Pastoral Care and Community in Late Medieval Germany: Albert of Diessen's "Mirror of Priests" 9781501766176

Table of contents :
Contents
Illustrations and Maps
Acknowledgments
Abbreviations
Introduction
Chapter 1 Pastoral Care and Guides for Priests in Late Medieval Europe
Chapter 2 Albert of Diessen and the Augustinian Canons at Diessen am Ammersee
Chapter 3 Making a Mirror for Priests: The Manuscripts
Chapter 4 Making a Mirror for Priests: The Text
Chapter 5 Constructing (and Reconstructing) Christian Community
Conclusion
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

PASTORAL CARE AND COMMUNITY IN LATE MEDIEVAL GERMANY

A volume in the series

Medieval Socie­ties, Religions, and Cultures Edited by M. Cecilia Gaposchkin and Anne E. Lester A list of titles in this series is available at cornellpress​.­cornell​.­edu.

PASTORAL CARE AND COMMUNITY IN LATE MEDIEVAL GERMANY

A L B E RT O F D I ESS E N ’ S M I R R O R O F P R I E ST S

D eeana Copel and K lepper

CORNELL UNIVERSITY PRESS Ithaca and London

Copyright © 2022 by Cornell University All rights reserved. Except for brief quotations in a review, this book, or parts thereof, must not be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, address Cornell University Press, Sage House, 512 East State Street, Ithaca, New York 14850. Visit our website at cornellpress​.­cornell​.­edu. First published 2022 by Cornell University Press Library of Congress Cataloging-­in-­Publication Data Names: Klepper, Deeana Copeland, author. Title: Pastoral care and community in late medieval Germany : Albert of Diessen’s Mirror of priests / Deeana Copeland Klepper. Description: Ithaca [New York] : Cornell University Press, 2022. | Series: Medieval societies, religions, and culture | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2022006058 (print) | LCCN 2022006059 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501766152 (hardcover) | ISBN 9781501766169 (ebook) | ISBN 9781501766176 (pdf ) Subjects: LCSH: Albert, von Diessen, approximately 1350–approximately 1400. Speculum clericorum. | Catholic Church—Germany—History—To 1500. | Pastoral theology—Germany—History—To 1500. | Pastoral care—Germany—History—To 1500. | Germany—Church history—843–1517. Classification: LCC BV4006.A433 K54 2022 (print) | LCC BV4006.A433 (ebook) | DDC 253.0943—dc23/ eng/20220606 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2022006058 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov /2022006059 Jacket image: Detail of the medieval convent of the Augustinian Canons Regular in Diessen, from a seventeenth-century drawing. Archiv des Bistums Augsburg, Hs 124.

C o n te n ts

List of Illustrations and Maps  vii Acknowl­edgments  ix List of Abbreviations  xiii

Introduction

1

1. Pastoral Care and Guides for Priests in Late Medieval Eu­rope

20

2. Albert of Diessen and the Augustinian Canons at Diessen am Ammersee

54

3. Making a Mirror for Priests: The Manuscripts

88

4. Making a Mirror for Priests: The Text

112

5. Constructing (and Reconstructing) Christian Community

143

Conclusion

191

Bibliography  199 Index  211

I l lus t r ati o ns a n d M a ps

Illustrations   2.1. The medieval cloister of the Augustinian Canons Regular in Diessen.  3.1. De penitentia Salemonis. debet scribi supra cc.xx (Concerning the penance of Solomon. This ­ought to be written above chapter 220).  3.2. Quandoque relaxandus rigor canonum. Responsio infra in fine libri post capitula (Sometimes the rigor of the canons is to be relaxed. Response within at the end of the book ­after the chapter titles).  3.3. Utrum beata virgo Maria sit concepta in originali peccato. Responsio in fine libri post capitula (­Whether the Blessed Virgin Mary was conceived in original sin. Response at the end of the book ­after the chapter titles).  3.4. In symbolo siquidem ecclesie dicitur Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. hoc sit propter hereticos qui dicunt Quotiens homo peccat, totiens debet rebaptizari. (Note that in the Creed it is said, “I confess one baptism in remission of sins.” And this is b­ ecause of heretics who say that as often as a man sins, he must be rebaptized).  3.5. Nota quod in symbolo ecclesie dicitur Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. Et hoc propter hereticos qui dicunt Quotiens homo peccat, totiens debet rebaptizari (Note that in the Creed it is said “I confess one baptism in remission of sins.” And this is ­because of heretics who say that as often as a man sins, he must be rebaptized).  3.6. Sequitur hic: Ubi sit infernus ­etc. Responsio infra ante expositionem symboli (It follows ­here: where hell is, ­etc. Response within before the Exposition on the Creed).

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101

102

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I l l u st r at i o n s a n d M a ps

 3.7. debet scribi supra dxxvii. Queritur ubi sit infernus, ­etc. (This o ­ ught to be written above chapter 527. It is asked where hell is, ­etc.). 102  3.8. Debet scribi ccccxvii. Nota quod propter tres rationes ecclesia non persequitur iudeos sicut paganos (This ­ought to be written at chapter 417. Note that ­there are three reasons that the Church does not pursue Jews as it does Muslims). 104  3.9. De iudeis non occidendis (Concerning that Jews are not to be killed). 105 3.10. Rottenbuch manuscript. 106 3.11. Diessen manuscript. 106 3.12. Tegernsee manuscript. 106 3.13. Rottenbuch manuscript. 107 3.14. Diessen manuscript. 107 3.15. Tegernsee manuscript. 107   5.1. A l­ater reader’s translation of phitonisse as die zaüberin[nen] and sortilegi as die zaüberer. 148  5.2. Nota quod quatuor sunt species mente captorum (Note that ­there are four types of ­mental illness). 155   5.3. Inauspicious “Egyptian Days” are recorded at the bottom of each month’s calendar in the “Claricia Psalter” from Augsburg. 158  5.4. entcrist (Antichrist). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek. 189

Maps   2.1. Augustinian convent and Market Diessen am Ammersee with surrounding countryside, as seen from the perspective of the lake. 67   2.2. Map of Diessen am Ammersee showing the Judengasse ­running parallel to the Klostergasse, from the marketplace up to the Augustinian canons’ h ­ ouse. 70   2.3. Close-up of the central part of Diessen. 71   2.4. Property holdings of the Augustinian Canons Regular at Diessen. 74   2.5. Parishes in which the canons held the ius patronatus (right of patronage). 77   3.1. Circulation of the Mirror of Priests. 109

A ck n o w l­e d gm e n ts

I stumbled across Albert of Diessen’s 1373 revision of the Mirror of Priests while researching something ­else. I was exploring the interplay between Christian notions of Jewish exile and policies of Jewish expulsion when I came upon a brief paragraph in a fifteenth-­century manuscript miscellany that opened with the intriguing statement, “Note that t­ here are three reasons that Christians do not pursue Jews the way they do pagans.” My attempt to make sense of that odd l­ittle paragraph led me to Albert of Diessen’s autograph manuscripts of the Mirror of Priests, and I found myself captivated by the sense of the person pre­sent in the text and its revisions. Immersed in other work, it made no sense to drop every­thing and begin building a book around ­those remarkable manuscripts, but I could not let it go. I had the manuscript digitized for ­later study and continued my work on other proj­ects. All the time, I found myself drawn to this virtually unknown man Albert and the book he wrote, and eventually I gave in to my fascination. I owe a debt of gratitude to many ­people who helped me bring this book to completion. Dr. Günter Hägele, director of the Universitätsbibliothek Augsburg manuscript department; Dr. Erwin Naimer, MA, director, and Magdalena Mattuschek of the Archiv des Bistums Augsburg; and Christian Buchele of the Universitätsbibliothek Eichstätt ­were all incredibly generous in sharing information about their holdings. The librarians and staff at the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek in Munich ­were wonderful as always. The interlibrary loan staff at Boston University are amazing and worked magic to help me get copies of hard-­to-­find materials. A semester spent as a visiting scholar in medieval studies at Harvard University allowed me the use of their phenomenal library during a critical phase of the proj­ect; I am grateful to Sean Gilsdorf, administrative director of the Committee on Medieval Studies at Harvard, for facilitating my stay. A travel grant from the Brooks F ­ amily Endowment of the Elie Wiesel Center for Jewish Studies at Boston University enabled me to continue research in Munich, Augsburg, and Eichstätt early in my work on the proj­ect, and a semester of leave as a Jeffrey Henderson Se­nior Fellow in the Boston University Center for the Humanities enabled me to complete the first ix

x A c k n ow l­e d g m e n ts

full draft of the manuscript. I am grateful to Susan Mizruchi and Tamzen Flanders for their generous support of my work that semester, and to my fellow BUCH seminar participants for helpful feedback on the introduction. My work has benefited from the support and ideas of colleagues at Boston University; I owe thanks to Phillip Haberkern, Amy Appleford, Anita Savo, Abby Gillman, David Frank­f urter, Michael Zank, Jonathan Klawans, Stephen Prothero, and especially to my colleagues in our wonderful Religion Department faculty writing group. Twice yearly writing retreats with Teena Purohit, Andrea Berlin, Laura Harrington, Kecia Ali, April Hughes, Margarita Guillory, and Anthony Petro have been a highlight of my time writing this book. My thinking and writing have been so enriched by our time and conversations. Thanks to Gene Jarrett and Karl Kircheway for arranging support from the College of Arts and Sciences Dean’s Office for ­these invaluable retreats. Much of this book was written during the four years I worked with associate provost for undergraduate affairs Beth Loizeaux as the faculty fellow for undergraduate affairs at BU, and I am grateful for her support during that time. It is not often that one can say ser­vice to the university forwards one’s research. Beth proved that se­nior administrators have it in their power to ensure that faculty who support  students through administrative work also receive the time necessary to devote to research. My ability to do any aspect of my job, research included, is pos­si­ble only with the assistance of the administrative staff in the religion and history departments. Thanks especially to Wendy Czik and Cady Steinberg for helping me to get ­things done. At the early and late stages of the proj­ect, I was helped by several excellent research assistants: sincere thanks to Christine Axen, Scott Possiel, and Saanya Kanwar. I had the opportunity to pre­sent work related to this research at the International Congress of Medieval Studies at Kalamazoo, the Medieval Acad­emy of Amer­i­ca Annual Meeting, Harvard University, and the University of Connecticut, as well as at conferences on “Concilium Lateranense IV: Commemorating the Octocentenary of the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215” in Rome, “Religious Life, Elites, and Medieval Culture” sponsored by the University of Alabama and the University of Dresden, and “Thinking with and against the Jews. Christian Understandings of the Old Law (1100–1500)” at Queen Mary University London. Many thanks to organizers and participants for ­those productive exchanges. I have benefited from the knowledge and insight of many colleagues on ­matters ranging from scribal symbols to eschatology, penitentials to plague history, baptismal practice to canon law, and would like especially to mention Greta Austin, John Burden, Jeremy Cohen, Marcia Colish, Susan Einbinder, David Freidenreich, Frances Kneupper, Susan L’Engle, Sherry Lindquist, Sara

A c k n ow l­e d g m e n t s

xi

Lipton, Elsa Marmursztejn, Gerd Melville, James Mixson, Irven Resnik, Paola Tartakoff, and Nicholas Watson. Martha Newman, a fellow historian embedded in a religion program, has been a trea­sured conversation partner for years; she helped me work out my thoughts on the religion part of the history of religion we medievalists do. Laura Morreale kindly welcomed me into her workshop on digital mapmaking at Fordham University, which is where my work on the maps for chapter 2 began. In the end, I took my data sets to the professionals at Beehive Mapping, who produced far more polished maps than I could have hoped to do, but it helped my analy­sis enormously to have built my own as I worked on that chapter. Robert Lerner read the penultimate draft of the entire manuscript and, as always, asked just the right questions. Melissa Vise stepped in at the last minute to read and help me work through a difficult section of chapter 2; she found s­ imple and elegant solutions to tricky prob­lems. Michael Bailey and Sean Field provided extremely helpful feedback on my essay in their edited volume, “Disentangling Heretics, Jews, and Muslims: Imagining Infidels in Late Medieval Pastoral Manuals,” in Late Medieval Heresy: New Perspectives. Essays in Honor of Robert Lerner (York: York Medieval Press, 2018), ele­ments of which formed the seeds of chapter 1. A preliminary stage of the research on Albert’s Mirror was previously published in “Pastoral Lit­er­at­ ure in Local Context: Albert of Diessen’s Mirror of Priests on Christian-­ Jewish Coexistence,” Speculum 92, no. 3 (2017): 692–723, and parts of that article appear throughout the book. I am grateful to Anne Thayer, Miri Rubin, and Christopher Ocker for their unwavering encouragement when I launched this proj­ect and through the years it took me to complete it. It was a pleasant surprise to find that Christopher read and commented on the entire manuscript as a reader for Cornell University Press. I am indebted to him and to the other anonymous reader, whose detailed comments and perfect combination of enthusiasm and pointed suggestions for improvement helped me to make the book better. I could not have asked for better editorial partners than Cecilia Gaposchkin, Anne Lester, and Mahinder Kingra, and the rest of the staff at Cornell University Press. Any remaining m ­ istakes or weaknesses are my responsibility alone. This book was completed during the global COVID-19 pandemic that took hold in 2020. I could not have done it without the support of ­family near and far, friends, the scientists and researchers who developed vaccines, the health care providers and support staff who sacrificed much to care for ­others, and the essential workers who kept our world r­ unning through it all. It has been a difficult time, and I thank my friend and colleague Paula Austin for weekly pandemic walk and talks in Boston’s beautiful Arnold Arboretum. We have now seen all the seasons, experienced all the weather, and solved some of our

xi i A c k n ow l­e d g m e n ts

research, teaching, and living prob­lems along the way. My longtime friend, Rabbi Barbara Penzner, provided much needed structure to pandemic workweeks as my Monday morning neighborhood walk partner. My ­family has kept me motivated as I pursued this work: thanks to Anne Copeland, Ruth Klepper, Heather Copeland, Wendy Copeland, Jon Schwartz, Miriam Katzir Copeland, and Karen Cohen. My husband, Jeff, and my now grown-up ­children, Rachel and Liora, are my geographic center; I am so lucky to have them in my life. Special thanks go to Liora for reading the introduction and conclusion and for being such good com­pany (and a ­g reat photographer) on our fabulous trip to Diessen, where we walked the shores of the lake, traced medieval streets, followed streams, explored the site of the old Augustinian convent, and visited all the sheep.

A b b r e vi ati o ns

AMN BL BNF BSB CCCM CIC

Analecta mediaevalia Namurcensia British Library Bibliothèque Nationale de France Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Corpus Christianorum Continuatio Mediaeualis Emil Friedberg, ed., Corpus iuris canonici, Editio lipsiensis secunda/ post Aemilii Ludouici Richteri curas ad librorum ma­nu scriptorum et editionis romanae fidem recognouit et adnotatione critica instruxit Aemilius Friedberg (Leipzig: B. Tauchnitz, 1879) HLB Historisches Lexikon Bayerns HSA Hostiensis, Summa aurea, vol. 5 (Venice, 1574) MGH Monumenta Germania Historica PAACW Publikationen der Akademie der Augustiner-­Chorherren von Windesheim PIMS Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies PL Patrologiae cursus completus series Latina. Edited by J-­P. Migne, 221 vols. Paris, 1844–64 QCA Emil Friedberg, ed., Quinque compilationes antiquae, (Leipzig: Bernhard Tauschnitz, 1882) QEBG Quellen und Erörterungen zur bayerischen Geschichte SC John of Freiburg, Summa confessorum (Augsburg, 1476) SCC Astesanus, Summa de casibus conscientiae (Venice, 1478) SCJE John of Erfurt, Summa confessorum. Edited by Norbert Brieskorn. Frankfurt am Main: Lang, 1980 SMGBZ Studien und Mitteilungen zur Geschichte des Benediktinerordens und seiner Zweige SRP Raymond of Penyafort. S. Raimundus de Pennaforte. Edited by Xaviero Ochoa Sanz and Aloisio Diez. Universa bibliotheca ivris; I/A-­C. Rome: Commentarium pro religiosis, 1975–78 SOP Scriptores ordinis praedicatorum

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UB ZBL

Universitätsbibliothek Augsburg Zeitschrift für bayerische Landesgeschichte

PASTORAL CARE AND COMMUNITY IN LATE MEDIEVAL GERMANY

Introduction

On the Vigil of St. Scholastica, in the dark of February 1370, a priest named Albert in the small Bavarian market town of Diessen am Ammersee sat at his writing ­table and, following countless hours of work, put the final seal on a guide for new priests.1 He titled his work the Speculum clericorum, or Mirror of Priests, and his concluding words reinforced that meta­phor: “In order that new clerics may examine themselves in this l­ ittle book as in a mirror, to see in what manner they should care for ­those p­ eople entrusted to them, they ­ought to read, reread, and attend to this ­little book often, so that they do not neglect something through forgetfulness or ignorance.”2 He then reminded his readers to show gratitude to God and added a brief warning about complacency. Fi­nally, he recorded the date on which the work was completed, and ended the text with a scribal mark called a trigon, often used to call attention to par­tic­u­lar moments of transition or conclusion.3 Albert would repeat the effort at least twice over the next seven 1.  Note that Albert indicated he completed the work in February 1369. However, since at that time the calendar year began in March, the date would have been 1370 according to our Gregorian reckoning. 2.  Explicit: Ut autem in hoc libello tamquam in speculo clerici novelli possint inspicere qualiter presint populis sibi conmissis, ipsum libellum sepius legant, relegant, et adtendant, ne per oblivionem seu ignorantiam aliquis negligant. Munich, BSB, Clm 12471, fol. 88v. 3.  Completus est libellus iste anno domni m ccc lxix Scolastice vigili. Clm 12471, fol. 88v. The trigon consisted of a series of dots arranged as a triangle, in this case with a long tail. According to Evina 1

2 I n t r o d u c t i o n

years, drafting heavi­ly revised and expanded versions of the work in 1373 and 1377.4 ­Those ­later versions bear evidence of an extensive conversation with his readers, and the manuscript tradition collectively tells us much about what sorts of t­ hings ­were impor­tant to local Christian leaders in Albert’s specific time and place. Albert was a ­brother in the community of Augustinian Canons Regular at Diessen.5 Augustinian Canons Regular lived in religious ­houses ­under a monastic rule like monks did, but while monks w ­ ere meant to retreat from the world, a central component of the canons’ mission was to serve parish laity in a priestly capacity—­a practice termed “care of souls.” Over the course of the twelfth century, Augustinian ­houses like Albert’s had been given responsibility for parish care throughout Eu­rope. Especially in southern Germany, parish priests w ­ ere often assigned from ­these religious ­houses. Albert wrote his Mirror of Priests specifically for fellow canons regular who held responsibility for ­people in parishes, and his guide aimed to cover all ­things necessary to provide for ­people in such a context. Albert drew from a vast tradition of canon law material, confessors’ guides, and other pastoral lit­er­a­ture to pre­sent a vision of Christian community at its most fundamental institutional level. In the prologue to the first edition of the work, he took up the task while proclaiming his inadequacy in a full-­throated “humility-­plea,” explaining that he was engaging the work despite his limitations b­ ecause it was impor­tant to make the attempt: Moreover, in order that such harmful ignorance may be supplanted among the clergy, I, Albert, canon regular of Diessen, though the least, have gathered together the pre­sent ­little work from the opinions of many ­fathers and called it the Mirror of Priests, especially to inform ­those who, on account of the scarcity of books, are not able to learn ­those t­hings Steinová, the trigon never acquired a single meaning and was utilized as an attention getting device in a range of ways. Evina Steinová, Notam superponere studui: The Use of Annotation Symbols in the Early ­Middle Ages (Turnhout: Brepols, 2019). My point ­here is that ­every time Albert uses this symbol, he asserts himself on the page in a distinctive way. ­Here, it marks a firm, intentional closure of the proj­ect. 4.  Albert dated the completion of t­ hese versions to August 24, 1373 and January 6, 1376. I have adjusted the latter date to account for the difference between his calendar and ours. 5.  Apart from brief entries in the Biographisch-­Bibliographische Kirchenlexikon and the Deutsche Verfasserlexikon and short pieces on his historical writing by P. Romuald Bauerreiß and Bernhard Schmeidler in the early twentieth ­century, Albert and his work have been ignored. The current biographies depend on the following articles: P. Romuald Bauerreiß, “Die geschichtlichen Einträge des ‘Andechser Missale’ (Clm. 3005),” SMGBZ 47, no. 3 (1929): 433–47; Bauerreiß, “Albert von Tegernsee und die Tegernseer Geschichtsschreibung,” SMGBZ 54, no. 1 (1936): 7–14; Bernhard Schmeidler, “Albert von Diessen und die Geschichtsschreibung von Tegernsee. Eine Paläographische und Quellenkritische Studie,” ZBL 10 (1937): 65–92.

Introduction

3

that ­will be necessary for them. And though I may appear unskilled and uneducated, I have nevertheless given l­ abor to this work, and I have taken care so that I may provide a consolation of charity for the simpler clerics in remembrance of me, as by the example of a tree that withers in the heat of the sun, and yet still is seen to provide relief to t­ hose passing by.6 In the two ­later editions of the work, he denied authorship, claiming that the work was “lacking an author of its own” but had “as many authors as the authorities it contain[ed].”7 Such denials notwithstanding, Albert functioned as an author, and a highly prepared one at that. He demonstrated considerable in­de­ pen­dence from his sources, and in practice claimed (sometimes audaciously) the authority to adapt and modify a received tradition as he saw fit. Through the act of compiling and reframing, Albert gave shape to the religious experience of ­people who lived within his sphere of influence. In short, Albert’s Mirror served to define religion for clerical colleagues and the lay ­people with whom they engaged. The three known editions of Albert’s Mirror survive in autograph manuscripts, that is, written in Albert’s hand. This is highly unusual, and the survival is especially remarkable when one considers that the three manuscripts resided for centuries in three dif­fer­ent communities at some distance from each other—­the first in Rottenbuch, the second in Diessen, and the third in Tegernsee—­until the secularization pro­cess of the nineteenth ­century re­united them in the collection of what is now the Bavarian State Library in Munich.8 This rare circumstance of survival by which we can examine three successive versions of the same work in the author’s hand allows for an unusually rich view into the construction of a manual for priests in its specific context, and into the author’s engagement with his environment and audience in its production. The second (1373) edition of the manuscript is especially instructive, as Albert wrote extensive notes as he revised and expanded the original 390-­chapter work into a much larger 596-­chapter book. That volume also contains numerous additional chapters and comments 6.  Ut autem ignorantia tam nociva supplantetur per clerum, idcirco ego albertus canonicus regularis in Dyssen licet minimus presens opusculum quamvis compendiosum ex multorum sententiis patrum collegi et speculum clericorum intytulavi, ad informationem illorum specialiter qui propter penuriam librorum ea que ipsis necessaria forent discere non valent. Et licet imperitus existam et indoctus, tamen ad hoc negocium operam dedi, et vigilantiam adhibui, ut simplicioribus clericis solacium caritatis in mei memoriam exhiberem cuiuslibet arboris exemplo que in estu solis arescit tamen transeuntibus refrigerium prestare videtur. Clm 12471, fols. 1v–2r. 7.  Ut autem huiusmodi ignorantia tam nociva supplantetur a clero, presens opusculum quamvis compendiosum ex multorum sententiis patrum est collectum, et speculum clericorum rationabiliter intytulatum. auctore proprio carens veruntamen tot habet auctores quot continet auctoritates. Munich, BSB, Clm 5668, fol. 2r; Munich, BSB, Clm 18387, fol. 1v. 8.  Rottenbuch lies twenty-­five miles southeast of Diessen, and Tegernsee is fifty miles to the southwest.

4 I n t r o d u c t i o n

at the back of the manuscript written by fellow canons from the Diessen convent, datable (again, through extraordinary luck), to within fifteen years of the manuscript’s completion.9 Albert’s Mirror was read and frequently copied for a ­century ­after its composition, and over fifty-­five manuscript copies still exist, spread across a region encompassing Bavaria, Swabia, Franconia, and Tyrol.10 ­These manuscripts include copies of each of the three autograph versions, plus ­others that combine ele­ments of the first and the second, opening the possibility that Albert wrote more versions of the text than the three we now possess.11 Pastoral lit­er­a­ture like the Mirror served as a meeting ground between the intellectual tradition of medieval Christian scholars and the parish clergy responsible for maintaining, monitoring, sustaining, and building Christian communities on the ground. The Mirror claimed as its purpose the education of “less educated” or “new” priests in their function as ritual experts and guardians of Christian faith and practice. Albert cited authoritative ­legal and theological sources, and he understood his book to be orthodox—­and it was. But the work also bears his distinctive imprint as he made decision ­after decision about what to pre­sent to his readers. How much attention to give to penitential practice, and for which sins? To tithing or almsgiving? To marriage and kinship? To the business of buying and selling? To proper materials and form in sacramental practice? To ­matters of superstition and unbelief, and interactions with unbelievers? To difficult questions about burial in Christian cemeteries? Albert had roadmaps to follow in the form of tried and tested guides for priests already in circulation. But ­those roadmaps only pointed to the possibilities in front of him; Albert had to choose his own way, and sometimes he forged a new path.

Pastoral Lit­er­a­ture and Lived Religion in Medieval Christian Socie­ties “Lived religion” as a theoretical and methodological approach to religion has found wide appreciation since religion scholars like David Hall, Robert Orsi, Nancy Ammerman, and Meredith McGuire brought it to prominence in the 1990s. Lived religion depends on theories of embodiment and materiality to make the claim that what­ever intellectual, moral, theological, ­legal,   9.  Dating is pos­si­ble ­because one of the last chapters deals with eschatology, specifically the seven ages of the world, and it identifies the current year as 1388. Clm 5668, fols. 246v–247r. See more on this in chapter 4. 10.  This is a strikingly large number of surviving manuscript copies given the seemingly ­limited scope of Albert’s original, locally oriented proj­ect. For more on the manuscript tradition and the wide distribution of the text, see chapter 3. 11.  See the discussion of this in chapter 4.

Introduction

5

or cosmological frameworks might be part of a par­tic­u­lar religious tradition, “religion” comes fully into being only when it is enacted and expressed in the lives of p­ eople g­ oing about their affairs, in what Robert Orsi called “an ongoing dynamic relationship with the realities of everyday life.”12 Scholars who study medieval Eu­ro­pean history, society, and culture face special challenges trying to reimagine religion utilizing this approach b­ ecause of the limitations of our sources. Like Aron Gurevich, a pioneer in the effort to wrest an understanding of medieval “popu­lar religion” from the authoritative Latin liter­a­ ture of the church, scholars seeking to identify “lived religion” in medieval context often find themselves extrapolating from sources written down by individuals living outside the community they seek to describe.13 And sometimes when medievalists speak of “lived” religion, they simply give a new name to what was called forty years ago “popu­lar” religion, perceived to be distinct from—­and perhaps in some kind of opposition to—­“elite” or “formal” religion. But for medievalists, one of the most valuable shifts derived from thinking about religion as lived experience is precisely the ability to transcend the rigid binaries of “elite Chris­tian­ity” as articulated by Latin-­educated clerical specialists and “popu­lar Chris­tian­ity” as practiced by laypeople in the world.14 Chris­ tian­ity, as practiced in the world, was ­shaped and informed by interaction with a written tradition and its institutional structures and expectations, and vice versa. Encounters between the living and the dead, for example, took place against a landscape where cemeteries w ­ ere defined and delineated by canon law and Christian theology as well as ­family and village traditions and expectations. If we focus on the relationship between institutionally i­magined religion and its expression in ordinary life, religion (in this case, Chris­tian­ity) is an expansive category that can embrace every­thing from scriptural exegesis to healing with scraps of psalms, from communal liturgies led by priests to 12.  Robert Orsi, “Everyday Miracles: The Study of Lived Religion,” in Lived Religion in Amer­i­ca: t­ oward a History of Practice, ed. David Hall (Prince­ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 1997), 7. To appreciate the range of ways that scholars have explored the concept of “lived religion,” see Kim Knibbe and Helena Kupari, “Theorizing Lived Religion: Introduction,” Journal of Con­temporary Religion 35, no. 2 (2020): 157–76, and for an alternative framework that works likewise to break down perceived bound­aries between “popu­lar” and “elite” versions of religion, see Leonard Norman Primiano, “Vernacular Religion and the Search for Method in Religious Folklife,” Western Folklore 54 (1995): 37–56. 13. For a helpful example of engagement with lived religion in medieval context, see Sari Katajala-­Peltomaa, Demonic Possession and Lived Religion in L­ ater Medieval Eu­rope (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2020). Katajala-­Peltomaa uses rec­ords of canonization proceedings to reconstruct the place of demonic possession in the lived religious experience of medieval western Eu­ro­pe­ans. 14.  There are other ways of trying to bridge that gap. Karen Jolly attempted the same when she distinguished (Venn diagram fashion) between “paganism,” “folklore,” “popu­lar religion,” and “formal religion” in Old En­glish healing charms in Karen Jolly, Popu­lar Religion in Late Saxon E­ ngland: Elf Charms in Context (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1996).

6 I n t r o d u c t i o n

private ritual practices of the hearth or the field, from feasting or fasting according to a liturgical calendar to passing down ­recipes for symbolic dishes to the next generation, from forging sacramental bonds of blood and spiritual kinship through marriage and baptism to establishing a connection through the hiring of a wet-­nurse. All of ­these ­things fall firmly within the sphere of religion, and all ­were ­matters of interest to priests like Albert. What makes locally oriented guides for priests such a tremendous resource for an exploration of medieval religion is the fact that they w ­ ere written at such close proximity to the communities we want to understand (within the communities we want to understand), but likewise are in close conversation with the lawmakers, theologians, and church powerbrokers whose vision of a “godly society” had the weight of institutional power b­ ehind it. Certainly, this is something we can see in Albert of Diessen’s writing. The work of a locally oriented religious expert like Albert does not in itself provide a view of lived religion in fourteenth-­century Bavaria. However, by examining the ways that Albert adapted tradition to fit within his environment and broader community, we learn something about how Chris­tian­ity was defined and fostered in that local context. Local leaders like Albert w ­ ere crucial mediators, standing between a necessarily theoretical tradition and its fulfillment in space and time. The living out of religion by ordinary p­ eople ­going about their daily lives drew—­consciously and unconsciously—­from the worlds envisioned by Albert and his ­brother priests. Albert’s Mirror of Priests represents a late stage in the development of a new type of pastoral lit­er­a­ture that arose in the religious h ­ ouses and schools of Eu­ rope over the course of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Leonard Boyle, the founder of a tradition of historical research on the lit­er­a­ture of pastoral care in the ­Middle Ages, saw the proliferation of this lit­er­at­ ure as part of an effort to establish a uniformity of religious expression across all levels of society in the thirteenth c­ entury as mandated by the church council held at St. John Lateran in Rome in 1215 (the Fourth Lateran Council).15 The Fourth Lateran Council defined in its seventy canons clear expectations for clergy, ordinary lay Christians, and non-­Christians alike. One of the most impor­tant of the canons was the twenty-­first, which mandated that “All the faithful of both sexes, ­after they have reached the age of reason, should faithfully confess all their sins at least once a year to their own (i.e., parish) priest, and perform to the 15.  Leonard Boyle, “The Fourth Lateran Council and Manuals of Popu­lar Theology,” in The Popu­lar Lit­er­a­ture of Medieval ­England, ed. Thomas J. Heffernan (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1985), 30–43. Among works that question the idea of the Fourth Lateran as a watershed, see Jeffrey M. Wayno, “Rethinking the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215,” Speculum 93, no. 3 (2018): 611– 37. This issue is discussed in more depth in chapter 2.

Introduction

7

best of their ability the penance imposed, receiving rev­er­ent­ly at least at Easter the sacrament of the Eucharist.”16 A new emphasis on universal annual confession and penance, and the role of the parish priest specifically in hearing that confession, meant that new attention was placed on the preparedness of ­those priests. In the wake of the Fourth Lateran Council, religious lit­er­a­ture in Latin and the vernacular proliferated—­written, read, and performed by laypeople as well as clergy. The uniformity valued by many of the participants in the Fourth Lateran meeting was expressed over the course of the thirteenth ­century in the development of canon law compilations, common educational standards, the rapid growth of the mendicant (especially Dominican and Franciscan) ­orders, inquisition against “heresy,” among many other t­ hings.17 Priests’ manuals could be part of that effort; they w ­ ere ­shaped by trends in scholastic culture and addressed the emerging expectations of Christian clergy and laity. The most widely circulated manuals in this tradition tended to be encyclopedic and deeply learned, following e­ ither the case and question format of authoritative collections of canon law or of scholastic theology. The Summa con­fes­so­rum of the En­glishman Thomas of Chobham, the Summa de casibus penitentie of the Catalan friar and l­ egal scholar Raymond of Penyafort, and perhaps above all, the Summa confessorum of the German Dominican theologian John of Freiburg all reflect a post-­Lateran Four sensibility that combined new scholastic traditions in canon law and theology to construct what some have described as a “juridicized” approach to sin, confession, and penance.18 Many of the most widely disseminated works during this post-­Lateran Four period ­were composed by Dominican friars, whose distinctive privileges allowed them to operate somewhat outside the ordinary ecclesiastical 16.  Norman P. Tanner, Decrees of the Ecumenical Councils: Nicaea I to Lateran V (Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2016), 245. 17.  Although standardization was a goal of some within the thirteenth-­century Church, it is impor­tant to recognize how malleable authority was. Medieval scholars understood that they w ­ ere, in some sense, reshaping authority even as they cited authoritative texts. On the malleability of authority in scholastic culture, see Marcia Colish, “Authority and Interpretation in Scholastic Theology,” in Studies in Scholasticism (Aldershot: Ashgate Variorum, 2006), 1–16. As Marcia Colish pointed out to me in a personal email, “Bottom line in all cases is this: (1) Christians at all levels freely picked and chose, and cherry-­picked, among doctrines and authorities, also using the tactic of strategic omission; (2) What counts as authoritative was not necessarily what was legislated officially or taught at universities but what was actually accepted, preached, believed, and/or enforced in practice.” Marcia Colish, personal correspondence, January 16, 2019. 18.  On the turn t­ oward legally oriented approaches to Christian theology and practice, see, for example, Pierre Michaud-­Quantin, Sommes de casuistique et manuels de confession au Moyen Âge (XII–­XVI siècles), AMN 13 (Louvain, Nauwelaerts, 1962) and Elsa Marmursztejn, “Loi ancienne, loi nouvelle et normes chrétiennes dans la théologie scolastique du xiiie siècle,” Revue de l’histoire des religions 228, no. 4 (October 2011): 509–39.

8 I n t r o d u c t i o n

framework of bishopric and parish.19 The Dominican Order, known as the Order of Preachers, was authorized by Pope Honorius III in 1216 with the specific purpose of contributing to the ideals expressed in the canons of the Fourth Lateran Council. The Dominicans had as their central mission instruction of the laity through public preaching; this mission presumed standardization of belief and practice to be both desirable and pos­si­ble. A highly structured system of education for the friars, extending from small local schools to provincial schools to the recently established universities, enabled the preaching friars to develop an identifiably Dominican orientation.20 In addition to their work as preachers, Dominicans soon came to act as religious advisors to kings and princes, as inquisitors into heresy for popes, and, with the rapid expansion of lay confession beyond the once-­per-­year mandated by the Fourth Lateran, to serve as confessors for a broad cross-­section of laypeople. Dominicans quickly became embedded in the universities and played an impor­tant role in the development of scholastic culture across the curriculum. Their commitment to standardization (i.e., orthodoxy) in Christian belief and practice and their scholastic orientation meant that they played an outsized role in the changing ideals of the thirteenth-­and fourteenth-­century Church.21 Alongside the impulse ­toward standardization represented so well by Dominican authors was an opposing tendency t­ oward diversity, a trend that became ever stronger over the course of the f­ourteenth c­ entury.22 The pastoral manual was an impor­tant locus of tension between uniformity and diversity in Christian practice. By the ­fourteenth ­century, shorter and more accessible versions of lengthy and complex scholastic manuals emerged, more appropriate for the use of priests in parish settings. Authors of t­ hese guides drew from a common set of theological and canon law sources, often the encyclopedic Dominican-­authored sources from the previous ­century; yet they exercised in­ de­pen­dence in selecting material to include, exclude, and adapt. The brevity of t­hese practical manuals necessitated a strong hand in adapting tradition, 19.  On tensions between the friars and local authorities over ­these distinctive privileges, see Ocker, “Religious Authority and the Economy of Privilege in Late Medieval Germany,” in The Growth of Authority in the Medieval West, ed. Martin Gossman, Arjo Vanderjagt, and Jan Veenstra (Groningen: Egbert Forsten, 1999), 97–118. 20.  M. Michèle Mulchahey, “First the Bow Is Bent in Study . . .”: Dominican Education before 1350 (Toronto: PIMS, 1998), 527–52. 21.  Much the same could be said about the Franciscan Order, although they came to the writing of confessional and pastoral guides somewhat ­later than the Dominicans. On the formation of Franciscan intellectual tradition, see Neslihan Şenocak, The Poor and the Perfect: The Rise of Learning in the Franciscan Order, 1209–1310 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2012). 22.  For the ­fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, see, for example, John Van Engen, “Multiple Options: The World of the Fifteenth-­Century Church,” Church History 77, no. 2 ( June 2008): 257–84.

Introduction

9

and often a highly localized vision—­one that considered the realities of life in a target community. In t­ hese new works, ostensibly universal religious ideals and laws w ­ ere adapted and repurposed by t­ hose given responsibility to implement them, thereby crafting distinctive, local expressions of religion. Albert’s Mirror illustrates the way that a shared/universal tradition could be selectively utilized to shape something new. Like other authors working in this genre, Albert relied heavi­ly on authoritative pre­ce­dents of the previous ­century, above all the work of Dominican friars Raymond of Penyafort and John of Freiburg. Perhaps up to 70 ­percent of the material in his work is derived directly from ­those e­ arlier, comprehensive sources. But Albert, like other authors of regionally oriented guides for parish priests, was also in­de­pen­dent in his decisions about what to include and exclude. B ­ ecause his work is so brief relative to the lengthy Summae from which he borrowed material, this pro­cess involved constant evaluation. Albert’s needs and interests w ­ ere unique to his specific community, time, and place, so the way he treated an inherited tradition is deeply informative. What he leaves in (an awful lot about Jews and extrajudicial anti-­Jewish vio­lence and significant treatment of superstition, demons, and the demonic, for example) and what he leaves out (scarcely a word about much discussed topics like sodomy or heresy) are telling. Albert did not reject Church teaching; he simply de­cided what was impor­tant for priests to know and what was not. A brief comparison with another regional work, Guido of Monte Rochen’s Handbook for Curates, written around 1330 for parish priests in the region of Valencia in Spain, might be helpful h ­ ere.23 Albert, writing in early 1370 in a region that had seen shocking levels of anti-­ Jewish vio­lence at the time of the Black Death just twenty years ­earlier, emphasized the sinfulness and illegitimacy of extrajudicial anti-­Jewish vio­lence. Guido, who wrote about twenty years before anti-­Jewish plague vio­lence would shake his neighborhood had nothing at all to say about the prob­lem of extrajudicial killing of Jews.24 But writing in an area with large Jewish and Muslim minorities, he had a ­g reat deal to say about relations between Christians, Jews, and Muslims, how to treat converts, what to do in cases where one member of a married ­couple converted to Chris­tian­ity while the other remained Jewish or Muslim, and so on. By contrast, in all of his discussion of 23.  Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates: A Late Medieval Manual on Pastoral Ministry, ed. Anne Thayer and Katharine J. Lualdi, trans. Anne Thayer (Washington, DC: Catholic University of Amer­i­ca Press, 2011). 24.  Plague era vio­lence against Jews was not as widespread in Iberia as it was in other parts of Eu­rope, but I have in mind ­here the mass killing of Jews in Tàrrega and other towns in the Crown of Aragon (Aragon, Catalonia, and Valencia) in 1348. See Susan L. Einbinder, ­After the Black Death: Plague and Commemoration among Iberian Jews (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2018), chapter 5.

10 I n t r o d u c t i o n

Christian-­Jewish relations, Albert said virtually nothing about marriages between an “infidel” and a newly converted Christian. Both men drew from a common tradition of canon law on the subjects they treated, but they chose ele­ments of that law carefully. They ignored or minimized certain points, elevated and emphasized o ­ thers. Over the past fifteen years, scholars have begun to explore more fully the impor­tant creative pro­cess that underlies the work of compilation and to treat compilers as the authors they surely w ­ ere.25 Albert was an author compiling/writing his way to a unique text, based on a unique interpretation of Christian practice, and so si­mul­ta­neously compiling/­writing his way to a unique religious community in practice.

The Mirror of Priests as an Augustinian Proj­ect One of the characteristics most impor­tant to Albert’s work, apart from its regional, parish focus, was its Augustinian orientation. St. Augustine of Hippo was the most influential of the ancient Church F ­ athers in the medieval Latin West, and his thought and writing undergirded the entire western Christian ecclesiastical tradition. The term “Augustinian,” therefore, can mean many ­things in the context of medieval religious history, from a general orientation of religious life or thought based on Augustine’s writings to one or more specific religious ­orders. Over a ­century before St. Benedict of Nursia authored his famous Regula monachorum (c. 529), which came to define the character of western Benedictine monasticism from that time forward, Augustine had suggested a mode of religious communal life in a work called the Praeceptum (397 CE). While Benedict’s rule emphasized a strictly ordered community in retreat from the world, Augustine’s rule emphasized a spiritual community separate from but engaged with the world. The Augustinian Canons Regular to which Albert belonged was a specific religious order that arose in the wake of the Gregorian reform movement of the late eleventh ­century. All across Western Eu­rope, male and female communities of Augustinian canons and 25.  For an introduction to compilation as a form of authorship, see Ana Belén Sánchez Prieto, “Authority and Authorship, Tradition and Invention, Reading and Writing in Early Medieval Compilation Genres: The Case of Hrabanus Maurus’ De institutione clericorum,” De Medio Aevo 10, no. 2 (2016): 179–240; Alastair Minnis, “Nolens auctor sed compilator reputari: The Late-­Medieval Discourse of Compilation,” in La méthode critique au Moyen Âge: Etudes réunies, Bibliothèque d’histoire culturelle du Moyen Âge 3, ed. Mireille Chazan and Gilbert Dahan (Turnhout: Brepols, 2006), 47–63; and Andrew Kraebel, “Modes of Authorship and the Making of Medieval En­glish Lit­er­a­ture,” in The Cambridge Handbook of Literary Authorship, ed. Ingo Berensmeyer, Gert Buelens, and Marysa Demoor (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2019), 98–114. For more on compilation as a form of authorship, see chapter 4.

Introduction

11

canonesses w ­ ere established, sometimes, as at Diessen in the twelfth c­ entury, alongside each other. What t­hese ­houses shared was an adherence to Augustine’s Praeceptum and an identity as part of a broad reform movement. Although ­these diverse communities of Augustinian Canons Regular shared a common rule, the Praeceptum was notably short on particulars, and in order to maintain successful communities, each convent relied on localized “custom books” (consuetudines) and statutes, which gave any given community its distinctive character. The decentralized nature of the Augustinian Canons Regular made them particularly attractive to local lords and bishops; their in­de­pen­dence meant that they could easily be brought to serve local needs.26 Less clearly regulated religious communities w ­ ere transformed into Augustinian ­houses, local lords turned their proprietary churches over to the Augustinians, and with increasing frequency over the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, the care of parish churches and communities was given over to the care of Augustinian canons as well. The image of the parish priest as poorly educated, barely able to manage the basic sacramental functions of his post, is a per­sis­tent one, but it does not reflect real­ity for most of late medieval Eu­rope, certainly not for the German speaking lands of the Holy Roman Empire. As part of the transformation of Christian culture expressed in the articles of the Fourth Lateran Council, significant attention had been given over to the training of parish priests in the thirteenth c­ entury, and synodal statutes spelled out their duties with increasing detail. Regular visitation of parish churches by the diocesan bishop ensured that ­those statutes w ­ ere followed.27 Even by the fairly high standards of parish priests in the thirteenth and f­ ourteenth centuries, t­ hose who belonged to the order of Augustinian Canons Regular would have been exceptional. The canons maintained schools for c­ hildren (both boys and girls) within their houses; some of the ­children w ­ ere destined to remain to enter ­later as canons or canonesses. An early thirteenth-­century document from Diessen shows the students actively participating in the ceremonial life of the convent, with an ­established role in memorial pro­cessions for the dead. By the end of the thirteenth c­ entury, we see increasingly formalized positions for scholars (i.e., instructors) and “rectors of ­children,” and one gets the sense that t­hese schoolmasters must have been involved in a much more advanced level of education for f­ uture canons 26.  Ludwig Holzfurtner, “Der bayerische Adel und die Augustiner-­Chorherren,” in Studien zum Bildungswesen der bayerischen Augustiner-­Chorherren in Mittelalter und früher Neuzeit, PAACW 8, ed. Gerd Melville and Alois Schmid (Paring: Augustiner-­Chorherren-­Verlag, 2008), 83–109. 27.  For an excellent introduction to the question of parish priests’ education, see Matthew Wranovix, Priests and Their Books in Late Medieval Eichstätt (Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 2017), chapter 1. On the history of episcopal synodal statutes, see John S. Ott, Bishops, Authority and Community in Northwestern Eu­rope, c.1050–1150 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015).

12 I n t r o d u c t i o n

rather than an elementary curriculum for mixed groups of schoolchildren.28 Any parish priest trained in a community of Augustinian Canons Regular would have had a strong grounding in Latin liturgy and religious practice, even if, as Albert suggests, he would need to turn to specialized books to determine best practices in a given situation. The Augustinian Canons Regular developed a tradition of education that always emphasized local specificity and the in­de­pen­dence of individual communities. For the most part, Augustinian canons would have been trained entirely within the context of their home communities. Unlike secular clergy or the mendicant o ­ rders of Dominicans and Franciscans, the Augustinian canons, at least ­those in German lands, tended not to participate actively in university culture. They read largely the same curriculum, but they studied and taught within their own communities. The fact that Augustinian canons not only combined a collective religious life with pastoral care of the laity but did so within the specific context of parish communities makes their work especially useful for understanding the relationship between scholastic l­egal and theological opinions and the experience of ordinary Christians. Writing as an Augustinian canon for a regional audience of other Augustinian canons, Albert’s effort enables us to see something of the care of the parish that we would not other­wise see. If we look at Albert as a knowledgeable, confident, careful constructor of tradition, then we achieve a sense of medieval Chris­tian­ity as a complex tradition that transcended apparent distinctions between formally prescribed doctrine, law, and practice, on the one hand, and religion as lived by flesh and blood ­people grounded in place and time, on the other.

The Mirror of Priests as an Upper Bavarian Proj­ect The Augustinian h ­ ouse in which Albert resided was established in the twelfth century by power­ful Bavarian lords—­the counts of Andechs-­Diessen—­and the canons maintained close relationships with that f­ amily and l­ ater, with their 28.  Evidence for the canons’ schools are found in the documentary rec­ord for most of the Augustinian ­houses in the region, including for Diessen. Florian Sepp, “Das Schulwesen der Augustiner-­Chorherren in Oberbayern,” in Studien zum Bildungswesen der bayerischen Augustiner-­Chorherren, 111–51. For Diessen specifically, see Waldemar Schlögel, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Diessen. 1114–1362, QEBG, NF 22.1 (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1967), Urkunden 21 and 55; Tradition 59. For references to “scolares,” “pueri,” and “scolastici” in the Diessen necrology, see Franz Ludwig Baumann, Necrologia Germaniae I: Necrologia Dioecesium Augustensis, Constantiensis (Berlin: Weidmann, 1888), 7–32.

Introduction

13

successors in the region, the Wittelsbachs. By the second half of the fourteenth century, the canons dominated the physical landscape of the market town of Diessen, holding substantial property, including the town’s two main mills on the waterway that ran through the center of the town and fishing rights on much of the western shore of the Ammersee. They shared l­egal jurisdiction over the town and nearby vicinity with the Duke of Bavaria (who on more than one occasion was also the Holy Roman Emperor) and the burghers of the market. They served parishes in Diessen and in communities across a wide sweep of the diocese of Augsburg. They also managed an extensive network of lands as far as 150 miles away. We know this b­ ecause in addition to the Mirror and several historical pieces, Albert also wrote an Urbar, a long account detailing his convent’s far-­fl ung possessions.29 When Albert took it upon himself to compose pastoral manuals for fellow canons outside his immediate community, he i­magined them living in a broad Bavarian, Franconian, and Tyrolian orbit, with a center in Diessen. Albert’s spatial awareness was integral to the way he i­magined Christian community and constructed his guide. When we look at Albert’s Mirror as something embedded in a specific place in time and space, we can see the relationship between an i­magined “Latin Christendom” and local parish-­level realities. Albert’s Mirror is similar in many ways to other pastoral manuals of the period, but t­ here is much in Albert’s work that is distinctive, and that distinctiveness is often regional. A close examination of the Mirror’s manuscript tradition demonstrates the extent to which a pastoral manual could take into account both audience needs and events transpiring in the author’s immediate world. Looking particularly at the way that Albert chose to revise his original text, we can see him choosing certain subjects for additional attention, or a par­tic­ u­lar kind of attention, in a way that signals engagement with his specific Bavarian community. He had a greater than usual interest in the place of Jews in his community, significantly less interest in heresy as a communal threat, and an obvious knowledge of local culture, as seen, for example, in his casual reference to regional cosmological figures (gaschepfen, for example, personified fates). ­These ­things all reflect Albert’s par­tic­u­lar place in space and time. Albert’s orientation ­toward local concerns may be seen, as already indicated, in his approach to Jews and Christian-­Jewish relations. While most ­earlier pastoral manuals contained brief excerpts from the canon law tradition on Jews, Albert went beyond that to offer numerous warnings about extrajudicial 29.  Waldemar Schlögl, Die älteste Besitzliste und das Urbar des Stiftes Dießen von 1362/63 und die Register zu Traditionen, Urkunden und Urbar, QEBG, NF 22.2 (Munich: C.H. Beck, 1970).

14 I n t r o d u c t i o n

anti-­Jewish vio­lence—­warnings that do not appear in his most impor­tant literary models. Between his first and his second redaction of the manual (that is, between 1370 and 1373), Albert expanded his treatment of Jews and Christian-­Jewish relations from eight chapters to twenty. He added additional warnings about extrajudicial anti-­Jewish vio­lence and instructions regarding “proper” management of Jewish presence, articulating a vision of Christian-­ Jewish coexistence as part of the proper management of parish life. Albert was writing within memory of widespread anti-­Jewish vio­lence during the outbreak of plague in 1348–50. According to local chronicles, thousands of Jews had been killed in towns across southern Germany, often with ­limited or no judicial pro­cess. One such massacre occurred in nearby Landsberg am Lech, where the Diessen canons held property. Albert completed his first version of the Mirror in February of 1370, and plague had returned to the region just a few months e­ arlier. This may well have been the impetus for Albert to expand his comments on anti-­Jewish vio­lence in a new version of the work. Another example of Albert’s local vision comes in his discussion of Eucharistic practice. He wanted to explain the limits of sacramental propriety, and he cautioned against ritual use of the host outside of its proper sacramental place. He told of a “plague of locusts” that came to southern Germany in 1366, decimating fields so thoroughly that no blade of grass or grain of wheat survived. He remembers—­drawing his reader into a shared memory—­how some local priests (Albert says, “­those less knowledgeable, ignorant in scripture, theology, and law”) gathered together and formed a pro­cession with consecrated hosts around fields that they hoped to protect. The effort failed, and Albert reminds the reader that when doctors of theology ­were consulted, they explained the irrational nature of the effort which, they advised, “inclined ­toward a type of detestable sorcery.”30 The locust invasion of 1366 is well-­attested in the documentary rec­ord of the region.31 Albert’s readers would have remembered the recent disaster, and his narrative both acknowledged local forms of Eucharistic piety and suggested a correction of it. Host miracles abounded in late medieval Christian culture, but public per­for­mance of Eucharistic piety was especially strong in Bavaria. Albert’s guide, ­here and elsewhere in the text, engaged with that real­ity, attempting to sort out appropriate and inappropriate use of the sacred object.32 30.  Clm 12471, fol. 26r–­v; Clm 5668, fol. 32r–­v; Clm 18387 fol. 17r–­v. See more in chapter 5. 31.  D. Camuffo and S. Enzi, “Locust Invasions and Climatic F ­ actors from the M ­ iddle Ages to 1800,” Theoretical and Applied Climatology 43, no. 1–2 (1991): 43–73. 32.  On devotion to the host, especially bleeding hosts, in late medieval Bavaria, see Mitchell B. Merback, Pilgrimage and Pogrom: Vio­lence, Memory, and Visual Culture at the Host-­Miracle Shrines of Germany and Austria (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012); and Gerhard Lutz, “Late Medieval

Introduction

15

Land, Space, and Community in the Mirror of Priests Approaching the Mirror of Priests as an effort to construct Christian community within an intentionally circumscribed geographic space gives us a sense of the ways Chris­tian­ity s­ haped and was s­ haped by local circumstances. The ­imagined parish community Albert constructs in the Mirror—­read alongside his community’s necrology, archival documents concerning relations with lay ­people in parishes ­under the Diessen canons’ supervision, and Albert’s writing on landed property—­teaches us something valuable about Chris­tian­ity at the parish level and the role of Augustinian Canons Regular in the parishes they si­mul­ta­neously served and (to some extent) controlled. In his introduction to an edited volume on the medieval German parish published in 2013, Enno Bünz declared that “The parish is the most widespread institution of the M ­ iddle Ages, but it is also the most undervalued.”33 ­Whether or not it is undervalued, it certainly has been insufficiently studied. The work on the social and cultural history of medieval parishes that exists is generally framed within the bound­aries of national geographies and historiographical traditions. The most extensive lit­er­a­ture on medieval parishes may be found in scholarship on the En­glish parish, with an emphasis on religious practice and social history.34 The ­limited research that exists on southern German parishes tends to focus on ­matters of institutional structure, governance, economy, and the relationship between town, parish, and empire, or between lay and ecclesiastical authorities.35 The lived experience of Chris­tian­ity in German parishes or religion per se has gotten ­little attention. Certainly, ­there are Sacred Spaces and the Eucharist,” in A Companion to the Eucharist in the ­Middle Ages, ed. Ian Levy, Gary Macy, and Kristen Van Ausdall (Leiden: Brill, 2011), 471–98. 33.  “Die Pfarrei ist die verbreiteste Institution des Mittelalters, sie ist aber wohl auch die am meisten unterschtätzte,” in Die Pfarrei im späten Mittelalter, ed. Enno Bünz and Gerhard Fouquet ­(Ostfildern: J. Thorbecke, 2013), 10. 34.  See, for example, Katherine L. French, The ­People of the Parish: Community Life in a Late Medieval En­glish Diocese (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001) and Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in E­ ngland, c. 1400–­c. 1580 (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2005). 35.  See, for example, Tobias Wulf, Die Pfarrgemeinden der Stadt Köln. Entwicklung und Bedeutung vom Mittelalter bis in die frühe Neuzeit, Studien zur Kölner Kirchengeschichte 42 (Siegburg: Verlag Franz Schmitt, 2012) and Enno Bünz, Die mittelalterliche Pfarrei: Ausgewählte Studien zum 13.–16. Jahrhundert (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2018). The study of French parishes is similarly focused on po­liti­cal structures and power, “secularization” or “proto-­modernity,” rather than religious culture. The classic work on French parishes is Michel Aubrun, La paroisse en France: Des origines au XVe siècle (Paris: Picard, 1986), but see also the essays edited by Dominique Iogna-­Prat and Élisabeth Zadora-­Rio in La paroisse, genèse d’une forme territoriale published as a special volume of Médiévales. Langues, Textes, Histoire 49 (2005), https://­ doi​.­org​/­10​.­4000​/­medievales​.­3132.

16 I n t r o d u c t i o n

challenges involved in pursuing the history of parishes in the southern German territory that is the focus of this book. We have no bishop’s visitation rec­ords ­until the fifteenth c­ entury, and the synodal decrees that provide so much insight into episcopal expectations of parish priests in any given diocese are likewise unavailable ­until then. Given the dearth of evidence for the experience of Chris­tian­ity at this fundamental level, especially outside of urban centers, locally oriented manuals for priests are impor­tant sources in the study of medieval parish-­level religion. This book does not pretend to be a study primarily of the parish and its lived religion. But in the absence of more direct evidence about parishioners’ engagement with Christian traditions and practices, our examination of a work aimed at parish clergy across a specific region can help illuminate the culture of the parish by shedding light on the concerns of local leadership and the multidirectional conversations taking place among Augustinian canons as religious, scholars, lords, and parish clergy. And it can help us to reset our understanding of the relationship between local and global definitions of Chris­tian­ity. A medieval parish was comprised of physical space, conceptual space, and a community of ­people navigating between ­those spaces and each other. By reading Albert’s Mirror in its spatial context, we learn more about the guide, the communities that inspired it, and the nature of religion as expressed in the local context. My working understanding of “religion” in the parish includes not only the embodied tradition implied in the notion of “lived religion” as discussed above but also as a pro­cess of spatial differentiation. T ­ here is a relative abundance of lit­er­a­ture that explores space, place, and the territoriality of medieval religious institutions.36 However, rarely does such scholarship engage with explorations of “religion” as a concept/construct in itself. Impor­tant works from the field of religious studies can fill the gaps. For example, David Frank­f urter’s work with the concept of “­Great Tradition” and “­Little Tradition” in Christianizing Egypt and Jonathan Z. Smith’s approach to 36.  For a good introduction to the incorporation of “space” into medieval Eu­ro­pean historiography, see the introduction and essays in a special journal issue edited by Megan Cassidy-­Welch in Parergon 27, no. 2 (2010) on “Medieval Practices of Space and Place” and the introduction to a collection of essays edited by Meredith Cohen and Fanny Madeline in Space in the Medieval West: Places, Territories and ­Imagined Geographies (Burlington: Ashgate, 2014). Monographs that center spatial theory and religion include Michel Lauwers, Naissance du cimetière: Lieux sacrés et terre des morts dans l’Occident médiéval (Paris: Aubier, 2005); Dominique Iogna-­Prat, Cité de Dieu, cité des hommes. L’Église et l’architecture de la société, 1200–1500 (Paris: Presses universitaires de France, 2016); and Florian Mazel, L’Évêque et le territoire. L’invention médiévale de l’espace (Ve–­XIIIe siècle) (Paris: Éd. du Seuil, 2016). In 2017 the editors of the journal Annales invited Iogna-­ Prat and Mazel to engage with each other’s published monographs specifically with an eye to reimagining central narratives of French history in the M ­ iddle Ages. See Florian Mazel, “The Church, the City, and Modernity,” Annales: Histoire, Sciences Sociales 72, no. 1 (2017): 101–11, and Dominique Iogna-­Prat, “The Meaning and Usages of Medieval Territory.” Annales: Histoire, Sciences Sociales 72, no. 1 (2017): 91–100.

Introduction

17

religion and space in Map Is Not Territory and To Take Place help to illuminate the simultaneous participation of priests and laypeople alike in Latin/Roman Chris­tian­ity and their local in­de­pen­dence. They also help to center local expressions of Chris­tian­ity as au­then­tic and definitive.37 Kim Knott’s spatial analy­ sis of con­temporary religion in “secular” socie­ties in The Location of Religion provides a dif­fer­ent approach, in which movement across shared “religious” and “not-­religious” space is examined in detail as a way of drawing perception out from physical context.38 It offers a way to think about the significance of the canons’ location in Diessen (and their extensive property holdings across Bavaria and Tyrol) as something that contributed to Albert’s vision of an ideal parish community as depicted in the Mirror of Priests. Although the work of Frank­furter, Smith, and Knott depend on fundamentally dif­fer­ent methodologies, their works support the view inherent in the notion of “lived religion,” that a religious tradition exists only through expression in p­ eople’s lives, which necessarily involves engagement with space. This understanding can be brought to a reading of Albert of Diessen’s guide for priests. The concepts of territory, community, and lived religion encourage us to explore Albert’s Mirror of Priests as a rich description of Chris­tian­ity that links doctrine, law, and practice prescribed by Church authorities with religion as lived by the p­ eople who made up the parishes served by local authorities. The Christian community that emerges from Albert’s Mirror of Priests is one in which the messiness of ordinary life is evident. Saints, sinners, and infidels live side by side, their lives intertwined. Albert’s messy/ideal parish was marked out by real bound­aries (defined by some combination of property and jurisdictional rights, tithes, and sacramental responsibility) and symbolic realities. The remarkable rec­ord Albert left us can help to expand our understanding of late medieval Chris­tian­ity, and particularly the relationship between a universal Christendom and local religion. The chapters that follow fall into two distinct parts. The first two chapters consider aspects of what it might mean to define religion, whereas the next three chapters enter into the world of the Mirror of Priests and Albert’s unique vision of Christian community. Chapter 1 explores the genre of pastoral lit­ era­ture as it developed over the course of the twelfth through f­ourteenth 37.  David Frank­f urter, Christianizing Egypt: Syncretism and Local Worlds in Late Antiquity (Prince­ ton, NJ: Prince­ton University Press, 2018); Jonathan Z. Smith, Map Is Not Territory: Studies in the History of Religions, Studies in Judaism in Late Antiquity 23 (Leiden: Brill, 1978); and Smith, To Take Place: ­Toward Theory in Ritual (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987). 38.  Kim Knott, The Location of Religion: A Spatial Analy­sis (London: Equinox, 2005). See also Knott, “Spatial Theory and the Study of Religion,” Religion Compass 2, no.  6 (November  1, 2008): 1102–16, https://­doi​.­org​/­10​.­1111​/­j​.­1749​-­8171​.­2008​.­00112​.­x.

18 I n t r o d u c t i o n

centuries. Formed in fundamental ways by prevailing concerns in twelfth-­and thirteenth-­century urban schools and universities, the tradition was ­later mined and adapted by priests operating in smaller, more specific parish environments. Careful attention to the nature of the twelfth-­and thirteenth-­century forms on which l­ ater local versions ­were based serves to make vis­ib­ le the distinctive character of locally oriented work like Albert’s. Chapter 2 introduces Albert, his community, and the physical and conceptual space he occupied. This book holds paradoxically that Albert was an unexceptional and ordinary figure, but also that his life and written work are—­precisely in their ordinariness—­important and worthy of attention. I make use of Albert’s historical writing and administrative activity on behalf of his community (both the community of canons at Diessen and the broader community for whom they ­were responsible) to paint a portrait of Albert and the literal and meta­ phorical landscapes within which he operated. Chapters 3 and 4 provide an in-­depth introduction to the Mirror of Priests. The first deals with manuscripts as material objects and the second with the Mirror as a text. It is the richness of the autograph manuscript tradition that brings into focus the multidirectional, dynamic nature of Albert’s guide for priests and the way that local circumstances drove conversations about religious practice. ­These chapters devote careful attention to the autograph manuscript tradition—­the materials out of which they w ­ ere made, the setting of words and images on the page, the physical nature of the editing pro­cess, the content of the text in its multiple iterations, its orga­nizational structure, the sources Albert used and the way he adapted them, and so on. The material in this chapter is also designed to give the reader a sense of the color of Albert’s text, an appreciation of his voice, and to highlight the easy in­de­pen­dence with which he engaged his a­ uthoritative scholastic literary models. On occasion, I turn to ­later manuscript copies of the text (beyond the autograph tradition), as they provide insight into Albert’s original activity not necessarily vis­i­ble through the three extant autograph manuscripts. Chapter 5 turns to a close reading of the Mirror and Albert’s revision pro­cess through three case studies of topics that he found especially worthy of attention: superstition, magic, and the demonic; Christian-­Jewish relations; and eschatology. We see Albert thinking and rethinking (constructing and reconstructing) what was essential, what was impor­tant to him, and what he believed would be impor­tant to his readers and their parishioners. Each of ­these topics might be understood in some sense to define the outer limits of Christian community, but they also define Christian community integrally. By looking especially at the way Albert chose to treat t­ hese topics in revision, we get a fuller sense of his understanding of Christian community, and a fuller sense of his readers and the communities they served.

Introduction

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The conclusion emphasizes the Mirror’s contribution to our understanding of late medieval Chris­tian­ity and the relationship between an ­imagined Christendom and local religion. This study of a long-­forgotten pastoral manual ­will have opened up new perspectives on late medieval pastoral care, the pastoral manual as a genre, manuscript book culture, and the role of Augustinian canons in the religious life of late medieval German lands. Albert attempted to bring learning and sophistication to clerical per­for­mance of the sacraments and other pastoral duties. Writing for a local audience, Albert’s effort enables us to see something of the care of the parish that we would not other­wise see. Albert provided guidance on ­every aspect of life from birth to death and the afterlife: the Mirror of Priests served as the nexus between an i­magined Chris­tian­ity and the communities that lived a version of that Chris­tian­ity ­every day.

C h a p te r   1

Pastoral Care and Guides for Priests in Late Medieval Eu­rope

Pastoral manuals, guides intended for regular and secular priests and friars with immediate care of souls, flourished in a range of forms in the l­ater ­Middle Ages, from the twelfth c­ entury well into the age of print. The rise of the genre was associated with both the development of scholastic culture and with new expectations of Christian clergy and laity forged over the course of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The range of styles within the genre was vast. Some manuals ­were exhaustive and scholastic in character. ­These generally followed a questio format, incorporated extensive discussion from the work of scholastic theologians or canon ­lawyers, and ­were marked with scholarly apparatus. O ­ thers ­were short, s­ imple, and focused on basic sacramental obligations. Some l­imited themselves to penitential material made necessary by new mandates for routine confession, while ­others included guidance on other sacramental and didactic functions. Some, particularly ­those authored by Dominican or Franciscan friars, ­imagined broad audiences spread across the ­whole of Latin Christendom, whereas o ­ thers ­were aimed at a more l­imited regional readership. They might be written in Latin or in the vernacular, they might be comprehensive summae or brief handbooks, but in all cases they presumed to communicate an authoritative vision of Christian community and practice for a priestly readership presumed to be striving ­toward ideal practice. Much of the scholarly lit­er­a­ture on pastoral manuals follows a tradition established in the mid-­twentieth ­century by Leonard Boyle, 20

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who saw pastoralia as part of an ecclesiastical shift ­toward doctrinal and sacramental standardization following the Fourth Lateran Council. His work on the reception of John of Freiburg’s encyclopedic Summa confessorum demonstrated the diffusion of sophisticated theological material to parish clergy in E ­ ngland. The scholarship he inspired has over many de­cades chipped away at the image of barely literate parish clergy, emphasizing the success of pastoral lit­er­a­ ture and other educational initiatives in redressing the much bemoaned “clerical ignorance” of the period.1 Some scholars have come to question the standardization narrative broadly speaking, and I agree with t­ hose who suggest it is an oversimplification of medieval religious history, prioritizing just one thread. Although ­there is no denying a push ­toward standardization from some quarters, both active and passive (intentional and unintentional?) re­sis­ tance to standardization existed. The compilers of diverse pastoral manuals turned to a similar set of texts and canon law collections as source material but chose material to include or exclude depending on context and what they, as author/compilers, presumed their audience most needed.2 By the end of the thirteenth c­ entury, authors of pastoral manuals ­were generally mining existing manuals for the material. Rarely do they acknowledge the extent to which they are borrowing from ­earlier compilers of tradition, but the evidence is unmistakable.3 The compil1.  Leonard Boyle coined the term pastoralia to describe the lit­er­a­ture of pastoral care of which manuals form a part, and he linked its rise to the impact of the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215. See Leonard Boyle, Pastoral Care, Clerical Education and Canon Law, 1200–1400, Collected Studies Series CS135 (London: Variorum Reprints, 1981); and Boyle, “The Fourth Lateran Council and Manuals of Popu­lar Theology,” The Popu­lar Lit­er­a­ture of Medieval ­England, ed. Thomas  J. Heffernan (Knoxville: University of Tennessee Press, 1985), 30–43. Scholars continue to invoke the Fourth Lateran as a turning point in the dissemination of such lit­er­a­ture, but increasingly describe the relationship between the council and the genre as corollary rather than causal. For an impor­tant corrective to the narrative on the Fourth Lateran, see Wayno, “Rethinking the Fourth Lateran Council of 1215.”; for a set of essays that take the Fourth Lateran directives into account in new ways, see Peter Clarke and Sarah James, Pastoral Care in Medieval ­England: Interdisciplinary Approaches (London: Routledge, 2019). 2.  I am considering ­here only pastoral manuals written by clerics for other clerics. However, scholarship on the late medieval En­glish tradition convincingly demonstrates that a range of texts written in the vernacular for lay audiences ­ought to be considered as part of the same tradition of pastoralia. See, for example, Alastair Minnis, Translations of Authority in Medieval En­glish Lit­er­a­ture: Valuing the Vernacular (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009); Claire ­Waters, Translating Clergie: Status, Education, and Salvation in Thirteenth ­Century Vernacular Texts (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015); and the collection of essays in Catherine Innes-­Parker and Cate Gunn, eds., Texts and Traditions of Medieval Pastoral Care: Essays in Honour of Bella Millett (Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 2009). 3.  See Leonard Boyle, “The Summa confessorum of John of Freiburg and the Popularization of the Moral Teaching of St. Thomas Aquinas and Some of His Contemporaries,” in St. Thomas Aquinas, 1274–1974: Commemorative Studies, ed. Armand A. Maurer et al. (Toronto: PIMS, 1974), 2:245–68 and the discussion in this chapter.

22 C h a p t e r  1

ers of t­ hese manuals share a common tendency to si­mul­ta­neously presume authority and deny they have it. They presume authority when they decide how best to transmit an established canon law or theological tradition, and they base that authority on the knowledge they believe that they possess and their readers lack. In the act of compiling, they ­shaped an extensive and malleable tradition in substantive ways. At the same time, it was crucial to the proj­ ect to attribute authority to an inherited tradition rather than to the one selecting and framing it. As we saw in the introduction, author/compilers often betray an awareness of the prob­lem of authority in their introductory paragraphs, minimizing their editorial roles yet justifying them at the same time.4 This chapter explores pastoral manuals and their makers as a way of gaining insight into the way l­egal and theological ideals w ­ ere established in living communities. The position of pastoral manuals between the work of canonists and theologians, on the one hand, and parish priests, on the other, makes the genre especially useful for exploring the nature of Chris­tian­ity in practice as well as in conception. A pastoral manual lies at the nexus of ideal and real­ ity. It is undeniably an imaginary repre­sen­ta­tion of the ideal Christian community rather than a snapshot of lived experience as one might gather if one could ­will broader documentation of parish life into existence. But local adaptations of the genre for priests active at the parish level give insight into the workings of parish communities themselves. Pastoral works written in the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries as an exercise of the schools gradually filtered to a wider circle of authors and readers. As the broader religious landscape changed, the resonance of pastoral material changed.5 The increasing importance of pastoral manuals at the parish level may be seen in changing naming practices. The names of popu­lar titles in the genre give us a sense of the transformation over time: from Summa of Confessors, Summa of Penance, Summa of Cases of Penance, or Summa of Cases of Conscience, to Handbook for Curates, Mirror of Curates, Mirror of Priests, or Eye of the Priest.6 The shorter 4. For Albert of Diessen’s approach to the question of authority, see the introduction and chapter 4. 5.  By this, I mean that the same words on a page could signify dif­fer­ent ­things depending on the broader context, conversations, and cultural practices into which they ­were placed. When we think about the se­lection pro­cess that compilers applied, we need to consider the way that certain oft-­ repeated guidance changed according to time and place. For example, seventh-­century Toledan canons on Christian-­Jewish relations had a dif­fer­ent resonance following mass killings of Jews in plague vio­lence in the ­fourteenth ­century than they would have had a ­century e­ arlier. On Albert’s use of this material, see chapter 5. 6.  Some well-­known works in ­these categories include ­those by Peter of Poitiers of St. Victor (Summa de confessione, c. 1215), Thomas of Chobham (Summa confessorum, c. 1216), Paul of Hungary, OP (Summa de penitentia, c. 1221), Conrad (Summula Conradi, c. 1226–29), Raymond of Penyafort, OP

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practical handbooks became, the stronger the role of the author/compiler in shaping them. And especially in the locally oriented manuals of the f­ ourteenth ­century aimed at parish clergy, we see a bidirectional conversation with ­actual communities, as the specific material covered reflected local concerns. The manual represented an ideal as envisioned by someone placed at the intimate center of t­ hose communities. We w ­ ill look first at the rise of pastoral manuals within the schools and then consider their place in specific contexts, constructing distinctive expressions of Chris­tian­ity for ­those who lived ­under their influence. The late twelfth-­and early thirteenth-­century trends in Christian culture most impor­tant to the development of pastoral lit­er­a­ture ­were an increasing emphasis on the sacrament of penance through regular confession and a new commitment to doctrinal education for laypeople. The intellectual foundation on which the manuals w ­ ere built was scholastic; developments in canon law and theology ­shaped the genre.7 ­There are many ways one could categorize the pastoral lit­er­a­ture written over the course of the thirteenth and ­fourteenth centuries. One might distinguish between works best classified as juridical and t­hose best classified as moral/theological. One might distinguish between works written by seculars and ­those written by members of the Dominican or Franciscan ­orders. One might distinguish between works by the scope of their interests: t­ hose primarily geared to the management of confession and penance versus ­those more broadly sacramental in focus versus t­hose that w ­ ere aimed at the work of preaching. B ­ ecause ­here we are primarily interested in seeing how the genre of the pastoral manual can open up new perspectives on local expressions of Chris­tian­ity, this chapter treats pastoral manuals as belonging in one of two primary categories: works written by and for scholars in the context of a school or university—­ regardless of the author’s religious affiliation as secular or mendicant—­and ­those written by and for priests active in immediate (especially parish level) care of souls.

(Summa de casibus poenitentia, 1226), John of Freiburg, OP (Summa confessorum, 1298), and Astesanus of Asti, OFM (Summa de casibus conscientie, c. 1317). Among ­those works that “translated” the scholastic summae for nonscholastic, generally local audiences, we find Guido of Monte Rochen (Manipulus curatorum), Ranulph Higden (Speculum curatorum), Albert of Diessen (Speculum clericorum), and William of Pagula (Oculus sacerdotis). 7.  On the relationship between new scholastic approaches to canon law and the rise of confession manuals, see Michaud-­Quantin, Sommes de casuistique.

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Scholastic Culture and the Creation of Summae In his study of William de Montibus’s pastoral writings, Joseph Goering emphasized the scholastic nature of pastoral lit­er­a­ture of the twelfth and early thirteenth centuries. As urban schools w ­ ere becoming more firmly established, much scholastic activity was devoted to a consideration of pastoral care. However, Goering points to the complexity of this early pastoral lit­er­a­ture and argues that it was not only a product of the schools, it was also aimed at scholastic readers: The audience for which [William of Montibus] wrote consisted of theologians in training who would learn from him the intricacies of textual interpretation, the wisdom of the Scriptures, and the techniques of arguing correctly and persuasively with reasons, authorities, examples, and similitudes . . . ​Theologians trained in this way in William’s school might go on to teach ­others—­the laity as well as clerics (students and churchmen). But ­these non-­theologians comprised a secondary audience, for which William wrote no pastoral summae treatises, or handbooks. No one doubted that they should receive Christian instruction; but few could have ­imagined that the laity and ­simple clerics would be introduced to the subtleties of scholastic theology by means of written texts.8 Goering suggests that this situation began to change in the aftermath of the Fourth Lateran Council just two years ­after William’s death, but surveying the body of surviving pastoral lit­er­a­ture, it could be argued that the scholastic tradition of the summa only gives way to a new sort of accessible, practical guide in the ­fourteenth ­century.9 ­Until then, the lit­er­a­ture retains its scholastic character. What is true is that new pastoral works began to circulate much more extensively immediately a­fter the council, produced by canon ­lawyers and theologians across Eu­rope. In par­tic­u­lar, the call for annual confession of the laity demanded new efforts on the part of the most educated members of the clergy to establish par­ameters around the practice. It would not be enough to simply provide lists of sins and their appropriate penances, as had been done in the past; now the clergy would need to consider the requirements of routine, universal confession. Two t­ hings that distinguish t­ hese new confessors’ guides 8.  Joseph Goering, William de Montibus (c. 1140–1213): The Schools and the Lit­er­at­ ure of Pastoral Care (Toronto: PIMS 1992) 66–67. 9.  Both Leonard Boyle and Joseph Goering have written about the transformation of pastoral lit­er­a­ture ­after 1215 in many works. See the essays in Boyle, Pastoral Care, Clerical Education and Canon Law and Boyle, “The Fourth Lateran Council and Manuals of Popu­lar Theology,” and the section on “techniques of popularization” of pastoral lit­er­a­ture in Goering, William de Montibus, 67–99.

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from ­earlier medieval penitential lit­er­a­ture are the expansiveness of the content and the sense that t­ here is an ­actual person with care of souls at the other end of the conversation. Peter Biller described the difference helpfully in this comparison: A reader who passes immediately from a work on sin and penance composed for priests by a bishop of Exeter, Bartholomew, between 1150 and 1170 to the instructional work written for confessors by Thomas of Chobham, official of the bishop of Salisbury, around 1216, crosses from one world to another. The former is called by its modern editor his “penitential,” accurately so, for, although its author is affected by theological and l­egal developments of the time, the work remains in substance and spirit a collection of old penitential canons: a lists [sic] of sins and the penances. It feels old. Thomas’s work feels new. It breathes throughout the observant and practical air of an author who declared in the preface that his intention was to “put aside subtleties and theoretical questions and carefully follow the practical actions and considerations which are necessary to priests when hearing confessions.” It is not just that circumstances of sin and sinner are ­there, but that concern with circumstances frequently leads to lively comments, case-­studies, vignettes, much quotation of ­things from recent de­cades, and, of course and above all, a large slice of the remarkably concrete and observant discussions of sin in Peter the Chanter’s Paris.10 Two of the earliest examples of this sort of work to appear include the Summa confessione, or Compilatio praesens by the Victorine canon, Peter of Poitiers (d. c. 1216), and the object of Biller’s attention, the Summa confessorum (or Cum miserationes domini) by the En­glish secular cleric, Thomas of Chobham (d. between 1233 and 1236).11 Both of ­these guides appeared in the immediate aftermath of 10.  Peter Biller, The Mea­sure of Multitude: Population in Medieval Thought (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2003), 187. 11.  Both works are available in modern editions: Jean Longère, Petrus Pictaviensis [summa de confessione] compilatio praesens, CCCM 51 (Turnhout: Brepols, 1980) and F. Broomfield, ed., Thomae de Chobham Summa confessorum, AMN 25 (Louvain: Nauwelaerts, 1968). Five of the nineteen manuscript copies of Peter’s Summa identified in the edition by Jean Longère are from German or Austrian libraries, all dating to the thirteenth or ­fourteenth centuries. See Longère, Petrus Pictaviensis, xix–­lvi. Thomas’s works circulated in Germany well into the fifteenth ­century. Of the 120 surviving manuscript copies of the Summa identified by Broomfield, at least 52 (43%) are from German speaking lands, where the work usually appeared alongside other pastoralia. See, for example, Augsburg, UB Cod. II.1.2° 144, fols. 1r–86b, where it appears just before a copy of provincial and synodal statutes for the Diocese of Augsburg (on fols. 87r–129r), or Klosterneuburg, Augustiner-­Chorherrenstift, Cod. 211 (http://­manuscripta​.­at​/­​?­ID​=3­ 85), where the Summa confessorum was bound together with Guido of Monte Rochen’s Manipulus curatorum shortly a­ fter it was copied. Broomfield’s list of manuscripts—­most

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the Fourth Lateran Council, which met from November 11 to November 30, 1215, and so must have been in pro­gress before the council actually met. Both emphasized practical instruction for a priest in his role as confessor, both incorporated ­legal material without being expressly juridical in orientation, and both are the product of the schools, owing a substantive debt to the moral theology of Peter the Chanter, whose Summa de sacramentis et animi consiliis they cite extensively. Peter of Poitiers would have been immersed in the Chanter’s work as part of the theological conversation in Paris in his day, and Thomas had studied in Paris early in his ­career, likely with the Chanter himself. Documentary evidence assigns him the title master, so his scholastic training was extensive.12 ­Certainly ­there are differences as well: Peter’s work is only around ten folios long in most manuscript copies, while Thomas’s tends to take up close to one hundred folios. Peter’s work was aimed at an audience of canons operating within his own religious community at St. Victor, and his guide would have been just one of many works on penance available ­there, while Thomas’s targeted an audience of En­glish parish clergy who he expected would use the work alone as a complete guide to practice. Peter used penitentials by Bartholomew of Exeter and Robert Flamborough, his con­temporary at St. Victor, among o ­ thers; however, Peter’s work differs from theirs in his engagement with specific ideas being taken up just at that time at the Fourth Lateran Council.13 The modern editor of Peter’s text, Jean Longère, notes Peter’s allusion to numerous topics discussed at the Fourth Lateran Council. At the same time, Longère finds a surprising absence of references to certain canons that would have been especially relevant, like Canon 21, which had much to say about sin and penance. Longère takes this as evidence that Peter was aware of the council’s activity in a general sense but did not yet have access to the complete report on the council’s decrees. Within a few years of its composition, James of St. Victor produced an edited version of the text with a new introduction, conclusion, and small revisions throughout, which he used to bring the work more clearly into conversation with the decrees of the Fourth Lateran.14 Why does this detail ­matter? ­Because it shows that the Fourth Lateran was not the cause of new directions in pastoral care (as often presumed in discussions of pastoral care), but part of a change already in play. The Fourth

often identified by cata­log page and entry rather than manuscript number, are found in Broomfield, Thomae de Chobham, 583–94. 12. Broomfield, Thomae de Chobham Summa confessorum, xxix. 13.  See Longère’s history of the work and discussion of sources in Longère, Petrus Pictaviensis, lvii–­lxxiv. 14. Longère, Petrus Pictavensis, xiv–­xviii.

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Lateran provided additional weight for new directions in Christian practice, but it did not launch t­ hose changes.15 The Victorine canons took on increased responsibility for penitential practice in Paris in the thirteenth ­century, serving as confessors to the many clerics and students associated with the university. Peter may have held a supervisory role in this mission, like his contemporaries Robert de Flamborough and Menendus, whose ser­vice had led them to write penitentials of their own. Their works would have been intended as a formative proj­ect to support the canons of St. Victor with penitential responsibility.16 This may help to explain the absence of traditional penitential lists in Peter’s work; he might have presumed his readers could turn to the work of pre­de­ces­sors Robert or Menendus in the library for that material.17 It may also explain the brevity of the work. It reads like a moral compass for the sacrament of penance rather than a rigorous and complete guide to its per­for­mance. Peter made use of ­exactly the sort of moral-­theological works of the period one might expect. The work’s fifty-­five paragraphs are of wildly dif­fer­ent lengths and idiosyncratic organ­ization, although the content within each paragraph is in accord with prevailing norms. Rather than beginning with a coherent discussion of the sacrament of penance or the nature of sin or a framework for the work as a ­whole, Peter begins his Compilatio with an explanation of the two primary categories of sin, carnal and spiritual. He explores carnal sin further with brief paragraphs on gluttony and then inebriation as a type of gluttony. Is it too speculative to suggest that his choice to begin the work with t­ hese reflections on carnality reflects a community of religious and university students? Gluttony was a sin especially associated with t­ hese groups—it seems a good place to start a work aimed at the spiritual care of such a community. Peter’s approach in ­those early paragraphs sets the pattern for his work throughout the piece; he cites Gregory the G ­ reat, the biblical books of Kings, Augustine, Peter the Chanter, and Gratian’s Decretum. He introduces a tension (Peter the Chanter says that certain kinds of excessive and repeated drunkenness might constitute mortal sin, while Gratian says it does not) without resolving it. He does not cite locations for any of his authorities, which suggests that ­either he did not expect his readers to treat this like a scholastic study text or that he presumed that they 15.  Perhaps this seems obvious; church councils generally respond to changes already underway. However, much of the lit­er­a­ture on pastoral care seems to presume that changes w ­ ere made specifically to accommodate new confessional requirements proclaimed by that council, so it is impor­tant to state the case explic­itly as I have ­here. 16. Longère, Petrus Pictavensis, lxxii. Longère provides a description of documents related to confession from the Abbey of St. Victor from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, which provides good context for Peter’s work. Longère, Petrus Pictaviensis, lxxiv–­lxxxvii. 17. Longère, Petrus Pictaviensis, viii–­x.

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would have already been familiar with the passages. While Peter’s text l­ater came to travel u ­ nder the title Summa de confessione, he refers to it simply as a “compilation,” and that seems a more appropriate description.18 Thomas of Chobham completed his much larger work on confession the following year, in 1216. ­There is considerable overlap between the material in Peter’s work and the material in Thomas’s; Longère provides a concordance in which he identifies thirty-­seven points of commonality. But where Peter’s book was designed as part of a vibrant conversation within a community of canons, Thomas’s book was intended as something that could, on its own, serve as a complete reference to proper management of a parish, which makes sense since Thomas was involved in the pastoral care of laypeople. Thomas returned from his studies in Paris sometime between 1189 and 1192, taking on pastoral roles in the London curia and l­ater serving as rector of Chobham and subdeacon of Salisbury.19 Thomas’s modern editor, F. Broomfield, suggests that if all the penitential lit­er­a­ture of the twelfth and thirteenth ­century ­were described as ­either primarily legalistic or theological in its approach to the sacraments, Thomas would be firmly in the theological camp.20 He sees the work as closely related to the summae of Peter the Chanter and Robert de Courçon, differing from ­those works principally in its practical nature.21 Although Thomas’s work contained practical advice and he i­ magined a pastoral audience, the scholastic roots of the work are prominent. From attention to ­matters of definition and its use of numbered categories, subcategories, and question format, among other ­things, the work has a distinctively scholastic feel. The work is divided into articles, distinctions, questions, and sometimes chapters within questions, with rubricated titles at each level. Despite the work’s scholastic form, Thomas had the needs of a local En­glish audience in mind, which is evident in the content he chose to include. The work is thorough, and while it is or­ga­nized entirely around the priestly activity surrounding confession, Thomas does provide a complete guide to the per­for­mance of priestly duties within that framework. The work opens with an overview of penance, then moves on to a much larger section on the nature of sin, and then next provides an extensive discussion of the priest’s role in the per­ formance of all seven sacraments before returning to the work’s primary concern, which is penitential practice. Article 1 (5–13) introduces and defines 18.  Longère identified nineteen manuscript copies of the work in his edition, but ­there ­were more, including, for example, Munich, BSB Clm 14230, fols. 59r–70v (thirteenth ­century, Regensburg) and Oxford, Bodleian MS Laud Misc. 375 (­fourteenth and fifteenth ­century, Germany). 19.  See the biography in Broomfield, Thomae de Chobham Summa confessorum, xviii–­xxxviii. 20. Broomfield, Thomae de Chobham Summa confessorum, xviii–xx. 21. Broomfield, Thomae de Chobham Summa confessorum, xxiii.

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penance; article 2 (13–14) briefly discusses the categories of penance, distinguishing between public and private penance; article 3 (14–79) addresses the nature of sin and division of sin into moral and venial categories; article 4 (79–198) asks what it is that priests need to know and then treats the sacraments of ordination, baptism, Eucharist matrimony, confirmation and extreme unction; and article 5 (198–572), by far the largest section of the work, treats the sacrament of ­penance, discussing par­tic­u­lar sins and their remedies. If a new conversational tone and practical orientation characterized the work of Peter and Thomas, by the 1220s we see a pronounced juridical turn with the introduction of far more extensive canon law material and, by the end of the c­ entury, a new overlay of moral theology. Many of the manuals written in the thirteenth c­ entury w ­ ere composed by members of the new Dominican order, whose culture was forged within the schools and whose approach to pastoral care bore the marks of that.22 Guides written by and for an audience of mendicant friars charged with the spiritual care of laypeople w ­ ere generally written in the manner of scholars. In 1221, Pope Honorius III issued the encyclical Cum qui recepit prophetam, which asked bishops and other prelates to allow the preaching friars to take on the work of hearing confessions as well as preaching.23 Almost immediately, t­here was a flurry of activity as Dominican friars worked to establish guidelines for that mission. T ­ hese early Dominican guides tended to focus primarily or exclusively on penitential practice. They also began the shift ­toward the confessor’s manual as what Pierre Michaud-­Quantin called “tracts of juridicized morals” (traités de morale juridiseé), with a l­egal framework firmly applied to the confessor’s role.24 ­Either just before or just a­ fter Honorius issued his appeal, Paul of Hungary, a master of law and Dominican friar in Bologna, wrote a brief Summa de penitentia (1221) for confessors.25 Paul’s work demonstrates an early connection 22.  On the development of a new type of penitential lit­er­a­ture in response to a new emphasis on confession and “interior contrition,” and the importance of Dominican authors in that tradition, see Mulchahey, “First the Bow Is Bent in Study,” 527–55. When Franciscans came to the effort some de­cades ­later, they utilized existing Dominican penitentials in their work. For a survey of Franciscan manuals, see Michaud-­Quantin, Sommes de casuistique, 54–60. 23.  As Mark Johnson pointed out, the Dominicans ­were positioning themselves to take a more active role in hearing confessions before Honorius’s encyclical. From the moment that the Fourth Lateran Council emphasized regular confession as part of the sacrament of penance, it seemed clear that the Dominicans would have an impor­tant role to play. Mark F Johnson, “Paul of Hungary’s Summa de penitentia,” in From Learning to Love: Schools, Law, and Pastoral Care in the M ­ iddle Ages: Essays in Honour of Joseph W. Goering, ed. Tristan Sharp (Toronto: PIMS, 2017), 402–18. 24.  Michaud-­Quantin, Sommes de casuistique, 40. 25.  Johnson’s careful examination of the manuscript tradition leads him to affirm Paul’s authorship of the text—­something that had been contested in scholarship. Johnson, “Paul of Hungary’s Summa de penitentia.”

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between the school of law in Bologna, the first generation of Dominican friars, and the treatment of confession and penance in this work. It also points to the early assimilation of Lateran IV norms in the construction of a Dominican approach to confession, as Paul frequently invokes Fourth Lateran canons as overriding a previous position in canon law.26 Over 147 manuscript copies of the text are extant, in three primary versions but with many additional variations within t­ hose three categories. The first version represents Paul’s original text and includes an extensive citation of canon law material, while the two ­later versions revised by ­others omit direct citation of canon law texts, making the work far less technical but also more accessible. Paul’s text contains twenty-­five titles; all focused on confession and penance. ­There is an extensive treatment of confession’s theological basis and the art of its proper per­for­mance, including a discussion of who ­ought to hear confession and the ideal modes of questioning, including t­ hings like the importance of “gentle leading” to confession. ­Later chapters identify common sins, categorizing and distinguishing them: perjury as a form of lying or adultery as a type of sexual sin, for example. Where Thomas of Chobham had included other sacramental responsibilities within his guide to penitential practice, Paul leaves aside every­thing except penitential practice. He was not writing for parish priests, and he wrote this guide explic­itly for the confessional component of a friar’s activity. Within a few years of Paul’s effort, other friars—­most notably Raymond of Penyafort (d. 1275), but also a German author known to us as “Conrad”—­ took up similar proj­ects.27 While Paul of Hungary shows the early inclusion of princi­ples of canon law into Dominican penitential works, Raymond and Con26.  On the place of the Fourth Lateran Council in the work, see Johnson, “Paul of Hungary” and Gergely Gallai “Some Observations on Paulus Hungarus and His Notabilia,” in Proceedings of the 11th International Congress of Medieval Canon Law, ed. Manlio Bellomo and Orazio Condorelli (Vatican City: Biblioteca Apostolica Vaticana, 2006), 235–43. 27.  On the identity and likely Dominican affiliation of the author of the Summula Conradi, see Jean Pierre Renard, Trois sommes de pénitence de la première moitié du XIIIe siècle: La “Summula Magistri Conradi,” les sommes “Quia non pigris” et “Decime dande sunt,” 2 vols., Lex spiritus vitae 6 (Louvain-­la-­ Neuve: Centre Cerfaux-­Lefort, 1989). Renard makes the point that ­there is l­ittle evidence to associate this author with any person, but the content of the work suggests at the least a Dominican orientation. Over half of the sixty-­three attested manuscript copies pre­sent the text anonymously; ­others identify the author by a range of names with a range of affiliations (Dominican, Franciscan, or simply “magister”). Renard concludes that the text must have been written during the pontificate of Honorius III, sometime between 1226 and 1229. Although he finds no reliable evidence that the purported author, the Dominican Conrad Höxter, actually composed the text, he chooses to call the author Conrad for lack of a better alternative. Renard, Trois sommes de pénitence, 1:73–79. For similar reasons of con­ve­nience, I treat the text in the context of Dominican activity h ­ ere, recognizing that the motivations under­lying this early Dominican activity ­were embraced by ­others at the time. See also Mulchahey, “First the Bow Is Bent in Study,” 530–32.

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rad’s manuals are more systematic in the effort, more fully integrating the canon law tradition and using the structure of canon law collections to or­ga­ nize their guides.28 Raymond and Conrad ­were active at about the same time, but Conrad’s modern editor, Jean Pierre Renard, has demonstrated that they worked in­de­pen­dently of each other.29 The Summula magistri Conradi, composed in Bavaria or Swabia sometime between 1226 and 1229, or­ga­nized its material into three books. As described in a one-­sentence prologue, the first part was dedicated to tithes and vows, the second to the seven sacraments of the Church, and the third to simony, usury, and “other titles as indicated.”30 The first book on tithes and vows also treats entrance into religious life, the entrance of a married person into the religious life, the conversion of infidels, and rules of commerce, all topics normally covered in book 3 of canon law compilations from the Compilatio prima forward. The second book on sacramental practice aligns with the compilations’ treatment of the sacrament of marriage in book 4; while the third book on simony and usury also covers Jews, heretics, apostates, hom­ic­ ide, tournaments, adultery, rape, arson, and theft, all topics normally covered in book 5. ­There is an unmistakable, if loose, alignment of Conrad’s books 1 through 3 with books 3 through 5 of the canon law collections contained within the Quinque compilationes antiquae.31 Conrad did not attempt anything close to comprehensive coverage of relevant material in ­those chapters, and he added content not addressed in canon law to meet the broader needs of his audience. But the juridical framing of sin and penance is clear in his work. The Summula magistri Conradi circulated widely in German-­speaking lands through the fifteenth ­century, but far more significant for the broad embrace of a juridical approach to confession was Raymond of Penyafort’s Summa de casibus, or Summa de poenitentia.32 Raymond’s Summa came to form the base 28.  Bernard of Pavia’s Breviarium extravagantium (also known as the Compilatio prima, completed 1191) established an orga­nizational structure followed by subsequent compilations. On Bernard’s Breviariarium and the work of the decretalists ­after 1190, see Kenneth Pennington, “The Decretalists: 1190–1234,” in The History of Medieval Canon Law in the Classical Period, 1140–1234: From Gratian to the Decretals of Pope Gregory IX, ed. Wilfried Hartmann and Kenneth Pennington (Washington, DC: Catholic University of Amer­i­ca Press, 2008), 211–45, and Pennington, “Decretal Collections: 1190– 1234,” in History of Medieval Canon Law, 293–317. 29.  This is evident in part through their reliance on two dif­fer­ent ­legal works: Raymond turned extensively to the Summa titulorum decretalium of Ambrose (1215) and Conrad to the Summa titulorum decretalium of Damasus (1215). Renard, Trois sommes de pénitence, 1:33–62. 30. Renard, Trois sommes de pénitence, 1:2. 31. QCA, http://­works​.­bepress​.­com​/­david​_­freidenreich​/­21. 32.  For the manuscript tradition of the Summula Conradi, see Renard, Trois sommes de pénitence, 1:1–24. For Raymond of Penyafort’s Summa, see SRP. On Raymond’s Summa and the Dominican tradition of penitential manuals, see also Michaud-­Quantin, Sommes de casuistique, 33–43, and Mulchahey, “First the Bow Is Bent in Study,” 527–52.

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for most subsequent pastoral guides circulating in Eu­rope over the next two centuries or more. Raymond of Penyafort began his c­ areer as a cathedral canon in Catalonia and then, like Paul of Hungary, studied law in Bologna, eventually attaining the rank of master and teaching ­there for three years, from 1218 to 1221. In 1222 or 1223, shortly ­after his return to Barcelona, he joined the newly formed Dominican order. One of his first proj­ects as a Dominican was to adapt the canon law tradition of case study to a widely accessible guide to penitential practice for friars and other priests, completed in 1226. Aimed primarily at members of his order, he also i­magined a work that would be useful to o ­ thers. He states in his prologue that he intends his book to help “­brothers of our order, or o ­ thers” who encounter difficulty in determining the best mode of proceeding in counseling or judging ­things that come up in confession. Raymond expressed hope that his book would give his readers the ability “to untangle many questions and varied cases, both difficult and confusing.”33 In 1234 Raymond produced a revision of that work along with a Summa de matrimonia dealing entirely with laws pertaining to marriage. This was around the same time he completed the papally commissioned Decretales of Pope Gregory IX, also called the Liber extra, and we can see his engagement with the canon law tradition underpinning the pastoral work.34 His prologue explains the division of the work into three parts: the first treats offenses against God, the second offenses against neighbor, and the third addresses the clergy and their role in penitential practice.35 Some manuscripts of the second redaction treat Raymond’s Summa on Marriage as a fourth book in the Summa on penitence, but Raymond clearly envisioned it as a distinct work; the prologue to his second edition preserves the original description of the work as or­ga­ nized into three books. As Michaud-­Quantin stressed, the role of canon ­lawyers like Conrad and Raymond in the construction of this emerging pastoral tradition led to a funda33.  Ut, si quando fratres ordinis nostri vel alii circa iudicium animarum in foro paenitentiali forsitan dubitaverint, per ipsius exercitium, tam in consiliis quam in iudiciis, quaestiones multas et casus varios ac difficiles et perplexos valeant enodare. Raymond of Penyafort, SRP, col. 277. 34.  Thomas Kaeppeli, Scriptores ordinis praedicatorum medii aevi (Rome: Ad S. Sabinae, 1970–93), 3:286–87. Pope Gregory commissioned the authoritative collection of decretals shortly a­ fter Raymond had completed his work on penance. Since both the Liber extra and the Summa de matrimonia appeared in 1234, it seems that Raymond must have been working on the l­egal and the pastoral works si­mul­ta­neously. On Raymond’s crafting of the Decretales, including a discussion of his ­career, see Edward Andrew Reno III, “The Authoritative Text: Raymond of Penyafort’s Editing of the ‘Decretals of Gregory IX’ (1234)” (PhD diss., Columbia University, 2011). 35.  Distinguitur ergo per tres particulas, in quarum prima agitur de criminibus quae principaliter et directe committuntur in Deum; in secunda de his quae in proximum; in tertia de ministris irregularibus et irregularitatibus et impedimentis ordinandorum, dispensationibus, purgationibus, sententiis, paenitentiis et remissionibus. Raymond of Penyafort, SRP, col. 278.

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mentally new legalistic understanding of the confessor’s role. We can see this in their orga­nizational structure, the extensive integration of canon law traditions into the discussion, and the utilization of the language of crime rather than sin to describe transgressions.36 Like Conrad, Raymond applied the topical structure of canon law compilations to his penitential, but he engaged with its content more thoroughly. For example, Conrad included only brief titles on Jews, Muslims and heretics in his book 3, on crime. ­Those sections functioned primarily as placeholders reminding readers of the conceptual presence of infidels in Christian socie­ties and their relationship to other perpetrators of crimes against God. Raymond, by contrast, integrated relevant canon law material into a substantive discussion applicable to pastoral care. Raymond approached confession and penance with the mind of a canon ­lawyer and was influenced by his study of canon law compilations, yet he also adapted that tradition. One notable way he did this was in his rearrangement of structure. From the Compilatio prima on, canon law collections grouped simoniacs, heretics, Jews, Muslims, sodomites, and certain other groups in a category together as having offended God through their be­hav­ior. But where canon law collections placed that material at the end of the compilation, in book 5 on crime, Raymond moved it front and center as book 1 of the text.37 He further amplified the link between dif­fer­ent categories of sinners by introducing a new connective language linking one group with another. Where Conrad simply introduced a title borrowed from the Compilatio and then began with content material, along the lines of “On heretics: A heretic is one who fashions a false opinion concerning faith or follows falsehood,” Raymond drew explicit narrative links from one category of “transgressor” to another, introducing the new category with reference to the previous one.38 So, for example, in the title “On Jews, Saracens, and their servants,” we find this opening sentence as a transition from the section “On simony”: “We have treated ­those who blaspheme against the Holy Spirit through simony; now we ­will treat t­ hose who dishonor God by worshiping in an evil manner, that is, Jews, Saracens, and heretics.”39 In the title 36.  Ochoa and Diez, in SRP, identify the canon law sources for Raymond’s text in extensive footnotes at the bottom of their edition of the text. 37.  The discussion of the relationship of heretics, Jews, and Muslims in pastoral lit­er­a­ture that follows ­here draws from Deeana Copeland Klepper, “Disentangling Heretics, Jews, and Muslims: Imagining Infidels in Late Medieval Pastoral Manuals,” in Late Medieval Heresy: New Perspectives: Essays in Honor of Robert Lerner, ed. Michael D. Bailey and Sean L. Field, Heresy and Inquisition in the ­Middle Ages 5 (York: York Medieval Press, 2018), 137–56. 38.  De hereticis: Hereticus est, qui fingit falsam opinionem de fide vel fictam sequitur. Renard, Trois sommes de pénitence, 2:89. 39.  Egimus de eis qui Spiritum Sanctum per simoniam blasphemant. Nunc de eis agamus qui male colendo Deum inhonorant, ut sunt iudaei, sarraceni, et haeretici. Raymond of ­Penyafort, SRP, col. 308.

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“On heretics” we find this opening sentence: “We discussed above concerning Jews and pagans [i.e., Muslims], who dishonor God through infidelity. Now we wish to discuss heretics, who, by deviating from the faith, sin against God in many ways.”40 Raymond’s connective language found its way back to the canon law tradition, where glossators like Hostiensis (Henry of Susa, 1200–1271) picked it up and amplified it. In his Summa aurea (1253), Hostiensis transitioned from the title on Jews, Muslims and their servants to the one on heretics with this connective statement: “We have heard about Jews and Saracens who, through infidelity, and obduracy, and depraved understanding or blindness, do not recognize the Lord, but blaspheme and dishonor him; now we ­will deal with heretics, who, apostatizing from faith, are seen to sin against God in many ways.”41 ­There may not be any particularly new ways of thinking about the wickedness of Jews and Muslims h ­ ere, but the intensification of the language used against them also intensifies the sin of the heretic, linked ­here with the wickedness of Jews and Muslims. Raymond divided book 5 of the Compilatio tradition into two distinct books, with crimes against God represented in the Summa’s book 1 and crimes against neighbor in book 2. His book 3 contained material on the clergy and clerical practice typically found in books 1 and 2 of the compilation. Raymond relegated the compilation’s fourth book, on marriage, to a separate treatise. However, ­later readers often treated it as a fourth book of the Summa, as we w ­ ill see below. If Raymond’s impact on the canon law tradition was significant, his impact on pastoral lit­er­a­ture was even more profound. Raymond composed his penitential in the immediate aftermath of the Fourth Lateran Council’s embrace of annual confession and within the first de­cade of the Dominican Order’s existence. It seems unlikely he or anyone ­else would have anticipated the speed with which the Dominicans would come to dominate scholastic and pastoral culture. Raymond’s task was essentially to construct a new genre appropriate to the preaching friars’ translocal ministry, and so he turned to the ­legal tradition he knew so well. One of the effects of his integration of canon law into his penitential works was a heightened perception of authority and universality in the work. Raymond’s Summa came to circulate with vari­ous glosses, especially that of the Dominican canon ­lawyer William of Rennes (active mid-­thirteenth 40.  Dictum est supra de iudaeis et paganis qui per infidelitatem Deum inhonorant. Nunc agendum de haereticis, qui a fide deviantes in Deum multipliciter peccant. Raymond of ­Penyafort, SRP, col. 317. 41.  Audiuimus de Iudaeis et Saracenis qui per infidelitatem, et duritiam, et prauam intelligentiam seu caecitatem dominum non recognoscunt, sed ipsum potius blasphamant, et inhonorant: nunc agendum est de haereticis, qui apostatando a fide in Deum multipliciter peccare videntur. HSA col. 1528. A pdf version of this edition is available at The Medieval Canon Law Virtual Library, http://­web​.­colby​.­edu​/­canonlaw​/­tag​/­decretals​/­.

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c­ entury), and stood as the preeminent guide to penitential practice for a good fifty years.42 With developments in scholastic theology and law, it eventually became dated, but it was given an extended life through the l­ abors of another Dominican, John of Freiburg (c. 1250–1314).43 John was trained as a theologian; he studied in Strasbourg and likely spent time at the university in Paris as well. He developed a deep familiarity with the work of fellow Dominican theologians Albert the G ­ reat (c. 1206–80), Thomas Aquinas (1225–74), Peter of Tarentaise (1224–76; elected pope in 1276 and reigned for six months as Innocent V); and John’s own teacher, Ulrich of Strasbourg (c. 1220–77), among ­others. Around 1280, John came to serve as lector at the Dominican ­house in Freiburg, a position that he held for close to thirty years. As lector, he was responsible for training student friars.44 In a model we have seen with the Victorine canons in the previous c­ entury, administrative responsibility for education inspired the composition of an instruction manual. John was a prolific author/ compiler, and penitential practice was at the heart of his understanding of pastoral work. It may be that this focus was formed by his own religious worldview, or it may be that it came simply out of a devotion to Raymond of Penya­ fort, as the six interrelated works he wrote on penitential practice all revolve around Raymond’s work. When John brought his theological training to Raymond’s legally oriented work, the effect was a fusion of theological and juridical frameworks for thinking about penance with lasting impact. John’s penitential writings include an alphabetical register to Raymond’s Summa de poenitentiarum and William of Renne’s marginal gloss of the same; the Libellus questionum casualium (between 1277 and 1290); the Confessionale (first recension c. 1290), aimed at a general readership of clerics with pastoral responsibilities; the comprehensive Summa confessorum (c. 1297–98); a revision of the Confessionale (second recension between 1298 and 1314); and an abridgment of the Summa, the Manuale collectum de Summa confessorum (between 1298 and 1314), which was designed for practical use by well-­educated Dominican friars.45 42.  On William of Rennes see Mulchahey, “First the Bow Is Bent in Study,” 542–43. 43.  Johannes Rumsik, known as Johannes Friburgensis ( John of Freiburg), was lector in the Dominican convent of Freiburg im Breisgau, an impor­tant urban center and an archbishopric, for close to thirty years. For a biography of John and discussion of his ­career, see John A. Lorenc, “John of Freiburg and the Usury Prohibition in the Late ­Middle Ages: A Study in the Popularization of Medieval Canon Law” (PhD diss., University of Toronto, 2013); Boyle, “The Summa confessorum,” 245–68; Michaud-­ Quantin, Sommes de casuistiques, 43–53, and Mulchahey, “First the Bow Is Bent in Study,” 543–49. 44.  Boyle, “The Summa confessorum”; Mulchahey, “First the Bow Is Bent in Study,” 544–45. 45.  The discussion of John’s penitential work h ­ ere is based on Boyle, “The Summa confessorum”; Mulchahey, “First the Bow Is Bent in Study,” 543–48; and Lorenc, “John of Freiburg,” 54–65 and 128–36. We know of the alphabetical index only b­ ecause John mentions it in his prologue to the Libellus questionum casualium; no manuscripts containing that index survive. John Lorenc speculates that he may have “composed them for his own private use in his teaching at the Freiburg convent and as preparatory

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While John surely pursued his penitential works with his Dominican students in mind, he intended dif­fer­ent works for dif­fer­ent audiences, including advanced students at studia generale or university; friars actively working in communities; ­others with care of souls, like parish priests; and penitentiarii, specialists in penitential practice who ­were generally in the ser­vice of bishops. John’s alphabetical register to Raymond’s Summa de poenitentiarum would have been designed to make that work easier to teach and study. Perhaps while ­doing the register, he came to realize the limitations of the Summa. In the prologue to the Libellus, John explained that he intended to build on Raymond’s work by providing relevant theological and juridical material that had appeared in recent de­cades, or­ga­nized according to the books and titles of Raymond’s Summa—­a supplement of sorts. As a supplement, the Libellus was meant to serve alongside Raymond’s Summa poenitentia and Summa matrimonia with William’s Apparatus; the confessor would need access to ­those prior works in addition to the Libellus. The Summa confessorum, by contrast, was meant to stand alone as a complete reference in itself. So closely related ­were the proj­ects of the Libellus and the Summa confessorum that John included the prologue to the Libellus as one of two prologues to the Summa confessorum.46 In the prologue to the Libellus, John explained that so many relevant juridical and theological opinions (often contradictory) had been written since Raymond’s work appeared, that he had de­cided to collect them in one place for t­hose whose work depended on a full and complete understanding of the issues.47 material for the Summa confessorum, which contains its own alphabetical t­able of contents.” John A. Lorenc, “John of Freiburg,” 55. 46.  This combination is not an innovation of fifteenth-­century printers; all of the fourteenth-­ century manuscript copies of the Summa I have seen begin with the prologue to the Libellus followed by the prologue of the Summa. See, for example, Paris BNF Latin 3260, https://­gallica​.­bnf​ .­fr​/­ark:​/­12148​/­btv1b90777907; British Library Royal 8 G XI (dated to 1310), http://­www​.­bl​.­uk​ /­onlinegallery​/­onlineex​/­illmanus​/­roymanucoll​/­j​/­zoomify77138​.­html; and Cambridge, Gonville & Caius College MS 274/506 (dated 1320–40), https://­exhibitions​.­lib​.­cam​.­ac​.­uk​/­dominicans​/­artifacts​ /­summa​-­confessorum​/­. The incipit for the prologue to the Libellus is Quoniam dubiorum nova cotidie; the incipit for the prologue to the Summa is Saluti animari et proximorum utilitati. In some print editions—­Augsburg 1476, for example—­the two prologue titles are reversed, although the prologues themselves appear in the correct order. Several early printed editions of John of Freiburg’s Summa are available online, including Augsburg 1476. Since it is accessible in high quality format, I provide folios from Augsburg 1476 in citations of the work below: https://­api​.­digitale​-­sammlungen​.­de​/­iiif​/­presentation​/­v2​ /­bsb00043210​/­canvas​/­1​/­view. 47.  Quoniam dubiorum nova quotidie difficultas emergit casuum doctores moderni tam theologi quam iuriste plures casus et legendo et scribendo determinaverunt qui in antiquioribus compilationibus non habentur. Ea etiam que priores scripta reliquerunt a posterioribus sunt in pluribus emendata et perfectius declarata. Cum igitur quam plurime questiones ad consilia animarum perutiles diversorum doctorum per volumina sint disperse, ego frater Iohannes lector de ordine predicatorum minimus aliquas ex illis quas magis utiles iudicavi in unum decrevi colligere ad meum et aliorum fratrum profectum, ut si qui forte librorum copiam non habuerint vel ad tot summas et scripta transcurrenda non vacaverint, hic collecta sub compendio multa de his inveniant que re-

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That solution apparently proved unsatisfactory, and he started over, utilizing Raymond’s framework again, but imagining it anew and fully integrating Raymond’s separate Summa de matrimonia as book 4 of the work.48 One might fairly won­der who John hoped would read and use such a massive tome. The work was not easily portable; it would need to be used by someone who had access to a fixed library in a school, university, or other well-­equipped religious institution. In the prologue to his abbreviated version of the Summa, the Manuale collectum de Summa confessorum, John says explic­itly that he wrote the Summa for an audience of penitential experts (penitentiarii). This presumably included not only the specialists appointed to serve as penitentiarii in episcopal courts, but also ­those Dominicans (and members of other ­orders) who ­were in charge of training friars in penitential practice; t­ hose who needed access to the full range of opinions produced in the schools up to that point.49 Even if John had not explained that the Summa was intended for leaders in penitential practices, we would discern the specialized nature of the work from its comprehensiveness and its inclusion of material that would have been largely irrelevant to confessors working with lay communities. T ­ here is a level of engagement with prob­lems attending the religious life that one just does not see in manuals directed to priests with primary care of laypeople. In book 3 on the sacraments, for example, John spends much time considering the nature of ordination and questions of par­tic­u­lar relevance to the clerical/­religious state. Over twenty questions address complex ­matters of obedience alone. The nature and quantity of material specific to the religious life point to John’s direction of the Summa to penitential experts rather than to friars or priests in fulfillment of ordinary pastoral responsibilities.50 quirunt, vel ne aut iudicium in foro animarum utilitati perfectius intenderem. John of Freiburg, SC. Prologue to the Libellum questionum casualium, fol. 2r. 48.  John explains in the second prologue to the Summa confessorum that he undertook the new work at the request of fellow friars and for their use: “Saluti animarum et proximorum utilitati secundum ordinis mei professionem fraterna caritate proficere cupiens, votis quoque et precibus fratrum annuens.” John of Freiburg, SC, prologue, fol. 2v. 49.  For a discussion of whom John might have had in mind when referencing penitentiarii, see Lorenc, “John of Freiburg,” 62–64. 50.  John has not just scattered questions, but entire titles dedicated to ­matters concerning priestly and religious status, including: “On election, postulancy, confirmation, renunciation, and the use of the palium” (De electione, postulatione, confirmatione, renunciatione, usu palii; title 26); “On the Dif­fer­ent Offices” (De differentiis officiorum; title 27); “On the movement of clerics” (De transitu clericorum; title 28), which includes questions on the transfer of a priest from one church to another but also questions about the ability of monks to move to a ­house of canons regular or to serve as priests, and even questions about straightforward monastic governance and claustration. On temptation, and perplexity, and notoriety, and cohabitation of clerics and ­women, and continence of the same (De scandalo, et perplexitate, et notorio, et cohabitatione clericorum mulierum, et continentia eorundem; title 30). Further discussion of questions related to ordination and clerical status are scattered throughout book 3.

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A comparison of all of John’s penitential writings would be useful for thinking about pastoral lit­er­a­ture and audience, but for our purpose ­here, I focus on the Summa confessorum, as that is the work that had the biggest impact on the genre, coming as it did to serve as a repository of information that was incorporated into other proj­ects. John followed Raymond’s organ­ization of the material into books and titles. Like Raymond, he included sixteen titles in book 1 on crimes against God; eight titles in book 2 on crimes against neighbor; thirty-­four titles in book 3 on clerical m ­ atters, including sacramental practice; and twenty-­five titles in book 4 on matrimony. John also followed Raymond’s Summa in the arrangement of subsections within the existing title structure, identifying them as “rubrications.” ­Because John maintained the structure of Raymond’s Summa de casibus, he, too, began his guide for priests with a long treatment of t­ hose who stood outside the communion of the Church as perpetrators of crimes against God: simoniacs, Jews, Muslims, and heretics. John also retained Raymond’s narrative language connecting one category to the next, and so the theological connection between simoniacs, Jews, Muslims, and heretics was made explicit in the opening lines of each section. Simoniacs blaspheme against the Holy Spirit by their simony while Jews and Muslims dishonor God by worshiping badly. Jews and Muslims “fail to honor God through faithlessness (infidelitatem),” while heretics “sin against God in many ways by deviating from faith.”51 All of this helped to define the Christian community—­insiders and outsiders. Where John deviated from Raymond’s structure was at the level of the individual questions. He typically included all of Raymond’s questions, but he sometimes rearranged them, and he often posed additional ones or added ­material to Raymond’s. For example, in book 1, title 5 on heresy, Raymond ­included ten questions or sections, while John included nineteen. Each of Raymond’s questions is pre­sent in John’s work, with new ones interspersed throughout. Whenever Raymond had addressed a par­tic­ul­ar topic in his own work, John presented Raymond’s material first, attributing it to him by name, and then added from his vast array of additional sources, citing more recent theologians and ­legal scholars also by name. John’s treatment of sacramental practice may serve ­here to illustrate his method of operating. Raymond had treated sacramental practice in two brief titles in book 3 on the clergy, one called “On repeated sacraments” (De sacramentis iterandis) and the other “On the consecration of a church or altar” (De consecrationibus ecclesie vel altaris). 51.  Agimus de his qui spiritum sanctum per symoniam blasphemant. Nunc de his agamus qui male colendo deum inhonorant, ut sunt iudei et sarraceni. John of Freiburg, SC, book 1, title 4, fol. 16vr. Dictum est supra de iudeis et paganis qui per infidelitatem deum inhonorant. Nunc agendum est de hereticis qui a fide deviantes in deum multipliciter peccant. John of Freiburg, SC, book 1, title 5, fol. 19r.

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John treated sacramental practice in the same place that Raymond had, but did so much more fully, adding titles on baptism, catechism and exorcism, confirmation, the Eucharist, and extreme unction. ­Because John had so much new material to introduce, his discussions within any par­tic­u­lar question w ­ ere often considerably longer than Raymond’s. This is especially the case in the discussion of ­matters that had come to play a larger role in Dominican activity over the course of the thirteenth ­century. For example, John’s introductory question on the punishment of heretics is considerably longer than Raymond’s: 343 words to Raymond’s 102. By the time John wrote his text, the Dominican role in the increasingly impor­tant function of confession, still new in Raymond’s day, was firmly established. John brought de­cades of additional conversation to his exhaustive proj­ect. While John introduced a lot of new l­egal material into his text from canon ­lawyers like Hostiensis, what stands out most is his integration of theological material. Raymond should be credited with the rise of a juridical approach to pastoral lit­er­at­ ure, whereas John should be credited with the moral-­theological re­orientation of that genre. As Michèle Mulchahey noted, despite the fact that John describes himself as carry­ing on the work of Raymond, his theological orientation was only minimally pre­sent in Raymond’s Summa.52 John had the benefit of de­cades of scholastic reflection on pastoral care to take into account—­not only through the works of Albert and Aquinas and other well-­known figures he cited directly but an entire tradition, including impor­tant works by secular bishops like Robert Grosseteste and William of Auvergne, both early supporters of the mendicants in the schools.53 The additional material he incorporated into the Summa is from the same set of scholars he turned to for the Libellus: Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas, Peter of Tarentaise, and Ulrich of Strasbourg, among other, primarily Dominican, sources for theology, and William of Rennes, William Durandus, and Hostiensis for juridical material.54 52.  Mulchahey, “First the Bow Is Bent in Study,” 543–47. 53.  The full scholastic tradition of writing on penance, confession, and sacramental practice is beyond the scope of this book but see the essays in Peter Biller and A. J. Minnis, eds., ­Handling Sin: Confession in the ­Middle Ages (Woodbridge: York Medieval Press, 1998, especially Peter Biller, “Confession in the ­Middle Ages: Introduction,” 1–34 and Lesley Smith, “William of Auvergne and Confession,” 95–107. 54.  In his study of John of Freiburg’s treatment of usury in the Summa confessorum, John Lorenc tallied up the additions John brought to Raymond’s Summa on the topic: John added fifty-­three references to Hostiensis’s Summa aurea and Apparatus super quinque libros decretalium; ten to Innocent IV’s Apparatus super quinque libros decretalium, twenty-­three to Geoffrey of Trani’s Summa super titulis decretalium, four to the Ordinary Gloss to Gratian’s Decretum, six to the Ordinary Gloss to the Liber extra, three to the decrees of the Second Council of Lyons (1274), twenty-­one to Ulrich of Strasbourg’s Summa de summo bono, and fourteen to the Summa theologiae of Thomas Aquinas. In all, Lorenc found that John made 134 distinct additions to Raymond’s discussion of usury in the Summa de poenitentia.

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That John framed his pastoral guide as something intended for confessors specifically is telling, since the hearing of confession and assigning of penance was just one part of the priest’s role. Why not frame it as a Summa clericorum, or a Summa sacerdotum? When we approach John’s comprehensive work, it is easy to forget that he, too, ­shaped the tradition through the assumptions he brought to the t­ able, including the idea that all of the vari­ous aspects of a priest’s work ­were aimed in the end at reconciling believer and God through the teaching of doctrine and the sacrament of penance. This is the idea of the legal/juridical model of understanding sacramental practice. John often cross-­referenced arguments in the Summa; he expected ­people to use his work as a reference, not a textbook to absorb at once. As we ­will see, authors of smaller manuals for parish priests imagine that they are providing a kind of course that a reader could essentially master from beginning to end. John knows that ­there is far too much in the Summa for anyone to fully absorb; for example, if he is talking about confession and discussing the roles of parish priests and bishops, he refers his reader back to a specific section ­earlier in the work where he talked about who “held the keys” and what distinguished dif­fer­ent types of key holders. John also expected his reader to have certain ­legal texts at hand. When John cites authorities, it is with the expectation that his readers both know the sources—­therefore they stand as markers of authority—­and that his readers have access to the texts so that they can go on and read more. John, like many authors of pastoral lit­er­a­ture before him, worked to integrate the learning of the schools with practical necessity. So much in the realm of scholastic thought was theoretical; in the Summa John took the fruit of that l­abor and suggested how it might be put to work in the per­for­mance of pastoral care. But the intellectual exercise ­behind that integration remained paramount. John’s Summa filled a need, and it was widely copied and disseminated from the time of its completion around 1298. In her expansive study of Dominican education up to 1350, Michèle Mulchahey noted that “From 1300 onwards John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum was preferred to all other manuals of penitential practice within the Dominican order.”55 The Summa was aimed at an audience of Dominican friars, but it was also well received outside the order, and t­here are well over 150 extant manuscripts from the thirteenth and ­fourteenth centuries.56 Many readers, ­whether Dominican or not, found John’s Lorenc, “John of Freiburg,” 66. That level of activity is consistent throughout the work, although the specific scholars referenced differed depending on the topic. 55.  Mulchahey, “First the Bow Is Bent in Study,” 547. 56.  In addition to many manuscript copies, the Summa confessorum appeared in seven printed editions between 1476 and 1619. See Kaeppeli, SOP 2:428–36.

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Summa so helpful that they used its content to create pastoral manuals of their own. As Boyle brought to our attention in a 1974 essay, pastoral manuals show the tell-­tale signs of using John’s work as a model through their citation of a distinctive set of largely Dominican authorities.57 Many p­ eople treated the Summa as they would a biblical or canon law gloss: something that served as a repository of authorities an author could consult and use. Even if someone had access to a library holding the original source, it was deemed perfectly acceptable to simply quote from the gloss or, in this case, from the Summa confessorum. Around the same time that John of Freiburg was writing his influential work, a Franciscan named John of Erfurt (c. 1250–­c. 1325) was working on his own confessor’s manual. John of Erfurt’s Summa confessorum appeared in several ­redactions over the course of the first and second de­cades of the ­fourteenth ­century. John was both a theologian and a l­ egal scholar; he first appears in the documentary rec­ord as “Johannes lector fratrum minorum in Erfordia” in 1275.58 The Franciscan necrology at Mühlhausen states that he was lector at Erfurt for 41 years, but ­those years w ­ ere not continuous. He served as lector in Magdeburg from 1285 to 1295, and he likely traveled to Bologna to study law during the period of his assignment to the lectorship at Magdeburg. John wrote works in a range of genres beyond the pastoral manual. Most closely related to the Summa confessorum is an ­earlier ­legal text that circulated ­under the title Tabula iuris civilis et canonici, or Tabula iuris utriusque, which appeared in several redactions, initially between 1274 and 1276.59 Like John of Freiburg, John of Erfurt wrote his Summa in the context of his role as a teacher of friars with priestly responsibilities. Like John of Freiburg, he provided a distinctively mendicant fusion of scholastic modes of learning with practical necessity. A work like this could be useful in training friars who ­were expected to perform sacramental functions, including hearing confessions and assigning penance. But it also would be useful in the scholastic study as an intellectual exercise. John introduced his text by saying that he had been asked by fellow friars about the practice of confession, and so he wrote this book to help them in their efforts.60 Like John of Freiburg’s Summa, it is a 57.  Boyle mentions especially Albert the G ­ reat, Thomas Aquinas, Peter of Tarentaise, and Ulrich of Strasbourg. Boyle, “The Summa confessorum,” 262–65. 58.  SCJE, 1:5. The Munich manuscript Clm 8704 on which Brieskorn based his ­edition is now digitized and available at https://­api​.­digitale​-­sammlungen​.­de​/­iiif​/­presentation​/­v2​/­bsb00042929​ /­canvas​/­1​/­view. 59.  SCJE, 1:15–18. 60.  Rogatus a fratribus quod eis formulam de confessionibus audiendis traderem, negare non praevalens institi ut potui consummationis fiduciam mercedisque laborem constituens in omnium salvatore. Huius ergo opusculi indagatio circa tria versatur, scilicet circa confessores et circa confessionem et circa confitenda; ut autem

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large volume and would likely have been used exclusively in a library. Although John of Erfurt utilized many of the same sources that John of Freiburg did (Raymond of Penyafort, Hostiensis, Aquinas, et al.), he or­ga­nized his work in a completely dif­fer­ent way. Perhaps b­ ecause John of Erfurt had a level of ­legal training and expertise that John of Freiburg did not possess, or perhaps ­because he did not feel bound to preserve a Dominican tradition, John of Erfurt diverged from Raymond of Penyafort’s model of organ­ization that John of Freiburg adhered to so rigorously.61 John of Erfurt divided the 165 titles of his work into just two books, the first or­ga­nized around the seven deadly sins and the second around the Ten Commandments. This leads to an idiosyncratic coverage of vari­ous materials that would typically be treated alongside each other, but it also created a theologically rather than juridically oriented experience, even when the same engagement with canon law remained at the micro level. Like John of Freiburg, John of Erfurt directed the work to confessors specifically, beginning the first book with an introduction to the role of the confessor and of confession, ­after which he turned to each of the seven deadly sins in turn. Penitential ­matters are treated ­under the rubric of the vari­ous sins, so that questions on obedience and boasting are covered ­under the rubric of “pride” (book 1 title 2), buying and selling, alms, tithes, and gifts are all discussed ­under the rubric of “greed” (book 1 title 6) while marriage, adultery, divorce and such are covered ­under the rubric of “lust” (book 1, title 8). ­Because “sin” is just one of two organ­izing princi­ples, not all ­matters relevant to a par­ tic­ul­ar sin appear in that part of the work. Some ­things must be held out for discussion ­under the Ten Commandments, a­ fter all. For example, one might expect heresy to be treated u ­ nder the rubric of pride since it was understood to be an outgrowth of that par­tic­u­lar sin. However, heresy is treated instead in book 2 u ­ nder the rubric of the first commandment on proper worship of God. As John explains, all of the seven sacraments are part of the proper worship of God, so ­after discussion in eigh­teen titles of proper worship, it would be helpful next to discuss the worship of false idols by pagans, sorcerers, heretics, and Jews.62 By treating “worshippers of false idols” as a group, he ends up replicating the scheme Raymond established when he treated infidels selectori citius occurat, quod quaerit, opus hoc in duos distinxi libros partiales, quorum primus habet octo partes, partes autem habent titulos per litteras alphabeti distinctos; secundus similiter habet viii partes. John of Erfurt, SCJE, 2:1. 61.  In several manuscripts, John is identified specifically as a master in law with this rubric: In nomine summae et individuae trinitatis incipit summa confessionum edita et completa a fratre Johanne de Saxonia ord. fratrum minorum, doctoris iuris utriusque.” SCJE, 1:21. 62.  John includes Jews among idol worshippers ­because, even though they worship the divine essence, they neglect the trinity, and therefore construct a false god. SCJE, 3:988–91. Although “pa-

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quentially ­under the canon law rubric of “crimes against God.” However, t­ here is a flow to the manual that is more narrative, more biblical, and more theological despite similarities in content. Sometime a­ fter 1305, the Franciscan friar Durand of Champagne (d. ­after 1309) wrote a new penitential work based equally on the Summae of John of Freiburg and John of Erfurt, weaving together Dominican and Franciscan approaches to penitential lit­er­a­ture. Durand followed John of Erfurt’s orga­ nizational structure, building the text around the seven deadly sins and the Ten Commandments, but he thoroughly integrated John’s Summa throughout.63 Other impor­tant Franciscan-­authored works based on John of Erfurt’s Summa that likewise integrated John of Freiburg’s work include the Summa de casibus conscientiae by Astesanus of Asti (1317) and the fifteenth-­century work of that same name by Angelus de Clavasio (­either 1470 or 1486).64 All of t­ hese texts in their comprehensiveness w ­ ere designed to be used in schools as teaching texts rather than as practical guides for daily practice. As was the case with scholastic theology as a ­whole, ­these works reflected their authors’ backgrounds, affinities, specific training, and so on, but as much as can be said of any scholastic endeavor, they demonstrate a sense of belonging to a shared ecclesiastical culture with a valuation of uniformity over diversity.

From the School to the Parish At the same time that comprehensive confessors’ manuals ­were proliferating in the schools, other heavi­ly abridged versions of the genre began to appear. ­These works, aimed at the parish clergy of a specific, fairly ­limited regional audience, ­were often authored by secular clergy or canons regular. While based on the scholastic models described above, they often rejected the orga­ nizational, theological, and ­legal structures presented therein, and they ­were highly selective in their content. ­These ­were relatively short works, portable and practical. They cut out the lengthy scholastic discourse of their sources in gans” in pastoral lit­er­a­ture most often refers to Muslims, John’s single paragraph on the topic seems to have the “idol worshippers” of Roman anti­quity in mind. 3:963–64. 63.  See a discussion of Durandus’s fusion of John of Freiburg and John of Erfurt’s Summae in Breiskorn, SCJE, 1:31–33. T ­ here is a brief discussion of Durandus’s c­ areer in Constant J. Mews & Rina Lahav, “Wisdom and Justice in the Court of Jeanne of Navarre and Philip IV: Durand of Champagne, the Speculum dominarum, and the De informatione principum,” Viator 45, no. 2 (2014), 173–200. 64.  Many print editions of Angelus’s Summa de casibus conscientiae are available online: including this Venice 1487 edition: https://­api​.­digitale​-­sammlungen​.­de​/­iiif​/­presentation​/­v2​/­bsb00045539​/­canvas​/­1​ /­view.

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f­ avor of what­ever seemed most immediately applicable to the target audience’s context. They promised clarity of purpose, often bearing names featuring meta­phors of vision—­they ­were mirrors or eyes or pupils for priests, clerics, or curates. William of Pagula’s Eye of the Priest (Oculus sacerdotis) is one of the best-­ known examples of this type of work. It utilized several scholastic manuals to provide a practical guide for En­glish parish priests. Leonard Boyle described the distinction between the scholastic works w ­ e’ve examined thus far and William’s proj­ect in this way: This brief description of the Oculus sacerdotis at least throws into relief some of the qualities that may have made it an attractive, if not imperative, purchase for the parish priests of the ­fourteenth ­century. ­There ­were many manuals of varying excellence to choose from, t­ hese being a legacy of the thirteenth ­century, but few if any of ­these showed the scope and realism of the Oculus. In character, the Oculus seems to belong to a genre of pastoral lit­er­a­ture that embodies many features of, but clearly is distinct from, the better-­known homiletic, penitential, and moralizing treatises of the thirteenth and ­fourteenth centuries with which it is sometimes confused. In the Oculus the pastoral care is seen as a ­whole, while only certain aspects of that care are covered in compendia of virtues and vices, in summae of penance and confessional practice, in manuals of ­sermons and sermon-­making. The Oculus, with its wider and often more sensitive vision of the needs of a priest in his parish, contrives to comprehend the essentials of the specialized treatises while embracing the education of the priest as well as of his parishioners.65 What Boyle described as a distinctive “scope and realism” (relative to the pastoral lit­er­at­ure of the thirteenth-­century) of William of Pagula’s Eye becomes especially evident when we compare that parish-­oriented work with o ­ thers aimed likewise at a specific community. Guido of Monte Rochen’s Handbook for Curates (Manipulus curatorum) shares the defining characteristics of the Eye—­ translating scholastic material for more practical and immediate use—­but for a community of parish priests active in Aragon and Valencia.66 Guido’s Hand65.  Leonard Boyle, “The Oculus sacerdotis and Some Other Works of William of Pagula: The Alexander Prize Essay,” Transactions of the Royal Historical Society, Fifth Series (1955): 5:81–110, h ­ ere 92–93. 66.  Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates. Thayer based her translation of the Handbook on an early printed version of the Manipulus curatorum, Lyon 1471/81. A copy of the 1506 Lyon edi-

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book, written in Teruel, Aragon in 1333, was arguably even more accessible than William’s, with its engaging, conversational tone. The Handbook was eventually dispersed across Eu­rope in both manuscript and print despite the fact that the content is manifestly local in its orientation. A dedicatory preface to Raymond of Gaston, bishop of Valencia, gives us a firm date and place for its composition.67 Guido was most likely a secular cathedral canon in Teruel, and he spent sufficient time in a university to earn the title of “master.”68 Based on his fa­cil­i­ty with scholastic modes of discourse and his integration of a range of con­ temporary theologians in his text, Kathryn Lualdi and Anne Thayer, editors of the En­glish translation of the text, speculate that he attended university, possibly in Paris.69 The confidence and comfort with which he ­handles his material make it seem likely; however, it also seems clear that the array of authorities he cited w ­ ere copied from widely available Summae rather than having been gathered from disparate scholastic texts for this purpose.70 The Handbook consists of three unequal parts. The first and longest part deals with all sacramental practice, except for penance, the second part deals with penance, and the third part deals with the articles of faith to be taught to parishioners. Remember how frequently scholastic summae, especially Dominican authored summae, or­ga­nized themselves according to the needs of the confessor, incorporating other sacramental instructions, if they ­were included at all, only in the context of confessional practice. We see Guido’s orientation to a parish-­based audience not only in the structure of the text, which suggests a clear understanding of parish responsibilities, but also in his heavy use of biblical text to authorize par­tic­u­lar ways of performing sacramental obligations. He tends to invoke con­temporary authorities only where ­there is a significant difference of opinion about the per­for­mance of a par­tic­u­lar sacrament. This stands in contrast to the emphasis on theological debate, consensus, and disagreement as found in John of Freiburg, Astesanus of Asti, and other scholastic authors, who used the reputation of vari­ous theologians tion is available online through the BSB website, and that is the version I use in cases below where I need to cite the original Latin: https://­mdz​-­nbn​-­resolving​.­de​/­details:bsb10188463. 67.  Lualdi and Thayer point out that although Guido, as a member of the clergy in Teruel, would not have been ­under Raymond’s authority, Teruel had close ties to the Kingdom of Valencia, which may account for the dedication. 68.  Guido appears twice in the documentary rec­ord of Teruel, adjudicating a dispute concerning a bequest to a local church in 1339. In one of t­hose rec­ords, he is identified as “master.” Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates, xiv–­xvi. 69.  Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates, xiv–xv. 70.  Guido incorporates the par­tic­u­lar constellation of largely Dominican authors that, as Boyle demonstrated, indicates borrowing from John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum,” but Guido almost certainly turned to other available summae as well.

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or canon l­awyers to encourage or discourage support for a par­tic­u­lar interpretation. Guido was much more likely to streamline his instructions and then quote scripture as the basis for authority on the ­matter. Guido, like other authors of pastoral guides we have examined, could have claimed the authority to instruct o ­ thers through his rank as master. However, Guido seems to downplay his scholastic credential as validation. In his dedication to Raymond, bishop of Valencia, Guido chose instead to highlight his place in a meta­phorical chain of illumination from the revelation on Mt. Sinai: This was figuratively shown by the lawgiver Moses when the command was given to him to build the tabernacle in the desert according to the model which was shown to him on the mountain. The tabernacle constructed in this way in the desert is, in fact, the church militant ordered ­toward the image of the Jerusalem on high. Indeed this suggests that the foundations of the church militant are on the mountains of the holy prophets, with high mountains indicating the prelates, the successors to the apostles, who are spiritually at the top of the hierarchy. ­Those at the top [serve] ­those in the ­middle and ­those in the ­middle ­those at the bottom, namely, prelates illuminate, perfect, and cleanse, so that as ­those in the ­middle are illuminated by t­hose above them, made holy, perfected with virtues, and purged of errors, in a similar way, they may illuminate, perfect, and cleanse the lesser seculars, namely, lay-­people, which they ­will be unable to do u ­ nless they are given instruction in divine doctrine. Therefore, paying attention to t­hese ­things and examining vigilant practice, I have composed this l­ittle work of instruction for neophyte clerics.71 Guido’s manual was intended for a geo­graph­i­cally ­limited audience; in his dedication to Bishop Raymond, he explic­itly said that he was giving the text over to Raymond so that he might circulate it to new clerics (neophitorum) as he saw fit.72­There are hints of the text’s Iberian origins in the amount of space Guido gives over to certain kinds of issues having to do with non-­Christians. For example, in the discussion of an impediment to marriage based on religious differences, Guido’s treatment emphasized the prob­lem of Christian, Jewish, and Muslim intermarriage. Guido’s discussion is only 500 words to 71.  Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates, 3–4. 72.  “Therefore, F ­ ather, receive with good-­will this ­little work which humility offers, affection accompanies, and charity prompts, and corrected and emended, if it seems appropriate in your judgment, share it with the neophyte, that is novice, curates so that t­ hose who are ignorant may learn further, and t­ hose who do know may rejoice in knowing and ascend to higher ­things.” Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates, 4.

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John of Freiburg’s several thousand (divided over sixteen chapters), but where John opened the entire conversation with reference to heretics first and then spent considerable time on that prob­lem, Guido focuses almost entirely on the real scenarios that resulted from Jewish and Muslim conversion to Christian­ity, and particularly how to deal with situations where one or both married partners convert to Chris­tian­ity (for example, what to do when one partner converts and the other does not, how to h ­ andle marriage to a consanguineous spouse for both Jews and Muslims, or marriage to more than one spouse for a Muslim).73 This practical framing of a common, complex topic around a scenario especially relevant to fourteenth-­century Iberia stands in contrast to numerous other manuals written in the north, like the Summula of Conrad, who wrote just one sentence on the topic, and made reference only to marriage with a Jew as an example of a forbidden match: “Also, difference of religion, as in ­people of dif­fer­ent sects (religions), as when one is a Jew and the other a Christian.”74 We know that Christians in Aragon and Valencia ­were living alongside Jewish and Muslim communities, and that conversion was an ongoing real­ity; Guido’s coverage of this issue would have been especially useful to clerics in his own community and in the neighboring diocese of Valencia.75 Another example of an Iberian inflection to Guido’s concern with interreligious engagement may be found in his inclusion of a question in the section on baptism asking ­whether Jewish ­children o ­ ught to be baptized against their parents’ ­will. He brings in a debate from Paris between Duns Scotus and Durandus of Saint Pourçain, on the one hand, and Thomas Aquinas on the other.76 Duns Scotus was of the opinion that Jewish ­children could and should be baptized even against the w ­ ill of their parents, while Aquinas was steadfastly against it. Aquinas argued that it was not the custom of the Church and that the risk of forcibly baptized children reverting to Judaism was great. Guido refused to take a position, saying only, “which of these is truer, I leave to the judgment of the reader.”77 Guido’s handling of the problem is 73.  Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates, 144–45. 74.  Item, cultus disparitas, ut in hominibus diversarum sectarum, ut cum unus est iudeus et alter christianus. Conrad, Trois sommes de penitence, 2:17. 75.  To understand the importance of ­these questions in Iberian context, see, for example, Paola Tartakoff, Between Christian and Jew: Conversion and Inquisition in the Crown of Aragon, 1250–1391 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012); David Nirenberg, “Religious and Sexual Bound­aries in the Medieval Crown of Aragon,” in Christians, Muslims, and Jews in Medieval and Early Modern Spain: Interaction and Cultural Change, ed. Edward D. En­glish and Mark D. Meyerson (South Bend, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2000), 141–60; Simon Barton, Conquerors, Brides, and Concubines: Interfaith Relations and Social Power in Medieval Iberia (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015). 76.  On the debate, see Marcia  L. Colish, Faith, Force and Fiction in Medieval Baptismal Debates (Washington, DC: Catholic University of Amer­i­ca Press, 2014), especially chapter 3. 77.  Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates, 29–30.

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unusually pointed; it pre­sents a g­ reat example of the way locally oriented guides connected a received tradition with local concerns. As a final example of Guido’s local Iberian perspective, we might consider his citation of local experts, as when he includes a citation of Berengar of Landorra, archbishop of Compostela, identified by Guido as a teacher of theology in Paris, but someone who does not appear as an authoritative source in other pastoral manuals.78 Guido may have had modest expectations for the circulation of his text, but the tone and content of the work resonated with readers far beyond Valencia and Aragon, proving to be enormously popu­lar across Eu­rope. Not only did copies of the book circulate widely, but they also tend to be heavi­ly marked up with annotations, pointers, and other evidence of active engagement. According to Thayer and Lualdi, t­ here are more than 250 extant manuscript copies of the text and over 122 editions printed between 1468 and 1501.79 The Handbook represents one of the most successful “translations “of sophisticated scholastic material to a practically oriented parish audience. And it is worth considering, therefore, the basis for Guido’s instructions to priests. A close ­examination shows that Guido must have sat, as so many other authors before and a­ fter him would do, with a copy of John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum at hand, summarizing arguments from John’s lengthy treatment for his own audience. Most of the near contemporaries named in Guido’s work appear in John’s Summa in much the same form we find them in the Handbook: Thomas Aquinas, Hostiensis, Albert the G ­ reat, and William Durandus (1231–96), presented in the same order in the discussion of similarly framed questions. When key authorities are missing, like Ulrich of Strasbourg, it is b­ ecause Guido opted not to include discussion of the material in which John cited that authority. For example, Guido never cites Ulrich of Strasbourg, who was cited extensively in John’s Summa. But that is ­because Guido de­cided not to discuss usury at all; it is not that he used a dif­fer­ent set of sources to treat the topic. Guido chose his own organ­ization for his manual, emphasized ­matters that he thought would be particularly impor­tant for parish priests in his part of the world, but turned to the Summa to frame discussions and to select appropriate content for the work. 78.  As Lualdi and Thayer point out, the quodlibets referenced by Guido are no longer extant, and this citation of them is the only testimony we have of their existence or content. Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates, 52. 79.  Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates, xiii–­xiv. The early date of first printing is noteworthy—­the first Latin Bible commentary, Nicholas of Lyra’s Postilla litteralis super bibliam, did not appear in print ­until 1470. According to Thayer and Lualdi, this heavy print production makes the Manipulus the eleventh most frequently printed incunable; over 1,400 incunable copies are known ­today.

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One substantial example of how Guido worked with John’s text may help to illustrate the relationship between the two works. In the section on confession, both men addressed the question of w ­ hether a parish priest had the authority to absolve all sins confessed to him. The prob­lem is that certain sins considered especially grave ­were meant to be referred to the parishioner’s bishop; any reader with even a minimal understanding of confessional practice would have known that the answer to this question could not be a ­simple yes. Guido’s treatment of the question is far shorter than John’s—198 words compared to John’s 663. But the gist of the discussion and the authors and texts cited are the same, and the closeness of the two texts make it clear that Guido was writing with John’s text at hand. Guido was able to make his answer so much more concise than John b­ ecause he aimed the conversation exclusively at a parish priest rather than exploring all ele­ments of the prob­lem. We can see this even in the way the question was framed at the opening. Where John’s question read, “­Whether a parish priest or another who has been given authority to hear confessions by a bishop may assign the appropriate penance for all crimes or ­whether some must be referred back to the bishop” (Utrum sacerdotes parrochialis vel alius qui ab episcopo habet autoritatem audiendi confessiones possit imponere penitentiam subditis de omni crimine an teneatur aliquid ad episcopum remittere), Guido simply asked, “But can a parish priest absolve his parishioner from e­ very sin?” (Sed nunquid sacerdos parrochialis potest absolvere parrochianum suum de omni peccato suo).80 As a Dominican, John would have especially had mendicant confessors in mind when he added “­others who had authority to hear confession” to the category of parish priests in considering the question. And adhering closely to Raymond’s juridical framing of confession, John used the l­egal term “crime” to refer to transgression, where Guido used the moral term “sin,” which would have made more sense to an audience of parish priests. Guido’s version of the question is a thoughtful abridgment of John’s, providing sufficient detail to make the basic princi­ples clear but emphasizing only that which would be most impor­tant for the parish priest to remember. Both John and Guido begin by presenting Raymond of Penyafort’s summary of the cases in which an ordinary priest should defer to higher authority, then invoke Hostiensis’s additions to Raymond, and then conclude with a brief caution from William Durandus about the danger of limiting the parish priest’s exercise of sacramental authority.81 But instead of reporting each of Raymond’s 80.  John of Freiburg, SC, book 3, title 34, question 50, fol. 261r-­v; Guido of Monte Rochen, Manipulus curatorum, part 2, tractate 3, chapter 4, fol. 86r. 81.  John of Freiburg: Wilelmus durandi in repertorio suo eo titulo in Rubricella super quibus penitens sit ad episcopum remittendus ponit predictos casus et plures alios in quibus quidam dicebant penitentes ad episcopos remittendos. Et in fine subiungit dicens, “Tot casus ponere nihil aliud est quam sacerdotum potestatem

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five cases of exception and then g­ oing on to discuss Hostiensis’s additional cases, as John did, Guido moved right from Raymond’s fourth case to Hostiensis’s cases to save repetition, since Raymond’s fifth case and Hostiensis’s seventh overlap. He cited Raymond and Hostiensis as sources but did not provide the location of the cited passages in their works as John had done. John also consistently referenced the location in his own work where a par­tic­u­lar transgression was discussed in greater detail, and Guido naturally left out ­those references. Although he trimmed the discussion and scholastic apparatus, Guido’s other­wise followed John closely. The one addition he made to John’s text was to advise that “each curate ­ought to have his synodal with which to get direction” (unusquisque curatus habet suum synodale cum quo se dirigat).82 In other sections of the Handbook, Guido did sometimes cite authors not found in John’s Summa. It seems most likely that he found this material in another, prob­ably Franciscan, compilation. Among the relatively few scholars cited by Guido but not by John, we find Duns Scotus, O.F.M. (c. 1265–1308), Richard of Middleton, O.F.M. (c. 1249–­?), and Henry of Ghent (d. 1293). All of ­these figures are cited in the widely disseminated Summa de casibus of Astesanus of Asti, O.F.M. (composed c. 1317), as well as in two slightly ­earlier Franciscan manuals: the Formula confessionum by Jean Rigaud (composed between 1309–1312) and the Summa collectionum pro confessionibus audiendi by Durandus de Campania, O.F.M (composed c. 1315).83 A stay in Paris or another university town would have given Guido access to t­ hese new works as they w ­ ere just beginning to come into use. The point I would emphasize is that Guido was not likely sitting with a stack of books on his t­ able weaving together numerous scholastic sources. Rather, he—as well as other authors of such parish-­ oriented manuals—­utilized existing scholastic works and took excerpts that accomplished what­ever he hoped to do in a par­tic­ul­ ar discussion. Guido’s personality and concern for the specific needs of parish clergy in his own region give a distinctive character to his compilation relative to o ­ thers who used the same sources to craft dif­fer­ent manuals. Before concluding this chapter, ­there is one more subcategory of the genre that deserves mention: vernacular translations of Latin pastoral works pror­ estringere que tamen sibi in his plenarie attributa.” John of Freiburg, SC, book 3, title 34, question 50, fol. 261v; Guido of Monte Rochen: Dominus guilhelmus durandi in repertorio suo dicit quod ponere tot casus non est nisi auferre potestatem suam a curatis cum possint omnia que non sint de iure eis prohibita. Guido of Monte Rochen, Manipulus curatorum, part 2, tractate 3, chapter 4, fol. 86r. 82.  Guido of Monte Rochen, Manipulus curatorum, part 2, tractate 3, chapter 4, fol. 86r. 83.  Much less has been published on Franciscan guides to confession than on Dominican ones, but see the brief overviews in Joseph Goering, “The Internal Forum and the Lit­er­a­ture of Penance and Confession,” Traditio 59 (2004): 175–227 and Bert Roest, Franciscan Lit­er­a­ture of Religious Instruction Before the Council of Trent (Leiden: Brill, 2004).

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duced by clerics for an often indeterminate audience of “­simple clerics” or lay elites. The use of the vernacular allowed for or perhaps encouraged even greater creativity than we see in Latin compilations. The En­glish Augustinian canon regular John Mirk (active c. 1382–1414), for example, wrote a Latin manual based on ­those of John of Freiburg and William of Pagula, among o ­ thers, 84 and then also crafted a M ­ iddle En­glish version in poetic form. The southern German author known to us as “Bruder Berthold” (active during the second half of the f­ourteenth ­century) turned his M ­ iddle High German translation of John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum into an alphabetical form.85 ­These vernacular versions of priestly guidebooks w ­ ere part of a vast and diverse array of religious lit­er­a­ture written for laypeople in the ­later ­Middle Ages. Latin sermon collections, biblical commentaries, theological treatises, and so forth ­were adapted or loosely translated into the vernacular for a lay audience. It does seem that translations into the vernacular of confessors’ guides or other pastoral guides fit less easily in this category than other types of pastoralia. It is hard to see what use the laity would have had for works detailing the responsibility of priests. At the same time, it seems unlikely that priests with the care of souls would need vernacular translations.86 By the time vernacular versions of priests’ manuals began to circulate at the end of the thirteenth and especially in the ­fourteenth ­century, the community of parish priests at which vernacular works might be aimed had achieved a fairly high level of educational competence. Even though clerical ignorance was a widespread trope in instructional lit­er­a­ture, we should prob­ably not take the charge too literally. 84.  On John Mirk and his writing, see Beth Allison Barr and Lynneth J. Miller, “John Mirk,” in Oxford Biblio­g raphies Online: Medieval Studies (2018), doi: 10.1093/obo​/9780195396584-0259; Susan Powell, “John Mirk,” in The Encyclopedia of Medieval Lit­er­a­ture in Britain, ed. Siân Echard and Robert Rouse (Hoboken, NJ: Wiley-­Blackwell, 2017), 3:1364–66; Susan Powell, “John Mirk,” in Oxford Dictionary of National Biography, Online Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004–), ed. Colin Matthew and Brian Harrison, doi​.­org​/­10​.­1093​/­ref:odnb​/­18818; Gillis Kristensson, ed., John Mirk’s Instructions for Parish Priests, Lund Studies in En­glish 49 (Lund: Gleerup, 1974); Susan Powell, “John Mirk’s Festial and the pastoral programme,” Leeds Studies in En­glish 22 (1991): 85–102. 85.  Georg Steer, Wolfgang Klimanek, Daniela Kuhlmann, Freimut Löser, and Karl-­Heiner Südekum, eds.,  Die “Rechtssumme” Bruder Bertholds: Eine deutsche abecedarische Bearbeitung der “Summa Confessorum” des Johannes von Freiburg. Synoptische Edition der Fassungen B, A und C, Text und Textgeschichte (Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1987), 4:11–14; Steer, “Die deutsche ‘Rechtssumme’ des Dominikaners Berthold—­ein Dokument der spätmittelalterlichen Laienchristlichkeit,” in Laien­fröm­migkeit im späten Mittelalter: Formen, Funktionen, politisch-­soziale Zusammenhänge, ed. Klaus Schreiner (Munich: Oldenbourg Wissenschaftsverlag, 1992), 227–40, http://­www​.­degruyter​ .­com​/­document​/­doi​/­10​.­1524​/­9783486594218​-­011​/­html. 86.  As Matthew Wranovix showed, priests who had the care of souls ­were more educated than ­simple “mass priests,” who would not have heard confession or had to make the kinds of decisions demanded of a curate. Wranovix, Priests and Their Books, chapter 1.

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Further confusing the question of audience, translation into the vernacular did not ensure easy accessibility. Berthold’s alphabetical reworking of the Summa confessorum includes extensive citation of scholastic texts, commentaries, and concepts. We have seen other compilers strip away scholastic elaboration when it was perceived to be unnecessary; why did Berthold hold on to it? Georg Steer has suggested that Berthold wrote the Rechtssumme specifically to foster a new form of lay Chris­tian­ity (Laienchristlichkeit), an alternative approach to that of Meister Eckhart a generation e­ arlier. Berthold’s vision of lay Chris­tian­ity ­imagined a piety built principally around Thomistic theology (as expressed in the Summa confessorum) alongside a commitment to the hierarchical nature of the Church and the laity’s role at the base of it.87 In that context, the citation of scholastic authors and texts served to establish the authority of normative sacramental and theological positions, even if the audience was not expected to fully grasp the content.

Authority and the Crafting of Manuals for Parish Priests University masters’ licenses to teach gave them the right to interpret theological positions as they saw fit, within reason. Mendicant authors additionally had means of authorizing their theological claims through the highly structured nature of the studia generale in which certain individuals ­were formally given doctrinal supervision over ­others. But university-­trained theologians and mendicants w ­ ere hardly alone in the pro­cess of creating and defining Chris­ tian­ity to suit their interests and their needs. All creators of pastoral guides did the same, w ­ hether they admitted to their role in the pro­cess or w ­ ere even conscious of it. Albert’s credibility as an authoritative compiler was forged not only from his mastery of the scholastic tradition of pastoral lit­er­a­ture and his community’s specific Augustinian tradition of pastoral care but also out of practical knowledge of the communities served by Augustinian canons in the region. Before Albert wrote the Mirror of Priests, he had composed a detailed accounting of the Diessen canons’ extensive property holdings across southern Ger87.  Steer, “Die deutsche ‘Rechtssumme’ des Dominikaners Berthold.” Berthold was once presumed to be from the same Dominican community in Freiburg im Breisgau as John of Freiburg, perhaps John’s successor as superior. Further study showed that t­here is no reason to link Berthold directly with John. Not only is the text l­ater than once thought, but t­here is no indication that the author was operating in that specific orbit. Leonard Boyle accepted the notion of Berthold as John’s successor. Boyle, “The Summa confessorum,” 260. Steer, Die “Rechtssumme” Bruder Bertholds.

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many and Austria, a history of the monastery’s provosts, and likely also his history of the institution’s founding. Albert also had represented the canons’ interests in ­legal negotiations with local burghers over jurisdictional bound­ aries and property rights. Albert took the canons’ intertwined social, economic, and spiritual responsibilities seriously. And it seems that the strength of Albert’s reputation in the material management of the canons’ community helped establish his credibility as a guide to the sacramental and managerial roles necessary to achieve a successful parish community.88 Any consideration of Albert’s Mirror, therefore, must be placed within this material context.

88.  To understand how impor­tant an understanding of both the material and spiritual needs of the parish would have been, see the excellent discussions in Goering, “The Internal Forum and the Lit­ er­a­ture of Penance and Confession,” 180–81 and Wranovix, Priests and Their Books, 35–65.

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Albert of Diessen and the Augustinian Canons at Diessen am Ammersee

Albert of Diessen’s Mirror of Priests—­its composition, content, and reception—­was the product of an Augustinian environment at a par­tic­ul­ar moment in space and time. The work reflects the fusion of monastic and priestly calling embraced by the Augustinian Canons Regular, reinforced by a distinctive Augustinian approach to education. ­There is an in­de­pen­dence of thought reflected in the work that grows partly out of a general late medieval trend ­toward diversity in religious expression but also out of a specifically Augustinian tradition of in­de­pen­dent communities.1 We also see in Albert’s work a distinctively German regionalism; unlike many of the encyclopedic scholastic works examined in the previous chapter (including ­those authored by German-­speaking friars like John of Freiburg and John of Erfurt), Albert’s manual was aimed at a regional audience of priests serving 1.  On the idea of increasing diversity in late medieval Chris­tian­ity, see Van Engen, “Multiple Options.” On the in­de­pen­dence of Augustinian Canons Regular specifically, see Ulrich Köpf, “Bildung im Leben und Wirken der Regular-­K anoniker,” in Studien zum Bildungswesen der bayerischen Augustiner-­ Chorherren in Mittelalter und früher Neuzeit, PAACW 8, ed. Gert Melville and Alois Schmid (Paring, 2008), 53–82 and Köpf, “Kann man von einer Spiritualität der Augustiner-­Chorherren sprechen?” in Die Stiftskirche in Südwestdeutschland: Aufgaben und Perspektiven der Forschung. Erste wissenschaftliche Fachtagung zum Stiftskirchenprojekt des Instituts für geschichtliche Landeskunde und historische Hilfswissenschaften der Universität Tübingen (17.–19. März 2000, Weingarten), Schriften zur Südwestdeutschen Landeskunde 35, ed. Sönke Lorenz and Oliver Auge (Leinfelden-­Echterdingen: DRW-­Verlag, 2003), 141–58. 54

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primarily rural parish communities.2 The history of the Augustinian canons at Diessen was bound up with the history of German imperial politics. Local nobility served as patrons, and the stability of the convent ­rose and fell with the fate of vari­ous ­houses.3 By the late f­ourteenth ­century, when Albert was part of the community, the Augustinian convent of St. Mary’s dominated the landscape of Diessen and its immediate environs, but through a vast array of property holdings the bound­aries of the canons’ community extended far beyond that, north into Franconia, south into Tyrol, and east to Carinthia.4 If we hope to reconstruct the environment reflected in Albert’s Mirror, we ­will need to take into account the fullest reach of his sense of place. This chapter explores what we know about Albert as an individual and about his community and the landscape to lay the foundation for a close examination of his Mirror of Priests. Albert’s Mirror may have been written inside a religious ­house, but it was constructed in close contact with the world and its ways.

Albert of Diessen, Augustinian Canon Regular Albert of Diessen’s life and legacy ­were preserved through his writing and administrative l­abors on behalf of the Augustinian canons at Diessen. He may be one of the many “Alberts” memorialized in the Diessen convent’s necrology, but if so, t­ here is no mention t­ here of his contributions to the community or anything e­ lse that would mark him out specifically.5 Apart from what 2.  Helpful discussions of German regionalism and identity in the ­later M ­ iddle Ages include Benjamin Arnold, Count and Bishop in Medieval Germany: A Study of Regional Power, 1100–1350 (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1991); Arnold, Medieval Germany, 500–1300: A Po­liti­cal Interpretation (Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1997); and Len Scales, The Shaping of German Identity: Authority and Crisis, 1245–1414 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012). 3.  It should be noted that the number of documents pertaining to the Augustinian ­house at Diessen in the ­fourteenth c­ entury is small. Extant documents are kept in Munich at the Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv and ­were edited by Schlögl in Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Dießen. Diessen was part of the Diocese of Augsburg, and again, t­ here is ­limited extant documentation concerning Diessen in the Archiv des Bistum Augsburg for this period. While it would be desirable to see bishops’ visitation rec­ords, for example, none exist for the ­fourteenth ­century. For a survey of the convent’s history and a guide to relevant lit­er­at­ure and documents, see Norbert Backmund, Die Chorherrenorden und ihre Stifte in Bayern (Passau: Neue Presse Verlags, 1966), 71–75. 4.  This pattern of property owner­ship was not unique to the convent at Diessen but was common in Bavarian religious ­houses. 5.  A necrology was a special calendar recording the death dates (usually month and day only) of individuals, both members of the convent and patrons from outside, so that masses could be said for their souls on that anniversary, in perpetuity. Sometimes brief descriptions accompany a name—­ sometimes a reference to a position held, sometimes a reference to a donation made, and so on. The Diessen necrology includes the deaths of canons from the community as well as outsiders, identified

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we can gather from his appearance in a handful of documentary rec­ords, what­ever we know of him, we know through brief references in or to the work he did. About his f­ amily, or the reasons he joined the Augustinian canons at Diessen, we know nothing. He identified himself as being from Tegernsee in the manuscript copy of the Mirror that was sent to the Benedictine monastery ­there.6 We know that he served as a canon regular at the Augustinian community in Diessen am Ammersee during the second half of the f­ ourteenth ­century, but the path he took from Tegernsee to the convent at Diessen is a mystery. It is ironic that we know so ­little about Albert’s personal history ­because he devoted considerable energy to protecting his convent’s historical rec­ord. In 1362 or 1363 he wrote a detailed account of all the monastery’s property holdings, sorted out geo­graph­i­cally and categorically; in 1365 he composed a work titled Epitaph of the Prelates of Diessen (Epitaphium prelatorum in Dyssen) in which he recorded information on all of the convent’s provosts from the time of foundation in the early twelfth ­century to his own day; and sometime before 1388 he composed a history of the founding of the canons at Diessen.7 Albert’s historical writing was primarily, although not exclusively, focused on the preservation of his community’s reputation, property, and privileges. Albert’s account of the monastery’s possessions and rights takes the form of a late medieval German Urbar, a par­tic­u­lar approach to documenting property holdings in land, rent, produce, animals, ser­vices, and vari­ous sorts of taxes and obligations.8 The register was written and bound in a sixty-­two-­folio codex, about seven by eleven inches in size. In addition to the Urbar, the manuscript also contains Albert’s Epitaph of the prelates of Diessen. The Epitaph is introduced as a moral work: in a prologue to the text, Albert notes that it is impor­tant to reas donors or religious or po­liti­cal leaders. Most often ­there is no reference to the year of death and rarely do we find more than a few words of description. Baumann, Necrologia. 6.  Albertus de Tegernse, presbyter et canonicus regularis in Dyssen, collegit prescriptos articulos ad utilitatem clericorum minus peritorum et scripsit hunc librum atque complevit Anno gratie M ccc lxxvi, Indictione xiiii, In vigilia Epyphanie domini nostri ihesu christi. Clm 18387, fol. 84v. Early in the twentieth c­ entury, Bauerreiß speculated that perhaps Albert had been a Benedictine monk at Tegernsee before joining the Augustinians in Diessen, but ­there is no evidence of this and the idea was predicated on the erroneous assumption that Albert was the author of a history of the foundation of the monastery at Tegernsee. Bauerreiß, “Albert von Tegernsee.” It does seem likely that this manuscript was copied specifically for the monks of Tegernsee; see the discussion in chapter 3. 7.  For a description and discussion of the manuscript containing Albert’s Epitaphium prelatorum in Dyssen and his compilation of the convent’s possessions (in Munich, Bayerische Hauptstaatsarchiv Diessen Kl. Lit. 37), see Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Dießen, 77–89 and Die älteste Besitzliste und das Urbar des Stiftes Dießen. On the Fundationes Diessen, see Bauerreiß, “Die geschichtlichen Einträge des ‘Andechser Missal.’ ” 8.  On the history of the Urbar as a distinct record-­keeping genre in late medieval monasteries and colleges, see Johannes Wetzel, “Die Urbare der bayerischen Klöster und Hochstifte vom Anfang des 11. Jahrhunderts bis 1350” (PhD diss., University of Munich, 1976).

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member the lives of pious forebears as they provide an aspirational model to their followers. He explains that he intends to write a chronicle of what tran­ spired ­under each, the bad as well as the good, so that ­future generations might learn from their successes and their failures.9 In addition to having a moral quality, this text justifies the wealth and power of the community, and the proximity of the Urbar and the Epitaph to each other enhances that connection. That is, if the prelates of the community, through good and pious leadership, ­were also the beneficiaries of material donation, the goodness of the provosts and the community, and the rightness of the donations (and their implied value to the p­ eople at large) are intertwined. It is significant to our study that Albert wrote t­ hese vari­ous interrelated works, so impor­tant to the community. When we read Albert’s pastoral manual, we need to bear in mind ­these other aspects of his writing ­career. Albert’s two appearances in the documentary rec­ord (both in 1362) reinforce the connection between Albert’s interest in history and his interest in material management. The two appearances predate any of his known compositions and attest to his standing in the community by the beginning of that de­cade. The documents in which Albert appears show a man involved in the business of the world; they rec­ord his participation in jurisdictional and property negotiations between the canons of the Augustinian ­house at Diessen and representatives from the market of Diessen and neighboring territory. Both ­were signed in the homes of local laypeople, which we should bear in mind when we consider how familiar Albert would have been with the intimate spaces and lives of laypeople in his area. In the first case, dated April 24, 1362, Albert, along with the convent’s provost Henry and another canon named Alto, identified as prior,10 met with laypeople from Diessen and surrounding villages in a meeting designated as 9.  Gesta patrum pre­ce­dentium stilo litterarum commendata, cum leguntur ut narrantur, tunc mens humana plurimum jocundatur, vitam et merito bonorum approbando actusque malorum detestando. Hinc est quod ego Albertus regularis canonicus huius loci licet minimus negocio presenti operam dedi et ex hiis, que legendo didici vel veridica narracione se­niorum audivi aut in presencia positus audivi, de nominibus prelatorum in dyzzen monasterii sce. Marie virginis, de regimine temporis ipsorum, de adversis prosperisque successibus et eventu eorum modicam compilavi croniculam, ut nota facerem quedam incognita presentibus et futuris, ut filii qui nascuntur ennarrent filiis suis ponantque in deo spem suam. Et gerant vitam bonam ut socientur exercitui beatorum . . . ​Quoniam ut ait philosophus omne bonum in commune deductum magis elucescit, ideoque prenotate exposicionem cronicule scribendo tensius prosequor, ut legentes ea, que nesciunt addiscant et aliis edicant, ut causa solacii et deduccionis vel exempli gracia cognoscat generacio futura. Subtilis quippe dictator gloriosum facit martirem. As edited in Bauerreiß, “Die geschichtlichen Einträge des ‘Andechser Missale,’ ” 434. 10. “dominus Heinricus prepositus in Dyezzen, dominus Alto prior et dominus Albertus, presbyteri et conventuales ibidem.” Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Dießen, 373. This may be the “Alto” named in the necrology on August 24: Alto, presbyter et canonicus nostro convento frater 1374, sepultus in Halle. Baumann, Necrologia, 24. As for the identification of Alto as prior, this may have been an assistant to the provost, although the term is not typically used in the convent’s rec­ords.

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an aynung (annuali unitate, que in vulgari aynung dicitur) to resolve some apparent tensions around the division of lower jurisdictional rights and obligations originally established in a charter by Louis the Bavarian, Holy Roman Emperor, in 1326 and confirmed by Louis’s son, Louis the Brandenburger in 1348.11 The document reiterates the bound­aries of their shared/divided jurisdiction, which gave the judgment of lower jurisdiction cases arising within the market of Diessen (and so the pledges and other court fees that came with that jurisdiction) to the citizens of the market, and judgment of lower jurisdiction cases arising in the surrounding villages and countryside (and so the pledges and other court fees that came with that jurisdiction) to the canons.12 The agreement affirmed that proper payment of all settlements and fees from market dwellers to convent or convent to market was to be made without objection or delay, and that this re­spect for jurisdiction was to be honored into the ­f uture. In addition to Henry, Alto, and Albert representing the canons, over two dozen individuals from the market and surrounding territory are identified as participants by name, residence, and, usually, occupation or status, including such ­things as judge, citizen, knight, craftsman, baker, and butcher. The second document in which Albert appears, dated August 10 of the same year, dealt with negotiating grazing land rights with villa­gers. Signed in the home of a man named Henry, called Valler, in the nearby village of Pähl, Provost Henry had pressed suit over animals grazing on convent-­owned pastures and meadows near the Ammer River. The suit was answered by the villa­ gers as a collective, and the case was heard by the judge of Pähl, Ulrich de Scheffolting (who had also been pre­sent in the meeting about jurisdiction in Diessen described above). Four men from Pähl—­Lord Conrad Haerinch (the parish priest of Pähl and spokesperson for the convent), Lord Ulrich Nanshaimer (identified as a knight) and two other villa­gers, Stephen Tayninger and George Meilinger (identified by name but not by status) hammered out a resolution to the dispute.13 The agreement established a pro­cess for tempo11. Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Dießen, 373. The use of the term “aynung” ­here calls to mind the sort of distinctive horizontal governance, or “associative po­liti­cal culture,” that Duncan Hardy has argued “framed the interactions of monarchs, princes, prelates, nobles, and towns in the fragmented yet interconnected context of the Upper German lands.” See Duncan Hardy, Associative Po­ liti­cal Culture in the Holy Roman Empire: Upper Germany, 1346–1521 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2018), 3. 12.  High jurisdiction remained in the hands of the dukes of Bavaria, who appointed their own judge for the market. 13.  Conrad is identified only as “Dominus” and as the parish priest in Pähl, not as a member of the Augustinian community at Diessen. However, he was representing the community and given the evidence that the Diessen canons often served as parish priests in Pähl, that association seems likely. He might even be the Conrad identified in the convent’s necrology as “Conrad, priest and

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rary access to the convent’s lands in the f­ uture, and provided compensation for the damages and the suit: one urn of “Latin wine” was to be given to the judge, Ulrich, and twelve mea­sures of Latin wine w ­ ere to be given to the provost of the monastery.14 Albert appears as the only representative of the convent among the witnessing participants at the end, identified as “Lord Albert, priest and Diessen canon (dominus Albertus, presbyter et canonicus Dyzzen),” alongside thirteen named and numerous other unnamed individuals (et alii quam plures fide digni) from the community.15 ­These l­egal pro­cesses ­were impor­tant points of connection between the canons and lay stakeholders, and Albert played a crucial role in representing the community of canons.16 We can presume that this was ­either ­because he had established himself as an especially competent administrator or speaker, or ­because he held personal status in the community for some other reason. A hint of Albert’s involvement in the convent’s ­legal activity prior to 1362 may be found in the fact that Albert was the scribe of a 1359 document written in German that recorded Provost Henry’s mediation of a conflict over fishing rights on the Ammer River between Kloster Fürstenfeld, a Cistercian monastery some twenty miles away, and local villa­gers.17 Albert’s interest in history surely was connected in some way with t­hese conflicts over property rights and jurisdiction. The agreement asserting the canons’ jurisdictional authority was signed in April of 1362, and the list of the convent’s property holdings, according to the Urbar’s modern editor, Waldemar Schlögl, was composed sometime in 1362 or 1363. Two scenarios seem plausible. Perhaps Albert had been ­going through the convent’s rec­ords in anticipation of the meeting with the burghers of Diessen in April, which would account for the reference to our ­brother, died, parish priest in Pähl” (Chunradus, pbr ob. fr noster, pleb. in Pael.” Baumann, Necrologia, 12). 14.  Although according to Paul Lukacs “Latin wine” produced in the Italian Peninsula referred to ordinary cheap ­table wine (in contrast to sweeter dried-­g rape wines that ­were increasingly prized across Eu­rope), Michael Toch suggests that in a Bavarian context, Latin wine brought from the Italian Tyrol was considered of a higher quality than local wines. For the canons at Diessen, then, Latin wine would have signified a high quality product. Michael Toch, “Hauling Away in Late Medieval Bavaria: The Economics of Inland Transport in an Agrarian Market,” Agricultural History Review 41, no.  2 (1993): 111–23; Paul Lukacs, Inventing Wine: A New History of One of the World’s Most Ancient Pleasures (New York: W. W. Norton, 2012), 49. 15. Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Dießen, 375–76. 16.  If two documents do not seem enough to attribute to Albert a significant role in conducting business for the convent, know that only eleven documents survive for the ten years from 1352 to 1362, from Henry’s assumption of the role of provost and the outer limit of documents edited by Schlögl, and that the ones that name Albert as a participant are the only ones to name anyone from the convent beyond the provost. ­Limited though the evidence may be, Albert is the most vis­i­ble member of the convent in the documentary rec­ord outside the provost himself for the period in which he was active. 17. Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Dießen, 370–71.

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specific documents in t­ hose conversations. Shortly a­ fter that, Albert de­cided to, or was instructed to, compose the Urbar. Alternatively, perhaps Albert went to the documentary collection ­after the conflict made the canons aware of the need to rec­ord all customary obligations. It is true that the mid-­fourteenth ­century saw the rise of the Urbar as a distinctive approach to rec­ord keeping throughout the region, but the specific timing and assignment of l­ abor to the Diessen convent’s own Urbar, and especially the linking of the Urbar’s author with pastoral care and the education of priests, is still noteworthy. Albert wrote his history of the convent’s leaders within a c­ ouple of years a­ fter the property list, and while the history of the foundation of Diessen is not precisely dated, it, too, was written ­after Albert’s appearance in ­legal documents. We see a clustering of Albert’s interest in the history and his mastery of the canons’ archival rec­ord in the 1360s, shortly before he turned his attention to the Mirror of Priests, a guide that would ensure proper management of parish life and care of souls in the territory for which the canons ­were responsible. This connects the pastoral work of the Mirror with the canons’ economic and social roles and gives us a sense of Albert as a person who took the canons’ intertwined responsibilities seriously.18 He would have been aware of the expanse of the canons’ rights and responsibilities through the combination of what we might fairly think of as property management, ­legal mediation, and historical scholarship. As is well known, managing property was always an integral part of a monastery or other religious ­house’s mission. And bishops as well as abbots served si­mul­ta­neously as administrators and spiritual leaders. What is worth noting h ­ ere is the way that t­hese two distinct, if intertwined, aspects of religious life come together in the person of Albert of Diessen and shape his vision of the ideal parish community. Pastoral manuals are often read in the scholarship as disconnected from place and broader circumstance (beyond the most immediate religious context). Compilers of scholastic pastoral manuals come to us in the lit­er­a­ture as scholars, educators, or correctors of doctrine. Albert was surely some of t­ hose ­things as well, but he also comes to us as someone who had a close personal understanding of the communities who ­were bound up in a mutually supportive literal and figurative ecosystem. It would be too big a leap to see Albert’s expertise in the material management of the convent as something that would have given him special credibility as a guide to pastoral care and the ­running of a parish. Yes, he had substantial knowledge of the convent’s history and structure, and he held some standing 18.  My point is similar to the one Matthew Wranovix makes for the period a c­ entury or so ­later, when he argues that it was the parish priest’s increasing material and administrative responsibilities that gave rise to a lively book culture among parish priests in the fifteenth ­century. Wranovix, Priests and Their Books.

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within his community of canons as attested by his support of Provost Henry in the negotiations with local communities. But in writing the kind of manual that he did, Albert also claimed both mastery of the intellectual foundations of the canons’ work and a sense of what was necessary in practice. As he said in the introduction to the Mirror, he intended through the work to make the wealth of knowledge available in his library accessible to newer canons who ­were providing care of souls in situations where they did not have such a library. Albert’s knowledge, as displayed in the Mirror of Priests, is consistent with the Augustinian educational tradition of late medieval German lands. Ulrich Köpf describes the education of the Augustinian Canons Regular as built around three ­things: (1) knowledge of the rule that bound the community together, (2) knowledge of the prayers, the psalms, and other liturgical texts that the canons routinely performed, and (3) knowledge of the theological material that provided the context for monastic, priestly life. This latter category would include works by Augustine, Hugh of St. Victor, Bernard of Clairvaux—­ all ­things that might be read in any monastery. But in addition, this third category would include works necessary especially for the canons’ priestly role: guides to preaching, guides to sacramental per­for­mance, guides to all t­ hings necessary for the “care of souls,” including canon law traditions. The Augustinian h ­ ouses of Albert’s day maintained large libraries with the resources for an impressive level of education. Instruction would have been conducted in a school for novices (scola novitiorum) run by a teacher of novices (magister novitiorum) within each ­house, and further intellectual development would have taken place as part of the communal life.19 Albert’s familiarity with canon law as well as theology could have been gained entirely within an Augustinian context, and since we have no evidence of him matriculating at a university, it seems reasonable to presume that was the case. In the late ­fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, more and more canons and parish priests in German lands ­were attending university for at least short periods of time. Augustinian Canons Regular, however, seem not to have pursued this path. In Rainer Christophe Schwinges’s study of German universities’ matriculation rec­ords in the ­fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, we see that Augustinian Canons Regular are notably absent from the rolls. For example, in a ­table illustrating the attendance of canons at the University of Cologne from 1395 to 1495, we find only three identifiable Augustinian canons matriculated during that period compared with fifty-­two secular canons and twenty-­two cathedral canons. While it is pos­si­ble that Augustinian Canons Regular simply preferred to attend the older universities (in Paris or Bologna, 19.  Köpf, “Bildung im Leben und Wirken der Regularkanoniker.”

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for example) or chose the new university in Vienna over Cologne, it seems more likely that this represents a preference for education within their own regulated monastic communities.20 This makes Albert’s work all the more impor­tant, as it was meant to provide a foundation for novices whose education was likely to take place entirely within the context of a community of Augustinian canons. It would be wonderful to know what books Albert and his fellow canons had in their library, but no book list survives among the extant documents now held in the Bayerische Hauptstaatsarchiv in Munich or in the diocesan archives in Augsburg, and ­there are relatively few manuscripts dating from the ­fourteenth ­century or ­earlier in the collection of Diessen manuscripts that ­were sent to the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek in Munich during the secularization pro­cess of the nineteenth ­century. Of 197 manuscripts with a provenance from the monastery at Diessen, only 47 are dated in the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek cata­log as the f­ourteenth ­century or ­earlier. Three of t­ hose are dated by colophon ­after 1380, and another six are identified only generally by the cata­logers as dating from sometime in the f­ ourteenth or fifteenth ­century. We have, therefore, only thirty-­eight manuscripts that we can trace with some degree of certainty to the library of Albert’s day. I would not want to make too much of the list given the obvious vagaries of survival; some of the appropriately dated manuscripts may have arrived at Diessen much ­later, and most of the manuscripts the monastery once possessed ­were lost, perhaps during secularization, or when the medieval convent was torn down and replaced in the early eigh­teenth ­century. Even texts that we definitively know that Albert had at hand when he wrote, such as John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum or the canon law collections in the Quinque compilationes antique, do not appear in the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek’s collection of manuscripts from Diessen.21 With that caveat, among the surviving manuscripts we see the largest number devoted to biblical books or commentaries (including more than one copy of Peter Comestor’s Historia scholastica), sermon materials, liturgical materials, works by Augustine or concerning the Augustinian rule, and hagiographical collections. T ­ here are a few philosophical/scientific treatises, primarily dealing with astronomy, a bit of canon law, a ­couple of chronicles, and a few miscellaneous collections of a theo20.  Rainer Christoph Schwinges, Deutsche Universitätsbesucher im 14. und 15. Jahrhundert: Studien zur Sozialgeschichte des Alten Reiches (Stuttgart: Steiner Verlag Wiesbaden, 1986). 21.  For a helpful discussion of the libraries of Augustinian Canons Regular, see Oliver Auge, “Spiritualität und Frömmigkeit an Stiftskirchen—­Das Beispiel der Stiftsbibliotheken,” in Frömmigkeit und Theologie an Chorherrenstiften. Vierte wissenschaftliche Fachtagung zum Siftskirchenprojekt des Instituts für geschichtliche Landeskunde und historische Hilfswissenschaften der Universität Tübingen (14.—16. März 2003, Weingarten), Schriften zur südwestdeutschen Landeskunde 66, ed. Ulrich Köpf and Sönke Lorenz (Ostfildern: Jan Thorbecke Verlag, 2009), 91–115, especially 105ff.

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logical nature. Interestingly, apart from Albert’s own Mirror of Priests, precious ­little material dealing with pastoral care explic­itly survives. In his Mirror of Priests, Albert paints himself as someone well educated within an Augustinian tradition, prepared to summarize the most impor­tant information for an audience of new canons with priestly responsibilities who may, he says, lack access to the books that would allow them to carry out their duties responsibly.22 He understood the needs of priests in pastoral care, he seems to have been respected as a leader by his community and, apparently, the town and surrounding territory. He was well versed in the ways of the Church, both sacred and worldly, and he was respected for that knowledge. Albert’s contributions to the community of canons at Diessen suggest that in that small community, he stood out as capable and reliable. T ­ here was something about Albert that inspired confidence and led ­others to put him in the position of managing affairs, both material and spiritual.

The Augustinian Canons Regular at Diessen Albert could only pursue the work he did ­because it fit in with the expectations of ­others in his community, and the history of the Augustinian canons in Diessen is an essential part of the context in which the Mirror of Priests came into being. The establishment of the Augustinian Canons Regular in Diessen was part of a broader trend in twelfth-­century Eu­rope. In the aftermath of the Gregorian reform, t­ here was a flurry of activity by local lords to transform proprietary churches into new chapter h ­ ouses for canons living u ­ nder Augustinian rule, in Bavaria no less than elsewhere.23 Some proprietary churches ­were turned into monasteries of the sort established at Diessen, while other 22.  The implication is that he is writing for Augustinian canons who have been assigned to serve as parish priests, away from the library resources available in the convents in which they would have initially been trained. 23.  On the establishment of Augustinian canons in twelfth-­century Eu­rope, see Karl Bosl, Regularkanoniker (Augustinerchorherren) und Seelsorge in Kirche und Gesellschaft des europäischen 12. Jahrhunderts (Munich: Verlag der Bayerischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, 1979). On the foundation of the Augustinian chapter ­house in Diessen, see Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Dießen, 28–31; Pirmin August Lindner, Monasticon Episcopatus Augustani antiqui: Verzeichnisse der Aebte, Pröpste und Aebtissinnen der Klöster der alten Diözese Augsburg (Kempten: Kösel, 1913), 12–15; Jakob Mois, Das Stift Rottenbuch in der Kirchenreform des XI.–­XII. Jahrhunderts. Ein Beitrag zur Ordens-­Geschichte der Augustiner-­ Chorherren (Munich: Verlag des Erzbischöflichen Ordinariats München und Freising, 1953); Wilhelm Theodor Auer, Geschichte der Augustiner-­Pröpste in Dießen (Diessen: Ammersee-­Kurier, 1968); Norman Backmund, Die Chorherrenorden und ihre Stifte in Bayern (Passau: Neue Presse Verlags, 1966), 71–75; Bernhard Brenner, Normen und Reformen in ostschwäbischen Augustiner-­Chorherrenstiften. Ihre Bedeutung für Ordensverfassung und Selbstverständnis (Augsburg: Wißner, 2011); Paul Mai, Die Augustiner-­ Chorherren in Bayern: Einst und Heute, PAACW 4 (Paring: Augustiner-­Chorherren-­Verlag, 1999), 3.

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proprietary churches w ­ ere simply given over to t­ hese new h ­ ouses in the form of “patronage rights” (ius patronatus).24 Unlike the secular canons who lived in chapter ­houses attached to cathedrals, Augustinian Canons Regular lived ­under a form of Augustinian Rule in in­de­pen­dent religious ­houses, which in Latin ­were simply called monasteria but in German might be called Klöster, Stifte, or Augustiner-­Chorherrenstifte.25 The designation “Augustinian” represents a values statement more than it signifies a historical connection to Augustine and his rule. It set the monastic context of the canons’ lives apart from a Benedictine norm, emphasizing through Augustine’s legacy the role of the religious in the world of the laity. One might also see in the Augustinian rule the instantiation of in­de­pen­dence that Ulrich Köpf finds so key to the character of the movement. B ­ ecause each monastery was in­de­pen­dent of all o ­ thers, each community was encouraged to educate its members as it saw fit and to develop a spirituality that suited the community. This stands in contrast to other con­temporary reform-­oriented movements like the Cistericians, for whom one can identify a par­tic­u­lar sort of pious, spiritual expression.26 Local lords often had close bonds with ­these newly established communities; they met the increasing demand to give up lay control of religious space, and through lavish donations the new ­houses became an impor­tant part of the economic, social, and po­liti­cal, as well as religious, landscape. This was also true in the case of the monasteries established by ­these same families, but traditional monasteries only rarely took on direct pastoral care the way that the canons did, and the Augustinian Canons Regular served a distinct purpose in the developing post-­Gregorian landscape. The new Augustinian priory of St. Mary at Diessen was built alongside the existing female convent of St.  Stephen’s, which had been established about a ­century ­earlier by the widowed Countess of Andechs-­Diessen, Kunissa (Kunagunde) on the site of the ­family’s ancestral home.27 Both St. Mary’s and 24.  The most comprehensive study of ius patronatus in the period following Gregorian reform remains Peter Landau, Jus Patronatus: Studien zur Entwicklung des Patronats im Dekretalenrecht und der Kanonistik des 12. Und 13. Jahrhunderts (Cologne: Böhlau, 1975). On the transfer of proprietary churches to religious ­orders, see Susan Wood, The Proprietary Church in the Medieval West (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), especially 681ff. 25.  On the distinctions between Augustinian Canons Regular and other sorts of collegiate chapters, see Köpf, Bildung im Leben, 53–58. 26. Köpf, Bildung im Leben, 57; Köpf, “Kann man von einer Spiritualität der Augustiner-­Chorherren sprechen?”; and Auge, “Spiritualität und Frömmigkeit an Stiftskirchen.” 27.  On the canonesses at St. Stephen’s examined through the life of St. Mechtild of Diessen (d. 1160), see Jonathan Lyon, Princely B ­ rothers and ­Sisters: The Sibling Bond in German Politics, 1100–1250 (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2013) and Martha G. Newman, Cistercian Stories for Nuns and Monks: The Sacramental Imagination of Engelhard of Langheim (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2020).

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St. Stephen’s were the beneficiaries of largesse from generations of counts and countesses of Andechs, among the richest and most impor­tant families in the region.28 Members of the ­house of Andechs are strongly represented in the convent’s early thirteenth-­century donation rec­ords and in the convent’s necrology. As Michael Borgolte has demonstrated, the early history of the convent at Diessen is as much a history of the ­house of Andechs as it is a history of the convent itself.29 The counts of Andechs lost control of the region to the Bavarian House of Wittelsbach early in the thirteenth ­century, ­after which time a series of Bavarian rulers took on the role of benefactor for the Augustinians.30 The Augustinian convent at Diessen took its first provost, Hartwig (1132– 73), from the community of canons at Rottenbuch, then the most impor­tant and influential of the new h ­ ouses of Augustinian Canons Regular in Upper Bavaria. The connection with Rottenbuch lent the new h ­ ouse considerable 31 prestige. According to Paul Mai, the Augustinian ­house at Diessen was perhaps the most influential in the region’s twelfth-­century reform movement ­after Rottenbuch.32 That the first version of Albert’s Mirror was given to the library at Rottenbuch demonstrates the continuing significance of the relationship between the two institutions as well as the power of Rottenbuch in terms of regional influence. If anyone was well-­placed to appreciate the importance of Rottenbuch for Diessen, it was Albert, who had delved into the convent’s historical rec­ord to write his work on its provosts. The development of Diessen as a market (Markt) dates from the same period in which the convent was established.33 The relationship between the 28.  On the foundation of the Augustinians at Diessen, see Lindner, Monasticon Episcopatus Augustani antiqui, 12–15. For insight into the impor­tant relationship between the members of the Andechs-­ Diessen ­family and the canons at Diessen, see Lyon, Princely ­Brothers and ­Sisters and Michael Borgolte, “Stiftergedenken in Kloster Dießen. Ein Beitrag zur Kritik bayerischer Traditionsbücher,” Frühmittelalterliche Studien 24 (1990), 235–89. 29.  Borgolte, “Stiftergedenken in Kloster Dießen” and Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Diessen. 30. Auer, Geschichte der Augustiner-­Pröpste in Dießen. 31. Mois, Das Stift Rottenbuch; Auer, Geschichte der Augustiner-­Pröpste in Dießen; Backmund, Die Chorherrenorden und ihre Stifte in Bayern, 71–75; Brenner, Normen und Reformen; Mai, Die Augustiner-­ Chorherren in Bayern. 32. Mai, Die Augustiner-­Chorherren in Bayern, 42. 33.  For a discussion of the relationship of market to town and the status of a market town relative to other cities in medieval imperial lands, see Eberhard Isenmann, Die deutsche Stadt im Mittelalter, 1150–1550: Stadtgestalt, Recht, Verfassung, Stadtregiment, Kirche, Gesellschaft, Wirtschaft, 2nd edition (Cologne: Böhlau, 2014). On the foundation of cities and markets in Bavaria u ­ nder the Wittelsbachs, see Wilhelm Liebhart, “Städte und Märkte in Altbayern (Mittelalter/frühe Neuzeit),” in HLB, February 2, 2015, http://­www​.­historisches​-­lexikon​-­bayerns​.­de​/­Lexikon​/­Städte​_­und​_­Märkte​ _­in​_­Altbayern (Mittelalter/Frühe Neuzeit); and Liebhart, “Marktrecht (Altbayern),” in HLB, February  24, 2020, http://­www​.­historisches​-­lexikon​-­bayerns​.­de​/­Lexikon​/­Marktrecht​_­(Altbayern). Market was a specific ­legal designation; one would properly refer to the settlement as a market rather

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convent and the town was close, as the town’s parish churches w ­ ere incorporated into the convent’s holdings in the twelfth c­ entury, and the convent was centrally involved in pastoral care.34 Furthermore, by the early ­fourteenth ­century, the Augustinian convent was the largest property-­holder within the town and held jurisdictional authority in the outlying villages as well. In 1302, Mechtild, Duchess of Bavaria (1253–1304), with the consent of her son, Louis the Bavarian (1282–1347), l­ater Holy Roman Emperor (r. 1328–47), granted to the convent at Diessen a full range of taxes, fishing rights, forest-­usage rights, ­legal authority and lordship over both the market and parish of Diessen, in exchange for the regular cele­bration of specific masses for her, her husband, and other f­ amily members.35 Even though the donation stipulated the obligation of Mechtild’s successors to uphold the agreement, the gift was not without contest: control of the market passed to her son upon her death, and the area suffered attack and plunder during Louis’s heated conflicts with his rival in imperial politics, Frederick the Fair of Austria (1289–1330). Diessen did not escape the vio­lence; a significant part of the convent was destroyed in 1318, and again in 1320, at which point the provost himself was taken prisoner by Fredrick’s ­brother Leopold.36 When Louis regained control of the area in 1326, he reaffirmed some of the convent’s rights, giving o ­ thers over to the market itself. His son Louis the Brandenburger (1315–61) confirmed ­those rights again in 1352.37 ­Those rights and privileges ­were reasserted in a meeting between representatives of the convent and citizens of the market in 1362, and three years ­later, in 1365, Provost Henry was able to get the reigning Duke of Bavaria, Stephen II, to confirm yet again the privileges established in the 1320s by Louis the Bavarian.38 Diessen benefited from its location on the Ammersee, a deep, cold-­water lake with a strong fishing economy and well placed for trade connections. The market town was built on the slope of a hill rising up from the Ammersee, and the convent stood at the top of the hill looking down on the rest of the town and the lake (map 2.1). The widest, most substantial east-­west street in the town (Klostergasse) ran from the convent on the hill to the market down than a town, but the designation in En­glish translation seems inadequate, so I refer to Diessen as a “town” or “market town” ­here. 34.  This was typical of the southern German landscape, where many parish churches ­were incorporated into Augustinian holdings over the course of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. On the transfer of owner­ship of vari­ous churches to the canons at Diessen and their role in providing pastoral care t­ here, see below in this chapter. 35. Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Dießen, 196–98. 36. Auer, Geschichte Der Augustiner-­Pröpste in Dießen, 30–32. 37. Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Dießen, 245–56, 353–54, 373–74. 38. Auer, Geschichte Der Augustiner-­Pröpste in Dießen, 33.

Map 2.1.  Augustinian convent and Market Diessen am Ammersee with surrounding countryside, undated. Munich, Bayerisches Hauptstaatsarchiv, Plansammlung 114.

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Figure 2.1.  The medieval convent of the Augustinian Canons Regular in Diessen, from a seventeenth-­century drawing. Archiv des Bistums Augsburg, Hs 124.

below; from t­ here it was only a short distance through a web of smaller streets where the fishermen lived to reach the lake. Nothing remains of the convent’s original medieval buildings, but we do have a drawing from 1606 that includes the layout established in the f­ourteenth ­century when the monastery was rebuilt following the destruction of 1318–20.39 The map is oriented with east at the top, which is the direction of the lake. In life, as on the map, the convent and the body of w ­ ater ­were extensions of each other (figure 2.1). Although the monastery stood out as the most substantial development in the town, it was integrated into the life of the town. The convent owned much property in Diessen and controlled two mills as well, one in the marketplace and one on the main street leading from the market to the convent (the above-­ mentioned Klostergasse). Even t­ oday the stream that runs past the Augustinian convent through the old market and on to the Ammersee bears the name 39.  For the history of the physical convent at Diessen, see Dagmar Dietrich, Ehemalige Augustiner-­ Chorherren-­Stift Diessen am Ammersee, 2nd ed. (Munich: Schnell & Steiner, 1986).

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“Diessener Mühlbach,” or Diessen Mill Stream, and the canons’ control of such an impor­tant resource attests to their deep connection with the market and market-­dwellers. The mills ­were given to the canons in 1306 as part of a broader arrangement by the Bishop of Augsburg, to provide them with the resources to establish an infirmary for the sick in town.40 Albert’s treatment of Jews and Jewish-­Christian relations in the Mirror reflects an awareness of a Jewish community within Albert’s sphere of activity, but evidence for a Jewish settlement in Diessen itself during his lifetime is suggestive rather than definitive. The most compelling evidence is in the layout of the town itself. T ­ here ­were three primary streets in Diessen: the Klostergasse, the Marktgasse, and the Judengasse. A 1701 census mapping all of the homes then in Diessen shows the Judengasse ­running straight from the marketplace up to the Augustinian convent, r­ unning roughly parallel to the Klostergasse and ending on the south side of the convent (maps 2.2 and 2.3) Since this early modern map aligns accurately with property lists from the f­ ourteenth ­century Urbar, it seems safe to assume that the medieval settlement looked very much the same. The first documented reference to a “Street of the Jews” (Platea iudeorum) is found in a 1385 document outlining rights and obligations of the residents of Diessen.41 Bruno Schweizer, who produced a detailed study of property names in Diessen, suggested that perhaps Louis the Bavarian might have given permission for Jewish settlement in 1326, when he also assigned vari­ous privileges to the canons and the burghers. Schweizer noted an old oral tradition in Diessen linking a par­tic­u­lar ­house on the street with the last Jew to live in the town, and he also found two individual homes identified as Judenschneider and Judensattler, long a­ fter any Jews lived in ­those residences.42 The l­imited evidence available does suggest that the street designated u ­ ntil 1900 as “Judengasse” reflects a fourteenth-­century geo­g raph­i­cal tradition of Jewish settlement, however small, and that this settlement would have been just outside the south wall of the convent. While the market town at Diessen was small, if we ­were to draw a circle around all the land and property holdings belonging to Diessen, it would be 40. Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Dießen, 212–15. 41.  Ceteri vero in platea claustrali vel Iudeorum seu in foro vel penes lacum residentes, quos non coarctant iura civium, hii omnes per officialem convocantur negligentes vero seu contradicentes per penam pecuniariam ad hoc institutam, punientur. Bayerische Akademie der Wissenschaften, Monumenta Boica 8 (Munich, 1767), 262– 63, http://­www​.­mdz​-­nbn​-­resolving​.­de​/­urn​/­resolver​.­pl​?­urn​=u ­ rn:nbn:de:bvb:12​-­bsb10799595​-­5. 42.  Bruno Schweizer, Die Flurnamen des südwestlichen Ammerseegebietes (Gemeinden Diessen-­St. Georgen, Raisting, Rieden, Forstbezirk Diessen, Ammer-­, Pilsen-­Und Wörthsee) (Munich: Selbstverlag des Verbandes für Flurnamenforschung in Bayern, 1957), 142.

Map 2.2.  Map of Diessen showing the Judengasse r­ unning parallel to the Klostergasse, from the marketplace up to the Augustinian convent. Plan von Diessen, Archiv des Bistums Augsburg, Pfarrmatrikeln Diessen 18, Status animarum, angelegt 1704, fol. 3r.

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Map 2.3.  The central part of Diessen. Plan von Diessen, Archiv des Bistums Augsburg, Pfarrmatrikeln Diessen 18, Status animarum, angelegt 1704, fol. 3r.

large, extending in a radius from Diessen about 150 miles at its farthest points, into the southern Tyrol and east into Carinthia.43 The property holdings of the canons at Diessen ­were vast and complicated, as medieval property rights generally ­were. The Urbar that Albert assembled in 1362 or 1363 lists all of the convent’s property holdings, including specific obligations owed by the tenant of each property. As Waldemar Schlögl pointed out in his 1970 edition of the text, Albert’s account of the convent’s property followed a travel route; 43.  This geographic array was not unusual for Bavarian religious ­houses. Michael Toch maps a similar range of property for a Benedictine monastery just the other side of Munich from Diessen. Michael Toch, Die ältesten Rechnungsbücher des Klosters Scheyern, 1339–1363, QEBG, Neue Folge 36, no. 3 (Munich: C. H. Beck, 2000).

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he not only or­ga­nized the text so that property from each region appeared together, but he presented each specific site in the order in which representatives from the priory would arrive when traveling on an annual visit, beginning with the farthest properties in distant Carinthia, Tyrol, and the Bavarian Alps, circling around the region ­until ending in Diessen itself.44 Representatives from the convent would have routinely been physically pre­sent in the lands in which they owned property, w ­ hether a short walk away or a week’s ­ride over mountains. Though only a small number of representatives would have made that journey, o ­ thers would have helped to prepare for it, or would have taken on additional responsibilities at home to make up for t­hose who ­were away. This was no small ­thing; rather, it would have formed a central ele­ment of the religious life. The movement of the canons from Diessen to their properties near and far, and their awareness of ­those lands as an extension of their base, would have expanded the sense of the local for them. The nature of the property holdings varied widely, and some entries are more detailed than ­others. In some cases, the Urbar simply names one or more landed properties (identified variously as a curia, huba, or mansus) without any specification of cash, tax, fee, or in-­k ind contribution from that estate or ­house­hold. More often, specific obligations are indicated: cash, generally expressed in denarii but also sometimes in solidi or with a specific city’s currency named, special taxes of vari­ous kinds, like the Wisgelt or census payment attached to many properties in Bavaria, and most often payments in kind, including a wide variety of summer and winter grains, a range of animals, eggs, wine, cheese, and produce.45 Sometimes owner­ship of a mill or forest or fishing rights are noted. Carts w ­ ere commonly named among obligations, and this suggests an obligation to transport goods some distance for the canons. Most likely, goods w ­ ere transported by the sort of “relay” method Michael Toch has identified for the Bavarian monastery at Scheyern.46 In some cases, t­ here are two separate property lists; a­ fter the list of cash or in-­k ind obligations, t­ here is a second set of obligations required for the canons’ t­able (mensa).47 Occasionally we find longer notes providing additional details about the obligations 44.  “Für die Bestimmung der Ortsnamen sehr aufschlußreich ist die in CB eingehaltene Methode, den Besitz innerhalb des Amtes nach einer Reiseroute aufzuzählen, welche die Ortschaften der Reihe nach berührt.” Schlögl, Die Traditionen und Urkunden des Stiftes Diessen, 83*. 45. Schlögl, Die älteste Besitzliste und das Urbar des Stiftes Dießen, 3–9. 46.  This would be consistent with the system for transporting goods from farflung possessions to monastic homes described in Toch, “Hauling Away in Late Medieval Bavaria; and Toch, Die Ältesten Rechnungsbücher des Klosters Scheyern. 47. The mensa was a portion of property set aside for the direct sustenance of members of a religious community or its leader, although by the ­fourteenth c­ entury, the distinction between mensa and other property was somewhat lost in practice.

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due. For example, at the end of a separate section on dif­fer­ent sorts of revenues owed from a number of properties in the Tyrol, which include money, wine, and cheese, t­ here are several towns that also owed the prelate of Diessen hospitality when he traveled through that distant region: “Note that the lord prelate in Diessen may have his meals in any estate in Telfs, Zirl, Kemnaten, Pirkenperch, and Puloch, that belongs specifically to the convent in Diessen.”48 This assertion in the property rec­ord is a reminder that the relationship between Diessen and distant lands was not only economic; representatives of the convent traveled regularly and would have met face to face on occasion, even with ­people from the most distant communities in the Tyrol and Carinthia (Map 2.4) Although even the outermost of the convent’s landholdings ­were part of the canons’ spatial real­ity, it was unquestionably true that they interacted more frequently and in more dif­fer­ent ways with the lands closer to their center in Diessen. Much of their daily sustenance came from the region closest to them. The parishes of Diessen and Saint George ­were literally an extension of their own religious ­house, and they had more regular, diverse, ongoing contact with ­people in the nearby area than they did with p­ eople elsewhere. Over the course of the twelfth through ­fourteenth centuries, the convent received through lay donation ius patronatus to many parish churches. Ius patronatus included the tithe and other economic benefits from a church, as well as the right to appoint the priest who served ­there. Over this same period of time, the convent incorporated many churches into the monastery by the arrangement of the bishops of Augsburg. Again, with incorporation came the right to maintain the care of souls, e­ ither by sending priests from the community of canons to serve directly or by appointing someone from outside the convent to that role. In theory, ius patronatus was essentially a property right with spiritual implication, and incorporation a spiritual one with economic implications, but in practice the two categories overlap. Some churches are identified in the rec­ord as belonging to the Augustinians at Diessen through ius patronatus, some are identified as having been incorporated, and some are identified as incorporated with the canons explic­itly holding ius patronatus. It seems that t­here was no practical difference in terms of what it meant for the canons’ involvement in ­those churches: members of the Augustinian community at Diessen served directly as parish priests. Julia Barrow has asserted that Augustinian canons tended not to exercise their right to serve the parishes incorporated into their 48.  Nota quod dominus prelatus in Dyssen potest habere prandia sua in omnibus prediis in Telfs, in Zirl, in Kemnaten, in Pirkenperch et in Puloch, que specialiter pertinent ad conventum in Dyzzen. Schlögl, Die älteste Besitzliste und das Urbar des Stiftes Dießen, 25. By prelate they presumably mean the provost, although they might also mean the prior.

Map 2.4.  Property holdings of the Augustinian Canons Regular at Diessen. Map by Beehive mapping.

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convents, but she draws primarily from En­glish and Norman evidence prior to the thirteenth c­ entury.49 The situation in Germany was dif­fer­ent, and it was common t­here for Augustinian Canons Regular to provide priests for incorporated churches. In her study of proprietary churches, Susan Wood notes, “­There is of course, throughout the period, no prob­lem about communities of secular clergy, often created to staff a parish church, and able to send their members to serve dependencies. But ­houses of regular canons too, especially in twelfth-­century Germany, had new churches given them by bishops explic­ itly allowing the ‘­brothers’ to preach, baptize, visit the sick, and bury the dead.”50 As the responsibilities of parish priests evolved over the course of the thirteenth ­century (e.g., increasing emphasis on catechesis, confession, and other forms of lay engagement), so did the work that the canons performed in their churches. Necrologies from ­houses of Augustinian Canons Regular are filled with references to members of the convent who ­were also parish priests. In his study of Augustinian Canons Regular in Bavaria, Norbert Backmund names the following churches as having been incorporated into the Augustinian monastery at Diessen: St. Georg, Rieden, St. Alban, Hädern, St. Johann, Raumenthal und Bierdorf, Egling, Windach, Schmiechen, Unterbrunn, Pittriching, Schondorf, Utting, Kaufering, Raisting, Frieding, Hechendorf, Weßling, and Häufeld, and the shrine at Grafrath that held the relics of St. Rasso of Andechs.51 In addition to ­those incorporated churches (for some of which the convent also held ius patronatus), the convent also claimed ius patronatus in Issing, Jedelstetten, Oberbrunn, Maising, Etterschlag, and Pechingen.52 All but two of the churches e­ ither incorporated into the convent at Diessen or for which the canons held ius patronatus ­were within twenty miles of the convent and easily accessible (map 2.5). We know that the canons provided priests to ­these nearby communities, although ­there are no extant documents that detail the assignment of specific priests to vari­ous churches u ­ nder the convent’s control over the years. But apart from regional custom, we also have evidence of the practice from the convent’s two necrologies, where we find numerous references to canons having served as parish priests. Necrologies 49.  See Julia Barrow, The Clergy in the Medieval World: Secular Clerics, Their Families, and ­Careers in North-­Western Eu­rope, c. 800–1200 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 322–24. 50. Wood, The Proprietary Church, 685. As Wood and o ­ thers have noted, it was sometimes even the case that monks served directly in churches they owned. This may account for a set of questions Albert asked in his Mirror of Priests about w ­ hether monks and friars respectively held the care of souls. See chapter 4. 51.  Norbert Backmund, Die Chorherrenorden, 72. 52. Schlögl, Die älteste Besitzliste und das Urbar des Stiftes Dießen, 30, 31, 51, 53, 59; Baumann, Necrologia Germaniae, 11.

Map 2.5.  Parishes in which the Diessen canons held the ius patronatus (right of patronage). Map by Beehive mapping.

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­ ere kept at medieval religious communities to ensure that masses established w for the dead (­whether for clergy or laity) ­were said at the proper time. Often the nature of the donation or of the relationship between donor and convent is included in brief. The entries are or­ga­nized by day of the year, and individuals who died on the same day but in dif­fer­ent years appear in the same entry.53 ­There are two distinct necrologies for the Diessen canons; both contained within a single manuscript along with a copy of the Augustinian rule, a collection of donation rec­ords, and liturgical materials. The lists w ­ ere composed around 1208 by a canon named Liutold, and most of the individuals memorialized in the initial necrology ­were members of the founding Andechs ­family.54 ­There are many additions in ­later hands and increasing numbers of canons and other religious figures are represented in ­those l­ater additions particularly in the ­fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Although some parish priests from outside the community of canons are listed in the necrology ­because of donations they made to the community upon death (for example, a parish priest in Scheiringen named Cristofferus, who gave the community a missal book), most parish priests in the rec­ord are ­either presumed to be members of the community (­because non-­members usually have an explanation for their presence or an indication of where their home convent was) or are specifically identified as being priests and members of the community of canons (“confrater noster” or “frater noster” or “frater nostri conventi”).55 The language used in the entries differs in small ways ­because the names ­were added over a long period of time by many dif­fer­ent hands. No canons are identified as parish priests in the original early thirteenth-­ century necrology, but then not many canons ­were included in that early part of the necrology at all. Beginning in the f­ourteenth ­century, we start to see more attention paid to the canons themselves. The following twelve canons are identified as having been parish priests at some point in the ­fourteenth c­ entury: Heinricus, presbyter et confrater noster, plebanus in Utting, d. 1348 Johannes, presbyter et confrater noster, plebanus in Egling Chunradus, presbyter frater noster, plebanus in Pael Perhtoldus, plebanus in Brunnen, presbyter confrater noster Paldwinus sacerdotus plebanus in Utting, frater noster 53.  So extensive is the tradition that the MGH published the first volume in a series of editions devoted to German memorials and necrologies in 1888, and volumes have continued to appear as recently as 2018. See the three relevant series u ­ nder “Antiquitates” on the MGH website: https://­www​.­mgh​.­de​ /­publikationen​/­reihen​-­der​-­mgh. 54.  Borgolte, “Stiftergedenken in Kloster Dießen,” 246–53. 55.  For Cristofferus’s entry, see Baumann, Necrologia Germaniae, 10.

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Perhtoldus, plebanus in Raysting, presbyter Dyetricus, presbyter, plebanus in Greiffenberk, 1349 Siboto presbyter obiit frater noster, plebanus in Perchting Haertwicus, presbyter obiit, plebanus noster in Werdea Ulricus, presbyter obiit frater noster, plebanus in Kaufring, 1358 Heinricus presbyter obiit plebanus in Pridreching Ulricus presbyter plebanus in Utting, 133256 Other canons are named as having served as deacons in parish communities: Heinricus, presbyter et confrater noster, decanus in Raysting Gottfried, decanus in Raisting, frater nostri conventi, 1363 Chuonradus presbyter et confrater noster decanus in Monaco Hermannus presbyter et decanus Nove Celle, 1386 Hainricus decanus in Hoehendorf, confrater noster Chuonradus decanus in Winkeln confrater noster Perchtoldus, presbyter et decanus in Ror, nostri conventi frater Chunradus presbyter nostri conventi frater, decanus in Polling Chuonradus presbyter decanus in Uenigen, 1356.57 The necrology identifies some canons from other Augustinian ­houses serving parishes within Diessen’s orbit, such as a canon from Pullinger serving as parish priest in Pael (d. 1349) or a canon from Freising serving as rector of the church in Kaufering (d. 1338), so we know that they did not consistently staff ­those churches with their own members.58 By contrast, half of the canons named in the necrology as parish priests served communities not included in the list of churches incorporated into the Diessen convent or other­wise included in Albert’s Urbar. Some of ­those places do appear elsewhere in the documentary ­rec­ord, which overlaps with references in the Urbar, but sometimes they pre­sent evidence for donations and property disputes in areas not recognized by Albert as part of his community.59 We have to leave open the question of w ­ hether the canons served churches in areas for which they did not have formal responsibility. It seems more than likely, but for our purposes, it is most impor­tant simply to note the many places that Albert and his ­brother canons served, the range of 56. Baumann, Necrologia Germaniae, 11, 12, 25, 26, 28, 30, 31. 57. Baumann, Necrologia Germaniae, 9, 11, 17, 20, 21, 24, 28, 31. 58. Baumann, Necrologia Germaniae, 18, 27. 59.  Borgolte, “Stiftergedenken in Kloster Dießen.” Borgolte demonstrates the importance of necrologies as a source of information on relationships and property arrangements that are not other­ wise vis­i­ble in the documentary rec­ord. Certainly, that is the case h ­ ere, where necrologies sometimes provide the only evidence of the canons’ involvement in parish communities.

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communities on their radar, the breadth of their physical landholdings and spiritual responsibilities.60

Location: The Spatial Context of Albert’s Chris­tian­ity When Albert of Diessen’s Mirror of Priests is compared with other works of pastoral lit­er­a­ture circulating in his day, its character as a distinctive local expression of medieval Eu­ro­pean Chris­tian­ity becomes evident. The guide draws from texts, laws, and cosmologies coming from a broad Latin Christian tradition, but the Mirror was drafted by a man firmly rooted in a specific place and circumstance, in conversation with his ­brother canons, actively engaged with the laypeople who lived in the region, intimately familiar with the landscape. Albert’s detailed vision of parish life in the Mirror—in essence, his definition of Chris­tian­ity—­was forged in a dynamic relationship with the physical and conceptual space he and his community inhabited. When we bear in mind the setting in which Albert’s pastoral manual emerged, medieval Christian religion comes into focus as a complex negotiation of near and distant theological, cosmological, and practical concerns. Religious studies scholarship offers helpful ways of thinking about the nature of religion as experienced on a local scale like that we are exploring h ­ ere. At a fundamental level, it can help to address the inherent tension we see between religion conceived as a coherent tradition identifiable across space and time and the real­ity of marked variability in practice. In the mid-­twentieth ­century, the anthropologist Robert Redfield used the terms “­Great Tradition” and “­Little Tradition” to describe the interconnection of culture (including religion) as defined by an authoritative regional or transregional elite and as experienced in individual peasant communities.61 Since then, hundreds of studies of diverse religions and contexts have utilized or engaged with Redfield’s structure, and the concept still resonates in the field. David Frank­f urter advo60.  One reason I have been able to track the Diessen convent’s holdings so readily is b­ ecause in the twentieth c­ entury, German scholars w ­ ere committed to exploring the religious ­house as a crucial component of the medieval economic and agricultural landscape. In the ­fourteenth ­century, dozens of monks and canons wrote painstakingly detailed property lists for their arable holdings just as Albert did for Diessen, preserved in manuscript form along with collections of charters. And in the mid-­ twentieth ­century, many of ­those property lists and charters ­were edited and published by German scholars, mostly as part of the QEBG (­under the auspices of the Kommission für bayerische Landesgeschichte), which put out over forty volumes from 1930–2015. 61.  Robert Redfield, Peasant Society and Culture: An Anthropological Approach to Civilization (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1956).

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cated Redfield’s framework for the study of Mediterranean religion and ritual practice in late antiquity, refreshing it for a new audience and replacing the term “­Little” with the spatial term “local.” Frank­f urter has used the model effectively to consider “magic” as a form of religion and to describe the gradual transformation of the Egyptian religious landscape (Christianization) through local engagement with specific Christian objects, symbols, ritual practices, and narratives according to local needs and values.62 Frank­f urter underlines the point that ­Great Traditions are not monolithic or static entities in themselves, explaining that “A G ­ reat Tradition is not a real institution maintaining cohesiveness across time and space but a set of ideas and symbols i­magined differently in dif­fer­ent towns and differently by the layperson, the priest, the monastic scribe, and the elite lord. Religion is always a pro­cess of negotiation between local traditions, often one deeply invested in claiming the authority of a ­Great Tradition, and the everchanging ideology—­and its representatives—of that G ­ reat Tradition.”63 This understanding of Redfield’s model can work well for our period and context, too, even though the distance between the ­Great Tradition and the local in individual towns and villages across Eu­rope was not as g­ reat as would have been the case in the context Frank­furter considers. The effort to define Chris­tian­ity in late medieval parish-­oriented pastoral guides like Albert’s can be seen as a negotiation between “Latin Christendom” writ large (the G ­ reat Tradition) and regional religious practice (the local). As a priest, Albert was an agent of the (ever-­changing) ­Great Tradition. In fact, he explic­ itly claimed the authority to instruct parish priests on the basis of sacramental power—­his status as an ordained priest—­and proximity to an authoritative knowledge of the institutional Church. However, Albert was very much a part of the local environment as well. The documentary rec­ord and the text of the Mirror show that he lived close at hand to the laypeople he served, spent time in their homes, spoke their language, and understood their cosmologies, needs, and concerns. I do not mean to suggest that Albert’s vision of Chris­tian­ity as expressed in the Mirror set the limits of the local tradition—­ there would have been any number of customs, “magical” practices, and “unauthorized” sacred spaces beyond that. Sometimes we get a glimpse of such traditions through Albert’s interest in curtailing such practices. However, the idea helps us to appreciate the importance and power of the local in shaping medieval religious culture and the value of Albert of Diessen’s Mirror as a rec­ ord of that pro­cess. 62.  David Frank­furter, “The ­Great, the ­Little, and the Authoritative Tradition in Magic of the Ancient World,” Archiv für Religionsgeschichte 16, no. 1 (2015): 11–30; Frank­f urter, Christianizing Egypt. 63.  Frank­f urter, Christianizing Egypt, 258–59.

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Another helpful way of thinking about religion as spatial/cultural negotiation may be found in Jonathan Z. Smith’s work. Smith returned again and again to m ­ atters of religion, space, and place in his lectures and his writing, often explic­itly in response to the widely influential ideas about sacred space of his colleague at the University of Chicago, Mircea Eliade.64 Eliade saw religion as the place (center) where the separate spatial planes of sacred and profane came into contact, when the sacred manifested itself within the ordinary. As a scholar of ancient Mediterranean religions with diasporic components, Smith thought that Eliade’s scheme overemphasized the religious center and missed the importance of the periphery. He articulated an approach to religious geography in which map and place w ­ ere understood to be composed of intertwined physical and conceptual components, and in which the periphery could be central. We can see this clearly in medieval Latin Chris­tian­ity. It was centered conceptually around the holy places of Jerusalem and Rome but lived out across dispersed territory. Albert’s base in rural Upper Bavaria might seem peripheral to medieval Latin Christendom, but it was the center of Chris­ tian­ity for his community of canons and the laypeople with whom they interacted. The religious geography of Diessen was s­ haped by conceptual as much as physical space. “Jerusalem,” for example, was symbolically inscribed in the space of the convent, the market town, and surrounding villages, as well as in the land from which produce was taken. It was evoked through displays of holy objects like crosses and the Eucharist, and through ritual activities in homes, churches, and public areas. The paying of tithes and bringing of offerings to parish churches invoked the T ­ emple for laypeople, and sacramental per­ for­mance did the same for clergy. In the opening passage of the Mirror, Albert asked his priestly readers to imagine themselves as Aaron’s sons serving God and the ­people in the desert tabernacle or the T ­ emple in Jerusalem. And when he chose to end the last two versions of his manual with a long eschatological reflection, he indicated an understanding of the heavenly Jerusalem as, in an Augustinian sense, coterminous with the Bavarian land he inhabited.65 Rome was invoked religiously as well as po­liti­cally through inclusion in the Holy Roman Empire with all the rich symbolism that entailed. The market and the convent alike ­were supported and sustained by a series of electors, sometimes emperors, and imperial majesty could never be far out of mind. Meanwhile,

64.  Mircea Eliade, The Sacred and the Profane: The Nature of Religion (New York: Harcourt, Brace & World, 1959). In “The Wobbling Pivot” and other essays in Map Is Not Territory, Smith explic­itly critiqued Eliade’s thought. See also Smith, To Take Place. 65.  When I say “in an Augustinian sense,” I have in mind h ­ ere the earthly city and the heavenly city in Augustine’s City of God.

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a vis­i­ble ecclesiastical hierarchy tied the humblest ordained cleric and the lord bishop of Augsburg alike to Rome, the papacy, and St. Peter.66 Smith came to his assertion that space was necessarily ­shaped by ­human activity and perception through his engagement with comparative religious studies and the prob­lem of ritual and the sacred. But the idea of space as culturally constructed is a basic princi­ple of the theorizations of space that emerged in the second half of the twentieth ­century, as expressed in the work of Henri Lefebvre, Michel de Certeau, and Michel Foucault, among ­others.67 Since 2005, Kim Knott has been at the forefront of an effort to adapt Lefebvre’s spatial theory to the study of religion. The approach has been most eagerly embraced by scholars studying religion in con­temporary multireligious/ secular Eu­ro­pean socie­ties, but her work speaks to our medieval context as well. In The Location of Religion: A Spatial Analy­sis, Knott examines the ways that “apparently non-­religious places . . . ​can be inhabited by conventional religions, even transformed or sacralized by them. However, such apparently ‘non-­religious’ and everyday spaces are also claimed as ‘secular,’ as the domain of ‘culture’ or ‘science’ as opposed to religion . . . ​if spaces are not formally religious, they must be secular.”68 Knott challenges the assumption that religion in the modern state is so thoroughly privatized and segregated that secular is the default. She demonstrates the extent to which ­those assumptions miss the presence of religion in schools, health care settings, courts, parks, and so on. Her detailed analy­sis of space and spatial movement and her attention to “places of the body, artifacts, events, communities, localities and institutions” makes religion vis­i­ble in ways (and places) it often is not. It leaves us with a much more nuanced understanding of the complicated interactions among individuals holding dif­fer­ent religious commitments in con­temporary cities.69 Knott’s work conveys the importance of taking into account the spatial practices of ­those who construct religion and religious space on a daily basis. Spaces might be designed for a par­tic­u­lar purpose (what Lefebvre called “conceived space”), but as p­ eople routinely move through ­those spaces (the “lived space”), they assign their own meaning to them in ways not i­magined or 66.  Even when the popes ­were established in Avignon in the f­ourteenth ­century, ­there was a power­ ful association of the papacy with Rome. Joëlle Rollo-­Koster, Avignon and Its Papacy, 1309–1417: Popes, Institutions, and Society (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2015). 67.  Henri Lefebvre, The Production of Space, trans. Donald Nicholson Smith (Oxford: Blackwell, 1991); Michel de Certeau, The Practice of Everyday Life, trans. Steven Rendall, 3rd ed. (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011); Michel Foucault and Jay Miskowiec, “Of Other Spaces,” Diacritics 16, no. 1 (1986): 22–27. 68. Knott, The Location of Religion, 62. 69. Knott, The Location of Religion, 29.

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i­ntended by planners (“perceived space”).70 Such a view of religion elevates the local community as a site where the theology, cosmology, and ideologies of power meet the lived experience of the Christian community. Knott’s methodology is useful for thinking about the Mirror of Priests, the canons’ place in Diessen and its environs, and local religion. The idea that any given space might si­mul­ta­neously hold both religious and not religious valence, or orthodox Christian and not-­orthodox Christian valence resets our understanding of medieval religion at the local level. The conceived space in Albert’s world would have been s­haped not only by an abstract Christian cosmology, but also by physical and jurisdictional markers of German imperial and ecclesiastical power.71 Albert would have understood himself and his community (including lands extending beyond Diessen proper) to be connected with the diocese of Augsburg, ­under the authority of its bishop, and the Duchy of Bavaria, ­under the authority of the Wittelsbachs. The built environment representing that would have included public and private spaces: other religious h ­ ouses, many parish churches, dwellings both s­ imple and elaborate, the mills controlled by the convent, among other ­things. Diessen was not, properly speaking, a town but a market—­and the market area dominated the space between the convent and the nearby Ammersee. The market and its control would also have formed part of the conceived space. As we have already seen through Albert’s own example, lived space included streets, paths, the docks and their boats, linking convent-­market-­ village-­field-­sea in a range of permutations. And as ­people went about their daily activities, moving through this space as i­magined and realized, religion was not ­limited to places of explicit intention. Many scholars have noted the interaction of Christian theology and cosmology with the physical spaces of medieval cities. Keith Lilley’s study of the medieval city in City and Cosmos: The Medieval World in Urban Form demonstrates that religious ideas w ­ ere self-­consciously woven into the physical fabric of a community through what he defines as “imagining, building, and living.”72 Lilley quotes from Lucian’s 1195 De laude Cestrie, an ode to the city of Chester, that describes the city in terms of four cardinal directions but also 70. Lefebvre, The Production of Space. The French terms for ­these three legs of the triad are “la pratique spatiale,” “les représentations de l’espace,” and “les espaces de représentation,” translated by Knott as “spatial practice,” “repre­sen­ta­tions of space,” and “space of repre­sen­ta­tion.” But Lefebvre also used the simpler terms “lived space,” “conceived space,” and “perceived space.” 71.  Lefebvre often invoked medieval Eu­ro­pean spatial practices to illustrate his notion of space. See Lefebvre, The Production of Space, 45–46. 72.  Keith D. Lilley, City and Cosmos: The Medieval World in Urban Form (London: Reaktion Books, 2009). Lefebvre is clear that space is constructed by the interaction of lived, conceived, and perceived space with or without conscious awareness. Lefebvre, The Production of Space, 46. But it seems helpful

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as a physical repre­sen­ta­tion of the cross, where the city’s four main streets explic­itly sign the cross: “­There are two excellent straight streets in the form of the Blessed Cross, which through their meeting and crossing themselves, then make four out of two, their heads ending in four gates . . . ​[and] in the ­middle of the city, in a position equal for all, [God] willed ­there to be a market for the sale of goods.”73 Lilley notes that when Lucian describes the two intersecting streets meeting and crossing themselves, he turns ­those spaces into embodied entities capable of action. In Lilley’s words, when the streets cross themselves, “the ­whole city was seen . . . ​to be imitating the Christian act of marking the body with the sign of Christ’s passion, the cross, thus mapping his body onto the ‘body’ of the city as a w ­ hole, and the bodies of t­ hose of its inhabitants.”74 I would especially note that at the center of this cross is a market—in this context a religious space. Lilley, like Lefebvre before him, emphasizes positive, aspirational ele­ments of the ­Great Tradition of Latin Chris­tian­ity in the conceived and perceived space of the city.75 We could draw a similar map for the market town of Diessen and its environs; that vision is clearly pre­sent. But we can go further. A spatial analy­sis of religion in Diessen focusing on Christian-­Jewish encounter may illustrate the importance of disruptive ele­ments to the space of the community. Recalling the map of Diessen (map 2.2), ­there ­were three main streets in the town. One, ­running north-­south roughly parallel to the lakeshore was the market itself, Marktgasse. The most impor­tant street alongside the Marktgasse was Klostergasse, which ran east-­west from the convent to the market and then beyond to the w ­ aters of the Ammersee. The third street, significantly narrower than the other two, was the Judengasse, ­running roughly parallel to Klostergasse, with the h ­ ouses on the north side of the street abutting the stream on which Diessen’s mills w ­ ere located. The Judengasse was built into Albert’s immediate landscape as an essential component of the space of the Christian community—an inferior street, perhaps, but clearly connected with the primary spaces of all inhabitants and visitors to Diessen. The distinctive ­ ere to focus on this par­tic­u­lar example precisely ­because of the conscious engagement of Lilley’s h subjects. 73. Lilley, City and Cosmos, 24. The De laude cestrie exists in edited form and in an En­glish translation. M.  V. Taylor, ed., Liber Luciani, De laude Cestrie, Lancaster and Cheshire Rec­ord Society 64 (1912) and D. M. Palliser, trans., Chester: Con­temporary Descriptions by Residents and Visitors (Chester: Council of the City of Chester, 1980), 6–7. 74. Lilley, City and Cosmos, 132. 75.  Lilley uses the model of “macrocosm-­microcosm” rather than Lefebvre’s theory, so he does not use the terms “conceived” and “perceived.” I am making the equation myself. Lefebvre often turned to medieval Eu­rope to illustrate the workings of his spatial triad, and when he did, he turned to the Christian cosmology of Thomas Aquinas and Dante’s Divine Comedy as a definitive medieval Eu­ro­pean world view. See, for example, Lefebvre, The Production of Space, 45–46.

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physical character of the Judengasse is impor­tant to consider in terms of both the conceived and perceived space. The construction of a Judengasse reflects a conceived space in which Jewish presence was differentiated from Christian presence, presumed as fundamental to the rest of the town. But Jews and Christians would have read that differentiation differently. The spatial practice of residents and visitors to Diessen would have entailed movements during which Christians would have entered ostensibly Jewish space and Jews would have entered ostensibly Christian space. Residents would have transformed the physical landscape through their own symbolic reading of conceived spaces, such that spaces marked as Christian could be reconstructed as Jewish and vice versa. Notably, in Albert’s Diessen, Jews exist within the bound­aries and body of Chris­tian­ity; they do not only serve as outer bound­aries or limits or margins against which Chris­tian­ity was put into relief. Encounters with Jews in Christian space would have provided an opportunity to act out Christian belonging within the Christian community, just as interaction with or rejection of interaction with excommunicants performed a notion of belonging. This spatial understanding of a medieval Christian community as encompassing a range of ­people who might or might not be part of Christian communion echoes Augustine’s “two cities,” in that Augustine’s earthly city accommodated the presence of the nonreligious among the denizens of the heavenly city. David Nirenberg in Communities of Vio­lence: Persecution of Minorities in the M ­ iddle Ages similarly saw the integration of Jewish space—­and ritualized vio­lence performed against Jewish space—as an integral part of a multireligious society in the Crown of Aragon. But he still embraced the idea of marginalization—­ that the Jews ­were serving as outside boundary markers for the definition of Christian society.76 Jews’ Streets ­were common throughout medieval Eu­rope, and sometimes they lay outside of city walls and literally represented bound­ aries or outer limits. But in the small, unwalled market town of Diessen, the placement of the Judengasse in a direct line from the back of the convent to the market and the lake beyond gave it a par­tic­u­lar centrality, which we see mirrored in the guide for priests that Albert crafted. In the Mirror, Albert described how Jews w ­ ere to live in the midst of (although identifiably separate from) Christians, following their own religious traditions and participating in the economy within the bounds of their own ­legal status. He stressed that they should expect to live undisturbed by Christians, 76.  David Nirenberg, Communities of Vio­lence: Persecution of Minorities in the ­Middle Ages, updated ed. (Prince­ton: Prince­ton University Press, 2015). Elisheva Baumgarten, Ruth Mazo Karras, and Katelyn Mesler in their introduction to Entangled Histories: Knowledge, Authority, and Jewish Culture in the Thirteenth ­Century (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2017) point in the direction I suggest ­here.

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trusting that their persons, property, and cemeteries would be protected from harm. In turn, Jews ­were not to expect to hold positions of authority over Christians or to live insolently among them. Implicitly, Jews could be punished for failure to live within the constraints established by Christian canon law and custom, but in turn, so could Christians who v­ iolated Jewish rights or committed vio­lence against Jews without l­ egal pro­cess. This narrative of Jewish and Christian interaction as presented in Albert’s work is well established elsewhere; what attention to religion in spatial context can do is help us understand the fluidity with which members of discrete subcommunities experienced shared space, and the extent to which spatial practice (engagement with lived space) could turn any number of peripheries into centers. Albert’s vision of the ideal Christian community as depicted in the Mirror of Priests reflects a constructed religious space as much as it does his textual source material. The historical rec­ord outlined above provides just enough information for us to get a sense of Albert as a person and of his community and its history, values, and geographic par­ameters. We can see Albert as representative of the ­Great Tradition of medieval Latin Chris­tian­ity but also as a negotiator helping to forge a distinct Local Tradition. We can see him utilizing tools of spatial imagination to make local Christian parishes the religious center for t­hose who share that space. When we consider Albert’s Mirror of Priests as both object and text, we should bear in mind the context in which it emerged and the purpose for which it was made, with an eye to Albert as a local expert who, with the help of colleagues and in conversation with laypeople, determined what Chris­tian­ity would look like and feel like in their ­little part of Bavaria.

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Making a Mirror for Priests The Manuscripts

The documentary rec­ord shows Albert of Diessen to have been as knowledgeable about history, landed and moveable property, and the art of negotiation as he was about priestly practice, which makes him an unusually rich in­for­mant. Thanks to the happenstance of manuscript survival, Albert and his work come into much sharper focus than is the case for the many other “Alberts” who played similar roles in their own communities. When we read the three extant autograph versions of the Mirror of Priests, the extensive set of Albert’s notes for revision and expansion, and additional material contributed by Albert’s fellow canons alongside what we know of the community in time and place, we see the development of Albert’s thought and get a sense of how he and his peers i­magined Christians should act and Christian community should operate. In this chapter and the next, we ­will take a close look at the Mirror of Priests, first as an interconnected set of material objects and then as a dynamic text. I treat object and text in separate chapters to make the detailed and sometimes technical material easier to follow, but they are inextricably intertwined. I w ­ ill often need to address the text to make sense of the manuscripts and the manuscripts to make sense of the text.

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Albert of Diessen’s Mirror of Priests: The Autograph Manuscripts Manuscripts are not just vehicles for texts, they are valued objects in their own right, and they communicate much about the experience of composing, circulating, and reading a text. The materials they are made of (paper or parchment and ink and the quality of each); the size of the pages; the number of columns of text on the page; the scribes’ hands; the layout of text, decoration, annotation, and other signs of use—­all t­ hese ­things communicate something about a work, the author’s or scribe’s intention, and the audience of the text. In the introduction to an edited volume exploring a cultural approach to medieval manuscript books, Michael Johnston and Michael Van Dussen emphasize the idea of a manuscript as “pro­cess,” and the importance of focusing “on a manuscript’s entire life cycle, not just its moment of original production.”1 They depict manuscripts as by nature t­ hings in motion, morph­ing across time as ele­ments might be changed, added, or taken away. ­Whether or not such change is evident in any individual manuscript, they argue that this characteristic formed a fundamental part of manuscript book culture, in a way that distinguishes it from print culture. The manuscript tradition of Albert’s Mirror of Priests illustrates this idea of the manuscript as pro­cess, and the autograph tradition demonstrates further that medieval authors could recognize and use this quality intentionally and creatively. The 1373 autograph manuscript is a trea­sure trove, showing us in ­g reat detail how one author went about transforming his own work, illuminating some of the ways he intended for dif­fer­ent audiences to engage with it, and incorporating l­ater readers’ participation in the pro­cess. If all we had ­were the two autograph manuscripts from 1370 and 1377, we would be able to see significant differences in the texts in front of us, but we would have no idea of the pro­cess by which the text was transformed, and a less developed sense of what Albert hoped to accomplish with each. If we had all three versions of Albert’s text, but only in l­ ater manuscript copies without date or provenance, we would be hard pressed to separate Albert’s work from that of ­later users. The three autograph manuscripts together enable us to see how a text could be conceived and developed over time, and how dif­fer­ent manuscript versions could be used according to need. Careful attention to the pro­cess by which Albert transformed the Mirror not only helps us to understand the work 1.  Michael Johnston and Michael Van Dussen, eds., The Medieval Manuscript Book: Cultural Approaches (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 1–16, ­here 6.

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as an expression of local religious culture, it also teaches us something about medieval manuscript culture and the ways that medieval manuscripts could be ­imagined, assembled, and engaged. Albert crafted at least three distinct redactions of his pastoral manual over a seven-­year period, and to possess autograph copies of each is truly remarkable. It is rare to have a single extant manuscript by the hand of the medieval author who wrote a par­tic­u­lar work, but to have three successive versions of a text as we do h ­ ere, each containing dif­fer­ent material and attempting to do dif­fer­ent t­ hings, is especially valuable. For the sake of con­ve­nience, I speak of three autograph manuscripts, but as we ­will see below, the existence of ­later manuscript copies of the Mirror that combine ele­ments of version 1 with ele­ ments of versions 2 and 3 means it is likely that Albert produced more versions of the text than the three of which we know. Still, having three dated, identifiable autograph versions of Albert’s work means that instead of just a snapshot in time, we get a sense of his vision over a period of time, as he engaged in conversation with readers, likely also users, making revisions that expressed his convictions but also met the needs of his audience and responded to the world around him. The three autograph manuscripts w ­ ere all written in Diessen but came to be held by three dif­fer­ent libraries. The first edition (Clm 12471) was composed in 1370 and found its way to the ­house of Augustinian Canons Regular at Rottenbuch; the second edition (Clm 5668) appeared in 1373 and remained at Albert’s own ­house in Diessen; and the third edition (Clm 18387) was completed in 1377 and came to reside in the Benedictine monastery at Tegernsee. The first and third versions of the work, ­those held at Rottenbuch and Tegernsee, ­were likely intended for the communities where they landed, ­whether by commission or as a gift. Unfortunately, no version of the text includes a dedicatory preface of the sort that would indicate why a par­tic­u­lar manuscript came to be held in the community where it was found. With the early spread of copies to Rottenbuch and Tegernsee, we get a sense of a plan to disseminate the text across the region. The second edition was meant to stay at Diessen, not only as a revised and expanded model for the third edition and other pos­si­ble subsequent versions, but also as a dynamic medium for the ­brothers themselves, as a place to carry on discussion of relevant issues in pastoral care, theology, and natu­ral philosophy, among other ­things. We do not know when the 1370 manuscript arrived at Rottenbuch, nor do we know the circumstances of it. However, it seems likely that it was sent ­there shortly ­after its completion by Albert, for the purpose of initiating conversation or for further circulation of the text. It is pos­si­ble that it was a ­matter of accident; perhaps a canon from Diessen transferred his residence to Rotten-



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buch and brought the manuscript with him as a gift, or perhaps it was sent along many years a­ fter its creation for some reason. But given the stature of the h ­ ouse of canons in Rottenbuch, it is more likely that the manuscript was copied intentionally for them, with hope for broader distribution of the work. Rottenbuch was the first and most influential h ­ ouse of Augustinian Canons Regular in Bavaria. It stood less than twenty-­five miles to the south of Diessen and, as Albert knew well, since he had recently written a history of his own convent’s leaders since the founding, the first two priors of the Diessen community had come directly from Rottenbuch to launch the new ­house of canons.2 Most of the dozens of h ­ ouses of Augustinian Canons Regular established in the south of Germany by the thirteenth c­ entury had e­ ither direct or indirect connection to Rottenbuch.3 Although each h ­ ouse of Augustinian Canons Regular operated in­de­pen­dently ­under the authority of the diocesan bishop and a provost elected by the community, they ­were in communication with each other, and the relationship between Rottenbuch and Diessen was a well-­established one.4 If Albert hoped for an audience of Augustinian canons beyond his own immediate community for the Mirror, he could hardly have done better than to send a copy of the work to Rottenbuch. Internal evidence makes a strong case for the intentional crafting of the third manuscript for the Benedictine community at Tegernsee, about fifty miles southeast of Diessen. Albert identified himself as “Albert, priest” (Albertus presbyter) and “Albert, canon regular in Diessen” (Albertus canonicus regularis in Dyssen) in all the manuscripts, but he also called himself “Albert of Tegernsee” (Albertus de Tegernse) in the third edition that was held by the Benedictines of Tegernsee. In all his diverse writings, this is the only place we see him identify himself in this way.5 It seems an unlikely coincidence that he would use that name only in the single manuscript found at Tegernsee and suggests an intentional gifting of the manuscript to that community, or perhaps a commissioning by the monks of Tegernsee. Unfortunately, t­ here is no evidence to indicate why he would have done so. Romuald Bauerreiss, a 2.  On the establishment of the community of canons at Diessen and the role of Rottenbuch, see above, chapter 2. 3.  Jakob Mois, Die Stiftskirche zu Rottenbuch (Munich: Schnell & Steiner, 1953) and Mois, Das Stift Rottenbuch. 4.  Diessen and Rottenbuch did not lie within the same diocese; Diessen was part of the Diocese of Augsburg, and Rottenbuch was part of the Diocese of Freising. Augustinian Canons Regular worked ­under the direct supervision of their diocesan bishop, so ­there is the intriguing possibility that Albert’s text might have aligned with diocesan tradition somewhat differently in the two locations. 5.  Albertus de Tegernse presbyter et canonicus regularis in Dyssen collegit prescriptos articulos ad utilitatem clericorum minimus peritorum. et scripsit hunc librum atque complevit Anno gratie M ccc lxxvi, Indictione xiiii in vigilia Epyphanie domini nostri ihesu christi. Clm 18387, fol. 84r.

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Benedictine scholar active in the early twentieth c­ entury, posited that Albert may have been a Benedictine monk at Tegernsee before joining the canons at Diessen, but Bauerreiss’s argument was based on a mistaken assumption that Albert was the author of a history of that Benedictine community, and absent that false assumption, the argument falls apart.6 If, as seems to have been the case, Albert was from Tegernsee, it is perfectly reasonable to assume that he might have had a relative or f­ amily connection among the monks t­ here, or perhaps among the patrons of the monks. Having pursued the limits of what we can know, I would suggest that one t­ hing the presence of the book at Tegernsee demonstrates is the interest such a book could have held for any number of readers, some among Albert’s primary audience of priests with the care of souls, and some with an interest in such material, even without the intention of practical use. Both the first and third autograph manuscripts—­the ones that left the community at Diessen for other destinations—­were written in a careful script in two columns of text, which would have been the most common page arrangement for such a work at this time. The first version is a small octavo volume written on high-­quality paper and the third is a folio volume made of fine parchment. The first is simply rubricated, the third more finely and elaborately decorated. It is fair to say that the first is more modest in its appearance than the third, in terms of material, the quality of the handwriting, and the detail of the decoration, but both are polished single text manuscripts.7 The m ­ iddle autograph manuscript, by contrast, is a dif­fer­ent sort of book. At first glance, the manuscript, a quarto volume, looks like a chaotic mess. The text was written in one column on rough-­quality paper with many annotations and marginal additions in the author’s hand. This manuscript unquestionably represents a working revision of an ­earlier version of the Mirror. Sometimes Albert framed a conversation differently or chose dif­fer­ent proof texts in a par­tic­u­lar discussion. Sometimes he de­cided to omit a chapter entirely, as, for example, a chapter exploring the priestly authority of mendicant friars based on the debate between Richard FitzRalph and representatives of the mendicant o ­ rders held 8 at the papal court in Avignon between 1357 and 1360. Far more significant than the deviation from original material or excision is the expansion of the 6.  Bauerreiss, “Albert von Tegernsee.” For a careful correction to Bauerreiss’s ­assertions, see Schmeidler, “Albert von Diessen und die Geschichtsschreibung von Tegernsee.” 7.  In the text’s afterlife, it most commonly circulated in large collections of miscellaneous pastoral or theological work. It is noteworthy that t­hese copies of the text are complete in themselves; ­there are actually relatively few manuscripts containing single works like this in the libraries of the region. 8.  On the controversy and its outcome, see Katherine Walsh, “Archbishop Fitzralph and the Friars at the Papal Court in Avignon, 1357–60,” Traditio 31 (1975): 223–45.



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Figure 3.1.  De penitentia Salemonis. debet scribi supra cc.xx (Concerning the penance of Solomon. This o ­ ught to be written above chapter 220). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Clm 5668, fol. 171r.

work with the addition of over two hundred new chapters, some inserted in the body of the text, some scrawled into the margins (sometimes from multiple directions), and some added as new paragraphs at the end of the text. Albert now added chapter numbers into the margins of the manuscript, perhaps to help him keep track of where his many additions w ­ ere meant to be inserted. The new paragraphs that appear ­after the conclusion of the work and its t­ able of contents do not seem to be in any par­tic­u­lar order, but most of them are headed by a note containing instructions on where they o ­ ught to be placed in the original text: “this should be written above/after chapter x” (debet scribi supra/post), as in the example here (figure 3.1). Initially, ­these instructions ­were meant to guide Albert as he put together another complete version of the text: the manuscript I am calling edition 3 (the 1377 Tegernsee manuscript) and any other additional versions he may have made. But ­later additions also seem meant to guide the readers of the text within Albert’s home community of Diessen as they made use of the book. Even ­after Albert used this annotated and expanded manuscript to draft the Tegernsee edition of the text, he continued to add new material as par­tic­u­lar issues became pressing for him, or to clarify ele­ments of the text in response to reader questions or comments. He also added an Exposition on the Apostles’ Creed, something he may have been working on alongside the Mirror.9 At the beginning of edition 1 of the Mirror, in the section on what a priest o ­ ught to proclaim to his 9.  The incipit to the Apostles’ Creed is missing from Clm 5668 along with the first few folios of the text, as I explain below. Fortunately, we can re­create it from a manuscript copy of Clm 5668 that includes the missing folios: Rubric: Expositio symboli apostolorum ex diversis sanctorum. Inc: De fide katholica t[r]actatum brevem patrum dictis colligere volentes primo de hiis agendum est que corde credenda sunt adiustitiam secundo que ore debent proferri locutionibus katholice et veris ad salutem. Munich, BSB Clm 4780, fol. 266r.

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parishioners, Albert noted that it was impor­tant for the priest to recite with the laity the Lord’s Prayer, the Ave Maria, and the Creed in the vernacular (lingua materna).10 In the Mirror, Albert had not provided any tools to facilitate that. The 1373 manuscript corrects that lapse with the addition of a commentary on the Creed. ­After Albert s­ topped adding material to the end of the text, several of his ­brother canons began adding material of their own, sometimes adding random texts, but sometimes including additions to the Mirror along the very lines Albert followed.11 They continued to use the same method of linking new material with existing passages of the Mirror (and sometimes with passages in the Exposition on the Apostles’ Creed as well) throughout, indicating where new paragraphs ­ought to be read (what they w ­ ere responding to or expanding upon), so crafting an evolving, interactive sourcebook.

Manuscript Evidence for the Revision Pro­cess A careful study of the 1373 Diessen manuscript shows it to be less chaotic than it at first appears and tells us something impor­tant about how the canons interacted with the written word and about the fluidity of manuscripts as containers of authoritative information. ­There are at least six identifiable phases of the Diessen manuscript’s composition. (1) First, Albert copied, edited, and expanded the material found in edition 1, the 1370 Rottenbuch manuscript. This part of the manuscript follows the structural outline of the e­ arlier work closely, with the addition of an extended reflection on preaching at the opening; roughly 200 additional chapters woven into the body of the original work; an entirely new, extensive treatment of the end of the world; and some reor­ga­ni­za­tion of existing material. A ­ fter the final chapter and a colophon, Albert provided a numerated list of the 541 chapter titles in this new version of the text.12 (2) Once that was complete, Albert went back through the work, adding a sig10.  Quibus finitis tenetur recitare dominicam orationem cum salutatione angelica et symbolo apostolorum lingua materna. Clm 12471, fol. 3r. Some pastoral manuals, Guido of Monte Rochen’s Handbook for Curates, for example, included an entire section devoted to commentary and guidance on teaching ­these ­things to laypeople. 11.  About 85 ­percent of the 250-­folio manuscript consists of Albert’s work; 15 ­percent is that of his followers. 12.  The main body of the text ends with this colophon: “Albert, priest and canon regular in the monastery of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Diessen, gathered the articles in this ­little book from vari­ous books and holy authorities for the use of ­those less expert. And he wrote and completed it in the year of grace 1373 in the vigil of St. Bartholomew the Apostle [August 23].” Albertus presbyter et canonicus regularis monasterii sancte marie virgine in dyssen collegit articulos huius libelli de diversis libris et auctoritatibus sanctorum ad utilitatem minus peritorum et scripsit atque complevit illum anno gratie M° ccc lxxiii° in vigilia sancti bartholomei apostoli. Clm 5668, fol. 159v.



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nificant amount of additional material in the margins. He used symbols to indicate precisely where in the text that marginal content belonged. (3) Presumably ­after that (although the order of phases two and three might possibly be reversed), Albert began to add new material ­after the colophon and ­table of contents. Some of t­ hese new paragraphs represent completely new chapters, while some represent additions to existing chapters. He generally (but not always) indicated where in the work they o ­ ught to be inserted with his characteristic “this ­ought to be written at,” and then he went back to ­those places in the manuscript and typically wrote a note indicating that ­there was additional material on a par­tic­ul­ar subject at the back of the book that should go in that place. (4) Albert used this edition to draft a clean copy of what I have been calling edition 3—­the Tegernsee manuscript. He may also have written other similar revised versions before or ­after the Tegernsee manuscript. (5) ­After Albert completed edition 3 in 1377, he returned to this manuscript and continued to add more material. During this phase, he also added the commentary on the Apostles’ Creed. (6) As the final stage in the manuscript’s creation, Albert’s colleagues kept the manuscript active, with multiple hands adding additional material through 1388 and continuing Albert’s practice of linking the new paragraphs, where applicable, with the passages of the Mirror to which they responded or corresponded.13 The manuscript was thus written over a period of perhaps nineteen years, with Albert’s part begun sometime ­after 1370 and completed a­ fter 1378, and his colleagues’ contributions appearing no e­ arlier than 1378 and ending in 1388. A comparison between the 1373 version of the text in the Diessen manuscript and the 1377 version in the Tegernsee manuscript allows us to see ­these vari­ous phases of development in the Diessen manuscript clearly. Albert made the Tegernsee manuscript by incorporating the new material that he had put in the margins and at the end of the chapter titles in the Diessen manuscript. But not all ­those additions made it into the Tegernsee manuscript. T ­ here are sixty additional paragraphs following the Mirror’s register of chapter titles in the Diessen manuscript. Slightly less than half of them ­were actually copied into the Tegernsee manuscript (43 ­percent). Moreover, ­there is a distinctive break in the incorporation of new material. Twenty-­six of the first thirty-­seven additions (70 ­percent) ­were copied into the Tegernsee manuscript, while none of the final twenty-­three additional paragraphs ­were copied into that manuscript. I would argue that Albert wrote t­hose final twenty-­three paragraphs ­after completing the Tegernsee manuscript. The last paragraph Albert wrote 13.  We are able to ascertain the end date ­because one of the last questions in the manuscript deals with end times and identifies the current date as 1388. Clm 5668, fol. 247r.

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as part of his expansion on the Mirror addressed the question of what to do in the event that two popes ­were elected to office, invoking Gratian’s Decretum, Dist. 79 c. 8 Si duo forte in his answer. A heading indicates that this material ­ought to be written in the work above at chapter 276 on the duty of the cardinals to choose a pope. At the bottom of fol. 82r where chapter 276 appears, ­there is a note in Albert’s hand indicating that the question of the election of two popes is found below, just before the Exposition on the Apostles’ Creed. Despite this clear direction in both places, the material was not added to the Tegernsee manuscript. This is almost certainly ­because Albert only wrote it ­after he had already completed that manuscript. The scenario explored in that paragraph came to pass in 1378 in the event that came to be known as the G ­ reat Schism, when Urban VI was elected as pope in Rome, and Clement VII was elected to serve in Avignon. The papal schism elicited a spate of writing on the prob­lem of multiple elections and how to respond, and Si duo forte was frequently cited in ­those conversations. It seems more than likely that Albert’s decision to add material about the papal election to his discussion of cardinals and the election pro­cess was a response to this very real prob­lem of the moment.14 If the last twenty-­three additions to the text ­were written a­ fter Albert used the manuscript to make a new copy for Tegernsee, that means that Albert began the practice (­later pursued by o ­ thers) of adding material to the Diessen manuscript a­ fter the Tegernsee manuscript had already been completed and sent off. Albert seems to have i­magined the Diessen manuscript not only as a manuscript model for making additional copies of the text, but also as a locus for an ongoing conversation about ­matters of importance to the community. With that overview in mind, we can look more closely at the way Albert (and his colleagues) integrated additional material into the manuscript and how the parts fit together. The purpose of such a detailed examination is to shed light on how a local expert engaged with a proj­ect like this. We can appreciate the extent to which Albert felt empowered to bend tradition to the needs he saw in his community, both religious and lay. The first new paragraph that ­Albert added at the conclusion of edition 2 of the Mirror was directed at a ­matter of ­g reat concern to any community of canons, his own included: what are the ideal characteristics of a prelate or rector? T ­ here is no indication of where this ­ought to go in the manuscript, but we find that it was fully incorporated into edition 3 of the Mirror at the end of an existing chapter on the 14.  Queritur si duo summi pontifices temeritate certantium ordinati fuerint, quis eorum alterius est preferendus. Hoc patet .d.lxxix ubi sic legitur Si duo forte contra fas temeritate certantium fuerint ordinati, nullum ex eis futurum sacerdotem summum permittimus, sed illum in sede apostolica permansurum esse consemus, quem ex numero clericorum nova ordinatione divinum iudicium et universitatis consensus elegerit. Clm 5668, fol. 187v.



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election in the section on the sacrament of ordination.15 Most often, however, we do get a precise indication of where the new material ­ought to go. On the next folio, for example, we find a paragraph asking w ­ hether a religious (someone who had taken vows such as a monk, or canon, or nun) could petition their superiors to transfer from one location to another, the answer to which was yes. A note above the paragraph says, “this ­ought to be written ­after chapter 297” (debet scribi post cclcvii). When we look at edition 3 of the text, we find that, indeed, this new paragraph has been placed in that spot, immediately ­after a discussion of ­whether religious may own property.16 Most of the additions Albert made concerning the religious life of t­hose who had taken vows ­were of a similar nature—­they address ­matters of practical concern to his own community of canons. We can imagine that some of ­these additions ­were motivated by conversations among his ­brothers. Most of the time, Albert made a marginal note in the designated spot within the Mirror indicating that an extra paragraph should be incorporated h ­ ere from further in the manuscript. This would be impor­tant for anyone making a copy of the text, but it also was impor­tant for readers of the text, directing them to further conversation on a topic. For example, in a new paragraph at the back of the book, Albert explored the circumstances u ­ nder which the rigor of a penitential canon o ­ ught to be modified, and we find a header suggesting that the paragraph ­ought to be added above at chapter 207. When we look at chapter 207, we see a discussion of satisfaction in penance and a brief question about w ­ hether rigor should ever be modified. A sign marker at the end of that short paragraph leads to a marginal comment at the top of the page that reads: “Sometimes the rigor of the canons is to be relaxed. Response within at the end of the book a­ fter the chapter titles” (figure 3.2). That new material was integrated into the third edition exactly where Albert suggested it be moved.17 Sometimes we find cross-­references to additional paragraphs in the m ­ iddle edition that did not make their way into the third edition. An example of this is a somewhat long passage asking ­whether the Virgin Mary was conceived without original sin, or w ­ hether she was sanctified a­ fter animation in her ­mother’s womb. A corresponding note alluding to the existence of that 15.  Qualis esse debeat prelatus vel rector. Clm 5668, fol. 166r. The text was incorporated into Clm 18387 on fol. 46v. At the time Albert wrote this, his own provost, Henry, had served over 25 years in that role. He did not pass on the position ­until 1379, quite a few years ­after the Diessen manuscript was made. Was this question theoretical? Or had Henry perhaps been ill, or other­wise thinking of stepping down ­after so long in the post? 16.  See Clm 5668, fols. 167r and 88v and Clm 18387, fol. 45r. 17.  Quandoque relaxandus est rigor canonum. Responsio infra in fine libri post capitula. Clm 5668, fol. 58v. Quod satisfactio debet taxari secundum quantitatem culpe . . . ​Quandoque tamen relaxandus est rigor canonum penitentialium. Clm 18387, fol. 31r.

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Figure 3.2.  Quandoque relaxandus rigor canonum. Responsio infra in fine libri post capitula (Sometimes the rigor of the canons is to be relaxed. Response within at the end of the book a ­ fter the chapter titles). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 5668, fol. 58v.

Figure 3.3.  Utrum beata virgo Maria sit concepta in originali peccato. Responsio in fine libri post capitula (­Whether the Blessed Virgin Mary was conceived in original sin. Response at the end of the book a ­ fter the chapter titles). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 5668, fol. 37r.

paragraph is found in the margin of the page containing the chapter on original sin (figure 3.3). However, the Tegernsee edition shows no trace of the discussion of Mary’s immaculate conception.18 The passage appears amid material that did get incorporated into the new edition, and it clearly would have been pre­sent and available. It may be that a discussion like this was intended for the Diessen 18.  Queritur utrum beata virgo Maria fuerit concepta in originali peccato, et videtur quod sic. Secundum thomam in quarto libro theologice veritatis capitulo de sanctificatione materna ubi dicit, Tres fuerunt sanctificationes matris christi. Clm 5668, fols. 169v and 37r; Clm 18387, fol. 20r. As I w ­ ill explain below, when Albert cites Thomas “in Theologice veritatis,” which he does fairly often, he means Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg OP, the ­actual author of that work.



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community and not for general circulation. It may be that Albert had second thoughts about introducing the controversial topic.19 But its omission was surely not an accident. The addition was pre­sent, the marker was pre­sent, both in Albert’s hands, both written before the 1377 edition was made. It simply was left out. For some reason, Albert de­cided that he did not want to include the theological debate in the copy destined for the Tegernsee Benedictines.20 Although t­ here are some marginal notes in the Diessen manuscript by ­later hands, the annotation of the manuscript is primarily the work of Albert himself. Albert integrated most of ­these marginal notes into the text of the third edition. Since t­hese tend to be shorter additions, they ­were usually inserted into existing chapters rather than forming new ones. For example, in the section on baptism, at the end of a chapter “about one who is unknowingly baptized twice,” we find a brief marginal discussion of intentional rebaptism (as heretical). That discussion is fully integrated into the paragraph on double baptism in edition 3 (figures 3.4 and 3.5).21 Sometimes we find a marginal comment that got incorporated into edition 3 alongside a reference to an additional paragraph at the back of the book that was not incorporated, although it, too, is in Albert’s hand. Such is the case with a comment on punishment in hell that was incorporated into the third edition, while a new paragraph on the location of hell at the back of the book referenced in the same margin was not (figures 3.6 and 3.7).22 In that case, the additional paragraph on the location of hell was one of the final set I have suggested Albert wrote ­after 1377; it would not have been available to incorporate into the Tegernsee manuscript. That marginal comment on the location of hell would have been written ­later, perhaps to incorporate into additional versions of the text, but perhaps simply for the b­ rothers in his convent to find when they read the work themselves. Although editions 1 and 3 of the Mirror of Priests ­were written intentionally for readers outside Albert’s community, it seems that Albert thought of edition 2 not only as a model for producing more copies of the Mirror but also as a study tool for his own community. 19.  The Immaculate Conception of Mary was by no means settled doctrine at the end of the f­ ourteenth ­century. For a helpful discussion of some of the theological and philosophical issues in the notions of immaculate conception and sanctification a­ fter animation, see Marilyn McCord Adams, “The Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary: A Thought-­Experiment in Medieval Philosophical Theology,” Harvard Theological Review 103, no. 2 (2010): 133–59. 20.  As I discuss ­later, it is pos­si­ble that Albert wrote additional versions of the text incorporating the material in the 1373 manuscript. One would need to examine all extant manuscripts to determine ­whether any that seem to follow the 1377 model include missing passages like this one, and the ­COVID-19 pandemic in 2020 made it impossible for me to return to Germany to do that additional research. 21.  Clm 5668, fol. 15r; Clm 18387, fol. 8r. 22.  Clm 5668, fol. 155r; fol. 186v.

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Figure 3.4.  In Symbolo siquidem ecclesie dicitur Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. hoc sit propter hereticos qui dicunt Quotiens homo peccat, totiens debet rebaptizari (Note that in the Creed it is said, “I confess one baptism in remission of sins.” And this is ­because of heretics who say that as often as a man sins, he must be rebaptized). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 5668, fol. 15r.

­After the last of Albert’s additional paragraphs, we find the Exposition on the Apostles’ Creed, also in his hand. The first several pages of the work are missing from the autograph manuscript (Clm 5668); the manuscript jumps from the question of how the election of two popes si­mul­ta­neously ­ought to be handled (fol. 187v) to the ­middle of Article 1 of the Exposition (fol. 188r). Fortunately, ­there are copies of the Diessen manuscript that allow us to reconstruct what Clm 5668 would have looked like. Clm 4780, a late fourteenth-­or early fifteenth-­ century copy of Clm 5668, moves directly in the m ­ iddle of the page from the question on the election of two popes to the introduction to the opening of the Exposition, which not only gives us reassurance that we are not missing any of Albert’s additional questions along with the opening to the Exposition but also suggests that the pages went missing sometime ­later in the history of the manuscript.23 The marginal comment referencing the existence of the question on the location of hell discussed above supports this reconstruction, as the notation in Albert’s hand directs the reader to a paragraph to be found further in the manuscript, “before the Exposition of the Creed” (Responsio ante expositionem 23.  See Clm 4780, fol. 266r.



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Figure 3.5.  Nota quod in symbolo ecclesie dicitur Confiteor unum baptisma in remissionem peccatorum. Et hoc propter hereticos qui dicunt Quotiens homo peccat, totiens debet rebaptizari (Note that in the Creed it is said “I confess one baptism in remission of sins.” And this is ­because of heretics who say that as often as a man sins, he must be rebaptized). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 18387, fol. 8r.

symboli), indicating that the commentary on the Apostles’ Creed had been part of the same manuscript. Furthermore, numerous ­later manuscript copies of the Mirror of Priests include the Exposition at the end.24 24.  See, for example, Munich, BSB, Clm 12276 (1446–48) from Rottenbuch, the same community of Augustinian canons regular where the earliest of Albert’s autographs was held. This manuscript contains a copy of the Mirror (on fols. 65–152v) followed immediately by the Symboli apostolorum

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Figure 3.6.  Sequitur hic: Ubi sit infernus e ­ tc. Responsio infra ante expositionem symboli (It follows h ­ ere: where hell lies, e ­ tc. Response within before the Exposition on the Creed). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 5668, fol. 155r.

Figure 3.7.  debet scribi supra dxxvii. Queritur ubi sit infernus, ­etc. (This o ­ ught to be written above chapter 527. It is asked where hell is, e ­ tc.). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 5668, fol. 186v.

Another folio missing from Clm 5668 reinforces this reconstruction of the manuscript tradition. The Diessen manuscript lacks four short additions to the Mirror as witnessed in Clm 4780. Two of the missing additions appear before what I have identified as a post-1377 breakpoint. One of t­ hose missing paragraphs deals with venial sin, and the other provides a new conclusion to the Mirror as a w ­ hole. The last two of the missing paragraphs deal with questions about Job.25 Both of the first two missing paragraphs appear in the 1377 Tegernsee manuscript; the second two do not. At the end of the last chapter of the Mirror, Albert indicated that a conclusion to the ­whole work was to be

(fols. 153r–74v) with the incipit, Corde creditur ad iustitiam, ore autem confessio sit ad salutem. This is a dif­fer­ent incipit from Clm 4780, fol. 266r. 25.  Clm 4780, fols. 252v–54r.



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found in the additional paragraphs a­ fter the chapter titles.26 However, that paragraph is missing in the Diessen manuscript. It does appear as promised in the third autograph, at the end of the work just before the colophon; it was pre­sent at one time in the Diessen manuscript. Fortunately, Clm 4780 and other ­later copies of the Diessen manuscript preserve the order and reasonable versions of t­ hose four questions. Presumably, Albert wrote all the additional paragraphs up to the conclusion and the discussion of venial sin before he composed edition 3 for Tegernsee in 1377. ­After that work was completed, he returned to the Diessen manuscript to add a significant number of additional paragraphs related to the concerns of the Mirror, and then added the long treatment of the creed. The additional material in hands other than Albert’s was written only a­ fter Albert’s revisions of 1377 for the Tegernsee manuscript, the additional questions, and the Exposition on the Apostles’ Creed. ­After that, beginning on fol. 211v, Albert’s hand gives way to numerous ­others. In this last part of the manuscript, we find the Pseudo-­Augustinian “On the Divine Essence” (De essentia divinitatis) and “Book of Meditations” (Liber meditationum); in other words, works relevant to the culture of an Augustinian convent—­and then many short miscellaneous paragraphs. Most of t­hese diverse paragraphs in other hands respond to or expand upon material in the Mirror of Priests, and they provide instructions on how to connect the material just as Albert had done, with the same debet scribi marker indicating where the new material o ­ ught to be read in the text. For example, we find a reiteration of Augustine’s position on the importance of a living Jewish diaspora in a paragraph that explains why Jews are not to be chased down in the same way that Muslims are (figure 3.8). The author wrote a note saying that the paragraph ­ought to be written alongside chapter 417, which was the chapter that explained that it is illicit to kill Jews outside of a l­egal pro­cess.27 We can reasonably narrow the dating of t­ hese additional paragraphs to sometime between 1378 and 1388. Evidence for the first date comes from the 26.  See Clm 5668, fol. 159r. 27.  Nota quod propter tres rationes ecclesia non persequitur iudeos sicut paganos. Clm 5668, fol. 249v. Chapter 417 appears on fol. 119r in Clm 5668, and on fol. 61v in Clm 18347. By “pagan,” the author of this paragraph undoubtedly meant Muslims, even though he is referring back to Augustine in his framework. The paragraph was meant to be read alongside a chapter that, in edition 1, acknowledged a difference between Christian treatment of Jews, who ­were perceived to be “subdued” ­under Christian law and Muslims, who w ­ ere perceived to be in a constant state of potential hostility. See chapter  5. For an excellent discussion of late medieval Christian thought on pagans in an ­earlier Christian sense, See Sarah Salih, Imagining the Pagan in Late Medieval ­England (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2019).

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Figure 3.8.  Debet scribi ccccxvii. Nota quod propter tres rationes ecclesia non persequitur iudeos sicut paganos (This o ­ ught to be written at chapter 417. Note that ­there are three reasons that the Church does not pursue Jews as it does pagans (i.e., Muslims). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 5668, fol. 249v.

last of Albert’s own additional paragraphs that addressed the prob­lem of the election of two popes si­mul­ta­neously.28 While it is pos­si­ble that Albert wrote that addition a­ fter 1378, it is unlikely that he wrote it before then. The date of 1388 for an endpoint is provided by the last hand in the manuscript. In a discussion of the seven ages of the world, the author references the years that have passed since the incarnation of Christ to the pre­sent day as “one thousand three hundred and eighty-­eight.”29 Beyond the participation of some canons in extending the range of the work with their own contributions, we also see evidence of an active readership in occasional marginal notations. For example, in the index that Albert placed ­after the body of the text, we see certain passages highlighted by a l­ ater reader, not with a manicule (a pointing fin­ger) or another symbol, but with repeated phrases. For example, one reader specifically highlighted the chapter discussing the fact that Jews ­ought not to be killed outside of the ­legal pro­cess by repeating the words “Concerning that Jews are not to be killed” (figure 3.9).30 28.  Clm 5668, fol. 187v. 29.  A sentence by the hand of the last scribe to write in the manuscript reads Igitur secundum Eusebium et Horosium ab exordio mundi usque ad adventum domini fluxerunt anni quinque milia et ducenti. Et secundum compotum ecclesie, ab incarnatione domini usque in tempus presens fluxerunt anni mille trecenti octoginta et octo. Clm 5668, fol. 247r. 30.  Clm 5668, fol. 164v.



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Figure 3.9.  De iudeis non occidendis (Concerning that Jews are not to be killed). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 5668, fol. 164v.

Decoration of the Text: Organ­ization and Emphasis As a final consideration of the autograph manuscripts, a few words are in order about their decoration as an integral component of the text. While the materials, the page layout, and the quality of the handwriting differ among the three autograph versions of the text, t­ here is a consistency in the decorative scheme that illustrates the connectedness of the three autographs. In the first edition of the Mirror, Albert used a ­simple rubrication scheme that included large initials whenever he began a new topic, and larger, but stylistically identical, initials at the transition from one major section to another—­when the prologue ended and the text proper began, or at the start of the discussion of each new sacrament, or at the transition from part 1 of the text to part 2. In the Diessen manuscript, Albert (or perhaps a partner) added much more detail to the decorated initials so that they stood out more dramatically and helped to make the organ­ ization of the work more clearly manifest. Albert followed this pattern and style almost exactly in the Tegernsee manuscript (figures 3.10–3.15).31 The judicious use of decorated initials helps us see how Albert was thinking about the organ­ization of the text, especially in part 2, which contained a seemingly random assortment of subjects. In the first edition, part 2 had few elaborate initials—­only the opening sections on ­wills and inheritance and on burial received such treatment. But in editions two and three, in addition to the initial at the start of part 2, Albert highlighted a category he called “diverse judgments,” which elaborated on vari­ous sins and their remedies; excommunication; ­wills and inheritance; burial; the end of the world; final judgment; resurrection; and permanent assignment to hell or heaven. Whenever we come to one of the decorated initials, we stop and recognize that the material that follows was 31.  The initials in the Diessen manuscript are striking in their attention to detail, given the roughness of the text itself.

Figure 3.10.  Rottenbuch manuscript. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 12471, fol. 2r.

Figure 3.11.  Diessen manuscript. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 5668, fol. 2r.

Figure 3.12.  Tegernsee manuscript. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 18387, fol. 1v.

Figure 3.13.  Rottenbuch manuscript. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 12471, fol. 28v.

Figure 3.14.  Diessen manuscript. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 5668, fol. 34r.

Figure 3.15.  Tegernsee manuscript. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 18387, fol. 18v.

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something Albert wanted to draw attention to as a distinct and impor­tant unit. I discuss the eschatological section of the text below, but for now w ­ ill simply note that Albert’s use of decoration suggests he saw it as an especially impor­tant part of the work. The decoration of a manuscript is always an impor­tant indicator of the way the text was meant to be read. In this case, the author was himself involved in establishing this aspect of the work, even if he may have had someone with special skill complete the penwork. The decoration, therefore, gives us further insight into the way that Albert ­imagined the text in ­whole and in part.

Beyond the Autograph Manuscripts The three autograph copies of the text introduced above resided in locales all associated intimately in some way with Albert’s life or ­career. Diessen, where the “workbook” copy remained, was Albert’s home; Tegernsee was, most likely, his original home; and the Augustinian cloister at Rottenbuch was closely connected with Diessen and a good destination for a work one hoped would be copied and transmitted more broadly among Augustinian canons.32 In addition to the three autographs, ­there are over fifty-­five extant copies of the work identified in library cata­logs, and undoubtedly more still to be found.33 The manual circulated primarily, although not exclusively, within an orbit of Augustinian Canons Regular in Bavaria, Swabia, and Tyrol. The majority date from a­ fter the Council of Constance (1414–18), many from ­after the Council of Basel (1431–49).34 Map 3.1 shows the distribution of the manuscripts. Some of the manuscript copies exist in single text volumes, but more often the text was included as part of a compendium, set alongside other materials of value to priests. It is not surprising, given that Albert intended his text to be used by Augustinian Canons Regular who w ­ ere involved in day-­to-­day parish care, that the text was most often copied in the scriptoria of Augustinian Canons Regular. But it is also the case that many manuscripts found their 32. Mois, Das Stift Rottenbuch, 198–204. 33.  Albert’s text is included in Morton W. Bloomfield et al., Incipits of Latin Manuscripts on the Virtues and Vices, 1100–1500 AD (Cambridge, MA: Medieval Acad­emy of Amer­i­ca, 1979) ­under the incipit Legimus in exodo quod moyses fecit labrum eneum de speculis mulierum (Ex. 38.8) . . . ​Albertus de Diessen, Speculum vel lavacrum sacerdotum or Speculum clericorum or Stella clericorum. Mss: Munich BSB Clm 3592, 4780, 5635, 5668, 5879, 6975, 7581, 8332, 11459, 11713, 11740, 12276, 14371, 15324, 15562, 17661 18367, 19601, 23800; Trent Com. 1578, Windesheim 93 (27), f. 147–239. 34.  At least one manuscript copy of Albert’s Mirror appears alongside material from the Council of Basel. Munich BSB Cgm 3897 contains a copy of Albert’s Mirror along with a sermon by Master Lupus de Galdo, given at the Council of Basel in 1437.



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Map 3.1.  Manuscript circulation of the Mirror of Priests. Map by Beehive Mapping.

way to Benedictine monasteries, included in g­ reat libraries and sometimes, as was the case with Augsburg, Staats-­und Stadtbibliothek, fol. Cod 295 (1447), intensely studied and heavi­ly annotated. The text was deemed valuable both by ­those who had primary responsibility for pastoral care and by monastic scholars who held it their responsibility to understand such ­matters even when they did not have primary responsibility for pastoral care. The l­ ater manuscript tradition includes examples derived from each of the three known autograph manuscript versions of the Mirror, as well as a number that reflect a tradition outside the three known autographs. Quite a few manuscripts seem to combine multiple versions of the work. Typically, copies of edition 2 follow Albert’s own manuscript, complete with markers indicating a­ fter which chapter each new section should be placed. Sometimes they move marginal additions into the text, and sometimes they leave them out; rarely do they leave them in the margins. In cases where manuscripts weave together ele­ments of the three known autograph versions, it is not clear ­whether they did the weaving or copied someone e­ lse’s work. It might be that scribes confronted with multiple versions of the text de­cided to join them

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together in a new way, or it might be that Albert himself made additional versions of the work that have simply not survived. The Tegernsee manuscript that I am calling edition 3 may have been just one of several revised third versions of the text that Albert put together based on his revisions in the 1373 Diessen manuscript. Several manuscripts now held in the Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, the ­Augsburg Universitätsbibliothek, the Augsburg Staats-­und Stadtbibliothek, and the Eichstätt Universitätsbibliothek hint at a scenario of multiple revisions by Albert or his b­ rothers at Diessen. A manuscript copied in 1410 somewhere in southwestern Bavaria (now Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek Clm 14371), for example, selectively incorporated material from edition 1, edition 2, and possibly also edition 3.35 It starts with the prologue from edition 1 and includes a number of ele­ments of edition 1 that w ­ ere cut from subsequent versions, like the chapter on the debate between Richard FitzRalph and the mendicant friars.36 The manuscript ends a­ fter a chapter from edition 2 on dreams and visions. It does not include the long eschatological section and conclusion that followed the chapter on dreams and visions in editions 2 and 3, but it does pick up with edition 2 again by including the Exposition of the Apostles’ Creed, which was found only in that ­middle autograph manuscript. Sometimes we see a mix of editions even within a specific discussion. For example, the list of penitential canons in this manuscript combines material from edition 1 and editions 2 and 3; it retains a reference to protecting the home with charms from edition 1 (which was dropped from editions 2 and 3) but also includes penance for belief in werewolves (found only in editions 2 and 3). It is pos­si­ble that by the turn of the fifteenth c­ entury t­ here ­were enough copies of the text in circulation for an industrious scribe to have multiple versions at hand and to have chosen to splice them together in this way. A simpler answer, though, is that combination of ele­ments of the three autograph text versions can be traced back to Albert or to the Diessen community. We know that the first edition was sent to Rottenbuch and the second to Tegernsee. But drafts of the first and third polished editions must have existed 35.  Clm 14371. T ­ here are other manuscripts associated with this version. The BSB cata­log has this to say: “Prolog sowie erstes und zweites Kapitel ähnlich der Erstfassung (Clm 12471, 1r–88v) sonst näher der Zweit-­und Drittfassung aber in verkürzter Form (Clm 5668, 1r–159v, Nachträge dazu ab 166r und Clm 18387, 1ra -81vb), Textende bei Clm 5668, 140v c. 485 und Clm 18387, 74va c. 496; parallele Überlieferung u. a. Augsburg, Staats-­u. Stadtbibl., 2o Cod 295, 1ra-75ra; Augsburg, UB, Cod. II.1.2o 136, 113ra-185rb und Cod. II.1.2o 140, 1ra-68rb; Eichstätt, UB, Cod. st 237, 7ra-108va.” http://­bilder​ .­manuscripta​-­mediaevalia​.­de​/­hs//­projekt​-­BSB​-­Emmeram​-­pdfs​/­Clm%2014371​.­pdf. A colophon on fol. 136v indicates Hainricus Lind(er) was the scribe. Hainricus Linder appears in at least one other manuscript now held in the Augsburg library, and it seems safe to assume that he was from the area. 36.  Clm 14371, fol. 43v.



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at Diessen as well, and the materials needed to compose new alternate drafts of the work would have remained ­there. Evidence that at least one copy of the first edition of the Mirror remained at Diessen includes another copy, made in 1416 (now Munich Clm 5635) that survived ­there.37 It is one of the rare copies of the first edition that adheres strictly to the opening lines of the 1370 text, with its puzzling reference to “the 112th chapter of Exodus” (Legimus in exodo centessimo xii capitulo quod moyses fecit labrum eneum de speculis mulierum). The manuscript seems not to have been finished; it ends just a­ fter the first paragraph on indulgences, within a few folios of the end of the text of edition 1. Most impor­tant for our purposes, it demonstrates a local Diessen connection with the 1370 Rottenbuch text. ­Whether the missing copy of edition 1 was the model that the polished Rottenbuch manuscript had been based on or another copy made at that time, in some form or another, edition 1 remained at Diessen. And what­ever the pattern of copying was, it is clear that the text was in circulation in multiple interrelated versions in the de­cades ­after the third edition appeared, even though ­there is a gap in datable extant copies from the completion of edition 3 in 1377 to 1410, ­after which time we have many extant copies. Even if all we had w ­ ere ­these ­later manuscript copies of the Mirror, one could make the case that the text provides valuable insight into the nature of Chris­tian­ity as i­magined for parish communities. But with the autograph manuscript tradition as a witness to Albert’s revising pro­cess, we can more fully appreciate the way in which this local guide for priests reflects a multifaceted, multidirectional conversation between a community of priests with responsibility for immediate parish level care and the parishioners they served. We can see when and how Albert added, changed, or deleted material in response to questions, concerns, and events transpiring in the world, and we can also see some of his close contemporaries’ responses. Not only does the Mirror in a general sense reflect a local approach to pastoral care, but the transformation of the text by its author and ­others in the community highlights the malleability of this sort of work that could be tweaked in all sorts of ways. When the form and the content of the manuscripts are considered together, the nature of this work as a multidirectional conversation about the ideal Christian community becomes clear.

37.  Clm 5635, fols. 182r–220v. Copied in 1416 (according to the manuscript cata­log, but fol. 182r says 1417) by Georgius de Augusta. The Mirror forms the second (smaller) part of the volume, ­after a miscellaneous collection of sermons.

C h a p te r   4

Making a Mirror for Priests The Text

At the beginning and end of each version of the Mirror, in slightly dif­fer­ent ways, Albert described his contribution in terms of making authoritative texts available to less educated clerics. He had an extensive library available to him, and he presumed a canon sent out to serve a parish would not. His purpose was to provide a succinct and manageable guide to the essential aspects of the care of souls and the management of a parish community by weaving together material from a wide range of authoritative sources. If we ­were to tally up e­ very text, ­every author, ­every papal pronouncement, or ­legal canon cited in the work, it would seem that Albert had gathered a vast array of materials from his library for the proj­ect. However, the citation of so many dif­fer­ent authorities is misleading. Following common practice in his day, Albert crafted a new pastoral manual from ele­ments of existing pastoral manuals; he made a new compilation from ele­ments of existing compilations. Compilation was a long-­established textual practice in medieval Christian book culture. Producing a new work based on the writing of recognized authorities allowed the compiler to share in a kind of authority that would not other­wise have been available to him.1 Not e­ very source a compiler used was acknowl1.  For helpful discussions of the art of compilation vis à vis authorship in the l­ater M ­ iddle Ages, see Sánchez Prieto, “Authority and Authorship,” Minnis, “Nolens auctor sed compilator reputari,” and Kraebel, “Modes of Authorship.” Anita Savo was kind enough to share with me a prepublication version of the chapter on compilation as a form of authorship from her forthcoming book, Portraying 11 2



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edged by name in the new text. ­Those names that conferred a desired type of authority w ­ ere invoked; other sources w ­ ere left unnamed. While compilation as a mode of writing/authorship was embraced early in Christian history, scholastic authors in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries began to reflect systematically on the nature of compilation as a mode of authorship. Unlike some of his contemporaries, Albert did not comment explic­ itly on his practice of compilation, beyond the statement in the revised version of the prologue that the book “had no author of its own, but as many authors as the authorities contained within.” However, the presence of that assertion suggests that Albert was familiar with theories of authorship, and the implication is that he understood his work as a gathering and ordering (a compilation) rather than an authoring of something new. Despite his protests, and ­whether we call his effort authorship or compilation, Albert was engaged in a creative literary proj­ect, making careful decisions about what to put on each page. The Mirror was very much Albert’s own text; he selected the content, adapted it, added to it, or­ga­nized it, and presented it to a specific audience for a par­tic­u­lar purpose. Like Guido of Monte Rochen and William of Pagula before him, Albert depended above all on John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum as a source and model for his work. As was typically the case for ­those who borrowed from John’s work, Albert did not name or acknowledge his dependence on the text. However, his use of John’s Summa is evidenced by all the signs that Leonard Boyle once identified in his study of the impact of the Summa on subsequent lit­er­a­ture.2 That includes clustered citations of Raymond of Penyafort, Thomas Aquinas, Peter of Tarentaise, and Ulrich of Strasbourg, and often word for word quotation of t­ hese figures (in addition to word for word quotation of John’s own instruction) in the same places that John had placed them. That said, Albert also incorporated much material beyond what he found in the Summa. It can be difficult or impossible to know exactly what work an author used in many cases b­ ecause so many authors/compilers ­were gathering material from the same sets of sources. Sometimes when we see Augustine or Hugh of St. Victor or Peter Comestor cited in Albert’s text, he was borrowing the material from John of Freiburg, and other times he was not. For our purposes, it suffices to name the sources we can readily identify and simply acknowledge that Albert used one or more well-­known pastoral summae, and that he had a wide range of additional resources at hand that he integrated when helpful. Authorship: Juan Manuel and the Rhe­toric of Authority, which not only contains an excellent introduction to medieval notions of compilation as a form of authorship but also beautifully illustrates ­those ideas with Juan Manuel’s self-­conscious discussion of the role. 2.  On the reliable indicators of borrowing from John’s text, see Boyle, “The Summa confessorum.”

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The Mirror’s Well of Sources The most frequently cited authorities in the Mirror include biblical texts (from both Old Testament and New), Augustine, Gregory the G ­ reat, Isidore, Hugh of St.  Victor, Peter Comestor, Peter Lombard; Peter the Preacher ­(Peter of Tarentaise), Raymond of Penyafort, OP, Albert the G ­ reat, OP, Thomas Aquinas, OP, Ulrich of Strasbourg OP, and many popes and councils invoked through their contributions to canon law as recorded in Gratian’s Decretum, the Quinque compilatio antique, and the Liber extra.3 Other authorities cited in the Mirror include other Church ­Fathers (Ignatius, Cyprian, Methodius, John Chrysostom, Leo the ­Great, Ambrose, Jerome, Gregory Nazianzus, and John of Damascus), early medieval theologians and exegetes (Bede, Theodore of Canterbury, Rabanus Maurus, and Alcuin), and other scholars active in the twelfth ­century and beyond (Anselm, Alan of Lille, Honorius of Autun (Honorius Augustudonensis), Geoffrey of Trani (Gerhardus), and on one occasion, Nicholas of Lyra, OFM. ­There are a handful of figures cited in the second and third versions of the Mirror who ­were not named in the first, including the ­legal scholar John Andree (Giovanni di Andrea), Master Robert of Paris (perhaps Robert of Sorbon, d. 1274), Hugo de Novocastro, OFM, and Richard of Middleton, OFM.4 Some of t­ hese new sources, certainly Richard of Middleton and John Andree, at the least, likely came to Albert through the Franciscan Astesanus of Asti’s Summa de casibus conscientie (1317).5 Although it is difficult to identify which authorities came to Albert through compilations and which through the original sources, it seems clear that he had vari­ous works of Augustine, Gregory the ­Great, and Hugh of St. Victor at hand, as well as Peter Comestor’s Historia scholastica, since ­those figures are used in ways not found in the summae. Other works Albert seems to have ­contributed from his library included Thomas Aquinas’s Moral Exposition of the Mass, Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg’s (d. 1275) Compendium theologice veritatis, which was cited a number of times throughout and which also served as the basis for the eschatological addition to the revised versions of the work, the Summula Summa con3.  Albert consistently referred to Peter of Tarentaise as “Peter the Preacher.” All citations of Peter come directly from John of Freiburg’s Summa, where he is called simply “Peter” throughout. 4.  John Andree was a canon l­awyer from Florence who taught law in Bologna from c. 1301 ­until his death in 1348. For a brief biography, list of works and manuscripts, and relevant modern bibliography, see Kenneth Pennington, “Johannes Andreae,” in Bio-­Bibliographical Guide to Medieval and Early Modern Jurists, The Ames Foundation, https://­amesfoundation​.­law​.­harvard​.­edu​/­BioBibCanonists​ /­Report​_­Biobib2​.­php​?­record​_­id​=r­ 339. 5.  Astesanus de Asti, SCC. Munich, BSB 2 Inc.c.a. 688 is available at https://­api​.­digitale​-­sammlungen​ .­de​/­iiif​/­presentation​/­v2​/­bsb00045795​/­canvas​/­1​/­view. Astesanus’s Summa was one of the most widely distributed pastoral manuals ­after John of Freiburg’s.



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fessorum of Raymond of Penyafort, and works by Albert the ­Great, including the commentary on Aristotle’s Physics.6 Although he does not mention it by name, it is also likely that Albert had a copy of Burchard of Worms’s Decretum, based on internal evidence. Albert drew from a common well of authoritative theological and ­legal sources, but he was selective and intentional in the way he put t­ hose authorities to use. His framework was the holistic per­for­mance of priestly duties in a community, even when he incorporated material more theoretical than practical.7 Albert likely consulted John of Freiburg’s Summa on a topic before setting out to construct his own discussion. He generally used just a few chapters on a given topic out of dozens (sometimes hundreds) available to him in John’s Summa. Of twenty-­three questions having to do with Jews or Jewish-­Christian relations in the Summa, for example, Albert used material from only eight. He then rounded them out with material from other sources so that in the end he had twenty chapters dealing primarily or incidentally with Jews or Christian-­ Jewish relations, of which slightly less than half ­were based on John’s text. Of the 218 chapters John had written on excommunication, Albert included only ten. Sometimes Albert borrowed a question from John but then chose to answer it with dif­fer­ent authorities. For example, Albert framed his first question on contrition in almost the same terms as John had: John: Deinde inquirendum est de his tribus partibus penitentie in speciali et primo de contritione. Albert: Sequitur nunc videre de partibus penitentie in speciali et primo de contritione.8 But where John brought in Raymond of Penyafort, Peter of Tarentaise, and Thomas Aquinas in his 212-­word answer, Albert instead invoked Augustine, 6.  Albert mistakenly attributed the Compendium to Thomas Aquinas, as was frequently done. The work was also sometimes misattributed to Albert the ­Great or Bonaventure. A fourteenth-­century copy of the Compendium survives from the Diessen convent, Munich, BSB, Clm 5526, and it was likely the ­actual manuscript Albert used. See the manuscript description of the Diessen copy of the Compendium at Manuscripta mediaevalia: “Compendium theologice veritatis,” http://­bilder​.­manuscripta​-­mediaevalia​.­de​ /­hs//­katalogseiten​/­HSK0523a​_­a194​_­jpg​.­htm. That copy lacks attribution, and if that is, indeed, the copy Albert used, he would have been f­ ree to presume it was by Thomas. One l­ater copy of Albert’s Mirror was bound together with a folio of the final page of the Compendium, misattributed to Thomas Aquinas. See Cgm 3897, fol. 115r. On Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg’s Compendium theologice veritatis and its circulation in German lands, see Georg Steer, Hugo Ripelin von Straßburg: Zur Rezeptions-­und Wirkungsgeschichte des “Compendium theologicae veritatis” im deutschen Spätmittelalter (Berlin: De Gruyter, 1981). See also Compendium theologicae veritatis, University of Cambridge Library, https://­exhibitions​.­lib​.­cam​.­ac​ .­uk​/­dominicans​/­artifacts​/­compendium​-­theologicae​-­veritatis​/­. 7.  On the scholastic pastoral manual as an intellectual exercise, see Goering, “The Internal Forum. 8.  John of Freiburg, SC, book 3, title 33, question 17, fol. 257v; Clm 12781, fol. 33r.

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Peter Lombard, and Nicholas of Lyra in his shorter 132-­word response. The reason for the difference had to do with John’s need to set up the scholastic debate over contrition versus attrition in the paragraphs that followed, while Albert chose to avoid that debate.9 When Albert did take a chapter from John, he often abridged it heavi­ly, using just ­those ele­ments that seemed most impor­tant to him. For example, when John asked the question, “­whether intention of the mind is necessary for penitential prayer to be effective,” he wrote 539 words in answer, citing numerous authorities: Thomas Aquinas, Gregory the ­Great, 1 Corinthians 14:14, Hugh of St. Victor, Augustine, Basil, William Durandus, Cyprian, Song of Songs 5:2, and Bernard of Clairvaux. Albert asked the same question, framed the same way, but answered in only 72 words (13% of John’s text) and included only Thomas and Gregory from John’s set of authorities. In this way, Albert had a tendency to eliminate ambiguity and resolve firmly in ­favor of one par­ tic­ul­ ar position. Alternatively, as we see in the much-­discussed question of baptizing conjoined twins, sometimes Albert gave more attention to a par­tic­u­lar prob­lem than John had done. For the most part, Albert chose to include t­hose topics from John of Freiburg’s Summa that had a practical application for parish priests. Albert covered material from close to twenty of John’s thirty-­two chapters on baptism in the Summa. But where John jumped right into a theological discussion of the sacrament, Albert began with preparation for the ritual itself, covering pre-­ baptismal catechism, exorcism, anointing, and the role of spiritual parents (godparents) in the sacrament before beginning his discussion of the nature and per­for­mance of baptism itself.10 He asked many of the same questions John asked. What was the substance and form of baptism, and who should perform it? How should one ­handle an accidental second baptism? What should be done if it turned out that some necessary ele­ment of the baptismal form was missing? In cases of immediate need, are Jews, Muslims, or wicked Christians allowed to baptize a Christian infant at the parents’ behest? In a medical crisis, could a child be baptized while still in its ­mother’s womb?11 ­Those ­were all practical questions, but Albert also sometimes incorporated questions from John’s Summa meant to test the limits of theological understanding of   9.  For a helpful discussion of this debate, see Thomas Tentler, Sin and Confession on the Eve of the Reformation (Prince­ton: Prince­ton University Press, 2015), 250–73. Tentler points out that the effort to distinguish contrition from attrition emerged over the course of the thirteenth c­ entury, and it is not surprising that Albert depends almost entirely on pre-­thirteenth ­century sources to avoid it. 10.  John treated catechism and exorcism as separate topics in a new section following the section on baptism. 11.  Many of ­these questions w ­ ere addressed by Thomas Aquinas in his Summa and made their way to Albert by their incorporation into the work of John of Freiburg and Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg.



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the sacrament: Can an angel baptize? What about the devil in the shape of a ­human? And how should one h ­ andle the baptism of a child born with two heads—as one person or two? But Albert also asked many questions that John had not asked. Is it pos­si­ble for a person to baptize himself ? If an ordained cleric turns out not to have been baptized, should he be immediately baptized and then reordained? Or is the previous ordination valid? And if baptism consisted of three forms—­water, fire, and blood (fluminis, flaminis, sanguinis)—­was it pos­si­ble for some one to be baptized (in fire) by desire alone?12 Sometimes Albert began a discussion by following a question posed in the Summa but then veered off in his own direction. The question about baptizing conjoined twins is a good case in point. This was a compelling question that had elicited much discussion from the late-­thirteenth ­century forward. Albert began by quoting John of Freiburg almost verbatim, citing Thomas Aquinas as his authority.13 The answer depends on ­whether the child with two heads is imbued with one or two souls, and the text explains how to determine that. But since it is pos­si­ble to be mistaken in this judgment, it is better to baptize both with a caveat. ­After baptizing the first head, baptize the second with the usual formula prefaced by the statement, “if you are not yet baptized, then I baptize you.” But Albert also asked two follow-up questions that John had not: can one baptize a child born with the head of a dog or in some similar way lacking a distinctly ­human face? The answer, in that case, was no. And can one baptize an infant born part ­human and part animal? Again, the answer was no.14 Albert did not limit himself to what he found in the Summa. He incorporated additional material drawn from the scientific lit­er­a­ture about so-­called monstrous births and 12.  Albert told the story of a contrite Jew whose deathbed self-­baptism was considered valid in the chapter on baptism in three forms as an example of baptism by fire: Iudeus currens contritus ad ostia templi. Si sibi desuerint aqua, presbyter, et moriatur. Firmiter in christum credens, salvabitur iste. Clm 18387, fol. 6r. This story of the Jew does not appear in John of Freiburg. Albert quotes Raymond and a gloss on Raymond. He may have found this material directly in Raymond’s Summa with the gloss of William of Rennes, or he may have found it in the Summula de Summa Raymundi, a verse reworking of Raymond’s Summa attributed to “Master Adam” that circulated especially in Bavaria and Austria. See the 1495 Cologne Heinrich Quentell incunable edition digitized online ­here: Magister Adamus, “Summula de summa Raymundi,” BSB 4 Inc.c.a. 770 i#Beibd.1, https://­api​.­digitale​-­sammlungen​.­de​/­iiif​ /­presentation​/­v2​/­bsb00024862​/­canvas​/­1​/­view. See more on the story in chapter 5. 13.  Gabriella Zuccolin argues that the question attributed to Aquinas was actually by John Peckham. See Gabriella Zuccolin, “Two Heads Two Souls? Conjoined Twins in Theological Quodlibeta (1270–­c. 1310),” Quaestio 17 (2017): 573–95, ­here 575–76. For an impor­tant treatment of scholastic discussion of conjoined twins that also addresses pastoral lit­er­a­ture, see Irven Res­nick, “Conjoined Twins, Medieval Biology, and Evolving Reflection on Individual Identity,” Viator 44, no.  2 (2013): 343–68. 14.  Si autem natus fuerit puer cum capite canino, vel simili modo ita quod non habeat faciem hominis distinctam, non baptizetur. Eadem ratio est si natus fuerit puer ex parte homo et ex parte animal, etiam non baptizetur. Clm 12471, fol. 9v.

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Table 4.1  John of Freiburg and Albert of Diessen on Baptizing Conjoined Twins JOHN OF FREIBURG, SUMMA CONFESSORUM LIBER 3, TITULUS 24, QUESTIO 33, FOL. 171r

ALBERT OF DIESSEN, SPECULUM CLERICORUM, CLM 12471, FOL. 9v

Quid fiet cum baptisandus est monstrum natum cum duobus capitibus an factum baptisari debeat ut unus homo vel ut duo: Respondeo secundum Tho. in quadam questione de quolibet, Dicendum quod quando monstrum nascitur aut certum est duas esse animas rationabiles: aut non certum. Certum aut est si sint duo capita et duo colla et duo pectora: quia erunt per consequens duo corda. in tali casu baptisandi sunt ut duo et quamvis presumatur quod plures possunt similis baptisari dicendo, Ego baptiso vos ­etc. Tutius tamen est eos baptisare sigillatim. Amplius si est dubium verbi gratia si non sint duo capita bene distincta vel due cervices fundate in eadem nuca: tunc primo baptisandus est unus, et deinde illo baptisato potest alter dubie baptisari: dicendum si non es baptisatus, ego te baptiso, ­etc.

Utrum baptizandum sit monstrum. Queritur quid fiet cum baptizandum est monstrum natum cum duobus capitibus, an baptizari debeat sicut unus homo, vel duo. Super hoc dicit Thomas de aquino in questione de quolibet, Quando monstrum nascitur aut certum est ibi duas esse animas rationales aut non certum. Certum autem est si sint ibi duo capita et duo colla et duo pectora, quia per consequens erunt ibi duo corda et due anime. In tali casu baptizandi sunt ut duo, sic dicendo, Ego baptizo vos ­etc. Si vero non sunt ibi duo capita bene distincta, baptizetur sub forma unius, et deinde propter dubium tollendum baptizetur alter dicendo, Si non es baptizatus ­etc. Si autem natus fuerit puer cum capite canino, vel simili modo ita quod non habeat faciem hominis distinctam, non baptizetur. Eadem ratio est si natus fuerit puer ex parte homo et ex parte animal, etiam non baptizetur.

animal-­human hybrids. H ­ ere is a side-­by-­side comparison of John and Albert on the question of baptizing conjoined twins, or so-­called “monsters” (­table 4.1). Albert took ­those last two questions about animal-­human hybrids even further, devoting an entire paragraph next to the case of a child born of a beast, who likewise should not be baptized.15 He introduced Thomas Aquinas on the characteristics of a ­human being and the four ways in which ­humans have been created: directly by God from earth, as was the case with Adam; directly by God from the first h ­ uman, as was the case with Eve, through h ­ uman reproduction, as had been the case for humanity since Adam and Eve w ­ ere made; and directly born of a w ­ oman without a man, as was the case when Christ was born of the Virgin Mary. But any child born of an animal falls outside of 15.  Quod puer natus de pecude non sit baptizandus. Queritur utrum baptizandus sit puer natus de pecude, et videtur quod non, quia secundum thomam de aquino, quatuor reperiuntur modi ad productionem hominis. Primus fuit nec de viro nec de muliere sicut in adam, qui fuit plasmatus de terra. Secundus de viro sine muliere, ut in eva que de costa viri fuit formata. Tertius de viro et muliere sicut tota posteritas generis humani quemadmodum deus dixit, Crescite et multiplicamini. Quartus de muliere sine viro, ut in christo, qui natus est de virgine per virtutem operatoris summi. De quo dicit propheta Omnia quecumque voluit fecit in celo et in terra. Et quia predictorum modorum nullus in tali casu pretenditur, ideo puer de pecude natus, non homo censetur et ergo non baptizatur. Unde Ysidorus dicit, Non possunt secundum christum renasci qui secundum adam non sunt nati. The text goes on to say that a child born of a beast could only happen through a violation of the prohibition in Leviticus against lying with beasts and ends with this: Si autem puer natus de homine vel de pecude si ignoratur et casu inventus fuerit baptizetur secundum raymundum qui dicit, Invento puero baptismi gratia detur. Clm 12471, fol. 9v–10r.



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t­ hese modes of creation, and therefore such a child would not be considered ­human and should not be baptized. If that argument w ­ ere not enough, he went on to say that the only way a child could be born of an animal would be through intercourse between h ­ uman and animal, which is strictly forbidden in Leviticus and is cast as an abomination deserving of death. Therefore, baptism of such a child was not called for. Albert made an exception in the case where a child was born, but one did not know ­whether that child was ­human or beast; then one ­ought to baptize on the princi­ple established by Raymond concerning a case where one does not know w ­ hether a nonrepeatable sacrament was performed (or performed properly). That is, perform the sacrament anyway, prefacing the formula with, “if you are not baptized/confirmed/­ ordained, then . . .” followed by the usual formula.16 At first glance, Albert’s concern with hybrid animal-­humans seems odd for a work that ostensibly focuses particularly on ­those practical t­hings that a parish priest needed to know to serve his community. It is unlikely enough that a parish priest would encounter conjoined twins in his lifetime, but at least ­there was an established scholastic concern such that it may have been deemed useful knowledge. Many pastoral manuals addressed the question about baptizing a child with two heads. But I have seen in none of t­ hese the additional question about a child born with a dog’s head or similar, or the follow-up question on a child born part animal.17 The additional material seems distinctive to Albert, and in his ­later revision of this part of the work in 1373 he makes it clear that he was drawing from scientific writing, specifically Albert the ­Great’s Commentary on Physics, book 2, where the German Dominican had addressed the phenomenon of dog-­headed ­children and similar in the context of stellar rays and their pos­si­ ble influence on h ­ uman conception and fetal formation.18 It seems unique to bring that scientific material into conversation with the scholastic question on baptizing conjoined twins. We know from the additions at the back of the 1373 16.  Albert attributes to Raymond the saying “Invento puero baptismi gratia detur, but that specific statement is not found in the edited version of the Summa Poenitentia. It may appear in the Summula de Raymundi or elsewhere. The general princi­ple is indeed found in Raymond’s Summa, book 3, title 24, paragraph 6, SRP, 661. 17.  Among the manuals that include the question on conjoined twins we find Guido of Monte Rochen’s Manipulus curatorum and Herman von Schildesche’s Speculum manuale sacerdotum. The Bamberg 1491 edition of Herman’s Speculum is digitized online: Munich, BSB, 4 Inc.s.a. 1000 m, https://­api​ .­digitale​-­sammlungen​.­de​/­iiif​/­presentation​/­v2​/­bsb00039495​/­canvas​/­1​/­view. 18.  Albert the G ­ reat did not address the question of baptism at all, only the pos­si­ble existence of such a being. In the revised manuscripts, Albert of Diessen says explic­itly that he is drawing on Albert the ­Great’s Commentum in libros physicorum 2. For a discussion of Albert the G ­ reat’s teaching on teratology, see Luke Demaitre and Anthony A. Travill, “­Human Embryology and Development in the Works of Albertus Magnus,” in Albertus Magnus and the Sciences: Commemorative Essays 1980, ed. James A. Weisheipl (Toronto: PIMS, 1980): 405–40.

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Diessen manuscript that Albert’s colleagues w ­ ere interested in natu­ral philosophy, particularly astronomy. Several works on this material ­were also part of the canons’ library that went to Munich in the nineteenth c­ entury. It seems likely that Albert brought that philosophical material into the discussion of baptism simply b­ ecause it came to mind when he was addressing a related topic. Confronted with the question of baptizing “monstrous ­children,” he thought to address in priestly fashion a type of birth that came to his attention elsewhere. We see through this example that while Albert drew primarily from well-­ known and often discussed material, he also could range far afield if a par­tic­u­ lar topic caught his attention and he thought it worth sharing. He viewed John of Freiburg’s Summa as an impor­tant source of information on pastoral care, but he did not feel an obligation to the material contained t­here, sometimes choosing to draw from other summae or compendia or individual works. Astesanus’s Summa de casibus conscientie and Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg’s Compendium theologice veritatis ­were apparently impor­tant to him, but his singular citation of Franciscans Nicholas of Lyra (on contrition) and Hugo de Novocastro (on fasting) suggests that he prob­ably had another Franciscan work at hand as well.19 In addition to sources from existing compilations, Albert often brought in wisdom from complete texts of authors he knew well: Church ­Fathers (especially Augustine), Hugh of St. Victor, Peter Comestor, and Peter Lombard, above all ­else. His priority was devising a coherent instruction manual that could provide every­thing a practicing parish priest in his region would need to know (especially if read alongside the relevant diocesan synodals). But he had confidence in the intellectual capacity of his parish priests, and he included quite a lot of less practical material that nevertheless would help his reader understand the nature of the sacraments for which they ­were responsible and, in some cases, contribute to an engaging quality in the work.

The Shape of the Text Any number of models ­were available to Albert as he considered the ideal format for his pastoral guide. The choices he made in structure and content tell us much about how he i­ magined Christian communities and the priests who served them. The shape of the Mirror in its several versions, especially the ­extensive revisions in 1373 and 1377, provides impor­tant evidence of pastoral lit­er­a­ture as a bidirectional pro­cess (that is, an interactive pro­cess between 19.  Although both Nicholas and Hugo w ­ ere active around the same time as Astesanus, the specific passages cited by Albert do not appear in the Summa de casibus.



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c­ ompiler and his readers). This chapter attends to differences between the first and l­ater versions in a general sense, and then chapter 5 takes a deeper look through three case studies. Albert conceived of the Priest’s Mirror as a work in two distinct parts, introduced with a prologue meant to frame the ­whole and some preliminary chapters on the role of preaching in a parish context. Part 1 contains a discussion of each of the seven sacraments in turn, whereas part 2 consists of a miscellaneous collection of additional material that Albert thought especially impor­ tant for priests to know.20 The subject m ­ atter in the second section pertains to questions that might come up in pastoral care, sometimes expanding on sacramental m ­ atters, but also dealing with other nonsacramental functions of a priest: maintaining a cemetery, collecting and managing tithes, managing Christian-­Jewish encounters, understanding the place of the physically or mentally ill in a community, and so on. In editions 2 and 3 of the text, this part also included a long treatment of the end of days (De fine mundi). In edition 1, Albert separated the two parts with an explicit at the end of part 1 and what amounted to a second prologue at the beginning of part 2.21 Decoration and rubrication also made it clear that part 1 was ending and part 2 was beginning.22 For some reason, Albert minimized the vis­i­ble separation of the two parts in the l­ater editions, eliminating the brief introduction to part 2. The Mirror’s prologue starts with a thoughtful discussion of the priest’s role in Christian society and the prob­lem of clerical ignorance as an impediment to a well-­f unctioning community.23 Albert opened with vivid imagery of the priests of the Old Law, invoking Exodus 30:18 and 38:8 on the making of the priests’ laver (washbasin) for the desert tabernacle: We read in Exodus that Moses made a bronze laver out of the mirrors of the w ­ omen who attended the entrance to the tabernacle, in which 20.  Postquam de septem sacramentis et eorum articulis breviter dictum est. Restat nunc videre de ceteris circumstantiis valde necessariis: que huic libello quamvis exiguo michi placuit inserere ut novellus clericulus pauca de pluribus ad studendum valeat absque difficultate insimul compacta lectitare. Clm 12471, fol. 69r. 21.  Albert emphasizes the value of study, suggesting that studying the Mirror of Priests ­will serve as a bulwark against the evil that leisure invites. He quotes Jerome’s advice to “always be working so that if the devil stops by, h ­ e’ll find you busy,” and Alcuin’s assertion that knowledge itself serves as a mirror. Clm 12471, fol. 69r. 22.  In the first edition, Clm 12471, the prologue and introductory material extend from fols. 1r– 3v, part 1 from fols. 3v–68v, and part 2 from fols. 69r–88v. In the third edition, Clm 18387, the introductory material extends from fols. 1r–3r, part 1 from fols. 3r–55v, and part 2 from fols. 55v–84v. 23. ­There was already a well-­established tradition bemoaning clerical ignorance in the pastoral lit­er­ a­ture of the twelfth ­century and beyond. On the theme of clerical ignorance in En­glish pastoral lit­er­a­ ture, see Boyle, “The Oculus sacerdotis.” However, the rhetorical function of “the ignorance trope” varied in dif­fer­ent contexts. In some cases, parish priests might have been poorly educated. Albert’s canon-­priests, however, would have been quite well educated if still unformed in certain specific areas.

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Aaron and his sons could wash before entering into the Holy of Holies. According to the Gloss, the laver served as a mirror in which the priests could remove any stain they might have on their ­faces or their clothing.24 Jewish and Christian tradition held that the laver possessed reflective properties; not only was the basin made from mirrors, but the ­water in the laver had an unusual mirror-­like quality. By washing in this basin, the priests made themselves suitable for performing the work of sacrifice, and, as Albert explains it, the priests could check themselves in the “mirror” of the laver to make sure they ­were prepared for their sacred work. The use of this passage, which does not appear in any other pastoral manual that I know of, is in­ter­est­ing ­because it highlights the link between the priests, the p­ eople, and the proper worship of God.25 Albert drew a direct connection between the physical stains ancient Israelite priests used the mirror to eradicate and the stain of ignorance among priests of his day. As the mirror-­like laver of biblical antiquity protected the integrity of Aaron and his sons, Albert’s Priest’s Mirror would serve to protect the integrity of parish priests. He continued to build on the mirror analogy with a citation from the New Testament ( James 1:23–26): “Anyone who listens to the Word but does not do what it says is like someone who looks at his face in a mirror and, ­after looking at himself, goes away and immediately forgets what he looks like. Forgetting leads to ignorance, and ignorance is the 24.  Legimus in exodo, centesimo xii (!) capitulo, quod moyses fecit labrum eneum de speculis mulierum que excubabant ad ostium tabernaculi in quo lavarentur aaron et filii eius dum ingrederentur in sancta sanctorum. Iste articulus sic exponitur in scolastica historia. In circuitu labii supremi circumposita fuerunt specula in quibus sacerdos videre posset si uspiam in facie vel in veste maculam haberet abluendam. Clm 12471, fol. 1r. I am not sure why this manuscript references Exodus “chapter 112.” Exodus only contains forty chapters; no priest of Albert’s level of learning would mistakenly think t­here could be a 112th chapter of the book. Does this refer to the 112th chapter of another work that discusses this passage of Exodus? Did Albert misread his rough draft of the work when he copied this out? That seems quite unlikely since we find rubrication and attention to the opening. In any case, the reference to any par­tic­u­lar chapter number is missing from Albert’s subsequent editions of the text and from most ­later copies of edition 1 as well. 25.  There is abundant discussion of the bronze laver in patristic and medieval Bible commentaries, but I have not found another example of it being used as a framework in pastoral lit­er­a­ture as Albert does ­here. However, the Augustinian rule established in the Praeceptum (c. 397) invokes the general idea of rule as mirror, advising members of the community to consult the rule weekly as if it ­were a mirror to monitor be­hav­ior and practice: Ut autem uos in hoc libello tamquam in speculo possitis inspicere, ne per obliuionem aliquid neglegatis, semel in septimana uobis legatur. Augustine, Praeceptum 8.2, in Sarah Salih, Imagining the Pagan. In the related genre of spiritual formation, the monk Conrad (c. 1080–­c.1150) appealed to this passage on the ­women’s mirrors in a book written for female religious near Hirsau called Speculum virginum (Mirror of Virgins). See the article by Laura Michele Diener, “Entering the Bedchamber of Your Soul: How Religious W ­ omen Learned Learned the Art of Monastic Meditation,” in A Companion to Pastoral Care in the Late M ­ iddle Ages (1200–1500), ed. Ronald Stansbury (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 339–62, h ­ ere 347–48.



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­ other of all error.”26 As the laver was meant to be used as a check each time m the priests prepared offerings, so Albert’s manual is a mirror that priests can look into again and again to ensure that they are approaching their sacred duties (in the fullest sense of what that might involve) properly prepared. In his revised versions of the prologue, Albert added this stark warning about priestly ignorance from Hosea 4:6: “Since you have rejected knowledge, I ­will reject you, and you w ­ ill not be a priest to me.”27 Albert may have minimized his ­expertise and authority in the crafting of the guide, but at the same time, by presenting his guide as an antidote to the serious danger inherent in taking on the duties of a priest without proper knowledge and commitment, he offers the work as authoritative. Albert returned to analogies with ancient Israelite priests periodically throughout the Mirror, when he wanted to add color to the text or to elevate some aspect of priestly activity, giving weight to the work of the priest himself. Instructing his readers in the use of bells in the mass, for example, he pointed to the command to use trumpets in ancient Israel ­under the Old Law, as described in Numbers 10 and elsewhere. Discussing the manner in which a priest ­ought to perform the mass, Albert reminded his readers that the priest ­ought to be sober (in the sense of “not inebriated” rather than in the sense of “serious”). The justification for this? “We read that God said to Aaron ‘you may not drink wine or anything that inebriates, you and your sons when you enter the tabernacle of testimony, lest you die.’ ”28 John of Freiburg had discussed sobriety in the context of ordination, but even though his discussion was far longer than Albert’s, he never mentioned God forbidding Aaron and his sons from drinking when they prepared to go into the sanctuary.29 ­There ­were references in canon law to priestly drunkenness that Albert might have quoted, but t­ here was something compelling to him about Old Law priestly practice. In ­these passages, it is as if Albert is encouraging the parish priest to imagine 26.  Hec igitur consideranda sunt sacerdotibus novi testamenti et iugi memoria recolenda quia secundum iacobum, auditor verbi et non f­actor comparabitur viro consideranti vultum nativitatis sue in speculo. Sequitur in ibidem, Consideravit enim se et abiit et oblitus est qualis fuerit. Ecce recessus a speculo parit oblivionem. oblivio autem gingnit ignorantiam, ignorantia vero est mater errorum. Unde apostolus, Siquis ignorat ignorabitur. Cum itaque voluntaria ignorantia omnibus sit noxia, sacerdotibus est periculosa. Clm 12471, fol. 1r. 27.  Et ideo sacerdoti ceco et ignaro dicit dominus per Osee prophetam, Quia tu scientiam repulisti, ego repellam te, ne sacerdotio fungaris michi. Clm 18387, fol. 1r. 28.  Prerogativas plures habet missa . . . ​Secunda est quod a ieiunio tantum et sobrio celebrari debet. Legitur enim quod dominus dixit ad aaron, Vinum et omne quod inebriare potest non bibetis, tu et filii tui, quando intratis tabernaculum testimonii ne forte moriamini. Clm 18387, fol. 12v–13r. 29.  John of Freiburg’s treatment instead focused on the dangers of over-­indulgence. Invoking Raymond of Penyafort and Ulrich of Strasbourg he cautioned that drinking could lead to libidinous activity and stand as an impediment to proper devotion to God. John of Freiburg, SC, book 3, title 4, question 1, fol. 140r.

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himself in the dress and with the gravity of Aaron and his sons. Albert’s use of Old Testament imagery encouraged an embodied connection to the ancient priesthood as worthy of contemplation, imagination, and emulation. Having set the scene for priestly practice, Albert reflected next on the definition of ignorance as articulated by Peter Comestor in the Historia scholastica. He presented his purpose in writing in terms of redress of this ignorance: “I have written this compendium from many sayings of the f­ athers and called it the Mirror of Priests, especially to inform ­those who, on account of scarcity of books, do not have t­hose ­things that are necessary and therefore remain uneducated.”30 ­There are clues throughout the text that the “new” and “uneducated” clerics Albert had in mind w ­ ere Augustinian Canons Regular with parish responsibilities (rather than secular parish priests).31 In that same prologue, he bemoans priests who remain ignorant, blindly leading the blind into peril, valuing power over discretion. He complains that they give attention “not to canons, but to dogs and falcons,” causing grave scandal to the church.32 This was not mere wordplay (canonici/canonibus/canibus). Additional references l­ater in the text make it clear that he truly ­imagined his audience as composed of canons operating as parish priests. Throughout the text, we see a framing of discussion for someone who served a parish, as, for example, when Albert discusses the bringing of first fruits to the parish church, or when he reminds his readers of the obligation to “proclaim to the p­ eople of the parish entrusted to him the mandated vigils and feasts of the saints, one by one.”33 30.  Ut autem ignorantia tam nociva supplantetur per clerum, idcirco ego albertus canonicus regularis in Dyssen licet minimus presens opusculum quamvis compendiosum ex multorum sententiis patrum collegi, et speculum clericorum intytulavi, ad informationem illorum specialiter qui propter penuriam librorum ea que ipsis necessaria forent discere non valent. Et licet imperitus existam et indoctus, tamen ad hoc negocium operam dedi, et vigilantiam adhibui, ut simplicioribus clericis solacium caritatis in mei memoriam exhiberem cuiuslibet arboris exemplo que in estu solis arescit tamen transeuntibus refrigerium prestare videtur. Clm 12471, fol. 1v–2r. 31.  Despite Albert’s choice of the umbrella term “clericus” in the title, he intended his work for active priests with the care of souls. Perhaps he chose to call the book Speculum clericorum rather than Speculum presbytorum or Speculum sacerdotem to call the widely known thirteenth-­century “Stella clericorum,” to mind. On that e­ arlier text, see Eric H. Reiter, ed., Stella clericorum (Toronto: PIMS, 1997). ­There is l­ittle similarity between the two works beyond the title. 32.  Quibus verbis quorundam sacerdotum presumptio retunditur, qui gloriantur de clave potestatis, minime curantes de clave discretionis, non canonibus sed canibus operam dantes et falconibus. Clm 12471, fol. 1v. 33.  On the discussion of oblation (first fruits), see Clm 12471, fol. 80v–81r. The mandate to announce holy days to the parish reads, Omnibus dominicis diebus debet sacerdos parrochialis populo sibi commisso pronunciare vigilias statutas et festa sanctorum singulariter exprimendo. Clm 12471, fol. 3r. On fols. 3v–4r we see another reference to ser­vice in a parish: “­After having demonstrated how priests ­ought to take care of the ­people entrusted to them through preaching, it follows to see in what manner they ­ought to take care of them through the per­for­mance of [sacramental] work” (Postquam ostensum est qualiter sacerdotes debeant preesse populo sibi commisso per verbum predicationis, consequenter videndum est quomodo preesse debeant per effectum operationis).



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The explicit affirms this. Albert returned to the mirror image of his opening lines and expressed hope that the book would serve as a mirror through which “new clerics” would come to understand how to serve “the p­ eople entrusted to their care.”34 Albert presumed his new canons would have had a substantial base of learning ­under their b­ elts, upon which this text would build.35 The structure of a pastoral manual varied based on a par­tic­ul­ar author/ compiler’s training but equally based on his intended audience. Peter of Poiters’ manual had been aimed at the pastoral needs of a clerical/scholarly audience, and his Compilatio praesens shows signs of that, opening with the categorization of sin as spiritual or carnal, and addressing first the sins of greed, gluttony, and drunkenness. The emphasis on clerical sins of overindulgence makes sense in the context of a scholastic community. Mendicant authors tended to emphasize the priest’s role as confessor, since that was their most prominent point of engagement with the laity ­after preaching. The Dominicans Raymond of Penyafort and John of Freiburg both or­ga­nized their Summae around penance and confession, so that even the discussion of other sacramental practice was made to fit within that framework. John of Erfurt or­ga­ nized his work according to a division between seven deadly sins and Ten Commandments, but he prefaced the work with a lengthy seven-­folio introduction to the sacrament of confession and the role of the confessor, and what followed through the next 217 folios was built around the notion of friar as confessor.36 The comprehensive nature of ­these mendicant manuals also reflects their role in education and the formation of habits of mind. Albert, while he used scholastic manuals for source material, followed closely the direction of other authors of guides by and/or for parish priests, who transformed material from scholastic manuals to meet their own readers’ needs. This meant highlighting sacramental practice (rather than using penance/confession as an organ­izing princi­ple) and thinking about the full range of a parish priest’s duties. In contrast to the most widely diffused, mendicant-­authored manuals circulating in Albert’s day, which not only emphasized confession but also often replicated the structure of canon law collections, Albert or­ga­nized his book around the world of a parish priest. His instructions for ritual/­sacramental 34.  Explicit: Ut autem in hoc libello tamquam in speculo clerici novelli possint inspicere qualiter presint populis sibi conmissis, ipsum libellum sepius legant, relegant, et adtendant, ne per oblivionem seu ignorantiam aliquis negligant. Patri luminum semper gratias agant, a quo omne datum optimum et omne donum perfectum descendit. Nemo enim donis dei est beatus qui donanti existit ingratus. Unde beatus Bernhardus in libello de honesta vita dicit, Non parva dampnatio manet illi cui deus ministrat scripturam unde possit proficere, si contempnit. Completus est libellus iste anno domini M ccc lxix Scolastice vigili. Clm 12471, fol. 88v. 35.  On the nature of education within communities of Augustinian Canons Regular, see introduction and chapter 2. 36.  Breiskorn, SCJE.

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per­for­mance established the role of the priest in weaving the fabric of the Christian community. Albert did this consciously, not only by the sort of information on sacramental practice he included, but also by building links with the earthly and heavenly Jerusalem in the many passages where he associated the practice of canons with the practice of Israelite priests in the desert tabernacle or in Jerusalem. Priestly ritual intervention forged Albert’s i­magined Christian community.37 Despite Albert’s use of scholastic manuals as source material and his embrace of their quaestio format, the feel of his work is decidedly less scholastic than his models. T ­ here is no par­tic­u­lar effort at systematic order or symmetry in his pre­sen­ta­tion of material. ­There is no formal division into parts, and in the first edition, no chapter/title numbers or table of chapter headings to facilitate use (although he did add chapter numbers and a ­table of contents to subsequent editions). Instead, s­ imple rubrication and decoration serve to visually break the text into chapters and to indicate transitions. Compare this with John of Freiburg’s organ­ization of the Summa into books, titles, and questions, or John of Erfurt’s organ­ization of his Summa into seven categories based on the seven deadly sins and a counterpart based on the Ten Commandments. The formal, technical markers that make many of the summae so useful in a scholastic classroom are missing ­here. The flow of the work gives the impression of direct and immediate communication between Albert and his intended audience. From the beginning Albert tried to foster a sense of connection between the priests who made up his audience and the communities they served. ­After the prologue, the Mirror opened with a quotation of Timothy 5: “Let the priests that rule well, be esteemed worthy of double honor: especially they who l­ abor in the word and doctrine.” The reference to laboring in word and doctrine in Timothy is taken by Albert as a direct reference to the priest’s role in preaching and teaching, and he offers two chapters on the topic: “How the priest ­ought to preside over the ­people entrusted to his care through preaching the word,” and “On proclaiming ­every Sunday.”38 The treatment of preaching in the first section is quite elementary. The priest must prepare sermons and o ­ ught to choose an appropriate theme based primarily on passages from the gospels, prophets, and epistles, although other books of the Bible might also be appropriate. As Jesus explic­itly sent his disciples out into the world to preach the word, preaching is the Christian priest’s first and central duty, and he o ­ ught to use evocative language to spark the imagination of his listeners. In the first 37.  See Smith, To Take Place, for a discussion of the way in which ritual action serves to integrate physical and conceptual space, thereby producing a sacred place. 38.  Quod sacerdos debet preesse populo sibi commisso per verbum predicationis and De pronunciatione diebus dominicis. Clm 12471, fols. 2r–3r and 3r–3v.



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edition of the Mirror, Albert leaned on biblical prooftexts and patristic sources to describe the work of preaching in parishes. In his revised versions, however, he took a more up-­to-­date scholastic approach to the art of preaching, adding several new chapters, including a discussion of the four ­causes of preaching.39 At the end of two chapters on preaching in edition 1 (eight chapters in the revised version), Albert addressed the importance of virtuous living as a corollary to preaching. The priest should not teach one set of values to the ­people in preaching and then live another way. This concluding discussion reinforced the effect of the entire prologue as a call to ethical guidance of the laity. This ethical/moral call to parish priests stands out against the juridical model constructed by ­legal scholars like Raymond of Penyafort and embraced by John of Freiburg, whose orga­nizational framework was built upon the structure of canon law collections and who began his work by drawing lines against outsiders—­the simoniacs, heretics, Jews, Muslims, and o ­ thers who allegedly “commit crimes against God.” Albert would have the priest check his own be­ hav­ior (i.e., look at his reflection in the bronze laver) before performing the impor­tant work of leading his flock.

Mirror of Priests Part 1: Sacramental Practice The next and longest part of the Mirror contains a thorough treatment of the seven sacraments, giving attention to each as Albert thought necessary for an audience of priests serving in small-­town or rural parishes. Albert began with a theological consideration of the priest’s sacramental function and the origin of the sacraments: “How the priest o ­ ught to preside over the p­ eople through works and on the origin of the sacraments.”40 Albert appealed to the notion of Christ as physician and sacrament as heavenly medicine for the healing of humankind, quoting Thomas Aquinas (actually Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg) in book 6 of the Compendium theologice veritatis. Albert borrowed heavi­ly from the content found in John of Freiburg’s Summa in this section, but he did so freely, 39.  Clm 18387, fols. 1v–2v. A helpful introduction to medieval works on the art of preaching, including editions of texts and En­glish translations may be found in Siegfried Wenzel, The Art of Preaching: Five Medieval Texts and Translations (Washington, DC: Catholic University of Amer­i­ca Press, 2013). We also find a discussion of the four senses of scripture in Albert’s hand among the additional paragraphs in Clm 5668 (edition 2), with an indication that it ­ought to be read alongside chapter 9 on preaching: Quadriformi ratione tota series divinorum eloquiorum est distinguenda: Historica, Allegorica, Tropologica, et Anagogica, fol. 187r. However, this is one of the last paragraphs in Albert’s own hand and is among ­those that Albert seems to have written ­after 1377; it is not found in edition 3. 40.  Quod sacerdotes debet preesse populo per effectum operationis, et de origine sacramentorum. Clm 12471, fol. 3v.

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intentionally, and with a dif­fer­ent effect. The relative importance of sacramental culture broadly writ and sin and penance specifically are flipped in Albert’s work. John of Freiburg began his confessor’s manual, carefully following the structure of Raymond of Penyafort’s Summa de casibus, with a detailed accounting of sins against God (book 1) and h ­ umans (book 2). Only then, ­after prolonged attention to the ways in which h ­ umans fail God and each other, did he begin to discuss, in book 3, sacramental practice. And when he fi­nally arrived at his discussion of the sacraments, he did so in a way that reflected his commitment to Raymond of Penyafort and a par­tic­u­lar Dominican intellectual tradition of juridicized penance. Following Raymond’s Summa de casibus poenitentia, he treated ordination first, in twenty-­three long titles, each composed of numerous chapters, before ever getting to baptism, which might reasonably be considered first from the perspective of a priest with primary care of souls in a par­tic­u­lar community.41 John did not treat marriage in the context of other sacraments, but dedicated a separate, fourth book to the subject, based on Raymond of Penyafort’s original decision to treat marriage as a separate work, the Summa de matrimonio.42 Albert, by contrast, moved from his brief opening paragraphs directly into sacramental work, considering each sacrament in turn. We find (in the order each sacrament appears) 22 chapters on baptism, 4 on confirmation, 64 on the Eucharist 116 on penance, 20 on ordination, 54 on marriage, and 11 on extreme unction. Most of the material Albert presented was practical, concerning ­either theological foundations (what a sacrament is, how it works, and so on) or practical applications. Occasionally, he included material ­because he found it in­ter­est­ing or compelling (as we saw when he posed the question about baptizing hybrid animal-­children). One ­thing that remains consistent is an abiding interest in the priestly construction of community through sacramental and nonsacramental practice. ­Whether he focused on the hows and whens or the whys and wherefores, Albert tended to emphasize t­hings relevant to the building of a successful parish. We see this in the material he chose to incorporate from existing pastoral guides and in the editorial choices he made when he expanded his original text in subsequent revisions. In many ways—­large and small—­Albert established the parish priest as gatekeeper for the community, a role that mendicants and other priests serving outside a parish context did not quite share.

41.  To be clear, John was simply following the structure of Raymond of Penyafort’s Summa ­here. As described in chapter 2, John saw his work as an updating of Raymond’s Summa rather than a new competing work. 42.  SPR, books B and C.



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A brief example from Albert’s treatment of the Eucharist may be instructive ­here. Only penance received more attention than the Eucharist in the Mirror, and that is not surprising given how central that sacrament was to the ongoing life of a parish. But the specific ­things that interested Albert seem somewhat dif­fer­ent from the ­things that interested John of Freiburg, John of Erfurt, and other authors of comprehensive manuals. Thomas Izbicki in The Eucharist in Medieval Canon Law describes the special concern manifest in pastoral lit­er­a­ture for the purity of the Eucharist (both bread and wine), while it was in the hands of the priest.43 Albert was concerned about that, too, but he seemed more concerned about the purity of the Eucharist as it was consumed by the ­people, and especially about the purity of the community created through communion. John had written eighty-­four chapters on the sacrament (compared to Albert’s sixty-­four), and Albert borrowed the largest part of his material in this section directly from John. But Albert added additional material about who ­ought and who ­ought not take communion. He included John’s questions concerning actors (no), the mentally ill (during lucid periods, yes), and lepers and menstruating ­women (for lepers, it depends on an individual’s physical state; for menstruating ­women, yes).44 But then Albert added paragraphs on usurers (no), p­ eople who are deaf or mute (yes), and for w ­ omen post-­partum (yes). Even when Albert began a chapter with John’s text, he often added material of his own. For example, in his discussion of why actors ­ought not be given communion, he followed John (citing Cyprian) in saying that since actors do not re­spect the discipline of the church or the divine, they should be excluded from communion. But then Albert continued, defining actors as jesters, who “by diverse and perverse means make fools of men,” and who often “lack moral virtue” and lead ­people astray, so that it is not appropriate that they be admitted to communion.45 Further evidence of Albert’s interest in both protecting the Eucharist from undeserving hands and protecting the community constructed by participation in the Eucharist is found at the end of the section on this sacrament. He 43.  Thomas  M. Izbicki, The Eucharist in Medieval Canon Law (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2015), 78–85. 44.  The specific term Albert used to indicate mental illness here is furiosus, which is also the term he prefers when he is talking about pos­si­ble impediments to marriage. Elsewhere he elaborates on vari­ous terms to describe ­those who have suffered a disease of the mind, such as freneticus, lunaticus, ­etc. Clm 18387, fols. 11r, 53r. 45.  Histriones dicuntur ioculatores qui diversis et perversis modis visus hominum solent infatuare. Vel histriones dicuntur qui historias et cantilenas sciunt recitare. aliis quidem multa narrantes de virtutibus habendis et vitiis evitandis cum ipsi sint plurimum vitiosi et virtutibus vacui. Ergo ad communionem non debent admitti. Clm 12471, fol. 15v. In subsequent editions, Albert eliminated this elaboration on the character of actors and included only John’s comments.

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concluded with a final paragraph, not found in John’s Summa or any other similar works, containing a long list of ­people who ­ought not be allowed to partake of the Eucharist or the veneration of the cross on Good Friday.46 That list included Jews, Muslims, and heretics; pythonesses and sorcerers; adulterers and concubines; perjurers and t­hose who bore false witness; t­hose who had committed capital crimes; t­hose who had harmed clerics, their parents, ­widows, or orphans; w ­ omen who had suffocated their ­children; ­those who forcibly withheld wages; t­ hose who improperly retained t­ hings not their own, rapists and arsonists; t­hose who committed sacrilege or who w ­ ere mentally ill (furiosi); usurers and similar transgressors; ­those who did not pay the tithe, ­those who ­were not obedient to the teachings of the church; ­those who abandoned their own domain without cause; detractors; traitors; t­hose who had been publicly excommunicated; actors; taverners; gamblers; gamers; t­ hose who danced (korizantes) on Sundays or feast days; t­ hose who did not make proper satisfaction for hom­i­cide; t­ hose who had made vows but not fulfilled them; ­those who had not completed assigned penance; t­ hose who had not properly confessed; falsifiers; ­those who gave evil counsel; ­those who taught by means of bad words or examples; t­ hose who colored or perverted the appearance in some way; ­those who had recently experienced an epileptic seizure; ­those who w ­ ere mentally ill, obsessed, or possessed (energumini, obsessi, frenetici, amentes); judges, criers, and advocates who knowingly put forward an unjust sentence; ­those who blasphemed and cursed; strangers, unknown or scurre (by which he would have meant jongleurs, mimes, buffoons, or other wandering entertainers); ­those who w ­ ere servants to Jews; ­those who had killed Jews without ­legal pro­cess; ­those who had separated themselves from the name of God; all t­ hose who had been barred from communion in the forum of secret confession.47 46.  The form of Albert’s list looks very much like a list of who ­ought to be excluded from communion in a mid-­fifteenth-­century synodal from Eichstätt, although the specific issues are dif­fer­ent. It raises the possibility that Albert may have been copying information from the synodal of Augsburg in use when he was writing. Since ­these documents have not survived, we cannot know for certain. The Eichstätt synodal, German National Museum Hs 17912, is available at http://­dlib​.­gnm​.­de​/­item​/­Hs17912. See fols. 40r–­v (the website indicates that the folios should be numbered 36r–­v). 47.  Qui sint excludendi a communione in cena domini et in parasceven. Sancta mater ecclesia redemptoris sui sequens vestigia penitentes reconciliat inobedientes vero reicit et dampnat. Qua propter videndum est qui sint excludendi a communione corporis et sanguinis christi in cena domini et in parasceve. Iudei pagani et heretici, Phitonisse et sortilegi, adulteri et adultere et concubinarii, Periuri et falsi testes, capitales inimicitias habentes, Offensores cleri et parentum aut viduarum vel orphanorum, Suffocatrices puerorum, Detentores mercedis violenter, Male quesita retinentes, Raptores et incendiarii, Sacrilegi et fures, Usuraris et similes, Decimas corporis et rerum non persolventes, Preceptis ecclesie non obedientes, A dominio proprio absque causa legitima recedentes, Detractores, Traditores, In excommunicatione publica existentes, Hystriones, Tabernarii, lusores et globizatores [aleatores?], Dominicis et festivis diebus korizantes, Hom­i­cide non satisfacientes, Vota voventes et non reddentes, Penitentiam iniunctam non complentes, Non confessi vel nequiter confessi, Falsarii cuiuscumque rei, Mali consiliarii, Doctores mali verbis vel exemplis,



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Many guides simply say that a person in a state of mortal sin o ­ ught not take communion; Albert’s expansiveness ­here is notable.48 His inclination to restrict participation in communion is striking. The long list of persons to be excluded from participation in communion is at the far end of a longstanding uncertainty about the wisdom of participating in the Eucharist too frequently or in a questionable state of moral being. Burchard of Worms Decretum included a (spurious) letter from “Clement” that cautioned against receiving communion while in a state of sin.49 Augustine had said that all members of the Christian community should partake of communion, while stating that t­hose who partook while morally compromised ate without receiving the virtue of the host. Tradition tended to encourage universal participation in the Eucharist, with a warning that consuming the Eucharist while in a state of sin brought judgment on the partaker. Huguccio of Pisa warned that taking communion in a state of mortal sin could lead to damnation and cautioned that penance ­ought to be done first. Both Thomas of Chobham and John of Erfurt brought similar warnings into their pastoral manuals.50 It was not unusual for pastoral guides to instruct against broad categories of ­people participating in communion, and synodal decrees might elaborate expectations for a par­tic­u­lar community. Since synodal decrees for the diocese of Augsburg for the f­ourteenth c­ entury are not extant, we do not know how Albert’s recommendations would have compared with the bishop’s guidelines.51 But Albert’s long list of individuals to be denied sets him apart from the norm, even among authors of guides for parish priests in specific regions. All that William of Pagula had to say about “­those who should be kept from communion” was that heretics, schismatics, notorious fornicators, and t­ hose known to be in a state of mortal sin should stay away. Guido of Monte Rochen had a longer discussion, but it mainly had to do with a handful of ambiguous categories, providing the tools for a priest to decide in Faciem colorantes aut quovis modo pervertentes, Caducum morbum sine intervallo patientes, Energumini, obsessi, frenetici, et amentes, Iudices, precones et advocati Sentencias iniustas scienter proferentes, Plasphemi et maledicti, Advene et ignoti vel scurre, Familia iudeorum, Occisores iudeorum absque legali iudicio, Desperati in nomina dei, Deinque omnes quibus communio corporis christi inhibita est in secreto confessionis foro. Clm 12471, fol. 28 r–­v. 48.  The question of participation in the Eucharist was, of course, very much in discussion during this period of time, thanks to the work of John Wycliffe. Joseph Goering noted that the number of sins considered mortal increased over the thirteenth ­century, which may help to explain Albert’s restrictive attitude ­here. Goering, “The Internal Forum,” 200. It is in­ter­est­ing to see how Albert’s profoundly restrictive sense of participation in the sacrament differs from con­temporary trends in Bohemia, where many theologians ­were advocating for increased participation, not increased restriction. See the discussion in Marcela K. Perrett, Preachers, Partisans, and Rebellious Religion: Vernacular Writing and the Hussite Movement (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2018), for a survey of the issue, especially an emerging contrast between German and Bohemian theologians in the late ­fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries. 49. Izbicki, The Eucharist, 140. 50. Izbicki, The Eucharist, 147–48. 51. Izbicki, The Eucharist, 174–77.

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what circumstances a mentally ill person, a leper, or a notorious fornicator should or should not receive the Eucharist. Neither William nor Guido provide anything approaching Albert’s detailed boundary setting, in which he established the parish priest as gatekeeper for the Eucharist and the community. Albert’s idiosyncrasies in limiting participation in communion provide an in­ter­est­ing counterpoint to his approach to penitential canons, as t­ here he was less detailed and prescriptive than most. His treatment of the sacrament of penance is quite long and wide-­ranging, covering theological princi­ples as well as practical instruction. Embedded within the discussion of satisfaction is a chapter on penitential canons that illustrates in miniature form precisely the sort of in­de­pen­dence that is characteristic of the Mirror writ large.52 The integration of condensed lists of penitential canons into pastoral guides grew out of the changes that emerged in penitential lit­er­a­ture over the course of the late twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Where early medieval penitential canons—­ lists of sins and their required penances—­had once dominated the available guidance for priests, such lists gave way to much fuller instruction in the vari­ ous components of penance, from confession to satisfaction.53 However, the old lists of penitential canons lived on, brought within the structure of the new confessor’s manuals, typically included as a single chapter within a larger treatment of penance.54 The two most impor­tant sources for penitential canons in l­ater medieval pastoral guides w ­ ere the Liber penitentiarius by John of God (which contained 110 canons) and Hostiensis’s Summa (which contained forty-­six canons). Popu­lar works by authors like William Durandus, John of Freiburg, John of Erfurt, or Astesanus included some version of Hostiensis’s forty-­six canons, in some cases supplemented with additional material from John of God’s longer list.55 Both John of Freiburg and Astesanus’s list of penitential canons w ­ ere taken directly from Hostiensis in the order and number in which they originally appeared; Guido of Monte Rochen discussed the canons only in general terms and then told his readers explic­itly to consult Hostiensis directly and keep his list nearby, ready for consultation.56 52.  The chapter on penitential canons is found in Clm 12781 on fols. 42v–43r, and in revised form in Clm 5668 on fols. 62v–63v and Clm 18381 fols. 33r–34r. 53.  See the discussion in chapter 2. 54.  This is something Burchard of Worms had done in book 9 of his Decretum (written sometime between 1012 and 1023); it is something that Hostiensis did in his ­legal commentary and something that many authors of confessor’s manuals did as well. 55.  Pierre J. Payer, “The Origins and Development of the ­Later Canones Penitentiales,” Mediaeval Studies 61 (1999): 81–105. 56.  On the relationship between ­earlier penitential canons and ­later confessional lit­er­a­ture, see Ludger Körntgen, “Canon Law and the Practice of Penance: Burchard of Worms’s Penitential,” Early Medieval Eu­rope 14, no. 1 (2006): 103–17; John T. McNeill, Medieval Handbooks of Penance: A Translation of the Principal “Libri poenitentiales” and Se­lections from Related Documents (New York: Columbia Univer-



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Albert took a notably dif­fer­ent approach. We know that Albert had Hostiensis’s penitential at hand (through John of Freiburg), but Albert did not mention him by name (as he customarily did when borrowing authorities from John’s Summa). He opened his chapter on penitential canons with an almost verbatim repetition of Hostiensis’s remarks (as found in John’s Summa) on the necessity of knowing a par­tic­u­lar set of penitential canons.57 The idea established by Hostiensis was that even though priests should be sufficiently educated to make nuanced decisions about penance, ­there should also be some common standards that could be universally applied from canon law. For whatever reason, Albert chose not to highlight the authority of Hostiensis as a source for (at least some of ) the material he was about to pre­sent. Instead, in the rubricated title to the first edition, he specifically identified the cases he was about to pre­sent as coming from “the Roman Penitential,” an early medieval source perhaps justifying for Albert his own se­lection of material.58 Albert de­cided for himself what constituted “canons a priest must know.” He included just sixteen of the forty-­six canons on Hostiensis’s list and added fourteen canons not found in Hostiensis (­table 4.2).59 We might won­der how Albert chose which items to include and which to exclude. Did he simply choose canons dealing with sins he ­imagined to be most commonly confessed? Violating a vow, cursing, or eating meat on a fast day surely fell into that category. But how often was a priest likely to encounter someone confessing that they had sexual relations with two s­ isters or a ­mother and d­ aughter or aunt and grand­daughter? It seems clear that Albert’s decisions ­were not motivated entirely by the frequency of a par­tic­ul­ ar sin’s occurrence, but also by the values that might be communicated by drawing attention to it. For example, Albert chose not to include the penances for sodomy or any other so-­called sins against nature, even though they typically garnered much sity Press, 1990); Abigail Firey, “Beyond the Penitentials: Early Medieval Discourse on Penance,” Bulletin of Medieval Canon Law 33 (2016): 1–12; and several of the essays in Abigail Firey, A New History of Penance (Leiden: Brill, 2008), 239–318. 57.  Ut autem sacerdotes cautius circa penitentias iniungendas arbitrentur describendi sunt quidam casus in quibus per canones penitentiales certe pene seu penitentie imponende discernuntur. Nam canones tenetur scire sacerdos, alioqui secundum augustinum sacerdotis nomen vix in eo constabit. Clm 12471, fols. 42v–43r. 58.  De penitentiis iniungendis in quibusdam casibus secundum penitentiale romanum. Clm 12471, fol. 42v. 59.  In the first edition, he added eleven canons from outside Hostiensis; in the second and third editions, he included three more, for a total of fourteen from outside Hostiensis. In ­those ­later editions, he also eliminated one of Hostiensis’s canons for a final total of twenty-­nine canons. Based on the material Albert included from outside the Hostiensis/John of God tradition, as well as his reference to the “Roman penitential” h ­ ere, it seems likely that his source was book 19 of Burchard’s Decretum. See Burchard of Worms, Decretum book 19, PL 140: 951–76 and Hermann Joseph Schmitz, Die Bussbücher und das kanonische Bussverfahren nach handschriftlichen Quellen dargestellt (Düsseldorf: L. Schwann, 1898; rpt. Graz: Akademische Druck-­u. Verlagsanstalt, 1958), 409–52.

­Table 4.2  The Penitential Canons of Hostiensis as Found in John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum and in Albert of Diessen’s Speculum clericorum HOSTIENSIS, AS FOUND IN JOHN OF FREIBURG, BOOK 3, TITLE 34, QUESTION 125

ALBERT OF DIESSEN

1. Penance for a priest who has committed fornication 2. Penance for a priest who has sexual relations with his spiritual ­daughter or someone he has baptized or confirmed 3. Penance for sins against nature 4. Penance for a priest who participates in clandestine weddings 5. Penance for violating a s­ imple vow

1. Penance for violating a ­simple vow

6. Penance for an excommunicated priest who celebrates

2. P  enance for an excommunicated priest who celebrates

7. Penance for one who unjustly accuses another leading to death 8. Penance for one who has sexual relations with a spiritual ­daughter or comother (i.e., goddaughter or godmother) 9. Penance for one who sends away his betrothed and marries another 10. Penance for one who has sexual relations with two comothers or s­ isters, ­whether the wife is living or not 11. Penance for voluntary hom­i­cide with no hope of restitution 12. Penance for accidental hom­i­cide 13. Penance in cases of hom­i­cide with avoidable risk 14. Penance for matricide or uxoricide 15. Penance for perjury 16. Penance for false mea­sures

3. Penance for false mea­sures or weights

17. Penance for returning to a sin for which one has undertaken solemn penance

4. P  enance for returning to a sin for which one has undertaken solemn penance

18. Penance for one who has sexual relations with a nun or w ­ oman who has taken vows 19. Penance for a priest who sings the mass but does not communicate 20. Penance for a priest who wraps a deceased cleric in an altar cloth 21. Penance for one who commits sacrilege by profaning the church, or by h ­ andling the chalice or chrism with polluted hands, ­etc.

5. P  enance for one who commits sacrilege by profaning the church, or by h ­ andling the chalice or chrism with polluted hands, ­etc.

22. Penance for parents who break off the betrothal of a child, and for the child if they share blame 23. Penance for leading into marriage one previously polluted by adultery

6. P  enance for leading into marriage one already polluted by adultery

24. Penance for cursing against God or His saints, or public blasphemy

7. Penance for cursing or blasphemy

HOSTIENSIS, AS FOUND IN JOHN OF FREIBURG, BOOK 3, TITLE 34, QUESTION 125

ALBERT OF DIESSEN

25. O  n punishment for a priest who reveals someone who has confessed ­whether by word or sign

8. O  n punishment for a priest who reveals confession or is an exposed/convicted betrayer

26. Penance for one compelled to commit perjury 27. P  enance for one who commits perjury in the hands of a bishop or the Holy Cross (consecrated or not consecrated)

9. P  enance for one who commits perjury in the hands of a bishop or priest

28. P  enance for one who knowingly swears falsely, or forces another to swear falsely

11. P  enance for one who knowingly swears falsely or forces another to swear falsely

10. P  enance for one who commits perjury in the hands of one not consecrated

29. Punishment for a priest who does not follow the custom of the metropolitan of his church in saying the canonical hours and other divine offices 30. P  unishment for a bishop who ordains without cause a reluctant or resistant cleric 31. P  unishment for a bishop who disguises support for the sale of offices 32. Penance for sorcery

23. P  enance for sorcery or similar practices of divination

33. P  enance for using an astrolabe [for prognostication] 34. P  enance for a priest who spills a drop of blood (consecrated wine) on the altar cloth, or altar, or ­table, or floor 35. P  enance for one who vomits the host due to inebriation or overindulgence, ­whether clergy or laity 36. Penance for one who kills a priest 37. P  enance for one who destroys a h ­ ouse or area by arson

12. P  enance for one who destroys a ­house or area by arson

38. P  enance for one who associates knowingly or unknowingly with a heretic

13. P  enance for one who associates knowingly with a heretic

39. P  enance for one who unknowingly has sexual relations with two ­sisters or a ­mother and ­daughter or aunt and grand­daughter

17. P  enance for one who unknowingly has sexual relations with two ­sisters or a ­mother and ­daughter or aunt and grand­daughter

40. P  enance for one who has intercourse with an animal, and also for incest 41. P  enance for one who has patronage of a church and neglects its affairs 42. P  enance for one who protects his home with magic and incantations

16. P  enance for one who protects his home with magic and incantations [edition 1 only]

43. P  unishment for a cleric who allows a mouse or rat to eat the body of Christ 44. P  enance for someone who swears an oath not to make peace with his neighbor 45. P  enance for perjury, adultery, hom­ic­ ide, and fornication 46. Penance for one who is knowingly rebaptized (continued)

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­Table 4.2  The Penitential Canons of Hostiensis as Found in John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum and in Albert of Diessen’s Speculum clericorum (continued) HOSTIENSIS, AS FOUND IN JOHN OF FREIBURG, BOOK 3, TITLE 34, QUESTION 125

ALBERT OF DIESSEN

Canons listed by Albert but not in Hostiensis: 14. P  enance for one who knowingly associates with a Jew [editions 2 & 3 only] 15. P  enance for one who eats the food of Jews or who drinks their drink 16. P  enance for one who pollutes himself with a Jewish or pagan woman [editions 2 & 3 only] 18. P  enance for a ­father and son or two ­brothers who have relations with the same ­woman, or with a ­mother and ­daughter, or with two ­sisters, or with two comothers 19. P  enance for one who unknowingly eats meat on Friday or during Lent or in another fast set by the Church 20. P  enance for one who carelessly keeps fasts established by the Church 21. P  enance for one who neglects an infant so that it dies without baptism 22. P  enance for one who in some way stands by false testimony or a sentence deriving from it 24. P  enance for one who believes or affirms that certain ­women are able to fly about at night 25. P  enance for one who is so inebriated from drink that he loses reason 26. Penance for one who fails to pay his tithe 27. P  enance for one who observes pagan traditions, worshipping the ele­ments or invoking the new moon 28. P  enance for one who observes pagan rites, including the Kalends of January and other pagan sacred times 29. P  enance for one who may have believed or affirmed that men are able to turn into wolves, which in the vernacular is called werewolf [editions 2 & 3 only]

attention in pastoral guides, and Albert did include other sexual sins on his list.60 But the sexual sins Albert chose to address are all ones that pertain 60.  Hostiensis provided penitential guidance for sins against nature without specifically naming sodomy anywhere in his forty-­six penitential canons, although he l­ater offered additional comments on two such crimes, bestiality and incest. However, ­later figures, including John of Freiburg and Astesanus, introduced sodomy specifically into their version of the canons. Guido of Monte Rochen had a particularly



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to questions of kinship and incest—­matters most directly associated with the construction of community, a parish priest’s central concern. If this value-­ focused approach is evident in the canons Albert includes and excludes from John’s/Hostiensis’s list, it is equally evident in the penances he brought to his work from outside Hostiensis’s widely authoritative collection. ­There are two especially notable clusters of sins that emerge among the additions. First is a cluster associated with Christian-­Jewish interaction: 1) for knowingly associating with a Jew; 2) for eating the food of Jews; 3) for having sex with a Jew or a Muslim.61 Hostiensis had not included any penitential advice for be­hav­iors having to do with Jews, nor had John of God. Especially given Albert’s g­ reat concern (discussed in the next chapter) with Christian-­Jewish relations, it makes sense that he chose to add some h ­ ere. And the types of penances for “improper” Christian-­Jewish interaction selected h ­ ere are similar to the sexual sins Albert included, in the sense that they are about the purity of the Christian community. Another cluster of penances Albert added expanded on Hotiensis’s two canons on magic or prognostication (one prescribing penance for engaging in sorcery, the other for using an astrolabe to prognosticate). The additional penances for superstitious beliefs Albert introduced include: 1) for “believing or affirming” that certain ­women are able to fly at night; 2) for observing pagan traditions, worshipping the ele­ments, or invoking the new moon; 3) for observing pagan rites at the Kalends of January and other pagan sacred times; 4) for “believing or affirming” that some ­people are able to turn themselves into werewolves, or believing or affirming that gaschepfen (fates in southern German traditions) make this pos­si­ble.62 Many of Albert’s additional canons can be traced to Burchard of Worms: belief in w ­ omen who fly at night, and

elaborate discussion of sodomy in an other­wise brief overview of penitential canons that advised readers to consult Hostiensis directly. See Guido of Monte Rochen, Handbook for Curates, 261, 263–64. 61.  Qui iudeo scienter communicat xl diebus penitentiam agat; Qui comederit de cibo iudeorum vel biberit de potu ipsorum x diebus in pane et aqua peniteat; Qui cum Iudea vel pagana fuerit methando pollutus a communione arceatur et post quinquennium penitentia legittima peracta dominice communioni potest sociari. Clm 18387, fol. 33v. 62.  Qui credit vel affirmat quod mulieres de nocte volitent quo velint uno anno peniteat; Qui observat traditiones gentium elementa colendo seu novam lunam invocando duobus annis peni­teat; Qui kalendis Ianuarii ritu paganorum anni principium colere vel aliqui amplius novi facere propter novum annum, duobus annis peniteat. Maximus Novum annum ianuarias appellant kalendas, cum vetusto semper errore et orror sordescant. Auspicia et vanissimi colligere se dicunt, ac statum vite sue manibus indiciis estimantes per incerta avium ferarumque signa imminentis anni futura rimantur, cum utique apud deum solum sit noticia futurorum. Sed miseri ac miserandi homines, rapti erroribus paganorum, et minus provido corde cecati, cum impietate de domibus suis prodeunt, et cum sacrilegio revertuntur; Qui crediderit vel affirmaverit homines in lupos mutari, qui vulgari lingua werwolf nuncupantur, x diebus in pane et aqua peniteat. Clm 18387, fols. 33v–34r. For the rest of the Latin text on belief in werewolves, see chapter 5.

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belief in werewolves, fates, and similar superstitions.63 Burchard also included penances for some of the interactions with Jews that concern Albert, such as eating their food. Even more convincing evidence that Albert used Burchard as a source for his penitential is a marginal addition to Clm 5668 (not copied into Clm 18387) detailing the penance due for consuming h ­ uman excrement, urine, blood, or semen, something not found in John of Freiburg or other con­temporary manuals in circulation at the time but pre­sent in Burchard’s Decretum. It appears in the margin of Albert’s work just at the place where he is discussing other superstitious practices treated by Burchard.64 To some extent, ­these sins of superstition, too, affect the community as a ­whole, and banishing false beliefs contributed to the maintenance of a healthy community. At least, that seems to have been very much the position of leading theologians of the late ­fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, especially in southern German lands.

Mirror of Priests Part 2: “­Things a Priest Should Know” Albert made a strong divide between the first and second part of the Mirror not only by means of a rubricated explicit but also, in edition 1, with a concise introduction to the second part of the work.65 Albert explained that having discussed the seven sacraments, he thought it impor­tant next to address other m ­ atters essential for a new priest to understand. He revisited the idea of the mirror, citing Jerome and Alcuin on the value of study, particularly the study of scripture, both as an antidote to dangerous idleness and as a mirror through which the cleric might see his way on the right path.66 Having encour63.  Clm 12471, fols. 42v–43r. For Burchard on consuming Jewish food, see the Decretum: PL 140 0976A. Burchard addressed a wide array of superstitions. Penance for belief in werewolves, for example, is on PL 140, 0960D; on the fates (Burchard uses the Latin term parcae rather than Albert’s fatales, and he does not use the German term gaschepfen as Albert does, although he provides the German term “weruvolff ” alongside the Latin) that can cause men to become werewolves, 0971B. On ­women who fly, a longer and slightly dif­fer­ent version focusing on the worship of Satan or Diana, 0963C-­D; on celebrating pagan rites on the Kalends of January, 0960D, 0965B-­D. For a discussion of the importance of werewolves in German Jewish and Christian folk traditions, see David I. Shyovitz, “Christians and Jews in the Twelfth-­Century Werewolf Re­nais­sance,” Journal of the History of Ideas 75, no.  4 (2014): 521–43. On Burchard’s Decretum, see Greta Austin, Shaping Church Law around the Year 1000: The Decretum of Burchard of Worms, Church, Faith, and Culture in the Medieval West (Farnham: Ashgate, 2009). 64.  On penance for consuming h ­ uman excretions, see Clm 5668 fol. 63r and Burchard, Decretum, PL 140, 0946B; 1003A. 65.  Clm 12471, fols. 68v–69r. 66.  Postquam de septem sacramentis et eorum articulis breviter dictum est, restat nunc videre de ceteris circumstantiis valde necessariis: que huic libello quamvis exiguo michi placuit inserere ut novellus clericulus pauca de



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aged the new cleric to be active in seeking knowledge, he set out the material for the remainder of the work. This part of the work is significantly shorter than the first part, so it is in­ter­est­ing to see what sorts of t­ hings beyond the essential ele­ments of sacramental practice Albert thought his parish priests should know.67 In some cases, he seems to have included ­things b­ ecause they ­were given special attention by John of Freiburg. In other cases, his choices seem motivated by the significance of the topic to the specific needs of a parish priest. We find, among other t­hings, discussions of blasphemy and cursing; oaths and perjury; the prob­lem of trial by ordeal or combat; incantations, witchcraft, divination, conjuring demons, and sacrilege; simony, hom­i­cide; war; theft; usury and commerce; Christian-­Jewish relations; burial in church cemeteries; the use and care of relics; church bells; images; tithes; alms; excommunication and interdict; indulgences; w ­ ills and inheritance; and fi­nally, death and the state of the soul. In the second and third editions, we find expanded coverage of ­those topics but additional ones as well: heresy and apostasy, dreams and visions, a revised and more coherent treatment of magic and the demonic; and, most significant, a long treatment of the afterlife and end of days. Many of the chapters in this second part of the work engage deeply with the notion of Christian community and how it should function. The careful attention paid to burial, for example, is striking and serves as a reminder that one of the most impor­tant functions of a parish priest was to provide for the end of life, for the living as well as the dead. Faced with the dilemma of ­whether or not to allow someone who had died by suicide to be buried in a Christian cemetery, for example, the possibility of attributing the act to demonic obsession meant that, in some cases, a loved one might find rest with ­family in hallowed ground, something that would be power­f ul and personal in a small community.68 This was a piece of canon law that Albert thought pluribus ad studendum valeat absque difficultate insimul compacta lectitare. Otia quippe dant vitia, et ideo beatus ieronimus dicit, “Fac aliqui operis ut dyabolus te semper inveniat occupatum. tenenti tibi codicem sompnus obrepat cadentem faciem pagina sancta suscipiat. ergo ama scientiam scripturarum, et carnis vitia non amabis. Alkwinus dicit Sanctarum lectio scripturarum divine est cognitio beatitudinis, in his enim quasi in quodam speculo, seipsum homo considerare potest qualis sit vel quo tendat. Clm 12471, fol. 69r. 67.  In Albert’s first (1370) edition, ­there ­were approximately 90 chapters in part 2 (about twenty folios) compared to 300 in part 1 (about sixty-­eight, folios). In his third (1377) edition, t­ here ­were 167 chapters (twenty-­nine folios) in part 2 compared to approximately 370 chapters (fifty-­five folios) in part 1. ­Whether we count by the number of chapters or the number of folios, the second part of the work comprised about 23 ­percent of the ­whole in the first edition and about 30 ­percent in the expanded third edition. 68.  Queritur si furiosus vel mente captus aut freneticus in furore suo seipsum interfecerit quocumque modo id acciderit, utrum in cymiterio debeat sepeliri. Circa hoc distinguendum est, quia si talis lucida habuerit intervalla, et tandem in furiam versus seipsum interemerit est sepeliendus. Si vero alia quacumque ex causa hoc accidisse contigerit, ecclesiastica ei denegabitur sepultura. Et quo huiusmodus mala ex infestationibus diabolicis eveniunt, notanda est questio que sequitur. Clm 12471, fol. 85v. ­There is a tangible effort to be inclusive to

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impor­tant for a cleric to know; it was weighty enough that in his revised versions of the Mirror he developed a coherent treatment on obsession and its impact on vari­ous aspects of a sufferer’s life.69

The Malleability of Tradition The 1370 autograph copy of the Mirror of Priests found at Rottenbuch represented Albert’s syllabus for a parish priest’s formation, and it was a perfectly reasonable syllabus. Out of a vast array of available material, he chose to highlight t­ hose t­ hings that struck him as most impor­tant for the care of souls in communities near to him, including the proper per­for­mance of sacraments and the management of the spiritual needs of a parish, from birth to death. ­Because he wrote explic­itly for Augustinian canons of his own order, he knew well what sort of education they would likely have received as part of their collective training, and his choice of material would have been ­shaped in part by that real­ity. The manuscript rec­ord suggests that almost immediately upon completing that copy of the text, Albert began to work on improvements in preparation for further copying and distribution. Albert’s revision and expansion of the text must have been motivated in large part by his own developing thought on the subject ­matter. But it also seems that conversations with readers and events transpiring in the world led him to rethink his ­earlier work. He de­cided to expand on topics that had been treated lightly at first, or to remove or alter material that had proved controversial or problematic. His abandonment of the chapter on the priestly authority of mendicant friars is the most striking of the ­things he de­cided to abandon. One example of a case in which Albert added coverage to an existing discussion from the original source was on the question of ­whether it was permitted for a man to kill a wife caught in adultery. In edition 1, the answer had been a ­simple and clear “no” (et videtur quod non). Albert quoted almost verbatim from Thomas Aquinas on the ­matter.70 But in his revised versions of the text, Albert offered a much fuller answer in which he began with the premise that it should be legitimate (et videtur quod sic), then drew from the same passage in Aquinas to emphasize that adultery was a ­matter for secular courts, not the church. He added words (the chapter grew from 77 words to 189 words), but he chose ­those words in t­ hose with m ­ ental illnesses, w ­ hether talking about the possibility of marriage, communion, or burial ­after suicide. 69.  More on Albert’s treatment of demonic obsession appears in chapter 5. 70.  The question was addressed in Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae, Supplement question 60.



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large part to emphasize the proper venue for ­handling such disputes.71 Some of the areas of most notable addition of new paragraphs include Christian-­ Jewish interaction, superstition and sacrilege, and eschatology, all subjects of considerable interest in his part of the world. The 1373 and 1377 autograph versions of the text have a slightly longer, more developed introduction than the 1370 text does, including a fuller discussion of preaching than is found in the first version. They also contain a new major treatment of eschatology at the end. The eschatological chapters are so extensive that one might view them as a separate third part of the text, although Albert did not pre­sent them as such. Albert must have thought carefully about the overall design of the work when he did his revision of part 2 ­because he moved many topics to new places. For example, in the first edition, part 2 began with a detailed discussion of a wide range of sins covered in books 1 and 2 of John of Freiburg’s Summa. But in the second and third editions, Albert began part 2 with ten chapters on indulgences (previously four short chapters had been placed in the ­middle of part 2) as a kind of continuation of the sacramental part of the work. While indulgences w ­ ere not considered sacramental, Albert seemed to want to highlight their close connection to sacramental practice in the work of salvation. Albert used an especially elaborate illuminated initial to separate the new section on indulgences from the next section on diverse sins, showing that the material on indulgences was viewed as somehow distinct from the remainder of part 2. One of the primary points I hope to have communicated in this chapter has to do with the malleability of Christian pastoral expectations. As I have demonstrated, an author of a priestly guide had a wide range of options to choose from in constructing his work. Most authors had the same handful of canon law collections and “best sellers” in the pastoral tradition at hand when they sat down to make their own offerings. Many authors in this genre—­ Raymond of Penyafort, John of Freiburg, William of Pagula, John Andree, and Astesanus, among ­others—­wrote multiple works addressed to slightly dif­fer­ ent audiences. T ­ hese works traveled u ­ nder dif­fer­ent titles, even when they contained much of the same material. Albert wrote just one pastoral work, but he adapted that work to changing circumstances, making, in essence, multiple 71.  Clm 12471, fol. 74v-75r: Queritur utrum liceat viro occidere uxorem in actu adulterii deprehensam, et videtur quod non. Clm 5668, fol. 118v: Queritur utrum liceat viro uxorem occidere in actu adulterii deprehensam et videtur quod sic. On the prosecution of adultery in courts in France, see Ruth Mazo Karras, UnMarriages: ­Women, Men, and Sexual Unions in the M ­ iddle Ages (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2012) and Sara McDougall, “The Opposite of the Double Standard: Gender, Marriage, and Adultery Prosecution in Late Medieval France,” Journal of the History of Sexuality 23, no. 2 (2014): 206–25.

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works out of one. The additional paragraphs added to Clm 5668 by scribes other than Albert represent l­ater readers’ engagement with the text—­a new layer of authorship and creativity. To illustrate the thoughtfulness under­lying this engagement and reengagement with ele­ments of a shared (and malleable) tradition, the next chapter ­will explore changes in three areas of par­tic­u­ lar interest to Albert and his readers: Christian-­Jewish interaction, superstition and magic, and eschatology.

C h a p te r   5

Constructing (and Reconstructing) Christian Community

The Mirror of Priests is more than a text, a collection of words on a page, a set of instructions. It is nothing less than a visioning agent, designed to construct in the mind’s eye a picture of a late medieval German parish community and to provide tools to bring that community intentionally into being. This is true of ­every version of Albert’s Mirror, but when we read his multiple versions together, we get an especially strong sense of his vision. We see Albert thinking and rethinking (constructing and reconstructing) what was essential, what was impor­tant to him, and what he believed would be impor­tant to his readers and their parishioners. We have already seen how dramatically Albert expanded his work in the revised version of the text. In this chapter, we ­will look at the transformation of three areas that Albert seems to have found especially in­ter­est­ing and impor­tant: 1) sorcery, superstition, and the demonic; 2) Christian-­Jewish interaction; and 3) eschatology. Each of ­these topics might be understood in some sense to define the outer limits of Christian community, but I see them as defining Christian community integrally. It is clear that Albert ­imagined ­these m ­ atters to be wrapped up with other aspects of sacramental and nonsacramental Christian religious practice. Magical practices, demonic spirits, and Jews existed within the circle of Christian community—in it, even if not of it. Eschatological time was absolutely a part of lived time, bringing the dead and the living into a shared suspended community. The categories I explore ­here ­were 143

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to some extent exclusionary in focus, yet they w ­ ere si­mul­ta­neously inclusive in focus. By paying special attention to the way Albert chose to treat ­these topics in revision, we get a fuller sense of Albert’s own understanding of Christian community, and a fuller sense of his readers and the communities they served.

Sorcery, Superstition, and the Demonic Albert wrote (and rewrote) the Mirror of Priests on the cusp of a dramatic shift in clerical attitudes ­towards sorcery, witchcraft, and superstition across Eu­rope, especially significant in the German speaking realms in Diessen’s orbit. This period saw the rise of a new concept of the witch as a member of a devil-­ worshipping, heretical collective (a transition Michael Bailey and o ­ thers have described as a shift from sorcery to witchcraft), which set up the preconditions for the violent persecution/prosecution of witches in the early modern ­period.1 The language used to discuss what we might variously call magic, proscribed ritual practice, sorcery, superstition, or pagan tradition from the fourth c­ entury through the fifteenth remained largely the same, but the usage of that language and understanding of demonic forces at work changed substantially. For example, through the f­ourteenth ­century, most theologians would have had a similar understanding of what sorts of activities constituted sorcery, and they would have said that sorcery, if it worked at all, likely worked by means of illusion through demonic intervention. ­Women who claimed to fly in the night, for example, could not actually fly; they ­were instead deluded by demons into believing that they had. By the fifteenth ­century, however, we start to find theologians willing to affirm the possibility of night travel by witches who physically traveled to attend perverse rites honoring the devil. Albert’s guide reflects a traditional view of sorcery and superstition rather than the new ideas about witchcraft that would emerge in the early fifteenth ­century, but his interest in ­these topics hints at the intensification of concern that would contribute to substantive change within a ­matter of de­cades. Sorcery had long been understood to operate through intentional or unintentional demonic assistance, but with the rise of scholastic methods of inquiry, especially in the thirteenth ­century, the precise operation of that demonic activity garnered a w ­ hole new level of attention, as did the h ­ uman activity that seemed linked with the demonic. A corollary to this new philosophically rich study 1.  One of the most incisive treatments of this phenomenon remains Michael D. Bailey, “From Sorcery to Witchcraft: Clerical Conceptions of Magic in the ­Later M ­ iddle Ages,” Speculum 76, no. 4 (2001): 960–90. See also Stuart Clark, Thinking with Demons: The Idea of Witchcraft in Early Modern Eu­ rope (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997).

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of demonic power by Aristotelian thinkers like Thomas Aquinas was a greater concern about superstition as a distinctive category of deviance, also associated with demonic activity. That Thomas deemed the topic worthy of substantial discussion in his Summa theologiae is an indicator of the subject’s significance. By the time Albert was writing in the final third of the ­fourteenth ­century, superstition and the demonic ­were widely acknowledged as impor­ tant topics of conversation in clerical culture, and the connection between superstition and sorcery and demonic activity is very much in evidence in the Mirror.2 Michael Bailey has argued that a pronounced tension between fostering and controlling lay piety in the early fifteenth c­ entury led to a perceived need to help clerics discern correct from incorrect belief and practice—­ superstition from piety.3 The proliferation of treatises on superstition in the fifteenth c­ entury reflects that tension. Judging by the example of Albert’s Mirror, the heightened interest in superstition that Bailey tracks in fifteenth-­ century German lands was bubbling up de­cades ­earlier.4 Some of the practices that concerned Albert in his treatment of sorcery, superstition, and the demonic could be described etically as “magic,” although that term is not one Albert found particularly useful.5 Magicas appears only once in edition 1 and twice in editions 2 and 3. In edition 1 it appears in the chapter on penitential canons where five years penance is prescribed for ­those who attempted to protect their homes with magical incantations (magicis incantationibus). The language was borrowed directly from Hostiensis and John of God, although Albert omitted the “et” that originally connected “magic” and “incantation.” In editions 2 and 3 Albert took out the penance for protecting the home with magical incantations, but he introduced two new passages 2.  On superstition in late medieval intellectual and religious culture, see Michael D. Bailey, Fearful Spirits, Reasoned Follies: The Bound­aries of Superstition in Late Medieval Eu­rope (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2017). For an in­ter­est­ing survey of and engagement with cognitive approaches to medieval superstition, see Andrew Keitt, “Rethinking with Demons: The Campaign against Superstition in Late Medieval and Early Modern Eu­rope from a Cognitive Perspective,” Preternature: Critical and Historical Studies on the Preternatural 6, no. 2 (2017): 236–77. 3. Bailey, Fearful Spirits, especially 51–70. 4.  Bailey emphasizes especially the influence of Jean Gerson on theology faculty at the newly established German universities. Bailey, Fearful Spirits, 229. 5.  The use of the modern umbrella term “magic” in medieval scholarship is fraught, in part ­because its use as a point of contrast with science and religion in scholarly discourse is inextricably bound up with colonialism and the making of modernity in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries and in part b­ ecause medieval authors did not use the term in the way scholars do. Anthropologists, historians, and religious studies scholars have strug­gled to ­either rescue the term or to set it aside. For a helpful discussion of the issues and pos­si­ble solutions in a medieval context, see the essays and responses by Richard Kieckhefer, Claire Fanger, Bernd Christian Otto, and David D’Avray in Sophie Page and Catherine Rider, eds., The Routledge History of Medieval Magic (Milton: Taylor & Francis, 2019) as well as Michael D. Bailey, “The Meanings of Magic,” Magic, Ritual, and Witchcraft 1, no. 1 (2006): 1–23.

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using the word. It appears once in a discussion of Antichrist and his deception, when it is explained that Antichrist w ­ ill perform false miracles “by magical arts,” making stone images appear to speak, seeming to die and then resurrecting himself, and so on.6 This use of the term magic comes from Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg’s Compendium theologice veritatis, book 7, the source for most of the material in Albert’s eschatology. Fi­nally, the term appears in a marginal addition to the chapter on vari­ous types of divination in edition 2 of the text, although the comment was not incorporated into edition 3 in the spot he indicated it should go. The comment was brief: The magical arts are divided into two categories: illusion and maleficium. Illusion is a tricking of ­human senses according to which ­things seem to be changed, so that a heap of earth seems to be a c­ astle, or a pebble a talent [i.e., a coin], or a field of grain a troop of helmeted soldiers, and other similar ­things. Maleficium, however, can be said to involve a certain evil-­ doing, by conjuration or incantation or t­ hings of this nature.7 Although it was more common to find descriptions of the magical arts divided into five categories, following St. Isidore’s Etymologies, Albert’s language ­here is not unique; an almost verbatim version is found, among other places, in the 1286 Catholicon by John of Genoa, OP.8 It is not surprising to see magic discussed in the context of divination, since they ­were intimately connected in clerical imagination through the role of demons in both. The term maleficium invoked h ­ ere was also not something Albert generally used. In fact, it appears only once beyond this marginal note, in the discussion of impediments to marriage, one of which was, in some circumstances, impotence. While maleficium was sometimes used interchangeably with sortilegium in ­later medieval writing, sortilegium is the term ­under which most of Albert’s discussion of magic, witchcraft, and superstition takes place. Sortile6.  Secundus modus subvertendi erit per falsa miracula, quia per artem magicam faciet lapideam ymaginem loqui, et futura predicere, ignem de celo descendere, apostolos suos variis loqui linguis, similabit se mortuum et resurrexisse feretur, etiam a demonibus in aera et tunc mirabuntur multi et adorabunt eum. Clm 18387, fol. 77r. 7.  The marginal comment is so terribly faded that I am not 100% certain that it is written in Albert’s hand, although it seems to be so. If it was added by Albert, it was likely done a­ fter 1376, as it was not incorporated into the text of the Tegernsee manuscript. The text can be more easily read with the help of Clm 4780, where it is legible: Dividitur ars magica in prestigium et maleficium. Prestigium est sensuum humanorum illusio et secundum hoc incredibiles rerum mutationes videntur fieri, ut terre cumulus videtur castrum, lapillus talentum, seges galeata cohors militum et cetera similia. Maleficum autem dici potest quodlibet malefactum, per coniurationes vel incantationes et huiusmodi. Clm 4780, fol. 166v and Clm 5668, fol. 116v. 8.  Johannes Genuensis, Catholicon, seu Universale vocabularium, printed in Paris, J. Petit, 1506, fol. P5rb-va. See the discussion in Jean-­Patrice Boudet, Entre science et nigromance: Astrologie, divination et magie dans l’occident médiéval, XIIe–­XVe siècle (Paris: Publications de la Sorbonne, 2006), 15–17.

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gium in early Christian terminology referred specifically to divination, but by the ­later ­Middle Ages it had long been used to refer to practices we might broadly call magic or witchcraft. ­These practices sometimes involved divining, as when a sorcerer or sorceress was asked to locate lost objects, or predict weather patterns, or provide advice on the best course of action in a given situation. But sorcery also included any number of ­things that ­were not, strictly speaking, divining: healing ­humans or animals, restoring the productivity of fields, cursing animals or fields so that they failed to thrive, intervening in ­matters of love and affection, and so on. The term superstitio could be used in place of sortilegium or maleficium in certain situations. As Bailey reminds us in Fearful Spirits, Reasoned Follies, the term “superstition” implied not only incorrect belief but also incorrect practice. When the Dominican Stephen of Bourbon came upon rural villa­gers venerating St. Guinefort, a greyhound, in the south of France, he identified the cult as a superstition in need of correction. But the veneration of Guinefort involved not only incorrect belief; it also involved incorrect ritual healing practices, and ­those practices might easily have been named sorcery or witchcraft at a l­ater time.9 Interestingly, Albert never used the term superstitio, although he addressed beliefs and practices that would have been identified by contemporaries as such. Vari­ous terms used to describe ele­ments of medieval magic—­terms like maleficium, sortilegium, superstitio, and so on—­­were not always used or understood in a fixed way. T ­ here is a hint of this in the 1370 manuscript copy of Albert’s Mirror. In the long list of ­people who ­ought to be excluded from communion, Albert named pythonesses and sorcerers (phitonisse and sortilegi) at the top of the list, b­ ehind only Jews, Muslims, and heretics. A l­ater reader apparently thought ­those terms too ambiguous, and he added translations in the Bavarian German dialect: “die zaüberin[nen]” above phitonisse and “die zaüberer” above sortilegi (figure 5.1).10 This is one of only three places in the entire work that a reader has written a marginal note in the vernacular. That pythoness and sorcerer w ­ ere somehow not self-­explanatory designations is telling. Also impor­tant is the fact that a Zauberer or Zauberin functioned in the manner we associate with witchcraft or sorcery in a modern sense, while the terms pythoness and sorcerer w ­ ere traditionally associated with divination.   9.  Jean-­Claude Schmitt, The Holy Greyhound: Guinefort, Healer of ­Children since the Thirteenth ­Century, trans. Martin Thom (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983). 10.  Clm 12471, fol. 28r. According to Sigrid Brauner, the term die Zauberin was more widely used than the term die Hexe, which only gradually came into use over the course of the fifteenth ­century. The reader who chose to identify both pythonesses and sorcerers as die Zaüberer was likely active in the first part of the fifteenth c­ entury. Sigrid Brauner, Fearless Wives and Frightened Shrews: The Construction of the Witch in Early Modern Germany (Amherst: University of Mas­sa­chu­setts Press, 1995), 121–24.

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Figure 5.1.  A ­later reader’s translation of phitonisse as die zaüberin[nen] and sortilegi as die zaüberer. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 12471, fol. 28r.

­ hether Albert understood the terms in the traditional sense of divination W or ­under a broader rubric of magic and witchcraft, ­there was enough of a question for a near con­temporary reader to offer clarification. Had Albert provided us with a single rubric ­under which vari­ous practices associated with sorcery, divination, superstition, and so on would fit, the most likely category would have been the demonic, which could have included his discussions of snake charming, sorcery and divination, conjuring, and also the prob­lem of demonic obsession, which appeared in his section on burial in edition 1, some of which he moved to the section on sorcery and divination in ­later revisions. The idea of the demonic as an organ­izing princi­ple becomes even more clear in the revised versions of the work, as Albert gathered material from other parts of the manuscript and brought them together in an expanded section. The material Albert included in edition 1 on this topic drew its framework from John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum, which included twenty-­five questions in book 1 u ­ nder the rubric of Sorcery and Divination. John’s organ­ization, in turn, had been based on the canon law tradition he inherited from Raymond of Penyafort, substantially enhanced with material from Thomas Aquinas’s extensive treatment of the subject in the Summa theologiae.11 Albert chose to include only a small handful of the many topics he might have borrowed from John’s Summa, and in one of ­those cases all he borrowed was the title, not the content. Compare John’s title headings in the section on sorcery and divination with Albert’s first edition of the Mirror (­table 5.1). It is impor­tant to remember that Albert chose only a small number of titles from John’s Summa to include in any part of his work, so it ­isn’t surprising to see him include so few on this topic. Instead, we should pay attention to what he chose to borrow. Albert was interested in providing parish clergy with 11.  On the importance of Thomas Aquinas in the development of late medieval notions of superstition and demonic activity, see Bailey, Fearful Spirits, Reasoned Follies.

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­Table 5.1  John of Freiburg and Albert of Diessen on Sorcery and Divination JOHN OF FREIBURG SUMMA CONFESSORUM BOOK 1, TITLE 11

ALBERT OF DIESSEN, SPECULUM CLERICORUM CLM 12471 (1370)

What is sorcery, what divination

On sorcery and divination

On the types of divination On w ­ hether all divination is illicit On divination by invoking demons On astral divination On divination by dreams On divination by augury On divination by sorcery On the ars notoria On practices made to effect change in bodies to restore health or similar t­ hings On astronomical images On wearing divine words suspended from the neck On the making of verses over the sick or ­children On the incantation of snakes

On incantation of snakes

On the use of relics of the saints On finding lost t­ hings with an astrolabe On t­ hose who mishandle sacred vestments On t­ hose who encircle the altar or crucifix with thorns On t­ hose who sing masses for the dead for living ­people to do them harm On certain wicked ­women who believe that they fly at night to be with Diana One o ­ ught not have faith in auguries One o ­ ught not seek revelations from the dead What penance o ­ ught to apply to sorcery On t­ hose who offer coins in sacrifice to God ­ hether it is licit to adjure demons (in book 3 on W penance, title 34, question 247)

On conjuring demons

basic tools to recognize ways that their parishioners might engage intentionally and unintentionally with the demonic. Although John’s first chapter and Albert’s sound as though they would be similar, they are completely dif­fer­ent with no overlap whatsoever. John was opening a long and detailed discussion drawn from scholastic experts like Raymond of Penyafort, Thomas Aquinas, and Hostiensis, among ­others. Instead, Albert relied exclusively on material from Gratian’s Decretum causa 26, which included the famous canon Episcopi, first assembled by Regino of Prüm, incorporated by Burchard of Worms into his Decretum, and then given more indisputable authority by its integration into

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Gratian’s canon law collection.12 By relying on the canon Episcopi in this way, Albert was able to pre­sent a full but succinct lesson on sorcery and divination practices without the need to engage extensively with the scholastic tradition presented in John’s work. The two chapters that Albert excerpted from John’s coverage of sorcery and divination worked in a similar fashion, setting general par­ameters of understanding. Albert’s chapter on the incantation of snakes, taken verbatim from Thomas Aquinas’s Summa theologiae as replicated in John’s Summa, was useful as a way to explore the bound­aries between licit and illicit, Godly and demonic activity, which w ­ ere often difficult to discern. In answer to the question of ­whether it was permitted to use incantations to charm snakes, Thomas warned that a snake was the first instrument of demonic power implicated in humankind’s fall in Eden. They ­were deceptive creatures, and trying to subdue them with incantation was necessarily fraught. However, if one carefully leaned entirely on divine words and divine power, it was not necessarily forbidden.13 The point was not to teach about the charming of snakes, but rather to provide a template relevant to other ­things a priest might encounter. Albert’s discussion of priestly conjuration or adjuration was quite similar in form and function to the discussion of snake charming. He chose a brief excerpt from John’s longer discussion (less than one-­quarter of the original), citing only an argument from Aquinas that said adjuration could be licit if done in God’s name to thwart demons, the enemies of humankind, in order to prevent them ­doing harm. Adjuration to achieve some self-­serving aim, on the other hand, would be illicit b­ ecause it placed the adjurer into a kind of fellowship with them.14 Apart from t­ hese three chapters clustered together u ­ nder the rubric of sorcery and divination, Albert dealt with related material elsewhere. For example, Albert necessarily addressed maleficium in his treatment of impediments 12.  For a good summary of the canon’s importance in Eu­ro­pean Christian tradition, see Michael D. Bailey, Magic and Superstition in Eu­rope: A Concise History from Antiquity to the Pre­sent (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2007), 70–75. 13.  Queritur de incantationibus serpentium, aut similium. Super hoc dicit thomas de aquino, Si in incantationibus respectus habeatur solum ad verba sacra et ad virtutem divinam, non puto esse illicitum. Sed plerumque tales incantationes habent illicitas observationes et per demones sortiuntur effectum, precipue in serpentibus quia serpens fuit primum demonis instrumentum ad hominem decipiendum. Clm 12471, fol. 72v. 14.  Queritur utrum liceat demones adiurare, et videtur quod sic secundum thomam de aquino, qui dicit Possumus demones adiurando per virtutem divini nominis tanquam inimicos repellere ne nobis noceant. Non tamen licitum est eos adiurare ad discendum aliquid ab eis vel obtinendum quia hoc pertineret ad aliquam societatem cum eis habendam. Clm 12471, fol. 72v, Clm 5668, fol. 115v and Clm 18387, fol. 59v. The rubric in Clm 12471 has “coniurare” rather than “adiurare,” and the text of Clm 5668 and Clm 18387 uses “coniurare” exclusively.

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to the sacrament of marriage. Impotence was considered an ambiguous impediment to marriage; ­under certain circumstances it meant marriage could not be legitimately contracted, while in other circumstances, it could. Following John of Freiburg and the weight of tradition, Albert noted that impotence could be divided into two primary categories. The first was impotence based on an intrinsic, natu­ral cause, and the second was based on an extrinsic, accidental cause (in an Aristotelian sense). Impotence caused by maleficium fell into the extrinsic, accidental category. C ­ auses could be further divided into ­those that ­were temporary and remediable, and ­those that ­were permanent. Impotence was an impediment to marriage in cases of permanent intrinsic, natu­ral ­causes. Impotence caused by maleficium was likewise divided into categories of permanence and impermanence, and a permanent condition of impotence caused by maleficium, even if only accidental, could be an impediment to marriage.15 Albert could hardly avoid discussing maleficium in the context of impediments to marriage, as that was precisely the sort of crucial instruction in marriage law that a parish priest would be required to know. Another in­ter­est­ing treatment of magic in the context of sacramental practice is found in Albert’s discussion of the Eucharist. In a question exploring ­whether the Eucharist might properly be used as a protective device, he invoked the improper use of a host just three years ­earlier: It is asked w ­ hether by this sacrament imminent failure or existing danger may be averted, and we see that it may not, as is evident from the following. In the year of our Lord 1366  in the month of September, ­there was a renewal of the Egyptian plague, about which the Psalmist wrote, Then came locusts and grasshoppers without number, in the manner of the densest snow snowing, darkening the skies with their shadows and devouring every­thing so that not one kind of grass or grain or plant remained. At that time, certain less well-­educated priests, ignorant in theology, scripture, and law, circumambulated the still fertile fields and farms with the body of our Lord on a litter, demonstrating g­ reat irreverence to that glorious sacrament. About this, they consulted more capable doctors and masters of theology, and [the theologians] said that this ­thing they had done was deeply displeasing and irrational, and it inclined ­toward a type of detestable sorcery. And by example, they recounted that the Ark of the Testament and its contents w ­ ere not brought out in the midst of the Israelite ­people in this manner. And

15.  Clm 12471, fols. 60r–61r. The best treatment of the association of impotence with maleficium is Catherine Rider, Magic and Impotence in the ­Middle Ages (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006).

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therefore, Augustine, Ambrosius, Chrysostom, Cyril, Albert the ­Great, and many ­others had particularly cautioned against the irrational use of the sacrament of the Eucharist in incantations or sorcery or by giving it to c­ attle or other irrational creatures to treat failure to thrive. Rather, the sacrament should be taken out and used with reverence only on days of prayer when the ­whole of the Catholic Church observes pro­ cessions with the relics of all their saints.16 It cannot be an accident that this story appears between a chapter on how to properly care for the Eucharist in a material sense and one explaining the founding of the Feast of Corpus Christi in the thirteenth ­century and details of its observance. It serves as a perfect exemplum; if we did not have outside evidence of the locust invasion of 1366 from climate historians, we might think Albert made it up.17 But it is also in­ter­est­ing that in Albert’s telling, the ignorant priests’ use of the sacrament in an attempt to preserve the fruit of the field is not denounced as sorcery. Rather, it is denounced as inappropriate, irrational, and inclining in the direction of a type of sorcery: vergere in speciem sortilegii detestandam. The ambiguity of sorcery is an intriguing component of the discussion. It is as if, in some way, sorcery serves ­here as an analytical tool to assess the quality of the action. Sorcery as a phenomenon is presumed inherently bad, but it is not always clear what qualifies as sorcery. In this case, sorcery is the standard by which the activities of the less well-­educated priests are judged. Their ritual practice came close to sorcery but was not sorcery. Had the pro­cession been performed by lay p­ eople with an illicitly obtained host one would imagine the action might have crossed that boundary. Much of what was compelling to Albert in this general category of error is superstition, as is clear in the revisions he makes to editions 2 and 3 of the work. 16.  Queritur utrum per hoc sacramentum defectus imminentes vel pericula incumbentia sint abigenda, et videtur quod non sicut patet in subscriptis: Anno igitur domini M ccc lxvi mense septembri, innovata est plaga egiptiata de qua dicit psalmista, Venit locusta et brucus cuius non erat numerus ad modum nivis densissime ningentis, omne solum volatum suo obumbrans nec non morsu edati lamentabiliter omne genus bladei, feni, et graminis dissipans prorsus et absummens. Eodem vero tempore quidam prespiteri minus periti, theologice scripture et iuris ignari, per campos et agros frugiferos circuierunt, corpus dominicum vaiolando, maximam proculdubio irreverentiam sacramento gloriosissimo exhibentes. Super [quo] consulti doctores et magistri theologie potiores, dixerunt hunc casum et actum sibi per maxime displicere, nec esse rationis, sed potius vergere in speciem sortilegii detestandam. Et exempli gratia allegabant quod archa testamenti non ad omnem iacturam populi israhelitici fuerit exhibita, nec illa que in ipsa erant contenta. Preterea Augustinus, Ambrosius, Crisostemus, Cyrillus, Albertus magnus et alii multi in particulari de sacramento eukaristie tractantes asserunt, nulla ratione pro incantationibus sortilegiis, seu pecualibus, vel aliarum irrationabilium creaturarum defectibus refricandis et abigendis. hoc sacramento eximio esse utendum Cum revera diebus rogationum per omnem ecclesiam katholicam cum sanctorum reliquiis tantum generales observentur pro­cessiones. Clm 12471, fol. 26r–­v. 17.  On the locust invasion of 1366, see the introduction to this book.

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If sorcery, divination, and superstitious practices invited demons into h ­ uman society, ­there w ­ ere other circumstances in which demons inserted themselves into ­human society quite unbidden. Albert included two chapters on demonic obsession—­a concept that seems to have been distinct from demonic possession—­toward the end of the work in his treatment of burial. Albert began by asking ­whether it was permissible to bury a person suffering from obsession (furiosus vel mente captus aut freneticus) in a Christian cemetery if that person had died by suicide. ­Were ­there some circumstances in which an obsessed person who died in this manner could have a Christian burial? The answer was that if the obsessed person had lucid intervals but was seized at the end by demonic power and died by suicide while in a state of madness, the obsessed individual was not responsible for the act and could be buried in a Christian cemetery.18 He followed that discussion with a chapter exploring ­whether demons substantially entered the bodies or minds of ­those they obsessed. Citing Gennadius of Marseille (fifth ­ century) and Bede (seventh ­century), he asserted that no, demons tormented their obsessed victims from outside their bodies, without material substance.19 Albert added considerable heft to his discussion of sorcery, superstition, and demonic activity in the revised editions of the Mirror. The following chart illustrates the changes in brief; material not drawn from John of Freiburg’s Summa is marked with an asterisk (­table 5.2). As Albert worked on the second edition, he seems to have envisioned expanding coverage of the topic but did not quite have his approach worked out. The range and relationship of the chapters appears to have come to him at the second stage of his revisions. First, he added new chapters on types of divination and on ­whether an ordinary priest was permitted to adjure demons without an episcopal license. He also moved the question on ­whether demons 18.  Queritur si furiosus vel mente captus aut freneticus in furore suo seipsum interfecerit quocumque modo id acciderit utrum in cymiterio debeat sepeliri. Circa hoc distinguendum est quia si talis lucida habuerit intervalla, et tandem in furiam versus, seipsum interemerit, est sepeliendus. Si vero alia quacumque ex causa hoc accidisse contigerit, ecclesiastica ei denegabitur sepultura. Et quomodo huiusmodi mala ex infestationibus dyabolicis eveniunt, notanda est questio que sequitur. Clm 12471, fol. 85v. 19.  Hiis auctoritatibus ostenditur quod demones non substantialiter intrant corda vel corpora hominum. Clm 12387, fol. 86r. For a helpful discussion of interiority versus exteriority and a general assignment of possession to the interior, obsession to the exterior, see Nancy Caciola, Discerning Spirits: Divine and Demonic Possession in the ­Middle Ages (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 2003), 213–15. Caciola quotes Vincent of Beauvais saying that a person categorized as an energumen is not obsessed b­ ecause their torment is interior. This sort of distinction seems to break down l­ater in the M ­ iddle Ages. According to Anne M. Koenig, by the late M ­ iddle Ages, madness was most often assigned a medical cause rather than a demonic one, but when demons ­were presumed to be active, it was as obsession rather than possession. Anne M. Koenig, “ ‘Robbed of Their Minds’: Madness, Medicine and Society in Southeastern Germany from 1350 to 1500” (PhD diss., Northwestern University, 2013), 251. On late medieval notions of demonic possession, see also Sari Katajala-­Peltomaa, Demonic Possession and Lived Religion.

On conjuring demons ­Whether clerics may conjure without episcopal license* On ­whether demons substantially enter obsessed persons*

On sorcery and divination* On conjuring demons ­Whether clerics may conjure without episcopal license* On ­whether demons substantially enter obsessed persons* On the types of divination On burying a person obsessed by a demon in a Christian cemetery,* including a new discussion of four species of ­mental illness (types of demonic obsession)* (in burial section)

On sorcery and divination*

On conjuring demons

On burying a person obsessed by a demon in a Christian cemetery* (in burial section)

On ­whether demons substantially enter obsessed persons* (in burial section)

On burying a person obsessed by a demon in a Christian cemetery* (in burial section)

On Egyptian Days (in additional paragraphs at back)* On the types of magical arts (marginal comment on the page discussing types of divination)*

That ­women cannot travel from place to place in the night (in discussion of the soul and illusion)*

That ­women cannot travel from place to place in the night (in discussion of the soul and illusion)*

On the four species of ­mental illness (types of demonic obsession)*

On the types of divination

On Egyptian Days*

On sorcery and divination*

On incantation of snakes

On incantation of snakes

On incantation of snakes

CLM 18387 (1377)

CLM 5668 (1373)

CLM 12471 (1370)

­Table 5.2  Albert of Diessen’s Revisions of Material on Sorcery and Divination

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Figure 5.2.  Nota quod quatuor sunt species mente captorum (Note that ­there are four types of ­mental illness). Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 5668, fol. 137v.

entered obsessed ­humans materially from the section on burial to this section. He kept the question about w ­ hether an obsessed person who died by suicide could be given a Christian burial in its original spot, but he now put an addendum at the end of the question that read, “Note that t­here are four types of m ­ ental illness” in which he discussed the dif­fer­ent ways that demons could harm p­ eople’s minds. A manicule (pointing hand) in the margin draws attention to the new material, possibly Albert’s own indicator (figure 5.2). It seems to have occurred to him afterward to move that discussion of types of demonic obsession to the ­earlier section on sorcery, divination, and the demonic. Next to the question he had already moved on to the materiality of demonic obsession; he put a marginal note indicating that a chapter on the four types of demonic obsession currently in the section on burial should be moved h ­ ere.20 He made the change in edition 3, turning the addendum into a separate chapter of its own following the one on demonic substance.21 In addition to rearranging and expanding the material we have just seen, Albert added some entirely new topics elsewhere in the text, including one chapter on w ­ omen who believe they can fly and one cautioning against the observance of Egyptian Days. The case of ­women who have the illusion they fly is an in­ter­est­ing one b­ ecause this was a topic that, by the fifteenth c­ entury, would be heavi­ly contested. The tenth-­century canon Episcopi insisted that any 20.  De quatuor speciebus obsessorum. Responsio infra de sepultis, et debet hic scribi. Clm 5668, fol. 116r and Nota quod quatuor sunt species mente captorum. Clm 5668, fol. 137v. 21.  Clm 18837, fols. 58v–60v.

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such travel was entirely illusory, but by the 1430s, self-­declared witchcraft experts like the authors of the Malleus maleficarum would come to insist that such night travel was real.22 John of Freiburg had included the question in his title on sorcery and divination, abridging the canon Episcopi but communicating the main point, that such flight was strictly illusory. Albert cited Gratian, C. 26 q. 5 c. 12 in his work, and his text followed the Decretum almost verbatim, except that he left out the reference to Diana or other pagan deities. Why did Albert overlook the question in his first edition of the text and add it ­later? Albert had provided the penance for belief in ­women who fly in his chapter on penitential canons, but he had not included a discussion of the phenomenon. Perhaps his inclusion of the penance t­ here (it was not included in the penitential canons of e­ ither Hostiensis or John of God) raised questions by readers. He added the chapter to a new section of the text that dealt with the relationship of the soul to the body, appearing immediately a­ fter (edition 2) or before (edition 3) a question asking about the role of the spirit in dreams and visions.23 This discussion served as a bridge between the original end of the Mirror and the new eschatological ending. The discussion of w ­ omen who fly served a dif­ fer­ent purpose for Albert than it had for John. Most impor­tant, it affirmed that the devil could mislead ­people in a variety of ways, convincing them that they had experienced t­ hings bodily that had been an illusion. In general, Albert’s version adhered more closely to the canon Episcopi than did John’s, and it seems pos­si­ble that he took it from Burchard of Worms rather than John. One in­ter­est­ing edit that Albert made was to leave out the reference to w ­ omen flying with Diana, liberating the tradition from specific pagan roots, and therefore making it more relevant to his own world. The paragraph warning against the observance of so-­called Egyptian Days, a set of inauspicious days that ­were carried from antiquity into late antique/ early medieval Christian culture, was added at the back of edition 2 as one of the random additions meant to be integrated into the work in vari­ous places. This is something that Albert did not find in John of Freiburg’s Summa, and it is something not typically found in other pastoral manuals ­either. What one finds in John’s work, and in pastoral manuals like Guido of Monte Rochen’s Handbook for Curates, is a one-­sentence quotation from Augustine, noting that Egyptian Days should not be observed. This topic merits a long discussion from 22.  On the question of witch’s flight, see the special issue of Magic, Ritual, and Witchcraft on witches’ flight with a helpful introduction by Michael Ostling, “Introduction to the Special Issue: How (and Why) Do Witches Fly?,” Magic, Ritual, and Witchcraft 11, no. 1 ( June 16, 2016): 1–5. 23.  De visionibus que fiunt in sompnis followed by Quod mulieres non vagantur de nocte de loco ad locum, Clm 5668, fols. 140v–141r; Quod mulieres non vagantur de nocte de loco ad locum, followed by Utrum observanda sit sompnia, Clm 18387, fol. 74r.

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Albert, however, drawing primarily once again from Gratian’s Decretum.24 The observation of Egyptian Days was treated in the Decretum as part of a general rejection of special significance assigned to vari­ous days of the year outside of legitimate Christian days of observance. Peter Comestor had discussed the tradition in his Historia scholastica, drawing a connection between the biblical ten plagues and inauspicious days in the Egyptian calendar. Albert began with Peter’s origin story, but then quickly moved on to cite Gratian, replicating that discussion verbatim. The idea that medieval Eu­ro­pe­ans ­were maintaining observance of ancient Egyptian calendrical practices might seem unlikely, but Don Skemer has demonstrated just how relevant t­hese traditions remained in late medieval Eu­ rope.25 Egyptian Days w ­ ere inserted into liturgical calendars, referenced in works of lit­er­a­ture, and frequently written into personal calendars. As noted above, Peter Comestor discussed them in his Historia scholastica, and the widely admired author of a treatise On the spheres, Johannes de Sacrobosco, included the days in his treatise on the calendar, De anni ratione. Beyond inauspicious days, specific “dangerous hours” on t­ hose days ­were sometimes calculated as well. In Albert’s diocese of Augsburg, it was customary to include Egyptian Days in the calendars bound in psalters or books of hours. For example, a late twelfth-­or early thirteenth-­century manuscript likely from the community of nuns at the Benedictine monatery of Ulrich and Afra in Augsburg includes Egyptian Days at the foot of each month’s calendar (figure 5.3).26 Evidence suggests that attention to inauspicious Egyptian Days was the rule rather than the exception; Albert’s concern about observance of inauspicious days almost certainly reflected awareness of ­actual practice rather than a mere echo of ancient concern.27 Albert amplified concerns about superstition in editions 2 and 3 by adding the questions on Egyptian Days and on divination. Albert’s interest in the way that superstition and observation of pagan traditions could open dangerous 24.  The new paragraph on the observance of Egyptian Days is found in Clm 5668, fols. 176v– 177v and the e­ arlier paragraphs on superstition are found on fols. 114v–116v. On fol. 115r in the top margin Albert indicates that he has written new paragraphs on Egyptian Days, demons, and the paragraph is inserted in the indicated place in Clm 18387 on fols. 58v–60v. 25.  Don C. Skemer, “ ‘Armis Gunfe’: Remembering Egyptian Days,” Traditio 65 (2010): 75–106. 26.  Walters Art Museum, MS W.26, Claricia Psalter, fol. 4v. Online digitization and description are available at http://­www​.­thedigitalwalters​.­org​/­Data​/­WaltersManuscripts​/­html​/­W26​/­description​.­html. The text reads “tredecimus iuli. decimo innuit ante kalendas,” so the thirteenth of July and the tenth day before the kalends are Egyptian (inauspicious) days. Note that they have been marked in the right column of the calendar with red Ds. ­There are a vast number of manuscripts that might be used to illustrate the ongoing recognition of Egyptian Days. I chose to use this manuscript ­because of its physical proximity to Albert (the same diocese) and the fact that the manuscript description indicates extremely heavy use; it may well have been used still in Albert’s day. 27.  Skemer, “Armis Gunfe,” 88–89.

Figure 5.3.  Inauspicious “Egyptian Days” are recorded at the bottom of each month’s calendar in the “Claricia Psalter” from Augsburg. A red “D” marks t­ hose days in the right column. The text, Tredecimus iuli. decimo innuit ante kalendas, comes from a popu­lar medieval verse mnemonic for the twenty-­four Egyptian Days. Walters Art Museum, MS W.26, fol. 4v.

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doors to demonic influence in Christian society is especially evident in that short part of the Mirror devoted to penitential canons. As explained in chapter 4, the early medieval penitential tradition lived on in l­ ater confessors’ manuals or pastoral manuals through the pre­sen­ta­tion of a concise list of key sins and penances associated with the idea of an early Roman penitential canon. Hostiensis’s list of forty-­six penitential canons gained widespread ac­cep­tance so that by the end of the thirteenth c­ entury, that list was the most commonly utilized form. John of Freiburg replicated Hostiensis’s list, and Guido of Monte Rochen simply directed his readers to find themselves a copy of Hostiensis’s work.28 Albert, however, followed his own path. Of the forty-­six canons Hostiensis placed on the list, Albert included just fourteen in his first edition and thirteen in the second and third editions. He ignored several significant ones, like sins against nature, including sodomy. Albert introduced fourteen canons that w ­ ere not part of Hostiensis’s list (or any other con­temporary list, for that m ­ atter). Many of t­ hese unique canons emphasized sins of false belief and practice, especially in the case of canons that Albert added to the list in editions 2 and 3. In edition 1 he included the canons from Hostiensis’s list for 1) protecting one’s home with magical incantations and 2) engaging in sorcery or divination but he also added three canons not found in Hostiensis, on 1) believing and affirming that certain ­women had the power to fly, 2) observing the kalends of January (as the New Year) or other similar pagan practices and 3) worshipping the ele­ments or new moon in the manner of pagans. In the second and third editions he omitted the canon on protecting one’s home with magical incantations but kept the ­others, expanding his comments on the observation of the kalends of January and adding a lengthy discussion of penance for believing or affirming the real­ity of werewolves: One who would believe or affirm that men can be changed into wolves, which are called werewolf in the vernacular should do penance for ten days on bread and ­water. Certain perverse and unfaithful ­people imitate the customs and rites of the gentiles, affirming that fates, which in the vernacular are called gaschepfen, make it so that when a child grows that man is able to transform himself into a wolf whenever he wishes, which the folly of common p­ eople calls a werewolf. But this could never happen, that the image of a man made in the likeness of God could be transformed into another species or likeness by anyone except God alone. And therefore, one who believes or affirms that h ­ uman nature can be transformed into another species or likeness or can be changed for better or 28.  See Hostiensis, Summa cols. 1837–1841; John of God, Liber penitentiarius book 2 in Payer, 97–105; John of Freiburg, SC, book 3, title 34, question 125, fols. 274r–276r.

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worse except by the creator himself by whom all ­things are made, is without doubt an infidel and worse than a Jew or a pagan.29 As explained in chapter 4, the addition of this material to his revision of the text may have been inspired by Burchard of Worms’ Decretum. However, Albert’s use of the term fatales rather than parcae for the fates and his incorporation of the Bavarian/Tyrolian vernacular term, gaschepfen, which does not appear in any other known source, suggests that he e­ ither had some other intermediate source at hand or he was aware of an ongoing tradition that he thought worthy of address.30 In any case, Albert’s unusual emphasis on superstition, pagan practice, and unbelief becomes especially notable in comparison with what John and other followers of Hostiensis typically did. John included penitential canons for practicing sorcery or divination and for using magical incantations to protect the home (a transgression Albert copied into his first edition, but not the second or third), but not for ­things like believing that ­women can fly or that fates determine that some men are able to turn themselves into wolves, or the observation of Kalends, and other pagan rites. Albert’s concerns regarding sorcery, divination, and the demonic include an interior orientation as well as physical, material observance.

Christian-­Jewish Coexistence Albert was interested in the Jews as infidels and members (in some sense) of Christian society, as we see in the attention he paid to them in the vari­ous editions of the Mirror of Priests. Sometimes, Albert brought Jews into the text to 29.  Qui crediderit vel affirmaverit lupos in homines [corrected by Albert to “homines in lupos” in text] mutari, qui vulgariter dicuntur werewolf, x diebus in pane et aqua peniteat. Mores enim et ritus gentilium quidam perversi et infideles imitantur affirmando quod fatales, qui in vulgari dicuntur gaschepfen, hoc faciant dum puer nascitur quod quandocumque ille homo voluerit in lupum se transformare possit quem vulgaris stultitia werewolf appellat. Sed hoc numquam fieri potest, ut ymago hominis ad similitudinem dei facta, in aliam formam aut speciem transformetur ab aliquo nisi a solo deo. Et ergo qui credit vel affirmat humanam naturam transformari in aliam speciem vel similitudinem, seu quovis modo in elius aut deterius mutari, nisi ab ipso creatore per quem omnia facta sunt, proculdubio infidelis est et deterior iudeo vel pagano. Clm 5668, fol. 63v. Clm 18387, fol. 33v–34r contains a slightly adapted version of the same text: Qui crediderit vel affirmaverit homines in lupos mutari, qui vulgari lingua werewolf nuncupantur, x diebus in pane et aqua peniteat. Mores enim et ritus gentilium quidam perversi et infideles imitantur, affirmando quod fatales qui vulgari lingua gaschepfen appellantur, hoc faciant dum puer nascitur, ut quandomcumque homo ille voluerit in lupum se transformare possit. Et hic lupus a vulgari stultitia werewolf nuncupetur. Sed absit ut ymago humana ad ymaginem et similitudinem dei facta, in aliam formam transformetur ab aliquo nisi a solo deo. Qui ergo credit vel affirmat hoc, proculdubio infidelis est et omni iudeo deterior vel pagano. 30.  I owe thanks to Greta Austin and to John Burden, both experts on Burchard of Worms, for confirming that this reference does not appear in any of the many Burchard manuscripts they have used in their work.

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address ­actual encounters while other times he brought Jews into the text to make a point about something ­else. As usual, Albert drew content from John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum, but exercised in­de­pen­dence in his use of that material. Sometimes he brought in alternative authorities, and sometimes he added his own voice. The first notable difference one sees when one compares the nature of John of Freiburg’s and Albert’s treatment of Jews is in the structure and organ­ization of the material. Canons concerning Jews (and Muslims) had been scattered throughout Gratian’s Decretum, the foundational work for the teaching of canon law in universities and other scholastic settings.31 When Bernard of Pavia composed his Breviarium extravagantium, better known as the Compilatio prima, sometime between 1188 and 1192, he gathered in a single unit all of Gratian’s canons dealing with Jews and Muslims in a section called On the Jews, Saracens, and their Servants. Bernard established a new pattern that would be followed in subsequent compilations of canon law and related works, including in Raymond of Penyafort’s Summa de casibus and works based on it, like John of Freiburg’s Summa.32 This arrangement would have been helpful for teaching the fullness of a canon law tradition. But it would not have been especially helpful as a practical guide. Albert deconstructed the tradition, ignoring the form of John’s influential guide and including canons on Jews wherever it struck him as most relevant. Canons concerning Jews and baptism ­were placed within the section on baptism; canons concerning the killing of Jews appear within the section on hom­i­cide, and so on. And where John followed Raymond and the canon law tradition in addressing Jews and Muslims together in a single unit, Albert restricted himself to questions about Jews, only rarely mentioning Muslims in connection with Jews. This makes perfect sense since Jews ­were part of the 31.  Our understanding of the development of the Decretum has expanded exponentially in the past twenty years thanks largely to the groundbreaking scholarship of Anders Winroth who first demonstrated multiple recensions of the Decretum in The Making of Gratian’s Decretum (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000). Canon law concerning Jews is not treated systematically in the Decretum, but is scattered throughout the work, making it difficult to discover relevant material in the commentary tradition. Kenneth Pennington has argued that Gratian only included canons on Jews in his final recension of the text. Since Gratian expanded his e­ arlier recensions by slipping new canons into the existing structure, a new canon on Jews and baptism, for example, would be placed in the relevant section on baptism rather than in a section on the Jews. This is the situation Bernard of Pavia remedied with his collection of canons regarding Jews into a coherent unit. Kenneth Pennington, “Gratian and the Jews,” Bulletin of Medieval Canon Law 31 (2014): 111–24. 32.  Bernard of Pavia, Breviarium extravagantium, or Compilatio prima, in QCA. Available at: http://­ works​.­bepress​.­com​/­david​_­freidenreich​/­21. On Bernard’s decision to link Jews and Muslims in this way, see Benjamin Kedar, “De iudeis et sarracenis. On the Categorization of Muslims in Medieval Canon Law,” in Studia in honorem. eminentissimi cardinalis Alphonsi M. Stickler, ed. R. I. Castillo Lara (Rome: LAS, 1992), 207–13. For more on the pro­cess of joining and separating canon law treatment of Jews and Muslims, see Klepper, “Disentangling Heretics, Jews, and Muslims.”

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German social landscape, while Muslims ­were not. The deviation reflects the varied purposes of John’s Summa and a parish-­oriented tradition. It also shows the way that existing collections of authoritative law and doctrine w ­ ere freely adapted by ­those, like Albert, who ­were working in a parish context. In the first edition of the Mirror, ­there are ten chapters that include brief references to or sustained discussions of Jews or Christian-­Jewish interactions.33 ­These discussions are placed in the coverage of baptism, the Eucharist, and penance in part 1, and in discussions of hom­ic­ ide and usury in part 2. We see material that was meant primarily to teach Christians something about themselves and Christian sacrament through reference to Jews, and material that was meant to offer practical advice about Jews, sometimes both at the same time. When Albert included a discussion of the need for would-be Jewish converts to have an extended eight-­month period as catechumens before baptism b­ ecause they are “inconstant” in their belief and liable to reversion, he was si­mul­ta­neously communicating a canon law policy on conversion and inculcating a par­tic­u­lar Christian understanding of Jewish nature.34 The story of a Jew who, overcome with contrition, tried to baptize himself before death offered another opportunity to reflect on the nature of baptism. Albert included three references to a self-­baptizing Jew. He first told the story of the contrite Jew in his opening section on the form and substance of baptism, citing Raymond of Penyafort as his source. The point t­ here was to emphasize that even absent the necessary priest and w ­ ater, the Jew’s faith was sufficient.35 That brief story was followed immediately by the corrective on the inconstancy of Jews and need for an eight-­month waiting period, attributed to the gloss on Raymond. Then Albert came back to the Jew’s self-­baptism a few chapters ­later in the discussion of the three modes of baptism: w ­ ater, fire, and blood. In explaining baptism by fire, Albert wrote that a perfect example of this was the story of the Jew he had related above.36 Fi­nally, as yet another cor33.  Many other paragraphs briefly mention Jews or discuss the customs of ancient Israel. For example, in the section on confession, Albert asks ­whether ancient Jews practiced oral confession, and in the discussion of the Eucharist t­ here is a reference to the customs surrounding the eating of the paschal lamb in ancient Israel. I have not included t­ hose sorts of references to ancient Israel or New Testament Jews in my discussion. 34.  Albert attributes this to the gloss on Raymond’s Summa. Glossa: Iudei inconstantes sunt et sepe decipiunt ecclesiam, et ideo notandum est statutum ecclesie sicut habetur in decretum de consecratione distinctione quarta, ex concilio agathense, Iudei quorum perfidia frequenter ad vomitum redit, si ad leges katholicas venire voluerint, octo mensibus inter catecuminos ecclesie introeant, et si pura fide venire noscuntur, tunc demun baptismatis gratiam merentur. Quod si casu aliquo periculum infirmitatis intra prescriptum tempus incurrerint, et desperati fuerint, baptizentur. Clm 12471, fol. 7r–­v. 35.  Iudeus currens contritus ad hostia templi. Si sibi defuerit aqua, presbyter, et moriatur. Firmiter in christo credens salvabitur iste. Clm 12471, fol. 7r. 36.  Preterea sciendum est triplicem esse baptismum, scilicet flaminis, fluminis, et sanguinis. Primo in flamine baptizantur hii qui morte perventi aquam non valentes habere, in fide katholica decesserunt. Exemplum

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rective to the story of the self-­baptizing Jew, Albert added an excerpt from a letter of Innocent III recorded in book 3 of Gregory IX’s Decretals concerning a Jew who had attempted to baptize himself. The Jew, surrounded only by other Jews, immersed himself, saying “I baptize myself in the name of the ­Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit.” Would this baptism be valid, or should the Jew be rebaptized? According to the report in the Decretals, Innocent determined that the Jew should be rebaptized ­because no one can baptize himself; ­there must be a distinction between the baptized and the baptizer, as even Jesus had John the Baptist play the role of baptizer.37 In edition 1, Albert mentioned only that it was a Jew at the heart of the question; in his revisions, he added the rest of the story, including Innocent’s final comment that had the Jew died before a proper baptism could be performed, he would nevertheless have been saved by the power of faith in the sacrament.38 Jews play an impor­ tant rhetorical purpose yet again in Albert’s explanation that the baptism of an infant performed by a Jew, Muslim, or bad Christian on behalf of Christian parents was valid. That position did reflect canon law concerning the possibility of non-­Christians to play a vital role in Christian ritual, but it was meant primarily to communicate the power of sacramental form and substance in baptism.39 Apart from t­ hese questions in the section on baptism, and one question supra positum, Iudeus currens. Unde dominus dixit apostolis, Vos autem baptizabimini spiritu sancto, ­etc. Clm 12471, fol. 7v. 37.  De iudeo qui seipsum baptizavit. In tertio libro decretalium capitulo de baptismo, dicit Innocentius tertius de iudeo qui seipsum baptizavit. Cum intra baptizatum et baptizantem debeat esse discretio, sicut ex verbis domini colligitur quando dixit apostolis, “Baptizantes eos ­etc.” memoratus iudeus denuo est baptizandus, quia alius est qui baptizatur et alius est qui baptizat, ad quod etiam designandum ipse christus non a se ipso sed a iohanne voluit baptizari. Et hec ratio quod nemo potest seipsum baptizare. Clm 12781, fol. 8r. The reference is to Debitum pastoralis officii in Gregory IX’s Decretalium, book 3, title 42, De baptismo, chapter  4. Friedberg, CIC, 646, http://­www​.­columbia​.­edu​/­cu​/­lweb​/­digital​/­collections​/­cul​/­texts​/­ldpd​_­6029936​_­001​/­pages​/­ldpd​ _­6029936​_­001​_­00000007​.­html. In a private email exchange on July 13, 2017, Marcia Colish commented that even though Albert cites Innocent III ­here, he takes a stricter view of the story as mediated by Gregory IX in the Decretals. For more on medieval discussions of self baptism, see Marcia L. Colish, “Self-­ Baptism in the ­Middle Ages?,” in Textual Communities, Textual Selves: Dialogues with Brian Stock, ed. Sarah Powrie and Gur Zak (Toronto: PIMS, forthcoming 2022). 38.  Queritur utrum quis possit seipsum baptizare. Et videtur quod non. Sicut patet in tertio de baptismo. Innocentius tertius arelatensi archiepiscopo, Debitum, et infra, Sane intimasti, quod quidam iudeus in mortis articulo constitutus cum inter iudeos tantum existeret, in aquam seipsum immersit, dicendo, Ego baptizo me in nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti, amen. Respondemus quod cum intra baptizatum et baptizantem debeat esse discretio, sicut ex verbis domini colligitur dicentis apostolis, Baptizate omnes gentes in nomine patris et filii et spiritus sancti. Memoratus iudeus ab alio est denuo baptizandus ut ostendatur quod alius est qui baptizatur alius qui baptizat. Ad quod etiam designandum, ipse christus non a seipso sed a iohanne voluit baptizari, quamvis si talis continuo decessisset ad patriam protinus convolasset [evolasset] propter fidem sacramenti, etsi non propter fidei sacramentum. Clm 18387, fols. 7r. 39.  Queritur utrum iudei, pagani, et mali christiani possint baptizare et videtur quod sic. Dicit enim magister sententiarum in textu, Cum baptizat malus, illud quod datum est unum est, nec impar propter impares ministros, sed boni baptizando conferunt sacramentum et rem sacramenti. Ergo et mali, si servant debitam f­ ormam

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asking why Jews w ­ ere given permission in their law to take usury from gentiles, all of the remaining discussions of or references to Jews in edition 1 ­pertain to Christian-­Jewish coexistence, and especially to warnings about extrajudicial anti-­Jewish vio­lence. In the impor­tant list of individuals who should not be permitted to take communion already discussed, we find Jews, servants of Jews, and “­those who kill Jews without l­egal pro­cess.” In a discussion of sin and the question of ignorance in sin, Albert used the example of killing a Jew thinking it not a sin as an example of an act done with intention but without proper understanding of the ­matter. Fi­nally, in the section on hom­ i­cide ­there was a chapter that dealt at substantial length with the prob­lem of killing Jews outside a ­legal pro­cess, referenced in the list of ­those whose sins mandated restriction from participation in the Eucharist. ­After his discussion of the illicit killing of Jews, Albert offered a paragraph summarizing how Jews ­ought best be accommodated in Christian communities.40 Of the eight questions posed in Albert’s first edition, four correspond with material found in John of Freiburg’s Summa, and four come from outside that tradition. The following ­table illustrates the points of overlap and divergence (­table 5.3). A comparison of the three autograph manuscripts shows the development of Albert’s thought as he refined his approach to issues such as the importance of protecting Jewish communities from Christian vio­lence and abuse, understanding Jewish engagement in usury, and the par­ameters for Christian social interaction with Jews. One ­thing that comes through is a concern for the vulnerability of Jewish communities in Bavaria—­communities he insisted should be protected from random vio­lence, even as Christians w ­ ere to avoid engaging too closely. In the second edition, Albert expanded and developed references to Jews and their place in Christian society. In addition to all the paragraphs found in the first edition, he added an extended discussion of how Jews o ­ ught to live in Christian society, he discussed the vari­ous names given to Jews and the respective sources of ­those names, and he added several guides to penance for ­those who associate with Jews or who have relations with Jewish or Muslim w ­ omen. The third edition is almost the same as the second, except that he put the vari­ous pieces in the new order he intended, ­there are some small variations in wording or rubrics, and he added a chapter on how to h ­ andle found objects belonging to Jews. He also changed yet again the language he used to frame the chapters on cum intentione baptizandi. Clm 12471, fol. 8v. This possibility was not just theoretical since Jewish and Muslim ­women sometimes served as midwives to Christian w ­ omen, and “bad” Christians abounded. For an in­ter­est­ing perspective on the potential prob­lems with interreligious midwifery, see Monica H. Green and Daniel Lord Smail, “The Trial of Floreta d’Ays (1403): Jews, Christians, and Obstetrics in ­Later Medieval Marseille,” Journal of Medieval History 34, no. 2 ( June 1, 2008): 185–211. 40.  Clm 12781, fols. 28v; 30v; 75v–76r.

­Table 5.3  John of Freiburg and Albert of Diessen on Jews and Muslims JOHN OF FREIBURG, SUMMA CONFESSORUM ON JEWS, PAGANS, AND THEIR SERVANTS BOOK 1, TITLE 4

ALBERT OF DIESSEN, SPECULUM CLERICORUM CLM 12471 (1370)

Who are called Jews How Jews and Muslims should be brought to the faith ­ hether ­children of Jews and other infidels should W be baptized against parents’ ­will How Christians should interact with Jews Muslims

Christians should be careful how they interact with Jews (fol. 75v–76r)

Punishment for t­ hose who violate ­those rules, both Christian and infidel ­ hether wet nurses may bathe with Jewish W ­children ­Whether the faithful may interact with infidels ­ hether the lord of a territory is permitted to take W payments from the Jews If Jews have nothing but money from usury, may restitution be taken from them If a Jew transgresses, ­whether he may be given a financial punishment if he has nothing but usury ­Whether it is permissible to receive gifts from Jews ­ hether a lord can receive more from a Jew than W he would from a Christian, and what to do with the remainder ­ hether the rites of gentiles should be tolerated as W the rites of Jews are What law governs the servants of Jews and Muslins ­ hether a Jew or Muslim who has been baptized W should remain a servant to his Christian lord ­ hether it is permissible for Christians to serve W Jews or Muslims If Jews occupy a parish by purchasing land and homes once occupied by Christians, can the church ask them to pay what the Christians had? On Usury book 2, title 7 ­Whether Jews may exact usury from Christians

Why the law allowed Jews to receive usury from gentiles (fol. 77r)

­ hether Christians may exact usury from Jews, W Muslims, or other enemies of the faith ­ fter a Christian accepts usury from a Jew, it A should be restored On the Sacraments: Baptism book 3, title 24 Who o ­ ught to administer baptism

That Jews, Muslims, and wicked Christians may baptize (fol. 8v)

­ hether a Jew or Muslim who has asked to be W baptized should be baptized immediately

That Jews should remain catechumens eight months before baptism (fol. 7r–­v) (continued)

16 6 C h a p t e r  5

­Table 5.3  John of Freiburg and Albert of Diessen on Jews and Muslims (continued) JOHN OF FREIBURG, SUMMA CONFESSORUM ON JEWS, PAGANS, AND THEIR SERVANTS BOOK 1, TITLE 4

ALBERT OF DIESSEN, SPECULUM CLERICORUM CLM 12471 (1370)

About the Jew who baptized himself [in the introduction to the substance of baptism (fol. 7r) and again in the chapter on three forms of baptism: fire, ­water, and blood (fol. 8r) Jews, servants of Jews, and “­those who kill Jews without ­legal pro­cess” are among ­those to be denied communion (fol. 28v) ­ hether killing a Jew in ignorance that it is a sin W is still culpable (fol. 30v) That Jews may not be killed without ­legal pro­cess (fol. 75v)

the extrajudicial killing of Jews and Muslims. In editions 1 and 2, he asked ­whether Jews and Muslims may be killed outside of ­legal pro­cess; in edition 3, he instead asked ­whether Jews and Muslims may be killed outside of l­egal sentencing. He also changed the language in the question of who should be excluded from communion. Edition 1 included ­those who kill Jews outside of ­legal pro­cess (occisores iudeorum absque legali iudicio) and edition 2 excluded t­hose who kill Jews outside of civil justice (occisores iudeorum absque iudicio politico), whereas the third edition simply says that t­hose who kill Jews or Muslims o ­ ught to be excluded (occisores iudeorum vel paganorum). Some of the changes that Albert made to edition 2 and incorporated into edition 3 ­were made in the main body of the text while some ­were made in the additional material at the end or in marginal comments. In ­table 5.4, I distinguish between chapters found in the main body of the text and ­those added at the end with instructions about placement. As we have seen, Albert included a short discussion of how to live properly with Jews in the first edition of his text, as part of a paragraph asking w ­ hether it was licit to kill them without ­legal pro­cess: Be careful about familiarity with Jews, concerning which the Council of Toledo said that no one, clergy or laity, should eat of their bread, or live with them, or call upon them in sickness, or take medicine from them, or bathe together with them. If a clergy person does this, he should be stripped of ­orders, and if a layperson, excommunicated. Innocent III said that Jews o ­ ught to be distinguished from Christians by their dress, that they should not have secular authority over Christians. Also, during Holy Week, they should not leave their homes and they should keep their win­ dows closed, lest seeing Christians in mourning they should mock them.

That a Christian who commits adultery with a Jewess or pagan ­shall be excluded from communion for five years (fol. 49v) That Jews and Muslims may not be killed without judicial sentence (fol. 61v) On the vari­ous names by which Jews are called (fol. 61v)

That Jews should remain catechumens eight months before baptism (fol. 11r) That baptism should be performed by a priest, but if necessary may be performed by anyone, including a Jew or Muslim (fol. 12r) That Jews, Muslims, heretics, and t­ hose not baptized may baptize (fol. 12v) Innocent III on a Jew who attempted to baptize himself (in a chapter explaining that no one may baptize himself ) (fol. 13v) Jews, servants of Jews, and “­those who kill Jews without civil justice” are among ­those to be denied communion (fol. 33v) ­ hether killing a Jew in ignorance that it is a sin is still W culpable (fol. 40r) That a Christian who eats the food of Jews or pagans should do penance for ten days on bread and ­water (fol. 63r) That any Christian who believes and affirms that ­humans can transform into werewolves and other creatures is an infidel and worse than a Jew or a pagan (fol. 63v) That a Christian who engages in adultery with a Jewess or gentile ­shall be excluded from communion for five years (fol. 94v) That Jews may not be killed without ­legal pro­cess (fol. 119r) Why the law allowed Jews to receive usury from gentiles (fol. 121v)

That Jews should remain catechumens eight months before baptism (fol. 7r–­v)

Innocent III on a Jew who attempted to baptize himself (in a chapter explaining that no one may baptize himself ) (fol. 8r)

That Jews, Muslims, and wicked Christians may baptize (fol. 8v)

Jews, servants of Jews, and “­those who kill Jews without ­legal pro­cess” are among ­those to be denied communion (fol. 28v)

­ hether killing a Jew in ignorance that it is a sin is still W culpable (fol. 30v)

That Jews may not be killed without ­legal pro­cess (fol. 75v)

Christians should be careful how they interact with Jews (fol. 75v–76r)

Why the law allowed Jews to receive usury from gentiles (fol. 77r)

That Jews, Muslims, and wicked Christians may baptize (fol. 8v)

(continued)

That any Christian who believes and affirms that ­humans can transform into werewolves and other creatures is an infidel and worse than a Jew or a pagan (fol. 34r)

That a Christian who eats the food of Jews or pagans should do penance for ten days on bread and ­water (fol. 33v)

­ hether killing a Jew in ignorance that it is a sin is still W culpable (fol. 21v)

Jews, servants of Jews, and “­those who kill Jews or Muslims” are among ­those to be denied communion (fol. 18r)

Innocent III on a Jew who attempted to baptize himself (In a chapter explaining that no one may baptize himself ) (fol. 7r)

That bad ­people may baptize1 (fol. 6v)

That baptism should be performed by a priest, but if necessary may be performed by anyone, including a Jew or Muslim (fol. 6r)

That Jews should remain catechumens eight months before baptism (fol. 6r)

About the Jew who baptized himself, as illustration of baptism by fire in the chapter on three forms of baptism: fire, w ­ ater, and blood (fol. 5v–6r)

About the Jew who baptized himself, as illustration of baptism by fire in the chapter on three forms of baptism: fire, ­water, and blood (fol. 11r)

About the Jew who baptized himself [in the introduction to substance of baptism (fol. 7r) and again in the chapter on three forms of baptism: fire, ­water, and blood (fol. 8r)]

CLM 18387 (1377)

CLM 5668 (1373)

CLM 12471 (1370)

­Table 5.4  Albert of Diessen’s Revisions of Material on Jews and Christian-­Jewish Relations

That found items belonging to Jews may be redistributed (62v) Why the law allowed Jews to receive usury from gentiles (fol. 63r) ­Whether Jews o ­ ught to give tithes to the Church (fol. 70r)

Jews serve as example that it is pos­si­ble for persons predestined to eternal life to be damned instead (fol. 75v) The Antichrist ­will be born in Babylonia of the tribe of Dan, and the Jews ­will greet him in Jerusalem as the messiah promised (fol. 76v) When Elijah and Enoch come “to turn the hearts of the parents to the c­ hildren and the c­ hildren to the parents” this w ­ ill signal also the turning of the Jews to Christ (fol. 77r)

Jews serve as example that it is pos­si­ble for persons predestined to eternal life to be damned instead (fol. 144v) The Antichrist ­will be born in Babylonia of the tribe of Dan, and the Jews ­will greet him in Jerusalem as the messiah promised (fol. 147r) When Elijah and Enoch come “to turn the hearts of the parents to the ­children and the c­ hildren to the parents” this ­will signal also the turning of the Jews to Christ (fol. 148r) With the death of Antichrist, the Jews ­will convert (fol. 148v) On interactions of Jews among Christians (fol. 170v) [addition by Albert at end of text] On the vari­ous names by which Jews are called (fol. 170v) [addition by Albert at end of text]

If someone fornicates with a Jewess or a pagan he ­shall be excluded from communion for five years (fol. 250r) [addition by another hand at end of Albert’s work]

With the death of Antichrist, the Jews ­will convert (fol. 77v)

On interactions of Jews among Christians (fol. 61v–62r)

­Whether Jews ­ought to give tithes to the Church (fol. 134r)

Note that ­there are three reasons why we do not pursue Jews as we do Muslims (fol. 249v) [addition by another hand at end of Albert’s work]

CLM 18387 (1377)

CLM 5668 (1373)

The rubric for this chapter in edition 1 was “That Jews, Muslims, and wicked Christians may baptize,” and in edition 2 was “That Jews, Muslims, heretics, and ­those not baptized can baptize.” The paragraph is virtually identical in each case except for the initial rubric.

1

CLM 12471 (1370)

­Table 5.4  Albert of Diessen’s Revisions of Material on Jews and Christian-­Jewish Relations (continued)

CONSTRUCT I NG CHR I ST I AN CO M M UN I T Y

169

Also, Jewish testimony against Christians should not be admitted in court, but Christian testimony may be admitted against them. All of t­ hese t­ hings said about Jews should be understood as extended also to Muslims, except that while preaching, Christians may eat food of the Saracens.41 In his revision, Albert expanded the material considerably, giving the subject its own chapter: On the conduct of Jews among Christians: It is asked how Jews ­ought to conduct themselves on a daily basis with re­spect to Christians. You should know that Christians should not join Jews at meals or eat their food, ­unless they are preaching in the territory of Jews, as Innocent III said. Also, they should not hold secular offices, nor should they have authority over ­Christians. Also, Jews should not serve as physicians to Christians, and they should be distinguished from Christians by special dress. Christian wo­men should not be wet-­nurses for Jews, nor should Christians bathe with Jews. Also, the Jews should not raise old synagogues higher than Christian buildings, nor should they build new ones. Also, during Holy week and at the time of Christ’s Passion, the Jews should not leave their homes, and their doors and win­dows should be shut, lest they are seen to mock Christians. And this is evident in question 1, chapter 28 from the Sixth Synod. No one, clergy or laity, should eat of their bread, or live with them, or call upon them in sickness, or take medicine from them, or bathe together with them. If a clergy person does this, he should be stripped of o ­ rders, and if a layperson, excommunicated. Also, in the same place, from the Council of Agde, no one, clergy or laity, should participate in feasts of the Jews, nor should Christians accept any foods related to the holidays. Since when among Christians, the Jews w ­ ill not share food in common, it would be unworthy and sacrilegious that their food be eaten by Christians, since the ­things that we eat are judged unclean by them, and so Christians would seem to be inferior to the Jews, if we use what is set out by them

41.  Cavenda est familiaritas iudeorum. unde toletanum concilium dicit, Nullus eorum qui in sacro sunt ordine aut laicus azima iudeorum manducet, aut cum eis habitet, aut aliquem eorum in infirmitatibus suis vocet, aut medicinam ab eis precipiat, aut cum eis in balneo lavet. Si vero quisque hoc fecerit, si clericus est deponatur, laicus vero excommunicetur. Innocentius tertius dicit, Iudei [marginal addition: debent] distingui in habitu a christianis, nec debent [marginal addition: habere] seculares dignitates ne occasionem habeant per auctoritatem servendi in christianos. Item in parasceve non debent exire domum sed fenestras et domos habere clausas, ne videntes christianos esse in lamentatione eis illudant. Item iudei non debent admitti in testimonium contra christianos sed christiani possunt admitti contra eos. Quod dictum est de iudeis per omnia intellige de paganis excepto quod tempore predicationis christiani possunt vesci de cibis sarracenorum. Clm 12471, fol. 75v–76r.

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but they reject what is offered by us. Also, in the [Compilatio] quinta, Concerning Jews, Innocent III in Nonnullis provinciis, said that on days of lamentation and Passion Sunday, Jews should not be out in public, b­ ecause some of them on t­ hese days do not blush to go out in ornate dress, and do not fear to mock Christians who demonstrate signs of lamentation in memory of the holy Passion. And we strictly forbid that they presume to burst forth to insult the Creator. And ­because we ­ought not ignore such insult to the one who cleanses our sins, we order ­those who would dare to offend in this way be punished by secular rulers, so that none dare to blaspheme against the one who was crucified for us. And also, in the same place, in Cum sit ni­mis absurdum, for this reason it says, as above, that it would be absurd to allow Jews to hold public office, lest ­under this pretext they harm Christians. And we extend the same to Muslims.42 The new, expanded paragraph does more to shape how the priest is to think about canons regarding Christian-­Jewish separation than did the first. And much of the new material addresses anx­i­eties about Jewish arrogance. For example, in the first edition, the priest only learns that it is impor­tant that Chris42.  De conversatione iudeorum inter christianos. Queritur quomodo se iudei teneant per cottidianam conversationem inter Christianos. Ad hoc est sciendum quod christiani non debent ad mensam iudeorum sedere, nec eorum cibis vesci, nisi cum predicaverint in terra iudeorum, ut dicit Innocentius tertius. Item iudei non debent habere seculares dignitates vel officia, ne occasione huius habeant auctoritatem servendi in christianos. Item iudei non debent esse medici christianorum, et per specialem habitum semper debent discerni a christianis, nec mulieres christianorum debent esse nutrices iudeorum, nec christiani debent balneari cum iudeis. Item iudei non debent synagogas veteres altius erigere, neque novas construere presumant. Item iudei in parasceve et tempore passionis christi non debent exire domos proprias, sed ianuas et fenestras habere clausas, ne christianis illudere videantur. Et hoc patent capitula xxviii questione prima ex sexta synodo. Nullus eorum qui in sacro sunt ordine, aut laicus, azima iudeorum manducet, aut cum eis habitet, aut aliquem eorum in infirmitatibus suis vocet, aut medicinam ab eis percipiat, aut se cum eis in balnea lavet. Si vero quisquam hoc fecerit, si clericus est deponatur, laicus vero excommunicetur. Item ibidem ex concilio Agathensis, Omnes deinceps clerici sive laici iudeorum convivia vitent, nec eos ad convivium quisquam excipiat, quia cum apud christianos communibus cibis non utantur indignum atque sacrilegum est eorum cibos a christianis sumi, cum ea que nos sumimus, ab illis videantur immunda, ac sic inferiores esse incipiant christiani quam iudei, si nos que ab illis apponuntur utamur, illi vero a nobis oblata contempnant. Item in quinto, de iudeis, Innocentius tertius In nonnulli provinciis, et infra, In diebus lamentationis et Dominice passionis, in publicum iudei minime procedant, eo quod nonnulli ex ipsis talibus diebus sicut accepimus etiam ornatius non erubescunt incedere, ac christianis qui sanctissime passionis memoriam exhibentes, lamentationis signa pretendunt, illudere non formidant. Districtissime inhibemus, ne in contumeliam creatoris prosilire presumant. Et quoniam illius dissimulare non debemus obprobrium, qui probra nostra delevit, precipimus presumptores huiusmodi, per principes seculars, condigne animadversionis adiectione compesci, ne crucifixum pro nobis aliquatenus plasphemare presumant. Item ibidem, Cum sit ni­mis absurdum, Et infra, prohibentes ne iudei publicis officiis preferantur, quoniam sub tali pretext, christianis plurimum sunt infesti. Et infra hoc idem extendimus ad paganos. Clm 18387, fols. 61v–62r. Albert flipped the initial framing of the question in this third version of the text. In edition 2, the question had asked in what manner Christians o ­ ught to conduct themselves with re­spect to Jews (De conversatione iudeorum inter christianos. Queritur quomodo christiani se teneant cottidiana conversatione circa iudeos), Clm 5668, fols. 170v, but in edition 3 recorded ­here, the question shifted the burden, asking instead how Jews ­ought to conduct themselves with re­spect to Christians. Apart from that, the two versions are almost identical.

CONSTRUCT I NG CHR I ST I AN CO M M UN I T Y

171

tians not eat the food of Jews.43 In the revised version, citing the early medieval Council of Agde, Albert provided reasons for the prohibition. It is insulting that Jews reject Christian food as unclean, and it would be demeaning for Christians to accept the food of the Jews when the Jews w ­ ill not eat what Christians offer. In edition 1, the need for Jews to stay out of sight, indoors during Holy Week was briefly addressed as something necessary to protect the honor of Christ, but now we get a fuller elaboration from the Fourth Lateran Council’s Nonnulli provinciis. Albert also adds a warning about Jews holding public office, which could give them the opportunity to cause harm to Christians. When Albert first de­cided to add the new material, he may have intended to do so in abridged form, citing only general princi­ples and the source of the material in canon law. Folio 170v, the place in which Albert adds the new paragraph, is one of the most heavi­ly marked up in the manuscript, with the entire margin covered in additional material. In fact, the marginal note at the bottom extends onto the bottom margin of the next folio. This is not typical of the way Albert worked in compiling this edition. The new paragraphs are written out for the most part in the form they eventually take in edition 3, and the margins contain only occasional corrections or elaborations. This material stands out as something he must have returned to ­after some thought, suggesting that he deemed the pre­sen­ta­tion of detail as something impor­tant. If Albert significantly expanded the material designed to provide direction in the proper interaction between Christians and Jews in communities of his day, he also expanded and transformed his warnings about anti-­Jewish vio­ lence. His initial discussion of ­whether it is acceptable to kill Jews without ­legal pro­cess changed quite dramatically in subsequent editions.

Edition 1 It is asked ­whether Jews may be killed without ­legal pro­cess, and it is seen that no. God himself said this through prophecy: God ­shall let me see over my enemies: slay them not. We should not pursue Jews, but Saracens, and so Pope Alexander II said, “Surely the case of the Jews and of the Saracens is dif­fer­ent. Against the latter, who chase Christians out of their cities and take their property, it is just to fight. The former, however, are prepared to live in servitude.” Any excesses on their part ­ought 43.  The prohibition appears twice; in the passage ­under discussion h ­ ere, but also in the chapter on penitential canons, where Albert indicated a forty-­day penance for this violation. Penance for eating the food of Jews is not typically included in paragraphs on penitential canons; it is not found in Hostiensis, nor John of God, nor John of Freiburg. In fact, no penances connected with Jews are pre­sent at all in ­those collections.

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to be corrected by secular rulers, so says Innocent III, “We strictly prohibit that they dare to insult the Creator, and we order secular princes to punish any of them who do presume, since we should not ignore insults against Him who suffered crucifixion for us.”44

Editions 2 and 3 It is asked ­whether Jews and Muslims may be killed without trial (edition 2)/without judicial sentence (edition 3), and it is evident that no. God himself said this through prophecy: God ­shall let me see over my enemies: slay them not. Also in the [Compilatio] quinta, “On Jews and Saracens,” Pope Clement III in Sicut iudeis says no Christian can take their property or kill them without judicial pro­cess, nor should any Christian presume to take their goods, to interfere with their cele­bration of holidays, or disturb them with clubs or stones. Nor are they to be forced into any kind of obligation except that required in the past. To this point, preventing the depravity and avarice of bad men, we decree that no one should dare to harm their cemeteries or exhume bodies to extort payment. If anyone presumes to do t­ hese t­ hings, let him be punished with excommunication ­until he has made satisfaction.45 The first edition quoted Alexander II’s letter to Iberian bishops from c. 1063, which was written to praise the bishops for taking Jews ­under their protec44.  Queritur utrum iudei absque iure legali sint occidendi et videtur quod non. dicit enim ipse dominus de eis per prophetam: Dixi ostendam super inimicos meos, ne occidas eos e­ tc. Iudeos non debemus persequi sed sarracenos, unde alexander pape dicit, Dispar nimirum est iudeorum et sarracenorum causa in illos enim qui christianos persecuntur ex urbibus et ex propriis sedibus pellunt iuste pugnatur, Hii ubique servire sunt parati. Excessus vero eorum debent corrigi per principes seculares. Unde ait innocentius tertius, Districtissime inhibemus ne in contumeliam creatoris iudei prosilire presumant, et quoniam illius dissimulare non debemus obprobrium qui probra nostra delevit, precipimus presumptores huiusmodi per principes seculares condigne animadversionis adiectione conpesci, ne crucifixum pro nobis aliquatenus plasphemare presumant. Clm 12471 fol. 75v. 45.  De Iudeis et paganis non occidendis. Queritur utrum iudei et pagani sine iudicio [edition 3: absque iudicii sententia] sint occidendi. Et videtur quod non. quia dominus dicit per psalmistam, dixi ostendam super inimicos meos ne occidas eos. Item in quinta de iudeis et sarracenis Clemens tertius Sicut Iudei, Et infra: Nullus christianus eorum quemlibet sine iudicio terrene pretatis vel occidere vel vulnerare vel suas pecunias auferre presumat, aut bonas quas hactenus habuerunt consuetudines immutare, presertim in festivitatum suarum celebratione, quisquam fustibus vel lapidibus eos nullatenus perturbet, neque aliquis ab eis coacta servitia exigat, nisi que ipsi tempore preterito facere consueverunt. Ad hoc malorum hominum pravitati et avaritie obviantes decernimus ut nemo cimiterium eorum mutilare aut invadere audeat, sive obtentu pecunie corpora humana effodere. Si quis autem huius decreti tenore cognito quod absit contrarie presumpserit honoris et officii sui periculum paciatur aut excommunicationis sententia plectatur, nisi presumptionem suam digna correxerit satisfactione. Clm 5668 fol. 119r–­v. For an edition of Clement III’s 1188 bull, see Shlomo Simonsohn, The Apostolic See and the Jews. Documents: 492–1404. Studies and Texts 94 (Toronto: PIMS, 1988), 66–67.

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tion so that they would not be slaughtered by Christian soldiers traveling into Iberia to campaign against Muslims. In that context, Alexander did make a distinction between the just killing of Muslims, who—in his estimation—­warred with Christians, and the unjust persecution of Jews, who ­were willing to submit themselves to Christian lords.46 This was but one many letters Alexander sent out during his pontificate warning Christians against killing Jews, and in that sense, perhaps, one can see why Albert might have chosen this elegant ­little argument against killing Jews without due pro­cess. But between 1370 and the second edition in 1373, Albert de­cided to take a completely dif­fer­ent tack. In the second edition, Alexander II is gone, and now Clement III’s version of Sicut iudeis takes its place. Just as in the paragraph on Christian-­Jewish coexistence, we see ­here considerably more detail in the argument. Instead of simply insisting that Jews are to be protected and treated differently from Muslims, we have a text that outlines the ways in which Jews are to be protected. Not only is it forbidden to kill them or to arbitrarily take their property; it is forbidden to disturb them in any way, on pain of excommunication. Interestingly, once Albert abandoned Alexander’s emphasis on the difference between killing Jews and killing Muslims, he added “pagans” into his framing of the question, even though Sicut iudeis has nothing to say about Muslims, nor does Albert. It may be simply ­because the context for his reading of Sicut iudeis was a collection of canons from the Compilatio quinta section On Jews, Saracens, and Their Servants. But ­there would have been no practical point for local canons to engage with Muslims, so the reference to pagans ­here seems odd. Further evidence for Albert’s concern about the unrestrained killing of Jews may be found in the question of w ­ hether sin committed in ignorance is still sin. Albert followed John of Freiburg’s framing of the question but then deviated from him on the answer. John’s discussion focused especially on conditions of mind that might affect the rational ability of someone to act with intentionality or in circumstances that precluded intentioned choice (marrying one’s ­sister without having any idea the ­woman was a ­sister, for example).47 Albert moved in a dif­fer­ent direction, citing Peter Comestor on the nature of ignorance in sin and exploring the impact of vari­ous types of ignorance on 46.  Alexander papa, omnibus episcopis Hispaniae: Placuit nobis sermo quem nuper de vobis audivimus, quomodo tutati estis Judaeos qui inter vos habitant, ne interimerentur ab illis qui contra Sarracenos in Hispaniam proficiscebantur. Illi quippe stulta ignorantia, vel forte caeca cupiditate commoti, in eorum necem volebant saevire, quos fortasse divina pietas ad salutem praedestinavit . . . ​Dispar nimirum est Judaeorum et Sarracenorum causa. In illos enim, qui Christianos persequuntur et ex urbibus et propriis sedibus pellunt, juste pugnatur; hi vero ubique parati sunt servire. PL 146, cols. 1386D-1387A. 47.  John of Freiburg, SC, book 3, title 32, question 17, fols. 212v–213r.

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the intentionality of an act and of sin. Following the rubric, “­Whether ignorance may excuse sin,” he wrote: It is asked w ­ hether ignorance excuses sin, and it appears not, according to Augustine, who said that “All sin against God is voluntary, since if it ­were not voluntary it would not be sin.” Therefore he who sins voluntarily might do so out of ignorance, and nevertheless that ignorance does not excuse the act. Note that according to Peter Comestor there are two types of sin from ignorance. First when someone does something, not thinking it to be a sin. [This is] as if someone ­were to kill a Jew or pagan not believing it to be a sin. In such a case, the sinful act is done voluntarily and the sin not voluntarily, since he voluntarily does the sinful ­thing but does not desire to sin.48 The act was voluntary even if the sin was not; nevertheless, it is still sin. This is set in contrast to a situation in which neither the act nor the sin was voluntary. As was common in scholastic discussion of the prob­lem, Albert used Augustine’s example of a man trying to ­free his f­ather from a lion. The man shoots the arrow, but instead of killing the lion, he kills his own f­ather. Neither the act nor the sin was voluntary. In this case, the sin done in ignorance is excused.49 ­There is no question h ­ ere that the killing of a Jew outside of the execution of justice is a sin; what is notable is that in trying to communicate an example of an intentional sinful act committed in ignorance of the act’s sinful nature, Albert chose the illicit killing of a Jew as illustration. John of Freiburg, Albert’s source for so much of the work, asks ­whether and u ­ nder what circumstances ignorance excuses sin. Although he discusses the m ­ atter far more extensively than Albert, he handled the prob­lem differently and did not introduce the example of killing Jews thinking it is not a sin.50 Peter Lombard set the tone for most of the l­ater medieval discussion of culpability for 48.  Queritur utrum ignorancia excuset peccatum, et videtur quod non. secundum Augustinus qui dicit, Omne peccatum usque adeo est voluntarium, quia si non esset voluntarium, non esset peccatum. Ergo qui voluntarie peccat licet hoc ignoranter faciat, tamen illud peccatum non excusatur per ignoranciam. Notandum vero secundum petrum commestorem quod peccatum ex ignorancia sit duobus modis. Primo quando aliquis facit peccatum et non putat se facere peccatum, ut si aliquis interficiat iudeum vel paganum putans hoc non esse peccatum. In tali enim peccato est voluntas facti et non voluntas peccati quia ille qui facit hoc peccatum facit voluntarie sed non vult peccare. Clm 12471, fol. 30v. 49.  Secundo modo peccatur ex ignorantia quando aliquis intendit facere aliquid sed forte aliud quamvis facere proposuit ignoranter facit et casualiter ad aliud vertitur eius actio, ut si aliquis volens liberare patrem suum a leone, dirigat sagittam ut leonem interficiat, et sagitta casualiter percutiat patrem suum et eum interficiat. In tali peccato non est voluntas facti nec voluntas peccati. Et ergo utrumque peccatum excusatur quanquam per ignorantiam. Clm 12471, fol. 30v. 50.  John of Freiburg, SC, book 3, title 33, question 17, fols. 212v–213r.

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sin committed in ignorance through his discussion in book 2 distinction 22 in the Sentences.51 He did not use the example of killing a Jew or pagan in his discussion. Peter Comestor’s successor in the theology chair at Paris, Peter of Poitiers, used the example of killing an infidel, believing it not to be a sin in his Sentences commentary, but he did not specifically identify the infidel as a Jew (or Jew or pagan) as Albert does ­here.52 A significant part of the priest’s job is to eliminate the potential for such sins of ignorance. And the prob­lem of clerical ignorance outlined at the beginning of the treatise is directly connected with the prob­lem of the sort of ignorance outlined ­here. Albert chose the example of killing a Jew ­here to drive home the point that such an act is a sin, as much as to illustrate a par­tic­u­lar type of sin out of ignorance. Albert seems to have had especially g­ reat concern for precision around the question of killing Jews without proper justice. In two dif­fer­ent paragraphs, first in the list of t­ hose who should be excluded from communion and second in his question about ­whether Jews may be killed outside of the judicial pro­ cess, he changed the language he used to describe justice in each edition. In the m ­ atter of excluding from communion t­hose who have killed Jews illicitly, he uses the following phrases: edition 1: occisores de iudeorum absque legali iudicio edition 2: occisores de iudeorum absque iudicio politico edition 3: occisores de iudeorum vel paganorum In the m ­ atter of killing Jews outside of l­ egal pro­cess, he used the following phrases: edition 1: De iudeis non occidendis absque iurisdictione. Queritur utrum iudei absque iure legali sint occidendi, et videtur quod non. edition 2: De iudeis et paganis non occidendis. Queritur utrum iudei et pagani sine iudicio sint occidendi et videtur quod non.

51.  Peter Lombard, Sentences, Distinctio 22. PL 192, Col. 699–700, http://­gateway​.­proquest​.­com​ /­openurl​?­url​_­ver​=­Z39​.­88​-­2004&res​_­dat​=­xri:pld​-­us&rft​_­dat​=x­ ri:pld:ft:all:Z600097164. 52.  Peter of Poitiers, Sentences Commentary. The text reads “fidelis,” but surely it must have been a misreading of “infidelis”: Sit autem peccatum ex ignorantia duobus modis, quando scilicet aliquis facit peccatum et non putat se facere peccatum, ut si aliquis interficiat fidelem, putans hoc non esse peccatum; et in tali peccato est voluntas facti, et non voluntas peccati; quia ille qui facit hoc, vult facere, sed non vult peccare. PL 211, col. 994D, http://­gateway​.­proquest​.­com​/­openurl​?­url​_­ver​=­Z39​.­88​-­2004&res​_­dat​=­xri:pld​-­us&rft​_­dat​ =­xri:pld:ft:all:Z700079392. It is pos­si­ble that Peter is following his teacher Peter Comestor ­here, and that Albert might have seen the example of the infidel in the Commentary on Sentences he repeatedly cites. On the status of Peter Comestor’s Sentences commentary see Claire Angotti, “Sur les traces de la lectio des Sentences de Pierre Le Mangeur,” in Pierre Le Mangeur ou Pierre de Troyes maître du XIIe siècle, Bibliothèque d’histoire culturelle du Moyen Âge 12, ed. Gilbert Dahan (Turnhout: Brepols, 2013), 149–89.

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edition 3: De iudeis et paganis non occidendis. Queritur utrum iudei et pagani absque iudicii sententia sint occidendi. Et videtur quod non. His efforts ­here are fascinating. In each case, it is only the wording used to describe justice that undergoes change, so it is clearly intentional and not the result of mere carelessness. It seems unlikely that he would reach for any synonymous phrase when the rest of the passage is copied verbatim. That said, it is difficult to discern what Albert is trying to get at when he talks about the prob­ lem of killing Jews sine iudicio, or absque iudicio politico or absque iure legali. Some of ­these are strange linguistic constructions.53 Is his concern perhaps for the proper execution of justice? Is he getting at a pos­si­ble conflict over jurisdiction with re­spect to Jews, in which a trial might be held by someone without proper authority?54 His final use of the phrase absque iudicii sententia might be a way of reinforcing the need for complete and thorough justice, with its emphasis on sentencing. It does seem that Albert was paying careful attention to the way he communicated this point, struggling ­toward what he hoped might be greater clarity around the prob­lem. It may be that he was d­ oing this in response to some sort of feedback from readers of his text. And in the end, what t­ hese constructions share is an emphasis on the condemnation of extrajudicial vio­lence. Again and again, especially in editions 2 and 3, Albert included warnings about anti-­Jewish vio­lence, although they are not to be found in the sources he most frequently drew from. The choices that Albert made ­here are distinctive and reflective of a perspective he brings to the material. At the same time, it is impor­tant to acknowledge that as much as Albert’s text warned against the killing of Jews, it also warned against intimacy with Jews. In his long list of ­those who are to be excluded from communion, for example, “­those who are servants of Jews” immediately preceded “­those who kill Jews without l­ egal pro­cess.”55 The short passage about proper interactions with Jews tagged onto the paragraph about killing Jews in edition 1 became an entire set of ques53.  I owe thanks to Daniel Smail, Thomas Kuehn, and Marie Kelleher for help in trying to understand the linguistic nuance Albert is dealing with ­here. Both Smail and Kuehn pointed out in private email correspondence that the phrase “legali iure” is especially puzzling, as the notion of a “­legal trial” in the first passage seems redundant. They also agreed that the use of the modifier “politico” in the second edition of the first passage is most unusual and without clear reference. Abandoning any specific mention of justice in the third edition of that passage may have meant that Albert received negative feedback on his first attempts or that he himself recognized that his wording lacked clarity and was perhaps unnecessary. In the second passage, it seems that by working ­toward the ideal of judicial sentence Albert was trying to insist on the highest bar pos­si­ble. 54.  For a discussion of improper or incomplete judicial pro­cess in the anti-­Jewish persecutions around the plague of 1348-50, see Samuel K. Cohn, “The Black Death and the Burning of Jews,” Past & Pre­sent 196, no. 1 (August 2007): 3–36. 55.  Propter videndum est qui sint excludendi a communione corporis et sanguinis christi in cena domini et in parasceven: . . . ​familia iudeorum, occisores iudeorum absque legali iud­icio . . . ​Clm 12471 fol. 28r–­v. In

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tions in the second and third editions. One message about Jews (do not kill them without careful judicial pro­cess) cannot be read without the other (do not be cavalier about the way you consort with them). Albert’s concern about the vulnerability of Jewish communities seems to be exceptional within the genre of the pastoral manual. Is it pos­si­ble to identify a source of his concern for the vulnerability of Jews and his insistence that the Church use the power of excommunication to protect them? Is ­there a way to connect the Mirror’s perspective with the time and place in which it was composed? It seems that broader Eu­ro­pean events, notably the experience of waves of plague beginning in 1348 and the anti-­Jewish vio­lence that so marked the plague years, may have been the source of Albert’s concern about anti-­Jewish vio­lence. From the time of the First Crusade through the first half of the f­ ourteenth ­century, Jewish communities in German lands experienced periodic outbreaks of vio­lence, notably the 1096 First Crusade Rhineland massacres, the Rintfleish massacres of 1298, and the Armleder massacres of 1336–39. But the arrival of what came to be known as the Black Death in Eu­ rope in 1348–50 arguably brought more widespread, devastating vio­lence than had ever been seen before.56 The first two de­cades of the twenty-­first c­ entury saw numerous corrections to our understanding of the plague, globally and in Eu­rope. Evidence suggests that plague did not spread uniformly above the Alps, and that some areas of Central Eu­rope, including East Swabia and Upper Bavaria, ­were largely spared the level of devastation seen elsewhere in Eu­rope, at least between 1348 and 1350.57 But we do not need to determine the ­actual presence or absence of plague in the immediate region in which Albert lived. Another Clm 5668, fol. 33v: servitores iudeorum, occisores iudeorum absque iudicio politico and in Clm 18387, fol. 18v: servitores iudeorum, occisores iudeorum vel paganorum. 56.  Both the Rintfleisch and the Armleder attacks ­were associated with host desecration charges, and Mitchell Merback’s excellent study, Pilgrimage and Pogrom: Vio­lence, Memory, and Visual Culture at the Host-­Miracle Shrines of Germany and Austria (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2012), points to other localized violent attacks on Jews in response to the purported mistreatment of the miraculous host. I would not rule out the possibility that Albert is also conscious of this sort of extrajudicial vio­lence, but it strikes me as less immediate to his circumstances. On plague-­related anti-­Jewish vio­lence, see Alfred Haverkamp, “Die Judenverfolgungen zur Zeit des Schwarzen Todes im Gesellschaftsgefüge deutscher Städte,” in Zur Geschichte der Juden im Deutschland des späten Mittelalters und der frühen Neuzeit, Monographien zur Geschichte des Mittelalters 24, ed. Alfred Haverkamp (Stuttgart: Hiersemann, 1981), 27–93; Cohn, “The Black Death”; and Rolf Kießling, Jüdische Geschichte in Bayern: Von den Anfängen bis zur Gegenwart (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2019), 94–111. 57.  Manfred Vasold, “Die Ausbreitung des Schwarzen Todes in Deutschland nach 1348. Zugleich ein Beitrag zur deutschen Bevölkerungsgeschichte,” Historische Zeitschrift 277, no. 2 (2003): 281–308; Vasold, Die Pest: Ende eines Mythos (Stuttgart: Theiss, 2003); Rolf Kiessling, “Der Schwarze Tod Und Die Weissen Flecken. Zur Großen Pest von 1348/49 Im Raum Ostschwaben Und Altbayern,” Zeitschrift für bayerische Landesgeschichte 68, no. 1 (2005): 519–39.

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correction to our understanding of anti-­Jewish plague vio­lence is the fact that it often occurred in the absence of disease. Throughout German lands, Jews ­were killed more often than not before the plague arrived, including in places where it did not take serious hold. The collective anxiety of a global pandemic was felt even in areas that may have been largely spared. Furthermore, old assumptions about plague vio­lence as a popu­lar movement are also being overturned. Alfred Haverkamp and Samuel Cohn, among o ­ thers, have convincingly demonstrated that the killing of Jews was primarily encouraged and carried out by urban elites, not “the p­ eople,” and in many cases was facilitated by the emperor.58 Frantisek Graus identified at least ninety-­eight attacks on Jewish communities in southern Germany between 1348 and 1350. The biggest centers of German Jewish life w ­ ere found in the Rhineland and Franconia to the north, whereas small-­to medium-­sized Jewish communities dotted the Bavarian landscape in which Albert moved. Augsburg, Landsberg am Lech, Memmingen, Kauf beuren, Pappenheim, Aichach, Weilheim, Munich, Freising, Landshut, and Rain am Lech all had significant Jewish populations, and smaller clusters of Jewish families w ­ ere pre­sent in other parts of the region as 59 well. Most of ­those communities ­were destroyed. In November of 1348, the Jews in Diessen’s own diocesan center in Augsburg w ­ ere put to death. Even closer to Albert’s home, the Jews of Landsberg am Lech died by burning in the same year, as recorded by the chronicler Henry of Diessenhofen. Landsberg was only fifteen miles away from Diessen, and the Diessen canons held property ­there.60 As we have seen, the convent had vast holdings throughout ­Bavaria, Swabia, Franconia, Tyrol, Carinthia, and Carniola. When we think about the context for Albert’s apparent concern with both anti-­Jewish vio­ lence and Christian-­Jewish coexistence, we should remember that the canons’ interests—­and so Albert’s—­extended beyond Diessen itself, and no one during ­those years could have been unaware of the rampant killing of Jews throughout the region. Few Jewish communities survived the plague years intact, but almost immediately rulers began offering generous terms of settlement to Jews who w ­ ere willing to return. Emperor Charles IV encouraged Jews to resettle in Augsburg, and Duke Ludwig V of Bavaria did the same for his lands.61 58.  Cohn, “The Black Death,” especially 11–17 and Haverkamp, “Die Judenverfolgungen zur Zeit des Schwarzen Todes.” 59. For the history of Jewish settlements in Bavaria and East Swabia in the mid-­fourteenth ­century, see Kießling, Jüdische Geschichte in Bayern, 23–35. 60.  František Graus, Pest, Geissler, Judenmorde: Das 14. Jahrhundert als Krisenzeit, 2nd ed. (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1988), 160–64. See also Henry of Diessenhofen’s chronicle in J. F. Boehmer, Fontes rerum Germanicarum: Geschichtsquellen Deutschlands (Stuttgart: J.G. Cotta, 1868), 4:68–71. 61.  Cohn, “The Black Death,” 26; Kießling, Judische Geschichte in Bayern, 109–15.

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Jewish communities quickly reestablished themselves u ­ nder ­these terms in most of the territories affected by the vio­lence.62 The Jewish communities living in Albert’s neighborhood during the 1360s and 1370s ­were reconstructed out of the ashes of persecutions. Plague returned to the region in 1369, just before Albert began his work on the Mirror.63 If we try to understand Albert’s expansion of his discussion of Jews in the subsequent editions of the Mirror, it seems more than likely that the return of plague made the issue even more pressing for him than it had been a short while before. The deaths of w ­ hole communities of Jews during the first outbreak of plague would have been recent enough to remain in memory. In the absence of any explicit connection this must remain speculative, but perhaps, as the memory of the horrifying First Crusade vio­lence made figures like Bernard of Clairvaux work to avert anti-­Jewish vio­lence at the time of the Second Crusade, Albert may have emphasized canon law restrictions on anti-­Jewish vio­lence in the hope that his clerical readers would use their authority in the parish to avert vio­lence in a time of plague.64 And the grasping at language that we see in Albert’s varied attempts to caution against vio­ lence without fair judicial pro­cess in the three editions of the Mirror might reflect the challenge of addressing vio­lence that came from “leading burghers, bishops, and knights” illicitly claiming the mantle of justice.65 Albert’s priestly readers ­weren’t just being asked to calm a mob or individual attackers; they ­were being asked to restrain ­those who might misuse power. It is especially in­ter­est­ing to see that one of Albert’s near con­temporary readers at Diessen de­cided to add a paragraph articulating classic Augustinian thought on Jewish toleration when he inserted his own additions to the Mirror at the end of the Diessen manuscript. Indicating that his paragraph ­ought to be placed ­after chapter 417 (the chapter explaining that Jews should not be killed without due pro­cess), Albert’s colleague wrote: Note that for three reasons the Church does not pursue Jews as it does Muslims. First ­because at the end of the world, a­ fter the defeat of Antichrist all those living will convert to the catholic faith. Second so that they may serve as a reminder of Christ’s passion, whence the Psalmist: “God 62.  Michael Toch, Die Juden im mittelalterlichen Reich, 3rd ed. (Munich: Oldenbourg, 2013); and Toch, Peasants and Jews in Medieval Germany: Studies in Cultural, Social, and Economic History, Variorum Collected Studies Series (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2003). 63.  Jean-­Noël Biraben, Les hommes et la peste en France et dans les pays européens et méditerranéens, vol. 1: La peste dans l’histoire, Civilisations et Sociétés 35 (Paris: Mouton, 1975), 408. 64.  Cohn, “The Black Death,” points out that ­there was ­little anti-­Jewish vio­lence during t­hese late fourteenth-­century waves of plague. 65.  Cohn, “The Black Death,” 15.

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s­ hall let me see over my enemies: slay them not, lest my p­ eople forget.” Third on account of our books. Augustine: the pagans should not be able to say to us, “you composed the Jews’ books and killed them.” And therefore we do not kill the Jews but promulgate their books in order to confound the ravings of the pagans.66 The three reasons for not pursuing Jews come straight from Augustine, but it is noteworthy that a reader apparently thought it necessary to add this justification for Albert’s position on extrajudicial anti-­Jewish vio­lence.67 The other addition related to Christian-­Jewish interaction by one of Albert’s readers added penance for fornication with a Jew or Muslim to the existing information on adultery with a Jew or Muslim. Again, we see Albert’s readers responding to specific points in the text, making it clear that any kind of sexual activity between Christian and Jew was problematic, separating out the adultery from the sexual encounter between Christian and infidel more generally.68 We can see the bidirectional nature of pastoral manuals clearly ­here, as Albert frames a subject for his readers, and his readers respond.

Eschatology In the previous two cases, we watched Albert build on existing material in his revision of the text. In this last case, we see Albert add an entirely new component, which somehow changes the ­whole. Albert ended his first edition of the Mirror with a brief reflection on death and the afterlife written across four 66.  Nota quod propter tres rationes ecclesia non persequitur iudeos sicut paganos. Primo quia omnes in fine mundi post decessum antichristi viventes ad fidem katholicam convertentur. Secunda quia sunt nobis memoriale dominice passionis, unde ps. Dixi ostendam super inimicos meos ne occidas eos ne quando obliviscantur populi mei. Tertio quia sunt libri nostri. Augustinus: Ne forte pagani nobis dicant: Vos libros iudeorum conposuistis et eos occidistis. Et ideo non occidamus iudeos sed preferamus libros eorum ut confundamus vesaniam paganorum. Clm 5668, fol. 249v. B ­ ecause of the Augustinian context h ­ ere, one might justifiably translate “paganos” as pagan. However, it seems quite clear from the context that the question concerns the dif­fer­ent positions on violent attacks on Jews and Muslims in medieval Christian thought and that the author does have Muslims in mind. 67.  On Augustine and toleration of Jews, see Paula Fredriksen, Augustine and the Jews: A Christian Defense of Jews and Judaism (New York: Doubleday Religion, 2008). Jeremy Cohen, in Living Letters of the Law: Ideas of the Jew in Medieval Chris­tian­ity (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), argued that Augustine’s doctrine lost its hold on Christians as they came to know and understand more about con­temporary Jewish texts and traditions, which opened the door for restrictive Jewish policies including expulsion. However, it seems to be the case that this Augustinian doctrine continued to be embraced strongly in princi­ple, even if not in practice. 68.  Debet scribi cccxvi. In eodem. Siquis fornicatus fuerit cum iudea vel cum pagana, a communione arceatur per quinquennium et penitentia illo tempore per legittimas feria parada, dominice communioni potest captari. Clm 5668, fol. 250r.

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c­ hapters. ­These chapters followed directly on the heels of a discussion of burial and proper use of Christian cemeteries. They drew especially on the Supplement to Thomas Aquinas’s Summa theologiae.69 The first of t­ hese final questions asked w ­ hether funeral rites benefit the dead in any way, and the answer was no, that funeral rites are intended only to console the living.70 The second asked ­whether manifest sin may be absolved ­after death, and again the answer was no.71 The third chapter explored Ecclesiastes 3:19, where Solomon, the purported author of the book, states that the death of ­human and the death of animal are exactly the same, with no advantage to ­human over animal—­all life is vanity. How was a Christian to understand this puzzle? Albert replied with Gregory the G ­ reat’s comments in book 4 of the Dialogues, in which Gregory explained that the passage must be read as provocative rhe­toric in the manner of a sermon, meant to stir the heart to change. It should not be read as a negation of Church teachings on the h ­ uman soul or life a­ fter death, but as a call to take care during this earthly existence.72 Albert’s final question asked ­whether individual souls ­were led to ­either heaven or hell immediately ­after death or ­whether that pro­cess awaited final judgment.73 He presented positions for and against the idea of immediate reward or punishment versus an interim between death of the physical body and assignment to heaven or hell. Much of the discussion concerned the doctrine of purgatory, which requires the possibility that the soul can be someplace other than heaven or hell during that intermediate period. He brought the discussion of the afterlife to a close with an assertion that the truth of Church teaching on the afterlife was attested in the Holy ­Fathers and canonical scriptures—an appeal to authority, which provided a perfect segue into his explicit where he reminded his readers of the need to be learned in the authoritative writings of the Church in order to do their work, and that this Mirror was to serve as a portal to that authoritative corpus. Most confessors’ manuals or pastoral manuals lack any explicit discussion of the afterlife; heavenly reward through the instruments of the Church is often simply assumed. If not entirely assumed, it gets only l­imited treatment. 69.  Et huic veritati documenta sanctorum patrum et auctoritates scripture canonice manifeste adtestantur. Clm 12471, fol. 88v. For a Latin-­English edition of this part of the Supplementum see St Thomas Aquinas, Summa theologiae supplementum 69–99, trans. Fr Laurence Shapcote, OP (Emmaus Academic, 2012). 70.  Queritur utrum cultus exequiarum prosit defunctis et videtur quod non, secundum gregorium qui dicit curacio funeris, condicio sepulture, pompa exequiarum, magis sunt vivorum solacia quam defunctorum subsidia. Clm 12471, fol. 86v. 71.  Queritur utrum in peccatis defuncti post mortem sint absolvendi, et videtur quod non. Clm 12471, fol. 87r. 72.  Queritur quomodo intelligatur id quod salomon dicit, Unus est interitus hominis et iumentorum. Clm 12471, fol. 87v. 73.  Queritur utrum anime post mortem carnis statim deducantur ad celum vel ad infernum, et videtur quod nulle anime ante extremum iudicium perveniant ad celum vel ad infernum. Clm 12471, fol. 88r.

18 2 C h a p t e r  5

For example, the early thirteenth-­century author of the Stella clericorum included a discussion of purgatory in his instructions on the mass, to make clear to his priestly audience the stakes involved in the care of souls and getting the sacrament right, but it contained no other substantive discussion of the afterlife or end times beyond that.74 Guido of Monte Rochen ended his Handbook for Curates with a paragraph on the “Gifts of the Blessed” that await good Christians ­after death. It came at the end of the third and final part of the work, which covered the creeds that ­ought to be taught to laypeople. That part of the work was dedicated explic­itly to ­things that the priest ­ought to teach to his parishioners, and the gifts of the blessed ­were meant to help the laity understand in simplified form the arc of redemption in Church teaching. Albert’s considerably longer discussion of the afterlife in edition 1 of the text fits generally within the par­ameters we see in t­ hese works and ­others. In the second and third versions of the Mirror, Albert went far beyond anything found in any pastoral guide I have come across.75 In the 1373 and 1377 versions of the Mirror, Albert presented a fully fledged eschatological vision in what amounted to a distinct third part of the work. A ­ fter some transitional chapters on the soul and predestination that form a bridge between the original end of the Mirror and the new eschatological chapters, Albert began a new section (set apart with a highly decorated initial in both edition 2 and edition 3) ­under the general rubric, “The End of the World” (De fine mundi).76 The material in this new section takes up almost fifteen folios in edition 2, divided into over fifty-­four chapters, with a more streamlined forty chapters over nine folios in edition 3 (see table 5.5).77 Topics include a discussion of purgatory and its 74. Reiter, Stella clericorum. 75.  If we think of Burchard of Worms’ Decretum as fitting within a pastoral as well as ­legal genre, that would be one exception. Burchard’s twenty-­book Decretum dedicated the first eigh­teen books to topical discussions of canon law, the nineteenth book to a summary of penitential canons, and the twentieth book to end times. See Austin, Shaping Church Law. 76.  Much of the material in the bridge is especially engaging, meant to hold the attention of the reader as Albert shifted from the practical aspects of death and related ritual practices to theological reflection. For example, in his introduction to predestination, he cautions against ­those (­whether clerics or their parishioners) who presume that if salvation is predestined, their be­hav­ior does not matter. “He is a fool who says ‘I w ­ ill do what­ever is pleasing to me since if I am meant to be saved I ­will surely be saved, and if I am meant to be damned I w ­ ill be damned.’ This fool is like a sick person who, when the doctor is gone says, ‘I ­will eat and drink according to my appetite since if I am to be healed I ­will be healed, and if I am to die I ­will die.’ ” It is absurd, Albert wrote, to neglect the good medicine available for one’s benefit. Stultus quippe est qui dicit, Volo facere quid michi placet, quia si debeo salvari, proculdubio salvabor, si debeo dampnari, utique dampnabor. Sic stultus est infirmus qui medico absente dicit, Volo comedere et bibere secundum quod appetitus meus requirit, quia si debeo curari curabor, si debeo mori morior. Clm 18387, fol. 75r. This analogy circulated u ­ nder vari­ous names in the l­ ater ­Middle Ages; it is not clear where Albert is drawing from. 77.  See Clm 5668, fols. 145r–159v and Clm 18387, fols. 76r–81r.

­Table 5.5  Albert of Diessen’s Revisions of Material on Eschatology CH #

CLM 5668 (1373)

CH #

CLM 18387 (1377)

487

On the invisible departure of souls

488

­ hether the soul is vis­i­ble in W ­humans

497

­Whether the soul is vis­i­ble

489

­ hether the soul ­after its departure W is led according to merit

498

­ hether before bodily resurrection the W souls of the just are received in heaven

490

That the soul is held in corporeal fire

499

That the soul is held in corporeal fire or ­whether it may be incorporeal

491

On the immortality of the soul

492

On the mea­sure­ment of the soul

493

On predestination

500

On predestination

494

On the effect of predestination

501

On the effect of predestination

495

That God does not predestine every­one

502

That not all are predestined

496

­ hether ­those predestined for W salvation may be damned

503

­ hether ­those predestined for salvation W may be damned

497

On the end of the world*

504

On the end of the world*

498

On final judgment

505

On final judgment

499

On t­ hose ­things that come before, and first, on purgatory

506

On purgatory

500

On the bitterness of purgatory

507

On the bitterness of purgatory

501

On the signs preceding the end

508

On the signs preceding the end

502

On the advent of Antichrist

509

On Antichrist

503

On the evil life of Antichrist

510

On the evil life of Antichrist

504

On the four modes by which Antichrist w ­ ill deceive

511

On the four modes by which he w ­ ill deceive

505

On Elijah and Enoch

512

On Elijah and Enoch

506

On the duration of persecutions

513

On the duration of persecutions

507

On the death of Antichrist

514

On the death of Antichrist

508

On t­ hose ­things that w ­ ill happen at the judgment, and first, on the conflagration of the world

515

On ­those ­things that ­will happen at the judgment

509

That t­ here ­will be a general resurrection

516

On the general resurrection

510

What is resurrection

517

What is resurrection

511

That all p­ eople are to die before resurrection

518

That all ­people are to die before general resurrection

512

That resurrection ­will be at the ministration of angels

519

That resurrection ­will be at the ministration of holy angels

513

On the stature of the resurrected

520

On the stature of the resurrected

514

That the resurrection ­will correct three ­things in h ­ uman nature

521

That the resurrection ­will correct three ­things in the resurrected

515

That intestines and genitalia w ­ ill be resurrected

522

That genitalia ­will be resurrected

516

On the last trumpet

523

On the last trumpet (continued)

­Table 5.5  Albert of Diessen’s Revisions of Material on Eschatology (continued) CH #

CLM 5668 (1373)

CH #

CLM 18387 (1377)

517

That the hour of final judgment is unknown

524

On the hour of final judgment

518

On the place of judgment

525

On the place of judgment

519

On the four o ­ rders of judgment

520

That Christ ­will judge in ­human form

526

That Christ ­will judge in h ­ uman form

521

That Christ w ­ ill appear in glorified form

527

That Christ ­will appear in glorified form

522

That Christ w ­ ill retain his wounds

523

That the instruments of Christ’s passion ­will be pre­sent in judgment

524

That all works, good and bad, ­will be apparent

528

That all works, good and bad, ­will be apparent

525

That every­one’s works ­will be debated

526

That the discussion w ­ ill be m ­ ental and vocal

529

That the discussion ­will be m ­ ental and vocal

527

On what w ­ ill follow judgment

530

On what ­will follow judgment

528

On unborn fetuses and unbaptized infants

531

On unborn fetuses

529

On vari­ous punishments

532

On the vari­ous punishments of hell

530

That the damned w ­ ill see the glory of the blessed

531

­ hether the damned w W ­ ill wish they did not exist

532

On celestial glory

533

On celestial glory

533

What are the gifts [of the blessed] and first the corporeal gifts

534

On the gifts of the soul

535

How many p­ eople w ­ ill attain the kingdom of heaven

534

How many ­people w ­ ill attain the kingdom of heaven

536

That the saints w ­ ill see God in his essence

537

That the saints w ­ ill see the punishment of the damned

535

That the saints ­will see the punishment of the damned

538

That the blessed ­will not have compassion for the misery of the damned

539

That the blessed ­will not rejoice at the punishment of the impious

540

That all the saints w ­ ill be equal in glory

536

That all the saints ­will be equal in glory

541

On celestial glory Additional chapters in Albert’s hand at back of work, not integrated into edition 3 ­Whether Christ w ­ ill judge alone On the renewal of the world

CONSTRUCT I NG CHR I ST I AN CO M M UN I T Y

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pains, an extensive discussion of Antichrist, and the persecution and conflagrations that would unfold with his arrival. Many chapters cover the nature of resurrection, the place of final judgment, the appearance Christ would take at the judgment, where good and bad souls would reside while awaiting their final homes in heaven or hell, and a description of the final promise of celestial glory. This final part of the Mirror was mainly borrowed from book 7 of Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg’s Compendium theologice veritatis (that part of Hugh’s work also titled “The End of the World”), with just enough editing to give the work some of Albert’s own character. Albert did not name the Compendium outright, but he frequently cited the author, who he took to be Aquinas.78 In each chapter, or nearly so, he introduced a topic from the Compendium and then wrote “Thomas Aquinas says . . .” Except for a few times when Albert borrowed something from Aquinas’s Summa theologiae, “Aquinas” is actually Hugh.79 Since Albert used and cited Hugh’s work elsewhere in edition 1 of the Mirror, his decision to incorporate much of book 7 in his own eschatological unit was not ­because he had only recently come across some new source. Rather, he apparently de­cided that it would be useful to include substantial portions of this theological material as a new conclusion to his guide for parish priests. As I suggested above when discussing magic, superstition, and the demonic, ­there is evidence that Albert may have been working with Burchard of Worms Decretum in his revision of penitential canons. It is pos­si­ble that Albert was inspired to add an eschatological narrative to his pastoral manual b­ ecause Burchard had done so in book 20 of his Decretum. But instead of using Burchard’s version, he chose to return to the Compendium. As the only extended theological reflection found in the Mirror, this treatment of the end of the world stands out distinctively from the rest of the work. He introduced the topic with a citation of Augustine, as would be appropriate for any medieval theologian but especially for one affiliated with the Augustinian Canons Regular.80 Where Hugh simply presented the range of material that he intended to cover, Albert provided a summary of the terrors that would unfold as end times approached. Albert’s eschatology reads as a coherent treatise on salvation and end times, distinct from the genre of pastoral advice found in the rest of the work, but something he saw as an integral part of the ­whole. The inclusion of this material not only reflects Albert’s Augustinian background but 78.  It is noteworthy that Albert did not cite the Compendium as the source of his eschatological material since he often cited it as a source ­earlier in the text, as Theologice veritatis. 79.  For Albert’s use of the Compendium theologice veritatis as a work of Aquinas elsewhere in the Mirror, see chapter 4. The most complete discussion of the manuscript tradition in German lands (or anywhere) remains Steer, Hugo Ripelin von Straßburg. The Diessen copy of the Compendium is Munich, BSB Clm 5526, fols. 1r–71v. 80.  Clm 5668, fol. 145r: Cum ceperit mundo finis ultimis appropinquare . . . ​In some medieval manuscripts this is identified as a sermon, in ­others a treatise on the Antichrist or final judgment.

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also hints at the connection between parish clergy, laity, and intellectual culture. Albert understood that the neophyte canon/priests he ­imagined as his audience ­were sophisticated enough to be worth instructing in some theological depth. The inclusion of this material in a practical guide for priests illustrates the interconnection of doctrine and religious practice. The eschatological chapters allow us to see Albert offering something to his priestly readers not necessarily meant to be shared directly in the way that sacramental practice was shared directly, but as something that communicated a s­ imple but crucial message: t­ here are many ­things a priest must do to ensure the health of individuals and communities during their lifetimes. But the priest should also keep his eye on final t­ hings and ensure that he performs his work in such a way that he serves as a light to his parishioners so that they w ­ ill together safely make the journey to the heavenly Jerusalem. ­There is nothing especially original or daring about Albert’s coverage of this material. T ­ here are no references to m ­ atters of recent history or detailed prophecies integrated into the straightforward narrative of the unfolding of final events. The Jews play a standard role in the pro­cess: Antichrist would be born in Babylon of the Jews, from the tribe of Dan, and the Jewish ­people, in par­tic­u­lar, would follow him, acclaiming him as Christ. But a­ fter the preaching of Elijah and Enoch, the Jews would experience a transformation and turn to Christ. The most in­ter­est­ing ­thing about the eschatological material is its existence; the fact that Albert de­cided to end his guide to sacramental practice and other parish pastoral care with such a long, richly detailed elaboration of the events that would occur, from the identification of the signs of impending end times to the tribulations ­under Antichrist to the return of Christ, resurrection, final judgment, and eternal heaven or damnation. It is pos­si­ble that Albert simply intended this theological reflection to serve as a parting gift of sorts to his clerical readers. However, given Frances Kneupper’s findings about the unusual depth of interest in eschatological prophecy in German lands, and particularly in Upper Bavaria, from 1380 on, it also seems reasonable to assume that this conventional depiction of end times had a more immediate purpose—to serve as a counterpoint to the often historicized and politicized eschatological prophecies that ­were beginning to circulate widely. Kneupper names Albert’s home diocese of Augsburg as one of the most active locations for the circulation of such material by the fifteenth c­ entury. Prophecy circulated equally in Latin and the vernacular and tended to have a reformist, sometimes anticlerical or antipapal component to it.81 ­There is none of that in 81.  Frances Courtney Kneupper, The Empire at the End of Time (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2016), 7–10 passim. Although Kneupper’s study of the circulation of historicizing prophecies begins

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Albert’s eschatological vision—no imminent signs of end times, no narrative stories about the rise of par­tic­u­lar figures or po­liti­cal refashionings of the Book of Revelation. What we get is a scholastic reading based largely on old patristic interpretations of the Book of Revelation. His first chapter on end times quotes a widely circulated Pseudo-­Augustinian sermon on Antichrist, Cum ceperit mundo finis ultimus appropinquare in which the figure of the last world emperor appears (as a king of the Franks) to close out the time of Christian rule, but without any allusion to con­temporary French or imperial politics. One could hardly step further from the energy of prophecy and apocalyptic speculation that Kneupper finds was so prominent a feature of the German landscape in the period. Though not explic­itly warning against false prophecy as Henry of Langenstein would a de­cade or so ­later in his Treatise against a Certain Hermit Prophesying about the Last Days by the Name of Thelosphorus, Albert’s text would have prepared readers to ­counter any Latin or vernacular narratives that posed a challenge.82 Albert did not include all of Hugh’s Compendium chapters in his own eschatology, but almost all of his chapters have their source in Hugh’s work. One of the rare outside chapters that Albert inserted into the midst of Hugh’s framework was a brief exegesis of the eschatological prophecy of Luke 21 followed by the fifteen signs of the apocalypse attributed to Jerome, placed between the last chapter on purgatory and the first chapter on Antichrist.83 Like in 1380, it is not a stretch to imagine that movement must have been underway in 1373 when Albert first chose to add the eschatological material to his work. The presence of this eschatological section fixes German interest in end times a de­cade or more before we might presume based on the extant manuscripts Kneupper has identified. 82.  On Henry of Langenstein’s approach to eschatological prophecy, see Kneupper, The Empire at the End of the World, 98–107. 83.  Queritur de signis antecedentibus iudicium. De hiis habetur Luce xxi ubi dicitur, Erunt signa in sole et luna et stellis et in terris pressura gentium, ­etc. Surget gens contra gentem, et regnum adversus regnum, et terremotus magni erunt per loca, et pestilentie, et fames, terroresque de celo, et signa magna erunt. Gregorius: Ultima tribulatio multis tribulationibus prevenitur, et per crebra mala que preveniunt, indicantur mala que subsequentur. Ait enim dominus, Surget gens contra gentem. Ecce erturbation homini. Erunt terremotus magni per loca. Ecce respectus ire de super. Et pestilentie. Ecce inequalitas naturalium. Et fames. Ecce sterilitas terre. Terroresque de celo. Ecce inequalitas aeris. Nam sepe estivum tempus omne vidimus conversum in pluvias hiemales. Ex quibus profecto omnibus, alia iam facta cernimus, alia eproximo ventura formidamus. Quia sequentium rerum certitudo est preteritarum exhibitio. Ieronimus quoque in annalibus hebreorum invenit xv. signa iudicium pre­ce­dentia, sed utrum continua sint an interpolata, non expressit. Primo eriget se mare quaranta cubitis, super alitudinem montium. Secundo descendet ad yma ut vix possit videri. Tertio belve marine dabunt rugitus miserabiles. Quarto mare et omnes aque ardebunt. Quinto arbores et herbe dabunt rorem sanguineum. Sexto ruent omnia edificia. Septimo petre ad invicem collidentur. Octavo erit terremotus generalis. Nono exibunt homines de cavernis terre velut amentes. Decimo equabitur terra. Undecimo cadent stelle, et amplius non lucebunt. Duodecimo congregabuntur ossa mortuorum super sepulchral, ministerio angelorum. Tertiodecimo viventes morientur, ut cum mortuis resurgant. Quartodecimo ardebit celum et terra. Quintodecimo erit celum novum et terra nova et resurrectio generalis. Clm 18387, fol. 76v. For a helpful discussion of the complex tradition of the fifteen signs attributed to Jerome’s Annales hebreorum, see William W. Heist, The Fifteen Signs Before Doomsday (East Lansing: Michigan State Col-

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the introductory pseudo-­Augustinian sermon on Antichrist, Jerome’s fifteen signs avoided the present-­oriented prophecy that was to prove so popu­lar in the ­century to come. Incorporating this anti-­historicizing, anti-­imminent position reinforced the nature of Albert’s eschatology. If Albert was attempting to staunch speculation about the time of the last days, however, he failed. ­There was no stemming the tide of apocalyptic anticipation. Not only did eschatological prophecy circulate more heavi­ly in the de­ cades ­after the Mirror appeared, but special attention was lavished on the Antichrist’s arrival. Not all of this material depended on new prophecies—­ some of it, like Albert’s simply offered traditional teachings. Hugh’s book 7 on the end of days circulated in­de­pen­dently and made its way into German translation, usually along with Jerome’s fifteen signs of the end times. Hugo de Novocastro’s Victory against Antichrist (1315/1319) also found a ready audience, and new illustrated versions of the life of Antichrist, based on Hugh’s Compendium, appeared as well.84 The linking of the Compendium with Jerome’s fifteen signs became common in the illustrated life of Antichrist tradition; did Albert anticipate that phenomenon, or was he responding to it? The tradition was almost certainly ­behind the marginal drawing made by the rubricator of a mid-­fifteenth-­ century copy of Albert’s Mirror, where a fanciful depiction of a winged Antichrist appears in the margins just between Jerome’s fifteen signs of the imminent arrival of Antichrist and the chapter on Antichrist himself (figure 5.4).85 Kneupper notes that it was precisely in this period of heightened interest in Antichrist that visual depictions of him shifted from the many-­headed beast to ­human form. She surmises that the German translation/paraphrase of Hugh’s Compendium, book 7 as a self-­standing illustrated Life of Antichrist was undertaken around 1420–30, but the textual traditions w ­ ere significantly 86 ­earlier. ­There is clearly some sort of relationship between Albert’s adaptalege Press, 1952) and Heinrich Theodor Musper, Der Antichrist und die Fünfzehn Zeichen (Munich: Prestel Verlag, 1970). Peter Comestor incorporated a version of the signs into his Historia scholastica. See Daniela Wagner, Die Fünfzehn Zeichen: Spätmittelalterliche Bildkonzepte für das Seelenheil (Berlin: Dietrich Reimer Verlag, 2016), 274. 84.  On Hugo de Novocastro’s Victory against Antichrist, see Robert E. Lerner, “Antichrist Goes to the University: The De victoria Christi contra Antichristum of Hugo De Novocastro, OFM (1315/1319),” in Crossing Bound­aries at Medieval Universities (Leiden: Brill, 2010), 277–313. According to Kneupper, the circulation of Hugh’s Compendium book 7 in­de­pen­dently was a phenomenon unique to German lands. Frances C Kneupper, “Picturing Antichrist: An Enquiry into the Visual Depiction of Evil in the Fifteenth C ­ entury” (paper presented at the University of Minnesota Center for German and Eu­ro­ pean Studies, October 2017). 85.  BSB Clm 3592, Augsburg (1457–61). A microfilm copy of the manuscript has been digitized: http://­daten​.­digitale​-­sammlungen​.­de​/­bsb00127018​/­image​_­304. 86.  I am indebted to Frances Kneupper, who shared this information with me in an email dated January 30, 2020. She also generously shared the pre-­publication paper titled “Picturing Antichrist.” On the illustrated lives of Antichrist and the fifteen signs, see Tina Boyer, “The Miracles of the Anti-

Figure 5.4.  A marginal sketch labeled entcrist (Antichrist) inserted into the margin of the Mirror of Priests alongside the Fifteen Signs of Antichrist in a fifteenth-­century manuscript. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek, Clm 3592, fol. 151r.

19 0 C h a p t e r  5

tion of the Compendium for his pastoral manual, his incorporation of Jerome’s fifteen signs, and this l­ater tradition. They must be part of a common trend, with Albert’s original text at the early end and the marginal illustration of Albert’s chapter on Antichrist in Clm 3592 at the opposite end, when the illustrated Antichrist tradition was already well established. Albert ended his eschatological reflection where Hugh did—­with a discussion of celestial glory. He then picked up on the theme of the celestial realm in a new conclusion to the entire Mirror devised for the revised version of the text, which served as an inspirational parting for his clerical readers.87 Building on Daniel 12:3, But they that are learned s­ hall shine as the brightness of the firmament: and they that instruct many to justice, as stars for all eternity, and related apocryphal and New Testament texts, Albert cited Jerome, Gratian’s Decretum, and book 2 of Hugh’s Compendium, among other well-­known texts, to pursue the meta­phor of educated priests as light-­g iving stars.88 He brought the work to a close with a new explicit, invoking one final time the promise of illumination: “And so, moreover, in this book as in a mirror, a ray of theological truth illumines the understanding, so that by reading it, ignorance may be banished, replaced with spiritual wisdom.”89 In a variety of subtle ways, Albert wove together the practical m ­ atters of parish business with the promise of celestial transformation.

christ,” in The End-­Times in Medieval German Lit­er­a­ture: Sin, Evil, and the Apocalypse, ed. Ernst Ralf Hintz and Scott E. Pincikowski (Woodbridge: Boydell & Brewer, 2019), 238–54. 87. ­There had been no conclusion to the work as a ­whole in the first edition, only a brief explicit. This new chapter was something into which Albert had put substantial effort, gathering an abundance of material together to emphasize the potential of parish priests to reflect celestial glory in their own time by mastering the subject ­matter of the ­whole. 88.  Clm 18387, fol. 81r–­v. 89.  Ut autem in hoc libro tamquam in speculo radius theologice veritatis illuminans intellectum, cunctis legentibus ignorantie vitium propelleret, et spiritalis scientie notitiam insereret. Clm 18387, fol. 81v. He then ends by saying that to make the subject ­matter of his “brief compendium” clearer to readers, he ­will provide a list of all the chapter titles: Hoc breve conpendium de diversis sanctorum patrum codicibus est collectum, quo et evitetur mater fastidii prolixitas, et tamen ad investiganda plurima, detur occasio legenti, huius que speculi titulos limpidius intuenti.

Conclusion

­ ere ends [this book]: So that new clerics may examine H themselves in this ­little book as in a mirror, to see in what manner they should care for ­those ­people entrusted to them, they ­ought to read, reread, and attend to this ­little book often, so that they do not neglect something through forgetfulness or ignorance.

Albert brought the first version of his guide for priests to a close by assuring his readers that the l­ittle book just completed had the power to help them care for ­those whose lives and souls had been entrusted to them, if only they would “read, reread, and attend to th[e] l­ ittle book often.”1 Looking at the evidence embedded in the Mirror of Priests, we can visualize Albert’s reading audience quite specifically: Augustinian Canons Regular from Bavaria or Swabia, who had been prepared for their work in Augustinian convent schools, some of whom would leave their convents to tend small town, market, or village parish churches. In addition to this first and primary circle of readers, t­here was another audience whose lives w ­ ere informed by Albert’s Mirror: the laypeople ­those first circle readers would encounter in their work. Through his activities on behalf of the convent in Diessen and its environs, Albert had a clear vision of who ­those laypeople ­were, just as he had a clear vision of who their parish priests would be. A firsthand understanding of the lives and living spaces of laypeople in the region informed the decisions Albert made about what to include in his book, and the t­hings he included in his book informed the lives and living spaces of t­ hose laypeople in turn. A community of 1.  Explicit: Ut autem in hoc libello tamquam in speculo clerici novelli possint inspicere qualiter presint populis sibi conmissis, ipsum libellum sepius legant, relegant, et adtendant, ne per oblivionem seu ignorantiam aliquis negligant. Clm 12471, fol. 88v. 191

19 2 Co n c l u s i o n

Augustinian canon/priests added their own ideas, questions, and concerns to the Mirror’s margins (literally and figuratively) and the fulfillment of its vision. Albert’s Mirror was at heart a literary proj­ect meant to be read and studied, but it was also meant to serve as a template for a living parish community. The dif­fer­ent aspects of Albert of Diessen’s Mirror (i.e., the written/read and the lived) ­were bound up together, but each aspect can also be profitably explored on its own. A focus on the Mirror as a book illustrates the fluid nature of medieval texts and manuscripts and allows us to see how interactive a medium the manuscript book could be. A focus on the Mirror as a model for living parish communities expands our understanding of pastoral lit­er­at­ ure as a bidirectional genre and demonstrates the importance of place and event in the construction of an authoritative local religious tradition out of a shared (­Great) religious tradition. The layers evident in Albert’s multiple manuscript versions of the Mirror show the crafting of a text as an expandable and adaptable ­thing, by its author and by other readers. The layers also communicate something of the freedom compilers brought to their work. Albert had vari­ous pastoral manuals at hand and an extensive library. When he sat down to write, he had a stack of books at his side. John of Freiburg’s Summa confessorum, with its connection to Raymond of Penyafort’s l­egal expertise, was especially revered across Eu­rope in the ­fourteenth c­ entury, and Albert relied in many places on John’s model. But when he set his own text in ink, he felt no obligation to John’s priorities or perspectives, or anyone ­else’s, for that ­matter. Albert chose the structure and organ­ization of his work; the tone of voice; the concepts, practices, and social vision to emphasize; the authorities to introduce on any given subject, and ­whether and how to cite them. He chose the balance of attention to pastoral care and to the religious life of monks and canons. His addition of a long discussion of the end of days to the second and third versions of the work might have been done to provide parish priests with a response to unwelcome apocalyptic prophecies circulating in the region, but it may also have been something designed entirely for the spiritual benefit of Albert’s first circle audience. I call the Mirror a “pastoral manual” b­ ecause it fits reasonably well within that genre, but Albert did not use that phrase and in many ways, it is too restrictive to adequately describe the work. A text can do more than one t­ hing, and Albert designed the Mirror to be more than a how-to book. Albert carefully and intentionally developed an instrument by which priests could examine themselves, their values, actions, and aspirations for ser­vice in a way that would, in fact, prepare them for pastoral care. Not all the chapters of the book involve instructions for direct care of the laity, but all the chapters of the book ­were meant to create a certain kind of religious leader whose l­abors would

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benefit the laity. Albert wanted to inspire parish priests and help them to understand the significance of their role in forging and maintaining Christian community. The invocation of the Old Testament priesthood as a model at key points in the text elevated the work of ­humble priests and transformed the landscape in which they functioned as well, bringing the earthly city and the heavenly Jerusalem into contact and investing “the local” with authority. The Mirror Albert created was meant to be read, discussed, rewritten, and reread in a cyclical fashion. He seems to have been very aware of his audience(s), and to have designed dif­fer­ent versions of the work for dif­fer­ent communities. The version that was sent to Rottenbuch was fairly short, primarily focused on ­matters directly relevant to pastoral care, and would have been appropriate as an exemplar for further copying and distribution. That is the only version that ends with the call to “read and reread” the book often, which implies that many copies ­were meant to be made so that they could remain in the possession of the parish priest looking to follow its instruction. The Diessen manuscript produced for Albert’s own convent provided a con­ve­nient location for an ongoing conversation about pastoral care, ecclesiology, and theology, with a par­tic­u­lar nod to social realities. Additions w ­ ere made to the text for years ­after the manuscript was originally created, some by Albert and some by his b­ rothers. Some of t­ hese additions ­were directly related to the material of the Mirror, but some ­were only tangentially connected and ­others not at all. The Tegernsee manuscript was made of fine material and elaborately decorated, more appropriate for a monastic library than an active school of canons or a parish library. And, in fact, we find that in contrast to the Rottenbuch and Diessen manuscripts, ­there are no marginal annotations in this manuscript, apart from one instance of the single word “Nota.”2 Differences in content between the three manuscripts also support the idea that Albert created distinct versions of the text for distinct audiences. He included a pointed discussion about the role of friars in pastoral care in the first manuscript that went to Rottenbuch, but he chose not to include that discussion in the manuscripts that w ­ ere meant to be kept at Diessen or sent to the Benedictines at Tegernsee. He wrote a lengthy paragraph on the Immaculate Conception for the Diessen manuscript and then chose not to include it in the copy sent to the monks. It seems unlikely that the changes w ­ ere completely random and without significance. The existence of manuscripts combining ele­ments of autograph versions one, two, and three suggest that Albert may also have made other copies 2. ­There are three other places with writing in the margin, but in each case, that was Albert’s own addition of a passage from the ­later paragraphs of the Diessen manuscript that he had forgotten to incorporate into the text.

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of his work ­after the Tegernsee volume. Might they also have been written for individuals or communities with distinctive characteristics? Some of them notably lack the eschatological chapters, even though they include the other additions of version three. The takeaway ­here is that the manuscript tradition suggests a pastoral work like the Mirror was not meant to be fixed for all time. It was designed to be a flexible ­thing that could adapt to its readers’ needs and concerns. The Mirror of Priests is an exceptionally rich and distinctive example of the insufficiently appreciated genre of parish-­oriented pastoral lit­er­a­ture. It also provides an intimate view of a vibrant medieval manuscript culture on the periphery of the urban centers of learning that usually get attention for this period. The work was meant to be lived, not only read or studied. And when we look at the work that way, we can see the extent to which Chris­tian­ity in medieval Eu­rope was a fundamentally local negotiation. I would align myself with ­those religious historians who assert that religion is something that by its nature requires active engagement by h ­ umans living their lives in the world. ­There may well be overarching theologies, cosmologies, social structures, and ­legal codes that forge bonds across innumerable “­imagined” communities, conceived as sharing in a “­Great Tradition.”3 By the late M ­ iddle Ages, scholastic culture and church-­state partnerships had helped to articulate and disseminate a carefully delineated notion of Chris­tian­ity across Western Eu­rope. But however fully developed the written standards and expectations of Christian belief and practice might have been, it was still up to local religious experts to interpret and incorporate ­those standards into lived experience. When Albert chose which authoritative positions to emphasize and which to ignore, when he de­cided what was impor­tant for his younger colleagues to know and what they could do without, when he presumed certain shared values and perhaps tried to impose ­others, he was helping to define Chris­tian­ity in practice for individuals living within his orbit. The story of what Albert deemed a misguided use of a consecrated host during the locust invasion of 1366 is instructive ­because the offending priests ­were, like Albert, craf­ters of a religious community. ­These priests would have felt the danger of the locusts as powerfully as lay members of the community. They ­were, a­ fter all, property man­ag­ers as well as soul man­ag­ers, and the fields ­were known to them. Furthermore, the practice of encircling land with holy objects made sense to them, as it was part of the yearly liturgical practice of Rogation. T ­ here ­were subtle distinctions to be made between appro3.  For the adaptation of Benedict Anderson’s po­liti­cal notion of “­Imagined Communities” to premodern religious communities, see David Freidenreich, Foreigners and Their Food: Constructing Otherness in Jewish, Christian, and Islamic Law (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2011), 8–10.

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priate and inappropriate use of holy objects, and ­there was room for personal judgment. Calling to mind recent events in the immediate community, Albert leaned in the direction of preserving the Eucharist from potential misuse, fearing that too much was expected of it in its use as a protective device. But evidently other local experts had felt differently. At a time when host miracles w ­ ere especially central to religious culture in Bavaria and the limits of the Eucharist’s power tested and celebrated, Albert was trying to protect its sanctity. But elsewhere in the guide, Albert used the Eucharist to protect the sanctity of the community. The long list of over fifty categories of p­ eople who should be excluded from communion was not something we typically see in pastoral guides. One might think Albert’s restrictive approach to participation in the Eucharist was meant to protect the sanctity of the host as this was a topic of ­g reat concern in penitentials and scholastic pastoral manuals. But taken in the context of the rest of the Mirror, it seems more likely that it was the well-­being of the community Albert had in mind. We are talking about small parishes ­here; we can presume that in many or most cases, p­ eople knew their neighbors’ business and so their transgressions. The potential separation of so many from communion may have been designed to push ­people ­toward reconciliation. ­After all, for the majority of t­ hose excluded, reentry into communion (and community) was readily available. Through the mediation of the priest and the sacrament of penance, the outsider could once more be an insider. Albert’s perspective on the ideal religious community as depicted in the Mirror of Priests was s­ haped by his location in an Augustinian convent on a hill overlooking a lake in a small Bavarian market town. The same small river ran past the grounds of the convent, into the town, and fed the mills that the convent owned and that brought them material sustenance. The main cemetery for Diessen was at the parish church of St. George, u ­ nder the care of the canons, and market dwellers had to walk past the convent to arrive at their ­family members’ graves. When Albert advised parish priests with compassion about burial practices, his perspective reflected awareness of the impor­tant connections between the living and dead. Albert’s geographic circle also included a vast network of holdings across Bavaria, Tyrol, Carinthia, and eastern Swabia. His prominent role in recording the extent of the convent’s property—­ not just defined by land bound­aries, but by specific quantities of grain, and numbers of animals, and blocks of cheese, and containers of wine, and carts for transport—­and his participation in negotiations over resources with townspeople shows an immersion in the real-­life circumstances of t­hose whose lives he would guide. So much of the discussion that made its way into confessors’ manuals and pastoral guides was written at a distance, sometimes with

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practical implementation foremost in mind, but often also as an intellectual exercise. Albert’s inclusion of regional references into his work demonstrates a connection with both his immediate priestly readers and the laypeople among whom they lived. His knowledge of both the framework of a shared Christian tradition and local ways of life allowed him to construct a version of Chris­ tian­ity that made sense in his environment. The Mirror continued to be copied for over a ­century ­after its original composition, affirming the usefulness of Albert’s effort. Specific regional needs and historical events may have helped to shape Albert’s vision of the parish community, but the text took on a life of its own, circulating widely ­after Albert was gone. It made the rounds of Augustinian scriptoria in Bavaria, Swabia, and Franconia, and then was picked up in the g­ reat wave of religious lit­er­at­ ure copied in and a­ fter the large Church councils at Constance and Basel. Its character changed, inevitably, with its movement into circles ever more distant in both space and time. Fortunately, the survival of Albert’s own work in pro­g ress allows us to see the way he ­imagined his advice could be used to create Christian communities embedded in the lived real­ity of his time and place, lives that would be imbued with religious meaning, from birth to death, and eventually, he hoped, enjoying celestial glory at the end of time. The fullness of Albert’s vision affirms the centrality of the parish and its community for t­ hose living ­under the rubric of Chris­tian­ity. The parish was a church, with its priests and deacons, its altar and decorations, its graveyard and baptismal font, its fields and accounting books. It was also a community of ­people and the homes they lived in—­homes where food was prepared, bodies tended, c­ hildren born (and sometimes baptized), alliances forged, dreams interpreted, demons fought, and last rites offered. Locally oriented pastoral guides like Albert’s allow us to see how central the parish was to the experience of medieval Eu­ro­pe­ans g­ oing about their business, perhaps even more so in the village, small town, or rural parish than in big city ones, as t­here ­were fewer outside influences making themselves felt. In this world, religion was not separate from other t­ hings but an integral part of it. Parish priests, however learned they may have been—­and some, like ­those who ­were Augustinian canons, ­were very learned—­interacted on a regular if not daily basis with the ­people they served. To integrate specific mandates of canon law into their pastoral activity meant constantly negotiating between the world outside and the world inside the parish. The stability of the parish priest vis-­à-­vis his parishioners both necessitated and allowed for a distinctive kind of pastoral role, one that tended to the individual soul but also to the entirety of the parish as a living community. The Christian communities that Albert envisioned for his readers and their parishioners would have been replicated in countless variations by known and

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unknown peers. Throughout Eu­rope, locally oriented guides along the lines of Albert’s Mirror of Priests ­were composed for parish priests, who in turn adapted ­those guides to the needs of their specific communities. Deeply familiar with local landscapes, t­ hese knowledgeable priests would have helped to interpret Christian tradition in a way that was s­ haped by and appropriate for ­people living within their defined territory. The writers and readers of seemingly minor or derivative manuals provided the essential connection between Christian practice as defined and redefined in schools and councils and local expressions of Chris­tian­ity consonant with the social, cultural, and economic realities of daily life in ­later medieval communities.

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Index

Note: Page numbers in italics refer to illustrative m ­ atter. adultery, 30, 31, 42, 134, 135, 140–41, 167, 180 Albert of Diessen, 2, 88; authority of, 52–53, 60–63; on Diessen property holdings, 55–59, 55n4, 66–72, 66n34, 195; Epitaph of the Prelates of Diessen, 56–57; Exposition on the Apostles’ Creed, 93, 96, 100–101, 103, 110; as ­Great Tradition agent, 81; Urbar, 56, 57, 59–60, 71, 79. See also Augustinian Canons Regular; Mirror of Priests (Albert of Diessen) Albert the ­Great, 35, 39, 48, 115, 119n18 Alexander II (pope), 171–73 alms, 4, 42, 139 Ammerman, Nancy, 4 Angelus de Clavasio, 43 animal-­human hybrids, 117–19 Antichrist, 146, 185–90 anti-­Jewish vio­lence, 9, 9n24, 13–14, 104, 177–79 Apostles’ Creed, 93, 93n9, 94, 95 Aristotle, 115 Armleder massacres (1336–39), 177 Astesanus of Asti, 23n6, 43, 50, 132 Augustine of Hippo (saint), 10, 61, 64, 115; Praeceptum, 10, 11 Augustinian Canons Regular, 2, 63–66; incorporated churches of, 76; Mirror of Priests as proj­ect of, 10–12, 15, 54–55, 191–92; necrologies of, 55, 55n5, 76–79, 79n59; patronage rights of, 64, 73, 76, 77; property holdings of, 17, 55–59, 55n4, 66–75, 66n34, 178, 195; religious geography of, 81–82, 82n66, 84, 91, 91n4. See also Albert of Diessen authority of pastoral manuals, 3, 21–23, 46, 52–53. See also pastoral manuals aynung, 58, 58n11 Backmund, Norbert, 76 Bailey, Michael, 145, 147

baptismal practice, 6, 29; Albert on, 99, 100, 101, 117–20, 117n12, 162–63; Guido on, 47; John on, 116–17, 118; Raymond on, 39 Barrow, Julia, 73 Bartholomew of Exeter, 26 Bauerreiss, Romuald, 2n5, 56n6, 91–92 Benedictine order, 10, 157; Tegernsee monastery, 56, 90, 91–92, 99, 108 Benedict of Nursia (saint), 10 Bernard of Clairvaux, 61, 116, 179 Bernard of Pavia, 161; Compilatio prima, 31, 31n28, 33, 161 Biller, Peter, 25 Black Death (1348–50), 9, 9n24, 177. See also plagues and plague vio­lence Borgolte, Michael, 65, 79n59 Boyle, Leonard, 6, 20–21, 41, 44, 113 Breviarium extravagantium (Bernard of Pavia), 161 Broomfield, F., 28 Bruder Berthold, 51, 52, 52n87 Bünz, Enno, 15 Burchard of Worms, 115, 138, 138n63, 149, 182n75, 185 burial practices, 105, 139, 148, 153, 155, 181, 195. See also eschatology canon law tradition, 30–33, 61, 139, 161, 161n31 care of souls, as term, 2 Catholicon ( John of Genoa), 146 Charles IV (emperor), 178 Christianizing Egypt (Frank­f urter), 16 Christian-­Jewish relations, 9–10, 46–47, 86–87, 160–80 City and Cosmos (Lilley), 84 Clement III (pope), 173 clerical ignorance, as trope, 1, 2, 21, 46n72, 51, 121–24, 121n23, 151, 190, 191 clericus, as term, 124n31 211

21 2 I n d e x

Cohn, Samuel, 178 communion. See Eucharist Communities of Vio­lence (Nirenberg), 86 Compendium theologice veritatis (Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg), 114, 120, 127, 146, 185 Compilatio praesens (Peter of Poitiers), 25, 27 Compilatio prima (Bernard of Pavia), 31, 31n28, 33, 161 Confessionale ( John of Freiburg), 35 confessional practice: Fourth Lateran Council on, 7; Guido on, 49; John on, 40, 49, 125; of the laity, 24–25; Raymond on, 125 conjoined twins, 117–20 Conrad, 22n6, 30–31, 30n27, 33–34 conversion, 31, 46–47, 162 Council of Agde (506), 171 Council of Basel (1431–49), 108, 108n34, 196 Council of Constance (1414–18), 108, 196 crime, 33, 34, 38, 49, 130 Cristofferus, 78 Cum qui recepit prophetam (Honorius III), 29 Cyprian, 114, 116, 129 death. See eschatology de Certeau, Michel, 83 decoration of text, 105–8. See also Mirror of Priests (Albert of Diessen) Decretales (Gregory IX), 32, 163 Decretum (Burchard of Worms), 115, 149, 182n75, 185 Decretum (Gratian), 27, 96, 149–50, 161, 161n31 De laude Cestrie (Lucian), 84–85 demons: activity by, 9, 143–46, 148–50; conjuring of, 139; influence of, 159; obssession by, 130, 139–40, 153–55, 153n19, 160; possession by, 5n13, 130, 153n19 Diessen (convent). See Augustinian Canons Regular Diessen (market), 65–69, 70, 71, 84, 195 diversity, religious, 8–9, 54 divination, 146–47. See also magic, as term Dominican Order: about, 7–9; John’s works for, 35–36, 40–41 drunkenness, 27, 123n29 Duns Scotus, 47, 50 Durand of Champagne, 43 Durand of Saint Pourçain, 47 Durandus, William, 39, 48, 49, 116, 132 Durandus de Campania, 50 Eckhart, Meister, 52 educational tradition: of Augustinian order, 11–12, 61; of Dominican order, 8

Egyptian Days, 155, 156–58, 157n26 Eliade, Mircea, 82 Episcopi (Regino of Prüm), 149, 150, 155–56 Epitaph of the Prelates of Diessen (Albert of Diessen), 56–57 eschatology, 82, 143, 180–90. See also burial practices Eucharist: Albert on, 14, 128–32, 151–52, 164, 175, 176, 195; John on, 38, 39; Lateran Four on, 7; Thomas of Chobham on, 29 The Eucharist in Medieval Canon Law (Izbicki), 129 Exposition on the Apostles’ Creed (Albert of Diessen), 93, 96, 100–101, 103, 110 Eye of the Priest. See Oculus sacerdotis (William of Pagula) Fearful Spirits, Reasoned Follies (Bailey), 147 First Crusade Rhineland massacres (1096), 177 FitzRalph, Richard, 92, 110 Formula confessionum ( Jean Rigaud), 50 fornication, 134, 135, 180 Foucault, Michel, 83 Fourth Lateran Council (1215), 6–7, 26–27, 27n15, 171 Franciscan order, 7, 8n21, 12, 23, 29, 41, 43, 50n83 Franconia, 4, 55, 178, 196 Frank­f urter, David, 16, 80–81 Frederick the Fair, 66 Friburgensis, Johannes. See John of Freiburg gaschepfen (fates), 13, 137, 159–60 Gennadius of Marseille, 153 Goering, Joseph, 24 Gratian, 27, 96, 149–50, 161 Graus, Frantisek, 178 ­Great Tradition, as concept, 80–81, 85, 194 Gregory IX (pope), 32, 32n34, 163 Gregory the ­Great (pope), 27, 114, 116, 181 Guido of Monte Rochen, 9, 23n6, 44–50, 45nn67–68, 94n10, 131–32 Gurevich, Aron, 5 Haerinch, Conrad, 58, 58n13 Hall, David, 4 Handbook for Curates (Guido of Monte Rochen), 9, 44–50, 94n10 Hartwig, 65 Haverkamp, Alfred, 178 Henry (provost), 57–59, 61, 66, 97n15 Henry of Ghent, 50

I n d e x Henry of Langenstein, 187 heresy, 7, 8, 9, 13, 38, 42, 139. See also heretics heretics: Albert on, 99, 100, 101, 127; Conrad on, 33–34; John on, 38, 39, 47; Raymond on, 38, 39. See also heresy Historia scholastica (Peter Comestor), 114, 124, 157 Honorius III (pope), 8, 29 Hostiensis, 39, 48, 49–50, 132, 133, 145 House of Andechs-­Diessen, 64–65, 76 House of Wittelsbach, 65 Hugh of St. Victor, 61, 113, 114, 116, 120, 188 Hugh Ripelin of Strasbourg, 98n18, 114, 120, 127, 146, 185 Hugo de Novocastro, 120 ignorance. See clerical ignorance, as trope ignorance in sin, 164, 166, 167, 173–75 impotence, 146, 150–151 infidels and infidelity, 10, 17, 31, 33, 34, 38, 42–43, 160, 175, 180 ius patronatus, 64, 73, 76, 77 Izbicki, Thomas, 129 James of St. Victor, 26 Jean Rigaud, 50 Jerome (saint), 114, 121n21, 138, 187–88, 190 Jews: Albert on Christian relations and, 9–10, 86–87, 160–80, 162n33; canon law on, 161, 161n31; and Christian relations, 69; vio­lence against, 9, 9n24, 13–14, 104, 177–79. See also Judaism John Mirk, 51 John of Erfurt, 41–43, 54, 125, 126, 129, 131 John of Freiburg, 23n6, 35–38, 35n43, 35n45, 41–42; Confessionale, 35; Libellus questionum casualium, 35, 39; Manuale collectum de Summa confessorum, 35–37; Summa confessorum, 21, 35–42, 39n54, 113–20, 118, 134–36, 149, 165–66 John of God, 132, 145 Johnston, Michael, 89 Judaism, 47. See also Jews Judengasse, 69, 70, 85–86 Klostergasse, 66, 68, 69, 70, 85 Knott, Kim, 83–84 Köpf, Ulrich, 64 laity: confessional practice of, 24–25; pastoral works for, 50–52 Latin wine, 59, 59n14

213

laver, 121–23, 122n25 Lefebvre, Henri, 83, 85n75 Libellus questionum casualium ( John of Freiburg), 35, 39 Liber extra (Gregory IX), 32 Liber penitentiarius ( John of God), 132 Lilley, Keith, 84–85, 85n75 ­Little Tradition, as concept, 80–81 Liutold, 78 lived religion, 4–10. See also pastoral manuals The Location of Religion (Knott), 83 locusts, 14, 151, 152, 194 Longère, Jean, 26, 27n16 Lord’s Prayer, 94 Louis the Bavarian (emperor), 58, 66, 69 Louis the Brandenburger, Duke of Bavaria, 58, 66 Lualdi, Kathryn, 45, 45n67, 48 Lucian de Antioch, 84–85 magic, 81, 135, 137, 139, 144, 145–52, 145n5. See also maleficium; sorcery; witches and witchcraft Mai, Paul, 65 maleficium, as term, 146, 150–51 malleability of authority, 7n17, 22, 111, 140–42 Malleus maleficarum, 156 Manipulus curatorum. See Handbook for Curates (Guido of Monte Rochen) Manuale collectum de Summa confessorum ( John of Freiburg), 35–37 Map Is Not Territory (Smith), 16–17 marginalia, 93–100, 104, 109, 138, 146, 147, 155, 171, 188–90, 193n2 Marktgasse, 69, 85 marriage, 9–10, 31, 32, 42, 46–47, 128, 134, 140, 140n68, 146, 151 massacres, 14, 177–78 McGuire, Meredith, 4 Mechtild, Duchess of Bavaria, 66 Meilinger, George, 58 Menendus, 27 Michaud-­Quantin, Pierre, 29, 32 mirror, as concept, 121–23, 125 Mirror of Priests (Albert of Diessen), 191–97; on Antichrist, 146, 185–90; as Augustinian proj­ect, 10–12, 15, 54–55, 191–92; autograph manuscripts of, 89–94, 193; on Christian-­Jewish relations, 9–10, 86–87, 160–80; copies and preservation of, 3–4, 4n10, 108–11; decoration of, 105–8; on Egyptian Days, 155, 156–58; on

21 4 I n d e x

Mirror of Priests (Albert of Diessen) (continued) eschatology, 143, 180–90; on essential ideas for priests, 138–40; land, space, and community in, 15–19, 80–87; malleability of expectations and, 140–42; manuscript evidence for revision pro­cess, 94–105, 94nn11–12; marginalia of, 93–100, 104, 109, 138, 146, 147, 155, 171, 188–90, 193n2; publication of, 1–4, 1n1, 2n4, 4n9; purpose of, 112–13, 191; on sacramental practice, 127–38; on sorcery, superstition, and the demonic, 14, 137, 138n63, 143–60; structure and content of, 9, 120–27; summary of sources for, 114–20, 125–27, 161; title of, 1, 124n31; as Upper Bavarian proj­ect, 12–14. See also Albert of Diessen monasteria, as term, 64 Moral Exposition of the Mass (Thomas Aquinas), 114 Mulchahey, Michèle, 39, 40 Muslims: Albert on, 9–10, 103n27, 160–69, 172–73, 179–80, 180n66; Guido on, 46–47; John of Freiburg on, 38, 43n62; Raymond on, 33–34; referenced as pagans, 103, 104

penitential practice, 7, 125; Albert on, 132–36; Guido on, 45; Hostiensis on, 132, 133–36; John of Erfurt on, 42; John of Freiburg on, 133–36; Thomas of Chobham’s Summa confessorum, 28–29; Victorine canons on, 27 perjury, 30, 130, 139 Peter Comestor, 62, 113, 114, 120, 124, 157, 173–75 Peter Lombard, 114, 116, 120, 174–75 Peter of Poitiers, 22n6, 25–27 Peter of Tarentaise, 35, 39, 114, 114n3, 115 Peter the Chanter, 26 Physics (Aristotle), 115 plagues and plague vio­lence, 9, 9n24, 14, 177–79 popu­lar religion, as term, 5. See also lived religion Praeceptum (Augustine of Hippo), 10, 11 property holdings of Diessen convent, 17, 55–59, 55n4, 66–75, 66n34, 178, 195 purgatory, 181, 182, 187

Nanshaimer, Ulrich, 58 necrologies, 55, 55n5, 76–79, 79n59 Nicholas of Lyra, 48n79, 114, 116, 120 Nirenberg, David, 86 Nonnulli provinciis, 171

Ranulph Higden, 23n6 Raymond of Gaston, 45 Raymond of Penyafort, 7, 9, 22n6, 30–39, 114–15; Summa de casibus penitentie, 7, 31–32, 38, 161; Summa de matrimonia, 32–35, 37; Summa de poenitentiarum, 35, 36; Summula Summa confessorum, 114–15 Rechtssumme (Berthold), 52 Redfield, Robert, 80–81 Regino of Prüm, 149 regionalism, 15–19, 80–87 Regula monachorum (Benedict of Nursia), 10 religion: geographies of, 82–83; as lived experience, 4–10, 83; spaces of, 83–86 religious studies, 80–85 Renard, Jean Pierre, 31 Rhineland, 177–78 Richard of Middleton, 50 Rintfleish massacres (1298), 177 ritual practice, 125–26, 144. See also names of specific rituals; sorcery; superstition Robert Grosseteste, 39 Robert of Flamborough, 26, 27 Rottenbuch, 3, 65, 90, 91, 91n4, 101, 108 Rumsik, Johannes. See John of Freiburg

Oculus sacerdotis (William of Pagula), 44–45 On the spheres (Sacrobosco), 157 Orsi, Robert, 4, 5 paganism, 42, 103n27, 137, 138n63, 144, 156–76, 180 papal election, 95–96 parish community, overview, 15–19, 191–92, 194–97 parish priests, overview, 1–10; Diessen canons as, 73, 76–80 parish spaces, 16–17, 194–97 pastoralia, 20–21, 21nn1–2 pastoral manuals: overview, 2, 4, 20–23, 192; authority of, 3, 21–23, 46, 52–53; lived religion and, 4–10; malleability of expectations in, 140–42; standardization of, 7n17, 20–21. See also scholastic culture; titles of specific works patronage rights, 64, 73, 76, 77 Paul of Hungary, 22n6, 29–30, 32 penitential canons, 25, 97, 110, 132–38, 145–46, 156, 157, 159–60, 171n43, 185

questio format, 20. See also pastoral manuals

sacramental practice, 38–39, 127–38. See also specific sacraments Sacrobosco, Johannes de, 157

I n d e x Scheyern monastery, 72 Schlögl, Waldemar, 59, 71 scholastic culture: as Albert source material, 114–20, 124, 125–26; for lay elites, 50–52; for parish clergy, 43–50; summae in, 25, 28–43. See also pastoral manuals Schweizer, Bruno, 69 Schwinges, Rainer Christophe, 61 sexual sins, 9, 133, 136–37, 136n60, 159. See also adultery; fornication; marriage; sodomy Skemer, Don, 157 Smith, Jonathan Z., 16–17, 82–83 sodomy, 9, 133, 136n60, 159 sorcery, 14, 137, 143, 144–56, 160 sortilegium, as term, 146–47 Speculum clericorum. See Mirror of Priests (Albert of Diessen) standardization of pastoral lit­er­a­ture, 7n17, 20–21. See also pastoral manuals Steer, Georg, 52 Stella clericorum (ed. Reiter), 124n31, 182 Stephen II, Duke of Bavaria, 66 Stephen of Bourbon, 147 St. John Lateran. See Fourth Lateran Council (1215) St. Mary’s at Diessen, 64–65 St. Stephen’s at Diessen, 64–65 St. Victor community, 26–27 suicide, 139–40, 153, 155 Summa collectionum pro confessionibus audiendi (Durandus de Campania), 50 Summa confessorum ( John of Erfurt), 41–43 Summa confessorum ( John of Freiburg), 21, 35–42, 39n54, 113–20, 118, 134–36, 149, 165–66 Summa confessorum (Thomas of Chobham), 7, 25, 28–30 Summa de casibus conscientiae (Astesanus of Asti), 43, 50, 120 Summa de casibus penitentie (Raymond of Penyafort), 7, 31–32, 38, 161 Summa de confessione (Peter of Poitiers), 25–27, 28 Summa de matrimonia (Raymond of Penyafort), 32–35, 37 Summa de poenitentiarum (Raymond of Penyafort), 35, 36 Summa de sacramentis et animi consiliis (Peter the Chanter), 26

215

Summa theologiae (Thomas Aquinas), 145, 148 Summula magistri Conradi (Conrad), 31 Summula Summa confessorum (Raymond of Penyafort), 114–15 superstitio, as term, 147 superstition, 138n63, 144–48, 153, 157, 160 Tabula iuris civilis et canonici ( John of Erfurt), 41 Tabula iuris utriusque ( John of Erfurt), 41 Tayninger, Stephen, 58 Tegernsee monastery, 56, 90, 91–92, 99, 108 Thayer, Anne, 45, 45n67, 48 Thomas Aquinas, 35; as authority source, 39, 42, 48, 115, 115n6, 116, 117, 140; on baptism, 47; Moral Exposition of the Mass, 114; Summa theologiae, 145, 148 Thomas of Chobham, 7, 22, 22n6, 25–26, 28, 30, 131; Summa confessorum, 7, 25, 28–30 tithes, 17, 31, 42, 73, 82, 121, 130, 139 Toch, Michael, 59n14, 71n43, 72 To Take Place (Smith), 16–17 trigon, 1, 1n3 Tyrol, 17, 55, 71, 72, 73, 108, 178, 195 Ulrich of Scheffolting, 58 Ulrich of Strasbourg, 35, 39, 48 Urbar (Albert), 56, 57, 59–60, 71, 79 Van Dussen, Michael, 89 vernacular translations of pastoral works for lay elites, 50–52 Victorine canons, 26–27 Virgin Mary, 94n12, 97, 98, 99n19, 118 werewolves, 110, 137, 138, 138n63, 159–60 William de Montibus, 24 William of Auvergne, 39 William of Pagula, 23n6, 44–45, 131 William of Rennes, 34–35, 39 witches and witchcraft, 144. See also sorcery ­women who fly, 137, 138n63, 144, 155–56, 159, 160. See also witches and witchcraft Wood, Susan, 76 Zauberer, as term, 147 Zauberin, as term, 147, 147n10