Wayland the Smith

Wayland was a legendary figure whose name and fame stretched across the entire Germanic world, referred to in stories from the Norse, Frisians, Germans, Anglo-Saxons, and more. The most detailed accounts are found in Old Norse sources, particularly a poem that is part of the Poetic Edda. The oldest (possible) reference is a gold solidus (see illustration) from c.575-600CE with a Frisian runic inscription ᚹᛖᛚᚪᛞᚢ, "wayland." (This might not refer to the legend, but rather a person with the same name.)

Other depictions that are clearly Wayland are found on some 8th/9th century carved stones called Ardre image stones, and an 8th century whale-bone chest called the Franks Casket.

Anglo-Saxon culture made frequent reference to the smith. In Beowulf, we are told the source of the hero's armor:

If the battle takes me, send back
this breast-webbing that Weland fashioned
and Hrethel gave me, to Lord Hygelac.
Fate goes ever as fate must. (lines 452-55, Heaney translation)

Another Anglo-Saxon poem, Waldere, mentions the hero's sword made by Weland. In Alfred the Great's translation of Boethius, he laments "What now are the bones of Wayland, the goldsmith preeminently wise?" Medieval romances often included swords made by Wayland.

A megalithic mound in the Berkshire Downs is known as Wayland's Smithy, about which was the legend that, if one left a horse tethered there overnight with a silver coin, the horse would be shod by morning.

More than just an image and symbol of smithing, the poem in the Poetic Edda, the Völundarkviða (Old Norse: "The lay of Völund"), tells that he was captured and crippled (similar to Hephaestus, the lame smith of the Greek pantheon) in order to be forced to work for a king. I'll tell you that story tomorrow.

Blacksmiths

Metalwork was important to the development of civilization, and blacksmiths in the Medieval Period were at the center of this development in each village or town.

The word itself derives simply from being a "smith" and working with "black" which referred to black iron, as opposed to goldsmiths or silversmiths. (A goldsmith was such a high-profile profession that the surname Goldschmidt still exists.)

Blacksmiths needed a variety of tools: an anvil, a hammer, and a set of tongs at the very least. They also developed other tools for shaping metal. They also needed a very hot fire. Iron had a very high melting point, so the smith's goal was to heat the iron sufficiently to make it "plastic" so it could be hammered into shape. This was not a quick process, so required endurance and strength.

The heating required charcoal—a lot of it—which had a benefit that was noted if not completely understood. The repeated thrusting of raw iron into the fire to keep it malleable produced a stronger and more durable metal object. The smith might have seen the outcome as the result of more repeated hammerings, but the truth was understood only much later: greater exposure to the hot charcoal added carbon (perhaps only from 0.5-2%) to the iron, as well as removing oxygen, making it stronger and less likely to crack or rust. This improved daggers and swords and armor.

Of course, it wasn't all about armor and weapons. Blacksmiths made tools, door hinges, axles for carts, hooks and hangers and sconces, pots and pans, locks and keys, horseshoes and harness, and any of the myriad items needed in daily life that could not be efficient if made of wood.

Men were not the only smiths. In 1346, Edward III of England appointed Katherine Le Fevre to "keep up the king’s forge within the Tower and carry on [its] work … receiving the wages pertaining to the office." In the early 1300s, an Alice la Haubergere worked in Cheapside in London, making armor. In York in 1403, Agnes Hecche inherited her father's chainmail equipment after he died, and continued the family business.

One of the best-known smiths in history, however, was the Anglo-Saxon legend of Wayland Smith, of whom we shall learn more next time.

Early Metal Working

The blacksmith or metalworker in the Middle Ages was a highly respected craftsman. The results of the blacksmith's skill were so important to society that many pantheons had a god of blacksmithing, or at least a legendary figure, such as Hephaestus among the Greeks, Goibhniu in the Tuatha Dé Danaan cycle, or Govannon in the Welsh Mabinogion. The Anglo-Saxons had the legendary Wayland Smith. Even the Bible mentions Tubal-Cain in the book of Genesis as the first blacksmith.

Metalworkers originally worked with gold, silver, and copper, which are all found in their native states as pure metals. They are also fairly malleable, and so could be shipped and hammered relatively easily into whatever was wanted—mostly small decorative objects like jewelry. Phoenician trade brought together tin from Cornwall and copper from Cyprus and the discovery that a mixture produced a stronger metal with a lower melting point we call bronze, making it easier to shape into larger objects that would be stronger, such as a weapon.

The so-called Iron Age came about around 1500BCE, when the Hittites in the Middle East began working with iron, much of which was embedded in other ores. (Many early peoples first used iron found in meteor deposits, where the iron was mixed with up to 40% nickel.) The armor and weapons of The Iliad are bronze, but Homer refers to arrowheads as iron. At the time of its composition (or its later revision), iron was known, but was not being easily worked into larger items.

One difficulty with iron compared to previous metals is that its melting point is very high (2800°F), and so the heat produced by the blacksmith could soften it so that it could be hammered and shaped, turning it into a liquid to pour into a mold was not within the power of most forges. If a village had a blacksmith, it likely only had one. On the other hand, a village without a blacksmith was in a sad state. Smithing was a necessary craft for the functioning of the Middle Ages. It was one of the seven essential Artes mechanicae (to parallel the seven Liberal Arts).

Tomorrow we'll look at the medieval blacksmith in more detail, and the men and women who were employed in this important trade.

Arderne's Medical Manual

John Arderne (1307 - 1392), of whom I first wrote many years ago, has been called the father of English surgery. He earned this by producing a manual in Latin that was copied into English and widely used.

Although we know little of his personal life except that he practices in Nottinghamshire and London, his broad knowledge suggests someone who traveled and had a variety of experiences. Since he lived through the Black Death and the Hundred Years' War (during which he saw action in France), he had plenty of opportunities to learn about and deal with a wide variety of illnesses and injuries.

In 1370 he wrote the Practica Chirurgiae ("Practice of Surgery"), in which he detailed many of his techniques and boasted a for-his-time astonishing survival rate of 50%. There are not only detailed instructions, but detailed illustrations of the parts of the body being operated on, as well as illustrations of the instruments (many of which he designed) used.

More than the practical side of things, however, he gave advice to the surgeon open dress and behavior. He urged the university-trained doctor to dress the part, rather than wear the limited short (above the knee) robe of the typical "barber surgeon" (educated in a guild), to appear more important. Barber surgeons were looked down upon, and he advises his readers not to share techniques with them, lest they usurp the position of the university-educated surgeon. In a later century, in Paris, a distinction was made with the titles "Surgeons of the Short Robe" (who could offer their services never having taken an exam or proved their knowledge) and "Surgeons of the Long Robe."

Arderne's advice went beyond haughty classism, however. He also advised a pleasant bedside manner: the doctor should be able to tell tales "that may make þe pacients to laugh" and tales from the Bible to "make or induce a liȝt hert[light heart] to þe pacient or þe sike [sick] man." He should also, when speaking to a patient, not confuse him with complicated terms or harsh language:

“be the wordeȝ short, and, als mich as he may, faire and resonable and withoute sweryng”

make the words short, and, as much as he may, faire and reasonable and without swearing.

He felt that wealthy patients should be charged as much as possible, but poor patients treated for free.

More than 50 copies of his Practica exist today; 36 of them are copies with the original 250 illustrations. The expense of reproducing so many illustrations was significant, but it is a testimony to how valuable the work was considered to be. The illustrations were not only important to show how the body was being treated, but to understand the use of the instruments. These tools of the trade were not readily available, and had to be custom-made. I feel not enough has been said about the relationship of people with specific requests to the metal-workers of the age, so tomorrow let's talk a little about the blacksmith trade.

The Father of English Surgery

John of Arderne (1307 - 1392) was an innovative English surgeon who devised a number of cures and procedures and is considered the first English surgeon.

He grew up in Newark-on-Trent, which in his lifetime was a fairly large town. It is believed he attended the University of Montpellier; if so, then he may have been exposed to the Practica Chirurgia of Roger Frugard. He was in London in 1370, and was active in the Hundred Years' War in the regiment of Henry Grosmont, Duke of Lancaster, and John of Gaunt (King Edward III's son and Henry's son-in-law). (Incidentally, this would put him in the orbit of a young Geoffrey Chaucer.) He remained an employee of Gaunt.

War creates injuries, and this is where surgeons are most needed and are given opportunities to come up with new ideas for treating people. Long stretches bouncing on horseback can be damaging and lead to an issue now called a pilonidal cyst, but described by Arderne as a fistula in ano ("fistula in anus"). A fistula is a connection between two parts of the body that don't normally connect. You can learn more about this and Arderne's painful-but-successful treatment in this post.

But perhaps not so painful. Arderne knew of the soporific and nerve-deadening effects of opium, and prescribed it so that the patient "shal sleep so that he shal feel no cutting." To the opium he would add hemlock and henbane. He would apply this topically via an enema, and also use it on arrow wounds to deaden the pain while they were extracted.

His innovations were not just in what he was able to do for patients, but also in the profession itself. He believed, for instance, that wealthy patients should be charged what the market would bear, but poor patients should be treated for free. He also suggested ways to con duct oneself as a surgeon, and what to wear. The frontispiece for one of his manuscripts (shown above) shows him dressed in the robes of a university doctor, elevating the status above that of the more mundane "barber surgeon" who (because they possessed razors) were used to quickly treat war-related amputations, blood-letting, and (of course) hair-cutting. Because of the messiness involved, barber surgeons wore short robes. Arderne advised against this, urging his followers to distinguish themselves from the less-educated barbers.

More than 50 medieval manuscripts exist today with his texts, most with multiple illustrations as well. I'll share more of his guide for successful surgeons tomorrow.

Roger Frugard's Chirurgia

Roger Frugard (pre-1140 - c.1195) was also known as Rogerius, and sometimes called Roger of Salerno because he taught and worked at the hospital there (but not to be confused with the Roger of Salerno who was a regent of Antioch during the Crusading period). We don't know much about his life, but c.1180 he produced Practica Chirurgia ("The Practice of Surgery") with a no-nonsense approach to the subject.

Rather than write long pre-ambles, quoting Hippocrates or Galen or other surgeons and doctors on which much of 12th-century surgical knowledge was based, he gives clear and brief explanations for how to treat different illnesses and injuries. His writing provided the first Western European practical manual for teaching surgery. It was duplicated and used in universities at Bologna and Montpelier. Besides describing surgical techniques, he also described how medicines were prepared and applied, and how to diagnose illnesses. He was the first to use the word "lupus" to describe a rash that appeared on the cheeks.

In the 13th century, an Anglo-Norman translation was made and illustrated (above you see the dispensary and a doctor instructing his students). Though written in French, it was likely written in England because English terms are used throughout the text. This manuscript is now in the Trinity College Library collection. One of the delights of the illustrations is the facial expressions given to the patients, indicating the level of (dis)comfort they are going through. Also, surgical instruments are drawn with admirable accuracy.

(There are errors, however, due to sloppy reading of the text. One illustration is supposed to depict a condition that causes a blackened tongue, but the illustrator painted the tongue red. In another section on nasal polyps, the copyist did an "eye skip" where, while looking from original to copy, his eye skipped to a later occurrence of a word he just wrote, omitting the section in between. These errors can be determined by comparison to other manuscripts, and show that the copyist was not paying close attention to textual comprehension.)

Medieval surgeons were always looking for new ways to treat injury:

For example, it is believed that Roger of Salerno may have originated a technique for detecting a tear in the dura or cerebral membrane in skull fractures. Now known as the Valsalva maneuver, the doctor would have his patient hold their breath, introducing pressure into the skull, and the doctor would watch for air bubbles or cerebrospinal fluid leaking from the skull. Additionally, Roger was a pioneer in the treatment of nerve damage, advocating reanastomosis – the realignment of damaged tissue by surgical means – to repair severed nerves. [source]

The illustration of the dispensary above is in the section about treating fistula. This brings us to one of the most painful and "icky" treatments, but also to one of my favorite figures in medieval medicine, John Arderne, whom I'll tell you about tomorrow. 

Medieval Surgical Procedures

Yesterday's post took a turn toward a particular surgical procedure, so I thought we'd talk a little more about that topic. What procedures were known and practiced with evidence of patient survival, back when doctors believed in the Four Humors of Hippocrates? I have talked about medicine numerous times, so here I want to focus on actual invasive practices with instruments.

Purging was one of the most common forms of surgery, piercing a vein to let out blood because a person's fever or angry nature indicated an excess of blood.

Amputation was another fairly common practice when a limb was so damaged by accident or warfare that there was no chance of it healing. Unfortunately, surviving an amputation was not always assured. An interesting article by the National Library of Medicine points out early art of people with crutches that supports their educated medical opinion that a leg amputation was only likely to survive if it were below the knee. Above the knee amputation led to too much bleeding. [link] Presumably amputations of smaller parts—toes, fingers, arms up to elbows—were less of a problem.

Related to amputation was cautery/cauterization, sealing off blood vessels by heating iron and pressing it to the wound. In an ideal situation, the wound was sealed, bleeding was stopped, infection did not occur, and the patient would survive. Even in this situation, however, the process caused intense pain, especially if you accepted the treatment for hemorrhoids that involved inserting a hot poker. This did not work, nor did the non-surgical suggestion of going to sit on the rock where St. Fiacre was cured of hemorrhoids. [link] (Maimonides finally wrote a seven-chapter treatise on the subject ultimately suggesting a good soak in a bath.)

Dental surgery was not unknown. Toothache was a major problem in the Middle Ages, and extractions were common. Situations arose, however, whose descriptions suggested the client had oral cancer. Roger Frugard (pre-1140 - c.1195), a surgeon in Salerno, wrote a Practica Chirurgia ("Practice of Surgery") in which he describes cancer in the jaw:

"if the flesh is hard, perforated and blackened' ('Si la char est dure, perse e anercie') cancer ('cancre') of the mouth was difficult to cure."

He describes cutting into the healthy flesh around the hard cancer, cauterizing the wound, and sealing it with muel de oef ("egg yolk"!).

Trepanning—boring a hole in the head to relieve pressure—is the oldest surgical procedure for which we find evidence: Skulls—many hundreds of them—that were trepanned have been found dating back 7000 years ago and more, with evidence of healed bone around the edges showing that the patient lived. The circumstances under which it was decided to drill a hole in the cranium are unknown.

Cataracts were originally dealt with by using a thick needle to push the cornea back. Islamic medicine came up with a better solution: a thin hypodermic needle inserted through the white part of the eye to extract the obstructing cataract material.

The illustration above is from a later manuscript copy in the Trinity College Library of Roger Frugard's Practica Chirugia that has many illustrations that help explain his techniques. Let's learn a little more about him and them tomorrow.

About Preventing Children

Folk in Classical and Medieval times developed many methods for avoiding getting pregnant, but sometimes the inevitable happened. The Bible's statement to "be fruitful and multiply" made the Church's stance on aborting a pregnancy clear, but the rest of the culture did not always see it that way.

Avicenna (c.980 - 1037) offered this reasoning:

At times it may be necessary to induce abortion; that is, when the pregnant woman is young and small and it is feared that childbirth would cause her death, or when she suffers from a disease of the uterus or when a fleshy growth in the uterus makes it very difficult for the fetus to emerge. Also when the fetus dies in the womb of the woman. Know that when labour continues for four days it means that the fetus is already dead.

Methods of abortion could be dangerous to the women as well. Hippocrates had refused to use abortifacients because of the danger they posed to the mother. The early Church stated that women who abort a child should be exiled from the church. A synod in 314 modified that to 10 years of exile. The Church Father Basil the Great later softened that, saying it should be less if the woman shows repentance.

In another case, a woman was sentenced to death for aborting her child precisely because she did it with malicious intent to prevent her husband (whom she had come to hate) from having an heir. Roman law allowed that, if a woman were to do the same thing for the same reason but it post-divorce, then she should only be exiled.

The Church Father St. John Chrysostom criticized abortions, but gave the example of a sex worker who needed to abort a pregnancy or else she would lose her livelihood. He goes so far as to blame her male client, who was responsible for getting her pregnant, as the real murderer.

A 9th century Byzantine author of a biography of a Greek Patriarch Ignatios tells the story of a woman with a breech birth who is in intense pain. The doctors prepare for an embryotomy (removing the baby by cutting it into parts and removing them). The 6th-century Bishop Paul of Mérida, who trained as a doctor in his youth, doesn't scruple to perform an embryotomy to save a woman's life.

That late-term abortions can find their way into accounts of religious lives and can be justified by Christian saints suggests a very different attitude toward the health and safety of the mother than is sometimes taken these days.

Embrotomies would have been difficult for the surgeon and the patient. Let's talk next about some of the other surgical practices that were employed in the Middle Ages. 

Avoiding Pregnancy

Yesterday we talked about medieval parents having large families. Today we're going to talk about preventing large families. Although Canon Law insisted that sex was solely to be engaged in for procreation, in the "real world" that was not a feasible attitude. (Pope Gregory IX even stated that marriages entered into intending not to have children were ipso facto null.) There were, therefore, plenty of instances where becoming pregnant was not a desirable outcome of sex. Therefore, methods were devised for avoiding pregnancy.

The simplest one was for the woman to track her menstruation. Lack of menstruation could lead to pregnancy, so either knowing reliably when menstruation would occur or inducing it was one method. Herbal remedies were often readily available around the house as prophylactics against pregnancy. Parsley, Queen Anne's Lace,* and Pennyroyal were considered effective in inhibiting fertility.

Another way to prevent pregnancy was by inserting something into the cervix. Lacking modern IUDs, Avicenna's Canon of Medicine suggests mint "in there" would prevent conception. Aristotle taught that rubbing the womb with cedar oil, lead ointment or incense, mixed with olive oil, would prevent the sperm from coming in contact with the woman. (The lead ointment had other damaging effects.) Also, wooden blocks were not uncommon, and very uncomfortable.

One could try to prevent the sperm from reaching its goal through a barrier, or one could try to kill the sperm. Medieval and Classical spermicides included inserting a cloth after the act that was soaked in vinegar, or honey, or grated acacia leaves soaked in honey (the sap in acacia is spermicidal).

Another way to "avoid pregnancy" is to pretend one is not pregnant. I grew up understanding the meaning of the phrase "she's gone to her sister's" to explain a long absence.

A French novel (only a little later than the Middle Ages) has advice to a teenage girl about sex, and assures the girl that getting pregnant unexpectedly is easily managed, but not by abortion:

...moreover, to remove any worry, there is one more thing to consider, it is that this mishap is not so extraordinary that one should fear it so much. There are so many pregnant girls who never attract notice, thanks to certain corsets and dresses made to order, which they use, and which do not prevent them from having a good time with those who made them pregnant.

...and during that interval, you can simulate illness, trips, pilgrimages. When the time comes, you will identify a midwife who is obliged in conscience to keep the fact hidden. [L'Escole des Filles]

If the calendar was off, if contraception didn't work, then eliminating the fetus was the next step, but we'll look at that grisly topic tomorrow

*The name is for Anne, Queen of Great Britain (1665 - 1714); earlier names would have been "bishop's lace" or "bird's nest" or simply "wild carrot."

Were There Children in the Middle Ages?

Until fairly recently there was an idea that "childhood" as we think of it today did not exist in the Middle Ages. You can see this in a recent online essay:

Regardless of social class, childhood in the late Middle Ages was markedly different from what we know today. Children were viewed as miniature adults, expected to contribute to the family’s livelihood from an early age. [link]

One of the reasons behind this theory is pictures from the era that show little distinction in clothing worn by children and adults. That essay goes on to say:

Playtime was limited, and the concept of a carefree, innocent childhood was virtually nonexistent. Instead, children were taught the skills necessary for survival.

One of the first serious explorations of daily life in the Middle Ages found evidence against this theory. The Ties That Bound: Peasant Families in Medieval England, by Barbara Hanawalt, looked at coroners' reports in England that explored deaths. Interrogation of witnesses regarding "what you were doing when..." turn up a wide variety of daily activity that otherwise would never have been recorded. Those reports tell us that young children (with ages in the single digits) are playing at home or outside with friends, and not dragged into slavish agricultural labor or being drilled in the "skills necessary for survival." In fact, children are out playing and falling into ditches or dying in other accidents totally unsupervised by adults. They kicked balls around, or played catch, or were playing with toys or dolls by the hearth when disaster struck.

There is another notion that parents did not love their children the same way modern parents do. Because families were larger than they often are now, and because a child might be given the same name as a child born previous to the same parents that had died early on, the feeling is that parents considered babies interchangeable, or merely as a way to produce "more laborers" for the family business. There are plenty of recorded examples of parents grieving for dead children, lullabies that were sung to babies, and toys and games that were made for them. More affluent families had advice books written for raising children well and making sure they are moral.

The Church supported the difference between children and adults:

It came to regard children under the age of puberty as too immature to commit sins or to understand adult concepts and duties. [link]

Puberty was 12 for girls and 14 for boys, and that is when they generally began to be educated in ways that would lead to economic success in the future, either in their parents' trade or as an apprentice to some other person with a desirable career.

Since a large part of the population—perhaps up to a third—at any time was under the age of puberty, there was no getting around the idea that children were different and needed to be nurtured and cared for, not treated as tiny adults. That's a lot of babies being produced at any time, and a lot of mouths to feed. Was there a way around that? Did the Middle Ages have methods of contraception available to them? Let's take a look at that topic tomorrow.

The Man Who Invented the Future

Imagine a world with no clocks or calendars in the homes. You lived by the cycle of the seasons and the annual religious festivals and holy days. Life is cyclical. After all, "If winter comes, can spring be far behind?" as Shelley wrote centuries later. No need to look ahead, unless the pope called a synod or Crusade that took years of preparation. No one imagines this changing. Into this world comes Joachim de Fiore (c.1135 - 1202), who begins to study the Bible, looking for hidden meanings. He especially focuses on John's book of Revelation that describes a very different world.

We've talked about medieval attitudes to the end times before (here and here, for example). Clearly the world did not end or change radically at the millennium, and Joachim was trying to figure out what biblical references to upcoming events meant. What he proposed was a theory of the ages of the world that was very appealing to his co-religionists, and saw what lay ahead in very attractive terms.

He tied the history of the world—both past and future—into the concept of the Trinity. The first age of the world was represented by God the Father and aligned with the Old Testament. The second age was the age of Jesus Christ, and aligned with the New Testament. A third age was coming, however, and this is why Joachim's thought was such a pivotal moment in theology and culture. Each age was better than the previous, and the best was yet to come.

Of course people had a concept of the future, in that they knew they would wake up tomorrow and different events might happen during their day. They knew they would eventually die, but their children would age, have children of their own, and the cycle would continue. Joachim envisioned a future in which the entire world evolved into something new.

The third age was the age of the Holy Spirit. It was supposed to arrive at or by 1260, and would be the age of universal love, the Kingdom of the Holy Spirit, and the ecclesiastical structure of the Roman Catholic Church would be replaced—an enormous change in society!—by the "Order of the Just," people whose level of Christian enlightenment would mean no rules were needed: people would simply care for each other.

Those who felt the church was too worldly were attracted to Joachim's theory. One of Joachim's followers, Gerardo, would later declare the "Order of the Just" was the Franciscan Order, that had developed an ascetic branch called the Spirituals. Ubertino de Casale adopted Joachim's ideas. Joachim's notion of the third age also inspired the Cult of the Holy Spirit centuries later.

One of the problems with the reception of his writing was, of course, that he foresaw the end of the current ecclesiastical system. He had no problem declaring the end of the papacy because Rome was Babylon and the pope was the Antichrist. As the year 1260 approached, however, his writing was widely circulated. Thomas Aquinas (writing just after 1260) opposed Joachim's theory, but Dante (c.1265 - 1321) placed Joachim in Paradiso. Some Franciscan Joachimite Spirituals decided that the Antichrist was Holy Roman Emperor Frederick II (died 1250).

The Fourth Lateran declared some of his ideas heretical. Worthy of note, however, was that Joachim himself was still respected and never declared a heretic.

Joachim has been referenced by poets and authors, including Umberto Eco, James Joyce, Yeats, the modern Illuminatus trilogy. Some think that Hegel's theory that each age of history gets better than the last came from Joachim's theory.  There was even a 2023 movie called Joachim and the Apocalypse.

I want to get away from "heavier" topics for a bit and build on what I said in the fourth paragraph above. Tomorrow we'll look at the question "Did children exist in the Middle Ages?"

Joachim de Fiore

In a message for the World Day of Creation (27 June, 2024), Pope Francis said of Joachim de Fiore that he  "was able to propose the ideal of a new spirit" and that this was a turning point in history. And Rick Searle, author of the Utopia or Dystopia blog, called him "The Man Who Invented the Future" in a 2015 post. These are extraordinary 21st century statements about a little-known 12th century monk. So who was Joachim de Fiore?

He was born in Calabria c.1135 to a good family who made sure he was educated to become a clerk of the courts and then follow his father's footsteps and become a notary.

On a pilgrimage to the Holy Land c.1159 he experienced a spiritual conversion that made him turn away from a worldly life. On his return to Calabria, he became a hermit, wandering and preaching for several years although he did not join an order. Lay preaching was not always an acceptable practice to church authorities, who pressured him to "form Alize" his actions by joining the monks of the Abbey of Corazzo, where he was ordained c.1168. He began studying Scripture intently, certain that there was meaning hidden there that had not yet been revealed or understood. He was especially concerned with the apostle John's book of Revelation.

Around this time he had become a counselor to Margaret of Navarre, mother and regent for the underage William II of Sicily, where he probably met Peter of Blois.

About 1177 the monks of Corazzo, impressed by his scholarship and piety, made him their abbot, a responsibility and authority which he did not crave. In 1182, after trying and failing to join Corazzo to the Cistercian Order because of Corazzo's poverty, and convincing William II of Sicily to grant Corazzo some lands, he got permission from Pope Lucius III to step down as abbot and find another home. Joachim went to the Abbey of Casamari, which had recently changed from Benedictine to the more strict Cistercian Order. There he wrote three books: The Harmony of the New and Old Testaments, Exposition of Apocalypse, and the Psaltery of Ten Strings.

He was one of those rare people in this era who was writing things people had not said before, but did not get declared heretical. Lucius III and succeeding popes approved of what he was saying, and his fame spread. Constance the Empress of Sicily invited him to hear her confession, and left her raised chair to sit on the ground when he pointed out the need to humble herself. Richard the Lionheart met with him prior to the Third Crusade to get advice. The Spirituals of the Franciscans declared him a prophet (which Joachim denied).

In 1200 he submitted all of his writing to Pope Innocent III for examination and approval. Sadly, he died in 1202 before the results and before he could finish his final book, Tract on the Four Gospels, but his works were copied and distributed widely.

What was it that he wrote that created such an impact that, 800 years later, a pope would call his work a turning point and a scholar would call him the man who invented the future? I'll go. explain that tomorrow, but leave you with this teaser: by "future" Searle did not mean he predicted what things would be like in the future. Searle meant that Joachim invented the concept of the future. Stay tuned.

Ubertino the Heretic

Ubertino de Casale felt so strongly that the proper spiritual life for a Franciscan and other prelates required a life of strict poverty that he strongly denounced those who thought and lived otherwise. Franciscans who felt the same were called the Spirituals.

The Spirituals publicly declared the leaders of the Franciscans as heretics, along with Popes Gregory IX, Nicholas III, and Innocent III. Innocent had spoken against the teachings of Joachim of Fiore, a brilliant theologian whose ideas supported the Spirituals. Another pope, Benedict XI, forbade Ubertino from preaching and banished him to Monte Alverna, a remote convent in the center of the Tuscan Apennines that was associated with St. Francis (he supposedly received the stigmata there).

Rather than be penitent and alter his views, Ubertino used his time to write a book, Arbor Vitae Crucifixae Jesu Christi ("The Tree of the Crucified Life of Jesus"), in which he promoted his views on the poverty of Christ and Christians. The book became popular reading, which brought it to the attention of the church authorities.

In the book, Ubertino had identified Pope Boniface VIII and Benedict XI as the first and second beats of the Apocalypse. This was not received well by the papacy, and Ubertino was summoned to Avignon with other leaders of the Spirituals to debate his ideas. Ubertino's demand that the Spirituals of the Franciscans have separate monasteries was denied. Pope Clement V issued a bull in 1312, Exivi de Paradiso, in which he declared the Franciscans able to accept and use money for necessities despite the strict rule of St. Francis.

In 1317, Ubertino was allowed to lave the Franciscans and make his home with the Benedictines, but he did not stop commenting loudly on the Franciscans, for which he was excommunicated in 1318. In 1322, the Dominicans and the Franciscans were arguing about the poverty of Jesus Christ, and Ubertino was summoned once again to Avignon to offer his opinions. Ubertino's opinion mirrored the papal bull of 1312: although Christ and the Apostles rejected personal possessions, they used alms and goods for necessities and to help others.

Pope John XXII liked this answer. Ubertino stayed in Avignon, but in 1325 he was accused of heresy again by speaking out in support of Peter Olivi, a French Franciscan who had been Ubertino's teacher in Florence who also promoted strict poverty and probably influenced Ubertino in that direction. Pope John XXII ordered him arrested, but Ubertino fled and disappeared from the historical record.

I mentioned Joachim de Fiore above. His ideas still resonate today among theologians. Our current Pope quoted him just a few months ago, so I think he's worth discussing. See  you next time.

Ubertino of Casale

St. Francis of Assisi insisted on personal poverty for members of the order he founded, the idea that one should have no possessions and live with as little as possible. Over time, some members of the Franciscans felt that this restriction was not being observed the way it should, and they started practicing the extreme poverty exemplified by Francis himself.

To be fair, the Franciscans began caring for the poor and the sick, and that was not something you could do unless you had possessions: a roof and paraphernalia for helping sick and hurt people. So the Franciscans evolved into two groups: The Zelanti (from the word "zeal"), also called the Spirituals, and the Relaxati, later called the Conventuals.

The Spirituals' extreme views caused them to criticize the growing wealth of the Church and the lavish lifestyle of its top prelates. This put the Fraticelli on a collision course with the papacy, fictionalized by Umberto Eco in the book The Name of the Rose. In the book (and movie), we meet one of the Spirituals, Ubertino de Casale (seen above worshipping Christ).

Ubertino joined the Franciscans in 1273 as a 14-year-old. After a few years he was sent to Paris to study, but returned to Italy when he was done. He traveled to Rome, visiting Christian sanctuaries and sites, then settled in Tuscany. Considered very smart though eccentric, he soon became leader of the Tuscany Spirituals.

The Tuscany Spirituals were so extreme that they started to publicly claim that Popes Gregory IX and Nicholas III (who had been a friend of Francis) were heretics for not interpreting the Franciscan rule of poverty properly, and allowing moderation. Gregory had stated that gifts given to the Franciscans were in fact gifts to the pope, and the Franciscans were just using them temporarily. Pope Innocent IV allowed the Franciscans to appoint an outsider who would be in charge of buying, selling, and managing goods, like a quartermaster. The Spirituals did not approve of this way of trying to weasel out of Francis' original rule.

Of course, Ubertino was one of the loudest critics of the papacy and his fellow Franciscans, and the authorities decided he needed to be dealt with. We'll talk about that tomorrow.

The Council of Vienne

The Council of Vienne (1311-1312; seen here in a painting in 1880 by Paul Lacroix) has been mentioned before, and produced some positive decisions, but its goal of church reform led to the condemnation of certain groups who did not seem to deserve condemnation.

One of its condemnations was of the Beguines and Beghards. These were groups of (respectively) laywomen and laymen who created communities of folk who wanted to live simple lives devoted to prayer and good works. Their lifestyle mirrored that of monks, but they took no formal vows. The difficulty for the Council was that these groups were accused of believing that they could achieve their own salvation independent of the guidance of religion (or the authority of the Church) by living their lives simply. Pope Clement V produced an encyclical from the Council condemning the groups as heretical. In some areas, Beguines and Beghards were actually burned.

Another conflict between formal and informal spirituality was sparked by Ubertino de Casale (a significant figure in the book and movie The Name of the Rose). He complained that a stricter adherence to the Rule of St. Francis was necessary, especially regarding the vow of poverty. Those following this stricter rule were called Spirituals, and they were opposed by the leaders of the Franciscans, who were straying away from the vow of strict poverty. The outcome of the Council was a bull from Clement left decisions of behavior up to the individual abbots.

The Council embedded in canon law that priests must not marry, and laid out punishments for adultery, concubinage, fornication, incest, and rape.

A crusade was discussed, because the King of Aragon wanted to attack the Muslim city of Granada. Philip IV of France on 3 April 1312 (the Council ended the following May) vowed to go on Crusade within the next six years, but Clement said he had to start within the next year and Philip must lead it. A tithe was begun to raise funds for the Crusade, but Phillip died in November 1314.

One of the biggest decisions to come out of the Council was regarding the Knights Templar. When Clement called the Council by a bull in August 1308, saying the Templars would have to answer for their actions in a new ecumenical council in 1310 (it was obviously delayed). This bull created papal commissions to investigate the Templars and take depositions that would be brought to the pope.

The fate of the Templars has been discussed many time in this blog, but Ubertino de Casale has not, so tomorrow we'll look at his life and impact on the Franciscans.