Cluny: Seedbed of Reformation

A model of the Third Abbey Church of Cluny, the

largest Christian Church ever constructed; except for

one tower and part of a transept it was destroyed

after the French Revolution. 

  Before we look at the Gregorian Reform, I want to take a look at the Abbey of Cluny which many historians credit with launching the Gregorian Reform.  Actually, while I am not so sure that I see the connection, at least a direct connection, between Cluny and the Gregorian Reform, I must admit that Cluny is too important to overlook in any event as it certainly set the “gold standard” for monastic life which in turn would inspire many of the Reformers of the eleventh century in their goal of purifying the Church from the decay it had fallen into.      
     Duke William of Aquitaine founded the Abbey on his Burgundy estates in 910, inviting  a monk named Berno to serve as abbot and—and this is remarkable for the period—giving the abbey independence from any civil or ecclesiastical oversight, making it answerable only to the pope.  This was not particularly auspicious as Sergius III, “possibly the only pope known to have ordered the murder of another pope and the only pope to have fathered an illegitimate son who later became pope (John XI)…”  was pope at the time of Cluny’s foundation.  Sergius’ mistress—and mother of John XI—was Marozia whom you may remember from our entries on the “pornacracy.” (See the entries for January 15, June 6, 9, 18.)  John XI himself when he came to the throne became a great benefactor of the Abbey during his papacy—though otherwise he was a pretty worthless pope.  He was bullied by his older brother, Alberic II, Duke of Spoleto, who used his younger brother’s papacy as an opportunity to control not only the Papal States but the Church itself to his own interests.   Nevertheless, bad people often do good things and John’s granting of so many privileges to Cluny was indeed a very good thing. 
      In any event, Berno had a history of reforming and founding abbeys and was a very capable administrator as well as a man of personal holiness.  He had a definite philosophy of monastic life, shaped by the ninth-century monastic regimen of Benedict of Aniane.  Berno saw the essence of the monastic life in the perfection of liturgical prayer and that the monastery, as a “heaven on earth” was to engage as far as possible in the laus perennis—the unceasing praise.  The ideal would be a continuous, never-ceasing, round of ceremonial worship that continued twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week—the monks working (that is to say, praying) in shifts.  Such an ideal would be all but impossible, of course, to realize but Cluny was to come close with its long and splendid ceremonials. 
       In his dependency on Benedict of Aniane for the monastic vision, Berno made Cluny a bridge spanning the Carolingian Reformation—of which Benedict of Aniane was a key player—the Ottonian (to which Cluny style monasticism would contribute Gerbert of Aurillac aka the reforming Pope Sylvester II)and leading to the Gregorian Reform which it was to inspire. (Just to be clear, Gerbert’s home monastery was not part of the Cluniac federation, but like many Benedictine houses of the time modeled its observance on the Cluniac practices.) 
      I must admit I have always had a weak spot for Cluny and its monks.  Regretfully I have yet to visit the site, perhaps someday.  But to return to our story—William’s endowment of his new Abbey was so generous that the monks were substantially freed of the need for any manual labor to support themselves and thus were free to give themselves almost entirely to the project of continuous worship.  The more they chanted psalms and processed around their church and burned incense and turned donations into chalices and chandeliers, the more donations poured into their coffers and vocations into the abbey.  And the  more monks and money, the more elaborate and all-consuming became the liturgy.  Benefactors would bequeath to the Abbey manors and farms, mills and tolls, weirs and orchards and vineyards.  Everything came with a price.  “Here is a manor, but we want a weekly mass said for the deceased of our family.”  “Here is an orchard, but you must have a procession each year on the anniversary of grandmama’s death.”   “Here is a toll on the Rhone bridge, but you must sing a Litany in honor of Saint Anne four times a year.”  Wealth piled up, ceremonies piled up.  Vocations piled up.  Cluny founded daughter houses, but unlike other Benedictine Abbeys never granted the daughter houses independence.  By keeping them subject to the Abbey of Cluny, the Abbot of Cluny had a right to come into each foundation and insure that they were not slacking on the monastic observance.  It was this innovation that created the modern concept of a religious order. 
      The Cluniac Order—for they were an Order and not merely a federation of independent monasteries—became famous throughout Europe for its high standards of monastic life and worship.  Cluny had a succession of phenomenal Abbots in leadership of the movement: Odo, Maiolus, Odilo, Hugh I, Hugh II, Peter the Venerable among them.  In a Church that was in great decay, Cluny set a standard for monastic life that was a beacon for reform.   Not all monasteries adopted the Cluniac program, but it did trigger a movement of monastic reforms that in turn would trigger a generation of monk reformers who brought the same enthusiasm for integrity and reform to the larger church.  
 

Roots of the Reformation XXV: Sylvester II and The Peak of the Ottonian Reformation

The Tomb of Sylvester II
(Gerbert of Aurillac) in the
Basilica of Saint Johnb Lateran

Yesterday we started the story of Gerbert of Aurillac, one of the most intriguing men to become  pope—and one of the more successful reformers of the Church.  Gerbert was anxious to assume his role as imperial tutor to the young Otto II, but realized that while he had learned much of Arabic culture and science during his time in Spain, he was deficient in traditional philosophy and theology.  With Otto’s permission he went to study at the Cathedral School at Reims in France, at that time (late 10^th century) the leading intellectual center in Christian Europe.  He quickly moved from being a student to being a professor.  Otto II tried to lure him away from France and appointed him Abbot of Bobbio in northern Italy and also established him as the secular power in that region but Gerbert was not cut out for the military duties involved and the abbey was in great disrepair so he returned to the academic life in Reims to which he was more suited.  It was at this point when he got involved in the political mess when Hugh Capet deposed Archbishop Arnulf and made Gerbert Archbishop only to have John XV send a delegate who deposed Gerbert and restored Arnulf. (See the entry for July 1^st.) This is not unlike the mess in China today when Pope and government struggle to name bishops, and Gerbert was—in this case—on the government side, not the pope’s.  One would think that being on the opposite side from the pope in a ecclesiastical/political struggle would destroy a priest’s chances of advancement once and for all, and indeed it probably would have then (and it probably would now) but Gerbert was the favorite of the Emperor and the fiasco over the Archdiocese of Reims was only a blip in his career. 
     Gerbert was brought back to the Imperial Court as the tutor to the young Emperor Otto III even as he had been tutor to Otto’s father, Otto II.  At imperial insistence he was made Archbishop of Ravenna and then in 999—again at imperial insistence—he was made pope.
      Gerbert took Sylvester as his regnal name in tribute to Sylvester I who had been an advisor to the Emperor Constantine even as he intended to be the advisor to the Emperor Otto.  And he was an energetic pope.  As a monk himself, he was determined to enforce clerical celibacy and outlaw the practice of clerical concubinage.  (We have to talk about that in a future entry.)  He also was determined to eliminate simony—the practice of buying and selling church offices.  These reform measures did not endear him to the prelates of the papal court who depended on bribes and payments to support themselves in some style.  (Imagine that!)
       His unpopularity led to many rumors about Sylvester. An ardent scholar and scientist he was given, like a kid with a chemistry kit, to various experiments.  The loud explosions, smell of sulfur, and flashes of light in his apartments led to suspicions that he was a sorcerer or in communication with demons.  There were stories that he had books of spells given him my Islamic magicians during his time in Spain or that he had a demonically possessed large bronze head built which he could consult and which would answer his questions with a “sic”(yes) or “non.”  Despite these rumors, he was not only a capable pope—a very capable pope—but a man of personal integrity and piety.  Though his papacy only lasted four years, it was in his reign that the reform finally began to take hold in the Church and the Church reached a high-water mark of reform that would be surpassed only at the end of the eleventh century in the next reform we will talk about—the Gregorian Reform. 
        One final legend.  In Rome it is said that the tomb of Sylvester—which is in the Basilica of Saint John in the Lateran—“weeps” before the death of a pope.  I happened to be living in Rome during the final days of John Paul II, and went faithfully every day to see if I could verify the tears.  (If such tears ever existed they were probably condensation forming on the outer surface of the tomb.)  Alas, I never found any “tears.”  Nor did I find any condensation—but then it was pleasant April weather—not a time of the year of condensation. 
        An alternative legend derived from some priests’ inept translation of the Latin inscription on the tomb (few priests ever really learn Latin—even those who like to “say Mass” in it, perhaps especially those who like to say/play Mass in it) is that Sylvester’s bones will rattle in the tomb before the death of each of his successors.   But in April 2005 Sylvester rested in peace as his 125^th successor drew his final breathes.  Pity, really, these legends give so much color to being Catholic.   

Roots of the Reformation XXIV: The Islamic Scholar and the Ottonian Reformation



An armillary sphere
Sandro Botticelli

Well, back to the Ottonian Reformation.  You may remember that about two weeks ago (July 1) to be precise, I mentioned a fellow by the name of Gerbert of Aurillac.  Hugh Capet—the King of France—had asked pope John XV to depose Arnulf from the Archbishopric of Reims as Arnulf was an ally of Charles of Lorraine who was contesting Hugh’s claim to the French crown—a somewhat shaky claim other than in the medieval world might made right and Hugh and plenty of might.  When the pope failed to act, Hugh took it on himself to convoke a synod of bishops and depose Arnulf and he named Gerbert in Arnulf’s place.  John XV did not like this and sent a legate to France who declared Gerbert’s election to the See of Reims invalid and restored Arnulf.  Now, we need to be somewhat careful about this.  The pope, at the timed, did not have the right to appoint bishops.  Bishops were elected by their Cathedral Clergy. (Popes would only get the authority to appoint bishops to most European sees in the nineteenth century and there are still a number of sees that maintain the right of election, though recent popes have interfered—with mixed success—with this right.)  Nevertheless, once a bishop was duly elected and installed, the papacy was quick to defend them against the attempts of kings or nobles to depose them.  When Byzantine Emperor Michael III deposed the Patriarch Ignatius in 858 and named Photius to the See of Constantinople, Pope Nicholas I excommunicated both Emperor and the new Patriarch.  So, in any event, Gerbert was deposed as Archbishop of Reims by the pope—not an auspicious sign for his future—but Gerbert was, as well shall see, the original “Come-back Kid.” 

Gerbert had been born in 946 in what is now south-central France.  At approximately the age of eighteen he entered the Benedictine abbey at Aurillac, not far from his birthplace.  This local is crucial to the story as the Abbey of Aurillac was a relatively influential one at the time due to the cult of its founder, the count Gerald of Aurillac and its ties with the influential Abbey of Cluny.  It is also important in as that geographically it was in a bridge area between France (to the North) and Catalonia—a region which stretched from what is today the South of France along the Mediterranean coast south into what is today Spain.  This region served as a conduit of information and trade between Europe and Islamic Spain. 

       In 967, Borrell II, Count of Girona visited the Abbey of Aurillac and the Abbot asked him to take the young monk back with him to Spain for studies.  Gerbert studied under Bishop Atto of Vic, a remarkably cosmopolitan man.  Atto himself was sent on a diplomatic mission to sue for peace at the Court of the Caliph at Cordoba—the Islamic armies were threatening the Christian stronghold in Catalonia and Borrell was anxious to avoid a war that would result in his counties (he was also Count of Barcelona, Ausona, and Urgell—all in the northeastern corner of modern Spain).  Cordoba, indeed Islamic Spain, was the most advanced civilization in Europe at this period.    In Cordoba Atto was introduced into a very different world, a world in which Christian bishops and clergy spoke Arabic, dressed and lived in the Arabic manner, and were in open conversations about philosophy and sciences with Arab and Jewish scholars.  It is unclear whether Gerbert accompanied Atto on this mission, or indeed if Gerbert ever managed to visit Islamic Spain, but whether in Catalonia or Al-Andalus he certain was exposed to Arabic learning and culture and drank it up. 

     During his time in Spain Gerbert was introduced to the Hindu-Arabic numerals and recognized how much easier mathematics was with this system than with the clumsy system of Roman numerals then in use in Christian Europe.  It would be Gerbert who introduced the Hindu-Arabic numerals to western Culture.  He also was introduced to the Abacus which had disappeared from European learning with the collapse of Graeco-Roman culture.  He reintroduced the armillary sphere which, like the abacus, had been lost to European knowledge and complemented it with sighting tubes that helped in stellar navigation.  Gerbert was not an inventor or original thinker as much as he was someone who was quick to grasp the advances made by the Arabic culture and was not afraid to bring them to the west.  He was only in Spain for two years, but it was two years that made a huge difference for European mathematics and science.  What is truly remarkable about Gerbert then is not his originality but his openness to other cultures, non-Christian cultures—where he felt he could learn something.  He did not let theological prejudices close his mind to the truths and wisdom he found outside Christian circles not did he insist that theology trumped science.  This was a remarkable openness in the tenth century—indeed many Catholics today think they have nothing to learn from non-Christian sources and look down on cultures that differ from their own.  Truth has nothing to fear from open dialogue and minds that are fearful of different insights and ideas only betray both a lack of faith and shallowness of intellect.      
     In 969 Borrell made a pilgrimage to Rome and Gerbert was included in his suite.  Pope John XIII (not one of our better popes (see entry of June 28^th) suggested to the Emperor Otto I that he should name Gerbert tutor for his son, the future Otto II.  It would take this man and cast him in a very different direction than the Arabic scholar.

Roots of the Reformation XXIII: The Ottonian Reformation falters (briefly)

Otto II

Sorry--our network was down last evening when I went to post this. 

It is unfortunate that Otto II died so young—at only 28—and that his heir was only three years old  when he came to the throne because Otto and his father (Otto I) had managed to make some remarkable headway into securing good order in both Church and State and a regency provided both the German nobles and the Roman families with the opportunity to undo the political and religious progress that had been accomplished.  Otto’s widow, Theophanu, gets mixed reviews as regent, though the negative opinons of her own day might be biased against her being a woman and her being Greek.  She seems to have preferred Italy to Germany, probably because it was more like her native Greece but also because she was detested in Germany for her sophistication which made her seem affected and pretentious.  Raised in the imperial court of Constantinople where her uncle reigned, she was given to a high degree of luxury and her preference for rich fabrics and elegant jewelry made her appear decadent to the more battle-hardened Germans.  Among her “affectations,” she seems to have been the one who introduced the use of the fork to Europe.  She had a two pronged golden instrument with which she lifted meat and other greasy foods to her mouth. The Germans couldn’t understand this—why, after all, had God given us fingers if not to slobber grease-dripping  globs of fat into our mouths?  On the other hand, lazy, sunny decadence was familiar to Rome and the Romans (where it is still the fashion), and while Italy may not be Greece, at least it wasn’t the frigid, Spartan forests north of the Alps. 
Germany was in turmoil through much of Otto’s childhood due to the rebellion of Henry the Quarrelsome whom Otto II had deposed as Duke of Bavaria.  At one point Henry had actually kidnapped the young Otto III and in his rebellion he tried to seize the imperial crown for himself.  It is never healthy for a kingdom or an empire to have a child on the throne.  Quarrelsome Henry's quarrels were not the only issue causing trouble in Germany.  Hungarians ravaged the eastern fringe of the empire, Vikings the north.  France, under Lothair IV used the chaos created by Henry the Quarrelsome to make itself independent of Imperial oversight.  On the other hand, Theopanu was able to arrange for Bohemia under Duke Boleslaus II to become part of the Empire. 

Otto, or rather his regent and mother, Theophanu, had better luck with their Roman policy.   You may remember that one of Otto II’s last acts was to name John XIV as pope, but with Otto’s death five months into that papacy, John was left vulnerable to the enemies of the Imperial party and the antipope Boniface VII had returned from exile and imprisoned John in the Castle Sant’ Angelo where he was murdered.  Boniface held the Chair of Peter for a year until he died.  (He is the one whose corpse was dragged naked through the streets and flung at the statue of Marcus Aurelius.)  John XV was elected to succeed him.  John was a client of Theophanu and the Imperial party and her presence (at times personal, at times through a strong envoy) kept him safe. 

As pope John was not remarkable in any way other than to say he was noted for his love of luxury and a tendency to enrich family and retainers with Church offices.  Those are not virtues in a pope, though they were common enough faults. There are two important events in his papacy however. 

The first event was that the new King of France, Hugh Capet, who had replaced the old Carolingian dynasty wanted to depose Arnulf, the Archbishop of Reims who was a relative of Hugh’s rival for the French Crown, Charles of Lorraine.  When John XV failed to act promptly at Hugh’s request, the French King convoked a synod and deposed Arnulf choosing the abbot Gerbert of Aurillac to succeed him.  We will hear more—much more—about Gerbert later.  Instead of being angry at the King, Arnulf turned on the pope saying of John XV:

Are any bold enough to maintain that the priests of the Lord all over the world are to take their law from monsters of guilt like these—men branded with ignominy, illiterate men, and ignorant alike of things human and divine? If, holy fathers, we are bound to weigh in the balance the lives, the morals, and the attainments of the humblest candidate for the priestly office, how much more ought we to look to the fitness of him who aspires to be the Lord and Master of all priests! Yet how would it fare with us, if it should happen that the man the most deficient in all these virtues, unworthy of the lowest place in the priesthood, should be chosen to fill the highest place of all? What would you say of such a one, when you see him sitting upon the throne glittering in purple and gold? Must he not be the "Antichrist, sitting in the temple of God and showing himself as God"?

This might be the first time that the Pope has been termed the Antichrist.  That is a theme that would be picked up by Luther at his Reformation, shared by other Protestant Reformers, and still a popular theme today among some of the more exotic millenarians on the right fringe of Christianity.  Hugh's evaluation of John might be more out of anger that John wasn't supporting him in his struggles for the French throne, but it does serve as a warning that people are not necessarily impressed by papal pomp. 

The other event that made John’s papacy noteworthy from a historical point of view is that on January 31 995, just a year before his death, John canonized Bishop Ulrich of Augsburg.  This is the first record of a papal canonization of a saint.  John died in March of 996 as he was preparing to crown the young Otto III as emperor.   Otto III named his 24 year old cousin, Bruno of Carinthia, as Gregory V.  At this point in history we see that the papacy is totally in the control and gift of the Emperor.  By amd large, the imperial popes were good popes, or at least not bad popes--certainly better than the ones the Romans tended to elect.  We will see Bruno's efforts at Reform and then his successor who is one of the better popes, and one of the most idiosyncratic, of the period.