Books in Brief

012

Beautiful But …

The Monastic Realm

Raymond Oursel, Léo Moulin, Réginald Grégoire, translated by Donald Mills

(New York: Rizzoli, 1985) 287 pp. and 299 illustrations, $65

Fascination with medieval monasticism seems to grow stronger by the day. How did medieval monks live? Why did they choose such an austere and isolated life in the first place? What were their contributions to the overall development of Western civilization? The Romantic attitudes that characterized the investigations of these questions during the 19th and early 20th centuries have fortunately given way in recent years to more rigorous and objective scholarship, carried out by both monks and lay observers. Indeed, a virtual avalanche of works on medieval monasticism has appeared in the past 15 years or so, with the result that we now have at our disposal more information about medieval monasticism than has ever before been available. (A good guide is Giles Constable’s Medieval Monasticism: A Select Bibliography [University of Toronto Press, 1976], which very helpfully lists scores of works on the subject.)

How does the present book fit into this ever-expanding literature? The answer must unfortunately be that it fits in very uncomfortably. To begin with, it is difficult to determine for whom it was written. It is far too general and derivative for the serious scholar but, at the same time, far too specialized for the lay reader. Academic terminology is frequently used without definition, sites and individuals are discussed without being properly identified, and extremely long passages are given in Latin without translation. Added to these shortcomings is a general lack of focus to the work as a whole. The three co-authors seem not to have coordinated their efforts, and the result is a patchwork that does not coalesce. They disagree, in fact, on a number of points, even on exactly when to date what have been called the “monastic centuries”; Oursel opts for the long period between the 4th and 12th centuries, while Grégoire prefers to limit the era to the 10th, 11th and 12th. One comes away without gaining a basic overview, feeling instead a bit overwhelmed by the plethora of anecdotes and side issues that predominate.

The introductory essay by Oursel (“The Monks in the Civilisation of the Western Christian World”), which makes up well over half of the book, is particularly weak and disjointed. His historical background, curiously covering only part of the period in question, is clouded by what one might call a sort of subjective “anti-Romanticism,” by which I mean to imply a sensibility that quite rightly opposes the old notion that the Middle Ages was a graceful period of all-pervading innocence, but prefers to see them instead as a roundly awful time (which they also were not). He speaks repeatedly of the “desolation” of the times, their “insecurity,” “weariness” and “precariousness.” These conditions, to be sure, did exist from time to time in the Middle Ages, but to characterize the whole epoch lying roughly between 400 and 1400 by these attributes alone is tantamount to summing up the present century only on the basis of the 1930s and 1940s.

It was to Oursel, too, that fell the responsibility of discussing the physical sites where monasticism was lived out, that is, the monasteries, priories, convents and hermit communities that dot the face of Western Europe. Here again, the reader gets very little overall sense of either how these places were individually organized or of what sort of life took place there. And the author’s language (severely hampered by often faulty translation) frequently obscures rather than clarifies his meaning. What can he mean (p. 169) when he says that

“one comes to the surprising conclusion that the spirit that transpires from the subtly undulating stones of [the Cistercian abbey of] Fontenay is no less than what one would unhesitatingly term, elsewhere as erotic”?

A “surprising conclusion” indeed, that I for one would hesitate considerably before using!

One has difficulty also with his descriptions of the fantastic sculptural displays that adorn many of the finest Romanesque monasteries. In discussing that at San Michele de la Cluse, for instance (p. 95), he says the following:

“This resplendent decoration … represents, fittingly for such sidereal creation, the signs of the zodiac. This then is the incredible program that can now be contemplated by astounded battalions of twentieth-century tourists, and these fans of spatial and muscular exploits are, just for once, shocked into silence, with the chewing gum stuck to their palates.”

In addition, one’s appreciation of the monuments is frequently hampered by a lack of illustrations. Several sites that are discussed extensively in the text are not represented by photographs, while there is lavish coverage of monuments not mentioned at all. The quality of the photographs, however, is extremely high, and their quantity is equally impressive (factors which perhaps explain the high cost of this volume).

The remainder of the volume consists of essays by Réginald Grégoire (“The Monk from the Tenth to the Twelfth Century: A 014Representative of Civilisation and Culture?”) and by Léo Moulin. The first of these, which appears promising at the outset, is ultimately inconclusive. Based on the premise that “while monasticism held itself outside the mainstream of society it was nonetheless not extraneous to its evolution” (p. 173), Grégoire sets out to discuss the impact of monastic life on medieval civilization as a whole. Yet while various facets of this contribution are mentioned, the author in the end concludes that monasticism never specifically intended to shape society and that whatever influence it did exert was only coincidental, an assessment that is surely too superficial.

Moulin’s two short essays make for the liveliest reading in this book. The first, “The Benedictine View of Mankind, and Its Relevance Today,” deals in a general way with the monastic “virtues” (humility, gentleness, charity, etc.) that play so large a part in the generative Rule written by Saint Benedict in the sixth century and followed as the basic guide for all subsequent monastic life. But there is very little of real substance and nothing that is really specific to the impact of these admittedly admirable virtues on modern life. The second essay, “The Influence of Monastic Civilisation on Daily Life in Past Centuries,” is purely anecdotal, yet, although only 11 pages in length, it does more than all the rest of the book to bring medieval monasticism to life.

Added to the insufficiencies of the text are not only the frequently poor translation (the book was first published in Italian although most of the essays were originally written in French), but also the numerous and shocking lapses in editorial supervision. Punctuation is seemingly random; there are more spelling mistakes than one could list, and little consistency in the transcription of foreign place-names into English. Such laxness is inexcusable from a concern as reputable as Rizzoli and is particularly offensive in light of the book’s high price.

As stated earlier, the photographs are glorious and provide the only rationale for purchasing this book. In fact, the black-and-white duotones, which are among the finest available of most of the monuments illustrated here, are themselves monastic achievements, having been made over the decades by the industrious Benedictine monks of La-Pierre-qui-Vire, the same who have published the admirable multivolume series of Zodaique guidebooks to the many regions of Romanesque Europe. The color plates are also of superb quality, evoking quite successfully the richness of burnished gold initials in manuscript illustrations, the muted tones of wall-paintings and the sumptuousness of metalwork. But the photographic sections are really separate from the text and constitute a book apart. My suggestion is to linger over the pictures in a bookstore or a library, but not to get embroiled with the confusions of the text. A much better book for the interested amateur, containing a lucid, well-organized narrative as well as wonderful photographs, is Christopher Brooke’s The Monastic World 1000–1300 (London: Elek, 1974).

Misleading Guide

Six New Testament Walks in Jerusalem

I. Martin

(San Franciso: Harper & Row, 1986) 240 pp., softcover $12.95.

In format this little guide book is reminiscent of Inside Old Jerusalem: Three Walks by Muriel and Marty Isaacs. We have the same slightly condescending tone, the same chatty presentation of minimal information, the same use of line drawings and photos, the same concern about how to get there and back. Inevitably one is led to wonder 074about a relationship between the authors. Are Marty Isaacs and I. (for Isaac?) Martin the same person? The glowing review of the Isaacses’ book in Even Briefer, BAR 09:05, implies a level of historical and archaeological competence that is not to be found in this volume.

The six walks are: (1) Bethany, Bethpage (sic!), and the Mount of Olives; (2) The Descent of the Mount of Olives to Gethsemane; (3) Mount Sion; (4) The Model of Herodian Jerusalem; (5) The Temple Mount; and (6) The Via Dolorosa and the Garden Tomb. For each, Martin contributes the mixture of fact, half-truth, sheer fantasy, and downright falsehood that unfortunately is all too typical of some local guides. Indeed, it is a wonder that he gets his visitors to the right places, because in his photographs the el-Aksa mosque is identified as the Dome of the Rock (p. 178), the Chapel of the Finding of the Cross as the Tomb of Christ (p. 226), the Garden Tomb as a great cistern (p. 229), and a structure that has nothing to do with the Holy Sepulchre as the Tomb of Joseph of Arimathea (p. 224).

It would be tedious to list all the factual errors, but a sampling is necessary to reveal the character of this book. The house of Martha and Mary is incorrectly located in the middle of a graveyard; the first-century village of Bethany has been excavated further up the hill. Imbomon is translated as “High Place” when it is in fact a corruption of two Greek words meaning “On the Hillock.” The Byzantine monastery at Dominus Flevit was built to commemorate a tradition that originated only in the Middle Ages, not, as the author states, in the Byzantine period. The function of the money changers in the Temple, we are told, originated because pagan coins were unacceptable, but in fact, the Mishnah specifically demands payment in the pagan coinage of Tyre (Bekhoroth 8:7). The great stone pavement below the Ecce Homo arch is presented as the courtyard of the Antonia fortress, even though in reality it was a forum of Roman Jerusalem. The Antonia fortress is treated as a viable alternative for the starting point of the historical “way of the cross,” despite the fact that the evidence for the Palace of Herod on the other side of the city is overwhelming. Such errors are all the more unforgivable because precise, accurate information is easily available.

At times Martin tries to dissimulate his cavalier approach to a guide’s responsibility by asserting that what happened is more important than where it happened. The 075purpose of pilgrimage, however, is to root faith in history, and since most first-time pilgrims have no inkling of the Jerusalem tradition of holy places, it is really quite easy to tell them the truth. To distill the truth of archaeology and history in order to make a site come alive in the personal way that Martin intends demands a commitment and an insight that he signally lacks. The hollowness of this book is an embarrassment for anyone who, as a Christian, has experienced the power of Jerusalem.

Fast-Paced Survey

Uncovering the Ancient World

Harry V. F. Winstone

(New York: Facts on File, 1986) 393 pp., $24.95 hardcover

“The ancient and modern worlds have fundamental similarities,” Winstone tells us in his introduction. “There is certainly overwhelming evidence that the precocious creativity of ancient man existed side by side with deceit and dishonesty, with pathological pleasure in destruction, conspiracy, conquest and oppression.” A journalist, Winstone tells his historical tale with skill and a sense of excitement. His own interests in pottery and current Near Eastern politics add depth to this highly readable history of early archaeology.

Winstone focuses on personalities as much as finds—one often as dramatic as the other. As always in introductory archaeology books, we read of Layard, Nineveh, Rawlinson and cuneiform. Schliemann, Troy, Mycenae, Evans and Crete are interspersed with Egypt, the Promised Land and Babylon. The last chapter has Woolley and Ur on one end of the fertile crescent, Carter and Tutankhamen on the other. An epilogue gives a quick survey of more recent work, especially in Iraq.

Maps highlight Babylonia, the upper Euphrates and Egypt. A time chart runs from Rome to Iran, 4000 B.C. to 500 A.D. Sixteen lovely color and 102 black-and-white illustrations highlight the text. Chapter notes (a bit obscure), 21 pages of bibliography and a good index add usefulness.

Winstone details success and mistakes of the past, but irregularly: for example, English jingoism and Schliemann’s enthusiastic blunders get more attention than those of other diggers. He commits a few errors. It was not Europeans but the American Egyptologist James H. Breasted who called the area a fertile crescent. Citadels, temples and artifacts have not affirmed the geography and history of the Pentateuch. A 076picture of a boat in Assyria dating to about 850 B.C. isn’t evidence of Solomon’s alliance with the Phoenicians. Nor was Assyria then at its peak of power. David did not build a temple. The desert was not a waving sea of grain even with irrigation. Amarna’s naturalistic art is different but it is hardly evidence that Pharaoh Akhenaten was homosexual.

But numerous question marks about the facts on file aside, the volume is fun to read—fast-paced and exciting.

Beautiful But …

The Monastic Realm

Raymond Oursel, Léo Moulin, Réginald Grégoire, translated by Donald Mills

(New York: Rizzoli, 1985) 287 pp. and 299 illustrations, $65