Pope Urban II

The reign of Pope Urban II was barely more than a decade, but he made some decisions with profound effects for centuries. He was born Odo of Chatillon c.1035, and began studies at the Cathedral school of Reims in 1050. He progressed rapidly and became the grand prior at Cluny. Pope Gregory VII named him the Bishop of Ostia (a suburb of Rome) about 1080. He was a champion of the Gregorian reforms involving moral integrity of clerics and their independence from secular courts.

Pope Gregory VII died in 1085, having named three potential successors. The first, Desiderius, was a pious man who had devoted his life to not being in the public eye, and remained in the office as Victor III for a mere 130 days, after which Odo of Chatillon was made pope by acclamation, taking the name Urban II.

Urban's first challenge was the antipope Clement III, who had been installed by Holy Roman Emperor Henry IV in 1085 after Henry's clash with Gregory over the Investiture Controversy (see Gregory's link above). Urban had to avoid Rome because of Clement, but he traveled around northern Italy and France, holding synods to promote reforms against simony, clerical marriages, and issues of the Holy Roman Emperor and the antipope. (Clerical marriages—rather, the practice of keeping mistresses—were dealt with in England and France simply by instituting a heavy tax on mistresses.)

He became involved in political issues when he supported the rebellion of Prince Conrad against his father, Henry IV. He helped arrange the marriage of Conrad to Maximilian, the daughter of Count Roger I of Sicily (she brought a large dowry that helped Conrad in the fight against Henry).

He also negotiated a compromise between Anselm of Bec and William II of England, which brought him England's support against the antipope.

Urban's most profound undertaking was to preach the Crusade in 1095 (see illustration), starting a papal policy of trying to assert control over the Holy Land that lasted for centuries. He was motivated by a request from the Byzantine Emperor Alexios I Comnenos, asking for help against the Turks. Urban offered remission of all sins for those who "took up the Cross."

He also gave Roger of Sicily the authority to appoint bishops, to forward the church revenues to Urban, and to sit in judgment over ecclesiastical issues—the exact opposite of what the Investiture Controversy with Henry IV was supposed to resolve! Other secular rulers did not get these privileges, which led to problems later with Roger's heirs.

Urban died in 1099, in Rome. Had he, then, eliminated the antipope Clement? Not really. Clement outlived and (in some sense) out-reigned Urban. Let's look at the anti-papacy of Clement II tomorrow.

The Hospital Brothers of Saint Anthony

In 1095 CE, Gaston of Valloire (or of Dauphiné) founded a religious order, sanctioned by Pope Urban II (who also called for the First Crusade that same year). It was named for St. Anthony the Great, by whose intercession Gaston believed his son had been cured of the disease that then came to be known as St. Anthony's fire.

Gaston and his son built a hospital near the Church of St. Anthony at Saint-Didier de la Mothe, which was administered by the new order, the Hospital Brothers of St. Anthony. It was dedicated to caring for victims of St. Anthony's fire, which was the cause of frequent epidemics.*

The Hospital Brothers were laymen, and though they cared for the poor and sick who came to visit the shrine with relics of St. Anthony at the nearby church, they did not always get along with the community of Benedictines who tended the church and shrine.

The Hospital Brothers wore black with a a blue Tau ("T") cross. The Tau cross was affiliated with St. Anthony, but we are not sure why. He was not executed on one, as some suggest (he died in his bed). One theory is that he had a T-shaped staff on which he would rest. The laymen eventually evolved into a monastic order with the blessing of Pope Honorius III (who also sanctioned the Dominicans) in 1218; 30 years later they adopted the Rule of St. Augustine and were declared canons regular by Pope Boniface VIII.

Now the "Antonines" were a fully-fledged "rival order" to the nearby Benedictines; each group felt they had primary responsibility for the relics of Anthony. Hostilities arose until the pope gave custody of the shrine to the Antonines and sent the Benedictines to Montmajour Abbey, 130 miles away.

The success of the hospital motivated them to expand. By the 15th century there were 370 hospitals in France, Spain, Italy, and Germany run by the Order of St. Anthony. They were caring for many illnesses, including the Black Death. Their popularity declined after the Reformation, especially when the link was discovered between St. Anthony's fire and ergot, after which incidents of the disease fell sharply. Their donations and influence dwindled, and in 1777 they were subsumed into the Knights of Malta. The last hospital, in Hochst, Germany (see illustration), was closed in 1803. In Memmingen, Germany, you can see a museum to the Order, on the site of one of their hospitals that was opened in 1214.

The man who first sanctioned the Order and called for the First Crusade, Urban II, did a lot more in his decade as pope. Let's dig into his career tomorrow.

*For those who don't like to click links, St. Anthony's fire was caused by ergotism, although some of the symptoms could also be the result of erysipelas.

Ergot Poisoning

The term "ergot" refers to a group of fungi that grow on rye and other grains. The illustration shows a stalk of wheat with a growth that is part of the life cycle of the fungus Claviceps purpurea, the chief source of ergot. The fungus produces alkaloids that, when consumed by mammals, produces ergotism, or ergot poisoning.

There are two main symptoms of ergotism. There are convulsive symptoms that range from mild such as headaches, nausea, diarrhea, and vomiting, to severe: spasms, mania, and psychosis. There is also a set of gangrenous symptoms because of the vasoconstrictive nature of ergot: loss of circulation in the fingers and toes that can lead to loss of the fingers and toes themselves.

Ergot could also affect the nervous system and make the sufferer feel sensations on the skin without any external source. In the Middle Ages this was called St. Anthony's Fire.

Although ergot could infect other grains, rye was the likeliest source in the Middle Ages. Rye was considered a less desirable grain for bread than wheat, and was therefore the grain of the poor—which covered most of the agricultural population. Grains infected with ergot are darkened. Ergot-infected grains in a bushel of wheat would stand out from their color and could easily be picked out. The darker rye would more easily hide the infected grains, especially once it was ground into flour.

Medieval doctors had no cure, and so people turned to divine intervention. The 12th-century chronicler Geoffroy du Breuil recorded outbreaks in the Limousin region of France, where cures were attributed to Saint Martial. An outbreak in Paris in 1129 was cured by relics of St. Genevieve.

Ergot's life-cycle starts in the ground. The spores that produce ergot can survive for one year, and cannot germinate if buried more than an inch below the surface. As it turns out, simple crop rotation, that puts a non-grain crop in a field that held a grain, can cause the ergot present to die out without a host. Also, this post (from almost exactly 10 years ago) explains how the mouldboard plow was better at turning over the heavy soil of Europe, which could help to bury the spores deep enough to prevent germination.

In the words of the sixteenth-century physician Paracelsus. “All things are poison, and nothing is without poison: the dose alone makes a thing not poison.” Claviceps purpurea has produced other compounds thanks to modern science. Ergotamine, for instance, is used for the treatment of migraines because of its vasoconstrictive ability. The drug LSD was synthesized in 1938 from lysergic acid, which is derived from ergotamine.

Because a cure was attributed to St. Anthony, a hospital was founded in his name to treat others. Let me tell you tomorrow about the Hospital Brothers of Saint Anthony. See you then.

The Apostle of the Gauls

Gregory of Tours tells the story of the 3rd century Pope Fabian sending seven bishops to different parts of Gaul. One of them, Martial, went to Limoges, where he was very successful at converting locals to Christianity. After his death, his burial site outside of Limoges became an important pilgrimage site, growing in popularity over the years and generating many stories of miracles.

The 9th century Miracula Martialis ("Miracles of Martial") gives an idea of how popular he was: it pushes his origin story earlier in time so that he was made a bishop by St. Peter himself (illustrated here in a fresco from the Palais des Papes in Avignon, commissioned by Pope Clement VI from Matteo Giovannetti).

The Miracula gives him credit for evangelizing all of Aquitaine and miracles such as reviving a dead man by touching him with the staff given to him by Peter in the illustration. The medieval compendium of saints' lives called the Golden Legend adds casting out demons to his repertoire.

Martial's intercession was invoked during an epidemic of ergot poisoning in 994. The staff mentioned above (more accurately, a staff that is said to have been Martial's staff) is kept in the Basilica Saint-Seurin in Bordeaux and used in processions during outbreaks of illness to invoke his aid.

His importance in southern Gaul and link (however fictional) to Peter made him attractive to Clement VI, leading to the above-mentioned chapel. His burial site became the Benedictine Abbey of Saint-Martial with a library second only to Cluny's. The chronicler Geoffroy du Breuil worked in the library. The Abbey was damaged so badly in the 19th century that little remained; some manuscripts had been bought by King Louis XV and were therefore saved and are noe in the Bibliotheque Nationale.

Ergot epidemics were quite common in the Middle Ages, so divine intervention was frequently sought. Let's talk about ergot poisoning in the Middle Ages next.

The Pope's Artist

When Pope Clement VI wanted to build a new chapel connected to the papal complex in Avignon and have it lavishly decorated, he called on Matteo Giovannetti. Giovanetti (c.1322 - 1368) was in his 20s at the time, and according to the oldest documentation we have about him, he was a priest.

He received a large salary to lead a team to design and decorate chapels, the Grand Audience room (where the pope meets visitors), the Consistory (where the pope meets with the cardinals), and more. He created altarpieces and paintings that the pope would offer to churches and monasteries.

One of his chief projects was to paint the new Saint-Martial Chapel, begun in 1344, attached to the Tinel, the pope's grand dining hall. The chapel's paintings tell the life story of Saint Martial in 13 scenes. Giovannetti even worked Clement into one of the frescoes (see illustration).

He also decorated the chapels of St. John located below the chapel of Saint Martial. He included events in the life of John the Baptist as well as John the Evangelist, including their parents. The frescoes deteriorated over time, but in the 1990s a restoration program began.

Giovanetti remained employed by the popes after Clement's death. He accompanied Pope Urban V on Urban's return to Rome in 1367. We are told that he worked on paintings at the Vatican Palace. It is the receipts for his payment that allow us to identify his works and track his movements. After 1368, however, we have no records for him, and we do not know where he ended up or how long he may have lived after that. In 1368 he was only in his late 40s, and his lifestyle would have kept him well-nourished and housed, so "old age" seems an unlikely ending. We simply do not know anything more about him, but the Vatican records allow us to give attribution to his work—not always the case for medieval art.

Why was Saint Martial important to Clement VI, so much so that he was the subject of a new chapel? I'll explain next time.

Clement's Preferences

Clement VI (1291 - 1352) was a different pope from some of his predecessors. One of his first acts was to promise gifts to every cleric who came to Avignon to present himself to the pope in the first two months of his papacy. This attempt, apparently, to buy loyalty, along with Clement's move to reserve appointing abbots so that he could use the appointments as favors, was justified by saying "Our predecessors did not know how to be pope." (Incidentally, so many clerics appeared in Avignon that the estimate was made that the number of clerics in all the parishes of the world was around 100,000.)

His favoritism did not stop there. A mere four months after his election, he created several new cardinals, three of whom were his nephews. During his reign, he created cardinals of nine relatives. This practice of promoting a pope's relatives gave rise to the term "cardinal nephew." It was fairly standard practice, although his predecessor only created one and his successor only three.

Unlike Benedict before him, Clement had no intention of leaving France for Rome, and set about on a building campaign to expand the Avignon papal complex. Benedict had built a palace—the Palais de Papes—that suited his tastes as a Cistercian. Clement, however, was accustomed to more grand living, and added extensively and opulently to it. A new chapel dedicated to Saint-Martial was attached to the Palais and filled with hunting and fishing scenes—more suited to a king's decor than a pope's—and he had large tapestries installed.

Fortunately for him, Benedict's organizational skills and less-extravagant lifestyle left Clement with a large treasury with which to carry out his plans of elegance. He hired composers and musicians of the Ars Nova style to always be around, including Philippe de Vitry.

Clement died on 6 December 1352, aged about 60. He had suffered from kidney stones for many years. At the end, a tumor broke out into an abscess and fever, and he died within a week. His elaborate tomb (see above) was surrounded by 44 statues of his relatives; he had planned it himself and commissioned the sculptor; it was ready prior to his death. (In 1562, Huguenots destroyed the 44 statues.) Historians agree that Clement may have been a good pope in many ways, but he was not a holy person.

The artist who decorated Clement's new chapel was Matteo Giovannetti. He did quite a lot of work for Clement, and stuck around after that. I'll tell you more about him and his papal projects tomorrow.

The Pope and the Plague

One of the major events during the reign of Pope Clement VI (1291 – 6 December 1352) was not of his making. He had been pope for four years when plague landed on his shores in 1347, spreading throughout Europe and killing one-third to one-half of the population within a few years.

Clement believed the Plague was the result of God's wrath, but that did not mean he was willing to stand idly by and let the results speak for themselves. He consulted with astrologers for the physical cause and looked for ways to mitigate the effects. One of the team that proposed a conjunction of Saturn, Jupiter, and Mars in 1341 as its origin was Johannes de Muris, who had been brought to Avignon by Clement in 1344 to aid in calendar reform. Another of Clement's advisors was his personal physician Guy de Chauliac, seen here bandaging the pope's leg (in a painting from 20th century artist Ernest Board).

The advice of his physicians was to surround himself with fire to fight off the plague-inducing vapors in the air; stories tell that he had two raging fireplaces on either side of him while he worked. He did not, however, just sit in his palace: he involved himself in supervising care of the dying and burials. There was so much death that cemeteries ran out of space. Clement consecrated the Rhône River—the entire 500-miles—so that bodies could be thrown in and it would be considered proper burial along its length in France and Switzerland.

Because there was condemnation of Jews for the Plague in some areas, he released two papal bulls on the subject, on 6 July and 26 September, condemning the violence against the Jews. The second stated that those blaming the Jews were seduced by the Devil, because:

It cannot be true that the Jews, by such a heinous crime, are the cause or occasion of the plague, because through many parts of the world the same plague, by the hidden judgment of God, has afflicted and afflicts the Jews themselves and many other races who have never lived alongside them.

Six cardinals died in 1348. One of Clement's solutions was to make his nephew a cardinal, even though his nephew was only 18 years old! (Twenty-two years later he would become Pope Gregory XI.) Clement's favoritism was one of the ways he was distinctly different from his predecessor, Benedict. I want to talk about Clement's more "worldly" tendencies next time.

Pope Clement VI

Pierre Roger was born in 1291 into a noble family; his siblings all had successful careers and marriages. Roger, however, entered the Benedictine Order at the age of 10, spending six years at the Abbey of La Chaise-Dieu before being recommended for more advanced studies. He went to Paris and the Sorbonne, where he studied canon law and theology, receiving the doctorate in theology at the age of 31. He lectured on Peter Lombard's Sententiae and promoted the writings of Aquinas.

He was made an abbot of a royal abbey, Fécamp, until he was called to Avignon. Fécamp was in the Duchy of Aquitaine, lands owned by the English king (in this case Edward III), and Roger was given the task in 1328 of summoning Edward to pay homage to the King of France, Philip VI, inside of whose kingdom Aquitaine lay. Roger's trip to England was fruitless: Edward ignored the summons, and Roger returned to France.

Despite this failure, in December of that year he was named Bishop of Arras and a councilor to king Philip. In less than a year, he was promoted to Archbishop of Sens, and a year after that was moved to Rouen. In an assembly of French clergy with Philip to discuss the judicial powers of ecclesiastical authorities, Roger argued impressively for ecclesiastical jurisdiction over temporal authority, gaining the admiration of his peers.

Pierre Roger was made a cardinal by Pope Benedict XII and "received the red hat" on 5 May, 1339. After Benedict's death in April 1342, a conclave of 18 out of the existing 19 cardinals (one had gout and could not attend) met on 5 May, and by the 7th had elected Pierre Roger as the next pope. He chose the name Clement VI.

His predecessor was opposed to "lazy" clerics who did not administer their parishes and dioceses, simply accepting the tithes and delegating the work. Benedict was careful about choosing pastors and bishops. Clement took a different approach, declaring that votes in monasteries for abbot were void. He wanted the right to appoint whom he liked and grant favors to those loyal to him. When it was pointed out that this was not the style of previous popes, he supposedly replied  "Our predecessors did not know how to be pope."

His time as pope was not going to be easy, however: a few years later, the Black Death came ashore. Next time we will take a look at how he responded to the crisis.

Pope Benedict XII's Résumé

From his beginnings as a bishop and persecutor of heretics, Jacques Fournier was enthroned as Pope Benedict XII in January 1335. Although his election was a surprise, he turned out to be an efficient and dedicated administrator, reforming the Church and the religious orders.

One of his first moves was to enforce the law of residence, that clerics needed to reside in the benefices of which they had charge. Many clerics preferred to neglect and delegate their duties, choosing instead the life of leisure and political maneuvering at the papacy in Avignon. Benedict sent home all clerics whose presence in Avignon was unnecessary.

He also reversed the practice of giving the profits of benefices as gifts to those who had nothing to do with them. He was so careful about assigning parishes and dioceses that some went vacant longer than was helpful. He avoided nepotism in his own family, only promoting one family member, and that only at the insistence of several cardinals. A later bishop (not a contemporary) reported that Benedict said (regarding nepotism) that "a pope should be like Melchisedech, without father, mother, or genealogy."

As a Cistercian, he promoted monastic simplicity and study, visiting monasteries to urge them to keep to their humble origins.

The French wanted the papacy to remain in Avignon. Looking back at Benedict's actions, we cannot accurately say what his personal wishes were. He ordered the repair and renovation of the basilicas of St. Peter and the Lateran in Rome. He also began construction of the Palais des Papes in Avignon. Supposedly he wanted to compromise between the Avignon/Rome debate and make a move to Bologna (approximately halfway between Rome and Avignon, if you don't think about the mountains to cross).

Although French, Benedict did not show any particular favor to King Philip VI. He did request Philip's aid in policing the western Mediterranean because of conflicts between Aragon and Genoa, Naples and Sicily, which were hindering the ability to launch a successful Crusade. 1336 was the sixth year of a crusading tithe to collect money to finance another Crusade. Benedict cancelled the tithe in December, seeing that there was too much unrest in Christendom to be able to mount an efficient campaign. A few months later there was another test of his negotiating skills that failed.

Trouble was brewing between England and France in the 1330s. Ever since 1066 when William the Conqueror became King of England while still being one of the largest landowners in France, the question of English control of French real estate had caused friction between the two kingdoms. On 24 March, 1337, King Philip VI of France took over the English-held duchy of Guyenne, sparking an increase in hostility.

Benedict did his best to talk Philip out of starting a war with England. He wanted peace in Christendom, and it looked less and less likely that he could count on it. His pleas to Philip were ignored, and so the Hundred Years War started, causing many thousands of deaths over the next century plus.

He was only pope for about seven years, dying 25 April, 1342. He was succeeded by Clement VI, whom we shall look at next.

The Accidental Pope

Jacques Fournier (c.1285 - 25 April 1342) was born in Foix, a county in the southern part of France. He earned a Doctor of Philosophy at the University of Paris, joined the Cistercians, and became abbot of the Cistercian Fontfroide Abbey in 1311. His organizational ability and intelligence brought him attention, and he was made Bishop of Pamiers in 1317.

As bishop he focused on rooting out Catharism, a heresy that was hanging on in his area. He helped Bernardo Gui and the Inquisition in this matter; the result was the Fournier Letters, records of the questioning that six centuries later became a best-seller. His efforts in fighting heresy brought him a promotion to Bishop of Mirepoix in 1326, and a cardinal a year later. While in Avignon, Pope John XXII—who was particularly concerned about magic—charged him with examining the works of William of Ockham, German mystic Meister Eckhart, Michael of Cesena, and others, looking for heresy.

Pope John died 4 December 1334; the Conclave was opened nine days later. The majority were ready to elect Cardinal Jean-Raymond de Comminges, but he had to promise not to return the papacy to Rome. Comminges would not make any prior commitments. The Conclave called his bluff by declaring their newest cardinal, Fournier, as a candidate. Because he was new, it was assumed he would not win an election. The Conclave should have planned more carefully: the vote was taken and Fournier won, surprising everyone who assumed they could vote for him but surely the majority would not, right?

Too late. The vote was legitimate, causing Fournier to exclaim "You have elected an ignoramus!" He took the name Benedict XII at his investiture on 8 January 1335. He worked hard to reform and standardize practices and expectations of the religious orders.

He died in his mid-50s, in 1342, but in his seven years as pope he accomplished a lot, and had a failure that led to one of the most defining events of the Middle Ages. We're going to take a look at the rest of his résumé tomorrow.

The Story of Montaillou

When French historian Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie (1929 – 2023) set out to write an account of a typical French medieval village, based on certain records of the time, he and his publisher had no idea that its 1975 publication would turn into a best-seller. Montaillou, village occitan de 1294 à 1324 ("Montaillou, an Occitan Village from 1294 to 1324"). Ladurie wanted to make accessible to a modern audience the lives and beliefs of this small village in the Pyrenees (near the border with the Iberian Peninsula) at the beginning of the 14th century. (The illustration is a much more recent view of Montaillou.)

It is a social history, also called "history from below," trying to understand the past through research into regular living rather than political or military history, or the lives of prominent figures at the top of the social-political pyramid.

He had a very specific reason for examining that particular place and time. The book was translated into English in 1978 with the subtitle "The Promised Land of Error / Cathars and Catholics in a French Village." The "certain records" mentioned in the first paragraph were those made by the Inquisition, specifically a group of documents called the Fournier Register. This was made by Jacques Fournier, the Bishop of Pamiers, in whose diocese Montaillou lay. This area was one of the last holdouts of the heresy Catharism, and Fournier was determined to eliminate it.

The Inquisition was quite careful in its procedures. During questioning of a subject, a scribe would take short notes. These would then be expanded more fully with the help of the Inquisitor, and the result shown to the questioned for review and edits. The Occitan language would also be translated into Church Latin. The result was a record of hundreds of commoners and their day-to-day observations and opinions.

One example of beliefs is his questioning of Guillemette of Ornolac, who was said to have doubted the existence of the soul. She offered the opinion that the "soul" was really blood, and that death is the end. When asked who taught her this, she replied "No, I thought it over and believed it myself." She was sentenced to wear a cross of yellow on her back for the rest of her life. Of the hundreds questioned—578 sessions, mostly with peasants—his inquisition resulted in only five capital sentences (being burned at the stake).

His thoroughness impressed his superiors, and he quickly advanced through the ranks. And that is why we have these early records so carefully preserved so that Ladurie could comb through them six and a half centuries later: Fournier took them with him when he went to Avignon. Why Avignon? He became pope. Let's take a look at Pope Benedict XII tomorrow.

Dealing with Lice

There are plenty of examples of combs from centuries gone, and sometimes they are two-sided, with one side having the teeth extremely close together. These were "nit combs," designed to be run through hair and pull out the "nits" and eggs that were part of the life cycle of the louse.

I should say "of lice," since if your hair was home to one, it was home to many. Also, there are over 5000 species of louse, 800 of which prey on mammals. Humans experience just a few. (The others? 4000 species prey on birds; even penguins in the Antarctic have at least 15 species.)

The scientific details on lice don't interest us, however, as much as how the Middle Ages dealt with them, because they were ubiquitous. After Thomas Becket's death, when they went to prepare the body, they discovered he wore a hair shirt under his clothing. It was so infested with lice that “The vermin boiled over like water in a simmering cauldron, and the onlookers burst into alternate weeping and laughing” [Rats, Lice and History, Hans Zinsser Page 185].

Combing the hair was a common way to get rid of lice. It was also considered a contemplative act, and recommended to put oneself into the right mood for devotion. The 13th century French liturgist William Durand in his Rationale divinorum officiorum ("Rationale for the Divine Offices"), said combing "symbolized the removal of worldly or superfluous thoughts." When the tomb of St. Cuthbert was opened in 1104, it contained a comb; was it more for contemplation or hygiene?

Lice had to be dealt with in every walk of life, including among the religious set. The late 14th century canon regular (a priest in a church, not a monk) John Mirk in his Instructions for Parish Priests said that if a louse or lice entered the chalice, they needed to be consumed with the wine (unless it was a poisonous insect).

Besides the comb, there was other methods for dealing with head lice. A concoction of pork grease, incense, lead, and aloe was supposed to stop them (probably by asphyxiation). The simplest method, available to everyone, was having someone look through your hair and remove them by hand. Montaillou by French historian Emmanuel Le Roy Ladurie reconstructs (from contemporary records) the lives of villagers from 1294 to 1324. One recollection that he finds is of a woman named Vuissane Testanière, who observed her neighbors chatting while their daughters picked through their hair, looking for lice.

In fact, the story of the village of Montaillou would be a refreshing change from talking about lice, so let's use that last paragraph as a transition to tomorrow. See you then.

Hair and Religion, Part 2

What does hair have to do with piety? Well, monks would get tonsured so that their outward appearance signified their role in society. As mentioned, hair outside the monastery was a way to make oneself more attractive, and so shearing most or all of it off was a way to make the individual less attractive and less "worldly."

On the other hand, excessive hair could also be a sign of piety. Anchorites—people who removed themselves from the world in order to devote themselves to prayer—could find separation by being enclosed in a small chamber (often connected to a church or monastery), or by becoming hermits, living away from others in the wilderness.

St. John Chrysostom (c.347 - 407, mentioned here) was a hermit. In the later Middle Ages, he is represented in illustrations as being excessively hairy. Another early hairy saint, Onuphrius, who became popular in Spain and Italy in the 13th and 14th centuries, proved his devotion by leaving his Egyptian monastery and living alone, naked, for 70 years near Thebes. He grew thick hair all over his body to protect himself from the elements.

Hairiness may have been seen as a a sign of such a strong rejection of worldly things that the saint was living simply, like a wild beast in the wilderness.

There were also several female hairy saints. Pictured above in a late 15th century manuscript is St. Mary of Egypt. Mary ran away from home in Egypt to Alexandria where she lived a dissolute life. Eventually turning to religion, she stopped focusing on her appearance, and is shown with matted and dirty hair as well as hair all over her body.

So if hirsute bodies could be a sign of turning from material cares toward spiritual purity, could the opposite take place? Here is where we turn away from the topic of "hair and religion" and look at simple "hair care." The artist Jean Bourdichon painted for King Louis XII the scene of Bathsheba bathing and being watched by King David [2 Samuel 11]. The water is transparent, and every part of her is visible in the water. The pink-red coloring of parts of her body show the she is pictured without pubic hair. If Michelangelo could carve it out of stone, there's no impediment to artists drawing it. The contention is that women must have shaved their pubic hair. Was this considered a choice for vanity's sake? Was it supposed to be a way to enhance sexuality or sensuousness? These questions are not answered in any contemporary texts.

Of course, there may have been an obvious reason for shaving hair around the genitals, one we rarely have to deal with in the Modern Age. Next time, let's look at the problem of lice in history.

Hair and Religion, Part 1

Paul in the First Epistle to the Corinthians calls a woman's hair her "glory" and says it must be covered, because no one should enjoy it but her husband. The man, however, does not cover his head, because he is the image and "glory" of God.

Shocking to modern sensibilities, maybe, but not unique to Paul. The Latin nubere used for "to marry" literally means "to veil oneself" (probably related to nubes, "cloud"). Roman women wore head coverings once they were married.

Medieval Europe was all about this "fashion." 14th century theologian Heinrich von Langenstein (1325 - 1397), a student of Nicholas Oresme and a fan of spontaneous generation, said that, for a woman, the veil is a:

symbol of her subservience. The woman wears a headdress so that it may be recognized that she is subordinate to the man, who ranks above her. The veiled head is also a sign that woman [i.e., Eve] transgressed the first commandment [not to eat the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil] and violated its terms.

As mentioned yesterday, long flowing locks on a woman were considered very sexy and seductive, and so a married woman was required to keep her hair under wraps in order not to tempt anyone other than her husband. Illustrations like the one here of the Harlot of Babylon, from the Apocalypse Tapestry commissioned by Louis I, Duke of Anjou, c.1380, show her combing her hair as a symbol of her sensuousness. A Good Wife’s Guide, written by a 14th century Parisian to his 15-year-old bride, warns her that hair allowed to show from under her veil is a sign of “drunken, foolish, or ignorant women.”

The opposite—controlling or removing hair—could be a sign of piety. Men and women entering religious orders were given severe haircuts: men lost their beards and had the crown shorn, leaving them with a tonsure that resembled the crown of thorns; women could be shorn or have their hair cut very short and then covered with veils. Hair had power and status, and removing it signaled separation from worldly things. (The ultimate expression of shorn hair denoting loss of power was seen in Frankish culture, where a shorn man could in no way be allowed to rule. Shaving the head of an enemy was a way to humiliate him—yes, even though hair grew back.)

On the other hand, could excess hair also be a sign of piety? And could lack of hair be a signifier of sensuality? We will find out tomorrow, for perhaps the most NSFW ("Not Safe For Work") post ever.

More About Hair

Hair is a fascinating resource. It is a crop that renews without any special tending, producing thread and cushioning. It can be cut, dyed, and shaped into various patterns that can denote different things in society: high or low status, and even religious status. It can be used to denote maturity or your fitness for the ruling class.

Let's talk for a moment about sumptuary laws, designed (to quote Britannica.com) "to restrict excessive personal expenditures in the interest of preventing extravagance and luxury." They started long before the Middle Ages. A province of Sparta forbade residents to own furniture or even a house that could not be made simply with an ax and saw. Anything more elaborate was excessive and shameful. Spartans only were allowed iron money, not gold or silver. Roman law also had rules governing the materials for garments.

Medieval Europe adopted many sumptuary laws, often to make sure the increasing wealth of the growing middle class did not encourage them to dress extravagantly similar to the ruling class. French kings restricted the use of gold and silver embroidery, etc.

Sumptuary law could embrace hairstyles as well. We know this because Florentine women in 1326 asked the Duchess of Calabria to speak on their behalf to the duke. The women of Florence were restricted (unfairly, they felt) from wearing "false hair": wigs and hair extensions. The law was intended to prevent lower-class women from appearing aristocratic—an affront to the fabric of society. Pope Eugene IV (1383 - 1447; briefly mentioned here) issued a statement that women should be allowed to wear "false hair." To be fair, his reasoning was that it could be pleasing to her husband and reinforce domestic bliss and marital fidelity, so a woman's satisfaction was not necessarily foremost in his mind.

Long and flowing hair was attractive and seductive on a woman, and so once she was married the hair had to be put under a wimple or bound up, so that she did not appear seductive to other men. The image of a woman combing long hair, in many cases being watched by a man, appears in medieval art, and is even painted on combs.

While combing [sic] the sources, I have found so much more regarding hair than I expected, including some items that might not be rated PG. More to come.