When many people think of the Middle Ages, they imagine a time of ignorance, of a lack of civilization and culture, and of forced conversions to Christianity with fire and with the sword. All of these conceptions need to be qualified, if not outright challenged, by the example of St. Paulinus II of Aquileia, whose feast is January 11.
Paulinus was raised in a farming family, and later became a priest and a teacher of grammar. He was well known for his breadth of learning, possessing not only a deep knowledge of classics and patristics, but also of jurisprudence; he was also an accomplished poet and hymn-writer. (I love stories about people from rural upbringings who grow up excelling their urban peers in urbanity.) He was also a theological genius and a Biblical commentator known for his preaching; he has been called “the finest theologian of the late eighth century.”
With his skills as a thinker, a communicator, and a jurist, it isn’t surprising that he would be noticed by Charlemagne, who in 776 appointed the fifty-year-old Paulinus to the role of “royal grammarian” at the Palace of Aachen, where he befriended Alcuin of York, known as “the most learned man anywhere to be found.” Together, Paulinus and Alcuin were primary architects of what is known as the Carolingian Renaissance, the first renaissance of classical high culture after the genuine Dark Ages of barbarian rule and the beginning, in many ways, of the High Middle Ages and the rich Christian civilization associated with it.
After ten years of this, Paulinus was made the Patriarch of Aquileia (a position which he, like many saints appointed to the episcopacy, only accepted reluctantly), an ancient Roman city that had been much reduced in stature after it had been sacked by Attila the Hun. He is remembered as having been “Charlemagne’s favorite Italian bishop.” Besides his pastoral work, he was known for fighting for the rights of the Church to be independent from the civil power; he was actually able to procure the right of Aquileia to elect its own bishops in the future rather than having them imposed on them by the emperor, as Paulinus himself had been.
This is important, I think, because Paulinus was certainly a proponent of Charlemagne’s empire in many ways — part of the reason he got the royal appointment was his loyalty to Charlemagne during Duke Rodgand’s 774 rebellion and later served as an envoy for Charlemagne, traveling around the empire as an administrator and representative of his authority (missus dominicus) — but he also had a very sharp sense (and a clearer one than Jefferson did) of what we today clumsily call “the separation of church and state.”
This is also seen in how he evangelized the Slovene people. Paulinus was no pacifist: When Charlemagne’s son, Pepin, launched a military campaign against the Avar people in 796, Paulinus accompanied him, presumably giving his approval. However, once the Avars were conquered, Paulinus convened a synod of bishops to discuss how to convert these new subjects of the empire. It was decided that they would be evangelized nonviolently.
Thus, even though missionary activities there only began in earnest after his death, Paulinus is remembered as “the apostle of the Slovenes” who played an important role in the history of Christianity in what is now Hungary. Perhaps, as an inveterate teacher, preacher, and poet of renown, the eloquent Paulinus understood that you can only move people to true faith by appealing to their reason and to their heart, not by threatening them.
Finally, Paulinus is remembered for his work against the heresy of Adoptionism, convening a number of synods against them and promoting the addition of the Filioque into the Creed. This may make him a bit controversial in today’s ecumenical climate, but a couple of things should be said here. One is that he recognized that it *was* an addition to the Creed that hadn’t been there originally, but that he pointed out how the Council of Constantinople had added to the Nicene Creed. This shows an awareness of historicity that we don’t always recognize in thinkers from this time. Also, it seems that he recommended that a council add this clause to the creed, not the mere fiat of the Pope. Could the Schism have been avoided if his advice had been taken?
This farm boy turned educator of the empire died in 802 or 804. Alcuin of York wrote his epitaph.
___
Images: Wikimedia Commons / PD-US
