From the peaceful pursuits of mediaeval nuns we turn to some of the women who were interested in the problems of the day, and whose minds were agitated by current difficulties which they sought to solve in their own way. In Germany in the early Middle Ages the struggle between Pope and Emperor, and the interference in temporal matters of prelates in their character as dependents of the Pope, gave rise to a prolonged struggle. Much criticism, reflection and speculative energy were brought to bear on the relations between monarchical and ecclesiastical power, on the duties of the ministers of the Church, and on the Pope’s efficiency in controlling them. It is at least curious to find among the voices that are raised in criticism and protest, those of two nuns, who in consideration of the services they have rendered to the faith are estimated as saints. The present chapter proposes to deal in outline with the writings of St Hildegard of Bingen (1098-1178) and of St Elisabeth of Schönau (c. 1129-1165). These two women differed somewhat in their points of view, but they were equally zealous in supporting the Pope’s authority, and were equally inspired by the belief that the Church could and should maintain a lofty and universal standing and act as a regenerator to society. The exhortations of these women were very popular, and in the year 1158, when they were in the full exercise of their power, the annalist wrote, ‘in these days God made manifest His power through the frail sex, in the two maidens Hildegard and Elisabeth, whom He filled with a prophetic spirit, making many kinds of visions apparent to them through His messages, which are to be seen in writing[674].’
The attitude of these women and the tone of their writings were the direct outcome of contemporary events. They were deeply moved by the instability of social conditions and shared the belief of other great reformers of the age, that what was needed to remedy social evils was a livelier faith in the truths of religion and a higher standard of morality in conduct.
The 12th century is the age when national feeling in the different countries of Europe first asserted itself strongly, and when consciousness of solidarity within made possible the apprehension of ideas which lie beyond the pale of immediate personal and national advantage. The conception of knighthood, hitherto determined only by land ownership and loyalty to a lord, was given a new interpretation, and the order of Knights Templars was founded, which held knighthood to be based upon devotion to the cause of religion and loyalty to the Saviour. Similarly love of war, which till then had expended itself in self-protective and aggressive warfare, was turned into a new channel, and the thought of the Crusade roused peoples of different nationalities to fight side by side, inspired by a common cause and actuated by a common interest. The authority of the Pope as a temporal ruler had reached its climax, and there were threatening signs of its decline, but when this power, like the conception of knighthood, received the new interpretation, its importance had never been more distinctly emphasized.
The Popes who ruled between 900 and 1000 had been absorbed by party squabbles in Rome and had done little to raise the dignity of their office in other lands. But a change had come through Hildebrand, who nominally served, but practically ruled, five Popes before he himself sat in the chair of St Peter as Gregory VII (1073-1085). Owing to his influence the papal power rapidly increased and took a universal colouring, for, by identifying himself with all the wider and higher interests of humanity, the Pope succeeded in winning for himself the recognition of his supreme authority in matters both spiritual and temporal. There was something grand and inspiring in this conception of the Pope as the universal peace-maker, and of Rome as the central and supreme court of appeal of the civilized world, but it could not last. In proportion as national life in the different countries struggled into being, this overlordship of the Pope was felt to weigh heavily and to hamper development, and criticisms arose concerning his right to interfere in matters that did not appertain directly to the Church. At the time we are speaking of—the second half of the 12th century—there were indications of a distinction drawn between ‘sacerdotium’ and ‘imperium,’ between priestly and imperial status considered as the rightful basis of power, with a consequent loss of prestige to the Church. The position of the Papacy was moreover seriously affected by continued schism. As a check to this loss of prestige, those who were in favour of papal supremacy urged that the Church must be strengthened in its members, and they sought an increase of influence in a reform of the life of the clergy generally.
It has been mentioned above how from the 10th century onwards a direct connection had grown up between the Pope and the monastic centres, and how the founders of new religious orders had by a like direct connection secured a safeguard against wilful interference with their prerogatives by prince and prelate. Outside Italy it was in the monastery that the Pope throughout the 12th century found his chief advocates, that his spiritual supremacy was most earnestly emphasized, and that the belief was fostered that through his influence a re-organization of society could be obtained.
In this connection no figure of the age is more remarkable than that of Bernard of Clairvaux[675] († 1153), ‘the simple monk, clad in plain clothes, weakened by fasting,’ whose power is felt in religious and lay circles alike. The secret of Bernard’s influence lay in the fact that he was in one direction the mouthpiece of the ideal aspirations of his age—he emphasized the spiritual side of religion and insisted on the great social and moral advantages to be obtained by accepting spiritual direction as a guide in practical matters. By doing so he at once increased the reverence felt for religion and gave it a practical value. His very success commands admiration, repellent as his narrowness appears in some particulars. It is true that he diminished schism by persuading King Louis VI of France to recognise Pope Innocent II (1130-43), that he won over the German Emperor Lothar († 1137) to the same course; it is true that he founded the order of the Knights Templars, gave a new impulse to the order of Citeaux, and preached the Crusade; but it was he who declared the writings of Abelard († 1142) false, and who had Arnold of Brescia expelled from Paris on the charge of heresy.
Socially and politically speaking the state of affairs in the German Empire during the first half of the 12th century had taken a deplorable turn through the choice of Konrad († 1152) as emperor. His vacillating policy left party hatred rampant between the rival houses of Welf (Guelph) and Hohenstaufen. On the slightest provocation this hatred broke out in warfare; it was checking all possibility of material progress and prosperity when the thought of a crusade offered a welcome diversion to these turbulent elements. For the first crusade few recruits had been drawn from any districts except the northern provinces of France, but the second assumed very different proportions. As early as 1145 Pope Eugenius was granting indulgences to those who joined it, while Bernard took up the idea and preached it with great success all along the Rhine. Disastrous as the undertaking itself proved to those who took part in it, its immediate effects on the countries from which the crusaders were drawn were most beneficial. After speaking of the terrible contentions which for years had set the ruling powers in Poland, Saxony and Bohemia at strife, Bishop Otto III of Freising († 1158) continues in this strain: ‘Suddenly, through the counsel of the Most High, a speedy change was effected; and in a short time the turmoils of war were quieted, the whole earth seemed restored to peace, and unnumbered bands from France and from Germany received the Cross and departed to fight against its enemies.’
When these crusaders had been sped on their way—a motley crowd in which figured emperor and king, adventurous knight, venturesome woman, and vagrants of every kind and of both sexes—Pope Eugenius, whose position at Rome was insecure and who had been staying at Clairvaux with Bernard, journeyed to Trier at the request of the archbishop to meet in council the prelates of the neighbouring districts. Among them was Heinrich, archbishop of Mainz (1142-53), who together with Wibald, abbot of Corvei, had been appointed representative of the emperor during his absence. It was on this occasion that some of Hildegard’s writings were first submitted to the Pope, probably at the request of Archbishop Heinrich. Judging from what Hildegard says herself, Heinrich and the church at Mainz had accepted her writings, saying that ‘they had come through God and through that power of prophecy by which the prophets had anciently written[676].’
These writings were exhortations to faith and piety set forth in the form of revelations. Hildegard had been at work on them for the past six years, and they form the first part of the book ‘Scivias’ (that is ‘Sci vias,’ Know the ways[677]), as it now lies before us. The life of Hildegard, written shortly after her death, tells us that Bernard ‘with the consent of others urged the Pope that he should not suffer so obvious a light to be obscured by silence, but should confirm it by authority[678].’
The time was ripe for the kind of literature which comes under the heading of prophecies. At the time of the Second Crusade leaflets containing one of the so-called Sibylline prophecies had had a wide circulation and had greatly inflamed men’s minds as to coming events[679]. Simultaneously with Hildegard the abbot Giovanni Gioachimo († after 1215) foretold coming events, so that later writers often cited Hildegard and Joachim side by side. There was something earnest and yet undefined, something fiery and suggestive in these writings, which appealed to the restless imagination of the age, for they were largely founded on the Apocalypse, and like the Apocalypse admitted of many interpretations. Their very vagueness repels the exact thinker, but attracts the mind that is conscious of quickened sensibilities and roused emotions, without being able to guide them into practical channels.