Book Review of “The Refashioning of Catholicism, 1450-1700″

Jesuit professor Robert Bireley’s work “The Refashioning of Catholicism, 1450-1700: A Reassessment of the Counter Reformation” is without a doubt one of the best texts I’ve read about the subject of the Catholic Counter-Reformation. Despite its relatively small size when compared to Euan Cameron’s large volume on the Protestant Reformation in Europe, “The European Reformation,” it contains a great deal of information that enabled me to gain a better understanding of the Catholic “Counter-Reformation” as it is traditionally called (although Bireley makes a good case that such a term is in fact outdated). It explores the Counter-Reformation as both caused by and, in some ways, a cause of emerging historical changes in the 15th-18th centuries, such as the growth in state power, socioeconomic changes in European society (especially colonialism) and the changes in education and learning due to the Renaissance. Although the role of the Protestant Reformation cannot be dismissed, Bireley’s work was especially helpful since it helped me become aware of the fact that the Protestant Reformation was not the only factor that contributed to the Counter-Reformation (which is precisely what I had been taught in Catholic high school). Bireley’s work also explored some of the consequences of the Counter-Reformation, such as the emergence of various new religious orders and new forms of education.

Bireley begins by making his position regarding terminology clear to the reader. He prefers the term “Early Modern Catholicism” to the traditional terms of “Counter-Reformation” and “Catholic Reform” since, in his opinion, the latter two terms make are parts of a whole picture of changes in the Catholic Church, and such terms link said changes too closely with the Protestant Reformation (p. 8). His point is a valid one. One of the most salient points of the book is, in my own estimation, that the reality of Early Modern Catholicism was more than just a knee-jerk reaction to the Protestant Reformation. Indeed, such an assumption is far too simplistic. Bireley breaks down the causes of the changes in Catholicism into five general categories.

First, he discusses the role of the centralization of state authority in Europe, devoting Chapter 4 to an intensive study of the conflicts between Church and state. Although he is careful to note that there were always clashes between Church and state throughout European history in one form or another, it was during the time period of Early Modern Catholicism that the state was gradually winning more of these conflicts. It was increasingly beneficial for rulers to intervene in the religious affairs of their subjects, as it gave them increased power, a more unified religious population and of course financial benefits. One factor in particular that facilitated the growth of separate, powerful European states was the fact that the sense of unified “Christendom” felt during the Crusades had weakened significantly. The state was becoming more important in peoples’ lives.

Second, he discusses the various socioeconomic changes, especially the demographic resurgence in the late 15th century that spurred economic expansion, which in turn caused a wide gap between rich and poor, something which attracted the attention of both church and state alike. The economic expansion probably helped lead into the third factor that Bireley discusses, namely colonial expansion.

Colonial expansion into South America, Africa and other areas posed a new challenge for the Catholic Church, namely how it would bring its message to these potential Christians. Bireley devotes Chapter 7 to a detailed discussion of the various challenges that the Church faced in these regions, but he also brings up a conflict that resulted from the increasing power of the European states. The Church and the European powers tended to clash when it came to treatment of the natives, especially in Mexico and South America. This is where the roles of the new religious orders, such as Bireley’s own Jesuit order, became particularly important in spreading the faith.

The fourth factor was, simply put, the Renaissance, and especially its intellectual offspring known as humanism. For our class, this is a particularly salient factor. Renaissance humanism encouraged the study of the classics, and had a large base of support in both courts and towns, among both the clergy and the laity. Humanism eventually became identified with religious reform, even amongst the clergy, especially with Erasmus of Rotterdam (although his own “reformation” never really caught on, as we have discussed in class). The Renaissance also enabled humanist ideas to be spread more effectively thanks to the development of the printing press, and it set the stage for conflicts with the Church as the Scientific Revolution developed in the 16th and 17th centuries.

Of course, the fifth and final factor, the Protestant Reformation, cannot be ignored. While Bireley is careful to note that it is difficult to establish the state of the Church on the eve of the Reformation since local realities varied (Euan Cameron did a good job at discussing these various local realities), he points out something interesting that contributed to the desire for reform: “the desire for a more profound religious experience and practice on the part of a significant number of laity (p. 19).” This desire helped contribute to the development of new religious orders, discussed in Chapter 2. Catholics in general wanted a deeper experience with their faith, especially in light of the vast changes that were reshaping the world that they knew. The issue with most laity was not so much doctrinal. Indeed, the Council of Trent did not change any doctrines per se, but rather clarified and defended that which was attacked by the Protestants.

The results of Early Modern Catholicism included a radically reshaped religious map of Europe, new religious orders and a renewed emphasis on education from the Council of Trent, which recognized the importance of religious literacy in the face of Protestant challenges. Catholicism was no longer the only faith in Europe, and the Peace of Augsburg in 1555 essentially split Europe up into various Protestant and Catholic states. Whatever else it did, Early Modern Catholicism ensured one thing: Europe would never be the same again.

While the Protestant Reformation certainly contributed a great deal to the development of Early Modern Catholicism, this was only one of several factors that influenced the changes in the Catholic Church that became popularly known as the Counter-Reformation. Political, economic and social changes also contributed greatly to the upheaval that influenced not only the Council of Trent and subsequent developments in the European church, but also to the history of Catholicism in general.

Copyright © 2009 neverwalkaway.wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved.

St. Gregory of Tours vs. The Venerable Bede: Similarities and Differences

St. Gregory of Tours is perhaps best known for his work Historia Francorum, the History of the Franks, while the Venerable Bede is best known for his work Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, the Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Both men’s works provide us with a valuable glimpse of early Middle Age history in northwestern Europe. There are similarities and differences in both men’s works, which were influenced not only by their times and locations but also by their respective careers. Nevertheless, it is possible to make a value judgment as to which one was more reliable as a source.

In order to appropriately understand both men’s writings and their similarities and differences, it is important to pay attention to their historical contexts. Gregory of Tours (ca. 538-594 AD) was a Gallo-Roman (for those who are unfamiliar with this term, “Gallo-Roman” refers to the intermixture of Frankish and Roman cultures in what is now France in the aftermath of the fall of the Western Roman Empire) Catholic bishop of Tours. He was born and raised in Gaul, and as a bishop his writings, like other Christian writers of the time, reflected his own theological opinions. He made sure to begin the Historia Francorum with a detailed account of creation and the history of his faith up to his own time, and like other Catholic bishops, made his beliefs about the nature of Jesus Christ crystal clear to his readers. “I renounce with execration those who say: ‘There was a time when He was not,’ and I maintain that they are cut off from the Church.” (Gregory of Tours, The History of the Franks (Penguin Books, 1974), p. 67) This was surely a stab at Arianism, which the Visigoths to the south in Spain embraced. This actually raises an interesting question, one which I am not certain as to whether scholars have pursued. One has to wonder if it is possible that his anti-Arian perspective might have reflected not only a theological worldview (which was probably the dominant motivating factor), but was perhaps also tied into the fact that his own Frankish kings were not always on friendly terms with the Arian Visigoths, to say the least! Could he have condemned Arianism at least in part to curry personal or political favor with his Frankish rulers against their Visigothic Arian enemies? To what extent did the theological mix in with the political? Whatever the case may be, the anti-Arian viewpoint certainly went along with the general tenor of orthodox Catholic thought at the time. After his recounting of history since the dawn of creation, Gregory then provided a detailed history of the Frankish kings (some of whom he knew). Gregory did refer to multiple sources, and displayed a remarkably critical attitude toward them for a man of his time. He was sure to note when he was relying on hearsay, which could be a serious problem when considering his reliability, but he also saw plenty of the things that he described with his own eyes.

There may be something else to consider. Recent scholarship has suggested that Gregory’s overarching theme was to show how difficult and futile ordinary life in this world could be when compared to the miracle-working saints. See Goffart, Walter, The Narrators of Barbarian History (A.D. 550-800) (Princeton, 1988). See also Mitchell, Kathleen and Ian Wood (eds.), The World of Gregory of Tours (Leiden, 2002). This would not be surprising for a Catholic bishop of his time and place to suggest, but a relevant question that scholars should ask when confronted with such an assertion is whether or not that was actually Gregory’s chief motivation for writing, or if he even intended that to be evident in his work. Even if that was one aspect of why he wrote, there were probably other factors involved. Considering that Gregory knew some of the Merovingian kings (and was also vividly aware of their more unsavory endeavors), one has to wonder just how objective he really was in his portrayals of them. Could he have favored one branch of the Frankish nobility over another out of deference (or fear) to his royal acquaintances? Overall, Gregory is definitely more reliable than some other ancient sources, but we still have to consider his own sociopolitical context, his partial reliance on hearsay and his relationships with Frankish rulers.

The Venerable Bede is a somewhat different story. Bede (ca. 672-735 AD) was born to a presumably well-to-do family in northern England (right near Jarrow) and sent to a monastery to be educated when he was still a boy. He became a priest when he was about 30 years old and was a prolific writer. There are several things that should be considered when discussing Bede. The first is that he was certainly well-educated in the monastery, but beyond that he had access to a well-known library at the monastery in Jarrow where he (as well as others) could do research (see Cramp, R. J. (1999) “Monkwearmouth (or Wearmouth) and Jarrow”, in M. Lapidge et. al. (ed.) The Blackwell Encyclopedia of Anglo-Saxon England, Oxford, p. 325-326). His education was also, unlike Gregory of Tours, much more diversified. Bede was educated in science, history and theology, and was familiar with classical authors. He researched the works of various authors, including classical ones, in constructing his historical accounts, not only making use of his library but also by writing to numerous individuals for information. He actually refers to some of these individuals in his preface to the Historia Ecclesiastica Gentis Anglorum, which he dedicated to the king of Northumbria, Ceolwulf.

While Bede had more access to sources than Gregory, and was probably more educated, he does not seem to have been connected with multiple English kings, nor does he seem to portray the violence and depravity that Gregory described as occurring in Merovingian royal circles. This could have to do with the fact that Bede himself was not, to our knowledge, involved in any royal courts, but Anglo-Saxon England certainly had its share of royal violence (Bede, The Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Penguin Classics, 1990), p. 23). Bede’s own account of the Anglo-Saxon invasions also appears to have been colored by his own perceptions, since archaeological evidence suggests that the invasions were in fact a long process of resettlement. In a time when England was fragmented into multiple kingdoms and estates, Bede also showed a personal bias in favor of his native Northumbria. Scholars think that his goal was to show the unifying power of Christianity in England in the face of diverse peoples, which is perhaps one reason why he had strong feelings about the Easter date controversy that was finally solved at the Synod of Whitby (anything that could cause division would have thus been anathema to Bede).

What about the sources that Gregory and Bede both used for their works? While Gregory did use some hearsay, he did consult primary sources that are now, unfortunately, lost to us. He quoted a few Historiae that were written by other authors, as well as Eusebius (Constantine’s biographer). His attitude toward pagan sources is not all too surprising. “We ought not to relate their lying fables lest we fall under sentence of eternal death.” In one way Gregory redeems himself by inserting the actual texts from these sources into his own work, as well as to provide more than one source for some of his assertions. Gregory does deserve credit for being a good investigative reporter, and perhaps a scholar, since he was specific about his sources and did not simply accept something that was written down as absolute truth. Still, Gregory demonstrated that he could exaggerate when he felt that the occasion called for it. “Scarcely a day passed without someone being murdered (see Book X, 15).” This, combined with Gregory’s rather gruesome descriptions of some of the Merovingian rulers, could easily give one the impression that Merovingian France was a bloody mess, a perception that scholars have only relatively recently challenged. In any case, some degree of exaggeration is not surprising in ancient sources (as well as present-day ones), and Gregory is no exception.

Bede, like Gregory, consulted primary sources himself, having had access to a great deal more in his library than Gregory did. Initially, this caused me to conclude that Bede would naturally be more reliable since he was able to do more research than Gregory. However, an inconvenient confounding variable turned up. The “paucity” of his sources has been noted (Bede, The Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Penguin Classics, 1990), p. 23). Also, quality over quantity must be considered. Some of the sources that Bede used were far removed from the events that they described (remember that Bede lived over 300 years after the arrival of the Anglo-Saxons in England) (Bede, The Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Penguin Classics, 1990), p. 23). Despite this, Bede’s research assistant obtained papal records from Rome, and Bede was in communication with multiple individuals, some of whom were well-placed, who provided him with information (Bede, The Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Penguin Classics, 1990), p. 25). Also, Bede appears to have been more educated than Gregory and had access to materials that would enhance his education.

The role of miracles in both men’s works should be examined as well. Consider Earnest Brehaut’s analysis of miracles during the time of Gregory of Tours:

“To society in general the miracles were the important thing. In the first place they served the immediate purpose for which a miracle might be needed, healing the sick or driving out a demon or something of the sort; in the second place they encouraged society by evidencing the fact that things in general were right and that their spiritual leaders had the right ‘medicine.’ Incredulity is not to be expected in such a situation. The miracle played an integral part in the life-theory of the time. It was the proof of religion and it did not need to be proved itself. Furthermore many miracles were real; for example, the cessation of a pain or natural recovery from a sickness would be regarded as a miracle.”

One can see that miracles in the time of Gregory, and probably Bede, were not subject to as much skepticism as they might be today. The two men were about a century removed from one another and about 300 miles apart, but even so miracles were an expected part of religion (Bede, The Ecclesiastical History of the English People (Penguin Classics, 1990), p. 26). Gregory of Tours cites miracles, or at least things that appear to be supernatural in nature, such as a glowing cloud (see Book VIII, 17), as does Bede (consider the story of King Edwin’s conversion). Remember that events that could have medical or natural causes could easily be perceived as miracles in a time when modern medicine and science did not exist as such. I do not consider the fact that both men cited miracles in their works to be overly important, as this was something that is to be expected of men of their time, place and clerical status. Miracles were simply an example of their religious worldview reinforcing itself. This does not mean that one should simply discard the miracles, which could reflect true occurrences, but rather that they should be regarded as an inherent part of Gregory and Bede’s worldviews that should be taken with a grain of salt considering present-day scientific knowledge.

I consider both Gregory and Bede to have been, relatively speaking, reliable sources considering their personal contexts and circumstances. Both had their own biases, whether theological, political or regional in nature. Despite his error with the history of the Anglo-Saxon invasions, his references to miracles and his own regional sympathies, Bede’s educational background and resources still compel me to side with him as being the more reliable source. While one could perhaps argue that his relative lack of connections to his rulers makes his account more plausible, this in itself does not prove much. He could still have other biases, such as the regional one described earlier. I do not find his use of miracles to be particularly problematic, since that was typical of men of his time (including Gregory), especially in the church. This is not to say that Gregory’s account should be ignored or repudiated. On the contrary, both sources need to be further studied and compared to other contemporary sources, but on the whole I must consider Bede’s access to resources, however imperfect, that Gregory did not possess to be the deciding factor that makes me consider him more reliable.

Copyright © 2009 neverwalkaway.wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved.

Individual Agency in Historical Change

Throughout the graduate course that I’ve been taking as part of my Ph.D. program, I have read numerous scholarly articles and excerpts from books that deal with various aspects of history, as well as historical approaches. Scholars have examined the roles of various social structures such as gender, economics, colonialism, societal classes, marriage and family life, race, religion, etc. with regard to their impact on historical change. Individual agency deals with the ability of individuals to act either independently of or as a part of these structures. How does individual agency interact with these structures, and to what extent? Different scholars would come to different conclusions, with some placing more emphasis on one versus the other (and some, such as British sociologist Anthony Giddens, would say that both complement each other). Individual agency will be examined in the context of marriage and the papacy in the European Middle Ages, African women and British colonialists in early-20th century Nigeria and upstate New Yorkers and the law in the late-19th century.

Individual agency can appear to be constrained by societal norms such as marriage, but the reality can be quite different, as D. L. d’Avray shows in Medieval Marriage: Symbolism and Society. He shows in Chapter Two that, while the Christian ideal of a permanent, monogamous heterosexual marriage was laid down by St. Augustine of Hippo, this did not translate into reality for Europeans in the Middle Ages until the 13th century. Divorce was tolerated by the Catholic Church, and polygamy was accepted to a certain extent in Merovingian Gaul. Europeans more or less followed their own cultural mores in marriage. There is perhaps one passage that demonstrates better than any other the role of individual agency for Europeans with regard to marriage. “Many people will get around a social norm. On the other hand, to say that norms leave social behavior unaffected would be an extreme view. Another qualification: in many or most societies monogamy for life may have been general practice without being a norm (d’Avray, p. 75).” In this sense, d’Avray asserts that while the concept of a monogamous, lifelong marriage as a social structure existed (d’Avray, p. 81), it did little to impede early Middle Age European men from doing as they pleased. This was especially true of royalty and the nobility. Individual agency in determining marriage for Europeans began to be affected when the Catholic Church started to assert greater control over marriage toward the beginning of 13th century, especially with Pope Innocent III. Due to the new discipline of priestly celibacy, priests no longer needed to sympathize with the concerns of married men, and were more inclined to hold fast to the church’s official line. Thus individual agency for Europeans was at first constrained merely by cultural norms (i.e. Merovingian polygamy) and personal tastes, but later individual agency became influenced by church power in such a way that it became increasingly difficult for Europeans, even royal ones, to break their marriages.

What about individual agency for the papacy? This is a particularly salient question considering the fact that Pope Innocent III was described by d’Avray as being one example of a particularly powerful pope who reinforced the idea that marriage had to be indissoluble. He contextualizes Innocent’s individual agency by describing him as being influenced by 12th-century French thought on marriage during his days as a student in Paris (d’Avray, p. 100). He then notes that some examples of Innocent’s responses toward prominent Europeans seeking annulments appeared to strike a theological chord rather than a political one. In one example (Peter I of Aragon) Innocent refused to provide an annulment on what appeared to be ideological, not political, grounds, citing the sacramental nature of marriage as a reflection of the union between Christ and the Church (d’Avray, p. 101). Innocent’s motives appear to have been independent of political considerations, something significant to note when one contemplates the highly politicized nature of the papacy in early medieval Europe. His individual agency was driven by his own view of marriage (which, as noted earlier, was shaped by his education in Paris). Even though he needed one particular ruler, Philip II Augustus of France, as an ally, he still refused to give him an annulment, which at the time would have been a dire political risk (p. 102-103). Thus d’Avray shows that Middle Age European men could assert their own independence and take their own risks despite political and social structures (like the Church), even if they were influenced by those same social structures.

In “‘Aba Riots’ or Igbo ‘Women’s War’? Ideology, Stratification, and the Invisibility of Women” by Judith Van Allen, individual agency is placed in the context of women and their struggles against British rule in Nigeria. While the British characterized the Igbo Women’s War as merely riots by the “least disciplined” of African peoples (Van Allen, p. 61), Van Allen shows that Igbo women utilized existing social structures of Igbo society to take action against what they perceived as British oppression. However, the case of Igbo women offers a possible confounding variable for historical analysis of individual agency and social structures. There was “no distinction among what we call executive, legislative, and judicial activities, and no political authority to issue commands…neither was there any distinction between the religious and political (Van Allen, p. 66).” Thus traditional Western concepts of government and society seem to break down when dealing with the Igbo, which was essentially a collectivist society where any and all decisions that could affect anyone’s life were made in a village assembly. Women had access to this particular social structure (the assembly), and could thus use it to make their concerns visible. In addition, women’s individual agency was enhanced by their ability to effectively communicate with one another despite the lack of modern communications via a marketplace system, the “mikiri-ogbo” network. One woman in particular, Nwanyeruwa, bravely resisted an attempt by a local Warrant Chief to tax her animals and communicated the incident via messengers to other villages (Van Allen, p. 72). This ensured that women not only had a voice in their society, but that they could raise the alarm if they thought that they were being mistreated.

Women in Igbo society were known to act collectively to enforce discipline in village life, despite their lack of traditional political roles equal to those of men (Van Allen, p. 62). For example, women engaged in a ritual, known as “sitting on a man,” whereby they would surround a troublesome man’s house and refuse to leave until he repented of his misdeeds (which could include mistreating his wife, showing that Igbo women looked out for one another). Therefore, women as individuals had a pre-established method of protesting that the British simply dismissed as “excitability.” The Women’s War could thus be seen as “sitting on a man” writ large, or the application of a localized social ritual on a grand scale. Women’s individual agency was channeled into a collective, gender-oriented ritual that was expanded to serve a broader purpose, namely to protest against the British.

While colonial studies have, at least relatively recently, sought to understand colonial history from the perspective of the colonized, it is still a valid question as to how colonial British individual agency has been treated. Obviously, in the context of colonialism in Nigeria we are referring to a specific group of British colonial administrators. Not all British subjects supported colonization, but there was a social structure that helped shape British attitudes toward indigenous Africans, namely pseudo-scientific beliefs that essentially amounted to a type of racism. The British authorities acted under their own colonial ideological structures in their fight to suppress the Women’s War. Their individual agency, when it came to suppressing the revolt, was certainly not constrained by any lack of weapons or by a respect for women (some Igbo women mistakenly assumed that the British would not fire upon women (Van Allen, p. 61)). It was constrained by perceptions of the indigenous Africans as being prone to “excitability” (Van Allen, p. 61), along with the belief that the Africans were inferior in general. Because of this sense of cultural superiority, the British could not (at least initially) understand how a “public gathering” of Africans was actually an intrinsic aspect of Igbo society where all concerns were voiced. The cultural gap was too great. Here, individual agency was shaped by a British cultural belief system about the inferiority of Africans.

Chapter three of Crimes Against Nature: Squatters, Poachers, Thieves and the Hidden History of American Conservation by Karl Jacoby looks at individual agency in the context of the law in late-19th century upstate New York (specifically the Adirondacks). Jacoby shows us the often bitter clash between individual agency, as shaped by local customs and economic needs, and law. While the previous two works sampled showed the role of individual agency in terms of the social structures of marriage, religious authority, African women’s tribal customs and British cultural beliefs, we will shift toward a focus on individual agency in terms of local economic needs and ethical constructs, and how these economic needs were met in the face of legal opposition by the New York State government.

The native Adirondackers in the late 1800s frequently flouted laws prohibiting the cutting down of trees in state lands. Adirondackers “typically justified such behavior by claiming a natural right to subsistence (Jacoby, p. 52).” There were locals who depended upon the forests for firewood, construction materials, etc. and to deprive them of their means of existence was, in Jacoby’s words, a “callous denial…of local access to essential resources.” Here we see individual agency on the part of the Adirondackers as being shaped significantly by economic needs, although there were cases where some locals sold the wood into the market and used the money to buy other household items (Jacoby, p. 54). In addition, local customs and familiarity with the terrain ensured that Adirondackers would typically be able to get away with taking what they needed from state lands with little or no consequence. Locals would often refuse to testify against their neighbors, friends and families when charges were brought up by the state. When called to sit on juries, they would be more sympathetic to someone who was charged with cutting down trees on state land. The same thing happened to those Adirondackers who violated gaming laws, also for the purpose of subsistence.

However, with regard to the treatment of outsiders coming into the Adirondacks to hunt game, the individual agency of the locals was also influenced by local customs and beliefs, but this time it was pushed in the opposite direction. Downstate tourists that came up to hunt game in the Adirondacks in violation of gaming laws were seen by the Adirondackers as doing it just for sport, rather than subsistence. This, according to local sensibilities, was wrong and led to the locals actually teaming up with the state regulators to catch and prosecute those from downstate who illegally hunted game (Jacoby, p. 62-63). Of course, the locals did not team up with the state to prosecute their fellow lawbreakers, but it shows how depending on local economic needs (some of the locals survived off of game), individual agency could be shaped by such needs in such a way that could lead to simultaneous cooperation with the state with some laws and a rejection of its authority with others.

This was all a part of a broader Adirondack “ethical framework,” as Jacoby terms it, which emphasized the acceptability of doing what was necessary to ensure one’s survival and the survival of one’s family. Adirondackers saw themselves as having a “natural right” to subsistence and survival, so if lumber and gaming laws had to be broken, then so be it. This belief in a natural right to subsistence reflected an “attenuated but still vital republicanism” that emphasized “agricultural self-sufficiency” and individual freedom in the United States (Jacoby, p. 64). It was precisely this framework which shaped individual agency in the Adirondacks in the late 19th-century. Eventually, tourism, with its attendant illegal gaming, proved to be more profitable to the Adirondackers, especially as “the market cast an increasingly long shadow over the region (Jacoby, p. 65). This had the effect of dividing Adirondack communities amongst those with competing economic interests vs. those who still had to subsist off of the land. Local cooperation amongst Adirondackers and with the state became spottier. Perhaps the prospect of making money through tourism had a particularly potent way of shaping individual agency when compared to local beliefs and traditional ethical frameworks.

In each of the aforementioned scholarly works, individual agency was treated as being shaped by one or more social structures. This should not lead anyone to think that all individual agency is shaped solely by social structures and conditions. Individuals can act for any number of reasons (including acting at random), but in the examples surveyed in this paper, individual agency was always shaped in some way by social structures, whether culture, religion, education, tribal custom, colonialist racism, state law and/or economic conditions. Scholars will undoubtedly continue to debate the influence of social structures on individual agency well into the future.

Copyright © 2009 neverwalkaway.wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved.

Martin Luther’s Three Treatises: Overthrowing the System or Radically Transforming It?

Martin Luther’s impact on the history of Christianity cannot be underestimated. In his Three Treatises, specifically in “An Open Letter to the Christian Nobility of the German Nation Concerning the Reform of the Christian Estate (1520),” Luther mounted his attack on the Catholic Church, but it is interesting to note that he never actually says that the pope and priests should not exist. Instead, Luther expands the definition of the priesthood to include all baptized believers. Note the interesting parallel between this concept and the similar (with some key differences) concept of the common “priesthood of the faithful” emphasized during the Second Vatican Council in the Dogmatic Constitution on the Church, also known as Lumen Gentium. Perhaps Luther anticipated some of these changes. At any rate, his attacks did not serve so much to tear Rome down but rather to dilute its temporal authority while emphasizing the need for the church to become more spiritually simplified and return to its ancient roots. He did not suggest that Rome should have absolutely no power or say in anything whatsoever, only that it should be reduced to the level that it had once been, and even then used prudently in order to constitute a legitimate use of power.

Despite decrying the amount of power, both temporal and spiritual, that popes had (in his eyes), Luther did not appear to desire a complete overthrow of the popes, at least not in the Three Treatises. Part of the problem, as Luther saw it, was that Rome had gotten to the point where it stood for “temporal affairs” and no longer purely spiritual ones. He saw the church as being involved in temporal affairs largely for money (p. 49-50). He also saw a need for reducing the pomp of the papal office, especially with his suggestion that the pope should support his own household with his own money and should also reduce material extravagance (p. 52). “If they had less wealth and pomp, they could pray and study better, and so become worthy and able to deal with matters of faith, as was the case in olden times when they were bishops, and did not presume to be kings over all kings (p. 52).” This is important because it shows that Luther is not, at least in his own mind, calling for the Catholic Church to be abolished. Compared to other reformers, he seems to have been more conservative than that (this relative conservatism carried over into some aspects of Church teaching as well. Unlike future reformers, Luther believed in the Real Presence in the Eucharist). Instead, he is calling for the Church to go back to something that it was at one time, a community of equal believers. He suggests that temporal authorities, to the fullest extent possible, should not contribute anything to Rome, and demote bishops to the level of parish priests. However, he says that they should be demoted “so that the pope alone may be over them (p. 47).” This would significantly simplify the Catholic hierarchy. Also, “it should be the duty of the pope, as the man most learned in the Scriptures and most Holy, not in name only but in truth, to administer affairs which concern the faith and holy life of Christians…(p. 48).” On a more practical level, Luther realized that the papacy had powerful tools at its disposal that must be subdued or even eliminated. One such power was the interdict, which Luther claimed had been used to secure power over material goods (p. 72). He condemns the Church’s focus on holy days, feasts and the cult of the saints. For example, he did not understand where the pope’s authority to canonize saints came from. He preferred to leave such things to God (p. 78).

Luther also wanted the papacy to stop creating and confirming religious orders, but this is where it gets interesting. His goal in this particular recommendation was not solely to limit the power of the papacy, although that was a part of it. While he believed that the pope was encouraging the formation of Mendicant orders for the purposes of shoring up his own authority, Luther had a much deeper reason for opposing the religious orders. It was to avoid the orders causing “simple souls [to think] only of works (p. 63).” This was especially important for Luther’s personal theology, namely the justification of faith through Jesus Christ alone, and not merely works. Here the desire to limit papal power is intimately tied into Luther’s own theology. Luther’s theology emphasized a kind of “devolution” of power from the top down, culminating in a common priesthood. As far as Luther was concerned, if the pope could perform certain actions, why not any priest? “If the pope has the power to grand you dispensation to eat butter and to absent yourself from mass, then he ought also be able to leave this power to the priests, from whom, indeed, he has no right to take it (p. 84).” Indeed, popes should be honored to even be asked for their opinions (p. 90)!

Luther’s call to reform was not a call to end the Catholic Church or to topple the pope, at least not in the Three Treatises. Luther’s goals were both practical and theological, namely to bring the Church back to its simpler roots when its power was more spiritual and less temporal, a goal that could be accomplished by reducing the temporal power of the pope. On a theological level, there were no favorites in Luther’s eyes. All baptized Christians were part of a common priesthood of believers, a theme deeply tied to Luther’s idea of justification by faith. Luther challenged the Catholic Church and forever changed the history of Christianity.

Copyright © 2009 neverwalkaway.wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved.

Erasmus’ “Praise of Folly”: A Prelude to Protestantism?

“The Praise of Folly” by Desiderius Erasmus of Rotterdam, first published ca. 1512 AD, was a satirical work that purported to demonstrate the inherent goodness of folly and stupidity. However, Erasmus not only defended folly itself, but he applied the concept of folly to Catholic theologians and clergymen. In the later portion of the essay, he satirized various aspects of Catholicism, including its theologians, religious orders and even the cardinals and pope. His work can be interpreted as a foreshadowing of the Protestant Reformation, which in fact happened not long after Erasmus wrote “The Praise of Folly.”

The first half of the essay actually has little to do with Christianity. Erasmus, pretending to be the personification of “Folly,” discusses the virtues of folly and the pitfalls of wisdom, intelligence, philosophy, etc. He makes his case for the superiority of folly as a state of mind, but the second half of the essay strikes a somewhat different tone. Erasmus makes several jabs at the Catholic Church. He was in a position, having once been an Augustinian monk and priest, to see Church affairs differently than the average layman.

His first criticisms are aimed at theologians. “Perhaps I ought to pass over the theologians in silence and ‘just not go near that open sewer’…they are a class of men so arrogant and irritable that…they’re likely to force me into a recantation; then if I refuse it, they’d promptly have me up for a heretic…they cocker up their own self-esteem, as if raising themselves to a seventh heaven, and from that vantage point look down on the rest of the human race (p. 57).” Erasmus also mentioned several theological questions, such as what form God could assume, and dismissed such questions as “worthless quibbles (p. 58).” He questions whether or not the Apostles would have raised the same types of philosophical questions that theologians of his time raised (i.e. how Mary was supposedly kept sinless, etc.), and refers to their collective arrogance when he thinks of them as considering themselves to be “neighbors to the gods when they addressed…with the title ‘Magistri Nostri’- it is a phrase that they think conceals some lofty, secret illusion (p. 62).”
Erasmus delivered some particularly potent criticism in regard to the nature of religious orders, where he questions whether or not they really care at all about the Christian religion: “they are far less interested in resembling Christ than in differing among themselves (p. 63).” He claimed that the monks could be intimidating since they knew everyone’s private lives, and he discussed their propensity, especially the Mendicants, to abuse the confessional when intoxicated, claiming that they would violate the seal of confession (p. 64). He also insulted their sermons, claiming that they instead of discussing the Gospel, which “should be the main order of their business (p. 65),” that they would preach about comparatively trivial matters (such as the significance of the letters in Jesus’ name). They would make the sermons sound more significant and intelligent than they actually were. Indeed, the “men of cloth” owed much to folly (p. 66).

The most important criticism is reserved for the Catholic hierarchy of bishops, cardinals and the pope. Between the discussions of the religious priests and the Catholic hierarchy, Erasmus discusses the folly of the nobility. It was no accident that Erasmus prefaced a discussion of the church hierarchy with a talk on the folly of the nobility, since the hierarchy “early imitated” the “courtly manner of life” even to the point of having “surpassed their originals [the nobility] (p. 68).” He first accuses the bishops of failing in their duties to watch over their flocks, pointing out that they have forgotten the meaning of the word “bishop,” which is “overseer.” He does not forget to include the fact that the bishops do not fail to pay attention to their monetary collections. As Erasmus says, there was “no ‘careless oversight’ there (p. 69).” His criticism of the cardinals is perhaps more subtle. He asks why the cardinals, if they are in fact the successors of the Apostles, feel the need for fancy clothes or indeed for money at all? Erasmus reminds us that the Apostles were poor men. Finally, he gets to the pope, where he raises a very simple but interesting question. If the popes really imitated the life of Christ, with all of his suffering and poverty, then why would they even want the job? If they were truly imitating Christ, then they would probably be suffering and no enjoying the job at all. Why would they want to “purchase that position at the expense of all his belongings, or would defend it, once bought, with sword, poison and violence of every sort (p. 70)?” If the popes were not consumed with folly, then wisdom would naturally cause them to toil and groan with grief. Erasmus reinforces his criticism by highlighting the fact that the popes do not hesitate to use not only Scripture but also “interdicts, suspensions, warnings many times repeated, anathemas, fearful images, and [excommunications] (p. 71)” to impose their will. Even worse, according to Erasmus, they have no problem using war as a means to an end, even though, in Erasmus’ eyes, war is morally wrong (p. 72).

The Catholic Church is not the only object of criticism in “The Praise of Folly,” nor is the majority of the essay dedicated to criticizing it, but it is perhaps the most historically relevant considering the fact that the Protestant Reformation closely followed. Did the essay have any influence on future Protestants like Martin Luther? Or did the essay simply reflect how some members of society viewed the church at the time? Perhaps it was a combination of both. Luther certainly knew of Erasmus (and vice-versa), and the Church considered “The Praise of Folly” worthy of being placed on the list of forbidden books, but it was too late: “The Praise of Folly” had made its point.

Copyright © 2009 neverwalkaway.wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved.

Lorenzo Valla and Free Will

Lorenzo Valla’s work on Free Will “attacked the Aristotelian and scholastic reconciliation of free will and divine providence and asserted the irrationality of any attempt to understand the paradox that God by hardening or showing mercy allowed free will to men (Trinkaus, p. 151).” Despite the assertion that trying to understand human free will is futile, he still tried to present some challenges to Garsia’s objections regarding the nature of human will. Valla was able to show, using multiple examples of philosophical paradoxes, that trying to understand the nature of God and His relationship to human will is ultimately irrational and leads one in logical circles. His questions bore remarkable similarity to those that were posed by Martin Luther and John Calvin regarding the will of God, human freedom and predestination.

Valla was careful not to let Garsia feel too guilty over his failure to reconcile God’s will and human freedom. He told Garsia that the issue of God’s will versus human will was “very difficult, and I scarcely know whether it has been understood by anyone. But that is no reason for you to feel disturbed or confused, even if you never understand it. For what just complaint is there if you do not measure up to that which you see none has come up to (Trinkaus, p. 158)?” Valla knew going into the conversation that the topic would be one that no one could rationally understand.
The first area where Valla seems to understand the problem is when he discusses the difference between necessary acts and voluntary acts. He stated that he could not see why human actions should be a result of God knowing about them in advance. He then states that “if foreknowing something will be makes it come about, surely knowing something is just as easily makes the same thing be (Trinkaus, p. 163).” However, why does knowing that something is have to make that same thing be? Could knowledge be a purely subjective concept, whereby one person’s definition of whether something is may differ from another person’s? Who is to say which one is correct? This is of course be easily interpreted as a slippery slope into relativism, which has problems of its own. Nevertheless, I think Valla touched upon something important, and that is the inability to reconcile causality with the divine will. He asked the important question as to whether someone knows a fact because it is, or whether something is because someone knows it is? Ultimately, this is a paradox that Valla arrived at, and one that has no apparent logical answer.

There is another paradox that Valla touched upon. He reasoned that “God is unable to escape foreseeing what is to be (Trinkaus, p. 164).” This would appear to put a limit on what God could or could not do. However, does this not contradict Catholic teaching regarding the omnipotence of God? One would think that to say that God is “unable” to do something is to reject the concept of an all-powerful deity. Unfortunately, a paradox would still remain even if Valla were to assert that God was in fact omnipotent. It would still exist because of the classic philosophical question as to whether a truly omnipotent deity could create something that it could not destroy. Regardless of whether one answers in the affirmative or negative, the omnipotence of God would be challenged. Perhaps Valla would point out that the aforementioned paradox is another example of the irrationality of understanding God and the divine will vs. human will. Whatever the case may be, one cannot help but to find Valla’s assertion to be strange, considering that he believed himself to be an orthodox Catholic and was the target of accusations of heresy. While Valla does throw the omnipotence of God’s will into question, he seemed to try to backtrack a bit by claiming that it would be sinful to believe7 that God lacks foreknowledge (which would be a logical result of God’s omnipotence; if God can do anything than God can also see into the future).

Valla and Garsia’s exchange highlighted Valla’s attack on the reconciliation of free will that was associated with Aristotelianism and scholasticism. Valla apparently did not believe that such reconciliation was possible, at least as far as the human mind could conceive. In this sense Valla was also closer to what we might today call positivism, which is concerned with the problems associated with human freedom. More importantly, Valla’s discussion of human free will and God’s will helped set the stage for similar questions on the nature of God’s will and human freedom by Martin Luther and John Calvin (Trinkaus, p. 154).

Copyright © 2009 neverwalkaway.wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved.

Benedict’s Rule vs. Benedict’s Life: Will the Real Benedict Please Stand Up?

There are two primary sources of significance for St. Benedict of Nursia, namely the Rule of Benedict (please bear in mind that I am using Paul Halsall’s online version of the Rule of Benedict, which appears to be missing many parts) and the Life of Benedict. Both of these sources supposedly provide us with a glimpse into the life of Benedict. It is difficult to determine if both are referring to Benedict, since both are of different genres and serve different purposes. It is possible that one source is referring to Benedict while the other is not, or that neither source is providing the full picture. This possibility must be seriously considered in the Life of Benedict when one considers the author, Pope Gregory I. These difficulties throw into question the validity of the account of Benedict’s life.

It is first necessary to briefly compare and contrast the sources. The most important overarching theme of a Benedictine monk, as well as Benedict’s own apparent emphasis, is in the virtue of obedience. That is clearly spelled out as the most important thing in the Life of Benedict, in which those who obey Benedict (whether monks or laypersons) are rewarded while those that do not are punished. Consider the following account, which demonstrates the rewards of obedience to Benedict. A child from the monastery had fallen into a lake, and “[Benedict] realized at once what had happened and quickly called Maurus, saying ‘Run, Brother Maurus. That boy…has fallen into the lake…” Maurus obeyed Benedict, and as a result “Maurus, at the abbot’s command, ran swiftly…although he thought he was running on land he was actually moving over the surface of the water. He grabbed the boy…and ran back…Maurus told [Benedict] what had happened. Benedict…tried to attribute this not to his own merits but to Maurus’ obedience.” (Early Christian Lives, Life of Benedict, p. 175.) Thus because of Maurus’ obedience to Benedict, a miracle occurred and a life was saved. There are, however, problems related to the authorship of the Life of Benedict that continues to cause scholarly debate regarding who truly wrote the Life of Benedict and how accurate it really is. These issues will be discussed later.

In the Rule of Benedict, obedience is again stressed, albeit with perhaps less intensity. “The first grade of humility is obedience without delay. This becomes those who, on account of the holy service which they have professed, or on account of the fear of hell or the glory of eternal life, consider nothing dearer to them than Christ: so that, so soon as anything is commanded by their superior, they may not know how to suffer delay in doing it, even as if it were a divine command. Concerning whom the Lord said: ‘As soon as he heard of me he obeyed me.’” This is the only area of the Rule of Benedict that discusses obedience directly. In this way the sources do agree that obedience was very important to Benedict, so it is not unreasonable to consider that both are referring to the same person.

The chief difference between the Rule of Benedict and the Life of Benedict is that the latter places a much greater emphasis on the supernatural, specifically with details of the miracles that occurred due to Benedict’s intercession (and often as a result of someone obeying him). Benedict demonstrated supernatural abilities, such as the capacity to uncover conspiracies: “Having decided upon a plan, they [a group of monks that Benedict first ruled over] put poison into his wine…Benedict made the sign of the cross…the goblet broke as soon as this sign was made…and [he] understood at once that it had contained a deadly drink because it could not bear the sign of life.” (Early Christian Lives, Life of Benedict, p. 170) Despite these differences, one need not contradict the other in terms of describing the person of Benedict. The differences are primarily due to the genre of the sources themselves. The Rule of Benedict is a guidebook, not meant to describe Benedict’s life but rather what his followers should be doing (C. H. Lawrence’s book Medieval Monasticism: Forms of Religious Life in Western Europe in the Middle Ages points out that the Benedictines were, like all orders, capable of corruption and laxity. Ironically, the more the monks tried to escape from the world, the more they found themselves tied into it). The Life of Benedict, on the other hand, is a spiritual biography of Benedict by Pope Gregory I. The fact that he has been attributed to the Life of Benedict should give a historian reason to question whether the Life of Benedict was in fact written by Gregory, and if so, for what purpose.

Some scholars question the authenticity of the Life of Benedict, claiming that there is a possibility that Gregory did not in fact write it (Clarke, Francis. Translated by Odo John Zimmerman and Benedict Avery. The Pseudo-Gregorian Dialogues. (Greenwood Press, 1980), p. iv). R. A. Markus points out that Gregory “was more guarded about miracles than much of the fashionable literature of the age.” (Markus, R. A. Gregory the Great and His World. (Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 65) For Gregory, miracles did not necessarily represent something good. They could easily represent something evil (Markus, p. 65). Given the strong emphasis in the Life of Benedict on miraculous occurrences, it is definitely a valid question as to whether or not Gregory wrote it. Nevertheless, Markus accepts Gregory’s authorship, reminding us that Gregory “thought of himself as a monk.” (Markus, p. 69) It would thus be consistent for someone like Gregory to write about a fellow monk and to hold him up as an example of what a good monk should be like. The desire to promote monasticism could have driven him to “embellish” his account of Benedict’s life with miracles that he might not have ordinarily used as examples in his writings or his dealings with other monks. Another potential problem to consider is that Gregory supposedly wrote the Life of Benedict in 593 or 594 AD (Early Christian Lives, p. 163), but Benedict was said to have died ca. 547 AD. This brings up the inherent problem of relying on any source written long after the person or event in question, in this case a source written over 40 years after Benedict died. Even if Gregory did write the Life of Benedict, he was at such a remove from Benedict that one has to seriously question the accuracy of the account.

The Life of Benedict and the Rule of Benedict need not contradict one another, since both were of different genres and served different purposes. Both emphasized obedience and discussed the virtues of monasticism. The Life of Benedict places more emphasis on the supernatural, something which causes some scholars to question whether or not Pope Gregory I wrote it, or if he did, how accurate his portrayal of Benedict was. There is evidence for and against both arguments. One can only hope that scholars will be able to eventually come to a greater consensus on the accuracy of both accounts of Benedict.

Copyright © 2009 neverwalkaway.wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved.

St. Augustine of Hippo vs. St. Anthony the Great

St. Anthony the Great and St. Augustine of Hippo were both post-persecution Christian figures who made an indelible impact on the Christian religion. They were both revered men who attracted other people, and both had similar religious experiences and roles in early Christianity. Yet there were notable differences both in style and in substance between the two men. On a geographical level, Antony and Augustine were close, having been born in what is now Egypt and Algeria respectively. They were also relatively close in time: Augustine was born toward the end of Antony’s own life. Both were important figures in the development of Christianity, but Antony’s role was more in the development of monasticism, whereas Augustine played a role in the development of Christian dogma and doctrine. Their exact contributions are of particular interest.

Antony and Augustine had different life experiences while growing up, experiences which undoubtedly shaped their religious perspectives and assertions. Antony grew up with relatively well-off parents, both of whom died when he was 18, leaving him and his younger sister alone. When he was in his early 30s, he finally decided to renounce the world and embrace a very strict form of Christian monasticism. He continued to embrace this form of life, with few interruptions, until his death in ca. 356 AD. He was never a pagan or an adherent of any kind of heresy. Augustine, on the other hand, had a rather different experience. While he grew up in a reasonably well-off home as well (though his parents did run out of money to pay for his education at one point), his father was actually a pagan (although he later converted) and his mother a devout Christian. He did not immediately embrace his mother’s religion. Although due to be baptized as a sick child, this was deferred after he recovered. He instead embraced Manichaeism for a while, eventually becoming a teacher and travelling to Rome and Milan, where he met the Christian bishop St. Ambrose. Under Ambrose’s influence, he embraced Christianity in his 30s and became a bishop at Hippo later on. Thus Augustine’s journey to Christianity took a more circuitous route than Antony’s, although both encountered their major turning points in their 30s.

Antony’s and Augustine’s approach toward evil show how different the men really were. Antony apparently conceived of evil in more concrete terms. There are multiple references in the Life of Antony to his fighting demonic powers and being assaulted by them on an almost regular basis. He vividly describes traps set for him by the demons, and talks of how they spoke to him directly and caused him physical anguish. Augustine, however, was not quite as certain when it came to the fundamental nature of evil. He tried to take a more philosophical approach to the whole issue of the origin of evil, a “neoplatonic” approach. He asked the “tough questions” such as why an infinitely good God would not fight evil, or why humans were even given free will in the first place if God knew that they could choose evil. Augustine would probably feel right at home in Philosophy-101! While he admitted that he had trouble finding conclusive answers, he concluded that evil was really the absence of good, something that Antony would have probably rejected considering his beliefs about demons. Evil, from Antony’s perspective, assumed a tangible form. For Augustine, it was also a reality, but a more impersonal one. He certainly did not deny the existence of the sins that he himself perpetrated, but sought to explain the ultimate origins of those sins in more abstract terms. While Catholicism retained its beliefs in demons, Augustine’s relatively philosophical approach to the problem of evil helped shape Catholic doctrine regarding the nature of humanity and the concepts of sin and redemption.

Antony and Augustine shared something very important in common, something that was crucial in the development of Christianity, and that was their struggle against heresies. Antony primarily had to deal with Arianism, although he was undoubtedly familiar with Augustine’s former Manichean friends. Antony did little in terms of creating cogent intellectual arguments to combat Arianism, but rather devoted his energy to ensuring that none of the “true Christians” associated with the Arians or any other heretics. He did his best to keep them as far away as possible. While Augustine wrote against Donatism, Arianism and his former religion of Manichaeism, he devoted a good deal of time to Pelagianism. Pelagianism was the idea that humanity was not infected with Adam’s original sin and that people could choose good or evil without God’s help. Augustine defended and then expanded upon the concept of original sin in his work Against Two Letters of the Pelagians (Contra Duas Epistulas Pelagianorum). While he believed that humanity was predisposed to sin due to original sin, he still encouraged people to do what they could to avoid it. His ideas were later confirmed at several church councils (notably including the First Council of Ephesus and the Council of Trent).

Antony and Augustine also contributed to monasticism, although Antony’s role was undoubtedly more pronounced, at least in the eyes of early Christians. Augustine’s own life, especially prior to his conversion to Christianity, was not exactly what one might call ascetic. This did not stop Augustine from developing an interest in monasticism, something he discussed in his work On the Catholic Way of Life. He created a monastic Rule specifically for the community that his sister was a member of, but his Rule did not gain widespread popularity until the late 11th-century (White, Carolinne. Early Christian Lives. Penguin Books (1998), p. xxxviii). Antony, on the other hand, made a much more direct contribution to monasticism. While Antony was not the first ascetic Christian, one aspect of his life that set him apart from some other ascetics like St. Paul of Thebes or St. Hilarion was the fact that his motivations for embracing an ascetic lifestyle were based (as far as we know) upon his desire to live the Gospel message in a radical way. Paul of Thebes and Hilarion had other reasons for withdrawing from society (specifically to escape persecution and to avoid marriage, respectively) (White, p. xv.). This may have made him particularly appealing to other Christians, since religious practices which demand a lot of sacrifice tend to attract people. It was also noteworthy that Antony practiced a very strict form of monasticism, supposedly cutting himself off from society and human contact for years at a time. This must have attracted curiosity, at the very least. However, it was not merely Antony’s own life story, as popular as it was, that made a mark on monasticism. It was also the perception of Antony as the key figure in Christian monasticism that helped him gain his reputation as the father of monasticism. Consider Martin Luther’s praise for Antony as the founder of monasticism and a lifestyle that truly reflected the Gospel (White, p. xi). Antony himself seemed to attract more followers and attention than he had originally wanted, and when he died, his followers continued to emulate his example. The biography created by Athanasius helped circulate Antony’s story and contribute to his popularity. Antony’s personal example and the efforts of his followers, as well as Athanasius, helped him earn the reputation as the father of monasticism.

Antony and Augustine both had a unique influence on Christianity as a whole. While Antony is still known as a father of monasticism, the concept of monasticism was not new during his time. Antony’s strict observance was probably harsher than his monastic predecessors and one of the things that set him apart. Antony, for all of his personal holiness, did not contribute as much to the development of Christian doctrine on an intellectual or philosophical level. His primary defense against heresies was to vigorously shun them. Augustine, on the other hand, operated on a more intellectual level. He was perfectly capable of creating rational responses to the Pelagian heresy, as well as others. Both Antony’s and Augustine’s lives were given to rendering service to the Church by attempting to live according to its message (as they understood it), defending it from heresy and by helping to further define what post-persecution Christians were to believe, which was probably their most enduring collective legacy.

Copyright © 2009 neverwalkaway.wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved.

St. Anthony the Great vs. Pagans and Arians

It is probably fair to say that the early Christians had their work cut out for them. Not only did the early Church have to compete with the pre-existing pagan deities and mystery cults, but it also had to deal with political persecution as well as its own internal divisions. One of the most prominent examples of the latter was the Arian heresy. While this heresy was formally repudiated at the First Council of Nicaea, it caused bitter divisions between early Christians. St. Antony the Great (his name can be spelled either Anthony or Antony), an early Christian monk who is widely known as the father of Christian monasticism, certainly had strong feelings on the issue. The interesting thing to note in the primary source provided, the Life of Antony, was that the bulk of Antony’s ill-will seemed to be directed more at the Arians rather than at the pagans. One might think that Antony would think worse of the pagans since they did not share his faith in Christ, whereas at least the Arians believed in Jesus, even if imperfectly (in Antony’s eyes), but the opposite was clearly the case. It is important, however, to note that the primary source used to describe Antony’s life, was written by St. Athanasius of Alexandria, an Egyptian bishop noted for his opposition to Arianism. Thus the possibility of bias must be considered when examining Antony’s attitudes toward paganism and Arianism (for more on the subject of Athanasius’s general reliability, see T. Barnes, Athanasius and Constantius (2001)).

It is perhaps best to begin by examining Antony’s attitude toward pagans. In section 37, he refers to the Greek deities as being demonic entities. “Thus they [demons] deceived the Greeks, and thus by them they were considered gods, falsely so called.” If Antony believed that the Greeks were worshipping demons, then it is logical to deduce that he looked down upon pagan religions. But, in sections 73-80, Antony engaged a group of philosophers who tried to talk about philosophy with him. In fact, Antony seems to have been actually somewhat respectful to them, at least more so than toward the Arians.

While Antony at least spoke with the pagan philosophers, such courtesies would not appear when he dealt with heresy, especially Arianism. Antony seemed to reserve most of his venom for these schismatic movements, comparing the Arians to wild “beasts” and stating that not only was their belief system that of demons, but of Satan himself (section 82). He also warned his followers to have nothing to do with Arians (section 89), claiming that their “impiety” is clear, and he also expanded that admonition to encompass all schismatics, stating “for you know how I shunned them on account of their hostility to Christ, and the strange doctrines of their heresy (section 91).” Yet for all of Antony’s exhortations about avoiding contact with heretics, consider the following passage:

“And he was altogether wonderful in faith and religious, for he never held communion with the Meletian schismatics, knowing their wickedness and apostasy from the beginning; nor had he friendly dealings with the Manicheans or any other heretics; or, if he had, only as far as advice that they should change to piety. For he thought and asserted that intercourse with these was harmful and destructive to the soul. In the same manner also he loathed the heresy of the Arians, and exhorted all neither to approach them nor to bold their erroneous belief. And once when certain Arian madmen came to him, when he had questioned them and learned their impiety, he drove them from the mountain, saying that their words were worse than the poison of serpents.”

Note the fact that Antony never actually explained why the Arians or the Manicheans were wrong. He only told his followers that they were wrong. At least he talked to the pagans and told them why he thought they were wrong, but never even bothered to debate the Arians or any other schismatic Christians. He even drove the Arian “madmen” off of the mountain where he was. He did not drive the pagan philosophers away. Perhaps part of the reason that Antony did not want to attempt to refute the Arians was that if he had tried to do so, then it could have been construed as giving legitimacy to their “error.” If he tried to engage the pagans though, then it could have been seen as a charitable attempt to convert those who had the capability of someday knowing Christ without also knowing Christian “error.”

Now that it has been established that Antony attached a strong moral opprobrium to the Christian heretics, one that was not nearly as severe with regard to the pagans, the question that one may rightfully ask is “why?” One hint may be found in this passage from section 75. He suggested that the Greeks read the Christian Scriptures. “To me you seem to do yourselves much injustice and not to have carefully read our Scriptures. But read and see that the deeds of Christ prove Him to be God come upon earth for the salvation of men.” One way to interpret this is that Antony, while still maintaining the supremacy of Christianity, recognized that the pagans were not fully culpable for their lack of belief in Christ. Another possibility is that Antony had to walk a fine line since many Christians had pagan ancestors, even if those ancestors were “in error.” (Dr. Patrick Nold, email communication, 9/28/2009) But what explains the particularly strong feelings against the Arians and other heretics? One should not consider his strong feelings to be atypical for a man of his time. Consider the art from the time period depicting Arius as being eaten by his own words , or being trampled upon by the bishops at the First Council of Nicaea. While it may be logical to speculate that he may have been angry at them because they, unlike many pagans, had been exposed to the Scriptures yet did not abide by them (in Antony’s eyes at least), there is something else that might explain Antony’s loathing of the Arians.

“And once also the Arians having lyingly asserted that Antony’s opinions were the same as theirs, he was displeased and wroth against them. Then being summoned by the bishops and all the brethren, he descended from the mountain, and having entered Alexandria [19a], he denounced the Arians, saying that their heresy was the last of all and a forerunner of Antichrist (section 69).”

Antony may have been especially angered that the Arians had dared to claim that he thought the same way as he did. He may have deeply resented the implication that he was associated with the Arians in any way, and this incident could have served to harden Antony’s attitudes toward to the Arians and other schismatics. At least the pagans did not have the audacity to claim that Antony was one of them!

While Antony’s attitude toward Arians and pagans has been duly noted, what about the primary source itself? This source material about Antony’s life comes from Athanasius of Alexandria, a Christian bishop noted for his opposition to Arianism. Did Athanasius project his own biases into his account of Antony’s life? If he did, then to what extent did he do so? To what extent was Athanasius trying to use the life of Antony to pursue his own agenda? Since his work is probably the best source we have on Antony, it is difficult to tell for sure since we have little else to compare it too. There are other sources for Antony’s life, but these are of very limited use. Nevertheless, the author’s own biases must be considered when assessing Antony’s supposed opinions of Arianism and paganism.

Antony made clear his disapproval of pagan religions, but he did not show nearly the same level of disdain for pagans as he did for members of schismatic Christian groups such as Arians. The reasons for this are difficult to ascertain, but may well have been personal (i.e. the Arians dared to suggest he was one of them) and/or pragmatic (the pagans were unintentionally ignorant of the Gospel) in nature. When considering Antony’s opinions as provided to us by Athanasius, it is important to remember Athanasius’ own biases against Arians and schismatic Christians, which may have influenced his work. Perhaps more primary sources will eventually be discovered that will shed more light on Antony and on early Christians in general.

Copyright © 2009 neverwalkaway.wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved.

Utopia: Marx’s Dream Come True?

Sir Thomas More’s classic work Utopia (I used the translation done by Robert M. Adams) has, at times, been thought to contain elements of communism. One might argue that what More calls Utopia is in fact, to a certain extent, a communist society in the truest sense of the term. While there is evidence within the book for such an assertion, there are also aspects of Utopia that make it implausible for it to be considered a communist society.

First, let us consider the evidence that might lead one to conclude that Utopia is a communist paradise. More had no problem openly admitting that he believed that “unless private property is entirely done away with, there can be no fair or just distribution of goods, nor can mankind be happily governed (Adams, p. 31).” In the same vein, he suggested that laws could be created to limit the accumulation of property. Of course, More was careful to temper his assertion by admitting that private property “cannot be entirely removed (Adams, p. 31).”

The governing structure of Utopia is also vaguely socialistic in nature, and in fact Adams refers to the former USSR’s “managerial class” (Adams, p. 43) as being roughly analogous to Utopia’s system. In Utopia, local groups of houses elected a group of governing officials, who in turn elected a prince. This is remarkably similar to the Soviet system of workers councils (although in the case of Utopia it was groups of households) that elected communist party members (in theory, if not always in practice), who then elected a premier.

Another interesting feature of Utopia is that the citizens practice more than one trade. They are not necessarily bound to pursue the occupations of their parents. Although the state has some control over a person’s trade, a Utopian has the ability to stop one trade and pursue another, provided that the government does not need his services in his original trade (Adams, p. 40). Karl Marx discussed the concept of alienation from labor in capitalist societies (especially in his 1844 Manuscripts) by which he meant that workers would lose control over their own lives if they could not have any control over their jobs or what they produced. However, in Utopia, this alienation does not exist, or at least not on the same scale as Marx envisioned capitalism as causing. Utopians have some degree of control over their own work, in that they can, if the government has no particular need, leave their occupations and learn new ones freely. Consider the following quote: “But no one has to exhaust himself with endless toil from early morning to late at night, as if he were a beast of burden. Such wretchedness, really worse than slavery, is the common lot of workmen in all countries, except Utopia (Adams, p. 40-41).” Marx would probably have characterized such “endless toil” and “slavery” as being part of a capitalist system, but Utopians are free from such burdens. In this sense, they are closer to Marx’s vision of a communist society where such alienation does not exist.

Perhaps the one characteristic of Utopia which could lead one to describe it as a communist society is the fact that the citizens not only work in accordance with their particular talents, but they all get everything that they need. The Marxist principle “from each according to ability to each according to his need” is particularly relevant here. In Utopian marketplaces, there is always an abundance of goods. There is no need to steal or be greedy because each Utopian will always have enough (Adams, p. 45-46). Everyone has what they need, and everyone can work (for the most part) in the trade that they can do their best in.

Despite the features of Utopia that are indeed communist to some extent, the society cannot be fully communist due to the definition of communism. Marx did not provide too many details about exactly what a communist society would actually look like, but he predicted that communism, in its final form, would be a classless society where the government would “wither away.” The political apparatus of the state would, in effect, no longer need to exist. Utopia, however, had a functioning government, and there were in fact classes. The classes may not have been completely economic in nature (i.e. the Utopian priesthood, which is probably something that Marx would not himself have envisioned in a communist society, considering his assertion about religion being the “opium of the masses”), but if there is a prince in Utopia, even if an elected one, then there is still a hierarchy and thus not all Utopians can be said to be truly equal. Perhaps communism, like Utopia itself, is something that can be conceived of like the horizon. One can move toward it, but never actually reach it.

Utopia shares some of the hallmark features of a communist society as envisioned by Karl Marx. Property is owned in common (although More admits that, in practice, this would be impossible to completely enforce), the government shares some characteristics in common with the former Soviet Union, alienation from labor is markedly reduced if not eliminated and “from each according to his ability to each according to his need” is the law of the land. However, the presence of a governing authority and ruling classes makes it impossible for Utopia, like any present-day society that claims to be communist, to be completely communist in the sense that Karl Marx envisioned it, since communism is a classless society with no need for a government. Ultimately, true communism is like Utopia: it does not really exist and never has existed.

Copyright © 2009 neverwalkaway.wordpress.com. All Rights Reserved.