Downtown Ely

Some commentator on the English nation characterized them as a "commercial people".   The label seems apt. Ely's ancient downtown becomes unbelievably crowded during the week days and especially on Saturdays. The area then empties out when the stores close and by seven in the evening the streets are deserted. However, during the day the grotesques and gargoyles of the medieval cathedral obviously unsuccessful in their attempt to scare people away from the material things of this world look down on mobs of shoppers.  The sidewalks are filled with pedestrians and the narrow streets are clogged with bicycles and automobiles. The outdoor markets stalls are crammed with people and the eateries are constantly full.  If one goes into the shops which are not big to begin with, one is forever crowded by polite but ever present people. Yet, this is a town of only ten to fifteen thousand people. Nearby Cambridge is much more crowded. The best thing to do for a claustrophobic Mid Western American like myself is to hunker down in some coffee shop or library and stay out of the way. Weekends are a good time to catch up on one's reading.

England, at least as seen from my perch in Ely, manages to maintain healthy downtowns. This may be changing. Big box stores are invading the green space around English cities and Ely is no different. In the last few years a Sainsbury's grocery store has appeared and an almost equally huge Aldi's is being built next to it. Nevertheless, the English are a walking people and the need for easy parking that so undermined downtown American stores may not be at work here. Encouraging foot traffic are walking paths, side walks, parks and bike trails. The countryside too is highly accessible. On the Cambridge train, whatever the wet weather, one sees ecstatic dogs and their masters walking on public footpaths that no farmer dare block.

It is always a bit of shock to return to the Midwest with an equally beautiful but usually off limits countryside. Downtown shops are often boarded up thanks to the presence of shopping malls on the edge of town reached only by automobile. Maybe in another hundred years or so we will learn to walk too.

Of Templars and Masons

We are heading north on the London-Edinburgh train. The sun has just set over the Yorkshire Moors and now we pass through the lights of industrial cities that cover hillsides and twinkle along roadways and rivers. Travel in England seems easy for Americans used to limited train service. If Quincy, Illinois was in England there would be ten trains a day for St. Louis or Chicago.

After a good night’s sleep in Edinburgh we continue our adventures. Today we are off to explore a famous, one might say notorious chapel, Rosselyn. We approach it through a howling wind that rusheds clouds across a stormy sky like ranks of hooded riders. This seemed fitting for a place associated with mysteries ranging from Knights Templars and the Holy Grail to extra-terrestrial visitations. When we arrived we found a late gothic chapel made of grey stone built on a commanding hill. The current chapel is only about half the size of the chapel as planned in the fifteenth century. Nevertheless, it is remarkable. The exterior is decorated with high medieval pinnacles, grotesques and abutments but it is upon entering that one sees what all the fuss is about. The high ceiling is divided into  five different checkerboard like compartments of carved stars, roses, lilies and simple flowers. However, a single half-moon, sun and crucified Christ stand out. Below the ceiling, corners and windows are decorated with the heads of saints, kings or leering demons. More elaborate carvings of the life of Christ or Biblical scenes ornament the tops of columns. Other sculptures show angles playing musical instruments and one particularly well carved angel is Lucifer hanged by a rope upside down. One arch is covered with images representing the seven deadly sins. Carved on lintels are skeletons dancing with members of every social position in the dance of death, so popular in late medieval art.  Images of plants and flowers including some that look surprisingly like maize or corn are carved above the windows; surprising because this chapel was built before Columbus's expedition. Below the chapel is the crypt where a few medieval graves are still marked. This, of course, is the setting for the denouement of the Da Vinci Code.

Although it must be fun for conspiracy theorists and fantasists to read secrets into this building it is better still to rightly appreciate it as a site where evidence of the wonderful medieval imagination that once existed in stone all over Europe still survives. Medieval designers of churches filled the walls and space with everything they knew about God, the world and Heaven. The all  inclusive language of symbol enabled them to  record and organize this knowledge into the categories and chains of being so loved by medieval schoolmen. What a shame that modern fantasy  writers and conspiracy theorists have lodged  themselves between us and our equally colorful and imaginative medieval past. People  in America are more likely to be aquainted with Hobbits  than  Benedictines. In England, however, the survivng architecture insures that the Middle Ages have a lingering presence. Right here is a good justification for continued study abroad courses.

Upon Returning to Cambridge

     One hopes to gain many things from a sabbatical. In my case I am probably trying to do too much. During this time I hope to make progress on my book on Thomas Magnus, ambassador to Scotland from Henry VIII. I also hope to read as much as possible and enjoy lectures related to the courses I teach. I also want to do some ground work for study abroad courses in the future. Finally, I hope to recharge my batteries both physically and spiritually. Spending time in Cambridge where I worked on and received  my PhD. twenty years ago seemed a good place to make progress on all of these goals.
Half way through my time in England I feel fairly pleased at my progress.
     However, I have been anxious about my spiritual regeneration in Cambridge. The reasons for this are many but generally returning to a place where one was much younger presents many dangers.  The great swelling chords of nostalgic feeling are too often accompanied by tiresome voices that sing of missed opportunity. I prefer to live in the present.  Secondly, Cambridge was the site of my first and most intense involvement with the Western Buddhist Order. Founded by Sanghrakshita, an Englishman who studied in India and then returned to found the movement, it is one of the largest and most successful Buddhist organizations in England. My involvement although positive in many ways also created a highly compartmentalized life. As I plugged away on my dissertation, enjoyed the rich social and cultural life of the university I also studied and tried to practice Buddhism. This meant weekly meetings, encounter groups, weekend retreats, study sessions, rituals and hours of meditation. As time went by I also wanted to demonstrate how committed to the movement I was so I helped run meditation courses. I even persuaded Queens' College to let the WBO use rooms there for courses. Leading such a compartmentalized life was stressful. I am sure I must have been as odd to my University colleagues as I was to the counter culture crowd of the WBO. However, the English have usually been good at tolerating odd ducks and both groups put up with me.
     Eventually, after leaving Cambridge and struggling to maintain my contacts and obligations with the Western Buddhist Order for another ten years I finally and painfully withdrew from the organization. Religious feeling is basic to humanity but trouble with organized religious structures is as well.  I could not fit into the Western Buddhist Order box. The turning point for me came at the end of a two week retreat when the retreat leader cruelly laughed in my face at my attempt to practice Buddhism in Midwestern America. I complained to other order members but they closed ranks behind the retreat leader. Perhaps his response seemed appropriate as Zen masters are always laughing at their students but for me it was devastating. I felt abandoned and undermined. Time has passed and the wounds have healed somewhat. I am still trying to find my way.
     So, it was here, in Cambridge, where the opening battles of my spiritual life were fought. It was also here where the great mountain of the PhD was scaled. As I planned my return I wondered if the associations would be difficult. As it turned out, I have a great deal of positive memory to draw upon. It was in Cambridge where I learned how to research, study, write, discuss and do history. My PhD supervisor, Brendan Bradshaw was unbelievably patient with my appalling early attempts at Tudor history. From other graduate students and professors I encountered ideas across the disciplines that have enriched my life ever since. They were embodiments through deed and word of the belief that there are many paths to truth. They have also served me as models for what a good, compassionate, tolerant and cultivated person looks like.  My time in Cambridge exposed me to the best of British civilization. My return has reminded me of this.
     My anxieties related to how the place has changed have also proved to be mostly unfounded. Of course, everything in the University Library is more advanced technologically but the tea room still serves superb Cheese Scones, the dons still wear tweed coats and the undergraduates are as cocky as ever. The streets although more crowded have changed little. The medieval architecture still inspires and old cafes like the Copper kettle and Tatie's are still sanctuaries for weary students.

Bede and Procopius

One of the tasks that I have set myself on sabbatical is reading as much as possible. As one third of a three person history department I am responsible for teaching all  European and much of the non European history courses. Thus, I have much to read to keep up. I recently finished two books on the same day. They could not have been more different yet both written on the cusp between Late antiquity and the Early Middle Ages.

The first, Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the Church in England I have written about before in this blog. Bede dies towards the middle of the eighth century. On finishing it, I come away with an awareness of how British history has been dependent upon him to fill in some major gaps in the narrative. About all we know of the church in the British Isles during the fifth to the eighth century we know because of Bede. In addition, although his interest is church history, he also is an important source for the history of the early British monarchies. Bede writes clearly and seems objective. He obviously consulted as many sources as he could. Nevertheless, he was a monk who spent his entire life in a monastery in the North of England. Between valuable descriptions of key turning points in the history of the church he records miracle stories that usually involve the fragrance of dead saint's bodies and their capacity to heal the sick.  I suppose you could say that they frame the main narrative in the same way the marginalia of the later Bayeux tapestry frames the narrative of the conquest of England. They often don't have much to do with the story but they do establish the context of sanctity and belief of the period. They also reveal the deep anxieties related to the medicine of the time. The constant struggle to keep newly converted pagans on the right path is revealing. His writing reveals a cycle of conversion then apostasy followed by reconversion. Historians are also particularly interested in Bede's account of the clashes between the Celtic and Roman Churches as the latter struggles to rein in the far flung Irish monasteries. Much of the debate between the two churches revolved around the dating of Easter. This seems a fussy point to us today but at time when various heresies prompted deep anxiety about Christian unity getting the right times for the holy days was crucial. Important details about architecture and culture can be read between the lines. Bede's miracle stories are also sometimes great literature. Many credit one of his tales as the inspiration for Dante's Divine Comedy. Yet, Bede an also be frustrating. As suggested earlier the miracle stories can become repetitive and his too brief mention of events beyond the church can be misleading. Although Bede records some political events one can get the impression that battles were few and many kings were would be saints. We know the reality of Early Medieval Britain to be different.

With the sixth century Procopius the reader gains a very different perspective on the period. Procopius is known for writing official histories of his times for the Roman Emperor, Justinian. These books are solid but full of praise for Justinian. He is wise and successful. His Gothic Wars records Justinian's successful attempt to win back Italy. Procopius's account of the Emperor's building projects is valuable for its architectural history of the time. However, his Secret History, clearly intended to be published after his death is a very different book. In this, Procopius describes a Justinian and his wife Theodora as literally demons bent on the pillage and destruction of the empire. It is an account of endless crimes and outrages. Interestingly, a picture of a real person does emerge between the description of Justinian as demon. It is clear that the emperor rarely slept, ate little and seemed to be what we would call today hyper active. He was highly accessible and a creative thinker and doer. An impression of the real Theodora gains little from the Secret History. She is described as utterly evil with a boundless sexual appetite and the capacity to protect her corrupt friends from justice. Procopius's sympathy with the Roman nobility fleeced by Justinian and Theodora is made obvious by how much time he spends discussing the upper classes loss of land and treasure. However, he doesn't' hold back from criticizing Justinian's harsh religious policies towards alternative Christian belief systems or heresies throughout the empire.

Reading the two books together does highlight the importance of the historian's perspective. What a difference there is between an isolated monk and a court functionary. Both suffer from limitations as a result. Bede sometimes seems almost naive and Procopius's view is clouded by his hatred. Both however were composed in the international language of the day, Latin, so the same reader would have had access to affairs in Britain and Constantinople. It is interesting to note how they respond so differently to the contemporary need for Christian unity. Both writers are susceptible to an excess of belief that too readily offers explanation for events. One seems too positive and one seems too negative. With both the reader longs for balance. Yet, as both books are rare examples of survival from a time where most of our sources are lost one is aware how influential they are in shaping our perspective of history and historical writing. We see early British history through Bede's eyes and we ponder early Byzantium with Procopius as our guide. How dependent our understanding of the past is on the limitations, biases and pet interests of remarkable but merely human beings. Our understanding of the past is always an invented, flawed and limited construction no matter how objectively the historian uses the often sparse sources.  At the same time what a blessing this is. Because historical understanding is always dubious we are forever in the process of revising, reinterpreting and rewriting. Humanity, the subject of history, thank heavens is so mysterious that our study of the past encourages an endless quest. The search encourages careful, considered but boundless possibility in answering the question, what is it to be human. The created nature of history encourages humans to forever recreate themselves.

Mont St. Michel

Mont St. Michel emerges from the water like a medieval saint's vision of heaven. At low tide, surrounded by huge stretches of silted flats and beach its grey mass can be seen from miles away in all directions. The place began in the eighth century when the archangel Michel visited the local bishop in a dream and demanded that he build a church and monastery on the rock. Michel had to knock a hole in the bishop's head before he took him seriously. The following centuries saw the building of romanesque and gothic structures pile on top of the rocky outcrop and each other to create the modern silhouette of a spike rising from the sea. Surrounded by water except at low tide, pilgrims risked the huge stretch of mud while eying the rising tide to pray at the shrine. A small town with impressive fortifications grew around the base. Repeated attempts by the English to capture the place failed thus a huge English bombard abandoned by a retreating army greets visitors today as they enter the main gate.

Today one walks a mile across the new causeway built on top of the silted flats. Even at high tide the sea hardly laps at the base of the rock.  Once through the walls the climb begins towards the abbey at the top. The route is crowded with tourists and lined with tourist shops and eateries. Mont St. Michel is second only to the Eiffel tower in fame so bus loads pour into its walls like sand through a hole in a breakwater. Thankfully, as one heads up the rock the crowds dissipate. Upon reaching the abbey one enters a dark enclosed labyrinth of passageways and steep stairs. After some time the way opens on to a high porch at the foot of the abbey church.

Although damaged during the time of the French Revolution, the church is a model of the evolution of romanesque to gothic. At the start of the last century, the historian, journalist and novelist Henry Adams of the great American political family chose to start his celebration of medieval civilization right here with this abbey church.  The book in fact is called Mont St. Michel and Chartres. By Adams' time the dazzling colors of painted statuary and stain glass were long gone but the polyphony of the romanesque and gothic styles of architecture lit by great gothic windows inspired him to envision a lost cultural perfection. The Medieval ideal of unity was best expressed in the sacred architecture built to educate the masses and celebrate the oneness of God. It was a microcosm of God's ordered and geometric universe. When one remembers that this particular version is sitting at the peak of a rock rising directly from the sea one feels that this could be a sort of medieval spacecraft crammed with all the earth's knowledge about to shoot up the great chain of being into the Empyrean.

Normandy

Bayeux is a popular base for Americans visiting France to see the Normandy landings. Many also fit in a look at the Bayeux Tapestry while here. The two tourist sites go well together. The Normandy invasion in 1944 and the Norman Conquest in 1066 are merely different versions of the same thing; amphibious warfare. Reminders of both are all over the city. One can see model airplanes and tanks in the windows of shops, statues of Allied generals, hotels named after Allied leaders and streets named after Allied divisions. At the same time, the notorious Norman impulse to express militant Medieval Christianity is also obvious in the massive cathedral that dominates the city. Like the also Norman cathedral in Ely, it is designed to remind all who live within sight that God choses Normans to rule in his place. Nevertheless, the Bayeux Cathedral is beautiful and graceful.

However, the highlight of the city is the tapestry. To call it a comic book is to do it injustice. It is more of a stop action motion picture of events. The two hundred and thirty foot long embroidery misnamed tapestry begins with Harold setting out by sea to visit Normandy. Above and below the central panel strange beasts, real animals or scenes from every day life decorate the margins. Some Latin explanation is sometimes included. We see Harold's ship swept up on the coast, taken captive and turned over to William. Panels reveal Harold and William feasting, besieging a Breton city and finally Harold's vow of fealty to William. Once in England we see Harold awkwardly explaining his actions to King Edward. Next, Edward is dead and Harold has seized the crown. Now the panels closely observe the Norman response as they carefully lay in supplies, build ships and prepare armor. At last they set sail for England. Seamlessly, the narrative sweeps or even drives the viewer along to the final defeat of the Saxons. The tapestry shows the attack of the Norman cavalry first by images of horses standing still, then walking then running full gallop at the Saxon shield wall. The lines and forms push the eye dramatically onward. The colors of the tapestry intensify as the Norman cavalry are shown twisting and falling before the Saxon lines. The marginalia above and below the central panels fill with severed heads, limbs and dying horses. At last, we see Harold fall and the Saxons destroyed. One leaves the tapestry drained by such real representation of human experience but exhilarated by the astounding craftsmanship of 11th century artisans.

More recent experiences of warfare are commemorated just a few miles away at the Normandy beaches.  They stretch along several miles of broad sandy and rocky coast. Sadly, much of it today is ornamented by modern vacation homes but some pristine areas remain. The British and Canadian beaches approach low lying hills but as one moves west the hills get higher and steeper. By the time one reaches Omaha Beach the climb is dramatic. Today a huge American cemetery crowns the top where German bunkers used to be. Around one hundred thousand men died in the campaign, thirty thousand of which were Americans. Nine thousand lie in the deeply sad and well manicured cemetery at Colleville-sur-mer directly above Omaha Beach. Thankfully, the sandy stretch and cliffs are unspoiled here and the setting serves as a perfect screen upon which to project what one thinks the battle was like based on a diet of Hollywood movies. No doubt the real thing was much different.
Scattered along the coast remain blown out German bunkers and gun positions. The best preserved is at the Pointe du Hoc. Here, American Rangers scaled the cliff to blow up the most dangerous of gun emplacements. Out of the two hundred and twenty five men sent to accomplish the mission only ninety remained by the end of the day. However, they succeeded. Today, the area is pock marked with huge holes blown out by naval guns and the impressive remains of re-enforced concrete bunkers and barbwire shattered by artillery. The evidence of war here is industrial, chaotic, inglorious and ugly.

Nevertheless, the earth is gradually covering and reclaiming this place. Grass grows in the shell holes and the concrete is disappearing into the sand. Mist and fog roll in from the North Sea while the crash and hiss of waves on the shore sing of timelessness. National remembrance thankfully demands that battle sites be safe from development thus nature is returning this place into a stretch of stunningly beautiful unspoiled coastline. A simple war memorial to the Rangers built atop a ruined German Bunker declares that this is sacred ground.

As someone who teaches history I find visits to such places not only powerful but humbling. So often the endless round of wars that fill up history textbooks can become dull or numbing. When one encounters the merging of war, memory and the nurturing earth at a battlefield site, the silence sharpens the awareness of the power of wartime experience. No wonder it inspires our most profound art and literature, reveals our worst impulses, intensifies our technological creativity or prompts our most dramatic economic and social experiments. The challenge as a teacher is to communicate or rather in modern Educational speak facilitate the student's understanding that wars have been and still are utterly human. By studying them we study ourselves.

St. Etheldreda

Some days ago we celebrated the feast of St. Etheldreda at Ely cathedral. She is credited with founding Ely in the seventh century when she founded a monastery here. She was an Anglian Queen who rejected her royalty for sanctity. In the Middle Ages pilgrims came to the cathedral to do homage to her shrine but sadly it was destroyed in the Reformation and her body was scattered in the Fens.  Today, a black stone marks the spot where her shrine once stood.

The celebration involved an expanded evensong with all the clergy present along with incense  and a procession. While I listed to the choir sing a Benjamin Brittain Te Deum I pondered Etheldreda's absent shrine. What amazing continuity one sees in England. The devotional acts of a women over 1300 years ago should lead to a monastery, then a cathedral, then a city. What outlets are available and unavailable to impressive women today? Values and culture have changed so much over the centuries that her act of founding a monastery is almost incomprehensible to us in the twenty-first century. Yet the buildings still stand as monuments to a time with constraints but also ideals impossible to recreate today. How much continuity is there really with the past except for stone structures and saints days, which are merely symbols?

Thus, I pondered the meaning of the saint's life while immersed in glorious music, multi-colored light from stain glass and the heavy perfume of frankincense; all powerful symbols in their own right and all working together to alter my consciousness and give me a higher and broader view. Something about these symbols made me feel fuller and happier as a human being. If these are mere symbols then let me be swept along by their power.