The Solitary Voice of Valerius of Bierzo

In the rugged mountains of northwestern Spain during the late 7th century, an aristocratic hermit named Valerius of Bierzo composed remarkably personal accounts of his ascetic life. Unlike most recluses who came from humble backgrounds, Valerius belonged to the nobility and documented his struggles with vivid detail. His writings paint a picture of constant spiritual warfare, where he believed demons manipulated local nobles and bishops to force him into priesthood—a fate he avoided only through their untimely deaths.

Valerius described how ecclesiastical authorities and monks persecuted both him and his disciples, with students falling victim to bandits or terrifying storms. One particularly poignant episode involved his student Saturninus, who built a church near Valerius’ hermitage that began exhibiting miracles. However, according to Valerius, demonic influence made Saturninus grow prideful, leading him to abandon his master after stealing Valerius’ books. The hermit would wait forty-two years before receiving unconditional royal patronage.

The Paradox of Christian Organization in a Lawless Land

Valerius’ writings—filled with cynicism, self-righteousness, and paranoia—offer one of the most authentic voices from early medieval hermits. His descriptions of moral decay in Bierzo likely reflected his own mental state rather than social reality. What’s more striking is how tightly organized Christian institutions remained in this remote, bandit-ridden region.

While Valerius documented various moral failings, he notably didn’t mention any resurgence of pagan practices. This omission seems surprising given that Bishop Martin of Braga (d. 579), located just west of Bierzo, had spent his career combating pagan survivals. Martin condemned numerous folk practices—lighting candles beside stones and trees, tossing bread into springs, avoiding travel on unlucky days, and chanting spells over herbs—as incompatible with Christianity.

The Blurred Line Between Christianity and Folk Tradition

The struggle against these practices continued long after Martin. A 9th-century stone slab from Asturias preserves a hail-dispelling charm invoking archangels and Saint Christopher to protect a village from Satan’s mischief. This represents traditional folk magic dressed in Christian garb. Either Bierzo lacked these practices, Valerius was too self-absorbed to notice, or—most intriguingly—he didn’t share Martin’s strict views against them. After all, even saints like Caesarius of Arles (d. 542) used crosses to ward off hail, while Gregory of Tours described similar protective rituals involving candles from Saint Martin’s tomb.

This reveals the vast regional diversity in early medieval Western Christianity regarding beliefs and practices. Notably, while Gregory of Tours and Martin of Braga held opposing views on candle usage, Gregory still respected Martin. Even among the most opinionated figures (abundant in this period, with Valerius being an extreme case), religious disputes rarely led to the violent confrontations common in late Roman times.

The Fragmented Church Hierarchy

The late Roman ecclesiastical structure largely persisted into the early Middle Ages without interruption. Monastic traditions established by John Cassian and Benedict of Nursia also continued, even expanding in northern Europe. However, the Church became less unified than during Roman times.

Between 550-750, popes remained nominal leaders of the Latin Church but held little real authority over Frankish, Spanish, or even northern Italian churches. Papal correspondence focused overwhelmingly on Byzantine Italy, with fewer than thirty letters sent to Gaul (excluding Provence) and only a handful to Spain. The papacy’s greatest influence emerged in England through Gregory the Great’s mission in 597, establishing Canterbury’s enduring connection with Rome.

Elsewhere, Western church unity remained largely nominal. While maintaining basic doctrinal consistency, churches developed distinct liturgical practices and monastic traditions. The Carolingians later reestablished Roman connections and standardized church activities under Frankish and Benedictine rules. However, true centralized organization around Rome wouldn’t emerge until after our period.

The Absence of Major Heretical Movements

This ecclesiastical fragmentation resulted in remarkably few conflicts with heretical groups. Arianism persisted actively in Spain until 589, and Catholic victories at the Third Council of Toledo (589) pleased informed churchmen like Gregory of Tours. While Gregory personally despised Arianism, contemporary Franks generally held more neutral views.

In Spain, orthodoxy remained important, evidenced by 7th-century persecution of Jews and even small groups like the Priscillianists. A 561 Braga council ruled that vegetarian clergy must cook vegetables in meat broth to prove orthodox credentials. Yet until the late 8th century, neither Spain nor Francia saw new heresies emerge, with England following even later. Religious disputes focused almost exclusively on clerical behavior—sexual conduct, dress, simony—rather than doctrine, except for Easter date controversies in Irish and Welsh churches.

The Decline of Theological Education

The lack of major theological debates may reflect declining numbers of well-educated churchmen. From 550 onward, general literacy wasn’t as poor as once believed, but advanced literary education became increasingly confined to clergy and focused on theological works. Gregory of Tours quoted Christian poets like Sidonius and Prudentius more frequently than classical authors like Sallust or Virgil.

Some individuals like Isidore of Seville and Bede achieved remarkable learning. Isidore amassed an impressive private library, while Bede’s monastery at Jarrow built its collection from scratch. Yet even Bede, arguably the most learned man in Northumbria, lacked intellectual peers for debate. The absence of theological controversies may simply reflect insufficient concentrations of trained theologians outside Rome—where cultural and geographical divisions, plus non-theological career paths for clergy, prevented such debates from emerging.

Micro-Christendoms and Localized Faith

The profound localism of this period created what Peter Brown termed “micro-Christendoms”—worlds where liturgy, rules, traditions, political systems, and socio-cultural behaviors remained stably fragmented. While some mobility existed (like Columbanus’ travels), the most significant movement involved pilgrimages to Rome, especially by Anglo-Saxons. By the 740s, Lombards even instituted a passport system for pilgrims crossing Alpine borders.

Regional pilgrimage centers like Saint Martin’s tomb at Tours also attracted visitors. However, such mobility remained exceptional and couldn’t reverse the post-Roman trend toward cultural localization, mirroring contemporary economic patterns we’ll explore next.

The Steady Expansion of Christianity

Despite its fragmentation, early medieval Christian culture faced few existential threats outside lowland Britain, where Anglo-Saxon conquest nearly erased Christianity before its 7th-century revival. Missionaries steadily advanced Christianity’s frontiers: 5th-century Ireland, 6th-century Pictland, early 8th-century Frisia, and Saxony under Charlemagne.

Documenting Germanic paganism proves challenging since, unlike Greco-Roman religions, it lacked texts or literary imagination. Descriptions of pagan sites like the Irminsul (destroyed by Charlemagne in 772) come from hostile Christian sources. Some Christian terms incorporated pagan elements—like using “Easter” (from goddess Eostre) for Pascha—but overall, Christianity transformed pagan Europe more than being transformed by it.

The Church’s Accommodation of Folk Practices

For rigorists, folk rituals presented constant challenges. Late Roman clergy had opposed such practices without eradicating them, and early medieval church weakness made suppression even harder. Some authors like Martin of Braga described these as pagan “survivals” or “revivals,” particularly along former imperial frontiers.

Bishop Eligius of Noyon (d. 660) preached against both pagan rites and Christian celebrations featuring “demonic games” and “wicked leaps.” When locals defended these as “orthodox customs,” noting even Frankish aristocrats participated, it revealed how such practices had become Christianized in popular perception.

Like late antiquity, rigorist preaching alone proved ineffective. The Church either absorbed these practices (like adopting “Easter”) or created orthodox alternatives—developing liturgical processions for saints’ days that increasingly involved episcopal supervision.

The Ambiguous Nature of Miracles and Sanctity

Western hermits like Valerius were rare compared to the East. Gregory of Tours described a few—like Hospicius in 6th-century Nice or Vulfolaic the “stylite” near the Ardennes—but emphasized episcopal authority over such figures. For Gregory, disobedient miracle-workers risked being demonic, while posthumous saintly miracles were safer, as their sanctity was confirmed.

Not everyone shared Gregory’s concerns. Gregory the Great, himself a former monk, showed greater appreciation for ascetics, often contrasting them with worldly bishops. Besides hermits, other saints included conventional bishops, abbots, and missionaries like Patrick (who cursed unbelievers) or Cuthbert (accompanied by angels). However, tolerance for such figures waned over time, as seen when Boniface condemned the unorthodox Bishop Aldebert in 745 for self-promotion and dubious miracles.

The Politics of Sainthood and Pilgrimage

Miracles clustered around saints’ tombs, especially at Gregory’s beloved Saint Martin shrine in Tours, which developed extensive facilities for pilgrims. Major pilgrimage sites dotted Gaul—Saint-Denis, Saint-Germain, Saint-Médard, Saint-Pierre at Sens, Saint-Aignan at Orléans, and Saint-Martin at Tours—several transformed into monasteries by Queen Balthild around 660.

Competition for relics could be intense, including outright theft. Gregory proudly recounted how Tours stole Martin’s body from Poitiers in 397, considering such thefts justified unless prevented by miraculous intervention. Rome’s abundance of martyrs’ graves (thanks to imperial persecutions) made it particularly vulnerable to relic theft, a practice that would peak in the 9th century.

Distinguishing Divine and Demonic Supernatural Acts

Not all supernatural acts were considered holy. Saints’ lives abound with illegitimate miracle-workers, witches, magicians, and diviners—capable of curses, healing, weather control, and prophecy. Authors debated whether these were frauds or genuinely demonic. Secular lawmakers varied in their approaches—Rothari (643) dismissed witchcraft as impossible, while Liutprand (727) banned all diviners, and Salic Law punished deadly curses severely.

Theological writers generally attributed such powers to demons, though some (like Agobard of Lyon) considered them fraudulent. Gregory alternated between these views, recounting how a plague-stricken child died after amulet treatment while another recovered drinking Saint Martin’s tomb dust. Such stories of saintly versus magical power struggles were standard hagiographic fare.

The Ubiquity of Supernatural Causality

People fundamentally believed in immediate divine justice—rewarding virtue, punishing vice, favoring righteous kings, and opposing wicked ones (though the wicked sometimes prospered to punish others’ sins). This belief made miracles plausible and even allowed acceptance of magic within a Christian framework.

Gregory saw disease as demonic or divine punishment, healing through repentance or saintly intervention, and considered physicians enemies akin to magicians (despite having one himself). However, his views were extreme—Caesarius approved of doctors, Merovingian kings employed them, and even Saint Paul of Mérida (a Greek physician-turned-bishop) used medical skill to save a noblewoman during childbirth, enriching his see. Public life embraced both divine and practical causation—people believed God decided battles but still trained armies, trusted miracles but consulted doctors if wealthy.

The Central Role of Bishops

Our sources emphasize bishops because the clerical hierarchy remained relatively simple. Rural churches were scarce—even in long-Christianized Italy, Lucca diocese had only sixty baptismal churches by the 10th century, most dating from the 6th century. Church-building accelerated from the 8th to 12th centuries, with Lucca eventually boasting over 600 parishes. Similarly, baptismal churches increased in Francia after 700, while England’s “minster” system persisted until parish networks expanded post-900.

Most early medieval religious life centered on bishops, as illustrated by Bishop Daniel of Winchester’s story. Blinded before his death in 744, he couldn’t perform baptisms, leaving many children to die unbaptized since no successor was appointed. This extreme case highlights bishops’ liturgical importance—they controlled all sacraments, processions, and festivals, seeking to expand their oversight.

Bishops as Political and Spiritual Leaders

Bishops organized processions to combat plague, summon rain, extinguish fires, or demoralize enemies. A striking example comes from early 8th-century Ravenna, where Archbishop Damian led penitential processions to uncover truth after factional murders. Politically, bishops represented their cities; spiritually, they interceded for prisoners (sometimes notorious criminals), ransomed captives, and petitioned kings for tax relief—acting as their flock’s protectors.

Miracles reinforced episcopal authority—Bishop Fidelis of Mérida reportedly traveled with a fiery escort of saints, while Bishop Masona’s exile provoked famine and plague until his restoration. Similarly, Vienna suffered calamities during Bishop Desiderius’ exile (603-607). Such narratives cemented bishops’ dual roles as spiritual and secular leaders.

Noble Bishops and Monastic Foundations

Given their importance, most bishops came from aristocratic families—a trend strengthening over time. While late antiquity saw some low-born bishops rise through merit, early medieval examples like Praejectus of Clermont (d. 676)—killed by noble enemies—proved increasingly rare. Successful bishops like Bonitus of Clermont (d. 705) combined noble birth (“Roman,” possibly descending from Emperor Avitus) with political experience as mayor of Marseilles before becoming bishop under Pepin II’s patronage.

Monastic expansion in 7th-century Francia, England, and Ireland, plus 8th-century Italy, often reflected aristocratic strategies more than ecclesiastical ones. Nobles founded monasteries to honor God and secure prayer for their souls while maintaining family control—appointing relatives as abbots/abbesses and retaining influence over donated lands. While some “false monasteries” existed (criticized by Bede in 734 and Fructuosus of Braga in 660), most religious houses maintained strong family ties until changes after 1000 AD.

The Growth of Church Lands

Meanwhile, church landholding expanded dramatically. From the 6th century onward, kings, bishops, nobles, and small landowners donated properties across Europe—first in Spain, Wales, and Byzantine Italy; by the 7th century in Francia and Ireland; late 7th century in England; early 8th in Lombard Italy and east of the Rhine. This wave crested in the 8th century before declining in the 9th. David Herlihy estimated that religious institutions eventually held nearly one-third of Frankish and Italian land.

Donations served spiritual and familial strategies—securing prayers for donors’ souls while binding extended families or patrons to ecclesiastical institutions. In Italy, families often donated one-quarter of their estate (a “fourth son’s share”) to the church. This shift from grave goods to land donations may reflect elite confidence as aristocratic status stabilized—no longer needing burial displays to affirm identity.

The Political Power of Monasteries

Wealthy monasteries gained significant political influence—Irish Clonmacnoise, German Fulda and St Gall, Italian Nonantola, Farfa, Volturno (San Vincenzo), and Montecassino, French Saint-Denis, Saint-Germain, and Saint-Bertin (powerful by the 10th century), Cluny, and English Ely and Ramsey. When Queen Balthild retired to Chelles Abbey in the 660s, she advised nuns to engage politically—visiting kings, queens, and nobles with gifts to maintain their foundation’s prestige. By the 9th century, monastic political involvement became commonplace.

The Ideal Christian Ruler

Early medieval kings were expected to be merciful, victorious, just, generous, and attentive to bishops—standards applying across Europe. In Ireland, kings’ righteousness supposedly affected weather; elsewhere, military success remained essential. Even devout kings like Sigeberht of East Anglia (retired to monastic life) were recalled to lead armies, dying in battle against Penda of Mercia.

Justice and generosity were equally vital—laws praised kings for judicial activity, while gift-giving secured loyalty. Military culture meant even religious kings fought frequently, though our clerical sources likely overemphasized episcopal influence. Successful Christian rulers like 7th-century Visigoths skillfully manipulated the church for political ends.

The Warrior Ethos of the Nobility

Despite clerical authorship, our sources respect secular values. Few criticized Merovingian polygamy (except Columbanus, exiled for rebuking Theuderic II), and they rarely condemned battlefield violence unless against kin. The fully militarized society expected peasants to bear arms (theoretically), while nobles were born to warfare—training with weapons and hunting, a quasi-military activity. Kings maintained wooded hunting reserves, while nobles emulated this practice. Charlemagne later reprimanded counts for shortening judicial hearings to hunt.

Military values permeated noble life—visible in gold-adorned clothing (evolved from Roman military dress) and the symbolic importance of belts (marking office or status). Bishop Eligius of Noyon famously gave his belt to the poor but received another from Dagobert I, as going beltless was unthinkable.

Court Culture and Feasting

Roman aristocratic leisure (otium) gave way to a more boisterous culture of feasting in great halls—with heavy drinking north of the Alps (though Italians reportedly drank more moderately). An 8th-century parody of Salic Law applied its provisions to a drinking game involving Lord Fredonus, his wife, and retainers. Irish tales like The Tale of Macc Da Thó’s Pig revolved around drunken boasting, while Anglo-Saxon and Welsh feasts created reciprocal martial obligations.

Dining together signified friendship; refusal indicated hostility—as when Martin of Tours reluctantly dined with Emperor Maximus (384) over theological differences, or Charles Martel stormed out of Bishop Eucherius of Orléans’ feast (732), making an enemy. Hospitality rituals were carefully staged—guests brought gifts expecting reciprocation. Only exceptional figures like Aidan of Lindisfarne (d. 651) broke these rules, giving noble gifts to the poor—a risky strategy that ultimately succeeded but underscored the strict protocols of political hospitality.

Women in Elite Politics

Women had limited but real political space, mainly through royal bloodlines. Apart from the dubious case of Seaxburh of Wessex (possibly ruling 672-674), Frankish queen mothers like Brunhild, Fredegund, Balthild, and Chimnechild wielded significant power as regents. Their authority—though more vulnerable than kings’—was genuine, with followers obeying their commands. Janet Nelson links this to Merovingian court-centered politics where queens controlled domestic administration, though this alone doesn’t explain their exceptional power.

Noblewomen’s political activity usually depended on male relatives, appearing alongside husbands or sons in land transactions. Independent female testators were rare—mostly widows or lifelong nuns like