“Aqua is the Holy Spirit, Christ, subtle wisdom, loquacity, temporal greed, baptism, the hidden speech of the prophets, the holy preaching of Christ, compunction, temporal prosperity, adversity, human knowledge, this world’s wealth, the literal meaning carnal pleasure, eternal reflection, holy angels, souls of the blessed, saints, humility’s lament, the devotions of the saints, sins of the elect which God condones, knowledge of the heretics, persecutions, unstable thoughts, the blandishments of temptations, the pleasures of the wicked, the punishments of hell.
“Mons, mountain (in the singular) the Virgin Mary, montes (in the plural) angels, apostles, sublime precepts, the two Testaments, inner meditations, proud men, the Gentiles, evil spirits.”[50]
Thus Rabanus dragged into his compilation every meaning that had ever been ascribed to the words defined. In him and his contemporaries, the allegorical material, apart from its utility for salvation, seems void of human interest or poetic quality, as yet unstirred by a breath of life. That was to enter, as allegory and all manner of symbolism began to form the temper of mediaeval thought, and became a chosen vessel of the mediaeval spirit in poetry and art. The vital change had taken place before the twelfth century had turned its first quarter.[51]
There flourished at this time a worthy monk named Honorius of Autun, also called “the Solitary.” It has been argued, and vehemently contradicted, that he was of German birth. At all events, monk he was and teacher at Autun. Those about him sought his instruction, and also requested him to put his discourses into writing for their use; their request reads as if at that time Honorius had retired from among them.[52] This is all that is known of the man who composed the most popular handbook of sermons in the Middle Ages. It was called the Speculum ecclesiae. Honorius may never have preached these sermons; but still his book exists with sermons for Sundays, saints’ days, and other Church festivals; a sermon also to be preached at Church dedications, and one “sermo generalis,” very useful, since it touched up all orders of society in succession, and a preacher might take or omit according to his audience. Before beginning, the preacher is directed to make the sign of the cross and invoke the Holy Spirit: he is admonished first to pronounce his text of Scripture in the Latin tongue, and then expound it in the vernacular;[53] he is instructed as to what portions of certain sermons should be used under special circumstances, and what parts he may omit in winter when the church is cold, or when in summer it is too hot; or this is left quite to his discretion: “Here make an end if you wish; but if time permits, continue thus.”
Most of these sermons are short, and contain much excellent moral advice put simply and directly. They also make constant use of allegory, and evidently Honorius’s chief care in their composition was to expound his text allegorically and point the allegory’s application to the needs of his supposed audience. Neither he nor any man of his time devised many novel allegorical interpretations; but the old ones had at length become part of the mediaeval spirit and the regular means of apprehending the force and meaning of Scripture. Consequently Honorius handles his allegories more easily, and makes a more natural human application of them, than Rabanus or Walafrid had done. Sometimes the allegory seems to ignore the moral lesson of the literal facts; but while a smile may escape us in reading Honorius, the allegories in his sermons are rarely strained and shocking, likewise rarely dull. A general point from which he regards the narratives and institutions of the Old Testament is summed up in his statement, that for us Christ turned all provisions of the law into spiritual sacraments.[54] The whole Old Testament has pre-figurative significance and spiritual meaning; and likewise every narrative in the Gospels is spiritual.
Two or three examples will illustrate Honorius’s edifying way of using allegory. His sermon for the eleventh Sunday after Pentecost is typical of his manner. The text is from the thirty-first[55] Psalm: “Blessed is the man to whom the Lord will not impute sin.” Opening with an exhortation to penitence and tears and almsgiving, the preacher turns to the self-righteous “whose obstinacy the Lord curbs in the Gospel for the day, telling how two went up into the temple to pray, the one a Pharisee, to wit, one of the Jewish clergy, the other a Publican.” After proceeding for a while with sound and obvious comment on the situation, Honorius says:
“By the two men who went up into the temple to pray, two peoples, the Jewish and the Gentile, are meant. The Pharisee who went close to the altar is the Jewish people, who possessed the Sanctuary and the Ark. He tells aloud his merits in the temple, because in the world he boasts of his observance of the law.
“The Publican who stands afar off is the Gentile people, who were far off from the worship of God. He did not lift up his eyes to heaven, because the Gentile was agape at the things of earth. He beat his breast when he bewailed his error through penitence; and because he humbled himself in confession, God exalted him through pardon. Let us also, beloved, thus stand afar off, deeming ourselves unworthy of the holy sacraments and the companionship of the saints. Let us not lift up our eyes to heaven, but deem ourselves unworthy of it. Let us beat our breasts and punish our misdeeds with tears. Let us fall prostrate before God; and let us weep in the presence of the Lord who made us, so that He may turn our lament to joy, rend asunder our garb of mourning, and clothe us with happiness.”
Honorius lingers a moment with some further exhortations suggested by his parable, and then turns to the edification to be found in fables wisely composed by profane writers. Let not the congregation be scandalized; for the children of Israel despoiled the Egyptians of gold and gems and precious vesture, which they afterwards devoted to completing the tabernacle. Pious Christians spoil the Egyptians when they turn profane studies to spiritual account. The philosophers tell of a woman bound to a revolving wheel, her head now up now down. The wheel is this world’s glory, and the woman is that fortune which depends on it. Again, they tell of one who tries to roll a stone to the top of a mountain; but, near the top, it hurls the wretch prostrate with its weight and crashes back to the bottom; and again, of one whose liver is eaten by a vulture, and, when consumed, grows again. The man who pushes up the stone is he who toilsomely amasses dignities, to be plunged by them to hell; and he of the liver is the man upon whose heart lust feeds. From that pest, they say, Medusa sprang, with noble form exciting many to lust, but with her look turning them to stone. She is wantonness, who turns to stone the hearts of the lewd through their lustful pleasure. Perseus slew her, covering himself with his crystalline shield; for the strong man, gazing into virtue’s mirror, averts his heart’s countenance (i.e. from wantonness). The sword with which he kills her is the fear of everlasting fire.
Then, continues Honorius, we read of a boy brought up by one of the Fathers in a hermitage; but as he grew to youth he was tickled with lust. The Father commanded him to go alone into the desert and pass forty days in fasting and prayer. When some twenty days had passed, there appeared a naked woman foul and stinking, who thrust herself upon him, and he, unable to endure her stench, began to repel her. At which she asked: “Why do you shudder at the sight of me for whom you burned? I am the image of lust, which appears sweet to men’s hearts. If you had not obeyed the Father, you would have been overthrown by me as others have been.” So he thanked God for snatching him from the spirit of fornication. Many other examples lead us to the path of life.