Constructing an archiepiscopal identity in Toledo Cathedral

 

As mentioned in my previous blogpost, I was recently in Toledo and visited the cathedral, allegedly the oldest of Spain’s metropolitan sees. This building being an impressive and complex conglomeration of historical eras, styles and artefacts, it was difficult to get a sense of the building as a unified whole. In some parts of the cathedral, however, the concerted effort to construct a space that unified, condensed and represented the totality of Toledo’s history as an archiepiscopal see became very clear. In this blogpost, I will briefly present one such space, namely the chapter house, in which the bishop and the cathedral chapter engage in an impressive form of identity-construction centred on the bishop as a historical agent.

The chapter house is a stunning architectural space, featuring a golden mudéjar ceiling, a series of wall-paintings of biblical scenes along the upper part of the walls, and then two rows of portraits – all of a modern make if not a modern style – which show the bishops of Toledo from the beginning until the present.           

While I will be careful in analysing the details of this space of historical meaning and identity-construction – as I know very little about the history of Toledo and its bishops – the overall impression of the chapter house and its decoration is that it is a space designed to imbue the bishops and their retinues with a strong sense of their place in history, and their identity as bishops of Toledo. 

Beginning from the top, it seems that the mudéjar ceiling serves not only to provide the bishop and the cathedral chapter with a beautiful setting, but also to represent the multicultural history of Toledo itself. After all, Toledo is one of the historical centres of the mudéjar style.            

The biblical section of the wall appears to serve as a reminder that the works of the bishop takes place within a holy history that began with the creation of the world and continues under the aegis of God and God’s plan. In other words, the deeds of the bishops of Toledo, and the city of Toledo itself, is linked with biblical time and biblical history. This link is highlighted by a paraphrase of Isaiah 32: 17, whose text ‘cultus justitiae silentium’, ‘the service of justice quietness’, reminds the bishops that they are supposed to be servants, and the spiritual successors of the bishops.  

The lowest section of the wall is perhaps the most striking in terms of a construction of episcopal identity. The rows of bishops do of course represent the historical continuity of the office, and it puts the current bishop in context of his predecessors. But the series of bishops is perhaps most remarkable for its claim about the length of that continuity, namely the first century, starting with Saint Eugenius Martyr.           

It is, I should add, not uncommon for bishoprics to make grand claims about the date of their founding, and perhaps especially archiepiscopal sees. According to tradition – whose history I know too little – the metropolitan see of Toledo was founded by Saint James the Elder, also known as Santiago, and the office was first held by Saint Eugenius. As stated in the portrait in Toledo chapter house, he was archbishop from the year 67 to 103, and was believed to have been a disciple of Dionysius the Areopagite, who is often identified as Saint Denis, the first bishop of Paris, according to Gregory of Tours.            

Such a claim of antiquity as seen here is in and of itself neither rare nor uncommon. What is remarkable in the case of the chapter house of Toledo cathedral is the very forceful and direct demonstration of the idea that the current archbishop is the incumbent of an office that stretches all the way back to near-biblical time. Indeed, the archbishop can see his first successor when entering the chapter house. This way of constructing an episcopal identity, and this way of forcefully and constantly arguing for this identity, by making the current archbishop walk among portraits of his successor is remarkable, and a very fascinating case of how such institutional identity can be enacted. It is also a reminder that such forms of identity-construction, where the contemporary era is linked with the Bible, are still employed, and, we might surmise, presumably effective.