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The changing sacred landscape, from one dominated by temples to one where churches and monasteries were omnipresent, is a main feature of Late Antiquity. In this chapter, we will use the concept of ‘appropriation’ to gain an impression of the diverse ways in which Christians responded to, and interacted with, the former sacred built environment. In order to grasp the full complexity of these responses and interactions the focus is on a local case study, Abydos, a site that functioned continuously as a necropolis and cult centre of Osiris up until the Graeco-Roman period. Based on recent fieldwork, the various ways in which Christians, and especially monks, used and reused the abandoned necropolis are discussed.
The purpose of this chapter is to examine how Theodoret of Cyrrhus appropriated discourses of Roman masculinity in his Historia religiosa (ca. 440–444 CE), with the purpose of making the monks more acceptable, more marketable, to his would-be readers. Masculinity was a tactical appropriation that signified social worth. The study analyses four discourses related to masculinity in the Historia religiosa, all functioning with the purpose of showcasing the interior struggle between the soul and body of the monk. These discourses are warfare, athletics, slavery and medical discourse (health and illness). All function to show the superiority of the souls of the monks. By proving that the souls of the monks have universally dominated their bodies, they are also qualified to exercise external social, political and religious control. Hence, because of their total inner domination, Theodoret’s masculine monks can show dominance against foreign armies and raiders, generals and governors, and even an emperor. As literary characters, they become quite marketable to more reserved and conservative would-be readers.
As part of his long-standing work on the ‘Oriens pontificius’, the edition of the papal charters issued before 1198 in favour of the Latin churches and religious institutions founded in medieval Syria and Palestine in the aftermath of the First Crusade, Rudolf Hiestand has repeatedly stressed the extensive loss of source material pertaining to the history of the ecclesiastical establishments of the Latin Levant. Because of the Muslim reconquest of the so-called Crusader States and the concomitant destruction or complicated transfer of archives to Cyprus, Apulia, Sicily or France, scholars of the crusades and the Latin East are in many respects lacking the diversity and quantity of documentation generally produced by the Church in Western Europe during the Central Middle Ages. No monastic annals, no episcopal chronicles and hardly any hagiographical texts, theological treatises or sermons from Outremer have come down to us, with only very few exceptions such as the inventio narrating the discovery of the relics of the Patriarchs Abraham, Isaac and Jacob in Hebron, the poems revolving around the history of the Temple by Prior Achard and Abbot Geoffrey of the Templum Domini, the descriptions of the Holy Land by Rorgo Fretellus of Nazareth/Antioch and the writings of Gerard of Nazareth, bishop of Laodicea.
Closely related to the historiography of the Crusades, research on the Military Orders has been one of the most dynamic areas of medieval studies over the last forty years. Thus the historiography reviewed here is essentially limited to publications that have appeared since 2000 – without denying the considerable contributions of a generation of pioneers who, beginning in the 1960s, transformed the history of the Military Orders into a scholarly enterprise. Readers wanting to understand the historiographical transformations that have driven research in this field can easily refer to several recently published reviews.
In this chapter, an overview of the various genres of hagiographic literature is given: The focus gradually shifts from the martyrs in the age of persecution to holy bishops, monks and monastery founders. Collections of edifying stories and miracles become popular, holy fools and fictional saints appear on the scene as the heroes of novel-like texts. Hagiographic literature reflects the ecclesiastical and social developments in the lives of real and imaginary martyrs of Iconoclasm, of saints who resisted the unpopular church union in the late 13th century or who supported the Hesychast movement in the 14th century. Hagiographic literature was written at both a simple and a sophisticated stylistic and linguistic level, and many lives of saints were rewritten in later times in a more refined language. For liturgical purposes, lives of saints were also brought together in collections, reduced to short entries and used as the base of hymns.
This chapter explores the significance of the interaction between desert and city for the emergent church and its theology in early Byzantium. First, it examines how the desert resisted the city, focusing on the iconic figure of Antony the Great and the early desert dwellers. In withdrawing from the city, the anchorites also withdrew from the spatial and temporal dimensions of earthly life, entering the depths of their consciousness and being. Second, it probes how the desert sought to transcend the city, focusing on Barsanuphius and John in the mid-sixth century. The ascetic ways of these two Old Men, dying unto themselves and the world, as well as the wisdom of their 850 letters, portray a desire for spiritual constructs that overcame city conventions. Third, it looks at the hagiographic portrait of Mary of Egypt and how her liturgical afterlife shaped and transformed the city.
This chapter argues that women played significant and varied roles in the church of the Byzantine Empire. I examine the roles of women in four categories: women at church; female saints, martyrs and monastics; Empresses; and hymnographers. In the early Byzantine period, two ecclesial positions were set aside for women: deaconess and widow. Their responsibilities included some limited liturgical involvement, prayer for the church and training of other women in the faith. Throughout the life of the Empire, there were also significant and different female models of faith and piety. In discussing ‘holy’ women, I briefly explore the cult of female saints and the reality of celibate and monastic lives for women in the period, before then turning to Empresses and their varied roles as mothers of the faith, models of virginity and protectors of icons. Finally, this chapter introduces Kassia, the ninth-century abbess and hymnographer, as an example of female hymn-writers of Byzantium.
This chapter explores the importance of monasticism in the Orthodox church. It begins by outlining the various forms of Byzantine monasticism, from the reclusive (or eremitic) to the fully socialised (or coenobitic) and living arrangements somewhere in between (the lavriotic). The chapter argues that monasticism gave the Church not only a practical way of engaging with the needs of the community—providing various services such as aged care—but also a powerful expression of the symbolic. Using rich poetic evocations of Romanos the Melodist and Kassia on monastic life, the chapter shows how the figure of the monk or nun represented the angelic capabilities of people who dedicate themselves to God. Finally, the chapter explores the emotional difficulties of monasticism. The rigorous ascetic practices and the relinquishment of personal desires resulted in a variety of emotional struggles, including feelings of isolation and occasional frustration. This sentiment is often referred to as acedia or the ‘noonday devil’. In spite of these stresses, the chapter concludes that the monasteries provided a keynote for religious practice that clinches the highest spiritual aspirations of the Church.
As both substance and symbol, bread played a foundational role in the domestic and spiritual culture of Latin monasticism. Early medieval monks and nuns were expected to bake for themselves as part of their commitment to humility and self-sufficiency, and monastic rules and hagiography demonstrate that this daily bread was, like sacramental bread, a conduit for divine intercession. Monks’ participation in the eucharistic debates of the ninth to eleventh centuries reflected their spiritual formation in a Benedictine tradition that valued baking as spiritual labor and understood all bread to be potentially mutable and miraculous. From the eleventh century on, as the number of ordained monks grew and private masses proliferated in monastic churches, monastic customaries devoted considerable attention to the Eucharist’s evolving materiality and emphasized the monk-priest’s privileged status as a producer of holy matter. Regulatory texts also demonstrate that the rise of exacting new processes for confecting the host further eroded the fragile boundary between consecrated and unconsecrated bread in monasteries, with the latter becoming a focal point for concerns about purity, waste, and abuse that mirrored contemporary anxieties about the Eucharist.
The Byzantine Abbot Symeon the New Theologian (949–1022) transgressed the homophobic norms of medieval Orthodox society. His longing for God was distinctly homoerotic, and he depicted union with the divine as a queer sort of marriage. His Orthodox theology of theosis, the deification of the entire person, meant that Symeon taught the salvation of all the parts of the body. But monks also desired the eradication of lust and the punishment of those who fell prey to it. Sermons and biblical commentary defined men who had sex with men as sodomites; and saints' lives warned of the consequences of same-sex desires. Those who renounced sex redirected their desire rather than eliminating it. Symeon's queer erotics shed light on other devotions distinctive to medieval Orthodoxy, including the veneration of saints and worship with icons. Monastic Desires makes a groundbreaking contribution to the history of sexuality and the history of Christianity.
How did the living world – bodies, time, motion, and natural environment – frame the art of early medieval Britain and Ireland? In this study, Heather Pulliam investigates how the early medieval art produced in Britain and Ireland enabled Christian audiences to unite with and be 'dissolved' in an intangible divinity. Using phenomenological and eco-critical methodologies, she probes intersections between art objects, the living world, and the embodied eye. Pulliam analyses a range of objects that vary in scale, form, and function, including book shrines, brooches worn on the body, and reliquaries suspended in satchels. Today, such objects are discussed, displayed, and illustrated as static rather than mobile objects that human bodies wore and that accompanied them as they travelled through landscapes animated by changing weather, seasons, and time. Using the frame as a heuristic device, she questions how art historical studies approach medieval art and offers a new paradigm for understanding the role of sacred objects in popular devotion.
This concluding chapter reflects on the legacy of Augustine and the transition into a newly Christianized Europe, focusing on the pivotal role of Pope Gregory the Great (540–604 CE). It traces how Gregory inherited and transformed the philosophical and spiritual frameworks of late antiquity, channeling them into a vision of the Church as both a universal institution and a community of interpretation. Gregory’s work, including his Moral Reflections on Job, exemplified a pedagogy rooted in humility, moral formation, and multilevel scriptural reading. His missionary efforts, especially to England, helped lay the groundwork for the Latin Christian Middle Ages, in which learning – especially in Latin – became intertwined with monastic spirituality. The chapter explores the shift from classical eloquence to scriptural simplicity, the emergence of Latin as a sacred language, and the role of books and interpreters in shaping intellectual authority. Gregory’s legacy is set against a wider transformation: the gradual Christianization of formerly pagan cultural forms, the narrowing of the classical canon, and the emergence of a new educational and philosophical ethos in which learning served the soul’s ascent toward God. The chapter closes by framing this moment as both culmination and point of departure.
Matthew Paris is one of the most remarkable and renowned figures in the cultural history of medieval England. A career-monk at the influential Benedictine abbey of St Albans, Paris' creative work bears witness to the rich intellectual, artistic, social and political environment of the monasteries and their lasting impact on the wider world. His compelling accounts of recent history and the lives of legendary saints and churchmen are a distinctive and valuable guide to the emergence of the English kingdom and its place in European Christendom. His accomplished and vivid artwork brings into focus both the craft skill and visual sensibility stimulated by the medieval Church. This systematic survey, the first published for almost seventy years, brings together expert scholarship and offers fresh, interdisciplinary perspectives on Paris', his life's work as writer, artist, cartographer and maker of manuscript books, and its enduring legacy.
Shenoute of Atripe (348–465) was the most important Egyptian monastic leader in late antiquity. He developed a formalized discipline with which he governed three monasteries (two for men, one for women) located in the village of Atripe, across the Nile River from the city Panopolis (modern Akhmim). Thanks to Shenoute’s leadership, these monastic complexes, collectively known as the White Monastery Federation, played a major role in the social, political, economic, and religious lives of people in the region (Christians and non-Christians alike) and would become the hub of Christian literary culture in Egypt well into the Arab period. Shenoute himself occasionally preached public sermons in his native Coptic tongue to large crowds consisting of monastics, clergy members, lay people, government officials, military professionals, and other local luminaries. In those moments, Shenoute repeatedly defined the moral contours of the Christian community by stridently and repeatedly lambasting any zdepravity he believed present among his hearers, such as exploitation of the poor by rich landowners, adultery, violation of monastic vows, theft, cultic veneration of pagan gods, and Origenist and eventually Chalcedonian heresy.
Here is another text that witnesses to the early period of the island monastery of Lérins. Its author, Faustus, succeeded Maximus twice, first as abbot of Lérins and then as bishop of Riez. For his part, Maximus became the abbot after the monastery’s founder, Honoratus, was appointed bishop of Arles in 427 or 428. Maximus served as abbot until 433 or 434, when he became bishop of Riez. Faustus then replaced Maximus as abbot of Lérins, and when Maximus died sometime between 457 and 461, Faustus replaced him again, this time as bishop of Riez. Shortly after Maximus’ death, Faustus preached a homily to the church of Riez that stressed how the monastic virtues Maximus acquired at Lérins were a providential training for his pastoral ministry as bishop of Riez. In fact, Maximus was but one of several Lérinian monks installed as bishops in the 420s and 430s: besides Honoratus becoming bishop of Arles, also Hilary was made bishop of Arles in 430 and Eucherius bishop of Lyons around 434. Of course, Faustus himself followed the same trajectory.
As noted in the introduction to Hilary’s Sermon, Honoratus founded a monastic community sometime between 400 and 410 on an island off the coast of what is now Cannes in southern France. Then called Lerina, the island is now called Île Saint-Honorat de Lérins. Inspired by the desert fathers he had visited during his travels, Honoratus initiated at Lérins a style of monastic living that stressed individual ascetic pursuits within a communal context. It has been described as a monastery of hermits in community. As time went on, however, and due to the influence of the writings of Augustine and John Cassian – the latter dedicated his second set of Conferences to Honoratus and Eucherius (another monk of Lérins, who was chosen bishop of Lyon around 434) – the monastery of Lérins came to place more emphasis on the communal aspects of monastic living.
The Life of Hypatius was likely written in the mid-fifth century by Callinicus, the second abbot of the monastery that Hypatius founded across the Bosporus Strait from Constantinople. From a literary perspective, the text is a fairly conventional example of a late antique Greek hagiography; it owes much in structure, tenor, and phrasing to the period’s most well-known hagiography, Athanasius’ Life of Antony. Based on evidence internal to the narrative, Hypatius would have lived from 366 to 446 and would have, along with two companions, set up their community some three miles south of Chalcedon around 400 in an otherwise unoccupied compound that included an apostolic church (that doubled as a martyrium), palace, and monastery built by the imperial official Rufinus. During the early years of Hypatius’ residence here, the site hosted the Synod of the Oak, an event that ultimately deposed John Chrysostom, although Hypatius was personally absent during the trial. Two of the Egyptian monks known as the Tall Brothers – Ammonius and Dioscorus – died during their stay, and their remains were deposited within the church.
Between 400 and 410, Honoratus, the scion of a noble Gallic family, founded a monastic community on the island of Lérins (modern Île Saint-Honorat de Lérins, just off the coast of Cannes in southern France). A charismatic figure, Honoratus inspired many men from Gaul and elsewhere, including his relative Hilary, to take up the ascetic life at Lérins. Some years later, around 427 or 428, when the island monastery had become an unqualified success, Honoratus left to become bishop of Arles, although he died shortly thereafter in 430. His successor as bishop, Hilary, commemorated the first anniversary of Honoratus’ death in 431 with a sermon delivered to the Christian community of Arles on his life and virtues. Having only been in office for a year, Hilary used the sermon to provide a kind of apologia for his own episcopal leadership, presenting himself as Honoratus’ handpicked and personally trained successor. Hilary served as the bishop of Arles until his own death in 449.
‘Death in the monastery’ refers to liminal and temporal themes of dying in the poetry of an anonymous Carthusian monk-poet in the period 1964–2024. This article explores these topics in three subsections. The first section deals with texts where the monk-poet reflects on moments when he has witnessed the dying of a fellow monk. The second set of texts focuses on memories written about recently deceased members of the Carthusian monastic community. The third section consists of the Carthusian author’s reflections that arise from the physical proximity of the graveyard at the centre square of the monastery. The article concludes with some remarks on the liminal and temporal perspectives on dying in a monastery. Time spent with God in a cloister, while frequently witnessing the deaths of other members of the monastic community, prepares for a transition where death is followed by resurrection.
The study of late antique and early medieval urban religion in the Iberian Peninsula suffers from a dearth of datable and localizable source material. Martyr passions abound, as do liturgical texts, but these almost always survive only in later manuscripts, filtered through monastic libraries and scriptoria. How far these copies preserve the genuine texts performed in earlier cult remains an open question. This article intervenes in this discussion by focusing on a somewhat unusual cult known as the ‘Innumerable’ or ‘Eighteen’ martyrs of Zaragoza. The cult’s Passion text survives in two variant redactions. One originates from the sixth-century city of Zaragoza, the cult’s center, while the other derives from the Carolingian monastery of Saint-Germain-des-Prés in ninth-century Paris. These divergent lines of transmission make possible a comparative study that both elucidates the process of ‘monasticization’ that the Passion underwent in Carolingian hands and vindicates the relative conservatism of the Iberian lines of transmission. Indeed, the Iberian manuscripts retain a remarkable amount of distinctly local material, thereby presenting a rich case study in the civic and oral sensibilities of martyr passions. This article places the Passion back in its civic context, amidst the complex and fractious religious life of Visigothic Zaragoza, complementing the burgeoning interest in communal liturgical and ceremonial life evident among historical liturgists and musicologists. More broadly, it shows that Iberian passions are indispensable texts for historians of urban religious expression and civic Christianity in the Visigothic period.