Bede was a monk who spent most of his life in the monastery of Saint Peter at Monkwearmouth and its companion monastery, Saint Paul’s in modern Jarrow, in the Dark Age Saxon kingdom of Northumbria. He lived from 672-735. The honorific Venerable (as in ‘the Venerable Bede’) apparently derives from the tombstone erected some years after his death.
Bede was fortunate in that his monastery was run by the enlightened abbot Benedict Biscop and his successor, Ceolfrith. It also contained probably the most extensive library in Anglo-Saxon Britain. Thus encouraged by kind sponsors and in a uniquely well-provisioned environment, Bede began to write and went on to compose some 40 works, including commentaries on numerous books of the Bible, a life of St Cuthbert, lives of famous Saxon abbots, and so on. (He usefully lists his works at the end of his masterpiece.)
But Bede is best-known for his masterpiece, regularly described as the first and greatest work of English history, the Historia ecclesiastica gentis Anglorum (The Ecclesiastical History of the English People). I have the old 1955 Penguin translation by Leo Sherley-Price, who translates the title as A History of the English Church and People.
Bede is called the Father of English History for several reasons:
- He checked his sources, requesting documents and information from libraries in all the other Anglo-Saxon kingdoms, correlating documents against each other, enquiring of eye-witnesses or descendants of eye-witnesses wherever possible – he clearly lays out his methodology in the introductory letter, and thus established a tradition of scrupulously checking the facts.
- He describes in wonderful detail a period – from the Roman departure 410 until his own day, the 720s – for which we have pitifully little alternative material. Without his history there would be a big hole in our knowledge of the period and, since this was when our country was founded, he is an invaluable source for the earliest years of our nation.
- Bede’s whole conception of History is wonderfully rounded. At a time when his contemporaries were struggling to produce the blunt line-for-each-year Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, Bede set the events he reports in the context of Papal, European and wider British history, going backwards and forwards in time to create themes and develop strands as well, of course, as within the overarching framework of God’s great redemptive plan.
Structure of the Ecclesiastical History
The work is divided into five books, each of which covers a certain period. But the more important division is of each book into 30 or so one- or two-page chapters. These focus on one incident or theme (the miracles of so and so, the death of one bishop and succession of another) and are obviously designed to provide good, practical meditations for his (entirely religious) audience to hear read out loud and ponder.
Sherley-Price’s prose translation is crisp and brisk, presumably a faithful translation of Bede’s practical style. But the most striking thing about this translation is Sherley-Price’s attitude: he is himself a devout Christian and his beliefs come out in the introduction and (brief) notes, in a way a modern writer would not permit themselves. Thus his note on Pelagianism:
Pelagianism, ‘the British heresy’, denied the reality of original sin, and affirmed that man could attain perfection by his own efforts, unaided by the grace of God. This misconception is still strong today! [emphasis added]
In the introduction he gives a stout defence of miracles and the presence of the miraculous in the History:
Even when ruthless pruning has greatly reduced the number [of plausible miracles in the text], there remains an indissoluble core that cannot be explained by any known natural means, and attributable solely to the supernatural power of God displayed in and through His saints. And this is as it should be. For a true miracle (and who may doubt that such occur?) is not due to the supersession or inversion of the natural laws of the universe ordained by the Creator, but to the operation of cosmic laws as yet unrealised by man, activated by non-material forces whose potency is amply demonstrated in the Gospels. (Introduction, page 30)
These are words from a pre-’60s era which, in its own way, seems as remote as Bede’s 8th century. But the most telling sign of their datedness is, I think, not his Catholic faith as such – there’s no shortage of relic-kissing Catholics in 2013 – it is that he tries to make a rational, scientific distinction between improbable or forged miracles, and those which are undoubtedly the real thing. He thinks it is worthwhile to make the distinction, like a member of the Brains Trust, a reputable academic puffing a pipe and debating atheism with Bertrand Russell, like CS Lewis in his apologetic works, naively confident that you can reason someone into belief. Our understanding of texts and discourses has leapt forward massively in the past 60 years.
The miraculous in Bede
In my opinion, S-P is missing the point. The miraculous is the element in which Bede lives and breathes. God is all around him and his angels regularly appear to people he is describing, to people he actually knows, with important messages and predictions. Bede’s world is full of miraculous recoveries, holy rescues and blessed cures as God’s angels and saints battle demons and spirits, the forces of the Old Enemy, who are at work everywhere and in everyone.
The miracles in Bede aren’t incidental; they are symptomatic of a world utterly drenched in the presence of God’s powers. To try and unpick the more likely from the less likely ones is to completely miss the point, the coherence, of the imaginative world, the worldview, the psychology, the culture Bede inhabits, according to absurdly flat and literalistic criteria. It is like undertaking a scientific assessment of which bits of magic in Harry Potter might actually be feasible. You are missing the point; the point is to abandon yourself entirely to the endless wonder and richness and unceasing miraculousness of Bede’s world where God always helps his saints and always punishes his sinners.
- Book I, chapter 7 St Alban, sentenced to execution by the Roman authorities, can’t cross the packed bridge into Verulamium, so the river blocking his way dries up just as the Red Sea did. As the executioner decapitates Alban, his own eyes pop out.
- I, 17 as Germanus sails to Britain, devils raise a storm and the ships are in peril of foundering when Germanus prays and sprinkles holy water on the waves which puts the demons to flight and the storm passes.
- I, 18 using relics he’s brought from Rome Germanus cures the blindness of a tribune’s young daughter.
- I, 19 a fire threatens the house where Germanus is staying but he calls on the Lord and the flames turn back. Demons throw Germanus off his horse and he breaks his leg. In a vision an angel raises him and lo, his leg is healed.
- I, 20 Picts and Saxons invade but bishops Germanus and Lupus organise the defending Britons who call on the Lord and leap out of hiding shouting so effectively that the Saxons and Picts all run away, many of them drowning in the river.
- I, 21 Germanus heals the crippled son of the chieftain Elaphius.
- I, 33 the priest Peter is drowned off the coast of Gaul and buried by the locals in a common grave but God makes a bright light shine over the grave every night until the locals realise he is a holy man and get him buried in a church in Boulogne.
The power of Christianity
The miracles are just the most striking way in which, for Bede and for all the missionaries, bishops and believers he describes, Christianity works. It is better than paganism because its believers wield the real power which drives the universe, not the foolish, deluded voodoo of illiterate peasants who believe in amulets and spells and worship stones and trees.
For many profaned the Faith that they professed by a wicked life, and at a time of plague some had even abandoned the Christian sacraments and had recourse to the delusive remedies of idolatry, as though they could expect to halt a plague ordained of God by spells, amulets, and other devilish secret arts. (IV, 28)
Christianity is good juju, it is the Real Thing, it is the real magic that pagans only pretend to harness. Believers in it win victories and become kings or emperors (as Constantine famously did at the Battle of the Vikings), they heal the sick and raise the dead and cast out demons and do battle with devils and quench fires and bring down rain and make the crops grow. It is all the supernatural things paganism claims to be – except it actually is.
Crediting witnesses, believing in miracles
Bede goes out of his way to tell us that he has many of these stories from people who knew the saints in question, and listened to their stories of angelic visitors and wrestling with devils and curing the sick and coffins which magically resize themselves to fit the bodies of deceased saints.
An old brother of our monastery, who is still living, testifies that he once knew a truthful and devout man who had met Fursey in the province of the East Angles, and heard of these visions from his own mouth (Book III, chapter 19)
I have thought it fitting to preserve the memory of one of these stories, often told me by the very reverend Bishop Acca, who said that it was vouched for by some very reliable brethren of the monastery. (IV, 14)
Among those who told me this story were some who had actually heard it from the mouth of the man to whom these things happened, so that I have no hesitation about including it in t his history of the church as it was related. (IV, 23)
My informant in all these events was my fellow-priest, Edgils, who was living in the monastery at the time. (IV, 25)
We in our sceptical age all know someone who knows someone who knows a waterworker who has definitely seen the crocodiles in London’s sewers. We know all about urban legends, about legends and myths of all types, about the irrationality and credulousness of human beings, about the ability of people under stress to clutch any straw, to believe their prayers saved the plunging plane or their sick relative or clinched the extra time winner. But we also know about the Somme, the Holocaust, about 9/11, we know that vast massacres occur and no-one is saved and God is nowhere to be seen.
Anyone could tell me of a miracle and I will apply David Hume’s Calculus of Probability to it – is it more likely that the vast and universal laws of Nature were suspended (often for a childish and petty end), or that the people who say they were have a need to appear important or are propagandising for their faith or are naive and credulous? Sadly, it will always be the latter. An entirely rational assessment will always balance against miracles. But where, then, is the point or pleasure in reading Bede or indeed any other Christian literature?
Some more miracles
- Book IV, chapter 28 Cuthbert makes spring water appear on a barren hillside and crops to grow out of season.
- IV 29 Cuthbert prophetically foretells his own death.
- IV 30 Eleven years after his death Cuthbert’s body is found to be uncorrupted, soft and sweet.
- IV 31 Brother Baduthegn suffers a paralytic stroke but drags himself to Cuthbert’s tomb where he dreams a great hand touches his wound and he awakens healed.
- IV 32 Hairs from Cuthbert’s corpse cure the tumour on a brother’s eye.
- V 1 The hermit Ethelwold calms a storm threatening to drown some monks.
- V 2 Bishop John cures a dumb, scrofulous servant.
- V 3 Bishop John cures Coenburg, a sick serving girl.
- V 4 Bishop John cures the thane Puch’s wife.
- V 5 Bishop John cures thane Addi’s servant.
- V6 Bishop John cures a brother who foolishly races a horse, falls off and cracks his skull.
- V 8 Archbishop Theodore foresees his own death in a vision.
- V 9 Holy Egbert plans to evangelise the Germans but is prevented by God who sends visions and a storm.
- V 10 Two missionaries to the Old Saxons are murdered by pagans but their bodies are washed upstream and a light shines over them every night till their companions find them and give them decent burial.
And so it goes on… To try to weight up the ‘valid’ miracles from the ‘invalid’ may be an interesting academic exercise but is pointless. Take out the miracles and there’d be nothing left. The entire story of the growth of the English church is, for Bede, miraculous and made up of miracle piled upon miracle.
Therefore, we should embrace the supernatural elements of Bede’s history unquestioningly, both as a vital component of his worldview, without which his whole history is pointless; and also because of the sheer pleasure it gives. How wonderful to live in this world of angels and demons! Surrender to its visions and what a wonderful, informative, imaginative, delightful book this is!
But what did pagans believe?
Notoriously, Bede (as all the Christian writers of the Dark Ages) tells us almost nothing about what his heathen and pagan opponents actually believed. Worshiping trees, stones and rivers, wearing amulets and slaughtering horses seem to be part of pagan belief but we only glimpse these as throwaway asides. There are a few exceptions, a few places where Bede paints a ‘conversion scene’ and allows us to see what the pagan worldview actually consisted of.
The most famous is in Book II, chapter 13, where King Edwin of Northumbria has already converted but needs to take his nobles with him. He convenes a council (AD 627). They are sitting in the king’s large hall, illuminated by a huge fireplace and maybe other torches, but with glassless windows. And one of the king’s thanes uses their setting for a famously beautiful metaphor of human life.
Another of the king’s chief men signified his agreement and went on to say: ‘Your majesty, when we compare the present life of man on earth with that time of which we have no knowledge, it seems to me like the swift flight of a single sparrow through the banqueting-hall where you are sitting at dinner on a winter’s day with your thanes and counsellors. In the midst there is a comforting fire to warm the hall; outside, the storms of winter rain or snow are raging. This sparrow flies swiftly in through one door of the hall, and out through another. While he is inside, he is safe from the winter storms; but after a few moments of comfort, he vanishes from sight into the wintry world from which he came. Even so, man appears on earth for a little while; but of what went before this life or of what follows, we know nothing. Therefore, if this new teaching has brought any more certain knowledge, it seems only right that we should follow it.’
The conversion of King Sigbert of the East Saxons
There is another exchange, less poetic but, I think, more revealing in Book III, chapter 22:
About this time also, the East Saxons, who had once rejected the Faith and driven out Bishop Mellitus, again accepted it under the influence of King Oswy. For Sigbert their king, successor to Sigbert the Small, was a friend of Oswy and often used to visit him in the province of the Northumbrians. Oswy used to reason with him how gods made by man’s handwork could not be gods, and how a god could not be made from a log or block of stone, the rest of which might be burned or made into articles of everyday use or possibly thrown away as rubbish to be trampled underfoot and reduced to dust. He showed him how God is rather to be understood as a being of boundless majesty, invisible to human eyes, almighty, everlasting, Creator of heaven and earth and of the human race. He told him that he rules and will judge the world in justice, abiding in eternity, not in base and perishable metal; and that it should be rightly understood that all who know and do the will of their creator will receive an eternal reward from him. King Oswy advanced these and other arguments during friendly and brotherly talks with Sigbert, who, encouraged by the agreement of his friends, was at length convinced. So he talked it over with his advisers, and with one accord they accepted the Faith and were baptised with him by Bishop Finan in the king’s village of At-Wall, so named because it stands close to the wall which the Romans once built to protect Britain, about twelve miles from the eastern coast.
In the context of the Dark Ages this is gold dust. The level of detail! How fabulous to be told so much detail about these obscure kings, Oswy and Sigbert, about social intercourse between the kings of these early English kingdoms, about the relationship between a king and his advisers, about the geography of the region.
Christianity trumps paganism
But the core of the passage is the absolute crux of Bede’s History (and of Richard Fletcher’s book about the conversion of Europe) – the sheer majesty and breathtaking sweep, the intellectual, moral and imaginative scale and thoroughness and universality of Catholic Christianity compared with the thin, local, petty and shallow gods and practices of paganism. For me this one chapter shows how Christianity was a VAST improvement on the limited, dark, unintellectual world of the pagan gods.
Miracles and all, if you compare the intellectual coherence of Bede’s position with the worldview of the pagan Poetic Edda, Christianity wins hands-down for its scope and thoroughness. Thor throwing his hammer at giants is for children, the Last Battle between gods and giants is a fable for fatalistic warrior-kings which just can’t stand comparison with the wonder and coherence of the Christian notion of one, all-powerful, all-loving Creator, with his flocks of angels ready to help the mightiest king or the lowliest serf to lead a more holy, just and – ultimately- satisfying life. One by one, the kings of Dark Age Britain who Bede describes realised this and bowed to the inevitable.
Little was Bede to know that 60 years after his death furious straw-haired pagans were to appear from across the sea and do their damndest to destroy everything held most sacred. But that is another story…
“The Venerable Bede Translates John” by James Doyle Penrose (Wikimedia Commons)