And was the holy Lamb of God,
On Englands pleasant pastures seen!
- And did those feet, William Blake

lørdag 27. april 2024

Random resonances - the Law of the Gulathing Province and the First Book of Samuel


As a historian, I am trained to look for patterns and connections in history. Not in the sense of how the learned understood history in the Latin Middle Ages, which was founded on the idea that history was shaped by a divine creator, and that the patterns, symmetries and repetitions of history were part of God's plan. In modern academic history, we have thankfully lost this methodological principle, a principle that I believe to be both bad history and bad theology. In modern academic history, however, the patterns and connections have to do with detecting influences and offering hypotheses about how impulses and ideas might have travelled, and whether phenomena appearing in one part of the world is connected to similar phenomena elsewhere. 


In general, it is fair to say that people in my geography of expertise, Western Europe, have received and passed on impulses across a much larger chronological scope than we often tend to given them credit for, and that roads of trade, travel, pilgrimage and plunder have been established much earlier than the surviving sources allow us to ascertain. Yet despite the undoubtable un-reconstructable routes of contact, it is also important to keep in mind that some similarities have nothing to do with influence, but are rather random resonances. These resonances are such that they might allow one individual familiar with both ideas or impulses to recognize the similarity, but this similarity would be more of a surprise, something uncanny, perhaps, rather than the kind of recognition that comes from something familiar. 


The concept of random resonances was something that occurred to me as I was preparing a presentation for a conference on Mostertinget, the Moster assembly, which traditionally has been regarded as the place where Christian law was introduced to Norway in 1024. Modern scholars are doubtful about this narrative, at least when it comes to the claims about the importance of this assembly. Nonetheless, it is reasonable to accept that something important happened at this assembly, and that we are still unlearning a lot of the accumulated tradition in order to better understand the importance of this historical event.  


Moster, an island south of Bergen in Western Norway, was part of the law province that is called Gulatinget, the Gula thing or the Gula assembly, which covered most of Western Norway south of Møre up until the implementation of a law of the realm in 1274. The rules of this provincial law were passed down orally until they were written down in the second half of the twelfth century. One of these rules lay out the proper and legal conduct for when a ship called out to defensive service in the event of an attack from the sea, is running out of food and needs to replenish its stores. This rule is found in the part of the law that Erik Simensen, in his 2021 translation of the Older Gulathing Law, has rendered as 'The book on the naval levy'. In his translation, the rule is as follows: 

Now they return northward and run out of food, then they should call other ships to witness and show them their food, that they have no more food than one month’s rate of each kind for two squads, then they may slaughter two head of cattle from a householder with impunity, and they should pay two aurar for a cow and the same (amount) for a three-year-old ox, and two and a half aurar for a full-grown ox; and they should leave the head, the hide and the feet behind; then they are free of guilt if they slaughter in that way. But if they take away the head or the feet or the hide, then they are liable to punishment. 

- The Older Gulathing Law, translated by Erik Simensen, 2021: 203


The rule is typical of the old Norwegian laws: detailed an eminently practical. The command that the head, the hide and the feet should be left behind is probably to be understood as a form of receipt, a physical proof of what a family had lost in the name of the kingdom's defence. Perhaps we might also see this as a way of leaving parts of the animal that would also yield some food in the even that the family in question were likewise in dire straits.  


The age of the Gulathing law is an unsolvable historical question, especially because it underwent changes across centuries, and even though it is a very conservative law - as most laws tend to be - it is far from as stable as some people might imagine. Consequently, when talking about the random resonance to this passage, some caveats are in order. The resonance I encountered - as randomly as is the resonance itself - comes from 1 Samuel, one of the books of the Old Testament that would probably have not been widely known in Norway by the eleventh century. I emphasise this caveat because we know very little about the transmission of the Bible in medieval Norway. Christianity is likely to have arrived in Norway much earlier than we traditionally think - which is the second half of the tenth century - but it is only in the eleventh century that a Norway-wide church organisation came into being. The transmission of the Bible, in this early period of Christianisation, was predominantly oral and conveyed through the sermons of the priests. Some books of the Bible might have been available at certain religious centres, but I very much doubt that any one-volume edition of the Bible ever existed in medieval Norway. This is all to say that big chunks of the Old Testament are likely to have been unknown to most medieval Norwegians until at least the twelfth century. 


Given the probability of the books of Samuel having had little cultural impact in the time when the section on the levy of boats in the Gulathing Law was implemented, I was struck by how someone familiar with the Gulathing Law might have reacted to the following passage from 1 Samuel: 


And the next day again, when they rose in the morning, they found Dagon lying upon his face on the earth before the ark of the Lord: and the head of Dagon, and both the palms of his hands were cut off upon the threshold 

- 1 Samuel 5:4 

  

The passage in question relates the destruction of the statue of the god of the Philistines following their stealing of the Ark of the Covenant, which was brought to the land of Azotus and placed next to the statue. The breaking of the head and the hands was the culmination of a series of signs that led the Philstines to return the Ark to the Israelites. In a way, the hands and head of Dagon can be understood as a kind of receipt, evidence for the stronger power of the god of the Israelites, and a manifestation of a certain hierarchy. However this was encountered, whether written, spoken or, which is unlikely, in pictures, to Norwegians familiar with the Gulathing Law, this story would perhaps have resonated in a particular way, seeing that the head and the feet - or the head and the hand - carried a specific legal connotation that also marked the trust to be placed in a higher authority, in this case the king of Norway. By bringing the feet and the head of the commandeered cattle, Norwegians had hope for restitution, a hope that in turn legitimised the government of the king over that of local lords. Norwegians might, therefore, have understood the importance of this display of power enacted on the statue of Dagon, precisely because their own culture had a similar symbolism that was also connected with the hierarchy of power. 


Of course, we do not know of any medieval Norwegians, at least outside the clergy, who knew of the fate of Dagon's statue. The juxtaposition has laid the ground for an entirely hypothetical scenario, but one that might be of some academic value nonetheless. Because the imagery of the head and the hands in the Bible is older than the Gulathing Law, but did most likely not influence the latter. The similarity between these two texts, that each in their own way pertained to the recognition of power and authority,  is an entirely random resonance - one that might have taken on a particular meaning to a particular audience owing to complete coincidence. Such resonances might affect the reception of the new, unfamiliar element of the juxtaposition. Consequently, even though we cannot assert any historical examples of such receptions, we might imagine that they existed, and by imagining this we might come closer to acknowledge how the patterns and similarities that we encounter in the study of history might be nothing but coincidence.  



tirsdag 23. april 2024

Saint George in Vienna - the protector and the shield

 

Today is the feast of Saint George, who, according to his legend, was a Roman soldier martyred during the Diocletian persecutions of the early fourth century. The early history of his cult is obscure, and scholars have yet to piece together something close to an overview of the cult's trajectory throughout the medieval period. What we do know, however, is that from the twelfth century onwards, George became increasingly popular in Latin Christendom, and in the course of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries the image of George as a dragonslayer became dominant in his iconography. I have written a short piece on this trajectory here. That George was both a soldier and a dragonslayer made him a very suitable patron for knights and other soldiers, and we often find his image in a military context. One such context I encountered by chance while I was visiting the Wien Museum on Karlsplatz in January, which has a small but very interesting selection of artefacts from Vienna's medieval past. Among these artefacts is a late-fifteenth-century shield featuring Saint George in the act of slaying the dragon, standing atop it and piercing the beast with a spear - a posture inherited from the iconography of Saint Michael the Archangel.   

The image of Saint George is quite typical of the period and resembles a number of contemporary depictions in church art, such as a wall-painting from Sanderum Church in Denmark. However, it is the first time I see the dragonslayer on a shield, an object which really highlighted the close ties between the cult of saints and the military life of the Middle Ages. The shield is called Setztartsche, or in English a pavise, and was developed by the Hussites during the Hussite Wars of the early fifteenth century. The shield featuring Saint George, however, was used in Vienna, and was part of the city's own armament efforts of the late 1400s.   

The ubiquity of the cult of saints in medieval life is a continuous source of fascination for me, and the many ways in which the saints were present in people's lives - if only as images - is a good reminder that we are still a long way away from understanding the full impact of the the cult of saints in medieval society. 



Pavise featuring Saint George 
Wien Museum Inv. 126100






lørdag 13. april 2024

New publication: 'Saints and Urban Medievalism: The Case of Saint Knud Rex in Modern-Day Odense'

 

Earlier this week, I was notified about the publication of the collection of articles Doing Memory: Medieval Saints and Heroes and Their Afterlives in the Baltic Sea Region (19th–20th centuries), edited by Cordelia Heß and Gustavs Strenga. The book is open access, and can be read and downloaded here. I was elated by these news, as the collection also features an article written by me, namely 'Saints and Urban Medievalism: The Case of Saint Knud Rex in Modern-Day Odense'. 


Cover of Doing Memory (ed. Heß and Strenga)
Courtesy of De Gruyter 

The article is an examination of how the figure of Saint Knud Rex - who was king of Denmark from 1080 to his murder in 1086 - has been used in the cityscape of Odense, the city where he was killed and later venerated as a saint. The article puts together a range of materials from artworks, signage and place names in Odense, and examines these sources through the concept of urban medievalism, a term I coined for a conference presentation in 2020. 

I am very proud of this article, because it allowed me to explore a new timeframe and types of historical sources with which I am not accustomed to working, such as temporary art works. It also provided a great opportunity to become more familiar with the concept of medievalism - the reception of the medieval past in a post-medieval era - and to think more carefully about how we, as modern humans, make use of the Middle Ages. 

The article was also a joy to write, in part because the writing and subsequent publication mark the culmination of a process that began in the autumn of 2014, and I can see how ideas and observations from back then have flourished into the text that now has been published. It was in 2014 that I moved to Denmark to begin my PhD, and as I was exploring my new home I was frequently bemused by the numerous details of the cityscape that showed some sort of engagement with the Middle Ages, or with ideas, concepts and aesthetics from the medieval period. For instance, that autumn I wrote a blogpost on artworks depicting dragonslayers in Odense. 

In the course of the five years I lived in Denmark, I accumulated a collection of pictures and notes that I intended to put together into some sort of overview. Eventually, that goal did not come to fruition, at least not as I had intended it to do, but the process of collecting and reflecting on these aspects of the cityscape of Odense did provide me with the groundwork for writing this article. I am very happy that the article has given me an opportunity to engage with these materials that I gathered during my Danish sojourn. Moreover, I am quite proud to note how the article provides glimpses of a process in the history of Odense, as many of the pictures and details used in the article were taken and noted down during the now-completed building of the Odense tramway, as well as apartment complexes. The tramway and the apartments have significantly changed the Odense city centre, and the archaeological excavations and subsequent construction work allowed for an engagement with the city's medieval past - both through the items encountered in the excavations and the artworks that served to beautify the temporary walls around the construction site. During my time in Odense, the city was changing, and I was living through a temporary state that was designed to end in the near future. This feeling of living in a moment with a looming endpoint - a transformation nearing completion, as it were - made me all the more alert to the importance of recording some of these changes. The article has allowed me to share some images of a cityscape that is no longer there, because even though the constituent parts of the city are still in place, new buildings have been erected and the vistas are no longer the same. The article, in short, provides some snapshots of a lost past, recorded in the process of losing that past. 

lørdag 6. april 2024

The early cult of saints – an attempted history

 

[The following is an attempt at a brief history of the development of the Christian cult of saints in the first 500 years. This period saw a rapid development of this phenomenon, yet the relative paucity of the sources means that it can sometimes be difficult to understand that despite the rapidity of the process, it was also piecemeal and slow, as well as both decentralised and not streamlined. What prompted me to write this text was a promise to help a colleague with providing an overview of the cult of saints, and I ended up putting together this text which is aimed at giving those unfamiliar with the topic some sense of the historical process, as well as some key terms and dates.] 



Terminology and the first hundred years    

 

The word ‘saint’ is the English translation of ‘sanctus’, which in turn is the Latin translation of the Greek ‘hagios’, which means ‘holy’. In the epistles of Paul, this term is used indiscriminately about all followers of Christ, but it later came to signify an especially holy kind of Christian. There was, in other words, shift from the more general use of ‘hagios’ to a kind of elite Christians. Here, the elite status is based on whether they died for the faith, not their social standing or their position in the early church hierarchy. The circumstances of this shift are nebulous to us, and it was likely a gradual development that grew out of the early persecutions of Christians. (Although it is likely that the persecutions under Nero were too early to have an impact on this shift, and it is more likely that the persecutions under Domitian and Trajan had the most immediate effect – especially those of Domitian.) It is not clear how this change in terminology began, whether it was initiated by the leaders of the early congregations, or whether it emerged from common usage that eventually became the standard way of referring to those who had shown their faith more clearly and publicly. These persecutions served to solidify the sense of a shared identity among Christians, and therefore also gave root to a stronger development of a Christian collective memory. This memory was perpetuated in part through the celebration of the anniversaries of those who had died for the faith. These celebrations were held at the graves of the dead, and from this practice grew the elaborate liturgical celebrations that came into place in the fourth and fifth centuries. The day of the saint’s death became known as ‘dies natalis’, birthday, as it was the beginning of the saint’s life in Heaven. Eventually, as Christianity became more widely common and eventually legalised, the remnants of the especially holy dead Christians could be moved into churches or other sacred spaces intended for the veneration of these remnants. These remnants were relics, which were held to be sacred, and to provide a tangible contact point through which the power of God could work miracles for the glory of the saint (cf. ‘translation’ below).     

            We do not know who were the first saints. Arguably, the apostles, John the Baptist and perhaps also the Virgin Mary are likely to have been held in very high regard from the earliest stages of the Christian religion. Because the early church was both scattered and very heterogenous, however, it is doubtful that we can surmise any coherent approach to the memorialisation of those who died for the faith. In both the Latin and Greek traditions, one of the earliest saints is said to have been Polycarp of Smyrna, whose death is conventionally dated to 155 CE. Early accounts of his death were written in both Latin and Greek, which shows that there was a lot of exchange between those Christians who were Greek-speaking inhabitants of the Roman Empire – not necessarily citizens, although some, like Paul, were – and those whose main written language was Latin. Stories travelled, and so did the terminology. In some cases, this exchange led to the translation of Greek terms into Latin – ‘hagios’ to ‘sanctus’, for instance – but in other cases the Greek terms became dominant also in the Latin language. The best example of this retaining of Greek is seen in the word ‘martyr’, which means witness, and came to mean someone who bore witness to their Christian faith by accepting death rather than recanting their faith. Another of these Greek terms is ‘apostolos’, which means envoy or messenger, and which became slightly Latinized as ‘apostolus’.   

 

The early literature: c.160-c.400     

 

The account of Polycarp of Smyrna’s death – commonly known as The Martyrdom of Polycarp – is believed to have been written relatively shortly after his death, and is often dated to 160 CE. This text is interesting because it shows that many of the typical features of later literature about saints were already in place by the mid-second century CE. For instance, there is an elaborate martyrdom, the remnants of Polycarp were gathered by Christians and held in greater value than jewels – this is perhaps the earliest reference to the veneration of the relics of saints – and the text also exhibits very strong anti-Semitism. Throughout the second and third centuries, several texts about the especially holy Christians appeared, perhaps most famously the Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas, written in Carthage around the year 200 CE. In this early period, however, there was no coherent genre for writing about saints. The term ‘hagiography’, writing about the holy, was first used by Greek-speaking Jews to refer to the Ketuvim, but at some later point became adopted by Christians to refer to the accounts of saints and their deaths and deeds. As far as I know, we cannot say for certain when this terminology came into this Christian usage.

            Following the legalisation of Christianity during the reign of Emperor Constantine, the churches became more stable centres of administration and memory-production. The various church leaders were able to communicate more frequently with one another, and this exchange led to a streamlining of both terms, practices and forms of memorialisation. By Constantine’s death in in 337, the veneration of relics had become standard practice among Christians, and rich Christians had begun collecting them and turning their house complexes into memorial spaces. The memories of the recent persecutions under Diocletian – particularly in the period c.300-305 – were transformed into a collective memory that further solidified a Christian, but also a Roman Christian, identity. One of the best examples of this memory-making is Pope Damasus I (r.366-84). He himself was born around the time of the Diocletian persecutions, and as bishop of Rome he began to collect the bones of those who had died in the persecutions. These bones were placed in churches and the places of their martyrdoms were memorialised through epigrams. This effort effectively converted Rome into a Christian space, and several popular saints – such as Agnes and Sebastian – became famous through the efforts of Damasus. These epigrams were also part of the early literature about saints.

            In the second half of the fourth century, some of the most impactful texts about saints were written, and these came to establish the form that hagiography would retain throughout the medieval period and into the modern era. The biographical accounts of Martin, bishop of Tours, written by Sulpicius Severus (d.397) while Martin was still alive, and the account of Anthony, the Egyptian hermit, by Bishop Athanasius of Alexandria (d.373) came to provide a template for later saint-biographers. The biography of a saint – often called ‘vita’, life, or ‘passio’, passion, or even ‘acta’, acts – typically described the saint’s childhood and background, their conversion or at least deeper commitment to Christianity, their suffering, their good deeds, their deaths, and eventually also the appearance of miracles. These two biographies also established more clearly that even those who had not died for their faith – which neither Martin not Anthony had done – could be considered holy, because their way of life had proved their commitment to Christ. They were ‘confessores’, confessors, of their faith, rather than martyrs. 

            The emergence of a more formally coherent Christian literature also led to the more coherent stylistic form of saint-biographies. Although a Christian was always supposed to imitate the life of Christ, this was paramount in the case of the saints. The early saints had imitated Christ by choosing death, and died like Christ, even though the manner of dying was not necessarily on a cross. This imitation of Christ, ‘imitatio Christi’, became more important to demonstrate with the cessation of persecutions, and the relative scarcity of new martyrdoms that followed the legalisation of Christianity. From the late fourth century onwards, therefore, saint-biographers modelled their accounts even more explicitly on episodes from the Gospels, and emphasised the parallels between the life of Christ and the saints more strongly. This practice continued throughout the medieval and modern periods.

            As part of the more formalised and streamlined cult of saints, collections of miracles became more common. I do not know exactly when such accounts of miraculous events first became committed to writing, but it is likely that an expectations of signs and miraculous cures led to orally transmitted accounts in the early period of the veneration of saints. Augustine’s City of God includes an account of the miracles said to have appeared in the wake of the finding of the body of Saint Stephen Protomartyr in 417, and the arrival of some of the relics of Stephen in Carthage in 424. The popularity of Augustine’s writings also had an impact on later miracle collections.    

 

Saints in the Christian cosmology  

 

We know little about how the earliest venerators of Christian saints understood the place of the especially holy dead in the greater scheme of things. There was an expectation of an afterlife, and most likely the saints were believed to be in Heaven. It is unclear whether the veneration of the early saints was done with the hope that those who were venerated would provide help, but such an expectation came into place as the cult of saints became more Romanised. The collection of verse biographies by the poet Prudentius – Liber Peristephanon – shows that by the turn of the fourth century, Christians in the Roman Empire, at least those who belonged to the upper classes, understood the saints and ‘advocati’, intercessors or ambassadors, in the Heavenly Senate. In other words, the system of Roman society – where the rich were patrons who bestowed favours on the common people in return for services, and where the Senate was the house of ultimate authority – was transposed onto the greater cosmology. Saints were understood as patrons, and in return for their aid – ‘beneficium’ – the living Christians performed their duties or their labours, ‘officium’. This idea of saints as interceding before God on behalf of the living has remained a key point in Christian thinking. The ‘beneficium’ usually came in the form of cures or other miraculous events by which God was believed to demonstrate the holiness of his saints. The ‘officium’ usually signified the celebration of the anniversaries of the saints, mainly their day of death or the day of the moving of the relics, the so-called translation. The term ‘officium’ later came to denote the performance of liturgical songs and readings in the course of a daily round in a church or a monastery. Saints interceded on behalf of the living, but they could also punish the living for wrongdoing, neglect of their patrons, or heresy.     

 

Continuity and discontinuity

 

There has been a lot of discussion about the degree to which we can see a continuity from the pagan polytheism to the role of the saints within Christian monotheism. The traditional argument has been that the old gods were simply replaced with different figures, and that people attributed to these figures a lot of the same properties and powers that they did the old gods. Since Peter Brown’s monograph The Cult of Saints (1981), however, the main consensus is that the situation is more complicated than that. Naturally, there might well have been Christian converts who did not discern much of a difference between the saints and the old gods, but to the Christian theologians and, indeed, to the bishops and missionaries, there were many important differences. First of all, a saint does not make any decisions of their own, but with the approval of God. Miracles, moreover, are not brought about by the saint. Instead, God performs the miracle as a favour to the saint in return for the saint’s merit – ‘meritum’ – which is the quality of the saint’s life on earth. Furthermore, while the Christians venerated the saints as heroes, and although Paul’s epistles uses terms like soldier and athlete – there was nothing physically violent about the way the saints met their demise. They fight consisted of enduring violence – often described in gruesome detail by Christian authors – and from the point of view of the pagan Romans, there was little heroic about such passivity. In other words, and following the arguments of Peter Brown, the heroes and gods of the pagan pantheon had little in common with the heroes of the Christians.      

            The differences between the worship of pagan gods and the veneration of Christian hero, however, do not mean that there were not continuities. As the Christian religion became legalised and increasingly infused with Roman impulses – one of which was the transposition of the patron-client system onto the Christian cosmological system – there were several aspects of the various polytheistic religions that came to shape Christian religious practice. For instance, the practice of incubation ritual, where someone sleeps at a shrine in order to acquire a religious experience, was very common among various polytheistic religions. This practice was adopted by Christians, and from miracle collections from the Middle Ages we often read about cures and visions that happened to those who slept or kept a vigil by the saint’s shrine.

            Another form of continuity can be seen in the deliberate re-use of pagan cult places by Christians. Pagan shrines, temples or sacred trees were destroyed with the purpose of replacing the pagan holy place with a Christian one. Among the earliest surviving records of this idea is the Life of Saint Martin by Sulpicius Severus, where Martin cuts down a sacred tree. In Gregory the Great’s Dialogues – a collection of saint stories written during his papacy (590-604) – we read that Saint Benedict of Nursia destroyed a shrine of Apollo and replaced it with an altar of Saint Martin, which suggests a deliberate imitation of the holy bishop. This incident is also a reminder that saints could imitate other saints, not only Christ or biblical figures. In addition, however, it is important to be cautious about whether this hagiographical topos was indeed enacted in real life, or whether it was only a literary claim. It is likely that the hagiographical topos did indeed inspire real-world events, but it is also possible that in some cases we are dealing with a claim of imitation only, not an actual event.  

 

 

+++    

 

Key terms      

 

Apostolos: Greek for envoy or messenger; term used for those of Christ’s early followers who were missionaries, but also used about those saints credited with introducing Christianity to a new place or a new people

 

Beneficium: the favours given by a saint to the living

 

Confessor: those who testified to their faith by their Christian living, but who did not die a violent death (cf. martyr)

 

Dies natalis: the Heavenly birthday of the saint, meaning their day of death

 

Hagiography: writing about the holy; in the Christian sense, any text that provides an account of the saint’s life, characteristics, death, and/or associated miracles. What makes a text hagiographic is that it has its focus on the saint, and many different types of texts therefore qualify as hagiographic, not solely biographies of saints

 

Hagios: Greek for ‘holy’, Paul’s word for the early followers of Christ

 

Imitation of Christ: every saint was expected to imitate Christ to some degree; this imitation could be achieved in many different ways, either by simply sacrificing their life for the faith, or by imitating specific episodes from the Gospels. Saints could also imitate other saints

 

Martyr: Greek for witness; a term used for those who died for the faith and thereby testified to their conviction

 

Meritum: the quality of a saint’s life which makes the saint earn the goodwill of God; the better a saint’s meritum, the more efficient the saint is as an intercessor for the living

 

Miracle: in Christian terms, signs by which God shows His will on Earth, and through which humans are expected to recognise the holiness of a saint  

 

Officium: the veneration given by the living in order to deserve the favours given by the saint

 

Passio: Latin for ‘suffering’, a word commonly used to describe accounts of the saint’s tortures and subsequent death (cf. The Passion of Perpetua and Felicitas)

 

Relics: the remnants of the saints, usually their bodies or bones; some relics were so-called contact relics, meaning relics that had absorbed some of the holiness of the saints by contact with them – either while the saint was living or after the saint’s death. Through this contact, items such as clothes placed on the saint’s relics or the saint’s shrine could become a new tangible relay point through which God’s power worked miracles. The container in which these relics were placed is commonly referred to as a reliquary, but also sometimes a shrine (cf. ‘shrine’)

 

Sanctus: Latin for ‘holy’; the root of the English ‘saint’

 

Shrine: can be used to refer to the holy space in which a saint is placed and venerated, but it could also mean the casket or container in which the saint’s body or the saint’s bones, dust and ashes were placed

 

Translatio: the moving (translation) of a saint’s relics to a place of rest, sometimes to a new place of rest. The occasion could be celebrated by an anniversary feast.  

 

Vita: Latin for ‘life’, a very common term to denote biographical account of a saint  (cf. Life of Saint Martin)

                  

+++    

 

Brief timeline (all years in CE)       

 

c. 30: commonly accepted date of Christ’s death

 

c.35-64: the missionary activity of Paul the apostle

 

54-68: reign of Nero; possibly the first, and if so very limited, Christian persecutions

 

81-96: reign of Domitian; first major persecutions of Christians

 

155: conventional date of Bishop Polycarp of Smyrna       

 

c.160: composition of The Martyrdom of Polycarp

 

203: conventional date for the death of Perpetua and Felicitas in Carthage, whose imprisonment was recorded in an account that partly might be dictated by Perpetua herself          

 

249-51: reign of Decius, which saw a major persecution of Christians  

 

257-58: the Valerian persecutions; Bishop Cyprian of Carthage died in 258  

 

c.300-305: the Diocletian persecutions

 

313: the Edict of Milan, which legalised Christianity

 

366-84: papacy of Damasus I, one of the major campaigns for Christianising the topography and urban space of Rome

 

373: death of Athanasius of Alexandria, author of The Life of Anthony of Egypt         

 

397: death of Sulpicius Severus, author of The Life of Martin       

 

415: death of Prudentius, author of Liber Peristephanon    

 

417: the finding of the body of Stephen Protomartyr

 

424: the arrival of some of the relics of Stephen Protomartyr in Carthage        

 

430: death of Augustine of Hippo

 

543: death of Benedict of Nursia

 

590-604: the papacy of Gregory the Great