From my diary

I have now finished reading James Hannam’s God’s Philosophers and written the first draft review.  I think that I will let it simmer for a while.   I remember writing a review of Stephen Carlson’s book on “Secret Mark” and inadvertantly expressing myself in a way that sounded much more negative than I intended.  Let’s avoid that this time!

The book itself is actually a very good book.  Judging from the amount of nonsense I see online about “science and religion”, it’s almost certainly a very necessary book.  It’s aimed at the general reader with an interest in the history of science (which I can’t say I really have).  I suspect the book ought to be shorter, tho.

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The dissolution of Evesham abbey

“The sufferings of history, for example, are dulled by repetition and time, but personal accounts bring such events to life. The Dissolution of the Monasteries has become to many yet another ‘statistic’ to be absorbed in a study of a larger-than-life Henry VIII, yet it was an agonising period for the men who devoted their lives to the Church.

“In the first of the STC (short title catalogue) sales in 1973, for example, one item was a 1537 first edition of Matthew’s version of the Bible which belonged to John Alcetur (Alcester), a monk at the great Benedictine Abbey of Evesham. The Abbey, partly owing to its size and partly to the resistance of Abbot Lichfield, was one of the last to be suppressed. Only about twenty Benedictine abbeys and priories survived into the year 1540, and by the end of that year not one remained. Alcester had made extensive annotations in Latin and English, and had covered three blank pages with a musical score, probably of his own composition.

“However, it is his personal record, at the end of the Book of Maccabees, of Henry’s tough measures that makes poignant reading today. He wrote:

. . . the monastery of Evesham was suppressed by Kyng Henry the viii the xxxi yere of his raygne the xxx day of Januer at Evensong tyme the convent beyng in the quere [choir] at thys verse [in the Magnificat] Deposuit potentes and wold not suffur them to make an ende. Phillypp Ballard beyng Abbot at that tyme and xxxv Relygius men at that day alyre in the seyde monastry . . .

“It is thought that within two months of the suppression of the Abbey, Alcester’s Bible was taken from him.” — Roy Hartley Lewis, Antiquarian books: an insider’s account, pp.138-9.

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From my diary

Still reading God’s philosophers.  The work is written from the point of view of the history of science, not the history of culture or literature; and the renaissance, which is such a milestone in the latter, is barely visible.  In this book, the continuity is much more important than the differences.  That’s a rather different perspective to the one we are used to.  But when the author does get to the renaissance, he finds in it a source for a good many modern myths.

Still turning photocopies into PDF’s and emptying my filing cabinet.  Finding a few in A3 photocopy form; not sure how to handle those!

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First impressions of Hannam’s “God’s philosophers”

A dull grey day, and the postman brings an envelope containing a review copy of James Hannam’s God’s philosophers: how the medieval world laid the foundations of modern science.  Drat my luck.  I open the envelope and a big lump of paper, over 400 pages, almost nine inches tall and an inch thick hits the table with a loud thud.  Nice cover, but why oh why did I agree to read all this when I have so much to do?  I never review books, unless very angry.  I feel quite sorry for myself.

The book is about science and religion.  All of us are taught at school and on the mass media that science is good, religion is bad, and that religion — by which they don’t mean Islam, or Buddhism! — has always obstructed science and “progress”, and that in the Middle Ages no-one did any because of the Church.  But it’s not true, at least not put that baldly.  JH did his doctorate on the subject, and is trying to get people to realise that this is a myth, and one that grew up from mostly anti-clerical propaganda.  The reality is far more complex.  Doesn’t sound like the sort of thing that will be easy going, tho.

Still, it’s raining, and  I promised, so I settle down with this monster.  Probably it will look smaller in paperback.  I hope so, for who will read a book for a general reader of such length?  The introduction does nothing to dispel my gloom; it’s a bit hard going.  At least he’s not going to pester me with CE and BCE, it turns out — how I hate the elitist Christophobes who’re running that racket.  He’s not going to tell me that the Roman collapse didn’t happen either, I learn, although clearly he wants to avoid getting drawn into arguing about that nasty piece of revisionism.  Quite right too.  No footnotes either; all banished to the end, probably by the publisher.  I pull down two bookmarks and resign myself to flipping to and fro.  Then there’s a discussion of what is in the chapters, and I set it aside and go off to walk down by the beach, in the hope of acquiring some motivation.  I hate big books. 

When I pick it up again and start with chapter 1, there is a nice surprise.  The style changes completely into an engaging anecdotal style.  More to the point, he’s telling me things that I don’t know.  He’s giving estimates on population in the Roman world, and how this changes by 1000 AD — upwards, surprisingly.  The book is plainly aimed at the educated layman, and so intended to be easy to read and interesting.  And it is.  I wince, tho, when I read in a very quick scene-setter that Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the empire in chapter 1.  Of course  he legalised it and favoured it, but paganism remained the official state religion until Theodosius I.  His chapter on “progress in the early middle ages” is thankfully brief and doesn’t attempt revisionism of what was, after all,  a nasty period of history.  But then we get into the medieval period.

Much of this is interesting to readers of this blog.  After all, we tend to have a fairly good idea about when the literary works of antiquity became known, but most people are much hazier on when the technical handbooks became available in the west.  The book is good on this, and gives a very nice overview of what was going on.

Then into the university scene, and the university of Paris.  I was a little surprised to find no mention of the pecia system; the book mentions how students made notes, but not how textbooks were rented out in pieces (pecia) so that the students could copy them and make their own copy.  Possibly this is just too much detail; and omission of unnecessary detail is probably a critically important thing to do in a book like this, which is anyway rather long.  Abelard makes his appearance, and the book discusses how the universities interacted with the civil and religious power.  Then onto heresy trials. 

I’m 83 pages in, so far, in the middle of chapter 4.  I’m slimming down my library at the moment, and I made clear that I would probably return the review copy, to avoid cluttering my floor.  But it is telling that I am already beginning to wonder whether I was too hasty, and whether I should hold onto it.  The references aren’t heavy, but there is usually a lead into the secondary literature, and the points made are often very interesting indeed.

More later.  Maybe a steak will help me read my way through this!

Postscript: the steak did help, and I read another hundred pages.  There’s an interesting discussion of medieval magic, very well thought out and very clear.  The story proceeds by giving biographies of individuals and discussing their work.  This of course makes it easier to read.

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From my diary – Cambridge

Sunshine this morning, so I clambered into my car and drove up the A14 to Cambridge.  Only one broken down lorry at Sproughton to delay traffic – police coned off one lane, causing tailbacks.  More noticeable is the atrocious state of the roads, worn threadbare and rutted with lack of maintenance.  I drive on past Cambridge to the M11 junction, drop down towards London two junctions, and come off with the tower of the University Library in sight.  Then a drive through fields, then along a leafy road or two between agreeable large houses of the early twentieth century, down to West Road and into the car park where I even manage to find a space.  Normally I have to park by the side of the road!

Into the library, swiping my card as I go to operate the turnstyle.  Up to the catalogue room, and a search for Le Monde Copte sends me to South Wing Floor 3.  A look at the article tells me that it is of little interest.  Down to the machine room on the ground floor to look for Bishop Samuel al Suryani’s edition or translation of Abu Makarim; in vain.  The Newton catalogue behaves erratically, as ever, refusing to give results that I know it has.  But I do find an entry for “Tawaḍrūs, Ṣamūʾīl, 1911-” as author of a “Guide to ancient Coptic churches & monasteries in Upper Egypt / by Samuel al Syriany, Badii Habib”, 1990.  Seems to be Arabic language, tho.

The university library building is well designed, built of brick and obviously intended to resemble an Italian palazzo, or so the architects model in the foyer indicates.  I suspect the university was less impressed by the somewhat forbidding appearance that they actually got.  Gothic is the only style that looks good in the rain, in my experience.

I still have a bunch of books rejected in Oxford in the boot of my car.  I wonder if Oxfam in Cambridge will take them and find homes for them?  But it is quite a way from the library on foot into town!

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Norwich and the Roman world

I went to Norwich today, since the weather was so fine.  The city itself is well worth a visit, with the remains of the medieval walls, a bustling market and the massive Norman keep on the hill overlooking the city.  And my goodness weren’t there a lot of pretty girls out in the streets!

Just outside the city, at the roundabout with the A140, is a sign to the Roman city of Caistor St. Edmunds.  This is basically a field, which is visible from the A140, with Roman walls at various points.  More photos from here, where a project to do magnetic resonancing was announced in 2006.  But take some food and drink with you; there isn’t a bite of anything to be had on site!

Caistor St. Edmund Roman Town
Caistor St. Edmund Roman Town
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From my diary – my trip to Oxford

Up before 7:00 and on the road at 7:15.  Very hot and humid here, and I was glad of the air-conditioning in the car.  A good trip down to London in the rush hour.  When I am on the way to Oxford, and get onto the M40 out of London, it always feels as if I have left London almost immediately.  The motorway runs through countryside.  It’s never too busy, and I have never been held up going north on it towards Oxford. 

Soon it starts to undulate, up and down, but ever upwards.  Then you reach the sign saying “Oxfordshire”, and immediately pass into a wide cleft in the hills, from which you can see the whole valley in which Oxford lies.  Immediately there is a bare hill to the right, with woodland at hand, reminiscent of the downs.  The cooling towers at Didcot — the landmark if you go by train — are visible in the far distance.  Then a sign saying “Thame” reminds us that this is the landscape of “Farmer Giles of Ham”. 

From here on, the air and light seem enchanted, heavy with memory of summer days in Oxford.  The brick buildings give way to Cotswold stone.  The Oxford exit appears, and the broad straight road that takes one from the M40 to Oxford is soon traversed.  A spell on the ring road, and I found myself driving up the Abingdon Road.  Then comes Folly Bridge, the Head of the River pub, and Tom Tower of Christ Church is visible and we’re in what I think of as “the real Oxford”.  Brilliant, hot sunshine, and Oxford almost glows with light.  I park in the Westgate centre car park, which is as shabby as ever, and go through the Westgate centre which I remember from my student days.

I sold my books at St. Philips bookshop.  Fifty books, which made only 175 GBP (about $270), but at least they are off the floor.  The remainder he didn’t think he could sell, and will be given away, including all the Italian translations.  Then up to Carfax and into the bank to deposit the cheque; the bank I used as a student, now much rearranged, but still at the same address.

On to the Bodleian, where the entrance area has been rearranged.  Gone are the cloak-pegs and cupboards; instead a turnstyle and I must swipe my card.  Bags are forbidden, unless of clear plastic.  But I have anticipated this evil, and prepared accordingly.  Inside my normal plastic bag is a clear plastic bag, containing my papers.  I remove it, fold the outer bag and stuff it in my pocket, transfer my wallet and mobile phone into my trouser pockets — for I am wearing only a shirt and tie in the hot weather — and I can go anywhere in the library.

Up to Duke Humphrey’s library, where the Combefis volume awaits.  A quick persual of “Asterius of Amasea” reveals a volume containing a huge variety of materials, only a few of which are by Asterius.  The Eusebius passage is there!  I look for information on the manuscripts Combefis used; the usual vagueness in a single page headed “Candido Lectore”.  I note which pages I want, and after a fruitless attempt to obtain copies resolve to obtain them from Birmingham instead.

Down to the Lower Reading Room, and the catalogues.  I’m looking for three articles on the Coptic history by Al-Makarim, what it is, manuscripts etc.  The Bodleian has all three journals (hurray).  But it takes at least half a day to get any (boo).  Then I discover two of them are in the Sackler library.  “What’s that?” I wonder.  It turns out to be the books associated with the Ashmolean, including Egyptology.  Those journals will be on the shelves.  I’ll go there.  By now it’s lunchtime.

Out I come… to rain.  The weather has changed, and I am caught out.  I walk valiantly down the road towards the High, and then along, hoping to get to my car and my umbrella, but the rain increases.  I’m driven into the covered market, as the thunder crashes overhead.  The market used to be down-market, but has been renovated.  It’s very pleasant there, with tables and cafes, and I spend 20-25 mins before the rain diminishes enough that I can leave. 

Once I have my umbrella from the car, back up the road and into the Sackler library.  I eventually find a photocopier, and get the articles.  Exit; it’s raining again.  I go down to the Bodleian, then down to the High, then down Magpie Lane to Merton college.  Little has changed, although the porters’ lodge has been reordered in a sensible way and an iron gate installed across the main entrance to force visitors through it (less welcome).  The porter tells me incidentally that Merton now has 600 undergraduates, twice what it did when I was there, the increase mainly in the last few years.  It seems that the college has omitted a few important facts from the material it sends out to graduates each year.  Then across St Albans quad, out into the garden, and up to the turret on the wall, in haste as the rain increases again.  Past King Charles’ mulberry tree, and back through Fellows Quad. 

Finally out, back to the Westgate Centre.  I pop into Sainsburys and buy some rolls and cheese and water for the journey back.  It is 3:15, and I leave, and head out into a monsoon-like downpour which turns the Oxford ring-road into a river.  But by the time I get to the M40 it has slackened, and I get home by 6:15.  A good day.

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From my diary

I’m off to Oxford on Thursday.  I shall make a day trip of it, and if the sun shines it will be very pleasant. 

Getting to Oxford is not as easy as it might be.  It is unlikely to cost less than 40 GBP in petrol. The Oxford City Council will meanly charge me another 20 GBP to park there.  (Both charges are mainly tax, and seem to be levied out of spite rather than to fund necessary works; the latter, indeed, go undone).  The actual journey from London is simple; straight up the M40. 

Once there, my first stop will be to try to sell some academic books.  For some time I have been weeding out books that I never use, and piling them into a heap.  Most are patristic.  There are 20-odd Sources Chretiennes volumes of Tertullian, all in mint condition.  There are half a dozen Italian translations of his works also.  There are also some classical texts, and one or two items such as “C.S.Lewis at the BBC”.  I’ve just counted them, and there are 73.  Such a lot of money spent… and on items that in truth I have hardly used!

Then I shall go onto the Bodleian.  The medieval Greek commentaries made up of patristic quotes were largely printed in the 16th and 17th centuries, and are themselves hard to find now.  They have one which I have never been able to access, and which contains some fragments of Eusebius.  The Bodleian can be hard to deal with; I hope that they will supply me with reproductions of the pages without charging obscene prices.

I shall visit my old college, and go and sit in the gardens at a wall seat where Tolkien used to sit and where we sometimes had bible studies when I was there.  It was 1983 when I left, and somehow this is more than 25 years ago!  Those unlined young faces that I see in memory now have children of their own, and where are they all now, that jolly company?  I remember sunlight in the gardens as if it was yesterday.  I remember playing croquet on the lawn, all unawares that such things would come to an end and a life much less agreeable follow.  I remember sitting in my room overlooking St. Albans Quad — how I remember that room! — and listening to voices rehearsing a production of the Wizard of Oz in the gardens; and playing Goodbye Yellow Brick Road on my HiFi, which I had obtained by pure coincidence at the same time. 

I shall walk down the High street, and into Cornmarket.  But however hard I look, I will not see the faces of friends; everyone will be a stranger.  It will be like taking a time-machine to your own past; everything is the same as you remember, but you no longer belong.  For we are all gone, the Grecians of my day, gone to other things, to pay bills and walk the treadmill of life.  In the streets will be a new generation, as heedless as we; and they too will pass away as we have done.  Sic transit gloria mundi.

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