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Medieval Leaders

The Catholic vision of life has always resisted the poison of secularism, or the tendency to reduce religion to a private, individual, interior experience in complete isolation from the “real life” of work, politics, and social life. As the great medieval theologian St. Thomas Aquinas would put it, “Grace does not replace nature, but perfects it”: every area of life that is truly human—political, economic, civic, literary, family, and such—is lifted up, elevated, and perfected by the grace of Christ.

By implication, the Catholic Church needs more than full congregations on Sunday mornings: she needs men and women to take the “salt” of the Gospel and season the professional and civic spheres of human life.

This was never truer than in the Middle Ages, a period that began with all of these areas in utter disarray. The robust civic infrastructure of the Roman Empire in Western Europe had collapsed during the barbarian invasions of the fourth century, and thereafter found itself ruled by men who had little interest in the promotion of literacy, peace and justice, and law and order. As Catholic missionaries took up the task of proclaiming the Gospel to the barbarian tribes of Western Europe, these missionaries had to do more than announce the Good News of Christ’s resurrection. They had to establish schools, teach literacy, and draft law codes—in short, they had to evangelize and civilize.

New nations had to be built on the rubble of the Roman Empire: nations with leaders who were strong and just, able to rule as Christ had ruled. In the absence of strong governments and just laws, the strong were able to oppress the weak, the wealthy to exploit the poor. Tyrannical warlords had to be subjugated; law codes had to be updated and enforced; and hospitals, orphanages, and other charitable institutions had to be built to care for the poor, the sick, and the desperate.

Even more, culture depends upon literacy, and the barbarians had had little use for books except as fuel for fires. Books had to be copied and collected into libraries, schools had to be rebuilt, and children taught to read and write, all in the hope that the vast storehouses of knowledge built up in the age of the Fathers would not vanish from history, but could be transmitted to future generations.

Without such patient work on the part of thousands of teachers, lawyers, kings, and parents—from the grandest emperor to the anonymous peasant farmer—the Dark Ages would never have ended. Yet by the thirteenth century Western Europe could boast of burgeoning universities, busy parliaments, and a solid civic infrastructure excelling anything the Roman Empire had ever known.

Those who built, revised, and reformed these institutions—those we will call leaders—came in many stripes. We will look at only a few: two Christian kings of France (Charlemagne and Louis IX); the quintessential schoolmaster Alcuin of York; Gregory, the pope who so revolutionized the papal office that he is known as the “first medieval pope”; and Elizabeth of Hungary, whose private work on behalf of the poor and sick inspired countless generations after her.

St. Gregory the Great (540–604)

Gregory lived his whole life in the shadow of intense suffering. Rome, his birthplace, was sacked by barbarians when he was only six years old, and barbarian raids around the Italian countryside brought throngs of dirt-poor refugees flooding into Rome, carrying with them a plague that wiped out a third of the region’s population. Gregory was himself constantly sick from fever, indigestion, and gout, and in his later years claimed that his only consolation was the hope that death might come soon.

Yet Gregory knew that difficult times call for heroic activity. His family’s noble background (his father was a senator) marked him out for a brilliant political career, but after a brief stint as Rome’s governor he renounced public office and entered a monastery, where he spent what he later called “the happiest years” of his life. When the reigning pope was struck down by the plague, however, the city’s populace elected Gregory pope against his will, disrupting his plans to flee the city and intercepting his letter of refusal. (Forcible ordinations were not unusual in this period, as odd as they sound to modern ears.)

As the first pope from a monastic background, Gregory brought an intense spirituality to that office. It was Gregory who first conceived of a global plan of spreading the Gospel to the empire’s barbarian conquerors, sending St. Augustine of Canterbury, the prior of his former monastery, to England as the head of a mission team. He organized the first universal system of relief for the poor in Rome, harvesting produce from the Church’s lands and sending teams patrolling the streets to distribute prepared food to the indigent refugees.

Gregory’s revisions to the Mass (later incorporated into the Gregorian Sacramentary) and fondness for liturgical chant (later known as Gregorian chant) so influenced the universal Church that he became known as the “father of Christian worship.” Meanwhile, his immense corpus of writings (854 letters survive!) inevitably led to his being named a Doctor of the Church. Perhaps his most influential writing was the only contemporaneous biography of St. Benedict, a monk whose life he desired to imitate.

Gregory is of significant historical importance because of his westward reorientation of European Christianity. With the collapse of the Western Roman Empire, most Christians in the West continued to look to the East for their inspiration, where a thriving and materially successful Roman Empire still flourished in Byzantium. Having spent eight years as the papal ambassador to Constantinople, where his mission of securing military aid for Rome from the emperor proved fruitless, Gregory returned to the West somewhat disillusioned with the great Eastern hope.

If Western Christianity were to survive, it had to find its own independent basis, and Rome was as good a basis as any other. (His successors would also look to the great Frankish kings, such as Charlemagne, for military aid.) Gregory worked hard, therefore, to elevate the significance of Rome in the West, encouraging churches throughout Western Europe—including those in mission lands—to take their cues from Rome rather than Constantinople.

He did not hesitate to venture even into political affairs to protect the city of Rome: When the political offices of Rome fell vacant as a result of the endless wars and violence in the region, Gregory himself—he had, after all, once been governor!—took charge of the city’s defenses, carried out diplomacy, maintained relief for the poor, and established treaties with the barbarian tribes in the countryside.

It was thanks to Gregory’s tireless efforts that Rome, the Eternal City, would emerge from the ashes to become the center of a new, Christian civilization in Western Europe.

The Legacy of Pope Gregory

The English monastic historian Bede felt a special debt of gratitude to the pope who had first sent Christian missionaries to his country. (From Ecclesiastical History of the English People)

In AD 605, having magnificently served as bishop of Rome for over thirteen years, blessed Pope Gregory died and was taken up to his eternal home in heaven. And it is appropriate that I mention him in this history of the English people, since it was through his zeal that our English nation was brought from bondage to Satan into the faith of Christ, and we consider him our own “apostle.” Because during his papacy, even while he was exercising supreme authority over all the Christian churches that had already long been converted, he still managed to transform our idolatrous nation into a Church of Christ….

Gregory was born a Roman, son of Gordion, a member of a noble and devout family…. By God’s grace he used his high worldly position only for the glory of heavenly honor, for he soon retired from his secular life and entered a monastery. There he began a life of such perfection in grace that, as he would later recall with tears, his mind was focused on higher things, soaring above all that is temporary, and he was able to devote himself entirely to the spiritual life….

He would talk about this later, not to brag about his virtue, but to regret how much virtue he had lost in his spiritual life when he took up his responsibilities as pastor. One day, in conversation with his deacon Peter, Gregory was recalling his former spiritual state, and sadly went on: “My pastoral responsibilities now force me to deal constantly with men of the world, and when I remember how peaceful life was before, it seems that my mind is sunk in the swamp of daily affairs. For when I am tired from constant attention to the worldly affairs of countless people and wish to meditate on spiritual things, I seem to turn to them with undeniably diminished strength. So when I compare what I now endure with what I have lost, and when I weigh that loss, my burden seems greater than ever.”

The holy Gregory spoke in this way from deep humility, but I personally doubt that he lost any of his monastic perfection through his pastoral cares; instead, I think he gained even greater merit by his labors for the conversion of souls than by his former peaceful life, especially because, when he became pope, he transformed his house into a monastery….

His body was laid to rest on March 4 in the church of St. Peter the Apostle before the sacristy, from which he will one day rise in glory with the other shepherds of Holy Church. On his tomb was written this epitaph:

Receive, O earth, the body that you gave,

Till God’s life-giving power destroy the grave.

His heaven-bound soul no deadly power, no strife

Can harm, whose death is but the gate of life.

The tomb of this high Pontiff, now at rest,

Recalls his life and deeds for ever blest.

He fed the hungry, and he clothed the chill,

And by his message saved their souls from ill.

Whate’er he taught, he first fulfilled in deed,

And proved a pattern in his people’s need.

To Christ he led the Angles, and by grace

To Faith and Church he added a new race.

O holy pastor, all your work and prayer

To God you offered with a shepherd’s care.

High place in heaven is your just reward,

In triumph and in joy before the Lord.

I have to tell a story that shows Gregory’s deep desire for the salvation of our nation. One day some merchants, recently arrived in Rome, displayed their wares in a crowded marketplace. Among their merchandise Gregory saw some boys being sold as slaves. They had fair complexions, fine-cut features, and fair hair. Looking at them with interest, Gregory asked what country and race they came from. He was told, “They are from Britain, where everyone looks like this.”

He then asked whether the people there were Christians or were still pagans, and was informed that they were pagans. “Alas!” said Gregory, with a heartfelt sigh: “How sad that such handsome people are still in the grasp of the Author of darkness, and that behind such beautiful faces are minds ignorant of God’s grace! What is the name of this race?” “They are called Angles,” he was told. “No,” he said, “for they have the faces of angels, and should become fellow heirs of heaven with the angels.

“And what is the name of their province?” “Deira,” he was told. “Good,” said Gregory, “They shall indeed be saved de ira [“from wrath” in Latin] and called to the mercy of Christ. And what is the name of their king?” “Aella,” he was told. “Then ‘Alleluia’ must be sung in their land to the praise of God the Creator,” said Gregory.

Not yet pope himself, Gregory approached the pope of Rome to beg him to send preachers of God’s word to the English people in Britain to convert them to Christ and eagerly volunteered himself for the task, if the pope would agree to send him. But permission was not given, although the pope was willing, for the citizens of Rome so loved Gregory that they would not let him depart so far from the city.

But as soon as Gregory became pope himself, he took up this long cherished project and sent other missionaries in his place, assisting their work by his own prayers and encouragement.

The Qualities of a Christian Minister

Gregory’s most widely read work was his Book of Pastoral Rule, a set of moral, spiritual, and practical guidelines for Christian ministers. The fruit of a lifetime of experience in pastoral ministry, it would serve as a handbook for thousands of clergy in later centuries.

The conduct of a minister should be as superior to the conduct of his people as the life of a shepherd is superior to his flock. For someone who is in a position over a flock should take serious thought to the urgency of his maintaining an upright life. It is necessary, then, that he should be pure, decisive in his action, discreet in his silence, profitable in speech, sympathetic to all around him, excelling in contemplation, a close friend to others in humility, relentless in opposition to vice through his zeal for holiness, not neglecting to take care of external things in his focus on what is interior.

He should always be pure in thought, so that no impurity pollutes the one whose job is to wipe away the stains of pollution from the hearts of others, for a hand that is not clean itself cannot clean others but will only make them filthier. A minister must always be an active leader, so that he can point out the way of life to others by the way he lives, more by example than by words, so that the flock may learn how to walk by imitating the voice and manners of the shepherd.

For the man who, due to his position, is required to speak of exalted matters should also carry out exalted things. This is because a voice will more easily penetrate into the heart of a hearer when the speaker’s life is commendable, since what he commands in his speech he also shows how to do by his actions.

The minister should be discreet in keeping silence and profitable in speech, lest he express what should be suppressed or suppress what he ought to express. For just as incautious speaking leads to error, so indiscreet silence leaves in error those who should receive instruction.

The minister ought to understand how often vices appear in the form of virtues. For often stinginess excuses itself under the name of thriftiness and wastefulness hides itself under the name of generosity. Often excessive carelessness is believed to be affection and unbridled wrath is seen as spiritual zeal. Often hastiness is mistaken for punctuality and laziness for thoughtfulness.

Thus it is necessary for the minister of souls to distinguish virtues from vices with great care, lest stinginess be given free reign, or lest he congratulate someone for wastefulness. He must not overlook what he should have corrected, or else he might draw those under his care to eternal punishment; but he also must not be ruthless in correcting in others what he does himself.

On Reservations About what One has Written

Gregory was highly self-conscious of his writing, as is evident from this closing section of his famous commentary on the Book of Job. Note how his profound monastic spirituality and concern for the interior life penetrate every aspect of his work.

Now that I have finished this work, I see that I must recollect my thoughts. For even when we try to speak rightly, our mind is often scattered and fragmented when we are trying to think of the right words to say, diminishing our mind’s power, as it were, by plundering it from the inside.

So I must return from the forum of speech to the council chamber of the heart, to summon together the thoughts of my mind for a kind of council to deliberate how I may best watch over myself, to see to it that in my heart I do not speak any heedless evil, or speak any good in a poor fashion. For good is well spoken when the speaker seeks with his words to please the person who has been good to him. And if I discover that I have not spoken any evil, still I will not claim that I have never spoken evil at all. And if I have received some good from God and spoken it, I freely admit that I have spoken it less well than I should have (from my own fault, to be sure).

For when I turn inward to myself, pushing aside the leafy verbiage and the branches of arguments, and examine my intentions at the very root, I know that even though my intention was to please God, some little desire for the praise of men crept in (I do not know how) and intruded upon my desire to please God. And when later (too much later) I realize this, I find out that I have done what I set out not to do.

In this way, we often begin with good intentions in the eyes of God, but a secret desire to be liked by others creeps along and waylays our intentions. For example, we eat food out of necessity, but while we are eating, a gluttonous spirit creeps in and we begin to take excessive delight in eating for its own sake, so that what began as nourishment to protect our health ends by becoming an excuse to merely gratify our pleasures. We have to admit that our intention, which seeks to please God alone, is sometimes treacherously accompanied by a less righteous intention that seeks to exploit God’s gifts to please other men.

If God should strictly examine us in these affairs, what excuse can we offer? For we see that our evil is always evil, pure and simple, but the good that we think we have cannot really be good, pure and simple.

But I think it is worthwhile for me to reveal unhesitatingly to the ears of my brothers everything I secretly hate in myself. As a commentator, I have not hidden what I felt, and as a confessor, I have not hidden what I suffer. In this commentary I reveal the gifts of God, and in my confession I uncover my own wounds. In this vast human race there are always little ones who need to be instructed by my words, and there are always great ones who can take pity on my weakness once they hear about it.

Thus in this commentary I can offer help to some of my brothers (as much as I can) and seek the help of others. To the first I speak to explain what they should do, to the second I open my heart to ask them to forgive. I have not withheld medicine from the former, nor have I hidden my wounds from the others.

So I ask that whoever reads this should pour out their prayers to the strict judge on my behalf, so that his tears may wash away every stain that is found on me. When I balance the power of my commentary with the power of prayer, I suspect that the reader will have more than paid me back for what he hears from me, if he offers his tears for me.

On the Danger of Pride in High Positions

Having desired to avoid the papal office himself, Gregory detested nothing more in his fellow clergy than ambition and pride: his preferred title as pope was servus servorum dei, “servant of the servants of God.” When word reached him that his colleague in the East, Bishop John of Constantinople, had begun using the title “universal bishop,” Gregory wrote a series of letters to chastise him, including the following letters to John himself and to the Byzantine emperor.

From Gregory to John, Bishop of Constantinople

You will remember what peace and harmony you found among the churches at the time when you were ordained a bishop. But how many of your brothers may now take offense now that you have, with what pride and audacity I do not know, attempted to seize for yourself a new title. I am astounded at this, since I remember how once you wished to flee from the office of bishop rather than attain it. But now that you have the office, you seem to want to exercise it as though you had rushed into it out of pure ambition!

Once you confessed that you were unworthy to be called a bishop, but now you have arrived at the point where, despising your brother bishops, you desire to be named the only [universal] bishop…. I beg you, I beseech you, and with all the sweetness in my power I demand of you, that you ignore all those who flatter you by offering you this erroneous title, that you do not foolishly agree to be called by this proud title.

For truly I say it weeping, and out of inmost sorrow of heart attribute it to my own sins, that this brother of mine, who has been raised to the office of bishop to bring others to humility, has become unable to be brought to humility by others, that he who teaches truth to others has not agreed to teach himself, even when I beg him.

For what are all of your brother bishops of the universal Church but stars of heaven, whose life and speech shine forth amid the sins and errors of men, as though shining amid the shadows of night? And when you desire to raise yourself above them by this proud title, and to tread down their name in comparison with yours, what else are you saying but, “I will ascend to heaven; above the stars of God I will set my throne on high” (Is 14:13)….

As you know, the council of Chalcedon offered the bishops of the Apostolic See I serve by God’s providence [that is, Rome] the honor of being called “universal.” But not one of them has ever wished to be called by such a title, or seized this ill-advised name, lest, by seizing for himself the title, he would seem to deny it to all of his brothers.

From Gregory to Mauricius Augustus

Everyone who knows the Gospel is aware that by the Lord’s voice the care of the whole Church was committed to the holy Apostle and Prince of all the Apostles, Peter. For to him it is said, “Peter, do you love me? Feed my sheep” (see Jn 21:17). To him it is said, “Behold, Satan has desired to sift you as wheat, and I have prayed for you, Peter, that your faith not fail. And when you are converted, strengthen your brothers” (see Lk 22:31). To him it is said, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it. I will give to you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven” (Mt 16:18–19).

Look! He has received the keys of the heavenly kingdom, and power to bind and loose is given to him, the care and dominion of the whole Church is committed to him, and yet he is not called the “universal bishop,” while the most holy man, my fellow priest John, attempts to be called “universal bishop.” I am compelled to cry out and say, O tempora, O mores! [“What times! What customs!”]

For all of Europe is given up to the power of barbarians, cities are destroyed, camps overthrown, provinces depopulated, no farmers live on the land, worshipers of idols rage daily and slaughter the faithful, and yet priests, who ought to lie weeping on the ground in ashes, are seeking for themselves pompous names, and glory in new and sacrilegious titles.

Am I, most holy Lord, seeking to push my own agenda in this matter? Am I taking some personal offense? No: I am defending the cause of Almighty God, the cause of the Universal Church.

St. Alcuin of York (735–804)

Known by his contemporaries as the smartest man in the world, St. Alcuin was personally responsible for the greatest revolution in learning in the early Middle Ages, leading to the saying, “Wherever literary activity is to be found, there is a student of Alcuin.”

Virtually nothing is known of Alcuin’s early life, save that he claimed to be a blood relative of St. Willibrord, the great missionary to the Frisians. He was trained in the famous cathedral school of York under Archbishop Egbert, who was himself a disciple of the Venerable Bede, the greatest medieval historian in England. Showing no particular desire for an ecclesiastical career—he never seems to have received priestly ordination but was content to remain a lifelong deacon—Alcuin’s only desire was to learn and teach.

Alcuin might have been just one of many English scholars scribbling away in monastic libraries, save for a chance meeting with the Frankish emperor Charlemagne in Italy in 781. Impressed by Alcuin’s education, the emperor invited him to be master of the palace school at his court in Aachen, Germany. Under Alcuin’s direction, what had been established as a place for teaching courtly manners to royal children became a center of international education.

Alcuin expanded the curriculum at Aachen to include the full scope of liberal arts—grammar, logic, rhetoric, mathematics, geometry, astronomy, and music—culminating in the study of sacred Scripture. Charlemagne himself, along with his wife and children, enrolled as pupils, and it was not long before nobility and clergy from all over the empire began submitting candidates for enrollment.

Alcuin drafted the best and brightest scholars from Europe to teach at Aachen. Similar schools were set up throughout Charlemagne’s empire, following Alcuin’s model, and a scheme was even developed to offer universal primary education in every village in Europe. According to legislation issued by Charlemagne, but almost certainly drafted by Alcuin, all clergy throughout the empire were compelled to receive an education, with literacy tests for ordination and the threat of suspension for clergy who refused. Priests were then expected to set up primary schools in every diocese to teach reading and writing at no cost.

Alcuin’s pupils at Aachen, including the legendary Rabanus Maurus, were sent out to oversee these schools, using textbooks written by Alcuin himself. Alongside schools, Alcuin worked to establish libraries throughout Europe, requesting, copying, and collecting manuscripts from across the world to preserve and advance scholarship.

The resulting “Carolingian Renaissance” of learning was the largest burst in creative scholarly activity until the foundation of the medieval universities almost four centuries later. Among the achievements of Alcuin’s schools include the invention of the lower case (absent in ancient Latin), the first Western system of musical notation, and several developments in Romanesque architecture. Alcuin himself is credited with inventing the question mark!

One of Alcuin’s most cherished projects was the improvement of the liturgy, which in his day was often mumbled in bad Latin with excessive regional variations by barely literate priests. Alcuin promoted the Roman liturgy, as found in the Gregorian Sacramentary, as the basis for a uniform and universal text of liturgical prayers, which did much to standardize the Mass in Western Europe.

Alcuin’s Training at York

Alcuin built up an extensive corpus of poetry and included the art of writing poetry as part of his educational curriculum, helpful for teaching grammar and literary style. In this personal piece, he reflects back on his education at the School of York in England, where Archbishop Aelbert taught Alcuin and other pupils both the liberal arts and theology. (From Alcuin, On the Saints of the Church at York)

There the Eboric scholars felt the rule

Of Master Aelbert, teaching in the school.

Their thirsty hearts to gladden well he knew

With doctrine’s stream and learning’s heavenly dew.

To some he made the grammar understood,

And poured on others rhetoric’s copious flood.

The rules of jurisprudence these rehearse,

While those recite in high Eonian verse,

Or play Castalia’s flutes in cadence sweet

And mount Parnassus on swift lyric feet.

Anon the master turns their gaze on high

To view the travailing sun and moon, the sky

In order turning with its planets seven,

And starry hosts that keep the law of heaven.

The storms at sea, the earthquake’s shock, the race

Of men and beasts and flying fowl they trace;

Or to the laws of numbers bend their mind,

And search till Easter’s annual day they find.

Then, last and best, he opened up to view

The depths of Holy Scripture, Old and New.

Was any youth in studies well approved,

Then him the master cherished, taught, and loved;

And thus the double knowledge he conferred

Of liberal studies and the Holy Word.

Alcuin’s Ministry of Education

After a lifetime spent building schools all over Charlemagne’s Frankish empire, Alcuin retired to a monastery. Yet even there he could not surrender his great task of advancing scholarship and learning. In this letter, written a few years before his death, he writes the emperor to request more books and to reflect upon the place of learning and philosophy in the grand scheme of things.

Your Flaccus [that is, Alcuin], in response to your requests and kindness, is busy at St. Martin’s Abbey, feeding my students the sweet honey of the Holy Scriptures. I am excited that others should drink deeply of the old wine of ancient learning. I will soon begin to feed others with the fruits of grammatical skill, and some I am eager to enlighten with a knowledge of the constellations of the stars, which seem, as it were, painted on the dome of some mighty palace. “I have become all things to all men” (1 Cor 9:22), so that I may train up many to work for God’s holy Church and the glory of your Empire, so that the grace of Almighty God in me should not be in vain (cf. 1 Cor 15:10), and your great generosity wasted for nothing.

But I am missing some rare books of scholarship, which I used to have when I lived in my own country (thanks to the generous support of my teacher, and in some part due to my own humble efforts). I mention this to Your Majesty so that, perhaps, if it pleases you who are so eagerly concerned about the advance of scholarship, you will let me send some of our young men to get us some necessary books. If so, they can bring to France the flowers of England, so that a graceful garden will exist not only in York, but also in Tours, like a Paradise blossoming with abundant fruit….

In your gracious zeal, you will not overlook the fact that every page of the Holy Scriptures urges us to acquire wisdom. For nothing is more honorable, nothing so ensures a happy life, nothing is more praiseworthy in any state in life, than that men live according to the teachings of the philosophers. Further, nothing is more essential to the people’s government, nothing better for the guidance of life toward upright character, than the grace which wisdom gives, and the glory of education and the power of learning. Therefore, Solomon, the wisest of all men, exclaims, “Better is wisdom than all precious things, and more to be desired” (cf. Prv 8:11).

You must encourage the young men who are in Your Majesty’s palace, my lord king, to seek and gain this by every possible effort, every single day, especially when in the flower of their youth, so that they may become worthy to gain an honorable old age, and, eventually, everlasting happiness. For my part, I will not be idle in sowing the seeds of wisdom among your servants in this land…. In the morning of my life and in the most fruitful period of my studies I sowed seed in Britain, and now that my blood has grown cool in the evening of life I have not ceased, but sow seed in France, desiring that both gardens may spring up by God’s grace.

Whoever wishes to can read so many things about the scientific pursuits of the ancients, and come to understand how eager they were to gain the grace of wisdom. I have noticed that you are zealous to advance toward this wisdom and take pleasure in it, and that you are decorating the splendor of your worldly rule with an even greater intellectual splendor. In this may our Lord Jesus Christ, who is himself the supreme realization of divine wisdom, guard and exalt you, and cause you to attain to the glory of His own blessed and everlasting vision.

On Having One’s Grammar Corrected by One’s Student

Alcuin had once been Charlemagne’s grammar teacher, and the emperor delighted in returning Alcuin’s letters to him with all of the grammatical mistakes circled, accompanied with a recommendation of a proofreader. One can almost feel the friendly sarcasm in Alcuin’s reply.

Flaccus [Alcuin], “wounded with the pen of love” (cf. Sgs 5:7–8), sends greetings to the most pious and excellent lord King David [that is, Charlemagne].

I am so thankful that, in your profound piety, you have had the booklet I sent you read aloud into your most wise ears. I am also thankful that you had the errors in it carefully noted and sent it back so that I could correct them. It would have been even better had you corrected them yourself, because mistakes are always more readily noted by another reader, rather than the author himself.

The deficiencies in the booklet, both in its grammar and punctuation, are simply the normal results of thinking too quickly, because my mind is moving faster than my hands can write. My bad headaches prevent me from proofreading the words once they are written, and if you do not want to be blamed for my negligence, you should not blame me for it….

I have taken the liberty of sending Your Excellency some written phrases, with examples and verses from the Church Fathers, and also some mathematical puzzles for your amusement, which I have written on the blank part of the paper you sent to me. It seemed best to me to send back clothed what you sent me naked, so to speak….

Careful observance of the detailed rules for punctuation does a great deal to enhance the beauty of sentences, but this is often completely lost due to the lack of sophistication of our scribes. It is my hope that the right usage of punctuation will be restored to scribes now that you have begun to renew learning and education throughout your kingdom. For my part, despite my failings, I continue the daily fight against unsophisticated writing here at Tours.

For your part, use your authority to teach the youth in your palace school to use the most elegant style possible to transcribe what you dictate, so that documents that circulate in the name of the king may emanate the nobility of royal wisdom.

Exercises in Math and Logic

Alcuin was known for developing clever mathematical and logic problems to stimulate the minds of young students. A collection of these, attributed to Alcuin, has come down to us under the title Problems to Sharpen the Young. Note how much of the background deals with everyday issues in medieval life: inheritance disputes, raising cattle, crossing rivers, and supporting clergy.

If two men, one after the other, marry each other’s sisters, then tell me, how will their sons be related to each other?

When the father of a family died, he left as an inheritance to his sons thirty glass flasks, of which ten were full of oil, ten only half full, and another ten empty. Divide, if you can, the oil and the flasks, so that each of the three sons receives an equal share, both of the wine and of the flasks.

Two men were leading oxen up the road, when one said to the other, “Give me two of your oxen. Then I will have as many as you have.” And the other replied, “Instead, you give me two of your oxen. Then I will have twice as many as you.” Tell me, if you will, how many oxen each man had.

There were three men who each had a sister, and they wished to cross a river, but there was only a small boat there, in which only two at a time could cross. But each of the men had his eye on the sisters of the others, and none of the men trusted his sister to be left alone with any of the others. Tell me, if you can, how they can all cross the river without jeopardizing the honor of any of the sisters.

A man wished to cross a river, having in his possession a wolf, a she-goat, and a sack of cabbages. But the boat would only carry two of these at a time, and he could not figure out how to get across without endangering any of his possessions. Tell me, if you can, how he could get across with his possessions intact.

There was a man and a woman, each of whom weighed about the same as a loaded cart, and two children who, taken together, weighed the same. But they had to cross a river in a boat that would only carry the weight of a single loaded cart. Tell me, if you are able, how they will able to cross on the boat.

Upon his death, the master of a house left his children and his pregnant wife 960 coins. He had ordered that, if a boy were born to his wife, he should receive three-fourths of the inheritance (that is, nine-twelfths), and the mother should receive a fourth (three-twelfths). However, if a daughter were born to his wife, she should receive seven-twelfths of the inheritance, and the mother five-twelfths. But it came to pass that she gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. Solve, if you can, so that the mother, the son and the daughter each receive their fair share.

A bishop ordered that twelve loaves of bread be divided among his clergy. He stipulated that each priest should receive two loaves, each deacon half a loaf, and each lector a fourth of a loaf. And it turned out that the total number of clergy equaled the number of loaves, that is, twelve. How many priests, deacons and lectors must there have been?

Charlemagne (742–814)

Though not considered a saint, Charlemagne was the kind of Christian statesman without whom Europe never would have emerged from the Dark Ages and become a center of medieval Christianity. The basic shape of Christian Europe—its odd intermingling of politics and religion, the central role of the papacy, its uneasy relationship with the Greek East, its eccentric combination of Gothic barbarism and Roman nobility, and its zeal for scholarship and learning—emerges under the guiding hand of Charles the Great.

Charles (Karolus) emerged as the unlikely heir of the first Catholic nation in Europe, the Kingdom of the Franks, an oasis of Catholic Christianity in an ocean of paganism, Islam, and heretical Arianism. His rise had occurred through a series of unexpected historical events: Clovis, an early Frankish chieftain, had converted to Christianity under the influence of his Catholic wife. Charles “the Hammer” Martel, Charles’ grandfather, had driven the Muslims out of France, and Charles’ father, Pepin the Short, had seized the royal throne from the “do-nothing” Merovingian dynasty. Pepin had asked the pope to crown and anoint himself and his sons in order to establish their rather dubious legitimacy to rule, and in return Pepin promised that he and his sons would forever be protectors of the Roman Church.

Emerging as King of the Franks in 768, Charles knew that he needed the pope as much as the pope needed him. He wanted a Christian kingdom, with all the benefits that came with it—Christian schools, Christian culture, and, above all, the protection of the Christian God—and he understood the bishop of Rome to be the spokesman for Christianity.

Meanwhile, in Rome, the pope had his own problems: constant threats to his rule from the unruly Roman population and the menacing Lombard tribes threatening invasion from the outside. Charles needed the spiritual aid of the papacy, and the papacy needed the military aid of the Franks. Thus an unlikely alliance was formed that would last for nearly a thousand years.

More than once Charles would come to the rescue of Rome, crushing the Lombard armies and delivering their territories up as a personal gift to the pope (the origin of the Papal States, and the modern Vatican City State), and traveling to Rome personally to ensure that the pope received a fair trial when false accusations were leveled against him.

Not only that, but Charles gave the papacy a central role in Church and monastic affairs throughout his kingdom: in some measure the spread of Gregorian chant, the Roman Rite of the Mass, and Benedictine monasticism across Europe are due to Charles’ attempts to be sure Christianity throughout his kingdom was patterned after Roman Christianity. The popes began to see Charles as a divinely given protector of the Roman Church, in the same way early Christians had seen the Roman Emperor Constantine.

Accordingly, it was no surprise to anyone but Charles himself (who at least acted surprised) when Pope Leo III stood up in the middle of Mass on Christmas Day and bestowed an imperial crown on Charles, dubbing him “Roman Emperor.” Charles’ own reservations were due to how this would play out in the East, where the Greek emperors in Byzantium still considered themselves the legitimate successors of the Roman emperors and saw Charles as a mere barbarian upstart.

But Charles—or Charles the Great (Charlemagne), as he came to be called—was undeniably sincere in his Christianity. His biographer records his daily Mass attendance, his temperance and piety, and his concern for good behavior on the part of himself, his household, and his court. He personally presided over a steady stream of Church synods and councils to regulate liturgy, monastic life, and doctrine throughout the kingdom: in fact, his constant interference even in doctrinal matters was worrisome to many churchmen, and established a troublesome standard for the future.

Charlemagne promoted not only Christianity, but also education and culture, importing the best scholars from all over Europe (including his own personal tutor, St. Alcuin of York) to build schools in every region, presiding over a Carolingian Renaissance that was largely responsible for the scholarly impetus that climaxed in the medieval universities four centuries later. By the end of his reign, Charlemagne’s empire covered most of mainland Europe: rightly has he been called the “father of Europe.”

As noted earlier, Charlemagne is probably not a saint. Several aspects of his reign are problematic from a modern standpoint—his multiple illegitimate marriages (eight to ten wives or concubines!) and his pattern of forcibly baptizing those he defeated in battle, among other things. But his role in Christianizing Western Europe meant he would inevitably be treated as a saint. He was briefly canonized, but that declaration was later retracted (the pope who canonized him was rightly recognized as an antipope, or false pope), and though devotion to “St. Charlemagne” continued unopposed in some quarters up until modern times, the Church has never formally recognized him as such.

The Life of a Christian Emperor

We know more about Charlemagne’s life than about the lives of any of his contemporaries, thanks to the excellent biography written by his advisor and diplomat, Einhard. With a genuinely human touch, Einhard shows the personality of Charles, his struggles to educate himself in the liberal arts, and his devotion to the Christian religion. Note especially his personal attachment to the papacy.

Charles was large and strong, fairly tall … with a laughing, joyful face. Thus he always had a stately and dignified appearance … a firm gait, a manly stature, and a clear voice…. Following the national custom, he frequently rode on horseback for exercise and went hunting, which the Franks do better than anyone in the world. He enjoyed breathing the air of natural hot springs and often went swimming, which he did better than anyone else. For this reason he built his palace at Aix-la-Chapelle, near such springs, where he lived constantly during his later years until his death.

Charles was very moderate in eating, and especially in drinking, for he hated drunkenness in anyone, especially in himself and among the members of his household. But he had a hard time holding back from good food, and often complained that fasts injured his health…. His favorite dish was the roasts that his huntsmen would bring in on a spit. Whenever he ate, he always listened to reading or music. He preferred the readings of stories and deeds from older times, but he was also fond of the books of St. Augustine, especially City of God.

Very articulate, Charles was fluent and quick in speech. He knew not only his native language, but studied foreign ones. He mastered Latin to the extent that he knew it as well as his native tongue, but he never quite mastered Greek…. He eagerly cultivated the liberal arts, deeply respected those who taught them, and gave great honors to such teachers.

He learned grammar lessons from the deacon Peter of Pisa and other subjects from another deacon, a Saxon named Alcuin, the greatest scholar of his day. He spent much time with Alcuin learning rhetoric, logic, and especially astronomy, such that he grew very proficient at investigating the movement of the planets. He tried hard to learn how to write, and kept tablets under his pillow to practice during his free time, but since he started so late in life, he never really had any success at it.

Having been raised as a child in the Christian religion, he cherished its principles with the greatest fervor and devotion. For example, he built a beautiful basilica at Aix-la-Chapelle and adorned it with gold and silver, lamps, and rails and doors of solid brass. Not finding any suitable materials nearby, he imported columns and marble for the basilica from Rome and Ravenna. He worshiped constantly at this church whenever his health permitted, not only attending Mass but also visiting in the morning and evening and even after nightfall to pray. He showed great concern that all services there be conducted with the greatest possible reverence….

He took great care to aid the poor, including generous almsgiving, not only in his own country and kingdom, but elsewhere. For when he found out that there were impoverished Christians living in Syria, Egypt, and Africa, in Jerusalem, Alexandria, and Carthage, he was moved with compassion and sent aid overseas to them….

But above all other holy and sacred places he cherished the Church of St. Peter the Apostle at Rome, and he filled its treasury with vast amounts of gold, silver, and precious stones. He sent many generous gifts to the popes, and throughout his whole reign his greatest wish was to use his own care, influence, and wealth to reestablish the ancient authority of the city of Rome, to defend and protect the Church of St. Peter, and to beautify and enrich it above all other churches.

Charlemagne’s Imperial Coronation by the Pope

A second biography of Charlemagne was written by a monk known as Notker the Stammerer, the kind of eclectic genius who flourished in monastic libraries during the Carolingian Renaissance. Notker records how Charles came to the assistance of the pope in a time of crisis, and how the pope repaid him by naming him Emperor of Rome.

Now since the envious are never anything but envious, so those who live in Rome often rise up and protest whenever a strong pope is raised to the apostolic see. In this fashion, a group of envious Romans rose up against Pope Leo III, falsely accusing him of a horrible crime and attempting to blind him as punishment. The pope had a message secretly sent by his servants to Michael, the Emperor of Constantinople, but he refused all assistance…. Therefore the holy Leo invited the invincible Charles to come to Rome….

Now Charles, always prepared for war, though he had no idea why he was being summoned, came at once with his soldiers and attendants, coming as head of the world to the city that had once been head of the world. And when the envious Romans heard of his sudden coming, they immediately fled and hid in various hiding places, cellars, and dens, just as sparrows hide themselves when they hear the voice of their master….

Afterwards Charles stayed and visited Rome for a few days. During this time, the pope called together everyone who could come from the surrounding area and then, in the presence of these and of the knights of the invincible Charles, the pope declared him to be the Emperor of Rome and the Defender of the Roman Church.

Now Charles had no idea this was coming: he couldn’t exactly turn it down, since he recognized it had been divinely preordained for him, but he made it clear that he was not exactly grateful for his new title. For his main concern was for the Greeks in the East, who would probably be envious of his title and plan some harm against his kingdom of the Franks.

Charlemagne’s Imperial Legislation

As emperor, Charles went to great lengths to restore law and order to a region that had been lawless for nearly four centuries. He also worked hard to promote Christian ideals and advance the missionary efforts of the Church in an area that had hitherto been flooded with pagan shrines. The following brief selections from various legal documents show some of the typical patterns found in Carolingian legislation: a concern for justice and the promotion of Christian values, and the use of clergy and monks as civil servants.

First, the Lord Emperor has sent embassies throughout his whole kingdom, composed of the wisest and most prudent nobles, including bishops and archbishops, abbots and pious laymen, to facilitate just laws for all men, enforced through local chapters. Moreover, anywhere that laws are found not to be right and just, he has ordered these embassies to inquire into these cases most diligently and report back to him, so that, God willing, he can reform them.

And let no one, through ingenuity or cleverness, dare to oppose or disobey the written law or the verdicts decided upon, as so many are inclined to do. And let no one do injury to God’s churches, to the poor, to widows, wards of the state, or to any Christian.