The theme which comes out most clearly from Rebecca Rist’s study of the relationship between the papacy and Judaism (following her earlier work on the papacy and crusading (1)) is that as the defender of Christian society, it was the papacy’s concern both to uphold a tradition of protecting Jews as witnesses to Christ’s crucifixion, but also to defend true Christians from the risks inherent in tolerating a minority which (by their refusal to convert) challenged the truth of Christ’s revelation. This is the only real consistency to be found in papal-Jewish relations. Whether protection or restriction was emphasised at a particular time depended on what those who had appealed for papal intervention wanted and on the personal predilections of the pope and even on the trends in Christian society more widely. Any suggestion of a ‘policy of degradation’ (pp. 3–4) on the part of the papacy is not only ahistorical – positing, as it does, an unchanging aim spanning centuries – but also dependent on a very partial reading of both papal letters and Jewish accounts.
Rist’s rejection of the ‘policy of degradation’ is undoubtedly sound. She is also rightfully doubtful about there being an unbridgeable contradiction between protection and restriction of Jews in papal statements (p. 26). As she points out, if the ultimate aim for the papacy was the ‘well-being of Christian society’ then both protection and repression of Jews were instrumental means – used when necessary – to secure that society. A complementary argument has been made by Klaus van Eickels.(2) For van Eickels, discrimination was a necessary pre-requisite for toleration: by putting minorities in their (subservient) place, it was possible to allow them a degree of freedom. The dichotomy between protection and restriction is a modern one; for the societies at which Rist is looking, toleration often presupposed discrimination.
Such an interplay can be seen from the enforcement of the tabula – one manifestation of the distinctive dress required for Jews by the Fourth Lateran council – in England in 1218. The tabula was introduced by the minority government of Henry III which included the then papal legate, Cardinal Guala. The promulgation of the tabula was contemporaneous with the appointment of local burgesses to protect Jewish communities from attacks by crusaders.(3) Surely these do not represent two contradictory actions – appointing protectors while also forcing Jews to wear a badge that set them apart and made them easier to identify and attack – but two complementary actions: by forcing Jews to accept their subservient place in society (through wearing the tabula), the likelihood that crusaders would feel the need to tax Jews with unwarranted abuses would be diminished. Any crusaders or others who continued to assault Jews would then be dealt with by the burgesses. Both actions were intended to lessen attacks on Jews, although one might wonder about their efficacy. Another clear example of the interrelation of toleration on discrimination was the erection of walls around Jewish quarters (p. 71). The physical walls protected Jews from attacks by Christians but also – by removing and setting Jews apart from Christians – protected Christianity from the threat of Judaism. Discrimination and toleration should not always be thought of as intrinsically contradictory actions; protection and restriction could be complementary, or even dependent, in the minds of historical actors.
The great variation in papal pronouncements of Jews is a consistent concern. Rist’s primary focus is not intended to be on the minutiae of the production of papal letters but throughout she is aware of the importance of petitions in initiating papal mandates and judgements. At times she emphasises that papal letters were ‘carefully thought out’ (pp. vii, 16) responses which depended on ‘individual popes [to] decide […] how and when and to what degree to reply to Jewish matters brought to their attention’ (p. 26); at other times the emphasis is much more on the papal court approving what the petitioners were asking for: ‘popes were highly influenced by whichever party – Christian or Jews – appealed to them first. This could result in inconsistent determinations’ (p. 267). The line between the free agency of the curia and the importance of petitioners is a careful one to walk. Rist’s judicious approach will thus be broadly acceptable both to those Medievalists who look for specific papal aims and intentions in how popes responded to requests, and to those who accept that papal letters often simply approved the petition which had been presented.
Rist’s account of the trial of the Talmud in Paris in the 1230s and 1240s is a rather nice illustration of two related aspects of papal administration: the apparent ease with which petitioners could acquire letters which contradicted previous papal letters and the ability of executors of papal mandates to interpret papal commands according to the situation on the ground. At the beginning of his pontificate, Innocent IV (1243–54) had issued letters to the University of Paris backing Gregory IX (1227–41)’s position that the Talmud should be burnt, if it detracted from the written Torah. In 1247, following representations from French rabbis, Innocent instructed his legate in Paris to look again at the Talmud and simply excise any parts of the Talmud which were unacceptable. The ‘corrected’ Talmud could then be returned to the rabbis. The legate, however, interpreted Innocent’s new orders creatively: he had the Talmud re-examined, but rather than simply removing the ‘unacceptable’ material, it was decided that the Talmud was so full of errors it had to be banned wholesale (again). As Rist explains (pp. 200–5), the legate accepted the theoretical position of Innocent’s 1247 letters – that the Talmud was not intrinsically unacceptable – but nonetheless did not change the practical effect: banning the Talmud rather than just censoring it. The Parisian trial of the Talmud is a rather good example of how a petitioner was often able to get what he wanted – irrespective of previous papal letters – but also of the importance of executors in papal administration. Whether changes in papal orders were simply because different petitioners wanted different things, or whether they warrant assuming a considered intellectual shift in papal opinion – that ‘Innocent changed his mind’ (p. 201) – is a matter for debate.
Rist’s discussion of conciliar legislation looks beyond the well-studied canons and decrees themselves to what Hebrew texts actually recorded of papal councils. We are aware that the canons ascribed to particular councils can vary depending on which manuscript tradition one consults: different Christian compilers – prelates, scholars, decretists – might choose to record different aspects and canons of the same council.(4) Likewise Hebrew accounts of conciliar legislation could be quite selective too: the 15th/16th century Shebet Yehudah (pp. 178–80) contains a record of some of the Jewish canons of both Lateran III and Lateran IV, but fails to mention others. All sorts of questions are raised by such Jewish records of conciliar decrees: did Jewish communities keep their own copies of conciliar decrees, or at least of those canons which they might want to draw on in future? If they did, then presumably the Shebet and other Jewish texts are an entirely distinct textual tradition for some conciliar legislation.
The discussion of the Shebet is part of Rist’s important contribution to Jewish attitudes towards the papacy. Dealt with specifically in chapter one, but more widely throughout the book, this is an important perspective of Popes and Jews. Naturally such attitudes varied vastly across time, geography and personality. It is fascinating to read some of the perceptions of the papal office from high Medieval – or in some cases, early modern – Jewish texts. Apostolic succession and the power of binding and loosing generally came in for a bit of a pasting, but in the main attitudes towards particular popes were relatively positive, surprisingly so, if one holds the opinion that Medieval Catholicism was a ceaseless persecutor of minorities. Particularly interesting is the role that the pope was supposed to play in recognizing the messiah: one might expect that Jews would be, quite reasonably, suspicious of any Christian’s capability to recognize the true messiah (wasn’t such a difference of opinion the original point of divergence between these two Abrahamic faiths?). Nonetheless, it was often the pope to whom the messiah would come to prove his status and then demand his people’s freedom (à la Pharaoh). The relationship between pope and Jews within the city of Rome is also covered in chapter seven. Rabbi Jechiel and Pope Alexander III make their traditional appearance, alongside accounts of the Temple Treasures and the inheritance of biblical Judaism. This too is a fascinating chapter, drawing on the work of Marie Thérèse Champagne, amongst others.
Rist’s final chapter – on papal rhetoric – is a good discussion of the linguistic expedients. It will be important not only for the appreciation of papal language and terminology, but for the analysis of such language more generally. The ubiquity of terms such as perfidia and infidelis should not, Rist suggests, serve as evidence for a long-term anti-Judaic policy. ‘[S]uch language appears to us very harsh, [but] it was a mere commonplace in medieval rhetoric, not at all unique to papal correspondence, and not deliberately abusive as some historians have suggested’ (p. 254). Indeed, perhaps we should not see, in these terms, active and consistent attacks on Judaism. On the other hand, Paul Hyams has speculated that the common use of faith terms – fides, fidelitas – in everyday transactions which depended on mutual trust meant that an ‘unfaithful’ Jew – one who did not follow the ‘true’ faith – might also be seen as ‘unfaithful’ in the sense of not to be trusted.(5) Rhetoric is never totally empty and we might suspect that descriptions of Jews as perfidus and infidelis had serious practical effects on their ability to make deals, to interact and simply to live with Christians.
As with any serious monograph, there are minor and unimportant errors here and there. Fortunately these in no way detract from the value of Popes and Jews. The forbidden degrees of consanguinity pre-Lateran IV are said to be eight, rather than seven (p. 210), but following S. Grayzel, The Church and the Jews in the XIIIth Century (6). Pope Alexander III is twice said to be ruling in 1156 but actually was not elected until 1159 (pp. 144, 192). ‘Formally’ is confused with ‘formerly’ (p. 190). Charles I of Naples is said to have been ruling in 1289 but also to have died in 1285 (p. 70) and so on.
To end at the beginning: Rist’s preface places her study within the history of Catholic-Jewish relations more widely. For many historical monographs such a discussion of where the author fits in the wider historiography would be a matter of form; with a topic such as Popes and Jews, it is much more than that. It is not possible to ignore the 20th century and to do so, as an historian writing in the 21st, would be dangerous: ‘[t]he dark and terrible shadow of the Shoah over Europe during the Nazi period led the Church to reflect anew on her bond with the Jewish people’.(7) Wherever one sits on the spectrum of opinion about Popes Pius XI (1922–39) and XII (1939–58), we cannot help looking at Medieval popes and Jews through the shadows of Achille Ratti and Eugenio Pacelli. Rist’s preface – like the book as a whole – is thoughtful, nuanced and necessary.
The second book under review here – Pope Innocent II – is the latest instalment of Routledge’s (formerly Ashgate’s) Church, Faith and Culture in the Medieval West sub-series on the 12th and 13th-century popes. Beginning with Pope Adrian IV (2003), we have subsequently received Popes Celestine III (2008) and Alexander III (2012). Innocent II is the latest, with volumes on Eugenius III and Gregory IX expected to follow early in 2017 and Honorius III in the longer term. Since 2015 the series has been passed to Routledge/Taylor & Francis. It is very much to be hoped that the new publishers will continue to support the excellent Church, Faith and Culture series, as well as this sub-project on individual popes.
These are two different ways of approaching papal history: Popes and Jews follows one aspect of papal history across a fairly long (two centuries) durée; Pope Innocent II – and the other collections on individual popes in Church, Faith and Culture – look at several different topics and themes across a single pontificate. Naturally then, each aims to meet a different need. Pope Innocent II meets the long-standing requirement for a comprehensive summary of Innocent’s pontificate which does not focus solely on the 1130–8 papal schism between Innocent and Anacletus II/Victor IV. Naturally the schism comes into all of the contributions, but does not dominate. For aficionados of the earlier Church, Faith and Culture papal studies, some of the contributors and their topics will be unsurprising: Damien Smith looks at the papacy and the Iberian Peninsula; the late John Doran the papacy and the city of Rome; and Anne Duggan the papacy and learned law and the papacy and England and Ireland. Pascal Montaubin takes the papacy and the Capetians, as he did for the Celestine III volume. Graham Loud, Ian Robinson and Martin Brett una cum Robert Somerville cover Sicily, the Empire and councils respectively, areas in which they are probably not to be matched. Rounding off the geographical coverage comes Ursula Vones-Liebenstein on Southern and Western France and Torben Kjersgaard Nielsen on Denmark. Finally Steven Schoenig, John Romano and Dale Kinney discuss Innocent II and archiepiscopal pallia, the liturgy and artistic and architectural patronage. The book begins with the eight geographical contributions, followed by the two legal (councils and learned law) and finishes with the three thematic papers (the pallium, the liturgy and artistic patronage).
Doran’s contribution emphasises not just the well-known role the Romans played in the schism, but also the effect the schism had on the Romans. Anacletus – the antipope – certainly had strong support within the city (Innocent II was originally forced to hole up in his father’s house in Trastevere before leaving the city altogether) and emphasised his election ‘by the marvellous and astonishing concord of the clergy and people’. As Doran suggests, the perceived damage done by the Roman people in splitting the unity of Christendom might have contributed to the decline in the appointment of Roman cardinals (until 1188). More interestingly, the ‘astonishing concord’ of the Romans may have offered a blueprint for the ‘radical republicanism’ of the Roman commune which was established in the 1140s (p. 26). Nor was Innocent entirely of the forgive and forget persuasion when the schism ended, which probably contributed to resentments amongst the Roman people. Quite apart from his degradation of Anacletan clerics (discussed also by Schoenig and Loud), the life of Innocent in the Liber Pontificalis explains that he made the Roman judges and advocates swear to uphold the laws and customs in return for an annual payment of £100 (collectively) from the papal camera. Doran suggests that this action was in tandem with a purge of the old Roman judges who had served under Anacletus (pp. 22–4). As recent events have shown, the importance of removing unsound judges in the aftermath of a coup remains constant 800 years later.
Ian Robinson and Graham Loud’s chapters (pp. 27–68, 172–80) should probably be consumed together since the kingdom of Sicily and the German Empire are so often seen as yin and yang for the 12th-century papacy. Loud’s paper is particularly important for discussing papal-Sicilian relations in terms of the circumstances in which Innocent and King Roger of Sicily found themselves, rather than with reference to unchanging policies. Innocent’s unwillingness to excommunicate Roger before 1135, and his refusal to come to terms with the king after Anacletus’ death are cases in point: before 1135 Innocent still wanted Roger to repent and support him, after Anacletus’ death Innocent was basically a universally-recognized pope and no longer needed Roger’s recognition (although Roger was now prepared to be more pliable).
Smith’s paper – ‘The Men who would be Kings’ – covers Innocent’s relations with the Christian polities in Iberia: Castile-León, Aragon, Navarre, Catalonia and Portugal, at a time when their rulers were beginning to claim for themselves royal (and imperial) titles. Smith criticizes the assumption that up until the mid-12th century the papacy denied royal titles to the various new Iberian kings in order to build support around Castile-León and then, in the second half of the 12th century, slowly accepted the status of these new kings.(8) In fact, Smith points out, Innocent II also denied the title ‘emperor’ to Alfonso VII of Castile-León. Simply: the papacy denied all sorts of new titles to Iberian rulers because they did not come from the pope. It seems that it was papal authority which was at issue. This is a good argument, and it is clinched by the fact that the papal court did not accord Alfonso VII his favoured title either. But one could take this emphasis on the agency of the self-proclaimed kings further. We should recognize that the reason why kings did not request their titles from the papacy was because they did not always see the papacy as the most attractive legitimator for new titles. Clearly when there was a powerful imperial hegemon on the peninsula (Alfonso VII, Imperator totius Hispaniae, d.1157) he was the best source of legitimacy (for lesser kings). Likewise papal approval was probably less desirable during a schism when the legitimacy of either pope was uncertain (so between 1130–8 and 1159–78). A comparison can be made with the Bohemian kings, who sought confirmation of their kingship from the emperor – their regional hegemon – more than the pope.(9) Even when papal approval for new titles was requested and received, it could be forgotten: Demetrius-Zwonimir of Croatia was crowned king by a papal legate in 1076 and yet at the court of Alexander III (a century later) he was remembered merely as the quondam dux.(10)
Anne Duggan’s chapter on England and Ireland offers – as well as a broad overview – a series of case studies of papal justice in action. These are particularly welcome as illustrations of the practicalities of papal government: to appreciate the reach of papal authority it is necessary to look at the implementation of papal commissions and letters on the ground. Duggan’s case studies show ‘how far papal judgements were dependent on the willingness of all parties to accept and execute them’ (p. 90). It is also instructive to note that three of the first four post-Conquest English kings sought (and received) some form of papal approval (pp. 76–7, 104); the Anglo-Norman kings were apparently more inclined to turn to papal authority than the Iberian kings discussed by Damien Smith.
Montaubin and Vones-Liebenstein cover the Capetian lands and Western and Southern France. Because the French king recognized Innocent early in the schism, Montaubin is able to focus on the ritual of Innocent’s stay in France and on appeals to the Innocentine papacy, rather than on the competition for recognition between the two popes. The picture that Montaubin paints therefore is of a rather more muscular pope than some of the other contributions. Vones-Liebenstein, however, has to deal with an area where political power was extremely fragmented. Correspondingly Aquitaine and Provence varied in their allegiances: William of Aquitaine supported Anacletus; William VI of Montpellier Innocent; and Alphonse-Jourdain of Toulouse perhaps had some allegiance to both. The link between local factions and allegiance during a papal schism is an interesting one. Is there an element of legitimation here? If a count or bishop was feuding with a neighbour might he back one pope and then claim that, since his opponent was backing the rival pope, he was duty bound to go against the schismatic? To what extent – in an area of fragmented central authority – did lords and bishops choose ‘their’ pope based on opposition to their neighbours’ choices?
Kjersgaard Nielsen’s paper is particularly useful in covering some relevant Danish scholarship, with which English and American Medievalists are likely to be less familiar. The hinge for Innocent’s dealings with the North appears to have been the status of the (arch)bishopric of Lund: was it a metropolitan or a suffragan of Hamburg-Bremen? The letters and privileges issued by Innocent concerning Lund and Hamburg-Bremen allow for a brief excursus on the practicalities of promulgating papal letters. It was, Kjersgaard Nielsen reminds us, the responsibility of the beneficiary to proclaim his privileges or deliver mandates to those they concerned; the existence – or the preservation – of papal letters does not automatically mean that they were enforced. This is particularly important in the matter of Lund-Hamburg because one of Innocent’s letters to the Swedish bishops re-enforcing the status of Hamburg survived (until 1943) in the archives of the archbishops of Hamburg: plainly it was never delivered to its addressees. The fairly implausible suggestion that there were two originals of this letter is dismissed by Kjersgaard Nielsen (p. 220, n. 70).(11)
Notwithstanding their initial warning that more copies of Innocent II’s synodal and conciliar decrees exist than they are aware of, Brett and Somerville’s chapter is a masterclass in finding, attributing and editing those conciliar acta. Conciliar history is so complicated because different councils often issued the same – or very similar – decrees, but if the same – or a very similar – decree is attributed to different councils, there might be a simple misattribution. This is before one even deals with the problem that two different manuscript traditions might pass on different versions of the same council. A fearsome knowledge is required to navigate the complexities. Innocent’s five best-known councils – Clermont (1130), Liège (1131), Rheims (1131), Pisa (1135) and Lateran II (1139) – are all covered in detail with some useful conclusions: for example, it seems that one version of the Rheims canons (Bamberg-Olomouc) is in fact a version of the Liège canons. There are two appendices: the first collates known versions of Clermont and Rheims to show the ‘direct and relatively straightforward transition and modest development from Clermont to […] Reims’. The second gives a collation of the Lateran II canons from a ‘small group of manuscripts’. There is clearly, as Brett and Somerville emphasise, much more work to be done on these various MSS traditions, most especially for Lateran II. Until a thorough study, this chapter will be essential for any discussion of the councils of the 1130s. To give an example of the importance of this chapter, in Popes and Jews Rist notes that ‘in the twelfth century usury was an important concern of two great ecumenical councils’: Lateran II and Lateran III (Popes and Jews, p. 142). But Brett and Somerville point out that Lateran II’s anti-usury canon – 13 – is strangely framed and survives only in one MSS tradition. Unfortunately that tradition has exercised a ‘profound influence […] on every edition of the council’ (Innocent II, pp. 256, 258, 266, 299). Perhaps canon 13 is a later interpolation? But – Brett and Somerville continue – we know from elsewhere that there was some sort of condemnation of usury at Lateran II, we just don’t know if this was actually it (Innocent II, p. 242). The textual transmission of Lateran II is vexing and Brett and Somerville are the best guides one can hope for.
Anne Duggan’s second contribution covers the canon law developments of Innocent’s pontificate. Again there are a series of extremely interesting case studies where the influence of Justinianic law on the procedures of pleading at the curia is brought out. Then the other side – Innocent’s influence on later law – is discussed through his decretals. Throughout Duggan is fairly unsympathetic to the suggestion that Innocent’s curia was seeking to increase its own business; the engine of growth was rather the desire of litigants to carry their cases to ‘Rome’.
Steven Schoenig’s study of importance of the pallium is particularly illuminating. Some of his concluding comments, however – ‘popes had long used [the pallium] as a means to intervene in local churches’ (p. 324) – jar a little with the picture given by the rest of the paper. Rather than papal intervention, the impression one gets from Schoenig’s meticulous studies is that regional episcopates asked for the pallium (and for archiepiscopal status) as part of local power struggles – between Tyre, Antioch and Jerusalem, or Genoa and Pisa (12), or Aquilea and Grado. The papacy, for sure, had the final say in giving pallia, but Innocent also had to walk the best course he could between the various appellants in an attempt to placate all sides. Nonetheless, the pallium was plainly a vital form of patronage for Innocent during the schism.
John Romano on the Roman liturgy is the most temporally wide-ranging piece. Romano identifies numerous liturgical changes between the eighth century and the 12th. There is direct relevance for Innocent II since one of the prime sources for 12th-century papal liturgy – Canon Benedict’s liber politicus – dates from the closing years of Innocent’s pontificate. The liturgy was, it seems, not immutable but in fact flexible enough for innovation and development. As Romano notes, however, 12th-century Romans would not have been able to compare the various liturgical ordines as he has done: to them both new introductions and existing elements would have possessed the weight of tradition (pp. 342–3). More generally, it is important to be reminded that Mass and the Divine Office were central to curial life: it is quite easy to forget that amidst high politics and legal cases.
Dale Kinney suggests that the narrative of Innocent’s imperialization of the papacy – through aggrandizing mosaics, his famous porphyry tomb etc – is an insecure one. There is no certainty that it was actually Innocent who brought the grand porphyry sarcophagus to the Lateran palace and we cannot be sure that it was he who chose to re-use it for his own burial. Innocent had no problem being portrayed without any ‘ostentatious imperialising regalia’ in his mosaic at S. Maria in Trastavere (rather he is ‘“aged and bald”’, p. 374). The famous mosaics in the Lateran of the emperor submitting to the pope were, as Kinney acknowledges, susceptible to a ‘feudal’ interpretation, but without the supposed explicative inscription (homo fit papae) they did not demand it. Indeed, our interpretation of these mosaics would probably be very different were it not for the manufactured crisis of 1157–8 when Emperor Frederick I and Rainald of Dassel intentionally misinterpreted a letter of Pope Adrian IV in order to suggest a ‘feudal’ understanding of papal-Imperial relations.(13)
The overall picture of Innocent’s pontificate is in line with interpretations of the 12th- and 13th-century papacy more widely: reactive, walking a delicate tightrope between different external interests, and mixing innovation and tradition as and when necessary. Looking at all – or, at least, at several different – aspects of a single pontificate shows it to be complex and varied, not susceptible to a crude characterization. Popes and Jews, on the other hand, recounts the variation in a single topic (papal-Jewish relations) over different pontificates and even within single pontificates. The grand papal policies of yesteryear seem to have passed: the ‘policy of degradation’, Walter Ullmann’s ‘papal idea’, the ‘omni-insular’ doctrine.(14) They and their fellows have little place in the subtle and complex studies now being produced.
Notes
Reviewed ante by Professor Mark Gregory Pegg <http://www.history.ac.uk/reviews/review/889> [accessed 21 July 2016].Back to (1)
Klaus van Eickels, ‘Why minorities were neither tolerated nor discriminated against in the Middle Ages’, Discrimination and Tolerance in Historical Perspective, ed. Gudmundur Hálfdanarson (Pisa, 2008), pp. 285–93; cf. Kenneth R. Stow, Alienated Minority: The Jews of Medieval Latin Europe(Cambridge, MA, London, 1992), p. 249.Back to (2)
Appointment of burgesses in: Gloucester (Rotuli litterarum clausarum in turri Londinensi asservati, ed. T. D. Hardy (London, 1833), i, part 1, p. 354b), Lincoln (ibid., p. 357), Oxford (ibid., p. 359b); promulgation of the tabula in Worcester, Gloucester, Warwick, Lincoln, Oxford, Northampton and London (ibid., p. 378b and <http://www.cn-telma.fr/relmin/extrait252108/> [accessed 6 June 2016]).Back to (3)
Danica Summerlin, ‘Three manuscripts containing the canons of the 1179 Lateran council’, Bulletin of Medieval Canon Law, 30 (2013), 21–43; eadem, ‘Papal councils in the high middle ages’, A Companion to the Medieval Papacy: Growth of an Ideology and Institution, ed. Keith Sisson and Atria A. Larson (Leiden, Boston, MA, 2016), pp. 174–96. See also the chapter by Brett and Somerville in Pope Innocent II, below.Back to (4)
Paul Hyams, ‘Faith, fealty and Jewish “infideles” in twelfth century England’, Christians and Jews in Angevin England: The York Massacre of 1190, Narratives and Contexts, ed. Sarah Rees-Jones and Sethina Watson (Woodbridge, 2013), pp. 125–47.Back to (5)
S. Grayzel, The Church and the Jews in the XIIIth Century (Philadelphia, PA, 1933), p. 89, n. 3.Back to (6)
Vatican Commission for Religious Relations with the Jews, ‘“The gifts and the calling of God are irrevocable”: A reflection on theological questions pertaining to Catholic-Jewish relations on the occasion of the 50th anniversary of “Nostra Aetate” (no. 4)’, 10 December 2015 <http://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/pontifical_councils/chrstuni/relations... [accessed 30 July 2016].Back to (7)
This argument has been concisely summarized by Smith before: Damien J. Smith, ‘The papacy, the Spanish kingdoms and Las Navas de Tolosa’, Anuario de Historia de la Iglesia, 20 (2011), 157–178, at 159–60.Back to (8)
Most famously in the Golden Bull of 1212, MGH Constitutiones et acta publica imperatorum et regum, ii: 1198–1272, ed. Ludwig Weiland (11 vols, Hannover, 1883–1992), no. 43, pp. 54–5. See also John B. Freed, Frederick Barbarossa: The Prince and the Myth (New Haven, CT, 2016), pp. 170–2.Back to (9)
Die Kanonessamlung des Kardinals Deusdedit, ed. Victor Welf von Glanvell (Paderborn, 1905), pp. 383–4; Codex diplomaticus regni Croatiae, Slavoniae et Dalmatiae, ed. T. Smičiklas (18 vols, Zagreb, 1904–90), ii, no. 120, pp. 125–6.Back to (10)
There is a case from Celestine III (1191–8)’s pontificate where a draft version of a papal letter was given to a scriniarius sancte Romane ecclesie by a papal notary for him to make a notarized copy for a litigant. Such a procedure does suggest that the papal chancery did not produce double-originals but had recourse to other methods if multiple ‘official’ copies were wanted, P. Kehr, ‘Die Minuten von Passagiano. Eine diplomatische Miscelle’, Quellen und Forschungen aus italienischen Archiven und Bibliotheken, 7 (1904), 8-40, at 38-40.Back to (11)
During the earlier 1120–3 struggle between Genoa and Pisa for control of Corsica, it had apparently been the Cardinal-deacon Gregory (later Innocent II) who had read out the sentence against Pisa at the first Lateran council, see Caffaro in MGH Scriptores (in folio) (39 vols, Hannover, 1826–2009), xviii, p. 16. Whether this reflects his own opinions, or whether it had any effect on the Pisan or Genoese parties during his own pontificate, are probably unanswerable.Back to (12)
Anne J. Duggan, ‘Totius christianitatis caput: The pope and the princes’, Adrian IV, the English pope (1154–1159): Studies and texts, ed. Anne J. Duggan, Brenda Bolton (Aldershot, 2003), pp. 105–55, at 127–31. Kinney notes that the ‘feudal’ inscription was probably removed by Adrian IV since ‘it was known to (…) all later observers only through Rahewin’ (p. 384). Another possibility is that Rahewin made it up to support Frederick and Rainald’s interpretation of the Besançon incident (in 1157) and there was never actually any such inscription.Back to (13)
On the policy of degradation see Popes and Jews, pp. 3–4. For Ullmann see the preface and George Garnett’s introduction to (and – more generally – passim) Walter Ullmann, A Short History of the Papacy in the Middle Ages, 2nd edn, (London, 2003); also Colin Morris’ review: ‘A Short History of the Papacy in the Middle Ages by W. Ullmann’, English Historical Review, 88 (1973), 842–4. The omni-insular doctrine was the brainchild of the Mexican medievalist Luis Weckmann, Las Bulas Alejandrinas de 1493 y la Teoría Política del Papado Medieval: Estudio de la supremacia papal sobre islas 1091-1493, introducción por Ernst H. Kantorowicz, (Mexico, 1949); 2nd edn published under the title: Constantino el Grande y Cristóbal Colón: Estudio de la supremacía papal sobre islas 1091–1493, (México, 1992).Back to (14)
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