Religions Reviewed

The Wycliffite movement of the 14th century lacked the secrecy of later Lollardy. Anne Hudson concludes in her landmark study The Premature Reformation that the early Wycliffites at Oxford, Leicester and Northampton could profess their loyalties openly.  Nicholas Watson has likewise emphasized that in the absence of official suppression during the period 1370-1410, vernacular theology enjoyed a high profile in keeping with its contested status.  Wycliffe himself had contributed to this contestation by publishing some of his theological writings in the vernacular, possibly in broadside form.  Even with the official condemnation of some of Wycliffe’s doctrines in 1382, there was still an arena in which to raise the questions that those doctrines had addressed, and those who considered themselves his followers must have, in principle at least, retained the ideal of publicity in order to incite reform. Wycliffites openly issued a set of “twelve conclusions” in 1395, setting forth their points of doctrinal dispute with the institutional Church.  In the antagonism outlined by Watson, the Wycliffites were on the “evangelical” side, seeking to make scripture openly available rather than “clasped vp, ne closid in no cloister.”  Meanwhile, their conservative opposition argued that technical and social obstacles should prevent vernacular translation of scripture, which was best kept in the restricted custody of priests. 

After the issuance of Arundel’s constitutions of 1407, Lollards throughout England were placed in a position of having to defend themselves against persecution, because heresy charges could be brought for possession of the books or espousal of the views of Wycliffe and for any novel theological discourse in the vernacular that did not have prior authorization from the Church authorities.  The 1401 anti-heretical statute De heretico comburendo provided for the execution of convicted heretics, and so the threat was a mortal one. The simplest method of self-preservation was “priviness” and discretion. Passwords and secret modes of address were in use among the Lollards, at least according to their foes such as Reginald Pecock.  Archbishop Chichesley in 1416 issued a proclamation against those “frequenting…privy conventicles,” among other signals of heresy.  Accusations of secretiveness were used to indicate the culpability of the Lollards, and to paint them as subversive.  At the same time, the evidence of trial testimonies, recantations and relapses strongly suggests that Lollards did often conform to religious conventions in which they disbelieved, in order to avoid detection as heretics.

In her description of the antagonism between 15th-century Lollards and the English ecclesiastical establishment, Rebecca Krug emphasizes the issue of “priviness,” or secrecy. She observes:
“Clerical writers [who opposed lay study of the Bible] … described the scriptures as “secreta” and “arcane” but demanded that lay believers attend services regularly and openly; the Lollards insisted that access to the scriptures should be unrestricted and claimed the right to study them in private.”
This evocative summary has a rhetorical elegance and balance that masks some important asymmetries between Lollardy and the established Church. At the same time, there really is a sense in which the two stand in mirrored reversal of each other with respect to secrecy and privity.
 
The institutional Church was an unavoidable public presence in contrast with Lollardy; yet it was the Church that championed various forms of “priviness” as divinely ordained. A closer look at issues of privity among Wycliffites and Lollards shows that the “right to study…in private” to which they necessarily cleaved was more a defensive posture than an active ideal for them. Early Wycliffites were often very public, and their publicity—rather than any concealment—was what led to official repression. Later Wycliffite heretics still championed accessibility and openness with respect to the rights of individuals to study scripture and consider theology, even though their beleaguered circumstances often forced them to conceal their loyalties and activities.  The Church establishment could not avoid taking a public posture, while at the same time it increasingly advanced the propriety of secrets with respect to scripture, confession, and other sacraments.  These mutually-reversed conflicts of mode and message were the principle symmetries that governed the 15th century relations between orthodox and heterodox Christianity in England.

The interaction between the establishment church and Lollard or Wycliffite dissenters in late medieval
England was characterized by the interplay of issues surrounding secrecy and proprietary status regarding scriptures, confession, and other sacraments. The 14^th and 15^th centuries when this conflict developed were also a time in which the social organization of artisan and craft guilds was a matter for public notice, and many Lollards were themselves craftsmen. The Middle English term misterie denotes a craft guild and its secrets, as well as a religious rite, and the confluence of these ideas in the social space of Lollard heresy and its repression helps to illuminate the motives of the heretics as well as the methods of official reaction.

The twelfth-century transition in the literary form of sermon exempla was more than a simple shift from instruction to diversion. In the context of a sort of contemplative elite, exempla began to shed us-versus-them polarities, and to pay greater attention to internal states and the experiential life of the soul. And these developments were part of a larger cultural shift in views of the human person. 

Bynum also notes the importance of preaching as an instrument by which models could reform groups.  And truly, the exempla of Liber de Miraculis are nothing other than models—shared through preaching—which Cistercian monks could impress on their memories. The role of Bernard in these models was a critical one. To understand it, return again to the idea of the cultural and geographic frontiers occupied by the Cistercian reform, and the similarity of that position to the ancient church when the cult of the saints first developed. In his paper on “The Saint as Exemplar in Late Antiquity,” Peter Brown stresses “[t]he idea of the holy man as Christ made accessible,” not as a concept, but as a human being tied to the believer by “the intimacy and resilience of bonds of invisible friendship.”  We can see in Herbert’s exempla, as well as in the Vita Prima and the saint’s own writings, not only the mental acuity and spiritual profundity of Bernard of Clairvaux, but the strong bonds of friendship which made him live on in the memories of those he knew, and so many others whom he would never meet.

The solitude of monastic meditation is not one that confers exceptionality, then. It is, however, one that potentiates interiority. This orientation to the anima or the homo interior was characteristic of the Cistercian tradition.  Colin Morris has pointed to this feature as an innovative development of individual self-consciousness in the medieval period.  In response, Caroline Bynum affirms the psychological interiority highlighted by Bernard and kindred thinkers of his period.  But she stresses that an interest, or even a preoccupation with an interior self does not fully account for the sense of the human person encountered in twelfth century writings. To complete the picture, she offers first a reciprocal sensibility of social groups and roles, and then a utilization of types and models.  The “sense of model” that Bynum describes is in many ways rooted in the medieval idea of memory. She quotes a passage from Hugh of St. Victor’s De arca Noe morali: “And now then, as we promised, we must put before you the pattern of our ark. Thus you may learn from an external form, which we have visibly depicted, what you ought to do interiorly, and when you have impressed the form of this pattern on your heart, you may rejoice that the house of God has been built in you.”

This same passage also appears in some manuscripts of Hugh’s De pictura Arche (or De arca Noe mystica).  To “have impressed the form of this pattern on your heart” is, of course, to commit it to memory, and “our ark” is a structure for organizing memories.  When Bynum quotes Guigo II regarding reading the lives of the saints, so that “by chewing and digesting this food…its strength can pass into our inmost heart,” it is again a passage describing an act of memorization, by which ruminative reading leads to placement in memory.  Rather than a modern model in which the interior self seeks expression through a personality of outward words and behaviors, these texts—as construed by Bynum—provide a reversal of the process, in which the behavior and words of others is impressed on the interior self.

Bernard’s failure of memory results per incuriam nescio, an per oblivionem: either through lack of mental discipline or through complete forgetfulness. But the shame and repentance that he feels after being confronted by the abbot is not only the prerequisite for forgiveness, it is the starting point for meditation and memorization. Compunctio cordis is the condition of anxiety and remorse that brings emotion into the service of holy thoughts. 

For all that Cistercians might be aware of Bernard’s saintly exceptionality; the reproof that he receives from Stephen in this story demonstrates that no exception would be made for him. When Stephen asks aut cui eos commendasti?—he is not genuinely asking if Bernard had tasked someone else with the recitation of the psalms. Instead, he is reminding him of the principle of Cistercian brotherhood—that they held both their goods and their labors in common. It was prideful of Bernard to keep work to himself if he could not complete it. 

This disciplining of Bernard is consistent with the picture in the Vita Prima, of fellow monks who “did not spare him, finding fault with his shyness, carping also at things well done, dismissive of seeming miracles.”  And Bernard’s devotion to his mother is also reflected there.

The Exemplum of “Abbot Stephen of Cîteaux Knows”
(Stephanus abbas Cisterciensis cognoscit)

This third selection from Liber de Miraculis is so short that the epitome heading is nearly half the length of the full exemplum. It concerns Bernard when he was a novice at Cîteaux, and he neglected to recite the seven penitential psalms to the memory of his mother, according to his private custom.  The abbot Stephen Harding miraculously knew per spiritum of Bernard’s failing, and reprimanded him. Bernard was ashamed and penitent.

In this exemplum, the Cistercian listener is again expected to identify with Bernard. And while there is perhaps a surfeit of instructional content in the brief story, it is not arranged in keeping with any sort of polarity or oppositional scheme. More than either of the other two exempla considered, it focuses on the internal experience of the protagonist. And at the center of that internal experience is the issue of memory.

Bernard’s task of in silentio dicere is one of meditative recitation, drawing on the resources of memory in solitary observance. Silentium, according to Mary Carruthers, is a term for “disciplined cognitive activity” in monastic discourse.  His time for this activity is after compline, i.e. at night, the hours most suited to the work of the memory: recalling his mother and reciting the psalms. Classical writers on memory such as Quintilian, Fortunatianus, and Martianus Capella recommended that memorization be undertaken at night, in order to reduce distractions.

Several important allusions to scripture are present in “Arnulf of Majorca.” Arnulf’s difficulty in separating from his family evokes the gospel instruction of Jesus to place God before family (Matthew 10.37, Luke 14.26). In receiving Arnulf at Clairvaux, Bernard specifically compares him to the resurrected Lazarus (John 11). Arnulf’s craving for punishment is related to Hebrews 12, and his renunciation of his wealth reflects the teachings of Jesus regarding worldly riches and eternal life (Matthew 19.16-26). As in other exempla, these scriptural references serve as connections from the “place” of this story to the other “places” that have become familiar and mentally rich for the monks through their practices of lectio divina.

In contrast to “Constant Bound Over for Hanging,” “Arnulf of Majorca” emphasizes the internal difficulties and anxieties of the protagonist. It is also interesting to observe the statement, “Erat autem circa custodiam cordis sollicitus,” where sollicitus specifically indicates careful thought.  Cordis can refer not only to an emotional “heart,” but to the heart as a site of memory. Even after anatomical opinion tended to relocate all mental faculties in the brain, memory continued to be identified with the heart, as it still is in the English idiom: “to learn (or know) by heart.” Early etymologies of the Latin verb recordari relate this word for recollection to cor “heart.”  Arnulf’s heart was troubled by his memories of his life prior to his conversion—a dilemma that must have been common among the Cistercian brothers. In Bernard’s own writings, he shows a very special concern with the need “to purify the memory and pump out the cesspit” while still maintaining the ability of recollection that preserves the words of scripture and desire for God.

In this exemplum, the Cistercian audience is intended to identify with Arnulf, rather than Bernard. Arnulf is at the center of the story from its start, and Bernard only makes a sort of cameo appearance towards the end. Arnulf is a good monk, who is charitable and gracious to the herdsman who becomes a lay brother. Arnulf learns not to question the penance assigned to him by the abbot, and thus illustrates the virtue of obedience. Arnulf enters the Cistercian monastic life as an adult, as all members of that order did. The Cistercians gave over the earlier Benedictine practice of admitting child-oblates. All entering monks were required to be at least fifteen years old, and to join of their own free will, rather than on the decision of family.  In fact, such a decision—as illustrated in by Arnulf in the present exemplum, and by Bernard in the Vita Prima—was often made against the wishes of family. 
 
Arnulf’s tale does parallel the life of Bernard from the Vita Prima in some other important respects. Bernard too came from an affluent family. Instead of bestowing material riches on the Cistercian Order, though, he brought actual members of his family to convert with him.  And like Arnulf, Bernard needed to learn to moderate the severity of the penalties he would demand from himself.

The Exemplum of “Arnulf of Majorca”
(Arnulphus de Majorca)

Another exemplum in Liber de Miraculis gives an account of the conversion of the wealthy man Arnulf of Majorca.  In this story, a herdsman is instructed by a divine voice to join Arnulf in his conversion. Arnulf recognizes the miracle when the herdsman approaches him, because although the rich man has made his decision to join the Cistercians, he has kept it secret to avoid opposition from family and business associates. Arnulf takes the herdsman along to Clairvaux. When they arrive, Arnulf gives his wealth to endow Cistercian houses, and shows great remorse for his worldly life. When Bernard assigns him a penance of repeating the Lord’s Prayer three times and persisting in his monastic vocation, Arnulf is confused and upset. But the abbot assures him that this penance will suffice to assure him a heavenly reward. Arnulf struggles with this instruction and executes his penance a hundredfold, eventually undergoing a holy death.
 
This exemplum is longer and more complicated, but as with one just discussed, it is possible to diagram a set of oppositions. Unlike the opposites in “Constant Bound Over for Hanging,” though, all of these are the direct responsibility of Arnulf. They are not attached to two representative persons or symbolized through objects; the two poles of the diametrical opposition are within the actions and attitudes of Arnulf himself. The opposing pairs are more like “counterweights” in the evaluation of Arnulf’s soul, which is the title that Matarasso gives to this exemplum.  This idea is brought to fruition in the contrast between the body “set down” (deposita) and Arnulf’s consequent “flight” (pervolabis), communicating the idea that Arnulf’s conversion has so thoroughly struck a balance against his earlier life of sin, that the three prayers would be sufficient weight to tip the scale, once his body itself has been set aside. The symbolism of weight overcome by flight is a common one in medieval monastic literature, and Bernard himself used it often.