Chapter VII: Section II: Superstitions

The course which was pursued by the church in reference to the superstitions prevalent among the barbaric tribes whom it converted, or sought to convert, at least to a nominal Christianity, was the very opposite of that which the Scriptures prescribe. The Jews were forbidden to compromise the character of their religion by accommodating themselves to heathen practices; and an inspired apostle, indignant at the thought of amalgamating Christianity with paganism, exclaims, "What communion hath light with darkness? what concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel?"

The church of the middle ages proceeded on a different principle. "Idol temples," said Gregory the Great, in his epistle to the abbot Melitus on his mission to Britain, "Idol temples are not to be destroyed, but only the idols which are in them. Let the fanes be sprinkled with holy water, and the altars consecrated by relics. If these edifices be well built, it is desirable that they should be converted from the worship of demons to the use of the true God; for the people, seeing that their temples are not destroyed, will more easily overcome their prejudices, and acknowledge and adore the Almighty in the places where they have been wont to worship. And since they are accustomed to slay oxen in sacrifice to their gods, let this be turned into a Christian solemnity, so that on the day of dedicating a church, or on the festivals of the holy martyrs whose relics may be there preserved, booths of green boughs may be erected round these same churches and Christian rites be celebrated. Animals are no more to be offered in sacrifice to devils, but they are to be eaten by the people in gratitude and to the glory of God. By retaining these outward forms of rejoicing you will more easily bring them to participate in spiritual joys."[1] The result of such mistaken policy might have been foreseen; for this spirit of compliance is sure to deteriorate the system which it seeks to extend, and to confirm the prejudices which it seeks to overthrow. The issue of the process is ever the same. Pagans are not truly converted to Christianity, but the profession of Christianity itself is paganized.

There were also persons in the middle ages who in the same spirit adopted parts of pagan mythologies, and moulded fancies of their own according to the prevailing forms of popular superstition. Not only do we find the Italians borrowing their patron saints from the _dii presides_ and the _dii patrones_ of their pagan fathers, and, sometimes, transforming the statue of a heathen god into the image of a Christian saint, but we also find people, in other parts of Christendom, accommodating to their own use certain fables current among the barbaric nations. The Scandinavian mythology gives great prominence to the exploits of Odin: sometimes he is called Nikar, and appears as a destroying spirit raising storms on the Scandinavian lakes and rivers, and teasing the fishermen, by hanging up their boats on the summits of the fir-trees. This fabled deity appears in the hagiology of the middle ages under the name of St. Nicholas, the patron of sailors, supposed to have power over the storm and tempest. Mementoes of this superstition still remain in churches situate near the sea, and dedicated to this saint of the ocean, whom many a seaman still invokes, as he catches a glimpse of the distant church rising above the shore. Beside instances in which mythological fables were thus adopted, and, if we may use the term, thus Christianized, there are proofs of the spirit of pagan superstition having moulded the conceptions formed of invisible beings by the ecclesiastical teachers of the dark ages. Satan is commonly represented by them under forms which they could have borrowed only from such a source. The monster with horns and tail was evidently the creation of the fancy under the influence of legendary superstitions. One cannot help smiling at the grotesque scenes painted by the saints, in which the Spirit of Evil is introduced as the chief actor. He is said to have teased St. Gudula by blowing out her candle, on her way to church, at the hour of cock-crowing; but this story is surpassed by another related respecting the arch-enemy and St. Britius. "Once, whilst St. Martin was saying mass, St. Britius, whose name hath retained a place in the Protestant calendar, officiated as deacon, and behind the altar he espied the devil busily employed in writing down on a slip of parchment, as long as a proctor's bill, all the sins which the congregation were actually committing. Now St. Martin's congregation was anything but serious; they buzzed and giggled, and the men looked upwards, and the women did not look down, and were guilty of so many transgressions, that the devil soon filled one side of his parchment with short-hand notes from top to bottom, and was forced to turn it. This side was also soon covered with writing. The devil was now in sad perplexity; he could not stomach losing a sin, he could not trust his memory, and he had no more parchment about him. He therefore clenched one end of the scroll with his claws and took the other between his teeth, and pulled it as hard as he could, thinking that it would stretch. The unelastic material gave way and broke. He was not prepared for this, so his head flew back and bumped against the wall. St. Britius was wonderfully amused by the devil's disaster; he laughed heartily, and incurred the momentary displeasure of St. Martin, who did not at first see what was going forward. St. Britius explained, and St. Martin took care to _improve_ the accident for the edification of his hearers."[2]

Such fables respecting Satan are so similar to the tales abounding in the traditionary mythology of an early age, relative to wicked sprites, who are represented as combining in their character a strange medley of fun and malice, that it is impossible to mistake their origin. And it may be observed by the way, that such men as St. Martin, St. Benedict, and St. Gregory, who retail many an idle story of this sort, are surely not the men whom a wise and sober-minded Christian would think of choosing as the guides of his faith. But the tales just related are introduced here to show how the church leaned to pagan superstitions, and thus to illustrate the influence which it produced on society. Stories of this description, sanctioned by ecclesiastics, became current among the people, and formed the staple of conversation during the long winter evenings, as the sons and daughters of our distant forefathers gathered round the blazing hearth. They thus bring up before us the domestic scenes of those early times, and show the opinions and sentiments which would be sure to prevail in the popular mind. The church, instead of zealously setting itself to purify, as far as it could, the thoughts of men from the errors and follies which they had derived from paganism, in many cases accommodated itself to them, from motives of policy, or caught their spirit, from sheer sympathy; and thus helped to perpetuate habits of credulity, degrading to the mind, and superstitious feelings, injurious to the heart: the lingering remains of which may be found in many parts of Europe, and in some of the rural districts of our country, to the present hour.

The use of the ordeal is of great antiquity. Blackstone[3] notices obvious traces of it among both the ancient Greeks and Germans, but especially the latter. It was chiefly of two kinds, the fire ordeal, and the water ordeal: the former, which was confined to persons of high rank, consisted in carrying a piece of red-hot iron, or in walking barefoot upon red-hot ploughshares; the latter kind of ordeal, which was intended for the common people, consisted in plunging the arm up to the wrist, or the elbow, in boiling water, or in being thrown into a deep river, or pond.[4] If the person escaped unhurt from these perilous trials, it was supposed that the Divine Being had interposed for his safety, and he was pronounced innocent of the charge which had been brought against him. The pernicious nature of the custom, in reference to the welfare of society, is too evident to require remark; and Christianity shows itself to be the friend of man in discountenancing such practices. Under the influence of the principles of Christianity, some of the churchmen of the dark ages did condemn the use of the ordeal, but others, in the accommodating spirit already noticed, gave to it a decided sanction. In the sixth century, it was appealed to for the decision of theological questions; and after the ninth century, the clergy in general assumed its superintendence, probably from benevolent, though mistaken notions. A third kind of ordeal was engrafted upon one of the most solemn services of the church. The _corsned_, or morsel of execration, was either the sacramental wafer itself, or a piece of bread administered in connexion with the eucharist. A solemn prayer was offered that the bread might cause convulsions, if the person receiving it were guilty. The reader, perhaps, will remember the history of earl Godwin, in the reign of Edward the Confessor, who expired as he was at table eating a mouthful of bread, which he prayed might choke him if he had been guilty of the death of the king's brother. Some doubt has been thrown upon the tale, but its insertion in our early histories illustrates the superstitious regard which was paid to this species of ordeal, and to the result of any appeal to Heaven under circumstances which bore any resemblance to its more solemn administration. The trial by ordeal in England fell into disuse about the thirteenth century, but at an earlier period it had disappeared in the judicial proceedings of most other European nations. The extinction of the practice was owing, in a great measure, to the more enlightened views of the subject which were entertained by the clergy at the time. It is, however, to be lamented, that, having been tolerated so long, the spirit of the institution survived its formal practice: and still we occasionally find persons impiously appealing to Heaven in proof of their innocence, somewhat after the manner which prevailed in the middle ages.

The writings of the fathers, and the decrees of councils, afford abundant evidence that heathen festivals were condemned by the early church. During the middle ages, instances are not wanting of their being severely reprobated by the clergy. In a sermon by Eligius, a bishop of the seventh century, there is a long and fervent exhortation against all participation in heathen festivities, and kindred practices.[5] And prohibitions by councils, to the same effect, may be found as late as in the ninth century. Yet from the passage we have cited from the epistle of Gregory, it is plain that a principle of accommodation to pagan prejudices was sometimes adopted. This principle, in some of its bearings, seems to have advanced, rather than declined, in favour with the church, as time rolled on. The old heathen festival of the calends of January, which, in its pagan form, was long discountenanced by the church, appeared in the twelfth century, if not earlier, as a sort of Christian festivity, and bishops and archbishops engaged in Christmas sports, and even so far forgot their episcopal dignity as to join in a game of ball.[6] This festival afterwards became known as the Feast of Fools, and was marked by profanities almost incredible. An abbot of fools was elected, to whom the prelate of the diocese, if present, was accustomed to pay homage. A mock bishop was also chosen, who was carried to the house of the diocesan, where from the principal window he pronounced a benediction on the neighbouring town. Mock sermons, prayers, and other religious services, were connected with these absurd proceedings, and the whole thing, from beginning to end, was characterized by noise, disorder, folly, and impiety.

Still greater excesses afterwards arose, and Du Cange gives us the rubric of what was called the Feast of Asses, as celebrated in the cathedral of Rouen. It appears to have been a kind of drama in which a number of characters were introduced, Jewish and pagan, each one in turn repeating something in accordance with the part he assumed. Balaam, sitting on an ass, seems to have been the hero of the piece, and from this circumstance the feast derived its name. A young person appeared in the character of an angel, with a drawn sword, standing before the animal, and a dialogue ensued, founded on the Scripture narrative. Another absurdity, somewhat of the same kind, in commemoration of the flight into Egypt, prevailed in the churches of the diocese of Beauvais, at least as early as the thirteenth century.--A girl richly attired, with a child in her arms, was seated on an ass, and solemnly conducted to the altar, where mass was said, and the ceremony was concluded by the priest braying three times, to which the people all yielded an asinine response, three times repeated.[7] Who but must blush for the men calling themselves Christian ministers, who could not only tolerate, but even engage, in such impious fooleries? The rulers and teachers of the church in such instances, so far from having raised the people in piety and intelligence, had sunk down to the level of popular degradation. It is said that the bishops endeavoured to abolish these absurdities by ecclesiastical censures: but it was strange indeed, if they were strenuously resolved on putting them down, that they should still have permitted them to be performed within the walls of their own cathedrals.

Some examples of the superstitious character of the period before us have appeared in the preceding pages; but the shape which superstition took in reference to the legends, relics, and miracles of the saints, demand a distinct, though it must be a brief notice. Indeed scores of volumes like the present might be filled with the stories of the middle ages on these subjects. It is enough to dip into one of the portly tomes of father D'Achery, and take from his ample collection of mediæval documents a specimen of the tales commonly believed. For example, read the following extract from a sermon, by St. Theodore, upon the blessed apostle Bartholomew, preached in the ninth century, not as, by any means, the most marvellous story which might be selected, but as a sample at once of the superstition of the times, and of the kind of instruction imparted by the clergy to their people.

"The Saracens arrived, and seized and ravaged the island.[8] They burst open the sepulchre of the apostle, and scattered his bones. When they had departed, the saint appeared in a vision to a certain Greek monk, belonging to his church, and said to him, 'Arise, collect my scattered bones;' to which he replied, 'Why should we collect thy bones, or pay thee any honour, since thou hast permitted us and this people to be ravaged by the pagans, and hast afforded us no help?' But he said, 'For many long years I besought the Lord on behalf of this people, and, in answer to my prayers, he has preserved them; but because their sins are multiplied, and their iniquity is so increased, I am able to prevail no longer for their safety, and therefore they perish. But arise, and collect my bones, as I have said, and preserve them as I shall direct thee.' To whom the monk rejoined, 'But how shall I be able to find them, since I know not where they are scattered?' 'Go by night,' said the apostle, 'to gather them up, and what thou shalt see shining like fire are my bones.' Immediately he arose, and went to the place, and found the bones as the apostle had said. Having collected them together, he put them in a coffin, and departed, a friend being left to watch them. Some vessels of Lombardy having come to the place in pursuit of the Saracens, received the monks and the body of the saint on board, and sailed away. The Saracens afterwards surrounded the ship, in which the holy body of the apostle was conveyed, so that no hope of escape remained, when suddenly a thick mist enveloped the ships of the Saracens, so that they knew not where they were; and by this means the vessel escaped. While pursuing their voyage, the divine benignity of the apostle healed one of the sailors of a grievous malady."[9]

Miracles, in the middle ages, lost their miraculous character by their great frequency. "They became," as Jeremy Taylor observes, "a daily extraordinary, a supernatural natural event, a perpetual wonder, that is, a wonder and no wonder." They could, therefore, be sometimes dispensed with, and we are informed that abbot Stephen, of Liege, in the beginning of the eleventh century, prayed St. Wolbodo to refrain from working any more miracles, on account of the inconvenience which was felt by the brethren of the monastery, from the number of sick persons who came to be healed by day and by night![10] It should, however, be observed, that gross as was the credulity of the middle ages, in reference to the miracles of their saints, it scarcely surpasses the credulity of many of the fathers of the Nicene period. Ambrose, Augustus, and Jerome may be matched to a great extent, in this respect, with the legendary writers of a later period. It has often been asked, Were these stories the result of deliberate imposture, or the mere offspring of ignorance and superstition? No doubt there is room, in many cases, for the charitable interpretation so benevolently conceived and elegantly expressed by sir James Mackintosh: "The illusions of sight, the shades by which dreams sometimes fade into waking visions, the disturbance of the frame from long abstinence, and from the stimulants incautiously taken to relieve it, together with a permanent state of mental excitement, sanctioned by the firm faith which then prevailed in the frequent and ascertainable interpositions of Divine power, are sufficient to relieve us from the necessity of loading the teachers of our forefathers with a large share of fraudulent contrivance, and unmingled fiction. The progress of a tale of wonder, especially when aided by time or distance, from the smallest beginning to a stupendous prodigy, is too generally known to be more particularly called in aid of an attempt to enforce the reasonableness of dealing charitably, not to say justly, with the memory of those who diffused Christianity among ferocious barbarians."[11] But while the benefit of such a charitable construction may be extended to many instances of pretended miracles, it cannot be denied that a large portion of them were the work of fraud. Gregory of Tours, in the sixth century, candidly admits that a certain miracle which he records had been ascribed, not to the Divine power, but to the contrivance of the clergy. A writer of the eleventh century relates a characteristic instance of a man who was accustomed to dig up dead bodies, recently interred, and to dispose of them as wonder-working relics. On one occasion, at the dedication of a church, it was discovered, from conversation with the man himself, that the relic which he had sold, and to which most extraordinary virtues were ascribed, was a gross and flagrant imposture; but still the clergy, though convinced of the fraud, went on with the rites of consecration, and solemnly placed the pretended relic among the other precious treasures of the shrine.[12] It may also be remarked, that the actions of one saint are often ascribed to another, and whole legions are repeated with only the change of a name.[13] With facts of this description before us, we are compelled, though with deep pain, to believe that deliberate imposture was often practised in reference to relics and miracles. The disposition of the people to believe in these absurdities shows, that superstition must have been the very element of their being. Their appetite for incredible stories was truly voracious. Still it might be hoped, that though the mind was degraded by such a credulous temper, vice would, in some measure, be held in check, by a belief m the close and miraculous intercourse which the departed saints kept up with the dwellers upon earth. But these spiritual beings, instead of having ascribed to them such a character of inflexible hatred to all transgression, as would make it impossible for any but the virtuous, or sincerely penitent, to obtain their favour, were represented as taking under their patronage the worst of sinners, upon the easy condition of their presenting some offering to the church, or of their even uttering a simple prayer. Among the popular legends of those days, there are stories of the Virgin Mary having interceded with her Divine Son, for the salvation of a dissolute monk, who had died without confession; and of her having, to the no small surprise of the executioner, kept alive on the gallows, for two days, a favourite thief, who addressed his usual prayer to her while the rope was round his neck.[14]

[1] Bede, Ecc. Hist. lib. i. 30.

[2] See an able article on the Popular Mythology of the Middle Ages, Quarterly Review, vol. xxii. p. 356.

[3] Com. Laws of England, vol. iv. c. 27.

[4] Fosbrock's Antiquities, Art. "Ordeal."

[5] D'Achery, Spic. tom. ii. 87.

[6] Du Cange, in v. Kalendæ.

[7] Du Cange, v. Festum.

[8] One of the Lipari islands.

[9] D'Achery, Spic. tom. ii. 126.

[10] Mabill. Ann. lib. liv. No. 101. See Giesler, Text Book of Ecclesiastical History, vol. ii. 124.

[11] History of England, vol. i. p. 55.

[12] Glaber Radulph, iv. c. 3. Giesler, Text Book of Ecclesiastical History, ii. 124.

[13] Ibid. Giesler gives examples.

[14] Hallam gives these and other stories more fully. Middle Ages, c. ix. p. 1.