Gleanings of the Benedictine Kind

I am reading this fascinating book sent to me by my son who simply remarked, “If a book could be written for anyone, this one was written for you”. He was absolutely correct. I was a goner at the subtitle on the cover: The People Behind a Thousand Years of Medieval Manuscripts. How could you not, then and there, brew a pot of coffee, take the lid off your highlighter, sigh into a chair, crack open the pages, stick your nose into that smell of new and pristine pages, and then READ. It’s a story about collectors. Each chapter describes someone who went on veritable odysseys to obtain a specific manuscript they were after. The lengths to which they would go, and the myriad reasons for their obsession are examined by the author Christopher de Hamel, who, quite affably, confesses himself an avid member of their company.

Obviously, he begins with the monks of France - the ancient, misty France, that is…the Normans. When the likes of St. Anselm still graced the world with his presence, and the Monasteries of England we have come to know as famous now, were still growing up stone by stone, nestled in the illiterate back waters of Northern Britain which was, in every sense, mission territory. One can argue that these French monks were the first bibliophiles. Their love of manuscripts was immense. Their excuse for this was of the highest and unalloyed nature: they were following the rule of their Father Benedict.

One lovely thing about being a Benedictine Oblate in training is the fact that each day I must read a part of St Benedict's Rule. At first, you think that might be excessive. It's deceptively simple, that rule. On about the third time through you think you "have it all down". But you later find that you have been mistaken. There is always one more phrase that seems to surface from the text to challenge you, or to make you think, or even just to bring you the simple enjoyment of getting to know such a wise and prudent saint through his writings.

The thing I am beginning to notice these days is how often Benedict mentions reading and books. When he speaks of the hours to be sung, he sandwiches in some private reading before and after those communal prayers. He makes sure there is reading during meals, and reading before a monk retires for the night. There is reading everywhere in his rule. And so, of course there must be manuscripts and books a plenty. The Monastic Scriptoriums were busy places with the scratch of stylus on vellum all throughout the working hours of the day. The monks more talented in calligraphy were chosen for this ‘labora’ -to simply create manuscripts for the other monks to read. This was their daily duty; one might even say their work of charity to the community. It's really quite wonderful, really. How often Benedict praised the reading of books and desired to plant that important habit in his Benedictine sons' day to day lives; days filled with prayer and meditation fueled by the thoughts of saints written carefully for them to feed upon. This wonderful pursuit of the intellect guided by the humility of prayer, was a perfect combination. I tend to forget that so many of his Benedictine sons were men attracted to his houses with a singular longing for knowledge and wisdom. These were men of an intellectual bent, finding such wonder in a vocation that allowed them the time to ponder and read and write about the beauty of God in a world that was still fraught with wars, ignorance, and barbarism. For Benedict, reading and learning held the secret to stability and culture in a wild, unstable world. He gave his sons with an intellectual bent a place to grow, to read, to ponder.

As a result of Benedict's passion, there were many books in the libraries of Benedictine monasteries that dotted the hills and valleys of Europe. Some monasteries eventually had up to the hundred thousands in books. This makes my own paltry 2000 seem rather dull.

The most beautiful thing is that each manuscript was hand crafted and carefully copied. There was a great charity and magnanimity in sharing the spirituality of a St Jerome, a St Augustine, and the commentaries on Job by St Gregory the Great. New monasteries and smaller houses were fed by the greater, more well equipped houses. And there was a constant back and forth of "do you have this one? or that one? we would be so grateful if you could send!" This excitement and longing for books. Because they were hand crafted and precious thereby, books began to acquire a lore of their own.

Sometimes a 5 volume set, newly scripted, being carried to another house, could be stolen by thieves on the highway between two monasteries, or even worse, suffer the fate of falling into a swollen stream carried by an unfortunate donkey who lost his footing on a bridge. And the hutzpah of the quick thinking monk who dove in and retrieved it with panache! Whole books of such precious letters back and forth have been preserved and copied by monks. It is how we are able to see a letter from St. Anselm to his fellow scholar and brother monk who was sent to Canterbury England on mission, asking him to read over a treatise he wrote and seeking his impressions and thoughts on the matter. The very candid ‘impressions’ came back in another letter and we witness that even an Anselm could be put out by - em - too much constructive criticism. That feeling all writers know: our protectiveness of our own writing! It's just delightful to read that saints also did not like being edited. Different fonts and alphabets were also important clues to which monk was responsible for a certain manuscript. Particular scribes, or monastic houses had their specific artistic stamps on manuscripts. I was also delighted to find that notes were taken on wax tablets and then later carefully written on the vellum. And there was the humorous, very human propensity we all have for one monastic house borrowing a manuscript and forgetting to send it back. The whole history of the relationships between monastic houses can be traced through the books in their libraries. It’s fabulous.

I am filled with such happiness that Benedict was, in fact, a holy bibliophile. I have landed in the right company, I do believe. That monks loved wisdom so much they were willing to put their hands to the task of painstakingly writing it out by hand in order that someone far away could benefit from it. That this work of the spirit was as vital as working in the fields to grow food for the bodily nourishment of the brothers. There is the physical charity, of course. I am sure the work was painstaking and required a good memory and a careful stylus from each scribe. But there is also intellectual charity in this copying of books for others. WE can simply order a book on Amazon or run up to the bookstore if we want a story or a study of something. They had to depend on the generosity and love of their fellow monks to make that happen; even to the point of diving into a freezing river to retrieve the thoughts of a St. Augustine swiftly sinking to the bottom. Somehow I think Augustine would love that story.

I am glad to be a Benedictine. I have certainly landed in delightful Bibliophilic company. I find it beautiful!

More gleanings to come. Chapter 2 involves the collections of a manuscript-obsessed French Duke. I imagine the stories will be quite different there.

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