How accurate is the statement that the eleventh century saw ‘a great religious revival’ in England, and to what extent were the Norman responsible?

GCSE Religious Studies (Philosophy & Ethics)

How accurate is the statement that the eleventh century saw ‘a great religious revival’ in England, and to what extent were the Norman responsible?

There was much to reform in the English church that Edward the confessor presided over. The original plan for the English church that Gregory the Great had drawn up was differed from in a wide variety of areas, and paid only lip service to in a number of others. For instance, his division of the country into two archbishoprics, Canterbury and York, was obeyed, but while he had imagined them equal in power, there was no doubt by Edward’s reign that Canterbury was the more important. While Gregory had envisaged the balance of power held in place by there being twelve dioceses on either side of the Humber and thus presumably twelve in the domain of both archbishops, considerations of relative wealth and power had ensured that that there were thirteen south of the river, and just one North of it. Neither were the dioceses strictly adhered to, for there was a mounting trend of their merger – in the reign of Edward alone, a bishop called Lyfing simultaneously controlled dioceses as geographically disparate as Cornwall, Crediton and Worcester, and he was by no means an isolated example.

There were abuses, too, among the clergy. Simony, all but explicitly banned in the bible, was widespread, chiefly in the subtle form of bishops allying themselves with a particular faction, making appointments a political issue – Stigand was especially infamous for this, as his Godwin family connections won him an almost unprecedented level of ecclesiastical power; archbishop of Canterbury while remaining bishop of wealthy Winchester. The less subtle form of simple bribes, though less documented, was also rampant.

Equally prevalent was clerical marriage. Although, unlike Simony, this restriction derived from biblical interpretation rather that direct scriptural prohibition (the criticism of the Nicholaite priesthood condemns them only for fornication), by the eleventh century the practice was almost universally accepted as being at least compromising. A letter of Leo I forbids it for all those of sub-deacon or greater rank, and the prohibition was long incorporated into Canon law. Yet it was so widespread, and so integrated into the culture, that Barlow argues: “had clerical celibacy… been achieved, it appears that the position of the lower clergy would have suffered, for a married and often hereditary priesthood acquired a customary position and revenue which protected it to some degree against the arbitrary will of the owners of the church.”

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Admittedly, there was nothing unique about the status of ecclesiastical class in England. All of the abuses described above were no less common throughout Western Europe, perhaps even more so. England’s church did not develop in isolation, it is true (there were English observers at the council of Rheims in 1049, and a number of other councils of the period), but there was a unique and distinct tradition. Other nations may have had a far greater degree of consistency in the organization of their parishes (tithes, for instance, might go to the local church, the bishop of the diocese, the relevant archbishop or sometimes even a lay ruler), but this can be offset against a tradition of ecclesiastical writing in the vernacular tongue that was second to no other nation. One difference that was significant, however, was England’s greater exposure to Viking paganism left the church less established than in other kingdoms, to the extent that Barlow claims “the popular religion was deeply coloured by superstitions with which the church had compromised.” This is debatable, however, and Clanchy and other historians believe that “Ever since Bede (who died in 735)… Christianity in England had been the strongest agent of national identity.” Personally, I find Barlow’s view the more convincing – it is likely paganism would have been widespread in the Danelaw lands up to and beyond the conquest, perhaps being classed as one of the “customs” they were permitted to retain. The loyalty of the Danelaw to the English kings is a topic all to itself, but the statement that national identity was dependent on unified beliefs appears doubtful in light of the many instances the North was unified with royal interests. One other matter also differentiated the English church from its continental cousins – church courts. While it was considered the role of the church to legislate penances for moral offences, the custom by which a churchman could be tried only by other churchmen was only introduced by the Normans, and can be seen as one of their major imprints.

Still, it would be quite wrong to describe Edward’s church as being particularly corrupt. At the grassroots level, great strides forwards were being made. By this time, every thegn was expected to own at least one church, and bishop Herman of Ramsbury was said to have boated in Rome of the many new churches springing up around the country. A parish system, too, was rapidly taking shape that ultimately survived almost unchanged to the present day. Monasticism in particular was flourishing, with forty Benedictine houses having been established, and in these the ideas of the English tradition mingled with those of the Cluniac and Lotharingian schools. It was not uncommon for monks to rise to become bishops, and the friction between bishops and monasteries that occasionally flared up in Europe at this time was virtually absent. Indeed, several major bishoprics, including Canterbury itself, replaced their electoral colleges with monasteries. Glastonbury, the greatest of the English monasteries, was a century old by Edward’s reign, and recognised abroad as a centre of learning. Certainly, too, there were a number of clergy whose motives stemmed purely from faith and piety – Saint Wulfstan of Worcester is deservedly the most famous of these. Rising from a humble parish priest, he was known to travel all over his diocese, preaching, consecrating churches, and generally living the life of a holy man. While the sources for his deeds are admittedly dubious, and frequently hagiographic, his supposed holiness seems the likely reason for his status as William’s favoured English clergyman, and for his forgiveness after the revolt of 1070.

One aspect of the English church of this time is worthy of special note – the issue of lay investiture. The practices of clerical homage and investiture by ring and staff, which the reformers of the great European monasteries were only just coming to condemn, and which were all but universal in Germany and France, were simply far less prevalent in England. Bishops were usually appointed by a writ sent out to the shire court, which would be then read out by an announcer. It is astounding to think that if the Norman conquest, and with it what is often perceived as the wholesale importation of reforming ideas, had in fact simply kept the law as it was on this issue, the titanic struggles of Anselm might have been quite unnecessary.

Lay investiture was not the only issue to suggest the portrait of the Normans as a reforming force may be a false one. Stigand, famously excommunicated by five successive popes, was at first recognized as archbishop of Canterbury, and for his deposal of 1070 political reasons (in light of the recent revolt) seem more likely than spiritual ones. Marjorie Chibnall even alledges that he was at first perceived, like Harold, as entirely respectable, and that before it became necessary to demonise him at least one Norman source states that he even played a role in William’s coronation. The charge against him in 1070 was his dual possession of the sees of Winchester and Canterbury, a state of affairs that William had done nothing to remedy in 1066, all of which certainly points towards a political decision. Even William’s personal chaplain was a way from being above condemnation – archbishop Lanfranc commanded him in a letter to “Give up dicing (to mention nothing worse) and the world’s amusements, in which you are said to idle away the entire day”. Abbot Hugh of Cluny seemed to be of the view that this Norman reformatting of the church was not the holy spring-cleaning of William’s rhetoric – he refused to send William a number of Cluniac monks to take over English positions despite being offered a considerable reward. While it is true that Pope Gregory VII saw William as a model king, it is likely this judgement was chiefly based on the conquest’s papal backing and the fact that William was among the least hostile to him among the monarchs of Europe rather than any personal zeal for reform.

That the Norman rule of the later eleventh century did see church reform is, however, undeniable. That this was so is largely due to the man who succeeded Stigand as archbishops of Canterbury. Perhaps as gesture of conciliation to those elements resentful at the removal of Stigand, this was Lanfranc, formerly abbot at Caen, whose piety was beyond question. Lanfranc was not a Norman, and though he had been influential as an abbot his appointment was most likely brought about by William’s desire for his subjects to see a man whose conduct was beyond question replace one whose conduct was so very questionable. Lanfranc’s monastic past also put him in touch with the reform movement, which had its roots in the great monasteries of Cluny, Gorze and a number of others. He set about taming the excess of the Anglo-Saxon church with decrees based on Canon Law, using the letters of the early church whenever he could. At the same time a great campaign of rebuilding churches and cathedrals in the Norman style was begun, and soon touched many of the great English cathedrals – Canterbury, Winchester, St. Paul’s, Lincoln and Worcester among many others. It could be argued that this was as much cultural imperialism as a rejuvenated church, but it nevertheless shows the commitment Lanfranc brought to his role. Indeed, by the end of Lanfranc’s time as archbishop, only one bishop, Osbern of Exeter, had not yet remodelled his cathedral. In other aspects of church life, however, the Norman way was met with a good deal more resistance, and the extent to which Lanfranc and the Normans were willing to press their reforms was made clear when Thurstan, an appointee of Lanfranc, brought in bowmen to suppress chanting monks at Glastonbury. In another instance, monks were publicly flogged after a rising in Canterbury.

By 1073, Gregory VII had become pope, and it is with him that Lanfranc is most associated. Although contact between the two was limited, Lanfranc was a Gregorian reformer through having emerged from the same monastic tradition as Gregory. During Gregory’s pontificate, the inoffensive reforming goals of ending simony and clerical marriage were supplemented by a far more controversial aim – an end to lay investiture. Lanfranc was associated with this movement to some degree (in 1080 he tried and failed to convince William that he should swear an oath of fealty to the pope) yet it was here that his status as William’s vassal took over from his status as a reformer. Not only did he not press the issue of the investiture by ring and staff which the Normans themselves had introduced, he also sided with the King in the trial for treason of the bishop of Durham, in which he refused the clergyman’s plea to be tried before a church court. Lanfranc’s later career can be seen as an attempt to tread the line between the reforming papacy and his king and lord, and whether he can be said to have truly aided church reform is open to question. Certainly he brought continental reforming ideas to England, yet his often brutal methods drove a wedge between the increasingly Norman upper clergy and the Anglo-Saxon lower clergy and populace.

If we take 1099 as a stopping point, just before Anselm’s Damascene conversion to reform views in Rome, the progress of the reform movement in England can be said to have been steady rather than spectacular. There was less tolerance of Simony and clerical marriage, for which the Normans and their monastic imports can take legitimate credit. Their introduction of church courts also strengthened the church, and their architectural program at least showed a degree of commitment to the English church. Regarding lay investiture, which was becoming the leading issue of the age, however, the conquest had actually been a step backwards for the reform movement, and if there was any independently English reformation occurring with its centres at Glastonbury and Canterbury, Lanfranc and the Normans can be said to have killed it off. That the English church of 1099 was further down the road to reform than it was in 1042 is beyond question, especially with the resolution of the investiture debate in 1105. In that, the ideas the Normans brought with him played a considerable part. Yet to describe the purging of the spirit of Christian optimism that led to the wave of church-building and vernacular ecclesiastical works that characterised the pre-conquest period as a ‘great religious revival’ would be wrong in the extreme.

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