Unveiling the Influence of the Venerable Bede
A Northumbrian Icon
~ part two ~
It's been longer than a Jörmungandr nap since I last tumbled headfirst into the realms of creativity. Blame it on a kraken of deadlines and to-do lists, and a dragon hoard of emails more intimidating than Fafnir's gold. Yes, the real world, in all its mundane glory, had me temporarily tethered to its shores, my Viking helmet gathering dust. (Though fear not, I haven't resorted to throwing controllers through the telly – yet. Baby steps.)
But hark! A faint breeze whispers of forgotten quests and epic sagas untold. And speaking of sagas, remember that video game that promised endless plunder of historical delights? Turns out, it was about as historically accurate as a dragon wearing lederhosen (and trust me, that's a sight you can't unsee). Still, it did manage to spark a curiosity about a certain unassuming monk named Bede, a man who, despite his seemingly simple title, wielded a quill mightier than Thor's hammer.
Now, let's be honest, the game itself eventually felt about as stimulating as a soggy muffin, although I kept going back at it again and again, rinse and repeat for almost 70 hours (over a few weeks!). Repetitive side quests, bloated storylines, and unbalanced boss fights that made me yearn for the simpler days of Pong – all were conspiring to turn me into a raging berserker. But instead of channeling my inner disgruntled badger and launching the PS5 controller through the screen, I made a wiser choice. With a heavy sigh I uninstalled the game, vowing to find a more intellectually stimulating adventure.
And so, dusting off my drinking horn now, for in this second tale of my imagination raid, I shall delve into the life and legacy of the Venerable Bede – a figure who, though far from simple, somehow managed to leave an indelible mark on history, arts, and sciences, particularly in the English-speaking world (and beyond, but let's not brag). There will be tales of scholarship, of illuminated manuscripts so intricate they'd make a Valkyrie swoon, and of a man who, despite living centuries ago, still manages to teach us a thing or two about unleashing the power within. Skål! (carefully puts beer mug aside)
The author of the book that I’m reading now, Michelle Brown, places Bede (circa 673-735), often given the honorific of “venerable,” in the company of Albert Einstein, who declared: “I want to know how God created this world. I want to know His thoughts, the rest are just details.” Now Einstein might have rocked a wild mane and chased after light beams, but our boy Bede believed in a discoverable world too. Unlike some folks who thought divine revelation meant waiting for God to text you the answers, Bede figured humans had a part to play. He wasn't content with just reading dusty old scrolls – he wanted to get out there and scrutinise the heck out of God's creation, like a detective on the hunt for clues. I can imagine him with a magnifying glass, peering at a daisy and muttering, "Now hold on, is this petal symbolic of divine love or just, you know, a petal?"
Speaking of dusty scrolls, Bede spent years buried in the writings of the early Church Fathers, basically the OG theologians. He was like a human dictionary, explaining the Bible the way a modern scholar might – deciphering literal meanings, allegories, and metaphors faster than you can say "Amen." But he wasn't just some bookworm locked away in a monastery. This dude, Bede, was a priest, a monk, and surprisingly social – he engaged with both the church bigwigs and the everyday folks. Think of him as the cool uncle who could explain complex theology while downing a pint at the local pub, though probably more mead in his case. But unlike some history buffs who hop continents like they're collecting frequent flyer miles, Bede was more of a homebody. Sure, he ventured up north to the groovy monastery at Lindisfarne (think Burning Man for monks, minus the fire) and checked out other religious hubs nearby. But don't expect him globetrotting to Rome or chilling with Charlemagne in Paris; this dude was content to explore his own backyard, finding enough divine mysteries in the rolling hills of Northumbria to keep him busy for a lifetime. Maybe he was onto something - sometimes the most epic adventures happen right under your nose!
- the reason I’m saying this is that by all accounts, he was born in Monkton and is known to have only travelled within a hundred kilometres further north on the Northumbrian coast -
But don't let his homebody status fool you. This priest and monk was a rockstar historian in the making. His magnum opus, "Ecclesiastical History of the English People," was like the Game of Thrones of its day, except with way more monks and way less tit.. err… dragons. This book cemented the English church on the map and even sparked some heated debates about the true meaning of religion.
And get this: Ms. Brown calls him a proto-scientist. Basically, Bede was way ahead of his time. He could school flat-earthers like nobody's business, figured out how tides worked before most people even owned a calendar, and invented footnotes (the hero we didn't know we needed, truly). He saw learning and faith as two sides of the same coin, which basically makes him the patron saint of curious nerds everywhere.
So, the next time you think staying local is boring, remember Bede. Our man wrote a history book that changed the world, battled theological dragons with his quill, and basically invented footnotes. Talk about making the most of your surroundings! Who knows, maybe your next big adventure is just waiting to be discovered in your own backyard. Just, you know, maybe without the whole flat-earther-schooling part.
Anyway, here’s where things get even more fascinating. Beyond his historical chronicles, Bede also penned captivating biographies, immortalising the lives of revered figures. One such figure held a particularly special place in his heart: St. Cuthbert, a fellow Northumbrian known for his ascetic and nature-immersed lifestyle, full of fasting, praying, and maybe even whispering secrets to otters (we don't judge). Bede was devoted to the life and teachings of St. Cuthbert (circa 634-687), whose example inspired a cult opposed by another Northumbrian, Bishop Wilfred (circa 633-709). He was basically like a fanboy of St. Cuthbert. But here's the twist: Cuthbert's legacy became a religious ping-pong match between Bede and another Northumbrian named Bishop Wilfred. Still with me?
See, Wilfred was all about bringing the fancy Roman Catholic vibes to England, complete with fancy robes and elaborate ceremonies. Bede, on the other hand, was more of a "back-to-basics" kind of guy, channeling Cuthbert's austere, hermit lifestyle. So, venerating Cuthbert became a way for Bede to say, "Hold your horses, Bishop Bling-Bling! True holiness isn't about how many sequins you have, it's about living like a caveman who can talk to animals!" It was basically a religious smackdown, but with way more theological jargon and way fewer flamethrowers. But hey, it shows that even back then, people loved a good debate about how to worship the big guy upstairs.
So Bede went ahead and actually wrote a biography of St. Cuthbert (two, if you count the poem). He wasn't just writing about miracles and hermits for devout followers, but also for the armchair skeptics of his time. His biography (prose version, not the poetry jam – sorry, bards) was all about meticulous fact-checking. He even throws in a line about his "minute investigation" and "most accurate examination" of witnesses, basically saying, "Don't believe everything you hear, folks, I got the receipts!" He even had his "reverend bros" (monks, duh) review his work for accuracy, like getting feedback from your writing group before hitting publish.
Now, St. Cuthbert was supposedly a miracle worker, which could sound a bit fishy in a world without Instagram filters or Sora AI. But Bede wasn't having it. He carefully documented every miracle claim, eyewitnesses included, like a reporter interviewing sources for a breaking news story. He even compared what he heard to scriptures and oral histories, basically saying, "This ain't some made-up fairytale, people, it's legit!"
In the end, Bede's fact-checking efforts paid off. His biography was like the Wikipedia of its time, trusted by everyone (even the skeptics, kinda). So, the next time you're scrolling through social media and see something outrageous, remember Bede. He showed us that even centuries ago, critical thinking and fact-checking were key to navigating the world of information – or in his case, saintly rumours.
So, Bede was basically the Sherlock Holmes of saintly biographies, sniffing out facts and shutting down skeptics like nobody's business. But even the best detectives have their blind spots, right? Ms. Brown paints him as an Einsteinian genius, but let's just say his definition of "proof" wouldn't fly in a modern science lab. Remember that whole St. Cuthbert miracle thing? Well, some folks weren't buying it, and Bede wasn't about to let some naysayers ruin his saintly scoop. So, how did he silence them? By dropping the ultimate "mic drop" moment in Chapter II:
"If any one think it incredible that an angel should appear on horseback, let him read the history of the Maccabees, in which angels are said to have come on horseback to the assistance of Judah Maccabaeus, and to defend God’s own temple."
Basically, Bede is saying, "Don't question the angel on horseback, bro! It's in the Bible (kind of)! Boom, checkmate atheists!" It's like pulling out a trump card that says "miracle approved by God" on it. Now, we can't blame the dude for working with the information he had back then, but let's just say his appeal to the Book of Maccabees wouldn't exactly hold up in court today.
But hey, even if his methods were a bit...questionable, he still deserves props for standing his ground and defending his beliefs. And who knows, maybe that angel on horseback really did show up. After all, stranger things have happened (like, you know, the invention of footnotes!).
Bede wasn't just a biography writer, he was also a master of a medieval party trick called "typology": a medieval strategy where figures and events from the Old Testament foreshadowed those in the New. He deeply respected the teachings of the Church Fathers, viewing them as authoritative sources and took their word as gospel (pun intended). While this reverence for established knowledge shaped his approach, it's important to remember that our modern understanding of knowledge acquisition differs significantly.
But here's the twist: unlike some folks who get stuck in their ways, Bede wasn't afraid to explore and expand his knowledge. Ms. Brown points out that for him, studying nature and studying God were like two sides of the same coin. It was all part of his grand "theory of everything," kind of like a detective trying to solve the ultimate mystery of existence. And guess what? Even modern-day science superstars like Stephen Hawking, according to Ms. Brown, share a similar spirit. They’re constantly pushing the boundaries of knowledge, just like Bede did hundreds of years ago. It's like they're all part of the same "never-ending quest for understanding" club, always seeking new discoveries and refusing to let curiosity stagnate.
Sure, Bede might have had fewer facts and figures to work with than us (think dial-up internet vs. fiber optic), but just like Hawking, he never stopped pushing the limits of what he knew. That's why Ms. Brown argues that while the specifics of his knowledge might be outdated, his spirit of exploration and discovery is timeless.
So, that's just a taste of the amazing Bede, the monk who wrote like a rockstar, schooled flat-earthers, and invented footnotes (seriously, the man was a legend!). We only scratched the surface here, folks. Next time, we'll dive deeper into the mind-blowing mechanics of his calendar calculation, which was basically like predicting the future without a DeLorean (seriously, how did he do it?). And we can't forget Lindisfarne, the island monastery that was like the Hogwarts of its time, filled with illuminated manuscripts so intricate they'd make a dragon swoon. We might even get our Viking horns on (mead included) and craft our own illuminated letters, channeling our inner Bede and unleashing our artistic creativity.
Stay tuned, fellow adventurers, for the next chapter in Bede's saga! It's gonna be epic, trust us. We'll unravel more mysteries, explore hidden knowledge, and maybe even discover some unexpected connections between medieval monks and our modern world. Who knows, you might just find yourself inspired to invent your own footnote or two!
Sources:
Michelle P. Brown - Bede and the Theory of Everything
SchoolsHistory.org.uk - Bede: The Life of St. Cuthbert