The Journal of eReligious tw l f t h -History century Vol. 24, No. 1, February 2000
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SABINA FLANAGAN
Twelfth-Century Apocalyptic Imaginations and the Coming of the Antichrist
This paper is concerned with the apocalyptic ideas of some twelfth-century figures, principally Norbert of Xanten, Bernard of Clairvaux, Hildegard of Bingen, and Elisabeth of Schönau. Starting from a difference of opinion between Norbert and Bernard on the imminence of the arrival of the Antichrist, the paper explores the apocalyptic understanding of various twelfth-century thinkers. It then seeks to acount for their divergent opinions by reference to such traditional explanations as gender, organizational affiliation, or participation in or consciousness of social and religious movements. Such explanations having been found wanting, it is then suggested that we should look closer to home. An examination of the spiritual milieu of the four main characters, using information from letters and other accounts such as vitae, is essayed. Such evidence, though not entirely conclusive, indicates a correlation between the more active apocalyptic imaginations and heightened consciousness of the intervention of the devil in everyday life.
In a recent series of articles Richard Landes has pointed to the peculiar challenges involved in reading the historical record for evidence of apocalyptic thought and movements1 while R. I. Moore, in his paper in the current volume, warns against equating “what can be read in our documents with what can be read into them.”2 Bearing these caveats in mind, I should perhaps explain that my approach to the topic of the millennium has been animated more by an interest in the history of doubt than in apocalypticism. Thus a tantalizing example of doubt about the imminence of the arrival of Antichrist led me to investigate the apocalyptic views, first of the two antagonists, St Norbert and St Bernard, and then of other writers of the twelfth century. Since 1. One of the chief difficulties is that most of the documents come from what he refers to as the third stage of the apocalyptic curve, when the failure of the expected end to arrive changes the entire meaning of the course of events described. This, he believes, has led to a skewing of the record towards the convictions of those with anti-apocalyptic views (the owls, to use his terminology, rather than the roosters). See, e.g., R. Landes, “On Owls, Roosters, and Apocalyptic Time: A Historical Method for Reading a Refractory Documentation,” Union Seminary Quarterly Review 49 (1996): 165–85; “Millenarismus absconditus: L’historiographie augustinienne et l’An Mil,” Le Moyen Age 98 (1992): 355–77; “Sur les traces du Millennium: La via negativa,” Le Moyen Age 99 (1993): 5–26. 2. “The Birth of Popular Heresy: A Millennial Phenomenon?” Journal of Religious History 24 (2000): 8–25. Sabina Flanagan is an ARC Fellow, Department of History, University of Melbourne.
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the several views of these thinkers diverged but could not be explained along such lines as gender, institutional affiliation, or experience with or involvement in major political or social upheavals, it occurred to me to test the theory that the difference between those who professed apocalyptic fears in the twelfth century and those who did not had more to do with the personal spiritual milieu of the individuals concerned than traditional explanations might suggest. In particular, the extent of their apprehension of the role of the devil in everyday affairs tended to be a fair predictor of their apocalyptic imaginings. My original example of apocalyptic doubt occurs in a letter of Bernard of Clairvaux about Norbert of Xanten’s views on the imminent arrival of Antichrist. He writes to Geoffrey of Chartres: I do not know whether Norbert is going to Jerusalem or not. When I last saw him a few days ago and was deemed worthy to drink in his heavenly wisdom, he never mentioned the matter to me. When I asked him what he thought about the Antichrist, he declared himself quite certain that it would be during this present generation that he would be revealed. But upon my asking, when he wished to explain to me the source of this same certainty, I did not think, having heard his response, that I ought to take it for certain. He concluded by saying that he would live to see a general persecution of the Church.3
Unfortunately, this passage promises rather more than it delivers, for the following reasons. First, there is the uncertainty of its date, variously put at 1124 and 1128. Another puzzle concerns its tone and what this indicates about St Bernard’s attitude to St Norbert’s information. To say that Bernard doubts Norbert’s claim covers a range of reactions from uncertainty about its truth to frank denial. But unless Bernard is referring ironically to Norbert’s “heavenly wisdom,” then it is hard to accept that he could be rejecting outright what Norbert had to say about the Antichrist. The most tantalizing aspect, however, is that there is no indication of the nature of the proofs for the arrival of the Antichrist that Norbert presented to Bernard (and which the latter seems inclined to reject as being unconvincing). But this is not the end of our problems. St Norbert, best known as the founder of the Premonstratensian order of canons, who adopted the Rule of St Augustine, was apparently a man of action rather than one of letters. Although he was educated in the household of the archbishop of Cologne, no authentic writings by Norbert seem to have survived.4 So apart from Bernard’s report of Norbert’s belief that the Antichrist was already in existence, we know nothing more about his apocalyptic thought. 3. Trans. B. McGinn, “St Bernard and Eschatology,” in Bernard of Clairvaux: Studies presented to Dom Jean Leclercq (Washington, DC: Cistercian Studies Publications, 1973), 161–85: “Quod a me domino Norberto sciscitamini, si videlicet iterus sit Jerosolymam, ego nescio. Nam, cum ante hos paucos dies faciem videre, et de coelesti fistula, ore videlicet ipsius, plurima haurire meruerim; hoc tamen ab ipso non audiui. Verum de Antichristo cum inquirerem quid sentiret, durante adhuc ea, quae nunc est, generatione revelandum illum esse se certissime scire protestatus est. At, cum eamdem certitudinem unde haberet, sciscitanti mihi exponere vellet; audito quod respondit, non me illud pro certo credere debere putavi. Ad summam tamen hoc asseruit, non visurum se mortem, nisi prius videat generalem in Ecclesia persecutionem” (169). 4. See H. W. Goetz, “Bernard et Norbert: Eschatologie et Réform,” in Bernard de Clairvaux: Histoire, Mentalités, Spiritualité Sources Chrétiennes 380 (Paris: Cerf, 1992), 505–25. esp 506.
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This being the case, the best we can do is sketch in some of the more familiar features of the eschatological landscape of the early twelfth century, in other words, the repertoire of topoi concerned with the end of the world available to Norbert. The view that was given prominence by St Augustine, put most simply, was that the world had a definite use-by date which was now approaching. Indeed, ever since the Incarnation things had been going downhill rapidly. The end of the world would be heralded by various disasters, natural and social, the penultimate one of which would be the arrival of the Antichrist. He would lead a final terrible persecution of the Church, followed, after an indefinite interval, by the return of Christ in glory for the Last Judgment and the final consummation of the world. While there was broad general agreement about the sequence of these events, their timing was a matter of considerable disagreement. As McGinn puts it: there is an important difference between a general consciousness of living in the last age of history and a conviction that the last age itself is about to end, between a belief in the reality of the Antichrist and the certainty of his proximity (or at least of the date of his coming), between viewing the events of one’s own time in the light of the End of history and seeing them as the last events themselves.5
In short, this is the distinction between eschatology and apocalyptic which I will adopt for the purposes of my discussion.6 Apocalyptic expectations of the kind just described are as old as Christianity itself. Certain New Testament writers thought that the end of the world was actually at hand, and when this was delayed new interpretations of the canonical writings were presented. Extra-biblical writings, such as the Sybilline oracles (of Jewish-Christian origin but containing some pagan material) became part of the eschatological tradition as early as the second century ad, and contributed to a tension between interpretations which emphasized a spiritual understanding of the texts as opposed to a historicizing tendency. The latter saw eschatological writings as capable of predicting the course of world events which naturally led to the question of where, in the grand scheme of world history, a particular age was located. Even writers who were opposed to such speculation, like St Augustine, in discussing the matter managed to pass on eschatological material (for instance the typology of the ages of the world and material from the Sybilline oracles) which later contributed to more lively apocalyptic expectations. Indeed a major component of apocalypticism was the idea that world history could be divided into measurable or datable 5. Bernard McGinn, Visions of the End: Apocalyptic Traditions in the Middle Ages (New York: Columbia University Press, 1979), 4. 6. The picture actually becomes more complicated from the beginning of the twelfth century with the development of what Kathryn Kerby-Fulton refers to as “reformist apocalypticism.” As the name suggests, this has some connections with the church reforms initiated by the Gregorian papacy in the late eleventh century and involves a less passive and pessimistic attitude to the approaching end. See Kathryn Kerby-Fulton, Reformist Apocalypticism and Piers Plowman (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990) and more recently her paper on “meliorist apocalyptic” in Voice of the Living Light: Hildegard of Bingen and her World, ed. Barbara Newman (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1998), 70–91. However, the advent of Antichrist still heralds the Last Judgment.
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periods on the basis of symbolic interpretations of biblical events or religious concepts, for example, the seven days of creation, the old and new dispensations, the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit, the cardinal virtues, the persons of the Trinity. Emphasis on such patterning became especially marked during the twelfth century among German monastic thinkers but reached its apogee in the figurae of Joachim of Fiore.7 But to return to the signs which were thought to herald the approaching end, notably the arrival of Antichrist.8 Though mention of Antichrist, by name, in the Bible, is brief and confined to the Epistles of John, this work also introduces the idea of multiple Antichrists, as forerunners of the real Antichrist. Moreover, lack of explicit detail about Antichrist was supplied by interpreting various biblical prophecies, notably those of Daniel and the Apocalypse of John, as referring to his coming. Furthermore, to flesh out the biblical allusions, over the centuries a body of lore concerning the Antichrist had been evolved which was more or less codified in the short work of Adso of Montier-en-Der, entitled De ortu et tempore Antichristi, written c. 950. This work was later to be recycled under different names (including those of Alcuin, Augustine, and Anselm) so that at least seven such versions were extant by the twelfth century. According to Adso, Antichrist would be an actual historical person, a Jew from the tribe of Dan, born in Babylon and schooled in his evil ways by magicians, soothsayers, and diviners. While this tract adds specificity to the idea of Antichrist and details his actions and attributes, it is not very helpful about Antichrist’s location in history, information which would have definite implications for the proximity of the final persecutions of the Church, the Second Coming and Last Judgment. All schemes that depended on analogy between biblical events and world events allowed a wide margin of doubt as far as actual dating was concerned. Thus while it was generally accepted that since the Incarnation everyone was living in the last days, it was not at all clear how much time was left, especially since the date from which calculations were to begin was subject to change. Various signs of the approaching end had been suggested (some in John) including persecutions, heresies and hypocrites, and the passing of the Roman Empire. One of the main purposes of Adso’s tract was, in fact, to argue against the idea of Antichrist’s imminent coming by saying that although the Roman Empire had fallen, it was, in effect, being continued in the Frankish Empire, so no-one had to worry just yet. As mentioned earlier, another feature of the Antichrist story was the appearance of forerunners of Antichrist. These people were themselves often confusingly referred to as “Antichrists.” 7. See Marjorie Reeves and Beatrice Hirsch-Reich, The Figurae of Joachim of Fiore (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), esp. 9 and her tabulation of the “combination of the patterns of Twos, Threes, and Sevens.” See also Kathryn Kerby-Fulton, “Prophet and Reformer: Smoke in the Vineyard,” in Newman, 73–80 for the “German Symbolists” including Rupert of Deutz, Anselm of Havelberg, Hildegard of Bingen, and Gerhoh of Reichersberg. 8. For an excellent survey of medieval views of Antichrist and their origin in biblical and other sources see Richard Kenneth Emmerson, Antichrist in the Middle Ages: A Study of Medieval Apocalypticism, Art and Literature (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1981), especially chaps 1–3. For a more recent survey see Bernard McGinn, Antichrist: Two Thousand Years of the Human Fascination with Evil (San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1994).
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Some candidates for such Antichrists suggested over the years have been Nero (in the Bible), Antiochus, and Domitian. The problem here was a confusion between political rhetoric or invective (much used during the Gregorian reforms and investiture conflict) and actuality. Later, in the twelfth century, St Bernard calls Abelard “Antichrist” and John of Salisbury applies the term to the archbishop of Mainz (a play on words, since the archbishop in question was called Christian von Buch). This abuse perhaps sounds worse than it really was as several commentators, including Adso, explain that anyone who does not follow Christian precepts to the letter deserves the name of “Antichrist.”9 So the fact that many people were called “Antichrist” in the heat of the moment by their enemies need not mean they were seen as THE Antichrist, or even as an actual forerunner of Antichrist, in any strict chronological sense. But returning to Norbert, it is apparently THE Antichrist, born of the tribe of Dan, raised in Babylon and finally, having killed Enoch and Elijah, meeting his own death on the Mount of Olives, that he is expecting. It is likely that his projected trip to Jerusalem was, in fact, in connection with the supposed appearance.10 In the absence of any knowledge of his views on the periodization of history, or the model he took for the ages of the world, we might suspect that it was the general tenor of the times, in terms of natural disasters, dissension in the church, appearance of new heresies and so on that led him to this expectation. What, then, could have led Bernard, who was living through these same times, to question Norbert’s certainty? We are in a rather better position to investigate Bernard’s views, as his writings have come down to us in great abundance.11 It is, then, perhaps surprising that there is so little evidence for his eschatological thought. The question has been well canvassed by Bernard McGinn, who explains how his eschatology (notably his periodization of the history of the Church) was based on an unusual reading of the four temptations in Psalm 90:5–6. Here he interprets the verse as referring to the four ages of the church; the first being the age of the martyrs, the second that of the heretics, the third that of hypocrites (in which time Bernard seems to place himself ) while the fourth, that of the noonday devil, will be the time of Antichrist. But once again there is nothing to anchor the final age to a particular time, or any suggestion of its imminent approach. But while it is clear that in the 1120s, when he wrote about Norbert, or around 1143, in his commentary on Psalm 9. Adso, De ortu: “Quicumque enim, siue laicus, siue canonicus, siue etiam monachus, contra iusticiam uiuit et ordinis sui regulam impugnat et quod bonum est blasphemat, Antichristus est, minister satane est.” 10. Goetz, “Bernard et Norbert,” 508, also makes this connection, though more tentatively. 11. See Sancti Bernardi Opera, ed. J. Leclercq, H. M. Rochais and C. H. Talbot. (Rome: Editiones Cistercienses, 1957–79). It might be noted here that Bernard’s apocalyptic doubt is contemporaneous with Norbert’s expectation and not the result of the predicted events failing to come to pass. Thus the use of works that are non-contemporaneous to describe Bernard’s apocalyptic views seems justified despite the historiographical pitfalls indicated by Landes. It is also possible that a distinction should be drawn between the interpretation of events by chroniclers who may well have changed their points of view when the expectations had once more to be postponed and the difficulty this involves for pinpointing popular apocalyptic movements, and those of the more speculative writers whose works will be examined later in this paper for their apocalyptic ideas.
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90, that Bernard did not think Antichrist was at hand, McGinn raises the possibility that towards the end of his life his views had changed to encompass this prospect. Thus he sees in Bernard’s Vita Sancti Malachiae (1152) the closest approach to an historicizing eschatology. What St Bernard says, in fact, is merely that “Antichrist is either at hand or near.”12 Moreover, the context in which the remark occurs is one of rhetorical exaggeration. Bernard depicts his own time as one of spiritual drought in which St Malachy, who introduced Cistercian monasticism to Ireland, stands out as the one true light. But a more definite refutation of McGinn’s view is the fact that Bernard says he writes this memoir specifically for “future generations to come,” surely an indication that he did not really see himself as living at the very end of history.13 Nor, I think, did Hildegard of Bingen, who wrote considerably more about the end of the world than St Bernard. She treats the matter at some length in the third book of her first great theological work, Scivias, at the beginning of her writing career (c. 1150) and returns to it for a definitive statement towards the end of her life in Liber Divinorum Operum. Although she has a variety of schemes for the periodization of the world the main one seems to be the congruence between the days of the week of creation and the age of the world (though she has several other formulae, including the hours of the day, and more originally, the tones of the musical scale). Moreover, although she sees herself as living in a period of decline, none of her schemes, even the historicizing one of the five beasts of the earthly kingdoms, suggests that the end is imminent.14 Indeed, she uses the common justification for not predicting the end: the idea that one should not pry too closely into matters known only to God. Her younger contemporary, however, Elisabeth of Schönau, a nun at a nearby Benedictine convent, does seem to have made some overtly apocalyptic predictions and to have incurred a good deal of opprobrium in the process. It was this that apparently prompted her to write to Hildegard for reassurance. Hildegard’s letter of reply includes the famous image of her own prophetic calling as “the small sound of the trumpet.” The probable sequence of events has been reconstructed by Anne Clark, though the content of the letter which was so inopportunely made public can only be guessed at.15 Clark suggests that the apocalyptic predictions “that Satan would receive power from God for inciting violence on earth, the sun would be suffused in bloody red and covered by shadows, and Christians would cry out at the immense tribulation” 12. Vita Sancti Malachiae in Leclercq and Rochais, Vol. 3, 1963, 307: “Ni fallor, Antichristus est iste, quem fames ac sterilitas totius boni et praeit, et comitatur. Sive igitur nuntia iam praesentis, sive iamiamque ad futuri praenuntia, egestas in evidenti est.” 13. Vita Sancti Malachiae, 307: “Iste erat lucerna ardens et lucens; nec exstincta est tamen, sed submota. Quis mihi iure succenseat si readmovero eam? Immo vere non est quod mihi ingrati esse mei saeculi homines debeant, et omnis deinceps generatio ventura, si quem conditio tulit, revocem stilo . . .” 14. See Kerby-Fulton, “Prophet,” 89–90. The five ages are, in fact, still to come. Kerby-Fulton classes Hildegard among the meliorist school of eschatology because two of these periods will involve spiritual renewal rather than decline. 15. Anne L. Clark, Elisabeth of Schönau (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1992), 14–15.
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were made in connection with the year 1155 when the Feast of the Annunciation (25 March) was to fall on Good Friday. That this concurrence was seen as a potentially apocalyptic event had been remarked (and refuted by) Abbo of Fleury in his Apologeticus as early as ad 995.16 So far the balance between those professing apocalyptic expectations (Norbert of Xanten and Elisabeth of Schönau) and those who remain agnostic as to the timing of the end (Hildegard of Bingen and Bernard of Clairvaux) is even — as is the gender balance. But how typical is this of twelfth-century eschatological thought among members of religious orders? It might be noted that evidence for the two distinctly apocalyptic positions comes not from their own writings but from more roundabout sources (a circumstance which is explicable in terms of Landes’ theories). Indeed, if we take the twelfthcentury writers who have had something to say on eschatological themes we are hard pressed to find many more with such overt apocalyptic apprehensions. Rupert of Deutz, for example, while engaging in some apocalyptic rhetoric early in his career and contributing to speculation on symbolic correspondences of historical events with his threefold division of history based on the Trinity, does not commit himself as to times. Anselm of Havelberg, who was much engaged with high politics including negotiations for popes and emperors, seems to have been remarkably non-pessimistic and non-apocalyptic. Philip of Harvengt does not seem to be overtly apocalyptic. The best candidate is the canon, Gerhoh of Reichersberg, who wrote a treatise on the Antichrist which starts from the basic information given by Adso and develops into a commentary on the history of the interactions of church and state over the previous fifty years or so, with constant references back to the events presaging the birth of Christ. With his marked historicizing bent he seems to see both political and natural disasters (such as the papal schism and the storm and earthquake of 1145) as precursors of the Antichrist, and in his last work, De quatuor vigilia noctis (1167), he notes the destruction of the imperial armies outside Rome as a significant portent of the approaching end. However, I have been unable to find in his work any definite statement of the imminence of the end or the claim that Antichrist was already in the world. So much for a general muster of eschatological writers. There remains, of course, the question of what others who did not write down their ideas on the subject might have believed, evidence for which can only be gained more indirectly. There were, for instance, various canons at Prémontré who seem to have had apocalyptic expectations based on an inspired reading of the prophecy of Daniel. Interestingly enough, the writer of the piece concludes that the reading was inspired by the devil and the episode is thus described among a number of his more conventional attacks on the canons.17 To return, then, to our four principal suspects. Since the believers in the imminent end do not seem to be distinguished from the doubters by any very compelling reasons of a theoretical or logical nature in their overall view of 16. See McGinn, Visions, 89–90. 17. See Vita Norberti Archiepiscopi Magdeburgensis, ed. R. Wilmans, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, SS XII, 663–706.
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salvation history (where this can be judged) then the cause must be sought elsewhere. One such explanation might be that belief or disbelief was in some way a function of the orders to which these people belonged. A different spirituality has often been claimed for the reforming orders such as the Cistercians and the regular canons, as opposed to the long-established black Benedictines. Perhaps this might have had implications for their general view of the era in which they lived. However, while Norbert of Xanten certainly represents one of the new reforming orders, the same could be said of St Bernard, as a Cistercian. And if Hildegard might be expected to have a more conservative outlook since she was a Benedictine, then the same should go for her fellow-Benedictine, Elisabeth. Perhaps, then, it had to do with engagement in what might be seen as the wider world of politics. But this would put St Bernard and St Norbert in the same category, as opposed to St Elisabeth, with Hildegard somewhere in between. Another possibility is the involvement of the protagonists in combating heresies, since their multiplication was seen to be one of the signs of the approaching end. But once again Bernard and Norbert appear to be on the same side. Norbert was actively involved in combating the heretic Tanchelm in Utrecht in c. 1112 and St Bernard travelled extensively to preach against Henry of Laon and later the Cathars in Toulouse. Both Elisabeth and Hildegard were engaged in anti-Cathar activities in Cologne, both by writing against them, and in Hildegard’s case, also by preaching. So if it is not a simple matter of institutional affiliation, or the degree to which one is implicated in extra-monastic activities, or in opposing the heresies of the day (or indeed, the vagaries of the historical record) it struck me, on reading the letters, vitae, and associated background material to these people’s lives, that it may have had something to do with what I might call their spiritual outlook, by which I mean the particular way in which they viewed the interactions between the visible and invisible goings on in the world. More specifically, it seemed to me that those who were most apocalyptically inclined had a more lively and direct sense of the activities of the powers of evil (i.e., the devil) in the world.18 There was, of course, a sense in which everyone recognized the workings of the devil and his satellites in human affairs. This is most obvious in the case of exorcisms of the possessed (which in turn draw their authority from the actions of Jesus in the gospels). It was also well accepted, again on biblical authority, for the devil to be involved in certain illnesses. And of course, he and his minions were especially active around the time of death. However, the cases I have in mind are more direct since they present the devil as actively intervening in everyday matters, either in his own person or transformed into some other creature. Examples such as the following may be chosen at random from the many to be found in the life of St Norbert (written by an anonymous contemporary Premonstratensian brother): “One night St Norbert was keeping a vigil in 18. There is a vast and uneven literature on the devil. Most useful for the Middle Ages is perhaps Jeffrey Burton Russell, Lucifer: The Devil in the Middle Ages (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1984).
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order to find out what God wanted him to do but he fell asleep briefly with his hand on his chin. At this the old enemy came up and shouted insultingly at him, ‘Hey, hey, How do you hope to complete the many things you have in mind to do when you are not even strong enough to carry through what you have proposed for a single night?’ ” St Norbert had the answer to that: “Who’d give credence to your threats,” he retorted, “when from the beginning you have been a liar and the father of lies, according to the testament of truth?”19 There are other verbal sparring matches between the devil and various monks, but sometimes the intervention is more threatening. For instance, on one occasion they presented themselves as an armed force breaking into the monastery. Some of the monks “wrapped their arms up in cloaks or tunics and hastened to the defence. They engaged in a marvellously fierce battle, so that they thought lances were thrown and received, hurled and hurled back, wounds taken and given, people killing and being killed.”20 Other monks, seeing this insane behaviour, brought their companions back to reality by liberal sprinklings of holy water.21 The devil was especially active at night, lying in wait for those who “retired for the necessities of nature.” One poor monk was trapped in the latrine for the whole of matins, until “the constancy of the brother overcame him at length, for having made the sign of the cross he slipped through the door which seemed to be blocked by the devil.”22 Sometimes the devil took on a different shape, as when “He even attacked father Norbert one night with the intention of terrifying him while at prayer. He appeared to him in the likeness of a horrible bear, striking terror into him with his teeth and claws. At this unlooked for sight the man of God paled a little but soon returned to himself as he recognized the wiles of the persecutor.” Then he sent him packing with a few well-chosen words.23 19. Vita Norberti Archiepiscopi Magdeburgensis, ed. R. Wilmans, Monumenta Germaniae Historica, SS XII, 663–706, 673: “Unde contigit, ut dum quadam nocte pervigil oraret a deo dirigi et adiuvari propositum suum, deficiens corpore dormitans, manu maxillam sustentaret, antiquum hostem subito adesse audivit insultando clamantem: Eia, eia! multa quae proposuisti quo fine speras consummari, qui nec in unius noctis proposito perseverare valuisti? Ad haec sacerdos respondit: Quis minis tuis credat, cum ab inicio teste veritate mendax sis et mendacii pater? Ad haec spiritus nequam confusus aufugit.” 20. Vita Norberti, 685: “Illi vero territi de collisione armorum et fremitu equorum quibuscumque poterant modis se opponebant, ita ut raptis fustibus et saxis fugerent, involutis etiam brachiis aliquibus amminiculis [?amiculis] vel tunica, resistere festinarent. Mirumque in modum acrius adeo pugnabatur, ut aestimarent iacula mitti et mittere, feriri et ferire, vulnerari et vulnerare interfici et occidere.” 21. Vita Norberti, 685: “Tunc fratres scientes eos ab infestatione demonum illusos esse, aquam benedictam spargunt, signum crucis faciunt et recedente malignorum turba spirituum, illi, quasi hostibus victis et in fugam conversis, concito cursu insequebantur . . .” 22. Vita Norberti, 692: “Alteri quoque fratri, ad privatam necessitatem residenti, malignus hostis astitit, et stupidum ibidem detinuit ab initio matutinarum usque in finem. Vicit tamen tandem importunitatem demonis constantia fratris, nam facto signo crucis, per ostium, quod a demone occupatum videbatur, exiliit; et neminem obsistentem inveniens, vanam fuisse demoniacam illusionem agnovit . . .” 23. Vita Norberti, 692–3: “Ipsum quoque patrem Norbertum nocte orationi in ecclesia intentum terrere aggressus est. Astitit enim ei in similitudine horribilis ursi, dentibus et ungulis quodammodo ei horrorem incutiens. Ad cuius improvisum aspectum homo Dei aliquantulum expavit, sed mox ad se reversus persecutoris sui recognovit insidias, et parumper orando viribus resumptis: Quid, inquit, expectas, cruenta bestia? Ungulae tuae inanes sunt, horribiles dentes tui ventus, et irsuta pellis tua fumus et vapor inaniter pertransiens et velud umbra, quae sole veniente disparet . . .”
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We might compare this with the experience of the Blessed Herman Joseph of Steinfeld, a Premonstratensian canon from a house in the diocese of Cologne. The devil also sought to distract him from prayer, though in a less outlandish way. (Herman Joseph was represented as almost feminine in his delicacy and manner — his traffic was more with angels than devils. Indeed, his main claim to fame was marrying the Virgin Mary in a vision and being given the Christ child to carry — so his terrors were correspondingly less macho.) His vita relates that “Satan himself harassed him as much as he could, appearing while he was at prayer, now transfigured into the form of a crow and now into a tom-cat, now tugging suddenly at the hood hanging down his back, in order to strike him unawares with terror.”24 A further example of this kind of devilish activity among the canons is found in the vita of St William of Roskilde. This little-known saint was plucked from St Genevieve’s in Paris to become abbot of their foundation at Roskilde, Denmark, sometime in the mid-twelfth century, where arrangements seem to have been rather more primitive. One night, “when the brothers had given themselves to sleep, Satan came amongst them and knocked over the light which was accustomed to shine in the middle of the dormitory and tossed it beside the Abbot’s bed, where there was a large pile of straw, in order to burn the Abbot up.” Happily the plot was foiled (presumably by God, though this is not mentioned) when the straw burned in a ring of fire around the Abbot’s bed leaving it (and him) completely untouched.25 At another time the old enemy, taking on the appearance of “a very old and very filthy monk,” approaching the abbot’s bed “tried to incite him to libidinous acts by obscene goings on” but the abbot, while still asleep, rejected his advances with a vigorous kick. Then the devil, foiled of his prey, directed his anger at the priest Trumon, who was lying in bed a little distance off, by giving him such a blow to the side that it apparently broke several ribs.26
24. Vita beati Hermanni Josephie de Steinfeld AASS Aprilis 1, 701: “Ipse quoque satan ei, quantum potuit, fuit infestus, nunc in corvi, nunc in catti specie oranti transfiguratus apparens, nunc cum cuculla cappae in tergo pendente retraxit, ut ipsum faceret saltem ab oratione cessare, vel ut cum ex improviso terrore concuteret, quem ad voluntatis suae malitiam aliter non poterat inclinare.” 25. De Sancto Wilhelmo Abbate Roschildensi in dania, AASS April 1, 628: “Quadam nocte, dum Fratres se sopori dedissent, adfuit inter eos sathan; et lumen, quod more solito lucebat in medio dormitorii, subvertit; et juxta lectum Abbatis, ubi straminum erat magna congeries, ad comburendum Abbatem deposuit. Verum militem suum in hoc agone non deseruit coeleste praesidium: nam stramina in circuitu in modum coronae comburebatur, et straminibus asser suppositus adustionem sustinuit. Abbatis vero lectum omnino non tetigit incendium.” 26. De Sancto, 629: “antiquus hostis, fremens adversus sanctum dei, nova irritamenta suae nequitiae adinvenit, praeferens habitum sanctitatis, sub specie antiquissimi ac turpissimi monachi: accedensque ad lectum Abbatis, prius salutiferae Crucis [signo] munitum, laborabat quiescentem in eo libidinis [fomitem] obsceno opere irritare. Sed ille, licet somno oculos dederat, mente tamen vigilans, adversario dixit: Vade retro, spurcissime omnium, in me dei per gratiam tui desiderii nullum consequeris effectum. . . . dum in somno tam graviter ab ipso fatigaretur, valido impulsu pedis aliquantum elevati hostem a se rejecit. Quo videns se a viro dei delusum, ut leo crudelissimus coepit saevire; atque ad lectum Trumonis Sacerdotis, in altera parte jacentis atque vigilantis, gressus dirigere, laterique ejus fortissimum ictum illidere, ita ut videretur Sacerdoti quod aliquas de costis sibi fregisset.”
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So far all my examples have been drawn from material relating to canons and written by canons (mostly, as it happens, Premonstratensians).27 Comparison of the vitae and writings of Hildegard and St Bernard reveals nothing like this daily intervention of the devil. For example, while both Hildegard and Bernard were known to perform exorcisms, their dealings with the devil were limited to such well-defined therapeutic contexts, and while the devil might be seen to inspire malicious behaviour, for example, among Hildegard’s nuns or wider critics of her schemes, his actions were performed, as it were, at arm’s length.28 He was not accustomed to appear in person (or in any of his various disguises) to interfere in the everyday business of the monastery, and the same could be said for St Bernard’s relationship with the powers of darkness.29 However, lest we think such differences in style were connected to the order to which the writer happens to belong in any straightforward way, it must be said that St Elisabeth, who was a member of a Benedictine foundation, seems to have experienced the same kind of lively attentions from the devil as did the canons. She relates in her first book of visions how one day she saw the devil looking like a small person dressed in a monk’s cowl (not we might think in itself a particularly terrifying image). However, next day he appeared in human form, short of stature and thin, of frightening appearance, with a fiery face and flamelike tongue sticking way out of his mouth, with hands and feet like the talons of most fearsome birds. He appeared to me in that form seven times in the same day and once in the form of a frightful dog. On the following day he stood by my bed and threatened to hit me in the teeth with a great stone he held in his hands. Then, a little after mass, he appeared to me again in the form of a huge horrible bull opening wide his mouth above me as if to swallow me.30
Moreover, the same kind of spiritual ambience (for want of a better word) is to be found even more exaggeratedly in the autobiographical memoir of 27. Rather than seeing these manifestations of the devil and his minions as folkloric, it might be better to consider them as being inspired by monastic views of demonology. Russell distinguishes ideas about the devil drawn from folklore from those of “popular Christianity” and notes that “domination of early learning by monks meant that the colorful ideas of the desert fathers predominated, with their fierce emphasis upon the ubiquity and tangibility of demons” (Lucifer, 63). Possibly the canons got an extra injection of monastic demonology since the new eremetical orders drew heavily on the inspiration of the desert fathers. See Henrietta Leyser, Hermits and the New Monasticism (London: Macmillan, 1984). This might also explain the otherwise unusual inclusion (for the time and place) of a series of animal miracles (mostly featuring wolves) in the Vita Norberti. 28. See, e.g., Vita Sanctae Hildegardis, II: 5 “Then the ancient deceiver put me to the ordeal of great mockery, in that many people said: ‘What’s all this — so many hidden truths revealed to this foolish, unlearned woman, even though there are many powerful and wise men around?’ . . .” 29. The only example in his writings where he reports (at third hand) the conversations of devils is in the Vita malachiae, 157–8 and it is, significantly, connected with an illness. 30. F. W. E. Roth, Die Visionen und Briefe der heiligen Elisabeth (Brün: Verlag der Studien aus dem Benedictiner-und Cistercienser-Orden, 1884), 5: “Illo die ad completorium vidi in capella nostra fantasma parvulum, quasi cuculla monachi inductum . . . [IV] post hec in matutinis stabat coram me, in humana effigie, statura brevis, et spissus, et horribilis aspectu, facies eius ignea, lingua flammea, et longe ab ore eiecta, manus eius et pedes similes unguibus avium rapacissimarum. In hac specie septies illo die michi apparuit, et semel in specie canis teterrimi. Sequenti die mane astitit lecto meo, et cum suo quodam iuramento minatus est mihi [sic], quod in dentes me percussurus esset calceo, quem in manu tenere videbatur. Post hec paulo ante missam iterum se michi obtulit in specie tauri magni et horrendi, dilatans super me os suum quasi ad deglutiendum me . . .”
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Guibert of Nogent, another Benedictine. In his writings the devil is encountered in many shapes, from little yapping dogs to a troop of Scotsmen complete with sporrans.31 Many of the more extreme manifestations of Guibert’s visions (his preoccupation with dismemberment and excrement for example) could be put down to his particular psychopathology. J. F. Benton, his translator, noted: “When we try to use him as a window onto medieval life we look through the eyes of a disturbed man,” but I would argue that the difference is one of degree rather than kind; the spiritual world he inhabits is perfectly recognizable.32 Indeed, if this sort of view of the world is a predictor for apocalyptic apprehensions we would expect Guibert to be receptive to the idea of a fairly imminent end to the world. The evidence here is hard to interpret but it does seem that Guibert saw the First Crusade in an apocalyptic light. So it is arguable that if there was not any terribly compelling evidence for pinpointing the actual time of Antichrist’s birth, nor any authoritative guidance on the subject, apocalyptic expectation was largely a matter of personal inclination. Since two people who witnessed the same events might differ as to whether they saw them as actual forerunners of the end suggests that it was more a matter of one’s particular spiritual preoccupations than simple exposure to the events themselves. Finally, in pinpointing such preoccupations, my comparisons of the four twelfth-century thinkers suggests that those who tended to see the action of the devil closely connected with everyday life were also likely to have lively apocalyptic apprehensions. Whether there was a causal connection between the two — the devil was particularly active in the world because the end was very near — or the kinds of people who thought the end was imminent also thought the devil was particularly active in the world, remains unclear. However, I offer this possibility as an additional suggestion for those who want to chart variations in apocalyptic hopes and fears. This has already been done in the cases of individual thinkers whose eschatological concerns have been seen as becoming more extreme as time went on, for example, with Bernard of Clairvaux and the failure of the second crusade or Hildegard and prolongation of the schism. A similar approach has been taken with Gerhoh, possibly with more justification, since he was personally affected by the schism in being expelled from his monastery at an advanced age.33 But I would suggest that the influences affecting apocalyptic belief may not have been confined to such public events and circumstances as famine, wars, heretical movements, and crusades, but included more private 31. See E.-R. Labande, ed., Guibert de Nogent — Autobiographie (Paris, 1983), bk 1, chap. 21: “At nocte, cum infans cubitum locaretur, ecce daemones instar catulorum a latere et a tergo insiliunt et, hinc inde circumcirca pulsantes, et aliquotiens vellicantes, in clamores et lacrimas concitabant,” and bk 2, chap. 5: “ecce astitit in visione homini turba daemonum in morem Scotorum sitarcias suas prono, ut assolent, clune portantium . . .” Not all the stories related about diabolical interventions take place in Guibert’s own monasteries. He seems to have gone out of his way to collect such tales. 32. J. F. Benton, ed., Self and Society in Mediaeval France (New York: Harper and Row, 1970), 30. 33. De Quarta Vigilia Noctis, MGH Libelli de Lite (Hannover, 1891–7): “nunc ecce in senectute mea eiectus de nidulo meo, de regulari videlicet claustro mihi comisso.”
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influences, not least the sense of the spiritual milieu and environment which formed the background to the subjects’ daily lives. Obviously we lack the evidence to prove the connection (for which one would have to establish a one/one correlation between twelfth-century believers in the imminent arrival of Antichrist and a heightened belief in devilish interventions in everyday life). Thus it would be interesting to find out the views of Gerhoh of Reichersberg, as an incipient apocalypticist, on the daily activities of the devil. Conversely, it would be interesting to see whether the canons of Roskilde had forebodings of the advancing end of the world since, as we have seen, they had very lively apprehensions of the devil in everyday life. The same goes for the Blessed Herman Joseph, but the evidence is lacking. However, inspired by the initial example of St Bernard’s doubt, it has been possible to investigate the beliefs of several other twelfth-century figures. In the cases of Norbert of Xanten, Bernard of Clairvaux, Hildegard of Bingen, and Elisabeth of Schönau, where we have some idea of their views about the approaching end of the world and the interventions of the devil the evidence suggests that, other things being equal, there was a tendency for heightened apprehensions of devilish activity in the everyday world to be connected with apocalyptic imaginings.
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