Charlemagne and the Quest for Order

Long ago now, while reading about the Ottoman empire, I came across a potent observation, probably by Arnold Toynbee. It was to the effect that great empires initially expand only to make order. Problems at their borders cause them to invade. The idea of creating an empire is never the actual motive of any given campaign. At later stages of an ever-enlarging entity, the idea of a “calling,” as it were, a call to greatness, tends to posses at least a part of each leading elite. In our own case Manifest Destiny, arising in the nineteenth century, was such an idea, still alive in the notion of American Exceptionalism.

All this came to mind again as I was contemplating the rise of various “empires” during the Middle Ages, e.g., the Visigothic, Gothic, and Vandal early, the Carolingian and the Holy Roman a little later. When one looks at the details, what becomes visible is brutal warfare on what looks to us like small scale. Barbarian raids and plunder incite countering responses which, succeeding, swallow up small regions that, today, would take less than a morning to drive across. Each such effort prominently features the egos of individuals; yet, the more successful of these warriors, at their infrequent moments of leisure, dream of empire.

The best remembered of these barbarian warriors was Charles I. He represents the last of the famous Frankish conquerors; he formed the largest empire, so-called, but he was also an agent in a three-fold process. The political aspect of that process was the expansion of the Franks, first under the Merovingian and then under the Carolingian dynasties, until the Franks under him ruled what is today France, Germany, Belgium, the Netherlands, Denmark, half of Italy, and Austria. The process is nicely illustrated in the following map; I’ve shown it before but it deserves another look in this context:

The political process, one of consolidation, was accompanied by an ideological consolidation, the conversion of the barbarians to Christianity. The first convert was the Merovingian Clovis (466-511). Pepin the Short (714-768) formed a lasting alliance with the Papacy. Charlemagne, his son, continued that process by converting the last holdouts to Christianity; he also continued to protect the Church, and, in his maturity engaged in high-handed reforms of ecclesiastical arrangements—but he was the Protector General of Catholicism, and his initiatives did not arouse much resistance. Finally, under the Carolingians, of whom the first was Charles Martel (688-741), Charlemagne’s grandfather, there appeared an administrative process of consolidation as well marked by various kinds of reforms. The Carolingians first appeared on the stage of history as administrators serving kings, the so-called Mayors of the Palace—until they seized the highest power for themselves. Charlemagne was the most skillful and ambitious of them. His reforms and arrangements lasted much longer than his realm and included monetary, accounting, educational, ecclesiastic, and legal arrangements. The last of these, in fact, laid the groundwork for what later came to be called feudalism. Under Charles both counts (hence our “counties”) and dukes were appointed. And if they had no land to support them, it was granted to them. I am most struck by Charles’ educational initiative, launched in 787. He called for the establishment of schools by every parish and monastic establishment: the Birth of Catholic Education. I went to high school under Benedictine nuns…

Obviously helped by great vigor and intelligence, Charlemagne also lived longer than such usually did. Clovis died at 45, Charles Martel at 54, Pepin the Short at 54, but Charlemagne lasted to a ripe age, 71-72 years of age (his birth date is in some dispute).

Herewith a timeline:

I’ve highlighted in yellow the wars or conflict in which Charles was the leader. It turns out that each of these conflicts began with a provocation by the other side:

·         The Aquitanian campaign was caused by an insurrection.

·         The Lombard war was caused by invasions of the Papal States by the Lombard king.

·         The Saxon war was initially caused by a Saxon invasion of Francia.

·         The invasion of Spain was at Charlemagne’s initiative and represents the belief that the Moors wished to come under his protection. He failed to take the city and, on his return, lost his baggage train to Basque raiders.

·         The Bavarian conquest was caused by its duke’s formation of an alliance with the Avars.

·         The Slavic war were instigated by attacks on Charlemagne’s allies, the Abodriti (Slavs in Northern Germany).

·         The Avar campaign was occasioned by an Avar invasion of Bavaria.

Not that the urge to conquer was not already present somewhere in Charles’ mind, as in the case of the Spanish campaign. He pictured himself, as his power grew to be the champion of Christianity—and forcible conversion of pagan populations to Christianity did not cause him any kind of qualms. On the whole, however, the Carolingian empire grew, as probably all empires actually do, by a kind of reflex of self-defense, by a determination to keep order, which reflex or determination by a strong power tends always to increase its territory and its influence.

Now some notes to the Timeline. Carloman I was Charlemagne’s younger brother. Upon Pepin’s death, in conformity with Frankish custom, Francia was split between Charles and Carloman. This custom caused consolidated realms to fall apart, alas. The Carolingian empire held together until 840, outlasting Charles’ own death by 27 years, only because, at his death, Charles only had one surviving son, Louis the Pious. After Louis’ death the Holy Roman Empire fell apart—to be reconstituted, but now with a Germanic focus, by Otto I who was himself a direct descendant of Charlemagne.

The map I show here is the Francia split in two at Pepin’s death.  The green is Carloman, the yellow Charles. Bavaria, which the legend in French labels as under Frankish influence, was so influenced because Charlemagne’s first wife, Desiderata, was the daughter of the Lombard King, Desiderius; and Duke Tassilo III, ruler of Bavaria, was married to another daughter of the Lombard King, Liutperga. Charles entered his marriage in order to secure his own flanks. His link to Lombardy worried the Church but need not. The Church was concerned because Lombardy overlay the Papal States. After the Carloman’s death and the unification of Francia, Charles put that marriage aside and married a Swabian countess, Hildegard. Tassilo III’s later agitations—and attempt to ally himself with the Avars—were in part caused by the acrimony caused by Charles’ “divorce.” This provides some feel, at a lower detail than mere maps and reforms can provide, for the flavor of those times. The Papacy did not object either to the “divorce” or, later, to Charles’ conquest of the Lombards… The next king of the Carolingian empire, Louis the Pious was the fourth child (of nine) of Hildegard and Charles. We were then a long ways from today—literally: Today I saw a full-page ad in the New York Times titled “Abortion is not a crime. It’s a right.”

The legacy of Charlemagne, who formed an empire, was really the modern nation state, its centralized administration, and various institutions of which feudalism has passed away but universal education still remains in place. The future states of France and Germany, the two big foot-prints of Europe, were formed under Charlemagne and then his great great great great grandson Otto I. The unification of Italy had to away the nineteenth century and Guiseppe Garibaldi.

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Image credits: French Denier showing image of Charlemagne; the inscription is KAROLUS IMP AUG, thus Karolus Imperator Augustus; you’d never know that this was not a Roman—and Map of the Carolingian Empire at Charles’ death: both from Wikipedia (link). Map of Francia split between Charles and Carloman I: Bossier Aim (link).

Middle Ages Posts:

Attila and the Great Wall

Augustine and the Visigoths and Vandals

Theodoric and Encircling German Arms

Arius and His Converts

Justinian and an Attempted Restoration

Saint Benedict and Western Monasticism

Iberia Absorbs the Visigoths

Saint Lucy and Light in the Middle Ages

Frankish Victory: From Clovis to Charlemagne

The Papacy in the Middle Ages

Frankish Victory: From Clovis to Charlemagne

An Overview

With this post we’ll reach roughly the middle point in the Middle Ages. At this point, therefore, it might help to take a look around, to have an overview. Where have we been? And how do the parts covered relate one to the others. With that in mind I will begin with a Timeline of the Middle Ages to the year 714. The inspiration for this timeline, by the way, indeed for the overview itself, comes from one Brigitta Theodora. She is a lady whose Celtic name puts her ahead of, and her middle name right into the middle of—the Middle Ages. Theodora, we note here, was the famed wife of Justinian I. My lady, however, is a very modern woman and co-regent of this household. Herewith the Timeline:

Most of the events graphed here have been covered or touched upon in earlier postings. This period is dominated by Germanic invasions of the old West Roman Empire. Note here the extensive reigns of what are entirely or predominantly Arian Christian tribes—Vandals, Goths, and Lombards. They dominate the valley of the Danube, the Balkans, Italy, North Africa, and Spain. One small reign, that of Clovis, will be covered in this post and represents the ultimate victory of the barbarians, the Franks, who were both the earliest settlers on Roman lands and the final winners.

The process that I have been following so far is a circular one, beginning in what is now Hungary and the Hunnish invasion of the dying Roman civilization. Thereafter I have moved south and west. The second graphic shows my progress roughly, with much time spent on Italy. Indeed, that focus continues on as we progress, next, to the region demarcated by the yellow portion of this ellipse. And then, in future posts, we’ll complete and retrace parts of this ellipse again as we approach the end, the fall of Constantinople.

To keep this schema relatively simple, I have, thus far, treated with benign neglect developments in England, Ireland, and Scotland—in part because they mirror, in miniature, the developments in mainland Europe: early invasions of proto-Roman and Celtic lands by Saxons and Angles from Scandinavia (beginning roughly after 410 after the last Roman troops depart), ultimate conquest by Normans from France (1056), and the formation of kingdoms all adhering to the Catholic faith. The Normans were descendants of Vikings, Merovingian Franks, and the original Roman Gallic populations.

Part of my plan has been, and continues to be, to show that beneath what might be called the secular (call it barbaric) level—but transcending and eventually influencing and nourishing it with values—has been the spread of Christianity, itself, to be sure, rent by tensions. These tension begins to divide Christianity into separate domains (Catholic and Arian at first, Orthodox and Coptic later). Of these Arianism passes with the disappearance of the Vandals and the conversion of the Visigoths. Well after the Middle Ages end (how very brief the times of unity), we have another split with the dawn of the Reformation.

The Franks

The earliest Frank settlements near the Roman Imperium were north of the delta of the Rhine, thus just on the border of the Roman lands. With Roman permission (circa 357), they were permitted to settle south of the Rhine (the Rhine itself being the border) in what then was called Toxandria and is today part of the Netherlands and Belgium. They were called Salii, hence the Salian Franks. Their first settlement is shown on the in-set map. They spread from there until, by 814, the death of Charlemagne, who was a Carolingian, they controlled most of Western Europe.

Two dynasties achieved this consolidation. The Merovingian (457-752) was the first. Its founder was Childeric I, son of Merovech, hence the name. Childreric was the father of Clovis, the first major Frankish conqueror—and had it not been for him, the Merovingian name would not have been. The last titular Merovingian ruler was Childeric III. With his deposition by Pepin the Short begins the Carolingian dynasty (754-814), but we must underline here that the two dynasties actually somewhat overlap. The Carolingians begin with Charles Martel (688-741). Charles in Latin is Carolus, hence the name. Martel’s sons were Carloman and Pepin, and Pepin mustn’t have been very tall. Pepin’s son was Charlemagne, who was extraordinarily tall—and you might say that the Carolingians would also have been forgotten except for him.

The rise of the Carolingians, from Martel, who himself had been born out of wedlock, is illuminative of Frankish customs and the times. The Franks did not believe in primogeniture, thus the right of the firstborn (son, of course) to inherit his father’s total estate—or even the variant under which one son would inherit. Clovis, an outstanding statesman and military ruler—much like all Frankish kings before and after him—partitioned his realm between his sons. And in all such cases the total realm became weaker because of rivalries between the surviving brothers. The Frankish kings, however, much like all rulers with unquestioned power based on fighting skill, disliked the tedium of administration—which in turn, of course, caused havoc. Therefore a new institution developed. It was the appointment of a Mayor of the Palace, that is to say caretaker or administrator. That office, in turn, became hereditary. But because you couldn’t split the realm just because a mere administrator died, each Mayor of the Palace could only leave it to one son. Martel inherited his title from his father, Pepin of Herstal (also called Pepin the Middle). There was also a Pepin the Elder, who predates all three. And all of them, including Charles Martel, belonged to the Pippinids, a large family just one rank down from royalty. Forgive me for this paragraph, but it must continue a little longer. The Franks had discovered what we well know: great administrators are rare. Pepin the Middle, therefore, had managed to be appointed simultaneously Mayor of the Palace for three different French kingdoms (Austrasia, Neustria, and Burgundy—see the map shown later). He also called himself Duke and Prince of Francia—and, using that word, in a way foreshadowed things to come. Martel’s son Pepin the Short took the ultimate step. He went on from being Mayor of the Palace to king. And with him the Carolingian dynasty has its origins.

The map above shows the total expansion of Frankish power over 333 years. The two darkest greens represent the conquests of Clovis, the next lighter shade represents conquests by his sons, the fourth conquests by Charles Martel and Pipin, and the last by Charlemagne.

Clovis’ conquests, indeed the victory of the Franks as a whole, may have been greatly helped by a woman named Clotilde and enrolled by the Catholic Church as Saint Clotilde, the second wife of Clovis. She was a princess of Burgundy. She was a very pious Catholic; through her influence, Clovis was converted to Catholicism. Not immediately, to be sure; she began her labors in 493, but Clovis was just weighing her words for a while. It took a battle against the Alemani (that’s Swabia on the Map) in 496, that Clovis, seeing his army falling apart, began to pray to the God of his wife Clotilde. His prayer appeared to have an instant answer, and another Arian passed into the orthodox faith. His people followed his example. Clovis immediately gained the approval and support of the Church, which helped him and weakened his enemies.

Pondering these endless wars—and on the surface anyway (bad news always leaves an imprint, little else does)—one wonders about a couple of things. The first is how were these wars justified. What was the underlying justification or rationale? And if present, was it conscious, framed in thought? The other is the leadership itself. What sort of men were these?

To hazard an answer to the first question, the underlying motivation seems to be a more or less basic drive to establish dominance by the strongest which, no doubt, in the male, is a biological imperative. Kings arose by way of personal valor. Once achieved it was hallowed by family lineage. Territoriality plays a role here—defense, counterattack, then holding on to new territory if victorious. Concepts like human rights are at most conspicuous by absence. In his City of God (410) Augustine had already framed the phrase “just wars,” basing that concept on self-defense—in the accomplishment of which “Thou shalt not kill” is temporarily suspended. But as demonstrated in Clovis’ own conversion, such once might say “elevated” thoughts were not very much to the front; his conversion was pragmatic and certainly did not involve reading Augustine, if he could even read. The socialization, never mind acculturation, of such people would take much more time and, arguably, would never really take hold of the war-leading elites.

As for the second question, all of these kings were warriors first—and very little beyond. Those who have left their name in history (e.g. Alaric, Theodoric) were gifted in various ways beyond barbaric valor. They were obviously very intelligent but with relatively short time horizons. They made useful and far ranging diplomatic arrangements, formed useful alliances and kept them alive by restraint. They were always, however, in a kind of motion, even once settled into realms; they did not leave new institutions behind that led to a permanent order. Among the Franks, the dominant context was the family—sons and their domains, without thought of the consequences of parceling out realms that, for the moment, a single personality held together.

In this context, therefore, it is intriguing to contemplate that family with its many Pepins, the Pippinids. Here, for the first time, we see the early manifestations of institutional thought, natural for administrators who experience the value of permanent arrangements—be it of communications or supplies. Here we have, for the first time, the projection of the concept of Francia, as a coherent realm—whereas the Goths all thought in terms of personality: How to become Augustus.

The skillful management of state affairs—with an eye on the longer run—is illustrated by the actions of Pepin the Short, he who gave us a long-lasting if also problematical institution. When the Lombards invaded the regions of Ravenna in 751, Pepin came to the aid of Pope Stephen II. In a kind of trade—recognition as king for the grant of military aid—Pepin twice invaded Italy to force the Lombards to cede Ravenna and its regions to the Papacy. These lands, together with the region of Rome, provided what came to be called the Donation of Pepin, namely the Papal States. They survived more or less intact into the nineteenth century. They are purple in the in-set map.

As for the last of the big Pippinid names, it was that of Charles I, Charlemagne, he who fathered the Holy Roman Empire. He was both a great barbarian warrior and a man who came from a long line of fine administrators. Never learned to read or write, however; there are always clerks who can do that for you if you are great enough. But, we are told, he always slept on a pillow placed over a bottle of ink and a pen. Nothing propinques like propinquity.

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Picture credits: Map of Franks' origins: Wikipedia (link); map of Frankish conquests: Wikipedia (link); image of Saint Clotilde: Wikipedia (link); and Papal States: althistory.wikia.com (link).

Posts in this series: first, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth.

Arius and His Converts

[Fourth in a series on the Middle Ages: first, second, and third.]

One of the more interesting but not often mentioned aspect of the Middle Ages was that four of the five major Germanic tribal groups that held sway in the early centuries of this period were Arians rather than Catholics. That sort of thing might have little bearing in modern times; both were Christian, after all. But those days were meaningfully different. An Age of Faith was dawning.

The tribal grouping of the Franks were converted from raw paganism to the Catholic faith as they entered Roman realms. They were lucky, you might say; they became the ultimate winners. The Visigoths (in Spain), the Ostrogoths (in Italy), the Vandals (in Africa), and the Lombards (in Italy later) arrived already Christian—but also already labeled as heretics. That labeling took place in the First Council of Nicea convened by Emperor Constantine in 325, thus roughly 150 years before (in our eyes) the Middle Ages even began (476). Reality, however, is no respecter of firm dates.

The Franks spread over an area that had been Catholic for at least a century; their own faith made them acceptable as rulers; indeed they ruled under a higher umbrella, that of the Church. The other four groupings of barbarians were admired, to be sure, not least for their chastity (!), their honor, their tolerance of Catholics (except for the Vandals), and prowess in arms; but, as Arians, they were resisted because the Church, and the resident population which looked to the Church for guidance, saw them as religiously alien in a time that seemingly longed for unity at the highest levels of Church and State. Different times, those…

Now Arianism itself is an odd phenomenon. I was tempted to title this post “Arius and the Unintended Split in Christianity” or “Arius—Who Lent His Name.” For those of us who’re  theology-blind (in the sense of color-blind), the differences between Trinitarians and Arians is almost too difficult to see. In day-to-day practice they were the same. But they had their own clergy.

 In a gross simplification, the Arians held that Christ was created by God and was, therefore, not coeval with the Father. One of their Biblical citations was John 14:28 in which Jesus says, “the Father is greater than I.”  (Jesus also says, in John 10:30, “I and my Father are one,” but the total context is also ambiguous.) To be sure, the Arians did not hold that Jesus was merely a man; he was much more than man, but less than God the Father.

Now as for Arius, very little is known of him. He became a presbyter or priest in Egypt, in Alexandria. He was an avid student of others’ writings and held a view that had been in circulation evidently for decades before he himself became controversial. He became the focus of attention, briefly, when, in attempts at defending himself against accusations of heresy—he pointed to others much more prominent than he was. My own impression—and that’s all it is—is that Arius was a scholar, a minor figure, and not a leader either in thought or by force of personality. In effect he did lend his name to a controversy, and by triggering it, made it widely known. Once it spilled over into other Catholic regions from Egypt around 319, it eventually led to the Council of Nicea. But it was never a belief held even by a significant minority. Some 300 bishops attended the Council of Nicea; only two of that number refused to sign the Nicene Creed—showing the minority status of this sect.

Elements of Arianism, however, survived the reach of Nicea on the fringes of the Empire and in the Byzantine realm. From there an Arian bishop, Ulifas, ventured into the Balkans and succeeded in converting the Goths to Christianity of the Arian kind. That version of the faith also penetrated other Germanic tribes to the north, by and by, including parts of the Lombards; to see where they were circa 526, see the first map in the post shown here. Two Byzantine emperors (Constantius II, son of Constantine) and Valens were linked to Arianism, Constantius in a minor way, Valens with fewer vacillations and second thoughts.

One way to get a handle on the early Middle Ages is to see who ruled Italy. This period began with Italy’s rule by Odoacer (r. 476-493); he was of Germanic origin but presumably a pagan. Next comes Theodoric’s West Gothic Kingdom (lasted 493-553), which is Arian. His death in 526 eventually lead to the Gothic War of 535-554, Emperor Justinian’s attempt to reclaim Italy. This was a period of interregnum which greatly depopulated Italy. The next rule of that area was by the Lombards, large elements of which adhered to Arianism as well. The map shows the Lombard holdings at their heights. Lombard rule in Italy, never unified, lasted from 568 to 774. Note here that the Lombards did not hold Rome itself; Rome was independent. The Lombards were ruled by separate duchies, but they encircled Rome. Over time this pressure became dangerous, as viewed by the Church. And the end of any kind of Arian rule came when Pope Hadrian I called upon the Franks for help; and their king, Charles I, responded. That Charles, of course, was Charlemagne. He brought Italy under Frankish and therefore Catholic rule.

So what remains of Arianism in our day? Well, there is an interesting relic, part of a column in the Basilica of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo in Ravenna. The wall shown in the inset once showed an elaborate scene of Theodoric, the West Gothic ruler, and his entourage. But, as we know from George Orwell, when ideologies change, history tends to be rewritten by the winners. Therefore, in later times, the image of this Arian ruler was replaced with blank walls and curtains, but those who did the changing of the message must have had a sense of humor. They left a little thing in place, one hand grasping a column for support—an Arian hand no doubt.

Although the Lombards have actually left their mark on today’s Europe (the region of Lombardy in northern Italy, with Milan now its capital), the other Arian groupings have passed from view—except for that hand above. The Arian phenomenon, however, has something to teach us. Anything can serve as a support for identifying some collective as “the other” or as “the alien,” even when the effective content of the ideology rests on a difficult intellectual distinction which does not reach down to the working level or moral decisions. Those of us who are theology-blind are so because the Arian-Trinitarian conflict rests on conceptual distinctions which are not really “visible,” be it to our sensory apparatus or to what might be called “concrete” revelation; the Trinity is nowhere spelled out, as such, in the Gospels—or mentioned by Jesus. These distinctions are graspable only by intuition—which is personal and therefore not capable of verification in the public square. But Arianism, as an ideological projection, had quite concrete political consequences. Those who held it could not retain their grip on large enough populations to prevail. Sic transit, etc.

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Images: Lombard Italy: Wikipedia (link); the regions shown are Neustria, Austria, Tuscia, and the Lombard Duchies of Spoleto and Benevento; the borders of the last are a little fuzzy. The Hand on the Column: Wikipedia (link).