Confucius (c. 551-479 BCE)
“You may rob the Three Armies of their commander-in-chief, but you cannot deprive the humblest peasant of his opinion.”
- The Analects of Confucius (Book IX, section 25) translated by Arthur Waley (Vintage Books, 1989).
Confucius
The Peculiar Life Of The Chained Recluse, Saint Hospicius
Hospicius was an obscure holy man who spent his final years in the vicinity of Nice, France. His age and land of origin are unknown, but details of his later life and saintly deeds were recorded by Hospicius’ contemporary, Bishop Gregory of Tours (c. 539-594), who wrote the influential History of the Franks. By the time Bishop Gregory took notice of Hospicius, the latter clergyman had become a complete recluse, living in a walled-off tower in Nice. The tower apparently had no entrances or exits except windows, through which supplies and supplicants could reach the holy man.
Hospicius was an ascetic in both dress and diet. For sustenance, he reportedly lived off only bread, boiled roots, dates and water. As for his clothing, he allegedly wore an uncomfortable combination of metal chains wrapped around his body, over which was worn an additionally aggravating hair shirt. It is uncertain exactly when Hospicius adopted this punishing diet and wardrobe, but once he did commit himself to such an excruciating existence, he reportedly did not relent until he was on his deathbed.
With his spiritual mind and monkish appearance, Hospicius gained a great reputation for saintly acts and holy power. People seeking divine remedies to their problem would wander to the recluse’s tower, hoping that Hospicius could perform a miracle through a window of his walled-off abode. According to the list presented by Gregory of Tours, Hospicius was credited with exorcising multiple demons from various people, as well as healing one man who had been blind since birth and curing another who had been struck deaf and dumb by a terrible fever. In another lauded episode from the saint’s life, Lombard raiders reportedly found Hospicius’ tower and, as there were no doors, they climbed up the structure and broke through the roof or a window. Upon glimpsing at the chained-up, emaciated man in a hair-shirt, the Lombards first assumed that he was a prisoner. Yet, when Hospicius began preaching to them and healing their ailments, the raiders quickly deduced the saint’s occupation. The raiders were reportedly so impressed by the holy man, that they left him in peace, and a few of the Lombards even converted from their Arian Christian beliefs to Hospicius’ own Roman Catholicism.
The death of Hospicius came around the year 581. His lifestyle of self-punishment, with the minimalist diet, as well as the daily wardrobe of chains and a hair shirt, had a devastating effect on the saint’s body. Due to years of constant chaffing, irritation and sores caused by the chain, Hospicius’ body was said to have been visibly “alive with worms” (Gregory of Tours, History of the Franks, VI. 6). As the day of the sickly saint’s death was approaching, Hospicius reportedly had a precise prophecy about his own demise, which convinced him to make arrangements so that his body would be discovered quickly after his time had come. Through his window, the recluse signaled a messenger and sent the person off to inform Bishop Austadius of Nice to arrive at the tower with a crowbar (to break into the structure) after three days, for at that time Hospicius would be dead. On the day of his death, Hospicius was said to have finally removed his chain and died while laying peacefully on a bench. As instructed, the bishop soon broke into the tower, recovered the body, and gave the saint an honorable burial.
Written by C. Keith Hansley.
Picture Attribution: (15th-century painting of Simeon Stylites, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
Sources:
- The History of the Franks by Gregory of Tours, translated by Lewis Thorpe. New York: Penguin Classics, 1971.
- https://www.bartleby.com/210/10/153.html
- http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/07489a.htm
Tacitus
Tacitus (c. 56-117)
“Let it be clear to those inclined to admire unlawful acts that even under bad emperors men can be great, and that a sense of duty and discretion, if backed by ability and energy, can reach that peak of honour that many have stormed by precipitous paths, winning fame, without serving country, through an ostentatious death.”
- From the Agricola (section 42) by Tacitus, translated by Harold Mattingly and edited by J. B. Rives. New York: Penguin Classics, 2009.
The Transformed Adventures Of The Sailor-Donkey Of Cyprus
The Malleus Maleficarum was a 15th-century text that presented bizarre (but, unfortunately, influential) theories about witchcraft and magic, as well as commentary on subjects such as supernatural monsters, demons and other similarly diabolical creatures. Its authors, the inquisitors Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, did not simply write a dry treatise on the convoluted assumptions of witch hunters and demonologists; they also spiced up the text with supposed first-hand accounts of what they personally witnessed as inquisitors, and they also recorded tales of folklore presented to them by their co-workers. Many of these paranormal yarns are depressing reads, as they often end with the death of an accused (and most likely innocent) witch. Yet, some of the tales preserved by the inquisitors are so bizarre that they come across as quite humorous, which is a delightful change of pace from the otherwise dark and frustrating sections of the Malleus Maleficarum. One such comical digression appeared in part II, question 2, chapter 4 of the text—which featured a sailor who allegedly lived as a transformed donkey for over three years on the island of Cyprus.
To set the scene, a merchant ship was said to have pulled into port at the city of Salamis, in Cyprus, where it loitered for a time to sell its wares and restock its hull with new cargo. The protagonist of this strange tale was an unnamed member of the merchant ship crew. He was something of an antihero, for he seemed to be a loner who was at the bottom of the ship’s hierarchy of importance. While the rest of the crew set about loading and unloading goods, or accomplishing other such tasks, our protagonist was given the menial chore of buying a batch of eggs. In pursuit of this goal, the lone sailor went not to the city market, but to an isolated house which was situated near the beach. Outside of this dwelling, the sailor found a woman who was strolling around her property and enjoying the seaside breeze. The unnamed woman, according to the story, was not all that she appeared. She was allegedly a powerful witch and a member of a significant coven operating in Cyprus.
As the sailor said his greetings and asked to buy some eggs, the woman sized up the stranger with the eye of an intuitive predator. She could tell that he was a disrespected loner who was far away from home—the type of person who might be overlooked if he happened to suddenly disappear. While thinking these thoughts, the woman agreed to sell some eggs to the sailor, asking him to wait outside while she gathered them from her house. After some time, she reappeared from her abode with a basket of very special eggs, which the sailor purchased without any second thoughts. Leaving the mysterious woman behind, the sailor returned to the port, and finding that his crewmates had not returned to the ship, he decided to wander around the docks.
The rest of the crew was apparently having a grand time in the city, and did not intend to return to the ship any time soon. As such, the lone sailor on the docks had only the basket of eggs for company, which inevitably made him bored and hungry. Before long, he decided to snack on one of the eggs, and he found the morsel so delicious that he ultimately ate the whole basket of eggs as he waited for the return of his crewmates. Yet, as mentioned earlier, these were very special eggs, prepared with extra care by an alleged witch. The sailor soon began to feel odd, and started to show peculiar symptoms. As the Malleus Maleficarum exclaimed, “behold! an hour later he was made dumb as if he had no power of speech” (part II, question 2, chapter 4).
While the unfortunate sailor was being attacked by the effects of the bad eggs, the other members of the merchant ship began wandering back to the docks. None of them made notice of the dazed and muted sailor who could now only move by crawling about on all four limbs. Although the lone sailor was not noticed by his comrades, he saw that the crew was finally returning to the ship. Still feeling odd, the sailor crawled his way back, probably hoping they had some sort of medicine or antidote on board for whatever ailed him. As soon as the sailor attempted to board the ship, however, his former crewmates looked on him with shock and annoyance—those nearby even went so far as to pick up sticks and brooms to shoo the poor sailor away. They called his such names as ‘beast’ and ‘animal,’ and before long our protagonist began to piece together what had happened. In the zoological sense of the word, the sailor had become a total ass.
The crew of the merchant ship apparently cared little for their missing crewmate, and they set sail despite the sailor’s absence from the ship. Stranded, the donkey-sailor wandered about Cyprus, searching for food and shelter. It was a rough life, for, as the Malleus Maleficarum rightly said, “since everybody thought he was an ass, he was necessarily treated as such” (part II, question 2, chapter 4). The sailor-donkey eventually realized that only one person on Cyprus would be able to see through his transformed appearance. Therefore, he returned to the city of Salamis and retraced his steps to the seaside house of the alleged witch who had caused his transformation. She agreed to feed and house the sailor-donkey, but there was a catch—in exchange, she wanted him to be her beast of burden for the foreseeable future. The sailor-donkey, so the story goes, accepted the witch’s terms and would spend the next three years hauling supplies, such as lumber and grain, back to the woman’s seaside home.
Life with the witch was a bittersweet existence for the sailor-donkey. On the one hand, he had been unwillingly turned into a beast of burden and was now living a servile existence on the estate of the person who had caused his transformation. On the other hand, the witch and her coven were the only people on Cyprus who knew the sailor’s identity, and while they were away from prying eyes, the witches would give the sailor-donkey the ability to speak. They even reportedly had quite amicable conversations.
Despite being fed, sheltered and allowed to speak from time to time, the sailor-donkey was not happy. As the tale was recorded in a religious-themed text, it may not be surprising to learn that one of the main complaints that the sailor had was that the witches refused to allow him to go to church. During his fourth year as the witch’s beast of burden, this church-deprivation became too much for the bewitched sailor. As the tale goes, our cursed protagonist was one day hoofing through the streets of Salamis with the witch when he heard the sound of bells ring out from the local church. Hearing those beckoning tones, the sailor clopped his way to the location of the church. Yet, as he still apparently looked like a donkey, he feared to enter, lest he should be shooed away by the congregation. Therefore, he stayed just outside the entrance and knelt in prayer as best he could in his awkward animal form. According to the Malleus Maleficarum, he “knelt down outside by bending the knees of his hind legs, and lifted his forelegs, that is, his hands, joined together over his ass’s head, as it was thought to be, and looked upon the elevation of the Sacrament” (part II, question 2, chapter 4).
Unfortunately, the sailor-donkey was not allowed to pray for long, as the witch had followed him to the church and promptly started beating him when she discovered what he was doing. Fortunately, the outlandish sight of a praying donkey with outstretched hooves had caught the attention of some people on the street, and they subsequently saw the woman appear and smack the donkey with a stick as punishment for the animal’s show of piety. The onlookers found this whole situation incredibly suspicious and they decided to make a citizens’ arrest. They then dragged the woman and the donkey before a local judge. As the story goes, the accused witch confessed after being tortured, and she was able to change the sailor back to normal after they were both escorted to her seaside home. Once the sailor was released in human form, the accused witch was thrown back in jail. According to the Malleus Maleficarum, “she paid the debt to which her crimes merited. And the young man returned joyfully to his own country” (part II, question 2, chapter 4).
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (The Taming of the Donkey by Eduardo Zamacois y Zabala (1841–1871), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
Sources:
- The Malleus Maleficarum by Heinrich Kramer and James Sprenger, translated by Montague Summers (Dover Publications, 1971).
The Buddha
The Buddha (6th-5th century BCE)
“Those wise ones, restrained in the body,
restrained as well in speech,
those wise ones, restrained in the mind,
they indeed are perfectly restrained.”
- The Dhammapada (Verses on the Way, Chapter 17), recorded in the 3rd century BCE. Translation by Glenn Wallis, 2004.
Bishop Edmund Of Lindisfarne Won His Bishopric With A Joke
The bishopric of Lindisfarne was one of the most beleaguered of the ecclesiastical seats of power in medieval England. It was directly pillaged by Vikings in 793 and 875—even worse, Lindisfarne and the Kingdom of Northumbria were conquered by the so-called Great Heathen Army of Vikings in 867. When, by 876, it became apparent to the clergy of Lindisfarne that the Vikings in Northumbria were not going anywhere anytime soon, they made the ambitious decision to relocate their bishopric to a safer location in the south. Packing up their most holy relic, the body of St. Cuthbert, the priests of Lindisfarne set off to find their new home. For the remainder of the 9th century and most of the 10th century, they favored Chester-le-Street. Yet, in 995, the long-wandering bishopric finally reestablished itself at Durham.
Bishop Aldhun was credited with moving the bishopric from Chester-le-Street to Durham. Given the recent relocation and the general chaos for the bishopric over the last centuries, it is little wonder that the bishopric in Durham fell into some confusion after the death of Bishop Aldhun around 1018. As the story goes, the clergy of Durham could not decide on Aldhun’s successor and the bishopric remained leaderless as the debates went on unresolved. For nearly three years, no leader for the bishopric was decided upon. That was about to change, however, when a group of priests met in Durham around 1020.
During the meeting, the subject of the long-delayed appointment of a bishop was discussed. As had happened at other such meetings over the last two years, the priests could not come to an agreement, and it seemed as if the bishopric would continue to be neglected. In that gloomy and indecisive atmosphere, a certain well-liked priest named Edmund was suddenly inspired to lighten the mood of the unproductive meeting with a joke. According to the monk and chronicler Florence of Worcester (d. 1118), “Edmund stood up, and said in joke, ‘Why do you not choose me your bishop?’” (Chronicle of Florence of Worcester, AD1020). This joke or jest made lightbulbs flicker on in the heads of the priests present at the meeting. They eyed Edmund as a shared epiphany spread over the room—Edmund was a pious, well-liked, ordained priest—in other words, he was an ideal nominee for bishop. Realizing this, the clergymen thanked Edmund for volunteering and vowed to support him in his bid for the bishopric. Soon after the meeting, Edmund reportedly was awarded with a supernatural show of support. According to Florence of Worcester and his contemporary chronicler Symeon of Durham (d. 1130), disembodied voices in the tomb of Saint Cuthbert were heard proclaiming Edmund as the rightful bishop.
Although this faction of clergymen apparently threw their support in with Edmund in 1020, and this date usually marks the start of his time as bishop, the campaign for the bishopric may have taken longer. According to the aforementioned Florence of Worcester, it was not until 1025 that Edmund became the undisputed bishop of Lindisfarne and Durham. Bishop Edmund would continue to rule the church of Durham until his death, which occurred sometime between 1041 and 1048.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (painting of a church council by Francisco de Zurbarán (d. 1664), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
Sources:
- The Chronicle of Florence of Worcester translated by Thomas Forester. London: Petter and Galpin, originally published in 1854.
- The Anglo-Saxon Chronicle translated by Benjamin Thorpe in 1861 and republished by Cambridge University Press, 2012.
- https://archive.org/details/historicalworks00simegoog/page/n274
- http://www.catholic-hierarchy.org/bishop/bedmnd.html
- https://www.durhamworldheritagesite.com/history/prince-bishops/early-bishops
- https://www.oxfordreference.com/view/10.1093/oi/authority.20110803100106681
Mo Tzu
Mo Tzu (5th century BCE)
“If men regard the families of others as they regard their own, then who would raise up his family to overthrow that of another? It would be like overthrowing his own.”
- From the Basic Writings of Mo Tzu (Universal Love, part III, section 16), translated by Burton Watson (Columbia University Press, 1963).
The Nighttime Sandstorm Maneuver Of Wei Qing In 119 BCE
In the spring of 119 BCE, Emperor Wu (r. 141-87 BCE) of Han Dynasty China sent his greatest duo of military generals—the uncle and nephew pair of Wei Qing and Huo Qubing—to attack the Xiongnu Confederation, a group of nomadic tribes then reportedly led by Shanyu Yizhixie (r. approximately 127/126-114 BCE). At the time, the Xiongnu bases of operation were set up at the north end of the Gobi desert, with a vast arid region acting as a buffer between the persistent nomads and the Han armies. Emperor Wu and the Xiongnu had been hostile since 134 BCE, and were frequently raiding and invading each other over the years. Yet, the Chinese campaign of 119 BCE was meant to be more of a knock-out punch than a mere punitive raid. According to Grand Historian Sima Qian, the emperor raised an enormous “force of 100,000 cavalry, along with 140,000 horses to carry baggage and other equipment (this in addition to the horses provided for transporting provisions)” (Shi Ji 110). This was a huge portion of the Han Empire’s horse population that was being gambled on the mission of 119 BCE. In addition to the horde of horsemen and horses, Emperor Wu also reportedly mustered several hundred thousand infantrymen to accompany the cavalry into battle.
Before the troops left Han territory, the huge Chinese army was split between the personal commands of Wei Qing and Huo Qubing. According to Sima Qian, the cavalry force was equally divided, with each of the two generals receiving 50,000 horsemen. As to the division of the even greater number of infantrymen, Sima Qian was less specific, yet this body of troops was also divided between the two main Chinese leaders in some way. When the forces had been adequately arranged, Wei Qing, the more experienced of the Han military leaders, and general-in-chief of Emperor Wu’s armed forces, set from the vicinity of Dingxiang. Huo Qubing, too, began his march, but he took a different path than his colleague, and started instead from Dai Provence. Both forces entered the Gobi Desert and braced for the grueling challenge of marching huge forces through an inhospitable environment.
The Xiongnu, according to the Chinese sources, often had an effective system of spies and informants. In 119 BCE, as in other times, the Xiongnu quickly learned of the Han invasion. The information put Shanyu Yizhixie in a dilemma—should he flee or fight. After deliberating with his friends and advisors, the shanyu ultimately chose to enact both choices at the same time. He sent his camp supplies, valuables and civilians further north, but personally remained at the edge of the Gobi Desert with an army of experienced Xiongnu warriors. His decision to engage the huge Chinese force was reasonable, as when the Han armies appeared at the north end of the desert, they would be fatigued and weakened from their trek through the Gobi. Furthermore, due to the competence of the Xiongnu spies and scouts, the shanyu was able to accurately predict where the two Han armies would appear on the north end of the desert.
After a rough journey, in which a great many horses likely died, the Han forces finally reached the opposite end of the Gobi, only to find another challenge awaiting them. Shanyu Yizhixie had deployed his troops to intercept both of the Han armies. Yizhixie personally led a force to challenge Wei Qing, while several minor Xiongnu kings led a force against Huo Qubing. The Xiongnu had a great many advantages for the battle—they chose the location of the fight, were familiar with the surroundings, and were well rested in contrast to the exhausted Han armies that were dragging themselves out of the desert. Yet, if there were Han generals who could even the odds back into their own favor by sheer strategy and instinct, it was Wei Qing and Huo Qubing.
Wei Qing met Shanyu Yizhixie’s forces at the edge of the desert sometime during the day, and when they made first contact, neither side was eager to start a full-scale battle at that time. Instead, the shanyu and Wei Qing engaged in small skirmishes with fractions of their cavalry forces, while the rest of the Xiongnu and Han troops remained in their respective camps. This status quo of contained small-scale prodding and testing continued until late in the day, and neither side had achieved much progress as sunset began to splash color on the sky. As the sun started to disappear below the horizon, the environment soon provided an opportunity that could be utilized by an attentive general.
As the story goes, a huge sandstorm swept over the battlefield. Although there was still some light, the sand storm was thick enough to make the opposing forces blind to the actions of the other. Wei Qing recognized the chance immediately and masterfully set about maneuvering his forces with great speed. Under the cover of the swirling sands, Wei Qing rushed his forces out of camp and, remembering the position of the enemy, sent his troops to quickly encircle the shanyu’s troops. When the sands finally died down and the battlefield became visible once again, Yizhixie and the Xiongnu were shocked to find themselves completely surrounded by Wei Qing’s huge force. The shanyu, finding himself so outmaneuvered, reportedly lost the will to continue the fight, and instead focused all his efforts on escape.
According to Grand Historian Sima Qian, Shanyu Yizhixie ultimately decided to ram his way through the Han encirclement and flee north. To do this, the shanyu gathered together several hundred of his most trusted, toughest, horsemen, and with these men he charged at a weak point in Wei Qing’s lines. Yizhixie did indeed escape, but in doing so he left behind thousands of his warriors. Either these abandoned troops were given the command to scatter in all directions, or they began to flee when they saw their leader gallop off into the night. Whatever the case, the Han forces had a wild night, with Xiongnu forces pressing out against the encirclement in all directions. Many of the nomads, like their shanyu, were able to escape, but their casualties were great—by dawn Wei Qing had reportedly killed or captured around 10,000 Xiongnu. Yizhixie ultimately escaped his Chinese pursuers, but by the time Wei Qing returned to Han territory, he had killed or captured an additional 9,000 Xiongnu.
Although Wei Qing had performed an impressive maneuver against Yizhixie and had dealt some major blows to the Xiongnu, he faced an underwhelming reception back in the court of Emperor Wu. This happened because Huo Qubing totally outshined his uncle during the 119 BCE campaign. Huo Qubing, in his battle against the shanyu’s subordinate kings, had obliterated the opposing forces on the battlefield. According to Grand Historian Sima Qian, Huo Qubing killed or captured a total of 70,443 Xiongnu before the end of his campaign. Yet, the Han successes had come at an incredible cost. Of the giant horde of horses that the Chinese dispatched into the desert, only around 30,000 were said to have survived the campaign. Similarly, although the Han had inflicted between 80,000 and 90,000 casualties on the Xiongnu, the Chinese also lost tens of thousands of their own troops.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Ancient Han Dynasty figurines from the National Museum/ China through the Ages, Exhibit 4, photographed by Gary Todd, [Public Domain] via worldhistorypics.com and Creative Commons).
Sources:
- The Records of the Grand Historian (Shi ji) by Sima Qian, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1993.
According To Tradition, The Fledgling Roman Republic Was Held Together In A Trying Time By An Aesop Fable
Although Rome, according to tradition, shed its monarchy around 509 BCE to become a republic, it took the Romans a long time to work out the power structure of their new society. No doubt, the fledgling republic was first ruled by an aristocratic oligarchy, probably from both patrician and non-patrician powerful families. After the monarchy was outed, the new oligarch leaders apparently became tyrannical in government practices such as land-distribution and debt policies, which caused anger between the wealthy and the poor. The first great crisis between the well-to-do leaders and the struggling commoners was said to have occurred in 494 BCE, when the debtors and the oppressed of Rome reportedly abandoned the city and decided to form their own government. This so-called Secession of the Plebs was a major step in the foundation of the Plebeian identity, and the office of tribune is dated by tradition to that time.
Such an exodus of people would always cause concern for a government, but the oligarchs of Rome were at the time particularly urgent to regain the cooperation of the commoners. One reason for their sense of urgency was that Rome began to increasingly feel the encroachment of the Volscians and Aequians toward the end of the 490s BCE. With foreign raids increasing, Rome needed to make sure its military remained in a functioning state, which was difficult when much of the city-state’s light infantry manpower was in mutiny during the Secession of the Plebs.
Rome’s leading class reportedly sent a certain likable, smooth-talking spokesman named Menenius Agrippa to negotiate with the commoners. He was apparently a wealthy non-patrician who was a member of the oligarchy, but also had friends among the poor. Menenius joined the commoners on their hill and opened up his negotiations by telling a simple fable.
Once upon a time, claimed Menenius, in the most primitive times of the distant past, the different limbs and organs of the human body had minds of their own. The arms, legs, teeth, mouth, stomach, so on and so forth, controlled their own actions and possessed their own thoughts and feelings. The different pieces of this primordial body coexisted for a time, but, before long, certain individual parts began to notice a troubling trend. The feet and legs walked to food; the hands and arms gathered the food; the teeth and mouth ate the food—the stomach, however, did nothing but take what all the other parts of the body worked so hard to provide.
One day, claimed Menenius, the different laboring sections of the body decided that they would no longer put up with the stomach’s greed. After plotting together, the legs and feet quit walking; the arms and hands stopped gathering; the teeth and mouth stopped eating and swallowing. Thus, all the other parts of the body besieged the stomach and cut it off from its food supply. As the siege went on, however, odd things began to happen—the legs grew sluggish, the arms began to weaken, and the primordial body, as a whole, began to deteriorate and become emaciated. Before the allied limbs and organs realized their mistake, the whole body withered away and died from starvation. So ended the fable.
After hearing Menenius’ story, the commoners on the hill reportedly saw the existential threat that their revolt posed to Rome, and they agreed to enter into negotiations for a solution. According to the Roman historian Livy (c. 59 BCE – 17 CE), this Secession of the Plebs was brought to a close when the oligarchs of the republic agreed to recognize the tribunes as representatives of the commoners. Yet, this was merely a working relationship, and it would take many more years for the oligarchs to start respecting the power, much less the legal proposals, of the tribunes.
Written by C. Keith Hansley
Picture Attribution: (Illustration of a fable from “The fables of Æsop, selected, told anew and their history traced” (1894), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).
Sources:
- The History of Rome by Livy, translated by Aubrey de Sélincourt. New York: Penguin Classics, 2002.
- The Beginnings of Rome by T. J. Cornell. New York: Routledge, 1995.
- https://www.britannica.com/topic/plebeian
- https://fablesofaesop.com/the-belly-and-the-members.html
