The frequent allusion to this subject by the kings in various enactments, serve to show very clearly that the clergy would not submit to the restraint attempted to be enforced upon them. But we have a still more conclusive evidence in the words of an episcopal charge delivered by archbishop Ælfric. He says, “Beloved, we cannot now compel you by force to observe chastity, but we admonish you to observe it, as the ministers of Christ ought, and as did those holy men whom we have already mentioned, and who spent all their lives in chastity[[952]].” It is thus very clear that the clergy paid little regard to such admonishments, unsupported by secular penalties. In this, as perhaps in some other cases, the good sense and sound feeling of the nation struggled successfully against the authority of the Papal See. In fact, though spirituality were the pretext, a most abominable slavery to materialism lies at the root of all the grounds on which the Roman prelates founded the justification of their course. That they had ulterior objects in view may easily be surmised, though these may have been but dimly described and hesitatingly confessed, until Gregory the Seventh boldly and openly avowed them. Had the Roman church ventured to argue that the clergy ought to be separated entirely from the nation and the state, nay from humanity itself, for certain definite purposes and ends, it would at least have deserved the praise of candour; and much might have been alleged in favour of this view while the clergy were still strictly missionaries exposed to the perils and uncertainties of a daily struggle. But, in an absurd idolatry of what was miscalled chastity, to proscribe the noblest condition and some of the highest functions of man, was to set up a rule essentially false, and literally hold out a premium to immorality; and so the more reflecting even of the clergy themselves admitted[[953]]. Whatever may have been the desire of the prelates, we may be certain that not only in England, but generally throughout the North of Europe, the clergy did enter into quasi-marriages; and as late as the thirteenth century, the priests in Norway replied to Gregory the Ninth by setting up the fact of uninterrupted custom[[954]].
In addition to the clergy who either in their conventual or parochial churches administered the rites of religion to their flocks, very considerable monastic establishments existed from an early period in England. It is true that not every church which our historians call monasterium was really a monastic foundation, but many of them undoubtedly were so; and it is likely that they supplied no small number of presbyters and bishops to the service of the church. The rule of St. Benedict was well established throughout the West long before Augustine set foot in Britain; and although monks are not necessarily clergymen, it is probable that many of the body in this country took holy orders. Like the clergy the monks were subject to the control of the bishop, and the abbots received consecration from the diocesan. Till a late period in fact, there is little reason to suppose that any English monastery succeeded in obtaining exemption from episcopal visitation: though on the other hand it is probable that monasteries founded by powerful and wealthy laymen did contrive practically to establish a considerable independence. This is the more conceivable, because we cannot doubt that a great difference did from the first exist between the rules adopted by various congregations of monks, or imposed upon them by their patrons and founders, until the time when greater familiarity with Benedict’s regulations, and the customs of celebrated houses, produced a more general conformity.
One of the most disputed questions in Anglosaxon history is that touching the revival of monkery by Dúnstán and his partizans. Its supposed connexion with the tragical story of Eádwig, and the dismemberment of England by Eádgár, have lent it some of the attractions of romance; and by the monastic chroniclers in general, it has very naturally been looked upon as the greatest point in the progressive record of our institutions. Connected as it is with some of the most violent prejudices of our nature, political, professional and personal, it has not only obtained a large share of attention from ecclesiastical historians of all ages, but has been discussed with great eagerness, not to say acrimony, by those who differed in opinion as to the wisdom and justice of the revival itself. Yet it does not appear to me to have been brought to the degree of clearness which we should have expected from the skill and learning of those who have undertaken its elucidation. Neither the share which Dúnstán took in the great revolution, nor the extent to which Æðelwold and Oswald succeeded in their plans, are yet satisfactorily settled; and great obscurity still hangs both over the manner and the effect of the change.
Few things in history, when carefully investigated, do really prove to have been done in a hurry. Sudden revolutions are much less common than we are apt to suppose, and fewer links than we imagine are wanting in the great chain of causes and effects. Could we place ourselves above the exaggerations of partizans, who hold it a point of honour to prove certain events to be indiscriminately right or indiscriminately wrong, we should probably find that the course of human affairs had been one steady and very gradual progression; the reputation of individual men would perhaps be shorn of part of its lustre; and though we should lose some of the satisfaction of hero-worship, we might more readily admit the constant action of a superintending providence, operating without caprice through very common and every-day channels. But it would have been too much to expect an impartial account of the events which led to the reformation of the Benedictine order in England; like Luther in the fifteenth, Dúnstán must be made the principal figure in the picture of the tenth century: throughout all great social struggles the protagonist stalks before us in gigantic stature,—glorious as an archangel, or terrible and hideous as Satan.
The writers who arose shortly after the triumph of the Reformation have revelled in this fruitful theme. The abuses of monachism,—not entirely forgotten at the beginning of the seventeenth century,—its undeniable faults, and the mischief it entails upon society,—judged with the exaggeration which unhappily seems inseparable from religious polemics, produced in every part of Europe a succession of violent and headlong attacks upon the institution and its patrons, which we can now more readily understand than excuse. But just as little can the calm, impartial judgment of the historian ratify the indiscriminate praise which was lavished by the Roman Catholics upon all whom the zeal of Protestants condemned, the misrepresentations of fact by which they attempted to fortify their opinions, or the eager credulity[credulity] which they showed when any tale, however preposterous, appeared to support their particular objects. In later times the controversy has been renewed with greater decency of language, but not less zeal. The champion of protestantism is the Rev. Mr. Soames: Dr. Lingard takes up the gauntlet on behalf of his church. It is no intention of mine to balance their conflicting views as to the character and intentions of Dúnstán and his two celebrated coadjutors; these have been too deeply tinged by the ground-colour that lies beneath the outlines. But I propose to examine the facts upon which both parties seem agreed, though each may represent them variously in accordance with a favourite theory.
It admits of no doubt whatever that monachism, and monachism under the rule of St. Benedict, had been established at an early period in this country[[955]]; but it is equally certain that the strict rule had very generally ceased to be maintained at the time when Dúnstán undertook its restoration. Many of the conventual churches had never been connected with monks at all; while among the various abbeys which the piety or avarice of individuals had founded, there were probably numerous instances where no rule had ever prevailed, but the caprice of the founders, who iure dominii imposed such regulations as their vanity suggested, or their industry gleaned from the established orders of Columba, Benedict, and other credited authorities[[956]]. The chapters, whatever their origin, had in process of time slid into that easy and serene state of secular canons, which we can still contemplate in the venerable precincts of cathedral closes. The celibacy of the clergy had not been maintained: and even in the collegiate churches the presbyter and prebendaries had permitted themselves to take wives, which could never have been contemplated even by those who would have looked with indulgence upon that connexion on the part of parish priests. Moreover in many places, wealthy ease, power, a dignified and somewhat irresponsible position had produced their natural effect upon the canons, some of whom were connected with the best families of the state; so that, in spite of all the deductions which must be made for exaggeration on the part of the monkish writers, we cannot deny that many instances of profligacy and worldly-mindedness did very probably disgrace the clerical profession. It would be strange indeed if what has taken place in every other age and country should have been unexampled only among the Anglosaxons of the ninth and tenth centuries, or that their monks and clergy should have enjoyed a monopoly of purity, holiness and devotion to duty[[957]].
As we have seen already, it was only towards the end of the eighth century that Chrodogang introduced a cœnobitical mode of life in the cathedral of his archdiocese. Long before this time the great majority of our churches had been founded; and among them some may possibly from the first have been served by clergymen resident in their own detached houses, and who merely met at stated hours to perform their duties in the choir, living at other times apart upon their præbenda or allowances from the general fund. But some of the cathedrals had been founded in connexion with abbeys; and it is probable that a majority of these great establishments were provided with some Rule of life, and demanded a cœnobitical though not strictly monastic habit. This is too frequently alluded to by the prelates of the seventh century, not to be admitted. But whatever may have been the details in different establishments, we may be certain that residence, temperance, soberness, chastity, and a strict attendance upon the divine services were required by the Rule of every society. Unfortunately these are restrictions and duties which experience proves to have been sometimes neglected; nor can we find any great improbability in the assertion of the Saxon Chronicle, that the canons of Winchester would hold no rule at all[[958]]; or in the accusations brought against them in the Annals of Winchester[[959]], and in Wulfstán’s Life of Æðelwold[[960]], of violating every one of their obligations. I do not see any reason to doubt the justice of the charge made against some of their body by the last-named author, of having deserted the wives they had taken, and living in open and scandalous disregard of morality as well as canonical restraint. Wulfstán very likely made the most of his facts, but it is to be remembered that he was an eye-witness; and it is improbable that he should have been indebted exclusively to his invention for charges so boldly made, so capable of being readily brought to the test, and containing in truth nothing repugnant to our experience of human nature. The canons of Winchester, many of whom were highly connected, wealthy beyond those of most other foundations, and established in the immediate vicinity of the royal court, may possibly have been more than ordinarily neglectful of their duties[[961]]; and they do appear in fact to have been treated in a much more summary way than the prebendaries of other cathedrals; yet perhaps not with strict justice, unless it can be shown that Winchester was ever a monastic establishment, which, previous to Æðelwold, I do not remember it to have been. Lingard who would have gratefully accepted any evidence against the canons in the other cathedrals, confines himself to Winchester; yet it strikes one as some confirmation of the general charge, even against their brethren at Worcester, that among the signatures to their charters so few are those of deacons and presbyters, till long after Oswald’s appointment to the see. This, although the silence of their adversaries allows us to acquit them of the irregularities laid to the charge of the canons at Winchester, may lead us to infer that they were not scrupulously diligent in fulfilling the duties of their calling.
We cannot feel the least surprise that Dúnstán desired to reform the state of the church. The peculiar circumstances of his early years, even the severe mental struggles which preceded and explain his adoption of the monastic career, were eminently calculated to train him for a Reviver; and Revival was the fashion of his day. Arnold earl of Flanders[[962]] had lent himself with the utmost zeal to the reform of the Benedictine abbeys in his territory, and they were the models selected for imitation, or as schools of instruction, by other lands, especially England so closely connected with Flanders by commerce and the alliances of the reigning houses[[963]]. Yet with it all, Dúnstán does not appear to have taken a very prominent part in the proceedings of the friends of monachism,—certainly not the prominent part taken by Oswald or Æðelwold, the last of whom merited the title of the “Father of Monks,” by the attention he paid to their interests. In the archbishop’s own cathedral at Canterbury, the canons were left in undisturbed possession of their property and dignity, nor were monks introduced there by archbishop Ælfríc till some years after Dúnstán’s death. And even this measure, although supported by papal authority[[964]], was not final: it was only in the time of Lanfranc that the monks obtained secure possession of Christchurch. Dúnstán very probably continued throughout his life to be a favourer of the Order, and merited its gratitude by giving it valuable countenance and substantial protection against violence. But he was assuredly not himself a violent disturber, casting all things divine and human into confusion for the sake of a system of monkery. His recorded conduct shows nothing of the kind. I believe his monkish and very vulgar-minded panegyrists to have done his character and memory great wrong in this respect; and that they have measured the distinguished statesman by the narrow gauge of their own intelligence and desire. Troublous no doubt were his commencements; and in the days of his misery, while his mind yet tossed and struggled among the awful abysses of an unfathomed sea in the fierce conflicts of his ascetic retirement, where the broken heart sought rest and found it not, he may have given credence himself to what he considered supernatural visitations vouchsafed, and powers committed, to him. But when time had somewhat healed his wounds, when the first difficulties of his political life were surmounted, and he ruled England,—nominally as the minister of Eádgár, really as the leader of a very powerful party among the aristocracy,—there can be little doubt that the spirit of compromise, which always has been the secret of our public life, produced its necessary effect upon himself. Dúnstán was neither Richelieu nor Mazarin, but the servant of a king who wielded very limited powers; he had first attained his throne through a revolt, the pretext for which was his brother’s bad government, and its justification,—the consequent right of the people to depose him. Whatever may have been the archbishop’s private leaning, he appears to have conducted himself with great discretion, and to have very skilfully maintained the peace between the two embittered factions; he perhaps encouraged Eádgár to manifest his partiality for monachism by the construction or reform of abbeys; he probably supported Oswald and Æðelwold by his advice, and by preventing them from being illegally interfered with in the course of their lawful actions; but as prime minister of England, he maintained the peace as well for one as for the other, and there is no evidence that any measure of violence or spoliation took place by his connivance or consent. Neither the nation, nor the noble families whose scions found a comfortable provision and sufficient support in the prebends, would have looked calmly upon the unprovoked destruction of rights sanctioned by prescription. But there is indeed no reason to believe that violent measures were resorted to in any of the establishments, to bring about the changes desired. Even in Winchester, where more compulsion seems to have been used than anywhere else, the evicted canons were provided with pensions. I strongly suspect that in fact they did retain during their lives the prebends which could not legally be taken from them, though they might be expelled from the cathedral service and the collegiate buildings; and that this is what the monkish writers veil under the report that pensions were assigned them.
Dr. Lingard has very justly observed that Oswald, with all his zeal, made no change whatever in his cathedral of York, which archdiocese he at one time held together with Worcester; and that, generally speaking, the new monasteries were either reared upon perfectly new ground, or on ancient foundations then entirely reduced to ruins[[965]]. With regard to Worcester, he says:—“Of Oswald we are told that he introduced monks in the place of clergymen into seven churches within his bishopric; but there is reason to believe that some of the seven were new foundations, and that in some of the others the change was effected with the full consent of the canons themselves. In his cathedral he succeeded by the following artifice. Having erected in its vicinity a new church to the honour of the Virgin Mary, he entrusted it to the care of a community of monks, and frequented it himself for the solemn celebration of mass. The presence of the bishop attracted that of the people; the ancient clergy saw their church gradually abandoned; and after some delay, Wensine, their dean, a man advanced in years and of unblemished character, took the monastic habit, and was advanced three years later to the office of prior. The influence of his example and the honour of his promotion, held out a strong temptation to his brethren; till at last the number of canons was so diminished by repeated desertions, that the most wealthy of the churches of Mercia became without dispute or violence, by the very act of its old possessors, a monastery of Benedictine monks[[966]]. In what manner Oswald proceeded with the other churches we are ignorant; but in 971 he became archbishop of York, and though he held that high dignity during twenty years, we do not read that he introduced a single colony of monks or changed the constitution of a single clerical establishment, within the diocese. The reason is unknown.”
It might not unfairly be suggested either that the rights of the canons were too well established to be shaken, or that experience had changed his own mind as to the necessity of the alteration. High station, active engagement with the details of business, increasing age, and a natural mutual respect which grows with better acquaintance, may have convinced Oswald that his youthful zeal had a little outrun discretion, and that the canons in his province and diocese were not so utterly devoid of claims to consideration as he once had imagined in his reforming fervour. But the reader of Anglosaxon history will not fail to have observed that the measured and in general fair tone of Dr. Lingard differs very widely from that of early monkish chroniclers, and that he himself attributes to Oswald a much less active interference than is asserted by many protestant historians. That he is right I do not for a moment doubt; for not only are the accounts of Oswald’s biographers inconsistent with one another, and improbable, but we have very strong evidence that the eviction of the canons from Worcester was not completed in Oswald’s lifetime. We possess no fewer than seventy-eight charters granted by his chapter, and these comprise several signed in 990 and 991, the years immediately preceding that in which he died[[967]]: these charters are signed in part by presbyters and deacons, in part by clerics, and there is but one signature of a monk[[968]], though there are at least six clerici who subscribe. Although from an examination of the charters I entertain no doubt that several, if not all, the presbyters and deacons were monks, still it is clear that a number of the canons still retained their influence over the property of the chapter till within a few months of Oswald’s decease. This prelate came to his see in 960, and according to many accounts immediately replaced the canons of Worcester by monks: all agree that he lost no time about it, and Florence[[969]], himself a monk of that place, fixes his triumph in the year 969. Consistently with this we have a grant of that year[[970]], in which Wynsige the monk, and all the monks at Worcester are named: we have a similar statement[[971]] in another document of 974: and in subsequent charters monks are named. A good example occurs in a grant of the year 977, to which are appended the names of eight monks[[972]]: but coupled with these are also the names of sixteen clerics, exclusive of a presbyter and deacon of old standing, whom the chapter had probably caused to be ordained long before, to do the service for them. All at once the addition monachus to seven of these eight names vanishes, and is replaced by presbyter or diaconus. Henceforth the number of clerici gradually diminishes, but, as we have seen, is not entirely gone in 991, the year before Oswald’s death. I do not believe that the bishop had any power to expel the canons, and that he was compelled to let them remain where they were until they died: but he perhaps could prevent any but monks from being received in their places, and it is to be presumed that he could refuse to admit any but monks to priests’ and deacons’ orders. This, we may gather from the charters, was the plan he pursued; and when we consider the dignity and power possessed by the Anglosaxon priesthood, we shall confess that it was one which threw every advantage into the scale of monachism.