.
Καντέρμπουρι
680 π.Χ.
«Θεόδωρε!»
Ήταν ο Ανδριανός. Μπαίνοντας άφησε την πόρτα ανοιχτή, επιτρέποντας στο λαμπερό φως της αυλής να πλημμυρίσει το δωμάτιο. Ανασηκώθηκα τρίβοντας τα μάτια μου.
«Είσαι ξύπνιος;» ρώτησε. Τα λόγια του Ανδριανού ή ίσως ο τόνος του μου θύμισαν τον καιρό που κοιμηθήκαμε πρώτη φορά μαζί, σχεδόν τριάντα χρόνια πριν, με την πρόφαση, όχι εντελώς ανυπόστατη, ότι μελετούσαμε το Συμπόσιο του Πλάτωνα.
«Φυσικά και είμαι ξύπνιος», είπα. «Μπορεί να είμαι γέρος. Αλλά δεν κοιμάμαι όλη μέρα. Σκεπτόμουν».
«Στο σκοτάδι; Με τα μάτια κλειστά;» Στεκόταν λίγο πιο μέσα από το άνοιγμα της πόρτας.
«Νομίζω πως βοηθάει».
Σηκώθηκα από το κρεβάτι μου κι έκανα μερικά προσεκτικά βήματα προς το μέρος του. Πέρα από το άνοιγμα της πόρτας έβλεπα το ραγισμένο λιθόστρωτο, με κηλίδες από ξερά βρύα και λειχήνες. Ο απογευματινός ήλιος έριχνε βαριές σκιές ανάμεσα στους κίονες που πλαισίωναν την άδεια αυλή. Κάπου αλλού, σε δροσερά δωμάτια, άλλοι δίδασκαν και άλλοι διάβαζαν ή αντέγραφαν βιβλία. Ίσως μερικοί από τους μοναχούς, όπως εγώ, να κοιμόνταν ήρεμα ανάμεσα σε προσευχές. Όμως, θα ξυπνούσαν και η δουλειά ια γινόταν. Δεν υπήρχε λόγος για σκληρή πειθαρχία ή αυτοταπείνωση. Αρκετή βαρβαρότητα υπήρχε έξω. Το μοναστήρι ήταν ένας μικρός, περίκλειστος χώρος, τον οποίο ο Ανδριανός είχε κάνει πολιτισμένο, δίνοντάς μας ένα καταφύγιο από το οποίο αυτός μπορούσε να διαδώσει τη μάθηση κι εγώ να κυβερνήσω την Εκκλησία. Ήταν επί δεκαπέντε χρόνια το σπίτι μας.
Christopher Harris: Το Χειρόγραφο του Αιρετικού (Ενάλιος, 2007)
Βρισκόμαστε σε μια εποχή που η βυζαντινή αυτοκρατορία είναι ακόμη γεμάτη παγανιστές που πασχίζουν να διατηρήσουν την αρχαία τους πίστη, μια εποχή που οι εμφύλιες συρράξεις είναι συχνές και οι θρησκευτικές αιρέσεις ανθούν και πολλαπλασιάζονται σαν τα μανιτάρια.
Ο Θεόδωρος από την Ταρσό, ο Έλληνας αιρετικός μοναχός, πιστός στη φιλία του με τον νεαρό Αδριανό, θα ταξιδέψει στην γηραιά Αλβιόνα, στην χώρα όπου έμελλε να γίνει Αρχιεπίσκοπος του Καντέρμπουρι το σωτήριον έτος 668….
Το χειρόγραφό του, ένας κώδικας γραμμένος στα ελληνικά - που υπάρχει μέχρι σήμερα και αποτελεί αντικείμενο έρευνας- αποκαλύπτει όλη του την πορεία από την ταπεινότητα και την αμφισβήτηση προς την δόξα, έχοντας πάντα ως οδηγό τον βαθύ και αφοσιωμένο έρωτα… (enalios.gr)
Καντέρμπουρι
680 π.Χ.
«Θεόδωρε!»
Ήταν ο Ανδριανός. Μπαίνοντας άφησε την πόρτα ανοιχτή, επιτρέποντας στο λαμπερό φως της αυλής να πλημμυρίσει το δωμάτιο. Ανασηκώθηκα τρίβοντας τα μάτια μου.
«Είσαι ξύπνιος;» ρώτησε. Τα λόγια του Ανδριανού ή ίσως ο τόνος του μου θύμισαν τον καιρό που κοιμηθήκαμε πρώτη φορά μαζί, σχεδόν τριάντα χρόνια πριν, με την πρόφαση, όχι εντελώς ανυπόστατη, ότι μελετούσαμε το Συμπόσιο του Πλάτωνα.
«Φυσικά και είμαι ξύπνιος», είπα. «Μπορεί να είμαι γέρος. Αλλά δεν κοιμάμαι όλη μέρα. Σκεπτόμουν».
«Στο σκοτάδι; Με τα μάτια κλειστά;» Στεκόταν λίγο πιο μέσα από το άνοιγμα της πόρτας.
«Νομίζω πως βοηθάει».
Σηκώθηκα από το κρεβάτι μου κι έκανα μερικά προσεκτικά βήματα προς το μέρος του. Πέρα από το άνοιγμα της πόρτας έβλεπα το ραγισμένο λιθόστρωτο, με κηλίδες από ξερά βρύα και λειχήνες. Ο απογευματινός ήλιος έριχνε βαριές σκιές ανάμεσα στους κίονες που πλαισίωναν την άδεια αυλή. Κάπου αλλού, σε δροσερά δωμάτια, άλλοι δίδασκαν και άλλοι διάβαζαν ή αντέγραφαν βιβλία. Ίσως μερικοί από τους μοναχούς, όπως εγώ, να κοιμόνταν ήρεμα ανάμεσα σε προσευχές. Όμως, θα ξυπνούσαν και η δουλειά ια γινόταν. Δεν υπήρχε λόγος για σκληρή πειθαρχία ή αυτοταπείνωση. Αρκετή βαρβαρότητα υπήρχε έξω. Το μοναστήρι ήταν ένας μικρός, περίκλειστος χώρος, τον οποίο ο Ανδριανός είχε κάνει πολιτισμένο, δίνοντάς μας ένα καταφύγιο από το οποίο αυτός μπορούσε να διαδώσει τη μάθηση κι εγώ να κυβερνήσω την Εκκλησία. Ήταν επί δεκαπέντε χρόνια το σπίτι μας.
Christopher Harris: Το Χειρόγραφο του Αιρετικού (Ενάλιος, 2007)
Βρισκόμαστε σε μια εποχή που η βυζαντινή αυτοκρατορία είναι ακόμη γεμάτη παγανιστές που πασχίζουν να διατηρήσουν την αρχαία τους πίστη, μια εποχή που οι εμφύλιες συρράξεις είναι συχνές και οι θρησκευτικές αιρέσεις ανθούν και πολλαπλασιάζονται σαν τα μανιτάρια.
Ο Θεόδωρος από την Ταρσό, ο Έλληνας αιρετικός μοναχός, πιστός στη φιλία του με τον νεαρό Αδριανό, θα ταξιδέψει στην γηραιά Αλβιόνα, στην χώρα όπου έμελλε να γίνει Αρχιεπίσκοπος του Καντέρμπουρι το σωτήριον έτος 668….
Το χειρόγραφό του, ένας κώδικας γραμμένος στα ελληνικά - που υπάρχει μέχρι σήμερα και αποτελεί αντικείμενο έρευνας- αποκαλύπτει όλη του την πορεία από την ταπεινότητα και την αμφισβήτηση προς την δόξα, έχοντας πάντα ως οδηγό τον βαθύ και αφοσιωμένο έρωτα… (enalios.gr)
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Theodore is the fictional memoirs of England's most unlikely archbishop. Saint Theodore was a homosexual Byzantine monk with heretical tendencies, and a taste for Platonic philosophy. He was born during Europe's darkest age, when the Byzantine Empire was overrun by pagan invaders, weakened by civil war, and divided by religious controversy. He sought certainty, and love, among monks, soldiers, philosophers, and barbarian horsemen. He wandered ceaselessly, fleeing war and persecution, pursuing wisdom, searching for security in a collapsing world. In the East, he saw brutality and destruction. In Constantinople, he was drawn into court intrigue. In Italy, he found love, then lonely exile. Then, almost by accident, he was given the task that changed his life. Though greatly learned and widely experienced, Theodore disliked authority, and was undermined by conflicting desires and religious doubts. Despite these obvious disqualifications, he was chosen by the Pope as Archbishop of Canterbury, and sent to England to civilise the semi-pagan Anglo-Saxons. He proved an unexpected success, and, with help from his partner Hadrian, established the Church in England in a form that has lasted, in many respects, until today. Even so, he is less well known than his ineffectual predecessor Saint Augustine, or his bitter rival, the sack-cloth politician Saint Wilfrid.
The Dark Age of Sexuality
(The historical background to Theodore)
The early medieval period was not just a Dark Age in terms of historical events, but also in terms of sex and sexuality. I discovered that when I decided to write a novel based on the life of St Theodore of Tarsus, the seventh Archbishop of Canterbury. There is plenty of information about the sexual proclivities of the ancient Greeks and Romans. The Renaissance was notoriously licentious, as Chaucer and Boccaccio record. But in between, all is silence. Even a diligent researcher might conclude that sexuality disappeared with the fall of Rome, to be rediscovered only when fourteenth century scholars read about it in old books.
Of course, Augustine wrote movingly about his own sexual awakening, and showed remarkable psychological insight, even as he condemned lust as evil. But he was a late classical rather than a medieval figure, and, until much later, few followed him in analysing what the Church would rather have repressed.
When I tried to recreate Theodore’s personality in fictional form, I had little to go on but the lives of saints. Hagiographies can be unwittingly informative. St Wilfrid, for instance, sounds utterly awful, even when described by his greatest admirer. I adopted him as a villain and continued my research. To find out about Theodore, I turned to Bede, who tells an odd story about how the archbishop was appointed. An English candidate had died of the plague as soon as he arrived at Rome. The Pope, casting about for a substitute, picked Hadrian, an African monk and scholar. But Hadrian, thinking himself unworthy, refused. More candidates were proposed and rejected, until Hadrian suggested his friend Theodore, a Greek-speaking monk from the heretical eastern fringe of the Byzantine Empire, who happened to be living in Rome.
The Pope was doubtful. He wanted England firmly incorporated in the western, Latin Church, not misled by possibly unsound Greeks, however scholarly. But no more candidates were forthcoming, and England was sinking back into paganism and savagery, so the Pope agreed and appointed Theodore as archbishop. But only on one condition: Hadrian was to go with him as his assistant and advisor on Latin usage.
Several historians have pointed out that there is something unconvincing about this story. I read it again and again, wondering what reality it might conceal. Bede, an accurate and impartial historian, was careful not to say more than he meant. Eventually, I understood. Theodore and Hadrian were gay. Hadrian had refused the archbishopric, not because he was unworthy, but because he did not want to be separated from his friend and teacher Theodore. Once I realised that, I had my story. As well as retelling what we know of Theodore’s life and times, I would explore the conflict between his faith and sexuality.
My novel begins with Theodore’s youth in Tarsus, and ends with his old age in Canterbury, where he succeeded unexpectedly as archbishop, spreading Christianity and literacy, despite the machinations of St Wilfrid. On the way, he wandered the East, searching for faith, encountering various heresies, wrestling with forbidden desires, seeing war and destruction, and being drawn into Byzantine intrigue, before finding love and happiness in a monastery.
To find out more about medieval sexuality I went back to hagiographies and read between the lines. Celebrations of virtue reveal much about what must be avoided, just as monastic Rules, by listing what is forbidden, tell us what was most tempting. I concluded that medieval people were much like modern people, full of desires and fears and conflicts between the two. I hope that Theodore is a convincing demonstration of that.
Christopher Harris, 2000
Theodore is the fictional memoirs of England's most unlikely archbishop. Saint Theodore was a homosexual Byzantine monk with heretical tendencies, and a taste for Platonic philosophy. He was born during Europe's darkest age, when the Byzantine Empire was overrun by pagan invaders, weakened by civil war, and divided by religious controversy. He sought certainty, and love, among monks, soldiers, philosophers, and barbarian horsemen. He wandered ceaselessly, fleeing war and persecution, pursuing wisdom, searching for security in a collapsing world. In the East, he saw brutality and destruction. In Constantinople, he was drawn into court intrigue. In Italy, he found love, then lonely exile. Then, almost by accident, he was given the task that changed his life. Though greatly learned and widely experienced, Theodore disliked authority, and was undermined by conflicting desires and religious doubts. Despite these obvious disqualifications, he was chosen by the Pope as Archbishop of Canterbury, and sent to England to civilise the semi-pagan Anglo-Saxons. He proved an unexpected success, and, with help from his partner Hadrian, established the Church in England in a form that has lasted, in many respects, until today. Even so, he is less well known than his ineffectual predecessor Saint Augustine, or his bitter rival, the sack-cloth politician Saint Wilfrid.
The Dark Age of Sexuality
(The historical background to Theodore)
The early medieval period was not just a Dark Age in terms of historical events, but also in terms of sex and sexuality. I discovered that when I decided to write a novel based on the life of St Theodore of Tarsus, the seventh Archbishop of Canterbury. There is plenty of information about the sexual proclivities of the ancient Greeks and Romans. The Renaissance was notoriously licentious, as Chaucer and Boccaccio record. But in between, all is silence. Even a diligent researcher might conclude that sexuality disappeared with the fall of Rome, to be rediscovered only when fourteenth century scholars read about it in old books.
Of course, Augustine wrote movingly about his own sexual awakening, and showed remarkable psychological insight, even as he condemned lust as evil. But he was a late classical rather than a medieval figure, and, until much later, few followed him in analysing what the Church would rather have repressed.
When I tried to recreate Theodore’s personality in fictional form, I had little to go on but the lives of saints. Hagiographies can be unwittingly informative. St Wilfrid, for instance, sounds utterly awful, even when described by his greatest admirer. I adopted him as a villain and continued my research. To find out about Theodore, I turned to Bede, who tells an odd story about how the archbishop was appointed. An English candidate had died of the plague as soon as he arrived at Rome. The Pope, casting about for a substitute, picked Hadrian, an African monk and scholar. But Hadrian, thinking himself unworthy, refused. More candidates were proposed and rejected, until Hadrian suggested his friend Theodore, a Greek-speaking monk from the heretical eastern fringe of the Byzantine Empire, who happened to be living in Rome.
The Pope was doubtful. He wanted England firmly incorporated in the western, Latin Church, not misled by possibly unsound Greeks, however scholarly. But no more candidates were forthcoming, and England was sinking back into paganism and savagery, so the Pope agreed and appointed Theodore as archbishop. But only on one condition: Hadrian was to go with him as his assistant and advisor on Latin usage.
Several historians have pointed out that there is something unconvincing about this story. I read it again and again, wondering what reality it might conceal. Bede, an accurate and impartial historian, was careful not to say more than he meant. Eventually, I understood. Theodore and Hadrian were gay. Hadrian had refused the archbishopric, not because he was unworthy, but because he did not want to be separated from his friend and teacher Theodore. Once I realised that, I had my story. As well as retelling what we know of Theodore’s life and times, I would explore the conflict between his faith and sexuality.
My novel begins with Theodore’s youth in Tarsus, and ends with his old age in Canterbury, where he succeeded unexpectedly as archbishop, spreading Christianity and literacy, despite the machinations of St Wilfrid. On the way, he wandered the East, searching for faith, encountering various heresies, wrestling with forbidden desires, seeing war and destruction, and being drawn into Byzantine intrigue, before finding love and happiness in a monastery.
To find out more about medieval sexuality I went back to hagiographies and read between the lines. Celebrations of virtue reveal much about what must be avoided, just as monastic Rules, by listing what is forbidden, tell us what was most tempting. I concluded that medieval people were much like modern people, full of desires and fears and conflicts between the two. I hope that Theodore is a convincing demonstration of that.
Christopher Harris, 2000
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Theodore of Tarsus
Theodore (602–19 September, 690) was the eighth Archbishop of Canterbury, best known for his reform of the English Church and establishment of a school in Canterbury with major scholarly achievements. He is commemorated as a saint in the Calendar of Saints of the Eastern Orthodox Church on September 19.
Theodore's life can be divided into the time before his arrival in Britain as Archbishop of Canterbury, and his archiepiscopate. Until recently, scholarship on Theodore had focused on only the latter period since it is attested to in the Venerable Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English, and also in Stephanus's Life of Wilfrid, whereas no source directly mentions Theodore's earlier activities. However, M. Lapidge and B. Bischoff have reconstructed his earlier life based on a study of texts produced from his Canterbury school. Below their work is followed closely concerning the first half of Theodore's life. (en.wikipedia.org)
Theodore of Tarsus
Theodore (602–19 September, 690) was the eighth Archbishop of Canterbury, best known for his reform of the English Church and establishment of a school in Canterbury with major scholarly achievements. He is commemorated as a saint in the Calendar of Saints of the Eastern Orthodox Church on September 19.
Theodore's life can be divided into the time before his arrival in Britain as Archbishop of Canterbury, and his archiepiscopate. Until recently, scholarship on Theodore had focused on only the latter period since it is attested to in the Venerable Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English, and also in Stephanus's Life of Wilfrid, whereas no source directly mentions Theodore's earlier activities. However, M. Lapidge and B. Bischoff have reconstructed his earlier life based on a study of texts produced from his Canterbury school. Below their work is followed closely concerning the first half of Theodore's life. (en.wikipedia.org)
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