As a poet, Avitus of Vienne is best known for his biblical epic, De spiritalis historiae gestis, but he also wrote a poem of exhortation addressed to his sister, Fuscina, a dedicated virgin. That poem is given the title De virginitate in the influential MGH edition, following one group of manuscripts, but in a second group it is entitled De consolatoria castitatis laude, a title attested in a dedicatory letter Avitus wrote for the poem and adopted by its most recent editor. The title is problematic, however. Why castitas rather than virginitas, and how is the poem consolatory since it refers to no grief experienced by its addressee? The paper addresses these questions by exploring the language of chastity and consolation. It also analyzes the model of womanly virtue that the poet holds up for his sister: one that, through the biblical and saintly examples of Deborah, Susanna, and Eugenia, proposes a kind of heroism, embodied in mental resolve, strength of character, and the maintenance of moral integrity. In more than one passage Avitus contrasts womanly resolve with male irresolution and weakness. Virtus, despite its etymological associations, lies with the women. By comparison, references to males or the manly (viri, virilis) tend to take on ironic or subversive connotations in such contexts.

This essay offers a new examination of medical knowledge in Merovingian Gaul (c. 500–c.750), the ways that it became part of non-specialized learning, and its continuities with Carolingian medicine. In most histories of medicine, the Merovingian world is portrayed as providing a hostile environment for medicine due to the Christianization of knowledge. A significant problem, however, is that there has been no study of what medicine was known or how it was treated since 1937, and even that study can now be seen to be built on false premises. The first part of the present paper offers a new conspectus of Merovingian medical knowledge based on the earliest manuscripts and argues that this new overview changes where we can see continuities in content and practice with Carolingian medicine. The second part builds on this to explore the intersections between religious and secular study, and how medicine fitted within a generalist rather than specialist education. The final section looks at how this learning complemented understandings of the miraculous and nature and in the process helped to deal with challenges from folk practice and the failures of medicine to offer effective aid during pandemics. It is concluded that medicine was in good health in the Merovingian period as it contributed useful ways to see natural order in Creation.

It is usually thought that during the seventh century, a formal split in the Irish Church had resulted in the creation of two rival factions: a “Roman party” of reform-minded ecclesiastics, and an “Irish party” intent instead on maintaining current practices. A partial record of their decades-long schism has been thought to be preserved in the Irish canonical compilation, the Collectio canonum Hibernensis, which attributes a substantial number of canons either to “Roman synods” or to “Irish synods,” and we have understood this to reflect a period in which the two groups had sought to advance their cause by holding separate synods from which their opponents were excluded. The foundations for this interpretation of the “Roman” and “Irish” canons of the Hibernensis were laid more than a century ago, but more recent scholarship provides reasons for rethinking the hypothesis. The article focuses especially on one of the texts which the compilers of the Hibernensis understood to be the work of the “Romans” — a short text which has come to be known as the “Second Synod of St. Patrick” — and argues that certain details within the text suggest an association with documents produced on the Continent, in the network of monasteries founded by the Irish peregrinus Columbanus. I suggest a new context for the creation of the “Second Synod of St. Patrick,” and argue that this in turn offers a new way of thinking about the meaning of the “Roman synods” and “Irish synods” attested in the Hibernensis.

This paper reconsiders the passage in Maxims I in which Woden is said to have constructed wēos, a word that can be understood to mean “idols” or “pagan shrines.” It compares the passage to various euhemeristic narratives concerning Woden (or Óðinn) preserved by authors such as Ælfric, Æthelweard, Saxo Grammaticus, and Snorri Sturluson, and it argues that the Maxims I passage has more in common with ideas expressed in the later Scandinavian sources than in the earlier homiletic or insular historiographical sources. This exercise in comparative euhemerism suggests that the Woden passage in Maxims I is indebted to a narrative that resembled either the story of Óðinn's misadventure with an idol (preserved in Gesta Danorum) or the story of Óðinn as the builder of temples and founder of pagan religion (preserved in Ynglinga saga). In either case, it appears that a euhemeristic narrative of the sort preserved by Snorri and Saxo circulated centuries earlier in England. Toponymic evidence lends support to this conclusion, as place-names such as Wōdnes dīc and Grīmes dīc bear witness to the early circulation of otherwise unrecorded ideas about Woden as a supernatural builder. Finally, the presence of the Woden passage in Maxims I is viewed as a manifestation of the poem's indebtedness to the tradition of the wisdom contest, a genre associated with Óðinn in Old Norse sapiential literature.

This essay analyzes the mechanics of temporary journeys to the afterlife in Latin texts from the ninth century, the period typically associated with the birth of a medieval visionary genre. Sometimes framed as near-death experiences, sometimes as simple dreams, journeys to an otherworldly landscape were primarily intended as admonitions to the living, but in crossing the boundary between living and dead, the visionary's own soul and body experienced a problematic disjuncture. In contrast to previous scholarship, which has analyzed early medieval visions primarily as political texts, as contributions to a Christian belief in purgatory, or as forerunners to later medieval classics like Dante's Divine Comedy, this study uses visions as windows onto the theology of the soul-body union. The first part surveys important discussions that preceded and informed Carolingian visions of the afterlife (including Augustine's dialogues on the soul, the famous Merovingian Vision of Barontus, and various Insular texts with otherworldly encounters). The second part shows how, against these earlier models, Carolingian visionary authors broke with conventions in order to safeguard the stability of the soul's containment within its earthly body — the very same doctrinal issue that appears with mounting urgency in treatises on the soul produced in the middle decades of the ninth century. A key intervention of the essay is to argue for greater attention to the connections between Carolingian visionary texts and theological tracts, a point often overlooked in a field that has emphasized the imaginative narratives of visionary literature as fundamentally distinct from the ostensible conservativism of early medieval theology.

This article evaluates the geographical consciousness of north and west found in the Five Books of the Histories by the eleventh-century Burgundian monk Rodulfus Glaber. In contrast with dominant approaches to medieval geography that have informed prior commentators, who have focused on ideas of Europe or the opposition of east and west, it argues that we must situate Glaber's spatial consciousness first and foremost in the lineage of Carolingian and post-Carolingian conceptions of the north. Focusing especially on the climactic episode of the first book, a vision of the crucifixion that prophesies the rise of Christianity in the northern and western regions of the world, it seeks to contextualize this around the wider geography within Glaber's text. First, the unusual place of the Riphaean mountains and Raetia Secunda in Glaber's descriptions of Gaul and Germania are compared with early medieval textual geographies and eleventh- to twelfth-century cartography to show the shifting and ambiguous place of the north as an expansive and immediate frontier of the Christian world. Then, with this background in place, Glaber's conception of the west is considered through its use alongside a range of signs and portents, most notably the whale sighting at the beginning of the second book. These considerations reveal a messier and more local, Frankish conception of west that is interconnected with the north as a site of violence and disorder. This not only highlights important tensions in Glaber's text itself, but also a geographical vision that remained influential well into the twelfth century.

Recent scholarship has shown a revived interest in twelfth-century biblical commentaries and exegesis, particularly in and around Laon. In this essay, we argue that a certain kind of exegetical world was being forged in twelfth-century Laon which prepared the way for the widespread success of the Glossa ordinaria, both as a book form and as a bearer of certain theological ideas and exegetical techniques. Based on our examination of the manuscript evidence, two main versions of the Matthew Gloss are discernible in that century. This discovery makes it possible for scholars to reconstruct a primitive version of the Gloss which existed prior to the one used by Comestor and others, should such an edition be deemed useful. By examining the relationship between pre-Glossa ordinaria glossed manuscripts of Matthew and various stand-alone commentaries like Cum post ascensionem, our work clarifies existing understandings of how the Matthew Gloss originated and developed. Although the Gloss initially drew from patristic and Carolingian sources and contemporary masters, the mise-en-page of the gloss-form invited continued modification, with later scribes adding or subtracting material and interweaving their own insights with received tradition. As masters, students, and scribes glossed manuscripts of Matthew from Laon near and far, they left a lasting impact on how Latin Christendom read, studied, discussed, preached from, copied, and wrote in their Bibles.

This article argues that Moses Maimonides's Guide of the Perplexed first became known to a Latin Christian audience in Toledo before 1220, and that the section of it translated as the Liber de parabolis et de mandatis in 1223–24 (Guide III.29–49) is the work of Samuel ibn Tibbon and Michael Scot. Moreover, the introduction to exegesis that prefaces the translation reflects the work of ibn Tibbon. The article considers the impact early contact with the Guide had, first in Toledo, and then in Paris and Provence. The Guide presented a God who worked through the principles of Aristotelian physics, and offered an incentive to translate and study those works of Aristotle and his interpreters that illuminated these questions. Texts translated in Toledo under the inspiration of the Guide became core texts for Paris scholastics. William of Auvergne, the first Parisian scholar to use the translation, would play a key role in the trial of the Talmud. And Cardinal Romanus, to whom the Liber de parabolis et de mandatis was dedicated, is implicated in the controversy of the Guide itself among Jews at Montpellier.

The Expositio in Apocalypsim by Alexander Minorita (also known as Alexander of Bremen, d. 1271) is the earliest complete mendicant Apocalypse commentary. It has been noted for its highly chronological interpretation of the path toward the end times and its witness to the early spread of Joachimite texts into central Europe. Our knowledge of the transmission and, crucially, the use of this text has thus far not taken into account thirty-five folios of instruction on spiritual warfare found in one of the Expositio's eight manuscript witnesses: Cambridge, University Library, Mm.5.31 (c. 1270). The edition presented here of this unique addition, which was excluded from the modern critical edition of the Expositio, makes the complete Cambridge version of the Expositio available for the first time. While there has been some debate over the editorship of this version of the commentary — the Benedictine-turned-Franciscan Albert of Stade (d. c. 1260) and Alexander himself have both been suggested — we argue that a further possibility must be considered. Its author may have been a highly educated Benedictine writer, who adapted the commentary with his coreligionists (at least partly) in mind. His goal was not only to extol the importance within the apocalyptic timeline of Benedictine history, but also to promote ascetic values among his readers. Overall, the Cambridge Expositio provides further evidence of the intellectual conversations and cross-pollination of both practices of learning and structures of thought between mendicant, university, and cenobitic cultures in this period. Within this context, apocalyptic thought could find unexpected uses, including galvanizing monks in day-to-day religious practice and progress.