The Emperor’s solicitude in promoting learning has caused his reign to be spoken of as the Carolingian Renaissance. But Charles’ intellectual interests were not those of a fifteenth century humanist. He desired the revival of letters because he saw in learning a means by which the Church, which, to his mind, was the organization of the state Christianized, might overcome pagan survivals, and take the lead in civilizing the various nationalities in his realm. The clergy and the monks were ignorant—they could neither preach nor teach. The Emperor planned a kind of Christian Athens, a new community of scholars, in which learning was to be the handmaid of religion. After he had assumed the title of Emperor, he recalled how closely the glory of letters was associated with the renown of the Roman world, and he desired his own reign to be signalized by the same elements of culture.
The point of view of this intellectual revival is indicated in the following letter addressed by Charles to Baugulf, Abbot of Fulda. “Know,” he says, “that in recent years, since many monasteries were in the habit of writing us to let us know that their members were offering prayers for us, we noticed that in most of these writings the sentiments were good, and the composition bad. For what a pious devotion within was faithfully inspiring, an untrained tongue was incapable of explaining outwardly because of the inadequacy of scholarship. So we commenced to fear that, as the knowledge of style was weak, the understanding of the Holy Scriptures was less than it should be; we all know that if verbal errors are dangerous, mistakes in sense are much worse. For this reason we exhort you not only not to neglect the study of letters, but to cultivate them with a humility agreeable to God, in order that you may the more easily or the more justly fathom the mysteries of the divine writings. As there are in the sacred books figures, tropes, and other like things, there is no doubt that in reading them each one attains to the spiritual sense of them the more quickly, in proportion as he has received before a complete literary training.... Do not forget to send copies of this letter to all of those with you who are bishops, and to all the monasteries, if you wish to enjoy our favors.”
It was not enough to rely on those already set in authority—they had to be placed under supervision themselves. Charles saw, as he expressed it, that he had to find men who had the will and the ability to learn, and the desire to teach others. Such leaders were selected from all nationalities, Anglo-Saxons, Irishmen, Scots, Lombards, Goths, Bavarians. The first to be attracted by the King’s inducements of good pay and an honorable position were the grammarians, Peter of Pisa, and Paulinus, and Paul the Deacon, the poet and historian. But in influence all these were second to Alcuin, a native of England. Born in 735, he entered the School of York when Egbert, one of the disciples of Bede, was archbishop. Alcuin under his master Albert acquired the kind of encyclopedic knowledge that is handed down to us in the volumes of Isidore and Bede, the chief stress being laid on the Holy Scriptures, helped out by jejune rhetorical exercises, and scraps of physical science. He had read Latin literature, knew Greek, and was familiar with the great writers of Christian antiquity. The King was glad to secure such a prize, and the two became close friends. Alcuin acted as confidential adviser to the King, and was one of those who arranged for the coronation in 800.
There is a considerable body of literary work from Alcuin’s pen, but nothing he wrote shows any originality. He was little more than a faithful transmitter of the learning he received. He set the seal on the traditional division of knowledge in its seven stages, or, as it was technically known, the seven arts: grammar, rhetoric, dialectic, arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy. His literary interests may be judged from the following dialogue: “What is writing?” said Pippin, one of the Emperor’s sons. “The guardian of history,” replied Alcuin. “What is speech?” “The treason of thought.” “What engenders speech?” “The tongue.” “What is the tongue?” “The flail of the air.” “What is the air?” “The guardian of life.” “What is life?” “The joy of the happy, the pain of the wretched, the expectation of death.” “What is man?” “The slave of death, the guest of a place, a passing traveler.”
These preciosities give one a depressing idea of Alcuin’s ability. Yet it must be remembered that they were marvels to the obtuse and crudely trained minds of men whose chief occupation was war and the chase, and as an intellectual stimulus they were just as effective as are to-day the eagerly scanned columns of modern journalism.
Alcuin was made royal director of studies; he was schoolmaster of the palace, and from this circle of the King’s friends originated the Palatine Academy, the members of which, in order to mark their efforts at imitating classic culture, adopted fancifully the names of ancient worthies. So Charles was called David, Alcuin was called Horatius Flaccus, and Angilbert, Homer. In order to extend their influence Charles promoted several of the members of the Academy to important positions in the Church, making them bishops or abbots.
The royal plans for promoting learning are indicated in a capitulary of March 23, 789. “Let,” he says, “the ministers of God draw about them not only young people of servile condition, but the sons of freemen. Let there be reading schools for the children. Let the psalms, musical notation, singing, arithmetic, and grammar be taught in all the monasteries and all the bishoprics.” These directions led to the creation of numerous monastic and episcopal schools, all ordered “according to the customs of the palace.” Alcuin, in 796, withdrew to Tours, becoming the abbot of St. Martin’s there, and planned to found a replica of the Saxon school at York, where he had himself been trained.
The success of the new educational policy owed much to Theodulph, a Spaniard of Gothic birth, who, in becoming bishop of Orleans about 798, proceeded to see that his clergy were industrious in reading and preaching. Schools were opened in town and country where children were educated without payment, though the parents were expected, if they were able, to make some return proportionate to their means. From a document written by another Carolingian bishop, it appears that parents were urged to send their children and allow them to remain at school until they were really instructed. In such provisions, it is possible to find a sketch for primary instruction, though it is not known how successfully or how widely it was developed.
Supplementing these lower schools were others of a higher grade founded in the more populous centers. In the episcopal and monastic schools there were accessible collections of books. Charles himself had a library attached to the palace. The size of some of these collections may be estimated from the fact that one monastery, St. Riquier owned two hundred and fifty-six manuscripts. We know, too, that abbots were accustomed in their election to give presents of books to their monasteries. In the lists of these donations, which have been preserved, are to be found chiefly Christian writers, St. Augustine being an especial favorite; some of the poets of antiquity also find a place, generally Virgil. The atmosphere of this revival of letters was predominantly Christian. There are extant, for example, numerous commentaries on the Gospels of this age, but they are of slight value, being mere transcriptions of previous authorities.
More successful was the new régime in the mechanical work of preparing better texts. One of the capitularies directs special care to be given in selecting copyists equal to their task. Both Alcuin and Theodulph were engaged in preparing a revised version of the Latin Bible, the latter scholar, with more discretion, using as his model the text prepared by the famous prime minister of Theodoric, Cassiodorus, after he had returned to his monastery in Calabria.