Pilgrimage to Heaven: Eschatology and Monastic Spirituality in Early Medieval Ireland (Studia Traditionis Theologiae) 9782503565392, 2503565395

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STUDIA TRADITIONIS THEOLOGIAE Explorations in Early and Medieval Theology

Theology continually engages with its past: the people, experience, Scriptures, liturgy, learning and customs of Christians. The past is preserved, rejected, modified; but the legacy steadily evolves as Christians are never indifferent to history. Even when engaging the future, theology looks backwards: the next generation’s training includes inheriting a canon of Scripture, doctrine, and controversy; while adapting the past is central in every confrontation with a modernity. This is the dynamic realm of tradition, and this series’ focus. Whether examining people, texts, or periods, its volumes are concerned with how the past evolved in the past, and the interplay of theology, culture, and tradition.

STUDIA TRADITIONIS THEOLOGIAE Explorations in Early and Medieval Theology 23 Series Editor: Thomas O’Loughlin, Professor of Historical Theology in the University of Nottingham

EDITORIAL BOARD

Director Prof. Thomas O’Loughlin Board Members Dr Andreas Andreopoulos, Dr Nicholas Baker-Brian, Dr Augustine Casiday, Dr Mary B. Cunningham, Dr Juliette Day, Dr Johannes Hoff, Dr Paul Middleton, Dr Simon Oliver, Prof. Andrew Prescott, Dr Patricia Rumsey, Dr Jonathan Wooding, Dr Holger Zellentin

PILGRIMAGE TO HEAVEN Eschatology and Monastic Spirituality in Early Medieval Ireland

Katja Ritari

H

F

Cover illustration: Tabula Peutingeriana © ÖNB Vienna: Cod. 324, Segm. VIII + IX © 2016, Brepols Publishers n.v., Turnhout, Belgium All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. D/2016/0095/184 ISBN 978-2-503-56539-2 (printed version) ISBN 978-2-503-56940-6 (online vesrion) DOI 10.1484/M.STT-EB.5.111570 Printed on acid-free paper

CONTENTS

Abbreviations . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii Acknowledgements. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix 1. Introduction. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 1.a. Monastic Life and Death. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1 1.b. Approaching Monastic Spirituality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9 2. Heavenly Citizens on Earth: The Irish Lives of Saints Adomnán and Columba . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.a. Irish Hagiography and Holiness. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.b. The Prudent Saint in Betha Adamnáin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 2.c. Monastery as Holy Ground in Betha Coluim Cille. . . . . 2.d. Saints as Heavenly People. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

13 13 15 20 43

3. Monastic Life as Pilgrimage: The Sermons of St Columbanus. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 3.a. Pilgrimage as Spiritual Exile. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47 3.b. ‘Pilgrims in the World’: the Monk’s Relationship with the World in the Sermons of Columbanus. . . . . . . . . . . . 51 3.c. The Pilgrimage of Life . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 84 4. Monks out on the Sea in Search of Heaven: Navigatio sancti Brendani. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 4.a. The Sea as Desert. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 4.b. The Navigatio sancti Brendani as an Allegory of the Monastic Quest for Heaven . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 95 4.c. The Monastic Journey. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 136

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5. Geography of the Otherworld: Fís Adomnáin. . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.a. The End of the Voyage. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5.b. Mapping the Afterlife in the Fís Adomnáin. . . . . . . . . . . 5.c. The Destinations of the Dead. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

145 145 148 171

6. Pilgrimage of Life: Some Conclusions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 177 Bibliography. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 187 Index of Biblical References. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 217 General Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 219

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ABBREVIATIONS

Abbreviations for Biblical Materials Gen Ex Lev Dt Jds 1 Kgs Ezra Job Ps Prov Song Is Jer Dan Mal

Genesis Exodus Leviticus Deuteronomy Judges 1 Kings = III Regum Ezra = I Esdras Job Psalms Proverbs Song of Solomon = Canticum canticorum Isaiah Jeremiah Daniel Malachi

Mt Mk Lk Jn Act Rom 1 Cor 2 Cor Gal Eph Phil 1 Thes 2 Tim

Matthew Mark Luke John Acts of the Apostles Romans 1 Corinthians 2 Corinthians Galatians Ephesians Philippians 1 Thessalonians 2 Timothy

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Heb 1 Pet 1 Jn Apoc

Hebrews 1 Peter 1 John Apocalypse [Revelation of John the Divine]

Abbreviations for Editions of Non-Biblical Texts, Works of Reference and Journals BethaA BethaCC BNE CMCS CCSA CCSL CSEL DCD DDC DIAS DIL FA HE JRSAI L&S MGH NPNF PL PRIA RIA SC VC VSH ZCP

Betha Adamnáin. Betha Coluim Cille. Bethada Náem nÉrenn: Lives of Irish Saints, ed. Charles Plummer. 2  vol., Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1922, repr. 1997. Cambrian Medieval Celtic Studies (formerly Cambridge Medieval Celtic Studies). Corpus Christianorum (Series Apocryphorum). Corpus Christianorum (Series Latina). Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum Latinorum. Augustine, De civitate Dei. Augustine, De doctrina christiana. Dublin Institute for Advanced Studies. Dictionary of Irish Language based mainly on Old and Middle Irish Materials, Dublin: RIA, 1983, Compact edition 1998. Fís Adomnáin. Bede, Historia ecclesiastica. Journal of the Royal Society of Antiquaries of Ireland. Lapidge, M. & R. Sharpe, A Bibliography of Celtic-Latin Literature 400‒1200, Dublin: RIA, 1985. Monumenta Germaniae Historica. Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers. Patrologia Latina. Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy Royal Irish Academy. Sources chrétiennes. Adomnán, Vita Columbae. Vitae Sanctorum Hiberniae, ed. Charles Plummer. 2 vol., 1910. Repr. Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1997. Zeitschrift für Celtische Philologie

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Writing of this book has been a long journey and as the process is finally nearing its completion it is time to say thanks to a number of people. This book had its genesis in a postdoctoral research project on early medieval Irish eschatology, which evolved into a study of the relationship between this and the other worlds and the role of eschatology in Irish monastic thinking. When I first began this project I did not have any idea that this is what would come out of it, but I think that it is a result of the natural evolution of my interest in the religious culture of early medieval Ireland. First of all I would like to thank Professor Thomas O’Loughlin for his always constructive and encouraging feedback towards my research and for inviting me to publish this book in this esteemed series by Brepols. I am also greatly indebted to everybody at the Study of Religions of the Department of World Cultures (when I first started this project it was still an independent department called Department of Comparative Religion) at University of Helsinki where this research was conducted. Particular thanks are due to Professors René Gothóni and Tuula Sakaranaho for their support of my career and for welcoming me as a Celticist and a historian among the scholars of religion. My time at the Study of Religions has had a formative influence on my research in directing my interests more specifically towards religion. I also wish to thank everybody at the Department, and especially Mulki AlSharmani, Elisa Heinämäki, Mikko Heimola, Riku Hämäläinen, ­Mitra Härkönen, Johanna Konttori, Mira Karjalainen, Sonja Pakarinen, Heikki Pesonen, Outi Pohjanheimo, Mari Rahkala, Riikka Uuksulainen, and Aila Viholainen, for making my time there so pleasant and edifying. Special thanks are due to Nina Maskulin for sharing my office

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Acknowledgements

for part of the project and for sharing the joys and pains of academic career during our long discussions. I am also fondly remembering the support I have received from Terhi Utriainen at those moments when I have doubted my future on this career as well as lots of fascinating discussions on angelology. I am also grateful to my fellow Celticists in Finland for keeping me such a good company on the journey of writing this book. First of all I wish to thank Professor Anders Ahlqvist for his invaluable support of my career as a researcher. My closest colleague on this journey has been Alexandra Bergholm with whom I have shared not only an office but also a keen interest in the religious culture of early medieval Ireland. Working with such a lovely colleague and a great friend has been a joy and a privilege. Thanks are due also to Tom Sjöblom, Riitta Latvio, Ilona Tuomi, Antti Lampinen, and Jarno Jalonen for sharing my interest in studying early medieval Ireland. I am also grateful to everybody at the Department of Early and Medieval Irish at University College Cork for always welcoming me warmly back there on my visits. Thanks are due especially to Professor John Carey, Professor Máire Herbert, Kevin Murray and Caitríona Ó Dochartaigh for always being ready to answer my questions and making me feel like I still have an academic home in Ireland. I  am deeply grateful to Máire Herbert without whose influence and encouragement I would not be the scholar I am. I also wish to thank Professor John Carey especially for inviting me as a research associate to the De Finibus–project which gave me a wonderful chance to deepen my knowledge of early Irish eschatology. I also owe thanks to John for taking the time to read an earlier version of chapter 5 and for his constructive comments on it. Special thanks are also due to Professor ­Jonathan Wooding for reading chapter 6 and for his encouraging feedback and insights into the monastic life at the ocean. Among Fin­nish medievalists I am especially grateful to Tuomas M.  S. Lehtonen and Maiju Lehmijoki-Gardner for leading me to this path of medieval cultural history when I was an undergraduate and for their continuing interest towards my career ever since. I am also indebted to Albion Butters for correcting my English with such a good humour and understanding. All the remaining mistakes – linguistic or other – are naturally my own. The writing of this book would not have been possible without receiving the post as Postdoctoral Researcher by the Academy of Finland. The three-year period was extended to over five years because of holding two maternity leaves in between. I also received further funding for writing this book from Finnish Cultural Foundation. The final touches on this book were given during the beginning of my term as a research

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Acknowledgements

fellow at the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies. At the Collegium, I have gotten a bunch of lovely new colleagues and an extremely stimulating multidisciplinary environment in which to launch on the next journey of research. My greatest support has been my husband Ossi Kokkonen who has always understood the demands of an academic career and whose deep understanding of history I greatly admire. My parents Hilppa and Pentti Ritari as well as my sister Inka Lehtinen have also always been there for me whenever I needed them. My parents-in-law Soile and Erkki Kokkonen have also always been interested in my work and I am grateful to them for that. My children Otso and Vilja are the greatest joy of my life and watching them grow has been the greatest journey of my life.

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1. INTRODUCTION

‘The end of our profession, as we have said, is the kingdom of God or the kingdom of Heaven.’1

1.a. Monastic Life and Death Death is an inevitable fact of human life.2 Humans have probably always thought of death and prepared for the afterlife, whether it has been believed to come in the otherworld or in this one by means of reincarnation. As long as there has been organised religion, and probably even before that, the preparation for death and what comes afterwards has worn a religious guise. In the medieval world, death and preparation for the afterlife were ubiquitous. Life in this world was often understood as a constant struggle against sin – whether understood as originating from tendencies inherent to human nature since the Fall or from outer forces of darkness attempting to lure man from the path leading to Heaven. Especially in monasticism, life was expected to be constantly directed towards the otherworld, where divine judgment awaited every soul. Expectation of the afterlife can be seen as a defining aspect of medieval life, present in all religious thinking and particularly in monastic life, where it was lived in practice. Eternity was constantly present in this world, since worldly time and eternity overlapped in the rituals of the Church, in monastic offices seen as mirroring the heavenly liturgy, and in the John Cassian, Collationes, i.4.3. For a discussion of the religious significance of mortality, see Hart (2011), 476– 82; Rebillard (1994). 1 2

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presence and active participation of supernatural agents – such as angels and other members of the heavenly host – in this world. The monastic community itself was understood as a microcosm reflecting the heavenly community and monastic life as prefiguring life in Heaven – albeit in an imperfect, earthly manner. This study is about eschatology, understood here in a wider sense as a fundamental category of thought that defined the medieval religious worldview, encompassing not only the last things but also preparing the soul for judgment during life in this world.3 I use the term ‘category’ here in the sense used by one of the foremost scholars of historical anthropology of the Middle Ages, the Russian historian Aaron Gurevich, who writes of categories as ‘universal concepts’ which ‘form a “world model” sui generis, a “network of coordinates” through which the bearers of this culture perceive reality and construct the mental image of the world.’4 In other words, an individual’s conceptions of the world and his or her place in it largely emerge from this culturally shared model of the world. My aim is to try to understand the sources in their own right as products of medieval culture, where even those things that might look strange from our modern perspective make sense as part of that cultural system. This type of approach presupposes the existence of a worldview or mentalité shared by the members of the society. According to Gurevich, this ‘world model’ is latently accepted by those immersed in the same culture, and it guides all their actions and informs their way of making sense of the world.5 This does not mean that every member of society has to share exactly the same outlook or that one should deny the possibility that various and alternative views are presented in the sources, but it does presuppose that a certain level of basic conceptions concerning life and the world are shared by members of a common culture. Each civilisation gives its own meaning to the universal categories of human thinking, depending on its history, as well as its cultural and natural circumstances. These culturally bound interpretations of fundamental categories of human life work on a quite general level. On a more specific level, however, it is possible to talk of ‘local theologies’ or ‘micro-Christendoms’ of

3 On the problems of defining eschatology, see Arnold (2011), 23–24; Rowland (2011), 56. 4 Gurevich (1985), 13. 5 Gurevich (1985), 13. See also Gurevich (1992), 4.

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Introduction

medieval Europe.6 In each culture, Christianity is interpreted anew as part of the process of Christianisation, depending on the nature of the pre-Christian religion and culture, as well as on the mode in which the new religion was introduced.7 In the case of early medieval Ireland, the peacefulness of this process – as well as the syncretism of religions – is often stressed. According to this view, the fact that Christianity did not come to Ireland as part of cultural conquest created favourable circumstances for the creation of a unique blend of religions, which allowed many pre-Christian elements to survive into the Middle Ages. Early Irish Christianity was thus characterised by an original and distinctive worldview, which would set it apart from the rest of medieval Christendom. In the early Middle Ages, however, many of the Christian dogmas – concerning otherworldly locations and the posthumous destinies of souls, for example – were generally still fluid and in the process of being fixed. Therefore, it is possible to say that early Irish Christianity was unique and characterised by local native traditions only to the extent of any other early medieval culture or any culture where Christianity only arrived a century or a few before. The objective of the present study is to focus on one aspect of the medieval image of the world as it was seen in one part of medieval Europe during the centuries that comprise the early medieval period. The temporal and geographical limits of the study are thus defined by early medieval Ireland. Some of the texts studied here were written on the Continent, but their writers were Irishmen trained in Irish monastic traditions. Accordingly, their writings can be considered as products of the same monastic culture as those written on the island. It is, however, fundamental to take into consideration the possibility of change and a range of thought within these temporal and geographical limits. The period considered here spans several centuries, from the Christianisation of the island which began in the fifth century to the coming of the Normans in the late twelfth century. Although the authors of our sources shared to some extent the same monastic training and outlook, the uniformity of early medieval culture can be questioned in the same way as that of any given culture. The sources also represent several differ6 On these terms, see O’Loughlin (2000a), 8–9; O’Loughlin (2002b), 59–63; Brown (2003), 15. 7 I rather speak here in terms of Christianisation rather than conversion, since the former implies a longer and more wide-ranging process that includes the transformation of the whole society and culture, rather than just the act of baptism and individual transformation.

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ent genres of writing and, therefore, their respective ways of discussing the afterlife and preparation for it vary according to their different aims and areas of focus. The quest for Heaven and expectations of the life to come that are the topics of this book are here treated not only as specific questions of theology and religious life, but more inclusively as focal components of the medieval worldview that affected the ways in which life in this world was perceived.8 According to the medieval ecclesiastical view, the life beyond the grave was the real life, while the temporal world was seen as transient and fleeting. With God’s eternity being the source of all happiness and truth, life in this world was conceived of in terms of preparation for and expectation of the life to come. This interpretation of worldly things, valuing them only in relation to the divine reality, coloured the worldview of medieval authors. This view does not automatically mean condemning or undervaluing the reality of the here and now; instead it values the world and life as manifestations of God’s immanence, giving them significance as part of God’s creation and divine plan. Worldly time and eternity are thus interrelated and in constant interaction with each other, and the thin veil between the two can be breached by the visionaries and the saints, for example. According to the medieval worldview, this world and the otherworld are in a reciprocal relationship. Relations between the two worlds are conducted through a dialogue between the living and the dead, as well as between the living and supernatural figures. This dialogue can assume both verbal and non-verbal forms, such as when a person prays to God or the saints for something to happen and the reply comes in the form of the wish being fulfilled. Sometimes the dialogue can also take forms that are beyond words, in the form of divine light and ineffable visions. The prayers of the monastic community can be seen as gifts that create relationships between the living and the dead, thus forming a community of prayer which encompasses not only the living members of the monastery, but also the saints and angels to whom the prayers are directed. When discussing medieval religion, we should see it not as something alien or separate from everyday life. To a great extent, Christianity defined the medieval mentalité, although elements of earlier pre-Christian traditions may have survived at the level of folk religion, 8 Aron Gurevich has highlighted the importance of such an approach when stating that the perception of death and notions of the otherworld should be examined as components of the medieval worldview. Gurevich (1988), 152.

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Introduction

blending into the forms that the emerging Christian culture took in the early Middle Ages. Theology did not belong just to the sphere of dry academic speculation, but was an integral element in the worldview of medieval peoples. Since theological concepts could be disseminated also in a narrative form, they formed the basis for a Christian understanding of life in this world and the one to come.9 Monasticism can therefore be understood as theology lived in practice, and the presence of monasteries throughout medieval Europe gives witness to the ubiquitous nature of monastic ideals in medieval culture. Jeffrey Burton Russell has claimed that medieval Christianity should be looked at through the prism of the tension between the spirit of order and the spirit of prophecy, one oriented towards the world and the other away from it.10 In monasticism, the spirit of prophecy – the eschatological expectation of the world to come – gained a prominent role.11 Monasticism itself was a lived testimonial to belief in the resurrected state of man. Through the exemplary emulation of saints leading a heavenly life when on earth, this state could be demonstrated in practice.12 The goal of monastic life was Heaven, and thus it was held that all striving within the monastic walls should be directed towards achieving this objective. The otherworldly focus of monastic life is clearly summed up by St Benedict of Nursia, the author of the most influential of the monastic rules of the Middle Ages, in the last sentence of his Regula, in which he states: Therefore, whoever you are, hastening toward your heavenly home, with Christ’s help carry out this little Rule sketched as a beginning, and then at last you will reach those greater heights of learning and virtue we mentioned above, with God’s protection. Amen.13

The same view was shared also by John Cassian, whose Collationes was quoted at the opening of this chapter, reminding his audience that the goal of a monk’s profession is the kingdom of God in Heaven.14 9 For example, see Aron Gurevich’s definition of the role of theology in medieval culture: Gurevich (1985), 9–10. 10 Russell & Lumsden (2000), 1. 11 Russell & Lumsden, (2000), 22–24. 12 See Grogan (1976), 47. 13 Regula Benedicti 73. 14 John Cassian, Collationes, i.4.3.

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The same purpose should, however, define the life of every Christian. Therefore, the monastic ideals applied to the whole society, although the same level of holiness was not expected of everyone.15 Columba Stewart has called monasteries ‘the laboratories of Christian spirituality’, referring to the driving role of monastic thinkers in the development of Christian spirituality at large.16 The Irish Church, in particular, was dominated by monasticism, to the extent that it has traditionally been seen as solely monastic in character. Although scholars have during the last decades started to criticise this picture, which overemphasises the role of monasteries in the organisation of the early medieval Irish Church, the presence these institutions in the landscape – both material and mental – cannot be denied.17 The otherworldly perspective of medieval Christianity can be best understood in an eschatological framework. Eschatology gives meaning to human existence in this world, since the deeds done in this world acquire moral meaning in light of the posthumous destinies awaiting all souls, and all hopes and striving should be directed towards the hereafter in which they are fulfilled. The holiness of the saints also gets its meaning from eschatology; the holiness of the saints, which ultimately derives from the holiness of God, can be seen as an in-breaking of the otherworld on this plane. The significance of the saints is furthermore revealed when they are considered soteriologically as beacons who lead the way towards Heaven. Eschatology gives meaning also to human history, with earthly time being seen as proceeding according to God’s plan towards an eschaton when history comes to completion. All earthly events should thus be interpreted as part of this great plan, although the transcendence of God means that human knowledge cannot fully grasp it. While the grand plan of history ends with the Second Coming and the Last Judgment, there also exists the expectation of a more personal kind of judgment right after death. Beliefs in collective and individual judgments exist side by side and, for the most part, their relationship is not clearly defined. When the apocalypse is seen as imminent, these two levels of judgment tend to coalesce. The passing of the centuries, however, forced men to fill the gap between an individual’s death and the Last Judgment awaiting everyone. The Bible does not provide definitive On John Cassian’s treatment of Heaven as the goal of monastic life, see Collationes i. For a discussion, see Harmless (2004), 389; Stewart (1998), 40–42. 16 Stewart (2010), 257. 17 For the reappraisal of the role of monasticism in the early medieval Irish Church, see, for example, Etchingham (1999b),14–29; Sharpe (1984), 230–70. 15

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Introduction

answers regarding this period of waiting and, therefore, there was room for speculation and varied solutions, especially prior to the twelfth century, when belief in Purgatory began to be solidified.18 When eschatology is understood in a wider manner to include also the ways in which its expectation influenced and defined life in this world, it can be seen as an essential category of Christian thought that coloured medieval conceptions of the world and man’s place in it. This comprehensive approach also means that the sources of the study are not necessarily limited to genres traditionally regarded as eschatological or apocalyptic, but also include sermons and hagiography. The same eschatological mentality is reflected also in other types of sources, such as penitentials and monastic rules, although it is not always explicitly discussed in them at length. Nevertheless, all of these genres touch in various ways on the universal human expectation of death and the life beyond. Whereas penitentials focused on the purging of sins with the aid of repentance, monastic rules aimed at governing the monks’ whole lives. Of course, the discipline of the penitent and that of the monk are both directed towards reaching the same goal – that is, Heaven. Moreover, sermons can be used to disseminate the same message to a wider audience by teaching the audience about the right path and frightening them with hortatory anecdotes about the gruesome destinies of sinners. Hagiography, on the other hand, aims at the same goal, but through different means. The protagonist – i.e. the saint – is a holy person leading a heavenly life on earth, and through his or her example an edifying message concerning perfect Christian living, which leads to Heaven, can be disseminated. The saint is simultaneously a paragon of the highest Christian ideals to be imitated and a citizen of Heaven  – something at least partially other  – that can only be admired. In both regards, the ideals embodied by the saint reveal the society’s expectations about the perfect relationship between man and God, which is not actualised for most people until the heavenly realm. It has been claimed that the seventh century was marked by a heightened interest towards eschatological matters and the question of the afterlife. According to Peter Brown, this was the period when Western Christianity became – for the first time – a truly ‘otherworldly religion’.19 The 18 Jacques Le Goff has argued that Purgatory as a definitive concept came into being only in the twelfth century, but his views have been criticised. The idea of a purgatorial place certainly existed much earlier, but its location and the terminology used for it varied. See Le Goff (1984); Moreira (2010). 19 Brown (2003), 261. These developments in the Christian understanding of sin and its atonement, which resulted in ‘a distinctive notion of the individual person’,

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expansion of this new otherworldly perspective was closely tied to developments in the understanding of human life in light of the twin concepts of sin and repentance. The whole of human existence could be construed as a struggle against sin in the hope of reaching Heaven. Although the ubiquitousness of death and the afterlife in the medieval mentality has been noted before by scholars – such as Brown – its salience for the formation of medieval monastic ideology has not to date garnered sufficient attention. When this life and the afterlife were irrevocably linked, it was the afterlife that gave meaning to the deeds performed in this world. It can be argued that this profound change in the collective imagination, which resulted in a new understanding of man’s place in this world and the relationship between this and the other world, was especially crucial for the development of Western monasticism. The aim of this book is to illustrate these issues in the context of Irish monastic thought. Brian Grogan has argued that eschatology had an especially prominent role in early Irish ecclesiastical world, stating that: Eschatology is not simply a theme in the early Irish Church, but a dominant characteristic; the very Weltanschauung of the members of that Church, as it is revealed to us in liturgical texts, monastic rules, Episcopal writings, synodal degrees, scriptural commentaries and glosses, popular homilies, private prayers and litanies, lyric poetry, vision-literature, theological writings, hagiography, secular romances, archaeological remains, etc., was eschatological.20

This eschatological outlook can furthermore be conceptualised through the metaphor of pilgrimage, which came to cover the whole of monastic life in early Christianity. Concerning the role of this image of pilgrimage in early Irish Christianity, Judith L. Bishop has claimed, ‘The concept of an exilic, peripatetic pilgrimage was particularly evident in the early medieval period and most prominent in the Irish monastic practice, though it would be a mistake to overemphasize a sharp distinction between “Roman” and “Celtic” understandings of pilgrimage.’21 This book further illustrates the salient role of the eschatological worldview – often expressed through the mark the ‘End of Ancient Christianity’, according to Brown (2003), 220–21. See also Brown (1999), 289–314; Gurevich (1982), 255–75. J. N. Hillgarth has also claimed that one of the principle legacies of the seventh century was the perception ‘of the constant interpenetration of this world and the next’; Hillgarth (1992), 230–31. 20 Grogan (1976), 46. 21 Bishop (2009), 511.

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Introduction

metaphor of pilgrimage – in early Irish monasticism and explores its roots in writings originating outside of Ireland. Thus, my aim is not to claim that this worldview is something either originating in Ireland or restricted to the Irish, but rather to follow Bishop’s reasoning in treating it as something generic in early medieval monastic spirituality and ultimately inbuilt in Christian thinking in general.22 In Ireland, this eschatological perspective – as well as monasticism in general – gained an especially prominent role in the Early Middle Ages, as will be demonstrated in this book.

1.b. Approaching Monastic Spirituality This book offers snapshots from early medieval Irish Christianity by presenting a selection of texts from different genres and different times. These texts are used as a prism through which the eschatological mentality of early medieval Irish monastic spirituality, and to some extent early medieval Christian spirituality at large, can be brought into focus. The texts were written during different centuries and represent different genres of writing with their own aims and conventions. These disparities will be acknowledged, but the aim of this study is to look for continuities in spiritual thinking in pre-Norman Ireland. The selection of texts at hand is by no means exhaustive, and in many places some other texts could just as well have been chosen instead of these specific ones. The temporal parameters of this study are set by the sources: the earliest (the sermons of Columbanus) date from the late sixth century, while the latest (Betha Coluim Cille) was written in the twelfth century during the advent of the Norman conquest at a time when the reformation of the Irish Church was already under way. The world in which we are moving is thus that of the early centuries of Christian Ireland up to the arrival of the Normans in the late twelfth century. I am aware of the wide timespan of the sources, and some might call for a tighter temporal focus, but all the sources can be located within the pre-Norman cultural context before the Irish monastic system was changed due to the increasing outside influences from the Continental monastic orders, and When discussing medieval attitudes towards pilgrimage, Dee Dyas has raised the point that ‘the primary understanding of pilgrimage inherited by the medieval Church was not that of journeying to holy places but the Biblical concept of Christians as pilgrims and strangers who travel through the exile of this world towards the heavenly Jerusalem’. Furthermore, according to Dyas, ‘it would be hard to exaggerate the extent to which this perspective permeated medieval spirituality’. Dyas (2004), 94. 22

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therefore they can be taken as reflecting the same monastic world, which of course also includes a variety of views and changes over the centuries. I will approach each text as a whole in an attempt to understand its spiritual message and to decipher its author’s views concerning the relationship between this and the other lives. I will also discuss in some places the sources on which the authors drew, but placing the authors’ views into their literary and/or historical context is not the main aim of this book. I rather use the sources to highlight trends that were prevalent in the Irish monastic spirituality of the early Middle Ages, in order to try to understand the worldview which produced these texts. This monastic spirituality was firmly based on the spirituality of the Desert Fathers of the early Church and especially on desert spirituality as it was transmitted to the West through the writings of John Cassian. The ‘Celtic’ character of early medieval Irish Christianity is often emphasised, especially in more popular writings, but in reality most of what is deemed ‘Celtic’ – such as harmony with the surrounding nature and concentration on asceticism and continuous prayer  – actually derive from these pre-existing sources. What then makes this tradition of monasticism Irish and, furthermore, what makes early Irish monasticism interesting? Monastic spirituality is not Irish per se, but its salience for the Christian culture and the mentality of its time is an Irish feature. Among others, Colmán Etchingham has thrown into relief the variety of functions and forms that an Irish ‘monastery’ may have had, underlining the need to revise the traditional model of a solely monastic Church in early medieval Ireland with no pastoral functions.23 The discussion of Etchingham and others around this issue has centred on the organisation and pastoral mission of the Church, questioning the extent of the application of pastoral services to the wider laity.24 These scholars have moreover highlighted the diversity of people living under some kind of monastic rule, ranging from the actual monks to the para-monastic bondsmen of the Church (both were included under the title manaig, ‘monks’) and to the penitents who may have entered the monastery or a penitential community attached to it for a specific period of a time. It has thus become clear that the traditional division of Churches into monastic and non-monastic – i.e. those dedicated to prayer and those serving the wider popula23 For a summary of the issues and previous discussion, see Etchingham (2010), 325–32. For a recapitulation of the impact of the Church on secular society and its culture, see also Ó Corráin (2010). 24 See, for example, Etchingham (2006); Etchingham (1999a); Etchingham (1991); Sharpe (1992); Sharpe (1984); Ó Corráin (1981).

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Introduction

tion – does not apply to early medieval Ireland. Most churches were to some extent monastic, in the sense of being populated by a community of monks or nuns, but often they also included bishops and other clerics serving the pastoral needs of the lay population or at least those living on monastic lands as ecclesiastical dependents. Monastic spirituality can therefore be seen as colouring the interpretation of Christian living prevalent in early medieval Ireland to an extent not seen elsewhere.25 Irish monastic spirituality was naturally embedded into the structures of early medieval Irish society and culture, which coloured its interpretation of what it meant to live as a Christian – and more specifically as a professional soldier of Christ – in this world. The emphasis on peregrinatio, leaving one’s home in search of the kingdom of God and becoming a perpetual pilgrim, is one of the features of early medieval Irish spirituality that stems from the structures of the Irish society, albeit that its inspiration was patristic and biblical. It can be understood both as an outer movement of physically going overseas or retreating to the remote islands of the ocean or as an inner movement of detachment from worldly vanities. This image of living as if on a pilgrimage is crucial for understanding early medieval Irish spirituality, as will hopefully be demonstrated by this book. The centrality of monastic ideology for early medieval Irish Christianity makes it an ideal case for a study highlighting certain trends prevalent in monastic spirituality, not only in Ireland but also elsewhere. Therefore, I am not claiming that these features are restricted only to Irish monastic thinking or that they would be of solely Irish origin, but that in the writings of early medieval Irish authors they are brought to the fore in a new way. Moreover, the influence of Irish thinking on monastic life was not restricted to the island, but it had a great impact on the development and invigoration of monasticism in many areas of England and the Continent through the work of the Irish peregrini and the wide circulation of some of their writings. One of the authors discussed in this book, Columbanus, belongs to this group of Irish monastics, and the monasteries founded by him in modern-day France and Italy served as conduits of influence between Ireland and the mainland. Another text central to the argument of this book – namely, the Navigatio sancti Brendani – was also widely read on the Continent and circulated in medieval Europe in numerous manuscript copies and various versions in many languages.

For an assessment of the role of monasticism in the Irish Church, see A.  P. Smyth (2002), 21–29. 25

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The methodology applied in this study involves a close reading of each text in order to thereby excavate the worldview of the author, particularly regarding the relationship between this life and what comes after and man’s path from this world to the other. I will therefore read the texts (or series of texts, in the case of Columbanus) as a whole, focusing on the mental world of the authors instead of elaborating on details relevant to their historical context or doing an extensive survey of the sources from which they are derived, although these also feature as part of the discussion. None of these sources represent theological writing as a philosophical discourse, but rather most of them represent theology written in a narrative form. They set out theological truths concerning sin and salvation in the form of stories, or in the case of the sermons of Columbanus in the form of instructing the brethren though preaching. What connects these sources is their vision of human life as a path to Heaven (or, in the case of sinners, to Hell). Therefore, the aim of this book is to read the monastic theology of early medieval Ireland through the sources, which represent different genres of writing and were written during different centuries, but nevertheless are based on a shared understanding of what it means to live in this world in the expectation of a life to come. The chapters of this book are not organised chronologically following the dating of the sources, but thematically according to genre. I wanted to begin with the saints because they are the penultimate models for leading a heavenly life while on earth and to finish with the visions because in them we finally get to see a glimpse of Heaven (and Hell) itself. Everything in between is organised in a way that I saw as best logically fitting together. The specific sources will be introduced in each chapter. While writing this book, I have tried to continually keep in mind both the Irish historical context in which these sources were produced and the wider Christian heritage within which the authors were immersed. It is only by keeping this double-focus that justice can be done to the sources, since they are always products of both their specific historical circumstances and the earlier Christian learning on which they were built. The authors had both of these perspectives  – the immediate local and the wider Christian – strongly in their minds when writing these texts, and only by appreciating both can we begin to understand their world.

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2. HEAVENLY CITIZENS ON EARTH: THE IRISH LIVES OF SAINTS ADOMNÁN AND COLUMBA

‘May He strengthen your hearts so that you will be blameless and holy in the presence of our God and Father when our Lord Jesus comes with all His holy ones.’1

2.a. Irish Hagiography and Holiness The holiness of saints sets them apart as citizens of Heaven who live on this world but at the same time belong to the other. Their holiness is not an intrinsic feature, but is derived from God.2 Within the Christian belief system, only God is holy in Himself and only He can make other things holy.3 In hagiography, the holiness of saints is communicated first and foremost through their miracles, which are divine signs of the supernatural patronage that they enjoy. This makes the saints into something other, something partially divine, from the viewpoint of the faithful. At the same time, Lives of the saints are vehicles for teaching Christian morals. As the saint functions as the pinnacle of Christian perfection, he can be seen as a mirror that reflects the highest ideals of society and shows what every Christian should aspire for. This duality reveals the tension inherent in sainthood. Saints are simultaneously something to be admired and something to be imitated. As something to be admired, they are not of this world, but as something to be imi1 1. Thes 3:13, ad confirmanda corda vestra sine querella in sanctitate ante Deum et Patrem nostrum in adventu Domini nostri Iesu cum omnibus sanctis eius amen. 2 On the early Irish theology of holiness, see Ritari (2008). 3 On the evolution of the Christian idea of sanctity, see Louth (2011), 3–12.

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tated they are very much in this world. As they live at the intersection of the two worlds, they function as linchpins that hold the two together, bringing a glimpse of heavenly reality to the earthly plane. The duality of holiness can also be seen in the soteriological and eschatological roles of the saints as beacons that show the way for others to follow and act as signs of the heavenly reality that awaits good Christians. As the saints are citizens of Heaven, their whole lives can be seen as a preparation for the heavenly kingdom, the true home which awaits them after death. The deaths of the saints are commemorated as their dies natalis, their ‘day of birth’, which marks their entry into the true life. Although saints are exceptional figures, they still reveal the paradigm of sanctity prevalent in society and the highest ideal which should be admired, if not always imitated, by all Christians. In their expectation of the afterlife, during this life the saints exemplify the path that should be traversed by their followers. By being taken to Heaven at the time of death, they serve to inspire the living to strive for the same destination. Most Irish saints are markedly monastic in character: they are monastic founders who lived during the first centuries of Irish Christianity.4 Through hagiography, communities can look back to their alleged founders and seek inspiration from their lives. Of course, hagiography is not only spiritual literature. It can also be used for political purposes and to advance the economic fortunes of monasteries. In existing studies on Irish hagiography, these more worldly concerns often seem to predominate.5 Scholars have, however, become more aware lately of the theological dimension of hagiography, and in the process they are paying more attention to such aspects as an author’s theological understanding of holiness or mission, on which the narrative of the saint’s life is based.6 The earliest Lives of Irish saints by Irish authors, penned in the seventh century, concern the greatest of the Irish saints – namely Patrick, Brigit and Columba. Apart from the early Latin Lives of these three saints and some other individual works, the voluminous body of Irish hagiography still awaits exact dating  – since it primarily survives in

4 Richard Sharpe has noted that only a few Irish saints seem to have lived after 640 and that there seems to have been no interest in crediting contemporary figures with holiness. Sharpe (1991), 9–10. 5 For example, see Doherty (1991), 53–94; Macdonald (1985), 174–86; Sharpe (1982), 33–59. 6 For example, see Ritari (2009); O’Loughlin (2002a); Bruce (2004).

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Heavenly Citizens on Earth

much later collections in manuscripts written between the thirteenth and sixteenth centuries.7

2.b. The Prudent Saint in Betha Adamnáin In this chapter, I turn my attention to two later but quite precisely dated Lives in order to provide snapshots of the monastic ideology in Ireland at two points in the history of the same monastic familia.8 The first Life in question is the Betha Adamnáin (hereafter BethaA), the Irish Life of Columba’s successor and hagiographer, Adomnán, dated by Pádraig Ó Riain to the years between 961 and 964.9 According to Máire Herbert and Pádraig Ó Riain, it was most probably written at the monastery of Kells in Ireland when the leadership of the Columban familia had passed there from Iona, after Viking attacks had disrupted communications by sea.10 Their conclusions concerning the passing of the comarbus or ‘successorship’ of Columba from Iona to Kells in this period, and as a consequence the dating of the BethaA, have been refuted. Thomas Owen Clancy has suggested a date in the 970s for the writing of the Life.11 In any case, for our purposes the difference of a decade or so in the dating of the Life does not really affect the interpretation of the BethaA, since the focus here is on the spiritual aims and contents of the Life and not its political implications. One of the few quite well-known figures from early medieval Ireland, Adomnán (d. 704), was the ninth abbot of the monastic island of Iona in the Inner Hebrides off the coast of Scotland.12 His extant writings include the aforementioned Vita Columbae and a treatise on the Holy Land called De locis sanctis. Also bearing his name is a law protecting non-combatants, Cáin Adomnáin, and he is mentioned in the most See Sharpe (1991), 5–7. Familia here designates the monastic communities belonging to the monasteries of one founding saint. On the term and its definition, see Etchingham (1999a), 126–30. 9 See Ó Riain (1988), 4–8. See also Herbert (1988), 151–79. 10 On the rise of Kells to a leadership position within the Columban familia, see Herbert (1988), 78–87. 11 T.  O. Clancy (2011), 89–101. See also Ó Briain (1993), 157–58; Breatnach (1992), 180–81. 12 On Adomnán’s person and his writings, see Herbert (1988), 47–56,  134–50; O’Loughlin (2007). 7 8

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famous historical work of the early Middle Ages, Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum.13 The portrait painted in his Irish Life, however, does not reflect the historical person. Rather, it is full of hagiographical commonplaces. Despite this disparity between the historical person of Adomnán and his saintly image, the Life can nevertheless be used as a source for the aims and needs of its tenth-century author and for his understanding of what holiness entails. At first glance, the author of the BethaA seems to be preoccupied with political matters. Máire Herbert has aptly summed up the purpose of the work as ‘the articulation of contemporary comment in the guise of hagiographical narrative’.14 The kings of the saint’s time stand in the narrative for their contemporary counterparts when the Life was written, thus making it a political commentary concerning the right relationship between the secular and ecclesiastical powers.15 What follows is an attempt to cut right to the spiritual core of the text, despite its clear political overtones.16 Pádraig Ó Riain has pointed out that the four last chapters of the Life, which are set on the island of Iona, present Adomnán as an ideal abbot while the focus of the earlier episodes is on ideal kingship.17 Nevertheless, the earlier episodes can also be read in light of the author’s theological understanding of holiness and his portrayal of the sainthood of Adomnán. Cast as a homily, the BethaA opens with an exordium taken from Gregory the Great’s Moralia in Iob in Latin.18 The exordium seems to be somewhat disparate from the rest of the work, and one gets the impression of its being affixed to an existing text. The exordium opens with the 13 HE V.15 Bede’s high opinion of Adomnán is revealed by his remark on Adomnán being a good and wise man learned in the Scriptures and furthermore by his producing of an abridged version of De locis sanctis and including a part of it in HE V.16– 17. For more on Bede’s relationship with Adomnán, see O’Loughlin (2007), 188–203. 14 Herbert (1988), 174. 15 See Ó Riain (1988), 8–31; Herbert (1988), 158–68. 16 By identifying the spiritual meaning of the text as core, I do not mean that it is more fundamental for an understanding of the text than the political. My point is that behind every hagiographer’s presentation of their saint lies their conception of the essence of holiness. 17 Ó Riain (1988), 31. John Carey has also examined the more spiritual side of this Life, in his study of Adomnán’s encounters with supernatural beings. Carey (2001), 49–62. 18 On the homiletic form and the exordium, see Herbert (1988), 151–52. On the homiletic form of Irish saints’ Lives and the exordia of Irish homilies in general, see Mac Donncha (1976), 61–66.

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admonition from Job 38:3, Accinge sicut vir lumbos tuos.19 It continues with Gregory’s directions on curbing lust and acting manfully (viriliter). In discussions concerning the garb of the monks and its symbolic meanings, girding one’s loins came to generally symbolise the monastic fight against the temptations of lust.20 Beginning with the command to gird one’s loins manfully, the exordium thus touches on a central subject of monastic life. Therefore, its presence in the Life can be explained by the salience of its message for the monastic audience, although the theme of curbing lust does not play a major role in the narrative itself. The Irish author has, however, made an attempt to integrate the exordium into the rest of the text by writing a short introduction concerning the holy and just men of the Old and New Testaments, who followed God’s advice on curtailing their bodies and doing good deeds. It is then told that Adomnán belonged to this group of holy men. In this way, he is already at the opening of the work included in the universal community of saints.21 The Life itself starts quite abruptly after the exordium, as if in the middle of a story, with no reference to Adomnán’s birth or early years.22 The first two episodes deal with Adomnán’s prudence in making judgments and distinguishing between true and false. Adomnán first comes face to face with a demon, who tries to deceive him with his questions. Then the saint makes a perfect judgment in the case of a woman found guilty of killing.23 After these displays of saintly wisdom, we move to the political episodes, although the theme of making judgments continues throughout the whole Life. In these episodes (BethaA 4–10), Adomnán is shown as meting out divine retributions to those kings and dynasties that had violated him or the Columban familia. Adomnán’s role in this divine jurisdiction is that of a judge whose predictions concerning the

19 Job 38:3 is rendered in the New International Version as ‘Brace yourself like a man’ and in the King James Version as ‘Gird up thy loins like a man.’ 20 See, for example, John Cassian, Institutiones i.11. For a brief discussion, see Smith (2011), 91. 21 On the exordium and its relationship to the rest of the work, see Breatnach (1992), 178–80. 22 This has led Herbert to argue that some opening material was lost when the Life was cast as a homily. See Herbert (1988), 152. 23 BethaA 2 & 3. Episode 3 includes one of the few historical details in the Life since it is set at a royal assembly in which Adomnán is promulgating a law. The encounter with the demon is discussed in Carey (2001), 50–53.

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destinies of certain kings and their progeny come to pass through the saint’s thaumaturgical powers.24 BethaA 11 presents the saint’s prudence in the context of a concern for purity. When the saint notes the body of a pregnant woman being buried along with other corpses in a graveyard on Tory, Adomnán commands it to be moved elsewhere, as its presence would be pernicious to the saints.25 In a further display of Adomnán’s supernatural faculties of observation, he reveals that there are four people buried in the graveyard to whom God would grant whatever they asked; in other words, they are the saints who have already ascended to Heaven and can intercede from there by means of miracles. In BethaA 12, Adomnán demonstrates his wisdom and trust in God’s power when he advises his companions to pull their boats onto a beach that is protected from the flooding tide, forming a kind of island around them.26 In BethaA 13, the saint displays another proof of his divinely inspired acuity when he perceives a dead hound among a hundred cooked sheep that have been given to him. BethaA 14 has a more eschatological slant, telling of a king whose body was brought to Iona and resurrected by God, thanks to Adomnán guarding it overnight.27 At the moment when the corpse began to stir, an unsympathetic member of the faithful happened to come to the door, saying that if the body should be raised by Adomnán, no one without similar powers would ever after him be appointed as the abbot of Iona. Adomnán reveals his prudence by agreeing that there was some sense in that declaration and that perhaps they should utter a blessing over the body instead, thus securing the soul’s entry to Heaven. The saint and his community work together here in blessing the soul of the king, who then dies again and is taken to Heaven, thus attaining the goal of Christian life with the help of the community’s prayers. BethaA 15 is analogous to an episode in Vita Columbae, the Latin Life of St Columba, written by Adomnán himself. In this episode, Adomnán locks himself in his house, fasting for three days and three nights, during which time 24 For a detailed analysis of the political contents of these episodes, see Ó Riain (1988), 8–31. 25 DIL s.v. airchóitech, ‘harmful, injurious, pernicious’. On the burials at Tory, see BethaA p. 76 n. 129. 26 This episode is set in the context of Adomnán’s journey to free the captives taken by plundering Northumbrians, which has historical background. See Ó Riain (1988), 12–13. 27 Carey argues that this episode was inspired by VC ii.32 and 33, which involve a resuscitation and a denial of the saint’s healing powers; see Carey (2001), 53–54.

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some members of his community, peeking through the keyhole, see him cradling baby Jesus in his lap. In the Vita Columbae, the saint is similarly enclosed in his house, from which beams of heavenly light can be seen escaping through the keyholes.28 This apparition of the heavenly infant is a further proof of Adomnán’s closeness to Heaven and his enjoyment of a foretaste of the heavenly kingdom while still on earth. BethaA 16 relates another encounter with the Devil.29 When a corpse brought to Iona suddenly stands up and starts asking extraordinary questions, the monks on the beach begin discoursing with it. Knowing the identity of the otherworldly visitor, the saint has the sense to remain at a distance, however. The questions are reported to Adomnán, whose wisdom is again apparent in his being able to answer them correctly. Finally the saint reveals to his monks the true character of their dead guest, explaining that the questions posed to him came from Hell, and instructs the monks to open up the reliquary of Columba. The power of the relics and the sign of the cross made by Adomnán are enough to dispel the Devil, shrieking and screaming, back to Hell. Here Adomnán’s powers work in unison with those of his patron, Columba, but it is Adomnán’s wisdom that directs the right course of action. The last episode of the Life tells of Adomnán’s proclamation that an affliction would be visited upon the men of Ireland and Britain around the feast of John. A mysterious visitor of likely otherworldly origin discloses the meaning of this prediction to an anchorite, telling him of Adomnán’s departure to Heaven around the prophesied time.30 When informed of this, Adomnán remarks: ‘In the name of God and Colum Cille, let us make home.’31 This statement reveals the author’s understanding of Heaven as the true home of the saints and, consequently, the goal of monastic discipline. The same view is corroborated by the peroratio at the end of the work.32 It opens with a typical hagiographical praise of the saint, listing his characteristics and comparing him to biblical figures of eminence, such as Abraham, Moses, David, Paul the Apostle,  etc. Adomnán is VC iii.18. The verbal similarities between the two episodes have been discussed by Ó Riain (1988), 33–34. The similarity was noted also by Carey (2001), 54–56. 29 For Carey’s discussion of this episode, see Carey (2001), 56–57. 30 For Carey’s discussion of the identity of the visitor and analogues of this episode, see Carey (2001), 57–59. 31 BethaA 17. Ascnam(h) i n-ainm Dé ocus Choluim Chilli diar taigh. Translation by Ó Riain & Herbert. 32 On the perorations of early Irish homilies, see Mac Donncha (1976), 64–65. 28

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praised, for example, for being ‘a treasury of wisdom’ (estud n-eccna), ‘a choice vessel for proclaiming the truth’ (lestar togaidhe fri fógra firinne), and ‘a serpent in sagacity and prudence towards righteousness’ (nathir ar tuaichle 7 treabaire fri maith). The concern with Adomnán’s ability to judge between right and wrong is evident here as well, but other qualities – such as his virtuousness and gentleness – are also praised. This exaltation of Adomnán’s saintly qualities is followed by an account of his death: although ‘he yielded up his spirit to Heaven’, his body is said to remain in this world ‘with honour and reverence, with daily miracles’.33 The saint’s presence in this world is, therefore, still tangible through his body and miracles.34 These miracles are signs of the saint’s existence in Heaven. Adomnán’s soul has gone straight to Heaven while his body is still waiting on earth for Judgment Day, when the two shall again be united and the saint’s reward will thus be magnified. In a typical hagio­ graphical vignette, Adomnán is reported to belong to the company of angels, saints and holy virgins, the patriarchs and the prophets, and the apostles and disciples of Jesus, as he has reached union with the Godhead and the Holy Trinity and thus belongs to the host of Heaven. The Life closes with an evocation of God’s mercy through the intercession of Adomnán, in order that the audience may also reach such heavenly union. By means of this closing remark, the author reveals his own wish to be counted among those who will be saved and his belief in Adomnán’s power to help in attaining this goal. In this way, the saint is a heavenly intercessor, who has already traversed the path to Heaven and who can from there inspire by his example and assist by his miraculous interventions those still trudging along the path here on earth.

2.c. Monastery as Holy Ground in Betha Coluim Cille The second Life discussed here is the product of the same monastic familia and it concerns Adomnán’s patron Columba (in Irish, Colum Cille). The Irish Life of Columba, the Betha Coluim Cille (hereafter BethaCC), was written in the twelfth century, more specifically around the middle of the century, when the monastery of Derry had risen to a

33 BethaA 18. …ro fáeidh a spirut dochum nimhe… co n-onóir ocus co n-airmitin, co fertaibh cech laithe… 34 See Herbert (2010), 239–57.

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leading position within the Columban familia.35 The author of the Life was familiar with the earlier Latin Life of Columba written by Adomnán and adapted to suit his own purposes.36 The author, however, did not limit himself to the Vita Columbae in his search for literary models, but also drew from the ninth-century Patrician text Vita tripartita and other hagiographical works, as well as other materials of religious interest.37 The result is the Irish Life of Columba, which is largely based on the Latin work but has differing interests. These are evident in its reorganising of materials into a more traditional biographical structure, amplifying and emphasising certain aspects of the saint’s life while at the same time abbreviating many of the episodes to suit the homiletic form. The narratives of the BethaCC are laid out in the form of a circuit, listing the churches founded by the saint during his travels. This structural pattern reveals the propagandistic purpose of the Life in strengthening the position of Columba’s monastic familia in the areas in question.38 Kathleen Hughes has argued that the main purpose of the work was ‘to instruct the faithful’,39 while Máire Herbert has noted that the author stresses ‘the spiritual qualities of Colum Cille’40 in order to achieve a renewal of the religious life of the Columban monasteries. What follows is an exploration of the monastic ideology operative in this Life, along with a discussion of its differences with the earlier Latin Life of the same saint written by Adomnán.41 The homiletic form of the BethaCC and the BethaA reflects a trend prevalent in Irish vernacular hagiography writing in the pre-Norman period.42 In the BethaCC, the exordium seems to be somewhat more suit On the dating and background of this Life, see Herbert (1988), 180–202. For the congruent materials between the two lives see, Herbert (1988), 182–84; Brüning (1917), 272–76. 37 See Herbert (1988), 193–99. 38 A similar pattern is used by Tírechán in his seventh-century work on Patrick, as well as in Patrick’s aforementioned Vita tripartita. For a discussion of this structure in the BethaCC and its models, see Herbert (1988), 188–96. 39 Hughes (1972), 235. 40 Herbert (1988), 201, see also, pp. 199–205. 41 I have discussed the monastic ideology of Vita Columbae in Ritari (2011), 129– 46. 42 Frederic Mac Donncha has gone so far as to claim single authorship for the exordia of the Lives of the Saints from the Book of Lismore and the Latin-Irish homilies discussed in his study, and he has even identified this person as Maelisu O Brollachain, who died in 1086. Mac Donncha also mentions the BethaA and the BethaCC as being among the Irish Lives of Saints put into a homiletic form, but does not explicate their 35

36

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able for the text at hand than that of the BethaA, indicating that the Life was meant from the outset as a homily. The exordium opens with the Lord’s command to Abraham in Genesis 12:1 to leave his country and family and go where the Lord would lead him. This passage is then expounded upon by means of a discussion of Abraham’s pilgrimage to the Holy Land and how this is expected of all the true sons of Abraham – i.e. those who are perfect in their faith.43 The author explains three types of motivations for lifelong pilgrimage: that which comes directly from God (as in the case of Abraham), human agency (as in the case of the preaching of Paul the Apostle), and constraint when people are forced to leave their homes and belongings because of troubles and danger (as in the case of the people of Israel). There are also three types of pilgrimage: when the person leaves only with their body, only in their mind, or both in body and mind. The first type is condemned, the second praised, and the third called the perfect pilgrimage (na hailithri forpthi). The exordium closes with Psalm 38:13, Advena sum apud te, domine, et peregrines sicut omnes patres mei, which is then explained in Irish rendering ailithir (stranger, pilgrim) and deoraidecht (exile, wandering) for the Latin advena (stranger, foreigner) and peregrinus (stranger, pilgrim).44 All of these terms convey the connotation of being strangers on earth and pilgrimage as a lifelong state. The idea of pilgrimage is salient for an understanding of medieval monastic ideology. Leaving one’s home for God’s sake acquires even weightier significance in the context of early Irish society, in which one’s rights and protection were dependent on extended family, and movement outside one’s own territory (or túath) was a perilous affair. A lifelong pilgrim and religious wanderer could, however, receive protection through their status as a voluntary exile (or deorad Dé), as long as he or she stayed within the borders of the island of Ireland.45 T. M. CharlesEdwards has argued for a two-tiered model of pilgrimage in which the relationship to the homilies that he envisages as belonging to Maelisu’s homiliarum. See Mac Donncha (1976), 66–67. On the homiletic form of the BethaCC, see Herbert (1988), 195–96. 43 Most of this discussion is in Irish with Latin biblical quotes, and the author’s Latin remarks interspersed. 44 For further discussion of the terminology of pilgrimage in the BethaCC, see Rekdal (1991), 12–15. Rekdal mistakenly states that the two Irish terms are both used to render the Latin word peregrinus, while in reality there are two terms also in Latin. Rekdal (1991), 15. On the Irish terminology of pilgrimage, see also Charles-Edwards (1975), 43–59. On the Latin terminology, see Hayes-Healy (2010), 509–11. 45 See Charles-Edwards (1975), 43–59.

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higher grade, potior peregrinationis, is characterised by movement overseas.46 Leaving Ireland behind to settle on remote and almost uninhabitable islands, or entering foreign lands that may have been inhabited by pagans, put one’s life in peril and left one’s fate literally in the hands of God. A similar idea of different levels of perfection in pilgrimage is conveyed in BethaCC when the author writes of lucht na hailithri forpthi, ‘people of perfect pilgrimage’, in the context of praising those who leave their homeland both in body and mind (BethaCC 9). Further in the same passage, the author writes of lucht na hoilithri cómláni, this time using the word comlann (full, complete) to denote the idea of perfection (BethaCC 9). In order to understand the monastic use of the idea of pilgrimage, however, one has to look not only at the Irish social context, but also at the religious motivation and theological thinking behind it. The three motivations for renouncing one’s home in BethaCC have been taken from John Cassian’s Collationes iii.47 In that chapter, Cassian discusses the renunciations of a monk, using Philippians 3:20–21, for example: ‘But our citizenship is in Heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord Jesus Christ, who, by the power that enables him to bring everything under his control, will transform our lowly bodies so that they will be like his glorious body.’48 The context for the discussion of Cassian on this matter concerns eremitical and monastic lives, and thus less emphasis is laid on actual travel to foreign lands, but it is clear that he understands it in the same sense of lifelong pilgrimage as the author of the BethaCC. Both Cassian and the Irish author quote Psalm 38:13, which ends the exordium in the BethaCC, and Genesis 12:1, which opens it. This provides further proof of the Irish author’s use of Cassian as a source.49 Inspiration for the three ways of leaving one’s homeland in the BethaCC may also be found in Collationes iii, when Cassian explains through the example of the Israelites how bodily renunciation and removal are of no value unless they are accompanied by the renunciation of the heart and disengaging one’s mind from former habits.50 Charles-Edwards (1975), 43–59. Collationes iii.3–4. For discussion, see Rekdal (1991), 14–16. 48 Collationes iii.7. Vulgate: nostra autem conversatio in caelis est unde etiam salvatorem expectamus Dominum Iesum Christum qui reformabit corpus humilitatis nostrae configuratum corpori claritatis suae secundum operationem qua possit etiam subicere sibi omnia. 49 Collationes iii.6, 7. 50 Collationes iii.7. 46 47

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Although the biblical passage opening the exordium urges pilgrimage in the physical sense of leaving one’s country, the author of the BethaCC stresses the spiritual significance of pilgrimage by also identifying as pilgrims those who are unable to leave their home country because of various circumstances (BethaCC 8). It is their dedication to the idea of pilgrimage and detachment of mind that merits the title of pilgrim. The author sums up the idea in one of his Latin passages: non enim in via pedum sed in via morum proximatur ad dominum.51 While this is a reversal of Augustine’s statement in his Enchridion i.17 (sed in via pedum, non in via morum), the context for Augustine’s expression is quite different: he is discussing the different kinds and degrees of error, explaining that there is no profit in blunder when it comes to morals while on a journey, as getting lost may sometimes be beneficial. Around the same time that the Irish writer was working on his Life of Columba, the same Augustinian statement (sed in via pedum, non in via morum) was quoted in its original form by the scholastic theologian Peter Lombard in his Libri quattuor sententiarum in the context of explicating the Church Father’s thoughts on lying.52 The actual narratio of the BethaCC opens with a discussion of the scriptural examples of persons who had dedicated their lives to following God’s command, leaving their lands and their kin in order to go on voluntary pilgrimage in foreign lands. Saint Columba here enters the picture as one of these pilgrims. The author seems to be greatly interested in praising the nobility of Columba’s earthly kin. It is mentioned on several occasions, perhaps as a means of elevating his status among the Irish audience, but also possibly to highlight his corresponding spiritual nobility.53 The celebration of Columba’s feast day, for which the homiletic Life was composed, is said to include a narration of the saint’s ancestry, the miracles which the Lord performed for him in this world, and the culmination of his career – i.e. ‘the culmination and excellent ending with which he finally crowned his victorious career, attaining his real home and his own true native land, the abode of Paradise in the presence of God for ever.’54 The story of the saint therefore proceeds pro51 BethaCC 7. ‘For it is not on the path of the feet, but on the path of morals that one draws near to God.’ 52 Peter Lombard, Sententiae iii.38.4. 53 BethaCC 11, 12, 20, 27, 29, 63. 54 BethaCC 11, don forbai 7 don forciund tshainemail do-rat fa deoid for a rith mbuadai .i. rochtain co a fhirathardai 7 co a fhirduchus fen .i. co hattreb Parrduis i frecnarcus Dé co sír. Translation by Herbert.

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gressively from the earthly – his worldly ancestry and the miracles performed during his lifetime – to the heavenly. The statement concerning his ‘excellent ending’ could not give a clearer indication of the true nature and meaning of the saint’s life as a citizen of Heaven, whose whole life has been a preparation for attaining union with God. The story of the saint’s life begins with predictions of his future greatness. Starting a hundred years before his birth, these are put into the mouths of venerable religious figures, such as bishops and Saints Patrick and Brigit (BethaCC 13–17). A further proof of Columba’s sainthood is offered by the visions given to his mother Eithne, who first saw a multicoloured cloak covering the land and then her own entrails being spread over the territory by birds, both being symbolic of the extent of her son’s teaching (BethaCC 18–19).55 It is typical of Irish hagiography for saints to be chosen already before birth, thus excluding any possibilities of dramatic conversion and development in their character. The Irish vision of sainthood thus seems to have been essentially static, stressing the predestination of saints by God in the form of prenatal prophecies, miracles and visions witnessed by important religious figures – either Christian or pre-Christian – and members of the saint’s family, most often their mothers. This tendency seems to be typical of early medieval hagiography in general, although two important hagiographical models – Athanasius’s Vita Antonii, translated into Latin by Evagrius, and Sulpicius Severus’s Vita Martini – offered alternative patterns early on of depicting the saint’s dramatic renunciation of his previous life giving up wealth and military career respectively.56 In Irish hagiography, however, this trend of depicting static images of sainthood persisted throughout the Middle Ages. At his birth, Columba is told to simultaneously be mac rig nime 7 talman, ‘a son of the King of Heaven and earth’, and ‘son of Fedlimid, son of Fergus, son of Conall Gulban, son of Niall Noígiallach’. This relates both his spiritual ancestry and earthly ancestry, allowing him claims of 55 Maxim Fomin briefly alludes to the symbolism of the cloak in this vision as an embodiment of the territorial extent of Columba’s teaching. This is found in his discussion of the typological similarities of some episodes involving the motif of covering the land with a cloak, found in the sixteenth-century Irish Life of Columba and Sri Lankan Buddhist narratives. See Fomin (2010), 229–30. 56 Both Antony and Martin, however, reveal their saintliness early on by being devout and doing charitable deeds (in Martin’s case including the famous scene of him cutting his cloak in order to give the other half to a beggar), but nevertheless they have to go through a crisis and renounce their previous lifestyles. On the childhood and adolescent crises of saints in general, see Weinstein & Bell (1982), 19–72.

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noble lineage in both spheres (BethaCC 20). The future saint is then sent to the priest Cruithnechán for baptism and fosterage.57 In a curious episode reminiscent of native storytelling traditions concerning secular heroes, the foster-father of the saint goes to a local seer ( faith) to ask for an auspicious time to begin Columba’s education (BethaCC 21).58 By looking at the sky, the seer is able determine the current moment as the best time for writing the alphabet, which was then done on a loaf of bread and given to Columba to eat.59 The saint eats half of the bread on the east side of the water and the other half on the west, thus prompting the prophecy that half of his territory would be in the east – i.e. in Scotland – and half of it in the west – i.e. in Ireland. This is a good example of Irish vernacular hagiography resembling the style of the secular sagas, with similar stories being told of both secular and ecclesiastical heroes. The miracles of Columba’s youth also include the miraculous recitation of a psalm, even though he had previously only read the alphabet, attesting to his divine inspiration in a liturgical setting (BethaCC 22). On another occasion, he manages to revive his foster-father, who had died after falling on a path (BethaCC 23). After this display of power, the saint is deemed ready to seek further education with Bishop Finnén of Mag Bile (BethaCC 24),60 as well as with a master called Gemmán and Finnén of Clonard (BethaCC 25–28).61 This first major miracle of Columba also enables him to make three requests of God; chastity, wisdom and pilgrimage (óge 7 ecna 7 oilithri). These can be understood as referring to virtue and purity, the wisdom to perceive between right and wrong, and the attitude of a lifelong pilgrim on the journey through this world. They encompass the whole of monastic life as its three guiding principles. The saint’s foster-father Crtuihnechán is mentioned also in the Latin Life, VC

57

iii.2.

58 In the stories about the boyhood deeds of the famous hero of Ulstermen, Cú Chulainn, it is told how he heard the druid Cathbad telling that the warrior who took up arms on that day would become famous and therefore went to the king for weapons. Táin recension 1, lines 609–52. 59 The motif of St Patrick writing the alphabet (scripsit elimenta/abgitorium) as an elementary teaching is repeatedly mentioned by Tírechán in his Collectanea. See, for example, Collectanea 33, 45 and 47. 60 In the Latin Life, the name of Columba’s teacher is variously spelled as Uinniau, Finnio and Finnbar. See Anderson & Anderson (1991), xxix; Sharpe’s translation of VC p. 317, n. 210. Columba’s first miracle at Finnén’s place, changing water into wine for the Eucharist, is related also in VC ii.1. 61 Gemmán is mentioned also in VC ii.25.

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For education, Columba goes to Mo Bíí of Glasnevin, among whose fifty students were counted Saints Cainnech, Comgall and Ciarán (BethaCC 29). Once when a large church was being built, Columba happens to be talking with the other three saints about the manner in which they thought the church should be filled (BethaCC 30). Ciarán says that it should be filled ‘with clerics to observe the canonical hours’, while Cainnech wishes for ‘books for the use of the righteous’. Comgall asks for ‘trouble and disease’ in his own body ‘to subdue and discipline’ him. Columba, on the other hand, chooses to have it filled with ‘gold and silver, with which to adorn sacred objects and reliquaries’. On hearing this discussion, Mo Bíí states that although Columba’s wish for the new church in Glasnevin would not come true, his own community would become richer than all the others in Ireland or Scotland. This story – which may seem from a modern perspective to be ethically somewhat curious – is an adaptation of an anecdote found in a tale of a battle fought in 649 called Cath Cairn Chonaill.62 In Cath Cairn Chonaill, the original of which seems to be earlier than the BethaCC, the protagonists are the Saints Guaire, Caimmin and Cummene Fota, and the request for the ‘clerics to observe canonical hours’ is missing. Furthermore, the wish for gold and silver is motivated by the desire to bestow it for the sake of one’s soul ‘on the saints and the churches and the poor of the world’. In the BethaCC, the poor are omitted from the list of recipients of this wealth, and the monastic setting is stressed by using the gold solely to embellish reliquaries and sacred objects kept in the church. The BethaCC author’s adaptation of this material into a Columban setting reveals his aim of magnifying the fame and power of the monastic familia of Columba. By his choice of gold and riches as Columba’s lot, the author seeks to stress the greatness of the Columban houses in terms of earthly wealth – which, however, can be used for spiritual ends when adorning the church as a foretaste of heavenly grandeur – instead of the community’s dedication to liturgy, learning or ascetical discipline. After this, the group of Mo Bíí’s students is dispersed because of an unidentified pestilence. Columba’s miraculous powers stops it – or any other disease coming from abroad – from extending beyond the river Bir, thus making it a perpetual sign and reminder of Columba’s holiness (BethaCC 31). Columba finally settles in Derry, where he founds his first church after getting permission from his late teacher Mo Bíí, who had sent his belt to Columba as a symbol of his blessing (BethaCC 32). Cath Cairn Chonaill, lines 9625–44. For discussion, see Herbert (1988), 197.

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Columba’s miracles in Derry are abbreviated versions of episodes in the VC, including seeds planted after midsummer being ready for harvest in August and baptismal water bursting forth from a rock.63 While living in Derry, the saint is said to have contemplated going to Rome and Jerusalem, but apparently this pilgrimage was executed only in mind and not in body. On another occasion, however, he is said to have gone to Tours, where he acquired a book of the Gospels that had been buried with Martin for a hundred years (BethaCC 35). This precious relic is then left by the saint to Derry as a token for his love for the place. Another indication of the saint’s special bond with his first foundation is given in the same episode in the form of a short poem, which reads: ‘This is why I love Derry, because of its tranquillity and brightness, for it is full of fair angels from one end to the other.’64 There is no mention of a journey to Tours (nor to Rome or Jerusalem) in the VC, although early veneration of St Martin in Iona is evident in an episode in which the monks are chanting a prayer which includes Martin’s name.65 This episode in the BethaCC claims priority for Derry within the Columban familia as his first and most beloved church. By relating the origin of the important relic kept in the church, the author aims to enhance the prestige of Derry and possibly also to encourage pilgrimage to venerate this religious souvenir.66 The poem’s mention of Derry as ‘full of fair angels’ serves the same function by presenting the monastery as a holy place frequented by heavenly apparitions, much in the same way as Adomnán does with Iona in his VC.67 A monastery is thus a place that is closer to Heaven than the rest of the earth. It is marked by miracles and angelic visitations, which occur around the saint or his remnants – the relics and the tomb – which have the same thaumaturgical potency as the living person. In this place, the saint is still ‘alive’ among his followers. These material signs of holiness that one can touch and see are impor-

BethaCC 33, 34. VC ii.3, ii.10. BethaCC 35, Is aire charaimm Doire; ara redi, ara gloine; ar is lomnan aingel fhind; on chind co n-ice aroile. 65 VC iii.12. See also Sharpe’s translation p. 366, n. 379. There is also an early medieval stone cross dedicated to St Martin on Iona. 66 There is independent evidence attesting the existence of the Gospel book in Derry, see Herbert (1988), 190–91. 67 On angelic apparitions, see book iii of the VC. For discussion, see Jenkins (2010), 85–86. 63

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tant as objectives of pilgrimage and as objects of religious veneration, making their location into a nexus where Heaven and earth meet.68 From Derry, the saint moves on to found the churches in Raphoe and in Durrow (BethaCC 36 & 37). Kells, the next foundation of Columba, is highlighted as another church with special prestige within his familia (BethaCC 38). When Columba arrives there, the place is inhabited by ‘the king of Ireland’ (rig Erenn) Diarmait mac Cerbail and his court. The saint gives a prophecy concerning the future inhabitants of the place and asks the royal seer (rígfaith) to confirm his view that it will be abandoned by warriors and populated by clerics instead. The seer duly attests the saint’s prediction by reciting a poem of his own: It is clerics who are in its midst, who sing the praises of the Lord’s son, its warriors will depart from its threshold, a time will come when it will be secure.69

As the saint’s prophecies have a habit of coming true, Columba then moves on to mark the boundaries of the future monastery and bless the area in its entirety, calling it the ‘most distinguished foundation that he would have on earth, though his resurrection would not take place there.’70 By delineating the area occupied by the monastic community and blessing it, the saint consecrates the place as holy ground.71 A further indication of the holiness of the place would normally be the saint’s grave, which would come to act as a focal place of his cult and as a marker of his intercessory powers in the form of miracles,72 but on this occasion the place where the saint’s body would lie awaiting resurrection is destined to be elsewhere. Kells had risen to a leading position within the monastic familia in the tenth century, after Viking attacks had complicated communica-

For discussion, see Herbert (2010), 239–57. BethaCC 38, Clere fila for a lar; canta molta meic thigirnd; scerdait a óicc fria tairsech; biaid aimser bas inill. 70 BethaCC 38, congbail bud ardi no biad accai isna talmandaib cenco bad innte no beth a esergi. 71 On the rituals involved in marking the monastic boundaries, see Bitel (1990), 57–66. 72 On the importance of the graves of Irish saints as holy places, see Herbert (2010), 244–57; Jenkins (2010), 93–94. 68

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tions with Iona and necessitating the move of its leadership to Ireland.73 In the mid-twelfth century, the leadership passed on to Derry as a result of political turmoil in Meath, where Kells was located, and as part of the wider reform movement within the Irish Church.74 It has been suggested that the spiritual concerns of the BethaCC reflect the need to spread this reform throughout the Columban houses, and thus the Life should be understood within this context of renewal of monastic life with a more spiritual focus.75 The foundation legend of Kells in the BethaCC gives its church prominence alongside Derry as one of the most important centres of Columba’s familia, thereby reflecting the historical moment in which the change of leadership was being actualised or had just happened. By giving a divine sanction to the saint’s alternative place of burial, this aetiology furthermore seeks to explain why the saint was not buried in Kells. After miracles involving a great oak tree in Kells, which is made holy by the saint’s presence in its vicinity, and a transgression by a man who is promised a long life unless he falls guilty of kin-slaying (BethaCC 39 & 40), the saint goes on a circuit in Brega and founds numerous churches there (BethaCC 41–45). These episodes of founding churches and short anecdotes concerning the places in question, people left in charge of them and holy objects – such as books written by the saint’s own hand – find their closest model in Tírechán’s seventh-century Collectanea concerning Patrick’s foundations in Ireland. The same model is employed also in the ninth-century Bethu Phátraic, known also as the Tripartite Life of Patrick, which was written mostly in Irish. By comparing the two texts, Herbert has come to the conclusion that the author of the BethaCC must have known the Tripartite Life.76 My own observations on the similarities between the endings of the two Lives will follow below. Columba is credited with founding 300 hundred churches and writing as many books, which were apparently left in the churches as relics. In Brega, he visits Saint Buite’s church in Monasterboice, where he strikes with his staff the crystal ladder by means of which Buite ascended to Heaven (BethaCC 41). This tangible sign of Buite’s reaching the heavenly home is inspired by the angelic stairway to Heaven in Jacob’s dream in Genesis 28:12. It features also in the Latin Life of Buite, although the 75 76 73 74

On Kells, see Herbert (1988), 78–108. See Herbert (1988), 109–23. See Herbert (1988), 199–202. See Herbert (1988), 193–95.

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ladder there is made of gold (per scalam auream).77 An explicit connection between the two Lives is established by references in both Lives to the prophecy made by Buite on his deathbed that Columba would eventually reveal his grave and mark out the boundaries for his church.78 The ritual of marking the boundaries of a sacred site can be interpreted in the light of the practice of circumambulation as explicated by Proinsias Mac Cana.79 According to Mac Cana, the practice of circumambulation in a sunwise direction had pre-Christian roots and was especially prominent in India as a means of creating a sense of ‘national’ identity among ethnically diverse peoples. In Mac Cana’s view, the Irish concept of turning dessel, ‘righthand-wise’, as an act of blessing is a remnant of the same cult of the centre.80 Although Mac Cana does not mention the practice of doing a circuit around relics, this could also quite naturally be mentioned in the same context. I do not wish to refute Mac Cana’s claim that circumambulation as an act of consecration and marking the boundary between the sacred and the profane is an ancient practice shared by many cultures, as has been amply demonstrated already by Mircea Eliade,81 but I do not agree with his proposition that in medieval Ireland the practice of pilgrimage as another form of circumambulation was overlaid by just ‘a thin veneer of Christianity’.82 In order to do justice to the medieval scholars and the literary products that they produced, this type of mythological interpretation – which is founded on the ancient Indo-European heritage shared by Ireland and India alike – is not the most productive. It may help to understand the underlying mythological roots of our source materials and universal human tendencies towards certain ways of conceptualising the world,83 but they do not get us very far in elucidating the medieval worldview and the authors’ emic conception of what they were writing. The hagi Life of Buite xvii, VSH I, p. 92. The Life is a composite, consisting of two parts put together after the foundation of Ireland’s first Cistercian abbey in 1142 at Mellifont. See Ó Riain (2011), 132. See also Kenney (1929), 373; L&S, no. 469. 78 BethaCC 17 and 41; Vita sancti Boecii xviii, VSH I, p. 92. 79 Mac Cana (2011), 109–34. 80 On the archaeological and literary evidence for this practice, see Herity (1989), 53–56. 81 Eliade (1959), 32–42. 82 Mac Cana (2011), 110. 83 Another way of approaching the question of universally or inter-culturally shared beliefs is offered by so-called cognitive history or the cognitive study of religion based on the idea that humans share cognitive tendencies for thinking in certain ways. For a cognitive approach to Irish materials, see Sjöblom (2000). 77

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ographers, who were deeply Christian, surely viewed the world through the lens of their own religious background and upbringing, and they thus interpreted the deeds of their saints accordingly. Another way of approaching the actions of Columba at the site of Buite’s church is offered by David Jenkins’ argument for the existence of a consistent schema for the layout of religious settlements in early medieval Ireland, consisting of a vallum enclosing the monastic ground and a sacred core featuring some or all of the following: an oratory, a founder’s tomb, and a cross-slab.84 Whether this canon of planning is inspired by a theological understanding of the temple model in the Bible  – as Jenkins argues – or by more of a practical conception of how a monastery should be organised (or both), the same elements can be found also in the BethaCC episode when Columba delineates the sacred from the profane by laying out the boundaries of the monastery and disclosing Buite’s grave. In light of Jenkins’ argument, Columba’s act of sanctification can be interpreted as an attempt to reflect ‘the divinely ordered spatial arrangement of the Temple and to express them within a native Irish setting’.85 Jenkins turns his attention towards a theological interpretation of the material, thereby offering a more plausible context for understanding the mentality of the hagiographers. Columba then continues his circuit in Ireland, founding more churches and leaving more relics in Brega before moving on to Connacht where similar feats are accomplished (BethaCC 42–49). After finishing the circuit in Ireland, Columba decides to go on a pilgrimage (i n-oilithre), as had been his wish from youth (BethaCC 50). The motivation for the pilgrimage is related as teaching ‘the word of God to Scots and Britons and Saxons’.86 Here the author makes a connection between pilgrimage to foreign lands and missionary activity, but these two were not necessarily organically linked, as the life of a pilgrim did not necessarily lead to preaching to pagans.87 In Adomnán’s VC, Columba is said simply to leave Ireland, wishing to be ‘a pilgrim for Christ’ (pro Christo perigrinari volens) (VC second pref.), and he is not credited with any 84 Jenkins (2010), 62,  165. On the tombs of the founding saints and the biblical inspiration for the layout of Irish monasteries, see also T. Ó Carragáin (2010), 38– 46, 57–60; Bitel (1990), 66–70; Herity (1983), 254–55. 85 Jenkins (2010), xiv–xv. 86 BethaCC 50, bréthri De d’Albanchuib 7 do Bretnaib 7 Saxanaib. 87 For a discussion of the BethaCC and pilgrimage, see Rekdal (1991), 9–26. See also Dunn (2007), 140–42. For further discussion on the connection between missionary work and pilgrimage to foreign lands, see also chapter 3.

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large-scale preaching or conversions, although several of his encounters with the pagan Picts are narrated.88 On the other hand, the famous early medieval historian, Bede, credits Columba in his Historia ecclesiastica with evangelising in Pictland.89 James Bruce has argued that a missiological aspect is integral for understanding Columba’s pilgrimage and the VC as a whole. According to his interpretation, Columba brings about the flowering of faith by his spiritual gifts and thus ‘the marvellous in the VC have an eschatological, pneumatological and missiological nature and function’.90 If evangelising is understood more widely as converting people into a true Christian life – thus including also those who are already Christians in name among the targets of the mission – I would agree with Bruce’s interpretation of the VC’s theological contents.91 However, it is only in the BethaCC that missionary activity to the pagans is framed as the focus of Columba’s pilgrimage. When Columba and his clerical retinue arrive on Iona, they find the place occupied by two false bishops who make way for the real one as their fraudulence is revealed by the saintly perception illuminated by God (BethaCC 51). The monastic ground is then consecrated as holy ground by the sacrifice of a member of the saint’s company, who volunteers to die and be buried in the soil of the island (BethaCC 52).92 The monk Odrán is rewarded with a place in Heaven and the saint’s promise that, in order for any requests to come to fruition, Odrán’s grave must be first consulted before turning to Columba’s own tomb. Here again the author reveals his interest towards the holiness of the monastic ground, which is marked by a burial place and/or drawing of its boundaries. He clearly understands the tombs of holy people as places where miracles happen through the intercession of those who have already gone to Heaven.93 By volunteering to die first, Odrán leads the way for the rest 88 See, for example, VC i.37, ii.27, ii.33, ii.34, ii.35, and ii.42. Preaching among the Picts is, however, mentioned in VC i.33, ii.32 and iii.14. Two of these episodes deal with naturally good pagans who need to be formally baptised before dying, not with preaching to a larger populace. 89 HE iii.4. 90 Bruce (2004), 233, 205–40. 91 For further discussion, see my review of Bruce’s book in Ritari (2011–12), 352– 53. 92 Máire Herbert has argued that this kind of ‘foundation sacrifice’ reflects the Christian transformation of a pre-Christian idea. Herbert (2010), 248–49. 93 Peter Brown has discussed the meaning of the tombs of the saints as ‘privileged places, where the contrasted poles of Heaven and Earth met’ in the Late Antique culture. See Brown (1981), 3. See also Herbert (2010), 255–56.

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of the monastic community, who are expected to follow his example by being buried on Iona. Awaiting resurrection in close proximity to their founding saint, they will look forward to having their souls taken to Heaven where rewards are meted out to the just. After this preliminary act of consecration, the monastery is founded and populated by thrice 5094 monks pursuing contemplative life (ri ­teoir) under monastic rule and 60 seeking active life ( fri hactail).95 The poem following this division furthermore introduces thrice 20 monks, who are reported to have undertaken voyaging (imram) ‘with their currachs across the sea’. However, they still seem to belong to the community and the abbot retains authority over them.96 It is not quite clear from the poem whether the 60 who undertake the voyaging should be included in the 150 or equated with the 60 pursuing active life. Since the poem only mentions the 150 under the monastic rule omitting those pursuing active life, it might be meant that the monks setting out on the sea were the same as those engaged in active life. Therefore, the difference would be between those who were staying behind the monastic walls (perhaps more mental than physical) and those who went out into the world. The crux of the matter is thus whether the monastic sea voyage should be included in the active life or in the life of contemplation. The 60 monks who set forth on the sea with their currachs represent the voyaging aspect of monasticism. In their case, the idea of pilgrimage is realised as a journey on the sea. In the VC, the powerful pull of the ocean as a place of monastic retreat and as a substitute for the desert is illustrated by Cormac Ua Liatháin, who no less than three times sets out in search of a desert (desertum) and by Báetán, another monk, who comes to seek the saint’s blessing before going to seek ‘a place of retreat in the sea’ (in mari herimum).97 The quest for a hermitage on remote islands is an Irish version of the desert life exemplified by Saint Antony and the other Desert Fathers, and it can perhaps be understood as an al94 The number of 150 has, of course, special significance in the monastic context as the number of Psalms. 95 BethaCC 53. While Herbert translates the latter as ‘active ministry’, it could also be translated as ‘active life’ without making reference to formal ministry. See DIL s.v. achtáil. 96 Aidan MacDonald has come to the same conclusion concerning the abbatial jurisdiction over the seafaring monks; see MacDonald (2011), 192. 97 VC i.6, i.20, ii.42. Translation by Sharpe. Cormac is also mentioned in VC iii.17. On Adomnán’s terminology in these episodes, see MacDonald (1984), 297–99. On the voyaging monks of the VC, see Scully (2007); MacDonald (2011), 191–203; Follett (2007), 4–26; Tipp & Wooding (2010), 237–52.

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ternative or more advanced model of the monastic life than the communal life on Iona.98 When understood in this way, the life of pilgrimage on the sea ultimately belongs to the same tradition of seeking stillness inspired by the Desert Fathers as monasticism itself. The words teoir and achtáil are common Irish terms for the early Christian idea of contemplative and active lives, and they are usually used to refer respectively to a life of withdrawal and a life of service, following the models of Mary and Martha in Luke 10:38–42.99 While sometimes these two are presented as sequential lifestyles, such that a person may progress from one to the other, here they are presented more as parallel strands found in the same monastic community. These two disciplines are discussed by John Cassian, who interchangeably uses the Latin terms theori(c)a and actualis with contemplatio and practica, to refer to the contemplation of divine things and the pursuit of practical knowledge by the mortification of vices and the correction of behaviour. In his view, the practical precedes the theoretical by preparing the soul for the more lofty, but they are not to be understood as successive – in the sense that the practice of the first would end at the attainment of the second – but rather as cumulative.100 The practical can furthermore include such things as caring for the sick, helping the poor or teaching, thus making it applicable for those who are dedicated to ministry and pastoral care.101 The author of the BethaCC does not explain further what these two disciplines entail, or even whether they are to be understood as successive stages in one’s development towards the more spiritual or as two distinct and parallel callings. The influence of Cassian on Irish monastic thought has been noted repeatedly and his understanding of the two disciplines may well have also guided Irish thinking on the topic. The pastoral role of the Irish monasteries has generated much discussion among scholars. The opposing views have ranged from the opinion that the pastoral mission to the lay population was limited only to the 98 This aspect of Irish monasticism will be further discussed in Chapter 4 in connection with Navigatio sancti Brendani. 99 On the models of Mary and Martha, see Constable (1995), 3–141. Bernard Bischoff treats the frequent occurrence of the corresponding Latin terms theori(c)a and actualis as an indication of the Irish origin of early medieval exegetical texts, see Bischoff (1976), 86. See also Gougaud (1922), 392–94; Leclercq (1961), 80–121; McGinn (1998b), 61–70. 100 Collationes xiv. See also Stewart (1999), 311–21; Sheridan (1994), 116–18. 101 Collationes xiv.4. On Gregory the Great’s views on the active and contemplative Lives, see Dunn (2007), 134–36.

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manaig cultivating monastic lands to speculations about more widespread pastoral responsibilities of the early Irish monastic churches.102 The text at hand seems to suggest that members of the Iona community were engaged at least in some kinds of pastoral activities, if the active life of the 60 is assumed to include also some kind of ministry. Yet the earlier Latin Life, the VC, does not support this view.103 Behind these diverging opinions of the hagiographers may lay changes in attitudes towards pastoral care between the seventh and eleventh centuries, as well as differing perceptions between the naturally more secluded island monastery and the possibly more inclusive mainland monasteries – among which Derry can be counted. The founding of Iona is followed by a number of short episodes taken from the VC.104 The first two present the saint as a missionary, thereby subtly altering the narratives of the VC in which the same miracles are told with no implication of a widespread preaching circuit.105 The Life ends with a lengthy narrative concerning the saint’s death, based on the even more detailed depiction in the VC (BethaCC 61–65, VC iii.23). In BethaCC 61, the saint is shown comforting and teaching his monks while they are engaged in ploughing the north of the island. Columba then reveals that he had already wished to go to Heaven the preceding Easter, but he had delayed his departure in order not to cause grief to his community during the greatest festival of the Christian year. The saint’s eager expectation of the end of his earthly life collides here with the monks’ sorrow to lose their beloved master. As a solace, Columba blesses the island and its inhabitants, in the process banishing toads and

102 For a summary of earlier discussion on the topic, see Etchingham (2006), 79– 90. See also Etchingham (2010), 325–48; Sharpe (1984), 230–70. 103 In VC, for example, there are a few episodes in which baptism is mentioned, but these deal mostly with pagans being converted to Christianity (VC i.1, i.33, ii.32, and iii.14). Only one episode (VC ii.10) relates the baptism of a child; in this case, it is the parents who specifically bring their offspring to the journeying saint for baptism and thus no widespread pastoral mission on the saint’s behalf is indicated. The episode concerning the saint’s burial, which is attended only by monks, seems to imply that Iona itself was inhabited solely by the monastic community with no laypeople living on the island; see VC iii.23. 104 BethaCC 54–59,  61–62. For the correspondence with the VC, see Herbert (1988), 182. BethaCC 60 is not found in the VC. It is based on the miracle type of restoring consumed goods after their use; see Bray (1992), 88 (for an animal resurrected after cooking), 105–06 (for miracles of provision and multiplying food). 105 BethaCC 54–55. For the corresponding episodes, see VC ii.32, ii.27.

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snakes.106 This act of blessing reinforces the image that the monastic site is holy ground where no harmful forces are allowed to reside and all natural forces are benevolent and tame. The harmony between man and nature is further explicated in the next episode (BethaCC 62), in which Columba reveals to his attendant Diarmait the date of his demise. This impending event is foreshadowed by a weeping horse, thus signalling that even the natural world took part in venerating the saint. These preparations for the saint’s death are interrupted by the hagiographer’s eulogy of Columba’s admirable qualities. The saint’s miracles are said to be beyond relating, ‘for there is no one able to enumerate them all, unless his own angel or an angel of God from Heaven should come to narrate them’.107 The author here seems to convey the idea that each person is accompanied by their own guardian angel who can relate all of his or her deeds. This idea was spread among other sources through the widely-read possibly fourth-century eschatological text Visio Pauli, which exerted great influence on Irish visionary texts describing Heaven and Hell in detail.108 The hagiographer praises Columba’s noble lineage and presents him as the perfect monk, stressing especially the central monastic virtues of meekness, obedience and humility. As an ideal abbot, Columba is presented as an example in humility by washing his monks’ feet and carrying corn on his back for grinding. The saint’s austerity is furthermore praised by the highlighting of such ascetic practices as wearing coarse clothing next to his skin, sleeping on bare earth, using a stone as a pillow, sleeping only as long as it took his pupil Diarmait to chant the three chapters of the Beati, and spending the rest of the night chanting the three fifties on the seashore.109 These deprivations of sleep and comforts are accompanied by Columba’s dedication to the monastic and clerical duties of observing the canonical hours, offering the Eucharist, preaching, baptising, consecrating, and anointing. Here the monastic duties of asceticism and liturgy are found side by side by 106 In the VC narrative, the saint only makes the venom of the snakes harmless to men and beasts on the island (VC iii.23). A further difference in detail is the location of this scene. In VC, the laboring monks are on the west side of the island and the saint turns to the east for the blessing, while in the BethaCC the monks are working on the north side and the saint turns to face west. 107 BethaCC 63, ar ni fil nech con-icfe a turim co léir, acht mine tissad a aingel fen nó aingel Dé nime dia n-aisneis. 108 This genre of writing will be discussed further in Chapter 5. 109 The three fifties is the normal designation for the 150 Psalms. On the practice of chanting the Psalms daily as part of monastic spirituality, see McNamara (2000), 351–64.

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with the saint’s clerical ministry thereby drawing no line between the monastic and the secular churches.110 As a saint, Columba’s excellence in monastic virtues is accompanied by the thaumaturgical acts of healing the blind, the lepers and the lame, as well as raising the dead.111 After the eulogy, the narrative in BethaCC 64 returns to Columba’s last moments of prayer in genuflectation before the altar at nocturns on Whit Sunday. This day, when the Holy Spirit descended on the apostles, according to Acts 2:1–31, forms a fitting temporal setting for the passing of the saint, which is accompanied by the heavenly light filling the church. In his first preface of the VC, Adomnán explicitly connects Columba’s name – Latin for ‘dove’ – with the image of the Holy Ghost.112 While there is no such explicit discussion of Columba’s name in the BethaCC, the saint’s death on Pentecost would have surely reminded the audience of the connection between Columba’s name and the image of the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove.113 The saint’s actual passing away is then narrated in the following words in the translation: …thereupon the revered venerable man sent forth his spirit to Heaven, to the joy and welcome of all the people of Heaven. His body, indeed, is here on earth, honoured and venerated by God and man, daily performing wonders and miracles, and though great is his present honour, it will be even greater at the Judgment, when the incorruptibility of his body and soul shall shine like the sun. Then indeed he will have great glory and renown, in the unity of the nine grades of Heaven who did not transgress, in the unity of the apostles and disciples of Jesus Christ, in the unity of the divinity and humanity of the son of God, in the union nobler than all unions, that of the noble, revered, all-powerful Holy Trinity, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Let us beseech the mercy of Almighty God, through holy Colum Cille’s intercession, that we all reach that union. May we merit it, may we dwell in it in seacula. Amen. (BethaCC 64–65.) 110 For Adomnán’s depiction of Columba as the perfect monk, see the second preface of the VC. For further discussion, see Ritari (2011), 132–34. 111 These stereotypical infirmities healed by Christ are probably the most common diseases to be healed also in the hagiography. 112 VC second pref. The Irish name Colum Cille has the meaning ‘dove of the church’, thus making the meaning of the name clear also for an Irish-speaking audience. 113 The saint’s feast is traditionally celebrated on 9 June, but in the VC the day of his death is not given as Pentecost.

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Heavenly Citizens on Earth

This is clearly the same as the ending of Adomnán’s Irish Life, the BethaA, discussed above: …he yielded up his spirit to heaven, to the Lord whom he had served. His body, however, is still here in this world, with honour and reverence, with daily miracles. Though his honour be great today, it shall be greater on the day of Judgment, when he shall shine like the sun, and shall judge the fruit of his preaching, and his good work, his pilgrimage, his chastity, and his humility towards the Lord of the elements, in the union of the nine heavenly grades which did not transgress, in the union of the godhead and manhood of God’s son, in the noblest of all unions, in the union of the Holy Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Ghost. I  beseech the mercy of God, through the intercession of Adamnáin, that we may enter that union, forever and ever, Amen. (BethaA 18(14).)

The author of the BethaCC is, however, not necessarily borrowing from BethaA here, since both may derive from the Tripartite Life of Patrick, which seems to be the earliest Irish saint’s Life put into homiletic form.114 When all three texts are placed side by side, their interdependence is evident and their mutual relationship becomes clearer. I  have broken the narratives into shorter sections in order to facilitate easier comparison between them. 1. Vita Trip. iii.258:115 …Ro fáed íar sin a spirut dochum nime isind .xx. bliadain ar chét a áese. BethaA 18(14): …ro fáeidh a spirut dochum nimhe, cusin cCoimdhe dia rofhogain. BethaCC 64–65: …ro fhaid ind sin in sruith airmitnech a spirut ­dochumm nime i suba 7 i fhailte muintire nime cu coitchend. 2. Atá a chorp i foss isnaib talmandaib colléicc co n-onóir 7 eirmitin. Atá immurgu a chorp co n-ónoir ocus co n-airmitin, Ata .v. a chorp i talmain hi fhus co n-anoir 7 oirmitin o Dia 7 dáinib 114 The close resemblance of the peroratio of the BethaA and the Tripartite Life has also been noted by Herbert (1988), 152. 115 Bethu Phátraic: The Tripartite Life of Patrick. Ed. & trans. Kathleen Mulchrone.

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3. --co fertaibh cech laithe hi bh[f]ius colléicc isin bith fhrecnairc., co fertaib 7 mírbulib cech lathidib, 7 cid mor a anoir colléicc, 4. Cid mór a onóir i foss, bid mó ind onóir bías dáu i lló brátha, Cidh mór a ónoir aniu, bídh mó i lló bráthu, an tan t(h)aithnifes amail gréin, bid mo i ndáil brátha, in tan taitnigfes amal gréin nemthrualnide a cuirp 7 a anma. 5. in tan midfes for torad a praecepta, amal cech n-árdapstal, i n-óentaid apstal 7 descipul Íssu, i n-óentaid noí ngrád aingel na tairmdechatar, i n-óentaid Déachta 7 Dóenachta Maicc Dé, isind óentaid is uaisliu cech óendacht, i n-óentaid na nóeb Trindóiti, Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. ocus midhfes for toradh a phroceptu, ocus a cháeingnímha, a ailithre, a óighe 7 a umhalóitte don Choimde na ndúla, i n(d)-áentaidh náei ngrádh nime ná dernsatt imarbas, i n(d)-áentaidh náem ocus náebhógh an domain, uasalaitrech ocus fáidhedh, apstol ocus descipul Íosu, i n(d)-áentaidh deachta 7 dáennachta Maic Dé, isin áentaidh as uaisle cech n-áentaidh, i n(d)-áentaidh na náebhtrínóitte, Athar, Maic, ocus Spirta Náemh. Is and tra bess in mor-gloir sin 7 in inócbail dosum, i n-oentaid noi grad nime na tairmdechatar, i n-oentaid apstal 7 descipal Isu Crist, i n-oentaid deachta 7 doenachta meic De, isin oentaid is uaisli cech oentaid, i n-oentaid na noem Trínóti uaisle oirmitnige uilecumachtaigi, Athair 7 Mac 7 Spirut noem. 6. Ailme trocoiri [Dé] tre impide Pátraic. Roísam huili in n-óentaid sein. Ro atrebam in sécula séculorum. Amen. Áilim trócaire Dé tré impidhe [n]Adhamnáin co roísem ind aentaidh-sin in saecula saeculorum. Amen. Ailem trocaire nDe ulicumachtaig tria impide noem Coluim Cille co rísam uli in oentaid sin. Ros-airillem, ros-aitrebam in saecula. Amen.

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Each Life makes subtle changes in the pattern, and the differences between the passages suggest derivation in a chronological order from the Patrician Life to that of Adomnán and from Adomnán’s Life to that of Columba, thus making the latter of the Lives of the Columban familia a derivative of the first rather than the Patrician example. The part missing from the Vita Tripartita (exerpt 3 above) but shared between the two other Lives, as well as the words amal gréin, ‘like sun’, similarly present in the latter Lives but not in the first example (exerpt 4), confirms this impression of the order of derivation. Máire Herbert has claimed that the author of the BethaCC must have been familiar with the Tripartite Life. I do not wish to refute this claim, since my findings pertain only to the endings of the Lives in question.116 A similar pattern of concluding hagiographical works can also be found in other Irish saints’ Lives and, more particularly, in those written in Irish. The Latin Lives may include also a mention of the saint’s burial done with honour and reverence, as well as his being taken to Heaven among the heavenly hosts,117 but it is only in the Irish Lives that I managed to find examples of the juxtaposition of the saint’s honour as it is now and as it will be on the Day of Judgment when the soul will be united with the body.118 The closest examples were the Lives of Saint Berach and Saint Ciarán of Saighir.

Herbert (1988), 193–95. Vita sancti Cronani (VSH II) xxix: …et ipse in sua civitate, Ross Cree, ubi miracula a Deo omni tempore patrantur a reliquiis eius, cum honore debito sepultus est. Ipse scilicet, noster sanctus Cronanus, inter choros angelorum cum gaudio inenarrabili et suavissimus carminibus migravit ad Christum. Cui est honor et gloria Deo Patre et Spiritu Sancto, in secula seculorum. Amen.; Vita sancti Mochoemog (VSH II) xxxv: …coram collecta multitudine sanctorum tertio Idus Marcii felicissime sanctam animam Deo reddidit suam. Et sepultus est cum honore debito in suo sancto monasterio Lyath, ubi per eum a Christo multa miracula patrantur. Cui est honor et gloria cum Deo Patre et Spiritu Sancto in secula seculorum. Amen.; Vita sancti Ruadani (VSH II) xxx: Pro hiis ergo optimis rebus patronus noster Ruadhanus magnam gloriam apud Deum et homines adeptus est; xvii Kalendas Maii beatissimus senex Ruadhanus migrauit ad celum; et corpus eius felicissimum a sanctis patribus honorifice sepultum est in sua ciuitate Lothra. Beneficia enim Dei ad reliquias eius omni tempore perficiuntur. Ipse enim honorem et premium sempiternum in celis [habet] in conspectu eterni Patric, et Iesu Christi Filii eius, Domini nostri, sanctique Spiritus Paracliti, cui trino et uni Deo est honor et gloria in seculorum secula. Amen. 118 The completion of the rewards of the saints at the reunion of the body and soul after the Last Judgment has been discussed with a specific reference to the peroratio of the BethaCC in Wright (2014), 325. 116

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Betha Beraigh xxx.90 Ro fáid a spirat dochum nime, 7 ro hadnacht a chorp annsa tigh dorcha co nonóir móir, 7 co nairmittin, co fertaibh 7 co miorbuilibh abhus. Bidh mo go mór a ndail brátha an tan thaitnifes amail grein i nnimh i náontaidh apstol 7 deisciopal Iosa, i naontaidh daonnachta 7 diadachta meic Dé, i naentaidh na naemh-Trinoide uaisle, Athair, Mac, 7 Spirat Naemh. Ailim trocaire meic De uile-cumachtaigh tre impidhe naemh Beraigh dá ffuil líth 7 foraithmet i neccailsibh úaisle imdha isin laithe si, corisam, co ro airiltnighem, 7 co ro aitreabam in riced, in secula seculorum. Amen.

Betha Ciarain Saighre (I) xxxi.54 …ro hadhnacht isin gcoigedh laithe do mí Mharta iona reigleis feisin a Saighir go nanoir 7 oirmhidin moir la Dia 7 daoinibh; 7 giódh mor a anoir isin lo sin a bháis, biodh mó a ndail bratha a naontoigh náoi ngradh nime, a naontoigh absdal 7 deisgiobal Dé, a naontoigh na naom Trionnoide, Athair, 7 Mac, 7 Spiorad Naom. Ailim trocaire Dé tre impdihe naoim Chiarain go riseam uile an aontoigh sin. In secula seculorum. Amen.

Both of the extracts above end with the appeal for the saint’s intercession on behalf of the audience that they would also reach the heavenly kingdom. The same formula can also be found in the Irish Life of Saint Brendan and the Latin Life of Saint Berach.119 Closing hagiographical works with the saint’s entry into Heaven among the different companies of the heavenly host was conventional practice, but the similarities between the endings of these Irish Lives – and especially between the ones written in Irish – suggest a convention possibly deriving from the Tripartite Life of Patrick and influenced by the homiletic form of many of the other Lives.120 Despite the formu119 Betha Brennain Clúana Ferta (BNE) lxx.209: Ailim trocaire Dé uile-cumachtaigh tre impidhe naemh Brenainn roísam uile ind áentaidh na naomh Trinoide, ro ­airiltnighem, ro aittrebham in secula seculorum. Amen.; Vita sancti Berachi (VSH I) xxvi: Oracio. Deus, qui beatum Berachum abbatem in terris fecisti magnis coruscare miraculis, concede propicius eius hic nos precibus adiuuari, et eterna beatudine cum angelis adunari. Per Dominum. 120 See also Betha Bhairre Ó Corcaigh (BNE) xxvii (50): Teccait dino aingil nimhe i frestal a anma, 7 nos berat leo co nonóir 7 airmittin docum nimhe, bail i ttaitne amail grein i naentaidh uasal-aithrech 7 fáthu, i naentaidh apstal 7 deiscipul Ísa, i naentaidh noi ngradh nimhe na dernsat imarbus, i naentaidh diadhachta 7 daennachta Meic De, i náentaidh as uaisle gach náentaidh, i náentaidh na naemh Trinoitte, Athair, Mac, 7 Spirat Naomh. Amen.

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laic form of these endings, they reveal the conviction that the saints are those who have gone to Heaven at their death, joining the heavenly host and attaining union with the Godhead and, consequently, gaining intercessory power on behalf of those who venerate their memory here on earth. By remembering the deeds of the saints, the earthly community is reminded of the path to the heavenly kingdom, the path which they themselves must traverse in hopes of reaching the same goal.

2.d. Saints as Heavenly People The BethaA and the BethaCC (as well as the VC) represent different realisations of the concept of sainthood, which are separated by different centuries but share the same monastic familia. In the BethaA, the image of Adomnán’s holiness is based particularly on the repeated image of his divinely inspired power of perception and his gift of distinguishing true from false. As a much shorter and politically oriented Life, its spiritual contents are not as rich as those of the BethaCC, but nevertheless Adomnán’s heavenly credentials are evident from his depiction as a miracle-worker destined for Heaven.121 Adomnán is furthermore portrayed as an ideal abbot, who led his community through his wisdom and guided them to trust in God’s protection and revelation of the right course of action. The significance of Adomnán’s sagacity should also be seen in terms of the Irish understanding of true judgment, fír flathemon, as an essential quality of a good ruler.122 As a saint and ideal abbot, Adomnán ruled over his community, and his followers were helped by his facility of distinguishing between right and wrong. In this he resembles the Irish rulers of the legends, whose gifts of righteous judgment were of supernatural origin. Furthermore, prudence is one of the four cardinal virtues derived from the Greek philosophers and defined by the Church Fathers. It is sometimes considered to be the cause of all the virtues, thus giving it a salient role in the Christian life.123 When considered from this theological point of view, the centrality of Adomnán’s wisdom in his representation in the BethaA carries particular weight; he is presented as 121 Adomnán’s miracles, however, tend to be more like prophecies or knowledge of hidden things than actual deeds, such as healing or exerting power over the natural world. The emphasis here is on similar types of miracles, as in the book i of VC . 122 On this concept, see, for example, Ní Bhrolcháin (2009), 93; Jaski (2000), 72– 88; F. J. Byrne (1973), 24–25. 123 On the history of the cardinal virtues, see Bejczy (2011), 11–67.

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a saint perfect in the virtue from which all other virtues flow. Moreover, the virtue of prudence is quite apt for this saint, who was known as a monastic leader and whose fame was based on his scholarly acumen.124 In the BethaCC, the saint is a pilgrim and a founder of monasteries. The balance between the different locations of Columba’s life is here turned in favour of Ireland, as compared to the Iona-centred image of the earlier Life (VC), thus revealing the Irish orientation of the BethaCC. Derry and Kells are also raised into prominent positions alongside Iona as the most important Columban centres, thus reflecting the historical situation and developments within the familia. The author shows special concern for the holiness of the monastic ground delineated and blessed by the saint, which was sanctified through these acts as well as by the presence of Columba’s relics. These tangible signs of holiness, being material mementoes of the saint’s powers, functioned as objects of pilgrimage. They also turned the monastic ground into a holy place where Heaven and earth met and the presence of the saint was believed to persist. Miracles caused by the relics strengthened his (and his church’s) renown and ensured the continuity of his cult. As founding saint and his hagiographer, Columba and Adomnán were important figures within the Columban familia. Their memories were venerated within the communities of the familia in order to pass on its origins and history, and their images were utilised for the needs of the time – regardless of whether they were political, as in the case of the BethaA, or more spiritual, as in the BethaCC. In both cases, however, it is possible to identify a core of holiness as the guiding principle behind the depiction of the saint as a citizen of Heaven. In particular, the endings of these Lives – as well as those of many others – show the saint as destined to join the heavenly host at the joyous moment of death. The juxtaposition of his soul in Heaven and his body here on earth awaiting resurrection is especially pertinent here, as the tomb where his body was laid to rest was a place where Heaven and earth met and where others could be buried in proximity to the saint in hopes of being resurrected with him. The formulaic peroratio of the Lives, which closes with the author’s desire for himself and his audience to be among those who will be saved, confirms this eschatological message of the intercessory and exemplary power of the saints as those who have already gone to Heaven and in whose footprints others are hoping to follow. On Adomnán’s fame in the Middle Ages, see O’Loughlin (1995), 1–14; O’Loughlin (2007), 198–203. 124

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The Irish saints played an important role in the dissemination of monastic ideology, both within the monastic communities and outside of them. As examples to be admired and imitated, they were the perfect Christians, heavenly citizens who inspired communities here on earth. The narratives concerning the saints’ deeds could be used for pedagogical and spiritual aims, alongside political and economic agendas, to teach the audience about the essence of holiness and the true reality of God, as well as to encourage the audience to strive diligently in their quest for Heaven.

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3. MONASTIC LIFE AS PILGRIMAGE: THE SERMONS OF ST COLUMBANUS

‘Since you call on a Father who judges each person’s work impartially, live out your time as foreigners (incolatus) here in reverent fear.’1

3.a. Pilgrimage as Spiritual Exile If the saints are the ones who have already traversed the path to Heaven – as discussed in the previous chapter – in the sermons of St Columbanus the audience is urged to follow their lead, treating life as a pilgrimage towards the heavenly home.2 The English term ‘pilgrimage’ carries the connotation of travelling to a specific place in order to encounter the holy, but travelling in itself can also be understood as an expression of spirituality. The Latin term peregrinus, ‘pilgrim’, in its original use referred to a ‘stranger’ or ‘foreigner’. It is sometimes used in this sense in the Latin Bible to refer to the feelings of alienation and exile that a Christian should feel during his or her earthly sojourn.3 The expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden of Eden meant that all humans were doomed to spend their lives on this earth as exiles and foreigners. If the goal of Christian pilgrimage is defined as ‘salvation or release from the sins and evils of the structural world, in preparation for partici 1 Pet 1:17, et si Patrem invocatis eum qui sine acceptione personarum iudicat secundum uniuscuiusque opus in timore incolatus vestri tempore conversamini. 2 On the eschatology of Columbanus’ own Life written by Jonas of Bobbio, see O’Hara (2009), 64–73. 3 See Bartlett (2013), 413–14; Hayes-Healy (2010b), 509–10; Staunton (2010), 203; Dietz (2004), 126; Brito-Martins (2004), 83–85; Claussen (1991), 39–42; and the Biblical passages Gen. 23:4, 1 Chron. 29:15, Job 19:15, and Hebr. 11:13. 1

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pation in an afterlife of pure bliss’ following Victor and Edith Turner, it is easy to see how this concept could be extended to cover the whole lives of the religious.4 Monasticism can be understood as an ‘interiorised apocalyptic’ with salvation as its goal; the visio dei is not limited solely to the world to come, but can be anticipated already in this life.5 Thus the two notions – pilgrimage and monasticism – coalesce in the shared vision of Heaven as goal, and pilgrimage can be used as a metaphor for monastic life. In his anthropological study of pilgrimage, Alan Morrinis has defined pilgrimage as ‘a journey undertaken by a person in quest of a place or a state that he or she believes to embody a valued ideal’.6 He has furthermore amplified the destination at the end of the journey to be ‘an intensified version of some ideal that the pilgrim values but cannot achieve at home’.7 Morrinis includes in this definition not only physical pilgrimage but also the spiritual, admitting that on some pilgrimages the goal is not to be found in the geographical sphere.8 Other scholars have further stressed an encounter with the sacred as the goal of pilgrimage.9 This goal of seeing and contacting the sacred can also be understood metaphorically to include the spiritual journey of the monastic recluse, whose aim is to achieve union with God through ascetical practices and contemplation. Victor and Edith Turner have moreover suggested that in the specialised religious orders, the liminoid state inherent in pilgrimage became a focused state encompassing the whole lives of the deeply devoted.10 These anthropological approaches to pilgrimage thereby highlight the paradox between internalised spiritual pilgrimage and pilgrimage as an actual journey, a paradox which has been present from the begin Turner & Turner (1978), 8. See also Hayes-Healy (2010a), 449–52. For a brief discussion of this theme in the early Eastern Fathers, see Golitzin (2001), 133–34. On the interiorised apocalyptic, see Golitzin (2001), 141–49. 6 Morrinis (1992), 4. 7 Morrinis (1992), 4. 8 Morrinis (1992), 4. 9 Bitton-Ashkelony (2005), 6. 10 Turner & Turner (1978), 4. The Turners’ theory of pilgrimage has been criticised, especially in regard to the feeling of communitas that they deem to be an essential element of pilgrimage. Their ideas concerning pilgrimage as a liminoid state are, however, useful when adapted to the permanent state of alienation and exile inherent in the writings of many monastic authors. For criticism of Turners’ model and references, see Bitton-Ashkelony (2005), 10–12; Eade & Sallnow (1991), 4–5. 4 5

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ning of Christianity.11 Bruria Bitton-Ashkelony has argued that spiritual pilgrimage is subordinate to actual pilgrimage involving travelling to holy places. She writes that it ‘is not a religious phenomenon in itself ’, as ‘the term is used mostly as the antithesis of undertaking pilgrimage to specific sites’.12 Nevertheless, as we will see further on in this chapter, Columbanus successfully combined the two. Instead of being a polarity, his own life represents the fusion of the two concepts. It can furthermore be argued that spiritual pilgrimage is a fundamental component of medieval monasticism, and thus it can be validly called ‘a religious phenomenon in itself ’ when speaking of the interiorised pilgrimage of monastic life outside of the context of actual journeying. The Lord’s command in Genesis 12:1 to ‘Go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show you’ is associated in Hebrews 11:8–10 with the journey of faith towards the heavenly kingdom.13 The interior and exterior journeys are thus already collapsed into one in the New Testament. The goal of the internalised or spiritual pilgrimage is the heavenly Jerusalem, which awaits Christians and can be accessed to a degree through rituals, prayer and contemplation. No physical journey is required. Expectations of the world to come affect the believers’ relationship with everything in this world: they are expected to live here on earth like pilgrims. A  true Christian should organise his or her whole life around the overarching idea of pilgrimage, interpreting life in this world through this single lens and keeping the goal of the quest constantly in mind. This is the right attitude recommended by Saint Augustine in his De doctrina christiana i.4: For to enjoy something is to hold fast to it in love for its own sake. To use something is to apply whatever it may be to the purpose of obtaining what you love – if indeed it is something that ought to be loved. (The improper use of something should be termed abuse.) Suppose we 11 For a discussion of this point, see Dyas (2004), 94–101; Bitton-Ashkelony (2005), 1–17. 12 Bitton-Ashkelony (2005), 114. 13 Heb 11:8–10, ‘By faith Abraham, when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going. By faith he made his home in the promised land like a stranger in a foreign country (tamquam in aliena); he lived in tents, as did Isaac and Jacob, who were heirs with him of the same promise. For he was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God.’ On the theology of pilgrimage in Hebrews, see Lincoln (2004), 34–37.

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were travellers (peregrini) who could live happily only in our homeland, and because our absence made us unhappy we wished to put an end to our misery and return there: we would need transport by land or sea which we could use to travel to our homeland, the object of our enjoyment. But if we were fascinated by the delights of the journey and the actual travelling, we would be perversely enjoying things that we should be using; and we would be reluctant to finish our journey quickly, being ensnared in the wrong kind of pleasure and estranged from the homeland whose pleasures could make us happy. So in this mortal life we are like travellers (peregrinantes) away from our Lord: if we wish to return to the homeland where we can be happy we must use this world, not enjoy it, in order to discern ‘the invisible attributes of God, which are understood through what has been’ or, in other words, to derive eternal and spiritual value from corporeal and temporal things.14

Augustine differentiates between those things that should be used and those that should be enjoyed (utor and fruor) – things that can be used on the way in order to reach the destination, but which do not hold any value in themselves apart from their indirect value of use, versus the things that are the proper objects of our love.15 In his De civitate Dei, Augustine explicates the goal of earthly life, using the metaphor of pilgrimage when he writes of the earthly part of the civitas Dei as a peregrina civitas regis Christi – the city of Christ dwelling on earth as a pilgrim.16 Augustine’s sermons 346 and 346b further touch upon the subject of the pilgrimage of life, expounding on Paul’s words in 2 Corinthians 5:6, Quamdiu sumus in corpore, peregrinamur a Domino.17 14 Augustine, DDC i.4.4. Augustine touches upon the same themes also in DCD xix.17: ‘But a household of men who do not live by faith strives to find an earthly peace in the goods and advantages which belong to this temporal life. By contrast, a household of men who live by faith looks forward to the blessings which are promised as eternal in the life to come; and such men make use of earthly and temporal things like pilgrims (tamquam peregrina utitur): they are not captivated by them, nor are they deflected by them from their progress towards God.’ 15 For a discussion of Augustine’s views on spiritual pilgrimage, see Clark (2004), 149–58; Brown (1967), 313–29; Claussen (1991), 49–53; Bitton-Ashkelony (2005), 106–15. 16 DCD I.35. The concept of the pilgrim city of God is introduced already in the first sentence of the DCD (Book  I, Preface) which reads: ‘Most glorious is the City of God: whether in this passing age, where she dwells by faith as a pilgrim among the ungodly (cum inter impios peregrinatur ex fide vivens), or in the security of that eternal home which she now patiently awaits until righteousness shall return to judgement.’ For a discussion, see Claussen (1991); Dyas (2001), 32–36; Van Oort (1991), 131–45. 17 2 Cor 5:6, ‘As long as we are in the body, we are traveling abroad from the Lord’. Sermon 346a, which touches upon a similar subject, is entitled ‘On the word of God

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The message of Augustine’s sermons is that ‘nothing except eternal life is true life’, and he urges his audience to proceed along the highway of life ‘with love and charity, forgetful of merely temporal things’.18 As will become clear below, Columbanus’ ideas concerning life in this world and its goal were remarkably similar to those of Augustine.

3.b. ‘Pilgrims in the World’: the Monk’s Relationship with the World in the Sermons of Columbanus The Irish monk Columbanus set out from his native country around 590 in order to lead the life of a pilgrim. When explicating the motivation of Columbanus for leaving Bangor where he had studied, his hagiographer Jonas cites the passage in Genesis 12:1 where the Lord commands Abraham to leave his country.19 This same passage is used also by the author of the BethaCC in the opening of that work as discussed in the previous chapter. The exiles of both Columba and Columbanus are thus contextualised by their hagiographers within the same biblical framework of Abrahamic pilgrimage. Columbanus himself came to be venerated as a saint and his hagiography was written by Jonas, an Italian monk who joined the community of Bobbio in 618, only three years after the death of the saint in 615. With having access to the community’s living oral memories of their founding saint, he appears to have written the Life at their request, completing it between 639 and 643. The Life of Columbanus by Jonas is the earliest surviving Life of an Irish saint, albeit not written by an Irishman. Columbanus was the most famous of the Irish peregrini on the Continent.20 He is also one of the best known Irish figures of the Early Middle Ages because of the sheer number of his surviving writings, which include letters, sermons, monastic rules, and a penitential. His lasting as leader of Christians on their pilgrimage’. The metaphors of travelling and pilgrimage are not, however, as central for the actual sermon as in sermons 346 and 346b. The themes of true home and travelling also come up in other Augustinian sermons; see, for example, sermon 92 on the Gospel of Matthew and sermon 378 on the day of Pentecost. 18 Sermon 346.1 & 346b.3. 19 Vita Columbani 9. 20 On the life and career of Columbanus, see G. S. M. Walker (1957), ix–xxxiv; Bullough (1997), 1–28; Charles-Edwards (2000), 344–90; Richter (2008), 24–48.

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legacy, however, can be best seen in the monasteries that he founded, most famously Luxeuil and Bobbio, in present-day France and Italy, respectively.21 The connection between Ireland and Bobbio continued well after his death, and thus played an important role in the transmission of books and ideas between Ireland and the Continent.22 The attribution of the thirteen sermons included in G.  S.  M. ­Walker’s edition to Columbanus has been contested. Michael Lapidge and R ­ ichard Sharpe, for example, excluded all of them from their list of works by Columbanus in their Bibliography of Celtic-Latin Literature and mention them only in the section on ‘Works of possible or arguable Celtic origin’.23 Based on her extremely detailed study of the contents and style of the sermons, Clare Stancliffe has, however, argued that they are indeed the works of the same man and that this man was Columbanus.24 Together with Stancliffe’s compelling arguments, the manuscript evidence, which preserves the sermons as a collection and ascribes them to Columbanus, strongly supports treating the sermons as his works. Moreover, when the sermons are read as a collection they betray a consistent vision of monastic life as pilgrimage leading to Heaven, thus giving support to the argument that they were written as a series by one 21 It has been discussed whether Columbanus can be seen as representing Irish Christianity since most of his career was spent on the Continent. He, however, received his training in Bangor, Ireland, and it was his adherence to Irish customs that caused him trouble with the Gaulish clergy. Nevertheless, he was also ready to absorb new influences from the Continent as is shown by his use of the Rule of the Master. One of Columbanus’ main monastic inspirations came from his familiarity with the writings of John Cassian, which were widely read also in Ireland. It has to be remembered that the monastic authors in Ireland were not working in a vacuum either, but read the same works by the Fathers as their colleagues on the Continent. For the purposes of this book, Columbanus may be taken as a representative of Irish monastic spirituality since his training in and understanding of monastic life originated there. For a recent assessment of the Irish background of Columbanus, see Stancliffe (2011), 17–28. 22 Michael Richter has argued in particular that the connection between Bobbio and Ireland continued up to the ninth century; see Richter (2008). When Columbanus was forced to leave Luxeuil because of a political dispute with Theuderic, the King of Burgundy, he was allowed to take those monks who were not of Frankish origin with him, and thus he left the monastery in Frankish hands. It seems that the connections between Luxeuil and Bobbio remained strong even after the death of Columbanus, but the majority of the community in Luxeuil consisted of monks of local origin instead of Irishmen. See Jonas, Vita Columbani 37. For a discussion, see Richter (2008), 33; Banner (1954), 679–80. 23 L&S: no.1251. 24 Stancliffe (1997), 93–202. See also G. S. M. Walker (1957), xxxix–xliv. On the authenticity of the sermons, see also Laporte (1955), 1–12 & 46 (1956), 1–14.

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single author. Running through all the sermons is the theme of life as a road to Heaven. This topic is treated progressively, starting with rudimentary things (faith and the Trinity in Sermon I), then proceeding to the discipline of monks which leads to the heavenly home, and finally ending with a final sermon on God. In the second and the last sermons, Columbanus expicitly addresses the fratres to whom the sermons are directed, thus confirming the monastic context of his message.25 In the sermons, Columbanus repeatedly expands on monastic life by using the metaphor of pilgrimage.26 For him, the monks are pilgrims who should treat this life as transient and as something to be distrusted. In his own life, Columbanus combined the actual movement of leaving one’s home with the inner attitude of a pilgrim. Although Columbanus urges his audience to have detachment from worldly things, he himself was very much involved in worldly politics through his dealings with royal benefactors and supporters, as well as with the local ecclesiastical elites. In addition, the Life by Jonas tells of Columbanus’ contacts with the Swabian and Slavic pagans that he encountered on his journeys.27 Columbanus thus seems to have combined the contemplative life of withdrawal with the active life of teaching and preaching (both to pagans and to Christians in need of correctives to their lifestyle), thereby successfully merging pilgrimage and evangelisation. While the role of the missionary impetus in the Irish peregrinatio to the Continent has been debated, it seems that mission was at least not the main motivation in this movement, but rather a by-product of the drive to leave one’s homeland and lead a life of pilgrimage. In other words, being a pilgrim here on earth brought the Irish monks into contact with pagans and heretics (or just deficient Christians), and thus led naturally to

25 In Walker’s edition, see pages 66, 116, 118. On the audience of the sermons, see O’Loughlin (2001a), 20–22. On the rhetorical style of the sermons, see Tristram (1995), 29–32. 26 According to James P. Mackey, ‘in Columbanus’s writings all of his thought about human life itself in Christian perspective is controlled by the image of peregrinatio’. It should be noted that this image is not confined only ‘to the monk, much less the wandering monk’ and that ‘the monastery could represent the most direct means, though never the only means, to the achievement of all that the fundamental image implied’. See, Mackey (1996), 237. 27 Vita Columbani Trans. 53, 56.

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preaching.28 In the words of G. S. M. Walker, it can be said that Columbanus ‘was a missionary through circumstance, a monk by vocation’.29 When read alongside his monastic rules, the sermons of Columbanus reveal his programme for monastic life.30 In the sermons, Columbanus gives an overview of the goals of monastic life and the way that leads there, while his rules provide more pragmatic guidelines on how to organise the monastery and its daily life. In addition, the penitential of Columbanus reveals his view of good Christian living and the means by which one may reach the heavenly home, which should be the goal of all Christians.31 The theology of Columbanus can be glimpsed in his writings, although none of these are strictly speaking theological treatises per se.32 In this study, I will concentrate on Columbanus’ theological views regarding monastic life and man’s relationship with this world, focusing especially on his sermons and only alluding to his other writings when necessary. I  will read the sermons of Columbanus as a programmatic series encompassing his vision of Christian living for monks. Columbanus begins his first sermon by stating primum ante omnia, quod omnibus scire primum est, dicere breviter licet,33 thereby indicating that his teaching opens with the basics necessary for all men’s salvation. The message of this sermon is that every man should believe in God as the Trinity, which cannot be known. Thus faith, not knowledge, is the bedrock on which true Christian living is founded.34 In order to know the Creator and to understand the ignorance of man, one should study 28 G. S. M. Walker (1970), 39–44; Charles-Edwards (1975), 57–58; Rekdal (1991), 12; Hughes (2005), 321–24; Ó Fiaich, (1989), 103–4; Flanagan (2002), 36–38. 29 G. S. M. Walker (1957), xxxii. 30 Columbanus’ Regula monachorum and Regula coenobialis have been edited by G. S. M. Walker in Sancti Columbani opera alongside the sermons and his other surviving works. On the rules, see Stevenson (1997), 203–16. On Columbanus’ vision of monastic life, see also Stancliffe (2011). 31 The penitential has been edited by G. S. M. Walker in Sancti Columbani opera, pp.  169–81, and by Ludwig Bieler in his The Irish Penitentials, 96–107. For further discussion, see Charles-Edwards (1997), 217–39. 32 The Trinitarian and Christological themes in his letters and sermons have been briefly studied in Mackey (1996), 228–39. 33 Instructiones I.1, ‘first of all I may briefly speak of the first thing for all to know’. The translations from the semons are those by Walker unless otherwise stated. This sermon bears the title De Fide, ‘On Faith’, in manuscript Ti (s.ix, Turin Bibliotheca Nazionale G. VII. 16). 34 For further discussion on the Trinitarian theology of this sermon, see Mackey (1996), 229–30.

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the creation, since God himself is transcendent and unfathomable.35 Although Columbanus’ views of this world may in places seem somewhat negative and forbidding, he nevertheless appreciates the world as God’s creation and advises his monastic brethren to understand it in order to understand the Creator. In this way, the natural world has instrumental – if not inherent – value as God’s creation, and thus it can be used and to some extent appreciated by the pilgrims on their way to their true home, as can be seen in the subsequent sermons of Columbanus. The sermon closes with a plea to God to extend His ray of light to enlighten the men toiling in ‘dullness and ignorance on the dark roadway of this world’,36 thus establishing already in the first sermon the image of life as a road, a metaphor which is fundamental for understanding Columbanus’ view of Christian living. Sermon II opens with a reference to the previous sermon, indicating that they were written sequentially. Thematically speaking, the second sermon logically continues from where the first left off – picking up the subject of faith, the foundation of Christian living – and transitions to the practical toil of purifying oneself from vices and practicing virtue. Columbanus reiterates the main points of Sermon I before moving on to the actual topic of Sermon II, which he opens with a passage borrowed from a certain Faustus, whom he calls maioris doctoris.37 This passage has led some scholars to doubt the attribution of the sermon to Columbanus. The author of the said passage has been identified as Faustus of Riez, who died in 490 (over a hundred years before the Irish author) and therefore cannot have been Columbanus’ teacher.38 Jean Laporte, however, has suggested that the passage concerning Faustus can simply be read as a reference to Columbanus’ familiarity with the works of Faustus instead of his actual person. Laporte’s convincing parallels for such wording in the works of other authors, along with Stancliffe’s arguments for authorship by Columbanus, appear to validate this reading and justify treatment of the sermons as genuine works of the Irish monk instead of being written by someone closer to the time of Faustus.39 Instructiones I.4, quia volentibus altam scire profunditatem rerum ante natura considerate est; I.5, Intellege, si vis scire Creatorem, creaturam. 36 Instructiones I.5, ut vel aliquam sui luminis particulam nostris tenebris largiatur, quae nobis stolidis et ignaris in via tenebrosa huius mundi luceat… 37 Instructiones II.1. 38 For an overview of the Faustus problem and the different solutions suggested by earlier scholars, see Stancliffe (1997), 93–96. 39 Laporte (1956 & 1957); Stancliffe (1997), 93–202. 35

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The Faustinian passage consists of a parable of a tiller plucking weeds in order to clear the land for sowing. In the same way, the audience is urged to clean the field of their heart of vices and to till their ‘body’s clay with the toil of fasts and vigils’, remembering that their ‘hope of harvest is laid up not on earth but in Heaven’.40 The goal of cultivating virtue in this life is thus not to be found on this plane, but posthumously in Heaven. Outer deeds should be accompanied by improvement in the inner man. The list of vices to be cleansed consist of superbia, invidia, iracundia, blasphemia, iniquitate, malitia, tristitia, vana gloria, cupiditate, malignitate, and omni amaritudine (pride, envy, anger, blasphemy, injustice, malice, sadness, vain glory, covetousness, spite, and bitterness).41 Columbanus singles out pride as the first vice by qualifying it as superbia primum. This leads the audience to think of Gregory the Great’s list of the seven principal vices in his Moralia in Iob, commenting on Job 39:25, in which pride (superbia) is said to be the root of all evil.42 Gregory’s list partly overlaps with that of Columbanus, including invidia, ira, and tristitia, and having inanis gloria in the place of vana gloria and avaritia in the place of cupiditate. The bodily sins of gula (gluttony) and luxuria (lust) from Gregory’s list are the only ones left out by Columbanus. Another source that may have informed Columbanus is John Cassian, who listed eight principal vices.43 Supporting this is Columbanus’ reference in the same sermon to septem gentibus hostilis, which symbolise the vices that stand in the way of the Christians.44 The seven hostile nations of Deuteronomy 7:1–2 are interpreted by Cassian in his Collationes as the eight principal vices, with Egypt being added as the eighth nation.45 The Cassianic list overlaps with that of Columbanus in five cases: superbia, ira, tristitia, vana gloria, and finally avaritia in the place of the Columban cupiditate. The Cassianic sins not included by Columbanus are again the bodily sins of gula and fornicatio, as well as acedia (a kind of spiritual melancholy and restlessness, nowadays rendered as sloth Instructiones II.2. Instructiones II.2. 42 Mor. in Iob 6.xlv (PL 76.621): Initum omnis peccati est superbia. On Gregory’s role in the development of the concept of the seven mortal sins, see Bloomfield (1952), 72–73. 43 On the Cassianic programme of eight capital vices and its influence, see Bloomfield (1952), 69–72. 44 Instructiones II.3. 45 Collationes v.16–18. 40 41

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in the list of the seven mortal sins).46 The Columban list of sins also includes some sins – namely, blasphemia, iniquitate, malitia, malignitate, and amaritudine – that are not covered by Gregory the Great or John Cassian. However, in the context of discussing the eight capital vices, John Cassian refers to the biblical passage of Ephesians 4:31, omnis ­amaritudo et ira et indignatio et clamor et blasphemia tollatur a vobis cum omni malitia,47 which includes the exact wording omnis amaritudo (all bitterness) used by Columbanus, as well as the sins of blasphemia (blasphemy) and malitia (malice) found in his list. This leaves us only with Columbanus’ iniquitate (injustice or unfairness) and malignitate (malice or spite), which are not found in any of the other sources. Both are quite general terms, and in the Bible the former is used to refer to all types of sinfulness and wickedness in general,48 while the latter has a similar meaning of general evilness.49 Columbanus goes on to stress that the battle against the vices is slow and toilsome. He presents Christian life as a constant struggle, a battle against ‘the seven hostile nations’. Another image possibly derived from John Cassian is puritas cordis (‘purity of heart’), which Columbanus recommends along with maturity of character, words and bodily toil as a way of honouring God.50 For John Cassian, purity of heart is both the goal of monastic life and a means for something greater.51 Already in Matthew 5:8, purity of heart (here with the term mundus instead of the Cassianic puritia) is linked with the vision of God, which should be the ultimate goal of monastic life.52 Furthermore, John Cassian explicitly describes the quest for purity of heart by means of militaristic terminology as a battle, stressing its toilsomeness in the same way as Columbanus.53 Another link between the Columban sermon and the Collationes v.2. Eph 4:31, ‘Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice.’ 48 See, for example, Gen 6:11 & 13, Dt 32:4, Ps 17:24 (in English 18:23), 51:3 (in English 52:1), Jer 2:22. 49 See Ps 34:17 (in English 35:17), Rom 1:29. 50 Instructiones II.3: unusquisque non verbis tantum et corporali labore, sed morum maturitate et cordis puritate Dominum honoret. 51 See, for example, Institutis 4.xliii, Collationes ii.26, xiv.4. For the importance of this concept in the thinking of John Cassian and its earlier history, see Stewart (1998), 42–47; Stewart (1999), 315–17; Harmless (2004), 389–91; Sheridan (1994), 114–18. 52 Mt. 5:8 beati mundo corde quoniam ipsi Deum videbunt. 53 Collationes iv.12, v.27. 46 47

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writings of John Cassian is the analogy of the farmer weeding his fields and the monks cleansing themselves of vices, which is used by Cassian in the context of discussing the goal of monastic life as purity of heart, without which it is impossible to reach the ultimate objective of the monastic profession – i.e. the kingdom of Heaven.54 Moral lessons utilising the image of farmer and weeds probably date back to the parable of the weeds in Matthew 13:24–30, although there Jesus does not command one to pull up the weeds, but rather advises to leave them until the time of harvest when they will be separated from the wheat and burned. The vision of monastic life expressed by Columbanus in Sermon II is one of constant battle and toil in order to root out vices, which attack the monk like hostile troops.55 In essence, this vision resembles the life of struggle of the Desert Fathers who personified the hostile urges as demons and in whose sayings the quest for purity and freedom from passions plays a central role.56 John Cassian had an important part in transmitting these ideas to the West and his influence on this sermon is palpable.57 The message of the Columban sermon, moreover, is closely aligned with the biblical passage of 1 Peter 2:11, although it is not explicitly quoted by Columba: ‘Dear friends, I urge you, as foreigners and exiles (tamquam advenas et peregrinos), to abstain from sinful desires, which wage war against your soul.’ Sermon III occupies a crucial position in establishing Columbanus’ thoughts on the monk’s relationship with this world. It opens with the question ‘What is the best thing in the world?’ This is answered by, ‘To please its Creator.’ Pleasing the Creator is further explained as fulfilling the Lord’s commandments, which means living rightly and dutifully in a quest for the eternal. This sermon thereby continues the discussion of the goal of monastic life and its application in practice that began in Sermon II. Since the eternal is here established as the rightful goal of monastic practice, it logically follows that the monk should treat the world as something transient and unstable. Columbanus’ use of the terminology of love when discussing the monk’s relationship with the world is Collationes i.4. On the application of military terminology of spiritual warfare to monastic life and the role of Cassian in the transmission of these ideas to the West, see Smith (2011), 71–96. 56 For a further discussion of this theme in the writings of the desert Christians, see Burton-Christie (1993), 192–207; Harmless (2004), 327–29. 57 Clare Stancliffe has also noted Columbanus’ deep familiarity with Cassian’s works; see Stancliffe (2011), 19–23. 54 55

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reminiscent of Augustine’s differentiation between those things that should be rightly loved and those that should be merely used. The latter category includes the world, while the former consists of things divine, as discussed above at the beginning of this chapter.58 Columbanus further follows Augustine’s logic when he states that that ‘no other outward thing ought to be loved, according to truth, except eternity and the eternal will’ and that ‘the wise man should love nothing here, since nothing lasts’.59 When discussing love, however, Columbanus does not use the more passionate term amo as Augustine does,60 but employs the verb diligo ‘to choose out, to esteem highly, to love’, which bears the connotation of intellectual and willful action.61 Columbanus’ choice of this word may be based on John 15:19, in which the apostles’ relationship with the world is discussed and Jesus states that the world does not love (diligeret) the disciples because they do not belong to it, since he has chosen them out of it.62 Columbanus continues by discussing the type of transformation which monks should undergo in order to become ‘eternal in place of mortal, wise in place of stupid, heavenly in place of earthly’.63 To achieve this end, the monks should keep their discernment pure (sensum habeat purum), in order to employ it for living well, and concentrate ‘not on what is, but on what shall be’.64 Monks should moreover aspire to recover what was lost by Adam – i.e. the original state for which man was created. Columbanus, however, stresses that this is not possible without the help of God’s grace. When briefly discussing Columbanus’ Sermon III, Michael W. Herren and Shirley Ann Brown remark on how it begins Augustine, DDC i.4.4. Instructiones III.2: Nihil aliud extrinsecus diligendum est secundum veri rationem, nisi aeternum et aeterna voluntas… Nihil hic sapiens diligere debet, quia nihil durat. 60 DDC 1.4.4: Frui enim est amore alicui rei inhaerere propter seipsam. Uti autem, quod in usum venerit ad id quod amas obtinendum referre, si tamen amandum est. 61 Instructiones III.1:Quid ergo sapiens diligere debet?; 2: Quid ergo sensus purus diligere sapit? Illud certe quod diligere et cetera omnia facit semperque manet et numquan senescit; 3. Nos quomodo fugiemus mundum, quem diligere non debemus… On one occasion in III.3, however, Columbanus uses the two verbs interchangeably: in se enim solo mundum aut diligit aut odit. Nihil habet quod amet de mundo, qui corporis voluptatibus mortuus est. 62 Jn 15:19: si de mundo fuissetis mundus quod suum erat diligeret quia vero de mundo non estis sed ego elegi vos de mundo propterea odit vos mundus. 63 Instructiones III.2: ut aeternus sit de mortali, sapiens de stolid, caelestis de terreno… 64 Instructiones III.2: non quod est sed quod erit videat. 58 59

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with an exhortation to please the Creator by living rightly and seeking the eternal. According to Columbanus, one’s efforts need to also be guided by understanding. Herren and Brown draw attention to the fact that Columbanus does not mention the grace of God here, although to their minds this is where one would expect it.65 They fail, however, to connect the aforementioned reference to the essential role of the grace of God, which appears further in the same sermon. Herren and Brown present Columbanus’ view of the path to salvation as un-Pauline and un-Augustinian, and thus closer to the views expressed in the Old Testament and the Epistle of James, in which obedience to the law is stressed instead of grace. This forms part of their argument for the continuing influence of Pelagianism on Insular Christianity.66 As the Pelagians stressed the possibility of a sinless life and achieving salvation by human effort alone, it is easy to see how this selective reading of Columbanus would fit the Pelagian hypothesis put forth by Herren and Brown. It is a misrepresentation of Columbanus’ views, however, since further in the same passage he explicitly states that the recovery of man’s original prelapsarian state is not possible without the help of God’s grace.67 Columbanus goes on to discuss the wise man (sapiens) who rightly uses his understanding to live well and directs his love to its proper object – i.e. the eternal – shunning the deceitful and transitory things of the world.68 The wise man of Columbanus resembles the ideal image of the saintly Adomnán, whose prudence and faculties of good judgment were constantly stressed in his tenth-century Life Betha Adamnáin, as demonstrated in the previous chapter. Wisdom thus means the ability to distinguish between right and wrong, both for Columbanus and the nameless author of the BethaA. The ability to judge between right and wrong is also treated in the Monastic Rule of Columbanus, in which he prays for God to ‘bestow the light of true discretion to illumine this way, surrounded on every side by the world’s thickest darkness, so that His true worshippers may be able to cross this darkness without error Herren & Brown (2002), 99. On this argument and its counter-arguments, see Bonner (2002), 510–13; Márkus (2005), 165–213, especially 194–98. 67 Instructiones  III.2: et Dei gratiam suo advocet conamine; impossibile est enim solum per se unumquemque adipisci quod perdidit in Adam. Stancliffe has also pointed out the Pelagian context for this passage and concluded that the author of the sermon here rejects Pelagianism in its crudest form, but nevertheless leaves room for human initiative in asking for God’s grace. See Stancliffe (1997), 135. 68 Instructiones III.2. 65

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to Himself,’ thereby again presenting monastic life as a path leading to Heaven.69 Furthermore, in Sermon III, Columbanus links this ability with love, thus explicating the theological reasoning for the salience of prudence in monastic life: it does not mean the type of wisdom learned from books, but acuity in knowing which things are eternal and accordingly should be loved. All of the monk’s actions and his relationship with the world should thus be guided by wisdom, which leads to love being directed to its rightful object. Columbanus proceeds to explain that shunning the world means living as if dying daily.70 Being dead to the world requires mortifying vices and bodily lusts, remembering that the time spent in this world is nothing but a brief period when compared to the eternity that awaits everyone in the afterlife. Thus, the life of a monk can be understood as a form of martyrdom. By dying to the world, monks are witnesses to the possibility of salvation and the truth of the Christian message. Columbanus here calls his audience to lead an ascetic lifestyle whereby the body is tamed by the will, the prelapsarian state is regained and harmony between the flesh and spirit is achieved, as far as that is possible in this world. This is the interiorised struggle at the heart of monastic lifestyle inherited from the Desert Fathers, whose battle against the vices was exteriorised as a combat against demons.71 Columbanus furthermore goes on to lament the miserable state of the fallen man imprisoned in the body, unable to see or hear the eternal things which he should love instead of the things that he can see and hear. This is the dilemma of human life – the conflict between the body and the spirit, in connection with man’s inability to live rightly without God’s help. St Paul sums this up in Galatians 5:16–17 when discussing the relationship between the spirit and the flesh: So I say, walk by the Spirit, and you will not gratify the desires of the flesh. For the flesh desires what is contrary to the spirit, and the spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you are not to do whatever you want.72 69 Regula monachorum VIII: quo lumen verae discretionis largiatur ad illuminationem huius viae tenebris saeculi utrimque obscurissimis circumdatae, quo sui ad se sine errore veri adoratores possint has evader tenebras. 70 Instructiones III.3. 71 Brakke (2006), 240–46. 72 See also Romans 7:14–20, ‘We know that the law is spiritual; but I am unspiritual, sold as a slave to sin. I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do

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The sermon ends with a lamentation of the miserable blindness and ignorance of mankind on its way to eternal torments. Columbanus advises his audience to love (amare) their souls more than worldly things and to meditate on death, which puts an end to the pleasures of the world. He additionally reminds that ‘pomp, mirth, lust, extravagance cease, and dirt receives the naked corpse for worms and corruption to dissolve, while the miserable soul is given to eternal pains’.73 The message of the sermon is to urge the audience to live wisely and direct love only to eternal things, remembering that at death worldly things lose their value. By dying to the world, monks can transform themselves into angelic beings that enjoy the prelapsarian harmony between body and will. This state can only be achieved with the help of God’s grace, however, and in this sense Columbanus’ views are aligned with those of Augustine rather than those of the Pelagians. The explication of the monk’s relationship with the world continues in Sermon  IV with a discussion of the hardships one must endure as part of monastic discipline. Columbanus opens the sermon by quoting Hebrews 12:11: ‘No discipline seems pleasant at the time, but painful. Later on, however, it produces a harvest of righteousness and peace for those who have been trained by it.’74 In Hebrews, the exhortation to struggle against sin by practicing discipline is apparently directed to the Christian community at large in the same way that in Ephesians 1:4 all Christians are called to be holy.75 Columbanus, however, seems to be more exclusive in his approach, as further on in the sermon he discusses the discipline ‘of our school’ (nostrae scholae disciplina).76 Furthermore, if the sermons are read as a sequence, their monastic context becomes clear from the address to the brothers in Sermons II and XIII, as well not do, but what I hate I do. And if I do what I do not want to do, I agree that the law is good. As it is, it is no longer I myself who do it, but it is sin living in me. For I know that good itself does not dwell in me, that is, in my sinful nature. For I have the desire to do what is good, but I cannot carry it out. For I do not do the good I want to do, but the evil I do not want to do – this I keep on doing. Now if I do what I do not want to do, it is no longer I who do it, but it is sin living in me that does it.’ 73 Instructiones  III.4: Luxus, iocus, libido, luxuria conticuerunt, et cadaver nudum, vermibus et putredine dissolvendum, limus suscipit, miserrim anima poenis aeternis reddita. Translation by the present author based on Walker (1957). 74 Heb 12:11: omnis autem disciplina in praesenti quidem videtur non esse gaudii sed maeroris postea autem fructum pacatissimum exercitatis per eam reddit iustitiae. 75 Eph 1:4: ‘For he chose us in him before the creation of the world to be holy and blameless in his sight.’ See also 1 Thes 3:13, 2 Tim 1:6, Heb 12:14, and 1 Pet 1:15. 76 Instructiones IV.2.

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as from their monastic contents. In the early Christian context  – in which the biblical epistles were written  – the Christian communities were small and in the minority, while in the early medieval context of Columbanus this type of call for elite discipline makes more sense in a monastic environment.77 When encouraging his audience to endure the hardships of their discipline, Columbanus clearly defines the goal of their training by juxtaposing the sorrow and toil of the monastic life with the future happiness and heavenly rewards that await in the afterlife. The temptations and trials of Christian life are to be treated as part of discipline, as something to be endured and conquered on the way towards greater rewards. In this context, Columbanus introduces the idea of life as a pilgrimage: licet pro tempore peregrinemur a Domino ut brevis temporis bello in aeternum coronemur, here juxtaposing the brevity of worldly warfare and its eternal rewards.78 The words peregrinemur a Domino are a quote from 2 Corinthians 5:6, which discusses the tension between the bodily state of man and the longing for the true home with the Lord.79 Columbanus closes the sermon with a prayer for no hardships or dangers or worldly vanities to separate him and his audience from the love of Christ. Although Columbanus does not quote 1 Peter 1:3–9 in this sermon, his message of worldly trials and heavenly rewards clearly evokes the biblical passage, which also includes a reference to seeing and loving, two themes central to the sermons of Columbanus: Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, and into an inheritance that can never perish, spoil or fade. This inheritance is kept in Heaven for you, who through faith are shielded by God’s power until the coming of the salvation that is ready to be revealed in the last time. In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer 77 At least John Cassian seems to have been feeling this way as he writes of the fervour of the early Christians and the subsequent development of the cenobite lifestyle, stating: ‘Such, I say, was the whole Church then, whereas now it is difficult to find even a few like that in the cenobia.’ Collationes xviii.5. For discussion, see Rousseau (1978), 199–205. 78 Instructiones IV.3: ‘although for a time we are on pilgrimage from the Lord, so that for the brief period of warfare, we may be forever crowned’. Translation by the present author. 79 2 Cor 5:6 audentes igitur semper et scientes quoniam dum sumus in corpore peregrinamur a Domino.

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grief in all kinds of trials. These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith  – of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire – may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. Though you have not seen him, you love (diligitis) him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.

Sermon V continues with the theme of the pilgrimage of life. Judging on the number of extant manuscript copies, it seems to have been the most popular of Columbanus’ sermons.80 The sermon opens with the exclamation O tu vita humana, fragilis et mortalis, quantos decepisti, quantos seduxisti, quantos excaecasti!81 This cry aptly introduces the theme of the sermon, which is summed up later with a statement that human life is to be feared and much avoided, because it is so fleeting, deceitful, perilous, short, and uncertain, dissolving like a shadow, a mirage, a cloud or something null and void.82 When discussing the nature of human life, Columbanus uses the metaphor of a road, suggesting that life is ‘the way to life, not life’.83 The truthfulness of the road of life was vitiated by man’s first transgression, which led to death. Understanding the true nature of this road leads to treating it like a pilgrim (ut viatorum more) on the way towards his goal – i.e. the true homeland in Heaven. The notion of pilgrims on the road is further tied with the theme of love when Columbanus speaks of the unhappy men who have loved (dilexerunt) the perishable goods of others, thus neglecting their own eternal goods (aliena caduca dilexerunt, et propria aeterna neglexerunt).84 The juxtaposition of aliena (something belonging to another, but also foreign or unsuitable) and propria (one’s own, but also lasting and permanent) is also highlighted in the next sentence, in which Columbanus advises his audience to avoid the earthly goods of others lest they lose their own

Sermon V survives independently in six manuscripts and in three manuscripts together with the whole series of sermons. For a list of the manuscripts, see G. S. M. Walker (1957), xxxix–xl. 81 Instructiones V.1: ‘Oh Human life, feeble and mortal, how many have you deceived, beguiled and blinded!’ 82 Instructiones V.2: Timenda itaque es, humana vita, et multum cavenda, quae sic fugitiva es, sic lubrica, sic periculosa, sic brevis, sic incerta, ut quasi umbra aut imago aut nubs aut nihil aut inane dissolveris. 83 Instructiones V.1: Via ergo ad vitam, non vita. 84 Instructiones V.2. 80

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eternal goods (aliena terrena devitemus, ut propria aeterna non perdamus). The overarching theme of this quite short sermon is the transience of life, which should be kept in mind by the pilgrims toiling on their way to Heaven. It provides a fitting reminder to follow the previous sermon, which stressed the hardships and difficulties encountered on the path: even if monastic discipline and practice feels harsh at times, it is nothing but a short interlude when compared to the eternity of the afterlife. Thus, monks should stay focused on the great rewards awaiting in Heaven and not despair on the way there. Sermon VI continues from where Sermon V leaves off, repeating the notion that human life is like a road and those traversing it should be satisfied with poverty, a sort of travelling allowance, understanding that all earthly things are foreign. Columbanus again uses the word aliena, which was repeatedly juxtaposed with propria in the previous sermon; here, the juxtaposition is missing and the meaning is more clearly that of something foreign. The next two sentences contain additional verbal and thematic parallels to the previous sermon, treating life as a shadow (umbra) and mirage (imago). Columbanus continues with the problem of man’s limited abilities of seeing, stating that man can neither see what has been, nor what will be, but only sees what is. Life is seen as a shadow (umbram) or as if in a mirror (quasi in quodam speculo).85 The shadowy nature of life is compared to dreams, which are just as fleeting as the memory of something seen yesterday. This notion of dreams was also introduced already in the previous sermon, in which mortal life in its uncertainty and shadowiness was described as being like a dream (somnium).86 Here Columbanus is surely echoing the famous words of St Paul in 1 Corinthians 13:12: ‘For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror (videmus nunc per speculum in enigmate); then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.’ It should also be noted that seeing was commonly used as a metaphor for knowing in Christian writings on contemplation of God.87 Columbanus’ discussion of the transience of mortal life continues with the instability and fluidity of humans themselves: ‘For what I am I

Instructiones VI.1. Instructiones V.2. 87 See, for example, Stewart (1998), 48–49. 85

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was not and shall not be, and every hour I am different and never stay.’88 This conclusion on the ephemerality of both human life and human nature is fundamental for understanding Columbanus’ view of man’s place in this world and his relationship to God.  Since everything in this world, including man himself, is fleeting and in a state of flux, one should focus on and put trust in the only thing which is eternal and immutable – i.e. God. Ideas concerning the transmutability of the human nature, the transcendence of the world and the limits of human abilities to see nothing but shadows are undoubtedly derived from the Neoplatonic thinking of late Antiquity as interpreted by Christian authors – such as Origen and Augustine – and incorporated into Christian monastic thinking.89 For example, in his discussion in De civitate Dei of the providence of the immutable God that extends even to transient earthly things, Augustine explicitly quotes the Platonist philosopher Plotinus in the context of expounding on the incompleteness of the human ability to see.90 Columbanus’ explanation of man’s relationship with the world continues with a command to flee from the deceptive mortal life that tries to seduce men and lead them to death.91 Life is described as ‘mortal, brief, perishable, unsure, unstable, inconstant, changeable, wavering’.92 Repeatedly stressing the unreliable and transitory nature of life in this way, Columbanus urges his audience to live as though daily they might die (quasi cottidie moriendum esse). The right attitude to leading a mortal life is to think of death as if it were already past (sic nobis est mors consideranda quasi iam diu praeteriret) and one were hastening towards death and the eternal truths awaiting on the other side. Death should thus be treated as the great divide between the shadow of the imagined life (de umbra imaginatae vitae) and the truth of the true life (ad veritatem verae vitae). The audience is furthermore encouraged to progress in spiritual life, in order that their minds might mature and the number of their vices might lessen with advancing age, so that they might pass on to the Lord bearing nothing worldly with them. Death, therefore, Instructiones VI.1: Quod enim sum non fui, et non ero, et unaquaque hora aliud sum, et numquam sto. 89 For further discussion, see, for example, Mondin (1991), 58–128; Berchman (1990), 640–43; Colvin (1990), 735–37; Stewart, (1998), 48–57; Dunn (2007), 3–6. 90 CD x.13–15. 91 Instructiones VI.2. 92 Instructiones VI.2: quia tu mortalis, brevis, caduca, incerta, instabilis, mobilis, mutabilis, convertibilis es. Translation by the present author. 88

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very much dominates the Columban worldview – it is something that should always be kept on the horizon. Conversely, this life should be approached with caution, always keeping impending death in mind, and the world should be viewed in an eschatological perspective by continually remembering the coming judgment. Sermon VII opens with a dramatic exclamation of misery: O te caecam insaniam, o te caecam foveam, humanam voluntatem, quae accepta celas et data non reddis!93 The theme of the sermon is the wretchedness of man, who is unable to control his will. Columbanus graphically describes the bodily state of man, contrasting its inner putrefaction with the ostensible cleanness of the outer form: O misera humanitas, intus ­putridam, felle, humore, liquore, sanguine, flegmate plenam, foris vero pellem lavatam, sed numquam tamen mundatam?94 From this sentence, it is difficult to say if Columbanus’s statement is based on some kind medical theory concerning human physiology. His terminology nevertheless brings to mind Galenic humoral theory, which remained the reigning theory of the workings of the human body from antiquity until the advent of modern medical understanding in the nineteenth century.95 The theory of the four humours, originally applied to medicine by Hippocrates in the fourth and fifth centuries BC and developed further by Galen in the second century BC, is based on the idea that the human body is filled with four basic substances – called humours – blood, phlegm, red or yellow bile, and black bile. The first item on Columbanus’ list, fel, means bile (it probably refers to red or yellow bile), while sanguis means blood and flegma (or phlegma) is phlegm. The remaining two terms are more difficult to match with the humours: the next one, humor, means moisture or fluid in general but could here also refer to the four bodily liquids of the humoral theory in general, while liquor also denotes something liquid or fluid.96 As part of the graphic description of the misery of the bodily state of humans, these two seem to allude to harmful liquids found in the human body in general. 93 Instructiones  VII.1: ‘O you blind madness, o you blind pitfall, human will, which hides that which is received and does not restore that which is given.’ Translation by the present author. 94 Instructiones  VII.1: ‘O miserable humankind, inwardly rotten, full of bile, moisture, liquid, blood, phlegm, outside indeed washed skin, but nevertheless never clean.’ Translation by the present author. 95 On the medieval understanding of the humoral theory, see Siraisi (1990), 104– 6; Arikha (2007), 71–110; Cameron (1993), 159–68. 96 I wish to thank Outi Kaltio for helping to clarify the Latin terminology relating to the humoral theory.

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The juxtaposition continues with Columbanus laying out in harsh language the polarity between the body, which is unclean by nature, and the soul created for splendour but defiled by the actions of man. The bodily state of man entails being trapped inside ulcerated skin and a loathsome, unclean abode of phlegm and filth. Columbanus asks his audience a series of questions that challenge them to appraise their blindness in loving (amare) that which should be despised and seeking that which should be abominated. In this way, Columbanus returns to the theme of the perennial conflict between the body and the soul and man’s disability to put bodily lusts under the control of the will, topics which he already touched upon in Sermon III. These sentiments are summed up by Paul’s exclamation in Romans 7:24, quoted by Columbanus: infelix ego homo quis me liberabit de corpore mortis huius.97 The enjoyment and joy of this world are furthermore contrasted in the sermon with the suffering and misery awaiting in the afterlife, quoting Luke 6:25 (vae his qui rident, quia ipsi lugebunt and vae vobis qui saturati estis quia esurietis)98 and, on the same subject, Isaiah 65:13 (propter hoc dicit Dominus, Ecce qui serviunt mihi manducabunt et bibent, vos autem esurietis et sitietis) and 65:14 (ecce qui serviunt mihi exsultabunt in iucundidate, vos autem propter dolorem cordis clamabitis et a contritione spiritus ululabitis).99 The audience is called to refrain from satiating the bodily passions and to identify with the lifestyle of the poor in order to receive the heavenly reward promised to the poor in Matthew 5:3.100

97 Instructiones VII.2: ‘Wretched man that I am, who will free me from the body of this death?’ 98 The Vulgate reading of the passage is the following: vae vobis qui saturati estis quia esurietis vae vobis qui ridetis nunc quia lugebitis et flebitis (‘Woe to you who are well fed now, for you will go hungry. Woe to you who laugh now, for you will mourn and weep.’) 99 Here Columbanus does not follow the Vulgate word for word, as Is 65:13–14 reads: propter hoc haec dicit Dominus Deus ecce servi mei comedent et vos esurietis ecce servi mei bibent et vos sitietis ecce servi mei laetabuntur et vos confundemini ecce servi mei laudabunt prae exultatione cordis et vos clamabitis prae dolore cordis et prae contritione spiritus ululabitis. (‘Therefore this is what the Sovereign Lord says: “My servants will eat, but you will go hungry; my servants will drink, but you will go thirsty; my servants will rejoice, but you will be put to shame. My servants will sing out of the joy of their hearts, but you will cry out from anguish of heart and wail in brokenness of spirit.”’) 100 Mt 5:3, ‘Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of Heaven.’ Columbanus quotes at the end of his Instructiones VII:2 both Mt 5:3: beati pauperes spiritu quoniam ipsorum est regnum caelorum and Mt 5:6: beati qui esuriunt et sitiunt iustitiam quoniam ipsi saturabuntur.

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Man’s relationship with the material world is expressed in Sermon VII in negative terms: all satisfaction, enjoyment and merriment in this world are juxtaposed with the mourning, wailing and lamentations that await in the afterlife. Columbanus furthermore explains that there are two ages and two lives succeeding each other: one is brief and the other long, and the one who is satiated in this one will suffer in the next (and vice versa). The bodily state of man means being trapped inside an unclean body and being unable to control the passions. This dichotomy between the body and soul leads to misery and unhappiness, from which one is freed only in the afterlife. By refraining from the assuagement of bodily desires, however, it is possible to alleviate this state of misery by the hope of the reward in the afterlife. Columbanus accordingly urges his audience to follow the lifestyle of the poor, only eating and drinking what is necessary and never satiating hunger and thirst entirely in hope of being counted among the poor, to whom belongs the kingdom of Heaven. The mortification of one’s passions by ascetic practices was, of course, a central tenet of medieval monasticism rooted in the lifestyle of the Egyptian Desert Fathers. The aim of the early Christian ascetics was to achieve the state of apatheia, ‘passionlessness’, originating in Stoic philosophy. Freedom from bodily desires (and thereby the restoration of the state for which man was originally created) was thus sought by means of abstinence from any bodily pleasures – including sleeping, eating or drinking – apart from what was the minimum necessary for survival. Ascetic practices were never the goal, but merely tools for reaching the ultimate reward in Heaven.101 Columbanus writes within the same tradition when reminding his audience of the soteriological goal of abstinence from bodily enjoyments and when underlining the role of ascetic practices as a way of resolving the perennial conflict between body and soul. Sermon  VIII is the key to understanding Columbanus’ use of the metaphor of pilgrimage for Christian life. The topic of the sermon is the goal of human striving; in Columbanus’ own words, this is called ‘the end of the road’ (de fine viae). At the beginning of the sermon, he refers back to Sermon V, in which he already established the theme of human life as a road. The links with the earlier sermons are furthermore strengthened with references to the similarity of life with a shadow 101 For further reading on the role of asceticism in early Christianity and medieval monasticism, for example, see H.  Chadwick (1985), 1–23; McGuckin (1985), 25–39; Colish (1990), 114–22, 221–25; Dunn (2007), 59–81.

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(umbrae similitudine), which was mentioned in Sermon V, and to the blindness of life (quam caeca), which was established in Sermon III.102 The metaphor of a road is taken up again by Columbanus: Viatorum est festinare ad patriam, eorum similiter est in via sollicitudo, in patriam securitas.103 He furthermore urges his audience to hasten home, since the whole of life is ‘like the journey of a single day’. Here again Columbanus refers to the theme of the brevity of time on earth when compared to eternity. Once more he returns to the correct target of love, stating that ‘our first duty is to love (amare) nothing here’, but that all affections (amemus), desires (desideremus) and wisdom (sapiamus) should be directed above, seeking home only there. Moreover, travellers do not have a fatherland (patria) here on earth, but only in Heaven where the Father (Pater) is. Columbanus then expounds on the nature of the Father by using phrases reminiscent of the praise of God in Psalms: ‘He is deeper than the ocean, firmer than earth, broader than the world, clearer than air, higher than heaven, brighter than the sun’.104 Although God is everywhere by virtue of His power, he dwells openly only in the heavens where He is panem angelorum (‘the bread of angels’), quoting Psalm 77:25 (in English, Ps 78:25). Columbanus distinguishes between the different levels of seeing God: angels in Heaven are able to enjoy the sight of God, while humans, due to their weaker nature, cannot bear ‘the pure nature of the invisible God’. Thus, despite being present everywhere, God remains invisible to men. The theme of the incompleteness of earthly seeing and knowledge was already alluded to in Sermon VI, and it is firmly established in 1 Corinthians 13:9–12.105 The weakness of 102 In the same context, Columbanus also refers back to his own words that life is incalculable (improvisa). This term, however, is not used in the earlier sermons. Nevertheless, it could be a reference – albeit using different terminology – to the uncertainty (incerta) of life mentioned in Sermon V. Clare Stancliffe has furthermore pointed out that the praise of God as deeper than the sea, etc. in Sermon VIII parallels the opening of Sermon I. See Stancliffe (1997), 127–28. 103 Instructiones VIII.1: ‘It is for travellers to hasten to their homeland, likewise their part is anxiety upon the roadway, and in the homeland peace.’ 104 Instructiones VIII.1: quam mare profundior, terra stabilior, mundo latior, aere purior, caelo altior, sole clarior est. Comparisons and images taken from the natural world are common also in early Irish prayers. See, for example, the ‘Litany of Confession’: ‘O God above (all) Gods, O King above (all) kings… O World above (all) worlds, O Power above (all) powers… O Starry Sun, O guiding Light, O House of the planets, O fiery wondrous Comet, O fruitful, billowy, fiery Sea.’ In Irish Litanies: Text and Translation, ed. & trans. Charles Plummer (1925), 1–7. 105 1 Cor. 13:9–12, ‘For we know in part and we prophesy in part, but when completeness comes, what is in part disappears. When I was a child, I talked like a child, I

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the human ability to see and bear the brightness of God is, moreover, a theological theme connected with discussions of the monastic aspiration to purify one’s eyes and make them stronger in order to see God. It is also present in hagiographical works in the context of demonstrating the holiness of a saint by his/her ability to see God – as opposed to those who are not fit to see the brightness of God and who are put in danger by their attempts to do so.106 Columbanus also warns of the perils associated with direct contact with the unmediated nature of God when he describes how God set the waters that are above (aquis elevatis) as boundaries of the first heaven, because otherwise those with inferior dispositions could not endure its fiery nature. He further states that one’s degree of being able to see God is proportional to one’s purity, thereby suggesting a similar merit-based system of beholding God as that of Augustine, who writes in his De doctrina christiana ii.21–22 that the student of divine scripture should purify his mind in order to bear the brilliance of God and that only those who die to this world are able to see Him. In his De civitate Dei x.13 and 15, Augustine furthermore discusses the nature of God’s appearance when the invisible God revealed Himself to the patriarchs in a visible form suitable for humans to witness. John Cassian reflects on the same themes in his Collationes x.6 in an explicitly eremitical context: only those who have attained a sufficient level of purity through withdrawal from society can see the Godhead in all of its brightness. Accordingly, by the practice of purity, the desert hermits were able to prepare themselves for the blessedness which is promised in the future to the holy ones – i.e. for the heavenly union with God which can be prefigured in this life by those who dedicate their lives to the contemplation of God. All these authors agree in making a connection between seeing God, purity, and withdrawal from the world, and they all equate seeing God with the eschatological promise of attaining union with Him in the afterlife. The supercelestial waters are mentioned in Genesis 1:6–7, in which God creates the firmament to separate the waters below from those above. Psalm 148:4 refers to aquae quae super caelos sunt. According to Marina Smyth, in early medieval Irish writings two explanations were thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put the ways of childhood behind me. For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.’ 106 In Adomnán’s VC, this theme has a central role in the presentation of the sanctity of the saint. For discussion, see Ritari (2009), 30–43. See also Bruce (2004), 140–47.

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given for the purpose of these supercelestial waters: the first, following early Christian authors (such as Ambrose, Basil of Cesarea and Isidore), is based on the waters’ function in protecting the world below from the fiery heat of the luminaries; the second, which seems to be indigenous to the Irish authors, explains the existence of these waters as a reservoir from which the biblical Flood will spill (and then afterwards return).107 As can be seen from Sermon VIII, Columbanus clearly favours the former explanation, aligning himself with the more common view that attributes a protective function to the supercelestial waters. The second half of Sermon VIII concentrates on the life of pilgrims, who are ever longing for their heavenly home, in such a way that it is worth quoting a section in full: Occupemus itaque nos divinis, ne forte humanis, et quasi peregrini semper patriam suspiremus, semper patriam desideremus; finis enim viae semper viatoribus optabilis et desiderabilis est, et ideo quia sumus mundi viatores et peregrini, de fine viae, id est, vitae nostrae semper cogitemus, viae enim finis nostrae patria nostra est. Sed ibi omnes saeculi itinerantes pro meritis diversa sortiuntur; et boni viatores in patria requiescunt, mali vero de ea peribunt; multi enim patriam veram perdunt, quia plus viam diligent. Non plus viam nos quam patriam diligamus, ne aeternam patriam perdamus; talem enim habemus patriam, quam amare debemus. Duret igitur apud nos ista definition, ut sic vivamus in via ut viatores, ut peregrini, ut hospites mundi, nullis haerentibus cupiditatibus, nullis terrenis inhiantes desideriis, sed caelestibus et spiritalibus formis animos nostros repleamus, virtute et opera psallentes, ‘Quando veniam et parebo ante faciem Dei mei? Sitivit enim anima mea Deum fortem vivum’,108 et, ‘Anima mea sicut terra sine aqua tibi’,109 et cum Paulo dicentes, ‘Cupio dissolve et esse cum Christo’,110 sciamus nos slicet ‘peregrinos a Domino quamdiu sumus in corpore’, praesentes tamen esse oculis Dei. Then, lest we be concerned with human things, let us concern ourselves with things divine, and as pilgrims ever sigh for and desire our homeland; for the end of the road is ever the object of travellers’ hopes and desires, and thus, since we are travellers and pilgrims in the world, let us ever ponder on the end of the road, that is of our life, for the end M. Smyth (1996), 94–103. Quoting Psalm 41:3 (in English 42:2), sitivit anima mea ad Deum fortem; vivum quando veniam et parebo ante faciem Dei. 109 Quoting Psalm 142:6 (in English 143:6), anima mea sicut terra sine aqua tibi. 110 Quoting Phil 1:23, desiderium habens dissolvi et cum Christo esse. 107 108

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of the roadway is our home. But there all who journey through this age find various lots according to their merits; and the good travellers have peace in their homeland, but the evil shall perish without; for many lose their true home, because they loved rather the road. Let us not love the roadway rather than the homeland, lest we lose our eternal home; for we have such a home that we ought to love it. Therefore, let this principle abide with us, that on the road we so live as travellers, as pilgrims, as guests of the world, entangled by no lusts, longing with no earthly desires, but let us fill our minds with heavenly and spiritual impressions, singing with grace and power: ‘When shall I come and appear before the face of my God? For my soul thirsts for the mighty and living God’, and ‘My soul is like a waterless land before you’, and saying with Paul, ‘I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ’, let us know that though ‘we are strangers from the Lord while we remain in the body’, yet we are present to the eyes of God.

Men should thus live their lives like pilgrims (peregrine), travellers (viatores) or guests of the world (hospites mundi), loving (diligo and amo) nothing on the way but only their true homeland (patria). The image of the road is established by Christ in John 14:6, in which he states: ego sum via et veritas et vita nemo venit ad Patrem nisi per me.111 For the metaphor of pilgrimage, in the passage above Columbanus quotes another key verse, namely 2 Corinthians 5:6: audentes igitur semper et scientes quoniam dum sumus in corpore peregrinamur a Domino.112 These two biblical passages also serve as the starting point of Augustine’s Sermon 346 on man’s pilgrimage through this life, which states that only the eternal is true life, and this life should more aptly be called death, due to its variable and changing nature and its lack of steadiness and firmness.113 John Cassian discusses 2 Corinthians 5:6 in an explicitly monastic context in his Collationes i.14.9, with the reference occurring in a chapter on the subject of the goal of monastic life. Cassian submits that the end of the monk’s profession is the kingdom of God in Heaven and the goal – without which the end cannot be reached – is purity of heart.114 Furthermore, John Cassian combines two of the biblical verses 111 Jn 14:6, ‘I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me’. 112 2 Cor 5:6, ‘Therefore we are always confident and know that as long as we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord.’ 113 Augustine, Sermo 346.1: quae tanta mutabilitate variatur, et nulla stabilitate firmatur, et cursu brevissimo terminatur. 114 John Cassian, Collationes i.4.1.

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quoted by Columbanus – namely Philippians 1:23 and 2 Corinthians 5:6 – into one, writing: Desiderium habeo dissolvi, et cum Christo esse, multo enim melius, quoniam dum sumus in corpore, peregrinamur a Domino.115 Columbanus here returns to the theme of love, urging his audience to direct their love only to the heavenly, lest they lose the rewards awaiting them in the afterlife. He encourages his audience to free themselves from any lusts or earthly desires, thus returning to the theme of controlling the body discussed in Sermon VII. The goal of monastic discipline is expressed as well, quoting Paul in Philippians 1:23 as being dissolved and thus attaining union with Christ. Towards the end of the sermon, Columbanus incites his audience to lay aside all lukewarmness (tepore) and strive to please God so that they may happily ( feliciter) pass on from the road of this age (via huius saeculi) to the eternal homeland. The two planes of being are presented by Columbanus as polar opposites, contrasting between things that are present or absent, lamentable or joyful, transitory or eternal, earthly or heavenly, and finally death or life. The closing of the sermon underlines its message concerning the end of the road – and thus of all human striving – where men will be able to see God facie ad faciem, paraphrasing 1 Corinthians 13:12. Sermon IX continues directly from the theme of the end of the road ( finis viae) where Sermon VIII finished thus linking the two as a whole. Columbanus draws a distinction between those who will enjoy peace and joy in their homeland (patria) at the end of the road and those who will have no rest from their tribulations. The road of life (viae humanae vitae) is identical for all people in its deceitful fragility and inconstancy, as well as its fleeting uncertainty,116 but in the end travellers (viatores) will be divided by a true trial (vera probatio) and careful examination (diligens examinatio), according to their merits. When discussing the final judgment, Columbanus refers to the biblical passages of 1 Corinthians 3:13, 2 Corinthians 5:10 and Matthew 16:27, which establish that each person will be tried by fire and judged by Christ according to their 115 Collationes i.14.9: ‘I desire to be dissolved and to be with Christ, for that is far better, since while we are in the body we are absent from the Lord’. Cassians then continues with 2 Cor 8–9: ‘We are confident, I say, and would prefer to be away from the body and at home with the Lord. So we make it our goal to please him, whether we are at home in the body or away from it.’ 116 Instructiones ix.1: quia licet fragilitate et volubilitate lubrica et incerta fugacitate via vitae humanae similis. Columbanus is here echoing his Sermon V, in which a slightly different vocabulary was used to convey similar ideas and the world was established as being fugitiva, lubrica, periculosa, brevis, and incerta.

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deeds. Human life and judgment are schematised by Columbanus as a movement from earth, on earth, to earth, from earth to fire, from fire to judgment, and from judgment to Hell or to life.117 Columbanus admonishes his audience to always keep the coming judgment in mind, in order that this eschatological certainty may guide the way in which they lead their lives on earth. The gravity of this message is underlined by Columbanus’ choice of words: a sense of intimacy is created when he addresses his audience as carissimi (most beloved), and the urgency of his plea is emphasised when he begs them to dread the coming judgment and to unceasingly meditate on it. The relationship between the body and soul is again highlighted in this sermon by references to the body of sin (corpore peccati) in which men dwell, quoting Romans 6:6, and to men wearing flesh (carnem ­gestans) while on earth. Men, who were created out of earth (de terra creati), spend a brief interlude on earth and are then cast into the fire which dissolves both earth and clay (terram et lutum ignis dissolvat).118 All the deeds in this life should thus be viewed in an eschatological perspective that gives meaning to human life. This perspective is recommended by Columbanus as the guiding principle for his audience. He urges them to examine themselves daily, keeping account of their words and deeds and constantly pondering the end of the road while spurning all the pleasures of this world. Constant self-discipline and self-assessment are especially fitting guidelines for monastic life, particularly in the context of early Irish monasticism, in which penance developed into a continuous and private practice.119 There exists a penitential ascribed to the authorship of Columbanus, and his Regula coenobialis also includes penitential material.120 The penitential bearing Columbanus’ name seems to be a composite work: it not only covers monastic or clerical life, but also includes a section on the offences of the laity. Although 117 Instructiones ix.1: Videte ordinem miserae humanae vitae de terra, super terram, in terram, a terra in ignem, de igne in iudicium, de iudicio aut in gehennam aut in vitam. Columbanus furthermore explains this schema by explaining that man is made of earth, treads on earth, returns to earth at death, and rises from earth to fire and from fire to judgment, being consequently sent either to Heaven or Hell for eternity. 118 Here Columbanus is surely thinking of 1 Cor 3:12, in which the foundations of each man’s life built either of gold, silver, costly stones, wood, hay or straw are tried by fire. 119 On the development of private penance and its role in Irish monasticism, see Meens (2014), 37–69; O’Loughlin (2000a), 48–67; Connolly (1995), 1–36; Billy (1989), 143–51; F. G. Clancy (1988), 87–109. 120 Charles-Edwards (1997), 217–39.

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it is unclear which sections (if any) of the penitential actually stem from the pen of Columbanus, it is evident from the Regula coenobialis that penance as a continuous discipline played a central role in his notion of monastic life.121 It opens with the theme of confession, which is expected from monks on a daily basis. Even the smallest sins are not to be omitted from confession. Constant soul-searching and awareness of even the most minor misdemeanours are thus an important part of monastic practice for Columbanus, as evidenced by his Sermon IX: incessant self-examination is not practiced for its own end but to help monks to purify themselves in order to pass the judgment of the Lord and merit a place amongst the blessed in Heaven. Therefore, it is the end of the road – i.e. the eschatological promise of salvation – that gives meaning to the practice of penance in this life. Sermon X continues the discussion of the end, addressing more specifically the question of judgment introduced in Sermon IX. These two sermons are moreover linked as a whole by the reference in the beginning of Sermon X to the warning of judgment by the Gospel and Paul quoted in Sermon IX. In Sermon X, Columbanus also refers to predictions from the Old and New Testaments that he had related the previous day, thus demonstrating that the sermons were planned as a series to be read on consecutive days. Columbanus quotes extensively from the Old Testament in Sermon X when advising his audience about the impending judgment.122 He cites passages that describe the Lord’s judgment coming in its terrifying majesty and anger to burn sinners, and foretelling the earth shaking with the wrath of the Lord. Columbanus moves on to discuss the measures by which the wrath of the Judge can be avoided, moderating the message of the Old Testament prophecies with the promises of the New Testament that Christ’s sacrifice means salvation for the elect.123 Columbanus explains that in order to be counted among the elect, one has to be willing to give his or her life for Christ, and if there is no chance for actual martyrdom there is always an opportunity for the mortification of will. The only route to a life with Christ is by dying  – i.e. by submitting one’s will to Christ, living only for Christ and not for oneself. Columbanus here discusses the two routes to holiness: by dying for faith Stevenson (1997), esp. 206–7. Regula coenobialis i. Instructiones X.1. He quotes Mal 4:1 & 3:1–2, Is 13:9, 13:13 & 24:18–20, Ps 49:3 (in English 50:3) & 96:3 (in English 97:3). 123 Instructiones X.2. Here Columbanus quotes Mt 16:25, 2 Cor 5:15, 1. Cor 6:19– 20, and Gal 2:20. 121

122

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as a martyr or by living for faith as a monk.124 Such types of exhortations to render up oneself to Christ and to die for the sake of life are best understood in a monastic context, since such a radical response to the call of Christ can only be expected from elite members of the faith and not from the masses. Columbanus then continues with the juxtaposition of life and death, quoting Romans 8:13: Si enim secundum carnem vixeritis moriemini.125 Thus, life means death and death means life. Columbanus again addresses his audience intimately as carissimi, echoing the previous sermon. He also tells his audience that as humans they are living in a foreign land (in alienus habitamus), thereby returning to the theme of the alienation that good Christians should feel from the world. Man’s corrupted nature (natura vitiata) makes it hard to recover what was been lost during the Fall. Despite loss of the blessed state (beatitudine), man still has free will126 and thus the capacity to toil and fight for Heaven. Columbanus here uses military terminology of snatching (rapimus) the Kingdom from the hands of the enemies by strength and violence (here quoting Romans 8:13), as on a battlefield. Such military imagery and emphasis on the active participation of believers in the process of salvation are compatible with the monastic ideology that had its roots in the writings of the Desert Fathers.127 Mortification of the will by asceticism was understood as an attempt to regain the prelapsarian harmony between body and will, in order to get closer to the heavenly state by dying to this world and living only for God.128 In hagiography, this is the state exemplified by the saints, who lead a heavenly life while on earth and are thus able to enjoy a foretaste of the blessedness of the heavenly kingdom.129 Columbanus’ allusion to the corrupted nature of man, free will and the active pursuit of salvation within the same paragraph of Sermon X 124 The earliest Christian saints were martyrs, but when opportunities for dying for the faith abated (due to the end of persecutions), living for faith became the new route to holiness. For a further discussion of this topic, see, for example, Malone (1956), 201–28. On the Irish understanding of different types of martyrdom, see Stancliffe (1982), 21–46. 125 Instructiones  X.3: ‘For if you will live according to the flesh, you will die.’ Translation by the present author. 126 Columbanus here uses the term arbitri electionem, ‘the choice of (free) will’. 127 See Dunn (2007); Goehring (1999), 211–31. 128 For further discussion, see Burton-Christie (1993), 181–235; Dunn (2007), 67–81. 129 For discussion of this theme, see Ritari (2009), 44–58.

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is no accident: these three topics are intrinsically linked by the question of the relationship between God’s grace and man’s own efforts. This issue came to the fore especially in the controversy against the Pelagians, who overemphasised man’s abilities to gain holiness through one’s own efforts alone, thus leaving no room for the functioning of God’s grace. The foremost opponent of this heresy was the Church Father Augustine, who ended up overstressing God’s grace over man’s own efforts, effectively denying the role of free will.130 A more moderate view was formed by John Cassian, who tried to find a balance between the two opposites in his Collationes xiii: he establishes the need for God’s help, but nevertheless leaves room for human initiative in the process of salvation.131 At first glance, because of his strong emphasis on the toil and efforts required from the true Christians, Columbanus’ views may seem close to those of the Pelagians. But the last sentence of Sermon X moderates this view by placing the final judgment in the hands of God, expressing the hope that Christ would consider the supplicants standing before him (praestare dignetur) as worthy. Thus it is possible for men to seek, but only God can help them reach the goal. A similar anti-Pelagian sentiment was also expressed in Sermon III, namely that the recovery of man’s original prelapsarian state cannot be achieved without God’s help. In this way, Columbanus’ views are closer to the monastic spirituality of John Cassian, in which the active pursuit of purity played a central role alongside the humble plea for God’s mercy. Towards the end of Sermon X, Columbanus underlines the lowliness of man before God; he asks his audience to put aside all pride and even their freedom, submitting to divine will. By letting Christ reign in them, Christians are given the hope of eternal life in Heaven. In this way, they exchange a short interval for a long one, misery for blessings, a fallen state for eternity, sorrow for joy, lowliness for triumph, and earth for Heaven.132 Through the sacrifice of giving their lives for Christ, monks pay back Christ’s sacrifice on the cross and gain the eternal reward in the afterlife. Columbanus repeatedly uses the metaphor For example, see Fendt (2001), 211–27. See especially Collationes xiii.8.4: ‘When he notices good will making an appearance in us, at once he enlightens and encourages it and spurs it on to salvation, giving increase to what he himself planted and saw arise from our own efforts.’ For further discussion, see O.  Chadwick (1968), 110–36; Stewart (1998), 76–81; Dunn (2007), 75–78. On the role of grace in salvation and John Cassian’s influence in an Irish context, see O’Sullivan (2010), 253–73. 132 Instructiones X.4: qui brevi de longum, de misero beatum, de caduco aeternum, de tristi laetum, de humili excelsum, de terra cealum… 130 131

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of death in this sermon to express the transformation that monks have to undergo, dying to this world in order to live with Christ. Since the actual death of martyrdom is not available to all, the monastic life of giving up one’s will and mortifying one’s body by asceticism takes its place as a figurative death in expectation of the final death, by which the elect are transformed into heavenly citizens.133 Sermon XI seems to break the thematic continuity. Unlike the previous sermons, it bears in four of the manuscripts the title De disciplina, ‘On training’.134 The sermon opens with a quotation of Genesis 1:26: Fecit Deus hominem ad imaginem et similitudinem suam.135 Columbanus explicates this passage by making a distinction between the omnipotent, unseen, incomprehensible, and ineffable God who is Spirit (spiritus) and the man made out of clay in His image (imaginis suae). God bestowed great dignity on man by endowing man with ‘the image of his eternity and likeness of His character’ (Deus suae aeternitatis imaginem et morum suorum similitudinem homini donavit). Columbanus here explains a question which was central to the anthropology of the second-century Gaulish Church Father Irenaeus of Lyons, who understood the fullness of the image and likeness of God to be the eschatological promise towards which men should strive.136 Being the image and likeness of God are therefore the goal of human existence, but as carnal creatures humans are imperfect; having received the image of God in their form, they do not retain the likeness in the spirit.137 In his edition, Walker points out that Columbanus’ teaching on the matter accords with Irenaeus’ distinction between imago as physical charac133 On the renunciation of the world as a form of martyrdom in early Chrsitian writings, see Brakke (2006), 24–26. 134 In manuscripts R (s. ix/x, Rome Bibliotheca Vaticana Reg.140), D (s. xvii, Paris Bibliothèque Nationale lat. 17188), T (s. ix–x, Turin Bibliotheca Nazionale G.V. 38), and Ti (s. ix, Turin Bibliotheca Nazionale G. VII. 16). 135 Gen. 1:26: ‘Let us make mankind in our image, in our likeness’. 136 Irenaeus, Adversus haereses v.6.1. For a discussion of the views of Irenaeus and the imago Dei question, see Weinandy (2003), 15–34; Grenz (2002), 144–48; McGinn (2010), 19–31. 137 The same biblical passage was also discussed by the fourth-century Bishop Gregory of Nyssa, who is one of the Cappadocian Fathers. In his De hominis opificio xvi. (‘On the Making of Man’), Gregory illuminates the conundrum posed by the short-lived nature and variability of man when compared with the immortality and purity of God in whose image man was created. The work was translated into Latin in the sixth century by Dionysius Exiguus, but was apparently largely unknown in the West until a second translation was done by the Irishman John Scottus Eriugena in the ninth century. See Levine (1958), 473–92.

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teristics and similitude as moral attributes.138 Columbanus’ passage on image and likeness quoted above can be interpreted to support Walker’s conclusion. The matter is not quite so clear in the next sentence, however: magna dignitas homini Dei similitude, si conservatur, sed grandis iterum damnation Dei imaginis violatio.139 Here the two – image and likeness – are treated as synonyms: the preservation of the likeness (similitude) of God is a great merit, while violation of the image (imaginis) is great damnation. Yet Columbanus agrees with Irenaeus in viewing the restoration of the likeness of God as the goal of human existence. Columbanus further advises his audience that the road to the restoration of the original state of man is shown by the Lord’s commandments. He singles out love (diligere/dilectio) as the first and most fundamental commandment, quoting the biblical passages of Matthew 22:37, 1 John 4:10, John 14:15, and 15:12, which establish that God loves His people and requires love from them in return, and that loving God means keeping his commandments. The restoration of Father’s image means being holy since He is holy, as stated in Leviticus 11:44. In addition, He is also love (caritas), as explained in 1 John 4:8. The theme of love is touched upon repeatedly in Columbanus’ sermons but usually in the context of directing love to its rightful object. Here the same theme is discussed with a slightly modified emphasis with no mention of those things which are not to be loved. However, the terminology of love agrees not only with the biblical passages quoted, but also with the previous sermons on preferring the verb diligo to amo. Columbanus’ discussion of love leads to the topics of peace and brotherly love (dilectionem fraternam), which are effectuated by refraining from idle talk. Columbanus’ declamation is again most easily understood in a monastic context. The emphasis on limiting speech to the barest minimum as a means of upholding brotherly love fits most naturally in the contexts of communal living and monastic spirituality. In his monastic rule, Columbanus commands the rule of silence to be carefully observed, since ‘in many words sin will not be lacking’, quoting Proverbs 10:19.140 At the end of the sermon, quoting Romans 13:8 and 1 John 3:14–15, Columbanus again connects the theme of love with the eschatological promise of salvation by making love the prerequisite for Walker, Sancti Columbani opera p. 107 n. 1. Instructiones XI.1: ‘A grand distinction for man is the likeness of God, if it be preserved; but again, it is great damnation to defile the image of God.’ 140 Regula monachorum II. 138 139

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fulfilling the commandments and thus attaining eternal life. The title, De disciplina, seems at first glance to be somewhat at odds with the contents of the sermon, but if understood as referring to monastic discipline and its goal of recovering the image of God in man, their connection becomes clear. Sermon XII bears a title De compunctione, ‘On compunction’, in two of the manuscripts.141 The sermon is linked with the earlier sermons by opening with a reference to previous discourses on the subject of denunciation (castigationum). Due to the tepid reception of that message, Columbanus stresses the need for repetition. Indeed, the eschatological orientation of this sermon is very clear, with Columbanus’ aim being to kindle fear of the coming judgment in the hearts of his audience. He asks what his audience would do if they knew that the Judge of this world was coming the very next day to burn them alive, and he wonders why they are not acting accordingly, even though they know that judgment is coming, if not exactly when.142 He urges the audience to awaken from deadly sloth (torpentibus mortiferi), to prepare and be watchful, laying aside all mortal cares.143 The ultimate hope that gives meaning to human life is expressed by Columbanus when he instructs his audience to beseech, request, and pray (deprecemur, rogemus, oremus) from the bottom of their hearts to be inspired by God’s love (dilectionem), in order that they may be joined together inseparably with Him for eternity, raised from the ground, and their senses united with Heaven during their remaining time in this body of death (hoc mortis corpora).144 This is the correct goal to which all human striving should be directed. Columbanus sums up themes already discussed in previous sermons, trying to ignite fear and love, reminding his audience once again of the eschatological perspective in which they should view their lives and their deeds in this life. Columbanus asks God to raise him from the sleep of idleness (de somno inertiae) and kindle in him the fire of divine love (illo divinae caritatis igne) so that the divine fire (divinus ignis) would forever burn in him.145

‘Remorse’ by Walker. Manuscripts T (s. ix–x, Turin Bibliotheca Nazionale G.V. 38), and Ti (s. ix, Turin Bibliotheca Nazionale G. VII. 16). 142 Instructiones XII.1. 143 Instructiones XII.2. 144 Cf. Rom 7:24. Also in Instructiones VII. 145 Instructiones XII.2 141

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Columbanus continues with the image of fire and light for the rest of this sermon, expressing the hope that he would have the tinder to foster, feed and keep alight the flame and that he would be so deserving that his lamp would ever burn by night in the temple of the Lord.146 He prays that his lamp would feel the kindling touch, knowing no quenching, and that it would burn for him and give light for others. Columbanus asks also on behalf of his whole audience that Christ would kindle their lights to shine continually in His temple and receive perpetual light from the perpetual Light, in order that their darkness would be enlightened and the world’s darkness driven from them.147 The themes of light and love are brought together at the end of the sermon when Columbanus prays that, loving (amemus) only Christ, his lamp would evermore shine and burn before Christ and that Christ would reveal himself to those praying, so that in knowing Him they would love, desire, contemplate, and hold in their thoughts Him alone (te solum amemus, te solum desideremus, te solum meditemur die ac nocte, semper te cogitemus). Columbanus also asks God to inspire them by his love (amorem) to love (amari/diligi) Him as befits their God, and that God’s love (dilectio/ amor/caritas) would own them all and fill all their senses, in order that they would love (amare) nothing apart from God who is eternal. When discussing God’s love and loving Him in return Columbanus here uses all the various terms for love and loving; however, he prefers those words deriving from amor (unlike elsewhere, where dilectio is used most often). The closing sermon of the series, Sermon  XIII, bears no title. It opens with a reference to the overall topic of the sermons – the wretchedness of human life (humanae vitae miseria) – and an explanation of the chosen medium of the sermons and the fitting response to their message, thus summing up the expected effect of the preaching. This sermon thereby forms a fitting close for a series which seems to have been meant to be preached on consecutive days. At the beginning of the sermon, Columbanus presents an apology for his ‘puny skills’ (parvitatem ingenioli n ­ ostri), but justifies the rashness of speaking so extensively by the timeliness of the message he is trying to convey, not just for the audience but also for himself. He also explains his aims by stating that although the theology of the sermons may seem less satisfactory for those who have been perfectly instructed, it is suitable for beginners and for the tepid persons he imagines his audience to consist of. Again Instructiones XII.2. Cf. Ex 27:20–21. Instructiones XII.3.

146 147

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Columbanus directly addresses his audience as fratres carissimi, ‘dearest brothers’, thus conveying the monastic orientation of his preaching.148 Sermon XIII continues with the theme of arousing oneself from inertia, which began in the previous sermon. Sermons XII and XIII are also stylistically similar, as they both use almost poetic language. Here, however, the image of light is replaced by metaphors of thirst and hunger. God is the living Fountain that calls the thirsty to drink.149 He who loves (amat), sufficiently adores (satis diligit) the word of God, and burns with the love of wisdom (sapientiae amore) drinks of God. Columbanus furthermore addresses his audience as gentiles (nos gentes), urging them to drink what the Jews have forsaken.150 Jesus Christ is also the living bread to be eaten by the faithful.151 Columbanus urges his hearers to forever hunger and thirst for the bread and fountain, eating and drinking with an overflow of love (dilectionis nimietate). He calls his audience to desire for, seek after and ever love (amandus sit) the fountain of wisdom, the word of God on high,152 directly addressing the hearers as fratres.153 Moreover, Columbanus reminds his audience of the eschatological orientation of life, stating that the fountain is not only the fountain of living water, but also eternal life. He returns to the theme of traversing this life, calling on the brethren to spurn things that are seen and to make their passage through the world (transcenso saeculo) while seeking the fount of glory, the fountain of life, the fountain of living water in the higher regions of Heaven like intelligent and wise fish, so that they may drink the living water.154 The sermon closes with Columbanus beseeching merciful God to grant that he might drink from the living stream of the living fount of living water (vivam undam vivi fontis aquae vivae biberem), that he and his audience might know the thing they love (ut sciamus quid amamus), and that they be inspired to say in truth, ‘Show me Him whom my soul has loved, for by love I am wounded’ (indica mihi quem dilexit anima

Instructiones XII.1. This image is used for example in Jer 2:13 and Jn 7:37. 150 Instructiones XIII.1. 151 The image of Christ as the bread sent from Heaven is taken from Jn 6:32–35. 152 Quote from Wisdom of Sirach (Ecclesiasticus) 1:5. 153 Columbanus again directly addresses the audience as fratres a third time in this sermon a few sentences below. Instructiones XIII.2. 154 Instructiones XIII.2. Cf. Jn 4:14. 148 149

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mea, quoniam vulnerata caritate ego sum).155 The themes of love and the eschatological hope of being granted a place with the Lord in Heaven are a fitting conclusion for this series of sermons, which opened in Sermon I with faith as the groundwork on the Christian path to Heaven.

3.c. The Pilgrimage of Life When read together, the sermons of Columbanus reveal a consistent theology concerning man’s place and goals in this life and the relationship between this and the otherworld. This theology is best understood in a monastic context in which the radical call for turning one’s back to the world and setting one’s sights and hopes only on the heavenly kingdom naturally fit with the tradition that began with the Egyptian Desert Fathers.156 In particular, sermons I–X form a logical series in which the themes of monastic living and its goals are treated in a consecutive fashion, beginning with the rudiments of faith and the practical toil of rooting out vices, and then proceeding to the monk’s relationship with the world and the eschatological hope for salvation. Sermons XI–XIII seem to stand out somewhat from the continuity of the rest of the series but the themes of love and the coming judgment also feature largely in them. The aim of the last sermons is to kindle fear in the hearers, in order that they might take heed of what has been said and live accordingly. The two last sermons use metaphors of fire/light and thirst/hunger to poetically express God’s power and the believer’s quest to be filled with it. In the last sermon, Columbanus explains his aims in preaching the series and his targeted audience, stating he is not teaching the perfectly instructed but beginners and tepid persons. He thereby indicates that he is speaking to an audience in need of encouragement and advice on their chosen path, perhaps even including monks with varying degrees of experience of monastic life. Although Columbanus himself calls his teaching theologically unsophisticated, in reality his sermons also contain references to quite complicated theological discussions. The themes running through all the sermons, however, apply to audiences at all levels of learning; their primary aim is to remind hearers of the goal to which their path leads. Thus the sermons are focused at driving home Instructiones XIII.3. Clare Stancliffe has aptly summed up the message of the Columban sermons as revealing ‘a coherent programme to mould sinful humanity into citizens of heaven.’ Stancliffe (2011), 19. 155

156

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the message that the choices made in this world have consequences in the afterlife, and they urge the audience to keep this in mind at all times. This is a fitting message for a monastic context in which monks were expected to dedicate their whole lives to the service of God, hoping thus to secure a place in Heaven. Columbanus repeatedly speaks of this life as a pilgrimage or a journey, and he encourages his audience to live like travellers on the road, keeping their eyes constantly on the goal of the journey instead of lingering on the way or letting anything distract them. Columbanus uses the metaphor of pilgrimage to express the monk’s right attitude to living in this world, referring to pilgrimage as an inner phenomen with no need for actual outer movement. Interpreting pilgrimage as an inner movement like this makes it possible for one to be a pilgrim anywhere and to realise pilgrimage in monastic life without engaging in actual travel. Columbanus himself, of course, travelled extensively. He left his home country behind and lived like an exile among foreign peoples, but this is not the path that he recommends for his own monks. Instead, he seems to promote the idea of monastic stability by alluding to the monk’s path to Heaven as an inner journey.157 Although in his own life Columbanus followed the Irish tradition of leaving one’s home for God, as if in exile, when preaching to his monks he recommends the attitude of one in exile instead of actual exile itself.158 The longing for one’s true home in Heaven can therefore be expressed also in the context of monastic stability as spiritual exile, which involves severing all worldly ties and attachments. According to Victor and Edith Turner, ‘mysticism is an interior pilgrimage’. From this it naturally follows that ‘pilgrimage is exteriorised mysticism’.159 In the life of Columbanus, both of these aspects of pilgrimage – interior and exterior – are combined. For him, the life dedicated to God becomes pilgrimage. Yet, he also left his home in Ireland in order to live in a perpetual state of pilgrimage, physically speaking. In the career of Columbanus, we find exterior pilgrimage as a journey coupled with the interior pilgrimage of spiritual growth. It can, however, be questioned how essential outer movement is to Columbanus’ understanding of the lifelong journey towards God. Although he himself left 157 On the tension between stability and movement in monasticism, see BittonAshkelony (2005), 140ff. (esp.154). See also Constable (1976), 123–46; Dyas (2004), 94–101. 158 The monastic rule of Columbanus promoted stability and rules against going anywhere with complete freedom, Regula monachorum IX. 159 Turner & Turner (1978), 7.

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Ireland and lived in continual exile in foreign nations, he founded several monasteries and only moved when forced to do so by the flocking of unbearable crowds or political exigencies.160 The two monastic rules of Columbanus also bear witness to the ideal of stability, since both instruct that monks should live communally under the discipline of a superior, whose permission should be sought for any journey.161 The life of a pilgrim, which Columbanus urges his audience to undertake, does not therefore involve actual travel. Instead, it is an inner journey and an orientation of life towards God. The pilgrim’s detachment from the world is evident in Columbanus’ statement that ‘the whole world is foreign (alienus) to you who are born and buried bare’.162 Victor and Edith Turner have treated pilgrimage as a liminoid phenomenon, following Arnold van Gennep’s division of the rites of passage into three phases: separation, limen, and aggregation.163 The liminality of pilgrimage means release from mundane structures, which is clearly seen in the sermons of Columbanus when he urges his audience to forgo transitory worldly things and to concentrate on that which is eternal, passing through the world like a pilgrim whose sights are continually set on the goal of the journey.164 Diana Webb has summed up the motivations for pilgrimage, stating: ‘Fundamental to all pilgrimage, medieval and modern, Christian and non-Christian, is an implicit belief in the spiritual value of detachment, if only temporarily, from one’s familiar surroundings in order to seek the holy.’165 Like a pilgrim going to visit a holy site, the monk should thus leave the structures of the mundane world behind, not just temporarily but permanently, in order to encounter the higher reality of the divine. René Gothóni has criticised the Turners’ model by arguing that pilgrimage is not a transition rite, but that it should rather be understood as a process of spiritual transformation.166 The metaphor of pilgrimage in the sermons of Columbanus can also be understood in this light as a transformative journey in which the one that goes is not the same as the See Bullough (1997), 9, 15–17. Regula coenobialis X; Regula monachorum XV. 162 Instructiones III.4. 163 Turner & Turner (1978), 2–3; Van Gennep (1960), 10–11. 164 Instructiones III; Instructiones V. 165 Webb (2010), 459. 166 Gothóni (1993), 184–95. See also Gothóni (1994), 122–33. For more criticism on the Turners’ model, see Bowman (1985), 4–9. 160 161

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one that comes back. By taking up the life of a pilgrim, the life of the monk should ‘become eternal in place of mortal, wise in place of stupid, heavenly in place of earthly’,167 thereby transforming the person into a citizen of Heaven and an angelic being. In hagiographical literature, the goal of monastic life is exemplified by the saints, who are described as leading a heavenly life while still on earth and thus as having already transformed into something other.168 The monk’s detachment from the world may also be expressed by the image of dying to the world. Columbanus exhorts his audience to become dead to carnal lusts so that they have nothing of the world to love.169 Arnold Van Gennep has suggested that the idea of death and rebirth integral to seasonal rituals may also be found in (monastic) vows and pilgrimage.170 The sermons of Columbanus support this conclusion. The concept of transformation integral to Columbanus’ vision of monastic life encompasses notions of death and rebirth. The fact that Columbanus uses pilgrimage as a metaphor for a lifelong endeavour makes death and rebirth even more focal to his understanding of the concept, since commitment to monastic life entails the shedding of the old worldly self and subsequent rebirth as a more spiritual being. When discussing the liminality of pilgrimage, the Turners have also proposed that in monasticism the liminal phase becomes a specialised state involving the entire lives of the deeply devoted.171 Pilgrimage can also be understood as a purificatory process that prepares the pilgrim for his or her encounter with the holy. The ‘purgatorial hardships’ on the path – such as hunger, thirst, fatigue, natural and human dangers, etc. – function as trials that guarantee the redemptive value of the journey.172 When the idea of pilgrimage is extended to include one’s life, the lifelong journey becomes replete with hazards. Indeed, Columbanus speaks of life as warfare, full of toil and dangers, and he encourages monks to ‘force the kingdom of Heaven by strength and violence’.173 The Irish monks played a central role in the development of Instructiones III.2. For a brief discussion of this theme in Irish hagiography, see Ritari (2008), 274–76. 169 Instructiones III.3; Instructiones X.2. 170 Van Gennep (1960), 182. 171 Turner & Turner (1978), 4. 172 Osterrieth (1989), 151–52. 173 Instructiones X.3. See also Instructiones IV; Instructiones VII.2. 167 168

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private penance in Western Christendom, and Columbanus himself is known as the author of a penitential. Therefore, it is natural for him to see monastic pilgrimage as a penitential process of mortifying the will in order to gain heavenly rewards.174 The goal of the pilgrimage gives meaning to the journey, thus transforming the outer transit from one place to another into a spiritual and inner experience. Since the monastic pilgrim’s goal is not to be found in this world but only posthumously in Heaven, his relationship to this world during his years of wandering as an exile is defined by the goal of the journey. This type of pilgrimage is congruent with Alan Morrinis’ category of ‘wandering’ pilgrimage, as found in his typology of pilgrimages based on a pilgrim’s journey and motivations. In the wandering pilgrimages, the pilgrim’s goal ‘need not be located in time and space’.175 In my view, the manner in which Morrinis turns attention to a pilgrim’s motivations instead of shrines visited is laudable, but it can be questioned whether these motivations are ever present in a pure form, rather than always mixed. Secondly, I  would add to Morrinis’ views on the wandering type of pilgrimage the corrective that if pilgrimage is understood as a transformative journey in which the journey itself is important, instead of the goal, the goal can be interpreted as inner transformation – i.e. the pilgrimage’s effect on the pilgrim – thus making it predetermined in the wandering type pilgrimage. At least in the case of the medieval Christian pilgrimage of the wandering type, the goal is predetermined, albeit not on the geographical plane but in both the inner and the spiritual. Geography in this case is not limited to this world but also includes the supernatural sphere, and thus the goal can be located there. Columbanus himself explicates on this, saying: Then, lest we be concerned with human things, let us concern ourselves with things divine, and as pilgrims (quasi peregrine) ever sigh for and desire our homeland; for the end of the road is ever the object of travellers’ (viatoribus) hopes and desires, and thus, since we are travellers and pilgrims (viatores et peregrini) in the world, let us ever ponder on the end of the road, that is of our life, for the end of the roadway is our home.176

Instructiones IV; Instructiones XII. The other types of pilgrimage in Morrinis’ typology are devotional, instrumental, normative, obligatory, and initiatory. Morrinis (1992), 10–14, esp. p. 13. 176 Instructiones viii (Walker 1957: 96–97). 174

175

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The desire or need for something lacking in the present life, expressed by Columbanus in the aforementioned quote, is an essential factor in pilgrimage. Anne Osterrieth has defined pilgrimage as a quest – ‘a cognitive and behavioural process involving a redefinition of one’s identity and place in the world’. According to her, the quest is motivated by a feeling of deficiency felt on the part of the subject, which can be solved by an object – in the case of Christianity, the object being God’s grace.177 This applies also to the pilgrimage of monastic life as presented by Columbanus, the only difference being that the quest encompasses the whole life of the subject. The monastic pilgrim should set all his hopes and desires on one goal, which gives meaning to the journey itself. Thus the journey of the pilgrim can be understood to be both transcendent and teleological. If pilgrimage is understood as a lifelong journey towards God, the role of return  – one of the essential parts of pilgrimage as defined by Victor and Edith Turner – can be questioned. According to the Turners, pilgrimage forms an ellipse: psychologically the return is different from the approach, even if the pilgrim returns the same way.178 In Columbanus’ conception of pilgrimage as a lifelong journey of inner transformation, the goal of the journey – the heavenly home – is at the same time also the place of return: the pilgrim attains the angelic state and thus returns to the prelapsarian state of paradisiacal harmony, even surpassing it by attaining union with God.  Thus the goal of journey and the place of return merge into one. The feelings of exile and alienation felt by the monastic pilgrim are consequences of the Fall. This breach in the human/God relationship introduced sin to the world and the mortal state of the man ensued from it.179 Monastic life can be understood as an attempt to recover the right relationship between man and God through moral transformation and spiritual growth. Therefore, pilgrimage is an apt metaphor for the human condition on earth. When the whole life of the monk becomes 177 Osterrieth (1997), 26–27. F. C. Gardiner also stresses the salience of desire to the image of pilgrimage, although his approach is more literary and historical than anthropological or theoretical. See F. C. Gardiner (1971), 12–20. 178 Turner & Turner (1978), 22–23. On the role of return in Augustine’s understanding of life as a pilgrimage, see Claussen (1991), 71–73. 179 In Instructiones V.1, Columbanus explicitly names the Fall as the reason for the mortal state of man: ‘You are the roadway of mortals, not their life, beginning from sin, enduring up till death; for you would be true, if you had not been cut short by the sin of man’s first transgression, and then you became ready to fall and mortal, in that you have allotted your travellers to death.’

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a pilgrimage, he passes through the world as a stranger and a traveller without any attachment to transitory things; his eyes are constantly set on that which is eternal and immutable. Columbanus invites his audience to see the world around them as the creation and thereby to learn about the power behind it all – i.e. the Creator.180 Worldly things thus have significance only to the extent that they bear relation to the true reality of God. This life becomes nothing more than time spent ‘on pilgrimage from the Lord’ (peregrinemur a Domino), leading to the restoration of a state that has been lost.181

Instructiones I.4–5. Instructiones IV.3. This is a quote from 2 Cor 5:6.

180 181

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4. MONKS OUT ON THE SEA IN SEARCH OF HEAVEN: NAVIGATIO SANCTI BRENDANI

Seafarer: ‘Let us think where we have our home, and then consider how we may go there; and we shall then labour also, so that we may go there into that eternal blessedness, where the source of life is in love of the Lord, bliss in the heavens.’1

4.a. The Sea as Desert While in his sermons Columbanus advocates pilgrimage as an inner experience of encountering the holy, in the medieval bestseller Navigatio sancti Brendani (The Voyage of St Brendan), when the monks set forth on the sea in search of the earthly paradise, movement within is mirrored by movement in the outer world. Furthermore, while Columbanus was somewhat reticent to engage with earthly things, in the Navigatio we find an appreciation of the wonders of the ocean as a means of reaching the transcendent.2 The journey on the sea undertaken by Saint Brendan and his monks in the Navigatio symbolises the monastic jour The Seafarer, lines 117–23. Leslie (1983), 117. This positive attitude towards creation in the Navigatio is highlighted in ­Patricia  M. Rumsey’s study; see Rumsey (2007). Rumsey juxtaposes the positive attitude of monks towards time and the creation in the Navigatio with the attitudes of the monastic reform movement, Céli Dé, which she presents in an overtly negative way. For further discussion, see my review of Rumsey’s book in Ritari (2011–12), 349–51. On the spirituality and the aspect of reform in the Céli Dé -movement, see Follett (2006), 89–99. 1 2

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ney to Heaven, as I will demonstrate in this chapter, and thus it can also be understood in the light of peregrinatio as a life-long monastic journey. In early Christian mysticism, the desert is a place of retreat and contemplation where one can encounter God.3 In early Irish tradition, the sea with its islands plays the role of the desert as the location of the mystical quest for union with God.4 In the Navigatio, the symbolism of the ocean is crucial for understanding the monastic peregrinatio to Heaven. By setting out on the sea, the seekers were quite literally placing their faith – and their fate – in the hands of the Lord of the elements, since survival on the ocean and on the remote and barren islands was always precarious. The spiritual aim of the quest was realised on the material plane in the form of an earthly paradise located at sea (and not necessarily very far from Ireland).5 Such a retreat also meant a withdrawal from worldly distractions, thus enabling uninterrupted contemplation and service of God in an even more intense way than could be accomplished in a monastic environment. The linking of maritime images of setting out on the sea with the theme of pilgrimage towards Heaven is quite natural for people living on an island, and it is by no means unique to the Irish author of the Navigatio. As has been demonstrated by numerous scholars, the motif of peregrinatio underlines the Old English poem The Seafarer, which was quoted at the beginning of this chapter.6

3 On the idealised imaginary landscape of the desert in early Christianity, see Goehring (2005), 136–49; Goehring (1993), 281–96. On the Irish symbolism of the desert, see Emmons (2010). 4 In his excellent article on the Christian symbolism of ocean and desert, Bernard McGinn predominantly treats the two as separate motifs. To my mind, however, in the Irish tradition the ocean borrows much of the symbolism of the desert, to the extent that the two are integrated. McGinn mentions in passing that in Northern Europe the desert usually meant any solitary place, such as an island on the sea (p. 161), but he does not discuss in any detail what this means for the wider symbolism of the ocean itself. McGinn (1994), 155–81. 5 On the geographical location of the earthly paradise in Hiberno-Latin literature, see Wooding (2014). I wish to thank Prof. Wooding for providing me with a copy of this article prior to its publication. 6 The similarities between the Old English poem The Seafarer and the Irish traditions of peregrinatio have been discussed, for example, in Ireland (1991), 143–56; Leslie (1983), 96–122; Whitelock (1950), 261–72. On eschatology in Old English literature in general, see Gatch (1991).

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Monks out on the Sea in Search of Heaven

In Classical and Early Christian symbolism, the ocean signified the limits of the known world, with Ireland being located at its edge.7 Islands (including Ireland) therefore had a special place in providential history as the furthermost places where the message of salvation would reach before the fulfilment of the biblical prophecy in Matthew 24:14, ‘And this gospel of the kingdom will be preached in the whole world as a testimony to all nations, and then the end will come.’8 The ocean additionally meant the unknown, the abode of monsters and dangerous creatures, further accentuating the dangers of embarking there with only the succor of God. Despite its imaginative aspects, the story of the Navigatio is solidly anchored in historical reality.9 In his seventh-century Vita Columbae, for example, Adomnán mentions a total of four monastic sea voyages undertaken by two different persons in search of a desertum or a herimum in the ocean.10 The Irish geographer Dicuil, one of the emigrant scholars working at the Frankish court in the late eighth and early ninth centuries, also tells of Irish hermits who had been living on the islands north of Britain but had recently been banished from there by Northmen.11 The inspiration for the Navigatio and other tales of monastic sea voyages thus came from real monastic sea voyages undertaken in search of ‘a desert in the ocean’ by Irish monks, who ended up settling in the Faroe Islands, Iceland and possibly even Greenland before being expelled by Vikings. The impetus for such voyages  – both historical and literary  – was spiritual.12 It was inspired by the Lord’s command in Genesis 12:1 to Abraham to ‘go from your country, your people and your father’s household to the land I will show you’, which opened the exordium in the BethaCC and featured also in the Life of Columbanus written by Jonas as discussed in chapters 2 and 3. In the Navigatio, the goal of the monks’ quest is the terra repromissionis sanctorum, ‘the promised land of the saints’, the earthly paradise to which God will lead the saints. 7 See, for example, Scully (2007), 211–19; Scully (2011), 3–15; O’Loughlin (2007), 143–60. 8 See, for example, O’Reilly (2005), 119–45; O’Loughlin (2000b), 49–55. 9 See Wooding (2000b), 226–45. 10 VC i.6, i.20, ii.42. For further discussion of these episodes, see Follett (2007), 4–26; Scully (2007); MacDonald (2011), 191–203; Tipp & Wooding (2010), 237–52. See also Herbert (1999), 182–89; Thrall (1923), 15–21. 11 Liber de mensura orbis terrae VII.15. See also McCone (2000), 97–99. 12 On the motivation of peregrinatio, see Charles-Edwards (1975).

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Just as the Lord guided the people of Israel through the desert, this time it is the monks who are travelling through the desert of the sea with the Lord as their guide. Wandering through the desert can moreover be seen as a trial that tests the seeker’s faith in God and makes him ready to encounter the holy. In the New Testament, the journey of the faithful towards the promised land of God acquired a spiritual meaning as the passage through life towards the heavenly kingdom. In the sermons of Columbanus discussed in the previous chapter, this pilgrimage through life with all of its trials became the central image for monks being guided on their journey towards Heaven. Being set adrift on the sea was used in early Irish law as a punishment.13 In a religious context, however, this punishment was interpreted as a penitential exercise that was either undertaken for the expiation of past sins or voluntarily, following the example of the Desert Fathers who sought God in remote places. In either case, the fate of the person put to sea was left in the hands of God. Muirchú’s seventh-century Vita Patricii, for example, tells the story of the brigand MacCuill, who repented of his past deeds by submitting to the judgment of God – as commanded by Patrick  – and was finally blown to the Isle of Man, where he eventually became a bishop.14 Moreover, the entry of AngloSaxon Chronicle for 891 mentions three Irishmen who arrived at King Alfred’s court after setting out to sea without oars, wishing ‘for the love of God to be in exile’.15 In the first example, the trials of the sea voyage were a penitential exercise that cleansed MacCuill of his past sins, while, in the second, the exilic pilgrimage of the monks can be interpreted as a test of faith and an attempt to draw nearer to God by voluntarily submitting to penance.16

M. E. Byrne (1931), 97–102. Vita Patricii i.23. 15 English Historical Documents 1, ed. Dorothy Whitelock. 16 In his discussion of the Immrama, Thomas Owen Clancy has argued that the transformation of a sinner by penance lies at the heart of these tales of sea voyages in which the protagonists are laymen. Clancy (2000), 194–225. The monastic sea voyage with the holy man as the protagonist can, however, also be interpreted within an ascetical kind of penitential framework. 13

14

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4.b. The Navigatio sancti Brendani as an Allegory of the Monastic Quest for Heaven With good reason, the Navigatio sancti Brendani can be called a medieval bestseller.17 The story survives in approximately 125 manuscripts, as numerous translations and reworkings of the texts were produced during the Middle Ages in several vernacular languages, including Dutch, German, Venetian, Occitan, Catalan, Norse, and English.18 The popularity of the Navigatio can be ascribed not only to its colourful content and allure as a fantastic tale, but also to its message about the road to Heaven being pertinent to all Christians, especially those in a monastic context. The monastic credentials of the Navigatio have been well established by earlier research. Thomas O’Loughlin has concluded, for example, that ‘the Navigatio is a rich and complex lesson on the monastic life’.19 Dorothy Ann Bray states: ‘Encoded in the text is an important ecclesiastical message regarding monasticism and religious life.’20 The journey of the monks in the Navigatio is organised around the ecclesiastical year and the liturgical cycle of the monastic day, thus establishing it as an allegory of monastic life, even at a structural level.21 There is no scholarly consensus regarding the origins and the dating of the Navigatio. The relationship between the Navigatio and the Latin and Irish versions of Brendan’s Life, and that between the Navigatio and the Irish tales of sea journeys known as immrama, remain a matter of debate.22 The earliest surviving manuscripts of the Navigatio date from the tenth century. Carl Selmer has suggested that they derive from an urtext produced in one of the Irish centres of Lotharingia in the early tenth century,23 but James Carney has disagreed with this dating in his review of Selmer’s edition, suggesting that the early tenth century was only the date of its introduction to Lotharingia from Ireland, where it The popularity of St Brendan is also attested by the widespread dedication of sites to him in the British Isles and beyond, such as in Brittany. On the spread of Brendan’s cult, see Wooding (2009), 180–204. 18 For English translations of some of these versions, see Barron & Burgess (2002). On the manuscripts, see Selmer (1959), xxvi–l; Selmer (1949), 177–82. 19 O’Loughlin (1999), 17. 20 Bray (1995), 1. See also J. D. Anderson (1988), 315–22; Bourgeault (1983), 109–21. 21 On the liturgy in the Navigatio, see O’Loughlin (2006), 113–26; Rumsey (2007), 127–95. 22 On the voyage genre and the Navigatio, see Wooding (2000a), xi–xxiv. 23 Selmer (1959), xxviii–xxxi. See also Hennig (1952), 397–402. 17

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was written perhaps around 800.24 Michaela Zelzer, who is preparing a new edition, has also supported the Contintental origin of the extant text, proposing that it was compiled from an early Latin version of Irish provenance in the Frankish empire during the Carolingian period.25 In addition to the philological arguments – on which I am in no position to comment, not being a linguist – Zelzer also points out some specific features of the story itself that appear to support a Continental origin.26 In her opinion, the Navigatio contains some Benedictine characteristics, including Brendan’s consultation with his brethren before preparing for the voyage, the avoidance of continuing meals after dark, the strictly observed silence of Ailbe’s ‘family’ and the ceremonious way in which they receive Brendan and his monks. As further indications of the text’s Continental provenance, she furthermore cites the text’s concentration on standard coenobitic life, rather than that of hermits, as well as its emphasis on liturgy. I fail to see how any of these features are specifically Benedictine or Continental and could not equally apply to an Irish monastic environment. For example, Zelzer argues that an Irishman with actual experience of voyaging on the North Atlantic would not plan the journey on the basis of the liturgical year, but rather on the climatic conditions it takes to sail from place to place. However, since liturgy offered the pattern for monastic observances in Ireland and the Navigatio is an allegory of monastic life, albeit one probably based on historical journeys made by Irish monks, I cannot find any support for Zelzer’s argument on this point. In his discussion of the provenance of the Navigatio, Giovanni Orlandi comes to the conclusion that it was written in Ireland in the first half of the ninth century, citing the reference in the text to the persecutions of Christians, which he has interpreted in terms of Viking attacks.27 David Dumville, on the other hand, has rejected Orlandi’s arguments, proposing a revised dating of before 786, based on the political realities of Ireland and a reference to the location of Brendan’s family in Munster.28 Jonathan Wooding has placed the writing of the Navigatio in the context of actual Irish sea-voyaging and, in particular, Irish anchorites settling on the Faroes, which would suggest a date between the 26 27 28 24 25

Carney (1963), 46. Zelzer (2006), 337–50. Zelzer (2006), 338–40. Orlandi (1968), 72–73. See also Orlandi (2006), 223–28. Dumville (1988), 87–102.

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mid-eighth century and early ninth century.29 The historical frame of reference provided by Wooding seems the most logical to me, and therefore I agree with his location of the work in the context of Irish clerical sea voyages in the late eighth century. Dumville’s arguments for the externally datable details in the story provide further support for the dating of the Navigatio around the mid-eighth century or soon thereafter. The Vita Brendani (Life of St Brendan) survives in seven versions, five of which are in Latin and two in Irish.30 All except two have been conflated in various ways with the more popular tradition of the Navigatio, thus producing a hybrid story in which some of the Navigatio episodes are superimposed, perhaps replacing voyage material that was native to the Vita tradition; furthermore, the sea voyage was divided into two separate journeys. All of the versions of the Vita vary in length and content, making it difficult to determine its original form. There is no consensus regarding the dating of the Vita, but it has been suggested that the author of the Navigatio drew on some of the Vita or Vita-type material, thus making the original Vita – or at least some traditions included in it – earlier than the Navigatio.31 Another debate surrounds the relationship between the Navigatio and the Irish literary genre known as immrama, literally ‘rowing about’.32 Like the Navigatio, the immrama also tell of sea voyages and adventures to wondrous islands, although these are not necessarily engaged in for religious reasons and include laymen as protagonists. Both the Navigatio and the immarama seem to be derived from the same tradition, which was probably influenced by both native storytelling and tales of historical sea voyages. Of the four existing immrama, the Immram Curaig Máele Dúin (Voyage of Máel Dúin) has been seen as bearing the closest relationship to the Navigatio.33 In this case, it is the Wooding (2002), 18–19; ibid. (2011), 15–26. For a list of the versions and their contents, see Strijbosch (2000), 131–43, 278– 82; Mac Mathúna (1994b), 315–57, 318–37; Orlandi (1968), 9–41. On the Irish Lives, see also Mac Mathúna (2006), 117–58; Bray (1985), 14–20. 31 On the relationship between the Navigatio and the Vita, see Strijbosch (2000), 132–42; Mac Mathúna (1994b), 318–37; Orlandi (1968), 43–73. 32 On the immrama, see Dumville (1976), 73–94; Mac Mathúna (1996), 247–62; Hillers (1993), 66–81; T. O. Clancy (2000), 194–225. 33 On the relationship between the Navigatio and the immrama, see, for example, Strijbosch (2000), 143–65; T. O. Clancy (2000), 203–9; Mac Mathúna (1994b), 337– 41; Carney (1963), 46–51; Thrall (1923), 15–21; Orlandi (1968), 75–97; Bieler (1976), 91–92. 29 30

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Navigatio that appears to have precedence, and James Carney has argued that the Voyage of Máel Dúin is ‘largely a secular imitation’ of the Navigatio.34 Besides giving literary inspiration to the story of Máel Dúin, and perhaps also other immrama, the Navigatio was a source of inspiration for real sea voyages. St Brendan’s island was located on many maps as late as the eighteenth century, and the supposed existence of St Brendan’s island somewhere close to the Canaries exerted influence even on Christopher Columbus.35 Attempts have also been made to correlate some of the islands visited by Brendan and his companions with real locations, such as the Faroes and Iceland, in order to provide support for claims that Brendan or other seafaring Irish monks crossed the Atlantic via the northern stepping-stone route, thus pre-dating the Viking trips to the American continent.36 This theory even inspired Tim Severin to undertake the hazardous journey of crossing the Atlantic in a skin-covered coracle in the 1970s, following the alleged route of St Brendan.37 In any case, it is not the physical journey that is the real focus of the Navigatio, but the inner story of the protagonist, the spiritual pilgrimage towards Heaven.38 Brendan’s journey of seven years is cyclical, taking him to the same locations every year to celebrate the great festivals of the Christian calendar. It is not a linear journey from place A to place B, but a cyclical journey. Each cycle does not Brendan and his monks any closer towards a goal on the physical plane, since the perceived movement is spiritual rather than geographical. The goal of the journey is located in the other world, on the spiritual plane, rather than this world. The outer journey is thus just a symbol for movement within. In their little coracle, Brendan and his monks represent a monastic community on a common journey towards the goal of monastic life – i.e. Heaven. Therefore, the relationship between the inner and the outer journeys and the metaphor 34 Carney (1963), 47. See also Mac Mathúna (1994b), 341 n. 56. Clara Strijbosch, however, has argued that the author of the Navigatio borrowed certain elements from a possible proto-Immram Curaig Máele Dúin. See Strijbosch (2000), 147 for discussion of the relationship of the two texts; see also Strijbosch (2000), 129–31, 142, 157–65. 35 Burgess (2002), 8–11. 36 Wooding (2000b), 226–45. 37 Severin (1978). For discussion, see O’Meara (2000), 109–12. The fact that Severin was able to complete this journey with a boat built with materials available in the Middle Ages does not, of course, prove that medieval Irish monks did it, even if it had been possible. 38 See, for example, J. D. Anderson (1988), 316–17; Aguirre (1990), 204–7.

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of pilgrimage guide this interpretation of the Navigatio as a monastic tale. The story opens with the introduction of the protagonist, namely, Sanctus Brendanus, filius Finlocha, nepotis Althi de genere Eogeni, thus placing his descent in the line of Eoganacht of Munster.39 Brendan is furthermore introduced as vir magne abstinencie et in virtutibus clarus, tre milium fere monachorum pater,40 a saintly man and a monastic father, already at the beginning of the Navigatio. His monastic credentials are even more firmly established by means of his geographical location: he is said to be engaged in suo certamine, ‘in his struggle’, in a place called saltus virtutis, meaning the monastery of Cluain Fearta (Clonfert) in the west of Ireland with which Brendan is associated. The monk’s struggle, or certamen, is moreover the ‘good fight’ of 2 Timothy 4:7, which is rewarded by the ‘crown of righteousness’ at the Day of Judgment.41 In the writings of John Cassian, for example, the term is used to refer to the struggle of monks against vices when they are referred to as athletes and soldiers of Christ engaged in a contest or a battle.42 Brendan is visited in Clonfert by a monastic father named Barrind. When Brendan asks him to tell of ‘the many wonders’ he has seen in the ocean (Navigatio 1), Barrind begins to describe an island on which one of his monastic sons, Mernóc, identified as procurator pauperum Christi, ‘steward of the poor of Christ’, had settled with other monks. Mernóc’s motivation for leaving Barrind’s community in the first place is explained as his wish to lead the life of a solitary (voluit se esse solitarium). In Mernóc’s case, the ‘solitary’ life does not seem to have been impacted by the fact that he was not living on the island on his own. Navigatio 1. On Saint Brendan and his genealogy, see Ó Riain (2011), 115–17. Navigatio 1: ‘a man of great abstinence and illustrious in virtues, father of nearly three thousand monks’. The translations of the Navigatio are my own, based on O’Meara, unless otherwise stated. The word virtus could here either refer to the moral virtues or miracles of the saint. In hagiography, the plural, virtute, is often used in the sense of ‘acts of power’ or ‘mighty works’ (as in O’Meara’s translation) in order to refer to saintly miracles realised through the power of God. In the case of Navigatio, the translation ‘virtues’ may be more apt, since Brendan is not represented as a wonderworker in the text and the emphasis is more on his virtues, first and foremost being his unwavering faith in God. 41 2 Tim 4:7–8: ‘I have fought the good fight (bonum certamen certavi); I have finished the race; I have kept the faith. Now there is in store for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day – and not only to me, but also to all who have longed for his appearing.’ 42 See, for example, Institutes 5.3, 5.13, 5.17; Collationes ii.11, v.14, v.26. See also Ogliari (2003), esp.150. 39

40

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Indeed, a community of monks was found there, as is evident from the description of monastic brothers swarming to the shore ‘like bees’ (sicut examen apum) to meet Barrind on his arrival. Mernóc’s island is described as being a three-day journey away from Slieve League, and it is called insula deliciosa, the ‘Delightful Island’. The size of the island was measured when Barrind walked around it in a day. It was not a supernatural location, but firmly rooted in this reality. And yet it housed an ideal community of monks living ‘in concord’ (unanimiter), guided by the three theological virtues of faith, hope and charity. In the fashion of many Irish monastic communities, their housing was scattered, with each monk residing in his own cell or sharing one with a few other monks. The monks would come together for supper and the divine office, just like the members of the original eremitical communities of the Egyptian desert.43 Mernóc’s monks, who lived on a meagre diet of raw food consisting of fruit, nuts, roots and other greens, prefigure the even more holy and otherworldly community of Ailbe, sustained only by loaves of bread that are sent daily by supernatural means, and Paul the Hermit, able to survive sixty years on well water (Navigatio 12 & 26). The author’s great interest in food – as well as lack of it – is evident already in the opening chapter of the work.44 The next day, Mernóc guided Barrind to the western shore of the island, where they embarked in a boat to sail to the West. According to Mernóc, in this direction is located terra repromissionis sanctorum, ‘the Promised Land of the Saints’, which God has prepared for those who will come after in the last days (Navigatio 1). The two monks sailed for about an hour through an inpenetrable fog until there appeared before them a wide land, green with grass and fruit trees. They walked for fifteen days around the paradisiacal island without finding the other shore, and then they came to a river that divided the island in half. When they decided to stop and wait there for God’s guidance on how to proceed, a man appeared on the opposite shore. He congratulated Mernóc and Barrind on being revealed this island, which the Lord will give to his saints, but told them that they could not continue further. The privilege of being shown the island marks Mernóc and Barrind as holy themselves, but since they still belonged to this world they had to return where they came from. Their mysterious guide moreover revealed that they had already spent a 43 On the layout of Irish monastic housing, see Herity (1983), 257–59; Bitel (1990), 74–79. On the housing of monks in Egyptian eremitical communities, see Dunn (2000), 30; Harmless (2004), 120, 125, 128–29, 175–78. 44 On this aspect of the Navigatio, see Wooding (2003), 161–76.

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year on the island, even though night had not fallen during their entire time there. In this way, the location of the island is established to be in the otherworld, where time flows differently.45 The fact that the monks did not feel any need for bodily nourishment or rest while on the island is intended to signal to the audience that they have been enjoying the heavenly state, for this island with precious stones and Lord Jesus as its light is clearly the earthly paradise modelled on the heavenly Jerusalem.46 On their return to Mernóc’s community, Barrind told the monks that they are living ante portam paradisi, ‘at the gate of the paradise’, a location that is close to the terra repromissionis sanctorum and characterised by a lack of night and guarded by an angel of the Lord (Navigatio 1). Proof of their visit to this otherworldly location was offered by the fragrance that still perfumed their clothes. When Brendan and his brethren are told this story by Barrind, they prostrate themselves, praising the Lord who ‘has revealed his servants such great wonders and blessed with his gifts, for he has refreshed us today with such spiritual foretaste’.47 Barrind’s experience is thus established as a preview of Heaven revealed by God to his faithful servants. Its telling functions as an encouragement for the monks of this world, who are toiling towards the same goal and in the same way as those saints whose virtues have secured themselves a place in the heavenly kingdom – and are used as models, leading the way for others to follow. Inspired by Barrind’s tale, Brendan gathers fourteen chosen brothers of his community to an oratory, addressing them as his conbellatores, his companions on the fight for Heaven, and asks their opinion about his fervent wish to go and seek the terra repromissionis sanctorum, if it is God’s will (Navigatio 2). Like the good monks they are, the brethren submit to the inclination of their father, reminding Brendan that they have already left their parents and inheritances behind. Having given their lives into Brendan’s hands, they are prepared to follow him into death or life. The monks are referring here to Christ’s promise in Matthew 19:29 and Mark 10:29, that by leaving one’s family and fields behind for His sake, one can gain eternal rewards. In this way, Brendan 45 For discussion on the temporal relationship between this and the other worlds in early Irish literature, see Carey (1986–87), 7–12. 46 The guide states, ‘Dominus noster Jesus Christus lux ipsius est’, paraphrasing Apoc 21:23, lucerna eius est agnus. On this motif, see O’Loughlin (2000a), 193–96. 47 Navigatio 1: quia revelavit servis suis tanta ac talia mirabilia, et benedictus in donis suis, quia nos hodie refecit de tali gustu spiritali.

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as abbot is framed as a Christ-like figure to whom the monks pay their obedience, turning their backs on the world in order to be rewarded in the afterlife. Brendan and his companions prepare for the journey by a purificatory process of fasting for forty days (Navigatio 3), although the duration is slightly modified by being broken into three-day periods. After settling the affairs of the monastery and delegating them to his successor, Brendan is ready to set out westwards with his fourteen companions. First they head to the island of a holy father named Enda, with whom they stay for three days and nights. After the visit to Enda, Brendan and his companions proceed to a distant part of Brendan’s native region, where they set to building three wood-framed boats covered with hides and provisioning them with supplies for forty days.48 When they are there, three brothers from Brendan’s community arrive, expressing their fervent wish to join the expedition (Navigatio 5). They profess their decision to be pilgrims (peregrinari) for the rest of their days, thus indicating that Brendan’s voyage should also be understood within the framework of a peregrinatio. As Brendan and his companions are a symbol of a monastic community, their journey is expressed in the same terms as the lifelong pilgrimage of monastic life. Brendan admits the extra passengers, revealing their destinies: one will be positive, while the two others will meet a less desirable fate.49 Brendan and the seventeen monks then set out, sailing under favourable winds for fifteen days. The winds fail, however, and the monks are left to drift (Navigatio 6). When the monks begin to get worried, Brendan wisely advises them to trust in God, who is their ‘sailor, helmsman and pilot’ (nautor et gubernator atque gubernat).50 The author’s choice of terminology may draw from 1 Corinthians 12:28, in which St Paul names gubernationes, ‘guidance’, as one of the gifts that God has given for the government of the Church. If this is the case, this may imply that Brendan and his companions should be understood as symbol-

On the symbolism of the hide-covered boats, see Wooding (2001), 77–92. The motif of supernumeraries is also known in the immrama tales, which also share with the Navigatio the theme of them being lost in various ways during the journey. For a discussion, see Strijbosch (2000), 149–63. 50 Brendan is here perhaps following the example of St Paul, who advised his fellow sailors to trust in God to take them safely to their destination when they were driven for days by a storm with nothing to eat. See Act 27:13–44. 48 49

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ising the Church.51 In the deuterocanonical Wisdom of Solomon 14:3 and 14:6, this term is also used in conjunction with a nautical metaphor, when God is named as the governor of the seas. Wisdom of Solomon 14:1. Again, one preparing to sail and about to voyage over raging waves calls upon a piece of wood more fragile than the ship which carries him. [2] For it was desire for gain that planned that vessel, and wisdom was the craftsman who built it; [3] but it is thy providence, O Father, that steers its course (tua autem pater gubernat providentia), because thou hast given it a path in the sea, and a safe way through the waves, [4] showing that thou canst save from every danger, so that even if a man lacks skill, he may put to sea. [5] It is thy will that works of thy wisdom should not be without effect; therefore men trust their lives even to the smallest piece of wood, and passing through the billows on a raft they come safely to land. [6] For even in the beginning, when arrogant giants were perishing, the hope of the world took refuge on a raft, and guided by thy hand (quae manu tua erat gubernata) left to the world the seed of a new generation. [7] For blessed is the wood by which righteousness comes.52

In early Christianity, both in words and in images, the Church came to be likened to a ship (as in Noah’s Ark) with Christ as its helmsman, and it is this use of the term gubernator that informs Navigatio 6.53 This image of the Church as the ship guided by God further strengthens the interpretation that Brendan and his fellow travellers represent the monastic community on a combined journey – inner and outer – towards Heaven. After floating for forty days, by which time they have run out of provisions, they see a rocky island with high cliffs that offer no way of landing (Navigatio 6). Once again Brendan gives his counsel, telling the impatient and hungry monks that they must wait three more days, as it is not God’s wish for them to land yet. At the appointed 51 The word gubernatione is used in this sense also by the fifth-century author Salvian in the title of his work De gubernatione Dei, in which he tries to prove God’s constant guidance despite the disturbances of his own time. 52 Translation from Revised Standard Version of the Bible, http://quod.lib. umich.edu/cgi/r/rsv/rsv-idx?type=DIV1&byte=3905445. 53 Beyer (1966), 1035–7.

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time, at three o’clock in the afternoon, they see an opening which allows them to land. A dog runs to meet them, as if to be their guide. Following the animal, they come to a great hall with beds and chairs and water for washing their feet. The weary travellers are refreshed by a meal of bread and fish that awaits them. Brendan blesses the meal, qui dat escam omni carni, confitemini Deo celi,54 thus stressing that he and his monks are still leading a mortal life and are bound by the needs of the flesh. In this he is perhaps following Psalm 117, which opens with Confitemini Domino quoniam bonus quoniam in saeculum ­misericordia eius.55 The miraculous provision of food at suitable intervals during the journey is a narrative illustration of the biblical passage of Matthew 6:31–34: So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

In their own way, Brendan and his companions are fulfilling the biblical command of seeking the Kingdom of God. Meanwhile, Brendan is also teaching his monks the lesson of trusting God to provide them in the hour of need, both when they are hungry and in danger. The message of the Navigatio to its monastic audience thus concerns faith and trust in God, which are rewarded in Heaven. After three days and three nights of enjoying the hospitality of the deserted hall, it is time for Brendan and his monks to set out again (Navigatio 7). On leaving the island, Brendan warns the monks against taking anything with them. The monks reply that they would not profane their journey with a theft, suggesting that such a misdemeanour would be a violation of the holiness of their undertaking.56 Brendan knows better, however. He commands his monks to look at one of the brethren who joined the expedition late and has stolen a silver bridle – given to him by the Devil, who had appeared at night in the form of an Ethiopian child. Aside from being the actual object that was stolen, the bridle Navigatio 6: ‘Declare the God of Heaven, who gives food to all flesh’. In English Ps 118:1, ‘Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; his love endures forever.’ 56 Navigatio 7: Absit, pater, ut aliquid furti violet iter nostrum. 54 55

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may symbolise the Devil’s act of leading the monk astray. The temporal setting of the episode is the time before Easter, i.e. that of the Lent, and thus a suitable time for temptation and testing. On being caught out, the repentant monk falls at Brendan’s feet, readily admitting his crime, asking for forgiveness and for the holy man to pray for his soul so that it will be saved.57 As a result of all the monks joining in communal prayer for him, a small Ethiopian jumps from the thief ’s bosom, complaining in a loud voice about being exorcised from his dwelling where he has lived for the past seven years. Brendan then announces that the monk should receive the Holy Eucharist, as his soul is about to depart his body, which will be buried on the island. The heartfelt repentance of the monk guarantees him a happy ending. He is welcomed by angels of light at his death, showing that he is bound for Heaven. His destiny is contrasted with another of the latecomers, who – as Brendan discloses to his companions – will end up in Hell. The motif of the Devil appearing in the form of an Ethiopian is also found elsewhere. As black was commonly held to be the colour of evil, the dark demeanour of the Ethiopians suggested a connection between them and sinfulness, which eventually led to demons sometimes being represented as Ethiopians.58 For example, in the Historia monachorum in Aegypto from the 390s, translated from Greek into Latin by Rufinus in the first decade of the fifth century, a holy man named Apollo is freed from the sin of arrogance when he pulls out of his neck a demon that looks like a tiny Ethiopian (quasi parvulum quemdam Aethiopem).59 In the collections of the wisdom of the Desert Fathers, which are titled Apophthegmata patrum in Greek and known in the West under the Latin name Verba seniorum as the sixth-century translations of John the Deacon and Pelagius, a hermit is troubled by lustful thoughts, which are caused by arrows shot at him by an Ethiopian demon.60 David Brakke has argued that in the tales of the Desert Fathers, Ethiopian demons specifically represent the presence of sexual sins. However, in the Navigatio episode – as well as in stories about the departure of the soul, where this motif is common – black Ethiopians seem to be representations of Navigatio 7: Peccavi, pater, ignosce. Ora pro anima mea, ne pereat. On the connection between the colour of the Ethiopians and demons, see ­Brakke (2001), 507–12; Brakke (2006), 157–81. For some parallels of demons represented as Ethiopians in literature on the Desert Fathers, see Fagnoni (2006), 67. 59 Historia monachorum vii (in translation viii.4). 60 Verba seniorum v.4 (PL 73.874). 57

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sinfulness in general, and no specific suggestion of sexuality is found.61 In the Navigatio, the sin induced by the demon is theft, which however has to do with lust for material things albeit not in a sexual manner. Similar stories of demonic possession are also common in hagiographical literature in which the saint’s power to detect and expel demons are at the centre of the narrative. The possibly early eighth-century Vita prima of St Brigit, for example, tells two stories of the saint’s encounters with demons. In the first one, the saint discovers a demon sitting on a serving dish at the house of a holy virgin, who is also named Brigit. The demon reveals that his presence was made possible by the laziness of another virgin, the maid who served the food. The evil spirit is finally expelled when the saint makes the sign of the cross. In the second story, a demon flees from a possessed man, having been driven out by the holiness of the approaching saint.62 In the Navigatio story, the demon is an active agent who has led the monk into sin, contrary to the more passive demon in the first of the brigidine examples, in which the preexisting laziness of the virgin maidservant was what allowed the demon to appear. Demons play an active role in the tales of the Desert Fathers, however. Residing in the wilderness, they try to seduce the hermits into sinful thoughts and deeds by presenting them with lascivious images and taking the form of monsters and grotesque beasts to terrify them.63 As the monks leave the island, a youth appears with provisions that will sustain them until Easter (Navigatio 8). On Maundy Thursday, they arrive at another island inhabited by wonderful, white sheep (Navigatio 9).64 Choosing a spotless lamb to sacrifice, the monks celebrate the

61 Brakke (2001), 516–17. In the Vita Antonii iv (in translation 6), for example, the Devil appears in the form of an ugly black boy whose nationality is not specified. It is stated merely that he is the friend and spirit of fornication. In the widely circulated homiletic story concerning the departure of the soul called The Three Utterances of the Soul, the host of the demons that come to meet the soul and dispute over it is introduced as niger ethiopum, but no description is given of the specific nature of the sins of the deceased. The Three Utterances 2. 62 Vita prima 31, 41. On the theological and cultural background of Christian exorcism, see Sorensen (2002), 157. 63 For more on the role of this combat in the desert life, see Brakke (2006). See, for example, Historia monachroum i.32–35; Vita Antonii iv (in translation 5–6), xv–xvi (23–25). For examples of exorcisms, see, for example, Vita Antonii xxxv–xxxvi (63–64), xliii (71). 64 Several scholars have suggested that the island with the sheep probably refers to the Faroes. See Wooding (2000b), 237–40.

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holy service.65 On Good Friday, the monks again receive provisions sent by God, when a man appears with a basket of bread and other necessaries. The bread is identified as panibus subcinericiis; this flat unleavened bread, which is baked on a heated stone under ashes, is mentioned several times in the Old Testament.66 The man asks how he has merited the honour of Brendan (whom he addresses as margarita Dei, ‘pearl of God’) enjoying the labour of his hands on this holy day. The bread is thus shown to not be of supernatural origin, and indeed the baker’s actions can be contrasted against the inaction Brendan and his monks, who do not need to perform any manual labour for their food but are miraculously provided for.67 Besides giving them food, the man shares information with Brendan and his company, telling them where they are destined to celebrate Mass in the future and promising to bring them more food in eight days. Before leaving the island, Brendan asks the steward a final question about the remarkable size of the sheep. The steward illuminates the monks, explaining that the sheep on this island are larger because they are not milked, they are always at pasture, and the winters are mild. In this way, a natural explanation is provided for a phenomenon that the audience may have otherwise understood to be supernatural.68 The next island on the monks’ journey is not an island at all, but turns out to be a giant fish known as Jasconius (Navigatio 10). With his supernatural acuity, Brendan is aware of this from the beginning, of course, but he does not want to terrify the monks unnecessarily by telling that they have landed on the back of a fish. The truth is revealed, however, when the monks light a fire to cook some of the meat from the last island and the ground starts to move. It is noteworthy that this is the only occasion in the Navigatio when the monks actually enage in cooking any of their food, and it underlines the exceptional nature of 65 Jonathan Wooding has pointed out the connection between the sacrificing of the lamb in this tale and the sacrifice of the Paschal Lamb, which symbolised the entry of the Israelites into the desert between Egypt and the Promised Land. Wooding (2005), 35; Ibid. (2008), 290–91. 66 Gen 18:6, Ex 12:39, Jds 7:13; Ezra 4:12. 67 Jonathan Wooding has taken note of the fact that Brendan and his monks always receive their food as a gift from God rather than needing to cultivate it. Wooding (2003), 169–70. 68 In his analysis of the fantastic images in the Navigatio, J. S. Mackley categorises the island with the sheep as ‘fantastic-uncanny’; despite the sheep seeming at first glance to be supernatural, in the end they are given a plausible explanation. Mackley (2008), 107–8.

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the moment, although the lighting of the fire is also necessary for the storyline.69 The gigantic fish Jasconius has been connected by scholars with the Leviathan of the Old Testament and especially with the whale in the Book of Jonah.70 As the swallowing and eventual regurgitation of Jonah by the whale would become a symbol of the death and resurrection of Jesus, the back of Jasconius provides a fitting location for Brendan and his companions to celebrate the night of Holy Saturday and the morning of Easter Sunday.71 The monks then arrive at a fertile island where they find a tree covered with white birds next to a spring that turns into a river (Navigatio 11). This is the famous ‘Paradise of Birds’, where avian creatures partake in liturgical celebration, praising God by repeating a verse of the Psalms at each of the monastic hours.72 This is the first occasion of the Office being celebrated on any of the islands, and it prefigures later liturgical moments among the monastic community of Ailbe and on the island of the three choirs. When uncertainty concerning the nature of the birds troubles Brendan, he prays for God to illuminate him. One of the birds immediately flies from the flock, positioning herself on the prow of Brendan’s boat. At the saint’s questioning, the bird replies that she and her companions are neutral angels, who were banished from Heaven by God and sent to roam the air and earth as spirits as punishment for not taking God’s side in the conflict with Lucifer. They still perceive God’s presence, however, and on holy days they are given the bodies of birds so that they may praise the Lord. Scholars have sought to find an origin for these bird-like fallen angels in biblical and apocryphal references to different types of winged beings.73 Marcel Dando has even gone so far as to suggest that ‘the myth 69 In the previous espisode, the monks choose a spotless lamb for sacrifice but there is no mention of cooking or eating it. 70 Borsje (1996), 33–36, 125–29; Rumsey (2007), 220; Wooding (2008), 291–93. For a comparison of the fish episode in the Navigatio, the Irish Life of Brendan and the Lives of St Malo, see Mac Mathúna (1994a), 171–73. 71 Rumsey (2007), 219–23. 72 The actual Psalms recited by the birds and their location within the Monastic Office has been analysed by Rumsey (2007), 155–57 and O’Loughlin (2006), 117–19. On the Divine Office in the Navigatio, see also McNamara (2006), 160–67. On the Irish Monastic Office, see Jeffrey (2000), 99–143. 73 Jacobsen (2006), 103–15; Mackley (2008), 117–19; Wooding (2008), 294. For a brief discussion of the image of birds in Irish eschatological texts, see Hudson (2000), 108–9.

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of the Neutral Angels in medieval literature finds its ultimate origin in the Navigatio sancti Brendani’74 and that the myth was originally developed by the Irish from early patristic exegesis on angels and the fall of Lucifer.75 Patricia Rumsey has identified the birds with the image of all the faithful, including also laypeople, praising God.76 Within the Navigatio­narrative, the fertile paradise of birds with its abundant flowers and river prefigures the actual terra repromissionis, which is covered with fruit trees and divided in half by a river (Navigatio 28). The liturgical celebration of the birds includes heavenly praise of the Lord, in which the birds are called to participate; this is expressed in their chosen verse for Vespers, Psalm 148:2, Laudate Dominum, omnes angeli eius, laudate eum, omnes virtutes eius.77 Brendan compares the heavenly liturgy of the birds to corporeal food, thus juxtaposing the restorative effect that the birds’ singing has on their souls with the satisfaction of the monks filling their bodies with food.78 Patricia Rumsey has come to the further conclusion that the simplicity of the Office of the birds conveys a message that the Office celebrated by the monks on earth is essentially the same as that sung by immortal beings (including the birds) in Heaven, but the mode of prayer differs between the two states of being. Thus, the repetitive prayer of the birds reflects the heavenly state in which time has no meaning.79 The birds joining in the celebration of the Office may also be interpreted as a model of a monastic community, as is suggested by their singing of Psalm 132:1, Ecce quam bonum et quam iocundum habitare fratres in unum.80 This verse, which praises the goodness of brothers living in unity, differs somewhat from the rest of Dando (1980), 265. Dando (1980), 275. 76 Rumsey (2007), 225–29. 77 Ps 148:2, ‘Praise the Lord, all his angels; praise him, all his heavenly hosts.’ 78 Navigatio 11: Reficite corpora vestra, quia hodie anime nostre divina refectione satiate sunt. 79 Rumsey (2007), 156. Thomas O’Loughlin has suggested that the simple liturgy of repeating a single verse for an hour, as seen at the paradise of birds, is a comment on the more and more elaborate liturgical requirements of the time, especially those of the so-called Céli Dé movement, which emphasised austerity and arduous forms of prayer. O’Louhlin (2006), 119. Rumsey takes O’Loughlin’s suggestion concerning the opposition between the spiritualities represented by the Navigatio and the Céli Dé monks as the starting point of her book, claiming that the two groups of monks can be contrasted in their attitudes towards worldly time. 80 Ps 133:1, ‘How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity!’ 74

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the Psalms sung by the birds, since all of the other selections are directed at praising the Lord or asking for His mercy and benevolence.81 In his commentary on Psalm 132, Augustine traces the origins of monasticism and the term monachus to this Psalm, which refers to the unity of heart and soul shared between monks who live as one (monos).82 Augustine furthermore states that those who bless God with one heart will have a place in Heaven, thus highlighting the celestial goal of monastic life. The birds of Navigatio 11 can therefore be interpreted as representing a monastic community singing the praise of the Lord in unity. They are of one heart and one voice, singing with their minds constantly focused on the divine. As they are of supernatural origin and already enjoying the timeless state of Heaven, they are a reflection of the ideal state to which monks should aspire during the limits of their earthly lives. Sustained by the provisions given earlier by the steward, Brendan and his monks remain over Easter in the paradise of birds. At Pentecost, the steward visits them a second time, bringing more provisions for their voyage. Then, with their spirits revived by the singing of the birds and their physical needs taken care of by the food brought by the steward, the monks are ready to continue their journey. From the same bird which that initially spoke to Brendan, they learn that they are destined to spend the next Easter as well on the back of Jasconius and the Paradise of Birds and that after eight months they will arrive at the community of Ailbe, where they will celebrate Christmas Day. The circuitous journey of Brendan and his monks is thus structured according to the great festivals of the Christian year, similar to the way in which the smaller increments of their days are organised around the monastic hours. Brendan and his monks can therefore be understood as symbolising the monastic community travelling through this life, united in their praise of God, with their eyes set on their heavenly home, the goal of their journey. 81 For a brief discussion of the series of Psalms sung by the birds, see O’Loughlin (2006), 118–19. 82 Enarrationes in psalmos 132:6: quare ergo et nos non appellemus monachos, cum dicat psalmus: ecce quam bonum et quam iucundum habitare fratres in unum? Μόνος enim unus dicitur: et non unus quomodocumque; nam et in turba est unus, sed una cum multis unus dici potest, μόνος non potest, id est, solus: μόνος enim unus solus est. Qui ergo sic uiuunt in unum, ut unum hominem faciant, ut sit illis vere quod scriptum est, una anima et unum cor; multa corpora, sed non multae animae; multa corpora, sed non multa corda; recte dicitur μόνος, id est unus solus. For further discussion on Augustine’s understanding of monasticism and his commentary of this Psalm, see Dunn (2000), 64–67; Brockwell (1977), 91–96.

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Having again been closely measured, the provisions brought by the steward barely sustain Brendan and his companions until they arrive at the next island (Navigatio 12). This time their diet is reduced to eating only every second or third day. Even when they see the island before them, they are forced to circle it for forty more days until God reveals a landing place as an answer to three full days of prayer and abstinence. The penitential practice of prayer and fasting seems to prepare Brendan and his monks for their encounter with the otherworldly community of Ailbe, since it is only after such purification that God allows them to land on the island. On their arrival at the island, Brendan again gives abbatial guidance to his exhausted monks, advising them not rush to drink without permission from the muddy or clear wells on the shore, but to wait until they are invited by the elders of the island. As if on cue, an elder with snow-white hair and a radiant countenance comes to greet them, prostrating three times on the ground before leading them to the monastery. The elder maintains his silence despite Brendan’s questions about the inhabitants of the monastery, and he indicates with a gesture that they should also be silent. Brendan thereby realises that this is the rule of the place and he warns his monks not to speak, lest they defile the local brethren with their scurrility. In this way, he indicates that the inhabitants of the island are more advanced in their holiness and purity than his travelling companions. After this injunction, eleven brothers approach in procession with holy vessels and crosses, singing hymns to welcome Brendan and the others to the monastery. After kisses of peace and the washing of their feet, as well as more chanting, the weary travellers are finally led the refectory to be served extraordinarily white loaves of bread and roots of incredible sweetness. Breaking his silence, the abbot of the island then describes the lifestyle of the monastery. He explains to the visitors that the water they have been drinking has been drawn from the clear well on the shore, while the feet of the brothers are washed every day with the water from the muddy well, which always stays warm. Furthermore, he adds, the bread was not baked by them but provided daily by God through the assistance of an animal. This reminds of the Irish hagiographical stories of saints served by otters or other animals and of the Egyptian Desert Fathers, who also often received their food by means of divine intervention.83 The number of loaves varies, so that on Sundays and feast 83 See, for example, Historia monachorum i.6.3 (in translation 47); ii.11 (in translation ii.9); ix.2.11 (in translation x8); x.8.11 (in translation xi.5). For a brief discussion of this motif in connection to the Isle of Ailbe, see Mackley (2008), 139–42.

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days each of the twenty-four monks receives a full loaf instead of the normal half, and in the case of visitors the number increases accordingly. This motif is taken from the well-known fourth-century Vita Pauli of Jerome, which describes the life of the hermit Paul in the Egyptian desert for whom the quantity of bread brought by a raven was adjusted according to the number of eaters.84 Moreover, the monks of Ailbe eat no food prepared with fire, and the fire burning in their church does not consume any fuel. Since settling on the island eighty years prior, the monks have not been troubled by any signs of ageing or heat or cold, thus indicating that they are enjoying the benefits of heavenly life already on earth. The otherworldly character of Ailbe’s monastery is further revealed in the next section of the story, in which the church with its seven lights and crystal altars is clearly modelled on the description of Heaven in Apocalypse 4.85 This passage in the Revelation of John the Divine also describes twenty-four elders residing in the celestial realm, and thus the connection between the two narratives and the correlation between Ailbe’s monks and heavenly life are clearly established; the twenty-four elders of Ailbe’s community are the same as their biblical counterparts. The monks of Ailbe’s community live in complete silence, broken only by the singing of the Monastic Hours. When they need something, they approach the abbot who knows by divine illumination what they are seeking and then writes the answer on a tablet. The role of the abbot in this community can be perceived as analogous to that of Brendan as the guide and advisor of his flock on their journey towards Heaven. Further in the episode, Brendan asks the abbot how such a life of silence is possible for one still in human flesh.86 The abbot’s reply confirms that he and his monks are leading the angelic life, for he tells that since their arrival on the island eighty years earlier they have not heard any human voice except in praise of God and they have not suffered from any normal human illnesses. The otherworldliness of Ailbe’s community is further highlighted when a fiery arrow flies through the window 84 Vita Pauli 10. For a detailed comparision of the verbal similarities between these episodes, see Fagnoni (2006), 62–65. The connection between the Vita Pauli and the Navigatio has also been briefly discussed by Orlandi (1968), 108–13. 85 This connection is noted in passing in O’Loughlin (2006), 119. T. Ó Carragáin has pointed out that the seven lamps of Ailbe’s church recall the seven-branched candlestick in Solomon’s Temple. T. Ó Carragáin (2010), 38. 86 Navigatio 12, Interrogavit vero sanctus Brendanus sanctum patrem de illorum silencio et conversacione, quomodo ita possent esse in humana carne.

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to light the lamps before the altars. The abbot reveals that this fire is spiritual, answering Brendan’s question, ‘How can an incorporeal light burn corporeally in a corporeal creature?’87 The same question is posed also in the Dialogi of the sixth-century Pope Gregory the Great in the context of Gregory and Peter’s discussion of the punishment of sinners in the afterlife.88 Ailbe’s community is therefore located at the junction between this and the otherworld. It is an ideal monastic community in which monks live in complete silence and harmony and their lives are centred around the praise of God. In their liturgical celebrations, they join their voices in a single choir, just like the avian neutral angels in the paradise of birds. This is the task of all monastic communitie in a way, all monasteries echo the heavenly liturgy, offering a glimpse of the otherworld on this plane. The community of Ailbe exemplifies this in a more perfect form than is possible for most other monasteries, which are more earthly. Already leading an angelic life while on earth, Ailbe’s monks are free of bodily illnesses, signs of ageing, or any need to engage in physical labour to feed themselves. Brendan and his monks are not allowed to stay, however, as they must continue their journey in search of the earthly paradise. In parting, the abbot reveals that Brendan’s fate is to be buried in his own monastery, to which he will return with fourteen of his brothers after leaving the two extra brothers – who joined the journey late – at the island of anchorites and to a shameful death, respectively. After celebrating Christmas at Ailbe’s community, Brendan and his monks are ready to embark again, sailing and rowing across the sea89 until their provisions fail again (Navigatio 13). After fasting for three days, the monks begin to become distressed, but God conveniently guides them to an island with a clear well and a variety of plants, roots and fish. Brendan warns the brothers against drinking too much of the water, as it has a soporific effect. Some of the monks are greedy, however, and drink three cups. As a result, they fall asleep for three days and nights. During their slumber, Brendan the good abbot again protects his monks, with his unceasing prayer addressing the danger into which they have Navigatio 12, Quomodo potest in corporali creatura lumen incorporale corporaliter ardere? 88 Dialogi iv.28 (in translation iv.29): Et qua ratione credendum est quia rem incorpoream tenere ignis corporeus possit? 89 As an actual immrama, literally ‘rowing around’. 87

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unwittingly fallen.90 J. S. Mackley has pointed out that the episode of the somnolent spring is ‘a deliberately constructed scene that underscores the message of the springs on the Island of Ailbe and demonstrates that what appears to be harmless is actually a device that can lead to spiritual ruin’, thus testing their obedience and spiritual wisdom.91 Brendan’s role as the wise abbot who guides his flock through his prudence resembles that of Adomnán, discussed in Chapter 2. Leaving the island with enough provisions to last until Maundy Thursday if they eat every third day, the monks encounter further wonders of the sea, including coagulated sea which leave them drifting with no wind (Navigatio 14). In this episode, Brendan again demonstrates his complete trust in God by advising his monks to ship the oars and loosen the sails, letting God direct them wherever He chooses, as was done by the Irish monks and penitents who set out on the sea without oars and sails.92 The second year of the cyclical journey of Brendan and his monks begins with their sighting of the island of the steward (Navigatio 15). Here again Brendan calls God the gubernator and nautor of his ship, and he commands his monks to not to tire themselves by rowing but rather to trust in God to take them where He wills.93 The procurator of the island welcomes them by embracing their feet and reciting Psalm 67:36,94 thus following a similar ritual of prostration and Psalm-singing as that performed by the monks on the island of Ailbe. After a bath and receiving a set of new clothes from the steward, the monks are ready to celebrate the first three days of Easter before sailing away and following the same itinerary as the previous year. As foretold by the steward, Brendan and his monks arrive at the same spot finding Jasconius there as the year before. They even find their cooking pot, which had been left behind when the monks scrambled into the boat when the great fish Jasconius started to move (Navigatio 15). On disembarking, Brendan and his monks sing the Song of the Three Holy Children, again repeating the pattern of marking the ar On the role of the abbot in the Navigatio, see Pettiau (2006), 241–63. Mackley (2008), 152. 92 According to Mackley, when read together with the episode of the somnolent spring, this episode demonstrates that the monks have learned ‘the lessons of obedience, caution and trust in God’, by means of which they are able to overcome obstacles. Mackley (2008), 156. 93 Cf. Navigatio 6. 94 In English, Ps 68:35. 90 91

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rival at a new ‘island’ with the singing of a hymn. The Song of the Three Holy Children, found in the apocryphal section of the Book of Daniel, tells of three children who summon all of creation, including the whales and all the creatures in the waters, to join them in praising God.95 The location and the timing of this episode suggest parallels with the stories of the three children in the fiery furnace and Jonah in the belly of the whale. Both of these stories have been interpreted as symbolising the redemptive power of God. Connected with Christ’s sojourn in Hell for the three days following the crucifixion, they can be seen as especially fitting reading for Easter.96 Brendan then turns his attention to the great fish itself, pointing out that God has subjugated it and that is why it has caused no inconvenience. The tamed beast can be seen as a demonstration of God’s power over all creation, including even the monstrous creatures of the ocean. After passing the Easter vigil on Jasconius’ back, the monks are ready to head to the next destination in their cyclical itinerary (Navigatio 15). On their arrival at the paradise of birds, they are again greeted by a choral welcoming committee. Brendan and his companions celebrate Easter on the island of the birds, enjoying what the steward had given them, ‘the nourishment needed for human life’, a description that underlines the fact that Brendan and his monks are still subject to human needs to sustain life.97 They set sail again, but when after forty days a beast of immense size begins to follow them (Navigatio 16), the monks grow worried. Brendan again demonstrates his wisdom and trust in God, counselling the monks to have faith in God, who will deliver them from this danger. Invoking biblical precedents, Brendan addresses God directly, asking him to deliver his servant as he delivered David from Goliath and Jonah from the whale. In answer to this prayer, God sends another huge sea-monster to attack the first one, thus delivering the monks from danger. Brendan explains this sequence of events as a demonstration of the power of God

Dan 3:29–68. Christ himself makes the connection between Jonah and the harrowing of Hell in Mt 12:40, wherein he states: ‘For as Jonah was three days and three nights in the belly of a huge fish, so the Son of Man will be three days and three nights in the heart of the earth.’ On the Easter symbolism of the Jasconius episode, see also Borsje (1996), 125–28. 97 Navigatio 15, portans secum omnia alimonia que ad usum vite humane pertinebant. 95

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over His creation, in this way reinforcing the same message as in the previous episode with the giant fish Jasconius. Later Brendan and his companions find a wooded area of the island, where they discover on the shore a piece of the dead sea-monster (Navigatio 16). God has conveniently arranged for the same beast that was going to devour the monks to now provides fare for them. The monks’ lack of faith in God’s providence is again evident, however, when they ask how they are supposed to survive without water. The saint replies by directing them to the other end of the island, where there is a well with edible plants and roots growing around it. The monks demonstrate further lack of faith in the prophetical power of their saint when they go back to the shore to see if the remaining portion of the sea-monster’s flesh had truly been devoured by other marine life, as Brendan had predicted. Before leaving the island, the monks use salt to preserve a new portion of the beast’s flesh sent to them by God, and they gather plants and roots for Brendan to eat, since it is now revealed that the saint has not tasted meat since his ordination. The different diets of Brendan and his monks are a way of indicating their varying levels of holiness, just as the habits of eating (or not eating) of the inhabitants of the different islands mark their relative proximity to the heavenly mode of life.98 The next island on their journey, the island of the three choirs (Navigatio 17), provides another example of an ideal monastic community. On seeing the island on the horizon, Brendan prophetically proclaims that there are three groups living on the island: one of boys, one of youths and one of elders. He further predicts that one of the three supernumerary members of his own band of travellers will remain on the island ‘in pilgrimage’ (peregrinabitur), thus equating monastic life with the life of a pilgrim. Brendan and his monks stay on the shore, never proceeding farther onto the island, and from there they observe the three choirs engaged in a liturgical celebration.99 The inhabitants of the island once again greet the visitors by chanting a Psalm. They sing in parts, rotating between the three choirs, as opposed to the practice of singing the

98 On vegetarianism as part of the ascetical practices of the Desert Fathers, see Leyerle (2005), 152–58. 99 It is not actually clear whether Brendan and his monks disembark on the island at all, since the text mentions only that their boat puts in at the shore and later the inhabitants come, bringing provisions and putting them directly into the boat. This would suggest that Brendan and his companions stay in the boat the whole time.

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actual Monastic Hours all together.100 Thomas O’Loughlin has interpreted this to perhaps be a comment on liturgical group singing, which was still a novelty at the time of the writing of the Navigatio.101 Later a cloud of extraordinary brightness covers the singers, thus indicating the supernatural character of the island and possibly prefiguring the dense fog that the monks will have to pass through before reaching the terra repromissionis at the end of their journey. The inhabitants of the island directly address Brendan and his monks for the first and only time when giving offerings in the form of fruits and asking to be given the brother who has been destined to stay with them. As a valediction, Brendan praises the monk for possessing the merit to stay with such a hallowed community, thus highlighting the holiness of the three choirs. The islanders are again examples of monks living on the threshold of Heaven, since their only task seems to be the praise of God and they appear to be sustained only by the miraculously juicy and honey-tasting fruit that they give Brendan and his companions on their departure.102 The name of the island is revealed to be insula virorum fortium, ‘the Island of the Strong Men’, perhaps referring to the moral strength of the islanders. The monks set sail again, and their diet of fruit continues when a bird appears on the prow of the boat with a branch of oversized red grapes (Navigatio 18). After the grapes are consumed, the monks fast again for three days, and then they arrive at an island that is so full of fertile grape trees103 that the air has a wonderfully pomegranate-like fruit smell. The sweet smell and abundant fertility of the island can be taken 100 In English, Ps 84:7. The same verse is incidentally sung by the angelic host coming to meet another Irish peregrinator, St Fursa. Fursa’s vision is related as part of his Life. It was well known due to the abbreviated version included in Bede’s HE iii.19. The earliest version of the Live, Vita prima sancti Fursei, was probably written in the second half of seventh or early eighth century in Péronne, where Fursa’s corporeal relics were held. There exists also a later Life of Fursa also written on the Continent in the eleventh or twelfth century. See, E. Gardiner (1993), 104–6; Wooding (2015), 8–10. For the vision, see Transitus Beati Fursei 3. 101 O’Loughlin (2006), 121. On the liturgy of this island, see also Rumsey (2007), 154–55. J. S. Mackley has interpreted the movement of the three choirs as involuntary or ‘controlled servitude’, resembling the involuntary movements of the characters on the Island of Laughter in the Immrama Curaig Máel Dúin. Mackley (2008), 166–71. 102 On Brendan’s arrival at the island, it is mentioned that it is very flat and that nothing else is growing there except white and purple fruits on the ground. It is not said if the inhabitants of the island eat these, since the only food they are mentioned consuming is the Eucharist. 103 Navigatio 18, arboribus densissimis habentes fructum predictum vuarum ­incredibili fertilitate. The Irish monks seem to here be imagining grapes as growing in trees as opposed to vines.

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as signs of its supernatural character, bringing to mind the image of the Garden of Eden. After forty days of enjoying the fruits, the travellers embark again. They are soon approached by a griffin, which to the horror of the monks attacks them (Navigatio 19). Brendan again demonstrates his trust in divine providence, telling his companions not to worry, since God will protect them as He has done on previous occasions. As if on cue, God sends the same bird that had earlier brought the branch with the grapes to defend the monks and kill the griffin. After this, the journey continues in a cyclical fashion, bringing them again to the community of Ailbe in time for the celebration of Christmas, and then repeating the same pattern year after year (Navigatio 20). The next unique wonder encountered by the monks is a perfectly clear sea, which allows them to see all the way to the bottom where different types of fish are lying on the seabed (Navigatio 21). In the context of the narrative, the perspicuity of the sea can be understood as a divine miracle by means of which the monks are able to witness the wonders of creation, although there may also be a natural explanation for it. The liturgical context for this episode, the Feast of St Peter,104 is fitting because of Peter’s association with fishes, being the fisher of Galilee who followed Christ and later the ‘fisher of men’.105 In this episode, when the monks ask their abbot to celebrate Mass in silence lest the noise attract the fish below, they demonstrate that they still have not learned their lesson of trusting in God’s power. Brendan chastises them for their foolishness at being afraid of these fish when they had not been afraid to celebrate Mass during Easter on the back of the greatest creature in the sea. Thus he reminds them once again of God’s power over all creation. When Brendan starts celebrating Mass, the fish rise to the surface, thus demonstrating how even the creatures of the ocean are subject to the Lord, coming peacefully to attend the service and worship Him. The episodes of fighting sea-monsters, the griffin and these fish not only demonstrate God’s power over all creation. They are also lessons on faith, with the last one illustrating the harmony between man and animals. Such monstrous motifs are also common in the tales of the Desert Fathers, in which demons appear regularly in bestial form to frighten the hermits, thereby testing their faith and trust in God’s power. Those 104 The feast referred to here is probably that of Saint Peter and Saint Paul’s martyrdom on 29 June, but for some reason in the Navigatio only Peter is mentioned. 105 Mt. 4:18–22; Mk 1:16–18.

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stories also abound with examples of wild animals becoming tame, exemplifying an earthly version of the prelapsarian harmony between man and animals.106 The next episode continues with an encounter of magnalia creatoris, ‘the great things of the Creator’, when the monks perceive before them a great crystal pillar (Navigatio 22).107 Brendan and his companions sail around it for four days, measuring it carefully and finally finding a chalice and paten in a window on the pillar. This provides tangible proof of their adventure that they can take home and show others. The chalice and paten are of the same substance as a silver-coloured net surrounding the base of the pillar and the crystal pillar itself, and in this way they are perhaps similar to the crystal vessels in the church of Ailbe’s community, which was modelled on the Heaven described in Apocalypse 4 (Navigatio 12). J.  S. Mackley has suggested that the crystal pillar is an apocalyptic symbol of transition to the otherworld, thus marking Brendan and his companions’ entry into the purely supernatural realms that lead to the gates of Hell and Heaven.108 Eight days later, the winds blow the monks towards a rocky island. It is inhabited by demonic smiths, who hurl burning slag at the travellers (Navigatio 23). The auditory environment of the island is filled with the sounds of bellows blowing like thunder and the howling of its inhabitants, thus bringing to mind the image of Hell. This image is confirmed at the end of the episode when Brendan tells his companions to be firm in their faith and spiritual armour, like milites Christi in the confines of Hell.109 The next episode continues with the same theme when they arrive near a volcanic island, where the remaining brother who joined the journey late is snatched away to eternal torment by a legion of demons

106 On the animal-like demons in the Life of Antony, see Brakke (2006), 31–32. On the harmony between the hermits and animals, see Leyerle (2005), 158–63. See also Vita Antonii viii (in translation 9), xxv (50, 52); Historia monachorum viii (in translation, ix), xi (in translation, xii.6–9). 107 It has been suggested that this episode is based on a real encounter with an iceberg or glacial font, where an extensive glacial ice shelf meets the sea, see Mackley (2008), 178–80. Strijbosch has discussed this episode’s relationship with similar passages in the immrama. Strijbosch (2000), 147–49. 108 Mackley (2008), 184–86. 109 On the image of the gates of Hell, see O’Loughlin (1996), 98–114; O’Loughlin (1999), 14–16; O’Loughlin (2007), 133–42. Gregory the Great explicitly makes the connection between volcanic regions and the gates of Hell in his Dialogi iv.35 (in translation iv.36).

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(Navigatio 24).110 When the monks first see this island, it is covered by a cloud, which signifies its mysterious nature – albeit a negative one this time. Later, as they leave, flames shoot from the top of the mountain, as if another sinner is being thrown into the fire – as will be revealed in the next episode. As the abbot of Ailbe’s monastery predicted in Navigatio 12, the fate of the last monk was, of course, sealed from the beginning. When the sorry monk realises that he is being taken away, he exclaims Ve mihi, pater, predor a vobis, et non habeo potestatem ut possim venire ad vos,111 turning to his abbot and admitting his own powerlessness. Brendan in turn replies, Ve tibi, fili, quia recepisti in vita tua meriti talem finem,112 thereby acknowledging the judgment to be a just one that is based on the monk’s deeds in his life. The episode therefore functions as a warning, not only to Brendan’s remaining companions but also to the audience, reminding them of the judgment that awaits everyone. Charles D. Wright has plausibly suggested that the fates of the three supernumerary travellers illustrate the threefold division of souls into the good, the bad and the penitent. The good monk is allowed to stay at the island of the three choirs, the bad monk is dragged off to the volcano, and the third monk who repented of the theft of the bridle was received at death by angels of light.113 The thematic series of encounters with evil and Hell continues in the next episode when the voyagers sail up to a man sitting on a rock surrounded by crashing waves (Navigatio 25). This poor soul is revealed to be Judas Iscariot, who every Sunday and major ecclesiastical festival is given a respite from the torments of Hell. The respite of a day and a night for sinners is mentioned already in the apocryphal Visio Pauli, where it is ascribed not only to the mercy of Christ but also to Paul’s visit to Hell, the archangel Michael, and oblations offered by the living on behalf of

On the suggestion that this island might refer to Iceland, see Wooding (2000b),

110

243.

111 ‘Woe to me, father! I am being carried off from you, and I do not have power so that I could come to you.’ 112 ‘Woe to you, son! You have received such an end as you merited in life.’ 113 Wright (2014), 326–30. The motif of the supernumerary passengers is known also in the Immrama. In the Immram curaig Máele Dúin the protagonist has to get rid of the three extra passengers before he is able to fulfil his quest of finding his father’s murderers. The destinies of the latecomers in this tale can be seen as analogous with those in the Navigatio: one of them is left at the Island of the Laughters, one at the Island of the Black Wailers and one dies after committing a theft. For brief discussion, see Edel (2001), 107–8.

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the dead.114 In addition, Augustine mentions such a respite in his Enchiridion, although he comes to the conclusion that the estrangement from God caused by sin is without end or respite and that it is the greatest punishment of sinners.115 Introducing himself, Judas confesses that he is negociator pessimus, ‘the most evil merchant’,116 referring to his act of selling Christ for thirty pieces of silver.117 Here Judas can be contrasted with Dei et vitae aeternae amatores et negotiatores which Columbanus is encouraging his audience to become in Sermon VI.118 In both cases, the transactions in which the merchants are engaged involve morality and a price to be paid in the afterlife. Judas then describes to Brendan and his companions his daily tortures, which involve being burned by Leviathan and his attendants inside the same mountain where the third monk was just led. Judas further explains that sitting on the rock and being tossed about by the icy waves feels like a paradiso deliciarum in comparison to his usual state. The cloth that offers Judas at least partial protection, the iron forks on which it hangs and the rock on which he is seated are all material effects of Judas’ good deeds. The motif of physical objects caused by charitable deeds turning up in the afterlife likely comes from the Dialogi of Gregory the Great, which offers a wealth of material on the posthumous destinies of souls. Gregory describes how almsgiving provides a virtuous person with both the materials and the labour needed in the afterlife for a house made of bricks of gold and built by those who had benefited from the alms.119 This motif is also common in vision literature, as will be demonstrated in the next chapter. The episode with Judas gives the monks of Brendan (and the audience) a cautionary first-hand experience of Hell, thus complementing

114 Visio Pauli 44. On the origins of the Sunday respite of Judas and its later use in literature as a topos, see Baum (1923), 168–82. Martin McNamara has also discussed the origins of the Sunday respite, drawing attention to the relationship between the Judas episode in the Navigatio and the Visio Pauli. McNamara (2006), 172–82. 115 Enchiridion xxix.112–13. 116 The same epithet, negotiator pessimus, is connected to Judas in Sermon 38 of the twelfth-century theologian Hugh of St Victor. It appears there in the context of presenting Babylon as an image of a place of punishment, in which sinners guilty of the seven mortal sins are located on the different platea of the city. Judas is included among those who are guilty of ira. PL 177, 996. 117 Mt 26:15, 118 Instructiones VI.2: ‘lovers and merchants of God and eternal life’. 119 Dialogi iv.36–37 (in translation iv.37).

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the previous set of episodes that dealt with infernal locations.120 In the first, the monks experience the environment of Hell only from afar when the devilish smiths throw lumps of slag at them and they hear the bellows like thunder and the howling of the island’s inhabitants. In the next episode, they approach the entrance of Hell, when their companion steps on the shore and is taken away by demons. Their experience of Hell is here marked by seeing smoke, and later fire, emitting from the volcano. The last episode brings the monks even closer to Hell, when one of its inhabitants, Judas, gives them a verbal description of its interior and torments. At the end of this episode, Brendan actually engages in a dialogue with the demons who have come to take Judas back after his respite. To the great dismay of the demons, Brendan’s invocation of Christ’s power delays Judas’ return to his torments for a night. After these examples of hellish locations, the narration returns to examples of figures leading a heavenly life on earth. After a few days of sailing, the monks arrive at the island of Paul the Hermit (Navigatio 26). Their arrival here marks that the end of the journey is near, as they are getting closer to Heaven. Brendan confirms this when he informs his companions that they have now been travelling for almost seven years, just as the bird had predicted on their visit to the paradise of birds (Navigatio 15). After navigating through a narrow strait, Brendan leaves his companions to wait for the island’s occupant to give them permission to disembark. This sign of respect mirrors the way in which the monks had to wait for the elders’ permission before they could take water from the well on the island of Ailbe (Navigatio 12). On this island, Brendan finds a perfect setting for the life of a hermit: a pair of caves served by a small spring. The elder emerges from the cave, greeting his visitor by singing a Psalm in the same ritualistic fashion as seen on previous islands.121 The verse that is sung, Ecce quam bonum et quam iocundum habitare fratres in unum,122 introduces the theme of the episode: the juxtaposition of the life of the hermit and the communal life of monks. The same Psalm was also sung by the neutral angels in the paradise of birds as part of their celebration of the Monastic Hours (Navigatio 11). John Cassian cites J. S. Mackley has also stressed the cautionary message of the Judas episode. According to him the narrative encounter with Judas calls the audience for self-examination and makes them to confront the foreign entity within themselves. Mackley (2008), 208–9. 121 Navigatio 12, 15, and 17. 122 Ps 132:1 (in English Ps 133:1): ‘How good and joyful it is that brothers live together.’ 120

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this verse in his Collationes in the context of monastic friendship, explaining that the verse should be understood spiritually rather than in terms of place, in this way stressing the love between monks who are united in their lifestyle and will rather than geographical proximity.123 In light of Cassian’s explanation of the verse, Paul the hermit’s words may be interpreted to refer not only to the unity between Brendan and his monks or the monastic lifestyle in general, but also to the accord between the holiness of his own lifestyle and that of the arriving visitors. After Brendan’s monks join them, the hermit astonishes the brothers by greeting them all by name, not to mention by his manner of dress (or lack thereof), as the only thing he is wearing is his white hair and beard.124 The holiness of the hermit causes Brendan to lament his own state of existence, wearing the monk’s habit and burdened with all of his responsibilities towards his monks, compared to the hermit who is already living in angelico statu, untouched by the vices of the flesh although still in the body.125 In response, the hermit praises Brendan, to whom God has shown all his wonders and given food and clothing during his journey, thus freeing him from the normal physical labour of monks. By mentioning Brendan and his companions’ lack of corporeal work in this way, the author elevates their lifestyle above that of normal monastic communities, perhaps as a commentary on what he deems to be the core of monastic life – i.e. the praise of God. The hermit’s angelic life shows that he has resolved the perennial conflict between the soul and the flesh, thereby reaching the heavenly state of being even while still living in this world. The hermit’s lack of need of food or clothing clearly marks him as one who is leading the angelic life; indeed, nothing covers his body but his hair. The hermit’s progress is further indicated by the way in which his diet has changed over time – from fish brought by an otter every third day for the first thirty years of his residence on the island to being nourished only by water from the spring for the following sixty years. His initial diet of miraculously provided fish closely resembles that of the monks in the Collationes xiv.3. For parallels of this motif in the literature concerning the Egyptian Desert Fathers, see Fagnoni (2006), 68. 125 Saints also are often said to lead heavenly or angelic lives while on earth. On this topos in the early Lives of the Saint Brigit and Saint Columba, see Ritari (2009), 44–45. The two lifestyles are contrasted here, but nevertheless both seem to be leading to the same goals, holiness and Heaven. On the tension between and development of the two paths in early Christianity, see Rousseau (1978), 33–49, 177–82. 123

124

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community of Ailbe, who were fed by miraculously appearing bread (Navigatio 12). The topos of holy men being fed by food provided by animals, especially otters, is also known in the Lives of many Irish saints.126 Its origins in Christian literature can most likely be found in the tales of the Desert Fathers, whose return to the paradisiacal state is often evidenced by their harmony with the animal world.127 Paul the Hermit tells his visitors that his career began in a monastic community. One day when taking care of their cemetery, Paul was approached by the recently deceased founder of the monastery, St Patrick himself, who pointed out that he would be the one buried in the grave that Paul was just digging. Patrick instructed Paul to go to the shore and set out on a boat, which would take him to the place where he was destined to await for his death. The burial site has special significance in Irish hagiography as a locus of resurrection, being the place where the body will lie until the Day of Judgment when the soul and the body are again united.128 In the Navigatio, Patrick’s burial site – surrounded by his community – is contrasted with that of Paul, whose designated place of death and thus the place of his resurrection, is a hermit’s cave surrounded only by the loneliness of the seas. Before sending Brendan and his companions on their way towards the terra repromissionis, Paul reveals that he is 140 years old. Longevity can be added to the list of signs that he is close to Heaven, but the island is not Heaven. Paul is still in the flesh, waiting for Judgment Day. It seems that the hermit is destined to live on the island until the end of time, when he will finally be judged and reach his ultimate destination in Heaven. It is the length of this wait that makes him say to his visitors, Ego vero miser sedeo sicut avis in ista petra, nudus exceptis meis pilis.129 On his solitary rock surrounded by the sea, the situation of Paul the hermit resembles that of the unhappy sinner, Judas. His circumstances are much less miserable, however, as his rock is actually the size of an island and he is blessed with the angelic life. In this way, he is actually much closer to the bird-like neutral angels – to whom he perhaps compares himself through his metaphori126

(31).

See, for example, the Irish Life of Coemgen, Betha Caoimhgin I, ix (14), xvi

127 Vita Pauli 10. On the harmony with nature enjoyed by Irish saints, see Lord (1995), 129–38; Ritari (2009), 53–54. On the Desert Fathers’ harmony with nature, see Burton-Christie (1993), 231–33. 128 Lutterbach (1994), 26–46; O’Loughlin (2001b), 1–14. 129 Navigatio 26: ‘I truly miserable sit like a bird on this rock, naked except for my hair.’

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cal use of avis, a bird that is also fated to wait for its final destiny to be revealed on Judgment Day.130 The image of the hermit with white hair moreover resembles that of the bird-like neutral angels covered in white feathers. The angelic life of Paul highlights his otherness, thus making him into an otherworldly figure.131 Asceticism was an essential element of the hermit’s life, and with God’s help Paul has reached a higher state, living somewhere between this and the otherworld, still in the physical coil but free of such bodily concerns as hunger, a need for clothing or the normal limits of age. If the monastery of Ailbe was a narrative example of a perfect monastery, Paul represents the solitary life of a hermit in its perfect form. And while the examples of islands with communities – Ailbe and the three choirs, as well as the Paradise of Birds – are characterised by emphasis on the Monastic Hours, the only singing that happens on the island of the hermit is the ritual of greeting visitors, and there is no further mention of the celebration of liturgy. The hermit’s existence is thus very different in its focus from the communal life of monasteries, as it seems to centre on the quiet contemplation of God. The inspiration for the tale of Paul the hermit in the Navigatio clearly comes from the lore of the ascetical feats of the Egyptian Desert Fathers and especially from tales about the famous hermit Paul, whose life was written by Jerome in the early fourth century.132 In the Navigatio episode, Anna Maria Fagnoni has also detected verbal echoes of the Life of an Egyptian hermit named Onuphrius.133 The most well-known section of Jerome’s Vita Pauli describes the visit of the archetypal hermit Saint Antony to Paul’s cave and their breaking of the fast together with bread miraculously brought by a raven.134 The image of a raven bringing food to a holy man is taken from 1 Kings 17:6, in which Elijah is brought food by such bird.135 Jerome’s Paul then reveals to his visitor that the 130 Navigatio 11. In the case of the neutral angels, the author seems to leave open the possibility that they will be forgiven. They are granted the mercy of seeing God’s presence, even though they are not allowed to enjoy the lot of the blessed ones. 131 On the history of this image, see Muehlberger (2008), 447–48. 132 For Clara Strijbosch’s brief discussion of the similarities between this episode and Vita Pauli, see Strijbosch (2000), 145–46. 133 Fagnoni (2006), 76–78; see also p. 68. 134 Vita Pauli 10. On this motif as a visual and literary image in early medieval Ireland, see E. Ó Carragáin (1988), 1–58; E. Ó Carragáin (2014), 17–29. 135 1 Kgs 17:6, ‘The ravens brought him bread and meat in the morning and bread and meat in the evening, and he drank from the brook.’

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quantity of bread increases from his normal daily portion to correspond to the number of people eating it, just as one finds at the monastery of Ailbe in Navigatio 12. Both Pauls are thus miraculously provided for by animals, although the Paul in the Navigatio later progresses further in his abstinence by subsisting only on water from the island well. Both Pauls furthermore have a spring of water next to their place of habitation, both of which are so strategically located by the Creator that the overflowing water is absorbed by the ground beneath.136 The tales resemble each other also in their setting: in both cases, a visitor who is a holy man himself comes to visit another whom he considers to be even holier. In the case of Jerome’s Paul, the tale ends with his death and burial by Antony, while in the Navigatio Brendan leaves Paul on his island to await the Day of Judgment. However, the tales have in common an eschatological perspective. Jerome addresses his audience in an epilogue that contrasts the poverty of Paul and his rewards in the paradise with the riches of his audience and the Hell awaiting them. After leaving the island of Paul the Hermit, the journey of Brendan and his companions approaches its conclusion with the last cycle of celebrating Easter at the customary locations (Navigatio 27). The episode opens with the monks preparing for Easter by fasting during Lent with water taken from the hermit’s cave as their only nourishment. After these preparations, they arrive on the island of the steward on Holy Saturday, continue from there to the back of the fish Jasconius to celebrate the vigil of the Holy Sunday, and then make their way to the Paradise of Birds, where they stay until the octave of Pentecost. The only difference from the earlier cycles is that this time they are accompanied the entire time by the steward, while earlier he only came at certain intervals to bring them fresh supplies. The reason for this is revealed when the steward informs them that he will act as their guide, because without him they would not be able to find the terra repromissionis sanctorum. The cyclic seven-year journey has prepared the monks for their encounter with the holy, as before this point the travellers were not allowed to approach the ultimate goal of their journey. After witnessing the marvels of God’s creation, enduring the purificatory hardships of the journey, and learning the lesson of having trust in God’s providence, they are finally ready to enter the earthly paradise. Before the travellers leave, the birds sing in valediction Psalm 67:20 one more time, Prosperum iter Navigatio 26: At ubi surgebat predictus fons, statim petra sorbebat illum; Vita Pauli 5: statim modico foramine, eadem quae genuerat, aquas terra sorbebat. 136

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faciat vobis Deus salutarium nostrorum, thus bidding them a prosperous journey and reminding them of the true goal of their quest – i.e. salvation – and its source, the Creator.137 The monks then sail for another forty days, again reminding of Christ’s sojourn of forty days in the desert.138 This episode may also recall Moses in Exodus 4:12–18, who remained forty days and forty nights inside the cloud that covered Mount Sinai in order to receive the tablets of the covenant. In the New Testament episode, the forty days in the desert is a period of purification and testing, preparing Christ for his career as a teacher, while in the Old Testament narrative the forty days mark a period of mystical communion and a revelation of secrets. In the Navigatio, echoes of both biblical exemplars can be found: the forty days of sailing are the culmination of seven years of travel that have prepared the monks for their encounter with the holy, which is separated from this world by a veil of fog just as Mount Sinai is covered by a cloud in which Moses communicates with the holiest of the holy. Penetrating the fog, the travellers see that they have arrived in a land full of fruit-bearing trees where there is no night.139 This is clearly the earthly paradise modelled on the image of the New Jerusalem in the Apocalypse.140 After another forty days of circling the land, the monks come to a river that they are unable to cross. The river marks the final limit of their exploration, leaving the rest of the land as a mystery for both the monks and the audience. Here by the river, they finally encounter an inhabitant of the otherwise deserted land; it is a youth who approaches them, singing a Psalm in the familiar pattern of welcoming. The same ritual of welcome was first encountered in the Navigatio on the travellers’ arrival at the Isle of Ailbe, when the monks sang a kind of processional hymn (Navigatio 12), Surgite, sancti Dei, de mansionibus vestris et proficiscimini obviam veritati. Locum sanctificate, plebem ­benedicite, et nos famulos vestros in pace custodire dignemini.141 Selmer 137 In English, Ps 68:19, ‘God, our salvation, makes your journey into a prosperous one.’ The whole verse of the actual Psalm reads: Benedictus Dominus die cotidie prosperum iter faciet nobis Deus salutarium nostrorum. 138 Mt 4:1–11, Mk 1:12–13, Lk 4:1–13. 139 The function of the fog is to mark the otherworld as distinct from this realm. For discussion of this topos in early Irish literature; see Carey (1986–87), 4–5. 140 The symbolism of the Promised Land in the Navigatio is analysed in more detail in O’Loughlin (1999), 10–12. 141 Navigatio 12, ‘Rise, saints of God, from your dwellings and proceed towards the truth. Sanctify the place, bless the people, and us your servants deign to keep in peace.’

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comments on this hymn, ‘This passage has the ring of a processional hymn used at the reception of guests in Irish monasteries. It cannot be found in the Scriptures.’142 Thus far I have not been able to trace the origins of the hymn, but it can be found in the Sarum rite of the high medieval Anglo-Saxon church. It is used there as an antiphon, beginning a procession that symbolises the movement of the church (including all of its believers).143 It can also be found as an antiphon in a number of medieval manuscripts containing English monastic processional chants.144 And in Pontificale Romanum it is used as part of the Catholic ritual of consecration of an altar during the dedication of a church.145 The second welcoming scene occurred on the travellers’ second visit to the island of the steward, who welcomed them by singing Psalm 37:36, Mirabilis Deus in sanctis suis. Deus Israel ipse dabit virtutem et fortitudinem plebi sue. Benedictus Deus (Navigatio 15).146 And on their second visit to the Paradise of Birds, the avian inhabitants of the island greeted the monks by singing Salus Deo nostro, sedenti super thronum et agno (Navigatio 15). This is taken from Apocalypse 7:10, being the verse sung in Heaven by the 144 000 chosen ones in their white robes.147 The birds continued by singing Psalm 117:27, Dominus Deus illuxit nobis. Constituite diem solemnem in condensis usque ad cornu altaris.148 On the Island of the Three Choirs, the travellers were greeted with Psalm 83:8, Ibunt sancti de virtute in virtutem et videbunt Deum deorum in Sion (Navigatio 17),149 while Paul the Hermit welcomed them by singing Psalm 132:1, Ecce quam bonum et quam iocundum habitare fratres

Navigatio sancti abbatis, 87 n. 43. Harris (2007), 160. 144 Floyd (1990), 1–48: 5, 9, 15, 16, 31, 47. 145 Pontificale Romanum: editio princeps (1595–1596), 351–52. 146 The Vulgate text reads: terribilis Deus de sanctuario suo Deus Israel ipse dabit fortitudinem et robur populo benedictus Deus. Ps 68:35, ‘You, God, are awesome in your sanctuary; the God of Israel gives power and strength to his people. Praise be to God!’ 147 Apoc 7:10, et clamabant voce magna, dicentes: Salus Deo nostro, qui sedet super thronum, et Agno, ‘And they [i.e. the 144 000 in white robes] cried out in a loud voice: “Salvation belongs to our God, who sits on the throne, and to the Lamb.”’ 148 In translation, Ps 118:27, ‘The Lord is God, and he has made his light shine on us. With boughs in hand, join in the festal procession up to the horns of the altar.’ 149 Ps 83:8, Etenim benedictionem dabit legislator; ibunt de virtute in virtutem: videbitur Deus deorum in Sion, Ps 84:7, ‘They go from strength to strength, till each appears before God in Zion.’ 142 143

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in unum (Navigatio 26).150 Paul the Hermit’s welcome is one of the Gradual Psalms or Songs of Ascent, which are also mentioned in Navigatio 17, where the three choirs together sing all of the fifteen Gradual Psalms.151 The last scene of welcome is found here with the youth in the terra repromissionis, who sings Psalm 83:5, Beati qui habitant in domo tua. In seculum seculi laudabunt te (Navigatio 28).152 These verses praise God and His saints, promising them salvation in the afterlife and thus affirming the salience of adoration and the search for Heaven through monastic life. In the Historia monachorum, a similar ritual of welcome by the singing of a Psalm and prostrations is described as the normal way of greeting visitors on pilgrimage to the monastic communities of the Egyptian desert.153 It seems probable that the descriptions of the various rituals of welcome in the Navigatio are based on real practice in the early medieval Irish monastic environment. In her study based on Irish hagiographical material, however, Lisa Bitel does not mention singing or processions when discussing the ritual of welcoming visitors to the monastery.154 Chapter 53 of the Rule of Saint Benedict deals with the welcoming of guests into the monastery, but it does not include singing as part of the ritual; instead it only specifies that guests should be greeted with the ‘kiss of peace’ and by praying together.155 Nevertheless, Irish monastic houses of the early Middle Ages followed their own rules or practices, as laid down by their founders. Most likely for practical reasons, the ceremony of welcoming guests with a chanting procession of the whole community was reserved only for more distinguished guests.156 After the welcome, the youth confirms that the travellers are not to cross the river and that their delay in finding the terra repromissionis was In the New International Version, Ps 133:1 has been translated as, ‘How good and pleasant it is when God’s people live together in unity!’ 151 The Gradual Psalms are Psalms 119–33 in the Vulgate. On the Gradual Psalms in the Navigatio, see E. Ó Carragáin (2014), 23–24. On the name Gradual Psalms, see McNamara (2000), 231–32. 152 Ps 84:4, ‘Blessed are those who dwell in your house; they are ever praising you.’ 153 Historia monachorum viii.48 (PL vii). 154 Bitel (1990), 202–7. 155 For a more detailed discussion of the reception of guests at Benedictine monasteries, see Kerr (2007), 94–120. 156 It seems that similar processions were also used in the English Benedictine houses to welcome select individuals, like royalty, the pope, and the archbishop. See Kerr (2007), 110–15. 150

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due to God’s wish to show them diversa sua secreta in oceano magno.157 The objective of the whole journey, therefore, is revealed not to be its final destination but the journey itself. This is reflected also on a narrative level in the structure of the story, since the episode of the terra repromissionis covers only a couple pages out of approximately eighty in the modern edition. This way of telling the story leaves the holy as a mystery, giving the audience only a glimpse of the supernatural reality. This may have felt like somewhat of an anticlimax for the audience who had accompanied the travelling monks on their literary journey towards the Promised Land. The inhabitants of the various islands encountered on the way to the earthly paradise, as well as the marvels shown by God to the travellers, are located at varying degrees of separation from the most holy. The reality of the here-and-now is thus interspersed with fragments of sacred reality, and the travellers – as well as the audience – are taken further and further into the realm of the supernatural as the adventure progresses.158 The most holy, however, is beyond human understanding. It cannot be conveyed with words, as stated in 1 Corinthians 2:9, ‘“What no eye has seen, what no ear has heard, and what no human mind has conceived” – the things God has prepared for those who love him.’ Brendan and his companions only get a glimpse of the land across the river before they are commanded to turn back, just like Moses being allowed to only look at the Promised Land across the river Jordan, due to his successor Joshua being the appointed one to lead the Israelites to the other side.159 In the Irish Vita  S. Munnu, the saint similarly travels to the terra repromissionis where the saints wait in various spots along the river, including a location called Aur Phardus, ‘Brink of Paradise’. In this way, the river functions as a border between this world and the next.160 A similar fate to that of Moses is shared by the Englishman Drythelm, whose vision of the afterlife is recounted in Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica v.12. Drythelm gets a good look only at the anteroom of Heaven, in which those souls Navigatio 28, ‘his diverse secrets in the great ocean’. The various degrees of the marvellous have been studied by J. S. Mackley, who concludes that the fantastic elements in the story range from the mundane and merely uncanny to wholly fantastic and marvellous, finally culminating in the scenes that are beyond human comprehension in the Paradise. Mackley (2008), 238–40. 159 Dt 3:26–28; 31:2; 32:48–52. On the similarities of Moses and Brendan at this point, see Orlandi (2006), 236. 160 Vita S. Munnu (Vita prior S. Fintani seu Munnu), 31. Jonathan Wooding has noted the connection between the two rivers, which both function as a boundary; see Wooding (2014), 102. 157

158

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who are not meritorious enough to be admitted to Heaven immediately await the Day of Judgment. He can sense Heaven itself, with its luminosity and fragrant scent, but only from afar and very briefly before being turned back by his guide. This feature of leaving the most holy as a mystery is also shared by a number of other tales that belong to the genre of visions of Heaven and Hell, which will be discussed in more detail in the next chapter.161 The youth commands Brendan and his companions to return to the land from which they came, taking with them a boatload of the wondrous fruits and stones. The motif of taking souvenirs from otherworldly locations as proof of the visit is well known in literature of visits to the otherworld, including the Irish genres of echtrae and immrama, which probably exerted influence on the Navigatio.162 Another sign of success able to be perceived by others is mentioned at the beginning of the Navigatio, when Barrind returned to Mernóc’s community and pointed out that the fragrance still lingering on his clothes is proof of his visit to the terra repromissionis. According to early Christian literature, smell was one of the senses by means of which Heaven could be perceived: the fragrance excreted by the bodies of ascetics or the uncorrupted corpses of the saints when their graves were opened was one of the signs of their closeness to Heaven.163 The author of the Navigatio may have also drawn from the Song of Songs, in which fragrance is one of the central means by which the beauty of the lush garden and the beloved are expressed.164 The Song of Songs exerted great influence on the Christian imagination concerning Heaven, providing authors with a rich poetic vocabulary to convey the image of Heaven as a paradisiacal garden.165 The travellers’ return home is timely, especially when the youth makes a prediction of Brendan’s impending death, Appropinquant enim

For a more detailed discussion of this feature, see Easting (2007), 75–90. For examples in Irish literature, see Murray (2000), 187–89. In Vita Albei 46, the saint makes a sea journey to a mysterious land, bringing back a branch with fruits for his monks to see. In Vita Munnu 31, a saint’s shoes are filled with sand from the terra repromissionis. 163 For a thorough discussion of the olfactory imagination of early Christians, see Harvey (2006). 164 See, for example, Song 2:13, 4:10–11, 4:16, 7:13. 165 For a discussion on the influence of the Song of Songs on the imagery of Heaven, see, for example, McGrath (2003), 45–46; McDannell & Lang (1988), 98–109; Harvey (2006), 172–79. 161

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dies peregrinacionis tue, ut dormias cum patribus tuis.166 O’Meara’s translation of the first part reads, ‘The final day of your pilgrimage draws near.’ This takes peregrinatio as referring to Brendan’s earthly life, while the more accurate translation ‘the day of your pilgrimage’ instead concerns his passing into the afterlife. In any case, pilgrimage is here again taken by the author as an apt metaphor for the Christian’s progress towards Heaven. Despite reaching the terra repromissionis while still in the body, Brendan is not destined to stay there. He will reach his final rest in the afterlife through the more conventional means of first undergoing corporeal death. The second part of the sentence further underlines the fact that Brendan’s destiny is to be buried in his ancestral soil of Ireland and await the resurrection there with his forefathers. As a farewell, the youth shares with the travellers the eschatological promise that the terra repromissionis will be revealed ‘after the passage of many times’ when the persecution of Christians comes.167 Before then, it will remain hidden and be revealed only to deserving seekers, such as Brendan and his companions or Barrind before them. The unveiling of the Promised Land is thus an eschatological event tied with the end times. As an angelic figure explained to Barrind, it is the land that has been there ‘since the foundation of the world’, and thus it recalls the image of ‘the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world’ in Matthew 25:34.168 When this description of the terra repromissionis is read together with the one at the beginning of the Navigatio, marking the moment that Brendan was first inspired to go on his journey, the two narratives establish that it is analogous to the New Jerusalem coming down from Heaven in Apocalypse 21:3–22:5.169 It is the fertile land intersected by a river and covered with precious stones, fruits and flowering trees. Furthermore, there is no darkness since Christ is its lamp, as stated in Apocalypse 22:3. The only difference between the two representations of the New Jerusalem is a city with walls and gates; this is described in 166 Navigatio 28, ‘The day of your pilgrimages approaches, so that you may sleep with your fathers.’ 167 On this motif, see Orlandi (2006), 225–28. 168 Mt 25:34, Tunc dicet rex his qui a dextris eius erunt: Venite benedicti Patris mei, possidete paratum vobis regnum a constitutione mundi. Navigatio 1, Sicut illam vides modo, ita ad inicio mundi permansit. For further discussion, see O’Loughlin (1999), 12. 169 Navigatio 2 & 28. The symbolism of the Promised Land of the Navigatio has been analysed in detail in O’Loughlin(1999), 10–12. See also Wooding (2014), 97–99. On the image of the heavenly Jerusalem, see also Copeland (2004), 144–58; Wilken (1992), 65–81.

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detail in Apocalypse 21:10–21, but it does not appear in the Navigatio. In this way, the terra repromissionis of the Navigatio seems to also recall the Garden of Eden in Genesis 2:8–14 with its fertile trees and four rivers.170 The Garden of Eden was often identified with Heaven, and the fourth-century Church Father Ambrose made an explicit connection between Eden and the paradise seen by Paul, whose rapture described in 2 Corinthians 12:4 served as inspiration for a more detailed description in the Visio Pauli.171 The connection between paradisiacal gardens and otherworldly locations visited by visionary travellers and their identification as Heaven was thus well established in early Christianity. Another source that features a heavenly garden and may have served as a model for the terra repromissionis of the Navigatio is Visio Pauli 21– 22 with its description of the abodes of the blessed.172 The actual term terra repromissionis is used in Visio Pauli 21, when Paul and his guide arrive in the second level of Heaven, where the souls of the just find repose directly after death. The second heaven of Paul’s vision bears close resemblance to Brendan’s Promised Land, since both serve as resting places for the saints and are to be revealed only at the end of times. This level of Heaven is similarly a land intersected by a river (this time of milk and honey) and covered with exceptionally fertile trees that bear fruit the whole year round. Both narratives also leave the holiest of places to the imagination of the audience, since the visionary traveller is not allowed to see it while still in body. The Navigatio clearly imagines the Promised Land as an otherworldly location, but one that can be accessed from earth, similar to the way in which adventurers in tales of journeys to other worlds find their way through various portals.173 Although the journey of the monks is essentially spiritual, the sea voyage of Brendan and his monks is at 170 Another biblical description of a paradisiacal garden occurs as part of Ezekiel’s vision of the restored temple from which there flows a river surrounded by perpetually green fruit trees that produce fruits every month, just like the trees of Brendan’s terra repromissionis, which also bear fruits out of season. For more on Old Testament images of Heaven, see Russell (1997), 31–33. 171 De paradiso i.1–2. 172 On the vision of Heaven in Visio Pauli, see Russell (1997), 58–60; Delumeau (1995), 26–27. On the use of the Visio Pauli in the Navigatio, see Orlandi (1968), 127– 29; McNamara (2006), 182–85. 173 Peter Dinzelbacher has discussed the different routes to the otherworld in medieval visions, including the ladder, the bridge, going by boat or on horseback; see Dinzelbacher (1986), 70–87. On the location of the otherworld in Irish literature, see Carey (1982), 36–43; Carey, (1986–87), 2–7. On the location of the ‘Promised Land’, terra repromissionis or the Irish tír tairngire, see Wooding (2014).

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the same time firmly grounded in this world thus making Heaven – or at least its gates – into a place on earth. Paradise can also be imagined as a spot found somewhere on this plane, being the place that humans were banished from at the time of the Fall and a place that can be regained through ascetical practices.174 Accordingly, Heaven/or Paradise is something that can be recreated, at least to some extent, here on earth. A monastery can be seen, for example, as a representation of the heavenly city established on earth.175 The communities of Ailbe and the three choirs clearly reflect this idea in their echoing of the heavenly liturgy here on earth. The monks of Ailbe, as well as Paul the Hermit, are portrayed as enjoying the angelic life, free of bodily illnesses and provided for by God. Angelic life as a focal component of the lifestyle of the inhabitants of Paradise was established by Ambrose, who wrote that life in Paradise is like that of the angels.176 The Island of Grapes, furthermore, harks back to the image of Paradise as a fertile garden, demonstrating the overlapping of the two realities; it is clearly a geographical location on earth but it is also closer to Heaven than most places. The earthly Promised Land is resonant, of course, with the image of the Promised Land sought by the Israelites in the desert in the Old Testament.177 Wandering in the desert can be understood as a test of faith and a purificatory process of preparation before entering the Promised Land, just as one finds in the journey of Brendan and his monks. The actual term terra repromissionis does not appear in the Vulgate Old Testament, but it is applied to the Promised Land of the Israelites in Hebrews 11:9.178 In the Christian context, the Promised Land in the Old Testament was reinterpreted spiritually to mean the heavenly home, just as Christians became the new chosen people on their way to the terra

For further discussion of this point, see Delumeau (1995), 15–21; on Brendan’s Island, see pp. 103–4. 175 Copeland (2004), 142–58. 176 De Paradiso ix.42, quod illa vita similis Angelorum sit. 177 For discussion on the influence on the Navigatio of the model of Moses leading the Israelites through the desert, see Orlandi (2006), 230–40. 178 Heb 11:9, Fide demoratus est in terra repromissionis, tamquam in aliena, in casulis habitando cum Isaac et Jacob cohaeredibus repromissionis ejusdem. In the Old Testament, the Land of Promise is most often discussed in the form ‘the land I promised’. See, for example, Gen 50:23, Post mortem meam Deus visitabit vos, et ascendere vos faciet de terra ista ad terram quam juravit Abraham, Isaac et Jacob; cf. Ex 33:1, in terram quam juravi; Deut 3:4, Haec est terra, pro qua juravi Abraham. 174

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repromissionis and the Jerusalem in earth was replaced by the Jerusalem above as the focal point in Christian soteriology.179 After their encounter with the youth, Brendan and his monks return directly home, only pausing for a three-day stopover at the insula deliciosa of Mernóc’s community, the place Barrind had left on his own visit to the terra repromissionis at the beginning of the Navigatio (Navigatio 1 & 28). The return journey is thus much shorter and more direct than the route taken on the quest. As the goal of seeing the miracles of Creation has been fulfilled and the terra repromissionis as the ultimate destination of the journey has been reached, there is no need to linger on the return. On their arrival home, the monks of Brendan’s community are joyous at the return of their father, from whom they had been orphaned for too long (Navigatio 29). Brendan relates everything he has seen and encountered on the journey, thereby instructing his community on the power of God. The wonders of God are again singled out in the narrative as the object of the journey, highlighting the significance of the voyage itself rather than the actual goal of the quest, the terra repromissionis, of which there is no mention here.180 After the tale has been told, thus ensuring that it will be passed on, it is time for Brendan to prepare for his death, which has been predicted by the youth.181 After making all of the necessary arrangements and fortifying himself with the divine sacraments, Brendan dies. Surrounded by his disciples, he travels to the Lord.182 Brendan’s death is related in much of the same manner as the deaths of other saints at the end of their hagiographies.183 Irish saints usually die among their brethren after the date of their death has been revealed by supernatural means and they have had time to prepare, give final in On early Christian attitudes towards Jerusalem, see P. Walker (2004), 75–84. Navigatio 29, Tunc beatus vir predictus caritati eorum congratulans narravit omnia que accidisse recordatus est in via et quanta ei Dominus dignatus est miraculorum ostendere portenta. 181 Jan Erik Rekdal has noted that the protagonists of the Navigatio are at this point already living an eternal life and they are only allowed to return ‘through the grace of God, to ensure that their stories can praise Him and his faithful servants’. Rekdal (1990), 9. 182 Navigatio 29, Quod etiam rei probavit eventus, quia cunctis post se bene dispositis, parvo interiaciente temporis intervallo, sacramentis munitus divinis, inter manus discipulorum gloriose migravit ad Dominum, cui est honore et gloria in secula seculorum. Amen. Explicit. 183 See Chapter 2 for a discussion of hagiographical deaths of saints. 179

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structions to the monastic community, and receive communion.184 After all this, they are taken to Heaven, achieving the goal of Christian life and fulfilling the quest for salvation that has directed their whole time on earth. Brendan can thus be counted among the saints who have gone to Heaven. His journey on earth ends in his ascension to the higher plane, his true home, which he was already allowed to see glimpses of during his earthly peregrinations.

4.c. The Monastic Journey If the sea should be understood as the desert in the Navigatio, as suggested at the beginning of this chapter, then the inhabitants of the islands encountered on the way can be seen as the hermits and monastic communities populating the desert. Therefore, Brendan and his companions’ visits to these people and places can be seen as analogous to the journeys of pilgrims visiting hermits and monastic fathers in the Egyptian desert, drawing on the wisdom of the venerable ones encountered on the way.185 The encounters with the abbot of Ailbe’s monastery and Paul the Hermit can be read as examples of the dissemination of wisdom through oral communication, which is central to the stories of the Desert Fathers.186 By virtue of its name, the Verba seniorum is signalled to be full of the sayings of these fathers, often in the context of a younger monk who goes specifically to an elder with a question.187 In the Verba seniorum, the visitors coming to see the hermits Arsenius and Alexander

On the deaths of the saints, see Ritari (2009), 56–58. This approach of reading the journey in the Navigatio as analogous to a visit to see hermits in the desert, as described in the Historia monachorum, has also been suggested by Wooding (2005), 33–34. Cynthia Bourgault has concluded that the monastic vision of the Navigatio ‘seems to be squarely within the Desert tradition at its finest’; Bourgault (1983), 121. The Oriental eremitical motifs in the Navigatio have also been discussed in Fagnoni (2006). Moreover, Westley Follett has highlighted the connection between the sea voyages of the Irish monks and the eremitical quest of the Desert Fathers; Follett (2007), 12–14. 186 Douglas Burton-Christie has stated that ‘the conversation between the monk and the elder was the primary setting in which the wisdom and spirituality of the desert was encountered’; Burton-Christie (2001), 215. See, for example, Historia monachorum i.13–64, ii.7–10, viii.55–59. On the oral transmission of the wisdom of the Desert Fathers, see also Harmless (2004), 171–73, 248–51. 187 See, for example, Verba seniorum i.11, iii.2, 8, 18, iv.1, 24, v.4, 9, 13, 19, vii.5, 9, 24, viii.6, x.2, 65, 69, 100, xi.19, xii.9,xiii.1, 2,xv.4, 65, xvi.14. 184 185

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are explicitly identified as peregrini,188 while the author of the Historia monachorum refers to his own journey to meet the hermits of Egypt and learn from them as a peregrinatio.189 The journey to the desert in order to witness and learn should thus be understood within the framework of pilgrimage – a transformative journey to encounter the holy. Georgia Frank has argued that the motif of travel is essential for understanding the way in which the Historia monachorum was received. She proposes that the text should be seen as belonging to the genre of pilgrim’s accounts rather than monastic biographies.190 Similarly, the Navigatio should also be read as a holy itinerary. It is a guidebook to the road to Heaven, which is not to be followed physically by tracing the steps of Brendan’s company from island to island, but spiritually as a narrative theology that treats the meaning of monastic life. It should thus be viewed as analogous to travelogues read by armchair travellers: it is literature that gives inspiration and tells of strange places – in the case of the Navigatio, the marvels of Creation and the path to Heaven – for an audience that is not expected to leave their comfy chairs or, in the case of monks, their not-so-comfy cells. The journey of Brendan and his monks should be understood as an exterior realisation of the inner journey that the monastic audience is expected to take by dedicating their lives to the same goal – i.e. Heaven. Food – or the lack of it – plays a central role in the narrative. The entire story is interspersed with occasions of fasting and feasting. The story gives detailed information on what the monks ate and when. Although such references to food may seem at first glance to be irrelevant to the spiritual message of the Navigatio, they actually impart a lesson of great import.191 The spiritual significance of food becomes clear when eating 188 Verba seniorum xiv.1 (PL 73.947). In Benedicta Ward’s translation of the Verba seniorum, the term ‘pilgrimage’ occurs also in an episode dealing with a brother’s journey out of the monastery in order to see a famous hermit. The Latin text, however, reads in peregre, which could just mean ‘in a foreign country’, referring to the location of the hermit’s dwelling. Verba seniorum x.39 (PL 73.919). 189 Historia monachorum vi.3 (PL 21.410), Sed et ipse revelare cupiens, et consolari peregrinationis nostrae laborem, in tabella scribens ad nos gratiam doctrinamque sui sermonis ostendit. 190 Frank (1998), 485–93. 191 The significance of food in the Navigatio has also been discussed by Wooding (2003). On p. 171, he concludes that ‘the unusual representation of the consumption of food and drink is crucial to the structure and progression of the narrative’, since it is part of the cyclical celebration of the liturgical year by which the monks await their entry into the Promised Land. On the symbolism of food in early and medieval Christianity, see Bynum (1987), 31–69.

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and not eating are seen as part of the ascetical purificatory ritual that enables monks to subdue their bodies and, by thus achieving the prelapsarian harmony between body and soul, to draw nearer to the divine. The ascetical practices of the monasticism inherited from the hermits of the desert place great importance on controlling the intake of food. In the Verba seniorum, the centrality of restricting food intake as part of the pilgrimage of life is reflected in the saying of Abba Sisois, Quia peregrinatio nostra est, ut teneat homo os suum.192 Those who have advanced furthest on the path to Heaven can do entirely without food, like Paul the Hermit in Navigatio 26, who is nourished only by the water of the well. The connection between the paradisiacal state and incorporeal nourishment is also clearly established by Ambrose, for example, in his conclusion that the fruits to be eaten in Paradise (unlike those of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil) could not be earthly and corruptible, since ‘those who do not eat or drink will be like angels in Heaven’.193 During their island-hopping, Brendan and his monks undertake to cook their food only once, when on the back of the giant fish Jasconius in Navigatio 10. In this episode, the lighting of the fire under the pot serves a narrative function of causing the fish to dive, thus revealing to the astonished monks the real nature of the island on which they had disembarked. The diet of raw food enjoyed by Brendan and his companions on their journey also echoes that of the Desert Fathers. In the Historia monachorum, for example, it is told of John of Lycopolis that he never ate anything that needed to be cooked.194 The diet of uncooked plants and roots enjoyed by Brendan and his monks for parts of their journey also provides sustenance to the hermits and monks in the Egyptian desert in some stories of Historia monachorum.195 Brendan’s vegetarian diet, which he had followed ever since his ordination into the priesthood, may be based on the paragon of the Desert Fathers: for instance, the Verba seniorum in192 Verba seniorum iv.44 (PL 73.870), ‘Our form of pilgrimage is keeping the mouth closed.’ Translation by Benedicta Ward. This saying is included in the chapter dealing with self-control, which mostly deals with fasting. Thus, the injunction should probably be understood in the context of eating rather than speaking. 193 De paradiso ix.42: quia qui non bibunt, neque manducant, erunt sicut angeli in coelo. Ambrose discusses further in the same work how man should eat in sadness: since the bodily state of man is a result of the Fall, one should chastise his body in an attempt to subjugate it. De paradiso ix.75. 194 Historia monachorum i.17. See also Historia monachorum vi.4, viii.8, ix, (in translation, x.6). 195 Navigatio 1, 13. See, for example, Historia monachorum ii.4, xi (in translation, xii.3).

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cludes the story of a hermit named Hilarion, who after taking up the habit did not eat anything that had been killed.196 The eating of the produce of the earth may also serve as a reminder of man’s fallen state; in Genesis 3:18, it is listed as one of the consequences of the Fall.197 While in Genesis, however, it is linked with the need to toil for food, Brendan’s company and the inhabitants of the islands already show signs of living closer to Heaven, since they are provided for by God and have no need to work for food. Miraculously provided with food whenever the need arises, Brendan’s company embodies the biblical maxim of Matthew 6:25–27: Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more than food, and the body more than clothes? Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not much more valuable than they? Can any one of you by worrying add a single hour to your life?

Paul the Hermit’s lack of clothing in Navigatio 25 is another example of his extraordinary freedom from mortal cares and an indication that the author of the Navigatio had the abovementioned biblical passage in mind. Matthew 6:28–34 continues with the theme of clothing: And why do you worry about clothes? See how the flowers of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, will he not much more clothe you – you of little faith? So do not worry, saying, ‘What shall we eat?’ or ‘What shall we drink?’ or ‘What shall we wear?’ For the pagans run after all these things, and your heavenly Father knows that you need them. But seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.

Faith in God’s providence – both in occasions of hunger and danger – is the lesson that Brendan repeatedly teaches his monks during their jour-

196 Navigatio16: quia predictus pater postquam fuit sacerdos, nihil gustavit in quia spiritus vite esset de carne. Verba seniorum iv.15 (PL 73.866): Ignosce mihi, Pater, quia ex quo accepi habitum istum, non manducavi quidquid occisum. 197 Gen 3:18, pinas et tribulos germinabit tibi et comedes herbas terrae.

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ney.198 The monastic audience of the story is expected to take the lesson to heart as well, learning to live insouciantly, modelling their lives on Brendan’s company and the ideal monastic communities encountered on the journey. The same lesson is also taught by the stories of the Desert Fathers, whose faith in God’s protection is rewarded by the miraculous provision of food. The author of the Historia monachorum, for example, explains in his introduction that the monks of the desert have no anxieties about food or clothing. Concentrating only on the coming of Christ, singing hymns, they are miraculously provided for by God whenever they need something.199 The same work tells an exemplary tale of a hermit who had so advanced in the ascetical life and contemplation of God that he did not worry at all about his body’s nourishment, being satiated for the most part only by the delight of hoping for the life to come. Nevertheless, he also received some material nourishment in the form of a loaf of bread, which miraculously appeared in his cell every two or three days, just as in the case of the monks at the monastery of Ailbe in Navigatio 12.200 The Historia monachorum additionally contains the example of a hermit called Apollo, who lived in the desert with his five monastic brothers.201 Running out of food when Easter was approaching, Apollo advised his disciples to put their faith in God, asking Him to provide them with whatever they needed. Immediately some strangers arrived from afar, bringing an abundant feast of all kinds of exotic fruits, grapes, pomegranates, figs, walnuts, honeycombs, pitchers of fresh milk, giant dates and loaves of bread still warm from the oven. There are several aspects of this story that find parallels in the Navigatio, such as the temporal context of Easter, the miraculous provision of food made just when needed and in order to celebrate the greatest festival of the Christian year, and the supernatural nature of the foods provided. Also worth noting are the abundance and size of the fruits, pointing to their origin in a paradise-like place, like the Island of the Grapes and the terra repromissionis in Navigatio 18 and 28.202 In Anna Maria Fagnoni has also highlighted the unwavering faith in God’s guidance and provision as a central theme of the Navigatio, which has close analogues in the literature on the Desert Fathers. See Fagnoni (2006), 56–65. 199 Historia monachorum Prol.7–8. For other examples of miraculous provision, see Historia monachorum vii (in translation, viii.5–6), xi (in translation, xii.14–15). 200 Historia monachorum i.46–47. See also ibid. ix (in translation, x.8) 201 Historia monachorum vii (in translation, viii.38–41). 202 For another example of marvelously sized fruits, see Historia monachorum ix (in translation, x.21), in which the largeness and delicious scent of a fig produced by a hermit named Patermuthius serve as proofs of the hermit’s visit to Paradise. 198

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both the Historia monachorum and the Navigatio moreover, the fruits are found growing out of season, which makes them even more miraculous.203 The desert hermits of Egypt, as well as the ideal monks and hermits encountered by Brendan on his journey, exemplify to the audiences of these tales unwavering faith in God’s providence and the ideal of focusing on the contemplation of God in the expectation of the afterlife. In their disregard for worldly comforts and worries, as well as their continual focus on the reality of the otherworld, these monks and hermits embody the same paradigm of leading lives as pilgrims on the way to the true homeland as recommended by Columbanus in his sermons, which were discussed in the previous chapter. The abovementioned passage from Matthew 6:33 moreover instructs the audience to direct their lives first towards seeking the Kingdom of God, after which all material necessities – including food and clothing – will be given to them, as illustrated by the exemplary monks of the Navigatio and the tales about the Desert Fathers. The contemplation of God and freedom from worldly cares therefore go hand in hand. When the monks direct their efforts and thoughts to the supernatural reality, awaiting the afterlife and in the process turning their backs on this world, they are freed from worldly concerns and provided for by God. Thus, they are able to lead an angelic life on earth, thereby resolving the perennial conflict between the body and soul, which is also one of the central themes of the sermons of Columbanus. Tatyana Mikhailova has suggested that Irish ecclesiastics treated sea voyages as pilgrimages that were interpreted as a voluntary, symbolic death.204 The sea journey of Brendan and his companions in the Navigatio symbolises the spiritual journey of the monks on their way to Heaven. Thus, in essence, the voyage in the Navigatio is the same as the pilgrimage of life of the monks. As was discussed in the previous chapter, it has been suggested by Arnold Van Gennep that monastic vows and pilgrimage share with the seasonal rituals the centrality of the notions of death and rebirth.205 Entering the monastic life and setting out on pilgrimage The Historia monachorum episode tells only that the fruits brought by the strangers were out of season. In Navigatio 28, Brendan and his companions arrive to the terra repromissionis forty days after the end of the liturgical season of Easter, only to find that the land is full of trees bearing fruit as if at autumn harvest. 204 This is based on a brief English summary of Mikhailova’s work, which is published only in Russian. Fomin (2004), 76. Peter Harbison also placed the Navigatio within the context of Irish sea pilgrimages in his discussion of traditions of pilgrimage in Ireland. Harbison (1992), 37–48. 205 Van Gennep (1960), 182. 203

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thus contain motifs of both shedding the old self and transformation. By setting out on the sea in search of the earthly paradise, Brendan and his monks hope to distance themselves from the world and get closer to Heaven. By means of encounters with the inhabitants of various islands who have already been transformed into angelic beings, the pilgrimage of Brendan and his companions does bring them closer to Heaven. At the end of the story, Brendan returns to his monastery only for a brief interlude before he is finally taken to the heavenly home. On a narrative level, the figural death of leaving the world in order to encounter the holy foreshadows actual corporal death and achieving heavenly union with God. In discussing the traditions of religious pilgrimage, Jonathan Wooding concludes that ‘religious communities were thus seen as living in a place between the world of capitivity (Egypt/the secular life), and the promised land the New Jerusalem… the monk was hence not static, but a traveller’.206 In the Navigatio, this journey of monastic life is realised as an actual voyage between the contrasting poles of earth and Heaven. In essence, however, the voyage is spiritual. The trials and tribulations encountered by Brendan and his monks on their journey are tests of faith through which Brendan guides his flock, teaching them a lesson in unwavering trust in God’s providence. This is the lesson also for the monastic audience of the tale, who are expected to take the same journey in spirit on their pilgrimage towards Heaven.207 The monastic audience joins with Brendan and his companions, following the same cycle of liturgy and sharing the same goal of reaching the heavenly plane. Monastic life is presented in the Navigatio as a journey towards Heaven. According to the author of the Navigatio, although it is the goal that gives meaning to the journey, it is still okay to stop and admire the wonders of Creation on the way. Brendan and his companions are allowed into the terra repromissionis only after seven years of travelling, because God has decreed that they should first tour the wonders of Creation. They are witnesses to the marvels of the ocean, which should be understood as signs prefiguring the true reality that awaits on the other side. The task of the travellers is to see, to remember and to pass on the message to those waiting at home. They are thus messengers who have visited the otherworld and who bear witness to it. By telling the tale, Wooding (2010a), 610. Dorothy Ann Bray has also concluded that ‘Brendan’s voyage illustrates the monastic ideals of stability and faith’ rather than promoting the leaving of one’s monastery on a wandering pilgrimage. Bray (1995), 177–86. 206

207

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they provide examples of ideal monastic life and trust in God’s providence and, most importantly, they bear the message of the reality of the heavenly kingdom, which awaits everyone after death, as well as the way to get there.

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5. GEOGRAPHY OF THE OTHERWORLD: FÍS ADOMNÁIN

I must go on boasting. Although there is nothing to be gained, I will go on to visions and revelations from the Lord. I know a man in Christ who fourteen years ago was caught up to the third heaven. Whether it was in the body or out of the body I do not know – God knows. And I know that this man – whether in the body or apart from the body I do not know, but God knows – was caught up to paradise and heard inexpressible things, things that no one is permitted to tell.1

5.a. The End of the Voyage If the description of the earthly paradise in the Navigatio may have felt somewhat disappointing in its brevity and vagueness, one can turn to the genre of medieval literature known as visions, in which the otherworld and the state of those inhabiting the hereafter are described in much more detail and clarity.2 This genre fills the gap between the fragmentary nature of the biblical geography of the otherworld and people’s inherent interest in the posthumous destinies of souls. It illuminates in great detail the aspects of blessedness enjoyed by those who have been saved and with especially graphic and gruesome images the horrible tortures awaiting the damned. Séamus Mac Mathúna has suggested a typological relationship between voyage tales, including the Navigatio, and passages to Heaven and Hell, both of which ‘may be read on an allegorical level as journeys 2 Cor 12:1–4. I am extremely grateful to John Carey for giving me a copy of his forthcoming edition and translation of Fís Adomnáin prior to its publication. 1 2

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of initiation, regeneration and transformation, with typical recurring themes of descent and ascent, death and rebirth’.3 In both voyage tales and visions, the story revolves around the protagonist’s journey into the otherworld. While in the former the emphasis is on the journey itself, the latter focuses on the actual otherworldly locations that are the destination of the vision. Both genres describe a return trip – the protagonist goes forth and then comes back, bringing with him (in the Irish cases, it is always him) information concerning the otherworld. In some cases, the protagonist is transformed by the journey from a sinner into a saintly person, while in others he is a saint to begin with. Journeys of going forth and returning can also be seen within the matrix of pilgrimage.4 Both the visionary and the worldly pilgrim extricate themselves from the structures of the mundane world in order to encounter the holy and then return (sometimes as changed persons). The visionary journey can thus be seen as a liminoid phenomenon consisting of distinct phases of separation, limen and aggregation, just like a pilgrimage.5 The typical visionary is removed from everyday life by sickness or a dream, in which he is taken to the otherworld.6 Often he appears to be dead, thereby accentuating the themes of death and rebirth that have been suggested to also be present in pilgrimage and undertaking a monastic vow.7 During his wanderings in the otherworld (usually accompanied by an angelic guide), the visionary occupies a liminal state; he is in the otherworld, but he does not belong there. In Dante’s Divina Commedia – the work in which the entire genre culminates – this is underlined by the repeated mention of the inhabitants of Hell and Purgatory that their visionary visitor is still in his mortal form and thus does not belong among them.8 When the visionary returns to the earthly side of the veil, he is joined again with the community of the living by relating the story of his experience. The whole point of the journey is 3 Mac Mathúna (1994a), 169. St Brendan’s voyage is often discussed in the context of vision literature; see, for example, Haas (1998), 460–61; Carozzi (1994), 291–96; Gurevich (1988), 131–32. 4 The connection between visions and pilgrimage has been discussed by Carol Zaleski in Zaleski (1987), 34–42. 5 Turner & Turner (1978), 2–3. 6 On the typical parameters of visionary literature, see E. Gardiner (1989), xv– xxvi; Dinzelbacher (1981), 78–89. On the apocryphal roots of vision literature, see Russell (1997), 57–61. 7 Van Gennep (1960), 182. 8 See, for example, Dante’s Divine Comedy: Inferno xxiii.85–96; Purgatorio iii.88–96, v.4–6, v.25–27.

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to transmit a message of the reality of the afterlife awaiting everyone. It may function as a wake-up call for the visionary to change his ways, if he is of less than saintly character himself, or for the sake of causing his audience to repent of their sins while there still is time. This explains the disproportionate attention given in visions to images of punishment and Hell, compared to rewards in Heaven. In medieval Europe, visions were an extremely popular genre that also circulated widely as vernacular translations.9 Hortatory tales of a visionary nature were also incorporated into homilies, thus ensuring that the warning of punishments in the afterlife would effectively reach the Christian community through the mass media of preaching.10 There are several visions of Irish background, written either in Ireland or recounting the adventures of an Irish hero but written elsewhere than the island. In addition to Fís Adomnáin, they include the Vision of Fursa relating the otherworldly experience of the Irish saint Fursa summarised in Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica;11 the fragmentary Vision of Laisrén in Irish from eighth or ninth century;12 the twelfth-century Vision of Tnugdal happening in Cork but written by an Irish monk on the Continent;13 the Tractatus de Purgatorio Sancti Patricii written by an English monk towards the end of twelfth century and relating the adventures of a knight named Owein at the cave known as the Purgatory of St Patrick on an island in Lough Derg, County Donegal;14 and a number of other texts touching upon Heaven and Hell but not necessarily visions as such.15

9 On the medieval genre of visions, see Dinzelbacher (1981); Gurevich (1988), 109–52; E. Gardiner (1989); Haas (1998); Boyle (2010). 10 On eschatological material in Irish homilies, see, for example, Ó Dochartaigh (2012), 141–53; Ritari (2013), 125–51. 11 HE iii.19. Fursa’s visions (in total four separate visionary experiences in this version) can also be found in the Life of St Fursa. 12 E. Gardiner (1993), 124–24. 13 E. Gardiner (1993), 210–22. This vision will be discussed in more detail further below towards the end of this chapter. 14 E. Gardiner (1993), 151–78. 15 There exists, for example, a work known as the Second Vision of Adomnán, which is not so much a vision as a homily exhorting the audience to fast and pray. For this and other Irish texts on these subjects, see the handlist of Irish eschatological texts in Nic Cárthaigh (2014). The most extensive discussion of Irish vision texts as a genre has recently been concluded by Nicole Volmering in her yet unpublished PhD thesis, Volmering (2014). I wish to thank Nicole for giving me a copy of her thesis.

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Considering that penance was an integral part of Irish monastic practice, the penitential message of visions and hortatory anecdotes with eschatological themes was especially well-suited for the early medieval Irish spiritual environment.16 Irish monastics played a seminal role in the development of penance in the Western Church, as the practice of private confession and repeatable penance originated in Irish (and Welsh) monastic circles as a way of resolving the problem posed by the earlier practice of public one-off penance reserved only for the most hideous sins.17 Following the example of the Desert Fathers, Irish monks placed emphasis on the subjugation of the body through ascetical practices as a way to get closer to the prelapsarian state of man. Constant soul-searching and the confession of even the smallest misdemeanour were part of this monastic discipline, which viewed sin as a sickness of the soul to be cured in the same way as a bodily illness. Thus, the confessor became a medical expert who prescribed suitable remedies from penitential handbooks listing sins and their corresponding penances. This practice was then extended to include all Christians, not only specialists, although its practical application to the laity in early medieval Ireland is still being debated.18 The message concerning repentance and posthumous punishments was corroborated through vision literature and eschatological anecdotes about the posthumous destinies of souls; by purporting to tell of real-life events, they lent credibility to the message.

5.b. Mapping the Afterlife in the Fís Adomnáin The Fís Adomnáin (hereafter FA) has been called ‘an Irish precursor of Dante’.19 This title does not really do justice to the FA as a work of art on its own merit, since it is thus reduced to being just a step in the development of the genre that culminated in Dante’s fourteenth-century 16 The vital connection between literature about otherworldly journeys and thisworldly penitential practice has been discussed also in Haas (1998), 442–45. On penance and preparation for death in the patristic Church, see Rebillard (1994), 140–227. 17 For further discussion, see, for example, McNeill (1932), 14–26; Connolly (1995), 1–36; F. G. Clancy (1988), 87–109; O’Loughlin (2000a), 48–57. 18 There is no agreement on how widely the pastoral care of the Church was available to the lay population in early medieval Ireland. See Sharpe (1992), 81–109; Etchingham (1991), 99–118; Etchingham (2006), 79–90; O’Loughlin (2000c), 93–111. 19 Boswell’s book-length study on FA is named An Irish Precursor of Dante.

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masterpiece, Divina Commedia. The FA has generally been regarded as the finest of Irish visionary tales – and sometimes even of pre-Dantean medieval visions in general.20 Charles Stuart Boswell has called it ‘the first serious attempt between the Vision of Enoch and the Commedia of Dante, either to think the subject thoroughly out, or to treat it in a literary spirit: an attempt on the part of the author to construct in his own mind some distinct idea of the otherworld and, and to present his conception to his readers in a coherent form.’21 The visionary of the FA is the same Adomnán whose saintly biography was discussed in Chapter 2. Neither his Life nor the Vision bearing his name is based on actual historical information regarding Adomnán himself, who happens to be a relatively well-known figure due to his own surviving writings and, as the abbot of Iona, his high profile in seventhcentury ecclesiastical and even secular politics. As already discussed in Chapter 2, in the hagiographical work concerning him, Adomnán repeatedly comes face to face with demonic figures. This may have made him renowned as a person with a special connection to the supernatural realm, lending him credence as a protagonist of a visionary tale. Moreover, the Vita Columbae places emphasis on the saint’s visionary faculties, underlining their central role in Adomnán’s understanding of the saintly powers of Columba.22 The text survives in four manuscripts written between the early twelfth and early sixteenth centuries and in two abridged versions interpolated with other texts.23 In the most recent study on the work, John Carey has dated it on linguistic grounds to the end of the tenth century.24 The surviving versions do not depend on each other, but contain Boswell (1908), 175; Seymour (1924–1927b), 304; Seymour (1930), 99–100; Dumville (1977/78), 77. 21 Boswell (1908), 175. 22 For further discussion of this aspect of Adomnán’s portrayal of Columba, see MacQueen (1989), 37–51; Ritari (2009), 30–43. 23 1) Lebor na hUidre, RIA 23 E 25 (1229). One of the scribes was killed in 1106. 2) Leabhar Breac, RIA 23 P 16 (1230). Written 1408–11. 3) Liber Flavus Fergusiorum, RIA 23 O 48 a–b (476). Written c. 1440. 4) Bibliothèque nationale de France, Fonds Celtique no.1. Early sixteenth century. In the Yellow Book of Lecan from Trinity College 1318 (H.2.16), parts of the FA are interpolated into the Ecthre Chléirech Coluim Chille. The conclusion of the FA is also interpolated into the vernacular Life of Saint Brendan in several manuscripts. For a more detailed discussion of the manuscript versions and their relationships, see Carey (forthcoming); Dumville (1977/8), 62–63. 24 Carey, (forthcoming). Earlier scholars regularly ascribed it to the tenth or the eleventh century. See Kenney (1929), 444–45 (entry 226); Dumville (1977/78), 62; McNamara (1996), 71. 20

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some variations. Structurally, however, they agree with each other in all essentials, except that the ending in FA 35 is only found in the Lebor na hUidre version.25 In his 1908 study of the FA, Charles Stuart Boswell argued that it is a composite text consisting of two parts: the original, which includes episodes 1–20 and (probably 31–)32, and the rest of the work (21– 30, 33–35), which was supplemented by a later redactor of the work.26 St. John D. Seymour went even further in his 1920s study of the FA, as he was prepared to also omit episodes 11–13 and 15–18 from the original. After the radical deletion of more than half the work, Seymour held the remaining episodes (1–10, 14, 19–20, 31–32) to be ‘a perfectly constructed scheme of late Celtic eschatology’.27 These excisions were made on the basis of first Boswell’s and then Seymour’s own understanding of what a ‘Celtic eschatology’ should be like, as well as their opinion about what was aesthetically and morally suitable for such an eschatology. Seymour furthermore sought to remove contradictions in the text, which presents a fourfold division of souls overall but allows only a twofold division in the section of the seven heavens (15–18).28 However, Seymour conflicts with himself in the same article by concluding that the contradictory ideas regarding the division of souls may be attributed to the original author and thus are not later additions.29 Subsequent scholars have criticised this sort of restructuring of the text and defended its integrity as a unified whole.30 Most of the previous work on the FA has focused on the sources of its visionary account of the afterlife.31 The aim of the current analysis is to study the text as representative of the eschatologically oriented spirituality of the early Irish Church rather than focusing on details derived from pre-existing sources. These will be discussed as well, but the main emphasis of this study is on reading the text as a whole in order to de On the variations and the structure of the text, see Dumville (1977/78), 65. Boswell (1908), 176–80. 27 Seymour (1924–27b), 305. 28 Seymour (1924–27b), 305. 29 Seymour (1924–27b), 309–10. 30 David Dumville has discussed in detail both Boswell’s and Seymour’s views of the composite nature of the FA. He concludes, ‘The removal by criticism of some two thirds of the text is an achievement of heroic proportions but the principles which permitted or encouraged such carefree activity are no longer acceptable.’ Dumville (1977/78), 65. 31 Dumville (1977/78); Seymour (1924–27b); Boswell (1908). 25

26

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cipher its spiritual contents and determine how its author perceived the relationship between life in this world and in the herafter. The work opens in Latin with Psalm 146:5, Magnus Dominus noster et magna virtus eius et sapientiae eius non est numerus,32 This is then explicated in Irish, praising the greatness of the Lord’s strength and power and the abundance of His boundless wisdom. It continues with the same Psalm, presenting Psalm 146:6 in Latin, Suscipiens mansuetos, Dominus humiliat autem peccatores usque ad terram.33 This is again explained in Irish as meaning that the Lord invites the folk of charity and mercy into Heaven, but casts down to earth and into Hell na mac mallachtan, ‘the sons of malediction’. The second Psalm quote thus introduces to the audience the topic of the work: the heavenly rewards of the blessed and the infernal torments of the damned. Since the meaning of the Latin passages is explained in the vernacular throughout the work, it is apparent that the audience was not necessarily expected to understand Latin. This may indicate that the work was intended for a wider audience that also included laypeople. Other indications of lay audience can be found towards the end of FA, where Adomnán is said to preach the message concerning the rewards and punishments to the crowds and at the great assembly of the men of Ireland. The same message is moreover being preached by other characters to several lay people, including Emperor Constantine and Philip, king of the Romans (FA 55–62). Furthermore, it fits well with what is known about visions in general, since they were a popular genre and similar eschatological themes were also widely distributed to a lay audience as part of homilies in hortatory anecdotes concerning the destinies of the dead.34 The popularity of these themes clearly demonstrates how central they were for the Christian message, both inside and outside of the monastic walls. In monastic life, however, the search for the heavenly kingdom became the predominant factor in the earthly life of the monks. All Christians were expected to follow a common path to the heavenly home, but it was the monastics who took the lead, dedicating their whole lives to the quest. Therefore, studying this vision as a reflec-

32 In English Ps 147:5, ‘Great is our Lord and mighty in power; his understanding has no limit’. 33 In English Ps 147:6, ‘The Lord sustains the humble but casts the wicked to the ground’. 34 For further discussion of the audience and use of visions, see E.  Gardiner (1989), xiii–xiv.

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tion of monastic spirituality is justified, even if it may have been meant for a wider audience. The exordium then continues with an even more detailed explication of the biblical passages quoted at the opening of the work in FA 2–8. It includes Latin passages, which clearly derive from biblical commentaries, and their explanations in Irish. John Carey has identified the sources as works of Julian of Eclanum, Augustine, Prosper of Aquitaine, and Jerome.35 This longer version of the exordium is best preserved in the Leabhar Breac version of FA, while in Leabhar na hUidre only FA 1 is present and in some of the other manuscripts this whole section is omitted.36 The biblical periscope ends with the contrasting destinies of the meek and gentle, who are rewarded in Heaven, and the pitiless, who have eternal punishments awaiting them in the afterlife. This is an apt introduction to the actual work, which aims to give a detailed tour of the places of reward and punishment. Introducing to the audience some earlier examples of visionary seers, FA 9 mentions Peter’s vision of the four-cornered sheet with the impure animals in Acts 10:9–16 and Paul’s experience of being lifted up to the third heaven in 2 Corinthians 12:1–4 quoted at the beginning of this chapter. The third example of visionary experiences, which comes from an extra-biblical source, concerns the apostles, who are credited with a vision of Hell on the day of Mary’s dormition.37 In FA 10, Adomnán enters the picture as a member of this esteemed group of visionaries. Adomnán’s vision is told to have happened on the feast of John the Baptist. There is no mention of the vision happening during sleep or sickness, but rather it seems to be an out-of-body experience of his soul being borne to Heaven and Hell. Peter’s vision involved a trance, while Paul did not know whether his vision happened while he was in his body or out of it.38 Most medieval visionaries experienced their visions while in some altered state of consciousness, most typically while sleeping or severely ill.39 Another standard feature of the visionary literature is the presence of a guide, most commonly an angel or a saint.40 The guide acts Carey, (forthcoming). See Carey, (forthcoming). 37 John Carey has identified the source of this apostolic vision as an account of dormition closely resembling the Irish apocryphon Timna Muire. See Carey, (forthcoming). 38 Act 10:10; 2 Cor 2:2. 39 For discussion, see Zaleski (1987), 45–52. 40 For discussion, see Zaleski (1987), 52–55. 35

36

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as a protector and an interpreter who explains to the visionary (and to the audience of the tale) the meaning of the things seen in the afterlife. Adomnán’s guide is his guardian angel, who has been with him as long as he has been in the flesh (FA 11). The idea of a personal guardian angel was popularised, for example, through the Visio Pauli, from which authors of subsequent visions drew inspiration.41 In that text, Paul is invited to witness the evocative scene that is repeated every night when the guardian angel appointed to each person proceeds to report to God the deeds of that person during the day.42 Adomnán’s tour of infernal and heavenly sightseeing begins in FA 12 with verdant and radiant land of the saints (tír na noem). This heavenly abode is highly organised; the saints of the east, west, north and south are found in their own companies, yet in corresponding positions to hear the songs of the nine grades of the host of Heaven, which are also organised according to their rank and order (FA 13). The blessedness of the saints consists of not only alternately singing the praise of God and listening to the songs of the household of Heaven, but also contemplating the radiance that they see around them and enjoying the fragrance of the land. These auditory, visual and olfactory experiences are enough to nourish the blessed in Heaven, underlining the fact that they have been freed from the corporeal needs of man and that they have reached the heavenly state that is the goal of the ascetical practices of many saints still on earth. In the Navigatio, this state is experienced by Barrind and Mernóc on their visit to the Land of the Saints, where they spend a year with no need for food or drink.43 The lovely fragrance of that land moreover still lingers in their clothes on their return to Mernóc’s monastery. The author of the FA stresses the fact that there is no veil or darkness ( fial ná temel) between the household of Heaven and the saints, but that the heavenly company can be seen directly (FA 14). There is some gradation in this beatific vision, however, since it is only after Judgment Day that they will finally be able to gaze upon the face of God with no veil or shadow (cen fial cen forscáth) separating them (FA 16). The saints will then enjoy fulfilment of the biblical promise in 1 Corinthians 13:12, ‘For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face 41 On the popularity and influence of Visio Pauli in the Middle Ages in general and in Ireland in particular, see Hilhorst (2003), 72–74; Silverstein (1959), 199–248; McNamara (2003), 80–87; Wright (1993), 106–3. 42 Visio Pauli 7. In Visio Pauli, however, it is not indicated that Paul’s angelic guide would be his personal guardian angel. 43 Navigatio 1.

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to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.’ It is part of their heavenly reward that they are able to gaze at the heavenly brightness with no shadow or veil interposed between them. Purifying the inner eyes in order to behold truth and strengthening them in order to be able to look directly at the heavenly brightness were, according to many authors, aspects of religious training towards holiness that are then perfected in the afterlife. Augustine compares eyes being dazzled from looking directly at the midday sun to eyes that have not been purified and fortified to look at the heavenly light.44 John Cassian furthermore writes of those who have freed themselves from earthly thoughts and disturbances by going to the lofty mountain of the desert in order to make themselves deserving, so that the Godhead will reveal to them ‘the glory of his face and the image of his brightness’.45 In Adomnán’s own writing, the Vita Columbae, this theme is elaborated upon in several episodes that deal with the saint’s superhuman powers of seeing and his experiences of heavenly brightness, which pose a danger to the less holy witnesses who happen to see them, either accidentally or on purpose against Columba’s orders.46 In the Vita Columbae, Adomnán makes it clear that only the saints can enjoy the vision of heavenly light with their bodily eyes, since they are already leading a heavenly life while on earth.47 For Adomnán, Columba is the perfect monk who leads his community by example and shows the way for others to follow. Therefore, the unimpeded vision of heavenly brightness is for both Adomnán and the anonymous author of the FA part of the rewards of the saints in Heaven, and Adomnán furthermore makes it clear that it is the goal of the monastic vocation. As stated above, even the vision of the saints is still not perfect, as there is an even brighter radiance around the holiest area – the throne of the Lord – surrounded by the company of Heaven (FA 17). The royal seat is supported by four pillars of precious stone and covered by an enormous arch so marvellous that human eyes would instantly melt on seeing it (FA 19). The different levels of brightness range, therefore, 44 De vera religione xx.29. On Augustine’s views on the vision of God in Heaven, see Russell (1997), 88. 45 Collationes x.6, gloriam vultus eius ac claritatis eius revelat imaginem his. 46 See VC iii.16, 19–21. For further discussion on visions of divine light in the VC, see Bruce (2004), 140–47; Ritari (2009), 30–43; Ritari (2010), 274–88; Sharman (2010), 289–302. 47 See VC second preface, quamuis in terra positus caelestibus se aptum moribus ostendebat.

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according to the state of the visionary. The holiest is reserved only for those that have superhuman capacities of seeing. Heaven is not experienced by sight alone, however; it is a full sensory experience. Having already mentioned its wonderful fragrance, marvellous singing and awe-inspiring sights, the author returns again to the auditory environment by describing three birds that are perched on the throne of God, celebrating the eight daily offices with their song, and are joined by the entire company of Heaven, including the saints (FA 18). These birds remind of the neutral bird-like angels singing the offices in the paradise of birds in Navigatio 11, as both are of heavenly origin and their task is to celebrate the monastic hours. The difference, however, between the birds in FA and those in the Navigatio, is the fallen state of the avian singers in the latter. An even closer analogue can be found in Immram Brain, the most famous of the Irish tales of sea voyages known as immrama, in which the protagonist Bran encounters birds singing the Hours on his journey to the otherworld.48 They sing heavenly songs of praise, which monks on earth are called to join in as an earthly reflection of the celestial liturgy. Moreover, the birds in FA 18 have their minds perpetually fixed on the Creator, thus establishing them as a paragon of the perfect state of contemplation that is also the goal of earthly monks. For John Cassian, for example, contemplation means transcending earthly limitations and enjoying a foretaste of Heaven, turning one’s inward gaze towards the divine and thereby seeing God.49 He establishes already in the opening chapter of the Collationes that a monk’s mind should always be engaged with divine things.50 As stated, for example, in 1 Corinthians 13:12 (quoted above), ‘seeing’ also means ‘knowing’. The heavenly birds in FA 18 therefore exemplify the goal of monastic life: their minds have reached union with God and they constantly praise him as part of the heavenly liturgy. Monks on earth can also experience this blessed state by singing the monastic hours and concentrating on contemplation of the divine. The whole scene of the saints in their white robes around the throne, which is surrounded by angels and other heavenly creatures, evokes the image of the great multitude clad in white robes in Apocalypse 7:9–17. Here the centre of the scene is the throne around which the angels are Immram Brain, 7. On the role of contemplation in Cassian’s monastic theology, see Stewart (1998), 47–58. 50 Collationes i.8.1 48 49

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standing, surrounded by those ‘who have come out of the great tribulation’ and ‘who have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb’ (Apoc 7:14). The multitude therefore consists of those who have been tested and shown to be true. The saints in the FA passage have also proven their faith, since saints by definition are martyrs or confessors who have testified to the depth of their faith either by their deaths or by their lives. After these visual and auditory experiences, the visionary encounters something beyond the level of sensory experience – the Lord Himself. Although the author starts by saying that words fail him since the Lord cannot be described by human language, he nevertheless manages to tell us something of his understanding of the being of God (FA 20). According to the author, God’s face can be seen from every direction, although He does not have a human shape and can be seen only as a fiery mass (FA 21). Since God’s being is beyond human understanding, His presence is instead experienced indirectly through an experience of His glory, which fills both Heaven and earth, by seeing the multitudes positioned around Him and hearing their wondrous singing. After this brief description of the holiest of the holy, the author turns to a more detailed look at the city surrounding the throne: having seven crystalline walls, it is inhabited by holy virgins, pilgrims and penitents devoted to God (FA 22–23: noemóig nó ailithrig nó aithrigig dúthrachtaig do Dia).51 Again we encounter among the blessed those who have dedicated their whole lives to the quest of the heavenly kingdom. The virgins have kept themselves pure by declining worldly marriage and dedicating themselves to God. Pilgrimage and penance should also be understood here to refer to a lifelong quest and a permanent state. The term ailithir, or ‘pilgrim’, refers here to one who is foreign to the world, someone on peregrinatio, rather than someone who goes to a holy place and comes back again. Penance undertaken as a voluntary practice can also understood as a permanent state of purification. The residents of this heavenly abode are thus not ordinary Christians, but members of the spiritual ‘special forces’, whose task it is to fight for Heaven. These groups are arranged so that they are all facing God without having their backs turned towards the others, and their equality is reflected in their having the same share of the sight of the Lord (FA 23). The account of the marvels of Heaven comes to an end with a descrip51 For a discussion of the material environment seen in visions and the translation of the Mediterranean urban visual language for a northern audience of visionary tales, see Bitel (2010), 30–38.

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tion of crystal screens that separate the groups from each other, precious stones with melodious sounds, and candles that illuminate the city and sweeten it with their fragrance (FA 24). Here the sensory experience of Heaven is again underlined; its wonderful sights, sounds and smells mark it as distinct from normal everyday reality. In the FA, the abode of the blessed is visualised as a heavenly city surrounded by multi-coloured crystalline walls and paved with shining white crystal (FA 22), while in the Navigatio the Promised Land of the Saints was imagined as a paradisiacal and abundant garden.52 Both images – Heaven as a garden or as a city – have biblical precedents: the first recalls the original state of mankind in the Garden of Eden in Genesis, which will be restored at the end of time, while the latter resonates with the image of heavenly Jerusalem found in Apocalypse.53 The saints are those who have already reached Heaven immediately upon their deaths. Not all humans, however, merit such blessedness. The author seems to expect judgment in two stages: a preliminary judgment right at the moment of death and then final judgment at the end of time.54 The saints are allocated a place in Heaven at death, while those who are good but not so virtuous to be saints are left outside the gates of the city to roam otherworldly hills and marshes until the Final Judgment (FA 25). Their state is inconstant, thus accentuating the difference between them and those who are in Heaven itself, enjoying perpetual harmony. If the sinners are treated in a similar fashion, the author appears to be implying here a fourfold division of souls into those who are good, those who are not so good, those who are not so bad, and those who are bad. The two most extreme groups are judged and taken to their ultimate destinations at death, while the two middle groups must await their final judgment in an impermanent state. These classifications will be discussed in greater detail below, when we see what the author actually says about the destinies and divisions of the sinners.

52 Navigatio 1. The Promised Land of the Saints in the Navigatio, however, also shines and has precious stones in it thus recalling the image of the heavenly city shining like precious stones in Apoc 21:11. See also O’Loughlin 2000a, 194. 53 This dual image has its roots in Jewish imagery of the Kingdom of God centred on the Temple and the garden. For more on these dual images of Heaven in the Middle Ages, see McDannell & Lang (1988), 70–80; Russell (1997), 31–33. 54 On the development of the belief in the Last Judgment in Christianity from the early Christian expectation of an imminent end to a more gradual eschatology, involving a specific judgment at the moment of death and a general judgment at the end of time, see McGinn (1998a), 370–95.

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The people roaming the hills and bogs outside the city are those people of the world (do dainib in domain) who have not generated enough merit during their lifetimes to reach the city (FA 25). The saints have also lived in the world, but led their lives differently: their lives, which make them saints and are the reason why they are rewarded in Heaven, exemplify the direct connection between lifestyle and destiny in the afterlife. Only saints – i.e. those who have dedicated their lives to God – are able to reach the heavenly kingdom right after their deaths, while ordinary Christians can expect at best to wait outside the gates. Those waiting, however, still have hope – since their placement in the marshes is only temporary and after the Last Judgment the gates will be opened to them, too. Furthermore, they all have their own guardian angels accompanying them and giving them solace (FA 26). This episode is probably based on Visio Pauli 24, in which Paul encounters people among the barren trees outside the gates of the heavenly city. He is told that these ones, who fasted zealously but had proud hearts, will be admitted to the city at the end of time when Christ goes through the gates.55 The question of souls detained outside of Heaven is discussed also by Gregory the Great, who concludes in his Dialogi iv.26 that it is possible that some souls who are still lacking in perfect justness may be delayed outside Heaven, while only those who have already attained perfect justness will be admitted to the Kingdom of Heaven as soon as they leave the body. The author of the FA then moves on to describe the ascent to the heavenly city through the seven heavens. This is the part of the FA that has to date garnered the most attention by scholars.56 The author first states that ‘It is indeed unusual for the soul, after keeping company and dwelling together with the body, with its slumber and its ease and its prosperity and its comfort, to travel to the throne of the Creator, unless it go with angel guides.’57 Therefore, it is the body that is antagonistic to the soul and prevents it from rising to the heavenly sphere. As long as one is tied to the physical world by the body, one cannot see Heaven – except in exceptional circumstances when accompanied by a guiding angel, as happens to Adomnán and many other visionaries. The author On this episode in the Visio Pauli and the division of souls, see Bernstein (1993), 295–96. 56 See, for example, Seymour (1923); Stevenson (1983); Dumville (1977/78), 66– 70. 57 FA 29, Is annam trá lasin n-anmain iar comgnáis 7 comaittrib na colla cona suan 7 cona saíre 7 cona sóinmige 7 cona sádaile athascnam co rigs*uide in Dúileman acht mani dig la eólchu aingel. Translation by John Carey. 55

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seems to be stating that the inability to free oneself from the luring comfort and inborn laziness of the body is a human weakness, and that the only way to see God is to do precisely what is difficult. In Romans 7: 15, Paul acknowledges this problem of knowing what one should do in order to obey the law and actually doing it, ‘I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do I do not do, but what I hate I do.’ Further in the same chapter, in Romans 7:22–23, he ascribes this difficulty as arising from the inherent conflict between the body and mind, just like the author of the FA, ‘For in my inner being I delight in God’s law, but I see another law at work in the members of my body, waging war against the law of my mind and making me a prisoner of the law of sin at work within my members.’ In Galatians 5:17, this perennial human dilemma is summed up in the statement: ‘For the flesh desires what is contrary to the spirit, and the spirit what is contrary to the flesh. They are in conflict with each other, so that you do not do what you want.’ This biblical passage is explained in John Cassian’s Collationes by Abba Daniel, who attributes this innate conflict to the postlapsarian state of man and promotes temperance between the pleasures of the flesh and extreme asceticism, which may expose the monk to the sin of pride.58 Through his mouthpiece Daniel, John Cassian furthermore discusses the carnal and spiritual states of man, ‘Therefore, once having made our renunciation, we have begun to cut ourselves from the way of life of worldly people and to withdraw from that obvious uncleanness of the flesh, we should strive immediately to lay hold of the spiritual condition with all out strength.’59 Cassian returns to the conflict of knowing what to do and not doing it towards the end of the Collationes in a chapter on sinlessness, in which he discusses the law of the body that wars against the law of the spirit, preventing the mind from achieving divine vision.60 Following Cassian, the entire human race is in a state of slavery under carnal law due to man’s first transgression in Paradise. Even holy persons find it difficult to attain the state of uninterrupted contemplation of God in the midst of earthly affairs.61 This is the highest good towards which monks should strive, but it can never be achieved in its perfection Collationes iv.7–17. Collationes iv.19.2, Itaque festinandum est nobis, ut cum renuntiantes desierimus esse carnales, id est, a saecularium coeperimus conversatione seiungi, et ab illa manifesta carnis pollutione cessare, spiritalem statum protinus apprehendere tota virtute nitamur. 60 Collationes xxiii.11. 61 Collationes xxiii.6–10. 58 59

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as long as one is ‘enchained by the fetters of this body’.62 In his presentation of the heavenly city, to which only a few are able to travel while still burdened by the body and where the holiest souls enjoy the vision of God, the author of the FA creates a narrative scene of the highest goal of monastic practice. Only those who have purified their inner eyes by monastic and ascetical disciplines during their lives can enjoy the vision of divine light in Heaven. In this way, a direct connection is made in the FA between the search of holiness in this life and the posthumous destiny of the souls in the afterlife. The ascent through the seven heavens consists of passing through doorways, then past their keepers and various obstacles. All souls have to go through this ordeal, which is more difficult for some than others, thus establishing a clear gradation based on one’s level of purity. The first heaven is guarded by Michael the Archangel and two virgins who beat sinners with iron rods (FA 31). In the second heaven, souls are greeted by Uriel and two virgins with fiery whips (FA 32). The second heaven also has a fiery stream, which is guarded by the angel Abersetus. The function of this river is to cleanse the righteous of any remaining guilt, while for sinners it is purely punitive with no purgatorial function. The third heaven consists of a fiery furnace through which the righteous pass in a blink of an eye, while sinners are stuck there for twelve years, after which their guardian angels guide them to the door of the next heaven (FA 33). The fourth heaven is surrounded by a burning wall that detains sinners for another twelve years, while the righteous step right through as if it were not there (FA 34). In the fifth heaven, there is a fiery stream with a whirlpool in which sinners get stuck for sixteen years, while the righteous proceed directly across (FA 35). The souls are then carried by Michael to the sixth heaven, which is a type of antechamber of the seventh heaven. There are no torments there, and it is illuminated by heavenly light and the radiance of precious stones (FA 36). In the seventh heaven, the soul is presented by the Archangel Michael and the Angel of the Trinity to the company of Heaven and the Lord Himself (FA 37). The righteous soul is received with rejoicing, while the sinner is sent to Hell. Part of the sinner’s punishment consists of being parted from the presence of the kingdom of Heaven, the countenance of God and the protection of the archangels (FA 38). The sinner emits a most profound groan at being deprived of the felicity of beholding Heaven. This vision is what the blessed are able to enjoy, and the sinner’s lot is made even Collationes xxiii.5.3, huius corporis vinculis colligatus.

62

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dolourous by having a glimpse of it before it is lost. The sinner is then taken to Hell through a circuitous route of being swallowed by twelve fiery dragons, one after the other, before being disgorged by the lowest one into the maw of the Devil. The seven heavens episode is apparently based on a lost apocryphal work that has survived in various Irish, Old English and Latin versions, which agree with each other on the outline of the story, if not always on the details.63 The aim here is not to discuss the origins of this motif or its relationship with other versions, but to contextualize it in terms of the spiritual vision of the FA in regard to the relationship between the destinies of the souls and their way of life on earth. It is clear that the experience of the soul during his or her ascent through the seven heavens varies, according to one’s level of purity. The righteous pass through the heavens quickly, with no or only minimal pain, while sinners are stuck in torment for years. It is interesting that the fiery stream in the second heaven has a double function: for the righteous it is purgatorial, cleansing them of any remaining sin, while for sinners it is punitive. Hence, sinners have no hope of progress during their ascent through the heavens. The ordeals that they encounter on the way seem to only have the function of giving them a foretaste of the torments awaiting them in Hell. The idea of purgatorial fire that cleanses souls in the afterlife can be found already in the Bible. In 1 Corinthians 3:10–15, Paul writes about the fire that will test the foundations of each person by burning away flammable materials (wood, hay or straw) and leaving intact only fire-resistant ones (gold, silver or precious stones).64 Gregory the Great furthermore establishes in his Dialogi v.41 that ‘there must be a cleansing fire before judgment, because of some minor faults that may remain to be purged away’. However, the belief in Purgatory as a well-defined, distinct place developed slowly during the Middle Ages.65 The idea of See, for example, Seymour (1923), 18–23; Willard (1935), 1–30; Dumville (1977/78), 66–70; Stevenson (1983), 21–24; Bauckham (1993); Carey (2003), 121–36; Carey (forthcoming), notes §§ 30–38. 64 For a discussion of the role of this passage in the development of the belief in Purgatory in the Middle Ages, see LeGoff (1984), 43–44; Moreira (2010), 18–20. On Paul’s views on the fates of the dead, see Bernstein (1993), 207–24. 65 Jacques LeGoff has concluded that the idea of an actual Purgatory did not emerge until the twelfth century, but other scholars have highlighted the importance of seventh- and eighth-century works (including several of Irish origin) for the development of the concept. See LeGoff (1984); Moreira (2010); Brown (1997); Dunn (2000); M. Smyth (2003). On the Irish understanding of purgatory, see Grogan (1976), 48–52. 63

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postmortem purification by fire was widely accepted, although such details as its location, duration and to whom it was applied varied greatly. The author of the FA gives a purgatorial function to the fiery stream in his second heaven, but only in relation to those whose sins are not too severe. In the fourfold division, therefore, they are probably included among those who belong to the middle groups of sinners, since it can be assumed that the saints going straight to Heaven are not in need of purgation, while those who are going straight to Hell are the ones for whom the fire is purely punitive. If the assumption is correct that those who go to Heaven proceed directly there, then it follows that their penitential and ascetical lifestyles led on earth have taken care of any purification that might be needed. The author of the FA thus establishes a hierarchy of Christians that is based on their way of life and made manifest in the afterlife, as witnessed by Adomnán.66 At the top are those who have dedicated their lives to serving God and seeking His Kingdom. By promoting monastic life as the most perfect form of Christian living, the author promotes a clear message about the merit-based division of rewards in Heaven. After his vision of the heavens, Adomnán’s tour of the otherworld continues in Hell, where he witnesses the punishments of the sinners (FA 39). The first region of Hell is a dark land with no punishments and no mention of its inhabitants, apart from eight beasts living in a valley full of fire (FA 40). This seems to be some kind of antechamber of Hell itself, where the souls encounter a further test in the form of a bridge across the valley (FA 41). Three groups enter onto it, but their experience differs: for the first group, the bridge is broad from one end to the other and thus easy to cross; for the second, it is narrow at first but broadens towards the end; and for the third, the bridge narrows at the end, causing souls to fall into the jaws of the beasts waiting below. The author then explains that those who have an easy passage across the bridge are people of chastity (aes óige), people of assiduous penitence (aes aithrige léire), and people of willing red martyrdom for God (aes dergmartra dúthraige do Dia).67 The first group refers to virgins, the second 66 Haas has stressed the congruence between the social arrangement of the imaginative space of the otherworld and the present social order, in the sense that there exists an indisputable social order – both in Heaven and in Hell – that recognises definite lower and upper classes. Haas (1998), 447. 67 Carey has translated these as: ‘the folk of virginity, the folk of earnest repentance, the folk of zealous martyrdom for God’. In Máire Herbert’s translation (p. 143), this passage reads: ‘the pure, those who do assiduous penitence, and those who suffered martyrdom willingly for God’.

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to (voluntary) penitents and the third to the martyrs, again establishing that those who have dedicated their lives to God are a religious elite who have nothing to fear in the afterlife. These groups are also based on the Irish understanding of different types of martyrdom, which include the red (bloody) martyrdom of giving one’s life to Christ, the white (bloodless) martyrdom of ascetic life and chastity, and the blue/green (glas) martyrdom of repentance and penance.68 It is not quite clear what these people are doing in this antechamber of Hell and where they will go after crossing the bridge. It appears that the author has incorporated this motif of a trial on a bridge, which was likely familiar to him from other sources, without really thinking through how it might fit into his conception of the geography of the otherworld.69 The second group, for whom the bridge is narrow at first but widens towards the end, are those who eventually followed the will of God with glad hearts, but initially did so only under duress. The third group, for whom the bridge narrows towards the end, are those who heard the word of God but did not act in accordance with it. Pagans who never had a chance to hear the word of God are not included in these groups. Instead of the fourfold division of souls introduced earlier, the trial of the bridge establishes a threefold division consisting of good, bad and middle group. Although the bridge is located in an antechamber of Hell, the good are clearly destined for Heaven, while the bad face an eternity in Hell. The destiny of the middle group is discussed further in the FA, when the author describes the people inhabiting the land on the other side of the bridge where Hell actually begins (FA 43). In these people, good and bad is balanced; accordingly, they are exposed to alternating punishment and respite.70 Although they are located in Hell, their stay there is only temporary. As the author explains, on Judgment Day the good in them will win over and they will be lifted to Heaven to remain in the presence of the face of God forever. In this way, they appear to be the infernal equivalent of those people who were left outside the gates of 68 Stancliffe (1982), 21–46; on the FA, see p. 39 n. 75. See also Gougaud (1907), 360–73. 69 The trial by bridge is a recurring motif in medieval vision literature popularised through Gregory the Great’s Dialogi v.37 For discussion, see Zaleski (1987), 65–69; Dumville (1977/78), 71–73; Carey (forthcoming), n. §§ 40–42. 70 John Carey has pointed out that the model for these souls comes from Visio Pauli and that their treatment parallels that of a group of sinners who only repented at the end of their lives in Bede’s account of the Vision of Drythelm. See Carey (forthcoming), n. § 43,3–5. On the vision of Hell in the Visio Pauli, see Bernstein (1993), 292–305.

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Heaven to wait for entrance. The middle group is thus divided into two types, the not-so-good and the not-so-bad, whose placement prior to the Last Judgment is only temporary and who will eventually be admitted into Heaven. The fourfold division into boni valde, boni non valde, mali valde¸ and mali non valde is based on patristic sources, and it was widespread in medieval Irish eschatology.71 In his description of the otherworld, the author of the FA provides concrete physical locations for the different groups of souls, graphically illustrating to his audience what awaits them in the afterlife and forcing them to think of their own impending fates and the measures they can take in this life to secure one of the happier destinies. An example of one of the unhappier destinies then follows in the form of sinners who are shackled to burning pillars by fiery chains made of serpents and surrounded by a sea of fire (FA 44).72 It is explained that they are kin-slayers, those who ruined the Church, and those pitiless superiors who took tithes and gifts given in the presence of the relics of the saints into their private possession. This passage makes it clear that not all ecclesiastics are destined to Heaven, but only those who have merited it by their lifestyles. The next area is inhabited by people with short icy cloaks standing in jet-black water up to their belts (FA 45). They are exposed in turns to heat and cold, and a host of demons stands nearby, accusing them and beating their heads with fiery clubs. Some of them even have nails of fire sticking through their tongues or into their heads. The sinners of this group include thieves, perjurors, treacherous and slandering people, raiders, plunderers, judges who give false verdicts, contentious people, women who cast spells, satirists, relapsed brigands,73 and scholars who preach heresy.74 This list makes one wonder whether these sinners have anything in common. The common means of sinning for 71 The origins of this division can be found, among other sources, in Augustine’s Enchridion and Gregory the Great’s Moralia in Iob.  In the Visio Tnugdali, which is also of Irish origin and will be discussed below, these divisions are presented explicitly. See McNamara (1996), 57–60; Biggs (1989/90), 45–46; Dumville (1977/78), 73–74. On the division of souls in Adomnán’s VC, see Ritari (2009), 158–67. On Augustine’s understanding of the division of souls and punishments in Hell, see Bernstein (1993), 314–32; Carozzi (1994), 17–24. 72 Fire seems to be the one of the most consistent elements in the imagery of Hell. For a discussion of the biblical roots of this image, see Bernstein (1993), 228–47. 73 Aithdíbergaig. On the translation of this term, see Carey (forthcoming), n. § 45,14. 74 FA 45, gataige 7 éithig 7 aes braith 7 écnaig 7 slataige 7 crechaire 7 breithemain gúbrethaig 7 aes cosnuma, mná aupthacha 7 cáinte, aithdíbergaig 7 fír léiginn pridchait eiris.

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some of these sinners is by words. Clearly belonging to this group are perjurors who have given false oaths, treacherous and slanderous people, false judges, contentious people who have quarrelled, women who cast spells, satirists, and scholars preaching heresy. One would expect them to be the ones with nails of fire stuck through their tongues, as the punishments in Hell often correspond to the sins of the damned. This leaves the thieves, raiders, plunderers, and relapsed brigands, all of whom represent violence towards people and property in one form or another. The next group of sinners is more fortunate. Although they were slothful and overly concerned with bodily matters, they did practiced deeds of charity during their lives (FA 46). These people thus had some good in them, but were too lazy in their religious practice and occupied with bodily lusts. By giving alms, they did the minimum of what is expected of laypeople, yet their devotion lacked fervour. Nonetheless, the alms that they gave in the past are evidenced concretely in the form of walls that protect them from flames of the sea of fire surrounding the islands where they dwell. In order to be better Christians, they would have had to struggle harder to rise above their bodily desires, as done by the ascetical penitents in Heaven. These people had the chance to exert themselves before death took them, but they did not use it. They are sent to Hell to pay for their deficits, but in their case hope is not lost; after the Last Judgment, they will be rescued as well and sent to Heaven. The model for this episode again comes from Gregory the Great’s Dialogi, in which a man who dies for a moment (but soon return to life) witnesses in the afterlife a meadow inhabited by people who all have golden houses.75 Some of the people are found in the middle of the fragrant meadow, but some houses are located close to a stinking river. The meaning of the vision is explained by Gregory, who concludes that ‘the reward of eternal glory is won by generosity in almsgiving’. Establishing a direct link between almsgiving and one’s dwelling in the afterlife, he explains that the houses were built by those who had benefited from the people’s almsgiving on earth. Moreover, the malodourous river described by Gregory is crossed by a bridge that divides people into three categories: those who can cross easily, those who fall and those who have difficulty crossing. The visionary sees a man named Stephen dangling over the edge of the bridge, as demons below try to drag him down and angels dressed in white help him from above. The explanation for Stephen’s precarious position is the balance between his lustful tendencies and his 75

Dialogi iv.37.

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prior deeds of almsgiving. This balance between charitable deeds and the temptations of the flesh is exactly the same as that found in the FA with the people protected by walls built by almsgiving from the fires of Hell. It thus appears that the author of the FA took the episode from the Dialogi and elaborated on it in both his description of the trial of the bridge and his including of people sheltered by walls built of their past alms. The sinners of the next area are horribly tormented. They wear fiery red chasubles76 with fiery red disks around their necks, and there is a host of demons pressing in on them and urging foul hounds to attack them (FA 47). Yet despite their great torments, these sinners are lifted up to Heaven every other hour. It is not entirely clear, however, whether this happens in order to give them a brief respite or to increase their suffering by giving them a glimpse of the heavenly bliss they have lost, but the first option seems more plausible. These sinners are ecclesiastics who transgressed their holy orders and liars who led astray and deceived crowds by claiming to be able to perform wonders and miracles that they were not capable of. Some are being beaten by infants, who represent the people who were entrusted into the hands of these ecclesiastics for their betterment. As those in the holy orders have a responsibility to correct and rebuke the people under their care for their sins, failure to do so is deemed by the author of FA to be a serious transgression, as seen by the severity of the punishment here in Hell. The author of the FA is, moreover, trying to do exactly what these ecclesiastics had failed to do: to cause people to turn away from sin in fear of posthumous punishments. All the people in this group of sinners have failed to fulfill their vows, and their failure is made even more serious by the fact that they not only sinned themselves but led others astray, deceiving them and not giving them proper guidance. The last type of punishment witnessed by Adomnán involves people running on fiery stones without rest while being attacked by hosts of demons with flaming arrows. When they are finally able to douse the arrows in black lakes and rivers, instead of giving solace it only increases the sinners’ pain (FA 48). The people in this group include dishonest artisans, comb-makers and merchants, unjust judges of the Jews77 impi76 The fiery red chasubles were probably imagined as the opposite of the white gowns washed in the blood of the Lamb and worn by the chosen ones, as presented in Apoc 7:14. 77 John Carey has concluded that this phrase suggests a foreign background for the FA, since there is no evidence of Jews residing in Ireland at that period. He also

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ous kings, crooked criminal religious superiors, adulterous women, and messengers who cause ruin by their misdeeds. This motley crowd seems to represent dishonesty in the practice of one’s craft. Although including adulteresses in this group may stretch the interpretation too far, such women are also dishonest by being unfaithful to their spouses and not fulfilling their role as good wives. At the far end of the land of punishments, Adomnán encounters a wall of fire that is seven times more horrible and harsh than what he has witnessed thus far (FA 49). The land beyond the wall of fire is empty save for demons, however, until the Day of Judgment. This is then the final destination of the sinful souls still waiting for the arrival of their final lot, like the saints in Heaven who have not yet reached their perfected state. The author clearly holds the view that the posthumous rewards and punishments will not be fully realised until the end of time, and even those souls who have already arrived at their ultimate destination in Heaven or Hell will experience a kind of increase in their bliss or anguish when souls are reunited with their bodies after the resurrection. This belief is framed in terms of concrete geography in the vision by means of locating places in the otherworld that are still awaiting inhabitants. The author then expresses his pity for those souls who are being punished and are subject to the dominion of the Devil (FA 50). The tormented souls plead with the Lord that the Day of Judgment will come soon, so that they may learn what their final lot will be. As mentioned above, some of the souls still have a hope of salvation, even though they are in Hell. Before the Last Judgment, however, their only respite comes for three hours every Sunday. This idea of adjourning the torments comes from Visio Pauli 44, in which Paul manages to secure for a sinner in Hell a day and a night of peace on Sunday. As discussed in the previous chapter, in Navigatio 25, Judas is also given a special respite on Sundays on his rock in the middle of the sea. Adomnán then describes the landscape of Hell as consisting of thorny mountains, bare burnt plains, stinking lakes, and seas with fierce storms (FA 51). There are four great rivers: a river of fire, a river of snow, a river of poison and a river of black water (FA 52). The four rivers are probably infernal equivalents to the four rivers mentioned in Genesis 2:10–14. points out that this phrase may be taken as evidence for the Latin background of the text, since the Latin iudices Iudaeorum could be taken as a pun and there is nothing corresponding to this in the Irish breithemain… na nIúdaide. Carey (forthcoming), n. § 48,9.

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Flowing out of Eden, they are described in Visio Pauli 23 as consisting of honey, milk, oil and wine.78 This infernal land represents nature in a wild and untamed state, where everything is antithetical to human survival; its opposite, the paradisiacal garden with abundant fruit trees, is the model of blissful existence in which man does not need to toil and sweat for nourishment. These two posthumous states are explicitly juxtaposed when the author explains that while the hosts of Heaven are singing the harmonious choral of the eight offices and joyfully praising God, the souls in Hell are raising wretched, sorrowful cries as they are beaten by troops of demons (FA 53). The auditory experiences of the two regions are thus very different: one involves beautiful song and the other horrible cries. As heavenly bliss is characterised here by the harmonious singing of the eight daily offices in the praise of God, one can again see the theme of monastic life being centred on daily liturgy as an earthly reflection and foretaste of the heavenly state. The singing of the monastic hours thus gives the monks the privileged position of being able to enjoy an echo of the harmony of Heaven here on earth. The infernal episode ends with the author stating, ‘Those are the punishments and tortures which the guardian angel revealed to the soul of Adomnán, after visiting the kingdom of Heaven.’79 This confirms that Adomnán did not travel to the otherworld in his body, but only with his soul. Adomnán is then transported back to the land of the saints in Heaven and commanded by an angel to return to his body in order to relate his experiences to all people (FA 54). More specifically, the angel explicitly orders Adomnán to tell of the rewards in Heaven and the punishments of Hell to assemblies of people, both laymen and clerics (i coimthinólaib laech 7 cléirech). The message of the FA is therefore meant for a mixed audience, as it is relevant for all Christians who are called to mend their ways and remember the judgment awaiting them in the afterlife. As demonstrated by the ecclesiastics in Hell, even clerics are not immune to the punishments there; thus it is as important for them – if not more important, since more is expected of them – to keep the Last Judgment in mind while still on earth and possessing the opportunity to influence their destiny in the afterlife. The same message is found in many popular short anecdotes, often included in homilies, concerning the destinies of sinners and righteous 78 On the relationship between the biblical and the apocalyptic rivers, see Van Ruiten (2007), 50–76. 79 FA 53, Is iat-sin na piana 7 na toidérnama ro f*oillsig aingel in choímtechta do anmain Adomnán iar n-athascnam flatha nime. Translation by John Carey.

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ones at the moment of death.80 The primary aim of the message about Heaven and Hell is to shock the audience into waking up so that they will change their ways while there still is time. It thus works side by side with the Irish understanding of penance as a lifelong journey of soul-searching and self-improvement. The monastic penitential regime, which was extended to include also laypeople, and the message of the visions and eschatological anecdotes therefore complement each other in guiding the Christian flock – both laity and ecclesiastics – on the right path that leads to Heaven. According to the author of the FA, this same message concerning the rewards and punishments of Heaven and Hell was also preached by Patrick when converting the Irish (FA 56); by Peter and Paul and all the other apostles, to whom it was revealed in the same fashion as to Adomnán (FA 57); by Silvester the abbot of Rome to Constantine, the high king of the world (FA 58); by Fabian the successor of Peter to Philip, the first Roman king to believe in Christ (FA 59); and by Elijah under the Tree of Life to the souls of the righteous, who came to him in the form of shining white birds (FA 60). Adomnán thus joins this illustrious group, which is responsible for disseminating this message at the core of the Christian religion. Elijah’s experience of preaching this message is also elaborated upon at the end of the FA. The author describes how Elijah’s avian audience was delighted when he told them about the rewards of the righteous and the pleasures of the kingdom of Heaven (FA 61). Elijah’s preaching follows the same order as Adomnán’s otherworldly tour, beginning with Heaven and then proceeding to Hell. When Elijah got to this point, however, both he and Enoch expressed sorrow, and thus they are called ‘the two sorrows of the kingdom of Heaven’ (dá brón flatha nime). The birds also expressed sadness, pressing their wings against their bodies until streams of blood ran from their sides (FA 62). It has been suggested that the author of the FA is here drawing on a text known as Dá brón flatha nime (The two sorrows of the kingdom of Heaven), which is based on the widely held belief that Enoch and Elijah were bodily assumed into Heaven.81 The difference between the two accounts of Elijah’s apoc80 On these, see McNally (1979); O’Loughlin (2001a), 30–39; Ritari (2013); Ó Dochartaigh (2012). 81 Gen. 5:24, ‘Enoch walked faithfully with God; then he was no more, because God took him away.’; 2 Kgs 2:11, ‘As they were walking along and talking together, suddenly a chariot of fire and horses of fire appeared and separated the two of them, and Elijah went up to heaven in a whirlwind.’ On the Dá brón flatha nime, see Dot-

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ryphal preaching is the sorrow that Elijah and Enoch experience in the Dá brón flatha nime at not being able to join the pure, light celestial souls flying around them, due to still wearing heavy earthly bodies, in which they had been brought to Heaven.82 Based on this discrepancy, John Carey has made the plausible suggestion that instead of pulling from the Dá brón flatha nime, the author of the FA has drawn inspiration from Visio Pauli 20, in which Paul first arrives at Paradise and at the gate encounters Enoch and Elijah.83 The two are weeping because of their sorrow over men’s ignorance of the great rewards that God has prepared for them. If Carey is right, it means that the relationship between the two texts would be reversed, such that the close verbal correspondences between the texts could be ascribed to derivation from the FA to the Dá brón flatha nime, not the other way around. In the Dá brón flatha nime, the souls are divided into three groups: those in whom good outweighs evil and who belong to Christ, those in whom good and bad are in balance and who will also be taken by Christ because his power is greater than that of the Devil, and those in whom evil predominates and who are carried away by demons.84 Those in the last group will be taken to Hell for eternal torment, while those chosen by God will be taken to Heaven. This only happens at the Last Judgment, however, and apart from mentioning the avian souls who comprise the audience of Elijah’s preaching, the text does not really elaborate on the fates of souls in the interim between death and Last Judgment. While some souls seem to be taken to Heaven right at the moment of their death, it is not clear what happens to the two other groups, especially to those in whom good and evil are found in equal measure. The moral of the story about Elijah and the birds in the FA is that if the saintly souls, who have already secured for themselves a place in Heaven, make such great lamentations when hearing about punishments of Hell, it would be even more fitting for the people still on earth to shed tears of blood in anticipation of the Day of Judgment (FA 62). As mentioned above, this is actually the aim of the whole text, which juxtaposes the bliss of Heaven with the pains of Hell in an attempt to alert the audience to the Last Judgment and change their ways accordingly. tin (1900), 348–61; McNamara (1984), 24–27 (no.9); Dumville (1977/78), 74–75. On the apocryphal Book of Enoch, which describes Enoch’s visit to Heaven, see Bernstein (1993), 179–99; Himmelfarb (1993), 9–28, 37–45; Russell (1997), 36–38. 82 Dottin (1900), 376–77. 83 Carey (forthcoming), n. §§ 60–62. 84 Dottin (1900), 380–83.

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The FA concludes with a description of this Last Judgment, which further emphasises the message that at that time the fate of everyone will be sealed: sinners will be placed in the depths of Hell, while the saints and the righteous will inhabit the kingdom of Heaven, forever enjoying union with God (FA 63–64). After the Last Judgment, the fourfold division will collapse into two and there will only exist two groups – sinners in Hell and the righteous in Heaven. Consequently, there will be no further transitions from one group to another. The two middle groups, whose destinies prior to the Judgment are not yet fixed, will be joined with either of the extreme groups and the doors of Hell will be locked, thus preventing anyone from ever getting out. The author ends the work with a plea for God’s mercy through the prayer of Adomnán that he and his audience may all deserve to reach the heavenly union (FA 65). Again this signifies that the message of the work is timely and something that should resonate with all Christians: they should strongly bear it in mind, since as long as they live they still have a chance to affect their fate in the afterlife.

5.c. The Destinations of the Dead Adomnán’s tour of the hereafter in the FA presents the audience with a map to help them navigate the otherworldly locations where souls reside. The afterlife destinations of souls are clearly connected to their deeds during this life, thus presenting the theological tenets of judgment and salvation in a concrete geographic context. In Aron Gurevich’s words, the authors of visions were effecting a ‘translation of the basic ideas of religion into the common language of the faithful’.85 Adomnán is an ideal protagonist for a vision. As a saint, he is a holy person who can breach the veil between this and the other worlds, as well as a citizen of the heavenly realm even when on earth. Adomnán is also, first and foremost, a monastic figure, whose fame was based on his scholarly writings and actions as a monastic leader. This reinforces the impression that although the FA was clearly meant for a wider audience of both ecclesiastics and laity, its author exalted monasticism, with its ascetical and penitential lifestyle, as the most perfect form of Christian living. Adomnán is not a sinner who is led by his vision to repent, as

Gurevich (1988), 127.

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happens in some other vision texts, but a holy man already destined for Heaven. At the time of the writing of the FA, the geography of the otherworld was not yet not fixed, and the understanding of the otherworldly locations of souls was still inchoate enough to allow a variety of expressions. Nor was there consensus about whether individuals were judged at the moment of death or only during the communal Last Judgment at the end of time. What happened to souls in the meantime was also a question. Widely shared was the idea of some kind of purging fire, which later developed into the full-blown Purgatory of the Catholic doctrine, but its actual location or the groups to which it related had not yet been worked out. All these ideas can be seen also in the FA with the author’s division of souls into four groups and the differentiation between a preliminary judgment at death and the Last Judgment when the final destination of those in the middle groups will be decided. The saints and sinners can furthermore also expect a change in their relative positions to the diametric poles, since their respective rewards and punishments will be further enhanced after the Last Judgment, when the blessed will be able to gaze at God directly and the furthest land of torments currently inhabited only by demons will be opened for sinners. A similar fourfold division can be found in another vision of Irish origin, namely the twelfth-century Visio Tnugdali. This vision was seen by a knight named Tnugdal in Cork in 1148, and the text was written soon thereafter in the Irish monastery of Ratisbon (Regensburg in modern-day Germany) by a monk called Marcus.86 This vision, which enjoyed widespread popularity in the Middle Ages, circulated in numerous versions, including various vernacular languages.87 In this case, the seer is a sinner who undergoes an inner transformation as a result of the vision. Once again, the seer is accompanied by a guardian angel. This time the vision begins with Hell, which is depicted in much greater de-

86 Seymour has argued that the division of souls and the image of the seven heavens in the FA greatly influenced the Visio Tnugdali. The similarities, however, are not so close. Furthermore, as the motifs in common can also be found in various other sources, there is no need to assume a direct relationship between the two texts, although that cannot be ruled out either. Seymour (1924–27a), 97–100. The exact localization and dating of the visionary experience serves to underline that it was a historical event which truly happened. On truth claims in the genre of vision literature, see Wellendorf (2012). 87 de Pontfarcy (1989), 11; Watkins (1996), 226–27; Palmer (1982), 1–32; Seymour (1924–27a), 92–94.

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tail than Heaven.88 This order of events and the emphasis on Hell is fitting, since this is where Tnugdal would be destined if he did not change his ways. The tortures in Hell are more varied and extensively described than those in the FA. A bridge also features prominently in this vision, however; in this case the motif is presented twice. First, there is a bridge across a deep valley with a sulphurous river (Visio Tnugdali 5). Only a priest wearing a pilgrim’s mantle and carrying a palm frond is able to cross it easily and safely. In this text, pilgrimage clearly means the traditional type of journey to a holy place and back, as shown by a description of recognisable pilgrim’s clothing and the palm leaf, which normally functioned as a token of pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Although the man belongs to a priestly order, it is his status as a pilgrim rather than as a priest that helps him to easily cross the bridge. Therefore, the emphasis here is on something that can also be achieved by members of the laity who have not dedicated their whole lives to the quest of the kingdom of God. The sulphurous valley beneath the bridge is the place of punishment for those guilty of pride. This sin, of course, is one that can bring down even those who are otherwise close to perfection. Since achievement in conquering the other sins makes one susceptible to pride,89 this transgression is especially dangerous to ecclesiastics and those with a high social standing. By proving their dedication to the practice of religion through deeds such as pilgrimage, they can gain easy access over the bridge and thereby avoid the perdition below. The second bridge in the Visio Tnugdali functions as a punishment rather than as a means of testing souls. Located in the area reserved for thieves, it leads over a stormy lake infested with terrifying beasts (Visio Tnugdali 7). The bridge itself is covered with sharp nails, and the difficulty of crossing it is proportionate to the gravity of one’s sins. Since Tnugdal is a sinner himself, he must undergo some of the punishments in Hell. These serve as a means of purification and preparation for his transformation into an exemplary Christian. There then ensues a hilarious scene in which Tnugdal is forced to drive across the bridge an untamed cow he had once stolen. When they they encounter in the middle of the narrow bridge a man carrying sheaves of wheat, all comes to a standstill. Since there is no room to pass one another or to turn back, they stand there with feet bleeding from the nails, crying and lamenting 88 On the structure and function of Visio Tnugdali, see de Pontfarcy (1989), 48– 67; Carozzi (1981), 223–34; Carozzi (1994), 597–604. 89 See for example, John Cassian, Institutiones xii.

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their sins, until they are miraculously transported to the other side. The Visio Tnugdali returns repeatedly to the theme of repentance as the only means of avoiding the tortures in the afterlife, and in this scene the sinners are freed from the nail-covered bridge only after heartfelt repentance. Once again, some souls are shown to still have hope, even in Hell, since those in the upper levels have not yet had final judgment passed on them, unlike those at the bottom (Visio Tnugdali 10). After seeing Lucifer in the depths of Hell, Tnugdal is transported to Heaven. Here he first sees the souls of the mali non valde, who are waiting in the wind and rain outside the walls of Heaven (Visio Tnugdali 14). Suffering discomfort until the gates of Heaven open for them, they have an equivalent position to the not-so-good in the FA. The mali non valde, however, do not have to wait until the end of time, but only for a few years, after which they are brought to a better resting place. In the Visio Tnugdali, the boni non valde are found already inside the gates in a beautiful meadow called the campus laetitiae (Visio Tnugdali 15). Further on in the same region, Tnudgal sees two Irish kings, Donnchad and Conchobar, who by repenting of their bad deeds before dying were able to secure themselves a fate in this happy place (Visio Tnugdali 16). A third king, Cormac, is encountered by the visionary in the same area of Heaven. Every day, however, he alternates between being praised for his generosity and being tortured for not respecting the sacrament of marriage: the first part of the cycle – in a house built of gold, silver and precious stones – lasts for for 21 hours, while in the second part he must endure three hours of standing in fire up to his waist while wearing a hair shirt (Visio Tnugdali 17).90 The author of the work further underlines the importance of the sacrament of marriage in the next region. Separated from the previous area by a wall of silver, it is inhabited by faithful spouses dressed in luminous white garments and singing the praise of the Lord (Visio Tnugdali 18). In the next region, beyond a golden wall, Tnugdal finds the martyrs and the chaste dressed in fine silk robes and singing a new song dedicated to the 144 000 virgins in Apocalypse 14:3 (Visio Tnugdali 19). Inside this region is a separate area with colourful silk pavilions reserved for those monks and nuns who lived in complete obedience to the will of God (Visio Tnugdali 20). People who built or defended churches live in cells of gold and ivory under a verdant tree (Visio Tnugdali 20). These people had apparently been laymen and laywomen before joining religious orders and leaving the secular world On these Irish kings in the Visio Tnugdali, see Seymour (1924–27a), 88–90.

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behind. The highest part of Heaven in the Visio Tnugdali, separated by a wall of precious stones, is reserved for nine orders of angels, patriarchs, prophets, apostles, martyrs, and virgins, who enjoy an unrestricted view of the whole universe (Visio Tnugdali 22). Here Tnugdal encounters the Irish saints Rúadán and Patrick, as well as a group of Irish bishops (Visio Tnugdali 23–24). The Heaven encountered by Tnugdal is therefore divided into the area of the not-so-bad outside the walls; the campus laetitiae of the notso-good and those who repented in time; the region inside the silver wall for faithful spouses; the area inside the golden wall reserved for martyrs, the continent, monks and nuns, and those who built and defended churches; and finally the region inside the wall of precious stones inhabited by the nine orders of angels, virgins and saints. When compared with the vision of Heaven in the FA, we can see that in both texts the highest part of Heaven is preserved for the saints – i.e. those who have lived as virgins and dedicated their whole being to God. The difference between the two visionary works, however, comes into focus when one compares the groups included in the outer parts of Heaven. In the FA, the only people allowed into Heaven straightaway are penitent pilgrims and martyrs, while in the Visio Tnugdali the outer parts of Heaven are inhabited by people who are not quite so holy. The faithful spouses have merited a place inside the walls of silver by not breaking the bonds of holy matrimony and by practicing charity towards the poor and needy, while the defenders of churches have concluded their lives by leading a religious life in continence. Those who are not quite so good and those who repented their sins in time are placed in the joyous meadow, which is a far more pleasant location than the marshes outside the gates of Heaven, where the corresponding groups in the FA are located. As the FA promotes a more strictly monastic lifestyle, the best the laity can hope for is to wait outside the gates of Heaven. In the Visio Tnugdali, however, such deeds as practicing charity, living in lawful wedlock, and building and defending churches can bring a person to the abodes of the blessed. In both texts, the authors set aside the highest heavens for those who have dedicated themselves to religious life, proving their commitment either through martyrdom or abstinence. It has been argued that some details in the Visio Tnugdali reflect the twelfth-century ecclesiastical reform movement in Ireland, which significantly affected the organisation of the Church.91 It is possible to see this historical context in the Seymour (1924–27a), 94–97.

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Visio Tnugdali’s more inclusive view of the groups of people located in Heaven, whereas the FA can be interpreted as reflecting the more traditional Irish monastic background. These visions of the otherworld put the audience face-to-face with the reality of the afterlife, forcing them to ponder their own fate and urging them to change their ways in order to avoid the tortures of Hell. This life and the afterlife were inextricably linked in the minds of medieval people, and the authors of the visions strongly supported this view by describing the progress of souls from one state to the other. By elaborating on the different tortures of Hell and the state of the blessed in Heaven, as well as the good and bad deeds that led to these places, the authors are themselves following the goal of the visions: namely, to warn of the impending Day of Judgment. The elaborate portrayals of the otherworld further serve the aim of convincing the audience that, as long as one is in this body, there is always time to repent and turn back from the path leading to Hell. In the hagiographical tradition, saints are those who have a straight path to Heaven and can thus lead the way for others to follow. In his sermons, Columbanus encourages his audience to tread the path of life like pilgrims, always remembering the end of the road. In the Navigatio, Brendan shows the way by his steadfast trust in God’s powers to protect and provide in the hour of need. For their part, the visions depict the end of the earthly pilgrimage, at which point one’s deeds in this life will be evaluated and judged and the rewards and punishments meted out accordingly. Although written in different centuries and meant for slightly different audiences, as well as for different purposes, these texts share the view that this life is nothing but a foreshadowing of the true reality of God that awaits in the afterlife. When seen in this light, the earthly life consists of preparation and trials in which one must prove oneself. By orientating oneself towards the true reality, one can gain the right perspective in which the greatness of God dominates.

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6. PILGRIMAGE OF LIFE: SOME CONCLUSIONS

‘Is life a waiting room or a journey?’1

This question was posed by the author Margaret Atwood in her essay collection on the nature of science fiction. I think this question is also an apt one for another type of fiction, namely the medieval imaginations of the afterlife. Whether life is conceptualised as a period of waiting or a journey, this question highlights the importance of the afterlife – i.e. the goal of this life is what comes after it. For the saints, this life is nothing but a waiting room, as they are already citizens of Heaven longing for their true home. For most other Christians, however, life should be treated as a journey at the end of which awaits judgment. However, whether speaking of saints as ideal Christians, the monks of Saint Columbanus toiling on their pilgrimage of life, or Brendan’s crew travelling the seas towards the terra repromissionis, all share the same goal: Heaven. The hope for salvation through the grace of God is the thread that binds all Christians together, making it an eschatological religion whose horizon is defined by the afterlife.2 This is clearly demonstrated, for example, by the statement of King Oswiu at the opening of the synod of Whitby in 664, as recorded by Bede in his Historia ecclesiastica: ‘those Atwood (2011), 183. Heikki Räisänen has, for example, argued that a synthesis of early Christian ideas should start with eschatology since ‘a vivid expectation of a great and decisive turn of history, brought about by God, was basic to the genesis of the new religious movement from which Christianity was to develop.’ In the kind of synthesis suggested by Räisänen, the first chapter could be entitled ‘God, History and Beyond’, while the second would deal with ‘Individual eschatology’.Räisänen (2003–4), 9–13. 1 2

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who served one God should observe one rule of life and not differ in the celebration of the heavenly sacraments, seeing that they all hoped for one kingdom in Heaven’.3 This is true of all Christianity in general, but in monasticism in particular the expectation of and preparation for the afterlife came to dominate the expressions of spirituality. Monasticism can be understood as an eschatological theology that is lived in practice. Indeed, monastic life is a programme that allows for a translation of theological concepts into patterns of behaviour. Richard Valantasis has argued that one of the four major social functions of asceticism is that it ‘provides a method for translating theoretical and strategic concepts into patterns of behaviour’.4 Since ascetical practices as a method of transforming oneself into an angelic being are at the heart of monasticism, this point of Valantasis’ theory can be applied to monasticism as a whole. Jeffrey Burton Russell follows similar lines of thought when he recapitulates the essentials of medieval monastic spirituality: ‘Monasticism centered on metanioa or conversio (transformation) through a programme of asceticism designed to liberate the soul from material concerns so that it might fully open itself to God.  Monastic discipline became the most common road to theosis and thus to the beatific vision.’5 The eschatological orientation of monasticism inevitably influenced the monastics’ relationship with this world, but it did not necessarily mean automatic rejection of the world as such. Monasteries mediated between this and the otherworld by being places that were physically closer to Heaven and by housing inhabitants purified by ascetical practices into angelic beings – or at least on their way to achieving that state. They served as powerhouses of prayer, representing conduits between God and the earthly society. Moreover, they were often proximal to holy graves, where manifestations of supranatural reality could be experienced in the form of miracles. In all these respects, monasteries were locations where the otherworld could penetrate into this plane while still being firmly anchored in this world. They served the needs of the wider community by offering a glimpse of the heavenly reality, and thus they gave hope and encouragement to all Christians treading the earthly path to salvation. Consequently, withdrawal from the world into the communal life of a monastery and the anchoritic life of a hermit can HE iii.25. Valantasis (1998), 550. 5 Russell (1997), 77. 3 4

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be understood as ways of serving others by seeking union with God, which in turn support and strengthen the larger community.6 Indeed, withdrawal from the world serves to redirect love in a more productive direction, which in turn benefits the world around.7 Turning one’s back on the world by means of asceticism allows the devotee to enter a re-created world. Or, as Richard Valantasis writes, ‘Through ritual, new social relations, different articulations of self and body, and through a variety of psychological transformations, the ascetic learns to live within another world.’8 The ascetic therefore functions within a re-envisioned world in which all mundane tasks gain new meaning as part of an ascetical programme aimed at the transformation of one’s being into a heavenly creature, if not in this life then at least in the life to come. Asceticism and withdrawal from the world are thus not practiced for their own sake, but in order to achieve communion with the higher realm.9 The ascetic’s relationship with this world is therefore defined by the eschatological expectation of the afterlife, in which his true being will be consummated. Aaron Gurevich has drawn attention to the ‘eschatological mentality’ of the Middle Ages. He speaks of the ‘ever-present expectation of the end of the world’.10 In my mind, this eschatological mentality can be seen not only in the expectation of the end of the world, but also on a more personal scale in the anticipation of each persons’s personal end and the preparation for individual judgment. This individual ‘smaller’ eschatology colours early medieval spirituality, especially in its monastic form, and informs the monks’ relationship with this world. J. N. Hillgarth has furthermore singled out ‘the constant interpenetration of this world and the next’ as perhaps the greatest novelty of the seventh century (due ultimately to the influence of Gregory the Great), which among other things influenced the development of spirituality and Church reform.11 In this study, I  have tried to map this ever-present expectation of personal judgment and the afterlife, as well as the ‘constant inter Ware (1998), 6–7. On the meaning of monastic withdrawal, see McGinn (2006), 149–54; Ware (1998), 3–15. 8 Valantasis (1998), 550. 9 For further discussion, see Rubenson (1998), 54–55. 10 The full quote is found in Mazour-Matusevich (2005), 129: ‘Speaking of the Middle Ages, we have to take into consideration the ever-present expectation of the end of the world. This expectation is called an eschatological mentality.’ 11 Hillgarth (1992), 230–31. 6 7

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penetration’ of the two worlds. As Aaron Gurevich adds, ‘The fears and hopes begotten of the expectations of the transit to that Other World persistently haunted medieval man and compelled him to fashion certain ideas about its arrangement. To study the attitude of medieval people towards death and their notions about the Other World leads to an understanding of an important aspect of their consciousness.’12 I quite readily agree with this statement, and this book is my attempt to shed light on this aspect of the medieval worldview in the limited context of early medieval Irish Christianity. Irish authors appropriated earlier Christian learning and made it their own, interpreting it anew in an Irish context of what it meant to be holy and fight the good fight for Heaven. Thus, their interpretation of Christianity can be treated as one of many local Christianities – reinterpretations of the religion arising from indigenous geographic, historical and cultural circumstances. This book is therefore a study of one interpretation of Christian living in early medieval local Christianity, which nevertheless reflects trends that are also evident elsewhere, and, in the case of monastic spirituality, perhaps reflects them especially poignantly. I have approached all of the texts used in this book as maps – spiritual maps that chart the road to Heaven. I read them as texts that express and aim to kindle in the audience the longing for a future life. In hagiography, the saints function as trailblazers who show the way – appropriate for the specific historical context – for others to follow. At death, the saint is taken to his true home and welcomed into the company of the heavenly host, among whom even hagiographers express their wish to one day be counted. The earthly life of the saint is just a brief interlude before the true life in Heaven. In the Irish Lives of Adomnán and Columba, the saint is the monastic leader who leads his flock on the path to Heaven, and the location of the saint’s grave at the monastery is holy ground where Heaven and earth meet. In the sermons of Columbanus, this life is treated as a pilgrimage and the audience is urged to travel the road of life, always keeping the goal of journey in mind. The image of love directed at its rightful target – i.e. things eternal, as opposed to love of earthly transient things – is central to understanding Columbanus’ vision of the journey of life. The peregrini should not become attached to anything on the way, but always keep their focus on the end of the journey. In the Navigatio, the monastic journey to Heaven is realised as an actual sea journey to the earthly promised land of the saints, the 12

Gurevich (1988), 104.

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terra repromissionis sanctorum. Brendan’s monks are united with their monastic audience in their daily practice of the monastic hours and in following the Christian calendar, as well as in their quest of the heavenly abode. In their little coracle, Brendan and his monks take a circuitous route to the otherworld in order to learn the lesson of absolute trust in God’s powers and to appreciate the signs of God’s work around them. Finally, in the Fís Adomnán, the secrets of the otherworld are revealed as the saintly protagonist of the vision is given a tour of the resting places of the good and the places of torment reserved for the wicked. In vision literature, posthumous rewards and punishments are graphically described in order to remind the audience of what awaits them in the afterlife. The otherworldly sightseeing tour of Adomnán takes him to the different abodes of the good, the bad and those in-between, thus providing concrete evidence of the reality of the afterlife and reminding the audience of the fact that while they are still alive they can affect their fate on the other side of the veil. What unites all these works, which stem from different centuries and belong to different genres of writing, is their shared understanding of the goal of Christian life and the ways in which it affects man’s relationship with this world. This message is especially pertinent to monastic spirituality: as monks dedicated their entire lives to reaching this goal, their lives came to be dominated by this quest. This lifestyle was inspired first and foremost by the example of the Desert Fathers (and Desert Mothers), who illustrated it in their sayings. In the Verba seniorum, monastic detachment from the world is summed up by the Desert Mother Syncletica, who says: ‘Like exiles we have been separated from the things of the world and have given ourselves in faith to the one Father.’13 In the Vita Antonii, the exemplary monk Antony furthermore highlights the nature of monastic abnegation of the world: ‘No one, once he has rejected the world, should think that he has left behind anything of importance, because the whole earth, compared to the infinity of heavens, is small and limited.’14 Living like an exile involves a feeling of alienation from one’s surroundings and longing for somewhere else. The authors of the Irish works discussed in this study shared a worldview that promoted detachment from worldly things and atten13 Verba seniorum xiv.10. PL 73.950: quoniam velut exsilio relegantes nos tradidimus uni secundum fidem Patri a rebus saecularibus alienati. 14 Vita Antonii xv (in translation 17): Nemo, cum despexerit mundum, reliquisse se arbitretur ingentia, quia omnis terra, ad infinitatem comparata coelorum, brevis ac parva est.

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tion on the heavenly. For them, life is a peregrinatio, a lifelong pilgrimage towards the heavenly home, where the chosen ones will encounter the holy and be united with it. This life should be viewed as a period of preparation, a period of waiting until the real life begins, or a journey towards the true home. This eschatological perspective of life is not only limited to ecclesiastics, but applies to all Christians. In the penitentials, we can see an attempt to extend this vision to also include the laity. The so-called penitentials are handbooks for those hearing confession, cataloguing different sins and their respective penances, and often also differentiating between different categories of people, laying harsher penances on some than on others. Private penance and penitential literature can be viewed as the greatest contributions of the Irish to the development of Western Christian practice and theology. They grew out of the Irish (and Welsh) monastic world in which the daily examination of one’s soul, even for minor misdemeanours, developed into a practice of privately confessing one’s sins to a spiritual advisor whose task it was to act like a doctor, diagnosing the illnesses of the soul and their respective cures. The Irish penitential practice grew in turn out of the ascetical practices of the Desert Fathers and developments in the theology of sin in the writings of Evagrius of Pontus and John Cassian, for example.15 Following their lead, the Irish turned repeatable private penance into an integral part of monastic life and in the penitential handbooks systematised fixed penances for various sins. By doing this, they turned the focus from sin itself to the inner disposition of the sinner. They thus solved the problem of dealing with minor sins, since the earlier practice of public penance offered a one-off chance of purging oneself of the only most major sins. Despite its monastic origins, however, the practice of private penance was not limited only to ecclesiastics. The whole system was extended to also include the deeds of the laity. In practice, it can be questioned how widely the pastoral care of the Church and the Christian norms of morality covered all members of the laity in the early Middle Ages, but in any case the extension of private penance also to laypeople can be taken as an expression of the ideals of monastic life expanding into the whole of the Christian society, at least in theory if not always in practice. Monastic life was thus presented as the pinnacle of Christian living, which provided the ideal to which all Christians should strive to some extent. On the development of the Irish practice of penance, see Meens (2014), 37–69; O’Loughlin (2000a), 48–56; Hughes (2005), 324–25. 15

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The earliest of Irish penitentials is that of Finnian, written in the late sixth century.16 The penitential differentiates between intentions and actual deeds, also including cases in which the intention to sin was there but the actual execution failed due to external factors, such as the planning of fornication or murder but not being able to carry the deed out for one reason or another. Finnian also distinguishes between different categories of sinners, clearly expecting a higher level of morality from those committed to the service of God. These varying levels of expectations and their corresponding results in the afterlife are summed up by Finnian when, concerning the sin of plotting a murder, he states: ‘but if he is a layman, he shall do penance for a period of seven days; since he is a man of this world, his guilt is lighter in this world and his reward less in the world to come’.17 Laymen are thus clearly associated with the affairs of this world, by extension implying that ecclesiastics belong to the heavenly reality. The effects of sin are felt posthumously in the afterlife, as explained by Finnian: ‘If a cleric is wrathful or envious or backbiting or gloomy or greedy, great and capital sins are these, and they slay the soul and cast it down to Hell.’18 However, he moderates this gloomy view with hope for divine forgiveness by stating: ‘But there is this penance for them, until they are plucked forth and eradicated from our hearts through the help of God and through our own zeal: let us seek pardon from the mercy of God and victory over these things, continuing in a state of penance, in weeping and tears day and night, so long as these things dwell in our hearts.’19 Repentance, by which the mercy of God can be merited, is thus the only thing lying between the sinner and Hell. Since sin was understood as something that cannot be fully avoided, repentance as the preparation for the judgment awaiting everyone in the afterlife gained great significance as the only means of salvation after baptism.

On the penitential, see O’Loughlin (2000a), 56–60. Finnian 7: si quis autem laicus fuerit ebdomadam dierum peniteat; quia homo seculi huius est, culpa levior in hoc mundo et premium minus in futuro. Translations of Finnian by Ludwig Bieler. 18 Finnian 29: Si quis clericus iracundus aut invidus aut detractor aut tristis aut cupidus, magna sunt peccata haec et capitalia et occident animam et demergunt eam in profundum inferni. 19 Finnian 29: Sed haec est penitentia eorum donec evellantur et eradicentur de cordibus nostris per auxilium Dei et per studium nostrum [divinum]: petamus veniam de Dei misericordia et de his victoriam, [et] tamdiu in penitentia constitute in fletu et lacrimis die ac nocte quam divuersantur haec in cordibus nostris. 16

17

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The penitentials are notorious for their interest in all types of sexual acts, ranging from masturbation to homosexuality, from incest to bestiality.20 This aspect of the penitentials has caused great discomfort to earlier generations of scholars who tried to dismiss these deeds as something arising from the overactive imagination of monks rather than the real-life actions of medieval men. The focus of penitentials on all forms of fornication can be explained by the fact that sexuality was one of the most important aspects of human life over which the Church tried to impose measures of control, be it the ascetical celibacy of monks and the clergy to the limits of acceptability imposed on marital sex. Underlying all of these was the notion of purity, both ritual and theological, as a means to regain the prelapsarian harmony between the body and soul when the flesh was under the control of the will. The penitential of Finnian also reveals interest in this aspect of human life, prescribing that married couples should abstain from sexual intercourse for the three forty-day periods each year. This marital abstinence, along with with charitable deeds, fulfills the Lord’s commands. Eschewing sin in this way has a soteriological goal, since its reward does not lie on this plane but in the afterlife. In the rewards of Heaven, Finnian again presents a tiered system, stating that married persons can expect a thirtyfold return on their investment while virgins and the continent are respectively rewarded a hundredfold and sixtyfold, following the parable of the sower in the synoptic Gospels.21 Although limiting sex only to the marital bed – and even then to strictly limited days – had also a societal function of securing the inheritance and social status of any children that were conceived, in the mind of the Church it was clearly also connected with notions of purity, sin and salvation. The penitentials are based on the theological idea that sin is a breach in the relationship between God and man that can be healed by the heartfelt remorse of the sinner in tandem with the redemptive power See, for example, Payer (1980); Payer (1984); Connolly (1995), 80–96. Finnian 46: ‘We prescribe and exhort that there be continence in marriage, since marriage without continence is not lawful, but sin… Married people, then, should mutually abstain during the three forty-day periods in each single year, by consent for the time being, that they may be able to have time for prayer for the salvation of their souls… But if they shall fulfil this instruction, then they are worthy of the Lord’s body, if by good works they fulfil matrimony, that is, with alms and by fulfilling the commands of God and expelling their faults, and in the life to come they shall reign with Christ, with holy Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Jod, Noah, all the saints; and there they shall receive the thirtyfold fruit which the Saviour in the Gospel, in his account (of rewards), has set aside for married people.’ Cf. Mk 4:1–20, Mt 13:1–23 and Lk 8:1–15. 20 21

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of God’s mercy. It is clear that the whole point of penitentials is the preparation of the soul for death, since without repentance there is no purification of sin and without purification of sin there is no entrance to Heaven. The notion of Purgatory had not yet developed into its full form in the early Middle Ages, and even though there are references to intercessory prayers on behalf of the dead, the posthumous process of purifying sin in Purgatory or some type of cleansing fire was unreliable and not to be counted on. Emphasis thus came to be put on penance as the means of and restoring the right relationship with God before facing judgment. The otherworldly perspective of seeing one’s entire life as preparation for death was inherent in Christianity from its beginnings, but it gained an especially pronounced role in monasticism with monks being expected to dedicate their whole lives to the quest for the Kingdom of God. The sermons of Columbanus clearly exemplify how the expectation of the afterlife came to dominate the whole outlook of monastic life. When the life of monks was seen through the prism of the metaphor of pilgrimage, it was essentialised into a search for Heaven and nothing more. Columbanus sums up this sentiment in Sermon  V, in which he succinctly states that human life is ‘the way to life, not life’ and that, accordingly, ‘all men of understanding should hurry like pilgrims to their true homeland’. The same ideals were extended to all Christians, although the same level of virtue and dedication were not expected from the laity. The rewards in the afterlife were also based on the appropriate level of virtue, as the Penitential of Finnian clearly illustrates. The otherworldly goal of the practice of penances is not always spelled out in the penitentials, since they are practical guidebooks dedicated to listing the different sins and their respective penances. This goal is nevertheless always present, even when it is not explicitly stated, as the entire justification for the practice of penance lies in relation to the afterlife. Without the expectation of God’s mercy and posthumous rewards in heaven, the system of penance loses its theological purpose and is reduced to mere legal tariffs. Christianity as an eschatological religion, and especially monasticism as the expectation of the afterlife lived in practice, should be viewed in terms of preparation for death. Only through this eschatological perspective do the extreme deeds of ascetics and saints become understandable. Considering that everything here and now should be viewed from a religious point of view as something temporary on the pilgrim’s way towards his true homeland, the eschatological outlook of medieval mo-

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nastic spirituality also had implications for the monk’s relationship with this world. From a Christian point of view, the preparation for death should fully dominate the lives of all Christians, seeing that life here on earth is nothing but a brief interlude before facing the judgment of God and the true reality awaiting in Heaven.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Ancient and Medieval Authors Adomnán, Vita Columbae (Alan Orr Anderson & Marjorie Ogilvie Anderson ed. & trans., Adomnán’s Life of Columba, Oxford: Clarendon Press, rev. ed. 1991; Richard Sharpe trans., Adomnán of Iona: Life of St Columba, Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1995). Ambrose, De paradiso (CSEL 32/1, 236–336; J. J. Savage trans., Fathers of the Church 42, 287–356). Anon, Anglo-Saxon Chronicle (Dorothy Whitelock ed. & trans., English Historical Documents vol. 1, London: Eyre Methuen, 1979). Anon, Betha Adamnáin (Máire Herbert & Pádraig Ó Riain ed.  & trans., Irish Texts Society 54, Dublin: Irish Texts Society, 1988). Anon, Betha Bhairre Ó Corcaigh (BNE I, 11–22; II, 11–21). Anon, Betha Beraigh (BNE I, 23–43; II, 22–43). Anon, Betha Brennain Clúana Ferta (BNE I, 44–95; II, 44–92). Anon, Betha Ciarain Saighre I (BNE I, 103–12; II, 99–108). Anon, Betha Caoimhgin I (BNE I, 125–30; II, 121–26). Anon, Betha Coluim Cille (Máire Herbert ed.  & trans, in Herbert (1988), 218–69). Anon, Bethu Phátraic: The Tripartite Life of Patrick (Kathleen Mulchrone ed. & trans., Dublin: RIA, 1939). Anon, Cath Cairn Chonaill (Whitley Stokes ed. & trans., ZCP 3 (1901), 203–19). Anon, Dá brón flatha nime (G.  Dottin ed., ‘Les deux chagrins du royaume de ciel’, Revue Celtique 21 (1900), 349–87; Máire Herbert trans., Irish Biblical Apocrypha: Selected Texts in Translation,

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ed. Máire Herbert & Martín McNamara. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1989, 19–21). Anon, Fís Adomnáin (John Carey ed.  & trans., Apocrypha Hiberniae II: Apocalyptica 2, ed. Martin McNamara et al., CCSA, Turnhout: Brepols, forthcoming; Máire Herbert trans., Irish Biblical Apocrypha: Selected Texts in Translation, ed.  Máire Herbert & Martín McNamara. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1989, 137–48). Anon, Immram Brain (Séamus Mac Mathúna ed. & trans., Tübingen: Max Niemeyer Verlag, 1985). Anon, Historia monachorum in Aegypto (Latin translation by Rufinus; Eva Schulz-Flügel ed., Historia Monachorum sive de vita sanctorum patrum, Patristische Texte und Studien 34, Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 1990; Norman Russell trans., The Lives of the Desert Fathers, London: Mowbray, 1981). Anon, Litany of Confession (Charles Plummer ed. & trans., Irish Litanies: Text and Translation, Henry Bradshaw Society, 1925. Repr. Woodbridge: The Boydell Press, 1992, 1–7). Anon, Navigatio sancti Brendani (Carl Selmer ed., Publications in Medieval Studies xvi, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1959; John J. O’Meara trans., The Voyage of Saint Brendan: “Journey to the Promised Land”, Gerrards Cross: Colin Smythe Limited, 1976). Anon, The Seafarer (Roy F. Leslie ed. & trans., ‘The Meaning and Structure of The Seafarer’, The Old English Elegies: New Essays in Criticism and Research, ed. Martin Green, Rutheford: Farleigh Dickinson University Press, 1983, 96–122). Anon, Táin Bó Cúailgne, Recension I (Cecile O’Rahilly ed. & trans., Dublin: DIAS, 1976, repr. 2003). Anon, The Three Utterances (Robert McNally ed., (Sermon  I) ‘“In nomine Dei summi”: Seven Hiberno-Latin Sermons’. Traditio 35 (1979), 121–43; Charles D. Wright ed. & trans. ‘Latin Analogue for The Two Deaths: The Three Utterances of the Soul’, in The End and Beyond: Medieval Irish Eschatology, eds John Carey & Caitríona Ó Dochartaigh. Aberystwyth: Celtic Studies Publications, 2014, 113–37). Anon, Transitus Beati Fursei (Oliver Rackham ed. & trans., Norwich: Fursey Pilgrims, 2007). Anon, Verba seniorum (Latin translation by Pelagius & John. PL 73, 855–1022; Benedicta Ward trans., The Desert Fathers: Sayings of the Early Christian Monks, London: Penguin Classics, 2003).

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Bibliography

Anon, Visio Pauli (Theodore Silverstein & Anthony Hillhorst eds, Apocalypse of Paul: A  New Critical Edition of Three Long Latin Versions, Cahiers d’orientalisme 21, Genève, 1997; J.  K. Elliott trans., The Apocryphal New Testament, Oxford: Clarendon press, 1993, 616–44). Anon, Vita prima sanctae Brigitae (Seán Connolly trans., ‘Vita Prima Sanctae Brigitae: Background and Historical Value’, JRSAI 119 (1989), 5–49). Anon, Vita prior S. Fintani seu Munnu (W. W. Heist ed., Vitae sanctorum Hiberniae ex codice olim salmaticensi nunc bruxellensi, Bruxelles: Société des bollandistes, 1965, 198–209). Anon, Vita sancti Albei (VSH I, 46–64). Anon, Vita sancti Berachi (VSH I, 75–86). Anon, Vita sancti Boecii (VSH I, 87–97). Anon, Vita sancti Cronani (VSH II, 22–31). Anon, Vita sancti Mochoemog (VSH II, 164–83). Anon, Vita sancti Ruadani (VSH II, 240–52). Athanasius, Vita Antonii (Latin translation by Evagrius, PL 73, 126–70; Carolinne White trans., Early Christian Lives, London: Penguin Classics, 1998, 7–70). Augustine, De civitate Dei (CCSL 47 & 48; R.  W. Dyson trans., The City of God against the Pagans, Cambridge Texts in the History of Political Thought, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). — De doctrina christiana (R.P.H. Green ed. & trans., Oxford: Oxford University Press 1996). — De vera religione (PL 34, 121–72; J. H. S. Burleigh trans., Augustine: Earlier Writings, The Library of Christian Classics. Philadelphia 1953, 225–83). — Enarrationes in psalmos (CCSL 40; Consulted online at Library of Latin Texts: Series A; A. Cleveland Coxe trans., NPNF 8). — Enchridion de fide, spe, et caritate (PL 40, 231–90; J. F. Shaw trans., NPNF 3, Edinburgh, repr. 1993, 237–76). — Sermons (Sermon 346) (PL 39; The Works of Saint Augustine, 2nd Release, Electronic edition, Sermons (341–400) on Various Subjects. Volume III/10. Past Masters. Charlottesville: InteLex Corporation, 2001). Bede, Historia ecclesiastica (B. Colgrave & R. A. B. Mynors eds, Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969).

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Benedict of Nursia, Regula Benedicti (Bruce  L. Venarde ed.  & trans., The Rule of St.  Benedict, Dumbarton Oaks Medieval Library 6, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2011). Columbanus, Instructiones (G.  S.  M. Walker ed.  & trans., Sancti Columbani Opera, Scriptores Latini Hiberniae 2, Dublin: DIAS, 1957, 60–121). — , Penitentiale (Ludwig Bieler ed.  & trans., The Irish Penitentials, Scriptores Latini Hiberniae 5, Dublin: DIAS, 1975, 96–107). — , Regula coenobialis (G. S. M. Walker ed. & trans., Sancti Columbani Opera, Scriptores Latini Hiberniae 2, Dublin: DIAS, 1957, 143–69). — , Regula monachorum (G.  S.  M. Walker ed.  & trans., Sancti Columbani Opera, Scriptores Latini Hiberniae 2, Dublin: DIAS, 1957, 122–43). Dante Alighieri, Divina Commedia:Inferno (Robert M. Durlin ed. & trans., Divine Comedy, vol. 1, New York: Oxford University Press, 1996, Used online via ebrary.com). — , Divina Commedia: Purgatorio (Robert  M. Durlin, ed.  & trans., Divine Comedy, vol. 2, New York: Oxford University Press, 2003, Used online via ebrary.com) Dicuil, Liber de mensura orbis terrae (J. J. Tierney ed.. Scriptores Latini Hiberniae 6, Dublin: DIAS, 1967). Finnian, Penitentialis (Ludwig Bieler ed.  & trans., The Irish Penitentials, Scriptores Latini Hiberniae 5, Dublin: DIAS, 1975, 74–95). Gregory of Nyssa, De hominis opificio (NPNF 2.5). Gregory the Great, Moralia in Iob (PL 75–76). — , Dialogi (CCSL 143–143B, Consulted online at Library of Latin Texts: Series A.; O. J. Zimmerman trans., Fathers of the Church 39, New York, 1959). Hugh of st Victor, Sermones Centum (PL 177). Irenaeus of Lyon, Adversus haereses (book v) (A. Rousseau & L. Doutreleau eds, SC 152–53, Paris: Cerf, 1969). Jerome, Vita Pauli (PL 23, 17–28; Carolinne White trans., Early Christian Lives, London: Penguin Classics, 1998). Jonas, Vita Columbani (Bruno Krusch ed., MGH, Scriptores rerum Germanicum in usum scholarum 37, 1905; Dana Carlton Munro trans., The Life of St. Columban, by the monk Jonas, Translation and reprints from the original sources of European history no.7, vol.  2, Philadelphia 1895, Repr. Llanerch Publishers: Felinfach 1993).

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Bibliography

John Cassian, Collationes. (Michael Petschenig ed., CSEL 13,Wien, 2004; Boniface Ramsey trans., The Conferences, Ancient Christian Writers 57, New York: Newman Press, 1997). — , Institutis (Michael Petschenig, ed., CSEL 17, Wien, 2004; Boniface Ramsey trans., The Institutes, Ancient Christian Writers 58, New York: Newman Press, 2000). Marcus, Visio Tnugdali (Jean-Michel Picard trans., The Vision of Tnugdal, Dublin: Four Courts Press, 1989). Muirchú, Vita Patricii (Ludwig Bieler ed. & trans., The Patrician Documents in the Book of Armagh, Scriptores Latini Hiberniae 10, Dublin: DIAS, 1979, repr. 2000, 62–123). Peter Lombard, Sententiae 3 (PL 192; Giulio Silano trans., The Sentences 3, Medieval Sources in Translation 45, Toronto: Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 2008). Tírechán, Collectanea (Ludwig Bieler ed. & trans., The Patrician Documents in the Book of Armagh, Scriptores Latini Hiberniae 10. Dublin: DIAS, 1979, repr. 2000, 122–67).

Biblical books New International Version King James Wisdom of Solomon in The Anchor Bible 43. Garden City, N.Y.: Doubleday & Company, 1979.

Liturgical sources Pontificale Romanum: editio princeps (1595–1596). Città del Vaticano: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 351–52.

Modern Authors Aguirre, Manuel (1990) ‘The Hero’s Voyage in Immram curaig Mailduin,’ Études Celtiques 27, 203–20. Anderson, Alan Orr & Marjorie Ogilvie Anderson (1991) ‘Introduction,’ in A. O. Anderson & M. O. Anderson (ed. & trans.), Adomnán’s Life of Columba, Oxford: Clarendon Press, rev. ed., xv–lxxx.

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Anderson, John D. (1988) ‘The Navigatio Brendani: A  Medieval Best Seller,’ The Classical Journal 83, 315–22. Arikha, Noga (2007) Passions and Tempers: A History of the Humours, New York: HarperCollins. Arnold, Bill T. (2011) ‘Old Testament Eschatology and the Rise of Apocalypticism,’ in Jerry L. Walls (ed.), The Oxford Handbook of Eschatology, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 23–39. Atwood, Margaret (2011) In Other Worlds: SF and the Human Imagination, London: Virago Press. Banner, Robert (1954) ‘The Art of Scriptorium at Luxeuil,’ Speculum 29, 678–90. Barron, W.  R.  J., and Glyn  S. Burgess, eds (2002) The Voyage of St Brendan: Representative Versions of the Legend in English Translations, Exeter: University of Exeter Press. Bartlett, Robert (2013) Why Can the Dead Do Such Great Things? Saints and Worshippers from the Martyrs to the Reformation, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Bauckham, Richard (1993) ‘The Apocalypse of the Seven Heavens,’ Apocrypha 4, 141–75. Baum, Paull Franklin (1923) ‘Judas’ Sunday Rest,’ The Modern Language Review 18, 168–82. Bejczy, István P. (2011) The Cardinal Virtues in the Middle Ages: A Study in Moral Thought from the Fourth to the Fourteenth Century [Brill’s Studies in Intellectual History 202], Leiden: Brill. Berchman, Robert M. (1990) ‘Neoplatonism’, in Everett Ferguson (ed.), Encyclopedia of Early Christianity, Garland Publishing: New York, 640–43. Bernstein, Alan E. (1993) The Formation of Hell: Death and Retribution in the Ancient and Early Christian Worlds, Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Beyer, Hermann Wolfgang (1966) ‘κυβέρνησις,’ in Theological Dictionary of the New Testament [vol III], Grand Rapids: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Company [5th ed. 1974], 1035–37. Bieler, Ludwig (1976) ‘Two Observations Concerning the Navigatio Brendani,’ in Wooding, ed. (2000c), 91–93 [Originally published in Celtica 9, 15–17]. Biggs, Frederik M. (1989–90) ‘The Fourfold Division of Souls: The Old English “Christ III” and the Insular Homiletic Tradition,’ Traditio 45, 35–51.

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Billy, Dennis (1989) ‘The Penitentials and “The Making of Moral Theology”’, Louvain Studies 14, 143–51. Bischoff, Bernhard (1976) ‘Turning-Points in the History of Latin Exegesis in the Early Middle Ages,’ in Martin McNamara (ed.), Biblical Studies: The Medieval Irish Contribution [Proceedings of Irish Biblical Association 1], Dublin, 74–160. Bishop, Judith L. (2009) ‘Peripatetic Saints,’ in Encyclopedia of Medieval Pilgrimage, Leiden: Brill, 511–13. Bitel, Lisa M. (1990) Isle of the Saints: Monastic Settlement and Christian Community in Early Ireland, Cork: Cork University Press. — (2010) ‘Looking Like Christians: The Material Environment of Religious Visions in Early Medieval Europe,’ in Colum Hourihane (ed.), Looking Beyond: Visions, Dreams, and Insights in Medieval Art & History [Index of Christian Art: Occasional Papers 11], Princeton University, 30–38. Bitton-Ashkelony, Bruria (2005) Encountering the Sacred: the Debate on Christian Pilgrimage in Late Antiquity, Berkeley: University of California Press. Bloomfield, Morton W. (1952) The Seven Deadly Sins: An Introduction to the History of a Religious Concept, with Special Reference to Medieval English Literature, East Lansing: Michigan State College Press. Bonner, Gerald (2002) ‘Review: Michael W. Herren and Shirley Ann Brown, Christ in Celtic Christianity,’ Peritia 16, 510–13. Borsje, Jacqueline (1996) From Chaos to Enemy: Encounters with Monsters in Early Irish Texts. An Investigation related to the Process of Christianization and the Concept of Evil [Instrumenta Patristica xxix], Turnhout: Brepols. Boswell, Charles Stuart (1908) An Irish Precursor of Dante; A Study of Heaven and Hell Ascribed to the Eighth Century Irish St. Adamnan, with Translation of the Irish Text, London: David Nutt. Bourgeault, Cynthia (1983) ‘The Monastic Archetype in the Navigatio of St. Brendan,’ Monastic Studies 14, 109–21. Bowman, Glenn (1985) ‘Anthropology of Pilgrimage,’ in Makhan Jha (ed.), Dimensions of Pilgrimage: An Anthropological Appraisal, New Delhi: Inter-India Publications, 1–9. Boyle, Elizabeth (2010) ‘Visionary Texts,’ in Albrecht Classen (ed.), Handbook for Medieval Studies: Terms  – Methods  – Trends vol.  3, Berlin: De Gruyter, 2131–35.

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Brakke, David (2001) ‘Ethiopian Demons; Male Sexuality, the BlackSkinned Other, and the Monastic Self,’ Journal of the History of Sexuality 10, 501–35. — (2006) Demons and the Making of the Monk: Spiritual Combat in Early Christianity, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press. Bray, Dorothy Ann (1985) ‘A Note on the Life of St Brendan,’ Cistercian Studies 20, 14–20. — (1992), A List of Motifs in the Lives of the Early Irish Saints [FF Communications 252], Helsinki: Academia Scientiarum Fennica. — (1995) ’Allegory in the Navigatio Sancti Brendani,’ Viator 26, 1–10 [Repr. in Wooding, ed. (2000c) 175–86]. Breatnach, Caoimhín (1992) ‘Review: Betha Adamnáin. The Irish Life of Adomnán,’ Éigse 26, 177–87. Brito-Martins, Manuela (2004) ‘The Concept of peregrinatio in Saint Augustine and its Influences,’ in Laura Napran & Elisabeth Van Houts (eds), Exile in the Middle Ages [International Medieval Research 13], Turnhout: Brepols, 83–94. Brockwell, Charles W. Jr. (1977) ‘Augustine’s Ideal of Monastic Community: A Paradigm for His Doctrine of the Church,’ Augustinian Studies 8, 91–109. Brown, Peter (1967) Augustine of Hippo: A  Biography, London: Faber & Faber. — (1981) The Cult of the Saints: Its Rise and Function in Latin Christianity, Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. — (1997) ‘Vers la naissance du purgatoire: Amnistie et penitence dans le christianisme occidental de l’Antiquité tardive au haut Moyen Âge,’ Annales. Histoire, Sciences Sociales 52, 1247–61. — (1999) ‘Gloriosus Obitus: The End of the Ancient Other World,’ in William E. Klingshirn & Mark Vessey (eds), The Limits of Ancient Christianity: Essays on Late Antique Thought and Culture in Honour of R. A. Markus, Ann Arbor: The University of Michigan Press, 289–314. — (2003) The Rise of Western Christendom: Triumph and Diversity, A.D. 200–1000. [2nd edition], Oxford: Blackwell Publishing. Bruce, James (2004) Prophecy, Miracles, Angels, and Heavenly Light? The Eschatology, Pneumatology, and Missiology of Adomnán’s Life of Columba, Carlisle: Paternoster. Brüning, Gertrud (1917) ‘Adamnans Vita Columbae und Ihre Ableitungen,’ ZCP 11, 213–304.

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INDEX OF BIBLICAL REFERENCES

77:2570 83:5129 117104 117:27128 132110 132:1 109, 128 146:5151 146:6151 148:2109 148:471

Genesis 1:6-771 1:2679 2:8-14133 2:10-14167 3:18139 12:1 22, 23, 49, 51, 93, 28:1230 Exodus 4:12-18127

Proverbs 10:1980

Deuteronomy 7:1-256

Wisdom of Solomon 14:1-7103

Leviticus 11:4480

Isaiah 65:1368

I Kings 17:6125 Job

Matthew 5:368 5:857 6:25-34139 6:31-34104 6:33141 13:24-3058 16:2774 19:29101

38:317 39:2556

Psalms 38:3128 38:13 22, 23 67:36 114, 128

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22:3780 24:1493 25:34132

5:1074 12:1-4152 12:4133

Mark 10:29101

Galatians 5:16-1761 5:17159

Luke 6:2568 10:38-4235

Ephesians 1:462 4:3157

John 14:673 14:1580 15:1280 15:1959

Philippians 1:2374 3:20-2123 2 Timothy 4:799

Acts of Apostles 2:1-3138 10:9-16152

Hebrews 11:8-1049 11:9134 12:1162

Romans 6:675 7:15159 7:22-23159 7:2468 8:1377 13:880

1 Peter 1:3-963 2:1158 1 John 4:880 4:1080

1 Corinthians 2:9130 3:10-15161 3:1374 12:28102 13:9-1270 13:12 65, 74, 153, 155 2 Corinthians 5:6

Apocalypse 4 112, 119 7:9-17155 7:10128 14:3174 21:3-22:5132 21:10-12133

50, 63, 73, 74



GENERAL INDEX

Abraham  19, 22, 51, 93 Adomnán Cáin Adomnáin 15 De locis sanctis 15 Vita Columbae (VC) 15, 18-9, 21, 28, 32-4, 36, 38, 43-4, 93, 149, 154 Alfred, King  94 Ambrose  72, 133-4, 138 angels  2, 4, 20, 28, 70, 101, 105, 120, 134, 138, 152, 155, 158, 165, 168, 175 angelic beings 62, 87, 142, 178 angelic life 112-3, 123-5, 134, 141 angelic state 89, 123 guardian angel 37, 153, 158, 160, 168, 172 neutral angels 108-9, 113, 122, 124-5, 155 Antony, Saint  34, 125-6 Vita Antonii 25, 181 apatheia 69 apocrypha  108, 115, 120, 161 apostles  20, 38, 59, 152, 169, 175 asceticism  10, 27, 37, 77, 79, 125, 159, 178-9 ascetical life 61, 140, 162-3, 171 ascetical practice 48, 69, 134, 138, 148, 153, 160, 178, 182

Augustine  49-51, 59, 62, 66, 78, 152, 154 De civitate Dei 50, 66, 71 De doctrina christiana 49, 71 Enarrationes in psalmos 110 Enchridion 24, 121 Sermons 50-1, 73 Bangor 51 Basil of Cesarea  72 Bede’s Historia ecclesiastica (HE)  16, 33, 130, 147, 177 Berach, Saint  41-2 Bishop, Judith L.  8-9 Bitton-Ashkelony, Bruria  49 Bobbio 51-2 Boswell, Charles Stuart  149-50 Brakke, David  105 Bray, Dorothy Ann  95 Brigit, Saint  14, 25 Vita Prima 106 Brown, Peter  7-8 Brown, Shirley Ann  59-60 Bruce, James  33 Buite, Saint  30-2 Caimmin, Saint  27 Cainnech, Saint  27 Carney, James  95, 98

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Carey, John  149, 152, 170 Cassian, John  5, 10, 23, 35, 56-8, 71, 73, 78, 99, 122-3, 154-5, 159, 182 Cath Cairn Chonaill 27 Charles-Edwards, T.M.  22 Ciarán, Saint  27 Ciarán of Saighir, Saint  41 Clancy, Thomas Owen  15 Clonfert 99 Comgall, Saint  27 conversion  25, 33 Christianisation 3 Creator  54-5, 58, 60, 90, 119, 1267, 155, 158 Cummene Fota, Saint  27

Etchingham, Colmán  10 Eucharist  37, 105 Evagrius Ponticus  182

Dá brón flatha nime (The two sorrows of the kingdom of Heaven) 169-70 Dando, Marcel  108 Dante’s Divina Commedia 146, 148-9 David  19, 115 demons  17, 58, 61, 105-6, 118-9, 122, 164-8, 170, 172 Derry  20, 27-30, 44 Devil  19, 104-5, 161, 167, 170 Lucifer 108-9, 174 Desert Fathers and Mothers  10, 34-5, 58, 61, 69, 77, 84, 94, 105-6, 111, 118, 124-5, 136, 138, 140-1, 148, 181-2 Dicuil 93 Dumville, David  96-7 Durrow 29

Galen 67 Goliath 115 Gothóni, René  86 Gregory the Great  16-7, 179 Dialogi 113, 121, 158, 161, 165 Moralia in Iob 16, 56-7 Greenland 93 Grogan, Brian  8 Guaire, Saint  27 Gurevich, Aaron  2, 171, 179, 180

Fagnoni, Anna Maria  125 faith  22, 33, 49, 53-5, 63-4, 76-7, 84, 92, 100, 104, 115-6, 118-9, 134, 139-142, 156, 181 Fall  1, 77, 89, 134, 139 fallen state 61, 78, 139, 155 Faroe Islands  93, 96, 98 Faustus 55 France  11, 52, Frank, Georgia  137 free will  77-8

Hell  12, 19, 37, 75, 105, 115, 11922, 126, 131, 145-7, 152, 160-3, 165-74, 176, 183 Herbert, Máire  15-6, 21, 30, 41, Herren, Michael W.  59-60 Hillgarth, J.N.  179 Hippocrates 67 Historia monachorum in Aegypto  105, 129, 137-8, 140-1 homilies  8, 16, 22, 147, 151, 168 exordium 16-7, 21-4, 93, 152 peroratio 19, 44 Holy Land  15, 22, 173 Holy Spirit (Holy Ghost)  38-9 Hughes, Kathleen  21 humoral theory  67

Easter  36, 105-6, 108, 110, 114-5, 118, 126, 140 Eden, Garden of  47, 118, 133, 157, 168 Eliade, Mircea  31 Elijah  125, 169-70 Enoch  149, 169-70



GENERAL INDEX

Iceland  93, 98 immrama  95, 97-8, 131 Immram Brain 155 Immram Curaig Máele Dúin 97-8 Iona  15-6, 18-9, 28, 30, 33-6, 44, 149 Irenaeus of Lyons  79-80 Isidore of Seville  72 Isle of Man  94 Israelites (people of Israel)  22-3, 94, 130 Italy  11, 52

Judgment Day (Day of Judgment) 20, 39, 41, 99, 124-6, 131, 153, 163, 167, 170, 176 Leviathan  108, 121 liturgy  27, 37, 96, 125, 142, 168 heavenly liturgy 1, 109, 113, 134, 155 Luxeuil 52 Mac Cana, Proinsias  31 Mackley, J.S.  114, 119 Mac Mathúna, Séamus  145 Martin of Tours, Saint  28 Vita Martini 25 martyrdom  61, 76, 79, 162-3, 175 martyrs 77, 156, 163, 174-5 Michael, archangel  120, 160 Mikhailova, Tatyana  141 miracles  13, 18, 20, 24-6, 28-30, 33, 36-9, 43-4, 118, 135, 166, 178 Mo Bíí, Saint  27 monastic rules  7-8, 10, 34, 129 Rule of Benedict 5, 129 Rule of Columbanus 51, 54, 75-6, 60, 80, 86 Morrinis, Alan  48, 88 Moses  19, 127, 130

Jasconius, fish  107-8, 110, 114-6, 126, 138 Jenkins, David 32 Jerome  112, 125-6, 152 Vita Pauli 112, 125 Jerusalem  28, 135 Heavenly Jerusalem 49, 101, 135, 157 New Jerusalem 127, 132, 142 Jesus Christ  5, 13, 19-20, 23, 32, 38, 50, 58-9, 63-4, 73-4, 76-9, 82-3, 99, 101, 103, 108, 115, 118, 120-2, 127, 132, 140, 145, 158, 163, 169-70 Jonah  108, 115 John the Baptist  19, 152 Jordan, river  130 Joshua 130 Judas Iscariot  120-2, 124, 167 Julian of Eclanum  152

Neoplatonism 66 O’Loughlin, Thomas  95, 117 O’Meara, John J.  132 Ó Riain, Pádraig  15-6 Origen 66 Orlandi, Giovanni  96 Osterrieth, Anne  89 Oswiu, King  177

Kells  15, 29-30, 44 Lapidge, Michael  52 Laporte, Jean  55 Last Judgment  6, 158, 164-5, 1678, 170-2

pagans  23, 32-3, 53, 104, 139, 163 patriarchs  20, 71, 175

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PILGRIMAGE TO HEAVEN

Patrick, Saint  14, 25, 30, 94, 124, 169, 175 Collectanea by Tírechán 30 Purgatory of St Patrick 147 Vita Patricii by Muirchú 94 Vita Tripartita (Tripartite Life of Patrick) 21, 30, 40, 39-42 Paul, Apostle  19, 22, 50, 61, 61, 68, 73-4, 76, 102, 152, 159, 161, 169 Paul, hermit  122-6, 128-9, 133-4, 136, 138-9 Pelagianism 60 Pelagians 60, 62, 78 penance  75-6, 88, 94, 148, 156, 163, 169, 182-3, 185 penitentials 7, 51, 148, 182, 184-5 Penitential of Columbanus 54, 75-6, 88 Penitential of Finnian 183-5 penitents 7, 10, 114, 120, 156, 163, 165, 175, peregrinatio  11, 23, 53, 92, 102, 132, 137-8, 156, 182 peregrini 11, 50-1, 72, 88, 137, 180 Peter Lombard  24 Peter, Saint  118, 152, 169 Picts 33 Plotinus 66 Pontificale Romanum 128 prayer  4, 8, 10, 18, 28, 38, 49, 63, 105, 109, 111, 113, 115, 171, 178, 185 praying 4, 60, 81-2, 105, 108, 129 Promised Land  94, 130, 132-4, 142, 157, 180 terra repromissionis sanctorum 93, 100-1, 109, 117, 124, 126, 129-35, 140, 142, 177, 181 prophecy  5, 26, 29, 31, 93 prophets 20, 175 Prosper of Aquitaine  152

Purgatory  7, 146, 161, 172, 185 purity of heart  57-8, 73 Raphoe 29 relics  19, 28, 30-2, 44, 164 Rome  28, 169 Rúadán, Saint  175 Rumsey, Patricia  109 Russell, Jeffrey Burton  5, 178 salvation  12, 47-8, 54, 60-1, 63-4, 76-8, 80, 84, 93, 127, 129, 136, 167, 171, 177-8, 183-4 Scotland  15, 26-7 Seafarer, the poem  91-2 Selmer, Carl  95, 127 Severin, Tim  98 Seymour, St. John D.  150 Sharpe, Richard  52 sin  1, 7-8, 12, 47, 56, 62, 75-6, 80, 89, 94, 105-6, 121, 147-8, 159, 161-2, 165-6, 173-5, 182-185 Smyth, Marina  71 soldiers of Christ (milites Christi)  11, 99, 119 Stancliffe, Clare  52, 55 Stewart, Columba  6 Stoicism 69 Synod of Whitby  177 Tours 28 Turner, Victor & Edith  48, 85-7, 89 Valantasis, Richard  178-9 Van Gennep, Arthur  86-7, 141 Verba seniorum  105, 136, 138, 181 Vikings  15, 29, 93, 96, 98 Vision literature  8, 12, 121, 131, 145-6, 149, 151, 152, 169, 171-2, 176, 181 Vision of Drythelm 130 Vision of Fursa 147 Vision of Laisrén 147

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GENERAL INDEX

Visio Pauli 120, 133, 153, 158, 167-8, 170 Visio Tnugdali 147, 172-6 Vita Brendani (Life of St Brendan) 97

Walker, G.S.M.  52-3, 79-80 Webb, Diana  86 Wooding, Jonathan  96-7, 142 Wright, Charles D.  120 Zelzer, Michaela  96

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