusta Tescari and others (Tescari 2008). This is a detailed analysis of the changes undergone by the largest juridical entity within the Benedictine tradition, much

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Contemporary Monasticism: Challenges and Opportunities   687 of it written by those actively involved in the events. Joel Rippinger effectively describes the situation of Benedictines in the United States (Rippinger 1990). A wider bibli­og­ raphy for matters discussed in this chapter is given in the other articles written by the author. For different views of the future of monasticism, the collective volume edited by Patrick Hart (2006) is relevant and entertaining. For statistics and other information consult , , www.ocso.org> and the links given there.

Bibliography Carr, N. (2010). The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains. New York: W. W. Norton. Casey, M. (2013a) ‘The Cistercian Order since 1600’. In The Cambridge Companion to the Cistercian Order, edited by Mette Birkedal Bruun, 50–62. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Casey, M. (2013b). ‘Autonomy’. AIM English Language Bulletin 104: 39–55. Casey, M. (2008a). ‘The Evolution of Cistercian Spirituality’. In The Cistercian Order of the Strict Observance in the Twentieth Century, vol. 2: From the Second Vatican Council to the End of the Century, edited by A. Tescari, 229–245. Rome: OCSO Curia Generalis. Casey, M. (2008b). ‘Afterword’. In Survival or Prophecy: The Correspondence of Jean Leclercq and Thomas Merton, edited by Patrick Hart, 131–142. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Casey, M. (2006). ‘Thoughts on Monasticism’s Possible Futures’. In A Monastic Vision for the 21st Century: Where Do We Go From Here? edited by Patrick Hart, 23–42. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Casey, M. (1998). ‘Towards the Cistercian Millennium’. Tjurunga: An Australasian Benedictine Review 54: 57–67. Casey, M. (1993). ‘Cistercian Spirituality’. In The New Dictionary of Catholic Spirituality, edited by M. Downey, 173–182. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Casey, M. (1981). ‘The Monk in the Modern World’. Tjurunga: An Australasian Benedictine Review 2: 5–24. Reprinted in M. Casey (2005), An Unexciting Life: Reflections on Benedictine Spirituality, 493–520. Petersham, MA: St Bede’s Publications. Eckerstorfer, B. (2013). ‘Wie können wir weitergehen? Zukunftsperspektiven benediktinischer Gemeinschaften’. Erbe und Auftrag: Monastische Welt 89: 45–65. Friedlander, C. (1988). Décentralisation et identité cistercienne (1946–1985): Quelle autonomie pour les communautés? Paris: Éditions du Cerf. Hart, P. (ed.) (2006). A Monastic Vision for the 21st Century: Where Do We Go From Here? Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Hillery, G. A., Jr. (1992). The Monastery: A Study in Freedom, Love, and Community. Westport, CT: Praeger. Hochschild, M. (2013a). ‘Benediktiner zwischen Kontinuität und Wandel: Erkenntnisse und Perspektiven aus einem internationalen Forschungsprojekt’. Erbe und Auftrag: Monastische Welt 89: 22–44. Hochschild, M. (2013b). ‘An Essay on the Precariousness of Monastic Life Today’. AIM. English Language Bulletin 104: 30–38. Küng, H. (1995). Christianity: The Religious Situation of our Time. London: SCM Press. Merton, T. (1971a). ‘Openness and Cloister’. In Contemplation in a World of Action, 129–142. London: George Allen & Unwin.

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688   Michael Casey, OCSO Merton, T. (1971b). ‘Notes on the Future of Monasticism’. In Contemplation in a World of Action, 218–225. London: George Allen & Unwin. National Religious Vocation Conference (1992). Your Choice: A Handbook for Young Adults Seeking Their Place in a Lifetime Ministry. Chicago, IL: National Religious Vocation Conference. Olivera, B. (2012). The Sun at Midnight: Monastic Experience of the Christian Mystery. Collegeville, MN: Cistercian Publications. Olivera, B. (2006). ‘Introduction: A Monastic Vision for the 21st Century’. In A Monastic Vision for the 21st Century: Where Do We Go From Here? edited by Patrick Hart, xiii–xvii. Kalamazoo, MI: Cistercian Publications. Postman, N. (2006). Amusing Ourselves to Death: Public Discourse in the Age of Show Business. New York: Penguin Books. Rahner, K. (1981). ‘The Spirituality of the Church of the Future’. In Theological Investigations, vol. 20: Concern for the Church, 143–153. London: Darton, Longman & Todd. Rippinger, J. (1990). The Benedictine Order in the United States: An Interpretive History. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press. Southey, A. (2008). ‘The Unification of the Communities: The Question of the Lay Brothers’. In The Cistercian Order of the Strict Observance in the Twentieth Century, vol. 2: From the Second Vatican Council to the End of the Century, edited by A.  Tescari, 266–277. Rome: OCSO Curia Generalis. Taylor, C. (2007). A Secular Age. Cambridge, MA: Belknap Press. Tescari, A., M.-G.  Dubois, and M.  P.  Santachiara (eds) (2008). The Cistercian Order of the Strict Observance in the Twentieth Century, vol. 1: From 1892 to the Close of the Second Vatican Council; vol. 2: From the Second Vatican Council to the End of the Century. Rome: OCSO Curia Generalis.

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Index

Note: Tables and figures are indicated by an italic “t” and “f ”, respectively, following the page number.

A

Aachen Assemblies (816/817)  220 Abba Garima monastery, Ethiopia  180 Abbaye de Maredsous, Belgium  223 ABCFM (American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions)  544, 550 Abington 448 Abraham of Kashkar  75 Abu Maqar (St Macarius) monastery  112, 172 Acharya, Francis Mahieu  563, 564 Act of Supremacy  445 Acts of Andrew 25 Acts of John 25 Acts of Paul and Thecla  26, 67, 68 Acts of Peter 25 Acts of Thomas  28, 37 Actus Vercellenses 25 Adams, Ian  636, 638 Ademar of Chabannes  335–6, 338, 340, 341 Ad Monachos (Evagrius Ponticus)  70 Admonitions for Monks 37 Adomnán of Iona  211 Ad providam (Clement V)  250 Ad vestram non (Alexander III)  255 Aelred/Ailred of Rievaulx  236, 406 African American National Baptist Convention 549 Against Jovinian (Ad Jovinianum) (Jerome) 91 Against Marcion (Tertullian)  25 Against the Conferencer (Contra Collatorem)(Prosper) 93 Against the Heresies (Irenaeus)  21, 28 Agnes of Bohemia  273, 276, 277 Aiguillon, duchesse d'  507 AIM (Aid for the Implementation of Monasticism) 658

AIM (Alliance for International Monasticism), see Alliance for International Monasticism (AIM) Aimilianos, Abbot  581, 582, 585 Akathist Hymn  131 Akoimetai Monastery, Constantinople  146 Albert, Bat-Sheva  338 Albert, Patriarch of Jerusalem  268 Albon, André d'  251 Alcuin of York  320, 326 Aldenderfer, Mark  185, 186 Aleksandr-Nevskaia Lavra, Petrograd  591–2 Aleksii I (Simanskii), Patriarch  593 Aleksii, Metropolitan of Moscow  479 Alexander III, Pope  255, 271, 405 Alexander, R. T.  186 Alexian Brothers  515, 518 Alfenim, R.  112–13 Alfonso (Mvemba Nzinga), Kongolese king  499, 542 Allchin, A. M.  621–2 Alliance for International Monasticism (AIM)  562–3, 658–9 Bangalore conference (1973)  562, 563, 658–9, 665 Bangkok conference (1968)  562, 563, 667 Kandy conference (1980)  562–3 see also Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (MID) All Saints Sisters  623 almsgiving  20–1, 22, 28, 141, 255 Alphonso of Portugal  255 Althoff, Gerd  390 Alton Abbey  626 Amadeus of Hauterives  377–8 Ambrose  85, 86, 87, 88, 91 Ambrose, K.  366 Amelungsborn Cistercian abbey  617

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690   index American Board of Commissioners for Foreign Missions (ABCFM)  544, 550 American-Cassinese Congregation  676 Amphilochios Makris, Elder  579–80 Amrhein, Andreas  545 Amundsen, Darrel W.  404, 405, 407 Anastasius IV, Pope  249 Anba Antuniyus (St Anthony) monastery 172–3 Anba Bishoy monastery  172 Anba Bula (St Paul) monastery  172 Andlau Abbey  292 Andrew of Crete, St  132 Andrews, Frances  264–78 Andronik (Trubachev)  481 Angelo Clareno  269 Angenendt, A.  249 Anglican Benedictines  553, 625 Anglican Sisters of Charity  621–2 Anglican tradition  621–30 and anti-Catholicism  623 female monasticism  622–4, 628 Liberals and Papalists (1890–1945)  626–8 mid-century to millennium  628–9 monasticism: history and themes  621–2 Tractarians and Ritualists (1833–1890)  622–5 Anglo-Catholic movement  622 Anglo-Papalist movement  622 Angola  498, 499–500, 548, 553 Angold, M.  140, 141, 142, 143–4, 147 Anna I, Empress of Russia  481 Anna Komnena  143 Annunciation 128 Anselm of Canterbury  318, 323–4, 326 Anson, Peter F.  621–2, 624 Ansverus Brotherhood/ Community (Ansverus-Bruderschaft/Communität), Germany 615 Anthony of Egypt, St, see Antony of Egypt, St anthropomorphism 39 Antiochos the Monk  140 anti-Palamites 148–9 antiphoners  334, 336–7 Antique Rigueur 457 Antirrhêtikos (Evagrius Ponticus)  71 Antonii, Archimandrite  484 Antony of Egypt, St  19, 35, 36, 39, 55, 69, 140–1, 324: see also Life of Antony

Antony of the Caves, St  479 Anyogu, John Cross  550 Apa Apollo Monastery, Egypt  188 Apa Jeremias Monastery, Egypt  188 Aphrahat 67 Apocalypse of Paul 27 apocryphal texts  25–6 Apologia (Bernard of Clairvaux)  349 Apophthegmata Patrum (Sayings of the Desert Fathers)  3, 35, 38, 40, 43, 73, 89, 139–40, 172 Apostolicae curae (Leo XIII)  626 Apostolic Constitutions (Church order)  27 Apostolic Tradition (Church order)  24 apotaktikoi (renouncers)  36 Aquinas, Thomas  277 architecture  349, 383 early medieval monasteries  61 Gothic style, Île-de-France  356 monastic sacred space  351–6 pilgrimage churches  352–5 Roman architecture  59 Romanesque architectural sculpture  364–7 Arcisse, near Nogent  421, 423 Arguin 498 Armagh 448 Armenian Apostolic Church  168 Armenian Church  170, 180–1 Armenian genocide  181 Arndt, W.  221 Arnold, Ellen Fenzel  383 Arrom, Silvia  530, 533 art 349–67 architectural sculpture  351f, 362–4, 363 architecture of monastic sacred space 351–6 devotional images  356–8 images in religious books  357 mural paintings  356–7 sculpted crucifixes  349–50 sculpture  349, 358–64 ascetic bodies fortress metaphor  52–8 senses and  52–4 spatial theory of  58–61 Ascetic Discourse (Nilus of Ancyra)  69 asceticism  37, 210 desert asceticism  51–62

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index   691 early church legacy  19–30 Gospels and  20–3 Luther on  19 new asceticism  685–6 Asceticon (Isaiah of Scetis)  72, 76 Ashmore, W.  101, 115 Asia 558–67 East Syrian Monasticism in  175, 560–1 monasticism in Asian context  561–5 monasticism today  565–7, 566 recording/assessing past history  558–61 Assyrian Church of the East  168 Aster, Irina  595–6 Aston, Mick  425, 427, 428 Athanasios 140 Athanasius of Alexandria  37, 70 Life of Antony  35, 36, 39, 67, 69, 87, 139 Athenagoras 26 Athlone 448 Atlantic world African Atlantic  498–500 Azores, Madeira, Canary Islands  498 early modern monasticism  495–507 English Atlantic  504–5 European Atlantic expansion  495–7 French Atlantic  503–4 Iberian Atlantic  500–3 Aubrun, Michel  340 Augustine of Hippo  85, 91, 92, 104, 375 Confessions  87, 651 Enarrationes in Psalmos 90 Praeceptum  90, 96 on prayer  323, 326 'Rule of Augustine'  89–90 Augustinian Hermit Friars  268, 271, 275 Augustinians  267, 290, 530, 534 Australia  622, 625, 627 Ayres, Anne  622, 624 Azores 498

B

Baade, Colleen  473 Babai the Great  71 Baernstein, Renée  472 Bailey, Michael  303, 304 Ballon, Louise de  456 Balthasar, Hans Urs von  660 Banquet, The (Methodius)  30

baptism  24, 25, 91, 93, 497, 607, 623 al- Barāmūs monastery  112, 172 Bar, Catherine de  454, 456 Barcatta, Bede  559 Barker, Margaret  325 Barlaam the Calabrian  148 Barsanouphios/Barsanuphius  38, 75–6, 140 Bartholomew, Patriarch  581, 586 Bartlett, R.  420 Basel, Council of (1431–1439)  452 Basil of Caesarea/Basil the Great  68, 89, 140, 145, 134, 180 letters 124–5 BCC (Benedictine China Commission)  567 Beatriz Vita Kimpa, Dona  543 Beauvilliers, Marie de  456 Bede, Venerable  207, 322, 357 Bedos-Rezak, Brigitte  379 Bedouins 112 Beebe, Kathryne  300–9 begging  266, 268–72 beguines  285, 287–8, 290, 294–6 Belgian Congo  549: see also Congo Free State; Kongo Kingdom Bell, David N.  404, 405–6 Bell, G. L.  105, 113 Bénard, Laurent  455 Benedict  94, 104 influences on  88, 89, 90 Benedictine China Commission (BCC) 567 Benedictine Confederation of the Order of Saint Benedict  223, 672 Benedictine Congregation of Alsace  455 Benedictine Congregation of Exempts of France 455 Benedictine Federation of Saint-Denis  455 Benedictines  218–27, 290, 502, 514, 549, 559 Anglican Benedictines  553, 625 Benedictine centuries  221–4 in China  559–60, 562 Benedictine Sisters of Perpetual Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament  454, 456, 516 Benedictines of Our Lady of Calvary 456 Benedict of Aniane  94, 220, 334 Benedict of Chiusa  341

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692   index Benedict of Nursia  650 on prayer  317, 318, 319 see also Rule of Benedict (Regula Benedicti) Benedict XVI, Pope  323 Benoit-Meggenis, Rosa  158 Benson, Richard Meux  625 Bentivoglio, Constance  516 Bentivoglio, Maddalena  516–17 Bergamo Center for Lifelong Learning, Ohio 518 Berlin Conference (1885)  547–8 Berman, Constance H.  232, 235, 380, 396, 397, 420 Bernardines of Divine Providence  456 Bernardines of the Precious Blood  456 Bernardino of Siena  303 Bernard, J. H.  422 Bernard of Clairvaux (Bernard of Fontainesles-Dijon)  235, 236, 237, 240, 342, 349, 362, 662 on military orders  248, 252 sermons on Song of Songs  238, 403 on sickness  403–4 Bernard of Thiron, St  421 Berneuchen Circle  611 Berneuchener Buch 611 Besly, Jean  341 Béthune, Pierre-François de  660, 663, 664, 665, 667, 669 Beuron Congregation  466 Beyer, Michael  607 Beyond the Hills (După dealuri) (film)  601–2 Bianchi, C.  274 Bianchi, E.  649, 653 Bieler, L.  209 Bilinkoff, Jodi  303, 472, 475 Binns, J.  144 Binz, S. J.  645, 654 Bitton-Ashkelony, Brouria  66–77 Black Virgin of Montserrat  502 Blée, Fabrice  658–70 bloodletting  411–12, 413 bnay/bnat qyamâ (sons/daughters of the covenant) 67 Boca, Arsenie  600 Boesch Gajano, S.  220 Boetticher, Manfred von  608

Böhringer, Letha  295 Bolivia 534–5 Bolton Priory, Yorkshire  424 Bonhoeffer, Dietrich  610, 635, 636 Bonnevaux Abbey  377 Book of Perfection (Sahdona (Martyrius))  70–1 Book of Steps 67 Born, Ernest  410 Bosio, Giacomo  250–1 boskoi (grazers)  145 Botswana 614 Bouchard, Constance Brittain  394 Boulaga, Fabien (Jesuit priest)  551 Boulding, M.  652 Bourgeoys, Marguerite  504 Bouyer, Louis  646, 660 Bovkalo, A. A.  481 Bowes, Kim  104, 108 Boynton, Susan  339, 362, 475 Bradley, I.  207 Braga, Roman  600 Brain, J. B.  546–7 Brain, Joy  551–2 Brakke, David  35–45, 70 Brazil  502, 627 Brewer, J. S.  439, 440, 445 Briggs, Kenneth A.  517, 518, 519 British Nyasaland (Malawi)  549 Brock, S. P.  67 Brooks Hedstrom, Darlene L.  103, 109, 185–98 Brotherhood of Christ (Falkenstein), Germany 614 Brotherhood of Christ, Selbitz (Christusbruderschaft Selbitz), Germany  613–14, 617 Brotherhood of St Francis of Assisi  627 Brotherhood of St Michael  610 Brotherhood of the Ascended Christ, India 627 Brotherhood of the Epiphany, India  627 Brotherhood of the Good Shepherd, Australia 627 Brother Roger  638 Browne, Archbishop of Dublin  445 Browne, Martin  439, 445, 448 Brown, Peter  42–3, 56, 60, 92, 318

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index   693 Brown, S.  209 Bruce, Scott G.  218–27, 382 Bruno of Rheims  421 Bryer, Anthony  156 Buch der Reformacio Predigerordens (Meyer) 305 Buddhism 561 Bulgakov, Sergius  488 Bulletin des Missions (journal)  562 Burgess, John P.  595 Burgtorf, Jochen  248–56 Burke, Joan F.  551 Burma 567 Burning Bush (Rugul Aprins) movement 600 Burns, Kathryn  531–3 Burr, David  269 Burton, Janet  234, 318, 396 Busch, Johannes  305, 306 Bush Brotherhoods, Australia  627 Butler, Anne M.  523 Butler, C. M.  422 Butler, Cuthbert  223 Butler, William John  623, 624 Byzantine/Melkite monastic tradition  175

C

Caelestius 92 Caesarius of Arles  93, 94, 95–6, 220, 409–10 Caesarius of Heisterbach  232–3, 239 Calmet, Augustin  457 Calvert, Cecil (2nd Lord Baltimore)  505 Camaldolese order  637 Camaldoli, near Arezzo  421 Cambodia 567 Cameron, Averil  68 Cameroon 553 Camille, M.  364 Campbell, Anna  302 Canada  622, 625 Canary Islands  498 Caner, Daniel  28, 69 Canivez, J.-M.  238 Cannon, J.  267 canonesses  285–6, 287, 290, 291–4 canons 131–2 Canons (Shenoute of Atripe)  69, 72

Canons Regular of Hérival  456 Canons Regular of Sainte-Geneviève  456–7, 458 Canons Regular of Saint-Ruf  456 Canons Regular of Saint-Victor  456 Canons Regular of Val- des-Écoliers  456 canticles 132 cantors  336, 337 Cão, Diogo  499 Cape Colony, southern Africa  545, 546, 547 Cappadocia 105 Capuchins  474, 499, 502, 534, 535, 543 CARA (Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate) 520 Cardenal, Ernesto  535 Carleton, K.  440 Carlyle, Aelred  626 Carmelites 275 in China  559–60 in Iberian Atlantic  501, 502 Mexico 530 poverty and begging  267, 268, 271 in Rwanda  552 Spain 474 in USA  511, 516, 519 in Vietnam  561 Carolingian Bibles  357 Carr, N.  678 Carroll, John  505, 511, 516 Carruthers, M.  352, 357 Carter, Thomas Thelusson  623 Carthage, Council of  27 Carthusians  249, 457 cartularies  243, 251, 379–80, 394, 397–8 Caseau, Béatrice  53 Casey, Michael  2, 646, 651, 672–86 Caspary, Anita (Mother Mary Humiliata)  520 Cassian, John  12, 36, 89, 375 Conferences  39, 88, 92–4, 95, 209 Institutes  93–4, 209 on prayer  319, 321, 324, 326 Cassidy-Welch, Megan  236, 356, 383, 405 Cassiodorus  104, 319–20, 323, 324, 357, 409 Casteller Ring Community (Communität Casteller Ring), Germany  614, 617 Catacheses (Theodore of Stoudios)  140 Catherine of Siena  300, 302

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694   index Catherine the Great  481, 482–3, 485 Catholic Emancipation Act (1829)  623 Catholic League  455 Catholic Worker Movement  636, 637 Ceaușescu, Nikolae  598 Celano 269 Celestine I, Pope  208 Celestines 458 celibacy  20, 22, 70, 208, 226–7, 543–4, 551–2, 677: see also sexual renunciation Céli Dé/Culdees (clients of God)  210, 637 Cells (Kellia)  107, 115, 172, 193, 195, 197 Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate (CARA) 520 Ceteshwayo, Zulu king  546 Ceylon (Sri Lanka)  559 Chadwick, O.  209 Chalcedon, Council of (451)  168, 170, 175, 178 Chalcedonian Definition  179 Chama cha Mariamu Mtakatifu (CMM), Africa 628–9 Chamber of Monasteries (Klosterkammer) 608 Chapters on Prayer (Evagrius Ponticus)  71 Charanis, P.  143, 144, 147, 156 charismatic authority  171 Chariton, Palestine  36 Charlemagne 222 Charles-Edwards, T.  210 Charles the Child  340, 341 Chenu, Marie-Dominique  266 Chergé, Christian de  660, 666, 668, 669 Chezal-Benoît congregation  453, 455 Chialà, S.  75 Chidester, David  553 Chilembwe, John  549 China  559–61, 564, 567 Benedictines in  559–60, 562 Carmelites in  559–60 Tang China  560, 561 Trappists in  559–60, 561 Yuan China  561 CHN (Community of the Holy Name), Liberia 628 Chowning, Margaret  532 Christa Prema Seva Sangha, India  627 Christensen, Mary  551–2

Christianae fidei religio (Anastasius IV)  249 Christianae fidei religio (Urban III)  256 Christian Base Communities  535 Christian Brothers  514–15 Christian heresies  382 Christie, Douglas E.  3, 634–42 Christodoulos of Patmos  141 Christusbruderschaft Selbitz (Brotherhood of Christ, Selbitz), Germany  613–14, 617 Chronicle (Prosper of Aquitaine)  208 Chrysostom, John  91, 375, 407 Chrysostom Koutloumousianos  577–87 Church History (Eusebius of Caesarea)  27–8, 29, 127 Church Missionary Society (CMS)  544, 545 Church of Greece  580 Church of the East (Nestorian Church)  175, 560, 561 Church’s Year  127–8 CHWR (Conference on the History of Women Religious)  521 Cilicia 181 Cistercian Congregation of the Holy Family  565, 566 Cistercian Order  672 Cistercian Order of the Strict Observance  516, 672, 676, 680, 681: see also Trappists Cistercians  223–4, 232–42, 275–6, 290, 511, 552 Capitula 235 Carta caritatis  234–5, 240 conversi 237–8 Instituta Generalis Capituli (Institutes of the General Chapter) 235 narrative strategies  234–6 nunneries  236, 237, 238, 239, 290 Protestant Cistercians  608–9 role of women  236–7, 239 transformation/adaptation of  240–2 see also land use; Trappists Cîteaux Abbey  357, 421 Citeroni, R.  271–2 Claiborne, Shane  637 Clare of Assisi  269, 273–4, 276, 277 Clark, Elizabeth  70 Clark, Emily  511

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index   695 Clark, Francis  220 Clark, James G.  437–49 classical new monasticism  637 Clement I, Pope  24 Clement IV, Pope  272, 275 Clement of Alexandria  26, 28, 650 Clement V, Pope  250, 254 Clement XIV, Pope  465 cloaked damsels (Mantelfräulein), Strasbourg 294–6 Cluniacs  222–4, 226 Cluniac Strict Observance  455 Cluny Abbey  222, 339, 458 CMM (Chama cha Mariamu Mtakatifu), Africa 628–9 CMS (Church Missionary Society)  544, 545 coal mining  427 Coburn, Carol  512 Codex Amiatinus  357 Codex Grandior  357 Codex Regularum (Benedict of Aniane)  94 coenobitic monasticism  36, 37, 94, 109, 145–6, 188–97, 407–8, 479–80, 579, 597, 680 colegios 501 Colenso, Harriette  548 Colenso, John William  548 Colette of Corbie  302 Collationes (Cassian)  319 Collège de Cluny, Paris  455 College of Saint-Bernard, Paris  240 Collett, Barry  474 Collins, R.  22 Collins, S.  357 Colombás, G. M.  653 Columbanus  209, 409 Columba, St  209 Columbia 534 column-dwellers (stylites) 145: see also Simeon Stylites Comaroff, Jean and John  544, 553 Commandments and Admonitions for the Priests and the Children of the Covenant 37 Commentary on Matthew (Origen)  28–9 Commentary on 1 Kings (Gregory I)  220 Commission des Réguliers 458 Commission des Secours 458

Communauté de Taizé, France  611 Communität Casteller Ring (Casteller Ring Community), Germany  614, 617 Communität Koinonia (Koinonia Community), Germany  615–16 Community of Sisters of Melanesia  628 Community of St Francis  627 Community of St John the Baptist (CSJB), USA  623, 624, 625 Community of St Mary and All Angels (CSM&AA), South Africa  624 Community of St Mary at the Cross (CSMC), Lesotho 627–8 Community of St Mary the Virgin (CSMV)  623, 624 Community of St Mary (CSM), USA  624 Community of the Holy Name (CHN), Australia 625 Community of the Holy Name (CHN), Liberia 628 Community of the Resurrection (CR)  626, 628 Community of the Resurrection of our Lord, South Africa  624–5 Community of the Sacred Passion (CSP), Tanzania 627 Community of the Transfiguration, USA  626 Community of the Transformation, Geelong, Australia 636 community relationships  396–9 definition of 'community'  396–7 emotional communities  397 textual communities  397 Compendious tractive (Kennedy)  444 Compiègne  334, 335 Conant, J. K.  352 conceptual new monasticism  636–7 Concilia Africae 27 Concordat of Bologna (1516)  453 Concordia regularum (Benedict of Aniane) 334 Confederation of Kilkenny  448 Conference of Major Superiors of Women (later Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR))  518 Conference of Protestant Communities, Germany 614

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696   index Conference on the History of Women Religious (CHWR)  521 Conferences (Cassian)  39, 88, 92–4, 95, 209 Confessing Church, Finkenwalde, Germany  610, 635 Confessions (Augustine of Hippo)  87, 651 Congo Free State  548: see also Belgian Congo; Kongo Kingdom Congregation de Propaganda Fide 496 Congregation of Jesus (Mary Ward Sisters)  463, 464 Congregation of Notre Dame of Montréal  504 Congregation of Our Saviour in Lorraine  457 Congregation of Saint-Hydulphe  455 Congregation of Saint-Maur  454, 455 Congregation of Saint-Vanne  454, 455 Congregation of the Allobroges  455 Congregations Act (1875), Prussia  467 Congregatio Ottiliensis 467 Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander (Merton) 635 Conrad III of Germany  254 Conrad of Eberbach  238–9, 421 Constable, Giles  223–4, 317 Constantine the African  404 Constitutis in praesentia (Alexander III)  255 Contemplation et Apostolat  562 contemporary monasticism  672–86 adaptation 686 ageing communities  677 challenges facing monasticism  682–3 decrease in entrants  676–7 expanding boundaries  680–1 future of monasticism  683–6 institutionalized individualism  678–9 laybrothers/laysisters 675–6 leadership 683–4 monastic life in 1960  673 mystical orientation  684–5 new asceticism  685–6 new technologies  678 specialisation 679–80 transition 674–5 21st century  675–81 contextual new monasticism  637–8 conversion  25, 237–8

conversos 500 Coome, Hannah  625 Coon, Lynda L.  51–62, 383, 410 Cooper, Frederick  548 Coptic Church monastic tradition  170, 171–4 Coptic literary heritage  170 Coptic Orthodox Church  168 Corless, Roger  668 Cormack, Robin  158 Corpus Christi College, Oxford  447 Cosmas Indicopleustes  178 Counsels on the Spiritual Life (Mark the Monk) 3 Coupar Angus Abbey  424 Cousins, Ewert  669 Cowdrey, H. E. J.  339 CR (Community of the Resurrection)  626, 628 Crăciun, Maria  307–8 Cracraft, James  481 Crislip, Andrew  43, 404, 406, 407, 408 Croegaert, Luc  500 Cromwell, Thomas  440, 442, 447 Cross, C.  447 Crowther, Samuel Ajayi  545 crucifixes  360, 361f, 362 Crum, W. E.  195 Crusader movement  175, 181, 241, 242 Albigensian Crusade  382–3 Second Crusade  240, 382 see also Hospitallers; military orders; Templars CSJB (Community of St John the Baptist), USA  623, 624, 625 CSM&AA (Community of St Mary and All Angels), South Africa  624 CSMC (Community of St Mary at the Cross), Lesotho 627–8 CSM (Community of St Mary), USA  624 CSMV (Community of St Mary the Virgin)  623, 624 CSP (Community of the Sacred Passion), Tanzania 627 Cyprian, bishop of Carthage  27, 86 Cyril of Scythopolis  69, 74–5 CZR (Holy Name Community), Zimbabwe 628

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index   697

D

al-Ḍābit ̣ī, Yūsif  110–11 Dadisho‘ Qatraya  69–70, 71, 72, 75 Dagobert (Merovingian king)  339 Dagron, G.  142, 143, 147 Dahmus, John  303 Dalarun, J.  268 Dale, Thomas E. A.  349–67 Damasus, Pope  86, 91 D’Aronco, Maria  410 Dartford Priory  276 d’Atri, Marcellino, Fr  543 Daughters of Charity (formerly Sisters of Charity of St Joseph)  511, 513 Daughters of Charity of Saint Vincent de Paul (Vincentines) 463 David of Augsburg  320, 327 Davis, Stephen J.  101–17 Day, Dorothy  616, 636 Dayr al-Bachit  197 Dayr al-Bala’yzah, Middle Egypt  188, 191f, 197 Dayr al-Dīk, Antinoe  111 deaconess system, Germany  609–10 Debre Bizen monastery, Eritrea  180 Debre Damo monastery  178, 180 Debre Hayq monastery  178 Debre Libanos monastery  178, 180 Decree on the Appropriate Renewal of Religious Life  2, 521 Decretals of Gregory IX (1234)  405 De Ecclesiastica Hierarchia (Pseudo-Dionysios) 146 Deeds of the Abbots of Lobbes (Folcuin)  221 De exterioris et interioris compositione hominis (David of Augsburg)  320 de Gruchy, John W  635 de Hamel, C.  357 deHueck Doherty, Catherine  636 Dei Verbum (Second Vatican Council)  646, 647, 654 De Jong, Mayke  325 de la Salle, John Baptist  514–15 De laude novae militiae (St Bernard)  662 Delaville Le Roulx, Joseph  249n1, 251, 254, 255

Delcorno, Pietro  303 De miraculis libri duo (Peter the Venerable) 372–3 demonic combat  41, 56 Demonstrations (Aphrahat)  67 Demurger, Alain  251 dendrochronology 115 Denis, Philippe  550 Denmark 428 De oratione (Origen)  126 De oratione (Tertullian)  126 De psalmorum usu (attrib. Alcuin)  326 Déroche, V.  144 desert ascetics, relics of  61 desert hermits  145 desert monasticism  35–45 desert voyeurism  57 Deslandres, Dominique  495–507 De virtute orandi (Hugh of St Victor)  320 Devlin, Eoin L.  499, 505 Devonport Sisterhood  623 De votis monasticis iudicium (Luther)  462 de Waal, Esther  637 Diaconal Grassroots Community Bread and Roses (Diakonische Basisgemeinschaft Brot und Rosen), Germany 616 Diadochus of Photiké  71 Dialogue Interreligieux Monastique/Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (DIM/MID), see Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (MID) Dialogue on Miracles (Caesarius of Heisterbach) 239 Dialogues (Gregory I)  220 Dialogues (Sulpicius)  88–9 Dialogus duorum monachorum (Idung of Prüfening) 223 Diana d’Andolo  276 Didache  23, 24, 128 Didascalia (Church order)  24, 27 Diego, bishop of Osma  266 dietary practices fasting  20, 21–2, 23–5 xerophagy 23 Dilworth, M.  446

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698   index DIM/MID (Dialogue Interreligieux Monastique/Monastic Interreligious Dialogue), see Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (MID) Dionysios the Areopagite  133 Dionysius of Alexandria  24 Dionysius the Carthusian  320–1, 322, 323, 325, 327 dipinti, Wādī al-Nat ̣rūn, Egypt  106, 106f, 113–15, 114f Discalced Carmelites  505, 531 Discalced Franciscans  534 Discourse on Stillness (Dadisho‘ Qatraya) 69–70 Discourses (Logoi) (Shenoute of Atripe)  42, 69 Discourses (Philoxenos of Mabbug)  67 Discourses and Sayings (Dorotheus of Gaza) 76 Disibodenberg nuns' infirmary  414 Ditchburn, D.  424 Divine Liturgy of the Eucharist  124, 132–3 divorce and remarriage  26–7 Dobrotoliubie 482 doctrinas  500, 502 ‘Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, The’ (Lumen Gentium) 518 Dominic  266, 267, 269, 274 Dominicans  276, 289, 290, 534 and begging  269–70 Dominus ac redemptor (Clement XIV)  465 Donaldson, G.  444 Donatus of Besançon  225 Dongan, Thomas  505 Dorff, F.  647, 648, 649 Dorotheos/Dorotheus of Gaza  76, 140 double monasteries  143 Dowling, Dolores  516 Draghi, A.  267 Dubois, Jacques  374 Duchesne, Philippine  513 Dufourcq, Elizabeth  551 Duiske, Ireland  422 Dunbrody Abbey, Leinster  425 Duncan, A. A. M.  426 Dunfermline Benedictine colony  423 Dunn, Marilyn  168, 220, 409

Dunstan, Petà  627 După dealuri (Beyond the Hills) (film)  601–2 Durel, Bernard  661 Dutton, Marsha  236 Duval, N.  112 Dyer, Joseph  374 Dykstra, Tom  480

E

Easson, D. E.  424 Easter 129 timing of  23–4, 127–8 Eastern Armenia  180 Eastmond, Antony  60 Eberl, Immo  608 Ecclesiastical History (Bede)  207 Ecclesiastica officia (Bernard of Clairvaux) 235 Ecumenical Patriarchate  580 Edgar of England  325 education Jesuits and  463, 464, 465 monasteries as centres of education  169–70, 176 Edward VI of England  447 Egypt  36, 66, 106–7 Ehrenschwendtner, Marie-Luise  306 Eileen Mary, Sr  598 EKD (Evangelische Kirche in Deutschland/Evangelical Protestant Church of Germany)  613, 614, 617 Elmina 498 Elm, Kaspar  285, 300, 302, 303, 304 Elm, S.  70 Elvira, Council of, Spain  86 Embassy (Athenagoras)  26 Emmel, Stephen  42 Enarrationes in Psalmos (Augustine)  90 Engelstein, L.  487 England: dissolution of monasteries  437–8, 439–41, 442–4, 445, 446, 447 English Benedictine Congregation  676 Ephesus, Council of (431)  168, 175 Ephraim of Katounakia, Elder  579 Ephrem the Syrian  67 Epiphany Play (Officium Stellae) 361

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index   699 episcopocentrism 580 Epistle of Pseudo-Titus 25 Epistola de apostolatu (Ademar of Chabannes) 341 Erdélyi, Gabriella  307–8 eremitical monasticism  36, 145, 464, 579 Eritrean Orthodox Church  177 Eritrean Orthodox Tewahedo Church  168 Étaix, R.  365 Etchingham, C.  209–10 Ethiopia  179, 542–3 Ethiopian–Adal war  542–3 Ethiopian Church  170 Ethiopian Orthodox Church  177–80 Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church  168 Etymologiae (Isidore of Seville)  320 Eugenius III, Pope  249 Eunapius 40 Eusebius, bishop of Vercelli  87 Eusebius of Caesarea  27–8, 29, 127 Euthymios 140 Evagrius Ponticus  39, 40–1, 70, 73, 93, 94 desert psychology  71 and Origenist controversy  92 and prayer  134 Rufinus' translation of  89 Evangelical Brotherhood of St Michael (Evangelische Michaelsbruderschaft), Germany 611 Evangelical Gethsemane Monastery, Riechenberg, Germany  617 Evangelical Protestant Church of Germany (Evangelische Kirche in Deutschland, EKD)  613, 614, 617 Evangelical Sisterhood of Mary (Evangelische Marienschwesternschaft), Germany 612–13 Evangelii gaudium (Francis)  683 Evangelisti, Silvia  472 Everett curriculum  517–18 Evergetinos 139–40 Evergetis Monastery,Constantinople  140, 146 everyday monasticism, see new monasticism Ewens, Mary  513 Exercitia spiritualia (Ignatius of Loyola) 321–2

Exhortation to a Virgin (Evagrius Ponticus) 70 Exhortation to Chastity (Tertullian)  26, 27 exorcism 43 Exordium Cistercii 421 Exordium Magnum (The Great Beginning) (Conrad of Eberbach)  238–9 Exordium Parvum (Stephen Harding)  232, 234

F

family monasteries  157 family ties  393–6 definition of 'family'  393–4 Farfa Abbey  324, 339 Farmer, Sharon  381–2 Fasilidas, Emperor of Ethiopia  543 Fassler, Margot E.  336 fasting  20, 21–2, 56, 128, 584 in early Church  23–5 and temptation  29–30 Fawcett, R.  424, 426, 427–8 Fedorov, V. A.  481 Felix, St  88 Felten, Franz J.  290 female monasticism  285–97 Anglican communities  622–4, 628 Benedictine rule and  225–6 Byzantium 143–4 Cistercian nunneries  236, 237, 238, 239, 290 Coptic Church  172, 173–4 Council of Trent and  472, 473 Ethiopian Orthodox Church  179 France 455–6 French Atlantic  506–7 Germany  607, 608, 609, 612–13 Greek Orthodox  581, 582 Iberian Atlantic  503, 506–7 Italy and Spain  472–4 Latin America  531–3 Russia  487, 591 6th-century Palestine  75 Strasbourg communities  286–91 Fentress, E.  104, 109 Feodosii (Theodosius) of the Caves, St  479 Fernández-Armesto, Felipe  498 Ferrari, F.  274

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700   index Ferrar, Nicholas  621 Ferrer, Vincent  303 Feuillantines 456 Feuillants (Cistercian congregation)  454, 455 Février, P.-A.  112 Fidei Donum (Pius XII)  658 Fidenzio of Padua  256 Field, Sean  276, 396 Filaret, Metropolitan of Moscow  484 Finn, Richard  19–30 First Nations people  504, 507 Flaget, Benedict  513 Flanagan, Bernadette  3, 634–42 Flanagan, Eileen  517 Flanders: water-management systems  428 Fliedner, Theodor  609 Flood, D.  270 Florensky, Pavel  488 Flusin, Bernard  74 Focolare 638 Foggie, J. P.  442 Folcuin 221 Follett, Westley  207–11 Fontenay Abbey  355f Foot, Sarah  318, 412 Forêt de Colan  421 Forey, Alan  250, 251 Forschungsstelle für Vergleichende Ordensgeschichte/Research Centre for the Comparative History of Religious Orders (FOVOG)  398 Forsyth, I.  361 Fossier, Robert  420 Fotsholo Dube  546 Foucault, Michel  40 Foundations of the Monastic Life, The (Evagrius Ponticus)  71 Fountains Abbey, Yorkshire  424 Fourah Bay College, Sierra Leone  545 Fourier, Pierre  457 Fourth Ecumenical Council (451)  580 Fourth Lateran Council (1215)  266 France 452–9 canons regular  456–7 early monastic reforms  452–4 female monasticism  455–6 17th-century reforms  454–5

Franciscans  267, 627 in Iberian Atlantic  502 missionaries in Bolivia  534–5 and poverty/begging  269, 270 Francis of Assisi  266, 267, 268, 269, 270, 274 Francis, Pope  683 François, Philippe  454 Frank, Karl Suso  607 Frederick III, Emperor  252 Freedberg, David  362 Freeman, Elizabeth  235, 236 French Revolution  458 Friars Minor  266, 271 Friars Preacher  266–7, 271 Fricke, B.  362 friendship 389–93 genuine friendship  392–3 literary expression of  391–2 Fry, T.  648 Fulton Brown, Rachel  317–28, 362 Fulton, Elaine  307–8 Funk, Mary Margaret  661, 665

G

Gabriel, Abbot of Dionysiou Monastery  581 Gagarin, Michael  60 Gailer von Kaisersberg, Johann  287 Galatariotou, Catia  157, 158, 162 Galawedos, Emperor of Ethiopia  543 Galbraith, G. R.  270 Gallicanism 458 Gaudium et Spes (GS) (Second Vatican Council)  658, 663, 666, 667–8 Gazan monasteries, Palestine  188, 195 Genestout, Augustin  220 Gennadius of Marseilles  89, 92 Geoffrey Grossus  421 Geoffrey I, Abbot of Mont-Saint-Michel  380 Geoffrey of Vigeois  340–1 geomagnetic dating  115 Gerald of Aurillac  372, 373, 382 German East Africa  545, 549: see also Tanzania German Southwest Africa  549: see also Namibia Germanus of Auxerre  209 Germany community life in old monasteries  616–17

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index   701 Council of Trent, reception and effects of 463–4 deaconess system  609–10 dissolution and Enlightenment  464–6 dissolution of monasteries  463, 465 early modern monasticism  462–9 eremitism 464 female monasticism  607, 608, 609, 612–13 monastic life and Reformation  607 19th-century revival of monasticism  466–7 Protestant monasteries after the Reformation 608–9 Protestant tradition  606–17 quasi-monastic community life in the modern period  609–16 from Reformation to Council of Trent 462–3 Gerstner, Dietrich  616 Gertrude of Helfta  321 Gethsemane Brotherhood, Germany  615 Gethsemane Skete  484 Gethsemani Abbey, Kentucky  535, 661 Ghana 553 Gibbon, Edward  325 gift exchange  394 Gilbert, J. T.  424 Gilbert of Assailly  255 Gildas 209 Gilmour-Bryson, A.  255 Glajor monastery  180, 181 Glaze, Florence Eliza  411 globalization  2, 182, 496, 668, 676 Godlewski, W.  102 Goehring, James  37, 41, 66–7, 110 Goldfrank, David  480 Gomes, Diogo  499 Goodare, J.  445 Gore, Charles  626 Górecki, Piotr  422, 426 Gorham judgement  623 Gospel of Thomas  21, 37 Gozbert, Abbot of Saint Gall  352 Grace Dieu, Co. Dublin  447 Grande Chartreuse, La  421 grange agriculture  238, 419–20, 423–4, 430 Gratius, O.  277 Gray, Richard  497

grazers (boskoi) 145 Great Laura/Mar Saba, Palestine  110, 111–12, 190, 192 Great Lavra, Mount Athos  110, 140, 144, 145 Great Monastery, Mount Izla  75 Greek Orthodox monasticism  577–88 decline and rebirth  579–80 extent 577–8 female monasticism  581, 582 modern perspectives  586–7 monasteries and bishops  580–1 monks and doctrine  585 monks and mission  586 organization and daily schedule  581–3 prayer and ascesis  584 spiritual parenthood  584–5 unity and plurality  583–4 Green, Monica  404 Green Mountain Monastery, Vermont  638 Greer, Allan  303 Gregory Akyndinos  148–9 Gregory I, Pope (Gregory the Great)  104, 220, 356–7, 375 Gregory IX, Pope  268–9, 273 Gregory of Nazianzus  124–5 Gregory of Nyssa  68, 70, 125 Gregory of Sinai  148 Gregory Palamas, St  134–5, 148 Gregory XVI, Pope  467 Grey, Lord Deputy  445 Grier, James  333–43 Griffiths, Bede  563, 660, 669 Griffiths, Fiona  380–1 Griffith, S. H.  67 Grossmann, P.  111, 192 Grummett, David  19–20 Grundmann, Herbert  239, 266, 290–1 Guanche peoples  498 Guatemala 536n.4 Guéranger, Prosper  458 Guigo II the Carthusian  326–7, 650, 652 Guilday, Peter  513 Guillaumont, A.  71 Guinea-Bissau 498 Gürteler, Elsa  296 Gürtelers Gotteshaus 296

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702   index Guy, Jeff  548 Gwynn, A.  439, 442, 444, 445, 448

H

Hadcock, R. N.  439, 442, 444, 445, 448 Hadot, Pierre  39–40 Hadrumetum monastery  92 hagiography  73–5, 376–8 Hahn, Cynthia  61 Haider, Ursula  306 Haile Sellassie, Emperor  179 Haito, Abbot of Reichenau  352 Haldon, J.  143 Hall, David D.  640, 652, 654 Hamburger, Jeffrey  302, 305, 357, 358, 362 Hamilton, Sarah  396 Hamm, Berndt  468 Handmaids of the Holy Child Jesus  550–1 Hanssen, Olaf  615 Harms, Robert  543 Hart, Dolores  517 Harvey, Susan Ashbrook  27, 56, 61 Harvey, Thomas  505 Haseldine, Julian P.  388–99 Hastings, Adrian  497, 498, 499, 500 Hatlie, Peter  138–49 Haymo of Faversham  342 Hayq Estifanos monastery, Wello  180 Head, Thomas  381–2 Heale, Martin  318 healing, see sickness and healing Hedges, Chris  552 Heinonen, Meri  305 Hélie Gautier  341 Heloise, Abbess of the Paraclete  225–6 Henneau, M.-E.  455 Henrique, Kongolese bishop  499 Henry II of England  340 Henryków Abbey, Silesia  422 Henry of Lausanne  266 Henry VIII of England  440, 442, 447 hermits  35, 171, 174, 179 Augustinian Hermit friars  268, 271, 275 Hernández, Bonar L.  526–36 Hero, A. C.  140, 141, 142, 143 Herren, Michael  209 Herrin, J.  70

Herzensergießungen eines kunstliebenden Klosterbruders (Outpourings of an Art-Loving Friar) (Wackenroder)  466 Hesbert, René-Jean  333, 334 hesychasm  148–9, 486, 488, 597, 600 hesychast controversy  148–9, 488 Heutger, Nicolaus  608 Hibbert, Christopher  544 Hieracas of Leontopolis  37 Hieronymites 501 Hiestand, R.  255, 256 Higgs, Catherine  541–53 Hilary 94–5 Hildegard of Bingen  414 Hilken, Charles  475 Hill, C.  21 Hills, Helen  472–3 Hindu mysticism  564 Hirbodian, Sigrid  285–97 Hirschfeld, Y.  109–10 Hirth, K.  186 Historia Lausiaca/Lausiac History (Palladius)  43, 73, 89, 139, 140, 196 Historia monachorum in Aegypto (Abba Or)  55–6, 58, 73 Historia Religiosa (Theodoret of Cyrrhus) 175 History of Rabban Bar-Edta 70–1 History of the Monks (Historia monachorum) 40 History of the Patriarchs 112 History of the Seven Tribulations (Angelo Clareno) 269 Hochschild, Adam  548 Hochschild, Michael  678–9, 680, 682 Hodder, I.  103 Hodges, R.  109, 113 Hodges, Tony  543 Hofbauer, Clemens Maria  466 Hohenburg Abbey, Alsace  291 Hohenzollern-Sigmaringen, Katharina von 466 Holmes, A.  439 Holy Child Sisters  551 Holycross, Newry  448 holy fools (saloi) 145 'holy man' concept  42–3

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index   703 Holy Name Community (CZR), Zimbabwe 628 Holy Spirit Adoration Sisters (Pink Sisters)  519 Holy Trinity, Aldgate  440 'holy woman' concept  43–5 Holze, Heinrich  609 Homilies on Exodus (Origen)  30 Homilies on Genesis (Origen)  29 Homilies on Jeremiah (Origen)  29 Homilies on Joshua (Origen)  29, 30 Homilies on Judges (Origen)  30 Homilies on Numbers (Origen)  26 Honoratus 94 Hood, A.  208 Hoornaert, Eduardo  502 Horden, Peregrine  403–15 Hormisdas, Pope  96 Horn, Walter  410 Horsiesios/Horsiesius  66, 89 Hortus deliciarum 291 Hospitaller Friars of Saint Anthony  501 Hospitaller Friars of Saint John of God  501 Hospitallers  248, 249–51, 252–3, 254–6, 325 nuns  504, 506 hospitals and infirmaries  142, 158, 276, 405 Disibodenberg nuns' infirmary  414 Pantokrator Monastery, Constantinople 142 Westminster 412–13 see also Hospitallers Hotchin, Julie  381 household archaeology  185–98 domestic architecture and  185–6 kitchens and bakeries  192–4, 193f, 194f monastic households  187–9, 189f purpose-built buildings  189–92, 190f, 191f settlements as homesteads  187 sleeping quarters  196–8 water supplies  194–5 workshops 195–6 Hoven van Genderen, B. van den  272 Howe, John  221 Hoyle, R. W.  443 Huber, Franz Xaver  466–7 Hugh Capet  339 Hughes, Andrew  336 Hughes, K.  210

Hughes, Marian Rebecca  622 Hugh of Payns  248 Hugh of St Victor  320, 324, 326 Hull, D.  105–6, 108 humanism 457 Humbert of Romans  277, 342 Humiliati 266 Hümmer, Hanna  613, 614 Hummer, Hans  395 Hümmer, Walter  613, 614 Hundred Years War  242 hunting forests  425–6 Huntington, James  625 Hunt, Noreen  339 Hurel, Daniel-Odon  452–9 Hussey, J. M.  143 Huss, Fr Bernard  550 Huygens, R. B. C.  223

I

iconoclasm 148 icons 358 Idung of Prüfening  223 Igbariam seminary, Nigeria  550 Ignatius of Loyola  321–2 îhîdayê (singles/solitaries or celibates)  67 Iko Kabwita, Kabolo  500 Ilie, Cleopa, Elder  599–600 Immaculate Heart Community, California 520 Imperial Recess (Reichsdeputationshauptschluss) (1803)  465, 469 India: Christian ashrams  564, 567 infirmarers  405, 413 infirmaries,  see hospitals and infirmaries Inga community, Columbia  534 Inkamana Abbey, South Africa  549–50 Innemée, K.  112 Inner Mission, Germany  609 Innes, Cosmo  423–4 Innocent II, Pope  249, 256 Innocent III, Pope  233, 255, 290 Innocent IV, Pope  268, 273 inscriptions 115 Institut de Recherche et d’Histoire des Textes (IRHT) 397

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704   index Institute of the Benedictines of the Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament/ Benedictines of Perpetual Adoration 456 Institutes (Cassian)  93–4, 209 Institutions (Cassiodorus) Internet usage  678 Iogna-Prat, Dominique  355, 380, 382 Iona Community, Scotland  635 Iosifo-Volokalamsk monastery  480 Ireland dissolution of monasteries  438, 439, 440, 441, 442–4, 445, 446, 447–8 early monasticism in  207–11 Irenaeus  21, 23–4, 28 Irene Eulogia Choumnaina  149 IRHT (Institut de Recherche et d’Histoire des Textes) 397 Irish Sisters of Charity  550 Irish Temporalities Bill (1833)  623 Isaac of Nineveh  71 Isabelle of France  274, 276, 277, 396 Isaiah 143 Isaiah of Scetis  72, 76 Isherwood, Cecile  624–5 Isichei, Elizabeth  542, 543, 544, 546, 548, 549, 550, 551–2 Isidore of Pelusium  69 Isidore of Seville  320 Islam  170, 382 Island of Solentiname, Nicaragua  535 Istefanos, Abba  178 Istomina, E. G.  481, 483 Italy 469 convent culture  472–4 early modern monasticism  471–6 male monasticism  474–5 Itier, Bernard  338 Itinerarium Egeriae 129 Iudicium de votis (Luther)  462 Ivory Casket  411 Iyyesus Mo'a  178 Izzet, V.  186

J

Jackson, M. P. C.  113 Jacques de Vitry  270

Jaeger, Stephen  390 Jäggi, Carola  276 James of Molay  254 James V of Scotland  442 James, William  319 Jamroziak, Emilia  241–2, 396 cartularies of Rievaulx Abbey  394, 397–8 Jansenism 458 Jeal, Tim  544 Jeanne de France  453 Jecock, M.  428 Jehovah’s Witnesses  549 Jensen, Robin  54 Jerome, St  36, 38, 85, 87, 91–2, 109, 645 letters  87–8, 109 translations 89 vitae  66, 69, 88, 226 Jesuits (Society of Jesus)  179, 466, 475 in Angola  499–500 in Atlantic world  496, 501, 502, 503–4 and education  463, 464, 465 Jesus Brotherhood  617 Jesús de Paredes, Mariana de  503 Jesus Prayer  134–5 Jiménez de Cisneros, Francisco  300 John: correspondence with Barsanuphius  38, 75–6 John Climacus/Klimakos  73, 140 John Grammatikos  148 John Moschus  73 John of Capistrano  303 John of Damascus, St  132, 148 John of Wales  270 John Paul II, Pope  520–1, 665–6 John Rufus  68, 73–4 Johnson, M. H.  103 Johnson, Penelope D.  395–6 John XXIII, Pope  535 Jonas of Bobbio  409 Jones, A.  103 Jones, Christopher A.  226 Jones, Claire Taylor  303, 305 Jonveaux, Isabelle  3–4, 12 Jordan of Saxony  269, 276, 321, 322–3 Jordan, R. H.  139–40 Jordan, W. C.  225 Joseph II, Holy Roman Emperor  465, 482

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index   705 Joseph, Père  454, 456 Joseph the Hesychast, Elder  579 Jouennaux, Guy  453, 457 Jovinian, monk  91, 92 Juana Inés de la Cruz, Sor  531 Juárez, Benito  529 Judaism 382 Julian Sabas, Syria  36 Jullien, Florence  70–1 Jung, Jacqueline  362 Justina of Padua, St  453 Justinian Marina, Patriarch  598 Justin Martyr  25, 26–7 just-war theory  249 Juvenal 318

K

Kaczynski, Bernice M.  1–14 Kaestli, Jean-Daniel  25 Kalilombe, Patrick  551 Kamwana, Elliot  549 Karl Theodor (prince-elector)  465 Kassia 143 Kauffman, Christopher J.  512, 515, 518–19 Keen, M.  249 Kellia (The Cells)  107, 115, 172, 193, 195, 197 Kelly, Herbert  626 Kelso Abbey  423, 426 Kendrick, Robert  473 Kennedy, Quintin  444 Kennelly, Karen M.  518 Kenney, J.  210 Kenrick, Peter  515 Kenworthy, Scott M.  478–89, 590–602 Kenya 553 Kerr, Julie  318, 412 Kershaw, I.  424 Kessler, H. L.  356, 357 Kharg Island, Persian Gulf  109, 111 Khirbet ed-Deir, Palestine  74, 192, 196 Khirbet el Murassas (Monastery of Martyrius) 195 Khirbet es-Suyyagh, Judean Shephelah  196 Khirbet Hani  75 Kienzle, Beverly Mayne  382–3 Kiev/Kyivan Caves Monastery  479, 594 Kimbangu, Simon  549

Kinshasa, Zaire (Democratic Republic of Congo) 552–3 Kirillo-Belozerskii monastery  480 Klapp, Sabine  287, 288, 291, 292, 293 Klingshirn, William E.  93 Klosterkammer (Chamber of Monasteries) 608 Klueting, Edeltraud  462–9 Knight, Gillian  391–2 Knights Hospitaller of Saint John of Jerusalem  660, 661–4 Knoll, Cyrillus  466–7 Knowles, David  220, 318, 439, 442, 443 Koder, Johannes  156 Koehlinger, Amy  522–3 Koinonia Community (Communität Koinonia), Germany  615–16 Kongo Kingdom  496, 498, 499, 542, 543–4 kontakia  130–1, 132 Köpf, Ulrich  468 Kopuria, Ini  627 Korea  560, 627 Kosmas of Maïuma, St  132 Kountoura-Galaki, E.  144 Krausmüller, D.  149 Krueger, D.  74 Kucherskaya, Maya  601 Kuefler, Mathew  382 Kumla Prison Monastery, Sweden  638 Küng, H.  674 Kurisumala ashram, Kerala  564, 565 Kyivan/Kiev Caves Monastery  479, 594

L

la Barrière, Jean de  454 Ladder of Divine Ascent (John Climacus/ Klimakos)  73, 140 Ladder of Monks, The (Guigo II)  652 Laiou-Thomadakis, Angeliki E.  158 Lake Tana monasteries  180 Lalibela church  178 Landes, Richard  338, 340, 341 Landsberg, Junta von  292 land use  418–31 Cistercian land use model  419–20 coastal reclamation  429 desert ideal  420–2

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706   index land use (cont.) exploitation of estates  422–5 over-exploitation of estates  425–7 water management and wetland drainage 427–8 Lane, Paul  108–9 Lang, Cosmo Gordon  626 Langer, E. D.  534 Lanzetta, Beverly  637 la Rochefoucauld, Cardinal de  454 Lasteyrie, Charles de  335 Latin America  526–36 modern monasticism  528–30 monastic experiences  530–3 renewal of monastic experiences  533–5 secularization  526, 527, 529 Lausiac History/Historia Lausiaca (Palladius)  43, 73, 89, 139, 140, 196 Laval, François de  504 Lavan, L.  186 Laven, Mary  472 Lavrín, Asunción  530 Lawless, George  409–10 Lawrence, C. H.  265, 318, 419 laybrothers 675–6 lay monasticism, see new monasticism laysisters 675–6 Layton, Bentley  72, 192, 407 Leader, Anne  474 leadership 683–4 Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR, previously Conference of Major Superiors of Women)  518 Lebbe, Vincent  560 Le Blévec, Daniel  405, 406 Leclercq, Jean  12, 223, 375, 563, 658, 665, 667 lectio divina  645–55, 685 contemplatio  645, 654 fourfold method  645, 650, 652–4 history of practice of  649–51 incarnatio 654 lectio  645, 652–3 meditatio  645, 653, 654 oratio 645 preparations for practice of  651–2 sacramentality of the word of God  646–9 Lefebvre, Henri  60

Legenda S. Clarae (Thomas of Celano)  273 Legras, A.  250 Lehfeldt, Elizabeth A.  471–6 Leitão, José Augusto Duarte  500 Lekai, Louis  397, 421 Lemaître, J.  250 Le Masson, Innocent  457 Lemerle, Paul  157 Leo XIII, Pope  223, 626 Lepori, Abbot General Mauro-Giuseppe  683 Lérins coenobium  94 Le Saux, Henri  563, 660, 662, 663, 666, 667, 669 Lester, Anne E.  232–42 Letter 22 to Eustochium (Jerome)  88, 109 Letters (Evagrius Ponticus)  70 Letters of Antony 69 Letter to the Corinthians (Clement I)  24 Letters to Virgins (Athanasius of Alexandria) 70 Letter to Anatolios (Evagrius)  94 Letter to Basilides (Dionysius of Alexandria) 24 Letter to Flora (Ptolomeus)  25 Letter to Pomponius (Cyprian)  86 Letter to the Philippians (Polycarp)  27 Levine, A.-J.  20 Libanos/Matta, Abba  178 Liberation Theology  535 Liber de reformatione monasteriorum (Busch) 305 Liberius, Pope  86 libraries Cluny 375 Syria  172, 177 women's libraries  381 Lieu, Judith  26 Life of Antony (Athanasius of Alexandria)  35, 36, 39, 67, 69, 87, 139 Life of Chariton (anon.)  66 Life of Epiphanius 69 Life of Euthymius (Cyril of Scythopolis) 75 Life of Hilarion (Jerome)  66, 69, 88 Life of Honoratus (Hilary)  94–5 Life of John of Tella 73–4 Life of John the Hesychast 110

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index   707 Life of Macrina, The/Vita Macrinae (Gregory of Nyssa)  68, 70, 125 Life of Malchus (Jerome)  88, 226 Life of Malchus/Vita Sancti Malchi (Reginald of Canterbury)  226–7 Life of Martin (Sulpicius)  88 Life of Paul (Jerome)  88 Life of Peter the Iberian (John Rufus)  68, 73–4 Life of Sabas (Cyril of Scythopolis)  69 Life of Saint Columba (Adomnán of Iona)  211 Life of Shenoute 67 Life of Syncletica (pseudo-Athanasius)  43 Life of Theodosius (Cyril of Scythopolis)  75 Life of Theognius (Cyril of Scythopolis)  75 Ligugé, France  104, 112 Limburg-Styrum, Damian August Philipp Karl von  465 Lipton, S.  362 Lisovoi, V. V  481, 482 literacy 146 literature, early Eastern monastic  66–76 collections and compilations  73–4 Erotapokriseis literature  75–6 institutionalization of monastic values 72–3 rules 75 theory of inner life  71 translation and intertextuality  68 traps of intertextuality  66–70 women in  70–1 literature, early Western monastic  85–96 ascetic background  86 consolidation of literary tradition  93–4 first-generation Latin monastic literature 87–9 monastic regulae 94–6 theological controversies  90–3 translation of Eastern monastic texts  89 Little Brothers of Saint John the Baptist 559–60 Littlemore community, near Oxford  625 liturgy 43 musical and liturgical practice  333–43 pilgrimage/patronage/power and  338–42 shape of  335–8 Syrian baptismal liturgies  25 lived religion: new monasticism as  638–41

Lives of Monks of the Judean Desert (Cyril of Scythopolis) 74–5 Lives of the Desert Fathers  89, 139 Lives of the Sophists (Eunapius)  40 Livingstone, David  544–5, 547 Lobdeburg, Herrmann von  290 Loccum Cistercian abbey, Lower Saxony 608–9 Löhe, Wilhelm  609 London Missionary Society (LMS)  544 Longchamp 396 Longer Rules 408 longue durée  5–6, 9, 13 Lopes, M. C.  112–13 Lorsch Book of Medicines  410 Lortz, Joseph  467 Louis the Pious  220, 222 Louis VII of France  339 Louis XI of France  339 Loukas of Steiris, St  145 Louth, Andrew  123–35 Loveluck, Chris  108, 109, 115 Lowder, Charles  625, 626 Lowe, Kate  303, 473 Lubac, Henri de  666 Lubich, Chiara  638 Luckritz-Marquis, C.  112 Ludolph of Saxony  323 Ludueña, G. A.  534, 535 Ludwig I of Bavaria  466 Lull, Ryamond  254 Lumen Gentium ('The Dogmatic Constitution on the Church')  518 Lungin, Pavel  601 Luongo, F. Thomas  302 Luscombe, D.  225 Luther, Martin  19, 300, 308, 321, 462, 467–8, 607, 610, 617 Lützelstein, Katharina von  292–3 Lux Mundi (Lang)  626 Lyne, Joseph Leycester (Fr Ignatius)  625 Lyons II:  271, 272

M

Mabillon, Jean  457–8 McAuley, Catherine  624 McCabe, Thomas  522

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708   index McClendon, Charles B.  61, 352 McCloskey, John  516–17 McCoy, Adam D.  621–31 MacDonald, William L.  59, 60 McGuinness, Margaret M.  511–23 McGuire, Brian Patrick  389, 390, 391, 426, 428 McGuire, Meredith  640 MacIntyre, Alasdair  636 McIntyre, Cardinal James  520 McLaughlin, Megan  318, 323 MacLeod, George  635 McMahon, Patrick Thomas  505 McNamara, Jo Ann Kay  318, 551 Macrina (sister of Basil)  68, 70, 125 Madauss, Erika  612 Madeira 498 Mager, Inge  468, 606–17 Magnus Maximus  91 Magrassi, M.  650, 654 Mahr, Johannes  560 Makarios of Corinth  482 Makenyats monastery, near Lake Sevan  180 Malabar Independent Syrian Church, India 168n1 Malachy of Armagh  438 Malankara Orthodox Syrian Church, India 168 Malawi  549, 551, 552, 628–9 Mâle, Emile  363, 364 Malling Abbey, Kent  626 Mango, Cyril  60, 138 Mansa Musa, Mali king  542 Mantzaridis, Georgios  579 manuscripts Paris, Bibliotheque nationale de France, MS latin 1085:  334–5, 337–8 Paris, Bibliotheque nationale de France, MS latin 1120:  337–8 Rome, Santa Sabina, Archivum Generale Ordinis Praedicatorum, MS XIV L  1: 342 Manzikert, Battle of (1071)  181 Map, Walter  422 Marcellina (Ambrose's sister)  86 Marcion 24 Marcus, Harold G.  543

Marianists (Society of Mary)  512, 514, 519 Mariannhill, South Africa  546–7, 550 Marie de Bretagne  453 Marie (Guyart) of the Incarnation  497, 506, 507 Mark the Monk  3, 71 Mar Saba/Great Laura monastery, Palestine  110, 111–12, 190, 192 Marshal, Richard  425 Martin, Claude  454 Martin, Dale B.  54–5, 111 Martin of Tours  36, 88–9, 91, 104, 209 Märtl, Claudia  287 Mary Clara, Sr  627 Mary Hilary, Sr  624 Maryland, British America  505 Mary Ward Sisters (Congregation of Jesus)  463, 464 Masini, M.  654 Masonic lodges  458 Massa, Mark  521 Matarasso, Pauline  232 Mater Felicitas (Christel Schmidt)  614 Mathieu of Vendôme  225 Matta el-Meskeen  173 Matthew Paris  358 Matthews, Eva Lee  626 Mauritania 498 Maximilian III Joseph (prince-elector)  465 Maximilian I of Bavaria  464 Maximos, St  133 mayBe community, Oxford  638, 641 Maynooth Irish Roman Catholic seminary 623 Mbhele, Fr Julius  550 Meaney, Audrey  412 Meaux, Hull Valley  428 Mecham, June  306 Medieval Climate Anomaly  422, 429, 430 Meehan, Brenda  487 Meek, D.  207 Mehabere Sellassie monastery  180 Meister Eckhart  661 Melancthon, Philip  440 Melanesia  627, 628 Melanesian Brotherhood  627 Melania (Roman widow)  70, 87

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index   709 Melitian church  37 Melrose Abbey  424, 425, 426, 427 Melville, Gert  12, 398 Melvin, Karen  502 mendicant orders  264–78 and devotional images  358 different forms of mendicancy  275–7 diversity of location  276–7 early mendicants  264 location of  273–5 poverty and begging  267, 268–72 roots of mendicant radicalism  266 mendicant radicalism  266 Mertens, Dieter  305 Merton, Thomas  519, 535, 558, 635, 636, 660, 661, 663, 665, 668, 669, 673, 681 on future of monasticism  684–5 Mesopotamia 37 Meteora monastic complex  577–8 Methodius of Olympus  30 Mexico  502, 529–30, 533 Meyendorff, J.  141, 149 Meyer, Johannes  305 Meyer, Leo  514 Mfengu people  545 Miccoli, Giovanni  266 Michels, Georg  481 Michiel, Jacopo  274 MID (Monastic Interreligious Dialogue), see Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (MID) Miers, Suzanne  548 Mi'kmaq First Nations, French America  503 Milieu Divin, Le (The Divine Milieu) (Teilhard de Chardin)  635 Milis, L. J. R.  419 military orders  248–56 comparative historiography  250–4 conferences on  252–3 identity 254–6 origins 248–50 Millea, Mother Clare  521 Miller, M. L.  486 Miller, Patricia Cox  52–3, 57, 59, 60 Miller, T. S.  142 millet system  170 Mills, Kenneth  501

Minims 501 missionaries in Angola  499–500 in Atlantic world  496, 498 Latin America  534–5 Protestant  541, 544 in sub-Saharan Africa  499–500, 541, 548–9, 550 see also Atlantic world Mitchell, Donald W.  661–2 Mitchell, S.  142 Mixson, James  301, 302, 303, 304, 305–6 Mncadi, Fr Alois  550 Mnganga, Fr Edward  550 Mobsby, Ian  636 Modersohn, Ernst  612 Moeller, Bernd  467–8 Moffitt, John  562 Molan, Gerhard Walter  608 Moldova  592–3, 595 Mombaer, Jan 321,  322, 323, 327 monasteries as centres of education  169–70 in early Ottoman period  160–1 family monasteries  144, 157 as landowners  158, 159–60, 172 linguistic and literary heritage, preservation of  169–70 as money lenders  159–60 role in society  155–61 and rulers  158 monasteries, dissolution of  437–49 causes and courses of  440–5 England  437–8, 439–41, 442–4, 445, 446, 447 Germany  463, 465, 607 impact of  446–8 Ireland  438, 439, 440, 441, 442–4, 445, 446, 447–8 Scotland  438, 439–40, 441, 442, 443–4, 446, 447 situation pre-dissolution  438–40 Wales  437–8, 439, 441, 442–3, 444, 445, 446, 447 Monasteries of the Heart  637 Monastery of Apa Paulos, Dayr al-Bachit  196 Monastery of Apollo, Bawit  195

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710   index Monastery of Chrysopigi, Chania  581 Monastery of Epiphanius  106, 195 Monastery of Hilarion, Umm el-’Amr  195 Monastery of Jeremias, Saqqara  193–4, 195 Monastery of John the Little, Wādī al-Nat ̣rūn, Egypt  111, 192, 193f, 197 dipinti  113–15, 114f Monastery of Martyrius (Khirbet el Murassas) 195 Monastery of Seridus  195 Monastery of St John the Theologian, Patmos 140 Monastic Interreligious Dialogue (MID)  2n.4, 9, 563, 658–70 defence of pilgrims  661–2 new age of peace  667–9 new ecclesial conscience  665–7 new paradigm challenges  664–9 open-hearted Christians (chrétiens hospitaliers)  659–64, 666, 668 sword in service of faith  662–4 monasticism definitions  3–4, 10–12 desert monasticism  35–45 early church legacy  19–30, 458 in early Ireland  207–11 early modern France  452–9 early modern Germany  462–9 monastic literature  40 as philosophical movement  39 monasticism, archaeological evidence for 101–17 archaeological practice and interpretation 101–3 criteria for dating monastic sites  113–16 cultural-historical approach  102–3 identification of monastic sites  104–8 processual/post-processual archaeology 103 writing histories of  108–16 wrong turns in archaeological interpretation 111–13 wrong turns in typologies and evolutionary schemas 108–11 monasticism, Byzantine  138–50, 155–62 approaches to monastic life  145–6 conflicts and controversies  147–9

defining elements and constant factors 139–44 engagement with the world  140–2 fidelity to the fathers  139–40 number of monks  143 relations between monks and Church 146–7 varieties and innovations  144–7 wisdom-hagiography canon  139–40 monasticism without walls, see new monasticism Moncrieff, Jessie Park  626 Mongol conquest  175 monk-bishops 43 Monk Bretton, Yorkshire  447 Monsell, Harriet  623 Monson, Craig  473 Montanism 23 Monte da Cegonha, Portugal  105–6, 112–13 Montford, Kimberlyn  473 Mont-Renaud 334 Mont-Saint-Michel: 12th-century cartulary 379–80 Morales, Francisco  529 More, Alison  305 Morgan Madonna  360f Moriscos 500 Mormando, Franco  303 Morris, Rosemary  139–40, 142, 145, 147, 157, 158 Morrow, Diane Batts  523 mortification of flesh  30 Moscow Patriarchate  595 Mother Basilea (Klara Schlink)  612, 613 Mother Mary Humiliata (Anita Caspary) 520 Mount Athos  577–80 in early Ottoman period  161 Great Lavra  110, 140, 144, 145 hesychast controversy  148–9, 488 and Jesus Prayer  134–5 Paisii Velichkovskii  482, 486, 597 St Panteleimon monastery  594 Mount Saviour monastery, Elmira, New York 517 Movilla 209 Mozambique 628

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index   711 Muellheim, Katharine von  306 Muers, Rachel  19–20 al-Muharraq (al-Qusqwam) monastery  172 Muhlenberg, William Augustus  622 Müller, Anne  398 Muller, Alexander V.  481 Müller, Harald  290 Mullett, Margaret  390–1 Mumm, Susan  621, 624 Mungiu, Cristian  601 Muriel, Josefina  527n1, 531 Murphy-O'Connor, Jerome  22 Murray, Alexander  305 Murray, A. V.  255 Murray, J.  439, 444, 445, 447 Murray, Robert  125 Mutapa, Kingdom of  500 Mvemba Nzinga (Alfonso), Kongolese king  499, 542 Myroure of oure Ladye 321 Mystagogia (Maximos)  133 mystical contemplation  41 myth of the desert  41–2, 67

N

Nag Hammadi codices  39 Namibia 553 Naqlun 193 Narek monastery, Turkey  180 narrative practices  372–84 environmental history  383 master narratives  374–6 narratives of community  378–81 narratives of holiness  376–8 narratives of the world  381–4 Nashdom Abbey  626, 628 Nashotah House missionary community, USA 625 Natal Colony, southern Africa  547 Natchez Indians, USA  511 National Religious Vocation Conference (1992) 678 Neale, John Mason  623 Nehemiah Community, Springfield, Massachusetts 637 Neidiger, Bernhard  302 Neophytos, St  162

Nestorian Church (Church of the East)  175, 560, 561 Newitt, Malyn  542, 543 Newman, John Henry  223, 623, 625 Newman, Martha  236, 237, 238, 240 New Minster, Winchester  325 new monasticism  3, 9, 634–42 background inspiration  635 categories 636–8 as lived religion  638–41 New Prophecy movement  23, 27 New Valaam Monastery, Finland  594 Ngidi, Fr Andreas  550 Nicaea, Council of (325)  24 Nicaragua 535 Nicephoros Gregoras  148–9 Nicholas of Clairvaux  412 Nicolai, Friedrich  464 Nicolini-Zani, Matteo  558–67 Nider, Johannes  303, 304 Nigeria  550, 553 Nightingale, John  394–5 Nikephoros the Hesychast  148 Nikodemos the Hagiorite  482 Nilus of Ancyra  69 Nitria  39, 87, 172 Nongqawuse (Xhosa girl)  546 Norris, Kathleen  637 Northern Rhodesia (Zambia)  549 Ntsikana (Xhosa Christian prophet)  546 nunneries 218 Cistercian  236, 237, 238, 239, 290 Dominican 276 Nwagwu, Mary Gerard  552

O

Obazine Abbey  235, 237, 428 Oblate Sisters of Providence  523 Observant Dominicans  289 Observant reform: late Middle Ages  300–9 Ocaña, Diego de  501 Ocasio, R.  536 Occupatio (Odo of Cluny)  226 Ochs, Heidrun  290 Ó Clabaigh, C.  439, 445, 448 Odilo of Cluny  375 Odo of Cluny  226, 372, 373, 382

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712   index Officium Stellae (Epiphany Play)  361 O’Hanlon, Daniel  659 OHC (Order of the Holy Cross), USA  625 OHP (Order of the Holy Paraclete), UK  628 Oikonomides, Nicolas  158 Olivera, Bernardo  684, 685 Olivi, Peter  269 O'Loughlin 209 O'Malley, John  475 Omne datum optimum (Innocent II)  249, 256 One Hundred Gnostic Chapters (Diadochus of Photiké) 71 Ó Néill, P  209 On Fasting (Tertullian)  23, 24 On Holy Virginity (De sancta virginitate (Augustine) 91 On Prayer (Origen)  26 On Single Marriage (Tertullian)  27 On the Dress of Virgins (Cyprian)  27, 86 On the Eight Thoughts (Evagrius Ponticus)  71 On the Good of Marriage (De bono coniugali) (Augustine) 91 On the Nature of the Body and Soul (William of Saint-Thierry)  366 On the Ruin of Britain (Gildas)  209 On the Spiritual Law (Mark the Monk)  71 On the Superiority of Solitaries (Nilus of Ancyra) 69 On the Veiling of Virgins (De virginibus velandis) (Tertullian)  27, 86 On the Vices Opposed to the Virtues (Evagrius Ponticus) 71 On the Work of Monks (De opere monachorum) (Augustine)  90 On Virginity (De virginitate) (Ambrose)  86 On Virgins (De virginibus) (Ambrose)  86 On Voluntary Poverty (Nilus of Ancyra)  69 Or, Abba  55–6, 58, 73 Oram, Richard  418–31, 424, 425, 426, 427–8, 429 Orange, Council of (529)  93 Orange Free State  547 Oratorians 502 Oratory of the Good Shepherd  626 Order of Chancelade  456 Order of Fontevraud/Fontevrault  453 Order of Grandmont  458

Order of Poor Brethren of St Francis  627 Order of Prémontré  457 Order of St Anne  626 Order of St Clare  274, 276 Order of St Helena, USA  628 Order of the Annunciation of the Blessed Virgin Mary  453 Order of the Holy Cross (OHC), USA  625 Order of the Holy Paraclete (OHP), UK  628 Order of the Visitation of Holy Mary (Visitandines) 456 Order of Women of the Church of South India 627 Ordo ad benedicendum ducem Aquitaniae 341 Ordo monasterii (Augustine)  90, 96 O'Reilly, Martin  553 Oriental Orthodox communion  168–81 characteristics of  168–71 Origenist controversy  91–2 Origen of Alexandria  26, 28–30, 91–2, 93, 126, 646, 650 Orléans, Antoinette de  456 Orme, N.  439 Ostrogorsky, George  159 Our Lady of Calvary  458 Our Lady of Gethsemani, near Bardstown, Kentucky 516 Ousterhout, R. G.  105, 113 Outpourings of an Art-Loving Friar (Herzensergießungen eines kunstliebenden Klosterbruders) (Wackenroder) 466 Oxford Movement  610, 621

P

Pace, Enzo  12 Pachomius  36, 37, 66, 68, 89, 140, 141, 145, 189, 407 monastic rules  178, 192, 196, 197 Paedagogus II (Clement of Alexandria)  26 Paisii Velichkovskii  482, 486, 597 Paisios, Elder  579, 580–1, 584, 585, 586 Palamites 148–9 Palazzo, Éric  357, 362 Palladius  43, 73, 89, 139, 140, 196, 208 Palmisano, Stefania  3–4, 3n5, 12 Pandektes (Antiochos the Monk)  140

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index   713 Panikkar, Raimon  558, 660, 663, 665, 667, 668 Pantin, W. A.  441 Pantokrator Monastery, Constantinople  142, 158 Papacioc, Arsenie  600 Papal Commission on Religious Life (Quinn Commission) 520–1 Papua New Guinea  627 Părăian, Teofil  600 Parrinello, R. M.  73, 144, 145 Parsons, S.  227 Paschal II, Pope  249 Paschasius Radpertus  361 Passover  23, 24 Pastors' Prayer Association  612 Pastors' Prayer Brotherhood (PfarrerGebetsbruderschaft), Germany  612 Patlagean, E.  141, 158–9 Patrich, J.  110, 111–12 Patrick (Irish bishop), St  208–9 patronage 42–3 Paul (monk)  140 Paula of Rome, St  38, 87 Paulinus of Nola  85, 87, 88 Paul, St  21–3 Paxton, Jennifer  382 Payne, Stanley G.  500 PCID (Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue) 659–60 Pcol (Pachomian monk)  189 Peace of Augsburg (1555)  463 Pedro IV of Portugal  543 Peires, J. B.  545–6 Pelagian controversy  92 Pelagius 92 Peñafort, Raymond  267 Penet, Emil  517, 518 Penitential of Finnian, The (ascrib. Uinniau) 209 Pépin, Guilhelm  341 Perfectae Caritatis (Second Vatican Council)  2, 521 Pershore Abbey  626 Pertz, Georg Heinrich  338 Peru  501, 502, 532–3, 534 Peter II of Alexandria  87 Peter Damian  322

Peter of Cava-Venosa  220 Peter of Vaux-de-Cernay  269 Peterson, Bhekizizwe  550 Peter the Chanter  266, 482 Peter the Great  481 Peter the Venerable  367, 372–3, 392 Pfanner, Franz  546–7, 550 Pfarrer-Gebetsbruderschaft (Pastors' Prayer Brotherhood), Germany  612 Pfister, Maria (Sister Prioress Scholastica)  614 Phan, Peter  666 Philip II of France  254 Philip II of Spain  500 Philip IV of France  250 Philip of Hesse  441 Philippe, Paul  518 Philip the Magnanimous of Hesse  440 Philocalic revival  482 Philokalia  126, 482, 597, 598 philosophy: late ancient  39–41 Philotheos Zervakos, Elder  579–80 Philoxenos of Mabbug  67 Piam admodum (Alexander III)  255 Pied Friars  267 Pie postulatio voluntatis (Paschal II)  249 Pilgrimage of Grace  443 Pimen (Khmelevskii), Archimandrite  593–4 Pink Sisters (Holy Spirit Adoration Sisters) 519 Pius XII, Pope  517, 658 Pius XI, Pope  515, 562 Pochaev Lavra, Western Ukraine  594–5 Polan, Gregory J.  645–55 Polycarp 27 Poncher, Étienne  453 Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue (PCID) 659–60 Poole, A. L.  422 Poor Clares  288–9, 290, 516, 552 Poor Ladies  269, 270, 273, 276 Popović, S.  111 Porphyrios, Elder  579, 584, 585 portable monasticism, see new monasticism Port-Royal destruction of (1709)  458 Portugal  105–6, 112–13, 179, 542–4 Posselt, Rev. C. W.  546 Postman, N.  678

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714   index poverty  267, 268–72, 302 Practique de la Règle de saint Benoît (Martin) 454 Praeceptum (Augustine)  90, 96 Präger, Lydia  611 Praktikos (Evagrius Ponticus)  71 Pranger, M. B.  381 prayer  41, 317–28 prayer and ascesis  584 as attention  321–2 begging pardon  323–5 definition of  317–18, 319–20 as devotion  326–7 as opportunity for future research  327–8 praising God  322–3 prayer, Eastern tradition  123–35 canons 131–2 Cathedral Office/Monastic Office  129–30 Divine Liturgy of the Eucharist  124, 132–3 earliest accounts  124–7 kontakia  130–1, 132 personal prayer  133–5 private/public prayer  123–4 time/place 127–9 preaching 303 Precepts (Pachomius)  140 Preface to the German Mass (Luther)  610 Preiser-Kapeller, Johannes  308 Premonstratensians  249, 457 Prideaux, Denys  626 Priscillian 91 Priscillianist controversy  91 Prosper of Aquitaine  92–3 Chronicle 208 Protestant tradition  606–17 community life in old monasteries  616–17 missionaries  541, 544 monastic life and Reformation  607 Protestant Cistercians  608–9 Protestant monasteries after the Reformation 608–9 quasi-monastic community life in the modern period  609–16 Prouille (rural community for women)  267 Providence Industrial Mission, Shire Highlands 549

Province of the Most Pure Heart of Mary 466–7 Prudlo, Donald  267 Prüfening Abbey  357–8 Prutz, Hans  250, 251 Pseudo-Athanasius 43 Pseudo-Clementine Letters 28 Pseudo-Dionysios 146 Pseudo-Macarius 71 Pskov Caves Monastery  594, 601 Ptolomeus 25 Punctation of Ems reforms  465 Purísima Concepción convent, Michoacán, Mexico 532 Pusey, Edward Bouverie  622, 623, 624, 625 Pyne, Tricia T.  505

Q

Qinnisre monastery, Syria  110–11 Quam amabilis Deo (Innocent II)  249 Questions of the Brothers (Basil of Caesarea/ Basil the Great)  68 Quinn, Archbishop John  520–1 Quinn Commission (Papal Commission on Religious Life)  520–1 Quis dives salvetur (Clement of Alexandria) 28 Quo Elongati (Gregory IX)  268–9

R

Rabbula of Edessa  37–8, 73–4 racism in seminaries  549–50 radiocarbon dating (Carbon-14)  115 Radulfus/Raoul Glaber  318, 366 Rahner, Karl  684 Ramsay, W. M.  105, 113 Ramseyer, Valerie  395 Ransing, Bernard  518 Rapp, C.  143 Rauhes Brüder-Haus, Hamburg-Horn, Germany 609 Raulin, Jean  453 Rawcliffe, Carole  405 Reba Place Fellowship, Evanston, Illinois 637 recluses 145 Recollects 503

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index   715 Red Monastery, Sohag, Upper Egypt  107, 172, 195 Red Sea monasteries  172 Reflections (Evagrius Ponticus)  71 Regina Laudis monastery, Bethlehem, Connecticut 517 Reginald of Canterbury  226–7 Regula cuiusdam ad virgines 225 regulae  89–90, 94–6 Pachomius's monastic rule  178, 192, 196, 197 Regula Orientalis 95 Regularis concordia 324 Reichl, Timon  2–3 Reichsdeputationshauptschluss (Imperial Recess) (1803)  465, 469 Reid, Robert  446 Reimer, Ingrid  611, 612, 613, 615–16 Reims synod (1148)  292 Reinhard, Wolfgang  467 Reis, João José  529 relationships 388–99 community 396–9 family ties  393–6 friendship 389–93 Religious Formation Conference (RFC, previously Sister Formation Conference) 518 Religious History (Theodoret of Cyrrhus)  53–4, 55, 57, 58, 74 Renée de Bourbon  453 renouncers (apotaktikoi) 36 Rerum Ecclesiae (Pius XI)  562 Research Centre for the Comparative History of Religious Orders/Forschungsstelle für Vergleichende Ordensgeschichte (FOVOG) 398 Reuter, Timothy  399 Revesby Abbey  422 Revue Bénédictine 223 RFC (Religious Formation Conference, previously Sister Formation Conference) 518 Richard I of England  340 Richard, Jean  662 Richardson, Richard  446 Richelieu, Cardinal  454 Riedinger, Paul  612

Rievaulx Abbey  394, 397–8, 428 Rigon, A.  275 Riley-Smith, J.  255 Rippinger, Joel  512, 517, 674, 675 Roach, Sister Thomas  519 Robert of Molesme  421 Robertson, Anne Walters  339 Robertson, D.  653 Roderick, Philip  637 Roest, Bert  276, 301, 303, 304, 320, 327 Roger de Chabannes  337 Roger, J.-M.  395 Rogers, C.  424 Rohrdorf, Eberhard von  290 Romanchuk, Robert  480 Romania, monasticism in  596–601 contemporary monasticism  590–1 hesychasm  597, 600 monasticism and society/monastic revival 601–2 Orthodox Church  590–1 Philocalic revival  597 Romanos the Melodist  130–1 Roof, Wade Clark  640 Rose de Lima  503 Rosenwein, Barbara  381–2, 392, 394, 397 Rothschild Canticles  358, 359f Rotrou of Perche, Count  421 Rousseau, Philip  66, 68 Rubenson, Samuel  69, 168–81 Rückert, Maria Magdalena  290 Rudolph, C.  349, 356 Rudy, Kathryn  306 Rufinus of Aquileia  68, 85, 87, 89, 91–2 Rugul Aprins (Burning Bush) movement 600 Rule for Virgins (Caesarius of Arles)  96, 220 Rule of Augustine (Augustine)  89–90 Rule of Benedict (Regula Benedicti) (Benedict of Nursia)  95, 218–27, 249n1, 324–5, 660, 683–4 Cistercians and  232, 235 French editions  457 on friendship  390 on prayer  317, 318, 319 role of liturgy  334 on sickness  408–9

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716   index Rule of Columbanus 220 Rule of Macarius 95 Rule of St Francis (Regula non bullata) 637 Rule of the [Four] Fathers (Regula sanctorum patrum)  94, 95 Rule of the Master (Regula Magistri)  88, 94, 95, 220, 409 Rules (Basil of Caesarea/Basil the Great)  140 Rupert of Deutz  224, 350f, 362 rural patronage  42–3 Russell, John (Lord Russell)  623 Russell, Norman  406 Russia Bolshevik Revolution  591–2 Decree of Separation of Church from the State and from Schools (1918)  591, 592 hesychasm 486 monasticism and society/monastic revival 601–2 Russian Orthodox Church  488 Russian Orthodox monasticism (988–1917) 478–89 early 20th-century  487–8 18th-century crisis  481–3 female monasticism  487 hesychasm and spiritual elders  486–7 Kyivan Rus  479, 594 Muscovite monasticism  479–81 19th-century revival  483–5 patterns of monastic growth  485–6 Sergius of Radonezh  479–81 Russian Orthodox monasticism, contemporary 590–602 and collectivization of agriculture  592 in post-Soviet Russia  595–6 in Soviet period  591–5 Rwanda  552, 553 Ryan, J.  209 Ryrie, A.  442, 443, 444

S

Sabas of Palestine  140, 190 Sabatier, Auguste  319 Saccidananda ashram, Tamil Nadu  564 Sack Friars  267, 275 Sacred Congregation for Religious  518 Sahdona (Martyrius)  70–1

St Agnes convent, Strasbourg  289 St Ananias/Der ul-Zafara’an monastery, Syria 177 St Andrew's Abbey, Bruges, Belgium  562 St Andrew's Brotherhood, India  627 St Bishoi monastery  112 St Catherine of Sinai  577 Saint Cybard Abbey, Angouleme  338 Saint-Denis, Paris  225, 339, 458 Sainte-Foy Abbey, Conques  350f, 354f St Gabriel monastery, Syria  177 Saint Gall Plan  352, 353f, 410 St-Germain-des-Prés  419, 458 St Gregory's Abbey, Three Rivers, Michigan 628 Saint Hilary Abbey, Poitiers  340–1 Saint-Jean d’Angély Abbey  338 St Johannes convent, Strasbourg  288 St John’s Abbey, Collegeville, Minnesota  514 St John the Theologian, Patmos  577–8 St Joseph’s Academy, Emmitsburg, Maryland 513 Saint-Julien-en-Genevois, Switzerland  105–6, 108 St Katherina’s convent, Strasbourg  289 St Klara am Roßmarkt, Strasbourg  288 St Klara auf dem Werth, Strasbourg  288 St Leonard’s College, St Andrew’s University 447 St Macarius (Abu Maqar) monastery  112, 172 St Margareta convent, Strasbourg  289 St Marien Überwasser Benedictine monastery 465 Saint Martial Abbey, Limoges  334–5, 338, 339–40, 375 St Marx convent, Strasbourg  288, 289 St Mary Magdalene, Strasbourg  289 St Mary's, Dublin  424 St Matthew/Mor Mattai monastery, Syria 177 Saint-Maur 458 Saint-Michel-de-Cuxa Abbey  351f, 364 St Nikolaus in Undis, Strasbourg  289 St Ottilien Abbey  467 St Panteleimon monastery  594 Saint-Pierre, Moissac  363f St Sabba, Palestine  577–8

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index   717 Saints Peter and Andrew monastery, Xishan, China  564, 565 St Stephan's convent, Strasbourg  287, 291, 292–4 St Thaddeus monastery, Iran  180 Saint-Vanne 458 SS. Quattro Coronati  267, 271 Sales, Francis de  624 Salimbene de Adam  271 saloi (holy fools)  145 Salomon Glossaries  357–8 Salvian of Marseilles  95 San Francesco del Deserto  274 San Martino di Copanello  104 San Sebastiano, Alatri  104, 109 Santa Clara de Gracia convent, Guadalajara, Mexico 532 Santo Stefano, Bologna  352 San Vicenzo al Volturno  104, 113 São Tomé and Príncipe  498, 542, 543, 548 Sarragossa, Councils of (380)  91 Sauneron, S.  195 Saurette, Marc  392 Savigny congregation  235, 237 Savonarola, Girolamo  303 Sayings of the Desert Fathers (Apophthegmata Patrum)  3, 35, 38, 40, 43, 73, 89, 139–40, 172 Sbaraglia, G.  270 Scarisbrick, J. J.  440 Scetis  39, 106, 107, 172 Schaap, Mirjam  302 Schapiro, M.  364 Scheepsma, Wybren  303 Schenk, Jochen  237, 238 Schiewer, Regina  303, 306 Schlink, Klara (Mother Basilea)  612, 613 Schmidt, Christel (Mater Felicitas)  614 Schnepel, Erich  612 Schroeder, Caroline  72 Schutte, Anne Jacobson  476 Schutz, Roger  611 Scotland: dissolution of monasteries  438, 439–40, 441, 442, 443–4, 446, 447 Scott, B.  443 Scott-Dixon, C.  440, 443 Scott, James  306

Scrima, Andrei  600 Second Apology (Justin Martyr)  25 Second Council of Lyons (Lyons II) (1274) 271 Second Lateran Council (1139)  292, 404 Second Origenist Controversy  38 Second Rule of the Fathers (Altera Regula Patrum) 95 Second Vatican Council (1962-1965)  2, 518, 523, 622, 674–5 Dei Verbum  646, 647, 654 Gaudium et Spes (GS)  658, 663, 666, 667–8 Perfectae Caritatis  2, 521 secular canonesses (Stiftsfrauen) 285–6, 291–4 secular monasticism, see new monasticism Sedes Sapientiae (Throne of Wisdom)  360, 362 Seebass, Gottfried  468 Seidel, Linda  364 Sellon, Priscilla Lydia  623, 625 semi-eremitical monasticism  36 Şenocak, Neslihan  269 senses  53–6, 364–7 Serafim, Metropolitan  597 Sergius of Radonezh, St  479–81 Servants of Mary (Servites)  271–2, 275 Seton, Elizabeth Ann Bayley  511, 513 sexual renunciation  22, 25–8: see also celibacy SFC (Sister Formation Conference)  517–18, 523 Shagan, E. H.  443 Sharer, R. J.  101, 115 SHC (Sisterhood of the Holy Cross)  623, 624 sheep farming  424–5, 428, 430 Shenoute of Atripe  42, 43, 69, 70, 72, 107, 107f, 189–90, 196 Shepherd, The (Hermas)  23, 24–5, 26, 28 Shevkunov, Tikhon  601 Shillington, Kevin  542, 543, 548, 549, 551 Shozi Zulu people  546–7 Sibundoy community, Columbia  534 Sicard, Germain  662 sickness and healing  403–15 attitudes to  408 attitudes to medicine  404–6

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718   index sickness and healing (cont.) bloodletting  411–12, 413 Carolingian period  410–12 hospitals  142, 158, 276, 405 infirmarers  405, 413 later Middle Ages  412–13 origins of care  406–8 in the West  408–10 Sieber, Godfrey  549, 550 Siegfried, Regina  518 Sierra Leone  545 Silcock, Emma Caroline  625 Sillem, A.  220 Silouan the Athonite  594 Silvas, Anna  68, 125, 408 Simeon Stylites  52, 58, 59–61 Simon of Clermont, Lord of Nesle  225 Simple Way  637 singing 130 Singnolo, Achilia  274 Sinitsyna, N. V  487 Siricius, Pope  91 Sister Formation Bulletin 518 Sister Formation Conference (SFC)  517–18, 523 Sisterhood of St John the Divine, Canada  625 Sisterhood of St Mary, Bangladesh  627 Sisterhood of St Mary, India  627 Sisterhood of the Epiphany, India  627 Sisterhood of the Holy Communion, USA 624 Sisterhood of the Holy Cross (SHC)  623, 624 Sisterhood of the Holy Nativity, USA  624 Sister Prioress Scholastica (Maria Pfister)  614 Sisters of Charity of St Joseph (now Daughters of Charity)  511, 513 Sisters of Loretto, Kentucky  513 Sisters of Mercy of Dublin  624 Sisters of St John the Divine  623 Sisters of St Joseph  519 Sisters of the Church, Solomon Islands  628 Sisters of the Immaculate Heart (California) 520 Sixtus IV, Pope  453 Skudlarek, William  665 Slave Coast  498 slavery  504, 505, 542, 543, 544, 545, 547–8

Small Askētikon (Basil the Great/of Caesarea) 89 Smaragdus of Saint-Mihiel  320 Smith, Katherine Allen  325, 372–84 Smith, Martha  512 Smolitsch, Igor  478, 481, 487 Smyrlis, Kostis  155–62 social memory theory  21 Société de Bretagne  455 Society of Mary (Marianists)  512, 514, 519 Society of Saint-Sulpice  504 Society of St Francis (SSF)  627 Society of St John the Divine, South Africa 625 Society of St John the Evangelist (SSJE)  625, 626 Society of St Margaret (SSM), USA  623, 624 Society of St Paul  626 Society of the Divine Compassion  627 Society of the Holy Cross  626, 627 Society of the Most Holy Trinity, Devonport 623 Society of the Precious Blood  626 Society of the Sacred Advent, Australia  625 Society of the Sacred Heart of Jesus  513 Society of the Sacred Mission (SSM)  626 Soeiro, Susan  503 Sohag, Upper Egypt  107, 107f solitaries: within coenobitic houses  145–6 Solomon Islands  627, 628 Solovetskii monastery  480 Solovki Monastery  595 Somerset Levels  428 Somoza dynasty, Nicaragua  535 Sophrony, Elder  579 Sorelli, F.  274 Sorskii, Nil  480 South Africa  547, 628 Southern Rhodesia (Zimbabwe)  548–9 Southern, Richard W.  232, 390 Southey, A.  675 Southey, Robert  621–2 South Korea  565 Spain convent culture  472–4 early modern monasticism  471–6 male monasticism  474–5

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index   719 Spanish Hospitallers of St John of God  474 Speckman Guerra, Elisa  530, 532 Speer, A.  356 Sperling, Jutta  472 spiritual eldership, Russia  486–7 spiritual identity  639–40 Spiritual Meadow (John Moschus)  73 spiritual parenthood  584–5 Spock, Jennifer  480 Sretenskii Monastery, Moscow  595 Sri Lanka  559 SSF (Society of St Francis)  627 SSJE (Society of St John the Evangelist)  625, 626 SSM (Society of the Sacred Mission)  626 SSM (Society of St Margaret), USA  623, 624 Stählin, Wilhelm  610, 611 Stăniloae, Dumitru  598 Stanish, Charles  185, 186 Starr-LeBeau, Gretchen D.  500 St Augustine's monastery, Canterbury  419 Stavelot-Malmedy Benedictine houses  383 Stebbing, Nicholas  600–1 Steed, Christopher  541, 553 Steinhardt, Nicolae  600 Stephen Harding  232, 234 Stephen of Sawley  321 Steve, Marie-Joseph  109, 111 Stewart, Columba  85–96 Stewart-Sykes, A.  23 Stock, Brian  392, 397 Stockdale, Henrietta  624 Stoudios Monastery, Constantinople  142, 144, 146 Strasbourg women's religious communities 286–91 Strocchia, Sharon  472 Stromata (Clement of Alexandria)  26 Studzinski, R.  649 stylites (column-dwellers)  145: see also Simeon Stylites Subiaco, Italy  104, 112 subintroductae (syneisaktes) 27–8 sub-Saharan Africa  541–53 colonialism 547–51 explorers and missionaries  544–7 independence 551–3

missionaries in  499–500, 541, 548–9, 550 Portugal and  542–4 racism in seminaries  549–50 Suger, Abbot of Saint-Denis  349, 356 Sulpicius Severus  88–9 Sumption, Jonathan  338 al-Suryani monastery  172 Susneyos, Emperor of Ethiopia  543 Swain, Diana Romero  532 Sweet, Victoria  414 Sylvestrines 559 Symeon Grigoriatis  585 Symeon the New Theologian  140, 141 Symons, Thomas  324 syneisaktes (subintroductae) 27–8 Synodicon Orientale 75 Syria  25, 27, 36, 37, 175, 176–7 Syriac Church  170 Syriac Orthodox Church, India  168n1 Syrian monastic sites  105 Syrian Orthodox Church  168, 174–7 Syro-Malankar Church  565

T

Taft, Robert  129, 146 Taizé 638 Talbot, Alice-Mary  138, 156 Tales of the Rabbis 647–9 Tanner, Norman  233 Tanzania  553, 628–9 Tarragona, Spain  105–6 Tat‘ew monastery  181 Tatian 26 Tauler, Johannes  661 Taylor, Anna  226 Taylor, Charles  674 Tchalenko, G.  105, 110 Teasdale, Wayne  563, 638 Teilhard de Chardin, Pierre  635 Tekle Haymanot  178 Templars  248–50, 252–6, 325 Templar trial  250, 251, 252, 253–4, 255 Teresa de los Andes  531 Teresa of Avila  474, 506, 516 Tertullian  23, 24, 25, 26, 27, 86, 126 Testament (Francis of Assisi)  268 Testament (Theodore of Stoudios)  140

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720   index Teutonic Knights  250, 252 Thailand 567 Theatines 474 Thelen, Bonaventure  515 Theodore 66 Theodore of Stoudios  140, 143, 145, 146, 148 Theodoret of Cyrrhus  53–4, 55, 57, 58, 59, 74, 175 Theoleptos of Philadelphia  143 Theophilus of Alexandria  39 Theophylact of Ochrid  391 Theotokos Evergetis monastery, Constantinople 139–40 Therasia of Nola  88 thermoluminescence 115 Third Rule of the Fathers 95 Thiron-Gardais  421, 423 Tholens, Cornelius  658 Thomas, John  140, 141, 142, 143, 147 Thomas, Keith  526 Thomas of Cantimpré  269, 277–8 Thomas of Celano  268, 269, 273 Thom, C.  208 Thompson, Augustine  266, 270–1 Thompson, Leonard  546, 547, 550 Thornton, John K.  497, 498, 499, 543 Throne of Wisdom (Sedes Sapientiae)  360, 362 Thuan, Henri Denis Benoît  565 Tikhon of Zadonsk  482 Tipping, R.  429 Tippu Tip  544 To Eulogios on the Confession of Thoughts and Counsel (Evagrius Ponticus)  71 Topos of Apa Phoebammon in the Rock, Egypt  188, 189f Torre Curiel, José Refugio de la  533 Tours, Council of (1163)  405 Townsend, D.  227 Tractarians  622, 623 Tractatus de reformacione status cenobitici (Nider) 304 Trappists in China  559–60, 561 in USA  511, 513, 516 see also Cistercian Order of the Strict Observance

Travers, John  444 Tre Fontane monastery  241 Trent, Council of  454, 455, 463–4, 472, 473 Trinitarians 501 Trinity Benedictine Monastery, Fujimi, Japan 564–5 Trinity-Sergius Monastery/Lavra  479–80, 484, 485, 592, 593–4 Trotula of Salerno  414 Troyes, Council of (1129)  248 Tudor, Sandu  600 Tugwell, S.  269–70, 274, 277–8

U

Uganda  552, 553 Uinniau 209 Ukraine  592–3, 595 Ukrainian Orthodox Church  595, 599n1 Umanzini, Shozi Zulu chief  546 Unigenitus papal bull (1713)  458 United States of America (USA)  511–23 Carmelites in  511, 516, 519 contemplative monastic communities 516–17 European monasticism model  512–15 female Anglican communities  622 monastic transitions and transformations 517–20 Vatican and American women religious 520–1 Urban III, Pope  256 Urban IV, Pope  274 Ursulines  456, 463, 474, 497, 504, 506, 507, 511

V

Valaam Monastery, Finland  594 Valdez del Álamo, E.  364 Valérie, St  340, 341 Valous, Guy de  339 Valters Paintner, Christine  638 van der Kemp, J. T.  545–6 Van Engen, Jan 224,  305 van Onselen, Charles  548–9 Vargas, Michael  302, 305–6 Vatican II, see Second Vatican Council Vecoli, Fabrizio  663–4

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index   721 Veilleux, Armand  192, 564 Verbaal, Wim  392 Veyssière, L.  395 Vézelay  364–6, 365f Vickers, N.  447 Victor I, Pope  23–4 Victricius of Rouen  209 Vie Monastique international colloquium (1989) 552–3 Vienne, Council of  250 Vietnam  561, 565–6, 567 Villatte, Joseph René  625 Vincentines (Daughters of Charity of Saint Vincent de Paul)  463 Vincent of Lérins  95 Virgin of Guadalupe of Extremadura cult  501 Visitandines (Order of the Visitation of Holy Mary) 456 Visitation Sisters  624 Vita Amadaei 377–8 Vita Columbani (Jonas of Bobbio)  409 Vitae patrum ('Lives of the Fathers')  89 Vita Macrinae/The Life of Macrina (Gregory of Nyssa)  68, 70, 125 Vodarskii, Ia. E.  481, 483 Vogüé, Adalbert de  220, 409 Volotskii, Joseph  480 Von Simson, O.  356 Vööbus, A.  142 Vox in excelso (Clement V)  250 Voyage of Saint Brendan 211 Vryonis, Speros Jr  160

W

Wackenroder, Wilhelm Heinrich  466 Waddell, Chrysogonus  232, 234–5, 397 Wādī al-Nat ̣rūn, Egypt  106–7, 112, 172 dipinti  106, 106f, 113–16, 114f pottery finds  115, 116f Wagner, William G.  486, 487 Walahfrid Strabo  51 Walden, Thomas  413 Wales: dissolution of monasteries  437–8, 439, 441, 442–3, 444, 445, 446, 447 Waliggo, Fr John Mary  549, 550 Walker, Sr Magdalene  550–1 Wall, Barbra Mann  523

Walsh, Katherine  303 Walter, Bernita  545, 549 Walters, Annette  518 wandering monks  145 Waquet, J.  395 Wardrop, J.  424 Warri, Kingdom of  498, 500 water-distribution systems  427–8 Watts, Edward  40 wealth  20–1, 22, 28–9 Weaver, Elissa  473 Weaver, Mary Jo  519 Webb, Alan Becher  624–5 Webb, Diana  338 Weber, Alison  473 Wehrli-Johns, Martina  307–8 Weinrich, A. K. H.  552 Weldebba monastery  180 Wellhausen, Julius  21 Wesleyan Missionary Society  544 Western Armenia/Armenia Minor  180 Westminster monastic infirmary  412–13 Weston, Frank  627 White, Evelyn  112 White, L. Michael  59 White Monastery Federation  189, 192 White Monastery, Sohag, Upper Egypt  107, 172, 188, 190f, 192, 195 Wichern, Johann Hinrich  609 Wienhausen convent  241 Wilberforce, Samuel  624 William of Aquitaine  222, 339 William of Roanne  372, 373 William of Saint-Thierry  349–50, 366 William of St Stephen  250 William the Great, Duke  340 Wilson-Hartgrove, Jonathan and Leah  636–7 Wilson, Jason  536 Wilson, Jonathan R.  637 Wimmer, Boniface  514 Winlock, H. E.  195 Winston-Allen, Anne  302, 305–6 Winzen, Damasus  517 Wipszycka, Ewa  39, 41–2, 69 Wiseman, James  661–2, 665 Witherup, R. D.  646, 654

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722   index Wolfman, D.  115 Wolsey, Thomas  441 Wood, A.  443

X

xerophagy 23 Xhosa people  545–6 Xishan Benedictine priory (Saints Peter and Andrew monastery, Xishan, China)  564, 565

Y

Yimrihane Kristos church  178

Z

Za Dengel, Emperor of Ethiopia  543 Zaehner, Robert Charles  660 Zambezi Valley  500 Zeller, Winfried  609 Zellmer, Mark Douglas  532 Zernov, Nicolas  123–4 Ziani, Marco  274 Ziani, Pietro  274 Zimbabwe 628: see also Southern Rhodesia Zippert, Christian  613 Zululand 628 Zyrianov, Pavel N.  485