Thursday, December 8, 2011

Establishing Royal Authority and Decreasing Papal Dependence: The Dialogues of Authority at the Besançon Affair

This essay seeks to demonstrate two aspects of imperial authority as evidenced by the documents pertaining to the Imperial Diet at Besançon. I hope to demonstrate two key aspects of Imperial government. First, Frederick I was well aware of the principles of communal governance. Second, Papal rhetoric and actions threatened the destruction of local communal ties to the imperial government. Most importantly, however, is that this situation arose from the consolidation of three different titles around a single person.

When the Imperial Diet met in October 1157, chancellor Roland read a letter from the pope, which stipulated that “the fullness of dignity and honor had been bestowed upon the emperor by the Roman pontiff, that the emperor had received from his hand the imperial crown, and that he would have regretted conferring even greater benefits upon him […].” The crowd then proceeds to go into “a great tumult and uproar (Tierney, doc. 51).

The reaction of the crowd is not altogether surprising. After all, this event takes place a mere thirty years after the Concordat of Worms (1122), which ‘ended’ the investiture contest. A key feature of papal policies during the Investiture Contest was the assertion that the emperor had derived his authority from the pope. Firstly, in 1075, the Dictatus Papae stipulates that “the Pope may depose Emperors” (Tierney, doc. 26). This particular point is reinforced when Henry opens his letter to the pope by stating that he is “King not by usurpation, but by the pious ordination of God” (Tierney, doc. 30). Then, not only does the presence of reliefs and iconography in Rome representing the pope handing down imperial authority and the kingdom of Italy to Emperor Lothar (Tierney, doc. 51; also doc. 52) become plausible, but the injunction from the legate that “from whom then does he have the empire, if not from our lord the Pope?” (Tierney, doc. 51) would infuriate the assembly. Subsequently, popes argued that, on account of the Donation of Constantine, the imperial dignity was theirs alone, and that they gave it back to Charlemagne (Tierney, doc. 80).

Imperial authority, indeed, does not appear to descend from the pope in the sources. The response of Frederick Barbarossa to the envoys of the City of Rome in June of 1155 attests to the fact that he holds imperial authority from the nobility of ‘the Frank.’ That is, ‘the Frank’ is the sole person who is fit to recover the Empire “clad with in its virtue”, and with “its adornments” (Tierney, doc 49). That is, the German emperors are the natural heirs to the Empire.

Then, the question becomes, who carries that dignity to confer imperial dignity upon a person? Obviously, as mentioned above, the pope believes it is himself who carries that dignity, while the emperor (and probably, by extension his lawyers and nobles)[1] states that: “through election by the princes, the kingdom and the empire are ours alone” (Tierney, doc.52). Frederick’s actions at the diet clearly shows that he supported the outburst, all the while maintaining the royal dignity Hadrian claims he lacked.[2] Indeed, he both saved the lives of the legates by removing them from the room, while responding to the outburst and supporting his nobles by exiling the legates, first to their rooms and then sending them back to Rome (Tierney, doc. 51). Then, there are two different ideas of authority at stake here: first, the pope claims sole authority to nominate emperors, while the emperors stated that they obtained their authority both from their being Franks and from their electors. In other words, papal rhetoric is at odds with the reality of the governance of the empire.

Susan Reynolds may have the key to understanding this problem. Indeed, in her discussion of German Imperial authority, she states quite clearly that there is a distinction between the three holdings of the Emperor, namely his kingdom of Italy and the Imperial government, both of which carry papal sanctioning and the kingdom of the Germans, which have been granted by the electorate.[3] Then, even if the individual parties involved (that is emperor, popes, and magnates) were well aware of the distinctions between the offices, the concentration of the offices around a single person creates a situation which allows for varied forms of legitimization.



[1] Susan Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities in Western Europe, 2nd Ed (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), esp. pp.319-331. She argues that the theories of imperial kingship arose partially from laws, lawyers and scholars. This shows that the emperor would not have been the only one involved in defining his authority in this way.

[2] The circumstances are different, but Hadrian states twice that the emperor behaves in a different way than “behooved imperial dignity,” first in a letter of 1157, and then again in a letter of 1158. Tierney, docs 50, 53.

[3] Susan Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities in Western Europe, pp.289-297.

Eudes Rigaud, the Pope and Ecclesiastical Reforms The Implementation of Universal Reforms in a Local Context

Adam J. Davis’ book The Holy Bureaucrat is filled with interesting anecdotes concerning life of the Franciscan archbishop of Rouen, Eudes Rigaud. It would be difficult to respond in a general manner to all of the topics proposed in the book, and so I will focus on the interactions between the papacy and Eudes.[1]

Papal reforms, as we have discussed in previous weeks, was met with varying success from the time of the investiture contest. One the problems clearly was the enforcement of papal policies by local bishops. As an oft quoted (by me) letter of Gregory to Otto of 1074, bishop of Constance, shows, papal orders were not always diligently followed (Tierney, document 25). There is no reason to believe that this was an isolated case. Bruce Venarde demonstrates that in terms of monastic reforms, the impetus for change was not motivated by the papacy but by local preachers, with papal support being ex post facto.[2]

One major problem with papal involvement in local politics stems from accepted papal ideology that the pope was a universal overseer in ecclesiastical matters, as the promulgator of canon law. Indeed, Gregory VII places himself as judge over the enforcement of canon law, while the defendant has the prospect of excommunication (Tierney, document 25). Perhaps more relevant is the opinion of Gregory IX (contemporary to Rigaud) that the pope received imperial dignity from Constantine, and that this authority was subsequently delegated to the emperors after Charlemagne (Tierney, document 80). This opinion is particularly relevant, especially if taken in the context of the revival of revival of Roman law. One key concept is that “whatever the Emperor settles by rescript, or decides in his judicial capacity, or ordains by edicts is clearly a statute” (Tierney, document 48). Hence, the popes claimed absolute authority with respect to Canon Law.

But this totalizing discourse betrays the local reality that, while a bishop was bound to papal judgment, he still could choose what to enforce and what not to enforce, sometimes being at odds with papal opinions. For instance, Eudes’ visitations to his parishioners, which, Davis says, were both uninvited and frequent, were in direct violation of the papal opinion (and hence law by the principle stated above) stated in Romana Ecclesia that the archbishop could not make uninvited visits within his province.[3] The pope tacitly confirmed the prohibition, but Eudes did not cease his visitations, preferring to focus instead on the juridical authority of the bishop in his own diocese over that of the archbishop.[4] Hence, even in the face of direct papal order, the local bishop retained certain liberties.

This last point is not as interesting as the fact that the bishop could choose, in addition to whether, how he would enforce papal orders. Eudes Rigaud highlights this particular point, especially in the context of monastic disciplines. Indeed, both Gregory IX and Innocent III confirmed legislations pertaining to the care of the sick. For them, this meant founding new hospitals.[5] Eudes’ proclivity for charity to the sick has already been demonstrated by Davis in preceding chapters, and indeed, he diligently enforced this particular piece of legislation. However, Eudes chose a slightly different path to enforce the rule. He did not as much found new hospitals as ensure that the hospitals themselves were in working order, providing proper care. That meant ensuring access to physicians, paying attention to the physical needs of the sick, and proper diet for the sick. Then, as Davis ably shows, Eudes’ policing actions and the way he enforced papal legislation were motivated by his Franciscan ideals.[6]

What the study of Davis highlights is the regionalism of reform. That is, the reform of one region is dependent on its own context. However,[7] the region is not isolated from the wider context, either of the French kingdom or of the Papacy. Indeed, papal reforms, though stemming from Rome, were universal in the sense that, according to Roman law, rescripts are equivalent to statutes (see above). Hence, rescripts, like the one solving the aforementioned dispute between Eudes and his bishops, shaped papal reform. Then, the universality of the reform is conditioned by a dialogue between general, and centralized, principles of law, and local circumstances.



[1] Though there are some clearly fascinating topics that I would have loved to discuss, from his intellectual background in Chapter 1, and intellectuals parallels to Aquinas’ views, to his more general economic policies. One question worth raising, however, with respect to Eudes’ policies is this: Some like the archbishop of Canterbury were asked to answer for the alleged poverty vows of the Franciscans, but these criticisms seem to arise out of the necessity of the control Pecham’s spending. Hence, under appropriate expenditures, was there a criticism? In other words, was there a fundamental discrepancy between the handling of money and Franciscan poverty vows? Wasn’t there a distinction between ideal (rule) and practicality (glossing/interpretation)? At a more fundamental level, this begs the question of the integration of spiritual orders within society and the artificial distinction placed on the separation of church and state alluded to by Reynolds in her second edition to Kingdoms and Communities.

[2] Bruce L. Venarde, Women’s Monasticism and Medieval Society (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1997), esp. chapter 3.

[3] Adam J. Davis, The Holy Bureaucrat: Eudes Rigaud and Religious Reform in Thirteenth-Century Normandy (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2006), pp.57-60. Davis’ initial points in Chapter 3 frame the issue in terms of shifting hierarchies within the church, and the ambiguous place of honorary titles (metropolitan, archbishop) within the church. One question Eudes and his bishops were attempting to answer was “what is the place of the archbishop in the diocese?”

[4] Ibid, p.60.

[5] Ibid, p.79. Davis frames this in the context founding new hospitals.

[6] Ibid, pp.79-82. Eudes’ implementation papal or local legislation was motivated by his intellectual formation. This is especially clear in chapter 1, when the debate over the way in which scholastics should apply their knowledge is discussed. On the one hand, Peter the Chanter argued that scholastic training served a pastoral purpose, whereas Aquinas viewed his intellectual pursuits as reaching the masses by way of clerks. In Chapter 5, there is mention of Guillaume de Saâne’s school in Paris to train clerics from Rouen to become part of the archbishop’s familia. Thus, there is a clear association between intellectual ability/pursuit and local administration.

[7] Davis does well to highlight this objection.

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Investitures, Authority and the Consolidation of Royal Solidarity Evidence from Germany and Rome

Susan Reynolds’ work Kingdoms and Communities is a study of the various communal[1] ties that made medieval society a coherent whole. Indeed, in her introduction, she states that there was much greater interregional coherence in communal processes during the medieval period.[2] The corollary here is that, in spite of the criticism by various scholars, we can, in fact, speak of a coherent Medieval Europe.[3] One such process is that division or conflicts fosters bonds, not only at the local level, but also at the level of the realm. This response investigates this claim with the evidence provided by the investiture controversy.[4] Clearly, two polities are at work, Rome and the Holy Roman Empire, with a third group of polities, perhaps the most important, Italian cities.

In chapter 6 of her book, Susan Reynolds argues that the way towns grew was not primarily an economic necessity. This revolutionary argument brings to historical discourses, what was present in archaeology, that is, that there is no dual purpose (one military, the other economic) to towns. Rather, large settled, and most importantly fortified areas, became the foci for many communal activities, ranging from assemblies of magnates, to some primarily local trade.[5] The large markets, though, appear as a consequence of the size of these settlements, and were not a cause of urbanization.[6] Then, the main reason for urbanization is political. So too the bonds that tied together a community were, at least initially, political.[7]

Then, it becomes necessary to consider the creation of the towns in the context of political dynamics. Indeed, the towns were still part of a system, and were often dependent on a patron. Lübeck is one example, where the emperor is plays a major role. Indeed, the emperor guarantees not only the existence of privileges, but also that the privileges are to be enforced. In addition, the emperor is also able to grant privileges that extend beyond the city itself, that is “that the people of Lübeck should enjoy the right and conditions that the people of Cologne, Tiel […] and their members enjoy” (Lübeck is made an Imperial City, Class handout, p.50). The example of Laon provides another example: the bishop’s approval was necessary, even from a simply legal standpoint, for the privileges to be granted. Guillaume of Nogent states that after the oaths of association were broken, the people “such rage, such amazement seized the burghers that all the craftsmen abandoned their jobs and the stalls of the tanners and cobblers were closed […] ” (The Formation of the Commune at Laon, Handout, p.39). Two conclusions arise. First, the role of the lord or patron is still crucial for the existence of the commune, and second, crisis creates ties within these urban communities. Indeed, what in common would the tanners, cobblers, innkeepers and chapman have in common that they all decided to strike? Then cohesion is made at the local level in the context of crisis.

There is little doubt that the investiture contest polarized the constituencies involved, both at the local level and the level of the realm.[8] One letter of Gregory to Otto, bishop of Constance, from 1074, provides an interesting example of the way the contest divided loyalties, and by extension communities. Indeed, Gregory writes to Otto in order that Otto would enforce Gregory’s legislation on the priesthood. Otto’s actions show that, at least initially, he must have aligned himself with the emperor: “A report has come to us [royal we, refers to Gregory] with regard to Your Fraternity, which I have heard with grief and regret […]. Wherefore we command you to present yourself before us […] to give answer […] for this disobedience and contempt of the Apostolic See” (Tierney, p.48-49). It appears, then, that there were different loyalties at play that were more important that loyalty to the ecclesia catholica. It is worth noting also that, in the letter, it is not just the bishop who is in canonical wrong, but his community of priests. Indeed, Otto “presides over the numerous clergy and the widespread population,” chose not to punish “those who had taken concubines persisted in their crime, while those who had not yet done so had no fear of your prohibitions” (Tierney, p.50). In other words, the conflict does not involve just the bishop, but his whole community.

Finally, the Concordat of Worms (Sept 1122) can be seen as a compromise, much in the same light as the Magna Carta: it is a piece of collective activity, where two communities were unable to break the other, were asserting their rights. Focusing on the rights of the Holy Roman Emperor, it becomes apparent that the Emperor had sought to create with some cohesion a group of people bound to him in loyalty. Thus, the bishop-elect receives the regalia from the king, even if the latter promises “canonical elections and free consecration.” Thus, two communities are appearing in this document forms: the Holy Roman Empire, with ties to an emperor, and local communities, which retain the ability to elect their bishops. Frederick II, for all his troubles, retained sufficient authority and loyalty to raise armies.[9] Thus, the Imperial office did not lose loyalties in this contest (and in fact created new ones).

Thus, the investiture contest provides evidence that Reynolds’ view that contest divides in a way to strengthen communal bonds is a particularly shrewd and correct observation.



[1] Intended here in the wider sense of the term, as the adjective of community.

[2] Susan Reynolds, Kingdoms and Communities in Western Europe, 2nd Ed (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), p.7-8.

[3] For the criticism, see Dominique Barthélémy, The Knight, the Serf and the Historian (Ithaca: Cornell University Press): his main criticism of Duby is the enlargement of the study of the Macônais to the whole of Europe. While on the surface this appears coherent, after Reynold’s work, the historian should reconsider his position, and admit that there are interregional processes, though we must still account for the fact that these took place at different times, and, as a consequence, causality is dependent on context. Still the processes take the same shape.

[4] The primary documents are taken from Brian Tierney, The Crisis of Church and State 1050-1300 (Toronto: Toronto University Press, 1988), chapter 2. When noted otherwise, they come from class handouts.

[5] It is also worth noting that the large fairs of Champagne were not placed in a strategic location for long –distance trade, even if they eventually became hubs of international trade in the late-twelfth, early-thirteenth century.

[6] Susan Reynolds, Kingdoms, pp.155-158. The implicit reasoning is based on Braudel’s capitalism surveys, which consider that the city requires markets to supply it. That is, because town-folks often specialized their activities away from basic sustenance, there was a necessity for outsourcing basic needs. This duty fell on peasants. As towns grow, Braudel argues, so does the supply zone. Fernand Braudel,Les Structures du Quotidien (Paris: Armand Colin, 1979), see esp. chapter 1. Susan Reynolds uses this argument, Susan Reynolds, Kingdoms, esp. pp. 158-165.

[7] Susan Reynolds, Kingdoms, especially chapter 3, pp. 184-198. The main argument is that guilds, even if they become economic entities, initially began as common ‘interest groups’,’ which would take over some administrative duties (at times acting as electoral structures), or religious festivals (which cannot be dissociated from political life).

[8] I will focus primarily on the evidence from the Empire.

[9] Susan Reynolds, Kingdoms, p.295.

Mercantilism, Consolidation and Gifts: The Importance of the Fairs of Champagne.

I will not be concerned, in this response, with the important authority that the Fairs of Champagne conferred on the Counts. It suffices mainly to consider how the crisis with the Piacenza merchants. The fairs provided enough of revenue for merchants that the potentate of Piacenza engaged in a series of diplomatic exchanges with the count of Champagne, so as to avoid exclusion from the fairs (Evergates, Document 24).

Of greater interest to me is the importance of the wealth that was generated by the fairs, and the fact that they appear to have played an integral role in the development of Champagne as a rather unified county. In other words, the wealth that was derived from the fairs, being tremendous, was spread to various other institutions, including monasteries and vassals, which allowed for the counts to consolidate their county politically.

I have recorded, from document 51 in the source handout, the amount of wealth that the counts of Troyes would have been able to gather from two fairs, the first at Troyes and the second at Provins (the other two fairs, according Evergates (Evergates, p.28), were Bar-sur-Aube and Lagny), amounted to about 4000 pounds, for the years 1276 to 1278 (source packet document 51). It would be wrong to assume that they were this large in 1164 or 1174, in the time of Henry I.

We can, however, think that the amount of revenue from rents in the market (that is without rents from room OR from weighing taxes) to under ten percent of what the merchants would bring. Indeed, the value of the fair in Provins is given at 1000 pounds in 1275, for the fair taking place between June 24th and September 8th (source packet, doc 51). The first letter of Thibault, stating that merchants from Siena, Florence, Pistoia, Lucca and Pisa had been despoiled of 12,000 worth of good while they were on their way to the fair of Provins. The fact that the letter is dated to October would tend to show that the fair these despoiled merchants were travelling to had to have been the St Ayoul Fair, which takes place from September 14 to November 1. It is unlikely that we would be dealing with the May Fair, given the sum in question and the pace of responses. Indeed, letter two from February 1243, is a response to another letter. That means that in four months three letters had been exchanged, which gives us an average time of five weeks per letter. Then the merchants of Siena and the other cities would have left to go to the St Ayoul fair. Since their goods were estimated at 12,000 pounds and the revenue of the fair is estimated at 1,000 pounds, a figure of ten percent revenue is a large estimate for the ratio between the value of the goods exchanged and the value of the fair to the count.

It is not, however, a ratio that would out of place given the merchandises exchanged. The Italian merchants exchanged luxury goods like spices and silk (Evergates, p.28). The merchants from other cities citied by the third letter of Thibault (Toulouse, Marseille, Metz, Lyon) and local merchants would probably be selling cheaper goods, and thus their aggregate wealth would not amount to the wealth of the Italian merchants. I will proceed under the assumption that this ratio would have been somewhat constant, even if it fluctuated annually.

These fairs, then would have provided the count with an impressive margin to give out gifts to monasteries and to purchase lands from castellans. It is no wonder, then, that Thibault, in his testament of 1257, is able to bequeath such largesse on the monasteries. For instance, he gives 200 pounds to Clairveaux, or 1,000 pounds to the poor commoners of Champagne (document 53), given that he had some assurance that he would receive a large revenue stream from his fairs. His wealth is not limited to the fairs, of course, and would have also come from rents in fiefs.

There is some evidence that these fair money could have been used to purchase fiefs. In the purchase of the lands of Roger, lord of Rozoy-en-Thiérarche, it is stated that he receives 500 pounds, in addition to a rent of 60 pounds to be taken from the fairs at St Ayoul (document 7). Given the context, and though Roger becomes their vassal, he receives a great amount money for his fief. Given that, according to Evergates, 100 pounds invested in property and five pounds annual rent is sufficient for a simple lifestyle (document 28), the 60 pounds in rent (in addition to other rents Robert might have received from other fiefs) would have been plenty. That Robert chooses for this rent to come from the St Ayoul fair is not surprising, it would have been a sure stream of money.

Thus, the importance of the fairs for Champagne can hardly be overstated. Indeed, they provided the counts of Champagne with an insured revenue stream, which could be brokered against property, or even given as gifts. Thus, the wealth of the merchants of Italy reached many places, including the lower castellans of Champagne.

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

What's a Knight? Bisson, Duby and Barthelemy on the question of Knighthood and Nobility in the Central Middle Ages

Bisson’s view that “the historical study of nobility is little else but a matter of perspective,”[1] is problematic in the sense that, at its core, Bisson appears to believe that there can be no historical consensus on the nature of medieval nobility. The articulation of his paper is centered on the two major schools of thought, the French and the German, and their intellectual offspring. Inherent to the problem, initially set up by Bloch and Tellenbach are the questions of origin of this medieval nobility: are the nobles a new cast of people, or do they trace their origins back to an older group of privileged people?

To Bisson, the answer to this question is a matter of perspective. Bloch was a social historian, and, Bisson states, Bloch viewed the nobility as a creation of the 11th century, when, essentially bloodlines are institutionalized by means of a juridical process.[2] That is, the nobiles are essentially a legal institution of the landowners of the eleventh century. Contra Bloch are the studies of the German school, put forward by Tellenbach and Karl Schmid. Using a prosopographical survey of the major families, Tellenbach attempted to demonstrate that the families traced their origins back to Late Antiquity, while Schmid identified the difficulties with tracing the origins to the difference of perception of families in the Frankish realm and in the 12th century. Both of these studies were based on the German libri memoriales of monasteries.[3] Thus for the Germans, there is no “revolution”, but rather an evolution.

The harmonization of the two views is taken up by Georges Duby. The milites were magnates, whose origins can be traced to the Carolingians. But these magnates increasingly became interested in land-ownership, eventually managing their own wives’ property. Therein lies what Bisson calls the transformation of familial structures, from a large kin based system of horizontal allegiances (that is to say, the gens of the Romans), to a vertical familial system of inheritance by the direct bloodlines.[4]

It is from Duby’s studies (from the original Mâconnais study to its revision after the publication of Schmid’s work), that, according to an approbating Bisson, the study of nobility shifted to family ties. First, the American Andrew W. Lewis argued that such a pattern can already be seen in the succession of the Capetian nobles, and that this practice was developed between 860 and 960.[5] Applying this model to the nobles was tricky. While the Bouchard study appears to show that the high nobility (people “flying dangerously close to the sun”) used similar naming strategies to indicate dynastic continuity.[6]

In sum, Bisson, in what can only be described as a historiographical survey,[7] argues that the nobility essentially evolved out of a magnate class (which may or may not go back to the Merovingians), which essentially reformed the way it conducted its inheritance policies.

The criticism comes from Barthélémy. Barthélémy, in The Serf, the Knight and the Historian, does not criticize Bisson himself, but rather the foundational work on the Mâconnais of Georges Duby. For Duby, Barthélémy argues (at length), there is a revolution around the year 1000 in terms of the system that governed France. Indeed, from the year 1000 onward, the knighthood becomes a class in itself, evolving from the nobility.[8] Barthélémy views this particular problem in different terms, more in the juridical tradition of Bloch, looking primarily at legal documents. For Barthélémy Carolingian diplomatic documents denote two things, nobility and vassality, and that nobiles and milites are not substitute for one another. In a sense, the use of nobiles and miles is a way for a society to define itself in Roman terms.[9]

I would take this even further. The continuity between Merovingians and Capetians (in terms of nobility) can be linked to the fact that at its base, Frankish society did develop around Roman institutions. Michael Kulikowski, in Rome’s Gothic Wars,[10] does argue that the barbarian “tribes” are a product of the frontier. The inherent problem that this interpretation poses is that there is a lack of a “native” tradition in reality. But most importantly, the sources for the barbarians are profoundly Roman in their outlook; therefore, these early-medieval authors are explaining the Merovingian phenomenon in Roman/Christian terms (for instance, Theodoric was a protector Urbis, a consul etc…). Thus, the reality represented by the terms, Nobiles and especially milites are inherently Roman terms, used by “Roman” historians/chroniclers in order to show continuity with the Roman past.

Barthélémy’s most persuasive point does not necessarily relate to the absence of revolution in or around the year 1000 (though this is the main point of his book), but rather, and especially for the case of the Knights and the Nobles, that being a Knight is an activity-and to engage in this activity, one must go through the initiation Onorare Militum- while being a noble is a matter of birth.[11] The most important demonstration comes from the use of milites and nobiles. Here, Barthélémy argues, nobiles and milites can be used interchangeably, unlike what, Tellenbach et al. propose, namely that the synonyms of nobiles were potentes, illustrissimi, optimates and milites.[12] This particular point is relatively clearly expressed in the charters from Champagne. In 1190, Hagan can be both Lord of Evry and a knight (doc 51). Even as late as 1249, a testament shows that Lord Hugh is both noble-born AND a knight (doc 54). Thus, it does appear as though the words are not interchangeable, and that knight does not mean either noble or lord.

Thus, it appears that Barthélémy is correct, at least in expressing concern for the development of the knighthood, as evolving out of a nobility. The gradients of nobility are shown in a charter from 1249 or 1250, where Count Thibault IV writes to “all barons, castellans, knights and other feudal tenants ” (doc 10). This document would at least tend to imply that there are numerous layers to that “feudal” society.



[1] T.N. Bisson, ‘Nobility and Family in Medieval France: A Review Essay’, French Historical Studies 16.3 (1990), p.597-613, p.599.

[2] Ibid, pp.597-99.

[3] Ibid: It is, however, worth noting that the perspective of Tellenbach and Schmid may yield erroneous results. Indeed, it would not be surprising IF nobles claimed an older ancestry to enhance their prestige. After all, the myth of continuity between the Merovingians and the Carolingians was “invented” by the Carolingian biographers of Charlemagne. Then, can’t this attitude be generalized? What other records are there that attest the continuity of the lines?

[4] Ibid, p.600-602.

[5] Ibid, p.603-604.

[6] Ibid, p.605-606. This is, after all, Philippe Buc’s argument, that an emphasis on continuity is very likely to represent an actual discontinuity.

[7] He unabashedly believes that this study of nobility is a study of perception, see above, note 1.

[8] Dominique Barthélémy, The Knight, the Serf and the Historian (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, p.640). T.N. Bisson, ‘Nobility and Family’, p.602.

[9] This goes well with the spirit of the Carolingian Renaissance. Dominique Barthélémy, The Knight, the Serf and the Historian, see esp. chapter 5.

[10] Michael Kulikowski, Rome’s Gothic Wars (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007)

[11] Dominique Barthélémy, The Knight, the Serf and the Historian, esp. Chapter 6-7.

[12] T.N. Bisson, ‘Nobility and Family’, p.598.

Sunday, February 13, 2011

Book Review: Jaime Alvar, Romanising Oriental Gods, trans. by Richard Gordon (Leiden: Brill, 2010)

The problem of the study of the mysteries of Cybele, Isis and Mithras is one that continues to challenge scholars of Graeco-Roman Religion. The questions centered on systems of belief, systems of value, and finally around ritual systems have not found any definite answer, especially in light of the fact that sources are indeed scarce. If Jaime Alvar’s new work does not provide any firm, indisputable answer to the way the mysteries function, it does not take away from the main merit of the work: the interpretation offered is strengthened by a strong methodology coupled with a tremendous synthesis of both primary documents and secondary scholarly debates. Ultimately the work achieves three distinct objectives. The first two are of historical value, while the third is of methodological value. Indeed, Alvar has proven in the first place that the ‘oriental’ cults, in spite of recent trends seeking to point out their differences, do exhibit enough similarities that a scholar might group them under the umbrella of a single analysis. In the second place, Alvar argues, quite successfully, that these three religions, despite their particular dynamics, cannot be dissociated from the general system of Graeco-Roman cults. Finally, the third merit is that methodology can be used to supplement lack of primary document.

The book is divided in five chapters. The first chapter, ‘Religion, Cult and Mystery’ is a purely theoretical work, which purpose is not just to lay down the theoretical basis of the analysis, but also to consider the validity of the grouping on a purely philosophical basis, without delving into the specifics of each cults. Ultimately, Alvar argues, myth and procession, both integral parts of the mystery cults, are essential constituencies in the creation of a religious identity.1 The special character of the ‘oriental’ mysteries does not preclude the presence of these elements, and, due to their origins outside of the Graeco-Roman orbit, display a similar vision of the mystery system.2

The next two chapters, ‘Systems of Belief’ and ‘Systems of Value’ are concerned specifically with the mythography of Cybele, Isis and Mithras. In spite of the extremely fragmentary nature (and in the case of Mithras, complete absence) of a narrative of the myths of the mysteries, Alvar, in the first place reconstructs the myths from the iconography, the few indirect references in the literature, and epigraphic evidence. Once the narrative is completed for each myth, Alvar shows that each mystery3 displays the same fundamental characteristic: each cult offers two distinct paradigms. First, the cults do offer some form of ordering of the chaos of life by providing a deity that has some form of control over fate; and second, the cults offer some form of reward in the afterlife.4 The third chapter is a slight departure from the myth and considers how these rewards are dispensed. In short, Alvar shows that in each mystery is included a moral code centered on total devotion to the deity, and is shadowed in the initiation.5

The fourth chapter, 'The Ritual Systems', steps away from the myths themselves and looks at the way the deities were worshiped. The ritual itself is perhaps the strongest element of continuity between the Roman civic cults and the mysteries. Indeed, Alvar argues, the mysteries exhibit some very key components of the Roman civic cults, including procession, sacrifice and prayer (focusing on health, and wealth). The initiation, Alvar states, is the major structural difference that differentiates the mysteries from the Roman civic cults, even though it serves a similar purpose: indeed, Alvar argues, the initiation is perhaps the most important part of the creation of communal bonds. 6

The contrast occurs at the micro-level, that is, the specific ways in which a given deity is worshiped Still, Alvar argues, the differences may not be that relevant. For instance, the lack of a head priest in the mithraic iconography does not show the presence of the 'sacrificing pater'. Departing from the notion that mithraic sacrifices were performed without a priest, Alvar shows that the iconography should be read at the symbolic level: Mithras himself is the 'sacrificing pater.'7 Lastly, even strange practices should not deter us from establishing the parallels between Roman cult practices and the mysteries. For instance, the 'traditional' self-gelding performed in the Magna Mater cults is toned down as being neither common, nor done hastily in a trance. Rather, the emasculated priests had in all likelihood been prepared and the gelding was performed under control reenactment (which does not occlude a ritualistic reenactment).8

The last chapter serves as conclusion and destroys the link between Christianity and the mysteries on the levels of prayer, belief system, and ritual. Instead of viewing the success of the mysteries as a precursor to the success of Christianity, he views them as competing ideologies that evolved in the great melting pot of Roman Religion. Thus, both Christianity and the mysteries were in fact Romanized, and transformed side-to-side.

I would not recommend this book to the uninitiated in the discourses of Roman Religion. Indeed, by its very nature, a study of the mysteries is necessarily complex. No contemporary narrative of the myths remains, and, in the case of Mithras, no text pertaining directly to the cult is extant. Alvar takes this gaping hole in the sources in the manner of a successful imposition of silence on the initiates. Perhaps heavily influenced by Apuleius (which I will get to in a subsequent part of the review), Alvar follows Lucius's statement that he cannot repeat what the priest Mithras has said to him during the initiation rites9 à la lettre. This in itself is very limiting. Indeed, that the lack of surviving textual evidence is the result of obedience to an apparent rule of silence is but one possible alternative. Focusing on the cult of Mithras, one finds a wealth of evidence that, not only were intellectuals aware of the cult (as was the case with Augustine or Porphyry) but that there were 'experts' in the cults. Indeed, in his De antro nympharum, Porphyry mentions a certain Euboulus who wrote extensively about the cults.10 This would at least suggest an oral tradition, and more likely, a written tradition. One possible avenue of inquiry would pertain to textual transmission in Late Antiquity and the Early Middle Ages. At any rates, this problem of sources is one that deserves better treatment than using Foucault's philosophy as axiomatic in all circumstances.

Therein lies the fundamental problem with Alvar's analysis. To remedy to the paucity of extent documents, he relies on methodology and personal beliefs to expound on various themes. One can see these issues particularly well in two instances: in the case of Mithraic myth-making, and again in his blind use of Apuleius as a valid source for the cult of Isis. For Mithras, the situation is especially difficult, as there is indeed no written myth, and the paradigms of the myth are to be derived from the iconography, and perhaps supplement the iconography with the sparse myth of the Iranian Mithra. Alvar adds one variable to the mix: the reconstruction of Cumont, which despite his warnings, he uses rather extensively.

The use of the iconography is the only reliable source that Alvar uses for the cult of Mithras. The Cumont narrative has been widely discredited. Alvar himself states that every sentence not taken directly from the iconography 'may very well be mistaken.'11 The parallel with the Iranian Mithra is also one that Alvar discredits subsequently in the book: the Persian deity that emerged out of Iron Age Iran has evolved.12 What then, can be derived from Alvar's analysis? Did the Mitroacs indeed possess a system of belief based on the myth of the their deity? The answer must come from comparative evidence with the other mysteries. Ultimately, no answer can be decisive.

In the case of Isis, the problem is again in the use of the source material. The main source that Alvar uses is the Golden Ass, which he takes to be true, not by analysis, but rather, because 'he [Apuleius] was writing for a sophisticated audience capable of appreciating the truth-value of his account from its own circumstantial knowledge.'13 Again, this is not only a simplistic vision of the text of Apuleius, but also erroneous on a few counts. First, he fails to consider the Golden Ass as a work of comedy, and that we must, therefore, be careful of the literary tropes. A careful reading of the ritual shows an overwhelming presence of words pertaining to flowers, which, on the one hand may be associated with the cult of Isis, but may very well be a hyperbole. Also, the presence of legal jargon (for instance in XI.24) indicates the more traditional contractual nature of the bonds between a person and the deity, which in turn would indicate that Lucius's audience may not have been so knowledgeable.14 Lastly, Alvar argues that the various branches of the cult were not in contact with one another, which he takes from the refusal of the Isis priest in Rome to recognize the initiation of Lucius in book XI of the Golden Ass.15 If such is the case, what evidence can we draw from Apuleius? To what extent is Apuleius's discussion of Isis an isolated incident, with iconography specific to that area? Ultimately, without an external source to confirm or deny what is said by Apuleius, little can be achieved from a reading of the Golden Ass.16

In spite of this criticism, Alvar attempts to restore the link that once allowed scholars to link the 'oriental' cults of Isis, Cybele and Mithras.17 And indeed, he explains rather well the structural similarities between the three. What he successfully convinces this reader of is that the cult of Magna Mater and the cult of Isis were incredibly similar, and that gaping holes about understanding in one cult, can be used to construct a narrative about the other cult. However, the Mithraic cult appears to be significantly different both a the structural level, and at the mythological level. Most notably, the absence of women, and the astrological character of the cult are important differences. Thus, Alvar's synthesis of the mysteries offers his reader a challenging yet coherent and cogent account of the three major mysteries, highlighting not just the similarities between the cults, but forces the reader to think about the material and form his own opinion of the mysteries.

1 Jaime Alvar, Romanising Oriental Gods, trans. by Richard Gordon (Leiden: Brill, 2010), pp.17-23, esp. pp.21-22.

2 Ibid, p.23.

3 I will use this word loosely to describe specifically Cybele, Isis and Mithras.

4 Jaime Alvar, Romanising Oriental Gods, esp. pp.132-142.

5 Although the form varies, this does indeed seem to be a universal: castration in the cult of Cybele, abstinence in the case of Isis. The Mithraic evidence is more tenuous, but I am overall convinced that the myths did contain some form of morality. Jaime Alvar, Romanising Oriental Gods, pp.146-155, pp.200-203.

6 Ibid, the comparison is set up specifically pp.206-231.

7 Ibid, pp.351-353.

8 Ibid, pp. 246-261.

9 Apuleius, The Golden Ass find reference.

10 Jaime Alvar, Romanising Oriental Gods, pp.74-75.

11Ibid, p.78.

12 This point is unfortunately made too late in the book. Ibid, p.345.

13Ibid, p.337.

14See Apuleius, The Golden Ass, XI.24: Perfectis sollemnibus: the word sollemnibus has both a legal connotation, and can be used for civil rituals. It indicates that Lucius is still reasoning as a Roman, and is aware that he is addressing a Roman, non-initiated audience. See XI.23: Quaeras forsitan satis anxie, studiose lector, quid deinde dictum, quid factum; dicerem si dicere liceret, cognosceres, si liceret audire. The two past contrafactuals indicate that the audience cannot know the secret initiation rites. Linking this to the perfectis sollemnibus, we see Lucius's desire to express what has just happened in a way that makes sense to his audience. The exempla is interesting, and it can be inferred that these rituals were perhaps not so unique. This interpretation would follow with the rest of the book, where Apuleius hints at the fact that these cults are, in fact, shams.

15Alvar, Romanising the Oriental Cults, pp.217-221.

16In this respect, I follow the view of Bowden. Hugh Bowden, Mystery Cults of the Ancient World (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2010), p.167.

17Alvar spends the bulk of the introduction explaining how that break came about, while the first chapter reconciles the three cults as possible unity.