Notice the themes from the Middles Ages that have survived though the development of Western civilization
The tensions and conflicts of the Middle Ages are conveyed through its architecture...
Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc.
Transcript
[Music in]
NARRATOR: A modern skyscraper--severe, impersonal, functional. A symbol of twentieth-century America.
The Parthenon--an ancient Greek temple--its lines as clear and harmonious as the ideals of the civilization it represents. Dedicated to the goddess Athena but built in honor of an earthly city, Athens.
A cathedral in France. A building that reaches towards heaven. The expression in stone of a different kind of mind.
In three short centuries, from 1050 to 1350, more stone was quarried in France than in the entire history of ancient Egypt. Millions of tons, taken from the quarries, were fashioned into tens of thousands of parish churches and more than eighty great cathedrals.
In the mighty Cathedral of Amiens, the entire population of ten thousand could attend the same service. Why so many cathedrals? How do these buildings reflect the minds of the men and women who built them?
ABBOT SUGER: When I enter a cathedral, I seem to find myself in some strange part of the universe--neither of the baseness of earth nor of the serenity of heaven. This is a place of awe. Here is the court of God and the gate of heaven. By the grace of God I seem lifted in a mystic manner from this lower towards that upper sphere.
NARRATOR: To lift men from "this lower toward that upper sphere"--this was the function of the cathedral--to unite the whole world in Christ. No matter how different their station in medieval life, all men were united by their faith in God. The cathedral, and the faith it stood for, was the central unity of the medieval world. Yet if you look closely, you see that beneath the unified whole, this building is a mass of tensions. One side thrusts up . . . the other rushes to meet it. Within, columns rise to support the massive ceiling. Outside, buttresses fly through the air to take up some of the strain. Thrust and counterthrust, one side--the other side. The building seems an uneasy balance of opposing forces.
This was the way the world must have seemed to medieval man--a place of violent contrasts. There seemed only two choices: salvation or damnation.
OMINOUS VOICE: On the day of the Last Judgment good and evil action shall be weighed, and on that day the guilty shall be dragged away to hell.
There is a monster there whose teeth are terrible round about. Out of his mouth go forth flames of lighted fire, and out of his nostrils smoke.
HILDEGARDE OF BINGEN: I have had a vision of hell. Some souls were burned and other girdled with snakes. And I saw demons with fiery scourges, beating hither and thither. And, too, I have had a vision of heaven. I saw a most glorious light, full of virtue and might, and it was so powerful that demons fled from it.
DANTE: There, in paradise, I saw gathered together, bound by love, the scattered leaves of all the universe.
[Music out]
NARRATOR: The life of the medieval Christian was conflict, a struggle between salvation and damnation, virtue and vice, carved for all to see in the stone of the cathedral.
VOICE 1: Hope is the expectation of God's grace.
VOICE 2: Despair is a vice, robbing one of hope in the Lord.
VOICE 1: Charity is the greatest of all virtues.
VOICE 2: Greed is a vice, for what does it profit a man to gain the world and lose his soul?
NARRATOR: Virtue and vice, the opposite poles of behavior. The contrasts in these sculptures . . .
tensions in the cathedral's very architecture mirror the tensions and extremes of medieval life. What caused this new building and this new world view to emerge?
Perhaps it began with the fall of Rome [music in], whose emperors ruled the world from England to the Near East, whose soldiers had crossed the seas to fight in other lands and who had themselves fought off the barbarians at home. In the year 410, these same barbarians invaded Rome.
ST. JEROME: Who can believe that Rome can crumble to dust? The womb of nations has become their tomb. The city that once held the world is fallen!
NARRATOR: Across the sea in North Africa, a man named Augustine, bishop of the Roman city of Hippo, tried to make sense of the chaos all around.
ST. AUGUSTINE: Bad times! Troubled times! But where for do we blame God? Evils abound in the world in order that it may not engage our love. Choose not to cling to this aged, evil world, falling to ruin, but remember you are passing on a journey here. This life is but a wayside inn. Though the greatest city on earth is fallen, it is but the city of man. Turn your eyes upward--the city of God endureth forever!
NARRATOR: The invisible City of God! St. Augustine gave the Middle Ages its central vision. The city of God . . .
versus the city of man; the attraction of this world, the promise of the next. The tension between these two extremes was to mark the Middle Ages, to make it a time of paradox.
On the one hand, men had their feet firmly planted on this world. They had to. They were pioneers in rapidly changing, uncertain times. The fall of Rome marked the end of all central authority. Western Europe became a great frontier, throwing men on their own, cutting them loose from the past. The walls of the castle or a fortified town offered needed protection, as Europe became prey to wave upon wave of invasion. From the fifth century onward, invasions of Gauls, Franks, Saracens.
To survive in the midst of such conflict people had to be inventive. Medieval men and women were. They solved problems which had baffled Rome--problems as basic as the limitations of the horse. In the ancient world, when a horse's hooves wore out, the animal was useless. Since the Roman harness went around his neck, in pulling a plow or a wagon, the horse's breathing would be cut off. During the Middle Ages the horseshoe was fashioned to protect the animal's feet and the shoulder collar to enable him to pull heavy loads without choking. A new wheeled plow was devised. Fields were rotated to allow the land to rest. With more efficient horses, heavier plows and better land use, agriculture was more productive in the Middle Ages than ever before.
In ancient Rome, a soldier stayed on his horse by pressing against its sides with his knees. The Middle Ages adopted the stirrup and, by this simple device, revolutionized warfare. With the support of the stirrup, soldier and horse became a single powerful fighting unit.
Yet the very world that medieval men were controlling by improved technology was not regarded for its own sake. One studied the world's animals, for example, not out of detached, scientific curiosity [music out], but to learn more about God.
VOICE FROM MEDIEVAL BESTIARIES: The goat likes high mountains and has keen sight. He seeks his pasture in the valley. Now the goat makes us think of Christ, who seeks his pasture in the Church, where he is fed by good works and alms. Like the goat, Christ, too, loves lofty heights.
The fox is a deceitful beast. When he is hungry, he lies down and feigns death. Believing him dead, birds sit upon the fox--whereupon he snatches and devours them. The fox is like the devil, pretending to be dead to those who live by their senses--until he has them in his jaws!
The antelope is a wild animal with two horns. They get caught in river shrubs, enabling the hunter to kill them. The antelope's horns remind us of the two Testaments of the Bible. When the antelope entangles himself near the river, we think of those who play in the thicket of worldly pleasures, killing body and soul.
The panther's only enemy is the dragon. Now the panther is Christ and the dragon, the devil. Like the panther, so Jesus rose on the third day. The panther's sweet breath is Christ's voice calling to the world.
NARRATOR: The paradox of the medieval mind. The same people realistic enough to invent the water mill and the mechanical clock filled their animal picture books with fantastic creatures. The inventors of the first eyeglasses, by which to see the world more clearly, saw in an ape, not simply a living animal, but a reminder of the fall of man [music in]. They were practical on this earth, yet everything in this world was but a preparation for the next. The city of God cast perspective on the city of man.
How to live in an uncertain, changing world? One answer was the monastery.
PIETRO DAMIANI: To run about in the world is like immersing yourself in a pool of blood.
GOLIARD POET: Do I of heaven ever think? Nay, but of the wine that I can drink! On earth--here is all my joy!
NARRATOR: But while some men sought the security of the cloister, others glorified this world with all its insecurities over the next.
GOLIARD POET: I believe in wine that's fair to see. And in a barrel of my host more than in the Holy Ghost!
PIETRO DAMIANI: Come now brother, what is this body which you nourish gently, as if it were royal offspring? Is it not a mass of putrefaction, worms, dust, and ashes?
GOLIARD POET: Watch the roast turn on the spit and the wine that's clear and green. To drink and wench and play at dice seem to me not mighty sins.
PIETRO DAMIANI: Be content with few garments and accustom yourself to cold. Poor clothing and little food drive greed from a monk's heart. The wise man considers not the here and now but what will be afterwards in the future.
GOLIARD POET: Sir Priest, I chafe at thinking of that other life. I tell you, 'tis not worth a straw.
MONK: To guard your salvation you must repress all vices, restrain your tongue, look not at illicit things, still the itching palate, gird your loins against desire.
GOLIARD POET: Young are we, so hard a law. How should we obey it? And our bodies, they are young. Shall they have no say in't.
NARRATOR: The tavern or the cloister. Enjoy the world--retreat from the world. Two conflicting approaches to life. Even within religion there was conflict.
Was the Church the gentle love of a St. Francis? Or the cruel violence of a Crusader?
POPE URBAN: A godless race has invaded the Christian holy land. On whom does the task of recovering it fall if not upon you? Go forth then bravely! Make war as soldiers of the Lord!
ST. FRANCIS: O Lord, make me, Brother Francis, an instrument of thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon. Every creature cries aloud, "God made me for thy sake, O man." Let me go out then into the world, for it is in giving that we receive, in pardoning that we are pardoned.
RAYMOND DE SAINT-GILLES: On this Crusade, when we had mastered the walls of Jerusalem, wonderful things were to be seen. Numbers of Saracens were beheaded--which was the easiest for them. On the ground were seen piles of heads and hands and feet. One rode in blood up to the knees and even to the horses' bridles.
ST. FRANCIS: We must love all creatures. The birds who fly are my brothers.
They humbly make their way along the road and, in flying, praise the Lord most sweetly. Walk carefully over the rocks so you do not injure them. Do not put out the fire's flame, for the fire, too, comes from God and is His creature.
RAYMOND DE SAINT-GILLES: And on that day the town burned . . .
and men clapped their hands and exulted at the just and marvelous judgment of God. The city which had so long endured blasphemy now bathed in blood!
NARRATOR: Boundless cruelty. Limitless mercy. Both within the same Church.
The sensuality of the tavern, the purity of the cloister. Practical, advanced technology coupled with another worldly view of this world.
Heaven, with its rewards, or hell. These were some of the extremes of the medieval mind. The classical ideal of balance had gone. In the rapidly changing chaos of the Middle Ages a more violent, emotional view of the world emerged--as different from what had preceded it, as the Gothic cathedral was from the Greek temple. In succeeding centuries, the pull of the city of man would become stronger, but the emotional and spiritual energies released by the Middle Ages would have left their mark on Western civilization.
[Music out]
NARRATOR: A modern skyscraper--severe, impersonal, functional. A symbol of twentieth-century America.
The Parthenon--an ancient Greek temple--its lines as clear and harmonious as the ideals of the civilization it represents. Dedicated to the goddess Athena but built in honor of an earthly city, Athens.
A cathedral in France. A building that reaches towards heaven. The expression in stone of a different kind of mind.
In three short centuries, from 1050 to 1350, more stone was quarried in France than in the entire history of ancient Egypt. Millions of tons, taken from the quarries, were fashioned into tens of thousands of parish churches and more than eighty great cathedrals.
In the mighty Cathedral of Amiens, the entire population of ten thousand could attend the same service. Why so many cathedrals? How do these buildings reflect the minds of the men and women who built them?
ABBOT SUGER: When I enter a cathedral, I seem to find myself in some strange part of the universe--neither of the baseness of earth nor of the serenity of heaven. This is a place of awe. Here is the court of God and the gate of heaven. By the grace of God I seem lifted in a mystic manner from this lower towards that upper sphere.
NARRATOR: To lift men from "this lower toward that upper sphere"--this was the function of the cathedral--to unite the whole world in Christ. No matter how different their station in medieval life, all men were united by their faith in God. The cathedral, and the faith it stood for, was the central unity of the medieval world. Yet if you look closely, you see that beneath the unified whole, this building is a mass of tensions. One side thrusts up . . . the other rushes to meet it. Within, columns rise to support the massive ceiling. Outside, buttresses fly through the air to take up some of the strain. Thrust and counterthrust, one side--the other side. The building seems an uneasy balance of opposing forces.
This was the way the world must have seemed to medieval man--a place of violent contrasts. There seemed only two choices: salvation or damnation.
OMINOUS VOICE: On the day of the Last Judgment good and evil action shall be weighed, and on that day the guilty shall be dragged away to hell.
There is a monster there whose teeth are terrible round about. Out of his mouth go forth flames of lighted fire, and out of his nostrils smoke.
HILDEGARDE OF BINGEN: I have had a vision of hell. Some souls were burned and other girdled with snakes. And I saw demons with fiery scourges, beating hither and thither. And, too, I have had a vision of heaven. I saw a most glorious light, full of virtue and might, and it was so powerful that demons fled from it.
DANTE: There, in paradise, I saw gathered together, bound by love, the scattered leaves of all the universe.
[Music out]
NARRATOR: The life of the medieval Christian was conflict, a struggle between salvation and damnation, virtue and vice, carved for all to see in the stone of the cathedral.
VOICE 1: Hope is the expectation of God's grace.
VOICE 2: Despair is a vice, robbing one of hope in the Lord.
VOICE 1: Charity is the greatest of all virtues.
VOICE 2: Greed is a vice, for what does it profit a man to gain the world and lose his soul?
NARRATOR: Virtue and vice, the opposite poles of behavior. The contrasts in these sculptures . . .
tensions in the cathedral's very architecture mirror the tensions and extremes of medieval life. What caused this new building and this new world view to emerge?
Perhaps it began with the fall of Rome [music in], whose emperors ruled the world from England to the Near East, whose soldiers had crossed the seas to fight in other lands and who had themselves fought off the barbarians at home. In the year 410, these same barbarians invaded Rome.
ST. JEROME: Who can believe that Rome can crumble to dust? The womb of nations has become their tomb. The city that once held the world is fallen!
NARRATOR: Across the sea in North Africa, a man named Augustine, bishop of the Roman city of Hippo, tried to make sense of the chaos all around.
ST. AUGUSTINE: Bad times! Troubled times! But where for do we blame God? Evils abound in the world in order that it may not engage our love. Choose not to cling to this aged, evil world, falling to ruin, but remember you are passing on a journey here. This life is but a wayside inn. Though the greatest city on earth is fallen, it is but the city of man. Turn your eyes upward--the city of God endureth forever!
NARRATOR: The invisible City of God! St. Augustine gave the Middle Ages its central vision. The city of God . . .
versus the city of man; the attraction of this world, the promise of the next. The tension between these two extremes was to mark the Middle Ages, to make it a time of paradox.
On the one hand, men had their feet firmly planted on this world. They had to. They were pioneers in rapidly changing, uncertain times. The fall of Rome marked the end of all central authority. Western Europe became a great frontier, throwing men on their own, cutting them loose from the past. The walls of the castle or a fortified town offered needed protection, as Europe became prey to wave upon wave of invasion. From the fifth century onward, invasions of Gauls, Franks, Saracens.
To survive in the midst of such conflict people had to be inventive. Medieval men and women were. They solved problems which had baffled Rome--problems as basic as the limitations of the horse. In the ancient world, when a horse's hooves wore out, the animal was useless. Since the Roman harness went around his neck, in pulling a plow or a wagon, the horse's breathing would be cut off. During the Middle Ages the horseshoe was fashioned to protect the animal's feet and the shoulder collar to enable him to pull heavy loads without choking. A new wheeled plow was devised. Fields were rotated to allow the land to rest. With more efficient horses, heavier plows and better land use, agriculture was more productive in the Middle Ages than ever before.
In ancient Rome, a soldier stayed on his horse by pressing against its sides with his knees. The Middle Ages adopted the stirrup and, by this simple device, revolutionized warfare. With the support of the stirrup, soldier and horse became a single powerful fighting unit.
Yet the very world that medieval men were controlling by improved technology was not regarded for its own sake. One studied the world's animals, for example, not out of detached, scientific curiosity [music out], but to learn more about God.
VOICE FROM MEDIEVAL BESTIARIES: The goat likes high mountains and has keen sight. He seeks his pasture in the valley. Now the goat makes us think of Christ, who seeks his pasture in the Church, where he is fed by good works and alms. Like the goat, Christ, too, loves lofty heights.
The fox is a deceitful beast. When he is hungry, he lies down and feigns death. Believing him dead, birds sit upon the fox--whereupon he snatches and devours them. The fox is like the devil, pretending to be dead to those who live by their senses--until he has them in his jaws!
The antelope is a wild animal with two horns. They get caught in river shrubs, enabling the hunter to kill them. The antelope's horns remind us of the two Testaments of the Bible. When the antelope entangles himself near the river, we think of those who play in the thicket of worldly pleasures, killing body and soul.
The panther's only enemy is the dragon. Now the panther is Christ and the dragon, the devil. Like the panther, so Jesus rose on the third day. The panther's sweet breath is Christ's voice calling to the world.
NARRATOR: The paradox of the medieval mind. The same people realistic enough to invent the water mill and the mechanical clock filled their animal picture books with fantastic creatures. The inventors of the first eyeglasses, by which to see the world more clearly, saw in an ape, not simply a living animal, but a reminder of the fall of man [music in]. They were practical on this earth, yet everything in this world was but a preparation for the next. The city of God cast perspective on the city of man.
How to live in an uncertain, changing world? One answer was the monastery.
PIETRO DAMIANI: To run about in the world is like immersing yourself in a pool of blood.
GOLIARD POET: Do I of heaven ever think? Nay, but of the wine that I can drink! On earth--here is all my joy!
NARRATOR: But while some men sought the security of the cloister, others glorified this world with all its insecurities over the next.
GOLIARD POET: I believe in wine that's fair to see. And in a barrel of my host more than in the Holy Ghost!
PIETRO DAMIANI: Come now brother, what is this body which you nourish gently, as if it were royal offspring? Is it not a mass of putrefaction, worms, dust, and ashes?
GOLIARD POET: Watch the roast turn on the spit and the wine that's clear and green. To drink and wench and play at dice seem to me not mighty sins.
PIETRO DAMIANI: Be content with few garments and accustom yourself to cold. Poor clothing and little food drive greed from a monk's heart. The wise man considers not the here and now but what will be afterwards in the future.
GOLIARD POET: Sir Priest, I chafe at thinking of that other life. I tell you, 'tis not worth a straw.
MONK: To guard your salvation you must repress all vices, restrain your tongue, look not at illicit things, still the itching palate, gird your loins against desire.
GOLIARD POET: Young are we, so hard a law. How should we obey it? And our bodies, they are young. Shall they have no say in't.
NARRATOR: The tavern or the cloister. Enjoy the world--retreat from the world. Two conflicting approaches to life. Even within religion there was conflict.
Was the Church the gentle love of a St. Francis? Or the cruel violence of a Crusader?
POPE URBAN: A godless race has invaded the Christian holy land. On whom does the task of recovering it fall if not upon you? Go forth then bravely! Make war as soldiers of the Lord!
ST. FRANCIS: O Lord, make me, Brother Francis, an instrument of thy peace.
Where there is hatred, let me sow love; where there is injury, pardon. Every creature cries aloud, "God made me for thy sake, O man." Let me go out then into the world, for it is in giving that we receive, in pardoning that we are pardoned.
RAYMOND DE SAINT-GILLES: On this Crusade, when we had mastered the walls of Jerusalem, wonderful things were to be seen. Numbers of Saracens were beheaded--which was the easiest for them. On the ground were seen piles of heads and hands and feet. One rode in blood up to the knees and even to the horses' bridles.
ST. FRANCIS: We must love all creatures. The birds who fly are my brothers.
They humbly make their way along the road and, in flying, praise the Lord most sweetly. Walk carefully over the rocks so you do not injure them. Do not put out the fire's flame, for the fire, too, comes from God and is His creature.
RAYMOND DE SAINT-GILLES: And on that day the town burned . . .
and men clapped their hands and exulted at the just and marvelous judgment of God. The city which had so long endured blasphemy now bathed in blood!
NARRATOR: Boundless cruelty. Limitless mercy. Both within the same Church.
The sensuality of the tavern, the purity of the cloister. Practical, advanced technology coupled with another worldly view of this world.
Heaven, with its rewards, or hell. These were some of the extremes of the medieval mind. The classical ideal of balance had gone. In the rapidly changing chaos of the Middle Ages a more violent, emotional view of the world emerged--as different from what had preceded it, as the Gothic cathedral was from the Greek temple. In succeeding centuries, the pull of the city of man would become stronger, but the emotional and spiritual energies released by the Middle Ages would have left their mark on Western civilization.
[Music out]