Sunday, February 3, 2013

Banking Collapse of the 1340s

Chapels of the Bardi & Peruzzi families
in Santa Croce, Florence

Florence was the headquarters for some powerful families in the Middle Ages who used their wealth and business acumen (and the stability of the Florentine gold florin) to create the first international banking corporations. Two of the biggest, run by the Bardi and Peruzzi families, collapsed in 1346 and 1343, respectively. The excuse for the collapse is often given as Edward III of England's default on loans he took to pay for expenses during the Hundred Years War. Estimates put Edward's debts at 900,000 florins to the Bardi and 600,000 to the Peruzzi--an enormous sum in any age.

More recent assessments of the situation, however, spread the blame. Edward's expenses were incurred earlier, and the two banks survived for some years afterward. Also, a third bank, the Acciaiuoli, failed in 1343 without having loaned any money to England. Various Florentine banks also loaned money to finance a war against Castracane of Lucca, and to put down a peasant revolt in Flanders. Also, an uprising in September 1343 in Florence created vast property damage that would have affected the banks (according to the 16th century historian Giovanni Villani).

It is impossible to understand every aspect of the collapse of the 1340s, especially since records such as we expect modern companies to maintain were not kept, and records that were kept did not necessarily survive until today. We do know that, in a world where nations did not maintain careful accounting practices, or have "social safety nets" established, it took very little to create widespread economic turmoil.

Saturday, February 2, 2013

Compurgators

The ultimate character witness.

Throughout several centuries and many countries, establishing your innocence or trustworthiness in a court of law could be done by the use of compurgators. The word comes from Latin com (with) + purgare (cleanse; hence the modern word "purge").

If you were accused of wrongdoing, you would gather compurgators to appear for you in court. Ideally, you would find 12 of the most respected members of the community who would be willing to stand there and say that they believe you when you say you are innocent. Mind you, if you were found standing over a dead body with a bloody knife in your hand, compurgators were not likely to save you. This worked well when you were accused of cheating on a debt or stealing a spoon and hard evidence did not exist against you...unless you had friends who were determined to protect you.

The opportunities for abuse of such a system were rampant.

Henry II, or instance, in 1164 made sure that compurgation would not be allowed in felonies; he did not like the fact that a cleric (priest) might literally get away with murder in an ecclesiastical court by merely being defrocked, while the royal courts would use capital punishment for capital crimes. The use of compurgation in any way as a defense in England was eliminated from the court system in 1833.



Friday, February 1, 2013

Nicholas Oresme


Nicholas Oresme (c.1325-1382) likely came from humble beginnings; we assume this because he attended the College of Navarre, a royally funded and sponsored college for those who could not afford the University of Paris. He had his master of arts by 1342, and received his doctorate in 1356. He became known as an economist, philosopher, mathematician and physicist.

One of his published works was:

Livre du ciel et du monde
(The Book of Heaven and Earth)
In this work he discussed the arguments for and against the rotation of the Earth.
  • He dismissed the notion that a rotating Earth would leave all the air behind, or cause a constant wind from east to west, pointing out that everything with the Earth would also rotate, including the air and water.
  • He rejects as figures of speech any biblical passages that seem to support a fixed Earth or a moving sun. (Keep in mind even today we unanimously speak about the beauty of the sun setting when it's really the Earth rising!)
  • He points out that it makes more sense for the Earth to move than for the (presumably more expansive and massive) heavenly spheres and Sun to move.
  • He assures his readers that all the movements we see in the heavens could be accounted for by a rotating Earth.
  • Then he assures the reader that everyone including himself thinks the heavens move around the earth, and after all he has no real evidence to the contrary!
Years later, Giordano Bruno (1548-1600) wrote his theories out in a way so similar to Oresme's that it is assumed he had access to Oresme's writing.

Thursday, January 31, 2013

Monk Lord of the Manor

For some reason, a 12th century Norman knight named Jocelin did not want his son to follow in his footsteps. We do not know why, but a common modern assumption is that Jocelin's son, Gilbert of Sempringham (c.1089-1190), had some physical deformity that would have made his career as a knight and warrior untenable. Whatever the case, Jocelin sent his son to study theology at the University of Paris.

Gilbert came back to England in 1120 and, after being given the parishes of Sempringham and Tirington, joined the household of the Bishop of Lincoln, Robert Bloet (who started as a clerk in the household of William the Conqueror and later became Chancellor).

He used his revenue from Tirington to aid the poor, and lived on the revenue from Sempringham. Robert Bloet's successor as Bishop of Lincoln ordained him a deacon, then as a priest after 1123, but when offered the archdeaconry of Lincoln he refused.

In 1130 his father died. Gilbert inherited his father's Lincolnshire manor and lands, and returned there. He did not, however, abandon the religious life. He now had the income to execute some grander plans. He decided to found his own monastic order.

The Gilbertines were originally composed of young men and women who had known and/or been taught by Gilbert in the parish school. It is the only monastic order founded in England. He used the Cistercians as his model, but when he appealed to the Cistercians themselves in later years for aid in maintaining and expanding the Gilbertines, he was rejected because of his inclusion of women.

Things turned sour for Gilbert in 1165, when he was imprisoned by King Henry II on the suspicion that he aided the fugitive Thomas Becket. He was eventually exonerated. Trouble found Gilbert again about 1180 when the lay brothers among the Gilbertines rose up because they were worked too hard (to enable the religious brothers to spend their days in prayer). The case was taken to Rome, but Pope Alexander III supported the 90-year-old Gilbert. Still, it is reported that living conditions for lay brothers improved afterward.

Gilbert, blind for the last few years of his life, resigned as head of the Gilbertines. He died in 1190 at the estimated age of 100+. His canonization did not take long: Pope Innocent III confirmed his sainthood in 1202, placing his Feast Day on 4 February, the day of his death, but it is now celebrated on 11 February.

Wednesday, January 30, 2013

Asking Questions

Image from Adelard's translation
of Euclid's Elements of Geometry
Being inquisitive is the first step to learning.* In the early Middle Ages, the presence of many classical authorities circulating in Latin, such as Aristotle and Plato, eliminated the need for inquiry in the opinions of many.

The 12th century saw an influx of more works, many of them Greek writings (preserved by Arabs) or Arab writings. The widening of philosophical and scientific horizons by this wave of knowledge caused many scholars to re-think what had been established.

Adelard of Bath (c.1080-c.1152) was an English philosopher who was in a position to translate into Latin for the first time many of the Greek and Arabic works becoming available to the West. After studying at Tours and teaching at Laon in France, he traveled for seven years through Italy, Sicily, Syria and Palestine. He translated Al-Kwarizmi's astronomical tables and Euclid's Elements of Geometry from Arabic, wrote works on the abacus and on his love of philosophy, and a book called Questiones Naturales (Natural Questions) in which he tackled, in dialogue form, 76 questions about the world. One of his themes is the choice of using reason rather than merely accepting authority.
For what should we call authority but a halter? Indeed, just as brute animals are led about by a halter wherever you please, and are not told where or why, but see the rope by which they are held and follow it alone, thus the authority of writers leads many of you, caught and bound by animal-like credulity, into danger. Whence some men, usurping the name of authority for themselves, have employed great license in writing, to such an extent that they do not hesitate to present the false as true to such animal-like men. [...] For they do not understand that reason has been given to each person so that he might discern the true from the false. [Questiones Naturales, VI]
To be clear: Adelard's science is not ideal: his periodic table of elements contains only four substances, which are mixed in various proportions to create all materials. Some animals see better by day or night because of either white or dark humor in their eyes. We see because an extremely light substance (Plato's "fiery force") is created in the brain, gets out of the brain through the two eyes, swiftly reaches an object and learns and retains its shape, then returns to the brain through our eyes so that we "see" what is in front of us. A mirror, whose surface is smooth, bounces back the fiery force, which on returning to us picks up our image on its way and allows us to see our reflection.

Still, his works were copied and distributed, and influenced much of what was to come. His assertion of reason over blind acceptance of classical authorities was an important milestone in scientific thought. Many of his ideas are seen again in the writings of Robert Grosseteste, Roger Bacon, and Hugh of St. Victor. Once the printing press was perfected, Adelard's translation of Euclid became a standard text for a hundred years.


*One of the followers of this blog is part of a group trying to promote inquiry-based learning in young people. Visit Prove Your World to learn more.

Monday, January 28, 2013

The First Protestant

Hole Roman Emperor Henry IV
When Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV took the Walk to Canossa and asked forgiveness of Pope Gregory VII in order to have his excommunication lifted, neither of them knew what they were starting. Back home, Henry was rejected by many of the powerful men of Germany because the pope refused to support Henry's return to the throne. They "elected" Duke Rudolph of Swabia; the pope confirmed him.

Rudolph (c.1025-1080) had caused trouble for Henry before. Henry had become king at the age of 6, and Rudolph took advantage of the situation and used coercion to marry Matilda, Henry's sister, and be made Duke of Swabia. He was also given administrative authority over Saxony. As Henry's brother-in-law, one might think Rudolph would be supportive, but that same family connection and the resulting position as duke made him a suitable candidate for replacing Henry years later, even though Matilda had died in 1060 and Rudolph had remarried.

The election took place in March 1077. On 25 May, the Archbishop of Mainz crowned Rudolph, who agreed to be subservient to the pope's wishes in the future. The citizens of Mainz were not supportive of this move, and in the ensuing revolt Rudolph had to flee to Saxony. Unfortunately, this cut him off from his forces and home in Swabia. Henry, still acting as king and still supported by many Germans, declared Swabia given to Frederick of Büren.

Rudolph had difficulty getting the men of Saxony to leave their homes and fight for him. But in the next few years, he made minor progress against the forces of Henry. Also, the pope excommunicated Henry again, on 7 March 1080. Things seemed to be lining up for Rudolph, but the Battle on the Elster River in October was a turning point: Rudolph sustained wounds from which he could not recover, and died the next day.

Henry then tackled the real opponent: Pope Gregory. He invaded Rome and forced Gregory out, replacing him with Pope Clement III. (Clement's appointment was, of course, irregular, and he is considered an antipope. He was pretty bad in his own right.) Rudolph's brief reign is considered that of an "anti king."

When the Protestant Reformation came, Henry IV was touted as the "first Protestant" due to his opposition to papal authority.

The Walk to Canossa

On the heels of the three "Church & State" posts, it is appropriate to talk about a clash between an emperor and a pope. Today is the 936th anniversary of the lifting of the excommunication of Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV.

The roots of the conflict that led to the excommunication began in the Investiture Controversy, which can be summarized neatly: should the temporal authority of a king allow him to appoint spiritual leaders in his country, such as bishops and abbots? The practice was common, and the papacy wanted it stopped, declaring that the pope of course was the only authority who could approve spiritual appointments.

In the 11th century, Pope Gregory VII (c.1015-1085) tried to assert the papacy's right to invest bishops, but Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV (1050-1106) continued exercising the traditional practice of the kings of Germany (and other countries). The debate turned ugly when Henry called a synod of German bishops and they denounced Gregory as pope. Gregory, in turn, called a synod in spring of 1076 and excommunicated Henry, giving him one year to repent and ask forgiveness or the excommunication would become permanent.

A Christian country wanted a Christian king, and the excommunication prevented Henry from receiving the sacraments, including forgiveness for sins. This made his rule untenable, and pockets of violence against his rule broke out in Germany, ending in several German princes and prelates calling for his replacement unless the excommunication were lifted.

The 26-year-old Henry saw the difficulty of his prideful position, and offered to meet with the pope at Augsburg, in Germany. The pope agreed, but on his northward travels he began to fear that he would be putting himself into the clutches of Henry's army. On the advice of Countess Matilda of Tuscany, he repaired to the fortress of Canossa, in northern Italy, to be able to defend himself. In order to meet with the pope, then, Henry and his army had to march a further 400 miles south of Augsburg, crossing the Alps in winter. The fear that Henry would try to conquer Italy grew. Gregory gave orders that Henry was not to be allowed into the fortress.*

Canossa today, with the ruins of the fortress visible
When Henry reached Canossa in January 1077, however, he did something extraordinary. Letters written in later years by both Gregory and Henry confirm the story, if not al the details: the story says that he stood outside the gates for three days, in the snow, wearing only a hair shirt and refusing food. After three days, on 28 January, Gregory had the gates opened and Henry allowed in. Henry went onto his knees before the pope and begged his forgiveness. The excommunication was lifted. All was well.

...or was it?

Henry was once again a Christian in good standing, but Gregory refused to endorse his return to the throne of the Holy Roman Empire. Two months after his stand at Canossa, a group of German aristocrats and archbishops and bishops declared his brother-in-law Duke Rudolph of Swabia. Years later, the Protestant Reformation would see Henry as a champion of the rights of Christians against an oppressive and wayward Roman Catholic Church, but right now, the troubles were just beginning.

But that's a story for another day.

*The illustration is n 1856 woodcut made from a painting by Oscar Pletsch (1830-1888), showing Henry IV outside Canossa

Sunday, January 27, 2013

Church & State, Part 3 of 3

Part 1 showed how Christian writers eventually came to the conclusion that the State was not the result of Man's sinful nature, and had validity of its own. Part 2 talked about how the Church tried to assert its dominance in the Two Swords metaphor, especially with Pope Boniface VIII's Unam Sanctam.

Immediately after Unam Sanctam, John of Paris wrote De potentate regia et papali ("On royal and papal power"). John was a Dominican who may have been a pupil of Thomas Aquinas. His work intended to defend the rights and standing of the French king. His argument was that autonomous political institutions existed before Christ established the Church. They were therefore created by human nature, which was created by God. There was no reason to suppose that political institutions such as nations (or their rulers) owed anything to the Church.

Things got more heated in 1323 when Pope John XXII tried to interfere in the election of Louis IV of Bavaria, saying it was not valid until the pope confirmed it. Louis had himself crowned Holy Roman Emperor in Rome anyway. A quarrel ensued in which William of Ockham, currently under the protection of Louis for supposed heresies, took part. Ockham's approach was not just to give the State its due as ultimately an institution that is approved by God. His approach was that the monarch is granted his power by the collective consent of the governed. The pope, therefore, has no power to interfere in a nation's elections.

Moreover, Ockham said that the pope may well be the Vicar of Christ on Earth, but that does not mean he should be allowed absolute authority. There should be a check on papal authority, a council that advises and can overrule him. Many of the established religious orders worked this way.

Although popes may have opposed this idea, it took a council, the Council of Constance in 1414, to resolve the Western Schism started in 1378 when two men claimed to be the legitimate pope. Still, the relationship between Church and State will be debated forever, I am sure.

Saturday, January 26, 2013

Church & State, Part 2 of 3

Yesterday we looked at some of the history of political philosophy analyzing the proper relationship between the spiritual institution of the Church, headed by the papacy, and the temporal institution of the State, represented by nations (and, for later writers, by the Holy Roman Empire). We could see a progression from Augustine to Aquinas to Alighieri of the importance of the State as a natural and essential part of Man's existence, related to but separate from the Church.

Aquinas believed that there was no inherent connection between the State and sin, and that the State, as a natural institution approved by God, would have existed even if the Fall in Eden had not taken place. Putting the State and the Church on equal footing supported the metaphor of the Two Swords. Pope Gelasius I (pope from 492 until his death in 496) had offered this metaphor, but he saw the State as the temporal support of the superior Church.

The papacy preferred this view, which was further explicated by Giles of Rome (1246-1316) in his De ecclesiastica potestate (On ecclesiastical power). Giles repeats the metaphor of the Two Swords, and reinforces that the Church possesses the power of the State. The Church does not wield temporal authority directly, but should wield it indirectly, by telling the State what to do.

This idea was drawn on by Pope Boniface VIII in his bull Unam Sanctam, in which he declared that everyone must be subordinate to the pope. Boniface thought he was establishing the last word on the subject, and that he would at least have the clergy on his side. Boniface was wrong.

[to be continued]

Friday, January 25, 2013

Church & State, Part 1 of 3

Augustine of Hippo (354-430) had very strong feelings about the difference between spiritual and temporal authority and structures. In his City of God he makes it clear that earthly governing structures, i.e. the State, were spiritual Babylons, equivalent to fallen and sinful institutions. The Church was the true and proper guide for mankind through this world. Had Adam and Even not sinned in Eden, mankind would have been able to live in harmony with itself and the world, and temporal structures would not be necessary. After all, the State seemed to exist in order to regulate behavior, particularly behavior that was detrimental to others. In an un-Fallen world, this would be unnecessary.

Augustine was living in a Roman Empire that was Christian-friendly, but still remembered the persecutions. His attitude on the State was likely based on his knowledge of the persecutions and of historical pagan nations, and was therefore more harsh, seeing the State as the direct opposite of the Church.

Thomas Aquinas (1225-1274, also mentioned here) took a slightly different view. He was surrounded by States with Christian rulers and was willing to consider the State without condemning it. Like Aristotle, Aquinas saw society as a natural institution for mankind, and therefore something ordained by God. The State was another form of society, and therefore was a part of man's natural inclination and therefore also was ordained by God.

Church and State were both important institutions, but not separate in their goals. For Aquinas, the Church existed to help mankind attain its spiritual goal. It did not follow, however, that the State existed to help mankind attain a temporal goal. Mankind has only one goal: a spiritual one. Therefore, the State exists to support man's spiritual goals as well. Any conflict between the actions of the two should be resolved in favor of the Church, whose primary goal is spiritual.

Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) and Aquinas were in agreement about one point: both Church and State were important, just in different ways, and neither should try to usurp the other's authority. Dante, however, observed first-hand the serious clashes between the papacy and empire, and tended to come down on the side of empire. If the State was a society ordained by God, then Dante saw the emperor as ruling by divine grace, and therefore no mortal should be considered to be superior to the emperor. Dante also held up the empire as the only instrument able to achieve peace.

What did the papacy think of this line of reasoning? We will see that tomorrow.

Thursday, January 24, 2013

Saint Walburga

Saint Walburga (c.710-779), mentioned yesterday because of the "Oil of Saints" that flows from the stone and metal on which her relics rest, deserves a little more attention.

She was born in Devonshire in England. Her whole family was very devout: her father was St. Richard the Pilgrim, her uncle was St. Boniface (d.754), and her brothers Winibald and Willibald also became saints. She was raised by the nuns of Wimborne Abbey. Her education was very thorough. She is presumed to be the author of a life of St. Winibald and an account of the travels through Palestine of St. Willibald, making her the earliest known female author in Western Europe.

While St. Boniface was christianizing Germany, he called for help from women as well as men. St. Walburga and many other nuns started a voyage to Germany. When a storm threatened to capsize the craft, Walburga knelt on the deck and prayed for deliverance, whereupon the waters immediately became calm (pictured here in a painting by Rubens). Upon landing, the sailors told everyone who would listen of the miracle, and Walburga's fame grew.

Arriving at Mainz, she joined St. Boniface and St. Willibald, and later was made abbess of Heidenheim, putting her near Winibald who was abbot of the companion monastery of Hahnenkamm. When Winibald died in 751, she became the abbess of both monasteries. When she died in 779 (or 777, the records not being clear), Willibald placed her remains near their brother's; traffic to the tombs for cures and miracles was substantial. Willibald himself died in 786, after which Walburga's fame faded.

In 870, Bishop Otkar of Eichstadt decided to restore the now-decrepit monastery of Heidenheim. In the process, the remains of Walburga were disturbed. She appeared to Otkar in a dream one night, reproaching him for the actions of the workmen. The bishop resolved to move her remains with great care to Eichstadt to the Church of the Holy Cross, which was renamed for St. Walburga. This is where her relics, placed in a stone and metal receptacle, began to produce the liquid that is reputed to have curative properties. The substance was first noted in 893 when Otkar's successor, Bishop Erchanbold, opened the tomb to share the relics with the abbess of Monheim. It still appears to this day, and only has not appeared when Eichstadt was under church Interdict, and an occasion when robbers shed the blood of a bell-ringer in the church.

Wednesday, January 23, 2013

Oil of Saints

Yesterday's post on St. Menas and the flasks of water leads to a discussion of oleum martyris, literally "oil of martyrs" but more generically called "Oil of Saints," a liquid said to have flowed (in some cases, still flowing) from the bodies or relics or burial places of saints. It may also refer to water from wells associated with them or near their burial sites, as well as to oil in lamps or in other ways connected to the saint. Liquid was an easy souvenir to take away from a site, and liquid is an easy thing to apply to a sick person, if you believe the liquid has some connection to a cure, such as association with a saint.

Many saints have this phenomenon associated with them. The earliest was St. Paulinus of Nola, who died in 431.* Oil was poured over his relics, and then collected in containers and cloths and given to those in need of cures. The historian Paulinus of Pétrigeux (writing about 470) tells us that by his day this practice was being used on relics of saints who were not martyred as well. The relics of St. Martin of Tours (316-397) were used in this way. St. Augustine of Hippo (354-430) records that a dead man was resurrected in this way by use of oil of St. Stephen, the first Christian martyr who was stoned in 34.

One of the most famous oils is still "in production," as it were. In Eichstadt in Bavaria, at the Church of St. Walburga (c.710-779), a liquid flows from the stone and metal on which are placed the relics of this saint. The church is owned by the Sisters of Saint Benedict, who collect the liquid and give it away in small vessels. This fluid has been analyzed and discovered to be nothing more than water (suggesting that it is created by condensation from humid air on a cool slab), but its contact with the saint's relics make it valuable to the faithful.

Another source of "oil" is the relics of St. Nicholas of Myra. His relics in the Church of San Nicola in Bari produce a fluid called "Manna of St. Nicholas" and believed to have curative properties.

Most accounts of "Oil of Saints" are connected with saints from the first several centuries of the Common Era, with only one each from the 11th, 13th and 14th centuries.

*St. Menas lived and died earlier, but the curative properties of his burial place were not discovered until later in the 5th century.

Tuesday, January 22, 2013

St. Menas

In 1905, C.M. Kaufman of Frankfort led an expedition into Egypt and made excavations that unearthed the legacy of St. Menas. He found the ruins of a monastery, a well, a basilica, many inscriptions asking the saint's aid, and thousands of miniature water pitchers and oil lamps.

Based on the inscription on the vessels found by Kaufman (Eulogia tou agiou Mena = Remembrance of St. Menas), the vessels were intended as souvenirs of the saint. The location excavated was one of the most popular pilgrimage sites in the 5th and 6th centuries, and flasks like those found by Kaufman had been found for years in Africa, Spain, Italy, France and Russia. It was assumed that they contained oil, but now it is thought that they probably held water from the local well, and likely were supposed to have curative powers.

According to the Catholic Encyclopedia, Menas was martyred under Emperor Diocletian in 295 (other sources say 309—there was more than one Menas in the first few centuries of the Common Era, and it is difficult to reconcile all the records). An Egyptian by birth, Menas had actually served in the Roman army, but left the army when he learned of the poor treatment of Christians by the empire. He went into retreat, engaging in fasting and prayer. He came out of retreat to proclaim the Christian faith in the middle of a Roman religious festival. He was dragged before the authorities, scourged and beheaded. Here is where the legend truly begins: supposedly, his body was to be burned, but the flames worked on it for three days without destroying it.

"Menas flask" in the Louvre
The martyr's body was brought to Egypt and placed in a church, and his name began to be invoked by Christians in need. Then an angel appeared to Pope Athanasius, telling him to have the body transported into the western desert outside Alexandria. While being transported, the camel carrying it stopped at one point and would not move. The followers buried the body in that spot.

Later, the location was forgotten, but a shepherd noticed that a sick sheep fell on a certain spot and rose up cured. The story spread that this spot cured illnesses. When the leprous daughter of the Emperor Zeno (c.425-491) traveled there for a cure, she received a vision at night from St. Menas, telling her that it was his burial place. Her father had the body exhumed, a cathedral built, and a proper tomb prepared for St. Menas. A city and industry sprang up, since so many people came to be cured. Water from the well dug in that location began to be bottled for pilgrims and supplicants. These flasks were found in several countries, but it wasn't until Kaufman's 1905 expedition that their true origin was uncovered.

Monday, January 21, 2013

Electrical Engineers

Electrical and Mechanical Engineers have their own patron saint—at least, in the British Army they do.

Saint Eligius (or Eloi, or Eloy) was born about 588 near Limoges, France. His father recognized skill in him, and sent him as a young man to a noted goldsmith to learn a trade. He became so good at it that he was commissioned by Clothar II, King of the Franks, to make a golden throne decorated with precious stones. With the materials he was given, he made the throne with material left over ("enough for two" it was said). Since it was not unknown for artisans to use less than they were given and hide away the excess for their own wealth, Eligius' honesty in designing the throne was noteworthy.

On the death of Clothar, his son Dagobert became King of the Franks. Dagobert (c.603 - 19 January 639) appointed Eligius his chief councilor. Dagobert is considered the last king of the Merovingian line to wield any real power on his own. After him came the weak kings that allowed the Mayors of the Palace to establish the Carolingian dynasty.

Dagobert and Eligius became very close, and it is said that Dagobert relied in Eligius heavily—sometimes exclusively—for advice. With Dagobert's help (i.e., money) Eligius established several monasteries, purchased and freed slaves brought into Marseilles, sent servants to cut down the bodies of hanged criminals and give them decent burial.

In 642, the goldsmith and councilor became a cleric when Eligius was made Bishop of Noyon. He undertook to convert the non-Christians in his diocese, and preached against simony in the church. Some of his writings have survived.

But it was the legends after his death that gave him his current reputation. Of course he is the patron of goldsmiths and craftsmen, and is often depicted holding a bishop's crozier in one hand and a hammer in the other. By extension, he is the patron of all metalworkers, which would include blacksmiths. Over time, the skills of the blacksmith evolved into the skills of mechanical engineers. But that is not to say that Eligius was not a problem-solver on a par with engineers. The legend tells that he was once faced with a horse that refused to cooperate with being shod. Eligius cut off the leg that needed shoeing, put a horseshoe on the detached hoof, then re-attached the leg to the horse! The Corps of Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers of the British Army have taken Eligius for their patron saint.

Sunday, January 20, 2013

Prester John, Part 2

Prester John on his throne
Almost 100 manuscripts exist that are part of the legend of Prester John, mostly copies of the letter supposedly written from him to one or more popes. The European Middle Ages was fascinated by the exotic tales of the Far East, and excited at the idea of a powerful Christian Priest-King responsible for promoting Christianity in areas not yet reached by western missionaries.

So what was the world of Prester John like?

He ruled over 72 countries, for one thing. In those lands could be found men who lived for 200 years, men with horns on their foreheads or three eyes, unicorns, and women warriors who fought on horseback. Several of the features of his world were apparently "borrowed" from the 3rd century Romance of Alexander, such as cannibals, elephants, headless men whose faces were on their torsos, pygmies, rivers that flowed out of Eden, and the fountain of youth.

Inhabitants of Prester John's land
Exactly where these fabulous creatures and locations could be found was debatable. Marco Polo identified Prester John's kingdom with a Nestorian Christian tribe in Mongolia. India was often listed as his location, but India was a vague concept to most Europeans. A legend that Ethiopia was Christian led many to assume that Prester John ruled that land. The Portugese on their 15th century maritime excursions searched the coasts of Africa hoping to find access to his kingdom. Once the globe had been circumnavigated in the 1600s and Africa and India were discovered to be lacking in any ruler named Prester John, the legend was given up.